Desert Island Discs: Record number three - Mozart's Magic Flute

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I did not touch the sublime in music until I experienced opera in my mid-teens - and the first time that opera hit me with full force was in watching TV.

There were two: the funniest opera - The Barber of Seville by Rossini, in the performance conducted by Claudio Abbado and starring Berganza, Alva and Prey; and then there was Ingmar Bergman's Swedish-language movie version of the best opera/ the best piece of music ever written - namely Mozart's Magic Flute.

When I got from the record library the Magic Flute excerpts conducted by Georg Solti I felt for myself musical greatness - as in the above-linked performance of Sarastro by the gigantic Finnish Bass Martti Talvela.

This is music which Bernard Shaw, the greatest British music critic of his day (as a young man) said was the only music which it would seem appropriate to hear from the mouth of God.

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Mozart's Magic Flute is both the simplest and easiest, most child-like of the canonical operas, and also the deepest, most heavenly. Through its five contrasting main characters it touches on the most important human emotions and types - Tamino, the heroic poet; Papageno, the earthy, lusty, family-loving Everyman; Pamina the innocent maiden; Sarastro the noble sage; and Queen of the Night, the beautiful, insightful, gifted, proud demon.

Bergman's film version is not just the best of all opera films, and a fine musical rendering (with good although not great singers) - but Bergman's subtle reworking of Schikaneder's inspired but chaotic libretto matches more closely the depth of the music with the words. For instance, Bergman unforgettably makes Sarastro into Pamina's father - which makes perfect dramatic symmetry.

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The role of the Magic Flute in my life was spiritual, as well as aesthetic. I recognized, but struggled to make sense of, the vision of something higher and beyond. It is to my credit that despite professed atheism I did not reductively explain-away this experience of the transcendent - but unsuccessfully tried to articulate it within my covert and imprecise belief in Creative Evolution (a doctrine which was also derived from Bernard Shaw - especially as it was put-forth in my favourite play of that time: Shaw's Man and Superman, an explicitly Mozartian drama).

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My enjoyment of The  Magic Flute and Barber of Seville led onto an intense period of opera exploration on LP recordings, with the vital assistance of the Bristol City library - such that over the next four year I listened to the whole of the canonical opera repertoire from the classical and romantic era. Sometimes I was seeking aesthetic experience, often it was a love of singing - especially technical aspects of the tenor voice.

Music, especially opera, became a serious activity: a religious activity. As often as not I would borrow a musical score of the opera - and read that as I listened; if not, I would follow the libretto; and while I listened my focus was intense - I would not be doing anything else.

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Naturally I wanted to participate in this world of classical music, and did so in the only way I could - by singing in choirs and choruses, and on my own at home - which was unsatisfying but better than nothing. I had vague, unformed, but important-to-me notions of doing something musical more seriously at some point - perhaps being a music critic.

The best of Classical Music, especially opera, was the highest thing I knew, and I deeply wanted to be 'inside' it - somehow.

But at the same time I always held back from commitment, somehow knowing that even if the luck went my way; music could not provide me, with my nature as it was, and very limited aptitude and inadequate training, with what I sought.

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Was Mozart's Magic Flute that rarest of birds: a *successful* revisionist subversion of audience expectations

I've often said that Mozart's opera The Magic Flute is perhaps my favourite piece of music, and an opus I regard as one of the greatest achievements of Man. So in my mind there is no doubt that - weird hybrid that it is - Flute is a supremely successful work of art. 

But when you know a work well, it is easy to forget first impressions and to neglect the obvious - and there is no doubt that on first viewing The Magic Flute sets-up character expectations in its early parts, that are inverted by the story's later development. 

What I had not noticed before is that these expectations are reinforced by the voice types - which tend to support the false expectations created by the story. 

There is a broad correlation across most operas between the altitude of the voice and positive morality; such that the virtuous, heroes and heroines, are usually the highest males and female voices - tenor and soprano; while the wicked characters tend to have the deepest voices - bass and contralto. 

In the Magic Flute, as it begins, we have the usual heroic tenor, who is enlisted by the Queen of the Night - a very high soprano - to rescue her kidnapped daughter from the demonic Sarastro - who is a deep bass. 

At first; the pitch of the voices tends to confirm our expectation of who is a goodie and who a baddie. 

But later discoveries and developments invert our expectations: the Queen of the Night turns-out to be cruel, dishonest, and power-crazed; while Sarastro is noble and virtuous. 

In terms of vocal range, and unexpectedly: highest is most evil, and lowest is goodest. 

This is the kind of subversion of audience expectations that has nowadays, and for the past few decades, become a tedious cliché of movies and TV shows. 

Stereotypes are inverted more often than confirmed. Revisionism is so common that people have forgotten what is being revised. 

Way back in 1791, Mozart had already done it - but, unlike his modern imitators: Mozart Made It Work. 

 

Magic Flute and Rhinegold - magical and symbolic operas

It is significant that three of my favourite - the most enduringly interesting, as a whole - operas should share an archetypal and 'Jungian' feel. These are Mozart's The Magic Flue [I mean Flute]; Wagner's Das Rhinegold (Tippett's The Midsummer Marriage is another, albeit musically inferior*). 

