The Arts in New York City
Walking into the room that the play Ivanov was being shown, I couldn’t help but automatically draw comparisons to the other performing arts centers we were at. It seemed like this was a lot more similar to Spellbeamed’s setting, and not very much at all like Lincoln Center or Carnegie Hall. And, just to clarify, being like Spellbeamed isn’t a good thing. Thankfully, the comparisons to Spellbeamed ended there.
As I approached my seat, I noticed that it was on the stage. Not next to. On. Sitting down and waiting for the show to start, I started to feel almost as if I was part of the production. Ethan Hawke was rolling around on the bed, close enough for me to see (and feel?) his spit. If that doesn’t get you to feel like part of the production, I don’t know what does.
This feeling of being part of the play continued throughout the night. Whether it was tables being moved in front of my feet, actors passing by inches in front of me, or some more spit, it created an atmosphere that made it impossible to to get absorbed into the play. I got excited at the intense moments and felt the emotions flowing through the production. Laughing along with the actors only helped to make me feel as if I was sitting in a live parlor with real people gossiping. I experienced the odd feeling of wanting to get up and intervene in the production unfolding before me.
Though the plot by itself might not have been enough to hold my interest, by drawing the viewer into the play itself, the production creates a thoroughly enjoyable experience.
I rushed into Carnegie Hall at 7:27, not taking time to enjoy the beautiful structure I was entering. After all, Betthoven’s famous Missa Solemnis was set to begin at 7:30, and there was no late seating. I went up to the usher and fumbled in my pockets for my ticket. Only one problem: it wasn’t there. I quickly ran to the ticket booth and begged for a replacement ticket. After hassling for long enough, I was given an unsold ticket. I glanced at my watch – 7:31. I was directed and cheered on by the ushers as I ran up dozens of steps, finally reaching the hall as the doors were closing. Attracting some dirty looks as I walked in- the production had already begun- I went over to my new seat, apart form the rest of the class. Though it may just sound like a cute story, entering the orchestra in such a fashion had a huge impact in my experience.
Firstly, being around real orchestra goers,as opposed to my classmates, was a completely different experience. These people knew what they were doing. They ooh-ed and aah-ed at the right moments. They mutterres and looked at all the right things. Sitting there, alone, in an island of people who were at the orchestra because they actually chose to, was an experience.
Secondly, I entered the hall when it was already dark. Not having a complete picture of my surroundings made it all the more interesting to listen to. It added a kind of mysterious feel to the event.
So, although I entered in a rush, my orchestra experience was wholly unique and allowed me to appreciate the event in a different way that all the others.
Bizarre. Odd. Confusing.
Those are some of the words that were used to describe the Spellbeamed production on September eleventh. The avant-garde production featured an ensemble alternating between more traditional styles of music and….not so traditional styles of music. To go along with music, there were intermittent projections of seemingly random objects such as shoes and boxes as well as computer generated graphics. Yep, it’s bizarre.
However, I think I was able to take the production and interpet it to mean something meaningful to me. Thinking about the show, I tried to find something I could take out of the “music” and a common theme to string the objects shown. If one analyzes the patterns of music, it seems to be that the sections of normal music always follow the sections of the avant-garde style music. Additionally, the avant garde sections themselves seem to emerge from sounds of worldly things, such as wars. Perhaps, then, the continuum of sound from everyday noises to music is meant to show that everything can be taken as music- its just where one decides to draw the line.
The same can be said for the pictures that were flashed onscreen. Perhaps they were meant to show that art, as well, can be seen from anything. It just depends on where one decides to draw te line between picture and art. After all, abstract art and the computer graphics shown are not that far off form each other.
Spellbeamed, then, is more than just a production thats “bizarre”. It’s a production that’s meant to show that music and art don’t have to be defined in their boxy classical definitions. It is a production that is meant to expand our narrow view of art and music and enable to see the beauty in everything.
Though I had never been to a professional orchestra performance before, I had attended school concerts and I am an avid enthusiast of classical music. Upon learning that we were going to be listening to Beethoven’s famous Missa Solemnis, I got a little bit excited. Coming from a catholic background, I’ve listened to the mass for most of my childhood and the opportunity to watch and hear a live orchestra play Beethoven’s piece was almost surreal.
Carnegie Hall was not as grand as I expected it to be, though I may have probably been spoiled by the architecture of the Lincoln Center. It did leave an impression on me though, as its design, while not as extravagant as the Lincoln Center, had its own merits. Its interior was much subtle, but that subtleness also helped emphasize the actual orchestra and the musical performance.
The orchestra’s rendition of Missa Solemnis was more than I had in mind. The sounds resonated beautifully throughout the hall. Though our balcony seats were situated far from the actual stage, I thought that had it the best in terms of sound projection. I thought that acoustics of Carnegie Hall were designed so that the balcony row would get to hear the fullest sound. This was certainly true for the woodwinds, which were a pleasure to listen to. The woodwind section, consisting of 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, quickly caught the attention of my ears. Having only experienced school concerts, it was usually the case that the string or brass sections overpowered the wind instruments. This was not so at Carnegie Hall, for all the instruments seemed to be in perfect balance in level.
Hearing the mass live and in full was a completely different experience from hearing at church, where there were only a choir and an organ. Having the orchestra play together brought Missa Solemnis to life for me. And this experience, having been my first real encounter with an orchestra, really illuminated what I was missing out on in terms of sound. Having been used to school orchestras and performances, listening to Missa Solemnis at Carnegie Hall was like trying Peter Luger’s for the first time after having eaten McDonalds all your life.
