Tag: Ballet

  • Léon Minkus:  A Gentleman in Moscow (and St. Petersburg)

    Léon Minkus: A Gentleman in Moscow (and St. Petersburg)

    Who’s excited to celebrate Léon Minkus’ bicentennial? As I suspected, exactly no one.

    Before you double-check to see if this post was written by Timothée Chalamet, I hasten to add that in his day, Minkus was a much sought-after, quite successful composer for the ballet. Among his most celebrated works are “La Source” (co-composed with Léo Delibes), “Don Quixote,” and “La Bayadère.” He also wrote insert numbers for older ballets by other composers.

    Born in Austria (where he was known as Ludwig), Minkus briefly served as principal violinist at the Vienna State Opera before emigrating to Russia. There he became concertmaster and conductor of Italian opera at the Imperial Bolshoi Theatre. With a few years, he was promoted to the prestigious position of Inspector of Orchestras to the Moscow Imperial Theaters. He also taught violin at the newly-established Moscow Conservatory. In addition, he enjoyed a long association with St. Petersburg through his work with choreographers Arthur Saint-Léon and Marius Petipa.

    At 65, Minkus returned with his wife to Vienna to live in semi-retirement on a modest pension from the Tsar’s treasury. One of his later works was rejected by Gustav Mahler, then director of the Vienna Court Opera, for being too old-fashioned. He came to a sad end, as his wife predeceased him and the events of World War I cut off support from Russia. He died, childless, in poverty, having developed pneumonia during the bitter winter of 1917, at the age of 91. O Fortuna!

    While his music has not been embraced with the same level of affection as that of his colleagues Tchaikovsky and Delibes, whose ballets are frequently recorded and revived, in his day, Minkus enjoyed considerable success and will forever remain a notable figure in the history of Russian dance.

    Remembering him on the 200th anniversary of his birth!

    ———-

    To be fair, his ballets have never completely fallen out of the repertoire, and some balletomanes, I’m sure, love his stuff. Perhaps you will too. At the link is a Mariinsky production of “Don Quixote.”

    Apparently, until the 1930s, there was a dream sequence in which Quixote fights a giant spider. Contemporaneously, a notorious spider pit sequence was dropped from the film “King Kong.” People must really have been creeped out by giant spiders during the Great Depression.

  • Technicolor Moira Shearer, for Her Centenary, on “Sweetness and Light”

    Technicolor Moira Shearer, for Her Centenary, on “Sweetness and Light”

    Dancer and movie star Moira Shearer was born on this date 100 years ago. The striking Scottish ballerina with fiery red hair first earned recognition through her work with the Sadler’s Wells Ballet, but soon achieved world fame through her appearances, in Technicolor, in indelible Powell-Pressburger classics such as “The Tales of Hoffmann” and “The Red Shoes.”

    Once seen, who can forget the surreal sequence in which her life-like mechanized doll, Olympia, is dismembered and dismantled before our very eyes, mostly through the magic of practical effects? Zombie maestro George A. Romero, director of “Night of the Living Dead,” cited “The Tales of Hoffmann” as his favorite film of all time, and the one that set him on a career of making movies.

    And then of course, there’s “The Red Shoes,” choreographed by Robert Helpmann, who seemed to devote his cinematic career to refining nightmare fuel, up to and including his appearance as the Child Catcher in “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.” Robert Helpmann and Hans Christian Anderson – what could possibly go wrong?

    Join me for music from “The Tales of Hoffmann” and “The Red Shoes,” as well as selections from two of Shearer’s ballet triumphs at the Sadler’s Wells, “The Sleeping Beauty” and “Coppélia” (the latter based on the same E.T.A. Hoffmann short story that inspired the doll sequence in the Powell-Pressburger adaptation of Offenbach’s opera).

    Strap on your demonic dancing shoes. It’s an hour of music for Moira Shearer on “Sweetness and Light,” this Saturday morning at 11:00 EST/8:00 PST, exclusively on KWAX Classical Oregon!