Perhaps this is because these are dramatically (situationally, as regards plot) is as high as opera can reach as an art form? 

After all, most operas are dramatic contrivances to produces scenes of strong and essentially 'populist' emotion - love at first sight, a love affair or the start of a marriage, the misery of broken love, pathos at loss, anger and vengefulness. Perhaps Verdi did this better than anyone - and his operas are composed of primary colours, black and white. 

It is the music which sometimes (and there are very few really successful operas - a couple of dozen perhaps) raises an opera above farce and melodrama and sometimes to sublimity. The plots of Mozart's Da Ponte-written operas -The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni, and (especially) Cosi Fan Tutte - are essentially horrible, shallow, facetious comedies of manners; which I would find intolerable as plays. It is the music of Mozart which raises these stock situations to the Heavens. 

The Magic Flute is my favourite opera, perhaps my favourite music. And this has to do with the fairy tale and archetypal aspects; but also the Masonic symbolism. Now, of course, Freemasonry is ultimately an enemy of Christianity and indeed probably an instrument of strategic evil. Yet here it is, structuring perhaps the greatest music ever written!

This is not uncommon in the arts; including the arts of genius. We are all sinners, including geniuses; and the greatest human creations are tainted with sin. But it is not the sin tow which we most deeply respond in the music of the Magic Flute - it is the Good. 

Because, after all, all evil contains some Good - and early Freemasonry (at the time and place of Mozart) had many good aspects - which rendered it a suitable and effective vehicle for the Magic Flute.  

Das Rhinegold has an extraordinary grandeur and symmetry - really marvelous orchestral writing and effects; and in general Rhinegold is a convincing and enchanting example of world building in opera. 

We feel we are inside the Teutonic legends - living in the heightened reality of gods, nymphs, dwarves, giants - indeed I merely need to think about the opera to get a halo effect on my lived experience. 

Yet, the 'message' of the work is again dubious. The plot is permeated with deception, greed, resentment, lust... and these are not really balanced by any great Goodness or nobility of purpose. It is, of course, the music - and not so much the singing (which is pretty arbitrary) but the orchestral part of the score - that makes the difference. 

In opera it is the music - not the play - which may reach the heights; and the music which can go beyond both the limitations and the explicit intentions of the composer. 

The lesson can be applied to other art forms, and other periods - even nowadays when the evil intent of art, literature and even music is very evident. 

When any artist (and artists nowadays are almost-never genuises, not even minor ones) taps into genuine creativity - he expresses the divine. Which is why there is good that may (with proper intent) be derived even from evil works - and most works (and all modern works) have a far greater admixture of evil than these three operas. 

* The Midsummer Marriage by Michael Tippett is another symbolic and magical opera - indeed, probably the last such to be written in a way that is (just about!) potentially accessible to the intelligent layman (rather than the professional musician). 

While the Wagner and Mozart are susceptible to Jungian analysis (as performed by Robert Donington) - Tippet actually wrote his opera from an explicit and deliberate Jungian schema.  

I would have to regard this Jungian schema as ultimately evil! - because it regards good and evil as light and dark sides of a personality; and aims not to acknowledge and repent sin, but it integrate it in the 'whole' Man. 

Yet, there is enough positive value in Jung to make it an effective basis for a Good opera. In particular - it addresses the problems of alienation and divided mind (the mundane and the enchanted worlds, materialism and spiritual); and the protagonists attain a kind of healing which is a positive outcome. 

With the Midsummer Marriage it is the music which (in parts of the score) raises the whole to greater heights than its flawed plot, clumsy language and (mostly) unmelodic vocal writing; and even than its explicit (wrong) intent. And, as with Rhinegold, it is the orchestra (not the singers) that has most of the musical good stuff.  

That gorgeous transitional passage in The Magic Flute - Act One

 

For me, this section of The Magic Flute by Mozart is one of the supreme passages of opera; which is all melodies yet moves the plot along like recitative (if only Wagner had based his seamless style on this aria-based continuity; rather than making everything more like recit!). As always with the best of Mozart opera, on a second go it is wise to listen to what is going on in the orchestra; the delicate aptness of which is supernatural.  

It's from the Ingmar Bergman movie, which is in Swedish; and sheer delight throughout. It is not the most musical "Flute" (that would be Solti's recording) but is surely the most enjoyable. 

This begins with Papageno getting his "gag" removed by the three ladies, the gifts of the magical flute and bells, and then the introduction of three boys who take-over as guides for the hero and his sidekick.

Note: The second (blonde) lady is played by Kirstin Vaupel, who is surely one of the loveliest singers I have seen - in a characteristically Swedish style.   

Freemasonry - Good, bad or what?

A few days ago I read this analysis of the history of Freemasonry by the always interesting, often wise, Rudolf Steiner expert Terry Boardman.

