2023-06-28 09:54:00
Blue eyes, affable smile, soft voice… The Briton George Benjamin exudes a tranquility that his works do not have. Author of two of the most important operas of the 21st century (Written on Skin, Lessons in Love and Violence, both to librettos by Martin Crimp), he composed for this 75th edition of the Festival Picture a Day Like This, notably sung by the mezzo Marianne Crebassa and soprano Anna Prohaska. Benjamin, 63 years old and a spirit forever focused on research, tells us behind the scenes of this world creation.
How did the commissioning of this opera go?
We accepted, Martin and I, the proposal of Pierre Audi, the director of the Festival, then we decided that it would be a work for the Jeu de Paume theater with a reduced ensemble. For an orchestra with 50 musicians, there is a huge organizational task. There, with 22 desks, you can fill the room with sound and have a wide variety of timbres, without being weighed down by the administration of the score. It’s liberating. The large orchestra has an extraordinary power which attacks the body of the listeners, you certainly cannot reproduce that with 22 musicians – I tried to go as far as possible, but there are limits. The reduced number offers changes in the conception of time and in the harmonic substance. The score is more impulsive. It takes time for a large orchestra to fill the space, whereas a small orchestra is more agile, able to seize a succession of ideas more quickly.
How do you compose?
No routine. I try to write as soon as I get up. Sometimes I wake up in the night. I stop at the end of the day, and that’s all I think about. I exclude anything else. I don’t even go a mile from home. Locked in a bubble, I live inside the work until the last note. Sometimes the inspiration doesn’t come. And other times, it pops up. I seek spontaneity. Ideas frozen in advance are generic, even cliché. You have to fight them to get to some truth. I am obliged to pass through several states to arrive at a result which I consider essential and true. The primary ideas, I hardly keep them. I reflect, I miss several times before having what the work requires. What I want, me, is not interesting. At the beginning, you have to impose yourself because there is a void. But after a quarter of completion, the work begins to ask for things on its own. I also like to surprise myself.
How do you collaborate with Martin Crimp?
He is an extraordinary writer. He works for months on concentrated, hyper-precise texts. I don’t want to ask him to change his libretto, but sometimes I need a few more words, when there are melismas. For Picture a Day Like This, I sometimes couldn’t find a solution. If my morale drops, I call him and ask him questions about the psychology of the characters or the dramaturgy. At the beginning of our collaborations, I did not call him, today more so. And as soon as I talk to him, it unlocks. Even if sometimes what he tells me surprises me.
Surprise seems essential to your work…
Yes, we don’t want to repeat ourselves. If you get bored while writing, it’s death. To each work, a path. This one is very different, in forms, variations, it changes mood scene after scene. Instead of having an organic tragedy that grows over time, it takes detours. It is even surprising. It’s the first time I’ve done this: change my skin five or six times for an hour, keeping a unity of tone, color and breathing. It’s a snake work that keeps changing its skin.
Do you like directing your operas, what are you going to do in Aix?
It’s not always an easy challenge. I like that they are led by others, but leading also has its advantages. There, in front of my friends from the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, I change mutes, cymbals, dozens of little details on the spot, quickly. Without touching the notes. It’s impossible if someone else is leading. And I’m so lonely writing that it feels good to be in front of an orchestra. I also like to feel the strange and magical tension that can exist between the people on the stage and those behind me.
What memories do you have of Messiaen, who was your teacher?
At the Paris Conservatoire, I studied with Betsy Jolas, André Boucourechliev, Henri Dutilleux, Jacqueline Robin… But Messiaen was unbeatable. He was the reason for my coming to Paris. Thanks to his genius. I was 16, 17, he brought me a lot. On rhythm, harmony, orchestral mastery. The way he conceived of music: a joy, a technique close to language, a certain rationality. A naivety endowed with the greatest requirement. There was a very deep spiritual and emotional connection between him and the material of music. Three times a week, there was a second Gounod room sun at the Conservatory. In addition, he was extremely kind. All these things remain.
How do you see the future of opera, a little shaken after the pandemic?
Opera is the most important invention on Earth. It transports us and tells us things of great depth about ourselves through drama, music, light… It’s a fragile art, but I can’t imagine that a Western society can do without drama set to music. Alas, many people do not like opera, this art form is closed to them. And populism is circulating across the world today, in a sinister and dangerous way. What we’re doing is suspect: it doesn’t please everyone and it costs a lot of money. There is suspicion about this art form. Brexit and the Covid did not help matters. The English National Opera may be closing, the BBC will cut its orchestral subsidies by 20%, and the London Sinfonietta, the country’s leading modern music ensemble, is threatened with collapse. 40% of grants. This is no longer viable, it is bad for morale. In France you have 32 opera houses, in Great Britain we have less than 10, including 4 national ones. We have very large orchestras, a living, unique musical culture. But threatened. British politicians should embrace culture with more generosity and vision, as they realize that certain things on Earth are needed.
Picture a Day Like This, July 5, 8, 11, 12, 14, 15, 17, 22 and 23, Théâtre du Jeu de Paume
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