December 2012

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December 2012

Family and Opera: Good or evil?

Image: Garden of Good and Evil, 2010

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magazine

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Table of Contents Volume 1 No.2

3 Fathers and Daughters in the operas of Giuseppe Verdi: An Introduction* Nigel McBain 5 Evil, a Family Affair Tyler Barton 7 I Can't Think of a 'Family'-Related Title that Isn't a Pun Griffin Candey 9 Verdi’s Father-Daughter Relationships in the Early Duets Kevin Ng 12 Opera for Beginners: Donizetti, Mozart, and Rossini Irene Torrès

*Featured series

Fathers and Daughters in the operas of Giuseppe Verdi: An Introduction Nigel McBain Nigel McBain is a Australian composer and conductor, whose main areas of specialisation are opera, oratorio and dramatic music. His music is written in a lyrical-tonal contemporary style. Nigel continues to be inspired by the mastery of Verdi's operatic approach, his dramatic economy and originality.

Verdi’s operas are full of strong themes based around family ties in all manner of permutations. From Il Trovatore, where the love-triangle revolves around two long-lost brothers duelling for the same woman, to Stiffelio, whose title character must deal with his wife Lina’s infidelities, Verdi’s exploration of human relationships is “up-close-andpersonal” and most often set in a familial context.

I propose to outline one of those types of relationships occurring in Verdi’s operas. I want us to look at the treatment of the complex relationship of “father-daughter”. To examine this subject in depth would take the space of a book. Instead, I will offer a series of posts on each opera. Let us begin, however, with some primary basics on Verdi himself.

Verdi’s early life Giuseppe Verdi, born in 1813, grew up in the very small village of Le Roncole, where his father, Carlo, and his mother, Luigia, ran the local taverna. He had a sister, Giuseppa Francesca, born in 1816, with whom he was very close, as an older brother would be in an Italian family. La Roncole is still very small and you can visit the Verdi taverna there today.

At the time of Giuseppe’s birth, Napoleon was still Emperor and Italy did not exist as a nation. La Roncole in the Duchy of Parma was under the French Imperial aegis. Giuseppe was

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even baptised with the French variants of his names. During the French occupation of the area around Le Roncole, in 1814, Luigia was forced to take refuge with her babe in the tower of the local church, St Michele.

Carlo Verdi seems to have come from a trading family, and to have had a basic education, enough for him to write sufficiently to be the secretary of the local parish council and presumably to run his business affairs. His own education was such that he could recognise the need for his son to have a better one. Sadly, he was not a good money-manager and Luigia was often the one to keep the family finances together.

Giuseppe was a lonely and shy boy, as is so often the case with gifted souls, who had a natural love of music. He began studying music at an early age with the local church organist, Don Baistrocchi, who had recognised his musicality. Giuseppe’s father, in particular, was quite supportive of his musical talents and realised that the boy couldn’t stay in such a small village as Le Roncole. So in 1823 he was sent to the larger town Busseto to be formally educated, an expensive move for a poor family. At around the same time he took over the position of parish organist. He would walk the three miles homewards from Busseto every Sunday to play the organ and see his parents. He would later tell the story that he

would make the journey barefoot so as to save on wearing out the shoe leather.

Verdi’s second family Possibly because of the move to Busseto, but equally because of his talents, the young Giuseppe, seemed to have felt that he was out of place in Le Roncole. After living in Busseto for some time, moving around various lodgings, he took up residence with the Barezzi family. Here Verdi found a new family. Antonio Barezzi became his friend and patron and Verdi referred to as him as his “second father”.

Barezzi helped Verdi enormously and perhaps without him his career would not have progressed as quickly. Barezzi lent Verdi the money to become a private student in Milan.

To a large extent, the townspeople of Busseto were similarly supportive of him, ensuring that he received the post of organist there by popular acclaim.

With a supportive community behind him, Giuseppe’s married his patron’s daughter, Margherita Barezzi, with whom he had fallen in love, in 1836. They couple had a daughter, Virginia, in 1837, and a son, Icilio in 1838.

Tragically, both children died in infancy: Virginia in 1838, a month after Icilio was born, and Icilio in 1839, a few weeks before the premiere of Oberto. Margherita died a few months before the premiere of Un giorno di regno in 1840, when they were both twentyseven years of age. Verdi’s whole family was gained and lost in a matter of four short years.

He remained close with Antonio.

Why did Verdi keep returning to the FatherDaughter theme?

