El Presidente Trump, while planning the collapse and takeover of the Cuban government, continues his war against Iran. He, based on his feelings supported by no facts, has concluded that it wasn’t a United States bomb that killed over 150 school age girls, but it was the Iranians who bombed their own daughters. This is how history is made. If the president of the United States in 1945 had been Franklin Delano Trump, we would undoubtedly have learned that the Japanese dropped atomic bombs on themselves.
This was a two event weekend, and the second event explains why this post is being written so late in the day (it is now almost 5 p.m.).
Last night, we attended the first performance by the Washington National Opera of Scott Joplin’s Treemonisha. It was also the first performance of the 70th season of the WNO, and the first of three American operas being presented this spring in celebration of the 250th birthday of the country. It was also special in that it was the first performance by the NSO since it elected to leave its long time headquarters at the XXXXX-Kennedy Center. Treemonisha is being performed at the Lisner Auditorium of the George Washington University, a 2000+ seat venue that is going to see a lot more usage by the community in general over the coming years, as the XXXXX-Kennedy Center undergoes its “rehabilitation”.
You probably don’t know Treemonisha and are surprised that ragtime composer Scott Joplin wrote an opera. In fact, he wrote two, the first of which was lost when a fire burned what were apparently the only scores. Joplin, born to musical, if quite poor, parents in or near Texarkana, Texas. His father had been a slave; his mother a free Black. He was born in 1868, and died at the age of 48 in 1917. He was an ambitious composer, to be sure, and his biography, although short and often (rather, mostly) quite sad, would be interesting to read. There have been at least two published; I have not read either.
You wouldn’t call Treemonisha grand opera. Perhaps it is more of an operetta. But it is a professionally composed piece, to be sure, with appealing music of various genres, and (as with much opera) lyrics that could have been a bit better. It’s the story of a young girl found as a baby and raised by a couple who made sure she would learn to read and write, something no one else in her plantation community could do. There was a “conjurer” who brought superstition to the community and kidnapped Treemonisha (that was her name) because they were afraid that she would draw the people away from superstition into more progressive thinking. She is rescued by her future husband, the conjurers decided to be good, not evil, from then on and everyone lives happily ever after.
I don’t know exactly for whom Joplin wrote Treemonisha. Was it for white audiences, or for Blacks? I would like to know what was in his mind.
How did a poor Black boy from a small town in mid-America become such a talented musician. Not only someone who could play an instrument (many could do that, of course), but someone who knew various types of music, who could compose, who knew music theory and who could say, and defend his saying, that ragtime was just a form of classical music?
The trick was that when he was 11 he came to the attention of a Jewish music teacher from Germany, Julius Weiss, who taught Joplin and was a mentor to him for five or more years, and with whom he stayed in contact long after. But read the Wikipedia entry on Joplin to get more of his interesting, and much too short, life story.
Today, we went to the Shakespeare Theatre to see a one-man show, called On Beckett, performed by actor Bill Irwin. I wasn’t familiar with Irwin, a 75 year old actor and choreographer, and graduate not only of Oberlin College, but the Ringling Brothers Clown School, but he is clearly a very talented (and very limber) fellow. He has played in many of Beckett’s plays, is apparently enamored of his use of language, and put together this one act, 80+ minute show, which is a combination of readings (really, more than readings – what is the word? it isn’t “actings”) of excerpts from Beckett’s prose and plays, interspersed with commentary about them, and with comic/clown routines, and ending with a long take on Waiting for Godot. I must say that, except that I found out that Irwin was a very talented man, the recitations from Becket, to the extent that they made any sense to me whatsoever, left me pretty cold. Some of his clown routines were very clever, although I never laughed out loud – he is a physical actor. But I couldn’t quite get the purpose of the show – it did not increase my appreciation of Beckett (if that was the purpose), and it contained a bit too much of “Look at all the clever things I can do!!” for me.
And, by the way, I did go back to the Bethesda-Chevy Chase used book sale this morning. It was “bag day”, so I knew I wouldn’t spend more than $15. And I didn’t expect to find much. But I did find 6 books. One was by an old neighbor – no value to that one, but for nostalgic. But I found a book signed by Angela Merkel (former Chancellor of Germany) (Freedom), and one signed by former British Prime Minister, David Cameron (For the Record). Not bad for $15.























