Toronto Operetta Theatre began the new year of 2026 looking over their shoulders with a romance that had its premiere over a century ago in Vienna: Imre Kálmán’s Czardas Princess. We went on the weekend sitting among a boisterously enthusiastic crowd as the run closed with matinees Saturday & Sunday January 3rd & 4th at the Jane Mallett Theatre.
Before the show I had a friendly chat with TOT’s Artistic Director Guillermo (Bill) Silva-Marin. Bill reminds me a bit of the god for whom the month of January is named, namely Janus the two-headed wonder who manages to look both forwards & backwards.
Yes I know that Bill’s picture only has a single head even if he does a great job of emulating Janus, looking in multiple directions at once.
Guillermo Silva-Marin aka “Bill”
That’s Bill’s job with TOT, trying to satisfy audiences for the only company in Canada that specializes in operetta. While he chose last fall to look forward to the questions relevant to 2025 by updating Mikado to something contemporary & Canadian, this time Czardas Princess looked back to an era of arranged marriages and class consciousness. That’s the challenge of operetta, reviving works that may seem to belong in a museum while aiming to entertain audiences.
Offering a show full of singing and dancing is usually the best solution!
(from left) Scott Rumble (Edwin), Joseph Ernst (Feri), Sebastien Belcourt (Count Boni), and Maeve Palmer (Sylvia Varescu), photo: Gary Beechey, BDS Studios
Conductor Derek Bate led the TOT orchestra, a small ensemble whose sound fills the space without overwhelming the soloists, keeping everyone together even when they were airborne, as in the picture above.
Conductor Derek Bate
Scott Rumble’s powerful tenor confirmed that while he’s ideal to sing Wagner (as he has done out west), he’s a versatile artist, his piercing high notes heard even when the entire cast was singing at the same time. Scott’s enunciation as Edwin was crystal clear, opposite Maeve Palmer in the title role aka Sylvia. Whether in her diva guise or pretend role as nobility, Maeve didn’t just sing beautifully but also showed a touching vulnerability in her portrayal.
Patricia Wrigglesworth (Countess Stasi) , photo: Gary Beechey, BDS Studios
The other pairing may have been written to be a lighter, more comical couple in contrast to the lead pair. Count Bonifazius (aka Boni) and Countess Anastasia (aka Stasi), the latter supposedly betrothed to Edwin were my favourites. Sebastien Belcourt played Boni largely as a fun music-theatre figure, while Patricia Wrigglesworth as Stasi, underplayed her role, gently deadpan much of the time. As a result they were the most believable couple onstage. I can’t decide whether they stole the show or maybe that’s just how the text is written: but it worked beautifully.
TOT’s next shows feature Johann Strauss Jr. On March 7th it’s TOT Cabaret: Strauss – the Waltz King, perhaps helping prepare us for Strauss’s A Night in Venice coming April 17, 18 & 19. For tickets & information click here.
Zoe and I walked through the many wonderful pieces displayed in Joyce Wieland’s show Heart On, running at the AGO until Sunday January 4th.
The conversations I have been having with Zoe about criticism can feel different depending on where we are. Over dinner in the restaurant the tone is calmer than in the gallery in the thick of it. Location matters in more than real estate.
At the end of the year it’s normal to use sweeping generalizations. They are our broom to tidy the mess.
I apologize for my use of labels even as I search for the best ones to describe what I’ve seen. There was a painting among the first few I saw that I thought to call “primitivist”, meaning the style / movement that deliberately emulates something from a non-western culture and all that can suggest. The word is so big and heavy with allusions and implications I want to retreat back to grunts and gut-level responses without resorting to words, especially when the artist herself did not necessarily embrace them.
I read that she’s a feminist, a Canadian nationalist. I don’t know how to process that in 2025 terms, only that I recall when it was brand-new in the 1960s, when our flag had just been designed and introduced in 1965. There are layers to each of these, stages of development in each word as it’s understood to be a movement with some only partially in support, some pushing back, some articulating “feminism” or “nationalism” in ways that are no longer done the same way.
When I encountered the picture that moved me the most I had to photograph it.
My photo of Shaping Matter oil on canvas, 142×180 cm by Joyce Wieland
I saw a few responses when I posted my photo on Facebook, including one from my friend Edward Brain. Edward said “Interesting painting, but not my style personally.” I was moved to reply, recalling that I first met Edward at the Toronto Wagner Society.
I said “It’s funny this strikes me as a very Wagnerian painting (as I aim for an epithet that might inspire you). This painting shows an artist self-reflexively. She’s painting even though her image is naive, simple/ simplistic , suggesting humility, alongside / within a landscape that’s like a volcano of creation. What exactly are we seeing? Fire pouring out of the sky to make a landscape: as the painter is “shaping matter”? I say that because (spoiler alert) the person standing painting also is the person who made this happen/ erupt. Yet she seems so calm. It took my breath away. I think Edward if you stood before the painting you might hear thunder or something comparable (perhaps from one of the Ring cycle operas).
If we recall that the painting is titled “Shaping Matter”: we are watching a painter in a painting. Of course the painting was painted by a painter, so it’s not a huge leap to say that the painter we see is in some respects an image of Joyce Wieland, the painter in the act of painting: shaping matter. The image is self-reflexive, even as I wonder: but what am I seeing?
Maybe that sounds crazy, but let me explain my Wagnerian allusion for this painting. I was mindful of the moment in Das Rheingold when Donner strikes the ground with his hammer, conjuring a lightning storm out of the sky. The rainbow that follows the storm will be the pathway the gods use to enter Valhalla. The relevant moments in this video come about 2 minutes in, and following.
Of course Wieland is a million miles away from the pompous Wagnerian opera. Even so, when we speak of “Shaping matter”, I can’t ignore that fire seems to pour out of her sky, and the ground takes shape in a variety of shades. Is the painting an image of her imagination, the stage upon which she gives the world shape? Yes I see it as partly a bit of theatre. Is the fire made by the painter but coming from heaven, from the gods? You tell me. The figure who holds a brush and palette in the painting is looking back at us.
What are we seeing? I am not sure but it’s electrifying.
As I told Edward in reply “I keep staring at the image. I will try to get back to the show for another look before it closes.“
And let me mention in passing that the image I downloaded from the Canadian Art Database is different from my photo, and both differ from what I experienced standing in front of the painting. I’m reminded of why live performance and live experiences of art matter. You don’t get it the same way in a book or on video.
Shaping Matter: from the Canadian Art Database
There is a tendency in some of Wieland’s paintings that I want to call “naive” after a bit of googling for the best descriptor of a style that suggests childlike imagery and a childlike artistic sensibility.
Notice that the face of the artist shown in this sophisticated painting is in some respects an image of naivete even though she’s in the middle of this complex image. No wonder considering the way she was sometimes attacked (something I recall sadly).
As I look at her image in the painting, I’m wondering what she felt making this, what ironies might have been in play.
Sometimes my need to explain myself leads to huge introductions that may confuse or perplex, pre-ambulations that happen both on foot and in the words of the blog.
As 2025 closes I escaped into recreation at the Red Sandcastle Theatre, where I took daughter & BF for a bit of escapism through Buster Canfield & his industrious fleas.
Eric Woolfe is the magician – puppeteer portraying Buster Canfield.
Buster alias Eric among his admiring throng of fans
Before the show Zoe and I (plus the BF) talked about criticism, art and the meaning of life. Does that sound insane in this context? Or maybe to be expected.
Lately deep truths and Buster’s fleas share similarities, which is to say, they’re almost impossible to see, hard to find, perhaps not even there at all.
Speaking of escape: as I was talking their ears off about judgmental critics, Buster (Eric) worked his magic.
In the year since my mom’s passing, from time to time I think back to grad school & the study of theatre history in books such as Nagler’s Source Book, as I question the meaning & purpose of my blog, wondering if anything can be helpful.
I won’t make an awkward segue from the flea circus to something more serious, as this is normal for me, a stranger in a strange land. While I may write criticism my understanding of the word is different. I don’t judge, I don’t dismiss, and if someone’s performance is not good in my estimation, I will not write about it. I want to be positive, to be Pollyanna in saying only good things and avoiding negativity.
Funny today as I was listening to Vince Gilligan quoted on Q, broadcast by CBC today, I heard a call for more stories about good guys, while he seemed to lament the glamour of the bad guys.
I have to laugh but first let me quote Vince G.
