This post consists of me wallowing in Mozart fan-boy bliss by extolling my five favorite arias from the Mozart catalogue. First, a few clarifications:
1. I’m not labeling these the five “greatest” arias; the word “favorite” is chosen deliberately.
2. They are listed in no particular order.
3. It’s not my aim to select evenly from all the mature Mozart operas. I don’t care about “balance”, so don’t feel rained on if an opera (or an aria) you love is neglected. C’mon, they’re all fabulous, right?
Right. So the list:
1. Mi tradi quell’alma ingrata, Don Giovanni, Act 2, scene 2; character: Donna Elvira
A few weeks ago someone on Facebook began a thread about opera, or arias, or Mozart (I forget). My contribution was a few glowing sentences about “Mi tradi”. I was pleased to see a reply from chief Washington Post chief music critic Ann Midgette in which she expressed her enthusiastic agreement.
This aria is a profound exploration of human nature packed into a little more than seven minutes, including the recitative. It’s beautiful, but not because of exquisite melody or luscious harmonies; it’s beautiful because of its emotional truth.
Donna Elvira finds herself in a highly conflicted state. She’s angry with Giovanni; she's finally wise to his lies and all-around villainy, yet at the same time she's still obsessed with him. All this is reflected in da Ponte's text (translation from aria-database.com):
That ungrateful soul betrayed me,
O God, how unhappy he made me!
But, though betrayed and abandoned,
I still know pity for him.
When I feel my suffering,
My heart speaks of vengeance;
But when I see the danger he's in,
My heart beats for him.
Now to explain the aria's greatness. The text above depicts a woman whose mind is stuck in a repeating pattern of alternating spasms of hate and love. Her mind is running in a loop and she can't make it stop. This circular pattern of thinking is perfectly captured in Mozart's musical setting. In performance, the arc-shaped contours of both orchestral accompaniment and Elvira's vocal line sound circular:
Here's a video of "Mi tradi" with Cecelia Bartoli
2. Vedro mentr'io sospiro, Le nozze di Figaro, Act 3, scene 1; character: Count Almaviva
I've both accompanied this aria at the piano and sung it onstage when I was cast as the Count in a college production of the opera. I find it one of the most thrilling numbers in all of Mozart.
In this case, I love the way in which Almaviva's foolish pettiness is made plain at the same time that his music never lets us forget that there is a truly aristocratic side to his nature. Yes, he's consumed with rage that his servant might have the upper hand in their duel of wits and wooing, but there is a magnificence in his tirade that hints of his potential. He could be a great man if he could overcome his flaws. When I say "aristocratic" I don't mean it in the sense of an inherited title and a life of privilege; I mean the sort of aristocracy that is the birthright of all human beings in our capacity for fierce passions and lofty achievements.
At this moment, however, the Count's over-abundance of testosterone is not leading him to create art, lead soldiers in battle or fight injustice; it's got him fixated on sex: lust for Susanna and jealousy toward his wife.
The music turns from sly scheming to angry raging. The vocal line leaps and blusters with athletic power. I personally find myself hyper-aware of Almaviva's larger-than-life personality and the animalistic vitality of his affect. If he could just re-focus this aristocratic magnificence toward a better objective, he might be one of history's great leaders.
But then we'd be deprived of one of the great comedies.
Final noteworthy detail: in the closing section of the aria at the words Già la speranza sola, the accompaniment features a kind of tennis match between competing versions of a short motif: a lower version with a trill ending with a descending note alternating with a higher version with the trill followed by an upward step. In performance, it sounds like dueling thrusts and parries of a sword-fight. This is the Count imagining himself in a duel of wits with those he suspects of conspiring against him.
It's VERY effective.
Thomas Hampson captures all this nicely in this video.
3. Per pietà, ben mio perdona, Così fan tutte Act 2, scene 2; character: Fiordiligi
This opera has a lot of detractors, including no less a musician than Beethoven. Some, like Your Humble Blogger, love it dearly; others love the music but find the libretto deplorable; still others dismiss the entire work. "Sexist"; "trivial"; "cartoonish"; and other derogatory labels are pretty common.
