I was driving home from work last night and, as usual, had the local classical music station on. The show was "Exploring Music," in which the host takes a composer or period or aspect of music and discusses him, her or it for a week. This week it was Handel. Since this is also Christmas week, the last music played for the program for the week were the choruses "Worthy is the Lamb," "Amen" and the "Halleluiah Chorus" from Handel's oratorio Messiah. As I listened to them, it brought back memories of years past, one of which I wanted to put up on here.
While I was in high school, I was crazy about music. Choir music, classical music, the little bit of opera I'd heard, Irish music--you name, it, I'd listen to it, sing it or dance to it. Needless to say, I also persuaded myself that I could never do anything with music, so I could just enjoy it but major in something that would provide a firm job offer after school. But I digress, as usual.
When an aquiantance from church mentioned a citywide community-based choir that sang the Messiah every year, I immediately thought "cool." Now, I'd heard a few pieces of it before, but not the whole thing. I'd even sung "Lift Up Your Heads, O Ye Gates" and the "Halleluiah Chorus." (My church had a very unusual choir director). Still, I figured, it's music. What's not to like?
So I spent my Sundays that fall driving to church for choir (an hour away), driving back to the house, driving back down a few hours later for the community choir practice, and driving back to the house again. All told, I spent about four hours in the car each Sunday, as my parents lived (and still live) an hour away from anything except cows. But it really was worth it. While not a professional choir by any reach, the vast majority of people in the 200-voice choir had at least some kind of musical training, from degrees in music (there were a lot of teachers in the choir) to good church choirs. We sang it with a very good instrument ensemble, and the soloists were flown in from around the country. The director was really patient, really talented, etc. I had so much fun that fall that I did it again the next year.
Every year we put on two performances; a Saturday evening and a Sunday afternoon. We had a dress rehearsal with the instrumentalists and the soloists that Friday night. The rather large church in which we performed was always packed to the rafters for both performances.
I had a friend from church who had enjoyed going to performances of the Messiah many years before, but due to health issues (asthma/chemical sensitivity/environmental allergies etc) hadn't been to a musical concert in many years. This friend and I had met in church; she and her husband were old enough to be my parents or (very young) grandparents, but we all got along quite well. At some point, I had the idea of having them attend the dress rehearsal. After all, I reasoned, virtually no one else will be in there, so the allergies/asthma wouldn't be as triggered by perfumes and such.
I explained the situation to the director, who was quite agreeable. And so they came.
The soloists that year were outstanding. The highlight of the evening, I think, was the bass/trumpet solo "The Trumpet Shall Sound." Absolutely glorious.
At the end, I went and found my friends to ask what they thought. She literally had tears in her eyes from the beauty of it all.
The other thing I remember is watching the soprano soloist very closely the following evening. She was dressed in this stunning black evening dress with long net sleeves. I remember that the neet of the sleeves was beaded and in a kind of spiderweb pattern, which sounds weird but was stunningly beautiful. I remember her singing the aria "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth" and, at some point during that looking up with this expression on her face of "I live for making this glorious sound." I also remember how gracious she was; she was smiling most of the evening and when she was given a standing ovation at the end of the program, she bowed and then turned to the choir, indicated us with her hand, and bowed. I remember thinking (as a very awkward teenager) how much I wanted to be that: beautiful, happy, talented, and a lady.
I think I learned several things that evening. First, how glorious Handel is. Second, how music can touch people's hearts and lives. And third, what I wanted to be.
And all that, which I hadn't thought about in years, came back to me as I listened to that Handel last night.
Book: The Inner Voice
Author: Renee Fleming
Originally Published In: 2004
Rating: How much higher than five stars can one go?
Several weeks ago themaureencorps and shewhomustbeobeyed asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I gave them a list which basically said opera, opera, more opera, some music, some books, some prints. Obviously, this was a list from which they would choose a few things to get; I was just trying to make it easy. We do lists for each other around Christmas because while I know that themaureencorps will want DVDs, she has THOUSANDS of them already so I would otherwise have no idea what to get her and shewhomustbeobeyed has specific yet wideranging ideas (this year, I got her temporary tatoos and a new sweater). In my case, they admit to not knowing much about my kinds of books or music or art, so I give 'em a list.
Anywhoooo-where was I?
Oh, right.
Bear in mind that while I love classical music as a whole, I am still but a freshman, and really haven't familiarized myself with opera as much as some others have. I grew up in a household with NO exposure to opera beyond the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas (don't get me wrong, I still love G&S). So, aside from Pavarotti (childhood friend introduced me to him singing "Nessun Dorma" and I fell in love) I know almost nothing about opera or its singers except what I hear around me at school and read about in my spare minutes. I watch clips on YouTube and am slowly aquiring a CD collection. Right now I have some each of Joan Sutherland, Pavarotti, Kathleen Battle, Jessye Norman, Cecilia Bartoli; very wide ranging, but I'm still trying to figure out what I like and what's what and who's who in opera. This is a very fun time!
So, when asked what I wanted for Christmas, I threw some of the aforementioned names on a list, along with that of Renee Fleming. When themaureencorps and shewhomustbeobeyed found that Renee Fleming had written a book, they got me two of her CDs and the book (as well as some delightful Degas and Monet prints, but that's another post) for Christmas. (end of second digression)
I just finished reading the book.
Wow.
Wow.
WOW.
I think I'm still trying to process a great deal of it. But still---WOW.
She wrote that she wrote the book in part because she wanted a book like this when she started out as a singer. It is brilliant. Perfect. Exactly what I needed right now. And I'll be reereading this periodically.
She describes so many of the ideas (technical, emotional, performance, you name it) that I have or had been thinking about or ponder occasionally. This really is exactly what I needed. I only wish it had gone on longer, but she covered pretty much everything.
This book is not an autobiography of her so much as it is an autobiography of her voice and what singing is all about. It is humorous, supportive and gentle. She doesn't (thank you!) turn her life into a soap opera (oh, thank you so much!); instead, she touches on family stuff so far as it affects her voice, but doesn't air dirty laundry. In short (now that WOULD be a first) the book is broadening, amusing, and classy. She discusses things technical (mask singing, how to reach high notes, et all), businesslike (managers, for example), scholastic (her wonderful teachers through the years) and even relationships with directors/producers/actors/singers.
If you are considering studying classical voice, are interested in opera or classical singing, or need, as a singer, a boost of wisdom and humor--READ THIS BOOK. NOW. And I don't want to hear about how you don't have time to read anything. I (who am a firm believer in practicing, practicing a lot, and then practicing some more to the point of occasionally solfeging in my sleep) say that this is as important as practicing.
So, READ THIS!
this dratted computer ate the post I tried to do earlier (words cannot express how much I dislike this infernal machine, I spent an HOUR AND A HALF on that post) so I will try again. If this post is eaten, the computer gets thrown onto the freeway in rush hour traffic.
Now then: Christmas spirit!
First, we went to midnight Mass...
themaureencorps is much too cool for all this
shewhomustbeobeyed is being tolerant of the diva and her new camera
i love ze christmas, i love ze midnight Mass, i love ze music, i love-hey! did you just take a picture of me?
Regina Caeli et Terrae
(and this camera can zoom way up over the altar!)
poinsettias on the high altar
golden light all over the altar
adoration of the shepherds
and then we went home to open a present and go to bed...
the angel on the magnificent tree (about 7 feet tall, give or take-the tree, not the angel)
and fell into bed, to get up the next morning and feed the herds of animals that are petsat, returning to open PRESENTS:
food, glorious food! (expensive, canned, once-a-year food at that)
the cosmos-dog will hate me for this (evil cackle here)
i think themaureencorps was just possessed by a zombie. amun-cat is very worried.
thelibrarian has toffee, and cosmos-dog wants some. pretty please?
this man is the biggest three stooges fan alive
i rest my case
the hat is very archie goodwin
what to get the terminator fan who has everything terminator? why, the leather-and-bronze box set from the UK, of course!
where is cosmos-dog?
all bow down in worship of the glory of shewhomustbeobeyed's new shoes
this man makes most trekkies look run of the mill. when we have "enterprise" tree ornaments...
all she wanted for christmas was an exercise mat on which to practice her nunchuck skills-AND SHE GOT IT!
after much present-opening and eating of turkey, i got dressed to go sing gregorian chant at my beloved tridentine Latin Mass:
in texas, roses bloom at Christmas, and I have proof!
the reading of the epistle
silence really is beautiful sometimes
why, why, WHY did so many churches tear out their communion rails and high altars? this is too beautiful!
what it's really all about
oh, I had a wonderful Christmas! It was spent with "chosen family," laughter, fun, smiles and love. Also many darling pussycats and puppydogs, who had about twice as much turkey as was good for them (they were out cold all day). While it didn't snow, there were roses. I sang and sang, and there was incense and chant and all that is lovely. And then I returned to the house for more turkey and chocolate and banana bread and hot cocoa. doesn't get much better!
I hope you all had as merry and blessed and peaceful and beautiful a Christmas as I did.
And remember, Christmas is not technically over until the 6th of January (Twelfth Night, or Epiphany), so feel no guilt about continuing the festivities until then! (err, unless you're trying to run and lose weight, in which case homemade eggnog may be a remarkably bad idea).
Merry Christmas!
In the Catholic Church, particularly in the Tridentine (old Latin) Rite, Advent is a time of quiet preparation. Indeed, it is almost mournful. The churches are not particularly decorated; the vestments and altar linens are purple, the color of mourning. The Gloria is not spoken or sung. Music is quiet and reflectful; the usual chants are replaced with more minor ones.
This hymn below (pardon the fuzzy sound and video; apparantly this was taped about 20 years ago) expresses both musically and lyrically what Christmas Eve is to me. It is a reaching of a destination, of a time of quiet peace and glory before the shout of Christmas. In short, it is much like the stable must have been like before the shepherds arrived.
The hymn is a poetical English translation of the ancient chant Corde Natus Ex Parentis.
May that same peace fill you all this Christmastide.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
(thanks to Clement C. Moore)
So now that that's put you in the mood for Christmas Eve, you can watch Santa's progress on NORAD's radar. This so cool! (oh, I am so easily amused)
What, you may ask, do I get the child between 3-8 on my list? Easy! (and yes, I know this is a little belated, but it is too good a book not to rec)
Book: Bad Kitty
Author: Nick Bruel
Genre: Kids' Fiction
I saw this in the kids' section the other day, and thought that it was so cute that I promptly bought one for Spiderman for Christmas. It goes through the alphabet four times, so it is somewhat educational. It is, however, extremely humorous (actually, I was laughing so hard back in kids' that a coworker came back there to see if I'd finally gone around the bend). Kitty is a good kitty until the family runs out of cat food. They do offer kitty some nice, healthy substitutes: asparagus, bananas (I think) and so forth. Kitty takes umbrage at this, and decided to be a bad kitty--but not just any bad kitty. A very, VERY bad kitty. So he claws grandma, demolishes the daisies (I may be paraphrasing here, but he runs through the alphabet of bad behavior). Then the family returns home with tasty (to a cat's mind) food, and they list (alphabetically, of course!) all the tasty food they have for Kitty, who then repents of his bad behavior and fixes all the messes he created. "What a good kitty. What a very, very good kitty." The family rewards this behaviour by...getting a puppy for the kitty to play with "and share your food with." The book closes with Kitty getting a "bad kitty" look on his face and the words, "uh oh..."
I am not doing justice to this book. You'll have almost as much fun reading it to the kid as the kid will have hearing it (or vice versa, if the kid is at the reading-to-you stage). There is a sequel (Bad Puppy) which, though good, is nowhere near as humorous. I give Bad Kitty six out of five stars. In short, go get it!
well, sort of.
This customer walks into the music department and asks me to help him find a CD.
Ordinarily, it drives me a bit batty when any customer prefaces any request with something along the line of "I don't know the name of the artist"/"I'm not sure what song it was but it had the word 'love' in it"/"I'm not sure what genre it is; it could be heavy metal, but it might be new age" or (my personal favorite, and one that I've actually gotten) "Do you sell CDs?". For this guy I made an exception.
He (incidentally, this was a big dude--well over six feet, a good 250-275, ponytail, looked kind of bikerish) handed me a slip of paper on which was written a name and what appeared to be a song title. The handwriting made mine look copperplate. And I've been told several times that if I wanted to be a doctor, I'd already have the handwriting for it. But I digress.
Then he said, "I've been to three different stores and none of them can find this guy or this song. My son really wants to get this for his girlfriend for Christmas."
(Okay, this piques my curiosity. I mean, who sends his dad out shopping for his girlfriend?)
So I search for the artist's name, based on what I am deciphering from the paper. No dice. As I continue to search (trying all kinds of different variations on the name and song title) I chat with the dad. All we know for certain is that this music is probably country. And since I know very little about country music and the dad knows NOTHING ("I''m strictly a metal and rock man, myself,") this is gonna take some time. Turns out his son is in Afghanistan and won't be home for Christmas, but he wants his girlfriend to get this cd because she loves country music.
Finally I find an artist with the same last name but a somewhat different (same first initial) first name. The artist has a recording (which we do have) that features a song that is almost identical to the song named on this scrap of paper. I get the cd, and hand it to the dad. All of a sudden, this big tough biker guy gets really quiet. Then he says, "That has t'be it. Except for the long hair, that guy looks just like my son. Looks like his momma, God rest her soul. No wonder she wants this. She'll be so surprised to get this; they decided to wait to do presents 'til he got back!"
Then he reaches over and gives me a hug and says, "Thanks for finding this; you did a great job. You tell your manager he needs to pay you more! Merry Christmas!"
It's amazing how many opportunities I get to touch people's lives, both on the bookfloor and in music. I get to recommend books for people who want to get "baby's first books." About a month ago, I helped a woman pick out an audio book for her mom, who was dying of cancer but still wanted a book for her birthday. Then today, I got to make sure that some service member (whether Army, Navy or Marine I'll never know, and it doesn't matter) was able to tell his girlfriend "Merry Christmas." Today I also helped a coworker keep an eye on a kid with Down's for a few minutes (very well-behaved kid who is in the store all the time) so his parents could grab a quick cup of coffee in the cafe. (No, I doubt that corporate would approve, but y'know what? We had no other customers, the parents were in the building, and the parents know my coworker.).
There are times when I hate customer service with a passion. I know for a fact that I can't do this for the rest of my life or I would go stark raving mad from irritation and boredom. However, there are moments--like when I helped that guy today, or when, a month ago, I got that woman's mom the perfect gift--when I know that I've brought joy into the lives and eased the pain (even if just by saying "I'm sorry" and handing her a book of which she had good memories that included her mom) of a few people.
And that's something I really want to accomplish with my music. Music has the power to make people smile, to lighten loads, to bring joy, to diminish pain, to bring healing tears--for the musician and for others around her. To quote a Joseph Martin song I sang in high school (this song, oddly enough, has stuck in my head to the point that it has become something of a mantra):
Let music never die in me! Forever let my spirit sing!
So, last Fourth of July, I kind of spent the day doing stuff I never did as a kid but wanted to do. This included spending a day at a local waterpark (wavepool+slides+endless river+sun=perfect day) and going to a fireworks show that was accompanied by a symphony orchestra (FTW, to be exact). I was wearing a very cute tube top, an equally cute little skirt (neither of which I would have worn as a kid), and generally having a great day. Then these were brought out:
I never had these when I was little. They always looked cool, though. I got to "crack" them and make them glow, and we also had necklaces/bracelets of the same material. Talk about cool! (oh, I am easily amused...)
Anyhow, Spiderman (roommate's son, 7) couldn't believe how excited I was about these things. Nor could he believe that I'd never had one before, or played with one, or what-have-you. So the other day he's cleaning his room and comes across a few (still in their wrappers) that he hadn't used on the Fourth. He came and knocked on my door.
"ubicaritas?"
"Yes?"
"I found these in my room. They're for you."
"What?"
"You had a lot of fun with them when we went to see the fireworks. Here!"
Awwwww. This is a 7-year-old BOY whose main interest in life (in case you hadn't noticed) is Spiderman and seeing how far he can shoot that web goop from the can he has. How many kids that age (much less boys) would remember something like my adoration of the glowsticks four months after the fact?
And yes, they are in the freezer and just waiting to be used :D
Customer du jour:
This didn't, thank heavens, happen to me. I really don't think I could have kept a straight face. As it was, I had to turn around and pretend to straighten some books.
So the other cashier calls the next customer to her line. This customer was unaware of the fact that the mullet was a bad idea in the 80s and was an even worse idea now. The one she was sporting was somewhat grungy looking, and just set off the stud in one ear, the oversized T-shirt, and the cut-off shorts. The latter are usually a very bad idea, and they are especially unwise if one is slightly over five feet tall and slighty over a hundred pounds overweight.
Cashier to customer: "So, did you find everything all right today?"
Customer: "I think so, but if this doesn't work, can I return it?"
Cashier: "Yes, (recites return policy)."
Customer: "Good. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find books on rat breeding!"
Cashier: (stunned) "Er, did you try Petco?"
Customer: "Yeah, but they didn't have any. I'm starting a rat-breeding business, and I want to get some books on it."
Cashier: (speechless) "Ah."
Customer: "Yeah, I figure that I'd make a lot of money breeding rats. They're really cute!"
Me: (walks into the gifts section, lest my shaking shoulders give me away)
Egads. And I always thought of rats as vermin that one stayed away from and sicced one's animals on if one was unfortunate enough to meet such a creature. If you want rats, lady, go to New York City. According to a recent census (and I don't want to know how that was done or who did it) the rats in the city outnumber the humans TEN TO ONE. I'm sure New York could spare a few. For that matter, why not get some roaches while you're at it?
(shakes head, wonders why certain portions of humanity are allowed out without keepers)
Just had to post about the incredible party I went to last Friday. La Maestra hosted a mob of divas, divos, music afficionados and various other fun people at a caroling party. There were, as the title states, many carols, much food, dozens of divas, and the gabbing had to be heard to be believed. In short, an excellent time was had by all--in this diva's case, 'til a bit past three in the morning. What can I say? Post-cleanup (a side note: only this bunch could still look extremely diva-istic while up to their elbows in soapsuds, dishcloths and plasticware), which involved yoga posing, wine and hugs, we were sufficiently peckish to haul out some excellent cheese and proceeded to munch and talk for another couple of hours. Then the trip home (amazing how much faster one can go on certain roads when there is NO TRAFFIC), a quick call-in to Diva Central ("yes, I'm alive and home, goodnight"), and the collapse into bed, from which I did not emerge until noon.
I feel so very blessed, and so very loved, and so very full of love for these wonderful people around me. I've never been this happy. I am surrounded by wonderful people who I care about and who care about me, and we all love great music and help to make it-and what more could one want?
signed,
the deliriously happy diva, who now must run to work to become, in the recent words of the head cashier who knew NOTHING of how the word diva is used at my school, the "cashwrap diva"
