Saturday at the Opera: In an Old Studio

I wrote this poem in 2009 as an homage to my coaching studio at Houston Grand Opera. The wonderful Joyce DiDonato (who knew my studio very well!) kindly published it a couple of years ago on her blog (I've since changed a couple of punctuations and added a break in the middle of the poem), so that is its credited "first appearance"—very appropriate, don't you think?

In an Old Studio

There used to be a piano in this room,
a mid-size grand, whose lid was always strewn
with scores of Verdi and Rossini. 
On the walls hung photos of the Tuscan hills,
a poster of a street in old Milan—
they've left their imprint, ghostly squares against
the graying of the years—and on this spot,
a music stand held up the legacy
of genius waiting to be issued forth
through chosen throats.
                                             Be still a minute. Listen.
Distant phrases of a long-lost life
will breathe across your brow and tell the tale
of striving for sublime exactitude,
of discipline and repetition, of
the just dissatisfaction with an end
that's less than art. Then close your eyes to touch
the keys that are no longer there, and you
will hear the splendor that was crafted in
this room, and leave it with the cadences
of ancient passions sighing in your soul.

© Leticia Austria 2009

Saturday, and I'm No Longer at the Opera

     For some inexplicable reason, I woke up this morning thinking of Massenet's Manon. Specifically, the Saint-Sulpice scene. No music, I couldn't remember a note of that scene, still can't, just the dramatic situation. I then thought, "How does 'La Rêve' go?" It took a rather long moment, then that plaintive introduction by the strings came into my head and an imaginary tenor voice began, "En ferment les yeux ..."

     I was surprised and a little dismayed that the aria took that long to come back to me. It is one of the most famous arias in the French repertoire. How many gezillion times in my 25-year opera career did I play it in auditions? How many tenors have coached it with me? How many performances of Manon did I see or prompt?

     Then I realized it was nine years ago I did Manon at HGO, and no tenor in the Studio sang it after that production while I was still there. So it's probably been nine years since I last heard "La Rêve." Nine years, it suddenly struck me. That's a long time. In the opera world, nine years is forever.

     I realized, too, that I left that rarefied world eight years ago and the invisible line connecting it to my spirit is growing thinner and more fragile with each passing year. I still keep in touch with many of my former colleagues, singers, orchestra personnel, etc., thanks to social networks, and though I treasure those contacts and intend to preserve them for as long as possible, my mind and spirit are elsewhere, and that the music is no longer a major part of my consciousness is an inevitability I'm learning to accept. Like the letting go of piano repertoire, the letting go of opera repertoire has to be complete before I can let the music return, purified and free of the shackles of my former coach mentality. I still can't listen to opera without coaching in my head, which spoils the joy of listening to it. It may take a while longer before I can listen without criticizing every single phrase, every word. But struggling to remember the tune of a famous aria is a good sign. It means that Leticia the Coach is beginning to fade away, eventually to be replaced by Leticia the Plain Ol' Music Lover.

Jussi Björling (1951)



Saturday at the Opera

I have a soft spot for Purcell's operatic masterpiece Dido and Aeneas. It was the first show for which I served as chorus master at HGO (I was assistant chorus master on countless productions), and the first chorus (and, as far as I know, the only chorus) in which we used male altos. My sixteen singers were chosen carefully from HGO's chorus roster for having the most "Baroque-friendly" voices, and they were absolutely wonderful, as was the whole production by Toronto's Opera Atelier, which we imported lock, stock, and barrel (except for the chorus, of course). That whole experience was one of the happiest of my operatic career.

However, even if I'd never been given that experience, I would still have a soft spot for Dido. The score is simply stunning, and has one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful final death scenes in the entire opera repertory. I seldom listen to it without weeping.

For a synopsis of Dido and Aeneas, click here. 

The video below is not, alas, of the Opera Atelier/HGO production. In this extract of the final scene, which consists of Dido's Lament ("When I am Laid in Earth") and the sublime chorus "With drooping wings," the Dido is stunningly portrayed by Malena Ernman. William Christie leads the Les Arts Florissants. I don't know, however, where or when this production was done. If anyone out there does know, please leave a comment either here or on my Facebook page.

DIDO

Thy hand, Belinda; darkness shades me;

On thy bosom let me rest;

More I would, but death invades me;

Death is now a welcome guest.

When I am laid in earth, may my wrongs create

No trouble in thy breast.

Remember me, but, ah! forget my fate!

CHORUS

With drooping wings ye Cupids, come,

And scatter roses o'er her tomb,

Soft and gentle as her heart;

Keep here your watch, and never part.

[Libretto by Nahum Tate]

Saturday at the Opera

     I decided to start a regular series, "Saturday at the Opera." I figure it's one way to ensure that I have something to post at least once a week! Days can go by without a blogpost subject coming to mind, so I will rely on my old friend Opera to bail me out every Saturday. I'll also be resurrecting the "Music Monday" series I did on my old "di-Verse-ifying" blog, featuring mostly (but not exclusively) piano works, as well as posting at least one essay and one poem a week. So that's the new plan, Stan.

     To inaugurate "Saturday at the Opera," I give you something from the first opera I ever saw: Mozart's Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute). I saw it the summer of 1974, at the Salzburg Marionette Theater. Even though it was done with puppets, I still count it as my first opera experience. Die Zauberflöte was also the first opera score I ever bought (in London, that same summer), so it was the first opera I learned to play, as well.

     For a synopsis, click here.

     This excerpt, which is the second half of Act I, is from the Opéra National de Paris, 2001. The spoken dialogue in this particular production is in the original German, with a bit of French thrown in. Often, the music of this opera is sung in German and the dialogue is spoken in the language of whatever country in which the production is seen, for ease of comprehension and to reduce the use of supertitles. Sometimes the entire opera is done in the local language, both music and dialogue.

     The cast in this video:

          Tamino - Piotr Beczala

          Pamina - Dorothea Roschmann

          Papageno - Detlef Roth

          1st Lady - Cecile Perrin

          2nd Lady - Helene Schneiderman

          3rd Lady - Helene Perraguin

          Monostatos - Uwe Peper

          Sarastro - Matt Salminen