On Friday morning, Horti Hall was being gussied up for everyone’s run-through:
Later, it was even spiffier, in time for an audience that included several dozen impeccably behaved senior schoolkids.
Here’s how Sandy France and Helen Nourse’s Playing With Fire looked on Saturday, for an audience member with few photographic skills. Chris Dench (composer of WE) is on the left, chin on hand, and the silver-maned Music Director of the Victorian opera, Richard Gill, is on the right.
Eamonn Kelly has already written in The Australian on NOVA, and Australia’s history of spreading seeds of opera upon fertile ground, which is not an illustrious one. He was also kind enough to say kind things about most of the five NOVA efforts. In fact, thanks to him and the slippery nature of publicity blurbs, I can now legitimately say this:
The Devil Builds a Chapel
“dripping with neo-gothic, psycho-sexual delight”
“humour, catchy Broadway elements and 1960s popular music flourishes”
The first of those isn’t strictly true; Kelly may have been referring to the delights of supernatural fantasies themselves, rather than to my and David Stanhope’s work in particular. But I choose not to be fussy.
Here’s the fun thing that happened as we all heard the excerpts over and over again. At first, mine, The Un-Dead and Playing with Fire were clearly the most immediately accessible pieces (by this, I mean largely tonal, with discrete arias/duets). I even began to find parts of mine a little banal by the fifth or sixth time I heard them. Meanwhile, Jane Montgomery Griffiths and Kevin March’s Razing Hypatia, which everyone agreed was a real challenge, and difficult to pull off in only a week, just grew and grew on me. The finale, in which the heroine spends several pages repeating “it takes a long time to die”, while everything falls apart around her, is just terrific.
Dustine Barnes and Chris Dench’s WE was ten minutes of free atonality, scored in proportional notation (which gave the musicians a nice workout). Dench explained that he had an animated work in mind, an opera written for the screen. His music makes me think of a late-night SBS stark visual style, heavy on the black outlines, and I think it would work a treat. Writing directly for the screen is a wonderful idea, and we should all do more of it; it is getting, as Dench pointed out, cheaper and easier than the stage.
David Stanhope’s The Un-Dead is finished, David said, in a score for full orchestra and an adaptation for chamber ensemble. So why hasn’t it been seen yet? It has Dracula, good parts of Stoker’s original dialogue, and a line I can already sing along with (“The children of the night”). Oh, and three hot vampire chicks who visit you in bed and sing progressively higher ninth chords! What’s not to like?
Sandy France expressed concern in rehearsal about a rhythmically complicated part of Playing with Fire (two men are arguing about abandoning their houses in the face of a bushfire), and I watched two singers work very hard to master it. By Saturday, I could have sung along with them, and as I write this (a week later), I can’t get the tune out of my head. “If we stay-ay, hold our ground …”
All of which underlines the importance of repetition when we’re hearing a new piece. Obviously, I’m a trained muso, and the circumstances made me listen really, really hard, but there’s a good argument in last week’s experience for the 19th century model of new opera: write it, prepare the orchestral suite from its music, get singers to plant bits in their recitals, and have hotel orchestras play medleys prior to opening night.
The 21st century equivalents of these would be free video and audio on the website, rehearsals on YouTube, music excerpts available before the opening (especially for critics), and interstitials on TV and radio.
In fact, just imagine if you could get your forbidding new music planted in a video game. There’s some repetition.