A Clown Fish Is a Clown Fish Is a Clown Fish

I wrote here about a French comic book author's lawsuit against Disney and Pixar, alleging that Disney plagiarized the characters and storyline for their hit movie Finding Nemo from his comic book about a clown fish named Pierrot (see post on December 21). As reported in an article (Nemo n'est pas un clone de Pierrot [Nemo is not a clone of Pierrot], March 12) by Sophie Lutrand on TF1, a French judge has rendered the first judgment in the case, ruling that there is no suspicious similarity between Nemo and Pierrot (my translation):

On Friday, the advising judge from the Tribunal of Paris rejected the request to block the sale of certain objects bearing the image of Nemo, Disney's most recent hero, finding that there was no similarity with Pierrot, a clown fish drawn by a French author of children's books. For the judge, there was no "serious similarity" and thus "no confusion" possible between the two clown fish, both smiling and striped in orange and black. Nemo, Disney's famous hero, is "more smiling" and "rounder," according to the judge. Pierrot, French comic book hero, is "more elongated." Nevertheless, according to his creator, Franck Le Calvez, "Pierrot the Clown Fish" would suffer from the similarity and has thus sued Disney, the digital animation studio Pixar, and the distributor Hachette for trademark infringement and has requested that certain related products such as books, stuffed animals, pajamas. This decision, rendered as advisory, is not final. A detailed case will be presented on October 5 before another chamber of the Tribunal of Paris.

According to the judge, Louis-Marie Raingeard, "if the stylized shape (of Nemo and Pierrot) is comparable, it is not at all similar." Pierrot "appears longer and more cylindrical"; "the colors are variable . . . Nemo is usually more red and Pierrot more orange"; "one has scales, and the other doesn't"; "while both characters are smiling, Nemo shows teeth and his smile is more human, while Pierrot's, toothless, seems more like the smile seen on certain portrayals of dolphins," the magistrate wrote. He adds that there could be confusion between the two, especially with an audience made up of children and that could be described as "opinionated and attentive." "And, supposing that a similarity could be proven, Disney's copyright predates that of Flaven Scène," the company that holds the Pierrot copyright, the magistrate added in his decision, since "Pierrot the Clown Fish" officially appeared in September 2002, while Nemo's image was protected in February 2002.

I think the judge's ruling, while not binding, indicates the fate of this lawsuit. Both characters are clown fish, or rather they are both clown fish who have been anthropomorphisized. Beyond that, there is really no way to show that one is based on the other, no matter how suspicious the similarity may seem. I will not be surprised if the final judgment on this case is no different.

More Fun in Lille

As I reported here (see post on December 7), the French city of Lille was named this year's "European Capital of Culture." The big events so far this year include a big retrospective of the works of Rubens at the Palais des Beaux-Arts, with other exhibits on Rubens at a handful of other museums in the immediate area. For reviews, see Elisabeth Lebovici, Rubens moussant, March 10, in Libération; Alan Riding, Rubens, the 'Prince of Painters,' Finally Gets His Due in France, March 10, in the New York Times; Today Begins Year-Long Celebration of Rubens, March 10, from artdaily.com; Roger Pierre Turine, Rubens, de Lille à Anvers, March 8, in La Libre Belgique; and Jean Pierrard, Riche et heureux Rubens, March 4, in Le Point. From what I have read, the most important works one would expect to see in a major Rubens exhibit were not loaned and do not appear. For my part, it is more interesting to see a great painter's lesser-known works. Fortunately, the museum has made available a large number of online images of some beautiful paintings I did not know really well. The selection includes Rubenesque landscapes, sometimes combined with a mythological or Biblical scene:

• Paysage avec une vue du mont Palatin [Landscape with view of the Palatine Hill] (Paris, Musée du Louvre, 1609-1610)
• Paysage avec la fuite en Egypte [Landscape with the flight into Egypt] (Paris, Musée du Louvre, around 1613)
• La Charrette embourbée [The stranded wagon] (St. Petersburg, Hermitage, around 1616)
• Le Paysage avec le Naufrage de Saint Paul [Landscape with the shipwreck of St. Paul] (Berlin, Staatliche Museen, around 1625)
• Paysage avec saint Georges [Landscape with St. George] (London, Buckingham Palace, 1629–34)
• Paysage à l'abreuvoir [Landscape with feeding trough] (Paris, Musée du Louvre, around 1635)

