Tag Archives: Music

New York

A Night at the Opera

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Without music, life would be a mistake. – Friedrich Nietzsche

The first image that comes to mind when I think “opera” is a scene in Anastasia, the animated film that came out in 1997. Anastasia gets all dressed up in pearls and a floor-length gown and watches the opera from a luxury box through a pair of gold binoculars. Since then, opera has meant elegance, finery, glamor, culture.

On Thursday, a colleague took me to the Met for a performance of Beethoven’s only opera, Fidelio. While it didn’t involve a floor-length gown or gold binoculars, it was absolutely stunning and also changed my schema of opera.

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My coworker neglected to mention that her season tickets are in the front row. This gave me a view of the orchestra that I’ve never had, which was fascinating in itself. During intermission, for example, the musicians chatted to each other, took pictures, sent text messages, and suddenly became regular people. Other than a few small live music venues, I’ve never been close enough to a stage to watch orchestral musicians perform. To say that music is alive is to underestimate the role of the people who bring it to life.

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I grew up listening to many of the Classical Kids cassette tapes – Beethoven Lives Upstairs, Mozart’s Magic Fantasy, Vivaldi’s Ring of Mystery, Tchaikovsky Discovers America, Mr. Bach Comes to Call were often our choice of car music. (Barenaked Ladies and Smash Mouth took over for a while after that, but I think we had CDs by then.) As soon as the Fidelio overture began, it was like being at a Beethoven concert. My knowledge of music theory is unfortunately limited and I can’t actually describe what “being at a Beethoven concert” sounds like, but I recognized him immediately.

The singers, of course, were equally amazing. Their voices were so big and so full of every emotion, making them instantly relatable and making the story easy to follow. I likely had a huge smile on my face the whole time. Live performance always has that impact on me.

Overall, the opera was far more approachable than I had expected. On the back of each seat is a small screen that you can choose to turn on to view the subtitles for everything being sung onstage. For Fidelio, the available languages were German (the language of the opera), English, and Spanish. The words are red on black screens that are constructed in such a way that it is very difficult to see the screen of the people next to you. Having the captions on is not at all distracting while also allowing the audience to  follow tradition and watch the opera without translation.

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There was something in Fidelio for everyone – unrequited love, ambition, crime, marital fidelity, revolutionary undertones. Opera is definitely an experience that I want to have again, which is feasible considering tickets at the Met start at about $30 for the highest section in the auditorium. Again, approachable. Who knew?

In addition to the opera, I was really interested in the audience. My coworker had told me to expect everything from tuxedos with tails to jeans and backpacks. She was not exaggerating. I saw multiple people who were clearly tourists and backpackers in the city for a few days, and multiple people who have clearly attended opera for decades and embrace all the glamor that opera has always had. My favorite by far was a couple in our row who were well into their advanced years and epitomized fabulous. He sported a tuxedo with a patterned cummerbund matching his bowtie and pocket square, and she wore a velvet pantsuit with a spangly rhinestone front and no back with a white feathered fedora. They were beautiful.

As far as cultural experiences go, I’m trying to do as much as I can for my time here in New York. I’ve been to live music venues, Broadway shows, comedy clubs, and now the opera. I haven’t seen a dance performance here so that’s next on the list.

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. – Victor Hugo

Travel Guide

Travel Guide: New Orleans, LA

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Prior to leaving on this long weekend with my mum (the first time we’ve traveled somewhere together!), I had the following conversation with more than a few friends and colleagues:

Curious person: Oh cool, New Orleans! Are you going for Mardi Gras?
Me: No, that’s not until next week.
Curious person: Oh right, of course.

To all of you who asked such a good question, I owe you an apology. I was completely wrong and you seemed to believe what I said without question (likely because I go a lot of places and do a lot of things and usually sound pretty confident when I speak, the latter of which is largely smoke and mirrors anyway). Mea culpa. Lessons learned: Factually, trust no one (as aptly phrased by a friend) and always, always research.

The Mardi Gras season, as the extremely friendly and hospitable New Orleanians (I may have made up that word) told me, runs from Epiphany in January to actual Mardi Gras day (Fat Tuesday). As the locals explained it, Mardi Gras is an excuse to do as much sinning as possible for 5+ weeks in order to have something to atone for over Lent.

