Rehearsing

Last week marked the beginning of staging for La Calisto. It was our second week of "break" from school (the previous week was when I was in New York performing Theory of Flight), but it would be more accurate to say it was our second week without classes, as 273 Bloor St. West has been bustling with activity, from the orchestra concert with Leon Fleisher as conductor and soloist to the auditions for next year's students to our week of rehearsals.

These rehearsals are much like what I experienced when working with Yale Opera. We begin by reviewing each act with with a read- and then sing-through, attended by our Italian diction coach, as well as the usual crew: the director, music director, répétiteur/other music director, stage manager, and two assistant stage managers. Then we move into staging. Those needed for the scenes in question are called for a several hour block. Rehearsal props approximate those that will be used on stage, including full skirts (which means that all of the ladies playing ladies are robed in these candy-pink polyester taffeta concoctions). We're rehearsing in one of the smaller performance spaces in the building, Conservatory Theatre (yes, Canadians spell things strangely) and the outlines of the set are taped onto the floor. The performances will be in Koerner Hall, which you can see here in a photo I stole from the internet:

A pyramid of steps (a ziggurat, if you will--there's fifth grade coming in handy!) will be built in the center of the stage and turned on an angle. Sheets of cloth will be hanging from the ceiling, designed to evoke trees, upon which lights and images can be projected. We'll be in Edwardian garb. I haven't seen my costume yet, but when we were measured the other day a few students saw some of the sketches. I've heard that Mercury will be in a driving outfit and Jove will be in a tuxedo, and Diana has a riding/hunting outfit. In my mind, this makes Calisto and the other nymphs a little like the Gibson girls below--independent to a degree but still hemmed in by society--but I guess I'll see soon enough. Oh yeah, and then there's the bear costume. No word on that either!

And, true to the original executors of this opera who spent a sizable chunk of their budget creating a real fountain with real water on their 1651 stage, it seems as if there will be some stunning magic. I don't want to spoil the effects for those of you coming or get in trouble for revealing such things beforehand (I don't know that I would, but I'd rather avoid it), so perhaps they shall wait until later. Since we're not in the space yet, it's all in my imagination anyway! And it really is funny how far that will take you. After a couple of days rehearsing with the taped outlines in Conservatory Theatre, the steps began to feel real, and when I see the space in my mind, it is in 3-D. I was wondering if I were just a little too enthusiastic about this whole endeavor when the person playing Diana mentioned to me that she sees them that way too. Guess we're all going a little crazy!

While we're "on stage" working, even at this early juncture, we rely on a whole host of people on the other side of the room. Two people are playing continuo, the director is directing us, the stage manager is writing everything that we're doing down on little sticky notes that are positioned and repositioned any time something changes, and the assistant stage managers are I think doing the same thing, plus carrying out other tasks and making everything happen. They're perhaps a little like unicorns: they possess magical properties of amelioration and healing, but you never see them at work because you're too busy pretending to drink out of an imaginary fountain. Well, perhaps that analogy was stretched a little, but the gist of it is that putting on a stage production requires an enormous amount of work, much of which is behind-the-scenes and is deserving of at least as much applause as the folks on stage with flapping mouths.

My favorite part about the staging process is the act of uncovering the character. No matter how hard I try to explore all the nooks and crannies when studying and preparing a role, new surprises emerge when they step onstage. All of a sudden, patterns of words take on new significance, perhaps certain phrases that I felt pointed to action are now more lethargic: new impulses are discovered. It feels a little like what I imagine sculpting to be--you start with a block of stone and, slowly but surely, the figure emerges. It's so much fun. This director's style involves both freedom for the actor but also incorporates (at least here) a fair bit of physical comedy and/or specific physical gestures, which require exact timing, so often we'll begin by feeling our way into a scene and then continue by sharpening and refining edges.

Thus far we've made it almost to the end of the second act. Classes start up again tomorrow so we'll be relegated to evenings two days a week and Saturdays again, though I think all of us would rather remain immersed in staging. I know I would! That and voice lessons and I think I'd be happy forever.

And when I haven't been in rehearsal, things have been sometimes chaotic at home. On Friday, I wasn't called in for 10 am rehearsal for the first time all week, so I decided to make bread (a pain de mie). It was a dreary, sleeting day and I had just put the loaves in the oven and went outside to take out the trash and recycling from the basement before eating lunch when... the door was locked! And I was locked out! And the bread was in the oven! And the cat was inside! And I had to be at rehearsal at 2:30! And I didn't have any money or my cell phone! Luckily I was wearing shoes and a neighbor I'd met once before was home; she was able to help me get Comrade MM's phone number, who told me to take the taxi to her workplace where she gave me her keys and taxi fare, and I was able to get home just at 2:00 to see the house safe, the bread perhaps salvageable for croutons, and the cat alive. Though I did slip when I was running inside to get some more money for the taxi and bruised my hip and hand. And I didn't have time to eat lunch and I was so hungry. It was a long, long day.

And in the meantime, Our Paulie of Many Diseases (at one point diagnosed as a bacterial infection, yeast infection, roundworm, and ringworm) has donned a cone of shame. It seems he doesn't have ringworm but the verdict is out on the cause of his suffering (perhaps a food allergy? ear mites, if the last culture was faulty?), so he has to wear a cone until he gets better. He is rather miserable about it.

Here he is on my bed, surrounded by the detritus of yesterday and looking rather morose:

Adventures of the Bird Spirit

Last week I traveled to Hamilton, NY, home of Colgate University's Ho Tung Visualization Laboratory, a planetarium (see below), to perform Anna Lindemann's Theory of Flight. Anna is one of my friends from Yale and also one of the most inspiring and creative people that I know. She was in my residential college and a year or two ahead of me in school. We sang together in the Yale Glee Club my freshman year and collaborated on another project, Bird Brain.

