Posts Tagged ‘Review’

Petrenko’s Rosenkavalier

Friday, March 7th, 2014

Otto Schenk’s 1972 staging of Der Rosenkavalier for Bavarian State Opera

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: March 7, 2014

MUNICH — Kirill Petrenko unobtrusively passed the litmus test of Der Rosenkavalier here this week, shaping the score on his own terms (March 5) amid the hoopla of his Bavarian State Opera company’s 2014–15 season announcement.

Energetic, vivid, not so flexible, often perilously fast or loud, but dynamically controlled, it was Strauss in the vein of Fritz Reiner more than departed local deity Carlos Kleiber (or for that matter Herbert von Karajan or Christian Thielemann). The orchestra scrambled at the start, and moments of repose through the evening were few.

Onstage the Generalmusikdirektor from Omsk, 42, had support in the experienced, affecting Feldmarschallin of Soile Isokoski and the commanding, comic Ochs of Peter Rose. But Mojca Erdmann worked hard for volume as a stiff, vaguely shrewish Sophie, and Alice Coote’s mezzo-soprano sounded stronger on top than in the middle, where the Knight’s music lives.

Otto Schenk’s faithful 42-year-old production — it entered the world 69 days after Petrenko and is now under threat of replacement — moves traffic with consummate expertise in Act I and still guarantees applause for the opulence of its Act II.

Photo © Wilfried Hösl

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Arcanto: One Piece at a Time

Friday, January 31st, 2014

Arcanto Quartet

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: January 31, 2014

MUNICH — The 11-year-old Arcanto Quartet, heard here last Friday (Jan. 24), is everything a chamber group shouldn’t be for promotional purposes. There are no family ties. Their instruments don’t match. They share no doctrine about period practice. They don’t grind out whole cycles of anyone’s music. Not surprisingly their U.S. debuts in 2010 passed with only modest fanfare: the Washington Post reviewer found himself split yet intrigued while The New York Times gave no coverage at all. Happily the Arcanto’s record label, Arles-based Harmonia Mundi, favors substance over flack and has documented their work in Mozart, Schubert and Bartók. The latter disc took a Preis der deutschen Schallplattenkritik.

Anchored by Jean-Guihen Queyras’s nimble cello and the resonant viola of Tabea Zimmermann, the group produces a centered, refined, light sound. Three centuries happen to separate the instruments used by these two members: Queyras, longtime soloist at IRCAM in Paris, plays a 1696 Cappa. But this detail seems incidental. Antje Weithaas, artistic leader of the Camerata Bern, and Daniel Sepec, concertmaster for the Deutsche Kammer-Philharmonie Bremen, are the sweet-toned violinists. Twenty-five months ago, here at the Prince Regent Theater, the Arcanto achieved minor miracles in Ravel’s Quartet in F Major before partnering Jörg Widmann for an ardent, haunting traversal of the Brahms Clarinet Quintet. The finicky Bavarian crowd roared its approval.

Last Friday’s visit, with the final quartets (1826) of Beethoven and Schubert, took place in the cool vaulted milieu of the Court Church of All Saints, diligently filled by presenter Bell’Arte. Versatile, nuanced playing proved that each work had been considered on its own terms: the F-Major Beethoven (Opus 135) characterized by nonchalance, the grander G-Major Schubert (D887) by an emphasis on fractionalized ideas that shadow late initiatives of the elder composer.

Beethoven’s Lento assai, cantante e tranquillo ruminated in a contented, consoling way. Queyras launched the lyrical second subject of the Muss es sein? movement with spry point, matched by Zimmermann. As Weithaas danced gleefully over the music’s last measures, after the shared pizzicato, the ensemble built cheerful true resolution not only of the immediate material but of the whole score. The Schubert received an intriguing performance. Ghoulish drama laced its Andante; delicate understated voices emerged lucidly in the Trio. In the passionate sections of the last movement, Allegro assai, the players found power in especially intense collaboration. The same composer’s Quartettsatz of 1820 (D703) served as recital opener, guided with spontaneity and considerable elegance by Weithaas.

