司馬勤

樂評是什么？報道實時資訊與發(fā)表個人評論的混合體。無論是什么情況，首先要抓住創(chuàng)新點或特別處，然后再考慮到自己——也許包括其他人——對事情的看法。正如作曲家兼評論家維吉爾·湯姆森（Virgil Thomson）曾經(jīng)說的：“評價只屬華彩部分，而不是主題?！?/p>

因此，在談論歌劇《骨子里的烈火》（Fire Shut Up in My Bones）時，我打從一開始就意識到這部新作品的新聞“含金量”已相當豐富。作曲家是特倫斯·布蘭查德（Terence Blanchard），編劇是卡斯·萊蒙斯（Kasi Lemmons），《骨子里的烈火》是紐約大都會歌劇院有史以來首部出自黑人作曲家與黑人編劇的制作。正如不少樂評人（還有歷史學家）指出的那樣，盡管曾經(jīng)有黑人創(chuàng)作歌劇的先例（也有其他族裔作曲家挑選黑人主題的歌?。藷o所不在的《波吉與貝絲》外，那些作品都沒有機會走出美國規(guī)模較小的州立或城鎮(zhèn)劇院的舞臺。另一方面，《骨子里的烈火》被選中，特別是在經(jīng)歷超過18個月沒有現(xiàn)場演出的黑暗后，為美國規(guī)模最大的歌劇院重啟大門拉開帷幕，這宗新聞的確難得——從更宏觀的角度來看，這也代表著紐約自新冠疫情爆發(fā)后，在大型場館內(nèi)再次搬演現(xiàn)場演出的重要時刻?？上攵?，這個制作本身就足以登上頭條。

好了，我們更要談談這部作品首演時星光熠熠的氛圍。除了創(chuàng)作團隊以外，全黑人演員陣容在大都會舞臺上亮相（當然，《波吉與貝絲》例外）也轟動一時，更何況開幕夜的觀眾席中坐了那么多有色人種。順便說一下：這一切都不是巧合。

一年多來，當新冠疫情令全球停滯，美國人也經(jīng)常提及另一宗“疫情”——黑人喬治·弗洛伊德（George Floyd）死于明尼阿波利斯警察之手，導致整個社會都在應對種族之間的緊張關系。眾多古典音樂機構也受到牽連，飽受“白人特權”及“制度上的種族歧視”的指責，而大都會歌劇院更是眾矢之的。

我們大可以依據(jù)統(tǒng)計數(shù)據(jù)辯論一番。在過去幾個演出季中，大都會歌劇院聘請黑人演員的數(shù)量顯著上升。眾所周知，全球歌劇界的演員競爭激烈，因此我很想知道，受聘的黑人歌手與整體受過歌劇訓練的黑人歌手人數(shù)的真正比例。我不得不提醒你，大部分白人歌劇演員想登上大都會歌劇院的舞臺，同樣也只是夢想。

大家議論得面紅耳赤，很難冷靜下來作客觀分析?！昂谌司S權運動”（Black Lives Matter）抗議集會此起彼伏之際，絕大部分美國藝術機構都積極主動地公開發(fā)表聲明，表示擁護種族多樣性。很多院團（包括舊金山歌劇院與多個美國交響樂團）增設新的行政崗位，取名“首席多樣性執(zhí)行官”（Chief Diversity Officer）。大都會歌劇院對此也貢獻出自己的力量，在網(wǎng)上免費點播項目里刻意安排了歷史資料庫中全部突顯黑人演員陣容、曾在廣播（從前的電視或電影節(jié)目）中播放過或近年高清轉播過的劇目。

從節(jié)目策劃的角度來看，交響樂團與室內(nèi)樂組合應對“種族多樣性”比較容易。因為疫情，早已定好的演出季都被腰斬，取而代之的是包括黑人與其他有色人種作曲家創(chuàng)作的音樂（最初只有線上節(jié)目）。歌劇院在節(jié)目策劃方面則比較復雜，它們操作起來更像笨重的大恐龍。密歇根歌劇院（Michigan Opera Theatre）——在歌劇界中絕對算不上是大型機構——選中比它更小的歌劇院已經(jīng)首演過的作品，如格里莫格拉斯歌劇節(jié)（Glimmerglass Festival）上演的《藍》（Blue）或挑選已解散的歌劇院曾委約的作品，如紐約市立歌劇院（New York City Opera）委約的《X：馬爾科姆·?？怂沟娜松蜁r代》（X： The Life and Times of Malcom X）。