Here is the Dalai Lama visiting the planetarium! I'm not sure what the date of the photo is, but I think it's a few years back though relatively recently.

Perhaps you have heard me talk about this piece before; I performed in the premier last year at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute's Experimental Media and Performing Arts Center (see the photo I stole from the internet):

The story of Theory of Flight can be found on Anna's website (along with a video of our original performance and many photographs), but I'll try to sum it up here too.
First of all, the question of genre: What is it?
I'm not sure how to answer that question, still--though I think this is a good thing. Theory of Flight has two characters, a scientist named Alida and a Bird Spirit. The scientist (played by Anna) only speaks; the Bird Spirit (played by yours truly) only sings. It is a staged work. In addition, there are two sets of animations: one which serves the purpose of a chalkboard (albeit the most beautifully-designed chalkboard you've ever seen) and another which serves as both focal point and backdrop in the scenes featuring the Bird Spirit. The animations were made using both stop-motion and computer programs. The accompaniment to my singing is all electronic and is executed with Synful, a synthesizer (I think that's what you'd call it, anyway). Anna wrote and created and made all of these things, plus collaborated with her cousin Ky on the costumes.
Now that we've straightened that out, What happens?
Again, perhaps a little difficult to say. Essentially, the scientist Alida becomes obsessed with achieving flight in non-avian species (namely herself). Over the course of the drama, she falls deeper and deeper into this obsession, eventually amputating her arms and--through the help of science--growing wings. All of this is presented under the guise of a lecture series; we see Alida at three different points along this trajectory. Interrupting all of these lectures are appearances by the Bird Spirit, who sings arias which are related to material from the lectures. Alida is able to grow wings from her amputated arms but these are not powerful enough to let her fly, and it is only through intervention by the Bird Spirit that she is able to achieve her goal.
In the first production, the space at RPI (shown below) featured a rigging system.

At the end, Anna was literally able to fly, making smaller arcing leaps and finally a long flight across the stage while I was singing a final aria. The new location being a planetarium, it did not feature any rigging. So, a lot of this past week was spent thinking about the meaning of the ending. Would Alida really fly? How does the Bird Spirit feel about this? How much of this is in Alida's mind? And vice versa?

A photo from the first performance. Alida is attached to the rigging and wearing the wings given to her by the Bird Spirit.

Eventually it became clear that the best way to be a convincing Bird Spirit was to have a separate storyline from Anna/Alida. In my Bird Spirit mind, I was a scientist of some sort myself. Alida was my subject in an experiment and the intercalary arias (sung in English) were therefore not Alida's dreams but the Bird Spirit's way of influencing my test subject. Planting the idea of using an axolotl blastema as a means to introduce embryonic avian genes was not so much divine intervention (as Alida might think) as a further step in the experimental process. Eventually the Bird Spirit realizes--partially from wisdom and partially from jealousy--that her experiment has gone awry. Perhaps the Bird Spirit was hoping for company in her lonely life, but eventually found the introduction of another powerful figure into bird-dom too threatening. Perhaps Alida actually does represent a far greater danger to birds in her new half-bird state. If we are to ascribe human emotions to the Bird Spirit, it is most likely the former masquerading as the latter. Regardless of the reason, the Bird Spirit decides to ostracize Alida. In this iteration, the final aria (sung in bird speak) is not a celebration of Alida's successes but an affirmation of the Bird Spirit's bird-ness and also a cautionary tale: did you learn so little from Icarus' attempts? Beware lest you too fall from great heights.

The three performances went quite well (and were very well-attended), but Anna and I were a little flummoxed by the audience's somewhat bemused receptions to the first two shows. There are parts of Theory of Flight that are funny, but the first two audiences were very subdued. The third performance was our best despite some technological glitches, largely because there was so much positive energy coming from the other side of the room! At first we were worried that the community of Hamilton wasn't used to something so different, but in the end it seemed that it was a combination of factors: a large number of younger children in the audience (who tolerated the show quite well but probably didn't get much of the science) and also the afternoon performance times. The last performance was on Saturday evening and was followed by a Flying Feast, an edible, bird-themed reception designed and concocted by Ellie Markovitch and Rose Mitchell. Thanks to the appreciative audience, the Saturday night show felt more spontaneous than any of the others. At the Flying Feast we were able to talk to some of the attendees, many of whom seemed so excited by the mix of media and disciplines. Several of the professors expressed either delight at seeing scientists talk to artists (an art professor) or were impressed by the ability of artists to discuss important scientific processes (a science professor). It's always gratifying when you have a performance that seems as if it will stick in someone's mind for a while.

Anna was able to get a grant from Colgate to put on three performances of Theory of Flight along with a Flying Feast and to pay for the sundries of transportation, lodging, food, and fee for all involved (including the tech crew, made of Colgate students, operating all of the confusing computers and lights). One of Anna's friends, a luminous person named Emma who often wears amazing pants and is talented in so many ways that perhaps it is enough to say that she is luminous, was the director of the RPI show, but she could not come to this performance. So, we were joined by a friend of Emma and Anna's and another Yalie, yet another luminous individual who is also playwright and actor but is named Alex. I think Anna has a knack for meeting interesting people. Anyway, Alex and I stayed at Holcomb's Bed and Breakfast, a friendly establishment run by the loquacious and gracious Karen. It was such a luxury to have the opportunity to drop my daily cares and to be able to focus on the task at hand. I had been worried about taking the gig because I only had this one week off from school this semester and thought I might need the chance to recuperate. In the end, I think that this trip was both more rejuvenating and relaxing than a week at home could have been. Instead of sitting by myself in a practice room, I was working on character development for the Bird Spirit and thinking about how it might apply to Calisto. Instead of just worrying about my ribs and support while staring at a mirror and poking my sides (which I also did at the B&B), Alex gave us warm-up acting exercises that quite often dealt with some of the same issues we constantly ponder as singers. It was also wonderful to be in a little town with bright stars and deer and quiet nights. And, as always, it was a gift to get to work with Anna and, for the first time, Alex, and to meet new, friendly faces in a new place. It's stuff like this that makes me miss Yale.

