When Dr. Pangloss Shoots Himself
by zemblan
Thu Jul 12, 2007 at 11:57:07 AM PDT
Some thoughts on a tenor named Jerry Hadley, who is now on life-support.
- zemblan's diary :: ::
Leonard Bernstein called "Candide" his problem child. It flopped on Broadway when first presented in the mid-1950's; the production pulled in too many directions -- is it comedy? is it highbrow? is it political commentary? -- and as a whole the show just didn't work.
But the one thing everyone agreed on was that the Bernstein score was brilliant; Columbia Records made the unusual move of recording a cast album even though the show was not a success. And the result was that the show never quite died. The overture worked its way into the orchestra repertory as a pops standard; Dick Cavett nabbed one of the tunes for his opening theme. Various revivals and adaptations came and went in various venues. By 1989, there were lyrics by Lillian Hellman, Stephen Sondheim, John Latouche, Dorothy Parker (!), Richard Wilbur (later named Poet Laureate), and Bernstein himself.
Finally, as one of his last projects, Leonard Bernstein decided it was time to record the definitive version, pulling the best parts from all the productions, adding some new choruses, and writing a concert narration. It ended up with the 1992 Grammy for classical album of the year.
For the title role, he selected a tenor named Jerry Hadley.
I was lucky enough, a year or two ago, to see a student production of "Candide" at the university where I work, which is also one of the places Jerry Hadley studied voice; Hadley was the guest artist, singing not the title role this time but a collection of interconnected character roles -- Pangloss, Cacambo, Martin. It was part of a process of reinventing himself.
Pangloss, if you've read the book, is the ridiculous professor of philosophy who is convinced that this is "the best of all possible worlds" and that everything on earth is not only terrific but flawless. The more this clearly isn't the case -- say, an earthquake, a few murders, and an entanglement with the Inquisition later -- the more he insists on it. When his nose rots off from syphillis, Bernstein gives him an aria on how venereal disease is actually a blessing in disguise: "Dear boy, you will not hear me speak with venom or with rancor \ of what has shrivelled up my cheek and blasted it which canker..."
If you haven't guessed by now, I love this piece, have loved it for decades, have since high school, every note and word of it. It means an enormous amount to me. But everyone, not just "Candide" groupies like me, was having a terrific time at this performace. Everyone was getting the laughs, and Hadley got more than his share.
Jerry Hadley, yesterday, put an air rifle to his head. He's now on life support with massive, irreversible brain damage. He is, as the Times put it, "not expected to recover."
I could do the "my, how ironic -- a Pangloss who shoots himself, what a world, what a world" bit.
I could do the Sunset Boulevard "how horrible when your star fades" bit, because things weren't going well for Hadley lately.
I could do the "support your local mood-disordered person" bit because God knows there's no shortage.
I could do the "please pray for a miracle" bit because God knows those there's a shortage of.
But instead I'll say this: at the center of some of the music I treasure most -- the stuff I turn to for sustenance and strength and joy -- is the voice of Jerry Hadley. As the chorus whispers to the Celebrant near the end of "Mass" -- Bernstein's forgotten masterpiece, which Hadley also recorded only a few years ago -- pax tecum: peace unto you, Jerry Hadley.
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