No, not Placido Domingo the opera singer. Placido Domingo, as in "peaceful Sunday," which is what I'm enjoying right now.
Anyway, I can't be a Placido Domingo fan. I come from a time period and a demographic where you were either for Pavarotti or Domingo, and, much like my family rooted for The U over BYU and Coke over Pepsi, we were die-hard fans of Luciano Pavarotti. My parents saw him perform in San Francisco, too, which only intensified our devotion. They waited outside the theater to catch a glimpse of him, and my mom swooned when the larger-than-life Italian impresario emerged. She shouted to him, "You've changed my life!"
As he got into his limo, he rolled down the window and boomed, "For the better, I hope!"
"For the better, I hope!" I remember my mom wiping off the kitchen counter or matching socks, muttering that phrase with a secret smile on her face. Nothing like that ever happened for us with Placido Domingo. And Luciano was, of course, the better tenor anyway. And so we had a life-size poster of him hanging above our couch to demonstrate our devotion. The poster Pavarotti had his arms outstretched and a look of transcendent joy on his face. I imagined it was because he was about to wrap me, the daughter of his biggest fan, in a big hug. My dad, over time, became a tiny bit jealous of my mom's operatic flame, to the point that he actually bought a few of Placido Domingo's recordings! It was strange; as if we had invited LaVell Edwards over for dinner and served Diet Pepsi. Nevertheless, I became somewhat familiar with Placido's stronger, if less impassioned style.
The Utah Opera Company was ever-present while I was growing up. My mom started the Ogden Opera Guild, and hosted many a fundraising event at our house. Glade Petersen, the opera's founder, sang to audiences in our front yard and our living room. Despite the education by immersion, I had a complicated relationship with opera. The music was beautiful, Capitol Theater was exciting, it was thrilling to mingle with the "rich and famous" in the secret Founders' Room" at intermission. Only later did I realize that most opera singers aren't rich, nor are they even remotely famous. I certainly couldn't drop the name "Glade Petersen" in hopes of gaining any sort of social cache. Also, the plots to all operas are ridiculous. I was sitting next to Nana at one performance when she leaned over to me and whispered (which was strictly verboten, by the way!!), "This is so stupid!" I was shocked! It was all I could do not to laugh out loud, realizing that Nana was right. Nobody falls in love with a factory girl at first sight and then sings about it for twenty minutes, WITH a sword sticking out of his chest, courtesy of another suitor. And singing arias when you're dying of consumption? You want to shout, "Shut UP and go to the doctor!" And yet, when she finally dies, her tiny hands cold as ice, and Rodolfo shouts, "Mimi! Mimi!", I find tears pouring down my face and a lump in my throat the size of a tenor's ego.
There aren't that many operas in the standard repertoire, and with 3 or 4 a year over 25 years, you get repeats. By the time my kids were filling some of the seats, my parents and I had started justifying leaving at intermission. My brothers had long since abandoned the genre. We finally gave up our fourth-row season tickets, but I still miss it. I tried to get tickets to Turandot last Friday, but it was sold out. I got on Youtube to show Pavarotti's Nessun Dorma to the kids, who probably felt like they had dodged a bullet with the opera being sold out. My family always went on Sunday afternoon, the last show of the run. Today, as Turandot ends at Capitol Theater, I'll be at church, teaching kids to sing.
Later, though, I'll be at a performance of Bach's St. John Passion at the Cathedral of the Madeleine, which I did score tickets for, holding my kids hostage, appreciating my dad's appreciation for Bach and wondering what it is about the human voice that hold such power over us.
Anyway, I can't be a Placido Domingo fan. I come from a time period and a demographic where you were either for Pavarotti or Domingo, and, much like my family rooted for The U over BYU and Coke over Pepsi, we were die-hard fans of Luciano Pavarotti. My parents saw him perform in San Francisco, too, which only intensified our devotion. They waited outside the theater to catch a glimpse of him, and my mom swooned when the larger-than-life Italian impresario emerged. She shouted to him, "You've changed my life!"
As he got into his limo, he rolled down the window and boomed, "For the better, I hope!"
