On February 5, 2023, soprano Mikayla Sager will sing Mimì for our upcoming Barbara K. Jackson Rising Stars of Opera program at the Mondavi Center, in collaboration with the San Francisco Opera Center. Here is a conversation we had with Mikayla about Puccini, the prestigious Adler Fellowship, auditions, opera in general, and her advice for young singers.
Mikayla Sager: Some of my favorite operas are Der Rosenkavalier, La Traviata, Il Trovatore, Adriana Lecouvreur, Don Giovanni, and Eugene Onegin. I am typically drawn to operas with very fleshed out characters with interesting and dynamic relationships to one another. I love fiery, passionate roles, and have found I can either relate the role I sing/would sing from each of those operas listed.
CB: Have you worked with living composers? If so, how was that experience? If not, what would you hope to gain from such a relationship?
MS:I don’t have extensive experience working with living composers, but I have greatly enjoyed the times that I have. When I have in the past, I found it very fun to watch the creativity of a composer unfold before me, and to see how flexible things can be to suit the particular singer they are writing for. It is much easier to deeply understand the character you are portraying when the composer is in the room, and you can consistently have conversations revolving around the creation of that role.
CB: You are a part of one of the main young artist programs in the world, as an Adler Fellow for the San Francisco Opera Center. What are some of your favorite perks of this position?
MS:The Adler fellowship is a particularly unique and special program, because we are given extensive performance experience on one of the largest operatic stages in the world. I think the greatest “perk” would be knowing that you will always be given the support you need to prepare your assigned roles at the highest level, as we have access to some of the greatest coaches and mentors in the world. There are of course other perks, such as having exposure to important people in the industry, but I would say the most important thing for me personally is knowing that I am constantly supported by people with extremely sharp ears!
CB: Tell us about the auditioning process. How was your preparation for it? Is it extremely competitive? How is the atmosphere once you are in the program?
MS: The first step is applying to the Merola opera program, which is a three month long summer festival that operates adjacently to the Adler fellowship. You apply online with audio samples, and from there you are either granted an audition or asked to apply again in the future. They usually receive over a thousand applicants. From there, you audition live, and then they on average accept 25 people. During your time at Merola, you audition for San Francisco opera on the war memorial stage, and that is when they make decisions as to who will be picked for the Adler Fellowship. At the end of the summer, they notify however many people they decide to pick for the coming Adler fellowship year. In my year they picked four singers, and one pianist. It is considered extremely competitive, and you are expected when you are in the program to be always prepared and extremely professional.
CB: Why is opera important to you? What does it mean in today’s world?
MS:Opera is important to me because I think it is an art form that can make us understand each other on a deeper level. Opera evokes big emotions and revolves around subject matter that we don’t typically encounter in everyday life. For me personally, I find it can make us relate to each other beyond surface level or superficial things. I think often we can learn a lot of life lessons through the vehicle that is opera.
CB: What would you say about La Bohème, and about Mimì (or Rodolfo) to someone who does not know the opera? What should people listen for in this kind of music?
MS:La Boheme is an opera full of luscious, gorgeous lines that are extremely pleasing for the listener. Mimi is a very pure character, with a big heart and a lot of love to give. Mimi and Rodolfo’s love story is extremely heartbreaking, and has to be taken in context of the period it was written in. I think it is important for the audience to remember that because of the lack of medicine to cure Mimi’s illness, that she is an extremely selfless character and despite having absolutely nothing and in need of some help. Because we are only doing Act I, this facet of her character won’t necessarily be seen, but I do think it is important should the audience then go and see to the rest of the opera. From a musical standpoint, I think the audience should let this extremely romantic music just wash over them, and leave the hall reminded of the feeling of falling in love.
CB: Do you have any suggestions or recommendations for young singers?
MS: my biggest piece of advice to young singers is to keep your blinders up and focus on your own progress. Try to not waste time thinking about what other people are doing and focus on how you can grow your artistry.
Canadian soprano Mikayla Sager is fascinated by the richly drawn, unapologetically intense characters of the verismo repertoire. Following her recent concert performance with San Francisco Opera, the Chronicle declared her “an extraordinarily gifted young soprano… Sager delivered Desdemona’s arias with a combination of intensity and hushed majesty.” When Sager is onstage, audiences are guaranteed a multidimensional portrayal that balances authentic vulnerability and full-blooded strength.
As a second-year Adler Fellow, Sager performs on stages across California this season. In San Francisco Opera’s centennial, she appears on the War Memorial mainstage as Sister Felicité in Dialogues des Carmélites, Kate Pinkerton in Madama Butterfly, Guardian of the Temple in Die Frau ohne Schatten, and as Image No. 1 in the world premiere of Gabriela Lena Frank’s El ultimo sueño de Frida y Diego. Elsewhere, she brings her Mimì to performances with Bohème out of the Box and the UC Davis Symphony Orchestra. Additional concert appearances include The Future is Now, the Adler Fellowship’s final concert, and Eun Sun Kim Conducts Verdi, under the baton of SFO’s new music director.
Sager has previously appeared as Violetta (La traviata), Fiordiligi (Così fan tutte), Vitellia (La clemenza di Tito), Micäela(Carmen), and Donna Anna (Don Giovanni), as well as Pamina (Die Zauberflöte) and The Fox (The Cunning Little Vixen) during her education at Manhattan School of Music. Following her debut as Norina (Don Pasquale) with Venture Opera, Opera Canada praised her “edgy intensity… she augmented her vocal prowess with enviable acting skills.” Concert highlights include a concert at Festival Napa Valley, conducted by James Conlon, a Hawaii International Music Festival tour, numerous recitals, including an appearance at Carnegie Hall, and a performance at David Geffen Hall with the New York Philharmonic.
Sager has earned recognition and support from the Joan Sutherland and Richard Bonygne Foundation’s Elizabeth Connell Competition, Jensen Foundation Vocal Competition, Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions (District Winner), Vienna International Music Competition, Festival Napa Valley’s Manetti Shrem Prize, National Opera Association’s Carolyn Bailey and Dominick Argento Competition, and Gran Teatre del Liceu’s Tenor Viñas Competition in Barcelona.
