While working on a paper on voice and failure in Samuel Beckett's Happy Days, I came upon this powerful and spare letter that Beckett wrote to Alan Schneider upon learning of the death of Schneider's father after a long illness:
I know your sorrow and I know that for the likes of us there is no ease for the heart to be had from words or reason and that in the very assurance of sorrow's fading there is more sorrow. So I offer you only my deeply affectionate and compassionate thoughts and wish for you only that the strange thing may never fail you, whatever it is, that gives us the strength to live on and on with our wounds.
More on Beckett to come; next month the Comedie Française will produce Happy Days in its French version.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Countdown to Paris
I leave in a little over two weeks for Paris, where I will spend most of the 2006-07 academic year. The first performance on my schedule is the Paris Opera's Lucia. Needless to say, I am tremendously excited to finally hear Natalie Dessay in an opera; I heard her only at the Volpe gala, which was, incidentally, the last classical performance I attended. The day after I attend Lucia, I'll witness my first staged Salome. But this is not the Salome production that will be the focus of the eyes and ears of the opera world, of course; the Lyric Opera of Chicago will present Deborah Voigt--my first Salome, in the concert version at Tanglewood in 2001--in a new Francesca Zambello production. Still, I am tremendously excited to see the drama, particularly since Karita Mattila's 2004 performances of the final scene with the Boston Symphony re-awakened my obsession with the opera (discovered at 14) and gave birth to a rich fascination with Oscar Wilde's play.
All this seems faint and stretched out in the distance like a mirage. Check back here and read as the adventure unfolds . . .
All this seems faint and stretched out in the distance like a mirage. Check back here and read as the adventure unfolds . . .
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
You're being watched
Most people, I think, aren't aware that everything they do on the internet is tracked and recorded somewhere. I can see this clearly when I check my site meter. This useful tool tells me the IP address of every visitor to my page. Along with this information, I'm aware of the location of the user, the system they're using, the operating system and the web browser. And I also know what search terms were entered in which search engine, and which pages of mine were visited, and the length of each visit. Yes, I have all of that information.
And if you've sent me an email, I have your IP address and I know exactly when you're reading my blog.
Isn't this all nice to know?
Ah, the things I've learned . . .
And if you've sent me an email, I have your IP address and I know exactly when you're reading my blog.
Isn't this all nice to know?
Ah, the things I've learned . . .
Friday, August 11, 2006
Summer Confessions, Madonna and Mariah in Miami
Thanks to Sarah for issuing a challenge and bringing me back to the blogosphere.
It's been a busy summer, folks. Can't reveal it all (alas, there are limits to these confessions), but I will say that, above all, this has been a summer of music. Not in the usual sense, as I attended no classical performances. Rather, I fully embraced my fantasy of being a conservatory student (not something I'd want in reality, trust me; I like being a scholar of literature very, very much). To this end, I continued beginning piano, resumed voice lessons, and took a full, private course in solfege. That's a lot of work.
So what did I accomplish? Well, I can play scales and chords on the piano, and a couple pieces. I can play my vocal and solfege exercises. There's some progress.
As for the ear, I can wake up in the morning and sing middle C. From that middle C, I can sing a C-scale. From there, I can sing other scales. And intervals. One project for next year: working on all of the major scales.
Most significantly, I've made great progress in singing. It finally clicked: I now know where the tension should be (in the abdomen) and where it should not be (in the neck). When I'm singing with proper support, my feet feel firmly placed on the ground, and up to my abs I'm a firm pedestal. From just above my hips, I'm a sort of genie. Very flexible, waving around, in my imagination. The mouth opens very wide, and there's a space at the back of my throat. Because of this space, I'm able to produce an open, clear tone.
So that was one thing, as far as the voice is concerned. The other: range expansion. I recently sang my highest and lowest pitches. Lowest: C#2. Highest: D7. Yes, I sing in a full five octaves. Since this range expansion occurred after my lessons, I've been careful not to overdo it by spending too much time in the extremes. So, since I'm a sopranist, I avoid the bottom (which can damage the purity of the falsetto), and, at the top, I avoid the whistle register. (I sing up to F#6, the F# above soprano high C, without any breaks, so that's my typical top pitch every day.)
