Diva ready when occasion calls for operatic drama

April 07, 2009|By Robert K. Elder, TRIBUNE REPORTER

When Rose Guccione walks into a room, people notice.

Maybe it's the viking horns. Or the long blond braids. Maybe it's the spear.

But even if they miss those details, they can't miss the ear-splitting climax when she sings "Happy Birthday."

That is what happened recently at Nola's Cup, an Oak Park restaurant, when the owner bought an OperaGram for one of the waitresses.

Heads whipped around and conversations hushed as Guccione asked, in a booming voice, "Is Sarah here?"

Moments later, as Guccione's voice jumped several octaves to sing the final "Toooo yoooou!" the birthday girl's eyes popped open, her smile peeled back -- as if in a wind tunnel -- and she burst into giggles.

"The recipient often looks embarrassed and honored at the same time, which is a rare thing," Guccione says.

A voice teacher and chorus member at Chicago's Lyric Opera, Guccione started OperaGram.com in December 2006 as a part-time gig. It has become a surprising source of income during the recession.

Guccione has been singing all her life, but not always opera music. Over the years she has been cajoled and pushed into the spotlight at office birthday parties, family celebrations, etc. -- whenever the occasion required a song. Then, at a baby shower a few years ago, a friend said to her, "You know that birthday message you sang on my answering machine four years ago? I dig it up every year on my birthday and play it."

Hmm, Guccione thought, maybe people would pay for this. Thus, OperaGram.com was born. Guccione coupled her Web design skills with her singing experience and now does six to eight jobs a month, some in person ($150) and others over the phone ($20) and by e-mail video ($30). Of the dozen or so singing telegram services in Chicago -- which include everyone from Blues Brothers impersonators, Frank Sinatra-like crooners and exotic dancers -- Guccione appears to be the only one dedicated to opera. Guccione sings traditional celebration songs, arias -- even operatic songs with lyrics she tailors to the occasion.

On this day, it was an in-person job.

At 9 a.m., Guccione began to "diva up" in the bathroom of her west suburban home. Sheet music and opera posters decorate the house she shares with her husband, a lawyer.

"Shock value is really important when showing up," she says, applying Corvette-red lipstick. A moment later, she pauses, assesses her progress, then declares: "No, more makeup."

She applies Preparation H under her eyes, which tightens the skin and gets rid of the morning shadows. A natural brunet, she lightens her eyebrows to complement the blond wig. To warm up her vocal cords, she drinks water and sighs loudly, melodically and -- it seems, to the uninitiated listener -- obscenely.

After 20 minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, Guccione moves to an upright piano in the living room, where she sings scales. Then, a snippet from Giacomo Puccini's "Gianni Schicchi." Her first attempt at a high note sputters, causing her to break into laughter. "It's too early in the morning for a high D," she says.

She has a reliable regimen, a ritual.

"Are you going to sing with me? Give me some good luck?" she asks Quesadora, one of her three small dogs. As Guccione again launches into scales, the tiny bichon frise howls along, on pitch.

"The first time she sang with me, she wet the couch," Guccione says, laughing.

People are much the same, in a strange way.

"I love the art form," Guccione says of opera. "It can evoke such emotion in people. It's healing, in a way. It gives you permission to have all these emotions."

Guccione herself has been moved to tears after a job.

"There was one job where I had to go to this nursing home," she says. "It was a 50-year-old woman who had a stroke, lost her sight, but loved opera. And for her, I sang genuine opera arias. That made my day. That was really special."

Moments later, she slips on a furry vest, braids and a horned helmet. She looks, for all intents and purposes, like Bugs Bunny from the cartoon "What's Opera, Doc?" But it's the stereotype people are attracted to, she says.

"It's kind of like introducing opera and making it approachable for people who might otherwise be intimidated by it," she says. "It shouldn't be intimidating. The bottom line of opera is: It's about life."

Taking one final look in the mirror, she says, "I think I was born to be a blond."

And with that, she grabs her spear, tilts her viking helmet up and heads out the door to her next conquest.



A high note: Come along as opera singer Rose Guccione warms up and then outfits herself with helmet, spear and long blond braids for a special delivery in Oak Park. chicagotribune.com/operagram