"La Maja de Kansas " -El Pais

(Photo: Ken Howard; Metropolitan Opera)

8 down, 2 more to go. Is it July, yet? I’m getting there! Someone told me a few weeks ago that there was definitely a light shining brilliantly at the end of this long, concentrated tunnel, and while I still may not actually see it’s welcome ray of relief, I sense the darkness is somehow giving way slowly, but SURELY! I’m counting on it. Now, because my seat on the train is facing backwards, lending itself towards a sense of nostalgia, let’s work that way as well:

Last night I stood in front of a near-capacity crowd in Madrid singing the great (and I do mean GREAT) songs of their Masters, selling myself as a “Maja dolorosa”, and it was quite nearly one of the most intimidating things I have ever attempted! I knew it was quite an astute audience, and a simple caricature of my “idea of a Spaniard” just wouldn’t cut it here (nor anywhere, of course!). I did trust very much in my passion for this music and in my feeling for it, but knowing I was daring to walk in the hallowed grounds of Teresa Berganza and Victoria de los Angeles (one of my true idols), hesitation gripped my throat just a bit in wondering if they would get any of the words or not, if they would find my presentation genuine, and if they would be accepting of my contribution to ‘their’ music. Nerves crept into my head a bit as I inverted the odd phrase here and there, inventing several words that I can only pray did not have a ring of “Taco Bell” about them, but overall I did my best to embrace every syllable and evocative emotion. The result? I can’t say that it was my most carefree performance to date, but I gave it everything I had, and throughout the evening they gave me a reception muy caliente, calling for 3 encores in the end. Few “Brava’s” have meant as much to me as those I heard after the de Falla and Montsalvatge pieces – truly, words to be cherished!

Previous to Madrid, it has been quite a dense and fulfilling tour. It was most special to sing a recital in Paris; as I said during the concert, I have always considered Paris my “European home”, as it was here that I really got my big breaks on the operatic stage, and I have had the opportunity to sing so many varied and rewarding projects there. The time had come to sing a recital for this warm public, and seeing so many friends and longtime supporters attend was such a gift to me.

Amsterdam was such a thrill, I cannot say. (But, naturally, I shall try!) The recital hall there must truly be one of the best (if not the greatest) in the world: it pulsates with a profound history and significance that cannot be feigned, and from the walls the unmistakable sense of a rich and noble legacy bleeds through each nook and cranny. I found myself overwhelmed with tears as privately I took my 30 minutes to warm up and feel out the space: to find yourself completely alone at a piano, ready to make music in such a hallowed space is an experience never to be taken for granted and always to be cherished. Wow. And that was even before the public arrived! Happily, they welcomed me with the warmest of Dutch arms and I was reminded once again of what a distinctive, extraordinary city Amsterdam is!


(The Concertgebouw)

What can possibly be said about the experience of singing on the stage of the Wigmore Hall in fair London Town? Yes, the hall is magnificent, if only for that grand dome alone; however, it is certainly the audience that furnishes the air of magic and possibility. Such a thing can never be manufactured and certainly it is rare, for they engage so directly in the performance, that a true duet is performed between artist and listener. The silent, electric hush that settles over the hall when the quietest passage is being sung intoxicates me beyond words. I think I told them I felt as if I was having a mad love affair with them – don’t tell my husband!


(The famed "Wigmore Hall Dome", cradled high above the stage, working it's accoustical magic)