I don't have any very strong views on the subject. When I was a young man, I had a generally benign view of Masons on the basis that I regard Mozart's The Magic Flute as the greatest opera ever written - and that was all about Masonry. eg. from 41 minutes:

I think some of my more remote relatives in Northern Ireland were Masons (and were very decent people), and I had liked the reconstructed Masonic Lodge at nearby Beamish Museum. The Mormon prophet Joseph Smith was a Mason, and introduced elements of it into the LDS Temple design and practices.

Broadly, I regarded Masonry as a charitable organisation where respectable men could meet and do men's things, and perhaps also get something of the spirituality, ritual and symbolism that they were so starved of by mainstream secular-materialism. 

Masonic Hall at Beamish, County Durham

On the other hand, I was aware that people said Masons favoured each other, in local cabals of middle class men; and then from the 1980s, that there were also elaborate deep-historical theories about Masonic influence at a very high level - these are the subject of Terry Boardman's essay linked above.

My current view is that probably all of the above is true; and that the meaning of Masonry depends very much on local and temporal factors which may be net-good or net-evil; but I also believe that that there is an esoteric and occult aspect to high level Masonry that is purposively malign (from a Christian perspective).

Masonry is about Enlightenment - especially its 18th century manifestation - which is deistic (rather than theistic); and opinions about Masonry often divide according to whether Enlightenment is seen as a good or bad thing. A litmus test is the French Revolution - and was it well, or wickedly, motivated - for the Western intellectual class, the French Revolution was well-motivated but unfortunately went off the rails: too far too fast. The same people think much the same about the Russian and Chinese communists revolutions.

For mainstream secular intellectuals, Enlightenment was all about 'reason'; and reason was to be defined and implemented by an elite of wise and educated rulers. Masonry seems to fit with that world view. Apparently, the ritual and symbolism, the secretiveness, the oaths etc. seem to add something that is still needed, even among those who profess to live by reason - and apparently the same sort of thing continues today among the Global Establishment - albeit with a much more explicitly evil aspect to the procedures.

(In a nutshell; the trajectory of the Enlightenment project seems to have been from 'Magic Flute' to 'friends of Epstein...')

In essence, I suspect that Masonry may have long included a core strand that was intentionally anti-Christian, and pro-totalitarian. What I am unsure about is whether this badness comes from the Masonry, or whether the rich and powerful corrupted Masonry with their agenda, in the way that they corrupt everything thing else.

All major modern institutions have, by now, been thus corrupted: the legal system, civil service, universities, science, mainstream 'Christian' churches... all began as having much good about them; all nowadays are top-down net-evil in intention and in effect.

Presumably Masonry is similar; although it may have been one of the first institutions to be thus corrupted - leading to its mixed reputation.


Note: I draw potential commenters attention to the rule in the sidebar: "If my post avoids being specific, I generally will not post comments that are specific."

Mozart's sweet, simple, sublime song to marriage - from The Magic Flute

PAMINA (the woman):
In men, who feel love
A good heart is not lacking.

PAPAGENO (the man):
To sympathize with the sweet instincts
Is then the wives first duty.

PAPAGENO AND PAMINA:
We want to be happy with love
We live through love alone,
We live through love alone.

PAMINA:
Love sweetens every torment
Every creature offers itself to her.

PAPAGENO:
It seasons our daily lives,
It beckons us in the circle of nature.

PAMINA and PAPAGENO:
Its higher purpose clearly indicates,
Nothing is more noble than wife and man,
 Man and wife, and wife and man,

Man and wife, and wife and man,
Reach to the height of Godliness.
Man and wife, and wife and man,
Reach to the height of Godliness.
To Godliness, to Godliness.

NOTES: In my opinion, the Magic Flute - an opera by Mozart - is the most sublime of all musical works. It is also simple and tuneful and comprehensible enough to be enjoyed by a child.

The duet here is in praise of marriage as a divine sacrament - but is not sung between lovers. The women is Pamina who is the princess, destined to marry the handsome Prince Tamino after passing successfully through trials to test the courage and purity. The man is Papageno - Tamino's sidekick, and a simple birdcatcher.

So, perhaps the sweetest of all songs to marriage is sung - sibling-like - by two companions each of whom loves and will marry another.

Only Mozart could have written this. The first verse is a very simple tune - close to being a a popular or folk song... then listen to what Mozart does with his decorations to the second verse. It makes your hair stand on end.

And, as so often with Mozart, it is the woodwind of the orchestra (flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoon) who are at work in pointing-up the very best passages.

This version is beautifully sung and superbly acted, in a Swedish translation for Ingmar Bergman's movie version - which I cannot recommend too highly: it is one of the best films I have ever seen. 

Papageno is an impulsive character, who has no interest in being a hero; but simply wants a wife and lots of children - he fails all the trials, but is nonetheless rewarded for his good heart and generous nature by a similar mate called Papagena.

This is wonderfully well done in the movie - combining innocence and 'sexiness' in a rare and wonderful way:

Mozart's small operatic ensembles - the heights?

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Whatever I think in theory, when I am actually hearing some of the duets, trios and small ensembles from Mozart's greatest operas - these seem to me the height of musical achievement.

