"Some months after the premiere of this symphony, Honegger suffered a severe heart attack, leaving him an invalid for the remainder of his life, during which he composed his Fifth Symphony for the Koussevitsky Music Foundation. Charles Munch directed the premiere in Boston the following year. Honegger called it 'Di tre re', referring to the pianissimo note D, on timpani and pizzicato basses, concluding each of the three movements. Perhaps he meant this as a symbol of inevitable fate: the mood of the work is predominantly dark and tragic. On the other hand, he regarded it as his most successful essay in symphonic form. The Fifth is Honegger’s only symphony to begin with a slow movement: a majestic but anguished chorale for full orchestra, gradually dissolving into more lyrical but still tragically accented contrasting ideas for smaller groups of instruments. The second movement is a fleet-winged, almost Mendelssohnian scherzo, enclosing at its heart a profoundly expressive Adagio. Frenetic and furious, the finale seems to be powered by an unstoppable drive, but at last runs down, like an untended machine, to quiet extinction." (Malcolm MacDonald. From the liner notes.)
Labels
Wednesday, 30 September 2020
Arthur Honegger - Symphonies Nos. 1-5; Pacific 231
"Some months after the premiere of this symphony, Honegger suffered a severe heart attack, leaving him an invalid for the remainder of his life, during which he composed his Fifth Symphony for the Koussevitsky Music Foundation. Charles Munch directed the premiere in Boston the following year. Honegger called it 'Di tre re', referring to the pianissimo note D, on timpani and pizzicato basses, concluding each of the three movements. Perhaps he meant this as a symbol of inevitable fate: the mood of the work is predominantly dark and tragic. On the other hand, he regarded it as his most successful essay in symphonic form. The Fifth is Honegger’s only symphony to begin with a slow movement: a majestic but anguished chorale for full orchestra, gradually dissolving into more lyrical but still tragically accented contrasting ideas for smaller groups of instruments. The second movement is a fleet-winged, almost Mendelssohnian scherzo, enclosing at its heart a profoundly expressive Adagio. Frenetic and furious, the finale seems to be powered by an unstoppable drive, but at last runs down, like an untended machine, to quiet extinction." (Malcolm MacDonald. From the liner notes.)
Jean-Baptiste Lully - Armide
"And he was not alone in being moved by those later performances: 'When Armide is about to stab Renaud in the final scene of Act II,' he reported, 'I have seen the whole audience, all eyes and ears, frozen with fear, not daring to breathe, until the air for the violin at the end of the scene finally releases the tension and allows them to breathe again, and a hum of joy and admiration is heard. [...] This unanimous reaction showed that the scene was indeed amazing.'
"For Lecerf, everything about 'Armide,' 'the ladies' opera,' was admirable, 'supremely beautiful.' The music was 'simple. free and easy, and consistent,' with Lully 'skilfully bringing out the meaning [of every word] in the recitative.' Everything amazed him: the violin accompaniment, the exclamations, the 'vivid vocal expression,' the orchestra, the dances, and the choruses, 'more substantial than anywhere else in Europe.' Even the soloists found favour in his eyes, although most of them were past their prime. As Armide, Marie ('Marthe') Le Rochois met with great success. Louis Gaulard Dumesny, known as Dumesnil, took the part of Renaud, and 'fortunately he was sober!'
"By fifteen years after its creation, 'Armide' had thus become a model, a myth, the perfect example of a tragedie en musique. The work appears to have fascinated audiences from the start. Henry Baud de Sainte-Frique, a gentleman of Languedoc, a very distinguished member of the court, and a fine dancer who had taken part at Versailles in 'Le Triomphe de l'Amour' in 1681 and 'Le Carrousel des Galants Maures' in June 1685, was amazed by the attendance a week after the premier, 'there was such a large crowd that no more could enter at all. More than a hundred people were on the stage itself [...]. All the loges held ten people each, when they were already uncomfortably full with seven.' And the work continued to be an unfailing success. The enchantment scenes delighted the Siamese ambassadors when they attended the opera in January 1687. The Mercure of 1724 published an article with a detailed description of the work, including whole pages from Lecerf de La Viéville's 'Comparaison.' Quinault's heroine 'draws sighs and tears,' and Renaud's heroism in 'abandoning the princess of Damascus, despite the charms and pleasures of her company' it found admirable. Some fifteen years later Louis Racine compared 'Armide' to his father's 'Phèdre' and to Moliere's 'Le Misanthrope.' The work made such an impression that Philippe II, Duke of Orleans. who had studied with Charpentier, composed a 'Suite d'Armide, ou Jérusalem délivrée' in 1704, and Henry Desmarest wrote an opera, 'Renaud ou Ia suite d'Armide,' that was performed in 1722 as part of the celebrations for the arrival in Paris of the Infanta-Queen (Louis XV's little fiancée, Mariana Victoria of Spain).
