title: Soireè flutiste

text:
Roberto Maria Avanzi Mocenigo <
moce...@exp-math.uni-essen.de
> wrote in message news:<b2r9o3$1eab5j$
1...@ID-7242.news.dfncis.de
>...
> Ieri sera sono stato in una piccola chiesetta evangelica
> molto attiva culturalmente,  il Gemeindezentrum im Fulerum,
> tra Essen e Mülheim an der Ruhr, per una lunga serata a
> base di musica per flauto, salatini e vino bianco.
> Infatti, sulla strada del ritorno, mi sono mangiato qualcosa da
> un take-away cinese sotto la stazione dei treni.  Non ho digerito
> bene.  Me la sono meritata.
>
>   ciao
>    Roberto scroccone
Un abinamento indigesto, anche culturalmente, vabe' essere globali ma
qui si esagera !.O


title: Non si vive di solo musica

author: Francesco Marano

text:
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title: quiz n.3

author: v i n i x ©

text:
cinque film
www.xiniv.com/ff/01.mp3
www.xiniv.com/ff/02.mp3
www.xiniv.com/ff/03.mp3
www.xiniv.com/ff/04.mp3
www.xiniv.com/ff/05.mp3
Vediamo chi ci azzecca.
ciao


title: quiz n.3

author: bobregular

text:
"v i n i x ©" <
xi...@libero.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:038s21dad6n3v7j6v...@4ax.com...

secondo tentativo sul #4: the passion of J.C.
bob


title: quiz n.3

text:
"v i n i x ©" <
xi...@libero.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:038s21dad6n3v7j6v...@4ax.com...

due mi sa che li conosco:
1) the hours
3) il nostro caro Van den Budenmayer!!! :)
il 2) mi sembra una variante de Aranjuez, magari si svolge in Spagna
il 4 sono sicuro di averlo visto (e pure di recente) ma non lo collego al
film.... sparo: I giardini dell'Eden?
il 5: buio totale
ora estendo anche ai miei lettori...
bob from da job
http://blogregular.splinder.com


title: quiz n.3

text:
On Wed, 9 Mar 2005 14:56:12 +0100, "bobregular" <ciar...@lmio.blog>
wrote:
>il 2) mi sembra una variante de Aranjuez, magari si svolge in Spagna
Il film si svolge in America. E quella profonda, pure.
ciao


title: quiz n.3

author: Claudio Rampini

text:

Secondo me vale solo la pena di ascoltare il primo, gli altri hanno
un'impronta tipicamente qualunquista :)))
ps
bellissimi ascolti, grazie.
--
www.claudiorampini.com
 - Il Portale dei Violini


title: quiz n.3

author: Renby

text:
Claudio Rampini ha scritto:
>   gli altri hanno
> un'impronta tipicamente qualunquista :)))
Scarpa a taglia unica?
> ps
> bellissimi ascolti, grazie.
Vero.
Ciao,
Renato.
P.S. Mi sa che dovrei andare più spesso a cinema...
--
questo articolo e` stato inviato via web dal servizio gratuito
http://www.newsland.it/news
 segnala gli abusi ad
ab...@newsland.it


title: quiz n.3

text:
"v i n i x ©" <
xi...@libero.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:038s21dad6n3v7j6v...@4ax.com...
> cinque film
io mi arrendo.
Anche la quinta colonna cinematografica di amici non sa che pesci pigliare.
Vogliamo sapere!!
--
bob
---------------
http://blogregular.splinder.com
musica classica, culto della parola scritta, quotidiane [c]astrazioni
---------------


title: quiz n.3

text:
On Fri, 11 Mar 2005 14:59:26 GMT, "bobregular" <1@2.3> wrote:
>Vogliamo sapere!!
1. Philip Glass - The poet acts (The Hours)
2. Angelo Badalamenti - Rose's Theme (Una Storia Vera)
3. Zgbiniew Preisner - Marionettes (La doppia vita di Veronica)
4. Hans Zimmer - Istinct (Green Card)
5.  Burkhard Dallwitz - Truman Sets Sail (The Truma Show)
ciao


title: quiz n.3

text:
"v i n i x ©" <
xi...@libero.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:r8l3311l86v2t0m1l...@4ax.com...
> On Fri, 11 Mar 2005 14:59:26 GMT, "bobregular" <1@2.3> wrote:
>
> >Vogliamo sapere!!
>
> 1. Philip Glass - The poet acts (The Hours)
ok preso
> 2. Angelo Badalamenti - Rose's Theme (Una Storia Vera)
the straight story... pensa te!
> 3. Zgbiniew Preisner - Marionettes (La doppia vita di Veronica)
questo era l'unico di cui ero certo
> 4. Hans Zimmer - Istinct (Green Card)
ma tu guarda! certo Zimmer attinge molto a temi esotici. E' un grande (the
thin red line)
> 5.  Burkhard Dallwitz - Truman Sets Sail (The Truma Show)
questo era per veri itenditori, se avessi usato un brano di Glass magari lo
avrei preso.
curiosità: compri molti cd soundtracks?



title: quiz n.3

text:
On Fri, 11 Mar 2005 19:54:44 GMT, "bobregular" <1@2.3> wrote:
>curiosità: compri molti cd soundtracks?
Diciamo che ..... ne ho un bel po'. :-)
Confesso anche di adorare le colonne sonore. Sono piuttosto fanatico
di cinema e sufficientemente sentimentale da perdermi dietro alle
musiche da film.
ciao


title: quiz n.3

text:
On Fri, 11 Mar 2005 19:54:44 GMT, "bobregular" <1@2.3> wrote:
>> 2. Angelo Badalamenti - Rose's Theme (Una Storia Vera)
>the straight story... pensa te!
Strano che tu non l'abbia beccato. Uno splendido film con musiche
magnifiche. Il tema di Rose è spalmato lungo tutto il film.
>> 4. Hans Zimmer - Istinct (Green Card)
>ma tu guarda! certo Zimmer attinge molto a temi esotici. E' un grande (the
>thin red line)
Un film minore (ma molto piacevole) di un regista che amo molto e
molto capace nelle colonne sonore.
>> 5.  Burkhard Dallwitz - Truman Sets Sail (The Truma Show)
>questo era per veri itenditori, se avessi usato un brano di Glass magari lo
>avrei preso.
Beh, Truman sleeps o Dreaming of Fiji erano troppo facili. Comunque
anche questo tema accompagna un momento molto intenso e suggestivo del
film. In realtà sono quasi più i brani di Dallwitz che di Glass.
ciao


title: quiz n.3

text:
On Tue, 22 Mar 2005 18:08:28 +0100, "bobregular" <ciar...@lmio.blog>
wrote:
>Xiniv, hai notato la somiglianza tra la traccia di Green Card e la prima
>traccia del cd Passion (musica per l'ultima tentazione di Cristo) di Peter
>Gabriel "the feeling begins"?
Non conosco la colonna dell'Ultima tentazione. Neppure il film, a dire
il vero. Adesso me la procuro.
ciao


title: quiz n.3

text:
"v i n i x ©" <
xi...@libero.it
> ha scritto
>
www.xiniv.com/ff/04.mp3
Xiniv, hai notato la somiglianza tra la traccia di Green Card e la prima
traccia del cd Passion (musica per l'ultima tentazione di Cristo) di Peter
Gabriel "the feeling begins"? Per me hanno molte rispondenze. ed i film sono
usciti ad un solo anno di distanza... (Scorsese nell'89 e Weir nel '90)
Con questo non voglio tirare addosso a Zimmer che è fior di musicista, è
solo un invito alla comparazione ed al dibattito.
bob (from da job)
http://blogregular.splinder.com


title: Passione secondo Matteo a Pisa e provincia

text:
Ecco gli appuntamenti per la Passione piu' famosa di Bach.
S. Miniato Chiesa di S. Domenico  0re 21 dell'11.04.2006 Ingr. libero
Pisa Chiesa di S. Francesco Ore 21 del 12.04.2006 Ingr. libero
Solisti coro, coro di voci bianche e orchestre delle Universita' di
Jena e Erfurt, Dir. Sebastian Krahnert
Organizzazione: ACIT-Pisa, Carlo Ipata.
Siete tutti invitati!!!!
Ezio


title: Ferruccio Busoni

author: Roberto A.

text:
Una domanda mi sorge spontanea.
Questo grande compositore del novecento, da me scoperto di recente grazie
alle interpretazioni di Giuseppe Mariotti e Carlo Grante, mi sembra assai
bistrattato o meglio, dimenticato, dalla critica e, forse, anche dal
pubblico.
Su Amadeus di questo mese, a proposito della recensione del CD "Elegie,
Diario Indiano" eseguite da Campanella, la critica e completamente
incentrata sull'esecutore che riuscirebbe a far apprezzare l'opera busoniana
anche a chi, come il recensore ammette, non ne e affatto entusiasta.
Nel fascicolo speciale di CD Classica dedicato al grande pianista, si cerca
di far comprendere questa "anomalia" come se dipendesse dalle sue "origini"
(latino per i Tedeschi e Tedesco per gli Italiani).
Sempre nel fascicolo di CD classica la frase iniziale dell'articolo di
Alessandro Zignani mi sembra affermare una grande verita:
"Busoni e il grande dimenticato della musica di questo secolo".
Chi conosce le opere busoniane?
Cosa ne pensate?
--
Roberto Acquaroli
http://members.tripod.it/classical/index.htm
www.dadacasa.com/classica/index.htm
http://digilander.iol.it/classical/index.htm
ICQ #45321889
Per risposte togliere NOSPAM dall'indirizzo (solo sui Newsgroup)


title: Ferruccio Busoni

author: Fabrizio Miletto

text:
Roberto A. <
classic...@libero.it
> wrote in message
7t8f24$qrn$1...@nslave1.tin.it...
> "Busoni e il grande dimenticato della musica di questo secolo".
> Chi conosce le opere busoniane?
> Cosa ne pensate?
Busoni ha avuto una sorte curiosa:
contemporaneo di Puccini,
č stato completamente sovrastato
dalla fama dell'operista.
Pianisticamente parlando,
č stato sbrigativamente liquidato
come semplice pedina neoclassica
fra Godowsky e Sorabji
(e infatti l'Opus Clavicembalisticum
č una "indigestione di Busoni").
in Italia poi si č parlato assai di piů
di Casella, Malipiero, Mascagni.
In Germania mal si parla di un italiano, ecc.
Raccolgo un po' di idee,
riascolto un po' di brani
e poi ti dico qualcosa di piů.
Ciao!
Fabrizio


title: Ferruccio Busoni

author: gpc

text:
Roberto A. <
classic...@libero.it
> wrote in message
7t8f24$qrn$1...@nslave1.tin.it...
>
> Chi conosce le opere busoniane?
> Cosa ne pensate?
>
Ho visto quest'estate una straordinaria produzione di Doktor Faust, al
festival di Salisburgo ed è stato per me una vera scoperta musicale, e la
regia era molto intensa. E' vero che è strano che Busoni non sia mai
eseguito, soprattutto in Italia..Ma credo che questo Faust uscira in disco
fra poco, bisogna comprarlo assolutamente.



