Defending Carmen

The more I sing Carmen, the more I learn about her, believe in her and love her, and the more I feel that I have to defend her.
After a long and interesting path of 15 different productions of this magnificent opera, I find myself almost sure of my relationship with Carmen and my knowledge of how I want her to be, and how I want to portray her.

In my most recent production, in Israel, I found that not only did I have to "defend" Carmen, the fictional woman, but also the Carmen whom I have created.

Judging from the misguided ideas of some Israeli critics , even the ones who didn't have the pre-notion that Carmen was a "whore", thought she *should* be at least the cliche that one expects to see from her.

I so resent it.

I also resent that the bigger and grander the production it is, the more I am expected to be part of that grandeur...
Carmen wasn't this man-killer monster, she was merely a woman, a girl. Sure she had courage, charisma, beauty and oozes sex appeal (for that she was so popular among the men), but, she was by no means a whore, or a bitch.


I was so lucky to have worked on one on my very first Carmens with the Genius director David McVicar, over a period of almost four months, (this opportunity, by the way, rarely happens in today's opera world anymore), creating an intimate Carmen that was real.
With such an important foundation, from such an immense teacher, I hope I never lose my integrity and tools, and I always try to maintain that core, and only grow from there.

Today, I *know* in my heart, that the Carmen I sing and act, is for sure what is in my best interests, as an artist , to show to my audience; Not their usual big-breasted, big voice, flamenco dancing- thigh rubbing, slow moving, vulgar cliche they mostly expect to see, but something else; more childish, girly, even shy sometimes. hurt. with a rainbow of emotions and colors; a human being, my friends.
What art is reflecting in its mirror is just us.

The fifth Element

For opening night of my Israeli debut, I was forced to deal with a few unusual elements: One was the extreme allergy to the horses on stage , the other was having to sing on Cortisone pills and a steroid inhaler (just to be able to breathe), and just for fun, I had to sing for the very first time with my tenor, who only got here a couple days before. (Of course we brushed up on all the specific spots we have together in advance, but we have never sung together on stage before).

If you ever watched my Online Interview, you might remember me talking about "not being 100% for a show, and having to know how to deal with only 75%).

Sometimes, this 75% descends to an even greater depth, and you are left with whatever is given to you that night.
That's what I call: Dealing with the elements.



In this production, I get to sing with three different tenors. This for itself , is not an easy task. If there is no sense of built- rehearsal process, and not enough clue as for what your counter part is going to do, things can get a little fuzzy.

My opening- night- guy is a busy man and one of these "nervous" types. (In opera, I can put singers under these 2 categories: "casual, channelling their nervousness into excitement and cheerfulness backstage" (*me*) , and "nervous"; Do *Not* Speak. just be there for them").
So my absolute calm and support, was something I had to provide, not only for my tenor, but for my self as well.
The horses pooed all over stage, and we had to maneuver ourselves, skipping in between their doodoo, and trying to keep our own drama going.

It was really not an easy night, what can I say.

For the next show, thank God, they realized that they HAVE GOT to get rid of the horses. I wasn't doing all that well on meds. and stepping on poo while singing the Seguidilla...

So .. I had no horses, and a completely new tenor this time.
You see what I mean by "deal" and "Elements"?

Show biz doesn't always smell of roses...

Can't be horse.

The physical difficulties I thought were only a passing matter, have not stopped back then.... After arriving onto stage, I discovered that what used to be an allergy to the touch of a horse, became an extreme asthma to the area where a horse might be "parking". And this production, a typical Zeffirelli production, has not only one horse, but three plus a donkey.

For an opera house, having a main-role singer who can't breathe (and therefore can't sing) is worse than having to clear off the already well paid, beautifully costumed stable guys on their trained horses... However ,it is a huge deal to try and re-stage all the scenes involving them, and give up this big part of what the PR here has been using as a selling point: a spettacolo. a grand show. So we are trying all kinds of solutions.

On the top of that, having been weak for a month now (with an un-identified stomach thingy), feeling like hell and not being able to breathe, I was starting to panic.

The doctor suggested that this is all related to stress, and that I was losing too much weight on this "blood type" diet, and suggested to reintroduce some wheat and dairy (which I immediately did... being "skinny" is great, but losing strength and voice, is something I'd rather correct ASAP). I also went to a healer who has once helped me a great deal with other allergy issues.

So, I have been forcefully (I never imagined I would come to that!) gaining some weight back, so I can sing normally, the horses will be waiting on Stage Left, where I will never set foot, and we hope that where they pass, on stage itself, the contamination won't be too strong for my system to handle.
If tonight's dress rehearsal proves differently, as much as I love these wonderful animals, they will have to be respectfully released from their stage duties (and doodies).

How I *should* warm up!

(thanks to Lar who fwded this !)

meanings

For somebody who usually hears the voices of children and hurries away, just to not get annoyed, I was surprised to come back to Israel, and actually listen in on local kids' conversations, and to have an unusual reaction to it...
I must have probably found it painfully endearing, because I burst into tears, walking away , trying to figure out what was happening to me;

I was finally *understanding* them.

Of course I understand the meaning of words spoken by Americans, or Australians, or Italians for that matter. But here, for the first time, I realized that there is so much more into my own mother-tounge that I was willing to admit.

Other languages, are understood by my brain as translated. As is. But Hebrew, Hebrew is an entire different matter. Hebrew to start with, is a language with words that are like trees: each word is based on a root, each root has a stem, , which has many secondary branches. One single word, can have multiple meanings, connotations, and of course a rich, old history; General, and personal.

That's why, it just dawned on me, that all of a sudden, I can't let meanings pass me by, untouched, and live the light existence I usually do, where I can *chose* to understand , or *not* to.
You see, I can chose to read some political graffiti in Paris, or wall-posts in Italy, and I can chose to understand the argument between the German lady and the fruit vendor, but I really don't have to, especially if my day is demanding enough. When it's not *really* your mother tongue, you can ignore it, (like it's somebody else's child).
Here, however, I just can't shake anything off my shoulder and go on with my day uneffected.
And everything, EVERY thing, is rooted deep in me, deeper than I imagined.
The very specific smells, the asphalt on the side walks, the bushes and trees and flowers I grew up with. The sand and the dust. The mentality, the foods, the sounds, the innocent words of a four year old.

