title: L'articolo di Annurato preso dal web

author: Giampaolo Lomi

text:
Ecco l'articolo "Inside la Scala", completo, preso dal sito web gentilmente
segnalato da Gennaro. Lo posto, cosi' chi lo vorra' leggere ed ha
difficolta' di accesso al web, puo' farlo facilmente.
Giampaolo
Riccardo Muti saved me from the Gypsies.
    We were in Milan, on an unusually warm day for February, walking to
lunch on my
    first day at La Scala.
    "Where is your overcoat?" he asked. "Walk along in just a sweater, and
suddenly little
    people will surround you. Gypsies. They will cover you with a rolled-up
newspaper."
    He shapes both hands around an imaginary paper and conducts them over
me, a
    mesmerizing presto in 6/8 time. "They will then vanish, and so
    will your money, and your watch and anything else they can
    get. You be careful."
    Sure enough, a few days later I was walking to rehearsal when,
    on a crowded street corner, with carabinieri watching, I was
    circled like a flame by a gang of young women -- human moths, carrying
newspapers.
    They were swift, silent and sudden. "Via!" I yelled, hitting at them.
They scattered.
    There was applause. I looked sharply over at the cops, who merely
shrugged.
    I wasn't so unnerved by the thought of having nearly lost my money and
passport -- but
    the Gypsies would have gotten my pass to La Scala! It had been stamped
just a few
    days before by the company's sovrintendente (the big boss), Carlo
Fontana.
    "You see, I told you," Muti laughed later. "Always have armor on when
you walk in
    the world. The Gypsies may still get you, but they will have to work
for what they
    get."
         pera news had sent me to La Scala to cover the last two weeks of
rehearsals and
    the first two performances of a new production of La Forza del Destino
-- the first
    time La Scala has mounted the opera in twenty-one years. (The cast back
then offered
    Montserrat Caballé, José Carreras, Piero Cappuccilli and Nicolai
Ghiaurov.) But my
    real reason for being there was to try to discover the answer to some
questions going
    around the music industry about La Scala. Once, the theater was
considered one of the
    great opera centers of the world. Italian opera really lived there,
under the guidance of
    the great old maestros: De Sabata, Serafin, Gavazzeni, Gui. Every
singer dreamed of
    making a debut there; it was the Italian equivalent of playing the
Palace. In recent
    years, though, La Scala's importance in a singer's career has declined.
It has become a
    place many artists avoid, a company where chaos and mismanagement can
make even
    the toughest, most ambitious soprano scramble to book a flight home.
    At the center of much of the controversy surrounding La Scala's
management is
    Riccardo Muti. Before coming to Milan to work on this article, I hadn't
been sure
    about Muti. Already he was starting to win me over. I admitted as much
to Elvio
    Giudici, a leading critic of La Musica and contributor to La
Repubblica. "But of
    course," Giudici snapped, "Muti is buying you!" Then he hung up on me.
    Giudici, who is also author of the exhaustive and brilliant L'Opera in
CD e Video, a
    1,200-page tome, has gone to La Scala every significant night since he
was ten, when
    he heard "La Callas in the Visconti Traviata." After that phone call, I
guessed I could
    count Giudici as a former friend. Only in opera would my coming to like
and admire
    Maestro Muti have sounded the death knell for a number of friendships
on two
    continents.
    Who works at La Scala -- and what do they do?
    Like all the big institutions in Italy, La Scala has a hierarchical
structure and a feudal
    feel. "You see," says the owner of the hotel where I'm staying, "in
Italy we are just
    learning about business and corporations. Everyone still thinks in
terms of the family
    -- not just mamma and papa, but everybody with two drops of the same
blood, the
    church, the unions and the Mafia. We have political parties. Today
there are
    twenty-four, tomorrow there might be twenty-eight.
                                "You could start a party of foreign
journalists who
                                come to Milan to study La Scala. Just
promise the
                                unions in the South something. But the
parties are
                                just extensions of one of those other
forces. And
                                everyone belongs to more than one of those
forces.
                                Your family is most important. If they are
devout
                                Catholics, the church is important. But
since
                                everybody works, the union is just as
important.
                                The church uses the Mafia for money
guidance and
                                to fight communists, the Mafia courts the
unions to
                                get political power and jobs for its
dependents. So
                                you see it's a crazy circle, and we are
dizzy all the
                                time. Of course, I am talking about our
Italian
                                Mafia. Now we have five foreign Mafias: the
                                Albanians kill, the Latinos sell drugs, the
Russians
                                run prostitutes and pornography, the
Singhalese
                                work -- how you say? -- off the books, the
Gypsies
                                beg and steal. They make their own
arrangements
                                with each other."
                                Three people are in official positions of
power at
                                La Scala. First is the sovrintendente,
"Dottore"
                                Carlo Fontana. Then there is Maestro
Riccardo
                                Muti, direttore musicale, followed by
Maestro
    Paolo Arcà, direttore artistico. (Muti tells me it is Italian law that
the artistic director
    of any theater must be a "maestro," a musician with credentials.
Orchestras have been
    known to strike if they felt the artistic director was not a good
enough musician --
    whether he conducted or not.) Maestro Arcà arrived at La Scala in 1994.
He is a
    prize-winning composer, particularly of operas. (His Il Carillon del
Gesuita was
    recorded by Nuova Era.) He is the chief teacher of composition at the
Milan
    Conservatory. Arcà is in his mid-forties and looks younger, with an
easy, open-faced
    charm. I remark on his fresh, youthful appearance. "That's La Scala,"
Arcà smiles. "It
    either kills you or keeps you young."
    As frequently seems to be the case in Italy, it is not always clear who
does what or
    possesses what degree of actual, as opposed to titular, power. Though
much fuss is
    made about introducing me to most of the people in the theater, there
are some older
    men at the rehearsals who are never introduced but look forbidding. La
Scala has, it
    seems, hundreds of offices; it's not unusual to pass a door and catch
with peripheral
    vision someone behind a desk, glaring. Yet neither a thousand-dollar
suit nor a desk is
    a guarantee of anything in Italy.
    Fontana has a small army of underlings and associates but -- as he
makes clear often --
    no equals. Arcà works with Maestro Luca Targenti, the theater's casting
director.
    Muti's associate in the hierarchy is Dottore Alberto Tirola. One dare
not address any
    of these men without his title unless invited to do so.
    The idea of three people in power seems very strange to me. "Of course
it's strange --
    it's Italy," agrees one long-time toiler in the chain gang of Italian
arts administration.
    "Naturally, you must have someone who looks after the money, and
naturally, you must
    have someone who makes artistic decisions. But La Scala, like a lot of
our theaters,
    has three bosses officially, and an army of 'important' underlings,
plus all the
    politicians who have wires in the theater. They belong to varying
coalitions of parties
    defined by degrees of 'right' and 'left' that nobody outside of Italy
would understand.
    And there are the theater Mafias, the unions, the big singers and their
agents, the chorus
    and orchestra who sometimes organize against their own unions, the
stage workers.
    There are the cliques with conflict of interest. They are paid by
agents, the record
    companies, the unions, for information and influence. The result is
paralysis -- no one
    really has to take responsibility for any decisions, and it's hard to
blame anyone. And a
    strong personality like Muti can overrule any objection, even if it
makes sense."
    Muti the Hated, and the Decline of La Scala
    Riccardo Muti is the world's most publicly detested conductor. In her
book Cinderella
    and Company, Manuela Hoelterhoff calls him "the famously short maestro
of fear."
    Yet Muti is extremely successful -- not to mention remarkably
good-looking for a
    fifty-seven-year-old workaholic.
    "You just get younger looking," says Itzhak Perlman, when he comes
backstage after a
    grueling Vienna Philharmonic concert at which Muti has led the Schumann
Second and
    the Shostakovitch Fifth. "Oh, caro, no," says Muti, "it is all a trick.
You know -- the
    hair dye." In a second, Muti becomes a hairdresser dumping a ton of
polish on his head
    and wiping it in. "And then of course, there is the plastic surgery."
Instantly, he shifts
    from hairdresser to surgeon, staring at his features in the
dressing-room mirror, then
    pulling his face in forty different directions in thirty seconds.
Everyone laughs except
    Perlman, who continues to peer at him.
         am not La Scala," says Muti. "Carlo Fontana is the boss. He
consults with me, of
    course. But the final decisions are his. Paolo Arcà is the artistic
director. He consults
    with me, too. But he and his staff plan, and there are many details I
don't know about --
    just as there are many money problems and decisions that are not my
business, and I
    don't want to know about them either."
    Though Muti insists he does not run La Scala, everybody blames him
anyway. The
    power-wife of a major player at La Scala puts it this way: "La Scala is
Muti, Muti is
    La Scala. You cannot separate the two."
    Muti's poisonous reputation extends far and wide in the music business.
"La Scala was
    the most important theater in Europe for sheer éclat," says Merle
Hubbard, an artist
    representative who began at the Met in the Rudolf Bing days and has
managed Luciano
    Pavarotti, Renée Fleming, Carol Vaness and Lauren Flanigan, all of whom
have had
    their innings at La Scala. "But now it's not run by artists, it's run
by a syndicate. It's a
    closed shop. It's impossible to know who's in charge. It's not run for
the art. There's
    power-mongering everywhere, artistic direction nowhere. There's a
reason Luciano
    stopped singing there as soon as possible."
    "The Met is far more important in making careers today," Hubbard
continues. "The
    Met must reach out all the time. Joe Volpe has done a great marketing
job and is
    available to answer for decisions. For that I applaud him. But La
Scala? It's a lost
    cause."
    "The house is always packed," says my former friend Giudici, "but it is
empty of
    significance. It is a tourist trap, a fashion show, a salon -- not a
place of art. The only
    successes recently have been The Florentine Straw Hat by Nino Rota,
conducted by
    Bruno Campanella, whom the Rota family insisted on, and Khovanshchina,
conducted
    by Valery Gergiev. Muti runs everything but is irrelevant."
    A case can be built against Muti's taste and tactics. But his talent?
At a thrilling New
    York Philharmonic concert of Ravel, Busoni and Brahms in January (at
which the
    orchestra refused to bow, applauding the maestro instead), the stunning
Vienna
    Philharmonic concerts in New York in March, the Forza orchestra
rehearsals, his ear,
    insight and authority were remarkable.
        t's hard to find an Italian critic who's willing to be both candid
and specific. The
    atmosphere among those in the mainstream is cautious. One important
critic I contacted
    would talk only in generalities: "Muti got my predecessor fired and has
gotten a lot of
    us in trouble. After a bad review or two, we learn we'd better come
'round, or we'll be
    unemployed."
    Can those allegations be proved? "Nothing can be proved in Italy,
certainly nothing
    that happens at La Scala. I can't prove to you that they did Manon
Lescaut there. I was
    in the theater, but I didn't notice a performance. Muti conducted -- so
of course I gave
    it a respectful review." (Muti denied the charge of getting reviewers
fired.)
    Muti ascended the throne in 1986. One of the musicians who, out of
"human kindness,"
    tried to help with the transition, bristles at the suggestion that the
rot set in at least a
    little while before Muti arrived. "Ma, no!" he yells deafeningly. "This
Abbado -- I
    mean the giant, Claudio -- he not nice man, but he great visionary of
the theater. La
    Scala now is a disaster. And there is one cause -- Muti, Muti, Muti. I
work with him. I
    know. Basta."
    Cautiously, I bring this point up with Muti. He is surprisingly sweet
about it. "That is
