the Nashville Symphony
An Artist’s Dream at the Schermerhorn
On the weekend of November 7-9 the Nashville Symphony produced a concert that featured Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (Op. 14), Felix Mendelssohn’s Concerto No. 1 in G Minor for Piano and Orchestra (Op. 25) with soloist Stephen Hough and Andrew Norman’s Unstuck, all conducted by visiting Maestro Thierry Fischer. The evening was somewhat eclectic but featured fantastic performances.
Since his arrival on the scene, Los Angeles based composer Andrew Norman has made some waves in the classic world, qualifying as finalist for a Pulitzer Prize twice (2012 and 2019) and with prestigious premieres including one of his children’s opera A Trip to the Moon by the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Unstuck was written on a commission from the Orpheum Foundation for the Advancement of Young Soloists and received its premiere in Zurich in 2008. In the program Norman described the way he derived the movement’s form from an inspiration he took from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five:
For a long time this piece languished on my desk, a mess of musical fragments that refused to cohere […but] I realized that my musical materials lent themselves to a narrative arc that, like Vonnegut’s character, comes ‘unstuck’ in time. Bits and pieces of the beginning, middle and end of the music crop up in the wrong places like the flashbacks and flashforwards that define the structure and style of Slaughterhouse-Five.
The difficulty with Norman’s work is that it lacks the unifying elements that Vonnegut employs to maintain connection in the narrative organization (despite the surface incoherence); there is no foreshadowing, resolving reprises, thematic connections, or derived culminations to balance the apparent lack of formal integration. However, despite the formal challenges, some of those “bits and pieces” are really quite beautiful. The rhythmic complexity of the initial fast section was quite intricate, and the Webernian pointillism at some of the internal moments was equally remarkable, reducing the musical fabric to a kind of “tone color melody” or klangfarbenmelodie. At another moment, when the cellos are heard apart with a simple ascending gesture (played wonderfully by Kevin Bate and Xiao-Fan Zhang), the intimacy and directness was breathtaking. While this may not have been my favorite piece, I am enthusiastic to hear other works by Norman.
Felix Mendelssohn wrote his First Piano Concerto when he was in his early thirties and during a trip to Rome in 1831. It is a rather innovative work with the piano dominating from the very beginning and the first and second
movements are connected by a fanfare in the horns and trumpets, sounding in the Romantic distance before the piano transitions to the second movement. It is in this movement that Hough really shined. A polymath with unassailable technique, Hough’s interpretation brought the room into a languid reverie only to be rudely awoken by the fanfare (much closer now) that announced the third movement.
Hough tackled the third movement’s fast and joyous themes with abandon and Fischer kept the smaller orchestra up with him brilliantly. It brought to mind Hector Berlioz’s description of what happened to a piano after it had played this movement once too many times and its builder, M. Erard, attempts to repair it:
…try as he [Erard] will, the piano, which is out of its mind, has no intention of paying him any heed either. He sends for holy water and sprinkles the keyboard with it, but in vain—proof that it wasn’t witchcraft but merely the natural result of thirty performances of one concerto. They take the keyboard out of the instrument—the keys are still moving up and down by themselves—and they throw it into the middle of the courtyard next to the warehouse. There, M. Erard, now in a fury, has it chopped up with an axe. You think that did it? It made matters worse. Each piece danced, jumped, frisked about separately—on the pavement, between our legs, against the wall, in all directions, until the warehouse locksmith picked up this bedeviled mechanism in one armful and flung it into the fire of his forge, finally putting an end to it…
It was the image of the piano dancing, jumping, frisking about that Hough’s delightful performance brought to mind. I only wish that he’d performed an encore.
After intermission, the stage of the Schermerhorn was made full with Berlioz’s augmented orchestra, and extended offstage with special bronze church bells brought in from the Dallas Symphony. It was in Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique that Fischer left a significant interpretive footprint. Written and premiered in 1830, Berlioz’s innovative work is program symphony that relays an external narrative which, in Berlioz’s words, “…develop[s] various episodes in the life of an artist, in so far as they lend themselves to musical treatment.” Further, Berlioz unified the five movements of the piece with a recurring theme called an idée fixe which represents the artist’s love for a woman, “By a strange anomaly, the beloved image never presents itself to the artist’s mind without being associated with a musical idea, in which he recognizes a certain quality of passion, but endowed with the nobility and shyness which he credits to the object of his love.”
Thus the work becomes an essay in Berlioz’s unique genius for orchestration and thematic transformation—we hear the theme in the first movement, encounter her again at a waltz, in the country, and then in an opioid-induced dream in the last two movements.
Overall, it seems that Maestro Fischer was, quite appropriately, looking to emphasize the nostalgic, dreamy and distantly Romantic aspects of Berlioz’s work. The harp glissandos in the second movement’s waltz and the English horn and oboe duet in the third movement pastoral were notably exquisite for the nostalgic legato in their parts—special mention here goes to Licia Jaskunas (harp), Roger Wiesmeyer (English Horn) and Titus Underwood (oboe). Fischer also brought a similar interpretation to the Fourth Movement’s “March to the Scaffold.” Typically, the movement is emphatically staccato in an effort to maximize the terror. However, Fischer stuck to the program which describes the artist in a lucid, dream-like state :
Convinced that his love is spurned, the artist poisons himself with opium. The dose of narcotic, while too weak to cause his death, plunges him into a heavy sleep accompanied by the strangest of visions. He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned, led to the scaffold and is witnessing his own execution. The procession advances to the sound of a march that is sometimes sombre and wild, and sometimes brilliant and solemn, in which a dull sound of heavy footsteps follows without transition the loudest outbursts. At the end of the march, the first four bars of the idée fixe reappear like a final thought of love interrupted by the fatal blow.
In this way the events of the last two movements are experienced from within a “heavy sleep” and under Fischer’s baton it was hazy like a dream…or rather a nightmare. Importantly, the effect didn’t undermine the terror so much as distance it almost as an out-of-body experience. The effect was further heightened in the final movement when the idée fixe appeared at the witch’s dark prayer meeting cackling and shrieking through Katherine Kohler’s E-flat Clarinet, but yet enmeshed within that dream-like state.
