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I think... I think... I may be done with preparations for my VW presentation. Therefore I can expound upon the virtues of this day.
Despite staying up till 2 last night, I think I impressed the piano professor who heard the rehearsal Ben and I had in Duncan this morning at 8:30. He asked me yesterday if I wanted to do a Saturday concert for his collab class, and so we threw the Argentine songs and a Liszt and a Rach in a bag and shook it at Dr. Fischer, and I think she liked it. Even at 8:30 in the morning. It was an auspicious beginning.
The loosely aligned collection of Ling peers in my corner of the room had a thing or two to pursue to irrelevant tangentiality in Structure of English, and that's exactly the kind of thing Dr. Kemmer takes up with a fascinated smile. The class, usually the mainstay of my practice in nodding off under a teacher's nose without her noticing, was raucous and full of vehement discussion by the end.
Chemistry's field trip had been canceled, so we got a review for the exam instead. Now, if only all the classes had been taught that way; having material explained to us and being able to ask questions outside of a timed lecture makes understanding said material a zephyr.
Having agreed with Stephan that a Jimmy Wok run was what was called for after such a successful explanation of polyolefins, we trekked to his car. I rode along with a hand in the air, listening to the Fado stylings of Mercedes Sosa, when lo, who should cross our path at the University light but Scotty? We rolled down both windows and hailed him with enthusiasm, and had an incredibly interesting and conversationally stimulating lunch over cheap Chinese. I only regret leaving as soon as I did; my lesson at 1:30 necessitated I be dropped off at Shepherd.
And then, that went well, too! Probably having sung in the morning was helpful. The phrasing and grounding and consistency are slowly coming together. I think it's gonna be okay by Saturday, and I think it's gonna be... good, actually... by my recital.
A rehearsal post-lesson with one of the composers in whose recitals I'm participating brought my mind back to another thing I have to learn for him; he writes very hard vocal lines, and this one is on Saturday, so it's not my recital I'll be cramming for, this weekend, until after that. It was an interesting rehearsal, four of us trying to cover eight parts, Roger's-house-style, with the composer banging away at the piano and occasionally attempting to conduct. This is the composer who reminds me of Eric, the one known to most of campus as Special Ops. So, rehearsal with him is living on the edge, a little.
Opera Workshop came right on the heels of this contemporary chorale with a few Zen intentions; the contrast was rather striking. Today was another taping day, and my entire studio had their tapings on it. I could enumerate the fascinating aspects of each person's quasi-performance, but I will instead summarize: people liked mine, Dan's was hysterical and rather good, but it was John's that stuck in my mind. I never knew he was capable of taking such risks onstage. It may have been the only option, with such a staging and such an aria, but he threw his whole voice and whole body behind his desperate, tragic interpretation, and though of course since he's young and his voice has the size and momentum of a runaway train there were flaws, they were flaws that would have occurred had the most technically proficient tenor in the world broken down and lost it over his tragic love. I was moved, and I know I wasn't the only one. There were gasps and mutters and nearly shouts that grew with the applause. What a long way he's come. There's an example for commitment and physicality. His performance is actually the major reason I asked to borrow and copy the tape, rather than my own.
Having elected to skip HSC in favor of homework, I biked to Stephan's and buried myself in stress-relieving Parsifal work, including watching the third act of the Syberberg film. I was going to see a more normal one just for reference, but I can't resist the Gurnemanz. He's so dignified while still being so human, and the actor is the actual soundtrack singer, which is incredible, because he's so relatively young and so vocally and physically perfect for the role. He's my hero, really, rather than Parsifal. Especially in this film.
But behind-the-scenes in my brain, while watching the hour-and-a-quarter-long final act of Wagner's last and most sublime, misogynist, anti-Semitic, transcendent, sacred, and complex opera, smoldered the desire to watch again the pearl of optimism that awaited me in my Facebook message inbox when I'd checked it before starting work. Grant sent me a link to a contemporary rock artist, as he does occasionally, hoping to find one I'd be interested in. The link was accompanied with a simple expression of interest in my opinion.
Herein is explained my violent effervescence and the resurgence of my childhood, as well as my love for Freddie. If anyone has the right to claim himself as Freddie's disciple, it is Mika:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzA0nG_PurQ&mode=related&search=
Stephan fell in love at first go, and only deeper with every repetition. Myself, I want to jump on couches and throw confetti and rock out on a mic stand and dance with fluorescent lightbulbs and an umbrella. This is the kind of simple, silly, why-take-yourself-seriously appeal that attracted me to Tally Hall. With the voice of Queen reincarnated. May you be blessed, Mika, and now I retire to print Parsifal handouts and smile Grace Kelley to sleep.