Verdi kept coming back to the “fatherdaughter theme” in at least thirteen out of his twenty-eight operas, from his first successful opera Oberto, to one of his last, Aida. Why did Verdi use it and revisit it so often?

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Does it come from Verdi’s personal experience?

Perhaps Verdi explores this theme of Father-Daughter relationship due to the loss of his own sister. She had died, probably to complications related to meningitis, in 1833, when she was seventeen, six years before Oberto premiered at La Scala. Verdi was apparently quite close to his sister and her loss, when he was twenty, must have affected him deeply.

Perhaps he was constantly trying to recreate her on the stage in his operas. Perhaps it is a comment on what he saw of his own Father’s relationship with the frail G. Francesca.

Alternatively, was it because he lost his own daughter, Virginia, at such an early age? Was Verdi imagining what might have been?

Was it simply because it works well as an operatic plot device?

Another possible answer might simply be that the relationship of father with daughter is well-equipped, as a primal connection, of driving a plot’s action at a very deep psychological level. It works well for opera, which often speaks in commonly understood social cipher and symbol. Opera needs both immanent and transcendent themes – so that they are both personal to individual and collective human experience.

We will look at these questions and more as we examine Fathers and Daughters in Verdi’s operas.

References: Julian Budden. The Master Musicians: Verdi, 1985 [London: J.M. Dent and Sons] Charles Osborne. The complete operas of Verdi: a critical guide, 1969 [London: Victor Gollancz]

Evil, a Family Affair

By Tyler Barton Tyler Barton is an undergraduate student at the University of Central Oklahoma where he pursues a degree in vocal performance. Having long been a devoted aficionado of opera, he spends most of his Saturday afternoons listening to the Metropolitan Opera matinee broadcasts, and his other interests include writing, literature, linguistics, and playing piano.

As I was made aware of the theme for this month’s issue of Opera 21, which was the concept of family, I immediately envisaged serene images of groups of people who appeared to be related in some fashion sitting quietly around the Christmas tree or near a fireplace with a mantelpiece decorated with care in observation of the Yuletide holidays. However, as I juxtaposed this image in my mind with the operatic plots with which I am familiar, my vision began to develop a sharp contrast to opera’s treatment of family. Rather than mimicking my idealist image within my mind, family suddenly became perpetrators of the vilest misdeeds against those whom the individual members are supposed to love most.

Of course, I am well aware that not every family within the canon of operatic literature is tainted by some vice, but these families of virtue are generally the exception to the rule than otherwise. As Chekhov instructs us, drama exists at the point where either happiness is created or destroyed; therefore, it should be evident to us that this is the natural way of things, for opera would not be quite enticing to audiences without some degree of drama.

There are examples of happiness being created within an opera, and we usually look to lighter fare such as The Little Prince and the like to provide our satisfaction in this regard. However, after examining the

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majority of operatic tales, we more often find happiness being destroyed. We find that an overwhelming dearth of malevolence, mischief, and purely sinister evil lurks and often prevails there.

For the purpose of better illustrating this reality and increasing our edification upon the subject, let us consider a few of the most evil circumstances in opera.

Otello, a devoted husband, is consumed by jealousy in response to the very rumor that his wife is unfaithful. Instead of merely banishing Desdemona from his existence, he extinguishes every particle of life from her by strangling her amidst her plaintive assurances of innocence and pleas for clemency. If this is not quite grotesque enough in its execution, let us give our attention to the story of Jenůfa. When our heroine, a lowly peasant girl, is cast aside by her fiancé, whose child she carries in her womb, her stepmother drowns her infant after he is born. The stepmother then proceeds to tell Jenůfa that the babe died while she was in a coma for two days when in reality only a night had passed. If there are readers who, knowing more of the intricacies of Jenůfa’s plight than my condensed abridgement divulges, do not consider this episode to be quite a manifestation of familial evil, there are others to which we might direct our inquiring minds. Verdi’s Macbeth is perhaps the most macabre example we

might be able to find. For, as the wellknown story goes, Macbeth murders his rivals, and his wife, no longer a creature of virtue, continues to goad him to even greater heights of risk in his bid for the reins of power. Here we see unbridled evil in these two murderous partners. Both are eager to bathe their hands in blood to assure their absolute monarchy and they prove that they will stop at nothing to obtain their end.