It was wonderful to hear this chestnut of the repertoire interpreted in a new way, and caused me to somewhat lament the homogeneity of interpretations that one often hears from the conductor’s podium –Fischer took a chance in Nashville and we were rewarded.
the Nashville Symphony presents
the Subtle Similarities of Brahms, Dvořák, Adams and Ives
On the rainy weekend of October 25th, the Nashville Symphony performed a program that included works by Antonin Dvořák, Johannes Brahms, John Adams, and Charles Ives. The program reflected contemporaries and similarities between the two sets of composers: Dvořák and Brahms were true contemporaries, and Adams was highly influenced by the works of Charles Ives. Dvořák’s piece opened the show, a short five-minute orchestral work that expands upon the enticing style of Slovanic folk dance music. The set of eight dances is what brought international attention to Dvořák’s work, as he drew inspiration from the audience’s positive reaction to Brahms’s earlier Hungarian dances.
After a riveting introduction of Dvořák’s slovanic dance op. 46, no.1, the audience was on the edge of their seats as soloist Karen Gomyo took the stage for Brahms’s Voilin Concerto. Gomyo’s confident stage presence and flowing dress of sparkling cobalt blue commanded the audience as she took center stage, but did not distract from her effortless performance of the nearly forty-minute piece. The orchestra introduces the dramatic and triumphant opening, as Gomyo stood poised and ready to make her entrance. As dramatic and emotionally heightened as the first movement is, Gomyo’s intensity throughout each harmonic and dynamic shift of the piece was controlled and intentional. She moved and breathed with her instrument, a “Stradivarius violin of 1703 that was bought for her exclusive use by a private sponsor.” Her ability to exploit the contrasting themes of lyrical sorrow and strong emphatic phrases that develop through the first movement was captivating.
The concerto was written for Joseph Joachim, a virtuosic violinist in the late 1800s. Brahms capitalizes on the instruments higher register, as well as the instrument’s dramatic interjections after heightened drama by the orchestra. Brahms chose not to write a cadenza for the soloist, leaving it to Joachim – whose cadenza remains the most frequently performed. Gomyo’s cadenza brought the first movement to the final recurrences of the theme before its end. It was emotionally driven and showcased her amazing ability to soar and shimmer in the violin’s higher register and shift quickly into emphatic double-stops and runs of unending 16th-note phrases.
The second movement offered a strong contrast to the demands of the first; the soloist must capitalize on Brahm’s use of legato lyrical phrasing that is integrated flawlessly between the soloist and the orchestra. The two seemed to weave together, elaborating on where the other had just left off. Gomyo’s expressiveness in this rather simple piece was exquisite, and highly reflective of the sorrowful phrases that are written in.
As a strong contrast to the second movement, Gomyo entered strongly into a vigorous third movement that Brahms based on Joachim’s Hungarian roots. With highly syncopated phrases and metric dissonance, the third movement seems the most difficult to coordinate between an orchestra and soloist. With the confidence and effortlessness between Gomyo and conductor Giancarlo Guerrero, there was nothing for the audience to worry about. The coordination was playful, enjoyable for the audience, and brought the youthful energy that was intended for this final movement.
Even after performing this emotionally driven and intense concerto, Karen Gomyo sat in the audience behind me to watch the second half of the program, which was a solid contrast to her own. As the Brahms piece relied heavily on the string section, so did the Ives and Adams pieces use the brass section. The ethereal opening section of My Father Knew Charles Ives was a shift away from the upbeat closing movement that was heard before intermission. The piece is an homage to both Charles Ives and Adams’s father, both whom he admired. Adams was strongly influenced by Ives’ experimentation of polyphony, rhythm, and orchestral coloration. The piece shifts between orchestral unity and walls of sound where it seems like each individual instrument is playing its own theme. Guerroro’s careful consideration to the subtle nuances of each of these sections is what gives the piece complexity and character. The oboe was especially noteworthy, and Adams composes a long-winded solo melody in the second movement as the orchestra echoes.
Similarly to the Adam’s work, Three Places in New England by Charles Ives reflects events and places from the composer’s life. The opening theme is solemn and ominous, as well as the third and closing theme. Ives finds certain areas of the piece to insert familiar tunes of American music, which is highly characteristic of him. This program was carefully put together to truly showcase how each composer was influenced by the other. It was a subtle change between Ives and Adams, and the pieces seemed to mirror each other in theme, style, and orchestral placement. While Ives was influenced by places in his life, Adams was inspired by Ives himself, and by his own life. These autobiographical compositions could have easily been switched in the program to show the Ives composition in the early 1900s evolving into the Adams composition a decade later.
The gloomy Friday night was soon forgotten as soon as I stepped foot into the Schermerhorn and witnessed the impeccable coordination of Karen Gomyo and the Nashville Symphony. The program itself tells a story of the evolution of music from the mid-1800s into the present day. At first glance, these pieces seemed scattered, but the subtle similarities of each piece was expertly arranged and executed in this performance. The way music reflects the lives of those it is written by and can be perceived just as sentimentally by an audience is what makes these performances so special.
Horror in Music City:
An Evening of Superior Cinematic Wonderment: Manual Cinema’s Frankenstein
Upon setting foot in the large black-box theater of OZ Arts Nashville and rounding the corner of a towering construction holding hundreds of stadium style chairs, it was evident I was in for a rare theatrical experience. 25 minutes to show time and the house was already packed, people steadily trickling in with entertained expressions as they were forced to wind through the mass of artsy haircuts, funky glasses, and Nashville chic to find a seat. Artistic Director of OZ Arts Nashville provided the following context for Manual Cinema’s uncharted theatrical territory ahead: “While they may use sophisticated life-feed video techniques, and even robotic percussion instruments, much of their aesthetic is inspired by old technology, including overhead projectors, which they use to create magical effects. Cardboard cut-out shadow puppets cast emotionally-stirring silhouettes, and old-school hand animation techniques evoke phantasmagorical locations, from mountain-tops to spooky gothic mansions.”