I viewed the performance of Political Mother at the Brooklyn Academy of Music on several levels. Though the title of the piece caused me to immediately try to find meaning in the movements of the dancers, I was also simultaneously able to appreciate the pure aesthetic form of both the dance and the music. The music was a loud rock with a hint of oriental Middle Eastern music, the two genres I favor. I would have thoroughly enjoyed the performance with my eyes closed just because of the awesome music. The dancing was well put together and synchronized, though there were some movements, such as the zombie-like hand shaking, I might have (as I shamefully admit) chuckled at. And the lighting and other effects provided for an overall mesmerizing experience.
The performance alone would have been sufficiently entertaining and fulfilling for me without a title or purpose to back it up. The title, however, immediately caused me to try interpreting the performance, further engaging me and adding another layer to my appreciation of the performance as a whole.
Though I don’t have a specific interpretation of the overall message of the performance, I remember relating several portions of it to political and historical events. Much of the performance reminded me of Hitler and other infamous dictators, and the struggles of the civilian population to escape their brainwashing. As an active supporter of resistance movements throughout the world, this concept provided me with a way to relate to the performance. The small comic relief provided by the line “where there is pressure, there is folkdance,” eased the tension of the topic, making the performance even more enjoyable. Thus, the performance was, holistically, a wonderful experience. It was aesthetically pleasing, thought-engaging, and relatable in the modern day.
My first time attending an opera was everything I didn’t expect it to be. Thinking in terms of the stereotypes I was familiar with regarding operas, I expected it to have a pompous air, be incomprehensible, and overall, just plain boring. Opera music, after all, just isn’t my thing. I rode the subway to the performance thinking about how the most the performance could offer me would be a much-needed nap.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the classical opera I pictured in my mind was a complete misconception (as stereotypes often are.) Though set in a lavishly decorated hall, the audience of the opera was far from the bunch of pretentious upperclass elderly men I thought it would be. Though completely dressed down, I did not get the disapproving looks I expected to get.
The story line of the opera itself was also quite engaging. L’Elisir d’Amore reminded me very strongly of a cross between Beauty and the Beast and Snow White. Apart from the fairytale references, I also found that the performance reflected a lot of what happens in society. I was surprised that the performance sympathized with the lower class, which completely countered my previous belief that opera-viewing was exclusively for the elite.
The small translated captions were surprisingly easy to follow. I completely understood the storyline, hence further dispelling my misconceptions on operas.
And the singing. I cannot find words that would adequately describe its magnificence. I never quite expected a human voice to be quite powerful. Because we were higher up, the sound quality was astounding and the music and voices moved me. What made me appreciate the sounds perhaps even more was the fact that my ears welcomed the beauty after being tortured by the dissonant noise of the Spell-beamed performance.
I felt more cultured by the end of the performance. I thought about how if my Egyptian cousins ever got the opportunity to come to New York, one of the places I would definitely be taking them was the MET Opera at Lincoln Center.
Overall, I think the only two downsides of the performance were the distance from the stage, which made me feel slightly removed, and the fact that I didn’t get to take the nap I so desperately needed.
“A theater in a cafe?” were my first perplexed thoughts when I arrived at the Classical Stage Company for the performance of Ivanov. The theater was nowhere near as extravagant as the Metropolitan Opera House, Brooklyn Academy of Music, or Carnegie Hall, yet its homeyness and intimacy are precisely what made me like it so much. My worries over the biology and chemistry exams scheduled for the days immediately following the performance were soon forgotten as I became thoroughly wrapped up in and enraptured by the play.
Of all the performances we’d seen, this was my favorite. It was down to earth and felt personal. Quite the opposite of other performances, I was able to see the facial expressions and gestures of the actors, and was thus a more involved audience member than with other performances where I felt removed, such as the Lincoln Center and Carnegie Hall performances.
The character I related to most was Ivanov, however I felt that Ethan Hawke could have done a better job playing the role. I relate to the idea of a person losing their ambition very much. As a person who was once much more ambitious and internally motivated, I understand the feeling of a loss of purpose. Though the period of my life where I felt this way has ended, I was still able to relate to the play as I remembered a time when I felt suddenly utterly useless. Hawke, however, did not make me pity Ivanov or relate to him as much as I should have. He was too exaggerated and made me dislike rather than sympathize with Ivanov. He was not more annoying than the doctor however, who I thoroughly despised by the end of the play for his overly-pompous self-righteous attitude. “If all goes well and I become a doctor,” I remember thinking, “I hope I’m not as conceited and stuck up as he is.”
My favorite actor hands down was the tall young card-player. His interjections kept me interested in the play as they provided a sort of comic relief. Lebedev came in second, with his character providing just the right amount of laughter and entertainment.
For me, the most important aspect of any performance is its level of entertainment, followed by its relevance to my life. As a play that both thoroughly entertained me and presented a them I relate to, Ivanov was a clear winner.
I knew that I was supposed to be looking for a theatre that doubled as a café, but it still did not register with me, as I strode along the pavement, that the unassuming coffee house to my immediate right was the venue for Ivanov. When I finally entered the theatre, I was startled by how small the space of the performance truly was. I had to be careful not to trip over set props, as I cradled my coffee and weaved carefully through the crowd of theatre goers to get to our seats in the “upper row”.
The play began with Ethan Hawke’s Ivanov stretched out in his bed, reading pensively, as a figure approached with a gun (yes, Chekov’s gun). From the very beginning, I came to appreciate the intimacy of the venue, as the subtle movements and expressions of the characters brought a new life to Chekov’s script. I admit that I was a little underwhelmed by some of the early action of the play. I thought the dialogue was sometimes lacking in vigor and authenticity. But, as the scene progressed, the tensions built, the dialogue flowed, and all the humor and pathos of Checkov’s work was brought to visceral realization.
