Sunday, January 16, 2011

Hadestown: a folk opera in three acts

It may seem silly or presumptuous to try to impose a three-act structure on a 57-minute album, but I think doing so is useful for understanding its operatic nature. I spent some time debating whether there is a two-act or three-act structure at work, but there are really far more arguments in favor of the latter, so that’s what I’ll present here.

Act I takes places outside of Hadestown. It opens with the courtship of Orpheus and Eurydice (“Wedding Song”) and ends with Orpheus seeking a way to follow Eurydice to the underground (“Wait For Me”).

Act II begins at the wall of Hadestown (“Why We Build the Wall”), which is known as the River Styx. It ends with an instrumental number (“Papers”), during which Hades discovers both Orpheus’ presence and the speakeasy Persephone has been hiding from him.

Act III opens in the bedroom of Hades and Persephone, as they discuss what is to be done with Orpheus (“How Long?”). The piece ends with Eurydice and Persephone remembering and honoring Orpheus (“I Raise My Cup to Him”).

This subdivision of the work makes evident several pleasing parallels and overarching features.

With regard to setting, Act I takes place in the “world of the living”, away from Hades’ supreme control, while the events of Acts II and III occur in or near Hadestown. This format is almost exactly the same as in the legend recounted by the D’Aulaires, the main difference being that it ends in the underworld rather than following the rest of Orpheus’ life.

Thematically, Act II is institutional and Acts I and III are relational. Act II begins by showing Hades’ power as lord of Hadestown and ends by uncovering the challenges to that power. In between Eurydice and Orpheus struggle (separately) with the isolation imposed by being in Hadestown. Eurydice’s aria “Flowers” in this act is the only number she sings solo, without interaction or commentary from other characters. The two numbers that start this act are not solos, but the only interaction is simple call-and-response, with a single strong personality (Hades or Persephone) speaking to a faceless audience (the workers of Hadestown, who replace the dead of the original myth), who dutifully give the elicited replies.

On the other hand, both Acts I and III open with duets—between Orpheus and Eurydice in the first case, Hades and Persephone in the second. Each of these songs is a conversation, in which a couple tries to sort out how to handle some difficulty presented to them. These duets are both followed by narrative sections (“Epic” parts 1 and 2); here Orpheus is showcased as the master poet and storyteller as he tells the tale of Hades. The crowd responds, either in a discussion of the merits of living in Hadestown (“Way Down Hadestown”) or in support of Orpheus and Eurydice being together (“Lover’s Desire”). (This latter number is again instrumental, and so it’s less clear what is happening. But at the end of the previous song, the workers have joined Orpheus in singing, and in the following Hades complains that they have begun rioting when the lovers kissed. It seems reasonable to infer that the entire town is responding to Orpheus’ plea, as in the legend.) In Act I, the attention then turns to Eurydice’s shifting loyalties, as she is seduced by Hades in another duet. In a twist, Act III instead leaves Hades alone with his thoughts. For the first time, he is forced to reflect on the fragility of his lordly status and to contemplate how to overcome Orpheus’ destabilizing presence. Human weakness impinges on the relationships: Eurydice feels she must escape poverty in Act I, and Orpheus cannot bear the uncertainty that his love might not be following him in Act III. Tragically, the lovers must be separated at the end of both these acts, and each must find aid from another companion. Orpheus calls “Wait for me” to the absent Eurydice as he follows Hermes’ directions to Hadestown. In the end, Eurydice toasts Orpheus “wherever he is now”, and she is joined by Persephone at the table.

Act III also sees another shift in the characters’ relationships. In Acts I and II, both Orpheus and Hades are supreme in their respective crafts. No one can sing so divinely as Orpheus, and no one can challenge Hades’ role as boss. Their conflict, until the end of Act II, is indirect. Orpheus is clearly the hero and Hades is the villain. Starting in Act III, their conflict becomes more direct and ambiguous. Orpheus uncovers Hades’ humanity and threatens to overturn Hadestown’s society. Hades, on the other hand, knows that he must maintain control of the town, at least in part to benefit its residents by providing them with work. He becomes a kind of antihero. As in the myth, the question is raised whether Hades is bad or simply fulfilling a necessary role in life (and death). The battle of wills is begun.

Hades, of course, is victorious. But the opera refuses to admit that Orpheus has utterly failed. Just by presenting his case to Hades in Hades’ own domain he proves his virtue. There is something of the existential here, but that is a topic for another post.

