Two days ago, composer Suby Raman published 10 graphs depicting the artistic history of the Metropolitan Opera. Taken at face value, the charts are provocative and, at times, perversely funny. ("How many female composers have been represented at the Met in the last 100 years?" To which the reply: "Dame Ethel Smyth is not impressed.")
Interesting, yes. But, on a deeper level, Raman's graphs miss their mark. It's nice to see statistical evidence that the Met plays too much Puccini, but, then again, nobody ever doubted that. All in all, the graphs simply confirm what most of us already thought -- to wit, that the Met is one of the most reactionary institutions in opera.
Why might this be? Aside from the obvious -- the ideological and aesthetic baggage of the Met's creative team -- I believe it has a lot to do with house size. If we had enough data to extend Raman's charts, we might be able to plot the same parameters (repertoire-focus, -origin, -vintage, -age, -sex, etc.) against the size of opera companies around the world. Of course, I have no proof, but I wouldn't be surprised if the biggest companies all function as museums of mid 19th-century operatic taste.
There are very good historical-economic reasons for this. During the time of such patrons as Emperor Joseph II (under whose aegis Mozart and Da Ponte produced Figaro, Don Giovanni, and Così), professional opera didn't need to make money because it was supported by the monarchy. As Enlightenment faded into revolution, opera became the domain of patronless companies and freelance composers; houses had to expand to accommodate a paying public, and artistic styles changed accordingly. Da Ponte's layered sub-plots and Mozart's tangled recitatives were designed for the intimate court theater. Instead of belting to fill cavernous halls, singers enunciated, and audiences understood the words. As opera houses grew, so did voices, and clarity was sacrificed for volume. The Met epitomizes this logic at an extreme: it is a house designed for a very specific breed of opera (vintage 1870) in which the stories are simple (dying heroine) and the words don't really matter.
This is not to suggest that the fall of the 18th-century aristocracy is solely responsible for the Met's troubles. But, amidst a multiplicity of artistic and organizational problems, that of size remains fundamental and unavoidable. The Met is the product of a different century's musical ideology, and has not changed with the times.
(As an aside, let me note emphatically that repertoire is not the problem -- or, at least, not the primary one. The Royal Opera House does Verdi just as often as the Met, but hires the likes of John Eliot Gardiner to bring new musical perspectives to familiar works, as in their recent Rigoletto. And, throughout Europe, one finds mainstream productions in which 18th-century classics become staged explorations of terrorism, orientalism, racism, and colonialism. No, repertoire is not the Met's primary problem. There are ways to offer audiences their 19th-century favorites while also making an artistic statement.)
But, back to size: in the Met's case, bigger has ceased to be better. The prospect of increased ticket revenue may have motivated 19th-century operatic expansion, but now, in 2014, a full house is no longer a guarantee. Some expenses, including lighting, climate control and security, are proportional to house size; still more crucially, a large auditorium exacts a great toll on vocal production, intelligibility, and stage direction. Combine this with a creative team that seems to believe audiences haven't changed since 1890, and it's not hard to see why the Met is in financial trouble. (I resist the temptation to mention that the Met's productions feature singers who, with no discernible irony, perform Mozart as though it's still the 1950s…)
A mere century ago, listening to music meant being in the room with a performer. 50 years ago, period instruments had not yet reached the Anglophone world. Three years ago, Spotify was not available in America. Audiences can now find expressive operatic riches in far friendlier environments than the Met -- even, occasionally, in a London pub:
Interesting, yes. But, on a deeper level, Raman's graphs miss their mark. It's nice to see statistical evidence that the Met plays too much Puccini, but, then again, nobody ever doubted that. All in all, the graphs simply confirm what most of us already thought -- to wit, that the Met is one of the most reactionary institutions in opera.
