Leo Delibes

Leo Delibes was a French composer renowned for his operas and ballets. He was born in 1836 at St-Germain-du-Val in northwest France and studied in Paris under Adolphe Adam and others, becoming an accompanist at the Théâtre-Lyriques in 1853, for whom he composed his first opera, Maître Griffard, in 1857.

In 1863 he became an accompanist, and later second chorus-master, at the Paris Opéra. His attention turned to ballet and he won fame with his ballets Sylvia and Coppélia.

However, opera drew him back and he wrote three for the Opéra-Comique, the most famous of them being Lakmé in 1883.

This opera was in keeping with the current vogue for the “mysterious east”, which was also an Opéra-Comique tradition. Delibes embellished his tale of a love affair between an English lieutenant and the title character, an Indian girl, with a wealth of mock-Oriental melody.

One admirer of Delibes’s tunefulness and decorative scoring, both in his operas and ballets, was Tchaikovsky, who preferred his music of that of both Brahms and Wagner.

Leo Delibes died in Paris in 1891 at the age of 54.

© John Welford

Lohengrin, by Richard Wagner

 

Lohengrin is a romantic opera in three acts that takes three and a half hours to perform. It was written by Richard Wagner, being completed in 1848. This was a momentous year in European politics, with revolutions and uprisings in a number of countries, including Germany. Wagner was involved in an uprising in his home city of Dresden, with the result that he was exiled to Switzerland and was unable to premiere his new opera as intended. He petitioned his friend (and future father-in-law) Franz Liszt to arrange the premiere on his behalf in Weimar in 1850.

Wagner’s romanticism was largely based on ancient legends and mysticism with strong Gothic influences. These trends would come to the fore in his much later Ring Cycle operas, but were certainly present in his earlier operas including Lohengrin. The plot of this opera was based on a mediaeval epic poem, “Parsifal”, to which Wagner added his own embellishments including elements of ancient Greek tragedy.

The setting is the city of Antwerp during the reign of King Heinrich I of Saxony (876-936)

Act One

There is discord at the court of King Heinrich when Count Friedrich accuses Elsa von Brabant of murdering her brother. He had previously been rejected by her and married the sorceress Ortrud instead.

The King declares that the accusation must be settled by combat, with Elsa’s champion fighting Friedrich. This turns out to be a mysterious knight who arrives on a boat led by a swan. He agrees to be Elsa’s champion on condition that should he win she will marry him but must never enquire about his identity.

The fight takes place with the knight overcoming Friedrich but sparing his life.

Act Two

There are celebrations in the castle of Antwerp, but outside the walls Ortrud persuades Friedrich to seek revenge. When Elsa steps onto a balcony to confess her joy, Ortrud cunningly elicits her pity. Ortrud warns Elsa not to trust the knight.

In the morning, the King’s herald proclaims the knight to be “Protector of Brabant”. Elsa arrives in a wedding procession but Ortrud intervenes and accuses the knight of sorcery. When Friedrich arrives he calls on the knight to reveal his name but the knight refuses to do so.

Act Three

The act opens with the famous Wedding March that has been used at weddings ever since the opera was first performed.

Once married, Elsa, troubled by the doubts instilled in her by Ortrud, asks the knight to reveal his name. Friedrich arrives to take his revenge by attacking the knight but is killed by him.

In front of the King, the knight presents Friedrich’s body and accuses Elsa of breaking her vow. He then reveals that he is Lohengrin, the son of Parsifal and a Knight of the Grail. He must now, with his identity revealed, return to the home of the Grail at Montsalvat instead of leading an army on behalf of King Heinrich.

The swan and the boat reappear. Ortrud boasts that it was her magic that transformed Elsa’s apparently murdered brother into the swan. In response to Lohengrin’s prayer, a dove appears. He takes a chain from the swan which then transforms back into Elsa’s brother, Gottfried.

Lohengrin departs on the boat, now led by the dove. Elsa calls out to her husband then dies in her brother’s arms.

© John Welford

Mozart and billiards

 

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born in 1756 and died in 1791 at the age of only 35. During his short life he composed a huge number of musical works, many of which are still performed today. However, he also found time for recreation and two of his chief delights were billiards and bowls. Both these games are played today by many people, although the game of billiards is less common than snooker. In Mozart’s day, he would have played by propelling the balls with a pusher rod rather than the modern snooker cue.

There is little doubt that he pursued these games not just their own sake but because he found in the movement and control of a rolling ball congenial accompaniment to the movement within his own copious and productive mind.

There are recorded instances of him stopping in the middle of a game of billiards to make notes, or of him humming, as he played, a theme which was later found in one of his works. It is known that he was particularly fond of playing billiards alone while keeping his notebook handy – although the notes he made were always only the briefest indication of an idea, for he did his actual composing in his head.

