Opera Is Rubbish

I want to admit to being a failure, dear reader; not a total failure but a failure nonetheless.

I have tried to like opera and I have failed - spectacularly.

Why?

Because, in my opinion, opera is rubbish.

There – I’ve said it.

A few years ago, my workplace organised an evening at the opera.

“Shall we go?” said Mrs PM.

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “Opera is rubbish!”

“How do you know? You’ve never been,” she replied. “Go on – you might like it.”

Deep down in my brain somewhere there is a rebellious troll that sometimes catches me unawares. Now was one such occasion:

“OK – I’ll give it a go,” said the troll, taking over my brain for a brief second.

Before I knew it, the troll was laughing as I held in my hand two tickets to see Carmen at the Manchester Palace Theatre.

“What have I done?” I yelled.

“Hee Hee Hee,” sniggered the troll, returning back to his little cave in my mind, satisfied at having stitched me up again.

Nevertheless, I decided against selling the tickets. I opted to try to broaden my horizons and embrace something that goes against my taste – I was willing to give opera a chance by seeing arguably the most famous opera of them all.

I hated every tedious second of it.

And I hated one thing more than anything else – the singing.

I have experienced opera in the past on TV, on radio and, bizarrely, on my mp3 player.

I know what you’re thinking:

“You are a hypocrite! How come you have opera on your mp3 player?”

I can answer that. I have several classical CDs, some of which are compilations. Regrettably, I am too lazy to filter out the opera and one or two other dreadful songs have somehow found their way onto my music machine. There is some utter bilge on that device and by far and away the worst of that bilge is the opera.

I appreciate that there may be some people out there who genuinely love opera and marvel at its apparent audible beauty and can't understand why I have opera in my sights, ready to squeeze the trigger. I would be tempted, dear reader, if I had the power, to remove opera from the planet. Sadly, I don't have that power.

I actually like classical music – just so long as opera singers don’t destroy it with their monstrous vocal sledgehammers.

There may be those of you out there who want to scream:

“You like heavy metal; how can you possibly write bad things about opera singers when there are far worse heavy metal vocalists out there?”

The truth is I like heavy metal and rock music as long as I can understand the lyrics and the vocalists aren’t grunting and roaring; some heavy metal bands are just dreadful and the vocalists (if you can call them that) don’t deserve be called such.

I don't like that style of rock music.

I much prefer my vocalists to have good powerful voices. You might argue that opera singers have good powerful voices too – the truth is that some of them do. However, most of them, the women in particular, have voices that make my brain shriek in anguish.

Take this, for example:



I love Freddy Mercury’s voice but Montserrat Caballé’s voice shreds my brain like a cheese grater ripping through cheddar.

Am I alone or am I a heathen?

A pseudo-intellectual might say that I’m a heathen and quote Aristotle at me but to be honest, I would genuinely like a true opera buff to tell me what is so fascinating about opera.

Why ruin a perfectly good piece of classical music with unintelligible, over-rated and ostentatious vocals from somebody who could shatter glass with a high note?

When the three tenors (Domingo, Carreras and Pavarotti) sang Nessun Dorma I heard that people were crying in ecstasy.

I found it tedious. I wouldn’t have paid three tenners to see it.

Am I weird?

Just because it is classical and sung by three operatic maestros, is there any reason why I should lie and say “very moving"?

When people tell me that rock music is awful by default, I get really annoyed. To me, a progressive rock masterpiece is far better than an opera but because it contains guitars, keyboards and a rock singer it doesn’t fit the pseudo-intellectual vision of musical culture.

I appreciate that people like opera but I don’t. And that doesn’t make me a heathen, a cultural Philistine or any less intellectual than somebody who thinks Carmen is a masterpiece.

I have to say that although I have been pretty scathing about opera, I do love classical music.

Here is my favourite ever classical piece:



Mars - The Bringer of War from Holst’s The Planets is a piece of classical music that enthralls me, bringing tears of joy to my eyes every time I hear it. I would love to resurrect my trombone and be part of the orchestra to play it.

And there are lots more classical pieces that have the same effect on me.

Opera would ruin such music.

What about you, dear reader? Do you think I’m a Philistine? Or a heathen?

I would be particularly interested to hear from opera lovers. I am always willing to discuss such things – or gain an insight into other people’s views.

At the end of the day it is just a question of taste; and I believe I have excellent taste – or maybe not.

The Pseudo-Intellectual

I talk crap sometimes.

What do you mean “I know”?

I may talk crap, but there is one thing I can definitely say with my hand on my heart – I am not a pseudo-intellectual. Why? Because when I am wrong and when I am stupid, I openly admit it. Furthermore, I don’t try to impress people with ideas that are not my own and I try my best not to use words that have been hastily looked up in a dictionary to impress people.

What is a pseudo-intellectual then?

I’ve mentioned them in this blog before. In my view, a pseudo-intellectual is somebody who tries to act and speak as if they are cultured, intelligent and understand everything about everything, usually using words and phrases that are not used in everyday speech. And of course, they are not intellectual at all. Worse, they actually look down on people like me.