This suddenly hit me, like a huge wave.
To be continued after I somehow finish swirling in it.

publiRX

It turns out, that this time around, I returned to my home land to be treated almost as if I were a war hero; I guess a certain level of international success makes people appreciate your home game in a much deeper way.
The phenomenon of having made a little name for my self out side, in fine-print English letters, has enlarged my Hebrew-prinetd name to bus-size signs and newspaper titles .

I can finally see how the big opera starlets of "Universal" must feel; It seems that no matter how bad their performance night might be, (sh*t happens, to stars too...), their ground is so previously- padded with admiration that the margin for failing to deliver doesn't even exist.

When people already "know how good you are" , marvel in your beauty and with almost religious-blindness, believe in your talent and promised goods, no matter how you'd do, like a cat, you will land on your feet, (and into a big round of standing ovation!).


I don't foresee that a taste of stardom would be something difficult to deal with; Giving a 3 hour photo shoot, a four hour interview and repeating the same for other papers the following day, in between 7 hours-a-day rehearsals, is nothing I complain about.
I might be exhausted, It slightly feels like I am cutting a deal with the dealer, but hey , what's wrong with sprinkling some love potion on my people a head of time...It's all kosher.

Land of anxiety

I don't know about you, but whenever I go back to the place where I grew up, I feel like I automatically regress to whomever little person I used to be when I was there, before I left.
do you get that too? visiting the house where you grew up, your home town, your local park, (all looks so small all of a sudden , doesn't it), your family, maybe your old friends, (if you are lucky to still have them)... you kind of revisit your own self as you were. As you used to be.

The clock has gone back, and I turned backwards with it.

I guess it could be a wonderful feeling for someone who's had a magical childhood, and adulthood turned crappy... but for me it's certainly not the case; Not to say that I had a crappy childhood, but what I have today, in my thirties, is a way sweeter deal. (for one, I am not the 186 pounds sun-burnt braces-smile frizzhead anymore ).

Going back into childhood, turns me instantly into that goofball , with all of her problems, and when I can observe the situation realistically, this almost makes me laugh, (or cry), because here I am today, feeling the most comfortable playing (=being) the femme fatal ,sexiest lady alive called carmen, but at the same time, in a drop of a hat (or a 10 hour flight), I am able to turn into ugly betty. poof.

Usually this condition disturbs me, but not that much, because my visits to my home land, are only that: visits.
This time, however, I am about to work there , debuting my carmen, and showing off the adult that I've become.
How do I float above the muddy swamp of regression?

I've been having these anxiety dreams about taking taxi's there, that drive me to unknown destinations, people speaking to me in languages I don't understand, I get lost.

Today , would be my challenge to look the past in the eye and conquer that ugly duckling with my present tense, and what has become my salvation:

I . am. singing.

The business of underestimating

Sometimes it's easy to underestimate the effort needed to accomplish your mission successfully.
"Oh, I can do that!" you think to yourself, basing your assumption on past events that might be similar, in your mind, to what is coming up. And then, alas, you realize that somewhere you were just so wrong.

Doing a song recital on a Sunday and singing Carmen in concert the following Sunday,even if on a different continent, seems a fairly easy task to accomplish.
But I haven't taken into consideration that the recital would be so extensive, emotionally and physically exhausting, and would demand a tight and pretty consuming rehearsal schedule. Looking for the right things to wear is another mission one often tends to forget as the much painful and tiring thing that it truly is. (Walking for 2 days around town, hysterically trying to find gowns. Yikes)
I also didn't consider the long flight to Europe a day after, the stomach virus I caught that day, which lasted all through the week and into the big concert,(so, working with hardly any food in the system), the busy rehearsal schedule once arrived in Munich , the constant singing (even if marking, still , using the voice and the energy), the jet lag, the nerves, and of course, the fact that this concert was a stand-up version ,(no sitting really, yup, on high heels. 3 hours...) as it was recorded for the radio live, so no moving, with only 20 minutes of one intermission.

I am now in the Munich airport, about to faint of exhaustion, waiting for my Lufthansa flight to board.
I think I managed pretty well with both my events, as well as I could, under all these circumstances , but next time I would know better how to mentally prepare for it a bit better, if I have to agree to it at all.

Travelers tip (#2)

I am a very light sleeper, and being extremely sensitive to noise, made me go on an insane quest for the perfect earplugs. But whichever plugs I found, never ever did it. They always flew out of my ear, or not quite expended enough, or simply hurt me after a while. One flight, some time ago, I got a pair of earplugs on the plane, and they worked SO well for me, that I actually kept them in their package, and googled them, and ordered 200 pairs more.
These stay right inside your ear canal, they never pop out, they don't hurt, and they seriously block sound, as they promise. Check them out, and enjoy the quiet: M3 Earplugs

One moment please

Just when I thought I couldn't be more occupied, (I am preparing for a recital), I got a call to jump in for a Carmen in concert, in Munich, fly the following day after my said recital, rehearse, perform, come back, pack again, and fly to Israel (Carmen).
I was going back and forth between Philadelphia and New york, in order to rehearse for this Alumni recital, an old promise I made to my wonderful old school, as a humble "Thank you" (and a kept promise it was, when I had to decline not one but two different jobs that appeared for that same time. What can you do, ye faithful).
But Curtis has been probably the one single entity in my life that actually put me in the place which made me a professional singer, and the one of the main corner stones in my life, to which I owe so much and more.

A recital was just the thing, and for that I have been planning and rehearsing lately, as much as I can (all crammed into a week and a half... as you can see, until then I was away and filled with Carmencita adventures).

This Sunday I will rejoin my special, old tutor and mentor, and one of my best friends- Mikael Eliasen, to present a melange of songs and arias that were all part of my years at Curtis. We will start with the three pieces I sang for my audition (Voi che Sapete, Schumann's Widmung, and a Sacha Argov song in Hebrew).
We will present some of the first arias I learned and performed there (like Dido's lament) and which I sang professionally
(while still a student) with the Opera Company of Philadelphia (Zerlina was the first, one of many roles I would end up singing there).
The recital will include some of my favorite songs ( Like Poulenc's Hotel, or Ravel's vocalize) , some Rorem (a Curtis alum himself), a couple fantastic chamber pieces (Ravel's Chansons madécasses and Brahms Viola songs), and plenty more.