title: Ferruccio Busoni

text:
Purtroppo non conosco il "Doktro Faust" ma è mia intenzione aggiornarmi
presto.
Cercherò di seguire il tuo consiglio se mi sarà possibile.
Ciao
--
Roberto Acquaroli
http://members.tripod.it/classical/index.htm
www.dadacasa.com/classica/index.htm
http://digilander.iol.it/classical/index.htm
ICQ #45321889
Per risposte togliere NOSPAM dall'indirizzo (solo sui Newsgroup)
gpc <
gche...@tiscalinet.it
> wrote in message
7tbg3p$c46$1...@draco.tiscalinet.it...



title: Ferruccio Busoni

author: Gia

text:
Roberto A. <
classic...@libero.it
> wrote in message
7t8f24$qrn$1...@nslave1.tin.it...
> Una domanda mi sorge spontanea.
> Questo grande compositore del novecento, da me scoperto di recente grazie
> alle interpretazioni di Giuseppe Mariotti e Carlo Grante, mi sembra assai
> bistrattato o meglio, dimenticato, dalla critica e, forse, anche dal
> pubblico.
> Su Amadeus di questo mese, a proposito della recensione del CD "Elegie,
> Diario Indiano" eseguite da Campanella, la critica e completamente
> incentrata sull'esecutore che riuscirebbe a far apprezzare l'opera
busoniana
> anche a chi, come il recensore ammette, non ne e affatto entusiasta.
> Nel fascicolo speciale di CD Classica dedicato al grande pianista, si
cerca
> di far comprendere questa "anomalia" come se dipendesse dalle sue
"origini"
> (latino per i Tedeschi e Tedesco per gli Italiani).
> Sempre nel fascicolo di CD classica la frase iniziale dell'articolo di
> Alessandro Zignani mi sembra affermare una grande verita:
> "Busoni e il grande dimenticato della musica di questo secolo".
> Chi conosce le opere busoniane?
> Cosa ne pensate?
Non conosco le opere di Busoni, ma ti segnalo che su Suonare News c'è la
pubblicità di vari cd pubblicati da Teldec, Warner ed Erato.



title: Luca F. P.

author: Frater Sinister

text:
Non sapevo niente di cio' che era successo.
Mi ha sempre trattato bene, malgrado i miei modi spesso arroganti e
sgarbati.
Mi ha anche difeso piu' volte.
Mi dispiace moltissimo.


title: Luca F. P.

text:
Non sapevo niente di cio' che e' successo.



title: Luca F. P.

author: Marco Marcelli

text:
Frater Sinister ha scritto:

Io invece sono uno che ti ha attaccato piu' volte, e lo
ricorderai certo.
Pero' questo ricordo da parte tua ti fa onore.
--
=========================================
Marco Marcelli - Genova
=========================================
"Ci sono solo due cose infinite: l'Universo
e la stupidita' umana. Ma sul primo non
sono completamente sicuro" (A.Einstein)