Hawke’s performance, although not perfect, included moments of fierce brilliance and revelatory clarity. The role of his ailing wife, Anna, was cast well, although I would have liked to have seen more of her as Ivanov grew increasingly morose and reckless. Ivanov’s new love interest, Sasha, and her father also were acted very well The actor playing Michael Borkin , however, seemed exaggerated, even amateurish, although many people seemed to like him in the role.
Probably the most interesting pairing in the play, and the one in which Hawke’s performance excelled particularly, was that between Ivanov and the “honest” doctor. The doctor seemed to me to be an embodiment of the “conscience” interposed in and set against the artistic molding of the play. The climax of the play came with the glint of recognition in Ivanov,’s eye, as he embraced the doctor and thanked him. The doctor, whom we have come to despise as a dour moralist, is right in the end. Beneath all the poetry of sorrow and self-pity, beneath every attempt to rationalize and redeem, is the perfectly base, avaricious, cruel, and irredeemable self – pricked and agitated by a thorny conscience, reproached by a voice that whines and squeals, but that does not –that cannot- speak falsely. The pathos of Ivanov’s character would crystalize into a grand edifice of poetic sorrow, only to be undermined by the reflexive, revealing self-examination that is manifested outward as the doctor.
Perhaps, in Ivanov , Chekov anticipated the modern condition, with its intolerable burden of self-knowledge, with its exhaustion of poetry and of Irony, with the incessant, ever-conquering cynicism that has become the cultural air we breathe . The play, which seems to fixate on the charecter of Hamlet, brings to mind Nietsche’s comments on Shakespeare’s tragic Prince of Denmark:
In this sense the Dionysian man has similarities to Hamlet. Both have had a real glimpse into the essence of things. They have understood, and it now disgusts them to act, for their actions can change nothing in the eternal nature of things. They perceive as ridiculous or humiliating the fact that they are expected to set right a world which is out of joint. The knowledge kills action, for action requires a state of being in which we are covered with the veil of illusion. That is what Hamlet has to teach us, not that really venal wisdom about John-a-Dreams, who cannot move himself to act because of too much reflection, too many possibilities, so to speak. It’s not a case of reflection. No! The true knowledge, the glimpse into the cruel truth overcomes every driving motive to act, both in Hamlet as well as in the Dionysian man. Now no consolation has any effect. His longing goes out over a world, even beyond the gods themselves, toward death. Existence is denied, together with its blazing reflection in the gods or an immortal afterlife. In the consciousness of once having glimpsed the truth, man now sees everywhere only the horror or absurdity of being; now he understands the symbolism in the fate of Ophelia; now he recognizes the wisdom of the forest god Silenus. It disgusts him.
Ivanov kills himself not for any poetic reason. Nothing could be so artistically unsatisfying as the truly desperate, ugly, and un-poetic suicide that concludes the play. Yet there is a sort of relief that we must feel as the audience; a sense that what has occurred was inevitable, inscribed in the first moments of the play, as an unnamed gunman approached Ivanov in his bed. In Ivanov we have a Raskolnikov without a Sonya, a Luther who cannot bring himself to believe in the grace of God. His goodness is so small in comparison to his baseness that it can only urge him to self-annihilation, to blot out what cannot be altered. There is an expression of this archetype in our own culture It appears as a plot element in many science fiction stories: a machine (or something of the sort) grows increasingly intelligent, develops an autonomous will, and proceeds to evolve into a monstrosity. The glint of humanity that gradually arises in the machine will move it to the only decision that is possible rationally and ethically: self-destruction. Having seen into itself, having tasted goodness, and knowing, with its vast intelligence, that redemption is impossible, the technological monster must approximate redemption in death Shelley’s Frankenstein is, of course, one of the earliest and most memorable variations of this modern archetype. Falseness, and a certain degree of unconsciousness , is always the pre-condition of life for “the good”, at least in this conception. Could Ivanov have ended differently? That is certainly more than a literary question.
With a title like “Political Mother”, it was difficult to avoid speculating before the show (What do they mean by “political”?). Whatever expectations I formed before the performance, however, could not have prepared me for the truly unique and stunning display we witnessed. A thin layer of smoke hung over the theatre in beguiling calm , when we entered the darkened room and headed to our seats. The performance began as sweet, tranquil notes from Verdi’s Requiem rose from the misty darkness and the spotlight shone on a lone dancer, clutching at a Samurai sword. The dancer proceeded to reenact, in vivid, and almost disturbing detail, the seppuku ritual to which members of Japan’s warrior class would once resort rather than bear the dishonor of defeat. It was a transfixing moment. But as darkness fell upon the prostrated figure of the Samurai and the music persisted in its sublime, ethereal tones, my eyelids began to feels heavy. I let my eyes close and took the music in with placid contemplation. I was almost drifting off, when an explosion of heavy metal music jolted me to attention. I was not going to get any sleep.
After that initial start, the performance managed to captivate me without resorting to blunt shock value. It is difficult to describe exactly what transpired over the next hour or so, and anyone interested really has see it for himself. Suffice to say it involved a lot of wild twitching and gesticulation on the part of dancers – and just a little bit of folkdance. As I was watching the performance, I could not help but connect it to our recent readings in Nietzsche: the contrasts between light and dark, sweet melody and savage riff , obliteration of the individual and singular defiance seemed, at times, to be drawn directly as illustration for Nietzsche’s discussion of the Apollonian and Dionysian. There was a schizophrenic aspect to the whole performance, with two tendencies – entities, to speak more clearly of what they were- seizing the will and engaging in perpetual, internecine conflict. There was also something of the Pagan festival , and it felt, at times, as though one had stumbled unto some ancient and terrible cult that has, in some impossible manner, always been an attendant of human affairs..
