Chag Pesach Sameach

To all my friends who begin the seven days* of Passover tonight I can think of no way to better wish you the joy of the Festival than with something by my beloved Emanuele (Lele) Luzzati. 

 Have a sweet Passover / zisn Pesach / חג פסח שמח

* In some branches of Judaism the Festival lasts for 8 days - I found this explanation here.

April 3 - 2010: Apple Inc. released the first generation iPad, a tablet computer.

The Magic in the Flute

Legend says that the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg himself literally kicked Mozart out of his
palace - in truth it was his Grace's steward Count Arno who delivered the Episcopal drop kick.
In Emanuele Luzzati's drawing the young Mozart seems to enjoy the event.  But it seems some
little success and an admonishing Emperor Josef are awaiting his arrival in Vienna.

An article on Mozart's The Magic Flute by my friend David Nice over at I'll Think of Something Later led me (as David's writings so often do)  to do two things: download one of the great recordings of Mozart's masterpiece and search for one of several books I have on the work of Emanuele Luzzati as inspired by the genius that was Wolfgang A.

Never out of the catalogue since the day it was issued, the recording was produced by Walter Legge in Germany between November 8, 1937 and March 8th of the following year in Berlin's Beethovensaal. It featured the Berlin Philharmonic and the cream of Germany's operatic talent - or at least those who had not been forced to leave by the Nazis; but most surprisingly it was conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham.  Beecham had created some controversy in 1936 when he taken the London Philharmonic on tour to Germany and had agreed to the "request" not to include Mendelssohn's Scottish Symphony in their repertoire - though a convert to Christianity the Nazi government still regarded Mendelssohn as a "Jewish composer".  To the discomfort of the authorities even Der Fuehrer was not exempt from one of Sir Thomas's comments.  When Hitler showed up late for one of the Berlin concerts Beecham was heard, in one of those mutters of his that could fill a room, to observe "That stupid old bugger's late!"

A computer reconstruction of the Beethovensaal, home of the Berlin Philharmonic
before the Second World War.  It was destroyed in the Allied bombing raids.
It was the major recording venue for HMV between the two Great Wars.

Though not an Nazi sympathizer - Beecham refused invitations to tour Germany after 1936 - he nevertheless honoured contracts he had with the Berlin State Opera in '37-38.  For HMV Legge assembled an all-German cast (though Danish-born Helge Rosvaenge made his career in Germany and Austria) and it seems that he audaciously replaced a few "unacceptable" members of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra strategically with players from the Berlin State Opera Orchestra.  The Queen of the Night’s aria O zitt’re nicht, mein lieber Sohn (Tremble not, my dear son) was still unrecorded when Beecham left Berlin at the beginning of March and was recorded later that month with Bruno Seidler-Winkler conducting the Berlin State Opera Orchestra.

HMV's Mozart Opera Society issued four operas on 78s over the space of
several years. The First was the Glyndebourne Nozze di Figaro followed by
Cosi and Don Giovanni also from John Christie's country opera house. The
Beecham Zauberflote was the only non-British recording in the set. Along
with the Cosi it was to remain in the catalogue since its first issue and is
considered one of the great recordings of the 20th century.

Despite its slightly clouded history the recording was greeted with superlatives when it was issued on 19 double-sided shellac 78s as one of HMV's The Mozart Opera Society recordings.  As the LP era took over many other recordings were to appear but this pioneering effort was the one most frequently held up for comparison.   My own Flute of choice has always been the 1962 recording also produced by Legge under the baton of Otto Klemperer.  I recall hearing an LP transfer of the earlier Berlin recording and not being terribly impressed - it sounded as if it had been copied from the 78s clicks, pops and hisses intact.  But after several hearings of the 2001 remastering of Beecham's historical recording on Naxos I am inclined to place it very close second in my list of favourites.   Though the two conductors could not be more different in their approach they both capture the inspired lunacy of Schikaneder that is made magical by Mozart's music.   The surprise with Klemperer was always how jolly and warm, almost folk-like, the more comic moments sounded and with Beecham it is the sublime majesty of the more serious  - but then should I really be that surprised?  He was, after-all, a conductor of Wagner, Strauss and Delius.

Emanuele Luzzati's set model for the 1963 Die Zauberflote at Glyndebourne.  Ten
triangular screens, each manipulated by a stagehand hidden inside moved about
the stage under the direction of a stage manager using early wireless technology.