title: Opera News Luglio: primo articolo sulla Scala

author: Lucio PERES

text:
 Inside La Scala:
 Temple of Music or Temple of Doom?
     Riccardo Muti saved me from the Gypsies.
     We were in Milan, on an unusually warm day for February, walking
to lunch on my first day at La Scala.
     "Where is your overcoat?" he asked. "Walk along in just a
sweater, and suddenly little people will surround you.
     Gypsies. They will cover you with a rolled-up newspaper." He
shapes both hands around an imaginary paper and
     conducts them over me, a mesmerizing presto in 6/8 time. "They
will then vanish,
     and so will your money, and your watch and anything else they can
get. You be
     careful."
     Sure enough, a few days later I was walking to rehearsal when, on
a crowded
     street corner, with carabinieri watching, I was circled like a
flame by a gang of
     young women -- human moths, carrying newspapers. They were swift,
silent and
     sudden. "Via!" I yelled, hitting at them. They scattered. There
was applause. I looked sharply over at the cops,
     who merely shrugged.
     I wasn't so unnerved by the thought of having nearly lost my
money and passport -- but the Gypsies would have
     gotten my pass to La Scala! It had been stamped just a few days
before by the company's sovrintendente (the
     big boss), Carlo Fontana.
     "You see, I told you," Muti laughed later. "Always have armor on
when you walk in the world. The Gypsies may
     still get you, but they will have to work for what they get."
          Opera news had sent me to La Scala to cover the last two
weeks of rehearsals and the first two
     performances of a new production of La Forza del Destino -- the
first time La Scala has mounted the opera in
     twenty-one years. (The cast back then offered Montserrat Caballé,
José Carreras, Piero Cappuccilli and Nicolai
     Ghiaurov.) But my real reason for being there was to try to
discover the answer to some questions going around
     the music industry about La Scala. Once, the theater was
considered one of the great opera centers of the world.
     Italian opera really lived there, under the guidance of the great
old maestros: De Sabata, Serafin, Gavazzeni, Gui.
     Every singer dreamed of making a debut there; it was the Italian
equivalent of playing the Palace. In recent years,
     though, La Scala's importance in a singer's career has declined.
It has become a place many artists avoid, a
     company where chaos and mismanagement can make even the toughest,
most ambitious soprano scramble to
     book a flight home.
     At the center of much of the controversy surrounding La Scala's
management is Riccardo Muti. Before coming to
     Milan to work on this article, I hadn't been sure about Muti.
Already he was starting to win me over. I admitted as
     much to Elvio Giudici, a leading critic of La Musica and
contributor to La Repubblica. "But of course," Giudici
     snapped, "Muti is buying you!" Then he hung up on me.
     Giudici, who is also author of the exhaustive and brilliant
L'Opera in CD e Video, a 1,200-page tome, has gone
     to La Scala every significant night since he was ten, when he
heard "La Callas in the Visconti Traviata." After that
     phone call, I guessed I could count Giudici as a former friend.
Only in opera would my coming to like and admire
     Maestro Muti have sounded the death knell for a number of
friendships on two continents.
     Who works at La Scala -- and what do they do?
     Like all the big institutions in Italy, La Scala has a
hierarchical structure and a feudal feel. "You see," says the
     owner of the hotel where I'm staying, "in Italy we are just
learning about business and corporations. Everyone still
     thinks in terms of the family -- not just mamma and papa, but
everybody with two drops of the same blood, the
     church, the unions and the Mafia. We have political parties.
Today there are twenty-four, tomorrow there might
     be twenty-eight.
                                        "You could start a party of
foreign journalists who come to Milan to
                                        study La Scala. Just promise
the unions in the South something. But
                                        the parties are just
extensions of one of those other forces. And
                                        everyone belongs to more than
one of those forces. Your family is
                                        most important. If they are
devout Catholics, the church is
                                        important. But since everybody
works, the union is just as
                                        important. The church uses the
Mafia for money guidance and to
                                        fight communists, the Mafia
courts the unions to get political power
                                        and jobs for its dependents.
So you see it's a crazy circle, and we
                                        are dizzy all the time. Of
course, I am talking about our Italian
                                        Mafia. Now we have five
foreign Mafias: the Albanians kill, the
                                        Latinos sell drugs, the
Russians run prostitutes and pornography, the
                                        Singhalese work -- how you
say? -- off the books, the Gypsies beg
                                        and steal. They make their own
arrangements with each other."
                                        Three people are in official
positions of power at La Scala. First is
                                        the sovrintendente, "Dottore"
Carlo Fontana. Then there is
                                        Maestro Riccardo Muti,
direttore musicale, followed by Maestro
                                        Paolo Arcà, direttore
artistico. (Muti tells me it is Italian law that
                                        the artistic director of any
theater must be a "maestro," a musician
                                        with credentials. Orchestras
have been known to strike if they felt
                                        the artistic director was not
a good enough musician -- whether he
                                        conducted or not.) Maestro
Arcà arrived at La Scala in 1994. He is
                                        a prize-winning composer,
particularly of operas. (His Il Carillon
                                        del Gesuita was recorded by
Nuova Era.) He is the chief teacher of
                                        composition at the Milan
Conservatory. Arcà is in his mid-forties
                                        and looks younger, with an
easy, open-faced charm. I remark on his
                                        fresh, youthful appearance.
"That's La Scala," Arcà smiles. "It either
     kills you or keeps you young."
     As frequently seems to be the case in Italy, it is not always
clear who does what or possesses what degree of
     actual, as opposed to titular, power. Though much fuss is made
about introducing me to most of the people in the
     theater, there are some older men at the rehearsals who are never
introduced but look forbidding. La Scala has, it
     seems, hundreds of offices; it's not unusual to pass a door and
catch with peripheral vision someone behind a
     desk, glaring. Yet neither a thousand-dollar suit nor a desk is a
guarantee of anything in Italy.
     Fontana has a small army of underlings and associates but -- as
he makes clear often -- no equals. Arcà works
     with Maestro Luca Targenti, the theater's casting director.
Muti's associate in the hierarchy is Dottore Alberto
     Tirola. One dare not address any of these men without his title
unless invited to do so.
     The idea of three people in power seems very strange to me. "Of
course it's strange -- it's Italy," agrees one
     long-time toiler in the chain gang of Italian arts
administration. "Naturally, you must have someone who looks after
     the money, and naturally, you must have someone who makes
artistic decisions. But La Scala, like a lot of our
     theaters, has three bosses officially, and an army of 'important'
underlings, plus all the politicians who have wires in
     the theater. They belong to varying coalitions of parties defined
by degrees of 'right' and 'left' that nobody outside
     of Italy would understand. And there are the theater Mafias, the
unions, the big singers and their agents, the
     chorus and orchestra who sometimes organize against their own
unions, the stage workers. There are the cliques
     with conflict of interest. They are paid by agents, the record
companies, the unions, for information and influence.
     The result is paralysis -- no one really has to take
responsibility for any decisions, and it's hard to blame anyone.
     And a strong personality like Muti can overrule any objection,
even if it makes sense."
     Muti the Hated, and the Decline of La Scala
     Riccardo Muti is the world's most publicly detested conductor. In
her book Cinderella and Company, Manuela
     Hoelterhoff calls him "the famously short maestro of fear." Yet
Muti is extremely successful -- not to mention
     remarkably good-looking for a fifty-seven-year-old workaholic.
     "You just get younger looking," says Itzhak Perlman, when he
comes backstage after a grueling Vienna
     Philharmonic concert at which Muti has led the Schumann Second
and the Shostakovitch Fifth. "Oh, caro, no,"
     says Muti, "it is all a trick. You know -- the hair dye." In a
second, Muti becomes a hairdresser dumping a ton of
     polish on his head and wiping it in. "And then of course, there
is the plastic surgery." Instantly, he shifts from
     hairdresser to surgeon, staring at his features in the
dressing-room mirror, then pulling his face in forty different
     directions in thirty seconds. Everyone laughs except Perlman, who
continues to peer at him.
          am not La Scala," says Muti. "Carlo Fontana is the boss. He
consults with me, of course. But the final
     decisions are his. Paolo Arcà is the artistic director. He
consults with me, too. But he and his staff plan, and there
     are many details I don't know about -- just as there are many
money problems and decisions that are not my
     business, and I don't want to know about them either."
     Though Muti insists he does not run La Scala, everybody blames
him anyway. The power-wife of a major player
     at La Scala puts it this way: "La Scala is Muti, Muti is La
Scala. You cannot separate the two."
     Muti's poisonous reputation extends far and wide in the music
business. "La Scala was the most important theater
     in Europe for sheer éclat," says Merle Hubbard, an artist
representative who began at the Met in the Rudolf Bing
     days and has managed Luciano Pavarotti, Renée Fleming, Carol
Vaness and Lauren Flanigan, all of whom have
     had their innings at La Scala. "But now it's not run by artists,
it's run by a syndicate. It's a closed shop. It's
     impossible to know who's in charge. It's not run for the art.
There's power-mongering everywhere, artistic
     direction nowhere. There's a reason Luciano stopped singing there
as soon as possible."
     "The Met is far more important in making careers today," Hubbard
continues. "The Met must reach out all the
     time. Joe Volpe has done a great marketing job and is available
to answer for decisions. For that I applaud him.
     But La Scala? It's a lost cause."
     "The house is always packed," says my former friend Giudici, "but
it is empty of significance. It is a tourist trap, a
     fashion show, a salon -- not a place of art. The only successes
recently have been The Florentine Straw Hat by
     Nino Rota, conducted by Bruno Campanella, whom the Rota family
insisted on, and Khovanshchina, conducted
     by Valery Gergiev. Muti runs everything but is irrelevant."
     A case can be built against Muti's taste and tactics. But his
talent? At a thrilling New York Philharmonic concert
     of Ravel, Busoni and Brahms in January (at which the orchestra
refused to bow, applauding the maestro instead),
     the stunning Vienna Philharmonic concerts in New York in March,
the Forza orchestra rehearsals, his ear, insight
     and authority were remarkable.
         t's hard to find an Italian critic who's willing to be both
candid and specific. The atmosphere among those in
     the mainstream is cautious. One important critic I contacted
would talk only in generalities: "Muti got my
     predecessor fired and has gotten a lot of us in trouble. After a
bad review or two, we learn we'd better come
     'round, or we'll be unemployed."
     Can those allegations be proved? "Nothing can be proved in Italy,
certainly nothing that happens at La Scala. I
     can't prove to you that they did Manon Lescaut there. I was in
the theater, but I didn't notice a performance.
     Muti conducted -- so of course I gave it a respectful review."
(Muti denied the charge of getting reviewers fired.)
     Muti ascended the throne in 1986. One of the musicians who, out
of "human kindness," tried to help with the
     transition, bristles at the suggestion that the rot set in at
least a little while before Muti arrived. "Ma, no!" he yells
     deafeningly. "This Abbado -- I mean the giant, Claudio -- he not
nice man, but he great visionary of the theater. La
     Scala now is a disaster. And there is one cause -- Muti, Muti,
Muti. I work with him. I know. Basta."
     Cautiously, I bring this point up with Muti. He is surprisingly
sweet about it. "That is La Scala. They crucify you
     while you're here and canonize you later. Now, Maestro Abbado is
a saint. I will be a saint too, once they do me
     in."
     Hatred of the current La Scala, and of Muti, is far from muted.
The angry feelings of malcontents are vented in the
     alternative press and in the second most feared place at La Scala
-- the top gallery, or Loggione. The most feared
     place, of course, is the Sala Gialla.
     In the Sala Gialla
     The Sala Gialla, a windowless chamber in a corner of the second
floor of La Scala, was where Toscanini
     rehearsed. After his time, the Board took it over. They still
meet there. But Muti reclaimed it for his rehearsals. It's
     a long, forbidding room with a massive table in the center. On
the walls are pictures of the wreckage of the house
     after the allied air raids during World War II. Above the grand
piano at the far end is a huge, terrifying portrait of
     Arturo Toscanini. He glares down at everybody who enters the
room.
     "I call it the Muti diet," says Lauren Flanigan. "You get a
contract at La Scala, and you expect to sing. You show
     up, and there are three other people cast in the same role. You
lose a lot of weight obsessing about if and when
     he'll pick you." Flanigan remembers her experiences rehearsing
the role of Abigaille in Nabucco for Muti. "There
     were four of us Abigailles. Three of us got to be friends. The
fourth we called 'the nuclear Abigaille' -- we figured
     she was there in case the rest of us got killed in a nuclear
holocaust, they'd have her. She was like a roach; she'd
     live through anything. So the scene is going on, and he points
from one person to another with his glasses, and you
     have to be ready to get up and sing. If he catches you by
surprise and you choke, he gestures to somebody else,
     and you think, 'I'll never get it now.' So I learned to push my
way to the head of the table, so I could see the
     glasses coming in my direction. I came back thirty-one pounds
lighter."
     The Sala Gialla is where Cecilia Bartoli met Renée Fleming. They
were rehearsing for a Don Giovanni in which
     Bartoli hoped to sing Zerlina, Fleming Donna Elvira. Bartoli, who
can dish with the best, clams up at first but gets
     around to some morsels. "Muti's yellow room, it is like Scarpia's
torture chamber," she says, finally. "Everybody
     is there, and he goes back and forth. My cover was always there.
Muti keeps people in the dark. No one ever
     knows who will actually sing."
     "Rehearsing was like having high-school sing-offs," adds Fleming
-- "You sing it now, then you sing it.' That's
     trying!"
     La Scala Itself
     Though not everyone honors my "free passage" graciously, I am
allowed to walk all over La Scala on my own.
     On my first day, Muti shows me various passageways, so I won't
get lost. It doesn't help. You need a map and
     compass to negotiate your way around La Scala, and I get lost
every single day and night I am there.
     "These are our guards and our Gods," Muti says, pointing to the
giant statues of Rossini, Verdi, Donizetti and
     Bellini in the beautiful lobby. He opens the gold-framed glass
doors and guides me into the shadowy theater. "This
     is our church."
     We both look in silence for ten minutes. He vanishes, and I sit