So between x-xrossing Manhattan looking for a gown (I finally found the one and only!), polishing up my technique (lessons and coachings), fixing my aching back ( snap-crick-crack ), working out, filing tax, memorizing stuff, buying flights...
... I feel alive!....

My type!

For the past month and a half, I have been developing a new relationship with an old lover: Food.
I have always loved food, and it always loved me back, but not in an unconditional way; Food has always threatened my physical and emotional well being, by making me dependent on it and afraid of it at the same time. If I wasn't exercising and watching every little spoonful I put in my mouth, I gained weight. That's it. No buts, no howevers.
So like so many other people in this world, I have become obsessed and depressed by something which I must do in order to live, and so life has turned into a daily battle.

A month and a half ago, I was introduced to a looney idea, that some random foods are good for me and act like a magic potion in my body, like good fuel, and some even more random foods act as a poison.
This is called " The blood-type diet ".
I actually can't prove anything of it, and as far as I am concerned, it could be one big bull, however, just out of curiosity, I started to follow it. (I am O+ and by that diet, I should eat some very specific lists of organic meats, fish ,veggies and fruits, and absolutely avoid wheat and dairy).

What happened was, that food and I are talking again. I have been eating what's (generally) is on my diet list, and food has been going through me, never leaving an unwanted ounce of residue in my fat cells.
I actually stopped fearing food. I started to believe in it and in its honesty with me, and I am feeling like a whole new woman.
I am about to go to Germany next week, the land of unbelievable baked goods,where I would blink and gain a kilo. But my darlings: I am not scared anymore! I will hold on to food's arm, and we will waltz through it all as a wholesome unit!

pass time

At the same time that allows me to catch my breath at home, I find my self happily doing housewife-y activities that make me really happy; I cleaned the entire place, dusted, scrubbed ,washed an astonishing amount of laundry, organized the closets, shopped for groceries,looked at some new furniture and window treatments, and cooked more than a few very successful meals. I am possessed by some suburban spirit! scary ! :-o

On the same issue

""where are you taking me?? .... Into the Twitter sphere". ... LOL.

TMI

I kinda slowed down writing on this Blog, I guess because being on Facebook, I like to update my "status" quite often, ("Rinat is.. insert here useless mood/ action/ thought summarized in short sentences ), so by publishing these "status" changes, I feel emotionally and artistically fulfilled enough, LOL, that rewriting exactly that , but longer, as an entire entry on the Blog, is not at all necessary for me. (or for the one person who reads my blog but is not my friend on Facebook).
At the same time, (and while doing it!), I am utterly disgusted by this whole Facebook status, Blogs, and even more so with this thing called "Twitter", which is the worst: basically a combination of both Facebook status AND a Blog. It's just an on-going self-obsessed chatter of one's "status", published as a blog!
Perfect for important people with important bowel movements which should make the news, I guess.
Mine was pretty solid this morning.

Halt

After Belgrade, I came back home for one day, replaced winter sweaters and scarves with short sleeves and summer dresses, threw in my corsets, hair extensions and evening dress, and flew to New Orleans. Here I was rehearsing for Carmen.
Since it was a "traditional" production more than let's say such as the one I did in Germany , it seemed to me like I was just there; The quintet around the table, the Habanera teasing the chorus guys, the bitter end being knifed by a dirty, mad- looking Jose.
People ask me if it ever gets old to do Carmen again and again, and I keep saying no, because it really doesn't and I really love this opera with all my heart , but what surely does happen is , that one end of production stats to become the beginning of another, and sometimes it's hard to tell it's a different run anymore... I keep needing to remind myself that HERE, I walk from the table to the RIGHT, and not to the left as I did the entire past 2 months right before this...
And rehearsing six hours a day every day for 2 or 3 weeks, for a show that your brain is pretty sure you just rehearsed and performed for the past how many months.. well... it can have its frustrating moments.
But what is always so wonderful to me, is getting to know amazing people around, bonding with this or that person from the cast, exploring the specialties of the place, getting to know the locals, and often learning something new.
I am now back home, finally, for an entire month, before my next 6 hour rehearsals of quintets and habaneras... I might look at some other roles just to live a little plain month without all this routine sexiness. :)

Belgrade dragon tale

So, I am here, in the home town of the infamous Dragana Jugovic, who is best known for her Youtube video "Drunk Carmen" .

If you haven't watched it yet, well... you might get a shock. But anybody that *I* know, have seen this, the link has been passed around cyber world like a giant joint everybody wants a little drag of... It's a party piece for every cast (*especially* after a few drinks!) and people have been simply amazed.

Well, I am here and I decided I have to get down to the bottom of this pathetic, awesome, funny and heart breaking accident.
WHAT HAPPENED ?

My very good Serb- singer friend, knows.
So listen up: She had a fight with her husband (well currently Ex) right before the concert.
She had a drinkypoo or two. She claims that something was slipped into it. Certainly, there WAS a pill (or a few) involved, Knowingly or not. She went on. She sang an entire aria (Dalila?) which went alright. For the Carmen duet however, the drugs kicked in. The artistic director got fired.
It's simply beautiful.
Dragana is doing well. thank you for asking.

after and right before

Where can I start? I've been so busy since I got back , that I really didn't have a second for anything. A long time ago, I committed my self to a set of concerts , recital- style with the lovely New York festival of Song (one of the only organizations here left devoted to the art of song). I knew that I was going to be up to my head with Carmen, with not enough quality leisure work time for the recitals, but I agreed anyway (for some hard condense work) because I have the utmost appreciation for the pianists who lead (and play on) the series, and for what they stand for.
At any rate, that's what was going on right from the very next day after my last Carmen show; Rehearsing and performing!
I actually like it because I never got a chance to sink into the normal dip of light depression after a big opera job is done.
Being exhausted and still running, is the best way to forget about how amazing was my previous experience and how usual life can seem without it.
I also had to do a surprise special audition which went as surprisingly well...
I am now getting ready to fly to Belgrade for a concert, short of a week, (singing Ravel), and then directly back into a Carmen production, this time in New Orleans! Back to packing.

