Richard Strauss
Salome

"All around is blood and mud, I am divine, I am oblivion, I am the god who descends from the empyrean upon the world, making the earth a heaven... I am love, I am love, love..."

And what does this have to do with, you might rightly ask, this specific passage from the famous aria “La mamma morta” from Umberto Giordano's Andrea Chenier? In theory, nothing, it's a connection all my own, I simply can't find better words to briefly describe what Salome represents to me. It is with this very opera that I got introduced to Richard Strauss, and it is with this opera that Richard Strauss first expressed his immense operatic potential, that unmistakable style made of vision, psychology, and overwhelming orchestral power, infinitely superior to any derivative of Wagner and, at least from my point of view, surpassing even Wagner himself to a significant extent; after Salome, Elektra, Der Rosenkavalier, Ariadne auf Naxos, and Die Frau ohne Schatten would follow in succession, practically an entire decade of sublime inspiration, unparalleled and unmatched in the context of 20th-century opera.

It's difficult to explain the emotions experienced on the first listening of this daring opera, which more than a century later still sounds so modern, captivating, and original. It was love at first sight, even on a literary level: seeing ideas so close to mine expressed in this form, in this meeting between Oscar Wilde and Richard Strauss, is "something" that stirs within, among all the operas I've listened to, Salome is the one that more than any other gave me the impression of being written precisely for me. A one-act piece, relatively short, with an extremely fluid, unpredictable structure, an aurora borealis that shines in both almost violent explosions and in soft, sensual luminescence. The scene of the Dance of the Seven Veils, the instrumental mirror of the entire opera, perfectly conveys the idea.

Yes, it is indeed a work full of decadence and perversion, but these uglinesses should not be sought in the character of Salome: the disgust is Herod, the disgust is especially Jochanaan, John the Baptist. Yes, you read that right. Vulgar, superstitious, and cowardly, Herod is a clear personification of the most degenerate traits of the typical man of power; the list of all his riches, with which he tries to divert Salome from her request and evade his own oath is so pathetically and well-crafted to evoke genuine hilarity, even in the emotionally charged context of this work. And the prophet, then... never have I seen a more inhuman character, with that declamatory, screeching, poisoned singing, there is nothing in him but condemnation of other's sins and visions of repentance and judgment. Simply disgusting, as disgusting as fanaticism is, yet Salome tries to redeem him, to seek in him a naturalness, a humanity that is unfortunately entirely absent. In the end, she will have what he deserves.

Apart from the protagonist, there is another character with positive qualities, of course, I am referring to Queen Herodias, the "ignoble sinner", a woman who is indeed cold and proud but in her way protectively maternal towards her daughter, and above all endowed with rationality: her scornful reactions to Herod's antics and the grotesque, bitterly truthful scene of the rabbis’ quarrel are proof of this, as is the prophet's hatred towards her; fanaticism can only hate rationality. Salome and Herodias, heart and mind, instinct and reason, the perfect balance of human nature. The first two, on the other hand, represent the deformations and unnatural self-censorships of it.

Vocally, Salome's part is a universe of its own, only very vaguely comparable to those classic dramatic soprano roles for which her "different twin" Elektra represents the most exasperated variation; it is no coincidence that among the great Salomes of the past was Montserrat Caballé, decidedly not a typical Strauss voice. More than a great vocal volume, more than statuesque power, Salome requires a voice full of harmony, a fresh, youthful, agile vocality; there are many sharp, dramatic peaks, but they are not what define the character of this child-woman who sees beauty even where there isn't any. Salome is those poetic verses, so musical, so melodious, in the scene where she tries to seduce Jochanaan, poetry that falls into the dark, icy void of her object of desire, and it is also that wonderful monologue in front of the severed head, equally laden with great melody... "You have never seen me, you had your eyes closed to look at your god, if you had only seen me you would have loved me ... the mysteries of love are greater than the mysteries of death". This was not what she wanted, it should not have ended this way, it is a bitter triumph, that final kiss tastes of blood, which perhaps is the taste of love itself.

Ah, and in the end Herod, in one last act of cowardice, has her killed, he doesn't even have the courage to dirty his hands personally. But in doing so, he can only seal the apotheosis of Salome, she who truly represents the Divine in this work, just like a Goddess of classical antiquity, with the same voluptuousness and the same human imperfection.