Dawn Upshaw at Tanglewood
A Little Night Music? Thanks but No Thanks
By: Adrian Hill - Aug 21, 2010
The Auvergne region of France must be a magical place. Shepherds tending to their flock amidst the mountains. Dogs and cows living in harmony and running through the fields. Little shepherdesses doling out kisses as they sing la la diri tou la lara. Yes, Auvergne must a special place for special people. Either that or everyone living there is just a few steps ahead of men in white coats chasing after them with large butterfly nets.
Descriptions of people engaging in such bucolic activities populate the “Songs of the Auvergne,” a selection of songs written by Joseph Canteloube and performed Friday night by Dawn Upshaw and the Boston Symphony Orchestra at Tanglewood. I applaud the orchestra and Ms. Upshaw for venturing beyond the conventional fare normally performed at Tanglewood. We all love hearing world-renowned pianists, violinists and cellists perform classic concertos and beloved symphonies in this idyllic setting. But even the best fastball pitcher has to mix in a sinker or a slider once in a while. The only problem here was this sinker sank straight into the dirt.
Who’s the blame for this dull diversion? The problem was not with Ms. Upshaw. She has one of the world’s most melodic voices and delivered each note Friday night with her usual delightful, heart-felt touch. The problem was the music itself. Maybe some people like songs sung in French with lines like, “It’s my cuckoo, your cuckoo, it’s anybody’s cuckoo! Hey! Haven’t you heard the cuckoo sing?” Maybe some people like Jerry Lewis too. Maybe. As for me, thanks, but no thanks. I prefer my musical theater in more realistic settings like, say, a cornfield in Oklahoma or an island in the South Pacific.
Oh, the French. You have to love how they try to be oh so whimsical. It sounds great in French, especially when you don’t speak French. But when you have to sit through seven songs about shepherdesses, cuckoos, lambkins and cows, your patience starts to wear a little thin. By the end, I was hoping a hunter from one of Wagner’s operas would wander over into one of these shepherdess’ fields and take aim on a few of the lambkins.
Poems set to music often are not much more bearable. (Although I’d love to see some smarty pants try to slap a song onto some of William Carlos Williams’ cryptic little ditties. Take that, red wheelbarrow!) Luckily, there were only four poems set to music by Osvaldo Golijov (there’s a great Scrabble word) and performed Friday by Ms. Upshaw: a Yiddish lullaby, “Lua descolorida” by Rosalia de Castro and two short evocative poems by the Belle of Amherst, Emily Dickinson. “How slow the wind,” one of Dickinson’s poem’s begins. How long this night, I thought.
I know I’m supposed to be a booster of the BSO branching out and trying something different. But these musical diversions just didn’t do it for me. When you have a phenomenal soprano like Ms. Upshaw at your disposal, she deserves better material to display her musical gifts before a large crowd. She deserves Bernstein or Gershwin, Mozart or Strauss.
Luckily, the rest of Friday’s concert was sandwiched in between two delightful, melodic pieces: Mozart’s Symphony Number 31 and Ravel’s “Mother Goose.” Both works illustrated why the BSO remains one of the world’s best orchestras. They brought a delicate touch to these pastoral pieces ideally suited for Tanglewood. Too bad the two pieces wedged in between these two gems just didn’t have the same casual style to them.
Listening especially to Mozart’s Symphony Number 31, I thought about how hard it is to make something sound so simple yet so original. Mozart seemed to do this in his sleep or maybe on recess breaks for kicks just to show off. Others struggle vainly only to fall short in the end. Maybe that was the problem especially with Canteloube’s songs. They just seemed forced. All of us know someone who tries just a little too hard to be just a little too amusing all the time. You know, sort of like some of the spitballers who lob their little one liners here on this web site.
I understand and appreciate that less well-known classical music deserves an audience. But sometimes, there’s a good reason why some music remains lesser known. Please put these cuckoos and lambkins back in the vault. Or maybe just put them down for good.