Born in Córdoba, Palomo now lives in Berlin, having been
a member of the music staff of the Deutscher Oper Berlin between
1981 and 2004. For all his residence in Germany, his music never
forgets its Spanish or, more specifically, its Andalusian roots.
In Cervantes’ great, and profoundly influential work,
Don
Quixote, Dulcinea - whose ‘real’ name was Aldonza
Lorenzo del Toboso - is an all-pervading, but unspeaking and invisible
presence. She is the ‘muse’ of all Don Quixote’s
activities, his creative transformation of an ordinary peasant
girl (it seems), into an inspiring figure of beauty and goodness.
The reader never meets her, and she has no voice of her own. Like
so much else in Quixote’s life she is the product of his
reading and yet transcends all that has been previously written.
In Chapter Thirteen of Volume One, Quixote affirms that “all
the impossible and fanciful attributes of beauty which the poets
apply to their ladies are verified in her; for her hairs are gold,
her forehead Elysian fields, her eyebrows rainbows, her eyes suns,
her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her neck alabaster,
her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her fairness snow, and what
modesty conceals from sight such, I think and imagine, as rational
reflection can only extol, not compare”. She is a hopelessly
unattainable ideal who inspires all of Quixote’s hope.
In many of the almost numberless reworkings of Cervantes’
text - as novel, play, musical, symphonic poem, opera, poem and
much else - Dulcinea has been given visible body and audible voice.
That is the case in this intriguing and rewarding piece, built
upon poems by Carlos Murciano (b.1931). From the CD’s documentation
it isn’t clear whether Murciano’s texts were specifically
written for what the composer describes as a ‘Cantata-Fantasy
for a Knight in Love’, or whether they were previously published.
Either way there is a clear unanimity of vision between composer
and poet.
Dulcinea is in ten sections, two of which are purely orchestral.
Music and text seek to represent many conflicting points of view,
contrasting judgements of this strangest of knights errant. In
the first section (Los molinos de viento / The Windmills), the
chorus - at this stage no more than commonsense observers, as
it were - judge Quixote to be merely a self-deluded dreamer with
a limping nag, a “defeated fighter, leader of none”,
a man of “valour overblown” (quotations are from Susannah
Howe’s translations of Murciano’s poems). In the third
section (Cancíon del alba / Dawn Song) that same chorus
at least recognises Quixote as “fearless”, as a knight
with “His buckler held close, his lance secure”, who
“hears a lark sing a song of hope”; now the chorus
can recognise some value in the way “his gaze travels across
the wide plain / his captive heart yearns for Dulcinea”.
It is in the fourth section (Canto de Don Quijote / Ballad of
Don Quixote) that we first hear the knight’s voice itself,
as he dedicates himself and his life to Dulcinea (“I travel
with my squire, / travel for you, my lady, / my hope and my destiny”)
and seeks her blessing upon his soul, his helmet and his sword.
In the sixth section the Chorus comes to a realisation of the
necessary mutuality between Alonso Quijano (the ‘real’
name of that reader of romances who now imagines himself Don Quixote)
and ‘Dulcinea’. Only she can truly give him his new
name, and conversely, it is he who has given her her fame: “Alonso
Quijano wishes / Aldonza to speak his name, / that is, he wishes
Dulcinea / to recognise Don Quixote / as the valiant knight /
who has made her fair and noble”. In the seventh section
a dialogue between Don Quixote and Sancho Panza contrasts their
feelings about their two ‘ladies’, Sancho praising
his wife Teresa: “when I’ve a raging thirst, / she’s
my jug and my water”. In the next section the Chorus has
come to sympathise with Don Quixote and to admire him, to have
wishes for him: “Let the word / of such a fair princess
/ be his abracadabra / […] / May the Knight / never open
his eyes / and may he continue to follow / the path of his dreams”.
In the ninth, penultimate section, Dulcinea (un-Cervantes like)
has her say. She has, it seems, become that Dulcinea Quixote imagined
her to be (“Aldonza is but a memory now, / I come from sun-drenched
castles, / from the chamber of dreams”), now she is, indeed,
Dulcinea (“My name is musical and sweet / as honey, as lavender”).
