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Barbara Bassano, Soprano; Michael Bassano, Tenor
By RAYMOND J.
STEINER OF
ALL THE arts, the most difficult for me to write about is music. I suspect
that this is mainly so in light of the fact that, for the most part, it
is an artform of which I know relatively little. I don’t know “names”
in the business, I don’t know titles of famous pieces, I have never been
able to read music. What I do know is that of all the artforms,
music communicates most directly to the human spirit. Unlike writing (of
all forms), dance, or pictorial and sculptural art — all of which
must first pass through the eyes and intellect to “reach” our seats of
comprehension and appreciation — music need only pass through our
ears to penetrate our souls. Like all genuine arts, music transcends the
written and spoken language, able to speak to all who can hear (or even
feel its vibrations), no matter the geographical place or historical time.
Most now believe that the rise of creativity was coeval with the first
appearance of homo sapiens — some insist, indeed, a more appropriate and descriptive species
name would be homo aestheticus since
to be human is to be creative, and that, in all probability, some form
of “music” was its earliest manifestation). My sense is that this is true.
Although I never learned to read music, I was part of a “country/western”
band in my youth (I played the guitar, mandolin, and banjo “by ear”) and
have always been responsive to melody and harmony (I even look for it
in visual art). Even today, though I no longer play a musical instrument,
I cannot imagine working in my writing/painting studio without my CD player
loaded with classical music. Yes, I have my favorite “pieces” —
am often moved to tears by some even when I hear them over and over —
but cannot for the life of me tell you the title of these pieces, or who
wrote them, or whose talents are reproducing them for me in the confines
of my workspace. All I know is that classical music “speaks” to me, “moves”
me, even heals me. Let me now turn to Barbara and Michael Bassano, soprano
and tenor respectively. First Movement From
this somewhat lengthy preamble, it is obvious that I am not qualified
to “critique” either of the Bassanos from a music critic’s perspective
— I simply do not have the credentials to do so. However, I do
know people, which, incidentally, is how I first met them — as ordinary
people; in my case, as diners at one of my favorite ‘hang-outs’, Café
Mezzaluna, Bistro Latino/Gallery, a short distance outside of Woodstock,
New York. In passing, Mery Rosado, proprietress extraordinaire of the café (and long-time friends of the couple),
introduced Barbara and Michael to me as “singers” and we briefly exchanged
greetings as we went to our respective tables, the Bassanos to the large,
ever-ready, “family table” where intimates like to gather, and me, to
my usual corner table where I can sit and read — or just sit and
watch the passing scene. Café Mezzaluna is a mecca for many “artistic”
types — poets, musicians, painters, writers — and I gave little
other thought to the Bassanos at that time, barely registering just two
more creative personalities among the many I’ve met there. Mostly what
penetrated my thoughts as I lingered over my favorite cappuccino (nick-named
the “snobbucino” in honor of me and my usual stand-offishness by the Mezzaluna
regulars) was Michael’s expansive affability reflected in the wide smile
he offered in greeting, and Barbara’s quiet, dark beauty and more reserved
acceptance of the introduction. So much for first impressions. Second Movement Many
“snobbucinos” later — a year might have passed — Mery invited
Cornelia and me to a dinner date with Mike and Barbara. I demurred, claiming
I had too much to do and, besides, the “date” was too far in the future
for me to make a commitment. I am not an overly sociable person —
and definitely not a night person — so as the “date” neared, I began
to dig in my heels with Cornelia now joining in the Mezzaluna chorus for
me to “come on, it’ll be fun!” I relented under the double-barreled pressure,
knowing in my heart that not only was I in for a long and trying evening
(I’m an early retirer and early riser, doing most of my writing in the
morning hours), but also a long and trying schlep down to the T&J
Villagio Trattoria down in Port Chester, New York, a nearly two hour’s
drive from my home. I dreaded the “dinner date”, knowing I would be my
usual uncommunicative or flippant self, the only consolation being that
it would eventually have to end. Again, so much for impressions. I quickly learned that the “dinner
date” came in caps — as in, “A Dinner Date with Mike & Barbara”,
followed (in program notes) by “Parlami d’amore” — An Evening
of Fine Italian Dining, Entertainment and Romantic Song featuring Soprano
Barbara Bassano, Tenor Mike Bassano, William Glazier, piano, Floyd (“Uncle
Floyd”) Vivino, comedian, and Angelo Muto, accordion. Whoa! I said to myself. This is
no ordinary, run-of-the-mill breaking of bread over strained and tiresome
conversation! This is a full-fledged production! In fact, “A Dinner
Date with Mike & Barbara” is a production of “The Music Grows
Miracles Project (MGMP)”, the official name of the Bassano’s partnership.
