The Missing Link: Sense of Life

The Missing Link: Sense of Life
by David Bertelsen

James Kilbourne has a unique ability to communicate his sense of life. When I read his articles and posts I feel like I am unwrapping his soul, and that he is giving me the gift of sharing first hand his enormous wealth of experience, knowledge and wisdom.

But what, I would ask myself, is La Boheme, and why does it mean so much to him?

Jennifer Iannolo amazed me with her joy for the finest in foods, her entrepreneurial flair and vision, and her all round feisty sense of self and drive. I chuckle with glee when she tells us she has fallen in love and shares the delights so candidly and joyously.

But she talks about performances of Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. What is that?

One elegant sentence from the magnificent Barbara Branden encapsulates more wisdom than most are capable of writing in a lifetime. And so how could I ever thank her for the pages she has written?

But she too, would drop names like Lanza and Carreras – black holes in my understanding of her eloquent verse.

Peter Cresswell is a very fine writer indeed. His ability to combine humour with reason and a scorching intellect makes P.J. O'Rourke and Dave Barry look like bumbling amateurs. A man who can reconcile beer and Aussie Rules with objectivism is truly gifted and profoundly wise.

And yet Peter too, spends hours expounding Puccini, Strauss, Lanza and Wagner.

Whenever I read Lindsay Perigo I marvel at his passion, his abounding fire and his unparalleled ability to engage the reader with his fluent writing and fervent descriptive genius. I admire him for his life. And when I have had difficult moments in my life I have been shocked that a man so busy, short-tempered and allegedly self-obsessed has been able to empathise with me so naturally and generously.

But I just didn't understand his obsession with Mario Lanza.

One day, I finally broke and gave in to a silly hunch... could it be that there is a part of these people's "sense of life" that I share, but just don't know about yet?

My journey of discovery began with a few downloaded tracks of Mario Lanza from the internet, a CD from Amazon, and the odd saunder down the side alleys to hear a little Pavarotti, 3 Tenors, Rachmaninoff, Mozart, Beethoven and others. And then it happened...

The Great Caruso.

I have tried to capture the wonder of this experience, but the closest I have come is this short (slightly edited) note that I sent off to Lindsay in gratitude. I copy it below:

_______________

Dear Linz:

I watched The Great Caruso two nights ago and I was overcome by the realisation of just how significant art can be in our lives. I laughed, cried, let my lungs fill with air and my heart let out my joy in voice. I felt like I had been taken to another time, and I guess it was just that—the "afterglow" of an age I never knew.

So thank you—you've added a new source of pleasure to my life that fits so beautifully with all my other most deep-felt values.

I think I mentioned on another thread—maybe Cresswell's wonderful piece on music, that I used to love listening, buying, collecting music. I still have a couple of 100 CDs sitting there—REM, Smashing Pumpkins, Garbage etc., etc., and there was a time that I could listen to them end to end. But I reached a point several years ago when I simply stopped. They bored me at the best of the times and irritated me the rest. I realise now that I had simply outgrown them. I don't mean that in a sniffling, superior manner—just that I needed music that challenged me at a different level. Jungle beat rhythms are jungle beat rhythms, no matter whose name is on the CD cover.

I know you're going to ask, so let me tell you my three favorite scenes from The Great Caruso. I have only watched it once, so forgive me if my memory fails me on details.

Caruso meets his childhood friend in a bar, tells him he is now a flour merchant. His friend tells him he must sing, and that two men from the opera are in the bar. He swigs a red wine from the bottle to clear his throat of flour and SINGS. But he isn't just singing, he is passionately reclaiming his life, his values, and the whole bar celebrates the beauty of his music and his victory.

Caruso goes to apologise to the Met patron whom he offended. He is greeted by the patron's daughter. This scene is just beautiful. Lanza is infectious in his desire to teach the girl the beauty of music. Very powerful.

After Caruso's second, victorious performance at the Met (loved the way the ex-tenor turned public opinion :-) ) Caruso is met with the dirty unwashed, those too poor to see the performance outside. Couldn't help thinking of "today's" dirty unwashed outside a rock venue and ponder the contrast. Lanza sang for them. With all the same power and passion as in front of the Met audience. Because it was the passion of song that ignited him.

Thank you,

David

Discuss this Article (7 messages)