    La Scala. They crucify you while you're here and canonize you later.
Now, Maestro
    Abbado is a saint. I will be a saint too, once they do me in."
    Hatred of the current La Scala, and of Muti, is far from muted. The
angry feelings of
    malcontents are vented in the alternative press and in the second most
feared place at
    La Scala -- the top gallery, or Loggione. The most feared place, of
course, is the Sala
    Gialla.
    In the Sala Gialla
    The Sala Gialla, a windowless chamber in a corner of the second floor
of La Scala,
    was where Toscanini rehearsed. After his time, the Board took it over.
They still meet
    there. But Muti reclaimed it for his rehearsals. It's a long,
forbidding room with a
    massive table in the center. On the walls are pictures of the wreckage
of the house
    after the allied air raids during World War II. Above the grand piano
at the far end is a
    huge, terrifying portrait of Arturo Toscanini. He glares down at
everybody who enters
    the room.
    "I call it the Muti diet," says Lauren Flanigan. "You get a contract at
La Scala, and you
    expect to sing. You show up, and there are three other people cast in
the same role.
    You lose a lot of weight obsessing about if and when he'll pick you."
Flanigan
    remembers her experiences rehearsing the role of Abigaille in Nabucco
for Muti.
    "There were four of us Abigailles. Three of us got to be friends. The
fourth we called
    'the nuclear Abigaille' -- we figured she was there in case the rest of
us got killed in a
    nuclear holocaust, they'd have her. She was like a roach; she'd live
through anything.
    So the scene is going on, and he points from one person to another with
his glasses,
    and you have to be ready to get up and sing. If he catches you by
surprise and you
    choke, he gestures to somebody else, and you think, 'I'll never get it
now.' So I learned
    to push my way to the head of the table, so I could see the glasses
coming in my
    direction. I came back thirty-one pounds lighter."
    The Sala Gialla is where Cecilia Bartoli met Renée Fleming. They were
rehearsing
    for a Don Giovanni in which Bartoli hoped to sing Zerlina, Fleming
Donna Elvira.
    Bartoli, who can dish with the best, clams up at first but gets around
to some morsels.
    "Muti's yellow room, it is like Scarpia's torture chamber," she says,
finally.
    "Everybody is there, and he goes back and forth. My cover was always
there. Muti
    keeps people in the dark. No one ever knows who will actually sing."
    "Rehearsing was like having high-school sing-offs," adds Fleming --
"You sing it now,
    then you sing it.' That's trying!"
    La Scala Itself
    Though not everyone honors my "free passage" graciously, I am allowed
to walk all
    over La Scala on my own. On my first day, Muti shows me various
passageways, so I
    won't get lost. It doesn't help. You need a map and compass to
negotiate your way
    around La Scala, and I get lost every single day and night I am there.
    "These are our guards and our Gods," Muti says, pointing to the giant
statues of
    Rossini, Verdi, Donizetti and Bellini in the beautiful lobby. He opens
the gold-framed
    glass doors and guides me into the shadowy theater. "This is our
church."
    We both look in silence for ten minutes. He vanishes, and I sit in this
space, trying not
    to feel overwhelmed by sentiment. There are the gorgeous gilded boxes,
glinting down
    on the plush red seats. Up there is that amazing chandelier, and above
it the ceiling,
    with its intricate patterns suspended by magic in thin air.
    And then, the stage. Even with the curtain up and workmen on platforms
and ladders, it
    is breathtaking. The rehearsal lights are unlike any I've seen
elsewhere. Mysterious
    figures emerge, then sink into semidarkness. My eyes are tricked into
seeing haunted
    poses, my ears into hearing fluttering sounds. There are only
stagehands moving
    scenery.
    The auditorium is merely fifty-three years old; the stage goes back
much further. But
    time evaporates in here. An art form, maybe one that is vanishing, is
made flesh, so to
    speak. One can reach out and almost touch opera.
    La Scala was completed in 1778, on the site where the church of Santa
Maria della
    Scala once stood. The theater was run by a group of noble families, who
hired
    impresarios to organize seasons, until 1815 -- the year La Scala began
its ascendancy.
    As part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Milan and its primary theater
enjoyed large
    subsidies. It became a showplace for the powerful Austrian government
officials
    stationed in Milan. In 1859, when Italy was united (though how united
the country
    actually became is a matter of serious and continuing debate), Milan's
emerged as the
    jewel in the crown of Italian opera houses, even though the government
was centered
    in Rome.
    The Milan of 1839 was a paradoxical place that was typically Italian --
famous, but
    insulated and provincial. Many of the intellectual Milanese say the
same thing about
    the city today. Regional antagonisms were inevitable. One reason Verdi
was denied
    entry to the city's Conservatory was that he was a foreigner! Most
Italians are still
    foreigners to the Milanese. Southern Italians are despised by the
locals. They are
    called terroni, a word with nasty connotations. The idea is that the
North (and Milan
    is the great city in the North) pays all the taxes squandered by the
bums down South.
    Claudio Abbado, Muti's predecessor, is from a great Milanese family --
an elegant,
    intellectual Northerner. Muti is from the far South. He was born in
Puglia and raised in
    Naples. Arcà, whom Muti calls friend as well as colleague, is from
Rome. Tirola has
    Neapolitan ancestors. Maestro Montanari, the "conductor of the stage,"
is Neapolitan
    through and through.
    Muti invites me to a birthday party for Montanari, a long-time
collaborator. Italians
    are more sensitive to accents and regionalisms than the English, and
every bit as
    snobbish. Usually, my Italian accent inspires a lot of sniffing, if not
confusion --
    especially when I'm nervous. ("Please speak English," is asked of me
often at La
    Scala.) I'm more relaxed chatting with them in this context, and
suddenly they all stop.
    Muti takes a long time squinting at me and says, "Those vowels -- I
notice -- Provincia
    di Chieti?"
    "Well, Maestro, my paternal grandfather was from there." There is
another silence.
    "Then you are one of us," cries Muti -- and my grandfather and I are
toasted.
    "Yes, I suppose we are terroni," says Muti. "But what does that word
come from, after
    all? Terra -- the earth. Italy and art and all of us are of the earth,
where else are we
    from? The great soil of Italy. If they think that is an insult they are
maleducatevi --
    ignoramuses."
    Verdi gradually helped make La Scala a great house artistically on the
international
    scene. In a sense, it was his Bayreuth. There he had his first big hit,
Nabucco, and his
                             worst failure, Un Giorno di Regno. His
relations with
                             La Scala were often strained. But the glorious
world
                             premieres of the revision of Simon Boccanegra,
Otello
                             and Falstaff carried immense prestige and
glamour
                             over into this century.
                             In 1897 came a "period of austerity," when
subsidies
                             were cut off. Those were crisis years.
Eventually, a
                             way was found to secure the house by obtaining
more
                             private funding and operating more like a
corporation.
                             Publisher Giulio Ricordi, along with composer,
                             librettist and artistic propagandist Arrigo
Boito, used
                             La Scala to dominate art in Italy. They had
help from the
                             many wealthy and powerful families in Milan,
such as
                             the Visconti. Then as now, Milan was the
business
                             center of Italy. These powerful
industrialists,
                             politicians and intellectuals saw La Scala as
their
                             opera house.
                             While Puccini had as many flops as hits at the
house,
                             and La Fanciulla del West and Il Trittico had
their
                             premieres at the Met, La Scala was crucial to
him and
                             to all the other Italian opera composers of
his time and
                             later. It also helped establish the
international viability
                             of operas by Richard Wagner, Richard Strauss
and
                             Claude Debussy, most of these thanks to Arturo
                             Toscanini, who had two terms running the house
and
                             was the first of a number of powerful
conductors to
                             have varying periods of control.
    Toward the end of World War II, allied bombs hit the theater,
destroying the
    auditorium. "We wish it had been the other way around," says Arcà,
sighing. "If only
    your American bombs had hit the stage! Instead, they had to rebuild the
auditorium.
    They kept the stage, which was absolutely undamaged. That was a
disaster. Now we
    must rebuild the stage, which is too old-fashioned."
    That means La Scala (as of today's planning) will close for "eighteen
months" in 2001,
    so the stage can be entirely rebuilt. The company will have to relocate
to another
    theater while this work is done.
    "You do not need to raise your eyebrows at me," says Arcà, from his
plush bench in
    the gorgeous lobby, where we are chatting while a rather desperate
rehearsal grinds
    on in the theater. (Acoustically, La Scala is an iffy theater, but out
here, it's all too easy
    to hear that destiny isn't smiling on this particular enterprise.)
"After all, I am Italian. I
    know it can take twenty years to rebuild something here. But we must do
it, and we
    will have to do it as quickly as possible!"
    In the 1930s and '40s, the great conductor Victor De Sabata held sway
at La Scala.
    After he became sick and lost interest in the early '50s, Antonio
Ghiringhelli, an
    upper-class Milanese businessman/bureaucrat, took over. Though he
feuded, Italian
    style, with all of them, Callas, Tebaldi, Visconti, the young
Zeffirelli and a host of
    world-renowned singers had important seasons at the house. In the
1970s, Claudio
    Abbado made a significant artistic contribution with acclaimed Giorgio
Strehler
    productions of Macbeth and Simon Boccanegra. Abbado also had access to
a
    diminishing but impressive roster of artists including Mirella Freni,
Shirley Verrett
    and Piero Cappuccilli.
    In the last ten years, virtually no international stars have emerged
from La Scala
    (though Roberto Alagna was a Muti discovery). Pavarotti, Freni, Scotto,
Cossotto,
    Cappuccilli, Ghiaurov, Bruson, Bergonzi, among the currently active
stars of an
    earlier La Scala era, are all over sixty; Simionato, Tebaldi, Corelli,
Gencer, Stella, Di
    Stefano, Guelfi, Taddei are retired. Del Monaco is deceased. All of
these were what
    the Italians call "creatures of La Scala" for longer or shorter periods
of time.
    Aside from Alagna, none of the big names in the international opera
world under fifty
    owes anything to La Scala, and Muti is unique in being the only
conductor to run the
    house and not produce international stars. "I know that," he says. "It
is always in my
    thoughts. But give me names -- any names from anywhere in the world. We
are doing
    the Verdi Centennial. I need names for Ballo, for Otello. You tell me,
you tell Arcà,
    you tell Fontana. We will pick up the phone that second and try for
them. Give me
    names!"
    Cards on the Table
    The most certain element in the La Scala Forza, besides Muti, is the
acclaimed
    (though conservative) Argentinean régisseur, Hugo De Ana. He is in
charge of
    everything visual -- sets, costumes, lighting, staging -- and will
direct and edit the
    planned telecast. He did the same for the infamous Lucrezia Borgia in
the summer of
    1998 -- infamous because, during the first performance, Renée Fleming,
singing the
    title role, was hooted, jeered, booed and finally verbally abused by a
loud if not large
    segment of the audience.
    It struck many as suspicious that Fleming was booed after she had had a
    well-publicized altercation with Muti over her inclusion in that
ill-fated Don
    Giovanni. She also had difficulties over cadenzas with the conductor of
the Lucrezia,
    Gianluigi Gelmetti, who fainted immediately following her first aria,
returned after
    forty minutes to conduct the rest of the performance, fainted again and
was rushed to
    the hospital.
    The Lucrezia scandal was the first thing Muti talked about when we met
backstage at
    that New York Philharmonic concert two weeks before I left for Milan.
"I was in the
    house for two days during Lucrezia," said Muti. "I admire Fleming, and
the
    management of La Scala had talked to her about a number of bel canto
projects in the