So yes, I was in New Orleans for part of Mardi Gras. And it was amazing. There were parades everywhere at all times of the day and night. Most of these photos are from the Krewe of Cork parade in the French Quarter:

My mum and I thoroughly enjoyed collecting as many beads as we could and ogling in astonishment at the parades, costumes, and general debauchery, especially on Bourbon Street. There are no open container laws in New Orleans, which was a lot of fun and probably explains much of what we saw:

More importantly, we learned a lot about the rich history and culture of New Orleans, which has been Spanish, French, and American throughout its history, creating Creole and Cajun cultures that give the city a flavor and a pulse unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The food is darn good, too, and this is coming from a vegetarian. If I was impressed, omnivores will be even more so.

I have to admit, however, that I still don’t like doughnuts. It was a lot of fun to eat beignets and drink café au lait while walking down the street, but I just don’t like doughnuts. That said, I’d still recommend a visit to Café du Monde, if for no other reason than to say you did. We got there around 8:15am on Saturday morning and beat the lines by about a minute. And the café au lait was truly delicious.

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Mum and I really love wandering along streets and in and out of shops and galleries wherever we are, which is how we spent most of our time. We explored the French Quarter and French Market on our own and also took a French Quarter walking tour to actually learn a thing or two about how New Orleans came to be. We were amazed at the beauty of the streets and buildings, and delighted with the art and music that were everywhere:

Another really excellent walking tour took us through Lafayette Cemetery and the Garden District. There were some incredible homes in the Garden District, with a remarkable diversity of architecture based on sheer whim of the wealthy homeowners.We learned about the burial laws of New Orleans (as long as you wait a year and a day, you can open a tomb and shove another body inside) and some of the history of the city’s wealth from trade. The first burial in Lafayette Cemetery took place in the 1840s and the cemetery is still active, which is really neat:

We also spent one evening on Frenchmen Street where there was jazz everywhere, as well as an art market. The hard part was picking a bar to visit (we chose The Spotted Cat based on several recommendations) and a place to eat afterwards! And then we were interrupted by the Krewe of Chewbacchus parade in Marginy, which was so much fun. Unfortunately, I’m a rather petite person and couldn’t get close enough to the police barrier to take any decent photos of the parade itself. But here’s Frenchmen Street:

On our last night in the city, we took a ghost tour to learn about the haunted history of New Orleans. I’m glad that we did the French Quarter tour first because the histories are obviously intertwined, but I don’t know that I’d seek out another ghost tour. I enjoyed hearing the stories and visiting a possibly haunted bar that doesn’t have electricity, but I got a lot more out of the daytime walking tours. That’s probably not surprising, considering the supernatural is questionable at best.

I’ve always admired the “doors of” posters of various cities that are often on the walls in waiting rooms, so I decided New Orleans was a good opportunity to work on my own collection of “doors of” photos. My favorites, including one set of mailboxes:

The most surprising aspect of New Orleans was the culture of the city and the genuinely open, receptive, and free spirits of all the people I encountered, from the man in the suit to the young couple in togas to the woman wearing only glitter. People playing music on the streets seemed genuinely excited to be doing it and artists hung their work anywhere they could and worked wherever they were standing. Palm and tarot readings were readily available and the voodoo shop we visited could not have been more welcoming; they even suggested a different shop when we couldn’t find what we wanted!

(Full disclosure here: Friends have read my tarot cards twice and palm once, and while I don’t know if I “believe” any of what they said, it sure was telling. And, in hindsight, frighteningly accurate.)

Maybe it was Mardi Gras or Southern hospitality, but there’s something truly wonderful about a place where what is normally considered “subculture” is just everyday being.

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On My Mind

An Act of Vulnerability

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Recently I made a list of rules to live by, which included “seeking out and doing things that scare me”. This post is in the spirit of doing something that scares me.

I used to love performing. I was in musicals and plays all through school and sang in my high school’s select choir. I sang in the car, in the shower, walking down the street, and in school hallways. I never took voice lessons and sang simply because I enjoyed it.

I stopped formal singing when I was in college, choosing instead to join a dance group. I’d always been a better dancer than singer and enjoyed practicing and perfecting choreography much more than I had ever cared about improving my vocal range or remaining precisely on key. Rusty, out of practice, and self-conscious I restricted my singing to parties (it’s easy to hide in a crowd) and driving alone in the car (even with the windows rolled down, who can hear you?).

The last time I sang in public to anyone who was purposely listening was a year ago when I spent a week in Cambodia with the grade 10 students at my school. Doing something you’re not confident about in front of other people is scary. My students had been stepping out of their comfort zones all week and I decided it was time I did the same. It was during that week that my group of advisees, themselves keen and talented singers and musicians, decided to make singing a regular part of our advisory class time, which we worked hard to continue for the rest of the year.

Thinking about my students and committing to my personal code, I took a deep breath and sang again. This time I sang for you, an audience of people I don’t know, whose faces I will likely never see.

Here’s to you.