Ewa Podleś in recital, September 13th, 1998 at Polish Radio Hall in Wroclaw, Poland, during the concert of the 33rd International Festival "Wratislavia Cantans" of Music and Fine Arts. There are a couple of snags, as this comes from a VHS copy. There was no DVR in the '90's, kids. Don't you just love when she snaps her head back every time she goes for the top note of a run?
I have no idea if these clips are in wide circulation (I just found out about them today), but since I have the means, I feel the documents are important enough to share with a wider audience. This is Maria Callas in the opening night of the 1961 La Scala Medea. There is no sound proper, but these clips come from some sort of news program dubbed over with a recording of "Dei tuoi figli la madre" and a short audio interview. The video opens with short shots of the chorus, Jon Vickers as Giasone, Nicolai Ghiaurov as Creonte, and Ivana Tosini as Glauce. The first shot of Callas is after she has unveiled herself at her entrance. You can see the famous double-armed pointing gesture made famous in photos such as above.
See as Callas stares down the exiting populace! See as Callas flings her cloak around and charges up the steps like a butch queen! See as Callas gets on her knees in front of both Ghiaurov and Vickers!
There are a few shots of Giulietta Simionato as Neris and even Schippers in action in the pit. We also get bows and a handful of backstage shots, at the end of which is a quick interview with Callas (with audio intact) wherein she discusses the responsibilities of Callas versus those of Medea.
Why did I not know about these videos? I thought we only had the Tosca stuff with Gobbi, the silent Paris Norma bits, and the Lisbon Traviata scenes. What else is there, people?
Ô mains, this is good. A rarely heard early work, La mort de Cléopâtre is one of four cantatas Hector Berlioz wrote for entry to the Prix de Rome, an academic competition for composers, initiated by Napoleon in 1802. Despite what Edgar Varèse calls the "violent beauty" of the cantata, neither the jury nor Berlioz were too excited about it. (Source hereafter, "Berlioz : la Mort de Cléopâtre," by Christian Wasselin; translation my own):
… de même, il n'eut jamais l'idée de les publier. Sans doute estimait-il qu'il s'agissait là d'exercices contraints, de galops d'essais qui, n'engageant pas sa foi de compositeur et ne comptant pas pour des œuvres à proprement parler, ne méritaient pas de sanction impitoyable ou définitive. Berlioz semble n’avoir jamais ressenti ni amour ni haine pour ces cantates.
… likewise, he never thought of publishing them [the cantatas]. Undoubtedly, he figured he was acting out some constrained exercises—test runs that, not engaging the fire of the composer and not really counting to the works to speak of in proper, did not merit merciless or definitive sanction. Berlioz seems to have felt neither love nor hate for these cantatas.
Of course, with competitions like this, there is always the issue of old farts who have trouble seeing or hearing past their own style. His first year (1827), Berlioz passes the initial trial with his cantata La mort d'Orphée, but the pianist who is to present the piano reduction in the next round declares the score unplayable. The next year, Berlioz runs up against a standing tradition when he receives the second prize for Herminie. It was customary for a composer to receive a second prize and then be awarded the grand prize when he returned the next year. About this he remarked:
«Puisque ces messieurs sont décidés d’avance à me donner le premier prix, je ne vois pas pourquoi je m’astreindrais, comme l’année dernière, à écrire dans leur style et dans leur sens, au lieu de me laisser aller à mon sentiment propre et au style qui m’est naturel. Soyons sérieusement artiste et faisons une cantate distinguée.»
"Since the gentlemen have decided ahead of time to give me the first prize, I don't see why I would be compelled, as in year before, to write in their style and with their sensibility, instead of letting myself go with my own feeling and the style that is natural to me. Let's be serious artists and make a distiguished cantata."
It seems he did just that, and in 1829, La morte de Cléopâtre was so upsetting to everyone that the jury awarded no prize for that year. He finally took first prize in 1830 after presenting his intentionally conventional Sardanapale, about which he said:
«Je ne négligerai rien pour leur faire de la musique académique, quel que soit le sujet donné. Ce n’est pas une mauvaise partition qui peut m’effrayer à présent ; pour avoir de l’argent, je ne sais ce que je ne ferais pas.»
