Burkas, dirndls, cars, sopranos, nightmares, and more
Editor’s Note: Our Jay Nordlinger spent much of August at the Salzburg Festival, doing various jobs. Music criticism has been published in National Review and on The New Criterion’s blog. More will be published in TNC. This journal is for odds and ends. For Part I, published yesterday, go here.
I have had a running joke, although it is not really a joke: When will burkas outnumber dirndls? When will there be more burkas in Salzburg than dirndls?
A dirndl, to remind you, is a traditional Austrian frock. A burka, you need no reminding about.
On a typical day, I think, I see more burkas in Salzburg than dirndls. But that is only because the Austrian ladies choose not to wear dirndls, whereas Muslim ladies are pretty reliable about their burkas.
Does it matter? Well, to answer that, let me recall an anecdote from Bernard Lewis, the great Middle East historian. A while back, he was being interviewed by a Dutch journalist. Lewis that said, on present trends, Holland would be majority-Muslim in 20 years. The journalist said, “So what?”
Lewis thought, Poor bastard. He has no idea what’s coming.
‐On a very hot day, I see Muslim families. Mom is in burka. Dad is in shorts and polo shirt. I think, Pretty good deal for him. Not so hot for her. Well, actually, it is rather hot …
‐Many years ago, Anthony Daniels made an observation. Daniels, remember, is the British writer-physician who is especially acute on the pathologies of his native country and of the Continent. He often writes under the pen-name Theodore Dalrymple.
He said that, in his observation, which was extensive, young Muslim men were in it for one reason, above all: the subjugation of women. By “in it,” I mean in Islam. They did not care so much about God and the spiritual life. What they liked was that other.
I have had many opportunities to ponder this over the years. I do not doubt Tony.
‐A local man — a Salzburger — tells me, “Yes, the burkas are ever more numerous, but so are the Chinese!”
‐It is a great pleasure to be on the Backhaus-Weg again. I’d better explain. And let me start with a chunk of my “Salzburg Journal” from 2012, please:
One of my favorite places to walk in Salzburg is sort of in the “country,” along the Backhaus-Weg — Backhaus Way. Wilhelm Backhaus was a German pianist, a great musician, who lived from 1884 to 1969. That he should be remembered with a “way” — a path, really — is kind of touching to me. Of course, he is mainly remembered by his recordings. In any case, the Backhaus-Weg is a beautiful and special walk.
Fun fact: Though Backhaus was a German pianist, he was not of the German school. Nationality is not destiny, musically or otherwise. There are “Germanic” pianists from all over. And some Germans who are not so Germanic.
Know what I mean?
For the past couple of years — maybe even three — the Backhaus-Weg has been closed. Construction. Has irked me. But this year — free and open and wonderful. There is a spring in my step as I walk along it.
‐In town, there are any number of beautiful cars: German and Italian sports cars. La crème de la crème. Mouthwatering. There is also a humbler car, an Alfa Romeo. But I like its name: Giulietta, Italian for Juliet, as in Romeo’s chick. I like that name for a car.
‐In the course of a journalistic career, I have interviewed some important people: presidents and prime ministers, kings and queens, prime ministers and finance ministers. But I am starstruck, frankly, when I meet La Stoyanova. My heart skips a beat or two.
The second guest in our Salzburg Festival Society series is Krassimira Stoyanova, the Bulgarian soprano. She is a woman of unusual dignity, nobility, and soulfulness, I would say. A beautiful singer, on several levels. To hear her in Mozart or Strauss — just to take two composers — is to experience something magnificent.
There is a saying: “You play who you are.” You sing who you are, too. It is not much of a surprise to find Stoyanova, in person, gracious and lovely.
One tidbit: A few years ago, shortly before a performance, Stoyanova was working in her garden. A passerby said, “A diva like you should not have her hands in the dirt!” She said, “I am a human being before I am a diva.” (Stoyanova loves to garden, and in fact needs to do so. She says she needs her hands in the dirt — and to make things grow.)