The ever-flowing rhythms in his mind induced him incessantly to tap away at the table, a chair-back, or anything to hand, and there is no doubt that he spent some of his most fruitful hours alone at the billiard table.

© John Welford

 

The 10 symphonies that everyone should own

Anyone who wants to feel that they are really “up” in classical music cannot ignore the symphony, which has inspired so many of the world’s greatest composers to give of their best. The experience of sitting in a concert hall as a hundred musicians play their hearts out, guided by an expert conductor, is second to none, and modern technology gives the music lover the chance to bring the concert hall to his or her own home.

But which symphonies to choose? I suggest that you approach the problem by selecting composers first, and then going for symphonies that are typical of their work. If you like what you hear, then you are probably going to want to find other works by them, not only symphonies but also concertos, choral works, operas, chamber music or whatever.

So here is my list of ten great composers and one symphony from each of them:

1. Mozart. Symphony No 38 (The Prague). Mozart has to be on the list as the greatest of all composers in so many branches of music. I have chosen the Prague because I like it, because it has all the hallmarks of Mozart at his best, and also for one very special reason. One theme from the symphony has been suggested as the genesis of the mysterious “enigma” of Elgar’s Enigma Variations. It is known that Elgar was very fond of this symphony, and it is worth listening very carefully to it to catch the tune. I am sure it is there, but only fleetingly. Mozart wrote three more symphonies after this one, which number among his greatest works, all composed within a three-month period in 1788, after which he abandoned the symphony altogether. 

2. Beethoven. Symphony No 7. So why not No 6 (The Pastoral) or No 9 (The Choral)?  For me, the 2^nd movement allegretto is the most sublime of all of Beethoven’s slow movements, and no collection would be complete without it.

3. Schubert. Symphony No 8. (The Unfinished). Only two movements, but two that can be listened to over and over again. Many theories have been advanced as to why there are no more, but perhaps Schubert felt that he simply could not equal the perfection of what he had already written. For a very different experience, also listen to the 9^th Symphony, the “Great C Major”, which is equally unforgettable.

4. Berlioz. Symphonie Fantastique. A five-movement symphony that is also an example of a programme symphony, telling the story of a doomed love affair.  An eccentric symphony by an eccentric composer, with distinct gothic overtones including portrayals of an execution by guillotine and a witches’ sabbath. Berlioz only wrote one other symphony, which is almost a viola concerto, entitled “Harold in Italy”.

5. Brahms. Symphony No 1. Unlike many first symphonies, this is the work of a composer at the height of his maturity and powers, having taken him 14 years to complete. It is sometimes referred to as “Beethoven’s 10^th”, the comparisons being made from the time of its first performance. Having broken the log-jam, Brahms wrote three more symphonies in relatively quick succession.

6. Tchaikovsky. Symphony No 5. For me, this is most sublime piece of music, let alone symphony, ever written. All the movements share the quality of being utterly absorbing, so that it is impossible to do anything other than listen intently! Next, listen to the 6^th Symphony (the “Pathetique”) and then the 4^th.

7. Dvorak. Symphony No 9 (From the New World). The old world meets the new. Dvorak wrote it during his three years in New York and denied that he had actually used any American folk or spiritual themes in it, although the influence of this music is clearly very strong. You can then work your way back through his symphonies, all of which are delightful.

8. Mahler. Symphony No 5. A five-movement symphony, of which the 4^th, the Adagietto, is by far the best known, mainly because of its use in the film ‘Death in Venice.’ It is usually played as though it were a funeral march, but some conductors have speeded it up to a degree, which changes its character to that of a piece written as a tribute to a loved one, which is probably what the composer had in mind. Mahler’s 1^st Symphony is probably his most approachable, but most of the others are an acquired taste, being extremely long and complicated. His 8^th Symphony, for example, is known as the “Symphony of a Thousand” because of the huge chorus and orchestra originally used to perform it.

9. Sibelius. Symphony No 5. Written as a 50^th birthday present to himself, this three-movement symphony is notable for its rich orchestral colours, beautiful sustained melodies, and the finale that rolls on to its climax of six chords, punctuated by silence. Sibelius made many experiments with symphonic form, but after writing his single-movement 7^th Symphony in 1924 he wrote virtually no large-scale works for the remaining 33 years of his life.

10. Shostakovich. Symphony No 7. (Leningrad). The composer fought a life-long battle to preserve his artistic integrity against the frequently conflicting demands of the Soviet state. In this symphony written (at least in part) whilst living in a city under siege by the Nazis, he seems to have satisfied both criteria. It is immensely long and full of every emotion from the celebration of heroism to mourning for death and destruction. Shostakovich wrote 15 symphonies in all, many of them being massive in scope and full of emotion.