“As a writer, speaking to a room full of writers, I have a proposal … I say we write more good guys. For decades, we’ve made the villains too sexy…. They say, ‘Man, those dudes are badass. I want to be that cool!’ When that happens, fictional bad guys stop being the cautionary tales that they were intended to be. God help us, they become aspirational.” (Vince’s full interview)
This is somehow new? Come on Vince, what about the readers mistaking Satan for the hero of Paradise Lost, written in the 17th century? No I’m not changing the subject, I’m saying that the same dynamic that gives us a preference for villains over heroes, also messes up our appreciation of the arts AND even worse, makes nasty reviews clickbait while positive supportive reviews languish in relative obscurity.
No this isn’t me lamenting the number of hits I don’t get.
When I wrote about the recent presentation by Canadian Stage of Robert Lepage’s Ex Machina show The Far Side of the Moon, I was intrigued that they promoted it mostly as a nostalgic look at the space program with little mention of the autobiographical elements in the play.
And then I remember: that’s not Canadian Stage’s choice but the playwright’s. Maybe Lepage is reticent & shy even as he rips his belly open, showing us his entrails and flaws for us to examine. Of course he wouldn’t call it autobiographical but it’s obvious in its self-referential moments.
Isn’t it?
And I kept seeing a surprisingly rough tone in what other critics said about him, people taking shots at him in their assessment of the play. Lepage at one point speaks of narcissism, and if that weren’t sufficiently vulnerable, gets accused of being a narcissist. I saw a great deal (yes I later surveyed the reviews by others, long after I had written my own) about the technical prowess, with little apparent sympathy for what is felt in this show.
I say this after weeks pondering Lepage and his play, through the lens of the 2003 film version. When I heard that he’d filmed the play I got all excited and called up Bay St Video. I had hoped to buy it but dammit all, alas, it’s out of print. So I rented it for the week.
Watching Lepage’s film alongside 3 other non-commercial titles (Birdman, Klimt and War Requiem) had me thinking about the challenge of popularity, when some might mistake the box office returns for a true measurement of quality. Do I really have to say it? A film or an opera is not necessarily better just because lots of people went to see it. Box office is regularly used as an instrument to assess the success of commercial cinematic projects. And of course, there we go again, with a dynamic like the one with Satan in Paradise Lost. I am reminded of my frustration with Barbenheimer, when I loved Barbie and thought Oppenheimer was over-rated: but because of the usual response to their subjects, the comedy made money while the serious epic was treated as somehow better. I wonder if that verdict will persist.
Klimt & War Requiem, like Far Side of the Moon, were never going to generate a big audience, unlike the critically acclaimed Birdman.
I suppose I should not be surprised, especially when I read some of the reviews from other Toronto critics, mostly buying into the idea we saw in the promotional material: that Lepage is giving us a nostalgic glimpse of the space program. I suppose it’s clear to me he was employing those materials to talk about himself when we saw Lepage himself in the film playing the parts. Of course.
I was surprised to see so many who seemed indifferent, or maybe it was the decision that this time Lepage was not going to be given such an easy ride, perhaps resented because so many admire him. I know I admire him. I have to wonder if my experience is different because of what I have been through as a caregiver, and now mourning the passing of my mother, and subsequently observing her possessions and photos in the months after her passing. I want to again quote a line from Ex Machina speaking to this work that says “there is a sometimesthin line between the trivial and the sublime.”
As in 887 (another Lepage play I’ve seen a couple of times), a poem by another author is recited. 887 is subtitled “Or how does memory work,” and although Lepage dwells on memories of his life, he is also sharing the process of memorizing the poem “Speak White” by Michèle Lalonde. For Far Side of the Moon the poem in question is now about a mother and her aging, the focus of the play surely upon her death and its impacts upon her two sons. By splitting himself in two (as Philippe & André) Lepage is creating additional distance. But that doesn’t mean the work lacks feeling.
And so it now occurs to me that 887 is in some respects an elaboration of what Lepage did in Far Side of the Moon, where he uses a poem as a departure point for some of the observations made by Philippe, one of the characters. At first I was going to say 887 is deeper but no. 887 is merely easier to grasp because any Canadian can identify with it, whereas Far Side of the Moon might be more primal in its subject matter.
Olivier Normand as the mother in the Ex Machina production of The Far Side of the Moon, presented by Canadian Stage in Toronto (Photo: Li Wang)
We watched Olivier Normand playing all the roles in 2025, roles originated by Lepage himself, including the mother and the doctor. In the film other actors play the mother and the doctor, but Lepage plays the adult versions of both Philippe and André. Watching the film I am more certain than ever that the imagery of the cold war space race are less nostalgia than the backdrop for an autobiographical meditation.
Philippe in the laundromat near the beginning of the film.
The images I captured from the video below show a stunning transition that I wanted to show that you see in the film.
Then we meet André, Philippe’s younger brother, who is a weatherman on tv in Quebec, forecasting for the upcoming Christmas holiday.
Philippe at the gym, where he meets Carl (André’s BF)
The questions of reconciliation between USSR & USA are presented alongside the antipathy of two brothers, both of whom have a relationship with the sky, that in some ways encompasses the two sides of Lepage the artist. He’s both mainstream like André the tv weather man and a risk taker like Philippe the researcher.
Philippe has seen an invitation from television for video submissions to SETI, the international Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence project. You may recall seeing some of this in the film Contact, where an array of radio telescopes were trained on the sky listening for some kind of evidence of intelligence. What’s different in this case (in the film) was the invitation to create a message that would be sent out. That’s what Philippe was doing.
When André hears of Philippe’s project he jokes: you say nobody listens to you but now the whole cosmos will hear you.
Philippe would give the aliens a primer on humans living on Earth, a wonderfully oblique way to show us who he is. At one point Philippe offers a kind of roadmap for the hypothetical alien visitor searching for Earth, describing our solar system & the blue planet that’s the third from the Sun.
The examples of Philippe’s video are in black & white to let us know we’re watching what Philippe has filmed. Would an old camera be B & W? Perhaps.
He is in the USSR for the conference where he misses his time to present. While there, he talks about poetry as the place where complex truths are captured.
He reads the Émile Nelligan poem Before Two Portraits of My Mother. Just as in 887 Lepage turned to an external poet to articulate a truth he wanted to echo or explore. On that occasion it was Speak white, a poem about the francophone experience in Canada. This time it’s a poem about portraits of mother. Need I repeat the obvious? Neither the play nor this film is merely about the space program. Here’s the poem.
BEFORE TWO PORTRAITS OF MY MOTHER
I love the beautiful young girl of this portrait, my mother, painted years ago when her forehead was white, and there was no shadow in the dazzling Venetian glass
of her gaze. But this other likeness shows the deep trenches across her forehead’s white marble. The rose poem of her youth that her marriage sang is far behind. Here is
my sadness: I compare these portraits, one of a joy-radiant brow, the other care- heavy: sunrise – and the thick coming on
of night. And yet how strange my ways appear, for when I look at these faded lips my heart smiles, but at the smiling girl my tears start.
Emile Nelligan (1879-1941)
I can’t help being a bit overwhelmed in encountering this, speaking as someone who has a house full of portraits of my mom, and who watched her smile bravely as she went from being the bold 80 year old to the bold 90 year old, the bold 95 year old (still driving her Honda civic), to the bold hundred year old using canes and then a walker, and then a wheelchair. I am also overwhelmed because I am frankly astonished that I did not read about this even once in responses to the play, but only in a comment from my dear friend Mary Walters, directing me to the text of the poem. (thank you Mary) The omission by critics seems rather huge, like a review of a Ring cycle opera that doesn’t mention that there are people singing. But come to think of it, that’s really apt, given that from what I see, they simply were un-moved, didn’t find Lepage’s imagery nearly as compelling as I have.
There’s a powerful scene when André looks at the the empty wheelchair in the home, one of the remaining pieces of evidence for his mother’s life. No words are needed. I shuddered at the image because it was literally so close to home for us. 2025 was the year of looking at the remnants, the furniture, the books, the clothes, and yes, even wheelchairs. Writing now as we come up on the anniversary of her passing I feel rather devastated. As I’ve been told, maybe it’s going too far to say that I’m moved to tears by something. I watched the film at least four times, plus a few extra views to capture the images you see in this blog. I hope Ex Machina / Lepage will forgive me. Indeed I forgive them that the film is out of print, which I find really upsetting.
Our understanding of objects changes with experience. I knew “wheelchair” differently, until I saw my mother in one, saw her struggling various times to get into or out of one, perhaps at the door to a hospital or doctor’s office. Looking at the wheelchair in this film complete with that cryptic Lepage expression is absurd in a Gustav Mahler sort of way, replete with comic overtones to tease you at a moment of enormous gravitas. Maybe my segue from the flea circus isn’t crazy at all.
