Today was a rather strange day. It wasn’t necessarily uneventful, but it wasn’t really what you’d call a good day either. It started out well enough. I had discovered that an old classmate from Eng 1 was also my classmate in Comm 3, and later that day, I discovered that she was also my classmate in Geog 1. Chem 16 was also sort of okay. Mundane, but acceptable enough, I suppose. The Chem 16 lab was sort of fun. The oh-so-tiny-but-oh-so-cute professor was amusing and seemed mild-mannered enough. What really made my day, though, was Math 53. According to him, he has been a professor at UP for 30 years, or more, I think. He has specifically stated that he thinks university students shouldn’t be blogging. He also explained that students shouldn’t go out, and should study. That socialization was for after graduation. Very interesting indeed. It also turned out that I was sitting between two people who had unos in Math 17 last semester. Bummer.

Right now, I am currently trying to gain access to his database of lesson materials (he has a lot, which is good) while listening to “La Mamma Morta” as performed by Maria Callas for the opera, “Andrea Chénier”. Good luck to me next semester.

Esta ópera compuesta por Umberto Giordano contiene una de las arias más famosas de la Historia de la Ópera: Un dì all’azzurro spazio.

Interpretada por los principales tenores a lo largo del tiempo, ha sido “caballo de batalla” de Enrico Caruso, Beniamino Gigli o, más recientemente, Luciano Pavarotti o José Carreras.

 Galleta del disco grabado por Enrico Caruso el 17 de julio de 1907.

Gramophone. Catálogo 052158. Matriz A 4316

(Link en la imagen, al aria interpretada por Franco Corelli)

Esta es su letra, por si la queréis aprender:

Colpito qui m’avete ov’io geloso celo
il più puro palpitar dell’anima.
Or vedrete, fanciulla, qual poema
è la parola “Amor”, qui causa di scherno!

Un dì all’azzurro spazio
guardai profondo,
e ai prati colmi di viole,
pioveva loro il sole,
e folgorava d’oro il mondo:
parea la terra un immane tesor,
e a lei serviva di scrigno il firmamento.
Su dalla terra a la mia fronte
veniva una carezza viva, un bacio.
Gridai vinto d’amor:
T’amo tu che mi baci,
divinamente bella, o patria mia!
E volli pien d’amore pregar!
Varcai d’una chiesa la soglia;
là un prete ne le nicchie
dei santi e della Vergine,
accumulava doni -
e al sordo orecchio
un tremulo vegliardo
invan chiedeva pane
e invano stendea la mano!

Varcai degli abituri l’uscio;
un uom vi calunniava
bestemmiando il suolo
che l’erario a pena sazia
e contro a Dio scagliava
e contro agli uomini
le lagrime dei figli.

In cotanta miseria
la patrizia prole che fa?
Sol l’occhio vostro
esprime umanamente qui
un guardo di pietà,
ond’io guardato ho a voi
si come a un angelo.
E dissi: Ecco la bellezza della vita!
Ma, poi, a le vostre parole,
un novello dolor m’ha colto in pieno petto.
O giovinetta bella,
d’un poeta non disprezzate il detto:
Udite! Non conoscete amor,
amor, divino dono, non lo schernir,
del mondo anima e vita è l’Amor!

I missed an important anniversary this week. Had she still been alive, December 2nd 2008 would have been the 85th birthday of the most renowned opera singer of her time, Maria Callas.

She was born in 1923 in New York city of Greek parents who had moved there the previous year, and christened Maria Anna Sofia Cecilia Kalogeropoulou. Disenchanted with her deteriorating marriage, her mother abandoned her husband and took Maria and her sister back to Athens in 1937. Maria enrolled at the National Conservatoire of Greece the same year after winning a scholarship with the quality of her voice, which

was warm, lyrical, intense; it swirled and flared like a flame and filled the air with melodious reverberations.

At this age, Maria was a rather plump young lady with a rather deep voice. Initially, she aspired to be a contralto but at the Conservatoire she was encouraged instead to become a dramatic soprano. Accordingly, she underwent special training to raise her natural pitch (or tessitura) and learned how to control her remarkable voice more accurately so she could sing in a sufficiently disciplined fashion that she could take on the dazzling coloratura passages that she would perform in later years with such success. She also worked on her chest tones to broaden the scope of her voice in the mezzo region. Although she became more technically refined as a singer during this period, there were some things that didn’t change. One was the sheer power of her voice, which is something that we tend to notice less in these days of microphones and studio recordings. People who heard her sing live confess to being shocked at the sheer scale of sound she could deliver without amplification. Perhaps more tellingly, she eschewed many of the devices sopranos tended to use to control the highest notes, usually involving some alteration of the throat to produce accuracy at the expense of a thinner and more constricted tone. When Callas went for a high note, she always did so in a full-throated manner. This often produced a piercing sound that could be intensely dramatic, even to the extent of almost knocking you out of your seat, but it was a very risky approach for a live performance. Audiences simply weren’t used to hearing a coloratura sing with such volume and in such a whole-hearted way. It wasn’t always pretty, but it was certainly remarkable and often very moving. It was this aspect of her voice that led her friend Tito Gobbi (who sang with her in Tosca) to call it una grande vociaccia, which I translate in my schoolboy Italian as meaning something like “a big ugly voice”. That isn’t meant to be as disparaging as it sounds (Gobbi was a great admirer of Callas’ singing).

