.

.

Världens bäste sångare, René Pape, fyller år idag. Grattis!

Han kan sjunga han!

.

.

Staats-Opern Air: Liebestod unterm Regenschirm

Die Spatzentafel wegen Ansteckungsgefahr geschlossen, die Spatzen haben sich auch irgendwann anderweitig umgesehen… und viel zu tun (die Spatzen und ich) auch – sehr lange kein Eintrag. Aber, heute einer, schöner als tausend Spatzen, sogar für mich:

Hab mich auch umgesehen, bei der langen Nacht der Museen in Berlin, landete aber bei der Staatsoper. Tristan und Isolde, auf den Vorplatz übertragen. Rummel-Plaste-Becher Bier und Liebestod, toll. (“Du willst Alkohol?”, fragte mein Begleiter. Ich: ”Hat Tristan beim Liebestrank auch als erstes gesagt – kein Alkohol, ich muss noch fahren. Und Isolde wollte keinen Zucker und keinen Möhrensaft, war grad auf Southbeach-Diät.” – Ich kriegte ein Bier.)

Schön, sehr schön. – Und dann kam König Marke. Und sah und sang und wollte doch nicht glauben, dass sein bester Freund ihn betrogen hatte und ihn verächtlich gemacht und ihm die Ehre genommen. – den besten Freund auch. Und verstand nicht, sie hätten ihn doch in Ruhe lassen können. Und manchmal regnete es, und manchmal weinten die Leute unter ihren Regenschirmen, und manchmal wisperten die Plastiküberwürfe, die die Oper den Zuschauern gegeben hatte, ganz mitleidig im Wind. Und alle wussten, dass niemand so viel Anstand und Ehre hat wie König Marke, der Betrogene.

Ich habe zum ersten Mal Rene Pape gehört.

Danach bin ich gegangen, stand gegenüber unter einem Baum, und sogar die Stare schrien noch ganz aufgeregt.

Ich weiß also nicht, wie es diesmal ausging, was Wagner wollte, ist mir egal. Ich hoffe nur: Dieses eine Mal ist Marke nicht gefahren, Tristan zu verzeihen – dabei kommt er sonst immer um. Und die beiden andern – die sind hoffentlich wie üblich tot. Sie haben es sich verdient.

(Hier die Szene an der Metropolitan Opera. Nur, warum der König da eine doofe Burger King-Kindergeburtstags-Pappkrone trägt?)

The Staatsoper unter den Linden’s prima does not have the glamour associated to La Scala’s season opening performance, but the event does involve the presence of the Bundespräsident and simultaneous broadcast to thousands of people at the adjoining Bebelplatz. For the 2009/2010 season, an old production has been chosen, Harry Kupfer’s Tristan und Isolde, first seen in 2000. 

Although the local press calls it legendary, it is actually quite unexceptional. The only set for the three acts shows a giant sculpture of an angel (inspired by a photo by Isolde Ohlbaum of a statue found in Rome) that doubles as a rocky landscape, which turns around to create different perspectives. On the background, some piece of furniture and people in XIXth century clothes (supposed to represent “society”) or a stylized sea landscape. Although the word “angel” does not appear at all in the libretto, if we are to believe that the composer’s feelings for  Mathilde Wesendonck were the early sparkles of inspiration for the opera, then we should remember that the first of her poems set to music by Wagner is… Der Engel. In any case, I really do not see any added insight to the understanding of the story or its interpretation. What one could clearly see was that walking on it was rather difficult and all singers had to watch their steps while trying to sing difficult music. I have not previously seen this staging, but I have the impression that the director’s original ideas might have faded since 2000. In many scenes, singers seemed a bit at a loss with their blocked gestures and tried to milk meaning from generalized stage attitudes. Even the charismatic Waltraud Meier had her clueless moments. If I had to single out someone, this would be Ian Storey, who knows how to scenically pull out act III better than almost anyone I have seen – live or on videos – in this role.

When it comes to the musical direction, Daniel Barenboim has no weak links in his monumental yet supple approach to the score. On his DVD from La Scala, a beautifully crafted act 1 would open the proceedings in the grand manner only to settle in less intense remaining acts. Not this evening. After a deep Furtwänglerian prelude when absolute structural clarity was paradoxically achieved in the context of sophisticated agogics, the first act took a while to take off – probably because the conductor had to accommodate his cast’s needs. From act II on, the performance gained in strength. The Staatskapelle Berlin was at its resplendent best, offering thick Wagnerian sound and breathtaking flexibility throughout. That meant that singers would now and then find themselves drowned in orchestral sound, but the trade-off paid itself – sometimes during the Liebesnacht one would feel that time stood still in sheer beauty of sound and clarity and dramatic purpose. But act III surpassed even these paramount levels. Never in my experience had it sounded as flowing as it did this evening – as it had been produced in one perfectly integrated arch from the first bars of the introduction to the Liebestod’s last chord. 