I find the title brilliant, as I ponder the Far Side of the Moon as a meditative place. Pink Floyd had an album with a similar title that was among their best. I wonder if Lepage had to choose his title, mindful of copyright concerns.
Perhaps my reading of the film and play sounds odd. The thing is, here I am again, speaking about testimony rather than judgment. Yes the Canadian Stage production was a success, but I did not see any recognition of the play as autobiographical. I am not here to judge or assess Lepage, as good or bad, but to help with the digestion of his work, nor to judge the critics who saw it differently than how I saw it. A critique needs to be a digestive aid, like the rocks in a bird’s stomach to assist in breaking down / unpacking the work for others in the audience. The rocks are not to be hurled at anyone, neither the artists nor the critics who seem to love their villainous roles.
I wish those people who spoke dismissively of Lepage’s work on his play at Bluma Appel would watch this film, perhaps opening their hearts if not their minds. Maybe it’s because I’ve been tenderized like a veal cutlet pounded over and over by years of caregiving, challenged to empathize with the person in the wheelchair. I am sorting through the responses, intrigued but frustrated at dismissals from people who can’t seem to engage with what’s right in front of them. I suspect some of this is Lepage’s choice, perhaps reticent about laying himself bare and ready to allow the play to be misrepresented as a play about the space race, when it’s really all about him, the Quebecois artist confronting his two aspects, the commercially viable celebrity (like André the weatherman) and the risk-taking artist (Philippe who explores cultural impacts with his research). I wonder how fully he is reconciled to such emotions.
How can I look at this picture without getting upset?
I hesitated before posting my comments about Lepage’s film, suspecting that my perspective may be distorted by the recent passing of my own mom. Or perhaps it’s the other way around, that I’m not a jaded reviewer inured to human pain, desensitized by having seen too many films.
I hope I never lose my sensitivity to the magic of artists, whether they’re working with fleas or wheelchairs. I am forever grateful, Eric & Robert. Thank you.
While there’s something comforting in being able to return to a classic text year after year, I always hope to find ways to make it a fresh experience.
Tafelmusik’s first 2025 Messiah on Thursday December 18th at Koerner Hall had drama to spare, from the first solo by tenor Benjamin Done.
Tenor Benjamin Done
Of course that’s because Benjamin was replacing an indisposed Nicholas Scott, the tenor who may or may not be back for any of the remaining Messiahs this weekend (either Friday & Saturday at Koerner Hall or the Singalong at Massey Hall Sunday).
Tenor Benjamin Done during one of his solos with Tafelmusik, Ivars Taurins conducting (photo: Dahlia Katz)
After singing the splendid solos that follow the Sinfonia, namely “Comfort Ye” and “Ev’ry Valley”, Benjamin went back to his station in the chorus for the remainder of Part The First. In Part The Second the tenor usually has an enormous role, although some of those solos were taken by Soprano Stefanie True. I don’t know whether that is unusual or not, only that our printed programs still showed the assignment for the missing tenor.
Members of Tafelmusik Chamber Choir (photo: Dahlia Katz), including Benjamin Done among the tenors (right) and Kate Helsen (centre) at the end of the row of Altos.
We may think of a solo as the hardest task a singer faces, but it’s not necessarily true, given the many choruses, particularly when the section is as small as in the Tafelmusik Chamber Choir, where Benjamin shares the tenor line with another four singers (Paul Jeffrey, Will Johnson, Robert Kinar & Cory Knight: you can see the bios of the Chamber Choir). The amount of singing Benjamin did when you include solos and choruses was “a big sing”. The glowing appreciation Conductor Ivars Taurins showed at the end of each part (when we responded with our applause) for Benjamin’s work might indicate the underlying drama faced in preparation for the performances.
Speaking of drama, what choices did they face in the hours leading up to the performance? What adrenaline did they (meaning not just Benjamin but also Nicholas, Ivars, Stefanieand other members of the Tafelmusik team) burn in the hours leading up to the event, pondering whether to make cuts or alter assignments. One can only speculate, wondering how well they slept. But this is live performance, and that means that sometimes, especially in peak flu season, singers are indisposed, unwell, sick, and therefore must cancel: and yet the show still must go on.
Before any of this unfolded, before we heard about the changes, we saw and heard Olivia Chow speaking before the event, the Mayor of Toronto adding a bit more drama.
Mayor Olivia Chow speaking before the concert began (photo: Dahlia Katz)
I wonder what butterflies were flying in the stomachs of participants, as the show went on as if it was just another year of Messiah, to be presented as usual.
I wanted to experience Handel’s Messiah as something new and different. In addition to the drama I alluded to in the changed solo assignments, I had the good fortune to hear Messiah in an entirely new way due to my seating in the gallery section behind the stage.
I was staring at faces that were very close, that I know vaguely from social media or from past concerts. I wondered why Kate Helsen’s face looked so familiar, sitting at the end of the row of Altos. But of course she was the musicologist – vocalist who gave the speculative YouTube lecture for the Double Dixit concert last month. I was so close in the Gallery seating that not only could I see faces more clearly than ever before, I could vaguely make out the music. Here’s a picture I took of Patrick Jordan’s music stand as we awaited the resumption of the Messiah after the intermission (and yes I did use the zoom lens).
“Behold the Lamb of God” is hand-written in pencil.
I have often wondered what it’s like to see the fluid choreography & expressive movements of Ivars Taurins’ music direction from the vantage point of a chorister or orchestra player, rather than from the usual place behind him, sitting in the hall.
This photo is from the second gallery, a level higher than the level where I sat.
What a revelation!
If you want to hear a familiar piece as though for the first time, this is how to do it. The orchestra’s attacks, their climaxes, are all magnified, because from this vantage point you almost seem to be in the orchestra. The sound surrounds you. And with a conductor as demonstrative as Ivars, it’s especially exciting. I think I’ve said this before, that Ivars conducts orchestra and chorus alike as voices in a choir, that he brings out effects and moments with a vivid movement vocabulary suitable for dance, an eloquent body language.
Yes there are trade-offs. You’re no longer seeing the soloists from in front, so there’s a loss of the facial expression and much of the body language of a solo singer during one of their airs. If you are familiar with the work that likely won’t matter as the drama is very much there, via your identification with the performance. The eloquent silences in Krisztina Szabó singing “He was despised” hang in the air between the sung phrases and the soft responses from the orchestra. We see the audience responses. We see Ivars not merely as a leader of the ensemble but in such moments as a kind of ideal audience member, urging and guiding the performers, and he is clearly moved.
Mezzo – Soprano soloist Krisztina Szabó (photo: Dahlia Katz)
Is it always like this? I don’t know. But this was a magical performance to me both in my new location and especially watching the singers coping with the changed assignments.
As it has been a few years since I heard a Tafelmusik Messiah, I can’t be sure whether the glorious sounds I experienced are due to the location in the Gallery, where the orchestra is so close, or perhaps due to a renewed intensity in the interpretation from Ivars. The biting string attacks in Part the Second have never seemed so vivid, even if the effect was partly due to being closer to the players, partly also due to the chance to see Ivars’ directions from in front.
And as a sometime chorister it’s amazing to be so close to that chorus, a very cleanly articulated sound enunciated as never before. No they have never sung “For unto wuss a child is born” (a pitfall I was warned about in the 1990s by Art Wenk, when he conducted a Messiah at our church in North Toronto), every phrase from the chorus was clear, much clearer than what we heard from the soloists.
Whether singing softly as in “And he shall purify”, sung quicker than I’ve ever heard it anywhere else, or powerfully as in the Hallelujah or Worthy Is the Lamb, the voices of the Tafelmusik Chamber Choir surrounding us in the gallery achieve a remarkable sound that fills the space. Glorious.
The soloists perform important functions in the drama of Messiah. The radiant transparent sound from Soprano Stefanie True is essential to bring good news in the appearance of the angels to the shepherds on Christmas Eve, and again declaring I know that my Redeemer liveth, even before we speak of the additional solos on behalf of the indisposed tenor.
Krisztina Szabó offers operatic gravitas to every moment, commitment and focus. Bass Jonathan Woody announces that the trumpet shall sound with his own powerful clarion voice, in duet with the stunning trumpet sound from Kathryn James Adduci.
Bass soloist Jonathan Woody (photo: Dahlia Katz)
While I usually aim to do a night-of the concert write-up, I knew that the concerts are assured of selling out, not needing my promotion.
If I may insert one tiny quibble with the way Tafelmusik approach their media and self-promotion, I believe they are too reticent about Ivars, who has the charisma of a star in this community of self-effacing Torontonian artists. I wish others could see what I saw, given that we see a democratic approach showing every player in the orchestra, every singer in the Chamber Choir. For example watch this video I pulled up. It’s brilliantly played but Ivars is almost invisible, only seen from afar at the beginning.
