The other day mezzo, and now I assume completely dysfunctional Royal’s fanatic, Joyce DiDonato had an interesting Twitter thread about opera and classical music. Like anyone who is a opera fanatic will tell you, opera had the capacity to heal. The other day I was miserable, terribly unhappy, exhausted, and feeling hopeless. All it took was a little Verdi.
The important thing is that opera does help one heal. There are some pieces of music you want when you lock yourself up in the car, and crank up the volume. Aida is one of those. It is pure, unadulterated food for the soul.
Of course, then, this leads to the usual comment. Where the hell did they come up with these shitty costumes? Sorry, but I get really annoyed with the way Aida is usually staged. Where is Cecil B. when you need him most? Then, there is the filming, which is truly atrocious. But what do I know? Blacken the screen and listen to the music.
If we are doing Aida, then the most important part about the opera, and the history of the opera is this magical moment.
Opera heals the soul. It also breaks the heart. It’s a lot like baseball that way.