Recovering Redneck Turned Opera Aficionado

Tosca... by Giacomo Puccini...

Personal Note: Don't ever call "him" again, right after an opera.

Ok, so maybe I'm not an aficionado on the above referenced subject. By that same token, perhaps I never was really a redneck, either. Let's just say I grew up country, knew a lot of rednecks, and hung out with a lot of rednecks. But... does that really, a redneck, make me? Honestly, I even knew people who weren't country or southern, who were rednecks. I was once married to one, and he was from up north. How shocking. Then again, how refreshing, to know that my southern upbringing really had nothing to do with redneck tendencies. It's all just a state of mind, and they come in all shapes, sizes, colors, ethnicities, and religions. I might have hooped and hollered at concerts, maybe even whistling loudly if I really enjoyed the tune. I may have ridden the country rodes, in my youth, tossing empty beer bottles out the window. But, in my mind, I was not really what I call redneck... at least not my mind (maybe just my actions)... then again, everything is relative, isn't it?

I always loved classical music. Grew up listening to a few waltzes that my dad used to play. And caught glimpses of soaring voices, from time to time, on the television set. I don't know where it came from, this love for the classical. I adored ballet, and wished, so much, to become a ballerina one day. Like many little girl dreams, it never happened. And, to this day, there is no one in my family, or in my immediate circle of friends, who cares for opera as I do. I just don't understand it, really. It's a subject that I don't talk about, around just anybody. For instance, I mentioned that I was going to be listening to opera, this weekend, to my co-worker, on Friday. I could tell she didn't get it. People get quiet when you mention opera. Or they go on about how they don't understand a thing they're singing, so it means nothing to them. All those years, as a little girl... and even today... I haven't understood what they were saying, either. It didn't matter. I could feel it.

I watched this live performance of Tosca, at the Metropolitan Opera, via live satellite transmission, in a local movie theatre, thanks to the Neubauer Family Foundation, which supports The Met: Live in HD. It was incredible! It was only a few weeks ago that I found out it was possible to see this production, locally. It took no time for me to jump on it and secure my ticket. I can say that it would have been much better, had there been tasty wine, during intermission, rather than popcorn and coke, but who's complaining! I can also say that if that was HD, then it was very poor HD. I think that, perhaps, it was being sent via HD, but not being received in HD. The colors were drab and the resolution was fuzzy, comparatively speaking. In other words, it looked like old fashion television. It doesn't matter. I would have still bought the ticket. The upside was that there was lots of backstage interviewing, and we got a glimpse of the personalities of the vocalists who played the major roles. There was Marcelo Alvarez, as Cavaradossi, who was incredible! And Karita Mattila as Tosca, equally, incredible.

It's the story of a painter, Cavaradossi, who helps hide a political prisoner, who has escaped. Cavaradossi's lover, Tosca, thinks he is hiding a secret lover, and is jealous! Scarpia (the law) finds out that Cavardossi is hiding the political prisoner, takes Cavardossi prisoner, and tortures him. It then becomes a battle for Tosca to win his release, but Scarpia, evil and cruel, will accept nothing but sexual favors, from her, for his release. The love between Tosca and Cavaradossi is strong and true, however, and she will not relent (though she pretends that she will). A deal is made, the two lovers will receive safe passage, wherever they go. In the end, the escaped prisoner kills himself, Tosca stabs and kills Scarpia (the evil law), the safe passage deal was all a farce, Cavaradossi is shot and killed, and Tosca jumps from a tower to her death. Sad. Tragic. And beautiful.

I love the internet. I was immediately able to look up Tosca and Puccini, to educate myself. Add to that, there were subtitles on the screen of this showing. I had considered learning Italian, just so I could understand the beautiful Italian lyrics to these masterpieces... but then I wondered... would it be the same? Part of the beauty, for me, is the romance of the language. If I began to understand the meaning behind the words, the romance might fall away. On second thought, The Phantom of The Opera was in English, and I loved every moment of those songs. Well... truth be known, it's the arias that one waits for... the beautiful songs written for, it seems, one voice. The solo.

So... it just might be that I'm a recovering redneck. And I must be doing quite well. I thought. As I approached the ticket person, who would let me past the ropes, she said, "I know what you're here to see... you're one of those opera people... aren't you? I can tell, yes, you look like one of those opera people." In my mind I was thinking, "Perhaps I've escaped those redneck days." ... but I was wearing white denim bell bottom pants, with thin pearly white sandals, and pearly lavender painted toes... so, maybe it was the black shirt, or the silver and onyx jewelry? Or that wizened look of high culture that I suddenly imagined was now upon my tired southern, freckled face. Then she spoke to a few folks who were coming in, behind me. "Yep, you're some of those opera people, too, I can tell, you all look like opera people." I turned to look around, and I was surrounded by gray hairs. That's right, senior citizens, and all old enough to be my parents. I was sure, now, that I should not take her words as the flattery I had taken them for. Ha! The reality is, it had nothing to do with my clothes, and it had nothing to do with the lack of culture that I now realized was probably still upon my face. It was... my hair! I have a head full of long gray hair, And I"m certainly no spring chicken. Then the ticket lady says, "You wanna hear me sing some opera?" ... and she takes off with a falsetto rendition of operatic rain... and I begin to smile and snicker... no one else is paying her any attention, at all. She asks again, "Ya wanna hear me sing some more opera?"... then lets go, once more, her happy opera sound. By now, I was cracking up, in laughter, and the only one, who was, as the small town stiffs held high, their cultured heads. Come on, we're in a movie theatre, it's not the real deal, after all. And nothing makes light the heart, like laughter.

When I left the place, my spirit was soaring. I felt, strangely, energized. It was like finally having awakened one of the many sleeping desires of my heart. I feel eager to see each upcoming one, eager to learn each passionate story, eager to learn the old history of each one of these operas. Ahhh... yes... opera made me feels as though I have, strangely, come home!

And next time I won't be buying such a huge bag of popcorn.

P.S. I was shocked that folks were actually clapping... as if the cast could hear them. Crazy fools! And then... it happened... I found myself so enraptured, that I, too, was clapping! I knew I had lost my marbles, then... but, there was a huge smile on my face, and suddenly it didn't matter anymore. But, it was oh so hard not to put my fingers together and whistle!