The Rest is Silence

I am not what you would call an opera buff. When I was working on my theatre degree one of my most influential professors told a class that you could not fully understand the impact of theatre until you've experienced Tristan und Isolde. The first time I had the money I ran out and bought a recording. I've yet to get through the whole thing.

That said, I do have an appreciation for opera. In high school, very much against my will, I was being groomed for a career in opera. That training has served me well and short of auditioning in one of the major opera houses in the world, there isn't a singing situation where I feel like I would embarrass myself.

In 1988, in a fervor for all things theatrical and in a zealous burst of professionalism, I went to a cattle call for supernumeraries at the Chicago Lyric Opera. A respected opera house, the late 80's were its zenith. Under the direction of Ardis Kranik the Lyric had astonishing ticket sales, averaging 104% of capacity. You simply had to sell blood to get a single ticket. Prior to the cattle call, I'd been to the Lyric once, when I happened to receive Roger Ebert's unused tickets for a performance of Tosca. As it turned out, that was the farewell performance of Renata Scotto in her signature role. The poor woman looked to be about sixty. When she leapt from the roof of the building the padding bounced her so that her blond pin curls could be seen over the edge, sending the tragic soprano into retirement with a giggle from the audience.

The cattle call was for supers in a lavish production of Salome directed by Sir Peter Hall and starring his soon-to-be ex-wife Maria Ewing. The opera is set in a garden and a lavish orgy/party is taking place offstage. Hall had the party spill out into the garden. In particular the production called for three Roman generals to witness the Dance of the Seven Veils. There were about two hundred men lined up on the stage and the assistant director simply walked down the line and pulled three men from it and sent them to the costumer. I was one of the three.

I rank that experience as one of the high points of my performing career. Salome was running in rep with Aida and virtually anyone who even knew what opera was in Chicago was on the stage for that production. So, for about twelve weeks I earned $75 a night listening to opera. A lavish, princely sum even today in the world of Chicago theatre. But most of the people on the stage did it for the love of the music. The supers were a tight-knit community and were starved for backstage gossip of the stars.

However, there was name that was sacred and that was Luciano Pavarroti. He was from the people and he consorted with the rabble backstage, at times seeming to prefer that camaraderie to the actual performance. Where most singers treat their voices like spun-sugar works of sacred art, Pavarotti would down a can of Coke before going on stage to hit his famous high C. The management of the Lyric was not fond of Pavarroti. He cancelled too many performances and finally his lack of professionalism earned him a lifetime ban from the Lyric stage. But he was beloved backstage and deeply, deeply missed.

I have one recording of Pavarroti's, and its as Otello. Like I said, I don't really know too much about opera, but there parts of that recording that actually make the hair on the back of my head stand up. The man was a breathtaking freak of nature who exuded a love of life not often seen in any arena, let alone the opera stage. Notice must be paid.