Photo © Marco Borggreve

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Parsifal the Environmentalist

Thursday, January 23rd, 2014

Teatro Comunale di Bologna

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: January 23, 2014

BOLOGNA — This accepting and slightly chaotic city, famous for mortadella, lies south of Munich on the road to Rome. Here Mozart studied, Rossini grew up, Verdi premiered Don Carlo for his compatriots and a Wagner opera, Lohengrin, was staged in Italy for the first time.

Here too Parsifal had its first legitimate performance outside Bayreuth — at 3 p.m. on Jan. 1, 1914 — without bending the rules, adjusting the clock or relying on unilateral court permission. Determined to honor the centenary of this particular feat, Teatro Comunale di Bologna braved national cutbacks in subsidy to schedule six performances of the Bühnen-Weih-Festspiel this month in its 1,034-seat, 250-year-old house (pictured). It contracted a thoughtful 2011 Romeo Castellucci staging from Brussels, assembled a mostly worthy cast and, as early as November reportedly, put its musicians into rehearsals under Roberto Abbado.

On the second night of the run (Jan. 16), a Wagnerian body of sound emerged promptly from the pit, dispelling qualms that the orchestra — known for its central role at the Rossini Opera Festival in Pesaro — might not rise to the occasion. (Actually the Orchestra del Teatro Comunale offers a hefty concert season, held at Bologna’s Teatro Auditorium Manzoni, which is, like Heinz Hall, a converted movie house, but smaller and with good acoustics. Musical America blogger James Conlon leads a Jan. 30 program showcasing Shostakovich’s arduous Babi Yar Symphony.) Though there were blemishes, notably in the Act I Transformation, this Parsifal provided a plush four hours orchestrally. The winds intoned with precision, the strings shone or shimmered as required, exchanges were attentive and collegial. Abbado swept the music along in voluptuous waves, binding phrases together and tirelessly gesturing. It was a far cry from presentation of this score as slabs of aural concrete, or worse, operatic Bruckner.

Someone deserves credit for casting young Gábor Bretz in the senior duties of Gurnemanz. Here is a voice to sit back and enjoy all by itself: opulent, secure, relaxed, smoothly produced from bottom to top — and Bretz sang with enough poise to carry Act I mirth-free while costumed like Papageno. It was tempting to wonder what he might bring to, say, Winterreise. Anna Larsson remains an artist associated with concert repertory, but her Kundry worked strikingly in this production. From the low center of her voice — more alto than mezzo — she built smooth lines upward, projecting powerfully at the top while lending her courier and temptress an apt aura of timelessness. Castellucci does not throw his characters around the stage, and wild Kundry is no exception, but he does endow her with a six-foot living snake, to be held in one hand as she appeals to Parsifal. The snake duly writhed. Larsson modeled composure.

Overparted in the title role, tenor Andrew Richards sang guardedly much of the time and could not always be heard. But there were no ugly notes, even at moments when he was forced to force. His impact, in any case, was impaired by a staging that presents Parsifal as neither fool nor hero. Detlef Roth and Lucio Gallo both suffered a beat in the voice, as Amfortas and Klingsor, roles they performed together six years ago in Rome. Relatively young, Roth brought honeyed tone and crystalline German, but Wehvolles Erbe, dem ich verfallen shook in all the wrong ways. Gallo came across best during loud passages. The production substitutes balletic mimes for the six singing Blumenmädchen, who toil in the wings and thus avoid the bondage and torment enacted in view. A rapt, intensely lyrical (and tidy) Komm! Komm! Holder Knabe epitomized Abbado’s view of the score. Other roles were variably taken. The adult and children’s choruses contributed energetically but were out of sight some of the time and rather muffled.

