Randolph Magri-Overend

HOW YOU’LL GET TO LOVE OPERA

So you wouldn’t be seen dead attending an opera?  Well, that’s understandable. The opera stage, on an average, is littered with dead bodies – so one more or less wouldn’t make a difference.  Corpses are part of the fatal charm of what some wish was a dying art form. But far from dying, opera is vibrantly alive and kicking. There was a time when it was in a state of dormancy but what with the Opera on the Harbour and the Domain, the Verdi and Wagner bi-centenary celebrations in 2013 (the latter albeit exclusive to Melbourne – drat!) there has been renewed interest in an ‘industry’ that connects all the dots visually, dramatically and aurally. 

 But if you are still unconvinced and secretly harbour misconceptions that opera is a breeding ground for behemoths brandishing fearsome assegais, wearing horned helmets and trilling away till all the chandeliers in the auditorium start playing a tune of their own, then allow me the opportunity to change your mind.  Don’t be distracted by the illusion perpetuated by that late great Dane, Victor Borge, when he insinuated that no opera was over till ‘the fat lady sings’.  

In fact, I am surprised that the opera industry didn’t go up in arms when it first heard his remarks.  Apart from being sexually discriminating (at the time there were probably just as many fat gentlemen singing opera as ladies) Mr. Borge’s assertions are mischievous and hardly the case anymore anyway.  It was probably true when Nellie ‘It’s not yet time to say goodbye’ Melba (or ‘call me peaches’ or ‘toast me till I’m well done’) was singing in tandem with Enrico Caruso. They have long departed the scene and, thankfully, been replaced by more svelte and easier-to-place-an-arm-around models.

It was inevitable anyway and the fleshy down-sizing was hastened when opera patrons complained that imagination was being stretched to its limits by overweight ladies who strangely found themselves dying of stage consumption.  They wanted verissimo to replace belissimo con grosso.   These days we have hour-glass shaped heroines like Emma Matthews, Taryn Fiebig, Cheryl Barker and Angela Gheorghiu.  Their names may not trip through the tongue like the late Dame Joan but they are thinner and, dare I say it, better to look at.   Think of the savings opera companies are now making just in costume-material expenses alone. And make-up!

And yet, despite the modern trend towards more reality, first-timers to opera will still be disappointed at the lack of movement on stage. It won’t take long to discover there are no signs of either the feline gawkiness displayed by a Mick Jagger prancing his wares and sticking his tongue at anyone within cooee nor will they be confronted by the sight of Madonna shimmying her conical prosthesis.  Instead, there is a sense of controlled panic as soloists deliver their arias within the confines of a stage crowded with other singers, moving as little as possible and still having enough breath control to sing an aria in full voice while dying.

But the first-timer need not worry too much with the end product just yet.  If, unlike your fellow rock-lovers, you have an ear for music and can carry a tune you can begin by listening to a CD of well-known arias.  But beware, because despite any advice to the contrary your rock-solid CD player can also play classical music. Heavens! I’m not quite sure whether the reverse is true, having been reliably informed that lasers do not beam too kindly on rock!

Be that as it may, you will soon find yourself annoying your relatives with whistled variations of La donna e mobile and Un bel di – perhaps even a brave attempt at one half of the love tryst from Tristan und Isolde.  Patience is essential. Eventually, you will discover the optimum lip shape to achieve maximum lyricism and tonality.  You will know when this pinnacle has been reached because your relatives will no longer show their annoyance. They will have deserted you!  Bosses use this technique quite often. Soon as a ploy to take revenge on your kith and kin you find yourself taking singing lessons. And after much hard work you may be lucky and find yourself singing in an opera yourself.  That would be the icing on the cake. 

 But don’t be disappointed if there are no fat ladies around.  They died of consumption a long, long time ago!

Published by Randolph Magri-Overend

One of the questions Randolph hates to answer is “Where do you come from?” Why? Because the answer can be so time-consuming and, in a way, also gives away how old he is!! Plus the questioner has to wrestle with the wish he hadn’t asked the question!! He was born in Cairo, Egypt, many moons ago of British parents although he can trace Maltese and Croatian ancestry in his lineage. Educated in a Jesuit college in London his wander lust for things unorthodox drove him to embark on a seafaring career with both Canadian Pacific Steamships and Shaw Savill. That in itself dates him because both lines have been redundant for many a year. One of his boasts is that he was the Purser on the “Gothic” which ten years previously had been Queen Elizabeth II’s Royal Yacht soon after her coronation in 1953. One of the objects imported on the ship by HM and left behind was a tape player which Randolph utilised on many a memorable Sunday evening with a classical concert for his passengers. Thus began a journey that not only awakened Randolph’s love for good music but also eventually led to his extensive knowledge of music in all forms. That he loves the era of Sinatra, Crosby, Armstrong, Dorsey (both) and many many more exponents of the post-war music scene is also part and parcel of his appreciation of the music of many an era. These days Randolph is retired but still reviews CDs and DVDs and has written articles on such diverse personalities as Yvonne Kenny, Teddy Tahu Rhodes, Alexander Briger, the late Sir John Tavener, Sir James Galway, Dawn Upshaw and countless probes into the music of Gustav Mahler, Elizabeth Shwarzkopf and her husband Walter Legge, Glenn Gould, Leonard Bernstein and many many more he regrets to admit he has lost track of! Before emigrating to Australia, Randolph spent a number of years as a Flight Dispatcher in Canada. Since arriving in Australia, Randolph has written for The Weekend Australian (especially in their travel pages), The Sydney Morning Herald, Opera Opera and Fine Music magazine as well as some jazz magazines. If you require an extensive coverage of your music to a public that, at last count, reaches the best part of 818,000 please contact David Kary on editor.sydneyartsguide@gmail.com or email me directly on ibmar@bigpond.com. This also includes advertising any forthcoming shows by promoting featured artists. Cheers and thank you.