1.
I'm writing this during the third week of shelter-in-place which soon evolved into total lockdown, due, of course, to the corona virus pandemic. I feel a bit like one of Boccaccio's fictitious Florentine aristocrats who fled to villas to escape the horrors of the Black Plague. So many people are suffering! Many live from paycheck to paycheck, and in many cases the paychecks have stopped. An awful situation made much worse by our awful government headed by the awfulest president in American history.
My Florentine villa is my simple town house where I have lived for forty years, to which my wife Nirmala and I are now confined. My activities during internal exile include reading, writing, composing, singing, practicing the piano, taking walks, etc. In addition, my wife and I get along very well. Yes, time is passing fairly pleasantly. I feel guilty. But the external debacle is not the subject of this blog, the purpose of which is to document how one obscure mortal has been passing his time.
One new activity I have added is listening, specifically listening to music. My wife and I have listened to three operas, which the Met has allowed the public to stream gratis, as a public service during these difficult times. I would like now to recount how these performances have affected me.
1. Bellini's Norma, broadcast on April 5, 2020
Norma! The very name brings back a flood of memories. Some background: No one in my family had even the remotest interest in opera. (I remember my grandfather saying, "Who do those conductors think they are, waving those silly wands around like fairies?" And he was the most musical member of the family--he taught himself to play the guitar and sometimes played and sang with friends).
I studied German in high school; one day, on a lark, I borrowed "die Zauberflöte", ("The Magic Flute"), a three-record set from the library. I was either 13 or 14 at the time. When I listened, I was transfixed from the outset. I played the opera in its entirety every day until I had to take it back to the library. The recording included the music only; the wonderful dialogues were left out. After the two weeks of listening were over, I had the score and words memorized. (Later on, if I had problems sleeping, I would simply say to myself, "Let's begin with Act ll," and played it in my head. With my neurons as needle, I can still play those records, and am able to change the cast at will).
Around 1967, I began buying standing room tickets at the Met. Living in New Brunswick at the time, I would travel to New York on the weekends, stay with my mother, and sometimes attend performances on Friday evening and two performances on Saturday. I saw many memorable performances with legendary singers, Joan Sutherland, Montserrat Cabbalé, Leontyne Price, Cesare Sieppi, James McCracken, Renata Tebaldi, Birgit Nielsen, Mario del Monaco, etc. etc.
During medical school, (1968-1972), the frequency of attendance slowed down a lot, but trickled on. During residency, I volunteered as a doctor at the New York State Theater--(How many times did I see Beverly Sills in various roles?! Her performances in the three Donizetti "Queen" operas, remain with me to this day). I attended many other performance as well. They became dates--Nirmala, a fellow intern, often accompanied me. On one occasion, I had two tickets, one of which I gave to a man who looked as if he really needed one. "How much do I owe you," he asked. "Nothing," I replied. He turned out to be the well-known poet, Samuel Menashe--we became friends, Samuel, Nirmala and I, for as long as Nirmala and I lived in New York, which we left in 1977).
After I married Nirmala in 1974, we attended many operas. Now, nearly a half century later, our visits to the Met occur only about four times a year, not counting our many visits to HD performances at local movie theaters.
I remember, vaguely, attending a 1970 performance of Norma with Joan Sutherland and Marilyn Horne.
During my year of internship, (1972) I contracted pneumonia and was home sick for at least one week until my X-ray improved. When I returned, I was presented with a recording of Norma sung by Montserrat Cabbalé and Fiorenza Cossotto. I still have that recording. It was the first gift Nirmala gave me, even though she only paid a portion of the price. (I had attended a performance at the Met with the same cast. I had also attended a rehearsal of the opera).
Montserrat Caballé had a beautiful silky voice, but couldn't act very well. Cossotto was spectacular.
Now you can begin to understand how, decades later, the streamed HD presentation of this opera brought back a flood of memories.
2.
The performance, which took place on October 7, 2017, was, on the whole, very good. It's a difficult piece to perform, especially for the eponymous title role. During the intermission, the emcee mentioned that a certain soprano (Birgit Nielson?) once stated that she would rather perform the marathon role of Brünhilde three times in one night, instead of singing the role of Norma once! Everything is required: coloratura and great expressivity. Norma must be able to project forte fireworks and pianissimo sighs. In addition, she's on stage for most of the opera. Whew! Sandra Radvanovsky gave a fine performance, as did Joyce DiDonato as the novice priestess who, you guessed it, unwittingly turns out to be her rival as well. They were wonderful, but not quite as wonderful as the Caballé-Cossotto duo from 1972, immortalized by the recording which I still have. Caballé couldn't act very well--Cossotto had an impressive stage presence, but Caballé's singing could have melted a glacier.