    coming years. I encouraged that. She will sing her recital the day
after you arrive in
    Milan. That would not happen if I felt she did not belong in the
theater.
    "We have a difficult public," allows Muti about the Fleming incident.
When he leads
    me to his office on my first day in town, we pass twelve huge photos of
famous
    maestros who have conducted at the theater, among them Carlos Kleiber,
Lorin
    Maazel, Claudio Abbado, Karl Böhm and Herbert von Karajan. "All have
been
    booed," Muti remarks offhandedly, "except this one." He stops in front
of a portrait of
    Guido Cantelli, who was appointed principal conductor at La Scala in
1957. "He was
    lucky. He died." (Cantelli was killed in a plane crash just after his
appointment was
    announced.)
    Forza will star the hot young Argentinean tenor José Cura. Another
tenor, Ernesto
    Gavazzi, a company favorite, will sing Trabuco. It seems likely that
mezzo Luciana
    D'Intino will sing Preziosilla. The rest of the cast for the upcoming
first night,
    including the Leonora, is anybody's guess. Argentinean Ines Salazar and
Hungarian
    Georgina Lukacs have been engaged for Leonora; Leo Nucci and Giorgio
Zancanaro
    have been engaged for Don Carlo, Giacomo Prestia and Antonio Papi are
two
    possible Guardianos. Either Alfonso Antoniozzi or Roberto de Candia
might sing
    Melitone.
    "You are the first outsider to be allowed to see this much," remarked
Carlo Fontana,
    with big eyes and what is known in Italian as "intenzione," when he
stamped my pass.
    "I am giving you two weeks' freedom of the theater. You can go anywhere
and talk to
    anyone."
    That very night, trying to get backstage to see Renée Fleming, who had
just given a
    triumphant concert (but had nevertheless been booed by some
malcontents), I was
    denied entry to the theater by two hostile and insulting doormen. Not
eight hours after
    the major public power of the theater had stamped a "free passage," his
employees
    were looking at it and laughing.
    Several Italian critics assure me there were "fool the American" drills
before I got
    there. I'm sure there was debate about letting me in. Perhaps some
orders had gone out
    to be careful. But this is the theater. More to the point, it's Italy.
Chaotic hysteria is
    routine, and there is no insurance against it.
    During one very tense rehearsal in the theater, Fontana loudly laments
my presence,
    clasping his hands and imploring God's mercy, just as my grandmother
used to do. She
    had an excuse -- she was Neapolitan. Fontana is a Milanese aristocrat.
    "Well, that's what Forza will do to you," remarks a small but
formidable lady with
    high, jet-black hair and rather a ferocious cast about the eyes. She's
been watching
    what Hollywood would call the "suits" -- Fontana and henchmen in Armani
finery --
    hovering around the "talent" -- Muti in a sweater and a funk. She nods
toward the little
    group, where much eye-rolling and hand-clasping is going on. Maestro's
voice is soft,
    but his eyes are drilling small, lethal holes into his associates.
    The ageless lady cackles. She is retired Turkish diva Leyla Gencer, who
runs La
    Scala's school (roughly analagous to the Met's Young Artist program) at
Muti's
    invitation and comes to all the rehearsals. "How is your health?" she
asks. I feel fine.
    "You won't for long," she says. "You will have a bad influenza before
Forza is
    finished with you. We will all be desperately sick. Wait and mark my
words! Now,
    while they mourn, let me sit with you and tell you about my Forzas!"
    "Her" Forzas were fascinating. And about the influenza? She was right.
    In the Sala Gialla (Part II)
    Thanks to my insider's pass, I am set to attend a 10 a.m. rehearsal in
the dreaded Sala
    Gialla. In any case, I'm advised by an American singer, "Don't worry
about getting
    there on time -- it's Italy. The singers will arrive half an hour late,
Muti will stroll in
    forty-five minutes later and drink coffee for ten minutes."
    Muti is at the piano at 9:50. The small rest rooms next to the Sala are
jammed with
    people warming up. Woe betide anyone who needs to use them for their
intended
    purpose. Promptly at ten, everybody sits with a score around the table.
I'm not sure
    who some of these people are. There is a handsome teenager who has
grown a beard
    to look older. There is a very round young man with a ponytail -- maybe
he's covering
    one of the small parts.
    Muti himself plays every piano rehearsal. The head coach for the
production
    (Massimilliano Bulo in this case) stands beside him making notes for
individual
    coachings, though Muti plays those, too, when he has time. The
atmosphere is tense.
    Today Ines Salazar, officially the first Leonora, will sing. She's been
sick but also has
    shown signs of vocal distress unrelated to her ailment. She is a
voluptuous, doe-eyed
    beauty with a face of great sweetness and a terrified air.
    Georgina Lukacs, who was hired as her "cover," has sung most of the
rehearsals. She's
    exhausted and rather grim. People are happy and hopeful about Salazar's
presence.
    José Cura is in Paris, singing a long run of Carmens. "In the old days,
we would not
    have tolerated this," says one of the artistic staff. "Cura doesn't
really know this part.
    And this is La Scala. But he runs from here to there. Even Muti has to
endure it."
    Giacomo Prestia, the official first Guardiano, is sick. Leo Nucci, whom
Muti wants to
    sing Don Carlo, is having a last-minute angioplasty -- today. Muti went
to see him
    before he went under anaesthesia. No one knows whether he will be in
the production.
    Luciana D'Intino and her second, Mariana Pentcheva, are sick. Both
Melitones have a
    serious case of the flu. I keep thinking of Leyla Gencer's prediction.
    Since Salazar is nervous, Muti asks everybody to wait outside while he
works with
    her on her first aria. People pace. More mucus than tone can be heard
from inside the
    Sala, even over the nervous warming up that has recommenced in the rest
rooms.
    When we are readmitted, Muti works through the inn scene. He is gentle
with Salazar:
    "Is it O.K. if we try that again? I don't want to tire you. You don't
need to sing out. I
    know you have a beautiful voice." With the others, he makes jokes. He
loves to get up
    and imitate the characters walking -- a mixture of Monty Python's
Ministry of Funny
    Walks and, when he wants to make a point, Charlie Chaplin. It's
precisely observed
    but hilariously exaggerated.
    Muti's piano playing is thrilling. He's one of those conductors who
"orchestrate" at the
    piano, giving a clear sense of the sonority he will achieve in the pit,
imitating certain
    instrumental combinations: "Here is the flute with the oboe -- use that
color in your
    voice"; "Here is the bassoon -- let it lead you to the expression." The
most intricate
    figurations roll out from his fingers, in tempo, with absolute
precision and beautiful
    tone. Unlike most rehearsal players (even most conductors, when they
deign to play)
    he is not a piano-basher but a virtuoso making music. Everything he
does has an
    expressive purpose.
    He's leading without seeming to do so -- but singers are singers.
There's a lot of
    throat-clearing, daydreaming and watch-checking. They don't seem to
absorb what he
    plays for them, even when he points out how hearing the orchestra
clearly will help
    them project their voices.
    He works intensely with Giorgio Zancanaro, who will double Nucci and
may sing the
    first night. Zancanaro has recorded the role with Muti and sung it
frequently. But he's
    forgotten it. Muti goes over and over various sections, just for
rhythms and the right
    notes.
    "Now, Giorgio," he says at one point, "tell me, don't you make a lot of
records?"
    "But certainly, Maestro."
    "But you don't like to listen to yourself?"
    "No, Maestro, I am proud of my records."
    "Except one, Giorgio."
    "Well, maybe one or two, Maestro."
    "I'm thinking of one in particular."
    "I was hoarse at that one, Maestro."
    "No, I mean our Forza!"
    "Did we record Forza, Maestro?" There is a pause. "I think I lost that,
Maestro. I will
    buy it today." Muti finds this hilarious, but Montanari, the maestro of
the stage, rolls
    his eyes.
    Muti works with everyone on the words and the precise expression of
every moment.
    He is also looking for what American acting teachers and stage
directors call the "arc"
    of the character. With Zancanaro, he tries to get at the unstable
nature of Carlo -- a
    good-natured, clever storyteller, driven by a force he doesn't
understand. In his effort
    to find out whether the strange person traveling with Trabuco is his
sister, Carlo asks
    the peddler, "Who is that person -- personcina -- with you?"
    "This strange word, Giorgio -- 'personcina' -- what do you think it
means?" They
    discuss the word, which in context is a trap. "How would you trick
somebody with a
    word, Giorgio?" Zancanaro has no idea.
    "Well, Giorgio, you could say it like this" -- Muti demonstrates with a
slightly
    poisonous charm. "Or you could try it like this." This time Muti
smiles, but his eyes
    flash with anger. "Or perhaps you could see what happens when you throw
the word
    out." He shrugs and gives a staccato reading.
    Zancanaro sings it the same way every time.
    Muti takes about an hour on the inn scene aria, "Son Pereda, son ricco
d'onore." It's
    important to Muti that its three sections be full of different colors
yet form a link.
    "Giorgio, this man tells the story. He's making it up as he goes along,
it's loose, and he
    is having a good time. You can play with the rhythm." Muti sings it as
though it were a
    funny Schubert song, full of quirky color.
    Zancanaro tries.
    After several times through, Muti moves on to the middle section.
"Giorgio, listen to
    this." Muti plays the accompaniment with fury.
    "Yes. Maestro."
    "But do you understand, Giorgio? This is a version of the destiny
theme, the melody
    that starts the overture." Muti plays it. "Now listen." Muti plays the
accompaniment
    again. It's obvious -- when it's pointed out. "What does that mean to
you, Giorgio?"
    Not much, it seems. "You see," explains Muti, "this man is trapped, as
are all the
    characters. They can't help themselves. They are good people -- even
this Carlo. He
    tells a story, it's fun, it's silly, then he is pulled the way the
ocean pulls you into a
    violent storm. He forgets himself and becomes hate. Then all of a
sudden -- Giorgio,
    are you listening?"
    "Yes, Maestro."
    "All of a sudden he is this charming person again, telling this funny
story."
    Again, Zancanaro sings it the same way.
    Finally, Muti sings it. He starts with an easy smile and absolute
charm, savoring the
    swinging rhythm. Then suddenly, when the destiny theme erupts, his eyes
cloud over,
    his face becomes fixed, every word is a dagger, and the final phrase is
a vicious
    thrust. Muti -- in character -- takes a short breath, laughs and
shrugs, then returns to the
    jaunty tune, but this time, Carlo, as Muti sings him, can't quite lose
the edge.
    "You see, Giorgio, if you sing somewhat like that, you help the whole
scene. That is
    the opera -- the strange world. No one is what he seems. It is like
Pirandello -- where
    is the mask and where is the real person? You remember Pirandello,
Giorgio? And the
    chorus and Preziosilla and Trabuco and even Leonora offstage, you make
them richer,
    for they can respond to you."
    Zancanaro sings it exactly as he did the first time through.
    "Well," Muti says later, "you have to understand singers. He is worried
about his
    voice; he wonders if he will sing the first night. He likes Nucci and
is worried about
    him, but of course he would like to sing the first night himself. And
today they all have
    permanent jet lag. He will take a plane or drive to go on for somebody
who is sick in
    Vienna or Graz or Palermo between these rehearsals, if he can. He'll
sleep in the car
    on the way back -- or not, if he can't find someone else to drive. And
he will come to
    the rehearsals exhausted. And he is an old-timer. They learn it one
way, and if you can
    get them to change two words, or add a color here and there, that is
the most you
    expect."
    Muti goes on to the convent scene. Everybody who can flees. Salazar
runs out. There
    is a silence. She comes back in but clearly would rather be dead. Muti
smiles at her
    and waves her closer. "Just try to feel it," he says. "You have a
voice. But even if you
    are sick, if you feel and understand, that will help you sing." Once
again he tries to get
    her to be Leonora. "Son giunta! Grazie, o Dio!" she yells.
    "But, Ines, you didn't need to yell. If you believe in God, and this
woman does, He is
    everywhere, right beside your mouth. And you are relieved. You have
escaped your
    brother. "Son giunta -- grazie, o Dio!" He sings like someone
abandoning terror,
    almost without voice. And he looks around.
    Salazar really tries, but she can't seem to get it. "You know why I
looked around, what
    I was looking for?" She doesn't. "But Ines, what is her next line?
'Estremo asil quest'è
