London-town, endless rain, and facebooking around the planet...

Remember how I said the sun was back out? I lied. That sentence was written in a freak moment in which I looked out the window and happened to see light, and promptly turned back to the screen, thereby missing the sun's rapid escape into the nebulous abyss...

Only kidding. But it rains a lot here! No more than it does in London, I am sure, which is my next destination -- I leave Saturday afternoon for a 5-day trip. Apart from my audition at the Royal Academy, I'll be auditioning for the residencies at the Aix-en-Provence festival and hopefully having a voice lesson, if I can get the scheduling to work out. Some cultural highlights? Well, a staged Messiah at the ENO; the LSO doing a concert performance of Otello; Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park; an Auerbach exhibit at the Courtald Gallery; all kinds of curry on Brick Lane; and let's not forget that Britain's museums and galleries are FREE.
I am also pleased to be able to meet up with some good friends from UWO and one I made earlier on my sojourn here, at an audition. I'll be staying with an old friend from a summer program; how wonderful that I can rely on the people I have met over the years. They are still accessible thanks to things like Facebook.

Let's face it -- Facebook and other networking sites have brought global communication to a new level. I am finding Facebook an extremely useful tool, and it's actually enhancing my experience by allowing me to share my experiences in practically real time with people at home, keep in touch with friends I meet in passing on my travels and keep track of where everyone is. I am currently considering an extended trip through Germany, Switzerland and maybe France and for sure the south of Italy; as I look at the possibilities I realize how many people I actually know here and how many couches I could potentially surf, and how many people I have connected with briefly that I may have never seen again, but now have the chance to develop relationships with. I would hope to be able to offer the same hospitality to them and to others when I am settled into a place.

There are networks such as couchsurfing.org that are set up specifically for connection-hungry people. The main function is to set up adventurous spirits on the move with couches to crash on, complete with a host, where there is ideally some level of mutual interest and a potential friendship that could develop, or just a few days of excellent company and hopefully some stuff learned; there is also an option of meeting someone in your own city, or the city you happen to be in, for coffee or a drink, to do a language exchange or discuss your mutual passion for yoga, or pork dishes, or whatever, or show each other around to your favourite restaurants and art galleries.. the list goes on, but the interesting thing here is that we don't just have sites for keeping in touch anymore, we have sites for facilitating meetings with new people as well. Look at internet dating -- still has a huge stigma attached, but lots of people are taking advantage and quite happy with their results. These sites simply widen our pool of possibilities. It is such a paradox that in a world of infinite possibilities we are increasingly limited by our daily activity: commute, work at computer, send text messages, interact via IPhone, watch Tivo. Life is easier every day, but more solitary.

It won't be long now before I leave Milano. A few trips planned -- two to London and a hiking weekend in Cinque Terre -- and then a week in Florence and Rome with my mom, and a short week after that, I move out. I'll miss it, but it's time, I think.
It's been difficult for me to make friends here. I am hoping that a little couch surfing with friends and couchsurfing with fellow couchsurfers will enrich my final month here in Europe. I am still waiting on audition dates but once they start to come in, the month will take shape.

In the meantime...

Monday, Monday..

The sun is back out in Milano and it's time for another packed week. I'm getting ready for auditions in London, and taking in some top-notch music here in the city. This week is a Schubert recital by Matthias Goerne and possibly some symphonic music and a piano recital tonight; we'll see what we can fit in! Things at La Scala have quieted down, but let me review the happenings thus far.

The 2008/2009 season is officially over, having closed with a plaster-me-to-the-wall performance of Verdi's Requiem, as I said, with Jonas Kaufmann, Barbara Frittoli, Sonia Gassani, and Rene Pape, and Daniel Barenboim conducting (from memory. yeah.. yeah.. I know). And what a way to end it! I feel very lucky to have witnessed the tail end of the season here, as the artistry has been of very high calibre, and I've gotten to see some very big names on the stage and on the podium.

Some of the highlights I've spoken about already; Diana Damrau gave a solo recital with harp early in September, and Olga Borodina graced the stage with a fabulous pianist and they gave a very cohesive, sensitive programme of Russian art song. Both divas really brought it, and it's obvious why they were asked to perform solo recitals: Milano loves them. They each did 4 or 5 encores and we would have definitely stayed for more.

