Barber of Seville Review

This past Sunday, I had the amazing opportunity to see the music school’s performance of ‘Barber of Seville’.  Next to ‘Marriage of Figaro’, I would say that ‘Barber of Seville’ is one of my favorite comedic operas.  It is light hearted, short in terms of performance time, and full of great music.

The Barber of Seville

My favorite things about the performance…

1) The costumes.  The bedazzled pale pinks and yellows presented a delightful marriage of 1970s disco with seventeenth century Madrid.  The soprano Rosina wore a beautiful leopard print and floral empire waist dress augmented by a fiery red floral cape with turqoise satin lining.  And just about everyone wore shimmering opera wigs and red leggings.  I have seen opera take some interesting turns in the way of set and costume design.  I have seen flappers, 1950’s used car salesmen in checkered suits, as well as comedic characters in victorian full-body bathing costumes and flippers.  But this rendition of Barber of Seville stayed true to opera form and upheld the opera hair and costume adage of ‘Go big or go home’.

2) The Overture.  The opening overture alone was enough to get my mom and sister giggling next to me.  If you haven’t seen this cartoon, then stop whatever you are doing and witness the greatest integration of high opera culture and lowbrow cartoons…

Bugs Bunny in ‘What’s Opera Doc?’

3) The arias.  In addition to watching the animated brilliance of Bugs Bunny, you must listen to ‘Largo al Factotum’ if you are unfamiliar with you. Chances are, you have probably heard it countless times, and probably identify it as the ‘Figaro, Figaro’ song.  I’ll admit that before the performance, I googled ‘factotum‘ since I had heard this aria countless times, but never understood what a factotum was.

4) The humor.  Admittedly, opera humor is very different from the modern, deadpan, documentary-style humor you might see in ‘Office Space’ or ‘Modern Family’, but the physical comedy is never lacking.  Laughing out loud at opera requires you to allow yourself to laugh at things that have no pop culture references and no swear words.

If you have never experienced opera, ‘Barber of Seville‘ is a great place to start.  Opera buffa or ‘comic opera’ is the angel food cake of opera. It is light, fluffy, and full of funny hijinks that will help you unwind after a long day.

While I love opera seria or ‘serious opera’ it is not for the faint of heart.  It is often longer, denser, and much more intense than opera buffa.  Don’t get me wrong.  There are many great serious operas, but for the beginner or someone who isn’t sure about opera in general, take a listen to the overture from ‘Barber of Seville’ and revel in the accessible cadences of composer Giacchino Rossini.

An Icelandic Audio Odyssey, Finally We Are No One

Before I understood maps or geothermal currents, I pictured Greenland as a land of trees, plants, and vegetation–greenery–and Iceland to be a frozen tundra, frigid and white–icy. This naivety led me to believe the opposite. The namesake of Greenland and Iceland are almost polar opposites, for while they are both near the North Pole, their climates are immensely varied. Iceland is a land of extremes–from volcanic thermal heat to icy glacial coldness. Despite the extremes, the small island has a fairly moderate and consistent temperature. It is a beautiful place filled with many natural wonders. It is a place for the imagination to wander and reflect. It is only appropriate that the nation has produced artists representing this personality.

múm is an Icelandic experimental music group. Adopting a dreamlike quality with their unique concoction of sounds creates a refreshing brand of music that resonates with an imaginative spirit. In their 2002 album, Loksins Erum Við Engin (Finally We Are No One), this creative sound pushes the listeners’ thoughts to places often untouched or forgotten, such as the ability to truly imagine and reflect from within oneself. Finally We Are No One is a playful odyssey of the subconscious. As as a whole, the simple but unique form of the art and music is found in the sound. The childlike voices reflect the peaceful innocence of exploratory thoughts. Like the naivety of a child, such as my ignorance surrounding the ecological states of Greenland and Iceland, the album celebrates these virgin thoughts, not tampered by adult actions and concerns.

finallywearenothing

When listening, the album elicits a unique feeling that is not often excited by music. It is not a “pump up” sound or nostalgic tune or bluesy act of sad emotions, but a gentle touch on more tender feelings. It draws upon the small things, subtle details and little sounds. It is pure and difficult to express in another medium. While the soft voices convey the pureness of innocence, the pattering of varied sounds embodies the minimal amount of emotion necessary to touch the listener. The slow cadence of the music is calming, putting the listener at peace to encourage introspection. It balances delicately on a small wave of feeling that moves between the small troubles and ripples of hope. It is ideal for reflection and cannot fit in varied forms, which leaves it appropriately perfect.

