Day Off

Sniff Sniff …

No one carries MY hanky! I'm calling my agent …

My favorite moment is the jazz hands at the beginning. I have to think of a way to work that into La Battaglia.

Mourning Innocence Lost

I missed [my children’s] growing up in 
horrible chunks of time that left me feeling as if I was being hollowed out.

Frank Schaeffer in Crazy for God

I'm trying to figure out why all of a sudden I'm listening to Christian music from the 70s and 80s. I rarely listen to music, much less go back into my childhood and revisit bands that I haven't thought of in years.

At the same time, my wife went to a recital of some singer friends back home and she gave me an honest appraisal, something one certainly never does in polite company. After a concert, it's always "Oh, how wonderful!" Or … "Wow, you were great."

Singers lie.

It's Alright

Jesus Loves Me this I know, and it was Matthew Ward's album Toward Eternity that told me so -- in a language I could understand.

Matthew's probably not known to many of my readers here, but he's definitely in the top 10 for musical impact in my life, somewhere behind Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash. And it's his birthday today.

(Do me a favor…take your time to at least listen to a portion of these tracks as you read. You won't be disappointed. Then buy them.)

The Richards boys have always loved their stereos. Whenever a car was purchased the only necessary upgrade would be the stereo system. My brother Skip's green mustang was no different. He had the best car stereo on our street. And the loudest. This was the days before the thundering bass of rap and hip hop so our neighbors weren't as annoyed as you'd think. Even today, we can't help boasting about this or that amplifier or the number of speakers we have attached to our home theaters. I'm quite sure our present day neighbors hate us.

But before home theater hd-dts receivers with 7.1 surround, there was music.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Happy Valentine's Day and Congratulations (again) to the Cast and Production Team of MacBeth for winning Opera Production of the Year.

seeking addiction

June came and winter was here.

Or was it summer?

After Lisbon, I went home for 2 days, neatly able to fit in my oldest daughter's graduation. Talk about life changing. Only moments before I was a twenty-something and she was wearing a Pooh dress everywhere she went.

_______________

"… anxiety and depression, insomnia, intestinal disorders, migraine, stress related disorders, stomach problems, and suicidal thoughts.

If behaviors like gambling can become a genuine addiction, there is no theoretical reason why some people might not become genuinely addicted to activities like video games, work or exercise.*

10 hours after her graduation, I was packing my winter clothes and  flying to Buenos Aires for my second time singing Adorno in Simon Boccanegra. And I was unhappy with most of the work I had done in the last 4 months. Obsessing about that fact did not make for a happy tenor.

POV: Der Freischütz | Komische Oper Berlin

It's a unwritten rule: don't badmouth other singers.

You might piss the singer off, and (more importantly) you might piss off their fans. I'm too waspy to feel comfortable incurring the wrath of loyalists. I leave that to much more fabulous people than myself.

And tenor that I am, I'm also (usually fighting to be) too close to the spotlight to be an objective reviewer. I usually like the singing of those I work with or know. It's a blindspot I've come to accept. Heck, without it, I'd go insane.

So, I won't call this post a REVIEW. I'll call it a "Point of View."

(After the page turn, I might write some naughty words. If you don't want to read that, don't push the "read more" button. But for the record, it's called 'artistic license' for a reason.)

Going, Going, Gone

Art as Cruel Mistress 
by Frank P Whyte

From whose tragic life does this beauty come,

Wretched agony
Which yet draws art from deep within?
The pain of talent is borne 
like abject accolade,
Ever driving, a soul’s cruel mistress,
Or, perhaps, demanding whore
Whose vigil keeps as scavenger
As artist fades beyond control,
And she pilfers the fool of his worth.

Doubt greets him upon awakening,
Naked before his detractors
With wares on display,
And he listens, as mirth
Begins like lonely smile,
So eroded is his confidence
He tremors amidst the jeers,
Knowing as he does within,
That the frivolity confirms his fears.


So he runs far and fast,
As an artiste often will,
Seeking a hidden place of peace
Somewhere beyond the hills,
But he hears the taunting cries behind
Dumfounded as to why they hate his lines,
And he runs until finally his sinews fail,
His sculpture crumbles
And his music wails,
Until he finally is alone,
And with solitary ear to ground
He hears within a gentle tone.
Only then does he lastly come to know
That art is cruel mistress
And it has always been so

_____________________ 
My Post-Parsifal season continued:

Lisbon Carmen ended June 24th 2011. The next day I flew home to Berlin. The school year drew to a close, and so does the standard opera season. In the span of January to July 1st I could count the time spent in my own home: 24 days. 12 of them were working in a production in Berlin so "being home" is a gross overstatement (in fact, many of my colleagues will go stay in a hotel when they are singing in their home city).

Days home since September 2010: 38.

My oldest brother Skip once turned down substantial career advancement because it meant he'd be away from home for a hundred days out of the year.

And I couldn't even project being home that much in the coming season.

End's Beginning

Parsifal Ends

Artists are like creatures 

who swallow themselves.

We process our lives into what we make. 

-Schaeffer, Frank (2008-09-30). 
Crazy for God

I don't know.
I'll say it again …
I don't know.

I thought I did, but I don't.

-Me, just now
Opera Rocks

At the risk of opening old wounds, I'll continue to admit to being deeply effected by the Castellucci Parsifal, performed at La Monnaie. And it ended February 20, 2011.

Over a year ago.

Final Blame

The Blame Game is Over.

Scratching your head? "What the heck was he trying to say anyway?"

I'll tell you…tomorrow. But today, it's time to turn the page. Time to stand up and recognize that season is done. Finally …  My left hand longs for his qwerty friend.

Uh, that didn't sound right....

UPCOMING: La Battaglia di Legnano in Trieste (or, how to learn a new role in 3 weeks time)




A domani!