Opera Preview: The Turn of the Screw

New York City Opera gambles on young talent. 
by Paul J. Pelkonen

What about the boy? Benjamin P. Wenzelberg (center) finds himself in a supernatural
custody battle in this new City Opera production of The Turn of the Screw.
Photo by Carol Rosegg © 2013 New York City Opera.

The Turn of the Screw is Benjamin Britten's creepiest operas. The British composer (who celebrates his centennial later this year) transformed Henry James' Gothic ghost story into a tale of innocence corrupted and evil triumphant. The clock-like score is one of Britten's tightest creations, a concise re-telling of the story with key changes that serve to increase dramatic tension, placing stress on the listener.

Britten's opera (the libretto is by Myfanwy Piper) is not a straightforward adaptation of  Henry James' ambiguous ghost story. In Ms. Piper's version, the ghosts Peter Quint and Miss Jessel are actual supernatural forces, preying on two innocent children at the Essex country estate of Bly. (James' novella leaves the reader unsure if the Governess is seeing things or slowly going insane.)

Exploring Topographic Oceans

The Symphonic Rock of Yes' Most Complex Record.

Original album art for Yes' Tales from Topographic Oceans.Painting by Roger Dean © 1973 by the artist.

It's hard to believe but 2011 marks the 37th anniversary of Yes' sprawling 1974 double-LP Tales from Topographic Oceans. And since the ever-changing English quintet have just released Fly From Here, their first record since 2001's Magnification, it's time to talk about Topographic, one of the most challenging, and yes, symphonic records of all time.

This is rock and roll with a heavy dose of virtuoso musicianship, stretched to a scale that Gustav Mahler would have envied. Each "song" (the word is a convenient label for these massive suites) clocks in at around 20 minutes, taking up the full side of an LP. Although it was slammed by critics as "psychedelic doodling" on its release, there is music of real value in these vast oceans of sound.

The four tracks represent an ideal fusion between the five Yes-men, working towards a unique, if obscure concept. Singer Jon Anderson based his arcane lyrics on the Shastric scriptures, a foot-note found in the Autobiographby of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. (And although I've owned Topographic since 1990, I don't know what he's singing about either.)

By this point, Yes had a habit of choosing words for their sound, not their meaning, even resorting on onomatopoeic scat-singing in order to fit words to music. Jon Anderson's high countertenor soars against the band, an intricate four-piece orchestra that occasionally sounds like a legion of players. And that is the secret of Yes: while every member is a virtuoso, the alchemy of the musicians together creates something new, flexible and awe-inspiring.

Yes, exploring the life aquatic at Madison Square Garden, 1974
on the Topographic Oceans tour. They played the whole album in order.

Steve Howe wrote most of the music on Topographic. Not surprisingly, his guitar is to the fore on the opening (and portentiously titled) "The Revealing Science of God", acting like a concerto soloist against the rhythmic complexity of the other musicians. He duels with Rick Wakeman, who uses Hammond organ, Mellotron, acoustic piano and synths to add impressionistic color to the swirling vortex of sound.

It's amazing to hear how Yes are willing to repeatedly shift gears in "The Remembering," the album's second track. But those gears never grind. In less than a minute, a lilting, acoustic ditty yields to a short baroque theme played by Mr. Wakeman. It is swiftly followed by a potent driving section that has all the musicians playing off each other, reaching as one toward the same musical goal.

Chris Squire is the founder of Yes, and the longest-serving member of the band. Here, his distinctive, fat-toned Rickenbacker bass (always picked) drives the engine forward. That engine is drummer Alan White, in his first studio outing as Yes' stickman--a job he still holds today. Their playing together is amazing, especially in the arcane, arrhythmic sections at the heart of "The Ancient," the third piece on the record.

The album ends with "Ritual (Nous somas de soleil)". This is the finale of the "symphony" and fittingly, the toughest nut for the listener to crack. After a horn-like announcement from Mr. Squire's bass, a majestic, searching opening theme is stated, accompanied by joyfuyl, wordless singing. The theme courses like a hungry greyhound, building to a huge climax.

