I remember how many years ago BBC Radio 3 celebrated Maria Callas' anniversary with a whole week of reminiscences, highlighted with recordings of her music. This was before the age of podcasts, downloads and the like, hence listening to the programme life was the only option. It was transmitted every week day at noon. As I had a good stereo radio in my office, I could listen to it most days, except when I had a ward-round that normally would not finish before 1 pm. But then I decided that Maria Callas was more important than any ward-round and excused myself on account of a very important meeting I had to attend. So every day of the week I secretly indulged in my ‘hour of Callas’; it was the time very well spent, full of inspiration and most glorious music. My early fascination with Classical Greece found its voice.
Much has been said and written about the Diva, and yet her enigma still eschews close acquaintance. A woman who was born not particularly attractive, at some point became a fashion model and celebrity. By sheer will power she shed several stones in weight and approximated her idol in that respect – Audrey Hepburn. Callas’ voice, not particularly beautiful (one of the conductors called it ‘a big ugly voice’) came to epitomise the ultimate drama in vocal music. It was the drama, or indeed tragedy as befitted the Greek goddess, that kept the listeners spell bound. She reached, and still reaches, the recesses of human soul that no other performer has ever done. To paraphrase W.B. Yeats “she was the singer and the song”. And perhaps it was her intense honesty to the emotional content of the arias she sang, coupled with exquisite musicality, that is the key to her undying attraction.
Dimitris, my much loved would have been Greek son-in-law, once gave me a treasured compilation of Callas songs as well as a book about her, Greek Fire. I dedicate this entry to him.