I am thinking of things like the parts of Act 1 with the three ladies and/or three boys in The Magic Flute, or Papageno and Pamina's duet; or Soave sia il vento from Cosi, or the Letter duet and Act 4 Finale from Figaro...

Of these, above all I perhaps love the little scene where Tamino and Papageno get their flute and bells.

I mean this section - albeit not this performance nor the recording quality:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYHZipQ-wwk

Presumably this says a lot about me! but the lightness, the little orchestral touches and transitions, the harmonization of voices, the simplicity and sentiment, humanity and glimpsed divinity... well, only Mozart could do this; and perhaps this kind of thing is for me a higher achievement than any other in music.

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Deutekom as Queen of the Night - Zittre Nicht: simply the most thrilling aria ever recorded

I have listened often to Cristina Deutekom's recording of the Queen of the Night's first aria from the Magic Flute, conducted by George Solti, across a period of something like 48 years; and I have never heard anything to match it! 

For me; it stands-out the single greatest performance of any operatic aria by anyone.   

This singing is quite simply incredible. Of course, this is a first rate aria from my favourite opera; and the dramatic situation is superb. But, on top of this, Deutekom's vocal performance has an extraordinarily quality that I find literally hair-raising. 

Mostly, this is the sheer quality of the voice: its concentrated tone with its sharp-focused intonation, its almost inhuman fast-shimmering quality. It is both beautiful, and terrifying - as befits the character. 

Then there is the detail of the singing, with value given to even the smallest decorations - for example the up-going semiquavers at 3.16-17 is slurred by every other singer (you can see the little notes on the score, and sort-of sung, at 2:56 here) at - yet with Deutekom this little is so wonderfully dotted-in that it makes me cry!

The great thing about this aria is that there is an unfolding, lyrical, non-repeating section up to 3:42, when the Queen is trying to seduce Tamino to rescue her daughter by pretending to be a grieving and wronged mother. But then, the mask slips, and she launches into a demand for violent vengeance from the young knight; culminating in coloratura fireworks leading to a stratospheric high F quaver, marked staccato!

Another favourite bit is the triplet passage from 4:17, which Deutekom - uniquely among great singers, and for the first, but not last, time in this recording - uses her throat to separate the rapid notes - whereas other singers just don't separate or accentuate them, or do so by aspirates (in effect, each note is sounded like huh). 

Deutekom's distinctive technique enhances the unearthly quality of this performance (after all, the Queen of the Night is not really a human - but a kind of dark fey).  

It is interesting that this performance in Solti's Flute (BTW, for completeness - here is the Queen's other, and more famous, aria ) led to a cult of Deutekom; which is evident on YouTube comments, with extremely polarized opinions. 

It was the same when I was at university. I would often play this recording to friends. For some people it had a stunning, revelatory quality - never forgotten, and with a lifelong impact. 

Among some of my musical friends we would often refer to this performance and its aspects. Yet others - also musical - cordially disliked it... 

Such is the nature of greatness.   

Note added: I am glad that, before the internet, I did not realize that Deutekom was a fair-haired, homely-looking (and, apparently, sweet-natured) Dutch lady. She sounds - in this recording - like a darkly-beautiful, 6ft tall, slender, evil enchantress - of some weirdly-exotic origin. 

Mozart and the first romanticism

Sextet Act 3 of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro - conducted John Eliot Gardiner

Reading Novalis recently, has made me think some more on what Romanticism was 'meant to be' - which is a healing of the rift between head and heart, between enlightenment rationalism and animistic primitivism, science and arts, mundane reality and idealistic fantasy - so that we move on to something whole, unified and (necessarily) new. 

Of course, Romanticism was hijacked by one-sideness - by political radicalism replacing the head, and sexual revolution the heart. But there were several works by a few Masters who showed what was possible - this ensemble from Mozart's Marriage of Figaro (1786) is a very early example. 

Mozart wrote a fair bit of sublime music in the last years of his life; but few pieces attained the Romantic integration of this one. The opera as a whole is rather poisoned with cynicism - politics from from the Beaumarchais original, with a sexual spice from the librettist Da Ponte. The general average of musical composition in Figaro probably the highest of any opera ever; but a few pieces stand-out as taking things to 'another level' - arguably above the work of any other opera composer; one is the 'Letter Duet' and another this sextet. 

(Only equalled in some duets and ensembles of the later Magic Flute.)

The medium of Romanticism was childhood, rural themes, and fantasy (the supernatural) - but of themselves all of these are an archaism, an attempt to recover lost unity and innocence in un-consciousness. However, the attainment of true Romanticism was to do this in a fully conscious, purposive and thought-full way. 

The music of this sextet illustrates what I mean: it has both the simplicity and innocence of a happy young child, and an effortlessly sophisticated, absolute, conscious technical mastery - this making the musical equivalent (before the fact) of the best work of Blake, Coleridge or Wordsworth (also Goethe and Novalis).  

