Showing posts with label Luciano Pavarotti. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Luciano Pavarotti. Show all posts

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Questo mar rosso

On Wednesday, I went down to Lincoln Center and failed, for the first time in all my attempts, to get a rush ticket. However, there's nothing like standing on a line for a couple of hours to put me in the mood for an opera (what else is one going to do but read the libretto and talk to one's neighbors about memories of past performances, and hopes for this one?) so I trekked back up to my apartment and defied the piles of books by curling up with wine and Puccini. And I was reminded: yes, I really, really do like La Boheme. Maybe it's partly because I recognize far too much of Benoit in my own landlord that I never tire of spending time with the Bohemians. Never does verismo (which surely ought to be translated "verisimilitude," rather than "realism"?) seem quite so credible as when detailing students who are stretching their budget, stretching their pockets with secondhand books, sticking Latin words into their conversation as often as they can, and of course, complaining about work. Eerily familiar, really.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Il suo nome è...

When pressed to name my favorite singers, I usually (after a deep sigh) begin a list so long that it threatens to become meaningless for my hapless listener. I do slightly better when asked to name my favorite interpreters of specific operatic roles. Calaf, for instance. He's not an easy character vocally or psychologically (as Mr. Domingo once said, "He's a little bit crazy, that boy!") But Puccini tenors have a way of making me go weak at the knees, and this crazy prince is no exception, from "Padre, mio padre!" to "Hai vinto tu!" I like to think that he's won over, not by a "horrible fascination," as Liu says, but by the fear in the princess's eyes, and the conviction that she can and must be a warm, interesting human being... and that he's the one to drag her down from her tragic heaven. And so, the mesmerizing melodies spin out, in longing, in anger, in hope, in love. I would love to hear Fabio Armiliato's Calaf, but there's no recording yet. In the meantime... who IS Calaf?

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