Waltraud Meier has had an up-and-down experience with the role of Isolde. So far I’ve had bad luck live, but I cannot make my mind whether this evening was a lost opportunity. I would not say she was in bad voice, only that her voice was not willing to sing Isolde. It sounded lean and lyrical and resented the least dramatic turn of phrasing. A less experienced singer would have horribly failed. Not Waltraud, who husbanded her present resources with such shrewdness and imagination that she finally convinced me that she was experimenting with a Margaret Price-like approach to the role. On one hand, the lightness helped to create a more youthful and legato-ish sound that certainly brought about a more immediately romantic tonal palette to the role; on the other hand, she had many moments of inaudibility, pecked at high notes in an almost operetta-ish way and simply did not sing her act II high c’s. Later on, she would warm a bit and gather her strength to produce some loud Spitzentöne, some of them below true pitch. Some of these problems afflicted her Liebestod, but there she and Barenboim achieved such unity of phrasing that no-one could help but surrendering. In any case, that final scene was vastly superior to their studio recording in every sense.

As for Ian Storey, first of all, I must apologize for my opinion on his Tristan as heard at the Deutsche Oper a couple of months ago. Except from an extremely unfocused frenzy on hearing the news of Isolde’s arrival on act III, he sounded this time relatively comfortable with what he had to sing. His dark-toned tenor has a certain disconnected quality around the passaggio that brings about a marked flutter and loss of tonal quality, and his procedure to make his top notes incisive lets itself being noticed. But I don’t want to seem picky – his voice is big, warm and ductile and he has imagination, good taste and his general attitude fits the part. His Tristan finds the right balance between heroic and vulnerable, which is quite rare with Heldentenoren. 

In spite of the soprano and the tenor’s achievements, the outstanding vocal performance this evening is beyond any doubt René Pape’s. This great bass sang with such richness, authority, sensitivity and sheer vocal glamour that one for once could feel that the act II monologue could be a bit longer!  In the performance booklet, Harry Kupfer suggests that King Marke and Tristan’s relationship goes beyond nephew/uncle and reaches an almost incestuous level. In this production, the similarity of age, the violence of feelings and the heartbreak in Pape’s voice almost make this bold assumption work. 

Although Michelle DeYoung is not the subtlest Brangäne around, she was in very healthy voice and managed to pierce through the occasional thick and/or lound orchestral moment without forcing. I cannot say the same of Roman Trekel – the role of Kurwenal is on the heavy side for him and he sounded invariably rough and hard-pressed. He is an intelligent artist, however, and found space to add a discrete sense of humor to his lines.

.

Titta på bilderna här nedan!

.

.

.

.

Vad ser ni?

Jag ser i alla fall stiliga, långa och manliga män med partners som är ytterst diminutiva varelser. För att inte säga nästintill anorektiskt små och späda.

Varför, varför, VARFÖR tycks alla långa, stora män föredra dessa små flick-kvinnor? Vad är de rädda för? För mycket kvinnlighet eller?

De män som faller för mig är nästan alltid små och spinkiga och vill bli omhändertagna. Som om jag är någon slags Alma Mater. Jag vill kanske också bli omhändertagen! Eller i alla fall ompysslad lite grann ibland, och inte alltid behöva vara den starka och robusta.

För även en stor flicka har en själ. Och jag kanske är en liten blyg sippa innerst inne.

En av mina älsklingar besjunger La Grande Maestosa – Den Stora Majestätiska - så att man nästan tror att det är hans egna ord. Men man bedrar sig.

.

.

Nä, en total makeover så man ser ut som Meg Ryan så kanske man kan få det man önskar.

Nån gång…

.

A concert performance of Don Giovanni on Medici.tv (how awesome is that project?) – in combination with a hedge-trimming/bush-sculpting competition that is apparently taking place in the neigborhood – it’s a perfect Wednesday morning music.

.

Verbier festival hall

.

Ja här hade ju jag helt klart velat sitta i publiken! Längst fram!

.

.

Telemarketing Sales Calls…Oh My!

As I continue to field a slew of these sorts of calls from all the big gun Bay Area performing arts companies (ie: San Francisco Opera, SF Ballet, and more), I am reminded how much my own entertainment purchasing habits have changed (not to mention that of the entire market), and how little interest I have in committing to a subscription for any of their seasons. No kidding (I swear on my own grave), I just got a call from the SFO about a subscription for the upcoming season, as I edited this post. Could I be any more topical!?

Being a graphic designer, and even myself having worked and working on some past and future SFO campaigns, I feel for the telemarketers…but in the heat of the moment it doesn’t make the disruption much easier to swallow.

I still laugh when I remember the technique my feisty grandmother touted for dealing with such calls. She said she would ask them to hold while she got the person they asked for (sometimes herself)…then she would set down the phone for a good long while, until they gave up.