Mythological scenes, rendered in Rubens's fluffiest courtly style, which made him rich:

• Ixion et Junon [Ixion and Juno] (Paris, Musée du Louvre, around 1615)
• Le Combat des Amazones [Battle of the Amazons] (Munich, Alte Pinakothek, around 1615)

Hunting scenes:

• La Chasse aux lions [The lion hunt] (Munich, Alte Pinakothek, around 1620)
• Chasse au sanglier [Boar hunt] (Marseille, Musée des Beaux-Arts, 1615)

Darker, moving paintings on stories from antiquity or the Bible:

• La Continence de Scipion [The virtue of Scipio] (Collection Rudolf August Oetéke, 1618–19)
• La Mort de Sénèque [The death of Seneca] (Munich, Alte Pinakothek, 1612–13/1621)
• Descente de croix [Descent from the cross] (Valenciennes, Musées des Beaux-Arts, between 1614 and 1620)
• Descente de croix [Descent from the cross] (Lille, Palais des Beaux-Arts, around 1617)
• Samson cassant les mâchoires du lion [Samson breaking the lion's jaws] (Collection Villar-Mir, Madrid, 1615–16)

And, most notably, one painting that is just strange—Silène ivre [Drunken Silenus] (Munich, Alte Pinakothek, 1616–17)—and one that is truly disturbing—La Chute des damnés [The fall of the damned] (Munich, Alte Pinakothek, 1618–19), which is shown here.

From the Department of Pure Fun with the Arts, Annick Rivoire's article (Choeur de robots [Robot chorus], March 6) in Libération describes a new work of music, Armageddon, presented in Lille on March 6 as the first "operetta for robots," by Gérard Hourbette and his contemporary music ensemble, Art Zoyd.

A cosmic creation, Armageddon offers an extremely tech-savvy mixture of contemporary music, artistic robotics, and video and sound captures made in real time. The composers, too, who brought together researchers from Mons Institute of Technology (Belgium) for the program that makes the robots talkative. Stuffed with microchips, Armageddon is first and foremost a Baroque fantasy that draws its material from the Book of Enoch, an apocryphal book contemporary with the Old Testament and a phantasmagoric elaboration on the end of the world. "Two hundred angels have come to earth to fornicate and have begotten giants, and God releases the flood," summarizes Gérard Hourbette, who came up with the idea for the project with his contemporary music ensemble Art Zoyd.

Perhaps the piece should be performed with Rubens's La Chute des damnés in the background.

UPDATE:
Another painting in the Rubens exhibit is the Venus frigida from Anvers, shown in an article (Rubens ou le malentendu [Rubens, or the misunderstood one], March 12) by Jérôme Coignard in Le Figaro. That review begins with this interesting line: "Delacroix disait qu'il était devenu peintre en contemplant les gouttelettes d'eau ruisselant sur le corps des sirènes de Rubens" (Delacroix used to say that he had become a painter by studying the droplets of water flowing over the bodies of Rubens's sirens).

Marcy Rosen & Co. at the Library of Congress (The Bat Strikes Again)

With much anticipation did I await the concert at the Library of Congress on Friday, March 5. The Mendelssohn String Quartet was billed with a program of Joseph Haydn's "Emperor" quartet (from which the German national anthem is taken), Seattle-born 66-year-old composer William Bolcom, and, of course, a quartet of their namesake composer. The Mendelssohn String Quartet, formerly the quartet in residence at Harvard and now at the North Carolina School of Arts, have a strong commitment to contemporary music and are highly regarded in the United States. Second violinist Nicholas Mann is the son of Robert Mann, the long-time first violinist of the Juilliard Quartet, who has an enthusiastic following in Washington from his many years at the Library of Congress.

