opera

Intellectually, I have nothing against modern opera, and I can usually steel myself to try it again, even if the result inevitably turns out to be another tepid stew of tedious language and monotonous music. Emotionally, however, it is the standard repertoire which draws me again and again. These so-called “warhorses” of the operatic repertoire have endured for so long because they speak directly to our adult passions. (Melodrama is, after all, only real life ratcheted up a notch.) How many of us, like Rigoletto the court jester, have felt humiliated by our employers and plotted elaborate revenge? How many women, like Tosca, have fended off the advances of some lecherous, latter-day Scarpia? How many men, like Canio in Pagliacci, paint on their clown faces to hide the anguish beneath? Does the death of Mimi at the end of La Boheme affect us so deeply because it reflects, somehow, the death of our own youthful ardor and innocence?

Now that the Metropolitan Opera season is drawing to a close, I’ve started to look again (as I did in my post of November 25th) at some of the literary sources of opera--titles which can be found nestled in the stacks of the General Research Division--and have arrived at what some consider the most popular opera of all time: Carmen.  read more »

Words or music? Which is more important to opera? This is a question which intrigues opera lovers, such as me, as it is endlessly arguable without being finally answerable. Richard Strauss devoted an entire opera, Capriccio, to the debate. The opera culminates in a lengthy scene of ecstatic, mesmerizing musical intensity* which might seem to give the nod to music, if not for what the soprano is actually singing: that words and music are both indispensible, take one away and whatever is left will not be opera.

This season, the Metropolitan Opera has plastered every nook and cranny of the city with posters of Renée Fleming as Thaïs (just as, last year, you couldn’t turn around without spotting Natalie Dessay as the mad Lucia). If I’m any interpreter of expressions, this Thaïs, peeking knowingly through a loose lock of hair, is probably not thinking about her next trip to the library. But, music and words aside, the library is a good source for tracing the seed from which most operas are grown-- their original literary sources. Shakespeare had Holinshed, but the operas we now love typically sprang from works of popular fiction or drama, most of which have fallen out of fashion and are now known only through their later, musical incarnations. Of the few works I’ve selected to discuss, the library has multiple editions, but I’ve chosen the English translations (where applicable), and only those volumes which contain compelling illustrations. (Click on the picture for the catalog record.)  read more »

So I’ve been a card-carrying (Metropolitan Opera Guild card) opera fan for about 15 years. I’ve probably spent way too much time and money on this interest, but it has been worth it. Opera is a fabulous art form–singing, music, drama, and sometimes dance, all rolled into one (although anti-opera-ists say those things are all done poorly. Somethimes that’s true, but when all elements are working, nothing beats it, in my opinion)  read more »

A recent reference question asked what is the instrumentation of the stage band in act 1 of Giuseppe Verdi's opera La Traviata. In case you've forgotten, the opera opens at the house of Violetta, who's giving a party to celebrate her recovery from illness. After Violetta and Alfredo sing the duet "Libiamo ne' lieti calici," the stage band (banda) begins to play, at which point the party guests exit to the next room to dance, leaving Violetta and Alfredo alone in order to fall in love.

It seemed like a simple question. I pulled the authoritative Works of Giuseppe Verdi edition and found the spot to examine the instrumentation. Surprise! The stage band was written on just two staves--like a piano score. No instruments were indicated at all. I looked at the back of the volume to see if it was included as a supplement. Not finding anything there, I went to the front matter.

I found editor Fabrizio Della Seta's explanation in the introduction, where he states: "Following the practice of his time, Verdi wrote a guida banda (a short score on two staves), leaving its realization to the leader of the banda in theaters staging the work. This instrumentation could vary from theater to theater." Additional reading explained that the editorial practice of the Works of Giuseppe Verdi edition is to transmit what came from Verdi's hand. Other hands, while possibly significant to performance practice, were not incorporated into the edition.  read more »