in this space, trying not to feel overwhelmed by
     sentiment. There are the gorgeous gilded boxes, glinting down on
the plush red seats. Up there is that amazing
     chandelier, and above it the ceiling, with its intricate patterns
suspended by magic in thin air.
     And then, the stage. Even with the curtain up and workmen on
platforms and ladders, it is breathtaking. The
     rehearsal lights are unlike any I've seen elsewhere. Mysterious
figures emerge, then sink into semidarkness. My
     eyes are tricked into seeing haunted poses, my ears into hearing
fluttering sounds. There are only stagehands
     moving scenery.
     The auditorium is merely fifty-three years old; the stage goes
back much further. But time evaporates in here. An
     art form, maybe one that is vanishing, is made flesh, so to
speak. One can reach out and almost touch opera.
     La Scala was completed in 1778, on the site where the church of
Santa Maria della Scala once stood. The theater
     was run by a group of noble families, who hired impresarios to
organize seasons, until 1815 -- the year La Scala
     began its ascendancy. As part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire,
Milan and its primary theater enjoyed large
     subsidies. It became a showplace for the powerful Austrian
government officials stationed in Milan. In 1859, when
     Italy was united (though how united the country actually became
is a matter of serious and continuing debate),
     Milan's emerged as the jewel in the crown of Italian opera
houses, even though the government was centered in
     Rome.
     The Milan of 1839 was a paradoxical place that was typically
Italian -- famous, but insulated and provincial. Many
     of the intellectual Milanese say the same thing about the city
today. Regional antagonisms were inevitable. One
     reason Verdi was denied entry to the city's Conservatory was that
he was a foreigner! Most Italians are still
     foreigners to the Milanese. Southern Italians are despised by the
locals. They are called terroni, a word with
     nasty connotations. The idea is that the North (and Milan is the
great city in the North) pays all the taxes
     squandered by the bums down South.
     Claudio Abbado, Muti's predecessor, is from a great Milanese
family -- an elegant, intellectual Northerner. Muti is
     from the far South. He was born in Puglia and raised in Naples.
Arcà, whom Muti calls friend as well as
     colleague, is from Rome. Tirola has Neapolitan ancestors. Maestro
Montanari, the "conductor of the stage," is
     Neapolitan through and through.
     Muti invites me to a birthday party for Montanari, a long-time
collaborator. Italians are more sensitive to accents
     and regionalisms than the English, and every bit as snobbish.
Usually, my Italian accent inspires a lot of sniffing, if
     not confusion -- especially when I'm nervous. ("Please speak
English," is asked of me often at La Scala.) I'm more
     relaxed chatting with them in this context, and suddenly they all
stop. Muti takes a long time squinting at me and
     says, "Those vowels -- I notice -- Provincia di Chieti?"
     "Well, Maestro, my paternal grandfather was from there." There is
another silence. "Then you are one of us," cries
     Muti -- and my grandfather and I are toasted.
     "Yes, I suppose we are terroni," says Muti. "But what does that
word come from, after all? Terra -- the earth.
     Italy and art and all of us are of the earth, where else are we
from? The great soil of Italy. If they think that is an
     insult they are maleducatevi -- ignoramuses."
     Verdi gradually helped make La Scala a great house artistically
on the international scene. In a sense, it was his
                                    Bayreuth. There he had his first
big hit, Nabucco, and his worst failure,
                                    Un Giorno di Regno. His relations
with La Scala were often strained.
                                    But the glorious world premieres
of the revision of Simon Boccanegra,
                                    Otello and Falstaff carried
immense prestige and glamour over into this
                                    century.
                                    In 1897 came a "period of
austerity," when subsidies were cut off. Those
                                    were crisis years. Eventually, a
way was found to secure the house by
                                    obtaining more private funding and
operating more like a corporation.
                                    Publisher Giulio Ricordi, along
with composer, librettist and artistic
                                    propagandist Arrigo Boito, used La
Scala to dominate art in Italy. They
                                    had help from the many wealthy and
powerful families in Milan, such as
                                    the Visconti. Then as now, Milan
was the business center of Italy. These
                                    powerful industrialists,
politicians and intellectuals saw La Scala as their
                                    opera house.
                                    While Puccini had as many flops as
hits at the house, and La Fanciulla
                                    del West and Il Trittico had their
premieres at the Met, La Scala was
                                    crucial to him and to all the
other Italian opera composers of his time and
                                    later. It also helped establish
the international viability of operas by
                                    Richard Wagner, Richard Strauss
and Claude Debussy, most of these
                                    thanks to Arturo Toscanini, who
had two terms running the house and
                                    was the first of a number of
powerful conductors to have varying periods
                                    of control.
                                    Toward the end of World War II,
allied bombs hit the theater, destroying
                                    the auditorium. "We wish it had
been the other way around," says Arcà,
                                    sighing. "If only your American
bombs had hit the stage! Instead, they
                                    had to rebuild the auditorium.
They kept the stage, which was absolutely
                                    undamaged. That was a disaster.
Now we must rebuild the stage, which
                                    is too old-fashioned."
                                    That means La Scala (as of today's
planning) will close for "eighteen
                                    months" in 2001, so the stage can
be entirely rebuilt. The company will
                                    have to relocate to another
theater while this work is done.
     "You do not need to raise your eyebrows at me," says Arcà, from
his plush bench in the gorgeous lobby, where
     we are chatting while a rather desperate rehearsal grinds on in
the theater. (Acoustically, La Scala is an iffy
     theater, but out here, it's all too easy to hear that destiny
isn't smiling on this particular enterprise.) "After all, I am
     Italian. I know it can take twenty years to rebuild something
here. But we must do it, and we will have to do it as
     quickly as possible!"
     In the 1930s and '40s, the great conductor Victor De Sabata held
sway at La Scala. After he became sick and
     lost interest in the early '50s, Antonio Ghiringhelli, an
upper-class Milanese businessman/bureaucrat, took over.
     Though he feuded, Italian style, with all of them, Callas,
Tebaldi, Visconti, the young Zeffirelli and a host of
     world-renowned singers had important seasons at the house. In the
1970s, Claudio Abbado made a significant
     artistic contribution with acclaimed Giorgio Strehler productions
of Macbeth and Simon Boccanegra. Abbado
     also had access to a diminishing but impressive roster of artists
including Mirella Freni, Shirley Verrett and Piero
     Cappuccilli.
     In the last ten years, virtually no international stars have
emerged from La Scala (though Roberto Alagna was a
     Muti discovery). Pavarotti, Freni, Scotto, Cossotto, Cappuccilli,
Ghiaurov, Bruson, Bergonzi, among the currently
     active stars of an earlier La Scala era, are all over sixty;
Simionato, Tebaldi, Corelli, Gencer, Stella, Di Stefano,
     Guelfi, Taddei are retired. Del Monaco is deceased. All of these
were what the Italians call "creatures of La
     Scala" for longer or shorter periods of time.
     Aside from Alagna, none of the big names in the international
opera world under fifty owes anything to La Scala,
     and Muti is unique in being the only conductor to run the house
and not produce international stars. "I know that,"
     he says. "It is always in my thoughts. But give me names -- any
names from anywhere in the world. We are doing
     the Verdi Centennial. I need names for Ballo, for Otello. You
tell me, you tell Arcà, you tell Fontana. We will
     pick up the phone that second and try for them. Give me names!"
     Cards on the Table
     The most certain element in the La Scala Forza, besides Muti, is
the acclaimed (though conservative) Argentinean
     régisseur, Hugo De Ana. He is in charge of everything visual --
sets, costumes, lighting, staging -- and will direct
     and edit the planned telecast. He did the same for the infamous
Lucrezia Borgia in the summer of 1998 --
     infamous because, during the first performance, Renée Fleming,
singing the title role, was hooted, jeered, booed
     and finally verbally abused by a loud if not large segment of the
audience.
     It struck many as suspicious that Fleming was booed after she had
had a well-publicized altercation with Muti
     over her inclusion in that ill-fated Don Giovanni. She also had
difficulties over cadenzas with the conductor of the
     Lucrezia, Gianluigi Gelmetti, who fainted immediately following
her first aria, returned after forty minutes to
     conduct the rest of the performance, fainted again and was rushed
to the hospital.
     The Lucrezia scandal was the first thing Muti talked about when
we met backstage at that New York
     Philharmonic concert two weeks before I left for Milan. "I was in
the house for two days during Lucrezia," said
     Muti. "I admire Fleming, and the management of La Scala had
talked to her about a number of bel canto projects
     in the coming years. I encouraged that. She will sing her recital
the day after you arrive in Milan. That would not
     happen if I felt she did not belong in the theater.
     "We have a difficult public," allows Muti about the Fleming
incident. When he leads me to his office on my first
     day in town, we pass twelve huge photos of famous maestros who
have conducted at the theater, among them
     Carlos Kleiber, Lorin Maazel, Claudio Abbado, Karl Böhm and
Herbert von Karajan. "All have been booed,"
     Muti remarks offhandedly, "except this one." He stops in front of
a portrait of Guido Cantelli, who was appointed
     principal conductor at La Scala in 1957. "He was lucky. He died."
(Cantelli was killed in a plane crash just after
     his appointment was announced.)
     Forza will star the hot young Argentinean tenor José Cura.
Another tenor, Ernesto Gavazzi, a company favorite,
     will sing Trabuco. It seems likely that mezzo Luciana D'Intino
will sing Preziosilla. The rest of the cast for the
     upcoming first night, including the Leonora, is anybody's guess.
Argentinean Ines Salazar and Hungarian Georgina
     Lukacs have been engaged for Leonora; Leo Nucci and Giorgio
Zancanaro have been engaged for Don Carlo,
     Giacomo Prestia and Antonio Papi are two possible Guardianos.
Either Alfonso Antoniozzi or Roberto de Candia
     might sing Melitone.
     "You are the first outsider to be allowed to see this much,"
remarked Carlo Fontana, with big eyes and what is
     known in Italian as "intenzione," when he stamped my pass. "I am
giving you two weeks' freedom of the theater.
     You can go anywhere and talk to anyone."
     That very night, trying to get backstage to see Renée Fleming,
who had just given a triumphant concert (but had
     nevertheless been booed by some malcontents), I was denied entry
to the theater by two hostile and insulting
     doormen. Not eight hours after the major public power of the
theater had stamped a "free passage," his
     employees were looking at it and laughing.
     Several Italian critics assure me there were "fool the American"
drills before I got there. I'm sure there was debate
     about letting me in. Perhaps some orders had gone out to be
careful. But this is the theater. More to the point, it's
     Italy. Chaotic hysteria is routine, and there is no insurance
against it.
     During one very tense rehearsal in the theater, Fontana loudly
laments my presence, clasping his hands and
     imploring God's mercy, just as my grandmother used to do. She had
an excuse -- she was Neapolitan. Fontana is
     a Milanese aristocrat.
     "Well, that's what Forza will do to you," remarks a small but
formidable lady with high, jet-black hair and rather a
     ferocious cast about the eyes. She's been watching what Hollywood
would call the "suits" -- Fontana and
     henchmen in Armani finery -- hovering around the "talent" -- Muti
in a sweater and a funk. She nods toward the
     little group, where much eye-rolling and hand-clasping is going
on. Maestro's voice is soft, but his eyes are drilling
     small, lethal holes into his associates.
     The ageless lady cackles. She is retired Turkish diva Leyla
Gencer, who runs La Scala's school (roughly
     analagous to the Met's Young Artist program) at Muti's invitation
and comes to all the rehearsals. "How is your
     health?" she asks. I feel fine. "You won't for long," she says.
"You will have a bad influenza before Forza is
     finished with you. We will all be desperately sick. Wait and mark
my words! Now, while they mourn, let me sit
     with you and tell you about my Forzas!"
     "Her" Forzas were fascinating. And about the influenza? She was
right.
     In the Sala Gialla (Part II)
     Thanks to my insider's pass, I am set to attend a 10 a.m.
rehearsal in the dreaded Sala Gialla. In any case, I'm
     advised by an American singer, "Don't worry about getting there
on time -- it's Italy. The singers will arrive half an
     hour late, Muti will stroll in forty-five minutes later and drink
coffee for ten minutes."
     Muti is at the piano at 9:50. The small rest rooms next to the
Sala are jammed with people warming up. Woe
     betide anyone who needs to use them for their intended purpose.
Promptly at ten, everybody sits with a score
     around the table. I'm not sure who some of these people are.
There is a handsome teenager who has grown a
     beard to look older. There is a very round young man with a
ponytail -- maybe he's covering one of the small
     parts.
     Muti himself plays every piano rehearsal. The head coach for the
production (Massimilliano Bulo in this case)
     stands beside him making notes for individual coachings, though
Muti plays those, too, when he has time. The
     atmosphere is tense. Today Ines Salazar, officially the first
Leonora, will sing. She's been sick but also has shown
     signs of vocal distress unrelated to her ailment. She is a
voluptuous, doe-eyed beauty with a face of great
     sweetness and a terrified air.
     Georgina Lukacs, who was hired as her "cover," has sung most of
the rehearsals. She's exhausted and rather grim.
     People are happy and hopeful about Salazar's presence. José Cura
is in Paris, singing a long run of Carmens. "In
     the old days, we would not have tolerated this," says one of the
artistic staff. "Cura doesn't really know this part.
     And this is La Scala. But he runs from here to there. Even Muti
has to endure it."
     Giacomo Prestia, the official first Guardiano, is sick. Leo
Nucci, whom Muti wants to sing Don Carlo, is having a
     last-minute angioplasty -- today. Muti went to see him before he
went under anaesthesia. No one knows whether
     he will be in the production. Luciana D'Intino and her second,
Mariana Pentcheva, are sick. Both Melitones have
     a serious case of the flu. I keep thinking of Leyla Gencer's
prediction.
     Since Salazar is nervous, Muti asks everybody to wait outside
while he works with her on her first aria. People
     pace. More mucus than tone can be heard from inside the Sala,
even over the nervous warming up that has
     recommenced in the rest rooms.
     When we are readmitted, Muti works through the inn scene. He is
gentle with Salazar: "Is it O.K. if we try that
     again? I don't want to tire you. You don't need to sing out. I
know you have a beautiful voice." With the others, he
     makes jokes. He loves to get up and imitate the characters
walking -- a mixture of Monty Python's Ministry of
     Funny Walks and, when he wants to make a point, Charlie Chaplin.
