A moment of solemn humming of highlights from Norma to observe the anniversary of the birth of opera, I mean Callas. Except I missed it by a day. Well, alright: utilize your favorite ego defense in honor of the anniversary of the birth of Anna Freud?
There's this insane batch of good opera online today. I actually passed on the Podles Tancredi because I have the Naxos one somewhere, even if live is always better, and 1) I'm presumably going to see her do it...isn't she doing it at Caramoor or somewhere? and 2) Dalayman's Salome tempted me away. Girlfriend has a voice on her, but apparently the only thing as big is her fee, because the only reason I can think of for this Jokanaan is there was no money left and they had to get someone's uncle Ingvar to do it. You remember Ingvar, he used to sing the little song about the farmer's daughter that made us all laugh so hard. Sorry, I really got into being Swedish for a second there.
Edit: as whichever Baldwin it is says after a car crash in State and Main, "Well, that happened." The last twenty minutes of Salome verged on somnolent, though pretty. But then a very good thing happened, in that instead of opting for Knjaz' Igor on the basis of "it should be going for a good while longer" I took a little gamble on Die Gezeichnete because The Straussmonster was joking about the ridiculousness of Schreker's plots the other night. An instant convert to Schreker am I. And Schwanenwilms, little black dress grudges notwithstanding.
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