Rare Opera Club, vol. 12 - Georges Aperghis' Luna Park

I first heard the music of Greek (living and working mostly in France) composer Georges Aperghis at the Soundscape new music festival in 2015. I got hooked. I programmed some of his music with Forest Collective in 2016 and have followed his activities since.

He sits in this fantastic place of contemporary music, working a lot in theatre works (in what is often called Music Theatre, not to be confused with Musical Theatre…) , with both acoustic and electronic instruments in a sound world that has always struck me as being sophisticated and well crafted, but also sensuous, dramatic, theatrical and at times almost camp. There are moments of nonsense, sections that need a twinkle in their eye and a sense of theatre and fun.

This work, however, is very much a serious endeavour. It explores security and surveillance, through the performance by 4 people, two playing bass and contra-bass flutes and two actors. What I loved about this work is it walks the line between abstract interpretation of surveillance (and how that could be interpreted and reshaped by 4 performers on stage, with the various video, audio and lighting supports to enhance the performance) and literal ideas of surveillance. It isn’t just a story or set of images unfolding in front of you, or a series of morals into the issues or advantages of surveillance of society. It covers a wide range of feelings and emotional high points, sometimes silly, sometimes banal and dull, sometimes anxious and fearful. It was a fascinating work in that respect as it had a highly sophisticated emotional integration. Sections flowed by with ease, and my eye and ear took in a wild ride of different emotional high points. The issues I took with the experience were more cosmetic. Couldn’t there be some slight suggestion of the experience we are having. What I mean is, the experience came across more like a concert then a piece of theatre. The structure of the set and presentation of the performers (that is costume, engagement with audience etc) made it quite static. The video provided intrigue, and depth to the emotional pull of the music, but the presentation was very much caught in a traditional theatrical experience, which was a shame considering the variety and originality of the content. In our opera club meeting we spoke about it potentially having dance as an element, or being part of an installation or heightening the performance experience slightly with costuming and a more heightened audience experience. This made me think about New Music, and how it can be almost too reverential, cold and austere, or as is the case with this performance, self deprecating and casual. Say what you will about traditional opera, or should I said mainstream opera (or theatre) but you always know that you are in a space dedicated to providing you with an emotional (and intellectual) experience. In my work I aim to create a sense of wonder, delight and drama, while also, hopefully, being thought provoking and philosophical. I had high hopes for this piece, due to my love of the cheeky and capricious music of Aperghis. I’m not saying this work didn’t enthral me, it certainly did, but the presentation of it could have been more heightened to remind me I’m in a theatre, witnessing something with variety, depth, humour, emotion and politics.

There is a great interview with GA, as well as the link to the full video of the performance available here.

A composer a week: Elisabeth Lutyens

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Elisabeth Lutyens has held an important place in my musical heart since I was quite young. I first heard about her in an interview with the composer Alison Bauld on Andrew Ford’s The Music Show. Alison talked about her time studying with Lutyens, and I think they played a piece of hers. I think they also mentioned that Elisabeth had worked with Dylan Thomas, who I was obsessed with in high school. I sought out some of Elisabeth’s music - a tricky thing to do with very few recordings around of it and not a lot of acknowledgment of her in musicological writing of the time.

She had an amazing career across a number of musical areas, putting her tense, extreme style to some very well done horror movie scores.

I tracked down this interview with her with the BBC in 1970, speaking some great truths about the discussion around female composers and the choice we’ve made to be a composer, and entitlement that can follow an artist.

As I mentioned, her work is a little hard to find, especially in Australia. I doubt many of her works have been performed here. She also seems to get a bad wrap because of her introduction of the 12 tone method to the UK and the sour reaction people have to this music.

Works of Elisabeth’s I would recommend would be the 2nd Chamber Horn Concerto & Quincunx.

Rare Opera Club, vol. 11 - 7 Deaths of Maria Callas by Marko Nikodijević & devised and directed by Marina Abramović

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This was an interesting operatic experience. I call it that, because the work wasn’t an opera, in the traditional sense. It was very much a piece of performative live art, Marina Abramovic’s milieu. I would recommend opera loves and lovers of Maria Callas to experience the work, but not to expect an operatic journey in the traditional sense. On it’s surface it seems straightforward, and rather simple - a series of arias from roles made famous by Maria Callas, sung by a series of excellent female singers, with a physical personification of Maria, played by Abramovic, lying in a bed for the entirety of their performances. Then the scene transitions to a sequence with an entirely new orchestra work by Marko Nikodijevic (who I posted in a previous blog post) where we see a mundane and sad image of Maria Callas'’ life at the end of her existence, in isolation and seclusion from the outside world. The story of the end of her life, the way she battled with the end of her singing career and the treatment of her by Onassis is devastatingly sad. It would be worth reading a bit about this before you experience the show.

Like many of Abramovic’s work it’s easy to say “I could do that” or “that seems easy,” or “it doesn’t make sense” or “why would you bother to do that!?” That’s the reason why I like her work. Like Robert Wilson, who I adore, you need to let the work absorb into you, take a journey with it and really think about the world and life you live and how this art can effect and inform you. Simple actions and moments presented to you comment on larger social forces. Simple symbols and ideas have huge philosophical concepts behind them, and it takes time, for me any way, to really absorb the ideas and the work. It’s not going sink into you after a few minuets of experiencing the work.

The extravagance of having a full opera company, orchestra and other resources at their disposal in this project, like film, boogie costumes from Burberry etc does tinge this work with a very decadent, entitled position. In our Rare Opera Club chat this came up a lot - perhaps a younger artist would do something more innovative? Perhaps the two half’s of the work could be more integrated? Perhaps this, perhaps that. It’s so easy to judge big established artists and say they have sold out, or lost touch and that they should always be creating masterpieces and finished worked of genius. I’ve been reading a lot of the work of Philip Ewell who touches on the idea that genius and masterpiece are not only gendered terms, and so we need to step with caution when using them and try and rethink this expression, but also that these words and the language systems they embrace comes from a long tradition of privilege, misogamy and racism. So with this in mind, my initial reaction to the piece, which was about the integration of the different aspects of the work seemed to fade. Abramovic is not interested in this, its time and immaterially of the performance that is key and so we need to allow a ourselves to go on a journey with the piece and to embrace the abstraction of the experience. If I was ever provided such a large canvas that she has for this work, I would absolutely embrace it. Wouldn’t you? The extravagance of telling a small and simple aspect of Maria Callas’ life through such a huge canvas might seem over the top and decadent, but Callas was decadent, volatile and a consummate artist dedicated to a higher expression and representation of herself.

Artists, great or small need to be given big and risky canvases, and they should be allowed the opportunity to take risks and to fail. What I find so wonderful about this work is it might not “succeed” (again, what does that word mean to us now, and how does is play into old stereotypes of art and hyraces at play in art?) in the traditional sense, but it is allowing visionary artists to create opera. An artist this isn’t know to create opera. Opera needs this most of all. It is so stuffy and backward, we need more and unorthodox visions from artists who haven’t been engaged with opera in the past, and we should do the upmost to see this vision be achieved, even if it fails.

...I do things that I am afraid of…failure is important because if you experiment you fail. If you don’t go into that area you repeat yourself over and over
— Marina Abramovic

If you are to engage with this work, I think you need to know a little about the sad life Maria Callas led after her career ended. I think you also need to have an idea of the misogamy that has existed in opera and how women characters are allowed only certain pathways through opera - death, lust, love or devotion to god or a man.

Who can make opera and why do they create opera?

For another piece by Marko Nikodijevic I’ve been getting into Gesualdo dub / room with erased figure (recording above).

A composer a week: Thea Musgrave

I’ve always loved Thea Musgrave’s music. I discovered her music through her fantastic Horn Concerto, written for the late amazing Barry Tuckwell. I heard it probably in the late 90s, on Andrew Ford’s stalwart, The Music Show.