Luzzati's sketches suggest the positions he wanted for the screens and designs (each side had a
different colour and design theme) he wanted revealed for the various scenes as the opera unfolded.

That strange juxtaposition of the inane and the sublime has always been a problem both in the pit and on stage.  How do you reconcile the antics of Papageno with the proclamations of Sarastro; how do you handle that sudden switch of bad guys half-way through the first act.  How do you stage a work which, as Winthrop Sargeant observed, is often dramatically dull and where "in the last act - the Klu Klux Klan marches around and says "No!" while Tamino tries to become an Eagle Scout"? And Sargeant is right - it can all be very morally upright and lets admit it the stage is not really the place where moral uprightness shows to best advantage.  Often when stage directors have failed their designers have come through and found the magic in the Flute.   And an incredible array of designers have strove and in many cases found the balance between Mozart and Schikaneder;  amongst the more famous are Marc Chagall at the Met in 1967,  David Hockney at Glynedebourne ('78)  and the Met ('91),  Beni Montressor at the NYC Opera, William Kentridge at La Monnaie ('05) and La Scala ('11), Oskar Kokoschka, Maurice Sendak and again at Glyndebourne my beloved Emanuele Luzzati in 1963.


Every year, beginning in 1960, I ordered a copy of the Glyndebourne Programme Book and between those lavish publications and the marvelous recordings I had from the Festival (Le Comte Ory, Cenerentola, the 1936 Cosi)  I would armchair travel in tuxedoed splendor on the train from Victoria to the Sussex downs,  picnic by the HaHa, wander in the gardens and revel in Mozart or Rossini.  I first became aware of Luzzati's work when I opened that 1963 Programme Book.   I was immediately captured by his strange drawings - and remember wondering how on earth they were ever realized.  But I was even more intrigued by his use of 10 three sided screens maneuvered about the stage by a stagehand inside who took instructions from the Stage Manager on wireless headphones - how modern was that?  In subsequent years I was fascinated by Luzzati's designs for Don Giovanni, Macbeth and Die Entführung aus dem Serail.  All very different but all distinctively Luzzati.

I finally got to Glyndebourne in 1969, dined in the Nether Wallop and saw the new Luzzati-John Pritchard Cosi along with Pelléas and Werther.  But the following year was to be "the year" - as well as Janet Baker in La Calisto and Graziella Scuitti in Il Turco in Italia - I finally got to see that Magic Flute.  If in my memory book it takes second place to the Calisto (one of those truly great nights of opera that I can count on the fingers of one hand) it was still memorable for the performances of a young Illena Cortubas, Weishal Ochman and Hans Sotin - and the magic of Luzzati's designs.  At one moment dark and glittering, the next all bosky green and in a twinkling gleaming gold they perfectly captured the shifts from whimsy to wisdom that so intrigues in this silly-sublime final work of the equally silly-sublime Mozart.

Luzzati only designed that one production of The Magic Flute for the stage but he was to use the opera as the inspiration for designs of all sorts throughout his life.  Posters, playing cards, a full length animation and a children's book were all to give him opportunities to express the joy that the work so obviously gave him.  Though long out of print I was able to find that children's book online and decided that I'd make a short video combining those two things that my friend David had led me to search out:  Sir Thomas's recording from so long ago and Luzzati's interpretation for children - so different and yet often similar to his vision for the stage. 

Many thanks David - as always you led me to something wonderful.

May 4 -1919: May Fourth Movement: Student demonstrations take place in Tiananmen Square in Beijing, China, protesting the Treaty of Versailles, which transferred Chinese territory to Japan.

One Fine Day I Met Upon My Way .....

... Three Great Kings in their bright array.

This rather fanciful, and busy to the point I couldn't get the camera to focus, scene is an Adoration of the Magi cutout that I bought at the Tirolervolks Museum in Innsbruck.  This little "creche in a perspective box" was the work of the Engelbrecht Brothers some time between 1712-1735 and is very like the tradition of the toy theatre.  Prints could be bought plain to be hand-coloured or already coloured and ready to be cut out and assembled.  I also have the Visit of the Shepherds - which is not quite as busy - shepherds bring with them only sheep not a royal entourage.

I remember this from my choral music class in grade 9 and being told by Mr Livingstone that it was based on music from Bizet. Being the smug little bastard I was I probably told him that it was incidental music for a play and based on an old Provençal carol. How he then resisted the urge to jam his baton down my throat I will never know.