Thanks for the Memories

Back in the mid-90s I enjoyed my one-and-only complete 12-part subscription to the SFO. This was back in the hey-day, when their seasons were really jam packed (unlike the current 9-part season). I also purchased a 6-part series one season shortly after. The year of my 12-part series, I enjoyed sharing in theme nights with operagoing friends, attending a french restaurant before Massenet, German before Strauss, and so on. But, that was sort of a one-season thrill, and lost momentum after 4 or 5 operas…perhaps a bit too tedious after a while.

I do remember feeling rather enslaved by the demands of the subscription schedule, having to go nearly every weekend in Nov./Dec., and wishing I also had time for other pleasures on-the-town (movies, dance, clubbin’). I’m an opera fanatic, but even in my experiencing of opera I like variety…sometimes cheaply from standing room or even a lucky student rush ticket, sometimes (rather expensively) from my favored Dress Circle section, sometimes from the stage (as a “Super”), and so on. I even enjoy attending the opera with different friends, to experiencing their varying perspectives and knowledge bases…some offering me new insight, some enjoying mine.

Subscription Guilt

I am certain that subscriptions are the life-blood of performing arts orgs, and so part of me has felt guilty for not being a more faithful patron, as I’ve begun reveling in single ticket livin’. But, now that I freelance from home, and have my own design business, that guilt is washing away…clearly a sign ‘o the times.

Surveys Galore

I realize that companies are having to reinvent the way they engage their audiences too (ie: with complete design your own series, etc., which didn’t exist on this scale 5+ years ago). Extensive marketing surveys have become so common, it seems one hits about every six months. It is clear that these companies are trying to get a pulse on their changing audiences in a fast evolving and tight time. I actually enjoy giving my two-cents, and always hope it makes some sort of ripple, however small.

One of these surveys was conducted shortly before David Gockley signed on as General Director of SFO. One of the questions was, which operas would you most like to see. Thankfully, two of the operas on that list have been presented since: Porgy & Bess, and Die Todt Stadt (at the end of Pamela Rosenberg’s tenure).

What motivates my interests? I most want to see the oft ignored chestnuts that haven’t been mounted here in eons (or ever), and that I have yet to see LIVE in any venue. I also, of course, will try not to miss a production if the singers are first-rate (and deserved) “stars”, or if the production has been critically acclaimed or promises to be provoking and well suited to the work itself.

My Updated Wish-Lists

My submitted wish-list remains largely intact. Unless noted, I have not seen these works, and eagerly await my first encounter with them.:

Die Frau ohne Schatten (seen twice)
Così fan tutte (seen once)
Andrea Chenier
Maria Stuarda / Lucrezia Borgia / Roberto Devereux
La Gioconda
Capriccio
Dialogues des Carmélites
Les Troyens
I Capuleti e I Montechi
Les Huguenots
I Puritani
Prodaná nevěsta (The Bartered Bride)
Martha
Lakme
Theodora
Falstaff
Die Schweigsame Frau
Mignon

Another question in the Gockley survey was which singers we’d most like to see. (Sadly, Lorraine Hunt-Lieberson was on that list.) Here is my newly crafted list.:

Pendatchanska

Soprano:
• Heidi Melton
• Anne Schwanewilms
• Mlada Khudoley
• Alexandrina Pendatchanska

Mezzo/Countertenor:
• Andreas Scholl
• Bernarda Fink
• Waltraud Meier
• Olga Borodina

Kaufmann

Tenor:
• Jonas Kaufmann (Gockley has publicly stated his admiration of this singer, so hopefully it won’t be long!)
• Peter Seiffert
• Lawrence Brownlee (fortunately I’m seeing him in Semiramide at Caramoor)

Bass/Baritone:
• Réne Pape
• Vitaly Kowaljow
• Bryn Terfel

Thankfully, other likely wish-listees Nina Stemme, Ewa Podles, Stephanie Blythe, Juan Diego Florez, and Paolo Gavanelli are all appearing next season.

Back to the Lindenoper’s recreation of the historic (and historical) Schinkel production, I can now report a little bit more enchantment because this time I had a parterre ticket. When you have a frontal view of the stage, the cardboard sets do work to the right effect and the fun is not spoilt by the view of poles, sticks and ropes behind the scene by those seated in upper levels or on the side. Still, the production is already old and desperately cries for a new process of stage rehearsals. Some scenes look messy, some change of sets verge on catastrophical. Worse: since gestures and movements were blocked looong time ago (with other singers), many scenes look either mechanical or, when they are not, it is because singers are indulging in a series of ad libs (that finally bring some freshness to the proceedings, it must be said).

The messy impression is not only a result of what one saw on stage, but also of what one heard from the pit. After an overture from hell, when everything was poorly synchronized, blurred and noisy, conductor Dan Ettinger tried during the whole evening to set pace, without really ever succeeding. Some serious mismatches in key moments abounded and attempts to generate some energy finally resulted in loud orchestra covering soloists. The side effect was some stretches of unsubtle singing by some members of the cast.

