chris sivak

Listening to a Schumann song cycle can sometimes feel like you’re sitting down to see how many baked potatoes you can eat in one sitting. Most of us who’ve done so will tell you that there are only three good ones: The first two and the last one.

The first potato beckons seductively from it’s plate like a scoop of ice cream dropped onto the floor of a cafeteria filled with fat children. When you’ve finished suckling at every last crumb and every drop of buttery spittle, the surprise of a second potato delights you to no end. Amazing! A chance to relive the toe-curling bliss of what was once new. Except, it’s not new. By the time you get to the end of the second potato you’re feeling a little full. You’ve probably gurgled some variation of, “I couldn’t eat another bite.” or “Wait… is this whole fucking thing in German?”.

Not much happens after potato number two until you get to the last one. This is where it gets interesting. Some people feel a flush of relief at the end. Their tribulations are over and if there were any way they could loosen their belt any more they might sit up and take another bite. Another type of person might pause thoughtfully at the end to ponder what has just passed them by. The intensity of the act is gluttonous to the extreme but has the unintentional effect of exercising the glutton’s taste to a very high degree. The glutton might look back and realise that some of their potatoes they were going through the motions for were actually quite special and deserving of the attention they gave to the first two potatoes. They might decide to check them out again when they’re not so full. In short, they’re hungry again while still being full.

SongDrama productions now has three shows under it’s belt. They’ve been presenting songs from the classical canon using a novel format that does an enviable job of getting us away from the stiff presentation of most songbirding. Most classical voice recitals suffer from their own formality. Singers are propped up next to the piano like a stack of two by fours and expected to intimate in an environment far too sterile to even support life. SongDrama’s concept is to take these familiar songs from the repertoire and weave a story (As well as some tasteful sets and costuming) between them that not only serves to tie the evening together into a very pleasing whole, but gives the singer a set of tools to break out of the stiffness of the traditional format.

Clara/Clara is a story of the two sides of pianist/composer Clara Schumann’s personality. Her artistic side pines for her music making in direct conflict with her domestic side’s urge to be Robert Schumann’s wife. All the while, the pair of singers have the veiled form of Robert Schumann looming at the back of the stage. Singers Emily Forsyth and Debi Wong played these two sides of Clara Schumann while Damien Jinx provided a lush accompaniment as the shadow of Robert Schumann. I have to admit that I was worried when I heard that “singers” were going to be trying to pull off something that can typically give capital-T Thespians a run for their money. This sort of drama seems to magnify the prominence of the most subtle stagecraft. A look here, a bowed shoulder, or a well-timed delay are the most powerful tools in the arsenal. My relief was immense when, after the intermission, I really started to see two distinct Claras on the stage grappling with their conflict of wants.

If at this point you’re asking yourself, “Wait, how is this not Opera?”, then don’t worry. I’m still with you. The director and writer, Adrienne Paulson, agreed with me that most of the ways in which you might distinguish Opera from SongDrama’s Not-pera were pointlessly nit-picky. We did, however, manage to find one point at which we agreed the distinction was worth noting. Traditional Opera seems to be more a vehicle for voices. That is to say, you could really just slap any story on to a stage since the whole point of Opera is huge singing propped up on storytelling. SongDrama’s format is different in that even if the voices were weak, and in this production they were certainly anything but, the production would still work because we’re after the storytelling and not necessarily vocal pyrotechnics.

Great concert. Where the hell were you?

Let me preface this post by saying that I think I’m in love with early music people. I love their weird instruments, I love that an integral aspect of being an early music nerd is being a bigger nerd than the person next to you, I love their anal-retentive adherence to a modestly documented performance practice, I love that when you corner them on this they throw their hands up in a, “Well, what can you do?” sort of gesture and redirect the conversation towards the yet more obscure, and I especially love their sense of play.

I’m starting to think that this sense of play comes from how early music seems to demand an alchemical discipline rather than a chemical one. The documentation we have from this period is from scholars who existed before a formalized scientific method so many aspects of early music end up reeking of more myth than science. Scholars just hadn’t yet been gifted the rigorous documentation skills that led to mankind’s ability to build science on the shoulders of those who had come before which leaves a lot of room for questions surrounding exactly how it was done. Moreover, if you’re being completely honest you’ll have to admit that it’s pretty much impossible to document performance practice with 100% accuracy. Don’t believe me? Talk to a jazz musician about the concept of “swing”.

Early Music Vancouver mounted a semi-demi-staged version of Purcell’s King Arthur last night at the Chan that they playfully dubbed “A Restoration Spectacular”. Alex Weimann led the charge and was backed by Early Music Vancouver’s Festival Orchestra and Chorus. There was plenty of solo material to distribute amongst the chorus-members and they all seemed to relish the chance to attack this score. It was unfortunate that counter-tenor Matthew-White was, as the program put it, “indisposed” but American mezzo Meg Bragle did an admirable job as a sub. Perhaps the only place we truly missed him was the trio, “For Folded Flocks, on Fruitful Plains” for bass, tenor and counter-tenor. It just would have been nice to hear such an unusual trio of voices sing given the evening’s high standard of performance.

The first rule about Purcell’s King Arthur is that you have to talk about the Cold Genius scene if you talk about Purcell’s King Arthur. The titular aria from this scene has been popularized by a diverse cast of music makers (Probably most diverse of all would be Klaus Nomi) who are probably drawn to the gorgeous and surprising turns of harmony as much as (And this is typical of Purcell) the vivid picture it paints of a slumbering frozen giant waking from a deep slumber. Scholars disagree on exactly what Purcell was trying to indicate in his score but their seems to be some consensus that the singer is supposed to sing the line with some kind of tremolo in order to give the impression of chattering teeth. The notation used in the score isn’t standard by common-practice standards and this is reflected in the variety of approaches singers bring to the piece. Observe:

Our beloved Klaus Nomi:

…and different but equally unusual:

Overall the evening was full of that geeky sense of play that is unique to early music folks. I caught an especially sly glance between Weimann and archlutist Sylvain Bergeron as Weimann teetered on the edge of pulling a Jerry Lee Lewis at his harpsichord during the Chaconne at the end of the night. Although I’m sure that he’s such a nerd that he knew that by not kicking his bench out into the audience he was failing to adhere to standardized performance practice.