Suddenly, an acoustic guitar announces "Nous sommes de soleil", a gentle, singing melody. This builds from the folksong-like melody to a vast expanse of sound, underpinned by Mr. Wakeman's under-pinnings on the organ and Mr. Squire's driving bass. It careens into a crazy fast section and then turns into...a drum circle?

On first listen, the giant clash of cacophonous, clattering percussion makes no musical sense: another indulgence on a sprawling, excessive record. But listen closely to the percussion part on the section that comes before, and the roots of this jagged chunk of musique-concrete become clear. Then, Mr. White takes a rolling, percussive monster solo against Mr Wakeman's slashing synths.

The final reprise of "Nous somme de soleil" is the reward for this brief interlude of noise. Mr Anderson's voice, the sibilant bass, slinky guuitar and Mr Wakeman's jazzy piano combine to bring the most ambitous album of the 1970s to a serene, perfect close.

That's No Moon, That's a.....

Pluto and the Battle of The Planets.

Pluto, now a minor planet.

Following the recent Philadelphia Orchestra performance of Holst's The Planets, I've been investigating Pluto, the Renewer, the six-minute "sequel" written by composer Colin Matthews in 2000.

The (former) planet Pluto was discovered in 1930 by astronomer Clyde Tombaugh. It turned out to be a small, rocky, ice-covered world that occasionally traded orbits with Neptune. Further discoveries, including that of the (larger) scattered disc object Eris in 2005 led to the 2006 decision of the International Astronomical Union, demoting Pluto to the status of "minor planet."

Holst completed The Planets in 1916. Although he later heard of Tombaugh's discovery, he was content with a seven-movement suite depicting Mars, Venus, Mercury, Earth, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. His exploration of the outer planets becomes progressively weirder. Highlights include the proto-doom-metal march of Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age and the shimmering wordless chorus of Neptune, The Mystic..

Colin Matthews is an acclaimed composer and authority on Holst's music. Pluto was commissioned by the Hallé Orchestra in 2000 as a new eighth moement. The piece is designed to be played directly after the fade-out that ends Neptune, the Mystic at the end of Holst's suite. It recapitultes many elements from earlier in The Planets, attempting to "sum up" Holst's music, using his orchestral technique while putting a more modern spin on these musical ideas.

A first listen immediately reveals scintillating glockenspiel parts, the rapid-fire scales of Mercury, the 'cello run up that starts Jupiter and the low, menacing growls of Saturn. The music then thunders into gear with a clattering timpani part, roaring tuba and lighter brass, and a cosmic storm of ostinato rhythms that recall the heavier pages of Mars..

Footage of Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic playing Pluto for your listening pleasure.

Attempts to finish or improve other composer's unfinished compositions rarely succeed. By attempting to summarize The Planets with a grand finale, Mr. Matthews undermined Holst's intent of a cosmic fade-out into the void of space. With the relegation of Pluto to the ranks of minor planets, this piece becomes an interesting historical footnote.

Concert Review: Nimble Strings and Cosmic Things

The Philadelphia Orchestra Explores The Planets

Neptune: the Mystic. We could have run another photo of Charles Dutoit, but what fun would that be?
 Image by Voyager 2 © 1989 National Aeronautics and Space Administration

On Tuesday night, the Philadelphia Orchestra presented a pair of works by 20th century British composers William Walton and Gustav Holst (capped by the latter's The Planets) under the brisk leadership of Chief Conductor Charles Dutoit.

The concert opened with Walton's lone Violin Concerto, with soloist Gil Shaham. Mr. Shaham displayed adept technique, whizzing through Walton's scales and arpeggios, although his instrument sounded dry and reedy against the lush sonic curtain of the orchestra.

Written as a love letter to his paramour of many years, Walton's concerto contrasts Italianate lyric melodies with a jazzy sequence of changes, influenced by what was at the time a new type of music. This is a treacherous concerto (there is no slow movement) and Mr. Shaham's energetic performance was well suited to the composer's rapid-fire writing.

The Philadelphia Orchestra charged up its hyper-drive engines and roared into The Planets, playing "Mars, the Bringer of War" with a savage, muscular drive. The brass section and the low strings dominate this movement, a thunderous protest of the stupidity of war that predates the music of both John Williams and Metallica. Thrilling low notes from the tuba and the steady chug of basses and cellos created the grinding wheel of the war machine and propelling it with a ferocious snarl.

