Der Bassgeiger zu Wörgl

So, I kind of messed up on that whole posting every Saturday thing. Many apologies.

This one holds a special place in my heart. The theory/history confidant I’ve mentioned before was a bassist, and on one of the many late evenings we spent preparing for our Romantic Period seminar she mentioned this gem from the quill of Michael Haydn. Yes, Haydn. This is Joseph’s kid brother. Technically his first name is Johann, but everyone named their composer child Johann (Pachelbel rant, anyone?). Clearly Michael just wanted some individuality. Which he never got, since he is best remembered as being Joseph’s kid brother. But I digress.

This week’s opera: Der Bassgeiger zu Wörgl
Composer: (Johann) Michael Haydn (1737-1806)
Librettist: Pater Leo Peternader
Date of Composition: c. 1775
Other Remarks: M. Haydn was mostly known for his symphonies and sacred choral music, but every once in awhile he got bored and wrote a Singspiel. (For those not in the know, this is basically the German precursor to a musical - spoken dialogue interspersed with songs and generally in a comic mood) This one is relatively unknown. Granted, most of Michael’s works are relatively unknown, but that’s beside the point. The title translates to “The Bassist of Wörgl,” and, like the vast majority of string bassists, this bassist’s story focuses on being drunk. Now, a word of warning before we get farther into the plot: the one and only synopsis I ever found for this work was in German, which may have contributed to some of the hilarity encountered. Still, what doesn’t change in translation is the fact that an 18th century virtually-unknown composer basically wrote a sitcom-opera about a drunk guy who happens to play bass. And y’all should be thanking me - this will be the first synopsis I know of in English. You’re welcome.

Our story opens with Bartl, the aforementioned bassist, coming home drunk one night.

 Yes, he brings his bass out drinking.

His wife, Liesl, does not take kindly to him being drunk, again, and won’t unlock the door. Bartl is apparently very upset by this, and wails that she is mean and he is going to go drown himself in the river.

Presumably the bass is off somewhere pretending not to know Bartl.

Liesl, the loving wife that she is, runs out to find and stop him. HOWEVER Bartl is secretly a very devious drunk bassist, and snuck into the house while she was out searching the river. Now the tables have turned and he’s locked her out of the house! Liesl gets back and tries to get in the house, but Bartl won’t let her in until she promises to stop nagging him about his Trinkfreudigkeit, which I originally translated as “drunken happy time” but I’ve since learned means alcoholism. I like my translation better.

She's so angry that she's misplaced her nose!

Moral of the story: Always carry housekeys.

L'Heure Espagnole

It's Saturday!
Do you know what that means?

Well, no, you don’t, because I haven’t said. But, it’s my intention to make weekly updates on Saturdays. So, that’s right! It’s time for another round of Sleep Deprivation Opera Plots! This is an opera I heard a few years ago at a conference and I’ve always thought that it was just begging for Sleep-Deprivation treatment.

This week’s opera: L’Heure Espagnole
Composer: Maurice Ravel (1875-1937)
Librettist: Maurice Étienne Legrand, writing as Franc-Nohain
Date of Composition: 1907-1911

The opera opens with Torquemada, a Spanish clockmaker (does the title make sense now?) just kind of chilling in his shop when Ramiro, a muleteer (yes, he drives mules) comes in to have his watch repaired. Naturally, as Torquemada is a clockmaker.

Clocks! Clocks everywhere! And no, I haven't got a clue what's up with Ramiro's outfit. Maybe muleteers just have really poor fashion sense.

However, as he begins to work on the watch his wife, Concepcion, comes down the stairs and reminds him that he needs to go make sure that all of the clocks in town are regulated.

Concepcion likes to wear ballgowns at home. And if I were her I'd be getting really sick of all these clocks reading different times.