The music of the later named Romantic Era - by contrast, tends to be one-sided; or - in the case of Beethoven - attains a comparatively strained ego-mastery: very appealing and admirable (I listen to Beethoven more than any other composer except Bach); but a consciously-heroic, 'gigantic', overwhelming, synthesis-of-multiplicity in the subjective-mind of the artist. 

Whereas the Absolute Masters of Romanticism did this in much smaller scale, briefer, more fully-achieved forms - in which the universality opens-out from the work, rather than being squeezed-into it - Blake's lyrics and aphorisms, Wordsworth's short poems, the Novalis Fragments... 

What CG Jung does, and doesn't, do...

I have often written about CG Jung on this blog; because he was a significant (albeit on and off) influence over a period of some thirty years, from my young adult life through to becoming a Christian. 

Jung is something of a help for atheists who experience alienation and 'division' very sharply - as I did (and do). Alienation is the awareness of being cut-off from 'the world' including human society - cut-off in a world of abstractions, thinking, un-naturalness - while division is the awareness that we live in separate worlds that do not join up: e.g. the worlds of solitude, family, education, the workplace, crowds, authority, mass media, the arts, science and technology...

The Jungian approach is to treat alienation and division as 'dis-ease'; as a therapeutic problem. In other words, the idea is to alleviate the misery, depression, hope-less-ness of this experience of being a compartmentalized and cut-off subjectivity. 

This Jungian 'therapy' might be actual psychotherapy with a therapist in 'Analytic Psychology' - or, much more often, a kind of self-help, or self-therapy; based on reading and understanding Jung's ideas - or at least some secondhand (and more accessible) account of them. This latter was my own approach - I read a great deal by and about Jung, thought deeply about it, and tried hard to live by it. 

But the idea was not wholly 'therapeutic', because the way I encountered Jung was in a context of artistic creativity. I think it may initially have been (age 19) via reading Michael Tippett's essays published in Moving into Aquarius; then various bits of actual Jung, an short book by Anthony Storr, and a Jungian analysis of Wagner's Ring (and Mozart's Magic Flute) by Robert Donington. 

At any rate; Jung came to me as both a way of feeling-better, and as a way of artistic creation - a way in which the artist might on the one hand integrate the warring elements of his personality and simultaneously re-connect with 'the public' or 'the audience' by reference to the shared archetypes of the collective unconscious. 

This was explicitly the case with Michael Tippett - whose best work (from the late 1930s and for about a decade), which is maybe the best English classical music of the twentieth century, was written under the impact of Jung. It was also argued (by Donington and others) to be the explanation for the uncanny power of many other artistic works, especially those that had reference to 'mythic' elements.

So the promise of Jung was alluring: that one might both heal that misery of personal alienation so characteristic of twentieth century life and beyond; and also deepen the capacity creatively to connect with other people. 

The difficulty is, however, that of having psychology at the bottom line; because when psychology provides the ultimate justification then life becomes a matter of subjective 'feels'. And it turns out that - in practice - the Jungian therapeutic strategies don't work very well. 

This is not surprising because they do not address causes, but only effects. There was, perhaps, a hope that integrated Men conscious of collective archetypes might 'make the world a better place'. But the problems are actually intrinsic to mortal life (and the ancients realized); secondly to human consciousness - as it now is; and thirdly to the nature of modern 'industrial', mass, bureaucratic society - which has only become worse over the past century. 

Jungian strategies do help a bit, especially at first; but the effect is neither profound nor lasting; and sooner or later, the Jungian perspective dissolves into a corrosive, 'relativistic', subjectivism - which devolves towards short-termist selfish hedonism. 

This is because psychology is not anchored, and goes nowhere - except to death. 

So Jungian ideas take their place among the failed promises of a this-world utopia; and we are set back to the ancient realization that mortal life in this world cannot satisfy our deepest needs; and even the satisfaction of our superficial, here-and-now desires turns out to be very temporary and/or partial.

Also, the Jungian perspective lacks ultimate purpose. Even if Jungian techniques really worked; they would only restore 'dis-ease' to 'ease'. The Jungian basis for creativity may explain why things are emotionally powerful; but do not provide a reason for creativity per se; do not provide a purpose for creativity any more profound than that of an analgesic or stimulant drug. 

One a man, or Mankind, has been healed - then what does he actually do? Once men are united by their awareness of the collective unconscious... what then? 

The aimed at situation is a state-of being and there is no purpose, no dynamic. Which may be why Jungians tend to adopt 'Eastern' types of spirituality derived from Hinduism or Buddhism - in which (for Westerners) the hope is of a permanent state of unchanging bliss, without awareness of any separate self - assimilated into oneness...

By contrast, the Christianity I have arrived at sees this mortal life as purposive, and a preparation for immortality as a separate self - not assimilated into oneness but instead many persons whose purposes are harmonized by love. 

I see creativity not as the removal of divisions; but instead as the overflowing of love between persons, between beings - by a close analogy of the way that an ideal (eternal) family operates, in which the individual family members are continually experiencing, learning and developing.  