And now back to work. I returned on Sunday, continued to brush up on Calisto on Monday, and started our week of intensive staging rehearsals today. Also, as a postlude to my bike saga: today I brought it in to a bike store near my house, Sweet Pete's, where it was fixed by an affable and competent mechanic, for free, in a few minutes.

But I shall close with a few photographs:

A ladybug found in my room one snowy morning. I put it in a plant inside because I thought it might be too cold outside.

The farm literally next door (fresh eggs for breakfast!)

Some plants in the field across/up the street/creek.

Bicycle Repairs: A Cautionary Tale

When I arrived in Toronto I quickly realized that the most affordable way to travel in the city was by bicycle. Public transportation is very expensive, I live too far from school to walk, and a car was out of the question. So, within a few days I bought my bicycle, a 1970s Canada Cycle & Motor Co. creation in brown, in cash, on a random streetcorner, off of the back of a van from a transgendered person named Alex. It's nearly identical to the one pictured below except that it is more funky looking, is missing the kickstand, and has a ladies' style frame. (I'm writing this post from New York, where I'm doing a performance of Anna Lindemann's Theory of Flight, so there are none of my own pictures at this time. I'll add some later, probably.)

It had some definite issues when I purchased it but I fixed a few things, added a back rack and a handy-dandy green milk crate for a basket, and was soon cycling away. It's really quite a comfortable and sturdy little bike, and fast enough to keep up with even the most hipster of Toronto bicycle enthusiasts, who always seem to carry their U-bolt locks in their belts. When the rains came I realized that the brakes didn't react well to the wet weather; they were very unpredictable and gripped poorly. I also realized that the bike didn't like freezing temperatures and the brakes sometimes had trouble releasing when it was too cold outside. Finally, the shifter didn't really work, but that wasn't much of a problem because I always kept the bike in the highest gear anyway.

I had thought that I'd have to start taking the subway when the weather got a lot worse, but this winter has been so mild that I've been biking through it. Two Thursdays ago I was riding home after finishing work, but forgot to take into account the rush hour traffic. My bike route takes me from my house, just north of Bloor Street, all the way down this busy, four-lane thoroughfare to my school. Toronto clearly has transportation issues, and in addition to the number of cars on the road (and clearly as a byproduct of this overcrowding, as well as the stress of winter weather) the roads are in poor condition. Anyway, this particular Thursday I was just past the worst congestion when some self-important driver in an SUV ran me into a giant pothole. I was fine, but my bike was not; when I dismounted I could see that the chain was off and the shifter was askew, but I couldn't fix it because the bike has an internal hub and I had no idea what to do. I did count my lucky stars, however, because I had purchased a Groupon a few weeks prior for a tuneup with Cyclepath. Though the bike store was several miles from my house, it was a great deal and I had been planning to get the brakes adjusted already--here was my chance!

The next day, I brought my bike (by subway) to the Cyclepath location near Yonge and Eglinton. When I dropped it off on January 27th, the mechanic gave it a thorough looking-over, telling me that some of the extensive issues might be more than what their usual tuneups covered and that the bike needed a new shifter, giving me a quote of an additional $40. The staff was very friendly and predicted that the bike would be ready by Monday, as they said they had the requisite internal hub shifter in stock. I left my email address and Ryan's cell phone number. Monday came and I didn't hear anything from them, so I called and was informed that the bike would be ready on Wednesday. Wednesday came and I didn't hear anything from them, so I called and was informed that the bike would be ready on Friday. Friday came and went with no word. Each time I tried to tell them that my bike was my primary mode of transportation, that I have to go to school and back at least once a day, that I use my bike for grocery shopping, but they were largely unsympathetic and said that there had been a mix-up in their parts order and there was nothing they could do but wait for a shipment from Vancouver. Finally, on Tuesday afternoon (twelve days later) they called Ryan and told him that my bike would not be ready until the end of February. I didn't have the chance to call them back until Wednesday, when I asked if it would be possible to fix my bike provided that I procured the necessary part. "Sure," they said, as long as I would take the responsibility of finding and bringing the part to the shop.

I was so busy at school that I didn't have the chance to call around until Saturday, but Comrades M-M and J told me to check with Urbane Cyclist first. One quick phone call to the friendly folks at Urbane and I was told they had something in stock that they thought would work. When I called Cyclepath on Saturday I finally spoke to someone who was helpful, an older gentleman who is a mechanic there. He offered to call Urbane to confirm that the part would fit my bike, saving me the trouble. Sure enough, it would fit, though I still needed to pick it up and bring it to the shop. However, he promised the mechanic on staff would fix it while I waited if I could bring it in on Sunday! I had rehearsal all day on Saturday, but Ryan offered to get the part for me and on Sunday I took the subway out to Cyclepath, part in hand. When I arrived around 2:30 I was informed that there wouldn't be enough time to fix the bike before closing at 5:00, but I guess I complained enough that the mechanic on duty said he would try. I sat in the shop until he finished at 4:15, though he later told me it wouldn't have taken as long if the shop hadn't been so busy (I think three or four groups of people came in; there were two other men working at the same time). As I was waiting, one of the men who works in the shop--the one who had told me that I could find the part myself if I wanted to get my bike fixed in under a month--was explaining that Cyclepath is owned by two former CEOs. I guess they're brilliant at pinching pennies because they've devised the following business plan: provided they have little in stock in the first quarter of the year, their taxes will be correspondingly low! Clearly, the problem of the elusive shifter wasn't just that I brought my bike in during the "slow" season, and not just that bike parts manufacturers are notoriously difficult to deal with (though they are), but that the owners were trying to keep as little in the store as possible. Now that may work very well for some weekend rider who keeps his $4,000 bike in a garage and pulls on spandex when the weather is nice, but for a daily commuter, keeping your bike in working order is necessary and trying to get repairs done in a timely manner is crucial. (To his credit, the guy was not happy about this state of affairs.)

