When a song becomes an earworm for weeks, I usually end up sharing it in this blog and Chanson triste, by Henri Duparc, has been begging for its turn for a longtime. Reviewing the previous posts with Duparc's songs, I realized that I had barely spoken about this composer. As he's one of the most performed in recitals, you may have noticed that in the usual blocks of four or six songs, some few always come up; that's not because there are the most popular but because he doesn't have anymore. Henri Duparc's catalogue includes exactly seventeen songs, one of which is a duo, so it’s scarcely performed. Pretty amazing, isn't it?

 

Once recovered from his wounds, Wilhelm travels to Serlo's home. There, he finds out that his friend isn't very happy with him; if you remember, Wilhelm have sent Melina and his company to him but Serlo thinks they are a bad amateur group. At first, he does not even want to hear about signing them up, but little by little, Philine and Wilhelm persuade him that being him their director, the actors will improve. Moreover, his own actors are asking for higher wages and Melina's company would work for less. Eventually, Serlo agrees to stage a theater play with them and asks Wilhelm to stay as an actor too. Wilhelm hesitates; he should return home, he has been away for a long time, but he likes the idea of becoming an actor and this way, he stays by Mignon and the harpist. If you're thinking that's a déjà-vu, you are right.

 

"Barbara" is a short story by Joseph Roth whose main character is a young widow with a baby. She devotes herself, body and soul, to bring up her child. She sacrifices the love of her life, Peter; she also sacrifices her health, she literally works herself to death. All in vain, because the child becomes a selfish, lazy young man, unable to show her the slightest affection. When Barbara dies, he's in the room but still, she dies alone, only accompanied by Peter's memory. I'm telling you this because while I was reading this story, it came to mind the last verse of a song by Hanns Eisler "verfehlte Liebe, verfehltes Leben" which could be translated as "wasted love, wasted life."

 

Dear all, this week we're celebrating the 3rd anniversary of Liederabend. Three years is a long time on the blogosphere! I don't often post (blogging gurus recommend posting, at least, twice or three times a week), but I always manage to do it on time and I am glad to say that I have established a bond with my readers. A longtime friend who lives far from Barcelona (so we don't often meet) recently told me that finding my post every week was a way to hear from me. I like it.

During last year, we moved from the blog’s first "home", the platform Blogger; it was useful for a while but it became too small. On June 5th, I published the first post on this new home; it was a big job to change [...]