Born in Lynchburg, VA, and raised in Yellow Springs. OH, Alexander was a leading singer at the Metropolitan Opera from 1983 to 1991. In addition to her successes in the roles of Mozart’s heroines, she was an unusually well-rounded Mimi in “La bohème” and sang the title role in Janáček’s “Jenůfa.”
It’s interesting to note that she participated in the world premiere of Viktor Ullman’s concentration camp opera “The Emperor of Atlantis” (at Dutch National Opera), composed in Theresienstadt in 1943, but not performed until 1975. Ullmann died at Auschwitz in 1944. Alexander made her home in the Netherlands from the age of 23.
Her U.S. debut was in 1980 as Pamina in “The Magic Flute” at Houston Grand Opera. Her Met debut was as Zerlina in “Don Giovanni.” At her peak at the Met, she also appeared as Vitellia in Mozart’s “La clemenza di Tito,” Antonia in Offenbach’s “The Tales of Hoffmann,” Countess Almaviva in “The Marriage of Figaro,” Donna Elvira in “Don Giovanni,” and inevitably Bess in “Porgy and Bess.” In 2016, she returned to sing the Fifth Maid in Strauss’ “Elektra.” She also enjoyed notable successes at the opera houses of Berlin, Vienna, London, and Zurich. She performed with most of the major orchestras in Europe and the U.S. and virtually all the major conductors.
Alexander was married twice, to the conductor Edo de Waart (a union that ended in divorce) and orchestral manager Siebe Riedstra. Alexander died on Tuesday at the age of 76. R.I.P.
Samuel Barber’s “Solitary Hotel,” on a text from James Joyce’s “Ulysses”
With America on the verge of its 250th birthday next year, it’s time to get our heads around “semiquincentennial.” That’s a 20-dollar word for “250th anniversary.” Cumbersome, yes, and likely to be reduced in the media and by harried events promoters to something like “America 250.”
Sound it out: semi (half) quin (from “quinque,” or 5) centennial (from “centum,” 100, and “annus,” year). Bicentennial is 200 years. Quincentennial, 500 years. Semiquincentennial, 250. Thank you, Romans.
In the way of a practice run, today is the semiquincentennial of Bernhard Crusell, who lived from 1775 to 1838. The most prominent achievements on Crusell’s resume, the things you will find in the most concise entries in any of the standard music references, is that he was an outstanding clarinetist and that he was the most important Finnish composer before Sibelius.
Of course, Finland at the time did not exist as a country. Rather it was part of the kingdom of Sweden. Stockholm was where all the action was, so young Crusell arrived in his teens and hung his shingle, announcing himself to the world as a teacher and a composer. Soon, he was principal clarinetist at the Royal Court.
His reputation rests mostly on three clarinet concertos and three clarinet quintets, all published in 1822 and all agreeable enough music for morning air play (which is how I first encountered them). He also wrote some variations on a Swedish air, at ten minutes in length, again, for a broadcaster, very handy filler.
His opera, “The Little Slave Girl,” based on a tale from the Arabian Nights, is a brief, three-acter of about an hour’s length. (Add to his other accomplishments that Crusell was the first Finnish composer to write an opera.) Crusell was at work on incidental music for “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” by French playwright René-Charles Guilbert Pixerécourt, when he discovered the germ for what would become his only opera. In the meantime, he translated many important operas of Italian, French, and German origin for performance in Sweden, including Mozart’s “The Marriage of Figaro.”
“The Little Slave Girl” was given its premiere in Stockholm in 1824 and was revived 34 more times in the next 14 years. Sadly, it was the end result of great personal heartache. Crusell’s daughter, Maria, had been engaged to be married at the time she caught cold and died in 1823 at the age of 17. Crusell himself had been in ill-health. Compounded by despondency at her loss, much time was to pass during which he composed nothing.
The prospect of the Ali Baba opera restored Crusell’s creative impulse and allowed him to work through his grief. Through the character of the resourceful slave girl Marjana, he was able to realize his daughter’s wishes to marry and live happily ever after.
I confess, although I own this recording, made for Finnish Radio, with Osmo Vänskä conducting, I am not overly familiar with the work, but at 42 minutes in, there is an aria with clarinet obbligato – perhaps a symbolic reunion of sorts between father and daughter.
Don’t approach Crusell’s music expecting anything remotely “Finnish” sounding, as we’ve come to expect from the works of Sibelius and his followers, beeginning some 70 years later. Crusell wrote in the international style of early, conservative, Germanic “Romanticism.” You would be forgiven for identifying him more with the musical language of the 18th, as opposed to the 19th, century. His output is no less the enjoyable for it.
