Where would you take a visitor to Toronto if you knew (s)he were vegan or vegetarian?
I was in a rut for awhile, with two standard answers to that question, one in Kensington Market, one on Bloor St. But now –led by the visitor’s inspired choices—I know a whole bunch more.
This is a quick summary of our travels. Our focus has been from the east end (where we both reside) to the middle of town (where I work). I understand that the west end is full of great places but we don’t go there so often.
Why does one do this? Some people have political objections to meat and to the assumption that animals only exist on this planet to serve humans. Does the thought trouble you at all? I certainly find it problematic, especially when I think of what a mess we’ve made of this planet. And sometimes it’s simply a matter of health. I am finding myself feeling better when I eat vegan, and totally open to hearing the arguments against a conventional diet.
I won’t try to persuade you. Instead? Here are the five places that were most noteworthy over the past two weeks, that you might want to check out for yourself.
1) Grasshopper on College St near Spadina
Grasshopper is a cute little place near the university (where I work). The menu is a series of humorous options, as they parody a typical menu with such things as “mac n Cheese” or “chili” or “pulled pork” or a “burger” all accomplished without recourse to meat. I suppose this is how many vegetarian places operate, framing their selection in terms of the conventional foods they don’t offer. But Grasshopper seem especially witty.
The question you might want to pose is: on a menu, is it more important to make an accurate imitation of something normally containing meat / dairy, or should the chef aim for something tasty or even healthy? I’ll let you answer the rhetorical question yourself. But Grasshopper gives you a fun parody of a typical restaurant experience if you need that. Or you can have one of their bowls or salads and simply enjoy something quite marvellous. They’re not expensive. MENU
2) Udupi Palace on Gerrard near Coxwell
I’ve been driving past this place for years without noticing it, indeed, driving through this fascinating neighbourhood without ever really noticing much.
We went in, descending to a lower level, the space delightfully disorienting. Is this still Toronto? i felt as though I was far away in another world.
It’s inexpensive, and the flavours and spices totally transporting us to another world. I had the South Indian Thali –which is a lovely sampler of several flavours including some wonderfully spicy ones—while my companion has something much smaller, from among the dosas.
This one has to be pricier because of its location. But wow it’s busy busy, having attracted attention with its beautiful execution and the prettiest space of any that we visited. (some are downright plain)
We had a tough time getting in –crowded!—but the service was quite spectacular considering. One can have pizza or burgers.
But wow, some of the simplest things can blow you away. Their roasted Brussel Sprouts? Thrilling, making me want to try to make this myself.
They offer an Artisanal Nut Cheese Plate, that is stunningly creative, a series of different textures & flavours to remind you of cheese without any actual dairy.
I also had something called “Kale Caesar”, which I assume is meant to be a comical take on the usual cry of “Hail, Caesar”, but instead of wearing the green laurel leaves on your head, you put them –as kale this time—onto a plate.
Everything was wonderful, but it’s not cheap. MENU
4) Live on Dupont near Spadina
This was the one we ate after going to the haunted house at Casa Loma. It was Halloween Night, but there were no tricks, only treats.
We started with the 7 layer dip, a stunning variety of textures and flavours to get you mightily appetized & excited about what’s to come.
Hm maybe “Kale Caesar” isn’t meant to be shouted, as it appears on this menu too. Okay, so I have an over-active imagination.
I had something called Über Protein, and watched my companion eat Bibimbap. We both ate lots, and felt amazing afterwards. MENU
5) Green Earth on Broadview near Gerrard
Finally perhaps the simplest is sometimes the best. This menu –like all the menus we saw—can’t be properly explored in a single visit.
We both had soup. I ate a spinach – asparagus soup that was a delightful green colour, that I inhaled, while my companion had a Tom Yum soup that I helped her finish.
I had a cheesecake, flavoured like green tea with something resembling whipped cream on top. Should i put “cheesecake” into quotes? But it’s remarkably like real cheesecake, especially in the way it entices one to devour it.
The coffee? We had to each have two, as it was so amazingly good, the best coffee I’ve had in a restaurant in years, delivered with organic soy milk.
But we’ve barely started our explorations. And there are so many more places in Toronto.
I’m late coming to the party, seeing something near the end of its run.
After seeing Musik für das Ende tonight at the beautiful Guloien Theatre, one of the spaces at Streetcar Crowsnest, Crow’s Theatre’s new facility, I had a series of intense conversations. Please understand, while I’m a social butterfly, I wasn’t seeking them out, I was just minding my own business, furiously making notes on my phone, as I tried to capture a few thoughts after the show.
But people seemed to want to talk. Clearly they had been moved.
I wondered if they wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to rain on their parade, by insulting or disparaging their precious work that they loved so much. Please understand, I’m reporting this because that’s meaningful, that people had such a powerful response to this piece that you could see and feel it afterwards. Part of this is due to the intimate space seating 220 in the round and all that it implies and conditions. We sat facing one another in a performance that at times was like a ritual, making all of us into witnesses or even participants in a rite.
