On 26 October 1928 Paris was witness to a gala opera performance some sixty years in the making: the city’s first staging of Bedřich Smetana’s The Bartered Bride (1866). Organised under the auspices of the Czechoslovak embassy, joined with the tenth anniversary celebrations for the foundation of the First Czechoslovak Republic, and promoted as a marker of French-Czechoslovak cultural ties, the event constituted a triumph for Czech opera in one of the interwar period’s most important European cultural centres. The Paris premiere of The Bartered Bride allows for a detailed examination of two distinct but interconnected issues: the status of Smetana’s opera as political, ideological and national symbol for the nascent Czechoslovak state, and the diplomatic relationship between interwar France and Czechoslovakia.

For the past twenty-five years a key piece of evidence for an anti-Semitic subtext in Wagner’s Die Meistersinger has been identified in the Grimm Brothers’ anti-Semitic tale ‘The Jew in the Thorn-bush’ and a possible allusion to this in the text of Walther’s Act I ‘trial song’. This article argues that the passages in question are better explained with reference to a medieval poetic tradition still prevalent in nineteenth-century German culture involving the vocal contest between birds, paradigmatically the owl and the nightingale. Since the twelfth century, the owl and the nightingale have debated the merits of high and low art, religious themes, social forms, poetic diction and more. The associations of pedantry and harsh, coarse vocal character with the figure of the owl maps readily onto the negative traits of Beckmesser, just as the contrasting associations of the melodious nightingale with springtime, courtship and ‘natural’ musicality align with traits of Wagner’s artist-hero, Walther von Stolzing. Rather than displacing the possible anti-Semitic reading of Beckmesser, however, this alternative reading of the Beckmesser–Walther antagonism through the lens of avian conflict or debate poetry relocates that reading within a broader discursive and figurative context, one that is more commensurate with the possible role of anti-Semitic subtexts within Wagner’s music dramas in general.

In this article, I use an intertextual interference – the spectral presence of Norma Desmond in a performance of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor – as a locus through which to explore the consequences of the ‘open’ text in theatrical spectatorship, criticism and historical study. Norma’s ghosting of Lucia reveals how spectral effects function in musical and dramatic contexts, particularly in Gothic works. These effects replace illusions of linear teleology with temporal synchronicity and destabilise the boundaries that separate the critic or spectator from the work. Though examining Lucia through the lens of Sunset Boulevard inverts chronological sequence, it acknowledges the temporal contradictions inherent in historical work and assigns productive meaning to nostalgic impulses that engage a reflective mode of thought.

This article delves into the lives and careers of two significant Russian singers: the bass Osip Petrov and his wife, the mezzo-soprano Anna Vorobyova, who created or inspired leading roles in operas by Glinka, Dargomïzhsky and Musorgsky. Over the course of a career that spanned some four decades, Petrov would become the most celebrated Russian bass of the nineteenth century; Vorobyova, whose career was cut short by a tragic accident, would turn her attention to the private sphere and incubate a younger generation of musicians. Drawing on reviews, memoirs and personal correspondence, I chart the influence of this couple not only on individual composers and operas, but also on the development of stock characters such as the father, the buffoon, the antihero and the trouser role.

In 1892, physician Achille Gouguenheim (1839–1901) was invited to teach a course on the physiology and hygiene of singing at the Paris Conservatoire. By that time, scientists had been interested in the mechanics of the ‘invisible’ singing voice for years, initially experimenting on human and animal cadavers using strings and weights to make dead larynges sing. By mid-century, with the development of better quality artificial lighting and mirrors, physicians and physiologists finally developed a better understanding of the relationship between voice and physiology. Meanwhile, by 1890, a growing number of connoisseurs and medical professionals alike were concerned that there was a crisis ruining French operatic singing. Gouguenheim and others argued that the key to improving the situation rested on embedding medical knowledge and its relationship to the proper functioning of the larynx and voice into pedagogy at the Conservatoire. Drawing upon archival documents, debates in leading periodicals and Gouguenheim’s published lecture notes, we examine the marriage between medical science and artistic pedagogy during the latter part of the nineteenth century. Overall, we argue that this evidence reveals a strand of French vocal training that merged the fields of science and artistry, if ever so briefly, creating pedagogical methods that for a few years offered the promise of rescuing French opera performance.

Aida famously inaugurated the Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires in 1908, but the musical history of the city is also linked to two earlier productions of the piece: its debut in Cairo in 1871, and another legendary performance, in Rio de Janeiro in 1886. This article retraces the steps of five Italian musicians who played in the orchestras of the Cairo or Rio productions before moving to Buenos Aires, and thereby formed part of the vast Italian emigration to Argentina in the final decades of the nineteenth century. Once there, Pietro Melani, Tomaso Marenco, Giovanni Grazioso Panizza, Italo Casella and Ferruccio Cattelani radically transformed the concert life of the city through their musical activities, not least through their introduction of a wide range of orchestral and chamber music repertoire. By reconstructing their trajectories, I argue for a stronger focus on international networks in thinking about the history of Italian opera at this time and for a greater attention to the contributions of performers who would later fall into obscurity. In addition, I suggest that the insignificant attention given to such figures even in Argentinean narratives would seem to indicate the persistence of a historiography that plays down the contributions of European immigrants in the musical history of the city and the nation.