Let's not forget the fantastic performance given by Pollini and Boulez or the programme of Russian symphonic music with Pappano on the podium. This concert was fantastic! A young cellist by the name of Han-Na Chang played Shostakovich's 1st concerto with great panache. Out came this little, self-effacing china doll in a beautiful floor-sweeping emerald evening gown. She was delicate and gracious, and forced everyone on stage to bow before she would even acknowledge the audience's applause. Then she sat down and proceeded to saw away at her cello with more force and power, and CHOPS, than you would have ever expected this delicate little thing to possess! I remember the first time I heard this concerto -- it was Thomas Wiebe. I have to say she gave him a run for his money. She was fantastic -- and at the end, she stood up and became the sweet little thing she was before, embarrassed by all the attention. It was like a musical beast took her over for the duration of her performance! The orchestra went on to play Rachmaninoff's second symphony and absolutely brought the house down. The only thing that ruined it for me was the questionably perfumed man beside me following the score, and turning the pages as noisily as possible. But that was only a little blip on the radar.
Finally, Emanuele Arciuli gave that performance of solo piano music that I spoke about earlier this month. It was part of a festival to commemmorate Toru Takemitsu (there is a very strong rapport between the cultural ministries of Milano and Japan, and this year there has been a good deal of cultural exchange. There are some art exhibits I will speak about). He played a great variety of new and well-loved music, and it was nice to hear a solo piano recital in a hall as acoustically friendly as La Scala.

It really is a great hall. It is circular and not that big; the ceiling has a slight dome. In the second gallery, the topmost seats, you are not any farther from the stage than the back of the orchestra, because the seats are stacked vertically with no backwards graduation, in classic opera-house style. I have posted some pictures in a previous post. My friend Dan said that the sound in the hall was as close as he has ever heard to recording quality, and I think he's right: the acoustic provides a very intimate experience of the sound, as if it were right by your ear, or in your headphones. I must say the Verdi Requiem was a very intense piece of music to experience in this manner! It sounded like the singers were sitting all around me. Their consonants reverberated with extreme force.

The first opera I saw here was Orfeo, which did not thrill me; the design was provocative but the music itself fair to middling. There were not too many voices that excited me, save Orfeo himself, and even then the voice was interesting and not beautiful; however, the futuristic angular costuming and the blackface really got my attention.

Next up was Idomeneo, with Patrizia Ciofi as Ilia, someone I think is overlooked in the wider opera comunity. She is well-loved in Italy, and works often at La Scala; she is a consummate artist, with a beautiful, warm lyric voice, great acting chops, and she's hot. She does Mozart with a great deal of finesse. Her Susanna on the Concerto Cologne recording of Nozze di Figaro with Rene Jacobs is fantastic. I first got to know her through her Giulietta in this production of I Capuletti ed i Montecchi. Blew me away!!!
The production itself was a revival, I think; they have done Idomeneo here on a few occasions, notably in 2005 after the departure of Muti for the inauguration of the season.

The inauguration of the season is a huge deal in Milan; it happens every year on December 7, a Milanese holiday to commemmorate the city's patron saint, Sant'Ambrogio. The crème de la crème turns up in full evening wear and everyone schmoozes. THe production is usually a big deal with tons of famous people. This year, it's Carmen with Jonas Kaufmann as Don José and our VERY OWN Michèle Losier as Frasquita!!!!! How exciting is that!

Though I'll be gone before Joyce di Donato comes to play Rosina in Barber of Seville, I've still been able to see -- and will be able to see -- a good deal of the highlights from this season. How wonderful to spend time in a city with an opera house the calibre of La Scala! I am spoiled, especially since next week I'll be in London -- I'll be able to see Turandot and a staged Messiah at the ENO, and Der Rosenkavalier at the Royal Opera. Nothing beats a few months in Europe for your opera education!

Since it's Saturday, and noone should have to think too hard on the weekends -- and I've been doing a lot of thinking lately -- I thought I'd make you a silly post to divert you and me as well.

Last night I passed giant purple snails in Piazza della Scala. As I can never turn down a photo op with a ridiculously oversized creature I naturally stopped and enlisted some hapless tourist to take me a picture; it didn't turn out so well, but you can see the snails very clearly documented in my Picasa album, linked on the right.

It got me thinking... when have I EVER turned down a photo op with a ridiculously oversized creature, silly statue, nice statue, cardboard cutout ... I had a nice trip down memory lane, and without further ado, the result I give to you now: the Many Blasphemies committed unto Serious Art by Danielle, or, Danielle with snails and other stuff.



Edmonton, AB




Chicago, Illinois... to be fair, Olivia was helping with this one.




Winter Park, Florida




Toronto, ON




Milano, Italy




Milano, Italy

Libera me domine di morte aeterna

I have had a busy few weeks here in Milano, balancing teaching and singing, trying to maintain a social life and still get out and sightsee a bit; it's oput a bit of a strain on me, even though I am no busier than I would have been in Toronto; in fact, I am probably the least busy I have been since grade nine. Anyway, this sudden activity has helped me come to a few important realizations. Sometimes pressure can force perspective, can't it?

