In which pointillistic ostinatos are abound.
To my dear reader,
Often, when in the library, I pick up cast recordings of musicals with no prior knowledge of the musical. My only goal in doing this is to expose myself to more musical theater, giving myself new ideas about how to write songs and keeping myself informed of what else is out there in the Broadway canon. Usually, I am disappointed.
When I tried to sit through the cast recording of David Malloy’s 2016 musical Natasha, Pierre, and the Comet of 1812, for example, I became impatient with its through-composed nature, wishing that the music had been used more economically. When I tried to sit through the cast recording of Richard Oberacker’s 2016 musical Bandstand, I became impatient with its unwillingness to embrace the darkness of PTSD and post-WWII America, wishing that it would make some serious commentary on the troubling subject of its plot. One of the few musicals that I’ve listened through that did not disappoint me, however, was Stephen Sondheim’s 1984 musical Sunday in the Park with George.
Sunday is a fictionalized account of French post-Impressionist painter Georges Seurat, and, in the second act, of his fictional grandson. Imitating Seurat’s pointillistic painting style and his obsessive personality, Sondheim uses shimmering musical textures and ostinati throughout the score, creating a particularly distinctive theatrical language. When I write musical theater or opera, I often turn to this show – and particularly its song “We Do Not Belong Together” – for methods of musically dramatizing stories. That isn’t to say that I think it’s the greatest thing ever composed, but rather that I see it as very musically and theatrically effective.
“We Do Not Belong Together” occurs near the end of the first act, as Georges’ former lover, Dot, angrily berates Georges for his inability to communicate his feelings, and what I see as the most theatrically effective aspect of this song is its timing. It doesn’t begin until tension between the characters arises (as Georges cruelly tells Dot to leave his studio because he has work to do). Even then, in the beginning, the characters don’t sing a melody yet, but rather a sort of “musical theater recitative,” driving toward Dot’s line “You could tell me not to go!” The music pulls back as Dot realizes Georges won’t tell her his feelings, then drives forward as her anger boils over, but it is only as Georges sings “I am what I do/Which you knew/Which you always knew/Which I thought you were a part of” that Dot’s anger reaches a peak and she begins the “aria” of the song. What sort of music the characters sing, and at what time, serve very intentional purposes, so that the music speaks for strong emotion particularly effectively and economically.
This isn’t to say that Natasha, Pierre, and the Comet of 1812 or Bandstand are failures. They are both interesting and enjoyable on their own terms. It is rather to say that they both use music in a way that inhibits or fails to elevate the story to me, and to say that there are few musicals besides Sunday in the Park with George which make as effective, dramatic use of music to me.
With all due respect,
Daniel Wolfert
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