Torquemada runs out, asking Ramiro to wait, while Concepcion, who is expecting a few suitors, tries to figure out how to get Ramiro to leave so she can have some…*ahem* fun. She finally decides to ask Ramiro to take one of the two big grandfather clocks in the shop into her bedroom. She’s always wanted a clock. Ramiro leaves just as one of her suitors, Gonzalve, arrives.

Look at that upper body strength and extreme nonchalance!

But Gonzalve just wants to speak sweet nothings to her. Concepcion thinks that’s great, but seriously, just forget the freaking poetry and let’s get it on, okay? She shoves Gonzalve into the other clock to hide when Ramiro comes back and asks him to switch the two clocks. Ramiro apparently has no problem with this, and Concepcion is kind of turned on by the fact that he can carry heavy clocks with people hiding inside of them without complaining. Lo and behold, yet another suitor, Don Inigo, shows up and tries to start something with Concepcion, who is still too taken with Ramiro to really notice. She goes with Ramiro when he takes the clock with Gonzalve in it to her bedroom, and Don Inigo decides it would be a splendid idea to hide in the empty clock that Ramiro just took back into the shop. Without realizing it, Ramiro returns to take Don Inigo’s clock into Concepcion’s room. She is really impressed by this point, and basically says “to hell with those losers!” and she and Ramiro…have fun.

Torquemada returns! \o/ and Gonzalve and Don Inigo make their way out of the clocks. When asked what they’re doing there, both men are like, “uhhhhhhhh….I want to buy this clock!” which leaves Concepcion once again without a clock in her room.

It's Blue Shirt Day here at Torquemada's Clocks., and Torquemada is not amused.

Not that she cares. She’s a tad preoccupied. The opera ends with a moral like one of those cheesy Saturday morning cartoons that tells you not to lie or to always do your chores or something of the like. However, no one told Ravel about morals, because the moral of this story is basically Ramiro is really hot because he can carry heavy clocks and let’s go have sex.

Yeah…the French are kind of weird.

Introduction Post and Also Ernani

My name is unimportant. I won't tell you where I live, or how old I am, or what I do in real life. Rest assured it has something to do with Music and Academia. And clearly not visual art.

I like the idea of having a career, and so anonymity is important. Academia frowns on triviality, and a blog is a fair description of the Platonic Ideal of Triviality. That being said, I also enjoy my sanity. There is only so much of the stiff, rigid Academia one can handle (and no, I'm not going to use the composer pun here, thank you) and I need an outlet for my hysteria and random bouts of giggling. Yes. Giggling. Hence, the creation of this blog. If you enjoy it, wonderful. If you don't feel free to walk away unscathed. You won't hurt my feelings.

I love opera. I really do. There are few things that make me happier than a night out at the theatre, listening to good singers (and sometimes bad ones) declare their love/hate/respect/amusement/lust/infatuation/loathing/begrudging acceptance to another person. But that doesn't mean I won't make fun of it. It practically screams for that, anyways. A good friend and I used to translate opera plots into sleep-deprivation-speak when we studied them for various classes. Unfortunately, we now live in different states and it's understandably become difficult to study for our classes together. However, I can't help but think of any opera plot in terms that make sense when  you're highly caffeinated and going off of about two hours of sleep and it's already four in the morning and you still haven't done your research methods homework because you're too busy trying to learn Schenkerian Analysis and dissecting the relationship between Colin McPhee and Benjamin Britten.

I would like to continue this tradition. So, without further ado, I present this, the first edition of Sleep Deprivation Opera Plots. Or SDOP. (in the name of love?)

This week's opera: Ernani

Composer: Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901)

Librettist: Francesco Maria Piave

Date of Composition: 1844

Other Remarks: Based on a book by Victor Hugo and surprisingly low on death for a Verdi opera.

Onwards!

There are some bandits. Ernani is their leader (of course he is) (I'm pretty sure in the production I saw he had a really badass cape).

The mask means he's a bandit.

Ernani is sad, because the love of his life, Elvira, is getting married, against her will, to some old rich guy named Gomez de Silva.