Having listened to lots of recordings of Maria Callas I have to admit that they are certainly not all good. Sometimes the voice didn’t come off at all. Unkindly, one colleague said that she “sang with her ovaries”. When she talked about her own noice, Callas herself often referred to it as if it were some independent creature over which she had very little control. Anyway, whatever the reason, when she was bad she was definitely bad. But I adopt the philosophy that one should judge artists (and scientists, for that matter) by their best work rather than their worst, and when Callas was good she was simply phenomenal, like a sublime and irresistible force of nature. That’s why they called her La Divina.

Although her talent was very raw in the beginning there was no question that she always had a voice of exceptional power and dramatic intensity. When she started singing professionally she immediately attracted lavish praise from the critics not just for her voice but also for her acting. As a young soprano she sang in an astonishing variety of operas, including Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde and Die Walküre, neither of which one would now associate with Callas.

It was in the late 194os that Callas began to take an interest in the type of opera that would really make her name. Bel canto opera was rather unfashionable at that time, probably because audiences preferred the grittier and more realistic verismo style. Virtually single-handed, Callas resurrected the bel canto canon by injecting a true sense of drama into works which had previously just been seen as vehicles for the singers to demonstrate their art. Callas brought an entirely new dimension to the great operas by Bellini (Norma, I Puritani, La Gioconda, La Somnambula…) and Donizetti (Lucia di Lammermoor, Anna Bolena), although she was sufficiently versatile to also perform brilliantly in the verismo syle of Verdi and Puccini as well as lesser known composers such as Giordano (Andrea Chenier). Recordings of many of these performances are available, but it is sad that this glorious period of her singing career happened just a bit before high quality equipment was available so the true glory of her voice isn’t always evident.

In 1953, Callas decided that she wanted to change her appearance, perhaps so she would look more appropriate for the parts she was playing on stage. At the time she weighed almost 200lbs. In order to lose weight as quickly as possible, she followed the barbarous but highly effective expedient of swallowing a tapeworm. She lost 80lbs in a matter of months. The dramatic loss of weight changed her body and her face, emphasizing her high angular cheekbones and giving her a striking look very well suited to the opera stage. But it also affected her voice somewhat, especially at the upper end where she seems to have found it more difficult to avoid the dreaded “wobble” which was one of the alleged imperfections that critics tended to dwell upon.

Callas also had very poor eyesight which required her to wear very thick spectacles in order to see at all, a thing she refused to do onstage with the result that she was virtually blind during performances. In fact, during a performance of Tosca at Covent Garden she leant too far over a candle and her hair caught fire. Improvising magnificently, Tito Gobbi, as the loathsome Scarpia, extinguished the fire by throwing water at her before the audience had noticed. Although they weren’t much use for seeing with, her eyes were a great asset for her acting, in turns flashing like a demon then shining like an angel.

After her weight loss, Callas was suddenly no longer just a wonderful singer but also a strikingly beautiful woman. Her career took a back seat as she started to revel in the glamorous lifestyle that opened up in front of her. Her voice deteriorated and she performed rather less frequently. Eventually she embarked on a love affair with Aristotle Onassis, a notorious serial collector of trophy women. She hoped to marry him but he abandoned her to marry Jackie Kennedy, widow of John F. Kennedy.

She never really recovered from the failure of this affair, retired from singing and lived out the last years of her life as a virtual recluse in her apartment in Paris. She died in 1977.

I had heard a lot about Maria Callas when I was younger, but the recordings that I listened to (generally from the 1960s) were really not very good as her voice was undoubtedly much diminished by then. I just assumed that, as is the case with many artists, the legend of Callas was all mere hype. Then, about fifteen years ago, I was listening to BBC Radio 3 and they played the final scenes of the great 1954 recording of Norma with Callas in the title role, conducted by Tullio Serafin. I was completely overwhelmed by it and tears flowed freely from my eyes. I’ve always had a tendency to blub when I hear really beautiful music, but as I’ve got older I’ve learned not to be embarrassed by it. At least I don’t cry at football matches.