    per me' -- this is my last refuge." Muti speaks to her in English and
sometimes in
    Spanish. "I looked around for the cross, for the church, for death in
life. You see, she
    would kill herself if she could. But she can't, because she believes.
So here she can
    find peace -- pace. And what will she implore God for later? Pace."
    But Salazar, understandably, wants to get into the aria proper, which
is treacherous.
    Muti tries to help. "I will relax the rhythm for you," he promises.
"Don't worry." When
    it comes to "Deh! non m'abbandonar," he says, "I will watch you and
breathe with you.
    If you have a little trouble I will hurry and save you."
    But Salazar gets tighter and tighter; by the end of the aria she is so
frightened she has to
    run out of the room again. Muti takes her hands and kisses her cheek
when she comes
    back. Then he sings and acts Melitone, since even the third cover is
sick. The entire
    character is there in his voice and face while he sits at the piano.
The expression in his
    eyes changes on every word, as the priest, who is supposed to be kind,
sneers at the
    stranger in need, then catches on that there may be scandal
("Scomunicato siete?") but
    is too dumb to see he's talking to a woman. Once again Muti catches the
strange
    juxtaposition in the opera -- it's funny and ugly.
    The teenager with the beard stands up and sings. He is Antonio Papi,
actually
    twenty-four, and is covering Guardiano. His is the first glorious voice
I've heard
    during this trip to La Scala.
    Muti tries to give Papi and Salazar what acting teachers call an "inner
metaphor." "Do
    you hear the flute here, signora?" he asks, playing the trill under "È
questo il porto."
    "Your soul must wait for that and when you hear the trill, your soul
must vibrate to it --
    you have found home, the blessing of God, light after the black night.
Forget your
    voice. So you miss a note -- the flute is God's blessing."
    "If she misses the note, forget the flute -- it'll be the loggione
whistling," wisecracks
    Zancanaro. All the men laugh except Muti. Salazar runs out of the room
again.
    "I could have been rude to Zancanaro," Muti says to me during a break.
"But it was too
    late. And look, by now she better realize they may whistle. She must
still be able to
    feel her part and give meaning. They even whistled Tebaldi here. If she
is too scared
    to lose herself in Leonora, then it will be the story of Ines, not The
Force of Destiny. I
    think you know which one is more interesting."
    Still, when Salazar returns, he once again takes her hands and kisses
her cheeks. He
    also sends everybody out but the round young man with the ponytail.
Muti plays
    Alvaro's entrance, and this young fellow sings. Suddenly, an Italian
tenor! His name is
    Salvatore Licitra (Cura's cover). Like Papi, he is someone Muti has
found. Muti
    coaches him through every word and every phrase. "Don't let your voice
slip back into
    your throat," he says. "Keep it forward. If you need a little time, I
will wait for you.
    Don't start to bark." Licitra tries very hard and manages gorgeous
phrases but makes
    mistakes. Muti is tender and infinitely patient.
    When Zancanaro is allowed back into the room, Muti inspires Licitra
into singing "Or
    muoio tranquillo" with a long, liquid, large-scale, melting line that
is really Verdi and
    really thrilling.
         ook," says Lauren Flanigan, "he is a great opera conductor. You
have to be
    serious, and you have to work. But if he knows you mean it, he is with
you every
    second. He breathes and sings with you. You know, while I studied him,
he studied
    me. One day he said, 'California' -- that's what he called me after
he'd asked me where
    I was from -- 'California, you can hold those notes a little more and
take more time. It's
    in your voice, you can do it, and it will be great!' He saw things in
me and potentials I
    didn't know were there."
    "I don't know that anyone understands Muti entirely," says Bartoli,
"but that is true of
    all great musicians, perhaps. He remembers everything you do. He has
strong ideas, so
    he isn't always happy. But if you are on [the same wavelength] with
him, he will help
    you be even better. He was at every rehearsal, even the staging ones,
and he was
    always helping. And during the performance it was all in his eyes --
the score, the
    feeling and his love for the music. It is hard not to give everything."
    Later, I tell Muti most professional coaches don't do what he does, let
alone
    conductors. Talk about the diaphragm, the tongue, keeping the voice
forward, helping
    with breath? Impossible, in today's opera. Who knows that stuff?
Perhaps worse, who
    cares?
    "I will make a bet with you," Muti offers. "If you answer my question
correctly, I will
    take you to the Four Seasons for lunch. If you cannot answer, you must
spend a day
    without asking me any questions at all." I agree.
    "Who was Maria Carbone?"
    I tell him in detail, all her records and appearances, including the
first Otello with
    Fusati. "You don't win -- yet. I played for her for five years. Every
day, I played for
    the singers she was teaching, and for those she was coaching and for
her classes.
    There was nothing about voices she didn't know, and she taught me
everything she
    knew. All the tricks and fakes -- they can be useful -- and all the
muscles and what the
    tongue and the jaw do. And the exercises for them, and for the
diaphragm. And how to
    sing on the words, to make the words your servants. They can even make
your voice
    more beautiful. Next question. Who was Pertile?"
    "The greatest purely Italian spinto tenor of the century."
    "What record of his is the best?"
    "The Improvviso from Chénier."
    He stares at me. "Well, I hope you are hungry. I owe you two lunches."
    The Forza Flu
    "Io non amarlo? Tu ben sai s'io l'ami!"
    This is the night of decision for Salazar. She is trying to sing Act I.
But she can't
    manage any of the words clearly. "Sai" comes out as "soy," even when
she repeats it
    for the third time.
    "Ma! È sai! Non soy!" cries one of the power wives sitting in the
theater. "Questo è La
                            Scala. Non è una trattoria cinese!"
                            Muti stops after the act and talks intensely
with his wife.
                            He looks exhausted.
                            Cura has returned. So has Nucci. The tenor, in
costume,
                            marks. When he sings full voice, the throaty
honking is
                            alarming. He doesn't seem to know the role
securely. The
                            clarinet plays the solo to "La vita è inferno
all'infelice"
                            gloriously. Cura lets out his voice for the
first and last
                            time. He sings "I panteloni son troppo largo!"
-- the pants
                            are too big.
                            Muti freezes. The maestros around me hiss.
"Tenore!"
                            cries one and makes the sign against the evil
eye. Hugo
                            de Ana and his costumer run up to the stage
over the
                            bridge.
    Muti starts again. Cura croons. Nucci, just out of the hospital, sings
full out. When
    Cura falters and they have to take a section again, Muti asks Nucci not
to sing. "No,
    Maestro, I will sing," he says. Cura mouths the words, Nucci sings full
out.
    The adjustments are made, and "Solenne in quest'ora" starts. The
"wounded" Cura has
    been placed on strategically arranged pillows. Instead of singing, he
starts tossing the
    pillows across the stage. Muti goes right on. In the "Sleale" duet,
Cura tries his voice
    and cracks, so he just mouths the words.
    The maestros around me are enraged, but Muti goes on. The camp scene is
suddenly
    alive and stunning. There is wild energy. Muti sings Melitone's sermon
from the pit
    (both Melitones are still sick) -- hilarious and scary too. Luciana
D'Intino also sings
    and acts full out, as does Ernesto Gavazzi, the Trabuco.
    Cura stands in the wings, fussing with his costume.
    Muti whips the orchestra and chorus up until the theater is shaking.
"Maestro is truly
    incalzato tonight," says Arcà to me. He means Muti is beside himself
but putting it all
    in the music, and "Rataplan" is a fierce explosion. Those who usually
yawn through
    rehearsals -- stagehands, tech people, covers -- cheer at the end of
this.
    Muti throws his baton down and runs to his dressing room. The "suits"
run after him.
    That fantastic chandelier comes on, and the applause continues. Leading
it is Renata
    Tebaldi, who has been to all the rehearsals in the theater. She is
radiant. "Look at the
    chandelier and the ceiling," she says. "This is my cradle, my temple!
And you know, I
    would not be too unhappy if it were my grave."
    Tebaldi has been ailing. I've been told she has been profoundly
depressed. Muti has
    asked her to teach at La Scala's school. She has refused. He also asked
her to come to
    all his rehearsals. At first she hesitated. He went to her house, and
after interminable
    cups of coffee, he persuaded her to come.
    Nucci passes us. She congratulates him on singing full out. "I'm old,"
he laughs,
    sarcastically. "I need to sing at my age. The young people don't have
to."
    I gossip (like everybody else) about the two Leonoras: one screams, the
other can't
    begin to pronounce. "Have you no pity?" demands Tebaldi. "That poor
creature is
    terrified. Let's pray for her." But at the same instant, we look across
the theater. There
    is Salazar, evidently on the brink of tears, in intense conversation
with Leyla Gencer.
    "Uh-oh," sighs Tebaldi, "I have a feeling we are in for the other one
the rest of this
    rehearsal." Muti comes and kisses Tebaldi's hands and her cheeks. She
hugs him and
    pats his back. "You remember when we had tenors?" he asks Tebaldi.
"Tucker, for
    example. I begged him to come to Italy more. He sang Pagliacci with me.
I was green,
    and he was so prepared, he taught me. But when I told him at rehearsal
he could hold a
    high note, he stood up and said, 'Thank you, Maestro.'" He shakes his
head. "I will go
    back over the camp scene and to the end of the opera. Licitra will sing
Alvaro, Cura
    will watch. Lukacs will sing Leonora."
    Our attention is drawn to Gencer and Salazar. One assumes Gencer is
trying to be
    comforting, but it's not a quality that emanates from her. "That poor
girl," says Tebaldi.
    "She gave a great audition two years ago, and I worked with her. It was
a wonderful
    voice," says Muti.
    "It is still a wonderful voice, Maestro," replies Tebaldi, "but she has
done too many
    Toscas. She was a fine Donna Anna, and you know that is hard. But they
must earn
    today, so they sing everything, and it is easy to growl and bark. That
ruins your voice."
    Gencer joins us and kisses and pats Muti. She kisses and pats me for
good measure.
    "You are looking less well," she says. I admit I'm feeling unwell. "It
will get worse,"
    she says, "like the singing in this Forza."
    "That girl needs to take six months off and breathe in the country air
and not sing a
    note," says Tebaldi of Salazar, who looks very sad and vulnerable.
"Then she needs to
    come back slowly, very slowly! No Toscas!"
    "She needs to develop her falsetto!" says Gencer. "She needs to
separate it from the
    rest of her voice and learn, so she always has the top. Then when she
wants to use the
    chest, she can [do it] without the voice sounding like mud."
    "That is her problem, Leyla," says Tebaldi. "The chest -- too high.
This falsetto is a
    joke. A crutch!"
    "It is how I made my career, Renata! I sing so many Forzas for so many
years, I forget
    them. How many did you sing? I think you can remember."
    Luckily, at this point, Arcà comes to get Muti. Gencer hurls herself in
front of him and
    kisses and pats him. I get Antonio Papi and introduce him to Tebaldi.
He is wide-eyed
    and kisses both her hands.
    "You are wonderful," she says. "You are like the young Siepi."
    Papi is almost crying. "I grew up listening to your records," he says.
"I am very sorry I
    won't be able to sing with you."
    She looks him up and down. "You know, I am very sorry not to be singing
with you!"
    She throws her head back and her laugh resounds around the theater. He
and I both see
    the irresistible and beautiful young woman she was. And we get a hint
of that glorious
    voice.
    Meanwhile, De Ana is sitting at the production desk, his head in his
hands. "He saw
    me work with Lukacs, this afternoon. He knows!" he cries. He's talking
about the
    staging rehearsals, which Muti watched like a hawk. De Ana will later
be criticized
    for the singers' immobility. But at the rehearsal, De Ana was killing
himself trying to
    get Lukacs to move and emote in the convent scene. He was literally
running around
    the stage, begging her to do something -- anything. She just watched
him, like an
    iceberg implacably heading for the Titanic.
    "I just told Maestro, she is like steel," grouses De Ana. "And you know
what he said?
    'Good. She will need to be made of steel to survive this first night.'"
