Norma

Vincenzo Bellini's Norma is one of those masterworks that has a formalistic plot and an unrealistic, if not preposterous story. Felice Romani collaborated on the opera and provided the melliflous lines of the libretto. The libretto is summarized below.

The story takes place in pre-Christian Gaul (present-day France, I think). It concerns a Druid priestess, Norma who apparently slept with an enemy, some Roman soldier named Pollione and secretly begets him children. Unfortunately, Pollione falls out of love and has set his sights on another priestess, Adaglisa. Ironically, it was Adaglisa who confided this information to her.

Norma angrily confronts Pollione who defiantly confirms that he intends to leave her for someone else. Stricken with anger and grief, Norma seeks revenge by attempting to murder their own children, only to realize that she is unable to carry out the gruesome task after all. When Adaglisa renounces her affections for Pollione and attempts to reconcile the two lovers, her efforts came to naught as Pollione remains adamant in leaving Norma. When Pollione got captured, Norma offerrs to spare his life if he promises to leave Gaul and Adaglisa. Pollione refuses.

Norma then declares, among priests and soldiers, that a priestess will burned to death for committing treason. Believing this to be Adaglisa, Pollione tries to stop her. But Norma declares that she herself is the erring priestess and deserves to die. Pollione realizes the deep love Norma has for him, and decides to join her to be burned to death.

The story is ho-hum, based on pseudo-history and some Roman mythological non-sense. Despite this, the opera manages to convince. The issues touched upon are universal: jealousy, obsession, deceit and guilt. And the emotions that these evoke are equally all -too-real as well: anger, betrayal and the desire for revenge. In fact, the opera posits some very thought-provoking questions: how do you let go of a person who has fallen out of love, and how far should you go to fight for the one you love?

Not surprisingly, the dramatic qualities of the opera will always appeal to any aspiring great soprano. The score has provided a fitting challenge to some of the most accomplished sopranos ever. In fact, Maria Callas essayed the role more than 90 time in her career. Modern sopranos attempting the role always risk a comparison with Callas.

The 2001 Parma production featured June Anderson, the bel canto superstar of the nineties. The role is difficult to play, given the whole gamut of emotions presented by the drama. Although Anderson did her best to portray the conflicting emotions in her character, it just fell short. Vocally however, I have no problem with her interpretation. She is a bel canto specialist, reviving extremely difficult but neglected works of Rossini (Semiramide, Armida and La Donna de Lago).

She had no problem navigating the treacherous trills, coloratura runs, fioturas and mordents in between the long-drawn out notes, and she launched stratospheric high E's with amazing vocal control, making it appear effortless. Anderson sang the aria Casta Diva, one of the most popular arias in all opera, with great intensity and flourish. The duets with Adaglisa reminded me of the famous Barcarolle in thirds from Delibes' Lakme, only longer and with more vocal acrobatics and fireworks.

Pollione was essayed by a young Korean tenor. His voice was weak however, and oftentimes get drowned by the orchestra, especially during ensemble numbers. The orchestra was a disappointment as well. I felt it was dull and a bit mechanical, probably becuase the orchestration was rather spare, compared to say, a Rossini.

I think it was Coleridge who demanded a certain "suspension of disbelief" to appreciate poetry fully. The same is true with opera. If one ignores all the non-sense and concentrate on the music as well as the dramatic intent, operas like Norma get better appreciated.

Blaming English

"Ang paggamit ng wikang banyaga bilang isang wikang panturo ay sagabal sa pag-iisip dahil dapat munang masanay ang mag-aaral sa mga bagong tunog, tono, at balangkas ng pangungusap. Nahihirapan siyang ipahayag ang kanyang mga saloobin at ito'y pumipigil sa kanyang pag-iisip. KAYA, MAKIKITA NATIN NA MARAMI SA ATING MGA KABABAYAN ANG HINDI SANAY NA MAG-ISIP NG MALALIM. Hindi nila ganap na maunawaan ang mga aklat at peryodikong nakasaulat sa Ingles. Hirap na hirap ang marami sa atin na nag-iisip sa wikang Ingles pero hindi rin sila makapag-usap ng mahusay sa sarili nilang wika dahil ito ay napabayaan."
- Constantino, Renato. Ang Paggamit ng Ingles Pumipigil sa Pag-iisip nang Malalim (1990)

This quote was attached to an e-mail message I received regarding some concert for the benefit of some detained former Communist leader. It theorizes that the use of English as a medium of instruction has stifled critical thinking because Filipinos are unfamiliar with the sound patterns and the nuances of the language. Since usage of the native language has been neglected in favor of English, Filipinos are likewise unable to express themselves well in their native tongue.