In reviewing all of these cases of blackest motives of the heart, a question soon forms in our minds: what is it that causes those who love each other most to engage in these reprehensible, abominable acts? In the case of Otello, how could he raise his hand in hatred against his wife, the person he loved most in life? Indeed, by her premature death at his own hand, he gains nothing, and even her very memory must remain foul to him based upon this end. We might accept as a possible answer that the protagonist could not risk sharing his wife’s affections with anyone.

Kostelinicka, Jenůfa’s stepmother, may find some grace from a portion of its audience since her reason for drowning her grandson was in hopes that her stepdaughter might receive a husband. Her plan sees further justification in this portion’s reckoning due to the fact that Laca, Jenůfa’s stepbrother who eventually marries her and who has long held amorous affection for her privately, declares that he should not appreciate having a child prior to marriage.

However, where are Kostelnicka’s true motives in this act? Does she long for Jenůfa to have a husband as honorable women do merely for her stepdaughter’s sake, or does she fear that her own reputation is at stake in having an unwed mother beneath her roof? I am inclined to believe that the vice of selfishness was the 6 - Opera21/December 2012

governor of action in this instance. There is nothing noble in taking the life of a born infant and I believe that this is part of the reason that Kostelnicka confesses to her crime upon the event’s discovery months later. As for Macbeth, we may completely attribute selfish desire to the actions of the lord and lady of the manor. The driving force behind their actions have fueled many a leader’s attempts to seize power and this is perhaps why we are able to easily recognize the inherent evil resident within these Scottish souls.

As we celebrate Christmas or some corresponding holiday while December continues to descend upon us, and we find ourselves privileged to be in the company of our families, let us stop for a moment and acknowledge and take comfort in the fact that our families are not quite so aggressively vicious as those within the world of opera. Moreover, as we express our gratitude for this, let us further remember that the opportunities for this sort of operatic behavior exist at every turn in life. So let us reflect upon our ingratiation that our forebears and relatives abstained from such ignoble acts and gave some thought to the manner of legacy they wanted to leave to the future. For those of you, dear readers, who are not quite so blessed as this and have blemishes of comparable vice upon your heritage, the only consolation that perhaps one day an opera will be written about your history.

When that fortune befalls you, be certain to command appropriate royalties for the utilization of your history, or be prepared to go to great lengths to obtain them. It seemed to be quite successful for Macbeth and his bride for a time.

I Can't Think of a 'Family'-Related Title that Isn't a Pun Griffin Candey Griffin Candey is both an opera performer and composer, currently working towards his MM at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. As a tenor, he performs a great deal of Mozart and Rossini, as well as classical oratorio; as a composer, he strives to create and establish a more approachable, communicative form of opera. Maurice Ravel is his spirit animal.

Let's begin this article the way any selfrespecting opera singer might: by namedropping. I have the fortune of attending a graduate school with a well-connected faculty, which provides the students with plenty of excellent opportunities for masterclasses. Last year, I attended one that was run by Matthew Polenzani, a very talented and active tenor, and as with all excellent clinicians, he offered a few tidbits from his vast experience to guide us toward the professional stage.

“If you get one out of every twenty or thirty auditions, then you're doing very well,” he encouraged, although it was not a sunshiny truth to hear. Rejection is a large portion of a young singer's life and knowing how to deal with it is often an acquired skill (and frequently involves booze.) More importantly, however, Polenzani ended the masterclass by adding something that few clinicians mention, a simple but memorable comment: “Be kind to others. Keep your friends and stay close to them.”

Opera singers live in an atmosphere – from their first performance until their last, in every audition, through all levels of

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schooling – that breaks a person down.

Unreasonably full schedules, constant demand for high-level performance, job insecurity, restrictive audition expenses, combative peers, unhelpful mentors, and financial troubles both in our field and broader ones in the world at large: while some of these obstacles are circumstantial, the majority of them are the unavoidable pitfalls that every young artist encounters at some point. I would never preach that opera singers have the most difficult path in the world, but our way is certainly littered with enough obstacles to give such a claim some shred of validity.

Does it follow, then, that there are no antidotes for these difficulties, that they must simply be withstood? Ain't necessarily so. The primary armor of an artist is passion. A person wouldn't be willing to put up with these draining circumstances if not to pursue a career that fulfills them in a very special, irreplaceable way; in the face of failure and financial ruin, the passion that one derives from art seems a singular – if unruly – ally. It buoys one up, like a drug, keeping a broken thing whole and moving beyond its supposed capacity. Even so, passion sometimes falls flat. Sometimes, it's a very long fall; sometimes, you simply

cannot and will not eat another peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Our real ally, in its many forms, is family.

