A Fan's Apostasy

WAYNE KOESTENBAUM A Fan's Apostasy I have a tiny uvula: that's why I can't sing. A uvula is I a fleshy projection hanging from the rear margin of the soft palate.' Perhaps it was removed, with my tonsils, in 1963. My boyfriend has a huge uvula. Anita O'Day, jazz singer extraordinaire, has no uvula: that's why she can't sustain tones. She compensates. Imagine the size of Joan Sutherland's uvula. Recently I dreamt that I brokeJessye Norman's shoe - a pump - in half. I thought she'd forgive me but then I realized she valued her shoe, didn't consider it dispensable. This is a lecture about grandiosity: how I have given it up. I have given up opera. For years I've wondered whether Anna Moffo runed in, Saturday afternoons, to the Met broadcasts. Now I think I have the answer: of course she doesn't tune in. She has other things to do on Saturday afternoons. Anna Moffa is tired of opera, too. ' I am older than AlUla Moffa was when she recorded Thai's. I am as old as Maria Callas when she recorded Carmen. I am at the age when a career can end. Singers are not older than 1. They are younger. Deborah Voigt, whose Ariadne I loved at the Met, is younger than I am. So is Renee Fleming. I met Renee Fleming backstage at the Houston Grand Opera, after her Rosenkavalier. Her great opening phrase in the final trioHab ' mir's gelobt, ihn liebzuhaben in der richtigen Weis.' Das ich selbst semI Lieb' zu einer ander'n noch lieb hab'! I vowed to myself to cherish him in the right way, that I would even love his love for another woman! UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO QUARTERLY, VOLUME 67, NUMBER 4, FALL 1998 A FAN'S APOSTASY 829 - this phrase had succeeded in stopping my heart and making it clear that I would need to reverse my identifications if I planned to endure. But I couldn't connect the entirely ordinary woman I saw backstage with the transfiguring presence I'd seen and heard onstage. I am talking about the death of fantasy. Recently I met Alec Baldwin. For several years 1'd fantasized about his chest. When I interviewed him, he was wearing a suit. Istared at his wrists, his fingers, his neck, his hair, his rear - what I could discern of its shape, through his Nino Cerruti pants. He said to me, 'You have great body': he was referring to my hair. This is not a fantasy. Alec Baldwin said to me, 'You have great body.' So you can understand that now I no longer fantasize about Alec Baldwin'5 chest. Ariadne, on her island, gives herself over to fantasy. She thinks the apparition who lands on her shores is Hermes, messenger of death. Actually, the visitor is Bacchus, who loves her, and wants to rescue her. Ariadne denies herselfbodily comfort. Instead of relaxing, she sings. She exerts herself. It hurts to sing. Also, it must thrill her. But it would be more soothing, more hedonistic, never to open her mouth. Opera is a form of religious experience. It allows the listener to identify with something larger than himself or herself. It allows me to identify with torrents of sound, and the stories associated with those torrents. I used to love to close my eyes and let godhead in the form of a soprano voice engulf me. I have moved on. Moved away from godhead. Yet, recentIy, Istaged a Verdi eveningin my apartment. I playedfavorite cabalettas, duets, moments of seizure, climax, conjunction, rage, masochism , one after another. I started with a duet from Il Corsaro. Jessye Norman as Medora sings: Deh, rimanti se in petto hai core o di duolo io moriro. Ah, stay if you have a heart in your breast, or I shall die of grief. Listening to this phrase, I thought, II can't believe I've given up these ecstasies! This duet isn't famous but I'd sacrifice anything for it. I'm going to reorganize my life so I can obey its summons. I don't understand its decree, though the...