Tuesday, August 16, 2005
My muse
Before my mother dies, she said, she wanted to go to opening night at the Metropolitan Opera. As a child I thought: What’s so special about the Met? Isn’t, say, San Francisco’s or Chicago’s Lyric Opera as intriguing?
When I moved to New York I went to my first opera there and, Christ, all I had to do was walk into that place and you feel the history, not just of opera in the United States, but history of the United States itself.
As I walked into the house I was greeted by twisting, spiral staircases that lead to the houses 6 balconies and orchestra. The scene is dominated by dozens of giant crystal chandeliers designed to look like fireworks. . . a gift from the people of Austria for helping them rebuild their destroyed opera houses after World War II. Patrons also recount Eleanor Roosevelt appearing at the Met during its radio broadcasts (after a trip to a firebombed London) to encourage Americans to aid in the war effort.
Then I walked downstairs and was overwhelmed by the portraits of all the great singers that called the Metropolitan Opera their home. The first portrait was Ezio Pinza, the great bass -- my grandmother’s favorite. I turned the corner and there’s the portrait of Leontine Price, the first international African-American diva: She’s painted in her costume that opened the 1964 season as Cleopatra in Antony and Cleopatra, an opera written especially for her. Then there’s Peters, Pons, Tebaldi, the portorates go on and on; it was the coolest thing.
Walk up into the Partarre and the Dress Circle and on display were the costumes worn by, for example, Tebaldi’s Tosca, the Pamino costumes designed by Chagall, Caruso’s Mario. Christ, I was having a great time.
And I went to the Grand Tier to have a glass of champagne. (That’s simply what you do.) I began talking to an older patron who recounts a performance he attended of Tosca. Maria Callas was singing and – it was rumored – that the widowed Jackie Kennedy would also attend. That night, he said, Kennedy came to the house, entered her box, and received an ovation. The opera begins and Callas’ offstage voice begins to excite the fans. . . Mario! Mario! Mario! She finally appears on stage and the audience interrupts the opera with a 5 minute ovation. Wow! I wish I were there.
We finally get into the auditorium and take our seats. The orchestra sits and a dozen of the chandeliers rise from the parterre to take their place with the others on the gold-leaf ceiling – it was beautiful. Levine walks into the orchestra pit and the giant gold curtain opens to a cast of nearly a thousand people and a sound that nearly blows you out of your seat. It was Turandot, my first opera.
Last night I opened my mailbox and discovered the tickets I ordered for opening night of the Metropolitan Opera’s 2005-2006 season. They are doing a gala performance of act I of The Marriage of Figaro, Act II of Tosca, and the last act of Samson and Dalila.
You can imagine how happy my mother will be to go.
When I moved to New York I went to my first opera there and, Christ, all I had to do was walk into that place and you feel the history, not just of opera in the United States, but history of the United States itself.
As I walked into the house I was greeted by twisting, spiral staircases that lead to the houses 6 balconies and orchestra. The scene is dominated by dozens of giant crystal chandeliers designed to look like fireworks. . . a gift from the people of Austria for helping them rebuild their destroyed opera houses after World War II. Patrons also recount Eleanor Roosevelt appearing at the Met during its radio broadcasts (after a trip to a firebombed London) to encourage Americans to aid in the war effort.
Then I walked downstairs and was overwhelmed by the portraits of all the great singers that called the Metropolitan Opera their home. The first portrait was Ezio Pinza, the great bass -- my grandmother’s favorite. I turned the corner and there’s the portrait of Leontine Price, the first international African-American diva: She’s painted in her costume that opened the 1964 season as Cleopatra in Antony and Cleopatra, an opera written especially for her. Then there’s Peters, Pons, Tebaldi, the portorates go on and on; it was the coolest thing.
Walk up into the Partarre and the Dress Circle and on display were the costumes worn by, for example, Tebaldi’s Tosca, the Pamino costumes designed by Chagall, Caruso’s Mario. Christ, I was having a great time.
And I went to the Grand Tier to have a glass of champagne. (That’s simply what you do.) I began talking to an older patron who recounts a performance he attended of Tosca. Maria Callas was singing and – it was rumored – that the widowed Jackie Kennedy would also attend. That night, he said, Kennedy came to the house, entered her box, and received an ovation. The opera begins and Callas’ offstage voice begins to excite the fans. . . Mario! Mario! Mario! She finally appears on stage and the audience interrupts the opera with a 5 minute ovation. Wow! I wish I were there.
We finally get into the auditorium and take our seats. The orchestra sits and a dozen of the chandeliers rise from the parterre to take their place with the others on the gold-leaf ceiling – it was beautiful. Levine walks into the orchestra pit and the giant gold curtain opens to a cast of nearly a thousand people and a sound that nearly blows you out of your seat. It was Turandot, my first opera.
Last night I opened my mailbox and discovered the tickets I ordered for opening night of the Metropolitan Opera’s 2005-2006 season. They are doing a gala performance of act I of The Marriage of Figaro, Act II of Tosca, and the last act of Samson and Dalila.
You can imagine how happy my mother will be to go.
# posted by otas : 9:08 AM
