The Sopranos

On Saturday night I was invited by the embassy to a recital by two sopranos – one of them Australian, with a borsa di studio like myself – in a little church off the Piazza Baldini, in the Jewish Ghetto, one of the oldest Jewish communities in Europe.

Now I know you would rarely expect the words 'Australia' and 'opera' to be found in the same sentence, but the Aussie girl really did us proud... she was actually the stronger of the two, and I think others agreed. She sang arias from Mozart and Puccini, as well as some by a guy called Gounod, who I’d never heard of – unfortunately I missed her do Puccini’s Oh! mio babbino caro while I was having a cigarette, which I berated myself for.

It was such a treat to listen to these girls sing in a relatively intimate setting. Though I’m certainly no expert in opera, their voices were impressive, and on occasion went straight through me like a jolt of electricity. Not that I’d forgotten the fact, but this really made me feel as though I was in Rome.

The accompanying pianist was sublime, as those experts who were there made sure to point out during the mingling (one woman seemed to be your typical music college head). He’d apparently received the music the night before, and the 5 Ravel pieces were particularly complex: he was that picture of the perfect pianist, restrained yet not stodgy, extremely disciplined yet able to smile with his singer. All three artists had worked with major orchestras around the world, and what’s more, for me, the concert was free (though it was surely worth the 15 euros they were asking).

I left feeling uplifted, though a little lonely. This turned into an edginess, which I put down to the full moon / lunar eclipse that was occurring that night. As is my usual response, I pulled into a bar, this one looking particularly Irish, though staffed mainly by Italian party boys.

There was a fine la Liga match showing, Barcelona vs Seville, and when I left at half time, Seville were 2-1 up, having shocked Barcelona with a spectacular free kick. The Brazilian magician Ronaldinho had turned his back on the striker when forming the wall, and I wondered whether this sign of disrespect (by the master of free kicks) had incited the scorer to pull something special out of his hat, which he did.

I didn’t see the eclipse, which apparently made the moon appear red, and which could be seen perfectly from Europe (the photo above is not mine). This was partly because I didn’t know precisely when it was to happen. In hindsight, I know how to ask ‘At what time’, and the words for ‘moon’ (la luna) and ‘red’ (rosso), so I probably should’ve tried to ask (ie. 'a che ora e la luna rossa?' - 'At what time is the moon red?'!). Knowing who to ask was probably another matter.