I am aiming to unpack the experience as much as possible from first principles, in order to honour both the text and the performances, each of which contribute to the experience. I’m mindful of a phrase from Joseph Kerman’s Opera as Drama that is stuck in my head tonight as a phrase that rings false, that “the composer is the dramatist”.
That may be so in the time of Verdi or Wagner, but not in earlier times when so much of the creation lay in the choices made by virtuosi, the singers realizing the possibilities of a score. And so, if we go back in time to centuries when the performance was less determined and more improvised, we need to balance the composer’s credit with that of the singers.
And so too in more recent times with compositions leaving so much open to the performers. For Vivier’s work, he co-created with those who realize work such as Musik für das Ende.
Tonight and this past week, we’ve been seeing the outcome of a collaboration between Soundstreams & Crow’s Theatre, “conceived by Chris Abraham and Zack Russell” in the words of the program, employing two compositions of Claude Vivier (Glaubst du an die Unsterblichkeit der Seele (1983) and Musik für das Ende(1971) ) preceded by Il faisait nuit, a text written by Zack Russell. The program would suggest that Russell’s words are part 1, and that each of the two Vivier compositions are parts 2 & 3, but it’s not quite as distinct as that.
Alex Ivanovici as Claude Vivier (photo by Claire Harvie)
Alex Ivanovici portrays Claude Vivier. Is this the eternal aspect of the composer: who was murdered in Paris before his 35th birthday? Perhaps. We begin in the dark, where we all begin. It’s mythic and universal in the extreme, even if Ivanovici plays a very grave & adult Vivier to my eye, without the famous laugh; but then again I recall so many people telling me how much they detested Mozart’s laugh in Amadeus, so perhaps this was a canny choice, opting for gravitas and universality. When I mentioned that to a friend afterwards, I was admonished that they didn’t expect verisimilitude. Nor did I. But this is a tonal choice. It’s a small quibble, and perhaps I am simply wrong, that the piece wouldn’t work if one opted to bring out a more vulnerable youthful side to Vivier.
I am grateful I had the chance to chat with cast-member Bud Roach. He confirmed what I thought I was experiencing, as I stumbled upon a word that the cast was apparently using namely “mantra”. The big final piece on the program, which is done with Vivier incarnated onstage for the latter part of the performance—meaning Ivanovici, and also a younger aspect of the character onstage at the end (perhaps to balance out the seriousness? To inject a bit of vulnerability?) –is a curious ritual. The procedures as far as I could tell alternated between groups of performers repeating or roughly imitating certain key phrases, syllables that I didn’t understand (and that I don’t need to understand), and individual segments using music brought from life. I heard a bit of “you are my sunshine” and “ombra mai fu” and “vittoria vittoria mio core”, among others and assorted words and phrases in several languages; I particularly observed some Hungarian (from Margaret Bárdos) because it always grabs my ear (as a Magyar) but there were others as well, that I didn’t understand. I don’t think the particulars of what’s said or sung matters, so much as that we observe this back and forth between solitary expression and the tendency to coalesce into groups and repeated chants.
While I don’t pretend to understand the procedures Vivier specified –and I did hear a bit about it on social media—the important thing is what they achieved in this back and forth vacillation, between the solos and clusters / constellations of singers, that were a reminder that we are not entirely alone, but never fully lost in the group. It was a kind of enactment of culture & society, of the dynamics of a person relating to a larger group, pulled at times to conform, at other times free to fly away in their own thoughts / songs / words.
Music für das Ende (photo by Claire Harvie)
My first impression –as I watched the excitement in the space and tried to get my ego out of the way of the complex procedures I was watching –was to be reminded of my first experience of Philip Glass, of seeing something that seemed to defy my understanding. The trick then (with a concert of music from Einstein on the Beach in the 1970s, and later, Satyagraha in 1981), was to stop expecting the music to do what other musics usually did. Instead of stipulating –as some critics did– that music must do x or y, that there must be development, the real trick is to be in the here and now (haha I accidentally typed “hear and now” which might be even more accurate), of the phenomenon itself. Stipulations are for your real estate agent (i need 4 bathrooms!) not concerts or operas. Once I let Glass have his way with my ear and viscera, and indeed, once I surrendered to Vivier and this production, it made a whole lot more sense. Don’t worry about what those syllables mean (they’re in Sanskrit, Bud tells me).
I don’t speak Sanskrit. Do you?
I found myself wondering how Vivier imagined the work. For this occasion with the collaboration between Crow’s Theatre & Soundstreams, the procedure was enacted right in front of us, in the round where we couldn’t miss what was going on. Vivier might have expected the work to be done by singers in tuxedos on a concert hall stage, not in a maelstrom of bodies on a half-lit stage, surrounded by observers. His score was as much an occasion for voyeurism and visuals as it was for the more typical aural listening experience, and that’s before we add in the meta-drama (or meta-music??) of the composer wandering through his own composition.