It's precisely observed but hilariously
     exaggerated.
     Muti's piano playing is thrilling. He's one of those conductors
who "orchestrate" at the piano, giving a clear sense
     of the sonority he will achieve in the pit, imitating certain
instrumental combinations: "Here is the flute with the oboe
     -- use that color in your voice"; "Here is the bassoon -- let it
lead you to the expression." The most intricate
     figurations roll out from his fingers, in tempo, with absolute
precision and beautiful tone. Unlike most rehearsal
     players (even most conductors, when they deign to play) he is not
a piano-basher but a virtuoso making music.
     Everything he does has an expressive purpose.
     He's leading without seeming to do so -- but singers are singers.
There's a lot of throat-clearing, daydreaming and
     watch-checking. They don't seem to absorb what he plays for them,
even when he points out how hearing the
     orchestra clearly will help them project their voices.
     He works intensely with Giorgio Zancanaro, who will double Nucci
and may sing the first night. Zancanaro has
     recorded the role with Muti and sung it frequently. But he's
forgotten it. Muti goes over and over various sections,
     just for rhythms and the right notes.
     "Now, Giorgio," he says at one point, "tell me, don't you make a
lot of records?"
     "But certainly, Maestro."
     "But you don't like to listen to yourself?"
     "No, Maestro, I am proud of my records."
     "Except one, Giorgio."
     "Well, maybe one or two, Maestro."
     "I'm thinking of one in particular."
     "I was hoarse at that one, Maestro."
     "No, I mean our Forza!"
     "Did we record Forza, Maestro?" There is a pause. "I think I lost
that, Maestro. I will buy it today." Muti finds
     this hilarious, but Montanari, the maestro of the stage, rolls
his eyes.
     Muti works with everyone on the words and the precise expression
of every moment. He is also looking for what
     American acting teachers and stage directors call the "arc" of
the character. With Zancanaro, he tries to get at the
     unstable nature of Carlo -- a good-natured, clever storyteller,
driven by a force he doesn't understand. In his effort
     to find out whether the strange person traveling with Trabuco is
his sister, Carlo asks the peddler, "Who is that
     person -- personcina -- with you?"
     "This strange word, Giorgio -- 'personcina' -- what do you think
it means?" They discuss the word, which in
     context is a trap. "How would you trick somebody with a word,
Giorgio?" Zancanaro has no idea.
     "Well, Giorgio, you could say it like this" -- Muti demonstrates
with a slightly poisonous charm. "Or you could try
     it like this." This time Muti smiles, but his eyes flash with
anger. "Or perhaps you could see what happens when
     you throw the word out." He shrugs and gives a staccato reading.
     Zancanaro sings it the same way every time.
     Muti takes about an hour on the inn scene aria, "Son Pereda, son
ricco d'onore." It's important to Muti that its
     three sections be full of different colors yet form a link.
"Giorgio, this man tells the story. He's making it up as he
     goes along, it's loose, and he is having a good time. You can
play with the rhythm." Muti sings it as though it were
     a funny Schubert song, full of quirky color.
     Zancanaro tries.
     After several times through, Muti moves on to the middle section.
"Giorgio, listen to this." Muti plays the
     accompaniment with fury.
     "Yes. Maestro."
     "But do you understand, Giorgio? This is a version of the destiny
theme, the melody that starts the overture." Muti
     plays it. "Now listen." Muti plays the accompaniment again. It's
obvious -- when it's pointed out. "What does that
     mean to you, Giorgio?" Not much, it seems. "You see," explains
Muti, "this man is trapped, as are all the
     characters. They can't help themselves. They are good people --
even this Carlo. He tells a story, it's fun, it's silly,
     then he is pulled the way the ocean pulls you into a violent
storm. He forgets himself and becomes hate. Then all of
     a sudden -- Giorgio, are you listening?"
     "Yes, Maestro."
     "All of a sudden he is this charming person again, telling this
funny story."
     Again, Zancanaro sings it the same way.
     Finally, Muti sings it. He starts with an easy smile and absolute
charm, savoring the swinging rhythm. Then
     suddenly, when the destiny theme erupts, his eyes cloud over, his
face becomes fixed, every word is a dagger,
     and the final phrase is a vicious thrust. Muti -- in character --
takes a short breath, laughs and shrugs, then returns
     to the jaunty tune, but this time, Carlo, as Muti sings him,
can't quite lose the edge.
     "You see, Giorgio, if you sing somewhat like that, you help the
whole scene. That is the opera -- the strange
     world. No one is what he seems. It is like Pirandello -- where is
the mask and where is the real person? You
     remember Pirandello, Giorgio? And the chorus and Preziosilla and
Trabuco and even Leonora offstage, you make
     them richer, for they can respond to you."
     Zancanaro sings it exactly as he did the first time through.
     "Well," Muti says later, "you have to understand singers. He is
worried about his voice; he wonders if he will sing
     the first night. He likes Nucci and is worried about him, but of
course he would like to sing the first night himself.
     And today they all have permanent jet lag. He will take a plane
or drive to go on for somebody who is sick in
     Vienna or Graz or Palermo between these rehearsals, if he can.
He'll sleep in the car on the way back -- or not, if
     he can't find someone else to drive. And he will come to the
rehearsals exhausted. And he is an old-timer. They
     learn it one way, and if you can get them to change two words, or
add a color here and there, that is the most you
     expect."
     Muti goes on to the convent scene. Everybody who can flees.
Salazar runs out. There is a silence. She comes
     back in but clearly would rather be dead. Muti smiles at her and
waves her closer. "Just try to feel it," he says.
     "You have a voice. But even if you are sick, if you feel and
understand, that will help you sing." Once again he
     tries to get her to be Leonora. "Son giunta! Grazie, o Dio!" she
yells.
     "But, Ines, you didn't need to yell. If you believe in God, and
this woman does, He is everywhere, right beside
     your mouth. And you are relieved. You have escaped your brother.
"Son giunta -- grazie, o Dio!" He sings like
     someone abandoning terror, almost without voice. And he looks
around.
     Salazar really tries, but she can't seem to get it. "You know why
I looked around, what I was looking for?" She
     doesn't. "But Ines, what is her next line? 'Estremo asil quest'è
per me' -- this is my last refuge." Muti speaks to her
     in English and sometimes in Spanish. "I looked around for the
cross, for the church, for death in life. You see, she
     would kill herself if she could. But she can't, because she
believes. So here she can find peace -- pace. And what
     will she implore God for later? Pace."
     But Salazar, understandably, wants to get into the aria proper,
which is treacherous. Muti tries to help. "I will relax
     the rhythm for you," he promises. "Don't worry." When it comes to
"Deh! non m'abbandonar," he says, "I will
     watch you and breathe with you. If you have a little trouble I
will hurry and save you."
     But Salazar gets tighter and tighter; by the end of the aria she
is so frightened she has to run out of the room again.
     Muti takes her hands and kisses her cheek when she comes back.
Then he sings and acts Melitone, since even the
     third cover is sick. The entire character is there in his voice
and face while he sits at the piano. The expression in
     his eyes changes on every word, as the priest, who is supposed to
be kind, sneers at the stranger in need, then
     catches on that there may be scandal ("Scomunicato siete?") but
is too dumb to see he's talking to a woman.
     Once again Muti catches the strange juxtaposition in the opera --
it's funny and ugly.
     The teenager with the beard stands up and sings. He is Antonio
Papi, actually twenty-four, and is covering
     Guardiano. His is the first glorious voice I've heard during this
trip to La Scala.
     Muti tries to give Papi and Salazar what acting teachers call an
"inner metaphor." "Do you hear the flute here,
     signora?" he asks, playing the trill under "È questo il porto."
"Your soul must wait for that and when you hear the
     trill, your soul must vibrate to it -- you have found home, the
blessing of God, light after the black night. Forget
     your voice. So you miss a note -- the flute is God's blessing."
     "If she misses the note, forget the flute -- it'll be the
loggione whistling," wisecracks Zancanaro. All the men laugh
     except Muti. Salazar runs out of the room again.
     "I could have been rude to Zancanaro," Muti says to me during a
break. "But it was too late. And look, by now
     she better realize they may whistle. She must still be able to
feel her part and give meaning. They even whistled
     Tebaldi here. If she is too scared to lose herself in Leonora,
then it will be the story of Ines, not The Force of
     Destiny. I think you know which one is more interesting."
     Still, when Salazar returns, he once again takes her hands and
kisses her cheeks. He also sends everybody out but
     the round young man with the ponytail. Muti plays Alvaro's
entrance, and this young fellow sings. Suddenly, an
     Italian tenor! His name is Salvatore Licitra (Cura's cover). Like
Papi, he is someone Muti has found. Muti
     coaches him through every word and every phrase. "Don't let your
voice slip back into your throat," he says.
     "Keep it forward. If you need a little time, I will wait for you.
Don't start to bark." Licitra tries very hard and
     manages gorgeous phrases but makes mistakes. Muti is tender and
infinitely patient.
     When Zancanaro is allowed back into the room, Muti inspires
Licitra into singing "Or muoio tranquillo" with a
     long, liquid, large-scale, melting line that is really Verdi and
really thrilling.
           ook," says Lauren Flanigan, "he is a great opera conductor.
You have to be serious, and you have to
     work. But if he knows you mean it, he is with you every second.
He breathes and sings with you. You know,
     while I studied him, he studied me. One day he said, 'California'
-- that's what he called me after he'd asked me
     where I was from -- 'California, you can hold those notes a
little more and take more time. It's in your voice, you
     can do it, and it will be great!' He saw things in me and
potentials I didn't know were there."
     "I don't know that anyone understands Muti entirely," says
Bartoli, "but that is true of all great musicians, perhaps.
     He remembers everything you do. He has strong ideas, so he isn't
always happy. But if you are on [the same
     wavelength] with him, he will help you be even better. He was at
every rehearsal, even the staging ones, and he
     was always helping. And during the performance it was all in his
eyes -- the score, the feeling and his love for the
     music. It is hard not to give everything."
     Later, I tell Muti most professional coaches don't do what he
does, let alone conductors. Talk about the
     diaphragm, the tongue, keeping the voice forward, helping with
breath? Impossible, in today's opera. Who knows
     that stuff? Perhaps worse, who cares?
     "I will make a bet with you," Muti offers. "If you answer my
question correctly, I will take you to the Four
     Seasons for lunch. If you cannot answer, you must spend a day
without asking me any questions at all." I agree.
     "Who was Maria Carbone?"
     I tell him in detail, all her records and appearances, including
the first Otello with Fusati. "You don't win -- yet. I
     played for her for five years. Every day, I played for the
singers she was teaching, and for those she was coaching
     and for her classes. There was nothing about voices she didn't
know, and she taught me everything she knew. All
     the tricks and fakes -- they can be useful -- and all the muscles
and what the tongue and the jaw do. And the
     exercises for them, and for the diaphragm. And how to sing on the
words, to make the words your servants. They
     can even make your voice more beautiful. Next question. Who was
Pertile?"
     "The greatest purely Italian spinto tenor of the century."
     "What record of his is the best?"
     "The Improvviso from Chénier."
     He stares at me. "Well, I hope you are hungry. I owe you two
lunches."
     The Forza Flu
     "Io non amarlo? Tu ben sai s'io l'ami!"
     This is the night of decision for Salazar. She is trying to sing
Act I. But she can't manage any of the words clearly.
     "Sai" comes out as "soy," even when she repeats it for the third
time.
     "Ma! È sai! Non soy!" cries one of the power wives sitting in the
theater. "Questo è La Scala. Non è una trattoria
                                  cinese!"
                                  Muti stops after the act and talks
intensely with his wife. He looks
                                  exhausted.
                                  Cura has returned. So has Nucci. The
tenor, in costume, marks. When he
                                  sings full voice, the throaty
honking is alarming. He doesn't seem to know
                                  the role securely. The clarinet
plays the solo to "La vita è inferno all'infelice"
                                  gloriously. Cura lets out his voice
for the first and last time. He sings "I
                                  panteloni son troppo largo!" -- the
pants are too big.
                                  Muti freezes. The maestros around me
hiss. "Tenore!" cries one and makes
                                  the sign against the evil eye. Hugo
de Ana and his costumer run up to the
                                  stage over the bridge.
                                  Muti starts again. Cura croons.
Nucci, just out of the hospital, sings full out.
                                  When Cura falters and they have to
take a section again, Muti asks Nucci
                                  not to sing. "No, Maestro, I will
sing," he says. Cura mouths the words,
                                  Nucci sings full out.
                                  The adjustments are made, and
"Solenne in quest'ora" starts. The
     "wounded" Cura has been placed on strategically arranged pillows.
Instead of singing, he starts tossing the pillows
     across the stage. Muti goes right on. In the "Sleale" duet, Cura
tries his voice and cracks, so he just mouths the
     words.
     The maestros around me are enraged, but Muti goes on. The camp
scene is suddenly alive and stunning. There is
     wild energy. Muti sings Melitone's sermon from the pit (both
Melitones are still sick) -- hilarious and scary too.
     Luciana D'Intino also sings and acts full out, as does Ernesto
Gavazzi, the Trabuco.
     Cura stands in the wings, fussing with his costume.
     Muti whips the orchestra and chorus up until the theater is
shaking. "Maestro is truly incalzato tonight," says Arcà
     to me. He means Muti is beside himself but putting it all in the
music, and "Rataplan" is a fierce explosion. Those
     who usually yawn through rehearsals -- stagehands, tech people,
covers -- cheer at the end of this.
     Muti throws his baton down and runs to his dressing room. The
"suits" run after him. That fantastic chandelier
     comes on, and the applause continues. Leading it is Renata
Tebaldi, who has been to all the rehearsals in the
     theater. She is radiant. "Look at the chandelier and the
ceiling," she says. "This is my cradle, my temple! And you
     know, I would not be too unhappy if it were my grave."
     Tebaldi has been ailing. I've been told she has been profoundly
depressed. Muti has asked her to teach at La
     Scala's school. She has refused. He also asked her to come to all
his rehearsals. At first she hesitated. He went to
     her house, and after interminable cups of coffee, he persuaded
her to come.
     Nucci passes us. She congratulates him on singing full out. "I'm
old," he laughs, sarcastically. "I need to sing at my
     age. The young people don't have to."
     I gossip (like everybody else) about the two Leonoras: one
screams, the other can't begin to pronounce. "Have
     you no pity?" demands Tebaldi. "That poor creature is terrified.
Let's pray for her." But at the same instant, we
     look across the theater. There is Salazar, evidently on the brink
of tears, in intense conversation with Leyla
     Gencer.
     "Uh-oh," sighs Tebaldi, "I have a feeling we are in for the other
