Next month, it will be 20 years since I first moved to Canada. This anniversary got me thinking… about many things. And I decided to talk to people, Canadians old and new, and long-time Canadian residents, about this country that I feel I know less now than I thought I did a decade ago. I have been trying to fend off a feeling that I belong less to it now than years ago, when I had just moved to Toronto from Nova Scotia. Everything seemed possible back then. Now, twenty years later, perhaps I have hit enough walls to start noticing them and a different map of the possible territory of life here begins to take shape.
But these conversations are meant to be more about other people – and how they live here and how they make sense of Canada.
My first interlocutor is TV critic and author John Doyle, who grew up in Ireland and moved to Canada by the same method as I (an MA scholarship). Some of the topics that we cover:
– Canadian TV
– whether Canadians should be less nice and more raucous
– whether we are now practically an American cultural province
– privatized vs public medicare (I had no idea that Ireland switched from latter to former)
– if literary publishers today expect the novel to be more like TV
– whether the CBC cancels all the best dramas, and
– how is it possible that Netflix and Amazon Prime streaming services manage to avoid sales tax.
How accurate are the arts about mental health issues? I got thinking about this while working on the September piece for the Wholenote, which is an interview with soprano Monica Whicher about the concert series organized each year at the U of T during the Suicide Prevention Week. It’s a good occasion to talk about mental health issues in university context, and remind people what services there are for those who may need them. In the article, I leave the university grounds and look at the availability of talk therapy for general population. It’s not great.
There was no room for this sidebar, so here it is. Some recent creations and two old ones, which approach mental health problems in intelligent ways:
Flowers(British TV Series, 2016-2018). The two-season Channel 4 / Netflix series looks inside a family in which the father is struggling with depression and – in the following season – the young daughter with bipolar disorder. Somehow it manages to be a comedy while also being devastating. Stars Olivia Colman and Harriet Walter, but entire cast is brilliant.
Maria Bamford’s stand-up. Bamford has been very open about her own life with mental illness, both in her standup and in media interviews. It’s not always easy to watch her – she is not a polished communicator always in control, she is visibly struggling but just about functioning while also creating smart and funny material and living her life and staying in a relationship. Respect.
Imagine Me Gone, a 2016 novel by Adam Haslett. Story of a family which loses one member to suicide, and another, gradually, to a multifaceted, elusive psychological distress which often appears as… being extremely good and alert to injustices in the world. All the characters are drawn out in subtle detail, as are their sufferings and joys. At the end, the family reconstitutes after the losses as best they can.
Virginia Woolf – the 1926 essay on ‘On Being Ill’ and the 1925 novel Mrs. Dalloway, which has a character trying to live with what we would now call post-traumatic stress disorder. His experience of the city of London and of being in the world in the 1920s after the Great War is entirely different from those that the central, well-off characters of the novel have, including the lovely and yet thoroughly oblivious Mrs. Dalloway herself.
Homer’s Iliad, any translation: the section The Grief of Achilles and the New Armour Made Him by Vulcan. As we’ve known at least since Homer, the problem with the dead is that they never die.
Last night at the TSMF, Art of Time did that thing that they always do well: a concert of popular songs in classical arrangements for a chamber orchestra with a piano. I’m always curious about the arrangements side of things: the composers that the AoT engages for this purpose come from a variety of backgrounds and styles, and the combinations are sometimes quite inventive. There was a Leonard Cohen song arranged by British composer Gavin Bryars, and I remember hearing Kevin Lau’s name in one of the songs (full list of arrangers updated below).
The traffic went the other way too: pop singer-songwriters taking over classical pieces and making them their own. Projects like this one are among the beacons of this approach, and I’m always on the lookout of good treatments of the classics by the musicians of other genres. Singer-songwriter Sarah Slean has been one of those musicians for a while now, at least since she decided to take a turn from the pop stardom business to classical, chamber orchestras, piano-with-live strings, and smaller venues. Her song Lonely Side of the Moon is a direct response to Schubert’s piano trio op. 100, the movement Andante con moto. In the concert, the two were played side by side. First the AoT artistic director Andrew Burashko (piano) played the trio with Yehonatan Berick (violin) and Rachel Mercer (cello). Slean followed, explaining what she changed (the meter in the opening bars on the piano, as you’ll spot!) and what she developed.
The song can of course stand on its own: we have a very German Romantic preoccupation that is the Nature here revived as a song topic, through an environmentalist perspective. I think she’s onto something. We already have the novel of the climate change and perhaps trad Romanticism will see a revival thanks to the poetry of the climate change?
