In a 2/4 presto, ar-tùrotosca-nÌni would spell exactly into:

• a quaver's rest +

• another quaver on the first movement +

• four semiquavers on the second movement +

• definitely two full quarters, or a quarter and an eight, filling up the whole following bar.

   

I would imagine such tempo beaten in one - tempo tagliato - at least by the Maestro himself:

In what I guess would be a 4/4 andante, saraga-mArro would instead spell,

just as exactly, as

• an eights-triplet upbeat +

• two more eights or, more solemnly, two quarters

(or also a quarter plus a quaver and a quaver's rest: depending on the dramaturgy):

Try and explain to an Italian who thinks he's speaking or singing pretty much any other language that he's sneaking in shadow vowels everywhere in order to stay in his acoustic comfort zone and maintain his familiar legato at all times.

Hear below the supreme Maestro thunder out:

"LUCCHə ÆTTə MII, TÆSTE DI CATTSO!"

And, towards the end of the video:

"Trìpəlættə, trìpəlættə!

NNNAO!!!

Naottə caòrræcchətə!"

Legato is such a natural condition for us that we never bothered having a real graphic correspondent for the constantly used vowel schwa (making the spelling of Neapolitan and any Southern Italian dialect impossible).

Try and make anybody, once they are alphabetised, hear something they don't see.

On the other hand, us Italians have an obvious, exact feel of the triplet, because of the structure of our language.

(Supremely Neapolitans, indeed, think of the tarantella rhythm:

Neapolitans mostly speak in triplets and the very name of Napoli - is a triplet.)

Because a triplet, a group of 3, feels such only against

- and makes sense only within- a binary pacing of Time.

And Italian is basically parole piane or paroxytone words (mostly bi-syllabic)

accented on the penultimate: casa, amore, mamma, andiamo;

coloured by a bunch of parole sdrucciole or pro-paroxytone,

accented on the pre-penultimate: semplice, tavolo, aopera.

The rest are basically exceptions:

either Latin words and older Italian parole piane that commonly got cut in the usage

(called tronche, oxitone: per hoc --> però; plus --> più; vado --> vò; habeo --> ho)

or long, composed words, mostly verbal forms plus monosyllabic pronouns

(called bisdrucciole - you guys don't even have a word for it: lævatelo, spiægamelo).

Italian became and stayed the language of Music writing because it was simpler to spell.

Put black on white, it resulted exact, truly close to the acoustic real thing.

Italian was at one time beautiful - that is, internationally easy to hear - as well as practical - easy to note, to picture, to portray, to render in its perspective thanks to its binary chiaroscuro and dramatic contrasts.

Italian words are like Lego bricks: you have just a few sizes, each with a negative/yin and a positive/yang, but by connecting them you can build virtually anything that is understandable by anybody.

But what is obvious for us isn't for others.

What is mostly taken for Italian folklore, in Toscanini's tantrums, was a deep, genuine sorrow and frustration for the impossibility to make justice to the real thing.

He didn't work for the audience, the singers or the orchestra,

but to protect Opera from the audience, the singers and the international orchestras he conducted without being able to speak any English or other foreign languages at all.

Can we blame him?

... and so do I, no offence.

Because OH! - that real thing! 

Is just the best thing.

I am trying to make that impossibility possible, day by day, lego by lego.

Have a nice Sunday,

La Maestra

“extremely good at this” (Graham Vick)

"a fantastic coach, extremely helpful for young singers as well as experienced ones" (Barbara Hannigan)

“bringing the language, the music and the characters to life” (Paul Nilon)

“the foundation of a role” (Jennifer Rowley)

“magic conjunction of vocal technique, musical interpretation and building of the character: a radical rethinking of the act of singing” (Anna Piroli)

“incredible breadth of knowledge” (Heather Lowe)

“magic effect on the voice and our art form” (Jessica Harper)

“opened up a world” (Giulia Zaniboni)

“180 degree turn in my work with the singers” (Theophilos Lambrianidis)

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“potentially life-changing” (Amy Payne)

“brings life to operatic drama” (Maria Sanner)

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“thoroughly prepared and professional” (Marie Kuijken)

“truly unique method and insights” (Jasmine Law)

“a lingual and linguistic genius” (Peter Tantsits)

“entirely devoted to the art of Opera singing” (Ida Falk Winland)

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