From time to time, a voice emerged from the group. We began the Glaubst du… section with Owen McCausland and then Adanya Dunn, who would make her presence felt much more in the later larger work, along with Bárdos, Vania Chan, as well as a few singers whose sound I recognized, particularly Keith Lam, Justin Welsh, and the unmistakable tenor of Bud Roach.
There’s a lot more to it than I’ve captured here, including sound design for the first part, featuring Adam Scime’s synth, as well as Ryan Scott, percussion & John Hess, synthesizer & conductor. The piece had been workshopped last year.
A pair of performances remain on Saturday November 4th. I would suggest you get there if at all possible: so you’ll know what your friends are excited about.
They keep fine-tuning the format for the Canadian Opera Company’s Centre Stage Gala, the competition & celebration of the Ensemble Studio, now in its fifth year as a gala, seventh as a singing competition.
I would say this was the most entertaining yet, featuring the comic stylings of Ben Heppner at the microphone, regaling us with witty anecdotes, followed by Alexander Neef teasing us unmercifully with the results, a genuine fun time.
While past years have featured more entrants in the competition, this year everyone seemed to have a legitimate shot at winning. While I was fairly sure who had won –in one of those happy years when the audience favorite is also the winner of the actual competition—I think anyone else in the competition could have been a legitimate 2nd or 3rd place finisher, at least based on the performances that we heard tonight.
But of course the competition isn’t just about tonight. These singers prepare their solo arias with the staff of the Ensemble Studio, who are at least partly the ones who determine the winner. In preparation they get to see what kind of person they’re dealing with, from work habits to simple kindness. I don’t pretend to know the criteria for the selection, only that it’s not just about how well they hit their high notes tonight.
2017 is a very strong cohort.
Simona Genga was the audience favorite, a popular winner with an intense reading of the aria “Adieu forêts” from Tchaikovsky’s Jeanne d’Arc. I don’t know the piece, only that Genga gave us great intonation, pathos a plenty and a remarkable range. The response after that aria might have been the biggest I’ve ever heard at one of these Centre Stage competitions.
Joel Allison finished second with a rendition of “Scintille, diamant” from Offenbach’s Tales of Hoffmann, and Anna-Sophie Neher was third, giving us “Je veux vivre” from Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette.
It was a spectacular evening not just for the high level of the competitors, but also for Jane Archibald’s epic performance of arias from Don Giovanni and La Traviata. Archibald sang while the judges tallied their scores, but she was far more than just a place-holder. Impressive as the youngsters were, it was thrilling to hear so much beautiful singing pouring out of Archibald, the COC’s Artist-in-Residence.
We began with the overture to Abduction from the Seraglio. Johannes Debus who is just back from conducting at the Met in NYC led a strong showing from the COC Orchestra, ensuring that every aria sounded even more beautiful. On this occasion there were no weak performances, as everyone seems to be ready for prime time.
COC Music Director Johannes Debus with the COC Orchestra. (Photo: Michael Cooper)
I will be intrigued to see just who might be joining the Ensemble Studio after this strong showing.
If you like your theatre interactive, I have the show for you. But whoops tonight was the closing night.
Even so I am betting that Legends of Horror will come back to Casa Loma next year. I sure hope so. This was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
Imagine your standard haunted house, like the sort they used to have at the CNE. Remember? Some of it was cheesy and even silly, and occasionally they might scare you or startle you. So that’s what we remember from childhood.
NOW: picture a grown up version, not really appropriate for small children, because some of the images are truly grotesque and scary. You take Casa Loma –an actual castle in downtown Toronto—and employ its grounds and its tunnels to create a genuine ambience of terror. Sometimes it’s because you’re in an enclosed space, with spooky music. Sometimes it’s because an actual actor surprises you in the dark.
Because it was Halloween we dressed up. I was in a blue wig, my daughter in a pink one (as you see in the picture above). The place was totally jammed full of people, which also made it less likely we would be scared, especially when one sees so many others get startled, jump or scream at the top of their lungs, and many others were also in costumes.
Legends of Horror is a totally amazing experience anytime, let alone on Halloween Night.
It was a bit of a challenge to figure out how to dress, on this the coldest night of the entire run (remembering that it’s been unseasonably warm since the show started in late September). The wig turned out to be a great way to stay warm, allowing me to get rid of my sweater (that I needed earlier in the day, walking on the Board Walk). I also enjoyed the possibility that by being a bit chilly, I might have shivers that would be a natural segue into shaking in terror.
