Unbelievable. Robert White, who could always be counted on to do a mean impression of Irish tenor John McCormack, died yesterday, the day after St. Patrick’s Day, at the age of 89. Dolores Cascarino and I had just written about him yesterday, in the comments section under my St. Patrick’s Day post. I suppose it’s hardly surprising, as White was always associated with Irish song.
It’s amazing to contemplate that his career spanned eight decades, but already he was performing on the radio in 1942, celebrated as “the little John McCormack.” His repertoire would grow much more versatile than this monicker would suggest.
In the late 1950s, he embarked on a career as a concert tenor. He performed with the New York Philharmonic and the Philadelphia Orchestra, but in the 1960s he also dipped a toe into what was then still considered arcane territory, when he embraced “early music.” Among other things, he sang in the U.S. premiere of Handel’s “Athalia.”
But he also sang a lot of new music. He appeared in the first performance of Paul Hindemith’s “The Long Christmas Dinner” at Juilliard in 1963. Other prominent composers who wrote for him include Mark Adamo, William Bolcom, John Corigliano, Lukas Foss, Stephen Hough, Libby Larsen, Lowell Liebermann, Gian Carlo Menotti, Tobias Picker, Ned Rorem, and David Del Tredici.
In the 1970s, White leaned into his success as an “Irish” tenor. He was actually born in the Bronx. He received his early training from his father and as a chorister at St. Jerome’s Church. At the age of 6, he made his radio debut as Bobby White. He recorded his first album, “Ring of Gold,” at the age of 7. His radio appearances teamed him with Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and Humphrey Bogart.
He undertook his formal studies at Hunter College, and then in Europe, where he attended, among other institutions, the American Academy at Fontainebleau, where he benefited from the guidance of Gérard Souzay and Nadia Boulanger.
He later returned to Hunter College and Juilliard as a teacher. He also taught at Manhattan School of Music. He was twice invited to the White House, to perform for Presidents John F. Kennedy and Jimmy Carter.
For years, whenever one of my air shifts happened to coincide with St. Patrick’s Day, I would play from White’s recording (with Ani Kavafian, Yo-Yo Ma, and Samuel Sanders) of Beethoven’s settings of Irish folk songs. White also made fine recordings for EMI, Virgin Classics, and Hyperion Records.
R.I.P.
Category: Daily Dispatch
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Farewell to Robert White
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Rimsky-Korsakov Speaks Truth to Power
I know Russia isn’t exactly “in” right now. But on Rimsky-Korsakov’s birthday, I am reminded of how the last act of this most venerable of Russian nationalist composers was to give a great big middle finger to the Tsar.
With the completion of “The Invisible City of Kitezh” in 1905, Rimsky thought he was through with the operatic stage. He had composed 14 operas in all, and for “Kitezh” he brought the utmost in his artistry to bear. It would form the capstone in a kind of pantheon to a distinctly Russian national sound in music, the foundations of which were laid by Mikhail Glinka, beginning in the 1830s and ‘40s.
But political indignation stirred Rimsky to take up his pen for one final statement, a sardonic take-down of autocratic rule, Russian imperialism, and military incompetence during the Russo-Japanese War.
To say that the conflict, in which rival empires clashed for supremacy around the Yellow Sea, proved to be an enormous embarrassment for Russia would be an understatement. After a series of staggering defeats, Emperor Nicholas II remained headstrong in his determination to win. Even beyond the point of all hope for victory, he doubled-down to try to save face, rather than submit to a “humiliating peace.” He ignored an olive branch from Japan and rejected the idea of ending the war.
The inadequacy of the Russian military and Japan’s decisive victory stunned the world. It led to the decline of Russian prestige and influence abroad, and contributed to growing domestic unrest that culminated in the 1905 Russian Revolution.
It didn’t help that at home the Imperial Guard had fired on workers during an unarmed demonstration, a peaceful march to the Winter Palace. The actions of the Tsar’s soldiers resulted in the deaths of men, women, and children. Depending on who you believe, casualties were somewhere between 96 (according the official record) and 4,000. Ironically, the Tsar wasn’t even in residence at the time.
That was in January. The war finally ended in September with the Treaty of Portsmouth, mediated by Theodore Roosevelt.
Rimsky himself had earlier served as an officer in the Russian Imperial Navy and later as a civilian inspector of its bands. In 1905 he took to the ramparts, figuratively speaking, when he stood with student agitators at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Rimsky was in his 60s at the time and a much-beloved presence. For his actions, he was dismissed from his professorship, approximately 100 students were expelled, and the conservatory was threatened with closure.
