John Harbison’s, The Great Gatsby, in Tanglewood Debut Concert Performance

Is The Great Gatsby a great opera? I can't say, because I've only seen the concert performance presented in Ozawa Hall at Tanglewood this past Thursday night. But the performance felt more like a Handel Oratorio than a Grand Opera, which is probably a very good thing.

In fact, I enjoyed this performance in a number of ways. Most obviously, The Orchestra and Chorus of Emmanuel Music and the soloists for the production were wonderful—the playing confident and full of color, the singing strong and full of emotion in both chorus and solos, while conductor and artistic director, Ryan Turner, showed great understanding of the score and the story. 

Remarkably, I felt as though we were really "seeing" Gatsby, Daisy, Jordan, and Tom behaving badly and ruining their lives, while Nick looks on and narrates, just as Fitzgerald intended. It was certainly more "real" than the movie version (though I can't claim to have seen the latest, Baz Luhrmann, edition. 

It's not an accident that this opera, even in the “concert” presentation, feels like the genuine article. If you had set out in 1995 to identify the best person to write it, you'd probably have picked John Harbison. As we learned during the pre-concert discussion (viewable from the BSO Media Center), one of Harbison's inspirations for the piece was his father, who like Fitzgerald himself, was a member of  the Triangle Club, Princeton's musical-comedy group. Harbison's uncle graduated from Princeton in Fitzgerald's class, or what would have been his class had Fitzgerald graduated.

Harbison is something of a man of letters—Harvard B.A., Princeton M.A., professor at MIT, frequent lecturer, published critic. During the talk, he admitted to writing poetry as a young man. As a musician and composer, he's always loved jazz and is considered an expert on the subject. There's abundant evidence of his understanding of the American literature of the Jazz Age in general, and Fitzgerald in particular, in this work.

The music is scored for a big, lush orchestra, plus banjo, saxophone, and drums for the pop numbers, all of which are original to the opera, and with original lyrics by Murray Horwitz. The interplay of instrumental emotion from operatic to foxtrot is one of the most compelling aspects of the work. The effect of Nick and Jordan conversing operatically in the foreground while Gatsby's party strums and beats along underneath works well, and pulls listeners between these two opposite forces, heightening the tension.

Harbison's orchestration is full of non-musical texture: automobiles and traffic, trains, city bustle, rain, and the green light at the end of Daisy's dock flashing its leitmotif. Gatsby's frequent "old sport" refrain had its leitmotif, as well. So many elements come together and play off each other, but not so obviously as to feel heavy-handed. There is the sense of a skilled and experienced craftsman at work, enjoying the complexity without showing off.

The oratorio effect of this concert performance is also handled with skill and subtlety. The characters were onstage only while singing, which meant they had entrances and exits. They wore period-like attire and sang to each other in a conversational style, with visible emotion. It all helped give the performance a dramatic feel.

There was much that was praiseworthy. But, and I almost hate to admit it, the evening ultimately fell short, though in ways that seem to plague almost all contemporary opera.

Harbison, the interpreter of Fitzgerald, used dialog from the novel as his libretto, and for the many of us who've read and loved Gatsby, this was good news—the conversations are nearly poetic. But the dialog also carries the entire plot of the opera, and the expository quality of the lyrics is often awkward, especially for singing.

Also, the musical scene-painting is so wonderfully descriptive of time and place, and so remarkably evocative of the changing moods, that it leaves almost no room for aria. And there really aren't the sort of romantic arias—the confessions, love duets, angry declarations of self-worth or self-pity that cause opera audiences to interrupt performances with applause. They are not a necessary ingredient of opera, but these moments of pure singing, so wonderful that even the plot stands still to listen, give many great operas their transcendent quality, and they are notably missing from Gatsby. 

Instead, the opera is talky like baroque recitative—not the impetus for modern audiences to want to pay large sums of money to empathize and swoon at the Metropolitan Opera. I've got nothing against Handel's, Haydn's or Bach's great oratorios, but a whole opera of recitative feels tedious.