One striking motif was a terrible figure, obscured by darkness, who stood atop the platform and seemed to direct with strange, superhuman powers the wild scenes of despair and submission below. He seemed to transfix the audience, as well, casting a terrible spell over the whole theatre. Who this figure was – a dictator, a devil, a sadistic God-never is answered in the performance. But, perhaps influenced by the title, I inevitably connected it to the “political”. Politics has its rational discourses, but it also a darker aspect. There is always something primal in the way that people relate to their leaders and the law. Beneath the veneer of smiling faces, polished rhetoric, and noble ideals is the exercise of a power that originates in the more wild and remote regions of man’s psyche. After all, we inaugurated the political struggle on earth, not as autonomous rational beings, but as animals of the irrational group , barely removed from our primate infancy and still clutching desperately for the ground of conscious being. To offer a glimpse into this frightening dimension of the political is not to make a criticism of any one political system or style of governance, but to lay bare the essential forces underlying our political relations, their bizarre shapes and latent malignancy.
An interesting formulation of this came in the funniest moment of the performance: “Where there is pressure there is….folkdance,” a projection revealed. If there was a schizophrenic quality to the entire performance, then this instance intensified it by presenting a specimen of the schizophrenic’s “disorganized” thought. But schizophrenics were the prophets of old, and the message that appeared in bright relief, absurd and humorous as it was, seemed to have a touch of prophetic inspiration in it. Just as systems of power have a “shadow” existence that directs them in essential, but obscure ways, so those movements that arise in genuine opposition to authority must have their own secret and inscrutable motivations. The notion of “folkdance” conquering overlord who stood invincibly atop his platform seems ridiculous to us ,and perhaps that says something about our political moment. The “Occupy Wall street” movement has produced it own marketable brand of rhetoric, and has succeeded in finding some sympathy among the begrudged ranks of the struggling and unemployed. But, despite its smug sense of historical significance, it lacks any true substance, any essential power, whether spiritual or animal. Strip away the organizers and their banners and what remains is the most superficial vein of resentment, out whose impoverished soil no real action can germinate. There is no confrontation in what the Occupy protestors do, regardless of how shrilly they may shout at office fronts and television cameras , because all genuine political confrontation must occur first in the pre-rational depths of the soul before it can spill into the streets and call itself a movement.
The revolutions of the 1960s – to give an example that is vivid, if highly colored and distorted, in the American memory – were accompanied by titanic shift in the pre-rational psychological and social landscape of a generation. The figure of the hippie cannot seem anything but a strange caricature to us now, but what seems most like caricature today -engaging in folkdance, for example- was actually the essential part of the movement , not its intellectual or moral content, which was largely derivative. This is not the element of a political movement that can pursue its objective in a rational, purposeful, and effective manner, but it is the life-blood, the animating principle, without which the rational faculty cannot operate in any meaningful and vigorous way as a political agent. Political Mother was political. It was also interesting, and that is a great accomplishment in of itself.
When I first learned that we would be heading to the opera, I was not entirely ecstatic. For starters, there is a very negative stigma attached to operas in general. We are brought up with the presumption that watching the opera is a past time reserved for rich old men, kind of like golf. I expected the air to be stuffy with a mix of condescending looks from men in monocles. Furthermore, watching Spellbeamed a week before did not set the standards very high.
Upon entering Lincoln Center, the setting transformed almost magically from a dark and bleak night to a bright and luxurious party. The chatter rung high in the air as my first misconception, that the opera house would lack any life, was shattered. By the end of the day all my misconceptions would be shattered (except the one about golf).
As we made our way up I could help but to notice that almost everything was carpeted with velvet. I soon separated from the group to do a little exploring by myself. I took the elevator the bottom floor and found myself in a room of paintings and sculptures. They were really well painted portraits of individuals who had conducted at this center at one point or another.
When the lights grew dim I steeled myself for an hour of a woman “singing” painfully and unintelligibly for an hour. But wow was I in for a surprise!
L’Elisir d’Amore proved to be a much more pleasing on the ear. The orchestra did an amazing job of keeping in sync with the actors on stage and it was truly a pleasure to listen to. Although I did not understand the words themselves, as I connected them to script before me, the actors, specifically Nemorino did an amazing job with the inflections of the sounds. I felt as if the emotions portrayed matched almost perfectly with the emotions the script intended.
However, there are couple of points I feel could have been worked on. First, Adina’s voice seemed slightly to too heavy for the “princess” that everyone was supposed to be falling for. The second is that Belcore was slightly too excessive in his pushing Nemorino around.
All in all, I felt that this was one of the best performances that I attended. And who knows, I may attend another one of these “operas” in disguise…
I really didn’t know what to expect from Spellbeamed or the Roullete. It was our first Macaulay seminar event, and as someone who is appreciative of all types of music, I was looking forward to it. What transpired in the Roulette, however, was a complete paradigm shift of my thoughts and ideas of music.
The opening act was strange. Two women, one being Spellbeamed’s composer, walked up to a harp situated on top of a table and that’s when things got weird. The two musicians, wearing white lab coats and surgical gloves, began playing the harp with different objects and tools. I don’t know if the intention was to make it seem like they were operating on the harp, but that’s what I got from it. While this was all happening, a narrator spoke some cryptic dialogue with some distortion. I was pretty confused with the whole starting act, and this feeling of confusion basically persisted throughout the whole entire performance.
One part I did enjoy was the video accompaniment. It showed a collection of random things like paper clips and seemed to bare little connection, if any at all, to the music being played, but I may have not been looking at it from a deeper point of view. Though I didn’t understand the point of the video, the concept of having visual art in conjunction with the music just appealed to me.
