Story 341: Pitfalls in Collaboration

[Inspired by The Metropolitan Opera and its recent Nightly Opera Streams at www.metopera.org]

            (In an office, an opera house’s Artistic Director sits at a desk facing Composer and Librettist)

            Artistic Director: All right, you two: when I commissioned you to create the best opera ever, I meant I wanted one where the audience will laugh, cry, roar, and swoon, preferably in that order.  And instead, I’m getting a half-completed work that makes me want to chuck the entire orchestra at you.  What in the name of bel canto’s going on?!

            Composer: First of all – did you hear the music yet?

            Librettist: (Slumps in the chair) Ugh, here we go.

          Composer: (To Artistic Director) I would like to take this moment to emphasize that my portion of this work is done, by the way – I even finished the orchestration months ago.

            Artistic Director: Then why are you two telling me it’s not done?

          Librettist: (Rolls eyes) Somebody feels that the lyrics need to “match the tone set by the music,” whatever that means.

            Artistic Director: It means the lyrics should convey the same themes as the music.

            Librettist: I know what it means!                                      

            Artistic Director: What?

         Librettist: My libretto is perfect as it is; it’s based off the book you – (Points to Artistic Director) chose, and it’s got everything you could ever want: hot people in love, random shenanigans, loud misunderstandings that go on for hours, and societal rebels refusing to live lives of oppressive regular salaries, so I fail to see what the problem is.

            Composer: (To Artistic Director) OK, first: you’ve heard the music?

            Artistic Director: Yes, we’ve established that.

            Composer: And you’ve noted how absolutely glorious it is?

           Artistic Director: Well, a tear or two did threaten, and my heart struggled to beat a few times, so I think it’s safe to say that “glorious” is an acceptable adjective.

         Composer: Thank you.  Now, with that in mind: have you read the lyrics set to this awe-inspiring masterpiece of sound?

            Artistic Director: Well, sort-of – it’s been hard to keep up with all the revisions.

            Composer: (Flips through pages of the score) Uh-huh, uh-huh – OK, here’s the latest from Act 1, the aria I wrote for the lead tenor.  (Hands a few pages to the Artistic Director) Note the soaring strings that sound like grown human beings weeping?

            Artistic Director: (Scans through the pages) Oh yes, I like this one a lot.

            Composer: Uh-huh – and do you see the words paired with these sublime notes?

            Artistic Director: (Reads some more) He’s talking about what he does during his day?

            Composer: Yes!  He soars to the heavens about going out to pick up the newspaper!

            Librettist: What’s your point?

            Artistic Director: It does seem a bit trivial for such majestic instrumentation.

            Composer: Thank you!

         Librettist: What do you expect?  It’s a day in the life – the whole thing’s populated with mooning adult children living in self-inflicted poverty and falling in love with completely incompatible randos – Billy Shakespeare wrote reams on the same subjects, and everybody loved him for it!

            Composer: His words were divine poetry!  Yours don’t even rhyme!

            Librettist: Most of the audience members don’t even speak the language I’m writing in – they just want it to sound good.

            Composer: They’ll know when they read the subtitles that it’s all trite!   Here – (Flips through more pages and hands a bunch to Artistic Director) love duet in Act 2.  Tell me what you think.

            Artistic Director: (Scans through the pages, humming the notes of a romantic tune, then stops) Wait, do these two people even know each other?

            Composer: They just met in Act 1!  Which took place 20 minutes earlier!

          Librettist: Duh, it’s called “Love at first sight,” haven’t you ever heard of a little something called Romeo and Juliet?

           Artistic Director: You really should stop comparing yourself to an icon; it never works out in your favor.

            Librettist: Noted.

          Composer: My point is, I wrote that piece for two lovers who have the intimacy that comes from shared years and memories, and this one – (Points thumb at Librettist) has them gibbering on about how the Sun looks a tad peaked, and ooh, isn’t that a fine rock over there, and oh, what’s your name again?!

            Librettist: All issues that plague the common folk.

           Artistic Director: Hm.  I have to admit, for a transcendent work of art, the stakes here are really low.

           Composer: You have no idea: in Act 3, they have an argument for half an hour over who broke up with the other first, when it turns out they cheated on each for no reason!

            Librettist: Everyone likes a good “Will they or won’t they?” popping up a few times during a story; keeps things fresh.

            Composer: It’s smothering my score!

           Artistic Director: (Hands papers back to the Composer) I have to agree: unless this is a flat-out farce, the audience won’t connect with the characters if they just dither on about who they should dance with, or whether they should stick with the rich lord or the penniless artist when the answer clearly is “Neither,” or what hat they should wear today – they want war; they want royal executions; they want gods and goddesses loudly interfering with mortals’ destines; all that rubbish.

             Librettist: (Sighs dramatically) Fine – you want me to kill one of the lovebirds at the end or something like that?  Give a nice air of tragedy to the whole thing?

            Artistic Director: Ooh, there’s a thought: killing one or both of the romantic leads usually does the trick; it elevates pretty much anything from boring banality to the existential futility of life, with very minimal effort.

            Composer: But if you kill `em off at the end, no one’s gonna know that the whole thing was poetically tragic until the end!

         Librettist: Argh, all right, I’ll give one of them something consistently debilitating, like consumption – that way the singer’ll be stage-coughing throughout so everyone watching’ll know something’s up, happy?

            Composer: Only as long as they don’t upstage the first violins.

            Artistic Director: So it’s settled, then: give just the soprano consumption and throw in some lines about how frail she looks, and then the leads can sing their hearts out about anything trivial they want since life is so fleeting and pointless, and also have the tenor freak out at the end when she dies so the grand finale of cymbals crashing and horns blaring and drums exploding all makes sense, and I can see the audience’s flowing tears now, ahahahaha!

            Librettist: …Sure, I can whip something up.  (To Composer) This mean you’ll shut up about the lyrics now?

          Composer: Would you at least consider throwing in a regicide or people’s uprising while you’re at it?  I really feel like those subjects are more in scale with my work.

            Librettist: Just tell the singers to be coloratura and leggiero to the max, and no one will notice what they’re really talking about.