1. Even if I turn 35 or 40 and still am nowhere near a career, or got rejected by every single company and school I ever auditioned for, or got nodes and couldn't sing, or was the victim of some terrible accident in which my larynx was damaged and I lost my voice forever and completely, I still cannot imagine being so sad or so embittered not to find it in me to love music and especially vocal music. Yes, I am a diehard opera lover, a buff, a theatre rat; I collect paraphernelia, I internet-stalk my favourite singers, I hang out at the stage door, I am a compulsive opera youtuber. Guilty as charged.
I think this is helping me come to a more general realization, however, or more specifically, a definition: "passion" needs to encompass even the inability to participate fully in the object of the passion, and is also characterized by a lack of fear of the possibility that this may happen. I have described my passion for opera as such. Many people say they would still love their spouse if he or she cheated, or was paralyzed in a car accident, or had a strange personality disorder. Passion is a til-death-do-us-part thing; this is the type of passion you need, I think, for a career as a performer, and I am starting to realize the magnitude and reality of this. Musicians, ask yourselves: Would I still read Classical Music and listen to the BBC and go to the concert hall and the opera house and genuinely be happy for my colleagues' successes and clap happily and enjoy the music if the ability to play my instrument was taken away from me forever?

2. Practice is for real. Practice does make perfect. My teachers were not kidding. The only route to improvement and success is hard work. If there is no reason you shouldn't be able to sing a cadenza, but it's just not sitting right, it's not that it doesn't "fit your voice". You just haven't sung it enough times yet. Maybe 287 is the magic number. You don't know until you've reached 288. It may take weeks; that is not unheard of. I am a hard worker, but I think I finally get exactly how hard I need to work to make one miniscule improvement. There is no shortcut.

I've been doing some thinking as a result of these realizations, and concluded that in light of them, I need to make some changes. For the past little while, I haven't been acting like an opera singer who teaches English to make money, I've been an English teacher who also sings. That's fine, because it taught me exactly how I feel at this point in my life about the prospect of another career path. I am sure you can guess how that is. It is within my control and my control only how much or how little I sing -- and this is the biggest realization of all: I could get rejected from every single organization I ever applied to, and still sing two or three hours a day if I wanted. I shouldn't need a reason to practice or to make music. The motivation needs to come from within; this is not something you can make into a goal-oriented thing.


I saw Verdi's Requiem tonight at La Scala, with Daniel Barenboim on the podium (with no score) and Barbara Frittoli, Sonja Gassani, Jonas Kaufmann, and Rene Pape. I was lucky enough to have an incredible first-row seat in the upper galleries, where the sound is incredible; the ceiling is slightly domed, and the hall is circular, so from where I was, it sounded like the singers were all around me. It was a very moving concert.
I went to the stage door and got autographs after, and spoke with Jonas Kaufmann and another young tenor about singing, and thought about how I would like to become as successful as he is, so I can share my experiences with young singers who feel as messed up and unsuccessful as I sometimes feel right now. I'd like to be able to tell them that it IS possible; I think that I want this because I myself would like to know that it is possible. And funnily enough, these types of thoughts always circle and come to rest on me, because it is I who decides whether it happens or not. I control whether or not I am successful as a singer. It does no good at all to think, "I can work harder than anyone else out there and STILL never get a lucky break", because those are fatalistic thoughts; better is, "I can work harder than anyone else out there, and it will pay off".

Artists, my friends, we are accountable to ourselves. We need to continually ask ourselves why we do what we do, and how we plan on going about doing that; we need to take responsibility for our own lapses and also our own successes. And we need to be our own best guy in the corner. And with that said, I have some adjustments to make.

Things that currently annoy me

1. Screaming children. This is nothing new, but it has become a more persistent problem with the onset of flu season and the children I live with becoming ill.

2. Racism. I was privy to a confrontation on the subway platform between a black man and an Italian man, who was screaming at him and the whole subway platform, "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE! GO TO YOUR COUNTRY! GO TO AFRICA! YOU ARE AN EXTRACOMUNITARIO!!!"
An extracomunitario is basically a foreigner without papers; these days, with an active government campaign to get all the foreigners legal, it's considered a pretty rough insult.
Also, Africa is not a country.
What brought this on? Nothing, but noone stopped him. Noone except the girlfriend of the guy being yelled at. I wouldn't dare step up -- my Italian isn't rough enough to join a verbal battle -- but the Italians in the subway just laughed and made fun of the black man's accent. What the hell kind of country is this?