Her idea of “dramatic abstract” has been really influential on my work, and her exploration of the individual against the crowd, in her operas and concertos, has been really influential on my work. One example I’ve explored and been kind of obsessed with is the amazing moment in the Horn Concerto where the 8 Horn players of the orchestra go around the auditorium and the room is enveloped in the sound of the horn. It’s a really cool moment!

My suggested listening - Horn Concerto & Clarinet Concerto.

Rare Opera Club, vol. 10 - Leos Janacek's Junfa & Philip Glass' Satygraha

I know what you’re thinking, and I agree - strange be fellows indeed!

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Two works that intrigued me and caught me, but for very different reasons. Jenufa was an incredibly human experience, showing the great passions and emotions that can effect real life. Satygraha showed me monumental blocks of sound, big brush strokes and epic depiction. Neither description could be used for the other. The Philip Glass work, like many of his other stage works, wasn’t really a narrative work, but a series of tableaux’s exploring the idea of something or someone. There are occasional moments of direct interaction, with character or audience, but on the whole I feel that I’m witnessing an image with an incredibly elaborate musical accompaniment, Jenufa on the other hand gives me deep emotions, richness of intention and a yearning for characters to burst free for the day-to-day, to live and to breath in a free world.

You almost can’t get two more different composers; the master of Czech music and text setting and the almost enfant-terrible of 1970s NYC. Text to Janacek is paramount. Before watching Jenufa I didn’t know much of his music - the string quartet Razumovsky, Sinfonietta and some of the songs - but I did know that many colleagues of mine praised his music highly and if often mentioned to composers due to his text setting. I can’t speak or understand Czech, but you could hear the clarity in the crystalline, easy vocal lines of the piece. He creates beautiful and complex orchestral accompaniments that, like Strauss in a way, don’t get in the way of the singer, but enhances their line which is often almost counter to the music flowing from the orchestra. The lines sore in beautiful melody or are clear and direct in declamation, but never once did you feel the flow of the music stop of recitative. The flow and realness of the music was amazing - by that I mean the music didn’t feel contrived or to obvious. The command of the text setting was so superior it flowed with ease.

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PG talking to kids about his music

Philip Glass is a composer I know very well. You can’t miss him. He’s style is almost pasé it’s so over done. I do think his music can be remarkable, and I am especially fond of Akhenaten and Einstein on the Beach. Those works form a trilogy with Satyagraha. However, I find the other two more successful pieces, due to the opposite reasons that Jenufa is successful, that is the way text is set and communicated to the audience. In Einstein the text that is sung are numbers, simple vowel sounds and shapes and oohs and ahhs. In Akhenaten the text comes from texts thought to be from the ancient Egyptian period and are sung in languages of those times - Hebrew, Akkadian and for the Hymn to the Sun, the language of the audience it it being shown. These works have a monumentality to them and the grand, slow and never changing pulse of Glass’ music suits these tableaux’s of energy (Einstein) and solemnity (Akhenaten). However, the character and life of Ghandi is what is behind the grandiose and mega music of Satyagraha, and it doesn’t have the same resonance as the other two works. There are references to ancient Indian texts and of course Glass has a firm understand of Indian musical ideas from his time with Ravi Shankar, but it doesn’t seem to jell like it does in the other two works. Einstein is just so odd and unexpected that it works for me, especially when you add the genius of Robert Wilson to it, who was such a driving force for the production. Akhenaten is so mysterious and solemn that if you get the tone right, which I think Glass does, you can basically get away with anything. Satyagraha on the other hand is missing something. It either needs to be more biopic or less, and personally I wanted more. It was written in between Einstein and Akhenaten, and I think the sort of grand tableaux meets grand processional music works well and is given some amazing experimental flair in Einstein, mostly because of what Robert Wilson does on stage and the craft of the slow progression, development and un winding of the music. These elements are fused into a more narrative driven work in Satyagraha. I don’t think they are as successful but and interesting experiments that form the ground work for success in Akhenaten. I enjoyed the music for Sat., but its not dramatically satisfying for me.

For anyone interested in some extra listening, listen to Glass’ first Violin Concerto, I think his best work.

the point of writing music and experiencing music isn’t to make people comfortable necessarily
— Phllip Glass

A composer a week: Marko Nikodijević talking about his opera about Claude Vivier

“Strange, beautiful, excessive. Those are the words that come to my mind when thinking about Vivier. (...) Stopped and inverted decays, frozen resonances, delays and echoes, processes recalling granular synthesis, all there to simulate an ever-changing room-size and spatial form, inter-cut with dance-club episodes.“

I have written about Vivier’s opera, Kopernikus here, feel free to have a read.

A composer a week: Elisabeth Lutyens

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Elisabeth Lutyens has held an important place in my musical heart since I was quite young. I first heard about her in an interview with the composer Alison Bauld on Andrew Ford’s The Music Show. Alison talked about her time studying with Lutyens, and I think they played a piece of hers. I think they also mentioned that Elisabeth had worked with Dylan Thomas, who I was obsessed with in high school. I sought out some of Elisabeth’s music - a tricky thing to do with very few recordings around of it and not a lot of acknowledgment of her in musicological writing of the time.

She had an amazing career across a number of musical areas, putting her tense, extreme style to some very well done horror movie scores.

I tracked down this interview with her on the BBC in 1970, speaking some great truths about the discussion around female composers, the choice we’ve made to be a composer, and entitlement that can follow an artist.

As I mentioned, her work is a little hard to find, especially in Australia. I doubt many of her works have been performed here. She also seems to get a bad wrap because of her introduction of the 12 tone method to the UK and the sour reaction people have to this music.

Works of Elisabeth’s I would recommend would be the 2nd Chamber Horn Concerto & Quincunx.

Rare Opera Club, vol.9 - Michael Tippett's The Midsummer Marriage

I’ve mentioned before about the little book of “Great Composers” I had as a kid. I’m still amazed at how much of my basic knowledge has come from this book.

All I knew of Michael Tippett, the important mid-century english composer, up until watching The Midsummer Marriage, was the main work listed in the book and the one that he’s most known for A Child of Our Time. The book also told me he was the sort of “second” to Benjamin Britten. This sort of lumping of composers together into schools or movements always intrigued and irritated me - Debussy and Ravel; Berg, Webern and Schoenberg; Adams, Reich and Glass etc. It gave me a chance to discover varying techniques and approaches, but as we know to compare so many of these composers almost misses the point and distracts us from looking at a composer in their own light. I’ve always been a big Ravel nut, but its often Debussy who get the limelight. I think there is clearly a similar comparison to Tippett and Britten, and so it’s been a real treat to dive into Tippetts work.

I have always loved Britten. To have such wonderful works to reference when working on setting english text are invaluable. Because of his success it’s easy to find varying interpretations and performances of his pieces, and he’s entered the operative cannon and vernacular of the english speaking world. His influence can be seen as far flung as Jeff Buckley to Thomas Ades. But my love for Britten’s music hasn’t always translated into my knowledge of him as person. In interviews he seems distant and reluctant to engage, some of the accounts of his behaviour with young boys, prior to meeting Peter Pears, sounds a little dodgy and the tiff with W. H. Auden, and what it’s over strikes me as little lame. If you don’t know it, it’s worth looking into. However, exploring interviews and reading some of Michael Tippett’s writings I am excited by his enthusiasm, passion and bravery for speaking out about social issues.

