- 10 Jul 17
An evening at the Neapolitan Opera House has our columnist in raptures...
I think I’m giving up on CD launches in Bennigan’s and taking up opera instead.And you can still the sniggers. Opera is brilliant.
One of the things you mightn’t know about opera is that everybody who goes to an opera – even some who just yesterday were heatedly insisting they wouldn’t be seen dead at any such silk gown and tabby-bow shindig – emerges afloat on waves of still-reverberating sound.
I say this with some confidence having attended an open-air opera at Sydney Harbour a couple of years back – Verdi’s Aida it was – and found myself transfigured from the opening tap of the conductor’s stick to the sweep and the swell of the climactic chorus. As the tortured Jesuit and seeker after wisdom, Gerald Manley Hopkins, had it, referring to the soar not of music but of kingfishers caught fire: the mastery of the thing.