3. Sidewalk etiquette, or lack thereof. There are really really small sidewalks here, and a fun game to play is to guess who the foreigners are -- you can pick them out because they are the ones weaving in and out, dodging old ladies' shopping carts, and looking annoyed at how damn slow everyone is moving. Sometimes, I can saunter along with the best of 'em, but not when I am late for work... and not when I am behind two nonne having their afternoon stroll, stopping to gesticulate relatively wildly every two or three miniscule steps -- it's like the fear of God. You just don't challenge the nonnas. You also don't see people walking on the right side of the sidewalk -- I mean, that's crazy, right.
Sidewalk etiquette also encompasses umbrella etiquette. It rains so much here that everyone carries one on a grey day.
Because Italians like rules (so that they can disregard them) I offer the following as Umbrella Etiquette.
1. Umbrellas of the curved-handle variety may be carried in the hand if the carrier adheres to the following: the umbrella is carried vertically, is not swung wildly with each step, is not used as a cane, does not impede traffic flow on the sidewalks by sticking out at various angles.
2. Open umbrellas may be carried only above the head. Half-open umbrellas, for example a half-retracted umbrella carried in the hand at knee height and dripping wet, is inadmissible.
3. Umbrellas must be lifted above the head of the person passing the carrier on the sidewalk, especially if this person is umbrellaless. If both are carrying an umbrella, the taller person must yield. Avoid dripping onto the person's shoulder.
4. Umbrellas purchased in the subway must not exceed 4 euro even when it is raining cats and dogs.

With the rain come the umbrella vendors, like worms, crawling out to profit in their way from the rainfall. On Sunday my umbrella broke and I was a bit desperate; I talked one vendor down from 8 euro to 4. Just because it's raining, your umbrella doubles in value? He did look pretty devastated to be selling me the umbrella for 4 euro, though - it's a rather nice one, with a curved handle and a huge circumference, and I'm pretty sure it's been treated with something becuase it is impermeability itself. I am happy with my purchase.

4. University application fees. Why are these so high? Why do they get higher with each dehree level? Does it take more brainpower to process my transcript, reference letters and contact info than it does to process Joe Undergrad's transcript, reference letters and contact info?

5. The fact that just about everyone I know chose the year I moved away to move to Toronto. It's like they were just waiting for me to leave...

And I thought it was a pretty normal birthday...

It started out like any other day, although I did sleep in. It rained; I taught, had a coffee and read a book; went to the Museum of Natural History on my weekly museum date (it's a great museum, actually, and they had some great Canada exhibits that made me homesick); and relaxed at home for a bit. Then, my expat friend Daniel and his girlfriend Kirsten took me out for dinner.

We went to a Sri Lankan restaurant near the downtown part of Milan. I can't tell you how happy I was to eat pappadum and curry after weeks and weeks of doughy pizza, plates of pasta, and my own cooking which has become variations on a theme: some sort of stew with tomatoes and beans over rice or some other grain because that is all I find palateable-- the selection, especially of vegetables, in the grocery stores is sadly limited.

THe interior was warm, wood-panelled and painted in reds and mustard yellow, and decorated with statues of the Hindu gods. Everyone on staff was south Indian or Sri Lankan and the clientele was mixed; for a few hours, I forgot we were in Italy. We could have been anywhere, really. I have been in similar restaurants in London, the other London, Toronto, Montreal.

The food was good -- not the best Indian I have ever had but I think that's the fault of the ingredients and not the chef. We shared 4 types of vegetable curry -- a dahl (slightly too salty, not enough garam masala or maybe none); a raita (would have been good if the other food was spicy; raita is a cold vegetable dish made with minted yogurt); and a potato curry and a coconut curry. I wished for more spice in everything, but it was such a welcome change from the usual tomato and cheese, salt and oil flavours that it was perfect as it was.

About halfway through the meal we heard the sound of a drum and in came a very graceful young Sri Lankan boy who performed a truly beautiful traditional dance, in what I assume to be traditional costume. A little later he returned with a partner, a girl, and they did two other dances throughout the course of the meal. We were the most enthusiastic viewers by far; the dances seemed to have such clear stories and we were dying to know what they were. The movements were a corss between traditional Indian dance, which you may know from many pop culture outlets, and Chinese traditional dance, with the stiff yet gracefully curved back and neck and careful head movements.

And you can't say you've had a birthday til you've had your birthday dessert heralded by a cowbell and brought to you with the lights dimmed, the whole restuarant clapping rhythmically until you blow out the candle. Not a cake but a delicious assortment of Sri Lankan sweets, it was perfect, and I liked the perfectly browned macaroon best.

Now I can say I rang out my first quarter century... really. More cowbell, please!