Alcina 2a

thadieu and I are on our way – we traipsed down to the cellar and missed the house exit over excited chatter. Then managed to find the Metro.

Two pairs of thermo socks, a  bottle of hot tea and happy smiles – standing room queue, here we come!

(Dr T already dreamed last night that VK was stepping in, while I dreamt of a) the show being canceled and being replaced with Rosenkavalier and I was not amused, b) being sent to the back of the queue after hours for no apparent reason, c) being sold a ticket to another show at another theatre and d) having forgotten the shawls to mark our standing room places and losing our spots over it.

Good Lord, we may be a little anxious.

10 thoughts on “Alcina 2a”

    1. The thought may have crossed my mind, as she is a lyric, but the idea didn’t click for me (and I don’t see her heading into German repertory, but who knows?) – with many of her most moving moments being on very involved pining, I think I don’t associate her expressiveness with the measured resignation and graceful withdrawal.

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      1. The pain of loss, foreseen and then suffered, underlies the Marschallin’s self-control throughout, I think. Most performers prefer gracious charm, but — “mit dieser Stund vorbei” — from one lost future to another, her face and Ochs’ face both gone pale . . . yes, worth thinking about. Thanks, Towanda.

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        1. And that line thought to the end is the Marschallin overdosing on sleeping pill inforesight at the end of Act 1, as in the Hamburg Konwitschny take with the frozen rose…

          That balance of grace (mit leichten Händen halten und nehmen, halten und lassen – the hardest, painful thing to do) with enough weight of fear underneath, so hard to manage – who knows, the Featherweight Javelin might pull it off?

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  1. PS, speaking of opera anxiety dreams, did you see the news that the Met shut down yesterday mid-show because some scattered a friend’s ashes in the pit, DURING THE SHOW?

    Great, I’m thinking, now I have THAT to worry about. PLEASE, nobody feel the need to scatter anything at the Met on April 17, 2017.

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    1. I only heard “white powder” – those were ashes?

      Well, that’s a hell of a way to go, that’s for sure (though not April 17th. Nope!)

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