Villanova University’s 2023 production of Sunday, directed by Dr. Valerie Joyce
I’ve decided to break up my exploration of this musical into two parts. This first part is a deep dive into Sondheim’s place in music history and this piece in Sondheim’s output. This first part will appeal perhaps to the folks who read my blog for big ideas I may have stumbled into. The second part will be devoted to more practical matters: the actual nuts and bolts of putting the show on.
A personal story
During the fall of 1992 I went on a 4 hour bus ride to the Curran Theatre in San Francisco with my High School choir to see Les Miz. (I feel confident that Robert Westenberg was playing Javert, but I can’t find any record of that online, so I may have hallucinated it) I was aware of Into the Woods at the time, and would play Rapunzel’s Prince the following Summer, but I was just beginning my exploration of Sondheim. Not far from the Curran Theatre at that time there was a little record store, and in that store I found the original Broadway cast recording of Sunday on CD. I grew up in Redding California, and there was a little music store in the mall where we lived, but they didn’t have a great selection of recordings outside the top 40, so I needed to take whatever opportunities I could to get my hands on new music. My friends were at the time very excited about Les Miz, but I didn’t share their enthusiasm, partly because I had recently gotten into opera, and Les Miz seemed by comparison weak sauce to me. The other reason was that I was a snob, and I didn’t want to enjoy anything that was popular. Sondheim was different, somehow; none of my friends were into his music or even knew who he was.
I listened to the score in the bus on the way home on my portable CD player and was instantly very taken with it. It was like nothing I had ever heard before. I brought the CD to my french horn teacher, who was the conductor of the local community orchestra I played in. He was one of my lifelines to the world of high culture. I was curious to hear his thoughts. The next week when he returned it to me he said that he liked what Sondheim had done with minimalism; Minimalism was another thing I had never heard of.
In retrospect, the musical was both helpful and harmful to me as a young person. I loved high art, I loved the craft of music and musicals, and although I was a popular kid who led something of a charmed life, I didn’t have a lot of close friends, and none of my friends shared my obsessive enthusiasm for opera and musical theatre. I couldn’t readily access lyric theatre or even much classical music where I lived. Sunday in the Park was about someone with an obsession to create who, like me, was alienated from the people around him, and the musical urged him (and by extension me) to keep at it, to find something new. I recognized myself in George, and he made it okay for me to feel like an oddball. I felt in George a kindred spirit. The musical validated the identity I was staking out for myself.
The musical also did a great deal of damage, which I only came to realize later. George’s disregard for the feelings of the people who love him is posited as an unfortunate necessity for the creation of his art. Like a lot of people, I was particularly moved by George’s line:
“And when the woman that you wanted goes
You can say to yourself, ‘Well, I give what I give’
But the woman who won’t wait for you knows
That however you live, there’s a part of you
Always standing by
Mapping out the sky
Finishing the hat.”
It’s that “Well, I give what I give”, that’s the rub. Once you’ve decided that your pursuit of your art allows you to disregard other people, you’ve given yourself license to behave rather badly. Like most young people, I made some choices I sure wish I could go back and change, choices I justified by my sense of artistic alienation. So when I was finally able to music direct Sunday at Villanova this year, it was a bittersweet experience. Sondheim is always rewarding to work on, but my time working on Sunday was also a season when I needed to come to terms with the ways I had internalized a negative message. It was in many ways painful to face those truths about myself.
And yet George’s story isn’t the only one to listen to. Others have taken courage from Dot’s story, particularly where she movingly says:
“You could tell me not to go. Say it to me. Tell me not to go.”
And then,
“You are complete, George
You all your own
We do not belong together.
No one is you George, there we agree
But others will do, George.
No one is you, and no one can be,
But no one is me, George, no one is me.”
The magnetism of George’s artistic energy is thrilling and alluring, but you can’t build a lasting relationship with someone like that. Moreover, you can’t find the best version of yourself with a partner who doesn’t value you on your own terms for who you are as a complete self. Dot ultimately discovers her value as a person and follows that value across an ocean.
One of the great joys of working on a Sondheim musical is that there are many depths to plumb. The story is about complicated people, and there is more than one moral to discern. I discovered a different moral while working on the show. As much as George is working alone and alienating people around him, and as lonely as we find Act II George in pursuing his craft, the Georges don’t actually live in isolation. Success is found in connection with those living and dead. Our task as artists is to have the courage to push through to something new, hopefully without sacrificing those we love on the altars of our craft. Our task as people living around artists is to leave them room to create, and to respect ourselves enough to know when to find our own paths without them.
Groundbreaking, and not to everyone’s taste
Sunday in the Park with George seems to catalyze people’s polarized opinions about Sondheim and his work. A number of my friends strongly dislike Sondheim, and Sunday seems to activate many of their most heated negative opinions of his work. Conversely, people who love Sondheim find Sunday the essence of everything they enjoy about him.
These strong reactions are to be expected for a figure like Sondheim because he broke from the strongly established musical and dramatic language the general public had come to enjoy, striking out in a new direction that had far fewer reference points for a general audience. Gluck, Beethoven, and Wagner elicited similarly strong positive and negative responses, because what they were doing seemed to many a rejection of the things they most valued. The subsection of the audience that disliked the new direction found the new ideas these writers presented pointless, boring, or perverse.
My friends who dislike Sondheim are not just bewildered by my enthusiasm, they seem angry at me about it. It reminds me of my experience as a child, when everyone was looking at Autostereogram or ‘Magic Eye’ pictures. They were marveling at the 3D images they were seeing. I couldn’t seem to make it work, and their excitement annoyed me. It seemed to me they must be making it all up. If you’re reading this, I suppose you are likely one of the folks who can see the ‘Magic Eye’ picture in Sunday, at least to some extent. If you can’t see it, nothing I say here is going to change your mind, and that’s really quite fine. Plenty of wonderful things bewilder me. I no longer need all my friends to agree with me about such matters.
Lapine’s recent book, some incredible podcasts, and even TikToks are beginning to peel the layers of this endlessly fascinating musical, so I don’t feel the need to say everything that might be said. I’ll limit my thoughts to four areas:
Sondheim’s relationship to the ‘Golden Age’ Musical, Serialism, and Minimalism
The way Sondheim trained his audience to understand his storytelling language
How that distinctive language has been diluted into a much less interesting lingua franca for contemporary musical theatre
Does Act II work?
In part II, as I’m discussing the many practical difficulties in the show, I’ll be discussing some brilliant and idiosyncratic aspects of Sondheim’s craft, so you’ll want to check that out even if you don’t have any intention of being the music director.
In this exploration, I hope to humanize Sondheim somewhat: to place him in his time, among us as fellow artists and as his audience. As long as he remains a god, we can’t see our own part in his story or his part in ours.
But He Combines All These Different Trends: Sondheim, the ‘Golden Age’ Musical, Serialism, and Minimalism
From the outside, Sondheim appears to have emerged with a singular perspective alone in his generation. Trailblazers are like that. But the reality is of course far more complex, rooted in some heated cultural arguments from the mid 20th century, when Sondheim was formed as a writer. If we place Sondheim properly in that world, we can see that he is part of an interconnected web of ideas, not a lone wolf. This doesn’t diminish his achievement. We see the questions he was driven to ask, and we can ground his answers to those questions in the world of his contemporaries. George isn’t really alone, and neither is Stephen.
Sondheim had two mentors, Oscar Hammerstein II and Milton Babbitt. I have a feeling most folks know about Hammerstein, but Babbitt is much less well known to theatre people. It would be impossible to find two more disparate influences. They stand on opposite sides of a deep divide in 20th century culture.
Milton Babbitt (1916-2011)
Babbitt was one of the most important composers and thinkers of the Serialist (twelve tone) school of composition. He is particularly famous for an article included in every anthology of 20th century music writing: Who Cares if You Listen? It would take much too long to really explore what this often cited and much misunderstood article was about in a page like this. But Babbitt became a very public example of a composer advocating for music the public was never intended to understand. If this sounds very like George’s ‘I do not paint for your approval’, you’re catching the drift.
My ethics as a professor compel me to add that Sondheim studied showtunes with Babbitt, not Schoenberg, that Babbitt loved musicals and was writing one when he and Sondheim worked together. Babbitt was not the pointy-headed, audience hating academic people have portrayed him to be. He did, however, represent the high-modernist aesthetic at its height. His was music of rigorous mathematical construction, explicitly rejecting the populism of the general public’s fickle tastes.
Oscar Hammerstein II (1895-1960)
Hammerstein was Babbitt’s polar opposite. Hammerstein was doggedly interested in communication, and he was so good at it, he built an entertainment empire and inaugurated the so-called ‘golden age’ of Broadway. Hammerstein experimented and took risks. When the risks paid off, (Oklahoma, Carousel) he risked even more. When the risks failed (Allegro), he would turn back toward what he knew would connect with the audience. (South Pacific) Sondheim saw the failure of Allegro firsthand as a 17 year old gofer. It was a seminal experience in the development of his concept of what a writer does.
Mentored by these two giants, Sondheim fused their approaches in a kind of perfect Hegelian synthesis. Sondheim’s work as a composer is marked by motivic interrelationships and calculated development of small musical ideas. This is the Babbitt legacy. His work as a writer is about clarity and communication. This is Hammerstein’s legacy.
To reconcile the opposites, Sondheim needed to temper Babbitt’s purely musical logic. As an example: In the initial planning stages for Sunday, Sondheim was struck with the idea of the elegance of Seurat’s palette:
“I thought: Isn’t this interesting that Seurat had, on his palette, eleven colors and white. And I thought, eleven and one make twelve. And how many notes are there in the scale? Twelve. And I thought, isn’t that interesting? So I thought I would utilize that in some way, shape, or form.”
There is a twelve tone row in Sunday, but it isn’t structurally important, because Sondheim decided the idea was unworkable.
You have to think like Babbitt to come up with that idea. And you have to think like Hammerstein to reject it.
When we situate Sondheim’s output in the context of that mathematician/storyteller dichotomy, we can begin to understand him as someone very like other creators of his generation. His descriptions of himself begin to make more sense in this context as well. Without this context, it’s difficult to make sense of quotes like these:
“In philosophy of art, generally, I’m a conservative. My beliefs are conservative, but my work is not.”
Why would Sondheim take such care to identify himself as a traditionalist? Can anyone hear Sunday in the Park as a conservative work? What might he mean when he distinguishes his beliefs from his work?
The key lies in the divide I’ve been describing. When Sondheim talks about being a conservative composer, he isn’t speaking with reference to other American musical theatre composers. He is positioning himself in the world of tonality as opposed to the school of serialism as classical composers do.
It’s important to keep that dynamic in mind when reading any of Sondheim’s remarks about Babbitt.
“I haven’t studied atonal music. When I studied with Milton Babbitt I asked him if I could study atonality, and he said, ‘you haven’t exhausted tonal resources for yourself yet, so I’m not going to teach you atonal.’ And he was absolutely right; I’m still in tonal… Oh, I listen [to atonal music] but I’m not particularly fond of atonal music. I’m really very tonally oriented. I’m very old fashioned- I’m about 1890. I’m still early Ravel- that’s my idea of terrific. I know something about these things but I rarely use them.”
-Sondheim interviewed by Mark Eden Horowitz
In an interview with Tim Paige, Sondheim claims no association with the sound of Babbitt:
“I hear a little of Oscar [Hammerstein], not a lot, and I hear nothing of Milton.”
Despite his careful efforts to distance himself from the work of his famously thorny teacher, Sondheim’s music reveals a composer more indebted to Babbitt’s approaches and methodologies than he is admitting. Sondheim’s innovations in Sunday are out of step with every other Broadway composer of his time, but are very much of a piece with the work of his generation of classical composers. Sondheim, Steve Reich, Philip Glass, La Monte Young, and Terry Riley were all born between 1930 and 1937. These composers began their musical training in the high modernist tradition, but they found themselves working just as Sondheim was to find intellectually stimulating methods that were nonetheless accessible to the general public.
When my French Horn teacher returned my CD of Sunday all those years ago, he said, “I like what he’s done with minimalism.” That’s almost right. Sondheim wasn’t using the ideas of minimalism to depict pointillism. Sondheim is a minimalist composer, maybe the most successful one of them all.
Minimalist composers still enjoyed the creative task of organizing pitches in mathematical ways. But they wanted the audience to be able to enjoy the game. The movement which would come to be known as Minimalism was not a total rejection of the values of serialism. This music is still carefully structured around processes. Composers didn’t simply write whatever struck their fancy. They treated collections of notes as artifacts to be manipulated, run against each other in interesting ways, repeating, expanding, phasing, contracting, modulating, altering and expanding groups of notes in ways that were interesting to think about and intellectually rigorous. What distinguished these young innovators and made this new music so exciting in the classical sphere was the fact that these composers re-embraced tonality. (which you might think of as being in a key) They further made sure the processes they were employing could be clearly heard, even without any prior explanation.
In 1968 Steve Reich wrote about what he found interesting in musical processes:
“I am interested in perceptible processes. I want to be able to hear the process happening throughout the sounding music… In serial music, the series itself is seldom audible…What I’m interested in is a compositional process and a sounding music that are one and the same thing… The use of hidden structural devices in music never appealed to me. Even when the cards are on the table and everyone hears what is gradually happening in a musical process, there are still enough mysteries to satisfy all.”
Minimalist composers made a point of exploring repetitive Southeast Asian and African musical practices. (When Steve Reich first met Sondheim, he expressed an admiration for Pacific Overtures) The Minimalists also drew inspiration from the repetition at the center of the popular music they were listening to. It was easy for naysayers to ridicule the ever repeating patterns of Philip Glass’s music, but minimalism’s intellectual underpinnings were broad based and anything but simplistic. The music had many points of reference that made it intelligible to an ever larger audience. Repetition was something a 20th century audience implicitly understood from decades of acclamation in popular music, and as Robert Fink has demonstrated in his wonderful book Repeating Ourselves: American Minimalism as Cultural Practice, the repetitions of Minimalism reflected the repeating patterns of 20th century life. We hear in this music the rhythm of the advertising industry and the repeating multiplicity of branding that so intrigued Warhol and the other pop artists who were working at the same time.
To an older generation of classical music enthusiasts, Minimalist music was mindless or worse, nihilist. Reich’s Four Organsfamously drove a Boston audience to a fury of boos, which started when the audience began to realize the repetition would continue indefinitely.
But the minimalists had the last laugh.
In time the musical language of Minimalism made such a cultural impact that today film scores, advertisements, and popular music are suffused with minimalist gestures. The normalization of this musical language is one of the great success stories in Western Art music, and this popularity has obscured Minimalism’s experimental and process based roots. The shadow of Serialism looms large in the fractal patterns of Glass, Reich, and their many imitators. Without serialism’s insight that music could be organized in patterns and processes, the music would never have developed the way it did.
Lara E. Housez has a remarkable exploration of some of the ideas I’m talking about in the fascinating new book Sondheim in Our Time and His. Housez names both the serialist influence in Sunday and the minimalist techniques very well, but stops short of naming Sondheim a minimalist as I have here. You should read her chapter if you find this connection interesting.
Like the other minimalists, Sondheim uses process transformation of melodic ideas as the basis of his later work. Influenced particularly by the music of Steve Reich, Sondheim developed his stylistic language to answer the Musical Theatre crisis of the late 1970s in a way that hadn’t yet occurred to anyone. The way he used repeating structures was driven by the drama, but some of his musical ideas are are very similar to common minimalist procedures.
The passage below comes from Gossip Sequence. The right hand is a pattern of 4, the left is a pattern of 3. The two parts phase against each other. You could think of this as a polyrhythm, but because the pattern sits in a single set of pitches, it sounds much more like Reich than Jazz.
Here’s the beginning of a celebrated piece by Reich: Piano Phase
Two pianists play the same little pattern over and over. They slowly go out of phase with one another until the pattern is displaced by one pitch in one of the players. Then the process continues. Each re-alignment reveals a new combination of pitches in the pattern.
Sondheim uses this method throughout Sunday, but here specifically, the repeating and obnoxious needling performs a dramatic function; like the Pick-a-little-talk-a-little ladies if they were all singing different patterns that contradicted each other.
The chords that begin the musical are repeating with variations in a very minimalist gesture.
Compare this newer masterpiece of minimalism, Promises by Floating Points and Pharaoh Sanders:
If you were to play the first page of Sunday repeatedly for 45 minutes, you’d have a credible minimalist concert work.
I can anticipate enthusiasts of minimalism taking issue with my assertion that Sondheim is a full-fledged minimalist on various grounds. After all, repetition is not necessarily minimalist, and Sondheim doesn’t park for long on any idea. But Sondheim’s increasingly motivic melodic transformations in the vocal lines themselves are driven by the same musical imperatives as the minimalists and are even explicitly minimalist in their expression. (a little more on that in the next post) What distinguishes Sondheim from the other minimalists is that the totalizing commitment to the process is always sublimated in his work to the needs of the drama.
As it happens, other minimalists were writing operas. Glass’s seminal third opera Akhnaten is also from 1984. But because Minimalists are generally so invested in playing out the possibilities of musical ideas on musical terms, these operas tend to have large, static, pulsating sections of text setting, and they don’t move dynamically and fluidly with stories in real time. They feel like pageants, a series of thrilling tableaus, or like a baroque opera, impressive and inert. Even in a season as light as 1976-1977, it would have required someone of extraordinary vision to see Glass’s Einstein on the Beach in one of its two New York performances and predicted it as a way forward for the Broadway musical. Sondheim is too canny to publicly dismiss minimalist opera, but he did write in Look, I Made a Hat:
“When I first heard that the libretto of Philip Glass’s 1979 opera Satyagraha was written in Sanskrit (by him and Constance de Jong) I giggled inwardly at what I deemed its pretentiousness, and delightedly reverting to my snotty adolescence, made many a witty remark at its expense. Then I saw it. Not only was I mesmerized for most of it, I was brought up short by the realization that Sanskrit was the best possible language for an opera libretto. It has the two necessary qualities: it utilizes predominantly open vowel sounds (listen to the title) and it doesn’t invite you to try to understand the language, which is something you automatically do at the opera if you know a smattering of German or Italian or French.”
For a lyricist of Sondheim’s caliber, complimenting a libretto for not inviting comprehension gives a sense of what an audience might value in minimalist opera: Spectacle, not narrative. This was not Sondheim’s way.
Sondheim occasionally joked about stealing ideas from Reich, as in 2012, in recorded remarks for an award ceremony honoring Reich:
“Steve’s experiments with phase music and the musical use of spoken fragments have alone opened the ears of many younger composers as well as some elderly ones like myself. In fact, stealing ideas from him is one of the more satisfying pleasures that I’ve had. I only wish the opportunity arose more often, but, unfortunately, it’s not always appropriate.”
But it should also be noted that repeating and transforming patterns appear in Sondheim’s work as early as 1965’s Anyone Can Whistle, when Reich was just beginning his tape experiments in near anonymity, and that repeating patterns became the organizing principle of large sections of Company and Follies in 1970 and 1971. This is an important point to make, because Sondheim is not exactly copying the minimalist style, as some have described it. He arrived at similar ideas independently and in tandem, working out of the same cultural influences as the composers of art music. To understand him correctly, Sondheim needs to be seen as a minimalist composer himself, not a copycat who pulled minimalist ideas opportunistically into the world of Musical Theatre.
In an interview in 2015, Sondheim claims the first piece he heard of Steve Reich’s was 1979’s Eight Lines, and he “Immediately went to Jerry Robbins and said, ‘you gotta make a ballet out of this’, and he did.” The very minimalist score of Pacific Overtures predates this familiarity with Reich’s music by a full 3 years.
In a July 1985 WNYC interview, Sondheim says:
“It’s not so much that minimalist music influenced me as [that] I got into it, I’ve been an admirer of Steve Reich in particular, and Glass over a period of years, and I found that I realized that as I was trying to musicalize I realized the kind of so-called pointillist painting application of many many tiny strokes of color was not unlike the application of tone clusters, that is to say he would pure tones of color next to each other in order to make another tone, and that’s often so to speak as a matter of fact”
Sunday is therefore both a continuation of Sondheim’s general development as a minimalist himself, and also a specifically Reichian musical language Sondheim sensed would be a good analog to the ideas of the work at hand.
Gathering Supporters and Adherents: The Way Sondheim Trained his Audience
Another drawback to thinking of the artist as an isolated hero is that it neglects the importance of the audience the artist is addressing. The traditional narrative of the trailblazing creator focuses naturally on the progression toward the work we have come to recognize as significant. We want to get a sense of how these breakthroughs came to be, and how the writer thought up their greatest ideas. We consequently lose the sense of the artist slowly bringing themselves and the audience along from work to work, acclimating the audience to the means of expression and setting the terms for what they might expect. A writer with a body of work is in a kind of negotiation with an audience. When a writer with a particularly long career writes a work that represents a new mastery or synthesis of ideas, that not only means that the author has had enough chances to write a piece that they have a deep well of technical skills. It also means that the audience has had enough experiences with the intervening steps toward the capstone work that they can process what the author was trying to say. Without many such points of intersection between the writer and the audience, this dynamic can’t take place.
For example:
To tell the full story of Show Boat is to acknowledge that the audience for the Princess Musicals had learned from Kern’s body of work how to hear the kind of musical storytelling he had in mind; to expect fewer musical trifles and more content, to expect the music to help tell the story.
To tell the full story of Oklahoma is to correctly place the audience’s understanding of what a musical might be in the story of its innovation and success. That audience had partially learned from Hammerstein himself how to hear what he was trying to do.
If Sondheim had written Forum and somehow figured out a way to write Into The Woods without writing, recording, and releasing any of the intermediate shows, the audience wouldn’t have understood the language of the musical enough to enjoy it as they did.
It was fortunate for Sondheim’s career trajectory that he had moderate successes and daring failures in almost equal measure from the beginning, and that all his shows (even the flops) were recorded and publicly released. In this sense Sondheim’s body of work is one of the first to benefit from the readily available distribution of recordings. A subsection of the audience was able to listen again and again to the scores and in doing so develop an understanding of his language.
Gottfried Van Swieten (1733-1803)
In the 1780s and 1790s, Gottfried Van Swieten, an Austrian diplomat and imperial librarian, privately introduced Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven to the music of Bach and Handel. Each of these composers were deeply impacted by this music, known at that time only to a tiny group of connoisseurs.
Sara Levy (1761-1854)
Not long thereafter, a Prussian Jewish woman and amateur musician named Sara Levy also collected this music and shared it with her friends. Her library would eventually make possible the Bach revival led most famously by her great nephew Felix Mendelssohn. Composers who were exposed to this music began incorporating more complicated polyphony and dramatic baroque gestures into their own compositions. Listeners in turn began to appreciate this density and excitement, and to be aware of the Baroque antecedents. This is a case of a very small but well placed audience slowly disseminating a complicated and partially forgotten musical language until eventually the circle of appreciation led to the middle class and the general public. The process took more than half a century.
Wide distribution and consumption of cast recordings accelerated a process like this tremendously. Now anyone with a turntable could memorize shows that didn’t run the length of a week, and one didn’t need to live in New York or afford tickets to be aware of the latest developments in the field.
The cast recording of Oklahoma! In 1943 was the first ‘Original Cast Recording’ and sold over a million copies. This proved the potential profitability of recording every Broadway show that had any public appeal. By 1960, the Original Cast Recording of Camelot was so successful as an album that it significantly boosted the fortunes of the troubled stage show it documented. By 1969, composers like Andrew Lloyd Webber realized that they could exploit that dynamic deliberately, writing the shows to work as albums first, then figuring out how to stage them after they were already popular. In less than 30 years, the tail of recording was wagging the dog of the production itself.
The economics of the theatre was still very challenging for a composer like Sondheim, who wasn’t courting a broad audience like Lloyd Webber. A new show still had to convince enough New Yorkers and tourists to buy tickets and pay off the investors. But that was becoming a separate issue from the development of one’s individual voice, which could be established and disseminated to people who never even attended any of the musicals. I grew up in rural Northern California. The first show I ever attended on Broadway was Sondheim’s Passion, in late 1994, but at 19, I had already purchased and memorized Sondheim’s entire recorded catalog.
A number like Changing from Act I of Sunday is incomprehensible in the language of a ’50s musical. But if one has heard Too Many Mornings from Follies, Another Hundred People from Company, Every Day a Little Death, and Liaisons from Night Music, and Kiss Me from Sweeney Todd, one not only knows how to hear what the piece is about, one expects such a number from Sondheim.
This is also a major factor in the careers of Minimalist composers. Steve Reich, Philip Glass, and John Adams released their music on Nonesuch Records, a prestige label known for releasing beautiful recordings of exciting new work, stylishly packaged to look terrific on your coffee table. It wasn’t necessary to have one’s work programmed by a major orchestra to get musical innovations into the ears of the public. The minimalists built an audience that had to be reckoned with, irrespective of their popularity (or lack thereof) in traditional venues.
This relationship of composer to audience via the medium of recordings is self-selective, which is another of the reasons why Sondheim’s music speaks so well to some people and so little to others. Those in the know chose to be in the know and put in a great deal of time to learn the language.
Now they’re just becoming more and more about less and less: Contemporary musical theatre and the dilution of Sondheim’s Language
Even as early as the mid-1990s, Sondheim’s musical language was so well known among musical theatre fans that it was becoming a major part of the vocabulary of most young writers. In 1995, when the style had begun to permeate the new shows, Amanda McBroom wrote a song entitled ‘Everybody wants to be Sondheim’ Part of the lyric reads:
Listen as they hammer out one chord. Listen ’til you’re ready for a lunatic ward. No wonder Sweeney Todd went out of his gourd,
And later:
And yet the epidemic can’t be curbed. Even Stephen would be disturbed To see what he has spawned universally. ‘Cause everybody wants to be Sondheim. Everybody wants to finish the hat. Everybody wants to be Sondheim but…yours truly.
Everybody wants to assault your ear. Don’t send in the clones – they’re already here. Everybody wants to be Sondheim, Primed every time to rhyme internally,
Everyone’s coming up Sondheim but me.
Today composers use insistent chords in the right hand with jagged offbeats in the left hand; it is as ubiquitous as the Alberti bass in the 1780s. Slowly pulsating quarter notes like the closing number of each act of Sunday are the underscore of most musical theatre ballads. The style is fairly easy to combine with the repetitive accompaniments of pop ballads, (which are also the musical cousins and grandchildren of minimalism). The triumph of his musical language, now drastically simplified and stripped of its rigorous motivic construction, reduced to a set of clichés, has put him in an odd position. His musical style is now in many ways in the position the ‘Golden Age’ stood when Sondheim was first remaking his style.
By the 1970s, the musical language of Broadway had developed an insular vocabulary. It sounded like itself, and only rarely did a song escape a show to be covered by a popular artist. One immediately knew from the style of the writing and the kind of singing that one was listening to a showtune. The bracing rock language of Hair and Jesus Christ Superstar came as a welcome relief, even if at times the new sounds weren’t yet up to the task of telling the story. We feel that excitement in our day when a Hamilton or a Six offers us a glimpse of a stylistic diversity Broadway no longer has. Repurposing songs from outside theatre is not the answer to the artistic cul-de-sac either, as we’ve learned after decades of jukebox fare.
This is where we are now. In the diluted Sondheim language, sarcastic introspection and biolerplate piano accompaniment somehow lose their exploratory quality. It’s white noise, something to be pushed back against if we are to find a new way of making musical theatre, just as Sondheim himself did.
I Hate These People: Does Act II work?
In Kyle Marshall’s excellent podcast, he has been asking guests this season if Act II of Sunday is necessary. Most of his guests are saying it is. But from the very beginning, many have said that Act II doesn’t work. I never felt that way, probably because the encouragement I got from the show is virtually all at the end of Act II. It remains my favorite part of the show.
From moment to moment, number for number, it would be tough to top the second act. It’s Hot Up Here is utterly delightful. Putting it Together is a tour-de-force; one of the most difficult and impressive bravura numbers in Musical Theatre. After a brief scene, there is a slow number that I will admit is not a highlight of the show. But then Lesson #8, Move On, and a reprise of Sunday, three numbers that often bring audiences to tears. So what’s the problem?
I identify a number of factors that make the act hit-or-miss for folks, and I believe all of them are simply unavoidable given the kind of piece Sondheim and Lapine were attempting to write.
It is a principle of musical theatre writing that in the first 15 minutes of the show, the writers tell the audience what they might expect, who to root for, and what’s the main point of the show. If you drastically change the tone or style of the show or introduce major characters past that first portion, the audience feels cheated somehow. At the top of Act II, we briefly see the characters we know, and then they go away, replaced by an entirely new group of people who are exhausting and present brand new problems. The mental energy it takes to process this shift makes some audience members lose patience with the piece. After all, the first act of Sunday requires a very active mind of the audience, especially if one is seeing the piece for the first time. The top of Act II is just a bridge too far for some viewers.
If your strongest connection with the piece is to Dot, not George, the second act is a real let-down. The empowerment Dot experiences at the end of Act I is reversed. Dot comes back to assure George that what he did was all for the best, as long as he made his art his own way.
A third issue people identify is the Chromolume. The Chromolume isn’t meant to be particularly good work. Second act George is stalled out, and we need to see that. The tech for the first act of Sunday can be very complicated, leaving fewer time and resources to solve the chromolume’s technical issues. And these days the creative team also has to access ideas believable as artifacts from the 1980s. The audience has to make sense of this immediately upon meeting George in Act II. The scene where the machine breaks down is very funny, but it’s difficult to piece out how much of what is being portrayed is George’s stalled out art and how much is the decisions made by the production. To process all that while experiencing the show for the first time is a daunting task.
Each of these issues stems from something intrinsic to the message of the show, and in fact, intrinsic to Sondheim’s understanding of himself in his world.
The parallel construction of the two acts (more on that in the next post) tells us over and over again that as much as the world seems different now, these people are locked into the same patterns and playing essentially the same roles as people have always played. Second act George is a different person, but is essentially the eternal George, to the point where first act George’s mother recognizes him as her son. (After initially ignoring her actual son in the first act) When Dot concludes the show, “they are your words, George”, she is asking George to claim his legacy as the ur-artist. The history George discovers at the end of the show is meant for him to participate in and embody, not to imitate. This is how Sondheim himself saw his world. His artistic legacy is wrapped up in his heroes and mentors, who represent an idea of the artist’s struggle and quest in which he is meant to participate. The past nurtures the present and the future.
Incidentally, Sunday is an explicit change in that narrative, In Follies, A Little Night Music, The Frogs, Pacific Overtures, Sweeney Todd, and Merrily, the past in some sense reaches forward in time to condemn the present for losing its way. In Sunday and in Into The Woods, the past reaches into the future to extend grace. In Assassins, the past goes back to being malevolent. But in Sondheim’s work, the past is always an active participant in the present and the future.
There is no way to tell that story in this instance without a second set of characters in another time. The audience’s difficulties in processing the new characters are unavoidable.
Dot’s journey in Act I is refreshingly empowering, and we are sad to see that actress subsequently sitting in a wheelchair and an old-lady wig, draped in sweaters or blankets so that we can’t see that she’s still wearing a corset. She sings an intentionally meandering song and then re-emerges as Dot. Except this Dot has lost all the frustration and humor we loved and now exists as a kind of fantasy of maternal encouragement. (I have given here the unkindest possible reading)
But Sondheim is ultimately writing about George. He doesn’t truly know Dot’s world, and neither does Lapine. The core dramatic questions are artist questions, not relationship questions. In the first act, Dot’s pain is the price we see them both pay for the glory of George’s art. As much as we want to see more of first act Dot, her story has reached the only resolution that makes sense when she leaves him. For a satisfying conclusion to the story, the two must be reconciled, “We will always belong together”. But that reconciliation can’t happen with any honesty in their real relationship. It can only happen metaphorically.
Finally, as Sondheim and Lapine are trying in Act II to draw explicit comparisons to the modern world of art, they have to show new George as a participant in the newest artistic exploration, he must have some success at it, or we don’t know whether he really should be doing this at all, and the work can’t be incredible, or he can’t have a crisis. They have to show this work that has potential, but isn’t all that good.
This is an example of a problem we encounter a lot in art about art. When a character is supposed to have written the perfect song, a composer has an impossible task. And when a character is supposed to have made bad art, it’s an almost equally difficult task for the creator of the fictitious art. Normally artistic presentation leaves it up to the audience to passively decide if something is good or bad. When the piece sets up the quality level of the work as very good or even slightly bad, it invites unwelcome metatheatrical questions. The work in Act I is a famous pointillist painting, so the decision about the quality of the work has already been made by others, and the audience doesn’t have to ask the question.
Again, the piece faces an intrinsic, almost insoluble problem.
It makes sense to me that people don’t enjoy the end of Sunday. But I think what we have is the best possible completion given the placement of the writers in their world. To complete it differently would have required other writers with other stories to tell.
What the Eye Arranges is What is Beautiful
Sondheim usually brushed off questions about whether he was writing about himself:
“A lot of people think that a lot of the songs I write are autobiographical. And they think that the characters I write about are me. They think I’m George in Sunday in the Park with George, or I’m Bobby in Company. But in fact, there’s only been one autobiographical song I’ve ever written, and that was “Opening Doors” in Merrily We Roll Along”
In truth, though, all writers write about themselves. The things that are worth saying grow out of experiences, and you can only have your own. Sondheim is like the Georges and like us. We have inherited a way of seeing our world from the past, full of quarrels and contradictions. We take that inheritance into a world that is constantly changing, where many of the things we love are torn down to build towers. Whoever we may be, it’s up to us to construct a new world in the chaos that brings forward the best of what we’ve been given, even against a never ending parade of naysayers. It won’t do for us to live in the past. I’m changing, you’re changing. We revise the world whether we want to or not. The second acts of our lives may not make sense to some folks, but we can only say what we know how to say.
The temptation with any post-Mikado Gilbert and Sullivan is to focus on how the partnership is on the rocks. (I’ve done so frequently on this blog and am about to do so again) This line of thought reveals a basic truth about Gilbert and Sullivan that cuts both directions. The strengths of each of them are aligned in opposite directions.
As David Russell Hulme eloquently puts it:
“Ultimately the conflicting creative intentions of author and composer have proved to be less a cause of weakness in the work than a source of individuality and strength.”
But not entirely. For the most part, in The Mikado and the operas before it, those oppositions tend to add depth and balance to their work. For Ruddigore and beyond, as their partnership grew more fraught, both men began to fall into excess or haste, and in Ruddigore in particular, flashes of brilliance are cheek by jowl with loose ends and placeholders.
Gilbert’s strengths hardly need enumeration among enthusiasts, but some of you may be new to the party: He found a really original way of constructing plots that pulled together many cultural strands to deftly skewer the absurdities of Victorian English life. He was a skilled craftsman at light verse, and didn’t have much sympathy with the overblown emotionalism of many of his Victorian peers. When they were functioning perfectly, Gilbert’s strengths kept Sullivan’s creative energies focused and unsentimental, and when Gilbert was making fun of something that had an existing musical voice, he gave Sullivan a clear stylistic target to write toward. Yet Gilbert’s strong suits also could become liabilities. Sullivan grew weary of Gilbert’s reliance on the same plot devices over and over again, and only an unusual location or time period would keep Gilbert from ringing the same bells he always rang. Sometimes we sense that Gilbert never got around to making each part of the plot distinctive, and that some characters are simply sketches. Gilbert’s ear for the potential of a comic situation was unerring, but sometimes he would revel in those possibilities to the detriment of plot coherence or character consistency. We see these strengths and weaknesses here in Ruddigore.
Gilbert’s Work in Ruddigore
Gilbert had developed an effective way of organizing the chorus by gender and then playing them against one another comically, often emphasizing the differences in a quodlibet. Here, to get men on the stage, Gilbert has a group of ‘bucks and blades’ from the city hoping to find love among the commoners. But immediately following their first song, the men cease to have any characteristics at all, and are subsumed into a homogeneous mass of townspeople, celebrating the wedding of strangers, somehow managing to be even more generic than than your garden variety townsfolk in their boilerplate expressions of horror during the finale.
Gilbert also has a habit of coming tantalizingly close but ultimately failing to give romantic male leads a distinctive character quality. (think of Ralph in Pinafore, who we are briefly meant to think has the soul of a poet) It’s important to the humor of Ruddigore that Robin be someone very ethically scrupulous, so that his transformation to statutory villain is comically opposite. But Robin’s most obvious character trait is his inability to stand up for himself. I almost wrote ‘modesty’, but in dialogue and song where Robin reveals that modesty, he undercuts it with pride for comic effect. Is he in fact modest? Is he prideful under a veneer of modesty? The confusion leaves us perhaps laughing, but ultimately unclear on who Robin actually is. And if we’re going to draw any conclusions about what this story means, we’ll need to know Robin’s character. Ultimately the humor in the scenes and songs was more appealing to Gilbert than drawing the character well.
Richard speaks like a working-class character, except in The Battle’s Roar is Over, or worse, the first act Finale, where he has a very high poetic lyric that his character might not even understand, let alone invent:
Within this breast there beats a heart
Whose voice can’t be gainsaid
It bade my thy true rank impart
And I at once obeyed
I knew ‘twould blight thy budding fate
I knew ‘twould cause thee anguish great
But did I therefore hesitate?
No, I at once obeyed.
In the dialogue between Robin and Hannah near the end of act 2, there are repeated turns of phrase: “…to lay unholy hands on old Stephen Trusty’s daughter.” and “it would be impossible to desire” It doesn’t feel like parallel construction, it feels lazy. When I hear it onstage, I wonder whether the actor has forgotten the speech and is repeating something they have already said.
Gilbert is also a little lazy in the internal logic of the story itself. Robin/Ruthven asks for his dead ancestors approval for his minor crimes, and then points out that they all had eventually quit sinning, by implication on principle:
“…there came at last a day when, sick of crime, you, each and every, vowed to sin no more, and so, in agony, called welcome Death to free you from your cloying guiltiness”
But that reform seems not to have lasted into the afterlife, because the ancestors have no sympathy for his reluctance to sin, and are in fact driving him toward more severe crimes. If this shift is meant as a joke, the punchline is too far away from the setup. Why did Gilbert bring it up at all? To provide a premise for the song that follows surely. But if we are to believe Act I Despard, they generally won’t leave their descendants alone, and do not need to be summoned. If we are meant to view as heroic the choice not to commit a crime in the face of death, the attitude of these ancestors post-mortem is working at cross purposes.
In the second act, Despard and Margaret have become respectable, and they spend quite a long scene trying to convince Robin/Ruthven to reform and stop sinning. But surely if Ruthven reforms, he dies. And then wouldn’t Despard go back to being the bad baronet? The joke is funny, but it’s made at the expense of plot consistency.
Gayden Wren’s chapter on Ruddigore has a whole paragraph of these loose ends, and they make for interesting reading. But don’t write Ruddigore off on that account, because it also contains some of the finest explorations of Gilbert’s favorite themes.
Gilbert’s plots are powered by the disconnect between the person and the way society expects them to behave.
“Although clearly destined to marry, [Rose] veers from man to man all through Act I, crazily dissociated, embodying an exaggerated and highly gendered form of socialized self-division. Rose carries her self outside herself, searching for her actions and feelings in the etiquette book, which she also obsessively consults for advice about how to interpret the ‘moral worth’ of those she encounters in everyday life.”
It isn’t just Rose who delegates decisions outside of the self. It’s everyone.
Robin/Ruthven is bound to allow his beloved to be married to another at the mere appearance of a British flag. In the first act finale, he tells us he won’t lie until he’s made a bad bart. His title determines his behavior. It’s Frederick’s statutory duty to the pirates all over again. Later, Ruthven wonders if his title means that he’s married to Mad Margaret. His personal feelings and even common sense have very little bearing on any of his actions.
Old Adam, bound by a vow to serve as adviser to Ruthven, fulfills the instructions to abduct a woman, but his choosing Dame Hannah as victim a) betrays a misunderstanding of whatever purpose there might be in abducting a woman and b) contradicts the assertion at the beginning of the opera that he loves her like a boy of 14. The action is true to the letter of the law, but misses the spirit entirely, and runs against Adam’s self interest.
Despard dislikes Margaret until he isn’t a Bad Bart anymore, then he adores her.
Margaret is first compelled by an ‘Italian Glance’, then the safe-word ‘Basingstoke’ to one decision or another, her madness is really just eccentricity, comically brought in hand by a word chosen at random. She stands ostensibly most outside the order of the piece, but is in fact most bound by its world.
Wren has a nice line: “Margaret is so mad she’s almost sane, while Rose is so sane, she’s almost mad”
The chorus of bridesmaids rejoices at the slightest provocation any hint of marriage between any two characters, because they are being paid to. The text at the end of Act I is doggerel, opossums aren’t native to that part of the world and so forth, but what meaningful thing could the chorus say in that moment, having celebrated in quick succession 4 potential unions grounded in nothing at all?
Richard is the only character who truly acts on impulse, but to justify his impulsive actions, he externalizes his heart and invents deliberations with that externalized heart on pressing matters. Comically, he is uninterested in the effects of those actions on others. The pressing question is instead whether it is proper for his externalized heart to refer to him by his nickname.
Hanging over all these perverse ways of making decisions is a pervasive, invasive, and malignant social contract, which is the real engine of any Gilbert plot. Richard asks if it’s appropriate to tell Despard that his brother lives, but after he’s already done so. The act itself isn’t as important as the discussion of that act’s propriety. Ruthven’s instinct to avoid serious infamy is to focus on white-collar paper crimes, forging wills and checks, and when he asks his ancestors if this is sufficient, the arguments revolve around whether one can forge one’s own will or disinherit a son that hasn’t yet been born. When Despard and Margaret confront Ruthven on his crimes, they try to impute ethical responsibility for Despard’s crimes to Ruthven by legal proxy. Perhaps more than any other Gilbert and Sullivan opera, these characters live in a world of ethical abstractions, and the true ethical dilemmas they encounter are not in any way addressed. The conclusion of the opera is as arbitrary as the setup; through a different sophistry, virtually any outcome could have occurred.
All this legal argumentation seems sometimes extremely tangible, even corporeal:
Mad Margaret: I once made an affidavit. But it died- it died- it died!
The whistling clerk scratching a blot- is he making an affidavit?
Gilbert’s social critique is sometimes buried in so much irony that it’s hard to pinpoint exactly who he’s skewering. But there is a place in Ruddigore that seems to be an indictment of the philanthropy of Robber-barons, laundering their reputations with donations:
Despard: I get my crime over the first thing in the morning, and then, ha! ha! For the rest of the day I do good! I do good- I do good! (melodramatically) I get my crime over the first thing in the morning, and then, ha! ha! For the rest of the day I do good! I do good! I do good! (melodramatically) Two days since, I stole a child and built an orphan asylum. Yesterday I robbed a bank and endowed a bishopric. Today I carry off Rose Maybud and atone with a cathedral!
Ruthven even offers a biting critique of the ethical compromises of various stations in his Act II solo patter song. (usually omitted) I find the third verse on members of parliament particularly pointed!
Ye supple M.P.s who go down on your knees
Your precious identity sinking
And vote black or white as your leaders indite
(Which saves you the trouble of thinking)
For your country’s good name, her repute, or her shame
You don’t care the snuff of a candle.
But you’re paid for your game when you’re told that your name
Will be graced by a baronet’s handle.
Oh! Allow me to give you a word of advice
The title’s uncommonly dear at the price.
I fancy some in the original audience may have been dismayed at this stanza. It’s a shame Sullivan didn’t give us his best setting here. Perhaps, having been knighted himself, his heart wasn’t in it. (Gilbert wouldn’t be knighted himself until 1907)
The title of Baronet is in fact not even in the peerage, the order having been created by James I to raise cash for the pacification of Ireland. At the beginning of Act II, the stage direction tells us that the portraits go back to the time of James I, which means the Ruddigores go all the way back. It looks as though Gilbert is trying to draw a strong connection to the powerful and titled people of his own time.
I will argue later that the melodrama scene, in which Dame Hannah is abducted, throws sand in the gears of the traditional machine by which melodrama explores the dangers posed to the bourgeoisie by the landed class.
We also have several places where Gilbert’s characters seem to break the fourth wall and acknowledge that they are in a melodramatic comic operetta. In his first conversation with Adam, Robin drops all pretense of normal conversation and flatly explains his complicated backstory to the one person we have met who already knows it. In our production, he simply turned to the audience and recounted it, as if it were an aside.
Before Welcome Gentry, Mad Margaret makes fun of the concept of the chorus that’s about to enter:
Margaret: …Hide, hide- they are all mad- quite mad!
Rose: What makes you think so?
Margaret: Hush! They sing choruses in public. That’s mad enough, I think!
It’s a great line, and always gets a laugh. But think about it. In the world of an operetta, do the characters know they are singing? Do they experience the music, or is the music for us in the audience, heightening our experience? Is this world we are watching like our world, really? If so, it would in fact be very odd for a whole group of people to start singing in harmony together. In this sense Mad Margaret is saying something very sane, but she has to step outside the world of the piece to do it.
In Despard’s entrance number, he muses on the reasons why an audience would assume he’s a criminal because of his various signifiers and mannerisms, calling attention to the tropes of melodrama he represents.
In My Eyes are Fully Open, Despard and the characters who echo him are clearly aware they are performing a patter number:
This particularly rapid unintelligible patter
Isn’t generally heard, and if it is, it doesn’t matter.
This is a very outside-the-box Gilbert, anticipating an aspect of modernist meta-theatricality by decades.
Sullivan’s Work in Ruddigore
Turning our attention to Sullivan, we have another case of artistic strengths that perfectly counterbalance Gilbert’s weaknesses, except when they don’t. Sullivan is a rather serious and very ambitious composer with a fine mind for rhythm and melody. His ear for harmony is also very strong within conventional means. That is to say that harmonic color is very subtly and deftly employed everywhere, but we are unlikely to be shocked at any of his choices, merely delighted. (which is no small thing) In an era of iconoclasts and titans, Sullivan was ill-equipped to storm the castle of the music of the future. And although I am an enthusiast of Sullivan’s work without Gilbert, it is often diffuse, lacking focus and unsure of where to place its ambition. Gilbert essentially forces Sullivan to be a miniaturist, which is extremely difficult, and which is Sullivan’s true calling.
Because Sullivan tends toward the sentimental, Gilbert’s most acerbic lyrics are given a warmth and joy which broadens their expression immensely. Sullivan’s deep understanding of musical rhythm in phrasing expresses a coherence that makes Gilbert’s wordplay feel inevitable and dignifies some of Gilbert’s less inspired words.
But Sullivan’s portion of Ruddigore also isn’t as tightly constructed as some of his other scores, partly because he must have been utterly exhausted. He had visited the United States to establish The Mikado there and taken a grueling trip across the country, including a 30 hour slog from Los Angeles to Yosemite in ‘broiling heat and smothering dust’. When he returned to England, he wrote The Golden Legend, his most ambitious concert work, which lasts over 2 hours and premiered with almost 450 players. While he was writing this massive work, he had other duties to attend to, like attending to the aged Franz Liszt on his last trip to England. There isn’t much documentation of the music of other composers Sullivan conducted, but also must have been conducting the work of others during this time, and that requires score study and rehearsal. Any normal person would have been on the verge of collapse, and Sullivan’s case was complicated by chronic kidney problems.
A lot of the operetta is in E flat or C minor. In fact, counting by measures, fully a third of the show is in 3 flats. If there were some sort of internal logic to which characters sing in three flats, or if Sullivan were trying to evoke the E flat Masonic music of Mozart, we might look at it differently, but there seems to be no unifying principle guiding proceedings; just a lot of E flat.
In the opening chorus and at the beginning of the First Act Finale, Sullivan establishes a dominant pedal to get us into the vocal entrance, but it feels as though he has just barely made it to the tonic in time, In the opening number, E flat is established as the key, but an immediate, extended and emphatic episode in A flat makes us wonder whether we misread the situation, and he returns us to E flat in the nick of time. The Act I finale seems to be heading toward G, but then eventually and somewhat abruptly sticks the landing to C major. At his most inspired, Sullivan plays games with harmonic ambiguity near the end of a long number, breaking up a codetta and proving that there are still things to find even after a lot of musical exploration. Here he seems unfocused and meandering at the top of the number, right where we might really want clarity in establishing our tonal location.
As you read this blog you’ll hear about many tiny changes Geoffrey Toye and Harry Norris made to the score. None of them are particularly drastic. They trim repeats, they tighten transitions, they eliminate places where a song has ended but the music has two or three more unimportant things to say. The collective impact of all these moments where things go on just a little too long has a cumulative effect on the audience. Ask any director who is trying to eliminate the spaces between lines. “Pick up your cues!” we say. Toye and Norris picked up Sullivan’s cues.
Gilbert needs Sullivan to tell him not to do that same plot again and to give him an interesting idea to musicalize. But Sullivan desperately needs Gilbert to tell him a section is too slack and loses energy.
In Yeomen, Gilbert would give Sullivan a libretto that would enable him to write music with greater breadth and dignity. And in the last masterpiece, The Gondoliers, there are virtually two different pieces; a comic piece for Gilbert, and an excuse for Sullivan to write some incredible Italian music. In Ruddigore we have an especially strong piece that shows the ongoing strains in the partnership.
The reception of Ruddigore
It wasn’t until 1935 that the Savoy Company (the company I music direct for) first presented Ruddigore to the Philadelphia public. Our production is mentioned in Rickett and Hogland’s 1940 book Let’s Do Some Gilbert & Sullivan as an example of how it is in fact possible to put on this operetta successfully, despite its difficulties:
“…that long-established and competent amateur organization, the Savoy Co. of Philadelphia account it one of their most successful productions.”
Savoy waited until 1936 and 1938 to present its first productions of Utopia Limited and The Grand Duke, but those are famously the least popular of Gilbert and Sullivan’s operettas. So Ruddigore took longer than any of the major works to catch on in the City of Brotherly Love. Today the question of whether Ruddigore works in Philadelphia or anywhere else for that matter seems to have been settled. Since that first production, Savoy has put on Ruddigore roughly once a decade, as frequently as The Yeomen of the Guard and even Trial by Jury, and it is regularly produced wherever folks do Gilbert and Sullivan.
Before the 1920s, Ruddigore was considered a failure. It had not been a success in its very first run, partly because it came hard on the heels of The Mikado, an impossible act to follow.
After that premiere production, the opera wasn’t presented by D’Oyly Carte until 34 years after the premiere, first on tour in 1920, and then in London in 1921. In the 20s, Chappell incorporated the changes I discuss here into a revised version of the published vocal score, which became the basis of the Schirmer score from the early 1950s many of you have in your music libraries.
The 1935 Philadelphia Savoy Company production was only one part of a general reappraisal of the G&S canon, but of these re-examined works, Ruddigore made the strongest comeback. D’Oyly Carte recorded it 4 times between 1924 and 1965. They presented it with a touring company in New York in 1934, 1936, and 1955. There were Broadway productions in 1927, 1931, and 1944. By 1953, Schirmer finally published a vocal score. In 1967 it was made into an animated film. The idea of a chorus of ancestors was borrowed in 1937s Me and My Girl, in 2009’s The Addams Family, and in 2012’s A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder. My Eyes are Fully Open, easily one of the finest patter songs in Gilbert and Sullivan has even had a life outside the show. It appears with altered lyrics in Joe Papp’s version of The Pirates of Penzance and in Thoroughly Modern Millie. Not a bad legacy for a piece the New York Times had initially headlined: Their First Flat Failure; The First Gilbert and Sullivan Opera Not a Success
Some of the things that made Ruddigore a disappointment in the original production are the very things we love it for today. Gilbert disliked the music Sullivan wrote for the ancestors scene, but today it is considered one of Sullivan’s very finest stretches of music, showing just how adept he was at writing in the high romantic manner.
The inspired lunacy of Gilbert’s plots masks surprisingly unified themes. Whether the play be set in fictional Japan, Venice, 16th Century London, or in Cornwall, Gilbert is concerned with the difference between the actual self and the impositions of social position and duty. As Carolyn Williams points out, the men in Gilbert’s libretti are often stymied by their professional roles, while the female characters are at odds with how they are expected to behave as women. As silly as Ruddigore is, it is one of the very best and most pointed explorations of these themes. The first audiences were unconvinced by the quick and preposterous conclusion of the work, but surely that’s why we love these endings so much. No great acts of heroism save us from the problems in G&S. We got into this mess on one bureaucratic technicality, we will extricate ourselves on another. All we can do about it is laugh.
In our fractured world, as we wonder about the difference between true self and imposed identity on the one hand and whether bureaucrats are heroes or villains on the other, Gilbert and Sullivan again appear perennially relevant, even as they insist that “it really doesn’t matter.”
The Musical Text:
Ruddigore has the most problematic text of all the Gilbert and Sullivan operas. Utopia Limited and The Grand Duke are often edited heavily, but there isn’t a standardized set of alterations to deal with; you simply have to make the alterations as you see fit. When Geoffrey Toye and Harry Norris amended Ruddigore for D’Oyly Carte around 1920, they didn’t just add a new overture and remove numbers. They made a number of internal cuts and alterations to tighten the action. These internal cuts and changes were reflected in the revised vocal score and the subsequent Schirmer vocal score that in the United States at least, became the new standard edition. It is a mark of the provisional status of Ruddigore in the canon that Schirmer released its edition second to last. Only Yeomen came later, the following year. Princess Ida, Utopia Limited, and The Grand Duke were never released by Schirmer. Like the other operettas, the Ruddigore parts and score you can get in various places (including IMSLP) are based on the corresponding parts that have been circulating for the better part of a century, and for those of us trying to ‘do it right’, those sources always seem a little suspect. We want to try and get it closer to what Sullivan originally had in mind, without the performance practices and alterations that have accumulated over the years. This drive for authenticity has led Sullivan experts to work very hard to make available the original text. We purists want to hear what got cut, what the original overture sounded like, and so forth. This is why the Oxford University Press critical edition is such a great resource, and David Russell Hulme’s excellent and illuminating essay about Sullivan editions in the Cambridge Companion to Gilbert and Sullivan lets us in on many of the challenges involved. I used the Colin Jagger Oxford critical edition of Yeomen when I conducted it a few years ago, and found it worked well with the existing Schirmer score all my singers had access to. The Oxford scores also come in under a hundred dollars and are very readily available. The Kalmus scores of G&S run over $150 and can be tough to track down. Kalmus scores like these are also of varying degrees of quality. Many of them are put together from the parts themselves and contain whatever corruptions have accumulated over the years. The Kalmus scores I own are hand copied by a copyist, and some are not consistently well laid out. So generally, I try to get my hands on one of the 3 Dover G&S full scores, The Broude editions, or the OUP editions, and leave Kalmus for when I’m absolutely stuck.
However, here we have an unusual situation. The OUP edition is trying to establish a text that represents as much as possible the opening night version of the score. This is critical to our understanding of the work and an invaluable addition to the scholarly literature. But in performance, I venture to say that Toye’s and Norris’s version is stronger, and that you will almost always want to retain their changes.
David Russell Hulme essentially calls me out in his Cambridge essay:
“It … became clear very early in my involvement with professional productions, that although conductors and directors might be enthusiastic in principle about following more authentic texts, the familiar corruptions would often remain if they decided these better suited their ideas. One had to be consoled with the thought that at least they had made an informed choice.”
Choosing the ‘familiar corruptions’ proves difficult to do while conducting from the scholarly edition, which doesn’t track these changes consistently, and doesn’t include things like Toye’s overture or the reconfigured conclusion of the operetta. The internal changes Toye and/or Norris made to tighten up numbers themselves are not simply a measure or 2 cut here and there. A half a measure in one place will lead to the second half of another measure elsewhere. Toye and Norris made these cuts rather expertly, especially the 5 cuts in the first act finale and marking them in the critical edition to conduct from is very difficult. Fortunately, Ruddigore is one of the Kalmus scores which is really quite excellent. Tom McCanna’s excellent edition is a joy to conduct from. If you compare it measure for measure to the OUP, you will see that they differ in detail in many places, especially dynamics, but not wildly so. The Kalmus score almost exactly matches the Schirmer score your singers will be most familiar with.
You could absolutely choose to music direct from the Oxford piano vocal score, which corresponds to the critical edition, but if you are conducting an amateur group, your singers will not be able to use their existing scores. Further, you will lose access to a number of the better ‘corruptions’. Whatever you choose to do, I really want everyone who can to go and pick up a copy of the OUP Ruddigore partitur, though, because the Gilbert and Sullivan community has to support the production and publication of these editions! Beyond issues of performability as a conducting score the only real quibble I have with the OUP edition is that it does not include in its collection of sources the Schirmer or Kalmus scores. Oxford’s Yeomen score includes the Schirmer vocal score in its sources and accounts for variants in the commentary. Because the critical commentary isn’t comparing the most authentic primary sources with the most popular corrupted sources measure by measure, the reader is often left to wonder whether dozens of variants are legitimate or whether something has been missed in the critical edition. (having edited from primary sources myself I can attest to the ease by which things can be overlooked) There are dozens of discrepancies between those the scores, many in the horns, that aren’t explained in the critical commentary, but really need to be addressed, especially because some of them are sensible lines of music. How would stray countermelodies find themselves inserted into an otherwise accurate score, for example? Other variants are so odd that one wonders how a source could be so badly misread, or to what end the variant was made. I’ll note the variants I discovered below. There may well be others I simply didn’t see. I will also try to catch as many of the obvious errors in the Schirmer piano vocal score that I can find, since I was unable to find an errata list online. Finally, as much as I want to support the Oxford scores, I want to reiterate that I found myself much better off conducting my production from the Kalmus. If you have the stamina to read this entire blog post, you will see what I mean, particularly when it comes to the Finales of both acts.
Before You Start:
A great place to start with any G&S Operetta is the Gilbert and Sullivan Archive page.The page for Ruddigore is pretty extensive, including interviews and reviews of early productions.
The most commonly used edition is the Schirmer vocal score, edited by Edmond William Rickett. There are a number of errors which I’ll try and cover as we go; the G&S archive seems not to have an errata list. I linked to Amazon here, because most people these days buy from them. But do be aware that they sometimes lump together more than one edition of the same score, so you might accidentally get a rival edition when you order. If you decide you’d like to go with the Oxford critical edition, it is very good, with the caveats I mention on this page.
I believe in conducting chorus rehearsals from the vocal score until the chorus is off book, and then switching as early as practicable to the full score to conduct rehearsals. There is a real wealth of detail in the orchestration that you as a music director need to be aware of that is simply not present in the Piano Score. Some of these details can actually change the way you sing and rehearse the material! If you are renting parts, do check to see if you can get your hands on the score that goes with them to use as you rehearse. It goes without saying that conducting the operetta in performance with an orchestra from the Piano Vocal Score is an unpardonable infraction unless it is absolutely unavoidable.
Recordings:
As always, the OakApple Press page laying out all the major recordings is complete and fantastic. Many of these recordings are available on Spotify, but I encourage you to buy a hard copy. Looking to D’Oyly Carte for style or pronunciation help is a good idea, but I’m sorry to say that even in the case of vowels, you will find very little uniformity from one D’Oyly Carte recording to the next.
If you’re going to be Music Directing Gilbert and Sullivan, you’ll want to begin building a library of reference materials. I recommend getting these, as you are able:
A Most Ingenious Paradox: The Art of Gilbert and Sullivan by Gayden Wren: Good stuff, especially seeing the shows in the context of the whole output. I come back to this book again and again. Wren’s discussion of flowers as a thematic element is enlightening, and I am heavily indebted to his clear-eyed dissection of various moments of the piece.
The Gilbert and Sullivan Lexicon by Harry Benford: in which you will find the definitions of all those words you don’t understand.
One of my favorite books is Carolyn Williams Gilbert and Sullivan: Gender, Genre, Parody. Her discussion of this piece against the conventions of Victorian Gothic novels and gender constructions is just tremendous.
After you have procured some of these, set aside a number of hours to do the following:
1) Listen to the soundtracks with the score in hand, marking things that strike you as interesting. I also made a pass at one point with a metronome and marked the tempi of all the sections from several recordings so that I would have a benchmark of speed. When a singer complains about a tempo, it helps to be able to check and say, “Ah, yes, we’re too slow” or: “This is within the range of generally accepted tempi.” or yet again, “I’d like to take it this fast, but currently our diction won’t allow it.” Sullivan doesn’t always notate phrasing or articulations, and while it’s easy to say, “Let’s just leave it up to the taste of the players”, it’s sometimes necessary to actually make clear decisions as a conductor so that the ensemble is telling the same musical story. I have developed a system with colored pencils, where I listen to a recording of a particular year with, say, a red pencil in hand and just mark interesting articulation, dynamic, or tempo choices for the key moments. Then I go back with a different color and enter another recording’s take on the same moments. Pretty quickly one begins to realize what is standard, what is done almost every time, and what is open to interpretation. You will also find your own preference in those places where there appears to be a wide range of opinion. To me, this is the beginning of discovering your own voice as a conductor; finding where the limits of expression have been in the past, and deciding what you are drawn to in answer to the points that are vague.
2) Take the Lexicon book and copy in pencil all the definitions into the score where you don’t already know the meanings.
As You’re Casting:
Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd/
Robin Oakapple
Note- This name is pronounced “Riven”.
A patter baritone, originally played by George Grossmith, who also originated Joseph Porter, the Major General, Bunthorne, the Lord Chancellor, Koko, and Jack Point. He should have great comic timing and be able to navigate fast text quickly and clearly. He must be able to hold a harmony part. Theoretically he should be older than Despard. (see below) We must root for him, he must be likeable, and the more innocent and guileless he seems, the funnier the show will be.
You should hear part of ‘My Eyes are Fully Open’ in the audition.
Richard Dauntless
Originally played by Durward Lely, who had created Nanki Poo in The Mikado, among others. Lely sang most of the bel canto tenor roles before he defected to operetta, and eventually went back to opera, singing frequently with Adelina Patti. Give the role to your best tenor, hopefully one with a somewhat italianate sound. Should have good comic timing. Choosing an amiable and likeable actor makes Rose’s decisions easier to understand. Playing Richard as a despicable cad may be funnier. It would be wonderful if he has no chemistry whatsoever with Rose. Should be cast with someone who is a passable dancer, or you should cut the hornpipe.
Sir Despard Murgatroyd
This was the Rutland Barrington part. Barrington created Corcoran in Pinafore, the Police Sargeant in Pirates, and Pooh Bah in The Mikado. Despard is technically a baritone, but has a rather large range, up to E natural on the top and down to a low F# on the bottom. As Rickett and Hoogland point out, it should really be a big voice, and an imposing person as well. Should also be adept at patter and have good comic timing. In the script we discover he is younger than Ruthven, but that’s inconsequential, because he’s been committing all manner of evil deeds for 10 years, which might well have blackened his soul like Dorian Gray. (which was only a few years from being written when this piece premiered)
You should definitely hear some of ‘My Eyes are Fully Open’ in auditions.
Old Adam Goodheart
Adam has a low E flat and a critical harmony part. So apart from the bits of dialogue, which one naturally hopes are well played, the musical elements are paramount. Rickett and Hoogland have a good word in their chapter: “He is old and decrepit- take care that his be not also inaudible” There was originally a name change for Adam as well, but this plot point was dropped. The name “Gideon Crawle” appears in a line in Act 2 as a vestige of this old draft.
Rose Maybud
Originally played by Leonora Braham, who created the title role in Patience, Phyllis in Iolanthe, and Yum Yum in The Mikado. Rose differs little from the other G&S soprani, except that she has very little coloratura and only a couple of truly challenging passages. All G&S soprano roles need a clear tone, intelligible diction, and the ability to play the irony of scenes. Some of these scenes, and her aria are exceptionally funny.
Mad Margaret
Originally played by Jessie Bond, who had created Hebe in Pinafore, Iolanthe, Pitti Sing, and Tessa in Gondoliers. One of the truly great G&S roles, a large personality is necessary along with excellent musicianship and crystal clear diction at speed. Madness is a trope of Romantic opera, one which is expertly skewered here. Margaret is a role for a very skilled performer. In addition to the opening of the mad scene, you will want to hear the bottom of Schirmer score 123 and the top of 124 in auditions; that line is quite difficult. You may also want to hear a bit of ‘My Eyes are Fully Open’ Rickett and Hoogland correctly point out that unless you have a Mad Margaret, your production is likely to be, in Hamlet’s phrase, “weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable.”
Dame Hannah
Originally played by Rosina Brandram, who first played Kate in Pirates of Penzance, and Katisha in Mikado. Dame Hannah is very much like her sisters in the pantheon. She is ideally older and curmudgeonly, capable of convincingly wielding a weapon. She has an important harmony part in the first act finale, and should be a good storyteller with excellent elocution, since she has quite a bit of important exposition at the beginning of the show.
Zorah
One of the smaller featured G&S chorus roles, Zorah nevertheless has some lovely music, including an important piece of recitative that needs to come off rather dramatically
Ruth
Ruth is a speaking part, a wonderful role for a chorus member you want to feature who hasn’t had a chance at a larger role.
Roderic Murgatroyd
Roderic is a wonderful bass-baritone role, particularly suitable for an older member of the company, although ideally he has the optional high A. The original Roderic played the Pirate King and the Mikado. Needs to command the scene and pair sensibly opposite Dame Hannah in terms of age.
Professional Bridesmaids
There is a chorus of an unspecified number of professional bridesmaids in Ruddigore. Their part is not terribly difficult, so you can choose these on other grounds, such as dancing ability, provided they can sing at all. Obviously a good soprano/alto distribution is desirable.
Ghosts
The Ghosts are really all about singing in harmony. There are generally 7, in addition to Roderic. This is not really ideal for a number of reasons. Firstly, the number is almost by necessity staged upstage, which is not the best situation acoustically. There is quite a bit going on in the orchestra, so the balance will almost always be a problem. Sullivan has written the ensemble in 2, 3, and 4 part divisions. Some of these do not include Roderic. Divided in 2, we are balanced 4 against 3. Divided in 3, we are 3 against two groups of two. Divided into 4, we are 1 against 3 groups of 2. Some part will always be wanting. If you add an 8th Ghost, you have better luck, but your costumers will probably not take kindly to that addition, because the costume labor involved is very intensive for this scene already, every ghost having a different costume from a different era, reproduced as a painting on the stage. The middle part (2nd tenor or baritone) is the hardest to hear, as you might imagine. You will want 2 on that part if possible. I would say for the sake of hearing the parts and keeping them distinct to keep those two close enough to hear one another and away from the first tenors against whom they have a few seconds. Unfortunately, your staging almost requires that they be in isolation from one another.
Chorus
If you remove the ghosts and bridesmaids, Ruddigore is one of the least intensive scores for chorus. In fact in our production, we added the male chorus to a few numbers. I’ll share where and how that’s possible below; if you don’t add them, the non-ghost male chorus has quite a bit of down time.
General Pronunciation Advice:
I copy here general note from earlier G&S posts, with some slight emendations.
I am still no expert on RP English pronunciation, but I offer here a couple of basic pointers, to which I intend to add as I learn more:
1) Be aware of the Trap-Bath split. A fellow Savoyard in my tenor section made me aware of this chart, which is very helpful: trap-bath
2) ‘R’s that begin a word are tripped or rolled. ‘R’s that come before a vowel are tripped. ‘R’s that come after a vowel are generally dropped. At no point is the ‘r’ pronounced as we Amerrricans pronounce it. (although you may encounter different kinds of Rs if characters have regional British accents)
3) Mary, Merry, and Marry employ three different vowel sounds. Where I come from, they are pronounced identically. In Philadelphia, they are pronounced as three different vowels, but they aren’t the same vowels. Interesting chart on this matter:http://www4.uwm.edu/FLL/linguistics/dialect/staticmaps/q_15.html In G&S, you’ll want to say Mary with an eh as in air, Merry with eh as in get, and Marry with an ah as in cat. (someone will certainly correct me on this)
4) Many u vowels will need a y sound before them: duty becomes dyewtee, tuning becomes tyooning, new becomes nyoo, and institution becomes instityooshun.
5) Been becomes bean.
6) For words which in American English replace ‘t’s with a d sound, a true ‘t’ sound should be used. “Water” is not pronounced “wadder”, and certainly not wooder, my Philadelphia friends. But be careful not to overcompensate. I have noticed that some Americans are so anxious to Britishify their speech that they change to ‘t’ sounds that are truly ‘d’s. Lady should not be Laty, as I’ve heard people say when attempting to posh up their language. Not every ‘d’ needs to become a ‘t’, only the ones that are truly ‘t’s to begin with!
7) As I continue to conduct these pieces, and after continuing encouragement from the English members of our American company, I am beginning to become fixated on words like “all”, and the second syllable of “Doctor”, “Major” and “Sailor”. The British “all” has a darker vowel than the Americans use, almost to the point of sounding like ‘ole’, and the second syllable of the ‘or’ words is pronounced like ‘or’, not ‘er’, as Americans would say it. I am still conflicted about that particular one, because the D’Oyly Carte recordings are by no means consistent on that point, and especially at speed, it is very difficult to articulate a tall ‘o’ vowel in such a word. It is something to keep one’s ears open for.
That is by no means exhaustive, and I’ve probably gotten some of it wrong, but that’ll get you started. There are some places in this show where pronunciation will be governed by a rhyme. I will try and hit each of those points as we go.
Going through the show number by number:
Overture
We encounter the superiority of the 1920 revisions immediately with the overture. Hamilton Clarke’s original overture begins with music from the opening of Act II. That music works well enough to get people back in the mood to watch another act, but has very little momentum, certainly not enough for the very beginning of the opera. A mid-tempo cornet solo on Oh Why am I Moody and Sad? uses the less dramatic second section of that number and manages to remove even what drama remained. In the 46th measure, Hamilton finally uses music of a quicker tempo, but he uses Welcome Gentry, a partner song. The fun of a partner song comes in hearing how they overlap, so the overture steals the thunder of a nice moment later in the piece, and when those parts do come together here, they don’t balance well. The clarinets, oboe, and bassoon playing the faster melody in their mid-registers are no match sonically for the violins, trumpets, flute, and piccolo playing the other melody at the top of their ranges. After an interesting and rather beautiful transitional passage that seems to be new, Clarke gives us a section of The Battle’s Roar is Over, again, poorly balanced. At one point the entire woodwind section and the first violins play the melody, accompanied by long tones in the brass, with the only rhythmic impetus provided by the second violins, violas and cellos. The overture closes with music from the Act II finale “When a Man Has Been a Naughty Baronet” To Clarke’s credit, this idea is developed and comes to a sprightly conclusion that doesn’t overstay its welcome. I haven’t met anyone that thinks this is a more effective way to open Ruddigore. The 1920 version stands head and shoulders above Clarke’s.
Toye’s immeasurably better version also opens with music from the top of act II, but quickly cuts to the most interesting part of the opera, When The Night Wind Howls. When you get to the Allegro energico, you will want to pick a tempo that is not too fast for your woodwinds in measures 7-9, but fast enough that you get an exciting tempo for the melody that will follow. Toye’s scoring here is considerably heavier than Sullivan’s here, which is not surprising, since Toye was writing more than 30 years after Sullivan. The vocal melody that Sullivan had tenuously supported with pizzicato viola alternating with a single clarinet has been assigned to the cellos, violas, horns, and clarinets en masse. That’s a combination with a lot of body. We’ll discuss later how When The Night Wind Howls is tricky to balance even in its original context. The point here is that the violins are divided 4 ways, and thus may be drowned out by your winds unless you have a substantial string complement. Toye then combines the countermelodies from multiple verses to decorate the melody. If your orchestra is big enough, this is a wonderfully effective texture. In the second verse that follows, Toye leaves Sullivan’s original scoring and strikes out on his own. The flutes, oboe, and clarinets have a new accompaniment idea, which is much more pedestrian than Sullivan’s original scoring, but effective enough in its own way. The pizzicato strings that punctuate the melody here are wonderful, but are liable to be drowned out by the forte timpani rolls, so you might moderate that dynamic. When I see the cello and bass at letter C, it looks like evidence that this overture was written by somebody who has struggled with the lack of firm downbeat in the scoring later in the opera. The music from the opening of Act II returns, leading us to a section of I Know a Youth, with the vocal part very aptly assigned to the oboe where it was missing from the scoring in the opera proper. An extension takes us through a transitional passage to My Eyes Are Fully Open. 3 measures below the key change, I conducted a steep accelerando in 4, then took the last 2 measures before rehearsal H in 2. Toye preserves the original scoring for a long time, adding only a very idiomatic clarinet in the echoing phrases. Toye eventually breaks away from the original scoring and develops these ideas. This development isn’t at the level of the Yeomen or Iolanthe overtures, but it is a very workmanlike treatment indeed! The development in fact leads to a reimagining of “I Shipped D’Ye See”, complete with a new countermelody and a far more expansive scope. That in turn leads to an expanded hornpipe, which is also very well scored. The completion of the overture breaks no new ground, but is well made and closes satisfyingly in a very Sullivanesque style.
ACT I
1. Fair is Rose
This is not the finest opening chorus by any means, but it does its job well enough. Work to get clear cutoffs from your singers right from the beginning.
Your beat pattern will have to change in this number, and that isn’t indicated in all editions of the score. Essentially all of Zorah’s music is in 4, and the women’s chorus is in 2.
‘Wind’ rhymes with ‘kind’.
The word ‘passed’ should be pronounced as though it rhymed with ‘lost’.
There is an error in the left hand in the second measure of page 19 in the Schirmer vocal score. There’s no such thing as a half note with a flag.
FLOWER ALERT: The name Rose Maybud starts the flower imagery off with a bang.
2. Sir Rupert Murgatroyd
The trickiest part for the chorus is the closing ‘d’ consonants. I put them on the 4th of 6 beats on page 24 for ‘enjoyed’ and the first ‘Murgatroyd’, then on the downbeat of the last measure on the page for the last ‘Murgatroyd’. On page 28, we made the ‘cloyed’ and ‘troyd’ as as short as possible, and put the last cutoff on the downbeat again. Incidentally, I really hope one day one of you out there explains to me the convention of tying the last note of a phrase to an eighth. Cutting off phrases on the 5th of 6 beats always feels needlessly precious to me, and I wonder if that’s what’s actually meant.
If Sullivan (and many other composers who notate like this) means that the cutoff actually happens on beat 4 and not beat 5, why don’t we have the following tied to an eighth note in the next measure?
I suppose it’s possible Sullivan wanted the 5th beat in the first example and the downbeat in the second, but we often see this kind of thing happening at tempos where the difference would be impossible to distinguish and would waste quite a bit of rehearsal time.
Honest question.
The ending of this number is one of the places where Toye and/or Norris made a very shrewd cut, taking 3 measures out that add nothing to the number and slow the momentum of the beginning of the show.
3. If Somebody There Chanced to Be
This is a delightful aria for soprano that more people should sing more outside of the context of the show. The story is funny, the melody is lovely, and the technical demands aren’t odious.
Sullivan’s melody is a masterful chromatic descent followed by another going the opposite way.
Then an even slower descent from G all the way down to E.
Only C# and D# are missing from the inclusion of every pitch here.
In the section that follows, a diatonic melody with a simple sequence is balanced with a yearning chromatic answer.
In opera a chromatic line, particularly a descending chromatic line, often indicates the erotic. (see for example, the Habanera from Carmen or Mon coeur s’ouvre à ta voix’ from Saint Saёns Samson et Dalila, both about a decade older than Ruddigore)
There is something very Gounod-esque about Sullivan’s tune to my ear, and the juxtaposition of this very oblique lyric with such a sensual tune is part of the joy of it. The luxurious instrumentation in octaves of the melody from measures 61 to 67 almost sounds like Massenet to me, which is hilarious since in both verses, she is singing the least sexy sentiment in the entire lyric. Gilbert’s melody veers from a diatonic sensibility to a rather erotic (for Sullivan anyway) chromaticism, and when the melody prosaically lands on the tonic, we can’t help but feel for our heroine, who has to keep her longings under the thumb of her rule book.
The opening ritornello didn’t give me a moment’s pause in piano rehearsal, but when the orchestra arrived, I found the passage disorienting.
Think about this melody in 2 measure phrases. It looks as though measure 5 is a dead spot, a lift, and that measure 6 begins a new phrase, shaped exactly like the previous one. But because of the vocal entrance, the 6th measure really must be an upbeat. Just think of the first 8 measures in groups of 2, with the 9th measure as the beginning of the tune proper.
I conducted the whole thing in 1, except “Where can it be?” and “Now let me see”, which I conducted in 3. But that’s really about the timing of your singer.
Toye and/or Norris took a cut in the passage that takes us back to the second verse, and shorten the ending. Again, although we would always want to consider Sullivan’s first thought, I think most people would find that Toye and Norris’s cuts help move the action forward and that the omitted passages don’t add anything significant musically to the proceedings.
4. I Know a Youth
This is an example of a whole family of lyrics Gilbert wrote that lay the groundwork for Hammerstein’s conditional lyrics like ‘People Will Say We’re in Love’, ‘Only Make Believe I Love You’ and ‘If I Loved You’. This is a particularly fine and well-loved example. Were I Not to Koko Plighted from The Mikado is another. The tempo changes and fermatas are critical to the delightful storytelling in this very funny duet.
There is a horn countermelody in the 9th and 10th measures that appears in the Kalmus score and parts but not in the Oxford score. The critical commentary doesn’t have any information about it, but it seems like a sensible musical idea; it may be legitimate. It appears in Malcolm Sargent’s 1931 and Isidore Godfrey’s 1950 and 1962 D’Oyly Carte Recordings, and in the 1966 BBC broadcast. Sargent’s 1962 recording and New Sadler’s Wells 1987 recordings do not include it.
At the end of the number is another Kalmus horn part not included in the Oxford score or mentioned in the critical commentary. It opens up an odd line of inquiry, because the added horn line is rather exposed and somewhat hard to balance if you don’t have a lot of strings playing that pizzicato.
Of course, it could very well be someone’s spurious addition to the score. But what an odd place to insert something! And how specific this idea is.
This horn part is included in Isidore Godfrey’s 1950 and 1962 D’Oyly Carte recordings, and in the 1966 BBC broadcast. It is not played in Malcolm Sargent’s 1931 or 1962 recordings. New Sadler’s Wells Opera Recording in 1987 includes the horn with the other winds, but does not extend the line further than the other winds.
This is the first of several examples of horn parts that seem to overstay their welcome in an unusual way. I’ll track them as we come to them.
5 & 6 From the Briny Sea
It is possible to add the basses and tenors to the opening chorus here, with the basses on the alto part (down the octave) and the tenors on the soprano (also down the octave, naturally) Be certain to drill the chorus on where the T of ‘it’ goes each time.
‘Froggee’ is considered a slur, and is usually replaced by ‘and he’
I think it’s important to replace ‘lubberly’ with ‘cowardly’, which means the same thing and makes more clear to American audiences that we disapprove of domestic violence.
In each verse, for both soloist and chorus, be sure your sixteenth notes are true sixteenth notes. Most performances devolve into eighth notes.
There is a traditional ritardando at ‘And I’ll wager in their joy…’
There is an additional high note if you have a tenor who likes to sing them (is there another kind?) In the last verse, the last time you sing , ‘who had pity on a poor par-ley’, you can sing a high G on ‘ley’ with a fermata. If you do that, have your strings play to the end, just the quarter note length for the last note, coming back in on cue in tempo the measure after. The fermata for the chorus is only in the last verse. (that may also take some rehearsing to recall)
Between 5 and 6, we again have a change (I believe from the 1920s), which may be one way or another in your edition. The third ending has cut directly to the chord, which is sung as a whole note with a fermata. In practice, this is an awkward moment. I don’t really feel that fermata is earned. But the quarter note ending also feels wrong, and either way, the transition to the hornpipe is even less salutary. We performed this section as written, but I wonder whether the whole note fermata measure might be removed entirely, the final chorus syllable on a quarter note, leading in tempo to the hornpipe.
Speaking of the hornpipe, the Schirmer score specifies 4 times through it, at different volumes. The Oxford score only lists 3. This hornpipe was a late addition to the score, after the original Dauntless suggested to Gilbert that his character ought to dance there. The autograph score is marked by Sullivan with instructions as to which instruments are to play and which to remain silent during each verse of the tune. The Oxford score and the Kalmus score don’t agree, unfortunately, and the Kalmus score includes a part for cornet and trumpet that isn’t in the Oxford at all. The critical commentary doesn’t address this extra part, which does seem to work well in context.
7. My Boy, You May Take It From Me
Again we are in well trod territory for Gilbert: A character giving life advice in essence, You have to just keep plugging away at it, or, go along to get along, or If you don’t stick up for yourself, who will?
Other examples might include, When I Good Friends was Called to the Bar, from Trial by Jury, When I Was a Lad from HMS Pinafore, or When I Went to the Bar as a Very Young Man from Iolanthe.
As with all patter songs, you have to go as fast as you can and still understand the words.
The Schirmer and Oxford scores don’t explain why the caesura on page 48 is there in verses 2 and 3.
In the second verse fermata, Richard traditionally says, “I don’t know!”
In the third verse fermata, Richard traditionally says, “No I didn’t!”, and then Robin replies, “Oh, I thought you did!”
Once again, Toye and Norris make some very good cuts; originally each verse went all the way back to the beginning of the number, and each verse included the repeat in the chorus. Again, Toye and/or Norris have cut sections from the number that are not missed and I think delaying the addition of Richard’s voice to the very end is more dramatically effective.
8. The Battle’s Roar is Over
This number was deleted in the 1920 D’Oyly carte version, and not reinstated until 1977. That would indeed be a real loss, because this is a lovely number, even if the lyric is completely out of character for Richard. The music, particularly in the second half is clearly meant to evoke waves, and there is a really extraordinary Neapolitan harmonic shift, the first harmony so far in the opera that is in any way exotic. (I wonder why Sullivan chose it for this moment?)
A second surprising harmony occurs in the coda. Is there some depth in these two characters we had missed?
9. If Well His Suit Has Sped
This is a modified reprise of the Opening number. The musical and punctuational question mark indicated in the last measure of the Schirmer score is obviously meant to indicate the bridesmaid’s curiosity. Is this indeed an accepted proposal? Funny stuff.
There is an error in measure 10 of the Schirmer vocal score. For the first 2 left hand chords, the middle note is a C natural. It changes to a C flat on the third and fourth notes.
The Oxford score includes the music for the extra bridesmaid interjections in the subsequent scene, but conducting them is in no way necessary. It’s a nice touch for them to lead this themselves.
10. In Sailing O’er Life’s Ocean Wide
This is a brief but truly delightful number, one in which you will want to get a feel for Sullivan’s phrasing details that only come out in the orchestrational context. Wren complains that Sullivan hasn’t written his usual variation from verse to verse, but he’s mistaken. This is harmonically and rhythmically one of Sullivan’s most ingenious paradoxes.
If you were looking at this text intending to set it, I dare say you would immediately think it should be in 4, (read it out loud and feel the stress of the words and I bet you’ll agree) but Sullivan has other plans. He sets Rose’s part with three notes on ‘heart’ and stresses an unstressed word in the men’s parts to get the lyric to behave in 3.
The opening chorus manages phrase energy in a sort of aquatic way, ebbing and flowing like an ocean wave.
Note further that the three voices are going in and out of sync with one another, as the three characters do in the story.
This 3 measure phrase feels off-kilter, and is emphasized by nesting rhythmic patterns in the orchestra.
The figure in the clarinets and bassoon is adorable, and doesn’t appear in the piano vocal (how could it?)
Phrasing with 3+3+3+3+2 measures (to equal a 14 measure period total) is a strikingly unusual and asymmetrical idea, which matches the perplexity of the situation. But this is made yet more effective by the fact that each singer has 2 phrases, then modulates to a version of the phrase that seems like an intensifier but in fact ushers in the next singer in a LOWER key. Richard’s verse begins in Eb, on an Eb. Robin’s verse begins in Db, on a Db, and Rose’s verse begins in Cb, on a Cb. Yet the downward modulations aren’t a carbon copy. They begin the same, but each verse heads in a different direction after the initial phrases. Interestingly, Richard’s heads toward Bb minor, but Robin and Rose both go toward Eb minor. Coincidence? Or is this underlining the relationships again? Sullivan manages to get Rose into the highest range of the central section, even though she’s in the lowest key.
The net effect is that each singer seems to be getting more excited, even as the trio modulates down and down. Sullivan manages to get us into Ab with an ingenious modulation. For those who carp about Sullivan using diminished chords reflexively whenever a crowd is surprised, he uses them here for an impressive bel canto sleight of hand to prepare the dominant to our home key. Any composer would be proud to have written such a subtle and natural piece, especially since its dimensions are rather perverse.