How to survive (a guide for opera companies)

I feel very fortunate; First of all there is something to be said about this whole "Canadians are nice" notion: It's true. Take it from me. I mean; I really haven't come across any hostility, any uncalled rudeness, even the homeless people here (and there are lots), are polite and lovely.
But from the genuinely nice receptions and donors to the press, I just have been feeling like I am back in my mother's womb; Nice and cozy, and loved.
What the company here has done to survive the recession , is a prize- winning campaign that's not only "nice" but also savvy; They decided to blast the media, overflow the city and invade cyberspace . And boy did they do good!
Of course, I personally, had to work extra hard in between long rehearsals, to go to interviews (both for the papers and for TV ), and photo shoots, and meet up with journalists in my "free" time... but the result was breath-taking;
Sold up performances, a cheerful audience, and a whole new layer of new, young (and excited) opera goers.
Well done, Vancouver Opera!

Opening night)s)

Tonight, there are 31 (! ) opening nights (including mine) happening around the world! (that I know of...)
Toi toi toi! :)

24 January
Rigoletto
Metropolitan Opera
Yvonne, princesse de Bourgogne
Opéra national de Paris
Manon Lescaut
Vienna State Opera
Die Zauberflöte
English National Opera
Le vin herbé
Opéra national de Lyon
Fidelio
Canadian Opera Company
Tosca
San Diego Opera
Daddy's Girl
Finnish National Opera
Il barbiere di Siviglia
Opera Carolina
Treemonisha
Opera Memphis
Carmen
Vancouver Opera
Die Grosse Bäckereiattacke
Luzerner Theater
Kehraus um St Stephan
Vienna Volksoper
La Cenerentola
Florida Grand Opera
Faust
Minnesota Opera
Die Entführung aus dem Serail
Theater Freiburg
Nabucco
Opernhaus Graz
La Périchole
Opéra de Lille
Duke Bluebeard's Castle
Staatstheater Stuttgart
Quartett
Staatstheater Stuttgart
Erwartung
Staatstheater Stuttgart
La Cenerentola
Theater Bremen
Vespro della Beata Vergine
Théâtre du Châtelet
Peter Grimes
Musiktheater im Revier
L'Amour de loin
Volkstheater Rostock
Orphée aux Enfers
Volkstheater Rostock
Tannhäuser
Greek National Opera
Kiss of the Spiderwoman
Opernhaus Dortmund
Turandot
Teatro Filarmonico, Verona
Lohengrin
Teatro Massimo di Palermo
Duke Bluebeard's Castle
Mariinsky Theatre

Preview

Here is a cute little interview I did last week.

Click here

I had a pretty interesting time in between Paris and now; For the first time in my life, I got a temporary slight disability;
I somehow injured my back, (blame it on having to wear high heels in Paris, or on the stupidly heavy Baerenreiter COSI score I was carrying with me on my long walks to and from rehearsals, or maybe it was the stress) , but it has gotten so bad that back in New York I couldn't walk for more than 10 minutes without having to sit down and yelp , and I couldn't sleep through the night because of the sharp pain, and of course, I couldn't stand up and sing either... It was bad... and I think deep inside, I was ffffreaking out. Never mind carrying groceries or living normally, but my line of work, my livelihood depends on my back!
I always took daily movement for granted. It's when you CAN'T do the simple stuff, that you realize how much of a necessity it really is.
Exercise was out of the question, other than careful stretching, but non of my routine cardio was anything my condition allowed me to do.
First I went to an orthopedic doctor who suggested pain killers and rest. But when that didn't help, nor all the stretching in the world, I looked at one of these hippie "spiritual" magazine type of publications, outside the orgainic food store, and I searched through the adds for salvation.
To my amazement, that came in the form of a chiropractor slash acupuncturist named Dr. Schram .
People are very sceptic and suspicious about chiropractice, and so am I, but since Schram has all kinds of bunnies (and I ♥ bunnies!) in his professional hat, I decided I had nothing left to lose, (as I was gaining weight by the minute, and pain and hysteria were adding on some insufferable overtones to my personality).
The Schram made me cross my arms and hug my self, then he hugged me, and I heard a click. He clicked from the right, from the left, and that was that. In less than seven minutes, two and a half months of crap were gone, I swear to you ! Occasionally I get a faint pain here or there, but nothing like before.
There. So I might have been silent on here, and a whiney cow in reality, but now I have no excuse. Time to get back in shape and be thankful that there's some magic left in this world!

New Year

✰´*•♥.•´*.¸.•✰ ♫☆♥
Happy 2009!

Look at that :)

I found This fabulous Carmen, on my Christnukkah tree!


Happy holidays!

decisions

Not too long ago, I participated in some kind of a special "meditation", you can call it, visualization of a sort, maybe a prayer.
Perhaps it did work, because very shortly afterwards, things started to move in my universe. It was like some ghost came in and started to rearrange the furniture of my life.
But like most things in life- not much comes so easy. Now I was starting to face major decisions I had to make.
I was offered different things that would make or break, but not SO simple; They would make *IF*, or break *UNLESS*.
Nothing perfect.
A dream theater would offer me a role too low. A stellar conductor would condition our work together with a role too small.
It's like I was handed a big bucket of puzzle pieces, but none just fell into place by itself.
I might have forgotten to be specific enough in what I asked, but now I am busy trying to find where the heck did my sofa go.

yup, this happens.

What is it with Cosi that makes it a high drama gig , almost every time ?
Here is the latest news: the orchestra that played with us in Paris somehow managed to seduce us (no, it wasn't the money) to agree to an extra show, on the day after our last Paris Cosi. In Munich.
We would fly early morning, arrive there, put our stuff in the hotel, rehearse, and perform the entire opera in a concert version. This is *the day after a late Cosi show*. (go to bed at 2 AM, wake up at 7, airport, flight, rehearsal and show! ).
For me it would be hard, but not as impossible as it might be for a Fiordeligi or a Frerrando, a grand vocal task on tired cords.

