In 19th century Italy, many small towns had their own opera houses where local talent sang the operatic “hits” of the day. Between 1730 and 1930, 570 opera houses were opened in Italy. Many were named after the composer Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901). Italians immigrating to the United States brought with them their love of opera and opera houses. My grandfather was among them. He was an opera singer and an entrepreneur. He owned Verdi Hall in South Philadelphia which opened in 1905 where my aunt sang as a 9-year-old on her way to the Metropolitan Opera in New York where she sang from 1935-1942. Grandfather had a career on the stage and is credited with making the first operatic records ever made that are associated with a singer’s name. These were recordings he did for Emile Berliner on March 4th, 1896.
Having grown up steeped in opera, my father loved opera and shared his love with his children in interesting ways. He had a collection of opera records that he played over and over. He cherished a recording of Renato Tebaldi singing Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. If my memory is accurate, he had a reel-to-reel tape version which he would play on the high-fidelity system. He would play the music at a bold (loud to very loud) volume and then either sing the libretto or translate it for his children who were gathered around to listen. It is very sad opera, and my father would sometimes include his personal stage directions and commentary. These operatic sessions were exhausting.
Puccini’s one-act opera Gianni Schicchi, a favorite of mine, would really bring out the stage director in my father. This short opera has one of the most beautiful arias “O mio babbino caro.” This gorgeous piece of music is often sung by itself, not just with the opera. Gianni Schicchi is a short and not very complex opera. My father took advantage of this and would stage the entire opera in the living room, moving his children around as props and characters. We never had to learn lines or sing. We just had to learn which character we were and what was the scene and where to stand. Then, my father would tell the story, translating it from the Italian, as the music played and the singers sang. It was fun, but it was not your standard fare even in the 1950s.
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