Adriane Queiroz was an unusually rich-toned Pamina whose approach has its heavy-footed moments, but who finally beguiled the audience with an expressive account of Ach, ich fühl’s in which she proved her ability to spin seamless legato. Her Pamina has also more attitude than we are used to see – and that worked to good effect in her “attempted suicide” scene. Sen Guo has no problem with high staccato and in alt notes, but she was ill at ease with everything else. Her first aria displayed rather arthritic coloratura and unfocused low register, problems less evident in Der Hölle Rache. She has clear German, but must work on her body expression, which is rather mute. I wonder if Martin Homrich should sing Mozart – one can see he knows what Mozartian singing should be, but it comes so unnaturally to him that his singing sounded constantly graceless, laborious and not truly on pitch. When it comes to Roman Trekel’s Papageno, it is true that his phrasing was almost unvariably rough, but the roughness was part of his overall concept of a boorish yet likeable Papageno. In the end, even if Mozartian grace should take some part in it, he was probably one of the less nonsensical Papagenos I have ever seen. I have saved the best for last – I have seen René Pape’s Sarastro in different occasions at the Metropolitan Opera House, but somehow found him too chic for the circumstances. Not this evening – he sang with such depth of expression, naturalness and intelligence that the role of Sarastro acquired a rarely seen three-dimensionality. His In diesen heil’gen Hallen was full of unforced emotion and one could have the sensation that time stood still while he sang it.

Dijous vaig anar a veure Fidelio, l’única òpera de Beethoven, al Liceu. Hi anava sense conèixer l’òpera però amb bones expectatives que m’agradés: m’havia estat escoltant algun fragment i m’havia agradat força. D’altra banda, hi anava amb una mica de recança pels comentaris d’en Joaquim sobre els cantants («Fidelio al Liceu: sort de la Mattila»), però potser per això no em va semblar que cantessin tan malament. Elena de la Merced (Marzelline) va brillar des del començament, ben acompanyada al primer acte Mathias Klink (Jaquino), i després per Stephen Milling (Rocco) i, sobretot, per Karita Mattila (Leonore/Fidelio). Mattila té una veu potent i amb un to vellutat molt bonic i va ser la protagonista de la nit (sí, d’acord ÉS la protagonista de l’òpera, però també ho va ser de la funció). Clifton Forbis (Florestan) va cantar bé, potser sí com diu en Joaquim una mica escanyat en algun moment, però no em va semblar que la seva actuació fos dolenta. El cor, reforçat pel Cor de Cambra del Palau de la Música, brillant com sempre, i l’orquestra correcta. Per una vegada no tinc cap queixa de l’escenografia: em va agradar (que és el menys important) i s’adeia al que vèiem a l’escenari i al que es cantava.

Per si us en voleu fer una idea, aquí teniu un vídeo del mateix muntatge, l’any 2003, amb Karita Mattila (Fidelio), René Pape (Rocco) i Jennifer Welch-Babidge (Marzelline) a la Metropolitan Opera de Nova York. És el quartet del primer acte, un dels moments més bonics de l’òpera:

Fidelio, com diu el nom, és una obra sobre la veritat, sobre l’amor i sobre la fidelitat. Florestan és a la presó que dirigeix Don Pizarro, a qui havia denunciat. Leonore, muller de Florestan, disfressada d’home i amb el nom de Fidelio, s’hi ha llogat com a vigilant i s’ha guanyat la confiança del carceller, Rocco, i l’amor de la filla d’aquest, Marzelline. Florestan és a les masmorres del soterrani de la presó, i Fidelio aconsegueix baixar-hi quan acompanya Rocco a cavar la tomba on Don Pizarro vol enterrar Florestan abans no arribi la visita del ministre. Un cop a baix, Fidelio es dóna a conèixer, salva Florestan i Rocco intercedeix per ells davant del ministre, que condemna Don Pizarro i allibera Florestan.

.

.

Det kan inte hjälpas, den gudomligt skönsjungande basen René Pape är och förblir min alldeles egen Mr Bombastic.

Av en mycket god vän och musiker har jag fått förslag på andra stiliga, välsjungande operastjärnor. Och de är allihop begåvade, sjunger vackert och ser bra ut.

Men de har inte “det där”.

Här är senaste tillskottet på YouTube med favoriten. Katalogarian ur Mozarts “Don Giovanni”. Smaklig spis!

.

.

For the 0.01% of you not hep to the recent Facebook phenom, a survey is currently going around like herpes asking users to list 25 random facts about themselves and then tagging one person for each fact so that they, in turn, post two dozen-plus factoids about themselves.  It’s the sort of viral communications that curls my toes.  But writer buddy Ayun Halliday took it to the next level: being a memoirist, most of us know more about Ayun than we probably care to admit, so she gave a list of 25 films, performances, books, and the like that shaped who she is in some way.