So there: my music news.
But there are other confessions to share. While I attended no classical performances this summer, I did catch Madonna and Mariah Carey on tour in Miami. Madonna ended the first leg of her Confessions Tour with two shows at the American Airlines Arena in Miami. Mariah, on the heels of her very successful The Emancipation of Mimi, opened her new tour at the same venue less than a couple weeks later.
I caught Madonna at her very last show before she took it to Europe. It was July 23rd, a balmy Sunday. But it was even hotter inside than outside. I was barely moving, and yet sweat was trickling down my face. Reportedly, Madonna is under the impression that the heat preserves her voice. This is of course laughable, because Madonna was never known as a great singer. I mean, Jane Eaglen sings Bruennhilde at air-conditioned venues around the world and she hardly needs such a bizarre request. As Mariah herself has said, it's humidity that the voice needs, not warmth. Duh.
Anyway, I'm happy to report that Madonna's voice is actually in great shape. She's sounding better than she ever has. I caught her Drowned World tour in 2001, and thought she sounded rather good. But she's been working very hard at it, and it's quite rewarding to see her emerge from that multi-ton disco ball and unfurl the long phrases of "Future Lovers", each phrase in one giant breath. And her attention to keeping a consistent vibrato, even on the lowest pitches, deserves mention. NBC will broadcast the concert, recorded in London, sometime this fall, and I'd like you compare the live versions of "Like a Virgin" and "Live to Tell" with the studio recordings, which are, in my opinion, pretty much unlistenable (those screamed top notes and faked low notes!).
The show was two hours of FUN. Madonna loads the show with symbolism (eroticized horses at the opening, X-rays of broken bones, a giant cross--and in Rome, an Islamic moon-and-star and a Star of David, each painted on the chest of a male dancer), but keeps its polysemy whole by not commenting on any possible meanings. It's just there to enrich the experience.
What I'll remember most about the show, perhaps, is that something went wrong. As is well known, Madonna is a perfectionist. So it was strange to see her out of her element. During "Let It Will Be," she danced alone up and down the main catwalk. She was very naughty during this number. Before she sang, she put her hand down the front of her pants, removed it, brought to her lips, and licked a finger. Yup, that's the Madonna we know and love! While singing, she caressed an audience member's hat, then donned it, then threw it back into the mosh. Her dancing was frenetic and looked like she was about to collapse. From what I've heard, she danced like this at all of the shows.
But while on the main catwalk, at the center of the arena, she kept repeating the words "Let it will be," and eventually collapsed on her belly and exclaimed, "FUCK!" and sang something like, "I forgot what I'm supposed to sing!" The next minute or two, as her band tried to improvise so she could finish the song, my jaw dropped as I saw the most famous woman in the world in a very vulnerable moment. It seemed as though she wouldn't be able to continue. The song ended with a ritardando on "Let . . . it . . . will . . . be," as Madonna threw herself down on the stairs at center stage. She drank water and spoke to us for a little while. "We're having technical difficulties. In my brain!" She added that when she messes up, the band does too. Adorably, she asked, "Do you forgive me?" She then commented on the heat. "Is it hot in here?" Um, yeah. She said something about "global warming" entering the arena. She asked if she should talk to Mr. Bush about it. "Could you imagine the two of us in the same room!?" She regained her wits and sang a beautiful "Drowned World."
The end of the show was probably the most exciting. Her "Lucky Star" was very fun, complete with a cape that lights up (very kitschy), and the bass line from "Hung Up" (well, ABBA's "Gimme Gimme Gimme") entered slowly and sinuously. What an awesome closing number! She has had problems with the sustained vocal lines of the song (see her Grammys performance), but she was vocally strong that night. Hm, maybe there's something to the heat.
As we exited the arena, giant bolts of lightening had everyone running to their cars. Before we got to ours, the rain came down as heavily as it ever had, and we were soaked to the bones. But we all needed to be cooled off after Madonna.