First violinist Miriam Fried, a 1999 addition to the quartet, champions a chiffon cape that is an Art Nouveau dream in pink and black. And who is that behind the cello? It is founding member Marcy Rosen, who has just recently appeared at the Library with the Juilliard Quartet in their final performance of the Beethoven string quartet cycle, giving those four gentlemen the necessary support for the Schubert string quintet (see my review for Ionarts). She returns and so does her "bat"—the oddly colorful cape that so inspired my fantasy the last time. Daniel Panne is the newest member of the group and is not even mentioned yet on the quartet's Web site. He looks as though he had traded a CEO's briefcase for his viola just seconds before the performance. Nicholas Mann, meanwhile, bears (the more I think about it, the more certain I am) an uncanny resemblance to Ionarts' very own Charles Downey. He is engaged but oddly stiff and makes fairly unflattering grimaces while the women go about their music business adamantly and seriously.

The first piece in which that was to be observed turned out to be Haydn's earlier work, the String Quartet in F Minor, op. 20, no. 5—the fifth of the six "Sun" Quartets. It is an example of the true birth of the genre: these quartets are often referred to as the beginning of the sonata style by musicologists like Donald Tovey and Charles Rosen. Tovey is quoted in the program notes (by Tomás C. Hernández) describing the set of "Sun" Quartets as a "sunrise over the domain of sonata style as well as quartets in particular." Discuss.

The quartet starts as a gentle affair executed with impeccable taste. The opening movements (Moderato and Menuetto) were, in my favorite phrase, "perfectly delightful" and never overbearing. Devoid of any pretense and just engaging enough. Indeed, it fit the relatively early Haydn (composed in his mid-thirties) like a glove. Neither Romantic, which they should not be, nor boring, which it can more easily turn into than one would think. With the Adagio, Haydn shows over and over again his absolute mastery of that form, no matter in which genre. From the man who brought us seven adagios on a row in Die sieben letzten Worte unseres Erlösers am Kreuze (The seven last words of our savior on the cross), this is simply a beautiful and beautifully simple warmth-filled movement that should win every listener over. Haydn was lucky to have it performed as the Mendelssohn String Quartet did. The fugal last movement perfectly rounded up the performance. It was lighthearted, quicksilvery almost, quaint certainly. A little energy was lacking, and it was the string quartet's version of the "Dresden china" approach to the music. Polite but not too cool. It may well have been the least favorite piece to play for the four musicians that night, but it was kept together so splendidly that I found it entertaining throughout. Had the day been less nice, had I been less energetic myself, I would possibly have found it less exciting.

Then followed the part I was most excited about, the Washington premiere of William Bolcom's 2002 String Quartet No.11. Viola and first violin excursions that continually increase in length were interrupted by the second violin and cello pizzicatos. Out of the first motive sprawled ever-longer parts, like sluggish cream that wound curdling spirals through tea (Joyce's words, not mine). A quicker pace entered and left, leading back to the harmonically tame theme and derivations thereof. What came to my mind immediately was, "Haydn for the 21st Century"! It does not have the energy of Shostakovich or Bartók (Beethoven's counterparts), but a lightness that is very enjoyable and reasonably accessible. Allegro con fuoco, the second movement, is understandably more driven and continues to be a cleansing of the musical palate. Notturno is evocative and very, very nice, so far as the listener can find the modernist harmonies "very, very nice" at all. Michael Tippett's string quartets are far more challenging. The concert at the Freer Gallery the day before also comes to mind, with its Whistler "Nocturnes" exhibited above and Chopin Nocturnes played downstairs.

Long but very separate notes that travel up and down the scales are the skeleton of this movement and every instrument gets its take. Sometimes accented with long, soft trills on the first violin or over equally long held vibrato notes on the cello or viola. There is a delicacy the Mendelssohn Quartet allow the music to bring out that continues ever further to the softest notes, the tiniest pizzicatos, all the way to where my pen on paper was louder than the music. Eerie sounds, almost sci-fi-like, are added to the mix just a bit before it fizzles out. Perhaps I was the only one to think so, but this was very, very enticing. Cute in the best way. The Presto scherzando speeds things up, gives familiar figures some "oompf," and bubbles along rapidly. Aroused and angry hornets seem to swarm from the four players at one point, the metallic sci-fi sound makes another short cameo, and a grabbing and fairly melodic burst brings it to its well-deserved end and well-deserved (if perhaps a bit modest) applause.