What I loved in Tippett’s music for The Midsummer Marriage is the energy and vibrancy it seems to have. Strikingly different to Britten. It got me thinking about something that I obsessed with while I was studying my undergraduate - the third way. 20th century music is often lumped (much like my discussion above) into two or three camps - neo-classical, neo-romantic and atonality. Upon my study there seemed to be a “third way” that didn’t really get going, or has perhaps only just got going. Composers I had gravity toward didn’t seem to fit in the above. Names like Respigi, Delius, Henze, Messiaen (sort of), Poulenc (sort of) and then more contemporary composers like Saariaho, Rhim and Lachermann. These names can sort of be added to one camp, but not really wholeheartedly. And I really love this about their music and I feel that sort of element in Tippett. A desire to chisel out their own space. It’s especially thrilling to think of Tippett against the back drop of other english composers, Vaughn Williams and Elgar being the main names. There is a freshness and originality there that I wish we could hear more often.

Finally, I found this video of MT talking about art, music and the act of creation. I don’t think I’ve heard someone encapsulate the practice of how and what being a composer is.

I am quite certain in my heart of hears that modern music and modern art is not a conspiracy, but is a form of truth and integrity for those who practice it honestly, decently and with all their being.
— Michael Tippett
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The Artistic Tyrant & Rare Opera Club, Vol. 8: Chaya Czernowin's Infinite Now

The meeting of the sort-of-weekly rare opera club has been such a great way to get through the pandemic. We have watched a wide variety of works, many I wouldn’t normally engage with. And the discussions that arise from them are fascinating. I want to acknowledge some of these excellent people I’ve been sharing ideas with in the group - composer Kym Dillon, flutist Kim Tan, pianist Dean Skye Lucas, singer Heather Fletcher, singer Daniel Todd, director Daniel Sinfield and singer and performance coach Cailin Howarth.

One recent discussion was from viewing Chaya Czernowin’s Infinite Now. This is a remarkable piece of theatre. The discussion we had with this piece touched on how many modern “operas” are really difficult to categories. The term opera doesn’t really fit with many pieces, and this one. The whole experience is extraordinary and I would recommend you engage with the piece. I would love to experience it in person. The video did not give it justice, especially from an aural perspective. There is an incredible patchwork of sound going on, and I felt that I needed a better acoustic to experience the stunning complexity. I would also recommend this lecture from Chaya about the piece.

I’m not going to do my usual exploration of the composer and the piece for this blog post. I still feel this work is settling in me, and I haven’t gotten to the core of my response to it.

However, I do want to talk about one ideas that was raised in our club meeting - that of the artistic tyrant. In the video below, I was really pleased to witness the collaborative nature of Chaya and the work with other artists involved in the project. It sparked a discussion around the joy in the room one could feel toward the piece and the collaboration. It opened and enlighten some thoughts I have been having recently around collaboration and cooperation in artistic work, which is probably the thing I miss most of all about working from home and having no live performances to experience at the moment.

While I was completing my masters in conducting, we would often talk about how the age of the tyrant was over. Art organisations have been corporatised, and with that came more power to the musicians, the representation to management and the presents of unions. The famous stories of the great artistic tyrants of the past, Gustav Mahler being a well known one, can no longer happen. Organisations no longer allow the bullying behaviour that was accepted, only until relatively recently. Sometimes you get people talking about how this may mean that we wont have genius’ again, but it’s interesting to unpack that parallel. Does a “genius” artist have to be this sort of Beethovenian torched artists, fighting for their vision? I think in the age of post-modernism there isn’t a place for that, and now days people just won’t put up with pretentious, dictatorial visions.

I feel we learn and are encouraged to collaborate and negotiate more as artists, especially as musical performing artists dealing with big groups of experienced individuals. I had an experience while completing my masters where an experienced conductor of youth orchestras completely grilled me while I was on the podium in front of an orchestra, completely belittling me of any respect that the group of my peers had for me. I had and have respect for this person and their work, but I had always questioned their work manner - yelling at people in rehearsals, lack of reasoning or negotiation in their teaching method and a very unapproachable manner if you weren’t a favourite. I learnt a lot from this person in my undergraduate, both about music but also how not to run a rehearsal. But, this run in during my masters really winded me. It lead me down a path to questioning my ability to conduct work from the cannon (it was Beethoven’s Eroica that we were doing in the masterclass). In the long run this has lead me to a very fruitful path in contemporary music (most likely because I find it a much more collaborative and welcoming environment, and I just like the music more). But it’s a shame to think that all the potential I had for focusing more on the cannon went with a few disparaging remarks, made with little tact and no sense of care as a teacher. I am made of pretty tough stuff and it certainly didn’t disparage me from my path as a musician, but as I said it did effect my approach to conducting works from the cannon. It did also have some positive outcomes - it challenged me to go out and try and better my lack of knowledge for those areas of music, and it galvanised me to get better. But to this day I often think about what if this person encourage and taught me, rather then ridiculed me for my opinion? The opinion I had at the time was wrong and didn’t have correct musical judgement behind it, but instead of guiding me to a different opinion or suggesting other options it was insinuated that I hadn’t received the right sort of education. It was a glimpse into a very old fashioned value system, peppered with snobbery, status and power.

I hope to think that we have a more collaborative understanding about how to learn and how to work with people and that no one experiences what I did. It taught me a lot, but at the expense of a lot of my confidence. It also showed me about how a lot of the classical music world operates, or used to operate and how that effects structures and systems still in place in the community now. Again I feel that contemporary music is inherently more open, optimistic and pluralistic and is a huge draw card to me and the way I want to work, rather than trying to dismantle and work against the artistic tyrant legacy.

Rare opera club, vol. 7: Peter Eötvös' Angels in America

What a poignant time to watch this work. I have known about the amazing Tony Kushner play, Angels in America for a long time and have loved it’s amazing ability to marry real life characters (if you don’t know about Roy Cohn, have a read it’s fascinating), this magical bizarre dream world, realism, religion and poetry into an epic celebration of the power of humanity and the growing liberation of queer people as members of the human race.

Stepping into watching the operatic version of the play, I had some apprehension in case it was a similar experience to Alice In Wonderland, where my expectation of the work and knowledge of the source material led me to be very disappointed. But luckily I wasn’t. The shimmering, dreamlike music that pours throughout the score was exquisite and mated the dreamlike, cheekiness of the libretto. The original 7.5 hour play is condensed, I think quite well, into 2.5 hours of opera. The level of emotional directness opera can deliver gives you a directness and immediacy that words can’t give you. In the operatic version they steer away from a of the political elements of the play and just focus more on the character. But through that you still get a really genuine vision of New York City in the early 90s and the plight of queer people, who only recently have received close to the same rights as straight members of the community.

At the centre of the work is the power of death, in the form of AIDS. Watching this poetry of death, with people experiencing visions and predictions of the future world unfolding before them, my thoughts quickly fell onto what we’re experiencing with Covid19, and how will we attempt to depict the current epidemic in poetical terms and what can it mean for humanity. The injustices faced by many of the characters in Angels in America rang so true with so many of the difficulties we face with Covid19. Angels in America is almost seeped in the uncertainty of the future; the future of those suffering with AIDS, the challenge and transformation this put against religion as the world became more progressive and the prospect of a huge, plague and the fall of the atheist Soviet empire.

One aspect of this opera, and perhaps the original production and cast that I watched contributed to, was the depth and breadth of the characters I saw on stage. So often with opera, and especially new opera, I find it so hard to get more than just the music. Acting, as we know, is often the second cousin to the singing in opera performance, but this work really provided me with rich, nuanced and big characters. Perhaps it also had to do with the large sections of the score that were spoken and not sung, or spoken in a rhythmic speaking type technique. The text setting was also generally in the middle range of the singers, closer to their speaking voice and more easier to understand, except for the angels who were more operatic and otherworldly. This perhaps helped push the real focus I felt on text. And it should be noted the amazing quality of the english text setting, and done by someone for whom the language was a second one to them!

I would love love love to see this done in Australia. We have such amazing talent for a work like this. Alas I don’t see any of our major companies taking that risk anytime soon.