I wish I could say the same of Mariah. Her show on August 5th was pretty close to being a disaster. The main problem is that Mariah focuses way too much on how she looks. She is extremely self-conscious. And poor costume designs did not help. She's at her best when she stands and sings. The worst number was probably "Breakdown," which was clearly lip-synched (so was "Fantasy"). During "Breakdown," she performed ridiculous antics with a chair while wearing an equally ridiculous red bustier. Another disaster was "My All," during which Mariah kept missing the same note and became very self-conscious, visibly trembling.
"Heartbreaker" was beautifully delivered, as was "Honey." The best number of the night was "Fly Like a Bird," a song I'd never heard, as I do not own the new CD (or any of her CDs, for that matter). Mariah usually holds back and does not sustain long climactic notes, but she did at the end of this one, and also sang a gorgeous slide well above high C and held it. This was Mariah at her best.
If I have more to add, I'll do so. Sarah has requested that I list the 19 2006-07 performances for which I already have tickets, and I will do so sometime soon, although more tickets will be purchased in the next few days, making the list even longer.
During the next three weeks or so, I will be hard at work finishing up unfinished business before I leave for Paris. I hope to be a more consistent blogger while there. There will be a lot to report on . . .
It's been a busy summer, folks. Can't reveal it all (alas, there are limits to these confessions), but I will say that, above all, this has been a summer of music. Not in the usual sense, as I attended no classical performances. Rather, I fully embraced my fantasy of being a conservatory student (not something I'd want in reality, trust me; I like being a scholar of literature very, very much). To this end, I continued beginning piano, resumed voice lessons, and took a full, private course in solfege. That's a lot of work.
So what did I accomplish? Well, I can play scales and chords on the piano, and a couple pieces. I can play my vocal and solfege exercises. There's some progress.
As for the ear, I can wake up in the morning and sing middle C. From that middle C, I can sing a C-scale. From there, I can sing other scales. And intervals. One project for next year: working on all of the major scales.
Most significantly, I've made great progress in singing. It finally clicked: I now know where the tension should be (in the abdomen) and where it should not be (in the neck). When I'm singing with proper support, my feet feel firmly placed on the ground, and up to my abs I'm a firm pedestal. From just above my hips, I'm a sort of genie. Very flexible, waving around, in my imagination. The mouth opens very wide, and there's a space at the back of my throat. Because of this space, I'm able to produce an open, clear tone.
So that was one thing, as far as the voice is concerned. The other: range expansion. I recently sang my highest and lowest pitches. Lowest: C#2. Highest: D7. Yes, I sing in a full five octaves. Since this range expansion occurred after my lessons, I've been careful not to overdo it by spending too much time in the extremes. So, since I'm a sopranist, I avoid the bottom (which can damage the purity of the falsetto), and, at the top, I avoid the whistle register. (I sing up to F#6, the F# above soprano high C, without any breaks, so that's my typical top pitch every day.)
So there: my music news.
But there are other confessions to share. While I attended no classical performances this summer, I did catch Madonna and Mariah Carey on tour in Miami. Madonna ended the first leg of her Confessions Tour with two shows at the American Airlines Arena in Miami. Mariah, on the heels of her very successful The Emancipation of Mimi, opened her new tour at the same venue less than a couple weeks later.
I caught Madonna at her very last show before she took it to Europe. It was July 23rd, a balmy Sunday. But it was even hotter inside than outside. I was barely moving, and yet sweat was trickling down my face. Reportedly, Madonna is under the impression that the heat preserves her voice. This is of course laughable, because Madonna was never known as a great singer. I mean, Jane Eaglen sings Bruennhilde at air-conditioned venues around the world and she hardly needs such a bizarre request. As Mariah herself has said, it's humidity that the voice needs, not warmth. Duh.
Anyway, I'm happy to report that Madonna's voice is actually in great shape. She's sounding better than she ever has. I caught her Drowned World tour in 2001, and thought she sounded rather good. But she's been working very hard at it, and it's quite rewarding to see her emerge from that multi-ton disco ball and unfurl the long phrases of "Future Lovers", each phrase in one giant breath. And her attention to keeping a consistent vibrato, even on the lowest pitches, deserves mention. NBC will broadcast the concert, recorded in London, sometime this fall, and I'd like you compare the live versions of "Like a Virgin" and "Live to Tell" with the studio recordings, which are, in my opinion, pretty much unlistenable (those screamed top notes and faked low notes!).