I've defended the opera in previous posts from years ago, so I won't rehash all of that here. But I'll note that part of the unique charm of this work - as well as what makes it so very Mozartian - is the manner in which inane farce, only slightly above the level of The Three Stooges in terms of humor, gradually evolves into situations that force us to take it seriously. In spite of the ridiculous premise, complex feelings become engaged in us in spite of ourselves.
Nowhere is this phenomenon more on display than in Fiordiligi's "Per pietà". In contrast, her first-act aria "Come scoglio" has a more comic slant. There, Fiordiligi's stiff-arming of her would-be "Albanian" suitor is over the top, her leaps from one extreme of vocal range to the other demonstrating amusing "fortitude". In the coda, staccato triplets are a comic expression of scorn.
But by Act 2, everything has changed. The fact is that some (many?) healthy young people with a strong libido find it difficult to avoid being attracted to an available partner, regardless of prior commitments. It's just a part of life people have to learn to negotiate. Fiordiligi's epiphany in "Per pietà" is the realization that not acting on such attraction is the tricky part.
This aria is a match for any of the most profound of the slow movements in Mozart's piano concertos. Gone is the affect of farce; this is music from the heart - a broken heart, at that. Fiordiligi is heart-broken to realize that her attraction amounts to a betrayal of her fiancé Guglielmo. The initial section explores the bottom of the soprano register, reflecting her abject humility. The vocal writing again features a dare-devil leap from a bottom note to a high G sharp, but it has no exaggerated comic effect. Instead, it depicts something between a hope and a prayer as the woman desperately wishes her lack of faithfulness to be hidden forever.
I also love the orchestration: the horn obbligato; a passage for a choir of winds; a wistful clarinet solo; all these add pathos to the recap of the opening section. The also lend an important element to the aria; namely, dignity. As Fiordiligi grapples with intensely painful feelings, probably for the first time in her life, we see that, at her core, she is a woman of genuine dignity of spirit.
Mozart's aim is to catch us off-guard, just as the wayward lovers are caught off guard when a joke turns out to be pretty complicated.
There is searing earnestness in Dorothea Röschmann's performance in this video.
4. Non so più cosa son, Le nozze di Figaro, Act 1, character: Cherubino
Women: do you remember when you discovered boys? Men: do you remember when you discovered girls? Remember?
I do. Mozart did. That first rush of sexual awareness; of the combined confusion and excitement at changes in one's body; of the miracle of attraction; of the onset of obsession...
,,,it all sounds like this music.
The music gushes; it surges; it sighs; it erupts.
I've always felt that, somehow, this short aria sounds more "modern" than other staples of 18th-century Viennese classicism. It has none of the understated subtlety of the Countess's "Dove sono", for example. The way in which strong emotions are restrained in Rosina's prayer to the gods are vintage Classical style; the depths of her despair are suggested rather than trumpeted.
Not Cherubino! No, his sexual frenzy is "in your face"; it's blatant; the music is erotic and practically graphic in the portrayal of lust.
It always works for me. I'm not a fan of overly-delicate performances; I APPROVE of the way in which Joyce DiDonato lets loose with some surging vocalism in this video.
One more? Indulge me - I'm having fun here.
5. Madamina, il catalogo è questo, Don Giovanni, Act 1; character: Leporello.
The famous "Catalogue aria" has a lot going for it. One is the irony that whereas the Don is the title character, his servant Leporello, nominally a "supporting role", has arias that are much more showy than those assigned to Giovanni. The "Champagne aria" is a momentary firecracker, and "Deh, vieni alla finestra" is a refined serenade. Don Giovanni is, in Hitchcockian terms, a "McGuffin"; that is to say, the "thing pursued by all the other characters". Some are pursuing amorously, others to kill him, but he's the force that motivates all the others.