What I try to do to decolonise and diversify “art” music

In November 2018 I experienced one of the most negative reactions to my work . As you may know, I am the director of Forest Collective, a new music collective dedicated to diversity, unorthodox performance practice and bespoke performance experiences that bring new and old music together to make experiences you may not thought would have been possible. Part of our vision is to not program music by dead white men. This article with CutCommon was released on their Facebook page, and it was the first time I had really experienced such a negative reaction from what I believe were older, white men. Comments were made on the post like “we don’t want your hands on our masterpieces” and “what's wrong with Beethoven and Mozart anyway?” I felt that many of these commenters hadn’t read the article and seen that I take no issue with the cannon, just that the same operating space that Forest Collective has is as diverse as possible. 

Disclaimer: I was approached by CutCommon’s editor who supported me through the immediate option to remove the story. But I chose to keep it published despite the comments. CutCommon does not support prejudice or discrimination of any kind, and comments were closely monitored by the editor, in addition to communication being open between us at all times.

As a cis, white man myself, perhaps I had been sheltered from this sort of commentary in the past. But this experience really opened my eyes to the fact that some people cannot accept change, progress or an attempt to call out injustice. If you read the article you’ll see there really isn’t anything to defamatory about it. I simply say that for the small position that I and Forest Collective hold will be as diverse as possible. 

In the current climate of George Floyd, BLM, Harvey Weinstein, Trump, #MeToo, the fight for LBGTQIA+ rights and the rights of first nations peoples, I wanted to write an article about how, in my own very small way, I try to diversify and decolonise art music.

I would like to note that my work is primarily in the independent, new music scene in Melbourne. Luckily this small but rich scene of “new” classical music practitioners is generally based on a passion for innovation, diversity and progress. One could argue in opposition to the mainstream classical music world, which is slower to the diversity narrative. With this in mind, I can’t really speak for other artistic or social areas, and that the idea of decolonisation and diversity has a lot to do with representation of not only people of colour and first nations people, but also female identifying, LGBTQIA+ and people living with disability audience members and artists. Many organisations that fall under the Major Performing Arts Group (the big companies with Federal Government funding) are in my opinion and experience very White-Settler Australian focused, slow to innovation and change and who market mostly to a post war baby-boomer generation.

In this article I want to talk about a few of the roadblocks I’ve run into as a composer, conductor and curator of new art music, solutions I’ve tried to implement and consult on, and just general trends I’ve noticed in the industry. 

I should probably add some personal definition here, because it can get confusing and I often use both terms interchangeably. I generally use Art Music to refer to music that isn’t in mainstream pop - so this covers a whole range of stylistic practice and genre. I feel the term classical music doesn’t really cover what I and Forest Collective do. 

Female identifying 

Probably the most noticeable force for change within art music and classical music in recent years has been a push for greater representation of female identifying composers. I have noticed a growth in a lot more composition competitions and fellowships for just female identifying artists, and there are many ensembles and artists, especially in the USA, that champion, almost exclusively the music of female identifying artists. Some great resources I’ve come across are Sarah Hetrick’s Works for Saxophone by Women composers, the Boulanger Initiative and Women In music

In recent times in Australian we have seen more larger commissions going to female artists then in the past. Within Forest Collective we have a decent representation, however one trend I have noticed in programming our concerts collectively is that when the groups suggests works to perform inevitably many are by men. As a new music ensemble we often want to tackle the important works in the new music cannon. Examples being Pierrot Lunaire by Arnold Schoenberg, Folk Songs by Luciano Berio or the Chamber Concerto by Gyorg Ligetti. These are amazing works that are cornerstones for a new music ensemble. Often suggestions like these come from both male and female members of the ensemble. One can argue that we’re simply interested in programming “quality” pieces, but as I’ll talk about later this is a kind of backward cop out. So, when I do do a call out to the ensemble I will outwardly say don’t forget about women. Generally it doesn’t matter because there are alway suggestions of works by female composers, but it’s worth just taking a moment to look at a compiled list and just acknowledge the level of representation there and to try and find the most balanced outcome.

A further discussion on this can be found in this podcast we did from 2018.

There are many interesting initiatives I’ve seen implemented by different companies around the world such as female composer festivals and publicly advertised quotas for work by female composers. However I think the most successful programming comes when it’s not yelled from the rooftop or used as a marketing ploy. When concert programs are simply made to be as equal as possible. The argument that there are only a handful of female composers pre 1910 that have enough “quality” works to be programmed is rubbish. Another trend seems to say the cannon is so rich with works by white cis men that we have to keep that programming pillar intact and that in the fringes of a companies program, like a commission or a collaboration, organisations can look at enacting more diversity. I reject this. There are plenty of female composers, from all periods, who wrote good, bad, crappy and extraordinary music, it’s just generally they aren’t the ones who get the 10 page analysis in Groves or who feature on the top 20 lists of audience favourite. I am not blaming the audience here, but rather I would like to see more risks taken by the larger companies.

I have a passion for buying crappy old dusty music history books from second hand book shops, and it’s always interesting to see in a publication that might be 50+ years old how many words are dedicated to female composers (if any…). In Eric Blom’s Everyman’s Dictionary of music first published in 1947 Claudio Monteverdi is given half a page, with a lengthy list of works. His contemporary Francesca Caccini is given basically no biographical information, except to say her father is a well known musician himself (the next entry in the book dedicated to him, with double the information printed) and a piddly list of works. Of course Monteverdi is often cited as being one of the inventors of opera, and so deserves some extra air time. His works are cornerstones of the cannon, and are musically and culturally significant to the development of art. However surely so is a woman contemporary to Claudio, creating work that many leading musicologists now would argue made just as influential contribution to the development of the art form and perhaps never had it’s place in the sun due to Caccini’s gender. I would be very curious to see the attention put on Francesca in more contemporary publications. This sort of systemic misogyny seems to still hold sway over the opinions of many programmers and audiences around the world. In my experience of the works by female identifying composers are new or living composers. Some research and revision into older work would be fantastic to see across all areas of the industry.

First nations 

In my growth as a curator of music I have worked hard to better myself with programming and knowing music by women. I have yet to really push myself into broadening my experience programming art music by first nations people. Some excellent initiatives I’ve researched include Ensemble Offspring’s Indigenous Composer in Residence series, Seattle Opera’s focus on First Nations opera artists and Industry Operas fascinating production Sweet Land

My experience in Australia is that Indigenous music has often been quoted and/or appropriated by white composers. Many early, 19th century colonial works include titles like Corroboree and references to the sort of noble savage idea. Peter Sculthorpe and the “new” Australian sound that arose around him, Richard Meale and others in the late 1960s and 70s seems to have embraced indigenous culture in a way that seems less tokenistic and more authentic to its significance. However I feel that it’s only been since the 1980s where more authentic representation of Australian Indigenous music creation within the Art music concert platform has occurred. This has been spearheaded by composers such as Debrorah Cheetham and William Barton, and the fantastic collaborations such as the last album of Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu with the Australian Chamber Orchestra and Sydney Symphony Orchestra, and Archie Roach and Ruby Hunter with the Australian Art Orchestra.

People of colour 

Similar to the above, my work around inclusion of composers of communities other than white and english speaking has been slower than my focus on female identifying composers.

When one focuses on new art music you do get more of a cross section of composers from varying ancestries then you would within the traditional classical music cannon. This year in Forest Collective I approached the amazing Ali Fyffe who lived and worked in South East Asia to put together a program of works that focused on composers of underrepresented Asian nations in Australia. Often you can find works by Chinese, Japanese and Korean composers which are given reasonable air time, but the music of the middle east, south, central and south-east Asia is often less heard on the concert platform in Australia. It was a great gateway into discovering some unique and vibrant music communities with activities worthy of focus. I do also feel that with Chinese, Japanese and South Asian communities being some of the biggest non-European communities in Australia, art music producers have an obligation to create and curate work that reaches out to these communities. Classical music seems to froth over trying to get the 18-30 year old demographic, but I actually think trying to include immigrant, culturally and linguistically diverse communities would be more substantial for the growth and success of art music in Australia. 