This selection clearly leaves many gaps, and many great symphonic composers are not included on a list that is a purely personal choice. There are probably 100 symphonies that every collector should own, but these should do for a start!

© John Welford

What - or who - killed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?

The who question is probably easier to answer than the what. The legend that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was murdered by his arch-rival Antonio Salieri was born soon after Mozart’s death in December 1791. However, the evidence for this is extremely thin and is countered by the fact that Mozart’s widow Constanze, a few years later, sent their son Franz to Salieri for tutoring, which would surely be highly unlikely if she thought that this was the man who had murdered the boy’s father.

The idea that Mozart was poisoned started doing the rounds very early on, due in part to the sudden decline in his health in November 1791, and also to his having said to Constanze that he feared that he had been given a dose of a poison called Aqua Tofana.

Although Salieri almost certainly had nothing to do with Mozart’s death, there was certainly a keen rivalry between the German and Italian groups of musicians then resident in Vienna. Aqua Tofana was reputed to be a tasteless and colourless blend of arsenic, lead and belladonna that had been invented in Palermo, Italy, by a certain Guilia Tofana. However, there is no evidence that such a thing ever existed other than as an urban myth.

Another form of poisoning could have been straight arsenic, but there is a problem there in that a single lethal dose would have led to a rapid as opposed to a lingering death, and a succession of smaller doses would have required the poisoner to have regular access to the victim. In Mozart’s case, that would have meant either Constanze or his doctor. Neither of them seem likely candidates for wanting Mozart to die.

Mozart’s final days were certainly unpleasant. He had suffered from a variety of ailments during his later years, including syphilis, typhoid, bronchitis, rheumatic fever and pneumonia. His symptoms towards the end included a high fever, sweating, nausea and incontinence. After two weeks of getting weaker he lapsed into a coma before dying.

What could have brought on this collapse if not poison? Maybe it was a less sensational form of poisoning, namely food poisoning. Mozart was fond of eating pork and he could easily have eaten a piece of badly cooked pork that harboured the trichinella worm. This can cause an infection called trichinosis, the symptoms of which are very similar to those suffered by Mozart.

Whatever the cause, the world was robbed of one of the greatest musical geniuses who ever lived, at the age of only 35. Who can tell what he might have produced had his life been considerably longer?

 © John Welford

Turandot, by Puccini: a summary of the plot

The plots of great operas are often difficult to fathom, partly because opera composers are generally more interested in writing great music than telling a believable story. The plot is merely a peg on which to hang arias, duets and choruses. Opera plots are often absurd, with unlikely happenings, impossible coincidences and ridiculous characters right, left and centre. On the other hand, some operas are also great dramas. See what you think about this one:

Turandot was Puccini's final opera, left unfinished at his death. At the first performance, at La Scala, Milan, on 25th April 1926, the conductor, Arturo Toscanini, laid down his baton in the middle of Act 3, turned to the audience and told them that this was the point at which the composer had died. The curtain was lowered slowly and the audience departed in silence. However, the opera is now performed in its entirety, the remaining pages having been completed by Franco Alfano, based on Puccini's sketches.

Act 1 - an open space in central Beijing, in ancient times

A mandarin reads a proclamation to the crowd that the hand of Princess Turandot will be given to the first prince of royal birth who can answer her three riddles. The downside of the deal is that failure to answer correctly means that you do not come back next week, but lose your head. The Princess is clearly in no great hurry to get hitched.

The crowd press forward to catch a glimpse of the Prince of Persia, who was unwise enough to take up the challenge and will soon pay the price for failure.

Also in the crowd is a beggar and a slave-girl, and another Prince, all of them hiding their identity. They meet, and the Prince recognises the beggar as being his own father, the exiled King Timur of Tartary.

As the Prince of Persia is brought forward to be executed, the crowd call for Turandot to show mercy, and the unknown Prince curses her cruelty. When Turandot appear, the Prince refuses to bow down to her, but instead is struck by her beauty and falls hopelessly in love with her. The merest glimpse of a well-turned ankle and some men are putty in the hands of a beautiful woman.

Despite the entreaties of his father and Liu, the slave-girl, he determines to try his luck at the Princess's challenge. All he has to do to announce his challenge is to strike the great gong three times. Even the three courtiers, Ping, Pong, and Pung, try in vain to dissuade him; and if the sight of the Prince of Persia's severed head being carried across the stage by the executioner won't put him off, nothing will. He strikes the gong and the curtain falls.

Act 2, Scene 1 - a gorgeously painted pavilion

A bit of light relief as the three comic courtiers take the stage. Was Puccini a secret fan of Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado? Maybe!

