Singing well is the best revenge.
The Verdi Requiem last night was, if I may say so myself, pretty awesome. Given that this was a special one-night-only performance presented by an outside organization (but they hired us and the symphony, which is yay), I was delighted to see that the house was almost completely full. I was able to get comps for Mr. 42, solarwind, and another work friend who is awesome.
The last time I sang the Verdi Requiem, it was with San Diego Opera on the same day that San Diego Opera announced that it would be closing. We had world-renowned opera stars like Stephanie Blythe and Feruccio Furlanetto as our soloists, our numbers were nearly doubled by members of the opera chorus, and we had an extraordinary conductor in Massimo Zanetti. Suffice it to say, it was an extremely emotional experience. The LA Times called it "An angry Requiem for a premature, senseless death."
Last night's Requiem was a much more somber kind of emotional. We weren't just presenting an operatic Requiem, we were telling the story of how this music helped people retain their humanity in the face of unspeakable horrors. We also had the pleasure of singing in a smaller venue, so we could hear slightly better than we could last March. And with 100+ singers instead of 300+, I felt that each singer's individual contribution could be felt more, and that's an engaging and exciting feeling.
My goal last night was to sing the music on the page, to watch the baton to ensure that I was in time, and maybe even make some pretty music, and I definitely did that. I also got goosebumps every time we sang the Dies Irae theme, and my heart swelled with joy during the Recordare and the Agnus Dei.
There were a couple of actors that read dramatic texts that had been based on interviews with survivors (the man whose story we were telling, Rafael Schaecter, perished on the infamous death march from Auschwitz a month before liberation), and there was a bit where a lady said, "I can't tell you how the chorus sounded. All I can tell you is what the music meant to us." And though I can tell you, from my smallish sample of people around me, we sounded pretty good, what's more important is what that music meant and that we allowed that to shine through.
Not bad for a Thursday night!
Right. Off to work in the rainy rain (yay!). I got a ton of stuff done at work yesterday, so today I can finish up prep for the Big Lecture Series next week and have a worry-free weekend. I just hope the inevitable crash won't be too miserable. At least there are entertaining films at the cinema, fun dancing to do, tasty beer to drink with friends, and warm puppies to cuddle at home.
Love to All!
Mun42
The last time I sang the Verdi Requiem, it was with San Diego Opera on the same day that San Diego Opera announced that it would be closing. We had world-renowned opera stars like Stephanie Blythe and Feruccio Furlanetto as our soloists, our numbers were nearly doubled by members of the opera chorus, and we had an extraordinary conductor in Massimo Zanetti. Suffice it to say, it was an extremely emotional experience. The LA Times called it "An angry Requiem for a premature, senseless death."
Last night's Requiem was a much more somber kind of emotional. We weren't just presenting an operatic Requiem, we were telling the story of how this music helped people retain their humanity in the face of unspeakable horrors. We also had the pleasure of singing in a smaller venue, so we could hear slightly better than we could last March. And with 100+ singers instead of 300+, I felt that each singer's individual contribution could be felt more, and that's an engaging and exciting feeling.
My goal last night was to sing the music on the page, to watch the baton to ensure that I was in time, and maybe even make some pretty music, and I definitely did that. I also got goosebumps every time we sang the Dies Irae theme, and my heart swelled with joy during the Recordare and the Agnus Dei.
There were a couple of actors that read dramatic texts that had been based on interviews with survivors (the man whose story we were telling, Rafael Schaecter, perished on the infamous death march from Auschwitz a month before liberation), and there was a bit where a lady said, "I can't tell you how the chorus sounded. All I can tell you is what the music meant to us." And though I can tell you, from my smallish sample of people around me, we sounded pretty good, what's more important is what that music meant and that we allowed that to shine through.
Not bad for a Thursday night!
Right. Off to work in the rainy rain (yay!). I got a ton of stuff done at work yesterday, so today I can finish up prep for the Big Lecture Series next week and have a worry-free weekend. I just hope the inevitable crash won't be too miserable. At least there are entertaining films at the cinema, fun dancing to do, tasty beer to drink with friends, and warm puppies to cuddle at home.
Love to All!
Mun42