This is an homage to my dad, who sang opera on a regular basis, completely out of tune, at the top of his voice, throughout my childhood. Probably accounts for it taking me 50 years to actually build up the courage to go.
Iain and I went last night to see Il Trovatore by the Welsh National Opera, and shock, horror, - opera is actually amazingly good when sung in tune (as indeed the Welsh can do with bells on). I expected to endure it, but in fact enjoyed it. I had familiarised myself with the rather strange story line, which helped - but it was completely captivating to listen to music performed without amplification. I resisted the urge to shout out "I know this one" when the Anvil Chorus came on. You know the one - Daa daa da-da da-da da-da da-da da-dada.
Another bonus was that Iain and I felt young - an opportunity not to be missed when approaching 50! And also rather well dressed for once. Opera seems to bring out all the misfits from the shires on their zimmer frames, who haven't been to a shop for some decades, and who are still darning their tweed elbows. They also spoke strangely - the only word I could make out was 'frightfully'.
For those of you justifiably worried about Iain through all this, he distracted himself with the mathematical conundrum of working out the statistical probability of someone dying during the performance given the age profile. Conclusion - 1 fatality and a near miss.
But are you going to become a regular?
ReplyDelete