one the rest of this rehearsal." Muti comes and
     kisses Tebaldi's hands and her cheeks. She hugs him and pats his
back. "You remember when we had tenors?" he
     asks Tebaldi. "Tucker, for example. I begged him to come to Italy
more. He sang Pagliacci with me. I was
     green, and he was so prepared, he taught me. But when I told him
at rehearsal he could hold a high note, he stood
     up and said, 'Thank you, Maestro.'" He shakes his head. "I will
go back over the camp scene and to the end of
     the opera. Licitra will sing Alvaro, Cura will watch. Lukacs will
sing Leonora."
     Our attention is drawn to Gencer and Salazar. One assumes Gencer
is trying to be comforting, but it's not a
     quality that emanates from her. "That poor girl," says Tebaldi.
     "She gave a great audition two years ago, and I worked with her.
It was a wonderful voice," says Muti.
     "It is still a wonderful voice, Maestro," replies Tebaldi, "but
she has done too many Toscas. She was a fine Donna
     Anna, and you know that is hard. But they must earn today, so
they sing everything, and it is easy to growl and
     bark. That ruins your voice."
     Gencer joins us and kisses and pats Muti. She kisses and pats me
for good measure. "You are looking less well,"
     she says. I admit I'm feeling unwell. "It will get worse," she
says, "like the singing in this Forza."
     "That girl needs to take six months off and breathe in the
country air and not sing a note," says Tebaldi of Salazar,
     who looks very sad and vulnerable. "Then she needs to come back
slowly, very slowly! No Toscas!"
     "She needs to develop her falsetto!" says Gencer. "She needs to
separate it from the rest of her voice and learn,
     so she always has the top. Then when she wants to use the chest,
she can [do it] without the voice sounding like
     mud."
     "That is her problem, Leyla," says Tebaldi. "The chest -- too
high. This falsetto is a joke. A crutch!"
     "It is how I made my career, Renata! I sing so many Forzas for so
many years, I forget them. How many did you
     sing? I think you can remember."
     Luckily, at this point, Arcà comes to get Muti. Gencer hurls
herself in front of him and kisses and pats him. I get
     Antonio Papi and introduce him to Tebaldi. He is wide-eyed and
kisses both her hands.
     "You are wonderful," she says. "You are like the young Siepi."
     Papi is almost crying. "I grew up listening to your records," he
says. "I am very sorry I won't be able to sing with
     you."
     She looks him up and down. "You know, I am very sorry not to be
singing with you!" She throws her head back
     and her laugh resounds around the theater. He and I both see the
irresistible and beautiful young woman she was.
     And we get a hint of that glorious voice.
     Meanwhile, De Ana is sitting at the production desk, his head in
his hands. "He saw me work with Lukacs, this
     afternoon. He knows!" he cries. He's talking about the staging
rehearsals, which Muti watched like a hawk. De
     Ana will later be criticized for the singers' immobility. But at
the rehearsal, De Ana was killing himself trying to get
     Lukacs to move and emote in the convent scene. He was literally
running around the stage, begging her to do
     something -- anything. She just watched him, like an iceberg
implacably heading for the Titanic.
     "I just told Maestro, she is like steel," grouses De Ana. "And
you know what he said? 'Good. She will need to be
     made of steel to survive this first night.'"
     La Scala Itself (Part II)
     The Metropolitan Opera does seven performances a week for thirty
weeks. There were twenty-three operas in
     the repertory during the 1998-99 season. Some played six or seven
times; some (Aida, La Bohème) twenty or
     more times. The stringent American musicians' unions strictly
define "services." Every player is restricted to so
     many services per week before ruinously expensive overtime kicks
in. Both rehearsals and performances count as
     "services." There are essentially two orchestras and two choruses
at the Met.
     La Scala does ten to twelve operas a year, over ten months. Each
plays six to eight times, alternating with ballets.
     A few that can be cast are brought back for three or four
performances in the late spring or mid-fall.
     Every opera gets three to five weeks' preparation, usually
starting in the middle of the run of the opera being
     performed. Early rehearsals are held in an old movie theater,
across town. It is too small, so the director
     frequently has to work with only extras, or only the chorus
women, or only the principals.
     Muti has built an exceptional orchestra. "That's nonsense!" cries
one of his many detractors. "The orchestra was
     great under Abbado." But most of the men who played under Abbado
have retired. Muti has replaced them with
     young men and women, many of whom have won major international
competitions. He has trained them himself
     with the help of some of the older musicians. The orchestra has
an "Italian" sound -- especially noticeable in winds
     and brass. But they pay automatic attention to inner voices and
harmonic structure, fairly unusual in opera-house
     orchestras.
     Muti has built a very comfortable and modern series of large and
small rooms for the orchestra. But the chorus
     rooms are small, there are no large rehearsal rooms in the
theater, and the dressing rooms, even those of the stars,
     are cubbyholes. There is also no way to store sets. With no
electrically driven lifts, everything is worked manually
     by the stage crew.
     At the Met, huge sets can be erected on the basement elevator and
lifted into place for an almost instantaneous
     scene change. The set already in place can be slid backward into
a huge space, or sideways into other huge
     spaces. At La Scala, every change, no matter how elaborate and
complex, is made by hand.
     "That is a big problem for us," says Arcà. "We would like to do
more performances of more operas. But we must
     close for at least two weeks between operas (except for
concerts), because to load in and then do the technical
     rehearsals takes all day. We will always be a 'stagione' house;
but we could ideally keep that level of preparation
     and alternate two operas with the ballet, not just one."
     In today's world, the day-to-day management of the Met is a model
for every opera house. Most governments
     are cutting back on subsidies and asking tougher questions about
where the money goes. Europeans on the
     younger end of the "baby boom," who are now in positions of
power, lack their parents' unquestioning belief in the
     importance of "the arts." How far these new leaders will go
remains unknown, but the disaster at Covent Garden
     and the near ruin of Russia's larger arts institutions have sent
a chill through the world of subsidized theaters.
     The Met makes do on a budget with government grants of less than
1 percent. Though box-office revenue is very
     important, ticket prices have kept pace with Broadway and, except
for a relatively few gala evenings a season,
     are less expensive than in many European houses. Sections of the
house are carefully divided into price ranges,
     but $150 will get you a good seat at the Met on an average night.
Tickets for those seats are available at the box
     office. Since the house holds 4,000 people, there are often
tickets available even for heavily subscribed evenings;
     and the house gives a goodly number of "non-subscription"
performances.
     Tickets at La Scala cost about $250 -- if you can get one. It is
widely accepted by everyone in Milan that
     "ordinary people" cannot get tickets. "Bagarini" (scalpers) are
pretty much the only way. They are used mainly by
     tourists. The box-office workers at La Scala are deliberately
unhelpful. "This is our temple," says one, rebuking
     me for bad language, as I scream at him for refusing to give me
my ticket, though he is holding the envelope in his
     hand and I have shown him my passport and Fontana's free pass.
     "Yes, rudeness is a sacred rite here," I reply. Which means I
have to get someone in management to accompany
     me to the box office and soothe the manager's feelings. But I am
made to pay for that every time I walk in. Every
     night at the box office is an adventure; at the second Forza, two
mature, heavy-set men hurl themselves to the
     floor and beat it in fury.
     The Met gets about 35 percent of its funding privately; the other
65 percent comes from box-office revenue and
     earned income. There is a huge endowment. There is a massive
fund-raising department. Of course, they do direct
     marketing, calling people at home. La Scala does none of that,
nor does any other Italian theater. But they will
     have to. And the man who will try to bring this change about is
Dottore Carlo Fontana.
     "There are two words you should know in relation to Fontana,"
says one of his detractors -- "Lottananza and
     buon salotto." The first refers to the system by which managers
of arts institutions in Italy make their way up the
     ranks. It has its particularly Latin characteristics, but a
similar club exists in all systems where there is heavy
     government subsidy. People (usually men) get into this system
through political allies. Once they win their spurs,
     they are set for life. They move from one theater to another.
They are basically bureaucrats committed to their
     own survival and that of the club they belong to. Much occurs in
secret; alliances form and
     dissolve, and there is often little accountability. People have a
way of "failing upward," so
     long as they can stay alive, regardless of competence or
culpability, even despite radical
     political change.
     The buon salotto is sort of the old boys' club of Italy. These
are the wealthy, the intricately
     connected, the all-powerful.
     "Fontana belongs to both. He was one of the best of that old
school," says one of the young
     bloods at La Scala, who of course will not speak for attribution.
"He worked miracles at
     Bologna. The question is, can he carry this theater into the
future? It is an entirely different
     game. He doesn't know the rules."
     "Yes," Fontana barks, when I relay the remark. "It is a new game,
and I have invented the rules!" He really hasn't
     wanted to talk to me. I've gotten him to let me into his office
by mentioning Sergio Escobar.
     Escobar, I've been told, is Fontana's greatest enemy. Both were
bloodied under the old regime at La Scala. Both
     were kicked out. Rumor has it that Fontana intrigued until
Escobar had to leave; Fontana tells me it was he who
     was given the boot, while Escobar stayed on -- until axed by
somebody else.
     Escobar has been building his own empire; after stints in Genoa,
Bologna and Rome, he has ended up in Milan, at
     the Piccolo Teatro. That is Italy's greatest prose theater, the
one carried to enormous heights by the late Giorgio
     Strehler (Escobar's predecessor).
     Muti is doing more and more work at the Piccolo Teatro. He will
conduct a revival of Strehler's production of
     Così Fan Tutte there and also a new production of Nina, ossia
Pazza per l'Amore, both in the fall. Naturally the
     word is that Escobar wants both Fontana's blood and his job.
     I'm told everybody who really wants to can get tickets to La
Scala. However, there are only 2,000 seats and only
     so many performances, most subscribed to by people who hang on
for decades. Fontana has made it impossible
     to buy tickets at the box office without presenting verifiable
ID. That has made it hard for bagarini, but of course
     not impossible. Nothing is impossible in Italy.
     Fontana tried to change the way the cheapest seats were sold.
They would sell only over the phone and you
     would need a credit card. This was meant as a way to stop claques
(Fontana did away with the official theater
     claque years ago) and prevent people from paying Singhalese and
Gypsies to stand in line for their tickets, then
     scalping them.
     One of the anti-Fontana, anti-Muti pamphlets that show up every
day at the theater contains a story that a
     delegation of conservatory and university students implored Muti
to veto Fontana's plan. Most were too poor to
     have credit cards, and some even lacked phones. The new
regulation was rescinded. To the pamphleteers, this
     proves Muti is gullible and Fontana merely a figurehead. There is
no comment on this from La Scala officials, and
     it is not a good idea to mention the pamphlets to anybody at the
theater in any circumstances whatsoever.
     For a top-secret meeting of general managers from most of
Europe's opera houses, hosted by La Scala in 1995,
     Fontana wrote an article (leaked to me by a disgruntled
ex-employee), the first sentence of which read, "2001,
     opera addio." The article was titled "Poker d'Assi della Lirica"
-- poker with aces on the opera stage. It's a
     reference to the end of Act II of La Fanciulla del West, when
Minnie defeats her adversary with three aces. One
     assumes it was not lost on Dottore Fontana that she does so by
cheating.
     It was Fontana who pushed forward changes in funding methods. Now
La Scala gets 60 percent of its budget
     through subsidy (10 percent from the city of Milan and the
Province of Lombardy, 50 percent from the national
     government). The rest is raised privately. Ordinary citizens do
not get a tax break on "charitable contributions."
     "But no Italian pays all his taxes anyway," the pizza parlor
owner says. The current thinking is that it will never
     work. "If I were to give money to anyone publicly, I'd have to
disclose all my income, and only a fool would do
     that," says another Italian "taxpayer."
     However, under present regulations (due to change in 2001),
corporations get a 33 percent break from
     contributions to arts institutions. Fontana told the newspapers
two years ago that Giorgio Armani would give a
     certain number of millions every year for the next three years to
support Italy's great art heritage. That was news
     to everybody, especially Armani. A secret delegate was sent to
Fontana, who sent a secret delegate back. In the
     end, Armani gave the money, leading the way for other big Italian
multi-nationals to donate to La Scala. (Many of
     the great names of Italian industry sit on the company's board of
directors, and money-raising plans are supervised
     by a professor of economics who got his doctorate from the
University of Pennsylvania.)
     His handling of Armani has been held against Fontana in some
quarters. It sounds like good old-fashioned hustling
     to me. It's what people in the arts do all the time in America.
But to his critics, Fontana lost face and made La
     Scala look needy.
     In any case, the laws will change. Fontana obviously hopes the
deduction will go up -- and it will, if the
     government stays to the right. A swing to the left may do away
with it entirely. It also is expected that state
     subsidies will be reduced another 9 percent, bringing the split
to 51 percent state, 49 percent private.
     Fontana's newest initiative is to open the sound archives of La
Scala to a major record company to release the
     treasures there in superb sound. This was also news to a lot of
people. But Michael Fine of Deutsche
     Grammophon was interested. He brokered a contract and has been
searching the archives. "Of course, a lot of
     things have been stolen, and others are in terrible sound. So we
are talking to pirates." Fine is optimistic that some
     great performances never released will be found and put out. But
according to most of the managers in America,
     Fontana has yet to secure all the rights from the singers in the
first releases.
     "If I don't give my rights away, Fontana will shame me," says one
singer -- "as if I owe La Scala. I assure you, he
     doesn't work for free. I don't either." I bet this singer, and
everyone else, will cave in, in the end.
     "You may be right," says my informant, "but this is costing
Fontana something in his public standing. If he himself
     threatened these people to get money, in secret, that would be
o.k. But you can't do it in public. Anyway, Fontana
     is an old fool. He talks about marketing, but at least one
wonderful project was vetoed by him because it had the
     'evil eye.'"
     I repeat the story to the "old fool" Fontana -- a very youthful
and handsome fifty. "Look, I let them do La Forza
     del Destino," says Fontana. "If we get through it with most of
our fingers and toes, and only a few pets and
     great-grandparents die, we will be doing very well. And we have
just hired a marketing consultant. Now, despite
     what my enemies say, I work. Good day."

