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Rating: Sometimes, the problem is the date of birth.
It also happens to Carlo, the protagonist here. Infant of Spain, at a time when Spain dominates the world (or what was then considered the world), as a child, he met a girl, and he fell in love with that girl.
The problem is his father. Who becomes King of Spain. And who - being powerful - goes after the girl. And marries her. So Carlo finds himself desiring someone who is technically his mother (or parent 2, or whatever you want to call it). Not too great. Also because the father is quite a jerk, mistreats her, is ruthless as a king, disregarding the Flemish complaints and sending them to their deaths.
Carlo is the typical Peppino tenor. The kind who is full of hormones and courage and boastful declarations. But then they never really know what to do. And they don't even fully realize what's happening around them. Among them, my favorite is the next Radames. I find him marvelous. As soon as Aida begins, he sings about his plan. The Ethiopians are at war, he is in love with Aida, he says: I command the army, I return, triumph, and ask for my beloved's hand. But things don't go like that. He wins and triumphs. But not Aida. It's not possible. Well, when the Ethiopians regroup and try to attack Egypt again (it's the third act), Radames is all happy. He says new war new prize! And I adore him, sincerely (end of parenthesis!).
Carlo would like to go to Flanders. Away from his father. And also - perhaps - from this stepmother he loves and is loved back by. But it's not possible. To complicate matters, there's a wonderful character (Rodrigo, obviously a baritone) who is his brotherly friend and will demonstrate it to the death, and a flirty princess who is secretly (but not too much) in love with Carlo.
Sometimes the problem is knowing where to be. Carlo wants Flanders. And Rodrigo wants it too. But there's no way. The father does not want to hear reason. And the father knows that between Carlo and Elisabetta... Well, anyway, things go badly. So much so that even the Holy Inquisition arrives, in the guise of a blind old man probably named Jorge (even if they don't tell us) and who is thirsty for blood, specifically Carlo's. He won't succeed, but only because Rodrigo will stop him by paying with his life. Then the flirty princess laments her beauty and goes to a convent, Carlo and Elisabetta sing (almost) the last aria of Aida (si schiude il ciel), and even the Stone Guest appears, as the late Charles V.
Don Carlo, without the 's', is the last opera for which Peppino doesn't think it's the last. It's a very well-known opera, but not greatly loved by the general public. The fundamental reason is that it doesn't have arias. Carlo, for example, the protagonist, has just one. At the beginning. And it's short too. And the others, nothing. The rest is all an ensemble. Wonderful duets and trios. The reason is easily told. You know that German type? Yeah, the one who spoke ill of Italian opera, of tenors loudly singing their love woes? Well, he had arrived. And Peppino wanted to show him there was no need for arias. And as for the leitmotifs? Everyone says he invented them? Yeah, right, let's leave it at that. They're here though. The friendship one, in particular, I'm sure you've heard it and can recognize it. It's a pretty troubled opera, Don Carlo. He writes it in five acts (Don CarloS), then it's too long, he cuts it, (removing the 'S') then he cuts it again.
Sometimes the problem is knowing where to be.
December 7, 1977, is a Wednesday. Outside the theater, the air is very tense. People throwing eggs. People shouting down with Norma we want Traviata. People who might already have a gun in their pocket. People who are there doing strange, new, and unique things. Inside the theater, Claudio Abbado is conducting. A stunning Mirella Freni, Carreras upon whom, at least for a couple of days, I have to retract the bad things I've always thought about him, Ghiaurov who is reliable. And Don CarloS or almost. Five acts, but in Italian, and even a recovery of the original version or almost.
Inside the theater, the air is tense. You can feel it. You can feel it from the thunderous and tense applause. Also, maybe, from some voices you hear during the pauses. The usual gallery-goers. Or maybe someone who is inside. Someone who makes their presence felt. Not the Flemings. But of what is outside.
Sometimes the problem is the date of birth.
I, soon, will go to see where I was. For sure I was in the third year of middle school. Opera music was, for a little while, still distant from my interests. For sure, I watched the usual stuff on TV, who's there, who isn't, how they're dressed. My mom liked it a lot. And me too, even now.
In any case, getting close to opera, back then, nobody really thought about it. It would be - in many ways - Abbado himself, in the following years, doing wonderful things. But back then, no. Nobody made you listen to things. At most, Vivaldi's Four Seasons, causing a distancing from that whole world for some that was irreversible.
Well, anyway, it turns out that Abbado conducts an edition that, in my opinion, is an absolute masterpiece. You hear Carreras and say every time how good he is. Mirella Freni gives you chills every time she opens her mouth. And the whole opera, which you know, you know it, but anyway, it doesn't have the arias, you say this is really a wonder.
Well, I said it, sometimes the problem is knowing where you want to be.
And I, at least for a while, have no doubts.
There. And then.
Where, you ask? Inside or outside the theater?
Both. The Prima della Scala is like that.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afM6Gl7pL9k
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