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Discography
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Silvestre Revueltas
- La Coronela (The Lady Colonel)
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American Record Guide
May/June, 1999
Revueltas is the Mexican Prokofieff, though he's sometimes
compared to Stravinsky. Yet his music is brighter and
more joyous than Stravinsky's. Like Prokofieff, Revueltas
simply cannot resist the temptation to burst into a
good tune now and then, and he boasts a lively, irrepressible
sense of humor. While his music can be stern, severe,
and even quite radical by the standards of its time,
it must always sing.
Critic Tim Page argues that Revueltas's fondness for
percussion instruments suggests a kinship with Varese,
though he admits that some of the music reminds him
of Copland — "on mescal", that is. Whether
Revueltas experimented with hard drugs, I cannot say.
Nonetheless, the addiction to alcohol that hastened
his death in 1940 can be heard clearly in the angry,
drunken outbursts that punctuate so many of his compositions.
He shared Bartok's fascination with folk music, though
he did not feel the need to scour the countryside in
search of native forms of expression. "Why",
he once wondered aloud, "should I put on boots
and climb mountains for Mexican folklore, if I have
the spirit of Mexico deep within me?" One also
hears an Ivesian clash of popular and serious elements
in his compositions, along with a hint of Respighi —
as in the lush, luxurious opening bars of La Noche
de los Mayas. Despite all these influences, Revueltas's
music is as vital and original as any composed in this
century. For an excellent overview of the man, his music,
and its many recordings, see Diederik De Jong's review
of Noche in March/April 1995.
... Revueltas began work on the ballet a Coronela
(The Lady Colonel) shortly before he died in 1940. The
story concerns the violent overthrow of a brutal, decadent
dictatorship by the common folk. Alas, Koch's sketchy
booklet notes do not bother to tell us what role the
Lady Colonel plays in this revolution or even which
side she's on. In any event, Revueltas had time to sketch
only three of the ballet's sour scenes. Shortly after
his untimely death Blas Galindo completed the work,
which was then orchestrated by Candelario Huizar. That
version somehow vanished, along with all of the composer's
sketches. Nearly two decades later, conductor Jose Limantour
decided to "reconstruct" the score. Just how
he managed this feat without the sketches is also not
explained in the notes. This time Eduardo Hernandez
Moncada furnished the orchestration. Limantour —
to whom we most certainly owe a debt of gratitude for
compiling the enchanting suite from La Noche de Los
Mayas — then selected items from two Revueltas
film scores to replace the missing final scene. In addition,
he spiced up Moncada's orchestration. How much of the
final product was actually written by Revueltas is open
to question. Unless the original manuscript turns up,
we'll never know.
Whatever the case, the first three sections of the
work lack the composer's typical melodic inventiveness
and colorful use of percussion. If Revueltas indeed
wrote this music, his muse must have abandoned him after
so many years of dissipation and mental instability.
Except for the few numbers that have a recognizably
Mexican flavor, this ponderous, busy, and uninspired
score could have been written by Roussel — on an
off day. The two film cues used in Scene IV leave the
most lasting impression. 'The Battle' is appropriately
horrific, with its exciting rhythms and vivid scoring,
especially for the percussion. The composer had, after
all, witnessed warfare first hand while fighting for
the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War, and he knew
quite well how to convey the chaos of the battlefield
in musical terms. 'The Fallen' begins with a solemn
trumpet melody followed by a touching episode for muted
strings. After the trumpet intones 'Taps', the music
becomes gentle and soothing. A powerful, dramatic peroration
in the brass brings this memorable and touching scene
to its conclusion.
The remaining works on Ms. Ben-Dor's program, though
brief, are fully authentic and vastly more compelling
than this ersatz ballet. Indeed, you'll find more interesting
melodic ideas in either of these two short elections
than in the entire ballet. Both are cast in simple three-part
form, with a gentle, reflective central section surrounded
by bustling, occasionally violent music. Itinerarios
(Travel Diary) begins in the very bowels of the
orchestra with the tuba, soon joined by the other low
brasses and woodwinds. Several fascinating melodic fragments
are introduced only to be quickly abandoned. Finally
a series of dramatic fanfares leads to a strident, drunken
climax. At 4:12 the mood changes abruptly as the soprano
saxophone sings a transcendentally beautiful melody
worthy of Hovhaness, though tinged with a hint of Gershwinesque
melancholy. This eerie and beautiful interlude leads
to a reprise of the agitated opening music, which is
then cut off abruptly in typical Revueltas fashion.
Following a brief introduction by the percussion, Colorines
erupts into an Ivesian orgy of dissonant counterpoint
— though unlike Ives, the themes all have a Mexican
flavor. After a short pause, the orgy resumes. Suddenly
the noise and chaos end abruptly, and in its place we
hear a gentle, mellifluous melody in the woodwinds.
There's a bit of Copland here, but the music also has
an ancient quality. Finally, the percussive opening
returns, another dissonant climax is built, and then
the music screeches to a halt — as if cut off in
mid-phrase.
Ben-Dor has an obvious affinity for this music, which
she presents with great passion. Both orchestras play
splendidly (the English Chamber Orchestra is heard only
in Colorines). The Santa Barbara ensemble boasts
some very fine brass players and richer strings than
one hears on the new Intersound Royal Philharmonic discs.
Let us hope that these forces will soon bring us more
Revueltas rarities — especially his neglected film
scores.
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