The show was two hours of FUN. Madonna loads the show with symbolism (eroticized horses at the opening, X-rays of broken bones, a giant cross--and in Rome, an Islamic moon-and-star and a Star of David, each painted on the chest of a male dancer), but keeps its polysemy whole by not commenting on any possible meanings. It's just there to enrich the experience.
What I'll remember most about the show, perhaps, is that something went wrong. As is well known, Madonna is a perfectionist. So it was strange to see her out of her element. During "Let It Will Be," she danced alone up and down the main catwalk. She was very naughty during this number. Before she sang, she put her hand down the front of her pants, removed it, brought to her lips, and licked a finger. Yup, that's the Madonna we know and love! While singing, she caressed an audience member's hat, then donned it, then threw it back into the mosh. Her dancing was frenetic and looked like she was about to collapse. From what I've heard, she danced like this at all of the shows.
But while on the main catwalk, at the center of the arena, she kept repeating the words "Let it will be," and eventually collapsed on her belly and exclaimed, "FUCK!" and sang something like, "I forgot what I'm supposed to sing!" The next minute or two, as her band tried to improvise so she could finish the song, my jaw dropped as I saw the most famous woman in the world in a very vulnerable moment. It seemed as though she wouldn't be able to continue. The song ended with a ritardando on "Let . . . it . . . will . . . be," as Madonna threw herself down on the stairs at center stage. She drank water and spoke to us for a little while. "We're having technical difficulties. In my brain!" She added that when she messes up, the band does too. Adorably, she asked, "Do you forgive me?" She then commented on the heat. "Is it hot in here?" Um, yeah. She said something about "global warming" entering the arena. She asked if she should talk to Mr. Bush about it. "Could you imagine the two of us in the same room!?" She regained her wits and sang a beautiful "Drowned World."
The end of the show was probably the most exciting. Her "Lucky Star" was very fun, complete with a cape that lights up (very kitschy), and the bass line from "Hung Up" (well, ABBA's "Gimme Gimme Gimme") entered slowly and sinuously. What an awesome closing number! She has had problems with the sustained vocal lines of the song (see her Grammys performance), but she was vocally strong that night. Hm, maybe there's something to the heat.
As we exited the arena, giant bolts of lightening had everyone running to their cars. Before we got to ours, the rain came down as heavily as it ever had, and we were soaked to the bones. But we all needed to be cooled off after Madonna.
I wish I could say the same of Mariah. Her show on August 5th was pretty close to being a disaster. The main problem is that Mariah focuses way too much on how she looks. She is extremely self-conscious. And poor costume designs did not help. She's at her best when she stands and sings. The worst number was probably "Breakdown," which was clearly lip-synched (so was "Fantasy"). During "Breakdown," she performed ridiculous antics with a chair while wearing an equally ridiculous red bustier. Another disaster was "My All," during which Mariah kept missing the same note and became very self-conscious, visibly trembling.
"Heartbreaker" was beautifully delivered, as was "Honey." The best number of the night was "Fly Like a Bird," a song I'd never heard, as I do not own the new CD (or any of her CDs, for that matter). Mariah usually holds back and does not sustain long climactic notes, but she did at the end of this one, and also sang a gorgeous slide well above high C and held it. This was Mariah at her best.
If I have more to add, I'll do so. Sarah has requested that I list the 19 2006-07 performances for which I already have tickets, and I will do so sometime soon, although more tickets will be purchased in the next few days, making the list even longer.
During the next three weeks or so, I will be hard at work finishing up unfinished business before I leave for Paris. I hope to be a more consistent blogger while there. There will be a lot to report on . . .
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Al Gore
I arrived a few minutes after 11am for Al Gore's noon signing at the Harvard Book Store. A friendly employee pointed me to the line on Plympton Street. I walked three short blocks and entered the line. The woman at the end of the line, talking on a cell phone, paused and smiled at me and said, "The line's over there." She pointed to the next block. As I headed to the true end of the line, a fifty-something woman in pigtails said, "I wish I could cut in like that." Yes, I said pigtails.
