Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Tebaldi
Renata Tebaldi's death sent me surfing to Apple's iTunes store. I purchased what is a high point in human expression, certainly in 20th century western performance, Tebaldi's O mio babbino caro. This painfully beautiful, far-too-short piece, sitting in the midst of a comic opera that could have been plotted by Larry David — amazing.
Tebaldi's gorgeous, lushly powerful voice, is almost the definition of beauty. Reading her obit, you realize why she had to give up family and a conventional life — it was in her blood, her destiny was to perform — a 19th century romantic specimen — the artist possessed.
This Puccini piece is almost more perfect for it's surprising launching pad: Gianni Schicchi. Puccini's genius enlivens an ancient tale derived from a 14th century commentary on Dante's Florence. (The plot is often incorrectly associated with a passage in Dante's Divine Comedy.) It could easily be a plot concocted by Seinfeld's George to get Susan's money — with Kramer mucking it up again no doubt.
All the more beautiful for the absurdist story; beauty in life does indeed sometimes arise out of the absurdity of the human condition; we are creatures of Nature, but also in Nature, knowing we will die; yearning for oneness, and yet compromised with the deflections and assertions of ego.
Tebaldi's phrasing sinks in and out of the lyric, swooning with language and feeling; Tebaldi's character, Lauretta, is begging her pops to help a bunch of nitwits get an “unwilled” inheritance so she can marry. Who would guess this sublime music had as its subject such foolishness? All the more sublime for its silliness.