Finally We Are No One strips away the titles that  border one’s subconscious. Removing the clutter from the mind, it lets a gentle wave wash over tender thoughts and carry them to new shores.

Scheherazade

Ever since I can remember, my mom has been one of the primary influences when it comes to things I like. Now that I’m older, I see it’s because I’m basically her when she was a teenager, just in a different era (and maybe a little bit nerdier). But when I was younger, she definitely molded my interests through the things she took me to do and see.

If it hasn’t become clear yet, I’m not from Michigan, but from the mysterious land far, far away known as Houston, Texas. And as most people don’t know, Houston has a thriving and honestly quite amazing arts community.

So this environment, paired with the ingenuity of my mom, you get me: by all accounts, a child hipster. She took me to the children’s museum, to the ballet, she even bought a season at the Hobby Theatre so I could see Cinderella and The Lion King (both amazing performances, by the way). I participated in church choir, and had a strict music program in school that included mandatory extracurricular activities. I still remember going to see Wizard of Oz when I was maybe 4 or 5 years old at the Miller Outdoor Theatre, and being amazed (and slightly scared) as the munchkins came out during intermission to talk to the children and interact with them in their brightly colored costumes.

But out of all those experiences, this weekend, one appeared vividly in my mind.

My mom took me to see the Houston Symphony at Jones Hall one time when I was very little, maybe 6 or 7 years old. I absolutely loved it, and after that time I started listening to the classical channel on my little radio before I went to bed, because the music was so calming. So when my school announced a field trip to go see the Symphony, I was thrilled, because I actually enjoyed this music, not to mention by this time I was probably taking piano lessons.

But that’s not the response I got from my friends.

“Why do we have to go to the symphony?”

“This music is so boring.”

“Everyone’s going to fall asleep.”

I tried to tell them otherwise. “I listen to this music every night” I said. “It helps me get to sleep.”

“Yeah because it’s so boring.”

So while, truthfully, most of my friends fell asleep, I sat, pretending to be bored, but actually engaged in everything that was going on.

This particular instance stands out to me because it was one of the last times I’ve seen a symphony. I’ve been to plenty of plays since that had an orchestra, and I listen to movie scores all the time to help me concentrate on my homework, but it’s not quite the same.

So a few weeks ago, when I found out my friend had a concert with Michigan Pops, I knew I had to go. This weekend, I attended AquaPops, the water-themed musical experience. And I was put right back into my memories. I felt like I was back in Houston, in Jones Hall, where I first heard what music could actually sound like when it came from such beautiful and ancient instruments.

Adam Young, the real name of the ever-famous (or infamous) Owl City, once had a blog that has since been taken down, where he would muse about life, love, and his own music. On this blog one night, he talked about music without words. Specifically, he was referring to electronic, the genre he’s most commonly associated with, which quite often is just a composition of notes rather than an actual song with lyrics. But generally, it applies to all music without words. He said “I find that by listening to material that neither suggests nor blatantly tells me how to think or feel…well, suddenly I can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. In that moment, dreams are no longer hovering discouragingly out of reach, but instead are made real and vivid, floating right above my head. That’s an invigorating feeling.”

And honestly, I couldn’t have summed up that entire concert any better myself. I found myself lost within the music, finding my way through the notes that were being played. With every pluck of the cello, with every movement of the bow, I was wandering, collecting the pieces of a story that was waiting to be told by me. And yet that story was so completely different from the stories of my friends next to me.

That story is beautiful, and that story that I heard Sunday night is the reason why I will take any opportunity to go to the symphony again.

 

Notes: Shout out to Arts at Michigan for getting me into the Pops concert for free through their Passport to the Arts (okay, that was a shameless plug, I admit).

