Flying the Colors

There's no reason why we can't be both patriotic and Francophilic (that's not a disease, just in case you were wondering). So here's our attempt at an abstract American flag photo collage.







I never was very good at collage. It would have been so much easier to just save this post for today. Oh well - Happy 4th of July!

Outside the Opéra

Way back in September, during the Journées Européennes du Patrimoine, Maggie, Robert, and I happened upon a ragtag group of young musicians blasting pop and folk tunes from the steps of the Opéra Garnier.

Who were these musicians, we wondered, and what was their deal? We never found out.

Fast forward to last week, when I saw, in the same place, a strikingly similar group of young musicians blasting similarly pop- and folk-oriented tunes. Were they the same group? Answering this question requires a close-up comparison:

At first the orange and green threw me off - did they just change clothes? Then I realized that the line-up is slightly different, with clarinets in the second group, and a euphonium in the first group. This is the stuff that musicology is made of - doing that newspaper puzzle that asks "what are the 5 differences between these two images," just, you know, music-related.

Anyway, now that we've established they're probably not the same groups, we can pose further questions (this is also something musicologists love to do): just how many groups do play on the steps of the Opéra Garnier? Do you need a permit for that? When's the next time either of these groups will play, so I can be sure to bring my trusty audio recorder?

And finally, does either group need another clarinetist? I'd totally do it, if only to be able to say that I played at the Paris Opera . . .

The Most Beautiful Library

In the past, I've complained about the way the Bibliothèque nationale de France has spread out its music-related holdings, and I think my complaint is justified. They keep recordings and tons of books at the main branch (Tolbiac), scores, archival documents, periodicals, and more books at the Département de la Musique (2 rue Louvois), medieval manuscripts and the theater collection at the original BN complex (Rue Richelieu), and certain books (for the life of my I don't know why) at the Pavilion de l'Arsenal, which isn't technically even a BN affiliate. This is lame. They should change this.

Out of the many library branches over which the BN's music(ology) collection is distributed, there is only one I truly do not mind visiting: the Bibliothèque-Musée de l'Opéra at the Palais Garnier.

By night, the Palais Garnier (aka Opéra Garnier aka Paris Opera) is home to performances of ballet and older opera repertoire. But by day, it's [trumpet fanfare] full of tourists checking out the unbelievable neo-Baroque ornamentation that covers every square inch of the place! Also there's the library, open 9-5. I get a lot of pleasure out of striding by big tourists groups on my way to the members-only library, and I try to pretend like I'm not impressed by the building. But inside, I'm way impressed.

When my mom and Cathy were in town, I took a day (or 8) off from research and we spent some time sauntering around the Palais Garnier as tourists. I get in for free with my BN ID, otherwise it's 9 euros (ouch!) to check out highlights of the building, such as the hall's Marc Chagall ceiling that depicts many of the canonical operas and ballets performed there (Firebird, Daphnis et Chloe, Pelleas et Melisande, Fidelio...).

Here's what the rest of the hall looks like:

Just in time for my research on Interwar France, there's an exhibit in the "musée" (museum) part of the building dedicated to the Ballets Russes (1909-1929), a ballet company headed by impresario Sergei Diaghilev, who along with composers like Stravinsky, Prokofiev, Ravel, Debussy, Poulenc, Auric, and Milhaud created lots of now-famous works. Below you can see some of the original costumes for the proto-Surrealist ballet Parade (1917) with music by Satie, choreography by Massine, and costumes/scenery by Picasso.

In addition to this exhibit, when you visit the "Bibliothèque-Musée" part of the building you get to see some of the library's book storage, as well as lots of models of sets and backdrops. The library's reading room is at the end of this hallway/book storage area, on the left. You have to get buzzed in.

Unfortunately I haven't managed to sneak any pictures in the library itself, but believe me when I say that it's every bit as ornate as the rest of the building, with lots more natural light and (unfortunately) street noise. Still, you can't listen to music there, so I guess I have a complaint about the BN's Bibliothèque-Musée de l'Opéra after all.

To finish up this blog-mediated tour of the Palais Garnier, here's a hazy glimpse of the building from the back. Tourist tip: the front of the Palais Garnier is visible from the entire length of the Avenue de l'Opéra, but to get this bird's-eye-view of the back, you have to go to Galeries Lafayette and take an interminable series of escalators up to the roof, where you'll have an unusual vantage point on the whole city. It's pretty neat up there.

Opéra de Compiègne

On January 31st, Maggie and I headed out of the city with my piano accompanist and friend, Dominique, who had invited us to go to the Opéra de Compiègne with him. Compiègne is a city of around 40,000 an hour to the northeast of Paris and boasts a fine château and forest, both of which have some historical importance (armistices ending WWI and ending the German invasion of France during WWII were signed in the forest). Napoleon III liked the château enough to tack on a sizable opera house in the mid-19th century, which became the Théâtre Impérial de Compiègne. It was there that we were to see a two-part production: Le Gendarme Incompris (1920), a play by Jean Cocteau and Raymond Radiguet with incidental music and songs by Francis Poulenc; and Les Mamelles de Tiresias, an opera bouffa by Poulenc based on Guillaume d'Apollinaire's 1903 play. This was a great pre-birthday present, since my dissertation focuses on all these early-20th-century artists, and since Poulenc is one of my favorite composers.

(Thanks to the Compiège Tourism Office for this shot of the Théatre Impérial.)

We had a hard time understanding Le Gendarme Incompris, what with the cross-dressing, affected Italian accents, and the lack of sub- or surtitles. In fact, I fell asleep partway through (I'm terrible!) and totally missed the following scene, which included one of Poulenc's songs. (This clip is from a 2009 production in Toulon.)

We still couldn't tell you exactly what Le Gendarme incompris is about, but c'est pas grave (it's no big deal), because Dominique couldn't explain it to us afterwards either.

On the other hand, I already knew Les Mamelles de Tirésias from reading about Poulenc, and from a recording I have. The basic premise of this so-called Surrealist work ("so-called" because it was written before the advent of Surrealism, and because there's no such thing as Surrealist music) is that Thérèse, a normally submissive housewife, rebels against femininity and spontaneously changes sex (her breasts turn into balloons and float away), not only leaving her husband to fend for himself, but becoming a famous general (Tiresias) who leads a successful campaign against childbirth. Her husband, put off by the whole affair and fearful for the future of the country, figures out a way to have children by himself, and manages to (re)produce 40,049 in a single day. At the end Thérèse/Tirésias comes back, repents of her errant ways, and joins the husband and the rest of the cast in singing the praises (literally) of childbearing. The last line of the opera, repeated over and over again in blatant symbolism, urges the French to make as many babies as possible. This was relevant during WWI (when Apollinaire's play was first performed), after WWII (when Poulenc's opera was premiered), and today (when European birthrates are dropping precipitously).

It's a great piece, with lots of catchy tunes and clever orchestration. For a post-war opera, it might be considered a little reactionary (it's a crowd-pleaser), but it's also typical Poulenc, which is what I like about it. For a snippet of the opera, I first offer Poulenc himself accompanying Denise Duval, who created the role of Thérèse/Tirésias in 1947, in a concert version of the beginning of the work. The second clip gives a glimpse of staging, costumes, and the silliness of it all (especially from 1:00 in), from a 2007 Prague State Opera production.

It's delicious stuff, and of course it's best savored live. Afterwards, thanks to Dominique's connections we were able to go backstage, meet the performers, and even go to the cast party! We truly live charmed lives here.