“…double shot of imagination, a dash of genius, a sprig of vintage, and a whole lot of finesse.”
Palpable curiosity buzzed through the room as the audience admired the curtain-less stage filled with projectors, screens, cameras, instruments hanging in mid-air, costumes, props, wigs, and a variety of
unrecognizable items. Hanging above the set was an oversized cinema screen, floating just above height level of anyone walking underneath. Actors, puppeteers, and musicians came and went freely from the stage prior to the show, unconcerned about mystery or secrecy, going about their preparations routinely. Once the entertaining task of locating an empty seat for each guest of the sold-out opening night was complete, the lights dimmed and the audience braced itself for the unexpected. What followed was one of the most enchanting, captivating, and exquisitely executed pieces of theatrical art I have ever experienced.
My eyes immediately drawn to the large cinema screen, the film began with silhouette-style paper puppetry representing characters and objects. Special effects with lighting, live instruments, and electronic sounds accented the film at poignant times, creating musical motifs for characters, emotions, and events. A charming and occasionally startling rendition of Mary Shelley’s life unfolded, and I felt myself drawn in by the eerie combination of music, puppetry and magic holding it all together. The scope of sound and music created to attend the film were so impeccably chosen and timed, I hardly remembered there were live musicians at all. The instrumentalists wove together a lush tapestry of effects, timbres, melodies, noise, and rhythmic impulses, creating an affecting ambiance that hooked me, manipulating my emotions moment by moment.
Although I could hardly tear my eyes from the screen, the temptation to witness the remarkable things going on below was strong. After all, Manual Cinema both purposefully and ingeniously creates an environment in which the audience is invited into the production process, encouraged to observe the synthesis, and welcomed into the tangible world of the film’s engineering. On stage, the creators were manipulating paper silhouettes on several projectors, moving seamlessly and unbelievably quickly from one projector to another, casting ominously beautiful scenes onto a large facing screen mirrored by the cinema screen hanging above. Upon looking back to the cinema screen for the full visual experience, to my astonishment one paper cut-out began to move in an incredibly life-like manner. I looked to the puppeteers in an attempt to decipher how they might be creating this effect, only to find a live actress now in front of the shadow screen, having taken the place of the silhouette cut-out. The transition was absolutely imperceptible. The film continued to develop in similarly extraordinary ways as they utilized an extensive array of unique techniques.
After illustrating heart-breaking misfortune in Shelley’s life with the loss of her infant child, the film took a darker path, depicting her visit to Lord Byron and a new-found determination to write a “ghost story.” As the film evolved into a transformative re-telling of Shelley’s Frankenstein, black and white video was introduced and used in uncommon ways throughout the remainder of the film. Puppeteers who previously manipulated paper, props, or their own bodies in front of a shadow screen, were now on camera as entirely different characters. The frequent transitions from projector to shadow screen to camera continued in a seamless fashion, but the audience had now become wholly and blissfully aware of the incredible detail required to make this cinematic wizardry happen. Actors and puppeteers were running in and out of shots, manipulating props, operating cameras, ducking, rolling, crawling, and quick-changing around, under, and through each part of the stage, creating an astonishing illusion.
As the story unveiled Victor Frankenstein’s woefully created creature, 3D puppetry was introduced with HD video in color. The addition of hi-res video at this time was remarkably moving, depicting the creature’s initial perspective of the world and their own horrific body in this unknown place. The heart-wrenching tale of the creature’s struggle to understand the world, love, and loss ensued, shifting between all forms of media as the story progressed. As the somber, wordless narrative drew to a close, Mary Shelley’s character was drawn back into the film, tying the pieces of her life, work, and adversity together into one melancholic, magnificent bow.
Co-Artistic Director and puppeteer Sarah Fornace was remarkable in her stunning portrayal of Shelley’s fragility and strength, and analogously brilliant depiction of Victor Frankenstein’s deranged passion. Puppeteer Leah Casey’s portrait of Percy Shelley was the perfect complement to Fornace’s Mary, not to mention her beautifully etherical vocals in conjunction with the film’s chamber musicians. Kara Davidson’s dark and tender interpretation of The Creature contributed depth and sensitivity, in addition to her light and flighty moments as Elizabeth Frankenstein. Sara Sawicki and Myra Su contributed their personal brilliance as Lord Byron and puppeteer extraordinaire, respectively.
Musicians Peter Ferry (percussion), Lia Kohl (cello, aux percussion, vocals), Rachael Dobosz (flutes, aux
percussion, piano), and Michael Chen (clarinets, aux percussion) brought the film to life with explicitly executed chamber music, contributing to the theatricality of the work both in costume and interaction with the cast. Cellist Lia Kohl shared, “Some of the music is a little bit improvised, so there’s definitely some artistic input of ours. A lot of the cues are visual. I like to compare it to ballet or opera, something that’s a little bit more responsive. It’s definitely chamber music.”
Percussionist Peter Ferry spoke about his contribution to composers Ben Kauffman and Kyle Vegter’s music-writing process: “As a habit, I just accumulate cool sounding junk. That is a sink—it’s everything in the kitchen sink here—some flower pots, which you just find, but they kind of accidentally have different pitches. I’ve got different gongs, [a] cooking pot, pipes that are cut to different lengths to be pitches, other pipes that are found. A piece of a car, it might be a hubcap, used kind of like a metal guiro. We were going for a mad laboratory feeling, both in the sort of sounds that are included, but also in the sculpture that it creates. The composers have just a total ‘game for anything’ sort of approach. They visited my studio, and we went through every single item and recorded everything. As they started to work on the composition, they would take the sound samples of different things and say ‘OK, I really want to use this, I really want to use that.’ As they started to share drafts with me, we would then kind of edit and revise together, simultaneously thinking about how is it going to be laid out. When you’re working with a percussionist, that’s a necessity.”