As I mentioned above when speaking about revision of the presence and contribution of female identifying composers in classical music cannon, there is also a lot of work to be done around the revision of people of colour, first nations peoples and basically non-European contributions to the development of Western Art Music.

A composer that really touches on some really fascinating intersectionality around art music and it’s appropriation of other cultures is Osvaldo Golijov. Golijov is an Argentinian composer, with influences from klezmer music, tango all the way through to middle eastern and african sounds. The work often has political and social influences, and uses this sort of quotation technique to highlight varying political ideas. The above linked work Azul brings the traditional 18th and 19th century concerto form, south american culture, folk and pop suggestions with contemporary music making together into a fascinating and really beautiful musical experience. Another work that does this is the fantastic Ayre, a sort of Berio’s Folk Songs for the early 21st century. Some fascinating extra reading for this piece here

My experience with the African and African American art music cultures is very limited, outside of Jazz. There are certainly composers and works I adore such as Winnie: the Opera by South African composer Bongani Ndodana-Breen, anything by Julius Eastman, Champion by Terrance Blanchard and so many more jazz and jazz-art music collaborations. However, it is a narrative we don’t seem to see a lot of in Australia, and I would be fascinated to explore more music from the African or African American experience in Australia.  

For some extra reading on the African and African American experience I would look no further then the work of Naomi Andre, especially the book Black Opera: History, Power, Engagement.

Disability access

Once again I need to admit that this isn’t an area I am at all an expert in. From my research, Australia seems to be a real leader in disability access to the arts, more generally, with great work being done by Arts Access Australia & Victoria, amazing work produced by Rawcus Theatre Company (often collaborating with live musicians) and some really well thought through funding pathways from the large funding bodies, like Australia Council for the Arts and Creative Victoria, amongst others. 

Classical Music holds a lot of barriers for people living with disabilities. From my research a lot of the work around physical access and needs for audience members living with a disability are generally done by venues, rather than the presenting companies.

Many companies have implemented the standard experiences, such as tactile tours, audio description and relaxed performances. However, there does seem to be a lack of innovation and originality in this area which I feel has a lot of growth in creative bespoke experiences for those living with disability. Once again, I’m not saying I’m an expert or a leader in this field, but I feel that more dynamic options could be made to give audiences with varying access more access to new music. One simple and often overlooked aspect is for a concert to be Auslan interpreted. Interpretation can describe the feeling and mood of music, and is a remarkable way to give those who use Auslan access to an art form that is commonly thought of as inaccessible to them. 

Second to this is a discussion around artists living with a disability working within new music. Pathways are few and far between. However, there are some fledgling projects that are creating some amazing work around access to performances for artists living with a disability. One such program is the National Open Youth Orchestra in the UK. However, many barriers are still in place for access to education opportunities and professional performance opportunities. 

I would like to further explore these challenges within Forest Collective, and hopefully create a more open environment to artists living with a disability. Some members of our ensemble are from that community, so we have started some small steps in that direction, but further thought and innovation around access to new music for such communities is still new for us. 

LGBTQIA+

Aside from the work I’ve done around programming more female composers, working with Queer artists and artists from the LGBTQIA+ community is probably the area I’ve worked hardest and in which I’m most proud of. Forest Collective has now presented a number of events for Melbourne Queer Cultural festival Midsumma that have included many artists from varying sexualities and gender experiences. I myself identity as queer, cis-man and so this does inform my practice as both composer, conductor and curator. It inevitably brings up a question, as it does for all other areas of diversity, around identity in the music, the program and how important is that in the narrative of the event. I will talk about this more in the below section on messaging, but it’s a tricky line to walk, and you need to really think about how the event is messaged. Do you present Tchaikovsky as a potential queer artists? Most musicologists (certainly outside of Russia) will say that he had same sex relationships and would be more fluid in sexuality then once previously thought. However, Tchiak was not “out,” and so does “outing” them and plonking them amongst other queer composers or apart of some celebration of queer-ness in music become a moral dilemma? Similar to my last thought around programming women composers, I think it’s about acknowledgment. In some instances it’s necessary, some instances it’s not. What is the performance about, what is the meaning of it’s focus. Works can have a distinctly queer tone and yet not be by a member of that community or vise versa. Is the event inherently queer, or is it simply presented by queers?

Some great work in this area is being done by Miranda Hill with 3ShadesBlack and the ever growing music program of Midsumma Festival.

Trauma and who can tell the story 

Thinking further on the idea of when you want to be explicit about a programming angle, such as women composers or black composers, how do you tell these stories? How can these stories be told by a predominantly white ensemble, presumably for a predominantly white audience? A work like Porgy and Bess for instance is about the black experience in America but was created by a team of white men. Often, in my experience, works carry trauma by their creators around their lived experience. And so there is a delicate path that needs to be taken when bringing such works to an ensemble of musicians and then an audience. Forest Collective aims to be as inclusive as possible for both audience and performer, however the experience of being an independent art music ensemble has seen that our audiences are generally in the expected “classical” music mould. That is, white, middle aged and upwardly mobile. Is putting works that explore extraordinary trauma a process of empowerment and education to such an audience, confronting and perhaps sparking guilt and new thoughts, or again is it more morally bankrupt? I think it comes down to acknowledgement and clarity around the content. This is what we are presenting, this is what it is about and this is who is doing it. 

A work I cannot recommend highly enough that touches on trauma, it’s communication and its intergenerational effect is P R I S M by Ellen Reid. 

Emerging artists

Central to Forest Collective’s programming aims is to represent early career artists. I myself have recently made the awkward transition from “emerging” to “established.” What does that even mean? Well, it’s a prerequisite for some competitions and grants - up to 10 years out of your degree, you’re still emerging. Beyond that mark you’re obviously well established and inching yourself closer to the grave. 

When FC was founded we were all emerging. Now we have a wonderful mix of early career, emerging and established artists and it makes for wonderful rehearsals, with a whole mix of experiences in the room. It brings a focus and freshness. The exchange of ideas between different career experiences is really cool to see, but it’s especially cool to see from composers. We often commission composers where the project is their first largish commission and so finally have achieved a canvas to paint something big on. Or composers who come from a totally different musical world, like folk or pop who have a whole new canvas open to them for the first time.  This exchange of experience and world view keeps us on our toes and really inspires me to remind myself about the passion and view of the world held by those younger then me.

Interdisciplinary and “unorthodox” work

This is a key part to Forest Collectives work. How do we take art music and make it new, cool, memorable. Aside from the actual sounds being created, its a conversation around the venue, the style of the performance, seating, running a bar, pre or post show show music (DJs, guest etc) and then more wilder ideas such as performing across multiple rooms, interactive musical works and collaborations with other art forms. 

This sort of work is a real passion of mine because it’s like gifting the well oiled machine that is an ensemble of musicians, trained to their highest point and giving it over to a choreographer, or a visual artists, or an improviser or a pop musician and saying here is this group of experts who can do pretty much anything sonically. How does this collaboration inform us, the performance style and from there a positive audience's experience? The latter is so important to me. We’ve been lucky enough to pull this off a number of times, and people leave FC gigs saying they have experienced something they will never forget, never expected or never knew would work with traditional instruments. 

I think this is a really important factor to creating new spaces audiences can be brought into, feeling safe and secure and providing them with memorable experiences. There will always be a place for proscenium arch opera, concert halls for orchestras and recitals but I think the future of growing audiences for new and old music is bringing about innovative ways of how to present and collaborate with the music. 

Finally, the internet is such a new and all pervasive force that art music doesn’t really know how to adapt to yet. Live streaming is sort of a thing, and Covid19 has pushed some interesting innovations for art music organisations to better engage online, but I feel that many of these companies are stuck in such backward, reverse innovative and white colonised spaces that they seem so impenetrable to the audiences they so hunger to engage to. Messaging and how the story of the company and the work is told is so crucial to this, and I will talk further about this below. I want to see more innovative work online by the legacy music organisations.