She's probably also sad that her hair is two different colors and her arms are different lengths.

Anyways, Elvira is complaining about getting married when suddenly a guy in disguise shows up in her bedroom! His disguise is pretty much useless, because Elvira just automatically knows that he's King Carlos. When Elvira rejects his love, he attacks her, but Ernani shows up to save the day (of course he does), explaining that the bandits stole his land and forced him to be their leader (suuuuuuuuurrrrre). Carlos and Ernani are about to get into a fight, presumably over someone's honour, when Gomez de Silva shows up and wonders what these strange men are doing in his fiancee's bedroom. Ernani skedaddles.

Ernani comes back, disguised as a pilgrim (it didn't work for the king, but hey, maybe that bitchin' cape helps) and asks Silva for shelter. Ernani's disguise is apparently great, because Silva grants him the shelter. We learn that Elvira thinks Ernani is dead - after convincing her otherwise, Elvira tells him that she is going to kill herself at the altar. Silva decides to check up on his wife and realizes what is going on, but, because he's already promised Ernani shelter, it means that he has to protect the bandit from the king, who is, at this moment, trying to get into Silva's mansion-house to kill Ernani. Carlos decides that Silva is lying when he claims that he hasn't seen Ernani, and takes Elvira hostage. Obviously, Silva gets kind of peeved by this, and, after the king leaves, HE challenges Ernani to a duel. Ernani refuses and, clearly, the next course of action is to WORK TOGETHER TO SAVE OUR WOMAN!!!! YAHR!!!!! Ernani then tells Silva that he owes him a debt, and basically gives him an "I'll do whatever you want, whenever you want" coupon. Poor choice, Ernani....because Silva decides what he wants is for Ernani to kill himself upon the sound of the hunting horn. This can't end well.

Carlos, meanwhile, decides to visit Charlemagne's tomb. Yup. This is apparently because, not only is Charlemagne's tomb the cool place to plot and brood about life, but Carlos is also in the running to be elected as the next Holy Roman Emperor (where did that come from???) Apparently, a group of "traitorous noblemen," including Silva, Ernani, and Elvira (how did she escape??? it's always upset me that we don't know. did she fly out of the window? did she drug the king's wine? did she borrow Ernani's badass disguise cape and just walk out? we never know...) have also decided that the tomb is a good place for a hangout, and Carlos overhears them plotting to kill him. He doesn't like this idea, for obvious reasons. AND THEN SUDDENLY Carlos is named Holy Roman Emperor. The king's guards jump out from their hiding places and the conspirators are shocked and dismayed (because really, what huge political figure with people plotting to kill him walks around with guards these days?). Carlos decides that all the traitorous noblemen must be executed. Ernani declares that this includes him, for he is secretly the Lord of Aragon! GASP! Turns out those bandits did steal his land and force him to be their leader, after all.

The "traitorous noblemen" are probably jealous that they don't have clothes. Or bodies.

Elvira pleads with Carlos not to kill Ern....Don Juan of Aragon, and he, having a random change of heart, obliges, decreeing that Aragon and Elvira should be married. Silva is not amused.

AND THEN there is wedded bliss. Elvira and Aragon stare lovingly into each others' eyes and sing sappy love songs as the romantic leads of opera are wont to do. BUT WAIT. CAN SOMETHING DESTROY THIS PERFECT ENDING? WHAT IS THAT IN THE DISTANCE? IS THAT THE SOUND OF SILVA'S HUNTING HORN??? Gomez arrives, giving Aragon a knife. When Aragon pleads for time to "sip from the cup of love" (euphemism, much?) Silva calls him a coward. So Ernani stabs himself and dies in Elvira's arms, telling her to live. LIVE!!!!!

I'm not sure if she's distraught over Aragon or the fact that she appears to have lost the entire lower half of her body.

Hey. I said there wasn't much death. It wouldn't be a Verdi opera without at least one overly dramatic death scene.