Trained at Bologna’s Academy of Fine Arts, Castellucci built a reputation in legitimate theater before turning, with this Parsifal, to the bigger-budget world of opera. Unlike many régisseurs from the spoken side, he can follow at least the spirit of a musical score, even to the point of letting a character simply stand and sing. His Théâtre Royal de la Monnaie commission drew acclaim when it was new (and filmed). Taking as cue the forested first scene in the Land of the Grail and exploiting this opera’s abstractness, it converts the action into a plea against deforestation and pollution — a noble move, except that the open-ended threat to our environment precludes catharsis in the opera. Parsifal’s enlightenment, then, results merely in his joining the cause; the Grail serves as metaphor (its light is a white curtain); Good Friday could be any day of the year; and, needless to report, there is no white dove. The interpretation climaxes in Act III as the activist crowd plods forward on a huge whirring treadmill during the sublime Karfreitags-Zauber interlude.

All that said, Castellucci’s fresh approach exudes a certain calm resolve and compels attention, aided by impressive lighting effects. This performance added the benefit of fine musicianship. In a month that has cost Bologna its eminent citizen Claudio Abbado and, dismayingly, its 10-year-old award-winning Orchestra Mozart, the achievement with the Wagner is soothing balsam.

Photo © Teatro Comunale di Bologna

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On Wenlock Edge with MPhil

Thursday, January 9th, 2014

Wenlock Edge in Shropshire, England

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: January 9, 2014

MUNICH — Sullen, virile, often disembodied voices speak bluntly in Vaughan Williams’s On Wenlock Edge (1909). They are lost and living British Empire soldiers. Their plights, in six Housman texts, shape the 22-minute song cycle and its mildly chromatic “atmospheric effects,” resulting in music of stimulating directness — and French touches: counsel from Ravel pushed VW past expressive block in setting the words and precedent of Fauré helped determine the choice of tenor and piano quintet scoring.

This inimitable work is, inevitably, awkward to program, but musicians of the Munich Philharmonic found a way Dec. 15 on one of their nine intrepid Kammerkonzerte this season in the red and gold finery of the Künstlerhaus here on Lenbachplatz, drafting pianist Paul Rivinius and tenor Mark Padmore (who recorded On Wenlock Edge in 2007 and again this year). Songs by Britten and Ravel and the French composer’s F-Major String Quartet (1903) offered context.

The long Shropshire cliff of Vaughan Williams’s title is swept with a storm in the first song, as the speaker imagines himself in the steps of a Roman warrior. Padmore (52) hurled his lyric tenor into the maelstrom of sound here, buffeted but not trounced by the accompaniment. For Is My Team Ploughing? he deployed sweet head tones and dark shadings to sketch two soldier friends, one of them dead, conversing about shared work and a shared girl. The seven-stanza fifth song, Bredon Hill, provides backbone for the cycle, lamenting a fiancée’s death against the illusory background of Worcestershire church bells. Padmore traced its lines with somber resignation.

Julian Shevlin, Simon Fordham, Julia Rebekka Adler and Sissy Schmidhuber mustered tight ensemble in the Ravel quartet. Like dedicated chamber musicians, they had evidently established a mutual view of the score and were able to realize its tricky harmonies and shifting tone colors while throwing measured amounts of light on its textures. The wandering and somewhat Debussian third movement, Très lent, had more shape than is usual, without loss of refinement, and the concluding Vif et agité came across as marked. (One of the orchestra’s three concertmasters, Shevlin gave an eloquent account of Walton’s Violin Concerto nineteen months ago when Ivor Bolton conducted.)

Each half of the concert opened with a song cycle: Britten’s ample Winter Words (1953) and Ravel’s Cinq mélodies populaires grecques (1906). Though not quite warmed up for the Britten, Padmore made wily use of top notes and his gift for floating a phrase, lighting the words with imagination. His timbre in this music turned coarse when pressured, however, and he applied pressure often. The mélodies found him just as effective in French. Rivinius played with lively confidence, an equal partner.

