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Showing posts with label Georg Friedrich Händel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Georg Friedrich Händel. Show all posts

Saturday, September 21, 2024

Violence Against Men: The Age of the Castrato

Fairy tales normally start with “Once upon a Time,” and generally end with “and they lived happily ever after.” But some of the supposed musical fairy tales I’ve been reading about are not nice stories at all. I am talking about countless young boys who underwent castration for musical purposes. What a ghastly convention practiced almost exclusively in Italy throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. Historians tell us, “the taste for castrato voices arose mainly because in large parts of Italy, including the Vatican, women’s voices were not allowed in church.” Since puberty turned choirboys into males and falsettists were considered unsatisfying, the horrid practice began. In a disgusting game of twisting your arm, princely states, leading churches or singing companies approached the parents of a boy who was considered the most talented singer in his church choir. Boys were generally recruited before the age of twelve and from the poorest areas and the poorest families. Since the leading castratos were among the most famous and most highly paid musicians in Europe, it supposedly offered great financial security for many families facing starvation.

Alessandro Moreschi, 1900

Alessandro Moreschi, 1900

Surgeons used minimal anaesthesia while performing the “operation.” On occasion, “a certain quantity of opium was given to persons designed for castration, whom they cut while there were in their dead sleep…but it was observed that most of those who had been cut after this manner died.” If the boy happened to survive the operation, the lack of testosterone made his thoracic cavity developed greatly, “while the larynx and the vocal cords developed much more slowly.” Combined with intensive training, castrati often had unrivalled lungpower and breath capacity. Singing through small and child-sized vocal chords, their voices were extraordinarily flexible and quite different from the equivalent adult female voice. We only have a single sound document to give us a taste of what a castrato voice actually sounded like. Alessandro Moreschi (1858-1922), the last Sistine castrato, was known as “The Angel of Rome” at the beginning of his career. When he made his recordings in 1902 and 1904, he was clearly past his prime, but we still get a fascinating glimpse into the sound world of the castrato. 

Subjecting boys to the “operation” produced a host of different outcomes. A leading scholar writes, “There were high-sopranos, mezzos, and altos, strident voices and sweet ones, loud and mellow voices, more and less flexible throats, very tall men and very short, well and ill-proportioned castrati.” The vast majority of castrati were mediocre or bad singers and became low-level performers traveling between small towns. A very small number, however, reached unprecedented fame, and their abilities had great influence on the development of both oratorio and opera. Let’s go ahead and meet some of the most famous castrati and the repertory they inspired, starting with Giovanni Grossi, nicknamed “Siface” (1653–1697). That particular nickname originated from his stellar performance of “Syphax” in Cavalli’s Scipione affricano in Rome in 1671. He was in the service of the Duke of Modena, and he sang at the opening of the “Teatro Grimani” in Venice. It is said, that his fame even attracted the attention of Queen Christina of Sweden in Rome.

Giovanni Grossi, nicknamed “Siface”

Giovanni Grossi, nicknamed “Siface”

Siface traveled to Paris and London, and a contemporary witness reports. “I heard the famous singer, the Eunuch Cifacca, esteemed the best in Europe and indeed his holding out and delicateness in extending and loosing a note with that incomparable softness, and sweetness was admirable: For the rest, I found him a mere wanton, an effeminate child; very coy and proudly conceited.” His beautiful voice was sadly contrasted by his bad temper, arrogant behaviour, and volatile temperament. Like Alessandro Stradella, “Siface” was murdered for an indiscreet affair, about which he foolishly boasted. When Siface traveled between Ferrara and Bologna, where he was engaged to sing, he was killed by musket fire at the hands of assassins hired by the woman’s family. The murder created a great scandal, and the Duke of Modena made sure the guilty party was held accountable. Siface’s voice was long remembered; in 1741, he was still “famous beyond any, for the most singular beauty of his voice.”

