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Read on to discover some of the truly bizarre ways that promoters have gone about advertising opera through the years…<\/strong><\/p> When opera was first invented, at the turn of the 17th century, it had no need to promote itself. It was a lavish entertainment put on by Italian princes and dukes to impress their neighbours and rivals, and if you were on the guest list, you were in the in-crowd. But after the Teatro San Cassiano in Republican Venice opened its doors in 1637, opera became a commercial venture. Other enterprising impresarios began to open theatres and needed to make sure they were consistently full in order to make a profit. From now on, opera would require publicity, promotion and spin.<\/p> There have been moments in the history of opera where composers enjoyed such high social status that merely announcing a premiere would suffice. The levels of anticipation awaiting an opera by the mature Verdi<\/a><\/strong>, for example, were high. In today\u2019s world, however, opera is a harder sell. It no longer enjoys prominence as a mainstream form of entertainment, and there is no steady production line of eagerly awaited new works; rather, companies must find ways of enticing audiences to watch operas that they may have seen multiple times. So, which strategies work? How do you get a first timer through the door? Which advertising initiatives are brilliantly imaginative, and which have struck a decidedly bum note?<\/p> From the earliest days of opera, posters played a vital role in attracting audiences. In 18th-century London, opera posters were limited to text, with singers\u2019 names in larger font than the composer\u2019s, an early indicator of the marketability of star performers. In the modern age, a singer\u2019s name or image can still be a draw. A particularly striking 2015 Royal Opera House poster for Giordano\u2019s Andrea Ch\u00e9nier <\/em>of an unshaven, moody-looking Jonas Kaufmann<\/a><\/strong> against the background of a tricolore <\/em>showed that opera does heartthrobs just as well as Hollywood.<\/p> Following developments in colour printing in the late-19th century, opera posters became art works in their own right. The publishing firm Ricordi invested huge sums in the promotion of Puccini<\/a><\/strong>\u2019s operas, commissioning exquisite posters from the leading graphic artists of the day, such as Adolfo Hohenstein and Ludovico Metlicovitz, which remain instantly recognisable. These featured a key dramatic or evocative moment from the drama: Tosca<\/a><\/strong> placing a crucifix on Scarpia\u2019s chest; Madam Butterfly<\/a><\/strong> gazing out at the spring blossom, awaiting Pinkerton\u2019s return. Later, 20th-century opera companies with big budgets sometimes commissioned the services of world-famous artists: David Hockney for San Francisco Opera\u2019s The Rake\u2019s Progress<\/em>; Marc Chagall for the Metropolitan Opera\u2019s Die Zauberfl\u00f6te<\/a><\/strong><\/em>.<\/p> Over the years, opera companies have worked ever harder to get the message directly into the hands of the potential audience member. Ricordi was, again, a leader in this approach, setting up a large international network of shops that sold postcards and themed memorabilia to advertise the latest works by the company\u2019s favoured composers. In the 1930s, when the Sadler\u2019s Wells opera company first launched, audience members were encouraged to leave flyers on Tube-train seats or insert them into popular library books. It was a hit-and-miss approach, but who knows whether it worked?<\/p> Assumptions that the opera audience is dying out are widespread but overstated. (Such warnings have been circulating for at least a century and opera\u2019s oft-predicted demise has never come about.) Nevertheless, companies remain in constant pursuit of the elusive youth market. In 2003, the Royal Opera took the quirky approach of distributing flyers at the Ministry of Sound nightclub, using a ROH logo that mimicked the club\u2019s own, with the slogans \u2018dance music\u2019 (for ballet), \u2018soul music\u2019 (opera), and \u2018house music\u2019 (the opera house). Again, it is not known whether any clubbers actually turned up.<\/p> Edgy productions are sometimes seen as a way to attract the young. When a Glyndebourne production of La boh\u00e8me<\/em> in 2000 featured cocaine use, a critic for The Observer <\/em>wrote: \u2018The tragic La boh\u00e8me<\/em>, first performed in Turin in 1896, is one of the most romantic works in the classical canon but until now had few points of reference for younger people\u2019. It was a bold claim for an opera that is almost entirely concerned with the experience of being young.<\/p> The possibility of seeing someone famous at the opera has always been a draw for audiences. Queen Victoria used to pop into Covent Garden mid-show, attracting a society crowd who were keen to associate with her. By the 1950s, it was foreign presidents, princes and ambassadors who lined Floral Street in their limousines.<\/p> Today, however, people revere a different sort of celebrity. In 2019 English National Opera (ENO) laid out the red carpet for TV personalities such as Davina McCall, Holly Willoughby and Alan Carr in return for posts on Instagram, hoping that the influencers would attract a new crowd.<\/p> Sex sells, with opera as with other products. ENO took this to extremes with a bold billboard advertising campaign in 2012. Posters pasted liberally around the Tube network bore the slogan \u2018Don Giovanni. Coming Soon\u2019, accompanied by a photograph of an opened condom packet. Although the company defended the advert as \u2018brilliant\u2019 and \u2018funny\u2019, reviewer Mark Berry, on the website Opera Today<\/em>, called the marketing \u2018puerile and needlessly irritating\u2019, and noted that the condom picture was ill-chosen since \u2018Don Giovanni would seem an unlikely candidate to have employed them\u2019. Perhaps all publicity was good publicity, though, with the campaign drawing the attention of newspapers as far away as the\u00a0Los Angeles Times<\/em>.<\/p> There have also been numerous attempts to sell opera by reference to other activities with a large following. In the 1920s, for example, the short-lived British National Opera Company decided that associating opera with sport would make for an excellent marketing campaign, organising a photo opportunity for the South African cricket team at a \u2018Wagner<\/a><\/strong> evening\u2019 after a day\u2019s play at Lords. The team\u2019s vice-captain was quoted as saying that he would be ashamed to return to South Africa without attending at least one opera in Britain. Decades later, the use of \u2018Nessun dorma<\/a><\/strong>\u2019 as the BBC\u2019s theme tune for Italia 90 undoubtedly gave opera\u2019s popularity a boost, even if some critics scoffed snootily at the prospect of any football fans seeking out a complete performance of Turandot<\/em>.\u00a0<\/p> Advertising opera… the birth of publicity, promotion and spin<\/h2>
Advertising opera… prominent posters<\/h2>
Advertising opera… flyers and postcards<\/h2>
Advertising opera… nightclubs, cocaine and the elusive youth market<\/h2>
Advertising opera… royals and famous faces<\/h2>
Advertising opera… sex sells!<\/h2>
… and so does sport<\/h2>