Two tellings

Here is the complete story of Orpheus as told by the D’Aulaires:
Orpheus’ music was joyful and gay, for he was in love with Euridice, a sweet young maiden, and she loved him in return. On the day of their wedding, his songs swelled out, filled with happiness as his bride danced on her light feet through the meadow. Suddenly, she trod on a snake and sank to the ground, dead of its poisonous bite. Hermes gently closed her eyes and led her away to the underworld. No more songs came from Orpheus’ throat, no more tunes rang out from his lyre. All joy had gone out from his life. He had to have Euridice back.

Weeping and grieving, Orpheus wandered about searching for an entrance to Hades, and when at the end of the world he found it, he did what no living man had ever done before: he went down to the realm of the dead to beg for the return of his beloved. His music had the power to move hard rocks; it might also move the cold heart of Hades. Hope gave him back his songs, and, playing and singing, he walked down the dark, steep path.

His silvery voice floated down through the dark like a gentle summer breeze and its magic moved the iron gates of Hades. They sprang open and let him in, and Cerberus, the three-headed watchdog, lay down at his feet and let him pass. The whole dark underworld stilled and listened to Orpheus’ music as he entered the realm of the dead singing about his great love, begging to have Euridice back. The fluttering souls hushed. Those condemned to eternal pains stopped groaning, and their torturers, the avenging furies, the Erinyes, dropped their whips and wept tears of blood.

Hades, the pitiless king of the dead, sat on his black marble throne with Queen Persephone at his side. Even he was so moved by the music that tears rolled down his sallow cheeks and cold Persephone sobbed. Her heart was so touched that she turned to her husband and begged him to let Euridice go back to the sunny world above. Hades gave his consent, but he made one condition: Orpheus must not look at his bride before they reached the realm of the living. She would walk behind him, but if he turned, and looked at her, she must return to the underworld.

Overcome with joy, Orpheus started up the dark path, and as his music faded into the distance, gloom again descended over the underworld. The way was long, and as Orpheus walked on and on, doubt began to creep into his mind. Had Hades deceived him? Were the sounds he heard behind him really Euridice’s footsteps? He had almost reached the upper world, and could already see a dim light ahead, when he could bear his doubts no longer. He had to turn and see if she really was there. He saw her sweet face, but only for an instant, for again Hermes appeared at her side. He turned her about and led her back to the dark gloom below. Faintly, Orpheus heard her whisper farewell. He had lost her forever through his lack of faith.

Orpheus never again found joy on earth. He wandered into the wilderness to grieve in solitude. He sang, but now his songs were so mournful that tears trickled down the cheeks of wild beasts and the willows wept.

A band of wild nymphs stormed through the woods shouting to Orpheus to join them. They yelled and carried on so loudly that they could not hear his silvery voice and were not touched by its magic. They wanted him to dance with them, but he had not heart for their revelry, and in a fury they threw themselves over him. They tore him to pieces and tossed his body in a river. The river stopped its gurgling to listen, for the haunting voice of Orpheus still issued forth from his dead lips as he floated down to the open sea.

The Muses grieved over him. They searched the sea till they found his body on the shores of the island of Lesbos. There they gave him a proper funeral, and at last he could rejoin his beloved Euridice as a flitting ghost in the underworld.

For comparison, here is the story included in the liner notes of Hadestown (the words in braces are the titles of tracks on the album):
Hadestown begins in the open air, in a world of poverty. Eurydice asks her lover how he will provide for her in these dark times—Orpheus is sure that the world will provide {Wedding Song}. Orpheus sings, and his singing draws a crowd {Epic Part One}. An old train depot, and everyone’s talking about Hadestown, the walled city under the ground {Way Down Hadestown}. There’s Hermes, the hobo guide and messenger; Persephone, in transit, suitcases in tow; Eurydice, who is more than curious about Hadestown; and Orpheus, who wants no part. When Hades calls, Eurydice receives him {Hey, Little Songbird}. He seduces her: she should leave Orpheus and join him in the wealth and security of his underworld. Eurydice succumbs {Gone, I’m Gone}—was she pushed, or did she jump? The Fates provide an explanation {When the Chips Are Down}. Orpheus is determined to follow Eurydice, and Hermes gives directions {Wait For Me}. Meanwhile, in Hadestown, Hades indoctrinates his worker-citizens {Why We Build the Wall}. But when he turns his back, Persephone presents another side of the underworld, in a speakeasy where she plies her contraband and takes an interest in the newly arrived Orpheus {Our Lady of the Underground}. Eurydice, unaware that her lover is near, laments her decision {Flowers}. Orpheus moves toward her, but is intercepted by the Fates. The rules are the rules—there’s no going back for Eurydice—it’s better not to struggle {Nothing Changes}. Orpheus challenges the Fates {If It’s True}. A fight scene: Orpheus and the speakeasy are exposed {Papers}. In the royal bedroom, Persephone appeals to her husband on Orpheus’ behalf {How Long?}. Orpheus sings again, and this time, Hades hears him {Epic Part Two}. An uprising begins, in Hadestown and in the heart of the king {Lover’s Desire}. Hades comes up with a plan: Orpheus can have Eurydice back if he can walk out of the underworld a few paces ahead of her and not turn around to make sure she’s there {His Kiss, The Riot}. Orpheus and Eurydice begin their ascent {Doubt Comes In}. Later, Eurydice and Persephone sing a reverse elegy for Orpheus {I Raise My Cup To Him}.