They wheeled my bike from the back of the store when it was done. When I looked at the shifter it was clear that the part had been put on inexpertly at best, as there was a gap in what was supposed to be a close-fitting part, but I couldn't stand trying to deal with these people any longer, paid the remaining balance of $3.12 (much less than I had thought!), and got out the door. Only to discover that not only was the shifter funny looking, but it was also backwards. And though my bike has three gears, it will only shift into two of them. Backwards. Also, my poor green milk crate is definitely worse for wear, with extra cracks and bits broken off from rough handling while in the shop. Otherwise the bike runs just fine and the brakes work a little better than they did before; when I was riding home it was snowing but my bike handled the weather pretty well.

Now, I don't want to complain unfairly. After all, I don't know much about bikes, though I did speak to the Comrades about their experiences with other bike shops in the city and about the parts supply chain and they assured me that Cyclepath could have at least tried a little harder to help me out. For example, why didn't they do me the favor of trying to get in touch when they realized the repair would take longer than expected? Waiting twelve days is a little extreme, plus if I had known the expected repair time earlier I could have bought a February monthly pass; because of the long delay, the window for buying the pass was already over when they finally called. Also, why didn't they think to tell me to look for a part? And though it seems it would be asking far too much, why not look for the part themselves if they want to keep their customers happy? If they're billing me for the part anyway, it's little extra cost to them! M-M suggested that if Cyclepath was going the route of social media (the Groupon) to gain business, I could at least write a frank review of the shop in turn. So, in a nutshell, here it is: if you have a fancy new bike purchased from Cyclepath, I am sure that the staff will be more than happy to assist you. If you are a normal person with a normal budget riding a perfectly adequate bike, I would suggest that you stay far away. My guess is that they will assume, as they seem to have done with me, that you won't notice when they install parts poorly and will treat you with little regard to your needs as a consumer. Plus, they have a really bad parts selection!

This is how I've fared so far:
Total for parts and labor: $35.20
Approximate cost of alternate transportation: $88.40
Total approximate cost: $123.60 (more than the cost of my bike to begin with)

In the end it wasn't much of a deal! Plus, I still have to take my bike to another shop when I get back from New York to get the shifter fixed properly.

In which I discover that Manitoba does not have the thickest topsoil in the world

January already, you say? The end of January? Time does fly...

After a too-short but wonderful trip to the east coast to see friends and family I was home in California over break. I didn't do much, which was exactly what I wanted. By the end I didn't want to leave the safety and comfort of home, but as I was flying back to Toronto I remembered how lucky I am to be in school studying something I love. When one takes the time to stop and count one's blessings, it is amazing how many one can find.

Back in Toronto, school started up with a vengeance. Most of my classes are the same; no more French or Spanish, but with the addition of Italian. We've already had one master class for the ADV program, a repeat of one we had in the fall with Wendy Nielsen. It was really interesting and helpful to have the chance to work with her again, and she once more gave both fantastic individual coachings and a public class on Friday. I'm making some recordings for summer programs in a few days so I went over some of the repertoire I'll be singing for that (some Schubert, Wolf, and Messiaen). In my Concert Repertoire class (taught by my voice teacher, Monica) we're now studying Fauré's song cycle "La Bonne Chanson." I wasn't familiar with it before but I'm so glad we have the chance to delve into it now; late Fauré is so satisfying to sing (and is fascinatingly chromatic and different).

We're also in the thick of music rehearsals for Calisto. Last night there was a bat squeaking around in the rehearsal room, Mazzoleni Hall! Somehow this led to a protracted discussion about bats and then California and then agriculture, and I was informed that Manitoba does NOT have the thickest topsoil in the world! Apparently it's in this former marshland area north of Toronto.

What else novel to report? A furry denizen, Paulie the polydactyl cat (kitten)! He is seven months old now, I think, but about as big as a fully-grown cat. He is rather rambunctious. He enjoys playing games and trying to be as annoying as possible, and he has amazing paws. And a lopped-off ear. He is also dangerously cute, which makes up for him rattling toys about in the middle of the night and attacking your feet when you try to walk across the kitchen. He is quite wonderful. Zenith takes the cake, of course, but that's no surprise...

Since returning I've made some pretty tasty bread (a pain de mie) and, just this evening, some molasses-almond-walnut-dried fruit granola and some chocolate chip banana bread. Recipes to follow, but a picture of tonight's efforts for the moment:

And now I shall delve into something girly and discuss bras, which may alienate a portion of my readers. Sorry 'bout that...

Today on my bike ride home I stopped in at Secrets from your sister because I ride past it every day, and because I'd noticed they had a big "sale" sign in the window. It's a bra shop and I knew I'd heard something good about it in one of the free Toronto magazines or something, so I figured I'd stop in. Turns out that, though it's not in the nicest of neighborhoods and is situated across the street from a discount store that's lit up like a circus, it is priced WAY out of my league. The bras run from about $120 to $190 and the sales rack didn't have anything in my size. Despite the fact that I arrived with my backpack, lunchbox, and biking gear, they were surprisingly friendly and took the time to fit me properly even though I explained that I probably wouldn't buy anything. I've known for some months that I've been wearing the wrong bra size, but unfortunately I also discovered that my band size isn't made by most bra manufacturers. It turns out I need a size 30 and I guess there isn't much of a market for anything below 32. I didn't even know that sizes below 32 existed until I measured myself a few months ago and was confused by the numbers... consequently I'd been keeping my eyes open for bras with a size 30 band but hadn't even seen any in any stores since then. Anyway, though I didn't buy anything, the salespeople at the store were very helpful and very kind. It was a strangely empowering experience, and I felt more comfortable there than I have in most stores I've wandered into in Toronto--and I wasn't even wearing a shirt. And people were poking me. Now that says something! Hopefully this will also serve as a reminder to those of you that haven't been recently fitted that... you're probably wearing the wrong bra size! Because apparently most of us are! Including me! So, you might want to see if there's another friendly place like this in your area and get yourself properly sized up. So to speak.

