My Favorite Intermissions is a English-speaking blog specialized in the field of classical music and opera. As such, My Favorite Intermissions is a qualified source of soClassiQ, like classicalexburns or Guardian and many others. The oldest article indexed by soClassiQ is dated 2009-10-29. Since then, a total of 62 articles have been written and published by My Favorite Intermissions.
My Favorite Intermissions seems to be on pause right now, since no article has been published for 3 months. The last article in My Favorite Intermissions, "I [heart] Ildar.", is dated 2013-10-03.
"On pause" does not mean, however, that My Favorite Intermissions will not resume its activity soon, nor that its articles are less interesting than another more active source.
This editorial activity is no different from that recorded for the previous period.
My Favorite Intermissions has been selected by soClassiQ to be among its qualified sources because we believe that its articles fully contribute to the knowledge of classical music and opera. Because it is up to everyone to make their own opinion, to love My Favorite Intermissions or to prefer other writings, all our visitors and members are invited to discover My Favorite Intermissions. If you like it, feel free to add it to your browser bookmarks or soClassiQ bookmarks (for its members, with the button below). This will allow you to come back to it easily and regularly.
Add this page to your soClassiQ bookmarks
It's no good telling you to catch Mefistofele in this run (as documented by the Closing Night Whoop we heard once the curtain finally went down) or in any other since people don't do it nearly often enough. Rumor has it, though, that this resuscitation of Carsen's perfect production serves to dust it off for the Met in a couple of years. For you who still live at the Met, I hope it's true, and I wish you Ildar Abrazakov. Just when you're done, give him back. Here is what I can tell you about Mefistofele, none of it factual since you could find that on Wikipedia if you wanted: 1) People you drag along who are ambiv about Italian opera will find it slightly more interesting than more standard rep 19th c Italian stuff but may still file it under "19th c Italian ridiculousness." […]
In mere hours I will be at Mefistofele at the War Memorial (do people say that?), which is exciting though I've been sleeping so weirdly I'm afraid I'm going to have that kind of operatic narcolepsy that creeps upon me even at things I've been eagerly awaiting. I mean seriously there I was during the first scenes of Onegin, bending my fingers back to try and stay awake. They should make special little opera forks for stabbing yourself in the arm when you've gotten too little rest, or to be used in the event of Fidelio. It seems dumb to blog it when tonight is, I think, the last night, but I suppose I will anyway. Right now I'm listening to Gurrelieder, which I wish symphonies were required to put on once a year, and googling things that will be more relevant when I have a job, […]
Holy what?! [Ok Youtube absolutely refuses to let me post it directly so the link is ici ] It's horribly sync'ed and her voice isn't in great shape and, um, the preview makes it looks like I may have the wrong video but wow and things. Wait for "der Vater GRAUSSET'S"! And I spoke too soon because what follows is a setting of Joyce Kilmer's "Trees" that amuses me probably more than is right.
And what an evening. Everything but the bloodhounds snappin' at my rear end. So, one of the reasons I stopped blogging was the creeping realization of the extent to which my reactions to things are colored by my own stage business. There were not enough grains of salt with which to take my opinions, some nights. This is one of those, really. Five hours after the end of the performance I would be half asleep on a train rushing through, well, not to get too grand and romantic, Delaware or something, having left New York City for good. You may imagine I was not the most objective of critics. But I'll give you some impressions. The performances were generally of a very high caliber, just as they promised to be on paper--Kwiecien less than the others, it must be said. It was […]
For a long time I have said that, notwithstanding the monumental courage of the fags and dykes and drag queens that stood up to oppression years before I ever had to think about any of it, without the support of straight people, we would just be 100% fucked. I am always particularly moved by unsolicited displays of support. This made me cry. It is a bleak moment in history in so many ways, and watching Putin's obvious campaign of scapegoating build toward something terrible is the most helpless, awful feeling. There's not a lot any of us can do, but this is the big-hearted gesture of a true friend. (Who happens also to be among our finest artists. ) Thank you, Joyce DiDonato.
I realized last night, reading the news of Dolora Zajick's indisposition, that one reason I hadn't made any mental plans to see Dolores Claiborne is that...well, I don't read Stephen King. I don't like horror as a genre and the one time I stood around in the Borders by Madison Square Garden reading first pages of them, seeing if any would grab me enough to join the rest of the human race in having read his novels, I found his writing per se miserably flat and unengaging. So but the point is I don't know his stuff, certainly haven't seen any of the movies* outside of famous clips that show up on tv, and kept thinking "how the hell are they going to do that scene where Dolora Zajick has to take a sledgehammer to some poor baritone's ankles?" Wrong novel. At this point the drag […]