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It is not often
that I write about recordings. Since my massive listening-writing effort of The Musical Theatre on Record, it has
taken me a long time to bring myself to lend an ear to much recorded music. But
this week the world has decided it shall be otherwise. No less than three CDs
have popped through my postbox, all three worthy of much more than a background
listen.
They’re three very
different pieces of music. One opera, one musical, one choral cantata. One a
hit from the 19th century, one only recently written and sung, one still
awaiting a first full showing. Two from Great Britain, one from America … but
all three, a bit of a miracle in this lazy day and age, wholly original. No
‘based on’ this or that, no pasticcio score and second-hand music: original
through and through. So, where do I start? Why not in the order they arrived.
TOADS ON A
TAPESTRY
Toads on a Tapestry is the cantata. A form which is sadly neglected, even
though largely secularised, these days. This hour-long piece was commissioned
to commemorate the 800th anniversary of the signing of the Magna Carta, and was
given its first performance, last year, in Faversham, Kent. All I can say is,
it deserves annual repetitions, all around Britain, on the fatidic day. It is a
thoroughly original and exciting piece for adult and children’s choirs and soprano,
alto and bass solo voices (music: David Knotts, text: John Gallas).
The piece is
divided into nine ‘numbers’, starting with an atmospheric dawning of the day
over Runnymede as the King (bass) arrives, surveyed by his falcon, Gibbun
(soprano). The second number (‘I walk on paper’) is sung by one of the day’s
main actors: the quill (contralto) which will sign the document, after which we
briefly meet the other components (children’s choir and soloists) and the King
ponders on what is to come, in the key number of the night (‘Angels sitting in
the rushes’).
The Charter is
recited and sung, and at the Quill’s urging, signed and sealed, as Gibbun
espies the goings-on cynically from a Thames-side willow, in a soprano bravura
showpiece (‘Good afternoon, my name is Gibbun’). And when all is signed and
done, England goes on being England (‘Song of the People’) and the forest
murmers to the end ‘for a tree is partial to a bit of history’ while the choir
heads to a great Amen in the most thrilling bit of choral music of the piece.
The live-recorded performance
of the Faversham singers is a remarkable one with, in particular, John Alan
Ewing singing richly and powerfully as an outstanding King John, but in the
end, the reason I am playing this disc for the fifth time, and have ordered
copies for my friends, is the cantata.
This is a wholly
twenty-first century piece, with its roots warmly embedded in the traditions of
English poetry for the people. The text is true poetry, written with a quirky
flair which hardly surprises those who have read a few of Gallas’s many books
of verse. Knotts’s music is, I can only say, made for me. The now and the then,
melted together into a forever. I got really excited at hearing the vocal lines
… from basso profundo to trilling, squealing soprano … none of that ten notes
in the middle of the voice rubbish. This composer lets his artists sing.
Anyway Toads on a Tapestry goes into my (very)
small collection of ‘play again and again’ CDs, but what I hope most is that it
goes into many future productions and … BBC, are you listening?
BZAZZ FROM
BIRDLAND
And now for
something tooooooooottally different. From an English country church to a most
bzazzy bit of Broadway. No, not Broadway today (when did Broadway last bzazz?),
this is Broadway in its hey-you day and its got big, big, big and bold, bold,
bold and brassy, brassy, brassy boiled all over it. OK? Got it? Well, if you
haven’t, you will have when I tell you this new musical (which has been heard
several times in concert, only … so far) is called Merman’s Apprentice. Yep, it’s that dame again. And the story is
true to title. Little Muriel Plakenstein from Canarsie (Brooklyn) runs away
from home to become a Broadway star, and ends up, with the red, hot and blue
mama’s help, going on in Ethel Merman’s role in Hello, Dolly. Yes, that’s it. It’s all there needs to be.
You have a song-studded
vehicle for a Merman and a mini-Merman (with the occasional interruption from
other folk), set in a book (yes, I’ve read it) of showbiz in-jokes and ribbing
that will set Broadway fans of all ages a-hootin’ and a-sniggerin’, because
this piece has its tongue shoved firmly in its cheeks – somewhere between The Boyfriend and Dames at Sea. But those shows didn’t have two chandelier-cracking
leading ladies. Two! Fasten your ear-plugs … here they come!
Ethel, presented
with loving kiddery (yes, author Stephen Cole really knew the lady!) is played
– well, on the CD, sung – by Klea Blackhurst. Brilliant casting. She has a
staunch, scathing, tuneful, yet warm, voice which makes breakfast of her
ballads and her ‘Blow Gabriel’ parody,
‘Listen to the Trumpet Call’, is the hit of the night. Little Muriel
(who naturally trades in Plakenstein for ‘Lake’) is taken by Elizabeth –
daughter of Lara – Teeter. This is the role created by Carly Rose Sonenclar of
X Factor fame, but much as I loved Carly, Elizabeth is well-and-truly splendid.
This must be the biggest sing for ‘a kid’ since ... since Herbert Hoover put
together, and she brings it off with brio.