In the context of the increasing musical complexity of 19th century music, the modern listener sometimes forgets to listen for the right things. This is after all, the year Verdi’s Otello and Bruckner’s 8th symphony were written, and if we are listening to Sullivan as though we expected Iago’s Credo, mysterious, complicated and murky, we will be disappointed. Instead we want to listen to him as a bel canto composer, and in that context we discover Sullivan balancing and joining these small ideas in ways that distinguish him and his music from virtually all of his contemporaries. This isn’t a lagoon of murkiness, it’s a house of cards perfectly balanced in a way that doesn’t seem possible.
In a work that is making its arguments based on volume, we might well assert that the composer is making the most emphatic statement when the most players are playing. But in a work like this, we want to notice where the composer is most carefully balancing, and that’s here. For Sullivan, we are clearly at the heart of the act.
11. Cheerily Carols the Lark
This is of course, a parody of innumerable mad scenes, especially the mad scene from Lucia di Lammermoor and Ophelia’s Mad Scene from Thomas’s Hamlet. An opening night review specifically mentioned Donizetti, Gounod, and Meyerbeer, so we know the original audience got the joke.
Lucia‘s Mad scene didn’t originally include it, but the now traditional cadenza with flute obbligato is full of the same kinds of scales and arpeggios that we find in the flute cadenza at the beginning of this aria, and it’s in the same key. Romana Margherita Pugliese makes a pretty compelling case in a 2004 article in the Cambridge Opera Journal that the Lucia cadenza we know now comes from an 1889 production, so I think that Sullivan was not especially referencing that cadenza. But in the same article, Pugliese explores the way the mad scene became more and more important in the public perception of Lucia over the course of the 19th century, and how performances began to be colored with audience expectations of vocal production they had come to expect from Meyerbeer and other contemporary composers. This also coincided with changing ideas about madness, particularly feminine madness.
Madness came to symbolize the dangerous potential of women who are outside the social order. I can’t properly summarize Pugliese’s article (The Origins of Lucia di Lammermoor’s Cadenza, Cambridge Opera Journal Volume 16, No. 1) here, but she quotes a fascinating passage by Susan McClary in Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality as it relates to the audience’s experience of the novelty of these vocalisms in fresh cadenzas.
“If one reads Lucia’s behavior as a manifestation of the sexual excess the nineteenth century ascribed to madwomen, then these ‘decorative’ and ‘euphoric’ details make strong dramatic sense… If the performance of conventionalized ornaments is potentially effective, imagine the impact if a performance were to invent new roulades- if she were allowed to rage at will without our being able to predict her every move in advance! “
Our inability to predict any of Margaret’s actions is key to her scenes as well, of course.
It would be silly for me to say here that Sullivan was consciously accessing a musical language deeply enmeshed in European attempts to make sense of female sexuality. If anything, the fact that in this number Mad Margaret does not sing with the flute and has no vocal pyrotechnics represents a simplification of the operatic language of madness. And yet, these enmeshed codes of meaning are the language of music theatre, and Sullivan was listening and synthesizing the world he knew, as we do when we listen to this music.
Gilbert’s contribution is easiest to see when comparing the text of Ophelia’s aria from Thomas’s Hamlet:
OPHÉLIE.
To your games, my friends, allow me, of grace, to take part! …
No one has followed me!
I left the palace at the first light of day …
Already the bird was singing in the woods around …
The morning breeze was shaking the leaves
A long thrill of love! …
The tears of the night the earth was wet
And the lark, before dawn awake,
hovered in the air ...
making them sign to approach.
MAD MARGARET
Cheerily carols the lark
Over the cot
Merrily whistles the clerk
Scratching a blot.
But the lark
And the clerk
I remark
Comfort me not.
Over the ripening peach
Buzzes the bee
Splash on the billowy beach
Tumbles the sea
But the peach
and the beach
They are each
Nothing to me.
If you were in Ruddigore’s opening night audience, you would have seen a woman come out with sticks in her hair and heard some erratic music and known you were about to get a mad scene. Her intelligibility in that capacity is very important to Gilbert. The stage direction informs us that she is “an obvious caricature of theatrical madness”. Mad scenes often begin with the singer noticing things around them and imputing significance to them, or hearing or seeing things that aren’t there at all. Margaret includes a records keeper (clerk) among the natural phenomena, which is funny, of course. But this intrusion of bureaucracy into the world of madness is very much in keeping with Margaret, who we will soon discover ‘made an affidavit, but it died’
At the risk of overstating my central point here, this intrusion of prosaic rules into a sensual musical landscape is the same game he had played with Rose in her aria, but here bureaucracy has intruded even into the realm of the mad woman.
If an exploration of Margaret’s Madness intrigues you, you will want to immediately get your hands on Carolyn Williams Gilbert and Sullivan: Gender, Genre, Parody. She points out that Margaret’s singing of fragments of folk songs is part of the trope as well, calling back to Shakespeare’s Ophelia among others. But of course, Margaret can’t even remember the words to the tune she’s singing.
You will want to budget some time to work with your Mad Margaret on timing in this first passage. There are three places where a new tempo begins following a fermata that need to be coordinated.
‘Clerk’ is pronounced ‘clark’
‘Cytherean’ is pronounce Sith-er-ee-un
The song form ‘To a Garden’ portion of the song wasn’t written for Ruddigore, but appeared on Christmas 1881 in the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News. It is in this section that you will be grateful for having chosen not only a fine comic actress, but a singer with a good line and beautiful tone.
The sudden switch from a comic characterization to an oddly touching one reminds me of Sad is That Woman’s Lot from Patience.
The Kalmus score misprints the first four measures of the Allegro vivace as 16ths instead of 32nds,
This is another example of a horn part that sort of sticks out late in the Kalmus, but not in the Oxford. It looks from the critical commentary that the silent measure after “Don’t call!” and before “No crime” was added by an indication in the score that seems to have been interpreted more than one way. As it appears in the Kalmus score and the public domain parts you’re likely to find, it’s a pretty ineffective moment. The fact that the bassoon and clarinets are playing the chord before the pause with them makes it sound as though the horn has simply missed the cutoff.
The Kalmus has clarinet and horn pitches at the beginning of the Andante that do not appear in the Oxford. The discrepancy isn’t explained in the critical commentary in either score, and D’Oyly Carte’s 1931, 1950, and 1962 recordings and Sargent’s 1963 recording do not include this extra note.
As you work on this number with piano score, note that the first flute and first clarinet join Margaret in her descending line for ‘posies he would gather’ and ‘posies Only roses’. Any liberties in that line, including a breath will need to be joined by those instruments. The vocal score is somewhat misleading in this measure, and the rallentando in the vocal score is not indicated in the full scores at all. Of course a moment like this makes a lot of sense to take time with. But if your rallentando is very pronounced, and if you take a breath where that comma goes, it will be trickier to coordinate with the winds.
This is not the finest partner song in Gilbert and Sullivan, but it does the job. The piano accompaniment in both Chappel editions, carried over subsequently to the Schirmer version is somewhat awkward to play in places. The octaves are not necessary to get the point across.
There are variants in the various sections that are difficult to remember. The first time through, the altos have
Then later, they sing
Even a very astute G&S audience will never notice the difference, but you may very well drive yourself mad trying to get the altos of the chorus to remember those two iterations.
Be careful as you teach in the section ‘ladies of gentle degree’ and ‘charms intramural’ for the tenors and basses and in the ‘people of lowly degree’ and ‘clumsy clodhoppers’ for the sopranos and altos. That melodic contour is not easy to hear.
Be sure your singers cut off the short notes at the ends of phrases.
There is an error in the alto part on page 78 of the Schirmer vocal score. It should read:
The dynamics at the end are a very nice touch.
The trumpets in this number are delightful and their figure is not in the piano reduction, so they may come as a nice surprise to your singers. I instructed my orchestra to maintain a very strict beat even when it seemed that the patter was slow. If the orchestra slows down for the singers, the singers will slow down for the orchestra, and then where will you be?
At the end of the number Toye and/or Norris haven’t cut any notes, but have foreshortened the rhythm in a way that tightens the action and makes it much cleaner and easier to conduct. This is the way it appeared on opening night:
And here’s how the 1920/21 D’Oyly Carte production tightened it up:
The moment just doesn’t need as much time as Sullivan originally gave it. This is better.
The fortissimo chords are rather like their counterparts in With Catlike Tread from Pirates. We are clearly meant to hear sudden double chords as a thematic idea, because they first appear at Despard’s first entrance,
Double chords close his song that follows.
FLOWER ALERT: Gayden Wren references a staging in Gilbert’s original prompt book where Despard offers flowers to the ladies and then tramples them when they are refused on these very chords.
There is a similar idea at the top of his entrance in the first act finale.
Then when Robin has assumed the role of bad baronet, he gets single sudden fortissimo chords emerging from a quiet passage:
When Richard and Rose are going to ask for Robin’s blessing, the double chords are a part of the introduction.
The ghosts actually sing the chords:
And later:
13. Oh, Why am I Moody and Sad?
The orchestral introduction recalls a number of related musical ideas, like the opening of Va Pensiero or the Jupiter Symphony. It really is quite a winning and hilarious number your audience and performers will enjoy.
I spent a great deal of time working cutoffs for the chorus, and I think it paid off in performance. If all the chorus parts are quite short, it makes for a nice effect. I asked my chorus to sing their echoing phrases short even when the mode changes and everything is staccato. Your chorus will want to sing, “Oh my!” and “No, no!” with a long second note. I think that’s less effective.
‘Can’t guess’ has a tall A sound.
I requested a sharp t separate from the d sound in ‘It do’, instead of the elided consonant we might say casually.
Virtually every recording I heard sang ‘At least it does so in my case’ with pitches different than notated.
Those three sets of two chords at the end are meant to be a kind of jump scare. If you work with your orchestra, you can get a crisp forte without telegraphing to the audience that you are cueing them.
14. You Understand?
This duet feels perfunctory, as though we’re buying time for the stage to be reset behind the curtain, and yet in addition to the difficulty of singing the patter at tempo, there are some interesting things to note.
One is the way Sullivan has built the tune to emphasize Gilbert’s rhyme scheme, which is really clever. It is also a fine example of how Sullivan uses repetition to build rhythmic momentum, which he releases on the long notes.
A perplexing detail is the long last note for the singers, which is notated lasting three measures. Your singers will naturally want to cut it off at the logical place, after 2 measures at the seam with the returning ritornello. I don’t know what benefit comes from bridging that seam. It struck me oddly.
15. Hail The Bride (Act I Finale)
I’ll begin here with the textual difficulties, so you can go through your score with them one by one.
In the first act Finale, we encounter at least 6 passages where Toye and/or Norris have really improved the pacing. This is one of the places where the Oxford score would be rather difficult to conduct from.
The Oxford score has the men singing “You will all be bridegrooms some fine day” as the women sing “You may all, may all be brides someday”, which I think makes the passage more difficult to understand.
The Oxford score and the Kalmus score also disagree about when the orchestra plays with the chorus and when they do not during the madrigal. The critical commentary doesn’t address it.
I find the acapella sections more effective, especially since my chorus was quite fine this year.
The gavotte is laid out differently in the Oxford than in the Schirmer/Kalmus scores, and although all the notes are there, it is complicated to notate it for yourself on the page, and again, the Schirmer/Kalmus solution is much better. If the Oxford version is Sullivan’s original idea, then this must be another of Toye and Norris’s good cuts. (the discrepancy isn’t explained in the critical commentary) The Oxford score has a timpani roll after the gavotte has reached its natural cadence, which takes away the surprise of the diminished chord tutti. The Schirmer/Kalmus version cuts off the gavotte mid-phrase and makes for a really exciting moment.
Following that passage is another Toye/Norris truncation that is far more effective. Compare the two sections below:
Compare this revision:
I can only imagine there was some rather involved stage business here. The direction is merely: (He comes Center. Rose and Robin separate). The longer version would sap all the momentum from the scene.
In the original libretto 4 additional lines appeared after this, which it seems were never set.
At the Vivace, Toye and/or Norris shorten the intro from 4 measures to 2. I can’t think why anyone would want to reinstate the two missing measures. We want to get right to the point. To accomplish this cut, Toye and/or Norris make orchestrational choices that are hard to write into your score, so this is another example where the Oxford score would be very tricky to conduct from.
Toye and/or Norris make a terrific cut in the measures before the andante, one that speeds up the transition by eliminating the central phrase.
The original:
This is shortened to:
The 1920 D’Oyly Carte production also makes a great cut at the allegretto to bring the women in earlier.
This becomes:
This is just funnier when it comes in faster, there’s no two ways about it.
Toye and/or Norris cut four measures before the Allegro con spirito and added a new transition, and a comparison will show that the revision is much much stronger.
Moving along to rehearsal and performance concerns:
As it’s scored on page 93 of the Schirmer score, ‘Sev’n’ is a single syllable on two notes, not ‘sev-’ and ‘-en’ on two separate pitches. The descending tritone may challenge your altos on ‘smiling summer’ and ‘shedding every’ further down the page. I added a little crescendo and decrescendo on page 95 for ‘maidens greet her’ and ‘kindly treat her’.
When The Buds are Blossoming is one of the finest Sullivan madrigals. (and one of only two officially designated as madrigals in the score, the other being in Mikado) In the balancing soprano and tenor phrases in both verses, I asked the chorus singers to sing the second phrase quieter, as an echo. “Spring is green, summer’s rose” etc. Plan those cutoffs carefully. For the phrases “Leaves in Autumn fade and fall” and ‘Winter is the end of all’, I introduced another crescendo-diminuendo pair. This sets up the last 11 measures of the chorus to begin at a piano dynamic with a true crescendo. The little sforzandi in the soprano part are a lovely detail, as is the little accented FA in the altos at the bottom of 100. At the end of the chorus section at the top of 101, I had my singers breathe between the two half-note ‘la’s, but NOT to slow down. I wanted a true ritardando in the second verse only. This takes a little drilling, but paces the entirety of the madrigal better. You have to decide where the principals join the chorus, because it isn’t indicated, and it’s odd to have them stand there mutely as the thing reaches its climax. I chose to have them sit out the two short phrases (The 4 bars beginning ‘leaves in Autumn’ and ‘Spring and Summer’ respectively) and then join in the crescendoing phrase. As this number is being staged, you will want to make certain folks have given you good sight lines to everyone in the chorus.
If the opening instrumental music of this finale seems to wander in its key, here Sullivan has brought his A game, modulating deftly to key areas that delight and serve the text. G major as we introduce the flower motif that runs straight through the opera, modulating brightly to D as the fa la las begin. Then at the close of Summer, Sullivan takes us to a darker B minor. That idea then closes in C, which locally feels rather Phrygian, but quickly becomes the subdominant to the G major that brings in the full chorus. The year, and the harmony comes full circle.
The Gavotte that follows is really exquisite.
At the Piu lento on Schirmer page 109, you may want to ask the cellos and basses to emphasize the upbeats and play out. That passage is important, and can easily get lost.
For all these interjections, ‘Oh Wonder!’ and ‘Ah, Base one’ and so forth, you will have to find your own way of getting the chorus entrances and cutoffs crisp, clear, and in tune. They invariably have a diminished chord in then, but Sullivan knows how to prepare such things. At ‘He is that Baronet’ I had the chorus cut off on beat 2, even though every recording seems to cut off on the and of 1. At ‘He’ll recklessly deny’, a rolled R is a nice touch, and the quicker you get off the second syllable of ‘deny’, the better it will sound.
Remind your chorus not to say the ‘r’ in ‘Bart’ or ‘part’ , that ‘very’ is pronounced ‘veddy’ and to cut off the last note of each phrase as quickly as possible. The dynamics in this passage are really an important detail. From the last measure of 117, have them drop down to piano, then crescendo to the end of the phrase. Again we encounter one of these dotted quarters tied to an eighth. I initially had them get rid of the eighth note and put a very hard ‘t’ mid-measure, but then realized that it would be far better use of my time to have them make ‘part’ a full measure long and cut it off on the downbeat of the next measure. I believe this is also how most recordings manage this moment. In such places you have to ask yourself- how much work will this take to get to where it is on the page, and will it make any discernible difference? I think the cost benefit analysis here works very much in the direction of cutting this off in the intuitive spot.
The L’istesso tempo that begins Zorah’s passage is in 2. The Molto vivace is in 4. Richard’s next 4 measures are a quick recit in 2, and then the next 2 measures have to be in 4, so you can keep the ensemble together.
On 119, I think the best approach is to conduct the first 2 measures in a fast 4, despite the marking of cut time, then the next 4 in 2, then the final 2 in 4. Otherwise the string figurations are really too fast OR Richard’s line too slow.
Richard’s lovely bit of bel canto here is one of his only moments of real lyricism, marred only by the fact that his character would never say any of these things.
‘Gain-sayed’ is the pronunciation by the way, and ‘bade’ is pronounced ‘bad’.
When the chorus enters on the bottom of 120, be sure to be faithful to the dotted eighth/sixteenth rhythm. It’s meant to have a more martial tone.
Rose’s subsequent arioso is again a welcome moment of true lyricism, interrupted by yet another bridal chorus. Despard’s line ‘and I to Margaret’ is timed oddly, and the countermelody that Despard’s odd bar of rest is more audible in the orchestra than in the piano reduction. Margaret’s line at the bottom of the page 123 and the top of 124 is awkward for both singer and violins. You might budget time to work it, and again, you will be very happy that you chose a good musician at this moment to play Margaret.
The passage that begins before Rose’s line “Richard, of him I love bereft” is difficult to get clear, particularly if you don’t have a large string section. (please forgive the cramped score layout)
When you accompany the passage on the piano, it tends to sound like a polka, which has a strong rhythmic pulse. But when the orchestra accompanies, particularly in the 2nd through 4th measures of this example, there isn’t enough separation in the violin parts to make that rhythm crisp. The cello part plays quarters, but if you’ve balanced your orchestra well, I’m guessing you probably have one player, not quite enough to strongly establish the beat against which the other strings are playing. I asked our cellist to get rid of the slurs, to get distinction on each of those notes, and I got rid of the ties over the barline in the other strings to get a real pulse going, at least until the double bass comes in to make that pulse very clear. (your players may have a tendency to rush here too with all those upbeats)
These kinds of passages are not uncommon in opera in the 1870s and 1880s.
From Act I of Tales of Hoffmann comes a similar passage:
This passage works a little more effectively I think. Note how Offenbach (I assume Offenbach completed this passage before his death) has just left a passage where the strings are clearly establishing tempo with separation in the offbeats, so they’re just making more fluid a rhythm they already have in their bodies. The quarter notes grounding things in the bass are frequently doubled, and where the triplet in the vocal part threatens to obscure the rhythmic pulse, the violas rhythmically articulate the center of the measure right as the countermelody in the double reeds enters. Most importantly, the Offenbach re-establishes the downbeat for the offbeat players every 2 measures.
Verdi occasionally does this, but the examples I found were in the 1850s and 1860s, usually involving only the violas or 2nd violins playing the offbeats, not the entire section, and never for more than a couple of measures at a time. I imagine Verdi’s determination to have a clear pulse would make this device unappealing. Somebody can correct me, but I couldn’t find it in any bel canto scores, I suspect it’s a Parisian opera bouffe device.
You may have no problems here; I wouldn’t change things pre-emptively. But should you encounter problems, consider making the edits I suggested above.
As with all these fast closing G&S stretti, the patter should be as fast as you can make it and still understand the words. And to be perfectly frank, these words are, as I have said before, doggerel, so intelligibility may not be of primary importance. On Schirmer page 132, I chose to place the ‘d’ of ‘bride’ on the second of the three beats of 12/8, and on page 133 on the third of the three beats of the last line of the top system. The 12/8 meter made me constantly feel as though I was both too fast and too slow, because the foreground melodic idea moved at quite a clip, but the larger metric structure felt somewhat slow for dancing. I think this disconnect is part of what makes this ending for both acts less than perfectly satisfying.
FLOWER ALERT: Buds are blossoming, lily, flowers that blossom in June, (and on the lea)
ACT II
16. I Once Was As Meek
This number originally had 2 verses, the second explaining that Adam’s name has been changed to Gideon Crawle. This plot point has been dropped, so the appearance of that name in dialogue later doesn’t make sense.
On Schirmer page 139, Ruthven is now pronounced as written. Hence “without the elision…” Elsewhere it is pronounced ‘Riven’.
There is some leeway with how the ‘ha! ha!’ interjections are played. Choose one that matches your staging and characterizations.
Before letter A there are a number of ‘jump scare’ tutti hits that should come as a surprise. Coach your orchestra to play them strongly without your cuing them strongly, so that you don’t telegraph the surprise to the audience. If your beat is small, you can actually get more accurate results, in fact. These are clearly meant to be a part of some stage business.
The Kalmus score has a horn 2 pedal concert C flat under the line “The dickens may take him, I’ll never forsake him…” that isn’t in the Oxford or clarified in the critical commentary. I couldn’t pick it out in any recordings, but it’s possible that it just isn’t audible in the texture.
This is the place where Adam has a low E flat. If you have no one who can sing that note when you’re casting, it is possible to put the second ‘his valet’ up an octave and continue in that register to the end of the number. But this is obviously not ideal.
17. Happily Coupled are We
The 1920 version of the opera deleted Rose’s verse, which is unfortunate because it fleshes out her character and is also quite funny. The dotted eighth-sixteenth rhythm is tough for the singers to maintain, as is the Bright-Tight-Slight-Light-Trim-Prim pattern. If you like, you can make it part of the warm up. You can add the non-ghost tenors and basses to this chorus easily. The basses take the alto part, the baritones the middle part of the three, and the tenors the top line.
‘Craft’ is pronounced ‘croft’, my fellow Americans.
Plan your choral cutoff carefully.
Rose has an “Ah!” in the vocal score that the Oxford score debunks. If you like it, keep it. If you don’t like it, cut it.
3 from the end there is a rhythmic discrepancy between various versions.
The Oxford and Kalmus scores read
The Schirmer and Chappel Vocal scores read
The Oxford notes posit that the lower reading is a mistake due to the preponderance of the other rhythm throughout the score. I like the straight eighths, it’s a nice variety near the end of the number. Whatever choice you make here naturally also applies to the end of the next number.
18. In Bygone Days
This arietta with its unusual phrase lengths seems like it’s on the verge of being a beautiful number, and so we are intrigued to find that a second verse was cut after the original production opened. We then discover that the second verse doesn’t fulfill the promise of the first, and we are content that it now abruptly transitions into a reprise of the previous chorus.
The tempo change into the Allegro vivace is difficult to establish. You may want to run that transition a few times with the orchestra. One potential solution is to choose an andante tempo after ‘grant thou her prayer’ in which a quarter note will be roughly the same as then new dotted eighth of the Allegro vivace. That l’istesso tempo is probably much easier to feel than the new tempo fresh out of the gate.
19. Painted Emblems of a Race
The second act is where the original production lost the sympathy of the audience, but in a modern production, it is the moment where we begin to hear something truly distinctive, unlike any of the other Savoy operas! With the exception of Mad Margaret’s Aria, Rose’s Aria, and the first act trio, most of what we’ve seen thus far has been very standard, even unexceptional Gilbert and Sullivan. But what happens here in Act II we have hitherto only heard shadows of. In The Sorcerer there was an inkling of this music, but it was working very hard to sound like Weber. Opening night reviews found this version a little too vivid, one reviewer saying that Sullivan “treats Mr. Gilbert’s grotesque spectres as if they were a dread reality coming straight from the charnel house.”
In the first production, there were evidently some technical issues, and they must have at least partially involved lighting, because there is a story about Sullivan needing a phosphorescent baton. This makes particular sense when you spend time with the movement itself, which you will discover requires a changing beat pattern that is not particularly intuitive. The first 4 measures really need to be in 6, so you can articulate the 4th measure. The next 13 measures have to be in 2; the musical idea falls flat in 6. The chorus continues in 2 through the beginning of the text “Baronet of Ruddigore”. 9 measures before that entrance, this figure needs a strong upbeat from a small group of instruments. You may need to change the dynamic.
Incidentally, the opening of this melody is like a minor version of Onward Christian Soldiers, which Sullivan wrote some 16 years earlier. I have no idea whether this was intentional.
Your first violin and your two clarinets will likely ask if the 32nd measure has a typo. It is indeed concert A, B natural, and C natural. That’s dorian, not melodic minor. Your singers may have this question too. (Oddly nobody seems to ask about the other modal passage, the Phrygian section on Schirmer page 158)
The Schirmer score on the third system of 156 indicates that the dotted quarter equals the new quarter at the time signature change. This is incorrect. The eighth stays the same. You can conduct the 2/4 measures in 2 or in 4. The section continues alternating 6 and 2 (or 4 as you see fit)
The portion beginning “Coward, poltroon…” is by rights getting a little faster bit by bit. The lack of a strong downbeat makes that hard to coordinate, and unless your group is very strong, you may lose ensemble here. Tell your the bass, cello, and horn to emphasize the strong beats and have the oboe, clarinets, and bassoon emphasize the first of their pairs to give your group a fighting chance at hearing the tempo properly. I began in 6, and accelerated, switching to 2 where it felt appropriate.
Two measures before Sir Roderic’s second entrance, you will need to switch back to 6.
The Kalmus score has another dubious horn 2 pedal on a low concert E flat at the a tempo before “I am the spectre…” that doesn’t appear in the Oxford and isn’t mentioned in the critical commentary. I believe I hear it in the D’Oyly Carte 1962 recording, but can’t make it out in any of the other recordings I referenced.
At ‘Alas poor ghost’, you will want to be in 2 again.
20. When the Night Wind Howls
We read in all the literature that Gilbert disliked Sullivan’s setting, and I, like everyone else, shake my head that he could have missed the glory of this wonderful music! But it makes a little more sense when you consider the line that precedes it:
Roderic: The pity you express for nothing goes
Ghosts: We spectres are a jollier crew than you, perhaps suppose.
This is followed by music that is anything but jolly. It would be criminal to remove this beautiful music, but Gilbert’s point actually holds. Sullivan’s music has made Gilbert’s lyric nonsensical.
The literature compares this music to Erlkonig, The Flying Dutchman Overture, and the Danse Macabre, but the details are Sullivan’s alone. Harmonically the polarity between D minor and A flat major is particularly piquant, a mode change at a tritone’s difference. Particularly creative is the double bass playing pizzicato in unison with the violas in a very high register. I can’t help thinking if Sullivan had the luxury of more players, he might have divided the lower strings and fleshed out some of the lower end.
In establishing a tempo here, you will want to be quite brisk, to the point where your woodwinds may seem unable to keep up. But truly, if you favor them in the opening 3 measures, you’ll curse the slowness for the remainder of the piece.
As I alluded to when discussing this music where it appears in the overture, there is a balance issue to be managed, and it’s not easy to manage.
A savvy accompanist will instinctively emphasize the left hand in the passage below, since it doubles the singers melody, and is clearly the important idea of the passage:
But that left hand melody is actually only played by pizzicato violas, likely one of the weakest sounds in your orchestra. In addition, the right hand figure is not what the violins actually play. Their actual figure is not really playable on the piano, and is harder to track aurally. So the singer’s rehearsal picture of what happens here is, unavoidably, inaccurate. (the original piano vocal score was an even more inaccurate reduction, if you can imagine)
The string figure needs to be crisp and separated, even slightly accented. If you’re really feeling daring, you might add cello pizz. to the viola pizz. to give them a fighting chance at being heard. Counsel all the winds to play under the singer until the ends of each verse when the men’s chorus joins the proceedings.
For advice about the vocal parts here, scroll up and see the comments on the Ghosts in the casting section of this post.
I prefer the ‘Ha!Ha!’s of the other ghosts to be on the actual pitches, but many productions and some of the recordings just shout them, which I think grows from a desire to make those voices heard. Staging basically necessitates these actors being fairly far upstage, and with only one or two on a part, and that puts them at an acoustic disadvantage.
Don’t slow down at the end of the verses until the end of the number. If your singer has the high A, he should do so in the fermata.
“It was wonderful to hear all the excised music from the Ghost Scene restored at the Buxton Gilbert and Sullivan Festival production of Ruddigore in 2005, but the experience also confirmed my view that, in the context of the opera as a whole, the scene really does work better in its revised form.”
The A flat orchestral bell that appears in the third verse in the Kalmus score is another addition from the 20’s that I find salutary and picturesque, despite not being authentically Sullivan’s.
21. He Yields!
You have to take this number pretty quickly for it to come off. Musically the joke is the music hall triviality of the first melody interrupted by the whole tone darkness of “Perish in unheard of woe” sections, intensified later by the “Or Die!” interjections. If you can find a way dynamically or texturally to highlight these differences, do it!
The 1920s D’Oyly Carte production cut two measures of tremolo, one after each iteration of “I pardon you.” Again, apart from any stage business that this may cover, I can’t see how anyone would want to reinstate them.
You will have to make a decision on Schirmer page 177 whether to be in 2 or 6. It’s right on the cusp.
22. Away, Remorse!
If your production is really leaning in the direction of social commentary, I’d include it. Gayden Wren points out that if you cut it, you have two slow songs in a row, which mars the energy of the act. This number does not appear in the Kalmus score, but the act actually moves along very well without it, and there’s already a lot of patter in the show. For more commentary on this, see the passage on Gilbert in the introduction above. This number has a troubled history; Gilbert didn’t care for any of the music in this section, Sullivan made two versions of the patter song. Oxford has a 1st, 2nd, and then a separate 3rd ending that’s musically the same as the first two. It’s a little bewildering.
23. I Once Was a Very Abandoned Person
Gayden Wren points out that the introductory passage here:
Is a sort of quote of Adam’s earlier line:
His thought is that this indicates that Despard hasn’t fully reformed, but I think it’s just a bleary eyed Sullivan, likely writing at 2 in the morning whatever thing in E flat struck him at the moment. He happened to light on something he’d already done.
There isn’t much to hang a good tempo on here, since it isn’t until measure 5 that we encounter a phrase perceptibly in 6. I beat a measure for free before we began to establish a brighter tempo. We also have some orchestral spacing issues, since the clarinets play with the violas, and the bassoon with the cello. These players may be on the opposite side of a crowded pit from one another.
I think in the original production, the religious and social implications were very clear, and this must have been a funnier number than it is today. Contemporary productions, particularly in America will need to stage it well to make the essential jokes clear.
24. My Eyes are Fully Open
Truly a pinnacle of patter.
The 4th beat before the quarter note accompaniment pattern begins is another of the same pitch in the Oxford, but it’s a rest in the Kalmus and the Schirmer. There’s a note in the Oxford critical commentary, but only about the absence of the bass, not the rest of the strings. I think the rest helps set off the new section.
The first edition of the vocal score has the upbeat:
The second edition and the Schirmer edition that is based on it eliminate it.
At the end of each verse, Despard drops down to a low F# and Robin to an A. These border on being inaudible pitches for anybody you’re likely to cast in those roles, and they amount to a kind of muttering as a transition.
Half-penny is pronounced ‘haypenny’
The faster you can get this number, the better it will come off, provided the pronunciation is clear.
25. Melodrama
As the Schirmer score indicates, this music is generally omitted. That’s understandable on practical grounds, but it’s also a shame, because this is one of the places where Gilbert and Sullivan are deeply engaging with the theatrical works of their time.
In the 18th century, melodrama as a musical form combined spoken recitation with musical accompaniment. The incantation scene in Weber’s 1821 Der Freischütz is a famous later example. But melodrama was also a kind of dramatic story not uncommon in the Victorian Era with sensational storylines. It is mostly in this sense we use the word today. The kind of melodrama Gilbert is specifically lampooning was out of fashion in the time of this piece, but this world of melodrama was very familiar to his audience, and it functioned as one of the ways society processed the changing landscape of economics, gender, and class.
“The melodrama… can be seen as a response to the French Revolution, the Industrial Revolution, and modernization. In the early 1800s the post-Revolutionary bourgeoisie sought to defend its newly acquired rights against the autocratic aristocracy- including the droits de seigneur…The melodrama focus is essentially on the family and moral values and not on the dynastic and mythic deities (as it was in Greek tragedy) Thus- the melodrama- at least in these earliest stages- pitted bourgeoisie against feudalism. Many a tale related the ravishment of the middle-class maiden by the villainous rich aristocrat. In this respect, class conflict was repressed sexuality and manifested itself via sexual exploitation or rape.”
Melodrama is used to indicate the genres that use these tropes today, like Soap Operas and Melodramatic films. Often these stories today deal with the same topics and to the same function.
We have here in Ruddigore an example of both senses of the word simultaneously, a sensationalistic musical accompaniment to a dramatic scene of abduction. But Gilbert has muddied the ethical waters here beyond any conceivable moral or hope of resolution.
The villain’s accomplice, who often converts from bad to good, swinging the plot’s resolution along with him.
Robin, heretofore our hero, is now nominally the villain in this scenario, but his hand has been strongly forced by Roderic, and the crime itself has been committed by Adam, the sidekick. Adam has been thoroughly bested by his victim, and immediately flees, so in his function as sidekick, he is not able to swing the resolution of any plot. The heroine is virtuous, that much is clear, but unlike our traditional heroine, she is not desired by many, not at all demure, and in fact quite threatening. Everyone involved immediately realizes that her abduction has been a mistake. The question of whether her virtue has been stained is discussed briefly, for laughs. The fact that Hannah has never been in sexual jeopardy because she is not seen as a sexual object by these people in this story removes the carnal motive from the proceedings, but anyone watching in 2022 will laugh uncomfortably at this. The scenario kicks up dirt and raises uncomfortable questions.
“And this is what it is to embark upon a career of unlicensed pleasure.”, quips Robin. The men in the Victorian audience perhaps nod. It isn’t worth it. But did we need to calculate the odds that way?
This older woman is in fact, no victim, but rather the most dangerous character in the entire operetta, perfectly capable of defending herself. Mad Margaret only made threats, but Hannah has a knife. Our villain Roderic quickly becomes the hero by sending the villain (who we have seen thus far as our hero) away. To keep us from even attempting to draw a moral from this mess, Gilbert has Robin reprove his uncle and deliver a moral:
“Now I hope this will be a lesson to you in future not to-”
But Roderic cuts him off.
“Hold your tongue, sir.”
“Yes, uncle.”
Underneath Gilbert’s silliness on a surface level is a gnawing nihilism. In a normal melodrama, the audience is presented with a clear sense of right and wrong, and life’s injustices are understood as moral dilemmas we attempt to maneuver with whatever agency our station affords us. The consequences are the result of our character. In a Gilbertian story, though, there is no lesson, the consequences are detached from our actions, and one senses that the only reason this is a happy ending is that we have chosen to stop telling the story at this moment. We might just as easily be on the utterly unjust end of this scenario given one more senseless twist of fate.
Gayden Wren makes a case in A Most Ingeneous Paradox for the morality of the ending, and I admire his argument, but disagree. The winner of a story like this is not the person who makes the most ethical moral choice, but the person who can find the most creative loophole.
The original audience wasn’t impressed, but this is really a stunning passage that skewers a whole genre of literature in a way only Gilbert could have executed. Your audience doesn’t have the patience for you to explain all that to them, so if you were going to use this music, you’d have to rely on the vestiges of the form that still exist in our culture. Snidely Whiplash, perhaps? Telenovellas?
We used the last 6 measures to underscore Adam bringing Hannah on, and cut the rest. Otherwise you have to figure out how this music lines up with the dialogue. The Oxford edition has made an educated guess that’s as good as any other interpretation. You don’t need me to tell me that you have to keep the orchestra under the dialogue. Your director will do that.
26. There Grew a Little Flower
FLOWER ALERT: Flower (obviously)
If you’ve been following Gayden Wren’s argument about flowers in Ruddigore, this number is the payoff of that thread, and Wren names this the sister song of To a Garden Full of Posies. It’s also one of the places where Gilbert uses the word ‘mickle’ in two consecutive operettas. (the other being in Yeomen) Folks who know such things seem to think he misuses it here. The number is fairly straightforward, and if you have cast the couple well, a fine example of one of Gilbert’s favorite devices: an odd couple singing a duet near the very end of the show. Oh, I Have Wrought Much Evil from The Sorcerer or There is Beauty in the Bellow of the Blast from Mikado.
Rickett and Hoogland point out that the singers here have “the unenviable task of making the languid strains… interesting to an audience which is by now about ready to welcome a lively finish to the opera.”
27. When A Man Has Been A Naughty Baronet (Finale) and
27a Oh, Happy the Lily (alternate finale)
I’m going to try and be more clear than the sources I waded through here. It’s somewhat confusing, and it’s possible I still have it wrong. As I read the sources, the original finale as it appeared opening night does not actually appear in the Schirmer score, despite what the Schirmer score says on page 216. On January 24th, 1887, Sullivan revised it, adding a coda in augmented rhythm with a harmonic richness we normally hear in a Sullivan first act finale. He also moved the vocal part into 4 against the compound meter (now in 12) of the orchestra. That revision is No. 27 in the Schirmer score. I don’t find the revised Oh Happy The Lily in that second version an improvement, and to me it’s an unsatisfying way to end the opera. Toye and/or Norris must have thought so too, because they found a third solution. In my opinion, one of the only missteps in revising the score is removing the music for the principals and inserting a straight reprise of the end of act I. That version is in the Schirmer vocal score as 27a, with a marking that doesn’t make it sufficiently clear that 27a is not Sullivan’s revision.
I wanted to maintain Sullivan’s delightful music for the principals, which makes musical sense of and adds dramatic weight to the end of the show. But then, right at the beginning of Schirmer’s page 214, I skipped to the other version, beginning at measure 3. Playing measure 3 twice as a transition. This is closer to what Sullivan originally intended for this moment, as it happens, although we retain the beautiful extension he added before the last ‘Oh, Happy the Lily’ that wasn’t in the first version.
When you do this, though, you have to wade through a mess of score errors and omissions!
Schirmer Vocal Score
Kalmus Full Score
Oxford Critical Edition
IMSLP parts
Original Finale January 20, 1887
No
No
Yes
No
Original Finale Revised January 24, 1877
Yes
No
Yes
Yes, but 100% inaccurate and comically bad
Toye/Norris Version December 1920
Yes
Yes
Sort of. (Dance section at the end is shorter then Schirmer score)
Yes
If you are using the Oxford edition, you’re basically fine! (except you don’t have access to the better overture or the dozens of good cuts in the rest of the opera)
If you are conducting from the Kalmus score, you don’t have access to the better version of the second act finale.
And unless you’re using the Oxford orchestral parts, you REALLY have to check the parts for the Original Finale revision. Until newer editions like the Oxford became available, score and parts were assembled from the rental parts or bootleg orchestra parts, and it appears that those editions did not have access to the original manuscripts or scores for this section. People just made their own makeshift orchestrations from the piano vocal score. And in the case of the IMSLP parts, they did it quite poorly. Here’s a page with score and parts of the original: https://gsarchive.net/ruddigore/score/score.html
If you want to spotcheck your score:
The first 2 measures are played by flutes, clarinets, basson, and strings, with no bass
The melody in measures 5 through 12 are in first flute and first clarinet.
The violas in measures 9 and 10 play repeated 8th notes on B flat.
Horns and timpani don’t enter until measure 13.
Cornets don’t enter until measure 30.
If your parts don’t line up, you probably have a fake.
In the original Act 2 finale, the Oxford score has 2 clear typos. The first beat of the viola in measure 35 should be an A natural, and the third beat an E flat. At least that’s my suspicion; what’s there doesn’t work harmonically.
The Oxford version of the dance at the end of Toye and Norris’s version does not match the Schirmer or Kalmus endings. They are longer, including the entire dance break we hear at the end of Act I.
As far as rehearsing this section goes: In the echoing passages, ‘Etiquette’, ‘you en-jye’ and ‘-dent and meek’ should be short and crisp. (same goes for the ends of phrases in the chorus that follows) I do think that accelerando is very important on Schirmer page 213. Having a full chorus of soprani on the A flat is a little much. You may want to have some sopranos drop down and join the altos when the whole notes begin, for the sake of balance and the likelihood of tuning issues up there. If you switch to 27a in the Schirmer, you probably should change out the first word to ‘For’ rather than ‘Oh’, the way the other finale goes. And however you managed cutoffs in the first act Finale, you should do the same for the end here, for consistency’s sake.
Your Orchestra:
With modern musicals I sometimes counsel music directors not to hire all the players, but with G&S, you’re dealing with a true orchestral color, so I think it best to hire as much of the orchestra as you can afford with good players. The original orchestrations are available here at a reasonable price or here for free. Sometimes with IMSLP, you do in fact get what you pay for. Reductions can be found here and here, but I’ll wager the best one is probably this one.
The oboe part is somewhat less exposed than is often the case in Sullivan’s scores, the first flute has a very important cadenza, and all the woodwinds have some very fast passage work.
Better that you do G&S than that you ignore it, but do try and do it properly if at all possible, with Sullivan’s magnificent orchestration in full color! Have fun with your production of Ruddigore! I will be including more G&S as I music direct them! I will be updating my guide for Pirates next year as I realize my errors and discover new things. I am also planning a post about vocal and character types (fachs to use the operatic terminology) in G&S. I hope those posts are useful to you!
The Yeomen of the Guard is special. To state the obvious, it is the most serious Savoy Opera, the piece with the highest artistic ambition, the work susceptible to the greatest number of interpretations. It was as far as Gilbert was willing to go in the direction of Grand Opera. Sullivan would head on to Ivanhoe without him. (and without much success)
Sullivan is balancing several opposing aims in Yeomen. He is attempting to reference 16th century music and the Old English styles in particular in order to place the action in time and location. We hear these threads clearly in Here’s a Man of Jollity, I Have a Song to Sing, O, I’ve Jibe and Joke, and Strange Adventure, and perhaps other places I am not noticing.The Timesrecognizes this in their opening night review:
“The forms of early English music- the madrigal, the part-song, the glee – are as second nature to him, and he produces their modern counterparts with a freedom and faithfulness which alone would account for his unrivaled popularity.”
Against these references to older English styles, Sullivan is trying to elevate the musical language of the piece closer to high music drama, perhaps as exemplified by his favorite Wagner opera, Die Meistersinger, which also takes place in the 16th century. The tension between old Folk England and up to date musical storytelling accounts for a lot of the charm of the opera.
Sullivan is also trying to keep the piece from sounding like a set of discrete numbers. Gayden Wren talks about Sullivan’s frequent use of ‘big endings’, elaborate codas sometimes longer than the numbers to which they are attached, where the music takes the fore, as in the coda of How Say You, Maiden? We certainly feel this elevation in many places in the score, not merely where they normally occur in the finales. And yet as I read Yeomen, Sullivan also seems to downplay the endings of numbers in a curious way, including in the very number Wren uses as an example of his elevated codas. Perhaps Sullivan is attempting to avoid breaking up the action with obligatory applause. Numbers 3,4,8,13, and 20 all end without really asking for applause, number 18 has an instrumental coda long enough for the exit of the character who has just sung an extremely impressive patter song before he can acknowledge audience applause, no. 6 goes without pause into 7, and no. 21 at one point rolled directly into the 2nd act finale with no pause for the audience to acknowledge a moment of purely crowd-pleasing silliness. In no. 18, we also see Sullivan connecting moments in a different way, when he eliminates the first 2 pickup notes of the Tower theme to drop us into the action more abruptly after a gunshot. We also find Sullivan on a smaller scale extending musical phrases past their expected terminations. He had been doing this in other operas for some time, but never more beautifully than in numbers like “A Man Who Would Woo a Fair Maid”
Sullivan also connects material in the opera in a more subtle way that most people miss. For example, this figure, sung by the Yeomen at the top of the Act I finale uses what are sometimes called ‘horn fifths’ because they are playable by 2 natural horns.
This association gives the idea a regal, military, or hunting connotation historically, which is appropriate to the Yeomen. The Act I finale also ends with another theme based on horn 5ths:
At the end of the First Act Finale, as Elsie falls into Fairfax’s arms, the orchestra plays a figuration based on the Here’s a Man of Jollity motive, which was Elsie’s entrance music earlier in the act.
At the end of Hark! What Was That Sir, when the chorus seems to have moved on to a brand new hymn to the greatness of Shadbolt, you may notice that the violins are playing Shadbolt’s patter theme under the coda!
It is tempting to join the many Victorian enthusiasts and even modern Gilbert and Sullivan scholars in calling these references leitmotivs, but I think that’s an error.
Firstly, it misidentifies the technique. Sullivan does not weave these tunes into the texture of an ever evolving musical tapestry; they function as callbacks or reprises. If these are leitmotivs, we may as well call Reno Sweeney’s reprise of I Get a Kick out of You at the end of Anything Goes a fine use of the Du Trittst Mich Motiv in Das eigentliche Gesamtkunstwerk von Kohl Porter.
Secondly, identifying these musical ideas in that way is an example of the kind of musical chauvinism that caused Sullivan’s identity crisis in the first place. When these ideas are tagged as leitmotiven, we are being asked to applaud Sullivan for transcending the simpleminded populism of his operettas by using his tunes more than once, in a German manner. Let’s allow Wagner to be Wagner and Sullivan to be Sullivan, and not insist that Sullivan’s extremely effective musical dramaturgy be constantly compared against the benchmarks of the Neudeutsche Schule.
Much is made in the literature about how critical Gilbert’s libretti are to bringing out Sullivan’s best talents musically. Less acknowledged is the way Gilbert’s demands for rewrites and cuts pushed Sullivan in the direction of pacing and audience appeal. After this opera, the two are no longer on good enough terms for this kind of relationship, which is why The Gondoliers is so discursive. But more on that later.
For all this high ambition, the British public had made up its mind about what the two men were about. The masses had enjoyed their prior work, and wanted more of the same.
As for the opinions of the enlightened , we may look no further than this withering dismissal by George Bernard Shaw, who was at that time writing under the pen name of Corno di Bassetto. As The Gondoliers was just beginning its first run, a year and two months after the Yeomen premiere, Shaw wrote this in The Star:
“A new Savoy opera is an event of no greater artistic significance than- to take the most flattering comparison- a new oratorio by Gounod. We know the exact limits of Mr. Gilbert’s and Sir Arthur Sullivan’s talents by this time, as well as we know the width of the Thames at Waterloo Bridge; and I am just as likely to find Somerset House under water next Easter or autumn, as to find The Gondoliers one hair’s breadth better than The Mikado or Gounod’s promised Mass a step in advance of Mors et Vita. The Savoy has a certain artistic position, like the German Reed entertainment, but it is not a movable position… I am already as absolutely certain of what The Gondoliers is as I shall be when I have witnessed the performance.”
In the next two paragraphs Shaw lists every other operetta Gilbert and Sullivan had written in the previous 15 years with the glaring exception of Yeomen of the Guard. Shaw is delighted to inform us as he denigrates their work that he hasn’t seen any of it apart from The Mikado, under duress. Yeomen seems not to have even made enough of an impression to join the pieces Shaw dismisses. In such a climate, no work the men could have written would have made any sort of surprising impression.
Gilbert and Sullivan: A partnership on the brink
It’s dangerous to read an artist’s work as a set of Freudian meditations on whatever he or she may be working through while writing, but Gilbert’s librettos for Sullivan sometimes feel as though they want to be read as a code for something else. Probably the most obvious example is Gilbert’s scenario for The Pirates of Penzance. Writing for Americans who had been pirating productions of HMS Pinafore, Gilbert invented a group of bumbling pirates who are dreadful at pirating, eventually bringing them back into the fold by reminding them that they’re actually English subjects.Was Gilbert inviting the unruly colonies to begin behaving properly again? An examination of the deteriorating relationship between Gilbert and Sullivan before, during and after the writing of The Yeomen of the Guard suggests a similarly pointed commentary.
I’m about to make an argument with which two of my favorite authors on Gilbert and Sullivan completely disagree. Gayden Wren argues that if Point is meant as a stand in for Gilbert, then he would never have written him as such a self-pitying plagiarist. And Carolyn Williams argues that if there’s a relation between the two, it’s figurative, not literal; that Gilbert is depicting an outmoded form of comedy that Gilbert is supplanting. I’m trying to argue something slightly different here, although Williams and Wren have a much better track record for insight in this area, so perhaps you should trust them when they contradict me.
Gilbert was a man who ruminated on perceived injustices and nursed grievances. In writing any dramatic work, the author reaches into his or her mind over and over again to depict the way people think and behave, the way they interact, and the way they express themselves, in short: the way the world is. Of course Gilbert doesn’t intend Point to be a literal self portrait. But having established a doomed comedian as his protagonist, and needing that protagonist to speak in favor of comedy, we are apt to see some insights into Gilbert’s own opinions on the topic, because while he was writing the opera he himself had been advocating comedy to D’Oyly Carte and Sullivan as though his livelihood depended on it. I think I can back that up using Gilbert’s own words. By the same token, in setting up the love interest who would reject Point, and in writing the man she would choose in Point’s stead, Gilbert would naturally find in his own mind the characterizations that reflect his own wounded pride in his ongoing disagreements with Sullivan.
After the initial flush of success, Sullivan began to chafe at the kinds of pieces he was expected to write with Gilbert. After the opening of Princess Ida in 1884, he told Richard D’Oyly Carte he didn’t want to write any more Savoy operas. A composer friend had recently suffered a paralyzing stroke, he himself was suffering from health problems, and he had been knighted by the Queen for his service to British music. Time was short. Why was a man with his gifts wasting them on trifles? Sullivan’s expressions of discomfort with the situation precipitated a set of negotiations to try to get him to fulfill his contractual obligation to continue writing operas for Savoy. A sampling of their correspondence reveals the fundamental disagreements.
On April 1, 1884, Sullivan wrote to Gilbert:
“I will be quite frank. With Princess Ida, I have come to the end of my tether- the end of my capability in that kind of piece. My tunes are in danger of becoming mere repetitions of my former pieces… this very suppression [of music in favor of words] is most difficult, most fatiguing, and I may say most disheartening, for the music is never allowed to rise and speak for itself. I want a chance for the music to act in its own proper sphere- to intensify the emotional element not only of the actual words, but of the situation.
I should like to set a story of human interest and probability, where the humorous words would come in a humorous (not serious) situation, and where, if the situation were a tender or dramatic one, the words would be of a similar character. There would then be a feeling of reality about it which would give a fresh interest in writing, and fresh vitality to our joint work.”
Gilbert wrote back that he was deeply offended. He had always written in this way:
“It is inconceivable that any sane author should ever write otherwise than as you propose I should write in the future.”
The exchange deteriorated from there, Sullivan objecting to the ‘charm’ plot he was so tired of, and Gilbert accusing Sullivan of treating him as a servant. Eventually the impasse was broken when Gilbert proposed the plot of The Mikado. As it turned out, Sullivan’s insistence that Gilbert push in a new direction spurred both men to the faux Japanese opera that is often called their greatest achievement. Somehow the plot of Ruddigore was also picturesque enough to overcome objections and fire Sullivan’s imagination once more. But when, late in 1887 they set out to write their next piece, he rejected Gilbert’s first proposal as mechanical, ‘a puppet show, and not human’. And that’s when Gilbert proposed what would become Yeomen. A scenario that would allow Sullivan many serious moments, a Meistersinger inspired overture, an expanded orchestra, and some of his most glorious music. It is as close to Serious Opera as Gilbert was willing or perhaps able to go.
For all that, there were many difficulties. Sullivan asked for the second act to be reconstructed less than 2 months before the opera opened, and on the morning of opening night, Gilbert angrily insisted several numbers be removed because they slowed down the action.
Knowing as we do that Gilbert had been trying very hard to give Sullivan the ‘serious’ libretto he wanted, with very human characters, it’s hard not to read Jack Point’s character as a proxy for Gilbert’s own position. They are both comedians who hide their truth telling in humor. Point’s very first line begins making a case for comedy:
“My masters, I pray you bear with us, and we will satisfy you, for we are merry folk who would make all as merry as ourselves. For, look you, there is humour in all things, and the truest philosophy is that which teaches us to find it and make the most of it.”
This wisdom will shortly be thrown back in his face by two rustic would-be molesters.
Point will go on to sing about his methodology in not one but two further numbers. It is difficult not to hear Gilbert speaking about his own work when the jester sings:
I can teach you with a quip; if I’ve a mind
I can trick you into learning with a laugh;
Oh, winnow all my folly, folly, folly, and you’ll find
A grain or two of truth among the chaff.
Or:
When they’re offered to the world in merry guise,
Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a will,
For he who’d make his fellow, fellow, fellow creatures wise
Should always gild the philosophic pill.
In Oh! A Private Buffoon is a Light-hearted Loon, Point (again perhaps speaking Gilbert’s mind) makes an even more specific case for knowing your audience, as he was making to Sullivan in their correspondence:
Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack,
And your senses with toothache you’re losing
Don’t be mopey and flat- they don’t fine you for that
If you’re properly quaint and amusing.
Compare this passage from Gilbert to Sullivan after the production had successfully opened in 1889:
“I think we should be risking everything in writing more seriously still. We have a name, jointly for humorous work, tempered with glimpses of earnest drama. I think we should do unwisely if we left, altogether, the path to which we have trodden together so long and so successfully.”
Again, I’m not arguing, as some do, that Gilbert is deliberately setting out a case for his own methodology like some kind of legal defense. I’m proposing that while he is writing the libretto, Gilbert’s mind is constantly turning these ideas over, justifying his position to himself and nursing his wounded pride. Whether the author intends the writing to be autobiographical or no, the characters speak something on the author’s mind.
If we read Point as Gilbert, then his singing companion Elsie must be Sullivan’s stand in. Elsie makes clear their relationship in terms that might apply obliquely to Gilbert and Sullivan:
“May it please you, sir, we are two strolling players, Jack Point and I, Elsie Maynard, at your worship’s service. We go from fair to fair, singing, and dancing and playing brief interludes; and so we make a poor living.”
But of course, Jack values their relationship more than she does, and for a price, Elsie decides to marry another man, an alchemist who is as good as dead, just as Sullivan was anxious to leave Gilbert for the ephemeral prospect of English Grand Opera. Recall that Sullivan was awarded the Mendelssohn Scholarship at 14, which led to his study in Leipzig and his subsequent rise to prominence. Then note that Queen Victoria, 5 months before Yeomen opened attended The Golden Legend, telling Sullivan afterward, “You ought to write a grand opera, you would do it so well!” Then consider Gilbert’s lyric for Fairfax in Act II (in my far-fetched scenario trying to woo Sullivan away from Comic Opera to the more respectable Grand Opera)
He should ‘prentice himself at fourteen
And practice from morning to e’en
And when he’s of age,
if he will, I’ll engage,
He may capture the heart of a queen
The heart of a queen!
Death hangs in the air through Yeomen. In the last moment of this, their most ‘serious’ work, this comic figure falls insensible to the ground, having been rejected by his partner. Controversy remains about whether Point is actually dead, which reflects a much more tangible reality: would Gilbert ever write with Sullivan again?
I know I am stretching these comparisons, but when read in this way, the central musical idea of the opera, I Have a Song To Sing O! is even more meaningful, as the words of the rejected comic are continually rewritten and recontextualized by the woman who wants out of the relationship. They both have a song to sing. But it’s not the same song. She will not sing the words he has given her. The fact that Sullivan had so much trouble writing it and ultimately needed Gilbert to sing for him the simple folk song it was based on makes the irony even more poignant, as does the fact that it would become one of their most beloved songs, the one most requested by Autograph seekers.
Ultimately, of course, Gilbert and Sullivan did write several more operas together. Their last masterpiece The Gondoliers, which followed the next year, paints in its convoluted plot an even more bold picture of their artistic rupture: Two casts barely appear together onstage. One cast has a very involved musical characterization, the other a much simpler comic framework. Furthermore, the story revolves around two jointly ruling kings, unable to figure out which is in charge, and doing menial work as everyone else lives like royals, a mirror of Gilbert’s idea that others were profiting at his expense. At the conclusion of the opera, we find that neither of them are truly king, and the crown goes to the attendant to the Duke of Plaza Toro.
Following the Carpet Quarrel, a similar situation would unfold for D’Oyly Carte, who would be scrambling to search for composers and librettists to fill the gaping hole left when the partnership finally collapsed.
But let’s leave that story for another time and simply marvel that an opera grew out of the friction of an artistic impasse that is one of the greatest pieces of music theatre in the 19th Century.
Before You Start:
A great place to start with any G&S Operetta is the Gilbert and Sullivan Archive page.The page for Yeomen is pretty extensive, including interviews, reviews of early productions, higher keys for Phoebe’s two songs, and an extremely helpful list of errata.
The most commonly used edition is the Schirmer vocal score, edited by Edmond William Rickett. It’s good, and is accessible to most of your singers. I linked to Amazon here, because most people these days buy from them. But do be aware that they sometimes lump together more than one edition of the same score, so you might accidentally get a rival edition when you order. You may decide you’d like to go with the Oxford critical edition, which is very good, if more expensive, and connects perfectly with the full score you’re going to want to purchase. On that note:
As for the full score, you’re in luck. The old handwritten Kalmus score is $165, which is appalling, considering that the brilliant new Oxford edition edited by Colin Jagger is less than $90. The critical material at the beginning is stellar, and I only found a couple of head scratchers that couldn’t be clarified in the notes.
I believe in conducting chorus rehearsals from the vocal score until the chorus is off book, and then switching as early as practicable to the full score to conduct rehearsals. There is a real wealth of detail in the orchestration that you as a music director need to be aware of that is simply not present in the Piano Score. If you are renting parts, do check to see if you can get your hands on the score that goes with them to use as you rehearse. It goes without saying that conducting the operetta in performance with an orchestra from the Piano Vocal Score is an unpardonable infraction unless it is absolutely unavoidable.
Recordings:
As always, the OakApple Press page laying out all the major recordings is complete and fantastic. Many of these recordings are available on Spotify, but I encourage you to buy a hard copy. Looking to D’Oyly Carte for style or pronunciation help is a good idea, but I’m sorry to say that even in the case of vowels, you will find very little uniformity from one D’Oyly Carte recording to the next.
If you’re going to be Music Directing Gilbert and Sullivan, you’ll want to begin building a library of reference materials. I recommend getting these, as you are able:
The Gilbert and Sullivan Lexicon by Harry Benford: in which you will find the definitions of all those words you don’t understand.
I have recently added to my collection Carolyn Williams Gilbert and Sullivan: Gender, Genre, Parody. I had been skeptical at first of this kind of treatment of G&S, but I was very much mistaken. This book is just wonderful, and I found the chapter on Yeomen quite illuminating. Williams is the only writer on G&S I can recall reading that confronts difficulties in the works in their historical contexts. Most books either deny that there are problematic passages or approach them as though the authors should have been thinking then as we do now. I can tell that I’m going to learn quite a bit from the insights in this book as I continue to do Gilbert and Sullivan.
After you have procured some of these, set aside a number of hours to do the following:
1) Listen to the soundtracks with the score in hand, marking things that strike you as interesting. I also made a pass at one point with a metronome and marked the tempi of all the sections from several recordings so that I would have a benchmark of speed. When a singer complains about a tempo, it helps to be able to check and say, “Ah, yes, we’re too slow” or: “This is within the range of generally accepted tempi.” or yet again, “I’d like to take it this fast, but currently our diction won’t allow it.” Sullivan doesn’t always notate phrasing or articulations, and while it’s easy to say, “Let’s just leave it up to the taste of the players”, it’s sometimes necessary to actually make clear decisions as a conductor so that the ensemble is telling the same musical story. I have developed a system with colored pencils, where I listen to a recording of a particular year with, say, a red pencil in hand and just mark interesting articulation, dynamic, or tempo choices for the key moments. Then I go back with a different color and enter another recording’s take on the same moments. Pretty quickly one begins to realize what is standard, what is done almost every time, and what is open to interpretation. You will also find your own preference in those places where there appears to be a wide range of opinion. To me, this is the beginning of discovering your own voice as a conductor; finding where the limits of expression have been in the past, and deciding what you are drawn to in answer to the points that are vague.
2) Take the Lexicon book and copy in pencil all the definitions into the score where you don’t already know the meanings.
As You’re Casting:
Sir Richard Cholmondely
Sir Richard is a role for a bass-baritone, hopefully an imposing one, since his character hasn’t much of a sense of humor and arrives to deliver important news at nearly every entrance. In How Say You Maiden, he not only begins the number, but has some extremely challenging passagework, and a nearly impossible passage in the Act II finale. Note that Lieutenant is pronounced ‘leftenant’ in England.
Colonel Fairfax
Fairfax is a tenor with a thankless task. Other characters tell the audience that he is brave and valiant, but we will see him behave in precisely the opposite manner in the piece, cavalier about the feelings of the people around him, and self-pitying in the face of mild annoyance. If the audience is to like him, he has to be terribly charming, and his devil-may-care attitude needs to read as sophistication, not egotism. He also has two arias that rely on beauty of tone. A harder role than you might at first think.
Sergeant Meryll
Meryll performs critically important plot functions in Yeomen, delivering important exposition and bridging several storylines. He must credibly be Leonard and Pheobe’s father. He must be able to hold the bass part of Strange Adventure, the fast section at the end of act II, (with the Lieutenant and Wilfred) and be rather adept at counting, since he has awkward entrances in two numbers. A role for a solid performer.
Meryll used to have a song between Nos. 3 and 4. It was cut on Gilbert’s insistence, and Sullivan was annoyed at being bullied into cutting it, although he agreed it was unnecessary to the plot. Apart from giving Meryll something interesting to do, it isn’t missed, especially since Meryll has plenty to do in the piece itself.
I suppose this is as good a place as any to point out the confusion you may first have as you begin working through the materials. Meryll is the last name of three of these characters, and the false last name of a fourth. In the score Sergeant Meryll is always referred to as Meryll, his real son as Leonard, Phoebe as Phoebe, and Fairfax as Fairfax, even when disguised as a Meryll.
Leonard Meryll
Leonard exists to set up the plot, disappears for a long time, then provides information necessary to end the opera. In the interim, he can go back to being a chorister if that works with your staging and costuming. In fact, you should be casting a very fine tenor in this part, and you can’t afford to lose any chorus tenors, since you need several good ones as Yeomen, and you don’t want your chorus of townspeople to be tenorless. Leonard needs a high A flat.
Jack Point
Jack Point is one of the best and most challenging roles in the canon. He must have an extraordinarily good memory, for the ever changing I Have A Song to Sing O!, the many monologues, and the verses and verses of patter. He plays comic for most of the piece, but there must also be a slight sadness, or the ending simply will not play. Vocally the role is not terribly rangy, and could be played by a tenor or a baritone, but it must be someone who has crystal clear diction and the intelligence to understand what he’s doing and saying throughout.
Wilfred Shadbolt
Shadbolt must first of all have a wonderful stage presence and great comic timing. He must be adept at patter and have a good sense of timing.
Shadbolt had a number between When Maiden Loves and Tower Warders that I love. When Jealous Torments Rack My Soul was supposedly cut because it was serious in tone, being the second such number in a row at the beginning of the opera. I think my modern sensibility is differently calibrated, because I find both numbers musically light, if lyrically dark. Shadbolt’s cut number is in fact, full of truly delightful detail, with flutes imitating birds, the violins trilling a meowing cat, and a truly hilarious bassoon line. It also makes the reference to Shadbolt’s jealousy near the end of the opera resonate even better, since this number establishes jealousy as his central feature.
The Headsman
Pick your tallest/biggest actor. He wears a mask, so having somebody who is imposing and can wield an axe credibly without doing any harm to himself or those around him are the primary criteria.
First Yeoman
The First Yeoman is a Tenor or a Baritone who can sing a high F briefly.
Second Yeoman
The second Yeoman is a rangy tenor, or at the very least a baritone with a sustained high F. Be sure he can sing the passage in Tower Warders, but also check in on the Low Bb in the First Act Finale, where he seems to be more of a Baritone
First and Second Citizens
These characters have no given vocal parts, they act like dangerous creeps in one scene. Choose them accordingly.
Elsie Maynard
Elsie is one of the best soprano roles in G&S, despite the fact that she only has one aria proper. The role requires a strong actress with a very flexible voice, and real punch at the top of the staff. There are several places that are rather heavily scored. Conversely, she needs to be able to float some things as well. She also needs a very good memory. In I Have a Song to Sing, O!, the words and timing are very difficult to remember. And finally, she needs to be able to play comic scenes and several moments of pathos. It’s quite a meaty role!
Phoebe Meryll
Phoebe opens the show and appears at every important juncture. She’s really a mezzo, but you can cast a soprano if you move her two arias up a step. Both the lower and higher keys are legitimate choices sanctioned by Sullivan. She has a lot of lovely scene work, so cast a sensitive actor who can play comedy.
Dame Carruthers
Dame Carruthers initially appears to be a different kind of Contralto part, as the noble protector of history, but shifts somewhat awkwardly in Act II to fit the scary-contralto type to frighten poor Meryll and make us like him less. Carruthers needs a good ear for the various part work she sings, good diction for the patter, and a formidable stage presence.
Kate
Kate is an impossibly small part with a critical vocal line in Strange Adventure! A wonderful role for someone in your company who is building experience for larger roles, or for a soprano with a beautiful voice who for whatever reason wasn’t cast in the other roles.
Chorus
In The Pirates of Penzance, Sullivan had split his male chorus into tenors and basses. Here we have a much more complicated demarcation, because you must have a full 4 part men’s chorus of Yeomen and a functioning section that hopefully balances the women’s chorus. The chorus of townspeople does not appear all that often, but when they do, it is extremely rewarding material to sing! This means you can afford to really finesse your choral rehearsals; you will have the time. It’s possible to cover all the chorus material in 2 well paced rehearsals and then move on to fine tuning details.
Here’s my suggestion for filling the yeomen positions: Put one of your strongest chorus singers on each of the yeomen parts: 1st Tenor, 2nd Tenor, Baritone, and Bass. Add them to Sgt. Meryll and the First and Second Yeomen you cast as principals, since there are times Meryll and those two yeomen are not able to sing the choral parts. Once you’ve set up that core group, be certain your remaining chorus of townspeople has a strong tenor and bass to ground the section. In all likelihood, you will be short on tenors, as we were. Don’t send them all to the group of Yeomen, or you’ll be in a bind. If you should have chorus singers to spare, start doubling out the Yeomen with other singers. Meryll is likely a bass, your first Yeoman is probably a first tenor, your second yeoman a baritone or second tenor. So if you’re augmenting beyond those 7 men, add another 2nd tenor or baritone to make an evenly balanced 8 when everyone’s singing together. Then add one each of the other parts. I think 11 is probably too many, and if you can afford 11 yeomen and still have enough strong tenors to balance the chorus women in the remaining scenes, I want to talk with you about your recruiting. I also want to know about your costume budget. For the record, there are 37 warders in real life.
Your sopranos have a G above the staff, your altos an E flat above treble C, going down to middle C. Chorus tenors need the G above middle C, and the basses need the A below bass C.
The Yeomen First tenor tops off at an A above middle C, the second tenor The A flat above middle C, the Baritone needs an E flat above middle C, and your Basses need the F below the bass staff and the E flat above middle C.
General Pronunciation Advice:
I copy here general note from earlier G&S posts, with some slight emendations.
I am still no expert on RP English pronunciation, but I offer here a couple of basic pointers, to which I intend to add as I learn more:
1) Be aware of the Trap-Bath split. A fellow Savoyard in my tenor section made me aware of this chart, which is very helpful: trap-bath
2) ‘R’s that begin a word are tripped or rolled. ‘R’s that come before a vowel are tripped. ‘R’s that come after a vowel are generally dropped. At no point is the ‘r’ pronounced as we Amerrricans pronounce it. (although you may encounter different kinds of Rs if characters have regional British accents)
3) Mary, Merry, and Marry employ three different vowel sounds. Where I come from, they are pronounced identically. In Philadelphia, they are pronounced as three different vowels, but they aren’t the same vowels. Interesting chart on this matter:http://www4.uwm.edu/FLL/linguistics/dialect/staticmaps/q_15.html In G&S, you’ll want to say Mary with an eh as in air, Merry with eh as in get, and Marry with an ah as in cat. (someone will certainly correct me on this)
4) Many u vowels will need a y sound before them: duty becomes dyewtee, tuning becomes tyooning, new becomes nyoo, and institution becomes instityooshun.
5) Been becomes bean.
6) For words which in American English replace ‘t’s with a d sound, a true ‘t’ sound should be used. “Water” is not pronounced “wadder”, and certainly not wooder, my Philadelphia friends. But be careful not to overcompensate. I have noticed that some Americans are so anxious to Britishify their speech that they change to ‘t’ sounds that are truly ‘d’s. Lady should not be Laty, as I’ve heard people say when attempting to posh up their language. Not every ‘d’ needs to become a ‘t’, only the ones that are truly ts to begin with!
7) As I continue to conduct these pieces, and after continuing encouragement from the English members of our American company, I am beginning to become fixated on words like “all”, and the second syllable of “Doctor”, “Major” and “Sailor”. The British “all” has a darker vowel than the Americans use, almost to the point of sounding like ‘ole’, and the second syllable of the ‘or’ words is pronounced like ‘or’, not ‘er’, as Americans would say it. I am still conflicted about that particular one, because the D’Oyly Carte recordings are by no means consistent on that point, and especially at speed, it is very difficult to articulate a tall ‘o’ vowel in such a word. It is something to keep one’s ears open for.
That is by no means exhaustive, and I’ve probably gotten some of it wrong, but that’ll get you started. There are some places in this show where pronunciation will be governed by a rhyme. I will try and hit each of those points as we go.
Going through the show number by number:
Overture
This overture is one of the finest in the Savoy canon. Various commentators have suggested that it is modeled on Wagner’s overture to Die Meistersinger. One recent writer even insinuates that Sullivan chose to take this overture seriously for a change on account of the seriousness of the topic. A casual glance at his overture to Iolanthe shows that when Sullivan had the time to write his own overtures, he always did so with great care and diligence.
Those who see the Meistersinger connection are probably responding to the brass opening and subsequent episodes, and the appearance near the end of the Wagner of the King David motive with busy strings throughout. Sullivan loved Die Meistersinger, but if he was inspired by the overture, the differences are frankly more interesting than the similarities.
Wagner’s overture is built on a number of that opera’s main themes, just as Sullivan’s is. But Wagner’s orchestration is elaborate and thick, and the themes tend to spin out into sequences, each dissipating into the next idea. Sullivan’s language closes out the musical ideas and makes quite clear which instruments are melodic and which accompanimental. The Wagner at its best is a flurry of counterpoint; he dazzles us with his complexity, and when he denies us cadence, we find we have already moved on to the next busy episode. The Sullivan at its best is contrapuntally sound but always simple, clear and directionally oriented. The strongest case for comparison between the two overtures is also the strongest case for what makes them so different. Below I’ve reduced the four measure phrase at the return of the King David motive in Die Meistersinger, followed by the analogous passage at the close of the Yeomen overture.
Wagner:
Sullivan:
The old orchestration rule that there should never really be more than three distinct things going on at once is held in perfect clarity by the Sullivan example, whereas Wagner has three heterophonic versions of the bass, a brass idea that is beautiful, but lacks a strong profile, and a terribly busy chromatic figure in the second violins and violas that doesn’t so much add excitement as muddy the waters. By comparison, Sullivan’s passage is a perfect model of clarity.
Once you leave these grand and gilded brass passages, the development of these ideas is not at all Wagnerian, but displays the welcome influence of Mendelssohn, especially as the “All Frenzied With Despair” motive is nimbly passed between sections.
The overture is also in Sonata form, a form Wagner viewed with skepticism. I see people online describing this overture as being distinctive because it’s in sonata form rather than being a potpourri of tunes from the opera. I see this as a potpourri of tunes from the opera organized in Sonata Form. The same could be said of the Iolanthe overture. Unless you’re trying to write a Wagnerian music of the future, there is no shame in writing in Sonata Form; it is the tried and true way of organizing contrasting ideas! The introduction is the Tower Theme, followed by the Primary Theme, When a Wooer Goes a Wooing in Eb. (chromatically altered from its appearance in the opera so that it can be better used in this context) a transitional passage modulates us to the Secondary Theme area Were I Thy Bride in the Dominant, Bb. A development section is built on All Frenzied with Despair from the Act I Finale, with snippets of When a Wooer and Were I Thy Bride. After 44 measures of modulating passages with no full statements of any theme, the Tower Theme sneaks back to prepare the recapitulation, with artfully deployed Primary and Secondary themes in the tonic key and a further statement of the Tower Theme as a powerful coda.
The reduction of the full orchestration in the Schirmer piano vocal score, held over and cleaned up from the Chappell edition, leaves a lot to be desired; one wishes a very playable reduction occupied 2 main staves, with a smaller stave supplying other details above, as happens from pages 9 through 11. Much of this overture is laid out in a way that would be difficult for most accompanists who are not concert pianists. Of course, this is only really a problem if you’ve staged the overture, something that was not done very often when this edition was released in 1954.
The greatest difficulty I found in conducting the overture was establishing the proper tempo. The Tower Theme, heard immediately at the opening of the work, appears in three other numbers in the opera, and not always at the speed one finds optimal for the Overture. My mental picture of the theme happens to be too fast for the figure in the violins in the 7th measure, but I found I also ran a danger of over-correcting to the point where the brass figure in measure 16 was too slow. Once I discovered that the brass idea in measure 16 is the most critical passage to get in the right tempo, I used it in my mind to calibrate the opening. The overture basically moves at that tempo throughout. With Yeomen, Sullivan finally has the larger orchestra he wanted, and we will see how beautifully he uses the extra players. He also seems to favor the clarinet in lines he might have given the oboe. I wonder if the Savory orchestra had a personnel change.
The development section, which begins around measure 59, is a wonderful spinning out of the stretto at the end of Act I, in deftly modulating passages. Ask the strings to articulate it in the same way the brass do when they play it in measure 65.
ACT I
1. When Maiden Loves, She Sits and Sighs
This is the only Savoy opera to open with a solo, and if this weren’t G&S, we might think Phoebe is the main character in the piece. She does in fact appear subsequently at nearly every important juncture. The spinning wheel flavor of the song should help you establish your tempo. There are two traditional keys for this. If you cast a higher voiced Phoebe, she may well want the piece in Eb. Both are sanctioned by original performance practice.
This is the number where you will be glad you hired competent violists. The spinning wheel figure, which at first feels like a simple trill, terminates several times in a very specific and somewhat exposed way, which needs to be clean. Be careful 5 measures before B. (as it appears in the Schirmer score) There is a viola line absent from the vocal score that makes sense of the long pause before Phoebe begins singing again. With piano alone, one wants to start the next phrase too early. Write the line in, or work with your Phoebe to understand how the passage works.
The aria also presents a small conducting challenge. If you play the piece as written, you will quickly discover that the 4 measures before B and the 4 measures before the first ending seem very fast, and don’t in fact represent the way the piece is performed on recordings. Colin Jagger’s edition takes the position (as I read his critical commentary) that the meno mosso and subsequent a tempo are not sanctioned by the author, and that Sullivan did not intend these measures to be performed at half speed. I agree with him that Sullivan knew his mind and knew how to notate rhythm. And yet, as we rehearsed the song, we simply could not find a musically convincing reading of the passage as notated in the score. The 4 measure passages feel rushed to no dramatic end. I was also unable to locate any recording that played those passages at speed. Should you choose to be academically correct and perform the score as written, I tip my hat to you, and your orchestra will have no trouble following you. But if you choose to do it the traditional D’Oyly Carte way, you will either have to have a potentially long and confusing conversation with the orchestra at the sitzprobe, or you will want to re-bar the passages. I include parts and score below for you in both keys rebarred for ease of conducting.
This is a PDF of the low key and the high key of the Piano vocal. I’ve added cue sized notes for the viola passage I mentioned earlier, and I’ve changed the measures so you don’t have to wildly change your tempo to do it the way it appears on most recordings. I’ve also removed a rolled chord marking that Schirmer used to use whenever there was pizzicato. It may sound more like a badly coordinated orchestra playing pizz. to roll the chord staccato, but we hope our orchestra actually plays the pizz. simultaneously!
Below is a document with all the orchestra parts so you can conduct it that way as well (in each key). I used the Schirmer rehearsal lettering and repeat format, which is different from the Oxford version. I conducted using these parts, marking the time signature changes in my score, and all was well.
This wonderful number shows Sullivan at a high level of musical pageantry, and will reveal to the audience immediately whether your chorus is big enough, and whether you distributed your tenors properly. If you don’t have enough in your chorus, they’ll know when the chorus begins singing. If you don’t have enough in the Yeomen, you’ll know when they have their very exposed part.
The rocketing triplet scale figure has been in several previous G&S operas, notably right before the recapitulation of the primary melody in the March of the Peers in Iolanthe, and it provides an identical function here in contrasting the martial duple figure preparing the entrance of the first theme.
The chorus of townspeople need a staccato articulation, which is difficult to maintain throughout the piece and prone to rushing. Keep an ear out for that in rehearsal. In the 18th and 22nd measures of rehearsal B, the Yeomen split into 5 parts. Meryll has not yet entered, which means you are one Bass short. If you don’t have enough Yeomen to do that doubling, eliminate the lowest part, and let the second bassoon carry it. The horns, bassoons, and sometimes even clarinets double all these parts beautifully, particularly when the two choruses come together at the end. There is a slight danger that the tendency of the Yeomen to sing their legato phrases a little languidly and the larger chorus to rush the detached parts will create some phasing between the two. Tell your chorus to listen for the triangle at the top of the number, which plays every quarter note like a metronome, and at the end to listen for the flutes and oboes, who are also playing cleanly and staccato (one hopes)
There are several word changes in the Colin Jagger edition you will want to take note of, especially if you are rehearsing chorus from the Schirmer score, and conducting from the Jagger full score. One is in measure 32, where Jagger’s edition reads “We rejoice in talking over”. The Schirmer has “telling”. Jagger’s note clarifies the situation well. I mention it because when I switched to conducting rehearsals from full score, I found myself continually making notes to correct word errors that were not actor mistakes, but discrepancies. I’ll try and note them as they occur.
3. When Our Gallant Norman Foes
Carruthers defense in her dialogue and subsequent paean to the Tower sets her up as the protector of tradition in the piece, and it’s truly a wonderful, very English moment.
A bugaboo for me was the word ‘twist’ in the Yeomen’s part, which needs to have the ‘s’ delayed, attached to the beginning of ‘and’. Of course Dame Carruthers can close to the ‘s’ as soon as she likes, but chorally, we don’t want to hear that.
Our director didn’t want to see a chorus of townspeople standing mute as the yeomen feebly echoed, so I assigned the first 2 phrases (‘The screw may twist’ through ‘men may burn’) to the full chorus. Going further would have drowned out her solo line.
This is the first of the numbers in the opera to end with music underscoring the exit of the singer in a way that discourages audience applause. In performance I found this dissatisfying, but again, I think perhaps Sullivan was trying to keep the action moving and avoid the feeling of music hall construction
4. Alas! I Waver To And Fro
This first of many principle ensembles is tricky stuff, especially considering that you are likely to have cast your most experienced ensemble singers in other roles. The tempo is quick, Leonard’s part is high, and Meryll’s part is acrobatic. The cutoffs when 2 or 3 sing together are also awkwardly written, in the British manner, notated to stop ⅔ of the way through the measure beat quickly in one. I recommend adjusting those cutoffs for the sake of accuracy to the nearest sensible barline. Once again, the audience is denied a traditional ending with an extended coda that sneaks out the door as the characters do.
5. Is Life a Boon?
Much is made of the trouble Sullivan had setting this text. He wrote several versions, this final version having been completed 4 days before the premiere. In looking at the earlier version which still exists, available in the Oxford edition, I have my own observations:
The original version is much sprightlier and more vocally and musically interesting. It sounds more ‘English’ and more self consciously archaic to me. It also starts the second verse in the minor, which is better suited to the text, and the ending combines ideas from both verses. To my ear, it places Fairfax as a character far more specifically. The standard version has been much admired from the beginning, but I find the aria a little generic and perfunctory, rather like Fold Your Flapping Wings, which was cut from Iolanthe. The introductory measures do little more than establish us in Db major; Sullivan declines to use a number of melodic ideas that would have suited that opening moment, the melodic line follows the poetic meter without any of Sullivan’s inspired creative manipulation, and the vocal line is not very adventurous. Gilbert ostensibly rejected the earlier version because it resembled tenor arias from earlier operas, being in 6/8. Others have speculated that Gilbert wanted to deprive a tenor he disliked of a strong moment. But I wonder whether his real reason was that the joke is so hard to understand in the earlier version. Sullivan seems to have taken the sense of the lyric somewhat too seriously in the earlier version; in the final version, Fairfax simply tells the joke straight.
There is to my ear an obvious disconnect between Gilbert and Sullivan’s ideas about what should be happening here. With that disconnect in mind, consider the fact that Gilbert chose part of this lyric to appear on Sullivan’s memorial in 1903:
“Is life a boon?
If so, it must befall
That death whene’er he call
Must call too soon.”
That memorial and its Goscombe John sculpture of a partially nude young woman representing grief dramatically mourning under a bust of Sir Arthur are considered either the sexiest or most sexist memorial in London. The text is, of course, totally appropriate for a memorial out of the context of the opera. And yet considered in context, sung by a character who immediately thereafter says, in effect, “If I’m going to die, I may as well die now as any other time” seems mildly inappropriate to a memorial. And their disagreements about the setting of this text were surely on Gilbert’s mind, because when the statue was unveiled, he gave a speech, in which he remarked that:
“…he should like to bear testimony to the abnegation and self-effacement to which Sir Arthur was always prepared to submit himself whenever he had reason to believe that any part of his share of their joint work was inconsistent with the effect intended to be achieved by the whole design.” -as reported in The Musical Times, August 1, 1903
Anyone who has read their letters knows that Gilbert is stretching the truth here.
If you use the Jagger full score, you will notice a discrepancy in the pickup to the second verse. Jagger’s note explains the situation. I didn’t have a preference between the triplet version and the dotted eighth sixteenth version, but you might want to choose one yourself for clarity’s sake. If you take time at the end of the first verse, be prepared to cut off the strings in measure 40. Plan similarly in cutting off the strings 7 measures from the end.
6. Here’s a Man of Jollity
This chorus number is wonderfully inventive musically. Sullivan is trying to evoke the rhythmic fluidity of Renaissance music here, although 5/4 would have been quite unusual. What is really striking here is how Sullivan builds a melodic rhetoric from motives which he repeats in various configurations. Some melodic patterns happen at the quarter note level, falling irregularly over barlines. Others are re-ordered in performance. The opening consists of just three ideas:
But the ideas come in this fanciful order:
1,1,2,2,3,2,2,3
The chorus is essentially monophonic and in the Lydian mode (!), with chords appearing only in the mixed meter passages to help establish the cadences. It’s also striking that Sullivan writes an underscore for important dialogue, something he had not done in earlier operettas. It’s yet another sign that he was aiming for a more thoroughly connected musical drama.
Unless you’ve separated the sections on stage, I don’t see much point in splitting the groups antiphonally in their vocal parts when the chorus enters. At letters A and B, the high F may be too high for some of your altos and basses, in which case they can enter on the second notes of those phrases.
I think the faster the tempo the better. Conduct the 4/4 measures in 2, and the 3 and 5 measures in 3 and 5. If the dialogue is read quickly, you should be able to get through the repeated passage 5 times before moving on to No. 7.
Colin Jagger’s notes in the full score explain the bizarre situation between numbers 6 and 7. Here’s a man of Jollity clearly ends preparing us for D major, and yet in the Schirmer score, I Have a Song to Sing, O! Is in E flat. As I see it, you have 3 options: 1) take the last 14 measure repeated section of No. 6 up a half step and do No. 7 in Eb. 2) move No. 7 to D, as it will appear at the end of the opera or 3) Go from A7 to Eb major and hope nobody is paying attention. In truth they probably aren’t. I think the crossfade you encounter in one or two of the recordings is the most bizarre way to solve the problem, making an unusual harmonic moment in a Romantic Era opera into an outtake from Charles Ives’s Country Band March.
7. I have a Song To Sing, O!
In its profound simplicity, this song captures the central couple of the opera in their pre-fallen state. Gilbert has created something rare in his work: A text that refers to the character’s situations ironically, but not comically. It is also wonderful theatre that we know something will go wrong, but they don’t realize they are singing about themselves.
I don’t know that anyone truly sings every note of the melody as notated, and some places are rather awkward as written, such as “Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud”, which is all quarters except for ‘lord and’. ‘And who’ eighths is much better prosody. You will need to decide for yourself how much of a stickler you intend to be about these moments.
The chorus that comes in at letter E sings on an Oo, then on an Ah! 8 measures later. When this moment is echoed in the Second Act Finale, the score indicates Oo! all the way. I thought Oo was unlikely to carry at a Forte dynamic, and that my chorus singers would perhaps not keep straight the two versions, so I made the last iteration an Ah! both times. Midway through that last choral phrase, it is effective to speed up to the end.