Nicolo Grimaldi, nicknamed “Nicolini”

Nicolo Grimaldi, nicknamed “Nicolini”

The famed alto castrato Nicolo Grimaldi, nicknamed “Nicolini” (1673–1732) was considered the leading male singer of his age. The critic and musicologist Charles Burney described him as “a great singer and still greater actor.” Joseph Addison called him “the greatest performer in dramatic music that is now living or that perhaps ever appeared on a stage.” Born in Naples, Nicolini sang in Naples Cathedral and the royal chapel from 1690. He frequently appeared in opera and, during his early career, was primarily associated with Alessandro Scarlatti. In fact, he sang in the premières of Scarlatti’s La caduta de’ Decemviri (1697), Il prigioniero fortunato (1698), ArminioL’amor generoso and Scipione nelle Spagne (1714), Tigrane (1715) and Cambise (1719). He took part in thirty-six productions in Naples and thirty-four in Venice, and countless composers created roles for him.

When Nicolini went to London in 1708, he became partly responsible for the increasing popularity of Italian opera in London. He made his England début at the Queen’s Theatre in Haym’s arrangement of Scarlatti’s Pirro e Demetrio. That performance was a huge success, and he signed a three-year contract with Owen Swiney. He sang in all the operas during that period and also sang the title role in the first performance of Handel’s Rinaldo. Until the age of 50, Nicolini “followed the pattern typical for star castrati.” Instead of retiring, however, Nicolini began to take on characters whose age approximated his own. Between 1727 and 1731, all new roles specifically written for him were typical tenor roles. These roles helped Nicolini “to conceal his vocal liabilities—shortness of breath, diminished range and sound quality—as they lent themselves to situations in which characters express passions such as vengefulness, disdain, imperiousness, reproachfulness or remorse.” In 1731, Nicolini was engaged to sing in Pergolesi’s first opera Salustia, but he died during rehearsals.


Francesco Bernardi, nicknamed “Senesino”

Francesco Bernardi, nicknamed “Senesino”

Francesco Bernardi (1686–1758) was born in Siena, and his nickname “Senesino” was derived from his birthplace. He became one of the most acclaimed castrato singers of his day, and his vocal ability was described in some detail. “He had a powerful, clear, equal and sweet contralto voice, with a perfect intonation and an excellent shake. His manner of singing was masterly, and his elocution unrivalled. Though he never loaded Adagios with too many ornaments, yet he delivered the original and essential notes with the utmost refinement. He sang Allegros with great fire and marked rapid divisions from the chest in an articulate and pleasing manner. His countenance was well adapted to the stage, and his action was natural and noble. To these qualities, he joined a majestic figure.” Senesino initially toured a huge number of Italian theatres and was engaged for Dresden in 1717. He commanded a huge salary but was fired for insubordination in 1720. Apparently, he refused to sing one of the arias from Heinichen’s Flavio Crispo, and tore up the part.

George Frideric Handel, who had been scouting Senesino, brought him to London and engaged him for his company. Senesino joined the Royal Academy of Music for its second season in September 1720. He made his début at the King’s Theatre on 19 November in Giovanni Bononcini’s Astarto and remained a member of the company until June 1728. Senesino sang in all 32 operas produced during this period, and that included seventeen leading roles composed by Handel. Senesino was a superstar, and described as “beyond Nicolini both in person and voice… and beyond all criticism.” The relationship between Handel and Senesino was frequently stormy, as “one was perfectly refractory; the other was equally outrageous.” By all accounts, Senesino’s character was “marred by touchiness, insolence and an excess of professional vanity.” It is reported that he insulted Anastasia Robinson at a public rehearsal in 1724, “for which Lord Peterborough publicly and violently caned him behind the scenes.” Senesino’s tantrums and intrigues were largely responsible for the split with Handel in 1733. In the event, his musical qualifications were superb. He was renowned for “brilliant and taxing coloratura in heroic arias and expressive mezza voce in slow pieces.” Apparently, he had no equal in the pronunciation of recitative, and he “was unsurpassed in accompanied recitatives.


