
The Mahaiwe Theater, June 26, 2022
Program:
Alessandro Scarlatti, Humanità e Lucifero (1704)
Igor Stravinsky, L’Histoire du soldat (The Soldier’s Tale) (1917)
Aston Magna, Dan Stepner, director
Two dramatic expressions of evil held the stage of the Mahaiwe on Saturday night in the form of musical dialogues, one from an age of belief, and another from a more skeptical
time. Alessandro Scarlatti’s miniature oratorio “Humanità e Lucifero” from 1704 pits Lucifer against Humanity at the moment of the birth of the Virgin Mary, while Stravinsky’s “A Soldier’s Tale” from 1917, created in the midst of a world war, portrays the Devil sealing a Faustian bargain with a naïve soldier who sells his soul, in the form of a violin, and succumbs to greed. The two works portray opposing outcomes for their infernal protagonist: defeat in Scarlatti, victory in Stravinsky.
An unusual combination of two contrasting dramatic works requiring radically different musical forces, the program’s concept depends on the fact that many of the musicians could participate in both, often playing different instruments in each one. Aston Magna is known for presenting baroque scores, many not well known, on early instruments and using period performance practices (HIP=Historically Informed Performance). Thus, the Scarlatti utilized a small baroque string ensemble augmented by recorder, baroque
trumpet, and harpsichord, all played very stylishly. Joining these forces were two singers, the soprano Kristen Watson in the role of Humanity, and tenor Frank Kelley as Lucifer. Less familiar is the skill of these Aston Magna musicians in modern repertory playing modern instruments; but the Stravinsky was performed with firm authority, appropriate attitude (a strong dose of sarcasm permeates both music and story), andthe crisp, springy rhythms that his music requires.

As director Dan Stepner observes in his program notes, Scarlatti’s “Humanità e Lucifero” is really a cantata for two vocalists, consisting of dramatic recitatives and solo arias, with one culminating duet, the dramatic high-point that marks the defeat of Lucifer when he comes to realize the significance of the birth of the Virgin. To help the audience follow
the story the recitatives were performed in Stepner’s English translations, while the arias remained in the original Italian. My companion at the performance asked about the reason for the two languages. The answer goes to the heart of what makes Alessandro Scarlatti and his Italian contemporaries the masters of baroque vocal music:
their command of the craft of bel canto, the art of providing melodies that optimize lyrical fluidity and dramatic vocalization in reference to the particular sounds and accentuation of the Italian language. This craft exploits the openness of Italian vowels unlike many other languages where vowels tend to alter while being sustained. The consistent quality of Italian vowels optimizes the ability of the singer to shape and color the tone, and also lends itself to the complex rapid runs and ornaments that form an integral expressive device in 18th and early 19th century opera (think of Rossini’s “Una voce poco fa”). All of these qualities were apparent, especially in Kristen Watson’s rendering of Humanity’s arias. Her light, flexible voice negotiated the shapely lines
while effectively conveying the drama of the words. She seemed happiest in her higher register; lower down the voice lacked heft that could have added dramatic color; but as the spokesperson for light in opposition to darkness, the voice suited Humanity’s character very aptly. Veteran tenor Frank Kelley made the most of the dramatic possibilities of his role as Lucifer, reminding us of Luther’s observation about the devil having all the good tunes. While his voice has lost some of its former brightness, he deployed it skillfully and managed to convey the elaborate runs and figures with an appropriately sinister edge.
Kelley also served as both the designer and narrator for the ingenious production of “A
Soldier’s Tale” in collaboration with Stepner, who came up with his own version of the
script, two generations removed from the original French version by C. F. Ramuz.
Stepner relocated the action to the American southwest (somewhere beyond “San
Antone”), incorporated some American vernacular, and morphed the princess of the
story into a governor’s daughter. Preserved were the rhymed couplets of the original
which provided humor and distance to the tongue-in-cheek presentation. As a
theatrical work, “A Soldier’s Tale” was designed from the start to mix its media. It is
partly narrated pantomime, partly drama with spoken dialogue (the conversations
between the Soldier and the Devil), and partly choreographic. Its history has included
puppet theater and animated cartoon among others forms of presentation. For this
staging, a theater-within-a-theater was assembled (in sight of the audience) with the
narrator (Kelley) seated at a table to its right and the instrumental ensemble to its left.
Periodically Kelley would rise and either close or open the curtain allowing scene
changes to take place behind the inner proscenium. These always produced delightful
surprises, manifestations of theatrical magic. As the Soldier, Jack Greenberg was
physically active, endlessly marching (including up and down the aisles) and even doing
some pushups at the Devil’s command. His character mixed mime with spoken dialogue.
David McFerrin’s Devil was more consistently verbal, with a slimy presence and
commanding voice, luring the Soldier into one bad bargain after another. The
governor’s daughter, portrayed energetically by dancer DeAnna Pellecchia, had no
dialogue of her own; it was a mixed mime and choreographic role. Her character
seemed unusually robust (for a “fairy tale princess,” though not for a Texas governor’s
daughter) and her final collusion with the Devil seemed to have been planned all along.