這也是《骨子里的烈火》（圣路易斯歌劇院委約作品，2019年首演）被選為大都會歌劇院重啟演出季劇目的原因（這個新制作也會移師至洛杉磯歌劇院與芝加哥抒情歌劇院）。然而，該劇目的成功與否，卻是另一個話題。

***

《骨子里的烈火》的新聞“含金量”實在太高了，難怪很少有評論家直接談及該作品在藝術上可取之處（當然，在疫情肆虐的這些日子里，留給樂評的版面越來越小）?？紤]到這個時代政治背景與面對種族多樣性的敏感度，很多人都不敢過度批評這個制作。這是一個舉足輕重的文化里程碑，何必去潑冷水呢？

說實話，這部作品有不少值得欽佩的地方。布蘭查德是一位杰出的爵士樂手，他的電影配樂也備受贊賞（最著名的是為斯派克·李的電影配樂），成就無可厚非，才華遠超他身為黑人的種族標簽。從劇本結構上，編劇萊蒙斯（她也是位電影導演）改寫了《紐約時報》專欄作家查爾斯·布洛（Charles Blow）的同名回憶錄，刻意增添了不少電影技法：在歌劇里，當成年的布洛回顧自己童年，舞臺上也出現(xiàn)扮演年少布洛的演員。布蘭查德在音樂處理方面也用上相仿的技法。歌劇中有一段二重唱，由成年布洛[男中音威爾·利弗曼（Will Liverman）]與童年的自己[可愛的童聲男高音瓦爾特·羅素三世（Walter Russell III）]齊唱。

正如他的作品表顯示的那樣，布蘭查德的風格覆蓋面很廣。訴說內(nèi)心的唱段——成年布洛的沉思，或他對話“命運”與“孤獨”[由女高音安吉爾·布魯（Angel Blue）飾演，它們雖是抽象概念，卻化為人物角色]——都抒情之至，引起超凡脫俗的遐想。故事中的各種合唱段落（都與戲劇情節(jié)有關）取材自福音音樂、藍調(diào)布魯斯音樂與具有黑人文化獨特風味的樂派?？墒?，因為劇本本身建立于不平衡的結構上，這種二元性到了第二幕才完全展現(xiàn)出來。

我發(fā)現(xiàn)歌劇里一些不太合適的元素，但沒有感到驚訝——從藝術上來說，似乎所有的敘事結構和音樂元素都被拉伸以填充更大的空間——后來知悉這些都是在該劇首演后，為了大都會的演出才添加的部分。舞臺調(diào)動時不時會影響到敘事的暢順性，尤其是布洛在大學參與兄弟會入會儀式那一段不但嘩眾取寵，更削弱了這部分場景應有的戲劇性。

一部本來屬于描述親密家庭的戲劇被擴大為一部大歌劇，可惜故事的情節(jié)與內(nèi)容卻無法符合大歌劇的要求。換句話說，像把一杯優(yōu)質的香檳倒進空空如也的大酒缽。

***

我在看完《骨子里的烈火》離開大都會歌劇院之后，腦海里浮現(xiàn)了一個問題，一個平?？戳T歌劇——甚至電影——都不該提出的疑問：這場演出刪減了原著的哪些要素？從務實的層面來看，挑選布洛的回憶錄作為歌劇主題很容易理解：把已經(jīng)面世的暢銷回憶錄改編為歌劇當然是好事，尤其是對目標受眾具有重要影響力的原著。我看罷演出卻對歌劇版本缺乏熱情，所以特意訂購了原著，想要仔細研究一番。結果，我感到更加困惑：把這本回憶錄改編為歌劇，是誰想出來的好主意？

我提出的疑問與原著的質量無關。這甚至是我近年來閱讀過最震撼的回憶錄。書中的敘事手法發(fā)自內(nèi)心：我感覺到布洛年輕時所觀察的事物的新鮮感和即時性，同時也接受成年的布洛的措詞與角度。但在歌劇里面，那些重要的情節(jié)——孩提時代被性侵造成的內(nèi)心創(chuàng)傷，長大后抓住宗教或兄弟會的機會尋覓出路（卻都失敗）——在布洛回憶錄的字里行間既優(yōu)雅又細膩；而在歌劇制作里，這些重要轉折點卻被淪為增添樂段的借口。