Manual Cinema’s Frankenstein is a tall glass of nouveau with a double shot of imagination, a dash of genius, a sprig of vintage, and a whole lot of finesse. How refreshing to attend a classic work of literature reinvented with such collective passion, ingenuity, and class. I’ll certainly be looking forward to the next opportunity I have to see this performance collective’s innovative genius.
At TPAC
‘Once on this Island’ Opens its U.S. Tour in Nashville
A bustling stage and charged audience await the opening night of the National Broadway Tour for Once on This Island. Originally designed and performed “in the round”, the show accommodates that same intimacy by seating audience members within Dane Laffrey’s elaborate set design. The primary staging area is front and center, and there are several inlets on either side, as well as two elevated platforms that house the musicians. Though crude and colorful, the set easily morphs to whatever environment is required- for the beginning, the setting is a contemporary dwelling on an island in the French Antilles. Corrugated metal panels and stained fabrics adorn the different levels of the set pieces. Audience members are led onto the stage to take their places in the ambience as the cast members interact with one another. After an amusing bit featuring the phone of an “audience member” meant to deter the use of electronic devices during the show, the lights dim and the players begin.
Rosa Guy’s novel My Love, My Love: Or, the Peasant Girl, the source material from which this show was adapted, tells the story of a young girl named Ti Moune who falls in love with a man of a higher class than she as she nurses him back to health from an accident. Though the characters and circumstances differ from the novel to the musical, the general sentiment remains the same. Once on This Island features a beautiful and spirited young woman, seemingly protected by the Gods, who feels she is destined for a story larger than the one of her home. In a world rife with natural disaster and tragedy, director Michael Arden finds it important to
point out that “no place or person is immune to the power and wrath of the gods.” Thus, our heroine’s lovelorn end is both bittersweet and jubilant, celebrating the cyclic nature of life and the power of one ray of hope to survive even in the greatest darkness.
Courtnee Carter portrays Ti Moune with such earthen grace and enthusiasm, not to mention her powerful vocal range and ability. Even in her exposition, the agility of her voice in transferring from a belting chest voice to a tender and fragile timbre is striking. Ti Moune is both headstrong and devoted, and Carter navigates her character expertly in the way she sings and moves. MiMi Crossland melts hearts as Ti Moune’s younger self and real-life counterpart with a voice that soars confidently through the din of adult voices. Her on-stage quick change from the school-child uniform to the signature red dress of Ti Moune is exquisitely executed with the help of fantastic lighting and an ever-moving ensemble. No member of the cast is less than superb. Jahmaul Bakare, Kyle Ramar Freeman, Tamyra Gray, and Cassondra James shine as both storytellers and Gods: Bakare’s Agwe is mighty, Gray’s Pape Ge maliciously enthralling, and James’ Erzulie elegant and nurturing. Freeman captivates as Asaka, with demonstrative vocals that are nothing short of impressive. Philip Boykin’s deep and hearty voice warms the Tonton Julian, a complement to the caring and maternal Danielle Lee Greaves (Mama Euralie), and it proves difficult to not fall for Tyler Hardwick’s Daniel right along with Ti Moune. The ensemble bewitches as they seamlessly weave between being storytellers to set pieces to supporting roles.
Despite an incredible overall performance level, several moments of the show stand out in terms of general effect. The marriage of lighting and staging come together so harmoniously in the initial storm that one could forget the reality of being surrounded by four walls and a ceiling in a theater. Similarly, the car ride and consecutive car crash are electrifying to behold. When the ensemble forms the simulated car and Hardwick mimes the effect of a bumpy road, the cast members make believing the pantomime easy for the audience with skillful delivery and precise timing. The crash itself is jarring as Daniel is ejected from the vehicle amidst the thunder and rain. Another moment of note is the tale of the Beauxhommes via the shadow show behind the storytellers. The ability to emote and communicate through posture and movement alone is remarkable, and each cast member involved performs exceptionally.
Finally, possibly serving as the most important moment of the show is Ti Moune’s dance at the ball. Not only rich in color and imagery, the scene is solidified by the entrancing choreography that serves specifically to each character that joins the dance. Ti Moune’s radiance sparks inspiration in one dancer at a time, breaking barriers of class and skin color until finally reaching the puzzling Daniel. It is a moment full of love and irony, but this moment unfortunately also serves as the first whiff of Ti Moune’s heartbreaking downfall. By this point in the show, the costuming has transformed several times, from contemporary fashion to embellished civilian costuming of the Gods, and then to formal attire of centuries past. Integral and integrated, the costumes are indicative of each character’s attributes from one setting to another.
Unity is the primary theme of the musical, both in production and message. On the surface level, the plot revolves around the story of a young girl attempting to unite two different groups of people. However, beneath the surface, the plot also stresses the integration of the spiritual world with terrestrial events. Cassondra James’ flute interlude is an excellent example of this theme, as she, the God Erzulie, responds to the vocalists within the instrumental accompaniment of “Ti Moune.” Though subtle, this gesture is powerful in reinforcing the role of the Gods in Ti Moune’s journey. Even beyond this moment, the instrumentalists’ execution of Stephen Flaherty’s score is both supportive and evocative, with the use of unconventional sounds to represent the supernatural and a variety of musical styles intensifying the idea of a story weaving throughout time.
…an absolute masterclass in integration, with flawless storytelling enhanced by brilliant costuming and lighting.
Once on This Island is an absolute masterclass in integration, with flawless storytelling enhanced by brilliant costuming and lighting. Exhibiting an excellent cast and wonderful staging, the one act passes in a flash, reiterating the idea that stories and culture go hand in hand, and that the story being told is not only timeless, but perhaps even more important- timely.
This production of Once on This Island will continue in Nashville through October 20th. Tickets are available at TPAC.org For more information, visit onceonthisisland.com, or find the show on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.