Slean was also excellent in Leonard Cohen’s rearranged Anthem and Take This Waltz. While Cohen himself was around to perform these songs, what he’s saying and how was of greatest interest (as you can read in the recently published Nick Mount’s Arrival: The Story ofCanLit, Cohen started out as part of the early CanLit poetry contingent and published in small presses before he decided to move to the all-powerful melting pot of American song and become a star). His songs can be read from the page as poems and not a whole lot would be lost (OK! the spoken poetry people will disagree; yes, the delivery etc, but let’s move on). The luxurious arrangements that add layering to the musical side of his songs are therefore a pretty exciting thing to discover. Slean also did a solid job with Brel’s Ne me quitte pas and almost almost managed to make Queen’s spectacular The Show Must Go On intimate.
Singer-songwriter John Southworth was also in the program, performing some of George Gershwin and Cohen songs. He happens to be not the most communicative of performers. I was trying to understand his low-key, coarse-voiced, dispassionate approach and the best I could come up with is: imagine if the characters from Beckett’s Waiting for Godot decided to take up singer-songwriting? That. It’s certainly an original mode to operate in but I have yet catch the bug. Here’s a sample from his songbook.
AoT return to the TSMF for the reGeneration concert with young musicians of the song academy this Saturday July 27, Walter Hall. AoT were, beside Burashko, Berick and Mercer, Peter Lutek at woodwinds, Rob Piltch on electric guitar, and Joe Phillips on double bass.
Edited to add: Here’s the full list of pieces and composers with (in most cases) arrangers:
Old Photographs by Christos Hatzis
Anthem by Leonard Cohen was arranged by Andrew Downing
Who Cares by George and Ira Gershwin arranged by Andrew Downing
Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye – Leonard Cohen, arranged by Gavin Bryars
Darkness – Leonard Cohen, arranged by Kevin Breit
Man I Love – George & Ira Gershwin, arranged by Kevin Lau
Swanee – George & Ira Gershwin, arranged by Shelley Berger
Take This Waltz – Leonard Cohen, arranged by Bryden Baird
Schubert’s Piano Trio No. 2 in Eb major, ii. Andante con moto
Good Mourning by John Southworth
Lonely Side of the Moon by Sarah Slean
The Partisan – Anna Marly, arranged by Bryden Baird
Ne Me Quitte Pas – Jacques Brel, arranged by Jim McGrath
Dance Me to the End of Love – Leonard Cohen, arranged by Andrew Downing
The Show Must Go On – Queen, arranged by Rob Carli
Le Figaro reports, pretty unequivocally and quoting sources close to the current director Stéphane Lissner, that Neef is getting the job.
First, let me bask for a minute in Lokalpatriotismus. How cool is this? *Basking, with sunglasses on. Basking, basking, basking*
Congratulations to Neef on this not at all small accomplishment. We haven’t always agreed on details, but I generally agreed with his approach to programming opera, from that notorious Tim Albery Aida a decade ago on. What I think about his decade at the COC I wrote in 2017 in this piece for the Globe and Mail.
On a personal note: we are precisely the same age. Good to see a GenXer take this important position in the opera world. We’re talking about a house that was founded by Louis XIV.
Now. According to the Figaro, Neef won’t take on the role until June 2022 and Lissner is to continue in this transition period. The paper (and ForumOpera agrees) is not too happy that some of the labour reforms announced will now have to be done by a lame-duck director, and how much authority will he have to execute those, they wonder. I’d speculate that Neef needed a sufficient withdrawal period to wrap up the COC projects – but I don’t know. A lot of drive-by-appointed CEOs in Toronto’s cultural life simply do a runner and announce they’ll be gone next season, period. This won’t be the case here, and I think that’s good. (Maybe the Santa Fe festival will also benefit from this slow shift.)
End of an era. Who will come after? Send in those bets.
First, the good news. Pomegranate, subtitled A lesbian chamber opera, composed by Kye Marshall, written by Amanda Hale, directed by Michael Mori and conducted by Jennifer Tung, which just closed its world premiere run at Buddies in Bad Theatre – works as a piece of art. It is alive and ticking – and that is the first and most important test a new opera must pass.