Excited enough, the Mendelssohn after the Intermission sounds very promising. Despite some neglect, his string quartets are very fine, op. 44, no.3 in E-flat major not the least. But when it came to tending his posthumous reputation, Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy went about things in completely the wrong way. If one lives at a time when a Mozart or Beethoven has long since established definite standards with regard to how a real artist behaves, lives, looks, and finally dies, then it is no good being totally at odds with this Romantic ideal of an artist, at any rate if one wishes to secure a place for oneself among composers who are not only first class but also profound. The above-mentioned ideal demands quite unequivocally of the true artist that he is wild, eccentric, uncouth, poor, ill, neglected, and creative. Genius can only blossom in damp attics, and an early death is definitively an advantage. Only with regard to the latter respect was Mendelssohn in the running, since he died at the age of 38. In all other respects he failed miserably and indeed had to pay the price of having an almost indestructible reputation for being smooth and superficial. He was wealthy, good-looking, of an amiable disposition, and had an unprecedented capacity for hard work. He appears to have been liked by everybody, to have been an excellent husband and father, and to have been little interested in originality for its own sake. Next! (This description of Mendelssohn has in large part been shamelessly plagiarized from Ulrik Spang-Hanssen's wickedly funny liner notes for his recording of Mendelssohn’s complete organ works, on Classico, CLASSCD 193-95.)

This string quartet defies such notions instantly. Perfect music best enjoyed leaning back, with a big smile on one's face. Often gentle, never bland. Almost conspicuously musical and without gimmicks. "The Power of Melody" would be the Hollywood subtitle of "String Quartet op. 44 no. 3: The Movie." A long string quartet, with a first movement lasting well over ten minutes, it sounds unhurried and splendidly flowing. Tonight it seemed much shorter than usual. The music is an unqualified success and makes the four instruments seem like a far larger band. The movements just flew by, and by the time the wonderful Adagio non troppo came about, the audience ate out of the Mendelssohn Quartet’s palm. If it is well played, which is difficult, it is much more satisfying than most Schubert or Schumann. The long, loving, trailing end delivered us into the last movement, Molto allegro con fuoco. Heads started bobbing as its vivacious chasing runs sprinted up the scales. It is one of the very few string quartets where I would have liked a da capo al fine. One more time. Alas, it was the end to a stupendous night with great music superbly played. That the audience could not muster a third curtain call and perhaps an encore brings back my unkind view of the Washington audience at large, but nothing could take away from what had been offered already. Hopefully on more time, some other time. 

Springtime Is for Poets: A Modest Proposal

I have mentioned this quintessentially French event before, in relation to the celebrations for the Year of George Sand (see post on February 6): the Printemps des Poètes (Springtime of Poets). A little unsigned article (Aujourd'hui, le Printemps des poètes, March 8) in Le Figaro relates some details on this whimsical literary festival. The sixth installment of the Springtime of Poets runs from March 8 to 14 and offers more than 12,000 events. Here is the selection presented by Le Figaro:

• The Night of Poets, in Paris, at the Bibliothèque nationale de France, at the François-Mitterand site, between 8 and 11 pm. About 50 contemporary poets will recite, sing, murmur, and read texts.
• Poetic walks in the Louvre. From March 10 to 14, the Louvre invites visitors to look at works from the Departments of Sculpture and Eastern Antiquities, illustrated by poetic texts of the 20th and 21st centuries. Actors from the Compagnie des Hommes will accompany the public in its visits combining poetry and works of art. [The Louvre's Web site lists some of the poets to be recited as Blaise Cendrars, René Char, Paul Eluard, Louis Aragon, and Michel Butor. This .pdf file from Louvre Magazine has a complete list of the poems that will be recited and in front of which sculptures.]
• At the Institut du monde arabe [also in Paris], on March 14, authors who have written about hope (Andrée Chedid, Adonis, etc.) will have their unknown texts read. The public will play at being a "poetry pioneer" by taking these texts and distributing them at will, in the form of pamphlets.
• Poetry celebration in Lyons. Through March 14, the city will celebrate poetry in all its forms (reading, shows, performance, poetic concerts) around this year's chosen them: hope. Each district has its own schedule of events and each is thus invited to come hear, discover, explore poetry in all its forms. [This .pdf file contains the whole program of events in Lyons.]
• Words of hope at the Villeneuve shop in Marseilles. Through March 20, the shop will present its spring-summer 2004 collection by several designers in honor of poets. This will be shown in a decorative and dramatic form (a mixture of things and writings) in the five windows.
• "Une invitation au voyage" (Invitation to travel), in Bordeaux. Performance organized by the Windows association in the street, through March 14: Monday, Thursday, Saturday, from 2 to 9 pm. Walk among postal art, send a bottle by sea, exchange poems with neighbors.

The television news from France 2 last night had some coverage of one of the events (you can watch the video feed: this piece is near the end), with images of people listening to poetry readings while looking at paintings in the Musée d'Orsay. What I love about this sort of cultural event is its egalitarian spirit: the people interviewed on television are ordinary people who go to museums, not pretentious art types ("Serious Art People," as Dave Barry put it: see post on January 19), and they are simply having fun with poetry and art.

Hopefully, the following proposal, although perhaps quixotic, will generate some comments from readers. At present, the United States military budget (approximately $399 billion for FY 2004, which President Bush wants to raise to $420 billion, according to his latest budget request) is around five times greater than its closest competitor (Russia, approximately $65 billion) and over ten times greater than that of France (around $30 billion). Would it not be possible to take a mere 1% of the American military budget (let's say around $4 billion) and create a Department of Culture that would finally bring us into line with other civilized countries and support our society's art, humanities, and scholarship, to inspire a cultural life in proportion with our GDP? Any presidential candidate who has the guts to propose this will get my vote and my meager campaign contribution. (There may still be hope for Ralph Nader or Dennis Kucinich, since the Democratic Party has apparently opted for the blandest vanilla Republican-in-disguise candidate possible.) We, too, could spend government money on poetry readings, art exhibits, sculpture, theater, free concert series, humanities research and teaching, and arts programs in the public schools. Life is too short not to spend one's time listening to and looking at beautiful things.</uncharacteristic political rant>

Once Every Four Years

On February 29th, the National Gallery of Art hosted a concert (the 2487th in their Sunday series) of a quality that is rarer even than the date on which it took place. In the presence of Her Excellency, Eva Nowotny, Ambassador of Austria, the Vienna Piano Trio gave an evening's worth of Haydn, Schoenberg, and Schubert before a full house in the West Wing's West Garden Court.

The Haydn Piano Trio in A Major from 1794 got right into the Allegro moderato with its warm conversation between strings and piano. Spurts of emotion and back again to the very Haydn-like light-footedness made for a beguiling mix of rhythm and melody. The cello, steered by Mathias Gredler, is for the most part relegated to a supportive role that he mastered with a fine and almost subtle sound. The Andante from Andante-Meister Franz Joseph Haydn (see other reviews) is nicely thrown together for this piano trio as elsewhere. The gentle theme on the piano behind which sat Stefan Mendl is echoed in the strings in ways that suggest a fugue. Soon thereafter it morphs into a more robust, sumptuous sound that lends the pianist some room to shine. A splendidly vivacious Allegro darts off with musical chasing played among the instruments. Haydn's wit, if not as explicit as elsewhere, fills this piece with much joy. The whole trio shows Haydn once again at his best. An unfailing master—for the most part—which makes the quantity of music that he wrote even more astounding. The complete piano trios alone fill nine CDs in the benchmark recording of the Beaux Arts Trio (to buy this from Amazon, see the end of this review). The Vienna Piano Trio's performance, too, was full of Viennese verve and spirit: Haydn as Haydn ought to be.

