Opera and the Morbidity of Music, although immensely interesting, was a bit of a letdown insofar as I felt as though it was badly mistitled. Opera, a subject on which Joseph Kerman is incredibly well-versed, is tangential at best to the bulk of the essays, and the "morbidity" of concert music is only dealt with in the first two, and never touched upon again. The vast majority of the book deals with composers long dead, usually an invitation for me to avoid a book altogether, but Kerman manages to make each essay engrossing (or, in a few instances, at least skimmable). One can't help, however, but draw the parallel between this book and the concert music world in general - it's hardly any wonder that orchestras etc are struggling, and no longer vital cultural institutions, when new music and living composers (Kerman mentions only six living composers by name, and spends 20 of 355 pages on music written after 1900) are given such short shrift in favor of endlessly beating out the works of composers long dead. The endless discussion and worship of dead guys - there's the morbidity! ( )

I received this book as an ARC quite a while ago and have delayed reviewing it because I have been consuming it essay by essay (30 in all). For me this was a wonderful read; accessible, intelligent and enlightening. It is filled with musical memories and suggestions for future listening.

The premise of the book is that classical music in general is neither morbid nor moribund, using opera as the modus operandi. Kelman argues that classical music is evolving and re-inventing itself and scoffs at the idea that music in classical form is dying.

Of the 30 essays the first 27 are all book reviews - commentaries on several books. There are four book reviews about Mozart, four about Beethoven, one about Berlioz, two about Verdi and three about Wagner which particularly stand out - these essays are wonderfully erudite.

The last three essays (The Art of the Program Note, Maria Callas, Carlos Kleiber) are not book reviews but independent chapters written by the author himself, and again, are amazing with lots of new knowledge encased in an original, and engaging text. The remembrances of Maria Callas and Carlos Kleiber illustrate why they were such extraordinary musicians.

Cogent of historical changes, from the invention of music notation to the advent of recording, Kelman suggests that the venue for continuation of the classical music tradition is opera—noting the plethora of new works, the ongoing production of known and unknown masterpieces and the continuing success of opera companies large and small.

Highly recommended for every music lover, but also for the general public. ( )

Opera and the Morbidity of Music is a collection of previously published essays from The New York Review of Books on opera and classical music. The essays are well written, as one would expect from a Professor Emeritus of Music at UC, Berkeley, and also interesting, especially if you have a particular interest in classical music, or even just in a particular composer. Much of the book is organized by composer: three essays on Bach, four essays on Mozart, four essays on Beethoven, two on Verdi, three on Wagner, and the rest single essays on a composer, performer, conductor, or a general theme, such as the sonata form. People who read the Review know that the essays there tend to be expansive and not just about the book or books under review. These are no exception. One warning: If you don't know much about classical music or opera, you are likely to find parts of the essays that you won't fully understand, since they are written for educated listeners. ( )

Opera and The Morbidity of Music is a collection of essays written by musicologist and critic Joseph Kerman over a period of about thirty years, mostly for the New York Review of Books. They vary widely in subject matter, and include music ranging from the middle ages to contemporary opera.

This is not a book to sit and read from cover to cover, but rather to pick up and read an essay or two at a time. Some essays, such as one entitled Labyrinth Music, are easily accessible to the reader who hasn't studied music, but just likes to listen to it, while others will be enjoyed more by readers with more musical knowledge. Kerman, in his interesting introduction, says he enjoys writing for a general readership, but doesn't really know who that readership is. I felt that the writing in these essays showed that pretty clearly -- some are very academic and were difficult for me to connect to, even though I have a music degree and knew some of the performers and performances involved. Others were delightful, and gave me fascinating new insights into music and musicians I was already well acquainted with.

At his best, Kerman reminds us that when we listen to music, we are listening to society, to culture, to history, and makes us want to revisit well known favorites with new ears. I guess I'd have to say that this book is like a box of assorted chocolates -- most of the essays are delicious, but some flavors will not be appreciated by everyone. ( )

Unfortunately this collection of essays misses the mark: ostensibly written for a general audience, the argument too often resembles a mildly heated discussion between academics over subtle differences on an esoteric subject. To his credit, Kerman largely steers clear of expert jargon, and generally refrains from showing off his academic chops. Yet he can't resist devoting large portions of his essays to disagreeing with what other scholars have said, which both dates the text (some of the scholarly argument has long since moved on), and shuts out the lay reader; such a reader wouldn't be wrong in feeling that in some large degree, the subject of these essays is not the music, but rather the contemporary academic or critical debate about music.

Several chapters do reward the reader with an interest in classical music--the chapters on Monteverdi and Berlioz, for example--but too often Kerman's focus is not the drama in the music, but the dramas surrounding its production and critical reception.

Perhaps most of interest to students or professors of music history, particularly those interested in situating a particular strain of academic debate within the context of the last 30 years. ( )