Shows you how receptive I was to all the cajoling and pressuring —
I’d simply closed my ears to just what a “dinner date” with the Bassanos
really meant. And it meant a lot! A full-course
Italian feast began the festivities (I hadn’t had calamari that good since
I visited a restaurant alongside the Ligurian Coast in Cinque Terre!),
the “soup-to-nuts” meal a heavenly delight with ever-filled carafes of
red and white vino and Angelo Muto’s soft accordion music making everything
go down pleasantly — and almost too quickly (never dreamed I’d say
such a thing!) — as we shared a table and joking conversation with
four other couples. Dinner done and the body satisfied, “Uncle Floyd”
then came out and aided our digestive systems with a repertoire of jokes
that still have me chuckling when they come to mind. I hadn’t had such
a sustained stretch of belly laughs in a long, long time. If I thought
that the timing of “Uncle Floyd” in his telling of humorous stories was
right on, the evening of surprises had barely begun, for after the laughter
died down, the lights dimmed and out stepped Mike Bassano in full tux
and black tie. The skillful introductory riffs from the piano by William
Glazier hardly prepared me for what was to follow. Now remember, I’m no music critic
(I couldn’t, for example, identify the music Glazier was playing). But
what came out of Mike’s mouth as he strode onto the floor forcefully set
aside any lingering memories of food and laughter. Michael Bassano’s voice
is huge, powerful, commanding, all enveloping, insistent, soul-stirring
— in brief, he very nearly floored me with his voice alone. Mike
is a big man — large-chested, burly-looking, a physical presence
that is hard to overlook, emphasized by his wide-stanced pose and outstretched
arms — but the magic of his smile never left his face as he filled
the spacious dining-room with sound. I felt him in my groin — certainly
not a very graceful “music-critic” phrase — but there it is. He
hit me in my center. Then, before I had a chance to
properly comprehend what the meal, the music, the comedy, and now that
voice, had displaced in me, out from my left strode Barbara, slowly wending
her way through the people-filled tables, eyes downcast, pensive —
almost demure — her black and white gown molded to her form. Slowly
turning toward the audience as she reached the opposite side of the room,
she raised her eyes and thus began the “parlami d’amore” between her and
Mike. The hair raised on the back of my neck as her voice slowly built
in range and volume. Although I’ve only read about such things in romance
novels, I have to say that her eyes actually smoldered as they darted
from the audience — to Mike — and back again to us. Now the
hair on my arms was responding. The lump of emotion that Mike had implanted
in my groin slowly gravitated upward to some place behind my heart. It
was hard to breathe. (Where had all that guffawing gone that “Uncle Floyd”
had released only minutes ago?) The contrast between the two, between
Mike’s four-square ‘thereness’, and Barbara’s contained grace, was striking
and palpable. In Barbara’s words, “When Mike sings, you can smell the
earth, ‘hear’ nature, feel its energy.” Indeed, Michael Bassano exudes
potency, his body barely able to restrain the elemental force straining
to be released. Barbara, however, is like a coiled spring, her kinetic
energy marshaled, subtly channeled through hidden streams and paths before
being judiciously released at the precise moment that will allow it maximal
impact. The exchange between them is nothing short of electric, mesmerizing,
seductive. Though “outside”, we are made to feel part of the sexual attraction
that is blossoming and building before our eyes and ears. We, like they,
are captivated by the “parlami d’amore” — in short, the audience
is thoroughly and hopelessly ‘hooked’. I know now that they were singing
arias, a series of love songs from different operas, playing their words
and emotions off each other — but especially off their audience.