Incidentally, you must choose a sprightly tempo here, or your orchestra will fall asleep and/or lose their places. This is also a very fine reason to do no. 6 as fast as you can manage, because then the transition will be more or less l’istesso, and you won’t have to drive the orchestra ahead in the opening ritornello. One final point (pun intended) about the tempo: If your orchestra is good, they’ll be listening to the singers, and since there is so little going on in the orchestra anyway, it turns out to be very hard to get the tempo to move without the singers cooperation. They are in some way in charge of keeping the tempo moving themselves.
8. How Say You, Maiden, Will You Wed
Choose your tempo based on the ‘head over heels’ stretto. Elsie will want it faster, probably, and the men will likely want it slower. The three characters are so beautifully depicted in the music of their solo sections, and the ensemble work has the most delightfully witty orchestration. Beginning at the second ‘head over heels’ passage, Sullivan sets up a dialogue between the tutti woodwinds and the strings, which quickly becomes a game of tag or leapfrog between the two bassoons. The tutti, once again anticlimactic, continues the game, this time alternating flute/clarinet with horn/bassoon, until the pizzicato strings get the last word.
Practice cueing the bassoon entry in the last 6 measures of vocals and be prepared to explain the flute/clarinet pickup that follows to the rest of the orchestra.
9. I’ve Jibe and Joke
A standard Gilbert and Sullivan patter song, which is to say: perfection.
The opening is a jig, with a wonderful sixteenth note figure, made even more wonderful in the 15th measure when Sullivan runs the figure into D minor ominously.
You may want to practice indicating the tempo with a blank bar, to align bassoon and low strings. It’s difficult to coordinate the very first measure. It turns out there are several versions of the woodwind passage here, and Sullivan’s preference seems to be unclear. Have a look at the parts your orchestra is using, and make sure they agree (ours did not) Enjoy the sforzandi. They are wonderfully fun.
Generally the last time through the chorus, singers slow down for “always gild the philosophic pill” This is tricky to conduct, so be sure to have a game plan.
10. ’Tis Done! I Am A Bride
This aria is some particularly fine writing, although this is one of those introductory 2 measure ritornelli that I do not find very inspiring. Pay attention to the 2nd violins, violas and cellos more than the rest in the opening there; they need more guidance than the others in establishing the triplets.
Choose a good fast tempo for the Allegro, and start small, so that the cresting waves in the strings have something to crest above! At 2 before C, you can let the singer take time, but get back into tempo at rehearsal C. The key to this number is forward propulsion that opens out into lyric long notes. We know this because Sullivan broke up Gilbert’s rhyme scheme to accomplish it.
Though tears and long-drawn sigh
Ill-fit a bride
No sadder wife than I
The whole world wide!
Ah me, ah me
Yet wives there be…
Sullivan pulls ‘Ah me’ back into the previous stanza, and we as an audience no longer hear any rhyme at all. But Sullivan is drawing the urgency of the situation in that moment, an urgency that can’t be achieved at a slower speed. Gayden Wren goes into much greater detail on this point, and I encourage you to read his chapter. In The Gondoliers, Sullivan would ignore rhythmic schemes even more, to the point where he makes Gilbert sound as though he doesn’t know how to rhyme at all.
The Allegro un poco agitato is perhaps the place in the score where you will most wish you had more violins. The writing isn’t always easy, and passing the passagework back and forth between players (as they will probably do) reveals quickly both the facility of the players and the depth of the sections. I told my section I was most interested in measures 23, 30, 43, etc, where the rocketing passages jump out from the texture and drive the piece forward. Keep in mind that conducting a sensitive rehearsal pianist to push and pull the tempo around the cadences is much easier than doing the same for the entire string section. I found it useful to conduct the cadenza once for the orchestra with the singer while they weren’t playing, so that they could hear the way it’s constructed. It’s also worth noting that the end of this is scored rather heavily for Sullivan. Listen for that balance so that your singer doesn’t need to oversing the cadenza.
11. Were I Thy Bride
Again, there are two key choices here. Both keys are available in the IMSLP orchestral parts, by the way. Be sure to choose a sprightly tempo, and note the character of the orchestration. As I hear it, Phoebe’s coyness is depicted in the way Sullivan mutes and divides the violins, first into 2 groups of 2 notes each, then eventually four groups of 2 notes each. More and more notes per chord, fewer and fewer players on each note! Under that is a tick-tock bed of pizzicato, and above it the occasional pad of woodwind coloring the flavor of the phrases. Students of composition note how Sullivan usually brings the winds in mid-phrase before a cadence and bridges into the next phrase. They’re a musical glue!
12.FIRST ACT FINALE: Oh, Sergeant Meryll, Is It True
It isn’t as much of a thrill ride as the Finale to the first act of Iolanthe, and yet, I found this absolutely exhilarating to conduct, particularly the funeral march and the final stretto.
The first page of reduction is again pretty unsatisfying. The section in E major at the top of Schirmer page 97 is awkward passage work for both rehearsal accompanist and strings, but even allowing for that, the sense of what is happening on the first page of the Finale could have been conveyed much better.
Meryll’s entrance is actually quite difficult, because he’s essentially performing a canon with the trumpet at a beat’s delay. It is a wonderful line once you get it timed out, but budget some rehearsal there.
The violin sixteenth coming out of the fermata on the way into E (as lettered in the Schirmer score) is really difficult to cue! Your pianist will simply do it, but you need to plan for a section of violins. I actually got it wrong every single performance. As I’m thinking about it now, I think you need to say a prayer and give a strong 4 out of the fermata.
The Andante allegretto reinstates a repeat during the 1st and 2nd yeomen solos and a second verse in the Oxford Full Score that isn’t in the Schirmer score. I don’t think it’s worth reinstating, but you should note it so it doesn’t catch you by surprise.
The transition into H in the Schirmer score is prefigured in the syncopation in the previous measure. In fact, you could also make it l’istesso. You will almost certainly need to finesse this moment with your orchestra.
At rehearsal G in the Oxford Full Score (8th measure of H in the Schirmer vocal score), there is a passage that is pretty tricky for the orchestra. Your pianist will be fine in rehearsal, but the orchestra is coming out of 2 brief phrases and 2 unaccompanied recits, so they have no real bearing on the new tempo. When we come out of the recit, the tempo needs to be established on the downbeat of the cellos and double basses, who are marked piano. Every other instrument is primarily offbeats for quite a while, which adds to the confusion. Have the cellos and basses mark the singer’s text coming into that passage, and in the fermatas that follow a few phrases later, and have them bump that first downbeat up to forte. You may find yourself paying attention to the strings and flutes, but that’s a mistake. The main thing is the downbeat. Establish that, and the orchestra will have something to latch onto.
8 measures before J, you will note that the orchestra has a pickup quarter, but Wilfred has an eighth. The same thing happens 2 measures later. You may find it advisable to drop directly into tempo at the downbeat that closes Wilfred’s rather free recit so that things line up. Alternately, you can cut the clarinet and bassoon upbeat and let Wilfred take you into the next measure by himself.
I recommend you tacet the first notes in the trumpets at the top of the Allegro non troppo (full score measure 216, Schirmer 2nd measure of J. It’s hard to coordinate otherwise. You’ll thank me later.
The funereal march to mourn the condemned is situationally and mildly musically similar to the auto-da-fé sequence at the beginning of Act 3, Part 2 of Verdi’s Don Carlo (5 act version) Possibly Gilbert and/or Sullivan saw the first production of that opera in Italian at Covent Garden in June 1867.
At the Andante you will need to solve the problem of who plays that bell and who plays the timpani. They can’t be played by the same player, and the rest of the orchestra is occupied. See Colin Jagger’s note for some interesting backstory regarding the tempo. If you choose a backstage bell ringer, you’ll run into some problems with coordination, especially if they can’t see you. If you choose a visible onstage bell ringer, it draws focus from one of the most important moments in the show. If you hire a second percussion player, they will be doing nothing for almost the entire show. And for heaven’s sake don’t do it yourself. Your orchestra and chorus need you to shape this passage.
Work on those cutoffs at “The prisoner comes” This is an absolutely breathtaking passage, maybe the most beautiful moment in Sullivan’s work, but only if it’s clean, in tune and has beautiful vowels. Note where the diminuendo is and don’t anticipate it.
It turns out to be difficult initially to get “He is not there!” to come in correctly. Budget some time.
The patter passage when it’s first introduced has a wrinkle that you have to solve. “We hunted high” and “We hunted low” are both thirds, just as they are when the chorus sings it. There were originally four yeomen returning empty handed. Now there are only three. So your options are: 1) do it as written in the Schirmer score. 2) Get another yeoman in on the action. 3) Have Fairfax sing in both sections.
Budget time to align the girls entrance in “Now, by my troth the news is fair…” It will feel early.
In your choral warmup, spend time learning the “as escort for” passage in tempo. Work the words separately from the notes for clarity and consonants. Tune the word ‘sought’ the first time it appears and the word ‘with’ the last time it appears. These will be out of tune at first. There is another version of the lyric here in the Oxford edition you may want to use.
At T, the accompaniment is tossed between strings and woodwinds just as the Lieutenant sings. The last time we had this kind of antiphonal interplay was in How Say You, Maiden, his first number.
The grace notes in the passage after T (in the Schirmer score) are among the most difficult parts of the opera for the strings. You may want to tell your less experienced players to play only the downbeats if they can’t tune it. The next passage should have a light touch, even as everyone is very agitated. This sets up the big tune well. Note that Sullivan brings in the timpani and horns as a pedal 4 before rehearsal V (in the Schirmer score) and then has the chorus join 2 bars later. Note also the chorus enters piano and swells to make the entrance of the big tune.
Jack and Elise have a completely different set of lyrics here NOT included in the Schirmer that they will likely want to use, because they’re specific to character. No audience member will hear them, but they are far more sensible for the characters to sing. You can see them in the Oxford score:
ELSIE:
All frenzied, frenzied with despair I rave
My anguish rends my heart in two
Unloved, unloved to him my hand I gave
To him unloved bound to be true.
Unloved, unseen, unknown, unknown the brand
Of infamy upon his head;
A bride, a bride that’s husbandless I stand
To all mankind forever dead
To all man-kind forever dead
(she does not participate in the ‘thousand marks’ passage)
Forever ever dead forever ever dead to all man-kind forever
Ever dead.
POINT:
All frenzied, frenzied with despair I rave
My anguish rends my heart in two
Your hand, your hand to him you freely gave
It’s woe to me, not woe to you!
My laugh is dead, my heart, my heart unmanned,
A jester with a heart of lead!
A lover, lover loverless I stand,
To womankind forever dead
(he does not participate in the ‘thousand marks’ passage)
To womankind forever dead
The Lieutenant sings the chorus lyrics with ‘my’ replacing ‘his’
33 measures from the end, at letter X in the Oxford score, 25th measure of Y in the Schirmer score, the high winds, horns and strings have a triplet figure against an eighth note pattern in the lower instruments. I suggest you ask the winds to play that figure detached. (the strings can’t really do that in their figure) The two ideas play off each other well, but can be muddy.
I put a quarter rest in between the two iterations of “A Thousand Marks” in the Sopranos and Altos, and cut the downbeat tied over from the first ‘alive‘, to make room for breath. You may want to bring the chorus dynamic down on a-LIVE just a hair, so they can properly get a crescendo there to the sforzando.
The very end of the first act feels wrong in the piano reduction, as though you’ve suddenly struck the wrong tempo somehow, but just trust that when the orchestra is there, the bandwidth of sound, with the strings playing full chords and everyone in the optimal parts of their range justifies the extremely slow augmentation of the main theme.
ACT II
13. Night Has Spread Her Pall Once More
Gilbert knew well how effective it is to begin a second act in the moonlight. The Sorcerer, HMS Pinafore, The Pirates of Penzance, Iolanthe, and Utopia Limited also begin Act II at night. And yet in no other case did Sullivan capture the moonlight as beautifully as he does here.
Gayden Wren hears this as a reworking of the funeral march from Act I, but I don’t hear that. I do hear an exquisite depiction of moonlight worthy of Tchaikovsky. Have the strings play that unison melody fully and expressively, but also observe the dynamics, which are very specific.
It’s odd that Sullivan asks for the altos to sit out the whole first section. I treated the first phrases as normal, with all women singing the unison parts and the altos going down for the lower passages as needed. Aim for very strong ‘K’ consonants as they appear.
If your Yeomen are not quite loud enough to pull off their passage alone, you can add the chorus men, changing all the ‘we’s to ‘ye’s. I know this isn’t Sullivan approved, but I don’t think he would have been happy with a weak men’s chorus there either. Avoid the temptation to slow down the penultimate measure of the chorus as though it were the last night of our Vegas floor show residency.
The piano score has a tremolando in the first 2 measures, but that’s really just so that the pianist can approximate the crescendo/decrescendo in the woodwinds. Don’t go too crazy. The IMSLP parts have a rearticulation in the winds in measure 2, but the Oxford score has it tied over (with no note in the Critical Commentary) I don’t know what to tell you there. The doubling of the tenor and basslines at 76 in the horns is extremely effective. I asked them to play out there, it makes the men’s section sound fuller.
14. Oh, A Private Buffoon
Another perfect Gilbert and Sullivan patter song, after a perfect Gilbert scene. The traditional colla voce rit. in the 23rd and 24th measures may not be in your orchestra parts. They are very easy to cue. If only the lyrics were so easy to remember.
15. Hereupon We’re Both Agreed
The faster the better for this fantastic duet. The words are likely to induce giggles in a modern American audience, and that’s fine. Note the words at “I to swear to, you declare to”, where the two swap lyrics. It’s actually pretty tricky! If your company does encores, you can begin at the beginning and take the second ending. It’s a nice effect to speed up the ending if you’ve done the encore.
There’s an odd bit I’m pretty sure is an error in the Oxford full score. The 2nd violins have a sixteenth rest at the end of measure 62 that should really be an A. I suspect that Sullivan asked the copyist to duplicate measure 58 in measure 62. In 62, the A is missing to facilitate the string crossing to the upper octave, but in 62, that’s no longer an issue. Probably your parts are correct; I’m not sure what is in the Oxford parts available for rental.
16.Free From His Fetters Grim
I like this aria much better than Faifax’s first act song. It has a wonderful melodic profile and a classic mock-bel-canto accompaniment.
The Oxford score has a half note and 2 eighths in the vocal part at measure 11, where the Schirmer vocal score has three quarters. There is nothing in the critical notes to explain the discrepancy. The Oxford score also reveals that there’s an error in the Public Domain parts. The woodwinds are tacet in the first verse from measure 3 through measure 22. The passages you hear are only for the second verse. Something the Oxford full score doesn’t explain is in measure 11, where the critical edition has a half note and 2 eighth notes in the vocal line, instead of the three quarters we find in the Schirmer score. 11 measures from the end, I recommend subdividing for the sake of clarity.
17. Strange Adventure!
This is an exceptional Glee or Part song, which in Sullivan’s operas gets lumped slightly inaccurately into the Madrigal category. Sullivan was so good at writing this kind of music, and this is one of his very best. The orchestra serves only to make clear the key, and to correct the key after each verse if it has gone out of tune.
Pay attention to Sullivan’s delightful and specific dynamics and articulations and work hard to tune the piece; the delight is in the details, which allow the lyric to be as funny as the tune is beautiful.
18. Hark! What Was That Sir?
This musical scene is meant to come on the heels of the gunshot so quickly that Sullivan doesn’t bother with the pickup to the Tower Theme! It’s also an odd hybrid; a very dramatic scene that abruptly becomes an extended double patter song.
The Men’s chorus entrance turns out to be somewhat difficult to bring in. Rehearse it repeatedly from the beginning of the accompaniment pattern. (12th measure of A in Schirmer, A in Oxford) When the antiphonal passage begins, slowly work the melody while playing simplified chords underneath. When the women come in, play the downbeat chord, then the downbeat of the next measure and so forth until they hear how their melodies interact with the harmony. The men are not really echoing the ladies. It’s trickier than you think, so you’ll save yourself time starting there and learning it right the first time.
Your Wilfred may need to backphrase some of the patter to get the words out clearly. If that’s the case, the accompaniment should NOT slow down with him, and the chorus should not adjust to the slower speed. Take time to get both the notes and the dynamics when the chorus comes back in for “Down he dived into the river, it was very brave of him”
The stringendo before H in the Schirmer (before J in the Oxford) is great. Don’t miss it.
The tremolando passage has a detail that is awkwardly laid out in the Schirmer score at H. It looks as though the left hand drops down for the F natural and the E, then comes up for a measured set of sixteenths, but the whole 5 measure passage is really unmeasured tremolando, and those bass notes are pizzicato double bass punctuations, not part of any figure in the low strings.
The Oxford score has an extra three measures at the end. Cut 152-154 to get the Schirmer Vocal score version.
19. A Man Who Would Woo A Fair Maid
The melodic phrasing of this number is exquisite. Hopefully you have sensitive singers, as I did!
There is one rather tricky melodic contour that you will want to examine. As the melody begins for Fairfax and Elsie, it dips down again and again to E, as the top of the tune climbs up to the higher octave. Then the static parts of the tune are in the middle of the range, as the melody teases the TOP E. Two repeated phrases follow, and then the melody grounds the TOP E as the moving part becomes the G#, F#, E motion. It’s easy to mistake the last phrase as another version of the previous repeated section.
Don’t let the ends of these verses slow down too much, and if they happen to slow, pick it back up again in the instrumental passage before the chorus.
The phrase below shows how sophisticated Sullivan’s musical rhetoric is in the realm of melodic contour and phrase length.
I think it’s a wonderful effect to plan the breathing so as to connect ‘Jill’ with ‘If’, to underscore Sullivan’s felicitous extension of the phrase.
Be careful to manage the timing in the colla voce Pheobe has at the end of her verse. Remember that you have to bring the strings in with her.
The triple trill at the end is really great, and you’ll want to choose a manner of execution that suits all three singers and terminates properly. There is more than one way to do it.
20. When A Wooer Goes A-wooing
This is a personal opinion, of course, but I think this lovely number suffers somewhat from being directly after a minor masterpiece. In order to help it speak, I think we have to note and emphasize its special charms. The key, I think is in Jack’s line, “Oh the happy days of doing”. We discover its function when we see how it’s paired with the horn. The idea sounds slightly Viennese to me, although I can’t think of an analogous example. The horn call leads us gently into the chorus, and I think it’s stylistically appropriate to give it a slight ritardando, provided we pick up the tempo again into the chorus itself. At first the Point-horn duet leads us into the chorus in the same key. Then it bridges us from the minor into the major mode out of Phoebe’s verse. Then finally, the horn plays the line without Jack out of Jack’s verse back into the chorus. This is in fact, Point’s number, and Gilbert has arranged the text so that each singer has a more rueful take on the happy days of doing. I don’t know if this was Gilbert’s original intention, but it’s remarkable that all four characters echo Jack’s suicidal cri de coeur. It strikes me as out of character for Fairfax to consider Jack’s pain and for Phoebe to recognize Jack’s stake in the situation at all. It must be one of those moments where the logic of the choral moment supersedes the logic of the drama itself.
Appreciate the chromatic descending passage under Jack’s “Food for fishes”, which sounds like a body drifting to the bottom of a river. Make the most of Sullivan’s accents and the hairpin dynamics at the top of the phrase. Then note that Sullivan is getting quieter and quieter, as though the piece were turning into a miniature. And once again, Sullivan papers over the possibility of applause by underscoring their exits so that they are offstage when the music stops.
An earlier version of this post suggested there was a grammatical error in Jack’s line: “Jester wishes he was dead”, but a kind grammarian has set me straight. ‘Was’ is correct.
21. Rapture, Rapture
I read somewhere that someone took Gilbert to task for writing the word ‘coyful’. “How can anyone be full of coy?”
To which Gilbert apparently replied:
“I don’t know, but for that matter how can anyone be full of bash?”
It’s interesting to me that Sullivan didn’t raise an objection to a number like this coming directly before the end of the opera, since this kind of number had become a mannerism in their work. Perhaps he did and Gilbert got the last word. One of the reasons it strikes me as so old-school Gilbert and Sullivan is that the rhymes and gestures are very similar to their earliest surviving work: The Sorcerer. Sgt. Meryll and Dame Carruthers are suddenly and unexpectedly John Wellington Wells and Lady Sangazure .
You will perhaps have some difficulty choosing the ideal tempo here. Faster is better in terms of breathing for the patter, but slower is better in terms of the dancing. Pay attention to the singers and attend the blocking rehearsal to advocate for a space to recover from the dancing and singing.
22. SECOND ACT FINALE: Comes The Pretty Young Bride
From the piano score alone, you’d miss the lovely rustling flutes that continue the sixteenth notes in through the choral entrance here. Again, I think you’d be silly not to use the Altos here, even though Sullivan indicates only Sopranos. The phrasing in this melody is unusual, especially at the ‘love and obey’, for which your ladies will certainly need a strong sense of the beat.
The trio of the ladies is a marvel. The simplicity of the string line underneath is intentional. Note their dynamic is not always the same as the women’s. The Oxford edition clarifies that the forte dynamic for the women properly belongs at the first ‘with happiness’, right where the strings say sempre piano. At letter C in the Oxford full score (10 before C in Schirmer Score) make sure the chorus tenors and basses are really watching, and tell the horns and violas to really play out. It’s tough to establish that new tempo with so little going on.
The free for all at “Oh Day of Terror” is one of the more difficult fracases in the G&S canon. The tenors can get their B flat by moving a half step down from Elsie’s last pitch, but the G of the other singers takes a lot of drilling to land in tune. The Sopranos need to keep their half steps small in these phrases or the E at the next downbeat will tend quite flat. For the record, in the Schirmer score, Phoebe is the higher of the two lines on the same stave, Carruthers the lower. The C# line for the Lieutenant, Meryll and Wilfred is hard for the singers to hear, because it’s a tritone away from the G sung by Kate, Carruthers, and the Sopranos, Altos, and Basses of the chorus. It’s also hard for the audience to hear because it’s so low in their range. The extremely fast passage in the fourth measure is nearly impossible at the speed that seems sensible for the rest of the chorus and orchestra. If you feel ambitious, budget a lot of time to work that section, but it is indeed a lot of work for something likely to get lost in the shuffle of a general melee. If you elect to omit it, you will be none the worse for wear.
Elsie’s last great solo here is substantial enough to offset her lack of a proper second aria. It is easy to get carried away on the piano and miss the essence of what’s happening here, a very quiet, hushed accompaniment, leading to a well timed crescendo from piano to forte in 2 measures, and then a further crescendo to fortissimo in the following 2 measures. It should feel like walking on eggshells until the crescendo, and then it opens out into a big glorious moment. There’s an odd difficulty in measure 126 if your soprano is taking liberties with the timing of this passage. (as I think she should) It comes down to how the flutes and first violins are bowed/slurred in opposition to the soprano word division, where she really should breathe. It’s slurred this way in the vocal score as well. If you tell the first flute and the first violins to watch and listen carefully, you may just manage to get it clean. Otherwise, I recommend you alter the instrumental slurring to match Elsie’s.
The choral passage that follows the duet is pretty standard, except for one detail you may miss. The orchestra drops to nothing abruptly in the second beat of the last measure of the chorus, but the chorus keeps on with their forte dynamic until the end of the note. They likely will do this anyway until the orchestra joins, and then they may be startled by the lack of accompanimental support.
The reprise of I Have A Song To Sing O! Is at a much slower tempo than before until at least Elsie’s verse, if not later. The Oxford score has an animato at what is rehearsal J in the Schirmer score. There is also a crucial lyric change that did not make it into the Schirmer score. Elsie sings:
It’s the song of a merry maid nestling near
Who loved her lord but who dropped a tear.
This is a far less callous thing for her to sing at the conclusion of the opera.
Add your first sopranos to the melody line at the top of 236 in the Schirmer score, as they are in Act I. It appears so in the Oxford edition, and seems to be an oversight in the Schirmer. As I mentioned before, this is where you want the chorus to sing Ah instead of Oo, I think. (although Oo is what Sullivan wrote)
Your Orchestra:
With modern musicals I sometimes counsel music directors not to hire all the players, but with G&S, you’re dealing with a true orchestral color, so I think it best to hire as much of the orchestra as you can afford with good players. The original orchestrations are available here at a reasonable price or here for free. Reductions can be found here and here and here, but I’ll wager the best one is probably this one.
This score is the first of the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas to have a third trombone and a second bassoon. Sullivan uses these to spectacular effect throughout. The third trombone allows the brass section to have a full bass sound with no admixture of Bassoon, which is critically important for the principal motif of the piece, where a bassoon doesn’t pack the right punch. The second bassoon is less critical, but still masterfully employed, both as it helps make an imitation choir of 4 french horns, (to spectacular effect in the Act I finale) and as it combines with the other woodwinds in a much more varied palate. With the smaller orchestra, Sullivan would often put the oboe above 2 clarinets and the bassoon for a reedy texture with 3 timbres. But here, he can combine clarinets and bassoons in 4 parts, (which he does frequently) and occasionally make a three part texture with the oboe, for a completely double reed timber with no clarinet admixture. He also writes pedal tones in octaves in the woodwinds, an effect unavailable to him before, since a clarinet at the octave on the pedal is too distant a tonal combination to read correctly to the ear. In the first act trio, the bassoons play a wonderful game of leapfrog in a range and dexterity unavailable to any other instrument in the orchestra.
If your company is used to hiring the standard sized orchestra for G&S, you’ll have to shell out some extra money for the extra two players. You can’t really just elect not to use the extra players, and go with the standard size, because important lines are covered there. If you use a reduction, it will cut out more than those 2 players.
Better that you do G&S than that you ignore it, but do try and do it properly if at all possible, with Sullivan’s magnificent orchestration in full color! Have fun with your production of Yeomen! I will be including more G&S as I music direct them! Ruddigore appears to be next!
Listen to the 1963 original cast album with Barbara Cook. This is truly the definitive version. Listen to the 1993 revival with Boyd Gaines and Sally Mayes. Avoid the most recent revival, not because it’s bad, but because it’s a different orchestration, and if your production team gets those ideas in their head, you will wind up doing more work. If you want some major nerd points, listen to this crazy 1964 Original London Cast
Watch The Shop Around The Corner (1940) with Jimmy Stewart. Even though the show is purportedly based on the original play, the authors really based the show on the film. Masteroff even claimed he never read the play, although Harnick did. Watch You’ve Got Mail (1998) with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. It has some nods to The Shop Around The Corner in it, which is fun. Watch In the Good Old Summertime (1949) with Judy Garland. And watch this little gem, a 1978 filmed version for the BBC. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=db_HreIe5pY At the end there is a terrific interview with Bock, Harnick, and Barbara Cook that I quote in a few places in this blog.
If you have access to inter-library loan, or a few extra bucks to spend, grab To Broadway, To Life!: The Musical Theater of Bock and Harnick by Philip Lambert. This book is just wonderful; extremely well researched and sourced, with great insight into the score and the genesis of the work that can’t be found elsewhere. I am tempted to quote the chapter on She Loves Me extensively, but I encourage you instead to seek out the book itself and read the chapter.
Some Background:
She Loves Me is a perennial favorite among true devotees of musical theatre: It doesn’t enjoy a high name recognition among audiences, but among connoisseurs, it is widely considered one of the best constructed musicals ever written. New York Times Reviewer Frank Rich, for example says that the first time he ever walked out of a Broadway musical was when he left another play to rush over and catch part of the original production of “She Loves Me” one last time after it had posted its closing notice.
Since She Loves Me opened, reviewers have fallen all over themselves comparing the musical to food:
Richard P. Cooke wrote
“It is as nice a dish of its kind as a theatergoer is likely to get for a long time.”
Leonard Hoffman called it a
“warm, appealing story dripping of sentimentality like a chocolate drop.”
Howard Taubman wrote,
“A bonbon of a musical has been put on display, and it should delight who knows how many a sweet tooth. She Loves Me has been assembled by confectioners… they have found the right ingredients of sugar and raisins and nuts to add to their fluffy dough and have created a taste surprise.”
George Oppenheimer called it a
‘rich plum cake’,
Henry Hughes said it was
‘filled with all the rich Mittel-European pastry-stuffing of a bygone day.
John Chapman called it a
‘delicious pastry decorated with wonderful intricate dabs and curls of musical frosting’
Ben Brantley called it
“a tasty tale of love lost and found at the workplace”
Maybe the reviewers are clueing in to something Harnick himself was thinking. He said that converting the story into song was “like looking at a raisin cake and plucking out pieces of fruit.”
When people aren’t calling She Loves Me a dessert, they’re praising its jewel-box craftsmanship and elegance:
John Chapman wrote that She Loves Me is
“so charming, so deft, so light, and so right that all the other music-shows in the big Broadway shops look like clodhoppers.”
Whitney Bolton wanted to put it
“under a glass bell and look at [it] with pleasure for a long time”
Norman Nadel called it
“that rare theatrical jewel, an intimate musical that affectionately enfolds an audience instead of shouting it down.”
In 1993, John Simon wrote in a review in New York Magazine:
“The creators of She Loves Me have fashioned the perfect intimate musical. (Perfect? Yes, damn it, perfect)”
Jesse Green managed to combine both threads in two adjacent sentences in his Vulture review:
“I’ve seen She Loves Me, that nearly perfect 1963 jewel box, only four times — it’s not often done professionally — but have listened to the sublime OCR over and over for years. In some ways I know its voice better than I know my own, having learned to hear the world, in part, through its witty, melancholy, and whipped-cream accents.”
To the point we’ll explore in a moment, theatre historian Stanley Green said that She Loves Me
“…will stand as a model in its use of songs as an indispensable adjunct to the plot.”
And yet the original production closed comparatively quickly. As bookwriter Joe Masteroff put it:
“She Loves Me has probably gotten the best reviews of any show I’ve ever written. Reviews constantly would come in from all over the country from distinguished critics; ‘This is the best musical I’ve ever seen.’ It was astonishing because nobody was coming to see it.”
Why does this little musical, which only ran a little over 300 performances, command so much respect? I think it boils down to the extraordinary level of integration, made even more singular by Bock and Harnick’s unusual method of writing, which I’ll explain below. The way the songs function in She Loves Me illuminates character and moves plot forward in extraordinary and specific ways.
But first, some key concepts from the late Golden Age:
Experimentation, Adventurousness, and Opera
The late 1950s through the early 1960s saw the flowering of great ambition and adventurous experimentation on Broadway. Writers had been flirting with Opera, as Rodgers and Hammerstein did writing roles for opera singers, starting in 1949 casting Ezio Pinza in South Pacific and then Helen Traubel in 1955’s Pipe Dream. Leonard Bernstein was thinking operatically for Candide in 1956 with his wacky American take on European operetta, just as Frank Loesser did that same year writing The Most Happy Fella for opera singer Robert Weede. That score is partly in Italian, and has very little dialogue.
In that spirit, She Loves Me includes one number, Vanilla Ice Cream, that has become a standard song for Opera singers looking for Musical Theatre repertoire. Further, She Loves Me attempts an operatic kind of immersive musical storytelling several times, and situations get musical treatment that would not normally be set to music, like trying to find one’s shoe. In a traditional musical, a scenario like that would not be significant enough to be told musically. But in the experimental world of this era, composers and lyricists were trying to find ways to musicalize anything and everything.
She Loves Me includes lots of examples of the innovations typical of the era, but what keeps us talking about this show is the way the musical aims all the innovation toward the specificity of the characters. We call this connection of song to story integration. The goal of integration is that every song is specific to character and story, that no song is ‘just a song’, and ideally no song could be switched from one character to another or from one show to another.
In She Loves Me, this integration extends musically into every area of each character’s expression, illuminating and informing us about their nation, their city, their occupations, and their states of mind. We hear their most mundane activities put into colorful and specific musical language that reveal character. Again, this phenomenon is not totally unique to She Loves Me. In 1954’s The Pajama Game, a character sings a duet with himself recorded on a Dictaphone in his office. In The Music Man (1957), We hear some salesmen on a train becoming the sound of a train through their chatterbox patter, we hear a young girl’s piano lesson become the accompaniment for her teacher’s yearning song, and we hear a group of gossips turn for all intents and purposes into clucking chickens. Here in She Loves Me, the store sells a music box that becomes the accompaniment for the main character’s desperate attempt to make a first sale and be hired, we hear a 4 note doorbell every time a customer leaves the shop, which becomes a recurring musical motive, and a group of Christmas carolers singing popular seasonal songs help underscore a comic sequence which shows the mania of holiday shopping while simultaneously telling the story of the growing love between Georg and Amalia. These musicalizations ground us in the world of the characters, and that’s very special. But that’s really just one instance of a major feature of the work; a concerted effort to depict the total lives of the characters.
In the New York Times Review of the recent Broadway revival, Ben Brantley perceptively wrote:
“…from the moment the show begins, with a salutation to the working day by the employees of a perfume shop in 1930s Budapest, “She Loves Me” is a sustained reminder of the pleasures of exalted ordinariness.”
Commentators often neglect this aspect of She Loves Me. These characters don’t lecture the audience about who they are in the manner of modern musicals, they simply inhabit their world, arriving at work, filling tubes of cream, selling items and taking returns, managing, hiring, and firing employees, serving wine and waiting tables. They talk about their clothes, shoes, glasses, soap, bubble baths, shampoo, perfume, weight loss, cartons, boxes, bottles, eyebrow pencils, lipstick, snoring, cracking knuckles, male pattern baldness, their schedules, and their sisters kids. We see the weather change, the leaves and snow fall, we hear a man shoot himself, a kid on a bicycle nearly runs somebody down, trays are dropped in a restaurant, and a bunch of merchandise falls off a table. The writers establish the detail of the everyday world in beautiful and extravagant simplicity and specificity. It’s worth noting that one reason they can afford to craft all this detail is that they don’t have an enormous chorus and giant production numbers to use up all the oxygen. Conventional wisdom tells us this is one of the reasons why the original production failed; it didn’t meet the expectation of the audience for spectacle.
Showing, Not Telling
In contemporary musical theatre, characters would tell you about how they’re cultured or not, but these characters show you. Amalia mentions as asides the following cultural figures in her lyrics, casually during the course of conversation: George Bernard Shaw, Gustave Flaubert, Friedrich Chopin, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Jonathan Swift, Johannes Vermeer, Claude Debussy, Guy DeMaupassant, Alexandre Dumas, Paul Dukas, Raul Dufy, Guilliame Dufay, Daniel Defoe, Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Dante’s Inferno. We in the audience discover through her everyday conversation that she is even more cultured than Marian Paroo, who is after all only interested that her beau ideal like Shakespeare and Beethoven.
George and Amalia talk about Tolstoy’s War and Peace, Anna Karenina, Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, Stendahl’s The Red and The Black, and even Ritter mentions Samuel Butler’s The Way of All Flesh.
Making the Experience of Love Specific
One of the most difficult tasks for the lyricist is the love song. It’s been done countless times, and it’s hard to find fresh ways to express love. Oscar Hammerstein, the lyricist who helped start the trend of integrating musicals, had an oblique solution. (one I’ve talked about elsewhere on this blog) He would write a kind of speculative or hypothetical lyric that doesn’t say, “I love you”, but talks all around it:
People Will Say We’re in Love (Oklahoma! 1943)
If I Loved You (Carousel, 1945)
Some Enchanted Evening (South Pacific 1949)
Or occasionally, Hammerstein would write a lyric that is a philosophical question about love:
Why Do I Love You? (Show Boat 1927)
Do I Love You Because You’re Beautiful? (Cinderella 1957)
Sondheim’s answer to the question is usually to draw a detailed portrait of a very intelligent person’s neurosis about being in love, in the form of a flow chart.
But these two approaches intellectualize the experience of love, and abstract the question into the head. Harnick’s approach, especially in She Loves Me, keeps drawing love lyrics into the realm of the physicality of the character and describing the situation the character is living:
Physicality of the Characters:
In the freezing weather of December I’ll be warmly waiting for our date…
I know I’ll drop the silverware, but will I spill the water or the wine
More and more I’m breathing less and less…
My teeth ache from the urge to touch her.
I’m tingling, such delicious tingles. I’m trembling, what the hell does that mean?
My head was beginning to spin and my forehead was covered with cold perspiration
Describing the Scene:
As I sit here looking out the window…
When I am in my room alone…
The flowers, the linen, the crystal I see…
Couples go past me, I see how they look…
I sat there waiting… you were outside…
All these features serve to reinforce the world of the piece and deepen our sense of its reality.
To What End?
So the musical is spending a lot of time showing us a world. What do we see in that world? Why should we care about these people? A distinctive feature of She Loves Me, one that resonates well with a modern audience, is the way each of the characters has to face the invasion of a public persona by a private reality. George and Amalia must reconcile the disparity between their public selves and their literary romantic selves. Ilona must find a way to actualize her resolution to ‘be a different girl’ by leaving the place where she has publicly expressed her workaday identity to explore the romance of a public space of literature and then the intimacy of the private apartment of a man of literary taste. Kodaly is driven only by ego and a possessive sexuality, expressed in a flattering public persona. But when his secret betrayals become public, the flattery is suddenly converted into cutting insults, and we see a dark reality; Kodaly despises everyone. Arpad has a journey of self-revelation; the inquisitive errand boy hides the would-be adult, and his sudden opportunity to be considered for a promotion unmasks a young man who has been scrupulously attentive to all the most arcane workings of the shop. This is most delightfully revealed not in ‘Try Me’, but in the first “Thank You, Please Come Again” in his new position, where Arpad is the perfect ‘swing’, able to seamlessly assume the role of the disgraced Kodaly. Even the Head Waiter in his brief scene has to balance a public persona against a private hell. And finally, Maraczek’s heartbreaking journey in the piece takes us from a friendly and well liked boss to a bitter tyrant, through suicidal cuckold to contrite friend. His journey culminates in a man rediscovering who he actually is, having finally put aside the illusions of his wife’s fidelity and embraced his true self among his real friends as mentor and benefactor. In this way, the secondary characters are beautifully expressing and illuminating facets of the same critical themes the primary couple is exploring. This function of the secondary characters was once the mark of strong musical theatre writing, and She Loves Me is one of the finest constructions along these lines.
The basic superstructure of the story laid out in the original play provides the framework for beautiful storytelling, but it’s notable that almost every instance I’ve mentioned above is expressed musically, and with a great deal more specificity than the source material. Bock and Harnick understand the function and beauty of these interlocking narratives, and they employ sustained and specific integration to execute the storytelling that elevates it above the already excellent source material.
Behind this deeply impressive outer skin is the musical’s superstructure that plays out these same dynamics at the skeletal level.
Interruptions and Connections
As if mirroring the disjunct public and private personas of the characters, many of the numbers in She Loves Me are interrupted mid-idea. Sounds While Selling is of course a screwball assemblage of odd bits of conversations interrupting each other, but that’s only the beginning. Tonight at Eight is interrupted by a table of music boxes being knocked over, Romantic Atmosphere is continually sidelined by crashes and asides, Vanilla Ice Cream is ostensibly a letter aria, but the letter begins 3 times, interrupted fantastically by a meditation on frozen dairy dessert. Grand Knowing You is a traditional showtune that drops its classic melody like a hot potato after one iteration for a series of flamboyant burns in a Hungarian style, only to return to to the earworm melody for a final pass so blisteringly fast it can’t really be processed by the listener. A friend remarked after seeing the production, “Are any of the numbers full length?” That’s by design.
Other numbers are an assemblage of wildly disparate elements. Perspective has 4 distinct (and disjunct) musical sections, Try Me has 6 as I count them, A Trip To The Library only has 3 sections, but they are from different worlds; a Spanish Bolero, a Hungarian cadenza, and a swinging Broadway soft shoe.
These schizophrenic breaks and frenetic pacing threaten to make the piece burst into pieces, but another dynamic is at work. In keeping with the show’s themes of public breaks and private connections, there are many ingenious points of connection between musical numbers; not in the way of leitmotivs, but in much subtler ways, sometimes using musical motives in similar ways, at other times placing numbers as matched pairs in the story, and at several points even literally bridging two numbers with a single gesture.
I attempted to chart below the connections and disconnections in the score. Some of these are just the run-of the mill reprises and scene changes, but other connections are more deliberate and structural.
(I’m having a little trouble embedding images in wordpress. Right click anything that you can’t read and open the image in a new window)
How Did They Do It?
So how did Bock and Harnick achieve this level of sustained integration, and why does this score sound so distinctive?
After their 1960 musical Tenderloin went through terrible book problems, Bock and Harnick made a concerted effort to be more involved in the book end of the writing process. Joe Masteroff was enlisted to write the book, and although he had written plays, this was his first musical. (He would later write the books to Cabaret and 70, Girls, 70) The collaboration, and Masteroff’s willingness to work closely with Bock and Harnick pushed an already very collaborative process even further.
From a 1978 Interview with Craig Zadan:
ZADAN
Did the show break any new ground for you? From what you had done in the past in musical theatre?
BOCK
I think very much so. Compared to the shows we’d written, She Loves Me was a totally new adventure. We had always instinctively felt like writing the so-called integrated musical, and this was an opportunity for us to really explore that in depth, thanks a great deal to Joe Masteroff, who once finished the book, said, “take it over, do as much, musicalize it as much as you possibly can. “
He had no ego about salvaging scenes, lines, jokes, his attitude, which became our unified attitude was to absorb most of that play into music.
HARNICK
He had never done a musical, and he said, “How do I do it?” And since we didn’t know how to give him specific directions, we said, “Why don’t you just write a play?” Make it shorter than you would ordinarily, because we’re going to have to fill in the time with songs and with dances.
So he did, he just wrote it, and said, “I don’t know where the songs are, but use whatever you want, and partly because of the nature of Joe’s writing and partly because of the nature of the story itself, the show just called for music all over the place, and in fact, we wrote too much, and on the road, if you remember, we had to cut, Am I right in remembering about 45 minutes of music?
It’s the process of arriving at that music that I find fascinating. Later in the same interview:
HARNICK:
He gave me a tape with a lot of music on it. And by the time I got the tape, I had been studying both the original play by Miklos Laszlo, and I knew the film, which I loved. Joe Masteroff had given us certain scenes, and by going through that, I knew there were certain moments which appealed to me so much, I wanted to start with them, I thought they’d be great fun to work on, I don’t remember what they were. But when Jerry gave me a tape with music on it, I listened to the tape and as almost invariably happened there were moments on the tape that coincided with the moments that I wanted to try and work on…
ZADAN:
Is that unusual for your collaboration, up to that point?
HARNICK:
No, invariably
BOCK:
No, That’s how we worked together.
HARNICK:
At a certain point, when there was no existent music yet for something I wanted to say, Then I would write lyrics first, and Jerry…
BOCK:
To the question, What comes first, the music of the lyrics. In our case for the first half of the adventure, the music comes first. For the probably most important part, the lyrics begin to come first because the requirements become more specific: The needs are words to shape the rest of the characters to express the characters, We manage, fortunately, to be able to work both ways.
Many years later, in a Fresh Air interview, Bock explained how he found the sound world for Fiddler on the Roof:
TERRY GROSS:
Jerry Bock, when you were writing the music for “Fiddler On The Roof,” how – how Jewish did you want the music to sound? How much did you want it to sound like Klezmer music and how much did you want it to sound like Broadway music?
BOCK:
It never entered my mind in either case. I knew the ambiance was going to be Russian and that it took place in a shtetl. But I had no compulsion to research either early Klezmer or, particularly, Russian music at the turn of that century or just before the turn of the century. The music that I hadn’t been able to write with all our shows was something that I had silently deposited in my creative mind. And the opportunity to now express myself with that kind of music just opened up a flood of possibilities for me.
GROSS:
What did you listen to when you were writing the show? Did you listen to much music?
BOCK:
Not really. Somehow, as I said, I had unknowingly, unwittingly stored a lot of the sound of it without having been able to express myself with it. I love Russian music. I love Romanian music. Minor is my major key.
Harnick said in another interview about Fiddler:
“Jerry Bock, on the other hand, was afraid to do research. He was afraid some of the music might work its way into what he was doing, so he just called on his own emotions and his own memories of when he was growing up.”
I was unable to find any source where Bock says unequivocally that he did no musical research on She Loves Me specifically, but Bock and Harnick were sketching She Loves Me and Fiddler on the Roof simultaneously, and we know from several sources that Bock was not researching Jewish music for Fiddler, relying instead on memories from his childhood. I think it’s safe to assume that he was also drawing on memories for the Hungarian aspects in She Loves Me, not on research.
One source I found claims Bock’s father was a Hungarian salesman, and he called himself. “Russian-Hungarian-German Jew, mostly Russian.”.
So Jerry Bock was drawing on his memories of Hungarian music for the flavor of the material he was writing, recording, and sending to Harnick. From that 1978 interview about She Loves Me:
ZADAN:
Jerry, how did you decide what kind of music you wanted to write for this score?
BOCK:
Well, the key was Hungarian. The word Hungarian. And, that is, you know, very general, mind you, but it gave me a sound, a shape, the period, the feeling that I began to string melodic notions and guesses around that kind of instinct.
Europeans, particularly Hungarian. Not that all the songs are Hungarian, but that gave me a platform from which to take off.
HARNICK:
I would also imagine that, whether this was a conscious decision or not, The word romantic must have entered, because it’s a highly lyrical, highly romantic score…
BOCK:
Well, I equate Romantic with Hungarian.
As to what came first, Bock said in that same interview,
“Our answer has become ‘the book.’ That is the fountainhead. We could work both ways, but the book predominated our thinking.”
In a 2004 interview, BOCK said:
“I, along with Sheldon, I just bury myself in the book, and start to gravitate toward the period, particularly. That gives me a head start in each show. And then imagining the characters in terms of what they might sing, who they are, where they are and what they might sing under certain circumstances. I have no idea in writing of a style because I’m too immersed in the content of what we’re doing, really, and that’s why when I said She Loves Me was our first Romantic show considering The Body Beautiful, considering Fiorello, and Tenderloin, particularly Fiorello and Tenderloin, period pieces, She Loves Me gave me an opportunity to write a Romantic Score, but equally important, a Hungarian Romantic Show.”
I know that’s a lot of source material to quote, but I hope the point comes across: Bock and Harnick saw that the story was set in Budapest, and so began with the idea of Hungarian music, Jerry Bock drawing from his own memories of Hungarian music.
How Hungarian is the Score?
Having established that Bock was relying on his memories and existing conceptions of Hungarian music for the flavor he was seeking out; it’s worth asking the question, what was that conception? What ideas were part of Bock’s experience of Hungarian music? How are those ideas expressed in the musical?
My answers here will be speculative, of course. Bock is no longer around to ask, and in interviews he seems never to have been any more specific than in the passages I quoted above. He was above all, an intuitive composer in both method and execution. (it was his great strength)
In Philip Lambert’s book, he makes a great deal of the famous Russian (not Hungarian) folk song Otchi Chorniya, which was used by Werner R. Heyman in The Shop Around the Corner as the tune played by the music boxes, and by the orchestra in the cafe. He makes the case that a typical ‘chromatic double neighbor tone’ melody as found in Otchi Chorniya appears frequently in the score. I encourage you to check out that chapter. For anyone who hears a similarity between the Russian music in Fiddler and the Restaurant scene in She Loves Me, you’re really hearing the overlap between Romani music and Russian music. (Klezmer ideas overlap here as well)
For our purposes here, I want to look at other ‘Hungarian’ musical ideas that crop up in the score, ideas that would have been commonly known by Americans in the early 60s.
The Style Hongrois
The style hongrois is a vocabulary used by composers in the European classical tradition to evoke the culture of the Romani. (formerly known as Gypsies) Before Bartok and Kodaly reclaimed a different kind of Hungarian music in the first half of the 20th century, this set of musical ideas would have been synonymous with Hungary to the rest of the European world. Composers as far back as Schubert and even Haydn used this musical vocabulary, but it reached a kind of flowering with the music of Franz Liszt, who was Hungarian himself. (although not Romani) Any casual classical music fans in the mid 20th century would also have been very familiar with Brahms’s take on this music, which included his Zigeunerlieder and Hungarian Dances, Sarasate’s Zigeunerweise, and the innumerable Hungarian characters in Viennese Operetta, especially the Cszardas from the second act of Strauss’s Die Fledermaus, which is sung by a character pretending to be Hungarian. Die Fledermaus is the only the most enduring operetta of many that would have been commonly known by the theatre going public, including Operettas by Herbert, Friml, and Romberg, but the trope of the exotic Hungarian was even current enough that it appeared in 1956 in My Fair Lady in the character of Zoltan Karpathy. More on his musical depiction shortly.
I’m just going to identify 3 basic style hongrois ideas and show you examples from various places in classical music, especially as they appear in Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, which is probably the most popular ‘Hungarian’ piece in classical music. Then I’ll show how these ideas appear in the musical:
The first idea is a repeated short-long pattern, often followed by a melodic idea. This rhythm is related to the natural rhythm of the Hungarian language.
As it appears in Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2:
As it appears in Strauss’s Die Fledermaus, sung by a character pretending to be Hungarian:
As it appears in My Fair Lady, after Higgins has just told the Zoltan Karpathy story:
As it appears in Perspective:
The second idea is a slow polka that speeds up gradually.
As it appears in Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2:
As it appears in Strauss’s Die Fledermaus (it’s not marked in this score, but this passage is always performed getting gradually faster)
As it appears in Perspective
As it appears in Romantic Atmosphere:
As it appears in Vanilla Ice Cream (with apologies for the hole punch in my score, which eliminated the treble clef)
And a third idea, a very fast scale passage. Liszt loved alternating octaves between the hands, perhaps in imitation of the Cimbalom, common in Hungarian music. Observe this most famous passage of the Second Hungarian Rhapsody; appearing in innumerable cartoons.
At the end of Vanilla Ice Cream, Bock uses that idea pretty clearly, even though he isn’t alternating octaves.
Non-Hungarian Threads
At some point, Harnick used up all the music Bock had written on spec, or would need to move in another direction not compatible with the music he had provided ‘on spec’ at which point, Harnick would write a lyric first, for which Bock would provide music. I think this is where most of the more conventional Musical Theatre tunes in the show originated.
One way of spotting these pieces is looking for a ‘thumb-line’, longer, slower moving notes held by the thumb of the accompanist within a more active oom-pah accompaniment. This style of accompaniment had become very common in musical theatre in the early 60s.
Here it is in Tonight at Eight:
Here it is in A Trip To The Library
Here it is in Try Me
In Grand Knowing You
It’s used in a very unorthodox way, but here it is in Where’s My Shoe?
There is a very small bit of more ‘mod’ musical theatre in the show as well: a one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two rhythm that would have felt more up-to-date, even perhaps self-consciously pointing toward youth culture.
Here it is in 1961’s How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying (watch the accents):
And here in 1963’s Funny Girl:
In both of those cases, they would have read to the audience as being in a modern style. So it shouldn’t surprise us to find it in She Loves Me in the rhythm of the younger characters in moments of drive and energy:
Here in Try Me, sung by the youngest character:
Here in the title number:
And here in the music of the newly liberated Ilona:
If you’ve followed my argument this far, you won’t mind a closing idea linking these threads:
When writing teams started working hard in the ‘40s and ‘50s to integrate the songs with the story, the position of the lyricist was elevated. After all, songs are integrated in content, which is mostly found in lyric. When the writing process begins with lyric, many structural decisions are made before music enters the equation, unless the lyricist and composer are one and the same person. In this dynamic, composers are left to establish the musical world of the piece as a secondary concern while they try to do justice to the parameters laid out by the lyricist. I think this is one of the reasons the ‘showtune’ has such a strong identity in music of this era. Oddly the drive to make songs specific to character in the lyrics makes them more generic in the music.
But Bock and Harnick’s unusual method of working flips that dynamic on its head. The very first element in their creative process is the development of a musical and tonal world, pulled from Bock’s memories of sounds that evoke time, place, and energy. Harnick, being himself an exceptional musician, molded and shaped that raw material, always aiming it at the specifics of character. Only when these building blocks had been exhausted did they set their sights on more traditional musical theatre fare. This is why each of their shows sounds so distinctive, and why their most popular songs could never have been written by anyone else.
What about the disconnect between the connoisseur and the layperson? I’ll let Jerry Bock have the last word. An interviewer once asked him what the problem was with She Loves Me, why it hadn’t been a success with its original audience. He said,
“There was no problem with the show. I mean it was everybody else’s problem. Sometimes you do the best you can, and you think you’ve done well- you know you’ve done well- and other people don’t agree with you. So be it.”
As You’re Casting:
ARPAD
One of the greatest roles ever written for a young tenor. A very physical role for a good actor with a wonderful song and some great scene work. Requires good musicality and the ability to play comedy well. Should be sung without a lot of pop-musical-theatre mannerisms, something that is unfortunately rarer and rarer these days. This is as good a place as any to note that Sheldon Harnick is a master at writing the young person on the brink of their future. (see Motel’s Wonder of Wonders or Matchmaker for further proof) Bock and Harnick have created a deeply funny and human portrayal, far more sympathetic than the character appears in The Shop Around The Corner. You should hear some of the middle of Try Me at callbacks.
Range:
SIPOS
A wonderful character role for a comic baritone. Needs excellent diction and good comic timing. Could be played by many kinds of acting singers. You should hear the patter section of Perspective at callbacks.
Range:
ILONA RITTER
She’s referred to both as Ilona and as Ritter throughout, so get used to both names. This role is often played as a floozy, which is a big mistake. Ritter is no dummy, she has a wonderful character arc that’s fun to play, and the music is more difficult than it sounds. We’ve come a long way from Ado Annie and Miss Adelaide. Cast an actress with a sensual side, but be sure you cast someone who can deliver a complex character.
You should hear your Ilona candidates sing the following passages:
The opening of A Trip To The Library
The very end of I Resolve
The “If he isn’t too handsome” section of I Don’t Know His Name
If your Ilona can’t get through those, you’ll have a tough time getting this show up.
Range:
KODALY
Harnick said in an interview that Kodaly was kind of fun to write because he was ‘totally immoral’. In The Shop Around The Corner, Kodaly has few redeeming qualities, but in the musical he is terribly charming and has a quick wit. Your Kodaly should be a charming flirt, but one with a bit of an edge. At auditions, be sure to give him a chance to sing the middle of Grand Knowing You (for comic timing, diction and ability to stay with you as a pianist) and the end (for the high note!)
Range:
GEORG
Needs to be cast with a likeable baritenor. Likeable because we need to still root for him when he acts like a cad midway through the show. Even though he’s the man in the primary couple, this show is really about Amalia. Georg delivers a great story arc, but the main point is that he can play exasperated without seeming unredeemable, to give Amalia something to play against.
Range:
CUSTOMERS/CAROLERS
The three part chorus of women in Sounds While Selling is potentially a little tricky, but the remainder of the number is not terribly difficult. Only 3 customers are necessary for that number, although if you’re looking to expand your cast, you can double or triple up those parts without damaging the number.You’ll want dancers for the Romantic Atmosphere scene, (but nowhere else) and you’ll want people with some choral chops for the Christmas Sequence. (but nowhere else) These features are part of what makes She Loves Me ideal for a university or small theatre company, but less of a draw for large community groups that rely on the chorus participating fully in the production.
MARACZEK
Maraczek should be played by an older actor whenever possible. The number he sings is not difficult, and could even be spoken. But the monologue delivered on the phone, along with the scene at the top of Act II require a really fine actor. And as a corollary to my earlier remarks about Arpad, Bock and Harnick have also given us the greatest portrayals in the literature of middle aged people. Sondheim gave us many examples of bitter, cynical adults. Bock and Harnick give us adults trying hard to make sense of a changing world, but finding a way toward acceptance and grace. Tevye and Maraczek are worlds apart, but are both men who are finding their places in the world of the young.
Range:
AMALIA
This is one of the finest legit roles in Musical Theatre. Complex, funny, and tragic, she needs to have a terrific instrument capable of singing Vanilla Ice Cream, and the comic timing to sing Where’s My Shoe. (probably while hefted over the shoulder of Georg) Don’t program this show unless you know you have a very fine Amalia prospect.
Range:
WAITER
A tenor, but could be mostly spoken, and the high note could be falsetto or changed. Should certainly be able to play an imperious taskmaster, but also has a rather subtle exchange with Amalia that is tricky to play.
Range:
A Few Things to Note About the Music Director’s Materials:
I belong to a Music Director’s forum online, and every so often someone posts about She Loves Me’s materials. Then follows a litany of complaints in the comments about the shape of the score. A lot of Golden Age scores have been restored and re-engraved at this point, but for this show, the score you get in the mail is the same one MTI sent out 15 years ago, which I believe emerged from the 1993 revival. Having spent the last couple of months with these materials, I’ll summarize what I found here.
Most of the score comes from the original production, in a copyists handwriting, with markings that reflect the original orchestration. That orchestration had (as far as I can tell) 5 reeds, 5 brass, full strings, harp, accordion, and percussion. The handwritten score is sometimes cramped or poorly aligned, but everything is there, and it’s pretty easy to read. The orchestration that comes with the rental material is extremely well reduced for a smaller ensemble, but the piano vocal is sometimes miscued now for the larger instrumentation. If the whole score were like this first bit, it would be fine.
Another chunk of the score is professionally engraved, and fairly well! Short passages of Three Letters, Tonight at Eight, I Resolve, Romantic Atmosphere, the Entr’acte, Twelve Days, Thank You Bells, a few scene changes, and the entire Vanilla Ice Cream are executed on Finale or Sibelius. These sections look pretty, but are sometimes frustratingly misspelled, and worse yet, they are not cued at all, so conducting from them requires a lot of comparing parts and score. And if you’re conducting from the keyboard, you have no idea what you’re supposed to play and what is being covered by others.
A third part of the score is simply not at a professional level of copying. It looks very much like it was made on Encore or a lower level copying software in the 90s, and printed on (I’m not exaggerating) a dot matrix printer. What we’re seeing here is a copy of a copy of a copy of something that wasn’t great to begin with. Most of the places where the score does not correlate with the parts come in these passages. In some spots it’s tough to even piece together what is supposed to be happening, the parts will have a whole note and the score a quarter or vice versa; score and parts have scales or arpeggios that go in opposite directions, or parts and score have different ways of numbering the pickup measure, causing the whole song to be mis-numbered. These passages simply have to come from the ’93 revival, because these are also the pages where scene change or underscore sounds like good ‘90s musical theatre, and not like classic 1963.
The orchestra parts are very well done, with the exception of the reed parts in No. 19, which are criminally bad. There are a handful of other mistakes, which I’ll point out where I can. The rest you shouldn’t have trouble catching. On the plus side, these parts are clean and easy to read. As I said before, the reduction is also excellent; everything is covered tastefully. The reed books contain options for every kind of doubling; if you don’t have the alto flute or the oboe or whatever, there’s a transposition right there for an alternate. This is ideal! One word of warning though, from experience; there’s a 2 reed version and a 3 reed version. They send you all those books with your pack. But MTI sent me 2 books for Reed 1 (2 reed version) and forgot to send me Reed 2. We sent that book back, requested the replacement, and a week later, we got a second copy in the mail of Reed 2 (3 reed version). The third time they sent us what we actually needed. Make sure when those books arrive you carefully check which books you received to allow plenty of time to correct it if they’ve sent you the wrong thing.
As I go through the score, I’m going to explain what I found where I can. At one point what they sent is so bad that I’ve posted my mocked up accurate version to help people out. One wishes that the show had been enough of a success in its original incarnation to warrant a mass market vocal score. For now we have to wait for MTI to find it in their hearts to hire a few NYU grad students to fix it.
Going Through the Score Number by Number:
1A. Overture
This Hungarian overture-into-opening scene seems to have been conceived by Bock. Harnick describes the tape in an interview:
“[Jerry Bock] had done the music for the opening, which was an Overture which segued, which just flowed right into the first scene. And it was so charming I had an idea for it that I started, I think that was the first thing I started working on. But that was a wonderful way for me to get started because I didn’t have to shape the lyrics, the music was there to determine the shape.”
The first section is really an set of cadenzas followed by a passage of Perspective. First for the trumpet, then the accordion, then the violin.
1B. Opening: Act I
The bass book has an error in measure 45. The last beat should read F, not Bb.
1C. Good Morning, Good Day
If you watched “The Shop Around The Corner”, (and I hope you did!) you’ll note that this song is a musicalization of the opening sequence of the film. To my mind, though, the authors have clarified the action and accomplished much more effortless exposition and character work right off the bat. Arpad conveys a wide eyed innocence and desire to please, although it’s clear he’s very green and naive, Sipos is doing the bare minimum to stay employed, we find out he’s married and happy to have a job, Ilona’s relationship with Kodaly is crystal clear, her insecurity about her age and Kodaly’s expensive tastes and George’s charm is clear. We’re aware of the weather and the work, we immediately know these people. This is the way Golden Age musicals used to show you character. Ironically, it would be She Loves Me’s original director Hal Prince who would revolutionize the opening number with Bock and Harnick’s next show, Fiddler On The Roof, by having all the characters simply introduce themselves and tell the audience who they were and what they did. From Sweeney Todd to Ragtime to Hamilton, that method of ‘tell-don’t-show’ has become very common. But here we’re seeing the new masters at work in the old style.
To Broadway, To Life!: The Musical Theater of Bock and Harnick has a brief but interesting little analysis of the melodic material in this number centering on the use of the 6th scale degree; which will become a central feature of the musical material. I don’t want to steal that chapter’s thunder; you should go look it up.
Reed 2 (2 reed version) has an error in measure 78. That figure should come on the downbeat of the measure, not halfway through. The Bass book has an error on the downbeat of measure 85, which should read an F again, not a G. The fermata in measure 92 you can see in the piano score is not in the parts. In measure 97, the last eighth in Violin I should read E natural. The rit. In measure 139 does not appear in the parts. Give your players some word cues to get out of measures 55, 66, 82, 98, and 108 in case an actor fumbles.
2. Opening the Shop
The piano reduction for this number is so inaccurate in 2 or 3 places that I redid it. If MTI sends me an e-mail telling me I have to take it down, I’ll do so, but I can’t imagine anyone using it for any purpose other than as a scene change in a production of the show, so I don’t feel any qualms about violating intellectual property. MTI is also welcome to use this reduction in the score themselves if they like.
3. Sounds While Selling
I’ll come out and say that I think this number doesn’t really work in the way it was intended, at least not with modern ears. It seems to want film treatment, where we can see flashes of each part of the conversation. But the music itself can’t draw the eye around the stage, so the joke wears thin. Your mileage may vary.
The ending introduces the doorbell- thank you idea, which Philip Lambert points out as another example of the prominence of the 6th scale degree, this time functioning as a part of a planing 6/9 chord.
I would teach the entire melody of Sounds While Selling to everyone and then split the tune up among the singers after everyone knows it. It may help as you teach measures 35-43 to play some chords for context. (not during performance, of course) Db works from 35-39, then play Bbm on the downbeat of 40, and Db again on beat 3. Play Gb on the downbeat of 41, F#m on the downbeat of 42, F#sus on beat 3, A on the downbeat of 43, and B7 on the downbeat of 43. I don’t need to tell you that the doorbell motive gives you each of the pitches the actors need, and that they then plane up and down stepwise from their first note. It may be wise to make that clear from the beginning. I also made every fermata on ‘Madam’ a dotted half note, (basically a 4/4 measure) just to eliminate confusion and coordinate cutoffs.
If you’re trying to expand the ranks of your female chorus, you can double or triple up the parts in the canon and distribute the solo lines among more singers.
The Doorbell idea grew out of a line in Masteroff’s script, where Good day-Thank You-Please Call again appears 4 times. In the original play, “Goodnight, Madam, Thank You Very Much, Call Again” appears 9 times. (This information again comes from Philip Lambert’s terrific book)
4. Reading The Letter
This beautiful underscore is best with just the strings. Our violin/cello combo along with keys 2 playing a string patch sounded terrific.
5. Days Gone By
Amid all the experimental and even operatic storytelling in this musical, it’s easy to forget that Bock and Harnick were also very good at writing traditional musical theatre songs; here given to the oldest member of the cast. We will see shortly that more contemporary musical ideas are deliberately assigned to younger members of the cast.
At the lyric ‘around, around, around’ we hear another example of the prominent 6th scale degree.
Measures 83-102, where the engraving suddenly gets computerized and rather poor, we also get some conflicting signals in parts and score. The piano vocal score has a jazz waltz accompaniment pattern from 87-97, and from 99-102, but the strings (and the drumset I think) are playing old fashioned quarters. Better change them while you’re in rehearsal because it alters the groove the choreographer is working from.
6. Music Box #1
The music box figure should be recorded and played as a sound cue. Our sound designer built a bluetooth speaker into one of the boxes so the sound could be localized. During rehearsals you’ll need to play. I found it oddly difficult to memorize, considering its relative simplicity. If you can memorize it, though, I would, so you can watch the actors open and close the box.
7. You Will Pay Through The Nose
It really doesn’t matter if Maraczek is in key here. Let him pick whatever starting pitch he likes.
8. Music Box #2
See notes above
9. Doorbell #1
Our pit was situated directly above the action in a loft, which made it very easy for me to time my doorbells to the door openings. A sight line is great.
10. Music Box #3
See notes above
11. Amalia’s Entrance
See notes above
12. Thank You Madam, #1
See notes above
13. Music Box Surprise
Note that the key has changed here. If you pre-recorded this one too, be sure you’re in D flat now. The enharmonic spelling is nasty, but it’s not particularly hard to play. Because No More Candy should really be slower than the other iterations, it may be a good idea to start this version a little slower than before to ease the transition.
14. No More Candy
How wonderful that this odd little music-box theme accompanies the simplest of melodies in AABA form, the A sections completely constructed from descending and ascending three note phrases.
Don’t forget that the celesta sounds an octave higher than written, so if you’re playing this on the piano, you may want to play up the octave.
In comparing the piano scores from the two times I music directed this show, I noticed both times I needed to give a note to myself to play slower, and that in measures 11-13 I wrote in chord symbols: C#m/E and Ab/Eb for measure 11, E7/D and A/C# over measure 12 and Ebm/Gb for measure 13.
I think it’s a nice touch to treat the last measure like the music box is winding down somewhat.
15. Thank You, Madam #2
See notes above.
16. Three Letters
This brilliant number was originally a more complicated number called Seasonal Changes. It was extended in the London Cast to include the ensemble more. You can hear that version here at 8:24:
Boy it’s interesting! But not, I think, an improvement.
Jerry Bock uses a delightfully jaunty left hand figure reminiscent of what he would do later in Oh, To Be A Movie Star from The Apple Tree.
A true understanding of the charm of Bock’s writing involves appreciating this flavor; a composer like Jerry Herman has a strong harmonic sense, and his melodies are nearly always built around arpeggiating the chords and emphasizing the tendency tones of the very sensible harmony. (hum Hello Dolly and you’ll see what I mean) Accompaniment patterns are just strumming in most of Herman’s songs, though. Richard Rodgers had a stronger sense of what the accompaniment could do to set off the melody, as chromatic interior lines undergird simple and self referential melodic patterns. And Sondheim creates elaborate webs of interlocking ideas in his accompaniments in a dizzying display. But compare Bock’s effortless chromaticism in the accompaniment here. It’s wildly active, but somehow doesn’t distract from the melody, which is only a sing song; something you’d hum to yourself. In fact, the harmony is almost completely static. When you learn to hear this quality in Bock’s music, you’ll marvel at the effortless fecundity that never draws attention to itself.
Reed 2 (two reed version) has an error in measure 41, which should read F# half note, F natural quarter note, and E natural eighth note. (compare piano vocal) Your score also doesn’t have a vamp in measure 50, but the parts do! It makes sense there. Near the end, the drum book has a 3 measure rest that should be a 4 measure rest.
By now everyone knows when they get to their seats that the two co-workers are penpals and aren’t aware of it. But in the original production, this reveal must have been wonderful. The conclusion of 3 letters is such a clever device to make that plot point!
17. Tonight at Eight
According to Harnick, this number nearly killed him.
“I was working on a number for She Loves Me. It was called Tonight at 8. I was walking around New York singing the melody to myself, trying to write the lyrics, and I stepped in front of a truck. The driver slammed on the brakes, honked his horn. I looked up, startled, and then kept right on walking, working on the song. Jerry told me to be more careful.”
There is one pronunciation problem in this lyric, because tete-a-tete doesn’t rhyme with eight if you pronounce it in correct French. So you have a choice: you can say “tate ah tate” at “ate” or “tet a tet” at “et” Otherwise it sounds like Harnick doesn’t care if it almost rhymes.
For (and on) the record:
1963 Original cast: tate a tate, eight
1964 London Cast: tate a tate, eight
1993 Revival: tet a tet, et
1994 London Revival: tet a tet, et
2015 Prince of Broadway: tet a tet, ate
2016 Revival: tet a tet, ate
So as you can see, people have cared more about the correct French pronunciation over time and less whether the thing rhymes or not. I sort of think it should.
I thought I had found a rare Harnick near-rhyme in this lyric until I realized I had mis-identified the structure of the rhyme scheme. Ape does not rhyme with Eight, obviously, but they’re not supposed to. Because the lyric is actually:
In my imagination
I can hear our conversation
Taking SHAPE
Tonight at eight
I’ll sit there saying ab-
Solutely nothing or I’ll jab-
Ber like an APE
Tonight at eight
And it goes by so effortlessly, maybe you missed the impressive triple double rhyme at the end:
If it goes
Alright
Who knows
I might
Propose
Tonight
At eight.
You might also notice there’s a cute little closing figure under the last word 3 measures from the end. It’s a prefiguring of the opening of I Don’t Know His Name.
Since the lovers’ aspirational numbers are back to back, this tiny connecting fiber is a nice touch.
In the Piano Vocal Score, measure 71 is blank. In the parts, there’s accompaniment. I suggest you make that measure tacet in the band for the sake of bringing the ensemble in cleanly.
18. Tonight Tag
In the parts, this is called Shop To The Back Room. Might want to change that title in the Piano Vocal so if you call the number, they know what you’re talking about. One of the reeds has an instrument switch, so you may want to wait a sec before starting…
19. I Don’t Know His Name
There’s a lot to unpack here. Firstly, it’s a canon followed by a quodlibet. Secondly, the melody is very Lydian, with a prominent #4 scale degree that conveys Amalia’s aspirations well. In fact, the Fi-Sol idea so prominent here will turn out to be the main idea in Will He Like Me! Lydian melodies tend to inflect the piece toward the subdominant. But this progression modulates DOWN instead, starting in G, then tonicizing F#. When the B section begins, the progression is even more unusual, using a descending sequence to work from IV through iii through ii through I in F# major, but then overshooting the I chord to cadence in Bb major, of all keys! A very deft modulation allows us to return to F# major and repeat the process, this time cycling back into F. After the underscore of Amalia’s Monologue, the B section repeats a half step lower than before with Ilona singing the bass line up the octave! The number concludes with a return to the original canon, now a whole step lower than originally. As in the other numbers, Bock has also written an extremely active accompaniment that manages not to feel busy. Oddly, none of this unusual modulation or figuration feels forced or unusual; we accept it as listeners that it’s a perfectly ordinary tune.
Finally, it’s worth noting the similarities and differences with Marry The Man Today from Guys and Dolls. Both are canons, both are about two women dealing with men. In each case, one of the women is a soprano with high ideals and the other an earthier belter who’s seen some things. Marry the Man Today has some nice character touches, as when Sarah corrects Adelaide’s grammar. But I Don’t Know His Name is a far higher level of storytelling. Ilona doesn’t sing any of Amalia’s music until she’s taken Amalia’s side. The canon is a musical depiction of Ilona’s agreement, a dramatic shift which happens during the song. Good musical theatre song placement lands on the point of decision, in this case Ilona’s decision that she should get a library card and expand her horizons. Marry the Man Today takes place after the two already agree. Amalia and Ilona also have deeply distinctive lyrics. Amalia shows herself extremely literate and articulates one of the most important ideas of the musical: You don’t need to physically meet someone to fall in love with them. Ilona’s lyric is far more grounded, but not in the cliches of ditzy chorus girls. Ilona’s concerns are practical. What if he’s horrible to be around? What if he’s terrible in bed? When Ilona finally agrees, she doesn’t parrot Amalia’s lyric wholesale. Her echoing phrases are a realization that she’d fallen into a misconception.
There are some awfully strange errors in the reed books here. I’m referring to the 2 Reed version here. I don’t know if these problems are in the 3 reed version. The first issue is kind of hard to describe: Reed I is supposed to play Alto Flute. If they don’t, a regular flute part is provided. Reed II is supposed to play regular flute. If they don’t, a clarinet part is provided. If there isn’t a Reed II, there’s a bit that the orchestrator has moved into an optional Reed I flute part. So far so good. But it sort of looks from the Reed I book that the optional flute part might be for when Reed II just can’t play flute. (which isn’t the case; it’s covered in the clarinet) Having said all that, I can’t figure out what the orchestrator was going for with the division of measure 12. Also in the last beat of measure 12, 3rd sixteenth of beat 4, Reed I needs a concert E sharp, which you can see in beat 3 of the optional flute part, but which didn’t make it into beat 4. Reed 2 clarinet part is just wrong from 14-16. Wrong key signature to begin with, (should be A major) and then the clarinet part should be a whole step higher than the Flute part is, from 14-16. In measure 19, the last note in the Bass book should be G, not a D. In Reed I, measure 22, the third sixteenth of beat 2 should be a concert B, not a concert C in both Regular and Alto Flute parts. I think beat 3 in Reed II should be a concert C#, not a concert E flat, which wouldn’t make harmonic sense. In measure 31, in Reed II, the first 2 notes should be D flats (concert C flats), and the 3rd and 4th notes should be B flats (concert A flats) These reed parts need a redo.
One last thing:
When I undertook this correspondence
Little did I know I’d grow so fond
Little did I know our views would so correspond.
That’s magical.
20. Back Room To Shop
This is one of the pages that looks newer, but has a dreadful spelling! The last measure is a G6 chord, but the C flat makes it look like some kind of C/G thing. Write a G6 symbol or rewrite the chord.
21. Thank You, Madam
See notes above
22. Perspective
The piano accompaniment doesn’t play easily, but it’s perfection. Sipos has what is surely the most Hungarian music in the show, and he expresses a philosophy you’d find in no other character in any other musical. Obviously, the most difficult passage is the middle section, but I’ve coached it many times and found most people can find their way through it. The trick is to ignore the note values and focus on lining up the stressed syllables with the big beats:
I am only ONE
OF
SEVERal in a rather small per-
FU-merie.
And so forth.
23. Doorbell #2
One of these doorbells has been cut each time I did this show. Not sure if that’s a score/script discrepancy or what.
24. Thank You Madam #4
See notes above
25. Doorbell #3
See notes above
26. Doorbell #4
See notes above
27. Goodbye, Georg
Note how we are 27 numbers into the score at this point, and there have only been 4 normal songs where characters simply express their thoughts. All the other numbers have been people shopping or reading letters or doorbells or music boxes. Here the authors have dipped backward into the score to add a layer to an existing number, as the staff mournfully wish Georg good luck.
I think this long stretch of musical shop interactions is the last vestige of a bigger scheme which was ultimately dropped. Sheldon Harnick said in an interview:
“This is a piece that’s not going to be hard to find music for. In fact, we found too much. Everything wanted to be sung. Our initial mistake, which I think we rectified was that we decided we were going to have musical bits. We were going to have songs and developed pieces, but we were also going to have a lot of musical fragments. What we discovered was that it’s hard enough on first hearing to absorb all that music. Then if you deluge audiences with additional bits, eventually the mind will stop hearing. The audience just gives up.”
The trick with Goodbye George is finding the right tempo. I found about 114 to the quarter note worked pretty well. Even though the content is sad, it shouldn’t descend into a dirge. The customer melody is essentially the same as Songs While Selling, down a half step, with a new countermelody for the staff. You’ll have to decide for yourself if you want to try and line up the dialogue with the music as it appears in the score. We found that if you begin in measure 12, it timed out okay without trying to line up measure 33. I didn’t want to have to hassle with conducting the caesuras in 75 and 76, so I counted 2-3 after the first So Long, 2-3-4 after the second So Long, and then on to the end as in all the other times.
28. George’s Exit- Will He Like Me
I found measures 9-12 easier to get through in 4 than in 2, but you may feel it differently.
29. Will He Like Me
Thanks to the internet, we can look at some of the writing and editing process for this show. Will He Like Me is an expansive ballad in the classic Late Golden Age style, a cousin to My White Knight, also sung originally by Barbara Cook. But this wasn’t the first number Bock and Harnick wrote for this moment. Originally there was a number entitled Tell Me I Look Nice, which is much more in the vein of I Could Have Danced all Night or I Look Pretty, although it begins in 5/4!
It’s a lovely number, and it must have been difficult to cut! In fact, Sondheim lists it as one of the “Songs I wish I’d written”. But as delightful as the song is, its replacement is much better. Will He Like Me is vulnerable and specific, and it helps earn the difficult sentiment of the end of the first act. Harnick said in a 1983 interview,
“I never mastered the knack of getting the right idea the first time around. In fact, what I found out about myself was that each draft acquainted me with another level of a character’s personality, so successive drafts made the character more real to me, more three-dimensional, which in turn affected the show as a whole. I always took to heart the truism, “Shows are not written, they are rewritten.”
Philip Lambert goes into some great detail in his chapter about She Loves Me regarding Jerry Bock’s use of the 5th and 6th scale degrees for expressive purposes. I’d like to make some similar points here, with an acknowledgment of Lambert having arrived here first in analysis. I think this is, in fact, where the 6th scale degree idea functions most beautifully. The melodic content of the song is as sophisticated as what Sondheim would be doing decades later. The melody is, in fact, a master class on how to shape melodic contour rhetorically to reinforce the dramatic moment.
Consider what’s happening in this melody: for the first 4.5 measures of the tune there are only 2 notes; Sol and La. We are hearing a rumination; Amalia is thinking through the most important idea in the show so far: Will she live up to his expectation? When she breaks out of this stasis, she finally ascends the scale up to Mi, (…the girl that he’s imagined me to be?) then on the title of the song, a yearning Fi (#4 scale degree) leading to Sol. (scale degree 5) She’s in the same Lydian mode she was in for I Don’t Know His Name. The second A section is a direct repeat, again breaking free of the Sol and La at the critical line, “…there’s more to me than I may always show”
The B section begins a full octave above the A section. Sol La is again the key idea, but now it’s urgent, and an octave higher, with an expressive dip down to Re. The idea is then sequenced at Fa Sol, dipping down to La, then closing with a descending scale that again sets up Sol and La.
The return of the A section is identical to the first two, except that it has an extension Do Do Do Re (…He’s just got to) which is just heartbreaking. This is the kind of thing Andrew Lloyd Webber keeps trying to make happen in his tunes but far less effectively. Think of Don’t Cry For Me Argentina, when the tune goes “I kept my promise… Don’t keep your distance.” or “Where am I going to… where am I going to…” in Another Suitcase in Another Hall or the weird “We taught the world new ways to dream” that comes out of left field at the end of As if We Never Said Goodbye
But this little echo phrase does its job wonderfully, perfectly closing the old idea while inaugurating the new one, a bridge that is just as active as the main body of the song was ruminative. “When I am in my room alone” sounds inevitable, because it’s appeared in the accompaniment already in measures 20, 28 and 44. Again the sharp 4th scale degree gives the melody a yearning quality, and when the melody gets sequenced, it moves from G flat major to E flat minor, and takes on a melancholy quality, which quickly passes as we head to a thrilling approach to D flat, a dominant that will bring us to the original B section.
The last A section, beginning at measure 76 takes us through familiar territory, and our two note idea is still the main course, but the melody ends on a very daring La Ti, a beautiful, but dissonant major 7th against the root.
Amalia has unfinished business at the end of this song. (and just to pique your interest, the unfinished business will be payed off in Georg’s big song in act II) This kind of melodic sophistication is worthy of Jerome Kern and prefigures what Sondheim would be doing in the ‘70s and ‘80s.
Next time I music direct this, I’m going to build a new Music Director part for this song from the parts, because this one is a real mess. There are many places where the note lengths on long notes don’t match the conductor score or one another, so it’s tricky to know when the players will cut off. I didn’t anticipate this being an issue, but I should have gone through and at least checked each part against my score so I had some sense of it. (particularly in measure 85) The piano vocal is also pretty poorly spelled, as in the end of measure 55, where D minor is spelled with Ebb and Bbbs, (surely the left hand should have them too?), and the second half of 64, which really should be spelled A7, not Bbb7, however harmonically correct that may be. You need a courtesy F natural in measure 70 in the first violin, by the way. The reed entrance halfway through 76 comes in on the and of 2, which I think is an error. It doesn’t do that anywhere else in the score.
29. Will He Like Me Scene Change
I wonder whether this is from the 90s. The top of the scene change feels very right, but the ending sounds like the bumper from a cop show, and the quote in the bass clarinet from I Don’t Know His Name feels harmonically odd. Come to think of it, there may be some typo in the parts I never identified. Have a look.
30. Ilona
This number is also a second draft! You can hear the original number, Merry Christmas Bells here:
It’s easy to see why Ilona is a better thought for this moment, but more intriguing is how Bock and Harnick kept the basic idea in the old number as an interlude in the new version. The old version was about the sentiments of the whole room simultaneously, as in Sounds While Selling. But the new version solves a key problem; we need to understand why Kodaly is attractive to Ilona. The old version is also musically static, relying on mode mixture for variety. The final version is very harmonically active.
I have to point out that Kodaly’s melody obsessively (and rather mindlessly) traces an Ebsus chord for quite a long time. This pattern is related to the shop idea, only in 4ths instead of 5ths.
Some of this interlocking 4ths idea is also present in the title song of the show, but Georg abandons the idea immediately to explore other avenues. To Kodaly, this is another in an endless stream of sales pitches. We only see him start to think outside the box when he’s mercilessly ripping everyone apart in Act II.
I found the number works best when you take it at a very fast clip. A moderate tempo requires a surprising amount of breath support from the singer.
31. I Resolve
Bock and Harnick replaced I Resolve with a new number for Rita Moreno in the Original London Cast called Heads I Win. You can hear that song at 22:13
The number isn’t available to use in production, but it paints a much more complicated mental state for Ilona! It’s a terrific lyric with some very subtle double entendre.
There’s something very odd in the score; Lines for Kodaly in measures 6 and 8 that there actually isn’t any time for. The revival solves this problem by eliminating the accompaniment and adding caesuras. If you want to do that, play a Bb minor chord on the downbeat of measure 3, then tacet unil the downbeat of measure 5, where you play another Bbminor chord. No accompaniment after, Caesura following measure 6. Bbmajor on the downbeat of measure 7, then nothing through measure 8. Caesura after 8, Bb major on downbeat of 9. No accompaniment through the downbeat of 10, then play from beat 2 of measure 10 through the rest of the number as written. I do wonder how the original cast did the thing; the lines don’t appear on any of the early recordings.
The off-beat accompaniment is tricky for some singers, and the last 4 measures of accompaniment are very counterintuitive. You’re playing in F minor (?) until you suddenly cadence in G minor. It takes some work.
Again, note how just like Amalia did, Ilona often vacillates between 2 notes as she works through her issues. Note also how Bock has provided the most delightful and unusual accompaniment imaginable. And note how empowered and active Harnick’s women are. As woke as our current musical theatre is, so many of the female characters written in today’s musicals simply wallow in self pity. Ilona’s sexuality gets her in trouble, but she’s nobody’s fool.
32. Ilona’s Exit
Write some courtesy c naturals in for yourself in measures 10, 13, and 14.
33. Street To The Shop
Both times I played this I needed to write naturals next to some Cs here as well.
34. Goodbye Love
I read that there was originally a number called Hello Love that was cut which was in this spot. (I think) I would very much like to hear that number, although it must have been cut for length. The underscore that is currently here strikes me as a 1993 confection. The music is really beautiful, but this way of using Lydian repeated ideas everywhere and the elevated repeating phrases somehow don’t feel like 1963 to me at all. They feel like they came from a Maltby-Shire show….
That’s not an insult, I’m just saying it doesn’t really fit here.
35. A Romantic Atmosphere
There’s a problem here for a modern production, particularly if a) you don’t have a proscenium stage or b) you staged Goodbye Love on the set instead of in front of the curtain. I believe what’s supposed to have happened here is a gunshot/crash, after which the curtain immediately opens and we see a waiter looking down on a fallen platter. ‘Did we hear a gunshot?’ we think, but we won’t find out until act 2. Unfortunately, this complicated set change is probably going to take a while, which means you have some choices to make. If you add music between 34 and 35, it can be either more of the Goodbye Love music, which seems like a pretty depressing choice, or Romantic Atmosphere music, which will just make us tire of this new number before it even starts. We opted to use 37.Tango Tragique as a scene change.
