for those in the know, the twentieth of april (1974) is a very important date, for democracy, for dreams and for a tiny little country seated by the atlantic, the western part of europe, where land ends and the sea/dream starts. it is indeed the day of the ‘carnation’ revolution, as once was knew, in portugal, and symbolises the defeat of fascism in europe with the kick out of marcello caetano, president of the last fascist country in europe (?) – an important day to all, aware or not of these struggles and oppressions, as the supposed new world was starting. they were free, therefore we were free. this preamble makes me sad as last twentieth of april i put my legs and my brain on the way to ‘the place’, a very nice organisation for multi-arts/media, that i visited before several times to see, watch and be marvelled with words, songs, theatre plays, performances and installations (of which, just once, i was involved in the way of words for an art installation/video performance of the lovely sonia rodrigues.) i arrived and had a portuguese lager (i hate lager, but, patriotism oblige...) and i smoked a disgusting cigarette and observed languidly the people arriving to ‘the place’ trying to guess who was portuguese or not. the reason is that i was completely excited, like a little child to whom there was the promise of a wonder, a lollipop perhaps or a fable... yes, i recognised immediately this elegant and sculpture-like woman smoking gently, long hands and dark eyes, dressed very properly but with something odd, better say extravagant (the word applies to difference.) i consulted my booklet and i read her name while she finished the cigarette. she was fernanda lapa, the exquisite and legendary actress, producer, theatre founder, director. when she was about to extinguish her cigarette a plump young man approached and kissed her. apart from i wanting to celebrate the so said twentieth of april there was the man that made me travel from the quiet suburbs to central london, to ‘the place’. as i said above, the date was propitious to this event, it is/was my personal date of all things portuguese and this gentleman represents the idea of freedom and liberty, of dreams.
‘the place’ announced this event months in advance: ‘o sonho’ (the dream), an opera by pedro amaral, based on passages from ‘salome’, an unfinished play by fernando pessoa. things were getting even more exciting because is the 25th of april, a world premiere of a new opera and then, based on my beloved mister pessoa! i even had the t’shirt to prove that i am, not a fan but a lover of all things pessoana! mister amaral looked briefly to my t’shirt and then he went with miss lapa. we were about to be witnesses of a pre-opera talk. let me just note, for assurance, mine than anyone else, that i do abhor pre-talks of any kind (except of conductor alsop that was a delight!) so i sat and the small white room was almost full with the usual intellectual types (or at least they seemed to me): glasses, tartans, leather coats, photographic cameras and non-blinking eyes avid to hear mister amaral that entered to a big applause. there was to be an interview with an intellectual with very bad english, which didn’t help at all during the brief conversation. after the usual eulogies and personal details, where mister amaral studied and where he is teaching now [author of a long analysis on stockhausen's "gruppen" (masters degree, 1998) and a vast dissertation on "momente" and the form problematic in serial music (phd thesis, 2003), professor at the university of évora, where he teaches composition, orchestration and contemporary aesthetics], mister amaral apologised for his bad english (that is not bad at all) and launched himself in a fervent discussion and elucidation as how the project came to fruition (with the sponsorship of the calouste gulbenkian foundation and the commission by the beautiful and awesome london sinfonietta, etc.) mister amaral discourse was filled with high gestures of excitement while he was trying to tell the audience who fernando pessoa was (and that after 77 years of his death there are still being published new works) and how he came around to adapt the unfinished play. things were reaching an ecstasy point when we learn that this opera was very different from others based on oscar wilde’s ‘salome’ (richard strauss) and the play different from the biblical story. the dream of the title was supposed to be the dream of salome and her two slave-maids that would interchange their thoughts/dreams to a point where, near the end of the opera, salome’s role was to be sang by one and the other maids. no, the dream was subjective and a virginia woolf’s kind of stream of consciousness, all very connected. salome would ask for a captain of her father’s death, but not of john the baptist, and the initial dream of salome about the saint would have a twist in the end. the head on a platter would be of a murderer and not of the saint, just to be ‘twisted’ in the final scene by her father’s announcement that the head was after all of the saint baptist...
now you know why i don’t like pre-talks of any kind. mister amaral spoke too much too fast in his, blessed, excitement to be understood and comprehensible. well, the dream was not a dream anymore and i felt betrayed. so, now on it would be very difficult to go again to a pre-whatever-talk, i have no doubts. maybe the lager was too bitter and acidic and maybe it made me dizzy and confused after all. too many words in one life’s is sign of emptiness, my dearest l. k. de nerval once wrote. desist i would not. so i re-read the booklet and thought that this special day would let me down, there were too many dreams going around on my head. (you can obtain the libretto and comments on www.musica-gulbenkian.pt or www.gulbenkian.org.uk or visit his very good website www.pedro-amaral.eu with awesome photographs of the lisbon performance of ‘o sonho’ that look much better and beautiful than the world premiere at ‘the place’.)