If you compare that to how every other orchestra in the world works (where the conductor gets the focus of the camera) you may agree with me. Yes Ivars’ charisma enacting the role of Herr Handel in the Singalong Messiah is played up. But he is so much more than a comedian. His brilliant conducting in everything else does not get the attention it deserves.
William Fedkenheuer is a Canadian violinist, fiddler, and educator, second violinist for the Grammy-nominated Miró Quartet recognized internationally for chamber music and performances at prestigious venues like Carnegie Hall.
William Fedkenheuer is part of the Miró Quartet (l-r: Daniel Ching -violin, Joshua Gindele -cello, John Largess -viola) at the 2023 Festival (Photo: Lucky Tang)
William has begun his new role as Artistic Director of Toronto Summer Music, having succeeded Jonathan Crow on September 1st. Planning for the 2026 Festival is under way.
William Fedkenheuer
A two-time Grammy nominee with the Miró Quartet, he’s also a former Canadian National Fiddle Champion.
Another side of William’s musicianship
William is also a teacher known for his diverse career blending classical mastery with Canadian folk roots.
I was delighted to be able to ask William some questions.
*******
BB:Are you more like your father or mother? William: I carry pieces of both of my parents, though in very different ways. My mother is where my warmth, curiosity, laughter, and desire for connection come from — she’s always approached people with openness and a sense of possibility, though there is fire in the belly! My father gave me steadiness and work ethic, the ability to stay focused and build things over time, and also that quiet recharge. He loved being outdoors in the beauty and silence of nature and I bring that into my life in my own way.
And then there’s the path they didn’t take: neither of them were musicians, but they encouraged creativity. If anything, I’m a blend of their values shaped by the unexpected world that music opened up for me. They both now sing in the church choir along with my sister, Liesel, who was in the Canadian Opera Company in the early 2000’s!
What is the best or worst thing about what you do? The best part of my work — whether performing, teaching, or directing a festival — is witnessing transformation and impacting a life. A concert that changes the room or the individual. A student discovering a new part of themselves. An ensemble growing into its artistic identity. A concert space that opens into each individual’s moment of choice.
The hardest part is the pace. The artistic world is 24/7 — travel, rehearsals, emails, programming, planning seasons years ahead. Finding balance while trying to give my full self to each role is both a joy and an ongoing negotiation and you can ask my wife, Leah, and my boys – Max and Olli, how that’s going!
Who/What do you like to listen to or watch? I listen widely — classical, fiddle traditions, singer-songwriters, jazz. I’m as happy diving into a Beethoven quartet recording as I am listening to The Fretless, or whatever folk or roots band someone just introduced me to. Love me some Garth Brooks, Dolly, or Gordon Lightfoot! When I unwind, I lean toward shows and stories about creativity, craftsmanship, or human problem-solving — and, occasionally, a good murder mystery.
I also love silence – which may be unexpected to some. There are a lot of demands on the extrovert side of Will, and there is something so special about the stillness of silence, breath work, and meditation. One of my favourite moments in time is that split second of absolute silence right before a concert performance begins.
What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t? I wish I had a better skill for slowing down time — the ability to pause, take stock, and savor a moment just a little longer. As musicians, we spend our lives shaping time, pacing emotion, and stretching a phrase to its fullest meaning, yet life outside the concert hall moves at its own unrelenting tempo and rarely stops! I often catch myself wishing I could bring the same spaciousness, intention, and breath to the rest of my world that I strive for onstage.
When you’re just relaxing and not working, what is your favourite thing to do? Cooking with my family and settling into long conversations around the table is one of my greatest joys. I love being outdoors, wandering through a new city with no agenda, and taking our dogs, Lola and Frizzy, out for a good walk. And honestly, ending the day watching Murder, She Wrote and eating freshly popped popcorn with my youngest son, Olli, has become one of life’s sweetest reset buttons.
What was your first experience of music? My earliest musical memory is sitting in the living room during my sister’s violin lesson in Calgary, absorbing everything by osmosis — and constantly being distracted by the puppies that had just been born that lived there. I also loved going to the Calgary Philharmonic Pops concerts; they were pure joy for me, and I treasured my growing record collection and whatever we could find on the radio. My first teachers blended fun and focus in a way that felt magical, and that balance became the foundation of my entire musical life. Loved my Hooked on Classics albums!
What is your favourite melody / piece of music? It’s impossible to choose just one — but Beethoven’s Cavatina from Op. 130 has been a lifelong companion, and so has the fiddling tradition I grew up with – there is nothing like the Orange Blossom Special and an audience to share it with. Those two worlds shape the way I hear everything. And truly, anything from Mozart to Drake, (dare I say Justin Bieber?), I can go old school or new, can lodge itself in my ear and stay there for days — if it’s honest and beautifully crafted, it finds a home.
Do you have ideas about modernizing classical music culture for modern audiences? Absolutely. At its heart, I think audiences today are looking for connection — for humanity. When we offer transparency, storytelling, interdisciplinary collaboration, diverse artistic voices, and programming that genuinely reflects the world around us, we invite people in rather than asking them to observe from a distance.
Festivals like TSM have a real opportunity to model this: bringing established and emerging artists into the same creative space, bridging genres when it deepens the experience, and treating concerts as shared moments rather than rituals of correctness. TSM already has such a close, vibrant community, and it’s an extraordinary gift to step into a role where that spirit can grow, evolve, and welcome new audiences in meaningful ways.
William Fedkenheuer
You are both a violinist and a teacher. Talk about your background training and how you got here. My path has been shaped by extraordinary mentors and ensembles. I grew up at the Mount Royal Conservatory in Calgary, studying with Joan Barrett and Edmond Agopian, and later with Kathleen Winkler at the Shepherd School of Music at Rice University. I spent a brief but formative time at Indiana University with Miriam Fried before stepping directly into the world of string quartets — first with the Borromeo, then the Fry Street, and now the Miró Quartet.
Teaching has been woven into my life just as deeply as performing. I coached my first chamber music group as a senior in high school, and it opened a door I never closed. There is something profoundly meaningful about sharing what I’ve learned and helping others discover their own artistic voice. At The University of Texas – Austin, I teach violin, chamber music, and professional development, guiding musicians as they build lives that are both artistically rich and sustainably crafted.
Every chapter — competition wins, more than 1,700 concerts around the world, Grammy-nominated recordings, commissions and premieres — has reinforced one truth for me: artistry and education are shared lanes. They feed each other. One of the places that comes alive most vividly is in TSM’s Regeneration concerts, where mentors and fellows share the stage on Saturdays. Those moments capture exactly why I do what I do: music as craft, connection, collaboration, and community.
You have been both a fiddler and a violinist. What do those words mean to you? As a fiddler, I learned instinct, groove, improvisation, and the joy of playing for people in community spaces. It taught me how to read a room, how to bring an audience in close, and how to take the whole place on a ride where everyone feels part of the story. As a classical violinist, I learned precision, depth, structure, and a different kind of connection — one rooted in long-form storytelling, nuance, and emotional architecture. It reaches people just as powerfully through a very different pathway.
Neither identity replaces the other – they inform each other. Fiddling gave me freedom and instinct; classical playing gave me depth and language. Together, they’ve shaped a wide emotional landscape that feels like home — two traditions intertwined, each making the other more alive and having tears and joy always along for the ride.
Is there anything one learns as a fiddler that resonates in the classical world? Absolutely — everything. Fiddling was my first musical home, the place where I learned to step into the spotlight with comfort, spontaneity, and a real sense of play. It taught me how to read a room, how to trust my instincts, and how to live inside a deep internal rhythm that comes from the body as much as from the ear. In the fiddling world, there isn’t really a concept of “mistake” — you can change a note, reshape a phrase, improvise your way forward, and you’re always only one note away from making it sound like you meant it… or discovering that you did. That freedom becomes a way of breathing onstage. Those skills translate beautifully into classical performance, where authenticity matters just as much as virtuosity. Fiddling gave me the courage to be present, to react in real time, and to trust the connection between performer, colleagues, and audience. It opens up a different kind of expressive world — one that enriches everything I do in classical music.
Talk about your teaching philosophy. My teaching rests on one principle: anything is possible. Students learn to uncover their unique voice by developing the tools, mindsets, and curiosity to shape their own path. I focus on lifelong learning, self-awareness, strategic thinking, and empowering each artist to build a career that reflects who they genuinely are. My role is part teacher, part collaborator, part guide — helping them understand what’s possible and giving them the structure and support to reach it – in all areas that are meaningful in building a life in music and as a human.