People were very polite and the Harvard Book Store staff managed an appealing combination of informality and organization. I met Al Gore at around 12:40pm. I didn't get a good look at him, and it all happened so fast. A nice lady took my book and asked me, "How are you?" as she passed it to another employee, who passed it to Al Gore. He told the couple in front of me, "Nice of you folks to come by." As I approached him, I observed a large man with grayish hair, light eyes, and pale, reddish skin. He signed my book, looked directly at me, and paused ever so briefly to offer his hand. He gave me a very firm, thorough shake and thanked me. I was elated.
As for this climate crisis, I do what I can. The cynical attitude that drives people to say, "Look at all the paper he's wasting with this book," or "What about all that jet fuel he's using?" irritate me because they miss the point. The idea is not to stop living. It's about becoming aware and making small changes that can have large consequences. All of my lamps (with the exception of one decorative lamp that I use on special occasions) use low electricity and compact fluorescent bulbs. I recycle all plastic, paper, cardboard, batteries--everything I can. I don't own a car. I unplug electronic devices when they're not in use. These are the small things that I do. I have reduced my own CO2 emissions to a reasonable extent.
It saddens me that, a couple weeks ago, certain very close relatives in Miami replaced two sedans--both purchased last year--with SUVs. One of them actually saw "An Inconvient Truth." With me. I urged them to buy hybrids, or even smaller cars, but nothing I could say could convince them. I know that I live in a progressive and green bubble here on Boston's Left Bank, and that the rest of the country isn't as mindful, but I refuse to become bitter or cynical. Some people are just having a hard time getting the message, but that doesn't mean that we should give up on them. I won't, and I know that Al Gore won't.
People were very polite and the Harvard Book Store staff managed an appealing combination of informality and organization. I met Al Gore at around 12:40pm. I didn't get a good look at him, and it all happened so fast. A nice lady took my book and asked me, "How are you?" as she passed it to another employee, who passed it to Al Gore. He told the couple in front of me, "Nice of you folks to come by." As I approached him, I observed a large man with grayish hair, light eyes, and pale, reddish skin. He signed my book, looked directly at me, and paused ever so briefly to offer his hand. He gave me a very firm, thorough shake and thanked me. I was elated.
As for this climate crisis, I do what I can. The cynical attitude that drives people to say, "Look at all the paper he's wasting with this book," or "What about all that jet fuel he's using?" irritate me because they miss the point. The idea is not to stop living. It's about becoming aware and making small changes that can have large consequences. All of my lamps (with the exception of one decorative lamp that I use on special occasions) use low electricity and compact fluorescent bulbs. I recycle all plastic, paper, cardboard, batteries--everything I can. I don't own a car. I unplug electronic devices when they're not in use. These are the small things that I do. I have reduced my own CO2 emissions to a reasonable extent.
It saddens me that, a couple weeks ago, certain very close relatives in Miami replaced two sedans--both purchased last year--with SUVs. One of them actually saw "An Inconvient Truth." With me. I urged them to buy hybrids, or even smaller cars, but nothing I could say could convince them. I know that I live in a progressive and green bubble here on Boston's Left Bank, and that the rest of the country isn't as mindful, but I refuse to become bitter or cynical. Some people are just having a hard time getting the message, but that doesn't mean that we should give up on them. I won't, and I know that Al Gore won't.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Volpe gala on TV
9:54PM: Cuts so far: "Entrance of the Guests" from "Tannhaueser"; Dwayne Croft; and Denyce Graves. All are quite justified.
Natalie Dessay sounds better on TV than she did in the hall.
TV fails to capture the gorgeous resonance of Renee's voice, which, as I've said, sounded like moonlight in the hall.
10:12PM: Ben Heppner gave a stunning performance, and watching it on TV wasn't painful because I knew he was going to make it.
TV confirms that Kiri cleared her throat after the first phrase of "Mariettas Lied." Oh, and that she still looks like a million bucks. Definitely one of the most beautiful women ever to grace the lyric stage.
