Ask Figaro

Q.

Hi Figaro, here is a question that has puzzled me all my life about the opera Faust. The pact with the devil is made by Dr. Faust. He, however, doesn’t suffer nearly as much as Marguerite. First she loses her brother, then she kills her child, then she is imprisoned, and then she dies. Please tell me why, considering she made no pact with the devil, all these bad things happen to her and not to Faust. He views everything that happens to her and says, “Oh wow, that is a bummer,” or the French equivalent. He seems to detach himself from the whole thing. Why isn’t he made to suffer to the extent of Marguerite? I would be very interested to hear your answer. —Myra

A.

First off, Myra, who told you opera was fair? What did Brünnhilde do wrong that she had to jump into the fire (or whatever she does, exactly, in Götterdämmerung)? Did Desdemona ever have a mean thought in her life (or any thought, for that matter…)? And let’s not even think about Butterfly. Furthermore, when it comes to Faust, we’re dealing with the Devil himself here—so no kind of slight or act of cruelty is out of the question. Actually, we highly recommend you join us at the Met (or on radio or in HD) for this season’s new production of Berlioz’s hallucinatory masterpiece La Damnation de Faust, directed by Robert Lepage. This cad gets what’s coming to him, and then some—literally a one-way ticket to hell (and what music we have for that!). —Figaro

Q.

Figaro, I’m confused about the different types of opera singing. I know there are different categories of voice, like bel canto, coloratura, etc. But I don’t know what they are or what they mean—or if they refer only to sopranos or everyone. Could you list and explain them, please? —Helen

A.

Wow, Helen, is this a complex question! The first thing to understand is that these categories are conventions, not absolute rules in any way. It’s as hard to describe voices with words as it is to describe flavors. So people came up with some categories years ago, and we have been changing, modifying, and misusing them ever since. Some terms refer to vocal techniques rather than musical styles: coloratura, for example, is defined as the ornamentation of a vocal melody with lots of trills, scales, leaps, and things like that. A singer who does this a lot is called a coloratura singer (it’s only as scientific as that). Conversely, bel canto is a historical genre, referring especially to the works of Rossini, Bellini, and Donizetti, among some others. The fact that the term translates as “beautiful singing” does not suggest that all other composer’s should be rasped as if sung by toads, though. It is merely the phrase that has become associated with these composers. These terms are not only meant for sopranos. For example, you will no doubt come across the term “heldentenor” in your operatic adventures. This describes the sort of tenor who can muster enough volume and stamina to duel a huge Wagnerian orchestra and an even more heroic Wagnerian soprano over the course of a few hours. However, even this term is fluid. Are all Wagner’s tenors heldentenors? Is Siegmund in Die Walküre? Or Walther von Stolzing in Die Meistersinger? Try asking this question at your next musical cocktail party and watch the fireworks ignite. The list you speak of is ever-evolving. If I were to attempt a definitive version, it would not only be endless, it would also be obsolete before I finished it. However, for a good introduction to the sometimes Mesopotamian vocabulary of music, we recommend such great standbys as the New Grove Dictionary of Opera or the Oxford Dictionary of Music. —Figaro

Q.

Dear Figaro, I've been wondering if opera is more of a soprano's world. I'm new to the field, and most of the roles for women that I've seen have had a high-octave range. Is there any space for the altos? I think they should get some spotlight, too. Do you have any suggestions of an opera that I, as an alto, could sing along with? —Christine

A.

Dear Christine, not only is there “space” for altos, but these women are formidable. How about Dalila? You don't want to mess with her—especially if she's holding a pair of scissors. Then there's Carmen, perhaps the über-woman of all opera. Or another famous gypsy that you can meet at the Met this season, Azucena in Il Trovatore. Are these ladies still too high-voiced for your range? Well, let's dig a little deeper. Erda, Wagner's Earth mother, is virtually the beginning and end of everything—even Wotan, the lord of the gods, comes to her for advice. If she's too abstract for your tastes, allow us to steer you toward one of the most compelling woman in opera, the mysterious La Cieca in La Gioconda. Or, if you're into more contemporary fare, try John Adams's Doctor Atomic, an opera about the creation of the atomic bomb and the physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer. His wife, Kitty, is sung by a mezzo-soprano and has two of the opera's most beautiful scenes. That's music by a modern composer that you can absolutely sing along with. So as you can see, there are just as many fascinating and diverse mezzos and altos out there as there are sopranos. Some of them, however, we don't recommend for a sing-along. The final aria that Angelina sings, for example, in La Cenerentola, Rossini's version of the Cinderella story, might be a little too much with all its crazy coloratura. On the other hand, if you live somewhere remote and won't disturb the neighbors—go for it! —Figaro

Q.

Figaro, my fiancé is treating me to a night at the Met, and I don’t know what to wear!! Do I have to go out and find one of those glasses on a stick that Mrs. Howell used to use on Gilligan’s Island? Please help!

A.

Those glasses are called “lorgnettes,” and they haven’t been spotted at the Met in about 80 years. But, hey, don’t let that stop you. If you feel like making lorgnettes hip again, wielding a set on the Grand Tier would be a great place to start. There’s no formal dress code at the Met. That said, don’t bother with black tie unless it’s a gala, and, on the other hand, if you go for a more casual look, don’t pick that pair of jeans you’ve had since the eighties with the rips in the knees and the safety pins running down the length of each leg. Of course, there’s really no better opportunity to get dressed up than a night at the opera, and there’s no limit to how fabulous you can be, if you’re in the mood to make a splash. —Figaro

Q.

Pagliacci is one of my favorite operas, and I plan to see it at the Met this season. One thing about it confuses me, though: Tonio bangs his drum and invites the villagers to the show “a ventitre ore.” He even repeats this a few times, and on high notes, so I know it’s important. Now, I know that translates as “23 hours.” I also know that 23 hours means 11 P.M. Wasn’t that a little late for a clown show to begin? Shouldn’t the kids have been in bed by then?

A.

If that’s the most perplexing question you have about Italian opera, you’re in pretty good shape! A show might well start at 11 P.M. in Madrid, but in rural Calabria? Before electricity? As it turns out, many places in Italy marked time the old-fashioned way until clocks were standardized in the 20th century. And by “old-fashioned,” I mean biblically old-fashioned, as in starting the clock at sunset. “Ventitre ore,” therefore, meant an hour before sunset—a perfectly respectable time for the kids to come to the show and witness a double murder. —Figaro