Can a person die of opera overdose?
I am testing out the theory that opera only strengthens the body, it does not kill.
For my experiment, I keep a notebook beside me as I watch opera now so I can take data.
I didn’t get anything written during The Barber of Seville (2012).
I was just too full of laughter.
Oh, I did catch one sentence that perked up my interest and so wrote I that down: “slander is a mild breeze”. What came after that phrase was so complelling to me me that I went out to the web and found the lyrics for the whole song.
I just love the last line: "[a]nd the miserable one who is defamed, degraded, trampled, and scourged by the public opinion fortunately dies".
Yes, only in the opera!
Here is the translation.
The Calumny (read slander)
The calumny is a little wind,
a very gentle little breeze
which numbly, softly,
lightly, kindly,
begins to whisper.
Little by little, mildly,
in a low voice, hissing,
it goes flowing, it goes buzzing;
in people's ears
it enters deftly
and makes heads and brains
stun and blow.
Getting out from the mouth
the clamour grows:
it slowly strengthens,
it already flies from one place to another.
It seems like the thunder, like the storm
that in the depth of the forest
go whistling, grumbling,
and makes your blood run cold.
In the end it spills over and blow up,
it spreads, it doubles
and provokes an explosion
like a cannon shot,
an earthquake, a rain storm,
a general tumult
which makes the air peal.
And the miserable one who is defamed,
degraded, trampled,
scourged by the public opinion
fortunately dies.
I love that for a great dramatic last line in a song.
Arta
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| Rodion Pogossov as Figaro Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera |
For my experiment, I keep a notebook beside me as I watch opera now so I can take data.
I didn’t get anything written during The Barber of Seville (2012).
I was just too full of laughter.
Oh, I did catch one sentence that perked up my interest and so wrote I that down: “slander is a mild breeze”. What came after that phrase was so complelling to me me that I went out to the web and found the lyrics for the whole song.
I just love the last line: "[a]nd the miserable one who is defamed, degraded, trampled, and scourged by the public opinion fortunately dies".
Yes, only in the opera!
Here is the translation.
The Calumny (read slander)
The calumny is a little wind,
a very gentle little breeze
which numbly, softly,
lightly, kindly,
begins to whisper.
Little by little, mildly,
in a low voice, hissing,
it goes flowing, it goes buzzing;
in people's ears
it enters deftly
and makes heads and brains
stun and blow.
Getting out from the mouth
the clamour grows:
it slowly strengthens,
it already flies from one place to another.
It seems like the thunder, like the storm
that in the depth of the forest
go whistling, grumbling,
and makes your blood run cold.
In the end it spills over and blow up,
it spreads, it doubles
and provokes an explosion
like a cannon shot,
an earthquake, a rain storm,
a general tumult
which makes the air peal.
And the miserable one who is defamed,
degraded, trampled,
scourged by the public opinion
fortunately dies.
I love that for a great dramatic last line in a song.
Arta
A couple of days ago, David had his first music session with Larry Keats post the announcement of the Provincial State of Emergency with the suspension of classes and guidelines about social distancing coming in to effect.
ReplyDeleteThursdays after school David would walk to my work two blocks away, and we would together make our way to Larry's studio. Thursday afternoon I called Larry to see if we could set up a virtual lesson.
But this is a long set-up for what I really wanted to say related to Opera. I was in and out of the living room, helping with finding the right device and the right app, and the right lighting (sheets on the window, no, need a darker one, ah, there's a dark blue one - easier to cover the window than move the drum kit). Drawing on my dissertation days of home videos, seeing the back lighting made it hard for the teacher to see David.
I tried to get out of they way as quickly as I could, give them their time to figure out what worked for them.
In the kitchen, making chocolate chip cookies, trying to re-regulate as we navigate all the unexpected changes that our new virtual relationships demand.
I want to give them privacy, so I try not to listen, but my ears perk up upon hearing the instructor ask, " have you ever listened to a 33" and I feel a sense of disorientation as I realize I never played a record for my child, the technology was already too old, but records are deeply embedded in my joys from childhood, so it feels I have denied him a inalienable right.
I pause, measuring cup poised over sifter, and listen to the conversation. David answers that he doesn't think so, and I hear someone of my generation describing technology of another era. He is giving David background, music history, for the assignment for this week.
David is to listen to Tommy, the rock opera by The Who. I hear David agree to the assignment. He is to listen to the whole thing. No, it doesn't have to be all in one sitting his teacher answers, but he would like David to hear each piece. David agrees.
Oh, my heart be still. I get to share a part of my childhood with David after all. Not me sharing, really, because I know I need to butt out and let David's discovery be his own path. But here I am, Saturday morning while he sleeps, listening to the "The Who: Tommy Live at the Royal Albert Hall (2017)" and thinking, if I do die of opera overdose, Tommy's not a bad dirge to go out on.
This is just a wonderful comment. It is going to bring tears to more eyes than mine.
ReplyDeleteHere is a big truth -- I have never listened to Tommy, the rock opera by The Who. I did listen to a piece of music this morning by the Canadian band, The Bare Naked Ladies. No matter how many times I hear their name, I have a moment of regret that there isn't even a woman in their band, let alone one who has left her clothes behind. Does listening to them anyway count?
But that is not where I was going either.
I want to say that I have to make the big decision this morning -- watch Bizet's The Pearl Fishers or try to catch up on unwritten blogs. What a life, to be able to have two such exquisitely painful choices this morning. I have written down in my daytimer, try to watch Tommy. What a fabulous drumming teacher, to throw a little history into the mix.
Thank you again Bonnie for your post, for how it is speaking to our time now. When I listen to Tommy, in that book where I am keeping scientific notes about how too much opera might kill you, I will see if I can make a list of all of the songs in Tommy.