Spellbeamed was a real change of pace from all of my preconceived notions of music. During a time when we were early into the semester and discovering the various meanings and interpretations of what art is, Spellbeamed really set the tone for the class. I constantly found myself asking, “What the hell am I listening to?” throughout the performance. And this just wasn’t because Spellbeamed was unpleasing to the ears. I’ve heard unpleasant music before and during those times; I was able to endure it. Had this not been a mandatory class assignment, I would have probably left after the first act, but after watching the whole performance, I was able to concede that Spellbeamed was in fact music. Zeena Parkins told a story through her score, though I’m not too sure what the story was about. It was organized and each musician was a master of his or her own craft. I may not have particularly enjoyed my first experience with avant-garde music, but it has certainly opened up my eyes and ears to a new realm.
When I told my oldest niece that I was on my way to the opera, I got the response I was expecting. “Why?” In all honesty, I didn’t know. I had always thought negatively of the opera, seeing it as entertainment appealing exclusively to the stuffy and the pretentious. And, to make the situation even worse, there was a Yankee playoff game on that night, Game 3 of the ALDS, a game that I wouldn’t miss for anything.
Yet, despite my strongly held misconceptions and the distraction of the Yankee game making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the on-stage performances, I found L’Elisir d’Amore to be actually entertaining, much more so than the previous performance Spellbeamed, which left me more puzzled than intrigued. The performances on-stage were riveting and I thought the main characters were perfectly cast. Matthew Polenzani, by means of his distinctly emotional voice, was able to capture the heartfelt yearning that coursed through the character he was portraying, Nemorino. And Adina’s strong-willed independence was also exemplified by the booming vocalizations of the extremely talented Anna Netrebko. Regardless of the spectacular performances they put forth, the show was stolen by the delightful tastelessness of Dulcamara, the con man who sells the “elixir of love” that gives the opera its name. Dulcamara was truly a “big” character, and Ambrogio Maestri was able to embody that ostentatiousness astonishingly well, and provide some surprising comic relief. Scene-stealing characters like Dulcamara are typically either a hit or miss, and, in this performance at least, he was definitely a hit.
Which brings me to my next point, the Yankee game. When I ran downstairs to check the score during intermission, Hiroki Kuroda, the Yankees’ number two pitcher, was in middle of throwing a gem—8 1/3 innings of two-run baseball. As soon as the performance was over, I skipped down the seemingly infinite flights of red-velvet stairs and bolted out the front door, headed towards the nearby apartment of my Auntie Sari. There I bore witness to the long overdue, yet still surprising 9th-inning benching of the slumping Alex Rodriguez in favor of the hot-handed veteran Raul Ibanez.
This, in case you’re not the most astute fan of baseball, was an extremely, extremely gutsy call by the manager Joe Girardi, a decision that could have backfired terribly. But it didn’t. Ibanez belted a game-tying solo home run on the second pitch of his at bat. As crazy as that was, his heroics didn’t end there. In the bottom of the 12th inning Raul stepped up to the plate again, expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders. And he delivered again, sending the first pitch of his at-bat into the right field seats. The stadium erupted in cheers of “Rauuuuuul,” and I, sitting on a couch in my aunt’s apartment, couldn’t help but do the same. Not surprisingly, my aunt thinks I’m crazy.
The combination of a spectacularly performed opera and one of the most memorable Yankee games I have ever had the pleasure to watch, made the night of October the 10th one of the most elating nights in recent memory, and one that I will never forget.
For me, the opera was always perceived as a gloomy place where fat women of Italian descent would sing in deep voices and extend a single syllable for over an hour…that is, until I saw the Metropolitan Opera’s production of L’Elisir d’Amore. Although the walk to the family circle was a mountain climb, the performance that followed would be indelible and enriching. The venue was stunning in every way, from the beautiful entrance surrounded by Lincoln Center and the gorgeous water fountain at the front, presenting the opera house with an ambience of prestige and sophistication, clearly defined by the clothing its visitors strutted in with. The seating and lighting in the theater was actually quite comfortable, and despite our location at a great height, we were able to witness the performance in its entirety and see exactly how every actor and actress presented himself or herself on the stage.
Our greatest disadvantage was not being able to witness the facial expressions and gestures on the performers, but that allowed our imagination to freely flow and depict the singers in our own image as we crafted our personal interpretations of their physical appearances. This also enabled us to focus more so on their voices in order to interpret their emotions and the meaning of the lyrics presented. Having very limited prior experience with opera singing, I unfortunately cannot provide the most accurate interpretation of the technical details of the opera singing within the performance, but I felt as though the singing talent of Anna Netrebko, the voice of Adina, Matthew Polenzani, the voice of Nemorino, and Mariusz Kwiecien, the voice of Sergeant Belcore, were all flawless and well-enunciated. Our seating actually allowed us to experience the magic of a live orchestra to the fullest as the musical notes reached beyond the pit where the orchestra was located and flowed upwards, enabling us to hear every note as clear as crystal. It was the awe-inspiring and transforming mesh of music, partnered with the beautiful opera singing, that defined L’Elisir d’Amore as the work of art I saw it to be.
Despite the enjoyment I received out of my experience at the opera, there were aspects of the actual contents of the opera that I was not nearly as thrilled with. The second half of the opera, although still engaging and entertaining, took a slower turn as I felt the plot line began to drag on. Of course, this does not have to do with the performance of the musicians nor the singers or actors, but rather with the plotline of the opera itself. I also felt as though the ending was very rushed and did not give Adina and Nemorino’s romance enough suspense, nor time, to truly flourish. The way in which Adina fell in love with Nemorino over a course of a few hours to almost overnight seemed very sloppy and poorly executed since it did not bridge the gap between the period of time in which she was distancing herself from him to her final realization that she loved him. Personally, I thought it was unbefitting that the romance would reach its climax and conclusion so quickly, the performers themselves executed their roles with precision and infused life into characters that were merely conceived on paper before they were finally brought to the big stage.