Scene 2 - outside the Palace

The Emperor appears with all his court, and even he tries to dissuade the Prince from taking up the challenge. Turandot appears and explains her motive for being so unpleasant, which is that her grandmother had been cruelly murdered and Turandot sees it as her duty to avenge the crime by slaughtering as many foreign princes as she can.

So the test goes ahead. Question One - "What is it that flies by night, that is born when the sun sets, and dies when it rises?" The Prince gives the answer - "Hope". He is correct. Question Two - "What is it that dreams can kindle into flame, whose voice we tremble to hear, and which is the colour of the setting sun?" Answer Two - "Blood". Turandot is now seriously worried, as we have to assume that no previous candidates have got as far as this before. Question Three - "What is it that, while it freezes, sets you on fire, which by setting you free makes you a slave, and by taking you as a slave makes you a king?" The Prince gives the answer - "It is you, Princess Turandot".

He's right, you know. She can't pretend that he isn't, because the answers are written on sealed scrolls borne by the Emperor's wise elders. She appeals to the Emperor, but he points out that, by the terms of the deal, she must now marry the unknown Prince.

So he's won the bet, and the opera will now draw to a triumphant conclusion? You might think so, but we're only in Act 2, and we haven't got to "Nessun Dorma" yet. At this point we get one of the strangest plot twists of all time. Having won the prize, the Prince now gives Turandot another chance to win. If she can answer his riddle, which is "What is my name?", before dawn, then she wins after all and he dies. Next time you win the lottery, you will hand the money back and have another go, won't you?

Act 3, Scene 1 - the Palace gardens at night

OK, so this is where "Nessun Dorma" comes in. "None shall sleep", sings the Prince, as he reflects on the efforts that the Princess, and everybody else, will be making to learn his true name.

It's time for Ping, Pong and Pung to re-appear, this time offering the Prince lots of goodies just to leave and forget all about Turandot. No deal - despite what he knows about her bloodthirsty character, she is the only woman for him. It takes all sorts.

There's a commotion as a company of guards comes in, dragging Timur and Liu with them. Word has got about that these two were seen with the Prince the previous day, so surely they must know what his name is?

Turandot is summoned, and she questions Timur, but Liu steps forward and says that only she knows the answer. Oh no, she doesn't, says the Prince. Well, one thing leads to another and Liu admits that she loves the Prince - apparently she is as good as the Prince at falling helplessly in love at a moment's notice. Liu has realised that she can now never have the Prince for herself, but she can at least save his life by sacrificing her own, which she does by stabbing herself.

Only the Prince and Turandot are left on the stage. He tears off her veil and kisses her. She admits that she had actually fancied him all along, but then she reminds him that he has not told her his name. You might think that this is a bad move on the Prince's part, given the volatile nature of Turandot's character, but he tells her that his name is Calaf, thus putting his life back in her hands. We know he's a bit of a gambler, so maybe he reckons that that smacker he gave her will have done the trick. Just bear in mind for a second that this was the role played by Pavarotti, even in his sixties. Some gamble, that!

Scene 2 - outside the Palace

Everybody has gathered to learn the outcome of the previous night's challenge. Turandot looks down at Calaf and tells her father, "I know the name of the stranger. It is Love!" So the kiss did work, after all. Calaf leaps up and takes her in his arms. General rejoicing as the curtain falls. Not bad for a grand opera - only a couple of grizzly deaths, and a happy ending.

© John Welford

William Crotch: Britain's answer to Mozart

William Crotch was a musical genius who might have become a British version of Mozart, had his talents for composition matched his undoubted ability as a performer. One thing the two certainly had in common was early promise.

William Crotch was born in Norwich, Norfolk, in 1775. His father was a carpenter who was keen on music and who built himself a pipe organ. Young William showed an interest in this instrument from as young as 18 months. At two years old he was able to play “God Save the King” and from the age of four he gave regular organ recitals in London. By the age of seven he was also a proficient violinist.

At eleven he was pupil-assistant to the organist of King’s and Trinity Colleges, Cambridge and at 14 he had an oratorio of his performed in the city. At 15 he was the organist of Christ Church, Oxford and at 22 he was the Professor of Music. He later became Principal of the Royal Academy of Music in London.

But his prodigious early talents did not extend to originality in terms of his compositions, which were no better nor worse than those of his contemporaries. Although he wrote a considerable amount that was popular at the time, particularly oratorios and other church music, none of it was of a standard that would secure immortality.

William Crotch had a much longer life than that of Mozart, who died at the age of 35. Crotch died in 1847 at the age of 72, fated to be forgotten by everyone except the music-lovers of his own generation.

© John Welford