Spending Time with Wagner

Having spent 15 hours with Richard Wagner’s Ring Cycle I feel compelled to write about it.  The challenge mind you is not finding subject matter but attempting to be succinct and focused—not qualities to which Wagner aspired.  First off the comparisons between Wagner and JRR Tolkien.  Reading the synopsis of the Wagner’s Ring one can clearly see how it influenced Tolkien who also spent a good portion of his life working on an equally monumental work.  Both contain a ring of power, creatures obsessed with it, a cast of thousands, wars, great journeys, dragons, monumental battles and death. 

 

Whatever your opinion of his operas even a brief look at his biography makes it clear that Wilhelm Richard Wagner was not a very nice person.  Holding views that half a century later endeared him to the Nazi Party; he was also self-indulgent—running off with his best friend’s wife; and a control freak.  Despite these flaws in his moral fibre the genius of his operas attracted deep-pocketed, influencial patrons who were willing to aid him in his meglomaniac schemes. 

 

When I say that Wagner was a control freak see the following as evidence that this is an understatement.  The creation of Der Ring des Nibelungen took him over twenty-five years.  Not only did he compose the score for over 15 hours of opera but also wrote his own libretto.  To meet the sonic demands of his score he created three new brass instruments for the orchestra that played his music.  Recognizing the strain placed upon singers forced to project their voices over his massive orchestra for up to five hours he decided that nothing would suit but that he build a Festspielhaus specially designed to meet the demands of his plays.  Thus at Bayreuth was built a house whose design was adapted by Wagner himself and built under his direct supervision.  Both to direct the sound of his orchestra toward his singers first before it reached the audience and to ensure that this audience found nothing to distract them from the action on stage he place a hood over the orchestra pit that guaranteed the audience not see them.  To this day the town of Bayreuth and its Festspielhaus play host to performances of Wagner’s Ring Cycle most summers. 

 

There are some who find it impossible to ignore Wagner’s human failings when they approach his music but I can’t resist being drawn into those soaring melodies, whatever I might think of the man who composed them.  I don’t have to condone his lifestyle to enjoy his music.  Some final comparisons.  When Peter Jackson spent three quarters of a billion dollars creating his movie interpretation of Tolkien’s Ring—the prequel, the Hobbit is yet to come—he hired Howard Shore to create the musical score.  That Shore has studied Wagner is obvious.  His use of melodies associated with every major character—leit motifs; styles of music and singing for each region or group of creatures; unique orchestration and instrumentation for each ‘national’ grouping; and unique instruments to represent certain charcters or groups—all are operetic devices.  Finally it is no co-incidence that movie director, Francis Ford Coppola uses the Ride of the Walküres in Apocalypse Now.  The similarities between Wagner and Coppola seem obvious.  

Waning Thoughts on the Iliad

For those bored with the thought of Greek Mythology you’ll be glad to hear that I’m nearing the end of the Iliad.  My next project will be the Selected Poems of Carl Sandburg. 

 

I did a cursory study of ancient Greek History over 40 years ago so my understanding of the Ancient Greek city-states, their rivalries and strife’s is rudimentary.   Whether or not they ever managed to suppress their internal bickering to amass a grand armada to journey 300 miles by water to attack Troy I couldn’t say.  What I do find fascinating is the degree to which the various combatants are familiar with one another.  Not just their temporary allies but the names of the enemies they meet on the field of battle, their antecedents and ancestry, and even intimate details of their lives.  I realize this is a bardic device used by the declaimer of this epic but the suspension of disbelief called for here is immense, particularly since these two peoples probably didn’t even speak the same language.  There were numerous dialects even among the Greek Islands and city states; the Trojans would have spoken an ancient form of Turkish. 

 

The weatherman seems to determined to keep things wet around Southern Ontario; I suppose we can just be thankful were not in the path of Hurricanes churning their traditional path up the Eastern Seaboard—Ernesto was quite enough for me. 

 

Today I’ll pick up a copy of Smallville and catch up on last season’s happenings. If anyone can enlighten me as to why Everwood has not put in an appearance on DVD after the first season I’d appreciate an update. 