Sager draws inspiration from many other art forms, include architecture and ceramics, as well as an unconventional childhood aboard a sailboat that traveled around the world. These days, her travel companion is her rescue dog Remy, whose fiery personality would suit any operatic stage.
On Friday, October 14, 2022, I will be conducting Harold in Italy, by Hector Berlioz at the Mondavi Center in Davis. Our distinguished soloist with the UC Davis Symphony Orchestra will be Wendy Richman, a highly acclaimed viola player who has been hailed by The New York Times and The Washington Post for her “absorbing,” “fresh and idiomatic” performances with “a brawny vitality,” I had the opportunity to ask Wendy a few questions in preparation for our performance, and below are her responses.
Christian Baldini: Wendy, welcome, I am delighted to have you with us at the Mondavi Center to perform this marvelous music with our orchestra. Tell me, what are some of the features of Harold in Italy that you’d like to share with people in the audience? How do you see Berlioz as a composer? In your view, what makes this music so very special?
Wendy Richman: Thank you so much for having me here and inviting me to share this incredible piece with the students and community! I have always loved Harold in Italy, and it’s been an absolute joy to finally learn and explore it.
In contrast to Paganini’s initial opinion, I love that Harold isn’t a “bona fide” viola concerto. The standard viola concerti are wonderful and should be heard more often, but they’re not all written with the central idea that the viola’s more mellow sound can be in the forefront. It’s not always fun as a soloist to try to project with an acoustically imperfect instrument (more on that later) over a huge orchestra, and I imagine it’s not the most fun for a conductor to constantly implore the orchestra to play pianissimo. Berlioz, though, was one of the greatest orchestrators of all time. He knew what would work best for the viola. Instead of making the violist play in the highest registers that aren’t always our best feature, Berlioz created a viola part that can sing in so many different registers, with huge orchestral tutti sections that allow the ensemble to play fully without constant shushing from the conductor. Harold features all the things I love so much about my instrument: rich, human sound; subtle shadings and major contrasts of character and color; and most of all, its ability to blend and weave into and out of textures in partnership with so many other instruments. That is what viola and violists do best: we are musical chameleons and chamber musicians by nature, so it makes sense that we’d be excited in this piece to play along with English horn, bassoon, the viola section, and even the trombones!
Of all the moments I love in the piece, my favorite movement by far is the second, the “March of the Pilgrims Singing the Evening Prayer.” The “march” aspect is as important as the “prayer”: there is a calm, stately flow to the music, a feeling of timeless inevitability carrying us to the fleeting clarity of the last chord. I imagine that we musicians are quietly sojourning through narrow cobblestone streets, hearing intermittent church bells in the distance (represented by dissonant long notes in the French horns and the harp). My favorite part of my favorite movement is a long middle section with gorgeous, clear orchestration. The woodwinds alternate with the upper strings and cellos to play a hushed chorale, the basses anchor the chorale with a pizzicato (plucked) walking line, and the solo viola outlines the many harmonic changes with arpeggiated chords. These arpeggios are played with a sound that Berlioz only uses in this single section of the entire work. I play sul ponticello, with my bow hair right up against the instrument’s bridge, producing a slightly scratchy, haunting sound with lots of high overtones. I don’t know for sure, but I want to think it’s a linguistic wink from Berlioz: maybe the pilgrims are crossing a long footbridge…since sul ponticello means “on the bridge” in Italian.
CB: You are a distinguished new music performer, having been a member and performed with the International Contemporary Ensemble, and also the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. Can you tell us how you first became interested in new music? Why is new music important and/or relevant?
WR: When I was a freshman at Oberlin in 1998, I was asked by a friend—a senior who was really into contemporary music—to play with CME (Contemporary Music Ensemble). Unlike a lot of schools that emphasize only the most traditional playing styles and repertoire, Oberlin was and is still known for its advocacy for new music. CME was where the cool kids were, and I felt so cool.
Then I picked up my music. Insert scream emoji here. It was a set of two pieces (Funerailles I and II) by a composer named Brian Ferneyhough, who is known for a style called “New Complexity.” It looks a bit like those joke scores that were meme-ish before memes were a thing. There is a lot of scholarly discussion about the philosophy of this music, about the inherent effort in learning and playing Ferneyhough’s scores. But I didn’t know any of that at the time—I just knew it was about 100 times more difficult than any music I’d ever seen.
The concert was structured so that Funerailles I opened the program and Funerailles II closed it. All I remember is walking onstage with great trepidation, followed by playing a bunch of notes, followed by panic, followed by walking offstage and bursting into tears. Tim Weiss, the incredible CME director, looked at me with wide eyes and an incredulous smile. He gave me a hug.
“What’s WRONG?!?!”
“I…I…I got SO LOST! I’m so sorry. I ruined it.”
Tim threw his head back and laughed, probably rolling his eyes.
“WENNNdy! NO! I mean…that’s what this music is! ……….We were ALL lost!”
I walked back onstage for the last piece and played with a focus and determination I’m not sure I’ve replicated since. I may or may not have played a lot of correct notes, but I did quickly discover that I loved playing challenging music requiring a different skill set to prepare and perform convincingly. I also loved playing with the seemingly fearless musicians on that concert, many of whom later became my fellow founding members of the International Contemporary Ensemble.
In some ways, it makes a lot of sense for a violist to be interested in playing new music: it was kind of a novelty for the viola to be featured in pieces until the mid-19th century, and it wasn’t until after WWII that composers truly figured out how to write for us. I mentioned previously that the viola is “acoustically imperfect,” which is due to the fact that we hold it like a violin. It would be too heavy and awkward to play if violas were the right size for our pitch range—half the size of a cello, as our strings are an octave higher than a cello’s. When we started holding it like a violin, luthiers “cut down” instrument like Amati and Stradivarius violas and made the necks thinner, eventually making slightly smaller violas the norm. (That’s the short explanation—that the viola should actually be almost twice as big as it is! I don’t really know WHY we hold it like a violin, but I’ll let someone else lead the resistance for that.)