Of course the tune, Marcho dei Rei, is known outside Provençe as a theme that runs through Bizet's music for L'Arlésienne. In its best known appearance Bizet combines it with Danse dei chivau-frus a traditional folk-dance melody that may have roots as far back as Le bon roi René.

Can there be anything as exuberant as this lovely pop-up Presepe by the genius that was Emanuele Luzzati?
His jewel-like colours and the lively faces of his people and animals are filled with the joy of Christmas.

King Balthazar's horse seems as pleased as the Kings themselves to arrive at their destination.
And rather ingeniously they are hidden away in a slot and drop down in time to arrive on  January 6th.
One of my great regrets is being with a few feet of the Museo Luzzati in Genoa and not realizing it
because of the pounding rain.

The Second Suite, arranged four years after Bizet's death by Ernest Guiraud, has been recorded many, many times but my favourite is one of the older recordings made by one of the great conductors of the 20th Century - Sir Thomas Beecham.  Behind his facade of English eccentricity lay the ability to reach into music, particularly French music, and bring out colours that allow you to hear old favourites anew.  He was a true "amateur" - one who loves.

Of course what inspired my listening to this piece is the celebration today in the Western Christian Church of The Feast of the Epiphany. The day when tradition says that the word was revealed to the Gentiles:

    Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem,
    Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.
    When Herod the king had heard these things, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him.
    And when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, he demanded of them where Christ should be born.
    And they said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judaea: for thus it is written by the prophet,
    And thou Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not the least among the princes of Juda: for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel.
    Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, enquired of them diligently what time the star appeared.
    And he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also.
    When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.
    When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
    And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense and myrrh.
    And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.

Gospel of St Matthew 2: 1-12

KJV

Matthew is the only Gospel where the visit of the Magi or Kings or simply Wise Men is recounted. But out of it came a mythology rich in tradition and symbolism for the Christian Church.

These three Polish glass ornaments have been on our tree for many years:

It is uncertain when the tradition of Balthasar
coming from Africa began as in earlier mythology
he was said to be an Arabian scholar.

Though first accounts say that Melchior was a Persian
wise man over time he came to represent Europe and tradition
said he was the King who came bearing gold.

Gaspar was said to be an Indian sage and he came bearing
frankincense but again in time his origins changed and his
homeland has various been portrayed as China or Mongolia.

Matthew does not tell us how many wise men there were but he does say that they bore three gifts; as early as 500 AD the writer in a Greek document assumed that three gifts meant three kings.  An 8th Irish manuscript not only gave them names but the countries their journeys began in as well. It was said that Melchior was from Persia, Gaspar was from India and Balthasar started his travels in Arabia.  Though their names remained essentially the same as Christianity spread their countries of origin were adapted to reflect an expanding world.   Balthasar was said to come from Africa (perhaps Ethiopia), Gaspar from Asia (Yemen or possibly China or Mongolia) and Melchior from Europe, his origins being either Celtic or Frankish. 

The figures in our Polish creche have a more serious mien but I find the rather weary looks on the 
three royal travellers faces touching.  Their journey has taken them far and having reached their 
destination they gaze onthe object of their search with obvious adoration.

Unlike their birth places the gifts of the Kings (Wise men, Sages) have never changed: gold and frankincense and myrrh.  It has been thought they have a spiritual meaning of Jesus as King and God and Sacrifice: gold - signifying earthly kingship; frankincense - an offering of sweet smelling incense to a deity; and myrrh - an ancient embalming oil symbolizing death.  But it has also been suggested that the gold could stand for virtue, the frankincense for prayer and myrrh for suffering.   What happened to these gifts is never made clear in the gospel but stories developed around them.  One legend said that the gold was stolen by the two thieves who were crucified with Christ; another says that Mary and Joseph used it when they fled to Egypt; a third has it being entrusted to Judas who used it for his own ends. Another story says that Mary kept the myrrh and used it to anoint his body after his crucifixion. 

06 January - 1907: Maria Montessori opens her first school and daycare centre for working class children in Rome, Italy.

Marco's Presepe

Over the past few Christmastides I’ve posted entries about crèches – those traditional tableaux that retell the story that is the Christian origins of the Feast Days. In my travels I’ve always found a certain comforting familiarity in seeing the figures of Mary, Joseph and the Christ Child in places as far away as Saigon and as nearby as Sussex Drive. As the location changed so did the world surrounding those three figures – often touching reflecting the lives of the people and place.