"Only Jean-Jacques Rousseau was critical of the masterpiece. He particularly objected to Armide's aborted vengeance with the celebrated monologue 'Enfin it est en ma puissance.' In his 'Lettre sur Ia musique française' (1753) he wrote: 'To sum up my sentiment [...] in a few words, I say that if one looks upon it as singing, neither metre, nor character, nor melody is found in it; if one wishes to see it as recitative, it has neither naturalness nor expressiveness!' He found 'the ornaments of song even more ridiculous in such a situation than they usually are in French music' and 'its modulation is regular, but puerile for the same reason, pedantic. without power, without perceptible feeling.' Rameau, then at the height of his fame, responded with a counter-examination in the 1754 'Observations sur notre instinct pour la musique, et sur son principe,' aiming 'to render to Lully the justice owed to him' after Rousseau's 'ill-founded' criticism. He strongly defended the monologue as 'a masterpiece,' a true demonstration of artistry; he praised Lully's skill, his ability to 'think in grand terms' ('Lully pensait en grand'), and dismissed Rousseau's contradictions and false interpretations. Many years later, in a letter of January 1787 addressed to Friedrich Melchior. Baron von Grimm, Diderot described the libretto of 'Armide' as Quinault's masterpiece ('le chef-d'œuvre de ce poète lyrique').'Everything the lovers say radiates the intoxication and frenzy of their happiness'; and he admires Renaud for the love that he 'sacrifices only to glory'. Finally, the libretto inspired Gluck to compose his own version of it in 1777.
"In that rather bleak context. Lully was caught at the beginning of the year in a scandalous affair with one of the king's young 'music pages'. It became the talk of Versailles and provided a subject for street ballads of the day. Abbe Bourdaloue preached a sermon at Versailles about the dangers to youth of vice. The young castrato Atto Melani related all this to his patron, the Grand Duke of Tuscany. The page in question was packed off to a monastery, and Lully was informed that he could no longer count on the king's protection. Then in the spring another scandal broke, this time at the Académie royale de musique (the Opera), where, following Lully's decision to cut off the pensions to veterans, four of the institution's finest and most eminent singers walked out, to the great displeasure of the opera-going public. Once again, the king had to step in and overrule the composer. To add further to Lully's worries, in the autumn of that year the Theatine monastery opposite the Louvre began to present regular concerts for paying audiences 'in the manner of the Roman oratories', and these, presenting as they did the most excellent singers as well as fine musicians under the maitre de musique Paolo Lorenzani (whose music was very much to the liking of Louis XIV), soon became exceedingly popular. Perceiving a threat to his monopoly, Lully attempted to put a stop to those church performances of what he deemed to be 'veritable operas'. But his efforts were in vain: the king refused to call the devotional concerts into question (La Gorce). Finally, at the end of the year (according to Lully's letter of dedication to the king, which appeared in the printed score, published shortly after the first performance of 'Armide') the composer suddenly fell dangerously ill, suffering 'the most violent pains [he had] ever endured', but he nevertheless managed to complete the work on time. Lully was no doubt hoping to obtain the king's sympathy. For Louis XIV had been unable to attend the performances because of his own great discomfort: he was about to undergo a complex and very delicate operation to treat an anal fistula.