But what happened on top of it was, that most of the cast got sick, and our Fiordeligi actually decided she wasn't going to make it, and canceled. (7 hours before).

So on the day of the Munich show, right before our rehearsal, (which we would normally use to semi-stage ourselves), we were introduced to our replacement Fiordeligi. She knew Cosi, but only a largely CUT version of it. (while were were doing no cuts!). At that point, we were already dead tired and stressed as hell. Learning that we now have to also worry about a newby and changes, and cuts, we almost collapsed.

But at the end, we did what we did; we just didn't sing the recits she couldn't do, and some soprano lines in the finales were left out, sung as a trio as opposed to a quartet. Yikes.
I really don't think anybody else but us knew the difference... The audience loved it... but I think it cost some of us extra grey hairs/ insomnia or acid reflux attacks... I think they should build a special "recovery- spa" for brave opera singers.

Premiere, etc.

(Above: Suffering in bed...)
It seems like it's been a long time since my Cosi opening here in Paris, but it was actually only 3 days ago.
The day before, I did everything I normally do to prepare for a show: slightly warm up, rest rest rest, hydrate, eat well, and be in bed by 11 PM.
But, also normal, was the fact I could not possibly fall asleep by any means. I started with 4 drops of Bach flowers "rescue remedy" (it's homeopathic and natural). Much later, after tossing and turning, and turning and tossing, I looked at my cell phone's clock, and it was 3. Then I took half an Ambien. This usually knocks me out. But at 4 or so, or maybe it was 5, with no sleep yet, I took the other half. And woke up at 8!
This is bad news, when I have an entire 4 hour *Mozart* opera to sing that same day. (I say *Mozart* because there especially, one is extremely exposed, like a pearl. The voice simply has to be in top shape, the entire time).
So the rest of the day was spent in bed, trying to make up some sleeping hours. At the end I managed to do a couple more and wake up at 3 PM, and go to the theater shortly after.
This, to begin with, is not a great start; My head was exploding, my back was twisted, and I had puffy eyes that hurt so badly when my make up lady tapped some concealer on my dark bags.... and the voice? sleepy and a bit hoarse. Oy.
... But sometimes, you have to deal with what you have.
So, I struggled on stage, trying to apply every little ounce of ability, technique, tricks, magic, charm, wherever I could.
At the end, I think I managed to have a really good prima.
For the second show, I had 9 hours of straight sleep, fresh voice, and a fabulous mood, but it was just a shitty eve for me.

(puppies)

On the same issue of puppies; I finally did find ONE dog I can touch here; He is the black- lab tiny little sweet soul, sitting next to his homeless, alcoholic man. They are always outside the supermarket, and since I don't want to support the man's beer/wine bill, (I got my own, thank you very much) I bought the puppy his dog food, and so... opportunistically speaking, I guess I purchased some "shares" in French puppy- petting time! :D

Puppies and babies

An old girlfriend (schoolmate) of mine arrived for a quick weekend in Paris, away from her very own kindergarten in London, where she is the busy mother of three (!) young children. We met with another old dear GF who lives in Paris, for a leisurely dinner at my breathy apartment , over some wine, salad, cheese and good old memories . It's funny to meet up people you know from your old Israeli (not so classy) past, just off the Champs Elysees, you know what I mean? Life is just surreal sometimes.
At any rate, being the age we are, it's only natural that we catch up on the eternal issue of babies, family and all that.
Only in the past year, my ex-boyfriend had a baby. My girl friend had a baby. My best friend had a baby. All my old schoolmate from Israel are on their second or third child. So it's only natural that everybody's eyes are turned to me, with an (irritating) question mark. ("SO.. WHERE IS YOURS?").
I on the other hand, find it pretty amusing that, at the same hysterical rate my women friends are eying every baby and toddler on the Metro and on the street, I am taking in all the doggies and puppies walking around in this town.
In New York, I usually stop and touch, (and never can leave), but in Paris, (*like their owners*), all dogs are well groomed, well behaved and looking like a million dollars, but they also have this air about them: they look like they don't LIKE being touched, (or fed, or anything really), (unless it's secretly). And their Très Chic people always look like they are in the middle of *their* turn on the cat-walk, (the dog is a valuable accessory) so really: bug off!.... ("I got my poodle at ze Chanel spring collection. Mais oui").

wining

I am not a big wine snob (If it's red and has alcohol in it, I am happy).. But last night I was with a good friend who does know his wine, and to accompany our most wonderful dinner of prosciutto, cheese bread and figs, we got this wine in a local private wine shop , (22 euros) which was a marvel:
Pic Saint Loup: Clos Marie, Simon 2006

So this is...

... how things should be in life: I am happy.
the world is crumbling but I personally am triumphing a grin on my face. It's that I get this prospect of hope, and future, and all of a sudden nothing is so doomed any more.
Ladies and gents, I am being appreciated. That's all. And just by that, I get the feeling that I CAN be what I dreamed, and that I CAN have what I wanted.
I keep thinking: "Maybe *this* will open that big iron door I've been trying to push open for 16 years?", but then again, why think about doors and iron and pushing, when it is the MOMENT that exist, and at this moment, this door *IS* open, and as I am stepping out I can sense for a moment, this moment , how wonderful life can be.
I was just recently discussing with a friend how much we detest aspartame- sweet blogs (or people) that hide any fear, sorrow, doubt.
But I am allowing myself to have this rare entry today; (I can taste it: nah, not a sweetner; must be pure sugar, this one). ;)

Age of enlightenment

We lost two singer from the original cast. "sick" and "grew out of the role" were the reasons. This to me, usually translate to: (got a much better paying gig ) and ( got oneself into some big old vocal shit), but I also am generous and hope for the better paying gig for the first, and for the illuminated taste in roles for the later.
Now with the replacements, the average age of the cast dropped, and having lunch with the 26 year old tenor, after casually mentioning my husband, I was surprised to hear that he had thought I was way too young for marriage. He gave me twenty something... Lol. Then speaking to the baritone (33), as he was telling me of his career, and experience , he also said that since he was older than me... wait, stop right there... should I correct him?...

