Another Epinions orphan, and one of my favorite works:
Michael Nyman’s Noises, Sounds & Sweet Airs is a modified version of Nyman’s score for Karine Saporta’s opera-ballet, La Princesse de Milan, written during and after the period in 1990-91 when Nyman was also working on the score for Peter Greenaway’s film Prospero’s Books; both works have their source in Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Saporta was also the choreographer for the film. (It is, indeed, a small world.) Nyman is one of the more independent-minded composers working today, and it’s very interesting to see what he does with one of the standbys for operatic texts, William Shakespeare, particulary working with text from one of his greatest plays.
Nyman’s music is quirky, sometimes ethereal, sometimes evoking the feel of Shakespeare’s time, sometimes very much of the late 20th century, often quite melodic. Shakespeare’s text, according to Nyman, was “heavily and idiosyncratically edited;” also, Nyman set only Shakespeare’s spoken text to music for this work, since he had already set the songs to music for Prospero’s Books. Also very idiosyncratic is the device, whether Nyman’s or Saporta’s is not clear, of treating the voices (soprano Catherine Bott, alto Hilary Summers, and tenor Ian Bostridge) not as characters, as would happen in opera, but simply as voices, so that Bott may be at one moment Miranda and shift immediately to being Prospero; any character may be a soprano, alto, tenor – or a combination.
Nyman makes full use of the dramatic tension in Shakespeare’s text, and the various sections move along quite fluently. There is a lot of action in this music, several passages where the strings take on a driving quality that suddenly releases to an almost sublime quiet. And I can’t help but suspect that Nyman was having a little fun with this – the music ranges from stark passages that recall Alban Berg (in mood, if not in actual rendering), to little touches that are almost bel canto. Nevertheless, this is very firmly a contemporary work, but one that makes use of many possibilities and avoids the kind of academicism that all too often shoots down otherwise talented composers. Add to that the “poetics” (Nyman’s word) behind the assignement of voices to various passages, and Nyman comes up with several opportunities for wonderful duets and trios, such as section 11, between Stephano and Caliban, sung by Summers and Bostridge, which is very dramatic and in parts, downright evil.
The voices are a good mix. Bott’s soprano is very clear, almost bell-like in tone, while Hilary Summers’ alto is a good rich voice, with a smoky quality that brings an essential hint of earthiness to the music. The big surprise is Bostridge, with whom I was not familiar, and whose photograph in the liner notes makes him look like a drugged-out schoolboy: his voice is a marvelous instrument, with a richness and depth that makes me think that somewhere in there is a baritone, and that supports his higher range beautifully – if he gains about fifty pounds, he would probably make a good Siegfried. He also exhibits the amazing ability to blend in completely with the orchestra, becoming another instrument in the chorus, with quite amazing effect. All of the singers are beautifully expressive, rendering the text with passion and finesse, and, like the very best opera singers, more concerned with the character than the vocal quality. (I admit to a bias: opera is essentially theater, and what actors do is build characters. I have recordings of Hans Hotter as Wotan, recorded at the end of his career: his voice was all but gone, but his acting was incomparable, leading to one of the most effective interpretations I’ve ever heard – I don’t think I’ve heard that combination of power and majesty, and in the “Lebewohl,” tenderness, since.) One caveat, however, and I do not fault the singers for this: English, for some reason, seems to be fiendishly difficult, if not impossible, to enunciate in an operatic setting; if you think you’re going to just listen and comprehend without reference to the text, guess again. (And, of course, there’s the small matter that comprehension of this work is going to involve a lot more than just understanding the words.)
Dominque Delbart leads the Ensemble Instrumental de Basse-Normandie, with aid from Daid Roach and Andrew Findon on saxophones, in a very intelligent rendering; the orchestra works beautifully with the voices, which is fortunate, since at this point, there’s no other recording.
This is a work that deserves careful listening – and it’s seductive enough that that should present little problem. For what is essentially a small work, there is more than enough dramatic impact and activity to engage the listener, who is rewarded with some very beautiful passages. And it is not so “contemporary” that it is incomprehensible.
(Polygram 1995)
Nyman’s music is quirky, sometimes ethereal, sometimes evoking the feel of Shakespeare’s time, sometimes very much of the late 20th century, often quite melodic. Shakespeare’s text, according to Nyman, was “heavily and idiosyncratically edited;” also, Nyman set only Shakespeare’s spoken text to music for this work, since he had already set the songs to music for Prospero’s Books. Also very idiosyncratic is the device, whether Nyman’s or Saporta’s is not clear, of treating the voices (soprano Catherine Bott, alto Hilary Summers, and tenor Ian Bostridge) not as characters, as would happen in opera, but simply as voices, so that Bott may be at one moment Miranda and shift immediately to being Prospero; any character may be a soprano, alto, tenor – or a combination.
Nyman makes full use of the dramatic tension in Shakespeare’s text, and the various sections move along quite fluently. There is a lot of action in this music, several passages where the strings take on a driving quality that suddenly releases to an almost sublime quiet. And I can’t help but suspect that Nyman was having a little fun with this – the music ranges from stark passages that recall Alban Berg (in mood, if not in actual rendering), to little touches that are almost bel canto. Nevertheless, this is very firmly a contemporary work, but one that makes use of many possibilities and avoids the kind of academicism that all too often shoots down otherwise talented composers. Add to that the “poetics” (Nyman’s word) behind the assignement of voices to various passages, and Nyman comes up with several opportunities for wonderful duets and trios, such as section 11, between Stephano and Caliban, sung by Summers and Bostridge, which is very dramatic and in parts, downright evil.
The voices are a good mix. Bott’s soprano is very clear, almost bell-like in tone, while Hilary Summers’ alto is a good rich voice, with a smoky quality that brings an essential hint of earthiness to the music. The big surprise is Bostridge, with whom I was not familiar, and whose photograph in the liner notes makes him look like a drugged-out schoolboy: his voice is a marvelous instrument, with a richness and depth that makes me think that somewhere in there is a baritone, and that supports his higher range beautifully – if he gains about fifty pounds, he would probably make a good Siegfried. He also exhibits the amazing ability to blend in completely with the orchestra, becoming another instrument in the chorus, with quite amazing effect. All of the singers are beautifully expressive, rendering the text with passion and finesse, and, like the very best opera singers, more concerned with the character than the vocal quality. (I admit to a bias: opera is essentially theater, and what actors do is build characters. I have recordings of Hans Hotter as Wotan, recorded at the end of his career: his voice was all but gone, but his acting was incomparable, leading to one of the most effective interpretations I’ve ever heard – I don’t think I’ve heard that combination of power and majesty, and in the “Lebewohl,” tenderness, since.) One caveat, however, and I do not fault the singers for this: English, for some reason, seems to be fiendishly difficult, if not impossible, to enunciate in an operatic setting; if you think you’re going to just listen and comprehend without reference to the text, guess again. (And, of course, there’s the small matter that comprehension of this work is going to involve a lot more than just understanding the words.)
Dominque Delbart leads the Ensemble Instrumental de Basse-Normandie, with aid from Daid Roach and Andrew Findon on saxophones, in a very intelligent rendering; the orchestra works beautifully with the voices, which is fortunate, since at this point, there’s no other recording.
This is a work that deserves careful listening – and it’s seductive enough that that should present little problem. For what is essentially a small work, there is more than enough dramatic impact and activity to engage the listener, who is rewarded with some very beautiful passages. And it is not so “contemporary” that it is incomprehensible.
(Polygram 1995)
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