So in the middle of the 20th century, more composers were compelled to write for the viola as a solo instrument, and they experimented with chamber instrumentations that didn’t force the viola to compete with its acoustically superior (read: louder) counterparts, the violin and cello. That’s not to say there isn’t a ton of incredible repertoire for us prior to that time. I love playing string quartets, which were my first musical love. I also play Baroque/historical viola and live for a Monteverdi suspension. And I’m thrilled to play Schumann’s Märchenbilder when I have the chance. We don’t have to stop playing and listening to all the older stuff! I’ll admit that I went through a long phase of that, but I’ve come around to feeling more fulfilled by programs that are simply good music, from a variety of times and places, with a satisfying connecting thread. When composers started thinking more outside the box with the viola, there was simply much more repertoire for us to choose from.
CB: You recently released your debut solo album on New Focus Recordings, including nine works in which you play, and also sing. Can you tell us about this project? How did it all fall into place? How did you choose the composers that you would include in it?
WR: Thank you for asking about my album. It was a long, intense journey: I started working with the composers around 2010, recorded in 2016, and spent several years editing on and off (and crowdfunding!). It is a scary and vulnerable process, made more so because I was listening to myself sing. I’d had plenty of experience listening to recordings of myself playing, and I had come to terms with generally despising that activity but dealing with it. But I was unprepared for the emotional weight I’d feel with my voice being part of the picture, because it had been a long time since I had been a semi-serious singer. So it took a lot to get myself to listen to each round of edits. I think the hardest part of the whole experience was that it was released just two months before the beginning of the pandemic. It didn’t get as much attention as I had hoped, and I didn’t get to tour with it. I still could, but the world is different from March 2020, and I think in some ways I’m a different musician from March 2020, too. That’s all to say that there’s a lot I would do differently if I could do it again, but ultimately I’m proud of what I created.
I was sort of equally committed to viola and voice when I was in high school. In college, I focused on viola but was very lucky to study voice with Marlene Ralis Rosen during my time at Oberlin. When I moved to Boston to pursue my master’s degree, singing kind of fell by the wayside—I didn’t have a teacher, and I felt like I needed to solely focus on viola. From time to time, I sang something short on a recital, mostly the Brahms op. 91 songs with viola. (I wasn’t performing both parts on those, though!) I also learned a piece by Giacinto Scelsi called Manto, of which the third movement is written for “singing female violist.” The piece is difficult for performer and audience alike; it’s not conventional and is frankly very strange! But I just loved everything about it. I began performing Manto III often, and audiences’ positive responses to it taught me that any piece of music can be “accessible” if the performer believes in it.
I missed singing, and I started to think I’d been a better violist when I was also singing regularly. The positive response to Manto III got me thinking about whether there were other pieces written for singing violist. When my now-husband and I moved to Ithaca, NY, in 2007, I started taking voice lessons with the wonderful late soprano Judith Kellock. Judy was excited by the idea of my commissioning pieces to play and sing, and the project started to take shape thanks to her encouragement.
At the time, I was very active on Twitter, and through that platform I met and/or reconnected with a lot of composers. I decided that I wanted to work with people whose music I liked, of course, but also people who I really loved personally. That aspect of the project ended up being even more important than I realized early in the process, as becoming close friends with each composer helped our communication and understanding when the album took longer than I’d originally hoped.
CB: What would you say to people who don’t like new music, or who say they don’t understand it, or that they simply prefer their usual music by Bach, or Beethoven or Brahms?
WR: Listening to certain things can be challenging, and sometimes we equate “challenging” with “work.” It’s a bit like reading something like a Haruki Murakami novel, or watching a Jim Jarmusch film, or looking at a sculpture by Louise Bourgeois. The abstract stuff is not always for everyone, and it’s not for every moment of every day. I also don’t want to feel like I’m forcing it upon people. I just ask everyone to approach it with an open mind and open ears, not trying to understand but rather simply experience. Once you get used to the language, the aesthetic, it can be enormously rewarding. Sometimes it doesn’t speak to you, and that’s totally fine! But it does feel more approachable with more time and more contact.
As those references may tell you, I also find it helpful and enriching to explore other avant-garde and experimental art forms, both historical and contemporary, as well as music from other cultures, like Indonesian gamelan ensembles or Tuvan throat singing. That music has been around much longer than some of the Western European musical tradition we think of as “classical.” If we consider the entire history and breadth of music as a spectrum—but one with multiple dimensions—it becomes easier to keep ourselves open to unfamiliar things. All music, all art, was “new” at some point, and Berlioz was certainly ahead of his 19th century contemporaries in many aspects of his composing.
CB: Lastly, what is your advice for young performers? How should one get ready for the profession? I also ask this because we have all faced challenges, failures and sometimes even (or especially) extremely gifted people end up giving up and quitting. What is a healthy mindset to fight this, and to keep going?
WR: It’s completely normal to feel discouraged sometimes, and even to go through long periods of questioning the profession. I wish it weren’t such a normal thing, but musicians and artists are a bit cursed in the overthinking department. Don’t worry if your career doesn’t look exactly like your teacher’s, or your friend’s or the way you thought it would look. No matter how many hours a day you might spend doing something different like working in an office environment or teaching fourth grade, if you’re still doing the thing, you’re still doing the thing. Allow your present self to define yourself, not other people or abstract, years-old goals.
My advice to young performers is to remain flexible. Develop and maintain “chops” for a variety of musical styles and jobs. My goal as a teenager was to play in a string quartet and perform with Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. When I began to focus on contemporary music, I still played as much “conventional” chamber music as I could, but I turned my attention pretty fully to the contemporary rep. I still took orchestra repertoire classes but never imagined I’d take orchestra auditions. I ignored my parents’ advice to take a pedagogy class because I thought I hated teaching.