I’m drinking Ayun’s Kool-Aid.  Not only do the following 25 things explain who I am, they explain how I view the world, particularly the arts world.  And if every Gen X and Gen Y-er did one of these, we would strike arts management gold.

1.  “Who’s Afraid of Opera” (Joan Sutherland and Co., first watched ca. 1987)
I still get uncontrollably excited/giddy when meet someone else who remembers seeing these cheeseball operas, done in budget TV glory and condensed to 30 minutes.  My grandparents owned three of the four series on laser-disc, and I had the fourth and final installation on VHS, rendering all my copies unwatchable in this day and age.  But I remember nights where, as my mother completed her med residency, I would watch Joan and her puppet friends break down Rossini, Gounod, Donizetti, Verdi, Offenbach, and Thomas.  This is what gave me the opera bug, and what led to a four-year old me trick-or-treating in suburban Rhode Island as Mephistophele–not the devil (I corrected people).

2.  Title Unremembered–Series of Chagall Etudes (Moscow, 2004 January)
I may not be able to remember the title (in my defense, it was the coldest theater in the world, I had no clue how to handle jet-lag, and it was my first time out of the country which left me totally zonked), but I remember how maddeningly dedicated these Muscovite thesps were to their art.  I was studying at the Moscow Art Theatre School over winter break from my first semester at college, and etudes were the bread-and-butter of MXAT students.  While I’m also fuzzy on all of the production details and minutae–burning a film screen with a projection of Chagall himself dancing, children dressed as Jewish elders, little to no dialogue–I remember the transformative feeling I felt while leaving the theater.  Less than a year later, I converted to Judaism.

3.  War and Peace (Leo Tolstoy, 2006 Summer-Fall)
“Should I read War and Peace?” I asked my older friend while gabbing on the phone in Barnes and Noble.
“Absolutely,” she said, “I read it while living in Europe.  You can skip the 40-page descriptions of the horses in battle, though.”
I actually didn’t skip any of it and lugged around a 1200+ page, gradually disintegrating, Modern Library classic edition around in my purse for a good five months.  People looked at me funny.  But actually, it wasn’t that hard to read.  It was amazing escapism while feeding into my Russophilia, and it totally got my mind off summer in New York with no air conditioner.  It’s unironically one of my top 5 favorite books.  The BBC miniseries with Anthony Hopkins is pretty stellar, too, and the theme song still reverberates in my head.

4.  Hannah and Her Sisters (Woody Allen, 2008 November)
At the risk of going full Russophile, I’ll table Love and Death (my all-time Woody Allen fave) and offer up Hannah and Her Sisters, a close second.  If it had Diane Keaton, it may have gone to the top, but some of the moments here are so gob-smackingly nuanced, complex, and satisfying that I could probably watch it over and over and still find something new each time.  Double points for his use of Bach.  This was one of the few Allen films I hadn’t seen, but a week after becoming a victim of Bushonomics, I Netflixed it and, like Woody’s character with Duck Soup, felt instantly better and saw the world in rational perspective.

4.  Kremerata Baltica  (Mostly Mozart Festival, 2006 August)
A marathon two-evening performance featuring all of Mozart’s violin concerti and some other gems and crazy pieces.  The KB “get” something about Mozart that allows them to completely turn music on its ear, whether it’s in the traditional Violin Concerto No. 5 or a combo of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and Scotland the Brave/Auld Lang Syne (true story).  I’ve never been so riveted at an orchestral concert.  Required listening and watching for any classical musician/singer today.

5.  Slice to Sharp  (Jorma Elo / New York City Ballet, 2006 June)
During college, I ushered at the New York State Theatre (before it was the Koch Theatre), covering both New York City Opera and New York City Ballet (plus the Lincoln Center/Mostly Mozart Festivals).  It took me a while to get fully into both ballet and Vivaldi, but this neatly covered both in one fell swoop.  Elo’s manipulation of the dancers’ bodies–movements that complemented and contrasted the pretty structured Vivaldi–was a rush.  Simply watching it gave you a runner’s high.   And on the night of its premiere, the audience went wild.  I want to see opera with that same verve and energy and connective disjointedness.