But really, the crowd defuses much of that. If we had come earlier in the run, on a quiet night, we might have been genuinely jarred by what we saw and heard, including some wonderful performances by live actors. I was especially impressed by the big Frankenstein’s Monster figure near the end, towering over us, as I shouted “it’s alive”.
They told us before we went in that
We were not to touch any objects
We were not to touch any of the actors
They were not to touch us
And that made me feel quite safe.
A few times, the performers loomed out of the dark, while I smiled and stood my ground. I am one of those weirdos who –when someone says “can I get a volunteer” during a show—screams “me me me!” It led to some wonderful moments including one almost nose to nose, but it was magical. And I have to say that’s hard work, keeping a straight face, staying in character especially when a doofus in a blue wig (moi that is) smiles back and says “howdy howdy” or “hey there handsome.”
What fun!
The caption I used on social media: “Hm just remembered I’m seeing the dentist next week.” But jokes and costumes are a way to avoid being scared
And they told us that halfway through the tour that we’d find a bar and washrooms. It’s delightful, stopping to look at the pictures we’ve taken while we have a drink and gather ourselves for more. It was interesting sharing this with social media, getting comments from friends & family far & near, particularly on a night when some were experiencing genuine terror in NYC. How fortunate that ours was entirely innocent.
I hope they revive it next year. I will be back, bringing other friends along.
A year and a half ago it was a conceptual Marriage of Figaro including a mysterious cupid and bird carcasses, in Claus Guth’s production at the Canadian Opera Company. Now it’s Opera Atelier’s turn in a production at the Elgin Theatre this week, a revival of one that we saw back in 2010. This is one of the most popular operas, a story to mostly make you laugh with occasional tears, three quicksilver hours that zip by before you know it.
Is Mireille Lebel as Cherubino being marched off to war by Douglas Williams’ Figaro? non piu andrai indeed. (photo: Bruce Zinger)
OA seem to improve their productions with every iteration, probing and exploring beyond the previous time. I remember how excited I was in my first experience of Figaro with the previous design concept (one I first saw in the 1990s that was revived in 2003), even if in that earlier version, the company still seemed so obsessed with their mission of foregrounded historicity as to miss much of the fun. What struck me back in 2010 was a growing maturity from Marshall Pynkoski’s concept, a willingness to make great theatre, less interest in proving a point in the history books and–finally! — more of a willingness to just have some fun.
Today I saw a cast working hard to be intelligible, singing the opera in English with surtitles even if we could understand almost every syllable without recourse to those titles: which made the comedy effortless. Conductor David Fallis has Tafelmusik playing gently without ever covering the singers. In the biggest passages that can be trouble for other productions such as the Count’s Act III aria or the finale to Act I –that is, without the protective envelope provided by Fallis, Tafelmusik and the acoustics of the Elgin Theatre–, there was still no problem hearing the singers. It’s an extra pleasure seeing Elisa Citterio, the violinist who is the new Tafelmusik Music Director in the spot once occupied by Jeanne Lamon. Their pace and their approach is the most historically accurate element in this production, from an orchestra that is one of the cultural treasures of this city.
Pynkoski gives us a very theatrical Figaro that opts for winks to the audience over heavy-duty illusion, an energetic romp from a young cast. While the design is influenced by the Commedia dell’Arte subtext, that influence is inconsistent in its application, especially in the jarring use of the sticks smacked together, upstaging anything else happening at the time (especially singing). But other than that minor concern you will come out of this Figaro smiling and happy, I think.
This is the usual handsome stage picture, designed by Gerard Gauci (set) and Martha Mann (costumes). For fans of the Opera Atelier Ballet, it may be disappointing to see so little dance in this opera, but the other bodies onstage are so attractive as to compensate somewhat. The cast are young attractive performers. Figaro & Susanna, the young couple embarking on marriage, are Douglas Williams & Mireille Asselin, while the Count & Countess Almaviva are a striking pair, namely Stephen Hegedus & Peggy Kriha Dye. Mireille Lebel is a charismatic and believable Cherubino both because of her height and body language. In addition to this strong nucleus, as good a cast as any Opera Atelier production I’ve seen before, the smaller parts were also well cast. Olivier Laquerre as Antonio stole the show every time he opened his mouth, while Laura Pudwell as always was a delight as Marcellina.
Will she forgive him? The company, including Peggy Kriha Dye and Stephen Hegedus (photo: Bruce Zinger)
Hegedus & Dye give the production its necessary gravitas to counter-act the non-stop shenanigans of the servant class. Asselin & Williams are a very classic pair in their lightness of touch, likable manner, and flair for comedy. Lebel makes the most of her vocal opportunities as each of her famous arias is the highlight of that act.
Never mind obscure concepts (thinking of Guth), this opera is a near-perfect creation that is a delight to hear and see, particularly when given to a gifted group of performers. Opera Atelier’s Marriage of Figaro runs until November 4th at the Elgin Theatre. I strongly recommend that you see it and hear it.