But along the way, I’ve done every single one of those things. I’ve taken orchestra auditions and won jobs, allowing me to have a steady source of income and travel to New York to play with International Contemporary Ensemble, as well as giving me enough credibility as an orchestra player to sub with some of the country’s best orchestras. When I finished my master’s degree and was faced with the reality of trying to make ends meet, I discovered that I love teaching. Again, this provided a steady source of income, and the love of teaching led me to return to school for my doctorate. The full-circle moment came when I moved to New York in 2017 and started subbing with Orpheus—still a dream come true. And when I moved to Los Angeles in 2020, my varied experiences and skill sets allowed me to reach out to people who might be interested in hiring me. It’s hard work and takes some mental juggling to piece together a career that way, but I love the variety and challenges. Be open to serendipity, and don’t knock something until you’ve tried it again ten years later.
Wendy Richman (courtesy photo)
Wendy Richman has been celebrated internationally for her compelling sound and imaginative interpretations. As a soloist and chamber musician, she has performed at Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center Festival, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Miller Theater, Mostly Mozart Festival, Park Avenue Armory, Phillips Collection, and international festivals in Berlin, Darmstadt, Helsinki, Hong Kong, Karlsruhe, Morelia, and Vienna. Former violist of The Rhythm Method string quartet, Wendy is a founding member of the New York-based International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE).
Hailed by The New York Times and The Washington Post for her “absorbing,” “fresh and idiomatic” performances with “a brawny vitality,” Wendy collaborates closely with a wide range of composers. She presented the U.S. premieres of Kaija Saariaho’s Vent nocturne, Roberto Sierra’s Viola Concerto, and a fully- staged version of Luciano Berio’s Naturale. Upon hearing her interpretation of Berio’s Sequenza VI, The Baltimore Sun commented that she made “something at once dramatic and poetic out of the aggressive tremolo-like motif of the piece.”
Though best known for her interpretations of contemporary music, Wendy enjoys performing a diverse range of repertoire. She regularly performs with NYC’s Orpheus Chamber Orchestra and has collaborated with fortepianist Malcolm Bilson, the Claremont and Prometheus Trios, and members of the Cleveland, Juilliard, and Takács Quartets. She has also been a frequent guest with the viola sections of the Atlanta Symphony, Minnesota Orchestra, and St. Louis Symphony.
From 2017 to 2021, Wendy served on the string faculty of New York University (NYU Steinhardt), where she taught viola, chamber music, and a class on extended string techniques. She has also held teaching positions at the University of Tennessee, University of Alabama, and Cornell University, as well as NYU Summer Strings, Walden School Summer Young Musicians Program, Sewanee Summer Music Festival, and Music in the Mountains Conservatory.
Wendy earned degrees from Oberlin Conservatory (BM), New England Conservatory (MM), and Eastman School of Music (DMA). She studied viola with Carol Rodland, Kim Kashkashian, Peter Slowik, Jeffrey Irvine, and Sara Harmelink, and voice with Marlene Ralis Rosen, Judith Kellock, and Mary Galbraith.
Her debut solo album, vox/viola, was released in 2019 on New Focus Recording’s TUNDRA imprint.
El próximo 5 de Agosto (de 2022) tendré el placer de dirigir la Orquesta Nacional de Música Argentina “Juan de Dios Filiberto”, en un programa que presenta obras de Victor Lavallén y de María Laura Antonelli. “Lavallén Sinfónico” es una Suite sinfónica con 11 tangos de este gran compositor y bandoneonista que ha tocado con todos los grandes, incluyendo sus 10 años como arreglador y bandoneonista de Osvaldo Pugliese. Diego Schissi ha realizado estos arreglos sinfónicos, y tendremos al Quinteto Lavallén como solistas al frente de la orquesta (Victor Lavallén, Diego Schissi, Juan Pablo Navarro, Guillermo Rubino y Alejandro Bruschini). Nos hemos sentado a conversar con el Maestro Victor Lavallén (quien a sus 86 años muy humildemente me insiste que por favor lo trate de “vos”) para charlar sobre este interesantísimo proyecto y música en general. Debajo están las respuestas.
Comienzo esta entrevista comentándole al Maestro Lavallén que hace pocos días, almorzando con mi amigo Juan Pablo Jofré (luego de habernos presentado juntos con la Orquesta Sinfónica Nacional en Buenos Aires), le comenté del proyecto que haríamos con Victor. Juan Pablo es un gran bandoneonista y compositor argentino que vive en los Estados Unidos hace unos 15 años, y que trabaja por todo el mundo. Cuando le conté del concierto con Victor Lavallén, Juan Pablo me dijo “No te puedo creer! Victor es el más grande. El mejor de todos. Nos pasa el trapo a todos.” Esa humildad de Juan Pablo está totalmente en coincidencia con la gran humildad que tiene el Maestro Lavallén, quien es realmente una parte viviente de nuestra cultura musical como argentinos, y como amantes del tango.
Christian Baldini: Querido Victor, contame por favor acerca de tu experiencia no solamente como uno de los más grandes virtuosos del bandoneón, sino también como arreglador de varias de las grandes orquestas de tango, incluída la de Pugliese!
Victor Lavallén: Si bueno, yo te digo, yo comencé a los 14 años a trabajar profesionalmente. En la década del ’50 había muy pocos músicos. Yo había estudiado en Rosario primero con mi tío, y después en Buenos Aires con Eladio Blanco, que tocaba con D’Arienzo. Al año o algo así me puso en una orquesta. Cuando me pusieron la música delante, yo empecé a llenar todos los silencios. “Pibe venga”, me dijeron. No se tuteaba antes. Yo tenía 14 años pero parecía que tenía 18. Me dicen “Usted se dió cuenta que no dió una, no?” Y ahí me echaron. Pero una semana después me llamó mi maestro y me dijo que en la orquesta no conseguían a nadie entonces me llamaron a mí. Entré y me quedé dos años. Era muy difícil ehh… Había cosas como con siete bemoles para solo de bandoneón…
Después de ahí empecé con Miguel Caló. Ahí estaba Julián Plaza, estaba Bajour. Después con Atilio Stampone. Y con Franchini. Todo lo que está grabado lo grabé yo. Y con el flaco Paz.