6.  La Clemenza di Tito (The Estates Theater, Prague, 2007 May)
I have a fascination with trouser roles for mezzo-sopranos in opera, to the point where I wrote a play about one during my brief stint as a Fordham University playwriting major.  There’s a forced physicality in those roles that you don’t neccessarily see in sopranos singing heroines.  There’s a visual that automatically goes with the description–Ace-bandaged breasts, short hair, britches–but in the latter part of the 20th/early 21st Century, the pants role has also been played with visually.  Rather than wigs, hair is cut or put in a ponytail.  The 5 o’clock shadow is left in the makeup kit.  It automatically lends a sexuality to the opera that has disappeared with our progressive social mores.
Also shifting is operatic sets.  Mozart almost automatically generates baroque structures for miles, but this production of Clemenza in Prague was (presumably modeled after the set for a Paris production), white.  White-as-crack-on-Christmas-morning, white.  It was all about the singers, all about the music, all about the performers.  And it was one of the first Mozart operas I’d seen live that made it all work, like a Tim Gunn-mentored dress on the runway.  And Kate Aldrich was hot stuff to boot.
This video isn’t part of the Prague production, nor does it have Aldrich, but Vesselina Kasarova was also one of the first mezzos to get me on my trouser role kick.  The chemistry here is also pretty great.

7.  Goodbye, Lenin! (2004, Summer)
The scene where the mother first steps outside after the fall of the Berlin Wall.  And Yann Tiersen’s score.  Four years later I went to Berlin.

8.  Special Topics in Calamity Physics (Marisha Pessl, 2007 April)
Because I am Blue Van Meer.  It took me a while to buy the book–I’m unconscionably oblivious to bestsellers until months, if not years after the fact–but after reading Pessl’s New York Diet on Grub Street, I found her oddly compelling and figured it’d be a good read for the bus/subway.  I wound up devouring the thing during every waking moment–commute, slyly at work, an entire precious Saturday afternoon.  It made being smart and cultured (and slightly outcast as a result) feel okay.

9.  Amadeus (Milos Forman, first watched ca. 1990, first re-watched 2003 January)
All I remember from the first period that I watched this movie was the scene where Tom Hulce chases Elizabeth Berridge around under the table.  In fact, for a period of time, I watched it specifically for that scene.  The tape got lost somewhere around my eighth birthday.  I saw it again in 2003 when I received the Director’s Cut on DVD and it was like rekindling a romance.  That movie, to this day, has not aged a bit.  Shaffer’s descriptions of Mozart’s music are some of the most beautiful descriptions of music.  More than that, the film made Mozart a pop-culture icon in the late 80s.
My newest obsession with the film, however, is the making-of featurette on Disc 2.  One of the best making-ofs ever, it balances anecdotes (like F. Murray Abraham and a chandelier in communist Prague) with real insight into the artistic process.  I wish I could delve into the heads of the designers, directors, actors, and writers for everything on this list.

10.  Desk Set (Katharine Hepburn/Spencer Tracy, 2002 Winter)
I wanted to be Katharine Hepburn’s character in this film when I was a kid.  One of the earliest examples of geek chic.

11. God The Band (1999 Winter)
Long before Kristen Schaal and Flight of the Conchords, there was me, growing up in Rhode Island, obsessed with God The Band.  Though I wasn’t nearly as bad as Mel, GTB was still one of the first bands I really truly liked (rather than liking because everyone else in my school liked ‘em), discovered on my own, and still listen to ten years later.  They played fun music AND wore ruffled tuxedo shirts the likes of which I haven’t seen since my parent’s wedding photos in the early 80s.  It’s also highly probable that I still have a schoolgirl crush on Mugwump Jizm.

12.  Werther (Metropolitan Opera, January 2004)
I love putting this story right below something involving God The Band.  It was one of the coldest nights of the year, I had just woken up from a 23 hour nap thanks to my first jet lag, and Roberto Alagna got a hard-on while singing “Pourquoi Me Reveiller?”  That’s the kind of thing that sticks with you like oatmeal to ribs.

13.  Geoff Dyer (2002, 2004, and 2005, Various Months)
Geoff made me the traveler I am today.  Out of Sheer Rage was recommended to me after I read some stuff by Alain de Botton and expressed an interest in DH Lawrence.  I started reading it in high school, put it down for a few years, and picked it up on a flight to Paris.  The day I got back from Paris, I bought his collection of essays, Yoga for People Who Can’t Be Bothered to Do It, and then the next year read Paris Trance (A Romance), which sealed the trifecta for me.  Though I have read and enjoyed several of his other books, his eye for detail in Trance, quirky humour in Rage, and sentences in Yoga like: “I was happy to be here in this chair-intensive café in the autumn of my drug-taking years, with my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, Dazed, who a few weeks later would succumb to one of her periodic bouts of severe depression” (interrupting an otherwise breezy-ish essay) make me wish I’d written them.  I’d written before reading Dyer, but I don’t think I’d still be writing today if it weren’t for his works.

14.  Rose Rage (Duke Theater/Chicago Shakespeare Theater, 2004 September)
Seeing Henry IV parts I, II, and III in one marathon production (with a dinner break that my gal-pal and I spent eating sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls at Ollie’s Noodle Shop) is like seeing all four parts of the Ring Cycle at once.  We came out wired.  For three of the Bard’s lesser-known but just-as-violent-as-Macbeth plays, the company used cabbages and offal as the outlets for beheadings, stabbings, and other murders and set the whole of the performance in a Victorian butcher shop.  Never have I reacted so sharply to a vegetable being chopped.  I still talk about it.