Tomorrow is my birthday. I should be flattered to be considered younger than what I really am, (or is it just the normal Italian mansome flattery? let's say *not*, only today...k?) but at the same time, when people give you 28, or 31, you start feeling that *older* is plain antique.
And , being considered young of age , I start wanting to lie about it.
Is this when I begin counting from 30 again?

New

There is a wonderful sense of joy coming around from all singer- bloggers who are restarting their career this time of year; It's the beginning of a new season (don't ask me why, I still don't understand why the operatic season works parallel to a school calendar), but if you go around reading you might realize that for us people who live to sing, this is no small thing; Starting rehearsals again, getting fitted for our costume, meeting our new cast; We feel our wings budding again out of our soul, and there's a little silvery hope threaded into them.

Today I am starting my new season. It's a new Jewish year, I am about to celebrate my birthday, and I am going to work.
It is slightly raining in Paris, but not too bad; Well dressed Parisians are walking their dogs and their baguettes and their little chic scarves, and I am watching from my balcony, feeling as excited as I always get right before facing my destiny.

2, 1, 0

2 more days to chose what you take with you for two months. I recommend tranquility health happiness and a good voice and attitude.
In the bag: nothing so far, cuz what DO you take with you?

Visiting the big kids

Going to the MET to watch my brotha , and hanging out back stage, always makes me feel like I am an elementary school 7 year old, visiting the cool, older kids in High school.

It's all one fine analogy, except for the annoying thought that when I grow up I might actually be too old and wrinkly (certainly for the administration) to be accepted there, (and that the older kids are not really older but not SO much cooler either). hr hr hr.

rich-poor, hot- cold.

I think that people who have BECOME rich later in life, must have taken quite a while to get used to it. Not only to the money, and the perks, but to what comes along with it; The society, the mannerism; it takes time to feel like you belong there , if you don't come from there.

I am telling you this after having spent eleven days at sea on a floating very- rich- (... and ya betcha: used to it...) people's colony, and having had some most fantastic time, (and being a chameleon- naturale, I can seem to be what is needed of me to be), still, I am feeling exhausted.

On the cruise, where we had our own butler , free any-time room service, unlimited drinks and fancy meals, I was having an "after the premier- party" which lasted the entire 11 days.
We saw some port cities in Romania, Russia, Ukraine, Bulgaria and Turkey, and as much as it was interesting to see how the people in that part of the world have been living, I must say that I have GOT TO return to Istanbul , where even to me, your exotic blogger, this WAS exotic.
I thought that being a Middle Eastern, I wasn't going to find it so special, but I was wrong; Everything in Istanbul, from the amazing amazing food to the colorful streets and markets, through the kind and gracious people who live there,(most seem poor but dignified!) to the thousands of stray cats who make a home of their streets (and are being taken care of, and respected by all!)... everything was magic.
...On the cruise, (my secret wish to get a stomach flu came true, so I didn't gain any of the weight I was so afraid of, however) I was as sick as a dog , and on the top of it I got some sinus infection ( and by the way neither illnesses was too much fun)... at the end I gave in and got some $5 antibiotics in Turkey, where even with the flu and all, I was still able to enjoy the warm and breezy weather and all my senses were awoken.

I arrived in Lucerne for a concert, only to discover that in my suitcase are: summer silk dresses, shorts, sleeveless shirts and some performance gowns... At the moment in Switzarland, you can SEE YOUR BREATH, it is that cold!

Tomorrow I am singing what is for me a debut: "El Amor Brujo" by Manuel da Falla. Gypsy folk songs I am now feeling inspired to sing, dying of cold, with a dying cold, but still glowing of color and scent, and spice.

Pudding before anything else

OMG OMG before I write anything about ANYTHING (I have just been on a cruise which took me to like 6 different countries, and I got dropped off in Istanbul, as you can imagine I can tell you LOTS of stories, but) I gotta start with a very warm recommendation for ISTANBUL, (go there!!!), and directly inform you that there's no better desert than this: ASHURE PUDDING

That's all for now . :)

hello again

Yea, I've been quiet, quiet and quiet on here. Partly because it's been quiet, and slow, and partly because I bore my self when it's quiet and slow.
Summer at home leads me (very painfully) to do some unusual things such as going kayaking on the Hudson, or buying a Thai cooking book with the far fetched idea of making my own lemon-grassy meals (so far no lemon grass).
Then I was called to do Jury D, (sorry, but I cannot expend on that), and that filled up my entire 2 weeks with extremely fascinating tales of the city, however, I was so engulfed and so exhausted by it all , that my normal life seemed to have paused.
What I really enjoyed lately, was the rediscovery of my favorite part of New York City: Chinatown. (If you read my blog you might remember that I am and always have been hypnotized by anything Asian), and so the abundance of steamed dumplings and fluffy pastries and fresh fish markets and strange fruit I cannot name, and crazy- busy humanoids rushing and buzzing by me, felt like a little theme party thrown especially for me every day I was there.
But this is all over now, and I am off to a most fancy cruise I bartered for my artistic services.

After I manage to pack 20 something fancy outfits into one suitcase, and after I get into my fancy wifi'ed cabin, I will proceed with my mumbling.

I normally don't care for shoes, but...

One really nice thing that happened to me lately: while window shopping in Dresden, I fell in love with a shoe. The Perfect shoe.
Well, it was a pair, and they were exactly what I need on my feet when I sing the Habanera.
Flamenco inspired Satin platform half pumps half booties. They exist in red and in black. If these shoes could chose a name for themselves, it would most definitely be CARMEN Jessica Parker. It's Carmen in Sex and the city, sipping on something sweet sour and cool, looking gorgeous.
At any rate, they went for *HUNDREDS* of Euros. (!!!). That's where I decided that , since the guy at the store said " zey arr mate in za U.S.A", I could probably track them down in New York City. (and at LEAST save the horrifying exchange rate business).