     ALBERT INNAURATO is a playwright and writer on music.
     Part II of this article will appear in the August issue of OPERA
NEWS.
     Photos: All photos © Lelli & Masotti 1999 except; © John Wilkes
1999 (title background, top of page); © A.
     Tamoni 1999 (Fontana); 32: Opera News Archives ("Tickets at La
Scala" interior), © Silvia Lelli Masotti (ticket
     line); © Roberto Masotti (interior, woman leaning on railing)
                      OPERA NEWS, July 1999 Copyright © 1999 The
Metropolitan Opera Guild, Inc.
        Inside La Scala: Temple of Music or Temple of
                                          Doom?
                         There was a time when La Scala figured
crucially in the careers of most major opera singers.
                  Now, however, it is regarded by many as a mismanaged
circus.
                   Albert Innaurato recently went to Milan to get the
real story.

     "Muti is La Scala. You cannot separate the two."
     La Scala has a hierarchical structure and a feudal feel.
                                        Carlo Fontana Paolo Arcà
                       He opens the gold-framed glass doors. "This is
our church."
     Tickets at La Scala cost about $250 -- if you can get one.
Gencer: "Let me sit with you and tell you
     about my Forzas!" "The house is always packed, but it is empty of
significance."

  BACKGROUND PHOTO: JOHN WILKES / ALL OTHER PHOTOS BY LELLI & MASOTTI
                                      EXCEPT AS NOTED


title: Passione di Bach a Torino (ancora!)

author: Luca Rossetto Casel

text:
Non sono intervenuto finora perché dovevo scrivere una recensione
dello spettacolo... Se a qualcuno interessasse leggerla, la trova su
www.musicult.it
 .
Sono graditi i commenti!
Grazie e a presto,
Luca


title: Passione di Bach a Torino (ancora!)

author: Roberto Mastrosimone

text:
Luca Rossetto Casel11-04-2001
1:40lucar...@inwind.it
 ha scritto
9b05m7$74ksd$
1...@ID-71269.news.dfncis.de

    ( snip )
> La Passione, dunque, appare posta fuori dallo spazio e dal tempo, nel suo
> valore universale; in una parola, nella sua assolutezza.
> Ora, mi pare che il rischio che la messa in scena di una Passione bachiana
> possa comportare sia quello di sovraccaricare l¹opera stessa la cui
> destinazione originaria non è il teatro, ma la chiesa- e il suo spettatore;
> rischio, sia detto subito, qui accuratamente evitato dall¹interpretazione data
> da Cristophe Rousset e dall¹Academia Montis Regalis.
Mi sono permesso di riportare qualche rigo
della tua bellissima recensione, quelli
in cui sono in parziale disaccordo.
Il rischio di sovraccaricare la composizione
e lo spettatore, come giustamente scrivi, c'è
e IMHO purtroppo rimane e rimarrà quando
si attribuisce a un'opera una finalità
e una destinazione che le sono estranee.
Questo nonostante Rousset e la bravissima
Academia, che avrebbero dato la stessa interpretazione
forse anche in sede di concerto.
I momenti più riusciti dello spettacolo d'altronde sono
stati forse quelli più scarni, essenziali: in altre
parole quelli che dimostrano che non è un'opera, ma
un oratorio.
    ( snip )
> Il pubblico, che ha seguito lo spettacolo con una partecipazione costantemente
> alta, ha tributato a questa nuova realizzazione un¹accoglienza entusiastica,
> con tanto di standing ovation finale
Purtroppo la rappresentazione cui ho assistito era funestata
da un pubblico persin più ineducato e chiacchierone del solito,
forse scambia il teatro per un piano bar o forse era
disorientato dall'insolita proposta.
Ciao e buona Pasqua!
Roberto


title: Passione di Bach a Torino (ancora!)

text:
----- Original Message -----
From: "Roberto Mastrosimone" <
orso...@libero.it
>
Newsgroups: it.arti.musica.classica
Cc: <
lucaro...@inwind.it
>
Sent: Thursday, April 12, 2001 3:51 PM
Subject: Re: Passione di Bach a Torino (ancora!)
Caro Roberto,
ho risposto alla lettera che mi hai inviato privatamente prima di
vedere che avevi scritto anche qui; così, riporto le parti che mi pare
possano interessare anche agli altri.
>Il rischio di sovraccaricare la composizione
e lo spettatore, come giustamente scrivi, c'è
e IMHO purtroppo rimane e rimarrà quando
si attribuisce a un'opera una finalità
e una destinazione che le sono estranee.
Questo nonostante Rousset e la bravissima
Academia, che avrebbero dato la stessa interpretazione
forse anche in sede di concerto.
Sì, sono d'accordo. Penso che il tipo di interpretazione "leggera"
derivi da una certa scuola interpretativa, direttamente legata
all'approccio "filologico", che privilegia la "varietà" rispetto
all'"espressività", credo anche per staccarsi quanto più possibile da
una lettura "romantica" (ma io spesso direi semplicemente
"tradizionale").
>I momenti più riusciti dello spettacolo d'altronde sono
stati forse quelli più scarni, essenziali: in altre
parole quelli che dimostrano che non è un'opera, ma
un oratorio.
Già. L'allestimento mi è piaciuto molto perché l'ho trovato poco
"invadente" (anche se, come dicevamo, limita necessariamente il ruolo
della parte musicale, perlomeno in certi momenti).
>Purtroppo la rappresentazione cui ho assistito era funestata
da un pubblico persin più ineducato e chiacchierone del solito,
forse scambia il teatro per un piano bar o forse era
disorientato dall'insolita proposta.
Ciao e buona Pasqua!
Roberto
Mi dispiace! Io, invece, come ho scritto, sono rimasto profondamente
colpito dall'attenzione con cui il pubblico ha seguito lo spettacolo e
dall'entusiasmo che ha dimostrato... Il teatro era quasi pieno, eppure
non si è sentito praticamente fiatare fino alla fine! Probabilmente mi
è capitato un giorno particolarmente buono, chissà...
Grazie i tuoi commenti. Buona Pasqua e a presto!
Luca


title: Ed alla fine arrivò anche Sweelinck

author: Giuseppe

text:
......mi sa che era l'ultimo che mi mancava di questo periodo.
Ho preso un doppio della Hyperion con alcune composizioni per organo
eseguite da Herrick.
Prima impressione, belle!!!!!!
G.


