Second Thoughts

No, no, no.  La Traviata is not merely a badly-edited story set to music, which is what I thought (and documented) in 2021.

It’s an iconic bel canto opera, with the elements assembled masterfully, a top-level paradigm for opera, illustrating the ideal. And that is what I think in 2024.

But there are a few lessons here, which I have been able to discover in 3½ years, while I watched Traviata four more times, including three from the live audience. (Thanks to Houston, Seattle, and Santa Fe, and recordings from New York and Monte Carlo.)

Get to Know it First

The first observation is, not everybody’s going to understand and like this show, the first time around.  Kudos to all of you who loved it on first hearing, but that’s not me.  In 2021, in fact, I had seen exactly three operas in my life, and I was still getting used to how all this goes down.

Probably other beginners will sympathize with my intolerance of unrealistic plot twists, and wonder “why all the drama?” when a fairly tractable challenge baffles everyone on the stage. And who besides me can remember the days when we couldn’t determine who all the characters are, and how they were related to everyone else?  Because those things matter, if you want to enjoy the whole show.

And we aren’t even talking about the music yet.  Come on, let’s all say the truth: the first time through on any song (opera or not) can sometimes be a yawner, but then, with familiarity, it can become a lifelong favorite.  (Elton John. Still some stinkers there, actually.)

So I say, if you are going to hit La Traviata cold, like I did three years ago, keep your expectations low, and don’t brace yourself to be bowled over by brilliance, just because that is the reaction of the rest of the world. Here are some better ideas for beginners:

• Learn more about the story line than I did, in advance, rather than trying to work out all those details while they play out on the stage. Find out what a “traviata” is, for instance, as I did not.

• Ask someone to point out three or four specific pieces of music, to explain why they like them, and to poke you in the dark each time one of those great songs starts up. Here’s my short list, without the explanations or the poking.  (There are plenty of others, but this is a start.)

  • The drinking song, close to the beginning.

  • The father-in-law’s song about Provence.

  • The sad song at the end about how she’s going to die.  (This one is really a bit mawkish, no? Maybe I’ve heard it too many times.)

• In fact, it will probably help if you ask a friend to explain the opera and its salient points to you over beer, while you’re still out in the lobby.  Laymen’s terms for laymen, is what helps. (Years ago, I had prepped by listening to what was probably a professional lecture, aimed at people who knew much more about this opera than I did, so it didn’t help me much. Good intent, wrong resource.)

The Craft of the Opera Composer

Second, let’s recall that age-old definition of opera: it’s “the use of music to amplify the communication of emotions within a story” (Fuller, 2023). So, sure, you can read a book, and there you can read that the guy loves the girl -- fine.  Or you can see it played out on the stage, where you can hear him saying he loves the girl, and behaving that way -- better. 

Or, you can have him standing there singing his heart out for two minutes, and this can help you feel his devotion more strongly than if he just states the facts. A big tenor solo isn’t for everybody, we get that, but for some of us, that kind of music takes the whole thing up a few notches, communicating better than a book or a play.

So the composer’s goal is to match the music with how the characters are feeling, and to try to make you feel that, too, as you listen. What I started to think was, Verdi has this skill nailed, and he uses it extremely well in Traviata. The story is full of emotions, and the composer sets up music to fit every situation, every scene, every person. Listen closely (or take notes, like I did,) and you’ll see: nobody lays in the touching music as effectively as Verdi.  The guy’s a magician.

Again, the impact of the music is better if you know what is going to happen. After a few runs, when I heard the overture, I could feel not only the sadness, but also the doom and gloom. Creepy screeching like that means she is going to die -- now I get it! Good work, Giuseppe.

Easy Enough to Take In

Couple other things that make La Traviata a winner, one of the top picks, still running strong after 175 years…

Example: In spite of the “fallen woman” theme and the low standards of healthcare, the story is relatable, something most of us can sympathize with. I could be one of those characters, a sympathy that I miss with Otello and Aida, which are probably more lifelike to people who are kings of foreign countries, or top generals in their armies, or the stunning women in their lives.

Here’s another: La Traviata moves right along as a story, and the total “curtain open” time is something like an hour and a half. Always something going on in this tale, with breaks for lightweight party scenes amid the misery.  I’ve started complaining about the slow-moving late-night runs of Forza, Trovatore, and Don Carlos, but with Traviata (and Rigoletto, for another), things keep clipping along, everyone still wide awake. (Or I Masnadieri – yikes. You won’t be able to sleep for hours.)

One more thing that helps Traviata (and I think this is true, without doing a detailed study of everything): I like all these characters because they are all essentially trying their best, but they all make mistakes anyway.  How refreshing. 

No superheroes here, no dastardly plotters and assassins. Violetta knows she’s kind of screwed up her life; Alfredo goes nuts and throws the money at his girlfriend; they both mismanage their household budget; and the dad botches everything badly when he tries to split up the kids. Ha! This could really happen! Boccanegra and Ballo: no that couldn’t really happen (but still, those are pretty hot stories).

Even More for 2027

Matthew Aucoin mentions early in his book “The Impossible Art” that he’s seen more than fifty productions of La Traviata, and I have moved since 2021 from viewing that as ridiculous, to today being quite open to seeing this piece again and again, myself. 

I don’t care anymore about how Vi and Alf planned to refinance their lives, although I still fault old Giorgio for being short-sighted and overbearing.  (Plus, he should have spoken to his son about the family issues, not his son’s girlfriend – weird.) 

These days, I always want to see how well the tenor sings the drinking song, and how they will do the party scenes and the “foreign entertainers”. I like to see how they set up the tension when Alfredo shows up, unwanted, at the party, and to see just how sad that last scene is.  Now, I know there’s a four-minute string interlude before Act 3 – took me quite a while to notice that, but it sets the mood extremely well.

In addition to the three I listed earlier, there are several other places where I think Verdi did a great job with the music as a way to amplify the communication of the emotions, and it’s an amazement to experience his top-level artistry. So I probably won’t see Traviata fifty times, but it will always be on the top of my list, and now I know why.