And, as a coda to this disjointed post, then I went to Economy Fruit and the Economy Fruit Lady was back! She had been gone for a long time and I was despairing a bit, but I am so happy that she has returned.

A pianist, a bassoonist, and a soprano take Georg Friedrich Haas to Niagara Falls...

(An image of the Toronto Christmas parade a few weeks ago.)

Oh oh oh. (Ho ho ho?) It sure has been a while. I vacillate between wanting to update this blog every few days and forgetting about it for weeks. I think many things have happened recently, though I typically have forgotten most of them. We celebrated American Thanksgiving here a few weeks ago, on the Sunday after normal Thanksgiving. It was strange to be here and to know that everyone in the States was gathering for big meals and family while we were in classes, as usual. Luckily--thankfully--the Comrades upstairs joined us in a feast a few days later. I bought a free-ranged, Mennonite-raised chicken from Gasparro's meat market and made a dizzying array of dishes including: the roasted chicken (simple, with herbs), polenta stuffing (both vegetarian and with meat), a warm cabbage salad with pomegranate, a mushroom bread pudding (for the vegetarian entree), and two kinds of desserts (an apple-pear pie with a cheddar cheese crust and almond/chocolate macarons). Ryan made some mashed potatoes and Comrade MM made a delicious "sexy squash soup" and really fantastic Brussels sprouts, both from recipes in the New York Times. My recipes came from Gourmet magazine; though I changed most of them heavily I think they're all very interesting and you may enjoy clicking the links above to see them for yourselves. The bread I used in the bread pudding was also home-made and has been quite a hit recently--it's the one from a few posts back that we ate with soup. This is my third time making this recipe, and I've been changing it up with a few other additions/substitutions including wheat berries, sunflower seeds, oats, molasses, yogurt, lower-fat milk, etc., as well as making loaves instead of rolls.

(Ye olde Canadian Christmas tractor? It reminded me of Davis.)

Originally I'd thought I'd write a post about Christmas in Canada. It seems to come awfully early here, though perhaps I was largely sheltered from the holiday marketing in New Haven, Connecticut. There was is little in the way of big-box retail downtown, within student reach, and I was so busy that I guess I avoided it. Here, though, it smacks you in the face on November 1st. It felt a little forced in the beginning, but now that we're actually midway through December all of the lights and decorations are beautiful. There are a number of lit-up houses on our street and of course the department stores and malls all have lots of displays. Many of the corner groceries sell Christmas trees and wreathes, so the air is perfumed when you ride by. Ryan and I went to the Distillery District last weekend to have dinner and discovered that it is turned into a Weihnachts festival, complete with Weihnachtswurst and little wooden stands selling little gifts. It was rather lovely, though cold. In fact, winter seems to have finally arrived--today was positively (negatively?) frigid! It has also snowed a few times over the past few weeks, though nothing has stayed for long. My voice teacher, Monica Whicher, gave a beautiful recital last weekend of holiday music with harp (a bit like the album I recently recorded). It was wonderful (and instructive) to watch and hear her sing. She has a commanding stage presence in that she invites you into the space she creates and holds you rapt from beginning to end. I was very glad I had the opportunity to see her perform.

We've also had a smattering of excellent master class artists recently, most notably Sir Roger Norrington. Perhaps some more musings on him later, as what he had to say about period performance practice--particularly vibrato--was very interesting, but I think I would like to move on to the joke which I began in the title.

It is not so much a joke as real life, as Ryan, a bassoonist friend from The GGS, and I did take Mr. Haas to Niagara Falls. But it was a funny, somewhat surreal experience which I shall recount here:

After a few mishaps with the renting of the car (the bassoonist doesn't have a license but wanted to use his credit card, and the two names had to match; Ryan was to drive but doesn't have a credit card; and I arrived to help them out of the mess by officially renting the car myself) that put us a bit late to pick up Mr. Haas, we were on our way. He is extremely soft-spoken (and for those of you who don't know, he's an Austrian-born spectralist composer best known for the piece "in vain" which the New Music Ensemble performed a few days ago and which occurs, in parts, in complete darkness) and kind. His English is good, though he worries it is not good enough. He is always able to make himself understood, though, and I had fun talking to him a bit in German. He was happy to talk about his music and about his inspirations, though he seemed more animated when we started discussing Death Valley.

As a side note: when my dad and I were in the Southwest this summer we realized that about 80-90% of the people we encountered similarly exploring the Great Outdoors were either French or German. A bit of a mystery, I guess. How do you explain a bunch of Germans in southeastern Utah? Is it because the Euro is stronger than the dollar? Why aren't they in New York? Haas explained that it was his first time in a desert, ever. Perhaps we are too quick to dismiss the profound (and unique) natural beauty of our own country, even when we are enjoying it. Recalling the German landscape, and perhaps even the Romantic ideals of nature, it does make more sense that they would want to see our country. Anyway, I digress...

The day was overcast and cold and the trip relatively uneventful. We arrived in Niagara Falls City, a garish strip of blinking lights and towering hotels advertising breakfast specials. It's hard to imagine an uglier city, except maybe Las Vegas. They're rather similar. There are a lot of casinos and such. But, just as we passed an Alpine-themed restaurant advertising a $1.99 breakfast special and covered with murals of people in Lederhosen (closed, but up for sale!), I caught a glimpse of the falls. And they really are beautiful. I'm sure because we were there with a composer I was more attuned to the sounds they made than I might have been otherwise. Standing above the falls, the crashing sound of the water is not very strong. The sound of the river as it flows along is full of higher-pitched, gentle sloshings in counterpoint with the rumble from way down below. The volume of the water and depth and breadth of the falls is incredible. I know there are bigger ones out there (Victoria Falls, Iguazu Falls, probably others), but I haven't seen them. Haas pointed out that it is hard to train your eyes on one particular spot on the falls: you want to keep following the water, making that continuous glissando that appears in so many of his works. It was a little like being in a stationary car when a truck is pulling forward. Though you're immobile, you feel like you're going backward. In the same way, the water made you feel as if you were shrinking and the falls were growing. A little Alice-in-Wonderland-esque.

We walked around them for a while and eventually decided to try to make it to the other side of the gorge, America! So we walked to a bridge which had a little building with a funny little turnstile and a 50 cent toll. After collecting the proper change, we all pushed through and walked across the bridge. On the other side we passed through customs and I was finally in America after so many months! How exciting! I called home! On the other side of the gorge you can walk along the falls and the river, and over a series of bridges, to traverse the span of the island and falls. When we finished exploring it was almost nightfall (and very cold) so we looked for somewhere to eat. Nothing gave. There was a pitiful Christmas market, like in the Distillery, but on a Wednesday no one was out and about save ourselves and a few hardy vendors. Eventually we reached a giant casino, bedecked in stained glass and architecturally rather similar to a mega-church from the 1970s. Slightly creepy. Across the street: a TGI Fridays. Ryan and I had never been and Haas was hungry, so we went in. There literally wasn't a single vegetarian item on the menu, though they accommodated Ryan's request for a vegetarian pasta without question. Mr. Haas, luckily, seemed very happy with his steak (he is German, after all... and then I remembered the meals I had in Regensburg which, despite my efforts to the contrary while ordering, always seemed to result in a boiled hotdog floating forlornly in a soup tureen).

He very generously treated us to dinner in America and we traipsed back in the cold, over the bridge, through Canadian customs, and back along the river. By then the falls were illuminated in colored lights. Perhaps it was only in contrast to the beacons of consumerism--the giant guitar of the Hard Rock Cafe, the flashing signs and neon lights--but they were actually somewhat beautiful. It was nicer when, just as we were leaving, the lights became just white and the brilliance of the cascading water was illuminated further. In the huge plume of mist that results from the falling water in the Canadian falls the lights created circles of rainbows which seemed more like nebulae, images from the Hubble Space Telescope, than anything else.

The next night was the first performance of "in vain." I had heard slips and snatches, bits here and there, but not the whole piece. The effect was incredible. I haven't had an experience like that for a long time, probably not since hearing El Niño live at Carnegie Hall a few Decembers ago. There were moments of extreme beauty despite all the microtones grating against each other, something that usually gives me a headache. Because we often categorize those sounds as "noise" rather than music, parts of the piece were distinctly non-human and sounded more like machines than anything I'd heard in a concert hall. I had one strong mental image of an airplane flying happily through an Alpine meadow. Not a real airplane, but one which was native to that clime. I don't know why. The parts of the piece that were to be played in complete darkness were wonderful. I don't always like the dark. I'm not afraid of it, but with my bad eyes I think I value the light even more than I might otherwise. I especially love the sun now, when sunset comes so early. Anyway, I wasn't sure if the whole "pitch black" thing would come across as a gimmick. When the first period of blackness came, I was actually more frustrated that they hadn't achieved a true blackout. The exit signs were covered but light seeped around the edges, and the person controlling the light cues in the box was apparently inattentive and some light entered from there. I closed my eyes against the distractions and listened. In many ways it felt like a more true concert experience than what I normally enjoy. My mind often wanders, which I don't feel to be a detriment, but sometimes it wanders to inconsequential things and I begin to watch people. With a blackout, you are both alone with the orchestra and together with the other darkened bodies, but you are free to listen in a sort of stillness that comes from this sensory deprivation. The second blackout section is interrupted by flashes of light which become stronger and last longer as the piece progresses. These too were strangely powerful, another form of percussion. They were also very beautiful. You do not want the blackness to end, to be returned forcibly to the humdrum of people and clothing and faces and instruments and walls and chairs. I was so grateful for the opportunity to meet Mr. Haas, to see Niagara, and to experience his music.

Finally, here is a link to some beautiful pictures (and a little information) about one of my favorite types of squid.

Unrest

What an interesting few days it has been. This week saw another visiting master class artist, this time Timothy Noble. Working with him was illuminating and I feel like I made some fantastic progress. Hopefully I can keep it up! The issue with "quick fixes" on technique, as Ryan and I were discussing, is that one can become overzealous (or over-reliant) and then a fix can quickly become another fault. Such it is with life as a whole, I think. Anyway, it was once more a fascinating experience to work with yet another great teacher privately and to hear and watch him work with the other students in the master class on Friday. We're very lucky that, in the AD program, we'll get to work with both Timothy Noble and Wendy Nielsen (the previous master class artist) again in the spring. We're very lucky that we get to have master classes with so many talented musicians and teachers! And private lessons too! Ryan was busy as well, as he played at Beethoven sonata for Leon Fleisher, who is a quasi-faculty member at The Glenn Gould School, on Friday morning and with his trio for James Boyd, another visiting master class person, on Thursday. (Clearly I was also rather busy in the office last week.)

After the hustle and bustle I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend. I will begin rehearsing La Calisto next weekend so I was hoping to polish up the first act and learn some more Schubert and Messiaen (and continue working on technique, using my new tools!) in relative calm. However, I woke up feeling a little inexplicably sorrowful on Saturday. Nothing was really wrong, so I wasn't sure what was pressing on my mind. It was the day of The Game, so I was following along on my computer in the morning and absentmindedly waiting for the noon kickoff. I wasn't particularly concerned with the outcome; in fact, I expected we would lose (again... we haven't won since my freshman year). Quite frankly, I'm proud that my university devotes more resources to providing a stellar undergraduate education than to the football team. That's why we're better than Harvard. Ahem...

Anyway, I was poking about facebook when I first came across this video of the student protests at UC Davis: (warning--the video is graphic and disturbing, particularly at the beginning) http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WmJmmnMkuEM# . I haven't been paying that much attention to the Occupy Wall Street protests. I saw a bit of footage of the Oakland riots and of course the New York Times will post photographs and articles from time to time. I knew that UC Berkeley students and been treated unfairly but I must confess that I didn't watch any of the videos (of them being beaten with clubs and assaulted by the police) at the time. I'm happy that the Occupy Wall Street protests are happening, and I definitely believe that we all--especially the top earners--need to be paying more taxes, but I don't have a problem with people making money or being successful. So, it would perhaps be safe to say that I'm really glad other people are doing the dirty work for me. Perhaps--though it is unlikely--you have not heard about what transpired. Though news reports are often conflicting, it seems that a group of students decided to camp out on the large quad area at UCD on Thursday. They received permission from the chancellor to do so. They provided food to many people, including passersby and the police (even the police officer that later sprayed the students. He was, by a student account, quite friendly at the time). On Friday the chancellor decided that the students could not stay. She ordered them to leave. Most of the students did disperse and most of the tents were packed away. It seems that about 10 tents remained by 3:30, when the police arrived. I believe that at this time they were told to pack up their belongings, so they put the tents away. However, the police still wanted to arrest some of the students. So, they began to arrest people. The students that were there (initially about 20) began to form a seated circle, with their legs crossed and arms linked, but left a pathway for the police to move in and out. More and more students began to arrive to watch the unfolding scene. Eventually, and without warning, the police began to spray the seated students with pepper spray. When the students did not move, the police sprayed into their mouths. When they tried to protect themselves with their clothing, the police sprayed under their garments. The police held people to the ground. I believe that 11 students were taken to the hospital to be treated for pepper spray-related injuries. Some were reportedly coughing up blood over an hour later.

It is one thing to read about what happened and another thing entirely to watch it unfold, if only from the safety of your computer screen. I almost started crying, not just because you can clearly hear screams of anguish from the sprayed students but because watching their reaction to the police is also deeply frightening, even if it is ultimately uplifting. Perhaps that's a funny way to express my feelings. I don't mean to imply that I believe the students were in the wrong, or that the actions of the police were in any way justified. In fact, I believe the students have provided a shining example of bravery and calm in the face of brutality and oppression. They're amazing. What is frightening is the sheer power they exude, the power of a group verdict, the power of a clan in the face of this armed, hostile other. Perhaps awesome (in its original sense) is a better word for them. The students prove here the impact of nonviolent protest. Though the video is disturbing, I highly recommend that you watch it to the end.

So. All that is unfolding, and I watch the video, and the football game begins, and we are typically losing... and then I hear that a woman was killed at the tailgate. It seems that some student (who was sober) lost control of a UHaul truck and crashed it into three women, killing one and injuring two others. Yet the festivities continued. I suppose I understand why they wanted to continue The Game, but it seems awfully callous. I don't know. What a tragedy for the family and friends of the woman killed and for the poor student, who will have to live with the consequences of his mistake for the rest of his life.

Oh, and then we lost the football game, 45-7. Oh well.

With all that, my sadness upon waking suddenly seemed rather justified.

In other (happier) news, a Toronto outlet will be selling the Etherea CD (now released in hard copy), which is still performing quite well. We got a really wonderful review in Opera News, also rather exciting. I did manage to learn the music I wanted to learn. Comrade MM made a wonderfully delicious Indian meal in which Ryan and I shared on Saturday night, full of various curries. I had originally planned to write my next post about Canada and Christmas, as Canadians seem to start celebrating awfully early, and indeed Ryan and I encountered their big Christmas parade today (Santa was there!), but it all seems a little trivial now. I will post pictures and thoughts at a later date, though.

In closing, I do highly encourage all of you to read about the UCD protests and to consider contacting the chancellor if you feel strongly about the situation, no matter where your loyalties lie. If you are interested in writing to her, here is a link to an online form: http://chancellor.ucdavis.edu/contact.php

Here are also some links to articles which I have found interesting or illuminating:

an article by a UCD professor on militarization of the police
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bob-ostertag/uc-davis-protest_b_1103039.html

an opinion editorial by UC Berkeley professor and poet laureate Robert Hass, who was beaten by the police
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/20/opinion/sunday/at-occupy-berkeley-beat-poets-has-new-meaning.html?ref=opinion

an interview with a student who was pepper sprayed at UCD
http://boingboing.net/2011/11/20/ucdeyetwitness.html

Encounters with the Pantheon in Downtown Toronto

So. It has been a really long time. I think a lot of things have happened, but I've been busy so I haven't noticed. Really, the most eventful moments have probably been in the kitchen. Oh, and the CD I released with Etherea that has been selling rather well. The digital release was on November 1st and it is available in hard-copy starting on Tuesday, the 15th. Currently we're 14 in the nation-wide "Billboard" charts and still number two (after falling from number one, which we held for a week) in the "traditional" new releases on iTunes. Ahead of Lang Lang and behind Hélene Grimaud.