This annual Sunday matinée concert series began in 2007 during Christian Thielemann’s tenure as Generalmusikdirektor. Initially held at the Jewish Museum, the events were relocated for better acoustics four seasons ago. The musicians themselves choose the programs, eyeing adventure: Rezsö Kókai’s Quartettino and Franz Krommer’s B-flat Bassoon Quartet, for instance, feature at a concert next month. Silvia Hauer and Anja Harteros, at other Munich Philharmonic Kammerkonzerte this season, will sing music for voice and ensemble: Hindemith’s Unheimliche Aufforderung, Fauré’s cycle La bonne chanson and Chausson’s Chanson perpétuelle — the last two scored, like On Wenlock Edge, for piano quintet accompaniment.

Photo © Paul Hodgkinson

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Kušej Saps Verdi’s Forza

Friday, December 27th, 2013

La forza del destino at Bavarian State Opera in December 2013

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: December 27, 2013

MUNICH — Martin Kušej’s new staging of La forza del destino for Bavarian State Opera opened Dec. 22 and is due for streaming tomorrow. Well cast, it alas trivializes the feud and the questions of honor and destiny that excited Verdi and his librettist Piave, despite being the busy company’s second try in eight years at this jumpy work.

At the second performance (Dec. 25), Anja Harteros soared as Leonora, her voice radiant and expressive. Nadia Krasteva’s Preziosilla sounded firmer than four years ago in Vienna, where she operated as a cowgirl. Jonas Kaufmann simulated tenorial heroics as Alvaro, but leaden tempos in Act III audibly strained him. Ludovic Tézier introduced a solid, resonant Carlo, Vitalij Kowaljow a menacing Guardiano (and Calatrava). Renato Girolami savored brief humor as a foam-container-meal-doling Melitone.

Though reportedly booed on opening night, conductor Asher Fisch ably commanded the structure and balances (as he had done for Don Carlo here in January 2012). His clinical discipline recalls the Verdi of Karajan without the orchestral megalomania, but also without Karajan’s flair in cantabile lines. Chorus and orchestra sounded splendid.

Kušej does not sustain the pace of Piave’s conception or inform its twists of fate. Instead he weakens the opera with banal settings and a political agenda all his own. Much of the time, we are on the premises of what appears to be a poor (American) evangelical church; Leonora gets a head-to-toe dunking in baptismal water. Visual references to Guantánamo and an Act III detour to Abu Ghraib, rather than propelling a feud, suggest anti-Americanism.

The production follows Verdi’s 1869 Milan score, modified in Act III according to a Franz Werfel scheme used for the 1926 Munich premiere of La forza del destino (under a 31-year-old Karl Böhm).

Photo © Wilfried Hösl

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Volodos the German Romantic

Sunday, December 22nd, 2013

Arcadi Volodos

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: December 22, 2013

MUNICH — Somewhere between the patent introspection of his new Mompou CD* and the tags of his early Stateside career — “big bravura pianist,” “new Horowitz” — lies an accurate description of Arcadi Volodos. It may simply be this: German Romantic, as in Schumann and Brahms, with impressionist flair.

That was the take, anyway, from a commanding, technically flawless Bell’Arte recital Dec. 12 here at the Prinz-Regenten-Theater, and it is buoyed by the disc. The 41-year-old pianist from St Petersburg stands distant from the trajectory of his rise: 1998 Carnegie Hall debut, Berlin readings of Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky concertos (1999 and 2002). He still plays with strength and vision, but what distinguishes him now is a command of form and the willingness to disturb it in expressive ways.

Stardom, meanwhile, has improbably blurred thanks to the presence of another St Petersburg pianist with what trademark authorities might term a confusingly similar name, Alexei Volodin, 36. (No also-ran, the latter gave a recital himself Dec. 15 at the Mariinsky.) Even so, allegiance to Volodos has held firm, particularly here in Germany, and to its credit his record label Sony Classical has stayed with him.

