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CONTENTSCONGRATULATIONS
TO . . ., 3 LIVE EVENTS I
Hear Museum Art (B.L.C./Greenfest) <> Mad Dreams and Brits
(Hickey), 6 DOTTED NOTES
INTERVIEW SPEAKING OUT!
THE PRINTED WORD RECORDINGSÀ outrance
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PUZZLE CORNER: COMPOSER INDEX, 34 BULLETIN BOARD, 35 WEB SUPPLEMENTLive EventsEquinox
Chamber Players In Concert for Impact CD ReviewsHarrison
Birtwistle: Refrains and Choruses ObituariesArthur
Berger (1912-2003) |
Readying the “Unready”By
B.L.C. Richard WILSON: Aethelred the Unready, an opera in seven scenes. With Robert Osborne, Elizabeth Weigle, Drew Minter, Andrew Childs, Jonathan Goodman, Curtis Streetman, Thea Tullman. Wilson/ instrumentalists. Albany/ Troy 512. (TT=75:12) (World premiere recorded live at Merkin Concert Hall, May 13, 2001) Historical revisionism
may be a hypothetical activity, but it has become such a hot verbal
industry one begins to wonder whether universities might be considering
adding such courses to their curricula. One might, for example, try
renaming the epithets of the early British kings. Fun, huh? Well, maybe
not to most, but composer Richard Wilson saw nothing less than the possibility
of an opera on the idea and proceeded to write a libretto dealing with
a traditionally lowly rated Saxon king and his posthumous quest for
reassessment. He says he was also affected by a long Yankee losing streak,
leading him to wonder about losers, failures, washouts. Was he kidding?
Well, anyone familiar with his pre-concert lectures for the American
Symphony Orchestra, for which he serves as composer-in-residence, will
not be surprised to learn that Aethelred the Unready turns out
to be a work of whimsy and even an occasional belly laugh, though there
are also genuinely touching moments in it to remind us of the eternal
human need for self-esteem. Was Aethelred the Second really unready? It appears that his original epithet the unrede (meaning ill-advised) became corrupted during the English language’s evolution long after his reign. Perhaps a more unforgiving view of a monarch’s own responsibilities rather than that of his advisers had set in. We’ll probably never know. Aethelred lived from about 975 until 1016 and became king at the notably unripe age of 10. Not to be overlooked is the baptismal curse put on him by Dunstan, the Archbishop of Canterbury, for “defiling the font.” (Of course, in today’s computer world that curse is commonplace.) In the opera, the curse haunts Aethelred’s spirit and becomes one of his Achilles’ heels, so to speak.
The plot of the opera revolves around the forthcoming year of 2016 when the periodic Tribunal of Historical Revision is to take place. It will also mark the millennial of Aethelred’s death! (Aha!) His nagging wife Emma prods him to do something about his reputation and appeal to Clio, the Muse of History. They acquire a Publicist to speak for the timid king, and a Hypnotist to put him under an assertive spell in order to appear worthy of reevaluation. The king begins his appeal impressively, but is soon distracted by the Publicist’s interruptions, the Hypnotist’s restraints, and the ramblings of Clio’s chronicler, William of Malmesbury, who ranks all Saxon kings highly, but whose memory is as bad as Clio’s; he has forgotten where Aethelred fits in. So much for the esteem of the muses and their advisors. The king goes into a lot of babbling about artichokes and such, and Clio writes him off as a fraud. With his wife still scorning him and the others giving conflicting advice, Aethelred chases the whole lot away in his one act of self-assertion and falls into a peaceful sleep to end the opera after playing an old folk song on the trumpet absent-mindedly left behind by the muse. If this ending sounds unconvincing, it doesn’t really distract from the ticklish charm of the piece. Mr. Wilson might have had a different result had he acquired a professional librettist, but his aim was clearly not to be literary nor clever nor in any way Hollywoodish. He says he prefers “to be able to start with the words and then follow the musical impulse [and] to change them or the verbal rhythm without having to argue with a librettist [which] makes progress much easier.” Thus his own libretto is easy to follow yet sophisticated. The characters he has invented/resurrected are cleanly drawn. The music follows the action readily and sometimes evocatively. Instrumental register is kept in check when the words are deemed important, but the music does indeed have a life of its own. Tart harmonics paint an apt picture of satire. A musical prelude sets the stage for each scene. All the musicians stay busy, particularly the two percussionists who use their kitchens like the laugh track of a TV sitcom. Admittedly their slapstick sounds work well, especially in commenting on poor Aethelred’s often self-deprecating musings. As do all the instruments. If one listens closely to the themes, one can hear the use of leitmotifs among the characters. As the king, baritone Osborne is sympathetic in his character portrayal. His baritone voice is quite rich, with diction that allows nary a syllable to go by unheard. Soprano Weigle, as Emma, has dazzling vocal skills, and in her acting is properly nagging, but never objectionably so. All of the singers blend together nicely, but it is still necessary to follow the printed libretto or miss a few good lines. Although the acoustics of Merkin where the live event was taped are far from perfect, they seem to serve the recording engineer well enough. The instrumentalists are clarinetist Allen Blustine (who plays the final “trumpet” tune on the bass clarinet), violinist Rolf Schulte, cellist Dorothy Lawson, pianist Blanca Uribe and percussionists Paul Hostetter and Matthew Gold. Michael Pisani directs the singers. For any follower of contemporary music theater, who enjoys a little fun with history, this CD is joyously recommended. <> |