A second demonstration by students during a performance of one of Rimsky’s earlier operas, “Kashchey the Immortal,” led to a ban on his music. Widespread outrage rippled beyond Russia’s borders. 300 students staged a walkout at the conservatory until Rimsky was reinstated. Not long after, in 1906, Rimsky would resign to launch into work on his final opera, with a pen warmed up in hell.
On its surface, “The Golden Cockerel,” after Pushkin, is a fairy tale. But like all the best fairy tales, it also serves as a thinly-veiled allegory. The Astrologer in the work’s prologue and epilogue tells us that the characters are all based on real persons and that the moral is valid and true. In between, we’re introduced to a paranoid ruler who reneges on his promises, commits criminal acts, makes war on a sovereign state, displays military ineptitude, and in the end has his jugular pecked out by a cockerel.
There’s no way the Russian censors were ever going to allow this work onstage. Rimsky, whose health was in decline, demanded that no changes be made, and suggested to a friend that he arrange for it to be performed in Paris. It got there eventually, staged as “Le coq d’or,” the title by which it has frequently been identified in the West ever since.
But the actual premiere took place in Moscow in 1909, the year after Rimsky’s death. And yes, the libretto was judiciously pruned and the staging carefully modified.
In his lifetime, Rimsky-Korsakov was one of the most prominent and respected musical figures in all of Russia. The St. Petersburg Conservatory, from which he was fired, now bears his name.
Ironies continue to pile upon ironies, as history ever looms, ready to repeat itself. In 2026, Rimsky’s barbed response to the events of 1905 seems uncannily prescient and sadly universal.
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From a New York City Opera telecast, in English, with Beverly Sills in 1971. The Tsar (Norman Treigle) gets the big peck at 1:38:30.
There are plenty more legible productions on YouTube, but most are sung in Russian, and not many have subtitles.
Here’s a more vivid production, with no translations:
Perhaps the opera’s best-known number, “Hymn to the Sun”
Arthur Fielder conducts the orchestral suite: -
Raising a Pint to Barry Fitzgerald for St. Patrick’s Day
I try to watch “The Quiet Man” every year on St. Patrick’s Day, whether I need it or not. If, already a quarter of the way into the 21st century, this confirms that I am hopelessly out of touch, so be it. Someday, someone will pry this twee, politically-incorrect Irish fable from my cold dead hand.
I’m working my way through the recent John Williams biography by Tim Greiving, and although I am having some major issues with it (the book, published by Oxford University Press, reads like a first draft, to put it kindly), it is obviously written with love and chock full of valuable information. I know Williams always speaks fondly of Victor Young, but it was interesting to learn that Young’s music for “The Quiet Man,” which Williams saw in the theater in 1953, was one of the first film scores that really made him sit up and take notice and made him consider the possibility of writing for the movies.
I guess this makes sense, especially with having everything laid out chronologically in a biography. Progressions become clearer, and from the start Williams was always a gifted arranger. I mean, his first Academy Award was for his arrangements for Norman Jewison’s film of “Fiddler on the Roof,” and it was far from his first musical. Even apart from the movies, Williams was arranging for and accompanying Frank Sinatra, Vic Damone, Frankie Laine, and so many others. So he would have had a connoisseur’s appreciation of what Young achieved in his score for “The Quiet Man,” which positively overflows with inspiring arrangements of folk and popular song and sentimental ballads.
On a related note, for a long time, after having run across some clips, probably on YouTube, I’ve wanted to see a film called “Broth of a Boy.” It stars Barry Fitzgerald (who plays the “Quiet Man’s” insatiably thirsty Michaeleen Oge Flynn) as the oldest man in the world. With that premise, how could it miss? Unfortunately, the film is seemingly unavailable in the United States – only intensifying my desire to see it – and the reviews I’ve read ranged from mildly charmed to middling. So I certainly knew not to expect a classic.
Every year, around St. Patrick’s Day, I search for it, and what do you know, last night I found it on YouTube! The transfer is barely adequate, but you know how old movies are from the United Kingdom. Even the Alastair Sim version of “A Christmas Carol” (released in the U.K. as “Scrooge” in 1951 – a year before “The Quiet Man!”) looks like it was made in the 1930s. I don’t blame the technology; I blame post-war austerity.
Anyway, “Broth of a Boy” looks older than its years, as for that matter, does Barry Fitzgerald. His character is supposedly 110. Fitzgerald died in 1961 at the age of 72. But here, in 1959, he looks tired. Or maybe he was just hammered the whole time.