Why might this be? Aside from the obvious -- the ideological and aesthetic baggage of the Met's creative team -- I believe it has a lot to do with house size. If we had enough data to extend Raman's charts, we might be able to plot the same parameters (repertoire-focus, -origin, -vintage, -age, -sex, etc.) against the size of opera companies around the world. Of course, I have no proof, but I wouldn't be surprised if the biggest companies all function as museums of mid 19th-century operatic taste.
There are very good historical-economic reasons for this. During the time of such patrons as Emperor Joseph II (under whose aegis Mozart and Da Ponte produced Figaro, Don Giovanni, and Così), professional opera didn't need to make money because it was supported by the monarchy. As Enlightenment faded into revolution, opera became the domain of patronless companies and freelance composers; houses had to expand to accommodate a paying public, and artistic styles changed accordingly. Da Ponte's layered sub-plots and Mozart's tangled recitatives were designed for the intimate court theater. Instead of belting to fill cavernous halls, singers enunciated, and audiences understood the words. As opera houses grew, so did voices, and clarity was sacrificed for volume. The Met epitomizes this logic at an extreme: it is a house designed for a very specific breed of opera (vintage 1870) in which the stories are simple (dying heroine) and the words don't really matter.
This is not to suggest that the fall of the 18th-century aristocracy is solely responsible for the Met's troubles. But, amidst a multiplicity of artistic and organizational problems, that of size remains fundamental and unavoidable. The Met is the product of a different century's musical ideology, and has not changed with the times.
(As an aside, let me note emphatically that repertoire is not the problem -- or, at least, not the primary one. The Royal Opera House does Verdi just as often as the Met, but hires the likes of John Eliot Gardiner to bring new musical perspectives to familiar works, as in their recent Rigoletto. And, throughout Europe, one finds mainstream productions in which 18th-century classics become staged explorations of terrorism, orientalism, racism, and colonialism. No, repertoire is not the Met's primary problem. There are ways to offer audiences their 19th-century favorites while also making an artistic statement.)
But, back to size: in the Met's case, bigger has ceased to be better. The prospect of increased ticket revenue may have motivated 19th-century operatic expansion, but now, in 2014, a full house is no longer a guarantee. Some expenses, including lighting, climate control and security, are proportional to house size; still more crucially, a large auditorium exacts a great toll on vocal production, intelligibility, and stage direction. Combine this with a creative team that seems to believe audiences haven't changed since 1890, and it's not hard to see why the Met is in financial trouble. (I resist the temptation to mention that the Met's productions feature singers who, with no discernible irony, perform Mozart as though it's still the 1950s…)
A mere century ago, listening to music meant being in the room with a performer. 50 years ago, period instruments had not yet reached the Anglophone world. Three years ago, Spotify was not available in America. Audiences can now find expressive operatic riches in far friendlier environments than the Met -- even, occasionally, in a London pub:
Video courtesy of Hampstead Garden Opera, © 2012;
Stage Director: Daisy Evans;
Guest Music Director, Conductor, Fortepiano: Dorian Komanoff Bandy;
Ferrando: Nick Pritchard
Upstairs at the Gatehouse, London, April-May 2012
As a young conductor entering the profession, I need to believe that listeners know the difference between tired, lackluster, stereotypical productions and those with real musical and dramatic purpose. Isn't that what the Met's problems are really about?
UPDATE, 30 October:
Since posting this yesterday, I've come across two other excellent pieces on the Met's problems. One was written in 2010; the other in 2006. Unfortunately, everything they say remains true…
Great piece once again! Thank you. I hope that one day you and Alex Ross could meet over a coffee or tea... I enjoy both of your musings equally. Nice clip too! Boston could use a project like that - hint, hint.
ReplyDelete- Marika Holmqvist
The scale aspect of it really is, as you say, quite central. If the old war-horses of the repertoire were being done by enthusiastic young people, with great pipes and chops, in small venues, and on a shoestring, they'd be quite likable. The Met could become a parking garage, which is what it looks like anyway.
ReplyDelete