Classical Music

Mark Pappenheim
Thursday 27 October 1994 20:02 EDT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Classical music got its teeth into vampires long before Dracula and his various literary and cinematic manifestations were even shadows on the bedroom wall. All but dead and buried until its recent resuscitation as a BBC TV serial, Heinrich Marschner's Der Vampyr, the first ever vampire opera, hit the boards in Leipzig in 1828 - almost 70 years before Bram Stoker's Transylvanian count ever bared a fang.

When it came to transferring Stoker's 1897 novel to the screen, Germany was once again out in front: something about the legend clearly strikes a chord deep in the Teutonic soul. Nosferatu, F W Murnau's 1922 silent film, blatantly pirated Stoker's story - the plot remains the same, only the names and locations have been changed. Whitby became Bremen, Harker became Hutter, and Dracula became Orlock (portrayed with eerie eroticism and skeletal sex appeal by Max Schreck, right). As its subtitle Eine Symphonie des Grauens ('A Symphony of Horrors') suggests, Nosferatu is simply crying out for orchestral realisation - and on Monday, as part of the South Bank's Deutsche Romantik festival, the Harmonie Band will in fact be accompanying a special Hallowe'en screening of Murnau's spooky classic (together with Arthur Robison's 1923 Warning Shadows) with a new live score by Paul Robinson.

Apart from a hint of Weill, Robinson has rejected any notions of period authenticity - 'You could argue that the only 'authentic' accompaniment would be a toothless octogenarian playing an out-of-tune upright,' he observes. Nor does he hold with the current French orthodoxy - 'that silent films should be just that, silent'. Instead he's gone for what he calls an 'uncompromisingly contemporary approach - where contemporary means more Steve Martland or Michael Nyman than Birtwistle or Stockhausen'. Unashamedly amplified, with acoustic winds and strings extended by synths and samplers, Robinson's score promises to be loud enough to wake the dead, and funky enough to make a vampire turn in his grave.

Mon 31 Oct, 7.45pm, Queen Elizabeth Hall, South Bank Centre (071-928 8800) pounds 9 (Photograph omitted)

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in