title: Ed alla fine arrivò anche Sweelinck

author: the Archeopteryx

text:
Eh.... grande.... la fantasia nonosoquale, quella che suona Gould,
per intenderci, č uno dei mie pezzi preferiti ed č quello che
strimpello quotidianamente al posto dell'Hanon e compagnia cantante,
per tenere le dita in moto. Sweelink era un grande....
ciao!
Apx.


title: Ed alla fine arrivò anche Sweelinck

text:
"the Archeopteryx" <cor.bonukFANCULOSPAM@libero_NOMAIL_.it> ha scritto
nel messaggio news:Q%LOd.868701$35.33...@news4.tin.it...
> Eh.... grande.... la fantasia nonosoquale, quella che suona Gould,
> per intenderci, è uno dei mie pezzi preferiti ed è quello che
> strimpello quotidianamente al posto dell'Hanon e compagnia cantante,
> per tenere le dita in moto. Sweelink era un grande....
>
> ciao!
>
>
Gould?
Ti giuro che non lo sapevo.
Ho controllato ora che leggo il tuo post i cd.
Premetto che non so se contengono tutto quanto ha scritto Sweelinck,
quindi magari la fantasia è un'altra.
Fatta questa doverosa premessa, veniamo al dunque:
Nei cd sono registrate diverse fantasie.
( te le elenco in ordine)
1- fantasia chromatica ( durata 8, 03)
2-Fantasia ( a-Phrygian)  - durata 11,56;
3-Echo Fantasia ( Jonian) durata 7,14
mi piacerebbe sapere quale suonava Gould, che è il mio pianista
preferito.
Ciao
Giuseppe


title: Ed alla fine arrivò anche Sweelinck

text:
> mi piacerebbe sapere quale suonava Gould, che è il mio pianista
> preferito.
Beh, posso dirti che il CD è della solita serie sony e sta qui
http://www.glenngould.com/gg/52589.html
Io credo che sia la fantasia cromatica in re (come da copertina), ma
non osavo scriverlo perché se no mi arriva la solita bacchettata che
all'epoca non esisteva il concetto di tonalità, ma vabbè lo scrivo
lo stesso e chissenefrega :) Volevo metterti sù l'incipit ma temo
che sarei stato rampognato per i diritti d'autore. Allora ho usato
un'altra esecuzione per la quale ho la assoluta certezza che nessuno
possa rompermi le scatole e ne trovi qui le prime battute:
www.archeopteryx.org/cor/sweelinck.mp3
così puoi vedere da te di cosa si tratta e se è qualcosa che conosci
già. L'esecuzione di Gould purtroppo soffre di una registrazione
cattiva, ma la bellezza del pezzo passa lo stesso. Vale la pena,
come sempre.
ciao!
Apx.


title: Ed alla fine arrivò anche Sweelinck

text:
"the Archeopteryx" <cor.bonukFANCULOSPAM@libero_NOMAIL_.it> ha scritto
nel messaggio news:g7NOd.523830$b5.24...@news3.tin.it...
> > mi piacerebbe sapere quale suonava Gould, che è il mio pianista
> > preferito.
>
> Beh, posso dirti che il CD è della solita serie sony e sta qui
>
>
http://www.glenngould.com/gg/52589.html
>
> Io credo che sia la fantasia cromatica in re (come da copertina), ma
> non osavo scriverlo perché se no mi arriva la solita bacchettata che
> all'epoca non esisteva il concetto di tonalità, ma vabbè lo scrivo
> lo stesso e chissenefrega :)
Infatti, mentre scrivevo il post, mi dicevo: è le tonalità?
:-))
l'argomento merita un approfondimento però, ci penso io, noto
ignorante del NG per argomenti del genere, a fare un post, vediamo se
arriva qualche spiegazione.
Volevo metterti sù l'incipit ma temo
> che sarei stato rampognato per i diritti d'autore.
Figurati....
Allora ho usato
> un'altra esecuzione per la quale ho la assoluta certezza che nessuno
> possa rompermi le scatole e ne trovi qui le prime battute:
>
>
www.archeopteryx.org/cor/sweelinck.mp3
Ehemm.....si sente solo un ticchettio di qualcosa....
Ciao
Giuseppe


title: Ed alla fine arrivò anche Sweelinck

text:
> Infatti, mentre scrivevo il post, mi dicevo: è le tonalità? :-))
> l'argomento merita un approfondimento però, ci penso io, noto
> ignorante del NG per argomenti del genere, a fare un post,
> vediamo se arriva qualche spiegazione.
Sì, interesserebbe anche me ma mi sa che stiamo parlando di un'epoca
in cui la distinzione tra modale e tonale non era poi così netta,
sicché se la mia sensazione è grossomodo corretta e la discussione
parte, assisteremo a spiegazioni interessanti. Le note di copertina
di un CD di Tallis che ho sullo scaffale (Le lamentazioni di
Geremia, Deller consort, Harmonia Mundi) dicono che certe dissonanze
che l'ascoltatore sentirà sono l'effetto di false relazioni, ma -
come mi venne fatto notare - la falsa relazione è un qualcosa che
appartiene alla tonalità. Insomma, la mia curiosità si accresce.
> Ehemm.....si sente solo un ticchettio di qualcosa....
Meglio così, non ti perdi proprio niente :) e poi mi sa che la
fantasia è proprio quella cromatica.
ciao!
Apx.


title: Concerti giovanili di Mozart in edicola (Schiff/Vegh)

author: L'Esattore

text:
con Classic Voice.
Concerti nn. 9,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19 in due uscite, 2cd al mese.
Schiff / Camerata del Mozarteum di Salisburgo (Sandor Vegh).
Ho iniziato l'ascolto e mi paiono ottime esecuzioni.
Qualche leggera perplessità sul bilanciamento pianoforte/orchestra.
--
L'Esattore
«Io sono giovane e uso gli sms».


author: Danny Rose

text:
"L'Esattore" <vdei...@NOSPAMsupereva.it> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:xq7ae8qrnach.1b6kcs4qym1o8$.dlg@40tude.net...
> Qualche leggera perplessità sul bilanciamento pianoforte/orchestra.
Cioè: Schiff non viene fuori, spesso e volentieri. Non gli si chiede
ovviamente di sovrastare l'orchestra, solo di farsi sentire.
D'altra parte non è un gran danno. L'elemento trainante è Vegh.
dR


author: Barney Panofsky

text:
Danny Rose ha scritto:

Trattandosi di un disco, e quindi una volta accettatone l'intrinseco
irrealismo, direi che la colpa va data molto più al bilanciamento dei
microfoni e quindi ai tecnici del suono che non a Schiff...


text:
"Barney Panofsky" <
bass_des...@yahoo.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:oM8ek.5543$p07....@tornado.fastwebnet.it...
> Trattandosi di un disco, e quindi una volta accettatone l'intrinseco
> irrealismo, direi che la colpa va data molto più al bilanciamento dei
> microfoni e quindi ai tecnici del suono che non a Schiff...
Strano discorso. Il disco è "irrealistico" (questo discorso una volta o
l'altra andrà pure affrontato) di per sé, e quindi strutturalmente
inattendibile, o i tecnici del suono possono lavorare bene o meno bene?
E i pianisti non possono lavorare bene o meno bene? Tutta questa indulgenza
per Schiff non la capisco. Ultimamente sarà migliorato, non discuto. Ma i
dischi più vecchi, francamente...
Certo che da Musil a Richler è un bel salto...(non che mi dispiaccia, eh).
:-)))))
dR


text:
Danny Rose ha scritto:
> Strano discorso. Il disco è "irrealistico" (questo discorso una volta o
> l'altra andrà pure affrontato) di per sé, e quindi strutturalmente
> inattendibile, o i tecnici del suono possono lavorare bene o meno bene?
Boh, è un discorso difficile. Che cosa riproduce un disco, soprattutto
un disco in studio ? Un'esecuzione ? Come esecuzione è totalmente
irrealistica per una serie di motivi che conoscerai anche tu. Come
esemplificazione di un'idea interpretativa va molto meglio, però ha
bisogno di tecnici che lavorano molto bene, e non per niente i tecnici
bravi si fanno pagare...
> E i pianisti non possono lavorare bene o meno bene?
Sì, ma il bilanciamento fra solista e orchestra è uno dei classicissimi
punti di totale competenza dei tecnici, almeno per la mia esperienza.
Tutta questa
> indulgenza per Schiff non la capisco. Ultimamente sarà migliorato, non
> discuto. Ma i dischi più vecchi, francamente...
A dire il vero il mio discorso prescindeva da Schiff, i cui dischi non
conosco, era un'annotazuone di carattere generale.
> Certo che da Musil a Richler è un bel salto...(non che mi dispiaccia,
> eh). :-)))))
In questo periodo mi sta meglio Richler ;-)


text:
*Barney Panofsky* ha scritto:
> cut
non so cosa hai scritto ma il tuo nick mi ha ricordato uno dei più grandi
libri che abbia letto, e te ne ringrazio.



author: Sightreading

text:
Danny Rose wrote:
> Tutta questa
> indulgenza per Schiff non la capisco. Ultimamente sarà migliorato, non
> discuto.
Insomma, capisco che non ti piaccia Schiff, e ti riconosco la competenza
per sostanziare questo giudizio, ma credo esagerato parlarne come di uno
scolaretto neghittoso e un po' stupido, a cui elargire o non elargire la
nostra "indulgenza", addirittura.
Ultimamente, qui sopra, ho già letto di Maurizio Pollini come di un
cialtrone senza talento e nemico della musica (non per paragonare Schiff
a Pollini). Manteniamo un senso della misura nell'esprimerci, anche se
fa caldo.


author: le fouetteur de tarés

text:
"Danny Rose" <
col...@alice.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:48791df2$0$18152$4faf...@reader3.news.tin.it...
> Strano discorso. Il disco è "irrealistico" (questo discorso una volta o
> l'altra andrà pure affrontato) di per sé, e quindi strutturalmente
> inattendibile, o i tecnici del suono possono lavorare bene o meno bene?
sì, è vero
Dando per scontato che comunque il risultato non corrisponderà mai al vero,
i tecnici possono più o meno avvicinarsi a una visione plausibile.