Christian Baldini: Cuando yo le cuente a mi viejo todo esto no lo va a poder creer. A mi viejo le gusta muchísimo el tango y conoce mucho de su historia.
Victor Lavallén: Y si… te digo, yo estaba en un momento en cinco orquestas. Me levantaba a las 10am y volvía a las 5am. Estuve con un montón, hasta que después… un día me fui a Radio El Mundo. Y me encontré con Romero, el pianista de Pugliese. Me pidió que pusiera mi nombre. Había tipos muy conocidos, que eran carteles. A la semana me llamaron a mí. Me citan en la radio, Radio Splendid. Me preguntaron: “usted escribe”, y yo dije que sí, aunque en realidad no había hecho casi nada. Y me pidieron que hiciera un arreglo de “Gallo ciego”. Y bueno, dije. Pero yo no estaba en la onda todavía. Y le digo, che, como hago acá? Y le preguntaba a Ruggiero y a Pitani, y a todos les pedía ayuda para hacer el arreglo. Y salió. Zafó. Después me dice Sergio Maciel, por ahí vamos a Rusia, y necesito que me hagas un arreglo del tango “El pañuelito”. Y con ese ya me mandé solo. Y cuando volvimos de Rusia, el éxito era “El pañuelito”.
Y en ese interín, se va De Marco. Y me preguntan a mí, y lo recomendé a Julián Plaza. Ellos no querían carteles. Por eso me habían contratado a mí que no me conocía nadie! Y después empecé a estudiar. Estudié con Rovira, estudié con el Maestro Nistal, ahí por Congreso. Después con Juan Carlos Cirigliano. Pero yo ya sabía para ese entonces. Yo con Pugliese probaba todo. Y a veces me decía “pero pibe, no se piante”, porque yo me rajaba. Estuve 10 años con Pugliese.
Después en el sexteto, con Osvaldo Ruggiero. Estuve con un montón de orquestas.
Después apareció Forever Tango. Juntos con Marconi, estabamos en la televisión y nos fuimos tres veces a Londres. Con Walter Ríos. Había dos orquestas, en Londres y en San Francisco. Y Ríos se fue y me puse a dirigir esa orquesta 18 años. Y después estuve a cargo de la orquesta escuela. (la Emilio Balcarce)
Después grabé lo mío, con Luis Bravo.
CB: Y con la orquesta escuela cuántos años ha estado?
VL: Desde el 2011. Primero estaba Emilio Balcarce. Después vino Marconi. Y después de Marconi me llamaron a mí, y estoy desde el 2011.
CB: Y aparte es una orquesta impresionante a la cual viene gente a formarse en la tradición tanguera de todo el mundo, verdad? Yo conozco a una pianista Coreana (Sumi Lee) que vive en San Francisco y que vino a hacer la orquesta escuela. Ahora conozco a un Puertorriqueño (Ishtar Hernandez) que también está haciendo el programa. Cómo sucede esto?
VL: Suena una barbaridad, son todos buenos músicos, y aparte son todos pibes jóvenes, que vienen de todos lados! Venite a un ensayo!
CB: Me encantaría, cuando?
VL: Venite el miércoles 3.
CB: Perfecto, muchas gracias!
VL: Hoy me tuve que levantar a las siete y no dormí nada (para llegar a tiempo al ensayo con la Orquesta Nacional de Música Argentina)
CB: Una pregunta importante: el tango, que significa para vos?
VL: El tango es todo para mí! Yo nací en una familia de tango, en Rosario y mi papá tenía una orquesta de tango. Mis tíos eran todos músicos. El tango para mí es lo máximo.
Pero yo al principio, vivía en Gorriti y Bustamente. Y a una cuadra vivía el gordo Pichuco. Y yo tocaba la trompeta, me gustaba mucho el jazz. Pero a mi mamá le llenaron la cabeza que era peligroso, y no era bueno para los pulmones. Con lo del bandoneón también trataron de convencerla que era malo. Pero después me fuí a Rosario a estudiar con mi tío, y cuando volví, arranqué con Eladio Blanco. Yo tengo 86!
CB: Qué consejos le darías a la gente joven que está arrancando y tratando de iniciarse en una carrera en el tango?
VL: Yo pienso que está bien, que tienen que estudiar como hacen ahora, que antes no se estudiaba tanto. Pero tienen que fijarse en no desvirtuar el género. Entonces hacen todos Piazzolla o más que Piazzolla. Y Piazzolla es melódico aparte. Los que son muy contemporáneos no se entiende nada. Hay que investigar y escuchar mucho. A las orquestas. Las orquestas de antes eran muy modernas. Parece que son las de ahora. Hay que escuchar a Miguel Caló, Franchini, Osvaldo Pugliese. Era muy avanzado.
CB: Cómo lo describiría a Pugliese?
VL: La idea de Pugliese era muy avanzada. Esa yo también la hubiera querido hacer. Tener una orquesta pero que escribieran todos. Encontrarle una forma. Lo que hizo Pugliese. Por la forma de él, todos fueron a parar ahí. Después había muchos que ponían lo propio. Julián Plaza, Ruggiero, yo, Balcarce, y también Julio Carrasco que era un violinista que no era muy conocido. Pero el tipo sabía un montón. Yo le preguntaba todo a él al principio.Los pibes de ahora me gustan mucho. Les interesa el género. No lo toman como una cosa así nomás. Vas a ver como te va a gustar el ensayo. Me gustaría que vinieras.
CB: Y por supuesto que voy a ir, ahí nos vemos! Maestro, ha sido un placer impresionante. Me siento muy privilegiado de estar colaborando juntos en este hermoso programa que presenta tus tangos con vos mismo como solista.
VL: Que gusto che, encantado, y va a salir muy bien esto!
