8th grade opera
Jan 17, 2014
Opera fascinates me.
Not in the -I can't get enough of it -kind of way, but in the - is this seriously for real? - kind of way. I mean, c’mon… It feels a LOT like 8th grade drama, doesn’t it? (As a middle school music teacher, I’m going to claim some credibility here. I know 8th grade drama.) But since opera is set in another century and one must get a university degree to sing it, fancy people will pay $185 to hear it sung in a language, that albeit beautiful, is not their mother tongue? Let’s be honest, most operatic plot lines are repeated in the lives of 12-15 year olds throughout the world.
I’d love to write an opera set over three days in a middle school. Maybe it would go something like this—- Our female protagonist, let’s call her KYLIE:
I’m too young to know how to love,
wait - he loves me,
so I love him,
I’ve learned to love,
and fate has brought us together,
but wait - I am not worthy to breathe the air he breathes and
I might ruin his reputation,
so I'll find someone even less worthy than I.
To love.
This makes him angry and mean.
Because he loves me and is jealous.
So, I have no choice but to love him.
I do.
And so he loves me.
But wait! It's too late for us to love each other,
we are going to have to separate—— for high school.
This is La Traviata - yes? EXCEPT that they don’t go to high school, Violetta dies of TB. As any good female protagonist should. And despite feeling incredulous - I'm completely smitten.
The sheer magnitude of emotion that erupts on to the stage cleanses the soul of guile and cynicism. It’s such athletic singing! It’s so loud! It’s so passion-driven! There are actual instruments in the room with the singers! SO MUCH HUMANITY!
The experience is breath-taking and I absolutely fall in love with Alfredo right along with Kylie, I mean Violetta.
Opera is a love story whose ingredients have been boiled down until all sensibility has evaporated into the steamy air.
Opera doesn’t need exposition. No one could sing that long.
Opera doesn’t need back story. No one would believe someone’s been singing their entire life.
Opera doesn’t need to populate a world with non-playing/singing characters. It’s too expensive to costume them.
All that’s left of the story is the pure, custardy-thick emotions. That rich goodness pushes through your heart and your veins and when it’s over, you are exhumed of the grit and grime that once encrusted your weary soul.
Teenagers know this. They understand the inevitability of attraction and the capricious nature of the human heart. They don't have to have cushy red seats, woodwork for miles, yards of tassels, gold-leafed everything, impractically long dresses and tuxedos that don't quit.
They get it. Opera is the validation of all the intensity we experienced in the boiling pot of love before it was diluted by practicality, responsibility, and a house in the burbs. Love might look more mature all dressed up, but it’s just as world-shattering at 13 as it is at 33.
Remember?
Next time you need a purging of the soul, and you don't have $185 to spare for a ticket to the opera, strike up a conversation with your middle schooling neighbor. Ask them about the burdens and delights of love. They might not be paying rent or car insurance but they live with REAL hearts in the REAL world of love gained and love lost. Validate their passion and pain and you’ll both be better for the connection. If consumption doesn't take us out of the show, we will sing and love another day.