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|  | Feature Chasing Norma: An Operatic Odyssey |
There she was. I had known her once. In fact she was my first ever. It was a chance encounter, and honestly, I can't even recall what attracted me to her. Not yet twenty-one, totally inexperienced, my childlike naiveté granted me the courage that would allow me an audience with her. There were so many others like her. Some younger, some thinner, perhaps prettier, but there was something about her face that told me that she was the one, and it would be she who would introduce me to a world I had never been to before: the world of OPERA! Of course, years had passed since our first encounter, and surely over time my tastes had changed. I hesitated before I was about to click. The pause seemed eternal, and then, just as I was about to depress the key, I noticed the fine print stating: "Out of Stock, Special Order." Now the lure of the unattainable made me desire her all the more! Renata Scotto, Norma, druid priestess, would not be in my mailbox in 5 business days via Amazon.com, no matter how much special shipping I paid for. We had met thirty-two years ago at my church. A small local parish named King Karol of the L.P. This small local record store had become the target of my daily pilgrimage after school. This is where my collection began. Every week, I would browse the bins of classical records, usually making my totally uneducated selections based on cover-art over content. Under the bins, shelved like library books were the boxed sets. I would genuflect, and remain on my knees pulling them out sleeve by sleeve starting with the A's, working my way down the alphabet. So it was early on in my search that I encountered Bellini’s bel canto masterpiece, Norma. There she was on the cover, Renata Scotto, druid priestess, divine goddess, forbidden lover of Pollione, yet the mother of his children. Enraptured by a silvery light, gazing toward heaven, hands outstretched, her angelic beauty masked a persona that I had to discover. Contemplating her image on a webpage three decades later, I questioned why I had ever let her go. Could it be that I no longer had a turntable to spin her on? Yes, that was it! Many years ago I had entered the age of the digital compact disc, ecstatic that I would no longer have to gingerly place a needle into a microscopic groove only to hear it skip and pop across its black vinyl surface no matter how carefully I positioned it. Over those thirty years I had morphed into a new strain of hybrid. I was no longer solely an operaphile; I was now an audiophile as well, and with that mantle came a set of criteria that would severely limit my listening pleasures. Any prospective purchase had to be in stereo. It could be re-mastered, but preferably from the original master tape so as to eliminate agonizing "tape-hiss." Lastly, it could not be a "live" performance for hearing footsteps across a stage, fits of coughing or sneezing, or applause, at moments appropriate or not, was insufferable. That meant certainly no early Callas, no Muti from LaScala and certainly nothing pirated. So my quest was to begin--to find a copy of the Renata Scotto Norma (with Tatiana Troyanos as Adalgisa), conducted by her guru at the time, James Levine. It started with a Google search that of course yielded Amazon.com as the prime result. I went back to that page and noticed that she was available, but "USED." At ninety-five dollars, I began to wonder if my recollections of the voice would really live up to my expectations. Sure she was rare, but for ninety-five dollars I could have steak tartare at The Four Seasons with a flute of Dom P. on the side! At towerrecords.com the disc was available, but as an "IMPORTED SPECIAL ORDER." At only nineteen dollars, I ordered it immediately, only to get an e-mail two weeks later informing me that Madame Scotto's visa had expired and she did not qualify for political asylum. At the time of my search, James Levine was conducting the Boston Symphony. While exiting stage right, he had fallen, injuring his rotator cuff. He was flown to Back on-line, I came across a Yahoo group of opera lovers who traded copies of their beloved recordings. The legality of this fleetingly crossed my mind as I registered with the group. I posted a request for my desired disc, which then instantly flew into the e-mail box of every registered member. Whether ten or ten thousand members constituted the group never occurred to me, but I went to bed anticipating good news the next morning. Eight hours later I opened eighty-three emails from around the globe with requests so obscure and esoteric that I wasn't even sure if they referred to operas. If the trade were to be made, I would have to have something equally obscure and desirable to offer this faction. Nobody in this league would be interested in a studio recording of Aida sung by Price, be it Leontyne or Margaret, unless it included a revised bonus track of "O Patria Mia" taken from a newly discovered monograph score found in the attic of Toscanini's daughter Wally. I only had the Solti version. Back at Amazon.com, I noticed a feature I had never encountered before called "Amazon Marketplace." This feature reverses roles, where the buyer posts the unattainable item he or she desires, specifically listing the acceptable condition of, in this case, the CD, and the top price he or she would be willing to pay for it. I thought it was worth a try; so after