You’d think with being a full-blooded third generation Italian, opera would be as second nature to me as a mountain of rigatoni lightly layered with a lush Bolognese—al dente, of course. However, listening to opera is like acquiring a taste for spaghetti al Nero di seppia (calamari in a sauce of its own black ink). The first two bites draw you in, but to find your way to the bottom of the dish takes fortitude.
The most accessible point of entry for learning to love opera is a good aria, pronounced ah’-ree-ah and not to be confused with the product of length times width. The aria is like a fine wine: all things in life are easier to swallow accompanied by a fine wine. While arias are not exclusive to opera, it is within this genre that they are most identified. The operatic characters use the aria as a means of reflection and to express their innermost thoughts and feelings. Arias are emotional, confessional, and intense dramatic pauses in the action. Arias are known for their lyricism expressed in melody and encompass in their name all that is vital to us. A literal translation of aria could be taken to mean formal song. In its most dramatic interpretation, aria is the air we breathe, the air that surrounds us, and the air that we gasp for in our dying moments.
It is best to jump into the opera scene with a partner, preferably one with a deep soul and a feel for Italian prose. In lieu of that, I will attempt to be your guide. For this task I have chosen an aria from an opera whose plot could easily be mistaken for an action movie. There are blizzards, melting glaciers, avalanches, scenic mountain panoramas, and of course the sexy virgin Tyrolean, femme fatale soprano rappelling down a chasm. The opera, La Wally by Alfredo Catalani: the aria, Ebben?… Ne andró lontana.
There are several versions of this excellent piece of music sung by great sopranos, not the mafia types or the castrati but rather those beautiful female voices capable of making our hair stand on end, bringing us to tears as they reach the highest registers of the human voce. My favorite for this aria is Sarah Brightman. Her version stands out for both her expressive performance and how it blends perfectly with the orchestra.
As the aria opens we are greeted with a pensive stand of strings, which swell and hint of passion. Brightman’s voice greets them just as the tension becomes uncomfortable. In anticipation of her arrival the reeds of the winds vibrate to life and her confession begins.
Referring to herself in third person, Wally sings to the world of her unrequited love. She has just saved the life of the man she loves. She had contracted an admirer to throw him into a crevasse hoping for his certain death. Learning that he has survived the plunge, she has a change of heart (enter rappelling soprano here). She rescues him and delivers the likely confused man to his betrothed and in her voice we hear her desperation and pain as she sings, “I will go far away like the echo of the sacred bell, up there among the eternal snows, up there among the golden clouds, there where hope is pain and sorrow.” These words are contained within a well-structured melody that modulates from major to minor as hope moves into pain and sorrow. Brightman’s voice handles this transition exquisitely. All this and only 74 seconds have passed.
There is a 15 second interlude where the orchestra soothes us, lessening the tension, preparing the way for Brightman to reenter. Upon her reentry Brightman’s voice is more longing but less desperate and impulsive as she contemplates her impending loss and isolation. This reprieve is short-lived. Again the orchestra and Brightman’s voice crescendo as she climactically suggests that she may never return: “Never again, Never again!” We are at the halfway point of the song; however, Brightman is in full voice reaching mountainous heights, foreshadowing her approaching demise.
At this juncture soprano and mates are one, gently bringing us back from the precipice and again seamlessly melding together to repeat the opening stanza. Time passes unnoticed as the words and melody recur with greater volume and range. Through repetition of the opening stanza Brightman conveys Wally’s overwhelming sense of tragic longing. She tears herself away from a world where a union with the one she loves is impossible. At 3:14 the glory note hits and goose bumps abound.
Surprisingly the vocals end here and the orchestra is alone for the remaining 30 seconds, giving us just enough time to dab our eyes, regain our composure, and await the inevitable conclusion of the drama. Long story short, the aria is over but the story goes on. For those who need to know the end (spoiler alert), as is always the case with those who have known a love so great only to see it taken from them, upon learning of the death of her great love, Wally throws herself into a passing avalanche.
If after reading this humble attempt to scratch the surface of operatic interpretation, you are not in the mood for un buon chianti, un po’ d’antipasto e un’insalata, perhaps opera is not your tazza di cappuccino. Finito.