Nichts verlorengegangen

Every year I consider dropping my subscription to the opera. As Nuphy reminded me yesterday, this is my 20th year. I've seen all the major works at least twice and, in many cases, the chances of the next production being superior to the last are minimal. (No way, for instance, am I ever going to see a better Nozze di Figaro than that one with Fleming, Terfel, Futrelle, and Graham, all at their peak.) At least when Lyric was commissioning a new opera every year, I was assured at least one work a season that I had never seen before, but that commitment didn't survive the recession. I think of all the live theatre or concerts I could be attending instead, but I remember that there's simply no way I'll go out without being coerced and I'd never subscribe to anything unless I had a partner willing to wield the upper hand, like I have in Nuphy. So why do I still send him a fat check and drag myself out for eight performances a year? It's because every now and again I have on of those evenings where I am absolutely enraptured by what's taking place on the stage. Yesterday was one of those evenings.

The opera was Richard Strauss' Capriccio, which--as it happens--was the very first one the Nuphy took me to. Not the first one I'd ever seen (that would be Così fan tutte, unless you're inclined to count The beggar's opera), but definitely my first one at the Lyric. It's also one of his absolute favourites. Which is hardly surprising, given that it's regarded as "an opera connoisseur's opera" due to the sheer density of its references and its abstruse subject. He's not only studied it but taught it as well (and developed his own slightly nutty theory regarding the ambiguous ending). And he confirmed that this production topped the previous one in every way.

First, I need to give full credit to Davis, who I normally never have a kind word for. He's better the more lyrical the material, but Nuphy's standing complaint is that he wants everything "pretty" at the expense of drama and definition. For whatever reason, though, he was completely on point yesterday and he never felt sluggish in his tempo or too mushy in his direction. When notes were meant to sound harsh, they sounded harsh. (Which isn't often--it's one of the most beautiful scores in opera.)

The performers were magnificent. I can hear a little roughness creeping into Fleming's tone, but she still has one of the single best soprano singing voices I've ever been lucky enough to hear live. Everyone else killed, with the sole exception of Annie Sofie von Otter as Clairon, who was overwhelmed by the orchestra at one point and made tepid porridge of her grand entrance. Of course, I have to single out Peter Rose, whose bottom was one of the real joys of Midsummer night's dream four years ago. I'm sure last time I heard La Roche's big aria, it seemed rather grandiose and longwinded; this time it was a showstopper. Iversen was making his debut and I don't recall Burden's performance from Lulu, but Skovhus was as solid as always.

The real challenge of Capriccio is staging. It's all one extended drawing room argument, and keeping that visually interesting for two hours drives directors to distraction. I'm really impressed with McClintock's work. He may have been following Cox' production closely, but I don't recall the middle section being so entertaining. The ballet sequence in particular was deftly handled, succeeding equally well as both dance performance and light comedy when it would've been all to easy to err on the side of slapstick.

The only real problem with it--and the chief complaint of Nuphy's--is that there's no mirror. Far from being a minor point, this is crucial to the climax, since the Countess' final aria is addressed to her reflection. Cox makes the house the mirror (which is true to the spirit of Strauss' allegory) by lowering a frame downstage centre for this bit. McClintock decided to do without it while positioning Fleming in the same place. As someone who remembers the previous production, this caused me no problems, but I wonderful how confusing it might've been for first-timers. Even just having a servant air-polish the space in the scene before (or the tragédienne check her coiffure) would've take care of this (though then you'd be left with the puzzlement of why La Roche addresses many of his arguments to his reflection rather than his opponents in the room).

These are things I noticed, but they are not details that diminished my enjoyment in any way. I was a little sleepy, having had a beer at dinner, but whenever I began to find myself drifting, I found that the music brought me right back. (Again, thanks to Davis for that.) I left giddy with enjoyment. (If only it were easier to preserve that emotion on the long el ride back north.)

Moxxed out

I keep waiting for the crash to hit from the five hours of sleep I got last night, but so far I'm still purring. Maybe my little power nap worked after all? I'm worried this means the payment to the piper tomorrow is going to be that much worse, but I can deal.

I don't want to say too much about dinner yesterday with my cousin's wife and daughter since my brother is jealous enough already, but let's just say it went well. Nuphy suggested a brewpub around the corner from his house which has become his new Stammlokal due to deleterious personnel changes at the Gage. The place is called "Moxee" [sic] and specialises in seafood. He was more enthusiastic about the salmon than I was; I thought it made for a damn good sandwich but regretted not trying the crabcakes, since they might just have gotten them right.

For dessert, we shared the derby pie. Scores well on taste, but I have to take points off for not using whole pecans. (I know, I know, there's a shortage on and all, but still.) And though I was tempted by the house kölsch, I thought the 3% ABV yuzu-flavoured Berliner Weiss was a safer bet. Obviously more of a summer beer, and so mild that even monshu didn't make a face when I gave him a sip.

The opera I've already written about. Thanks to a ride from the aforementioned cousin-in-law, we made it there in good time. It's a shame my pleasant buzz didn't last longer, but that's how it is now that the 147 isn't running late and I'm forced to cast my lot in with the assholes of the el train. I took comfort knowing that, this morning, the memories of their assholishness would have faded while my recollections of the performance would still be strong. And so it was.

What also helped (and which is ultimately responsible for my irresponsible bedtime) was the infamous Highlighter Party, which I finally succeed in crashing. I couldn't do it last year because my older brother was here. I couldn't do it the year before that because I had trouble getting over myself and I couldn't do it the year before that because I didn't know about it. It was everything I'd been led to believe, good and bad.

Among the good, the Madison bears were there, one of them more trashed than I've ever seen him. That was amusing. After they'd gone, I spotted a quote from the Dreigroschen Oper on someone's back and that kicked off a fun conversation about opera, German, Germany, and related topics. I may yet be called upon to make good on some conversation practice.

Today I expected to be draggy and sore, but my back was good enough I was able to do some raking outside and I managed to stay on top of my chores. Better get back to them, though, before my grace runs out.