15.  Batsheva Dance Company – Telophaza (Lincoln Center Festival, 2006 July)
The audience interaction, use of “I’m on Fire,” and crazy Israeli music was one thing.  But when they got to the end blow-out with nightclub lighting, bagpipe dance music, and a post-coital chick crawling towards a camera projected onto the stage, it was something else altogether.  Also, the way they contorted their bodies while still making it look like dance rather than epilepsy and when they show a symphony of movement in standing still.

16.  Orlando (New York City Opera, 2005 April)
The first time Handel REALLY clicked for me.  I was ushering for this performance and first saw a Sunday matinee under the haze of a few bellinis at Cafe Lalo brunch from 45 minutes earlier.  Maybe that helped, but Matthew White singing “Verdi allori” certainly sealed the deal.  And coming in from the misty rain to a warm and lush green set was sort of delicious.

17.  Faust (The Metropolitan Opera, 2005 May-ish)
Went for Alagna and because I’d never seen this (a favorite) live, but stayed for Dmitri Hvorostovsky.  He had this brilliant white hair and dark navy soldier’s uniform which you completely forgot about the moment he opened his mouth.  When he finished “Avant de quitter ces lieux,” there was first silence.  Then a roar of bravos.  THEN came the applause.  Some of the production was cheeseball and had plenty of WTF moments, but I was still in my own little world by the end and was apparently told by an usher that I had to clear out of the theatre 5 minutes after everyone else had left.  I still have a photo/article from Vanity Fair featuring Dmitri, Rene, and Roberto called “The Three Tens.”

18.  New York Magazine (First read summer 2003-ish)
Specifically, these articles (in no particular order):
Up With Grups
Change Your Life (not fair, I know)
Vanishing Act (Spalding’s suicide helped me cope with my father’s death)
The Education of Alexandra Polier
Blogs to Riches
The Fast Supper
Can’t Get No Satisfaction
Say Everything
Alone Together
And Grub Street’s New York Diet.  It appeals to the foodie voyeur in me.  What people eat is so telling of whether or not I’d like them in real life.  New York got me through so many temp jobs and thankfully shaped my consciousness for the better while I was dying of boredom, phone logs, and fluorescent lights.

19.  Anthony Bourdain’s Live From Beirut Special (2008 August)
Being Syrian, it was hard to watch a country that my grandmother left and a country I felt proud to be a part of wreak such havoc.  Somehow, seeing it all through the food refraction made it the most palpable.  One day after watching this on my iPod (while going through Germany and Austria), Russia invaded Georgia.

20.  Hilary Hahn and Chris Thile in Concert (Housing Works Bookstore, 2006 October)
Hilary was the first classical recording artist that I began to actively follow (as opposed to following a composer) as a teen.  She was about my age and one of the things that made me want to travel most was reading her online journal and poring over her photos.  I think, somewhat as a result, we probably share similar worldviews.
But first seeing her live sitting on the floor of the Housing Works Bookstore on the LES–sitting two feet away from her spiffy boots, I may add–made her less of a classical icon and more of just a really cool musician.  A really cool musician who played a Bach duet with mandolin jamming folk artist Chris Thile (who looked like he was making country love to his instrument) and a solo version of Erlkoening–all parts at once.  And afterwards my boyfriend and I browsed dusty old books and ate at 30s Tokyo sexpot restaurant Kenka.
We saw her recently with the LA Phil.  While she was genius, it just wasn’t the same.

21.  Moonstruck (First watched 1988-ish)
This is my family’s movie–or more specifially, mine and my mother’s movie.  She has the exact same La Boheme poster that hangs in Nic Cage’s apartment.  When we run out of things to talk about at lunch, I’ll lean in and say “And then, there’s copper…which is the only pipe I use.”  It’s silly, but it’s so how I feel about my family sometimes that I probably wouldn’t be who I am today if i didn’t cook up a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs and watch this every now and then.

22.  Pink Martini (2002 Summer)
I had their first CD for about a year before I first listened to it–after spending a summer in New York at Barnard College–and it blew my small-town mind.  No one had ever told me you could make a CD that represented about 20 different cultures.

23.  I Was Told There’d Be Cake (Sloane Crosley, 2008 Summer)
There’s a pattern here, like STiCP, I was reluctant to pick this up because it seemed like one of those books that everyone was reading.  But I read the entire thing cover-to-cover on a plane ride and was howling while doing window-seat yoga to keep the circulation going.  There are some things that Crosley talks about that I am honestly not sure I’d ever share–but I was thinking them all the same.  It’s really refreshing to read an essayist whose pop culture references speak to my generation without making Oregon Trail or summer camp seem embarassingly lame.