You knew this had to be a different concert from the beginning, the second half of an exchange, that had begun with the Toronto Symphony’s visit to Israel last year. Roy Thomson Hall was really full, including the seats behind the Israel Philharmonic orchestra. When they came in that big crowd erupted into applause, that was even bigger for the arrival of conductor Zubin Mehta
We started with “Oh Canada”, and I sang along (in French because I don’t know the words in English. They’ve changed them so often). Then came the Israeli anthem which I don’t know, and curiously far more people sang along with that one than with “Oh Canada.” In other words, maybe a big reason Roy Thomson Hall was so full was a patriotic one.
This is the third time I’ve seen Zubin Mehta conduct.
Zubin Mehta (photo: Marco Brescia- La Scala)
At 81 years old, he is one of the oldest remaining masters, now that so many have fallen recently:
Neville Marriner
Frans Brüggen
Claudio Abbado
Cristopher Hogwood
Lorin Maazel
Nikolaus Harnoncourt
I remember hearing back in the 1960s from one of my siblings that he was married to a Hollywood actress, which is only surprising if you haven’t seen Mehta: the handsomest orchestral conductor since Carlo Maria Giulini, who passed away a decade ago. In fact Mehta feels like the last of his generation, especially when I look back at when and how I saw him
In 1974 Mehta conducted “The Concert of the Decade”, presenting Act I of Die Walküre with the Toronto Symphony, Birgit Nilsson, Jon Vickers and William Wilderman. They did it twice, I watched the first of the two (as a teenager incredulous that some could afford to attend both concerts).
In 1993 I was in Chicago giving a paper at a conference, although the highlight of the trip was seeing the Lyric Opera of Chicago’s production of Siegfried including Eva Marton (amazing)
And tonight an older Mehta led the Israel Philharmonic
He’s still very distinguished looking, leading with the most economical gestures. If you watch this video –Mehta leading the Berlin Philharmonic in the G minor Slavonic Dance, the same one the Israel Philharmonic gave us tonight, but back in the 1990s—you see the same variety of baton movements as we saw tonight, including those wonderful little swoops in the middle section, where he lets one brief gesture stand for a whole bar. But as he’s older, he walks slower, he isn’t as ebullient in his conducting, but every bit as precise.
The program consisted of three items:
Amit Poznansky’s Footnote, Suite for Orchestra (the only one of the three for which Mehta employed a score; the others were conducted from memory)
Maurice Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé Suite No 2
Richard Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben
Poznansky’s piece is from a film, music that I’d sum up as moody pattern music with some atmospheric strumming by the pianist inside the instrument. At times there’s a quirky waltz that reminds me of the Shostakovich waltz in Eyes Wide Shut. And suddenly it was over.
We then came to a pair of pieces making this the best orchestral concert I have heard in this space in a long time, perhaps ever. I think back on the Berlin Philharmonic, and assorted inspired nights with the TSO, but this one had more intensity, and more commitment in the music-making. Conductor and players were working hard, putting everything into it.
The Ravel was subtle, very clear, very detailed. I could hear every instrument, every phrase articulated. Nothing was thrown away. Gradually the intensity built up to a powerful ending, strong but never forced.
The performance of Ein Heldenleben is a natural climax to the past few weeks obsessing over Richard Strauss, as I mulled over opera scores in anticipation of Arabella. This is the Strauss piece I probably know best, a work of a myriad themes and cross-references to other compositions that resembles a self-portrait, or a musical therapy session. The hero is Strauss himself, and the heroic life is composition, facing the critics who are caricatured mercilessly in the score. Whereas the opening statement of the theme might be inspiring, after his encounter with his enemies, the hero seems to sink into despair. He’s rescued by the emergence of his inspiration, his muse, portrayed mostly by a solo violin although her themes are circulated through the orchestra in time. And so epic as the eventual battle might be, the great moments are silences (when you really see how perfect Mehta’s leadership and control actually are), eloquent solos from the violin or the horn, whose duet in the closing minutes would have messed up my mascara if I wore any. I was struck by the beauty with which this most Jewish sounding instrument, played by David Radzynski, in a portrayal of Strauss’s muse, should be balancing the exquisite horn playing of principal James Madison Cox as the masculine side of the equation, sounding oh so Wagnerian. For the moment at least that duality (male & female, German & Jewish, and perhaps by implication, Wagner & Jews) seemed to be happily reconciled, perfectly balanced.
The clarity of the Strauss was shocking to me, even in places of great dissonance & complexity. Mehta brought out inner voices & dramas that made me think of this as a contrapuntal piece, which is ridiculous. But there’s so much in this work, that one can’t hear if one lets the dominant voices drown out the subtler answering ones. It was only clear just how judicious Mehta had been, when we heard the Dvorak encore, and the horses were set free and allowed to gallop full tilt. Everything was still very disciplined and controlled but wow what power, and what elegance.