Then loomed a name on the program that can instill fear in the average music lover's heart: Arnold Schoenberg. Fortunately his "biggest hit," the 1899 work Verklärte Nacht (Transfigured night), was offered in its arrangement for piano trio by Edward Steuerman. Originally written as a string sextet, Verklärte Nacht is best known in its wonderful orchestral version. Terry Teachout, in his latest essay (Kandinsky's Mistake, from March 2004) in Commentary, finds Verklärte Nacht to be "a striking but thick-textured exercise in applied Wagnerism that suffers from a near-complete lack of true melodic invention. The effect is that of a Hollywood film score, supplying throbbingly emotional background music for foreground events that never take place." Perhaps it is—the early work of a 25-year-old Schoenberg that it is—shy of genius, but it isn't difficult being more generous to it than Terry Teachout in his fine article (comments on this article to be posted on Ionarts later).

This is, indeed, Schoenberg at his "most harmless," still some measure away from his developments with pantonal music. It is a late Romantic piece that squeezes a few more drops out of the music that Wagner had left the world after the Liebestod in Tristan und Isolde. The "Schoenberg for the people" that it is, it should find open ears with most music lovers that appreciate Mahler, Wagner, or Zemlinsky. Chromaticism gets a good working over, but the work remains (as does, technically, all of Schoenberg's work) essentially conservative.

==>> Continue reading this review.

Saving Hector Guimard

This is something I meant to write about when I first saw this article (L'héritage négligé d'Hector Guimard [The neglected heritage of Hector Guimard], February 27) by Emmanuel de Roux in Le Monde and am just now getting around to doing. As you probably know, Hector Guimard met architect Victor Horta in Brussels in the 1890s and became the leader of his own version of the Art Nouveau style in France (for more information on this style, see Frank Derville's Art Nouveau World Wide and the exhibit Art Nouveau, 1890–1914, from the National Gallery of Art). If you have been to Paris, you have very likely passed through one of the 86 surviving (of 167 completed) delightfully plantlike gateways he designed for the Métro, protected by the French government since 1978. (That at the Porte Dauphine station is the only one to be preserved today without any alteration. Having lived for some time in the Montmartre area, I am particularly fond of the entrance to the Abbesses station, which Guimard designed originally for the Hôtel-de-Ville station, from which location it was later moved. If I ever get homesick for Paris, I can always go see the Guimard Métro entrance now installed in the Sculpture Garden of the National Gallery of Art here in Washington.) He also designed several buildings in Paris and elsewhere, as well as furniture and other objects (this site is encumbered with annoying pop-ups but has a comprehensive selection of great images and information). Here is my translation of part of the article:

The Ministry of Culture has refused to classify as protected a small private home constructed by the architect in 1922, which is supposed to be modified with a new addition. A decision which reveals a myopia concerning the architectural patrimony of the early 20th century, both private and public. The little private home constructed by Hector Guimard at 3, square Jasmin, in the 16th arrondissment of Paris, is in the process of being disfigured (as reported in Le Monde on December 24, 2002). "A building permit . . . has been granted . . . on August 2, 2002, for the addition of an extra floor to this private home of ground floor plus two stories, with reconstruction of the floor and modification to the exterior, the urban planning division of the Paris municipal government confirms. Furthermore, a demolition permit . . . authorizing partial demolition of the roof, vertical vents, air shaft vent covers, and parts of floors and walls was granted . . . on August 5, 2002." This plan is presently being carried out to the letter.

The building at 3, square Jasmin, it was decided by the responsible officials, should not be protected because its roof had already been altered, without a proper permit, in 1989. It is important to realize that this is not a matter of weak historical preservation laws in France. If anyone in the government had made the call the other way, there would be no work done at this address, end of story. However, this is not the first Guimard building to be treated this way. As M. de Roux writes, Guimard designed everything for his buildings and considered each one as a total work of art that he meticulously controlled.

