Pyramid Power Opera Memphis stages Aida. by Chris Davis Everyone knows that it's impolite to shout, "FIRE!" in a crowded theater. This is especially true of Opera Memphis' production of Aida, Giuseppe Verdi's tragic tale of war, jealousy, and premature burial in ancient Egypt. Not only would it be extremely inconsiderate to yell, "FIRE!" in this particular instance, but it could be downright hazardous as well. You see, there will be a professional marksman lurking somewhere in the audience, alert and ready to shoulder his fancy, very real, and very high-powered rifle. Don't kid yourself either, he will mercilessly unload its contents should the need arise. So heed my warning, and for the love of god, people, don't yell, "FIRE!" Now, it's not common to have an armed and dangerous man sitting in the audience of an opera (well-- maybe a Mafioso or two at the Met), but this production is different. It will feature a live elephant (and, no, I'm not talking trash about the tenor), a hump-backed camel, and a couple of big-ass boa constrictors. The marksman has been brought in to handle things in the highly unlikely event of a wild audience-trampling rampage. "It's a Tennessee law." says Opera Memphis artistic director Michael Ching. "Tennessee is the only place I know of where you have to make a long, soul-deadening speech about fire exits before every show and you have to have a marksman in the audience if you use big animals. I guess Tennessee theaters must have had a lot of trouble with fires and elephants in the past." Ching is quick to point out that their elephant is a specially trained "theatrical" elephant who is accustomed to being onstage, and not just some crappy, low-rent "zoo" elephant. "Some operas have put zoo-elephants onstage and they have, well, um--they really regretted it," he adds. Anyone who has ever worked onstage with animals knows that audience-trampling rampages are far and away the least of your worries. Like the bumper sticker says, "Shit Happens." Ching recounts working on another big Italian opera starring Placido Domingo. "Just about the time he started singing," he recalls, "the horse decided to take a leak. Nobody was looking at Domingo. Stagehands were running around with buckets." He hopes precautions will be taken to ensure that similar things don't happen this time around. Aida often gets the short end of the stick from critics these days because of all the elephants and the camels and the pyramids and such. Of all the big Italian operas, it is probably the most gaudy, and certainly one of the easiest to poke fun at. In fact, if Aida was a rock star, it would be Elvis--and not the "postage stamp" Elvis either. No sir, it would be the tubby, big-sideburned, sequined-jumpsuit-wearing, Las Vegas-era Elvis doing a karate kick. And do not for one second think that this is a slam. As silly as that mid-'70s Elvis might have looked, when he broke into an energetic performance of "Suspicious Minds" all was forgiven. Likewise, though the elephants and the camels and the pyramids have made Aida the subject of ridicule, its music is beyond reproach. "It's really just a chamber opera with a big parade in the middle of it," says Ching. "If you take out the parade and a couple of ballets it becomes more like a Traviata or a Boheme." The 19th century was the golden age of opera and two composers ruled over it: Richard Wagner, the great theatrical innovator who believed that opera was the ultimate synchratic art, and a rags-to-riches Italian named Giuseppe Verdi. Unlike Wagner's operas, which were rather experimental for their day, Verdi was a tunesmith more interested in crafting beautiful melodies than changing the world. In many ways, though, Aida is Verdi at his most Wagneresque, but according to Ching, "Not nearly as boring." It is a story of military might and deception peopled with generals, kings, and enslaved princesses. Even the gods descend from the sky to put in a little face-time. It is a story of star-crossed love that makes Romeo and Juliet look like, well, what it is--child's play. "We have done everything in our power to keep from turning this into a three-ring circus" Ching says, addressing the difficulty in staging a spectacle like Aida without going too far over the top. "We even thought about performing it in The Pyramid, other opera companies have done things like that." It is his belief that the opulent Orpheum provides a more comfortable setting for the lavish opera. And of course he's probably right, but in the end it's too