Blame it on the radio.
And on Sant'Ambrogio, and the fog, and the damp and dreary weather here. And naturally, blame it on a film, on a scene, those that keep running through my head.
So, this morning I wake up early, ready for my daily dose of Lester Young (have I already told you that Mr. Pork Pie Hat is - these last days - rather likable to me?) and - as always - I turn on the radio. I know there's a classical music program. I expect Fidelio. Which I am not ready for. I've only heard it once in my life, on the radio, I was little, I don't remember. Obviously, tonight I'll watch it all. And try to understand.
On television, of course. I can't go to La Scala. My mom made me hyperkinetic. Chronic. The only time I set foot in the Temple, I was fourteen. They were showing the twenty-third opera of Verdi. Not live, there was a screen on the stage. From my childlike memories, the KING was singing. After less than half an hour, the guy next to us kicked us out. I was breathing too loudly. Tapping my fingers on the railing. This was when I was calm.
But there was no Fidelio on the radio. There was a woman's voice. Singing. Something beautiful. And when the other tenant of this honest abode approached and asked me verbatim: what is this beautiful Christmas song? without even knowing why I answered: Ich bin die welt abhanden gekommen. A lieder by Mahler.
From this, it follows:
So here I am, listening to a showcase of mezzo-sopranos singing this beautiful lieder, waiting for Fidelio, and for a few hours, I don't hear Lester Young.
And I think of a scene from a film, I won't tell you which one, I've already mentioned it.
Of a character who says:
I never knew what that woman was singing. I never understood the words. But it doesn't matter. I believe she was singing something so beautiful that it can't be expressed in words.
If you're in the mood, you can find it here