    La Scala Itself (Part II)
    The Metropolitan Opera does seven performances a week for thirty weeks.
There
    were twenty-three operas in the repertory during the 1998-99 season.
Some played six
    or seven times; some (Aida, La Bohème) twenty or more times. The
stringent
    American musicians' unions strictly define "services." Every player is
restricted to so
    many services per week before ruinously expensive overtime kicks in.
Both rehearsals
    and performances count as "services." There are essentially two
orchestras and two
    choruses at the Met.
    La Scala does ten to twelve operas a year, over ten months. Each plays
six to eight
    times, alternating with ballets. A few that can be cast are brought
back for three or four
    performances in the late spring or mid-fall.
    Every opera gets three to five weeks' preparation, usually starting in
the middle of the
    run of the opera being performed. Early rehearsals are held in an old
movie theater,
    across town. It is too small, so the director frequently has to work
with only extras, or
    only the chorus women, or only the principals.
    Muti has built an exceptional orchestra. "That's nonsense!" cries one
of his many
    detractors. "The orchestra was great under Abbado." But most of the men
who played
    under Abbado have retired. Muti has replaced them with young men and
women, many
    of whom have won major international competitions. He has trained them
himself with
    the help of some of the older musicians. The orchestra has an "Italian"
sound --
    especially noticeable in winds and brass. But they pay automatic
attention to inner
    voices and harmonic structure, fairly unusual in opera-house
orchestras.
    Muti has built a very comfortable and modern series of large and small
rooms for the
    orchestra. But the chorus rooms are small, there are no large rehearsal
rooms in the
    theater, and the dressing rooms, even those of the stars, are
cubbyholes. There is also
    no way to store sets. With no electrically driven lifts, everything is
worked manually
    by the stage crew.
    At the Met, huge sets can be erected on the basement elevator and
lifted into place for
    an almost instantaneous scene change. The set already in place can be
slid backward
    into a huge space, or sideways into other huge spaces. At La Scala,
every change, no
    matter how elaborate and complex, is made by hand.
    "That is a big problem for us," says Arcà. "We would like to do more
performances of
    more operas. But we must close for at least two weeks between operas
(except for
    concerts), because to load in and then do the technical rehearsals
takes all day. We
    will always be a 'stagione' house; but we could ideally keep that level
of preparation
    and alternate two operas with the ballet, not just one."
    In today's world, the day-to-day management of the Met is a model for
every opera
    house. Most governments are cutting back on subsidies and asking
tougher questions
    about where the money goes. Europeans on the younger end of the "baby
boom," who
    are now in positions of power, lack their parents' unquestioning belief
in the
    importance of "the arts." How far these new leaders will go remains
unknown, but the
    disaster at Covent Garden and the near ruin of Russia's larger arts
institutions have
    sent a chill through the world of subsidized theaters.
    The Met makes do on a budget with government grants of less than 1
percent. Though
    box-office revenue is very important, ticket prices have kept pace with
Broadway and,
    except for a relatively few gala evenings a season, are less expensive
than in many
    European houses. Sections of the house are carefully divided into price
ranges, but
    $150 will get you a good seat at the Met on an average night. Tickets
for those seats
    are available at the box office. Since the house holds 4,000 people,
there are often
    tickets available even for heavily subscribed evenings; and the house
gives a goodly
    number of "non-subscription" performances.
    Tickets at La Scala cost about $250 -- if you can get one. It is widely
accepted by
    everyone in Milan that "ordinary people" cannot get tickets. "Bagarini"
(scalpers) are
    pretty much the only way. They are used mainly by tourists. The
box-office workers at
    La Scala are deliberately unhelpful. "This is our temple," says one,
rebuking me for
    bad language, as I scream at him for refusing to give me my ticket,
though he is holding
    the envelope in his hand and I have shown him my passport and Fontana's
free pass.
    "Yes, rudeness is a sacred rite here," I reply. Which means I have to
get someone in
    management to accompany me to the box office and soothe the manager's
feelings. But
    I am made to pay for that every time I walk in. Every night at the box
office is an
    adventure; at the second Forza, two mature, heavy-set men hurl
themselves to the floor
    and beat it in fury.
    The Met gets about 35 percent of its funding privately; the other 65
percent comes
    from box-office revenue and earned income. There is a huge endowment.
There is a
    massive fund-raising department. Of course, they do direct marketing,
calling people
    at home. La Scala does none of that, nor does any other Italian
theater. But they will
    have to. And the man who will try to bring this change about is Dottore
Carlo Fontana.
    "There are two words you should know in relation to Fontana," says one
of his
    detractors -- "Lottananza and buon salotto." The first refers to the
system by which
    managers of arts institutions in Italy make their way up the ranks. It
has its particularly
    Latin characteristics, but a similar club exists in all systems where
there is heavy
    government subsidy. People (usually men) get into this system through
political allies.
    Once they win their spurs, they are set for life. They move from one
theater to another.
    They are basically bureaucrats committed to their own survival and that
of the club
    they belong to. Much occurs in secret; alliances form and dissolve,
    and there is often little accountability. People have a way of "failing
    upward," so long as they can stay alive, regardless of competence or
    culpability, even despite radical political change.
    The buon salotto is sort of the old boys' club of Italy. These are the
    wealthy, the intricately connected, the all-powerful.
    "Fontana belongs to both. He was one of the best of that old school,"
    says one of the young bloods at La Scala, who of course will not
    speak for attribution. "He worked miracles at Bologna. The question is,
can he carry
    this theater into the future? It is an entirely different game. He
doesn't know the rules."
    "Yes," Fontana barks, when I relay the remark. "It is a new game, and I
have invented
    the rules!" He really hasn't wanted to talk to me. I've gotten him to
let me into his
    office by mentioning Sergio Escobar.
    Escobar, I've been told, is Fontana's greatest enemy. Both were
bloodied under the old
    regime at La Scala. Both were kicked out. Rumor has it that Fontana
intrigued until
    Escobar had to leave; Fontana tells me it was he who was given the
boot, while
    Escobar stayed on -- until axed by somebody else.
    Escobar has been building his own empire; after stints in Genoa,
Bologna and Rome,
    he has ended up in Milan, at the Piccolo Teatro. That is Italy's
greatest prose theater,
    the one carried to enormous heights by the late Giorgio Strehler
(Escobar's
    predecessor).
    Muti is doing more and more work at the Piccolo Teatro. He will conduct
a revival of
    Strehler's production of Così Fan Tutte there and also a new production
of Nina,
    ossia Pazza per l'Amore, both in the fall. Naturally the word is that
Escobar wants
    both Fontana's blood and his job.
    I'm told everybody who really wants to can get tickets to La Scala.
However, there are
    only 2,000 seats and only so many performances, most subscribed to by
people who
    hang on for decades. Fontana has made it impossible to buy tickets at
the box office
    without presenting verifiable ID. That has made it hard for bagarini,
but of course not
    impossible. Nothing is impossible in Italy.
    Fontana tried to change the way the cheapest seats were sold. They
would sell only
    over the phone and you would need a credit card. This was meant as a
way to stop
    claques (Fontana did away with the official theater claque years ago)
and prevent
    people from paying Singhalese and Gypsies to stand in line for their
tickets, then
    scalping them.
    One of the anti-Fontana, anti-Muti pamphlets that show up every day at
the theater
    contains a story that a delegation of conservatory and university
students implored
    Muti to veto Fontana's plan. Most were too poor to have credit cards,
and some even
    lacked phones. The new regulation was rescinded. To the pamphleteers,
this proves
    Muti is gullible and Fontana merely a figurehead. There is no comment
on this from La
    Scala officials, and it is not a good idea to mention the pamphlets to
anybody at the
    theater in any circumstances whatsoever.
    For a top-secret meeting of general managers from most of Europe's
opera houses,
    hosted by La Scala in 1995, Fontana wrote an article (leaked to me by a
disgruntled
    ex-employee), the first sentence of which read, "2001, opera addio."
The article was
    titled "Poker d'Assi della Lirica" -- poker with aces on the opera
stage. It's a reference
    to the end of Act II of La Fanciulla del West, when Minnie defeats her
adversary with
    three aces. One assumes it was not lost on Dottore Fontana that she
does so by
    cheating.
    It was Fontana who pushed forward changes in funding methods. Now La
Scala gets
    60 percent of its budget through subsidy (10 percent from the city of
Milan and the
    Province of Lombardy, 50 percent from the national government). The
rest is raised
    privately. Ordinary citizens do not get a tax break on "charitable
contributions." "But
    no Italian pays all his taxes anyway," the pizza parlor owner says. The
current thinking
    is that it will never work. "If I were to give money to anyone
publicly, I'd have to
    disclose all my income, and only a fool would do that," says another
Italian
    "taxpayer."
    However, under present regulations (due to change in 2001),
corporations get a 33
    percent break from contributions to arts institutions. Fontana told the
newspapers two
    years ago that Giorgio Armani would give a certain number of millions
every year for
    the next three years to support Italy's great art heritage. That was
news to everybody,
    especially Armani. A secret delegate was sent to Fontana, who sent a
secret delegate
    back. In the end, Armani gave the money, leading the way for other big
Italian
    multi-nationals to donate to La Scala. (Many of the great names of
Italian industry sit
    on the company's board of directors, and money-raising plans are
supervised by a
    professor of economics who got his doctorate from the University of
Pennsylvania.)
    His handling of Armani has been held against Fontana in some quarters.
It sounds like
    good old-fashioned hustling to me. It's what people in the arts do all
the time in
    America. But to his critics, Fontana lost face and made La Scala look
needy.
    In any case, the laws will change. Fontana obviously hopes the
deduction will go up --
    and it will, if the government stays to the right. A swing to the left
may do away with it
    entirely. It also is expected that state subsidies will be reduced
another 9 percent,
    bringing the split to 51 percent state, 49 percent private.
    Fontana's newest initiative is to open the sound archives of La Scala
to a major record
    company to release the treasures there in superb sound. This was also
news to a lot of
    people. But Michael Fine of Deutsche Grammophon was interested. He
brokered a
    contract and has been searching the archives. "Of course, a lot of
things have been
    stolen, and others are in terrible sound. So we are talking to
pirates." Fine is
    optimistic that some great performances never released will be found
and put out. But
    according to most of the managers in America, Fontana has yet to secure
all the rights
    from the singers in the first releases.
    "If I don't give my rights away, Fontana will shame me," says one
singer -- "as if I owe
    La Scala. I assure you, he doesn't work for free. I don't either." I
bet this singer, and
    everyone else, will cave in, in the end.
    "You may be right," says my informant, "but this is costing Fontana
something in his
    public standing. If he himself threatened these people to get money, in
secret, that
    would be o.k. But you can't do it in public. Anyway, Fontana is an old
fool. He talks
    about marketing, but at least one wonderful project was vetoed by him
because it had
    the 'evil eye.'"
    I repeat the story to the "old fool" Fontana -- a very youthful and
handsome fifty.
    "Look, I let them do La Forza del Destino," says Fontana. "If we get
through it with
    most of our fingers and toes, and only a few pets and
great-grandparents die, we will
    be doing very well. And we have just hired a marketing consultant. Now,
despite what
    my enemies say, I work. Good day."

