Texte paru dans: / Appeared in: Ramée |
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Reviewer: Bertil
van Boer
It would seem that the Greek
story of Pygmalion would be tailor-made for opera in the Classical period,
given that it has a sensitivity and emotional content that would have
appealed to the connoisseurs of the time. Given, however, that it is
somewhat thin in terms of plot, composers of the period did not consider it
appropriate for the more expansive style of operas that were more
commonplace. Expansion was limited, as were the number of characters
involved, and therefore it was relatively rare as a topic for the stage.
What this disc intends is to bring two very different pieces based upon the
subject; Jean-Philippe Rameau’s Acte de Ballet and Georg Benda’s more
compact duodrama.
The story comes mainly from
Ovid, who in his Metamorphoses tells of a sculptor, Pygmalion, whose
standards in women is so high that he rejects all in the vicinity. He
decides to create one after his own image, and in so doing falls in love
with it. Enter the deus ex machina, the goddess Venus (or Aphrodite), who
grants his prayer that she become human, and all then live happily ever
after. One needs not say more about how such a story, despite its appeal and
the appearance of the miraculous, was thin for an opera, and of course the
elements that concerned morality, rejection of the common in favor of the
imaginary and a certain sense of narcissism, remain on the surface. But
these two composers approached their subject matter in two rather opposite
ways. Rameau’s work was performed first at the Opéra in Paris in 1748. It was not intended as a main stage work, but rather was a sort of fund-raiser for the Royal Music Academy to get the institution out of debt. It may well have been a concert performance, and the composer may not have suspected that the work would have a life beyond that purpose. It did become, however, one of his most popular pieces on stage, with over 200 performances up through 1781. Based upon the reworking of a 1700 libretto, the plot involves Pygmalion (counter-tenor) already being in love with his statue. His erstwhile amour, Céphise (mezzo-soprano), attempts to woo him away from the work, but is unsuccessful. He calls upon Venus for help, and her son, Amour (soprano), comes to his rescue and vivifies the statue. After the two proclaim their love for each other, the Graces enter to teach Galathée dance steps, after which a grand divertissement occurs.
Benda’s Pygmalion could not be
further afield. First, it is monodrama, meaning that there is no sung text;
it is all spoken dialogue recited against a backdrop of music. This means
that much of it is in monologue form in which Pygmalion gnashes his teeth
about his fate, ponders in a melancholic state, and winds up prostrating
himself before Venus. The opening is filled with superficial angst that
fills the entire time with expostulations, finally subsiding in despair. At
the last moment, he is surprised as the statue begins to move, and Galathée
speaks briefly in monosyllables. It ends (spoiler alert) as she steps off
the podium as a living woman. Not the most interesting of works (unless one
is a fan of German literary dialogue), but sufficient enough for its
premiere in Gotha in September of 1779 to have some wide-ranging effect on
musical drama for at least a number of years thereafter.
Needless to say, the music
here is about as far apart stylistically as one can imagine. Rameau’s
Overture is stately and pompous, with twirling oboes and drums providing a
foundation. Louis XV would have been completely at home with the regal tone,
and though the second section is a rather convoluted fugue, it does outline
the confusion that seems to reign in Pygmalion’s head as it rolls about with
a theme that consists mainly of single note repetitions. This leads directly
into a mournful soliloquy. When Céphise enters to persuade him to accept
her, the recitative wanders between dialogue and arioso, with lots of
suitable ornaments to put emphasis on the text. Since she is rather shrill
in her exhortations, it is not surprising that it ends with his rejection of
her musically. When love and Galathée appear, the flute accompaniments are
quite gentle and bright, and the entrance of the Graces is solemn and
deliberate, though the succeeding dances are bouncy and conclude with a
high-pitched recorder giving it a particularly festive sound. Here the drums
support the rhythm instructively, and the following Sarabande and Tambourin
begins solidly but resolves into a whirling dance. The entry of the crowd
floats along, while their chorus (“L’Amour triomphe”) is rather tepid. This,
however, does not affect Pygmalion’s final aria extolling the joys of love,
as it contains some rather impressive coloratura. The finale is a short pair
of dances, which though festive, was probably enhanced by other insertions
at the French performances in the Opéra.
Benda’s work, however, is
through-composed from beginning to end. A brief overture immediately merges
into the dialogue-plus-musical punctuations. Bits and fragments outline the
rather lengthy text, dipping in and out with mostly strings. At longer gaps,
the composer inserts woodwinds, such as a solo oboe. The return of certain
thematic fragments stitches the loose fragments together, and even at
moments of textual surprise, such as when Pygmalion realizes that his
creation is mute, invoking exclamations of “Torture, Desire, Longing, Rage”
with agitated accompaniment. The entire half hour piece ends with a bit from
the Overture. For listeners, the Rameau will be the most accessible, given that it is more conventionally composed. Philippe Gagné has a light and flexible tenor, and moreover he has a knack for Rameau’s often tortuous ornamentation. Lieselot De Wilde is fine with a rich mezzo-soprano, but she is given virtually nothing to do beyond the short section. Both Caroline Weynants and Morgane Heyse have bright and clear voices. Norman Patzke give a good rendition of the confused Pygmalion in the Benda with a dramatic tone. The performance by the Apotheosis Orchestra is nearly perfect under the capable baton of Korneel Bernolet. The ensemble’s phrasing is impeccable: The sound is light and airy when needed, and more reticent when doing the rather difficult interjections in the Benda. In short, this is a wonderful disc, and though the Benda monodrama may not be everyone’s cup of tea, the pairing of both works is a perfect example of how this tepid subject could be brought to life by both composers in a manner that raises it above the ordinary.
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