Kye Marshall has composed a distinct musical material for each of the two acts, though what unites them is a melancholy timbre of both eras, the Pompeii girlhood and 1980s Toronto youth. The three cellos, a keyboard, a harp, an oboe, and a flute for act one and saxophone in act two, are an unusual but perfectly sufficient mix of instrumental forces. There is a lot of harp in act one, and oboe gets good air time, but any quotations of the pastoral employment of harp and woodwinds are wrung through contemporary musical idiom, and come free of nostalgia for the melodic operatic tradition. Act One is almost consistently dissonant, with the only bit of lyrical arioso given to the representative of the brute force in the story, the Roman soldier who is about to capture one of the girls and marry her against her will. He seems genuinely in love (beware of beautiful music) and genuinely a brute, and a lot of the brutes in opera have been given pretty and memorable melodies over the centuries—and the composers have been manipulating opera lovers this way for some time.
This was something of a naughty wink in the score, and there were others.
The sex scene that builds to a climax in the vein of Der Rosenkavalier overture, for example, which was wittily directed as an interruption with one of the women stopping and sitting up and the other one trying to talk her out of dark thoughts while the music is doing its culminating. Or the unsentimental, almost unjazzy use of saxophone in Act Two – which is employed with great restraint in the bar scene that would have been in real life hopping with synth pop. There’s more. The first interaction the two Pompeii girls have is through the percussion instrument that each is holding – they harmonize their rhythms before they even have their first conversation. Marshall has also avoided cliché by giving the mezzo tessitura to the more helpless character of the two (when it’s usually the mezzos who have some agency in opera) while the soprano role in Pomegranate goes to the more self-assured and determined character. Last but not least, Marshall can write a mean vocal trio and quartet.
In short, there is much to be saluted in this score and how it works with the text.
And now, the less good news. The production itself had a host of issues. The text was frequently unintelligible, especially on high notes but not exclusively, and even I, who had read the libretto beforehand, occasionally missed what was being communicated. Surtitles were badly needed and it’s a (Pompeiian) mystery why they weren’t created as the text didn’t require paying a translator and the sets were largely made up of video projections anyway. Singers being native English speakers never guarantees that they will be expert enunciators of operatic and song verses in English, and Pomegranate confirms this.
The two young principals, soprano Rebecca Gray and mezzo Camille Rogers, were vocally the weakest pillars in the edifice when they should have been the strongest (temple, pillars, see what I did there? OK, I’ll stop now). Rogers was striking in the bel canto role of Isabella in an indie production of Rossini’s L’Italiana in Algeri some years ago, but in contemporary musical idiom with an English language libretto containing a ton of Sprechgesang the mezzo seemed reserved, ill at ease, risk averse and resigned into using that impressive voice most unimpressively. Rebecca Gray had much more to do as the narrator for the opera and the character of Cassia/Cass. Her dramatic commitment was stronger—she can definitely act and did–but her beauty of voice tended to disappear in the upper register, and that’s where the composer has her going quite frequently. The singer who has most singing to do and who effectively carries the opera should impress with her voice. That’s not an unreasonable expectation. (Gray is also a composer. I’m looking forward to hearing her work and wonder if perhaps this is where the best of her musicianship is to emerge.)
Teiya Kasahara (Priestess/Bartender) and Aaron Durand (Centurion/Suzie’s Uncle) were the two strongest voices on cast: voluminous, consistent throughout the register, with precisely controlled breath and strong grasp of the text. Stephanie Tritchew roles of the Handmaiden in the temple and Suzie’s mother in Act Two were small – dramatically important but musically modest. She has an undeniable stage presence which I hope to see properly exercised in a larger role, and which here had to remain muted.
Set and costume designer Rachel Forbes took the straightforward Roman and stylized Roman route for the costumes for the first act (though Kasahara’s Priestess had a touch of the Queen of the Night). The urge for the 1980s ‘authenticity’ in Act Two was however too keen: the deep-cut jeans, the large print blouses, the ill-fitting blazer and the red shoes were almost comic in the context and certainly distracting. A little less period costuming next time, please.
For there should be a next time: this opera should see a revival. There is a living, breathing work of operatic art under those tunics and plaid shirts.
Amanda Hale, novelist, poet and now the librettist for Pomegranate (June 5-9, Buddies in Bad Times), is a fascinating interlocutor. Watch this space for more about her work in the near future.
But first, the Summer Wholenote Art of Song – because Pomegranate started as a song cycle – HERE
She still travels to England to visit family. “It was a good thing, leaving England, because when you leave a place, you can see it.” Her family’s story has been far from ordinary: Hale’s father was a supporter of Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists during the Second World War, and died by suicide some years after the war. “That legacy has hung over me all my life,” says Hale, who has written about it in her latest novel, Mad Hatter (Guernica, Toronto), to be launched in September. “I feel absolutely liberated for having told that story. It’s been a great shame and humiliation so it was good for me to leave England and be able to see all that. But it’s taken my lifetime to process it.”