Duck and Cover

Having discovered the joys of podcasts downloaded to iTunes I’ve been watching archival footage supplied by Vintage ToonCast. One I watched this morning is entitled “Duck and Cover”, being a 1950s US Government Propaganda Film that purported to guide its citizens and children in particular as to how to protect themselves in the event of nuclear war, seems to be an historical artefact presented for our amusement. With what we understand of the nature of nuclear war the idea that, ducking under one’s classroom chair and covering one’s neck, would protect one strikes a modern viewer as sinister.

“When you see the flash” it instructs. Half a century later we know for anyone seeing that flash it will probably be the last thing they ever see. Those who survive the immediate blindness will be subjected to the nuclear shockwave, followed by the shockwave of air from the blast, and finally the equivalent of an earthquake caused by tremors set off in the earth and a tidal wave if a body of water is nearby. For those who actually survive all this there will be nuclear burns, radiation sickness, and slow agonizing death. Anyone who still manages to survive will suffer the side-effects of exposure the rest of their lives.

When we consider that the radioactive elements produced by a thermo-nuclear explosion will be around for hundreds of thousands of years the idea that surviving a nuclear attack in a bomb shelter containing carefully laid in supplies is laughable. That scenario, even if it were practicable would make the Frank family’s confinement look like a picnic by comparison. Perhaps it’s only appropriate that as I write this I’m listening to the first disc of a recording of Wagner’s Ring.

More on the Iliad

The end is in sight.  Having reached book 20 it strikes me that this epic was meant to be declaimed in the Greek equivalent of a Scandinavian Mead Hall around a fireplace by old campaigners deep in their cups.  In the present book Achilles has been roused to battle by the death of his lover, Patroclus and meets Aeneas in the thick of battle.  While the battle rages around them they stand there and exchange taunts and insults for 4 pages.  Aeneas actually recites his entire genealogy tracing all the way back to Zeus.  Apparently it took a lot to psych themselves up for battle!  

Ordinary Magic

This evening I’ve been watching a movie most have probably never heard of. I acquired a copy when my local video rental outlet sold the only copy they possessed as a previously viewed VHS Tape. It captivated me at the time and still does.

Jeffrey/Ganesh is a teen raised as a vegan Hindu in India by his hippy missionary parents who is suddenly forced to move to Paris on the Grand in Ontario when his parents die, to live with an eccentric maiden aunt he knows only from a faded photograph buried with some money in an old lunch box under the chicken coop.

He arrives at Malton with all he possesses in one small suitcase wearing sandals and a caftan in the middle of winter. His aunt gets there late in a car that she obviously inherited from her father and has failed to maintain since. As they drive home along back country roads the culture shock that will cut both ways sets in immediately.

What is small-town Ontario to make of a tall, blonde self-possessed lad who speaks English with an Indian accent and turn of phrase, practices yoga, and is steeped in the non-violent philosophy of Gandhi? The ensuing conflicts are handled with sensitivity and humour and the kind of quiet understanding possible only in a community where everyone knows everyone else. His new neighbours may find this new kid kind of strange but they can’t fail to respect the tenacity and courage with which he approaches life.

The movie is loosely based upon the book, Ganesh by Malcolm J Bosse published in 1981 and among its novelties is a turn by Paul Anka as a smooth-talking, scheming land developer. Come to think about it this movie reminds me of The Milagaro Beanfield War directed by a famous actor but equally an independent film about the difference one maverick can make in a small town when he wins the backing of the people. If you can find them I’d recommend both.

Lighter Reading

Having been immersed for the past few months with war either by way of the Trojan Wars in Homer or World War II in Three Day Road I’ve decided to try out lighter fair.

Arthur Slade’s Ghost Hotel is a book for young adults set in Saskatoon, Sask. with young sleuths not yet in their teens and a venerable hotel taken over by a ghostly child. Maybe not everyone’s light reading, but not to be taken seriously either. I’ve just finished it.

