The candle in the streetlight
Monteverdi’s Orfeo was performed for the first time at the Vienna State Opera in 2022. Now, in October and November, Rolando Villazón—a true artistic personality—will take on the title role, a role that, in its versatility, his infectious passion for music and musical theater, and his effervescent creativity—for nearly a quarter of a century.
When did you first learn about the Orfeo stories from Greek mythology?
If my memory serves me correctly (and it certainly doesn’t), I first encountered the name Orfeo in Miguel de Unamuno’s novel Niebla (Mist). In the novel, Orfeo is the name of Augusto’s dog, who listens to his master’s soliloquies and ultimately delivers a eulogy for him. I also first learned about the myth itself through literature, when I read Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
Why does Charon fall asleep when he hears Orfeo singing and playing music? Is Charon tone-deaf?
Either Orfeo knows that this deity, whom he is encountering for the first time, is not a particularly great deity, and therefore uses his powers to lull her to sleep. Or he is naive and actually believes he is facing a mighty god, and relies on his artistic and musical talents to seduce and persuade him. In both cases, the result is the same. Personally, I have no objection if someone in the audience falls asleep. There are active and passive listeners. Music can lead people into a peaceful and fulfilling sleep. And the sleeper continues to receive the flow of art.
What does it mean to be “musical”?
Going beyond the boundaries of mathematics and the maps of music: beyond the musical notation system, the notes, the scales, and harmonies, the sounds of various instruments and their combinations, etc., in order to penetrate to its very core and simply feel—truly just feel—the intangible language of which it is composed.
Why does Orfeo look back to see if Eurydice is following him? Because he is weak? Because he is foolish?
Not out of weakness—for if he had been weak, he would never have dared to venture into the underworld. And as a fool, he would not have turned back. A Don Quixote de la Mancha would have returned to the light of day without the slightest doubt (Don Quixote never saw Dulcinea—he didn’t have to). Orpheus turns back because he is not only divine but also human. That is one of the reasons why his myth later exerted such an influence on Christianity. Doubt, fear—all these profoundly human emotions—lead him to turn around.
Would you have looked back to see if Eurydice was following you?
Does it count as looking back if I have a small mirror in front of me while I'm singing? Let's take a look at the fine print in Pluto's contract.
Why isn't Pluto just as enthusiastic about Orpheus's art as Proserpina is? Why does he need to be persuaded to let Eurydice go?
Why should he let this stranger come and change the rules of his domain? Pluto does exactly what is expected of him. Proserpina, recalling her own abduction, is naturally moved by the love of Apollo, who dares to alter the sacred, time-honored rules to save his beloved. In my own little cosmos, Pluto agrees to Proserpina’s plea, because he recalls the news of his nephew Vulcan’s wrath when Baron von Münchhausen invaded his territory and seduced Venus. Who knows what this Orpheus might be capable of with his musical powers if he decided to stay in the underworld …
Why does Pluto set this condition? Why doesn't he just let Eurydice go?
He hopes that human doubt will prevail and that Orfeo, because he fails to keep his part of the bargain, will be cast out, Euridice will therefore remain, and thus the existing order will ultimately remain unchanged.
Will Orfeo remain a musician and singer in the underworld after his death?
Both Virgil and Ovid tell of the women who cut Orpheus into pieces and threw his head and his lyre into the river. Both report that the head continued to sing of his love for Eurydice. Ovid then reunites the two lovers in the underworld. There is no mention of whether Orpheus continues to sing and play music there. I suspect: yes. Once a musician, always a musician. Oh, and Monteverdi, of course, has Apollo and Orfeo ascend to heaven singing together. Music prevails.
When in your life have you experienced how music can work wonders?
I'm not sure if music can work wonders. But it describes our inner world without words—with its peaceful seas, its blazing fires, its storms and downpours, its inviting forests, its worlds and underworlds, its deaths, snakes, sorrows, struggles, their courage, and their fears. I experienced all of this very early in my childhood, when I found comfort and a place of refuge in music and literature.
How long have you loved Monteverdi's music? When did you first become acquainted with his music?
Emmanuelle Haïm invited me to sing and record the Testo from Monteverdi’s Il Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda as well as Monteverdi’s Madrigale. Since then, he has been one of the composers I love most and whose music I have sung most often.
If you had the chance to ask Monteverdi a question, what would it be?
Does it bother you when a tenor sings the role of Nerone in your L’incoronazione di Poppea? That’s the only role from his three famous operas that I haven’t been able to perform yet.
Where did you first sing Monteverdi's Orfeo?
With L’Arpeggiata and Christina Pluhar at the Musikfest Bremen—ten years ago. It was such a wonderful, moving, and unforgettable experience.
What is unique about Monteverdi's music?
As Harnoncourt says, no other composer achieves such a perfect, sublime balance between music and drama as Monteverdi and Mozart. What is so special about Monteverdi is how modern he still sounds today, how theatrical and joyful the joyful moments are, how painful and profound the sad moments seem, and how incredibly compelling the entire dramatic structure is. We are completely immersed in her world and carried along by it—both as performers and as listeners.
Which part of Monteverdi's Orfeo impresses you the most?
I love the way he structured the first act: with one of the most magnificent overtures in the history of music, followed by the pastoral atmosphere, the joy, the love, the magnificent entrance of the messenger, the shepherds’ anguished wailing, Orfeo’s deep lament and resolve, and the magnificent choral finale. Of course, I also love the long aria, and I particularly enjoy the great monologue at the beginning of the fifth act.
In Monteverdi’s opera scores, the instructions for performers are quite sparse. Does this make one feel freer than with later composers?
I love singing early music, to experience the playful talent of the musicians and to let myself be inspired by their spontaneous ideas and. I’ve now sung *Orfeo* with five different ensembles —and each time it was a new Orfeo, with different musical interpretations by the musical directors. I am therefore particularly looking forward to working on this “new” version—for me, at least—with Concentus Musicus.
After all the personal setbacks he has endured, is Orfeo ultimately an even better artist than he was at the beginning?
It depends on what he makes of his wounds and struggles—on the fact that he has gazed into the abyss of despair and found his way back. Is the young, undefeated warrior—swift, impulsive, and courageous—who plunges into his next battle like a magnificent wolf, better or worse than the experienced one, who has left his wounds and experiences, his triumphs and defeats behind him and faces another battle like a watchful lion? I believe they are simply at different stages of their greatness.
What is interpretation?
The composer’s work is like a magnificent streetlamp. The performer is the unique and irreplaceable candle standing in the midst of its glass doors. The flame of this candle is the interpreter’s talent. The interpretation is the light, the warmth, and the shadows that emanate from the lantern.
Where are the limits of interpretation?
These are determined by stylistic schools, subjective opinions, experts, and musicologists. A performer who possesses sufficient knowledge of the work, as well as sufficient respect and love for it, sufficient intuition, and the necessary means to express it, should have no limits in his or her interpretation.
What makes Monteverdi a genius?
His name begins with the same syllable as Mozart’s name. Furthermore, Monteverdi invented the opera with L’Orfeo —just two years after Cervantes had established the modern novel with his Don Quixote. His music, just like Cervantes’s literature, has spanned four centuries while retaining a heartbeat which resonates with the heartbeat of humanity and the ever-changing spirit of the times right up to the present day —without losing its power to move and delight us.