This is a sweeping generalization from a noted expert on Philippine history. While it may be true that discussions in the classroom, or say in town meetings across the country, tend to be more lively and colorful when conducted in the vernacular, I am not convinced that adopting a foreign language as a medium of instruction in our schools should be blamed for whatever is wrong with our system.

Contrary to Constantino’s assertions, there are immense benefits to using English as a medium not only in schools, but in business, politics, the arts and media. You see, the language is probably the richest among the world’s major languages, a treasure trove of words, because it draws from a variety of sources, from dead languages like Latin to modern ones especially French, Spanish and yes, Tagalog. Thus, the vocabulary expands, allowing the user endless possibilities and flexibility to express his ideas and thoughts. Because it is so rich, it facilitates the creation and exchange of ideas. So how can its usage stifle critical thinking?

English is not just a foreign language. It does not have that status anymore. It is a global language, overtaking French and Spanish in importance. It is no longer the prized ownership of the British, it has been adopted by various peoples and made it their own as well, giving rise to different varieties like, American, British, Indian, Jamaican, etc and all sorts of hybrids and patois, like Singlish (Singaporean English), Taglish (Tagalog peppered with English), among others.

I don’t think I am less of a Filipino now because I chose to write this blog in English. I really believe that you should express yourself in the language you are most comfortable with, be it Tagalog, Bisaya or English. In my case, I speak Bisaya/Cebuano to my family, Tagalog to my friends, and English to my Filipino and Singaporean work partners. My Tagalog has a Bisaya ring to it, the annoying staccato I just can’t do anything about it anymore; I trip over my Bisaya phrases a lot of times, committing a lot of grammatical errors in the process; and of course English, which I use for work.

You see, the choice of language is not really the cause of the problem. It might be something else, like motivation and other social factors which may explain the lamentable “state of mind” among the youth today.

Garden Weddings

What’s with garden weddings? There seems to be a growing popularity for wedding ceremonies in romantic set-ups like gardens and beachfronts. Local celebrities Raymart Santiago and Claudine Barretto were recently wed in born-again rites in Tagaytay. If I remember correctly, G Toengi got wed to her American boyfriend in a beachside ceremony. I’m sure these couples only wanted this life-changing event to be especially memorable, so they took pains to make it romantic, something that will be on everyone’s lips for years to come and would make fantastic photo albums and videos.

I’m just wondering though. Are garden set-ups really the appropriate setting for a wedding? We must not forget that this all-too-important sacrament (yes, it’s a covenant with God) involves not just the couple, but God Himself too. It’ not like the main attraction of the show is the couple and that God is just an accessory.

The purpose of the entire thing is to formally ask God to bless the union, and that hardly qualifies as romantic, don’t you think? You know, sort of like the pamamanhikan, or the formal request of the guy to the girl’s parents for her hand in marriage. In this case, the proper way to do it, has always been to go to the girl’s house and formally inform her parents of prospective couples’ intentions. Similarly, asking God to bless the union requires that you do the appropriate thing: ask God formally in His house, that is, in the church where he is worshipped and glorified.

For Catholics, this is pretty obvious, since we believe in the physical presence of Christ through the Eucharist. Thus, it goes without saying that you go to Church to seek His spiritual blessings because He is really present there, in flesh and blood, through the Eucharist (when he mentioned during the Last Supper that the bread broken and shared with his apostles “… is my body” and the wine “…is the cup of my blood”, he was not talking metaphorically).

For Protestants, I do not know. They interpret the Gospel of John differently. Ergo, there’s no need to hold the ceremony inside a building, when you may as well hold it outside where you can be in touch with nature, God’s most beautiful and scenic creations.

Whatever your views are, the ceremonies should remain solemn and dignified. You can be as romantic as you want during the reception and afterwards. But during the ceremony, remember that God is still the centre of attention.

Don’t get yourself fired up. This is just my view. I certainly want to be married. I just want to do it in the most appropriate way.

High School Days

Manilyn Reynes and Sheryl Cruz ruled the FM airwaves from sunup to sundown. Mr. Dreamboy was an instant hit.

After school, we turned on the TV to watch week-old broadcasts of That’s Entertainment, followed by Inday Badiday’s Eye to Eye. There were no other choices.