While the two
stars are having a breather, Anita Gillette and P J Benjamin as Ethel’s parents have a funny song about
how their daughter became ‘Loud’ and if Bill Nolte looks as he does on the
cover, as David Merrick … look no further for the Broadway production!
Because I’m sure
this show ain’t gonna stay at Birdland for long.
THE POWER OF BALFE
And now for
something as different as could be. From both of the previous. I’m not going to
give a history lesson here, but this is ‘my’ period, so forgive me if I get a
little ‘learned’. Satanella was one
of the dozen or so most popular and successful English operas of the Victorian
era, of which a disproportionate number were launched by the Louisa Pyne/William
Harrison company over a period of just a seven years (The Rose of Castille, Lurline, The Lily of Killarney) from 1857
onwards. A disproportionate number, too, were the work of Irish composer
William Balfe (The Bohemian Girl etc),
and Satanella shows him at his best,
the traditional English opera strains (and dialogue) tempered just enough by
his Italian training and experience to produce a score which is one of the
most effective, lush and beautiful of the era.
Victorian Opera
Northwest have already given us complete modern recording of Balfe’s previously
unrecorded The Maid of Artois and a
very fine new Lurline as well as
Macfarren’s Robin Hood (another of
the top twelve): now, happily, they have turned to Satanella and have, in my opinion, and not just because I like
this opera – music and book -- the best, topped all their previous efforts in
practically every department: recording values, the orchestra under Richard
Bonynge, chorus and soloists are all quite superb. I will bet that Balfe
never heard his opera sound as rich, flowing and just plain huge as this, even
with the superb Miss Pyne and Messrs Harrison (in well-tailored parts) and
Weiss singing the leads, in 1858-9, on the stage of the Theatre Royal, Covent
Garden.
The extremely hit
song of the hit show was ‘The Power of Love’ sung by the demoness Satanella to
close the first act. No bravura, this, as in The Maid of Artois, but a beauteous, emotional air which went on to
be a hugely popular concert item. Don’t worry, the traditional bravura comes in
the second act instead, there is a cabaletta to end the third, and a stunning
4th act curtain: quite simply everything any prima donna could ask for. ‘The Power
of Love’, and Miss Pyne’s role, are here absolutely splendidly sung by Sally
Silver, who we have heard already as Lurline, and she is teamed with a first-rate
tenor, Kang Wang, whose sweet and soaring voice is perfect for the demanding
sentimental music of the piece’s hero, and whose dramatic passages ring out
vigorously and excitingly, in the shining performance of this recording.
The expansive bass
role of the fiend, Arimanes, created by the then top bass in Britain, Liverpudlian
Willoughby Weiss, is here efficiently sung by a bass-baritone (Trevor Bowes),
and the pretty songs belonging to the considerable role of the ingénue Leila,
originally played by Britain’s most versatile soprano, Rebecca Isaacs, are
delightfully treated by Catherine Carby.
British writers –
unlike most Italians of the time, with their inexorably tragic tales – were not
afraid to put comic and lighter moments into their texts, and Satanella has its share of these. The
comedian/tenor Alfie St Albyn had a sighing swain number
which Anthony
Gregory delivers in spot-on fashion, and a jolly Pirate, half Enchantress and half Pirates of Penzance, from ‘merry Tunis’, written for another comic player, Henri
Corri, here get suitable service from Frank Church. The pure comedy went to
singing actor, George Honey (here Quentin Hayes) as a useful tutor who
strengthened the bass line when Arimanes was off-stage. The seven principals (Arimanes
is off, here) join in a rousingly sung septet with chorus, in the 3rd act,
which show Balfe and the forces of Victorian Opera Northwest at their very finest.
This is one of the
grandest specimens of English opera, from the era when English-language opera
companies were proud to play home-made material, and that home-made material
stood on an equal footing in a
repertoire with Lucrezia Borgia, Der
Freischütz and Il Trovatore. So
why have Satanella and its fellows
been allowed to drop from the repertoire? Inverted snobbery? Hopefully, this
first-class recording will open the eyes and ears of those who produce English
opera. Now that there is a brand new performing text and score available, there’s
no excuse for its not finding itself back to the stages of the world in
double quick time.
So, three grand
CDs, of three pieces looking for performance. I’m sure that none of the three
will look in vain or for long. Each, of its kind, deserves to be heard. Again and again. And
after a whole morning listening to the soaring strains of Satanella,
I’m going back to the start all over again … here we go: Toads number 6 ….
PS OK, OK ... stop mailing me ...
TOADS can be ordered through www.davidknotts.co.uk
MERMAN from Jay Records
SATANELLA from Naxos
PS OK, OK ... stop mailing me ...
TOADS can be ordered through www.davidknotts.co.uk
SATANELLA from Naxos
3 comments:
Wow! Wow! Wow! (and a half) Thanks Mr. Ganzl for that wonderfully written review of Merman's Apprentice!
A recommendation from YOU, Mr. Gnazl, is enough for to want to buy, buy, buy.
But where can I do so for TOADS ON A TAPESTRY?
Robert, TOADS can be got from David Knotts on his website .. Ive added its URL to the article :-)
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