24.  AngloMania (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2006 Summer)
I wanted to live in this exhibition.  The perfect mix of punk rock and high culture.

25.  Lucia di Lammermoor (Donizetti, Too Many Times to Recall)
I’ve actually only seen this live once, but it’s my grandfather’s favorite opera, one of my mother’s favorite operas, and, through cultural/familial osmosis, mine as well.  If I could only listen to one opera for the rest of my life, I think I could go with this one.  And if I could only pick two pieces, they’d be Edgardo’s death scene (at the end of the opera) and the Sextet (from Act II).  Every time I listen to them I find something new in the music.

.

Café Don Giovanni i Huddinge Centrum

.

Idag var dottern och jag i Huddinge Centrum och shoppade lite småsaker. Sen gick vi på trevliga Café Don Giovanni vid Forelltorget. Fast så soligt som på bilden var det ju inte förstås!

Det är så himla roligt att vara så mycket rörligare nu än förut! Det blir skillnad för varje dag tycker jag, och jag kan göra sånt som var otänkbart och omöjligt för bara ett halvår sedan.

En del kan tycka att det är fånigt. Självklarheter. Men för mig är det jättestort och har fortfarande nyhetens behag.

Vi “syndade” lite på caféet… Tog varsin chokladbiskvi… Men de var små!

.

.

.

.

De mycket intressanta och läsvärda bloggarna Kattlådan samt Kvinna, tjej, tant/Utsikt från andra våningen, har  hedrat mig med en utmärkelse.

Tackar ödmjukast!

Några frågeställningar följer med utmärkelsen. De är som följer;

Fem saker jag inte kan vara utan:

1, Barnen

2, Musik

3, Litteratur

4, Vännerna

5, Datorn

Sju sanningar om mig själv:

1, Jag skjuter alltid upp allting så länge som möjligt. Jobbar bäst emot en deadline!

2, Jag gillar att sparka uppåt.

3, Jag är väldigt kategorisk, men mixar det med diplomati, varför jag funkar i de flesta sociala sammanhang.

4, Jag  tycker att böckerna skrivna av Elizabeth George är de bästa jag någonsin läst.

5, Jag tycker att René Pape, Nathaniel Parker, Jan Eliasson och Harald Treutiger är skitsnygga och jättesexiga!

6, Fick jag välja mellan en stor gräddglass med mycket choklad på och en fläskkotlett, så valde jag det sistnämnda.
Redan som mycket liten stod min håg till späck, fett och fläsk.

7, Jag älskar grisar!

Denna utmärkelse vill jag gärna skicka vidare och i stället för att välja ut några, så uppmanar jag alla som känner sig manade att ta emot den.

Alla mina bloggvänner – ni hittar dem under Blogroll i högerspalten – är värda guld! Dessutom alla som kommenterar men som inte har egna bloggar, ni förgyller min tillvaro!

.

.

.

.

Man behöver verkligen inte äga äkta guld för att kunna känna sig rik och lycklig!

Egentligen har jag inte tid med detta, ska bort och iväg. Men det kvillrar i mig och jag behöver få dela med mig.

Trevlig helg alla!

.

.

.

Jag är mätt.

Proppmätt!

Det känns som om jag har tusen tegelstenar i magen, och ändå åt jag faktiskt minst av alla denna julafton. Ett par skivor skinka, två prinskorvar, en köttbulle, två ägghalvor… Sen kaffe och lite senare blev det “Ris à la Malta” på LCHF-vis.

Jag tror jag spricker snart! Och jag vill inte se åt julmat mer i hela mitt liv! Någonsin!

Kanske bäst att låta maten stå framme så nån snäll liten tomteskara kan förbarma sig över resterna…

.

.

Nej inte alls!

Konterfejet gjort av mandelmassa här ovan ska föreställa den världsberömde operasångaren René Pape. Fast jag medger, det är inte särskilt likt…

.

Deprimerad gylta

.

Vi har avverkat årets marsipangristillverkning dottern och jag. Rätt kul, men väldigt kladdigt och kletigt. Nu har våra konstverk dessutom fått ett täcke av smält choklad över sig.

.

Dotterns två galtar

.

Det här är ingenting som vi ska äta egentligen. Men lite, lite till jul kan man få unna sig. Sen blir det hårda tag igen efter nyår!

.

…dansar Mossenissarna på bordet!

.

René Pape, den mest magnifika röst jag någonsin hört. Här sjunger han “Beda, beda” ur Dvoraks opera Rusalka.

.

…sjunger så bra så jag blir alldeles total!

.

Den fantastiskt formidable tyske basen René Pape sjunger arian “Ecco il mondo” från Arrigo Boitos opera Mefistofele.

René Pape, världens bäste sångare, kan trollbinda med sin röst.

Här Colas aria “Diggi, daggi” ur Mozarts “Bastien och Bastienne”.