Bramy Bayron and Mae Lacang were the undisputed newscaster king and queen in Bisaya. Wearing a pang bible-study blouse and sporting coke-bottle glasses, Mae looked like an aging librarian; Brammy appeared like he just drove in after a ten (10) hour trip from Davao. They should have stayed in radio. I never cared about the local news. The newscasters and the decrepit sets were far more interesting to look at.

Laura Brannigan’s The Name Game. For some reason, I associate this 80's relic with hi-cut boots. My seatmate in senior year, Froilan, wore those.

Debbie Gibson’s one-hit wonder Electric Youth marked the end of the New Wave phenomenon. What happened to her? Also, The Wonder Years and Murder She Wrote were my favorite TV programs.

Romnick Sarmenta-Sheryl Cruz-Jennifer Sevilla love triangle. Didn’t really care. How on earth would any girl fall gaga over this average-looking guy?

Matet vs Aiza: The battle of the babies. I sided with Aiza, I even watched “Wake up Little Susie”.

My seatmate Froilan knew all the real names of local celebrities, without skipping a beat. He knew the real name of Maricel Soriano. He read Kislap.

I woke up regularly at 4 a.m. to catch the first school bus. Ambrose and I would engage in operatic vocal exercises early morning before class.

I played the bandurria during morning ceremonies. We played “Mabuhay” for VIPs who visited the school. I was also the church organist and pianist. When it came to music, people, I was the guy. Hey, they transferred the school piano to our classroom.

Beauty contests were hilarious affairs. My History teacher’s daughter, in the talent portion, performed some native ritual dance in authentic tribal costume, bit the head of a live chicken and threw the bloody corpse in front of the shocked judges. I never looked at her in the same way again. Of course, she didn’t win. My friend Estela did.

I was constantly being linked to buxomly Barbara. She loved to quote Indira Gandhi (“love and sacrifice”).

My public speaking teacher was also my ninong (godfather). He was extremely boring. In fact, he’d kill time by dictating his old notes to us, word-for-word. First time I ever cheated in school and made a codigo.

My History teacher spent half his time lecturing us about things that have nothing to do with History. He said the capital of Austria was Venice!

My classmate Wowie spoke English punctuated with Bisaya expressions like “uy” and “gud” all the time. We all spoke to her in Bisaya.

Matilde would ask questions with which she already knew the answers.

Totally XXX-ed!

This ain't what you think it is; neither is it about the cable channel nor some National Geographic feature. This ain't funny, I'm telling you now, really. I'm warning you, coz it's gonna get ugly. If you're looking for some erudite essay about the eco-system, get out. SCRAM!

Now that I have your attention. Let me just say this: I cannot believe I passed up copies of Wagner's Parsifal and the Meistersingers von Nuremberg, Dvorak's Rusalka, Bellini's Norma and Verdi's Messa da Requiem, only because the Muslim guy selling the pirated DVDs charged me twice its street value. Grrrr!!! I know that it's dirt cheap. But I refuse to be taken advantage of just because I look and smell better than they do. Truth hurts, doesnt' it?

Keeping the rage to myself, I picked up a twenty-peso X-rated VCD instead. You know, to divert my thoughts and to release the tension, literally (excuse me). Despite the above description of myself, I do entertain dirty thoughts (I can't believe I'm saying this!). The problem with pirated discs, however, is that either (1) the content does not always resemble the pictures in the cover, or that (2) your multi-media player refuse to play the disc. Returning it is not an option, of course. What did you expect to get for twenty freakin' bucks?

In my case, the provocative pictures on the front cover had absolutely nothing to do with the "material". I had encountered this sort before, expecting some exotic time-of-Cleopatra setting as the blurb promised, which turned out to be, holy smokes! some naked people in a barn yard full of animals! See what I mean? I knew this was disgusting stuff so at least I had enough time to push the eject button, break the disc into pieces and throw it far, far away.

This time however, the scene that greeted me was already mid-way. There was absolutely no escaping it. I leaped from my seat and frantically turned off the TV, it was that disgusting. YUCK. No words are enough to descibe it. I haven't seen anything like it. It never even crossed my mind that what I saw was even possible. As I write this, I still feel sick to my stomach. How am I gonna have dinner? The images stick to my mind like barnacles. Vivid, as in clear as day. Excuse me, I need to barf. What the hell were these people thinking?

Spare me the lecture please. I know, I know. That's what you get for patronizing pirated VCDs. Which reminded me of that prison scene from Harold and Kumar, where the black guy, accused of trying to break out of prison for the simple reason that he was black, waxed philosophical a la Homer Simpson, assuring the two freaks that "events have a way of resolving itself out". Like a yin and a yang, whatever that means.