From a this-worldly perspective this looks like an attempt to ignore the problems of this mortal life and instead yearn for another world; but properly it should be understood as the only way in which this mortal life can be made more than mere, temporary, psychological states.  

When we look forward to eternal resurrected life in Heaven; then the experiences of this mortal life are given permanent relevance. When this eternal life is loving, personal, familial and everlastingly creative - then there is a real, objective, permanent value for the things we do here and now... including creative work such as writing, music and art. 

It turns-out - contrary to mainstream expectation - that Jungianism is unattainable because this-worldly - hence subject to 'entropy' (the worldly tendency towards change; disease, degeneration, death); whereas Christianity is practical and realistic for everybody because rooted in the eternal love and creativity of Heaven. 

(Creation can be understood as the true opposite of entropy.)

No matter our situation or past; we can all participate in the making and enhancing of future Heaven. 

The good (loving, creative) things that happen in this life can (if detected, discerned and valued) be carried forward into Heaven...

While bad things can (when acknowledged) teach us about sin and the need for repentance; so we can repudiate and leave these behind at the time of resurrection - because Heaven, to be Heaven, must be a place of love only. 

Whatever happens to a Christian can be regarded as grist to the mill for experiencing and learning; and that in itself is therapeutic in a way that goes beyond psychology. 

Diana Damreau's Queen of the Night (Mozart's Magic Flute) - as an operatic performance, on a scale of one to ten, this one goes to eleven

Having just heard the first act Queen of the Night aria thrown-away by Wilma Lipp on the Karajan recording; I turned again to this simply wonderful, just perfect, acting-singing performance.

This astonishing aria - far superior to the more famous Die Holle Rache - combines cynical psychological realism, with beauty (this is Mozart), and hair-raising demonic venom.

The Queen of the Night is manipulating the ardent young hero Tamino to do her dirty work by an intoxicating mixture of covert sexuality and hammed-up sentimentality. I love the part when she sneaks a glance to check that her performance is having the desired effect.

Her hatred begins to consume her as she abandons the slow lyrical first part of the aria and launches into just about the best bit of coloratura writing ever; during which loses control, tries to get a grip, then becomes carried-away into an almost orgasmic fantasy of hatred and revenge. Meanwhile singing with incredible control, subtlety and power.

Thrilling and chilling. And as a live operatic performance, I don't think this can ever have been bettered, or ever could be. Matched, yes, perhaps - but of its kind this is as good as it is possible to be. For instance, the up-going triplet at 

Eroica - A first rate 2003 BBC TV movie about Beethoven's Symphony Number Three

I regard Beethoven's Third Symphony (the Eroica) as the best Symphony ever composed; and one of the handful of best pieces of music. 

But until yesterday, I didn't realize that there exists a really excellent movie (posted below) about the first rehearsal of the Eroica, during which the whole symphony is performed (the recording is by John Eliot Gardner conducting an original instrument band called Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique).  

It is one of very few first rate movies I have seen closely focused on music, and with a music-appreciation enhancing effect (others include Ingmar Bergman's Magic Flute, and Thirty Two short films about Glenn Gould). 

As well as the 'drama' that surrounds and permeates the performance; the actual rehearsal performance within the movie is filmed in such a way as to bring-out all kinds of details and aspects of the music that I hadn't noticed in the scores of times I had listened to it. 

A few of the musicians were actors, but I think most of them must have been specialist musicians who were playing-along-with what we saw and heard performed. 

The camera roved around the band; and the particular instrument being focused on, at any particular moment, would be subtly brought forward in the mix, so it was as if we were approaching and standing a bit closer to the player.

The drama element was interesting and effective. Haydn was featured as visiting the last movement of the performance and commenting: It is something quite new. Quite new. The artist as hero. Everything is different from today.

Perfectly correct - From the first two chords to its astonishing finale - after the Eroica, music never was the same again. 

 

What is the greatest piece of Classical music?

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This is quite easy, so long as the word 'greatest' is clarified: it is Beethoven's Third Symphony - the 'Eroica'.

(This fact suddenly struck me with complete conviction as I was listening to the final movement on the car radio!)

Beethoven's third is, of course, a first rate piece of music; it is extremely enjoyable even to those of only modest musical understanding; it both starts and ends well (always important!) and it is long enough to impose its greatness.

But what makes this particular piece stand above all its rivals?

Not that it is better than any other - many other pieces are its equal; not that it is my personal favourite piece of music (that would be Mozart's opera The Magic Flute), and Bach was a better composer, qua composer - but the following:

1. Beethoven was the first 'great composer' - in the modern sense of a creative and original genius who was self-consciously, titanically grappling-with and reshaping his material using the whole of his large personal resources. Before Beethoven composers were servants and craftsmen, after Beethoven they were self-consciously striving to be great - like Wagner - hence diminished by some element of pretense.

2. Within Beethoven's own life, the Third Symphony was precisely that point at which he became great, fully expressed himself - yet before he became obviously assertive of his greatness by deliberate novelties and strainings (as for example in the finale of the Ninth Symphony - rather too obviously trying to impress...).

