Nabucco, or Why I Love the Met Opera Chorus

As an instrumentalist who only dips amateurish toes into the ocean of vocal music, it’s difficult but necessary to admit something more direct, and visceral about about the human instrument. The very character of singing, rooted in the belly, traveling through the and pouring fourth in a uniquely individual timbre, is pure individualized expression, unmediated and unmitigated by technology or tools. Multiply that ten or hundredfold, with voices trained to pierce a hall and still be heard over dozens of instrumentalist while blending together in one mass of sound, and it’s easy to see why a chorus might make or break an operatic performance.

Last season, the Met Opera Chorus delivered this moment of awe during Peter Grimes as they sang the character’s name over and over again. From Row E, I could see the whites of their eyes—their emotive power sent a tingle down my spine. It wasn’t just the performers’ vicious glares that become palpable shiver, but the vulnerable, unencumbered remembrance of how only music can make us feel. As someone privileged to attend a variety of concerts from peak performers and ensembles, it’s easy to forget the original spark that first drew and still holds me captive to the form. It may not happen every time, but when that joy comes, it is pure and unpretentious in its beauty.

The fire started to burn early this season, again at the Met, in the form of “Va, Pensiero” from Nabucco. I’m the first to admit a choice that feels cliched, but there must be a reason it was sung in celebration during Risorgimento Italy and remains one of the most popular operatic choirs of the repertoire. I personally sang it—not well—in University Choir, a one-semester requirement for all music majors.

But musical control and excellence, rather than politics or nostalgia, was the emotional root of my reaction. The Met Opera Chorus hardly moved, each member positioned on one of many decaying sandstone ledges, ascending upward. They never pushed to a full fortissimo (Verdi’s direction is “Cantabile, tutti sotte voce”), instead singing with a conviction that makes brash loudness or strain unnecessary, even counterproductive.

For an audience all too willing to clap when singing ends though the orchestra still plays, an astonished quiet fell before the eruption of applause. We wanted more—quite literally, as one gentlemen yelled, “Play it again, play it again.” Never in my life have I seen an audience react so strongly mid-performance. But an encore we did not receive: Daniele Callegari conducted on, while Zaccaria’s entrance kept the drama moving. 

Though I don’t see many repeat performances in a season—so much to see, and only seven days in a week—Nabucco tempts me. Of course, it wasn’t just “Va, Pensiero.” I’m a sucker for real fire and the set pieces (by Jon Napier) took full advantage of the Met’s enormous stage, and I’m a sucker for any production with real fire (though surely it’s safe, it feels like daredevil flair). Maria Barakavo’s final aria as Fenena was exquisite, and Liudmyla Monastyrska’s Abigaille warmed up to one of the flashiest diva performances—a delicious delight, if strained in nuance—that I’ve seen on the Met stage.

But another part of me holds back; what if I’m simply chasing a high, one that I seek every performance but came so unexpectedly? Should I don my cap, after such a successful start, and ride this delight off in the sunset of the season? And if the chorus is just as thrilling the next time, but the audience less enthusiastic, would I feel it the same way? And if that Sunday matinee just had the right special recipe for wonder, and backstage even the poised professionals who work this magic every day looked around, saying, “Yeah, that one was pretty good, huh?” over chuckles and grins.

As characters, they sing together as people seeking for strength, survival, and homeland—a place to live safely as themselves. But as individuals and artists, upon whom we demand one performance after another to draw from their own wells for the mere possibility or gifting us a moment depth or feeling, I pray it’s not the same.