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Jonathan Tessero’s Hunt to Know the (Musical) Score

by Janine Boylan on December 16, 2013

A butterfly on a musical score, symbolizing Jonathan Tessero's life passion for music and his search for Offenbach's original music to the ballet, Le papillon. (Image © Anna Maria Thor / iStock)

Where was the original musical score for the ballet Le papillon?
© Anna Maria Thor / iStock

A Life Passion for Music, A Love of Ballet

When conductor Jonathan Tessero heard a recording of Jacques Offenbach’s single ballet Le papillon (The Butterfly), he fell in love with it. He wanted to know how Offenbach could direct stringed instruments to perfectly mimic butterflies. So Tessero went looking for the original score.

He found plenty of information about the composer, the history of the performances, the story line. He found audio recordings and videos of parts of the choreography. He found the modern adaptation John Lanchbery did for the Houston Ballet.

Even with his passion for music and his dedication to the hunt, he could not find the original musical score.

In an age where so much information is at our fingertips, how could this be possible?

Act One

In the 1860s when Offenbach wrote this ballet (as well as his famous can-can music), every note was written by hand on paper.

Each page of the score contained just a few measures for each of the thirty instruments. The entire score was many hundreds of pages of notes.

Offenbach would have written the original copy, or the autographed copy. Then he or other scribes might have spent hours hand-making another copy or two.

At the time, the only way to perform this music was to have one of these original copies. Opera houses, libraries, and collectors kept scores like these safe.

And yet somehow Offenbach’s original score had been lost.

Emma Livry in the ballet Le papillon, whose musical score was the subject of a search by Jonathan Tessero. (Image from National Library of France)

Ballerina Emma Livry in Le papillon, 1861
Image from National Library of France

Act Two

Tessero, a young conductor whose resume includes recordings with numerous Broadway casts and orchestras, was baffled. “This work was done in 1860 and lasted for a hundred years and then it was lost. In the modern day, when we can track anything, we lost it.”

Tessero started following some leads.

Scene 1: The Professor

The recording he had first heard was done in 1972 by conductor Richard Bonynge and the London Symphony Orchestra.

Tessero contacted Bonynge, who lives in Europe, and learned that the score he used was a copy. More precisely, it was a series of printed photographs that he had received from the owner of the autographed original, a professor in the midwestern United States. And the photos were not in great shape.

In addition, that professor, George Verdak from Indiana University, had since died. While Verdak had known the treasure he had in the autographed copy, keepers of his estate didn’t. So after his death, his copy was misplaced—perhaps sold at an estate sale, bundled up in papers returned to the university, or placed in a storage box.

Scene Two: The Italian

Simultaneously, Tessero learned of another copy in Italy. When he tried to acquire it, he was told that they do not lend it out because it is a very, very old version of the original, and the next time it is touched, it could be ruined. (Tessero plans to visit this copy one day. He won’t touch it, but he has to see it.)

Scene Three: The Librarian

Tessero also traced a copy from the Paris Opera Ballet.

About thirty years ago, the Paris Opera Ballet donated their precious scores to the National Library of France. But when Tessero contacted the library, they were unable to locate this specific document.

So after nine months of searching, Tessero wasn’t close to finding the original music. He put the project aside.

Butterfly musician, symbolizing Jonathan Tessero's hunt for Offenbach's original musical score for the ballet Le papillon. (Image © Lidiya Drabchuk / Hemera)

Offenbach’s original score would reveal how notes could mimic a butterfly’s movement.
© Lidiya Drabchuk / Hemera

Scene Four: The Finale

A few months later, out of the blue, a librarian from the National Library of France contacted Tessero. They had discovered, not the autographed copy, but a microfilm copy of the original score.

Oh, I see! A breakthrough.

The library sent him a copy of the microfilm, and partially for himself and partially to ensure the future of the ballet, Tessero has been transcribing the score from the microfilm to a digital file. He anticipates the task will take about a year to complete.

Once the music is all digitally input, Tessero hopes to achieve his ultimate goal: “One day a ballet company will do it, and I will get to stand there and conduct it, and then my geek dream will have come true.”

Jonathan Tessero, whose life passion for music and love of ballet led him on a search to find Offenbach's original musical score for the ballet Le papillon. (Image © Jonathan Tessero)

Jonathan Tessero has worked on Broadway musicals, a Super Bowl, and the Macy’s
Thanksgiving Day Parade. He plans to add Offenbach’s ballet to that list.
Image © Jonathan Tessero

Postlude: The Story

While the two-act-four-scene original score has been difficult to find, there is a lot of well-documented history of the piece and its story, thanks to the liner notes Professor Verdak wrote for the London Symphony recording.

As Tessero says, “Most ballets have a theme of nature, or love, or magic. This one has them all!”

Briefly, the story is that a jealous, old and evil fairy transforms a young princess (whom the fairy has kidnapped) into a butterfly. A prince discovers the butterfly-girl’s true identity and captures the wicked fairy. The spell on the girl is broken, the fairy is transformed into a statue, and the prince and princess can live happily ever after.

This snippet is a better representation of the magic in the story and the score.

If the video does not display, watch it here

Speaking about the year’s work to transcribe the ballet’s musical score, Tessero reveals again his passion for music, “I truly love the piece. If it wasn’t worth listening to, it would be harder.”

We look forward to listening as you conduct it, Jonathan!

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Aha Moment Maker: Word Magic

by Your friends at OIC on December 14, 2013

Abracadabra

ANCIENT ROME—Today, “abracadabra” is a word we instantly recognize and associate with magicians and magic tricks. However, the history of this unique word is as much medical, as it is magical.

Abracadambra TriangleThe first recorded use of he word “abracadabra” was in a Latin medical poem by the Roman physician Quintus Serenus Sammonicus in the 2nd Century AD. His prescription for those with malaria or fever was to wear an amulet around their neck with “abracadabra” written in the form of a triangle. The contention was that this “formula” would funnel the sickness out of the body.

It is widely believed that the word existed prior to Sammonicus putting his “cure” in writing, and there are multiple theories on its true origin. What can be said for sure is that well into the 17th Century, the word “abracadabra” continued to belong to the medical community, and presumably rabbits had to find their own way out of hats.

What’s the aha moment you see?

 

Image © iStockphoto

 

1 Sketchbook + 2 Artists = The Art of Sharing

by Meredith Mullins on December 12, 2013

Dragon lady, creative expression from Mica and Myla Hendricks showing the art of sharing and collaboration (Drawing © Mica and Myla Hendricks)

Creative Collaboration: Shore
© Mica and Myla Hendricks

Creative Expression from a Dynamic Duo

“If you can’t share, we might have to take it away from you.”

These are words of wisdom that many parents use to teach youngsters the fine art of sharing.

However, in this story, the wisdom came from an unexpected source. The insight was offered by a 4-year-old.

The young artist—Myla—was eyeing her mother’s new sketchbook, with its rich inviting paper, perfect for inspiring colorful drawings.

“Can I draw in it too, Mama?” Myla was getting excited.

Artist mom Mica Hendricks was enjoying the new treasure, sketching some of her signature faces (personalities that combined the best elements of movie stills, Maurice Sendak, and RJ Crumb). She wasn’t too interested in sharing.

“If you can’t share, we might have to take it away from you.” Her daughter’s tone was serious. The ultimate guilt trip. What was a mother to do?

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