Hale’s own politics are at the opposite end of the spectrum to her father’s. She often travels to Cuba and has developed a lot of connections, personal and professional, over the last 15 years. “I went there first to paint a mural with Lynn Hutchinson in solidarity with the revolution and we made a connection with a gallery in Havana and did an installation there on colonialism and sugar, then another one about surveillance, which Cubans really understand.” Latin America was always of great interest. “I’ve had a lot of connections with Guatemala, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Chile. A big change I saw here in Toronto in the 1980s was the refugees coming from those countries who’d experienced American interference, people who enriched Toronto tremendously during the 1970s and 1980s. There were Greeks coming here after the Junta and people emigrating to Canada after the Iranian Revolution. On Hornby Island we have an Iranian man who’s taken refuge there, who is a wonderful potter.”
My Liz Upchurch profile is now online and of course in physical copy wherever you pick up the Wholenote magazine.
I’d like to share here this bit that I had to leave on the cutting room floor, as the space was limited.
+ + +
What about the visual ‘packaging’ of female singers in competitions and concerts? It seems to me they’re all in prom dresses, have long locks, makeup, all are presenting in the high femme style? When somebody like Emily D’Angelo appears, who already has her own very elegant and not at all highly sexed up style, one notices.
It’s changing. The next wave of singers will reject it. You know those recordings from the 1960s where everybody’s got the same up-do, everybody’s wearing the same neckline? I think the millennials are our true leaders at this point. They are going to show us what should have happened one way or the other, and quite right too, there’s a lot of change that needs to come.
But then, there are a lot of archetypes in the opera world.
Yes… Singers kinda have to create a fantasy, or speak to a fantasy. Female singers, that is. Men get to wear a uniform, and be sexy without ever changing it.
Imagine being a high high voice playing all the fluttery silly soubrettes and being one of the most serious people in the world.
But you’re an actor. And if you’re an actor, an actor would say That’s my character, that I have to figure out and understand.
There are certain expectations, yes. But I’m not a big media fan, I don’t have enough time to follow it. All I’m interested in is, can you sing well. And that they are prepared, that they become better artist, have the opportunity to do that. And don’t show up with jeans with the great big holes – unless the piece is written like that. It’s up to them; they are their own agents, at the end of the day.
It’s interesting to think how things have changed over the years. Beginning of every rehearsal at the COC now, and I think this is a direct result of the #MeeToo awareness, somebody will get up and talk about the policies that are in place in the company, who to go to if there are issues, where the information is, etc. Two years ago that wasn’t even there.
I was happy to see that a recent run of Hadrian, which had an “intimacy coach”, also had a seriously erotic sex scene. Not an operatic love scene: a properly sexy sex scene.
Yes, good point. This new awareness won’t abolish eroticism on stage – on the contrary.
Here’s an argument you’ve never heard me make before: in a limited number of cases, women should not be cast in male roles.
Cross-sex or ‘gender-neutral’ casting is now customary across English-speaking world because so many classical works (see first of all: Shakespeare) have so few great female roles. Woman playing Hamlet, or Lear, or Cesar, or Prospero, can work really really well–and there have been many notable cases where it did.
But cross-sex casting in contemporary plays? Why not write plays with women in them, rather than write all-male plays and then hire women for some of the male roles?
A couple of days ago I went to see Michael Healey’s latest, 1979. As readers of this blog will already know, I am a fan of Michael Healey’s work, both as playwright and actor. 1979 dramatizes the night when Joe Clark, Canada’s first Progressive Conservative Prime Minister after a 15-year hegemony by Trudeau’s Liberals, is about to lose his first budget vote and with it the government. Clark is PM for a few months only before PET returns as the leader of the Liberals and beats him in the next election–and goes on to campaign for the unity side in the Quebec referendum, repatriate the Constitution and introduce the Charter of Rights.
First Conservative Leader and first PM from out west, the non-charismatic Joe Who? however has integrity to burn–and a Red Tory vision of the country that does not pit region vs region, refrains from patronage and pork-barrelling, and is fundamentally anti-Thatcherist (Thatcher has just won the UK general election across the pond by antagonizing rather than unifying). Canada is different, Joe Clark is certain. The NDP and the Liberals are united in wanting to take his minority government down–everybody hates the gas tax he’s about to introduce, does nothing ever change in federal politics–while six of the members of his own caucus don’t bother showing up for this life-or-death vote. Does he start bargaining, threatening, cajoling in order to convert some opposition MPs? Does he simply postpone the vote for however long the government needs to line the ducks in a row, the not-unheard of and legal and legit parliamentary move? (Employed as recently as last month by one Theresa May before her Brexit deal vote in the UK Parliament, btw.)