Just one more thing, really a question. (Spoiler alert, as if it mattered.) Do we need to see Wilson, the garage mechanic, husband of Myrtle, shoot Gatsby? In the novel, we come upon the dead body in the pool at dawn. We don't know who shot Gatsby, and there are several suspects. More importantly, this ambiguity heightens the tragedy.

Nonetheless, and despite my reservations and misgivings, this is a worthy opera, and it was a terrific performance. I was particularly impressed by the happy combination of musical forces. John Harbison's musical life has included a long association with the Emmanuel Players, the BSO, and Tanglewood. This was an extraordinary undertaking and we felt well-rewarded to be there. 

P.S. This performance was also reviewed in The New York Times by Zachary Woolfe: The Rich Are Different: They Can Sing. Woolfe's conclusions might lead you to believe that we had seen different performances, but, in fact, we were in the same place at the same time. However, it's evident that we had different expectations for the evening and that we have different sensibilities. Woolfe is a "professional" reviewer and has the advantage of greater experience and knowledge. I share my opinions by writing reviews, but without the onus of the professional to pass some sort of larger judgement. It makes for an interesting comparison.

Performed Thursday, July 11, 2013
Ozawa Hall, Tanglewood, by:
Orchestra and Chorus of Emmanuel Music

Ryan Turner, artistic director and conductor

Gordon Gietz, tenor (Jay Gatsby)

Devon Guthrie, soprano (Daisy Buchanan)

Katherine Growdon, mezzo-soprano (Myrtle Wilson)

Krista River, mezzo-soprano (Jordan Baker)

Lynn Torgove, mezzo-soprano (Tango Singer)

Charles Blandy, tenor (Radio Singer)

Alex Richardson, tenor (Tom Buchanan)

David Kravitz, baritone (Nick Carraway)

James Maddalena, baritone (Meyer Wolfshiem)

Dana Whiteside, baritone (Minister)

David Cushing, bass (George Wilson)

Donald Wilkinson, bass (Henry Gatz)

Perhaps the Worst Movie…, Ever

Not as bad as "Plan 9 From Outer Space," but we're talking about a big-budget feature of the 21st Century. I'm reminded of "The Producers," in search of a sure flop, but we're in on the joke. This time, there's no joke, and I'm not kidding.

Poor August Rush. He hears things. When he's not hearing things, he thinks about the thing that has never existed in his life; his parents. But fear not. The spirit forces are working in his favor. The spirits are working overtime: with the mother in Chicago, with the father in San Francisco, with the social worker, the black minister, the pig-tailed little girl with the big voice, and the guitar-playing black kid with rhythm. How are they all going to end up in the same place at the same time by the end of the movie and live happily ever after?

Well, it hardly matters. The parents, who don't actually know they have a son and spent all of one evening together in their lives, "it was a very special night," are playing Romeo and Juliet. August is living the life of The E.T., which I'm guessing is why he keeps looking to the stars for answers. Most of the other characters have bit roles in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," and are inexplicably drawn to Central Park in New York on the same summer evening. On the other hand, the Pied Piper of musical street urchins, as played by Robin Williams, is really a musical Fagin straight out of "Oliver Twist," complete with hide out full of boys who share their day's earnings on the street with "the family." He spends a lot of time counting money; lots of it.

By the way, 12-year-old August is supposed to be a musical prodigy. Can you believe that he actually masters the guitar, the piano, composition, and conducting in six months? No problem. His parents are also unbelievably talented. We know, because the rockin' father can pick up a guitar that hasn't been played in 12 years and it's magically in perfect tune. The "virgin" mother's (we don't actually know that there was a conception or a birth) cello playing is so remarkable, that after twelve years of silence and an untouched cello, the New York Philharmonic mails her a letter to ask if she'll come play with them. Wow, this is special!

