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Crescent Moon Over Cleveland
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17366 |
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THE ARTS
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1 / 1990 |
2,032 Words |
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Philip Kennicott
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Cleveland is striving heavily for an urban renaissance. Hotels are being built and a convention center is vying for the sphere change of the usual business transients. Like many cities, Cleveland is engaged in a madcap race to create a service economy, regardless of the consequences. Even its established artistic institutions have joined the civic boost: Last October a high-profile publicity blitz attracted the national press for what was billed as "Premiere Week." A fortunate coincidence saw the Cleveland Orchestra, Cleveland Opera, and Cleveland Playhouse all introducing major new works in the course of a single week. Artistically this little city finally had its day.
Of the various goings on, the world premiere of Stewart Copeland's first opera, Holly Blood and Crescent Moon, attracted the most attention. The Cleveland Opera shares with most regional opera companies a conservative artistic policy, and it was therefore surprising when it was announced that it would present the world premiere of a swashbuckling opera by a composer better known as the drummer for the rock group The Police. The oddity of the event was underscored with an early claim by the Cleveland press office that Copeland's involvement with opera paralleled that of George Gershwin's composition of Porgy and Bess more than fifty years ago: Both were hailed as figures from the world of popular of art forms. This is, of course, true; but while Gershwin and Copeland both set out to write serious opera, the only real similarity between the scores they produced is excessive length. Nevertheless, the Gershwin comparison whetted appetites, and critics turned out in droves to see if the ballyhoo was justified.
Copeland was approached to write his first opera after the 1985 San Francisco premiere of King Lear, his first ballet. Copeland had been interviewed about his new ballet score, and during the discussion he flippantly remarked that he would like to try his hand at opera. The teenage son of David Bamberger, general director of the Cleveland Opera, heard the remark and encouraged his father to contact the adventurous rock star. Copeland accepted Bamberger's offer to produce an opera and soon had his synthesizer and computers working on the job. With his friend, writer Susan Shirwen, he fashioned a libretto set in the Holy Land, circa 1180, chronicling two star-crossed lovers in the midst of religious upheaval. In both the libretto and music, Copeland eschewed his rock origins and attempted grand opera in a traditional vein.
Bizarre Mix
The result is a bizarre mix of static music, a Byzantine plot, and a potpourri of conventional operatic gestures. It has a large chorus, full orchestra, many soloists, and a complicated though naïve story that intertwines personal romance with political turmoil. Like the great operas of the nineteenth century, it has battle scenes, love scenes, assassins, and heroes. Sadly, it shares with many of its operatic predecessors a reductionist view of religious conflict.
Holy Blood and Crescent Moon wears its supposed controversies on its sleeve. These include Copeland's lack of musical pedigree (he claimed to have never heard an opera before initiating his project) and his libretto, which features as the major protagonist a direct descendant of Christ and Mary Magdalene. This, of course, is controversy neatly packaged in just the right size to fax home to the local paper or cultural
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