DISCLAIMER:

Reading this magic email may turn you into the actual owner of a physical item MADE (in Italy) BY AN OPERATIC CHARACTER.

Yup, you heard me.

Are you ready for it?

Then click on this you're reading and let's go.

So... who the hell is this Guccio, right?

Huh.

Guccio is an operatic tiny-tiny cameo appearance.

He's one of the two witnesses that a notary brings along when called in by a florentine family (the Donati) for the re-dictation of the will an old uncle (Buoso), who unfortunately happens to be just dead and must therefore be impersonated by a professional conman, a historical character straight from Dante's Inferno, the witty

In this last opera from the Trittico - which is the one and only comedy ever set to music by Puccini - the notary's witness Guccio is identified as "tintore" (a person who dyes fabrics, or leather); whereas the other one, Pinellino, is a calzolaio, a shoemaker.

Since specifying their names and respective jobs is absolutely irrelevant to the ends of the plot (all they get to say is a couple of "Povero Buoso!" each), the mention of both things, their name and profession, must be significant in some other way.

First of all, it is common knowledge that the tintori were socially disreputed: to this day, "tinto", in Sicilian, as well as in other Southern Italian dialects, stands for "evil".

Secondly, whereas the name Pinellino certainly derives from that of the most righteous man and saint, Giuseppe (still in usage: Giuseppino --> Pino --> Pinello --> Pinellino),

"Guccio" in Italian isn't a common given name at all: in fact it counts just two examples in history as such, both in Tuscany.

For, in the most traditional Tuscan fashion, "Guccio" was - just as Galileo (Galilei) or Luzzasco (Luzzaschi) - a first name carved out of an existing last name: precisely, it was the singular form of the last name GUCCI.

You may have heard it somewhere already.

In known history there is just one "Guccio" - the Guccio, which is why Puccini needs nothing but his first name to identify him unequivocally:

Guccio Gucci, the very founder of the Gucci house and brand, who, after having been in the luxury leather bags business for a few decades, finally opened his first brand store in Florence in 1921 (less than three years past the Met's Schicchi premiere in New York).

Considered Puccini's addiction to elegance, luxury and fashion - and not to mention the frequency, the duration and the geographic spans of his constant trips - the Maestro from Lucca must have spent quite a few hundreds lire shopping for suitcases in the nearby Florence, so the two must have become such good friends (especially considered the "tintore" sarcasm) that the composer bothered being the first advertiser and exporter across the ocean of what was to become one of the leading fashion brands in the world.

HOW ABOUT THAT.

By the way, it is due to the founder's initials - GG, Guccio Gucci - that the brand to this day has two Gs in the logo.

Technically, there was four of them in his full name: Guccio Giovanbattista Giacinto... Gucci.

As you can see for yourselves, in case you were doubting (but of course you weren't) this recent intuition of mine (quite stratospheric, I must say without any false modesty) and needed more evidence, Gucci's family happened to be from Lastra a Signa, right outside of Florence:

"la mula e i mulini di Signa"

being the most coveted items, by Buoso Donati's relatives, in his will.

Hence two real people, two florentines, who lived six hundred years apart, meet on the same stage: Guccio Gucci was à la page in the Florence of the early 1900's just as Gianni Schicchi himself was in that of the early 1300's - one amongst many historical characters in Dante's Comedy who contributed to the Poet's social and political a fresco of the Florence of his time.

All available historical sources pretty much agree on Schicchi's affair: he was hired by Simone Donati for the impersonation of his dead cousin Buoso and the re-dictation of his will in his favour; during such procedure, the conman just assigned the mula - the donkey - to himself, not the entire's will content, as was done in the opera, for comedy's purposes.

Everything else in the plot is made up by Puccini, together with that cinematographic genius of Giovacchino Forzàno (a close friend of Mussolini's - good for them - who got to rent from him an entire Italian town - Tirrenia, near Pisa - which he turned into and early movies luna park). 

