The Mastersingers of Nuremberg, Wagner's Comic Opera

. One of the last operas that Wagner wrote, and his only comic opera, was Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, about a guild of musicians in 16th-century Nuremberg. The City of Nuremberg was, at that time, a free city, governed in part by several guilds, professional organizations with elected officers, among which was the Guild of Mastersingers. The plot of Wagner's opera is anchored in the historical character of Hans Sachs, a renaissance poet, also a shoemaker, and legendary citizen of Nuremberg. Though Sachs is a central character in the story, the hero of the story is ostensibly the youthful knight Walther von Stölzing, who aspires to be a singer, and has come to meet Sachs from his native Franconia. The opera opens with one of the most beautifully constructed and executed overtures in the repertoire (conducted here by Giuseppe Sinopoli / Staatskapelle Dresden - amazing!) We do not see here the preoccupation with sweeping themes of good and evil and man and nature, but rather the homely ones of young love, friendship; human strengths and foibles. The overture, even if it retains the basic seriousness and grandeur of all of Wagner's work, does seem filled with a good humor notably lacking in his other works. The opening theme, which one hears starting with a delightful "crunch", is the stately theme of the Mastersinger Guild itself. This theme is followed by other themes, including the genial 'fellowship' theme, the 'love' theme (derived from the Prize Song, but in quadruple time), the 'rigid traditions' theme, as well as the playful theme that might be considered to represent the apprentices of the guild. The overture leads straight into a scene at church, where Eva, the daughter of the President of the Mastersingers' Guild and the goldsmith of the town, has come for Evensong, chaperoned by her maid Magdalena. Walther, a young knight visiting from abroad, is trying to get the attention of Eva, but her maid is anxious that the meeting is inappropriate. In the way of Renaissance romance among the middle classes, matters progress rapidly to the point where Walther learns that Eva is not available, since she is to marry the winner of the annual Singing competition, which is to be held on Midsummer's Day, at the feast of John the Baptist (Johannistag). Walther is not deterred; he is resolved to sing at the competition, and win Eva fair and square. It takes the skills of Eva, her maid Magdalena, and Magdalena's beau, Sachs's apprentice David, to explain to Walther that it is a closed competition, and that Walther would have to actually be accepted into the Guild (of Mastersingers) before he can compete. A meeting of the Guild is to take place in that very church that same evening. The women hurry away before the members arrive in twos and threes (after all, singing is men's business), and soon the Mastersingers learn that Walther is desirous of an audition to join, and our hero learns that the Town Clerk Beckmesser (who is a Mastersinger and who, unfortunately, is also interested in Eva for a wife) is to be the judge. Walther has been hurriedly instructed by David in how a composition must be constructed, and the poor knight turns in a performance which is as full of --to the ears of the guild-- obnoxiously avant-garde musical ideas as it is vigorous and bold. Needless to say, Walther's petition is rejected. The second scene is on the street outside the cobblery of Hans Sachs, which faces the far more opulent residence of the Goldsmith. Eva and Magdalena wait eagerly for news of the decision, which is, of course, disappointing. Wagner depicts a warm, tender discussion between Eva and her father, in which the predicament of a single father of a marriageable daughter are beautifully presented: he must make sure that she will be happy in the long term. In addition, he must be fair by the Guild. Eva disguises herself as her maid, in order to sneak across the street to meet the young knight at (Hans Sach's) shoe store. There are several cases of mistaken identity, which lead to minor fisticuffs, and the brawl escalates into a full-fledged riot, the famous riot scene, all choreographed lovingly by Wagner himself, a brilliant piece of comic writing. By the time the watchman arrives, it's all over, and everyone is off the street. [Note: this scene signals a whole new Wagner, a playfulness that has remained hidden for almost his entire life! When I told some of my friends that the writing here foreshadows some of the lighter scoring in Lerner and Lowe's My Fair Lady I was laughed at, but it's true. The score is unbelievably forward-looking. Or rather, Lerner & Lowe owe a lot to Wagner, which is certainly true.] Meanwhile, we learn about the complex relationship between Eva and Hans Sachs himself, which is close to love on the side of the cobbler, and close enough to love on the side of Eva --who has known him from childhood-- that, failing being won by young Walther, she would prefer the cobbler to sue for her hand, rather than to allow herself to be won by the Town Clerk, Beckmesser, whom she detests. Persuaded of the earnestness of the knight Walther, Hans gradually renounces his interest in the young woman in the course of a soliloquy that is a jewel on its own. (If only this scene could