William at the 2025 Norfolk Chamber Music Festival
What are your thoughts on the TSM Academy and the importance of teaching? The Academy is one of TSM’s greatest strengths, the heart of what we do, and what sets us apart. It brings emerging musicians into direct, meaningful contact with world-class artists in an environment built on collaboration, curiosity, and the discovery of one’s artistic voice. It’s not just instruction — it’s immersion. And it was the most impactful single experience that I was privileged to do – only twice – when I was the age of our fellows. For me, teaching is tied directly into performance. It’s how we pass forward the values, traditions, and humanity of this art form, and how I grow and learn as a performer myself. The Academy allows us to shape the next generation while weaving them into the living fabric of the festival itself — something uniquely possible at TSM. Nowhere else do you see strings and piano fellows, vocal artists through the Art of Song program, and community players all learning, rehearsing, and performing side by side. And the mentors are growing from this interaction with the fellows and master artists of tomorrow. It’s a rare and remarkable ecosystem — and one of the things I’m most proud to help nurture.
Do you have anything you can tell us about the Toronto Summer Music Festival? TSM is heading into a wonderfully exciting chapter — one that blends its rich history with fresh artistic ideas, wider community reach, and programming that speaks to the world we live in now. I’m having a great time shaping a festival that brings extraordinary artists to Toronto and builds new ways for audiences, students, and musicians to connect with one another. I can’t spill all the secrets just yet… but our season announcement is late February, and there’s a lot I can’t wait to share. Sign up for the mailing list now!
William at the 2025 TSM Gala
Do you ever feel conflicted, reconciling the business side and the art? I actually see the two as complementary. The art is the heart of what we do, and the business provides the structure that allows that art to reach people, sustain itself, and grow. When the business side is aligned with the artistic vision, it becomes a powerful tool — one that amplifies creativity rather than constrains it.
In fact, the practical skills behind the scenes are often what allow artists to build meaningful, long-lasting careers. A strong foundation — whether it comes from our own training or from a great team around us — helps turn artistic ideas into real opportunities, real connections, and real impact. When art and business work together with clarity and purpose, they create a pathway where artists, audiences, and organizations can all thrive. My hope is that we keep inviting more openness into these conversations, tending the alignment between art and structure in ways that support our work, our artists, and our communities.
William Fedkenheuer
What can classical music learn from how popular musicians play & market their music? Connection is paramount. Popular musicians speak directly to their audiences — emotionally, culturally, and generationally. They lean into instinct, vulnerability, storytelling, and authenticity, and their audiences feel seen in the process. Classical musicians can embrace that same spirit while amplifying the depth of musical connection we already offer. We can communicate more openly, program with greater intention, and invite listeners into the world we’ve dedicated our lives to — not by simplifying it, but by humanizing it.
Classical music is literally everywhere. People encounter it in films, commercials, games, and cultural moments of every kind. We often know more of it than the cultural narrative suggests. When we highlight those connections — the shared emotions, the universal stories, the impact a single phrase can have — we meet audiences where they already are and open the door even wider.
Debussy and Wagner both spoke of the virtuoso as a kind of circus animal… does this influence how you perform or teach? I think of virtuosity as freedom — the ability to express anything without limitation. And truthfully, I often wish I had even more of it. I’m most interested in virtuosity that performs with people: the kind that opens the door to deeper listening, bigger emotions, and more vivid storytelling. When technique becomes effortless, it frees the artist to be imaginative, daring, and deeply connected. That’s what I try to teach: virtuosity as a platform for meaning, not a destination. At its best, it becomes one of the most powerful tools we have for creating unforgettable, transformative moments. And sometimes, the simple act of being in awe is an emotion all its own — a reminder of one reason we make music in the first place!
Live or recorded performance? And how do you make recordings feel “live”? Live performance is irreplaceable — the shared breath of a room, the immediacy, the risk, the community. You feel people leaning in. You see the interaction onstage: an eyebrow raised, the curl of a smile, the choice not to look at one another. All of those tiny signals let the audience into the inner life of a piece. Chamber music, especially, lives in that visible, palpable conversation between musicians. Recording asks for a different intimacy. To make a recording feel “live,” I imagine playing for someone I care about — one person, right in front of me (over and over!). We often invite friends and colleagues into the physical space, in person or even over Zoom, because the moment another human is listening, the performance becomes more alive. That simple shift keeps us human, connected, and grounded in communication rather than perfection. Both forms have their own magic. Live is about shared presence; recording is about distilled connection. But in both, the goal is the same: to make the listener feel like they’re part of the story.
If you could tell institutions how to train future artists, what would you change? I would broaden our definition of success to reflect what musicians’ lives actually look like today.
That means teaching artistic identity, communication, community engagement, financial literacy, mental health strategies, and long-term career architecture — alongside technical and artistic excellence.
Musicians need more than skill; they need purpose, adaptability, relevance, and a sense of belonging in the wider world.
A few years ago, during the quiet of the pandemic, I wrote a post that struck a chord with thousands of musicians. It came out of years of research and more than two decades of performing, teaching, and watching colleagues build full, meaningful careers. It still captures what I believe about how we can evolve our training for the next generation —
What teachers or influences were most important to your development? Joan Barrett at Mount Royal, Kathleen Winkler at Rice, Robert McDonald at Juilliard, and Tom Novak at the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center have each played formative roles in my artistic development and have become close friends and mentors along the way. Their guidance has shaped so many of the threads that continue to define a life and career in chamber music.
Equally meaningful are mentors outside the traditional artistic sphere. Tom Delbanco — the John F. Keane and Family Professor of Medicine at Harvard Medical School and Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center — has profoundly influenced my thinking around leadership, character, team building, and purpose. A lifelong community musician who grew up surrounded by many of the great artists of the past century, Tom has become both a dear friend and collaborator, and our musical adventures together have been among the most fulfilling of my life.
Each mentor, in their own way, has helped shape my curiosity, discipline, artistic integrity, sense of community, and belief that music can have genuine human impact. I’m deeply grateful to them all — they are woven into everything I do and into the lives of those I’m privileged to reach through music.
I have heard tenor Scott Rumble a few times, a young artist who impressed both vocally and dramatically in Toronto Operetta Theatre’s Die Fledermaus in 2022.
Guillermo Silva-Marin as Frosch & Scott Rumble as Alfred in Die Fledermaus (photo: Gary Beechey)
Ah how I wish I could have seen him take on the heroic role of Siegmund in the Edmonton Opera production of Die Walküre last June.
Scott Rumble as Siegmund with Anna Pompeeva as Sieglinde, Act 1 Die Walküre Edmonton Opera (Nanc Price Photography)
He will be singing other intriguing music next year, the World Premiere of Adler’s Four Attributes of the Soul with Orchestra Toronto March 1st.
But first Scott appears in Toronto Operetta Theatre’s production of Imre Kalman’s Czardas Princess, running December 30th – January 4th to begin the New Year on an upbeat note.
Scott Rumble as Tassilo in Countess Maritza with TOT 2023 (photo: Gary Beechey)
Scott was willing to answer a few questions.
*******
Barczablog: Are you more like your father or mother?
Scott Rumble: I am more like my father. We look almost like the exact same person and our personalities are also very similar. We both have a love for the outdoors, but also a love of being inside watching YouTube, usually about the outdoors. My parents are really supportive of what I do, but they don’t really understand opera. They make an attempt to come to at least one show a year, usually the operetta because it’s in English and “almost like a musical”.
BB: What is the best or worst thing about what you do?
Scott Rumble: The best thing about what I do is getting to meet and work with some of the most amazing people I have ever met. It is a constant feeling of being inspired by what others are doing around me that makes me strive to better my own artistry. The worst thing would be being away from my usual routine. I tend to be a creature of habit and when I don’t have my usual schedule it can really throw me off.
BB: Who do you like to listen to or watch?
Scott Rumble: I like to watch a lot of different things. I love anime, true crime, history, and Youtube videos on video games, comedy, or fitness.
BB: What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
Scott Rumble: I wish that I could be a better writer or visual artist. I’ve never been really that good at either and always have a little jealousy to those that find it easy. I think it stems from seeing my brother be good at drawing from a young age and my inability to draw even a basic stick figure.
BB: When you’re just relaxing and not working, what is your favourite thing to do?
Scott Rumble: I really enjoy playing video games or board games with my friends. It’s a close group of people that we all feel a lot of stress being relieved through these activities, but new stresses added on from being competitive with each other.
BB: What is your favourite melody / piece of music?
Scott Rumble: My favourite melody comes from a song by DPR Ian called Peanut Butter & Tears, It has a very catchy chorus.
