I mean, not to be a dick or anything, but for the record the "Enzo Adorato" phrase ended on a perfectly comfortable A natural.
I'm trying to figure out why I feel compelled to point this out. I feel like one of the hellish, barn-bred Domingo bashers on rec.music.opera back in the day who couldn't leave people's liking for their singer alone. It's just...I admit the flaws of the singers I love--I'm sure I'm going to be irritatingly enraptured by Podles' Azucena next summer, but I'm equally sure she's not going to reach the climactic notes with much grace-- and without trying to tear down anyone's idols, it does seem fair to point out the claylike substance in the sandals when it's all getting up around my neck a little.
Anyway I had to run out on an adventure involving domestic violence, the Kartvelian language family, and walnuts so I missed all but the first hour of the broadcast. By all accounts Madame Millo sang the rest of the night with an easier top and her, uh, usual gusto.
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Well, I must agree Zinka's Money Note suffered from some currency devaluation. Ah, but she more than made up for it with the closed fist to heart chest pounding at the end of the Suicidio. I haven't seen anything quite like it in many years of opera going, which may or may not be a good thing depending on your point of view. But hell, it's Gioconda. I wondered if it made a bigger thump on the broadcast than the lantern that fell off its stick the night before in Butterfly? Then there were the Diana Ross "stop in the name of love" hand gestures to Mama C. whenever she was being told to stay put. Notwithstanding the sight challenged issues, it seemed a bit like puppy training.
The audience was more than half the fun. From her entrance that received more applause than the set (to which the old fart behind me exclaimed "good god, there they go again") to the paper shower at the end, which La Millo worked to full effect with her Queen Elizabeth meets Gilbert Gottfried two handed waves.
Vocally, I must admit my admiration was more nostalgic than objectively honest. But it remains true that no one commands Italianate style and phrasing and from-the-heart singing quite so old-school wonderfully, and that's enough for me to overlook the frayed edges. All in all, I thoroughly and unabashedly loved my evening of Millomaniacal camp, although truth be told all of my lasting memories will likely be non-vocal and suffused with giggles.
I've been lax and a half about responding to comments lately but this did make me laugh! It's good of you not to take my Millo huffs too seriously!
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