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Shards to the first genuine bad mood I've had in several months. Logic was fine, if condescendingly basic, but if I had known we were doing bel canto today in history, I would have overcome all my guilt complexes to skip class. Few things in music frustrate me more, and it was particularly vexing that the example he chose to play at length was Marilyn Horne doing Una voce poco fa, which Dr. Farwell's been after me to try on for size since the second semester of last year.
Fine, I understand the appeal to singers of the challenge and the vocal virtuosity, and to a lesser extent I understand the appeal to audiences who want to hear vocal gymnastics. However, it makes me grind my teeth that this is flashy, tacky virtuoso cotton candy composed specifically to defer to the talents of singers who have big enough egos anyway. There's little or no substance, barely a reason for the song besides the an opportunity to show off. Lately I've been struggling with the fact that as a singer I must become a performer. Fine. But it should still be about the performance, and not about me. There should be a reason. Don't get me wrong; I don't object to virtuosity on principle. Liszt is one of my favorite composers. But I can find reasons for every ornament there, and he's not holding up an entire opera to trill for five pages.
When inane 18th-century composers write music expressly for the purpose of fancy coloratura, which they don't even specify, the conventions have decayed beyond my ability to call it real music. It's fluff. And I hate that kind of fluff. Improvisation is an art worthy of gods, but improvisation should express something besides "Ha! Look what I can do!" I have nothing against (most) singers who choose this kind of repertoire, because, obviously it's there and one can be a success performing it; I simply resent the fact that it exists at all. It means almost nothing, and as much as I can get into certain meaningless pursuits, bel canto is not one of them.
Fine, I understand the appeal to singers of the challenge and the vocal virtuosity, and to a lesser extent I understand the appeal to audiences who want to hear vocal gymnastics. However, it makes me grind my teeth that this is flashy, tacky virtuoso cotton candy composed specifically to defer to the talents of singers who have big enough egos anyway. There's little or no substance, barely a reason for the song besides the an opportunity to show off. Lately I've been struggling with the fact that as a singer I must become a performer. Fine. But it should still be about the performance, and not about me. There should be a reason. Don't get me wrong; I don't object to virtuosity on principle. Liszt is one of my favorite composers. But I can find reasons for every ornament there, and he's not holding up an entire opera to trill for five pages.
When inane 18th-century composers write music expressly for the purpose of fancy coloratura, which they don't even specify, the conventions have decayed beyond my ability to call it real music. It's fluff. And I hate that kind of fluff. Improvisation is an art worthy of gods, but improvisation should express something besides "Ha! Look what I can do!" I have nothing against (most) singers who choose this kind of repertoire, because, obviously it's there and one can be a success performing it; I simply resent the fact that it exists at all. It means almost nothing, and as much as I can get into certain meaningless pursuits, bel canto is not one of them.