Horror in Music City:
Frankenstein Comes to OZ
Looking for something a little spooky to get in the spirit of the Season? OZ is bringing Manual Cinema’s reboot of Frankenstein to town October 24th-26th.
“If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear!”
― Frankenstein.
Chicago’s renowned multimedia company Manual Cinema stitches together the classic story of Frankenstein with brilliant author Mary Shelley’s own biography to create a visually stunning theatrical epic about the beauty and horror of creation. Featuring a spellbinding chamber orchestra, Manual Cinema’s Frankenstein combines handmade shadow puppetry, cinematic techniques, and innovative sound and music to create immersive visual stories for stage and screen.
Celebrate Halloween at OZ Arts with a deal to die for! See Manual Cinema’s Frankenstein on Oct. 24 or 25 for only $20 when you bundle tickets with Fable Cry’s Festival of Ghouls (Nov. 2). Halloween Packages are $40.
More Info here
Nashville Opera’s Madama Butterfly
On October 10, Nashville Opera opened its 2019 season with a delightful production of Giacomo Puccini’s Madama Butterfly at the Andrew Jackson Hall in the Tennessee Performing Arts Center. The production, starring the Cuban American lyric soprano Elizabeth Caballero, was remarkable for the exquisite vocal performances as well as its heart-rending telling of Puccini’s tragic tale.
Completed in 1904, Madama Butterfly, like most of Puccini’s works, rests uncomfortably somewhere between the long evolution of Italian opera and an expression of the verismo movement of the time. First a movement in literature and then in opera, a verismo narrative is characterized by a naturalistic setting in which a poor or common character is driven to a catastrophic end by, as W.H. Auden once put it, “…an impersonal natural need outside his control.” These impersonal, natural needs are typically social constructs of religious and/or societal norms.
In Madama Butterfly, the expectations of marriage and family are the societal norms that drive Puccini’s exotic heroine, Cio-Cio San (aka Butterfly) to marry Lieutenant Pinkerton, and to wait for him when all others have given up hope for his return. It is Pinkerton’s undermining of these expectations that ultimately lead to her suicide. However, Cio-Cio San is not a common woman. Born wealthy, she is not forced to make immoral decisions due to these impersonal needs; rather, she is able to make markedly moral decisions despite those needs. A woman with an undying faith is a stereotype in Romantic opera, one thinks of Agathe (Der Freishcütz), Senta (Der Fliegende Holländer) or Desdemonda (Otello) and in this way she is almost a typical opera heroine set within a tragic verismo context.
Caballero, with her grace, charismatic presence, stamina and wondrous instrument, is cast perfectly as Butterfly. Indeed, she thrives in Puccini’s relentless setting. From her entrance aria early in the first act, where she is brought to the very top of the soprano range, until the very end, Caballero’s intensity and presence was remarkable. Her central aria, “Un bel dì vedremo,” was simply astonishing, her delicate voice’s gentle timbre clearly articulating Butterfly’s hopeless optimism.
Maestro Dean Williamson and the Nashville Opera Orchestra deserve mention here for their subtle handling of Puccini’s motivically organized opera. Apart from the “Un bel dì” motive, which is overtly reprised at Pinkerton’s return, Puccini’s motivic designs are less directly referential than his earlier works, with some creating more of a musical atmosphere and ambiance. Williamson handled this subtle design with great care, all the while maintaining the incredibly important balance in Puccini’s Orchestra—the heavy orchestral brass accompanying the “heroic” Pinkerton versus the lighter and more delicate presence of Butterfly.
For his part, Adam Diegel played a dashing Pinkerton, with a bright and polished tenor that made his naïve seduction of Butterfly quite believable. His and Cabllero’s voices blended with a surprisingly poignant intimacy at the end of the first act in their duet “Viene la sera.” Pam Lisenby’s costuming was simple but elegant–Pinkerton appears in the first act in a heroic white uniform but returns in a dreaded black uniform. The straight and square lines of his uniform contrasted powerfully with the flowing curves and colorful prints of Butterfly’s kimonos.
Sharpless, the American Consul, is one of the most innovative of Puccini’s narrative characters. This baritone part, a voice type traditionally reserved for the antagonist, here plays the role of a Greek chorus, warning Pinkerton (and the audience) of the approaching catastrophe and commenting on it afterwards. As Sharpless, on Thursday Lester Lynch seemed to have some difficulties in terms of power in the first act, but by the second his voice bloomed into a well-rounded sound that carried throughout TPAC’s very difficult hall. His acting was delightful, at times humorous and at others reprimanding.
If Sharpton communicated the wrongs in Pinkerton’s seduction, Suziki, played by the wonderful Cassandra Zoe Velasco, expressed the pain that it inflicted on Butterfly. At the end of the second act, her flower duet with Butterfly was delightful when their voices gently blended in a magical moment as cherry blossoms floated down from above.
Joel Sorensen, as the marriage broker Goro, was pretty darn funny, as was Brent Hetherington as Prince Yamadori (Hetherington doubled well as “The Bonze”). The blocking of the production was genius with Kate Pinkerton (Sara Krigger) innocently invading Butterfly’s space and privacy; an encroachment on Butterfly’s world that served as an immediate and symbolic expression of Western imperialism’s influence on the East.
In all Director John Hoomes has pulled off another success and it bodes quite well for a fun season of Nashville Opera, which will return in December with a production of Gian Carlo Menotti’s holiday opera Amahl and the Night Visitors.
Music City News:
The River as Song: Prolific American and Chinese Songwriters Take the Stage at Analog at Hutton
A concert that features multi-Grammy Award winning singer-songwriter Jim Lauderdale and multiple national music award-winner Su Yang, from China is going to take place at the Analog at Hutton Hotel at 8pm, October 24th. This is a collaboration between MTSU Center for Chinese Music (CCMC) and Culture and Center for Popular Music (CPM).
