WELCOME TO THE BLOGOSPHERE
posted by James Reel
KUAT/KUAZ newsman Robert Rappaport has started his own personal blog, which I suggest you encourage him to develop.
KUAT/KUAZ newsman Robert Rappaport has started his own personal blog, which I suggest you encourage him to develop.
Yesterday afternoon I did a telephone interview with 18-year-old violinist Caitlin Tulley, of whom I'd frankly never heard until the editor of Strings magazine asked me to write about her a few days ago. (Her Celtic first name is prounounced "KAT-lin," by the way.) She's very smart and down-to-earth and, from what I've read, exceptionally talented and musical. Two hours later I was in the Tucson Symphony office talking to George Hanson and orchestra administrators about the coming season, and there on the schedule was Caitlin Tully. I nearly gave myself whiplash from the double-take.
Mel Gibson once said that early in his career he was "served like coffee"--brought out freely and easily into every available film project and TV talk show, getting tremendous (perhaps excessive) exposure and thereby becoming as common and familiar as morning java. If my coincidental double exposure to Caitlin Tulley in a single afternoon is any indication, she's classical music's freshly brewed pot of coffee. Let's hope that when she's finally served up in Tucson, she's not just another cup of decaf.
Arizona Theatre Company continues its lightest-ever season with a Sherlock Holmes adaptation:
After a criminally bungled attempt to purloin the works of PG Wodehouse and pass them off as theater (Over the Moon), playwright Steven Dietz and director David Ira Goldstein have masterminded a far more successful act of literary thievery, Sherlock Holmes: The Final Adventure. The play is receiving its premiere from Arizona Theatre Company, and if it's no intellectual match for the famous English detective, it is, at least, a fine stage caper.You can read the rest of my review in the Tucson Weekly here.
John Massaro spent seven years as chorus master and assistant conductor at Arizona Opera, mostly working for general director David Speers, but he quit indignantly after one year under the company’s new head, Joel Revzen. To say the least, Massaro is a bitter man; when he left at the end of 2004, he circulated his resignation letter among members of the press, and ever since then he has periodically sent out e-mails mocking Revzen (once in verse, to be sung to a tune from Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado) and suggesting without much evidence that Revzen overstates his achievements. Massaro has maintained, for example, that Revzen misleadingly counts himself as a Grammy winner even though the Grammy in question was really intended for singer Arleen Auger, whom Revzen “merely” accompanied. I am in no position to take sides in the Massaro-Revzen conflict, but the triviality and mockery in Massaro’s e-mails make Massaro’s attacks seem less like whistle-blowing than petty manifestations of personal enmity.
Last week, Massaro announced the formation of a new company in Phoenix, which he’s calling AZ Opera, and he seems to have enlisted Speers in the project. Several recipients of Massaro’s bulk e-mail announcement, employing the “reply to all” function, have responded, in effect, that there’s obviously something shifty about using a name so similar to Arizona Opera’s, and they are condemning Massaro’s project. One objector mentioned that she’d enjoyed many high-quality Arizona Opera productions over the years, and Massaro asserted in reply that she’d also claimed to have seen UFOs in the past.
While there’s certainly room in Phoenix, and perhaps in Tucson, for a second professional company doing things that Arizona Opera doesn’t, the petulant Massaro seems motivated by revenge rather than service to the community. If he expects to be taken seriously, he needs to revise his rhetoric—and find a new name for his company that is not deliberately confusing. If he doesn’t, I’d expect Revzen and Arizona Opera to take him to court very soon. In which case Massaro would surely file briefs to be sung to tunes from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Trial by Jury.
Upon the announcement Friday that soprano Anna Moffo had died at age 73, affectionate tributes began to appear in print and cyberspace, but most had to mention that Moffo went into serious vocal decline by her 40s. I’ve enjoyed many of Moffo’s recordings from the 1950s and ’60s, but unfortunately my only experience of her “live” was a negative one. Around 1980 or so, during the George Trautwein years, the Tucson Symphony engaged her to sing … I can’t remember exactly what. Chausson’s Poème de l’amour et de la mer? Some of Canteloube’s Songs of the Auvergne? All I recall is that her voice was in poor shape, with a big wobble and a tendency to scoop into notes. It’s a pity that despite all the fine work she’d done earlier, that’s my strongest memory of her.
