The woman sitting next to me fell asleep. I wish I could have done the same. But I have no idea how she did it.
With the flashing lights and the mess of sound that I sat through on Saturday night, I spent most the time thinking about how impressed I was with this woman and wishing I wasn’t in Cahn Auditorium having to endure the “opera” that was the East Village Opera Company.
Many people in the audience loved it. There was the man in front of me slapping his thigh to the beat, the couple behind me singing every word of every song and even screaming girls in the section over.
I, however, thought I was going to have a seizure.
It all started when I got tickets to the wrong show for the wrong weekened. Instead of seeing Niccolo Piccini’s La Buona Figliuola for my Italian class, I ended up spending a good chunk of my Saturday night watching a wannabe rock star and his band of merry men (and a lady) “rock out” to their own and definitely unique versions of classic opera songs including selections from Madama Butterfly and Carmen, which they modernize by mixing rock with opera.
It was a weird thing to hear. I think that Puccini or Bizet would roll over in their graves if they heard their music now. Maybe it’s because I’m not classically trained and don’t have as much musical knowledge as my music-major roommate who got me the free tickets (I would have been pissed if I had ended up wasting $5.50 on this), but I feel like the Company took the noise in rock and the noise in opera and mixed them together creaing a giant blob of a sound. There was no middle. I’m all for the mixing of genres. However, this was a bad mixture. Also, I know I’m young but damn it, it was just way too loud. I don’t know how the old people in the audience (who made up the majority), got through it.
Now in the beginning, I thought the show might be good (like I said, I’m all for genre mixing). It started with a decent rendition of Mozart’s “Overture” from Le Nozze di Figaro. Then the singers happened.
First things first, I like to think that I’m not a superficial person. But the male vocalist comes on stage donning tight black pants with a brown shirt and I couldn’t help but judge. Fashion rule number one about not wearing black with brown — completely broken. But I got past that.
That is, until about the third or fourth song in when he made the audience “help him out” and clap their hands to the beat. From then on, I knew there was nothing that could save the show for me. The clapping happened again a couple more songs in and by this time, my ears were buzzing, I had a full-on headache and watery eyes from the smoke they had poured into the auditorium to heighten the drama.
Sadly, the clapping wasn’t even the worst thing Mr. Tyley Ross did though. My advice to him for the future: Hire a choreographer. They can’t be that expensive. Through the entirety of the show and despite the number of pleas I tried to send him telepathically, the man thought he was a true rocker and wouldn’t stop bouncing, banging his bald head and punching the air. I know he was singing Italian arias, but I don’t think that even Italians gesticulate that much.
He had a good voice though. So did the female vocalist. I didn’t mind her as much. But she wasn’t wearing shoes and I don’t know why. I mean, a pair of cheap flip-flops would have sufficed. Just because the bare-foot thing works for Jack Johnson doesn’t mean that it works for everyone.
To top off the strangeness of the event, the Company received a standing ovation at the end. I got up and clapped along while I put on my coat and thankfully prepared to leave. Then the worst thing happened — they returned on stage for an encore. After sitting through another song, in which they butchered Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” and pretended to be rappers, the lady sitting next to me woke up and I bolted out of the auditorium.
And no, unfortunately, I did not buy any of their merchandise or wait to meet them and get autographs and pictures.
I’m sure that each person that was on that stage is incredibly talented on their own and I can appreciate what they are trying to do. But to me, it sounded like each person was in a competition to make as much noise as possible.
Sorry East Village Opera Company, and anyone that truly enjoys them, but from now on, if I hear the word “cacophony,” you will be the first thing that comes to mind.