BB: Who is your favourite singer / favourite vocal performance
Scott Rumble: My favourite singer has increasingly become Peter Hofmann. His sound was very exciting and he gave such passionate performances.
Peter Hofmann as Siegmund
BB: Yes Hofmann was an amazing Siegmund, one of the best, managing to be lyrical in such a challenging role.
What was your first experience of singing?
Scott Rumble: My first experience of singing was singing in my church choir as a young boy. I did give it up for some time only to come back to it when I was 18.
BB: Is there a singer (tenor or otherwise) you identify with, whose voice influenced you?
Scott Rumble: A singer whom I identify with and who has influenced me would be Jon Vickers. He was just able to do the most amazing colours with his voice and it really makes me work on discovering all of the colours of my voice.
BB: I share your admiration for Vickers. I had the honour to shake his hand backstage after hearing his Otello.
Do you have a favourite role as far as the singing , or the acting?
As Siegmund with Anna Pompeeva as Sieglinde, Act II Die Walküre Edmonton Opera (Nanc Price Photography)
Scott Rumble: My favourite role is one I just recently did. Siegmund in Die Walkure. I felt like it fit perfectly within my voice and I loved the immense amount of dramatic acting it required.
As Siegmund with Anna Pompeeva as Sieglinde, Act 1 Die Walküre Edmonton Opera (Nanc Price Photography)
BB: For your role in Czardas Princess, composed more than a hundred years ago is there anything in the role that really speaks to you in 2025, as universal in any century?
Scott Rumble: I think what I can really see as being universal in any century is the idea of your own independence and not going with everything others tell you to do. Love who you love, do what you do, be your own person.
BB: What role should I think of as ideal for your voice, and have you ever sung it?
Scott Rumble: I think a role that is ideal for my voice is Bacchus in Ariadne auf Naxos. It really fits my range really well and suits what I can show off in my voice. I have been lucky enough to do it twice. Once with UBC Opera and once with Highlands Opera Studio.
Richard Margison
BB: Wow, speaking of Highlands Opera, Richard Margison (founder of Highlands Opera) sang the role of Bacchus last time the COC did Ariadne. Maybe next time it will be you..? I love that opera, and one of the things that makes it riskier to produce is the challenge of finding a singer who can handle such a challenging role as Bacchus.
So I wonder: do you sing differently in operetta than in opera?
Scott Rumble: For operetta I do sing a little differently. I tend to bring out a lot more of my conversational sound and dynamics. This way I really can bring out the diction and bridge the gap for the audience when going between dialogue and singing. Being reminded of being light and buoyant in my technique really helps in this repertoire.
Scott Rumble as Lieutenant Niki in A Waltz Dream TOT 2021 (photo: Gary Beechey)
In order to do this I focus on utilizing more of my head-voice and keeping the idea in my head that if I can’t act with my face the way I want, I am forcing too much.
BB: What is the story of this operetta in 20 words or less?
Scott Rumble: A cabaret star pretends to be a princess, but her noble lover’s family objects until a discovery changes everyone’s fate.
BB: What’s the key moment in Czardas Princess (if you could tell the audience what to watch for)
Scott Rumble: The key moment in this operetta, like in most, is always the shocking revelation in Act 3 that solves all the problems everyone is having.
BB: What strategies do you use to keep your vocal production fluid & free when you have an emotional moment in the story?
Scott Rumble: I really just let my voice do what it wants. If it is an emotional moment in a show I let my voice go with that emotion. Sometimes a sound doesn’t always have to be pretty for it to be effective.
BB: What do we not understand about being an operatic tenor?
Scott Rumble:The mass amounts of anxiety and pressure that comes with needing to produce the climatic famous high notes while trying your best not to crack, but every tenor cracks, so you just have to go for it every time.
BB: Do you have any ideas about reforming / modernizing classical music culture to better align with modern audiences?
Scott Rumble: I think the more we can create art and allow everyone easier access to live music it will be better. I think changing things from the past is getting more and more difficult and some pieces should be just left to the wayside. But if there was a big focus on creating new big works that could become canon repertoire, I think that’s how we can bring classical music into the modern world. Music will always be enjoyed, but we need to make music that is for the modern audience. When we look back, people were writing for the people of the time, not for the past and that should continue. Along with this a lot of things that are stuck just based on tradition can be let go of as well. It will be remembered, but traditions are allowed to evolve and change.
Scott Rumble and Kirsten LeBlanc in TOT’s Die Fledermaus 2022 (photo: Gary Beechey)
BB If you could speak to composers writing modern musicals: what’s missing in what they do today
Scott Rumble: When I think of modern musicals and what makes them successful, it appears that when the libretto is good it makes the show. Composers will always write good music, for the most part. It’s when the words they set aren’t strong or create some sort of impact that it can fall short. The lyrics are what are being conveyed to the audience and when they feel it, they want to share it. Look at things like Hamilton and it’s mostly rap, but what made the impact of this show was the lyrics being said.
BB: Do you ever feel conflicted, reconciling the business side and the art?
Scott Rumble: I am really thankful for Dean Artists Management for this exact reason. It allows me to focus more of my time on the art.
BB: When we think of Bob Dylan or KD Lang reconciling sincerity & skill, nobody insists that they hit high notes or play difficult riffs on their instruments, so long as there’s a connection. What if anything can classical music learn from the way popular musicians play & market their music?
Scott Rumble: I think what we can learn from this is that connection is always a super important thing to have with your music and to share it in a way that it can connect with people. Our technique is there to help us in the moments where in classical music we MUST hit a high note or do the difficult riff because it is written, but for me the main thing is to make people feel and if you can do that then the other stuff is less important.
BB: Debussy and Wagner both spoke of the virtuoso as a kind of circus animal, and the applause as a kind of trap. I wonder what you’d say, as a performer who likely enjoys applause?
Scott Rumble: I think as performers we are a trained individual trying to deliver an emotion to an audience. The applause I view as gratitude for what you’ve done, not as a reward that you seek every time, but more as a thank you for sharing your vulnerability and talent with us.
BB: Since the pandemic a great many ways artists are working virtually, both as teachers and as performers. Do you have a preference between live or recorded performance and when you record how do you make it seem live?
Scott Rumble: I prefer the live performance as there are many variables that can change each time, which makes it feel more exciting. For me recording always does feel live because I tend to only like to do one or maybe two takes of an aria because to me that is the most authentic version of my voice. It is what it would be in a live performance and I am always striving for perfection, knowing it’s really an unattainable thing.
BB: If you could tell the institutions how to train future artists, what would you change?
Scott Rumble: I think a thing that institutions don’t focus on until around a Master’s degree is acting in singing. It is important for conveying what you want to get across.
Scott Rumble as Count Tassilo in Countess Maritza with TOT 2023 (photo: Gary Beechey)
You can sing very beautifully, but if you show no connection emotionally or show you know what is being said it can look rather boring to watch. So bringing that in earlier into people’s training would be hugely beneficial.
BB: What influences / teachers were most influential on your development?
Scott Rumble: Teachers who influenced me greatly were Gwenlynn Little, Torin Chiles, and Patrick Raftery.
Gwen was the first to believe in my talents and push for me to apply to universities and gave me the first steps into singing operatically.
Gwenlynn Little
Torin Chiles helped solidify my technical foundation, especially doing a transition from singing as a baritone to a tenor in year 3 of my degree. He still helps me to this day with finding the ease of singing and new colours.
Torin Chiles
Patrick Raftery helped me find my full operatic voice by giving me new repertoire to try and to challenge myself into seeing what my voice could do.
Patrick Raftery
Turns out I was only using about half my voice until I worked with him and I owe him a great credit for telling me to just go for it when it came to my voice. Have no fear and just sing!
*******
Have no fear, reader, yes Scott will be singing.
Upcoming: -Messiah with Kingston Symphony December 7th -Kalman’s The Czardas Princess with Toronto Operetta Theatre Dec 30th – Jan 4th -World Premiere of Adler’s Four Attributes of the Soul with Orchestra Toronto March 1 -Beethoven’s 9th with Symphony New Brunswick March 30 – April 1
This week Tafelmusik’s Chamber Choir began their season with a concert titled Double Dixit, a wonderful warm-up for the Messiah, coming in three weeks.
The singers in that choir are professionals at the highest level, among the best soloists collected together for performances such as this.
Antonio Lotti (1667-1740)
And that’s not all.
While the concert title suggests duality it’s the number three that figures in the different ways I understand Double Dixit. I think first of the musicological, second the rationale for the performers, and finally my enjoyment & appreciation, exploring the ways theory and practice intersect in the performance.
I would suggest that if at all possible go see & hear Double Dixit at Jeanne Lamon Hall Saturday or Sunday Nov 29 or 30, to see and hear it for yourself.
Curating such a concert is itself a creative act. The pre-concert chat for Double Dixit, from Tafelmusik Chamber Choir chorister Kate Helsen is a fascinating bit of speculative musicology.
She imagines an enjoyable way of understanding the relationships between composers Antonio Lotti (1667-1740), George Frideric Handel (1685-1759), both of whom set Psalm 110 aka Dixit Dominus, plus their mutual acquaintance, composer Agostino Steffani (1654-1728), whose brief Antiphon for St Cecilia’s Day opens the concert, apt because St Cecilia’s Day was last weekend.
So here we are living more than 300 years later, listening to their music, wondering about their influence upon one another. Knowing that these two masters must have met one another, it’s fun to imagine their interaction.
Let me add: I love that Tafelmusik did this. I’ll make a bizarre analogy, as I speak of what I wish I could see from Turner Classic Movies. We see so many different adaptations of Pride & Prejudice (we watched one last night, after I got home from the concert) or Little Women. Wouldn’t it be amazing and maybe useful to watch them consecutively, to observe differences & similarities? No they are not quite the same (especially observing that Handel inserts a “Gloria patri et filio” into the last stunning chorus of the text “Sicut erat in principio etc” leading to a fabulous and challenging Amen to conclude). But encountering Lotti’s setting right before Handel’s is a wonderful opportunity.
It’s not the first time I’ve thought that maybe Handel is an under-rated composer, rarely spoken of in the same sentence with Mozart & Beethoven or JS Bach, when we consider who might be the greatest of all. Oh and Handel was in his 20s when he wrote this amazing chorus to conclude his Dixit Dominus. Amazing. That alone is reason why I wish I could hear it again.
Let me shift focus to the practitioners, even as I remind you that the concert was conceived by performers rather than academics locked up in some sort of ivory tower. Tafelmusik is a remarkable organization, apparently more fluid in its power structures than the cliche image we have of 20th century orchestras led by men wielding their phallic batons. Yes they focus on historical performance practices, but perhaps they are at the forefront of a new way of organizing and running an orchestra.
The brilliant thing about Double Dixit is how many opportunities these pieces on the program afford for solos by the choristers of Tafelmusik Chamber Choir. The program mentions Roseline Lambert soprano soloist & Nicholas Burns alto soloist in the Lotti, plus Lindsay McIntyre & Jane Fingler soprano soloists (and Nicholas Burns again) in the Handel: although there were a number of other brief solos that are not listed in the program.
That’s useful for everyone, including the conductor, Ivars Taurins as he prepares his chorus for what’s coming next month.
Ivars Taurins (photo: Dahlia Katz)
One of the great pleasures of such a concert is the chance to watch Ivars conduct the orchestra (who were wonderful, excuse me that I say so little about them) and chorus, his body language like a dance articulating the text in his directions. There was one moment in the concluding chorus when it almost seemed as though Ivars wanted to climb over the orchestra to get to the chorus, his arms making magic in the response he generates in this phenomenal choral ensemble. They’re not the usual chorus, not when each of the singers is a talented soloist in their own right.
Double Dixit has two more performances, 8:00 on Saturday Nov 29 and 3:00 pm on Sunday Nov 30th. Tickets & info are found here.
And next month Tafelmusik bring us Messiah plus the singalong, Ivars undertaking his annual role as Herr Handel.
Ivars Taurins as Herr Handel (photo by Gary Beechey)
I have to think that his theatrical portrayal of the composer also enables his musical identification, making something like Double Dixit more authentic.
“I am a lucky guy.” That’s my mantra as a person seeking to live a life of gratitude: and sometimes it has proven to be true.
My friends Gary & Bill left town for a family bris, giving me tickets to hear Tony Siqi Yun playing the piano at Koerner Hall, a concert that I had not intended to hear, Lucky me, thank you Gary & Bill.
You may not have heard of Tony Siqi Yun, a young Canadian pianist with formidable talent. I understand that although the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto is a pipeline for talent, this was the first time Tony had been to Koerner Hall. And I hope he will return.
Pianist Tony Siqi Yun
Here’s the program we heard Sunday afternoon:
JS Bach: Chaconne from Partita No. 2 for Violin in D Minor, BWV 1004/BV B24 (arr. Busoni) Robert Schumann: Theme and Variations in E flat Major, WoO 24 (“Ghost Variations”) Franz Liszt: “Après une lecture du Dante, fantasia quasi una sonata” from Années de pèlerinage II, S. 161 INTERMISSION Luciano Berio: Wasserklavier Johannes Brahms: Piano Sonata No. 3 in F Minor, op. 5
Today was also the Santa Claus Parade, playing havoc with those of us trying to drive downtown. I left home at 1:00 pm for a 3:00 concert, because I had been warned about the parade and had planned my trip knowing the parade’s route. Between the first and second item (Bach-Busoni and Schumann), the inevitable latecomers were seated in the hall, likely unaware that their lateness meant that they may have missed the best item on the program.
Busoni wrote & premiered his transcription in 1893 while he was living in the USA. I have listened to many versions, usually fascinated by the display of pure virtuosity, the ways in which Busoni seems to turn the pianist into a show-off. Tony’s reading is the first time I set that all aside, partly because he made it seem so easy, partly because of how well the piece was shaped in the interpretation, no longer a showoff exercise, not weighed down by the shadow of Bach but freed to be flamboyant Busoni. Tony played parts softer than I’ve ever heard them played. The dynamic range he shows us is, excuse me for contradicting myself, might seem to be showing off except that it’s very musical, working completely in the service of Busoni’s vision. It’s clean playing, a huge number of notes but totally well-articulated.
The Schumann that followed was perhaps the sanest Schumann, no evidence of the divided genius (that was how he spoke of his own personality), more logical and coherent than any piece I have ever heard, especially in Tony’s hands. We heard a gentle interlude, a piece that never seemed difficult or challenging.
Pianist Tony Siqi Yun
The audience was so quiet at the end of the last variation (i prepared to applaud, but not wanting to disturb the silence): but Tony went on when we didn’t applaud. I’ve seen this from the Toronto Symphony a couple of times when they deliberately programmed pieces from different composers without a break, going from Ligeti to Wagner, while this time Tony took us from Schumann to Liszt.
The Liszt Tony played did what I dream of. I’ve been discussing this a lot with Erika, that when I play something like the Bach-Busoni, and she doesn’t enjoy it, that means I have failed. An interpreter is like a lawyer, advocating for the piece. If I can’t make Erika like the piece, I am letting the composer down. Of course I am no virtuoso, just ambitious verging on delusional in what I am undertaking. But what I am leading up to is the next piece, one that I have never really understood, until what I heard from Tony.
The way that this item is listed in the program is a tantalizing glimpse. It’s shown as ““Après une lecture du Dante, fantasia quasi una sonata” from Années de pèlerinage II, S. 161”. I wish we could encounter this piece in its place among the other short works that make up that second year of Liszt years of pilgrimage. Year two is very literary, including the three stunning Petrarch sonnet pieces. We are brought by Liszt to a remote place of contemplation when he throws this humongous stink-bomb of Dante at us, full of ruminations upon the battles between good and evil. I may be missing the point, but I feel Liszt wants us to experience this as a kind of melodrama, an episodic series of emotional twists & turns, that may leave us feeling dizzy. Perhaps too Liszt was not just struggling with the piano or Dante but with his faith, given that he would become a priest, putting himself into the conversation not at the keyboard but into priestly attire if not actually preaching. The piece is not as polite as a sermon, though, and more of a silent movie score unafraid to contrast the sweet angelic music with fearsome noise, fearful effects sudden abrupt shifts: especially as Tony dared to play it. I have never made sense of the piece before now. Tony is a thoughtful pianist, a genuine poet himself. We were listening not to feats of pianism but coups de theatre, big brash moments to suggest a battle between celestial forces. And while we’re at it, I’m not sure Liszt is properly appreciated, given that melodrama is no longer understood as a high form. But maybe it’s best seen alongside such modern melodramas as Howard Shore’s stunning score for The Two Towers or John Williams sweeping gestures in The Empire Strikes Back. No we didn’t get to hear the whole of the Années de pèlerinage II, but I see that music differently now.
I wonder if some Toronto venue could get Tony to play one of those complete years of pilgrimage.
Pianist Tony Siqi Yun
After intermission came Berio’s Wasserklavier, two minutes of tranquility. In Tony’s reading I was reminded of a barcarolle by Mendelssohn or Chopin, music you’d hear from a gondolier while you drift among gentle waves in a boat.