3. The Eroica has energy, technique, fluency, invention, lyricism - in a word spontaneity: it is an explosive and sustained overflow of the power of a young but mature genius just hitting his straps and surprising even himself. That kind of thing cannot be repeated - once he had done it, he knew it could be done.

4. In the history of classical music, the Third symphony is as much of a watershed as any other piece, since it was chock-full of technical innovations and a new spirit which was widely emulated. Before the Eroica was the Classical era, and after was Romanticism.

So this is quite an easy choice - Beethoven in general and the Eroica in particular are 'the greatest' in an objective and unrepeatable sense.

*

Rose Maybud's waltz song from Ruddigore

To continue my long-running series about the benefits from looking more closely at Gilbert and Sullivan arias; here is another special favourite from Ruddigore: the soprano character's signature song: "If somebody there chanced to be".

There is such a lot to enjoy about this one. On the one hand, Gilbert's lyrics are literate, clever and witty. The (typically absurd) idea is that this is a beautiful, 'poor but virtuous', working class girl whose manners are derived from a popular manual of etiquette; that she constantly consults and which she follows slavishly, whatever the consequences.

[VERSE]
If somebody there chanced to be 
Who loved me in a manner true, 
My heart would point him out to me, 
And I would point him out to you. 
But here it says of those who point, 
Their manners must be out of joint  -
You may not point – You must not point – 
It's manners out of joint, To point! 

[CHORUS]
Ah! 
Had I the love of such as he, 
Some quiet spot he'd take me to, 
Then he could whisper it to me, 
And I could whisper it to you. 
But whispering, I've somewhere met, 
Is contrary to etiquette: 
Where can it be 
(SEARCHING BOOK.)
Now let me see 
(FINDING REFERENCE.)
Yes, yes! It's contrary to etiquette! 

[VERSE]
If any well-bred youth I knew, 
Polite and gentle, neat and trim, 
Then I would hint as much to you, 
And you could hint as much to him. 
But here it says, in plainest print, 
"It's most unladylike to hint" – 
You may not hint, You must not hint – 
It says you mustn't hint, In print! 

[CHORUS] 
Ah! 
And if I loved him through and through – 
(True love and not a passing whim), 
Then I could speak of it to you, 
And you could speak of it to him. 
But here I find it doesn't do 
To speak until you're spoken to. 
Where can it be? 
(SEARCHING BOOK.)
Now let me see – 
(FINDING REFERENCE.)
Yes, yes! "Don't speak until you're spoken to!"

On the other hand; Sullivan sets each verse to a wistful minor key melody, with a spare orchestration, that brings out an innocence and yearning not obvious in the lyrics; then he transitions to major key for the chorus in waltz time, with the Big Tune. But he holds back the full accompaniment (doubling the voice on violins) for the repeat of the tune in each chorus.

Furthermore, Sullivan achieves that extremely-rare thing of fitting the music to the specific emphasis of the language, on a word-by word basis. This subtle art is prized in, for instance, Purcell - while being largely absent in, for example, Handel.   

Thus, Sullivan gets the emotional impact of the waltz; while avoiding the problem of excessive schmalz to which waltzes are prone.

The combination is one that I find strangely moving, with a genuine sweet freshness that captures what is so special about Gilbert and Sullivan. I can only compare it with what Mozart achieved in some of his operas like Figaro or The Magic Flute - where farcical words and situations are given sudden and unexpected depth and power - in the lightest and deftest manner.

This combination is really rare in music, and in art generally; and I greatly value it.

Saturday morning music - Soave sia il vento from Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte

A sublime and heart-breaking trio for the rare combination of Soprano, Contralto and Bass-Baritone; from Mozart's opera to a rather cynical and heart-less libretto by Da Ponte: Cosi Fan Tutte - meaning "all women behave like that" (i.e. they are fickle and unfaithful)*. 

This is as good as it gets in opera. Things to notice (on a second listening) include the wonderful orchestral accompaniment on mostly strings with a "murmuring" violin figure throughout and plucked double basses; interjected by subtle woodwind chords. 

Mostly the two female voices harmonize and interweave, while the man's voice forms a kind of basso continuo (like the bass part in baroque music); except for a point near the end when the women hold long notes, and the man rhapsodizes underneath it. 

Austrian conductor Karl Bohm was one of the greatest Mozartians of the 20th century (The premier overall, I would say), and these singers were among the very best of their era in this repertoire. 

*Looking at Da Ponte's life, you can see why he would believe this about "all" women; and also perceive the self-justificatory reasons for the essentially subversive nature of his libretti. This is a flaw underling all the work he did with Mozart but especially Don Giovanni and Cosi Fan Tutti (considerably less so in the Marriage of Figaro, albeit the plot is distinctly seedy!). Mozart's music can, and does, rise-above, transcend, this underlying hedonic nihilism; nonetheless the tawdry stories sometimes undercut the music. This is one reason why I generally prefer to listen to excerpts of Mozart's Da Ponte operas, rather than listening to the whole piece. By contrast, it is the earnest goodness of (most of) The Magic Flute libretto (by Schikaneder) that helps make it the greatest of all operas; and one that is profitably consumed-whole! 