    ALBERT INNAURATO is a playwright and writer on music.
    Part II of this article will appear in the August issue of OPERA NEWS.
    Photos: All photos © Lelli & Masotti 1999 except; © John Wilkes 1999
(title
    background, top of page); © A. Tamoni 1999 (Fontana); 32: Opera News
Archives
    ("Tickets at La Scala" interior), © Silvia Lelli Masotti (ticket line);
© Roberto
    Masotti (interior, woman leaning on railing)
              OPERA NEWS, July 1999 Copyright © 1999 The Metropolitan Opera
Guild, Inc.
        Inside La Scala: Temple of Music or
                       Temple of Doom?
              There was a time when La Scala figured crucially
                 in the careers of most major opera singers.
       Now, however, it is regarded by many as a mismanaged circus.
        Albert Innaurato recently went to Milan to get the real story.

    "Muti is La Scala. You cannot separate the two."
    La Scala has a hierarchical structure and a feudal feel.
                               Carlo Fontana Paolo Arcà
              He opens the gold-framed glass doors. "This is our church."
    Tickets at La Scala cost about $250 -- if you can get one. Gencer: "Let
me sit
    with you and tell you about my Forzas!" "The house is always packed,
but it is
    empty of significance."

  BACKGROUND PHOTO: JOHN WILKES / ALL OTHER PHOTOS BY
                 LELLI & MASOTTI EXCEPT AS NOTED
____________________________________________________
"La musica e' una forma d'arte che ci porta
 fuori da noi stessi e ci conduce verso l'assoluto"
 Lucia Valentini Terrani
_____________________________________________________


title: PERCHE PAGARE SE DA NOI É GRATIS????

author: Opium

text: Chi mi insegna a segnalare questi cattivoni all'abuse?


title: PERCHE PAGARE SE DA NOI É GRATIS????

author: Robbyy

text:
"Bloodycross" <heavy...@SPAMvizzavi.it> ha scritto
> Come mai da queste parti?
> Non dovresti essere dall'altra parte della barriera? ^___^
Maggie del crosspost, Bloodyy....
--
See you                                 Robbyy
My suffering will be legendary...even in Hell!
www.metal.it


title: FRIEDRICH GULDA PLAYS MOZART

author: enziotempo

text:
Di corsa su BR bayerischen fernsehen (ASTRA1-11836H):
Sonntag, 22. April, 12.15 Uhr
FRIEDRICH GULDA PLAYS MOZART
Münchner Klaviersommer 1995
Während des Münchner Klaviersommers spielte der österreichische
Klaviervirtuose Friedrich Gulda (geboren 1930 in Wien, starb am 27.
Januar 2000 in Weißenbach in Österreich)in der Muffathalle folgende
Mozart-Sonaten:
Sonate F-Dur KV 332, 2. Satz
Fantasie in d-Moll KV 397
Sonate B-Dur KV 333, 1. bis 3. Satz
Sonate B-Dur KV 576, 1. bis 3. Satz


title: Cercasi insegnante di violino a Milano

author: umbie

text:
Cerco insegnate di violino per adulto non-principiante assoluto. Non posso
spendere più di 30.000 all'ora. Sono di Milano, zona
Indipendenza/tricolore. Tel. 02/70101249


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Cesare Simonetti

text:
Ci giunge notizia che Sabato scorso il violinista cino-americano Chinh
Le di S. Jose ha vinto l'audizione indetta dalla S Jose Symphony
Orchestra per il posto di primo violino.
Dice : e allora ?
Beh...Chinh Le ha  eseguito il Concerto n.5 di Mozart....
Dice : bravo, bene e allora ?
Allora....allora....L'HA ESEGUITO CON UN VIOLINO RAMPINI FATTO DAL
RAMPINI PISANO 5 MESI FA !!!
E non basta : Enrico Giannini, primo violino dell'Orchestra Sinfonica
di S. Remo ha ordinato al nostro Rampini un altro violino, perche'
quello che aveva ( sempre del pisano maledetto ) gli e' stato "
"carpito " da un giovane virtuoso sardo, assai talentuoso.
La nostra fonte ci raccomanda di non venire a rompere le palle per gli
autografi prima delle 11.00 del mattin, di prendere il biglietto e
mettersi in coda.
Senza far casini.
Perche', di norma, il Rampini nostro pisano, la sera fa bisboccia con
donne varie assortite, e la mattina dorme.
Io gli ho gia' scritto che quando saro' vecchio potro' raccontare ai
nipotini che quel Rampini li lo conoscevo bene....
Complimenti e auguri Rampini : prepara le bottiglie e trova l'osteria
adatta che si viene da te a crapulare la prossima volta !
Cesare Simonetti
GENOVA PROFONDA


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Zazie dans le métro

text:
"Cesare Simonetti" <
hal90...@tiscali.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:ai2d1091qhtucdj0n...@4ax.com...
> Complimenti e auguri Rampini : prepara le bottiglie e trova l'osteria
> adatta che si viene da te a crapulare la prossima volta !
ecco, giusto.
E siccome č modesto ha anche taciuto della sua ultima meraviglia: la viola
denominata Zazie.
Modestamente, questo strumento sta facendo strage, da tanto che č
meraviglioso.
Ecco.
Tič
Viva Rampini.
Queste sě che son soddisfazioni.
Z.


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Roberto Avanzi

text:
Zazie dans le métro wrote:
> E siccome č modesto ha anche taciuto della sua ultima meraviglia: la viola
> denominata Zazie.
In effetti se tu fossi uno strumento musicale non potresti che essere
una viola. Peggio di un Uzi, a conti fatti.
> Modestamente, questo strumento sta facendo strage,
appunto.
prot
  Roberto
--
/_/_/  Roberto Maria Avanzi (a.k.a. Mocenigo)  <><
_/_/  Institut fuer Experimentelle Mathematik / Universitaet Duisburg-Essen
/_/ "Stupidity has a certain charm -- ignorance does not."  --- Frank Zappa
_/ "Those who trade freedom for security will lose both, and deserve neither"
/                                        --- Ben Franklin


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Edoardo "Edoloz" Carminati

text:
Roberto Avanzi wrote:
>> E siccome č modesto ha anche taciuto della sua ultima meraviglia: la
>> viola
>> denominata Zazie.
> In effetti se tu fossi uno strumento musicale non potresti che essere
> una viola. Peggio di un Uzi, a conti fatti.
Questa č *veramente* cattiva ;-)
ciao


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Marco Marcelli

text:
Edoardo "Edoloz" Carminati wrote:
>> In effetti se tu fossi uno strumento musicale non potresti che essere
>> una viola. Peggio di un Uzi, a conti fatti.
>
>
> Questa è *veramente* cattiva ;-)
No, e' cretina.
Abbiamo un amico che eccelle in un'arte che evoca tempi lontani e
armonie musicali, e tutto quello che si e' capaci di dire e' questo.
Personalmente faccio tanti complimenti ed auguri a Claudio, che
spero di rivedere quanto prima, jet-lag permettendo.
--
==========================
Marco Marcelli - Genova
==========================


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
"Roberto Avanzi" <
moce...@exp-math.uni-essen.de
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:bv64cc$odvod$1...@ID-7242.news.uni-berlin.de...
> > E siccome è modesto ha anche taciuto della sua ultima meraviglia: la
viola
> > denominata Zazie.
>
> In effetti se tu fossi uno strumento musicale non potresti che essere
> una viola. Peggio di un Uzi, a conti fatti.
>
> > Modestamente, questo strumento sta facendo strage,
>
> appunto.
>
> prot
gente, avete visto che cosa brutta, l'invidia????????????
PRRRRRR!
Zazie & viola


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Claudio Rampini

text:
Marco Marcelli wrote:
> No, e' cretina.
> Abbiamo un amico che eccelle in un'arte che evoca tempi lontani e
> armonie musicali, e tutto quello che si e' capaci di dire e' questo.
>
> Personalmente faccio tanti complimenti ed auguri a Claudio, che spero di
> rivedere quanto prima, jet-lag permettendo.
>
>
Ma no, non drammatizziamo. Si sa che qui in IAMC ci piace un pò giocare
e prendere la vita non troppo sul serio.
Grazie Cesarone! un bacino a Zazie e una palpatina a Marco :)
Ciao.
--
Claudio Rampini Liutaio
www.claudiorampini.com


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
Claudio Rampini wrote:
> Grazie Cesarone! un bacino a Zazie e una palpatina a Marco :)
Bleah!
Ho capito, ritiro tutto.........:-)



title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
> Ci giunge notizia che Sabato scorso il violinista cino-americano Chinh
> Le di S. Jose ha vinto l'audizione indetta dalla S Jose Symphony
> Orchestra per il posto di primo violino.
>
> Dice : e allora ?
>
> Beh...Chinh Le ha  eseguito il Concerto n.5 di Mozart....
>
> Dice : bravo, bene e allora ?
>
> Allora....allora....L'HA ESEGUITO CON UN VIOLINO RAMPINI FATTO DAL
> RAMPINI PISANO 5 MESI FA !!!
>
complimenti!!!
spero di poter passare qualche volta da pisa prima che diventi troppo
famoso,
o è già troppo tardi?
Fabrizio


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Veronica Medina

text:
"Flam&71" <
bast...@tin.it
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:bv8g97$jfm$1...@fata.cs.interbusiness.it...
> complimenti!!!
> spero di poter passare qualche volta da pisa prima che diventi troppo
> famoso,
> o è già troppo tardi?
>
> Fabrizio
>
Forse ancora no ma adesso cominciera' a decollare :)
Complimenti Claudio!
V.


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
Marco Marcelli wrote:
> Edoardo "Edoloz" Carminati wrote:
>
>>> In effetti se tu fossi uno strumento musicale non potresti che essere
>>> una viola. Peggio di un Uzi, a conti fatti.
>>
>> Questa č *veramente* cattiva ;-)
>
> No, e' cretina.
Detto da te, il piů bel complimento degli ultimi anni ;)



title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: Schillogeno

text:
On Tue, 27 Jan 2004 16:57:02 +0100, Cesare Simonetti
<
hal90...@tiscali.it
> wrote:
>
>Ci giunge notizia che Sabato scorso il violinista cino-americano Chinh
>Le di S. Jose ha vinto l'audizione indetta dalla S Jose Symphony
>Orchestra per il posto di primo violino.
>
>Dice : e allora ?
>
>Beh...Chinh Le ha  eseguito il Concerto n.5 di Mozart....
>
>Dice : bravo, bene e allora ?
>
>Allora....allora....L'HA ESEGUITO CON UN VIOLINO RAMPINI FATTO DAL
>RAMPINI PISANO 5 MESI FA !!!
E chi cazzo č?
Schillogeno
-----------
"A composer is a guy who goes around forcing his will on
unsuspecting air molecules,often with the assistence of
unsuspecting musicians."  Frank Zappa, 1940-1993.


