First of all, it's a very different city when the festival is on. Grabbing a sandwich between concerts involves overhearing a conversation about vielles, and bumping into a friend you met at another festival years before. "Amanda." I distinctly heard my name murmured on the street. Huh? A strange man I had never recalled seeing was speaking to me. "You were very good in the masterclass today, and I saw you at Amherst Early Music 3 or 4 years ago." Such is the experience at BEMF, where the small early music world seems to converge on just a few streets in the swank Back Bay, and where there is no such thing as strangers.
Moreover, I got to sing in two concerts and a masterclass: my lutenist Scott and I gave a recital, and I joined up with two other ladies - we called ourselves Le Tre Grazie - for some French and Italian, sacred and secular trios and duets.
Overall, it was a learning experience. Never again will I schedule FOUR concerts over the space of six weeks. Even if I can "pull off" a solo concert with frantic preparation (Scott and I were changing the program up until the night before), I never want to feel that I am simply hitting the notes but only making a superficial emotional connection with what I'm singing about. Still, it was so nice to see old friends (and hear their praise!).
And I will also try to keep my sulky attitude from affecting my performance. That is, relations with the ladies were sometimes not very graceful, and instead of being above it all and focussing on the music, I was distracted and nervous during the show. I performed acceptably, but not outstandingly.
But any thoughts of triumph or failure were melted away at the performance of the opera, the grandiose Psyché from 1678 by Lully. When the French royalty weren't off taxing the poor or in the boudoir making more bastards, they needed some entertainment to pass the time. Lully, an Italian, by the way, cranked out a spectacle every year, long on splendour, short on substance, but as delectable as a fine gateaux.
Man cannot live on cake alone, but I ate this stuff up. Little pink cupids dancing pretty courantes, deities descending from the heavens, costumes out of paintings, and trills, appoggiaturas, and gestures to make your heart ache. Don't we all dream of winning the favor of the gods? Or at least of prancing around in glittering finery, boasting of amour, desire, delices, et tendresses? Wouldn't you be thrilled if Jupiter descended and declared you immortelle, or if cupid himself fell in love with you? After all this, and a glimpse of the "bessere Welt" that music is meant to bring, what can one say, but grazie.....
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