The finest examples of pseudo-intellectuals are found in the art world but they exist everywhere.

Next time you are in a contemporary art gallery try and spot them; it’s easy.

Firstly they are dressed in a weird way and walk around with a crafted intelligent expression that, to the untrained eye, makes them look weird and eccentric but, in their eyes, they are intelligence personified.

The good news is that you can expose them quite easily.

When you see such a person staring intently at a totally irrelevant piece of art just stand next to them and ask the simple question:

“What does it say to you?”

In their mind they will immediately start up the bullshit generator, searching out phrases that they have remembered to express their supposedly intellectual opinions. You will hear something like:

“It speaks to me on a kinetic level; the energy of the piece distorts the magnificence of everything else, almost in a primeval, carnivorous vortex of cybernetic passion. It arouses me.”

Resist the temptation to say “What on earth are you talking about?”

You could expose them easily enough by asking “Do you even know what kinetic means? And what is a carnivorous vortex when it’s at home?”

Or you could have some fun.

Pretend to be thick yet fascinated by their bullshit – and they simply get worse. For example, they will start to quote philosophers.

“Wow! You know your stuff, my friend! You’re so clever!”

“Yes, wasn’t it Hippocrates who said What is a friend? A friend is a single soul dwelling in two bodies! It’s so apt, don’t you think?”

The more you praise them the worse they get.

Others look to culture and embrace opera, ballet and other such dreadful pursuits. I once went to an opera to see what all the fuss was about – it was bloody awful.

It went something like this:

Opera Singer 1: I’m going to kill her.

Opera Singer 2: No, don’t kill her.

Opera Singer 1: I’m going to kill her.

Opera Singer 2: No, don’t kill her.

Opera Singer 1: I’m going to kill her.

Opera Singer 2: No, don’t kill her.

Opera Singer 1: Yes I must and I will.

Opera Singer 2: No you won’t.

Opera Singer 1: Yes I will.

Opera Singer 2: No you won’t.

I felt like screaming “For the sake of my sanity – just make your bloody mind up!!”

I have no doubt that if I had, a pseudo-intellectual would have rounded on me and started quoting philosophy to prove I am a cultureless dolt.

I’ve had arguments with these people on a couple of occasions. They assume that I am totally stupid simply because the pursuits I choose to embrace are not, in their view, intellectually stimulating. They, of course, are wrong.

Now I hate to blow my own trumpet, but I regard myself as a pretty intelligent bloke. I have a degree and I work in IT so there must be some intellect in that skull of mine. My problem is that I am slightly geeky, a little nerdy, somewhat weird and very opinionated. And that winds pseudo-intellectuals up very easily.

Take for example the subject of music.

Pseudo–intellectuals regard rock music as the spawn of Satan himself. They assume that because I am a fan of rock guitar that I have no taste and therefore should not be allowed to comment on music.

I have had debates with genuinely clever people about our musical differences and in those cases we have a fun chat, agreeing on some things and disagreeing on others. However, the pseudo–intellectual whose clichéd view of rock is that only devil worshippers love it have absolutely no clue.

They do not acknowledge the genius of guitarists like Joe Satriani, the song writing skills of Rush and Dream Theater, the intelligence of bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden.

To them, intellectuals only like classical music and opera – and anything else is followed by brainless idiots. In their eyes, I like rock ergo I am thick.

When it comes to art, the same thing applies – I don’t understand why somebody would pay a million pounds for a canvas that has random bits of vomit splashed around on it and they assume that I am thick because of that.

Movies and books are another area where the pseudo-intellectual thrives. They choose only to read books that are reviewed in the Sunday Times, saying that anything else is beneath them. The fact that most of these books are dreadful anyway is irrelevant.

It’s the same with films. Somebody, a pseudo-intellectual, once recommended that I watch the film “Eyes Wide Shut”. “You’ll love it,” he said. “It is the epitome of post-modern erotica and Kubrick’s finest work to date. It penetrates your psyche on a subtle intellectual level that transcends the abnormal odyssey of the perverted masses.”

I should have known. His review of it should have made alarm bells ring in my head. I should have said “What on Earth are you talking about you babbling bullshitter?”

I was foolish. I watched it.

And I can tell you now that my review of the film is simple. Here it is – brace yourself.

IT IS SHIT!

So beware the pseudo-intellectual folks. Beware the person who uses a hundred words when one will do. Beware the person who criticises your musical taste because you don’t listen to Bach. Beware the buffoon who tries to quote Aristotle to you. Beware the person who chuckles when standing in front of a pile of cat’s puke on a canvas and says “You simply don’t get it because you simply can’t grasp the concept of retro-physical potential in an academic vacuum that procreates despondency while at the same time expanding personal karma in a futuristic yet nihilistic orgy of barbaric crescendo.”

And most of all – beware anybody who tells you that this piece of crap below, that I produced for a previous post, is in fact art.