However, as Jean-Pierre Lyonnet notes in his precious book Guimard perdu [Lost Guimard, not available in the United States, I think] (from Alternatives), "from 1888 to 1930, the date of his final contribution to architecture, Hector Guimard completed a total of 53 projects. Among these, three were for temporary exhibits and, for that reason, destined for destruction at will; two disappeared because of war; and twenty-one for various reasons, by chance or purely for profit." That's how the famous Castel Henriette (1899, enlarged in 1903) in Sèvres, one of the architect's quintessential works, was razed in 1969. André Malraux [Minister of Culture in the 1960s], who had just protected, with great difficulty, Le Corbusier's Villa Savoye in 1965, did not understand the building's value and did not restrain the bulldozers.

The same year saw the disappearance of the Guimardière (1930), the architect's country house in Vaucresson and his final work, constructed from Eternit cement pipes, which served both structural and decorative functions. The Hôtel Nozal (1902–1905), on the Rue du Ranelagh (Paris, 16th arrondissement), suffered the same fate at the beginning of the same decade. The Hôtel Nicolle and Hôtel Roy in Auteuil, the Nozal warehouses in Saint-Denis, the studio in the Avenue Perrichont (Paris, 16th arrondissement) were sacrificed. In 1949, Adeline Guimard, Hector's widow, offered to the French government their private home at 122, Avenue Mozart (Paris, 16th arrondissement). The refusal came immediately, and all the furniture, unique pieces designed by the architect, were sold off. Many of them ended up in American collections.

As you can see, it's quite difficult merely to find images of these lost buildings. In the hope of preserving what's left of Guimard's work from meeting the same fate, author Jean-Pierre Lyonnet and others have formed a group called Le Cercle Guimard. Let us hope that their voice is heard and heeded.

The Agony of Recording

Since I have been singing in the Choir of the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, we have made two recordings: I Sing of a Maiden: A Mosaic of Motets to the Virgin Mary (2000), when Leo Nestor was Director of Music, and Carols at the Crèche (2003), under the new director, Peter Latona. Over the past two weeks, I have had some late nights, as we have been recording in the evenings for our next CD. The photo at left shows about half of the choir in the location we used, the chancel of the Great Upper Church (the red circle seen on the floor in the foreground is directly under the chancel dome).

On this recording, the choir was joined by members of the Washington Cornett and Sackbutt Ensemble. The theme of the recording is music dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and the program features, among other things, several Renaissance polychoral pieces, including Vincenzo Ugolini's motet Beata es virgo Maria, for 12 parts in 3 choirs (see post on July 25); Luca Marenzio's Magnificat and Jubilate Deo, both for 8 parts in 2 choirs; Tomás Luís Victoria's glorious motet Ave Maria and the complete Missa Salve regina, both for 8 parts in 2 choirs. The performance forces for these pieces are varied, with some pieces featuring smaller groups of singers or quartets and sometimes with the instruments doubling or replacing voices on the parts. We also have continuo accompaniment on some of these pieces, including portative organ (see the image below), theorbo (the large lute seen in the image above), and viola da gamba. (Yours truly is in the picture below, center, in the white sweatshirt.)

The selection of music is superb, and the performing and rehearsing have been challenging and rewarding, but the actual physical work of producing a recording is excruciating. It is not unusual to spend an hour or more just to get enough useable material for a 3- or 4-minute piece of music. Sometimes this can mean several complete takes, from the beginning of the piece to the end, or it can require several partial takes of problematic sections. Any mistake, any stray sound can mean that you have to do another take. For example, we had to turn off the air circulation system and all of the regular lights, so that the electronic buzzing they make is not on our recording. The recording engineer set up special temporary lights to illuminate the recording space without any noise. Still, one person might turn a page carelessly or shift in place, making a riser creak or a shoe sole squeak. The neighborhood around the National Shrine and Catholic University, Brookland, is sometimes called Little Rome, because of all the churches, monasteries, and other Catholic institutions there: this means that bells are regularly tolling in the distance. And there are the noises that you associate with any city, sirens and vehicle sounds (the Metro Red Line runs along the eastern edge of the Catholic University campus, and the Basilica itself is right on busy Michigan Avenue), as well as those that we are so used to in Washington since the September 11 attacks, helicopters and military jets in the air above.