Schubert’s 1815 C-Major Sonata opened the recital, stitched up with its Allegretto (D279/D346). It seemed a weak choice until Volodos testily hammered and carved his way through, knowing exactly what he wanted from the music. We heard the sound of Beethoven.

The pianist stressed formal commonalities in the standalone pieces of Brahms’s Opus 118 (1893) and allowed contrasts to make their point without emphasis. Full, deep tone colors throughout, and natural lyricism in the framing sections of the A-Major Intermezzo and in the Romance, lent due character. In the final measures of the E-flat-Minor Intermezzo, as poetic cap, Volodos mustered a monumental stillness. (His reported recent success in Brahms’s Second Piano Concerto, with longtime collaborator Riccardo Chailly, is consistent.)

After the break and a fluent Schumann Kinderszenen, Volodos boldly energized the same composer’s C-Major Fantasie (both 1838), its three movements speaking with phenomenal power and passionate unity. For the Finale (Langsam getragen, durchweg leise zu halten), he coaxed a mood of poignant reflection unmatched even by Pollini in the famous 1973 recording (made across town here at the Herkulessaal).

The CD* of miniatures by Federico Mompou (1893–1987), recorded last December in Berlin, is a worthy issue in these times of superfluity. Few distinguished recordings have been made of the Spaniard’s music, and Volodos commits himself intensely to it, judging from his liner essay as well as his playing. Although the output is often related to Satie, Mompou’s late imaginative world (not the style) lies closer to Debussy in his Préludes.

Volodos declares the four Música callada sets (1951, 1962, 1965, 1967) to be peaks of achievement: “ … the music [Mompou] spent all his life moving towards … wrested from eternity, as if it already existed in the Spheres … .” He plays eleven of the pieces, from the total of 28, drawing on all four sets in a sequence his own. This “quietened music” is both abstract and personal, the product of an old solitary man, but not one at death’s door; Mompou lived another twenty years after completing Set 4. Many pieces are “Lento,” a marking that satisfies the composer for divergent exercises in peace (VI), pain and emptiness (XXI), and generalized remoteness or stillness. Others, such as the Moderato XXIV of 1967, flow so plainly and concisely that a marking is hardly needed. The many chilly passages in the Música callada tend to be broken by warm chords in unexpected places.

Volodos revels in the myriad nuances of these valued miniatures and, as in Brahms, downplays contrasts in favor of coherence. He finds fantasy here and there, catches the fleeting moments of excitement, and instantly lets ideas go when they must. The interpretations are light of touch and magical.

Half of the disc holds short independent works, most of them tellingly shaped. In Preludio 12 (1960) and elsewhere, Volodos shows Vlado Perlemuter’s knack for placing just the right weightings in pale adjacent phrases to support a long idea, saving music that could easily sound aimless. The much earlier (1918) Scènes d’enfants suite, home of the cute encore Jeunes filles au jardin, receives an imaginative traversal. Sony’s release is strikingly packaged with photographic details of Antonio Gaudí buildings in Barcelona, the composer’s home town, although typos mar its booklet. The company might now want to entice Volodos into documenting the remaining Música callada.

[*In August 2014 the disc received an Echo Klassik Award.]

Photo © Sony Music Entertainment

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A Complete Frau, at Last

Friday, November 22nd, 2013

Die Frau ohne Schatten in Munich

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: November 22, 2013

MUNICH — Everything looked ready for its close-up, Mr. DeMille, at Die Frau ohne Schatten last night (Nov. 21). Down to the last falcon feather. When the cameras roll for a Dec. 1 live stream of this new Bavarian State Opera production, the copious blue-greens, red and purple accents, photo-realistic surfaces, world-of-wildlife accessories, and yes, even Krzysztof Warlikowski’s dramaturgy, should block, pan and zoom handsomely, variedly. From a fixed seat in the National Theater, though, visual stimulus was scarce once the viewer tired of the staging’s massed white tiles or wood panels at a certain distance, and its falconine helmets.

