In 2019, I think we all need to pay closer attention. In terms of politics and the state of the world, it is in our own best interest to stay on top of things and act accordingly on issues we care about. Paying close attention in social situations gives us more understanding about human motivations and behavior. It is also very flattering to the persons you are with.
Recently, I led a symposium in which 25 people attended four operas with me, and then we had long discussions about what we heard, saw and felt. My philosophy is that we can all learn from one another when sharing our perceptions if we accept that differences do not mean that one of us is right and the other is wrong. I tried to give my group skills for really paying attention at the opera.
I know that projected titles are popular, though I am not a fan. To me, people who focus on reading titles pay less attention to dramatic details on the stage. Many people I know, including some opera professionals, strongly advocate for projected titles as part of the operagoing experience. I find them nominally useful — I consult them intermittently during a performance — but to me operagoing is about using my senses to really listen to (not just hear) the music and observe (not just see) the scenery, costumes, lighting and stage direction. When I take people to opera and gently encourage them to spend most of their evening listening and observing rather than reading titles, they tend to come away with a much more profound experience than those readers who blandly say, “The story was interesting and the music and costumes were pretty.”
Another problem with titles is that they do some of the work that directors, designers, conductors and singers should be doing. These artists, as well as singing coaches and dramaturgs, don’t necessarily pay close attention to the libretto and the score. They count on titles to tell the story when that should primarily happen in the music-making and stage direction.
Errors often get repeated from one production to another when the music and words are not carefully analyzed. For example, in the last act of La Traviata, the heroine receives a visit from the kindly Dr. Grenvil. He knows she is dying. Grenvil says to Violetta, “Addio. A più tardi,” without pausing. This translates as, “Farewell. See you later,” which does not make sense.
Verdi and his librettist Piave intentionally have Dr. Grenvil make an error by saying to his patient (and revealing to us) that she is dying. The line should be recited as “Farewell” (quick catch of breath and look of sudden realization) as he then corrects what he has uttered and says, “I will see you later.” Violetta replies, “Non mi scordate” (“Don’t forget me”), in which she acknowledges to him and to us that she knows she is dying. Then he turns and walks away from Violetta to inform the servant Annina discreetly that her mistress has little time left to live. These moments are almost never played as Verdi and Piave wanted.
When a singer or director pays close attention, it helps the artist create dramatic specificity. I loved seeing Juan Diego Flórez sniffing his Champagne before taking a sip of it and then singing the Brindisi in the first act of the Met’s new La Traviata. This small but telling detail makes sense. Anyone who is sensitive to wine, including a young Frenchman such as Alfredo Germont, would never sip a glass of wine without first noting its bouquet. You do not see Flórez do this in the video below, but take my word that he did.
Many in my group wondered why most of the singers in the new production of La Traviata sounded faint. They did not notice the oculus above the stage into which sound floated upward rather than out into the auditorium. Did you notice the oculus in the video above? When scenic design for a new production is proposed, the director, set designer, technical director and general manager of an opera company must all pay attention and ask tough questions. This seldom happens in most opera companies nowadays, and it is a disservice to singers and audiences.
Paying close attention can make the familiar seem new and fresh. “O Mio Babbino Caro,” Lauretta’s short aria in Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi, has such a beautiful melody that it is well known as a concert encore. In the opera, audiences recognize it and often applaud as the first notes are heard. Most singers stand and perform it based on pure sound. In the Met’s November 2018 revival, Kristina Mkhitaryan bucked the tradition by singing and acting the music as well as the words, which are pretty intense: She tells her father that if he does not allow her to marry the boy she loves, she will drown herself in Florence’s Arno River. It helped that Plácido Domingo, who understands drama down to his core, played Schicchi and reacted to what her Lauretta was actually saying. Jack O’Brien directed.
Even in the most familiar works, I find pleasure in discovering new ideas in these masterpieces. In most productions of Aïda, when the messenger arrives to tell the King that the Ethiopians have launched an attack on Egyptian soil, the messenger usually walks in purposefully and then bows before singing. When I saw this scene at La Scala in May 2018 in the Franco Zeffirelli staging, the messenger ran onto the stage looking slightly disheveled and was out of breath. This makes dramatic sense because his motivation is to arrive as quickly as possible to share urgent news. Watch for this moment next time you see Aïda.
Ultimately, at least to me, music comes first in opera. In addition to the marvelous voices on the stage, the orchestra plays a huge role in telling the story. This music is the ballast of the narrative, and the instruments chosen by the composer, and then the way it is orchestrated, says everything about the action and emotion of the story. Watch and — above all — listen to these performances of Fidelio and Rigoletto and you will understand.
Many conductors, even the most acclaimed, conduct opera symphonically rather than operatically. By this I mean that they have carefully investigated all the instrumental elements of a score and play them magnificently. But they are not telling a story. Many of these maestros seldom look at the stage and do nothing to have the orchestra participate in the narrative. Singers are left to their own devices.
Right now at the Met is a splendid example of how an opera should be conducted. Gianandrea Noseda is leading a great cast in Cilea’s rarely heard Adriana Lecouvreur, which WQXR will broadcast on January 12 when it can also be seen worldwide on HD. Listen carefully and note how detailed, varied and in-the-moment Noseda and the Met orchestra are. They take a pretty good opera and make it magnificent, all because of how much attention they have paid to the music and the story it is telling. And listen with care to the three Italians in the cast — Carlo Bosi, Ambrogio Maestri and Maurizio Muraro — whose use of their native language is so exquisite and expressive that, even if you don’t speak it, you will swoon. That is what happens when you actively listen to and watch an opera rather than sit back and read the titles.