10:36PM: More cuts: Deborah Voigt's "Du bist der Lenz" and Placido Domingo's "Granada."
The Ben Moore songs don't work so well on TV.
10:39PM: Stephanie Blythe did not deserve to be cut! Thomas Hampson's Korngold made it. Thought it wouldn't, given that he also participated in a duet and a trio. Hm.
10:44PM: Yes! Juntwait announces that the next two arias are from "Don Carlo," which means that Dmitri Hvorostovsky and Rene Pape are in. This also means that Samuel Ramey and Roberto Alagna were both cut.
10:53PM: Dmitri's performance is stunning beyond words. Yes, I remember his impossible breath control, but to see it close up is astonishing.
I heard feedback on my TV--clearly, his gorgeous voice cannot be properly transmitted electronically.
11:37PM: Dolora Zajick was cut. And Susan Graham's cute second bow after the Mozart. Stuff like that. Hopefully the curtain calls--and the mezzos--will be on the DVD.
As I first noticed when she sang Tove's last note in "Gurrelieder" here in February, Karita Mattila opens her mouth wider than any singer I know. We see it at the end of "Vilja," where she stops singing words and pours on that gorgeous crystal sound at the end, rising up to high B-natural.
11:46PM: Freni's boring and rambling speech was thankfully edited significantly.
11:50PM: I'm not happy that the Act II finale of "Fidelio" was edited. Only the finale of the finale was aired.
Yummy ovation shots.
11:58PM: Renee's performance of "When I Have Sung My Songs" was so moving. And you can see the camera flashes going off! Yes, there was a passionate audience in the house.
UPDATE (9:39PM, 6/2/06):
Watching a rebroadcast of the telecast, I notice that Susan Graham's Ben Moore song has a huge cut. Also neglected to mention that the Act III Lohengrin prelude was cut.
And I didn't mention the stunning Rossini, gloriously preserved for us. Juan Diego Florez gave a strong performance, and his voice records well. Indeed, like Dessay's, I think his voice might gain something in electronic form. The comic sensibility of Olga Borodina and Ildar Abdrazakov burns through the screen. Brian Large's brilliance for bringing out the intimacy of live performance never ceases to amaze me.
Another thing I neglected mention: from my seat I saw the monitor of the camera positioned in the front row of orchestra right, and it's a nice souvenir to see shots from that camera!
Oh, here's Dmitri again. Hard to pick favorites in an evening of such excellence and such diversity, but . . .
UPDATE (10:04PM, 6/2/06):
Rene Pape's is another performance very well served by TV. In the house, his inward performance didn't resonate with me as it could have. He was completely in character, and that can be hard on an audience--We have to adjust, get into the world of an opera we may not be familiar with.
UPDATE (10:39PM, 6/2/06):
I'm really glad to see Susan Graham's delicious Mozart on the telecast, because, at the concert, while she was singing, I was distracted by Kiri Te Kanawa, Natalie Dessay, Deborah Voigt, Thomas Hampson, Olga and Idlar, Rene Pape, and Matthew Polenzani, among others, all seated at the table on set. As Graham finished the aria, I saw Voigt say to Hampson (I read her lips): "She's good!"
UPDATE (1:22AM, 6/3/06):
Well, it's on again, and I noticed that the chorus bit preceding the L'Italiana duet was cut.
UPDATE (3:04AM, 6/3/06):
Saw Rene Pape's performance again, and I'm reflecting on what an extraordinary thing it is to have a well-produced telecast as a souvenir of a special performance. It happened three times in the last year: Renee's opening of Mostly Mozart last summer; the Higher Ground jazz gala in September, a benefit for Hurricane Katrina victims; and the Volpe gala. I also attended matinee performances at the Met that were radio-broadcast (Manon and Rodelinda). These archives bring to life, in your head, details of those precious, ephemeral moments (well, hours), and I can only be glad for them.
Natalie Dessay sounds better on TV than she did in the hall.
TV fails to capture the gorgeous resonance of Renee's voice, which, as I've said, sounded like moonlight in the hall.
10:12PM: Ben Heppner gave a stunning performance, and watching it on TV wasn't painful because I knew he was going to make it.