However, it was not such an easy breezy mission. I couldn't find them easily at all; They are made by a private company that only does exclusive design for exclusive people, and my shoe never appeared on any site. None.
To make this boring-to-you story short; I somehow traced an email address, I wrote a beautiful, heartfelt personal letter, where I described the shoes and bagged for their permanent existence in my (especially professional) life, and I learnt that my precious footwear, here, in the States (or , for me? their walking- talking add) goes for...
( :D :D :D)...
... shhhh , it's a secret.
I'll just add, that I ordered 2 pairs. Both the black AND the red!

Socca, so good.

In Nice and Antibes, I had the most yummiest thing ever, and I can't WAIT to go to the health food store and get me the chickpea flour, in order to make a SOCCA !
Socca [Provencal Savory Chickpea Pancake]

Adapted from a recipe by Mark Bittman of the New York Times.

1 cup chickpea flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 cup warm water
3 tabelspoons olive oil
1/2 medium onion, thinly sliced
1/2 tablespoon minced fresh rosemary leaves

Place heavy (preferably cast-iron) skillet in oven and preheat to 450 F.
In a large bowl, sift chickpea flour, pepper and salt together. After sifting, add rosemary leaves if desired.
Whisk in warm water and 2 tbsp olive oil.
Cover the bowl and allow the batter set for at least 30 minutes, add sliced onion to the batter, which should have the consistency of thick cream.
Remove skillet from oven. Add 1/2 tbsp olive oil to the hot pan, pour batter into pan and bake for 12-15 minutes or until the pancake is firm and the edges are set.
Set socca a few inches below your broiler for a few minutes, just long enough to brown it in spots. Cut into wedges and serve hot, with toppings of your choice.

Magnificat

I am going to Europe , the day after tomorrow. Singing me a little Bach. I noticed that out of the 4 soloists, 2 are old friends from my past. (well, 3 including myself, ha). I am only sad that Bach is too short of a sing and that this sweet gig will end in a second and a half, like a quick sip of port wine. But you have no idea how happy I am to hop on a plane for the sole purpose of squeezing a meaningful sound out of my soul.

More Flags more fun

Yes, do go to Six Flags this sumer, yes , DO get the gold Flash pass . no lines more fun, more flags, more adrenalin rush more to write about in your blog.

My town, my life now

Never mind singing; I've been hanging out, visited some parties in B'kyn, started playing tennis and also skateboarding in the park, said hello at the pride parade, went to the dermatologist and the obgyn for check ups, bumped into Edie Izzard and got invited to his show and after-show party, took a couple voice lessons,had a few mojitos here and there, bought a white jacket and guess sunglasses, got diarrhea but luckily I know this town so damn well, I also know where the nearest WC is, wherever I am.

Replaced

I went to visit my family in Israel but ended up having a pretty full- blown spiritual week, since I was hanging out with healers and psychics and Kabala master minds. I didn't really intend to but that's how it happened and I also got some pretty amazing results I will tell you all about maybe later.
I also felt the far -away existence of my reality and how detached my life can be, traveling here and there and not REALLY ever surrounding my self with the kind of unconditional acceptance I so need.
I have been thinking about the replacement factor of my life; How I am constantly being replaced ; As we speak, I can give you three examples of current productions that simply replaced me. I sang there before. now it's back; same costumes, same director/ conductor, even some of the original cast, but not me. Normal people with normal jobs, might get replaced once or twice at their job, in their entire life time, only if they were dreadful. But performers, with their gentle, already hurt soul, get exchanged and replaced on a monthly basis.
How do I feel about it? as much as I understand it; Still shitty.
I can only hope that my dear ones don't replace me, and that my friends won't rush to the next special, fun girl, (or whatever, which exists anyway, just like good Mezzo Sopranos, a dime a dozen), and forget I ever was there before... and if they do, I might throw some auditions and find out maybe there is a girl out there who can play me better.

Refresh thyself

I kind of volunteered to sprinkle my summer with a few musical occasions for the sake of music making and also for my own sanity (I am really not very good at managing free time), so doing a little concert here and a little concert there was a good solution for my soul.
Usually my main criteria for taking a job would (optimally) be made of these four little gratifications: artistic ,financial, and then prestige, and location, all combined; (so say... a fabulous production led by the best director and conductor in the world, with a fantastic cast, huge budget that pays me more than enough, somewhere in Hawaii, would be my ideal job, you know...), however , I usually have to compromise on one or two things of that list (in opera, unfortunately it would be the artistic part usually, and too often also the money).
My summer concerts most definitely lack the budget, but it's the music and humanity that make up for it.
And places where my talent is being celebrated, not judged, are high on my preference list, especially now, being beat up and slightly negative.
So my first concerts in my "off season" were by invitation of my dear friend the most wonderful pianist Lars Vogt .
We first met at the Berlin phil, doing Les Noces together. After that, we "befriended" each other on MySpace, and kept in further touch via Skype and Facebook (you see? if there IS any reason for these Internet social spaces, this friendship would be exactly it!).
At any rate, I arrived at Heimbach
a bit grumpy, and came out refreshed and fulfilled like I haven't been in a long time.
In Heimbach, I was surrounded by beautiful nature, a group of unbelievably talented musicians, and an audience so loving and enthusiastic, *I* should pay *them* to follow me wherever I go to sing.
Two concerts with Schumann, Ravel, Brahms and *Gershwin, (*in which , by the way, I so "let my hair down", all I remember is doing a little dance on stage (!) while improvising with the multi-talented classical- slash-Jazz (!) pianist Kirill Gerstein ) and I am back to my old positive self again, ready to carry on in this tiring and challenging career.

Travelers tip (NYC)

Finally, when I am REALLY back home, I slowly get to the errands that were way down the bottom of my list. One of them , was to try and fix my Samsonite suitcase (my fabulous four wheeler I was mentioning before); Somewhere in the world, I lost one of its wheels.
It's not a big deal, but I either had to fix it or trash it. I usually go with the later, since there are NO businesses who agree or know how to fix suitcases. I tried the local shoe-man, I tried some others in airports and train stations; None deal with wheels and zippers. So my average suitcase shopping was a once a year way - annoying event, for suitcases that cost a whole lot and promise you a "life time warranty" (which is bull, because a) where do you send it back when you need to B) they don't cover wheels and zippers. which is what goes wrong).