Overall, watching the Metropolitan Opera’s rendition of L’Elisir d’Amore was an amazing experience that fostered a further appreciation for the arts within me and inspired me to attend future performances of operas and even musicals.
This was my first time at the Metropolitan Opera, and I was quite surprised at how fancy it all was. From the gorgeous fountains in the courtyard to the glistening chandeliers inside, everything was stunning.
And then, of course, there was the red velvet. Everywhere.
Strangely, all the red velvet made me hungry because it made me think of cake, which then led me to realize that I hadn’t eaten supper. However, as we made our way up the stairs, then up more stairs, and then up some more, the red velvet went from reminding me of cake to looking extremely inviting and comfortable. After some more climbing we finally reached our seats in the very last row of highest level and I gratefully collapsed.
As soon as the performance began, I was hooked. I don’t know what it was I was expecting of the opera, but it was definitely not a performance that was so enjoyable. The storyline was amusing and the individual screens in front of each seat made it easy to follow along. The acoustics were unbelievable as well. Every word was clear and sharp, reaching all the way to our “nose-bleed” seats; all this without the use of voice amplifiers (or so I’m told).
Every character in L’elisir D’amore had a distinct personality and it was fun watching the absurd story unfold. Nemorino is the kind peasant willing to do anything for his love. Adina is the gorgeous girl who is used to always getting her way. Belcore is the arrogant sergeant who believes he is man’s gift to mankind. And then there’s the favorite Dulcamara who succeeds in turning a whole town into a lot of alcoholics.
Needless to say I thoroughly enjoyed my first opera performance, and I plan on trying out some more in the near future.
It was a Wednesday night and I was all dressed up in my red dress and black shoes. My friends and I walked towards The Metropolitan Opera House. When we finally arrived at the opera house, we saw a mass of people. I took in my surroundings and I found myself surrounded by beautiful lights and a nice dark blue night sky. I took in the view of a lovely fountain with water gushing out from it. It surely was a sight to see and an amazing one at that. I was finally here, here at the opera L’Elisir d’Amore, my first opera ever.
Upon walking in, I noticed the nice light fixtures, the beautifully decorated halls and what I would soon find out, the ubiquitous red velvet. I mean it was everywhere- the stairs, the walls, handles and doors. Pretty much anywhere you could put it, it was there.
Making our way to our seats took quite a while and several flights of stairs. I remember joking about how our seats were so high we could probably touch the ceiling. Turns out I wasn’t wrong. Our seats were dead last all the way at the top, just a few feet, in some cases a few inches, above our heads. Despite this, our seats did offer us a nice view of the whole theater. From our seats, I could see the immensity of the place. Seats lined the sides and the areas down below. It was almost tempting to dive down to the depths below – almost.
The chandeliers and the stage were beautiful. When I first looked at the stage, it was quite deceiving. I didn’t realize how much depth it had until they lifted a screen uncovering a farm village in the background. The scenery was beautiful – the village, the intricately decorated trees and town, the barn with its two floors. The scenes as well as the costumes were vibrant and colorful. I really liked all the different colors of the main characters’ costumes, especially Adina’s red dress and top hat, because I really thought it made them stand out.
I really enjoyed the singing as well. Even from our really high seats, it was really surprising that there was still great acoustics and that I could hear everything they were singing. I may not have understood the exact words that the actors were saying but I could definitely hear what they were singing and the clarity of their words. Their crescendos and decrescendos were impressive. Even when Nemorino, played by Mathew Polenzani, sang really low, I could still hear him singing.
I found the titles on the back of the chair really helpful. They helped me understand what was being said and what was going on in the opera. I liked how we couldn’t see each other’s titles because I think that would have been a little distracting seeing everyone’s words changing. I also found it easy to follow the words. I could read and observe what was going on stage quite easily without missing the action.
I think one of my favorite parts of being at the opera was seeing and watching the orchestra in the pit. I could see each of them playing each note – the string players’ bows moving up and down, and the flute players’ fingers moving. It was all very interesting to watch them. Sometimes I could even single out who was playing the main melody line.
The opera, which has been stereotyped as boring and sleepy, was actually quite refreshing in its liveliness and its comic nature. I especially enjoyed when Doctor Dulcamara was singing about how foolish Nemorino was for taking his elixir. I wasn’t expecting that and I was really surprised with the opera overall because I enjoyed it so much.
Going to the opera for the first time was a truly great and enjoyable experience. I’m glad I had the opportunity, especially the opportunity to go to the opera with my friends. I’ll always remember this experience. Hopefully I’ll get to see another in the future.
Being a student, I have discovered about a million and one ways to fall asleep, one being opening my biology textbook, and the other being eating three plates of turkey on Thanksgiving. However, a new addition was made to that very list upon attending a performance at Carnegie Hall—Missa solemnis, featuring the Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique and the Monteverdi Choir. The performance, portrayed as a celebration of Ludwig van Beethoven’s music, had high standards to meet as I was excited and extremely enthusiastic to finally witness a stage at the world-renowned Carnegie Hall. Although the journey to reach our reserved seats was somewhat tiring, that was unfortunately probably the most exciting part of the performance as the rest assumed a more dull and uninviting nature. As the performance started, I was immediately drawn to the orchestra playing in the pit rather than the chorus members that took their positions on stage. It was definitely an interesting experience to see the music being played live rather than already being recorded and merely drowned out by the choir, as I had seen in previous performances I had attended. I enjoyed observing the violin players zig-zag their bows across the strings in a violent, yet engaging, fashion and found myself enticed by their fast-paced and precise movements. Each musician played his or her part to an impeccable degree and never missed a beat, the total sum of the players performing so much in sync that it seemed like just a single instrument was playing. However, their playing could only engage my attention for so long as I grew accustomed to it and eventually tuned that out as well.