For all it’s weaknesses I just can’t resist Harry. As I’ve said before, as with Conan Doyle, J.K. Rowling will not be able to escape her hero unless she kills him off; therefore it will not surprise me if that’s the wizard’s ultimate end. Do you really see this series stretching on for decades with Harry becoming a Hogwart’s Professor and ultimately Headmaster?

The Scream

I suppose you’ve heard that Edvard Munch’s The Scream has been found. There’s some irony in all that, but this is just one of thousands of works of art that are missing from their rightful places. It has been claimed that virtually every great art collection on earth has at least one work of art pilfered by the Nazi’s during WW # 2. In Iraq 1000’s of year of antiquities were stolen from museum vaults when the Americans were too busy liberating Iraq to protect it. Owning great works of art has gotten to the point that it has become a liability. Keeping it in vaults is self-defeatist but the cost of security for public display is getting prohibitive. Most of the great collections are uninsurable as they are considered priceless and no one will underwrite them nor could even governments afford the premiums.

Getting back to The Scream; the work that has just been restored is one of several copies produced by Munch himself which begs the question of what is an original work of art. Today many artists produce 10’s and even 100’s of thousands of “limited editon” prints of their works so that ordinary people such as you and I can afford them. In this age of computers art can be produced electronically so that the original exists only in binary form. The issue is further clouded by art restoration—for example, the controversy surrounding the Sistine Chapel—what about those famous figleafs? Furthermore the painting you’re looking at in many galleries today is often a faithful reproduction, the original being considered too valuable to be put on public display. As well do you really think the great masters actually painted every square inch of the vast catogues of art attributed to them. Putting aside the issue of fakes and forgeries most great artists have had students and it was their task and assignment to finish the master’s work by putting in the background details. In a similar vein, is it any less a Wagner Opera if the orchestration of the various parts in the score was left to underlings. It would seem that little has changed through the ages except the techniques.

Alas I can only add my perspective to the questions; I don’t think there are any true answers. If a work of art pleases you and you can afford it, buy it. I wouldn’t have the Scream on my walls even if I could afford it.

Dangerous Chemicals

This one is too good to pass up. 

Beware the dangers of Dihydrogen Monoxide!  Sounds dangerous doesn't it, just like its cousin Carbon Monoxide, or Hydrogen Sulphide, Hydrogen Cyanide, and Carbon Tetra-Hydrogen?  Dihydrogen Monoxide is colorless, odourless, and tasteless and results in thousands of deaths every year.  There are so many perils associated with this substance that one is advised to stay as far away as possible from it. 

However, the kicker is that unlike the other chemicals listed here:

CO

H₂S

HCN

CH₄

Dihydrogen Monoxide is actually:

H₂0

Or Water. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The End of Summer

I’ve just gotten around to making the rounds to change my wall calendars—I’ve got seven of them. It’s not so much that I’m obsessed with what day it is—after 34 years the mail does that for me—but their decorative value.

Today is Labour Day, the day that typically marks the end of the summer season and the beginning of the school year. In Toronto Unionists will be marching in the Labour Day Parade along with the Veterans in a procession that ends in the CNE—it’s one way to get in free. Expect to hear about how severely the weather impacted that venerable institution’s bottom line. The cold weather, several inches of rain from Ernesto, and the foggy glowering skies will have kept people away in droves just as the low ceiling will have kept most of the high performance jets out of the skies. The only people relieved by that happenstance will be the air-traffic controllers at Malton who have to sort out all that extra traffic. In past Air Shows they’ve had to contend with the Anglo-French Concorde, the “so-called” flying cloud from Colorado –that flew in direct, did a fly past, and returned—harrier jets, and some infamous crashes.

The news tomorrow will be filled with the number of people killed in the carnage on our highways—traffic jams are no longer news; who drowned or injured themselves in and on the water; along with statistics about dare-devils injured sky-diving, rock climbing, off-roading, or being just-plain stupid. Me? The closest I expect to come to adventure today is a trip to the garbage chute. If I don’t take it out soon my next adventure will be the battle of the fruit flies.

