If you have something to say...
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If you have something to say...
Say it on the Huffington Post
The Blog
The act of performing music, theatre or dance is anything but random, as it requires hours, years, decades of polishing a craft and internalizing skills. But when the rubber meets the road, it's just you and your wits alone onstage, delivering whatever you've got in real time.
While singing he kept signaling with his eyes for me to look at my knees. There I saw my bloody knee soaking my white stockings. Apparently while crawling on the deck (stage floor) I ripped it open on a nail.
I always prefer to get the kissing out of the way right away so that the awkwardness dissolves by opening night. Plus, it's better to not be surprised by the fact that your tenor is actually an open mouthed wet kisser, or that your soprano is a closed lip face presser.
Casanova was a friend of Lorenzo da Ponte, the man who wrote the words to Mozart's Don Giovanni. Casanova, Lorenza da Ponte, and Don Giovanni. A frighteningly powerful intersection of virility, machismo and hubris.
Since Mother's Day I have been reflecting on my singing career and motherhood. Prior to Sunday my memories where more of my late mother, who herself was born with a gorgeous operatic voice.
Orpheus, considered by some Telemann's masterpiece, opens its run of four performances Saturday at the Teatro del Museo del Barrio by the New York City Opera.
Instead of honoring Gov. Corbett with an award for his contributions to education, the Pittsburgh Opera ought to stage The Beggars Opera to recognize how public schools are going hat in hand, hoping to salvage their arts curriculum with donations.
This seemingly evasive conceit reflects a decidedly nuanced approach to the storied, well-trodden path that is Opera -- openly acknowledging more recent "experimental" precedents even while turning further back in operatic history for creative inspiration.
I was thrilled to learn the Met was to revive its beautiful 1978 production of Mr. Benjamin Britten's masterpiece Billy Budd, based on Mr. Melville's novella of the same name.
I find myself now in St. Louis rehearsing Stephen Sondheim's Sweeney Todd for performances with the Opera Theatre of St Louis. The last time I sang with the company was in 1983. And here I am, having the time of my life.
Because everybody assumes that opera singers are fat, and because it's still okay to openly mock and disregard overweight people in our society, there is really no reason to even imagine what it means to actually be an opera singer.
It seems that when we look at Don Giovanni, what we see are our own cultural obsessions peering back at us. In the late 20th century, we began to see Giovanni increasingly as a man in existential crisis.
This was the Carnegie Hall debut for soprano Jennifer Rowley and tenor Noah Baetge, likely for mezzo Leann Sandel-Pantaleo and bass Harold Wilson as well. The fact that all four had issues in keeping with the conductor would seem to indict the conductor rather than any of them.
Amelia was my sixth opera, so I performed a private ritual by discretely tapping the wood of the pit rail six times for luck. The jitters came. Turning back to the house, I let out a very long breath.
This is the last week of classes and last week of my full-time employment in academia. I never intentionally aimed to be a teacher. That said, I also never regretted being one.
Why am I home right now, attempting to be a writer instead of wailing my guts out somewhere in an opera? Well, I was supposed to have a gig this spring with San Antonio Opera. Except San Antonio Opera filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy and no longer exists.