Giacinto Fontana, nicknamed “Farfallino”

Giacinto Fontana, nicknamed “Farfallino”

Giacinto Fontana (1692–1739), nicknamed “Farfallino,” was primarily active in Rome between 1712 and 1736. Apparently, he specialized in singing soprano female roles, and was said to have had a high-pitched and small boyish voice. Rather feminine in appearance, he is known to have portrayed an occasional pregnant primadonna. It was his graceful stage appearance that probably earned him his nickname “Little Butterfly.” Graceful stage appearance aside, he seemed to have had a somewhat violent temper, as he almost fought a duel with another musician behind the scenes. “The music he sang does not suggest extraordinary technical abilities,” but he nevertheless created roles in operas by Bononcini, Scarlatti, Vivaldi, Vinci and the later works of Francesco Gasparini.

Saturday, July 27, 2024

The Evolution of Handel's Music (From 14 to 66 Years Old)



Friday, April 12, 2024

Transcending Tunes of Light and Shade Handel: Messiah

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

Credit: http://www.portlandhandelsociety.org/

George Frideric Handel © portlandhandelsociety.org

The reasons for this tradition are somewhat apocryphal: one version is that at the first London performance in 1743, the audience “together with the King”, were so moved by the ‘Hallelujah’ Chorus that they spontaneously rose to their feet. An alternative explanation is that King George II was so tone-deaf that he thought the performance had finished, and the orchestra was playing the National Anthem: once the King stood, everyone present was obliged to stand too. Whatever the reason, there is something really special about standing for such an uplifting and triumphant piece of music.

For me ‘Messiah’ will forever be associated with the beginning of the Christmas season. When I was at school, it formed an integral part of the concert which ended the Autumn term, along with the service of nine lessons and carols at the church next door to my school. I must have sung Handel’s ‘Messiah’ at least 10 times, for the tradition of performing it at Christmas continued when I joined my university choir.

Background

‘Messiah’ was composed in 1741, with a text compiled by Charles Jennens from the King James Bible and the version of the Psalms included with the Book of Common Prayer. It was first performed in Dublin on 13 April 1742 and received its London premiere nearly a year later. Initially it received a modest public reception, despite Handel’s established reputation in England, where he had lived since 1712, but gradually the oratorio gained in popularity and it is now one of the best-known, much-loved and most frequently performed choral works in Western music. 

The Story

The work is organised in three sections: Part 1 tells the story of the birth of Christ and includes all the familiar elements of the Christmas story. Part 2 is concerned with Christ’s passion and death, his resurrection and ascension, and ends with the joyous ‘Hallelujah’ chorus. It is this aspect of the work which makes it just as applicable for performance at Easter as well as at Christmas (in fact, its premiere in Dublin took place 19 days after Easter 1742). Part 3 returns to the theme of resurrection and represents the real core of the work as Christ’s resurrection is connected to our own redemption and sense of hope, beautifully affirmed in one of the work’s most famous arias, ‘I Know that My Redeemer Liveth’. And I suppose the best thing about ‘Messiah’ really is all the memorable ‘tunes’ – from ‘Ev’ry Valley Shall be Exalted’ to ‘The Trumpet Shall Sound’, ‘I Know My Redeemer Liveth’ to the charming duet between tenor and alto ‘O Death Where is Thy Sting’. Then there are the choruses: ‘And the Glory of the Lord’, ‘All We Like Sheep’, ‘For Unto Us a Child is Born, ‘Hallelujah’, and the wonderful fugue of the final chorus. In between all this are some beautiful solos, recitatives, which serve to move the narrative forward, and delightful orchestral interludes.

Handel brings the text to life with light and shade, storms and sunshine, fugue and counterpoint, and a huge variety of textures and “word painting”, the technique of having the melody mimic the literal meaning of the libretto. Because of the skilful way in which Handel organises the material, and the universal, redemptive message of the text, Messiah remains a work which is uplifting and life-affirming, regardless of how it is performed.