Looking at the PV, it sure seems like there was a full measure of rest after 5 and after 8 at some point; and that tends to work out most of the time, if you want to just time out the fermatas instead of cueing out of them. I think the ‘Victor Hugo’ line comes from the 1993 revival, where I want to say it reads as though two men are lovers. (although I can’t be sure) The original Broadway and London casts have someone giggling in the second rest.
The dance break is rather difficult to play, particularly from 71-78, which is wild. Don’t ask me what Hotsy Hungarian Jazz Style means. Tell your players to feel free to klezmer it up a little, particularly around 89.
36. The Cafe Imperiale
This number is so fun to play.
37. Tango Tragique
This delightful and brief vocal version of this number doesn’t appear in the 1964 London production or the 1993 or 2016 revivals, being replaced by a monologue with essentially the same material over an underscore of the original tune. The first act is long, but by my calculation, putting the number back into the show adds only one minute to the act.
Measure 1 should be played by the Piano or Accordion. The orchestration of measures 2-37 are measures 2-37 of 36 The Cafe Imperiale as it currently exists in underscore form. Measures 38-46 are measures 55-63 of 37 Tango Tragique. Measures 47-49 are measures 39-41 of 36 The Cafe Imperiale.
I suggest you play 37 as written in underscore form, timing it so that the end of the dialogue lines up with one of the open G chord cadences, such as measure 26, or best of all 49, which has a nice dead stop. If you have trouble lining that up, start the number later, or cut passages until it lines up properly.
37 as written as a scene change has one error in the Piano Vocal (that I noticed) The right hand downbeat of measure 10 should be a C, not a D.
38. Mr. Nowack, Will You Please
This is a shorter version of a much longer original. (or so I’m led to believe) It’s a rather operatic moment, in a mock Viennese style. I adored playing it.
39. Dear Friend
Of course this number is perfection. On the other hand, it’s troublesome to stage today, since the comedy of watching a woman at the lowest point of her life trying to muster some hope while being insulted by the waitstaff reads differently now than it did in 1963. We found leaning into the uncomfortability was helpful, so the crash right at the top of the number was useful in establishing that this is a tragi-comic moment.
I could make a tenuous case that the first gesture in Amalia’s melody (…flowers, the) here uses the exact three pitches as her first melody in the show, (we become) drawing a connection between the insecurity of the woman afraid of overeating in her sales pitch and the insecurity of a woman waiting for a man who might not show. That seems like a bit of a stretch, though. This melody is built of thirds and sequences just as No More Candy, and it has a prominent Lydian moment as the chorus begins, which in the vocabulary of this piece is aspirational.
Note the subtlety of the rhyme scheme here, and note how Amalia drops her Dufy-Dufay-Defoe wit and trick rhymes as she goes, opting for a simpler and more heartfelt expression. In fact at the end, the trick rhymes almost disappear:
The flowers, the linen, the crystal I see
Were carefully chosen for people like me
The silver agleam and the candles aglow
Your favorite songs on request.
Each colorful touch in the finest of taste
And notice how subtly the tables are spaced
The music is muted, the lighting is low
No wonder I feel so depressed
(AABC, DDBC, and reader please note agleam-aglow, music muted, lighting low wordplay)
Charming, Romantic, the perfect cafe
Then as if it isn’t bad enough a violin starts to play
Candles and wine, tables for two
But where are you,
Dear friend
Couples go past me, I see how they look
So discreetly sympathetic when they see the rose and the book
I make believe nothing is wrong
How long
Can I pretend?
Please make it right, don’t break my heart, don’t let it end
Dear friend
(AABBC, DDEECC)
You sort of need a violinist on stage. Obviously a real violinist actually playing is ideal. Fake violin playing is atrocious. Also, for any potential Amalias out there, you must play against the tragedy in the number. It’s far more meaningful to watch Amalia try to get enough courage to believe she still has a chance than it is to watch her wallow for 5 minutes.
All measure numbers are wrong, because the parts list the pickup measure as measure 1. Both times I music directed this, the section beginning at 76 wasn’t anywhere near enough underscore for the entire dialogue. For one production I played painfully slowly through the underscore. If you need to get people offstage before intermission (as we did in our thrust space) you can play the last page again, giving the melody to a violin or a trumpet.
40. Entr’acte
Considering the length of the show, I can’t imagine playing this Entr’acte, but it’s a good one. I suggest starting Act II with 41 Opening Act II.
ACT II
Both productions I’ve music directed were directed by the wonderful Matt Decker, who commented in rehearsal about the incredible string of numbers that opens Act II. If you’ve ever written a 2 act musical, you know that the beginning of Act II is the toughest nut to crack. If you’ve ended Act I in such a way that the audience wants to come back, Act II must drop the audience back into the action, delaying the resolution of the story without making the audience feel like they’ll be there forever, and getting across new information without getting bogged down in book scenes. At this critical juncture, Bock and Harnick deploy 5 of the best numbers in American Musical Theatre, one after the other. It is a tour de force.
41. Opening, Act II
This quirky little opener is similar to 2. Opening the Shop, except the Piano Vocal seems to be error free!
42. Try Me
Arpad and Motel the Tailor from Fiddler are clearly cut from the same cloth. With the possible exception of Tulsa in Gypsy, I think they’re the two finest roles for young men ever written, and again, the attention to detail of character here is astonishing.
After the opening lick, which reminds one of I Could Have Danced All Night from My Fair Lady, Arpad launches us into a wonderfully declamatory verse that keeps ratcheting up, from C to D to E to F to G to A, always major, finally dropping into a very ‘mod’ sounding groove which contains the hook. As is typical of this show, the catchy tune appears only briefly before an extended retail fantasy, which hits so many marks and wanders so far afield, it’s a wonder the number still holds together before returning for a final pass of the chorus.
A few performance tips: It is possible to play the glissando with two fingers of the right hand in measure 13. It’s kind of fun; it just takes a little practice. Some tenors have trouble hearing the D in measures 60 and 81, especially as the piano so clearly plays a C. The G in the right hand in measures 135 and 136 may be an error; it certainly fights that F in the woodwind line above it. I think you want to play D minor 7 for those 2 measures.
43. Maraczek’s Memories
You may need a little more music here, in which case I suggest you repeat the first 16 bars.
44. Where’s My Shoe?
I live in one of those odd houses where 6 different people actually sing this song whenever looking for shoes. What else would one sing? Only in a Bock and Harnick musical could such an oddball story moment result in such an outside-the-box number, and one of the highlights of the show at that!
Musically it’s a wonder! The accompaniment is a romp, with a chromatic interior line and an oom-pah passage that can’t seem to decide if it’s in 3 or in 6. Melodically, Amalia is utterly unhinged, arpeggiating the tonic chord, but veering off into sharp 5, twice, then snaking up from Fi to Ti chromatically. 3 seven note scales sequence over a circle-of-fifths progression twice, then the arpeggiated A section begins all over again. George is much more grounded; his melody is a single note when it isn’t a perfectly rounded phrase or a simple scale.
This number is not so terribly difficult to prepare, the trick is to make it feel like it’s going off the rails without it actually going off the rails. Traditionally it’s staged with a lot of acrobatic chasing and throwing Amalia over Georg’s shoulder, which is not conducive to beautiful singing. Either you have to get used to the idea that it will be funnier than beautiful, or you’ll need to get involved with the staging so that Amalia isn’t supporting the weight of her head with her neck muscles while singing the G, for example. Keep in mind that she needs to play a scene, then sing Vanilla Ice Cream in about 4 minutes.
The lick in the last 5 measures is a bear to play. I recommend leaving the left hand out.
45. Vanilla Ice Cream
This is justifiably one of the most talked about numbers in the history of American Musical Theatre:
Will Friedwald wrote: “Ice Cream is one of the theater’s best songs of self-exploration and discovery, the kind usually given to leading men in Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals, such as the King of Siam puzzling out A Puzzlement and Billy Bigelow contemplating parenthood in Soliloquy. Ice Cream repeatedly changes keys, tones, melodies- the works- mirroring the thought process even more ambitiously than Adelaide’s Lament in Guys and Dolls in a way that seems completely random but is obviously carefully concocted.”
The number replaced an earlier song, The Touch of Magic, which was converted back into a monologue.
In Jennifer Packard’s interesting book A Taste of Broadway: Food in Musical Theater, she points out that Joe Masteroff’s insertion of Ice Cream into the scenario is more related to his childhood in Philadelphia than any Hungarian roots. She also observes that it was Masteroff who introduced the Pineapple into the romantic story between Fraulein Schneider and Herr Schultz in Cabaret 3 years later.
The ‘Ice Cream’ part of the melody once again embraces the 6th scale degree, and again I’ll refer you to Philip Lambert’s excellent book for an analysis along those lines. I’ll work my analysis here along broader lines.
The famous opening letter passage combines the two most compelling Amalia ideas from Act I. A celesta plays a music box idea; different from the cigarette boxes near the beginning of Act I, but tonally reminiscent, while below, a we hear the melody of Dear Friend from the end of Act I.
Amalia’s letter is interrupted by a Hungarian idea once again looping around neighbor tones, with another Lydian inflected Fi. Just as this Csardas seems to be going off the rails, Amalia regains her composure and starts the letter again, this time with no countermelody from the restaurant! She has already started to move on, and spectacularly so, culminating in a tiny bit of coloratura in thirds with a flute, which I’ve always heard as a callback to the Mad Scene in Lucia di Lammermoor..
America’s conceptions about Opera have changed quite a bit over the years. Today Vanilla Ice Cream’s operatic flavor at the end reads to general audiences as a fanciful touch, even a little loopy. But for Barbara Cook, who played this part originally, Opera was meaningful on its own terms. She said once to an interviewer:
“Opera was such a huge part of my growing up. I don’t quite know how it happened because nobody cared about opera in particular. When I was a little girl, I would always ask my mother or my grandmother to call me when the Saturday afternoon broadcast was beginning. It was a beautiful, beautiful part of my life.”
In the 1960s American audiences had a much higher level of Opera literacy than they do today, and for audiences familiar with operatic tropes, the end of Vanilla Ice Cream signified more than just whimsy. Mary Ann Smart wrote in an oft quoted passage from a 1992 article in the Cambridge Opera Journal:
“Trills, melismas, and high notes suggest hysteria, an unbearable pitch of emotion; they liberate music from text, allow it to escape from the rational, connect it with pre-symbolic modes of communication. In a sense coloratura is free from the confinement of music an of language; a syllable stretched beyond recognition is an escape from signification, the emergence of irrationality and madness.”
Smart was writing generally about coloratura in an article specifically about Donizetti’s opera Lucia Di Lammermoor, and it’s the mad scene that most opera fans would have thought of upon hearing the very brief moment of coloratura at the end of Vanilla Ice Cream. Both are accompanied by a flute after the orchestra has dropped out, although Amalia’s ascent into the stratosphere isn’t anywhere near as long or complicated:
The mad scene from Lucia is only the best known of a long list of soprano arias accompanied by flute, including examples from almost every important French Opera composer of the mid-19th century. Lucia is by far the most famous example. As of this season, it is the 15th most performed opera at the Met, with 611 performances, more than any opera by Mozart or Strauss.
So is Amalia going mad? Of course not. But as the number veers toward opera, she is in a very real way liberated from language, which had up until this point been not only her character’s interest as a reader of books, but her mode of expression; wordy, articulate, reasoned. We are seeing an ecstatic moment that sets her character on another course.
I don’t have much in the way of words of wisdom as you coach this number, except to encourage your soprano not to overdo the difference between the vocal quality of the two sections; the lower part should not really be belted. And then the portamento between the High B and the E is important. To do it in a quasi-operatic style, use vibrato as you descend; it’s a great effect.
Most of the parts have only 1 fermata in 96, not 4, so your players may need clarification. If you are conducting from the piano, your trumpet players and others who have a similar rhythm may have trouble figuring out your tempo, since what you’re playing sounds like triplets. Show them your part and all will be well.
Should you need a playoff, you can go back to 74, 82, or 98.
46. She Loves Me
When David Gordon asked Joe Masteroff and Sheldon Harnick if they would change anything about the show, Masteroff said:
“I must say the one thing I didn’t like… I like the song She Loves Me, I hate it as the title for the show. It seems so cliche. It seems like every other title you’ve ever heard.”
Harnick then suggested it was probably Hal Prince’s idea, and Masteroff continued:
“I’m sure it was Hal. He never asked me about anything. There ought to be something like ‘She Loves Me?’ with a question mark, which is more effective as a title, I think. It gives the audience something to wonder about.”
“ I was very pleased when I wrote a song like ‘She Loves Me’. I thought, ‘Oh, good, the analysis is working.’ I’m able to say things that really come right out of me, unselfconsciously. For instance, there’s a line, ‘My teeth ache from the urge to touch you.’ [sic] And that was because there have been moments when I’ve been with a girl and the back or my teeth hurt.”
There’s an odd notation at the top of the piano vocal score that Amalia says, ‘well, well…’ and then Georg saying, ‘well!’ before launching into the song. Those lines don’t appear in the script at all, and I have no idea how they would! But this makes me think that at one point, the authors had attempted a seam between the previous scene and this song similar to the seam between Maraczek’s suicide attempt and A Romantic Atmosphere! But even without this glue, there’s plenty of connecting material between this number and other material in the show, beginning with “Will wonders never cease?”, a clear callback to the previous number. Amalia just sang that 4 times.
The ‘well well’ passage slips chromatically and hilariously from Le down to Do, as Georg nearly abandons language himself, but the “I didn’t like her” section jumps spastically up from E flat to Bb, Db, C, Eb, Fb, Georg is wildly attempting to ground a tonality before finally settling on the same 2 pitches (Db and Eb) Amalia was vacillating between at the top of Will He Like Me!
Let me put too fine a point on that: Georg is answering her question. “Will he like me?”, she asks. “I didn’t like her”, he answers, but then using the two notes that represented her confusion, he adds: “Now I do!”
It took me far too long to notice that Georg’s lyric refers back to itself:
I didn’t like herBut now I do
Didn’t like her? I couldn’t stand her! And I could
Couldn’t stand her? I Wouldn’t have her! And I would
I wouldn’t have her I never knew her! And I know…
Melodically, we are also once again hearing the prominence of the 6th scale degree (the song ends on the 6th!) Georg’s main melody begins similarly to Kodaly’s in Ilona, except that Georg’s accompaniment is actually going somewhere. In fact, the melody pays off the exploratory jumps and descents of the introduction, this time climbing the scale in a very satisfying way!
Note also that Georg has taken the ‘mod’ rhythm from Try Me as his new motif. He is a younger man as a result of this revelation.
When accompanying with piano, it is possible to follow the singer through all the ‘well’s. But when conducting, it’s far more difficult. I suggest the singer follow you, or work out a very consistent pattern of speeding up.
In measure 14, reed I needs an F flat.
47. She Loves Me Playoff
There is a pickup to measure 1 in the parts (A in the trumpet). Yet another example of the shoddy copywork in this strata of the vocal score.
48. A Trip To The Library
Philip Lambert shrewdly notes that just as Ilona forms a matched pair with I Resolve, A Trip to the Library matches with Grand Knowing You. In the first matched pair, Ilona is seduced, then finds a new determination in rejection. In the second matched pair, Ilona is again seduced, but this time by a better man, and she makes good her resolve, which reveals Kodaly’s true, embittered self.
It has always been a go-to for audition material and for the discerning actor-singer, because the material is so character driven, and the actress gets to sing 3 characters: the one telling the story, herself, and Paul! It’s a number for a belter that doesn’t go terribly high, relying on characterization and comic timing rather than vocal fireworks.
The first section is a bolero with the rhythm played on the flute, a clear nod to Maurice Ravel. Ravel’s 1928 Bolero is a sinuous, sexy kind of piece with a dramatic finish, and any theatregoer in the 60s who was mildly literate in classical music will have had some contact with it. Older people today would associate it with a particular scene in the movie 10 that made Ravel’s Bolero the bestselling classical piece in the world.
Bock’s melody is amazingly even more repetitive than Ravel’s, which perfectly illustrates Ilona’s nervous energy.
Four measures of very dramatic Hungarian music follow, as Ritter’s low-key nervousness explodes into melodrama. But then we find ourselves in a classic early 60s show tune. As far as I can make out, this is the longest time in the whole show we hear a classic showtune. Embedded in this part of the tune is some of the most exquisite timing in any musical. We hear this kind of thing between Golde and Tevye in Fiddler, but it’s extremely rare, particularly in a straight ahead tune. I’m talking about pauses and placement in the bar that emphasize intention and depict the speed of thought in the character’s mind.
…quietly said to me…. “Ma’am”
I said “No”….. (off the beat, as if suddenly changing her mind)”Yes I am!”
What happens if things go wrong?
It’s obvious he’s quite strong….. (the longer the pause, the funnier the payoff)
He read to me all night long.
Under this perfectly constructed musical storyline is the wittiest imaginable orchestral accompaniment, alternating a seductive thumbline against jaunty chromatic punctuating phrases, culminating in that ‘mod’ rhythm we see whenever the story is aiming at the storylines of younger people.
After another bolero and Hungarian passage, the second chorus of the ‘tune-proper’ has a saucy woodwind counter-melody that is worthy of Nelson Riddle.
Here are a few things I’ve noticed, having coached this song for dozens of singers over the years:
Some singers struggle with the timing of the first entrance, since that bolero rhythm is repetitive and easy to get lost in. I tell singers to listen to the bass, which is far easier to latch on to. Tell your drummer to play in the bolero as quietly as possible and emphasize the double bass part.
I rarely hear the correct notes in measure 18. Measure 19 is easy to hear, but the starting note for “and there was this…” is surprisingly hard. Drill that a bit at the beginning of your process. That passage happens a couple further times, including after a fairly subtly voiced key change. Make sure we get that first starting note correctly each time, and aim for a bright tone so the voice cuts down there so low.
Most people can sing the passage “A trip to the library has made a new girl of me”, but singers have more trouble with the chromatic “I can see.” Keep those half steps small, or the following passage will also be wrong. This applies all four times that passage is heard.
For some reason the text in the second bolero trips up singers more than the first. Learn it slow at first.
49. Sipos’s Exit
There is no repeat in the parts. (that’s written on the bottom of the PV page, but it’s easy to miss) I only mention this because if you need more time, you may accidentally ask your players to make the repeat into a vamp and they don’t have the repeat.
50. Dorbell #5
See above
51. Doorbell #6
See above
52. Thank You, Madam #5
Arpad’s part in measure 8 is wrong, and I’m pretty sure the parts are mislabeled in the vocal books.
53. Grand Knowing You
There was a different, and very successful song in this spot originally, called My North American Drug Store, written to get Kodaly offstage after being fired. (imagine the moment without a number for a quick laugh, Kodaly simply slinking off! Impossible)
It was hard to make this cut, since the number was doing well with audience and performer. According to Harnick:
“I was never happy with it. I got to know Jack [Cassidy] and realized he needed to be bitchy and terribly funny- but there was an innocence to the bitchiness. It was witty rather than mean, and I thought, ‘this is the kind of song to try.’ We came up with Grand Knowing You. Jack was very reluctant at that point to do a new song, because North American Drug Store was stopping the show. You couldn’t argue with that, but we showed it to him and said, ‘Jack, this is a better song. It’s a character song… it was a combination of his character, his personality, and the character of the show.’
The rewritten version is not only a better tune, but much better written to character, with a bitterly cruel and very funny middle section that paints Kodaly beautifully. It’s another example of Harnick’s rewrites getting closer to the truth of the characters.
Of the 6 numbers in She Loves Me that speed up from slow to fast, this is the first that doesn’t sound ‘Hungarian’. I might have said the ‘only’ number, but the number that follows is actually built as one enormous gradual accelerando, and it doesn’t sound Hungarian at all. The main melody is deceptively difficult to sing well; it requires a good deal of breath support. Choose your tempo for the first section based on what your singer can sustain, leaving room, of course, for it to get much faster at the end.
The middle section is very fun, and something of a bear to play and coordinate. If you listen to a few recordings, you’ll hear that the tempo is extremely fluid, but oddly consistent. That is to say that it speeds up and slows down, but in the same way every time. Because there is so much crazy style hongrois passage work in the orchestra, you will have to work out with the singer when to wait for the band and when to go on. And ideally it should always feel like the singer is driving those choices, not just waiting for the band. That’s hard! Finally, you’ll have to let the orchestra know how to get through those passages, which is really very difficult if you’re conducting from the piano.
You may also find that the passage beginning at measure 64 will come out wrong at the sitzprobe 2 or 3 times before your rhythm section understands what’s happening. In fact that’s a spot you may want to address before you even begin running it with the band.
54A. Christmas Sequence
After a true ‘string of pearls’ of fantastic character songs, Act II give us its last major number with a chorus feature, exactly the opposite of what most musicals would do in Act II.
This is marked Fast Chase, but I chose to do it slower, which made the rit at 8 much easier to handle from the keyboard. I don’t know how you could possibly slow down from the previous number’s speed to that fermata gracefully using only your head nodding to indicate tempo.
54B. A Christmas Carol
Measure 23 has a poco rit. in the parts. (but not in the Piano Vocal Score) It’d be nice to know that when rehearsing the number, no?
If you were very short on chorus guys, you could make the chorus all female, either by treating the parts as a true canon, all in the same range (which does mostly work) or by putting every F# from measures 10-23 up the octave and eliminating the lowest notes in measures 24-33. But truthfully, you only need 1 tenor and 1 bass.
54C. Twelve Days To Christmas
I like a little crescendo in measures 32-33.
Be sure you choose your tempo at the top of 54C with some room to speed up. After all, that’s the name of the game here. If you start slower, the speedup will be more dramatic.
The last note in the vocals in measure 45 should be an A.
Measures 119 and 120 have the left hand a whole step high. If you can’t figure out what the measure is actually supposed to be by this time in the show, I don’t know what to tell you. The left hand in measure 121 is missing a quarter note rest, and all the parts have a half note on beat 2 with a fermata on it. Again, super important information missing from the conductor score.
Keep an ear out for the rhythm change in measures 166-168. I suggest converting measure 171 into a 4/4 measure, especially if you’re conducting with your head and playing. The original cast recording has something else here, and in the 1993 recordings and following, it’s sloppy and unclear. It’s hard to establish that new tempo for just one bar or to relate the 2/4 tempo to the 6/8 tempo. For my money, we lose nothing by changing it to 4/4 and treating the new 6/8 dotted quarters with the same pulse of the old quarter. Trust me, it can still feel ‘off the rails’, it just won’t actually be off the rails. And that, incidentally, is the principle that should guide you: As fast as you can go without being sloppy.
Your players may find themselves wanting to slow down in the last 6 measures, but I think you want to just plow through.
55. The Invitation
The underscore that sits here now is simple and perfect. Should you need more music to cover the scene, I suggest repeating 25-32 and 41-44.
56. Closing the Shop
There was a lovely Christmas number that was cut from the show in previews called Christmas Eve that you can hear here. (I’m guessing at the placement in the show, although someone will surely correct me)
The cue for this number is, “You’re right, my boy. You won’t get it.”
57. Finale, Act II
Many writers have commented on the brilliance of repurposing the Vanilla Ice Cream thematic material with a new lyric here. This stroke of genius apparently occurred in the Philadelphia tryout. Originally it had been a reprise of No More Candy..
This is also a kind of a bookend to Three Letters at the top of the show. Three Letters revealed to the audience that the main characters were writing one another when Amalia reads Georg’s letter. The Finale reveals to Amalia that Georg is her pen-pal when Georg quotes Amalia’s letter. And how wonderful that when they sing together, nothing rhymes and there is no attempt to allow the audience to process their separate thoughts. The lovers are so excited that they drop their carefully curated facades of language in favor of a stream of consciousness. As Amalia said: “There’s no hiding behind my paper and pen.”
We opted to have the accompaniment begin in measure 3 in our production, so that Georg could take more ownership of the moment. I suppose if you like that thought, you could even begin even later.
58. She Loves Me Bows
The first measure is in 2 in all the parts, but in 3 in the score. All the measure numbers in the piano vocal are wrong following measure 41, (renumber your book continuing from 41) and from 54 to the end, the clarinet part in Reed I is mis-transposed.
Other than that, this is a nice Bows.
59. Thank You Bows
26-45 makes a decent repeat if you need one.
60. Exit Music
Measure 95 is marked Allegro Con Brio in the parts, but not in the Vocal Score, and the metric modulation is wrong, I think. If you take a reasonable tempo for She Loves Me at 53, and you treat the new half like the old quarter, it’s so fast, the orchestration doesn’t make sense. If you take the old meaning of the metric modulation, where the new quarter is the old half, it’s painfully slow. I think you gotta treat the new quarter like the old quarter and just switch up the groove. OR pick a new tempo for the Allegro con Brio that has nothing to do with the old one.
Pit Orchestra Considerations:
A few instruments are essential: The trumpet and violin have important cadenzas right away. It helps to have a violinist who doesn’t mind being onstage during Romantic Atmosphere and Dear Friend. You need to pick between the 2 reed version and the 3 reed version. The 2 reed version is very good, so I can’t imagine a situation where somebody has enough money to hire the extra reed instead of another player elsewhere, but perhaps you have a bigger budget than me.
I used violin 1, cello, reeds 1 and 2, Trumpet, bass, drumset, and keys 2. Keys 2 really helps fake a string section, especially if you have real strings on the outside of the texture. I cued up my vocal score using the keys 1 book, and played mostly a somewhat french sounding accordion patch, harp, and piano sounds.
Enjoy your production of She Loves Me! I sure did!
Iolanthe is a wonderful operetta. It has many of the qualities Gilbert and Sullivan fans admire in other operettas; a ravishing overture, hilarious plot complications, scathing commentary on class distinctions, pointed and very funny dialogue, and some extraordinary music.
It also represents a few steps further down some avenues Gilbert and Sullivan had been exploring for several operettas now:
Copyright Protection
Gilbert and Sullivan were irked by the revenue they lost by pirated productions of Pinafore, and in the operas that followed, they worked diligently up front to put a stop to the copycats. They took the Pirates of Penzance to America itself, establishing copyright by premiering it simultaneously in the UK, although the UK performance was not a real production. Here they would actually open an American and an English Iolanthe on the same day, the American production conducted by Sullivan’s right hand man Cellier. Here, to pull a fast one on anyone trying to steal their work, Gilbert and Sullivan actually operated with a false title for nearly the entire rehearsal process, changing the name of the operetta and the title character at the last moment, just as Verdi had kept La Donna è Mobile under his vest until the last moment in the first production of Rigoletto.
Topicality
HMS Pinafore had referenced living public figures, Pirates is, I believe, an elaborate in-joke on copyright piracy, and Patience had been a satire of the Aesthetic Movement. In fact, G&S and D’oyly Carte had been concerned that American audiences wouldn’t know enough about the Aesthetic Movement to get the joke, so they sent Oscar Wilde on a lecture tour of the states to fill people in. Here in Iolanthe, Gilbert has chosen a topic of great interest in the Victorian era: they loved fairies. And within the piece itself, public figures of the day are satirized. At one point, a character breaks the fourth wall and addresses a real celebrity audience member, Captain Shaw.
Technology
Patience had been the first Gilbert and Sullivan operetta to appear at the newly completed Savoy Theatre, the first public building in the world lit entirely by electricity. But Patience hadn’t opened there, so it wasn’t written to take advantage of the newest technology. Iolanthe didn’t pass up the chance to use newfangled electrical wizardry. The fairies each had a battery pack that lit stars in their hair and the tip of each wand.
A contemporary cartoon from Punch, December 9, 1882
In that spirit, our 2018 Savoy Company production in Philadelphia equipped each of the fairies with transparent wings that lit up in various colors reflective of their mood. The wings were each connected to the wifi in the venue, and could be controlled by an app on a cell phone. Our production staff is pretty amazing.
Photo courtesy Susan Weinman
Photo courtesy Douglas Smith
Elise Bjordammen, Kara Beck, Amber Englebert in the Savoy Company’s Iolanthe Photo By Helga Yang
Sullivan and Wagner
We often read that Iolanthe is the operetta in which Sullivan most references Richard Wagner. But to most fans of his work, Sullivan is the precise opposite of Wagner; witty, economical, allergic to pomposity, and never ever dull. So what did Sullivan think of Wagner? And how Wagnerian is Sullivan in Iolanthe, anyway?
An 1878 cartoon in The Musical World entitled In Purgatory shows Sullivan beset by demons, including Anton Rubinstein and Richard Wagner
When the teenaged Arthur Sullivan went to study at the Leipzig Conservatoire as the first recipient of the Mendelssohn Scholarship, English culture was in the grip of a Mendelssohn Mania. There was an expectation that Sullivan would return to become the English Mendelssohn, and Sullivan came home with a suite of incidental music to Shakespeare’s The Tempest, an obvious nod to Mendelssohn’s wildly popular Midsummer Night’s Dream music, also written by a composer in his teens.
In Leipzig, Sullivan had encountered the music of Schumann, Schubert, and also music of the New German School: Wagner, Liszt, and Von Bulow, who were not well known in England at that time. It is telling that when he returned to England, he told everyone who would listen about Schumann, and in December that year, he sought out Rossini in Paris and played through his Tempest score for the Italian master. 5 years later, he and George Grove traveled to Vienna to track down some lost scores of Schubert. These friendships and enthusiasms confirm the young Sullivan’s musically conservative tastes. He remained ambivalent about Wagner his whole life, interested in the new work and ideas, but skeptical of the execution of those ideas in the operas themselves. (Sullivan adored Die Meistersinger, but we’ll save that discussion for next year when I cover Yeomen of the Guard)
Audiences have identified many Wagnerian threads in Iolanthe, but I have only found a couple of places where Sullivan’s music is specifically referencing Wagner.
There is a Wagnerian flavor to Sullivan’s music accompanying the Fairy Queen near the beginning and the end of the opera. Here’s the queen’s explanation of Iolanthe’s banishment:
And here’s a very similar bit of music in Act III, Scene I of Wagner’s Die Walküre as Brünnhilde gives the broken pieces of the sword Nothung to Sieglinde:
Another place that seems to be a Wagner quote is the end of Phyllis’s very sad commitment to give herself away to any old Peer at the end of Act I:
Which seems to be a rather silly quote from the Prelude to Tristan Und Isolde:
Entire books have been written about the daring first chord in Wagner’s version. The chord has its own Wikipedia page. Sullivan harmonizes it with a simple Italian Augmented 6th chord.
Other places people have identified as potentially Wagnerian seem like a stretch to me. Many of the spookier passages, including the fairy “Aiaiah!” passages might just as easily be from Weber’s Der Freischütz, and Sullivan had already covered that ground in The Sorcerer. The oboe solo when Iolanthe rises from her prison doesn’t really remind me musically of Die Alte Weise from Tristan und Isolde, the downward scale of the Chancellor’s fugue doesn’t really sound like Wotan’s spear motive at all, and Iolanthe’s scene with the Lord Chancellor isn’t musically anything like Wotan’s farewell. Many have also pointed out that Sullivan gives ‘signature tunes’ to many of the characters in the opera, and he includes them in the overture to tremendous effect. But Sullivan had been doing that for several operas now, and he seems determined not to develop the ideas in the orchestra during the piece, only in the spectacular transformation of the Captain Shaw motive into the gem at the center of the overture. One way of describing it is that Sullivan uses motives symphonically, but in a pre-Beethoven symphonic method, in arriving back at a familiar musical idea after some time away, as when Sonata Allegro form arrives at a recapitulation. By contrast, Wagnerian drama uses motives the way a post Beethoven symphonic development would, where the excitement arrives by just how many possible permutations of a tune a development can reveal. .
Gilbert had many years of experiences writing burlesques of opera, and Iolanthe has many spoof connections, not least of which are the costumes. The Fairy Queen’s costume, for example was a carbon copy of Brünnhilde’s in the Ring Cycle, which had only that year reached England.
Amalie Materna, Bayreuth’s first Bruenhilde
Alice Barnett, the first Fairy Queen
And “Willahallah! Willaloo!” is a hilarious replacement for “Weia! Waga! Woge, du Welle, walle zur Wiege! Wagalaweia! Wallala weiala weia!” even if the music isn’t anywhere near what those ridiculous Rheinmaidens sang.
What Sullivan had to say about Wagner gives us a wonderful insight into his mind and should make us very happy that he was not a Perfect Wagnerite.
Sullivan wrote in his diary after seeing Das Rheingold:
“It is difficult to know how Wagner could have got up any enthusiasm or interest in such a lying, thieving, blackguardly set of low creatures as all the characters in his Opera prove themselves to be.”
He wanted to empathize with his characters so that he could make them musically compelling and distinct from one another, a distinction he did not hear in Wagner. He wrote after seeing Parsifal in 1884:
“There is nothing characteristic in the music sung by each individual. The music of one individual would do just as well for any other.”
(Five days after writing that line, he would start work on The Mikado)
He liked the idea of musical themes returning to connect the evening together, but he found Wagner’s use of continuous motives tiresome and boring. After attending Götterdämmerung at Bayreuth, he quipped:
“1st Act 4 to 6 Dull and dreary. 2nd act 6:30 to 8. Just as dull and dreary. 3rd act 8:45 to 10 Very fine and impressive.”
He wanted the Orchestra to be subordinate to the voices, telling the San Francisco Chronicle in 1885, “[Wagner] has shown us the combination of the drama and the opera, but deviated from his theory or was at fault in practice in concentrating all the dramatic effects in the orchestral portions of his work, and subordinating the stage and its action to the orchestra. He has shown us a picture that can be painted, but has not painted it himself.” (emphasis mine)
In the same interview, Sullivan laid out his own vision of opera, which he did not think he had yet achieved:
“The opera of the future is a compromise. I have thought and worked and toiled and dreamed of it. Not the French school, with gaudy and tinsel tunes, its lambent lights and shades, its theatrical effects and clap-trap; not the Wagnerian school, with its sombreness and heavy ear-splitting airs, with its mysticism and unreal sentiment; not the Italian school, with its fantastic airs and fioriture and far-fetched effects. It is a compromise between these three – a sort of eclectic school, a selection of the merits of each one.
Yet that is exactly what he had already done with Gilbert, his music combining Mendelssohn’s grace, Rossini’s tunefulness, Offenbach’s genial humor, Schubert’s creativity of accompaniment, and just enough Wagner to give us a good laugh at ourselves.
Gilbert and the Politics of Encore verses in 2018
We presented Iolanthe in the Spring of 2018 in America and in the Summer at the International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival in Harrogate, during a particularly fraught political climate in both countries. In each venue we included some encores that poked a little fun at the Trump administration and at the Brexit negotiations. Both at home and abroad, we experienced both delight and dismay, with the thought occasionally expressed that potentially polarizing political opinions were perhaps inadvisable. On one of the facebook Gilbert and Sullivan forums, a festival attendee pointed out that a great number of the amateur companies had made allusions in their productions to current political situations. (the only other one I saw was a very pointed Trump impersonation in the second act of The Gondoliers by a Canadian company. It made me laugh) The aforementioned Facebook poster questioned the wisdom of inserting such material, especially given the unpredictable politics of the audience attending the festival. The responses to that post were generally in favor of such insertions. For my part, I understand and partially sympathize with the view of those who want the theatre to be a place where people of broad political outlooks can agree at least on their love of G&S. But I think it’s also worth noting that Gilbert’s lyrics and scenarios had some real teeth in their contemporary world. It’s only our temporal distance from Victorian concerns that make them seem tame. They were not. I offer these quotes from contemporary reviews of Iolanthe from the original production:
“He…[Gilbert] tries to prove that members of the House of Lords are a collection of amorous and senile do-nothings, scarcely removed from idiocy, and that the members of the House of Commons are dull and stupid, the mere creatures of party… Thus we find, within the compass of a two-act piece, derision of the judicial system, of the Peers and Commons, and of Love, Truth, and Friendship… As a moral lesson, I prefer ‘Punch and Judy’ to Iolanthe.”
-Bell’s Life in London and Sporting Chronicle, December 2, 1882
Others were more positive in their assessment. The barbs were funny because they were true:
“The witty playwright has shown us the ridiculous side of many things before now, and we can only suppose that the umbrage taken in the present instance is because the cap happens to fit better than usual.”
-The Weekly Dispatch, December 3, 1882
And to the precise point that our contemporary audiences expressed, using remarkably similar language, The Globe questioned whether the Comic Opera was the place for such observations:
“Mr. Gilbert’s cynical allusions to the House of Peers may be prompted by strong political convictions, but are surely out of place in the libretto of a comic opera, produced before an audience of presumably varied political opinions”
-The Globe November 1882 (emphasis mine)
“When therefore, a first night’s audience, prepared to laugh itself sore, and in great measure consisting of Mr. Gilbert’s avowed admirers, finds that gentleman exhibiting a tendency to import pathos and politics into a ‘book’ like that of ‘Iolanthe’, it may be excused for expressing disappointment as well as surprise- the more so because the pathos smacks of anger, a passion altogether out of place in a ‘fairy opera’, and his politics are bitterly aggressive. Anything like a moral, pointedly recommended to public attention in connection with ingenious buffoonery and put into the mouth of such a character as Mr. Gilbert’s hero- a diverting monstrosity, half fairy, half mortal, whose only raison d’etre is the wealth of comic contrasts suggested by his dual nature- is calculated to exercise a depressing effect upon people who went to laugh, not to cry; to be tickled into complacency, not roused to indignation. The libretto of ‘Iolanthe’ has been utilized by its author as the vehicle for conveying to society at large a feeling of protest on behalf of the indigent, and a scathing satire upon the hereditary moiety of our legislature. Advocacy and denunciation of this sort are all very well in melodrama, where telling ‘points’ may always be made with the unmerited wrongs of the poor and the reprehensible uselessness of the aristocracy. But they jar upon the ear and taste alike when brought to bear upon us through the medium of a song sung by half a fairy in a professedly comic opera.”
-William Beatty Kingston The Theatre, January 1, 1883
(I am indebted to the new critical edition for my access to these reviews)
In light of that, I think the most Gilbertian thing to do is to point the satire wherever the barbs will land best. Another way of putting it: If you are among those who think politics should stay out of G&S performance, you would probably have been among those deeply disappointed at the premiere of Iolanthe.
Before You Start:
A great place to start with any G&S Operetta is the Gilbert and Sullivan Archive page.The page for Iolanthe is pretty extensive, including interviews and reviews of early productions. It seems to be missing an errata list. I’ll cobble one together as I go.
The most commonly used edition is the Schirmer vocal score, edited by Bryceson Treharne. It’s perfectly acceptable. I linked to Amazon here, because most people these days buy from them. But do be aware that they sometimes lump together more than one edition of the same score, so you might accidentally get a rival edition when you order.
When it comes to the full score, you’re in a major bind. The old Kalmus Full Score is, as of my typing these words, about $140 with shipping and handling. But this score is infamously awful, and paying that much for something that’s widely loathed seems like rewarding something we don’t want to encourage. Fortunately, there is now a magnificent Broude Brothers 3 volume Full Score, with a critical source report, all the available cut material and fragments you can’t find anywhere, like the original banda parts. It’s a smorgasbord; it literally has everything, it’s handsomely bound, and the layout is easily legible. Unfortunately, this full score set is over $400. Unless you are a spectacularly well endowed company and can afford to accumulate a library of critical editions, or perhaps you are a wealthy music director who is doing this for fun, this edition is not financially feasible. I am fortunate enough to work at a University through which I was able to borrow the score through interlibrary loan, and perhaps that is the best option. As wonderful as the new Broude Trust edition is, though, it is not without its own errors. I will point out the handful that I discovered while I was using the score. What this score needs is an Oxford University edition, like the Yeomen that recently came out, edited by Colin Jagger. That comes in under a hundred dollars, and seems to be pretty good, if not completely exhaustive.
I believe in conducting chorus rehearsals from the vocal score until the chorus is off book, and then switching as early as practicable to the full score to conduct rehearsals. There is a real wealth of detail in the orchestration that you as a music director need to be aware of that is simply not present in the Piano Score. If you are renting parts, do check to see if you can get your hands on the score that goes with them to use as you rehearse. It goes without saying that conducting the operetta in performance with an orchestra from the Piano Vocal Score is an unpardonable infraction unless it is absolutely unavoidable.
Recordings:
As always, the OakApple Press page laying out all the major recordings is complete and fantastic. Many of these recordings are available on Spotify, but I encourage you to buy a hard copy. Looking to D’Oyly Carte for style or pronunciation help is a good idea, but I’m sorry to say that even in the case of vowels, you will find very little uniformity from one D’Oyly Carte recording to the next. 1960 D’Oyly Carte is the one to have.
If you’re going to be Music Directing Gilbert and Sullivan, you’ll want to begin building a library of reference materials. I recommend getting these, as you are able:
The Gilbert and Sullivan Lexicon by Harry Benford: in which you will find the definitions of all those words you don’t understand.
After you have procured some of these, set aside a number of hours to do the following:
1) Listen to the soundtracks with the score in hand, marking things that strike you as interesting. I also made a pass at one point with a metronome and marked the tempi of all the sections from several recordings so that I would have a benchmark of speed. When a singer complains about a tempo, it helps to be able to check and say, “Ah, yes, we’re too slow” or: “This is within the range of generally accepted tempi.” or yet again, “I’d like to take it this fast, but currently our diction won’t allow it.” Sullivan doesn’t always notate phrasing or articulations, and while it’s easy to say, “Let’s just leave it up to the taste of the players”, it’s sometimes necessary to actually make clear decisions as a conductor so that the ensemble is telling the same musical story. I have developed a system with colored pencils, where I listen to a recording of a particular year with, say, a red pencil in hand and just mark interesting articulation, dynamic, or tempo choices for the key moments. Then I go back with a different color and enter another recording’s take on the same moments. Pretty quickly one begins to realize what is standard, what is done almost every time, and what is open to interpretation. You will also find your own preference in those places where there appears to be a wide range of opinion. To me, this is the beginning of discovering your own voice as a conductor; finding where the limits of expression have been in the past, and deciding what you are drawn to in answer to the points that are vague.
2) Take the Lexicon book and copy in pencil all the definitions into the score where you don’t already know the meanings.
As You’re Casting:
The Lord Chancellor
This is one of the great patter roles in the repertory, primarily because he sings one of the greatest patter songs ever written, the Nightmare Song in the second act. He also has some dialogue and monologues about conflicts of interest that are a hilarious rough draft for Pooh Bah in The Mikado. If you run a Gilbert and Sullivan company, your candidates for this role will be the same people who play the Major General and Joseph Porter. That is to say, terribly high class, fast talking Baritones or Tenors who don’t mind not having any high notes.
Lord Mountararat
Mountararat is a baritone, the more prosaic of the two principal peers, and sings an important patriotic (?) song near the top of Act II. If he has a high E, there is an ossia note at the end of his song that is nice. Otherwise it is a very ordinary baritone role, playable by your Chief of Police from Pirates, your Corcorans from Pinafore, or your Pooh Bah’s from the Mikado. (The Broude edition mistakenly identifies Mountararat as the tenor and Tolloller as the baritone)
Lord Tolloller
Tolloller is a great role for a comic tenor. The most beautiful moment for the character comes in No. 8 My Well Loved Lord, in which he sings ‘Of All The Young Ladies I Know” His lyrics are much more poetic than Mountarrarat’s, and Sullivan’s melodies for him far more lyrical. If played in this way, the dialogue between the two men in Act II is even funnier, as Mountarrarat plays on Tolloller’s sentimentality to try to goad him into giving up on Phyllis’s affections. Without this distinction, (and the distinction of their vocal ranges) the two are basically identical, and we’d agree with Phyllis that “There’s really nothing to choose between you.”
Private Willis
Willis is a wonderful role for a bass or a baritone who doesn’t mind standing at attention for the better part of an act. In exchange, he can sleep through Act I entirely, unless your production is so short on men that he is required to be a peer as well.
Strephon
Strephon is the kind of character type that would normally be a tenor, but Strephon is really more of a lyric Baritone, playable by the same kind of actor that plays the Pirate King in Pirates. As I’ll mention when I get around to discussing Phyllis, I think Sullivan is making a choice to simplify the romantic leads in the operettas, having experienced particular difficulties casting Frederic in the American premiere of The Pirates of Penzance, he wrote a far less demanding tenor role in Patience, and here a role with a low G that tops off at an E flat.
Queen of the Fairies
This role is best sung by a true contralto, if you have one. And for once, Gilbert doesn’t spend the entire opera mocking her, she’s a strong, assertive woman, playable by the same type of actress that plays Ruth, Lady Jane or Buttercup. Our Queen aptly described her as a ‘cougar’. You will want to hear the passage on 118-119 in the Schirmer Score, which tracks both the higher end of the queen’s register, and also the mock-Handelian runs she has to navigate in the Act I Finale.
Iolanthe
Gilbert and Sullivan are so wonderful in the way they distribute interesting parts for different ranged voices of different ages. Iolanthe is nominally a soprano, but rangewise more of a mezzo, a mother, and a very young woman. (otherwise the plot doesn’t work) This makes her a really interesting part to play, and she has the most moving aria in the opera.
Celia
Celia is the higher voiced part of the two featured chorus Fairies, although there are alternate notes that make her somewhat more manageable if you wish to cast a lower voiced singer. Gilbert in his planning thought of Celia as the ‘first fairy’, or the higher part, but Sullivan thought of Celia as the higher of the two. The higher part on page 16 of the Schirmer score is the one Sullivan wanted; the lower version is his rewrite when the original Celia couldn’t hit the high notes.
Leila
Leila is the lower voiced part of the two featured chorus Fairies. The Broude edition has swapped the voice types of Leila and Celia in the Dramatis Personae, becauset originally Celia was supposed to be the higher of the two voices, and the authors quibbled on this point They also swap the solo lines in the opening number. . Figuring that most productions are going to use the conventional Schirmer score, I’m listing them as they normally appear. The lines are fairly evenly distributed between Celia and Leila. Leila had a number near the beginning of Act I, “Five and Twenty Years Ago”, which was cut for pacing reasons.
Fleta
Fleta is a non-singing role, and a wonderful role to assign to a deserving company member who is not always among the competitors for the important roles.
Phyllis
Phyllis is the soprano lead in Iolanthe, but one gets the sense that Sullivan was holding back somehow in his writing for her. There is one rather challenging Offenbachian moment and a dramatic descending passage in the first act finale, but none of the fun or pyrotechnics of Mabel or even Patience here. She is the first soprano lead in the G&S canon who does not have a stand-alone aria. (and I believe Iolanthe and Utopia Limited are the only two G&S operas with no proper Soprano arias at all, although surely someone will correct me if I am mistaken) There were two numbers for her in Act II, which were cut. I suspect that the authors had encountered so many headaches casting and recasting the spectacular sopranos and tenors for touring productions that they wanted to tailor a few parts that could be more easily filled, or perhaps Leonora Braham wasn’t quite up to the task. (although that seems unlikely given what they wrote for her subsequently) Even so, your Phyllis should be able to sing in tune the descending diminished arpeggio on page 119 in the Schirmer score and the passage on pages 103 and 104 convincingly. They are by no means easy.
Chorus
Gilbert had developed many formulas by the time he wrote Iolanthe, and one of his most basic conceits is the presentation of normal English life, turned upside down by a chaotic force. In Trial by Jury, it had been a faithless fiancee, in The Sorcerer, the power of magic. In Pinafore, it had been a young couple’s desire to marry outside their stations. In Pirates, the Pirates are a force of chaos, and in Patience, it is, of course, the two poets. This is the first time Gilbert gives us a story in which the women are the force of chaos, and in which the chaos isn’t English. As such, this women’s chorus is one of the most delightful to sing.
Your sopranos have an A flat above the staff, your altos an E above treble C, going down to the G below middle C.
The need for a substantial men’s chorus is also pronounced in this operetta, if for no other reason, because of the March of the Peers. They have four way part splits frequently, so you will need strong voices in each subdivision.
First Tenors sing up to the A above the staff, second tenors to G flat above the staff, but hopefully also the A. (this lady’s his what?) Baritones and basses sing up to the E flat above middle C, and ideally down to the E flat below the bass staff. (although some baritones can probably get away with only the low G)
General Pronunciation Advice:
I copy here general note from earlier G&S posts, with some slight emendations.
I am still no expert on RP English pronunciation, but I offer here a couple of basic pointers, to which I intend to add as I learn more:
1) Be aware of the Trap-Bath split. A fellow Savoyard in my tenor section made me aware of this chart, which is very helpful: trap-bath
2) ‘R’s that begin a word are tripped or rolled. ‘R’s that come before a vowel are tripped. ‘R’s that come after a vowel are generally dropped. At no point is the ‘r’ pronounced as we Amerrricans pronounce it. (although you may encounter different kinds of Rs if characters have regional British accents)
3) Mary, Merry, and Marry employ three different vowel sounds. Where I come from, they are pronounced identically. In Philadelphia, they are pronounced as three different vowels, but they aren’t the same vowels. Interesting chart on this matter:http://www4.uwm.edu/FLL/linguistics/dialect/staticmaps/q_15.html In G&S, you’ll want to say Mary with an eh as in air, Merry with eh as in get, and Marry with an ah as in cat. (someone will certainly correct me on this)
4) Many u vowels will need a y sound before them: duty becomes dyewtee, tuning becomes tyooning, new becomes nyoo, and institution becomes instityooshun.
5) Been becomes bean.
6) For words which in American English replace ‘t’s with a d sound, a true ‘t’ sound should be used. “Water” is not pronounced “wadder”, and certainly not wooder, my Philadelphia friends. But be careful not to overcompensate. I have noticed that some Americans are so anxious to Britishify their speech that they change to ‘t’ sounds that are truly ‘d’s. Lady should not be Laty, as I’ve heard people say when attempting to posh up their language. Not every ‘d’ needs to become a ‘t’, only the ones that are truly ts to begin with!
7) As I continue to conduct these pieces, and after continuing encouragement from the English members of our American company, I am beginning to become fixated on words like “all”, and the second syllable of “Doctor”, “Major” and “Sailor”. The British “all” has a darker vowel than the Americans use, almost to the point of sounding like ‘ole’, and the second syllable of the ‘or’ words is pronounced like ‘or’, not ‘er’, as Americans would say it. I am still conflicted about that particular one, because the D’Oyly Carte recordings are by no means consistent on that point, and especially at speed, it is very difficult to articulate a tall ‘o’ vowel in such a word. It is something to keep one’s ears open for.
That is by no means exhaustive, and I’ve probably gotten some of it wrong, but that’ll get you started. There are some places in this show where pronunciation will be governed by a rhyme. I will try and hit each of those points as we go.
Going through the show number by number:
Overture
This overture is by far the best of those written up to this point in the operas. The Sorcerer’s overture had been assembled by Hamilton Clarke. Sullivan Sketched the overtures to HMS Pinafore and Pirates and Alfred Cellier completed them. Eugen D’Albert wrote the overture to Patience, which is, I think, the second best of the batch so far. In the case of the overtures with Cellier, it appears they worked together to assemble the medley of tunes, and the job was considered so last-minute and perfunctory that it was something of a waste of time for Sullivan to do it, the understanding being that Cellier would simply pull the orchestrations from their positions in the opera, connecting them as competently as Sullivan knew he would. When we think of it in terms of composers like Rossini, Mozart, or even Carl Maria Von Weber, this practice seems like cheating. Can we imagine Mozart pawning off the overture to Figaro to Süssmayer? The recits, yes. The overtures, no.
But it’s helpful to remember that Mozart is not particularly the model for these affairs. Offenbach is. Offenbach also handed over most of the overture duties to his assistants, and seemed to have preferred just jumping right into the action. Particularly when his operettas hit Vienna, Offenbach was required to add an overture, because the Viennese expected one, rather in the same way Verdi had to add dances whenever his operas made it to Paris. The reason D’Albert’s Patience overture is so good is that Sullivan gave him a little room to develop the material, which is exactly what an arranger under pressure can’t do. Cellier was working too fast on the one hand to really say anything interesting in the overtures beyond what Sullivan had already done elsewhere in the opera, and on the other hand, creatively altering the material of your boss is the kind of license that could lose you your job.
Sullivan seems to have worked hard on the Iolanthe overture. There were two productions opening simultaneously, one in England, and the other in America. On October 29th, 17 days before the opera opened, Sullivan sent instructions about the overture to Cellier who was conducting the American premiere: “Write one yourself.” If we allow a week for the boat carrying the mail to get to America and for the mail to arrive to him, that leaves about 3 weeks for Cellier to write the overture and assemble the parts, and that’s while conducting rehearsals. In this case, the length of the transatlantic journey of an overture made the composition of a second one infinitely easier. (as far as i know, Cellier’s version is lost) Sullivan himself was a bit rushed, rewriting the overture several times and finishing 2 days before Iolanthe opened. Incidentally, people frequently marvel at composers finishing overtures at the very last second, forgetting that there is very little reason to finish one any earlier.
I often think about Sullivan’s mindset as he wrote, frustrated by his inability to make headway as a serious composer, yet having this amazing platform with Gilbert to have his music before the public. I can’t help but think he must have realized he was leaving to his assistant one of the only places where his musical imagination could run unhindered by Gilbert’s Topsy Turvy constrictions. And as many people have remarked, this overture develops the thematic material beautifully! Sullivan’s treatment of the Iolanthe theme is exquisitely treated in the opening 48 measures, and I think this is probably where listeners begin to think Sullivan is going to give us a leitmotiv score. As I explain above, Sullivan doesn’t really fulfil that expectation. At Letter Q, Sullivan gives us a magnificent riff on Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony that manages to sound like very good Tchaikovsky as well. We discover after this texture is established that Sullivan is going to elevate the most trivial moment in the entire opera (the queen’s stepping out of the plot and breaking the fourth wall to address a famous audience member) to what can only be described as sublimity.
Sullivan also begins to play rhythmic games here that he will explore throughout the opera, as the piece keeps threatening to slip from 6/8 back into 2/4. It’s a little silly to say that he begins doing that here, since this is quite literally the last thing he wrote, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Sullivan is making the audience aware of rhythm here. I’ll try and make that case more strongly later.
The Schirmer score is missing a trill on the last note before E and a fermata on the downbeat of the 28th measure of rehearsal Z. The tempo indications beginning at rehearsal Y in the Schirmer score were not in any of the parts I saw. (and I saw 4 sets of parts) I rather like them!
The Broude Trust critical edition has what I believe are errors in measure 234, 2nd violin must surely be a G sharp mid-measure, and 236 2nd violin downbeat must be E.
ACT I
1.Chorus: Tripping Hither, Tripping Thither
Choose your tempo at the beginning from your ideal tempo when the quarter notes enter. It’s faster than you might expect.
See if you can really draw a distinction between the chorus music with eighth rests and the passages with true legato. Many people don’t know that the conventions of music notation demand that the text be separated by syllable as the words would appear in the dictionary. Thus Trip-ping and Hith-er, rather than Tri-pping and Hi-ther as we might prefer when singing. Americans, be sure you have a very tall vowel on ‘dance’ and ‘entrancing’, that you flip the ‘r’s that appear internally in words like ‘fairy’ (rather like very short ‘d’s) and that you eliminate the many ‘r’s that appear at the ends of words like ‘hither’, ‘thither’ and ‘our’.
The line ‘yes we live on lover’ is odd. I agree with those who say it’s meant to be a kind of shadow vowel after ‘love’, which trick rhymes with ‘discover’, but of course, you have to leave the ‘r’ off the end of the word discover to make that rhyme work. You were, to be sure, doing that anyway.
Note at rehearsal G that the chorus is singing, “We are dainty little fairies” fortissimo, Sullivan’s loudest dynamic marking. I think this is meant to be a joke. Do observe the rests, though, even as you portray these stomping dainty fairies.
The last page has two similar phrases that are maddeningly not identical. ‘Most’ is only one note the first phrase, and two notes in the echoing phrase. This will not happen automatically, I assure you.
2. Invocation: Iolanthe! From Thy Dark Exile…
The orchestral accompaniment in this number is simply exquisite, and one of several places where orchestral reductions of the wind section are most inadequate.
At the entrance of the fairies, I really don’t see much use in saving the altos for the second phrase; I had mine sing right along from the first ‘come to our call’. Your director will have thought of some way to get Iolanthe on stage, perhaps covered in seaweed. You will have to balance your inclination to indulge the oboist in a languid tempo against the time it takes for Iolanthe to enter, otherwise, she will perhaps be left on stage looking bewildered for quite some time before opening her mouth to sing.
I can’t imagine why the Animato marking in the Schirmer vocal score at the top of page 26 appears in the middle of the measure. Surely it belongs at the beginning of the 2nd measure before rehearsal F. Watch for a clean cutoff at the end. You may want to adjust the location of the end of that note to make for a more uniform conclusion of the choral part.
3. Solo and Chorus: Good Morrow, Good Mother
The introductory open 5th in the bass with a lilting 6/8 melody in reeds above shows us that even at this late date, English audiences knew the markers of pastoral music, and associated them with shepherds, as they do in Handel’s Messiah, Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, Corelli’s Christmas Concerto, and innumerable other pieces referencing shepherds.
The left hand in the closing figure is oddly clumsy to play, but surprisingly effective in its orchestral context!
4: Solo and Chorus: Fare Thee Well
Note that near the end, the word “We” in the last phrase comes on beat 3, not beat 2 where it had appeared earlier.
4a. Duet: Good Morrow, Good Lover
The number is almost exactly the same as 3. To those who suggest this as one us Sullivan’s Wagnerian leitmotiven, I say that this is really nothing more than a reprise. The idea is never developed further than a key change the next go around. Again, that’s not a knock on Sullivan. Not every thread needs to be woven into a tapestry to make a compelling piece of music theatre.
5. Duet: None Shall Part Us From Each Other
There are some odd errors in the Schirmer score. The easiest one to clarify is that the accompaniment in the first ending on page 39 should read exactly as the accompaniment in the first measure of the second ending. I keep finding sources that say the repeat should go back to the 3rd measure and not to the beginning. The major recordings follow this practice. But the new critical edition does not list that correction, and includes no notes clarifying the discrepancy. Your guess is as good as mine, but my preference is to go back to the beginning as notated. Going back to measure 3 feels very odd to me, and the number doesn’t overstay its welcome. The critical edition has an error in the 2nd clarinet in measure 10. It should read F#. Also of note is the fact that your violins may wonder in the second and fourth measures of rehearsal B whether the third note should be marked C# again. I don’t think so, and a courtesy natural is probably in order. The critical edition lists these measures with a C# (I think erroneously)
Sullivan wrote to Cellier that the number should be “sprightly and lightly”, which I think is a fine mood to strike.
Our Phyllis put her last 2 notes up an octave, which is a lovely touch, but rankled the adjudicator when we did it at the International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival. (I’ll write a post on my thoughts on altered pitches another time)
6. Entrance and March of the Peers: Loudly Let The Trumpet Bray
This is surely the high point for men’s chorus writing in G&S, or at the very least among the top 2 or three such moments. In addition to its anthemic memorability, there are several other unusual features I will call your attention to.
Traditionally there is a drum roll at the top of this number. Have a look at your parts: some editions include the roll, others don’t. It’s worth a look before you begin working with your orchestra to be certain you’re all on the same page.
I found 2 errors in the Broude Trust critical edition in this number: The third note in measure 23 in the piccolo must be an A natural, and the 2nd note in measure 29 in the double bass is surely a C natural, as in the cellos. In measure 155 and 173, the critical edition also has the double basses on a low E flat, which strikes me as unlikely for Sullivan.
A few things to notice in the choral parts:
You will likely find that the low E flat at a bar before Rehearsal E, and in the fourth measure of F is simply too low for your basses. They can jump up to the Tenor E flat easily there. Before G, and throughout that stanza, you do not have that option, because the basses are on their own. They’ll have to open their mouths and emote the note they’re not actually singing.
In the 11th and 12th bars of rehearsal F, be sure your tenors are singing very small half steps. That passage has a tendency to go flat.
Be very careful to play the passage beginning at letter G slowly and deliberately as you learn it, for accuracy of pitch. You may also find that your tenors will tend to slow down and your basses speed up. Tell the basses not to breathe in every single rest, because that will lead to hyperventilation and rushing. And be sure the tenors and your orchestra observe the dotted eighth-sixteenths properly, without letting it devolve into triplets. Both groups should work hard to remain exactly in the center of every beat.
At letter H, you may discover some of your choristers wanting to sing a B flat harmony note that doesn’t appear in the score. This note sounds fine at first, but will subsequently be harmonically confusing to resolve on the fly. To facilitate discovery of the G the baritones are meant to sing, I suggest having the baritones sing the tenor A flat one note before H, then going down the half step to secure that G.
The composer half of my brain puzzles at the tenor line in the 9th measure of rehearsal J and the similar passage 4 measures later. The tenors drop down to the low B flat while the baritones jump up to the high B flat. When I suggested to my group that we simply leave the tenors on the high B flat, they strenuously objected. And then as we rehearsed it, I began to hear the effect Sir Arthur must have been going for. I can’t say that I understand it; on paper, it just seems very ineffective. But in practice, it brings out a new color for the end of the phrase, and he certainly knows better than I do what he wanted.
Before I leave rehearsal J, I just have to tip my hat to Sullivan and say that the passage is harmonically absolutely extraordinary.
At rehearsal K, in the name of all that’s holy, carefully go over the words the tenors are singing. They are not uniform.
At the eighth measure of rehearsal K, we meet one of Sullivan’s unusual experiments with phrase length, in which he upends the binary phrasing he’s established, and combs everyone’s hair backward for about two pages. Let me try to explain what I mean:
We’ve had 2 measure phrases very consistently through the whole number, as befits a march. But here Sullivan introduces a rocketing E flat major scale which drops us off mid-measure in the beginning of a new phrase a measure and a half later. The new perceived downbeat occurs on a structural upbeat, and that sets the chorus off by half a measure from the metric stress of the bar. This is why your chorus will initially miss that entrance until you drill it. If you are conducting from the piano in rehearsal, you will discover that it is very difficult to cue a phrase beginning on an upbeat with your head while simultaneously playing an E flat major scale in octaves and then continuing to play offbeats against the new tune. When I had to cover the accompaniment in a rehearsal or two, I proved myself wholly inadequate to this challenge.
Sullivan could easily have simply inserted a measure of 2/4, allowing us to reorient ourselves toward the new perceived downbeat. But instead, he rather perversely leaves us beating the bar the opposite way with upbeats for downbeats and downbeats for upbeats until the 7th measure of rehearsal L. This is where your chorus will also sing it wrong for the first 2 weeks, because Sullivan has to extend the phrase by half a measure to make up the difference and land the downbeat on the correct part of the measure. You will have to experiment with ways for the chorus to remember how many times they say tan-tan-ta-ra. I found that different people needed different memory aids, and that a strong choreographer can be of great assistance in tying the words to the movement where possible. Of course, they can always just watch you. (ahem.)
Because of the prominence of the brass, this is a number which feels most empty in orchestral reduction. After all, we have a complete onstage banda part for an early production, so we know that Sullivan himself was not even satisfied with the sound of the full orchestration!
7. Song and Chorus: The Law Is The True Embodiment
The fugato entries here are really ingenious, but present some trouble for pick-up orchestras, since the first entrance is by the cellos and basses, who are perhaps not accustomed to playing this fast in this context. They are followed by the violas, who are also not famed for playing quickly or decisively. (I say these things with fondest affection) By the time you reach the group of strings capable of driving the tempo forward, (the violins) you will probably have settled on a tempo that is slower than you or your Lord Chancellor may have preferred. (I did not have this problem in Harrogate, where the festival orchestra knew perfectly well how to execute the passage) After struggling with this for a while initially with an American orchestra, my concertmaster spoke to me confidentially:
“I think I see your problem. I have noticed that you are giving the cellos and basses the tempo you expect them to play.”
“Yes, good.” I replied.
She said, “No. Give them a tempo a third again faster than what you want and you stand a chance of getting the tempo you want.”
I did so, and the results were indeed better. Obviously the effectiveness and advisability of this method is contingent upon your performing ensemble, but I offer it here for your potential use.
The number itself is fairly straightforward, but here are a few thoughts anyway:
In the third verse, as Gilbert instructed Cellier in a letter for the American Company that premiered Iolanthe on the same day as the English company, it is customary to to slow down around letter C, and to in fact come to a full, brief pause after “one for Ye”, “One for Thou,” “One for Thee”, “Never, oh Never”. In measures 84, 85, and 86, the first violin should only play beats one and 4. Some engravings of the orchestral parts will include this as a separate third verse; others incorporate the alteration in a notation included over the music read for all three verses. You might have a look at the parts there, so you know how to talk to your players if confusion arises.
Finally, the last 4 measures are in C major. Sullivan indicates ‘Major!’ in the full score, because he knows the copyists and the players are likely to want the C minor they’ve been playing up until this point. Just be prepared to politely say, “Major, please” in the first orchestra read when you hear an A flat four measures from the end.
8. Trio and Chorus: My Well Loved Lord and Guardian Dear
The number begins with the shepherd theme moved up to F# as an introduction to a brief arioso for Phyllis, punctuated by one of Sullivan’s signature unison male chorus phrases celebrating the heroine.
Tolloller’s subsequent melody over a gentle barcarolle is one of Sullivan’s most exquisite and exotic, the B sharp adding a piquant and dissonant touch to the F# minor tonality. (Is he singing one of the Lord Chancellor’s F# minor 6/8 Andante judgments Mountararat mentions in Act II?)
Note that when the men sing “of birth and position he’s plenty”, their line is full of rests, but that Tolloller’s remains legato. Don’t let them throw one another off. Conducting the rallentando in 6 may out to be somewhat tricky. The thing is in 2, naturally, but it will slip into 6 at letter C, then back out again in the third measure of C. Also observe the delightful details in the violas, as the descending two note sighs set off the rhymes.
Mountararat’s verse is lyrically more prosaic, and his legalese text culminates in a clever pun. Accordingly his music has modulated into D, and Sullivan has given him a much more pedestrian vocal line to sing.
Phyllis’s verse returns to F#minor, with all the flavor of Tolloller’s verse, and yet she manages to one up him with a spectacular flute obbligato as she mentions ‘pipes and tabors’. When this passage is well played, it is just breathtaking. The tune is so distracting that one is likely to miss the point of the words; Tolloller has offered grammar and spelling for two and blood and behaviour for twenty, with plenty of birth and position. Using his melody, she strikes him down on each point: She spells all the words she uses, (presumably all she needs) her grammar is as good as her neighbors, and she’s born the same way everyone else was. To Mountararat’s rather too fine point about the party preferences of the house of Peers, she turns his pun back on him, saying that she knows where to look when she wants to find somebody, implying that it isn’t them. It’s a really lovely lyric.
Coming around the tail end of the number, the chorus parts require some attention. Get that ‘look’ 2 before letter H to be quite short, help your tenors and basses count the ‘ah’s they have to get to, and practice conducting the six pattern to get you through the acappella section.
One of my favorite Sullivan touches appears at H; a melody built around hopping thirds that seem to trace out two planes, one higher, and one lower. Other examples include the opening of “My Name Is John Wellington Wells” from The Sorcerer and the transition between verses in “If Saphir I Choose To Marry” from Patience.
If I may commit a minor heresy, I must say that I find the transition back into the closing ritornello awkward, and I wish Sullivan had overlapped the instrumental melody with the last chord. But we must do as he says, mustn’t we?
9. Recitative and Chorus: Nay, Tempt Me Not
The Schirmer score has an extra measure up top, which was cut early in the performance history of the piece. Begin in measure 2. When the orchestra is there, be sure you have the attention of your cellos and bass as you begin, or you’re dead in the water. The indication ‘recit’ in the second measure makes no sense. Ignore it.
Americans, the words are pronounced ‘des-ti-tyoot’. and ‘ver-tyoo’.
You may wonder why these 10 measures are a single number. Evidently this was once a much longer set of couplets.
10: Song and Chorus: Spurn Not the Nobly Born
Tolloller’s solo is a typical lovely lyric tenor solo, but the Tenors and Basses of the echoing chorus can prove somewhat difficult to manage, having different rhythms than one another, and plosive closing consonants, which are unforgiving. Be sure the first time through we do not slow down much. Save that for the second time. I also suggest everyone cut the word ‘Flood’ short, and have the basses and baritones cut their second to last ‘blood’ short, giving the tenors a catch breath before their last ‘ah, Blue Blood’. This way the ‘d’ sounds all arrive in a coordinated fashion, and it should be fairly clear exactly where they go. The last time the men echo, the rallentando makes the problem of coordinating them more acute, especially when you add in the tenor, who will naturally want to sing the A flat for some time. This will take some practice to get right.
There appears to be some controversy about the rhythm of “Hearts just as pure and fair”. The downbeat rest we find in the Schirmer score appears to be an authentic correction; Singing it as a quarter matches Sullivan’s original take on that measure. I think that means both versions are basically legitimate.
Sullivan’s modulation to G major is gorgeous.
11. Recitative and Chorus: My Lords, It May Not Be
We can see by the rehearsal letters and by the lack of closing cadences that 9, 10, and 11 are meant to be one continuous unit.
Be sure your men make the last syllable of ‘horror’ in the 4th measure of D very short. This is a good general rule for G&S, and the word appears frequently enough to require the rule. The two chords before the Lord Chancellor’s recit are usually played before he begins singing, not as written. He should wait. Note also that your chorus echoes “A shepherd He…” and so forth are meant to be pianissimo. (they’re hiding!) The written C for Strephon 3 measures before rehearsal F is sometimes sung as an E a sixth lower (in the 1960 D’oyly Carte recording, for example)
3 before rehearsal G for the chorus should read “betrothed are they, and mean to be”.
My chorus baritones and basses had a tendency to sing the second measure of H as the 4th measure, beginning on E flat. Keep your ear out for that.
The problems at the end of the number are identical to the ones at the end of The March of the Peers, with different words. Whatever strategy got you through that will work as well here.
Once again the Broude Critical Edition has a low E flat for the Contrabasses in measure 89. I doubt Sullivan’s basses had the note. Probably this was a spot where Sullivan had indicated the basses to double the cellos and simply wasn’t taking the range into account.
12. Song: When I Went To The Bar as a Very Young Man
If there’s one spot in Iolanthe where we most feel our writers treading familiar waters, it is here. The Judge’s Song from Trial by Jury, and When I Was A Lad from Pinafore are virtually indistinguishable musically or in content from the Lord Chancellor’s “How I got this way” number. We can overlook it, though, because in Act II, the Lord Chancellor will sing the most original patter song in the canon.
The Broude Critical edition has inverted the lyrics of verses 2 and 3. I’m a little surprised nobody caught that.
In measures 32 and 33, when the Lord Chancellor sings, “The Army, the Navy, the Church, and the Stage”, the strings traditionally only play beats 1 and 2, omitting the upbeats. It’s all much slower there.
13. Finale: When Darkly Looms The Day
This is the longest single number in Gilbert and Sullivan. It won’t feel like it for the audience, but it will feel like it during rehearsal. You’ll be blocking the first act Finale for most of the rehearsal process.
In an interesting article called Tonal and Structural Designs in the Finales of the Savoy Operas, with Some Suggestions as to Derivation by John C. Nelson, (one which is surprisingly difficult to get your hands on), the author tracks Sullivan’s finales section by section. After carefully comparing the finales, he observes that Sullivan’s Finales are constructed more like Offenbach or Rossini than Mozart. Mozart’s finales are a marvel of construction, partly because they seem to be oriented around a careful tonal plan, actually showing adhering in a broad sense to Sonata Form. This tonal planning shows the strong evidence of enlightenment thought. In Sullivan’s music, and in other romantic era music, the need to ground large scale movements in opera is secondary to the moment-by-moment drama of each dramatic transition. In other words, it is Gilbert’s job to make certain there are plenty of twists and turns in the plot, and Sullivan’s job is to make each plot twist land harmonically and melodically, and no one is watching the store when it comes to getting back to the starting key. At several points in this Finale, Sullivan makes hilarious detours at critical moments, and he also plays disorienting games with phrase length that I’ll examine below. These moments break any sense of classical unity in the finale, not only pulling the work further away from the high classical models, but pulling even away from the Comique composers Sullivan clearly admired. More on that later. I think when we examine Iolanthe, Gilbert and Sullivan have left far behind the concerns I plotted out in my Pinafore Guide. Gilbert is exceptionally free with his lyric material, trusting that Sullivan’s depth of invention is sufficient to create as much material as will be necessary to get through it all, and indeed, Sullivan rises to the occasion.
I’m going to combine my rehearsal suggestions with my thoughts on the writing, and then leave the Broude errata for the end.
The fermatas in the first few pages of the finale were tough to get out of until I realized that I didn’t need any fermatas at all. Just beat time straight through those measures and there’s well more than enough time for Phyllis’s asides.
Saint James’s park is pronounced something like ‘sint’ James’s pok. Cut off ‘remark’ and ‘dark’ on beat 4 for the men with a strong ‘k’ consonant and no ‘r’ sound. The same goes for the extremely brief madrigal.
Sullivan indicates a long cadenza ad lib after the Allegro Agitato, but he didn’t write one, and there aren’t a lot of recorded options either. The problem is this: The chord implied at the fermata is a G dominant 7 chord, which might be simple enough, except that in the previous measure an A flat places the mode squarely in C harmonic (not melodic) minor. So any cadenza you place here will have to battle the augmented second between A flat and B natural, an exoticism not normally encountered in cadenzas like this. Here are a few ideas to get you started. Put the A flat and the B on opposite sides of a run, like so:
Or some sopranos will prefer an even bouncier one, like this:
Others may want something just as flashy but more legato. This one just converts the scale to a melodic minor and lands the a flat at the end to get us thinking minor again.
Or write your own. Remember she’s angry.
I hope your tenors can all hit the high A. “This lady’s his what?” It is often shouted, which I suppose is preferable to hearing the entire tenor section crack at once. I also prefer the ‘ha ha ha’s throughout the finale to be sung, not shouted, and in time, not out.
I hope you don’t mind a digression here into a very odd rhythmic game Sullivan begins right after rehearsal E. By inserting two half notes into an otherwise square phrase of quarters and eighths, Sullivan creates a 9 measure phrase, which throws the symmetry off in a disorienting way. If you are thinking in terms of balanced phrases as you conduct, you will feel strange at the tail end of each of these phrases, as though you have somehow lost a beat somewhere.
It’s easy to dismiss this passage as just a funny anomaly, but if you take into account that Sullivan has already played this exact game twice in the Peers music, it begins to feel intentional. My knowledge of 19th century operetta is not exactly encyclopedic, but when I noticed these odd phrasings, I got curious and threw on a bunch of Offenbach and Johann Strauss operetta recordings, and I kept an ear out for odd numbered phrasings. I didn’t hear any at all. I suppose Offenbach was just too busy cranking out the tunes to bother being creative with phrase length, and Strauss was too connected to the dance to play games like this.
2 further points and then I’ll get back to the play by play:
We know that Sullivan was very careful not to allow the meter of a text to circumscribe his rhythmic creativity. He often plotted out several possibilities for a given text before choosing one, and at his most inspired, Sullivan found ways of reordering the rhythm of a text to stunning effect. This is almost exclusively found in the solo material, though, not in ensemble work. He might just be branching out here.
It’s just possible that Sullivan was trying to be disorienting in these very specific spots to make a subtle dramatic point; never so jarring as to stop the proceedings, but just odd enough to cause a minor sense of, “what just happened?”. A glance at where these moments appear in the opera almost justifies this hypothesis.
The one scenario that doesn’t hold water is that Sullivan wasn’t paying attention.
The passage beginning “My Lord, of evidence I have no dearth” is bel canto lite for Strephon, containing declamatory phrases, and a legato melody over a Donizetti or Early Verdi accompaniment. A few pages later he’ll get a more dramatic moment when he calls the fairies in. Note that even though Sullivan is very clearly referencing Bel Canto style vocal writing here, Strephon’s range is extremely limited, even for a Baritone.
Make sure your Strephon sings e-vi-dense, not e-vi-dunce.
On page 100 of the vocal score, change the didn’ts to ‘did not’s.
The passage leading up to the Allegretto after J (not a word, you did deceive, you did deceive her) is the first of Sullivan’s brilliant left turns. The chorus part is rather thrilling, and Sullivan must have liked it very much. He uses it here and then drops it for the remainder of the Finale, but it appears as a transitional passage before Q in the Overture, and in that guise it sounds like a rather fine chunk of the development passage of an early Romantic Era symphony. But having stoked that fire up here in the finale, Sullivan drops us without ceremony (without even a full introduction) into a simple, pretty tune for Phyllis that snidely quotes the prelude to Tristan and Isolde. It makes the head spin a little. In an even more bewildering touch, the vamp is twice as long on the repeat of the tune as it was in the initial hearing, which goes against normal rules of musical construction. Generally one uses longer preliminaries on the first time through, and trims them on the second pass. For all the talk of Gilbert’s topsy-turviness, Sullivan here employs more than a smattering of his own.
Conducting the end of this passage gave me a little grief. The tune begs to slow down and luxuriate right at “I turn to you”, speeding up after breaking. (at least that’s how I hear it) But having slipped into 6/8. It proves very difficult to bump back into 2 mid-measure for the upbeat to the measure after ‘breaking’. My orchestras were very forgiving there, and somehow things came out alright, but it wasn’t due to my beat pattern, I can assure you.
The Allegro Con Brio is so Offenbachian, we seem transported to La Belle Helene. As originally written, the chorus actually took a turn at her melody, and as I look at it in the Broude edition, I can imagine the sounds the chorus made as they sang it; I feel pretty sure they were not up to the task.
At L, Phyllis can sing a third higher on ‘if you but choose’: F,E,F A,G#A, That is in fact the original intention for the line, I believe. Following the phrases that appear around it, the printed version looks very much like a compromise. Is this evidence of a soprano not quite up to the task in that original production? Maybe so.
In the passage at N, Strephon actually gets some excitement, and an E flat to sing. Be sure he sings D flat and not D natural in the measure before O.
Your fairies have been offstage for a while. Be sure they observe the rests as well this time as they did at the top of the show.
Strephon’s “The Lady of my love…” tune is a great one. The Schirmer score has an error at the top of page 112. The first measure should read “Fairies”, not Chorus. At the first measure of 113, that should read ‘only’ five and twenty.
Sullivan plays 2 more rhythm games here:
In his normal vein, he moves up the second iteration of “Tho’ she is seventeen and he is only five and twenty” by 2 beats. Your chorus will want to learn this detail earlier rather than later in the process.
In his newly absurdist vein, he arrives by ascending scale at the new tonic a full beat early on a sforzando, turning a pickup into an ersatz downbeat on the entrances of Tolloller and Mountararat. Once you clue into it, it’s wild fun.
If you’re looking for a chorus diction warmup, you can do no better than the text for the full chorus that begins on page 114: “To say she is his mother is an utter bit of folly”. Learn the tune very slowly, and insist on a quiet dynamic until Sullivan indicates at the third measure of rehearsal W. It’s a nice effect. You’ll like it.
At the Allegro vivace, come to a full stop after beat 3, and then cue the Lord Chancellor to inaugurate the new section.
This melody is in a minor mode, which is uncharacteristic for Sullivan’s finales, and it’s surely one of his most inspired passages. If you find the right speed and execute it well, it should get an applause break before the Fairy Queen leads us into the ending. The theme has been compared to Beethoven’s Egmont Overture and Tempest Sonata, and the main motive of Verdi’s LaForza Del Destino.
Go Away Madam
Beethoven Egmont Overture Op. 84 passage, reduced to piano and transposed for comparison
Beethoven Tempest Sonata Op.31 no. 2, (transposed, meter altered for comparison)
Verdi, Forza Del Destino primary motive (transposed, meter altered for comparison)
What they all have in common, aside from genius, is a minor mode, a triple meter, and 4 measures of tonic, followed by 4 measures of dominant.
The Fairy part at rehearsal X is tricky, particularly where the altos split off into their own part. Note also that Sullivan has simplified the line slightly at ‘Brazen Faced’ from the Lord Chancellor’s version of the tune. It becomes more complicated again when the quodlibet comes together after AA (second rehearsal A in the Schirmer score)
My only quibble with this glorious passage is that Sullivan wound up in a key that prevents Phyllis and the Queen from properly contributing to the proceedings. When they enter at AA, they are not in a strong part of their ranges, and only a true piano dynamic lets them be heard in this texture. When Phyllis sings “Should repent…”, Sullivan seems to know that it isn’t flashy enough, since he marks it Fortissimo and adds 3 other Sopranos to the line. This passage is the classic Sullivan exotic harmony moment we often encounter in his First Act Finales. As far as they go, this one is mild, an F natural pointing us in an Aeolian descent, but my gosh is it hair raising when it happens! The Fairy Queen joins the line when it comes in range. The piano reduction at CC is not an accurate version of what is happening in the orchestra, but it probably doesn’t matter all that much. This is more like what’s really going on:
At letter DD, we know from Sullivan’s letter to Cellier that he wanted the 2 beats of the new tempo to equal one bar of the previous section.
Note that ‘respectful speech’ for the Queen and ‘with dames unknown’ are not identical to the previous phrases. Note also that before rehearsal HH, the men come in a full measure later than they do at rehearsal FF. Also, be sure that the last syllable of ‘proprietor’ rhymes with ‘for’.
You may find the brass entrance before JJ is hard to cue. Beat quickly through the recit measures, then pause and address the brass for each entrance in preparation for the answering phrase. When you get to the final one, give a strong ONE downbeat as a pickup. Pros will be fine. Amateur orchestras will probably mess that entrance up the first couple times you run it.
I found it effective to put a crescendo in the word “Oh…” leading to “spare us”, with “us” being quite short.
This is the second moment in the finale where Sullivan leads us to a climax, only to make a quick left turn into a goofy non sequitur. There is a very traditional change to the second time through the chorus part, right after “He’ll command a large majority”:
Here as elsewhere, the word is pronounced Pah-lee-uh-ment.
During the curse section, conduct beats 1 and 2 quickly, then use beat 3 to cue BOTH the last beat of the measure and the men. When you get to the 3 measures before the key change, conduct beats 1,2,and 3 quickly and then use beat 4 as an upbeat to land the next measure.
The Allegro Molto may take you a couple times to get right. Be sure the last syllable of Horror is super short. (as always) I would also alter the Fairy ‘they’ to a quarter note, which is what nearly all recordings do. The eighth note is awkward, hard to cue, and makes the word unintelligible. For ease of singing, allow your altos to drop the octave on “nor hide the” rather than dropping a minor 7th mid-phrase. And no sliding from ‘trem’ to ‘ble’, for goodness sake.
Then follows the third and funniest non sequitur. The crazy tremolando curses, and the diminished and dominant harmony of the 10 measures of response from the chorus is as dramatic and legitimately scary as anything since the shades in the Sorcerer, and after all that buildup, Sullivan drops us right into the bounciest, frothiest closer imaginable, an earworm that won’t quit.
As you start teaching this passage, clear up the difference between the soprano line at “who shall say what evils may result in consequence” and the one at “oppose his views or boldly choose to offer him offence”
Since there are so many mid-word rests, this is also a good place to clear up which side of the rests the consonants go. Ex: hi-deous, ven-geance. Etc.
Before rehearsal NN is a landmine for your chorus: the women sing a B natural on “The” at the beginning of the line ‘the word prestige is French’, then an A natural on the repeated phrase. Your chorus will want to sing an A again on the pickup to rehearsal NN, not a low D. That octave is important.
Note that the sopranos sing the first lyric “who shall say what evils may…” to the second melodic variant formerly applied to “oppose his views”.
The word ‘cannaille’ is here pronounced Kun-eye.
The little “That word is French” and “A Latin word” echo phrases are somewhat hard to hear, especially in the lower parts.
How great is this little detail in the Broude critical edition?
Make sure the countermelody in the basses and tenors at rehearsal SS has rests in the first phrase, and is legato the second.
After the Second World War, all the recordings have ”Away We Go” for sopranos and altos just as the Basses and Tenors at rehearsal UU.
If you’re not competing in the International Festival, let one of your sopranos pop the high B flat 2 before VV. Only one, though.
Cut off the last note on the downbeat, not a half a beat later.
The Broude edition has a couple fishy moments, including an earlier lyric variant around measures 199-202 that isn’t generally done in performance, and which I advise against. At measure 200, the second note in the first and second violins is E flat, not F, I believe. I believe that the traditional pickup to R in the first violins and in other similar places is probably right, even if it isn’t in manuscript. (although the commentary is silent on this point) Whatever rationale Sullivan may have had for leaving the upbeats out would surely have applied to the flute and oboe around 257 as well, and they have the pickup. In measure 269, I believe the Second Violin should read E flat in the third beat. F is certainly wrong. At the fourth measure of letter D, the Broude critical edition has a D for the Queen in the fourth beat, contradicting the Schirmer score, which has a G there. I suspect the Schirmer is correct.