So how did you spend your weekend? I tinkered with a few photographs, did some browsing on the web, caught up with my E-mail, did some reading, listened to music and podcasts, plus caught up on some computer maintenance. Tomorrow I have to set to work at housekeeping in earnest.

I’ve also watched the movie Troy to check out, now that I’ve read most of it, how it compares with the epic upon which it is based—The Iliad. Given that there’s no historical record that the Trojan Wars ever took place Hollywood can hardly be accused of playing fast and loose with the facts. Allowing for some minor tinkering with events for dramatic effect the movie is reasonably true to the spirit of the piece. Whereas Homer’s audience obviously gloried in the minutia of battle the cinematographers spared us the gory details of disembowelments, immolations, and beheadings; choosing instead to concentrate on the spectacle of wide-angle shots of massive troop engagements. Who, for example could resist portraying the panorama of a thousand ships as launched by that famous face. As with so many charismatic movie stars—seeing her on film on a small screen obviously doesn’t do her justice. The vista of those ships along with the equally famous Trojan Horse, the death of Achilles, the heel, and the sack of Troy are all derived from traditional sources and have no counterpart in the actual poem.

Seems it’s time for my yearly bath so I guess I’d better go attend to that and find something else to write of later.

A Curmudgeon's Lament

The algae bloom on Lake Ontario just reached critical mass overnight and this morning the water out of my tap smelled like a scum-covered quagmire in the muskeg of Northern Ontario. The four gallons of fresh water I’ve been keeping in my fridge against the arrival of this day will supply me with decent morning coffee for a couple weeks but after that I’m doomed until the colder weather of October finally cools the lake. Guess I’ll have to get out my essence of peppermint for tomorrow’s soak in the tub.

Arrived home from work today to get a taste of what the beginning of the new school term will presage for those of us mature enough to have troubles remembering what that was like. The antipathy those of us who have owned our condominium apartments for decades feel toward absentee owners who rent their investment properties to community college students goes way beyond prejudice. If you think about it, the expectations of a retired couple in their late seventies and that of a student still not out of his teens, who has left home for the first time in his life don’t really jibe. When I got home today my neighbour was seated in our second basement garage with steam blowing out of her ears because some incompetent agent had managed to put both our elevators on service making it impossible for her to make it to her apartment 4 stories and eight flights of stairs on the third floor. This weekend, it would seem, is moving day. One can only rail about the real estate agent who complains that his investment properties here are under-valued and fails to realize that one of the contributing factors is the wear and tear, vandalism, and noise caused by the students to whom he rents as an absentee owner. One can only fantasize about the judge who sentenced a slum landlord to house arrest in one of his creaky tenements.

Thus I begin a month’s holidays and to mark the occasion Mother Nature is sending me the remnants of Hurricane Ernesto to drive monsoons of water sluicing down my balcony windows. Doesn’t sound like weather for camping somehow. I suppose it’s a sign that I should curl up with my books and work at completing Homer’s Iliad. I’ve just reached the point at which Achilles’ lover, Patroclus is killed, or ¾ of the way through the book. One of the details of the epic that has taken me by surprise is the heaving of stones at the enemy, by hand not catapult on the field of battle. I can’t say why that would seem more incongruous than lobbing a grenade at one’s opponents, it just does. It would seem that Homer’s listeners hung on the gory details of heads and limbs lopped off, torsos skewered by spears and bodies disemboweled by swords—the poem is crammed with such details. I do find it remarkable, nevertheless, that for most casualties death comes quickly; very few are described as dying slowly in excruciating pain as their life-blood drains slowly from their bodies over agonizing hours of torment. I suppose the reality of such realism does not lend itself to this romanticized view of warfare. The other surprise awaiting anyone familiar with the story of the Trojan Horse and how it led to the fall of Troy, is the fact that the Iliad ends before we arrive at that point in the story. In the end the hero of the Iliad is Achilles and even then, the fatal injury involving his famous heel is not part of the epic either.

One of the projects ahead of me in the next week is the editing and printing of the photograph of my fellow workers I was commissioned to produce as a gift to a departing supervisor. As you can see, I have some work ahead of me: