Because a weekend in Tennessee didn’t satisfy my curiosity enough for big-box/big-butt America, I am now in Florida (I believe the town is called West Bumblefuck) for a five week opera program with lessons, masterclasses, recitals, coachings, and four full-scale opera productions.
Here are my first impressions of the other Bush’s state:
A sleeping fat man spread out in an airplane seat really does embody the word “spread.”
Many black pastors in white collars.
Metal flamingos suspended from the ceiling of the airport.
A manatee emblazoned on the floor.
Wizened old timers.
Very young looking parents.
Toll booth workers all wear loud tropical shirts.
Friendly fatsos at the baggage claim.
A lost bag. DOH! Why has this happened 100% of the times I’ve flown out of Logan??
Anyway…. that shiftless sense that everything is not precisely where it should be probably contributed to my restlessness on the first night, and I was not soothed by the striking disorganization of the place, and the intensity brought on by concentrating 70 singers in one very small place.
Already at the airport, the one-upmanship started:
“So what school do you go to?”
“Vanderbilt.”
“Oh, I wanted to go there, but it’s just so expensive.”
“Well I got a scholarship, so….”
“Well I have a scholarship where I go too.”
You get the idea. I’ve also had to adjust my conversation parameters to a different level; it’s true when they say that singers aren’t always that bright. I tried to explain my current reading interest on nutrition and our industrial agricultural system to one of my two roommates, and she blinked back at me and continued crunching her Pringles. My other roommate stocked up on EasyMac, frosting, and no-bake Jello pudding mix. I feel like a believer among the damned.
That is actually a righteous direction to go in, as we are staying at a Christian college, which happens to have the ugliest campus in North America. More than 60 of us are packed into 20 rooms (mostly triples), cleaning and supplies are all on our own, most – but not all – of our meals are provided, and there’s nothing much to do around here. I take that back: there are some trees. And farther down the road, some cows. For entertainment, I suggested a round of strip beer pong (i.e., attempting to whack ping pong balls into beer cups, drinking the ones you hit, and stripping every time you miss). A tenor countered that we ought to be more respectful of our hosts, and that perhaps a strip prayer circle would be better…..
The program hosts around 70 singers, mostly women, as usual, and they have a range of personalities. Mostly airheads and divas, but the occasional down to earth type you can actually talk to. I even found a friendly Seattle native who speaks beautiful Italian – thanks to a year’s stay in Rome – and is willing to chat with me.
Apart from many scomodissimo aspects (it’s hot and humid outside, freezing inside; we’re rehearsing some 40 minutes away by car, and maybe 10 people have cars; privacy is very, very, very dear) I can’t help but feel joy in the music we’re studying. I’m singing in The Magic Flute and Albert Herring (by Britten), which couldn’t represent more disparate styles. I call them Magic Albert or Herring Flute for short. If the Mozart could soothe you to sleep or inspire you to dream, Britten makes you laugh and coaxes a new comfort level out of your ears. While singing early music is about discovering voices that have been silent for centuries, and to learn with surprise that the human heart will never change, performing well-known operas is like visiting old friends, whose charms are as fresh the first time as the last.
And the fantastic pretexts of them all! How often do you tell your new friends that three young, beautiful, fair, and wise youths will hover over them and be their leaders? How often do you muse “that country virgins, if there be such, think too little and see too much?”
The last time I performed Flute was in the pit with the orchestra, where I loved the music for the three ladies above all. I am now singing the part of the third lady, whose line often functions as a cello in trio sections, and more like a horn or bassoon in quintets. But oh, it’s nice to have the words this time.
Here are my first impressions of the other Bush’s state:
A sleeping fat man spread out in an airplane seat really does embody the word “spread.”
Many black pastors in white collars.
Metal flamingos suspended from the ceiling of the airport.
A manatee emblazoned on the floor.
Wizened old timers.
Very young looking parents.
Toll booth workers all wear loud tropical shirts.
Friendly fatsos at the baggage claim.
A lost bag. DOH! Why has this happened 100% of the times I’ve flown out of Logan??
Anyway…. that shiftless sense that everything is not precisely where it should be probably contributed to my restlessness on the first night, and I was not soothed by the striking disorganization of the place, and the intensity brought on by concentrating 70 singers in one very small place.
Already at the airport, the one-upmanship started:
“So what school do you go to?”
“Vanderbilt.”
“Oh, I wanted to go there, but it’s just so expensive.”
“Well I got a scholarship, so….”
“Well I have a scholarship where I go too.”
You get the idea. I’ve also had to adjust my conversation parameters to a different level; it’s true when they say that singers aren’t always that bright. I tried to explain my current reading interest on nutrition and our industrial agricultural system to one of my two roommates, and she blinked back at me and continued crunching her Pringles. My other roommate stocked up on EasyMac, frosting, and no-bake Jello pudding mix. I feel like a believer among the damned.
That is actually a righteous direction to go in, as we are staying at a Christian college, which happens to have the ugliest campus in North America. More than 60 of us are packed into 20 rooms (mostly triples), cleaning and supplies are all on our own, most – but not all – of our meals are provided, and there’s nothing much to do around here. I take that back: there are some trees. And farther down the road, some cows. For entertainment, I suggested a round of strip beer pong (i.e., attempting to whack ping pong balls into beer cups, drinking the ones you hit, and stripping every time you miss). A tenor countered that we ought to be more respectful of our hosts, and that perhaps a strip prayer circle would be better…..
The program hosts around 70 singers, mostly women, as usual, and they have a range of personalities. Mostly airheads and divas, but the occasional down to earth type you can actually talk to. I even found a friendly Seattle native who speaks beautiful Italian – thanks to a year’s stay in Rome – and is willing to chat with me.
Apart from many scomodissimo aspects (it’s hot and humid outside, freezing inside; we’re rehearsing some 40 minutes away by car, and maybe 10 people have cars; privacy is very, very, very dear) I can’t help but feel joy in the music we’re studying. I’m singing in The Magic Flute and Albert Herring (by Britten), which couldn’t represent more disparate styles. I call them Magic Albert or Herring Flute for short. If the Mozart could soothe you to sleep or inspire you to dream, Britten makes you laugh and coaxes a new comfort level out of your ears. While singing early music is about discovering voices that have been silent for centuries, and to learn with surprise that the human heart will never change, performing well-known operas is like visiting old friends, whose charms are as fresh the first time as the last.
And the fantastic pretexts of them all! How often do you tell your new friends that three young, beautiful, fair, and wise youths will hover over them and be their leaders? How often do you muse “that country virgins, if there be such, think too little and see too much?”
The last time I performed Flute was in the pit with the orchestra, where I loved the music for the three ladies above all. I am now singing the part of the third lady, whose line often functions as a cello in trio sections, and more like a horn or bassoon in quintets. But oh, it’s nice to have the words this time.
Cranes walking around on campus!! How cool is that?? 
The sign in the library, did they get this from the Italians? (Scusa, Paolo ;-)
No comments:
Post a Comment