Also, shout out to the 1st Chair Violinist and Concertmaster who probably won’t read this but nevertheless had an absolutely stunning solo in one of the best songs of the night, “Scheherazade.”

Music . . . wait for it . . . that makes me *gyrate*

So: I’m a hot mess.

Over the past 4 years I’ve been that gay boy who prides himself for wearing the “legalize gay” t-shirt, who loves gay marriage like its creme brulee that people are giving out for free when you’ve run out of money for the week, and I’ve projected myself to mature in a suburban wet dream of picket upon picket fences. HOWEVER, no more. My queerness, thankfully, disrupts these dreadful past faults of mine. I’m wary of all institutions (particularly marriage), I hate the normalization of my sexuality and how its being co-opted into moderate liberal agendas, but I still love creme brulee. That thick, hard, sugary crust of joy on top of the most deliciously creamy and sensuous tasty yum-yum is something I dream about.

Or listen to.Recently released, new music has really made me feel like I become a creme brulee.

Two cd’s, in particular, have really got me moving. I listen to both of them every day: when I wake up, at the gym, on my way to class, on my way home from class, when I study, cook, eat–they are on almost 24/7.

(Shamefully:) Lady Gaga’s Artpop;
ArtPop

and (Pridefully:) M.I.A.’s Matangi.
MIA

I admit. Gaga is someone I have grown to hate, to love, to hate again, and (shhhh) love again. I saw one of her earliest mainstream performances on the TV show, “So You Think You Can Dance,” where I was solidly NOT a fan–this was 2008. Her album, The Fame appeared, I resisted. She got more famous, I resisted. And then one moment later I was doing the full choreography from “Bad Romance” at my High School Prom (#dark). When Gaga traps you, you find yourself in an unavoidable love game. Years went by and I fought for Gaga, even through that bullshit song, “Born this Way.” EVEN THROUGH THAT. But then when she (or someone) leaked “Aura” and I found her all over tumblr traipsing around the world in a burqa (for fashion) I almost lit all of my Gaga things on fire. I was offended and outraged and so confused. And then Artpop came out.

There is something so brilliant about this album–it’s so weird. I am and am in the process of becoming more and more eccentric everyday and so this space-sounding, electro heavy, sexual album of glory speaks to my soul. “G.U.Y.” is not only catchy but fucks with gender insofar as she reverses the gender of her and her male partner while affirming certain aspects of her identity: “I (Gaga) wanna be your ‘Guy’/’G. U. Y.’” includes her being both a guy and being a “girl under you” while, at other points of the song, she calls her partner a “G. I. R. L.” Now, there is nothing too exciting about this as a concept but that gender confusion, mistaking, crossing, etc., happening in this song is so refreshing. (Or acts a justification for me to like it, whatever . . . ) Similarly, “Sexxx Dreams” (the current song I wake up to) is talking about Gaga more or less seducing the girlfriend of some guy. I love that Gaga talks about her sexuality and her attraction to women in a sexual way (rather than some oblique reference). “Donatella” makes me want to dance on a table while champagne/sweat/glitter is pouring from a disco ball. Yes.

And then there is M.I.A. I first did not like or understand M.I.A. “Paper Planes” came out in 2007 when I was a sophomore in high school. But as I got older I rediscovered her and heavily listened to her Maya album. M.I.A. fully entered my life (she’s here to stay), again, this past July. A friend offered to drive me, and some friends, to the M.I.A. concert in Royal Oak and I thought, “yeah, should be fun.” When I left the concert I couldn’t because I was a pile of love, feelings, and desire for M.I.A. and her music to never stop.

M. M. M. I. I. A.

When Matangi came out I was instantly hooked. Every song is perfect. “Y.A.L.A.” and the line, “bombs go off when I enter the building,” is what I listen to on repeat when I do interval sprints at the gym. “Double Bubble Trouble” is my everything song. “Bad Girls” and “Bring The Noize” will be my anthems for years to come. Every song pushes the boundary of what music is supposed to do and so I don’t see her music ever going out of “style/fashion.” At least not for me.