Despite the limited space at the location our seats were located at, the venue was absolutely breathtaking and spectacular. The red carpet and velvet strewn throughout the venue was stunning and granted a feeling of prestige and honor within me that I was given the opportunity to witness the performance that would follow. Although we were up pretty high, we still had an excellent bird’s eye view of the orchestra and the choir, giving us a more holistic perspective on the performance since we were able to see how all the pieces and performers of the puzzle were sewn together as opposed to the spectators on the ground level whom could only witness the few performers within their optic range. The sound that traveled to the ears of those of us seated high up at the performance venue was glorious and resonated quite well, every orchestral note as clear as day and every change in the pitch or dynamics of the lyrics tangible to our ears. Despite these aspects of the performances that should be applauded, there were undoubtedly aspects of it that I did not enjoy nearly as much.
Although the singers of the choir had quite mesmerizing talent, I found it difficult to follow along with them in the music pieces. The fact that the music was in a different language brought a different perspective to the piece, but it made the overall performance easy to drown out in the midst of confusion due to the language barrier. I did enjoy how the words flew out of the singers’ mouths effortlessly, yet conveying the same deep religious meaning, but I was dismayed that I could not understand what they were saying and found it cumbersome to locate exactly what they were saying in the supplied translations since many of the words were drawn out multiple times and parts were switched off. The fact that the same words were being repeated several times made the performance seem tedious and monotonous, although the choir actually performed five different pieces. The saving grace of the performance for me was being familiar with the prayers presented by the songs—however, that did not prevent me from feeling as though the performance was drawn out and too “solemn” for my liking. However, despite my disappointment with the specific aspects of the performance, I enjoyed the experience at Carnegie Hall and look forward to future performances at the venue.
The taste of spit was never so delicious…that is, until I had the privilege of attending Classic Stage Company’s rendition of “Ivanov.” The performance marked a milestone in my experiences with the arts for several reasons. Lacking experience with watching stage performances in such a minute venue, I was initially skeptical as to what to expect from the enclosed stage that I couldn’t help but compare to Broadway musicals and those of other stage performances I had witnessed. Expecting a stifling and lackluster performance, I was proven wrong from the second I entered the venue. Ethan Hawke, the remarkable actor who played the role of the protagonist, Ivanov, was prepared from the very beginning of the play, assuming his position in an unkempt bed as he portrayed the aura of a displeased man trapped in a dull marriage. His presence on the stage as the audience members entered immediately transformed me into the mindset of a middle-aged man in the prime of his mid-life crisis. Despite the serious themes the play explored, some being disillusionment and the lack of empathy within the central character, the portrayal of the characters within the cast was in a humorous manner that garnered some chuckles from me and aroused the kind of excitement that enticed me to have my eyes glued to the screen.
“Great things come in small packages”… the saying could not have been proven any truer as the close proximity of the actors surprisingly enhanced the performance and my experience with the theater. Seeing the brief outline of actors in a Broadway musical as they changed positions is one thing, but being able to witness the facial expressions and gestures of the actors and actresses as they engage in conversations and express their severe emotions made the experience all the more enriching and worthwhile as I found myself entranced by their actions. The moments between Ivanov and Sasha were especially intimate as I felt their wealth of emotions radiate all the way to my seat. I could see the happiness in Sasha’s eyes upon discovering her distorted perception of “true love” and the agony in Ivanov’s eyes as he came to terms with his fleeting marriage with Anna and the need to exorcise himself. I believe the monologues added into the piece also created a more personalized experience for the members of the audience as the actors engaged them in conversation. Ivanov would often times express his frustrations and face all the sides of the audience while asking a rhetorical question in an effort to truly evoke their emotions and enable them to feel his anguish as he, too, expressed it. This technique made me feel as though I was one of the actresses on the stage, merely playing my role as a witness to Ivanov’s folly as he struggles to determine his identity in a mesh of life choices he no longer wants to deal with the consequences of.
Classic Stage Company’s “Ivanov” will always be engrained in my memory as a performance that challenged the norms of stage performances by engaging its audience members in a more intimate environment and on a more personal level. The play breathed life and an innovative dimension into the character of Ivanov, whom was otherwise depicted as selfish and apathetic in the written story. Overall, the performance was rejuvenating and reminded me to appreciate any form of artistic expression, regardless of its size or magnitude.
When I first learned we were going to watch a performance of “Political Mother”, I again began to wonder what was to be expected. I looked toward the title for clues. It seemed to me that this performance would be portraying the interactions of two entities that would rather remain separated but are forced together. I predicted a representation of two extremes, the “Mother” who for all intents and purposes would rather care for children than participate in say a revolution for example. However, due to circumstances, the two were thrust together. My prediction? A political force on one side and a political awakening on the other.
When I entered the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I was pleased to find that the décor was wasn’t as flashy as in The Metropolitan Opera but it was not as mundane as the Roulette where we had gone to see Spellbeamed.
