Tag: Opera

  • German Christmas: A Time for Fantastic Fairy Tale Operas

    German Christmas: A Time for Fantastic Fairy Tale Operas

    How many people do you know that own TWO recordings of Hans Pfitzner’s “Das Christ-Elflein” (“The Christmas Elf”)? Well, now you know ONE.

    I was riding around in the car yesterday, trying to knock out some last-minute, long-distance Christmas shopping, and after listening to Josef Rheinberger’s “The Star of the Bethlehem,” I popped in the Orfeo recording of “Das Christ-Elflein,” with Helen Donath in the title role and Kurt Eichhorn conducting. (That’s right, my car still has a CD player. In fact, it was the deciding factor in purchasing the vehicle.) If you’re curious, my other recording is a more recent one, on the CPO label, with Marlis Petersen as the Elf and Claus Peter Flor conducting.

    The plot, based on an airy-fairy play by Ilse van Stach, concerns an Elf, who’s never heard of Christmas, and a grumpy old Fir Tree, who has and doesn’t like it. (Firs get chopped down at Christmas.) Despite the Fir Tree’s warnings about the heartlessness of the human race, the inquisitive Elf ventures into the world of men. It turns out it’s a rather depressing place.

    When the Christ Child appears on Christmas Eve, the Elf wants to follow Him into heaven. But the Christ-Child has work to do: He’s to escort the soul of a dying girl. When the guileless Elf offers himself in her place, the Christ-Child accepts. The girl is restored, and the Elf returns every year at Christmas as the Christmas Elf. The opera concludes with a joyous Christmas party with the girl’s family.

    In the Eichhorn recording, Donath makes a good Elf. Her voice and characterization convey innocence and purity. The jaded and embittered Fir Tree, on the other hand, is sung by Alexander Malta, whose pleasingly resonant voice belies a gruff exterior. Bass-baritones, it happens, are thick on the ground, and Nikolaus Hillebrand sings an authoritative, even noble Knecht Ruprecht (a gift-bearing companion of St. Nicholas).

    The work itself is entertaining – it’s got some good bits, especially fun in the parts that incorporate quotations of “O Tannenbaum,” and there’s obviously also an ample amount of Christmas sentiment (okay, schmaltz) – but if I’m to be honest, it doesn’t hold a Christmas candle to the ne plus ultra of the genre, Engelbert Humperdinck’s “Hansel und Gretel.”

    For a time, the fairy tale opera was to Germany what the ghost story was to England, a cherished Christmas tradition. “Hansel und Gretel” was given its first performance on this date in 1893 – with Richard Strauss, no less, directing the orchestra and cueing singers from the pit of Weimar’s Hoftheater. With its folk-like simplicity, visions of sweets, and Evening Prayer (replete with angels), it’s been part of the Christmas season ever since.

    “Hansel und Gretel” had a foundational advantage in the familiar Brothers Grimm fairy tale. “Das Christ-Elflein” is a much stranger concoction, mixing sacred and secular – indeed pagan – elements into a heady Christmas punch.

    The opera, really a singspiel (an entertainment with sung parts linked by spoken passages), first appeared in 1906 and was revised in 1917. It still gets revived in German-speaking countries, but in the two recordings I own, anyway, there is the drawback of interludes delivered by a German narrator. I would have preferred had the singer’s spoken dialogue been retained.

    “Hansel and Gretel” was the first opera broadcast live on the radio from the Metropolitan Opera in 1931. Here’s a lovely, classic staging from the Met, prior to the current rage for Regietheater:

    My favorite recording of the “Dream Pantomime,” with Otto Klemperer:

    Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Irmgard Seefried, with Josef Krips conducting, from 1947:

    “Das Christ-Elflein”


  • Puccini’s Bohemian Christmas

    Puccini’s Bohemian Christmas

    Giacomo Puccini’s opera “La bohème” opens in an artist’s garret on Christmas Eve. After Mimi and Rodolfo meet cute (she knocks on his door looking for a match for her candle), they join their friends on the boisterous streets of Paris for a good old-fashioned Latin Quarter Christmas. This effectively knocks out the first two acts.