be abbreviated, this opera would be one of the most celebrated in the repertoire, but the themes are too substantial to edit down without trivializing the scene.) Note: because of the more human-scaled dramatic themes of Meistersinger, Wagner did not need to make use of the more complex, detailed leitmotif technique of The Ring cycle, and later of Tristan und Isolde. Instead he uses a more relaxed technique based on longer tune fragments, similar to modern film-scoring methods, even if he used imaginative contrapuntal techniques to combine separate themes into composites that had both musical and dramatic meaning. Incidentally, at one point in his soliloquy, Sachs reflects that, like King Mark (of Tristan), his love for the young girl would ultimately lead to sorrow, and there is a brief quote from the principal theme from Tristan behind the gruff muttered words! (Wagner clearly considered that the Tristan theme was now part of an universal thematic pool from which he could draw even in Meistersinger.) The most clever part of the opera comes now. Sachs plans to persuade the Guild to permit Walther to sing at the festival; if he does well, he will be given both membership, and possibly the prize. But the youth has to be tutored in how to write a proper Master Song. Wagner brilliantly depicts the evolution of the Prize Song, according to historically authentic Meistersinger rules that Wagner researched for this project. The instruction too, of course, is presented in song, and early the next morning, Sachs and the young knight forge the song out of a dream melody the young knight remembers on waking. Wagner's representation of the interaction between inspiration and technique is amazing, unequaled in opera. Section by section, the youth builds his song, as Sachs hurriedly transcribes the words, interjecting his own comments on it while he scribbles away. In Renaissance Catholic Germany, it was one's Name Day (the Day of the feast of the Saint after whom one is named) that was celebrated instead of the birthday. 'Hans', of course, is an abbreviation of Johannes, and so Midsummer's Day, being the feast of John the Baptist (Johannistag), is the Name Day of Hans Sachs himself; his apprentice David has suitable celebratory activities planned for his master, to take place before the big Song Festival on the City Commons. Early in the morning, Sachs has a surprise for David, too; he is made a Journeyman with the traditional kick to the pants (enabling David to woo Magdalena with greater propriety). Eva slips in with Magdalena for a quick visit with Hans and Walther, to express her gratitude to the former, and her encouragement of the latter, and she is treated to the completed song, which fills her with pleasure, because of course it is a paean to her beauty and character. The last scene is at the Festival. (Most modern productions represent this portion very satisfactorily, certainly that of the New York Met.) There is a great deal of pageantry and grandeur and spectacle, beloved to opera-goers through the ages. (More than any other operas of Wagner, the music of Meistersinger lends itself to cinematic treatment.) The competition is convened, and it happens that Beckmesser has appropriated the words to Walther's song, which were lying on the table in Sach's house, unattended. He is allowed to sing 'his' entry, which he finds difficult, because Sach's hurried scrawl is hard to read. But he tries anyway, and poor Beckmesser is thoroughly humiliated. (Some rather clumsy Wagnerian humor here.) Then Sachs insists that the actual composer should sing it, namely Walther. In a very Wagnerian (if not original) musical twist, Walther sings a new, more elaborate, very 19th century version of his Prize Song. (Note how the crowd interrupts, to be sternly silenced by Hans Sachs!) It easily wins the competition, and earns Walther a very willing and totally dazzled Eva's hand in marriage. The opera closes with a (somewhat anticlimactic) hymn to German Art by Hans Sachs. Unfortunately, this Opera is the longest of all of Wagner's works (including the Ring operas taken separately). If it weren't for this, Die Meistersinger would enjoy far greater fame and admiration, and serve to convert more unbelievers to Wagner than it presently does. (The ending aria in praise of German Art should be abbreviated (ideally by a German, since it does have historical relevance in the context of the late 19th century). However, today we have DVDs, which enable us to see an opera in portions, at our convenience! One thing I notice all through Meistersinger is the delightful mix of lighthearted fun, and the warm seriousness of the themes of everyday human relationships. Renaissance Nuremberg is most definitely a place in which modern audiences would feel far more at home than pre-inferno Valhalla. Unfortunately, Wagner has discovered his more human side too late to write more operas of this richness. So, to conclude, Wagner's only "comic" opera is, in my humble opinion, not only one of his greatest works, but possibly an opera that could easily stand up to Mozart's Figaro, Verdi's Othello, or Bizet's Carmen. [Acknowledgements to Book of The Month Club Music Appreciation Records, and conductor Thomas Schippers, from whom I first learned to appreciate the Meistersinger overture!] ARCHIMEDES!