Bass-baritone Douglas Williams is now performing the title role in the Opera Atelier production The Marriage of Figaro that runs this week at the Elgin Theatre.
His repertoire reaches over four centuries, being a sought-after interpreter of Monteverdi, Handel, Bach, and Mozart, in addition to the romantic and modern eras. You can read more about his extensive professional credits around the world but even find examples of his poetry & photography on his website.
I’m eagerly looking forward to seeing him onstage especially after seeing his answers to my questions.
Bass-baritone Douglas Williams as Figaro (photo: Bruce Zinger)
ONE) Are you more like your father or your mother?
I supposed one of the joys and shocks of getting older is discovering just how much you are your parents’ child. From my father, a retired electrical engineer with unique hobbies, I inherited a sense of process, diligence, curiosity for what lies around the corner, independence, stubbornness, and a peculiar sense of humor. From my mother I took my entire emotional palette, including laughter, passion, and dreams.
TWO) What is the best thing about what you do?
The best thing about what I do as a singer is getting to explore all that makes me human, and then share that with other humans through my performance. I’ve learned a lot about myself and my body through training as a singer. Our voice is one of the chief mediums for how we put ourselves into the world, and there are all kinds of layers and ideas about identity, who others perceive us to be, how we perceive ourselves, that can prevent us from finding our true voice. This is the journey of the singer. There is technical mastery but for many, myself included, this parallels a journey into the self. Ultimately then I get to sing for an audience and they receive something of the freedom and truth that I’ve been mining from my body and my psyche, expressed in song.
The acting part of singing of course also allows you to shine light on all sort of emotional corners of yourself that we don’t get to visit or express in day-to-day life.
THREE) Who do you like to listen to or watch?
One of the best pieces of advice I received as an adolescent who loved music, was to keep my listening tastes broad. Right now I’m really into the American composer John Luther Adams, in particular his works for strings, The Wind in High Places and Canticles of the Sky. These are expansive, painfully beautiful plaintive pieces that fill me with wonder and stillness when I listen. I’ve also been listening for the first time to works of Johann Rosenmüller, an early German Baroque composer who wrote in the majestic Venetian style. Just the other day I was thinking, I bet I am the only person at this gym listening to Rosenmüller!
Also George Enescu symphonies, Christa Ludwig, Kurt Elling… just to name a few.
I do not watch any television show regularly. I’m looking forward to watching the new installment of Twin Peaks, perhaps after this Figaro closes. I think there are lots of interesting short things to watch online these days, too. I like the surreally edited youtube videos by Vic Berger, commenting on the ridiculous state of politics and the media in the U.S.
FOUR) What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
I wish that I was a better pianist. I want to write songs for my own voice – something I haven’t done since high school. But I’m afraid that the piano accompaniment will be extremely rudimentary, and the thought of embarrassment is precluding me from just trying.
FIVE) When you’re just relaxing and not working what is your favourite thing to do?
Spend time in beautiful natural places. Last May, I did a solo pre-dawn hike up Telescope Peak in Death Valley National Park, arriving at the 11,043 foot summit just in time for sunrise. This was perhaps the most ecstatic experience I’ve had in nature, just being alone with the black silhouette of the mountain, hiking in high open desert terrain under the canopy of stars. Then witnessing the approach of dawn across a vast sea of mountain ranges, as if it were the moment of creation itself. There was a sense of safety and wholeness as I traversed that ridge, alone in the vastness, and I will treasure forever the serenity and awe of that early morning. I think that feeling is the same source that allows artists to create great works of music and art. For me there is a vital connection between spending time in nature and making music, and next to my list of repertoire I’d like to sing, I have a long list of places I’d like to visit.
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More questions for Douglas Williams as he undertakes the title role in Opera Atelier’s Marriage of Figaro
ONE) Please talk about the advantages of doing Figaro in English, even if in this might make it harder for you.
Probably like my colleagues in this cast I had my doubts about doing an Italian opera in English.
But these doubts are only because we have all heard bad English translations of all sorts of works, or bad performances in English that make the language sound stiff and artificial. But this is an excellent translation, intelligent and funny, and retaining the sense of vivacious cleverness of the original Italian. Of course some people say that English not as lyrical as a language as Italian, where all of the emotional information is a carried in vowels, bouncing from syllable to syllable. But I am convinced that English is a beautiful language for singing and I think we have taken care in our preparation at Opera Atelier to make it beautiful and communicative, alive with the lilt of theatrical dialogue, and lyrical and gorgeous to express the charm of Mozart’s music.
Dramatically, the advantages of doing this opera in the vernacular are now very clear to me. The audience is hanging on every word, they are reacting to the development of my thought in real-time as I explain to them the Count’s deceitful plans for my Susanna. They laugh at the jokes as they happen, not from a surtitle screen. This is very important for comedy to be truly funny. We want to laugh at a joke in the first degree, without being removed from the humor as it pops on state.