"For the better, I hope!" I remember my mom wiping off the kitchen counter or matching socks, muttering that phrase with a secret smile on her face. Nothing like that ever happened for us with Placido Domingo. And Luciano was, of course, the better tenor anyway. And so we had a life-size poster of him hanging above our couch to demonstrate our devotion. The poster Pavarotti had his arms outstretched and a look of transcendent joy on his face. I imagined it was because he was about to wrap me, the daughter of his biggest fan, in a big hug. My dad, over time, became a tiny bit jealous of my mom's operatic flame, to the point that he actually bought a few of Placido Domingo's recordings! It was strange; as if we had invited LaVell Edwards over for dinner and served Diet Pepsi. Nevertheless, I became somewhat familiar with Placido's stronger, if less impassioned style.
The Utah Opera Company was ever-present while I was growing up. My mom started the Ogden Opera Guild, and hosted many a fundraising event at our house. Glade Petersen, the opera's founder, sang to audiences in our front yard and our living room. Despite the education by immersion, I had a complicated relationship with opera. The music was beautiful, Capitol Theater was exciting, it was thrilling to mingle with the "rich and famous" in the secret Founders' Room" at intermission. Only later did I realize that most opera singers aren't rich, nor are they even remotely famous. I certainly couldn't drop the name "Glade Petersen" in hopes of gaining any sort of social cache. Also, the plots to all operas are ridiculous. I was sitting next to Nana at one performance when she leaned over to me and whispered (which was strictly verboten, by the way!!), "This is so stupid!" I was shocked! It was all I could do not to laugh out loud, realizing that Nana was right. Nobody falls in love with a factory girl at first sight and then sings about it for twenty minutes, WITH a sword sticking out of his chest, courtesy of another suitor. And singing arias when you're dying of consumption? You want to shout, "Shut UP and go to the doctor!" And yet, when she finally dies, her tiny hands cold as ice, and Rodolfo shouts, "Mimi! Mimi!", I find tears pouring down my face and a lump in my throat the size of a tenor's ego.
There aren't that many operas in the standard repertoire, and with 3 or 4 a year over 25 years, you get repeats. By the time my kids were filling some of the seats, my parents and I had started justifying leaving at intermission. My brothers had long since abandoned the genre. We finally gave up our fourth-row season tickets, but I still miss it. I tried to get tickets to Turandot last Friday, but it was sold out. I got on Youtube to show Pavarotti's Nessun Dorma to the kids, who probably felt like they had dodged a bullet with the opera being sold out. My family always went on Sunday afternoon, the last show of the run. Today, as Turandot ends at Capitol Theater, I'll be at church, teaching kids to sing.
Later, though, I'll be at a performance of Bach's St. John Passion at the Cathedral of the Madeleine, which I did score tickets for, holding my kids hostage, appreciating my dad's appreciation for Bach and wondering what it is about the human voice that hold such power over us.
6 comments:
Too funny! Love your awesome family!
I'm such an opera idiot that I didn't know this was my favorite until I clicked the link. I LOVE that piece. I know it is one of the more famous "songs" from an opera, but still.... if you don't feel something when you hear it, then you must be dead. :) I love it. The next time it comes to town, let me know. My first opera should be that one. :)
I love me some good opera. Because I didn't grow up with a guild-initiating mother, my exposure and taste for opera is limited to the popular ones. I should get over there and check out the Utah Opera one of these days. I think I've been missing out.
I love this post and the way you tell a story! I'd never thought of Placido Domingo having such a literal translation. Is it a stage name or the real deal? Either way, I can't imagine it not being the source of ribbing. (After all, I don't know any stars named Freaky Friday or Fervent Monday.) I don't have an opera influence but I was sad when the world lost Pavoratti.
I remember the Pavrotti poster - and attending the opera with your family. This is great writing, Circe. I'm still waiting for your first book.
Love this blog, remembering the Opera parties at your home with the round tables decorated so beautiful and the summer breeze as everyone enjoyed your Mom's opera parties. Remember the Sundays you would go and if by chance, a ticket was not being used, or we encouraged to get one or to the ballet, we would get to enjoy it with you. I absolutely loved Pavoratti...wish I could have seen him as your folks did! What a treat. Guess we are going to miss you, like ships crossing in the night as we fly in tomorrow. xo T.
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