The D’Aulaires’ illustrations to go with the story are of course beautiful. I will again emphasize that if you don’t have this book, you should. You can see some illustrations of the Hadestown characters here (also contains the above synopsis). The characters along the right, from top to bottom, are Eurydice, Orpheus, Persephone, Hermes, Hades, and the Fates. I’ll talk more about each of them later.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Hadestown: a folk opera

The album Hadestown astounds me at practically every level. It has stellar performances, poetry, and musicianship. But for me, it bears relistening (at the rate I've been doing so recently) because of its structure and storytelling in addition to those other elements, which one expects from any good album. Not only do I find myself singing the songs over and over, out loud or in my head, I keep thinking about them—how they unfold and how they tie together. I’ve had enough thoughts about this album that I decided to start writing them down, in what I expect will become a series of blog posts. I consider myself more of a music analyst than a music critic, however (an amateur one in either case), and so most of my thoughts are about the construction of the work and the execution of the storytelling. I won’t be trying to assess the quality of the performances or suggest potential improvements (I will point out flourishes I particularly like), even though as I said before they are enough to recommend listening by anyone with even a casual interest in folk rock, blues, or spirituals. (You can get the whole thing streamed via Quicktime here, and hopefully you’ll decide to buy it.) Instead I wish to study what this piece accomplishes in a narrative and poetic sense, and details of the recording will mostly be mentioned only to underscore that focus. Some things I’ll say will be obvious; hopefully some will be less obvious.

The concept of the album is simple: it is a retelling of the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice in the setting of a fictional post-apocalyptic Depression-era America, through the medium of American folk music. Orpheus is an impoverished poet and songster who has found the love of his life in Eurydice. She, rather than being poisoned by snakebite as in the original, is seduced by Hades and the promise of lavish comfort to journey to the underground mine of Hadestown. Orpheus follows her and pleads with Hades to let Eurydice return above ground with him. Hades, struggling to maintain control and order in his domain, is eventually persuaded to let them go, but only on the condition that Orpheus walk alone with Eurydice behind him, and he cannot turn to look at her. As in the original tale, Orpheus is plagued by enough doubt that he cannot help turning near the end, and the lovers are separated permanently by Hades' decree.

(It’s worth mentioning that I learned the story of Orpheus and Eurydice from D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, which will always be for me the definitive telling of all the stories it covers. Less well-known but just as enjoyable and informative is D’Aulaires’ Book of Norse Myths, which I credit with providing me the only chance I have of understanding the setting of Wagner’s Ring Cycle.)

The “folk” element in the subtitle is evident, but why “opera”? It’s more than just because this piece tells a story set to music over the course of several songs. The tale of Orpheus and Eurydice has appeared again and again in opera and theatre. Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo (1607) was arguably the first true opera, and it was cited in my music history class as an indicator of the beginning of the Baroque era in music. Subsequently, the story was also used as the basis for operas by Gluck, Offenbach (who used the occasion to compose his famous Can-can music), and Glass, in addition to a ballet with music by Stravinsky. By the time Anaïs Mitchell came along to give it a new treatment, it couldn’t be as anything but an opera. The force of musical history is too strong.

Still, I’m not sure anyone had heard anything quite like this album before. It’s an opera in an American musical medium, like Porgy and Bess before it, but it draws on a somewhat different set of elements—Appalachian ballads and traditional call-and-response numbers and folk songs of the 1960s. I personally had not heard of any of the performers (including Mitchell herself), apart from Ani DiFranco (who plays the part of Persephone, Hades’ wife and queen), before receiving this album (it was a gift from my in-laws), although they seem to be well-known and well-respected in the folk music community at large. In any case they come together and tell the story masterfully. It may just as well be described as an oratorio, because the musical setting stands on its own without any staging. The styles of the songs are immediately familiar, but like any great storyteller, Mitchell has imbued every level of the work with layer upon layer of additional meaning. This is what captivates me, and what I want to explore.