Speaking of my husband, let’s talk about Moscow! Maestro Leonardo Vordoni and I made our debut concert together as the “Maestro and Mezzo Show” on April 3 in Moscow. I had chills as my plane touched down, for the thought that I could pass freely into Moscow and perform for this eager public in what was once a cold war enemy to my country dumbfounded me. What an experience to see such a colossal change in our lifetime. Now as I’ve said before, I try not to make this journal too weighted with things personal, as there is rightly another diary for that; however I cannot help but brag about what a fabulous job my husband did bringing Handel, Mozart and Rossini to a Russian Orchestra, eliciting them to play with real style and life. I know I’m duly biased, however, he was beautiful to watch and to make music with. It just flowed out of him. We made the very easy and singular decision early on that we would not entwine our professional and private lives more than we ever felt comfortable doing, and as a young conductor, it is the only option for him to start his career completely on his own and not ‘via’ my career (which is one of the gazillion reasons of why I love him!), however, this was a golden opportunity on which to capitalize and I’m so happy we did. I was just so very proud of him, and found him a brilliant conductor to make music with. Bravo, Amore Mio!!!


(Celebrating in Red Square -- what beautiful thing to be able to do!)

And finally, my bid for the Academy Award (eh hem!): As I flew home HIGH as the Russian Space Station from the final performance of Rosina at the MET, transmitted live across the world via radio and screen, I knew I should have sat down then and there to chronicle the events of the day; but as I said, I was simply too high. Melancholy actually set in not too long after the final cut-off, for it was hard not to think: “Well, that’s it then. That’s as good as it will ever get!” But I absolutely choose not to think in that direction. Instead, I choose to celebrate every single thing that brought me to that moment in time, and as fate would have it, most of those ‘things’ had purchased tickets to watch the show! I made a few phone calls as I was getting into makeup (my brother was pulling into the parking lot of the packed theater in Seattle, a sister was tailgating with girlfriends in KC, a friend was running late in Houston, and a husband, almost more nervous than I was gave me the pep talk of a life), but those nerves I felt were quickly settled by knowing that so many supporters were cheering us on from every corner imaginable. The buzz backstage was off the charts, as every cog in the MET wheel was set on hyper-alert, and we singers were all doing our best to not let the nips and tucks, notes and tweaks, cameras, microphones and overall frenetic chaos infiltrate our concentration.


(with John Relyea, Juan Diego Florez, and Peter Mattei)

From the opening chords of the overture I can usually tell what kind of show it is going to be, and I knew right from the start of this particular trip to Seville that everyone would be on top form, leaving nothing back in the dressing room. It was thrilling to watch my colleagues soar with such prowess, to feel the exhilarating energy from the audience pervade the theater, and to be so completely into the story and into the moment that the ubiquitous presence of those cameras and boom mikes seemed to simply melt away. Magic ensued. The fact that I was performing for so many people in such a larger-than-life way felt, on the one hand, completely natural, and on the other hand, beyond the wildest dream I could have ever dared to visualize. How beautiful to be given a moment such as that: one that united so many of my loved ones across so many miles, one which challenged me as a performer as never before, and one that will live in my memory for so many years to come. Profound gratitude is the only way to describe what I feel.

So, my train is nearly pulling into the land of the exhilarating Jota and of the inspired painter, Goya, and my once invincible laptop battery is drained, so it must be time to say adios. Not only Zaragoza calls, but also, alas, still begging for my attention is that pesky Octavian, not to mention a looming tax deadline (the extension has now become a celebrated ritual!), and the myriad other things that tend to eternally hover on my to-do list! I best get right to it, as I think it’s the only way to witness that burning, brilliant light at the end of this tunnel first hand – I sure hope it was worth waiting for!
Besos!

"Dear March, come in"

Is it July, yet? How about May? How can it ONLY be the start of March? (However, having said that, thank GOD it’s only the start of March!) I must apologize to all of New York City, for I fear that the high, lusty, gusty winds we're experiencing are strictly the fault of this whirlwind traveling vocalist. Once I catch my breath here, I'm sure they’ll die down! At the close of Saturday night's recital at the thrilling (and I DO mean THRILLING) Spivey Hall in Atlanta, Georgia, I turned to the poor guy opening and closing the stage door for us and nearly screamed, "Remind me NEVER to program 4 recitals in 7 days EVER again!" To which he looked at me quite sheepishly as if to say, "Um. OK. Don’t do that again."

