Given the Italian's a tad rusty, the addition of subtitles was a masterstroke. In my case though, not crucial.
See, I've been dogged by hayfever this week. With the eyes misbehaving, both the set and subtitles began to blur.
Hence, I shut the lids.
In doing so I was taken back to more youthful days when late at night, lights out with the headphones on, the darkness enriched the music.
Someone of a romantic disposition once claimed if you close your eyes during an orchestral performance, you can see the music. Fanciful perhaps, but in those few all-ears minutes in row D, seat 21, eyes wide shut, one thing dawned in the darkness. In the same way one rose says more than a bunch, a singular voice is infinitely more compelling than the collective.
That's why I'm reluctant to get to the Ten Tenors. Someone really should point out to the tensome that they're nine too many.
This is in no way a criticism of Tuesday's opera. I was nothing but enthralled by those whose voices snared us halfway back in the theatre's second tier, guided by the talent of the orchestra and musical director Jose Aparicio - his hands like a master marionettist. (I'll leave the review to Peter Williams, page 8).
Apologies to Festival Opera, as my sinuses forced a poor-form exit at interval.
Undoubtedly, the best half opera I've attended. Undoubtedly, the lighting of a fuse.
