Sorry, Austin Lyric Opera, but after several years of season tickets, we're not signing up for next year. It isn't our economy; it's your attitude. We feel alienated.
We don't like the Long Center. The auditorium rows are too close together, and the lobby lacks comfortable between-acts seating. Also, the auditorium floor slopes downward from the stage before going on the ascent, and the multiplicity of stairs, halls, and elevators we have to traverse in order to get to our designated seats is confusing.
In addition, we don't like our assigned seats. In the old venue, we paid through the nose to sit in dress circle, fourth row center, which was perfect for our failing eyesight. The first year in the new venue, you sat us on the very first row, from which our best view was of the sweat beads dancing on the conductor's head. When I complained charmingly, you switched us to acceptable seats toward the rear of the orchestra section. This year we got moved to the side aisle.
Maybe you're mad at us because we've walked out on a few stinkers--Previn's Streetcar Named Desire and the current Dialogue of the Carmelites come to mind. Maybe it's because our $250 annual donation wasn't generous enough for you. Maybe it's because we never availed ourselves of the opportunities you keep hawking to drop a wad of money on opera balls.
Or maybe it's because we never became active in the opera guild. We might have, you know, if you had continued inviting us to the free after-the-show wine and cheese socials. We talked with several interesting people at the one and only social to which we were invited.
That brings up another one of our problems. We don't know anybody. It's lonely at the opera. The glitterati meet the glitterati and we are left out in the cold. We get the feeling that we don't matter.
Because all we do is love the music.
Showing posts with label ALO. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ALO. Show all posts
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Dialogues Better Left Unsung
Saturday evening Husband and Fiorella put on their glad rags and drove into town for the opera. The big slices of ice box pie they picked up at the Frisco after leaving between acts was the best part of the evening.
Opera is music THEATER. Fiorella wants good stories and interesting music, not a philosophical treatise punctuated by occasional squawks.
Dialogues of the Carmelites is about a young French aristocrat, Blanche, who seeks refuge from the uncertain world by entering a cloistered order. She flees when the Revolutionaries round up the nuns to be executed. However, ultimately she conquers her fear and joins them in death.
Goofy, I know, but Fio saw the last scene as an opera excerpt once and was eager and excited to be seeing the whole thing at last.
Excitement was not the name of the game. In fact, the opera was dull as dishwater, at least the first act--no fault of the singers, who heaved and shrieked as best they could through an actionless script. The main problem lies with the composer.
There was no balance in the voices: most of what we got were female voices in various registers, all singing wordy recitative-like arias and exchanges with occasional, and, after a while, predictable, squawk into the tops of their ranges. Call Fio retro, but she would have found it more interesting to hear some of the voices against each other in duets, trios, etc. And please--tempered by a few male voices in the mix. She could not help but think what a golden opportunity was missed for a peasant chorus to hover menacingly in the background, pitchforks at the ready.
The scenery was minimalist and the stage was static: dark and stark. The nuns, identically dressed, of course, were immobile, always kneeling or standing in a perfect row. Fio would guess this was supposed to focus attention on the vocalized angst of the lead, but continuous angst gets boring pretty fast.
Fiorella had no sympathy for the hypersensitive Blanche. Maybe it's the changing times--we expect women to be strong these days--but all Fio could think of was that a good dose of Prozac might have cleared up all of her problems. Husband's opinion was that what the tremulous virgin really needed was a good man. But then, that's a man's solution to everything.
Opera is music THEATER. Fiorella wants good stories and interesting music, not a philosophical treatise punctuated by occasional squawks.
Dialogues of the Carmelites is about a young French aristocrat, Blanche, who seeks refuge from the uncertain world by entering a cloistered order. She flees when the Revolutionaries round up the nuns to be executed. However, ultimately she conquers her fear and joins them in death.
Goofy, I know, but Fio saw the last scene as an opera excerpt once and was eager and excited to be seeing the whole thing at last.
Excitement was not the name of the game. In fact, the opera was dull as dishwater, at least the first act--no fault of the singers, who heaved and shrieked as best they could through an actionless script. The main problem lies with the composer.
There was no balance in the voices: most of what we got were female voices in various registers, all singing wordy recitative-like arias and exchanges with occasional, and, after a while, predictable, squawk into the tops of their ranges. Call Fio retro, but she would have found it more interesting to hear some of the voices against each other in duets, trios, etc. And please--tempered by a few male voices in the mix. She could not help but think what a golden opportunity was missed for a peasant chorus to hover menacingly in the background, pitchforks at the ready.
The scenery was minimalist and the stage was static: dark and stark. The nuns, identically dressed, of course, were immobile, always kneeling or standing in a perfect row. Fio would guess this was supposed to focus attention on the vocalized angst of the lead, but continuous angst gets boring pretty fast.
Fiorella had no sympathy for the hypersensitive Blanche. Maybe it's the changing times--we expect women to be strong these days--but all Fio could think of was that a good dose of Prozac might have cleared up all of her problems. Husband's opinion was that what the tremulous virgin really needed was a good man. But then, that's a man's solution to everything.
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