Some Horny Moments

As my horn-playing sister's birthday approaches, I've been thinking about some of my favorite horn moments in the operatic repertoire. It's a good thing now and then to remember that opera ain't just about the singing! I think everybody must know the beautiful (and difficult) horn parts in Bach's Brandenburg concertos, so you're aware that composers have been asking a lot of horn virtuosi for a long time.

A horn Mozart might have recognized--without all the valves and tubing of the modern double horn. In order to play in different keys, you'd plug in different crooks. From Stanford University's collection.

Early orchestras had a basic wind component of two oboes, two horns, and two bassoons. Flutes were less common, and clarinets didn't start showing up as "standard equipment" until Mozart's heyday. The symphony itself derived from the early three-part Italian opera overture (called "sinfonia"). Horns have often figured prominently in operas. However, until the "hand stopping" technique was developed in the Classical period, allowing for smoothly connected melodies, the horns could only play the notes of the natural harmonic series, as bugles do.

A simple way to think of it is that until Mozart's time, you could expect to hear horns in fanfares for gods and royalty or for rousing hunting music. In the Romantic period (after 1815), horn makers developed valves that allowed horns to play in different keys (without plugging in tubing called "crooks"). By the end of the 19th century, horns could be played pretty well in tune on any note of the scale, allowing composers to write music of great complexity for the instrument. Wagner, of course, developed his "Wagner tubas" to supplement his horn section. With Wagner and Strauss, the horn section grew from the four of Weber's Romantic orchestra to as many as 12 instruments!

So going chronologically:

Most Melting. Mozart's Così fan tutte: "Per pietà," Fiordiligi's achingly exquisite aria in which she agonizes over whether to remain faithful to Guglielmo or transfer her affection to the dashing newcomer (Ferrando disguised as an Albanian). The horn echoes and multiplies Fiordiligi's tender sentiments and questionings. (Act II; the horn part starts at 4:00) Soile Isokoski sings "Per pieta"

Most Determined. Beethoven's Fidelio: "Abscheulicher, wo eilst du hin" is Leonora's call to battle as she vows to rescue her husband Florestan from certain death as a political prisoner. Horns are great throughout but the end is fun starting at 6:58 (Act III). Karita Mattila sings "Abscheulicher" Karita Mattila (dressed as "Fidelio," a man)

Most German. Weber's Der Freischütz is chock full of fab horn music. Two places stand out: the joyous hunter's chorus in Act III and the magical moment in the "Wolf's Glen" scene when the Black Hunter's ghostly hunt is summoned up from the fires of Hell at the casting of the 5th magic bullet (Act II finale about 8 minutes in). Weber writes a dissonant parody of the hunting music to let us know that something evil is happening!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHFzg9WGot4

Most Suicidal. In "Fra poco a me ricovero" from Lucia di Lammermoor, Donizetti features the horns in the introduction to set the mood of arch-Romantic self-pity as Edgardo prepares to kill himself in the graveyard of his ancestors. A lot of audience members miss this aria because they think the show's over with the "Mad Scene," but I think this is the best music in the opera. The aria proper begins at 4:40 with more of them beautiful horns. Pavarotti at the top of his form in 1982!

Most Naughty. Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier: the opening orchestral prelude depicts a passionate bout of lovemaking between young Octavian and his older married lover, the Marschallin. The music bounds forth with panting, ever-increasing energy until three tremendous horn "rips" alert us to the climax at about 45 seconds in. And I mean "climax" literally! Wagner's musical climax in the "Liebestod" (Love-Death) at the end of Tristan und Isolde is significantly multi-orgasmic but we'll discuss that another time. Carlos Kleiber leads a stunning performance.

By the way, even though we Americans learned to call the instrument a "French horn" in music appreciation class, to the rest of the world it's just a horn. "Cor" in French, "corno" in Italian, "Horn" in German. Ironically, the American "French" horn is based on a German model! Anyway, Happy Birthday, Deb, and a tip of the spit valve to all the great horn playing in opera!

A cool video of a woman playing Siegfried's horn call in a beautiful European palace.

Make Mine a Puccini Sunrise

How do you make a Puccini Sunrise? Not with tequila! Try sake, cherry blossoms, and a dash of delusion. Yesterday as I was moving smartly to catch a train, the morning was brilliant and cool. It was the first sunny morning in years—or so it seemed. My brain radio responded by matching the rhythm of my steps with the sunrise music from the third and final act of Madama Butterfly.

Act II ended with the splendid “Humming chorus” during which Butterfly, her toddler, and her devoted servant Suzuki poke holes in the rice paper wall of their house, peering out for the first glimpse of Lt. B. F. Pinkerton’s return. Butterfly had seen his ship arrive in the harbor, and she and Suzuki despoiled the garden of every flower to decorate in joyful anticipation of his longed-for return. Night has fallen as Act II ends. Only Butterfly remains awake.

The prelude to Act III opens brutally with the stern and foreboding Japanese melody associated with Butterfly’s alienation from her people. Tender but anxious phrases lead to a new section of passionate music describing Butterfly’s fervent delusions, climaxing in a phrase that reminds us of her rapturous wedding night. (There are even some upward-yearning phrases that remind me of the famous Tristan & Isolde music.) All this we imagine running through the poor girl’s mind as she struggles to stay awake through the long night.

Now we hear the sound of work chants ("Oe, oe") coming from Nagasaki harbor. Puccini calls for the metallic clanking of chains and other sounds to let us know that the sea farers are setting off in the gray dawn. The first intimation of joyous day comes as Puccini combines a number of sprightly Japanese tunes, repeating them a little louder and with greater orchestral depth each time in the same way Rossini built his famous crescendos.

While the volume is still soft, Puccini calls for bird calls (made with a fun little instrument called a nightingale that burbles when you blow air into a cylinder filled with water). Ever increasing the excitement, Puccini adds bright instruments, like trumpets, the perky piccolo, and cymbals until the whole orchestra is dancing to the sparkle of the sun on the bay, and Butterfly’s home is filled with light. It’s a stunning piece of orchestral description!

Alas, it’s a cruel trick. Pretty soon Butterfly’s world will be destroyed. Other composers did it, too—they temporarily lighten a somber mood and give the audience some relief. There’s a more important function for these outbursts of joy: they heighten the contrast between the protagonist’s private sorrow and the seemingly carefree outer world. In Verdi’s La traviata, for example, the dying Violetta closes her window against the sound of mad Carnival rejoicing. In Werther, Massenet uses the sound of children singing Christmas carols as a counterpoint to the Werther’s death by suicide.

Geez, this is some heavy stuff. And all brought up by a brisk walk on a beautiful morning!

There’s a really interesting video that marries this prelude to Act III with scenes from a fascinating Madama Butterfly movie directed by Frédéric Mitterand. Be aware that the video you’re seeing is a montage of scenes from the film, but after seeing the beautiful images you’ll be tempted to rent the movie. It’s a heartbreaker.