In England, Callas is probably best remembered for her performances in Tosca in Covent Garden. I have recordings of her in that role and they are really wonderful. But there are many fine recordings of Tosca by other singers, some of which are almost as good. In the case of Norma, though, there isn’t any other performance that comes within a mile of the Callas version. Or if there is, I’ve yet to hear it.

Now I know that there are some people, even opera lovers, who just don’t get Callas at all (just look at the comment boards on Youtube). I grant that she wasn’t always the most accurate singer, and I don’t think you could say her voice had a purely classical beauty. But even if you don’t like her voice you have to admit that she revitalized the opera stage and brought a new public into the theatres. I can’t imagine what the state of opera would be now, if there hadn’t been a Callas and you can’t argue that she is now an iconic figure. What I admire most about her is that, like it or loath it, her voice is instantly recognisable. In this sense, she always puts me in mind of a kind of operatic version of Billie Holliday. She’s a far cry from the many bland mediocrities that pass themselves off as opera singers nowadays.

I’m going to end with the obligatory clips from Youtube. There’s a lot of Callas on there, not all of it good. I’ve chosen a couple of items, although neither of them has a proper video. The first was performed live in 1955 in front of the notoriously difficult audience at La Scala in Milan and recorded from a radio broadcast so that the sound quality is quite poor. A studio recording of this aria, from Andrea Chenier, features most movingly in the film Philadelphia. This live version, however, is notable for a number of reasons. One is that you get some idea of the power of the Callas voice in the way she pushes aside the entire orchestra and is even able to cut through the distortions introduced by the rather primitive recording technology. The second thing is that she sings it so beautifully, with such feeling, lovely phrasing, and so much colour and vitality. Listen to the way the texture of her voice matches perfectly her changing emotions as she tells her story. The shattering, climactic high C that occurs near the end is a perfect example of what I was saying above. She stabs this note out like her life depended on it. It sends shivers down my spine and clearly had the same effect on the audience. The thunderous applause that follows the end of this aria is quite frightening in its intensity, but gives a good idea how much her public adored her. If you can put up with the lo-fi recording, this is certainly a better performance than the studio version.

The final piece has to be from Norma. I think Bellini is a wonderful composer of opera, but he doesn’t make life easy for the singers. There’s never any doubling of the vocal line by the orchestra so the singer is very exposed. This doesn’t bother Maria Callas. This is the famous aria Casta Diva, which has become a kind of signature tune for her and it’s one of the pieces that she always seemed to perform beautifully. It might be a bit hackneyed but I love it and, after all, it’s my blog. There’s also a nice compilation of pictures.

I’d be interested to hear what the general opinion of Callas is based on a sample of the two or three people who read my blog, so please feel free to add your comments!

Nach einer Woche voller Fernseh-Overkill, Konsum und StressStressStress haben wir heute (ich meine Freitag, aber da ich noch nicht geschlafen habe, ist jetzt noch heute. Also Freitag.) mal was für den Geist getan, sind nach Karlsruhe gefahren und haben uns im Opernhaus des Staatstheaters Umberto Giordanos “Andrea Chénier” gegeben.

Falls es jemand gar nicht kennt: hier, es wäre jetzt zu lang, die komplette Story zu erklären. Falls jemand Philadelphia gesehen hat, kennt er es auch; die Arie, die Tom Hanks übersetzt und dabei seinen Tropf vor sich herschiebt – eine der tränenreichsten Szenen in diesem Film. Für mich war es sogar DIE Szene, aber ich stehe ja auch auf Operngesang. Egal.

Jedenfalls ist das eine der traurigsten Liebesgeschichten, die es gibt, kein klassisches Happy End. Gut, es kommt drauf an, wie happy man es wertet, wenn der eine Mensch freiwillig mit dem anderen Menschen in den Tod geht – auf die ein oder andere Art ist das sicherlich auch irgendwie happy für die beiden. Für mich war es todtraurig.

Die Inszenierung war wider Erwarten echt gut, ich wusste nicht so ganz, ob mich das wirklich anmachen würde, als ich gehört bzw. gelesen habe, wie das Bühnenbild aussieht. Die Sänger waren ebenfalls ganz groß, vor allem, wenn sie richtig laut wurden. Dito das Orchester. Besonders schlimm für mich wurde es, wenn das Cello eingesetzt wurde, da das Cello für mich das mit Abstand am traurigsten klingende Instrument der Welt ist. Und wenn man sowieso eher in Ufernähe gebaut ist, sitzt man da schon mal in der O-P-E-R und muss sich zusammenreißen, dass man nicht losplärrt. Mannmannmann.. Der Liebste hat allerdings auch sehr paralysiert auf die Bühne gestarrt…

War auf jeden Fall ein sehr schöner Abend und lecker Essen gab es da auch. Hätte ich zwar in dem Umfeld nicht erwartet, aber heiße Kirschen mit Vanilleeis zum Abendessen sind auch okay.