    By Act III, their love is on the rocks. On a snowy night, Rodolfo confides to the painter Marcello that Mimi is slowly dying of consumption (tuberculosis). He loves her still, but he doesn’t have the money to take care of her, so he is feigning jealousy in an attempt to drive her into the arms of another. Mimi overhears, and apparently agrees to the split, but then the lovers decide it’s too horrible to part in winter. We know it’s just an excuse, though, so that they can stay together until spring.

    In Act IV, we have no idea what month it is, but it’s sometime later. Mimi shows up at the garret, and she is not well. The circle of bohemians offer comfort, each in their own way. Earrings are sold for a muff, and an overcoat is hocked for medicine. Left to themselves, Mimi and Rodolfo relive their past happiness, but the reunion is agonizingly brief. Their friends return, only just in time for everyone to dissolve into tears.

    Merry Christmas.

    ————-

    On Puccini’s birthday, here’s a recording of André Kostelanetz (also born on this date) conducting a purely orchestral suite of highlights from “La bohème”:


    Mimi’s hands are cold, so Rodolfo goes to work. The old smoothie.


    Franco Zeffirelli filmed production of the complete opera, with Adriana Martino turning up the heat in Act II as flirty Musetta.


  • The Good, the Bad and the Opera: Ennio Morricone’s “Partenope” Receives Its Belated Premiere

    The Good, the Bad and the Opera: Ennio Morricone’s “Partenope” Receives Its Belated Premiere

    Ennio Morricone’s only opera, “Partenope,” received its world premiere this evening at the Teatro San Carlo in Naples – 30 years after the work’s completion.

    The opera relates the plight of the titular siren, who drowns herself after failing to enchant Ulysses. Her body washes ashore and becomes the settlement that grows into Naples. The port city celebrates its 2,500th anniversary this year.

    The work was commissioned in 1995 by a festival in the Campania region (of which Naples is the capital), but the event went bust before the opera could be performed.

    Morricone, the composer of over 500 film and television scores, left roughly 100 concert works. He died in 2020 at the age of 91.

    Yes, I subscribe to the New York Times, but I probably wouldn’t have seen this today if not for Mather Pfeiffenberger. Thanks, Mather! Enjoy this “gift article” on Classic Ross Amico.

    https://www.nytimes.com/2025/12/12/arts/music/ennio-morricone-opera-partenope.html?unlocked_article_code=1.8E8.uJFH.4_sS3215pW7K&smid=url-share

  • Kavalier & Clay Opera: Chabon’s Szymanowski Secret

    Kavalier & Clay Opera: Chabon’s Szymanowski Secret

    I’ve been rereading “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Klay” to refresh my memory, in advance of checking out Mason Bates’ new opera at the Met this week. A little while ago, I watched an unrelated interview with the book’s author, Pulitzer Prize winner Michael Chabon, who straddles the worlds of “serious” and pop cultural fiction (i.e. comic books, the pulps, genre pastiche) with the authority of a literary colossus. The interview was geared toward young readers, and one of the things he recommended was making an effort to read outside one’s comfort zone. By that, he means not only reading about subjects to which one wouldn’t ordinarily gravitate, but also getting to know different characters by writers who come from diverse backgrounds, as it can really expand one’s understanding and empathy for other perspectives. It’s clear that Chabon practices what he preaches, as it’s the only explanation for the richness of the world he creates and recalls in “Kavalier & Clay” (much of the book is set during the Great Depression and World War II) and the realistic characters who occupy it.

    For instance, I don’t know what kind of music Chabon enjoys, but clearly he’s an intellectual omnivore. His curiosity about the classics may not extend very deeply into opera (the premiere of “Kavalier & Klay” was the first time he ever set foot in the Met), but it drove him far enough beyond Bach and Beethoven to turn up no less than Karol Szymanowski. Szymanowski, one of Poland’s foremost composers, was born on this date (according to some sources) in 1882. Szymanowski is referenced multiple times throughout “Kavalier & Clay,” and I’m not entirely sure why. It could just be that the author enjoys his music, or perhaps he simply likes the sound of his name (Shim-an-OFF-ski). Or it could be that he is trying to demonstrate, as he lets drop several times throughout the narrative, that many of these characters who are caught up in the pulp, comic, and novelty business are actually very talented people, immigrants who perhaps abandoned their higher aspirations when they settled in the United States and determined to improve their lot. Which would explain why long-suffering publisher Sheldon Anapol is a member of the Szymanowski Society.

