My sister was confirmed as a member of the Catholic Church in last Saturday’s Easter Vigil ceremony at St. Patrick’s Church in Carlisle, PA. Though not Catholic myself, I attended to support and celebrate this momentous event in her life (I am fully vaccinated against COVID-19, and masks were worn, seating socially distanced). By attending, I was given an additional blessing. For the first time in a year, I heard live music. I should have anticipated this ahead of time since most churches have music performed by a church choir and organ, with the congregation frequently joining in. As the music and singing began, my heart was spontaneously gladdened by a joyous response within me, like a sailor returning from a long voyage who spots his homeland on the horizon, and maybe even more like an embrace when first stepping ashore.
I have listened to several fine Opera America broadcasts this year where opera professionals have made comments about what companies have learned during the pandemic, mostly how to pIan and produce online materials in order to maintain a connection with audiences and generate at least some revenue. These are valuable skills and insights that will surely benefit companies in serving their audiences even after stages reopen. Of course, they have also had to learn to endure the uncertainty, economic impact, and pain caused by the pandemic’s shutdown of staged performances.
I have also been thinking about what I have learned in the past, very cloistered year, and most of all, it is this: I am human. Yes, I knew my species before, but I learned in a more profound way that shook me, just how human I am. Early on during the pandemic, I thought I could simply ride it out like I ride most things out. I couldn’t; it got to me. For most of the past year, I have felt the depression and lack of motivation caused by the isolation that pandemics force upon us. With more time to read than ever, I went almost a year without reading a book. Listening to the online performances from struggling opera companies helped, but they also reminded me of the joy that live music, especially live opera had been providing to me. The saying that I do not live by bread alone has much greater meaning to me now. It is no longer something to smile knowingly about. The St. Patrick’s service reminded me of the joy and human connection that music provides, and how without it, I have been less me. Yes, I am human; I need people in my life, and I need live music, especially live opera. My spirit needs live opera.
When I started writing OperaGene five years ago, sharing my love of opera and what I was learning seemed like an enjoyable thing to do after retirement from a career in science. Why did I choose this particular avocation? At the time, I said simply that it chose me; I only started listening to opera two years before retiring. Now, maybe it is starting to make emotional sense. In an early blog report, I wrote, “Perhaps we who enjoy opera live in a communal reality, firmly supported by our brain structures, that links us to each other as well as satisfying our own individual needs.” Opera puts us in touch with a beauty that puts us in touch with each other.
My son recently pointed out to me an article on the role of music, ascribed by Socrates and Plato, in developing the spirit and music’s connection to ethical behavior, which stands in stark contrast to the role that our society ascribes to music. I still don’t completely understand it on a scientific or emotional level and have nothing philosophical to add, but I know this much to be true: I don’t simply look forward to the return of live music and opera. The pandemic has taught me that I need the return of live music and opera. I wither without it.