"Venus, the Bringer of Peace" was a far more lyric affair, with eloquent melodies for the English horn, oboe, and first violin against a romantic backdrop. Mr. Dutoit took "Mercury" at a light clip, with its sparkling celesta part and woodwind solos. The orchestra seemed to gather its breath for "Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity", playing this famous movement with joy and a kind of savage glee. The contrasting second theme featured the Philadelphia trademark: a round, rich cello-led tone, finely burnished and capable of elevating the spirit to the heavenly spheres that inspired Holst's suite.

The Last Planet: Neptune with its moon, Triton.
Photo by Voyager 2 © 1989 National Aeronautics and Space Administration

Holst used the last three movements of his suite to visit the obscure outer planets: Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. Saturn, marked ("The Bringer of Old Age") is a grim, slow death march exploring the ear-tormenting interval of the second. It was played with funereal power. Uranus ("The Magician") allowed the brass and crack timpani players to sally forth, evoking a magic show of orchestral effects.

The finale, "Neptune: the Mystic" is sad and remote as its namesake, an icy soundscape of strings and wind accompanied by a wordless offstage women's chorus. As the orchestra played its hushed, final notes, the mysterious chorus faded to silence. Verizon Hall erupted with cheers for this successful tour of the Solar System under the baton of Captain Dutoit.

Concert Review: The Alchemy of Handel

David Daniels and Dorothea Röschmann at Carnegie Hall

Soprano Dorothea Röschmann

Sunday afternoon's concert at Carnegie Hall paired two performers steeped in the repertory of the 18th century: the soprano Dorothea Röschmann, and the countertenor David Daniels. The two singers were expertly accompanied by the Juilliard 415 Ensemble in an all-Handel program that showcased each voice to mesmerizing effect.


In baroque opera, a strict division exists between recitative/plot development and emotional reaction. The latter is expressed through arias, which put an emphasis on development of emotional truth and embellishment second.

Ms. Röschmann, a singer heard often in Mozart, sang with stellar technique, soaring to heights with a clear, firm line that allowed equal balance between the meaning of the words and the starry flourishes that come in the recaptulation of the text. She shifted moods ably throughout the recital, from the erotic charge of "V'adoro, pupille" *from Giulio Cesare) to tragic loss in the excerpts from Rodelinda.

Countertenor David Daniels

Mr. Daniels first sang for New Yorkers as Arsamene in Handel's Xerxes at City Opera in 1997. Those performances, opposite the late Lorraine Hunt, triggered that company's renaissance as a haven for the performance of baroque opera. He then moved on to the Met, rising to heights with appearances in operas like Orphée et Euridice, a role that he will bring back to New York in May.

Although he sings from the "head", Mr. Daniels' voice is radically different from most countertenors. He is equipped with a round, viola-like resonance that is rare among his ilk: producing powerful, fully formed tones that never sound flutey or forced. This formidable technique was best heard on the elegant "Crede l'uomo ch'egli riposi", and the moving "Perfido, di a quell'empio tiranna" from Radamisto.


Jory Vinkour and Monica Huggett led the Juilliard 415 ensemble, which takes its numeric name from the tuning pitch of the note A (415) in baroque period performance. Using theorbo, hautboys, harpsichord, and old-style bassoons, the Juilliard musicians provided expert accompaniment to the arias, including the complex antiphonal passages from Giulio Cesare. The orchestra also had its time in the spotlight, playing engaging accounts of the Rodelinda overture, a Handel passacaglia and a lithe account of the second Concerto Grosso, Op. 3.

The individual excerpts were exceptional, but they paled compared to the molten alloy of these two voices together in the three duets on the program. The first was "Io t'abbraccio", which featured Mr. Daniels and Ms. Röschmann's voices melting together in a complex weave of sound. "Scherzano sul tu volto" (moved earlier in the program) and "Per le porte del tormento passan l'anime" showed that this fusion of voices was no accident. The encore too, featured a gorgeous duet: "Pur ti miro, pur ti godo" from Monteverdi's L'Incorinazione di Poppea, a perfect, intimate end to an extraordinary afternoon.