Women composers’ triumph in depth and feeling
Female composers, by virtue of their gender, have had a raw deal as far back as the time of Fanny Mendelssohn when her own father told her a woman’s sole and rightful place is only in the home, her dedication focused on her family. In other words, music was a trifling matter, “an ornament” for her unlike her brother Felix who, by dint of his being a man, could make music the reason for his being.
Last Saturday’s recital by homecoming soprano Armela Fortuna, who’s based in Switzerland, at the Manila Piano Showroom in Paseo de Magallanes proved the lie of these assumptions long propagated by misogynists. The patriarchy may have tried to stifle women’s authentic voices not just in music, but the determination and creativity of the women composers chosen to represent half the sky will out and triumph in the end.
Accompanied deftly by pianist Najib Ismail, with seasoned Repertory Philippines actor/director/playwright Jaime del Mundo serving as annotator, Fortuna earned well-deserved shouts of bravos and bravas after each aria of love, yearning, death, even paeans to nature.
Kudos to the organizers, Cultural Arts Events Organizer and Double Pentagon Concert, for producing a simple dual-language program so that the audience could follow the German, French, Italian lyrics translated into English.
The role of Del Mundo was crucial in giving the historical context of the composers’ respective eras. As he read from his notes researched thoroughly by Fortuna herself, “These women not only composed music; they composed courage, innovation, and passion into the notes that we are privileged to hear … Each piece tells a story—not just of its time, but of the unique voice and vision of its creator.”
Or, as Fanny Mendelssohn declared to her privileged brother, “I have no inclination to write in such a way that I shall only be praised as a good housewife, and that nobody will notice my passion and energy.”
Nuances
Fortuna’s voice could assume various nuances like sounding birdlike as she interpreted “Die Minacht Op. 9 No. 6 (May Night),” some of whose translated lyrics run: “Then I deem you blessed, fluting nightingale,/ because your sweetness dwells with you in a/ single nest, and gives a thousand loving kisses/ to her warbling mate.”
Although in midlife already, the soprano looked girlish and sophisticated at the same time in her royal blue Ulysses King gown that was constructed like a kimono at the back with a short train and sequins following some floral patches.
She alternatively paced the invisible stage for songs that showed agitation and nervousness, or sat by a writing table scribbling frantically in Clara Schumann’s “Er is gekommen in Sturn und Regen Op. 12 (He Came in Storm and Rain)” or just hooked her right arm casually on the grand piano while her voice glided and soothed.
Schumann’s condition was no different from Mendelssohn’s. She confided in her diary: “I once believed that I possessed creative talent, but I have given up this idea; a woman must not desire to compose—there has never yet been one able to do it.”
Schumann, wife to composer Robert, was bogged down by childbearing (she bore him eight children) and rearing, although she captured the imagination of part of Europe because she was a piano prodigy since age 5.
Like any passionate woman in love, she was capable of writing lyrics like: “He came/ In storm and rains;/ Audaciously/ He took my heart./ Did he take mine?/ Did I take his…”
Taking up space
Although Pauline Garcia-Viardot was considered an accomplished music professional in the 19th century, she once said, “As a woman, I have always had to tread lightly, my steps measured by the judgments of men.” According to Del Mundo, “Her compositions reveal a woman who, despite restrictions, dared to take up space in a world that tried to limit her.”
In the short but dramatic song “Moriro (I will die)” by Garcia-Viardot, Fortuna sang in Italian: “I will die, I will die, and you will be happy./ No more will you hear my afflicted voice!/ You will hear four church bells rings,/ And a little bell with a deep voice./ When you hear this as the corpse passes by/ Go and look for that is me.”
To give the singer a breather, Ismail played the Frenchwoman Cecile Chaminade’s charmingly delicate “Piece Romantique Op. 9 No. 1.”
Chaminade almost disdained the description “charming.” She wrote in a letter, “My music is considered charming because it is written by a woman—but charm is not all I have to offer.”
The second to the last number featured Del Mundo and Fortuna acting out (and very convincingly so) the roles of Gustav and Alma Mahler. Both were composers, strangely a conflict of interest and a source of envy for Mr. Mahler, who implored his beloved to be happy ministering to him with love and not concentrating on her own compositions.
Mahler, who is known for his glorious symphonies, showed his macho side when he wrote to her: “I am asking much of you, very much—but I can and must do so, because I also know what I have to offer (and shall offer) in return. You must surrender yourself to me unconditionally … Make every detail of your future life completely dependent on my needs. And in return, you must wish for nothing except my love!”
No wonder Fortuna as Alma crumpled a page of the letter and threw it disgustedly away. Then her voice soared and fell in the three-stanza “Laue Sommernacht No. 3 (Warm Summer Night).”
Trailblazer
Among these women, it seemed our National Artist for Music Lucrecia Kasilag had it good for her ability to transform the familiar into something profound. The program noted how “her compositions, rooted in the folk traditions of her homeland, boldly defied the notion that women were merely keepers of domestic heritage.” It was possible that Kasilag blazed trails in avant-garde music in this country because she decided to stay remarkably single and uninvolved in affairs of the heart.
Fortuna was so moved by her own interpretation of “Dandansoy” that a few tears fell and smeared her mascara on one eye.
She and Ismail saved the best for last: Libby Larsen’s “Try Me, Good King,” Anne Boleyn’s execution speech from “The Wives of Henry VIII.” She was in full character—the strong-minded second wife of the king accused of treason and insistent on her innocence. When she uttered, not sang, Boleyn’s final words, “Into your hands I commend my spirit,” a loud thud followed (the pianist slammed the piano lid), symbolizing her beheading. A few audience members got teary-eyed.
Composer Larsen, born in 1950 and who is still alive, once said, “I create because my silence is unacceptable.”
“In Her Own Voice,” the recital, was a fitting close to the observance of International Women’s Month. One leaves the hall thinking, “No, the struggle is unfinished. Women still have a long, long way to go.”