    Stream it, wherever you are, at the link:

    https://kwax.uoregon.edu/

  • Prodigal Son Ballet Father’s Day on KWAX

    Prodigal Son Ballet Father’s Day on KWAX

    Nothing is guaranteed to get Dad out on the dance floor faster than ballet music inspired by the Prodigal Son.

    As related in the Gospel of Luke, a young wastrel burns through his family fortune, then returns home to the arms of a forgiving father. The son’s elder, more responsible brother is none too pleased, but the father explains that since the younger son has repented and returned, as if from the dead – in essence, was lost, and is now found – it is cause for celebration.

    This week on “The Lost Chord,” it’s an off-center Father’s Day tribute, as we listen to ballet music inspired by the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

    We’ll hear a late, folk-inspired score by the Swedish composer Hugo Alfvén, staged in honor of his 85th birthday in 1957, and Sergei Prokofiev’s alternately pungent and transcendentally lyrical opus, written for the Ballets Russes in 1928. The latter was developed simultaneously with Prokofiev’s Symphony No. 4 and shares much of the same thematic material.

    Father knows best. Celebrate the Day of the Dad with “Son Dance,” ballet music inspired by the Prodigal Son, this week on “The Lost Chord,” now in syndication on KWAX, the radio station of the University of Oregon!


    Clip and save the start times for all three of my recorded shows:

    PICTURE PERFECT, the movie music show – Friday at 8:00 PM EDT/5:00 PM PDT

    SWEETNESS AND LIGHT, the light music program – Saturday at 11:00 AM EDT/8:00 AM PDT

    THE LOST CHORD, unusual and neglected rep – Saturday at 7:00 PM EDT/4:00 PM PDT

    Stream them, wherever you are, at the link!

    https://kwax.uoregon.edu/

  • Bartók’s Ballets: Mandarin & Wooden Prince

    Bartók’s Ballets: Mandarin & Wooden Prince

    Can one of the great masters of modern music really have been born 144 years ago? I can remember hearing Béla Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra, his most popular work, on the first Philadelphia Orchestra concert I ever attended, at the Mann Music Center in the summer of 1984, and at the time, he was dead not even 40 years. He was still regarded by many as a “contemporary” composer.

    But I’m not really here to talk about that. Instead I’m going to talk about his ballets.

    Of the two, “The Miraculous Mandarin” (1918-24) enjoys all the notoriety, for its decadent scenario and harrowing music. After all, the story essentially involves two hoods who coerce a young woman into luring men to an abandoned room so they can beat and rob them. One of these is the mandarin of the title, who they attempt to suffocate, stab, and hang, but Rasputin-like he stubbornly refuses to die. He finds release only in the woman’s embrace. At last, his wounds begin to bleed, and he passes. This was pretty scandalous stuff, back in the day, and the work was banned on moral grounds. Now it’s one of Bartók’s most-frequently programmed works, though generally shorn of its action.

    For the weak of heart, I offer as an alternative the composer’s other, earlier essay in the form, the ballet-pantomime “The Wooden Prince” (1914-17). This time instead of going for the jugular, Bartók opts to anesthetize everyone with a ponderous fairy tale about true love deferred. Not that I don’t enjoy ponderous fairy tales.

    An ill-natured fairy throws up impediments to the fulfillment of the love of a prince for a princess, turning forest and stream against him and ultimately animating a wooden effigy of the prince the young man has constructed, complete with crown and locks of his own hair, to attract the princess’ attention. When the princess falls for the wooden prince, his flesh-and-blood counterpart falls into despair. The fairy takes pity on him as he sleeps, sets everything to right, and they all live happily ever after.

    Much less frequently performed than Bartók’s subsequent succès de scandale, this fantastic tale for large orchestra bears the influences of Debussy and Strauss, and yes, Wagner too. Never understood why it’s not heard more often. Just because it doesn’t have quite the bite of the composer’s mature masterworks doesn’t mean it isn’t worthwhile.