Neither, actually. The Clark of 1979 (and this is probably close to what happened in real life) believes that if he can’t get the votes for the budget, he does not have the moral right to govern. And that’s it. The country will go back to the polls, where he will, he believes, properly beat PET this time and return with a majority.
Several figures visit Clark on this fateful night. Actor Christopher Hunt plays John Crosbie, Clark’s finance minister, and Pierre Elliott Trudeau, and for a few brief and pointless minutes in hard-to-pull-off-without-camp drag, Flora MacDonald. Just the glorious conversation between PET and Clark is in itself worth going to this play for, as is the one near the end, between the young page Stephen Harper and PM Clark. But Harper is played by a woman.
Namely, there’s a third actor in the cast, and her name is Jamie Konchak. She shines as Flora MacDonald and Clark’s wife Maureen McTeer, but as a very sleazy Brian Mulroney who will go on to win the next PC leadership race and become Canada’s answer to Reagan and Thatcher, she is drag-kinging it, parodying, camping it up. Not for a second did I believe that female-bodied and female-voiced Mulroney is in any way threatening to Clark in their scene of confrontation.
Worse, the final big conversation between the “Steve”, who has the advantage of knowing the future, in particular the future of the united Reform+PC Conservative Party too, and the amused and tolerant Clark just doesn’t work: the passionate monologues about hegemony, Thatcherism, the electoral benefits of charisma-less leaders, Canadian West, and how to hold on to power–none of that really rings through when told by a young woman performing a man. (Plus… the wigs are so bad I wondered if they were purchased at Dollarama)
The two female characters both complain at various points how sexist the Parliament Hill is–and how men’s hands on women’s behinds, including theirs, are not exactly a rare occurrence. That is a fact: the 1979 parliamentary life was still a colossal sausage-fest. Women in public life or adjacent to it via their husbands were being treated badly and patronized. Biggest decisions have been made by men and men only. The single-minded Stephen Harper and the sleazy, threatening Mulroney should have been played by men. The federal power circles were (and probably still are) that claustrophobic. A male body and deep-speaking voice is almost necessary in order to be granted admission. (Crystia Freeland is changing this now, luckily.)
There exist plays without women that are extremely good. I am not a fan of any kind of creation that denies the existence of women but I can’t pretend that such creations can’t be, in a limited number of existing cases, superb. Who would you cross-sex cast in Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross? I don’t think it would work. What about, say, Michael Frayn’s Democracy, the play about Willy Brandt without a single female character? (It’s a good play, I was shocked to discover.) Or what about James Graham’s This House, which has one (1) female character, or his latest drama, Brexit: The Uncivil War, which is largely an affair between factions of men? Or any of the BBC movies on British political life, like The Deal by Peter Morgan, on the deal between Blair and Brown? None of these would have worked I think with women playing characters like Blair and Brandt.
It’s hard to write women into historical political events, innit? because they are, to this day, most often excluded. Casting women in roles of powerful men is kind of like asking us to pretend that this wasn’t the case.
But do see the play though and tell me if I’m wrong. Tickets here. They’re really affordable for arts workers, seniors, students, people willing to rush it (rush it, it’s never sold out); I got an excellent seat for $20.
Due to an impending cold, I had to leave the TSO’s Britten Requiem today barely 20 min in, but I did stay long enough to hear the conductor read a land acknowledgement before saying a few words about the piece we were about to hear.
I have never heard a land acknowledgement from the TSO podium before. Will all visiting TSO conductors now have to rattle it off, be they Japanese, Hispanic, East European or Canadian?
The acknowledgements that we are on “traditional lands” of this or that First Nation or a mix of Nations is spreading among Toronto’s arts organizations faster than you can say “performative wokeness”. It’s already obligatory in the public school system and in many corners of higher education. I haven’t been to many party political events lately, but I expect they’re heard there as well.