In my case, things turned out that way so I may stop buying those crap in the first place. The Guy Up There does have a sense of humor, and I believe He pokes fun at us once in a while. Yes?

Cinderella Without the Magic

The story of Cinderella made into an opera is different from the story as told by the French Mother Goose, not even by Disney, whose version practically every kid in the planet knows by heart. La Cenerentola, composed in 1817 by Gioacchino Antonio Rossini, after an Italian libretto by Jacopo Ferretti, contains no glass slippers, no fairy godmother, and no wicked stepmom. There is a handsome prince, a selfish, conniving stepdad, two evil stepsisters (Clorinda and Thisbe) and of course, pretty Cenerentola herself, who goes by the name of Angelina.

Had this opera been written in recent times, all the delightful tricks of the tale, such as a pumpkin changing into a coach (a fat mouse transforming into a stocky coachman is stretching it too far, sort of a kafka-esque Gregor Samsa in reverse!) might have been included.

Along with Il Barbiere di Siviglia and L’Italiana in Algeri, Cenerentola is part of the standard repertoire of every opera house in the world. But this has not always been the case. Rossini, along with the other bel canto composers Bellini and Donizetti, went out of style during the first half of the 20th century. The full-throated singing style of the verismo school pioneered by Mascagni and exploited with consummate artistry by Puccini, as well as the Wagnerian idea of a music drama based on leitmotifs were all the rage then. It was Maria Callas who revived and popularized bel canto. Today, even the previously neglected Rossini works, like La Donna de Lago, Le Comte Ory and Semiramide, are increasingly being mounted in all the major opera houses.

The 1981 La Scala production by Jean-Pierre Ponnelle and conducted by Claudio Abbado, featured the German mezzo-soprano Frederika von Stade as Cenerentola and tenor Francisco Araiza as Don Ramiro. Von Stade gave a competent performance, although hardly a memorable one. She has a light voice, agile and supple enough to negotiate the complicated coloratura runs, roulades and scales with élan. She hit the right notes, but very cautiously, careful not to trip on the complicated phrases. There was neither much contrast, nor excitement in her vocal rendition. Because of this, the vocal acrobatics and fireworks expected for a Rossini were subdued. Von Stade also failed to imbue a sense of drama to her character. I found her interpretation tepid. I simply did not feel any sympathy towards her.

In contrast, Cecilia Bartoli’s performance with the Houston Grand Opera was electrifying and convincing, both vocally and dramatically. Bartoli’s voice is difficult to appreciate at times. The quality of her tone and timbre is akin to caviar, it is an acquired taste. Her virtuosity, however, is beyond reproach. It is astonishing and she clearly revels in it.

Araiza as the Prince, is in top form vocally. His arias in the second act, with all that high C’s, were pretty solid and impressive. No wobbling. No hesitation. No gasping of air after an extremely difficult number. His rapid vocalization and coloratura runs seemed effortless and leaves you breathless. He delivered a lucid interpretation to his florid lines.

The sisters gave overacting performances, reducing their acts to vulgar romps. Clorinda’s soprano voice was helplessly shrill, especially during the ensemble numbers. The bass numbers of Alidoro (the Prince’s tutor), and Don Magnifico (the stepdad) were well-executed, with deep resonance and rich textures. Also, I have never heard of a basso buffo sing the lyrics that fast before, it’s even faster than the Largo al factotum in Il Barbiere.

Dandini, as played by Claudio Desderi, disappointed big time. His character is supposed to provide much of the comic element. It’s just not there, unlike in the Houston production where Dandini, essayed by the incomparable Alessandro Corbelli, almost stole the show. He was obviously forcing his voice to perform the scales and runs, which he simply huffed and puffed throughout the tricky phrases. Trying to be funny while negotiating the difficult phrases, and catching his breath while spewing rapid-fire syllables at the same time, were clearly too much to ask from him.

The sets were spectacular, hands down. Teatro alla Scala di Milano spared no expense to mount this production. La Scala is the world’s most popular opera house, and among the oldest. It has a rich history. A lot of the world’s greatest operas were first mounted here. In the overture, the film takes the audience to a tour of the opera house: the magnificent architecture, the rich tapestry, the gold-gilded stairways (I think), and the imposing life-sized statues and busts of Italian composers.