    On the eve of the centenary of the birth of Pierre Boulez, here he is, at the links, conducting both ballets. I cut my teeth on Boulez’s earlier recording of “The Wooden Prince,” with the New York Philharmonic, but there’s no question the sonics on his remake with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra are superior.

    “The Miraculous Mandarin” (Boulez live)

    “The Wooden Prince” (DG recording)

    Happy 100th (almost), Pierre Boulez, and happy 144th, Béla Bartók!


    1937 production of “The Wooden Prince,” with Gyula Harangozó and Karola Szalay0

  • Sibelius’s Surprising Ballet Connection

    Sibelius’s Surprising Ballet Connection

    EIGHT DAYS OF SIBELIUS – DAY 2

    Sibelius is not exactly the first composer anyone would associate with ballet.

    So I was astonished to learn, quite recently, that a couple of his (non-dance) scores were picked up by London’s Sadler’s Wells Theatre Ballet and choreographed in the late 1940s. Specifically, the suite “Belshazzar’s Feast” was used in “Khadra,” choreographed by Celia Franca, and the tone poem “En saga” was used in “Sea Change,” choreographed by John Cranko. Both were early in their careers. In Franca’s case, it was the first ballet she ever choreographed. She went on to found the National Ballet of Canada. Likewise, “Sea Change” was the first major project for Cranko, who would soon achieve world fame. Later, he would direct the Stuttgart Ballet. You can learn more – a lot more – about both ballets, with photos, here:

    Khadra and Sea Change: Sibelius’s music at Sadler’s Wells

    Sibelius did actually compose music for a ballet-pantomime, “Scaramouche,” in 1912-13. When he agreed to the project, on scenario by the Danish playwright Poul Knudsen, it was with the understanding that he would only be supplying a few dance numbers. When he learned that he was expected to compose a full hour of music, he despaired. Furthermore, he detected immediately that the libretto had basically been cribbed from Arthur Schnitzler’s “The Veil of Pierrette,” a recent success with music by Ernst von Dohnanyi. Attempts to annul or even alter the contract proved to be futile. Sibelius, a meticulous composer, feared that his international reputation was on the line. At one point, in frustration, he smashed a telephone.

    In the end, he was able to complete the work to his satisfaction and the music was met with acclaim; the ballet-pantomime, not so much. It was revived in Copenhagen about ten years later and was savaged by the critics, who had not forgotten about Schnitzler. Sibelius’ music, however, was again praised. That said, the fact that the individual cues are tied so closely to the action have caused the score to be dragged into the depths of obscurity. It has, however, been recorded several times.

    Of course, one of Sibelius’ best-known pieces, “Valse triste,” also happens to be a dance – a “sad waltz.” Originally one of six numbers that comprise the incidental music for a 1903 play, “Kuolema,” or “Death,” by the composer’s brother-in-law, Arvid Järnefelt, the work underscores the opening scene. A son attends his dying mother, who is swept up in a dream of the dance. At the end of the scene, she is claimed by Death in the form of her late husband. Its morbid origin aside, the work proved to be what is now known as an ear-worm and became an international hit. The composer encountered it everywhere, arranged for every conceivable instrument, played in cafes and by salon orchestras.

    Unfortunately, Sibelius had essentially sold the work to his publisher outright, and he received few royalties. He would spend many fruitless hours, in between symphonies, crafting the occasional piece of light music, hoping to recapture lightning in a bottle. Alas, it proved to be a will o’ the wisp. Works like the “Suite mignonne” and “Suite champêtre,” while unquestionably charming, were not a patch on the maddening ubiquity of “Valse triste.”

    “Valse triste” itself was to be choreographed a number of times, including, in tandem with “Scenes with Cranes” (also distilled from “Kuolema”), by Peter Martins for New York City Ballet.

    Trip the light fantastic with Twinkletoes Sibelius!


    “Valse triste”

    “Suite mignonne” and “Suite champêtre”

    “Belshazzar’s Feast”

    “En saga”

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