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
Roberto Avanzi wrote:
> Detto da te, il più bel complimento degli ultimi anni ;)
Non dubitavo che, anche di fronte all'evidenza, reagissi cosi'.



title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:

Tranquilli, i nostri prezzi lievitano spesso e volentieri dopo la nostra
morte. Io per ora mi sento benone :)))
Grazie Veronica, grazie Flam, ci risentiamo alla prossima conversazione
violinistico-liutaria.



title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
Schillogeno wrote:
>
>
> E chi cazzo è?
>
Dicono che sia lo stesso che è riuscito a farsi pagare il pranzo da te a
  Bologna.
Ciao :)



title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
Il Wed, 28 Jan 2004 21:00:19 +0100, Claudio Rampini
<
c.rampiniT...@tiscali.it
> ha scritto:
>
>Dicono che sia lo stesso che è riuscito a farsi pagare il pranzo da te a
>  Bologna.
>Ciao :)
BADABANG!!!!!!!!!!
Che sberla..........
Cesare Simonetti
GENOVA RINTRONATA


title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

text:
On Wed, 28 Jan 2004 21:00:19 +0100, Claudio Rampini
<
c.rampiniT...@tiscali.it
> wrote:
>Schillogeno wrote:
>
>>
>>
>> E chi cazzo è?
>>
>
>Dicono che sia lo stesso che è riuscito a farsi pagare il pranzo da te a
>  Bologna.
>Ciao :)
Ah, sei tu?
Ma se le foto che di violini che mi hai mostrato avevano LA PEDALIERA
e IL MANTICE ?!?



title: STREPITOSO RAMPINI !!!

author: emf

text:
> >Schillogeno wrote:
>
> Ma se le foto che di violini che mi hai mostrato avevano LA PEDALIERA
> e IL MANTICE ?!?
>
> Schillogeno
Non sei un acuto osservatore: Quelle che tu hai scambiato per
PEDALIERA e MANTICE erano faccia e arti del sunnominato e sullodato
Rampini che reggeva i suoi istromenti........:-))
Ezio


title: Shopping musicale

author: Magno

text:
Dunque sabato sono calato in quel di Milano a fare un po' razzia in un noto
negozio e l'ho depredato dei seguenti titoli:
Beethoven - Violino concerto - Ferras - Karajan (più 3 overture)
Bello il suono che era la cosa prinicpale che cercavo rispetto all'edizione
(scarsa) che avevo già.
Ma il secondo movimento è col sordino dell'orchestra?!
Schumann - Integrale delle sinfonie.
Ho cercato l'edizione di Bernstein ma era finita, arriverà uffa... quindi mi
sono consolato con l'integrale EMI di Sawallish.
Grazie a tutti per i consigli per gli acquisti che mi avete gentilmente
fatto.
Mozart - sinfonie 40-41 DG - Karajan
Un fuori programma, era in offerta e queste sinfonie non le avevo di
Karajan.
--
Byez!
Magno


title: Sulla Potenza 2/4

author: Fabioo

text:
Caro Giampaolo,
Sabato sera su Rai 3radio D. Kitaenko ha diretto l'Orch.
sinf. naz. Rai nell'esecuzione del Manfred.
Non so se tu l'abbia ascoltata o meno, però ho letto il tuo
articolo in oggetto, e sono d'accordo con te sull'essenzia-
lità della musica a prescindere da supporti,.modi di ripro-
duzione e tutti i contorni che ci fanno dimenticare la vera
funzione della musica : la comunicabilità. Nel famoso film
-incontri ravvicinati....- Spielberg non suppose forse che
il contatto tra l'altro avvenne per via musicale.
Ma teniamo i piedi per terra,in quanto personalmente pen-
so che in alcuni casi si sviluppi una forma di autocomuni-
cabilità nella lunga carriera di un famoso autore,ma qui
pensavo a Mussorsgkij:Per quanto riguarda il Manfred,
credo che tu abbia le idee molto chiare su Ciaikovskij
quindi il tuo messaggio mi ha facilitato nell'interpretazione
di questa robusta pagina sinfonica che nel finale vede
trionfare la morte anche dopo il perdono dell'uomo in cer-
ca di oblio.
"..chi può sapere dove si va se con difficoltà ricordiamo
donde ne veniamo.." Egmont L.v.B. dal dramma di Goethe.
                     CIAU                        Fabioo


title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

author: Mr Duffy

text:
Finora, dopo aver registrato una trasmissione radio con Total Recorder, mi
ritrovavo un grosso file *.wav da, poniamo, mezz'ora, e quando volevo
masterizzarlo su cd o anche solo ascoltarlo con calma, lo dividevo con un
editor audio (il Wave Editor di Nero, oppure Audacity).
Un modo molto più veloce di fare tutto questo è compilare un file di testo
che descriva dove, in quel file wave, inizino la prima traccia, la seconda,
ecc., e far fare tutto da alcuni semplici programmi.
Se ad esempio nel file *.wav che ho registrato dalla radio, che ho chiamato
"Mahler.wav", ci sono 37 secondi di introduzione, applausi, dopodichè inizia
il Lied "Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder", si compila un file di testo
siffatto:
PERFORMER ""
TITLE ""
FILE "Mahler.wav" WAVE
  TRACK 01 AUDIO
    TITLE "intro"
    PERFORMER ""
    INDEX 01 00:00:00
  TRACK 02 AUDIO
    TITLE "Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder"
    PERFORMER ""
    INDEX 01 00:37:00
Si deve salvare quindi il file come "Mahler.txt" e rinominarlo come
"Mahler.cue".
A questo punto tutto il lavoro è finito, e il file wav è accompagnato da un
file *.cue che contiene tutte le informazioni che lo riguardano, e si può
facilmente:
_ masterizzare il tutto su cd con Nero (Recorder -> Burn Image, scegliendo
il file *.cue); la trasmissione viene divisa nelle track [1], [2],... come
indicato nel file *.cue;
_ suddividere il *wav nelle tracce indicate nel file *.cue: si deve
scaricare il programma free
http://www.enfis.it/software/bin/CUE_Splitter_v0.4_(BIN).zip
 (688 KB)
aprire con esso il file *.cue (File -> Apri file cue); e cliccare
"Splitta!", si ottengono tante tracce *.wav con i nomi indicati nel Title
(traccia 1 "intro", traccia 2 "Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder"...)
_ ascoltare semplicemente il file *.cue con foobar2000:
http://www.foobar2000.org/foobar2000_0.8.3_lite.exe
 (837KB)
che visualizza le tracce suddivise nel file *.cue, con tanto di titoli (e su
foobar si può anche cambiare l'ordine dia scolto delle tracce, nonostante
rimangano nell'ordine originario nel file *wav).
Da notare che se si commette un errore, invece di riprendere in amno file
*.wav, giuntare, tagliare... basta aprire il file *.cue con il blocco note
(tasto destro sul file *.cue -> Open with -> Notepad), modificare i
minuti:secondi inseriti, e salvare.
Tutto questo sarà anche abbondantemente noto, ma avendolo io scoperto ieri
sera in modo empirico, ho pensato che potesse magari incuriosire qualcuno.
Ciao     Mr Duffy


title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

author: Zazie-la-peste

text:
"Mr Duffy" <
diek...@despammed.com
> ha scritto nel messaggio
news:JF0Qe.33589$HM1.9...@twister1.libero.it...
> Finora, dopo aver registrato una trasmissione radio con Total Recorder, mi
cos'è total recorder???
Z


title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

author: nick

text:
"Zazie-la-peste" <zazieda...@VIAQUESTOlibero.it> ha scritto nel
messaggio news:0D1Qe.33665$HM1.9...@twister1.libero.it...

l'ultimo inedito di Bach


title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

author: denis

text:
Ottimo programma che trasforma il PC in un registratore audio
molto avanzato.
Ha come caratteristica principale, prezzo contenuto a parte,
quella di creare un layer "trasparente" (intromettersi senza farsi
notare :) ) tra la scheda audio ed il software di riproduzione.
Tipica applicazione la registrazione degli streaming audio
internet  (realplayer compreso)
ma ha molte altre funzionalita' interessanti, soprattutto la
versione pro, esempio lo uso anche nella conversione in digitale
dei miei vecchi Lp.
www.highcriteria.com
"Zazie-la-peste" <zazieda...@VIAQUESTOlibero.it> ha scritto
nel messaggio news:0D1Qe.33665$HM1.9...@twister1.libero.it...



title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

author: Francesco

text:
                    Il 27 Ago 2005, 18:38, "Mr Duffy" <
diek...@despammed.com
> ha scritto:
> Finora, dopo aver registrato una trasmissione radio con Total Recorder, mi
> ritrovavo un grosso file *.wav da, poniamo, mezz'ora, e quando volevo
> masterizzarlo su cd o anche solo ascoltarlo con calma, lo dividevo con un
> editor audio (il Wave Editor di Nero, oppure Audacity).
>
> Un modo molto più veloce di fare tutto questo è compilare un file di testo
> che descriva dove, in quel file wave, inizino la prima traccia, la
seconda,
> ecc., e far fare tutto da alcuni semplici programmi.
>
> Se ad esempio nel file *.wav che ho registrato dalla radio, che ho
chiamato
> "Mahler.wav", ci sono 37 secondi di introduzione, applausi, dopodichè
inizia
> il Lied "Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder", si compila un file di testo
> siffatto:
Trovando interessante la soluzione proposta, ho scaricato i programmi
indicati sotto e, non essendo riuscito nell'intento, chiedo:
con quale applicazione si scrive il codice sottoriportato?
Ho provato con Blocco note
>
> PERFORMER ""
> TITLE ""
> FILE "Mahler.wav" WAVE
> TRACK 01 AUDIO
> TITLE "intro"
> PERFORMER ""
> INDEX 01 00:00:00
> TRACK 02 AUDIO
> TITLE "Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder"
> PERFORMER ""
> INDEX 01 00:37:00
Qui per caso i 37 secondi sono diventati minuti?
>
> Si deve salvare quindi il file come "Mahler.txt" e rinominarlo come
> "Mahler.cue".
Il file da me si chiama Concerto in Do K467 e ha estensione Winamp media
file (wma)
Quello che non capisco è per quale motivo dovrei salvare il file con nome
"Concerto in Do K467.txt" per poi rinominarlo "Concerto in Do K467.cue".
Il file rimane sempre con estensione .txt (se creato con blocco note) e il
programma "Splitter" richiede in apertura file con estensione *.cue.
Dov'è l'inghippo?
Ti ringrazio dei chiarimenti che spero voglia darmi. Poi ti saprò dire se
sarò riuscito.
Saluti
Francesco


--------------------------------
Inviato via
http://arianna.libero.it/usenet/


title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

text:
Francesco
> con quale applicazione si scrive il codice sottoriportato?
> Ho provato con Blocco note
>>
>> PERFORMER ""
>> TITLE ""
>> FILE "Mahler.wav" WAVE
>> TRACK 01 AUDIO
>> TITLE "intro"
>> PERFORMER ""
>> INDEX 01 00:00:00
>> TRACK 02 AUDIO
>> TITLE "Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder"
>> PERFORMER ""
>> INDEX 01 00:37:00
>
> Qui per caso i 37 secondi sono diventati minuti?
No, mi sembra giusto, io intendevo proprio fare un copiaincolla su un file
di testo (Notepad, Blocco Note) come fose un "form" da compilare, inserendo
il nome del file *.wav da "tagliare", i minuti:secondi del caso e
eventualmente i nomi delle tracce. Una cosa importante: non so per quale
motivo, ma il nome del file wav deve essere scritto tutto attaccato, senza
spazi tra le parole. Altra cosa: il "form" da compilare con il Blocco Note
deve mantenere questa spaziatura
PERFORMER ""
TITLE ""
FILE "Mahler.wav" WAVE
  TRACK 01 AUDIO
    TITLE "intro"
    PERFORMER ""
    INDEX 01 00:00:00
> Il file da me si chiama Concerto in Do K467 e ha estensione Winamp media
> file (wma)
Il problema è a monte: foobar2000 non legge il formato *.wmv. Puoi lo stesso
fare il *.cue e masterizzarlo su un cd (non ho mai provato); per ascoltare
con foobar devi prima convertire il file *.wmv in *.wav, con il programma
http://www.4musics.com/wma-to-wav.exe
 (1.7 MB, trial di 15 giorni)
> Quello che non capisco è per quale motivo dovrei salvare il file con nome
> "Concerto in Do K467.txt" per poi rinominarlo "Concerto in Do K467.cue".
> Il file rimane sempre con estensione .txt (se creato con blocco note) e il
> programma "Splitter" richiede in apertura file con estensione *.cue.
> Dov'è l'inghippo?
Se rimane un file *.txt non puoi aprirlo con Cd Splitter (per rinominarlo,
basta selezionare il file, cliccare con il tasto destro del mouse ->
Rename,e cambiare l'estensione da *.txt a *.cue; ma forse non ho capito la
domanda...)
Ciao!     Mr Duffy


title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

text:

L'ho scaricato e, dopo aver aperto il file .wma da convertire, ho ricevuto
una segnalazione di errore con l'invito a segnalarlo a B.Gates (cosa che non
ho fatto).
Domanda. Ti scrivi "file *.wmv" ma il mio file ha suffisso .wma (Winamp
media file [forse è un errore di battitura?])
> > Quello che non capisco è per quale motivo dovrei salvare il file con
nome
> > "Concerto in Do K467.txt" per poi rinominarlo "Concerto in Do K467.cue".
> > Il file rimane sempre con estensione .txt (se creato con blocco note) e
il
> > programma "Splitter" richiede in apertura file con estensione *.cue.
> > Dov'è l'inghippo?
>
> Se rimane un file *.txt non puoi aprirlo con Cd Splitter (per rinominarlo,
> basta selezionare il file, cliccare con il tasto destro del mouse ->
> Rename,e cambiare l'estensione da *.txt a *.cue; ma forse non ho capito la
> domanda...)
Cerco di spiegarmi meglio. In fase di rinomina puoi solo modificare il nome
ma non ti è consentito modificare l'estensione per il quale, come nel caso
sopracitato, devi utilizzare un programma ad hoc.
O mi sbaglio?
Saluti Francesco
P.S. Concordo con te che le operazioni di taglio e "cucito" con Nero Wave
Editor sono stressanti e portano via un sacco di tempo soprattutto se si
vogliono fare i tagli in maniera precisa quasi da chirurgo.



title: Dividere un file *.wav: il file *.cue

text:
Francesco
>>>> INDEX 01 00:37:00
>>>
>>> Qui per caso i 37 secondi sono diventati minuti?
Vedo adesso questa osservazione; le cifre indicano
minuti:secondi:frames (almeno, suppongo siano i frames).
>> fare il *.cue e masterizzarlo su un cd (non ho mai provato); per
>> ascoltare
>> con foobar devi prima convertire il file *.wmv in *.wav, con il programma
>>
>>
http://www.4musics.com/wma-to-wav.exe
 (1.7 MB, trial di 15 giorni)
>
> L'ho scaricato e, dopo aver aperto il file .wma da convertire, ho ricevuto
> una segnalazione di errore con l'invito a segnalarlo a B.Gates (cosa che
> non
> ho fatto).
:-))
> Domanda. Ti scrivi "file *.wmv" ma il mio file ha suffisso .wma (Winamp
> media file [forse č un errore di battitura?])
Sě sě! Tutte queste sigle... il programma converte *.wma in *wav.
> Cerco di spiegarmi meglio. In fase di rinomina puoi solo modificare il
> nome
> ma non ti č consentito modificare l'estensione per il quale, come nel caso
> sopracitato, devi utilizzare un programma ad hoc.
> O mi sbaglio?
Mi pare di capire che il sistema operativo non ti mostra le estensioni dei
files. Se č questo il problema, ti consiglio di abilitare questa funzione.
E' una cosa utile e semplicissima, come č spiegato nel paragrafo "Il file
travestito" del libro "L'acchiappavirus" di Paolo Attivissimo, scaricabile
gratuitamente qui:
http://attivissimo.net/acchiappavirus/acchiappavirus-v118.zip
Ad ogni modo, si fa cosě:
Start -> Programmi -> Esplora Risorse -> Strumenti -> Opzioni Cartella ->
Visualizzazione
e deselezioni la casella "Nascondi le estensioni per i tipi di file
conosciuti"
Applica a tutte le cartelle -> Sě -> OK.
> P.S. Concordo con te che le operazioni di taglio e "cucito" con Nero Wave
> Editor sono stressanti e portano via un sacco di tempo soprattutto se si
> vogliono fare i tagli in maniera precisa quasi da chirurgo.
In realtŕ credo che il Wave Editor sia piů preciso, dato che permette ad
esempio di iniziare una traccia direttamente dopo, che so, un colpo di
tosse; mentre con il file *.cue io mi segno il minutaggio mentre ascolto il
*.wav, e lo scrivo; ma con un po' di pratica, lo trovo piů snello. Senza
contare la facilitŕ di rimediare ad un errore (basta riaprire il *.cue con
il Blocco Note, e scrivere).
Io lo so, che se prima o poi NeuRoTix o qualche smanettone (con rispetto
parlando) dovesse leggere queste righe, inorridirŕ (se non altro, per il mio
italiano :). Magari mi sto arrampicando sugli specchi, e tutto questo si puň
fare in modo meno macchinoso...
Ciao    Mr Duffy


title: Spartiti per organo...?!

author: Gianluca Billo

text:
Ciao a tutti.
Avrei bisogno (mi rivolgo agli organisti del NG) di qualche partitura per
organo con brani (due o tre) da
eseguire alla fine della messa di Natale.
Per cui mi servono brani abbastanza "allegri", ma non troppo difficili ...!
Ho cercato in Internet, ma non ho trovato moltissimo...
Se qualcuno potesse darmi una mano, inviandomi qualche scansione (o pdf) o
dicendomi dove si può trovare qualcosa, gliene sarei grato...
Io posso ricambiare inviando qualche spartito per coro o brani per
pianoforte...
Saluti.
Gianluca.


title: Spartiti per organo...?!

author: Vinicio Loncagni

text:
Tratto dal messaggio TnCtd.268610$
b5.13...@news3.tin.it
 di Gianluca
Billo:
> Avrei bisogno (mi rivolgo agli organisti del NG) di qualche partitura
> per organo con brani (due o tre) da
> eseguire alla fine della messa di Natale.
Scommetto che se te li mando all'indirizzo vvg@y.c per lo meno non ti
arrivano... ^__^
Alla Messa della notte di Natale non suono, perchč ci sono sempre cori,
coretti, bande e chitarre (č la celebrazione piů importante dell'anno,
come fanno se no a mettersi in mostra?).
Quest'anno (udite udite...) ci sono pure i carcerati che hanno imparato
a suonare la zampogna...
Il mio repertorio č abbastanza scarso:
La Pastorella BWV nonmiricordoilnumero
Von Himmel hoch, BWV 700
Der Tag eccetera, BWV 605
e corali simili di JSBach, che perň da noi vogliono dire poco
(effettivamente, sono canti tedeschi...).
Se interessa, ho in giro una fantasia di Molfino, ogni tanto un po'
dissonante ma mai troppo, sull'Adeste Fideles.
Ciao ciao
--
Vinicio Loncagni
Vinicius_LoncanisAThotmailPUNTOcom
http://web.tiscali.it/vinicius_verbanus
http://web.tiscali.it/vinicius_pallantiae
...miei siti sui miei strumenti...


title: Spartiti per organo...?!

author: dipa

text:
Vinicio Loncagni ha scritto:
> Quest'anno (udite udite...) ci sono pure i carcerati che hanno imparato
> a suonare la zampogna...
>
eh, che stronzi....
--
dipa


title: Cosa fa il Nuovo Firmware per D60

text:
Scusate,
ma il nuovo firmware per la D60 cosa
va a correggere ?
Grazie.
Mario


title: Cosa fa il Nuovo Firmware per D60

text:
Scusate,
ovviamente ho sbnagliato NG
M.


title: W il thread ( scuse annesse)

author: Liz

text:
Ok, lo ammetto, ho qualche piccola difficoltà "tecnologica" Uso Outlook
Express, quello contenuto in Internet Explorer 4.0. Le mie difficoltà sono
appunto rispondere all'interno del Thread e leggere i messaggi senza
connettermi (naturalmente é più facile con la connessione, ma non posso
permettermelo) Ho cambiato nome perchè, pur avendo letto dai contenuti che
siamo-sarò-siete persone civili, alla faccia di chi infanga questo potente
mezzo, una delle condizioni dell'uso di internet&affini a casa, era quella
di non pubblicizzare il pacchetto "nome cognome, email" ma ho scritto (la
domandina su Mozart) prima di capire il fuzionamento di questo punto. Ora
devo chiarire l'aspetto "nospam". probabilmente con lo stesso mezzo, si
vedrà . Sono intanto contenta di non esserci riuscita subito perché ho
ricevuto, (sia pure per conoscenza!) gli auguri di stagione.  Grazie .
Mi rimane solo da chiedere scusa per il disturbo e visto che sono in ballo
presentarmi: canto  soprano in un piccolo coro polifonico amatoriale  e
ricevo il V canale della Filodiffusione dalla mia piccola radio.
Alla prossima,
Liz


title: W il thread ( scuse annesse)

author: FabioIsman

text:
Liz wrote:
> una delle condizioni dell'uso di internet&affini a casa, era quella
> di non pubblicizzare il pacchetto "nome cognome, email"
banale: all'inizio lo fanno in molti (io compreso: per un mesetto ho usato uno
pseudonimo), ma poi si acquista fiducia. figurati: càpita perfino
d'incontrarsi, e si finisce (addirittura) per mangiare e bere assieme. proprio
come cappuccetto rosso, no?
> : canto  soprano in un piccolo coro polifonico amatoriale  e
> ricevo il V canale della Filodiffusione dalla mia piccola radio.
e sul V canale quasi sempre sono sintonizzato anch'io: per licenza dovuta
all'età o alla lunga militanza in azienda, perfino mentre lavoro in ufficio
(ma che non si sappia troppo).
Buon Natale, e stavolta non per conoscenza ma direttamente.


title: W il thread ( scuse annesse)

text:
Scusino tanto: non volevo essere banale. Ma non si può essere spiritosi a
comando, né tantomeno 24 ore su 24.
Ciò posto fabiolsman è uno pseudonimo?
E' normale, tollerabile o consueto rispondere al thread oltre che all'email
privato?
(intanto io ho capito come funge il thread. )
Resisto alla tentazione di farmi chiamare Cappuccetto Rosso.
Buon Natale da
Liz


title: W il thread ( scuse annesse)

author: Valeria Ruggiero

text:
--
"aut tacere aut loquere meliora silentio"
Liz <
elva...@tin.it
> scritto nell'articolo
<75th9k$a8b$
1...@nslave1.tin.it
>...
> Scusino tanto: non volevo essere banale. Ma non si può essere spiritosi a
> comando, né tantomeno 24 ore su 24.
non arrabbiarti gia' da subito, senno' come farai fra qualche ventina di
msg??
benvenuta nel mondo del Vir musicalis (unica specie in grado di riprodursi
senza apporto dell'altro sesso)...
:-)
Valeria


title: W il thread ( scuse annesse)

text:
Liz wrote:
> Ciò posto fabiolsman è uno pseudonimo?
esatto: è quello di me stesso, l'hanno deciso il mio papà e la mia mamma,
troppissimi anni or sono. essere gli pseudonimi di se stessi assicuro che è il
massimo. io volevo dire che prima di metterci nome e cognome ne ho usato uno
(non fabio e nemmeno isman) per un certo tempo. poi, come vedi, ho smesso.
ribuonnatale


title: W il thread ( scuse annesse)

text:
Cara  Collega Mulier, non mi ero arrabbiata:
 "Scusino" NON é sinonimo di "Scusate"
Va detto però che ho letto i messaggi per parecchi giorni prima di
cimentarmi personalmente e avevo notato una preponderanza del genere
antropologico che hai descritto.


title: W il thread ( scuse annesse)

author: Bruno Tredicine

text:
On Thu, 24 Dec 1998 12:08:01 +0100, "Liz" <
elva...@tin.it
> wrote:
>Le mie difficoltà sono
>appunto rispondere all'interno del Thread e leggere i messaggi senza
>connettermi (naturalmente é più facile con la connessione, ma non posso
>permettermelo)
A parte se puoi permettertelo o no, sarebbe un peccato regalare tanti
soldi alla Telecom. Perchè non scarichi Free Agent, col quale in pochi
minuti di connessione puoi scaricare tutti i messaggi di tutti i ng
che ti interessano, e poi
leggerli/cancellarli/rispondere/correggere/predisporre per la
spedizione ecc. ecc., e il tutto off-line?
Buon Natale!
Bruno Tredicine
br...@wxyhehe.com
(e-mail:no wxy)