Now mind you, I’m the very first person in line to say that the singer's schedule, repertoire, career, etc. are no one's responsibility but their own. It's far too easy to blame everyone in the world before looking at yourself for answers. So naturally, I'm the one holding the buck for the scheduling of this tour. But starting out earlier meant less time at home, and there wasn't one venue I wanted to omit; so I 'squeezed' the timing a bit. I do have the sensation that I 'squeezed' rather successfully, but I learned a valuable lesson: too much squeezing of the calendar is a dangerous thing if one values their vocal and mental health. Lesson dutifully learned.


(The ice storm cometh!)

With that tired disclaimer on the record, I want to shout from the rooftops that I've had the most extraordinary time with the first part of this tour! (After a run of Rosina’s at the MET, I'll revisit the program in six cities throughout Europe, and I can't WAIT to get back to it.) I began dubbing it the "Power Outage Tour", because at the start in Iowa, we were drenched in hours of freezing rain, followed by inches upon inches of falling snow, all of which led to power failures throughout the entire campus and town. The concert organizers galvanized their resources and gathered countless candles to prepare for the inevitable candlelight concert. Sadly, the power came back on just in time for the program, for I would have loved to have had the experience of singing the program surrounded by burning wicks and dripping wax. Happily, I’m sure the audience was much more comfortable not listening to a vibrato made all too quick from chattering teeth! It was a glorious way to kick off the tour, due to the fervent students and faculty there at Grinnell College.

Washington, DC was next, as I was guest on the prestigious Vocal Arts Society Series. What a warm, knowledgeable, enthusiastic audience. It's one of the only active series in the US that programs strictly vocalists, and I'm thrilled to see their gallant efforts paid off with a sold-out audience jumping to their feet. It also astonished me to feel how much a single program can grow from one concert to the next. I could feel an enormous leap in confidence and command between the two inaugural concerts, solidifying my strong belief for singers to repeat, repeat, and repeat. (And then, yes, repeat it once again.) On a personal note, the beautiful Evelyn Lear, a legendary American soprano and teacher, was in attendance and went out of her way to speak with me at length. She lost her husband last fall, a legendary man in his own right, Thomas Stewart, and both were very supportive and influential in my early years of training in Houston. I was deeply touched by the passion and fortitude she exuded. My heart goes out to her for her loss, and my gratitude is great for her tenacity and directness. I hope all 'young' singers get the chance to talk with some of the legends along the way; I know we are the future and we are moving forward in exciting ways, but we also work in an art form that must never lose the precious links to the past. It is yet another tightrope to walk.


How does one get to Carnegie Hall? Well, I took a taxi. (And I'll admit it: I LOVED saying to the driver, "56th and 7th Avenue, please. That's Carnegie Hall. The artist's entrance, please!") I am quite certain that if my career goes another 10 years or so, I'll still be like a little girl on Christmas morning thinking, "I'm at CARNEGIE HALL!" It is a dream come true, and I'll never pretend otherwise. That having been said, I felt as if I belonged there, and when it came time to warm up and make my entrance, I was there to sing. Weill Hall is the 'small hall', (and yes, you can believe that I vowed to return to the bigger hall next time!), and it dawned on me very quickly that it would be a VERY exposed place to sing – meaning there was no room for error. Looking out into the hall I could see and recognize many faces, knowing all the time that they could hear every single rasp or cheated breath because of the proximity of the seats and the somewhat dry acoustic. That's a most disconcerting feeling for a singer. I think most of us prefer some 'cushion' between the audience and us, either of space, or reverb, or blinding lights. It's astonishing how much more naked you feel in a space like that, both physically and vocally. However, going back a few journal entries, when I spoke about how aiming to be 'right' for an artist is deadly, I quickly took mental hold of my nerves and just went for it. Again, I felt we took another colossal step forward in the artistic content of the program, and that is a tremendous feeling as an artist – knowing that growth is transpiring. The celebration across the street afterwards with my dear friends was the delicious icing on the cake.