In the last 3 measures , a rallentando is in order, but my brass players taught me something important here: don’t take the rall. before the last 2 measures, or the sixteenth note pickups will be sloppy.
ACT II
14. Song: When All Night Long a Chap Remains
Private Willis opens Act 2, and stays onstage for a great deal of the action. His opening ritornello is almost long enough to be considered an Entr’acte. Because Willis’s melody at B is almost l’istesso tempo from the earlier passage, it can be a little odd to switch into 4, but Sullivan knows what he’s doing. It also gives a little bump to the new tempo at rehearsal C. Singers generally slow WAY down at ‘Fa La La’. It’s almost worth telling the orchestra to put a fermata on the rest.
An interesting side note about this number: When he was in England, Stravinsky often stayed at the Savoy hotel which was built by Richard D’Oyly Carte next door to the Savoy theatre at which Gilbert and Sullivan’s operas premiered and ran in repertory. In fact, in 1921, He thought of the idea of writing his opera Mavra there.
This photograph was taken at the Savoy hotel in 1921
Stravinsky actually attended some G&S there, which he seems to have enjoyed. We know that like a lot of Russians, Stravinsky delighted in puns and word games, so his thoughts on Private Willis’s aria should come as no surprise:
“What immediately fascinated me was the way the music adjusted to the rhyme. (no foreigner can be in England more than five minutes without immediately learning two words- ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’), recognizable even when they are pronounced ‘liberAL’ and ‘conservaTIVE.”
I have to wonder what Stravinsky thought about Sullivan’s phrasing games in Iolanthe, especially since he was then in his neo-classical phase, where he combines smaller orchestral forces and classical tropes with his trademark mind-game-phrase-length-jujitsu.
15. Chorus: Strephon’s a Member of Parliament
In our production we had a talented dancer fairy dance the opening, and we repeated the first 10 measures to leave more room for her to dance.
The third measure of E, second note, sopranos is wrong in the Schirmer score. It should definitely be a D, as elsewhere.
Note again that ‘parliament’ is pronounced ‘pah-lee-a-meant’, that ‘all’ is pronounced rather like ‘ole’, and that ‘shake in their shoes’ and ‘kettle of fish’ are not identical in pitch.
It became something of an obsession for me to get the women to cut off the word ‘shoes’ and the men to cut off ‘fish’ at the downbeat of the following measure. In fact, I would occasionally shout out “FISH, TWO, OFF!” three or four times in a row during lulls in rehearsal. I don’t know whether the cast found this endearing or not, but in our brushup rehearsal, the men held ‘fish’ as a joke for the remainder of the number. They tell me the look on my face was indescribable. It was, in point of fact, a ‘pretty kettle of fish.’
The little meter change near the end is easy, but choruses have a tendency to rush near the end.
The Broude Edition has an interesting variant at the end of measure 42, in which the last 3 notes of the measure in the violins and violas arpeggiate the opposite direction from the way they do in the vocal score and other editions of the full score. No mention is made in the critical apparatus. I rather like it, but I don’t know if it’s legitimate, since I can’t find it anywhere else.
16. Song and Chorus: When Britain Really Ruled The Waves
When he was asked permission to use the third verse for political purposes, Gilbert apparently said, “I cannot permit the verse from Iolanthe to be used for electioneering purposes. They do not at all express my own view. They are the views of the wrong-headed Donkey who sings them.”
It takes a surprising amount of breath to get through the verses, so you might want to take that più lento marking literally at the chorus entrance, and move the verses at a good fast clip, slowing down for the choral responses.
In the last verse, Mountararat often sings a high E on the final ‘glorious’ with the Chorus. If your Mountararat doesn’t have that E, Tolloller can perhaps oblige.
Horace Mather Lippincott
This number holds a particular significance for the company I conduct. In 1904, the Savoy Company of Philadelphia, then in its 4th year, produced their first production of Iolanthe. This was also the year Gilbert himself wrote an encouraging letter to Savoy president Horace Mather Lippincott, still a treasured relic of the organization. Lippincott wrote the following lyric to be sung to the choral response music at the end of When Britain Really Ruled The Waves: “Let every heart be filled with joy and sing the praise of old Savoy.” Since 1904, we remove our hats and sing it at the close of every rehearsal, and before and after every performance.
17. Soli and Chorus: In Vain To Us You Plead
Note that the indication of who is singing in the Schirmer score has omitted the Peers. They only sing two notes, but they do in fact sing!
In most of the historical recordings, the “Don’t go!”s are spoken. Pay attention to the dynamics though, it’s funnier as an aside! Be sure Celia sings ‘laws’ with a dark vowel, and that the word ‘because’ actually rhymes with it; don’t say ‘becuz’. This goes for the chorus too. All the responses should have short final notes. Maybe even put a staccato on them to be sure.
This piece is beautifully orchestrated on a knife edge. The likety-split obligatto is in the pizzicato violins, (both first and second) which can prove a little tiring, particularly if you mistakenly read Sullivan’s Allegretto indication as Allegro. Pizzicato strings are generally quieter than we imagine they’ll be, because we’re spoiled by souped up studio pizz. we hear on recordings. At the end of the pizz section there’s a quick switch to arco and back again, and your section may decide they want to plan out some staggered rest stops to facilitate this and to avoid fatigue. The festival orchestra in Harrogate did it like it was child’s play. (It’s not like it’s Tchaik 4 after all…) The rest of the orchestra is trying to stay under the pizz sound, the cellos and violas divided up and playing harmonies, and the flutes, clarinets and bassoons working as hard as they can to play sotto voce. Flutes are nearly inaudible anyway in that register, but the clarinets and bassoon may need a reminder. The reduction I rented and abandoned made this problem worse by eliminating one of the violas and one of the cellos, which meant that the Double Bass was commandeered to play 2nd cello, and the second desk of the second violins was pushed into service as first viola. The bass is far too thick in that register, and there were fewer violins on the melody, which made the balance issues worse. Reduction is a tricky business, folks.
At rehearsal L, the Broude Critical Edition leaves out a low A traditionally played on the downbeat (in addition to the printed F#) in the second violin. I’m not sure which is right.
18. Song and Chorus: Oh Foolish Fay
I first want to put something out there that has confused me; perhaps you can all enlighten me: Gilbert clearly intended the verses to be a triple double rhyme throughout:
Fay
Because
Array
Thaws
Disobey
Laws
And so forth.
So should we not sing ‘tendensigh?’ Is this one of those words that was in the midst of a pronunciation shift when Gilbert set them? Is it intended to be humorous? (in which case maybe we should sing it ‘sigh’?) I found no recording of anyone pronouncing it so that it actually rhymed.
Interestingly, the beginning of this tune comes back as the beginning of “If You Go In”.
The song is straightforward. Slowing down a little on your way from the verse into the chorus is perfectly acceptable, as is the addition of an E natural the second time through on your way up to the F, but please don’t be too indulgent on either count.
19. Quartet: Though P’rhaps I May Incur Your Blame
After what is surely one of the funniest passages of dialogue in Gilbert and Sullivan, there follows this short, beautiful quartet. Sullivan shrewdly plans the first phrase in a key that shows off the most beautiful part of the tenor’s midrange, modulating en route into the dominant, where the baritone can sing very nearly the same melody down a fourth. The end of Mountararat’s phrase allows Phyllis a third, altered iteration in B flat minor that somehow cadences just as Tolloller’s did, dropping us off in a mini-madrigal. The composer part of me marvels at how well Sullivan writes a cappella passages for mismatched vocal ensembles. Tolloller and Phyllis have melodic material in thirds and sixths, which are so charming that we don’t miss an alto part, Mountararat is playing the pedal point, performing the function of a french horn, as it were, and Willis provides a bassline which would not be out of place in an Anglican hymnal. Willis’s cadenza (which in our production he addressed lovingly to his rifle) is a loony non-sequitur, reminding us that this quartet about friendship is sung by two men who are too much rivals to be friends, a woman who has no feeling whatever for the others, and a man who is not involved at all in the proceedings. Getting OUT of the cadenza is trickier than you might think. A strong downbeat will get Tolloller going, then Willis comes in beat 3, then the other two add their two cents in beat four. Note that Sullivan has asked for a tempo there. I think the key to staying in tune during the a cappella section lies with that insistent A flat Mountararat keeps articulating, and everyone else orienting themselves to him. He needs to stay right in the center of that pitch, and everyone else needs to truly be listening.
The Broude Critical edition has the last 2 notes for of measure 31 a step low for Sergeant Willis!
20. Recitative and Song: Love Unrequited Robs Me Of My Rest
This is the greatest patter song in the English language. If you require further of my potentially inane thoughts about the development of Gilbert and Sullivan’s patter writing, see my commentary on My Name is John Wellington Welles in my guide to The Sorcerer. As in all other aspects of their writing, Gilbert and Sullivan begin by essentially writing parodies of French, Italian and German models, quickly mastering the basic technical necessities, then finding fluency, and finally leaving the models behind. In the case of these patter roles, the initial models are Italian. (Rossini, Donizetti, and the other Buffa composers they in turn inherited their forms from) Gilbert quickly develops a way of building lyrics for these kinds of numbers that is a marked improvement on the content of the historical models, and Sullivan figures out a way to avoid monotony by embedding motivic ideas in the long string of syllables. Here in the second act of Iolanthe, the Lord Chancellor uses the tiniest sliver of a connection to the plot (I had a bad dream because she doesn’t love me) to tell a wild shaggy dog story. This freedom gives Gilbert free rein to indulge in ideas that would not at all be out of place in Monty Python’s Flying Circus. For his part, Sullivan is freed from the kind of square formal construction he customarily uses; we hear repeated passages, but each repeated passage is full of new detail, there are few closed cadences, no feeling of, ‘here we go again’, and the singer gets almost no time to breathe; it is a true tour de force. It’s also critically important to note that unlike the Italian models of the bel canto era, Sullivan’s baritones are almost never given anything vocally impressive to do. Figaro et al. must sing fast and rather high for baritones, but Gilbert and Sullivan’s patter baritones are allowed to focus on the articulation and on the comedy. In addition to the formal freedom the authors have allowed themselves, there are in Gilbert’s lyrics some moments of his most inspired lunacy, and at least one moment where Sullivan gives us music of totally unnecessary beauty and surprise, words we frankly do not associate with patter arias.
The recit is inaugurated with the Lord Chancellor’s fugato. Sullivan uses fugue ideas in his concert works in various contexts, but in the operettas, he prefers to use fugue ideas to express the workings of the legal system or a lawyer’s mind. The chorus in Trial By Jury sings a fugato at “He’ll tell us how he came to be a judge” In All Hail, Great Judge! In that context, we’re clearly meant to hear Handel. It’s really interesting to look at Sullivan’s method here in Iolanthe though. In The Law Is The True Embodiment, he was working up the Lord Chancellor’s entrance, so he has time to get most of a fugal exposition out. When he appears in the first act Finale, Sullivan has no plans to be in 6/8, so he cleverly adds an eighth note here and there to the figure to shoehorn it into 4/4. A more self-indulgently learned composer would have taken this third iteration in act 2 to finally pay off the fugue and give it a development. But Sullivan is ever a dramatist, so he gives us the same exposition we began with in Act I, cutting 7 measures from the opening and leaving us on a wonderfully pregnant half cadence. The measures of orchestral commentary in the recitative are mini-developments of the possibilities of this little fugato idea, but they really exist to get us into d minor and to emphasize the descending chromatic interior line over a dominant pedal which is the unifying feature of the end of the work.
The opening of the aria proper is simplicity itself, tracing chords as a simple accompaniment elegantly modulates from D minor to F, then pointing itself back toward D minor just before rehearsal F. We then get the first vocal example of the descending chromatic scale Sullivan will make so much of later.
At rehearsal G, Sullivan returns to the tune and harmonization of the aria’s opening, but the flutes have given the proceedings a decidedly queasy pall, the descending chromatic line is harmonized rather daringly, and at rehearsal L, Sullivan is in two meters at once, a trick we haven’t heard since How Beautifully Blue The Sky in Pirates. This device in Pirates is depicting the disparity between chorus and principals. Here it seems to be depicting a disordered mind at cross purposes with itself.
At Q, we hear some of the more daring harmonic writing Sullivan ever attempted. The vocal line now ascends chromatically while the bassline descends in 4 note chromatic phrases, each beginning a whole step above the last. At the apex of this ascent, the balloon deflates, the vocal line turns around, and over a pedal G, diminished chords slip half step by half step into 4 measures of G#diminished 7. This unexpectedly drops us into D major, but with the tonic chord in a 6/4 position. With the ever-so-delicate scoring of violins and flutes, it is a moment of totally unnecessary beauty. Over this orchestral dawn is a vocal line suddenly stripped of chromaticism, and now becomes all Ds and As.
And just as he did at the end of Strephon’s a Member of Parliament, Sullivan switches abruptly to 2/4 just to be more emphatic, the Chancellor sings a very un-spooky D major descending scale, and the orchestra rounds the proceedings off with a lickety split codetta.
Note that the new idea at the end of the aria is in a way a kind of extension of the Fugato theme. I don’t call this a development really, Sullivan’s mind doesn’t seem to work that way. The ideas do not fundamentally change, they simply reappear in different contexts.
The Broude Critical edition is missing F sharps in the 2nd A clarinet in the second measure of J.
I have to share with you a terrific parody poem I found in a book called “How to be Tremendously Tuned in to Opera” from the late 1980s. It’s Mark Holtby’s summary of the plot of Iolanthe to the meter of the Nightmare song:
When your mother’s a fay,
someone’s certain to say,
on observing her looks and agility:
‘Your assertion that this
is your Ma we dismiss;
such a statement has no credibility.’;
When your filial embrace
is pronounced a disgrace
by the girl you’re expecting to marry you,
And she flirts with the peers,
and together their jeers
are combining to mock you and harry you;
You may feel some relief
from your fury and grief
when the Queen of the Fairies enlightens them,
And, a Member ‘elected’,
at last you’re respected-
nay more, your omnipotence frightens them-
You’ve regained your lost bride,
and the fairies decide
they will after those nobly-born gentry go,
While the Queen of them all
is in amorous thrall
to the private she’s spotted on sentry go.
But you haven’t won through
For though Phyllis loves you,
The Lord Chancellor’s scored,
He will marry his Ward,
And is deaf if not dumb
To the pleas of your mum,
Till she’s forced to unveil
The astonishing tale
That the husband she had
Is this Lord, he’s your Dad!
So he can’t marry Phyl,
But your mother is still
As a mere mortal’s wife,
Under threat to her life,
Till the queen mends the flaw
In this Fairyland Law
And makes weddings that were
Disallowed, de rigeur,
So the peers will explore terra nova.
And with wings on their backs
Make immediate tracks
For the Chamber above-
And this triumph of love
Is the sign that the opera’s over.
The book is chock full of hilarious things like that. Go buy a used copy.
21. Trio: If You Go In, You’re Sure To Win
First things first: I don’t know what happened with the Schirmer vocal score, but maybe it went something like this: Bryceson Treharne: Tolloller’s line should go on top, since he’s the higher voice type. But Mountararat gets the first verse. Hmm. Well, what if we very clearly mark that Mountararat is verse 1, and Tolloller is verse 2? Great! *enter editor* Aha! The top line is He Who Shies. That must be the title!
…or something like that. My point: the title is, If You Go In, You’re Sure to Win.
There is a tendency to relax the tempo at B, which is fine, but pick it back up again when the melody comes back in, or you’re sunk.
What a wonderful tune.
21a. Song: Fold Your Flapping Wings
This number does not appear in the Schirmer Score, but you can download it here. One of the reductions I looked at was not based on the original orchestration, which is available in the Broude edition appendix. It seems to be meant for Strephon’s initial entrance in this scene, but we placed it after “…fool that I am” and it worked well there. The number didn’t land in the original production, and it was cut. It’s the most politically incendiary, borderline revolutionary text I can think of in G&S, but I don’t think that’s actually what caused it to fall flat. Sullivan doesn’t seem to have a take on the idea musically. The recitative lacks forward momentum, and when the aria proper begins, it’s strangely discursive. The orchestral interjections seem to promise an excitement the aria itself isn’t providing.
All that by way of saying, if you do reinsert it, Strephon has to sell it, with some bite. He can’t wallow in self pity, you have to point the number out at the world’s injustice.
22. Duet: If We’re Weak Enough To Tarry
After an adorable dialogue comes this extremely brief and to-the-point duet, once intended for Act I. It’s actually has more measures in its form in the overture than it does in the actual opera, where it goes by so fast, it almost seems perfunctory. It is traditional for Phyllis to slow down at Rehearsal B, then pick things up again in the 5th measure.
Watch that ‘tire’ is a single syllable, not Ti-yrrr.
23. Recitative and Ballad: My Lord, A Suppliant at Your Feet
This is the heart and soul of the operetta. It’s deadly serious; Sullivan wrote Iolanthe’s aria pretty soon after losing his mother, and people often speculate (I think rightly) that this beautiful and simple melody is infused with his deep loss. Gilbert gave him an oddly metered text, which Sullivan made short work of.
Behold the placement of the word ‘tears’ in the meter. The Master at work.
It is customary to separate the orchestral interjections from the vocals; begin them after the vocal ends on the first page until the bottom line “Hear me tonight”, when you play them as written.
In Sullivan’s letter to Cellier, he instructed that the first verse should be sung with ‘simple pathos’, and the second ‘more passionate’ The exquisitely simple accompaniment in strings only works at several speeds, and I think you choose the speed based on the tone of the singer. To put it delicately, we want to hear a beautiful tone and legato all day, a less exquisite tone we will want to keep moving…
24. Recitative: It May Not Be
You should get applause after Iolanthe’s aria. If your audience is composed of unfeeling rubes, just plow ahead. Sullivan’s instructions about the tempo are very clear and easy to follow.
In my score I wrote ‘ugh’ in my score above the fairies first ‘forbear’, because cueing offstage choruses is usually a mess. Hopefully you can find a way to get a sight line for them somehow.
There’s an extremely odd rhythmic wrinkle in the Aiaiah! parts: The first time through at rehearsal D, we’re in 2. At F, and at H, we’re in 6. The figure is extremely similar, but not rhythmically or lyrically the same. The first time it’s ‘willaloo!’. The other times it’s ‘whillahalla, willaloo” Do have a careful look at the rhythms. They’re not the same. Spend some time teaching the two versions. Oddly, it all works out in the wash as soon as the fairies block the thing.
Keep the Queen’s Andante moving, and don’t let things get indulgent at G. The Ds in the final right hand chord are D sharps. The chorus only sings an octave though. (I had some sopranos trying to add other notes there)
25. Finale: Soon as we May, Off and Away
This reprise of If You Go In, You’re Sure To Win is supposed to be a touch faster than the original. ‘Peris’ rhymes with ‘series’ The pronunciation that confused me was ‘beaux’. The French pronunciation is correct; ‘bow’, even though one historical recording sings what sounds like ‘bows’, and there are English pronunciation guides I found that list beaux in English with a z sound at the end, because English sometimes needs the Z sound to indicate plural. I think the non-z way is the best way.
You can add a high B at the fermata for one soprano, unless you’re at the International Festival…
Your Orchestra:
With modern musicals I sometimes counsel music directors not to hire all the players, but with G&S, you’re dealing with a true orchestral color, so I think it best to hire as much of the orchestra as you can afford with good players. The original orchestrations are available from Tams, but I can’t imagine why you’d use that when there are available here at a reasonable price or here for free. Reductions can be found here, or here or here for example. (incidentally I think we can now stop reducing this one, fellas)
A reduction of this particular score is not ideal for two reasons: The exquisite Tchaikovsky style flute writing in the overture is already commandeering a clarinet to play third flute. Reducing it further means you either have two clarinets joining your flute or a flute, oboe, and clarinet, which is simply not quite as magical. Further, the March of the Peers is weak sauce when you only have single brass and some woodwinds trying to sound like a full brass band.
I had a rather unfortunate experience renting a reduction that was riddled with hundreds of errors. Instrumental lines were missing completely, measures were inexplicably omitted, melodic lines were missing their final pitches, and in the full score, vocal lines were sometimes gone or in the wrong staff. Fold Your Flapping Wings was included, but the orchestration bore no resemblance to Sullivan’s original, and was presented without comment. I spent a great deal of time locating and correcting the errors in the parts, but we ultimately decided the better solution was to find another edition rather at the last moment. The Richard Balcombe reduction suited our purposes very well. The other edition had tried to solve the reduction problem by moving the missing brass into the clarinets and bassoon and using the trombone as second horn and occasional second trumpet. Balcombe’s edition was far more artful in the use of the the horn to augment some of the missing woodwind passages, and using the oboe as a second trumpet occasionally. While preserving the character of the original instrumentation where possible, Balcombe is also very shrewd in subtly revoicing chords where necessary to preserve the balance among the sections.
I want to also add that it is possible in most G&S to get away with 2 or 3 first violins, 2 seconds, 2 violas, a single cello and a double bass. But in Iolanthe, there are a few places where two cellos is really quite essential, the most prominent being at the Allegro non Troppo of No. 11 My Lords It May Not Be, where full chords below the violins low G are necessary, and there are not enough other instruments capable of playing down there to fill out the critically important introductory passage.
Better that you do G&S than that you ignore it, but do try and do it properly if at all possible, with Sullivan’s magnificent orchestration in full color! Have fun with your production of Iolanthe! I will be including more G&S as I music direct them! Yeomen appears to be next.
The lobby card from the production I music directed at Villanova, beautifully directed by Matt Pfeiffer
Before You Start:
Listen to the 1993 Godspell Recording. The recording has its drawbacks, including a pretty underpowered Jesus, but unlike the OBC it is a complete recording. Listen to the Original Broadway Cast recording, which will give you some sense of the original cast, whose performances clearly shaped the formation of the piece. (and are perhaps not to be emulated)
Read the Gospel of Matthew. Read the Chapter Religious Experience as Musical in Joseph Swain’s book The Broadway Musical. Read Harvey Cox’s The Feast of Fools
There is a pretty comprehensive blog calledThe Godspell Experience that has a lot of info about the show, and this Schwartz themed page is full of information. Schwartz’s own website has a goodFAQand thispdf for directors and music directors is also very exhaustive. You can watch some interesting interviewsfrom the time of the filming of the movie in 1973. Start around 2:53 for John Michael Tebelak and Stephen Schwartz. Scott Miller has an excellent essay here.
Your production team will need to decide which version of Godspell you want to do. This is a question that relates back to your production’s basic concept of the show. The 2012 version attempts to update many of the cultural references in the piece, with varying levels of success. But in 2018, (and later, as you may be reading this) some things that were current in 2012 are now themselves almost 2 decades old. The insertion of Trump for example, into the prologue reads wildly differently today. Furthermore, the revival arrangements are pretty slick, and have traded the folky simplicity of the original version for a much more showbiz flavor. Do read both scripts and make the decision together as a production team. And then I would encourage you not to mix and match, that is; once you’ve made your decision, don’t listen to any of the other versions until your show closes. [Note: In an earlier version of this post, I incorrectly conflated two revised versions. Thanks to my readers for putting me on the right track!]
Some Background:
The story of the inception of Godspell has been told many other places, so I don’t feel a need to relay yet another version of those events. The Wikipedia articlewill give you the bare essentials well.
Because this blog is aimed at Music Directors, I will focus my attention on Schwartz’s portion of the work. He finished his score in 5 weeks, which is astonishingly fast, and when a piece is written that quickly, we are by necessity hearing the composer at his least guarded or filtered. There are many qualities about Godspell that will follow Schwartz through his long career, and we can see interesting things that set him apart from his contemporaries and from his followers. Schwartz is not shy in speaking about his process and his influences, so there is a deep well to pull from in looking at this curious work. In fact, since his death in 1985 John Michael Tebelak’s original conception has been relegated to something of a foot-note, because Schwartz has so fully curated the public memory of the creation of the piece. One wonders whether Tebelak would have fully agreed with Schwartz’s framing of the work as a piece about community in the notes which accompany the script today. Tebelak seems to have been after a more explicitly spiritual aim in his original concept than Schwartz gives the piece credit for.
But that is perhaps one of the things Godspell has going for it. The biblical material is odd and compelling in its original form. Tebelak felt a sense of joy at engaging with the material, and wondered why it felt sterile in Church. His attempts to pull that joy into a theatrical work rooted in clowning brought the show a good deal of the way toward ‘clearing the cobwebs’ from the liturgical text. Schwartz brought a totally different perspective to the work, since he came to the piece never having engaged with this biblical material before. Somewhere in the cross-purposes of the Gospel story, Tebelak’s clowning with it, and Schwartz’s attempts to wrestle it into a form that employed some traditional musical theatre tools, a wonderful hybrid form emerges that cannot be satisfactorily described entirely in the language of any one of its collaborators alone. In some way it is a religious experience put on the stage, a prospect which bears great potential for disaster as anyone who has attended religious drama can attest. Serious religious plays are often humorless and lacking in irony, speaking meaningfully to the converted, but falling flat on the ears of those who aren’t already believers. The heroes aren’t often well drawn, the villains lack depth, and the conclusions can be seen a mile away. But Godspell is also an improvisatory clowning experience. Such affairs are potentially amusing but often formless and lacking direction. The beats in clowning are small and circumscribed. Is it even possible to tell a dark and serious story? To quote Ethan Mordden’s typically dismissive take:
“Godspell was the opposite of Jesus Christ Superstar in all respects. Small. Reverent. Idiotic. Jesus wears a Superman T-shirt, the girls look like Raggedy Ann and the boys look like Stephen Schwartz. It’s the joyous world of ‘Hey, we’re gentle clowns doing our comic yet so very touching little show!’ Once, American girls dreamed of growing up to be Ziegfeld stars, or later, Julie Andrews. Now they dream of growing up to be Godspell’s Day by Day clown.”
Or to let Joseph Swain say it more gently:
“Alas for You is rhythmically and harmonically imaginative, and appropriate for its rather harsh text, but can such passion come from a clown?”
It’s difficult to draw anything with a clowning form that keeps interest and tells a serious story over a long period of time.
Finally, Godspell is in some ways a traditional musical, and traditional musicals run the risk of being predictable and empty. Each of these 3 qualities (religious drama, clowning, and traditional musical theatre) avoids common pitfalls because the other 2 qualities work to balance them. As we examine Schwartz’s contribution to the project, we will see that he counterbalances the religious tone of the work by essentially avoiding traditional religious musical gestures, substituting ideas from the more sophisticated singer/songwriters who were working at that time. The older and more creaky the religious text he’s given, the more smart-folky Schwartz runs with it, so audiences leave Godspell in the curious position of singing catchy 70s hippy pop to archaic English texts, without even being aware of it.
“…to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, follow thee more nearly Day by Day…”
Does it occur to anyone how high flown that lyric is? Not to most people; Schwartz has completely disarmed them with his compelling and contemporary pop musical language.
Schwartz also gives direction to the clowning by engaging in some strong characterization, using the tools of traditional musical theatre. The Prologue tells a compelling narrative and paints a world of philosophical chaos into which the figure of Christ comes to bring order and Joy. He accomplishes this with careful musical portrayal of characters, and deftly portrays chaos in a way that only a shrewd musical craftsman could manage. All For The Best gives characterization and an opposing viewpoint to the principal characters, and Alas For You gives Jesus his strongest musical statement, bringing a much needed point of gravity to the proceedings exactly where the show needs it. In these places, Schwartz uses traditional musical storytelling devices to ground the clowning in a narrative structure. These areas are where I think I can bring the most insight, and I’ll leave it to others to explore some of the other important elements that ground the work.
One further area of potential interest for Musical Theatre mavens revolves around the way Musical Theatre comes to terms with and assimilates popular styles. The most recent style Broadway has successfully assimilated is Hip Hop, so I’ll lay out my concept in that more recent trajectory, then superimpose it into the 1950s-1970s for comparison. (neither is meant to be comprehensive)
1970s Roots of Hip Hop are formulated, hip hop culture develops
1980s Hip Hop becomes diversified, develops wide vocabulary and public awareness
1987 Established Musical Theatre Composer Stephen Sondheim uses a passage of rap (awkwardly) in Into The Woods
1990s Hip Hop is a mainstream popular art form
1995 Bring In Da Noise, Bring in Da Funk is an attempt to approach musical theatre from the other angle, the Revue form allowing it to bring more convincing elements of Hip Hop into the theatre, but not attempting a broad synthesis.
1996 Jonathan Larson uses rap in Rent.
2008 Rap is used in a non-embarrassing way throughout In the Heights
2015 Lin Manuel Miranda is a native to both Hip Hop form (in many varieties) and Musical Theatre Form and finds a way to effortlessly synthesize both genres convincingly in Hamilton, because he understands the requirements of both forms and has learned from the earlier missteps of others
Now compare a very limited trajectory of Rock into Musical Theatre
1940s Roots of Rock and Roll are laid in Rhythm and Blues, Gospel, Jump Jazz, Race Records, etc.
1950s Rise of Rockabilly, Popularity of Elvis
1957 The final edition of the Ziegfeld follies in 1957 contains a spoof of a rock number
1960 Traditional Musical Theatre team Strouse and Adams write Bye Bye Birdie, which uses a Rock persona in a musical. (but the show doesn’t really rock convincingly)
1960s Rock becomes diversified, develops wide vocabulary and public awareness, becomes a mainstream art form.
1967Hair is a groundbreaking show that approaches musical theatre from the other angle, the Revue form allowing it to bring convincing elements of Rock into a Musical Theatre framework, but not attempting a broad synthesis.
1970Jesus Christ Superstar basically begins as a rock album, becoming a musical only later.
1971, Stephen Schwartz is a native to both Folk-Rock (in many varieties) and Musical Theatre Form and manages to combine functional versions of both convincingly in Godspell because he understands the requirements of both forms and has learned from the earlier missteps of others.
Similar things happen with the fusion of Jazz and Rock, and the Americanization of the Musical Theatre by including ideas from Black Music in the first place.
Viewed from this framework, Schwartz can be seen as one of the trailblazing writers who finally manages to fulfill the storytelling requirements of Musical Theatre using a musical language derived from Rock.
Joseph Swain says that “Godspell is not really a ‘rock musical’… for its diversity of popular styles is far too broad for that label to do it justice.”
But I think that’s precisely the point. Schwartz understands such a diverse variety of popular styles that the term Rock Musical is not simply a musical with a lot of snare on two and four in it, but a musical that does its job using the tools of many different kinds of rock music. When Leonard Bernstein was asked if shows like Godspell were an indication that rock and roll would be taking over more and more of the theatre, he answered,
“If you can explain what rock and roll music is, I can answer your question” In describing his process, Schwartz clearly values both the old Musical Theatre tropes and the newest sounds from Folk Rockers. I’ll try and draw some of those influences clearly below. Joseph Swain notes that Godspell is an unusual success, in that the authors did not have years of experience writing shows. But in the case of Schwartz, you had someone with a pretty deep knowledge of how show music works, even very early in his career.
My Biases:
I feel like I need to tell my readers here that I am a practicing Christian, and that I am a huge fan of the person and teachings of Jesus. That probably colors my thoughts on this musical, and if you want a kind of dispassionate take, there might be another blog somewhere that will do that better. I am a casual Stephen Schwartz admirer, but not a fanatical one, and I am not by nature delighted by rock musicals. If you feel as I do about these matters, we will find many things to agree upon here! If you are of a different mind than I am, I do hope you’ll still find my observations interesting even after correcting for my point of view.
As You’re Casting:
In Joseph Swain’s chapter on Godspell, he remarks of the characters: “…it is important to Godspell that the characters other than Jesus are drawn with much more anonymity than is usual in a musical play. They do not have stage names; rather, they carry their own real names, but only first names, so as not to specify their characters too much. They could be anybody. But each gets his own solo music, his own response to conversion. Listeners recalling the play remember the individuals not by who they are, but by what they have sung.”
In that spirit, I would suggest you choose the actors primarily by the songs they sing, and be open to moving speaking lines around among the non-Jesus/Judas troupe as needed. They do not have much in the way of individual throughlines or character superobjectives. They do need to be able to sell their individual songs, though.
Prologue Players:
I go over these parts individually. If you’re in a production that is trying to expand the cast, this would be a good place to do it.
John The Baptist/Judas:
Again, if you were looking to expand your casting to include more people, you could easily split this to 2 actors. Both characters need to be strong, attention grabbing people; John The Baptist starts the whole series of events with Prepare Ye, and the show doesn’t make very explicit the relationship between Jesus and Judas, who is as close as the show comes to an antagonist. So think of your John the Baptist as needing to sing the top of Prepare Ye, to be able to sell the vaudeville of All For the Best as Judas, and being able to have the gravity as an actor to convincingly play the ending.
Jesus:
Your Jesus grounds the show. Jesus doesn’t sing all that much, and you can transpose some numbers to find the right range for a few different types of people to play the part. Whoever you choose, the Jesus must be able to hold the stage for the entire show, to be charismatic, warm, charming, funny, and wise, the ear and timing to sing Alas for You, and it helps if there’s a little traditional showbiz skill for All For The Best. If you have this actor, you have a show! If not, no amount of casting elsewhere can save you.
After auditions, our creative staff determined that casting a female Jesus was the very best use of the actors we had. We also felt casting a female John the Baptist/Judas made the most sense. I imagine there will be some out there whose feathers will be ruffled by such a casting choice, but I found it incredibly revelatory, even though I myself think there are viable theological arguments to be made for the necessity of Jesus being gendered as male in the Biblical narrative. As our faculty New Testament Scholar noted on Speaker’s Night, the Bible presents Jesus in ways that challenged 1st century ideas about gender, and the presentation of Jesus using a female actor gives the audience a chance to reflect on the qualities of God that transcend gendered expression. The director and I agreed that the presentation of a female Jesus and Judas would have been much more problematic in a piece like Jesus Christ Superstar, which presents a more traditional narrative structure. But in Godspell, parable after parable are presented using gendered names and pronouns, and female actors often play men in those parables without any explanation or even acknowledgement. We simply see all actors as actors, and all characters as universal or non-gender specific. This is part of the way the play works, a kind of dramatic manifestation of Galatians 3:28: In Christ there is no longer Jew or Gentile, Slave or Free, Male or Female. For my part, one of the beautiful things about the process was the removal of the part of my thought process where I asked myself whether this Jesus matched my mental picture of Him. A female Jesus allowed me to relax about that, to get over my hangups about the physicality or portrayal of the historical Jesus, and to simply allow the parables and the message to reach me on their own terms. This made the process a profoundly spiritual one for me, and I think I would not have been able to access that with a traditional Jesus casting. You will have to determine for yourself what suits your production, but I can vouch for the fact that it worked very well in ours, and that it is possible to present a respectful and beautiful representation of a female Jesus that honors the Biblical text as presented in the book of the musical.
Robin
Robin is the first in the tribe to express her belief, and that makes her a kind of unnamed Peter in the group. Cast the person who can best and most sincerely sing Day by Day
Gilmer
Gilmer’s vocal part is probably the least taxing vocal track of the show. Cast the person who can sing Learn Your Lessons Well. You can rewrite this moment, but you might want to check to see that your actress can get into measure 67 of By My Side and hold that minor second.
Joanne
Joanne’s O Bless The Lord, My Soul has the most rocking female singing of the evening.
Lamar
Lamar’s simple All Good Gifts requires a folk singer with a high baritone or tenor range. The original Lamar has a unique voice which your actor should probably not try to emulate.
Peggy
Peggy sings By My Side, which is not terribly difficult, but you should, of course, have an actress who can match pitch. As I mentioned earlier for Gilmer, you might want to check to see that your actress can get into measure 67 of By My Side and hold that minor second. Peggy and Jeffrey sing Light Of The World, but in a pinch you could split that song up among the rest of the cast.
Jeffrey
Jeffrey sings Light of the World, but again, you could give that song to the rest of the cast easily. We Beseech Thee is another matter. As the show is written, the role is best cast with a strong Gospel/R&B singer. You could divvy the number up among the other actors effectively as well, if you find yourself running low on strong male singers.
Sonia
Traditionally this role is given to the ‘sexy’ actress, because of Turn Back O Man. As written, her number is very low, but it can be transposed effectively.
An enterprising creative team can easily expand or contract the show to fit the abilities of your pool of actors.
A Few Things to Note About the Music Director’s Materials:
There are a number of places in the re-engraved parts that I feel confident are errors. I don’t have access to the original books, but I’ll try and catch the errors I think I’ve found, and perhaps an astute reader will correct me if I’m wrong here and there.
It seems as though some of the things in the score are transcriptions of things arrived at by ear in rehearsal. For me, the aesthetic of the show musically shouldn’t be too studio-crisp, but should have a little looseness around it. As bewildering as the original cast recording is in terms of pitch and ensemble, it does have a kind of campfire kumbaya truth about it that would be sorely missing if you cleaned and polished every inch of it. Additionally, the original cast brought very personal vocal styles to the table, and as an MD, I think it’s part of the job to try and find places for your actors to embody these songs in personal ways that draw on what makes them unique.
Trouble Spots and Advice:
No. 1 Prologue
When Stephen Schwartz was brought on to the project, the opening was a long scene with dialogue pulled from the work of famous philosophers. This was one of the places where Schwartz suggested a brand new musical number. He has spoken about it numerous times, saying of the scene it replaced: “It was reeeally long! That thing went on forever.” Many people come to the show having no familiarity with the number, since it doesn’t appear on the original cast recording or in the filmed version. (although it does appear on the 1997 recording supervised by Schwartz) If you poke around the internet, you’ll find exasperating threads where people talk about whether the number was in the original production or not, (it was) and whether it needs to be there. (it does)
The Prologue is a complicated number, and by design it doesn’t have the same flavor as the rest of the show, but it’s very important, and even if Schwartz hadn’t very explicitly stated that he doesn’t want the number cut, it would be a mistake to remove it from the show. As Schwartz says,
“within the context of the show, the Prologue is vital. Because Godspell is essentially about the formation of a community, it is necessary to see what the individuals are like when there is no community — how lost they are and how easily they descend into violence and chaos.”
Elsewhere, Schwartz says, “…we deliberately did a number that was different from the rest of the show. We thought of it as the black-and-white section of The Wizard of Oz. We wanted to set up a world and a sound that we could break out of, so when the drums came in and the colored lights and the colored costumes came out, there was a freshness and a relief without going to another place”
So the Prologue is really the world before the transformational event happens. We encounter a group of people who present wildly disparate views of the universe, and although the ideas seem intriguing, we are not meant to find them compelling. Schwartz takes great pains to make the philosophers’ musical material match their content, and the bedlam resulting from the combined versions of their melodies is meant to be impressive and annoying simultaneously.
At each place where Schwartz introduced a brand new idea to the original conception of the work, we find him working ambitiously in complicated forms. (more on that later) This one is aquodlibet; a musical form in which many melodies are presented separately and later combined. The form is almost 500 years old, and is common in Gilbert and Sullivan, but we know it in Musical Theatre principally because of Irving Berlin. Schwartz makes it clear that the Quodlibet in All For The Best is inspired by Berlin’s work. The melodies in the Prologue sit on top of a very contemporary and somewhat unusual progression:
E F#/E D#m7 G#
C# Eb/Db Cm7 F
G Gmaj7 Cmaj7 F
E F#E Am7 B7/E E
The first phrase starts in E, then the F#/E chord seems to be pointing us toward B. But then D#m7 and G# act as a ii/V heading toward C#. That whole unusual idea then repeats a minor third lower, and we hear those as a pair, two A sections in two keys. The third phrase acts as a B section, G seems like a tonal center, headed toward the IV chord of Cmaj7, then, abruptly, an F, which either feels like bVII in the key of G or a continuation of a circle of 4ths progression. But when we drop back to E for the last phrase, we come to hear that F chord as some kind of Phrygian idea, dropping us from bii back to I, only to encounter that same raised 4th scale degree, then in quick succession, minor iv chord, followed by a conventional V-I cadence. (if you can follow all that, you get a gold star)
The progression feels ‘normal’ very quickly as you work on it, but I think it’s worth noting that it’s quirky and odd. Schwartz comes back to this Phrygian #4 a number of times in the piece, and the minor iv chord is also a standby in the score. There are strong directionally oriented harmonies, like ii-V-I cadences, but they contradict what came just before them, and the three tonal centers, E, C#, and G are worlds away from each other. We are meant to be disoriented here, and this repeated oddball progression gives the listener the sense that yes, these philosophers make sense, but this is not a narrative we care for very much, because it is essentially ungrounded harmonically. Prepare Ye will thus be a very nice change, and that’s the effect the authors were going for! You can’t cut it.
I’ll combine my practical advice with my overview here:
Introduction: (measures a-d)
Work for even sixteenths in the left hand, try to capture the crescendo-decrescendo idea. The number isn’t all that difficult, but you have no help from the pit: they don’t come in until song No. 3. (and when they do come in, the audience is meant to feel that something important has changed) The #4 scale degree (A#) will come back so many times, it’s clearly a motif. I have a suspicion in the back of my mind that the falling third idea is literally a motive. When I run across it, I’ll label it doorbell motive, so we can spot it.
Socrates:
The text is adapted from Plato’s Apology of Socrates, at which Socrates defends himself against charges of corrupting youth. The melody here opens with the doorbellmotive, and for the most part it traces the root to third of each chord, sometimes playing in the area from the 3rd to the 5th. The entire passage works within the range of an augmented 5th, and so Socrates can be sung by anyone in your cast who can match pitch. In the 1997 Godspell recording, which was supervised by Schwartz, it sure sounds like he plays a D natural in the right hand on beat three of measure 15, making that Bm7/E. But maybe I’m hearing things.
Thomas Aquinas:
I believe this text is pulled from Aquinas’s Summa Theologiae. Aquinas is a fitting post-Socratic thinker, since he values the Greek philosophical tradition, but he’s also a provocative person to place at the top of the show as an example of the pre-Christian world, since he is one of the greatest Christian philosophers. The relative simplicity of Socrates’s melody is gone, and in its place are a patter section (which proves rather difficult), and an expansive passage tracing up and down the chords of the progression. Use the singer in your cast who can manage the patter; that’s the hardest part. Spend extra time teaching the last phrase as well, the descending passage is tricky.
Martin Luther:
Luther’s text comes from his Temporal Authority: To What Extent It Should Be Obeyed. Again, by placing Luther in the pre-Christ portion of the piece, the show is signalling to the audience that both Catholic and Protestant dogma will not be a part of the show’s discussion. Luther’s music is accompanied by a kind of a polka, and his melody is bombastic, as befitting the firebrand of the German Reformation. The ending should get you your first laugh of the night. (pronouncing it ‘ze cherman vay’ is an obvious joke) If you don’t get a laugh here, you’re in for a long night. It’s the rangiest melody of the lot, so you should give it to a singer with a strong voice and an engaging stage presence.
Da Vinci/Gibbon:
The DaVinci portion appears to come from his notebooks,although very loosely, and the Gibbon naturally comes from his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Gibbon’s argument is pretty coherent, DaVinci’s part of the text seems to be a kind of basic humanist perspective. The ranges are moderate, so you can choose an ordinary singer for the part, but levitable can be something of a tongue twister. The C# in the left hand in measure 57 is clearly meant to be an E.
Nietzsche:
What Is Noble is title of the 9th chapter of Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil. I don’t think the words really say much about Nietzsche’s philosophy, but the line will get a laugh, especially if the singer needs to take a breath in the middle of the line somewhere.
Jean Paul Sartre:
Sartre is, among other things, the brain behind Atheistic Existentialism. His words here are taken from his 1947 L’existentialisme est un humanisme, variously translated as Existentialism and Human Emotions, or Existentialism is a Humanism. The published version has nearly this exact wording; the online free version is translated differently.
Buckminster Fuller
He was, at the time of the piece’s writing, the contemporary thinker of this batch. In fact, the book from which his lyric comes, I Seem To Be A Verb was written in 1970, although there is a slight misquote. The score reads, “patterns, of processes”, the 1997 cast recording sings “patterns and processes”, but Fuller’s original phrase is “patterns or processes” The fourth eighth note in measure 87 is clearly wrong. The F should be a G. In the recording Schwartz supervised, the eighth note in beat 3 is played as an Eb and a Bb, I think, not a G. Note that “patterns, of processes” has slightly different pitches in each iteration. The ’97 recording has a variant low E for the last 2 notes of 97. He repeats this in the Babble section as well.
No. 2 Tower of Babble
This is demarcated as show number 2, but it’s really part 2 of the Prologue, as the measure numbering makes clear. In the 1997 recording, Schwartz takes 109 really fast, which is great, but makes the figure in 120 impossible. The pianist leaves it out. The ragtime right hand pattern against the left hand waltz is somehow very Bernsteinian. After you’ve gotten it into your hands, do your best to get out of your head and let it play.
Each of the singers is singing the same thing they sang before, although Nietzsche’s melody is twice as long, and Schwartz seems to think the ‘t’ in ‘what’ is audible if you really punch it. You might want to time the whole business to the fastest speed Thomas Aquinas can manage. At measure 145, there will be a danger of going out of sync, a danger you can avoid by having the cast walking on the beat, or assigning a cast member to pound on a drum (or the set) in time. Certainly, the piano punctuations are places to realign.
You’ll have to decide what the ending means. The last 2 measures, F# and D# are a return to the opening piano phrase. (the doorbell motive) As written, those two notes blunt the effect of the shofar cutting through the exasperated last note of the Tower of Babble section. Consider getting rid of those last two notes and interrupting measure 166 with the shofar.
No. 3 Prepare Ye
The shofar is harder to play than you might imagine. If you’ve been to services on the High Holy Days, you can attest to the fact that there are people who do it well, and people who can’t seem to play it at all. In an ideal world, John the Baptist physically plays the note, but in reality, a sound cue will be far more reliable and easier to cue musically. This is normally staged with John the Baptist entering from somewhere in the theatre. If you pre-record the sound, you should make sure the sound is coming from the direction your John The Baptist is coming from, or the effect will be lost.
If you have not made the mistake of cutting the Prologue, the musical materials of this ‘true’ opening number will be a welcome relief, with their simplicity and sense of direction. The melody is 2 measure repeated phrase, and the phrases are identical except for the final 2 notes. The bass line is even simpler, tracing only the ascending first five notes of the scale, ending once on the dominant and once on the tonic. The score isn’t marked, but at measure 9, the keyboard is clearly supposed to be on a gospel organ patch, with a good fake Leslie style vibrato.
Measure 16 is marked Faster, but I’d make it Much Faster. I can picture in my head a version in which this new section is exactly twice as fast as the opening. If your singers are good at riffing, you can give them free reign after the first time through to go places with it. Perhaps you can select the actors you want to dress things up, or another idea would be to let people embellish the parts after each of them are baptized, one at a time.The second ending is a little tricky to coordinate with the band; measure 36 is twice as slow, the sixteenth note rhythm in the guitar culminates in a fermata, and when you get out of that, your riffiest female cast member has one last riff. Have a look at the individual band parts, and then make a plan of attack so that you as the MD know how you’d like that to go, and how to convey that to your band.
No. 4 Save The People
It is tricky to establish a great tempo up top in this number. You might want to have a conversation with your director before you get too far in, just to see what kind of vibe you’re going for. The piano figure at the beginning is just a placeholder for fingerpicked guitar, which may or may not play what you’re playing. Keep that in mind. If you strum this pattern with hammer-ons, it has a very different feel than the kind of picked groove laid out in the Piano Vocal. Schwartz connects this guitar groove with a songhe wrote for the play Butterflies Are Free. (his Broadway debut as a composer,later made into a film with Goldie Hawn) I can’t imagine Save The People this slow, but I do see the family resemblance.
Measure 53 should be significantly faster. For our production, we landed on a tempo which was basically as-fast-as-I-could play-it, which was easy to remember when I got it into my head. Measure 87 needs a tempo marking. It’s significantly slower than the previous passage, but it isn’t one long ritard. We are in a new, more dramatic tempo. Measure 95 needs an a tempo mark. We’re right back at the old speed.
The drums drop out in the orchestration in measures 113 and 114, which has to be an error. It just doesn’t make sense. In the 1997 version, there’s a 2 measure fill. Also in the ’97 version, the guitarist replaces 135-136 with a mellower flourish.
We transposed this number for our female Jesus into Bb. It required the choral parts at the end to be revoiced, but not drastically, just a basic inversion. It was actually a very interesting discussion. In a female head voice, the song has a touching vulnerability. In chest voice, it seems more assertive. We went with more assertive.
No. 5 Day By Day
FUN FACT: This is apparently the last showtune to chart as performed by the original cast.
Paul Laird’s bookThe Musical Theater of Steven Schwartz: From Godspell to Wicked and Beyond listsWhat The World Needs Now (1968) andSociety’s Child (1967) as songs that inspired Schwartz. They lyric is attributed to St. Richard of Chichester in the 1200s. What the World Needs Now also has a shuffly midtempo waltz feel, Society’s Child is a harder influence to hear until you get to the last third of Day By Day. where the harmonic world is somewhat similar, hypnotically back and forth from ii to V. But as Laird points out, that progression is pretty common in pop music of the late ’60s. I hear a lot of Carole King in this song, and her greatest hits come right in this time period. I like Joseph Swain’s observation that the repeated seventh chords make each tonal center “just credible without the harmonic commitment of a cadence” He compares this quality to impressionism, and notes that it contributes to the feeling that the song is a centering prayer or mantra.
The rhythm of Robin’s melody in measure 1 is not how the melody is normally sung, and I think the singer should keep the feel pretty free, although the melodic contour should have some integrity, since this is the first time we’re hearing it.
When you get to measure 25, a second set of Ahs comes in, which looks like it’s marked for 6 other girls. You have some flexibility here, it sounds good that way. But I’m pretty sure it should be marked with the 8vb treble clef, or marked for the tenors and basses. In fact, all the vocals near the end are flexible, so you can give singers whichever parts suit their ranges. The trick will be to remember how many times you repeat before the thing stops. You want a nice crisp downbeat on 105, so Robin’s last line comes out clearly.
The last note in the chorus has a tritone leap, which I eliminated. The major 7 in the chord is covered in the band very clearly, there’s no need to introduce it in the chorus and run the risk of being out of tune. (unless you have some people with excellent ears, in which case, have at it)
In measure 109, the Chord is supposed to be Cmaj7, obviously. Correct it in the guitar book as well. Then in measure 110, the left hand should have an F, not a C. I also think that awkward eighth note C against the vocal D in both hands at the end of 110 is ill advised. Just leave it out. The band doesn’t have the button at the end, I added the Bass and a kick, just to make it sound like we actually intended the button.
No. 6 Learn Your Lessons Well
This number was added because Schwartz felt too much time had gone by without a song. It has a half-a-number sort of feel to it, which actually serves it well. The inspiration comes out of the previous scene.
Coming after such strong folk-rock material, this music sounds like a throwback to more traditional musical theatre, and of course it does deliberately play in old-timey musical clichés, but it must also be noted that this kind of number is also very common both in Musical Theatre in the time, but also in singer-songwriter style rock albums. King Herod’s Song has a similar vibe. And if you picture Randy Newman singing this song, you’ll hear that this is not a pastiche as much as an idealized showbiz style that is also a part of 70s culture. This soft-shoe kind of writing particularly appealed to Bob Fosse, who uses this facet of Schwartz’s toolbox to great effect in Pippin.
No. 7 O Bless The Lord, My Soul
Kara Krichman and company in Villanova’s production of Godspell (photo by Paola Nogueras)
Schwartz’s website and tempo markings in some editions makes the Laura Nyro connection clear for this song, particularly “Save The Country”
The text is adapted from Scottish Hymnodist James Montgomery’s 1819 versification of Psalm 103.
I want to pick up and develop a theme Joseph Swain points out in the clever way Schwartz has dealt with modality here. The verses are in A minor and the choruses in A major, but at measure 81, as the tempo quickens, he alternates between the major and minor modes every 2 measures, finally truncating it to A major in one measure, A minor in the next at 101 before the coda. The audience feels this harmonic quickening viscerally, and when Joanne sings her C natural over the accompaniment’s C# in 114 and 115, it acts not only as a blue note, but as a reconciliation of the two modalities.
The word ‘abate‘ is very unusual, and most singers don’t really land the final ‘t’, which leaves the audience thinking ‘ready to obey‘, since that’s the sentence that makes most sense grammatically. (although not particularly in the context) I recommend putting that ‘t’ very strongly on beat 3 of measure 40.
If you’re leading from the piano, I would suggest having the drummer drop out from 81-84 so you can establish the new tempo, which really comes out of nowhere. At 85, most people miss the G#, and at 87, they leave out the A. Try and get that there and where the same figure recurs. At 89, the second staff is a women’s part, and the Group 2 on the following page is a male part. There is riffing to be done near the end if your singer is equipped in that way.
No. 8 All For The Best
Mina Kawahara as Jesus in Villanova’s production (photo by Paola Nogueras)
Schwartz says inthis video “There were a couple of things, most specifically All For The Best, that I said, ‘You know, if we’re telling this story, and the major relationship is between these two characters of Jesus and Judas, if you were doing a traditional musical where nobody knew the story when they walked in and nobody had any investment in these characters, they’d have to do a number together, so you establish their friendship so when the friendship changes or dissolves or evolves at the end and Judas betrays Jesus, there’s some investment you’ve made in that relationship’ So we found a spot and I wrote All for the Best as a sort of Irving Berlin number. I basically took the idea from something I’ve always admired, like the Irving Berlin song, You’re Just in Love, in Call Me Madam, where someone sings ‘I hear music and there’s no one there’ and then Ethel Merman sings, ‘You don’t need analyzing’ and then magically they go together and they sing them at the same time, which I just always thought was the coolest thing ever, so I basically just stole that idea and did it for Jesus and Judas.”
If this lyric is supposed to be a paraphrase of the Beatitudes in Matthew 5, I think Schwartz has missed the point somewhat. And as much as this moment uses the tools of traditional Musical Theatre to build a relationship between Jesus and Judas which has more distinct substance than the one established between Jesus and the other unnamed disciples, one wishes Schwartz did a little more foreshadowing in the text for what will come in Act II. Again, the director is critical in forcing the song to do dramatic work, instead of functioning merely as a vaudeville number.
As a Music Director, be careful to pace your tempos so the last iteration is the fastest you and your cast can do with clarity.
The last measure is awkward and ineffective on the piano. I wasn’t good at landing the figure to begin with; if you play the E flat with your pinky, you can’t land the whole C chord, and if you try and grab the chord with your left, that’s a lot to track while trying to cut off the band. When I could manage it, I found it very difficult to get it loud enough to cut through the cast and the band; it’s in a weak part of the piano. No suggestions here, only confessions.
No. 9 All Good Gifts
Schwartz’s website lists “Fire and Rain” and Elton John’s “Your Song”as inspirations for the chord progressions and accompaniment of All Good Gifts. Both All Good Gifts and Fire and Rain go from the tonic chord to the minor dominant right off the bat, which is very distinctive. Schwartz uses almost the same set of chords, but uses a V/V chord and a minor iv chord to inflect the progression not just toward G, as Taylor’s progression did, but also toward A and toward D minor:
From the very beginning, Schwartz shows a propensity for piano accompaniments that sound like finger-picked guitar, and they come straight out of the 70s singer-songwriter toolbox. This particular pattern comes from Elton John’s Your Song.
Notice how Schwartz has retained the rhythm in the right hand exactly, but has expanded the left hand to fill out 2 and a half octaves to John’s single octave, and how his harmony is much more adventurous; Elton John, especially in this period, tended to use simple primary chords. Schwartz has some bigger fish to fry.
The recorder solo was written to take advantage of the original Jeffrey’s playing abilities. Unfortunately, the recorder solo is in real danger of drowning out the monologue that it accompanies. If the player tries to play very quietly, he/she is liable to go pretty flat. Be aware of that from the outset. Perhaps you have an actor who plays another, quieter instrument capable of playing that passage.
The drop in measure 7 (and elsewhere) from the F natural to the G is often out of tune. You might want to assign the riff at 80 to Lamar and not everyone together; it can be messy. I also think the cutoffs tied to eighth notes are fussy. Cut off 71, 75, and 87 and so forth on the downbeat.
I like this song a lot, but there’s one chord I can’t get behind. One of the sophisticated things about the song is how the melody hits some non-chord tones or 9th or 11th of the chords, such as the D in “breezes and the”, over the F#m chord, and in the following measure, “sunshine” is tracing the 11th and the 9th of the G chord. But on “soft, refreshing” in the next measure, I feel like the melody is actually insinuating a totally different chord: E major. That’s not quite different enough from the G# minor chord to play as a higher chord tone color. It just feels like you’re playing the wrong chord. I suppose it’s really the same move as in measure 13, but when I got there, it always felt like I’d mixed up the salt and the sugar somehow. Play it the way it’s written; nobody will complain.
No. 10 Light of the World
I gotta say, this one comes very close to being great, but somehow just isn’t funky enough, particularly compared to the re-orchestrated revival versions. A wah pedal helps in the guitar, and you should tell your players that if they hear something better in their heads they ought to try it out. This is one of the numbers where the other production staff may look to you to make the thing pop a little more.
At the top of the number is really a rap, although it’s tough to get from the script. Listen to a recording to see how it should go; we went with something like this:
The Keys part should really be marked Organ. Choose a dirty, funky one with a lot of bite. But probably you’ll want to play it on the piano until the pit comes in, because it’s really hard to assert the groove all by yourself with the organ sound.
Measures 5 and 6 are tough to coordinate. Someone will correct me perhaps, but I think the last 2 notes in measures 17, 21, 33 and 37 are probably in the wrong order. (should be swapped, Eb, E) I’ve been using the 1993 studio recording as a reference because Schwartz supervised it, but the recording doesn’t clarify there, because the bass player is playing a much funkier James Jamerson riff there.
If your singers are good enough, encourage them to improvise the solo passages. If you’re going to have the cast use the vibraslap, get it into the process early. It’s a little odd.
The playout for this number wasn’t interesting enough for me to solo over on a single chord, so I took us back to measure 25, and we took turns soloing through 48. Hopefully you’ve got players with some imagination and they can raise the roof a little here.
No. 11 Learn Your Lessons Well Reprise
If you have instrumentally talented cast members, it is customary to have them play and sing this at the end of the intermission to inaugurate the second half.
No. 12 Turn Back O Man
The text here was written by Clifford Bax, the brother of the very underrated English composer Sir Arnold Bax as a response to World War I. It was set to music by Holst, who requested the text to replace another for a motet he had written. It is not difficult to find fusty Hymnologists complaining about Schwartz’s setting, which deliberately plays against the stern tone and is modeled musically on a style associated with performers like Mae West. Again, though, this is a place where Schwartz’s theatrical instincts perform a course correction that keeps the piece from slipping into sanctimony at a critical juncture. Incidentally, Schwartz rejects the idea that the singer is Mary Magdalene, who has often been associated with promiscuity, even though the bible does not make that connection. The vampy music creates some odd double entendres like ‘their tragic empires rise’ Indeed, the most interesting thing about the number is the way the lyric plays against the grain of the tune.
Mae West typically came on to people in her songs, so she may not actually be the best model for your actress, should she be unaware of this kind of song. You might turn instead to Peggy Lee as seen here in Why Dont You Do Right? This sort of song is also sexy, but the point of the song is to teach the guy a lesson, not to ‘come up to my place’. That sentiment is more consistent with the message of the text. Jessica Rabbit would be taking things too far, I think.
I have this sense that the right and left hand were played in independently of each other without regard to how they work together. There are places where the left leaps higher than it needs to in the stride, and actually collides with what the right is playing.
There is an error in measure 96 in the bass part. Have a look. Be careful to emphasize the correct pitches in the last phrase of the chorus right near the end. D, E flat, E natural, dip down to C, then F sharp. There are many incorrect ways to sing that, it turns out.
Because we had a female Jesus and a Sonia with a higher belt, I changed the key for both singers, which required a slightly different modulation. It sits very low for Sonia. Your singer may have also heard the revival version, which is in a different key and has a lot of vocal pyrotechnics. It is stylistically totally okay to dress this number up, but those particular riffs function much better in the other key. (you can find the other version easily by googling)
No. 13 Alas for You
Schwartz musicalized a section of dialogue. he says inthis video “..The scene where Jesus drives the money-changers from the temple, it was this big long speech, a big harangue, and so I basically just took the what the words were and kind of made them rhyme and gave them a little bit of song structure and that became Alas For You.” Elsewhere Schwartz has called this ‘very Leonard Bernstein’.
My personal preference is that the singer work for great clarity and intention and allow the meter changes and percussive nature of the accompaniment do the work without adding a lot of ‘rock’ mannerisms to the mix. There are a few recordings available that make this number sound as though it belongs in Rocky Horror, which is fun, but distracts from one of the only moments of real gravity in this musical; this is where we begin to sense that the show is taking a darker turn.
One point worth clarifying with your Jesus early on is the fact that measure b and measure 37 are in 7/4, but measures 5, 18, and 42 feature a very similar rhythm in 6/4. To make matters ever so slightly more confusing, measures 61 and 62 function as essentially an 8/4 measure of the same idea.
There is an error in the score in measure 24 and 48, which should read the same as measure 11 in the left hand. The Bass book and the chord symbols in the piano score have it correct, I think.
We cast a female Jesus, so I had to move this number. We played around with various options for keys and settled on G major, a third higher, with our Jesus singing it basically a sixth lower. It was important for the gravity and intensity of the song for her to be able to access her chest register.
One final thought: Tenors seem to struggle with the last note, and I have a workaround if the high G is impossible. The simplest solution if to just sing an E flat instead. In the original cast, Stephen Nathan just stops on ‘Alas’ and leaves out “for you” entirely. Victor Garber in the film gets through it well, having gone pretty sharp on the F at the end of the previous phrase. A slightly more interesting solution is to begin the arpeggio one note lower in the chord. So instead of Eb,G,Eb,Bb,G,Eb,Bb,G, you would sing Bb,Eb,Bb,G,Eb,Bb,G, Eb. That preserves the shape of the phrase.
No. 14 By My Side
This is the only song in the show not written by Schwartz, and indeed, it seems not to have been written for Godspell, but a totally different play at Carnegie Mellon.
Schwartz says: “I could try to write a new song for this spot, and maybe I would write a song as good as this, but why bother if we have this wonderful song?”
I think what we have in the score here is an attempt to transcribe what was originally figured out organically. That’s why the rhythm of the lead doesn’t quite match the recorded vocal. The big choral sections also don’t quite work as written (in my opinion), and you can’t make out what was actually happening on the original recording because they wash over it with cymbal rolls. I wonder whether this was a decision in the studio to mask something else. I recommend you prune some of that harmony based on the singers you have. I eliminated the top note throughout, and added one particularly tricky note myself into the mic they gave me for On The Willows.
The line that descends from C to A through B natural in the piano as in measures 7-8, 11-12 and elsewhere is not reflected in the guitar book (which doesn’t have the descending line) or the bass book, which actually has Bb near the end. I think you want to go through and make the instrumental parts match the vocal score.
No. 15 We Beseech Thee
Schwartz says the opening rhythm of this number is influenced by “Where Did Our Love Go?‘ by the Supremes. It’s the last moment of pure joy in the show before we reach a pretty dark and/or subdued section, so really go full bore here.
If you want to open the number up to the cast, it’s very easy to divide up the calls in the call and response sections to various cast members. It’s also possible to give an instrumental part to anyone who plays in the cast, if you have the skills to write one. The ‘instrumental’ section only has 2 chords over and over again.
Villanova production, Photo by Paola Nogueras
For the passage beginning at measure 41, a 4 note chord is not necessary, you should voice it according to what you have available to you. At 49, I gave the top line to the altos, the second line to the sopranos, and the lowest line to the tenors and basses. at 53, I gave the top line to the sopranos, the second line to the altos, and kept the Tenors and Basses on the bottom. At 57 I switched the Altos back to the top line, the sopranos to the middle, and again, left the tenors and basses where they were, and finally, I switched them one last time at 61: Sopranos on Top, Altos in the Middle, Tenors and Basses on the bottom. If you choose to sing it as written, I think your Jeffrey can feel free to riff a little, if he/she is gifted in that area.
No. 16 Day By Day Reprise
This reprise combines the earlier version with an ending that will be used later in the bows. I’m not so sure this is the best way to work this moment in the piece, and I think Beautiful City helps the rest of the show land better. (see below)
Potential Addition: Beautiful City
Mina Kawahara as Jesus, me on piano in Villanova’s production. (photo by Paola Nogueras)
Schwartz says inthis video: “I did write a new song for the film, called Beautiful City, which replaced We Beseech Thee because the director of the film David Greene felt that We Beseech Thee was too theatrical a number, he wasn’t quite sure how to translate that to film. I’m not sure he was correct, but nevertheless, so I wrote this new song called Beautiful City, and I had some reservations about the way the song is in the film, and then several years later, maybe 10, 15 years later whenever the L.A. riots were, there was a production of Godspell, like a benefit concert that was being done to raise money to benefit the victims of the L.A. riots, and I rewrote Beautiful City, I just completely rewrote the lyrics from this sort of like cheerful, happy, flower-strewing song into much more of a reflective song and that’s the version that now gets done, and now it gets interpolated into the show a lot, and of one of the fun things for me is that people put Beautiful City in the show, but they put it in different places so it’s always interesting to me to see if they’ve put it in and where they’re using it and how they’re using it and who’s singing it, so that’s been kind of fun.”
The original lyric, which Schwartz disavows somewhat above read:
Come sing me sweet rejoicing/Come sing me love
We’re not afraid of voicing/All the things we’re dreaming of
Oh, high and low/and everywhere we go
The newer lyric (Out of the ruins and rubble…) really lands at the moment formerly occupied by the Day By Day Reprise. But that’s a decision to be made with your director based on the vision they have of the piece.
If your production staff is concerned about copyright, theFAQ page from Schwartz’s own website makes his approval clear for performances of Godspell.
If you buythe version from musicnotes.com, you can choose the key that works the best for your Jesus. I wrote a simple orchestration for my production, but it’s the kind of number your band can improvise an orchestration for on the spot if you give them sheet music, or better yet, a lead sheet.
No. 17 On The Willows
The lyric here comes from verses 2-4 of the 137th Psalm, a lament about the Babylonian captivity in the late 7th century BCE. In High Church Christian traditions, it is recited on the fourth Sunday of Lent, so it’s a liturgically appropriate text for this moment. Schwartz claims the text was chosen “because it was about ‘believers’ isolated and persecuted by a hostile society”The word ‘lives’ was originally ‘lyres’ (harps), which proved confusing and was switched.
The song is traditionally sung by the band, and that’s indicated in the piano score, but the melody is not in the parts. You will need to figure out a way to teach it to them if that’s what you’re doing. We chose to have a few actors who played well come in and out of playing with the band, so that at this moment they would simply step back toward the onstage band and join us. As before, the top staff seems to be for a woman’s voice, the bottom for men (and an octave lower) It does split into 4 parts, although you can trim that back if you find it too difficult. Alternately, you can give the melody to the tribe to sing together. It’s important that it strike the right mood, because it helps get our audience to a place where we can accept the last beat of the show.
I have a soft spot for this song. My wife Allison sang it in the 2006 production at the Walnut Street Theatre. I saw it as many times as I could.
No. 18 Finale
This is the place in the show where a director’s taste and vision make all the difference. The more traditional storytelling in Jesus Christ Superstar helps that musical earn this moment, but Godspell has had so much clowning up to now that it’s difficult to work up to the pathos necessary to get across an execution, especially one that’s sort of figurative. The heavy rock guitar approach also reads campy now in a way that it didn’t in the early 70s. Swain puts it this way:
“Unfortunately, when the crucifixion music in the Finale tries to be explicit, it falls far short of expressing anything of the complexity of what should be the central event in the narrative. The use of rapid harmonic rhythm seems no different than in other, happier songs, and the jamming of electric instruments is but a superficial substitute for dramatic expressions drawn from more essential musical elements. The lyrics here are too absurdly simplistic.”’
Evidently the earlier version, before Schwartz came in was worse. The lyric originally read; “Oh, God, I’m busted.” According to Schwartz:
“I just said to John-Michael, ‘You can’t. That’s a really bad idea.’, and he got it right away.”
We went back and forth about whether to change the key for our female Jesus, and ultimately decided not to; she just sang it at pitch. It’s an awkward line for a male voice; I think intentionally. We’re supposed to be seeing Jesus at his most vulnerable.
It’s unclear how the MD is supposed to execute the top of the number. Technically the three staves are playable by one person, (kinda) but not on two instruments as indicated. Perhaps a cast member plays the organ staff. The transition from the first section into the Long Live God passage needs to be finessed, because it’s the payoff of the entire piece; where the tribe takes the message out into the world; Some productions will put a kind of resurrection in here somewhere, others just imply that the excitement of the clowns radiating out to today is how we know about this story. Both approaches are very much workable. Again, this is one of those places where the director decides what this show means.
Measures 38-41 should have the chord symbols of 42-45 and vice versa. Note that the last 4 measures differ slightly from the earlier version of Prepare Ye.
No. 19 Bows
Pretty straightforward reprise with a slightly different, but very easy ending.
Pit Orchestra Considerations:
The original pit orchestra in 1971 was Schwartz on piano, Rick Shutter on Drums, and Jesse Cutler, both 19 years old at the time, and Richard LaBonte. Shutter played by ear, not a lead sheet. This may be why the guitar book lays out on Alas For You. If you expect the band to sing On The Willows, you might indicate that as you’re hiring. Some players might balk at that. (others might be excited!)
This is not a terrible difficult show for the pit to play, and pretty much every pit budget can handle 3 players. As always, it helps a great deal to have players who are well versed in several styles of playing and who are sensitive to playing under singers.
Godspell is a tried and true crowd pleaser, with lots of options to tailor it to the specific needs of your space. Have a great time with it!
Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore: A Rough Guide for the M.D.
A Word About the Piece:
The internet does not need me to provide a comprehensive history of HMS Pinafore. Along with The Mikado and The Pirates of Penzance, it sits at the very top of the Gilbert and Sullivan pantheon, beloved almost since the first performance. It is the piece which transported Gilbert and Sullivan from being an interesting potentiality to being a global phenomenon. The tunes and catch phrases from the operetta have become part of the lexicon, and as such, the operetta is among Gilbert and Sullivan’s crowning achievements.
It is by no means perfect, however. When the operetta first hit the boards, audiences must have felt the shock of discovery as they saw the first version of the G&S formula operating on all cylinders. Cutting social commentary, far more incisive than we had seen in The Sorcerer, memorable tunes worthy of comparison to Rossini and Offenbach, and a host of other details combine to make this operetta a truly English confection, not merely a parody of more respectable shows from the continent. But as time has passed, and Gilbert and Sullivan continued to hone their craft, audiences can see Pinafore as a brilliant step in a journey not quite completed. Commentators have sometimes noted that HMS Pinafore seems like a rough draft of The Pirates of Penzance. Arguments to that effect tend to cluster around the way Pirates is constructed, the way it reuses the most interesting character devices and plot contrivances of Pinafore, but in a smarter and more intentional way. While Sullivan may have taken part in those developments, the characters and construction of the plot are clearly Gilbert’s domain. In this post, I hope to demonstrate Pinafore as a musical step forward for Sullivan as well, one in which he started to draw thematic connections across the entirety of the piece, and in which he began to really come to terms with the way an effective finale is constructed.
It is no mark of shame to say that Gilbert and Sullivan were learning as they wrote. They did not spring fully formed from the head of Zeus. The fact that Sullivan was in excruciating pain while writing this operetta due to a kidney stone makes his achievement almost superhuman. (when I had a kidney stone, I sincerely wanted the doctors to have me put down) So while I may quibble with some choices here and there, I may beg the indulgence of the Gilbert and Sullivan community by reiterating that we composers can only hope to achieve what these two men did while ill, distracted, or otherwise indisposed.
Writing Operetta is a tricky business, but Gilbert and Sullivan found the elements of their success remarkably quickly. Their first collaboration, Thespis (the music sadly now lost) was an extravaganza, not a standard opera, and Trial By Jury is quite short. The Sorcerer, their third piece for the stage, had thus given them their first chance to present a full length piece with real character development. The Sorcerer had established the familiar patter baritone, a particular style of writing for the primary couple, ensemble work full of character and humor, and the broad satire of British cultural mores for which Gilbert and Sullivan are so famous.
With their 4th collaboration, HMS Pinafore, the writers began to tackle larger scale problems, particularly musical unity and pacing, and they began to find their stride in one of the most difficult areas of writing for the lyric stage; the finale. Their progress in these areas make HMS Pinaforea more successful operetta than its predecessors, paving the way for even more spectacular writing in the future.
In The Sorcerer, Sullivan had experimented with two different tunes for a single lyric, “with heart and with voice”, which were later unexpectedly combined. The irrepressible tune, “Now to the banquet we press” also made a second appearance at the end of the show. But in HMS Pinafore, there are a plethora of lyrics and tunes to which we return for a second (or even third) hearing:
We sail the ocean blue
What never? Well, hardly ever…
His sisters and his cousins and his aunts
For a British tar is a soaring soul
He Is an Englishman
Oh, joy, Oh rapture unforeseen
The return engagements of these melodies not only help us recall them to mind after the operetta has ended, they help unify the work musically. This operetta is not merely a collection of beautiful tunes, but a carefully thought out whole. I hope to draw connections between all these tunes below.
Another marvelous and enviable feature of Pinafore is its unending well of melody, much of which is flavored strongly with sea chantey. Not enough is made in the literature of just how well Sullivan matched his musical ideas to the topics of his operettas. Along these criteria, HMSPinafore is basically perfection.
Before You Start:
A great place to start with any G&S Operetta is the Gilbert and Sullivan Archive page.The page for Pinafore is pretty extensive, including interviews and reviews of early productions, an extensive list of errors in the common scores, etc.
The most commonly used edition is the Schirmer vocal score, edited by Bryceson Treharne. It’s fine, but you will want to take time to correct the errors in the score before you begin rehearsing. I linked to Amazon here, because most people these days buy from them. But do be aware that they sometimes lump together more than one edition of the same score, so you might accidentally get a rival edition when you order. There are a few errors in the Schirmer score that are not on the errata list, and I will cover those below.
There is also a Dover edition, which I have not really looked through. I believe it goes with the full score they also printed, and includes some corrections and an alternate passage in the second act. I seems not to be paginated the same way as the Schirmer score, which may be an issue if your company is using the Schirmer version. The Dover edition also has measure numbers, which is great if somebody is calling them out, but again if anyone is using the Schirmer, that won’t be helpful. I wound up writing measure numbers into my Schirmer version and copying my notes into the Dover full score.
The Dover Full Score is quite good. Sadly, I believe it’s out of print, which may account for the preposterous price of $180 on Amazon. (someone is even selling it for $675!) By sheer luck, I found mine on the shelf at my favorite local music store and spent precisely $19.95. I will not sell it to you. As with the two other Dover G&S scores, the scholarship seems to be very good, but the lyric font size is very small, and I did find several errors, which I will list below. I believe in conducting chorus rehearsals from the vocal score until the chorus is off book, and then switching as early as practicable to the full score to conduct rehearsals. There is a real wealth of detail in the orchestration that you as a music director need to be aware of that is simply not present in the Piano Score. If you are renting parts, do check to see if you can get your hands on the score that goes with them to use as you rehearse. It goes without saying that conducting the operetta in performance with an orchestra from the Piano Vocal Score is an unpardonable infraction.
Recordings:
As always, the OakApple Press page laying out all the major recordings is complete and fantastic. Many of these recordings are available on Spotify, but I encourage you to buy a hard copy. Looking to D’Oyly Carte for style or pronunciation help is a good idea, but I’m sorry to say that even in the case of vowels, you will find very little uniformity from one D’Oyly Carte recording to the next. 1960 D’Oyly Carte is the one to have.
If you’re going to be Music Directing Gilbert and Sullivan, you’ll want to begin building a library of reference materials. I recommend getting these, as you are able:
The Gilbert and Sullivan Lexicon by Harry Benford: in which you will find the definitions of all those words you don’t understand.
After you have procured some of these, set aside a number of hours to do the following:
1) Listen to the soundtracks with the score in hand, marking things that strike you as interesting. I also made a pass at one point with a metronome and marked the tempi of all the sections from several recordings so that I would have a benchmark of speed. When a singer complains about a tempo, it helps to be able to check and say, “Ah, yes, we’re too slow” or: “This is within the range of generally accepted tempi.” or yet again, “I’d like to take it this fast, but currently our diction won’t allow it.” Sullivan doesn’t always notate phrasing or articulations, and while it’s easy to say, “Let’s just leave it up to the taste of the players”, it’s sometimes necessary to actually make clear decisions as a conductor so that the ensemble is telling the same musical story. I have developed a system with colored pencils, where I listen to a recording of a particular year with, say, a red pencil in hand and just mark interesting articulation, dynamic, or tempo choices for the key moments. Then I go back with a different color and enter another recording’s take on the same moments. Pretty quickly one begins to realize what is standard, what is done almost every time, and what is open to interpretation. You will also find your own preference in those places where there appears to be a wide range of opinion. To me, this is the beginning of discovering your own voice as a conductor; finding where the limits of expression have been in the past, and deciding what you are drawn to in answer to the points that are vague.
2) Take the Lexicon book and copy in pencil all the definitions into the score where you don’t already know the meanings.
As You’re Casting:
ROLE
The Rt. Hon. Sir Joseph Porter K.C.B.
Sir Joseph is the patter role, and could easily be played by a tenor or a baritone, but probably someone older than the other principals, because of the life experience he lays out in his signature aria. His lowest note is an A below Bass C, his highest the E above middle C. He should have strong comic timing and be able to play imperious. He was played originally by George Grossmith, the first Major General in the D’Oyly Carte Pirates and the first Koko anywhere.
Fortunately for us, Gilbert wrote a book for children elaborating the story of HMS Pinafore, and in it he describes the characters upon their first appearances. Since these descriptions were written decades after Gilbert’s inception of them, they are often different and sometimes clearer than they are in the actual script. His description of Porter is as follows:
“One of the most important personages in the Government of that day was Sir Joseph Porter, the First Lord of the Admiralty. You would naturally think that the person who commanded the entire Navy would be the most accomplished sailor who could be found, but that is not the way in which such things are managed in England. Sir Joseph Porter, who had risen from a very humble position to be a lawyer, and then a Member of Parliament, was, I believe, the only man in England who knew nothing whatever about ships. Now, as England is a great maritime country, it is very important that all Englishmen should understand something about men-of-war. So as soon as it was discovered that his ignorance of a ship was so complete that he didn’t know one end of it from the other, some important person said, ‘Let us set this poor ignorant gentleman to command the British fleet, and by that means give him an opportunity of ascertaining what a ship really is.’ This was considered to be a most wise and sensible suggestion, and so Sir Joseph Porter was at once appointed, ‘First Lord of the Admiralty of Great Britain and Ireland.’ I daresay you think I’m joking, but indeed I am quite serious. That is the way in which things are managed in this great and happy country.”
“Sir Joseph was a gentleman of great refinement, who was very easily shocked, and as he knew that the society of charming ladies had the effect of making everybody polite and considerate, he never travelled any great distance without them.”
Later he writes: “I’m afraid that Sir Joseph, though a very distinguished man, was, like a good many other very distinguished men, a bit of a goose.”
Captain Corcoran
Gilbert describes him thus: “…a very humane, gallant, and distinguished officer, who did everything in his power to make his crew happy and comfortable. He had a sweet, light baritone voice, and an excellent ear for music, of which he was extremely fond, and this led him to sing to his crew pretty songs of his own composition, and to teach them to sing to him. To encourage this taste among his crew, he made it a rule on board that nobody should ever say anything to him that could possibly be sung, a rule that was only relaxed when a heavy gale was blowing, or when he had a bilious headache. Harmless improving books were provided for the crew to read, and vanilla ices, sugar-plums, hardbake and raspberry jam were served out every day with a liberal hand. In short, he did everything possible, (consistently with his duty to Her Majesty) to make everybody on board thoroughly ill and happy. “
It sure seems like Sullivan was a little unsure of Corcoran’s fach. At times he seems like a tenor. In fact, in the original higher key of his Act 2 aria, it would take a tenor or a very impressive lyric baritone to do it justice. In many other moments, Corcoran is a real Bass Baritone. In almost all the numbers he’s in the treble clef, but in number 8 he’s in the bass clef. (When he appears in Utopia Limited 15 years later, he’s listed as a Bass) Then there’s the issue of him needing to be the same age as Ralph, but also the age of the father of Ralph’s love interest. Most productions ignore this, which makes the ending more ludicrous, and that’s probably okay. I would encourage you to cast a tenor with a full bodied sound. His lowest pitch is the B below Bass C. If you do Fair Moon in D, as it was written, and as it appears in the vocal score, his high note is F# above middle C or perhaps A, if he goes for the high note. If you do it in C, his high note is F above middle C, or perhaps G if he goes for the high note.
Rutland Barrington originated the role. He would also originate the role of the Sergeant of Police in the first D’Oyly Carte Pirates and the role of Pooh Bah in The Mikado.
Ralph Rackstraw
Ralph is a traditional leading male tenor, although you have a good excuse to cast somewhat older, if you hope to explain away the baby swapping with Corcoran.
It helps if your Ralph has a flair for the dramatic, because he has some very purple lines and an over-the-top suicide attempt to pull off. His low note is E flat below middle C, and his high note A above middle C. The A needs to be pretty solid, Ralph hangs up there. There is an optional high Bb for those who are able.
Gilbert says this about him in his Pinafore Picture Book:
“One of the smartest sailors on board Her Majesty’s Ship Pinafore was a young fellow called Ralph Rackstraw, though, as will be seen presently, that was not his real name. He was extremely good-looking, and, considering that he had very little education, remarkable well-spoken. Unhappily he had gotten it into his silly head that a British man-of-war’s man was a much finer fellow than he really is. He is, no doubt a very fine fellow indeed, but perhaps not quite so fine a fellow as Ralph Rackstraw thought he was. He had heard a great many songs and sentiments in which a British Tar was described as a person who possessed every good quality that could be packed into one individual, whereas there is generally room for a great many more qualities than are usually found inside any sailor… So, although Ralph had gathered up many excellent qualities, there were still some that he had not yet added to his collection, and among these was the appreciation of the fact that he hadn’t got them all. In short, his only fault was a belief that he hadn’t any.”
As early as possible, train yourself to pronounce the name Raif, not Ralf. You will save yourself a great deal of embarrassment among the seasoned Savoyards.
Dick Deadeye
Gilbert describes him as follows: “…one of the ugliest persons who ever entered the Navy. His face had been so knocked about ans burnt and scarred in various battles and from falling down from aloft that not one feature was in its proper place. The wags among the crew pretended that his two eyes, his nose, and his mouth, had been playing ‘Puss in the Corner’, and that his left eye, having been unable to find a corner that was unoccupied, was consequently left in the middle. Of course this was only their nonsense, but it shows what a very plain man he must have been. He was hump-backed, and bandy-legged, and round-shouldered, and hollow-chested, and severely pitted with small-pox marks. He had broken both his arms, both his legs, his two collar bones and all his ribs and looked just as if he had been crumpled up in the hand of some enormous giant. He ought to have been made a Greenwich pensioner long ago, but captain Corcoran was too kind-hearted to hint that Dick Deadeye was deformed, and so he was allowed to continue to serve his country ad a man-o-war’s man as best he could Now Dick Deadeye was generally disliked because he was so unpleasant to look at, but he was really one of the best and kindest, and most sensible men on board the Pinafore, and this shows how wrong and unjust it is to judge unfavorably of a man because he is ugly and deformed.”
Deadeye was originated by Richard Temple, who was the first person to play roles in 8 different D’Oyly Carte original productions. He was the first Sir Marmaduke, Pirate King, Mikado, and many others. He must have been an extraordinary singer and actor. Deadeye is a strange sort, as a character, and as a piece of writing. He is clearly meant to be a kind of villain in the piece, but he lacks real agency. Although his revelation to Corcoran in the second act does precipitate the chain of events that allows the play to conclude, it is unclear what his motivation is, or what he is capable of doing to thwart the lovers. The type has fallen somewhat out of use over the years, but Deadeye is an example of a character outside the community who is dangerous but speaks the truth, as when he says, “When people have to obey other people’s orders, equality’s out of the question.”. This is a thought provoking sentiment even now, and is an unusually cutting and open statement of the general principle behind much of G&S. But as he also says, “From such a face and form as mine, the noblest sentiments sound like the black utterances of a depraved imagination.” He is rather like Jigger and Judd combined, with a dash of Richard III or Iago. Vocally, the role is fairly demanding, particularly in the first act finale, where Deadeye has to sing very quick and rangy patter, some of which is rather hard to hear and to place. He has a Bb below Bass C and an Eb above middle C within a beat and a half, for example. In the second act, he has a few measures of ensemble work which need to be floated. You should keep these things in mind while casting. The low note is G below Bass C and the high note Eb above middle C.