But not only is M.I.A. aesthetic perfection embodied. She is spot on with her politics, in my opinion, about life, which can be summed up in this beautiful article (http://noisey.vice.com/blog/mia-matangi-ayesha-a-siddiqi). She is ironic, she is direct, she is everything she needs to be about discussing the global south, western hegemony, feminism, etc.

Now, while Gaga’s album might be good for those stereotypical “rage” nights, parties, even days, M.I.A.’s album clearly wins and has me dancing as I party, burn structures of oppression, fight for liberation, write my thesis, and forge a future for myself and others outside of the void of undergrad life.

The Creative Writer

The species that is known as the “creative writer” is one that has baffled me for centuries. Ranging from the hipster elite to that kid buried deep in Lord of the Rings lore, the creative writer takes all shapes and forms.

But really, can I criticize?

The creative writer (aka, me) just encountered her first workshop today. Terrified, she walked into class, prepared for the worst. They hated it, they didn’t understand the point, they wanted to burn the very words off the page. The creative writer had to sit, never explaining her decisions or why the poems were written that specific way, only drinking in the criticisms.

She dismissed the praise. They were lying, they only wanted a good thing to say so the bad things didn’t sound so bad. The things they liked were meaningless.

She rifled through the letters they gave her, reading every word for its double meaning. She wanted an excuse to rip up the pages and never look at them again. She searched, finding the critiques and holding them tight.

This is the life of a creative writer, the life I’ve chosen. Sometimes, I am happy with my choice. I love writing, I love reading, I love words. But most of the time, I am looking for that one glitch that is telling me that I’m not good enough to get published.

But now, I’m sitting in Hatcher. There’s nothing but me and my laptop. And so, to take a break from work, I pulled up Spotify, and decided to listen to one of my favorite albums from last year.

There are two versions of “The North” by Stars from their album of the same name. One is the normal version, the other, a bonus track, eloquently named “Breakglass Version.” This acoustic song has always been something that touched me, so as I sat, I thought of my piece, my classmates, and my future. But then I listened to the original track, and I realized that this version was sung by a different (male) member of the band. There’s always two ways to look at something, and one isn’t necessarily as bad as the other. It sounds (and probably is) very cliché, but just remembering that one simple fact helped me to breathe a little bit easier as I realized not everyone had to love my writing, and not everyone hated it. And that was okay.

Queasy or Uneasy?

Auditions make me feel queasy. My knees feel weak, my heart pounds and I forget to breathe. I cannot help but assume that I am incompetent and am about to make a fool of myself in front of people that could make or break my future career with one disparaging remark.

Waiting for the results makes me feel queasy. For days (or weeks if the director is particularly cruel) I barrage myself with self deprecating thoughts of what I did wrong and what I could, and should, have done better. I have dreams of receiving positive results which turn into nightmares of the performance; where I am sick, injured and have forgotten all my lines.

If I am cast, I receive a brief respite from the perpetual queasiness. If I am not cast, I allow myself five minutes to be sad, call my mom and dad, and tell myself that I am so much better than the girl that they did choose. Then I am back on my computer seeking out the next audition because if I’m not auditioning or rehearsing for a show I feel very uneasy.

I am a firm believer that as a performance major, students should be performing in at least one show a semester. Surprisingly enough, plenty of students graduate having performed in 1 or 2 productions total. While we learn much from our classes on music theory and history, and the technique we learn in our private lessons is invaluable, I believe that performing is necessary to master our craft.

Many of my friends avoid auditions and performing in shows because they feel that they have not yet mastered their technique, and that more a deserving performer will audition and be cast. Likewise, that they do not want to present themselves to the public before they have mastered their technique. I am very much aware of the deficiencies in my vocal technique, and work daily to improve upon it, but in talking to Master and PhD students who have performed internationally I have realized that none of us have perfect technique.

So while I audition for an unreasonable amount of shows and ride an emotional roller coaster as I wait for the results, I find this to be good training for the life that I plan to live. Here, the stakes are much lower –merely risking my pride when a few years from now a flubbed audition will risk bills becoming unpaid. My technique is not perfect and it never will be, and so perhaps, this perpetual queasiness is all in vain. However, I’ve heard it said that 10,000 hours are required to master anything, so I’m on my way to the next audition.