What is new about this recording is that Malcolm Bruno is producing it, and his input and advice throughout the process were very helpful. This was a great luxury for the musicians and our director, since we had an expert pair of ears listening to each take and excellent advice on how to arrange singers and instrumentalists to create the best sound for each work. As you may know, this sort of polychoral music creates a whole host of problems in creating two (or three, for the Ugolini) discrete and equal sonic territories. Malcolm also helped maintain an air of levity with his witty comments over the speaker and by other moments of whimsy, such as when he put a smiley-face in tape on the side of a piece of recording equipment (in the right foreground of the first picture above), which is a sort of self-portrait meant to keep us feeling happy. (Malcolm was trained as a choirboy, and I was shocked to hear him correct the soprano section at one point by singing their part properly, in their register.) The last night of recording, which lasted over four hours, happened to have been his birthday, and we sang an impromptu "Happy Birthday" to Malcolm, in full harmony, which was heartfelt.

More information will follow when the CD is released.

Beethoven Boyled Down

On Monday, January 26th, an ambitious program of music was to be presented at the German Embassy as part of the Monday concert series of the Beethoven Society of America. A blizzard blew the concert into March and onto one of the nicest days of the year so far, March 1. A mild evening invited being put to good use. I can't imagine much better a use than to attend the concert that Emil Chudnovsky (violin) and Michael Sheppard (piano) gave that night. I was a bit worried after my last concert experience at the German Embassy had been sub-par on every level and contrasted painfully with the lovingly arranged and excellent events at the Austrian Embassy. But the program looked promising. Beethoven's "Kreutzer" Sonata in A Major, op. 47—a gargantuan work—was to be followed by the shorter but significant Brahms Sonata in D Minor. The program announced Sonata op. 109, but I have the nagging suspicion it might just have been op. 108. It would not be the only typo on the extraordinarily flimsy program. After the intermission there were the Kreutzer Concert Variations by some contemporary composer and a slew of entertaining warhorses, among them Ravel's Tzigane and Pable de Sarasate's Gypsy Airs.

The concert was about to start when the dapper-looking chap with plateau shoes and coke-bottle glasses whom I had seen smoking outside, program in hand, turned out to be Emil Chudnovsky. It doesn't go to show anything, really, but I feel like that should have taught me some lesson. Ludwig van Beethoven's "Kreutzer" began. Michael Sheppard, whom I would have liked to talk about a bit in detail (alas, the promised bio was not forthcoming), got to work on the piano. From the very first chord on, his playing came across as muscular and uninhibited. Short, dry, and with a no-nonsense approach he played so as to let the violin seem to make itself heard: "we care not." Emil Chudnovsky procured a determined and lyrical quality in those opening bars, which sound like Beethoven but feel like Bach. It established the tone right away as enthralling Beethoven, both unfailingly exciting and unabashedly energetic. Some repeats were apparently omitted, but had they not been, the first half of the program alone would have gone on for well over an hour. During the second movement, Andante con variazioni, I would have wished for a bit more sensuality in Michael Sheppard's playing. I wonder if he was himself entirely convinced of the movement, but the result was at any rate better than any sappy and winsomely flat approach which is all too often the alternative.

The power of performance has a simplistic but easy measure: if the violinist's bow does not suffer (as it did with Mr. Chudnovsky), the performance was likely lacking. The Beethoven here was everything but. It ended easily as exciting as it started and was most warmly welcomed by the audience in the auditorium of the German Embassy. While the auditorium has the charm of a 1960s gym, the acoustics are actually quite good. (It is at any such performance worth reminding yourself of the fact that this piece, or any other, was likely never performed as well during Beethoven's lifetime. Short of individuals like Franz Liszt and Joseph Joachim—and even that's anyone's guess—performers simply didn't have the technical prowess that most conservatory graduates possess these days.)

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