Carmina Burana: The Big Mac Of Classical Music?(Critical essay)

O RFF called his work a "scenic cantata," but given its hour length and scope, it's probably closer to oratorio. Carmina opens and closes with its most famous chorus, "O Fortuna" ("O Fortune"), an ominous warning about the fickleness of Fate ("... like the moo...

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Bibliographic Details
Published inQueen's quarterly Vol. 118; no. 2; pp. 280 - 289
Main Author Friesen, Eric
Format Journal Article Magazine Article
LanguageEnglish
Published Kingston Queen's Quarterly 22.06.2011
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Summary:O RFF called his work a "scenic cantata," but given its hour length and scope, it's probably closer to oratorio. Carmina opens and closes with its most famous chorus, "O Fortuna" ("O Fortune"), an ominous warning about the fickleness of Fate ("... like the moon you are changeable, ever waxing and waning"), a chorus that has been used endlessly in movies and TV commercials. In between comes the celebration, in three parts. Part One, "[Primo Levi] vere - Uf dem Anger" ("Springtime - On the Green"), begins with a hushed dawning-of-spring chorus, followed by several more including my favourite, "Floret silva nobilis" ("The noble woods are burgeoning"). The focus shifts from a young woman on the make ("Shopkeeper, give me colour to make my cheeks red so that I can make the young men love me against their will") to a young man pining for those "sweet rose- red lips to come and make me better," and a fantasy about bedding the Queen of England. (I kid you not.) There is also the tender tension "between lascivious love and modesty" so beautifully expressed in the short soprano aria "In trutina" ("In the Balance") where an unspoiled young woman is on the verge of surrendering her virginity, and does so with her whole heart. The finale begins with a glorious chorus to the power and fulfilment of love ("Hail most beautiful one"), but just as we imagine it might resolve into a blissful ending, the heavy hand of the opening chorus "O Fortuna" slashes into this ecstatic pastoral fantasy to warn us one last time that the wheel of Fate can turn malevolent, that nothing this good is certain to last. I began my interview by asking Edo why he had waited so long in his career to conduct Carmina. "Well," he said, moderating his tone a little before a large audience, "I grew up in Amsterdam during the last years of the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, and those of us who remember that terrible time find it hard to forgive certain German artists their support of the Nazi regime. I remember during the winter of 1 945 all we had to eat was boiled tulip bulbs." "Okay, 1 can certainly understand that," I said, "but, Edo, do you like this piece?" He paused, and I saw a certain look on his face, a mischievous look which meant he was about to say something provocative. (What I loved about Edo as an interview was his ability to give the most pungent sound bites when talking about anything related to orchestral music, and his blunt fearlessness in speaking his mind.) "You know," he said with that look on his face, "every once in a while, when I'm in some large European city, say Paris, I'll be walking along and find myself hungry, and I'll spot those golden arches of McDonald's. I'll turn in and treat myself to a Big Mac. Carmina Burana, [ERIC FRIESEN], is the classical music equivalent of a Big Mac." Well, of course, the audience howled with laughter at that, and then, having found release from his inner conflict about taking on the piece, Edo turned to the orchestra and chorus and conducted an absolutely inspired performance of Carmina Burana.
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ISSN:0033-6041