my first thought when we got tickets to La Bohème was that it might be a snooze. i had this picture in my head of opera as something very long, very serious, and probably not for me. then we got free tickets right at the front, so i went along. i wasn’t going to turn down a free night out, even if i was expecting to check the time a lot.
i remember the sound more clearly than the plot now. sitting that close, the orchestra was thunderous. it didn’t feel like listening to music politely from a distance; the sound filled the room and seemed to come straight at you. i could feel how much was happening at once. i hadn’t realised opera could be that physical.
i forgot the story, but not the feeling
i’d be lying if i said i could give you a proper scene-by-scene account now. it was a while ago. i remember the broad shape: young artists in Paris, love and friendship, people trying to get by. the Met’s synopsis can fill in the plot details. what stayed with me was how moving it felt, even though i couldn’t now tell you exactly what happened when.
that surprised me. i assumed i’d need to know the story to get anything out of it, or that the singing would feel distant because i wasn’t used to opera. instead, i found myself caught up in the sound and the feeling in the room. i didn’t have to arrive as an opera person. i just had to sit there and let it happen.
front row, full volume
being right at the front made the whole thing feel even less like my idea of a sleepy, formal night. it was close and massive at the same time. the voices could soar over all that music, and the orchestra had this force that recordings don’t really prepare you for. it was a lot, in the best way.
i still can’t pretend i remember every detail of La Bohème. i remember thinking it might bore me, getting the free tickets, sitting near the front, and being hit by how loud and emotional it was. that was enough to change my mind about opera. sometimes you don’t need to know the whole story afterwards to know you were moved while you were in it.