I had expected to see several clashes and dissonant sounds but my prediction was nothing compared to what greeted us at the opening of the performance. Although I was sitting towards the back of the auditorium, I can unequivocally say that I have never heard anything so loud in my life. The majority of the performance was blaring music that cannot truthfully say I liked. At the same time, as this loud music was playing, a group of dancers would at random come onto the stage and dance in unison, in a drunken frenzy. The music and the dancing seemed to be in stark opposition to one another as if they were fighting to overcome the other in dominance in the life of the individual. The dancers were dressed in different garbs, ranging from that of different places to that of different times. I reached the realization that this battle was not one restricted to New York or America but it was representative of almost all times and places.
In the end, it was not the experience that I came to appreciate but the question it posed that was truly revealing. Do we really have a choice when it comes to participating in politics?
Some would say the way I got to Political Mother should have put a damper on the performance. I forgot my ticket on the train on the way to the performance and my friends and I had get off; I had to run back to my dorm to get it. By the time we got on the train again and headed towards the theater, we were running about 20 minutes late as we rushed towards the signs that said BAM. We entered into one building that we thought was the Howard Gilman Opera House only to find that that building was around the block. As we turned right towards the correct building, we could hear loud, pounding music being played through the metal doors. We weren’t even in the theater yet, but it sounded quite intriguing already.
When we finally got there, we were escorted to our seats, but not the ones we were supposed to sit in. Our seats were actually on the lower level towards the back where we could see everything that was happening on stage. As I settled into the theater, I noticed that there was a dense layer of smoke hanging in the air and flashing lights. The theater was full of people all enraptured by what was occurring on stage and the music that was playing.
On stage, the dancers were already performing with very dramatic movements. Their movements were spastic and erratic as they moved their hands in the air and contorted their bodies this way and that. Despite its erratic nature, I thought the dancers had certain fluidity in their movement as they moved from one position to the next. Sometimes one dancer would start with a move and the rest would join in. It was truly amazing to watch the dancers do all these moves as one unit because the movements seemed so unpredictable. I found it so interesting that they could actually perform them with such coordination. At the same time, each dancer gave way to the music; their bodies were taken over by it. As I watched the dancers, I was just appreciating everything they were doing and asking “How did they do that?”. I kept wondering how they practiced this piece of work and thought, “Wow, those practices must have been very interesting!”
While the dancers were performing, there were other things going on. There were flashing lights that I thought added to the performance; I felt they mirrored the chaotic nature of the dancing. In addition, there was a man yelling into a microphone behind them, along with musicians that played guitar and drums. At times, they were hidden in darkness until the lights flashed and revealed them playing. The man yelling was incomprehensible as he screamed and shouted at the top of his lungs. As he yelled, the dancers continued to make their peculiar movements and seemed in a way controlled by it.
If I had to attribute a meaning to the performance, I would probably do it in light of the title Political Mother. The man yelling and the people playing along with him represent a type of oppression. This oppression, represented through the loud and pounding noise they were spewing out, is very powerful. The people are shown moving with their spastic and chaotic movements, which represent the symptoms of being controlled by this powerful oppression.
Something that I really wasn’t expecting to appear during the performance was the expression “Where there is pressure, there is folk dance”. It added an interesting twist. It was if the performance was telling us when we become too burdened by things, we should revert to our original state of being. We should return to a time before there was any establishment, a time that was more primitive and relied on intuition. This phrase gives us something to think about as we live our busy lives because perhaps sometimes we feel that the chaos of our lives causes a necessity to return to how things previously were.
At the end of the performance, I was really glad I didn’t miss it. It was really enjoyable to see the dancers and musicians perform in a different way than I was used to. After seeing it, my advice for all is that the next time that you’re feeling a little or a lot of stress, just do a little dance and shake your arms in the air. It may make you feel better.
“How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”
“Practice!”
Or walk from 104th Street brandishing Macaulay tickets.
After an adventure looking for a Halal cart, Sarah and I finally sat in the pretty but cramped seats of Carnegie Hall. Although not as extravagant as the Metropolitan Opera House, Carnegie Hall is still pretty classy. Once again we were near the top; once again the sound was beautiful and full, much to my happiness.
The appearance of the ensemble bothered me a bit. The chairs for the instrumentalists seemed to be organized in a sloppy manner. More so, the female choral members were wearing white tops. In my chorus classes we always wore all black because it is more visually pleasing; the black doesn’t distract from the face as much as white does. The ensemble’s visual appearance was a minor nuisance, because when they began the “Missa Solemnis”.
It was gorgeous.
The brass instruments blared with such power, the strings spun their tunes in such a brilliant fashion, the chorus and soloist delivered beautiful, timely notes – I could see their “o” and “a” vowels from my seat. Edmund Morris’ was correct when he said this was a true masterpiece. It even seems to have inspired stylistic choices for Nintendo’s Super Smash Brothers theme song. (Anybody else think they were listening to it while at the performance?)
Contributing to the masterpiece were the dynamics; Beethoven’s piece had soft, mezzo forte moments. A few minutes later the music would explode into fortissimo sections. One reason this proved to be so effective was the sudden change in dynamics; although I’m sure there were some crescendos, it was the quick change in volume that left an impression. The sudden bursts of sound gave “Missa Solemnis” power, power I do not often here in music. Then again, based on Morris’ biography, Beethoven was a man who loved to display his power, and so I am not quite surprised.
The part of this performance that amazed me the most: the string players. When I looked down at the string players in the orchestra, I felt like I was watching a tape on x16 fast forward. Their speed was incredulous; I did not know one could play that quickly on a bass or viola or cello or violin. I would like to say kudos to the string section for their divine speed, and the time they must have used to perfect their skills.
Overall the performance impressed me. Although not as “interactive” as the other shows we’ve seen, I thoroughly enjoyed the music. Thank you for the night out, Beethoven.
(And the flanerie with the group afterwards was quite fun, too.)