Ironically the theater building itself was ostensive hero yesterday. Exactly fifty years have passed since it reopened, with this same epic opera, after a 1943 pummeling by American and British bombers, much recalled this season in dozens of black-and-white promotional images and a fat new book.

The festive evening also marked Day One of public opera duty for the company’s new Generalmusikdirektor Kirill Petrenko and, remarkably, the first complete performance in Munich of the grandest score (1915) of local lad Richard Strauss. The music triumphed.

Warlikowski shifts Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s story of regeneration to a 1940s sanatorium — cure facility à la Thomas Mann, not madhouse. The Kaiser and Kaiserin (Johan Botha and Adrianne Pieczonka) are customers. Barak and wife (Wolfgang Koch and Elena Pankratova) have traded dyeing work for careers in spa-based healthcare, specifically in the establishment’s busy laundry. Prone to hearing voices, self-identifying as a gazelle, and troubled with visions of her husband turned to stone, the Kaiserin has submitted to a drugged-out regimen of extended lounging, accompanied by her fawning, pawing, animated gay Amme (Deborah Polaski).

Trips between the earthly and spiritual planes of the Hofmannsthal scheme are reduced to walks and elevator rides around a wing of the sanatorium. But Warlikowski compensates. Pretty raptors — more of them than a hunting Kaiser could need, and more than would ever get along in the wild — enliven scenes with deft sudden neck-rotations. Keikobad is enacted as a bent stick-insect of a man on a cane, a silent Max Schreck in need of chiropractic. Video projections provide aqueous segues in the action, and clips from Resnais’s L’année dernière à Marienbad throw at least an opening light on the imperial couple; Warlikowski fails to close it out.

Miraculously Petrenko mastered pit-and-stage balances on this first night, something his predecessor seldom did in seven years with the Bavarian State Orchestra. (Guest conductors typically get them wrong, too. Ivor Bolton succeeds, but he has worked here for two decades and favors more temperate music.) These, and restrained, beautifully intoned woodwind playing alone made the listening a pleasure. But the strings, besides, emitted wondrous silky shimmers we don’t often hear.

Then there was the singing, none of it forced or shrill. Pieczonka reveled in warm, glorious tones, from the agile passages of Act I to the trenchant, focused declamation of her trial. She had no need to milk Ich will nicht! because she had built up the scene so powerfully leading to it. Polaski made her character a credible close presence in the Kaiserin’s life, sustaining the director’s conception. She sang with impeccable control (at age 64) and let loose new energy in her final, bitter scene.

Botha had the notes, even if his pitch wavered here and there. Koch, in the shoes of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau fifty years ago, furnished his role with a pleasing cantabile sound. In Act III’s Schweiget doch, ihr Stimmen! … Mir anvertraut, dass ich sie hege sequence, he wisely declined to push to match Pankratova’s volume. Without a home of her own in Warlikowski’s staging, the role of the Färberin is curbed dramatically. Pankratova made her considerable impact last night mostly through the music, painting words in detail, coyly in her early dialog with the Amme, and shaping vocal lines tellingly rather than coming on strong with her mighty instrument. Supporting roles were well taken. Vocal-ensemble and choral contributions had evidently been tightly rehearsed, although some lapses of coordination marred the last pages of the opera.

Realized with ideal balances and alert intonation, Strauss’s uncut music rose from the bottom under Petrenko, its counterpoint resilient and its parts properly weighted. Not a single ugly note sounded all evening, vocal or instrumental. No one audibly tired. Oddly for a premiere here, no one booed at curtain, not even at the director and his team. And the five hours flew by.

Photo © Wilfried Hösl

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A “Thank-You” Note Is Not The Same As A License

Thursday, November 21st, 2013

By Brian Taylor Goldstein, Esq.

