Last night at Disney Hall, Salonen conducted the world premiere of a lost theater piece from the 1930s.
In 1932 Shostakovich began working on an “opera buffa political pamphlet” titled Orango, with a libretto by Alexander Starchavkov and Alexi Tolstoy. It was a farce about a half-human ape’s career as a tabloid journalist. The political suppression of Shostakovich’s work that began in 1934 led him to abandon it, and never mention it again. The piano score was discovered in 2004 in Shostakovich’s archive in the Glinka Museum. Shostakovich’s widow encouraged British composer and scholar of Russian music Gerard McBurney to orchestrate it. He did, and here were are. She was in the audience last night and took a bow. History.
So what we saw last night was just a fragment. But it didn’t matter, because it was a very absurd and episodic. I can see it getting performed with Satie’s Parade, which has the same setting and tone.
The evening begins with members of the audience (The Master Chorale) shouting a rowdy song about how the revolution has transformed life.
In response an MC (Ryan McKinny) comes out and begins inventorying accomplishments of the Soviet Union. The stage-audience shouts that it wants entertainment, not a lecture.
The MC presents a dance by a star ballerina—cleverly presented a fake antique black and white movie. The dance inspires a “Quick Dance with Chorus Line” (not staged). This is a rousing orchestral showpiece—the musical high point of the piece—and it will have a long life ahead of it at the Hollywood Bowl. When it ended, the actual audience emitted a justified “Wow!”
Not appeased, the stage-audience demands to see the Orango, the half-human ape. Orango (Eugene Brancoveanu) is installed in his cage. A self-absorbed scientist (Michael Fabiano) describes him and makes him perform stupid tricks, oblivious to the fact that Orango is miserable.
Finally Orango breaks out of his cage and attacks a woman in the actual audience (Yulia van Doren). Chaos. Everyone comes on stage. The woman’s partner (Timur Bekbossunov) introduces himself as a journalist and begins trying to interview Salonen while he’s conducting. Probably the comic high point.
Another scientist and his daughter appear, promising to tell Orango’s life story. The fragment ends there. The rest of the opera was to be a flash-back, detailing Orango’s youth and career in the West.
This was a lot to take in. The unpredictable Peter Sellars directed, and, to his credit, kept things moving and relatively coherent.
The down side was the slide show of images from Occupy Wall Street, Tahir Square and other news accompanying the overture and other instrumental parts. I get the link to Shostakovich’s satire of commercialism and entertainment media, but the images were ugly (with the shadows of microphone wires), and distracting from the music.
A more substantive decision was to present the stage-audience chorus as a bunch of rowdy idiots. This permitted some fun—they were sitting in civilian clothes in the seats behind the orchestra, waving their arms and drinking from forbidden flasks like they were at a football game. They obviously had a ball. But is that what they were really supposed to be? Their music is rather triumphant rather than satirical. But it’s a tough call.
In the second half the program, Salonen conducted the symphony Shostakovich had been working on around the time of Orango and his political problems. The 4th was completed in 1936, but not performed in the USSR till 1961.
I hope to live to see the day when it is possible to write about Shostakovich without using the word “Soviet.” He’s more than a tragic case.
This work is especially wild. It begins like an orchestra version of a Suprematist painting. The second part features a vulgar bleating trombone. And it ends with the violins droning quietly, like The Unanswered Question of Charles Ives. And at every point it changes mood and tone abruptly. It’s jarring. Parts are immediately appealing, others are opaque. The Phil sounded wonderful.
The audience, I should note, also sounded off in a way that was not wonderful. I’m so naïve, it takes me a while to realize that the thing I’m hearing besides the orchestra is a couple having a full-on conversation in front of me. Is it technology or psychological insecurity that has made it impossible for some people to sit quietly and focus on something for 40 minutes?
Mind you, this is not a problem confined to the cheap seats—not by a long shot. And it’s not a problem of kids who probably have more experience hanging out at rock concerts. Whatever it is, it’s making it frightening to take ones seat. Deborah Borda needs to get on the ball and raise some money to install an instant-disintegration of noisemakers death ray.