Bill Bobstay (The Boatswain)
This character is never referred to by name in the piece, only as Boatswain, (pronounced Bosun) Very important minor Baritone principal, he introduces the He Is An Englishman melody and has a great deal of dialogue.
Gilbert says precious little about him, except that he was “One of the most tenderhearted creatures living…”
When you audition this part, you simply must have someone who can carry the middle part of a trio. His low note is the G below Bass C, and his high note the E flat above Treble C.
Bob Becket (Carpenter)
Bob Becket has no lines, but he has a very important Bass part in A British Tar. Requires a good ear and a clear, well placed true Bass voice, because at the end of the Glee, before the chorus comes in, Becket is the one leading the Rallentando, which ends on an important low E. His low note is that E below Bass C, his high note the E flat above middle C.
Bob does not appear in the Children’s book Gilbert wrote. Incidentally, Deadeye, Bobstay, and Becket are named for parts of a ship.
Deadeye
Bobstay
Becket (near bottom of diagram)
Josephine
Josephine is the classic Gilbert and Sullivan soubrette, well suited to a light soprano, but also potentially for a richer-toned soprano who has access to the Bb. Mabel in Pirates has some coloratura, Josephine has none. The two arias require some long line, but the duet and many moments in Act II also require some faster diction and clarity of execution. She should have a good ear; some of the chromatic passages can easily go out of tune.
Gilbert describes her: “… a beautiful young lady with whom every single gentleman who saw her fell head-over-ears in love. She was tall, exquisitely graceful, with the loveliest blue eyes and barley-sugar coloured hair ever seen out of a Pantomime, but her most attractive feature was, perhaps, her nose, which was neither too long nor too short, nor too narrow, nor too broad, nor too straight. It had the slightest possible touch of sauciness in it, but only just enough to let people know that though she could be funny if she pleased, her fun was always gentle and refined, and never under any circumstances tended in the direction of unfeeling practical jokes. It was such a maddening little nose, and had so extraordinary an effect on the world at large that, whenever she went into Society, she found it necessary to wear a large pasteboard artificial nose of so unbecoming and ridiculous a description that people passed her without taking the smallest notice of her. This alone is enough to show what a kind-hearted and self-sacrificing girl was the beautiful Josephine Corcoran.
Her range is Middle C to high Bb. (optional and highly recommended High B and C)
Cousin Hebe
One wishes Gilbert had written a few words in his children’s version about Hebe, to clarify her character, but sadly, she does not appear. She is a principal chorus member with two important story moments, but other than that, we have very little information of the specificity of her character. It comes out of left field that she wants to marry Sir Joseph, because it had until that point not been entirely clear whether she was a sister, a cousin, or an aunt. Like the rest of the end of the show, we simply shrug and think, “Oh, sure.”
She was played originally by Jessie Bond, who would go on to create many of the Mezzo roles in future G&S shows, such as Iolanthe, Pitti Sing, and Tessa. She was apparently a good actress, but Pinafore caught her at the very beginning of her career, and she felt uncomfortable speaking onstage, so nearly all her dialogue was cut.
In a trio in the First Act Finale, she needs to have sufficient midrange volume to compete with Ralph and Josephine in a higher tessitura. Her range is from the A flat below middle C to the F above treble C.
Buttercup
Buttercup is the Mezzo of the piece. You could go a number of ways with the part. Unlike many other G&S Mezzos, it’s not entirely clear what the joke of her character is. Gilbert seemed unclear what exactly to do with her, and even her presence on the boat seems to be problematic for the book, because Gilbert keeps making her leave without reason only to return immediately afterward to deliver some piece of information. He would rectify the problem in Pirates by making her counterpart Ruth an active crew member who stays on and is integral to the action.
To put a positive spin on that, there are many ways a director could push the character. She could be hideous or sexy, an outsider or one of the boys. Since Gilbert hasn’t bothered to give her many distinguishing characteristics, you are more free to invent your own.
Buttercup should be able to play old enough to have been a ‘Baby Farmer’ during the infancy of Corcoran and Ralph, but of course the math on that is fishy to begin with. Her low note is G below middle C, her high note the E above treble C.
Gilbert describes her: “…a rather stout but very interesting elderly woman of strikingly personal appearance. She was what is called a ‘bum-boat woman’, that is to say, a person who supplied the officers and crew with little luxuries not included in the ship’s bill of fare. Her real name was Poll Pineapple, but the crew nicknamed her ‘Little Buttercup’, partly because it is a pretty name, but principally because she was not like a buttercup, or indeed anything else than a stout, quick-tempered, and rather mysterious lady, with a red face and black eyebrows like leeches, and who seemed to know something unpleasant about everybody on board. She had a habit of making quite nice people uncomfortable by hinting things in a vague way, and at the same time with so much meaning (by skillful use of her heavy black eyebrows) that they began to wonder whether they hadn’t done something dreadful, at some time or other, and forgotten all about it. So Little Buttercup was not really popular with the crew, but they were much too kind-hearted to let her know it)”
Later in the book, Gilbert gives a really elaborate backstory of Buttercup and Corcoran.
Midshipmite/Tom Tucker
Sometimes there is a small boy cast, to whom Buttercup gives a lollipop after her opening number.
Chorus
Sopranos should have the A above the staff and if possible the A below Middle C, although they have help on that note. There is a spot where a high Bb might be helpful, but Josephine also sings it at the same time.
Altos should have the A below middle C, and the treble clef 4th space E.
The Tenors bottom out at Bass C and have an A above Middle C for the top.
The Basses have the low G and top off at the D above middle C, although 2nd basses drop as low as Eb below Bass C.
I appreciate how the Gilbert and Sullivan choruses allow for the potentiality of many ages and body types, and also how singers can age through character types in the operas. Not everyone needs to look like the very first flower of youth to participate!
General Pronunciation Advice:
I copy here general note from earlier G&S posts, with some slight emendations.
I am still no expert on RP English pronunciation, but I offer here a couple of basic pointers, to which I intend to add as I learn more:
1) Be aware of the Trap-Bath split. A fellow Savoyard in my tenor section made me aware of this chart, which is very helpful: trap-bath
2) ‘R’s that begin a word are tripped or rolled. ‘R’s that come before a vowel are tripped. ‘R’s that come after a vowel are generally dropped. At no point is the ‘r’ pronounced as we Amerrricans pronounce it. (although you may encounter different kinds of Rs if characters have regional British accents)
3) Mary, Merry, and Marry employ three different vowel sounds. Where I come from, they are pronounced identically. In Philadelphia, they are pronounced as three different vowels, but they aren’t the same vowels. Interesting chart on this matter:http://www4.uwm.edu/FLL/linguistics/dialect/staticmaps/q_15.html In G&S, you’ll want to say Mary with an eh as in air, Merry with eh as in get, and Marry with an ah as in cat. (someone will certainly correct me on this)
4) Many u vowels will need a y sound before them: duty becomes dyewtee, tuning becomes tyooning, new becomes nyoo, and institution becomes instityooshun.
5) Been becomes bean.
6) For words which in American English replace ‘t’s with a d sound, a true ‘t’ sound should be used. “Water” is not pronounced “wadder”, and certainly not wooder, my Philadelphia friends. But be careful not to overcompensate. I have noticed that some Americans are so anxious to Britishify their speech that they change to ‘t’ sounds that are truly ‘d’s. Lady should not be Laty, as I’ve heard people say when attempting to posh up their language. Not every ‘d’ needs to become a ‘t’, only the ones that are truly ts to begin with!
7) As I continue to conduct these pieces, and after continuing encouragement from the English members of our American company, I am beginning to become fixated on words like “all”, and the second syllable of “Doctor”, “Major” and “Sailor”. The British “all” has a darker vowel than the Americans use, almost to the point of sounding like ‘ole’, and the second syllable of the ‘or’ words is pronounced like ‘or’, not ‘er’, as Americans would say it. I am still conflicted about that particular one, because the D’Oyly Carte recordings are by no means consistent on that point, and especially at speed, it is very difficult to articulate a tall ‘o’ vowel in such a word. It is something to keep one’s ears open for.
That is by no means exhaustive, and I’ve probably gotten some of it wrong, but that’ll get you started. There are some places in this show where pronunciation will be governed by a rhyme. I will try and hit each of those points as we go.
Going through the show number by number:
Overture
It is a little unclear exactly how the Pinafore overture came to be. In their preface to the Dover Pinafore full score, Carl Simpson and Ephraim Hammett Jones speculate that the overture may not have been written by the time the show opened, which may account for the unusually long introduction to the opening number. This sounds right to me. More on that introduction later. Sullivan often had help with the completion of his overtures, but the authorship of the overture we have is also somewhat mysterious. It’s part of the standard legend of Pinafore that the initial box office for the operetta was poor, partly because of a heat wave. The nasty experience of seeing Pinafore in a gas lit, poorly ventilated theatre in a sweltering heat almost led to the operetta’s closing, until (as the story goes) Sullivan conducted a medley from the operetta prepared by Hamilton Clarke at the Proms, and everyone fell in love with the music, leading to international success. Clarke had also helped with the Sorcerer Overture This story has led to speculation that the Overture is a set of selections Hamilton Clarke arranged. But as Simpson and Jones have pointed out in the preface to the Dover edition, we have a set of Overture instructions in the score in Sullivan’s own hand, so while he may have referred to Clarke’s work in some way, he went to the trouble to write a good deal out himself. If you’d like to play armchair musicologist, the manuscript score is available here at the Morgan Library website:
You’ll notice the timpani part is notated, and the tutti chords, but then Sullivan has written the melody in the violins, with the understanding that the copyist will fill in the passages from the places where these passages occur elsewhere in the opera.
First page of Sullivan’s autograph of the Overture
The overture is then, a pretty straightforward medley of the most memorable passages heard elsewhere. I only note one error in the Dover Full Score, and that’s in the pickup to measure 65. The Cello and Double Bass should really switch to arco there. With a good oboist and a sprightly, well articulated style, the overture packs a nice punch and is a great opening to the operetta.
ACT I
1.Introduction and Chorus: We Sail The Ocean Blue
The Introduction is long; it took the place of the overture missing from the first performances.
Melodically, it covers the upcoming men’s chorus, Sorry Her Lot, I’m Called Little Buttercup, and I am the Captain of the Pinafore. Sullivan signals from the outset that he intends to develop his material this time around, and although HMS Pinafore is not as thoroughly woven a musical tapestry as we shall see in subsequent operettas, Sullivan uses ideas thematically and returns to older ideas much more intentionally than he had in Trial By Jury or The Sorcerer. In fact, we hear these tunes for the first time in radically altered forms: Josephine’s aria is prefigured in the oboe at a much faster tempo, and in 6/8 instead of 9/8. Buttercup’s aria is in 2/4, not 3/4. Corcoran’s entrance aria appears as a canon, moved into the minor mode. If this is in fact, a proto-overture, it does not behave as an overture at all; it’s acting more like a tiny symphonic development section.
G&S’s 2 previous operas Trial by Jury and The Sorcerer had opened with the entire chorus singing. But as I mentioned earlier, Sullivan had employed an interesting device midway through Act I in The Sorcerer. The gentlemen and the ladies of the chorus sang With Heart And With Voice in two different melodies, which finally joined together in a quodlibet. Sullivan must have found the device effective. In Pinafore, the show opens not with the full chorus, but with the men on their own in a memorable introductory tune we shall discover fits perfectly with the introductory tune of the women. Putting this tune at the very opening of the opera draws a connecting thread across the first 40 or so pages of the opera. By the time we hear the men’s tune and the ladies tune combined to complete the development of the thought, many more melodies have been introduced, which will in turn thread through the remainder of the show.
Starting with the men alone also turns out to be a great way to differentiate the members of the chorus from one another, and in 7 of the 10 subsequent operas, Gilbert and Sullivan would open with a men’s or women’s chorus. In Pirates, they would discover that involving the opposing groups of men and women romantically was even more interesting, and that it is even possible to split the chorus three ways, dividing tenors and basses into two. Thus the device of the gendered chorus is put to its traditional G&S formulation essentially for the first time here.
Gilbert’s narration of the story for children indicates that Corcoran has taught the men this song. Of course, in the Operetta proper, Sir Joseph is the only composer on board that we are made aware of.
Now to more mundane matters for the music director:
A practical consideration and an error present themselves immediately here.
Firstly, your timpanist may need a moment to tune from E flat to C. It’s kind of unfortunate timing.
The error in the Piano Vocal Score is not in the errata list on the G&S Archive page. On page 7, in measure 4, the eighths in the left hand are wrong; that measure should look like the previous measure’s left hand, and the eighths begin in the following measure.
Your pianist will be tempted to play the canon figure at the 2nd system of page 8 (Schirmer Vocal Score page numbers referred to here and elsewhere) forte, but it is in fact, piano, part of a long crescendo to the tutti statement of the melody on the 4th system.
Bruce Miller remarks in a G&S discussion group that the writing for the men is not ideal here. The basses lie somewhat low, so their part doesn’t project until the tenors arrive, and when the tenors do come, much of their part is also somewhat low. In No. 7, the tenors are up the octave occasionally, which is more effective. Be sure your singers sing the dotted rhythms faithfully. “dyootee”, not “dooty”, please. You should also decide what to do on the words “Portsmouth tide”, where the vocal part is similar, but not the same as the accompaniment. Not all recordings observe this difference. Watch the balance between Tenors and Basses on the word ‘ahoy’, a mild fp will keep rambunctious tenors from drowning out the basses. It’s customary to crescendo on the long ‘day’ before the final statement of the melody.
2. Recitative and Aria: I’m Called Little Buttercup
I’m afraid I’m not so crazy about this number lyrically, for the same reason Gayden Wren lays out in his book:
“I’m Called Little Buttercup is a virtual clone of My Name is John Wellington Wells, simply a list of items for sale, except that Wells’s items were funny, while Buttercup’s are commonplace and uninteresting. Many performers have found it hard to memorize, simply because there’s no order to it beyond the rhyme scheme, nor any real structure.”
The melody, however, is a winner all around. The melodies in The Sorcerer often played around with rising and falling three note motives, but never with this kind of economy. It almost sounds like a folk song, and like most good folk music, the melody refers back to itself constantly, so it coheres in a closed vocabulary. If Gilbert gives us a fairly pedestrian lyric, Sullivan the melodist is beginning with a bang.
What a beautifully constructed melody; a subtle execution of a sophisticated idea! The second section of the melody modulates to the relative minor, adding new ideas to the ones already in play:
The third portion introduces some chromatic ideas and rhythmic variety before closing with the opening melodic material to complete the circle.
Aside from what Wren says about the lyric being hard to memorize, the number is not difficult to perform, nor conduct, but do keep it on the sprightly side.
2a. Recitative: But Tell Me, Who’s the Youth…
Compared to the dismal recitative in The Sorcerer, Buttercup’s short recit with the Boatswain is just right; brief, expressive, and easy to manage. As you conduct your orchestra, be sure to beat through the whole measure so they know where you are. For example, in the opening measure, cue the downbeat, then quickly beat through 2 and 3, holding at three until Buttercup sings feet, then give 4 as an upbeat, after which she’ll sing With, and you’ll be right there to land the downbeat of the next measure. It takes practice, but you can do it!
3. Madrigal: The Nightingale
I’ve been puzzling somewhat over why this arietta is called a Madrigal, since it’s not particularly polyphonic nor choral. Lyrically, it does play with tropes of the Renaissance Madrigal. The Nightingale sings at night, and is consequently symbolic of other nocturnal happenings like love, grief, and insomnia.
“Ah Well a-day” is one of those mournful phrases Gilbert liked to return to that sound vaguely Elizabethan, like Willow Willow Waly, Heighdy Heighdy, Misery Me, Lack-a-day-dee! or Tit Willow, Tit Willow. Shakespeare uses Ah Well-A-Day in Romeo and Juliet, when the Nurse tells Juliet that Tybalt is dead, and it seems to have been fairly popular in literature of the 18th century. Maybe the most famous use of “Ah, well-a-day” comes from the early English Romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who used it in a passage of The Rime of the Ancient Marriner to describe the dismay of the title character at having to wear a dead albatross around his neck:
Ah! Well a-day! What evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the albatross About my neck was hung.
Ralph’s opening aria lyric is deliberately archaic and high-flown. He’s singing about a bird who is himself singing, forlorn, in the moonlight. In Act 2, his counterpart Corcoran will also sing, forlorn to the moon, but there is little poetry in Corcoran’s lyric. He’s petulantly concerned with his own affairs. So while others have carped that Ralph’s lyric here is full of cliches, I think Gilbert was actually starting a thread he would follow through the entire opera: Ralph is very poetic for a sailor, and in his dialogue, he will frequently sound like one of the poets from Patience. I like to think perhaps Gilbert was foreshadowing the fact that Ralph is in the wrong station.
It’s a shame that when we music direct these pieces, we often learn them via the vocal score. The Nightingale is a delightful little arietta when accompanied by the piano, but I missed until well into the performances the lovely orchestrational detail that the clarinet Nightingale is answered a step higher by the flute echo. I had internalized these things by melody only, and happily discovered their meaning as echos when I had the orchestra in front of me.
The first part of the aria is straightforward for the tenor and chorus. the echoing phrases in the men’s chorus end with “day” a different duration each time. Be sure your chorus knows that.
The pun at the end, “a lass” vs. “alas” will alas be lost on your audience if your Ralph does not observe the little rest after the word “love”. That sixteenth rest really makes the “alas” sound like an exclamation and not a noun.
3a: Ballad: A Maiden Fair To See
This is really the second half of the same aria, and like most early Gilbert and Sullivan introductory tenor arias, this one is in 3, with a long line and a couple of lovely high notes. The orchestral introduction is very chromatic, with 11 of the 12 chromatic pitches represented. Ralph’s melody is also very chromatic, with the first 2 phrases covering all the notes between B and F in a tune that floats down like a feather. The third phrase balances by climbing to the high A with again, nearly every pitch represented.
If the Madrigal section of the double aria was about storytelling, this is about the beauty of the line. There is maybe a little flexibility possible with regard to tempo, to let the tops of the phrases bloom, but think of this second half of the aria as the faster half.
The men of the chorus have a similar task to the one they just accomplished in their echo phrases, with the exception of the ending. My suggestion is to have Ralph’s “Oh pity pity me” be only slightly slower the first time, and then really observe the fermatas the second time. Then you’ll want to cue through the chorus as follows:
And he, (have the chorus catch a breath, line up and with Ralph’s me) Follow Ralph’s lead as he sings Our to line up his Captain with:
He, (again have the chorus catch the breath, to line up that with Ralph’s she) Follow Ralph’s lead as he sings And to line up his I with:
Lowly (no breath, connect the Suitors together)
They will have to watch you so that you don’t get a bunch of SSSSSSS at the top of the last word.
Buttercup leaves here for no reason at all that I can tell, except that she has nothing to sing and Gilbert doesn’t know exactly why she is on board.
4. Recit and Song: My Gallant Crew, Good Morning
Corcoran’s entrance aria is marvelous, beginning with the opening exchange. If your chorus is well rehearsed, we get a great sense of the order that Corcoran brings to the ship. Gilbert’s retelling for children indicates this charming detail:
This was how he greeted his crew every day:
“My gallant crew, good morning!”
and they would reply:
“Sir, good morning!”
Then he would say:
“I hope you’re all quite well.”
And they would answer:
“Quite well, and you, Sir?”
And he would reply:
“I am in reasonable health, and happy
To see you all once more.”
And they would sing:
“You do us proud, Sir!”
Of course, when he was not quite well, he would alter the words to suit his condition, like this:
“I have a dreadful toothache, yet I’m happy
To see you all once more!”
Or
“I have a housemaid’ knee, yet I am happy
To see you all once more!”
And so forth, for Captain Corcoran never intentionally said anything that was not strictly true.
If you track down the book online, you’ll also read Gilbert’s charming way of softening the Big Big D to “Bother!” for the sensitive ears of the children.
In the Dover full score, you’ll notice that measures 18 and 19 have 2 readings. In the autograph and in the other sources, the 2 chords appear on beats one and two of measure 18. In the Schirmer Vocal score, they appear on the downbeats of 18 and 19. Probably your orchestral parts will match the Schirmer score, but it would be worth having a look to see what your parts say. Incidentally, the autograph score, and the 1880 and 1882 English and German versions have the two chords in one measure. It isn’t until the Metzler 1920 Vocal score that the other version seems to have appeared. It seems like the two notes were originally in one measure, then fermatas in the rests were sanctioned, and finally, someone determined it was easier to notate it as it now appears.
A frustration of this score in particular is the inconsistency of similar passages as they appear throughout the score. Where possible, I suggest that you standardize similar passages for the sake of memorization and clarity. This means that “What, never?” is always short the first time and carried to the downbeat in the following measure the second time. When this passage reoccurs at the end of the show, you should ignore the other lengths and do it precisely as you did it here. “And a right good captain, too” ends on beat 2, not on the and of 1 as it is notated at the end of the show. If you try to do the end of the show as written, you’ll be very frustrated to no conceivable purpose.
Traditionally there are no fermatas the first time through, and the second time through, you do them. I never got that first one quite right; the tenors need to be the link between the fermata and the next passage, it’s difficult for them to connect the old idea with the new section, even if you don’t breathe between the notes. Plan to spend some time there. Conducting the second fermata is hard, since you have to land beat 2, then suspend it, then reiterate it so you can get out into the next measure.
Everyone leaves except the Captain. Buttercup re-enters to talk to him, having done whatever took her off the stage. See what I’m saying? Gilbert doesn’t know what to do with her.
4a. Recit: Sir, You Are Sad…
This can somewhat tricky to conduct through if you’re not accustomed to conducting recits. (see my note to 2a) At measure 12, we are in tempo. The recit. is pretty good, if not inspired, but since Buttercup is so awkwardly brought off and back on, the exposition seems pretty hamhanded. She then leaves again, having fulfilled her function of getting the information out.
5. Ballad: Sorry Her Lot
There is a wonderful thread of detail in the orchestration of Pinafore that begins here, and it involves the use of the woodwinds in opposition to the strings, as a metaphor. Generally speaking, in traditional writing for the orchestra, the strings are the backbone of the ensemble, and the woodwinds are used to provide warmth, color, or melodic material above or behind the strings. The strings are the main course, and the woodwinds provide flavor, as a kind of musical garnish. Generally, Sullivan sticks to that approach. But beginning here in Josephine’s entrance ballad, Sullivan begins setting off the woodwinds in relief on their own, as in measures 3 & 4, and 32 & 33. It is a very small detail here, but it is significant nonetheless. This is the first place in the score where any winds play without the strings accompanying. With the exception of a few measures of very comical doubling of Dick Deadeye’s snide commentary in the First Act Finale, the next time the winds play without help from and in opposition to the strings is in Josephine’s other major aria a full act later, “The Hours Creep On Apace“, where they will represent a very clear metaphor. When we get there, I’ll elaborate. The metaphor extends into the trio Nevermind The Why And Wherefore, which also has this effect, and makes its final appearance as a device in Buttercup’s revelation that she swapped the Captain and Ralph in infancy. To make my point clear: Sullivan uses the family of winds alone in opposition to the string family in only 5 places in the score, and in each place, the subject at hand is the precipitous distance in station between Josephine and Ralph. If you are unconvinced, I hope to win you over presently.
There is much to say about the Ballad apart from that detail of orchestration.
Firstly, this is a fine example of Sullivan’s genius for unexpected text setting. If you were a composer and saw the lines:
Sorry her lot who loves too well
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly
you might place the first three syllables on upbeats in 9/8 as Sullivan did, although likely you’d choose something more pedestrian, like a waltz. Then for the next line, if you saw:
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly
you’d probably notice that those lyrics scan the same way, and you’d set them rhythmically identically. But Sullivan sets Sad not on the upbeat, but on the downbeat, which gives it a tragic emphasis, on the minor 6th scale degree over a half diminished ii7 chord. If you’re at a piano, sing Sad and play that chord. Is there anything more tragic? After bringing the phrase to a wonderful half cadence, Sullivan modulates to the relative major and reuses the first two lines, placing the first note of each phrase on the downbeat this time. In doing so, Sullivan has completely reoriented Gilbert’s lyric, just as Mozart often did to DaPonte’s libretti. Verdi and Puccini would have asked for an amended lyric. Note also that Sullivan’s setting basically ruins Gilbert’s internal rhyme; you don’t even notice it anymore. I think Gilbert meant:
A) Sorry her lot who loves too well
A) Heavy the Heart that hopes but vainly
B) Sad are the sighs
C) That own the Spell
B) Uttered by Eyes
A) That speak too plainly
But because Sullivan phrases it over many measures, we hear the second part like this:
Sad are the sighs that Own the spell
Uttered by Eyes that Speak too plainly.
The second part of the aria is in a faster F major, and just as the first half had been tracing gently descending scales, the F major portion traces chords up and down the range before ending on a chromatic melisma. On the repeat, Josephine gets a lovely cadenza up to the B flat.
Sullivan had set texts unusually in the previous operas, but this is a tremendous step forward, and he would continue in that direction in Pirates.
I went into some detail in my Pirates Rough Guide into the way Sullivan shortens his connecting passages to build excitement. I think I called it ‘sawing the end off the diving board’ Here, Josephine’s opening music is shortened the other way, by cutting off the front! In measure 29 and 59, Sullivan moves the beginning of the phrase from beat 1 to beat 2. You can certainly see why he did this; the melody begins on the third, which would spoil Josephine’s cadence. (note also the bold descending tritone in the melody!)
Melody at the Opening
Introduction as it appears the second time
Sullivan would pull the same trick years later in the 3rd Act of Princess Ida in the title character’s aria: I Built Upon a Rock, which is also an Andante in 3/4 time.
I don’t find Josephine’s arias as convincing as Mabel’s in Pirates, but they are very strong. It is important to treat her arias as serious moments; the piece must be grounded and beautiful to work. The situations these characters find themselves in are by nature preposterous, but to make them work correctly, these few moments of sheer beauty must be sincere.
6. Barcarolle: Over The Bright Blue Sea
This sequence is where the opening number pays off! Many people have pointed out the wonderful orchestrational detail of the pianissimo bass drum strikes on “Bang Bang”. And again Sullivan’s melodic fecundity is amazing.
Performance details:
Be sure you are clear about where to breathe at the ladies entrance, and observe the dynamics. The last note on K.C.B. is tied to an eighth note in the next measure. The English have a way of notating cutoffs that I don’t completely understand, except that it’s inconsistent and doesn’t make sense to me. I do hope one day someone will enlighten me further on this. Conversations with colleagues have just led to mutual bewilderment. Cut off that B on the downbeat of measure 20.
7. Sir Joseph’s Barge Is Seen
By rights this should be 6a. The first portion is an elaboration of the opening number, with better voicing for the chorus and a truncated ending. It leads to one of the most delightful passages of delicate woodwind frothiness in the canon. Compare Climbing Over Rocky Mountain, which was originally written for Thespis, and was repurposed for Pirates. That’s quite a nice little tune, but it has nothing on this beautifully filigreed passage. The end of this number completes the musical idea that began in our opening number, and the number that immediately follows will inaugurate a new set of melodies that will be peppered through the show.
In your Schirmer vocal score, the tenors go up the octave for the lines, “And its crowd of blushing beauty” and for “and attentive to our duty.” The original orchestral score doesn’t have this, and neither does the 1878 Metzler, the 1890 Ditson Vocal Score, the 1920 Metzler, or the Dover full score. Only in the Schirmer does this variation occur. The Dover score is pretty good about noting these discrepancies, but it doesn’t make any note about this one. The higher version is much better for the tenors. If it’s an authorized change, I do wonder why it wasn’t incorporated into the version earlier in the show, when Sullivan was alive.
Apparently there is also some confusion about whether the lyric is“duties” and “beauties” or “duty” and “beauty”. Either is good, just don’t mix and match. Be certain your tenors sing fee-are, not feeer. It does, in fact, rhyme with we are.
The ladies vocal line here is fun, but tricky. You have to observe the staccato, and to float as much as possible that top A, which in amateur choruses runs the risk of being somewhat screechy. But the hardest part is to make the low A actually speak at the end of the passage. The alto line in “Sailors sprightly, always rightly Welcome ladies so politely” is rather unreasonable for the amateur, and will require extra care. Recordings often include a crescendo in the lines, Flags and guns and pennants, All the ladies love, Ladies who can smile, and Sailors welcome most politely, and I thought that was an effective choice. In measure 67, when the ladies parts meet the two gentlemen’s parts, it will come off best if we have already established differing character in the 3 sections. The bass part should be separated, even staccato, the women’s part light and dainty, and the tenors as full bodied as possible. If the three parts are all rather characterless, we won’t get much excitement when the parts are combined. The descending chromatic line in measures 78-83 has a potential of going flat. Be sure the half steps are small. Observe the written diminuendo and be sure to admonish your chorus to keep a strong breath support to help with tone and intonation. There are a number of ways to get the last 6 measures across. Often people come to a full stop before Sailors, then switch to 4/4 or a subdivide 2/4 in much slower tempo. Sometimes you hear a break between Ladies and Most politely. Whatever you choose, be sure you’re back in tempo when the orchestra comes in and be clear where you are cutting off. I think amateur choruses will have trouble cutting off on the and of 2 as it appears in the score. Better on 2 itself, or even the downbeat of the following measure.
8. Now Give Three Cheers
If you’re only working from the Schirmer Vocal Score, you may not know that there’s a traditional snare cadence after the first 6 measures and before the Vivace that acts as entrance music for Sir Joseph. It can be heard on a number of recordings. Just as No. 7 closed the loop on the first number, Joseph’s entrance music will reprise many times through the show, evidence of the determination of the authors to further integrate the musical material. Unfortunately for the sake of performance, there are several versions of the Sisters, Cousins, and Aunts refrain, and they are dissimilar in voicing and execution. You will do well to point this out early in your rehearsal process so that your cast can begin differentiating them immediately.
The closing Aunts of the chorus end on beat 4 the first two times in this iteration, and on the 3rd beat of the second measure on the final pass. You should drill in this cutoff as early as possible. It also, one hopes, goes without saying that these are Onts, not Ants.
9. Song: When I Was A Lad
This patter song is a good deal simpler than My Name is John Wellington Wells in The Sorcerer. It is, in fact, a very close cousin to When I, Good Friends Was Called To The Bar from Trial by Jury. Wells’s number was based on traditional Bel Canto patter songs, but this has the classic Gilbert and Sullivan flavor. In Pirates, they would find a way to marry the simplicity of form they explore here with the melodically complex writing of The Sorcerer.
As with all patter numbers, the most difficult hurdle is simply remembering the words. There is a notational puzzle in the Schirmer score that is liable to confuse your chorus members who are dogmatic about stem direction. For some reason, there are always one or two chorus members in every group I direct who hold rigidly to the rule that when stems on a staff with two parts go down they are for Altos or Basses, and when stems go up, they’re for Sopranos or Tenors. When the exigencies of some passage require stems to orient based on another consideration, this causes great confusion for some people. On each page of this number in the Schirmer score, there are stems pointing up for the first time through and down for the second, to indicate different rhythms. It’s as simple as can be, but on page 49, the rhythms of the choral echo are so different that the measures look truly awful. Teach the rhythm by rote, or you’ll wind up explaining what’s going on many many times, as I did!
There are a lot of words here, many to mis-pronounce if you’re not careful. “Clerk” is pronounced “clark“. “Poss examination“, not “PAAS examination”, “so syooted me/he“, not “so soooted me/he“, “Pah-lee-uh-ment“, not “parlumint“. That’s a start.
In verse 4, Sir Joseph sings “the only ship that I ever had seen”, and the chorus echoes: “the only ship he ever had seen”, with no “that“.
It is traditional to perform the end of the 5th verse and the entire 6th verse slightly slower. Be sure when you get to “…by making me the ruler…” and “…and you all may be rulers…” that the tempo picks up again, or you’ll have a devil of a time coordinating your chorus entrance.
SIDEBAR: In May 1945, George S. Kaufman’s Hollywood Pinafore, or The Lad Who Loved A Salary opened at the Alvin Theatre. It was a spoof of Pinafore that took place in a motion picture studio. That may sound off to you, and it is a little goofy, but consider this dream team: It was written and directed by Kaufman, who had written for the Marx Brothers, the plays Merrily We Roll Along, The Man Who Came To Dinner, and would later win a Tony directing the original Guys and Dolls. Buttercup was played by Shirley Booth, who would win a Tony, an Academy Award, and a Golden Globe in the 1950s. And William Gaxton and Victor Moore would play Dick Live-Eye and Joseph W. Porter, they had starred together in the original casts of Cole Porter’s Anything Goes, Gershwin’s Let ‘Em Eat Cake and Of Thee I Sing. They were the powerhouse comic team of Broadway in the 1930s and 1940s. The story goes that Kaufman ad libbed part of Joseph Porter’s lyric for this number, and a friend suggested he write the rest of it.
My favorite parts of Kaufman’s Porter lyric run like this:
When I was a lad I tried my hand
At every business in the land
My list was most diversified-
I sold umbrellas and insecticide.
(He sold umbrellas and insecticide)
But I could not make Anything go,
So now I am the ruler of the Studio
(But he could not make anything go,
So now he is the ruler of the studio)
I drove a truck and I worked in a bank
And at both those jobs I really stank;
I also made asbestos pies
And I manufactured artificial butterflies
(He manufactured artificial butterflies)
But in all that time I never said “no”,
So now I am the ruler of the studio
(But in all that time he never said no,
So now he is the ruler of the studio)
9a: For I Hold That On The Seas
There is again a drum roll/cadence that traditionally goes between the 9 and 9a that is not in the vocal score.
This reprise of the Sisters, Cousins and Aunts is in Bb this time, so all the voicing is completely different in the chorus parts. Thanks, Sir Arthur.
10. Glee: A British Tar
This is the first of two major patriotic pieces in Pinafore. Another sidebar here: when Gilbert and Sullivan were in their first full flush of success, they made a concerted effort to consolidate their gains and push into America and the continent. In their American effort, they supervised an authorized Pinafore and gave us The Pirates of Penzance, the history of which I elaborated on last year. But their effort to connect with Germany wasn’t as successful. It did produce an 1882 German vocal score, which you can still look at on IMSLP. It’s really a wonderful translation, and there are some places where the translator is actually funnier than Gilbert! (for brief moments) I bring it up here, because in the German version Amor am Bord, the sailors are not English. And in this number, they’re just sailors:
Der Seeman ist gar ein leichtes Blut
And if you were wondering how the Kaufman rewrite went, they are writers:
A writer fills the lowest niche
Of the entire human span
He is just above the rat
And should always tip his hat
When he meets the garbage man
His lips should tremble
And his face should pale
His steps should falter
And his eyes should quail
He should live somewhere
In a ‘dobe hut
And he always should be ready for a sal’ry cut.
In the Kaufman spoof, when that section is reprised in the first act finale, it really has a nice punch, because it’s reiterating how low Ralph’s position is as a writer instead of his high status as an Englishman.
If your 3 principal singers are good enough, you should let them sing the a cappella sections without you managing them from the podium. Beat the measures for the sake of the orchestra, then begin directing everyone 2 measures before the Piú vivace for the sake of the rall. and the fermata.
I’m sorry to say that I find the orchestration at the Piú vivace somewhat ineffective. It’s thinly scored at measure 21 for the strings with no double bass at a piano dynamic, which makes it difficult to use the orchestra to help establish the new tempo coming out of the a cappella section. By the time the double bass and winds join in, you have had perhaps a devil of a 4 measures trying to coordinate things. It is not at all clear in the piano vocal, but if you bring the chorus in at a real piano dynamic, they stand a fighting chance of being together with the orchestra.
It’s a testament to Sullivan’s interest in developing his material over the course of the operetta that he does not give this tune its full due here. He is saving something for later, as we shall see.
11. Duet: Refrain, Audacious Tar
This is one place where I most feel Pinafore is a rough draft of Pirates. Stay! Frederic Stay! follows strongly the outline of Refrain, Audacious Tar!: In both numbers an allegro chromatic opening gesture in the orchestra leads to two octaves establishing a minor key. An exciting and declamatory allegro is followed by a slower passage in 3 in the parallel major, even though it’s a melancholy sentiment. But that’s where the comparisons end. Stay! Frederic Stay! then follows with a plot-driving recitative and a thrilling Allegro vivace in the relative major. It’s very close to perfection. By comparison, Refrain… doesn’t pack as strong a punch. Without Pirates to compare it to, though, we have to marvel at how far Gilbert and Sullivan have come since The Sorcerer. The classic G&S situation for duet between the romantic principals is one in which a character is of two minds, a public and a private one. the resolution of the plot comes when the two minds are somehow reconciled. In The Sorcerer, Alexis and Aline reach their most conflicted state in Act 2 over the matter of whether Aline will take the potion as Alexis demands. His expression of his sentiment comes in an Aria, and her decision to acquiesce later also happens in a brief aria. That critical juncture between the two characters had happened in individual moments, not jointly. Here in Pinafore, the authors have finally figured out how to bring the music to bear on the dramatic situation, and how to depict the conflict using all the forces at their disposal.
You will need to make some decisions together about the way the ending works. Since the duet goes somewhat out of time, you can sing the grace note a number of ways successfully, provided you all agree on the approach.
12 Finale: Can I Survive This Overbearing
In Pinafore Gilbert and Sullivan made striking headway in writing finales, an area that has stymied composers and librettists for centuries. Lorenzo Da Ponte, who wrote the words for Mozart’s greatest operas wrote the following in his memoirs:
“This ‘finale’, which has to be closely connected with the rest of the opera, is a sort of little comedy in itself and requires a fresh plot and a special interest of its own. This is the great occasion for showing off the genius of the composer, the ability of the singers, and the most effective ‘situation’ of the drama. Recitative is excluded from it; everything is sung, and every style of singing must find a place in it-adagio, allegro, andante, amabile, armonioso, strepitoso, arcistrpitoso, strepitosissimo, and with this the said finale generally ends. This in the musician’s slang is called the chiusa or stretta- I suppose because it generally gives not one twinge, but a hundred to the unhappy brain of the poet who writes the words. In this finale it is a dogma of theatrical theology that all the singers should appear on the stage, even if there were three hundred of them, by ones, by twos, by threes, by sixes, by tens, by sixties, to sing solos, duets, trios, sextets, sessantets; and if the plot of the play does not allow of it, in defiance of his better judgement or of his reason, or of all the Aristotles on earth; and if he then finds his play is going badly, so much the worse for him.”
Trial By Jury had the virtue of being so short as not to require a complicated Finale. After the main problem of the piece is solved, the operetta reprised a bit of the judge’s tune and we were on our way.
Act I of The Sorcerer had ended with a number of the elements DaPonte laid out in his memoir: The cast was assembled, we heard a very memorable drinking song, an ominous and brief trio, a beautiful duet, and a full ensemble of confusion, such as one might typically find in a standard Offenbach operetta. Act II began with 3 pages of a comical scene, and then an exact reprise of the song that closed Act I.
The Act I Finale of HMS Pinafore integrates solos, duets, trios, and large scale ensemble work with constant commentary by the chorus in an amazing balancing act that shows absolute mastery from composer and librettist. It incorporates declamatory solo work, moments of pathos, threats, and patriotism, a near suicide, a patter song for the chorus and principals at breakneck speed, a sea shanty, and finally, a restatement of “A British Tar” which does not merely repeat the previous iteration, but is a major expansion and rethinking complete with one of Sullivan’s delicious harmonic left turns. The fleshing out of A British Tar feels less like a reprise and more like a payoff, as though this is the way this tune was always meant to be played out, and we are only at that moment hearing it properly.
As usual, the First Act Finale is the most difficult piece to manage as a conductor. I’ll give you some tips on managing the complicated factors at play here.
Be sure your chorus is clear on the rests in their first entrance, and make sure the word “cheer” has no ‘r’ in it. There are a lot of ‘t’ cutoffs here, it’s a great place to create real precision in your chorus.
Deadeye’s part is quite rangy. Have a listen to some of the historical recordings, and you’ll hear some options of sections to potentially speak, if the notes prove impractical for your actor. Incidentally, Deadeye’s passage “You must submit, you are but slaves” is one of the handful of passages I alluded to earlier where the winds are playing opposite the strings. Deadeye tells them they are slaves to the accompaniment of clarinets, bassoons and horns, and that she is a lady to the accompaniment of strings.
When Ralph sings his “My friends, my leave of life I’m taking…”, note that the chorus echoes with slightly different words than Ralph sang. Note that “faithful” is 2 eighths, not a dotted eighth-sixteenth pattern. Also somewhat problematic is the fact that only the sopranos sing the word “that” in the last phrase. This will be super counter-intuitive for your altos, tenors, and basses.
The way the vocal score lays out the chorus passages, “Ah, stay your hand…” and “Yes, Yes, ah Yes!” is potentially confusing. The sopranos and altos are meant to sing the higher note in the normal treble clef, the tenors and basses the lower note as notated, not the octave lower as might be notated with the tenor 8va basso treble clef. I hope that makes sense. Of course, altitude challenged altos may sing the lower note with the tenors if necessary.
The Allegro vivace “Oh, joy, oh rapture…” is an extraordinary passage in a style that Sullivan had explored several times in Act II of The Sorcerer, and an orchestral texture he would return to many times again in the future. The effect is achieved with a very quiet arpeggiated accompaniment in the violins and violas activated into sixteenth notes, the 2nd violins, cellos and basses punctuating the pattern in 2 measure pizzicato phrases. Over this very exciting but very quiet texture, the winds emphasize the most beautiful parts of the melody in a subtle legato. It’s simple, but very sophisticated, worthy of Rossini or Offenbach, for sure. And when Deadeye’s material is introduced and then applied into that texture, the horns begin playing offbeat octaves as the pizzicato portion of the texture speeds up. One gets the sense that Sullivan is holding some forces in reserve; there’s more to do here, and indeed he’ll get to that later. As you’re rehearsing this passage, keep the dynamic quiet, so that you can achieve all that subtlety in executing it with the orchestra.
The passage that follows is the nail-biter for the conductor, sitting, as such passages always do near the conclusion of the First Act Finale. Choose your tempo wisely, because you’ll be stuck with it when everything is happening at once. In truth, Sullivan wants this tempo to be exactly the same as the previous tempo, so you’ll really need to be thinking very long term to get that speed just right. As the principals begin to introduce the theme, make sure you observe the rests. When the chorus is introduced, again reiterate the importance of the rests, and decide where the consonants go when a rest comes between two halves of a word. For example, I chose: “this ve- ry”, not “this ver- y” as it’s written. I think “mu-ffled” is particularly important. Incidentally, you may not know that music engravers are required by the conventions of their craft to break up words as they are broken up in a standard dictionary, not by where the consonants lie artistically for the singer. In the US in the 50s and 60s, there was a move to overthrow this convention in choral music, but the results looked preposterous, and so now we’re back to the old way. You are not breaking the composers intention by moving consonants tastefully to the next syllable.
You will probably find that the bass part in this passage lies too low for some of your singers. Truthfully the alto part is low as well, but the bass part is actually going to be out of range for some of your basses. The tenor part is available for use at that point, and some of your tenors can pop up and help those altos if necessary, although most altos I know are proud of their low Gs and will resent the offer of assistance. Honestly no one will hear any of your low basses on those E flats in context. The bassoon is perhaps going to be mistaken for a bass at that point, which is all the same, frankly.
When the meter switches to a big 3/2 and everyone is singing, I have to confess that the choral scoring is not ideal. In our production, we did it as is, but there is potentially a way to alter it to make it lie better in terms of range and balance. Let me show you what I mean:
It’s clear Sullivan wants the melody to come out strong, since he’s marked it forte and all other parts pianissimo. In the autograph score and the other early sources, Deadeye sings the Boatswain’s part here and The Boatswain takes the Carpenter’s line. But let’s assume for the sake of discussion that we have a chorus of 24, and let’s assume the fantasy that there are exactly 6 on a voice part. (yes, I know this is ludicrous, but one has to start somewhere) This means that there will be 13 people singing the rather difficult melody, including Altos who will be singing a G above the staff in the measure following this excerpt. There will be 7 people on the very bottom part and 1 person on the Baritone part. (sung in the above score by the Boatswain) The finest tenor onstage, Ralph, will be singing essentially a second tenor part alone, while 6 other tenors and one principal Mezzo will sing a first tenor part just slightly higher. One mezzo alone will sing what is essentially a standard alto part. So counting from the top to the bottom, this would be the distribution of parts: 13, 1, 7, 1, 1, 7. This strikes me as kind of silly. If you have the time, you might redistribute things thus: All sopranos and Josephine on the melody, Forte. (that’s 7 people) Half the altos and Hebe on the top part, second line from the top, piano. (that’s 4 people) The other half of the altos and Buttercup on the lower note of the second line from the top, piano. (that’s also 4 people) All the tenors and Ralph on what used to be Ralph’s line, pianissimo. (that’s 7 people) The baritones, the Boatswain, and Deadeye on the Boatswain’s old line, piano. (that’s 5 people) All the 2nd basses and the Carpenter on the Carpenter’s old line mezzo piano. (that’s 4 people) This distribution is 7,4,4,7,5,4. If people are paying attention to dynamics, especially those tenors, I think this works better, and you still have a principal grounding every part. In reality, you probably don’t have as many chorus tenors anyhow.
However you manage this passage in terms of the voicing, you will need to observe some important precautions to get a good ensemble.
When you teach this melody, take a lot of time clarifying the 3 versions of the descending passage slowly, or you will never ever get it in tune.
In any passage like this, be very clear what each part is doing. The choral/chordal parts are not the main event, they are a texture below the melody. They should be piano, and extremely short, all rests being observed. This melody is also marked staccato, but it has no rests, so we should hear a long stream of delicate filigree. If the two parts have the same character, we lose the effect.
There is a danger for each of these two musical components: The melody part has no place to breathe. If the singers try to catch a breath and jump back in, they will muddle the line and slow things down. Those singers need to drop a note or two whenever they catch a breath and sneak back in. The accompanimental part has rests. The notes after the rests will likely want to rush. Amateur singers also often breathe during each rest. In a passage like this, that’s a recipe for hyperventilation and also contributes to rushing. These tendencies lead to a strong potential for the singers falling out of sync with one another and the orchestra.
Gilbert’s lyric here is wonderful, with an incredible double triple rhyme scheme: ABC ABC DEF DEF. Point that out, and drill the words without the music at half speed, a quarter speed and full speed, eliminating American Rs and clarifying plosive consonants as you go.
Take a little time to get the group to watch you. I like to conduct speeding up and slowing down preposterously to get the group responsive to my beat, then I tell them to watch me as though I’m going to do that, even though I won’t. Try that, I bet it’ll work wonders. Incidentally, (and this is kind of important) it’s good to remind your singers that when they’re watching the conductor well, it will sometimes feel like the conductor is speeding up or slowing down erratically. That’s because when the conductor is trying to correct an out of control tempo, you should feel an adjustment. If you don’t feel the reins, maybe you’re not connected to the chariot.
Incidentally, the German version of this section has an impressive and difficult translation which has an easier rhyme scheme. If your German is good enough, try this on for size:
In dieser Nacht,
wenn Niemand wacht
nahn leise wir
wir sind schon hier,
Still schleicht ihr fort
zum Kirchlein dort,
sie wird als Braut
ihm angetraut!
Ihr werdet sehn,
es wird schon geh’n
und Niemand kann
sie trennen dann.
In dieser Nacht wenn Niemand wacht…
At the tail end of this passage are 2 problems. At the final “none, none”, the chorus will probably want to hold the second “none” as though it had a fermata. The fermata is on the rest, not the note. Then when the whole thing opens out into half notes, there is usually a tendency to rush. Try to get the chorus to feel the big 3 beat in the previous passage and maintain that throughout. There is no ritardando here.
I also feel the need to point out that the 5 measures that connect this passage to Deadeye’s final outburst are exquisite, and the chromatic descending line in the bassoon and horn combined with the chromatically altered melody would be the envy of many a Romantic composer.
Deadeye has an ominous recitative here, which is right where it would need to be to deliver a piece of information that ruins everything. In the same spot in Pirates, Ruth has a section of Recitative where she begs not to be abandoned. In Patience, this is the place where Grosvenor comes to ruin Bunthorne’s fun. There are analagous places in the First Act Finales of every subsequent Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, but probably the best of these is Katisha’s entrance in the First Act Finale of The Mikado, where she truly rains blight on our festivities. Here, I can’t help the sense that Deadeye is not much of a threat to these goings on, and one wishes Gilbert had given Deadeye the agency to insinuate he’d tell on the pair. As it stands, we simply laugh to see him ignored.
The orchestra parts have some more dynamic variety than the Vocal Score lets on in the following Allegro. When the Tra las begin, the strings drop out, and the winds are marked piano, it’s suddenly very rustic. You might instruct your chorus to drop in volume there. The strings reenter forte when the sopranos have the melody alone. The dotted half note ‘La’s in that passage in the Altos, Tenors, and Basses should be sfzps, to let the melody clear, and do be careful not to rush that passage.
The British Tar reprise that begins here is really interesting, because Sullivan has written a brand new melody on the lyric of the original Glee for the women to sing. I found it more difficult to manage the lyric in this tune at speed than the mens part is 16 measures hence. I think you will want to get that women’s part as quick as you can manage, or the following passage will feel a bit soggy and slow.
The final stretto of the Finale is brilliantly done. Again, enforce a clarity of differentiation between the principals, who are putting across a very legato line, and the chorus, who are punctuating the line with little bursts of excitement. It’s easy to miss the Stringendo at the bottom of vocal score page 92, which speeds up to the Più vivo at the top right corner of page 93. At the bottom of 93, right on time, is one of Sullivan’s signature harmonic left turns. The one near the end of Trial by Jury heads toward the key area of VI major. The WOW moment harmonically at the end of the first act of The Sorcerer is an absolute shocker, a left turn toward flat III major, from the key of B, briefly into the key of D major. Sullivan must have sensed he was onto something, because this one also points toward flat III, from an E flat major tonality into G flat major. Bel Canto composers sometimes do this trick, but Sullivan manages to make it seem effortless and inevitable. Rather than seeming like a ‘predictable surprise’, I always feel like when I get near the end of Act I, the master is going to step up the plate and is always going to hit a homer.
I don’t know why Buttercup doesn’t have a line with the principals. She might sing with Hebe if you need the line fortified. Or perhaps you could create a line that incorporates Ralph’s higher notes. Or have her sing with the chorus. Or she could hold up a sign that says, “Gilbert forgot I was on stage.”
One further thing before I conclude the first act here: Your sopranos are all going to want to pop that high B flat at the end. You really only need one or two up there. Say that in your rehearsals when you’re learning the piece, and then when you get off book and on stage, periodically remove some chorus sopranos from the high B flat. It’s like cleaning a fish tank.
ACT II
Entr’acte
The Entr’acte is really quite short! I conducted the first 5 measures in 3, including the pickup to the 6th measure. Then I switched to a beat per bar, moving back to 3 for the rall. moments.
13. Song: Fair Moon, To Thee I Sing
It’s going to take a little time to unpack this one. Rutland Barrington, the original Corcoran, disliked the song, and asked to have it replaced. It seems to have been removed and then put back. It’s rather a difficult aria to sing well. We were fortunate to cast an exceptionally good tenor, who sang it in the original key of D. You should know right off the bat that the song was originally in D, but is often performed in C. When you get your parts, check the key. A whole step makes a huge difference here.
The vocal score is also misleading in another respect. The first measure is a horn, marked mp, not p, and the f chord in measure 2 is a pizzicato pluck from the strings. Banging that staccato chord at a forte on the keyboard is not at all the effect of the string section playing it pizz. When you see the accompaniment figure that follows in the piano score, you’re liable to use pedal and pretend it’s Schubert. It isn’t. That accompaniment is also pizz, very dry, an imitation of the mandolin he’s playing onstage. Pedal from measures 14-16, when the winds come in and play chords, and pedal from the second half of measure 28 through the downbeat of 38, where the winds add warmth and pathos to Corcoran’s lament. Note also the piano marking at measure 34. (which doesn’t make it into the orchestral parts in every edition by the way) If your singer can pull off that line at a quiet dynamic, it’s exceptionally beautiful, but quite difficult in that register, which sits right in most people’s passaggio.
Singers with Bel Canto experience will recognize this type perhaps more readily than the general public. If the text were Italian, a listener would likely peg this as Donizetti or maybe Bellini. Think Quanto è bella or Spirto Gentil for example. You’ll want a somewhat flexible rubato around the important cadences, an unobtrusive accompaniment, and a long beautiful, well supported line that culminates in the final phrase. The more beautiful the singing, the funnier the goofy lyric will be. After all, the template for these pieces are very serious love songs, and Corcoran is just annoyed by his job and his daughter’s inconvenient love life.
14: Duet: Things Are Seldom What They Seem
The simple duets between secondary characters that appear in the second acts of G&S are uniformly delightful. Along the lines of Wells and Lady Sangazure’s duet in The Sorcerer is this oddball list of truisms.
In his children’s book, Gilbert writes: “though very uneasy at her portentous utterance –– was rather disposed to pat himself on the back for having tackled her on her own ground in the matter of stringing rhymes, and (as he thought) beaten her at it. But, in this he was wrong, for if you compare her lines with his, you will see that whereas her lines dealt exclusively with people and things who were not so important as they thought themselves to be, his lines were merely chopped-up proverbs that had nothing to do with each other or with anything else.”
Performance wise there is not much to say about this duet. The verses are fun and well scored. You need to train your singers to watch for your entrances after the fermatas and to be sure the phrasing of the sections they sing together are lined up to match. The last 9 measures are marked p in the full score, with a slow diminuendo to the pp in the 3rd measure from the end, but these details do not appear in the vocal score.
Gilbert has a few other wonderful and telling comments in his children’s retelling of this number.
The Captain replied:
“Yes, I know
That is so.”
Then, beginning to feel his feet, as the saying is, he ventured into deeper water:
“Though to catch your drift I’m striving,
It is shady- it is shady.”
(He repeated ‘it is shady’ to give him time to think of the next rhyme, though he pretended that the repetition was part of the structure of the verse)
The Hollywood Pinafore version of this has a funny parody lyric:
Hollywood’s a funny place
Big stars little starlets chase
Little girl Ermine wraps
Till a multitude of laps
(Very true
So they Do)
Somehow all the weekly checks
Definitely hinge on sex.
One man fills another’s shoes
Hard to tell whose baby’s whose.
(So they be
Frequentlee)
Then later:
Though I’m anything but clever,
I could talk like this forever;
Films about a Chinese sleuth
Play to millions in Duluth.
15: Scena: The Hours Creep On Apace
After a bit of very funny dialogue between Sir Joseph and the Captain comes Josephine’s wonderful scena, in which we catch more glimpses of G&S greatness to come. Gilbert has provided a lyric full of unselfconscious character development mixed with real pathos, and for his part Sullivan gives Josephine a real Bel Canto aria, complete with sighing motives, a declamatory recitative, and some very impressive high work near the end. This is head and shoulders above anything Sullivan has written for soprano before.
Sullivan isn’t blindingly obvious about the way he uses winds vs. strings as a metaphor, but we are clearly hearing them at the beginning being used oppositionally against one another. Just as Josephine is weighing in her mind the two warring stations available to her, should she follow her heart or her head.
The recitative section is difficult to conduct through. Give the downbeat, and beat 2, and wait to give beat 3 until the word that rhythmically allows you to set up beat 4 for the orchestra. For example, in the first fermata, Beat One and Two, she begins singing. Line up beat 3 with “armor”, and by the time she gets through ‘and old’, you’ll be right on track to get the orchestra in on ‘brasses‘ on beat 4. The trickiest one is ‘pillows‘. Make sure your singer knows not to put any pause between ‘pillows‘ and the words that follow, because the next measure comes in time hot on the heels of the one before. This difficulty may not occur to you until you bring in the orchestra, so keep your ears out for it early in the process. “Luxurious” is pronounced lugzyoorious. (as I hear it), and “papa” is pronounced with the accent on the second syllable.
Incidentally, the German version is stupendous here:
I had a tendency to start the Allegro con spirito with a little too much spirito. Make sure you’re in the tempo you want the sung section to be in.
At measure 63, on the word “duty“, watch that the two half notes bear some relation to half notes, even with the rallentando and the turn involved, otherwise you’ll find it tricky to know when to resolve the chord in the next measure.
The dynamics in the number are clearly and carefully laid out in the full score, and largely absent from the piano vocal. They really help shape the number. For those of you who don’t have access, I’ll lay them out by measure from the top where they’re missing from the pv. (all dynamics in orchestra, not vocal)
m. 9 sfz m 11, sfz, m. 12 p, m. 14 f, m. 17 p, m. 23, beat 3 f, m. 24 p, m. 26 cresc. m. 28 implied mp in strings, p in winds. crescendo to f as it appears in vocal score. m. 32 p, then dynamics as they appear in piano score until m. 77 cresc. m. 80 beat 2 f, m. 82 p as written, then dynamics are correct for the rest of the number.
16: Trio: Nevermind The Why And Wherefore
If this isn’t one of the catchiest tunes ever written, I’d like to see what is. It’s also pretty shockingly chromatic! The first part of the tune hits every note except C and D as it sequences a descending turn, ratchets up by interlocking thirds and finishes off with a few descending tetrachords and a modulation to the dominant. There’s quite a lot going on there, and it’s amazing how effortlessly it plays out.
The second part of the tune reduces the melody to a simple drone, while the woodwinds pipe away at a shanty. The end of that section is an example of that motif of woodwinds alternating with strings that’s been running subtly through the operetta. As the three characters toss back and forth a list of the characters in the love triangle complete with social station, the winds and strings play their own game of back and forth. Sullivan is musicalizing the dichotomy at the center of the story. Added to that clever instrumentation is the traditional association of a highly chromatic melody with the upper class and the association of simpler music over a drone with a more modest social station. Contemporary audiences would I’m sure have recognized the two musical worlds at play here. When Mozart does these things, we write papers about them. When Sullivan does them, academia yawns….
There isn’t anything particularly difficult about performing the number if you’ve cast the right people. The vocal score doesn’t clarify whether the top or the bottom line is the Captain or Sir Joseph when the two are notated on the same staff. In the Dover full score, the Captain takes the high part, but the other way would work as well.
17: Duet: Kind Captain, I’ve Important Information
I really envy Sullivan’s restraint. In my own writing, I tend to throw everything and the kitchen sink at every problem. (rather the same way I write these posts!) But Sullivan knows that all you need to pull off a number like this is the full string section and a piccolo.
Incidentally, the part seems to have been written for flute and then switched to piccolo at some point before the part was engraved. The little solo is somewhat tricky to get in tune on the piccolo; be wary.
This is also the spot where Deadeye actually does something to advance the plot!
This post is not aimed at directors, but if one happens to be reading, it is important to actually have a cat-o-nine-tails on stage here, so that modern audiences are aware of the instrument of discipline about which they are speaking. If you don’t, the bald-faced pun in the next number will fall somewhat flat. Fortunately the cat-o-nine-tails has been phased out of our cultural experience.
18: Soli and Chorus: Carefully on Tiptoe Stealing
This is actually the third longest passage in the opera without dialogue interrupting. It’s the meat of the second act.
Again, if you’re at all familiar with Pirates, you’ll hear this and immediately think of “With Catlike Tread”, which takes this exact joke, adds a pinch of Verdi and turns up the volume. I imagine Gilbert got a sense of how funny it was to see sailors cowering in fear at a loud noise and realized it would be even funnier if the scaredy-cats were policemen.
In the Hollywood Pinafore version, they bump into the microphone:
Goodness me!
What did we strike?
Silent be!
It was the mike!
The Dover full score indicates that the original autograph has the dynamic pp from the beginning, but a f dim. to ppover the first 2 measures marked in crayon. That’s a more effective opening, for sure. Be sure your men observe rests and staccati, and when your orchestra arrives, let them know to really bang out the fortissimo tutti chords without you having to telegraph them, so that the audience can really get a nice jolt. Also work to line up your chorus cutoffs, especially when they close on the letter ‘t’. That’s a nice moment to show choral uniformity.
The full score breaks at the Allegro before the Captain’s “Hold!” into 18a, and the orchestral parts we used broke up other numbers in yet other ways. Try to obtain the full score of the version you’re using or a first violin part at the very least and compare number by number, measure by measure to save yourself much rehearsal time. A very important error to correct in the piano score: violin and flute join Corcoran on his pickup “Pretty” on the way into the Vivace section. This is important because without it, you’ll rehearse with Corcoran thinking he’s in charge of the entrance, which actually needs to coordinate with the orchestra.
To continue the theme of Sullivan’s use of musical motives to connect the piece, many have remarked on the fact that Josephine and Ralph are accompanied in their duet “humble, poor and lowly born” by a flute playing Corcoran’s angry melody. It’s a witty touch, perhaps depicting Corcoran’s simmering rage.
The ‘He is an Englishman’ that follows is the second and more famous patriotic moment of the piece, and although it’s customary to say that the melody is Handelian, I hear Elgar. No matter, just be sure to have long, legato lines with tall vowels. There is a canon in the clarinet at measure 109 that you will need to look up in a full score (or perhaps the clarinet book on imslp, remembering to transpose) to write into your vocal score. Much has been made of this elsewhere on the internet, and I’ll add that if your singer isn’t used to hearing the countermelody, he is liable to think he’s missed a cue and come in wrong. Your Boatswain will have to manage his breath; these are really very long phrases indeed. This may have some bearing on the speed you choose for the passage.
The captain’s sputtering reply, “In uttering a reprobation…” is a stroke of genius, and you must observe the goofy rhythms and pauses to get the full effect of his exasperation.
In Gilbert’s retelling for children, he softens Corcoran’s curse to the milder, “Hang it!”
The chord the chorus sings on “Oh!” often becomes a shout, but the chord is an effective diminished outburst. The soprano, alto, and tenor notes can be pulled from the prior melody. The bass note needs to be drilled, it’s a tritone from the F that’s so prominent around there.
Note also that the “he said Damme” passages are marked pp, which came as a shock to American audiences when the first English company brought it to the US. All the bootleg companies had been singing it in full chest voice.
There are some conducting pattern issues in the passage that follows. At the Moderato when Sir Joseph comes back in, you should really conduct in 2, despite the common time marking. The Captain’s phrase, “My Lord, one word” should really go back into 4. Then when Sir Joseph sings “I will hear of no defense”, you should go back into 2. When the chorus reenters at the bottom of Vocal Score page 142, you could be in 2 or 4 based on your own preference for that passage. I think both options are potentially effective. Thanks to Bob Binkley for pointing all that out to me early in rehearsal.
We haven’t heard the sisters-cousins-aunts thing for 86 pages, and Sullivan reverts to the original key and voicing we saw on page 44-45 of the vocal score. There is an error in the piano vocal on page 144; the cousins and sisters have been swapped on the second system. This error is perpetuated in the Dover full score. The inverted version spoils the rhyme. One further detail; the stringendo molto, the sempre stringendo, leading to the vivace of that passage are not normally observed. I don’t think it works all that well. You can try it for yourself if you want to be more authentic.
The reprise of He Is An Englishman is in a higher key now and fully harmonized. Fortunately, this harmonization is identical to the one at the very end of the opera, so you don’t have to learn this particular one twice. Choosing the places to breathe in this passage is tricky. Make a good faith effort at aligning breaths or just tell everyone to stagger their breathing and go for the longest possible legato.
The full score has 2 extra measures of the same chord at the end, which were apparently in the autograph, but have since been deleted. They are not worth reinstating. If your full score has extra, just cross them out.
19: Octet and Chorus: Farewell, My Own
The opening of this Octet comes off a little oddly, since the dialogue has gotten us to a fairly fraught state, and Ralph’s peaceful C major farewell seems really out of left field. Perhaps it’s a joke I don’t get. It leads, however to a miniature madrigal in Sullivan’s best style. How charming that there is a telephone in the lyric. At that point, the telephone was quite new.
Sir Joseph’s entry should pick up the tempo slightly, I think.
Deadeye’s part in the Quartet is hard to find and to sing at a quiet dynamic. You can perhaps add Buttercup to the part and move Deadeye to one of the two lower parts without doing violence to the score or the situation.
When the chorus enters, be certain your sopranos aren’t ‘helping’ Josephine on the high C. The chorus soprano part is low, but Josephine is all you need up there. (provided you casted well)
Someone may object that in measures 54-57 the winds play without the strings, which muddles my earlier argument, to which I point out that the strings are in some versions of the orchestration, and that the passage was not in the original production and is not in Sullivan’s handwriting.
At Sir Joseph’s entrance “my pain and my distress”, establish the new tempo with those two quarters, and conduct in 2. At the chorus entrance, be sure to trip the ‘r’ in ‘terrible’. Also, note that the last quarter in the right hand after Buttercup says, “Hold!” should really be tremolando 16ths in the right hand as in the following measure. In that tremolando measure, the left hand should have eighths, not a tremolo. If you get used to it the other way, it will strike you and the cast oddly when the orchestra joins you.
20: Song: A Many Years Ago
What a magnificent number this is! And how clever of Gilbert to bookend the entire operetta with Buttercup’s songs!
The opening orchestral introduction is about as German as you might want. It sounds like Carl Maria Von Weber to me. But you may hear Schubert’s Erlkönig as well. Whatever is about to happen, there’s Schrecklichkeit afoot.
When you rehearse your chorus, you must take great pains to observe Sullivan’s rests, which are based on the needs of the text and not an arbitrary pattern. Crystal clear diction, a slightly breathy, quiet, supported piano, and deadly serious clarity will make the choral parts very funny.
In his children’s version of the story, Gilbert hilariously makes fun of his rhyme by inverting the necessity of it. He footnotes ‘upper crust’ as follows:
“A vulgar expression intended to imply that one of them belonged to a family of some social importance. It is not an expression that I can recommend for general use, but Little Buttercup wanted a rhyme for ‘nussed‘, and there was no other word handy that would do.”
The Schirmer vocal score is missing the accompaniment in the last measure of page 153, and the first 3 measures of 154. The same passage is missing in the 2nd through 5th measures of 156. I don’t believe this error is listed in the standard errata. Both passages should be accompanied as follows:
Insert this missing passage into the accompaniment of your Vocal Score at measures 29-32a and 64-67a
This is also the final payoff of the winds vs. strings thread that’s been running through the show. The winds play rustically here in opposition to the string family just as Buttercup unravels the main problem of the piece.
Before I move on to the Finale Ultimo, I have to share the German version of Buttercup’s reveal, which I have to say is funnier than the original. (Please, no hate mail)
Und nun, damit ihr’s wisst:
Ralph ist der kleine Feine,
Der Captain aber ist
der ganz gemiene Kleine
Which translates roughly:
So now you know:
Ralph is the little fine one.
But the Captain is
the very common little one.
The rhyme and the wordplay there are ganz und gar fantastisch.
There is a cut recitative that goes between 20 and 21. It’s fine, but it’s just as good spoken. The Dover score has reconstructed it should you want to use it.
21: Finale: Oh, Joy, Oh Rapture Unforeseen
The Finale Ultimo is less ambitious than the first Finale, but as if to hammer home the point of thematic unity of the operetta, the closing number of Pinaforeincludes no fewer than 4 reprises of previous numbers. It is what we might call a ‘megamix’ in today’s parlance, one final chance to catch these melodies before leaving.
There is an error in the Schirmer vocal score in measure 26, where the Captain should have “For he” with two E flat sixteenths and “is” in the following measure on the downbeat. The Autograph full score, and all the early Vocal scores have it that way.
Again, alter the chorus echo cutoffs here and on the next page so that they match the earlier versions as they appeared in the first act. There is no conceivable value in arbitrarily changing these note values for the end of the show simply to remain true to what was probably a memory lapse.
Traditionally there is a pause after “But wherever I may go”
The final version of sisters-cousins-aunts is harmonized differently than any of the other versions. You’ll have to learn and probably drill each individual version to keep them straight.
At the very end of the show, there is a rather ineffective original ending that appears in the Schirmer score. It is likely not the version your orchestra parts will have, and it’s not the version commonly used. The ending used since, apparently 1914 goes like so:
There is one other ending with Rule Britannia which was added in 1887 to celebrate Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee. It was not in use at D’Oyly Carte by 1924, when I believe it had fallen out of fashion.
A hand copied conductors score from this time period was recently given to me by a dear friend. It includes the Rule Britannia ending (and no other).
Should you require music for Bows, I suggest beginning the Overture at the Allegro Vivace, measure 72 and playing to the very end.
Your Pit Orchestra:
With regular musicals I sometimes counsel music directors not to hire all the players, but with G&S, you’re dealing with a true orchestral color, so I think it best to hire as much of the orchestra as you can afford with good players. The original orchestrations are available from Tams, but I can’t imagine why you’d use that when there are available here at a reasonable price or here for free. Reductions can be found here, or here or here for example. (incidentally I think we can now stop reducing this one, fellas)
Better that you do G&S than that you ignore it, but do try and do it properly if at all possible, with Sullivan’s magnificent orchestration in full color! Have fun with your production of Pinafore! I will be including more G&S as I music direct them!
Little Women is perfect for professional and college productions, and might also suit a small high school, particularly a girls school. The show has 6 strong female roles and 4 for men, a great cast breakdown for organizations looking for lots of roles for young women. Cross-generational audiences enjoy the piece and it’s easy to market. The only drawback is the lack of a large chorus, (or indeed much of a chorus at all) which is a deal breaker for a lot of high schools or community theatre groups.
BEFORE YOU START:
1) Read the original book. You may have read the book as a child. Read it again. It’s the kind of book one mis-remembers, or that one reads very differently as an adult than one does as a child. I’m not linking here to a particular edition. There are many, and lots of places to read it for free. Most of these versions include both “Little Women” and “Good Wives” together as “Little Women”.
3) You may want to watch one or more of the film versions, but this is by no means necessary (and may actually cloud the waters a little):
There were 1917 and 1918 silent versions that are now lost.
1933 version starring Katherine Hepburn as Jo. This was the first version with sound.
1949 version starring June Allyson as Jo. This version uses a script based on the 1933 version. Janet Leigh (yes, the one from Psycho) plays Meg.
There is a 1950 and another 1970 miniseries from the BBC. The 1970 version runs 3-4 hours and is apparently okay, with Laurie and Bhaer as real standouts. The 1950 one was live, and is lost.
There’s also an hour long 1958 TV musical adaptation with Joel Grey as Laurie, Florence Henderson as Meg, and operatic Mezzo Risë Stevens as Marmee. The score was written by Richard Adler, of Adler and Ross. Jerry Ross had died 2 years earlier at the age of 29, and this was the first work Adler attempted after that tragic loss. Because this version only adapts what we now think of as the first half of Little Women, Beth lives. (oh, that should have had a spoiler alert…)
There is a 1978 Television Miniseries version with Susan Dey (Laurie from the Partridge Family) as Jo, Meredith Baxter Birney as Meg and William Shatner as Bhaer which is currently on Youtube. Greer Garson plays Aunt March.
And then there’s the one you probably already saw: the 1994 version with Winona Ryder. When I see Winona Ryder now, I just keep flashing back to her faces at the SAG awards, which kind of takes me out of the film, but this is the closest film to the vision of the story that we see in the musical, and it holds up well.
Evidently there’s a new film version in the works with Lea Thompson as Marmee and Lucas Grabeel as Laurie, a new miniseries from PBS and the BBC, there are anime versions, a nice opera, there are comic books… If you go that far, you’re not really preparing to work on a musical, you’ve found a new hobby.
The Authors
Composer Jason Howland’s professional reputation is based on this show and on his work music directing Frank Wildhorn’s shows and Boy George’s Taboo. He won a Grammy in 2015 for producing the cast recording of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical. He was born in Concord Massachusetts. He claims as his strongest influences Rodgers, Sondheim, Bernstein, and Menken. I do hear those influences in his music, far more than I hear Wildhorn, even though he is professionally associated with those scores.
I know Mindi Dickstein from my grad work at NYU, where she teaches. She’s had great success writing for Theatreworks USA and Disney. She’s won a Jonathan Larson Foundation Award, among many other laurels and honors. She also grew up in Massachusetts.
Bookwriter Allan Knee had written the book for a short lived Broadway musical Late Night Comic in 1987, but is probably better known for writing the play that would become the movie, and then the musical Finding Neverland. He had also had experience adapting Victorian writing when he adapted The Scarlet Letter for a 1979 miniseries on WGBH.
The Genesis of the Broadway Musical
Right after the Winona Rider movie came out in 1994, Knee, who had toured a straight play version in 1993 and 1994, was tapped to write a musical version for TheatreWorksUSA. They had a reading in 1998, and then TheatreWorksUSA dropped the project. But the show won a Richard Rodgers award, and Jason Howland and (the woman he would later marry) Dani Davis picked it up. After three weeks, the original composer and lyricist (also a husband and wife team) were released, and Howland stepped down as a producer and started rewriting the score. They retained Alan Knee’s work on the book, who revised heavily, and then the production team looked for a new lyricist. Dickstein was tapped to redo the lyrics, having written Astonishing as a kind of audition. After a workshop, the director Nick Corley was also let go. According to Corley, the producers were going for something like Wicked, and according to Knee, he was giving them something like Our Town. They replaced Corley with Susan Schulman, who was a natural choice, because of her experience directing The Secret Garden. Sutton Foster was hired to play Jo, fresh from Thoroughly Modern Millie.
That seems like a lot of unimportant detail, but let me unpack this briefly, because the climate of the decade the piece was written and the turnover in personnel reveal a lot about the intended character of the musical itself. I have no idea what the discarded score sounded like, but the producers claimed the songs didn’t take the kind of emotional journey they wanted for the characters, and Howland and Dickstein’s score strongly leans in the direction of emotional journey. I think the shows that heavily influenced the tone of Little Women are 1991’s The Secret Garden, 1998’s Ragtime, and 2003’s Wicked. I’ll point out the areas of convergence as I go through the show, but I think the show is meant to have the family friendly warmth of The Secret Garden, the scope, emotional journey and timescale of Ragtime, and the feminism and power-ballad writing of Wicked (which must have been fresh in everybody’s mind when Susan Schulman’s 2004 reading was underway)
There are some interesting technical and storytelling problems in adapting a well known classic to the Broadway climate of the mid ’00s. The tagline of the Broadway production was: “Six generations have read the story. This one will sing it.” This slogan makes the goals of the marketing creative team clear: This is a classic, and we’re going to infuse new life into it. You are connected to generations of women as you watch this show. But it isn’t as easy as that. Today’s younger feminist audiences would probably prefer to see Jo simply pursue her writing, without a romantic interest. In fact, Alcott didn’t originally want Jo to marry; Bhaer is a compromise with Alcott’s fans. But adaptations of the musical can’t cut Bhaer out without angering people who know the original novel. The feminist relationship with Little Women is complicated. Google around and you’ll see what I mean. When I read the book, I was struck by how each chapter seemed to be providing a context and often a moral for young 19th Century women, offering life lessons for girls who want to live the life of the mind, and also for those who want to follow the norms their society laid out for them. The book is long enough that any adaptation would necessarily need cutting; even an extremely faithful retelling would involve a significant alteration to the totality of Alcott’s vision. The authors of this musical chose to emphasize a version of the story in which Jo realizes that the relationships and memories of sisterhood are the life’s blood of her work, and that finding the potential of her gift means that she will need to lean into those relationships for her strength. It’s a beautiful picture, and that story arc is well told near the end of the musical.
Technically, though, the intersection of this vision of the story with the conventions of the theatre and the requirements of the audience make for a slightly stilted beginning and ending. Theatrical convention requires that we see our heroine with her intended love interest first, because the audience reads that first meeting as a promise. Convention also requires that we end with the romantic resolution. So the musical is book-ended with a flash forward and a proposal, both of which would be unnecessary if the source material didn’t require it. Your audience probably won’t mind this at all; the show runs very well as written.
Musically, Little Women has a similar problem. In a ‘Defying Gravity‘ world, a musically subtle chamber piece on nascent feminist themes is not going to really fly. Wicked takes place in a kind of fantasy universe, so the musical landscape was up to the writers to establish. Here, the writers needed to touch on a sound palate that calls up the 19th century in reader’s mind, while still allowing occasional flights into modern power ballad.
Jason Howland said in an interview for BostonGuide.com:
“The novel is a classic, so we felt we should score the piece like a classic musical. To write some sort of modern pop score would have been a disaster-that wasn’t the world these characters lived in.”
I’ll say Howland was mainly very successful at this goal, although in the strongest narrative parts of the show, we are squarely in the world of the modern pop mega-musical.
Writing a show is in some ways about trying to strike a balance between often conflicting market requirements. Considering the complicated parameters that constrained the musical, the creative team chose excellent solutions, which I will try to elucidate as we go.
AS YOU’RE CASTING:
Jo: Sutton Foster is, naturally, the type for this part. Needs a strong belt, and a strong personality. Vocally the thing to worry about is the end of Astonishing. (more on that later) It’s quite difficult. But don’t just cast a super-belter either. The part also requires some quality legit singing. It goes without saying, Jo carries the show.
Bhaer:
Bhaer has a difficult job: He hardly has any stage time, and has to convey somehow a German stodginess and an endearing personality that will convince us that Jo should wind up with him. He also has some tricky vocal spots to manage, particularly in the final duet in the show. There are some options in terms of dialect. Be sure the dialect isn’t a caricature and that it doesn’t make the lyric unintelligible.
Beth:
Beth is a legit soprano. She should have a Gb above the staff for the end of Delighted, but in a pinch, Marmee could do that. The G natural at the end of Off To Massachusetts is unavoidable. It helps if she can play the piano a little, although that presents a staging issue I’ll go over when we get there. She needs to be able to play sickly without overplaying it, and to be a fairly subtle actress with a good sense of timing.
Amy:
The trickiest thing for Amy is that she should be able to play an annoying younger sister and an annoying young adult without becoming annoying to the audience. Not necessarily a belter, although the part doesn’t go terribly high.
Meg:
Meg is the top voice when the sisters sing together, so she should properly have the high Bb you’ll need at the end of Delighted. You should definitely choose a legit soprano, her voice lies that way in More Than I Am as well. Meg is a traditional ingenue.
Marmee:
Marmee needs to be a very strong singer with maternal warmth and a strong stage presence. Her presence grounds the show, she is the only really benevolent adult in the story. At the end, her guidance helps Jo see a way forward from her loss. She must have a strong E flat below the staff and an E flat above treble C. If you have options, also be thinking about someone who has experience negotiating their break.
Laurie:
Laurie’s part is too high. I’m just going to put that out there. Needs a more than serviceable sustained high A. He ages during the piece, so you should get someone who can play young and slightly older. He needs to be a strong match for Jo so that we really feel conflicted at the end of Act I, and he needs to have something of a sensitive side so that we believe he fits into the imaginative world of the sisters as he must in Act I.
Aunt March:
Aunt March has one of the unreasonable ranges in this show. Her low note is A D# below middle C and her top note is an F# a little over 2 octaves higher in the same number. The part isn’t enormous, but does require a very strong character actress, because her presence grounds a number of critical decisions in other characters.
Mr. Brooke
Brooke doesn’t sing much, but he does need a solid F#. It helps if he’s handsome and able to play slightly awkward well.
Mrs. Kirk
Originally doubled with Aunt March. If she doesn’t double Aunt March, she doesn’t need to be a singer.
ENSEMBLE:
If you’re trying to beef up the role of the chorus, you could un-double some of these cast doublings. I should say though, that it’s a neat effect that in the play-within-the-play, the characters are playing the literary versions of themselves, which underscores one of the themes of the play: Jo’s inspiration comes from her family and friends.
Braxton:
This was a double for Mr. Brooke in the original production. If you’re looking to expand the chorus, you can cast another actor here. There is some sword-play involved.
Rodrigo:
This was a double for the actor who played Laurie. Later Rodrigo is played by Beth. I believe sword-play is involved for both. Laurie Rodrigo needs the high A. Beth Rodrigo doesn’t really sing, except as part of an ensemble.
Clarissa:
Clarissa was doubled in the original production by the actress who played Meg. Like Meg, should be cast with a very competent soprano (the part contains a high B, but that could be assigned elsewhere if necessary). There is sword play involved.
Troll:
This was a double with Amy in the original production. It goes to the F below middle C.
Hag:
This was a double with Marmee in the original production. In our production, we doubled Aunt March. Moderate mid-range, not particularly challenging.
Knight:
The Knight was originally a double with Mr. Laurence. Very small part, not at all difficult.
Trolls, Hags, Monks:
These mini-chorus parts in Weekly Volcano press are marked as optional, in case you’re doing a super stripped down version. As far as I can see, they would work equally well cast as girls or as boys, and I suppose you could include nuns with the monks.
A few things to note about the Music Director’s Materials:
For the most part, the vocal score is very poorly cued. You’re going to want to take all the parts and mark your score up so you know who is doing what, particularly if you’re leading the show from the piano. The music of this show is built around the sound of the piano, but there are a number of places in the show where if you’ve hired the complete band, the piano shouldn’t play at all. Budget a lot of time to go through parts and add pertinent info to your score. It’s kind of a shame that there isn’t a proper piano/conductor score, with every note the MD needs to play and the others cued clearly, but that’s life. The pit books are mostly good, although there’s a 4 measure passage in the English Horn that’s in the wrong transposition and I can’t for the life of me remember where it is. When you hear something really odd, you’ll know you’ve found it. Most of the errors we found were in the Oboe/English Horn book.
Digging into the show:
This score is super interesting to work through. There are clear motives that run throughout, (which I’ll try and point out) and some of these motives are really clever and help the storytelling immensely. Other times I feel the use of the motives actually undercuts the large scale storytelling. The end of the show seems ‘rushed to press’ to me. There are places where you can tell the thing was done in a hurry. How IAm, near the top of the second act is the last number to have a metronome marking, and The Most Amazing Thing is the last number in the score to have any kind of initial tempo marking at all. None of the scene changes has an initial tempo marking, which is mostly not a problem, except in a few places, where several tempi make sense. I will cover some of the rough spots as we go. Writing fast and getting something up quickly is the nature of Broadway, but as an MD, you’ll have to burnish some things that would probably have been burnished for you had they been in the writer’s shop a little longer. There are three cuts or rewrites in the show, among what I assume were many rewrites, that break some beautiful thematic continuities in the show. I will rely on a video of the pre-opening Broadway production here and there to help make my case. Hopefully the video doesn’t get pulled, so you can see what I’m talking about. There are shadows of other shows hiding in the wings, never to the point where things feel stolen, but more an acknowledgment of the Authors’ influences. These are also interesting and may help your performers lock into the right style.
00. Overture
This Overture is really more of a prelude. It introduces the Lydian #4 scale degree (D# in the key of A) that Howland associates with Jo.
Howland said in an interview with Playbill in 2005,
“One of the things you hear in the score a lot is a “sharp four” relationship – a note that doesn’t fit the key of the scale it’s in. You know “Maria” from West Side Story? “Ma-REE-uh.” That “ree” note? That relationship is something Menken uses all the time, that Bernstein used all the time, and that I have picked up. And it’s all over Little Women. It’s all over Little Women when it’s about Jo. These things probably mean nothing to anybody else but mean something to me.”
Musicians have spent a lot of time poking around West Side Story looking for this interval, the tritone. The most famous example of Menken using it is the sharp four in the accompaniment figure and the opening melody at the beginning of Part of Your World. It’s also famously in the Back To The Future score main title theme and the Simpsons Theme. There was briefly a kind of vogue recently for this kind of sound in musical theatre. Andrew Lippa’s John and Jen(1995) also has this kind of sound throughout. The sharping of the fourth scale degree makes a dissonant interval against the tonic note, which is kind of spicy, but it also gives the scale a kind of ‘lift’, and points the harmony toward the dominant key, which is why composers like to use it to describe aspirational situations or to describe something quirky and delightful. Jo is all that. The musical material of the Overture comes from Our Finest Dreams and Delighted, and hearing them at the top of the show like this calls attention to the ‘sharp four’ note that both pieces share. For the sake of our discussion here, I’m going to call these ‘Lydian’ moments, because the Lydian mode features this interval prominently.
Here’s the ‘Finest Dreams’ Lydian idea, as it appears in the overture:
And this is the ‘Delighted‘ version of the same idea, also from the Overture (I have corrected some spelling here):
The dominant pedal (E) in both cases obscures slightly the fact that we’re in A major, and that the D# is higher than it would normally be. I’ll keep pointing these Lydian things out as we go.
1. An Operatic Tragedy
It’s super fun to begin the show basically in Jo’s imagination. Whoever came up with that idea deserves a gold star.