Desert Island Music favourites - Beethoven is the celebrity choice

Favourite composers to take to a desert island

1. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
2. Ludwig van Beethoven
3. Johann Sebastian Bach
4. Franz Schubert
5. Giuseppe Verdi
6. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
7. Sir Edward Elgar
8. Giacomo Puccini

Favourite specific works

1. Beethoven - Symphony No 9 in D minor 'Choral'
2. Rachmaninoff - Piano Concerto No 2 in C minor
3. Schubert - String Quintet in C major
4. Beethoven Symphony No 6 in F Major 'Pastoral'
5. Elgar - Pomp & Circumstance March no 1 in D Major 'Land of Hope and Glory'
6. Beethoven - Piano Concerto No 5 in E Flat Major 'Emperor'
7. Elgar - Enigma Variations Nimrod
8. Beethoven - Symphony No 7 in A major

Source: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/26v4KfMLDfnJQ8n4mB2fWr0/facts-and-figures


Desert Island Discs is a BBC radio programme which has been going for more than 70 years. The idea is that some famous person, usually one residing in Britain, is invited to choose eight pieces of music, a book and a luxury item to take to an imaginary desert island - as a way of having a discussion about his or her life and opinions.

The above is the averaged list of the musical preferences of the hundreds of celebrities - what strikes me is how sound they are. The top three composers - Mozart, Beethoven and Bach - are exactly the same as Charles Murray extracted by his vast and systematic analysis of scholarship:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_Accomplishment#Western_Music

And the specific pieces most often chosen are all worthy  - if we allow Elgar's 'Land of Hope and Glory' its place due to English Patriotism.

It is interesting that although Mozart was the favourite composer. he does not make the top ten for specific pieces of music; which is probably due to his having written so many excellent and popular items in so many genres that the votes are thinly spread across them.

I wonder what the favourite Mozart items was? My guess would be the Requiem, due to its featuring in the play/ movie Amadeus - even though it is only partly by Mozart and not regarded as among his best works by scholars. What - if not the Requiem, then, should it be? For me: The Magic Flute; for most musically-informed people The Marriage of Figaro - but in a general poll, maybe the Clarinet Concerto?

Steeleye Span's greatest version of Thomas the Rhymer

The view up the Eildon Hills from near where Thomas probably met the Queen of Elfland

Steeleye Span's first and best 6:44 minute version of their interpretation of my favourite Border Ballad.

It comes from what is probably my favourite album of theirs - Now We Are Six from 1974 - favourite, not because of its being consistently good, but because of its unmatched ability - in several places - to capture a quality of uncanny and deeply-appealing magic that I seek from the very best of folk music.  

In Thomas the Rhymer, the rock section is balanced by a superb, quiet, close-miked section with acoustic guitar and flute and violin obliggato - repeated with quietly pulsing electric guitar and bass. 

This richly rewards intensive listening on stereo headphones - notable the section on the choice of three road (to Heaven, Hell, or Elfland). As a kid we didn't have headphones, so my friend Gareth and I would take turns to lie on the floor, with head sandwiched between the stereo speakers...  

Epic electric folk at its supreme best...

***

True Thomas sat on Huntly bank 

And he beheld a lady gay 

A lady that was brisk and bold 

Come riding o’er the ferny brae 

Her skirt was of the grass green silk, 

Her mantle of the velvet fine 

At every lock of her horse’s mane 

Hung fifty silver bells and nine 

True Thomas, he pulled off his cap 

And bowed him low down to his knee 

“All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven 

Your like on earth I ne’er did see.” 

(Transition to quiet section)

“No, no, Thomas,” she said, 

“That name does not belong to me 

I am the queen of fair Elfland 

And I have come to visit thee.” 

“You must go with me, Thomas,” she said, 

“True Thomas, you must go with me 

And must serve me seven years 

Through well or woe, as chance may be.” 

Chorus X 4: (Again rock style)

Hark and carp, 

come along with me, 

Thomas the Rhymer 

She turned about her milk white steed 

And took Thomas up behind 

And aye whenever her bridle rang 

Her steed flew swifter than the wind 

For forty days and forty nights 

They rode through red blood to the knee 

And they saw neither sun nor moon 

But heard the roaring of the sea 

And they rode on and further on 

Further and swifter than the wind 

Until they came to a desert wide 

And living land was left behind 

(Quiet section again - muted electric guitar and bass - the best bit of all!)

“Don’t you see yon narrow, narrow road 

So thick beset with thorns and briars? 

That is the road to righteousness 

Though after it but few enquire.” 

 

“Don’t you see yon broad, broad road

That lies across the lily leaven? 

That is the road to wickedness 

Though some call it the road to heaven.” 

 

“Don’t you see yon bonny, bonny road 

That lies across the ferny brae? 

That is the road to fair Elfland 

Where you and I this night must go.”

Chorus (repeat to fade): 

Hark and carp, 

come along with me, 

Thomas the Rhymer