I recognized snatches of melody here and there — but again, I cannot
tell you from where they came or who had composed and written them. Technically,
I know that he is a tenor and she is a soprano — the program notes
told me that, but I don’t have a clue as to what that really means
other than the fact that they are “different” voices — all I know
is that a “Dinner Date with Mike & Barbara” was a very special treat
indeed. The dinner, the comedy, the music and the song eloquently combined
to offer the audience the full gamut of physical, mental, emotional, and
spiritual experience — I can put it no other way. I’d never felt
more uplifted, more enlightened, more civilized — more fully human,
than I did after sharing a dinner date with Barbara and Michael Bassano.
If my music education hadn’t advanced one iota, my aesthetic sense fully
informed me that I’d just been treated to an expansion of self that I
rarely experience in my day-to-day activities, and that Michael and Barbara
Bassano carved out new centers of aesthetic appreciation within my soul. Third Movement But
there’s more. Last month, Barbara and Michael came to our home to share
in a birthday celebration — it was my 75th — and,
after the festivities were beginning to wind down, a candled-filled cake
was brought out to the outdoor tent set up on our lawn. As Cornelia raised
her knife to make the first cut, I was held back from making any of my
usual wisecracks by a singular occurrence — first Michael, then
Barbara, each offered their own tributes — he sang “Nessun Dorma”,
she, “La vie en Rose.” I was stunned. My breath caught, my ears turned
red, hair rose all over my body, as first his, then her eyes stayed riveted
on mine as they offered their gifts. “Nessun dorma” (“None shall sleep”)
is an especial favorite — I’d finally learned the name when I saw
“Turandot” in Berlin a few years ago — and never fails to bring
a catch to my breath and tears to my eyes whenever I hear it. “La vie
en Rose” — for years I thought the song was about a Viennese rose
and only recently learned that, roughly translated, it meant “a life in
pink” — a reference to what we call “looking at the world through
rose-colored glasses”. These private performances (on top of several beautiful
gifts of paintings from fellow artists) made it, like my “dinner date
with Mike & Barbara”, another very memorable day. Such freely given
exchanges of talents between artists is a special enjoyment that few ever
get the chance to experience.
And so, this more-than-a-profile
of Barbara and Michael Bassano. How could I not want to know more about
these extraordinary entertainers? I recently spent a long afternoon with
them at their home in Pennsylvania, sharing a light lunch, walking their
grounds, probing their private lives to see just how a Barbara and a Michael
came to be. I wanted to see them “on their own turf”, much as I would
interview artists in their own studios when I profile them. But an artist
has paraphernalia — easels, palettes, paints, taborets, paintings
both hanging and leaning on walls. All of it “speaks” to me. But Michael
and Barbara’s instruments are their voices, their body gestures, their
facial expressions. Furthermore, their home in Pennsylvania is a relatively
new home (she’s from New Jersey, he’s from the Bronx) — they actually
work (record, practice) in a studio in New York City, although both sing
“around the house.” So, here’s the kicker — after being treated
to and profoundly moved by both public and private performances, here
I was back to square one — seeing them simply as “people” albeit
now in their home rather than at a café. Coda And,
when you come right down to it, that’s probably just fine. Relating here
who each studied or performed with before they became “Mike & Barbara”
— a fortuitous event that took root one evening when Mike heard
Barbara singing the role of Musetta in a dinner club production of “La
Bohème” in New York City and which eventually blossomed into “The Music
Grows Miracles Project” — will give you little preparation for what’s
in store for you when you hear them in concert. Their résumés will give
you the statistics — the separate paths each took before coming
together. You wouldn’t be surprised, for instance, to learn that Michael
was once a cop — he looks like one — or that Barbara not only
sings, but acts, dances and has a degree in French — she exudes
“star” qualities. Both have been singing since childhood, though Mike’s
venues were often somewhat “rougher” than were hers. What is of importance
— I think — is that their respective pasts gave each of them
what they absolutely needed in order to recognize their perfect counterparts
in offering the world their unique variety of classical entertainment.
Given the opportunity of “A Dinner
Date with Mike & Barbara”, you really ought to jump at it— you’ll
certainly be treated to a few miracles of your own. (For more information about “Mike & Barbara”, visit their
website at www.mikeandbarbaramusic.com or E-mail them at MikeandBarbara@rcn.com). |
Barbara
and Mike at home