A recent work I’ve experienced online is an amazing work from The Hunt, Quarry: a story about grief.

Quotas, “affirmative action” & “good” or “diverse” programming

I often have these discussions within the FC team or to myself around quotas and if implementing that sort of thinking will be positive when programming. Or if the “just program what you think is good” path is better. Again, as I keep saying I think it’s about acknowledging what it is you want to do and what it is you’ve done. For example, by programming Pierrot Lunaire we’re not breaking down many barriers in terms of women composers, people of colour etc. However, how we present it and (this is so often not thought about) who is presenting it is crucially important. How does a south asian choreographer and a queer cis female musical director come together to forge a new angle on a seminal work? To me that is getting closer to some sort of “good programming.” Again, you end up talking to yourself about what it is you’re trying to say and what is important. Is it important that a female identifying musical director is creating the vision for Pierrot Lunaire? Perhaps not. Is it important that this musician isn’t from the western cannon and comes to the music from a Jazz perspective? Maybe, yes. Or is the South Asian choreographer bringing a style or reference to the work that is non-European? Then yes I would say it’s important to highlight this and to message your event around this path less trodden. 

Messaging, who and how you engage audiences and how you tell the story

At the crux of all this thinking, you need to tell people what you’re doing, why you’re doing it and how. As I’ve touched on, how you acknowledge what you’re doing and the why and the how is so important. The narrative you set for your messaging is just as important as the curatorial vision. Often in art music, especially when we spend so much time frothing over the cannon, it’s often lost as to why we’re doing a work outside of it being just really cool to play or sing. Symbols have meaning. Words have meaning. The image used for promotion has meaning. The byline for an event is key to achieving the vision of a memorable, integrated event. And I think this is so important if you are interested in representing and engaging in non-Anglo white-settler communities in Australia. The large Government funded cultural organisations are symbols of colonisation, and still have a lot of work to do to be spaces that welcome and celebrate the broader community. I have never experienced being afraid of these companies and spaces. I have never felt at all reluctant to walk into the Arts Centre or the National Gallery to experience art. But I have learnt that for so many it is an oppressive place, full of stolen art, on stolen lands, representing white, European, settle art for predominantly white, settler people. I still have a lot to learn about how I try and make FC more warm and welcoming and it’s a good challenge to see how you can program and message your vision to be a space for all. 

In preparing to write this post I had a glance over some of the books I adore, that talk about new music and 20th century music. They are listed below. I was disappointed but not shocked that out of the range of books published in the last 20-30 years only one had more then one or two references to female composers, most works are by European or Americans, very little touch on the LGBTQIA+ experience explicitly and I would say that pretty much none would have anything directly talking to inclusive experiences for those living with a disability. Very little is written on or reflects people of colour, colonialism, the civil rights movement or the challenges faced by composers of colour or from first nations.

However, as frustrating as this is, I am galvanised by the challenge it highlights. It’s pushed me to always remind myself to create and curate great work for all, by all. This was my thought when I foolishly started to read the comments on that CutCommon post. As taken-aback as I was with their reaction, I am inspired to meet the challenge of ignorance head-on.

My reading list for this article 

Black Opera: History, Power, Engagement by Naomi Andre 

The Cambridge Companion to Twentieth Century Opera Edited by Mervyn Cooke

The Rest Is Noise by Alex Ross, and also Alex’s excellent Blog

The Classical Music Book Project editor Sam Kennedy

Everyman’s Dictionary of Music by Eric Bloom

Music After the Fall by Tim Rutherford-Johnson 

Leaving Home Michael Hall & Simon Rattle 

Rare opera club, vol. 6: Henryk Penderecki's The Devils of Loudun

Sex, possession & nuns - how could you not love it?

Penderecki isn’t a composer I’ve had the pleasure of exploring too much, outside of the big famous pieces. So I was really excited to dive into his first opera, The Devils of Loudun. This piece went onto to be influential on the 1971 film (with music with Peter Maxwell Davies) The Devils by Ken Russells. Russells spoke about the opera influencing the world of the film.

I really loved this opera. Politics, sex, horny priests, possessed nuns, it’s really got something for the whole family. Jokes aside, it delves into a world that explores 17th century France where politics, women and the power of society appears to be so different to ours, but in reality is such a strong criticism against oppression, dominant governments and the role and power of a women’s body.

This was the aspect that I found most interesting. In our club meeting I mentioned that if this piece was written 50 years earlier than it was (1968) it would come across as reasonably anti-women. But for some reason, it being created around the time of the sexual revolution painted these women in less of a hysterical, crazed women of patriarchal dominated western literature, and gave an eerie beauty to their inner psychology and confused sexuality.

Another interesting aspect to our conversation was the talk around politics, religion and women. It was really fascinating to tease out the idea that the man at the centre of the opera, who is accused of being the devil and possessing the nuns, didn’t do it and was put in that position from politics. And it touched on the nepotism and abuse of power the church had, and can still have on women and the attempts of an individual against the system. When it was premiered, the work had great controversy with the church. But I think its the classic case that it’s not the religion that is in question, it’s the church and the systems put in place that benefited the church for so long. And this was usually at the cost of individual freedom and progressive values.

The music itself is fascinating. The sound world explored in the more intimate moments is basically chamber music, with some amazing writing for Double Bass. The bigger action and crowd scenes have huge orchestral forces, utilising some amazing techniques for the orchestra. The chorus and soloist writing is epic. So many solo singers! And in the version I watched, a TV adaptation of the world premiere production from Hamberg State Opera, some amazing moments to act - the libretto isn’t contrite or awkward, it gave the singers an opportunity for real emotional depth, comedy and convincing melodrama. A work like this teeters on the extreme edges of emotion. It could almost be silly, but it manages to stay inside a unique, tense box that keeps you on your toes. It has comical, dark moments, but is always clear to its vision and tells the story amazingly well, especially with such large forces.

I’m especially happy to have explored this fantastic, wild and deep music as the maestro passed away in March this year.

#opera #operaclub

Rare opera club, vol. 5: George Benjamin's Written on Skin

George Benjamin is a composer I’ve know about for a long time, but I haven’t really known the music. When I was about 15 I found a CD at an op shop that was originally a promo CD given with a magazine. The CD was a compilation of tracks from newly released recordings. From what I can remember the CD contained track’s from a recording of the Verdi Requiem, a lied by Gustave Mahler, a scene from Benjamin Britten’s Albert Herring and a piece by Lutoslawski, among others. All these were very new to me and really opened my eyes up to new sonic worlds I hadn’t been exposed to before. The most arresting piece on the CD was the second of the Three Inventions by George Benjamin. The fresh and subtle music of this piece really intrigued me. It had an extended solo for Cor Anglais (and now that I think about it, this might be where my obsession for the Cor Anglais as a melismatic solo instrument came from) accompanied by a lot of percussion and pizzicato strings. It was an intimate work, a solo voice framed by small bursts of cacophony and rhythmic complexity.

I had a compendium book called something like The Great Composers or The History of the Great Composers, which I devoured cover-to-cover. This little CD put sounds too many names I had read in this book. However, there wasn’t an entry for George Benjamin. His name remained there in my mind, until I got to university and was able to listen to his first opera Into the Little Hill, which has stayed with me since. Though looking back now, I wonder to myself why I didn’t look any further into his work? Especially as I was verging of obsession over Olivier Messiaen, George Benjamin’s teacher.

Now I should say that Written on Skin really isn’t a “rare” opera as it’s received a lot of excellent productions since it’s premiere in 2012 and has been lauded as the first “great” opera of the 21st century. Though, for the purposes of the club as primarily a group of Aussies watching and reviewing work it is rare, because I doubt we will see a production in Australia any time soon, if at all.