I interviewed Dr. Mei Han, director of the CCMC about the idea behind this unique concert. She said that the concert series is meant to connect individuals across cultures and create a space for creative exploration. This performance will be the first of its kind in the series, with a focus on writing music and lyrics in addition to playing music, featuring multi-Grammy Award winning singer-songwriter Jim Lauderdale and multiple national music award-winner Su Yang, from China.
The Dialogue series has brought Chinese and American instrumentalists together, matching instrumental cognates. Grammy award-winning harmonica virtuoso Howard Levy and American national hammer dulcimer champing David Mahler among other, were paired with top Chinese artists to perform a variety of concerts in Middle Tennessee. Beyond this, well-known names, such as Abigail Washburn, Grammy award-winning songwriter and acclaimed banjoist, lectured on bridging cultures through music as part of this series. It’s not just about connecting the cultures, but also connecting as individuals to one another using music as a vehicle.
If you missed any of these exceptional concerts, you’re in luck; the upcoming Dialogue performance will be taking place in at the Analog at Hutton Hotel at 8pm, October 24th. Titled “The River as Song,” this concert lends a special focus to the importance of both the Yellow and Mississippi Rivers and their influences on Chinese and American music, respectively. Indeed, the symbolic and literal importance of rivers runs deep in this performance.
For Su Yang, the folk music he encountered in his hometown in Northwestern China in the Upper Basin of the Yellow River provides inspiration for his songwriting. Where most Chinese musicians are trained in conservatories, Su Yang developed his musical talent and collected folk music near his hometown independently, so his writing is uniquely informed by sounds and music that have developed over generations in the area, which also happens to be the cradle of Chinese civilization. His song, “Like a Grass”, showcases how he blends folk music with rock and roll.
To Jim, the Mississippi River and especially Memphis have played an integral role in shaping his musical
influences. Jim cited influences like the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, George Jones, Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia, and certainly without Memphis, there is no rock and roll. Jim referred to Memphis as the cradle of a lot of great American and world music. Check out his work on “The Road is a River” to see how the symbolism of rivers figures into his writing.
Jim said, “There must be something in the water.”
So there you have it—music from the cradle of Chinese civilization, and music from the cradle of great American music, coming together for a performance in Nashville.
Both artists are looking forward to collaborating on this project, and hope for the performance to be exactly what the series aims to be – a dialogue. As for Jim, he enjoys listening in addition to performing, and anticipates the collaboration itself as being his favorite part of the program. Su Yang also expressed that he wants to expand his artistic space through listening and observation, travel, and collaborating with different artists.
The event is free, but reservations are advised.*
*The event is 21+, and doors open at 7pm.
Gateway Chamber Orchestra Presents
Ultra-Romanticism at the Franklin Theater
Deceptively spacious and nestled between two storefronts on the aesthetic and quaint Main Street of historic Franklin Tennessee, the Franklin Theater welcomes a vast array of events from musical theater performances to the traditional film screening. Warm, regal golds and reds decorate the interior, accentuating the intimacy of the venue to accommodate the crowd that anxiously awaits the Gateway Chamber Orchestra. People chatter excitedly in anticipation, and this specific audience is full of groups of people who are already familiar with one another, making the room feel even more responsive and pleasant.
The program for the evening of September 30th boasts an ultra-romantic offering of Gabriel Fauré, Carl Reinecke, and Franz Schubert, with the headline of “Artistry of Lorna McGhee,” highlighting the featured soloist (a series given by the organization that draws from masterful musicians across the country). With musicians hailing from the Austin Peay State University faculty to the Nashville Symphony, the orchestra itself carries so much influence and notoriety that even discounting McGhee, the audience is promised a high-caliber musical experience. President and conductor Gregory Wolynec takes the podium in preparation for the performance, but before the orchestra begins, he seizes the opportunity to introduce the pieces on the first half of the concert so that the audience has a framework for which to follow the program.
Gabriel Fauré’s Pelléas et Mélisande, a suite of incidental music based on the play by Maurice Maeterlinck of the same name, follows the titular characters through their turbulent love to their untimely demise. The central theme of the play revolves around the cyclic nature of creation and destruction for the sake of love- the beautiful Mélisande marries the galant Goloud in response to his acts of chivalry but soon after falls in love with his younger brother, Pelléas, which ultimately leads the pair to their deaths. Though Fauré hesitated to sacrifice his musical content and integrity for the sake of conforming to an external narrative (he was an absolutist in the argument that pervaded the 19th century about the purpose of music), his score sets the atmosphere for the play, even slightly utilizing the leitmotif technique, without depicting every change of character and mood.
Opening with a lilting melody beautifully executed by the violins, the first movement occurs at a spring where Mélisande has lost her crown in the water. She despairs, having left a life of turmoil and wanting no remnant of her former existence. This peaceful setting grows through an ever-ascending melody, warm sounds emitting from the strings and woodwinds, before two disruptive hunting calls in the horn, marking the arrival of Goloud. Resonant and strident, the horn calls between the rich chorales in the strings is a lovely dichotomy. La Fileuse, the title of the second movement literally translating to The Spinner, functions as an orchestral rendering of a spinning song. While the first violins spin away their expertly even sixteenth-note triplets, an interplay of double reed declarations forms the initial melody. Principal oboe Roger Wiesmeyer adeptly establishes a precedent of flowing lyricism and lush tone for all who follow to emulate. Undoubtedly the most renowned movement from this suite, though the last movement to be added, the Sicilienne not only uses prior unpublished material of Fauré’s, but has also since been adapted into works for solo cello and piano (variations include solo transcriptions for other instruments as well). Lisa Wolynec shines on flute, her sound delicate and lovely. An omission from this performance is La Chanson de Mélisande, which provides some motivic material utilized in the fourth movement, the depiction of Mélisande’s and Pelléas’ deaths. Juxtaposed over expansive phrases in the strings are marked dotted rhythms in the woodwinds that enforce the idea of a dirge. Having played much more of a background role to this point, the trumpets have a stark moment of color, Rob Waugh and Alec Blazek striking the perfect balance within the ensemble. The ending of the piece is muted and quick, portraying the fall of the hero and heroine with little fanfare and much lament.
