Lowell Liebermann: Frankenstein
Reference Recordings

No recorded presentation more benefits from—nay, calls out for—a video component than the ballet production. To derive the fullest possible appreciation of the work as a physical document of the in-person experience, the onstage action should be viewed accompanied by the music. For that reason, being able to only hear Lowell Liebermann's score to Liam Scarlett's ballet treatment of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein makes for a less satisfying experience than had it been issued in a DVD format; that impression is exacerbated when online videos show the stage production to have been visually spectacular. When prolonged applause appears on the recording at the end of the March 2018 performance at the War Memorial Opera House in San Francisco, the realization crystallizes that, while there is certainly appreciation being expressed for Liebermann, the late British choreographer Scarlett, the San Francisco Ballet Orchestra, and conductor Martin West, applause is also being directed to the ballet performers, whose contributions aren't obviously captured on the double-CD set.

In the booklet included with the release, Reference Recordings does much to help the listener visualize the onstage action by including scene-by-scene descriptions of what's transpiring (which, again, could have been dispensed with had the ballet been issued in a form featuring video and sound). The booklet also includes details about Shelley (née Godwin), her life with Percy Bysshe Shelley, and a lengthy account of the novel's infamous genesis, of how it emerged during an 1816 summer stay in Switzerland near the shores of Lake Geneva, and of its publication two years later as Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (initially published minus an author credit, the second edition identified her as the author in 1821). Enticing drawings of John Macfarlane's set and costume designs plus synopses of the novel and ballet appear in the booklet too. Mention also is made of the numerous musical works Shelley's novel has inspired, including Libby Larsen's 1990 three-act opera, though Liebermann's has the distinction of being the only full-length ballet based on the work to date.

On its fifth release with Reference Recordings (and seventeenth overall), the Grammy Award-winning San Francisco Ballet Orchestra does a splendid job of rendering Liebermann's score. As a live recording of the ballet production, stage noises, including the dancers' steps, and a cough or two are sometimes audible, but they merely add to the live character of the event. Extra-musical effects appear too, most notably electrical noises in the first act's “The Anatomy Theatre” that signify the creature being brought to life and the resounding pistol shot near the end of the production in “Victor and the Creature.” With respect to the ballet's own genesis, Liebermann, an award-winning American composer who's written over 130 works in multiple genres, was originally contacted by Scarlett, who had earlier choreographed three ballets of his music, to create the music. Responding to Scarlett's desire for the staging to reflect the time period of the story, Liebermann decided that the musical language should be consistent with that and so settled on an early Romantic style. Mendelssohn is cited as a specific inspiration for the transparency and directness of his writing, which in turn served as a model of sorts for Liebermann to follow. A full year of writing ensued, during which time musical details were fleshed out, including motives for the creature and a heartbeat (to Scarlett's request that the ballet open with the sound of a heartbeat, Liebermann fashioned a musical figure played by string pizzicati, marimba, and timpani) that surface throughout the three-act score.

A prologue introduces the score with all the dramatic portent such a gothic horror narrative warrants, after which the scene moves to the Frankenstein manor in Geneva and musical expressions of domestic harmony and familial love. The year's 1788 and Victor's off to university to become a doctor but not before declaring his love for his long-time partner Elizabeth. In these early moments, Liebermann's lyrical writing effectively conveys the bustle of family life, the romantic bond between the two as they announce their engagement, and Victor's grief over the death of his mother. At Ingolstadt University, he's captivated by galvanism, which involves electrical current reanimating dead tissue, and the music's fittingly breathless with excitement as Victor toils at creating a living being. He succeeds, but joy turns to despair at the sight of the creature's hideousness, which leads to the monster fleeing and a despairing Victor returning to Geneva.

The second act moves the time-line ahead seven years to find the creature lurking outside the manor, inside of which are Victor, still tormented by events of the past, Elizabeth, and others. Initially seeking acceptance and love from the man who created him, the creature is enraged upon discovering the truth about how he was created and vows to enact revenge on Victor and his family. Liebermann's score again memorably shifts between lyricism and anguish as the story alternates between scenes of the family and the creature. When the creature asks Victor to create a companion for him, Victor refuses, incting the creature to vow he will visit Victor on his wedding night. The shortest act of the three, the third begins at the manor ballroom for a celebration of the marriage of Victor and Elizabeth. A graceful waltz movement captures the carefree joy of the moment, but, as faint hints of dissonance in the music intimate, tragedy isn't far away. Following a romantic episode featuring the newlyweds, the music grows in urgency as the creature returns, kills Victor's friend Henry and then Elizabeth. A distraught Victor kills himself, after which the creature cradles his creator before perishing in the now-burning manor.

January 2022