In our own household there are three nativity scenes that have been bought in our travels and set up at various times in our households in Ottawa, Mexico, Cairo, Chicago, Warsaw, Aylmer and Roma. Limited surfaces in the new apartment have meant that again choices had to be made. Sadly the charming corn husk figurines, including a slightly wall-eyed wise man, of the crèche from New Mexico have been left in their box to be used another time. The carved szopka I bought in Warsaw – though not the traditional colourful to the point of gaudy scene – has found a spot on a credenza in the living room. And I was able to find a place for the exuberance of Emanuele Luzzati’s pop-up presepe – a Genovese’s take on the traditions of Napoli.  Which is probably where this whole obsession - and yes I admit it is an obsession - with crèches came into being.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York continues its tradition, begun in 1957, of displaying the incredible collection of Neapolitan presepe figures collected by the late Loretta Hines Howard.  Well over 200 18th century figures from her collection are displayed on and around the gigantic tree set in front of the enormous medieval choir screen.

I first became acquainted with the elaborate crèches of Napoli when, sometime in the early 70s,  the late lamented Gourmet Magazine featured the Christmas tree at the Metropolitan Museum in New York on is cover and in its lead article for Christmas. The elaborately robed angels watching over an even more elaborately costumed Mary and Joseph caught my, at the time decidedly baroque,  fancy. I recall immediately wanting to do an angel theme on the tree that year but that was long before angels became ubiquitous in Christmas stores so I settled for the somewhat less heaven-bound theme of toy soldiers.

A few years later my friend Naomi and I made a day trip to New York to see a matinee of Amedeus with Ian Mckellan, do a bit of shopping at Bloomies and see the tree.  Set against the imposing choir screen it proved as magical as I had imagined from the photo and word picture that Gourmet had painted.  It was only later that I discovered the story behind the elaborate display - how the humble presepe with its painted terra cotta figures that appeared in almost every Napoletano home had been elevated to a high art form by King Ferdinand in an effort to foster industry and the arts in his kingdom.

Though I saw many manger scenes during the four Christmases I spent in Italy I was never able to get to Napoli over the holidays so missed seeing the hundreds of public - and for the privileged, private - presepe on display throughout that most marvellous of cities.  And on the three occasions I did get there I never did make it to Via San Gregorio Armeno - the street of the presepe makers.  But that just might have been a good thing - I'm sure the temptation to recreate my own presepe Napoletano would have been far to strong.

Knowing my fondness for these little scenes and I'm sure knowing that I wouldn't find too many here in Ottawa my friend Marco thought he'd share his presepe with me, if only digitally.  In his apartment in Trastevere he has a traditional Napoletano nativity scene, given to him by his mother and father as a reminder of the traditions of his childhood.  Not the elaborate-gowned and bejewelled figures of that courtly New York tree nor the resin creations sold today but the simple painted terra cotta figures  that you would find in many homes near Piazza San Carlo or off Via Toledo in earlier times.  It is wonderful to share it with him if only at a distance - mille grazie caro.

But in common with all those nativity scenes I love so much - the crèches, szopka, presepe call them what you will - there is world outside the stable.  Recognizable figures people the little village - more Campania than Bethlehem - the shepherd boy, the bagpipe player, the fishwife and - perhaps my favourite - the sleeping shepherd who is missing the great events taking place nearby.  Perhaps that is what gives these scenes their charm -  that as a great event is taking place people are going about their business - some stopping, other continuing on with their daily routine and a few sleeping and missing the whole thing.  In other words - life!

A few other entries I've posted over the past few years on nativity scenes:

The Presepe Maker

A Procession of Presepe

A Polish Presepe

Borgo Nights

 

21 dicembre/December - San Pietro Canisio

Pop-Up Presepe

In Italy the centre piece of Christmas celebrations is always the Presepe or crêche. A tradition that preportedly began in 1223 when St Francis of Assisi constructed a representation of the Nativity scene in a grotto in Greccio and celebrated Christmas Eve mass there. Though it spread throughout Europe - the lovely folk art santons of Provence, the elaborate and colourful Kraków szopka of Poland - Italy is still at the heart of this tradition.

