The Opera! I ask all of you, sitting out there in the dark clutching your programs-- and you know who you are-- in paying homage to these over-the-top, overly-coddled, and often overly-padded nightingales of song. No other medium has caused so many to be thrilled so lustily, so dramatically, and so emotionally... no other art form-- and The Opera IS an art-- is capable of causing crowds of people to storm box offices, form vociferous and acidic claques, and tear down proscenium arches with regularity, simply because a new, untried soprano missed (by a shade) a rare and elusive note ensconced within a favorite aria. The Opera-- it's the sort of cultural sacred cow which elicits intense passion and ardor from its followers, an intensity which mirrors-- nay, often surpasses!!-- the emotional purpling always found onstage. Try-- just TRY-- sitting through a performance of Il Trittico without breaking down into sobs as La Scotto's Suor Angelica's tiny, deceased, bastard son is ushered toward her by the Virgin Mary, accompanied by a host of heavenly angels... and do you think you'll be able to keep from tearing your garments into shreds as Callas' Tosca throws herself from a parapet? We think not. And Caballé-- she of the big voice, the big gowns, and the big hair-- sums it up best (as usual): : "Drama if I sing, drama if I don't sing. What do you do?"