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RECITAL REVIEW
A Disappointing Bolcom Premiere
April 6, 2001
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By Stephanie Friedman
The estimable mezzo-soprano Florence Quivar devoted most of her recital at Herbst Theatre Friday to the West Coast premiere of a song cycle by William Bolcom, From the Diary of Sally Hemings, setting imaginary diary entries by the slave woman who was Thomas Jefferson's secret mistress for several decades. The text was by playwright and creative writing teacher Sandra Seaton, who, in her own words, has written "a work of the imagination . . . constrained by historical possibility."
But while historical possibility may well have been observed, the character to which "imaginative re-creation" was supposed to give voice was obscured by excessive, opaque verbiage that skipped dizzyingly between Sally's own observations, quotes from Jefferson, and fragments in French. Bolcom's musical setting found no center, and Quivar found no character in this splintered, ponderous work.
Bolcom apparently "found a Sally Hemings I could believe emotionally." But if that's true, then where in the musical setting was an emotional connection? Certainly not in the wearying spate of unadorned declamation, one note per syllable, occasionally rising to a forte to denote strong feeling. Bolcom did a disservice even to the words that might have told — "Lord" and "soul," for example, and the repeated exclamation "Bloodlines!" — by setting them colorlessly in the weak middle of Quivar's voice, where she hadn't the resources to redeem the lifeless music with pinpoints of characterization.
Quivar's instrument, though brilliant and gorgeous at the top and warm at the bottom, was unfocused, weak, and hollow throughout the center, where most of the piece was set. Whatever opportunity there was to make something of the character came to naught because of her lack of control in that important part of her voice. The text provided little character to plumb, but there were places where she might have added some insight through dynamic variety or vocal nuance, which unfortunately escaped her. Quivar's contribution was limited largely to indiscriminate dramatic outbursts. Phrases like "His pain is my own," delivered with plenty of drama, simply didn't stand out from all the other passionately delivered phrases. A simple utterance like "copy the words carefully," a natural for speechlike delivery, received the overblown operatic treatment she often resorted to in that treacherous middle area. Seaton's self-imposed task was to create a language for Hemings that would define her as more than merely Jefferson's concubine: a character in her own right, alive on the page and on the stage. But to attain this worthy aim, both simplicity and clarity are required, and neither was forthcoming. What emerged was a deadened figure fighting for the breath of life, loaded down with too many obscure allusions that no one without a wide knowledge of the history of the personages and the period could know; an excessive number of unconvincingly employed French phrases (to reflect Sally's sojourn in Paris); and enough prolixity to stop anyone's mouth.
J. J. Penna handled the piano part — which alternated between ruminative Schumannesque figures and abrasively angry chords — with sensitivity and aplomb. There were two promising bits of musical felicity: a chorale-like motive for "Safe in his arms," repeated at the end of the piece with the words "Mister, we're free to go," and a captivating few measures at the beginning of the last section, with the words "Night watch till early morn." Seaton has something of a poet's ear, if she could consistently bend her language to it, and here Bolcom caught the cadence with a repeated beating, tolling figure that all too soon dissipated into lesser stuff. Unfortunately, the words were set in the slippery quagmire of Quivar's middle register, and the incisiveness of the piano sound was not mirrored in the voice. A third noteworthy musical event was accidental but telling. Hemings reports Jefferson asking for "a little music please," and Bolcom provides a tinkling music-box rendition of a little of Mozart's song "Das Veilchen" ("The Violet"), particularly appropriate given Jefferson's love for gardening. Would that Bolcom had given rein more often to this penchant for levity, which he has in abundance. The opening group of songs by Stephen Foster and Carrie Jacobs Bond, perhaps meant to set the scene of early America, were in no way connected to what followed. There were two encores: "The Cabin," from Paul Bowles' settings of verses by Tennessee Williams, Blue Mountain Ballads; and an arrangement by James Miller of the spiritual "I am seeking for a city." Both songs were delivered lovingly and received appreciatively. (Stephanie Friedman, mezzo-soprano, has performed in this country and abroad, in opera and recital. She teaches singing at U.C. Davis and Holy Names College.) ©2001 Stephanie Friedman, all rights reserved |