I found this piece to be exquisite. It was fascinating, tense and eerily beautiful throughout. The lightness of touch of orchestration is masterful. As Is Benjamin’s handling of the orchestra in the performance, and he’s also conducting it. The singing and acting, came together beautifully and I didn’t feel that one out-shone the other as I often feel in opera. The tension and intention of the performers was gripping throughout. The physical production was also amazing (I watched the world premiere performance at the Aix-en-Provence Festival, 2012). My one issue with the performance was that at times the direction of the performers could have been a little less safe. Sometimes it felt a little stand a deliver, and maybe the direction didn’t necessarily give the singers enough focus as to where to guide their intention, but overall it was really gripping.

What struct me most about the music was the easy of the vocal line, and the clarity of text. Now, the singers employed are excellent, but setting and writing opera in english is notoriously difficult. Comparing the work to Unsuk Chin’s Alice in Wonderland from a few weeks back, which had some really awkward and unreasonable text setting, this work was so easy to understand and seemed pretty singable. Where Chin would hold vowels for really long phrases, and have awkward settings of word stresses this piece avoided that so well. And most of the time, text wasn’t elongated, but was sung in a way that resembled speech without losing its operatic feel. A good example of how Benjamin does this is in this video from his next opera (above).

The libretto for the work, by playwright Martin Crimp, is also an excellent piece in itself. It struck me as subtle and full of shadow and light. An incredibly sophisticated structure emerged between the three central characters, and the drama that plays out was intoxicating.

I don’t want to give to much away about the plot, but in the penultimate scene we’re confronted with cannibalism. In writing this now sounds so melodramatic and stupid, but the way it’s written in the libretto it becomes this weird, sad and almost touching moment. That to me is the greatest master stroke in the work, it allows you to watch this grotesque moment and see beyond the taboo into a desperate and sad act of control. The exploration of taboo on stage is such a fascinating to me. This piece touches on not only cannibalism, but speaks to a dominant persons control of someone and if you read into the character of “Boy” which to me suggests he is an adolescent, the power of sexuality, lust and control, something I touched on in my own Orpheus. This work is an essay in tension, manipulation and desire, and I found it thrilling.

Two articles I found really useful in additional reading was this one from the New Yorker and old mate Alex Ross’ amazing blog.

Rare opera club, vol. 4: Francesca Caccini's La liberazione di Ruggiero dall'isola d'Alcina (1625)

Now, I’m no expert in baroque opera. I’ve done a little bit of baroque music, mainly the production of Poppea by Monteverdi that I did last year, and I certainly have a passion for pre 1750 music and the process of researching music of that time. However, watching this opera was a really interesting once to monitor my reaction. The production I looked at unfortunately wasn’t the best and so it was hard to really give it my most authentic opinion on.

What I was most struct with was practical questions around mounting older work like this in our time. The tropes and references of the work harken back to ancient Rome, Greece, christianity of the day and people of the day. So, it’s difficult if you don’t know the references. The characters are also generally quite one dimensional, the text isn’t usually to inspiring or poetic, especially when you’re dealing with a translation and if performed mediocre it’s really hard to understand if its the work that is intolerable or the performers.

This work had some really firey, exciting exchanges between characters written into it, but the execution was so banal and tepid, I found myself yelling “you just told that character to fuck off, you need to look like you’re pissed at them!!!” And this is always my bug bare with opera, I find myself 5 out of 10 times leaving a show complaining that the singing was nice, and the orchestra was fine but the acting and usually the direction, too, aren’t up to scratch.

Directing these dated works is very hard. You have odd musical structures and old timey theatrical techniques to navigate. You have to deal with pages and pages of static music, in-place to tell the story, or be an entertaining march depicting the decent into an under water fantasy land or long interlude put in place so that in sets could be moved and changed in the original production. So, as a director and/or a conductor you need to make very clear and good decisions around what to do with all this material that is hard to understand and difficult to structure. Theatres operate in different ways now. Performers too. The role of the director didn’t exist in the time we’re talking about with this opera, singers would be amazing and just have to sell the whole thing, with some basic blocking given by the musical director.

We have at our disposal so many techniques, trick and options as theatre makers and I feel so oft period work suffers from trying to be authentic to the work and the tropes. Work can get so bogged down in that. Singing always perfect, direction an after thought, orchestra precise but dull.

If I get the opportunity to work with period opera again, I would at least try my hardest to make sure that at all costs the story is being told and that the performers have as clear intention possible as to why they are on stage, otherwise what’s the point?

Clive O'Connell review of Orpheus

I’ve long held Clive O’Connell in high esteem as a critic. Clive was the music critic for The Age for many years, and now run’s his own blog. The blog is an excellent read, I think because it allows Clive to write without the word limit that was needed for print publishing.

I was fortunate enough to be reviews by Clive beginning of last year, when he reviewed my work Orpheus. It is a review I hold very dear, not only as it’s positive but also as it shows he has a real love for the art form and has taken the time to try and understand what I was trying to do.

https://oconnellthemusic.com/

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This is the first time that the Midsumma Festival has offered me a review ticket in its 20 year history.   Admittedly, previous programs have given little room to serious music, the organizers being usually content to present bands and solo artists of limited ability or musicianship.   All the more remarkable, then, that this ambitious project got off the ground under the Festival’s umbrella, and that its character impressed both for its compressed clarity of content and for a happy avoidance of obtuseness.

Evan Lawson has composed a dance opera which pays an elliptically expressed duty to the myths surrounding Orpheus’ marriage to Eurydice and his relationship with fellow Argonaut, Calais who was one of the Boread twins.  To supplement a libretto of gnomic brevity, the work involves three dancers to propose a potent extra dimension to the story-line as sung by Raymond Khong (Orpheus), Kate Bright (Eurydice) and Joseph Ewart (Calais).   These roles’ respective dancers – Ashley Dougan, Piaera Lauritz, Luke Fryer  –  operated in a central area of the Oratory room, the audience positioned on three of its fringes while Lawson’s orchestral decet made a bulwark at the fourth.

The composer has found the constituents of his text in Calzabigi’s libretto for Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, Striggio’s verses used by Monteverdi in L’Orfeo, and, for a coda,  the second sestet from Shakespeare’s song Orpheus with his lute made trees from that furiously neglected drama, Henry VIII.   Lawson also claims that as a prologue, he  made use of a Greek sea hymn by Phemocles, about whom I know nothing and could find out even less.  At an informational impasse, I thought that there might have been a confusion with Phanocles, who wrote about Orpheus’ paederastic relationship with Calais; or, more improbably, the playwright Philocles might have been involved.  Was it possible that Phemocles had some relation to the Orphic or Homeric Hymns?   We are left gasping for direction right from the start where the marine salutation is meant to occur but nothing rang any bells, even in the printed libretto.

Lawson’s singers seemed to be static but in fact moved around, singing in oratorio style from the front of the instrumental ensemble, or behind the band, eventually in the central arena.   His dancers made exits and entrances with similar flexibility.  As with so many of these multi-platform operations, I found it hard to focus, especially at the work’s opening where the sound-world proved attractive, even if it consisted in the main of sustained notes and chords, both teetering between post-Monteverdian chord progressions and not-too-astringent dissonance.   To be honest, the sounds won out over the dance action much of the time because the abstract nature of Dougan’s choreography seemed to move simply from attitude to attitude.   But then, I don’t know much that would weather informed scrutiny about the language of contemporary dance.

Still, the sonorities that emerged often proved extraordinary, in particular a passage highlighting Erica Tucceri’s bass flute later in the drama which impressed for its full-bodied power in this hall’s resonant acoustic.  Harpist Samantha Ramirez spent a fair amount of time bowing her strings, which is a device that didn’t seem that different in its results from the product of an orthodoxly addressed cello.  More successful were the various briefs allocated to Alexander Clayton’s percussion, his battery employed with determination and sometimes exemplary drama.

