Gone But Still With Us

I just discovered one of my classical music idols has died last month.  Andrew Porter was a music critic, the best of my lifetime, most famously for The New Yorker magazine.  But he was so much more.  He wrote English singing translations for dozens of operas, including his universally praised version of the complete Ring Cycle of Wagner.  This was recorded in the late 70's, and is still available as I write. He staged operas, he lectured, he wrote much about music, he was on the board of musical organizations.  But he will forever be an important figure in opera because he found all the original material from the premiere version of Verdi's Don Carlos, thought to be lost.  He recreated it from orchestral parts and chorus books, and his reconstruction is now the official published version, and the one used when the original is performed, which is happening more and more.  This scholarship will outlive us all.  That is as close to immortality as a critic/theorist/researcher can get.

I got to know the music of many modern composers through his enthusiastic writing in some books of reviews collected from his 20 years at The New Yorker.  (I have reread them all, many times.) I sought out many names and recordings from his opinions.  I didn't agree with everything he said, but I agreed with much of it, and I have tried to follow his practice of giving something two (or more) listens before I make up my mind about it.  (But sometimes, something is so shitty, a second listen isn't necessary.)  But no one was free from his critical eye.  Observations of poor performances, even by singers and performers he thought were among the best in the world, were printed, often to the scorn of fans,  Lesser works were called such.  Failures--by good and bad alike--admitted as such.  And he should know.  He rarely heard (major) pieces without studying the score first, and/or listening to a series of performances, not just one.  Opera was his true love, but he never stopped listening to anything and everything, forever curious, forever understanding the importance of the new through his knowledge of the old.  He wrote often and well.  His prose is clear, his adjectives precise.  Most of all, he seemed to be forgiving when a performer, composer, or piece had disappointed him.  He tried to hear everything with understanding, without prejudice, or the closest to that I ever read.  He wanted things to be wonderful, and found that much of it was. What better epitaph could there be?