"I'll not neglect anything in giving them some academic musique, no matter what subject is given. There's no bad score that frightens me at this point; in order to have money, I don't know what I wouldn't do."
La morte de Cléopâtre has been recorded a few times, most notably by Dame Janet Baker, Jessye Norman, and (recently) Véronique Gens. This mp3 (20 mins., 21 MB) is from the telecast of a recital (2003, I think?) in Montréal and is performed by the acclaimed contralto Ewa Podleś, who, btw, will knock your dick in the dirt.
MP3 Ewa Podleś - La mort de Cléopâtre, H. 36, with Charles Dutoit and the Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal.
I wish you could see her perform. The "drama" (which normally bores me when people think singers are "dramatic" nowadays) is in perfect union with the outstanding voice. Well, I mean…
… you get the idea. Oh, and here's the text. I'm not translating it for you, crackers. My wrist hurts. DRAG, COPY, PASTE, AWAAAAY!
La mort de Cléopâtre, scène lyrique
C'en est donc fait! ma honte est assurée.
Veuve d'Antoine et veuve de César,
Au pouvoir d'Octave livrée,
Je n'ai pu captiver son farouche regard.J'étais vaincue, et suis déshonorée.
En vain, pour ranimer l'éclat de mes attraits,
J'ai profané le deuil d'un funeste veuvage;
En vain, en vain, de l'art épuisant les secrets,
J'ai caché sous des fleurs les fers de l'esclavage;
Rien n'a pu du vainqueur désarmer les décrets.
A ses pieds j'ai traîné mes grandeurs opprimées.
Mes pleurs même ont coulé sur ses mains répandus,Et la fille des Ptolémées
A subi l'affront des refus!
Ah! qu'ils sont loin ces jours, tourment de ma mémoire,
Où sur le sein des mers, comparable à Vénus,
D'Antoine et de César réfléchissant la gloire,
J'apparus triomphante aux rives du Cydnus!Actium m'a livrée au vainqueur qui me brave;
Mon sceptre, mes trésors ont passé dans ses mains;
Ma beauté me restait, et les mépris d'OctavePour me vaincre ont fait plus que le fer des Romains.
Ah! qu'ils sont loin ces jours, etc.Mes pleurs même ont coulé sur ses mains répandus,
J’ai subi l’affront des refus.
Moi !… qui du sein des mers, comparable à Vénus,
M'élançai triomphante aux rives du Cydnus!Au comble des revers, qu'aurais-je encore à craindre?
Reine coupable, que dis-tu?
Du destin qui m'accable est-ce à moi de me plaindre?
Ai-je pour l’accuser les droits de la vertu?J'ai d'un époux déshonoré la vie.
C'est par moi qu'aux Romains l'Égypte est asservie,
Et que d'lsis l'ancien culte est détruit.
Quel asile chercher? Sans parents! sans patrie!
Il n'en est plus pour moi que l'éternelle nuit!Méditation
[How if when I am laid into the tomb … (Shakespeare)]Grands Pharaons, nobles Lagides,
Verrez-vous entrer sans courroux,
Pour dormir dans vos pyramides,
Une reine indigne de vous?Non!.. non, de vos demeures funèbres
Je profanerais la splendeur!
Rois, encor au sein des ténèbres,
Vous me fuiriez avec horreur.
Du destin qui m'accable est-ce à moi de me plaindre?
Ai-je pour l'accuser le droit de la vertu?
Par moi nos dieux ont fui d'Alexandrie,
Et d'lsis le culte est détruit.
Grands Pharaons, nobles Lagides,Vous me fuiriez avec horreur!
Du destin qui m'accable est-ce à moi de me plaindre?
Ai-je pour l'accuser le droit de la vertu?
Grands Pharaons, nobles Lagides,
Verrez-vous entrer sans courroux,
Pour dormir dans vos pyramides,
Une reine indigne de vous?