By this time in the 'tour', I was exhausted. It's an emotional exhaustion more than anything, but surely the traveling every other day contributes to the rubberband-y feeling in your muscles! But there was one more recital to get through, and I couldn't wait, for everyone in the business was warning me, "You just wait until you get to Spivey Hall. Just WAIT!" Well, the wait was worth it, as it's quite truly a marvel. Maybe it seats 400 people? It's only 15 years old, and yet it already had the feeling of history about it. Maybe it's the hundreds and hundreds of photos of all the great musicians of the past 15 years that drown the hallways with their veneers and strings, or maybe it's just that unspoken magic that ignites itself in the odd, rare hall, but I sensed it immediately. I was also moved to read that the legend himself, Robert Shaw, gave the dedication when the hall opened. ("Spivey Hall is to music what light is to painting," he said.) If my Father had to name one musician that was his all-time favorite, it surely was Maestro Robert Shaw. His recordings of all the great choral music served to announce the Christmas Season for my family (and still does to this day), was played at my Father's funeral, introduced me to the glories of Bach and the soul of the spirituals, haunted me with so many of the great Requiems, and is on the most-played playlist on my ipod. He is the pinnacle of musical genius for me. And here I was in what was more or less 'his' hall. I was honored, to say the very least.


(A sigh of relief shared with Leo, as the first leg of the tour finished up!)

My head is still spinning with thoughts from the past week; so much music is still running rampant and unleashed through my mind with thoughts of what I could do better, how I can find better pacing or make a greater impact, and I’m wondering how it is that music can continue to speak to you with greater force and color when you simply continue to sing the same notes and words over and over again. This must be the magical power of music. The other element that is so clear to me is that the recital platform is perhaps the single, greatest teacher for a singer. You simply cannot fake it. Surely it can be the most intimidating as well, but I feel as if I have learned so much from these four evenings of music. I'm finding that the less I ask to receive from an audience, ("Did you like me?" "Did I sound ok?" "Do you think I'm OK as a singer…as a person?"), the more free I am to simply give.

Coming off the cloud of recital-land, today was the 'first day of school', as we singers sometimes lovingly refer to the first day of rehearsal on a new show. It does sum up the feeling quite well, as you're meeting a whole new class of people, as well as catching up with those you haven't seen for a few productions. It’s wonderful. I found out that for my role debut of Rosina at the Metropolitan Opera, I will see NEITHER the stage NOR the orchestra before my opening night. Gulp. (Insert "singing requires a thick skin" analogy here!) I'm just thrilled that Rosina is a role I know backwards and forwards and that I'm doing it with a world-class cast that I know and adore. As incredibly nerve-wracking as this could be, and while I'm sure the ensemble may have a few intriguing moments, I guarantee that it will be an EXHILARATING night: personally I think an opera like Barbiere benefits from excitement like that, when the singers are on the very tips of their toes, alert and full of anticipation. Naturally I would love a full run-thru in costume with orchestra, etc, but I'm jumping into this with everything I have: it is a true honor to sing Rosina at the Metropolitan Opera and I plan on enjoying every electrifying moment, hiccups and all!

There. You see? If it were May already, I'd be missing out on all that excitement. Happy March, everyone!
"There came a wind like a bugle…"

An excursion to "Venice" via Wigmore Hall

If anyone has Martha Stewart’s private email address, could you please send it immediately? I desperately need her expert advice on how to pack into 2 suitcases (limit 25 kilos per each, thank you very much) a wardrobe and supplies for 4 months abroad, traveling from New York in the dead of winter, straight through to Barcelona in the almost full glory of summer, and including gowns for 3 different types of concerts, scores for 4 different operas, and a stack of copied music for a full recording as well as a separate recital. Martha? Anyone? I would also love to throw in just one or two of the novels I’ve been dying to get into. But, each one of those? That’s another half a kilo! Ouch. Help.