Again we were on to the next piece immediately because there was no applause after the brief Berio serenade, urgently taken up by the young Brahms. I also feel lucky about the serendipity of my opportunities to hear, again meeting a young brahmsian adventure comparable to his German Requiem that I heard recently. Later Brahms would orient himself according to forms we know well in his Symphonies & Concerti, but in his earlier works there is the sense of a wanderer, following his heart rather than a rule-book. At times we were in realms that were passionate, then dance rhythms suggesting a more extroverted side to the composer. Then we were taken into something softer & more mysterious. Tony honoured the changing directions and moods of the composer’s explorations, sometimes subtly internalized, sometimes brash and confident, subtly powerful inexorably building to a masterful conclusion. I am projecting of course, but I thought Tony identified with Brahms, the young composer finding his way, finding his voice.
The encore was more Brahms, a well-known waltz.
I wonder if the subtle poet I thought I observed in Tony, is perhaps still discovering how to be a virtuoso. Twice in the concert he played on, rather than giving a signal for applause. No he is no egomaniac, that is certain. Instead of showing us that it’s time for us to applaud he went on. I find that remarkable, even if it may signal a certain introspection, a nerdy focus on his art. But in a world of slick hair & fashion choices, I prefer this artist’s devotion to art.
I want to share what I found when I went to YouTube for more. First and foremost, here’s a performance of the Bach-Busoni, that might show why I am so enthusiastic.
Yes he can get his fingers to play the notes, but what’s more important is the way he organizes those notes, building from softness to stunning climaxes. My mind is boggled by how accurately and how cleanly he plays, how well I can discern what he is doing, and how this video reminds me so well of what I heard Sunday in Toronto, so many years after the video performance. There is more variety between variations, but they’re coherent, when he suddenly goes into a different gear at a totally different tempo. I am very much in awe.
There are other pieces on YouTube that I wish we had heard. I hope to see and hear him playing live again. Enjoy! And in the spirit of Thanksgiving (the American one is this week) I am grateful for the many excellent pieces Tony has shared.
Thank you Tony! And thank you Gary & Bill for the chance to hear Tony. I am a lucky guy.
Today I witnessed the Canadian premiere of André Grétry’s Richard Coeur-de-Lion, presented by Voicebox: Opera in Concert at the Jeanne Lamon Hall.
Colin Ainsworth was singing the title role, but was indisposed, courageously singing the role but often dropping to a lower octave. The result was bravely harmonious, even if it wasn’t precisely as Grétry wrote it. I suppose it’s fitting that in this portrayal of the heroic lion-hearted king, Colin seemed to be fearless, truly brave in what he did with his voice. While it wasn’t as written it was stunning to watch all the same, part of an entertaining afternoon of music theatre.
Tenor Colin Ainsworth
The chorus was the big star of the show. Robert Cooper was self-effacing while directing them to perfection, especially the men, who had a much bigger role to play in this macho story of heroism. Sometimes they were in the background, sometimes they had to move or dance, and the whole time they were clearly enunciating their French.
Music Director Suzy Smith at the piano was the other key, excuse the pun, leading a tight & brisk reading that made a strong case for Grétry’s score.
I sincerely congratulated Guillermo Silva-Marin afterwards for this milestone. This is the reason we go to hear Voicebox, for the priceless opportunity to discover new operas like this one. Sung in French but with English dialogue by Guillermo & Diane Loeb, the audience gobbled it up with enthusiasm, laughing often.
While Richard Coeur-de-Lion may be understood as a prototype for rescue opera, it felt like Fidelio turned upside down. Instead of a comic beginning overtaken by a serious dramatic opera, Grétry’s preference was for beautiful melodies and a fun story without much real suspense or danger.
It was very entertaining. Premiered in 1784 this is not to be mistaken for a piece full of virtuoso arias or high notes to show off the voice, but rather a tuneful composition allowing everyone in the cast to shine, the music in service of the storytelling.
Richard may be the title role but his friendly squire Blondel (tenor Yannik Gosselin) has a much bigger part. Initially disguised Blondel is trying to find his master, aided by Antonio, a trouser role sung by soprano Madeline Cooper. The story is as much romance as rescue. Florestan (Taylor Gibbs) was going to meet Laurette (Alice Macgregor), but unexpectedly he’s surrounded & the troops of the Countess (Nicole Katerberg) will help rescue Richard. Everything ends happily, and never mind how it’s accomplished, considering that it’s not the way the historical story played out. Love conquers all.
Voicebox: Opera in Concert return Saturday, February 14, 2026 (3 pm) at Jeanne Lamon Hall, Trinity-St. Paul’s Centre for La Sonnambula.
With every Remembrance Day, I wonder how best to respond to the implications of November 11th, a day when we are encouraged to honour those who gave their lives in wars, in service to the nation.
I went to a school where we had a very powerful ritual celebration every November 11th, led by Mr Bull, a teacher who was a war veteran, who taught us the meaning of solemnity.
He explained the metaphor of the Last Post & Reveille, that when you went to bed at war, you were not guaranteed to wake up the next morning. I liked the clarity of this presentation, which is never so clear anymore when the metaphor is mixed with other poems & songs between the two trumpet calls.
At the end of the service we were marched out of the auditorium, smallest kids first (which was scary the first time I did that), walking between the walls listing the students who had died in the wars. As the school was founded in 1910 we had graduates who died in both world wars and in Korea.
We were trained to be faithful to the flag and the country, perhaps in keeping with the instructions given in the poem “In Flanders Field”, a powerful injunction if you grow up being told to honour those who made the ultimate sacrifice. I wear a poppy, I support the Canadian Forces, especially those who served. All the friends I met in church who served overseas have now passed away. It’s apt that they are remembered both on November 1st and November 11th.
Some of us (me) were more naive and ready to follow our teachers than others. I only know that I felt conflicted by John McRae’s specific request. The last verse is clear.
Take up our quarrel with the foe; To you from failing hands, we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break the faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
We have been at peace for my whole life, although Canada’s soldiers sometimes went overseas as peacekeepers. That assuages my fears somewhat, when I think of McRae’s suggestion that they “shall not sleep”.
Today I watched Derek Jarman’s 1989 film War Requiem. Britten’s War Requiem, featuring lines from poet Wilfred Owen, is the soundtrack for this stunning film with no actual dialogue.
We see Laurence Olivier as an old soldier clutching medals in a wheel chair, pushed by a nurse played by Jarman’s frequent collaborator Tilda Swinton.
The old soldier (Laurence Olivier) & the nurse (Tilda Swinton)
Because it’s November 11th, I heard the closing passage of Britten’s War Requiem as an answer to McRae, perhaps hearing it clearly for the first time.
The tenor and baritone sing “Let us sleep now.” More war means more young men called to arms, and dying.
If you’re someone who has lived through war and is easily triggered by loud sounds or images of death or battle, this is not the film for you. Jarman does not take an easy path, sometimes juxtaposing images of children playing at war with toy guns, to real images of life & death struggle.
I feel fortunate. I have uveitis, an inflammation of the iris that we used to call “iritis” twenty years ago. It’s one of the recurring symptoms of ankylosing spondylitis that would hurt far worse if I didn’t have the relief via steroid drops that take away the pain thank goodness. My eyes don’t want to work too hard, refusing to focus after a certain point. I emulate Ray Charles, wearing sunglasses indoors because bright light hurts my eyes. All being well my eyes will recover.
I mention this by way of explanation for why I’m going to fewer concerts than usual right now. After a certain point in the day my eyes seem to be working to rule, refusing to do anything complicated, especially in the evening.
But my eyes have an endless capacity to shed tears which is probably a healthy response. I had wetness on my cheeks during Lepage’s Far side of the moon, during the Mendelssohn Choir concert of Brahms A German Requiem and again today watching Jarman’s meditation on war.
At this point in his life, in 1989 one might call Jarman a dead man walking, aware of his AIDS diagnosis and a near-certain death in his future. He would pass away 5 years later. As of 1989 Europe was on the brink of a new era of peace. As of 2025 the optimism we recall when the Berlin Wall came down, with the excitement of glasnost & perestroika feels very remote, hard to recall. In the film the violence of war builds to the ultimate expression of violence, images of nuclear war. This is no glorification of men in arms but a portrayal of the futility of war. I hope we have not forgotten that part.
While it may go against the grain of November 11th and the poem with the poppies, I am grateful for Jarman’s film and what he says, a meditation on war that feels cathartic at a time when so many of the people I know are feeling despair. I will watch it again tomorrow.
barczablog 