As an actor you really can’t beat getting to sing in your native tongue. I have developed sufficient proficiency in the main languages of opera to emotionally connect to the text — that’s our job! But nothing can compare to English, the language I was raised in, where every word is going to have a web of emotional associations both conscious and subconscious because I have spoken that word thousands of times in thousands of contexts over the course of my life. The job of the singer-actor is that much easier and alive.
Mireille Asselin & Douglas Williams (photo: Bruce Zinger)
TWO) As you make your Opera Atelier debut, I’m sure you’re aware that this is a company devoted not just to historicity but a very self-conscious approach to movement vocabularies and carefully researched period performance, through their director Marshall Pynkoski. Please talk for a minute about historically informed approaches to music and theater, both your experience and your preferences.
Since 2003 I have appeared in operas with the Boston Early Music Festival, a company that does historical informed stagings of baroque opera. This was one reason why some Canadian colleagues of mine had suggested I might be a good fit for Opera Atelier. I like all kinds of stagings, and I’ve done it all from the abstractly futurist, to the most pure, to something that can feel almost too bound to historicity. In working on The Marriage of Figaro, I’ve enjoyed Opera Atelier’s approach, which I would say is very stylistically aware of the period, but also very sure of itself as live theater for a modern audience. The staging must always communicate clearly to the audience — that is paramount for Marshall.
The physicality that I inhabit in this production feels right to me for the ubiquitous elegance of Mozart, and the confidence and wit of Figaro. It’s quite satisfying actually to feel the music and the staging and the character all meet together in your body — and I find that this is especially possible when doing a staging where your movement is informed by the period. It’s like putting a costume on from the inside out.
THREE) Please talk about the special challenges of the role of Figaro vocally and dramatically.
I first did Figaro a year ago with Edo de Waart and the Milwaukee Symphony. Our Marcellina was the great mezzo soprano Susanne Mentzer, who sang Cherubino for much of her career with the greatest singers of our time. She told me that regardless of the production the Figaros always found this role tiring because there is so much running around, bursting onto the scene, getting slapped, diving for cover, etc. I don’t think it’s possible to do a Figaro that isn’t athletic. You simply must bring the zeal, the energy, the silvery cunning and assuredness to every scene. He is the engine of optimism in this opera. So it is physically tiring, but you have to save enough to sing properly. I sweat through my shirt in every act.
Is Mireille Lebel as Cherubino being marched off to war by Douglas Williams’ Figaro? non piu andrai indeed. (photo: Bruce Zinger)
FOUR) What are your favourite parts of the opera?
My favorite parts of the opera would be the finales that conclude acts II and IV. They are such genius works of music theater, it’s baffling to think of how Mozart conceived of this music. The text and music are so fluidly intuitive that I think he had no process. He just had the brilliance to know immediately how to interweave all the voices together, conveying disparate worlds of thought among the characters but with such gorgeous, effortless music. To sing these ensembles is really a joy. The act IV finale is like a carnival ride. You step on and you go!
But if I could sing any aria from any repertoire that is not for my voice it would be Susanna’s “Deh vieni, non tardar” from act IV. I love getting my heart broken by this song, night after night.
Mireille Asselin sings it beautifully.
Mireille & Douglas (photo: Bruce Zinger)
FIVE) One of the special challenges in some roles is the desire as a feeling person to react, to feel. A performer who is reacting emotionally –perhaps crying or laughing—has lost some if not all of their control, and is no longer performing, having become another of the spectators. In comedy this is especially problematic, if one starts laughing at the funny things one sees onstage. How do you stay clear in a role like this one, where your feelings may overwhelm your thought process, where you might giggle at what you see and lose your focus?
Speaking of “Deh vieni, non tardar”, this is the one point in the opera where I allow my emotions to overcome me. I get to lie on the floor, in hiding, listening to Susanna sing to a man who is not me. Because I only have one short line of distressful recitative after her aria I can afford to let the heartache of this moment break me.
This is a trick of singing, to pull so deeply from your emotional sources, but to ride them in your voice and, in almost every case, never become so overwhelmed that you cannot sing beautifully. With Figaro the draw at times is to become a bit aggressive, like in the opening cavatina “Se vuol ballare” or overly bitter in the act IV aria “Aprite”. The emotions are so real because the situations are very relatable, and the music is so powerful that you become seduced into the true emotion. But you can’t do that, because in real life when you are angry or bitter the body’s natural response is to tense up. This is when I have to remind myself, I don’t have to feel everything for the audience to get it. Sing the text, be in the moment, don’t over-show, do the gesture, but always sing, and from the stage the audience puts the pieces together in their own experiences.
Neil Semer
SIX) Is there a teacher or an influence you’d care to name that you especially admire?