to be honest i didn’t have a clue what to wait, i was a novice about mister amaral’s music (shame on me) and i was open to be delighted, surprised and enchanted (i am naive still at 43 years of age!) i sat and saw these figures seated on the small stage, i was on the first row with my pessoa t’shirt, and they were multiples of mister pessoa himself! one, two, three. the orchestra entered to rapturous applause (that they did and do deserve!), the usual tuning of the instruments (cellos, an array of percussive instruments, not many violins, flutes) and lights out, the dream was about to start, at last. my heart was paced and my ears and eyes wide open. i attach a photograph of a part of the score for your analysis (the envelope one.) two ladies in night gowns and a pale light. they observe us (and my t’shirt) – then the shadows of the several mister pessoas come slowly to surround them (nice effect) and the thing starts. the thing, i wrote. the thing, not the dream. or at least mister pessoa’s ‘the dream’. if you can imagine a small orchestra as described above playing mark-anthony turnage (that’s another sad story) etudes and elegies at the same time as ‘le pierrot lunaire’ by schoenberg with percussion bursts of george benjamin’s ‘olicantus for 15 players’ interspaced with layered multiple plays of wolfgang rihm’s ‘canzona per sonare’ with a very well possessed diamanda galas, voila, that’s the dream. now you can call me a reactionary and conservative and old fashion, please do (and i can assure you i am not!) there was a scene where one of the fernando pessoa’s shadows/characters picks up a video camera and films salome, being relayed to the backstage screen to the effect of absolutely nothing. it was appalling and ugly, unnecessary to the opera/story/singing/drama. worst than that was that this slow spectacle happened again. and again. i know, i know, multiplication of characters, multiple personality of the writer, blah, blah, blah, humbug! the frenzy of the sound was at moments delightful, especially the flute trio on the flashback scene, number 7 –analepse, with wonderful arabesques and melodic pieces that actually dramatised the idea of this ‘dream’, a magic twist of sorts. not that i prefer melody above all, no, you know! a splash of beauty happened also in the previous moment, number 6, largo desolato, where an incredible harmony and musicality floated for moments (dreamy, yes, dreamy and lyrical and ethereal) just to go back to the cacophony and inarticulate musical language. i may be a sous chef and mister amaral a composer and professor and good luck to him and his music. do we need this kind of music? of course we do! this way we can remember webern, berg et al, stockhausen and ligeti, there is nothing wrong with that, at all! let’s not forget the title of this opera, ‘the dream’. ugliest of nightmares more possibly. i write this not comfortable, long time ago i promised to write only about the things i like and be indifferent to those i don’t. this time is different. fernando pessoa was/is the foremost writer/inventor of the past century. if someone embarks in a voyage to compose ‘the dream’, at least should have a revolutionary and daring language as pessoa, invent, imagine, dream! what i saw and heard was ugly, dissonant, macabre. it was a revisit of past glories (dodecaphonism, serialism, schoenberg especially.) it is disrespectful and almost offensive (maybe not for newcomers and novices, but... says the chef!) fernando pessoa was an inventor not only of others but above of himself, he multiplied his genius so many times that it will be centuries for someone else to be equal to him. but then, i wrote above i was open and wasn’t expecting nothing (and all, actually.) no, i like to be surprised, socked, offended and dared, all the time, please! but mister amaral’s ‘the dream’ has no inventiveness, no fulcrum, no ideas, no centre, no maelstrom to talk about (like it or not.) obviously knowing the writing of pessoa i certainly was expecting tricks of multiplication, miracles of doubles on stage and singing... on the elements of the orchestra... it was a nightmare. so it was, that i didn’t stay to talk with mister amaral or to drink a glass of wine (oooo, maybe it was portuguese wine, i should have stayed after all!)
the bareness of the stage and clothing, i think now it is enough (the mariner theatre play has got more momentum and life than this, and pessoa described it a static play!) the screen on the back of the stage was presenting the words from the singers (the beautiful words of pessoa) in english – the translation was not even bad, it was crap, unprofessional... enough, i say. ah! mister amaral conducted as well.
last word of exception and tenderness, admiration and honour goes to the three sopranos: carla caramujo, angela alves and sara braga simoes. they have the voices of angels, trained, beautiful and professional. applause to the london sinfonietta for its dedication in presenting new compositions and bravura for playing this piece. otherwise i am completely disappointed. a day that was supposed to be of dreams, liberty and beauty end up being a very cheap plonk no one uses even for cooking. tastes are tastes, opinions opinions, mister amaral has all the right in the world to write his music and be heard, no doubt. as it is.
text and photos/montage by benjamim da silva-pereira
pedro amaral conducting and musical envelope photographs (c) fundacao calouste gulbenkian
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