原著文本與歌劇制作的大反差讓我想起幾年前參加在馬德里舉行的世界歌劇論壇。其中一場講座的主題關乎“多樣性”。不同國家的代表對于“多樣性”這個詞語有不同的見解：經(jīng)濟多樣性？文化多樣性？但是，在美國人的心目中，“多樣性”只有膚色的黑白之分。一位圣路易斯歌劇院董事局成員（一位美國黑人）占用了論壇差不多10分鐘的時間。他痛斥那部深受歡迎的《波吉與貝絲》，并慨嘆沒有任何常規(guī)歌劇劇目能夠“代表他的生活”。

我認為他沒有抓住重點。我不確定，那些從高樓跳下自殺（《托斯卡》）、被滿心嫉妒的士兵用刀捅死（《卡門》）或困在麻袋里繼而被自己的父親揮刀刺死（《弄臣》）——我只提出全球十部最有名的常規(guī)歌劇劇目中的三部——確實能反映現(xiàn)實生活嗎？（盡管直至幾年前，很少人會擔心自己感染呼吸系統(tǒng)的病毒而致命。）

這位董事局成員好像搞不清生活與藝術的定義。數(shù)百年來，哲學家一直在爭論這兩者的相對優(yōu)點，還有彼此間的相互影響?？墒?，哲學家通常不會把兩者混淆。生活既漫長又凌亂；正如約翰·列儂（John Lennon）曾寫道，生活正是“你在草擬其他計劃時，圍繞你發(fā)生的一切事情”。相對來說，藝術就是計劃，它提供我們一些框架，把那些生活中的“上好部分”濃縮成可消化的120分鐘（如果你是瓦格納，那么就算成5個小時）。重點是：藝術超越于生活，提醒著我們悲傷或喜樂兩大極端的可能性。

相比生活，藝術更容易被判斷。藝術有它的常規(guī)：你可以務實處理，也可把熱度調(diào)高至爆發(fā)點。如果你忽略它，你就會陷入危機。讓我們重新審視《藍》這個個案——移植到底特律演出后，作品的效果顯得遜色——黑人警察的兒子被白人警察所殺的故事所引起的共鳴，連白人觀眾都會明白家中父子代溝的問題與街頭發(fā)生的種族與社會沖突。這些都是編劇泰澤維爾·湯姆森（Tazewell Thompson）自身經(jīng)歷過或親眼看到的現(xiàn)實?！端{》的制作手法非常藝術化，套用了古代希臘悲劇方式。劇中幾位女演員一開始就擔心黑人小男孩未來的一生。她們就是希臘戲劇中的命運女神，只不過換上了現(xiàn)代戲服。

讓我們回到《骨子里的烈火》：故事?lián)碛须娪暗募軜嫞上]有找來稱職的剪輯師。我感覺不到一場接一場的動力，場景間彼此沒有關聯(lián)或回應。很多場景在偌大的舞臺上感到不太舒適——我肯定，在圣路易斯的舞臺上以及那里的觀眾更適合這部家庭戲劇。

如果我更輕率的話，我會指出《骨子里的烈火》的問題在于沒有人在劇中死掉：從歷史角度來看，那是藝術與娛樂最顯著的區(qū)別（百老匯的《西區(qū)故事》與歌劇界的《費加羅》算是個例外）。真正的問題所在，是創(chuàng)作者不懂歌劇的創(chuàng)作規(guī)律。

如果我要發(fā)傳票的話，我會懲罰《骨子里的烈火》創(chuàng)作者違反了契訶夫法則（Chekhov’s Law），即假如手槍在第一幕出現(xiàn)，到了第三幕就必須要用得上這個道具。《骨子里的烈火》（歌劇與原著）一開始描述主人公拿著手槍開著快車飛奔回家，誓要找上當年侵犯他的表哥算賬。后來（回憶錄書中記載得更早），布洛的母親[女高音拉托尼亞·摩爾（Latonia Moore）將該角色演繹得淋漓盡致]拿著同一把手槍指向不忠的丈夫與他的情婦。但她也沒有扣動扳機。

無疑，故事中令人傷痛的情節(jié)讓我們深信，《骨子里的烈火》的確是在描述生活。但這是藝術嗎？傳票已發(fā)出，法官已開審，但陪審團正在熱議中仍未出庭。

All music criticism is a mixture of factual reporting and personal evaluation. No matter the occasion， you first need to find whatever is new or special， and only then do you get around to what you—and sometimes other people—thought of it. As the composer and critic Virgil Thomson once put it， opinion should be the cadenza， not the theme.

