Killing Khovansky

1,041 words about the past that have absolutely nothing to do with the present (until they do)

“turns out
there are no
dead bodies
after all
unless you
put them there”

— D. A. Powell, “A Night at the Opera”

At intermission for Khovanshchina in Salzburg this past spring, I had the opportunity to meet Gerard McBurney, who midwived this new version of Mussorgsky’s unfinished — if not unfinishable — score. Because I am incapable of having a normal human interaction, I immediately told him how much I enjoyed his 1994 essay on the work for the English National Opera.¹ He was, understandably, taken aback until I explained that his essay helped me to understand what it was that I love about Khovanshchina.

At first blush, it’s a mess of an opera — such a mess that it requires several live experiences (ideally in different productions). Its rarity also means that those opportunities to see it live are inadequate. If you see it, however, it’s very easy to fall under its spell, even if you aren’t sure of what it is you’re actually falling for. That was the experience I had when I first saw the wor…