The art of architecture

How to build Frank Lloyd Wright's "Fallingwater" while an orchestra plays . . .

Fallingwater from Cristóbal Vila on Vimeo.

How to Build a Song

Reggie Watts builds a song layer by layer, on the spot, with looping technology!


Reggie Watts: Lost in the Options from Jakob Lodwick on Vimeo.

Opera and story

Even though I said I would read Hawthorne's story "Rappaccini's Daughter" before seeing the opera by Daniel Catan, I did it the other way around, and I saw the second act before actually seeing the first. So I experienced this piece in almost the exact reverse order of its conception, which was fascinating to me as someone who's also composing operas. After the Friday performance, Mr. Catan took questions from the audience; immediately the question arose of adaptation. He eloquently summed up the central dilemma: as a composer you are trying to project the arc of the story, but you are also trying to give the singers beautiful words and melodies. He said a composer almost needs two separate writers: a poet and a dramatist. Very rarely do people (like Shakespeare) manage to combine the two. So Catan uses the poetic version of Hawthorne's story by Octavio Paz, and adapts it with the playwright Juan Tovar.

After learning this, then seeing the whole piece on Saturday, I could tell the joins: the drama spins along (with exposition provided by the maid), and then in the garden Giovanni and Beatriz sing awesome poetry. In some ways, opera has always been like this since Monteverdi in the 1600s. Recitative sections with fast singing (a distant ancestor of rap) move the plot along, while singers emote and reflect on their fates in beautiful, florid arias.

Another problem of adaptation is dramatic compression: in the story, Giovanni and Beatrice become gradually over the course of weeks, walking every day in the garden, although they can never touch. In opera, everything has to happen right away: love at first sight. Music can vividly capture that moment, but it's more difficult for music to show a steadily growing companionship. And these are some of the hard choices Catan had to make as he adapted the Hawthorne. But opera will live or die by its music, and here Catan succeeds with a vivid, moving, expressive score.

Opera

Stepping into the beautiful theater I prepared myself for some beautiful voices. I think my favorite kind of music is the kind that comes completely natural from someones body, without any kind of instrument's or object's help.

I felt that the voices were being ruined by the words they had to say in order for people to understand the storyline and plot. I wanted them to sing to me, not talk to me. I got goosebumps whenever they hit a note with full power and held it there, and I waited and hoped for another note to strike me even harder. My heart would melt. Their voices amazed me. How can someone that small make a noise that loud? I also enjoyed their acting, they make me feel what they felt.

I've never seen anything so intricate and gorgeous as the costumes and setting of the garden. The flower girls were so beautiful that I wanted to be them, but then realized how hard it would be to stay still like that for so long. I have no idea how they did that. I caught myself watching one of them for quite some time to see if she would move, not even her eyes moved except for her blinking. Very impressive.

I would've liked it more if I understood them and didn't have to read the subtitles. It took me away from the emotion and actions of the characters. But then I got to thinking if it would be as beautiful and sound as good in english? Maybe they did that on purpose? Maybe not. I'm not sure what the norm is for operas. I would like to know.

The story almost reminded me of Romeo and Juliette. I guess similar to many love stories, but the impossible love that will only work if they run away, and then one mistakenly takes the poison and of course the other can't live without their love and also takes the poison.

Complete drama. Complete love. And I melt for it everytime.

Chamber music

Whenever I attend a classical music concert, I want the various musical pieces to be performed in chronological order.  Maybe it's the writer in me, but I like the "story" of musical change, from the baroque period to the classical, to the romantic era to modern music.  

This rarely happens, though.  One reason, I think, is that performers save the big piece for last, whatever its era.  And they also try to hide less popular music in the middle of a concert program, so that the audience won't clear out before the end.  This happened when the Wolf Quartett performed at Krannert: Alban Berg's Lyric Suite was stuck in the middle, just before the intermission.  Apparently, some music lovers still don't love twelve-tone music, even when it's written by Berg, one of the most "romantic" of the twelve-tone composers.  During the intermission, I overheard more than a few folks complaining about the piece.

Which amazed me, because I thought it was the high point of the concert.  The Haydn quartet beginning the concert was perfectly fine.  It was "chamber music" of a certain sort--elegant and witty, its passion held mostly in check, and I could imagine listeners of the late eighteenth century sitting primly on seats, or wandering quietly about the musicians, tea cups in hand.  All very polite (though other of Haydn's work is more than fiery).  The Schubert quartet, which hails from the early nineteenth century, was brawny, heartfelt, and complex romantic music, straining against the strictures of classical form.  But still chamber music.

This gravitational tug of form and content is in an entirely different sphere in Berg's Lyric Suite, from the early twentieth century.  The music  seems to ache, so charged with emotion that one would miss the form (which, being a version of twelve-tone music, must be strict).  But what amazed me most was the story behind the music.  Apparently, Berg was having an affair, and he coded into the music itself his initials and that of his lover, and the last movement is even secretly fitted to an apt sonnet by the French poet Baudelaire.  Again, it's the writer in me, but this tormented secret story transformed the music.  This no longer seemed like public "chamber music," but more like music resonating in the chamber of the composer's mind.  No tea drinking when this is playing!  I was also struck that the secret correspondences of the music remained unknown for 50 years, until a musical scholar's analysis (and documentary evidence) brought it all to light.  Even the most elaborate disguise contains the code to its own unravelling.

The Opera

My vision of the art world expanded with Friday night's performance of Rappaccini's Daughter. I went in with no expectations. I wasn't too familiar with the story either. So I went in as a blank slate.
The first thing I noticed was the background on stage. The high platform and use of stairs gave the illusion of multiple rooms, spaces for the performers to use. Even though there was no wall, the metal frame in the bedroom that was opened and closed suggested a window that looked out upon the garden. The garden was a whole different story! The flowers and plants that were actually people dressed in costumes were incredible. I can't imagine holding a pose throughout entire scenes. It did not seem like a comfortable position but definitely a neat perspective as they didn't have to worry as much about singing but rather placement and appearance to the audience. That is something I would like to do, especially in a movie. I want to be there on set, a part of the scene without having a speaking role or major pressure to act. I guess I wouldn't mind being behind the scenes but I would really like to gain that experience and see a movie or performance from an alternate perspective. The preparation towards the production fascinates me as much as the actual show.
The opera itself was at times hard to follow because of the Spanish and then need to look up at the subtitles. I occasionally found myself ignoring the subtitles and just watching the performer's expressions. That was a story in itself.
I did skim over Nathaniel Hawthorne's story and found that I was missing the background and the details from the story. Not everything can translate over to a performance, especially an opera. But I felt as I was watching it that something was missing. The story filled in some blanks and the ending either way--text or opera-- was dramatic. There were scientific, moral and love elements which made the story relatable to various audiences but for me I wish I had a richer understanding of the plot before being thrown into the opera setting.

Graffiti comes alive!

Another example of intriguing combinations that spark art, in this case stop-action film as living graffiti. This video is by Blu (for more info, see http://www.blublu.org/blog/).



MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.