So when it comes to an event like Fire Shut Up in My Bones， there was already plenty of news to start with. Composed by Terence Blanchard with a text by Kasi Lemmons， Fire was the first opera by a Black composer and librettist ever to appear at the Metropolitan Opera. As some critics （and many historians） have pointed out， other Black composers have written operas （just as several non-Black composers have written on Black subjects）， but rarely have any of them—other than the ubiquitous Porgy and Bess—made it beyond the regional stage.Fire， on the other hand， was chosen to reopen America’s largest opera house—and for all intents and purposes brought back live， large-scale indoor performances to New York—after more than 18 months of darkness. As such， the event itself was practically front-page news.

Then there was the evening’s general complexion. In addition to the creative team， rarely （except， of course， for Porgy） has an all-Black cast graced the stage of the Met， and never has a Met opening night had so many people of color in attendance. None of this， by the way， was a coincidence.

For more than a year， while Covid ran rampant throughout the world， people in America were also referring regularly to “the other pandemic.”Spurred by the death of George Floyd at the hands of the Minneapolis police， the entire country was reckoning with racial tensions throughout society. Among classical music institutions saddled with accusations of “white privilege” and “institutional racism，” the Met found itself particularly vulnerable.

One could surely debate the statistics. The number of Black singers appearing at the Met has noticeably appreciated in the past few years， and given the high level of competition in the field I would love to see the ratio of Black singers hired there versus the number of trained Black singers in the overall talent pool. Most White opera singers never make it to the Met either.

But you can’t expect objective analysis in such a heated debate. During the Black Lives Matter protests， nearly all American arts organizations made unsolicited statements stating their support of racial diversity. Many （including San Francisco Opera and several orchestras around the country） created new administrative positions with the title of Chief Diversity Officer. The Met， for its part， filled its nightly HD streams with every production featuring Black singers in its televised history.

In terms of programming， orchestras and chamber music societies had it relatively easy. Entire season schedules， many designed years in advance， were thrown out the window， replaced （initially on line） with much music by Black and other composers of color. Opera companies， by comparison， were the lumbering dinosaurs. Rather than creating anything new， even Michigan Opera Theatre—by no means a giant in the field—had to turn to pre-existing works and productions， usually done by organizations even smaller （Glimmerglass Opera， in the case of Blue） or now defunct （New York City Opera， in the case of X： The Life and Times of Malcom X）.

Which is how Fire Shut Up in My Bones， originally commissioned by the Opera Theatre of St. Louis and premiered there in 2019， wound up reopening the Met （in a new production later traveling to Los Angeles Opera and the Lyric Opera of Chicago）. Whether it actually succeeded， however， is another question entirely.

***

So much news value was wrapped up in Fire that it’s little wonder that so few critics （all of whom seem to have less space these days） got around to discussing the artistic merits of the piece. Nor， given the political times and cultural sensitivities， would many of them dare to. Why wreck a culturally significant moment with bad news？

The truth was， yes， there was much to admire.Blanchard， being a prominent jazz musician and an accomplished film composer （most notably in scores for Spike Lee）， has much more to play than just the race card. Structurally， Lemmons （herself a filmmaker） reworked New York Times columnist Charles Blow’s eponymous memoir with a duly cinematic touch， with the mature Blow looking at the young Blow as an entirely different entity onstage. Blanchard follows suit， and even has the older Blow （played by baritone Will Liverman） singing a duet with his younger incarnation （the charming treble Walter Russell III）.

As his résumé would suggest， Blanchard employs a huge stylistic range. Interior singing—as in the mature Blow’s reflective moments， or his interior dialogues with Destiny and Loneliness （both sung by soprano Angel Blue）—tended toward an otherworldly lyrism. Public singing， in those scenes portraying the past in real time， drew on gospel， blues and other vernacular styles. But given the structural imbalance in the libretto， this duality didn’t become fully apparent till after intermission.