When Lorna McGhee takes the stage, the audience falls into a trance. The sound that emanates from such a small vessel is breathtaking. McGhee fills the entire theater, commanding both the audience and the orchestra. She is literally moved by the music, and all her movement is tied directly to the musical content as she interacts with the orchestra. Her technique serves as an extension of her voice and body, working hand in hand with her musicality, and she allows every level of her dynamic playing a
character and color to which she naturally associates. A staple in the flautist repertoire, Carl Reinecke’s three movement concerto exhibits much gorgeous melodic material over diverse styles and opulent harmonies. The primary theme of the first movement is a soaring gesture that winds its way through the full ensemble as the soloist remarks on these statements with conversational virtuosity. McGhee interacts flawlessly within these pairings. One of note is a duet where the violin outlines the melodic structure while solo flute fills out that skeleton with arpeggiation- Concertmaster Emily Hanna Crane and McGhee perform this so tastefully. In contrast to the sweeping Romantic ideas in the first movement, the initial theme of the second is more akin to a funeral march. This movement alternates between this metric lamentation and a more hopeful and rubato response until a final return to the first statement and a final note so clear and shimmering that one could feel the audience hold their breath. Fluid cascades of notes and virtuosic passages fill the third movement, which McGhee breezes through with ease to the concluding triumphant cadence.
Schubert’s fourth symphony closes the program. The subtitle “Tragic” was attached to the piece by Schubert himself sometime after his completion of the work (he finished this composition at the ripe age of 19 years old). Though the opening statement occurs in a minor key, the majority of the following themes and developmental sections center in major. Why he would choose the word tragic to define this work that is seemingly the opposite is unknown to this day, though some scholars speculate that he may have been trying to garner publicity for the premiere. Schubert takes influence from Beethoven for the construction of this symphony, utilizing specific thematic material in the first movement (as well as the development of this material between the first two movements) and certain compositional devices that can be found in Beethoven’s string quartets. Heavily featured in this symphony is the woodwind section with beautiful exposed contributions from bassoonist Dawn Hartley and oboist Wiesmeyer. The third movement is a boisterous romp with shifting metrical impulses and huge dynamic changes that prepares the momentum into the yearning first theme of the fourth movement. A true finale, the Allegro boasts an impressive number of notes that are carried skillfully by the entirety of the orchestra, providing an apt denouement for a concert that relies so massively on individual artistry and musicianship. Full of rich sonority and lyrical phrasing, this performance of the Gateway Chamber Orchestra uses Romance and distinct virtuosity to bestow a beautiful production upon its audience that fully showcases the brilliant Lorna McGhee.
In Contemporary Reviews:
An Evening of Renewal with Intersection
Sustainability and environmental awareness were central themes when Intersection partnered with the Portara Ensemble this past Saturday evening at Lipscomb’s new Shinn Event Center for a concert billed as “Renewal”. It is only fitting that a concert addressing awareness of 21st century problems do so through the vehicle of 21st century music – and the program reflected this with a slate of works all written within roughly the last decade.
For those familiar with Intersection’s mission and programming, a concert exclusively featuring the works of living composers is no surprise. Likewise, the promotion of new work is a core component of the Portara Ensemble’s artistic goals. Still, as a prodigal son of the Nashville community (I returned in 2014 after 15 years away), I am continually excited by this embrace of new music by some of our city’s finest musicians. Promotion of contemporary composers in chamber contexts is just as important as the Symphony’s commitment to new music, and it affords musicians and audiences a chance to discover new and challenging art in an intimate and welcoming environment. It is a great time to be a new music fan in Nashville.
It is a great time to be a new music fan in Nashville.
Saturday’s program was bookended by the Portara ensemble performing two a cappella selections, Greg Jasperse’s Oh How Beautiful, This Finley Woven Earth, and Earth
Song by Frank Ticheli. Both works were squarely in the ensemble’s collective wheelhouse and served respectively as an invitation and fitting conclusion to the evening. Jasperse’s setting is colored with tight jazz inspired voicings, and the intonation required to bring out these contrasts was spot on. For both selections the text was displayed for the audience, but given the ensemble’s attention to diction and sensitive phrasing, I understood nearly every word without the projections.
The Portara Ensemble was joined by the musicians of Intersection for the evening’s second work – Mass for the Endangered by Sarah Kirkland Snider. The composer describes the work as a “. . . hymn for the voiceless and the discounted, a requiem for the not-yet-gone.” The mass
makes use of original text by Nathaniel Bellows alongside the traditional Latin liturgical text of the ordinary and according to the composer “embodies a prayer for endangered animals and the environments in which they live.” Conductor Kelly Corcoran was careful to balance the timbral distinction of the orchestration with the vocal lines, allowing the subtle colors and textures to emerge without overshadowing the singers. The dynamic strength of the entire ensemble was reserved for the work’s true tutti statements, allowing these sections to function as musical arrivals giving the work a sense of pace. Snider’s work often features timbral exchanges between the choral and instrumental voices, requiring meticulous intonation throughout a wide dynamic range. These were handled nearly seamlessly, which even under ideal circumstances is difficult, but in a fairly dry acoustical environment this was doubly impressive. I was particularly enamored with the conclusion of the Kyrie, which featured a long sustain in the female voices that slowly faded to niente accompanied by a reverent, sparsely pulsing statement in the strings. This aesthetic gesture was revisited in a slightly different fashion to end the Agnus Dei, giving the work a sense of closure. These kinds of tapered and delicate endings can be deceptively difficult, but in both instances the ensemble was committed and convincing.
Snider’s mass was followed by Re(new)al a concerto for Percussion Quartet by Viet Cuong featuring Jonny Allen, Ji Hye Jung, Terry Sweeney, and Lee Vinson. The composer spoke briefly before the performance to place the work in context and explain some of his musical motivations. In keeping with the theme of the evening, Re(new)al draws its inspiration from renewable energy sources. The work is presented in three movements, each representing a different renewable energy source – Hydro, Wind, and Solar. The composer explained that the instrumentation for each movement was inspired by these three types of energy sources, and that the solo percussion parts are meant to function as a whole, with one musical idea often broken into its constituent elements and distributed among the players – a kind of contemporary take on the medieval hocket.