Napoli remains the best place to see presepe with hundreds throughout the city - in churches, squares and if you are lucky private homes. Via San Gregorio Armeno is lined with shops selling all your presepe needs year round. The items that are found there range from working fountains to haymows to tiny butchers knives - everything needed to recreate the town of Bethlehem as it could have only existed if it was miraculously transported to Italy.

Here in Roma presepe have been set up all over town - the top of the Spanish Steps, Piazza del Popolo, St Peter's Square and the various churches - but my favorite this year is at Parco del Musica. A delightful nativity scene created in 1997 for Torino by the late Emanuele (Lele) Luzzati (right). The amphitheatre between the three halls is filled with more than life size colourful figures in the destinctive style of Genovese artist, who retained a childlike joy in all his creations until his death at the age of 85 in 2007.

Unfortunately last weekend for the first time in two years I hadn't brought my camera with me to a concert so I will have to wait until next week to get some shots. In the meantime I found a worthy proxy in the the well stocked Parco bookstore window: a pop-up Presepe based on Lele's designs.

It brought back memories of that first nativity scene I had as a child and I just had to get it to add to our Polish creche and South-western corn husk manager.
The design is in Luzzati's signature deep almost jewel-like colours and in the great tradition of presepe he mixes the everyday with the fantastical. His people are obviously filled with the joy of the birth of the Infant.


When I first unfolded the scene I was a bit mystified - there were Mary and Joseph with attendent ox and ass, heralding angels and assorted folk in attitudes of adoration but I couldn't find the baby Jesus. Then I pulled the star up in its slot and there he was - which is as it should be, the Bambino should never be revealed until Christmas Eve when the star appeared. And I must say he is one of the happiest Infant Jesus I have ever seen.

As well as trumpeting angels and the court and country folk a shepherd with his rather oblong dog - Laurent insists its Nicky - comes to the manager. As does a drummer boy surround by Luzzati's fanastical birds and - in homage to the traditional Napolitano presepe - an old orange vendor.

Caspar, Balthazar and Melchior can be hidden in a slot until it's time for them to canter up to the stable on the Feast of the Epiphany.

The whole scene has a fanciful lightness and joy which, for me at least, conveys the true spirit of the Nativity. Its a shame all the other wonderful characters that Lele designed couldn't be fit in but it is, after all, only a pop-up book. Later this week I'll try and get some shots of the big display but in the meantime I have to find a place for my new Presepe. I think place of honour under the tree will be appropriate.

13 decembre - Santa Lucia da Siricusa

Birthday Wishes ...

... are going out to that bon vivant and all-round great guy Gioachino Rossini - 53 years old today. Yes, the Swan of Pesaro was born February 29, 1792. And in honour of the occasion we're sending out birthday greetings and best wishes from all of his friends and fans. And what better way to say Happy Birthday than with a few of the Maestro's own compositions.

First off Rolando Villazon asks the musical question: La Danza!



He may not be a Rossini Tenor but he sure knows how to wow a crowd. That gang in Berlin was with him all the way.

And Emanuele Luzzati and Guilio Gianni continue our theme with a piano rendition of La Danza until mascot Puncinello has a wild and funny dream to the overture to Il Turco in Italia.



Happy Birthday Maestro you don't sound a day older!

29 febbraio - San Giusto

Lunedi Lunacy

I first saw the work of Emanuele (Lele) Luzzati back in 1963 in a programme book for the Glyndebourne Festival. It would be another 6 years before I saw his magical designs on stage but in the meantime, through a few children’s and music books that were available in Canada, I became enamored of the child-like exuberance and musicality of his imagination. He was known throughout Europe as a stage designer, book illustrator, muralist, film director, animator (with partner Guilio Gianni) and designer of fantastic children’s parks and playgrounds. Still actively creating at the age of 84, his death in January 2007, left the world with one less source of joy, wonder and lunacy.



It's questionable if Rossini actually wrote the Cat Duet but god knows he heard enough caterwauling sopranos to give him inspiration.



Lele and Gianni were nominated several times for Oscars and amongst their noted animations where the titles for Brancaleone alle Crociate (Brancaleone at the Crusades) second in a series of Italian comedies featuring Vittorio Gassman as a hapless knight who becomes the leader of an army of rogues, cheats and liars. The first movie gave rise to the expression - often applied to Italian politicians: They're as bad as Brancaleone's Army!

11 febbraio - Nostre Signore di Lourdes