But this here "Madamina" - wow, wow, wow. It displays - and challenges - pretty much every facet of a bass-baritone instrument, from patter to suave sustained lines, to bursts of power.
It also has comedy on two separate levels. Of course, Leporello has numerous opportunities to inject comic color into his singing, from sly insinuations to his delight in revealing the extent of his master's escapades. HOWEVER - the real key to a successful performance lies in the character who never sings a note during the number: his unwilling audience, Donna Elvira. The sky is the limit for the actress playing this role; her mute reactions to the evolving revelations make or break the aria. Elvira must not simply sit (or stand) throughout the entire recital of statistics with an continuously troubled expression. She can't rely on Leporello to do all the work/ She must carefully plan a series of reactions that will A) be comedic, and B) help define her character.
When the singer and the listener are both on top of their game, then "Madamina" becomes something special, even unique in opera.
Two other points to admire. First, the cruelty in Leporello's treatment of this naïve woman. We need to see that this is where the servant is at this point in his journey. As we know, by the time the "dramma giocosa" has played out, he will vow to seek a better master. He'll have changed.
Second, in case you never noticed, the orchestration is not just lively and sparkling; it participates in Leporello's humor. Notice the descending staccato scales after each total number of lovers is disclosed in the various countries. In case it never occurred to you, the orchestra is laughing, both at the Don's outrageous statistics and perhaps even at Elvira's dismay.
This video with Luca Pisaroni has a superior vocal performance, with just the right edge of callous nastiness in Leporello's affect. It also has perhaps the most novel "reaction" from the actor playing Elvira I can remember seeing. Watch for it - it involves a trash can.
Writing this post was a really enjoyable way to spend a Saturday afternoon. My only regret is to have omitted all the other Mozart gems that are close to my heart.
The famous "Catalogue aria" has a lot going for it. One is the irony that whereas the Don is the title character, his servant Leporello, nominally a "supporting role", has arias that are much more showy than those assigned to Giovanni. The "Champagne aria" is a momentary firecracker, and "Deh, vieni alla finestra" is a refined serenade. Don Giovanni is, in Hitchcockian terms, a "McGuffin"; that is to say, the "thing pursued by all the other characters". Some are pursuing amorously, others to kill him, but he's the force that motivates all the others.
But this here "Madamina" - wow, wow, wow. It displays - and challenges - pretty much every facet of a bass-baritone instrument, from patter to suave sustained lines, to bursts of power.
It also has comedy on two separate levels. Of course, Leporello has numerous opportunities to inject comic color into his singing, from sly insinuations to his delight in revealing the extent of his master's escapades. HOWEVER - the real key to a successful performance lies in the character who never sings a note during the number: his unwilling audience, Donna Elvira. The sky is the limit for the actress playing this role; her mute reactions to the evolving revelations make or break the aria. Elvira must not simply sit (or stand) throughout the entire recital of statistics with an continuously troubled expression. She can't rely on Leporello to do all the work/ She must carefully plan a series of reactions that will A) be comedic, and B) help define her character.
When the singer and the listener are both on top of their game, then "Madamina" becomes something special, even unique in opera.
Two other points to admire. First, the cruelty in Leporello's treatment of this naïve woman. We need to see that this is where the servant is at this point in his journey. As we know, by the time the "dramma giocosa" has played out, he will vow to seek a better master. He'll have changed.
Second, in case you never noticed, the orchestration is not just lively and sparkling; it participates in Leporello's humor. Notice the descending staccato scales after each total number of lovers is disclosed in the various countries. In case it never occurred to you, the orchestra is laughing, both at the Don's outrageous statistics and perhaps even at Elvira's dismay.
This video with Luca Pisaroni has a superior vocal performance, with just the right edge of callous nastiness in Leporello's affect. It also has perhaps the most novel "reaction" from the actor playing Elvira I can remember seeing. Watch for it - it involves a trash can.
Writing this post was a really enjoyable way to spend a Saturday afternoon. My only regret is to have omitted all the other Mozart gems that are close to my heart.