But ladies and gentlemen who are in New York and are frequent travelers: Let me introduce you to a service I only discovered yesterday and from now on will save me my annual luggage burial agony:
Modern Leather Goods
At 10:35 AM I was there with my dead suitcase. around 10:50 I got out of there with a healthy and happy case, wheeling on all its four. and the whole thing cost 20 bucks and was handled by a really nice guy.

They fix EVERYTHING that has to do with leather/ zippers/ suitcases and luggage/ bags and purses. (and they are right in
" Korea Town" , so try go there at lunch time so you can also have a yummy bi bim bop afterwards!)

Spring time

Excuse my silence. I needed it. Needed to recharge and revive and be home again, quietly.
And once I did that, I got a surprise jump in for Suzy Grahm who unfortunately caught a cold, so on a day notice, I travelled to Philly to do my favorite Schumann cycle "Frauenliebe und Leben" with Maestro (and the pianist) Eschenbach the great. What a pleasure it was! Nothing better than a 2 week relaxation and then a tiny little precious moment of musical intimacy, just to remind me that I might actually be well.

Angels of Venice: Nerio

When I didn't have the time to catch the food market, which closes at 1 in the afternoon, and on the days where I also missed the supermarket, I would go to buy my groceries at old Nerio's.
Nerio is quiet and serene, and what he sells out of his tiny little shop in the evening, most definitely covers his rent; Tourists and hungry people would have to buy from Nerio, and Nerio would have to charge a lot extra for the trip HE has made to the market in the morning, and not them.
Slowly Nerio got used to seeing me. At first I just bought a few vegetables from him, later we began to talk, and soon enough, I became a faithful customer (who gets a discount!), and a welcome guest at his shop, which could contain only two at a time.
One evening, I was feeling a great need for a piece of chocolate. I usually can manage to shoosh this screaming little inner tooth in me, but on that cold and lonely evening, I simply knew that nothing else would do; I HAD to find me a little something cocoa-y and sweet.
I passed by Nerio, bought some red wine, zucchini and eggplant, and then asked him if he knew where I could find chocolate. (His store had none of that; just vegetables and a few other curious items with which one could, perhaps, manage to make a strange meal).
Nerio peeped out of his shop, looked around with a slightly concerned face, and then said: "mmm,no. there's nothing open now... but , aspetta, wait a second..."
He left me standing alone on the narrow alley, while he turned around and took two steps into the back of the shop, and dug out a little white paper bag.
"Here, take this!" he said , and handed me the bag, which contained a stash of old fashioned chocolate bon-bons, obviously Nerio's favorites, and the ones he keeps in the shop for himself, for a moment of need such as mine.
"Nerio, of COURSE I can't take this! it's YOURS!"
" Take it ! Take it! and don't say no! Basta!" he commended, shoved the bag in my purse, and stepped back onto his shop not before giving me 2 hasty kisses on my cheeks and wishing me a good night.
I got home and carefully unwrapped the golden cellophane. Inside, I discovered, was the sweetest, highest quality chocolate of all; made of pure kindness and 100% care. Then I had a good night.

Angels of Venice: Maria

It was sunny on the day before my dress rehearsal. After I had my coffee, I decided to get out of the apartment and walk to the market and buy a few fresh vegetables and maybe some fish, then freshly baked bread and some pasta.
I needed to refill the fridge and get ready for a tight week of performances.
As I was coming out of the building, an old woman of small stature approached me.
She came very close to me and asked very politely : "are you the lovely singer who is singing Rosina here"?
"Yes" I answered, a bit surprised, as I still didn't realize how small the city is and how fast information travels over the little canals, as if the gondoliers were transporting news, headlines rumors and gossip from this part of town to another, at no time.
"gentila signora" she said " would you please be able to find me a ticket for your rehearsal tomorrow?.. I work at the hotel, right here, and would love to see the show".
I already promised my rehearsal tickets to someone else, but later that day, they called to cancel and Mrs Maria couldn't be happier to hear that a pair of tickets would be waiting for her at the box office before the show.
The next day surely arrived and like all rehearsals and performances do, this too came and went like a fast coloratura phrase.
When I arrived at my door, I found 3 roses awaiting me on the doorstep. On the pink paper wrapping them, big letters said: "BRAVA! brava! maria".
Maria has become a friend. Over the rest of my time there, I would meet her on the street, or at the store, and she would repeat to me the nice things her hotel guests have reported of my singing, and as she would tell me all that, she'd grin and be filled with joy and pride, as if she were my very own grandmother.

That which is good

Four hard shows in one week. Three of them with a bad cold, and semi- functioning vocal cords. It is hard to see the triumph through all of it if you are a self-toughy like me, so on the (depressing) day after my last show, (where I don't have any more chances to redeem my self), I am gathering a list of all things that *did* make this a victory for me, and other little stuff I am happy about;
*My public. Some of them are rough here, but as this Venice has a small-town feel to it, "what people say" counts, and they said (to each other) that they loved me. ( :-D) (ps to my friends; you can see on my site the 2 reviews I got in the papers).
* My parents who came especially to see the last show were so ecstatic and proud to watch me from their royal velvet seat at this breath- taking beautiful opera house, singing this role.
* Dozens of locals that I met here became good friends. They helped me feel like I belonged, and I will never forget their genuine kindness, which feeds my own.
*I got to sing, and live HERE! in beautiful, wonderful, amazing Venice. precious, rare, fragile, magical Venezia.
*I had a most beautiful time (and where else could it be SO romantic!) while my husband was visiting me.
* I did it. I defeated my fears, (oh no; should I admit this publicly or am I going to pay for my vulnerability later?) and I dared at the face of self doubt, and hey: I did it.
*I spoke Italian. non stop. ( even if sometime non-sense) :).
(*I now *know* where the damn supermarket is!)
*Each and every one in my cast had different stage skills I admire and can learn from.
(* And hey, miraculously, my hair conditioner, (the one and only) , lasted exactly (to the last drop) until the day I left.Ha.)

comfort

I am feeling much better, and am doing laundry. I love the sound of the tumbling washing machine. so relaxing, so homey. :)