Victor Lavallén
Victor Lavallén
Nació en Rosario, provincia de Santa Fe. Debieron pasar algo más de cincuenta años para que decidiera dejar de ser «un muchacho de la orquesta», ocupando un lugar en la línea de bandoneones. En varias oportunidades declaró ser persona de bajo perfil, quizás el ideal para ser invitado por algunos directores como refuerzo para las grabaciones o, como ocurre en la actualidad, ser el director de la Orquesta Escuela Emilio Balcarce, o bien director de la Orquesta de la Municipalidad de Lomas de Zamora (ciudad colindante a la ciudad de Buenos Aires).
Qué mejor para los muchachos que tenerlo a él como maestro. Pero este tanguero no comenzó con la mirada puesta en el fueye sino en la trompeta y, sus oídos, en el jazz. Por suerte cerca suyo, rondaba un tío bandoneonista que trabajaba en orquestas rosarinas, Héctor Chera, hermano de su padre Luis (director de orquesta), quien no sólo lo entusiasmó con el instrumento sino que le enseñó y lo fue formando.
Con muy poca experiencia se largó a Buenos Aires con no más de catorce años y, en el Picadilly, aquel local que estaba en el subsuelo de la calle Corrientes casi Paraná, consigue ingresar en una agrupación pequeña llamada Los Serrano, a cargo de un señor Eduardo Serrano que lo despidió al poco tiempo.
Más adelante fue a estudiar, durante largos meses, con Eladio Blanco, músico de Juan D’Arienzo. Ya con mejor respuesta, volvió a la orquesta de Serrano y permaneció a su lado un par de años. Durante aquel tiempo de estudio alternó en la agrupación de Antonio Arcieri —violinista decareano que falleció poco después, el 5 de mayo de 1952—, y en la de Lorenzo Barbero.
Desde 1951 hasta 1954, estuvo con Miguel Caló, que incluyó una recordada gira por tierra brasileña y también grabaciones. Es digna de elogio su participación en varios discos, entre los que podemos citar a “En fa menor” (de Roberto Caló) y “El chamuyo” (de Francisco Canaro).
Fueron diez años de músico y arreglador, inmerso totalmente en el estilo y el espíritu del maestro. Alguna vez me comentó que Pugliese insistía a sus músicos que intentaran componer y hacer sus arreglos, a fin que la orquesta no resultara monótona. Era una forma de que, sin perder su particular secuencia rítmica, pudiera escucharse algo nuevo. Y así fue. Cada uno aportó lo suyo, y es posible que esa haya sido la causa por la que don Osvaldo siguiera tan vigente hasta su fallecimiento.
En cuanto a esta modalidad impuesta por Pugliese a sus muchachos respecto a los arreglos, Víctor me contó que generó algunos pequeños disturbios: «Como todos opinaban, ocurrían discusiones fuertes, varios tenían su trabajo hecho y no lo podíamos escuchar porque dos o tres decían que el que corría era el de Emilio Balcarce o el de Penón, por ejemplo, y uno que había hecho el suyo se quedaba con bronca. Ahora si yo con mi orquesta tuviera mucho trabajo me gustaría que los músicos compusieran y arreglaran porque así se irían formando». Y más adelante agregó: «hoy las orquestas se acabaron, de las que llevan años en la lucha están la de Leopoldo Federico y Rodolfo Mederos y alguna otra reciente, pero se trabaja poco, o son contratados para eventos especiales o para el turismo, no hay campo de acción y el baile, que sí funciona, se arregla con discos».
Volviendo al repaso de su trayectoria, llegamos al año 1968. Pugliese estaba enfermo y había otras cuestiones. Alguno de sus muchachos comenzaron a reunirse para tocar como sexteto y, en poco tiempo, sobrevino la retirada definitiva. Así nació el Sexteto Tango.
Estuvo 19 años consecutivos con el sexteto, hasta que decidió retirarse. A partir de ese momento, participó en dos formaciones: la Orquesta Municipal del Tango entonces dirigida por Carlos García y Raúl Garello y la Orquesta Color Tango junto a Roberto Álvarez (bandoneón), Carlos Piccione y Fernando Rodríguez (violines), Amílcar Tolosa (contrabajo), Roberto Cicaré (piano) y Juan Carlos Zunini (tecladista).
Luego participó en el espectáculo Forever tango, con un grupo de músicos, cantores y bailarines, que recorrió Estados Unidos y Canadá. El director orquestal era Lisandro Adrover, y el cantor, nuestro amigo Alfredo Sáez.
En 2007, y dirigiendo su propia orquesta, graba un disco con el título, Amanecer ciudadano, editado por el sello EPSA que contiene diez temas, combinando tangos clásicos y páginas propias como: “Amanecer ciudadano”, “Meridional”, “A la sombra del fueye”, “Mistongueando” y “De norte a sur”.
En el 2010, hizo su segunda producción discográfica con el titulo Buenosaireando, junto a Alejandro Bruschini (bandoneón), Pablo Estigarribia (piano), Silvio Acosta (contrabajo) y Washington Williman (violín). El compacto tiene 12 temas, en los que se destacan dos composiciones suyas: “Buenosaireando” y “Romance de primavera”.
Christian Baldini: María Laura, cómo comenzó la génesis de “Criaturas de fuego”? Cuál fue el disparador que te inspiró a escribir un concierto para violín y orquesta?
María Laura Antonelli: Esta obra “Criaturas del fuego” para violín y orquesta nació después del estreno de mi obra “Infernadero, seis piezas para Orquesta con piano y gritos olvidados”, en la que yo estuve como piano solista y con medios electroacústicos en vivo también. “Infernadero…” fue encargada y estrenada por la ONMA en 2019, a raiz de que yo lanzara mi disco de composiciones propias en piano “Argentígena, piano tango & electroacústica”(Acqua Records – 2018). Desde ahí me convocaron y empezó el trabajo con la Filiberto y “Criaturas” es un desafío porque es la primera vez que escribo un concierto solista para un instrumento que no es el piano. Sentí que la Orquesta estuvo muy feliz por el estreno de Infernadero y además recibí el premio de la Asociación de Críticos Musicales de la Argentina por mi labor compositiva de 2019, que atribuyo a Infernadero porque fue donde puse mi mayor energía ese año. Apenas se estrenó Infernadero, los programadores me propusieron componer una obra para violín solista y el orgánico de la ONMA. Empecé a escribirla en 2020 y luego se retrasó su estreno por la pandemia, estuve con otras obras, y hoy acá estamos.