I found the right hand octave pattern a little tricky, and I regret that I allowed myself to be lazy in rehearsal. The top note locks in with the left hand patterns, and when the left hand is less active, it goes back to a squarer pattern. Well, mostly. Have a look, and don’t cheat.
This is a kind of draft of the much longer sequence at the top of Act II. I’ll get into much greater detail there. The opening figure I mentioned earlier, slightly modified, will also start the next song, Better, and very similar material is found in Astonishing and Take a Chance on Me.
In the parts, measure 58 is marked With Incredible Fanfare, Molto Heroic. The piano vocal does not have that marking. Getting out of measure 32 is tricky because the strings have a flourish on the way into 33 that’s not indicated in the Piano Vocal. If you’re conducting, it’s not so bad. If you’re playing, you’ll have to finesse that.
2. Better
The bright, energetic, percussive accompaniment contrasts nicely with the written-out backphrases of the vocal. The rhythm of measure 40 in the vocal part is a little awkward. In the Original Broadway Cast Recording, Sutton Foster doesn’t sing the 8ths, only quarters. There is a fermata in the parts in measure 73 that’s not in the Piano Vocal.
It’s hard to know if this is Howland’s detail or orchestrator Kim Scharnberg’s, but the figure in 28 and 30 is the first appearance of a version of the Astonishing motive rhythm (but not the intervals). The fact that it’s cued in the piano score makes me think this song reached its current form earlier in the show’s development.
3. Our Finest Dreams
Howland mentions Menken as an influence in the Playbill interview I reference above. Our Finest Dreams shows that influence most strongly, along the lines of Menken’s opening village scene of Beauty and the Beast, or several passages in his Christmas Carol.
The accompaniment figure is built around that Lydian idea, which is really effective.
There is a slide whistle in the percussion book in beats 2&3 of measure 17 that didn’t make it into the piano vocal. The figure in the right hand in measure 54 is pizz and glock cues. (which is delightful!) It continues a little past the cued passage.
Again, the number has a few cues in it, which makes me think it arrived earlier in the show’s genesis. If I can be a super musical theatre nerd and nitpick here for a moment, this number is also an example of a lyric that rhymes, but the musical setting makes it appear not to rhyme. The first few times I heard it, I thought the rhyme was plead/dreams and bleed/dreams. (which may qualify as a near rhyme, but is not really a true rhyme) Then I thought that maybe the plead and bleed are the rhyme and the title of the song is a kind of tag repeating idea. Then I figured it out. Here’s the way the lyric must have scanned on the page:
We’ll dim the lights, the crowd will hush.
We’ll start the overture and Beth will surely blush
And when Clarissa starts to plead
Christmas will exceed
Our finest dreams!
That scanning of the line would only work if the note on the second syllable of exceed were long, the way it is near the end of the number, in measure 123, where exceed really does sound like it rhymes with guaranteed
Mindi Dickstein does clearly know how to rhyme ‘dreams‘ though, because at the end she runs 3 in a row: beams/screams/gleams/dreams
3A. Transition to March Parlor
I suspect these scene changes were written by the orchestrator fairly late in the game. That’s standard procedure, anyway. Almost all the scene change music doesn’t need a piano. That’s lovely, if you’ve hired the whole band. The show has a little much piano in it as it stands, and these moments without a keyboard are nice.
4. Here Alone
If we had to point to the influence of Frank Wildhorn, I think it reveals itself in Marmee’s two extraordinary ballads. A wildhornian sense of what a powerhouse female voice can do is put here in the service of a very good lyric. (something Wildhorn doesn’t always get) This song really deepens our understanding of Marmee as a character, and this glimpse into her private world characterizes her far better than she is in other adaptations.
There’s another dynamic at play here; the presence of Maureen McGovern. She’s a big name, and people want to see her sing. I’m speculating that she needed to have 2 songs, because, dangit, Maureen McGovern gets 2 songs. And because the audience doesn’t really want to see this character or the actress playing the character singing a big flashy uptempo, we end up with two rather similar downtempo songs. Because the two songs are so similar, they have to be placed as far away from one another as possible, the first near the very beginning of the show, and the second near the end. The one at the end is somewhat problematic from the point of view of pacing, and I’ll get into that later.
The first 8 measures of intro are a reprise of a portion of Our Finest Dreams that got cut. You can hear them in this video from the rehearsal process, at about the 1 minute mark:
Those opening measures do not appear in the vocal selections. Incidentally, the vocal selections for this number aren’t a good substitute for the PV version. “Tell” in “tell you everything is fine” is a different pitch. The piano vocal has Eb. The same for the second A section “I can’t talk about the war” and in the third A section “at this hour.” The rhythm on “remind you” is different in the PV, as well as the rhythms for “I don’t know which part is harder”,“Counting days”, “Do you know”, “manage four young women, I’m not certain”, “…wish that you were with me..”, “I could bring you home”, and “so much longer”. The accompaniment interludes between vocal phrases have all been simplified in ways that I think are unfortunate.
But even though the Piano Vocal version is better, there are some funny spellings that can trip you up. For example, in measure 49, the left hand is playing an E major figure, while the right hand is spelled in F flat major. (well, kinda.) Interestingly, the same funny spelling will happen in a similar moment in her other big song.
Measure 74 presents a challenge negotiating the fermata. The band lands beat 4, and the singer leads out into the next measure. Experiment and find an approach that works best for singer and musicians. The parts have a rit. in measure 82 that isn’t in the piano vocal, and they don’t have the fermata that the piano vocal has in 83.
If you’ve cast a strong singer (and I sure hope you have!) in the part, you should find working on this piece extremely rewarding. It is a challenge to find a placement that keeps the bridge exciting, while leaving room to mix the two Ebs.
4a. Transition to Aunt March
At about 17:30 in this video, you can hear an older version of Here Alone, which was rewritten to get the current iteration:
Measures 1-8 are identical, as is the lyric, but the melody is very different. The scene change 4A Transition to Aunt March is the old melody for “every word should bring you closer” The new version of Here Alone is a more compelling melodic statement, and I like it. But the ghosts of the old version throughout the show used to pack a punch, and now they dangle tantalizingly in the air, as for example in this scene change, which refers to the old version.
Without the old version to ground us, the first 3 notes sound like the opening of the melody of Here Alone, but then seem to become the music for I won’t let this defeat you in Marmee’s other song. (Marmee’s second act song was originally related thematically to the first one) Then we hear the theme which underpins Could You. Nerd alert: The “…won’t let this defeat you” as stated here is an inversion of “…be there when they need me” in the previous number, and is also related to the motive in Could You, as I hope you can see below. The family resemblances remain, but the tunes are cousins now, not sisters.
5. Could You
To my ear, this number is also in Menken’s world. The number can be done very broadly or more subtly. There’s a musical joke in having Aunt March belting part of the song coarsely, and operatically singing the higher part legit. The most clear spot for this is the indication from 66-68: (belted!), It isn’t very hard, then (in head voice) for someone full of dreams like you… I found that a little over the top, we went for a subtler take. I imagine there’s a whole spectrum of ways to play it. Embedded in this musical joke is the idea that Aunt March is at heart perhaps a little coarse herself, and that Jo is ultimately a pretty good sparring partner in this game of who-can-be-more-posh. If you’ve chosen an Aunt March that can’t sing the lowest notes, you should bump the notes from the second half of measure 56 through 58 up an octave. Your Jo may also find the two Es in 157 too low. You can alter those up an octave or substitute a G# if those low notes don’t speak.
Work the ritardando in 91 carefully; it’s a bit tricky to conduct through. In the similar spot at 107 and 108, if you’re conducting from the piano, let the first violin take the phrase and head nod or conduct through it rather than trying to coordinate the ritardando playing the top line together; you’ll probably wind up off from one another.
I found the rhythm in 96 and 97 very awkward. I think Sutton Foster’s alteration on the cast recording makes more sense. 2 eighths for “donkey“, 2 sixteenths on “for a“, a dotted eighth for “chance“, and three sixteenths for “to see the“. This is incidentally, what the Vocal Selections version has. Normally I advocate singing the ink on the Piano Vocal Score page, at least to start, but the rhythm as notated makes that line just unsingable.
There’s some deft musical storytelling here. We find a lovely interplay in the orchestration between winds and strings in the waltz section. (notated in 6/8) Aunt March and her upper class world is represented by strings, Jo by winds and percussion. The tonal difference between those worlds is amusingly depicted here.
The detail of who sings first is also well managed here. Note that in measure 59, Aunt March begins, “You could be beguiling”, and Jo answers each of her phrases.
In measure 76, Jo begins negotiating, and Aunt March answers.
In measure 92, they’ve swapped. Jo is now singing “I could be beguiling”, and instigates the new section. But Aunt March then leads the charge by beginning the coloratura call and response. In measure 100, the tables are turning, Jo begins the coloratura, and by 105, Jo has synthesized the winds and strings and commands them both. Aunt March begins again at the Coda: “Change how you walk…”, but the anything-you-can-sing-I-can-sing-higher contest that follows is ultimately won by Jo, who sings her highest and lowest notes within 3 beats.
If the number is well staged, it’s a great burst of energy after the ballad we just left, and inaugurates a string of several uptempos that drive the storytelling forward.
5A. Could You- Playoff Transition
As with most of the other Scene Changes, you can conduct the scene change without playing the piano.
6. Delighted
Again, this number shows a strong influence of Menken, in the best way. The melody keeps wavering between “Spoonful of Sugar” and“Bananas in Pajamas”, which is a cute place to be.
I wish they’d spelled the first figure correctly, with F double sharps, but I’m probably in the minority there. It’s also pretty near impossible to conduct the figure truly colla voce, because the pit players have to play with the singers.
The dance break, clearly a later addition (as witnessed by the measure numbers) is pretty awkward to play, and irregularly phrased, which may annoy your choreographer. The pit piano book polka is much easier to play, you’ll be relieved when you can switch over. Do yourself a favor and put aside some extra time to practice 38H.
Have fun with the polka accel. in measure 40.
7. Delighted Reprise
The top of this number underscores Amy throwing Jo’s pages into the fire. Originally Amy actually had a tiny bit of a song here, which was awesome, and fleshed out her character. The underscore here from measures 3-8 was part of the accompaniment. You can hear it at about the 33 minute mark.
If you were trying to bring more of a chorus into the piece, this is a place to add dancers to the party.
I found this underscore pretty difficult to time out, and the page layout makes it more confusing. It looks like the dialogue is supposed to line up roughly with the scoring, but that just can’t be the case. Try it yourself if you don’t believe me. The last 2 measures are clearly meant to land the sight gag of Jo sitting on Laurie. But that’s just too much time not to have any safeties! The dimensions of your stage and the idea the director has for the scene will give you your marching orders. Because the waltz is built on 2, 4, and 8 bar phrases, you can build in some repeats to get the job done. But do be careful that you’re aware of the tonality of the waltz. Don’t repeat from G major to F#, for example. And try not to simply repeat the same 2 measures 100 times. That’ll destroy the important scene it plays under.
The waltz is scored beautifully for the string quintet, you will have fun conducting it. There is an error in the double bass book in measures 7 and 8. Compare to your piano vocal score and adjust the bass book accordingly.
7A Moffat Underscore
More of the same, in both the positive and the negative. The underscore is beautifully scored, and ideally the fermata would land perfectly on Laurie’s interrupted line. In reality, it won’t time out that perfectly. Either build in some repeats or be satisfied with ending early.
8. Take A Chance On Me
I have a lot to say about this number, so I hope you’ll bear with me.
We find ourselves in Stephen Schwartz‘s world, and Howland uses a chord that Schwartz brought into popularity in Wicked. In this interview, Schwartz credits Laura Nyro‘s music with turning him on to that chord, and he used it as far back as Godspell, his first successful show. It’s sometimes called the Wicked Chord, because of its prominence in that score. Here are three examples as they appear in Wicked:
One way to think of this chord is a bass note with a major triad superimposed a 5th higher. It tends to work well when it acts like a IV chord leading to V, and if you play it, you’ll notice it feels like a Major 9 chord, except that there’s never a third in the chord, so in a way, you’re feeling the top part of the chord as a tonic chord. Schwartz doesn’t just use this chord as a passing chord between other things, he sometimes elevates it to places of real importance. (like the third example above)
Here’s a prominent, and very similar use of that chord in the accompaniment of Take A Chance on Me:
It’s interesting that Howland is using the chord a little differently here. It’s not implying IV7-V-I, but flat III7-IV-I. I like this sense of using a flat III chord to make the IV chord feel like a dominant. But let’s not get bogged down there.
When the title is most clearly stated, we hear two different Wicked Chords in the same measure, and both are being used differently than Schwartz used them:
At the beginning of the number, we also hear another Lydian idea, related to Jo’s motive, which we heard at the very beginning of the Overture:
This is clearly meant to be Laurie’s motive. It’s sensitive and wistful and endearing.
Laurie’s verse here works well in the situation, and the time signature changes show clearly how uncomfortable he is. Because the motive at the beginning of the song has the same notes as Laurie’s melody, your singer will probably be tempted to sing the rhythm as 16th notes instead of 8ths. Make sure Laurie sings the rhythms on the page. There is some freedom available here, but remember as you rehearse that you’ll need to bring the band in and have some semblance of those measures passing. Don’t let it get too fast and loose in rehearsal or you’ll never be able to convey to the musicians where you are on the page.
The number then slips into a driving modern musical theatre uptempo, with another Lydian touch:
All the D#s in this passage and elsewhere are #4 in the key of A, and they give the section a bright, propulsive, aspirational quality. As in Somethings Coming from West Side Story, the triplet figure above the metrically regular Lydian accompaniment gives the audience clues that Laurie is a dreamer and a protagonist.
Take a Chance, like Astonishing, ends on notes that are in a dangerous spot for your average musical theatre singer. In a professional setting, you will find tenors who can sing it, but in most other settings, the number ends unreasonably high. I moved the number down a step. Sometimes when I say on this blog that I’ve done something like that, I’m inundated with requests for copies my materials. I’m not going to do that for you for a number of reasons. If you choose to transpose it, be careful that you don’t move it so far that the beginning goes out of range, and obviously transpose the band’s parts too.
I hope I’ve made it clear that I like this number a lot. But I do think it’s problematic in terms of storytelling. In a post-Sondheim world, the savvy musical theatre listener has come to expect that musical material shared between characters will have a dramatic meaning. When we listen to Into The Woods, we hear Rapunzel’s Ahh theme in the Witch’s Stay With Me, and we know that it indicates thematic and dramatic unity. It means something. In Lloyd Webber’s musicals, that kind of musical storytelling is not in play. Reprises happen without regard to what the tune ‘means’. It’s simply a nice tune that bears repeating. This is one of the reasons Lloyd Webber shows, for all their beauty, often do not hold up as well as pieces of theatre.
I think an audience member listening carefully will hear in the unity between Jo and Laurie’s musical material that they are meant to be together and that they share an aspirational world view. Laurie says in this lyric that he wants to travel, and that he is a reader, as we know Jo to be. We believe him because his music is grounded in the world of truth for this show. So when he appears in the second act and claims to be interested in the more mundane life his grandfather had planned out for him, we have some difficulty believing he is telling the truth. And because we suspect he was musically a good match for Jo, (Bhaer is not) we have a greater difficulty in believing her eventual match with Bhaer.
But that’s some pretty deep nitpicking. In your production, the number will go off like gangbusters, provided the tenor can sing it.
9. Take A Chance- Transition
I also transposed this down a major 2nd. (again, no I will not send you my parts) Think of measure 10 as a blank measure to establish the new tempo in 3, then cue the pickup measure (11) into the new section.
10. Better- Reprise
There is a long dialogue scene between 9 and 10. A good chance to stand up and stretch, if you aren’t visible from the stage. The beautiful English Horn solo at the beginning comes from the phrase “…or raising little women when I am here alone” from the original version of Here Alone. Because we never really heard that tune before, we don’t have that association, so the sense of Marmee’s love for her children isn’t hanging in the background as she leaves and the scene switches to Jo. I’m not crazy about the lyric here, but the music does something cool, and I credit Kim Scharnberg, the orchestrator. In the pit, the Euphonium is associated with Bhaer. After the sung portion at the top of the reprise, we hear a flute playing the melody for Better, and when the melody gets to the part where the original lyric says “better than what’s already here”, the euphonium sneaks in, as if to say, “Bhaer is better than what’s already here!” On what would be the word “here” in the tune, we segue to the Concord Transition, (10A) and Laurie appears to ask her to skate with him. So ‘what’s already here’ is Laurie. No audience member will ever hear that, but I think it’s neat.
10A. Concord Transition
You don’t need my help negotiating this, except to say that since there’s no tempo indication, you have some leeway tempo-wise. It sure feels like it should be in 2 to me. Again, Howland or Scharnberg or whomever is responsible for this passage, has really done a nice job of combining the musical motives of Jo and Laurie under this cute exchange. The last section of the number is the beginning of Off to Massachusetts, which I’ll go over below. The Oboe book doesn’t change key in measure 16 as it should. Make sure you mark the book there to be in A.
11. Off To Massachusetts
In addition to helping flesh out the relationship between Beth and Mr. Laurence, this number serves the purpose of grounding the show in the historical period. Similar examples might include the “Sweet Polly Plunkett” scene in Sweeney Todd, or the many ragtime piano passages in Ragtime. It has a trick lyric that gives a little of the same zing as the speed test from Millie. It’s a parlor tune, and it’s designed to be pre-recorded, beginning with the end of Concord Transition 10A. You can have the actress play the piano, but if you’re going for an authentic looking Victorian piano, you’ll want to build a shell around an electronic keyboard; the real thing would be way too heavy to move, (and it does have to move) and it would sound dreadful. A spinet is probably not far from the sound you’d get from an old parlor piano. For our production, we recorded the bad piano as heard here on the worst upright in the building, and I detuned one of the unisons to make it sound really bad for the underscore. Then I retuned it so it wouldn’t be distracting for the recording that accompanies the two of them. The one in the second act I recorded on a better piano, to match the piano Mr. Laurence gives her. We placed speakers inside the set behind a decorative Victorian air vent near the piano so the sound would be localized on the set.
Getting the timing right bringing the sound in for the underscore takes some doing unless you’re triggering it from the keyboard book. However you’re doing it, you need to make sure your tempo with the band locks in with what the recording has or you won’t sync up.
The vocal books have a rit. in measure 5 that is not in the Piano Vocal. The orchestra comes in at 24, which is really great, but you’ll be disappointed to learn that the orchestra doesn’t help you at all in measure 34 and 35. You’re on your own, get to practicing.
12. Five Forever
Again, I feel like this number is in Menken’s musical language. Howland even manages to work in that sharp 4 scale degree, even though we’re in minor, which isn’t even compatible with the Lydian mode.
The resulting ambiguity is neat. Are we headed into D major? No, it turns out we’re headed to the relative major E for the chorus, which turns out to have a kind of Western adventure Aaron Copland vibe. When, following the chorus, we head back into the verse at measure 29, Howland plays the same mode mixture game in Major, with the progression E / C7 / E / C7.
Whenever I got to the dance break, I got a deja vu about The Music Man for some reason. I think it’s a reel, although some person with greater knowledge of dance forms will perhaps correct me. Laurence Rosenthal, the guy who wrote the dance arrangements for The Music Man put similar reels into the dance breaks for Seventy Six Trombones and Shipoopi.
76 Trombones dance break:
Five Forever Dance Break:
That dance break is one of the places where we really miss the inclusion of the pit piano information in the Piano Vocal score. The piano is really part of the rhythm section, but none of that information is in there. In the downbeat of measure 65 there is an error in the English Horn book. There’s another in measure 74. (I don’t remember what the first error was, but the downbeat of 74 should be a written E, concert A)
The other place where the Piano Vocal score really lets you down is the way Laurie’s part is notated. His first entrance in measure 17 is written the traditional way, the first note being the B below middle C on the piano. But the next time he comes in, that should be an octave higher than notated, or in the women’s clef, beginning on the F# above middle C. The next entrance in measure 35 is mislabeled. Laurie should be on the bottom staff, notated the way tenors normally are. Amy, Meg, and Laurie should be on the top staff. The cast recording does not have the lower part at 39-40. It should be Laurie if you use it. Laurie’s part is again at the bottom at 42, although you could add one of the girls for balance. Laurie’s part at 53 is different in the cast recording and in the vocal selections. (I mention this in case your actor is learning from the OBC and not from the score) The dialogue at 71 times out perfectly if your Jo doesn’t hold the note out too long, and Meg begins immediately.
At the end of the number, there’s some funky rhythmic notation that isn’t explained. It’s a knee slap from the original choreography. Your choreographer wouldn’t know this from the cast recording, where it sounds kind of rim-shotty, so you’ll have to explain what it means. It is not cued in the percussion book.
13. Transition
Doesn’t need much explanation, except that measure 7 and after should really be in 4, not in cut time, and the musician’s parts do not say Slower as the PV does.
The melody at 9 is, I believe, the phrase “In the past, when you were gone, the hardest part was missing you” from the old version of Here Alone, which is particularly poignant, given the action onstage. The actor and the audience don’t really feel that, since the underscore calls back to a tune that’s no longer in the show.
14. More Than I Am
This is a lovely little song, and it’s Mr. Brooke’s only real moment.
Meg’s last note in measure 30 should be a C#. (as it appears in the vocal selections) The page turn from 91 to 92 is extremely unfortunate. Mark the heck out of the E sharps. The chord on the downbeat of 41 is supposed to be rolled down, not up. (it’s in the part, not in the PV)
A funny thing about the lyric: “Wait for your return? Wait while you’re at war?”
Question lyrics with no interrogatives are impossible to set to music so that they sound like questions. Howland has done his level best here, but the phrases will always sound like statements. I’m a composer, and If I ever figure out how to set things like this to music, I’ll post it here.
One further gripe: Why is Meg’s part on the bottom and Mr. Brooke’s on the top?
14A. Transition to Attic
This number starts with the same cut portion of Our Finest Dreams that we heard at the top of Here Alone. Originally that would have recalled the fun of their time together playing their mock adventures, but now it’s just a pretty tune, since we don’t know what it’s calling back to. We have a transition at 11 that’s a little tricky. The accel. in measure 5 leads us to a cut time at 11. Neither the cut time, nor the new tempo marking is in any of the parts. If you don’t tell the band about it, they’ll be really confused.
15. Take a Chance- Reprise
This is some really great musical storytelling here that will pay off in Act II well. Laurie is, of course, reprising his melody from before. He doesn’t know this isn’t going to work well. The orchestra does, however. This accompanying music is a little like the opening phrase of Sunday in the Park with George, or Back To Before from Ragtime, only with some mild dissonance that reveals something is wrong.
The oboe player actually completes the phrase in measure 16. None of the other players even has a measure 16. So I suppose you have a choice of whether to leave the phrase hanging or complete it.
16. Astonishing
I’m not the first person to call attention to the similarities between Astonishing and Defying Gravity. That similarity is no knock on its effectiveness, but rather to say that Little Women exists in the same millennial musical theatre language of other shows of its time. Someday Musical Theatre scholars will remark about the importance of the bravura number with multiple sections for the heroine at the end of Act I in turn-of-the-century American Musicals, and they’ll point to these two pieces as exhibits A and B.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know I go into far too much detail and that I probably need an editor to separate the boring from the interesting. But I’m going to hit a lot of points here and deconstruct this number pretty heavily. Apologies in advance for the length. Some nerd out there will enjoy it.
Some perspective:
Defying Gravity is a sprawling Verse Chorus number with a clever Bridge that calls back to Somewhere Over the Rainbow. It clocks in at about 6 minutes. Jimmy from Thoroughly Modern Millie is a similar, but less ambitious number that caps the first act of another female centered musical, which features a rather fractured flapper verse and a standard 32 bar AABA form with an instrumental break and a repeat of the B and final A sections. It’s only 3 and a half minutes The other number people are likely to know that lives in this family of pieces is Let It Go from Frozen. Like Defying Gravity, Let it Go is a large scale Verse Chorus number with an exciting bridge. It’s a little under 4 minutes. Let It Go doesn’t modulate at all. The others modulate regularly.
What sets Astonishing apart isn’t the length. (it’s about 4.5 minutes) What sets it apart is the structure. It opens with a machine gun kind of verse, which repeats itself AABB style, but with lots of twist and turns and modulations. Then the mood shifts, and we build from a piano accompaniment rather like the opening of the second half of Jimmy. But where Jimmy ran a very standard 32 measure AABA form, this form is so expansive and irregular that it barely feels like AABA form at all. It’s more than double the normal length of an AABA. With the coda it’s a full 72 measures in 4/4 time. And although the complete product sounds very finished and crafted, the irregularity of it makes us feel as though the song is being formed in some way on the spot, which is really wonderful, given that Jo is discovering a drive to discover her own terms of success, breaking boundaries along the way.
The opening accompaniment figure is pretty great, with its Db minor 6/9 chopping away into a kind of Phrygian flat ii chord. Rhythmically, it’s nearly identical to the accompaniment of Laurie’s number.
Take a Chance On Me:
Astonishing:
If I’m trying to think creatively, it’s possible to imagine that Jo is repurposing Laurie’s accompaniment in a pretty dark tonality to reject his advances. But I think in practice, it’s another example of the problematic similarity between Laurie’s and Jo’s musical languages. The audience reads that they belong together musically, here at the very moment where they mustn’t.
But coming back to what’s working extremely well: Howland’s melody here at the top of Astonishing is positively Sondheimian. It begins with a rising cell of three notes, which is then extended in retrograde with extra pitches at the end, then sequenced in augmentation.
The game extends through some Ahrens and Flaherty style key changes (as they did, for example, at the top of Journey To The Past in Anastasia) with a wonderful economy of material. A lot of people these days are writing Sondheim style accompaniments. Not very many people are deploying the rigor of a Sondheim melody. For those of you not familiar with how Sondheim uses these same techniques, have a look at the opening melody of On The Steps of The Palace. I’m hoping to do a video breakdown of that sometime this summer.
The opening, which was originally longer and more involved, began with a nervous pattern of rising sixteenths. The section culminates in a decisive pattern of descending quarters. Great musical storytelling: Jo has moved from confusion to a turning-point kind of question. And as a composer, I’m envious of that rising scale in the left hand that goes all the way up the C flat Major scale subdividing 3 measures by a beat and a half per note. It’s very cool:
In the interest of turning over every little stone on the beach:
The next section of the song, beginning in measure 38, is brand new, in a mammoth AABA form. There’s a callback to the first part, with the rising set of three notes that starts the melody. If you look at the measure numbers in the PV, you’ll see that there were 5 measures cut between “I don’t know how to proceed” and “I only know I’m meant for something more” You can hear the cut measures here, at the 3:14 mark.
This seemingly inconsequential cut destabilizes the already sprawling form, which works in a fascinating way. I’ll lay out that form below:
First A Section, Truncated in Previews to 14 measures.
I thought home was all I’d ever want: My attic all I’d ever need
Now nothing feels the way it was before, And I don’t know how to proceed
{CUT LINE USED TO BE HERE, see video above}
I only know I’m meant for something more, I’ve got to know if I can be Astonishing
(Modulation)
Second A Section, Complete 19 measures
There’s a life that I am meant to lead, alive like nothing I have known
I can feel it, and it’s far from here, I’ve got to find it on my own
Even now I feel it’s heat upon my skin, A life of passion that pulls me from within,
A life that I am aching to begin.
There must be somewhere I can be Astonishing. Astonishing.
B Section (Bridge) 10 Measures
I’ll find my way, I’ll find it far away
I’ll find it in the unexpected and unknown
I’ll find my life in my own way, today.
Third A Section 14 Measures (lyrically same as other As, musically new in the first 2 lines)
Here I go, and there’s no turning back. My great adventure has begun
I may be small, but I’ve got giant plans to shine as brightly as the sun
I will blaze until I find my time and place,
I will be fearless, surrendering modesty and grace.
I will not disappear without a trace (would normally be something that scans like “There must be somewhere I can be Astonishing”)
A Section extension 14 measures
I’ll shout and start a riot, be anything but quiet
Christopher Columbus, I’ll be Astonishing, Astonishing, Astonishing at last.
The sections of a normal AABA song are not normally this large, and the established pattern for AABA form songs is 1) that we want to really recognize the tune in each A section, and 2) that we clearly associate the title with a really memorable tune. We do associate the title Astonishing with an important three note motive, extended creatively as shown below:
These A sections do repeat musical ideas, but are unusually irregular. Howland varies them quite a bit, we modulate several times, and because of the cut, we don’t even hear the full A section until we’re well into the form, so any sense of predictability evaporates. The 10 measure B section is short in relation to the 14 and 19 measure As, so we don’t even have the satisfaction of knowing when we’re going to get back to the final A. When we do hit the last A, the melody is inverted, and we hear Mi Re Do instead of Do Re Mi, so you have a real sense of arrival, but no melodic familiarity. Because we are unable to ground the melody in a traditional understanding of form, we are forced to hear the repeating parts of the melody when they return as an exploration of melodic ideas working with some logic we simply have to trust. This seems to dovetail well with the idea of Jo ‘finding her own way.’ Whether the manipulation of form was intended by the authors to convey this effect, or whether it was simply the byproduct of the process of trying to tame the sheer length of the piece, it hits the mark as an excellent act closer, just as Defying Gravity does in Wicked.
Now that I’ve cracked the song open, let’s get to the performance issues.
Measure 35 is in 2/4 in the PV and in the parts. In the Broadway production, in the Vocal Selections, and in the Musical Theatre Anthology, this is another 4/4 measure, with half notes in the melody and a whole note in the accompaniment. I would go ahead and change it back. Your singer has likely learned it the other way, and it works better this way anyway. Be sure to tell your pit players about the change.
I think the ending of this song is too high, and that unless you’ve cast somebody really unusual, it’s going to be difficult to get a belted ending that’s consistent from night to night. I dare say even Sutton must have struggled with it. The trouble is that the beginning of the song is fairly low, and if you bump the whole number down even a half step, the first notes may not speak the way you want them to. I have a neat solution to this double problem which I’ll lay out for you now in case you want to use it. Again, no, I will not e-mail you my version for lots of reasons.
At measure 54, the first time the word Astonishing appears, there is a modulation from Ab Major to B major that takes 2 measures. 2 further measures were cut at this point, you can tell from the measuring in the PV. Play the original key all the way up to the first two beats of measure 57. Then, instead of playing the chords Fb/Gb and Gb major, play Eb/F and F instead. Then from 58 on, play the whole thing a half step lower, starting in Bb major. This makes the long high note a manageable D instead of the frightening E flat. I was worried that my seam might show, but the modulation as written goes to so foreign a key that the standard modulation up the whole step to Bb actually sounds very natural, and I venture to say that only somebody with perfect pitch would even catch the change.
Somehow I stumbled on a copy of the entire number transposed down the half step. (no, I won’t e-mail it to you) At the end, in measure 110, it says in the piano part: vocal first. That does not appear in the Piano Vocal or in the Vocal Selections, although it is the way the cast recording goes, and I think it’s a good choice. Let her land “last“, then come in with the last chords.
Act II
17. Entr’acte
To everyone’s surprise, I have nothing to say.
18 The Weekly Volcano Press
The opening of Act 2 takes a little practice, particularly in transitions. Fortunately for you, in the rehearsal process you will play this piece 10,000 times. This will give you plenty of time to get your act together. The number is a sure fire winner, maybe one of the best Act II openers I’ve ever come across.
To clarify the idea I laid out earlier about this number: The characters in Jo’s story are played by the people who inspired the story in her life. The character Clarissa and real life Meg are models of feminine virtue. Rodrigo is a hero type, so is Laurie. Mr. Brooke is Braxton, both are masculine figures who in Jo’s mind are trying to remove her sister. Amy is a troll in Jo’s mind, both are obstacles to her travel, both love glittering jewels. Mr. Laurence is the Knight, who is lonely, but has a sword to pass on. Mr. Laurence will pass along his piano later in the play. Marmee and the Hag is the only comparison that doesn’t quite ring right, until you see that the hag is wise, and that she perhaps represents a vision of adulthood that Jo doesn’t aspire to. (at least not earlier in the play). Taken in this light, the Weekly Volcano Press sequence is an Allegory about a woman on a journey. She finds she needs to reject the advances of men, even the ones who, like Laurie (Rodrigo), mean well. She also must reject the example of the older women in her life and the temptations of materialism. In the end, we discover that the hero was not Laurie/Rodrigo, but rather Beth/Rodrigo, which is the true arc of Act II. Hence the opening of Act II becomes an allegory for the entire show.
An important musical theme is introduced in this number, and it’s in a family of Jo’s tunes.
The Astonishing motive is hinted at here and there in Act I, but it doesn’t appear in this set of intervals before the end of the Act. The motive is activated, if you will, during Astonishing, and it continues to formulate for the rest of the show, particularly when Jo is grappling with the actualization of her dreams. All 3 of these important melodic ideas center around a half step and a major 6th in various orderings. I’ll mention this again briefly later.
Now to the practical elements:
There is a fermata on the first measure in the parts, but not in the PV.
In measure 29 and elsewhere, the cello and marimba have the repeated 8th note pattern. I found it was easier to play it on the piano to keep us together and to keep the ensemble clean. At 59, the feel is the same as at 29, but the time signature has changed, so everything looks different. Your players may have trouble figuring that out at first unless you’re conducting and not playing. Measure 46 and other similar spots like 124-125 do sound like Castle in a Cloud, but whatever you do, don’t mention that in rehearsal. At measure 83, all the strings gliss up. It’s a really cool effect. There is a caesura (railroad tracks) at the end of measure 92 before Clarissa comes back in in the parts, but not in the PV. We didn’t use it. Either mark it into your part or cross it out of the players parts. In measure 153, I think not all the orchestra players begin their run on the same note of the scale, which may lead to confusion coming out of the fermata.
If you’re looking for a spot to open out your chorus, you can cast more than 3 Hags and more than 2 trolls, and if you look at the piano part in the troll section, you can see an easy third middle note to add to their exclamations. In measure 120, there is a caesura before Clarissa’s entrance that’s in some of the pit books, but not in the piano vocal score. Use it if you want to. The prosody in 123 is pretty poor, and the Chorus of Hags in measure 91 and 92 are inexplicably saying the opposite of what the main Hag is saying. In 136, the 1st Violin A harmonic is not printed properly in the book. The parts have a fermata at the end of measures 145 and 147 that are not in the Piano score. Measures 160-163 don’t time out very well against the dialogue. I’ll bet there was some business there originally. Measure 161 can disappear without damage to the musical sense.
When you’re teaching the lowest part in the All Sing section at 173, make particular note of measure 176. It is not exactly the same as the other versions of that tune. There are lots of options for parts here: you can assign them different ways depending on the singers you have at your disposal.
I think in the original production, there must have been some clever staging to get all these characters off stage. If your production is simpler, you may need a playoff to get the imaginary people off before the continuation of the scene. If so, you can use 128 through the third beat of 130 as a playoff.
18A NYC to Concord- Transition
Another gem of underscoring that begins with Five Forever, and then manages to fold in Weekly Volcano Press, ending on a great chord that sounds like we’re headed into a commercial break in an ABC family movie. (I mean that as a compliment)
18B. Beth Plays Piano
Before you and the sound guy go off and record this one, you might want to talk to your director. Beth is pretty weak here, and the scene may need a particular kind of way of playing that the cast can react to.
19. Off to Massachusetts Reprise
This is very similar to the original version of the number, except that it’s supposed to be four hands, and it segues into the scene change. If you’ve recorded the earlier versions, you’ll obviously need to record this one too, and you may want to overdub a more full left hand with octaves so that the 4-hands reads better.
19A. Jo to Professor Bhaer Transition
In your piano vocal score, (and I believe in the parts as well) there is something funky in the transition from 19 to 19A. The last measure of 19 is the pickup measure to 19A. That’s potentially pretty confusing.
20. How I Am
This number is Bhaer’s first chance to establish his musical voice. It’s a lovely song, and it does the job well, although it’s inexplicably in somewhat the same mold as Mr. Brooke’s number in Act I, and I’m not sure how I’m meant to interpret that. There were also some growing pains in the process of bringing the song to the stage; 20 measures are cut after the first A. They can be heard at the 1 hour 39 minute mark in the early video. Bhaer is talking about the weather. We don’t miss this cut.
The Euphonium is featured prominently here: it’s associated with Bhaer in the show. We also get a good sense of Bhaer’s German fastidiousness with this fussy staccato accompaniment figure. In the first two A sections, Bhaer’s melody is repetitive and carefully delineates a descending scale pattern. In the second A section, as he talks about the uneasiness he feels, measure 45 slips into 6/8, and by the time Measure 50 rolls around, Bhaer’s orderly world has been disrupted. We modulate to a pretty foreign tonality, and the orderly 12/8 slips into all manner of compound triple meters. This portion is tricky to learn for the actor, particularly in how long to wait before the beginning of new phrases. The whole central passage modulates 4 times and changes time signatures 18 times.
The lyric is very clever in the way that it reframes the central question: She asks how I am? By the time the central, freeform section ends, he’s asked a question:
“Who asked her to change how I live, how I think, how I am?”
When we return to the relative simplicity of the last A section, Bhaer’s attitude toward his life has changed. The house is far too quiet now. An echo of the Astonishing motive appears as he remembers her.
Have a good look at the piano pit book. You’ll see measure 42 in the Piano Vocal really needs a left hand. The parts in measure 101 have a rall. at the beginning of the measure and a fermata on the half note. The PV does not. In Violins 1 and 2, the harmonics for A and D are oddly misprinted. Block out some time to spend with Bhaer to figure out how to negotiate the pattery portions, and if you’re using a dialect, to figure out how to be convincing as a German and still intelligible.
20A. To The Beach
Again, I believe this is the remains of another song that is no longer in the show.
21. Some Things Are Meant to Be
I don’t know Jason Howland’s other music, but if I had to take a guess, I’d speculate that this song comes closest to his own original voice. In the show, it is strikingly moving, and out of context, it has become a go-to song for voice teachers working on mix.
I’m not going to go into detail about the content or structure of the song, because it’s so simple and direct that my commentary will only blunt the force of the expression. But do note that while the devastating “let me go now” is what squeezes the tears out of the listener, Mindi Dickstein’s previous lyric has laid the groundwork for the ending of the show: “Some things will never die/The promise of who you are/Your memories when I am far/from you.”
For those of you just looking for tips on this song, be careful as you’re learning the song to differentiate between the timing of “the world at our command” and “sail on with windy ease” the second time through has an extension.
The piano part is not particularly difficult, but do challenge yourself to keep the sixteenth pattern as even as possible. The string writing is exquisite in this orchestration, you’ll really enjoy playing and conducting it. In measure 48, the parts have a quarter rest at the end of the measure. For some reason, the vocal score has a fermata. For our staging, we found the passage from 48A-48D wasn’t long enough. (48A-C are also not labeled, by the way) You can repeat 48A and 48B if you’re looking for more time there. In measure 48D, the caesura comes after the half note in the books.
As heartbreaking as the number is, the reprise of “Off to Massachusetts” in measures 74-77 really twists the knife. Measures 81-82 subtly prefigure the very end of Days of Plenty.
22. The Most Amazing Thing
This is another piece in the Menken mold. The show really needs a frothy uptempo after the saddest moment since Sweeney recognized the Beggar Woman, and we are about to tackle 2 more very broad songs immediately after, so this is the last island of comic relief in the musical. The opening motive is another transformation of earlier ideas:
Our Finest Dreams:
Could You?
Take A Chance:
Most Amazing Thing:
As presented here, the motive most resembles Take A Chance, and it’s clearly meant to bring Amy into Laurie’s world for the audience. If Amy’s original tune in Act I hadn’t been cut, the main melody here would have developed it; the two tunes are related. There isn’t anything particularly challenging here, for singer or for accompaniment. The number works very well.
22A. To The Attic
Another great scene change. The cello solo at the end is particularly wonderful.
23. Days of Plenty
Frank Wildhorn’s lyricism and sense of the power of a woman singing well is once again present here, but Howland again deploys those resources with a great deal more taste and restraint than Wildhorn generally does, and this lyric is excellent. The vocal writing is as good (and as potentially difficult) as Mother’s music near the end of Ragtime, and the strings in the orchestration are also extremely well deployed. This is a great number.
If the next 10 minutes of the show doesn’t really land, we’re in some slow territory for the show, pacing wise, because the number that follows is also a long ballad.
The form is another very long AABA form. The A sections are exquisitely paced, an almost completely pentatonic melody topping off on Middle C for 8 measures before reaching Eb, then F, then G, then A flat and then settling down on the Supertonic again. This slow expansion of a generally low range perfectly matches the sentiment of Marmee’s grounded optimism in the face of sadness.
The B section releases all the energy of the A sections into a dogged exploration of Bb, Ab, and C, the money notes for Maureen McGovern, (and, one hopes, your singer) as Marmee underscores the necessity of moving forward in the face of tragedy. The inverted chords rocking back and forth around the Subdominant Chord gives us a sense of forward momentum while leaving room for the song to continue to grow beyond the B section.
The final A has the melodic shape of the first 2 As, but this time we’re an octave higher, and the extension of Db (on days) is a terrific payoff. The number concludes with a beautifully paced descent to the lower register again, so that musically we have taken a journey from grounded aspiration to hope to the assurance that the ones we love will always be a part of who we are even after they pass. It is the true message of this telling of the story, given to the wisest woman in the piece.
Now, for some practical things:
The opening 3 note phrase is for cello and alto flute. You will find this difficult to tune. The figure at 74 is again strangely written in Fb major in the right hand and E major in the left. In the orchestra parts there is a caesura midway through measure 80. Your Piano Vocal score doesn’t have it. In the last 2 measures, the English Horn has the G-Eb, and you should cue him/her.
There are some singers for whom this will be a walk in the park, but I would hazard a guess that most women will need to figure out how to get that middle section belting open and relaxed, and perhaps more importantly, how to land the last “She’ll be there” in such a way that the next phrase is set up correctly. But that’s part of the fun of working a number like this.
24. The Fire Within Me
At the end of the first act, Jo had held the stage for a tour-de-force number, and it stands to reason she needs an 11:00 number to match it. Days of Plenty was a similar number, so the show has a real potential to bog down under the weight of big important songs. It’s important to find lots of energy and drive for Jo’s last big moment, to counteract the natural heaviness of this part of the show. Having said that, this is a well executed piece of writing. It has a tough job to do: it needs to bring the major storyline to its conclusion, and it needs to be more than Jo simply agreeing with what Marmee just sang about, but an actual exploration of the ideas.
The opening verse originally had 8 more measures, (according to the numbering) and it’s rather along the lines of the scattered opening of Astonishing, except that as Jo grapples with the way forward, she cleverly inverts the motive we heard in Aunt March’s number:
As I hinted at earlier in The Most Amazing Thing, this motive of 4 16ths followed by 1 or 2 longer notes is an idea we’ve heard throughout. If I want to freight this music with some major storytelling duties, I can make a case that Jo is trying to reclaim the motive she established in Our Finest Dreams from its other iterations as altered by Aunt March, Laurie, and Amy.
Following this fragmented opening verse, Jo embarks on another expansive AABA song. This song is the final step in the evolution of the Astonishing motive, and also utilizes a new motive that does the heavy lifting in the rest of the show.
The fully transformed old motive comes from the most easily identifiable shape in our old friend Astonishing, but two of the notes have been switched:
The other motive grows out of a thought we first heard in measures 71-74 in Days of Plenty, where it underscores the word “life” in the line “She will live as you carry on your life.” We might consider this chain of rising thirds as representing Jo’s self realization and her integration of her memories and her network of family and friends into her work:
That figure underscores each time she sings “the fire within me”.
Incidentally, the accompaniment figure that appears at 19 is also a callback to the accompaniment for the cut version of Here Alone, which is another musical way of showing that Jo’s newfound strength is grounded in her mother’s centered presence.
Throughout the song, Howland uses G flat (F#) very expressively. Sometimes, as in measures 24, 34, 36, 46, and 52, the G flat is a melancholy flat 6 scale degree. Elsewhere, as in 26, 29, 38, 41, and 60, the same pitch spelled F# is a sharp 5 scale degree that leads up to tonicize the vi chord. It’s a lovely effect, and though Howland may not have been thinking of it this way, it’s also an excellent metaphor: sometimes the very things that are painful to us can also lead us in new directions.
At the end of this formal centerpiece of the number, Howland uses a telescoping scale idea that also cribs from the climax of Days of Plenty:
As it appears in Days of Plenty:
As it appears in Fire Within Me:
From 67 through 88, there is an extended underscored scena that incorporates nearly all the major motives of the score, including, in measures 84-87, the cut section of Our Finest Dreams.
A repeat of the B section (everything I promised them is here) culminates in a reprise of the end of Astonishing, in the lower key, and in a movingly subdued tone. But we do need to applaud after the 11:00 number, so we get a 2.5 measure tag that includes one final Wicked Chord.
There have been lots of 11:00 numbers over the years that quote and reassemble themes from earlier in their respective shows. Cabaret ends with a montage like that; Follies and Gypsy are other examples. In most cases this memory-lane device is used to depict a sense of tragic loss or a character becoming mentally unhinged and losing a grip on what is reality and what is memory. But here, the time honored device is being used to another end, as Jo is using the fragments to assemble a new identity as a writer. It’s an ambitious number that manages to hit all its marks and still let the singer really sing.
Onward to practical matters:
There are a lot of dynamic changes in the accompaniment part that are expressive and important, and can get lost. Keeping these dynamic changes in mind should help keep shape the arc of the song and keep it from simply getting bombastic.
When the middle section is blocked, you simply must be in the room. The music times out to cues on stage and vice versa, and you need to be involved in those choices. None of the stage directions you see in your score are in the script, and the director usually works from that. So you should stop reading this right now and type an e-mail to your director telling him or her there’s business here. You can cue the band members for the individual call outs there; just be sure to mark in your score who has what.
There’s an error in measure 34 and 43. The melody should not drop down to the F in either place.
24A. After Fire Within Me
Very basic transition between the previous number and The Most Amazing Thing, to get us into the world of the wedding.
The orchestral parts at measure 11 read Faster, in 2, FYI
24 B. Professor Bhaer Entrance
Again, Kim Scharnberg is using the Euphonium to represent Bhaer, and the tune is, aptly: “Sometimes when you dream, your dreams come true”. It ends on “And someone else feels the flame you always knew was there.” In my mind it goes, “You always knew was Bhaer.”
But before we tackle that number, let me double back to something I said up top:
Modern audiences, myself included, rather feel like the show could end at Fire Within Me and be very satisfying. The main problem of the story has been resolved, and the previous action did not make Jo’s marriage necessary. So Bhaer and the last song here are pulling a lot of weight, maybe more than they can bear. We have to quickly pay off whatever romance we’ve managed to establish between Jo and Bhaer, and we need to somehow create the need for Jo to marry and satisfy that need at a lightning pace. The constraints of the source material make this approach mandatory, but if the show falters, it’s here.
25. Small Umbrella In The Rain
This number works as well as possible, given its impossible task, but I have to say that it seems the most unfinished number in the score. I had my private reservations about whether the number worked until I got the orchestra in. When the orchestration is played, the song really does its job.
Let’s start with what is really smart about this number:
The opening phrase in the piano is the related to the Take a Chance Reprise, in which Laurie proposes and fails.
Take a Chance Repriseopening accompaniment:
Small Umbrella opening accompaniment:
But where Laurie’s accompaniment during the failed proposal had become more and more dissonant, Bhaer’s accompaniment follows a progression that suits the melody. (with one exception I’ll get to in a moment)
When the number proper begins in measure 15, the melody is operating on the same 2-tier shapes as Jo used in the main melody of Fire Within Me, low notes alternating with high notes in a kind of double pattern. The accompaniment contains the rising idea Marmee introduced in Days of Plenty, and that underscored a lot of Fire Within Me. It’s played by the Euphonium, Bhaer’s signature instrument. Musically, we really need something like this, to connect Bhaer with Jo in terms of style.
The chorus, beginning at measure 31 is really lovely, simple, and apt. The bridge is even better, and it lets Bhaer show some of the romantic side we started to see in How I Am.
If you wondered if I was perhaps stretching things by calling the opening theme proposal music, note how it underscores the tentative proposal at measure 61. Measure 65 is a repeat of the earlier section, except that now Jo begins, and the two trade phrases at a much quicker pace, essentially negotiating the terms of their relationship as equals. If you recall the musical storytelling in Could You?, Aunt March and Jo were negotiating to see how much Jo would need to change in order to merit a trip to Europe. When Jo began the echoing phrases, she had been putting on a show, playing someone opposite her true self. But here, Jo and Bhaer are acknowledging their differences and calling them an assets.
And now for the negative: some of this number seems rushed to press.
As in More Than I Am, we again have the male part above the female part in the score, which is awkward to read.
In measure 9, I think the chord intended is an EbMaj7, which makes a lot of sense with the melody. But there’s a slightly-too-clever A natural in the chord, and no G. This is a nice touch from the angle of bringing the Lydian idea back one more time, but in practice, it makes it very hard for the singer to catch the opening pitch of his phrase. If you want to perhaps change the A to a G, or at the very least add a G to the lick, your singer may have better luck.
Then in measure 15, the rising figure I like so much seems not to be connecting properly to the melody I like so much. When the vocal drops to the C in measures 14 and 17, it fights the right hand B and D, and in measure 20, the D in the melody fights the C in the accompaniment, and two beats later, B in the vocal fights the C in the accompaniment. It feels like the marriage of these two motives was as rushed as the establishment of this character relationship.
The part writing in measure 83 is just not very good for Bhaer. In beat 3, the voices are suggesting C major, but the accompaniment is suggesting B minor. You could leave it as is, add a middle C to the 3rd beat in the right hand, or change the last 4 notes for Bhaer in the measure to E E D G.
In measure 89, Jo’s part is odd; their vocal line sounds like A minor, or maybe C6. But there’s no A anywhere in the piano part, so, Jo’s part sounds like a wrong note. Now, I suppose it’s possible that the ‘wrong-note-ness’ of it is intentional, but I still added an A to the downbeat of my right hand so it sounded more harmonically intentional. The other ‘fix’ would be to have Jo sing a C instead.
Bhaer’s opening phrase lies awkwardly and is difficult to sing. If this proves problematic, I suggest shortening the last notes of the phrases. I think you’ll want to change the rhythm in Jo’s part at 11. …called a sun-shower sounds much better with eighth-eighth quarter, Half. In measure 40, and again in 91, I think you’ll want to get rid of the sixteenth rest and change the three 16ths at the end into an eighth note triplet.
26. Volcano Reprise
This little songlet also has a lot of weight to pull in the storytelling of the piece. The best moment is the final “Astonishing” played (but not sung) by the orchestra. It’s always nice to force an audience to complete a phrase in their minds. One wishes the chorus were involved some way; this moment blunts the message of the show somewhat. Our Astonishing moments do not come alone, they come in relationship to our past and our people.
27. Bows
The bows in the Piano Vocal are a hot mess. Measure 22 was a pain in the earlier key. Now you have to learn a totally different fingering. Play the piano version instead, unless you didn’t hire most of the pit.
28. Exit Music
Very standard exit music.
The Pit Orchestra:
The score is very well orchestrated for a mid sized ensemble, driven by the piano.
Bare minimum (1-6 players) :
This is a piano driven score, so the piano is a necessity. The bass player is also necessary. Oddly, I think the drummer is not necessarily critical. There is very little set playing, most of the book is mallets and the occasional cymbal roll, bells or added color. Very helpful, but not necessary. The backbone of the ensemble is the string compliment. If you can hire more than piano and bass, hire the 2 violins and the 2 reeds.
If you have more money (7-9 players), add (in this order I think): cello and viola, then french horn. If you have the whole string compliment and the reeds, you have a very full sounding pit, which is really breathtaking in the ballads.
If you have more money than that, (10-12 players), hire (in this order): trumpet, trombone and percussion. The trombone book has the Euphonium, which is a nice touch. The rest of the brass don’t play all that much, and when the trombone player isn’t playing Euphonium, it’s silly without the trumpet. The trumpet adds some fun fanfare moments in the fantasy sections. The one place in the score where all the brass is really nice is the top of Five Forever, where the first 8 bars are a brass section feature.
Best of luck with your production of Little Women! I really enjoyed ours!
These are my notes from the program of the 2015 Savoy Company Production of Patience at Longwood Gardens:
Writers who have achieved back-to-back successes are often faced with a dilemma. Is it best to continue giving the public what they have come to expect, or is it better to strike out in new directions? How far will an audience follow? Rodgers and Hammerstein followed the back to back success of Oklahoma! and Carousel with their most experimental work Allegro, which was a flop, but paved the way for their later work and the work of other writers. Verdi followed Rigoletto, La Traviata and Il Trovatore, (a triple play if there ever was one), with Les vêpres siciliennes, his first opera to be written from scratch in French. He would later move it into Italian, placing it in the form we more often hear today. Puccini followed La Boheme and Tosca with Madame Butterfly, which was booed off the stage and had to be revised multiple times before it reached the successful iteration we know and love. Success can be as difficult to overcome as failure.
The Gilbert and Sullivan who wrotePatiencewere recovering from their first great flush of mastery, having written HMS Pinafore and The Pirates of Penzance in 1878 and 1879 respectively. Pinafore had been such an overwhelming success that dozens of productions had sprung up in America without paying the writers any royalties, so Gilbert and Sullivan premiered Pirates in the U.S. to beat the theatrical copyright ‘pirates’ to the punch. The pun on piracy was, naturally, intentional. The overwhelming success of these two masterpieces put Gilbert and Sullivan in a creative quandary. The two operettas are the culmination of their efforts in their early period, and with The Mikado, form the backbone of their popularity to this day. The Pirates of Penzance relies for much of its interest on burlesques of well known operatic forms, particularly Verdi, who is parodied throughout. Even had the authors set about to write a follow up work in exactly the same manner as their previous successes, they would have been hard pressed to create such brilliant material so consistently on point. Clearly new directions were needed.
In 1880, G&S collaborated on The Martyr of Antioch, an Oratorio and Sullivan premiered it at the Leeds Festival, where he had been appointed musical director. Gilbert continued to write plays. When the two finally set about writing what would become Patience, Gilbert initially wrote about clerics, expanding his Bab Ballad “The Rival Curates”. But remembering the criticism of his clergyman Dr. Daly in The Sorcerer, Gilbert soon shifted the action to a fanciful commentary on the Aesthetic Movement. In doing so, he made a subtle shift in his writing. G&S had built a name for themselves using operatic conventions to spoof English society. Now they would attempt to build thematic unity across the entirety of an opera without making operatic parody a linchpin. The new operas wouldn’t be burlesques as much as tightly constructed commentaries on a theme. In this case the theme Gilbert settled on proved timely. Wilde, Whistler, Swinburne, and the rest of the movement had been spoofed and sent up in the papers widely, and there was enough of a vocabulary of mockery in the public mind that Gilbert could move quickly from the obvious jokes about flowers and mannerisms to funnier and ultimately more meaningful thoughts about the nature of fashion, fancy, poetry and love.There are fewer discreet numbers than in the earlier operas, and unbroken segments of music are longer and more ambitious than before, particularly the opening sequence, held together as it is by Sullivan’s shrewd musical repetitions of “Ah Misery”. Dialogue scenes are longer, funnier, and are more often between three or more characters than they had been. The new Gilbert and Sullivan would contain fewer imitations of other operas and more Duets, Trios, and ambitiously connected sequences. This is a feature of their later work, inaugurated here.
As it happened, Patience also demarcated another phase in the partnership: the opening of the Savoy Theater. (whence comes our name, naturally) Richard D’Oyly Carte was a canny businessman, producer, promoter and sometime composer involved from the outset in Gilbert and Sullivan’s career. He incidentally acted as agent for the lectures of Wilde and Whistler, who attended the opening night of Patience to see themselves lampooned. Carte would send Wilde on an American tour to coincide with Patience and to bring context to American audiences. D’Oyly Carte’s fortunes had risen with Gilbert’s and Sullivan’s, and he finally found himself able to consolidate his gains into a new Theater, which he named Savoy after the magnificent palace that had once stood on the site in the 14th century. But if the name was old, the theater would be state-of-the-art. It was the first theater, and the first public building to be lit wholly electrically. It was to become for G&S fans something like what the Bayreuth Festspielhaus is for the Wagnerite. (The buildings were completed within five years of each other) The Savoy Theater was a model of innovation and good practice at the time. It seated 500 more people than their previous venue, the layout afforded better sight lines across the house, and D’Oyly Carte introduced a queuing system for ticket sales that he had seen in America. 10 days before the building opened to the public, Sullivan inspected the pit and insisted it be raised by 8 inches. It was. Patiencetransferred from the Opera Comique to the Savoy in October 1881, but the theatre was lit by gaslight until December 28th, by which time a more powerful generator had been installed. D’Oyly Carte was a showman, and he knew how to make an entrance. On the night they switched to electricity, he wrapped a glowing light bulb in muslin and dramatically broke it to prove that there was no chance of a fire. He then left the stage, the gas was extinguished, and the modern age of theatrical electricity was ushered in.
Gilbert and Sullivan were ushering in a modern theatrical electricity of their own.
Before You Start:
A great place to start with any G&S Operetta is the Boise State site. The page for Patience is not quite as extensive as the pages for some of the other operettas, but it’s well worth a casual browse. Unfortunately, there is no detailed list of errors, as the site includes for many of the other G&S works. I’ll write in what I can as I go.
The most commonly used edition is the Schirmer vocal score, edited by Edmond W. Rickett. It’s fine. If you get an earlier printing of the Schirmer Score, you may discover that on page 81, the accompaniment is missing on the final staff. I made a replacement for you, you can print it out and glue it into your book: Patience page 81 If you have one of the newer Hal Leonard versions, you’re good to go, the problem has been corrected.
I have a raggedy old Stoddart paperback edition, which is identical to the Chappell first edition, and is also from 1881. It’s clear that G&S were trying to keep ahead of the piracy problem, with this charming copyright notice on the title page:
Notice they’re appealing to the goodwill of the buyer, not their legal rights, because the legal rights aren’t all that clear. Here is a link to an interesting site about American and British Copyright law in the Victorian era. Writers then were in a similar position to the one they’re in now: “Please buy it from us. Please?”
As an edition, this old Chappell version is really a mess, but it did help clarify things when I found discrepancies between other sources, or at the very least proved that they were unclear from the very beginning. There is another, improved Chappell, but both these early Chappell editions are missing the reprises of Twenty Lovesick Maidens We, and the opening of Act II, and the Schirmer score is a great general improvement. These earlier versions are on IMSLP if you should want to print them up for reference.
I also purchased the Kalmus Full Score. The score appears to have been hand copied from a set of parts by L. L. “Woody” Norvell, and I found it quite useful in terms of getting a sense of what kind of sound I would be getting, although the thing is by no means a critical edition, and contained a number of errors. I’ll point out what I found along the way as I go. There are many typos in the dialogue in the score, but those don’t concern us.
Both the original Chappell Score and the Kalmus Full Score begin numbering again at 1 after the act break, which is annoying, but can be corrected with a pencil in a minute.
Recordings:
As always, the OakApple Press page laying out all the major recordings is complete and fantastic. Many of these recordings are available on Spotify, but I encourage you to buy a hard copy. There needs to be some money changing hands that ultimately gets to the people who are making these recordings available, and they’re not getting it through streaming services. Plus, think how lovely your shelf of G&S CDs or LPs will look! For my money, the 1961 D’Oyly Carte Recording is a must hear, and the 1962 Malcolm Sargent recording is just the worst.
If you’re going to be Music Directing Gilbert and Sullivan, you’ll want to begin building a library of reference materials. I recommend getting these, as you are able:
The Gilbert and Sullivan Lexicon by Harry Benford: in which you will find the definitions of all those words you don’t understand.
After you have procured some of these, set aside a number of hours to do the following:
1) Listen to the soundtracks with the score in hand, marking things that strike you as interesting. I also made a pass at one point with a metronome and marked the tempi of all the sections from several recordings so that I would have a benchmark of speed. When a singer complains about a tempo, it helps to be able to check and say, “Ah, yes, we’re too slow” or: “This is within the range of generally accepted tempi.” or yet again, “I’d like to take it this fast, but currently our diction won’t allow it.” Sullivan doesn’t always notate phrasing or articulations, and while it’s easy to say, “Let’s just leave it up to the taste of the players”, it’s sometimes necessary to actually make clear decisions as a conductor so that the ensemble is telling the same musical story. I have developed a system with colored pencils, where I listen to a recording of a particular year with, say, a red pencil in hand and just mark interesting articulation, dynamic, or tempo choices for the key moments. Then I go back with a different color and enter another recording’s take on the same moments. Pretty quickly one begins to realize what is standard, what is done almost every time, and what is open to interpretation. You will also find your own preference in those places where there appears to be a wide range of opinion. To me, this is the beginning of discovering your own voice as a conductor; finding where the limits of expression have been in the past, and deciding what you are drawn to in answer to the points that are vague.
2) Take the Lexicon book and copy in pencil all the definitions into the score where you don’t already know the meanings.
As You’re Casting:
Colonel Calverley
A great patter-baritone role, not far from the Major General or John Wellington Wells. Sings the low end of a number of ensembles, and tops out on the E above middle C. As with all such roles, impeccable diction, a very strong memory, and the ability to convey bluster is important.
Major Murgatroyd
The Major is the smallest role of the three featured chorus parts, and has the more difficult harmony part to hear. The middle part in 16. is by no means easy. A nice role for a baritone you’re prepping for bigger parts.
Lieut. The Duke of Dunstable
The more difficult Tenor role in the show, goes up to the A flat several times, and has quite a bit to remember in terms of lyrics that are slightly different in repeats and somewhat confusing. Not a terribly difficult role to act, but requires a pretty good singer.
Reginald Bunthorne
The main character and all-around punching bag of the piece. Pompous and overblown, needs to be able to read the poetry in a bloated and affected way, and to sing and remember some very rapid patter. If you only have one truly wonderful patter baritone, it should probably be the Colonel. If you have 2, let Bunthorne be the man who can effect more gravitas, because that’s sillier.
Archibald Grosvenor
Grosvenor is a tenor, but not a particularly high one, and could easily be sung by a lyric baritone. I think it goes up to an F. Should have good comic timing. It helps if he’s handsome, but his lines with Patience are probably even funnier if he’s just an average looking guy. “When I Go Out Of Door” is a very difficult patter number, so you need someone who can articulate patter well and remember large chunks of it!
Mr. Bunthorne’s Solicitor
A very very small, non-speaking, non-singing role, could be given to a chorus member, or to some community celebrity who can only make 2 rehearsals.
Lady Angela
Angela is the lower member of the featured women’s chorus. She has a more matronly cast than the others, and she plays a scene with Patience in which she offers the advice gained by experience, so it would make sense to cast someone older than your Patience in the part.
Lady Saphir
Probably requires the better ear of the three featured ladies, because she sings the middle voice. Ella sings lead for most of the show, but Saphir has a lovely lead during the Quintet late in the show.
Lady Ella
Ella is the highest featured women’s chorus part. She carries the melody in the madrigal in the First Act finale, so you will need to choose a strong singer with a clear voice and good intonation.
Lady Jane
Jane is really a lovely part for the Gilbert and Sullivan Contralto. Preferably an imposing physical presence who can command the stage, she must deliver comic dialogues very well and be a nice foil for both Bunthorne and the ladies.
Patience
Your quintessential G&S Soprano, needs to have comic timing and a light, flexible instrument. We interpolated high Cs into the 2nd verse cadenzas of each of her arias. Gilbert’s Soprano leads make for an interesting type. They are not tragic heroines, nor particularly crafty as in the Italian operatic models. They also aren’t the strong, assertive type who command the stage and tell everyone what to do. They are usually a little ‘off’ from the rest of the ladies in town, but they’re generally right about the situation at hand. This makes the G&S soprano heroine a model for some of the sopranos in American musical theatre, like Sarah in Guys and Dolls or Marian in The Music Man.
CHORUS:
The Durham Savoyards have not yet produced a set of MIDI learning parts for this show, sadly. You will want enough singers to divide your ladies two ways, and your men 4. This show is not too difficult for the chorus. With each G&S show, I like to pick out the fastest chorus passage and make it part of my warm-up. In this operetta, it’s the “Now is this not ridiculous?” passage from Schirmer pages 41-46 for the men, and “Such a judge of blue and white…” from Schirmer pages 86-87 and/or “We’re Swears and Wells young girls…” on Schirmer pages 186-187 for the ladies.
General Pronunciation Advice:
I copy here my earlier note from The Gondoliers guide, with some slight emendations.
I am still no expert on RP English pronunciation, but I offer here a couple of basic pointers, to which I intend to add as I learn more:
1) Words like “Bath” and “Chance” need to be pronounced with a tall Ah vowel.
2) Rs that begin a word are tripped or rolled. Rs that come before a vowel are tripped. Rs that come after a vowel are generally dropped. At no point is the r pronounced as we Amerrricans pronounce it.
3) Mary, Merry, and Marry employ three different vowel sounds. Where I come from, they are pronounced identically. In Philadelphia, they are pronounced as three different vowels, but they aren’t the same vowels. Interesting chart on this matter:http://www4.uwm.edu/FLL/linguistics/dialect/staticmaps/q_15.html In G&S, you’ll want to say Mary with an eh as in air, Merry with eh as in get, and Marry with an ah as in cat. (someone will certainly correct me on this)
4) Many u vowels will need a y sound before them: duty becomes dyewtee, tuning becomes tyooning, new becomes nyoo, and institution becomes instityooshun.
5) Been becomes bean.
6) For words which in American English replace ‘t’s with a d sound, a true ‘t’ sound should be used. “Water” is not pronounced “wadder”, and certainly not wooder, my Philadelphia friends.
That is by no means exhaustive, and I’ve probably gotten some of it wrong, but that’ll get you started.
Going through the show number by number:
Overture
Sullivan didn’t write most of his overtures; assistants assembled many of them from the best tunes of the opera, in the manner made popular by Offenbach. Before you get cranky about that, you might note that this is the way Broadway overtures have been assembled with very few exceptions since time immemorial, and that this particular overture was assembled by a very fine composer in his own right, Eugen D’Albert. D’Albert was at the time a pupil of Sullivan’s, but his time studying with the greatest musicians in Britain was unsatisfactory to him, and he would ultimately emigrate to Germany, where he studied with Liszt and built a career as a concert pianist and composer in many different genres. Here’s the kind of thing he would write on his own later. The overture is a delight to conduct, with many subtle details and two tricky spots. (they were tricky for me at any rate) The first trouble spot is the transition from the opening Moderato to the Allegro Vivace. It lies on the cusp of wanting to be beat in 2 and in 4. I wound up choosing to conduct it in 2, with a little subdivision at first to make the tempo clear. I found the clearest way to make the transition was to treat the measure before as a kind of fermata, then to give the upbeat out of that measure with a subdivided 2 so that the violins could know the length of the 8th right away. They were fine, but I needed to practice that several times. It’s somewhat tricky to hear that new tempo in your head as you’re in the old one. The other trouble spot comes right before letter B. When it appears in the show proper, this melody is in 2, and there’s a peculiar 1 measure extension leading into the chorus, (here appearing at letter B) making a very fun and unusual 9 measure phrase. In the Overture version of this tune, it has been moved into 4/4 time, and to avoid the chorus tune coming in midway through the measure, an extra half measure of the expectant dotted rhythm has been inserted. When one has become accustomed to the other version, this entrance feels very odd at first, and you may find it tricky to cue the tune.
When you have figured that out, be careful not to overcue that new section, because Sullivan’s tune here has a dynamic drop to pp, leading to a lovely mini-Rossini crescendo. D’Albert’s miniature development of this passage at the 8th bar of B is very Mozartean or early Beethovenian to my ear, and also recalls Bach’s motet Fürchte Dich Nicht, Ich Bin Bei Dir.The soaring melody from the Act I finale appears beautifully at the third measure of C. Be sure your strings are giving a strictly accurate accompaniment rhythmically. The 10th measure of E should be a very crisp staccato piano sound in the clarinets and bassoons, even though it isn’t marked. (or wasn’t in my score anyway) Those 3 measures are a welcome little break before the build into the big finish. 5 from the end, my score is marked subito piano on the and of 1, with a crescendo to the downbeat of the third measure from the end. It’s a terrific moment, and it wasn’t in our parts. A little allargando isn’t unwarranted as you come to the final chords.
1. Twenty Lovesick Maidens We
In Trial By Jury and The Sorcerer, Gilbert and Sullivan had started the proceedings with the full Chorus. In Pinafore they realized that separating the genders at first made for a more dramatic story. In Pirates they heightened the characterization of the chorus, giving them real opinions and personalities. This is the first G&S opening to introduce the women first, and it changes the whole outlook of the show! These characters are going to be seen through the perspective of the women, not the men, who we shall see are left bewildered and perplexed.
Much has been made elsewhere of Sullivan’s unifying use of the “Ah Miserie!” motive to connect the first half hour of the operetta. It’s one of the things that makes this operetta a step forward for G&S; the opening is structured much more carefully than the openings of their previous work. I have made a little chart of some of the more obvious iterations of the miserie motive, and you’ll see that although it’s not exactly Wagnerian in its development, Sullivan has a fairly fluid conception of the little cell of notes. It works very well in the horn at the outset, well enough that one wonders if D’Albert had been made aware of it as he was constructing the overture. Those exposed horn lines in the overture could have easily accommodated this motive somewhere. But I digress. Notice how sometimes the motive is a whole step, sometimes the more expressive half step, sometimes leaping a third, sometimes repeating the same note. Rhythmically, there is also a broad diversity. Sometimes the figure begins on the downbeat, sometimes on the upbeat. Sometimes the dotted rhythm happens at the eighth note level, sometimes at the quarter, sometimes at the half, sometimes it’s eliminated entirely, as in the last example I notated. Now to the matter of musically directing the opening number: My personal priority is clean entrances and cutoffs. Drill them in from the beginning, exactly as they appear in the score, and come to the first rehearsal prepared with some idea of where you would like the young ladies to breathe. At letter C, you may find you need to make very clear the A flat and G flat in the phrase. This flavor is new at that moment. Ella has a potentially tricky line in the 7th measure of D (measure 76) That Bb clashes somewhat with the B natural in the bass. (it’s not an error, though)Tell the accompanist to include the melody in the right hand of the accompaniment from 74-77. (Go foolish heart, go dream of love requited) It’s actually in the orchestra, played by the flute. If you’re using the Kalmus Full Score, it’s missing beams in the flute eighth notes in the 5th and 7th measures of B. One further point: this number has a tendency to drag. Malcolm Sargent’s recording is a case in point. I can actually feel myself getting older as I listen to the opening chorus. This isn’t Mahler, people. It’s the opening of a very funny operetta!
As for the orchestra, there is a great deal of subtlety to pull out of that opening passage, but again, don’t let it get too thick and slow. Give a very distinct beat at letter B so the winds can get a good ensemble in the accompaniment figure. There was an error both in my score and in the parts in violin 2 in the 6th measure of E. The last eighth must be an E flat to match the harmony. The last three measures in the violin may not be in tune the first time you play them. You may want to drill those a few times under tempo to get clarity there, especially since it happens several times.
2. Still Brooding On Their Mad Infatuation/I Cannot Tell What This Love May Be
Sullivan’s introduction of the melody of Patience’s aria at her first entrance is another example of the great pains Sullivan took to unify the opening sequence. Note the augmentation of the dotted rhythm in the last measure of the opening section. I kept thinking it was another dotted eighth-sixteenth figure, but it’s dotted quarter-eighth. I think it’s a witty touch that Sullivan assigns the sopranos the idea that it’s marvelous Patience has never loved, and the altos the idea that it’s deplorable. I started to type why I thought that was funny and then thought better of it. 🙂
Patience’s aria here is one of Sullivan’s most delightful confections, and one senses he has found a really English voice here. Poor Wandering One is a masterpiece, to be sure, but it had a direct quote from Verdi’s Sempre Libera, and the ah ha ha ha coloratura at the end was pure Offenbach. Here, although it’s still in the trademark 6/8 time of innumerable soubrette numbers of this period, the melodic details and phrasing sound like pure Sullivan to me.
My full score had the a tempo marking right at rehearsal B and D, but the piano vocal has it a measure later. I think starting the a tempo directly at B and D is a wise choice, because it allows you more than a full measure of prep before the pickup to the new tempo. Note that the lilt of the 6/8 aims to the word blithe, not the word I. The other conception is a little flat-footed by comparison. For the sake of playability, the piano vocal score has a descending arpeggio of 16ths in measure 35, but the orchestration has a truly delightful ascending flourish in the clarinets and flutes that is a masterful detail. Make sure your orchestra plays that figure leggiero, it’s only a garnish, after all. Be sure your chorus of Lovesick Maidens has a short eighth note at the end of their phrases, and have a plan on how to release the fermata and get things moving again in your beat pattern before the ritornello comes back at the end of each chorus. There is a standard cadenza the second time through that’s listed in ossia notes in the Schirmer Score, but not in the Chappell version I have nor the Kalmus full score.
2a. Twenty Lovesick Maidens We
Exactly the same as before, down to the incorrect last note of measure 2 in the 2nd violins (should be an E flat) The Chappell version doesn’t even have this number, I assume because it’s identical to the earlier version, and they were trying to rush the thing to press to beat the knock-off publishers to the punch. I forgot to mention earlier something the piano score does for the sake of playability that isn’t quite accurate. The running sixteenths in the right hand actually continue in measures 7-9, but the countermelody in eighths in the winds rightfully predominates. The piano part keeps the forward motion in the music by converting the idea into a left hand figure, with different notes, but the same general contour. It’s just something to be aware of whenever this passage comes around. Your ladies will likely be leaving the stage at the end of this number, which is a good reason to tell them not to slow down for the 4th measure from the end, since they probably won’t see your cue. It’s begging to slow down, but the interrupted orchestra is enough new information for the audience without letting the proceedings slow to a halt there. Put the rit. 2 measures from the end.
3. The Soldiers of our Queen
None of this melodic material is articulated in the accompaniment or in the orchestral parts, in terms of slurring or staccato/legato. I listened to a number of recordings and heard a few different historically acceptable approaches. If you aren’t willing to decide what gets a slur and what gets a staccato mark, I do feel that a general clipped eighth note articulation all around is an acceptable solution, but I don’t think you should just leave it up to the players.
There’s something about the mens chorus part here in this first appearance that makes them want to close to the ‘N’ consonant too early, particularly in “U-ponnnnnn the battle scene”, and “The Ennnnnn-emy of one…” but also elsewhere. Remind them to sing on the vowels, not the consonants, and make 4 bar phrases out of it. Don’t breathe between “Queen” and “Are” or “Scene” and “They“, etc. The repeated “Yes!” later needs to be as short as possible, with very little ‘s’. If your orchestra ensemble is good, you should hear everyone but the violins and flute playing very short chords, and the goal is to make that chorus “yes” last no longer than the sound of the snare hits that happen simultaneously.
In the body of the patter song itself, there are two customary pauses not indicated in the score. The first is right before E, both verses, between ‘trepan‘ and ‘The‘, and between ‘ban‘ and ‘A‘. The second comes 8 measures later, again in both verses, between ‘Man‘ and ‘The‘, and between ‘divan‘ and ‘The‘ If your orchestra knows those pauses are coming, they are quite easy to cue. Enjoy the little snaky chromatic bassline that comes in at letter F. How marvelous it is!
When the chorus comes back in, you might decide to leave out the lowest bass part at G, until the 6th measure of G when it goes up to a C. Unless your chorus is individually miked, you will find it very difficult to hear them. If you leave gentlemen down there, make sure they’re singing with a bright tone, it’s easy for amateur singers to let the focus disappear at the bottom of the range.
At the Colonel’s final phrase, there is often a slight relaxing of the tempo, which is fine, but requires a strong hand at the baton to cue the orchestra hits and bring the chorus back in.
4. In A Doleful Train
Most G&S Operettas have at least one potential train wreck. Normally this happens when part of the group is singing something fast, the other something slow, and the tempos slip apart from one another. This first such potential train wreck is a doleful one. More on that later.
As always, clarify where breaths are to occur for the ladies, and make clear where each phrase is to end.
The gentlemen have a very fast patter here, and your tempo should never be faster than they can consistently execute while remaining absolutely together. Be very clear about the pitches at “all prefer this melancholy literary man” before B, and “Instead of slyly peering at us…” at B. ‘Close Enough’ isn’t. When your orchestra arrives, tell your clarinets to bring out their part and keep a crisp staccato at all times. They ground the vocal part.
Be clear about the tuning of the G flat 2 measures before rehearsal E.
At F and H, you may have trouble getting the gents to come in in tempo. You have two choices here: 1) Drill it and insist they come in immediately and in strict tempo from the preceding. 2) Allow them the pause they will probably want to insert and instead turn your direction to the orchestra to change the tempo for their chords there.
The octaves 4 before J in the Chorus are tricky. Counsel your men to find a mid-level vocal placement and not to reach up for the high notes nor down for the low notes but imagine them all to be in the same location.
After J itself is the trouble spot I was mentioning earlier. The women’s part is similar, but not identical to the earlier version of this tune. At first in rehearsals, you should give most of your attention to the gentlemen, and work for that clear, crisp diction and rhythmic accuracy. Pay particular attention to the third measure of L. That descending arpeggio is rather a mine-field of intonation problems. At some point in your rehearsals, you will achieve a sort of ‘terminal velocity’ for the men, at which point you will want to turn your attention to the ladies, and be sure they are watching you, especially a few measures after letter K, where their part will want to rush, just as the gentlemen will want to slow down because their part gets more difficult. Adjust your beat to find the men, who have much less control over their speed, and compel the women to stay with you. Your beat should be clear, with very little bounce, and the downbeat straight down the middle. It is possible to get this moment fairly foolproof, but only with intention. Again the clarinets are a great help in grounding the men’s part, and you will miss them at the end of the first act, when this whole edifice appears again only in an more complicated guise. At that point no member of the orchestra doubles the gentlemen. “Alack a-day” indeed.
4a. Twenty Lovesick Maidens We
No new info here, except that for once, measure 2 is correct in my full score for the second violins!
5. When I First Put This Uniform On
This is the second of the Colonel’s patter numbers, and it closes the opening swath of the opera with a bang. Again, Sullivan has not bothered to articulate the opening figure, but short sixteenths and eighths do appear to be in order. The number is very straightforward, but there is a puzzling detail I never resolved to my own satisfaction: In the measure before the first ending, both editions of the vocal score and the orchestral parts have a sixteenth, sixteenth, eighth pattern to the melody in the accompaniment, while the vocal part has eighth, sixteenth, sixteenth. This is also the way the D’Oyly Carte recordings all go. But my Kalmus score makes the orchestra agree with the rhythm of the singers. I wish I knew where the discrepancy came from. All signs seem to point to the version with two simultaneous different rhythms being the ‘authentic’ one. But it also seems wrong, or at the very least laziness on Sullivan’s part. The opening and closing ritornello have the ‘wrong’ rhythm, and the vocal version a measure before the first ending is the only way the lyric would sound. If you have an answer, please let me know in the comment field. Should you need more exit music, you can double back from the end of the penultimate measure to the second ending for one further pass at the last 8 measures.
6. Am I Alone and Unobserved?
This piece is so enjoyable that one is liable to miss the central stylistic game Sullivan is playing. The mock grand-opera opening with its trills and slashing tutti chords makes Bunthorne out to be a really powerful character, but his true self is revealed in the frankly mincing Allegretto grazioso in which he lays out his scheme. It’s also the first time anyone’s been onstage by themselves yet, and it’s been half an hour.
You will want to tell your orchestra whether you are going to indicate the empty downbeat of the Allegretto or whether you’re going to just give the upbeat. (I recommend the former) The figure 4 before A is best articulated with stacatto on the eighths, and a real marcato-tenuto on all the quarters. The tutti brass hits after A are some of the only strong brass writing in the show, so show them off with a strong, short attack! The piano reduction of the 4th and 8th measures after A masks the staccato brass ictus at the top of the sustained woodwind chord, which is an old trick, but a very good one indeed!The string passage 2 measures before letter B is piano, but shoot for a full sound and a little poco rit. to inaugurate the recitative passage.
If you don’t have a lot of experience conducting orchestras in this kind of music, a word of advice: In passages like the one immediately before the 2/4 key change, give a dead beat 5 times to the orchestra so they know where you are, once on the downbeat and then 4 more times at the dotted measure lines. In the Chappell score these dotted measure lines are full measures. Beating the downbeats of the empty measures helps the orchestra keep their place even as the singer is taking things freely.
The first two times Bunthorne goes through the Allegretto, there is no rit. at the end. The final time, the rit. starts at “pure young man…”, as indicated in the score. The Kalmus full score, though, says to go back to A tempo when he sings “be.”, then another rit. 2 measures later, the third measure from the end. I found that to be very effective.
SIDEBAR: PATIENCE AND THE MUSIC MAN
The first time I did Patience, (as a cast member) I didn’t make any connection with The Music Man, but this time around, I kept thinking of it. The Delsarte ladies of River City are the biggest point of reference for American audiences, and oddly enough, they do provide a strange point of connection between the two pieces. François Delsarte was famous for his teaching in singing and declamation. He invented a popular system that was brought to the United States by his pupil, Steele MacKaye. In MacKaye’s hands, the Delsarte Method became more about movement and pose, and his version of Delsarte became a very popular activity as a kind of proto-yoga in the 19th century. When Richard D’Oyly Carte sent Oscar Wilde on the his American tour (in part to promote Patience and give context to the Americans who were to watch it on tour), Wilde met MacKaye, and prolonged his stay in America partly to spend more time with him. (some of these details come from a chapter entitled Under the Sign of Wilde by Moe Meyer) Ultimately Wilde would turn to other sources of inspiration to complete the development of his external persona, but the feeling one gets watching a traditionally staged Patience that one is seeing Eulailie Shinn and her ladies is actually very precisely placed. By the time The Music Man is written, the Delsarte movement represents all that is old and mannered, and the River City Ladies are the lovesick maidens of patience, transplanted to America.
If you’ll bear with me, I’d like to take the comparison just one further step:
This hilarious scene between numbers 6 and 7 in Patience made me think of the brief ‘in 1’ scene after ‘Trouble‘. That scene is only 4 lines long, just enough time for Harold to chase Marian across the stage and be rebuffed: “I’ll only be in town a short while…” “Good!” Following that scene, Marian enters Mrs. Paroo’s house, where Mrs. Paroo tries in vain to encourage her relationship with this strange man. At the end of that scene, Marian sings ‘Goodnight my Someone‘, and we see that she does actually want a relationship.
That passage in The Music Man and this section of Patience happen early in their respective shows. Both begin with a flim-flam artist who is conning most of the people in a small town amusingly. Both shows then have the con artist comically attempting to woo the one woman in town who doesn’t return their affection, women who are in both cases totally bewildering to all the other women in town. Both are rejected amusingly. Patience says: “I am quite certain that, under any circumstances, I couldn’t possibly love you.” Bunthorne: “Oh, you think not?”
Patience: “I’m quite sure of it. Quite sure, Quite.” In both sequences, the young lady is counseled about the joys of love by an older woman, and in the close of each sequence, the young woman agrees that under the right circumstances, love is a great idea.
In Victorian England, the flim flam artist needs poetry and intellectual artifice to bamboozle the ladies.
In 1912 in The Music Man‘s America, the con artist appeals to their irrational cultural fears.
In England, the heroine longs for the simplicity of an unaffected childhood romance.
In America, the heroine wants someone who has read a book.
7. Long Years Ago, Fourteen Maybe
At one point, this lovely duet had a second verse, which is included in one or another of these books I’ve recommended, but I couldn’t figure out how the text sat atop the notes. It doesn’t really need another verse at any rate, and the first act is really a model of economy without it.
One thing you need to do as music director is decide for yourself whether it’ll be lit..tle or li…ttle whenever it happens. Probably it should be the same each time, I venture to suggest? The Kalmus full score contains no crescendi or decrescendi, but the vocal score does, and it’s an absolutely delightful effect, with pizzicato strings and pairs of winds tapering in and out. At rehearsal C, I picked up the tempo slightly. If you choose to do that, it’s the bassoon and pizz. cello that lead that charge, in that rising scale that reminds one so much of Madamina, Il Catalogo E Questo…
Before letter E, the vocal score has a lovely anticipation in the voice parts which isn’t reflected in the full score at all. My flutes had the anticipation in their part, but the clarinets didn’t. You’ll have to sort that out on your own, I’m not sure I can say with any kind of authority what’s right there. At the very end, I liked to de-emphasize that last note, so that it ends on a very dainty downbeat.
