The Other Mozart - perfectly poignant, even in 2015

photo credit: TheOtherMozart.com 

(Posted earlier today on Classical Diary)

One might think that presuming to write the story of Nannerl Mozart is arrogant, pompous, and above all, a grave disrespect. 
 
You would be wrong. 

As the show opens, Nannerl Mozart (played by Sylvia Milo) stands in 18th century undergarments littered with notes, letters, and music. She carries a toy piano and quotes rave reviews: ''A female composer, tres tres chic!'' ''Nannerl Mozart, the new Saint Cecelia!'' These reviews, however, were never written. Though her brother's letters and effects were all saved and treasured, hers have been lost to time. As reality dawns, the light dims as she says, ''I am only my brother's pupil.'' 

It may be 2015, but only 5 women have won the Pulitzer prize for music since 1943. Judith Weir is the very first Master of Music to be a woman. Strides are being made, but we have an embarrassingly long way to go as of yet. Last year, I wrte an article for Polonious Music about the critical reviews that women composers have received in newspapers. We've been told that we are ''pining after masculinity,'' ''delicate and feminine,'' and erased entirely, our works being credited to other men, in the sad case of Fanny Mendelssohn. In 2014, I wrote a piece about Francesca Caccini, a Baroque composer who had half her life erased because a prominent musicologist preferred to write that she had died young of mouth cancer ''a fitting end for a loud woman,'' instead of living out her years as a teacher, performer, composer, and producer of new music. (link)

Though this is, in essence, a straight play, it is nothing less than mandatory viewing for any would be classical music enthusiast. Even today, in 2015, women composers are considered a niche subject in music history classes across the globe, with lessons heavily favoring male composers and their achievements, while the rest are overlooked and ignored. 

Photo credit: TheOtherMozart.com

The Other Mozart avoids the painful awkwardness that many one-person shows can bring, with Sylvia Milo bringing Nannerl Mozart to life and injecting the same vigor and enthusiasm that musicologists know her brother to have had. The moments of humor, with Nannerl calling Wolfgang a ''little shit-eater'' juxtapose against the gut wrenching moments when she realizes that her life isn't going to turn out as planned. Music plays admidst her speeches, with recognizable pieces by W.A Mozart and Leopold Mozart, and fresh new atmospheric pieces by Nathan Davis and Phyllis Chen. Throughout the show, heavily symbolism surrounding lighting design and the looming presence of the cage-like dress frame penetrate the narrative and drive home the devastating story of how she was passed over because of her gender. 

Sylvia Milo's primal screams when Nannerl learns she is being left behind for the first time will tear your heart open; the incredible weight of reality will sink in your stomach. Left behind, looked over, passed up. When our beloved and cheery Nannerl succumbs to the cage, we weep for the lost potential. We weep for what might have been. It leaves a thought - how many other incredibly gifted women have been silenced? 

The Other Mozart is nothing if not an insightful and emotional journey into the life of Nannerl Mozart, who I refuse to refer to as ''Mozart's sister.'' A stunning and impressive musician in her own right, she was swept under the rug in the name of society and decorum. This one-woman show, written and performed by Sylvia Milo, was eloquent, emotional, and a painful reminder of why women composers who lived before the 20th century have been all but forgotten. 

My only regret is that I couldn't attend tonight's performance (September 16th, 8pm), which will be followed by a panel of impressive names like Jessica Duchen, Sally Beamish, and Alice Farnham, to talk about women in music after the show. The show closes on Saturday (September 19th), so if you're in London, head over to the St. James Theatre and see this amazing, insightful show. Tickets start at £17.50.

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