registering all of my vital statistics, I stated that I wanted the Levine compact disc of Bellini's Norma with Renata Scotto and Tatiana Troyanos in "very good to excellent condition" for no more than $35.00. She could be "USED," for I surely didn't expect a virgin disc at that price, but "damaged goods" were certainly unacceptable! A week later while opening my e-mail as my day routinely began, an unfamiliar e-mail address caught my eye with "Norma" as the subject. Upon opening it, I was elated to see that she was coming home--and for only thirty-five dollars, shipping included. Since one does not know if the parcel is arriving from I returned to the Amazon site to look at his seller's history; a sort of Zagat guide of past Internet transaction experiences. While the seller did have some positive feedback for larger transactions, none of the smaller purchases were ever consummated. He offered timely credits, but that's not what we wanted. We wanted our Bellini, Rossini and Donizetti. I tried to reach him through his contact numbers, but my voicemails were never responded to. It seemed that this very creative doctoral student had invented a way of creating float in his checking account at the expenditure of a vast pool of operaphiles. I just couldn't believe that anyone in possession of a semi-obscure Bellini recording could be less than honest, no less a pseudo-serial extortionist! He could have at least sent me a split of champagne with some peach nectar on the side as a concession. Resources waning I considered giving up the search altogether to become a Balletomane. What was coming over me? Could Tchaikovsky replace Bellini? Could music without words stir my soul? Could watching young men in tights replace Eaglen and Pavarotti's embrace while harmonizing in Turandot? Nevertheless, I decided to give it one more try, and lo and behold, my mouse clicked on a link that transported me to ArkivMusic, a company that owns the rights to a multitude of out-of-print recordings, which can be burned for you on a CD-R, wrapped in cover art minus the libretto. For $29.98, all one hundred and fifty three digital minutes would ship within 24 hours. "Casta Diva" would be mine by Saturday night! I informed my doorman that I was expecting a high profile guest. In order to evade the paparazzi and not bring attention to herself, she would be arriving by UPS, in a plain brown wrapper with no return address. He was instructed to escort her to my door, ring the bell, and then leave straight away. I spent all of Saturday preparing for her arrival. I started by firing up my dual mono-block Macintosh amps to warm up the tubes that had been replaced one month prior allowing for ample "burn-in" time. This would ensure the honey-like sound I so desired to saturate my listening room. I then repositioned my speakers, fine-tuning the angle of toe-in so that the "sweet spot" targeted my overstuffed cranberry velvet listening chair. I checked all the connections of my newly purchased cables, whose golden plugs and posts promised to deliver the purest, most unadulterated and transparent sound ever heard. Now all I could do was wait. Around seven thirty that evening the doorbell chimed, signaling that our moment had arrived. After a pregnant pause to ensure the doorman's departure, I slowly turned the doorknob; our first encounter had to be unescorted. Opening the door my eyes quickly darted to the floor only to spot an unadorned brown envelope with slightly frayed corners at my feet. Picking it up, I brought the package to my listening room and tore it open releasing her from the suffocating bubble-wrapped prison. At seven forty-five, I placed the first of two discs in my CD player, and closed its drawer. The laser read the disc and locked on to the first track awaiting my command. Taking the remote control and program notes in hand, I crossed the room to my newly positioned club chair and settled down in anticipation of the night to come. At seven fifty-five my houselights dimmed, precisely the moment that the chandeliers at the Metropolitan Opera House began to rise. Maestro Levine made his entrance into the pit greeted by boisterous applause. Turning his back to the audience, a hush fell over the theatre as the first notes of Bellini's militaristic prelude assaulted the auditorium. The moment of truth had arrived. Would it be ecstasy or agony? I pressed play. But as the laser began to read the ninth track and the opening bars of "Casta Diva" streamed into the room and melted over my body, any reservations I might have had were instantly expunged. The sheer beauty of this music, this voice, this Norma with a soul touched me like no other. The hallowed triumvirate of Scotto, Troyanos, and Levine were taking me on a musical journey I thought familiar, but on this voyage I would reach a new destination. Was it the speakers, the acoustics of my apartment, the re-mastering to disc that made this music sound new again? No, this was just sublime music performed by a magical group of artists of an era only reachable through this plastic medium. It was not from a golden age before my time, but from the golden age of my time. Oh how the Internet has changed our world, shrinking the globe and allowing us almost instant indulgences whenever we choose. But sometimes it's not the technology, it's the chase…and this chase was worth every moment! I had reached bel canto heaven; my Norma had come home.
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