Be that as it may, if you’re a “Quiet Man” fan, I think you will find much to enjoy. The humor and characterizations are of the same cloth, and both films employ actors from Dublin’s Abbey Players – the National Theatre of Ireland – although, as far as I can tell, Fitzgerald is the only common denominator between the two.
Alas, the screenplay isn’t as consistent or sharp, and the scenes are not always the most imaginatively captured. I sure do miss John Ford’s direction and Technicolor. The score, by Stanley Black, will never be mistaken for Victor Young. The film feels longer than its 77 minutes, but if you are a “Quiet Man” die-hard, you might want to give it a shot. Or have a few yourself, if you know what’s good for you. -
Nice Guy Ludwig Göransson Picks Up Third Oscar for “Sinners”
As predicted, Ludwig Göransson received his third Academy Award last night for his bluesy score to “Sinners.”
Summing up, then:
Elmer Bernstein, Jerry Goldsmith, and Bernard Herrmann – 1 Oscar
Erich Wolfgang Korngold and Franz Waxman – 2 Oscars
Ludwig Göransson and Miklós Rózsa (composer of “Ben-Hur”) – 3 Oscars
Okay, then!
What does a white kid from Sweden know about the blues, one might ask? In his acceptance speech, Göransson talked about his father’s chance discovery of an album by John Lee Hooker in 1964. (“It changed my dad’s life, and he devoted his whole life to music.”) He handed off a guitar to his son when Göransson was 7. (“I loved the guitar. It became everything to me.”) It was actually a rather touching speech. As in his acceptance speeches for his previous awards, for “Black Panther” and “Oppenheimer,” he came across as sweet-natured – gentle, humble, and sincere. Good for him.
I did think his music for “Sinners” was worlds better than his score for “Oppenheimer,” which in its manic insistence to be everything everywhere all at once (in tandem with the breakneck editing) actually made it a weaker film than it might otherwise have been. Still good enough for Best Picture in 2024.
Göransson’s most recent win was announced by… the cast from “Bridesmaids?”
Congratulations, Ludwig Göransson. Watch his acceptance speech here.
In related news, “Sinners’” Miles Caton performed “I Lied to You,” one of this year’s nominees for Best Original Song. (The award went to “Golden” from “KPop Demon Hunters,” which I’m not even going to touch.)
Host Conan O’Brien included a parody of Handel’s “Zadok the Priest” in a mock-coronation bit during his opening monologue (with the Los Angeles Master Chorale and Josh Groban, of all people, lending a voice).
Classical music was also represented by way of “Viva Verdi!,” a documentary about a retirement home for musicians, Casa di Riposo per Musicisti – commonly known as Casa Verdi – established by the celebrated opera composer in 1896. The film was nominated in the category of Best Original Song, not for Verdi himself, but for Nicholas Pike’s “Sweet Dreams of Joy,” performed on the film’s soundtrack by soprano Ana María Martínez.
Soprano Sonya Yancheva was in the audience (as an ambassador of Rolex!), with her husband, conductor Domingo Hindyan.
Ballet dancer Misty Copeland came out of retirement to appear in the “Sinners” production number, causing one to wonder if it was an intentional smack in the face to Timothée Chalamet, who kicked up the ire of the ballet and opera communities a couple of weeks ago by offhandedly dismissing the art forms during a very “bro” promotional appearance chatting with Matthew McConaughey.
Chalamet had been the front-runner for the Best Actor award. Last night, he went home with nothing but tears for his pillow. He could have benefited from a touch of Göransson’s humility.
Conan’s send-up of Handel’s “Zadok”
“Cicero! My Oscar!” -
I Wish I Knew How to Quit You, Oscar
The favorite to win Best Actor threw opera and ballet under the bus. The favorite to win Best Actress made the man who would become her husband get rid of his cats. The favorite to win Best Picture – with a record-breaking 16 NOMINATIONS – is a vampire movie. Can we just go back to Will Smith slapping Chris Rock, please?
I’ll be loading up the cupboard with anesthetizing snack foods for my annual viewing of the Oscars, an event for me that, for most of my life, as something of a family ritual, has always been more than the sum of its parts. I know I’ve written about my personal relationship with Oscar before – growing up in a family of ardent movie lovers that annually gathered around the tube over a banquet of shrimp, buffalo wings, chips, dips, and palate-cleansing fruits and vegetables, to take in the latest installment in the Academy Awards continuum.
