It's summer and in Santa Fe that means it's opera season! Now, for starters, let me say I don't understand opera. I like it, but I really don't know what I'm talking about, so be warned. But nonetheless, this year's season promises to be very good, and I hope to go to at least one performance of each of the operas, and I intend to write something, no matter how ill-informed, about each of them. So there, all disclaimers aside.
The season opened with Verdi's Simon Boccanegra, which I saw last Wednesday. I knew nothing about the opera, except that there was only one female role and I had heard it described as "a bunch of baritones shouting at each other," but I enjoyed it immensely. The singing and acting were excellent. There was only one female role, a soprano (of course) but one the male side there were more than just baritones. There was at least one tenor, the young, idealistic lover (of course) at least one true bass, whose low notes were powerful enough to be heard clearly over the orchestra while facing upstage (they were miked, but still, it was impressive). The complex story defies simple synopsis (here's the SFO summary) but it's got all the elements of grand tragedy: passionate love, illegitimate children, mistaken identity, political intrigue and betrayal. The staging and costumes were extremely well done. I was so engrossed in the performance as a whole I didn't notice much about the music itself (I'm not sure if the music is meant to be separated from the performance).
I agree with Odious that the opera is not about power, whatever the folks at SFO want us to believe; political power and turmoil only provide the background for the real story, in this case a story about (not surprisingly) love, vengeance and forgiveness. Interestingly, one of the driving forces of the plot is a character (Maria) who dies in the first few minutes of the opera, whom we never see, and who never sings a note. Yet the rest of the opera is a reaction to her life and death. Her lover, Boccanegra, pursues political power to make himself worthy of her, and dies twenty-five years later calling her name. Her father spends those twenty-five years mourning her death and seeking vengeance on Boccanegra, whom he sees as the cause of his daughter's death and dishonor.
Watching the performance, I had some possible insights on how one is to approach opera, something which puzzles me. The way not to approach it, at any rate, is in some dry, strictly intellectual way, as if one was going to a required lecture, or, worse yet, trying to "get something" from it. Like a good many other things, such as poetry, the first step to getting anything out of it is to enjoy it. And one of the keys to enjoying it, I think, is to sit back and be willing to take it at its own pace. If an aria lasts ten minutes and doesn't really advance the plot much you have to be willing to forget about the plot, the time, and the dessert sitting in your car and for those 10 minutes go along with whatever exalted emotion the character happens to be expressing. It's similar to the soliliquies in Shakespeare; the action moves not forward, but downward, deeper. You can't enjoy Hamlet if you just want to get to the end of the story as soon as possible because Hamlet isn't really about the story, the story is just the excuse for Hamlet to meander about until the story (and his meandering) comes to an abrupt end.
One of the things about opera that seems to alienate many people is the unashamed, obvious, sustained, exaggerated emotion that seems to comprise so much of it. There's a tendency to ridicule or dismiss such overt emotional displays, or, at least, be uncomfortable with them. I have a theory that this might be because we're constantly bombarded with cheap sentimentalism via radio, T.V. and all other forms of pop culture. In trying to avoid the cheap emotion one reacts badly to any display of emotion. Perhaps opera gives voice to those important, beautiful or terrible moments in our lives that, in real life, slip by all too quickly. In real life, life keeps going, giving little time for reflection or contemplation; in opera the action pauses while a character contemplates or revels in a situation or emotion, giving articulate expression to those moments which, in real life, are often mumbled and stumbled through, tongue-tied and confused.
Well, it's just the beginning of the season. Plenty more time (hopefully) to ponder these things as the season progresses.
The season opened with Verdi's Simon Boccanegra, which I saw last Wednesday. I knew nothing about the opera, except that there was only one female role and I had heard it described as "a bunch of baritones shouting at each other," but I enjoyed it immensely. The singing and acting were excellent. There was only one female role, a soprano (of course) but one the male side there were more than just baritones. There was at least one tenor, the young, idealistic lover (of course) at least one true bass, whose low notes were powerful enough to be heard clearly over the orchestra while facing upstage (they were miked, but still, it was impressive). The complex story defies simple synopsis (here's the SFO summary) but it's got all the elements of grand tragedy: passionate love, illegitimate children, mistaken identity, political intrigue and betrayal. The staging and costumes were extremely well done. I was so engrossed in the performance as a whole I didn't notice much about the music itself (I'm not sure if the music is meant to be separated from the performance).
I agree with Odious that the opera is not about power, whatever the folks at SFO want us to believe; political power and turmoil only provide the background for the real story, in this case a story about (not surprisingly) love, vengeance and forgiveness. Interestingly, one of the driving forces of the plot is a character (Maria) who dies in the first few minutes of the opera, whom we never see, and who never sings a note. Yet the rest of the opera is a reaction to her life and death. Her lover, Boccanegra, pursues political power to make himself worthy of her, and dies twenty-five years later calling her name. Her father spends those twenty-five years mourning her death and seeking vengeance on Boccanegra, whom he sees as the cause of his daughter's death and dishonor.
Watching the performance, I had some possible insights on how one is to approach opera, something which puzzles me. The way not to approach it, at any rate, is in some dry, strictly intellectual way, as if one was going to a required lecture, or, worse yet, trying to "get something" from it. Like a good many other things, such as poetry, the first step to getting anything out of it is to enjoy it. And one of the keys to enjoying it, I think, is to sit back and be willing to take it at its own pace. If an aria lasts ten minutes and doesn't really advance the plot much you have to be willing to forget about the plot, the time, and the dessert sitting in your car and for those 10 minutes go along with whatever exalted emotion the character happens to be expressing. It's similar to the soliliquies in Shakespeare; the action moves not forward, but downward, deeper. You can't enjoy Hamlet if you just want to get to the end of the story as soon as possible because Hamlet isn't really about the story, the story is just the excuse for Hamlet to meander about until the story (and his meandering) comes to an abrupt end.
One of the things about opera that seems to alienate many people is the unashamed, obvious, sustained, exaggerated emotion that seems to comprise so much of it. There's a tendency to ridicule or dismiss such overt emotional displays, or, at least, be uncomfortable with them. I have a theory that this might be because we're constantly bombarded with cheap sentimentalism via radio, T.V. and all other forms of pop culture. In trying to avoid the cheap emotion one reacts badly to any display of emotion. Perhaps opera gives voice to those important, beautiful or terrible moments in our lives that, in real life, slip by all too quickly. In real life, life keeps going, giving little time for reflection or contemplation; in opera the action pauses while a character contemplates or revels in a situation or emotion, giving articulate expression to those moments which, in real life, are often mumbled and stumbled through, tongue-tied and confused.
Well, it's just the beginning of the season. Plenty more time (hopefully) to ponder these things as the season progresses.
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