"The earliest documents that mention 'Armide' date from May 1685, when Philippe de Courcillon, Marquis de Dangeau, recounts in his memoirs Quinault's meeting with Louis XIV in the apartments of Madame de Montespan. As usual, the poet took with him three different plots for the king to choose from. In the first one, set in fourth-century Gaul at the time of the Roman emperor Constantius, the great general Sylvanus was valiantly saved by Malaric, king of the Franks, from a conspiracy to discredit him. The second project. based on Ovid ('Metamorphoses'), told of the love between Cephalus and Procris and the jealousy of Aurora, goddess of the dawn (a subject that was to be taken up a few years later by Elisabeth Jacquet de La Guerre). Finally, borrowed from Torquato Tasso's 'Gerusalemme liberata', there was the tale of Armide, who for all her magic powers is unable to prevent Renaud, after an infatuation with pleasure and diversion, from obeying the call of duty and returning to Godefroy's camp to fulfil his military and religious obligations. Louis loved tales of chivalry and he chose the latter, thus marking a new direction in theatrical entertainments at Versailles: a move away from the image of the king as Apollo and towards the 'new Charlemagne'. Had he heard read to him in his youth 'Les Amours d'Armide', a delightful romance by Pierre Joulet, or the more recent 'Avantures de Renaud et d'Armide' by Antoine Gombaud, Chevalier de Mere? Anyway, the character of the beautiful, passionate princess appealed to him, as did the mysterious East (Damascus), the Crusades, the scenes of enchantment promised by Quinault and, above all, the presence of Renaud, a prince with whom he could identify. Furthermore, the plot held many opportunities for Lully to provide spectacular divertissements: the peoples of Damascus celebrating Armide's victory; the demons transformed into flying zephyrs; Renaud's sleep scene, with more demons in the guise of nymphs and shepherds; visions of the underworld; Hate and the Furies; then Ubalde and the Danish knight, more demons in disguise, caves and wild beasts, abysses and terrifying monsters... not forgetting the entertainments provided by the Pleasures and the 'fortunate lovers'.
"The libretto was not completed until the end of 1685, when Quinault submitted it for reading to the Dauphin and Dauphine. However, Lully had worked on the music while 'Le Temple de la paix' was in performance. 'Armide' was to have been given at Versailles, but such was the success of 'Le Temple de Ia paix' that it received additional performances in December 1685 and January 1686, which delayed the opening of the 'Ballet de la jeunesse' (Dancourt and Lalande) until 28 January. Then that in turn ran until 25 February, by which time it was in alternation with Henry Desmarest's opera 'Endymion'. As the Mercure mentioned: since the delay prevented 'Armide' from being performed at court, it was finally presented in Paris at the Théâtre Royal de Musique (Lully's public theatre in the Palais-Royal) on 15 February 1686.
"'Armide' was included among the 'illustrious women' of Madeleine de Scudery: 'If we consider [Armide] from one angle, she is an Enchantress, she is artful; she is a cruel person; she is a young woman who has renounced the modesty of her sex; and in short, if we wished to paint her portrait thus, it would most certainly be a rather unattractive one: but it is also true that it would not be a very good likeness. If, on the other hand, we see her as a Princess, who has acted only as a Woman Warrior and a Lover, all her charms will be innocent; all her artifices will bring her glory; her cruelty will be fair: her modesty spotless, and our portrait will no doubt be a good likeness, and (unless I am mistaken) it will not be at all unpleasant.'" (Jean Duron. From the liner notes.)
Performers: Les Talens Lyriques, Choeur de Chambre de Namur, Christophe Rousset, Marie-Adeline Henry, Antonio Figueroa, Judith van Wanroij, Mari-Claude Chappuis, Marc Mauillon, Douglas Williams, Cyril Auvity, Emiliano Gonzalez Toro, Etienne Bazola
Monday, 28 September 2020
Nicola Porpora - Notturni per i Defunti
"As indicated above, the music survives in one score (which is from the end of 18th century and contains only the lessons) and in some individual parts (which also include fragments of responsories). The parts can be divided into two main groups, which are linked to two distinct copying phases, both of which took place between the months of September and October in 1743 and 1760. There can be no doubt that these are linked to the activities of the Conservatorio di Loreto, since the copyists (in most cases the performers themselves) left in footnotes their own names and annotations such as 'written by Fica for the Holy House' or 'I, Geremia Gizzo wrote in the service of the Casa di Loreto': unequivocal signs that they belonged to the entourage of the institution.
"It is a known fact that students of Neapolitan conservatories were under contract to provide services to churches linked to these institutions as well as — on special occasions — to chapels (including private ones) and convents, whose contracts with these educational institutions made up for the lack of a stable musical establishment. In the spring of 1760, because of the ever-worsening state of his own finances (above all the loss of a pension granted to him by the ruling House of Saxony), Porpora left Vienna, to which he had retired after honourable service to the court of Dresden. In April 1760 he returned to Naples and took up the special post of supernumerary maestro at the Conservatorio di Loreto, granted to him on the basis of his great renown. That same year moreover, the elderly composer also received (but declined) the title of maestro at another of the city's conservatories, Sant'Onofrio. The conclusion to be drawn from this state of affairs is simple: for an autumn 1760 celebration that was meant to be carried out by the students of the Conservatorio di S. Maria di Loreto — we'll see which one in a moment — Porpora re-used his own works (most likely revising them), which had been com-posed for a similar event about twenty years earlier (as attested by the pages copied in 1743).