Dear Law and Disorder:

I was wondering if I have my own blog and post a music video from iTunes in the blog, giving full credit to the musician, including the musician’s original link, would this be legal? And can you please specify on what full credit means.  Further, if I can’t do this, how do you go about getting permission from the musician??  Thank you!

A “copyright” is literally the right to make copies. A copyright “infringement” is when you make a copy of something without the owner’s permission.

Almost everything you can find on the internet (photos, images, videos, text, etc.) is someone else’s property. Part of the challenge of understanding digital rights is that the ease with which we can download and copy materials on the internet tends to make us forget that copying any materials without permission is still copyright infringement.

Without question, many people post pictures, videos, and other materials and are more than happy to have others repost and share them; but that decision is entirely up to the person who owns the materials. In other words, just because a car is parked on the street, doesn’t mean its free for the taking.

Purchasing and downloading a video from itunes only gives you the right to enjoy it. It doesn’t give you the right to re-post or copy the video. As such, posting someone else’s video on your blog would constitute copyright infringement unless you had permission from the owner of the video.

If you are commenting on or reviewing the video or the artist, then, arguably, you might be able to claim that posting the video constitutes “fair use.” However, the more of an item you post, the less “fair use” it becomes. So, an excerpt of a video is more likely to be “fair use” than posting the entire video. The better option would be for you to post a link to the video rather than post the video itself. In other words, you would be inviting your readers to go to itunes or the artist’s own website to view the video. This way, the owner can control whether or not they want the video to be shared.

I know many people who subscribe to the theory that, in practical terms, you should post anything you want until someone tells you to take it down. However, in practical terms, that’s also called “really bad advice.”

As for giving “full credit”, giving an owner credit in any form or manner neither gives you any rights to post materials nor absolves you of copyright infringement. Stealing a car, but leaving a thank you note crediting the owner, doesn’t make it any less a crime. If you want to get actual permission to repost a video, photograph, or any other copyrighted material, then you need to get permission (aka “a license”) from the owner—which may or may not be the artist. More often than not, video rights are controlled by record labels. Nonetheless, when seeking licenses, the best place to start is always the musician’s publisher, manager, or agent.

__________________________________________________________________

For additional information and resources on this and otherGG_logo_for-facebook legal and business issues for the performing arts, visit ggartslaw.com

To ask your own question, write to lawanddisorder@musicalamerica.org.

All questions on any topic related to legal and business issues will be welcome. However, please post only general questions or hypotheticals. GG Arts Law reserves the right to alter, edit or, amend questions to focus on specific issues or to avoid names, circumstances, or any information that could be used to identify or embarrass a specific individual or organization. All questions will be posted anonymously.

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THE OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER:

THIS IS NOT LEGAL ADVICE!

The purpose of this blog is to provide general advice and guidance, not legal advice. Please consult with an attorney familiar with your specific circumstances, facts, challenges, medications, psychiatric disorders, past-lives, karmic debt, and anything else that may impact your situation before drawing any conclusions, deciding upon a course of action, sending a nasty email, filing a lawsuit, or doing anything rash!

 

 

Return of the Troubadour

Wednesday, November 13th, 2013

Jonas Kaufmann and Elena Manistina with Azucena’s mom-ghost in Il trovatore at Bavarian State Opera

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: November 13, 2013

MUNICH — Olivier Py’s neon-lit vaudeville vision of Il trovatore is back, with cast adjustments. At the performance on Nov. 9, Krassimira Stoyanova introduced a cool-timbred Leonora of a certain age, her versatile and expressive top reflecting keen musicianship. Vitaliy Bilyy lurched about in hammy fits as di Luna but sounded potent. If his Il balen wanted more suavity, at least the baritone mustered heft in important places and, with Stoyanova, brought excitement to Mira, di acerbe lagrime … Vivrà! contende il giubilo. Goran Jurić, the so-so Ferrando, managed to swallow more words than he projected.