Bach's Masterpiece for Good Friday: the Matthäuspassion

One of the great masterpieces of Western music is the Passion according to Matthew of Johann Sebastian Bach. These passions, a tradition that goes back to Middle Ages, are representations of the last days of Jesus in song and verse. By the time J. S. Bach was writing passions for performance in church on Good Friday, the tradition had become established in Germany that, in addition to the words of the gospel (of Matthew, in this case) there were specially composed arias reflecting on the action immediately preceding. The St Matthew Passion (known affectionately as the SMP by Bach-ians) is a more elaborate passion than Bach would have been expected to write for an ordinary Good Friday service. It is written for two entire orchestras and choruses, each with its own soloists and organ. (The choirs are now thought to have been modestly sized, and the two orchestras were almost certainly one instrument per line, though we don't really know. For a big festival, Bach may have hoped for larger forces.) There is some belief that this passion was partly put together for the sheer pleasure of the music and the joy of creation. (The manuscript is hand-lettered in Bach's own exquisite calligraphy, with the words of Jesus inked in red. Here is a note on it by Joshua Rifkin.) The stunning opening chorus is written in antiphonal style; that is, both choirs and orchestras play it, and the two choirs have occasional alternating lines, which are very dramatic. It is addressed to the Daughter of Zion, a symbolic person who represents the people. One antiphonal section goes (translated):

Choir A: “Behold!” Choir B: “Behold whom?” Choir A: “Behold the bridegroom!” Though the words must have had greater significance to German-speakers, especially of Bach’s time, even today the cries coming from opposite directions create a very dramatic effect. The overall atmosphere is one of highly-charged anxiety, probably a very accurate representation of the feelings of the disciples on that evening long ago; certainly an accurate echo of what they must have felt, about a year later, looking back on that terrible night. This chorus brilliantly manages to set the stage for the tragedy that follows. The chorus is followed by a verse from a passion hymn, usually sung to the English words Ah, holy Jesu, how hast thou offended? Verses from this hymn occur every so often, re-asserting the characteristic mood of tragedy and pathos that attends passions generally. The Passion, as with most of Bach’s extended choral works such as passions and oratorios, are narrated by the Evangelist, usually a tenor, in extended recitatives. When the narrative comes to the words of Jesus himself (a Bass,) instead of the organ or harpsichord, it is accompanied by strings, a device that has now come to be called the “halo”. The story unfolds as usual, with planning for the last supper, and so forth, with every little remark being ascribed great significance. Though this is, generally speaking, the precise body of facts and (especially) interpretation that a secular (i.e. non-religious) listener finds hardest to accept, it is not difficult to put oneself in the mindset of the disciples and first generation Christians dealing with the immediate crisis of Jesus’s apprehension and ultimate execution. One thing most of us might agree on is that for many of us the execution of Jesus is a symbol of the cruelty, the atrocity, of political execution. Though it is hardly the only political execution of an innocent of that decade, let alone of Roman times, it certainly serves as a symbol. The sustained, spiraling feeling of loss of control is almost physically exhausting. The relentless narrative is all too rarely relieved by arias expressing pious contrition, all of them very lovely, and just perfect for the sentiment expressed. The first aria is one of soft remorse: “Buß und Reu, knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei.” The English translation goes something like: "Grief and remorse tears the sinful heart in two." Despite the agonized words, it is surprisingly easy to identify with the mood expressed by the tearful music. (Note that this recording features silver flutes, now considered an anachronism for this music. However, silver flutes have their own charm, and can be appreciated despite this fact. Here is another clip which features (1) the Evangelist's recitative, leading to (2) the words of Jesus, featuring the Halo, (3) more recitative, followed by (4) a turba --a choral portion that represents the words of a crowd. After a couple more alternations of recitatives and turbae, there is (5) an alto recitative, followed by the aria Buß und Reu, sung here by a countertenor. This is only the first of more than a dozen arias, some of the most beautiful ever written. In a central position in the Passion is the great central chorale-fantasy “O Mensch, bewein dein' Sundre gross,” (listen for the Children's Chorus) shortly followed by "Erbarme dich", accompanied by a celebrated violin solo. To give an item-by-item description of the passion is beyond the scope of this post. There may be some who will be unpleasantly overwhelmed by the Matthew-passion of Bach, but the musical magic of the work is worth experiencing, even if undertaken in small doses over several days. One of the most touching moments of the passion is the last chorus, in which the choir takes leave of the buried Jesus: "Wir setzen uns mit Tränen nieder", performed here by Bach Collegium Japan (Suzuki). Archimedes