I was not entirely surprised to find that everything that felt wrong at the Met—all the narrative and musical material that seemed like fabric stretched to fill a bigger space—was added since the original production. Much of the choreography simply got in the way of the story without adding to it， but one extended set piece relating Charles’s college fraternity hazing actually managed not just to pander to the crowd but actually trivialize the dramatic meaning of the scene.

What was basically an intimate domestic drama was puffed up into grand opera without the content to support it. It was like pouring a glass of nice champagne into an empty punch bowl.

***

I left the Met after Fire asking the one thing you should never need to ask after an opera—or even a film： What was lost from the original source？ On a pragmatic level the choice of Blow’s book was obvious： it never hurts to adapt an existing bestseller， particularly one that carries significant weight with your target audience. My lack of enthusiasm actually sent me in search of the book， which only intensified my confusion： How could anyone have thought that it would make a good opera？

In no way does this question the quality of the book， which was in fact the most powerful memoir I’ve read in some time， with an interior narration that maintains the freshness and immediacy of Blow’s younger observations while the mature writer provides the vocabulary and perspective. But in the opera， none of the key developments—the personal trauma of childhood sexual abuse， or failed detours into religion and fraternity life to find direction—unfold with the grace and subtlety of Blow’s prose. At best， they become excuses for a new musical number.

The stark contrast between book and opera brought back an exchange I witnessed a few years ago at the World Opera Forum in Madrid， where one of the discussions focused on diversity. Depending on the nationality of the delegates， diversity was often defined as economic or cultural， but for Americans it was literally a matter of Black and White. One Black board member from the Opera Theatre of St Louis hijacked the discussion for nearly 10 minutes lambasting the popularity of Porgy and Bess and lamenting the lack of anything in the opera repertory that “represented his life.”

I think he rather missed the point. I’m not sure how much jumping to your death from a parapet （Tosca）， getting stabbed by a jealous soldier （Carmen） or getting pummeled to death in a bag by your father（Rigoletto）—to cite but three of the top 10 operas in the repertory—represents anyone’s life today.（Though until just a couple of years ago， a fatal respiratory ailment didn’t seem very common either.）

The problem our board member seemed to be having was a general misperception of life and art. Philosophers for centuries have debated the relative merits of the two， as well as their mutual influences on each other. But rarely have they confused them. Life is sprawling and messy； as John Lennon once wrote， it’s “what happens when you’re making other plans.” Art， on the other hand， is the plan， the structure of how to condense the “good parts”into a digestible 120 minutes （or if you’re Wagner， five hours）. The very point that art transcends life reminds us of extreme possibilities on both ends of the ecstatic-tragic spectrum.

And compared to life， art is much more open to judgment. Art has conventions， which you can treat faithfully or tweak to the breaking point. But you ignore them at your own peril. Looking at Blue—which in Detroit suffered even more in its transfer of venue—the story of a Black policeman’s son being killed by a White policeman resonated with youth-parental tensions at home and racialsocietal conflict on the streets. It rang true even for White audiences， mostly because librettist Tazewell Thompson had seen and lived much of it himself. The presentation， however， was supremely artful and thoroughly realized through the conventions of ancient Greek tragedy. The women initially expressing concern about the future of Black boy baby were nothing but the Fates in modern dress.

But turning to Fire， the story unfolded with all the structural points of film without a suitable editor. Scenes didn’t push from one to the next as much as just end and start anew. Nor did much of the story seem comfortable on stage—though I’m sure the scale in St. Louis was more hospitable to domestic drama.

If I were more flippant， I’d say the problem in Fire is that nobody dies， which has long been a shorthand determination between art and entertainment （though it doesn’t quite account for West Side Story on Broadway or Figaro on the opera stage）. The real problem， though， was its ignorance of conventions.

Handing out citations， I would fine the creators of Fire Shut up in My Bones for a clear violation of Chekhov’s Law， the principle that if you show the gun in Act I someone has to use it by Act III. Fire （both the opera and the book） opens with the protagonist racing in a car with a loaded weapon to confront the cousin who abused him. Later in the telling （though earlier in the story）， the protagonist’s mother（brilliantly played by soprano Latonia Moore） chases after her unfaithful husband and his mistress with the same gun. But she doesn’t shoot anyone either.

So in its sometimes painful accounts， Fire Shut Up in My Bones is undeniably life. But is it art？ The citations have been issued and the judge has presided， but the jury is still out.