If I’m to be honest, the custom was mostly driven by my stepfather and me, who retained the minutiae of just about every movie we’d ever seen; but my mother was also game, as likely as not because it was family time and she liked to see the designer gowns. In those days, it was essential to be tuned in at the start, for the red-carpet arrivals. We needed to see Sean Connery (or, for Mom, Cher) climb out of that limo. Now, to hang on to my brain cells, the red carpet, with its vapid interviewers, must be avoided at all cost. That’s the time to figure out how to get a connection (I don’t have cable), to make sure that all the manwiches are ready to go, that all the vegetables are chopped, and to pop the hors d’oeuvres in the oven.
The illusions of Hollywood glamor and sophistication may be no more, but even in these days of diminishing returns, there continue to be a few pleasures. I’m not so interested in most of the actors, but every once in a while, there’s an emotional acceptance speech, or some documentarians who exhibit real passion when they finally receive their moment of recognition (even if there’s a better than 90-percent chance of them unempathetically getting played off). I love any montages devoted to the movies itself. Most of all, I sit riveted by the “In Memoriam” segment, in which, theoretically, all those who passed over the last year are honored. Oscar really loused that up for a few years running, through hypercaffeinated editing and a misguided focus on live performers whose function it should be to complement the images and to honor the dead. I’m hoping Conan O’Brien, as emcee, will take the sting out of any disappointments.
As you can imagine, the category of Best Original Score has always held particular interest for me. But alas, very few of the nominees write traditional orchestral scores anymore. Most of what’s being composed today might work well in the movies themselves, but a lot of it now functions more as sound design. Little of the nominees’ “music” could ever be recreated in a conventional concert setting. Of that under consideration, I think only Alexandre Desplat’s “Frankenstein” is composed in the classic tradition. But it won’t win. Please God, don’t give it to Max Richter for “Hamnet” – a score that was so weak, I can’t get over the fact that the film was produced by Steven Spielberg.
That said, this is probably another Ludwig Göransson year. Göransson previously won for “Black Panther” and the overbearing score for “Oppenheimer.” Somehow it doesn’t seem right that Ludwig Göransson would receive three Academy Awards, when Jerry Goldsmith, Elmer Bernstein, and Bernard Herrmann only ever won one. But here we are. Göransson’s blues-inflected score for “Sinners” is certainly effective, even if, like most film scores these days, it won’t live on outside the film. Those days are gone, my friends.
Which reminds me: in the off-chance that any filmmakers actually read this, unless you’re making “Lawrence of Arabia,” can we please bring running times down to two hours again? I thought TikTok was supposed to be eroding everyone’s attention spans? Of the Best Picture nominees, only Yorgos Lanthimos’ “Bugonia” (which I skipped, because I still remember “Poor Things”), “F1” (90 minutes, but still wasn’t interested), and “Train Dreams” (gorgeous, if a bit poky), kept it under two hours. Following the wisdom of P.T. Barnum, always leave them wanting more.
Occasionally, I’ll offer more extensive predictions. I don’t think I’m going to bother this year. I certainly don’t have many nominees I am rooting for. It would make me happy to see “Train Dreams” get Best Picture, but it won’t happen in 2026. I have to say, “Sinners” gives it a run for the money in the cinematography department, one of “Train Dreams’” strongest points. But like the much-vaunted “Hamnet” – arguably the least interesting Shakespeare movie ever (still better than “Shakespeare in Love”) – “Sinners” only goes to the next level at the very, very end. If it weren’t for a scene that doesn’t appear until early in the film’s credits that lends it an unexpected touch of humanity (from a vampire, no less), I don’t know that I would have thought it any more than a three-star movie.
In fact, “Sinners” might have been a much better film without the vampires – with an absorbing set-up, interesting characters, an unhurried pace and admirable restraint (until it all goes out the window), plenty of period detail, jaw-dropping cinematography, and good acting. For me it was a little too much like somebody got carried away because they just happened to discover metaphor. It could have been a great movie had writer and director Ryan Coogler explored the same themes in the context of a straight gangster film. But that would have been a totally different, reality-based movie. And it probably wouldn’t have attracted as much interest.
Anyway, I’ll be watching the Oscars, living in the past, hoping for some continuity with better times, and stuffing my face with comfort foods.
Good luck to all the nominees, except Chalamet and Jessie Buckley, the cat-hater.
ADDENDUM: I would love to see Ethan Hawke win for his tour-de-force as Lorenz Hart in “Blue Moon,” but between Chalamet and Michael B. Jordan (in his double performance in “Sinners”), there’s no question it’s going to be an uphill fight.
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