Farinelli (Italian pronunciation: [fariˈnɛlːi]) (24 January 1705 – 16 September 1782), was the stage name of Carlo Maria Michelangelo Nicola Broschi (pronounced [ˈkarlo ˈbrɔski]), celebrated Italian castrato singer of the 18th century and one of the greatest singers in the history of opera.
Broschi was born in Andria (in what is now Apulia, Italy) into a family of musicians. As recorded in the baptismal register of the church of S. Nicola in Andria, his father Salvatore was a composer and maestro di cappella of the city's cathedral, and his mother, Caterina Barrese, a citizen of Naples. The Duke of Andria, Fabrizio Carafa, a member of the House of Carafa, one of the most prestigious families of the Neapolitan nobility, honored Maestro Broschi by taking a leading part in the baptism of his second son, who was baptised Carlo Maria Michelangelo Nicola. [In later life, Farinelli wrote: "Il Duca d'Andria mi tenne al fonte." ("The Duke of Andria held me at the font.")]. In 1706 Salvatore also took up the non-musical post of governor of the town of Maratea (on the western coast of what is now Basilicata), and in 1709 that of Terlizzi (some twenty miles south-east of Andria). Unlike many castrati, who came from poor families, Farinelli was well-to-do, and was related to minor nobility on both sides of the family.
Farinelli is an opera in two acts, described as 'serio-comic', by John Barnett, to a libretto by his brother Charles Zachary Barnett. Produced in 1839, it is the third of the composer's large-scale operas, and was the last to reach the stage. The hero is the castrato singer Farinelli, although the storyline of the opera is fictional.
The success of Barnett's 1834 opera, The Mountain Sylph, encouraged further commissions, though neither was as successful as the Sylph. Fair Rosamond appeared in 1837, and Farinelli was premiered on 8 February 1839 at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.
The book is an adaptation of the anonymous Farinelli, ou le Bouffe du Roi, premiered in Paris in 1835. The story is based on the legend that, while he was in the service of Philip V of Spain, the beauty of Farinelli's singing was able to cure the king of his melancholia. Whilst it is true that as chamber musician to the king Farinelli had influence at the Spanish court, there is no record of him ever becoming involved with court politics as the opera implies.
Farinelli is a 1994 internationally co-produced biographical drama film directed by Gérard Corbiau and starring Stefano Dionisi, Enrico Lo Verso, Elsa Zylberstein and Jeroen Krabbé. It centers on the life and career of the 18th-century Italian opera singer Carlo Broschi, known as Farinelli, considered the greatest castrato singer of all time; as well as the relation with his brother, composer Riccardo Broschi.
Although based on real-life events, dramatic license was taken to a great extent, and only the basic facts of Farinelli's life are correct, while the plot line is completely fictional and far removed from what is known about real-life Carlo Broschi (1705–1782). For example, the ambiguous relationship between the Broschi brothers, the stormy one with rival composer Handel, and Farinelli's own amorous escapades and over-the-top "rockstar" attitude are totally spurious. Additionally, Farinelli's brother is given much more importance than he actually had in his brother's career, while Porpora's own (and that of other composers of the Neapolitan School as well) is de-emphasized; the movie also offers a different explanation for how Carlo Broschi came to take the stage name Farinelli than what has been historically ascertained. George Frideric Handel, played by Jeroen Krabbé, is made out to be somewhat of a villain, a portrait based on the competition between the London theater at which Handel's music was played and the rival theater at which Farinelli sang for a short period.
Uh..
Come on
State your business
Come on
Let's make it hot
Come on (word)
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Come on, let's make it hot (hardcore to make 'em rubbers at cold)
Come on, come on
with all do respect to tha game
im tha ph- enom , not ready for primetime , be on
extinction , change tha way u thinkin ,or be gone
pass tha fuck out , somethin stinkin ,
could it be tha skunk? or could it be that body
in tha trunk? of my lincoln , continental style,
pop tha pussy like a pimple,
im fed up
I put it in your ear and fuck ya head up,
turnin up tha tempauture ,
told them kids to enta tha 36,
masta meth shiiit
biohazaduas is pretentious,
do it for tha chemically imbalanced ,
state ya business,
pay me at tha door',
ironman hear me raw , 12 inches
Sure shot soldiers in the trenches
Fire in a hole
the game commences
third string rappers play the benches
Reload
There'll be no repentance for soul
Just life sentence with no change for parole
And thats real
Fire in a hole! (pray
Fire in a hole!
Fire in a hole! (yeah)
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Gundowned at sun down
Run now from the bucks sound, touchdown
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Swimming trunks torn up from the huntdown
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a rich bitch smack 'em up now
a plucked out eyebrow down
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A hood rat that ride like the bride of Chuckey
Walk through my hood, your ?drools? is screamed: "Thug me"
My revolver to reload like the Scussy, doc
The bigfoot out for the squosh
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Fire in a hole!
Hiking in the snow with 40 motherfuckers expiring the blow
Footprints up timbs are wallabe souls
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Ride off with your money then clap in the air
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Fire in a hole! (yo)
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This is for them niggas on the bricks
Holdin' down a block for my nigga carlton fisk
The kid that stay up in a blocks
Ain't no christmas ever since Santa scratched my name off the giftlist
shit aint been the same since the pain or forgiveness
Dead man talkin' about elected
Un live it cancer around throat of a critic
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For real though arsenic production that kills slow your eardrums
Like a happy hooker with a dildo
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I got the mob with me plus a full tank of gas
Yo, yo
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Turn a rap game into W C W
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Straight people doubt french fries and a coke
Doc's the name the burglar, serve ya
that lead through five from frigs and murtar
They skirt out my with Rick ran down tires
What a chicken I met who hand out flyers
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My crew large enough to walk and cause traffic
Bounce like box springs on your craft-matic
Before you be sueing doc for malpractice
You couldn't bang from start
Your girl see you beat up and shit
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Flaming dark spit it, name a mark
My impact towards you JFK playin' in a park
Fire in a hole!
Yeah
Fire in a hole
Yeah
Mister meth, ha-ha
Funk doctor, ha-ha
Mathematics on the track, ha-ha
All my niggas in the bricks
All my niggas on Shaolin
Worldwide
To my whole crew, BBC