The Great Rivalry
The Italian composer and cellist Giovanni Bononcini was in London between 1720 and 1732, where for a time his popularity equaled George Frideric Handel’s, the latter having arrived in 1712. In general the Tories favoured Handel, while the Whigs preferred Bononcini; and the lively competition between them inspired this epigram:
Some say, compar'd to Bononcini
That Mynheer Handel's but a Ninny
Others aver, that he to Handel
Is scarcely fit to hold a Candle
Strange all this Difference should be
'Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!
John Byrom
Hmmmm...I just can't get worked up over this.
The operas at this time were chaotic in that the audiences rarely were
all listening to the music, a football game gets far more attention than
the aristocrats of the time gave the performers. After all, musicians
were servants, skilled, but still servants. Castrati were greatly in
demand, on stage and elsewhere, the singers were much gossiped
about and often got into fights on stage, and Handel would be in
attendance to play harpsichord, which he did with gusto. Think of Jerry
Lee Lewis in a peruke. In short these sound like operas that I could
get behind, nothing bores me more than sitting and listening to music,
and drugs, alcohol, and tobacco are frowned upon in today's staid and
frightfully dull establishments. Our public radio here on Saturdays is
all opera, and we have no other stations worthy of listening to. There
was a chamber pot named after a famous preacher of the XVIII century, Louis
Bourdaloue. His sermons were so captivating and long that the ladies
had recourse to such an item. I imagine the men pissed in a corner of
the church while farting loud enough to be heard two streets over and
blowing their noses on the floor before, during, and after the show.
This is precisely how I feel about opera, and I would send a bourdaloue
to this radio station except that would pearls before swine, all these
liberal art majors learn in college is how to spit on the flag and flip
the bird. Of all the noises known to man, opera is the most expensive,
says Molière, although he was unacquainted with American senators. The
only thing worse than opera is disco music, the devil's afflatus.
Anyway, judging by my social standing in any society if I was in 18th
century London I would be bundled off to the nearest Royal Navy ship by
the evening's press gang faster than you can say 'Jack Robinson' in
Polari, so all of this is of mere academic concern. Here is a tune more
fit for such as I-
Chip chop chip chop the last man is dead.
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