How this opera,an impression reinforced by many listenings of the recording, had a deep effect on me! A minor example: many years later, I was at a social gathering during which I met a spunky woman named Norma. I referred to her as "la veggente Norma," ("Norma the seer"), a quote from the libretto. I explained the reference, but she still thought I was nuts.
The tenor role of Pollione, The Roman Proconsul in Gaul, who betrays Norma for Adalgisa, was sung by Joseph Calleja, who impressed with his high C in his very difficult aria, but was not a very good actor. When he tried to project suffering, for instance, it was as if he were sucking on a lemon.
In the interview after the opera, Callejo referred to Pollione as a cad, but that's too good a word for him; he is, more or less, a cipher. His sole purpose is to serve as a catalyst so the women can emote. And emote they did.
It is basically a silly libretto, but the music soars. For instance, Norma has two children. How could she have pulled that off? None of the Druids are aware of their existence--not even her father, Oroveso. The children are there simply as an excuse for Norma to sing beautifully and profoundly about her conflicted maternal situation. In this scene, Bellini presents one of his beautiful extended melodies. (Will she kill them? Of course not!)
Not many composers were or are able to write extended melodies, melodies that continue with nuance and variations. Mozart could do it; Schubert could do it, but not many others. (In contrast, Puccini's melodies last about as long as a nonagenarian's orgasm, albeit intense as a young man's).
It had been years since I last heard Norma. the recording remains in the attic, where it has been for years; this was the first time I heard a live performance of it since the 1970s.
One of the haunting duets of the score begins with Norma singing "O Rimembranza" ("O the Memory); Adalgisa is informing her of her own guilty love which makes the forgiving Norma recall hers at well. (When the object of Adalgisa's affection turns out to be that father of Norma's children, lyricism turns to fury.
Listening to this music again was an Oh, Rimembranza-moment for me. In much much fewer than another fifty years, the music of the spheres will be singing forever to whatever remains of my deaf ears. Will I attend a performance of Norma sung by Maria Callas in heaven? I doubt it.
Aber: Die Erde hat mich wieder!
I'm writing this during the third week of shelter-in-place which soon evolved into total lockdown, due, of course, to the corona virus pandemic. I feel a bit like one of Boccaccio's fictitious Florentine aristocrats who fled to villas to escape the horrors of the Black Plague. So many people are suffering! Many live from paycheck to paycheck, and in many cases the paychecks have stopped. An awful situation made much worse by our awful government headed by the awfulest president in American history.
My Florentine villa is my simple town house where I have lived for forty years, to which my wife Nirmala and I are now confined. My activities during internal exile include reading, writing, composing, singing, practicing the piano, taking walks, etc. In addition, my wife and I get along very well. Yes, time is passing fairly pleasantly. I feel guilty. But the external debacle is not the subject of this blog, the purpose of which is to document how one obscure mortal has been passing his time.
One new activity I have added is listening, specifically listening to music. My wife and I have listened to three operas, which the Met has allowed the public to stream gratis, as a public service during these difficult times. I would like now to recount how these performances have affected me.
1. Bellini's Norma, broadcast on April 5, 2020
Norma! The very name brings back a flood of memories. Some background: No one in my family had even the remotest interest in opera. (I remember my grandfather saying, "Who do those conductors think they are, waving those silly wands around like fairies?" And he was the most musical member of the family--he taught himself to play the guitar and sometimes played and sang with friends).
I studied German in high school; one day, on a lark, I borrowed "die Zauberflöte", ("The Magic Flute"), a three-record set from the library. I was either 13 or 14 at the time. When I listened, I was transfixed from the outset. I played the opera in its entirety every day until I had to take it back to the library. The recording included the music only; the wonderful dialogues were left out. After the two weeks of listening were over, I had the score and words memorized. (Later on, if I had problems sleeping, I would simply say to myself, "Let's begin with Act ll," and played it in my head. With my neurons as needle, I can still play those records, and am able to change the cast at will).
Around 1967, I began buying standing room tickets at the Met. Living in New Brunswick at the time, I would travel to New York on the weekends, stay with my mother, and sometimes attend performances on Friday evening and two performances on Saturday. I saw many memorable performances with legendary singers, Joan Sutherland, Montserrat Cabbalé, Leontyne Price, Cesare Sieppi, James McCracken, Renata Tebaldi, Birgit Nielsen, Mario del Monaco, etc. etc.