    Later in the book, Szymanowski is not mentioned by name when we are told that a portrait of the composer of “Songs of an Infatuated Muezzin” hangs on the wall behind his desk. Holy moly, Chabon! “Songs of an Infatuated Muezzin” isn’t even one of Szymanowski’s better-known works! I wonder if, thematically, the author might also have found the subject matter – a Muslim holy man who, in the execution of his sacred duty to call the faithful to prayer five times a day, finds himself increasingly distracted by erotic thoughts of his beloved – apposite to the situation of one of Chabon’s protagonists, Joe Kavalier, who succumbs to his guilt over the distraction from his primary mission, to get his family out of Nazi-occupied Czechoslovakia. In the meantime, he’s been engaged in a serious affair. Two affairs, actually – one with a free-spirited Greenwich Village bohemian and another, his artistic devotion to comic books – and the reader wonders which passion outstrips the other. In his way, he too is distracted from his sacred duty by a beguiling mistress.

    I don’t know that Chabon had this in mind, but the parallel is there. Or, as I say, it could be that he just likes the music.

    Looking forward to “Kavalier & Clay.” Also, happy birthday, Karol Szymanowski!


    “Songs of an Infatuated Muezzin”

    “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay” at the Met

    https://www.metopera.org/season/2025-26-season/the-amazing-adventures-of-kavalier–clay/

    Szymanowski’s Violin Concerto No. 2, recorded by Henryk Szeryng

    Michael Chabon interview geared to young readers


    CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: The novel, a still from the opera, and Karol Szymanowski

  • Montemezzi’s Lost Opera A Rediscovery

    Montemezzi’s Lost Opera A Rediscovery

    If opera will not come to the middle of the mountain, the middle of the mountain will come to opera!

    Today marks the 150th anniversary of the birth of Italo Montemezzi (Montemezzi, if I am not mistaken, literally translating as “half-mountain”).

    A representative of that vast artistic lineage of one-hit wonders, Montemezzi is pretty much known for his opera “L’amore dei tre re” (“The Love of Three Kings”), which one might assume from the title to be a heartwarming Christmas piece about the three Magi, along the lines of Gian Carlo Menotti’s “Amahl of the Night Visitors.” If so, one would be mistaken.

    “L’amore dei tre re” is an overheated historical tragedy, centering around a love triangle – perhaps even a ménage à quatre – in which everyone winds up dead or inconsolable. Another great night at the theater! Only in opera does one set foolish, deadly traps to ensnare the guilty, only to have the scheme backfire horribly.

    “L’amore dei tre re” opened at La Scala in 1913 to mixed reviews. But what do the Italians know about opera? When it made its way abroad, it became an international success. In the U.S., it was hailed as “the best operatic work coming from Italy since Verdi’s ‘Falstaff.’” In 1918, it was sung at New York’s Metropolitan Opera by Enrico Caruso, Claudia Muzio, and Pasquale Amato.

    Alas, the mania for “The Love of Three Kings” proved to be but a flare. The opera had its moment, but after World War II, frequency of performances declined to the point where now, if it’s ever done at all, it’s an event.

    Unabashedly decadent, coyly erotic, dramatic, and dreamlike, “Three Kings” may be Italian, but it was written by a composer who had assimilated broader musical influences. The score cranks up the heat, in kind of a mélange of Wagner, Strauss, and Debussy.

    It won’t turn up very often at your friendly neighborhood opera house. Happily, there’s a fine recording of the work in modern sound (i.e. stereo), featuring Anna Moffo, Placido Domingo, and Cesare Siepi.

    That said, here’s an interesting document from the Met in 1941, with the composer conducting on a broadcast introduced by Milton Cross!

    In 1948, the New York Times described “L’amore dei tre re” as “a tone poem for voices and orchestra,” lauding it as “the most poetic and aristocratic of Italian operas” and declaring of its composer, “He never descends beyond the loftiest level.”

    Not bad! Where is it now?

    We’ll keep a candle in the window for you on your sesquicentenary, Italo Montemezzi.

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