Some find support most readily in relatives, others in friends and colleagues or mentors, but regardless of the configuration or size, all artists – all people – can list those individuals on whom they can always rely.

They are far more than a network. They are the people who know you backwards and forwards, the people that listen to you and help you maintain the delicate balance of happiness in a profession that is rife with depression. They remind you, above all, to remember what is important to you. They give you perspective.

I am fortunate in my company. My parents and siblings know less-than-nothing about opera, but I know at all times that they rejoice in my victories, support me in my difficulties, and hope for my success – but more importantly, my happiness. After seeing my performance in Le Nozze di Figaro, my mom famously noted, “That was great! If you guys had said all that you said only once, we would have been out of here in 45 minutes.” She wasn't wrong. My right-hand lady and my closest friends know more-than-nothing about opera, and they support me just as much, while also providing the invaluable service of telling me when I'm biting off more than I can chew. Without a doubt, I couldn't do what I'm doing without them.

But I'm not telling you anything that you don't know.

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Becoming an opera singer, especially in its first stages, is a voluntarily selfish path.

It's part of the gig. We spend a lot of time improving ourselves, taking lessons, practicing, memorizing, performing, traveling, auditioning, collaborating, going to rehearsals, getting headshots taken, designing websites, and creating an image, all in the service of achieving our artistic dreams – and our art frequently takes us far away from those very people who have supported our ventures from the beginning.

It is often easy to contact our loved ones only when something is changing in our lives. I know that I am absolutely guilty of this. It's easy to get lost in the process, and it's easy and not to return the favor.

Your loved ones need all of your support, too, though their lives may not share the hurried pace or instability of yours. Call your parents and your siblings and your college friends instead of sending them a text. Write your teacher a card. Do something especially romantic for your significant other. Let everyone in your collective family know, in whatever way is most meaningful, that you appreciate their love and support and that you'll always have their backs just as they have yours. Your family, whatever its makeup, is the only thing that will remain if all of your art fell away. They are more important than a role, an audition, a curriculum vitae. Always, always be kind to them; always keep them close.

Verdi’s Father-Daughter Relationships in the Early Duets Kevin Ng Kevin is a first-year university student who dreams of a career in the opera world, which is why he is currently studying cell biology and doing chemistry labs. He started blogging at nonpiudifiori.wordpress.com a few months ago, born out of the need to talk to opera with somebody whose response was more insightful than "wait, you mean like Sarah Brightman?"

Much has already been written about Verdi’s tragic fatherhood and its subsequent effects on his operas. Verdi married Margherita Barezzi, the daughter of a local merchant in Bussetto, when he was twenty, and soon was the father of two children, Virginia and Icilio. Both died within a little over a year, and neither infant lived past eighteen months. This personal tragedy left its mark on Verdi’s operas, manifesting itself in a series of powerful and often tragic father-daughter relationships.

It’s certainly no surprise that Verdi had long wanted to write an operatic version of King Lear, which deals with a father’s relationship with his three daughters.

Although his most famous father-daughter duos come from his later operas (Rigoletto and Gilda, Simon and Amelia, Amonasro and Aida, and arguably Germont and Violetta), this theme was apparent in his earliest operas as well. Of his seven earliest operas, all but one deal with a fatherdaughter relationship in some form. Three of these contain extended father-daughter duets: Oberto and Leonora in Oberto, Nabucco and Abigaille in Nabucco, and Giovanna and Giacomo in Giovanna D’Arco.

While Un Giorno di Regno and I Lombardi also involve fathers and daughters, neither has a duet; I due Foscari contains a big duet

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for the baritone and soprano, but Lucrezia is technically Francesco’s daughter-in-law.

Verdi’s first opera Oberto premiered in November 1939 at La Scala, less than a month after the death of his youngest son.

The opera is rarely performed today, probably because of the casting issues it presents. The roles of Oberto and Leonora require a charismatic bass and a dramatic coloratura and any opera house with access to those voice types would undoubtedly produce Nabucco or Attila instead.

Nevertheless, much of its music is creative and exciting, not the least of which is the Act One duet between Oberto and Leonora.

As with many early Verdi operas, the plot involves political and sexual intrigue. At this point in the opera, father and daughter find themselves united against Riccardo, who not only is the political rival of Oberto but has also seduced and abandoned Leonora.

The duet follows a modified form of the conventional cantabile-cabaletta, with two contrasting sections before the final allegro.