One other tidbit: She refers to European stage directors, with their bossy and often subversive ways, as a “mafia.”
‐An old friend and I are talking about Election 2016, in mournful, perplexed, and wounded tones. He was head of Youth for Eisenhower in ’52. He says, “You could respect Stevenson, just as you could respect Ike. These were good men. There was no character issue. They were patriotic, honest, good men. And now …?”
Yeah.
‐Let’s talk about the weather. In Salzburg, there is something called “Schnürlregen” — string rain. It comes straight down, as if on a string. It rains from 12 to 6. (Think of the hands of a clock.) It doesn’t go the least sideways. It is never 11 to 5 or 1 to 7. It’s Schnürlregen.
Remarkable thing. And it can last for hours. Really soaking. I rather like it, especially when it’s been hot and humid back where I live.
But I’m sorry for the tourist who arrives for his day in Salzburg on a Schnürlregen day.
‐Over the years, I have commented on the street music in Salzburg — it is of an extraordinarily high caliber. You hear fantastic — simply fantastic — musicians on the street.
One such is an accordionist. Now, I have long thought of the accordion as a humble, sometimes comical instrument — good for polkas at wedding receptions. But to hear it played by a master, as I just have … well, you might as well be hearing Heifetz play the violin.
This particular accordionist has everything: technique, musicality, maturity, charisma. I listen in amazement.
The name on his CDs says “Melnikov Alexander.” (There is a Russian pianist known as Alexander Melnikov. It is not he.)
I have a painful memory. The child of musician friends of mine was studying the guitar (classical guitar). I appreciate that instrument’s repertoire, in large part because I like Spanish music, which is the bulk of it. And I have due admiration for Segovia, Parkening, et al.
But I found myself saying to my friends, “Shouldn’t he study a real instrument, too?”
It is one, I know. And so is the accordion — as evidenced by this extraordinary guy here in Salzburg.
‐I can’t let a Salzburg Festival go without bitching about the heat — the heat in the concert halls. They like ’em stifling over here. Why, I have thought and written too much about …
From this year’s festival, let me report merely this: I saw a man with a fan in his hand, fanning himself. A proper fan. I don’t believe I had ever seen a man man a fan. Men fan themselves with programs and whatnot. This fellow had brought an actual fan.
In America, the guy might as well have worn pointe shoes. But maybe attitudes are different in this neck of the woods?
‐The festival has premiered an opera, The Exterminating Angel, by Thomas Adès, the British composer. I have written about it for National Review. But I’d like to do a quick comment here.
Adès’s opera is based on the 1962 film, El ángel exterminador. The film was directed by Luis Buñuel, the Spaniard, a practitioner of surrealism. The plot is freaky-deaky.
At one point in the opera — whose libretto is in English — a character says, “Strange things are happening.” Do you know the immortal line from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure? “Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.”
I would like to quote from my NR piece, but, before doing so, I’d like to quote from my forthcoming “New York Chronicle” in The New Criterion. That chronicle includes a section on Paradise Interrupted, an opera by Huang Ruo. The opera belongs in the category of Chinese-Western hybrid. It was presented at the Lincoln Center Festival.
My concluding lines are these:
I know you will know that I’m not contradicting myself when I say the following: On leaving the theater that night, I felt like I had been released from jail. I also admired the work, thinking it an excellent, high example of its genre. Paradise Interrupted is an impressive, accomplished thing, whether for me or not.
Okay, my NR piece — the concluding lines on The Exterminating Angel:
Speaking for myself, I would pay good money not to see this opera again. I liked it as much as nightmares. But I recognize its brilliance — and the general brilliance of its composer. Adès can be counted on to write interesting and skillful music, whether it’s for you or me or not.
Thank you for joining me for Part II of this journal. We’ll wrap up with a third tomorrow. See you.