During medical school, (1968-1972), the frequency of attendance slowed down a lot, but trickled on. During residency, I volunteered as a doctor at the New York State Theater--(How many times did I see Beverly Sills in various roles?! Her performances in the three Donizetti "Queen" operas, remain with me to this day). I attended many other performance as well. They became dates--Nirmala, a fellow intern, often accompanied me. On one occasion, I had two tickets, one of which I gave to a man who looked as if he really needed one. "How much do I owe you," he asked. "Nothing," I replied. He turned out to be the well-known poet, Samuel Menashe--we became friends, Samuel, Nirmala and I, for as long as Nirmala and I lived in New York, which we left in 1977).
After I married Nirmala in 1974, we attended many operas. Now, nearly a half century later, our visits to the Met occur only about four times a year, not counting our many visits to HD performances at local movie theaters.
I remember, vaguely, attending a 1970 performance of Norma with Joan Sutherland and Marilyn Horne.
During my year of internship, (1972) I contracted pneumonia and was home sick for at least one week until my X-ray improved. When I returned, I was presented with a recording of Norma sung by Montserrat Cabbalé and Fiorenza Cossotto. I still have that recording. It was the first gift Nirmala gave me, even though she only paid a portion of the price. (I had attended a performance at the Met with the same cast. I had also attended a rehearsal of the opera).
Montserrat Caballé had a beautiful silky voice, but couldn't act very well. Cossotto was spectacular.
Now you can begin to understand how, decades later, the streamed HD presentation of this opera brought back a flood of memories.
2.
The performance, which took place on October 7, 2017, was, on the whole, very good. It's a difficult piece to perform, especially for the eponymous title role. During the intermission, the emcee mentioned that a certain soprano (Birgit Nielson?) once stated that she would rather perform the marathon role of Brünhilde three times in one night, instead of singing the role of Norma once! Everything is required: coloratura and great expressivity. Norma must be able to project forte fireworks and pianissimo sighs. In addition, she's on stage for most of the opera. Whew! Sandra Radvanovsky gave a fine performance, as did Joyce DiDonato as the novice priestess who, you guessed it, unwittingly turns out to be her rival as well. They were wonderful, but not quite as wonderful as the Caballé-Cossotto duo from 1972, immortalized by the recording which I still have. Caballé couldn't act very well--Cossotto had an impressive stage presence, but Caballé's singing could have melted a glacier.
How this opera,an impression reinforced by many listenings of the recording, had a deep effect on me! A minor example: many years later, I was at a social gathering during which I met a spunky woman named Norma. I referred to her as "la veggente Norma," ("Norma the seer"), a quote from the libretto. I explained the reference, but she still thought I was nuts.
The tenor role of Pollione, The Roman Proconsul in Gaul, who betrays Norma for Adalgisa, was sung by Joseph Calleja, who impressed with his high C in his very difficult aria, but was not a very good actor. When he tried to project suffering, for instance, it was as if he were sucking on a lemon.
In the interview after the opera, Callejo referred to Pollione as a cad, but that's too good a word for him; he is, more or less, a cipher. His sole purpose is to serve as a catalyst so the women can emote. And emote they did.
It is basically a silly libretto, but the music soars. For instance, Norma has two children. How could she have pulled that off? None of the Druids are aware of their existence--not even her father, Oroveso. The children are there simply as an excuse for Norma to sing beautifully and profoundly about her conflicted maternal situation. In this scene, Bellini presents one of his beautiful extended melodies. (Will she kill them? Of course not!)
Not many composers were or are able to write extended melodies, melodies that continue with nuance and variations. Mozart could do it; Schubert could do it, but not many others. (In contrast, Puccini's melodies last about as long as a nonagenarian's orgasm, albeit intense as a young man's).
It had been years since I last heard Norma. the recording remains in the attic, where it has been for years; this was the first time I heard a live performance of it since the 1970s.
One of the haunting duets of the score begins with Norma singing "O Rimembranza" ("O the Memory); Adalgisa is informing her of her own guilty love which makes the forgiving Norma recall hers at well. (When the object of Adalgisa's affection turns out to be that father of Norma's children, lyricism turns to fury.
Listening to this music again was an Oh, Rimembranza-moment for me. In much much fewer than another fifty years, the music of the spheres will be singing forever to whatever remains of my deaf ears. Will I attend a performance of Norma sung by Maria Callas in heaven? I doubt it.
Aber: Die Erde hat mich wieder!
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