It starts with an angry, declamatory section for Oberto, as he rails against his daughter’s ungratefulness. In a long, legato melody that prefigures Verdi’s great baritone arias, he tells Leonora of his unhappiness and his “stained honour” in his old age. Leonora responds in fear, telling him that his anger

will kill her. She then repeats the legato melody, now in B-flat major rather than F major, invoking her dead mother and asking her father to embrace his equally unhappy daughter. Although he initially rejects her, she asks him for his help in a contrasting 6/8 melody reminiscent of the MariaLeicester duet from Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda. Oberto reacts sympathetically, telling her that he returned as an “avenger of honour” in an embellished variation on her melody. In the short allegro recitative, Oberto and Leonora vow to have revenge.

As opposed to the usual fast cabaletta that follows, Verdi chooses a 3/4 moderato instead. Oberto forgives his daughter to her delight, but their vengeful mood is marked by sudden accents in the vocal line and an increasingly militant orchestra. The tempo and volume build up to a rousing finish as Oberto and Leonora run off to find Riccardo.

Nabucco was Verdi’s first great success, and continues to be performed regularly today. Part of its attraction surely lies in the complex relationship between Nabucco, king of Babylon, and Abigaille, believed to be his elder daughter. At this point in the opera, Nabucco’s younger daughter Fenena has converted to Judaism and the Babylonians, believing Nabucco to be insane, have named Abigaille as their queen. In the Third Act, Nabucco confronts Abigaille in one of Verdi’s most dramatic duets for baritone and soprano. The duet is dramatic from the very beginning, when Nabucco asks Abigaille exactly what she’s doing on his throne. She calmly replies that the people needed a leader and asks him to sign the death warrant for the Hebrews.

When he expresses his reluctance, Abigaille taunts him, telling him that the Hebrews can now celebrate and worship due to Nabucco’s cowardice. In a fit of anger, he 10 - Opera21/December 2012

signs the warrant and quickly realizes that he has condemned Fenena as well. When Abigaille shows no mercy, Nabucco reveals that Abigaille is in fact the daughter of slaves and, as such, should bow before him.

In an ascending line of sixteenth notes, Abigaille takes out her birth certificate and rips it up. In the cantabile section, Nabucco and Abigaille reflect to themselves – he lamenting his state as “shadow of a King,” she gloating that her throne is worth more than a lost father. Verdi contrasts their words musically as well; Nabucco’s line is expressive and legato, whereas Abigaille’s is fragmented, aggressive, and frequently dips into the lower register. Nevertheless, Verdi manages to combine the two melodies effectively after each has had time to voice their own thoughts individually. Trumpet flourishes, reminiscent of the Oberto duet, bring them back into reality. In a recitative even more dramatic than the first, Abigaille announces that Nabucco is now her prisoner. Defeated, he asks for her mercy in another legato melody, this time marked ‘affetuoso.’ She responds mockingly, remarking that he was not so kind when he dishonoured her earlier in the duet. As if to emphasize this point, her melody is identical to the orchestral part that accompanied Nabucco’s earlier insults. As Nabucco keeps begging for forgiveness and Abigaille keeps refusing, the music builds up to a sudden fermata. It has become traditional for Abigaille to interpolate a high E-flat into the music at this point, and although it’s not written in the score, I believe that it’s absolutely appropriate to her character and emotions.

Verdi’s seventh opera Giovanna D’Arco, like Oberto, is rarely performed. However, the music is markedly different from that of his first opera and falls under the ‘unjustly neglected’ rather than the ‘curiosity’

category. Unlike the earlier two operas, the duet between Giovanna and her father Giacomo occurs in Act Three, at the emotional climax of the opera. Up to this point, Giacomo has believed his daughter to be in a pact with the devil, even going as far as publicly shaming her in front of the entire town. However, when she is captured by the English forces and sentenced to death, he is compelled to visit her one more time. Interestingly enough, the cantabile section of the duet is not any sort of conversation – Giovanna asks God to support her, having forsaken love as angelic voices had commanded, while Giacomo looks on and realizes his mistake. In this section, Giovanna repeats that she has had “no thought, no heartbeat that was not intended for God” and ends quietly with a written cadenza. The repentant Giacomo rushes to release her bonds, and she asks her father to bless her as she goes into battle. The cabaletta, marked ‘allegro assai vivo,’ is similar to the Oberto duet in its sudden accents and increasingly propulsive orchestration. The melody is repeated three times, first in A major with Giovanna preparing her forthcoming battle, then in F major with Giacomo predicting her victory, and then once again in A major with a busier orchestration as she runs off to fight.

