Wolf was roaming the forest immersed in the despair of loneliness.
Far away, as coming from heaven, an angelical singing reached his ears. Wolf stood still, his soul pierced deeply, the song seemed to dissolve his inner pain in waves of delight.
Then Little Red Riding Hood appeared on the west bend of the path, it was the lovely girl who was singing and progressing through the path jumping first on one leg then on the other in a kind of childish and charming ballet.
Despite his being under the spell of the moment, Wolf could not stop his predator instincts and asked her: "Are you alone, my child?"
The little girl had stopped startled by the sudden presence of Wolf but recovered swiftly. "Good afternoon, Mr Wolf", she said civilly, and added: "Oh, no Mr Wolf, sir, I am not alone!" "And who are you with, child?" asked surprised Wolf looking around.
"With me, Mr Wolf, sir, with me!"
Fragment of "Little Red Riding Hood" from "Company of Wolves".
The room light dimmed slowly, it was bedtime.
–Grandpa, tell me a story, please, –whispered the child in a drowsy voice.
The old man looked at the child with half a smile drawn in her face and began:
–Once upon a time...
And the time stopped.
Fragment of "L'arrive" by Ehma (Emmanuel) from La plague de Blâne-est and a picture of Victorian painter John Martin "The Great Day of His Wrath"
Elf was busy editing some of my old thoughts into smarter ideas when he turned around and spat these word to my astonished self.
-What?, I replied as I usually did, without originality.
-You heard me!, he continue without mercy.
I felt the usual desire to squeeze his little neck, but controlled myself and asked him:
-Why do you think I am a nerd?
He let drop a small shred of a thought and replied:
-No, I do not think you are a nerd, you are one without my thinking!
-Ok, why? I tried to stop a new line of discussion which would have lost ourselves in a different argument.
- You see, he came again, you like old fashioned music, reading... reading!, of all the dull, boring things on the world, and writing things nobody cares about any more as that mumbo jumbo about love and romanticism! Where on earth can you find a romantic person nowadays? And you are out of character trying to impersonate one.
-Are you trying to insult me?, I asked a bit unnecessary.
-Oh! no, I am not trying to insult you, said the curmudgeon, I am insulting you out of smugness.
-Smugne..., now the desire to throat him was unbearable, the effort to keep mi mindfingers in my mindpockets left me mindless for a moment, then recovering I said between tight closed teeth:
- Will you elaborate, please?
- You see, he countered, what's that of "will you elaborate?", he moved his head from left to right producing an acceptable imitation of my mindvoice, can't you be a normal person and say something in the line of "How is that?"... and all that Opera thing... Whoever listen those bellowing fat ladies saying things nobody understands?
- Now look, I said in a very low voice, I was very near the edge to loose myself into a maze of gruesome acts concerning the head and body of this kinky small creature.
-Now, look, there are words in the world and they are there to be used, it is our business to know them and to make our vocabulary a better thing than the mere two hundred voices, and one thousand insulting epithets we usually employ... and there are no fat ladies bellowing anywhere, you small piece of a smaller than life shirt!!!
I was already shouting and my mindhands were mindfists, so after the last word I realized I was almost over the edge of using words I respect but prefer not to keep company with, so I closed my mindeyes and started singing "one elephant went out to play, upon a spider's web one day..." to calm myself, when I was on the seventh elephant I realized it was not working, so I changed gears and started with "Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, dormez vous? dormez vouz?" The effort to think French words made anger subside, inhaling deeply I finished in a more civilized voice:
-There are beautiful women like Dames Kiri te Kanawa and Joan Sutherland who delight us with their performance and wonderful voices making the words of the lyrics become an indistinct fluttering of butterflies in a "coloratura", you hear me?! I ended, ruining the image I created with these three pedestrian last words.
He raised his head and looking the tip of his nose replied:
Oh, well! you are a lost case, and with that he returned to nitpicking my thoughts!
Just to make my point I asked myself to start in my CD player "Spira sul mare.." the sweet song where Cio-Cio-San, Madama Butterfly, sings her happiness to be engaged to Pinkerton and where a beautiful Renata Scotto shows her skill and the wonderful caress of her voice.
And everything was well again, swinging with the loving voice of "... la fanciulla più lieta del Giappone... venutta al richiamo d'amore" (the happiest lass in Japan... who came to the call of love) I returned to my usually placid mind.
Fragment of "Spira sul mare" from Puccini's "Madama Butterfly" by Renata Scotto.
Music can help you to perform the difficult movement of walking in a new environment, no rat race, no need to be first. Unfortunately, not all music is suitable, the raucous kindled voices, the high pitched noises, the repeated beat with no purpose only adds to the irrational race I was talking above. I am not disqualifying this music, you are entitled to like it, I only say that from my standpoint only serve to the purpose of herding and helping to push forward the need to run fast toward nowhere, again this is from my perspective, I can accept that we humans are different enough as not to think alike.
Maria Callas
Besides, to an untrained ear, I mean an ear not used to listen Opera not an “educated” ear, the human voice, the best musical instrument in the Universe, can be ugly. There are various pitches we must train our ear to differentiate before we can enjoy the thrill of music blended into voices.
Once you are lucky enough to have conquered with effort those first steps, you must try to learn what is happening on the stage, maybe most of it is a melodrama but so is life, too.
Why learn this?, simple put: because that is the only way to understand OPERA and the pathos in the characters.
Even if these steps seems difficult, the reward is the best thing that can happen to a person. As it is in real life, whatever you get without effort gives no reward or worse, we seem to acknowledge that the easy acquiring takes away value to the prize.
From passion strong feelings pour, which are diffusely cradled in the powerful arms of music and voice, if you can share the “pain” in Lucia when she has lost her reason broken by the sheer power of sorrow and despair, the words “Il dolce suono” (The sweet dream”) take a new and deep meaning that justify her actions before the “Scena de la follia” (Mad scene), the loving cadence of her voice accompanying the deranged thoughts of true love are movingly human in the inhuman madness that invaded her.
This cannot be explained; as sex and mysticism you must live them to understand their meaning, and to live sex, mysticism and feelings as those of Lucia you must make an effort which can leave you exhausted, even if totally satisfied. Your sentience as much as your body are depleted and at the same time replete with everything a human being can desire.
Maybe you want to tell me you feel like that after sex, mystic experience or any music concert but I can assure you we may be using the same words but when speaking about Opera they have not the same meaning or feelings!
A fragment of the "Mad Scene" from Donizetti's "Lucia de Lammermoor" recorded in 1953 by "la Divina" María Callas.
