Gioacchino Rossini
Il Barbiere Di Siviglia

The god of overtures. The man of forty Operas in less than twenty years. The shaper of happiness in music. The man to whom God gave melody just as He gives it to the nightingale.

Gioachino Rossini, the composer considered by his contemporaries; the greatest composer in the world (today this reputation may seem excessive, but not at the time). A musician capable of flooding the audience with happy sensations, something that was almost miraculous. Stendhal lost his mind over this man and this ability, to the point of personally taking care of his Biography.

On February 20, 1816, at the Teatro Argentina in Rome, the first performance of the Opera with the most famous overture of all time (legendary was Monicelli's use of it in Amici Miei: "O bucaiolaaaa...") was held, The Barber of Seville. Conducted by: Gioachino Rossini. 

Colossal flop! Few operas in history have suffered such a sensational and inexplicable fiasco. Everything seemed to conspire against Rossini, who in the days before had sensed too many coincidental bad omens. On February 13, his much-loved San Carlo in Naples caught fire. On February 15, the impresario of the Teatro Argentina died. A curse was conjured up by Paisiello's fans (author of the other Barber of Seville that was overshadowed by Rossini's over time), who wanted the opera's title changed. The show went on anyway; it started very badly in a tense atmosphere that led to some murmurs. A guitar string broke, someone began shouting, a cat climbed onto the stage during one of the opera's most pathetic moments, causing laughter and insults, meows, and jeers against the author. Unbelievable. The next day, Rossini feigned illness. He couldn't face them again. The response from the audience was the exact opposite of the previous night; a triumph. From that moment, the opera took off to conquer the world at a terrifying speed. The Barber becomes the most famous comic opera in history.

My favorite version is the one conducted, recorded, and performed by Abbado in 1972, DG, London Symphony Orchestra. Hermann Prey is not exactly my favorite Figaro (Nucci is better), but all in all, he integrates well with the rest of the cast. Now, I may seem biased, but the Berganza of this opera even surpasses Callas in the daring phrasing of this character in unsuspecting times. Wonderful, sensual, expert, fluid. Alva, as always, whitens his very light tenor delight, making not himself Count Almaviva, but Count Almaviva, Luigi Alva. Perhaps this is his only limitation in an extraordinary singing and stage mastery. Enzo Dara is the greatest Bartolo of the last thirty-five years and established himself in the world precisely thanks to this edition. A monster! Paolo Montarsolo is the one who sings the worst, but this is perhaps due to others' state of grace. He only excels as a great professional, but that's still fine. Abbado, naturally, based on Zedda's critical edition, takes the opera and brings it back to its native freshness and agility, to its lightness and cloudy purple, flying over the score with invisible steel cables in hand. For me, the greatest interpreter of Rossini of all time. The recording is fantastic, and the LSO is a group of impeccable professionals.

If you want to enjoy some moments of happiness, approach this treasure chest; you just need to open it.