Well, I have 3 full days to address that problem when I get home, which gives me the time now to reflect on what has been a truly amazing period in London. I wrote last time of how much I adored working with “Mosh & Posh”, as they are affectionately referred to, and what a beautiful environment the Royal Opera house maintains, making it a true joy to sing there, so I won’t drivel on about it anymore. The one thing that came to my mind as I was finishing the run there is how valuable it is, I’m discovering, to sing a role over and over. If you had asked me how well I knew the role of Rosina after my Paris debut 4 years ago, I would have said “incredibly well. Inside and out.” And it would have been right to a certain degree. But there really is no substituting living in the shoes of a character over and over, and presenting it in vastly different approaches. (Especially when the shoes are such a fabulous fuchsia!) I find that now I have a much larger kaleidoscope of colors to choose from as Rosina, and those are colors that I have found simply by singing her in so many performances.

I sometimes am asked if I get bored singing this opera. The honest truth is that I do not, but that’s for several different reasons: first, I sing a wide variety of repertoire, so to return to Rosina feels like popping open a bottle of very fine champagne. Do you ever get tired of a great glass of bubbly? Perhaps only if you had it every night of the week, but because I can go sing Elisabetta in Maria Stuarda, and then maybe Sesto in Clemenza, there is a sense of joy to return to the impetuous Rosina. I am happy to say I still welcome it. The other reason is that I feel I grow with her through each performance. I find new things, try different phrasing, play against different casts (which can change my interpretation drastically, by the way!) and it feels wonderful to stand in front of an audience completely confident in this character. I truly think that is one of the most valuable lessons we ‘younger’ singers can take from the ‘golden age’ ones: to value the importance of role repetition. Call me a convert.

The other momentous event for me in London was my Wigmore Hall recital on Monday. It was my 3rd time singing on that breathtaking stage. The first time was as part of the Inaugural Song Competition back in 1997. (Not to repeat the same story over and over, but this was the competition where the head judge told me, rather matter-of-factly, that (and I’m quoting here)

“We just felt you had nothing to offer as an artist.”

Yes. That one hurt. But it taught me a lot, as I’ve said before, and I will certainly never forget it – it fuels me to always be certain I HAVE something to say, and that I LET myself offer it freely. But, I’m digressing.

The second time was for an evening recital just over 2 years ago. I was a complete unknown here in London then, and the fact that they sold any tickets at all was a bit of a miracle. However, it ended up being one of those truly memorable evenings on the stage, and the sense of returning to that incredible venue feeling a bit vindicated from the now infamous comment, well I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel damn good!

And so this past Monday I found myself in that same, familiar groove of that gorgeous Steinway, under the hallowed blue and gold dome, and this time, it was a complete sell-out. Finally I was able to bring out a program I had been formulating in my head for some time, and it felt simply marvelous to finally ‘give birth’ to it. It was an all-Venetian program, and it very nearly made me feel that amazing, hazy light of Venice on my face as if I were standing on a bridge overlooking the Grand Canal! The beautiful thing, again, thanks to technology, as that my parents woke up early, and while in their pajamas sipping their morning coffee, were able to tune into the live internet broadcast, and I was able to sing for them directly from the Wigmore Dome to the Flaherty kitchen table. How incredible!

I was reminded again in a very passionate way of how much I love to sing a recital. It’s such a challenge to stand there completely alone and deliver a song simply as yourself – no costumes, no scenery, no colleagues to play off of, and no time to recover. There is nothing to rely on but yourself and the music. How glorious! And how very SCARY! In the first of the Reynaldo Hahn songs I sang (which are all strophic) I’m not at all sure that I sang any of the right words, but I kept going and still tried to deliver the ‘feeling’ of the piece as best I could. But when that happens, the panic that sets in as a performer is INDESCRIBABLE! It feels as if one second of time becomes an HOUR, and that you’ll never find your way out of the dark tunnel. But we have to continue to perform as if everything is exactly as it should be – and then we have to pick up and go on to the next song! It really is the most vulnerable feeling. But I managed to get back on track and to genuinely enjoy every Venetian moment of it.