Despite staying up till 2 last night, I think I impressed the piano professor who heard the rehearsal Ben and I had in Duncan this morning at 8:30. He asked me yesterday if I wanted to do a Saturday concert for his collab class, and so we threw the Argentine songs and a Liszt and a Rach in a bag and shook it at Dr. Fischer, and I think she liked it. Even at 8:30 in the morning. It was an auspicious beginning.
The loosely aligned collection of Ling peers in my corner of the room had a thing or two to pursue to irrelevant tangentiality in Structure of English, and that's exactly the kind of thing Dr. Kemmer takes up with a fascinated smile. The class, usually the mainstay of my practice in nodding off under a teacher's nose without her noticing, was raucous and full of vehement discussion by the end.
Chemistry's field trip had been canceled, so we got a review for the exam instead. Now, if only all the classes had been taught that way; having material explained to us and being able to ask questions outside of a timed lecture makes understanding said material a zephyr.
Having agreed with Stephan that a Jimmy Wok run was what was called for after such a successful explanation of polyolefins, we trekked to his car. I rode along with a hand in the air, listening to the Fado stylings of Mercedes Sosa, when lo, who should cross our path at the University light but Scotty? We rolled down both windows and hailed him with enthusiasm, and had an incredibly interesting and conversationally stimulating lunch over cheap Chinese. I only regret leaving as soon as I did; my lesson at 1:30 necessitated I be dropped off at Shepherd.
And then, that went well, too! Probably having sung in the morning was helpful. The phrasing and grounding and consistency are slowly coming together. I think it's gonna be okay by Saturday, and I think it's gonna be... good, actually... by my recital.
A rehearsal post-lesson with one of the composers in whose recitals I'm participating brought my mind back to another thing I have to learn for him; he writes very hard vocal lines, and this one is on Saturday, so it's not my recital I'll be cramming for, this weekend, until after that. It was an interesting rehearsal, four of us trying to cover eight parts, Roger's-house-style, with the composer banging away at the piano and occasionally attempting to conduct. This is the composer who reminds me of Eric, the one known to most of campus as Special Ops. So, rehearsal with him is living on the edge, a little.
Opera Workshop came right on the heels of this contemporary chorale with a few Zen intentions; the contrast was rather striking. Today was another taping day, and my entire studio had their tapings on it. I could enumerate the fascinating aspects of each person's quasi-performance, but I will instead summarize: people liked mine, Dan's was hysterical and rather good, but it was John's that stuck in my mind. I never knew he was capable of taking such risks onstage. It may have been the only option, with such a staging and such an aria, but he threw his whole voice and whole body behind his desperate, tragic interpretation, and though of course since he's young and his voice has the size and momentum of a runaway train there were flaws, they were flaws that would have occurred had the most technically proficient tenor in the world broken down and lost it over his tragic love. I was moved, and I know I wasn't the only one. There were gasps and mutters and nearly shouts that grew with the applause. What a long way he's come. There's an example for commitment and physicality. His performance is actually the major reason I asked to borrow and copy the tape, rather than my own.
Having elected to skip HSC in favor of homework, I biked to Stephan's and buried myself in stress-relieving Parsifal work, including watching the third act of the Syberberg film. I was going to see a more normal one just for reference, but I can't resist the Gurnemanz. He's so dignified while still being so human, and the actor is the actual soundtrack singer, which is incredible, because he's so relatively young and so vocally and physically perfect for the role. He's my hero, really, rather than Parsifal. Especially in this film.
But behind-the-scenes in my brain, while watching the hour-and-a-quarter-long final act of Wagner's last and most sublime, misogynist, anti-Semitic, transcendent, sacred, and complex opera, smoldered the desire to watch again the pearl of optimism that awaited me in my Facebook message inbox when I'd checked it before starting work. Grant sent me a link to a contemporary rock artist, as he does occasionally, hoping to find one I'd be interested in. The link was accompanied with a simple expression of interest in my opinion.
Herein is explained my violent effervescence and the resurgence of my childhood, as well as my love for Freddie. If anyone has the right to claim himself as Freddie's disciple, it is Mika:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzA0nG_PurQ&mode=related&search=
Stephan fell in love at first go, and only deeper with every repetition. Myself, I want to jump on couches and throw confetti and rock out on a mic stand and dance with fluorescent lightbulbs and an umbrella. This is the kind of simple, silly, why-take-yourself-seriously appeal that attracted me to Tally Hall. With the voice of Queen reincarnated. May you be blessed, Mika, and now I retire to print Parsifal handouts and smile Grace Kelley to sleep.
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Word on the tapings. I was so impressed.
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