In this unsurpassed masterpiece of dramaturgy and operatic adaptation, Forzano managed to turn a few lines from the chronicles of the XIII century in to an exhilarating, modern sit com, where a cheat from the coutryside becomes a positive hero thanks to his love for his daughter, while the most seemingly respectable citizens are turned into villains: Puccini adores to sarcastically point out how beauty, wealth, luxury and exceptional taste have been contrasting with the greed and stinginess of the florentines consistently, across six centuries.

And who knows how many other real characters - who, unlike Gucci, never got to make the news afterwards - have made their cameo appearances in operatic scores: I am pretty sure that Pinellino was meant to represent someone specific, too, but who knows whom.

At least we know that he was a shoemaker, for that is another thing that Italians do well and sell around the world: shoes.

(Although we'd like to point out that "fare le scarpe a qualcuno" in Italian is also an expression for "to cheat someone, to take advantage of him, to betray someone in order to take over his job, or position, or fortune).

If you're surprised by what I just unveiled, you may not know that, since its birth, Opera equalled the modern concept of Made in Italy and advertising, anticipating both, by centuries.

Opera, plural of the Latin opus, was in fact born for the very purpose to advertise abroad what we now call Made in Italy, beginning with its quintessential product:

the very cantare italiano, the distilled Italian sound, the language and its natural musicality (Jacopo Peri states this clearly in that genre manifesto which is his beautiful preface to the Euridice, the first opera that ever got to us whole), which we now overlook and take for granted, for it has become a given, but they absolutely did not, back in time;

sounding elegant must have equalled to smelling good amongst people who stank - it is as brutal as that.

You send an aria abroad, people sniff it and all of a sudden they want to come to Florence or at least buy a Gucci bag, which makes the crafters of both products - the aria and the bag - very rich.

(How fascinating, that in Chinese my country is named with the three ideograms

意大利

Yi-Da-Li,

respectively meaning: Y "great", DA "will, intention", LI "profit".

I mention that in case you thought we are the artsy, dreamy, unpractical ones.)

And if that aria has been dramaturgically conceived to be one of persuasion, to be sung by a girl who must convince her daddy to take a chance and dare something dangerous in order to change their status, well: there is just no way that the listener can resist:

"Datemi il testamento."; "Hand me that will": a Babbino Caro is well worth the cost of a hand...bag.

Puccini makes you SMELL Florence, in that piece, possibly like nowhere else in his production: every single time it is performed it is a work of mere sorcery and to this day, after I have studied it and played it coached it a zillion times, I have no idea how he managed to accomplish such a synæsthetic prodigy.

The Babbino Caro is like the aria of arias, the aura of auras, the L'auretta of L'aurettas.

 They say that my work has the power to "make characters come to life" and "roles succeed on stage" and that was never more true: for I have kept my promise and you are now the possible owner of a physical item crafted by an operatic character.

And if this isn't the BEST Black Friday offer you've received this year, I don't know what is.

You're welcome, 

La Maestra G.

PS: Beware of imitations.

“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 rethink of the act of singing” (Anna Piroli)

“her incredible breadth of knowledge makes me feel entirely prepared” (Heather Lowe)

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

“opened up my voice, and a world” (Giulia Zaniboni)

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

"like four professionals in one" (Yiselle Blum)

“invaluable: she’ll make a role really succeed on stage” (Ariadne Greif)

“potentially life-changing” (Amy Payne)

“brings life to operatic drama” (Maria Sanner)

“enlightening, professionally and humanly” (Clara La Licata)

“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)

“incredibly informed, consistent, knowledgeable” (Michael Corvino)

“carrying the torch of finest Italian Opera” (Nathaniel Kondrat)

“a crucial basis for all the singers” (David Cowan)

“a cure and a respect of the Music and the words’ musicality that can be learnt so deeply nowhere else in the world” (Matilde Bianchi)

"an unconventional guardian angel"

(Giulia Ferraldeschi)