TV confirms that Kiri cleared her throat after the first phrase of "Mariettas Lied." Oh, and that she still looks like a million bucks. Definitely one of the most beautiful women ever to grace the lyric stage.
10:36PM: More cuts: Deborah Voigt's "Du bist der Lenz" and Placido Domingo's "Granada."
The Ben Moore songs don't work so well on TV.
10:39PM: Stephanie Blythe did not deserve to be cut! Thomas Hampson's Korngold made it. Thought it wouldn't, given that he also participated in a duet and a trio. Hm.
10:44PM: Yes! Juntwait announces that the next two arias are from "Don Carlo," which means that Dmitri Hvorostovsky and Rene Pape are in. This also means that Samuel Ramey and Roberto Alagna were both cut.
10:53PM: Dmitri's performance is stunning beyond words. Yes, I remember his impossible breath control, but to see it close up is astonishing.
I heard feedback on my TV--clearly, his gorgeous voice cannot be properly transmitted electronically.
11:37PM: Dolora Zajick was cut. And Susan Graham's cute second bow after the Mozart. Stuff like that. Hopefully the curtain calls--and the mezzos--will be on the DVD.
As I first noticed when she sang Tove's last note in "Gurrelieder" here in February, Karita Mattila opens her mouth wider than any singer I know. We see it at the end of "Vilja," where she stops singing words and pours on that gorgeous crystal sound at the end, rising up to high B-natural.
11:46PM: Freni's boring and rambling speech was thankfully edited significantly.
11:50PM: I'm not happy that the Act II finale of "Fidelio" was edited. Only the finale of the finale was aired.
Yummy ovation shots.
11:58PM: Renee's performance of "When I Have Sung My Songs" was so moving. And you can see the camera flashes going off! Yes, there was a passionate audience in the house.
UPDATE (9:39PM, 6/2/06):
Watching a rebroadcast of the telecast, I notice that Susan Graham's Ben Moore song has a huge cut. Also neglected to mention that the Act III Lohengrin prelude was cut.
And I didn't mention the stunning Rossini, gloriously preserved for us. Juan Diego Florez gave a strong performance, and his voice records well. Indeed, like Dessay's, I think his voice might gain something in electronic form. The comic sensibility of Olga Borodina and Ildar Abdrazakov burns through the screen. Brian Large's brilliance for bringing out the intimacy of live performance never ceases to amaze me.
Another thing I neglected mention: from my seat I saw the monitor of the camera positioned in the front row of orchestra right, and it's a nice souvenir to see shots from that camera!
Oh, here's Dmitri again. Hard to pick favorites in an evening of such excellence and such diversity, but . . .
UPDATE (10:04PM, 6/2/06):
Rene Pape's is another performance very well served by TV. In the house, his inward performance didn't resonate with me as it could have. He was completely in character, and that can be hard on an audience--We have to adjust, get into the world of an opera we may not be familiar with.
UPDATE (10:39PM, 6/2/06):
I'm really glad to see Susan Graham's delicious Mozart on the telecast, because, at the concert, while she was singing, I was distracted by Kiri Te Kanawa, Natalie Dessay, Deborah Voigt, Thomas Hampson, Olga and Idlar, Rene Pape, and Matthew Polenzani, among others, all seated at the table on set. As Graham finished the aria, I saw Voigt say to Hampson (I read her lips): "She's good!"
UPDATE (1:22AM, 6/3/06):
Well, it's on again, and I noticed that the chorus bit preceding the L'Italiana duet was cut.
UPDATE (3:04AM, 6/3/06):
Saw Rene Pape's performance again, and I'm reflecting on what an extraordinary thing it is to have a well-produced telecast as a souvenir of a special performance. It happened three times in the last year: Renee's opening of Mostly Mozart last summer; the Higher Ground jazz gala in September, a benefit for Hurricane Katrina victims; and the Volpe gala. I also attended matinee performances at the Met that were radio-broadcast (Manon and Rodelinda). These archives bring to life, in your head, details of those precious, ephemeral moments (well, hours), and I can only be glad for them.
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