Looking less engaged than at the June 27 premiere, conductor Paolo Carignani bounced along the top layer of the music. His Miserere again lacked tension. Elena Manistina and Jonas Kaufmann replicated their contributions of five months ago, complete with a now slicker intermission box-sawing.

Photo © Wilfried Hösl

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BR Chor’s Humorless Rossini

Saturday, November 2nd, 2013

Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: November 2, 2013

MUNICH — Can music be sincere and ironic at the same time? Ask Peter Dijkstra, the artistic leader of the BR Chor who last weekend (Oct. 26) led Rossini’s Petite messe solennelle as billed. Solemnly. The result sounded not much like Rossini. Nobody smiled, and the musicians looked tense on the stage of the Prinz-Regenten-Theater, even as they sang and played expertly.

But perhaps the composer was smiling, wherever he is. The famously social 71-year-old used the tuneful giddy Mass — his only complete setting of the Ordinary — to demand admission to Paradise, describing for God its ingredients: “[un] peu de science, un peu de coeur.” The year was 1863 and Paris was digesting Darwin’s De l’origine des espèces, ou Des lois du progrès chez les êtres organizés, in its first French edition. Rossini may have viewed his demand as only natural. Ditto his casting stipulation: “chanteurs des trois sexes – hommes, femmes et castrats.”

If Dijkstra’s straight face precluded irony, and with it a few musical plaisanteries, at least he secured a tidy performance. His choristers, forty strong, mustered volume sparingly, reveling most of the time in transparent textures, soft floated tones and expressive accents. The evening burst into life in their spry counterpoint for Cum Sancto Spiritu, but choral virtuosity was just as apparent in Rossini’s contrasted, wistful Sanctus.

BR Chor members could have been assigned as quartet soloists, as the composer planned. Instead, BR (Bayerischer Rundfunk) hired glamorous outsiders. Regula Mühlemann and (mezzo-soprano) Anke Vondung paired exquisitely in the soprano and alto duet Qui tollis peccata mundi. Mühlemann’s sweet, light sound and the charm of her phrasing added luster to the Thomas Aquinas hymn, O salutaris hostia, interpolated after the Sanctus by Rossini (in 1867) to press musically his case for an agreeable afterlife. Vondung attuned herself to all colleagues, singing with dynamic sensitivity and great poise. She even adjusted neatly to the sudden weight of the Agnus Dei, pleading earnestly for mercy and peace against the score’s quirky aura of melodrama.

Eric Cutler and (baritone) Michael Volle made heavy work of the tenor and bass solo parts. Cutler, alarmingly, bellowed through the Domine Deus, but he brought finesse to the ensembles. Performing on a break from a run of Les vêpres siciliennes in London, Volle brightly characterized his words.

Mordant musical wit in the Petite messe solennelle mirrors Rossini’s droll remarks in its dédicace to God and on the manuscript’s flyleaf. In a skillful reading, particularly one using the original scoring for two pianos and harmonium, as on this occasion, a thread of humor helps link the incongruous styles and moods of the individual sections, ranging as they do from jaunty to buffo to melodramatic to properly solemn.

Dijkstra erred anyway on the side of objectivity, also slowness, and passive accompaniment from the duo pianists belabored his approach. Andreas Groethuysen (principal) and Yaara Tal (second piano) hovered below the music’s surface much of the time. The bubbly rhythmic figurations in the Kyrie passed by unremarkably. The instrumental Offertorio, waggishly labeled Prélude religieux lest anyone find it misplaced, lacked shape and in fact dragged. Groethuysen faltered technically now and then as well.

In a nod to the Verdi bicentennial, Dijkstra began the concert with the unaccompanied, seldom-heard Pater noster (O Padre nostro che ne’ cieli stai) of 1878, sung mellifluously in clear Italian with restrained power. Here his straightforwardness paid off. (Mariss Jansons is chief conductor of the BR Chor.)

Photo © Johannes Rodach

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