One special note: I will never forget during the first encore (Cara Speme), seeing numerous people wiping tears from their eyes. I only caught it peripherally, but it was unmistakable, and I wish I could describe the feeling of what it is like as a singer to FEEL that you are touching the audience. I wrote a few, journals ago, about the ‘dialogue’ between the stage and the public that I rely upon so much as a singer – I need the feedback of the audience to let me know that I’m reaching you. And in this case, it moved me to tears and I thank everyone there for being so involved in the journey with me. I will never forget it.


So now I have to do the hard part, which is say goodbye to a period that has been very special and remarkable for me; goodbye to a fabulous city, to great friends, a wonderful public, and to wonderful memories. I have to pack all of those up as well and stow them safely away. Happily they don’t take up much room, or add too many kilos, but I’d never travel without each of them.

(Photos: The breathtaking "Wigmore Dome", which envelopes and caresses the sound from the Wigmore Stage giving it the most sublime acoustic; the equally famous Savoy Hotel, where a cold bottle of Champagne was popped at the end of the recital in celebration!)

Gelato, Rossini, and Rollercoasters

What a whirlwind this summer has been. My head is still spinning with the range of emotions and experiences I have had, which may account for my lack of writing for this journal. I don't intend to make a habit of being so absent! In short, this summer has been a tiny capsule of what life as a singer can be: a fast and furious ride on a roller coaster which relishes in whipping you around unseen curves, transporting you into the heavens and then mercilessly plunging you into those scream-inducing drops. At the time you may think your stomach will never make it through the final turn, but when it finally lets you rest, you step off, smile and say, "That was amazing, can we go again?"

I've realized during this summer that one of the big challenges for singers is that our environment is constantly changing. Our "office" changes every 6 weeks or so, our co-workers and bosses are never the same combination, and certainly our "home" is a series of apartments that we pray will be clean, mildly convenient, and if there is a wine opener on hand, that's strictly a bonus! We are not allowed the luxury of putting down roots, of settling in, and if we do, that's the precise moment it's time to pack up and move on. That is the very reason we have to work so hard at keeping the roots within us very strong and centered, because there will be a lot of things that come along and try to knock you off your center.


This summer I have had several challenges thrown at me, which I must say, has made the successes I've been given all the more sweeter. When you have a sick parent in this business, you're not granted the luxury of being by their side. You're left to the comfort of email updates and lots of praying that the stay in the hospital will be shorter this time. When you have the birth of a new niece (or in my case, the homecoming of a beautiful, strong-willed, joyful little angel from China!), you're left to the magic of digital pictures emailed to you in the middle of the night to try and decipher all there is to know about this new family member. When you receive professional news about another singer being awarded a job you think you're perfect for, without much more explanation other than "well, you see, they are on the 'star-track'," you have to digest that, put on your game face, and go out and perform as though your heart wasn't just broken! When you are collaborating with people who have a very different vision of your craft than you do, you have to find the way to accompish their vision while not compromising yours. When you encounter egos that seem to wipe out everything in their path, you have to find a way to still be professional, keep your dignity, and hold your ground. When your partner is miles and miles away, and that is the one and only shoulder you need to cry on, you have to put on your game face, dig down very deep, and re-learn WHY it is that we tolerate this lifestyle. Why is it important that I continue to live with such distance from the people I love, the people who need me, and the people that I need, to go out and sing "Una Voce poco fa" one more time?