Abbado is a Rossinian. He champions the work of Rossini and was instrumental in reviving Cenerentola, using the critical edition prepared by another Rossini revivalist Alberto Zedda. His conducting was precise, energetic although a bit mechanical and dull. This is, however, an all-too-common pitfall among Rossini conductors. The voices take precedence above all else, such that not much sparkle and color are generated from the orchestras, except perhaps, the clashing trombones and crashing cymbals, as the music hurtles to the familiar Rossini specialty, the ensemble crescendo.

Overall, this is a satisfying Cenerentola, although it could have done better with more dramatic and comic acting, as well as more assured and exciting bel canto singing.

Rediscovering a Lost Dragon

I was idly watching cable TV one lazy Sunday afternoon when I flicked the remote control to the Animal Planet Channel. What caught my attention was the feature on a rare monitor lizard known only to exist on Pollilo island, off the west coast of the Luzon mainland. It is clearly on the brink of extinction.

A biologist and nature conservationist Daniel Bennett, is on a mission to capture on film, for the first time ever, the elusive Butaan in the wild, a native monitor lizard related to the Indonesian Komodo dragon. The lizard is extremely shy, spending most of its time up in the canopy, or treetops, and rarely ventures to lower ground to forage for food, and only for a few precious minutes each time. Not much is known about the lizard on account of its habits. Its reproductive habits, its nesting places, for example remain a mystery to scientists. In fact, only a handful of the local people have ever seen the animal.

Relying on local trackers, as well as a support group of Filipino biologists and conservationists, Bennett’s team ventures into the jungle carrying state-of-the-art camera equipment. The lizard is extremely sensitive and mindful of its privacy. It will stay at the treetops for weeks on end if it feels lower ground is unsafe. Its keen sense of smell allows it to detect the slightest intrusions. It has complex warning signals in place which alerts other lizards to steer clear of a particular place, mainly by leaving behind a warning scent. Bennett’s team had to disguise and cover its cameras with ground mulch so as not to drive away the lizards.

The shoot required extremely careful planning which involved examining the animal’s droppings as well as bark scratches and trunk markings on its main food source, some palm tree variety endemic to Polillo.

Filming such an elusive creature required a lot of patience. Not until the mounted camouflaged cameras almost ran out of film did the team hit scientific pay dirt: in its full glory, the elusive lizard appeared shorter and darker than the local bayawak, or common monitor lizard found in Southern Luzon and which occasionally ends up in the exotic restaurants of Laguna. It possesses very powerful jaws, which allows it to pry open the extremely hard palm fruit.

What is astounding is the lizard’s spatial sense of moving in a straight line. It seems to navigate the forest floor using this scheme and pass the mapping information on to the other members or its species, you know, their way of sending text messages.

What I found fascinating as well was the fact that the cycle of life is fully in force here: the seeds from the fruit are indigestible even when it ends up as lizard poop, thereby distributing the seeds of the tree to other locations, much like the pollinating bees that drop the flower seeds to other places. A rare gecko can also be found living off this tree, dependent on it for food and shelter. The palm variety is supposed to grow mostly in coastal areas. The fact that the tree can be found in the jungle, inland, means the lizard holds the delicate balance of maintaining the life force of the tree and the animals that depend on it. You destroy one and the rest goes with it.

Unfortunately, this is the Philippines and you can bet your bottom dollar that bad news is just around the corner. The team got hold of a lizard rescued from illegal trappers and released it afterwards. The lizard’s diet is very limited, and it is almost certain that collectors of endangered species from all over the world who buy the Butaans will only end up with dead lizards anyway. In fact, despite tough laws against illegal trafficking of endangered species in the country, it is a sad fact that it is rarely enforced.

Bennett’s team is on a race against time to save this endangered species by capturing it on film, and hopefully bring its plight to the world’s attention. (I got to learn something about its Indonesian cousin, the Komodo dragon in the 90’s comedy hit, The Freshman starring Marlon Brando and Matthew Broderick). Illegal logging and land clearing operations for farming are driving these creatures deep into the forest. The further loss of habitat may further drive them to extinction.

The support team of a few dedicated Filipino biologists is expected to carry on documenting the plight of these shy creatures. The team had to devise ways and means to carry out the research without the benefit of high-tech equipment. It is another sad fact that it took a foreigner to spearhead the campaign to save the Butaans.

I once saw a clip on TV where a deer hunter, who was bragging about his hunting skills to a friend, was mauled by the shocked deer instead, if not for a lucky break. I was clearly rooting for the deer. It is all-too-often said, that we are stewards of this earth. Let us allow and help other creatures flourish as well. After all, we are all a part of this great eco-system, the cycle of life. (Play theme music from the Lion King).