A few musicians seem to be able to perform well forever; tenors Alfredo Kraus and Hugues Cuénod sang admirably, well beyond the time the Social Security checks should have started rolling in, and Earl Wild is still a tremendously effective pianist at age 90. Of course, instrumentalists tend to last longer than singers, but even they have their limits. Child prodigy Yehudi Menuhin began to lose control of his bow arm early, but gave concerts and recorded for another 30 years anyway. Isaac Stern kept it together much longer than Menuhin, but even he was in serious decline when he last played in Tucson in the early to mid 1990s. What is it that drives musicians to keep performing even when it’s clear they shouldn’t? Vanity, or a belief that idiot audiences can’t tell the difference? When Glynn Ross took over Arizona Opera in the 1980s, he figured he could boost ticket sales with a bit of star power, and hired some of his old friends, with the emphasis on “old.” What pleasure did anyone take in hearing James McCracken bark his way through a role, or Mary Costa deliver such an embarrassing Merry Widow that she had to be replaced by her understudy after opening night?
Beverly Sills and Jascha Heifetz had the good sense to withdraw from performance while they were still near their peak, and aside from the occasional off night, they left the public with nothing but positive memories. If only more artists would follow suit. Worse things could be said toward the end of an artist’s life than “Whatever happened to Soprano X? She was so wonderful!”
If a concert is a musical feast, then conductor George Hanson has fallen in with the slow food movement. Last night he served up a very well-prepared Tucson Symphony concert remarkable not only for its care of presentation but also for its preponderantly broad tempos.
Slowness was not always a virtue last night. In Wagner’s Tannhäuser Overture, its use seemed formulaic: quiet music = slow tempo. Even the loud, final peroration dragged a little; it could work at this tempo, but here it lacked grandeur because the orchestra just didn’t play full out. Hanson had reduced the string complement below what we usually expect for concert Wagner; the rest of the program—Mozart and Beethoven—needed chamber-scale forces, and there was no point in paying a lot of per-service string players for just 15 minutes of music. Despite the lack of forcefulness at the end, the orchestral balance actually sounded better than usual, with a good, solid bass (the cellos were fully audible for a change), and the strings holding their own against the woodwinds and brass (mainly because Hanson seemed to be holding the latter sections back a bit).
Why, I wonder, did Hanson not also offer the “Venusberg Music,” which emerges straight from the overture in the Paris version of Tannhäuser? It would have added about 10 minutes to a very short first half, and given a little more work to the women of the TSO chorus, which was already positioned on stage for the rest of the concert: Beethoven’s little cantata Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage and Mozart’s Requiem.
Beethoven fared well last night; especially effective was the beautifully hushed choral/orchestral beginning. The TSO Chorus, prepared by Bruce Chamberlain, sang with admirable precision and flexibility, although the TCC Music Hall’s acoustics blurred the text at full volume, at least by the time the sound reached the balcony.
The concert’s main matter was Mozart’s Requiem. I’ve heard so many variant editions of this work in the past few years that I’m more confused than enlightened when trying to figure out which one Hanson chose; I think it was a pretty straightforward version of the standard Süssmayr edition. This is not a matter of musicological arcana; Mozart famously died before completing this work, and his pupil Süssmayr finished it off, though not to the satisfaction of all critics, and several other editors have had a go at the work.
Hanson and his forces took a fairly straightforward approach to the work. The large chorus, adept enough to finesse some tricky little dynamic swells, was solid and powerful, yet it didn’t overwhelm the small orchestra (reduced to two dozen strings plus woodwinds and brass). As in the Wagner, Hanson’s tempos tended to be on the slow side, except in the most dramatic sections. This worked well, without sapping the surprisingly abundant life from this death-soaked music; the Kyrie, for example, was nicely crip and clipped. The soloists—soprano Linda Mabbs, mezzo Malin Fritz, tenor Carl Halvorson and bass Gustav Andreassen—did well, although the two women were not to my taste, applying a wide, nonstop, unvaried vibrato more appropriate to Wagner and Verdi than to Mozart. No complaints about Michael Becker’s suave trombone solo in the Tuba mirum. Now let’s see if the critic in the morning daily characteristically credits that solo to the tuba.
James Reel's cranky consideration of the fine arts and public radio in Tucson and beyond.