"One point remains to be explained. As we have seen, in 1743 Porpora had been in Venice since two years, busy with commissions and extra work for the Derelitti and he did not leave the city at all in October or November. How, then, can we explain the performance of his music in Naples? Simply by assuming a perfonnance taking place in his absence and by recalling that the accurate dating of the copies of parts does not in any way preclude the possibility that there were other, previous ones, of which there is no longer any trace. Porpora most likely wrote the music for the 2nd of November Office of the Matins as maestro of the Conservatorio di Loreto between 1739 and 1741, and it was so well received that it was used again. Or the composer could have sent a score from Venice in time for copies to be made for the celebrations in 1743: this thesis, however, has to be checked against historical evidence of the pace at which the composer worked at the Derelitti and with the possible deterioration of relations between Loreto and the musician, a point on which no definitive views can be stated yet.
In any case, of everything that Porpora put to music at this time, only the lessons survive in their entirety. Clearly reflecting a distinctively Neapolitan taste, they are presented (as is cus-tomary) as a splendid and expressive sequence — with very little rigidity — of recitatives, ariose and arias with no 'da capo.' Each lesson displays vocal writing with rather distinct character-istics because the intonation comes from nine different singers; the names inscribed on the indi-vidual parts for the 1760 performance indicate that the performers were the soprano castrati Albanese, Bertucci, Zingarelli and Zuattasis and the contraltos Gavigli, Gazzelli, Giovannini, Giuliano and Sacchini. Nothing is known, however, about the 1743 performers.
"The rest of the Office is lost — assuming it was ever completely put to music. Nonetheless, the orchestral parts of the responsories following the individual lessons have survived together with a fragment (although it's crossed out) of the soprano part of 'Domine quando veneris.' It should be said that, from a philological point of view, restoration of the musical text of the lessons creates enormous problems, to which any sensible response has to be based on an informed hypothesis, though nothing can ever be said with absolute certainty. The large number of known variants is very difficult to manage, especially considering that the correlation between the manuscripts remains dangerously ambiguous in the absence of errors that would allow to relate them . It is also evident that at some point in time the link between lesson and responsory (envisaged at the outset) was broken by someone (who?), at least at the time of (or prior to?) the preparation of the late 18th century score, in which the individual lessons are clearly understood to be autonomous.
"As has been said, little remains of the responsories: their inclusion in this recording must, therefore, be seen as the result of a new creative act motivated by the exceptional beauty of what did survive." (Stefano Aresi, tr. Rebecca Naidis. From the liner notes.)
Jean-Joseph Cassanéa de Mondonville - Les Fêtes de Paphos
"An eighteenth-century French music lover would surely be surprised at the scant attention paid to Mondonville in our century. Here was a man who held some of the most prestigious musical appointments in France, a man who, in his heyday, was considered Rameau's near-equal as an opera composer and very much his superior in the realm of the motet. As Pierre-Louis Daquin, son of the composer Louis-Claude Daquin, observed: 'If I were not Rameau, there is no one I would rather be than Mondonville'
"Yet until the past few years modern performances have been rare. One reason for this neglect is that Mondonville's music does not always look especially interesting on the page. In performance, however, it comes alive in a surprisingly direct way. Now that performers have learned this lesson, we can expect to hear much more of so talented a composer.
Nicola Porpora / Georg Friedrich Händel - Porpora and Handel in London: Duel
LHD - Normandie
LHD - Hotel Fire
LHD - Fascination
LHD - Asthma
LHD - Hands of the Priestess
Nicola Porpora - Il Gedeone
"The dramatic style of this music does not follow as a matter of course from the libretto. The story of Gideon consists of divine calling, battle, and victory. Joas's fatherly warmth and Sichemi's fear counterpoint Gedeone's confident faith, which also makes him certain of victory. But tenderness, trembling, and grief could not find a place in this oratorio, which comes across like a splendid opera for a gala court occasion.