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Although Oberto and Giovanna D’Arco are rarely performed and Nabucco is arguably falling out of favour, these operas represent a crucial step in Verdi’s development of the father-daughter theme that later became such a major part of his work. These three duets are unique in themselves, in contrast to some of his later, more concilatory duets (the Simon Boccanegra duet and the final duet from Rigoletto come to mind). In these early duets, Verdi explores the more aggressive, sometimes antagonistic qualities that are a part of any parent-child relationship. And while some may criticize these early duets for their adherence to bel canto structures, the Traviata or Aida duets could not have been written without these earlier efforts.

Although Rigoletto and Gilda, Miller and Luisa, or Simon and Amelia may be more glamorous or complex, no scholarship of Verdi’s father-daughter relationships can be complete without these early duets.

Opera for Beginners: Donizetti, Mozart, and Rossini

By Irene Torrès Irene is a 23-year-old from Barcelona relocated to the USA. She grew up listening to classical music but only became seriously involved with opera when she discovered Diana Damrau's "Queen of the Night" in her late teens. This led to her Youtube account, "Lilith89ibz". She is currently managing Diana Damrau's official Facebook and Tumblr fanpage.

We all have a friend we would like to introduce to opera. Even though we love all (or most) types of opera, making a newcomer sit through the entire Ring Cycle is probably not going to make him or her share your feelings. Or, at least, not at first.

So what is a good way to introduce someone to opera? My suggestion: show them an opera that's short, funny, and has good music. You get bonus points if there's a catchy aria!

It's obviously not true for everybody, but I think it's important to introduce beginners to operas that contradict what they've learned from stereotypes. For example, you could show them Verdi’s La Traviata (even though she does die at the end, which is a common opera stereotype).

It has wonderful, well-known music, a captivating plot, and easy access to many different recordings. However, people that are not familiar with opera tend to be unaware of how funny it can be. They usually think of it as this grandiose, dramatic big deal that is going to bore them to tears. This is why I’d suggest something like Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia.

I have introduced several friends to opera and I know that for most people, language is a huge barrier. If they don't understand it, it puts them off. That's why regardless of how awesome Le Nozze di 12 - Opera21/December 2012

Figaro is, the plot might be too hard to understand if you are not fluent in Italian or if you aren't paying close attention to the subtitles. Unfortunately, this happens more often than not. Some examples of operas that will not overwhelm beginners are: Die Zauberflöte (Mozart), L'Elisir d'Amore (Donizetti), La Fille du Regiment (Donizetti), Il Barbiere di Siviglia, and Le Comte Ory (Rossini).

Die Zauberflöte is a common first opera (it was mine) and it's easy to see why.

There are several very recognizable tunes in it, such as most of Papageno's music and, of course, the Queen of the Night's arias. “Der Hölle Rache” is arguably one of the most well-known arias, even by those who don't normally listen to opera. The plot is not overly complicated and most of its music is “hummable.” I'd say that one's a winner.

As for L'Elisir d'Amore, “Una furtiva lacrima” is quite famous, but the rest of the opera is less-know. This could work as a pro, rather than a con, when it comes to introducing someone to opera, because then it is fresh. It's the same concept for La Fille du Regiment.

“Ah, mes amis” is nowhere near as wellknown, but it's so showy and catchy that it will stick with the listener. And that’s the idea after all.

Il Barbiere di Siviglia is another opera with a popular hit in it. “Largo al factotum” will always ring a bell. I don't think “Una voce poco fa” is quite as popular, but, like “Ah, mes amis,” it’s exciting. This opera is extremely entertaining and there's not a dull moment in it, which is great for someone who is just getting into opera.

We all know Le Comte Ory has only recently been rediscovered, but that shouldn’t disqualify it as a good first opera.

It’s fun and fast-paced, which is a plus. And we also know that because it's naughty, it shows a side of opera that most people are

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unaware of. Another good point is that we have a wonderful video recording of it. All of these reasons make it a good contestant when it comes to drawing interest towards opera.

I hope these ideas give you tools to introduce your friends (and those roommates and coworkers that think you're weird) to the opera world. It’s a place where everybody is histrionic, enthusiastic, and very much in love with music and all the feelings that go with it. It might be a bit crazy, but we love to bring others there with us