Of the singers, Kate Bright gave a splendid reading of the hero’s unfortunate wife, vitally powerful in the Part II duet and then mounting a bravura performance at Eurydice’s death which focused for a remarkably long period on the interval of a 2nd before the character was allowed to enter a more wide-ranging arioso, much of the scene unaccompanied.  Lawson set his bare-bones text with a wide-ranging compass for all three singers, but Bright alone managed her line’s top and bottom reaches with precision and thrilling vigour.

Khong’s tenor came across with similar force and a security that was questionable only at a few points where Lawson had used a note above the artist’s comfort zone, possibly negotiable with a switch to falsetto although that’s a dangerous ask in a vocal part that comes over as otherwise well-crafted and centrally positioned for the interpreter.  A similar moment hit for baritone Ewart, who enjoyed more courteous treatment and who produced a firm level of enunciation and clarity: a promising exhibition from the youngest member of this trio.

While the instrumental component of Orpheus tends to an alternation between portentous and sibilant, the vocal work is quite unpredictable: for whole stretches, as static as Glass; then suggestive of the placid leaps of Berio.  While you wouldn’t find it difficult to follow the emotional decline in Eurydice’s gasping, brittle death shudders or trace the fearful regret of Orpheus in Hell, it seemed to me that the score came into full flowering at ensemble moments, most obviously in the Shakespeare-utilizing epilogue where Lawson found a striking compositional vein that promised a sort of catharsis; in this tragedy, you find a consolation that broadens out into a generous efflorescence before the inevitable descent to darkness.

As I say, the dance impressed me most for its physicality more than for its expressive power.   Dougan was gifted with a remarkable solo at the work’s centre which I assume was intended to underline the struggles of Orpheus with his life after the final loss of his wife and his rejection of all women, climaxing in his confrontation with the Bacchae and their destruction of his body in a Maenad frenzy.  Lauritz’s pre-death solo gave the dancer a fine opportunity to demonstrate her unflappable solidity of gesture and positioning, and I found plenty to admire in the opening terzett where all three dancers interwove with considerable athleticism and not a trace of overt sexuality, a restraint also found in the final appearance where the dancers worked in unison as three discrete entities, all passion spent.

Orpheus is to be welcomed on several fronts.   Yes, it’s a new opera  –  and welcome for that  –  with a solid musicality behind it.   The production uses the talents of a fine group of professionals from within the Forest Collective organization and outside it; pretty much half and half in the instrumental desks.  It has a relevance to Midsumma through its re-examination of the Orpheus-Calais connection, taking matters some steps further by juxtaposing and interweaving it with the poet’s tragic marriage.   As well, Lawson and his forces handle the twin myths with dignity, taking key points and working with them rather than hammering the relationship triangle into flattened obviousness.  Best of all, the enterprise gives you a freshness of vision, even new insights into an old tale which both Monteverdi and Gluck felt obliged to end with a deus ex machina plot manipulation.  In this new telling, the central tragedie a trois remains intact.  You leave feeling that you have been involved in a ritual, human in its essence and recounted with a scouring freshness.

Rare opera club, vol. 3: Unsuk Chin's Alice in Wonderland

Well that’s the effect of living backwards, it makes everyone a little giddy at first. But there is one great advantage, the memory works both ways.

The White Queen in Through the Looking Glass

This piece has been on my watch list for a long time. I’ve watched snippets of the Munich State Opera premiere performance in the past, and so I was very excited to finally sit down with this piece.

My understanding of the piece, prior to seeing the full thing, was that it was a pretty wild ride, with a really fantastic production. Unfortunately, my expectations of a wild acid trip weren’t met.

Out of the two hour playing time, I certainly found some moments musically really fascinating but on the whole I felt that a lot of the material was either too long, too dull or too smart. I only laughed, and really it was a chuckle, once. I thought I would be giggling a lot more.

In doing some research of the piece I read this concise musical analysis, which brought to light some interesting musical techniques Unsuk used, such as palindromes, quotations, crab cannons and other musical riddles dotted through the score. Unfortunately, sometimes what looks cool on the page and which takes significant composition time to execute doesn’t transpose to something charming and witty aurally.

I also took issue with some of the text setting and the way it was sung. Opening this can of worms can provoke an unending debate between operatic and musical theatre traditions, but I feel many contemporary opera composers focus so much on the musical ideas and less on the text and the way the text is heard. Text is often an impetuous to composition, which I think is all well and good for concert work, but the moment we’re in the theatre there needs to be clear delivery of the text (away from the usual supertitles now common in opera, regardless of language) to the audience. The singing can sometimes inhibit this. The singers do an amazing job to execute what has been written, and can at times communicate the language to the audience very well. However, I don’t think this is achieved in a majority of sung moments in this work.

Being given such a big canvas as an opera, I feel that many composers want to pack in too many tricks and too many musical ideas. In this piece there seems to be some long or high singing that really blocks my understanding of the text. I actually thought that the spoken sections with orchestra accompaniment were some of the best sections of the piece. I guess it’s a question around why should this piece be sung in the first place, and what do we get out of the drama by a character singing. The Queen of Hearts, for instance, is given excellent over the top melodramatic music sung by a high Wagnerian soprano, though I didn’t understand a word she sang. But, this sort of worked for the character. But when Alice or the Cheshire Cat sang long, legato lines I felt a strong disconnect between the text, character and musical intention.

I also felt at times there was s disconnect from the music to my understanding of the characters and the setting. Alice’s long and legato aria toward the end lamenting what she’s seen and where reality and wonderland meet is stunningly beautiful and moving, but it just didn’t seem right to me and my reading of the book .

Second to this issue around directness of singing is acting. A work that I feel should be whimsical, dreamy and fun struck me as very hard and cold. There just didn’t seem to be a lot of joy on stage and I would be curious to see another production to see if that’s the cast, direction or anxiety from the difficult music.

Another thought, in Unsuk’s defence, is first operas are bloody hard to do, especially if you aren’t a singer. No matter how much vocal writing you do, trying to marry good quality vocal writing, with clear text setting and dramatic pacing is exceptionally difficult. I know that Alice has gone onto having a life as a concert piece, which maybe suits its musical objectives a bit more. But for me the dramatic pacing doesn’t work. I was also left guessing if this was a work for adults or children. I don’t think it had an interval, so 2 hours is a long sit for a child, especially when the music is so dense and the action on the stage so cold and slow.

Ultimately, it’s hard for me to be objective about Alice in Wonderland. There are few books I’ve read twice. Picture of Dorian Grey and Alice in Wonderland and Alice through the Looking-glass would have to be the works I’ve reread the most. I grew up on some amazing adaptations of this book, including of course the iconic Disney version, a really psychedelic UK version from 1972 with Peter Sellars, Dudley Moore and even Robert Helpman as the Mad-hatter, with a excellent John Barry (James Bond) score, the dreadful Tim Burton version, a Hello Kitty version and probably my personal favourite, a 1985 two part tele-movie adaptation with songs by Steve Allan. My personal highlight being Carol Channing as the White Queen singing about Jam.

Comparing these more commercial adaptations with an operatic version isn’t really fair. But ultimately for me this should be a psychedelic, fantastical trip intended for children and this version strikes me at times hyperactive, dull and nightmarish, unsure as to its purpose.

Alice and the characters and moments of the book often pop into all my work. My first symphony carries the subtitle In my garden with Alice and suggests a wild Wonderland-esq journey. At my Alice themed 21st birthday party my poor parents had to deal with each room of the house being turned into a different section of the book. She is an iconic symbol of fun and innocence, but all I got from this piece was clinical coldness and fear.

My backyard set up for my 21st Alice in Wonderland birthday party

My backyard set up for my 21st Alice in Wonderland birthday party