CB: Qué le dirías al público que son los aspectos más importantes de tu música? Cuáles son los elementos que les aconsejarías escuchar, como punto de partida?
MLA: Me parece fundamental no subestimar jamás al público. Mi música está construida como un tejido de eventos sonoros que aparecen en la línea de tiempo, que a través de las intensidades y matices muestran la tímbrica, los colores y las texturas de ese tejido. Está atravesado por el tiempo de la escucha interna y la búsqueda de gestos de músicas que ya pasaron, algo así como si intentara reconstruir recuerdos de cosas que no ocurrieron. Los aspectos más importantes son la diversidad de los eventos sonoros que convergen en el espacio acústico, y para eso hay que diseñar ese espacio, que es el trabajo más difícil. Y creo que debe haber un factor de sorpresa en el ritmo en el que, aun habiendo propulsión, es decir, aunque podamos seguirlo con el cuerpo, sin haber sorpresa en esa propulsión, la música se apaga. Me gusta el desafío que tiene construir con un ancla en algo de la tradición, y también pienso que la capacidad de asombro está intacta y que hay que mantenerla viva cada vez que alguien escucha una música por primera vez. Lo que más deseo que me pase a mí al escuchar música es que la obra me permita desalienarme por un rato. Y eso mismo deseo para los otros que escuchan mi música.
CB: Cuáles han sido las influencias musicales más importantes en tu mundo compositivo?
MLA: Te los digo en cualquier orden, no cronológico ni en orden de importancia para mí, sinó así como me salen: Bach, Troilo, Piazzolla, Schaeffer, Schumann, Stravinsky, Bartok, Messiaen, Berio, Spinetta, Gobbi, De Caro, Gardel, Gismonti, Sting, y así sin nombrarte nada de jazz, el abanico es enorme igual, no sé…..todos mundos muy diferentes que desde el academicismo coexisten casi como una incongruencia dentro mío, pero es así como impactaron también en mí. Son músicas que conocí tanto al tocar el piano como escuchando en grabaciones o en vivo y que determinaron con mucha fuerza mi búsqueda de la creatividad musical y mi vocación.
CB: Sos pianista, y me pregunto, cómo comenzó todo musicalmente para vos? ¿En que momento tuviste la necesidad de comenzar a componer?
MLA: Supongo que ambas cosas nacieron juntas. En principio empecé a tocar el piano porque quería aprender, pero ya tocaba de oído en un tecladito que había en mi casa desde muy chica, incluso antes de ir al colegio. En esa época ya inventaba melodías y formas en el tiempo, improvisaba un poco y luego la formación musical apuntó al piano en primer lugar y después a la composición especialmente en la adolescencia, cuando me peleaba con la partitura y quería poder tocar de oído lo que estudiaba leyendo y viceversa, y sentía que todo eso que inventaba y grababa empezaba a agigantarse y tuve la necesidad de hacerle lugar. Pasaron varios años hasta que pude encontrar la forma del discurso sonoro en el espacio acústico más o menos parecido a lo que imaginaba y descuadrarme de lo pianístico. Creo que, por suerte, casi nunca se llega a lo imaginado, sino que en el mejor de los casos la música cobra vida propia y aparece. Por eso me parece fundamental escuchar la voz interna que es la que pide la música.
CB: Muchas gracias por tu tiempo, y espero que tengamos un hermoso estreno de “Criaturas del fuego”.
MLA: Muchas gracias a vos Christian, será un gran concierto y es un placer enorme para mí estar trabajando juntos y que “Criaturas del fuego” tenga tu mirada.
María Laura Antonelli al piano
Sobre María Laura Antonelli
Pianista, compositora y arregladora argentina. Tuvo experiencias como solista académica y pianista de tango en diferentes proyectos en las más importantes salas de Buenos Aires así como en el circuito under, el interior y en países europeos como Italia, Austria, Holanda, Alemania, Escocia y República Checa. Hizo música para danza contemporánea y cine. Integró proyectos como compositora, improvisadora y arregladora con formaciones desde dúos hasta orquesta típica. Cuenta con dos discos previos de tangos clásicos. El último, Argentígena, piano tango & electroacústica (Acqua Records-2018), netamente instrumental y de composiciones propias, fue considerado un trabajo “de frontera” por sintetizar elementos del tango, la música contemporánea y el jazz y nominado a los premios Gardel 2019. Actualmente trabaja en su próxima obra orquestal y en música de piano solo. Además es docente en el Conservatorio de la Ciudad A. Piazzolla y Conservatorio Superior M. de Falla.
Christian Baldini: This Saturday and Sunday (June 11 and 12, 2022), I will have the pleasure of collaborating with the Chamber Music Society of Sacramento conducting two unusual works: Frank Martin’s Petite Symphonie Concertante, featuring Jonathan Salzedo (harpsichord), Kerstin Allvin (harp) and Dmitriy Cogan (piano) as our three soloists, plus a string orchestra led by legendary violinist Bill Barbini (one of the youngest members ever of the New York Philharmonic, and longtime concertmaster of the former Sacramento Symphony). The other work on the program that I will be conducting is Claude Debussy’s Danses (Danse Sacrée, and Danse Profane), for harp and string orchestra, also with Kerstin Allvin as our soloist.
I had the pleasure of asking each of our soloists a few questions about this performance and about the Frank Martin. Below are the answers by Jonathan Salzedo regarding his own impressions about the piece. I asked him to include anything including those things he enjoys, and also what he finds surprising, its context, the end of World War II, and his thoughts about Frank Martin himself.
Jonathan Salzedo: I have known about Frank Martin’s Petite Symphonie Concertante for as long as I have been interested in the harpsichord, at least 55 years. Being somewhat rooted in the 17th and 18th centuries, I never expected that I would get to play it, so this engagement came as an unexpected pleasant surprise.