We sighed in disbelief, we groaned with pain, why the hell did we watch the entire movie of "August Rush?" There was one well-played role and it happened to be my mother-in-law, Marian Seldes, in the role of the Dean of Juilliard; a thankless role but one with a small shred of dignity. Marian actually taught Robin Williams in the first years of the Juilliard Drama Department, but it hardly mattered. Absurd plot, bad script, horrific direction, and inexcusably bad movie—its a script that appears to have been written by someone with no knowledge of reality and a high regard for coincidence and miracles.

On the bright side, I've heard anecdotally that the movie was shown on a lot of airplane flights. Pleasant dreams.

Music Review: Richard Goode in Newtown, CT

Seen and Heard (MusicWeb International)

Richard Goode, Piano
Newtown Friends of Music
Edmond Town Hall, Newtown, Connecticut
September 16, 2007

J S Bach

Prelude and Fugue in G minor, BWV 885 (Book II)
Four Sinfonias

E major, BWV 792

E minor, BWV 793

G minor, BWV 797

E-flat major, BWV 791
Prelude and Fugue in B major, BWV 892 (Book II)

Haydn, Sonata in D major, Hoboken XVI:24


Beethoven, Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 2

‘Sonata quasi una fantasia’


Debussy, Three Preludes

La cathédrale engloutie (Book I)

Ondine (Book II)

General Lavine - Eccentric (Book II)


Chopin
Impromptu in F-sharp major, Op. 36

Three Mazurkas

G major, Op. 50 No. 1

C major, Op. 24, No. 2

C-sharp minor, Op. 50, No. 3

Nocturne in B major, Opus 62, No. 1

Polonaise in F-sharp minor, Opus 44

So many pianists try to be flamboyant in their playing or exaggerated in their interpretations often to the point of affectation. Thus it is a particular pleasure to listen Richard Goode’s playing, which is all about the music—capturing the mood, transmitting a feeling without extraneous fanfare—it seems so reserved, but in a good way. I suspect it’s harder to be interestingly thoughtful and subtle than to come out with all barrels blazing. And what a treat to hear Richard Goode in the rather intimate setting of Newtown Connecticut’s Town Hall.

I never tire of hearing Goode’s intelligent rendering of Beethoven sonatas, this time, the so-called Moonlight. There’s nothing melodramatic or sappy about Goode’s articulation, and instead of the usual Chopin-like romanticism one hears in the first movement so often, Goode emphasized the dark melody in the base and the brooding quality of C-sharp minor was more redolent of a moldering grave than anything light or frilly. It was remarkably and rivetingly effective.

Goode began his recital with a selection of Bach put together like a baroque suite. The clarity of his articulation and the beautiful subtlety in his phrasing seemed so natural and unforced that it was easy to forget one's reviewing duties and simply enjoy the music. How utterly pleasant.

Similarly, Goode’s Haydn was immaculate, and moving from baroque to classical brought a fierceness and urgency to the playing that ripped along at a great rate of many notes per second—delightful.

The Beethoven followed, and you could feel the expressive range growing with the chronology. Lots of sforsandos, great dynamic range. And then after intermission, a leap across all of romanticism directly to three Debussy preludes. I wondered how Goode’s clean lines and elegant phrasing would match up with the slowly emerging images Debussy painted in the preludes. I needn’t have worried. Clarity and precision, Goode’s hallmarks, combined with his intellectual understanding of the works, created what felt like newly cleaned artwork glowing in freshly polished frames.

Then back to romanticism for a bookend collection of Chopin movements to balance the synthesized Bach suite at the opening. It was a long concert and, surprisingly, the Chopin felt murky by comparison to the rest of the performances. I’ve heard Goode play Chopin with the ferocity of a middle Beethoven sonata, and it works beautifully, but this was more of a relaxed finish to the afternoon.

Goode is a transporting performer, an intellectual with plenty of technique to communicate his thoughts about the music. Nothing is ill-considered or dashed off without careful consideration. It’s as though he has considered just how every note in the piece should be played. He is intense without being showy, correct without being stuffy, original without outlandishness. Goode allows us to hear new things and it’s a treat. He sets a standard of excellence that few can match.

CA