Don’t ever change, don’t ever worry
because I’m coming back home tomorrow
to 14th Street, where I won’t hurry,
and where I’ll learn how to save, not just borrow.
And there’ll be rainbows,
and we will finally know… —Sancta Rufola, “14th Street”
Sancta Rufola, ora pro nobis. Oremus pro benefactoribus nostris. Oremus pro fidelibus defunctis. Pro fratribus nostris absentibus. Mitte eis, Domine, auxilium de sancto. Exaudiat nos omnipotens et misericors Dominus. Amen.
Practice means to perform, over and over again in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire…
We learn by practice. Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing dancing or to learn to live by practicing living, the principles are the same… One becomes in some area an athlete of G-d. —Martha Graham
Sorry for the thin posts of late! I’m very busy these days, with a nearly two-hour daily commute to “work,” a new and passionately absorbing avocation, and the resumption of my former gym-bunny ways (must… get… that… endorphin… fix!).
My Newsday review of Esa-Pekka Salonen’s Miller Theatre Composer Portrait (now in the archives, zut)
My TONY roundup of monster deals in classical music, including Juilliard’s upcoming Comte Ory, New York’s operatic event of the year as far as I’m concerned. (Note that I haven’t recently heard Cheryl Evans, to whom I extend best wishes, and that I try never to mix food and music. An editor added the bit about Caffè Taci.)
My TONY review of Mozart’s Don Giovanni led by René Jacobs. It did not rock my world à la the Jacobs Nozze di Figaro.
My TONY roundup of sights and blights among New York classical and opera venues. I like Japan Society best. How about you?
A younger friend persuaded me to sign up for Facebook. Here’s how I’m doing:
I hope to post soon about Rufus Wainwright’s “Release the Stars” tour (which I caught in Montréal, back in August!!) and Patricia Racette’s overwhelming portrayal of Madama Butterfly. I’m doing my best here!
Not to discriminate every moment some passionate attitude in those about us, and in the very brilliancy of their gifts some tragic dividing of forces on their ways, is, on this short day of frost and sun, to sleep before evening. With this sense of the splendour of our experience and of its awful brevity, gathering all we are into one desperate effort to see and touch, we shall hardly have time to make theories about the things we see and touch. —Walter Pater