Father Guido Sarducci Explains Life After Death

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Oh Come Thou Saviour of the Gentiles

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[Note: I'm personally not a believer; even though I think I understand a little of Bach's feelings about music and religion. My remarks on the chorales of Bach are made as an outsider to the the religious beliefs involved.]

The chorale-prelude on "Nun komm', der Heiden Heiland" by Johann Sebastian Bach is a wonderful piece of music for the organ. Bach's chorale-preludes are essentially meditations on hymn-tunes suitable for playing in church between parts of the service, or as voluntaries before the service begins, as well as at suitable times during the service. This particular example is based on the advent hymn of the title, whose significance is difficult for most of us to understand. The translation could be given as "Come now, O Saviour of the Heathen," which does not seem a pretty sentiment. Especially during the time of Bach, when the Jewish people were regarded with a mixture of suspicion, envy and hostility, the true meaning of the sentence, as might have been understood by Bach, is elusive. (Though the anti-semitic sentiments of the time is not the subject of this post, it's probably best to circumscribe them before we go on. The more visible members of the Jewish comminity were, of course, bankers and merchants and goldsmiths, etc, though a great number were members of ordinary professions. Certain professions were denied to Jews, and the economic history of the times should be studied carefully to avoid misunderstanding. Then, too, the crucifixion of Jesus was blamed on the entire Jewish race, even if it were more reasonable to blame it on society generally, since there was participation by Rome as well. Finally, many Jews were intellectuals, and the ordinary folk were suspicious of intellectuals anyway.) Whatever the connotations of the word Heiden (heathen), the chorale, as Bach represented it musically, expresses the longing of mankind for the coming of the savior. In the advent season, it can be interpreted as waiting for the birth of Jesus, as well as waiting for the second coming, the Day of Judgment. The Lutheran faithful, of course, saw the Day of Judgment as their ultimate vindication, and not as a day to anticipate with fear, in contrast to the Roman Catholics, for whom the Day of Judgment was a day to be feared. One way Bach treated the problem of the chorale prelude was to take a characteristic fragment of the original chorale, and quote it in each one of the organ parts. In this one, the bass (shown in red below) keeps up a steady plodding march, patient and determined, conveying the idea of waiting. The tenor, the next higher part (shown in black), starts out with the opening phrase of the chorale: Right after the third note of this entry, the alto (the next highest voice, shown in green) enters with the same sequence of notes, played starting at D. (This is said to be a fifth higher, but most non-musicians would consider this just four notes higher. This tradition of including the first note in the count is based on a Roman tradition of counting, where Friday would be "five days from Monday." We would say four days, of course.) These two entries serve to establish that this chorale prelude is indeed based on the well-known (to audiences of Bach's time, in Bach's hometown) hymn. Now, the highest voice (the treble) enters with the opening notes of the chorale, but then proceeds with a highly ornamented version that expresses in music the longing that the words are able to express only vaguely. The long, slow climb of the melody becomes a wordless expression of frustration, a protest against the cruelty of existence, a plea for release. Remarkably, though, in Bach's inimitable way, the plea never becomes impertinent or demanding; persuasive but not insistent. From line to line, Bach is guided by the shape of the original hymn-tune, but the melody of the soprano line leaves the hymn melody far behind, soaring in agonized flights of pain, but always within the respectful limits of addressing the Creator. It is an amazing exercise in restrained eloquence. Archimedes