Cuong’s conception of water-inspired instrumentation was represented quite literally, as the percussionists began the first movement by “toasting” water filled goblets to create a sort of cooperative crystalline chime. These kinds of non-conventional instruments can often be difficult to play accurately, but the performers were equal to the task. When the ensemble began to add its voices to the soloists, the rich decay of the goblets was augmented initially by the strings and piano with a specific awareness on articulation and decay, matching the characteristics of the percussion section.
The second movement began attacca as the percussionists surrounded a single snare drum to collectively create a driving rhythmic theme incorporating kick drums and high hats for each soloist. The ensemble responded with a solid groove heavily featuring the bari sax in a kind Tower-of-Power-esque lick. The percussion soloists eventually transitioned from the meta drum kit to compressed air canisters (wind), which were sonically rewarding especially when paired with a bombastic initial statement. But, the irony of one-time-use canisters as instruments in a piece focusing on renewable energy and ecological awareness presented a bit of a disparity.
Cuong’s third movement displaying the concept of solar power through metallic percussion required the most visual representation of cooperation from the soloists as they shared a vibraphone and glockenspiel. The tone colors were imaginative, including a submerged crotale that established a glissando theme adopted by the strings and revisited by the trombone during the climax of the work. The simple choreography created by the sharing of instruments and the intricate, cooperative motions required by the soloists to realize their parts was hypnotic. This delicate teamwork, coupled with the Messiaen meets Radiohead post-minimalist aesthetic provided by the shimmering pitched percussion and slowly moving string accompaniment, held the audience spellbound. As a bit of an orchestration junkie, this was my favorite musical moment of the evening.
The Portara Ensemble concluded the concert with Ticheli’s Earth Song. As with the Jasperse selection that began the night, the ensemble performed with a warm blend and delicate phrasing. Given Snider’s mass setting performed earlier in the program, the Ticheli acted almost as a benediction, with the choir softly repeating “peace” to end the evening.
Intersection will return in January with a concert entitled ‘Journey’ when they “…will explore the connections between the 19th Amendment and the Civil Rights Movement through the music and story of Florence Price and excerpts from Nkeiru Okoye’s Opera Harriet Tubman: When I Crossed That Line to Freedom.”
Nashville Opera Presents:
Madame Butterfly
Giacomo Puccini is often considered one of the greatest Italian opera composers of all time. Madame Butterfly, in addition to La bohème and Tosca, has become one of Puccini’s most performed works and is beloved by opera first-timers and connoisseurs alike. Composed in 1904, Butterfly underwent five variations of the original composition to arrive at the standard version that is performed today. Nashville Opera’s production of Madame Butterfly is a moving and talent-filled performance. Of course, it wouldn’t be an opera without drama, deceit, and heartbreak.
The opera takes place in Nagasaki, Japan and opens on the day of fifteen-year-old Butterfly (Cio-Cio-san)’s wedding to American Lieutenant B. F. Pinkerton. Unbeknownst to Butterfly, Pinkerton’s intentions of their marriage are not of love, but status. Sharpless, the American consul, advises him to consider the consequences of breaking Cio-Cio San’s heart. Instead, Pinkerton boasts that he can cancel his marriage at any time and he looks forward to the day when he can marry a “real” American bride. The geishas arrive with Cio-Cio-San and the wedding proceeds with her family, friends, and servant Suzuki in attendance. The celebration is cut short when Butterfly’s uncle arrives and announces to everyone that Butterfly has secretly converted to Christianity for her new husband. The wedding party is horrified at this accusation, and denounces Butterfly, leaving her crying with Pinkerton alone to console her.
Act II and III take place three years after the wedding day, when Cio-Cio-San is waiting for her husband to return from America.
She dismisses Suzuki’s prayers for her and even turns down the wealthy Prince Yamadori as a suitor, convinced that Pinkerton will come back for her. When Sharpless tries to read Butterfly a letter from Pinkerton, she introduces Sharpless to the son that she had by Pinkerton three years ago. After Sharpless leaves, a ship is heard in the harbor: Pinkerton is coming back, but with no intention of seeing Butterly. She and Suzuki decorate the house with flowers. Together with the child, they gaze over the harbor and the famous “Humming Chorus” is heard as the sun sets.
As dawn breaks and Act III begins, Butterfly is unaware that these will be the last hopeful moments of the opera. Ultimately, Cio-Cio-san is faced with the symbolic decision between living in her grief or dying with honor. In addition to Puccini’s striking score, the elaborate set, lighting, and traditional costuming together in Nashville Opera’s production to transport the audience into the tragic world of Cio-Cio-san and her unrequited love. This cast of characters beautifully executes John Hoomes’s stellar artistic direction.
Elizabeth Caballero plays the demanding role of Cio-Cio-san. Her soaring soprano voice is captivating and strong, leaving the listeners drawn to Butterfly’s deep devotion and heartfelt melodic lines. Her brilliant presentation of this character is the heart of the show, and will leave the audience moved and invested in Cio-Cio-San’s world until the curtain closes. Adam Diegal plays B.F. Pinkerton. His commanding stage presence and powerful voice creates the undeniable chemistry that makes Madame Butterfly such a compelling opera. His convincing Pinkerton leaves the audience heartbroken for the young Cio-Cio-san.
The production itself does not take away from the most iconic aspect of this show, Puccini’s music that will be conducted by Dean Williamson. Madame Butterfly is a well-rounded and timeless production that will satisfy more experienced attendees and be a perfect introduction to first-time opera-goers.
Nashville Opera’s production of Madame Butterfly will play at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center’s Andrew Jackson Hall, October 10th and 12th. English subtitles will be projected during the show.