Otherwise life is chugging along at its usual pace: lots of singing mixed in with some learning and then the boring "life" stuff. Halloween came and went; Ryan and I didn't do anything eventful (other than make dinner and help to hand out a little candy) because it fell on a Monday. November entered the picture and with it came the end of daylight savings. Now it is pitch dark by 5:30, which is a little sad. On the plus side we didn't get any of that pre-Halloween storm that blanketed the East Coast and the weather has been perhaps unseasonably warm. It might snow later in the week, but if it does it will probably just be a dusting. Otherwise I've been chipping away at learning La Calisto, thinking about technique, and working on some shorter assignments for school.

We have another ADP master class this Friday with the baritone Timothy Noble but luckily for me there is slightly less pressure as I'm not singing in the class itself, just in my coaching with him (we alternate, so all of us sing publicly in three classes but in private lessons for all six visiting master class artists, plus there are two extra classes this year, with Susan Graham and Ian Bostridge). I'm not sure what I'll be working on for Mr. Noble, but I've had Schubert on the brain of late so it may be some of that. My teacher recommended two songs of his to me: a short but beautiful one called "Florios Lied" (the only drawback being that about 45% of it sits on an F-natural, right in the passaggio...) and a 13-or-so minute long Blumenballade (or flower ballad) called "Viola." "Viola" is pretty awesome. It is somewhat like a giant version of the Goethe poem/Mozart Lied "Das Veilchen," but grafted onto a piano sonata or something like that. The poem (and song) alternates stanzas of storytelling with a refrain that, as one eventually realizes, rings with funeral knells for the dead violet. Per usual, the song is not so much about the different flowers of spring as it is about unrequited love. Poor Viola just gets too excited, stops paying any attention to anything but the coming of Spring, and then freezes to death. The music that falls between the refrain stanzas (there are a few strophes between each refrain) changes from strophe to strophe, with different textures and figurations in the piano reflecting the changing sentiments. It is rather nice. Highly recommend a listen.

So. I'm sure there are more things to talk about and think about, but for now I will segue to a photo essay, which will surely prompt memories...

Aha!

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far away, we made butternut squash ravioli for dinner. Ryan and Comrade J are working the assembly line:

I went to see Mlle P. in a ceremony at her school a few weeks ago because she was nominated for an award and her parents couldn't make it. Her school is French immersion, so it was interesting for me to witness both Canadian public education and also hear a little Ontario French. Here she is proudly displaying her certificate!

That Friday, after attending the ceremony, I went to the Royal Ontario Museum (we had the week off for a fall break/extra rehearsals). It is the subject of some controversy, as a prominent architect was hired to update the building and he wound up designing this "crystal" that juts out from the original facade. The museum is next door to the school and I happen to think that it looks very pretty from the outside, but I have to agree with some of the critics when I say that I'm not sure it does much for the interior. The museum is somewhat confusingly organized, with a collection that is very strong in some aspects but lacking in others. The crystal is made of big windows, as the name might suggest, but these are also blocked to prevent harmful light from damaging the collections. So, one winds up wandering amongst dinosaur skeletons in a sort of strangely white atmosphere. Not my favorite. There were some smaller collections of art of all sorts, including a few beautiful early pieces and some interesting folk art, as well as a large collection of Asian pottery. Some of the most interesting pieces of Asian work were the early "native" pottery examples, actually, not the beautifully-formed pots with jade-colored glaze. Perhaps unsurprisingly, early Chinese pottery looks a lot like Anasazi/pueblo work from the American Southwest.

One of my favorite pieces, however, was a wooden sculpture of the Virgin Mary standing with the infant Christ in a crescent moon. It struck me as oddly similar to the Artemis/Diana-Selene conflation that occurred in the post-Classical era...

The trees are less golden now than they appear here, but there are still leaves left on the branches:

Since then, I've clearly been busy with some interesting food.

On Halloween, I baked "Pane Francese," following a recipe from Mr. Hitz's book, to have with roasted vegetables and buckwheat groats:

One loaf is topped with poppy seeds and the other with sesame seeds.

I also must have made stir-fry of some sort involving zucchini, and then noticed how beautiful they are in cross-section!

Last Sunday I made a pie crust with a little whole wheat flour because apples were on sale at Economy Fruit. So, I made an apple pie augmented with some leftover Thanksgiving cranberry sauce and some almonds and oats.

Not pictured is the quiche I made later in the day with the remaining half of the pie crust. Talk about a fancy dinner! Quiche and pie! It was a good quiche. To make it less eggy, since Ryan doesn't really like eggs, I spiced it up with some garam masala. Yum!

The next night I decided I wanted to have some aioli, so I made it and lightly cooked some vegetables for dipping. It was reminiscent of some very good meals I had this summer at a friend's house! However, I was at a loss as to what I should do with the remaining egg whites. Until I decided to make French macarons: almond cookies, of course, with a raspberry-dark chocolate ganache. And they were pretty much divine. I highly recommend them. They are also apparently notoriously difficult to make but really behaved quite well. Not too tricky! I followed a recipe from Gourmet.com but made a few changes to their ganache.

Another picture, just for good measure:

A few days later I made my usual sojourn to Economy Fruit and picked up the following cornucopia-worthy items for only $6.50. The woman who works at the checkout might just actually be Demeter/Ceres. Seriously. Cere-ously.

The one drawback is that I have had to get very, very creative with the cabbage. Cabbage salad. Cabbage in couscous. Home-made falafel with cabbage. Andddd... that brings us to last night's dinner: minestrone soup.
I made vegetable stock by roasting vegetables and then made soup and bread in the evening. Here's the soup, bubbling away (before I added the cabbage):

And the bread, which was made following another recipe from Gourmet magazine involving bulgur wheat (and let me tell you... it is delicious!! I literally pulled one of the rolls out of the oven and ate it. The recipe made 12 medium-sized rolls and one medium-sized loaf):

And that, folks, is all for now. I need to spend some more time thinking about cabbage-filled recipes.