She gives him her blessing, confirms
his name: “All
honour to Don Quixote. / May he be welcome in my realm”.
Dulcinea closes with all the soloists, and the chorus,
speculating on the nature of reality itself, of its relationship
to dream, and of its embodiment, for men, in women.
I have summarised Murciano’s text at such length partly
because of its own intrinsic interest but primarily because it
is a prerequisite to any understanding of what Palomo’s
work is about - this is no mere programme piece, no creation of
incidental, pseudo-film music as it were, for Cervantes’
great novel. Murciano’s texts, though dependent on
Don
Quixote for their very existence, are no mere paraphrases
either; they are adventurous ‘translations’ and Palomo’s
music needs to follow
their lead not that of Cervantes
himself.
Still, as my summary will have indicated, some of the most famous
episodes of the original novel remain, even if their significance
has been somewhat transformed. The first section’s representation
of the famous windmills begins with a wordless whispering from
the chorus, evoking the wind, succeeded by an oboe solo which
suggests the plains of La Mancha, before fiercely energetic rhythms
from the orchestra build to a climax and the chorus enters. This
is music which has its quasi-pictorial elements, but which also
articulates the many conflicts (psychological, emotional, social)
implicit in Murciano’s poems, and in the originating novel,
conflicts which are often overlooked in more sentimental or merely
humorous versions of the story of Don Quixote. Palomo’s
use of orchestral colour, and the blending of choral voices with
those orchestral colours, is particularly impressive in this first
section. There is much else to admire too. The ‘Ballad of
Don Quixote’, with its earnest plea that Dulcinea should
utter his name just once, so that “all will become finer,
/ and all will be more pure”, is touching and grave, both
in its vocal lines and the woodwind commentary on them. Palomo
finds musical language to respond to the profundity of Murciano’s
text, notably in Alonso Quijano’s / Don Quixote’s
plea to Dulcinea to “Speak the name I have put / letter
by letter above my own, / and I shall become Don Quixote, / the
highest-born of men, / the noblest of knights / that ever did
live”. The orchestral and choral Seguidilla contains some
crisply rhythmic writing for both instruments and voices and in
the dialogue which forms ‘Don Quijote y Sancho’, Palomo’s
love lyric for Sancho Panza, in praise of his wife Teresa, is
exquisite, the music in creative tension with the down-to-earth
nature of the words in which Sancho expresses his feelings. The
‘Canto of Dulcinea’ is remarkable, a sustainedly lyrical
traversal of a range of past and present experiences and emotions,
moving towards Dulcinea’s ecstatic recognition that she
is “princess of his desires / and mistress of his thoughts”,
the point at which she can declare “all honour to Don Quixote”
and affirm that he is “welcome in [her] realm”. Palomo’s
music rises to almost mystical heights here and becomes a powerful
expression of the power of beauty and imagination. The ‘Canto
final’ which closes the work brings together all the soloists,
with chorus and orchestra. In
Don Quixote it is Dulcinea
who has no voice; in
Dulcinea it is, ironically, Teresa
Panza who has no voice until this final scene, a final scene which,
after some well-structured interplay of ideas, fades away, musically
speaking, into “a dream / of love and freedom”.
Dulcinea is the best single work by Palomo that I have
so far heard. The interest and quality of Carlos Murciano’s
poems has clearly brought out the very best in Palomo. This recording
was made at the world premiere of the work and the performance
is consistently excellent. Ainhoa Arteta makes a captivating Dulcinea
and Arutjun Kotchinian gives a memorable performance as Don Quixote;
in their relatively minor roles Burkhard Ulrich and Cheri Rose
Katz do all that is required of them, and do it with assurance
and conviction. The work of chorus and orchestra is exemplary
and conductor Miguel Angel Gómez Martínez draws
from them all a committed and utterly convincing performance.
Glyn Pursglove