Morning sunshine

Still sailing painfully on the dragon but as I breakfast on a honey and weed butter sandwich on spelt I’ve got remarkably few things to bitch about – quick list and then I’ll move on to happy stuff:

1. Starbucks has a drink called Chantico that is faintly reminiscent of those thick Italian hot chocolates strong men’d sell their mothers for. They’re discontinuing it. Therefore, I now wish the franchise to sink into the sea. Thank you.

2. When stage directions call for a funeral pyre, red lights and dramatic poses will NOT DO. It makes the performers look like stale cafeteria fare and stops me from suspending my disbelief, which is a pain in my ass since funeral pyres are usually called for at the emotional climax of the spectacle.

That having been said, Norma last night was lovely. Looooovely. I’m going to be walking around all day doing the ‘ahhhh ahh ahhhh ah ahhhh ahh ahhhh ah ahhh ah ah ahhhh’ from “Casta Diva” until someone slaps me. So good! Because you know, I got to the opera with Miss V in one of those states where as soon as nothing is unavoidably engaging you, you start thinking naughty things in graphic detail about what you’re going to do to someone you really like. But when June Anderson went into “Casta Diva” – Bellini was smart to put that so close to the beginning because I didn’t dare take my ears off of what was happening for the rest of the show - all the smut got pushed into my unconscious where it belongs. It was so pure, and so her, too, so that singer . . . “Casta Diva” was a signature song for Maria Callas. Her rich, marble–mouth voice was perfect for it. June Anderson has a different voice –sharper – but wonderful with this song in a different way. It didn’t sound effortless when she sung it, but it didn’t need to. The effort added something. Hard to say what I mean.

Generally I like Norma a lot because it’s a very chick opera. The tenor isn’t on stage much, which I’m fine with, because, you know, tenors. Whatever. My dad can sing “Nessun dorma” to my satisfaction while he makes the pasta sauce and watches soccer, fuck. But when you get a mezzo as fine as Marianna Kulikova playing second to someone like June Anderson in an opera that’s so heavy on the ladies and features some of the nicest duets between them – not to mention a plot wherein the relationship between them is key – damn. Because they could both act, too.

Even the set was almost sufficient this time, which is something for the COC. They did a good job making it look vaguely Druidy and forbidding. But please – no more fucking heat-lamp funeral pyres, okay? That’s bullshit right there.