8. Prithee Pretty Maiden
This little duet somehow manages to be both fusty and fresh at the same time. Its charm lies in its simplicity and delicacy, and the folk tune quality of its nonsense ‘willow-waly-os’. As I try to put myself in the position of the original audience, I imagine there was some comedy in hearing this quaint old fashioned tune sung in this preposterous situation. Try to catch the feeling in the orchestra of a very old fashioned string quartet playing as daintily as possible, and make the most of the rallentandos at the end of each verse.
Also, you kinda need to see this:
(thanks, Aaron Manthey)
8a. Though To Marry You Would Very Selfish Be
My only advice to you is not to let yourself get caught up in the hilarious dialogue so much that you miss your cue to start the reprise.
9. Let The Merry Cymbals Sound (Act I FInale)
Much to say about this very long and beautifully constructed Finale.
Let’s start with the opening instrumental passage. We had our ladies coming in from the back of the house in our production, and to facilitate that, we built in a repeat from measure 4-13. The repeat itself worked beautifully, except that in the orchestral parts, that repeat turned out to be embedded in an even longer repeat, which is only in the parts and not in any of the scores I had. Be aware of that should you choose to do anything similar. I didn’t write it down, but it looks as though the repeat for the players runs from measure 3 to 21 or thereabouts, with some players playing only the second time. If I had to guess, I’d say that Sullivan added the vocal parts after having completed the instrumental part earlier. There are some awfully awkward phrase lengths in the vocal parts that seem forced; the blank measure after the first “Bunthorne’s bride” for example. Normally I do try and enforce Sullivan’s cutoffs, but this opening choral section has a place I gave up on. The phrases ending in “sound” and “bound” end on an eighth, not a quarter, but try as I might, they’d always ended up on the third beat. I don’t think anything is gained by beating everyone up over that half a beat, and I wasn’t able to locate any recording that successfully accomplished it either. Don’t waste your time, just let everyone put a crisp ‘d’ on beat three and be done with it. At letter C, the Kalmus full score has the first violins pizzicato and the second arco. I’m pretty sure that’s an error.
Another odd feature of this passage, which may indicate some trouble in the writing, is that the lyric clearly indicates cymbals, but Sullivan rather perversely doesn’t include them in his orchestration. The stage direction indicates that Jane has a very large pair of cymbals, but doesn’t tell her where to play them. That part of the stage direction is not in the earliest edition of the piano vocal, so I suspect it may be a solution arrived at in production that was later codified. I wonder if perhaps this music was recovered from some prior piece, or if a new lyric was supplied in place of an older one that didn’t mention these instruments. As long as you’re going to have these cymbals banging around to music in which it doesn’t really belong, you might as well have a lot of fun with it, and play them loudly at all the wrong places. That’s very funny.
When the Dragoons enter, be sure to note the difference between the ‘done’ that happens 3 measures before letter E and the ‘done‘ that happens 1 measure before E and then later immediately before F. Some performance practice has evidently arisen around the first “Oh, poet, how say you, What is it you’ve done?”, in which “you have” is substituted. The Kalmus full score has this change, but the vocal scores don’t. You’ll have to decide which you prefer. Watch the “Oh, horror!” around the 5th measure of G. The octave jump in the tenors is actually somewhat precipitous, and it can turn into just a shout if you’re not careful. “Curse” a few measures later also should have a strong opening consonant, but should really still be a pitch and not just a shout.
The “Stay, we implore you” section is very dramatic and exciting, and the 2 measure phrases starting the 9th measure of the allegro should lean into the ‘-plore’ and then back out again. Note that the vocal parts and the accompaniment at “to us you’re plighted” has dropped down to a piano (indicated in the full score, but not in the vocal score), and then builds to the final 4 measures of the phrase. If you’re using an older Schirmer score, this is where the missing measures in the accompaniment go: Patience page 81 . The string chords sit a little funny under the vocal part, you should use the accompaniment from the beginning so they can become accustomed to it.
Then the Duke has a lovely solo. Note that the big forte chords in the 9th and 17th measures of the Andante will be played by pizzicato strings, which will not sound at all the same as a piano playing that chord. Something odd happens before the chorus comes in on their echoing phrase. All the Piano Vocal Scores and the Full score I consulted have the orchestra coming in a half a beat earlier than the singers on their notes, on beat three of the measure, right before they sing “OurSoldiers” or “We Soldiers” as the case may be. The parts, however, indicated an upbeat eighth note only. I wonder whether some early cast needed help finding the notes, or perhaps the choral note was shortened, but it’s an odd disconnect. I chose to use the parts as written, with the eighth note pickup. Let your Duke luxuriate in that high A flat, and give the real Irish tenor treatment to the drop to C flat. Get your chorus used to cutting off before the fermata and leaving a space for the solo. Then, show the chorus that the orchestra plays their chord before they sing “all weep” at the end of the section. Show them what that cue will look like. In upbeat tutti chords with fermatas, I like to put a little crescendo in to give energy to the phrase. “All” would be a great place to do that.
Bunthorne’s next passage contains the word ‘avidity‘ twice. A mistake I believe was corrected at some point with a ‘rapidity‘, but I can’t remember which one was replaced. The ladies patter through that next section needs a gentle reminder not to let the ‘ee’ vowel get too bright on the top notes of the phrase. Also an ‘up-and-over’ placement will work well here.
Don’t let the Vivace drag. The dance at M needs to be a little Jig. Before your letter N, the Kalmus score is missing some cues in the woodwinds. Check that.
If, like me, you get rather fixated on note details and miss the obvious, I’d like to point out that your ladies will be blindfolded at letter N and are unlikely to see your beautiful cues. They are likely to drag without your prodding, so insist they keep that pulse even in your absence. Gilbert would return to the blindfolding 8 years later in The Gondoliers, in another similar scenario, but that time only two singers are blindfolded, not the entire women’s ensemble.
Anyone who has seen a G&S finale knows we’re due for something like what happens at Q. Faster and more thrilling is always better for a spot like this. Work through “…pray you make a clearance” to keep the placement open and not too chesty as you head up the scale. I found it best to beat this whole section in a fast 4, so I could keep pushing the thing forward. In 2, it’s hard to articulate your insistence on speed. The tempo relaxes somewhat at the end of Patience’s solo, but at S, you must again insist on speed, and bring out that beautiful Tenor counter melody in the 5th measure. At letter T, I switched into beating in 2. (be sure your orchestra knows when you’re going to switch it up like that.) At the second bar of U, tell the strings you’d like a big, full sound there, and the most round, rich chord at the 4th measure of U that they can give you. Give the clarinet his head at his big solo one before B. My clarinetist gave me a good reminder at our sitzprobe to ‘invite’ the cadenza with a gentle gesture of the hand, not a strong cue like you might otherwise give. I like that cadenza to have a lot of rhythmic flexibility, sometimes rocketing around, sometimes lingering on a note here and there.
The tempo of rehearsal letter V depends on the beauty of the singing. We were fortunate to have some exquisite singing from our Patience, so I took my time. Tell your Dragoons to sing the last note of their phrase as short as possible.
Sullivan’s growing mastery of larger scale form can be noted in the way he uses the beautiful passage with which he opens this new section at the Andante Con Moto. Following the Madrigal, he will use this material with very subtle changes to transition into the final portion. The orchestration at each of these points is just right. Sullivan is not often a wild innovator, but that’s an overrated quality in a composer. He writes things that work, that always work, and that’s something to be envied.
“I hear the soft note” is one of the very best Sullivan madrigals, and like the others, it presents some problems for the music director, the singers, and the audio people.
1) It’s a small thing, but the vocal scores identify the singers for each staff once and then never again. Go through your score before the first rehearsal and mark with initials who is singing what to save yourself a lot of confusion figuring out who is singing what.
2) Balance is very very important. If your singers are miked, it’s critical to pay close attention all through this passage that no one voice is jumping out of the texture. You should work this a little bit in rehearsal, but again, if you’re using sound reinforcement, don’t waste too much time finessing it until the sound crew is there to be a part of the discussion
3) Sullivan gives you some dynamics, but there’s a lot of leeway about how to make your way through it. The key is for all the singers to be on the same page. The same goes for breathing and cutoffs.
4) When the chorus comes in after letter B, be sure they come in at a true piano, perhaps even a pianissimo, so the principals can still be heard and so that they have some place to go dynamically. At the end, in the first fermata, I again give a very slight crescendo into the downbeat to give direction to the phrase, and to improve breath support.
If you are having trouble keeping intonation, or if you just want a little reinforcement, use the optional orchestral parts. And then I recommend you leave a big space before letter D just in case you’ve gone out of tune. The chorus entrance before F should have a hushed, spooky tone quality, full of ominous portent.
Following rehearsal letter F, Sullivan takes the music in an awfully German direction, very chromatic, (he hits 11 of the 12 pitches in the first 8 measures) and the Vivace passage is full of gestures from the German Early Romantic Style. This new music makes what we heard earlier seem rather banal and somewhat quaint. That transition into Grosvenor’s line after F is a little odd, and may require thought. There’s an awkward measure of nothing before he comes in, and he may want to jump the gun. My full score indicates cut time in the measure Grosvenor sings “mind’s“, which works well, but I recommend dropping back into 4 at letter G, for ease of cueing. Note also the Forzando in the second violins 4 before G.
Sullivan seems to enjoy putting tritones in the ladies melodies, but he’s a gentleman, so they normally happen only in the first act finales, and trace chord tones in dominant or diminished harmonies. And you have to admit: “We LOVE YOU!” on a tritone is rather ingeneous. It motivates the horror of the next 10 measures well. In the “They Love Him, Horror!” section, Sullivan employs a full brass sound that is uncharacteristic to the rest of the piece.
The closing Allegro Agitato is the second potential train wreck of Patience. We’ll get to that shortly. Don’t let the tempo change into the new section worry you. Close examination reveals that the tempo has not, in fact, changed. Quarters equal 160 on both sides of the double bar. Be clear about where the consonants go in the chorus’s bisected words and don’t let them get lazy. All those rests are really important. Have a plan to get out of the fermata.
The dangerous curve that may result in a wreck happens at Rehearsal L, where the Dragoons resort to their “ridiculous” octaves again, this time completely unsupported by anyone in the orchestra. Sopranos have one of Sullivan’s trademark descending chromatic lines that occasionally turn suddenly diatonic. These are the bane of the amateur chorus soprano’s existence. Just as before, you should cater your whole scheme to the speed of the Dragoons and strictly enforce everyone else’s adherence to your beat. They should not trust their ears, particularly since if your director is any good, people will be running every which way or piling on top of each other at this point. Impress upon your chorus the importance of making the word “woes” extremely short, and make clear where you’d like everyone to cut off that last note. Again, they will probably be occupied running off the stage and will be unable to see your cue. A slight rit. to emphasize the last few chords is apropos.
After Act I, I recommend a glass of water for Maestro, and sitting in a stool off stage right thinking about nothing at all.
10. On Such Eyes as Maidens Cherish
The first act of Patience begins with a long sequence and ends with another, and sandwiched in-between are a goofy scena and two sentimental tunes. The second act is one tune after another, runs at a great pace, and ends quickly and satisfyingly. If you are a playwright or musical theatre writer, watch and learn. This is how it’s done.
This opening is not in the earliest vocal score. The Kalmus Full score has an error in the flutes in the last note of measure 4. It should be an F, as in the oboe. I inserted a breath between “cherish” and “let” to avoid the clumsy “shlet“, and carried without breath between “gaze” and “or“. Because the ladies sing this part of the tune twice as often, they will likely recall these words and not the rest of the tune later. They will also likely want to come in early here. Bring out the cello echo of “Ah Miserie” 4 measures from the end.
11. Sad Is That Woman’s Lot
Jane traditionally plays the cello or double bass in this, 90 years or so before Henrik in A Little Night Music. It could also be comically done on some other low instrument if your player actually played the bassoon or the Tuba. It is probably best to mime playing it while the orchestra provides the real sound.
Sullivan is playing in the same sandbox as Beethoven did in the last movement of his 9th symphony. The idea is surely that Jane is a formidable woman, worthy of the stentorian musical treatment normally reserved for great profundity. I also thought I heard the Mozart Requiem in there, but realized I was actually remembering the Bass line of the Quare Fremuerent Gentes movement of the Saint-SaënsChristmas Oratorio. The bass/cello line is pretty commonplace recitativo style writing, probably there are other parallels, both intentional and unintentional.
Modern critics aren’t very kind to this number, because it’s frankly mean and a tiny bit misogynist. It’s also hilarious, very precisely in character, and has a lovely tune that Sullivan later reused as a parlor song with another lyric. The orchestral parts we used were missing the flute line three measures before the first ending.
12. Turn, O Turn In This Direction
See notes for 10.
Grosvenor’s poems here are hilarious. I love that marrying a dancer is the retribution for Teasing Tom.
13. A Magnet Hung In A Hardware Shop
This is one of Gilbert’s punniest lyrics. It’s so dense with puns that they don’t all land on the audience’s ear. Clear diction is, of course, a must.
Musically, take care with the leaps, particularly “From needles and nails and knives he’d turn” Not only is the melody jumpy, the rhythm is a little counter-intuitive. Ditto for “Hither and thither began to roam”
Make sure the ladies cut off the last note of their echoing phrases quickly. I let the altos drop down for the F and the E flat on their final echoing phrase in each verse.
The orchestra part isn’t particularly hard, but insist that the flutes, clarinets and violins keep those 32nd notes in time, and not to relax them into a triplet.
The scene that follows here is so funny that people are liable to miss the beginning of Jane’s a cappella version of “In a doleful train” through their laughter. “One and One I walk all day.” Hilarious.
14. Love Is A Plaintive Song
I know this is just a silly song, but I think it’s shockingly beautiful. I don’t recall which recording does this, but one version gave a little emphasis in the orchestra to the first note of each measure, then tapering off. I liked that a lot. This number presents a slight conducting challenge, because the 6/8 meter slows in places to the point where you need to articulate eighth notes, and you have to find a way to artfully subdivide the 2 beat pattern without dropping all the way into a 6 beat pattern, which would belabor things and lose the spirit of the piece. I am a sucker for connecting fermatas without breath to downbeats, and our Patience and I connected the fermata in the second verse without breath to the A tempo. We also made a beautiful ossia cadenza at the end of the second verse that I won’t share with you. It was one of my favorite moments of the show, and embodies the essence of G&S to me; the silliest possible things sung in the most beautiful possible way.
“Why me?”
15. So Go To Him And Say To Him
This is the biggest earworm of the show. You may find your singers trying to match the instrumental melody in measure 52: “that’s what you should say”, but the vocal line changes course earlier than the accompaniment. I think the drop to pianissimo and subsequent crescendo effect we heard in the overture still applies, but isn’t necessarily for the singers. (it isn’t marked for the singers and works well the other way)
If you’d like to go back and do an encore, you can cue the orchestra back at the pickup to measure 33. You will need to give the oboe and bassoon the remainder of the melody, for which currently they only have the beginning.
In traditional D’Oyly Carte productions, Jane would carry Bunthorne off the stage.
16. It’s Clear That Medieval Art
This one’s a comic slam dunk. Everybody loves watching military guys being goofy, from here to South Pacific and beyond. But musically, it has some tricky moments, I’ll grant you.
1) You’ll want those sixteenths very very short. Err on the side of making them too short, rather than turning them into triplets. I have to say, I think the eighth note pickup to the first vocal entrance is laziness on Sullivan’s part, and I turned them into sixteenths. Someone will disagree, and if you want to make that an eighth, you’ll need to drill it in from the very beginning.
2) The style is generally very clipped and short, until “But, as far as we can judge…” which is the only legato phrase in the piece.
3) To my ear, the three part harmony is not especially difficult, except at “By hook and crook, you try to look both angular and flat”. The middle part is hard to hear, particularly at the end, when it goes from the A to the G#. It would be a good idea to run that slowly for a while until you lock in the tuning.
4) You’ll want to get the three part harmony very strongly in the ears and voices of your singers before you block the number, because all the various physical contortions will tend to lower the amount of brainpower necessary to tune the thing.
I made the last 4 measures louder in the orchestra for the final pass to bring a strong conclusion to the piece.
17.If Saphir I Choose To Marry
This is another fantastic tune. Sadly for the Duke, it has three very similar verses that must be remembered with accuracy to justify the blocking that will likely follow. The lyric pairs the groups up after all, in a matrimonial math mixup which is a kind of dry run for Here is A Case Unprecedented in The Gondoliers, in which each lady is divisible by three, each man by two. Again, we need to be sure the woodwinds play the sixteenths very short, and don’t let them devolve into triplets. The major’s part, jumping in to the 7th of the chord may prove tricky at first, and poor Angela is singing one of Sullivan’s cruel tritones, again tracing the third and the 7th of the chord, while Saphir sings an exotic 9th. Dynamics and diction really make the chorus pop, and there is a great staging effect of one person left alone among other couples that wouldn’t be equaled until Side by Side in Sondheim’s Company 89 years later.
The figure at B has a funny articulation problem that’s probably just my own bugaboo. The flutes and oboes have a tied note in the melody, while the rest of the winds are repeating notes, which sounds ragged to me. It’s what he clearly wants, though, and I can’t think of a way around it. The jaunty off-beat figure in the flutes, clarinets, and pizzicato strings is a true stroke of genius, and a really creative musical idea. Relish it whenever it happens.
What do we make of this Sympathee/Sympatheye business? David Bamberger seems to get to the bottom of it with this essay. It helped me to note that in the finale in both versions of the vocal score, the second syllable of Lily is italicized. This is not the case in the original Quintet. So I would say Sympathee in the Quintet and Li-lye in the Finale. But you may find your own solution.
Oh, and as always, walk into the first rehearsal knowing how you plan to get out of the fermata with your conducting pattern.
“Or may a nephew’s curse…”
SIDEBAR: What is it with Aunts in Patience?
Aunts are everything in Patience. Mothers, not so much.
Patience: I have never loved, but my great Aunt.
Later-
Angela: Is it possible that you have never loved anybody?
Patience: Yes, one.
Angela: Ah, whom?
Patience: My great-aunt.
Angela: Great Aunts don’t count.
And it isn’t just Patience, because in the scene before #18:
Grosvenor: Reflect! Reflect. You had a mother once!
Bunthorne: Never!
Grosvenor: Then you had an aunt! (Bunthorne is affected.) Ah! I see you had! By the memory of that Aunt, I implore you…
It’s true that Gilbert sloppily goes over the same territory multiple times in some of these book scenes, but what a stroke of inspired lunacy this Aunt business is!
18. When I Go Out Of Door
In your vocal score this looks like an 8 page number. In the full score, it is only 14 measures long: 4 measures of intro, 8 measures repeated 12 times, and a second ending. Your poor violist will play nothing but D over and over for exactly 100 measures, then a couple of chords to cap it off! My orchestral parts split it up into smaller sets of repeats, which made the encore we inserted somewhat confusing to figure out, but it’s easy to get lost in the sea of circling identical broken chords.
The words are difficult to memorize, and some passages very difficult to articulate. If you get off, it’s also a real bear to get back on again. Your pair of poets may need to go over and over it again to get it right.
If you choose to build in an encore, I think you should do it faster, and a second encore should go yet faster still.
19. I’m A Waterloo House Young Man
If the ladies properly silence the ‘r’ in ‘Swears’ and ‘girls’, and trip or flip it in ‘cheerily‘, ‘chattering‘ and ‘everyday‘, the whole passage will move along more easily.
19½ . Fanfare
The parts we used did not have a snare roll. Sounds better with one. At one point there was a Recit and Song for the Duke here, but without it, the second act finishes as tight as a drum!
20. After Much Debate Internal (Act II Finale)
The second act finale offers no new challenges. Be sure your chorus comes in at a true piano, so that the forte at C is a great surprise. Again, a slight allargando is in order at the end, to bring home the conclusion.
Your Pit Orchestra:
I often counsel music directors not to hire all the players, but with G&S, you’re dealing with a true orchestral color. I think you need to make a decision about whether you’re using a piano. If you’re not, you need to either use the complete original orchestrations. Unfortunately they’re not at IMSLP as of this writing but you can get them in a couple of places: here, or here, for example.
If you’re using a piano, then you’ve already decided you’re not going for the true orchestral palette of sounds. In that case, I would add to the piano, in this order:
Violin 1
Violin 2
Bass
Cello
Oboe
Flute 1
Horn
Clarinet 1
Bassoon
Cornet 1 (or trumpet)
Viola
Trombone
Viola
In truth, it’s far more complicated than that, because after you reach a certain point with the winds, you need to start doubling up the strings, and you need to balance those properly. I don’t have space to go into the acoustics of that. Suffice it to say that the Violins, the flute, clarinet, trumpet, and oboe provide much needed color, the cello and bass provide body to the sound, and everyone else gets you closer to the ideal; the orchestral sound. After all, this isn’t piano based music; you’re dealing with an operetta here. Better that you do G&S than that you ignore it, but do try and do it properly if at all possible, with Sullivan’s magnificent orchestration in full color!
Have fun with your production of Patience! I will be including more G&S as I music direct them!
The Threepenny Opera is part of the Canon of Musical Theatre; it is the most important work of both Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill, and it deeply influenced later important works. If you decide to mount a production, you’ll need to choose a version to do. For our production we chose what has long been the standard English Language translation, which was written by the American composer Marc Blitzstein. There is another version licensed by Samuel French which was translated by Desmond Vesey and Eric Bentley. The Blitzstein lyrics did more for me than the Bentley, and I wouldn’t mind never doing anything licensed by Samuel French again. The SF website doesn’t list any instrumentation and recommends you purchase the UE vocal score and hand write in the translation. User friendly? Not really.
Before You Start:
I wound up buying a lot of research material for this show. Some of it proved useless, and some of it was an absolute lifesaver. I’ll try and save you some time and money by narrowing down what’s critical to have and what isn’t:
This CD of historical rarities, some of which amount to an ‘original cast recording’ (with one actor switched out) If you find yourself trying to figure out how the original German orchestra managed to get through the parts, this is how. There are two versions of the original German edition of 3Penny available in various places. Both are published by Universal Edition. For your purposes, either will do, there is no benefit in getting both. (as I did) The newer edition is slightly more accurate, but I found them to be roughly the same in terms of efficacy if you’re using it as reference for the English version.
I splurged and bought the full score, also published by Universal Edition. The Amazon reviewer is right, the parts are miniscule. But it’s really well edited, and it cleared up dozens of questions I had, especially as regards the orchestration. More on that later.
You should probably get the following too,if you’re the type that likes to do your homework: When the Off Broadway production got everybody interested in the piece again, a handsome studio recording in German was released with Lenya.
The Cambridge Opera Handbook for the show is really interesting. It’s full of essays on all aspects of the piece, written by really thoughtful and well informed scholars. I will refer back to it often here.
I found the Eric Bentley translation interesting for reference and comparison with the Blitzstein, but my German is decent enough to roughly translate things myself from the script included in the full score. Still, the Bentley is cheap and small enough to fit in your bag. It also has an entertaining foreword by Lenya and a guide to performance at the end by Brecht, which must be taken with a big grain of salt. I think the piece is effective if you don’t have a live horse at the end. Brecht disagrees. Without getting into Brecht too terribly deeply, I think his work is best performed without paying too much heed to his performance advice.
The Days Grow Short: The Life and Music of Kurt Weill by Ronald Sanders is a good bio of Weill. (it’s also super cheap on Amazon, I think Libraries bought too many copies at some point) I also read two others: Kurt Weill On Stage: From Berlin To Broadway and Love Song: The lives of Kurt Weill and Lotte Lenya by Ethan Mordden. The Sanders is very thorough. The Hirsch is more readable, and less rigorous. The Mordden is very readable, like all his books, but the interesting facts and conjectures are not really sourced. The run down of books in the appendix and the discography of Weill’s music is excellent.
I didn’t get this other reference book, but it looks fantastic, and Hinton’s Cambridge handbook is excellent, so I bet it’s worth looking at. With all these bios, you needn’t read past the chapters concluding Weill’s brief partnership with Brecht, although his American career is awfully interesting. I think there is a danger in reading Threepenny through the context of the later work of both of these writers. Brecht was studying Marx, but had not fully developed the philosophy and theories about Theatre we have come to know him for, and Weill’s style changed drastically in the U.S. Better to try and see Threepenny in its German surroundings. More on that later.
Nerd points for owning:
The DVD of the original German and French films. Totally interesting stuff, but maybe more for the director than for you. I will say that the DVD extras include interviews with experts and are a great introduction to the history of the piece. The film version has some of the original cast and the original orchestra, but many songs are removed, some are re-assigned, and the plot is altered drastically. Some of these changes are fabulous, like Polly taking over a bank, and we actually see all the beggars, who become an unstoppable army. The film-making is excellent. But I’m not sure how much it helps you as you’re preparing. I found it better to watch at the end, after I knew the show really well.
The 1994 Donmar Warehouse Cast Recording. To me, this alternate translation is kind of interesting, but I think the tone of the whole production is wrong. More on tone in a moment. Super Nerd Points for owning or at least listening to the original John Gay Beggar’s Opera, upon which Threepenny is based. I rather enjoyed this one, with Bob Hoskins in it
Reading The Threepenny Opera through the lens of other works
There is a great essay by Stephen Hinton in his Cambridge Handbook called Misunderstanding ‘The Threepenny Opera’. The misunderstanding in question has to do with whether the first audience, who really enjoyed the work can really have understood what it was about. He follows that train of thought through period journalism expertly. I have a different kind of misunderstanding to briefly explore here: the projection of works influenced by Threepenny and the other Weill/Brecht collaborations backward into the original material.
I think when someone who casually knows Threepenny thinks of the show, they perhaps know the dry delivery of Weill’s songs by Lenya, Teresa Stratas or Ute Lemper. The accompaniment figures in Weill’s Weimar period were used incredibly effectively by Kander and Ebb in Cabaretin 1966, with Lenya herself in the cast. They were instantly recognizable as Weill pastiche to contemporary audiences. Lehman Engel bemoaned that fact, and wrote, “It’s time that John Kander begin to find John Kander.” The Weill sound is evoked so effectively in Cabaret, that when Americans think of the Weimar republic, they think only of Weill’s music, which was in reality something of an oddity historically. American audiences also think of this Harmonium/dry winds orchestral sound when they think of Victorian England due to Threepenny’s setting. Hence Sweeney Todd‘s use of many of those ideas and colors to evoke a grinding class struggle in England, even though strictly speaking, the music isn’t related to the period.
I bring this up because productions of the Threepenny Opera are often freighted with the darkness of Sweeney Todd and the sexual excess of Cabaret, in which MacHeath becomes a proxy for the Emcee, Polly becomes Joanna, the Whores in Act 2, scene 2 become the Kit Kat girls, Jenny becomes Sally Bowles, and Mr. and Mrs. Peachum become Herr Schultz and Fraulein Schneider, or Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney, or even the Thenardiers. (whose Master of the House number sounds oddly Weillesque) The reality of the show as it’s written is that it’s really very funny, and even the darkness is comic. Using this other iconography also blunts one of the central ideas of the play, which is that criminals, the police, the sex industry, and beggars are all functioning corruptly and in their own self interest like corporations and governments. The play isn’t about the rise of Nazism or the danger of vengeance, like all those other pieces are. It’s probably impossible to truly separate those later ideas from audience perceptions of Threepenny Opera, but I think the creative team is better served trying to figure out what is there in the text itself.
As You’re Casting:
Street Singer
Needs to be charismatic enough to open the show, but the number isn’t terribly vocally demanding. The part could also be divided up among two or more actors if you so desired.
Peachum
Peachum is a Baritone, with some optional higher notes taking him up to the F. Should be a gifted comic actor with a good sense of timing.
Mrs. Peachum
Can be sung by a soprano, or by a female tenor. Some of the numbers give you options. Doesn’t have to be an incredible singer, but needs a pretty good ear to negotiate Weill’s flexible key areas.
Filch
A very funny role for a gifted comedian, who doesn’t necessarily have to sing.
Matt, Jake, Walt, Bob
They need to be able to match pitch, but don’t need to sing all that well. Let the director make the choice after you’ve weeded out the ones who can’t sing.
Polly
A delightful role for an ingenue soprano, but does need a little fire to deliver some of the speeches.
Macheath
Suave, sexy, sophisticated. Tenor, really, although he could be sung by a high baritone. Macheath is the main character of the piece, and his charisma is essential to making the piece work.
Tiger Brown
Bass Baritone, (needs the G# below middle C, and the line is somewhat hard to hear)
Jenny
The Tango Ballad is not too high or challenging musically. A dance might be nice, certainly someone who can evoke a sexual history with Macheath.
Lucy
She isn’t in the piece all that much, but she makes a big impression anyway. You could cast it with a soprano, as it originally was cast, or you could cast a female baritone, like Bea Arthur, who was cast in the 1954 production. The difference for you is what key her numbers are in. I’ll get to that as we hit each number in question.
Theives, Beggars, Prostitutes, etc.
This group needs to be able to match pitch for when they appear briefly in the two finales, but otherwise don’t concern the music director much. It’s not a singing chorus show.
A Word About the Materials:
R&H Theatricals licenses the Blitzstein version. The materials are a mixed bag. The piano vocal score is mostly good, although in many places, you’ll want to switch to the Universal edition as quickly as possible, because it’s much easier to read. (All the parts and scores are hand written) The vocal score also lists as repeats some passages that are actually different the second time through with no explanation and contains a number of errors. More on that as we go into individual numbers. I have two real quibbles with these parts and scores, though, and you’ll have to manage them yourself as you MD the show:
Firstly, this show was originally conducted from the piano in 1928. It is the sort of show one should be able to conduct from the keyboard. The Piano-Conductor score says it’s been fully cued for use with orchestra, but it dosn’t include many of the things Weill wants the pianist to play, and it doesn’t properly cue out everything so that the pianist knows when to stop playing and conduct. The pit pianist part is pretty well laid out and copied, but it has huge swaths of rest and no cueing for other instruments or vocals, so you can’t conduct from it. I’m afraid the only thing to be done is to copy and cut together your own book, unless you want to ignore Weill’s intentions for the piano book. I think that would be a poor choice, because Weill is one of our great writer/orchestrators and this is literature.
Secondly, I disagree with what I presume are Blitzstein’s choices in reducing Weill’s orchestra for the 1954 Off-Broadway production here provided. It was by no means an easy job to reduce Weill’s original parts, 25 instruments being played by 7 people with very odd doublings to something playable by a standard pit orchestra. Interestingly, the original cast recording of Blitzstein’s version reveals woodwind doublings closer to the original than in the parts you’ll get in the mail. The real crux of the problem comes with player 6, who originally doubled Timpani, Percussion, and 2nd Trumpet. (crazy, right?) It’s possible Blitzstein was hampered by union rules, but his choice to break that book into 2nd trumpet (in the same book as 1st trumpet) and another book for the drummer makes for a 2nd trumpet player that doesn’t play very often at all. There are a handful of places where the 2nd trumpet is important, and I’ll let you know where they are. The instrument that we could really use instead of a second trumpet throughout the show is the double bass, which in the original orchestration was in the trombone book. We do need that trombone, it’s critical. But there are a great number of places where the trombone playing the low notes is not the same as the bass doubling Weill offers as an alternative, and this reduced orchestration sorely lacks a low end. There was a cello in the guitar book that’s gone, there was a bari sax in reed 1 that’s also been removed. You’re stuck with the books as they are, but it’s important going in that you know this feature of the orchestration, because as you play from the piano vocal book, you’ll likely double octaves in the left hand to provide a full bass sound, and your cast will get used to the big, rich sound the piano provides. When your band comes in, everything will kick up a notch, except the low end, which will be provided only by occasional timpani, tenor sax and your left hand, which you may be surprised to discover is not even playing sometimes in passages where you had been providing a very loud bass in rehearsal.
You will find that Weill doesn’t care for key signatures. This is mostly a blessing, because he changes key a lot. There are a couple of places where it’s confusing. I’ll let you know where when we get to them.
You will also find that Weill rather consistently leaves numbers open-ended with no button to indicate to the audience they’re supposed to applaud. In rehearsal, everyone will get used to this, but there will be odd moments in the show itself where nobody knows when the number is over. I think this is intentional. Don’t button up every number, let the audience squirm.
Trouble Spots and Advice:
1. Overture
The overture is a great little piece of Modernism, and it’s also one of the few places where the baroque origins of The Beggar’s Opera are referenced. Stravinsky’s L’Histoire Du Soldat hangs in the air here, although Weill quickly finds a musical language that is more infused with popular song. Compare the strident chords and passagework here if you’re not already familiar with Stravinsky’s 1918 masterpiece. Weill acknowledged that debt when he said, “What Stravinsky atempts in his Soldier’s Tale can count as the mixed genre most assured of a future… perhaps it can form the basis of a certain type of new opera.” If you bought the Universal Edition piano score, you’ll want to copy the overture and use the engraved version instead. It’s much easier to read. The first 12 measures are a place where trumpet 2 is necessary. Afterward, apparently the original player played timpani. Here, trumpet 2 doubles 1 in places, but does not have his own part from 13 on. I found balancing the parts in the middle double fugato section tricky because of the instrumentation. If you’re using a harmonium sound, be sure you’re using a reedy kind of organ patch; an electric sound would be really wrong here. But the section beginning at 34, for example, is tricky to balance the harmonium against the Tenor Sax. It’s a problem if you stage the overture, as we did, because when you’re accompanying, naturally a passage like measure 41 you’ll be punching the topmost voice, and the cast will expect to hear that really cutting through. But the piano reduction has ironed over some of the texture there. That countermelody sits lower in measure 42, and the melody isn’t reinforced in octaves the way it looks. The clarinet is up there all alone, and the tenor sax, harmonium and trombone are not providing the effect the reduction seems to indicate. In measure 49, that descending line of octaves looks really impressive leading its way back to the recapitulation of the first theme, but when it’s happening on a harmonium in one octave only and the trombone, it isn’t as impressive an effect. Weill uses accent and staccato articulations almost exclusively throughout the show. In your first rehearsal with the band, indicate that one of the keys to the style of the piece is a very clipped staccato and a strong emphasis wherever they appear. From the very beginning, the instrumentation of the piece doesn’t overwhelm you with effects. The point is clarity, not necessarily volume.
2. Ballad of Mack The Knife
I understand this was the last piece Weill wrote for the show, and of course it has become the most iconic music of the entire show. Consequently, we have to knock a lot of dust off our preconceptions to keep the number in the style of the show and the period. We have to clear our heads of all Sinatra, Darin, and McDonalds commercial covers and try to experience the piece as an artifact of Weimar Germany. It is very difficult to get a handle on 20s German Jazz. It was suppressed and destroyed by the Nazis, who considered it degenerate, and what we do have is as varied as you might expect from a cosmopolitan international culture. After playing this score for a while, I’ve come to think that what Weill appreciated about Jazz at this point was the raggedness of it, which he saw through the prism of his musical modernism. His musical vocabulary doesn’t organically spin ideas out over the course of a chorus in the fluid way that Armstrong or Bechet would have done things about this time. His musical ideas are laid out more like a parquet floor, referring to themselves in patterns. The other aspect of Weill’s interaction with Jazz is really key here: this show doesn’t ‘swing’. The subsequent hit versions of Mack The Knife are really swingin’ big band tunes. Weill is not swinging the eighths. You will have to fight the urge to lilt these eighths. Later in his career, after he comes to America, Weill will prove he can write in the other manner as well as anyone else. But here, his musical gestures feel like a fractured version of march music mingled with deliberately ‘common’ musical material. Your banjo player will want to swing, but you’ll need to insist on the straight eighths. Later in the show, Weill will be very creative in his modulations, and is pretty fluid in his conception of key area. Here he doggedly stays in C. The only funny business we see is the bassline, which seems on its own track. the 3rd and 4th full measures are still toggling between the tonic and dominant notes, as though we’re still on a I chord, while the chords above seem to be indicating a ii7 tonality. (this bassline on its own track effect is a modernist trademark, used by Stravinsky extensively in L’Histoire, later appropriated by Copland and Bernstein) The following two measures the V9 chord is more conventionally grounded, but the return of the melody to A at every major cadence leaves the musical rhetoric off kilter. The cascading chords in verse 7 are mock-chromatic for 8 measures, then trace out open 5ths, 4ths, and Octaves for the next 8, in a kind of goofy exoticism we’ll encounter later in the Army Song. For a very thorough examination of motives in 3penny, see David Drew’s essay Motifs, Tags and Related Matters in the Cambridge Handbook. I’m afraid the stride piano in the 3rd, 5th, and 6th verses took quite a bit of practice. Stride is always easier in a key with black notes. These are all white, so you don’t have much help orienting things, and the right hand has some awkward jumps that are trickier yet when you have to think simultaneously about leaps in the left. In measure 51, you may find yourself in rehearsal longing for an orchestra to reinforce the bassline or the chords so you can relax, but you’re on your own, pal. The banjo is tacet, there is no bass, and the rest of the winds are playing the countermelody. It may interest you to know that the first 2 verses were originally played on a barrel organ that was cranking a roll, kind of like a player piano. If you watch the film version, you can see what I’m pretty sure is the actual Organ (and the roll inside it) that was used in the original production. And when you get to the end of the song, which in the film is only accompanied by that hand-cranked organ, you can hear some of those musical ideas from the orchestra included in the organ part. It’s really cranked quickly too. So in that sense, it’s like the 1920s equivalent of a pre-recorded click track in a pit orchestra today. Kinda neat. You should pick out a specific place for the vocal cutoff at the end. The number ends rather unceremoniously. Get used to that. Think of it as Brechtian alienation. Or perhaps a metaphor.
3. Intro To Act I Scene 1
Not in the original score. See notes for morning anthem.
4. Morning Anthem
As I understand it, this is the only number Weill borrows from the original John Gay Beggar’s Opera. Here’s a link to it in its original form. Weill has given it a more austere, less lilting treatment here, and we had a good time doing the first part in a dour manner, then picking up the pace at “Sell him out, your own brother, you lout!”
5. Instead of Song
David Drew’s fine essay in the Cambridge Handbook on motives in Threepenny Opera is well worth looking over, but I want to call attention to one further motive he doesn’t mention, a falling minor third. It first occurs here in the Instead of Song, as a delightful, bell-like afterthought in the piano and the Glockenspiel: The next time we encounter it in Polly’s Melodrama and Song, where it forms the basis of the accompaniment, again in a sparkling timbre, this time played by the celesta: Finally we hear it in The Ballad of the Easy Life, first as another slyly echoing motive, then expanded into a very Jazzy 20s piano lick. There are only 2 verses in Blitzstein’s “Ballad Of The Easy Life“, and the extension I’ve noted above doesn’t appear in this version, but the falling third figure does feature in the winds rather delightfully in the second verse. (which was Weill’s third)
Observe the tenuto in the trombone part, staccato in the trumpet. Be sure to observe the tempo change at the poco meno mosso. There is a mistake in the Piano Vocal in measure 19. That right hand figure belongs on the downbeat as in measure 42. This is also one of those places where orchestration details have you scratching your head. In measures 14 and 17, you’re scrambling to get your left hand back down to play the low notes, but on beat 2 of measure 19, the orchestration has a dead rest with nobody on the bass notes you see in the piano score. At 24, the original trombone player switched to bass and the guitar player switched to cello. But since we don’t have those instruments, you’re forced to play them on the Harmonium (as per the full score) It’s marked as a piano part in the parts that come from R&H, but either way, it’s not a great sound for that passage. The piano vocal indicates the same melody in 34-35, with the piano playing along. The old UE engraved score does the same. But the full score has an alternate melody for Peachum there, and that melody is cued into the piano in the orchestra parts you’re renting. (the old melody is still being played simultaneously by the sax) The whole thing is very perplexing, and neither the piano nor the harmonium are nearly as effective as the winds were in the first verse. The ending is perfect, but by no means decisive. Your audience won’t know it’s over.
6. Interlude Music
The full score has this tune written and fully orchestrated as a little waltz. I wonder why it was never used in this version. This one is included in an appendix in the full score as well.
7. Interlude Continued
More re-appropriated Moritat. Again, the original materials had some incidental music, but it appears we’re not sure where they go. All these interludes and overtures to acts 2 and 3, bows, and so forth are choices made for the Blitzstein production. I don’t know why, but this piano part gave me trouble. Maybe it’s in full measure 3, where the right hand octave drops down a minor 7th and the left down 2 octaves and a 6th in the space of an eighth note? No help from the rest of the band here, by the way.
8. Wedding Song
Not much going on here. You might want to begin by teaching the reprise (#11) first here. The accompaniment does help ground things.
9. Pirate Jenny
This is one of the most iconic numbers in the piece, and occasionally it’s reassigned to a different character. It’s Polly’s song in the original, and you can hear a very scratchy 1929 Carola Neher recording on that CD of rarities. You can also hear Lenya’s take in a 1930 recording, in a much higher voice than we’re used to hearing from her in later years. It’s really a great performance. She records it in English in the 1954 cast album (although the materials MTI sends out has it assigned to Polly, not Jenny), and she records it again in German in 1958. Each of these recordings is very different. Lenya is the best; you can learn a lot just by listening and comparing her various versions. The metronome marking Weill gives is very brisk, but there is a freedom in nearly every recorded version that isn’t indicated in the score. If you tried to keep it at 92 to the quarter, it would be a mess to get through. Here is one place also where Blitzstein soft-pedals Brecht’s stronger lyric choice, and I’m not sure why.
The original German reads:
Und es werden kommen hundert gen Mittag an Land Und werden in den Schatten treten, Und fangen einen jeglichen aus jeglicher Tür Und legen in Ketten und bringen for mir Und fragen, “Welchen sollen wir töten?” Und an diesem Mittag wird es still sein am Hafen, und man fragt, wer wohl sterben muß Und dann weden Sie mich sagen Hören: “Alle!” Und wenn dann der Kopf fällt, sag ich: Hoppla!”
Which I translate roughly:
And hundreds will come on land around noon, And they’ll walk in the shadows, And they’ll seize everyone from every door, And put them in chains and bring them to me, And ask, “Which ones should die?” And at noon today, when it’s still in the harbor, And they ask, who has to die, Then you will hear me say, “All of them.” And when the heads fall, I’ll say, “Whoops!”
Bliztstein changes the order of things but keeps almost all the details rather ingeneously:
By noontime the dock is all swarmin’ with men Comin’ off that ghostly freighter. They’re movin’ in the shadows where no one can see And they’re chainin’ up people and bringin’ them to me, Askin’ me, “Kill ’em now or later?” Noon by the clock and so still on the dock, You can hear a fog horn miles away, In that quiet of death, I’ll say,“Right now!” And they pile up the bodies, and I’ll say: “That’ll learn you!”
But notice how to rhyme freighter, he needed to use ‘later’, which changes the question and takes the culpability for murder away from the singer. “Kill ’em all!” is way stronger than, “Kill them now!”
“That’ll learn you!” sounds like it’s right out of Oklahoma! to me.
The image of death among men in the dark down by the harbor is somewhat chilling when you realize Blitzstein would one day die at the hands of 3 sailors, one of whom he had propositioned at a bar in Martinique.
As an example of why I didn’t choose Bentley’s translation, this is his. It lacks verve here as elsewhere:
And a hundred men will come ashore before it’s noon And will go where it’s dark and chill. And every man they find they will drag along the street And they’ll clap him in chains and lay him at my feet, And they’ll ask: “Now, which of these are we to kill?” And when the clock strikes noon, it will be still down by the harbor. When folk ask: now just who has got to die? You will hear me say at that point: All of them! And when their heads fall, I’ll say, “Whoopee!”
The word ‘Folk’ doesn’t do it for me, and makes it sound like the people who collected these unfortunates aren’t the people asking the question. Whoopee! is no better than “that’ll learn you!” Eric Bentley knew Brecht personally, and he’s one of our great minds. I just don’t care for the translation. If your German is any good at all, it’s fun to look at the lyric choices throughout the show. Blitzstein is often really wonderful, but occasionally leaves you scratching your head. Weill, for his part, was evidently happy with this translation, because it was on the basis of this lyric, sung to he and Lenya over the phone by Blitzstein in 1950, that Weill gave his blessing to Blitzstein to translate the whole thing.
The orchestration is a model of economy. One place where the new lyric rhythm requires a musical shift is in measure 49, near the end of the piece, in third verse I just referenced. In the original, that pianissimo Gbm7 chord and cymbal comes after “Hoppla!”, but because Blitzstein has added more syllables for “That’ll learn you!”, the chord is notated to come on the word “learn”. Properly, it goes after the phrase is over, as Lenya does it in the cast recording.
10. Army Song
Fun number. The “See the world we never saw” line harmony part is hard to hear and goes down really low. Budget some time to go over that. There are a bunch of songs in this show that have three pickup notes in the clear. It’s kind of a feature of the show. Here it’s: “Lets all go…” in measure 87. I will follow this pickup phrase idea throughout the show.
This is one song where I moved as quickly as possible to the UE engraved edition, because it’s much easier to read. I think the dotted eighth-sixteenth rhythms need to be very pronounced, and the articulation very much clipped and accented. Measure 44 is another of the spots where the second trumpet makes a difference. That fanfare is delicious. After measure 52, though, trumpet 2 originally switched to drums. Because this song is about the military, that need for both drums and trumpets makes the original distribution of parts particularly inadequate, and your drummer will find himself wondering why he isn’t playing in certain places. There is an impossible Banjo to Hawaiian Guitar to Banjo switch in this number your player will need to find his way around. In a couple of places here, Weill uses a curious effect he’ll come back to several other times: the snare rolls through a few measures to punch up a cadence. It’s more idiomatic to a march here; in the tango later, I think he’s onto something new. I didn’t really slow down the tempo at 77. In the section beginning in measure 92, the reduction doesn’t quite do justice to the piano part; the rising and falling figure in the piano really makes the whole section feel like it’s going off the rails, especially at 95, where the harmony gets more and more bizarre. The little splash cymbal at the end is pretty hilarious, one of many anticlimactic endings. Do listen to the 1930 recording, you’ll be delighted to hear how free the original music director is with his part, even adding a glissando.
11. Wedding Song Reprise
Don’t neglect the very softly and sweetly marking, and observe the accents and staccati that are by now a familiar feature of the score. 2nd trumpet does help here.
12. Love Song
There are actually a LOT of issues for the Music Director in this one. The lines are supposed to be spoken over the instruments playing the melody in the same rhythm. In order for these lines not to be really oddly slow, you have to take it at a bit of a clip. Nobody takes it at 60 to a quarter as written. It’s also kind of free. So you need to conduct. Unfortunately, you can’t conduct with your hands, they’re both tremoloing. So you do it with your head bobbing up and down. But I found that when I did that vigorously enough to indicate tempo well, it made the players play too loud. After all, they’re only underscore. I would put aside time in the sitzprobe here to really make this thing gel. You can tremolo the first 2 measures with your left while conducting with your right and switch to head nods in measure 3, where both hands are essential. In measure 41 in the piano vocal, we really ought to get a courtesy D natural. You’re in E flat minor, but Weill isn’t using a key signature. So intuitively, we’re expecting to see a the natural sign on the D in measures 36 and 41, because when you see B,E,A, and G flats, D flats are mostly the rule. Keep an eye out there; mark up your score.
13. Intro Act 1 Scene 3
Another interpolation for this version; not in original.
14. Ballad of Dependency
This number was cut from the original version, I believe on content grounds. Trude Hesterburg sings it in the Tenor range in the 1958 German Version. Helga Dernesch sings it rather operatically in Mauceri’s 1988 version. For German versions, I like Lemper’s version on the first volume of her Weill albums. This is yet another case where Blitzstein’s translation soft-pedals and tones down the original. If you weren’t paying pretty close attention, you might not know the song was about Sexual Dependency. The instrumentation is oddly open-ended. An actor and I took turns playing the right hand on the accordion, which was fun. in the original score, it’s cued for Bandoneon and Guitar. (but it doesn’t appear in the rental part for guitar) The bass line appears to be optional. In the UE full score, the bass line is cued in ad lib to the tenor sax and trombone, but it isn’t in either rental part. Blitzstein has taken the Harmonium part at 11 and 24 and cued it into the winds. It’s odd, really. I suppose it’s possible that Blitzstein didn’t have access to the full score for this particular piece, but here’s a place where Weill’s orchestrational intentions weren’t really honored.
Set aside some serious time to learn this melody. It wanders freely from key area to key area with some rather ingenious voice leading, but the singer needs to know the ropes well to keep up, or those arpeggiated melodies will be badly out of tune.Take the number slowly, so that the words can come across. One further moment I’m sure you’ll notice immediately is that the melody in measure 8 is off by one beat from the left hand accompaniment, which has otherwise been identical. That’s worth pointing out to the singer, and perhaps whomever you have playing the melody in the orchestra.
15. First Threepenny Finale
This is the least effective of the three finales, but it’s not bad. First off, an orchestration issue. That line in the piano vocal in your left hand does not sound like that. It is a trombone, yes, but it’s up the octave, which is a TOTALLY different sound. I wound up doubling it in the piano. That’s one of those places where Weill’s original orchestration had the option of the trombonist switching to bass, although one source I read indicated that the doubling isn’t indicated in the original part. If you intend to play it the way Weill intended, throw that left hand up the octave for that whole section. All the parts should be crisp and clear. 2nd trumpet is a big help here. There are lower options for Mrs. Peachum in 33-38, and higher options for Mr. Peachum in 28-29 and 57-58. I’d use them in the later case, and not the former. Be aware that the accompaniment matches the lower version. Measure 58 has another trademark 3 note pickup in the clear, “Won’t have it…” Set aside some time with your orchestra to work out the ritardando in 96. That’s a little hard to cue with your head. The voice leading and harmonic progressions in this piece are really cool, especially at 83 and similar places. The telescoping chromatic lines make a lot of sense, but leave us really at sea tonally. At the end, having cadenced in F#m, Weill abruptly moves up to G minor, perhaps to bring the tonality full circle with Peachum’s Morning Anthem, which was the original opening to Act I before they wrote the Moritat.
16. Overture to Act 2
There is no Overture to Act 2 in the original score. This bit of the Army Song was added in the 1954 production.
17. Melodrama & Polly’s Song
Polly’s song was cut from the original German production, and reinstated for the 1954 production. The Urtext suggests that originally the Melodrama came second, but that’s a little unclear.The piano reduction really doesn’t do justice to the lovely, delicate orchestration, which works in spite of some odd changes. The melody in the bells and alto is lovely! This orchestration has transposed the number down, moved the Soprano Sax line to the clarinet, and that Alto Sax was originally a flute line. A pizzicato Bass, which would be just right here, has been moved to the Trombone, not altogether happily. There is an error in the first trumpet book here, in measures 6 and 7. They should be the same as the previous 5 measures were.
17A. Music to Interlude
Again, an interpolation. Not a bad one!
18. Ballad of Dependency Reprise
See notes for 14.
19-20. Intro to Act 2 Scene 2
Again, this number is interpolated. Notes below for the Tango Ballad apply here.
21. Tango Ballad
So many things to say about this. I know I tend to go on and on, but I’ll try and keep it brief. It’s a tango, to be sure, but it’s a quirky one! Weill’s tango has some unorthodox features that strike one as errors upon first hearing. Again, there’s no double bass, and we really feel that it’s missing! There is an effect common in tango where the orchestra comes to a full stop for a break and then resumes at the beginning of the next measure. Weill does this the ‘normal’ way in measures 34-36, (where there’s another of those famous 3 note pickups) and then again at 76-78. But it also seems like he’s headed that way in measure 18. The winds have led to a whole note in 17 that ends abruptly, and the rhythm section stops dead, (without even a downbeat in the drums, guitar or bass) When this happens at your first orchestra rehearsal, if you’re conducting from the piano, you’ll feel like you’re the guy who missed the memo. But Weill clearly wants you to keep playing through what feels like it should be a break! The drum part has some really terrific rolls into downbeats, which I don’t recall hearing in other tango literature, but maybe I’m just behind the curve there. Somehow the number manages to slowly go from C# minor to A major to D minor. The modulation at 37 and 79 from D minor to what sounds like it might be A major again (or is it B dorian?) is wonderful and bewildering.
The entire number has been transposed down a minor third in the Blitzstein version. As soon as your singers learn their parts, I’d leave that crummy vocal score behind and read from the pit piano part. It’s much easier to read, and the piano vocal glosses over some key details in the orchestration, like the fact that in measure 56 and 60 the tango rhythm stops for a measure to make room for more 3 note phrases in the clear. These details are important to whatever blocking and choreography is involved, and you want to give the right indication of what’s going on. There is an error in the piano part in measure 62; the outside notes of the right hand read, in octaves, F, E, F, E, not F, F, F, F. The trumpet book contains a transposition error in measures 15-17. It should read F, F, F Gb, A natural, B, C#. (they are currently a whole step higher). These three measures sound a little odd, although they’re really odd in a good way. Even when you correct that trumpet part it’s a little spicy, like somebody dashed some paprika in the pot. The Hawaiian Guitar was undergoing a vogue in Germany at the time, Weill also uses it in other pieces around that time, like The Rise and Fall of The City of Mahagonny or Happy End. Here’s a song from a few years later featuring the guitar at about the 4:30 mark. I think you can be a little over-the-top with the solo in the dance break.There is also an optional third verse which is really good. If your director wants to use it, he or she may want the number to be laid out in a more traditional musical theatre manner: Verse 1, Verse 2, Dance Break, Verse 3. It is possible to do this, but it’s problematic. When you get to the end of the dance break, it’s easy enough to go right back to 44 for verse 3. But the dance break is clearly meant to be at the end of the number, because it cadences in C# minor, the ‘real’ key of the piece. If you end with the words and not the dance break, you’ll find you’ve cadenced at that odd modulation at 37, which won’t do. Try it and you’ll see what I mean. The solution is to tack on the last two measures, but have everyone play them up a half step, in concert D.
22. Intro To Act 2, Scene 3
Another interpolation. Let your Hawaiian guitar soloist really go to town.
23. Ballad of the Easy Life
Hey, it’s our first key signature since Morning Anthem! Key signatures mean that Weill intends to park in one key. This number is the most ‘conventional’ in the piece, but it’s a real challenge. We open with the by-now-familiar 3 note pickup, but in the instrumental parts. You have to talk through this with your band, and you might want to give them some of the lines that come in the rests, just so they have their bearings. Again, switch from the hand-copied version to the engraved version for rehearsal as quickly as your singer knows the part. (note: you’ll need to skip verse 2) If you don’t switch to the published score, note that the echoing piano phrase in the hand-copied parts in measures 26, 28, 30, and 32 are errors. The right hand has nothing in beat 2 of any of those measures, so that the cascading echo phrases in the winds can come out. There is a bit of a balance issue there, because the Tenor Sax is naturally much louder and less subtle in that range than the other instruments. Actually it’s a funny effect: dit dit dit dit DAT DAT dit dit… Just tell your T Sax to do her best not to blow everyone out of the water.
The piano obbligato is awesome, but I think it’s really impossible to play dotted sixteenth-thirtysecond patterns accurately at the tempo which seems to suit the melody, and the left hand that accompanies the rocket up into the stratosphere at the end of the chorus is tricky and hard to hear at that! Make sure the passage beginning at measure 13 is more legato in the piano, to provide contrast with the earlier staccato section. Also note that it’s marked leggierissimo, so be sure the pp marking in the snare is really observed. The Cambridge Handbook indicates that the percussion in the original production was a little different from the one we use today, and did not include a hi-hat. The Boom-chuck at the beginning in the percussion part is I think somewhere between the fast polka on a trapset we think of today and the cymbal mounted on the top of the bass drum we see in concert performances of marches.
24. Barbara Song
I’m given to understand that this song was given to Lucy originally, then we think reassigned to Polly for the first production, but maybe not on opening night, sung again by Polly in the 1931 film, re-reassigned to Lucy in the failed 1933 Broadway premiere, and then here in the Blitzstein version, assigned to Lucy again. The interesting thing is that there is a snippet of the melody in the third finale, which means something different depending on who sang it earlier. Again, here it’s Lucy’s number, but it was not ever thus.
It’s been suggested that the opening melody is an allusion to “Ich bin nur ein armer Wandergesell’ from the 1921 Operetta Der Vetter aus Dingsda, but the similarity could very well be a coincidence. I had hoped to be able to tell you why the thing is called the Barbara Song. I could not figure it out. This one has a two note pick-up into the chorus at 26, 70, and 114, but the effect is the same.
With all that out of the way, it’s a REALLY fun piece to accompany. The piano part fits beautifully under the hand, and there is room for the accompaniment and the singer to find rubato together. The falling left hand figure in measures 16, 60, and 104 I couldn’t bring myself to play as written. I just played the octaves all the way down. Was the range of the keyboard an issue? There’s a picture of the band onstage, and there’s a full sized grand piano out there. Can’t figure it out otherwise. As you’re rehearsing, be aware that the band comes in in the last 16 measures of each verse, so you’ll need to head-nod your way through every crazy tempo change or fermata you do. This is particularly tricky in the last 10 bars or so. I found it helpful to tell the band what was being sung and in what rhythm from 123 on so they could follow the singer a little.
This is also one of those numbers with a LOT of words, over very similar music. I find the key to memorizing something like this is working hard to discover WHY the lyric choices were made. It’s hard, but you can think your way through it and discover the subtleties of meaning that make the word choices necessary.
25. Jealousy Duet
The Jealousy Duet is the most explicitly operatic moment in the piece after Lucy’s Aria was cut. I’m certain it’s one of the inspirations for the number Bosom Buddies in Mame, written 12 years after the first successful American production for Bea Arthur and Angela Lansbury. The Jealousy Duet was originally written for two women with the same range: soprano. In order to modify it for the talents of Bea Arthur, a baritone, and Jo Sullivan, a soprano, the first verse of this duet was moved up a minor third. Or I should say, Jo Sullivan sang it up a minor third like a manic bird, and Bea Arthur sang her part a Major 6th lower, (!) simplifying the coloratura along the way. The hand-copied version of the first verse, now in B flat major, is a mess! As the tune modulates in the flat direction, the key signature becomes less and less helpful, until at measure 17, you’re in G flat minor, fighting F flats, C flats, B and E double flats… I’m not normally a whiner about these things, but at some point F#minor is called for. Plus it’s messy and hard to read. The pit piano part is easier to read, by the way, but in the same key. If you’ve cast two equal voices, you can do it in the original key, which I think is the best option. If you didn’t get the UE engraved version, you can play the second verse twice; that’s the original key. Note that the rising 16th note figure that creates the rhythmic impulse in the opening vamp is played by the clarinet, not the pianist. There is an unavoidable orchestration problem in reed 1, and I’m not sure how they got around it in the original production. Between verses 1 and 2, reed 1 needs to quick switch from Alto to clarinet, and the clarinet part at 34 is the driving force of the accompaniment. I’d sacrifice 32 unless your player thinks he can manage the switch without knocking out any teeth.
Other things that need to be taken into account: there is a set of two descending tritones that are hard to hear on the words “On my Mackie” and on “Didn’t I?” that are somewhat hard to hear. If your actresses are listening to the original cast recording and you’ve changed the key, they may lock into the wrong tritone, since ironically, the fully diminished chord is identical pitch-wise in the transposed and un-transposed versions. (so both tritones ‘work’) Does that even make sense? Anyway, check it carefully as you do it. Jo Sullivan also sings a wrong note on the second syllable of ‘admire’ in the second verse on the cast recording, singing an A instead of a C.
Also, Blitzstein not only crafted his key to match Bea Arthur, he also built the words around her height and personality.
BRECHT’S SECOND VERSE
POLLY:
Ach, man nennt mich Schönheit von Soho Und man sagt, ich hab so Schöne beine
LUCY:
Meinst du die?
POLLY:
Man will ja auch mal was Schönes sehen Und man sagt, so schön gibt es nur eine.
LUCY: Dreckhaufen!
POLLY: Selber Dreckhaufen! Ich soll ja auf meinen Mann sock einen Eindruck machen.
LUCY: Sollst du das? Sollst du das?
POLLY: Ja, da kann ich eben wirklich lachen.
LUCY: Kannst du das? Kannst du das?
POLLY: Ja, das wär ja auch gelacht!
LUCY: Ja, das wär ja auch gelacht?
POLLY: Wenn sich wer aus mir nichts macht?
LUCY: Wenn sich wer aus dir nichts mach! USW
My rough literal translation:
POLLY:
Oh, they call me the beauty of Soho And they say, I have such pretty legs
LUCY:
Are you talking about those?
POLLY:
People want to see something beautiful And they say, there’s only one so beautiful
LUCY:
That’s a load of crap!
POLLY: You’re a load of crap! I make a big impression on my husband.
LUCY: Is that right? Is that right?
POLLY: Yeah, I can laugh about it.
LUCY: Can you now? Can you now?
POLLY: Yeah, that makes me laugh.
LUCY: It makes you laugh?
POLLY: … if there’s anybody who didn’t like me.
LUCY: If anybody didn’t like you? (etc.)
Blitzstein’s version of this is great, even bringing in Tiger Brown! (it goes by in a flash, but when you think about it, Polly doesn’t know she’s referring to the Father of the woman she’s arguing with)
BLITZSTEIN VERSION:
POLLY: Yes, they call me beauty of the town See my legs and say, “Now these are pretty.” I’m glad you’re glad to admire beauty. Note the trimmest ankles in the city.
LUCY: Go peddle your wares somewhere else!
POLLY: I knew I would make a big impression on my Mackie.
LUCY:
Did you, did you?
POLLY: You’ll be pleased to know I’ve met his Jackie.
LUCY: Have you, have you?
POLLY: Well, you kind of make me laugh
LUCY: Now I kind of make you laugh!
POLLY: Who would want a big giraffe!
LUCY: Who would want what big giraffe?
If you didn’t cast a giraffe, that line doesn’t make sense. Or if Polly is taller, you could switch the lines.
The Bentley is dirtier, but not better. In fact it’s dirtier than Brecht’s original lyric, but not funnier. The Donmar Warehouse lyric has some funny moments, but is also dirtier than the original. It also an anachronistic Torville and Dean joke. (what?)
26. Second Threepenny Finale
This brutal finale is a tour de force, and packs a powerful punch, especially since this is the very first time in the show the entire cast has been singing at the same time. Pabst was right to move it right to the beginning of his film version, the evocative driving rhythm is exhilarating to play and hear! As soon as the cast learned the tune, I moved to the piano part and wrote in the three pickups to measure 24 to play for rehearsal, partly because it’s better laid out than the piano vocal, and partly so I could get my left hand to do what it needed to do. It’s actually not that difficult, but it takes some getting used to. (I’m sure you noted the recurring 3 pickup note motif on “What keeps a…”) Drill your cast on the cutoffs for “alive” and “survive“, and don’t miss the thrilling quarter rest in 35. When your band comes in, be sure they err on the side of shortening the sixteenths, so that you don’t get into a lazy triplet feel. The sixteenths are staccato, the downbeats accented. Work for absolute accuracy of ensemble, and blow them away with the ferocious ending and dead clean cut-off.
27. Overture Act 3
Again, not in the original. If you put an intermission here, it might do. Or the end of the Second Finale might be a better choice. Incidentally, somewhere in here are some snare cues in the script you’ll want to copy, highlight and get to your player.
28. Useless Song
We cut a verse out of this, because it goes on rather long. The script has Macheath signaling for the beggars to play. We had a number of instrumentalists in the cast, so I wrote parts for them based on the original instrumentation. Originally that harmonium part was cranked out on the same organ as the Moritat at the top of the show, I believe. I don’t think this has to be all that clean, after all, they’re beggars! At measure 42, things get really fun! As always, the articulations are the key to the style.
29. Useless Song Reprise
Same as above.
30. Solomon Song
Another song for Jenny, some speculation it was originally intended for Polly although if you wanted to, you might split it up between all 3 of Mac’s women. Blitzstein has transposed the number down a 4th for Lenya. For the most part this piece is easy enough to play, although measures 81-83 are hard for some reason. Maybe it’s just me. I think this was also originally hand-cranked by the organ, and I discovered an odd performance problem which I’ll try and warn you about now. Hopefully for others, this won’t be a problem. In 29 (Useless reprise), the MD plays the piano, then switches quickly at the beginning of 30 to harmonium. I had played all the rehearsals on the piano patch, because the synth I was using only had very electronic organ sounds. When I finally brought my own keyboard in with a better reedy harmonium sound, I discovered immediately that it was tricky to get the separation Weill seems to be asking for in the left hand, but more importantly, that all the page turns were impossible when I was holding down the fort all by myself on the organ trying to maintain legato fingering. I xeroxed the pages and cut them down and still wound up with a huge sheet across my music stand that I didn’t have time to put in place or take off. After the number is over, you’re back on the piano immediately, so you need to change the patch as you’re tearing the music off the stand. The pit part is better laid out, as it turns out, but it was an oddly stressful stretch of the show considering how laid back the tune is. Again, if I could get a crank organ pre-programmed for an actor, the problem would go away. One further thing: The timpani has a G in measures 3 and 52. Totally random, not in the urtext. When we put it in, we kind of liked it.
For the singers, distinguishing between the eighth and sixteenth pickups can be tricky, and some of the rhythms don’t quite fit on the words comfortably. A little rehearsal clears all that up, though.
31. Intro to Act 3 Scene 2
Another interpolation. Trombone pickup is critical.
32. Call From The Grave 1
We’re getting to the final section of the piece, where the tension really begins rising. I think the first Call From The Grave should be quiet and filled with excitement held in reserve, as it were. Save something for CFTG 2. The winds have a pad through this that’s pretty menacing and cool. Also, switch to the engraved German piano vocal score as soon as your Macheath knows his part. you don’t need to double the melody like it says in the PV. No instrument is doing that in the pit. Following Call 1, there is a tenor drum repeated figure that goes under the scene that follows until Matt says, “How jammed is it out there- that mob?”, and then the bell rings. We made the Westminster chime a sound cue from the booth and the drums just kept going until it was time for 32 A. In rehearsal, just play the rhythm on a low E to give the actors an idea of what’s happening.
32A. Call From The Grave 2
For some reason the lyric is a little harder to get out here, but otherwise it’s the same thing as 32.
33. Death Message
Again, the PV is misleading. The melody is in the trombone down the octave. You can play the harmonium part from the half notes in the PV here. The section at measure 3 is very like what Peachum had in measure 13 in the first finale, it seems to be the go-to texture for moralizing in the show. What a great melody Macheath has at 23! Take the time to really learn it well, it’s so satisfying to sing. Because the orchestration is top-heavy, this section will not build the way you expect it to. If you’ve been playing that with a full sound, you’ll have to get used to covering Mac’s melody in 4 octaves instead. The heavy lifting there comes from the winds. In the third finale, Mac will also be rather high in the range with a thin accompaniment. I’ll let you know wherethat happens. I did beef up the piano part at 31, playing each left hand note down the octave first and then popping up on beats 2 and 4 to the octave as written. (sorry, Kurt)
34. Passage to the Gallows
This is a continuation of the previous idea, vamp subject to your director’s conception of what’s happening on stage. You can hit the harmonium chord from the keyboard book, hold it down with the sustain pedal, then adjust your volume with your left hand while conducting with the right. Fun stuff.
35. Third Threepenny Finale
This is a great finale, and one of the few moments in the piece that actually approach operatic proportions. Having said that, it also has a ludicrously difficult piano part, one that can’t really be played with many synth-keyboard actions. Furthermore, if you conduct from the keyboard, the broken octaves for pages will make true ensemble difficult with your orchestra and your singers, and you’ll have a lot of trouble keeping things clear. I wound up playing the simplified version in the PV, and I think I hear the simplified version in the 1954 cast recording. The Donmar Warehouse plays it as written, and it sounds muddy to me. The only recording I know where I can hear it and it sounds good as written is Mauceri’s recording for Decca. Every other recording seems to be fudging it a little, including the sumptuous Brückner-Rüggeberg recording for Columbia. If you choose to do it the virtuosic way Weill wrote, you should know that in measure 45 of the pit piano part, each hand only plays the top note of their respective parts according to the Urtext score. Only 2 octaves total, not 4 there, through 52. At 53, it goes back to 4 octaves as written.
I do want to call attention to something interesting. In June 1952, Leonard Bernstein conducted the then brand new Blitzstein translation at Brandeis university with Lotte Lenya and Jo Sullivan. This would become the basis of the successful Off-Broadway version we have been discussing. 3 years later, Bernstein would begin writing West Side Story. Bernstein famously remembered and synthesized everything he loved into his music, and I think I detect a little of this Finale in the Rumble Music:
Naturally, neither Weill nor Bernstein have a corner on the broken-octaves thing; it’s been around for a long time, since at least Beethoven and Hummel. But I’ll bet this moment was one Bernstein pulled out of the Weill bag of tricks.
If you’re going to be using a cockney accent, you’ll have to puzzle over the word “Hark!”, which properly would have no H at the beginning of it. You’ll have to decide if “Ark, who comes” makes sense. We decided it did, actually! Clean cutoffs in this all around, it’s nearly the only place in the show where choral ensemble is important. Make it clear to the men from the get-go that there is a difference between the melody at 29 and at 53. Incidentally, I have never been able to make sense of the accompaniment at 53. The right hand in the conductor’s score is unplayable at speed, and is attempting to combine the clarinet piano part, as represented by the running octaves in the right hand, the trumpet and saxophone part as represented by the left hand figure, and the melody notes, which are crammed in here and there. The trouble is that everyone is really going to have to just plow through; the niceties of doubling the vocal line are lost as seconds clash against the melody frequently. I’d play the men’s melody in octaves in the left, try to catch the ladies entrance, and switch to playing the orchestral part when everybody comes. Warning, though, your piano part enters at 53 on an A flat in four octaves against the men’s B flat. It’s a mess, really.
The original version had Brown entering and doing the recitative. The Blitzstein version assigns this announcement to Filch, which is potentially very funny. You should know, in case your Filch sings, that there are actual pitches for every note of this, which can be found in either of the UE scores. Whether Filch or Brown, sung or unsung, the rhythm must be accurately worked out, with the piano punctuating thoughts where indicated. If you cast a non-singer in the part, this may take a little work, but you can do it.
And now a word about measures 82-86. I gotta say, it isn’t really worth the effort to woodshed it. It’s a really cool little passage, hard to execute at speed in octaves as written. Your right hand is doubled by a clarinet, and the trumpet and tenor saxes have a passage hitting 8 notes of the lick in a dotted eighth-sixteenth pattern. There is also a snare roll that’s going to completely drown out most of what you play. So keep that in mind before you spend hours cleaning that. Just do the best you can.
At 88, the piano reduction is a pretty good indication of what the band will sound like. But 92 is going to be quieter when the band plays than when you play, the piano is tacet, and just ‘when the need is sorest’ for the singer to be supported by the band, they drop to pianissimo and leave him stranded. Depending on your singer, you may want to reinforce things in the bass particularly.
117 is tricky to conduct, with the ritardando for only one measure, especially since you’ve just been playing the previous 10 measures. It just takes a little practice, though. It can be done. This passage echoes the Barbara Song, which doesn’t quite work coming off Polly’s vocal, since in this version she didn’t sing the Barbara Song. We solved that problem by having all three of Mac’s women sing it. Be sure the passage at 122 is crisp and clean, and build that dynamic slowly to 147.
The final section of the finale bookends the entire show with chorale melody pastiche, with Peachum’s Morning Anthem being the other example. This one is very very Lutheran, and one wonders whether Weill wanted to harmonize it in 4 parts and felt the singers wouldn’t be able to manage it, or whether he was going for that spare, open throated statement on purpose. Build in some cutoffs so that everything is clean, and try to line up those vowels for a unified sound. I ran into some trouble here when I brought my orchestra in. The orchestration calls for Harmonium, which is, of course, right for what the music is trying to do. But the Harmonium doesn’t have enough bite at the beginning of each note to drag along the orchestra and the cast, and it’s hard to articulate a mid-tempo 6/4 meter with your head while playing. I wound up begging the ghost of Weill for forgiveness and playing the keyboard part on the piano, where I could really lead things. If I had another player on keys and were conducting, I think I could have made it work, but from where I was it seemed the only viable option.
35A. Reprise- Mack the Knife
This number wasn’t in the original score, but I like it. It makes the show seem like it’s come full circle, it gives the audience more of what they’ve come to expect from a musical, the words are pithy, and it’s a good send-off. Should you choose to use it, I would have the singer interrupt whatever applause is starting after the end of the finale, otherwise it’s really awkward. Denying the audience applause is also very Brechtian, after all. We wound up assigning various lines to various characters to give it an ensemble ending.
36. Exit Music
You’ve been playing this the whole show, really. It has the most anticlimactic ending of any bows I’ve ever played. That’s probably as Weill would have wanted it.
? Lucy’s Aria
I don’t know if Blitzstein ever translated it, it was cut from the original production early and never orchestrated. The Mauceri recording has a cool orchestration by Mauceri himself, but it doesn’t really match the tone of the rest of the orchestration; the trumpet part is much harder than any of the rest of the show. It’s much more operatic than the rest of the show. I’d like to see it reinstated in some production so I can see what it looks and sounds like in the piece.
Your Pit Orchestra:
This is not a big pit, you should really hire all the books. If your budget doesn’t allow it, I’d make sure I had:
Guitar-Banjo-Hawaiian Guitar and Percussion
then
Reed 1 and Reed 2 (roughly the same importance)
then
Trumpet 1 and Trombone
then Trumpet 2
If it were possible to forego trumpet 2 and bring in a double bass, that would be perfect, but that isn’t in your licensing agreement, and you’d have to make a part yourself referencing the full score and keeping track of all the changes made for this production.
The piano book really isn’t that hard, except for the occasional stride passage, which are doable, the Ballad of the Easy Life, which just needs a careful going over for fingering, and the Third Threepenny Finale, which is nearly impossible.
There is a nice passage in the Cambridge Handbook talking about the original instruments that probably played the percussion book. The part calls for Timpani, (which my player did effectively electronically) Bass drum, Snare, Tenor drum- tom tom, wood block, sand blocks, triangle, bells & chimes E F# G# B (which we also did electronically) cymbals, hand & suspended, and tam tam. I don’t know how to describe the player needed here. There will be a temptation to keep making the part groove more, which white-washes some of Weill’s eccentric writing. You need someone who can embrace the quirkiness of it, without being too straitlaced. The tango, for example, just isn’t a normal tango beat. It starts out on the timpani, for goodness sake. But we don’t want that player to drop into a normal rhythm while the rest of the band is working out Weill’s idiosyncratic take on the dance. We also don’t want too much hi-hat. The part doesn’t call for it, and the original player didn’t have it.
The guitar book is fun, and not at all traditionally written. There are no chord symbols or open changes, no chords with more than three notes, and the only really traditional writing is in the Melodrama and Polly’s song. You need somebody who knows their way around a banjo, and somebody who can convincingly use a slide in the Hawaiian Guitar parts.
Reed 1 and 2 are about equal in importance and difficulty. Both have clarinet, reed 1 has alto, reed 2 tenor sax. It would be nice to have people familiar with the way reed players played in the 20s, sweeter, with a faster vibrato. Accurate articulation is also critical to achieve the ensemble the show needs. But the books aren’t all that hard, especially for good players.
The trumpet book doesn’t sit too awfully high, but it does require a good ensemble player who knows how to listen. There’s a lot of mute work, and you and the player can have fun choosing the sounds you like.
The trombone book also doesn’t sit too awfully high, but needs a sensitive player who can articulate accurately and watch. There are some important pickups that start the whole number in the trombone book.
The Threepenny Opera isn’t for the faint of heart, but it is a great masterwork and very rewarding to work on! Good luck with your production.
Carruthers defense in her dialogue and subsequent paean to the Tower sets her up as the protector of tradition in the piece, and it’s truly a wonderful, very English moment. 
. 
The second A section is a direct repeat, again breaking free of the Sol and La at the critical line, “…there’s more to me than I may always show”
Lord Tolloller
Strephon
Queen of the Fairies
Iolanthe
Celia
Phyllis
6. Entrance and March of the Peers: Loudly Let The Trumpet Bray
The text is adapted from Plato’s 
I believe this text is pulled from Aquinas’s
Luther’s text comes from his 
The DaVinci portion appears to come from 
turally comes from his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Gibbon’s argument is pretty coherent, DaVinci’s part of the text seems to be a kind of basic humanist perspective. The ranges are moderate, so you can choose an ordinary singer for the part, but levitable can be something of a tongue twister. The C# in the left hand in measure 57 is clearly meant to be an E.
What Is Noble 
Sartre is, among other things, the brain behind Atheistic Existentialism. His words here are taken from his 1947 
He was, at the time of the piece’s writing, the contemporary thinker of this batch. In fact, the book from which his lyric comes, 
Sir Joseph is the patter role, and could easily be played by a tenor or a baritone, but probably someone older than the other principals, because of the life experience he lays out in his signature aria. His lowest note is an A below Bass C, his highest the E above middle C. He should have strong comic timing and be able to play imperious. He was played originally by George Grossmith, the first Major General in the D’Oyly Carte Pirates and the first Koko anywhere.
Ralph is a traditional leading male tenor, although you have a good excuse to cast somewhat older, if you hope to explain away the baby swapping with Corcoran.
Gilbert describes him as follows: “…one of the ugliest persons who ever entered the Navy. His face had been so knocked about ans burnt and scarred in various battles and from falling down from aloft that not one feature was in its proper place. The wags among the crew pretended that his two eyes, his nose, and his mouth, had been playing ‘Puss in the Corner’, and that his left eye, having been unable to find a corner that was unoccupied, was consequently left in the middle. Of course this was only their nonsense, but it shows what a very plain man he must have been. He was hump-backed, and bandy-legged, and round-shouldered, and hollow-chested, and severely pitted with small-pox marks. He had broken both his arms, both his legs, his two collar bones and all his ribs and looked just as if he had been crumpled up in the hand of some enormous giant. He ought to have been made a Greenwich pensioner long ago, but captain Corcoran was too kind-hearted to hint that Dick Deadeye was deformed, and so he was allowed to continue to serve his country ad a man-o-war’s man as best he could Now Dick Deadeye was generally disliked because he was so unpleasant to look at, but he was really one of the best and kindest, and most sensible men on board the Pinafore, and this shows how wrong and unjust it is to judge unfavorably of a man because he is ugly and deformed.”
Bob Becket has no lines, but he has a very important Bass part in A British Tar. Requires a good ear and a clear, well placed true Bass voice, because at the end of the Glee, before the chorus comes in, Becket is the one leading the Rallentando, which ends on an important low E. His low note is that E below Bass C, his high note the E flat above middle C.
Josephine is the classic Gilbert and Sullivan soubrette, well suited to a light soprano, but also potentially for a richer-toned soprano who has access to the Bb. Mabel in Pirates has some coloratura, Josephine has none. The two arias require some long line, but the duet and many moments in Act II also require some faster diction and clarity of execution. She should have a good ear; some of the chromatic passages can easily go out of tune.
One wishes Gilbert had written a few words in his children’s version about Hebe, to clarify her character, but sadly, she does not appear. She is a principal chorus member with two important story moments, but other than that, we have very little information of the specificity of her character. It comes out of left field that she wants to marry Sir Joseph, because it had until that point not been entirely clear whether she was a sister, a cousin, or an aunt. Like the rest of the end of the show, we simply shrug and think, “Oh, sure.”
The Introduction is long; it took the place of the overture missing from the first performances.
I’m afraid I’m not so crazy about this number lyrically, for the same reason Gayden Wren lays out in his book:
I’ve been puzzling somewhat over why this arietta is called a Madrigal, since it’s not particularly polyphonic nor choral. Lyrically, it does play with tropes of the Renaissance Madrigal. The Nightingale sings at night, and is consequently symbolic of other nocturnal happenings like love, grief, and insomnia.
There is a wonderful thread of detail in the orchestration of Pinafore that begins here, and it involves the use of the woodwinds in opposition to the strings, as a metaphor. Generally speaking, in traditional writing for the orchestra, the strings are the backbone of the ensemble, and the woodwinds are used to provide warmth, color, or melodic material above or behind the strings. The strings are the main course, and the woodwinds provide flavor, as a kind of musical garnish. Generally, Sullivan sticks to that approach. But beginning here in Josephine’s entrance ballad, Sullivan begins setting off the woodwinds in relief on their own, as in measures 3 & 4, and 32 & 33. It is a very small detail here, but it is significant nonetheless. This is the first place in the score where any winds play without the strings accompanying. With the exception of a few measures of very comical doubling of Dick Deadeye’s snide commentary in the First Act Finale, the next time the winds play without help from and in opposition to the strings is in Josephine’s other major aria a full act later, “The Hours Creep On Apace“, where they will represent a very clear metaphor. When we get there, I’ll elaborate. The metaphor extends into the trio Nevermind The Why And Wherefore, which also has this effect, and makes its final appearance as a device in Buttercup’s revelation that she swapped the Captain and Ralph in infancy. To make my point clear: Sullivan uses the family of winds alone in opposition to the string family in only 5 places in the score, and in each place, the subject at hand is the precipitous distance in station between Josephine and Ralph. If you are unconvinced, I hope to win you over presently.
By rights this should be 6a. The first portion is an elaboration of the opening number, with better voicing for the chorus and a truncated ending. It leads to one of the most delightful passages of delicate woodwind frothiness in the canon. Compare Climbing Over Rocky Mountain, which was originally written for Thespis, and was repurposed for Pirates. That’s quite a nice little tune, but it has nothing on this beautifully filigreed passage. The end of this number completes the musical idea that began in our opening number, and the number that immediately follows will inaugurate a new set of melodies that will be peppered through the show.
If you’re only working from the Schirmer Vocal Score, you may not know that there’s a traditional snare cadence after the first 6 measures and before the Vivace that acts as entrance music for Sir Joseph. It can be heard on a number of recordings. Just as No. 7 closed the loop on the first number, Joseph’s entrance music will reprise many times through the show, evidence of the determination of the authors to further integrate the musical material. Unfortunately for the sake of performance, there are several versions of the Sisters, Cousins, and Aunts refrain, and they are dissimilar in voicing and execution. You will do well to point this out early in your rehearsal process so that your cast can begin differentiating them immediately.
This is one place where I most feel Pinafore is a rough draft of Pirates. Stay! Frederic Stay! follows strongly the outline of Refrain, Audacious Tar!: In both numbers an allegro chromatic opening gesture in the orchestra leads to two octaves establishing a minor key. An exciting and declamatory allegro is followed by a slower passage in 3 in the parallel major, even though it’s a melancholy sentiment. But that’s where the comparisons end. Stay! Frederic Stay! then follows with a plot-driving recitative and a thrilling Allegro vivace in the relative major. It’s very close to perfection. By comparison, Refrain… doesn’t pack as strong a punch. Without Pirates to compare it to, though, we have to marvel at how far Gilbert and Sullivan have come since The Sorcerer. The classic G&S situation for duet between the romantic principals is one in which a character is of two minds, a public and a private one. the resolution of the plot comes when the two minds are somehow reconciled. In The Sorcerer, Alexis and Aline reach their most conflicted state in Act 2 over the matter of whether Aline will take the potion as Alexis demands. His expression of his sentiment comes in an Aria, and her decision to acquiesce later also happens in a brief aria. That critical juncture between the two characters had happened in individual moments, not jointly. Here in Pinafore, the authors have finally figured out how to bring the music to bear on the dramatic situation, and how to depict the conflict using all the forces at their disposal.
The simple duets between secondary characters that appear in the second acts of G&S are uniformly delightful. Along the lines of Wells and Lady Sangazure’s duet in The Sorcerer is this oddball list of truisms.
After a bit of very funny dialogue between Sir Joseph and the Captain comes Josephine’s wonderful scena, in which we catch more glimpses of G&S greatness to come. Gilbert has provided a lyric full of unselfconscious character development mixed with real pathos, and for his part Sullivan gives Josephine a real Bel Canto aria, complete with sighing motives, a declamatory recitative, and some very impressive high work near the end. This is head and shoulders above anything Sullivan has written for soprano before.
I really envy Sullivan’s restraint. In my own writing, I tend to throw everything and the kitchen sink at every problem. (rather the same way I write these posts!) But Sullivan knows that all you need to pull off a number like this is the full string section and a piccolo.
Should you require music for Bows, I suggest beginning the Overture at the Allegro Vivace, measure 72 and playing to the very end.
In traditional D’Oyly Carte productions, Jane would carry Bunthorne off the stage.
A Few Words About the Piece:
The next time we encounter it in Polly’s Melodrama and Song, where it forms the basis of the accompaniment, again in a sparkling timbre, this time played by the celesta:
There are only 2 verses in Blitzstein’s “Ballad Of The Easy Life“, and the extension I’ve noted above doesn’t appear in this version, but the falling third figure does feature in the winds rather delightfully in the second verse. (which was Weill’s third)
Music Directing the School Musical 