La primera òpera de la temporada 2007-2008 del Gran Teatre del Liceu, Andrea Chénier, és una història d’amor ambientada en els anys de la Revolució Francesa, amb un personatge basat en un personatge real, el poeta André Chénier. Chénier compartia els principis de la Revolució però criticà els excessos del Terror i fou guillotinat. A l’òpera, Chénier és presentat al palau dels comtes de Coigny, on coneix Maddalena, de qui s’enamora. De Maddalena també n’està enamorat Carlo Gérard, majordom del palau que n’és expulsat i que, amb la Revolució, es converteix en un personatge poderós. Chénier i Maddalena perden el contacte, i Gérard no para de buscar-los perquè si troba Chénier creu que trobarà Maddalena: el fa detenir i, evidentment, Maddalena recorre a Gérard per intercedir per Chénier. Gérard, que tot i la seva nova posició no ha oblidat allò que el fa humà, commogut per l’amor de Maddalena —disposada a lliurar-se-li si així salva la vida de Chénier—, decideix defensar Chénier als tribunals de l’acusació que ell mateix ha redactat. No se’n surt: la massa necessita víctimes i Chénier és condemnat a mort. Maddalena decideix compartir el destí del poeta i, amb l’ajut de Gérard, es canvia per una altra condemnada i moren junts.

L’òpera té quatre actes: en el primer, encara al començament de la Revolució, assistim a la festa de la comtessa de Coingy, on Chénier coneix Maddalena de Coigny i Gérard s’enfronta a la comtessa. Al segon han passat cinc anys, Chénier està en perill i un seu amic li porta un passaport perquè pugui fugir, però Chénier no vol a causa de les cartes que una dona misteriosa li envia. La dona és Maddalena. Quan es retroben, però, arriba Gérard, advertit per l’espia que seguia Chénier, i intenta separar-los. Chénier el fereix, però Gérard no el denuncia. A l’acte tercer, Gérard convenç els ciutadans que hi ha a la sala del Tribunal de donar diners i oferir-se voluntaris per lluitar per la pàtria. Gérard rep la notícia que Chénier ha estat fet presonar i se li demana que redacti l’acusació; però Gérard ja comença a tenir dubtes sobre el camí que ha pres la Revolució. Arriba Maddalena, que li explica el que ha passat durant els últims anys i que estima Chénier, i li demana que el salvi. Gérard, commós, decideix ajudar-los, però al judici acaba amb la condemna de Chénier. Lúltim acte transcorre a la presó, on els enamorats es retroben i Maddalena substitueix una altra condemnada a mort per poder morir al costat d’Andrea.

Aquesta òpera havia començat amb mal peu al Liceu, ja que una de les Maddalenes principals, Deborah Voight, va haver de ser substituïda en algunes funcions per una altra Maddalena: Daniella Dessì. A la cinquena funció, la que vaig veure, cantaven la Dessì i el seu marit, el Fabio Armiliato, i en tenia ganes, ja que els havia vist anteriorment (a Aida i a Tosca) i havia gaudit de les seves veus (menys en el cas d’ella, que té un timbre de veu que no m’acaba d’agradar; això no vol dir, tanmateix, que cantés malament, que no ho va fer). També cantava Anthony Michaels-Moore, que em va semblar una mica irregular al començament, però que després es va posar a l’alçada dels altres.

L’escenografia em va agradar: un conjunt de parets inclinades de diferents alçades sobre un terra giratori que van marcant els diferents espais on es desenvolupa l’acció i que em van semblar una metàfora d’un món que s’enfonsa per donar lloc a una nova realitat que, al final, acaba torçant-se. No obstant, és un decorat que a còpia de l’excés de color blanc de vestits i decoració dóna una sensació de fredor que, en algun moment, em va semblar que es traslladava a l’actuació dels cantants.

En general em sembla que ha estat un bon començament de temporada, almenys superades les primeres funcions, les quals, segons he llegit aquí i allà, no van ser gaire reeixides: en Jaume Radigales també parla de la fredor a «Andrea Chénier o fredor tallant al Liceu» i en Ximo de In fermen land ha escrit uns quants textos sobre aquesta òpera que podeu trobar aquí: Andrea Chénier.

Technorati Tags: òpera — Andrea Chénier — Umberto Giordano — Gran Teatre del Liceu — temporada 2007-2008