I'll tell you why. Yesterday I performed a recital at the Rossini Opera Theater. It was a short recital, but quite compact in its intensity, I have to say. I only sang 3 pieces (Haydn, Handel and Rossini), and rather quickly, they seemed to win over the crowd, I'm happy to say. (I'm happy to say that, because I will never take it for granted anyone will ever applaud something I do -- I feel I need to earn that with each phrase that I sing.) The full house gave me quite an ovation, which lifted me up more than I can say. To sing Rossini for a group of people who are passionate about it (the same can be said for the performances of Barbiere which are going on at the same time here), I feel as if every nuance I do, every musical gesture, every expression is deeply and sincerely appreciated. This makes the hours of intense rehearsal and concentration really feel as if they have paid off. But to answer the question above, it was talking to the people afterwards that truly made me feel grateful that I have the opportunity to perform for them. I had people say they had travelled from Paris to hear me, others that took in all my performances in Milan and now here in Pesaro as well. And then there was the wonderful English gentleman who must have waited an entire hour to tell me he had heard me in a competition in London back in 1997, and although I hadn't made it to the finals, he pegged me then to do great things. It seems as though he took great satisfaction in seeing his words come to fruition. (I was also happy to tell him that the judges in that competition did NOT, in fact, peg me for great things, saying that in their expert opinion, I "had nothing to offer as an artist". That's my favorite quote EVER!)


My point of all of this, is that when I can see that people have been lifted up by a performance, for whatever reason, THIS is the reward that makes the distance and the difficulty worth it. I may sound like a corny girl from Kansas (wait a minute...I suppose I AM a corny girl from Kansas!), BUT, I think there is so much squallor and anger and fear and trepidation and worry in this world, that if I can carve out a tiny corner of beauty amongst the ugliness, and if a few people can step into that corner and experience what ALL humanity is capable of for a few precious minutes, well, I'll take the distance and the difficulty and the isolation, and I'll carry on happily for as long as I can. I truly do not mean to sound grandiose about this, instead, I want only to demonstrate that perhaps from stage we seem effortless and glamorous and privileged beyond belief, on the occasional occasion I can feel those things, but it is also a lot of sacrifice and work to sing that opening line "Una voce poco fa...". I truly feel privileged that I get such an opportunity.

Crash. (That is me getting off my soapbox.) Now, a few fun memories and thrills of this time in Pesaro:

*Singing with such an extraordinary cast. Someone told me the radio announcers during our live broadcast said something along the lines of (don't sue me if I'm misquoting!): "this is most assuredly the best Barbiere cast in recent history, possibly even surpassing the great Abbado recording!". Well, I'm the first one to recognize that surely everyone will have their own opinion about a statement like that, but I'm happy to relish in it for a moment or two! Sincerely, it is an extraordinary cast, and I am truly honored to stand alongside each and every one of them.
*Gelato. Pistacchio, banana, mela verde, fragola. Is there anything better?
*All the propietors here in Pesaro. As part of the festival, they really welcome the singers in such a warm and sincere way. The wonderful Spanish lady at Cartuccio Leo... what a fabulous Insalata di mare... The shy and wonderfully friendly host at Bar Rossini... Lorenzo at Bristolino!... the food is ENTIRELY too delicious... The Napoletani Pizza family of Donna Amalia...best pizza in the world...And the lovely husband and wife team who run the Boa Bar where I read email every day, always with my Diet Coke ready for me! I feel very much a part of the family here, which means the world to me.
*The public here...they adore Rossini, and they have welcomed me with the most open of arms. I am more grateful than I can say.
*Fans. Not the clapping kind, but the air-blowing kind. I'd be melted were it not for both the motorized kind, and the hand held kind, usually made out of folded paper notes.
*My family and friends who have kept my spirit up this summer. I love you all very deeply.

Well, there is one VERY good reason for me to write here more often, and that is so that the entries can be a bit shorter! If you've made it this far, my hat is off to you. Thank you for reading me, for tolerating my tirades a bit, and I'll see you next time!

(Photos: With Juan Diego Florez, rehearsing with Luca Ronconi his new production of Barbiere di Siviglia for Pesaro; with David Zobel, my brilliant pianist, after our recital;