The harpsichord disappeared from fashion around 1800 and only returned to the concert stage after 1900 with a resurgence of interest in ancient music. While mainstream orchestral instruments evolved, the harpsichord had completed its development by 1800, and the piano took over the role of the keyboard of choice. When the harpsichord was revived by Arnold Dolmetsch, the initial intention was not that it should evolve or that new music should be written for it – keeping the ancient music in museum mode was all that was needed. But by 1945, the harpsichord had not gone unnoticed, and already there were new concertos by Manuel de Falla, Bohuslav Martinu and Francis Poulenc, and it was finding its way into film scores.
The harpsichord Frank Martin had in mind for his 1945 Petite Symphonie Concertante was not the equipment of the 18th century. Between pioneering harpsichordist Wanda Landowska and the Paris piano maker Pleyel, a far more robust harpsichord emerged, able to withstand the demands of the modern concert hall. Martin’s score is marked with specific instructions for effects only possible on that instrument. Pleyel’s robust model did not stand the test of time, and by the 1960’s makers were following Dolmetsch’s lead and basing instruments on 17th and 18th century models. While the “revival” harpsichord still has a few champions, the harpsichord and early music community is almost exclusively using traditional types of harpsichords again. So the first dilemma for the harpsichordist is whether to try to rouse a Pleyel for this piece, or to use today’s equipment, ironically the same equipment that the 18th century player would have used. Pleyels are not so common today, and my choice is to use what I own, built in 1974 by Ted McKnight and styled on a Pascal Taskin instrument from 1769. While I can’t follow all of Martin’s registration recommendations (the equivalent of an organist having different stops available), I have all the tonal variety I need to make the music work.
Did Martin consider the problem of balance with a harpsichord of any kind in an ensemble? Back in the heyday of the harpsichord, its role was to play solos or to have a background role in ensembles. Only a few experimentalists dared to bring the harpsichord into the foreground with a chamber group or orchestra, notably Johann Sebastian Bach and Jean-Philippe Rameau. Even with Pleyel’s robustifications, the harpsichord is not able to come over the top of orchestral sound like a piano. It is an open question whether the harpsichord needs amplification for this work. Had Martin been thoughtful about balance, I would expect to find the harpsichord always accompanied by light instrumentation, and the piano and harp soloists to have soft effects in the trio work. This is not the case. I will be using discreet amplification.
When I tell people I am playing this piece, I am often asked whether I like atonal music. I find myself considering whether this work is atonal. The first twelve notes of the piece form a tone row, rather a communist concept, each of the twelve notes appearing just once. The early sections of the piece fall under the spell of this idea, and one might expect the piece to have the angular qualities we associate with Arnold Schoenberg, the creator of the tone row composition. While this was not an easy piece to get to know, once I became accustomed to its musical ideas, I did not find it atonal. There are always tonal centers to be found. Martin does not necessarily like to stay for long in one key – the music is restless, always moving somewhere. And at times, it is dissonant too, and keys co-exist in a disturbing way. But it never loses the sense of going somewhere, and when it arrives, even fleetingly, one does enjoy the moment. My 50-year career has had a lot to do with exploring the rhetoric of the 17th and 18th centuries, and new music for the harpsichord that I encounter does not always follow those old rhetorical guidelines. But here I find a surprising amount of that kind of rhetoric that references the former age. Among his accomplishments, Frank Martin was a harpsichordist, and it is clear that he knew the idioms of the 18th century.
What else is there in this music? As well as finding a warm version of Schoenberg and fragments that resonate from the 18th century, there is more. The piece can be read as a survey of all that was happening, both in music and in the world outside, at the end of World War II. The world order was in flux, so the piece is restless. The chordal clusters and rhythms of jazz were finding their way into art music, and they too are here. And while the music reflects the ideas of predecessors, it also foreshadows what will come. The March that opens the final section anticipates Henri Mancini’s Pink Panther, and later I hear in embryo Edwin Ashley’s Danger Man theme. And perhaps the biggest surprise of all is that the last page of my part is entirely pentatonic (just using five notes that are pleasant sounding in any combination) and ends with a brisk G major scale. When we reach that point, I am reminded that the first part I play ends in an F minor scale. So there appears to be an over-arching trajectory from the darkness of F minor through many musical trials to the simplicity of a pentatonic mode and finally the brightness of G major; perhaps a reminder that bleak times always contain a seed of hope for a less confused and better future.
Christian Baldini: Why is music is important to you? Is there any advice you want to share with young musicians?
Jonathan Salzedo: What to say to a young musician? It’s not an easy career, many frustrations, a lot of self-doubt, terrible comparisons – but also great joy and the best community you could imagine, because musicians are the only people who will really understand you. When I moved to the USA from England at age 31, I was ready to give up music – I thought I had played out that youthful dream. But if music wants you and you have a bit of willingness, you and music will somehow find each other and have to put up with each other. Now that I am 71, I can’t imagine a life better than the one I have had, mixing music with a whole lot of other interesting stuff, including technology. Having an artistic outlet really does make you a better person, less likely to buy guns and shoot people, more likely to be intrigued by the world and its infinite possibilities. Follow your nose; don’t let anyone else suggest that you should grow up.
Jonathan Salzedo (courtesy photo)
British born harpsichordist Jonathan Salzedo is a frequent Freeway Philharmonic contributor in the San Francisco Bay Area. He was an active and occasionally prizewinning pianist in his youth, then planned to study harpsichord with someone famous, but ended up learning what he knows from working with fine musicians with good ideas. With his wife Marion Rubinstein and daughter Laura Jeannin he runs The Albany Consort, a group with a long and impressive track record, though only one (accidental) recording. Jonathan also plays new music with violinist Karen Bentley Pollick, including compositions written for the duo. He actually likes moving and tuning instruments, and considers these to be an important part of the whole harpsichord experience. When not on the road doing gigs, he sings at Congregation Etz Chayim, Palo Alto, and runs a software consulting business.
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