bad. Walking past the statue of Ramses and up the steps of The Pyramid, stopping for a moment to watch the big river roll by before going in to see Aida could be very cool. After all, Verde's opera is set in Memphis. Egypt, that is. You can e-mail Chris Davis at davis@memphisflyer.com. Kill the Wabbit Matt Dobkin's Getting Opera gets it right, mostly guess I'm what you might call an audiophile. I've got Mr. Quintron, the Stanley Brothers, Lightning Hopkins, Os Mutantes, the New York Dolls, and Chet Baker all loaded up, and the CD changer is set on "random all." When it comes to old-school country, rock, Tin-Pan-Alley, folk, blues, jazz, even show-tunes, I am as conversant as any jack-of-all-trades can be. But when it comes to talking opera (god forbid), I'm about as proficient as a fish on a bicycle. Not only do I not understand it, but opera also scares the hell out of me. In this regard I suspect I am not alone in the universe. Matt Dobkin subtitled Getting Opera (Pocket Books, $12.95 paper), his light but comprehensive guide to understanding and enjoying a formidable (some might say impenetrable) art form, "A Guide for the Cultured But Confused." This is a sensitive, post-politically correct way of saying "for dummies." And, when it comes to opera, aren't we all? Oh, sure there are still plenty of people who go to the opera, but when is the last time a heated debate about Tosca erupted around the copy machine at your office? Getting Opera contains a number of biographical selections on various divas, tenors, and basso-profundos, which read like the kind of teen-idol puff pieces you might find situated between seek-a-word puzzle books and pocket-size astrological charts in the checkout aisle of Mega Market. The reader is treated to "joke pages" filled with low humor about high-art ("Q: What is the difference between a bull and an orchestra? A: A bull has its horns in front and its asshole in the back."). There is even a chart cross-referencing today's rock heroes with famous opera composers: If you are into Radiohead, you will be way into Wagner, and "Devil Worshiping teens [who like KMFDM] will get off on Boito's homage to Satan." Dobkin's book claims a noble purpose, to get a younger, "hipper" audience to start going to the opera. Of course, as one reads on it becomes apparent that what the author means by "younger" and "hipper" can be reduced to three little letters: MTV. There is nothing wrong with that, but it makes the author's already-arduous task seem that much more quixotic. Can the image-overdosed, no- to low-attention spanned "Yo Yo Yo, getcha bitch off my ho" generation even be reached by a book? My fear is that the answer is "no." Dobkin's book will probably never be seen by its intended audience, and more schooled opera lovers will more than likely be put off by his sophomoric tone and proclivity for alt-radio argot. Let's just say the expression "kick-ass" gets used to describe the 19th-century's uber-sopranos Giuditta Pasta and Maria Malibran and leave it at that. By page 88, Dobkin declares, "So now that you know everything you need to about the history of opera, classical singing, and the current state of the opera world, you're all set to pick up a ticket." Whoa! All of that in 87 pages? All of that in 87 pages on top of a summary of films that features opera -- on top of a list of opera-related Internet sites? -- on top of a guide to opera stars who aren't fat and disgusting? -- on top of the joke pages? It can't be so. Well, it is so, sort of. From basic history to technique (yes, he mentions "singing from the diaphragm") to highfalutin' deconstructionist theory, Dobkin touches on just about everything. After digesting the first 87 pages of Getting Opera, I felt like I could hold my own at a cocktail party full of opera fanatics -- provided that I did a little more listening than talking. Though Dobkin, himself a twentysomething and the former opera critic for Time Out New York, is obviously obsessed with opera, he is also clear-eyed when it comes to the medium's grandiose absurdities. He's not above having a little fun with ridiculous plot lines or taking a mean-spirited poke at self-important stars. For those who are interested in opera, but generally find it a yawn, he offers this advice: "Folks fall asleep during performances. And my attitude is, hey, if you're not snoring, don't sweat it. -- Allow yourself to take little naps, as needed, so that you can appreciate the later acts when you are wide awake." Now that's pretty hip. -- CD