The premise reminds me of J. Meade Falkner’s “The Lost Stradivarius” (1895), which I finally got around to reading only a few years ago. Except in that one, the violin summons the spirit of a profligate as opposed to the Antichrist. Points then, for the film swinging for the fences.
On this most controversial of federal holidays, here’s a reminder of Manuel de Falla’s scenic cantata “Atlántida.” “Atlántida” tells the story of the lost continent of Atlantis, with appearances by Hercules, Pyrene (the Queen of the Pyrenees), the Hesperides (nymphs who tend a blissful garden), Queen Isabella… and a shipwrecked Christopher Columbus.
Distilled to its essence, the plot, synthesized from legends and myths into a grandiose verse epic by 19th century Catalan poet Jacint Verdaguer, follows the great flood that submerged Atlantis, Hercules sparing Spain from its waters, and from Spain the discovery of the New World.
Interestingly, Falla eschews the overtly Spanish idioms that make his ballets, “El amor brujo” and “The Three-Cornered Hat,” so insistently memorable. The result is something much more austere, akin to the choral works of Stravinsky and Arthur Honegger.
It is Falla’s most ambitious work, at which he labored for 20 years, up until his death in 1946. The composer envisioned it as his magnum opus, yet it is very seldom heard. Falla disciple Ernesto Halffter arranged the incomplete sketches into a performing edition, which he conducted at the work’s premiere in 1961. He revised the piece in 1976, at the request of Falla’s publisher, allegedly bringing the work closer to the composer’s vision.
There are a few recordings on YouTube, and some in better sound, but here’s a notable television broadcast featuring Montserrat Caballé and Teresa Berganza, with Jesús López Cobos conducting. Caballé and Berganza are interviewed as part of an intermission feature, around the 48-minute mark. Depending on your proficiency with Spanish, you may need to use some sort of translator.
Columbus Day was established as a federal holiday by President Benjamin Harrison in 1892 to coincide with the 400th anniversary of Columbus’ voyage; but his true intention was to stem anti-immigrant sentiment and violence against Italian-Americans. (11 Italian immigrants had recently been lynched in New Orleans by American “nativists.”) There was no sinister agenda to force Columbus down anyone’s throats or to excuse his personal flaws. Rather, Columbus Day was perceived as a time to celebrate American patriotism, citizenship, and social progress. That’s how people thought back then, in those hopelessly naïve times, before social media.
But really, my aim in posting this is not political, but musical, even if it is the one day a year I pause to acknowledge my Italian-American side.
On this most controversial of federal holidays, here’s a reminder of Manuel de Falla’s scenic cantata “Atlántida.” “Atlántida” tells the story of the lost continent of Atlantis, with appearances by Hercules, Pyrene (the Queen of the Pyrenees), the Hesperides (nymphs who tend a blissful garden), Queen Isabella… and a shipwrecked Christopher Columbus.
Distilled to its essence, the plot, synthesized from legends and myths into a grandiose verse epic by 19th century Catalan poet Jacint Verdaguer, follows the great flood that submerged Atlantis, Hercules sparing Spain from its waters, and from Spain the discovery of the New World.
Interestingly, Falla eschews the overtly Spanish idioms that make his ballets, “El amor brujo” and “The Three-Cornered Hat,” so insistently memorable. The result is something much more austere, akin to the choral works of Stravinsky and Arthur Honegger.
It is Falla’s most ambitious work, at which he labored for 20 years, up until his death in 1946. The composer envisioned it as his magnum opus, yet it is very seldom heard. Falla disciple Ernesto Halffter arranged the incomplete sketches into a performing edition, which he conducted at the work’s premiere in 1961. He revised the piece in 1976, at the request of Falla’s publisher, allegedly bringing the work closer to the composer’s vision.
There are a few recordings on YouTube, and some in better sound, but here’s a notable television broadcast featuring Montserrat Caballé and Teresa Berganza, with Jesús López Cobos conducting. Caballé and Berganza are interviewed as part of an intermission feature, around the 48-minute mark. Depending on your proficiency with Spanish, you may need to use some sort of translator.
Columbus Day was established as a federal holiday by President Benjamin Harrison in 1892 to coincide with the 400th anniversary of Columbus’ voyage; but his true intention was to stem anti-immigrant sentiment and violence against Italian-Americans. (11 Italian immigrants had recently been lynched in New Orleans by American “nativists.”) There was no sinister agenda to force Columbus down anyone’s throats or to excuse his personal flaws. Rather, Columbus Day was perceived as a time to celebrate American patriotism, citizenship, and social progress. That’s how people thought back then, in those hopelessly naïve times, before social media.
But really, my aim in posting this is not political, but musical, even if it is the one day a year I pause to acknowledge my Italian-American side.
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