Non, j'ai d'un époux déshonoré la vie.
Sa cendre est sous mes yeux, son ombre me poursuit.C'est par moi qu'aux Romains l'Égypte est asservie.
Par moi nos dieux ont fui les murs d'Alexandrie,
Et d'Isis le culte est détruit.
Osiris proscrit ma couronne.
A Typhon je livre mes jours!
Contre l'horreur qui m'environne
Un vil reptile est mon recours.
Dieux du Nil… vous m'avez… trahie!
Octave… m'attend… a son char.Cléopâtre en… quittant… la vie,
Redevient digne de… César !
As I was dozing off last night, the Classic Arts Showcase channel showed a clip from a 2002 performance of Meyerbeer's Dinorah from Compèigne. Of course the only real chunk from that opera worth considering is the shadow song ("Ombre légère"). The soprano, of whom I'd never heard, was Isabelle Philippe, who seems not to have had much stage time but is nonetheless quite a wonderful singer with clean diction and almost perfectly blended registration, the evidence of which can be heard in the clarity of the vowels and the flexibility and evenness from the bottom of the voice to the top. Her above-the-staff notes are stunning—a rare thing today (primarily because the heaviness and put-on resonance of most modern sopranos disallows the gymnasticity of the throat required by the alt pitches).
Hearing her was enough to get me out from under the covers and start searching for her on the internet. Malheureusement she has no website. By this morning I had procured a full-length pirate recording of one of Compèigne's latest ventures, a grand opera by Halévy called Charles VI (April 2005). I tried listening to the whole thing but haven't finished it yet. It des get to be a little dumbdumb in places. One aria has the bass character Raymond singing "Guerre aux tyrans! Jamais en France, jamais l'Anglais ne régnera!" over and over, after which he is joined by a chorus of men singing the same. That is followed by the tenor Dauphin, who sings words and words and then the aforementioned line—joined afterward by, yes, the chorus of men driving it home. Still, this performance is well-executed, and it's a shame this opera is only just now being rediscovered; it's certainly no worse than most of French grand opera of the period.
However, I did make it to this little gem, the cabalette sung by the Reine Isabelle—sung brilliantly by, ha, Isabelle Philippe. It features all the dangly charms of mid-century French grand opera—runs, leaps, trills, the whole bit. What's really worth listening for are the top notes. She's got yer measly high E-flat. But she's also got yer damn F above high C, held out for a decent length, and not the least bit shrill or shaky. This is expert singing. I hope to hear more of her.
MP3 Isabelle Philippe - Au concert succède le bal… Nuit charmante, oû d'ivresse from Charles VI, by Jacques Fromenthal Halévy.
I was only able to get these lines, but there are few more. Who cares, right? It's just McBanquet Scene gibberish.
Au concert succède le bal;
Entre mille beautés choisissez la plus belle,
Chevaliers, cet heureux signal
Ouvre aux plaisirs une lice nouvelle.Nuit charmante, oû d'ivresse
On change à chaque instant!
Sitôt qu'un plaisir cesse
Un autre nous attend!
By the way, you can count on mp3s' being posted in this format from now on. Just look for the little download icon ;)
A vocal-timbre mapping onto this mental diffraction requires a huge repertoire of vocal sound at one's disposal as well as a competely elastic vocal ability, which enables the rapid navigation through these timbral elements. This is certainly not a new idea, but the ABSOLUTE ACCURACY, the ABSOLUTE DETAIL I am referring to requires a virtuosity, a versatility with the instrument that has not yet been approached. The most minimal or the most maximal increment of timbral change over the smallest unit of time is required and, in many ways, resembles what is attempted in the subtractive synthesis of white noise, wherein highly specified pitch/timbre bands may be heard suddenly alone, in quick succession, or simultaneously.
The question here is not one of simplistic development of vocal virtuosity. Rather, it involves a redefinition of a most ACCURATE sonic representation of thought via the most accessible, direct, and sophisticated music-making apparatus.
–Diamanda Gal´s, San Diego, 1982.