I am, on principle, against the mandatory “land acknowledgements” before arts events, because:
it’s an empty gesture that produces a lot of warm and fuzzy feelings in a whole lot of people, but does not improve material conditions of life of a single Native person. I suspect it’s getting so extremely popular because it makes the acknowledger look good while costing them precisely nothing, and meaning as much. Disproportionate poverty among Native Canadians? Inadequate infrastructure such as water supply? Access to education, broadband and medical care? Access to parliamentary representation? Facility of travel? Unsustainable resource extraction next to or on the majority Native territories? Reserve governance? Nevermind all that. What’s more pressing is that we ceremoniously utter certain words about who was first on the “lands”.
it’s historically inaccurate in that glosses over, well, the history of contentious claims over the territory among First Nations themselves. For denser locales with layers of history, like say Toronto, things get complicated. As a York U historian put it in this look at the L.A. by Stephen Marche for TNY, “Haudenosaunee people, some of them, don’t want to recognize that the Anishnabe took control and were here historically. Some Anishnabe people will not recognize that the Haudenosaunee people were here. And both those people sometimes want to erase the Wendat.” We also seem to forget that the this or that nation of the First Nations formed alliances with the French and the British in the course of the country’s settling history, and that the story of the omnipotent colonizer and the powerless colonized is far from neat and linear.
it’s historically, anthropologically and politically inaccurate in that no race, no people, has a pure and primordial relation to the land in this Canada of ours, AD 2018 (nor ever, really; but that’s a longer essay). We are all modern, we are all of 2018. We are all affected by the capital and the global communications and technology and medical developments and the bloody unavoidable Americans. All races (an unscientific concept that the left, it seems, now insists on as much as the right) and all ethnicities jostling north of 49th are equally close or equally far from the “land”. And yes, that means the Inuit too, who hunt seal for sustenance and send representatives to advocate before international bodies and use social media for mobilization. To presume that somehow the Native component of the hodge-podge that is Canada retains some sort of special contact to the land and nature is an ideology that’s had some unfortunate consequences in other historical periods around the world. No blood and belonging, please.
it’s politically naive in that while pretending to address an issue (of cultural inclusion of Native cultures into the Canadiana) it in fact masks many more. How many nations are we, one or multiple? What is the we in the Canadian project? Are its first nations and later waves of nations including today’s very new comers to forever remain separate quantities? What is the chance in hell that some of us who came here in, say, 1999, will ever belong? Will First Nations end up fully developing their own legal and medical systems? Is it possible to imagine this country whole, rather than a bunch of component parts? More than 50 percent of Torontonians were born in another country. I’m sure I’m not the only immigrant who’s ever thought Hang on a sec, if we are now to understand the life of this country as an ongoing settling and colonization, maybe I shouldn’t have come over and joined in the horror show? How do we indeed propose to wed this notion of indigeneity with the waves of immigration into Canada?
I grew up in a communist country where every public event had to include the prominently placed images of the Yugoslav leader Tito and (all or combination of) Marx, Engels and Lenin. There were also concepts that the officials, while speechifying for this or that occasion, had to give a nod to (for ex the people’s liberation struggle, the proletariat, the brotherhood and the unity, and post-1974 the self-government). Now I do love much about my old, now unfortunately non-existent country, and I miss it, but this kind of compelled speech during public events, and the other side of the same coin, the forbidden speech, is not something I miss. Is there any kind of compelled speech circulating about in the high income, free speech country like Canada? Is wearing poppies around Nov 11 it? Can you say no to reading a land acknowledgment–as an individual or as an organization? I sincerely hope my apprehension is baseless and my parallel exaggerated. And that those who’re not entirely sure about this public wokeness ritual that the LA is becoming can choose to skip it.
A whole bunch of us missed the Muse 9 staging of Dominick Argento’s song cycle From the Diary of Virginia Woolf because it took place on the night of the Nightingale premiere at the COC. There’s a chance to see the same cast in a more or less concert version of the piece coming up at the RBA on November 13. I talked with the director Anna Theodosakis (pictured above) about what the Muse 9 Productions is, and how they ended up working on this particular piece. She’s one of the bright young things in Toronto’s opera world that give me great hope. Read the profile here.
Another new thing that piqued my interest, as you’ll see in the Wholenote article, is the recently created song series The Linden Project, based in Hamilton. Singer-spouses Julie and Jeremy Ludwig have announced the inaugural two-concert series, and have expansion plans and some really good ideas about the presentation and *purpose* of song recitals. The first concert took place earlier in the month, the second one is booked for early spring.
And here are my Quick Picks for November. The endemic Toronto problem of people not publicizing (deciding on) the program until close to the performance day persists, so I’m not sure what’s going to be heard in some of these, but the blurb copy sounds intriguing enough.