I would like to thank my teacher, Neil Semer. He has been a true guide, showing me what is possible beyond what I imagined of not just my voice, but my self. When I started with him we worked on the Figaro arias but it felt like a stretch for me. I told him that these Mozart arias felt like something outside of me — I couldn’t imagine myself in that world, like clothes that didn’t fit.
He told me there would come a day when I would laugh at that notion.
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Douglas Williams, Mireille Asselin & the rest of the cast of Figaro will be onstage at the Elgin Theatre until November 4th.
The company, including Peggy Kriha Dye and Stephen Hegedus (photo: Bruce Zinger)
The painting is called Sir Michael’s Tarp, by Orion Martin, 36 inches by 72 inches.
When I was shown the painting, it didn’t seem familiar right away. If I hadn’t been told I would never have made the connection to a piece of outdoor art co-created by Zoe Barcza and Alfred Boman. They assembled their piece a few years ago, on a patch of grass out of welded rebar painted white, sunk into the turf. And it’s even bigger than what Martin painted: but then again, it has to be considering where it’s installed.
The piece is titled Axl Rose and is 6′ by 6′, not counting the additional rebar sunk in the ground.
Do you see the resemblance? Zoe and Alfred did, and I believe they had a friendly chat with Martin about the painting. Little did I know that they would simply feel honoured that their imagery has another life in someone’s painting.
Zoe told me that she thinks the image came from a photo in social media somewhere, perhaps Instagram?
I’m naïve in my 19th century ideas, recalling the lawsuit against George Harrison. Listen to the melody and chord changes of “She’s So Fine”.
His later song called “My Sweet Lord” DOES sound exactly the same. Unconscious emulation?
But then again, in that famous case there were millions of dollars at stake. In this case there’s nothing so massive at stake. And the similarity is more allusion than imitation.
I don’t usually see movies when they’re brand new. But I feel daring and all caught up because I’ve just seen The Big Sick, Kumail Nanjiani’s auto-biographical comedy. It’s a film that came out back in January.
It feels even fresher because I’d just seen Nanjiani on Saturday Night Live last week, one of the funniest monologues I can recall. The monologue references the reception of the film, what he read online.
He quotes one person’s comment:
“I watched the whole movie, I just don’t like race-mixing”.
(pause)
Yeah.
First of all, nobody good ever uses the phrase “race—mixing”. Even if someone said “I’m pro-race-mixing” I’d be like “why are you talking like that?! Are you an undercover KKK Dragon?”
The other thing. Why do you watch the whole movie? Were you hoping for a twist at the end? Did you think I was going to rip off a mask, “haha, it’s Chris Pine. I’m a white person.”
I don’t know about you, but I’m eager to hear this kind of comedy. I love This Hour Has 22 Minutes and of course SNL for their political edge. Whereas CNN is like a bad dream (will someone please wake me up?), comedy is now taking over from the news networks, giving us glimpses of the truth.
Nanjiani is such a breath of fresh air, especially on US television. We’re spoiled by the comedic genius of Sean Majumdar and Russell Peters in Canada. Nanjiani is perhaps similar, even though he’s a complete original, as we saw on SNL:
…which brings me to my problem with most racism. Here’s my problem with most racism. It’s the inaccuracy. That’s what bugs me. I’m like “DO THE RESEARCH! PUT IN THE WORK! You will see the benefits!”
I’ll give you an example. If someone yells at me “Go back to India,” I’d be like “that guy’s an idiot”. But if someone was like “Go back to Pakistan: which was part of India until 1947, and is now home to the world’s oldest salt mine,” I’d be like “that guy seems to know what he’s talking about… I’ll pack my bags.”
Just because you’re racist doesn’t mean you have to be ignorant. An informed racist is a better racist!
Now after that ridiculously digressive and self-indulgent preamble (which wouldn’t have been necessary if youtube had the monologue; maybe next month?): let me caution you! The Big Sick is nothing like that. It’s not a series of comedy routines, it’s a serious film. YES Nanjiani does portray a stand-up comedian. But by now, after our encounters with Robin Williams’ life, it should be clear: comedy can be a desperate and unhappy profession.
We see the most unbelievable bad set from the comedian that Nanjiani presents for us in a comedy club, as he goes up onstage while coping with the emotions in his life. His girl-friend Emily is sick, on the verge of dying. His family meanwhile want him to marry a Pakistani Muslim girl, not a white American.
This is no to get into the right mood to go onstage.
It should be no surprise that The Big Sick was produced by Judd Apatow, that daring purveyor of difficult comedy. What do I mean by “difficult comedy”? I’m thinking of films that are really pushing the envelope of what might be considered funny, films that some would say failed miserably:
Cable Guy
The 40 year old Virgin
Knocked Up
Funny People
Okay I have a confession. I love Funny People, that movie where Adam Sandler is cracking up, and gets the shit beat out of him by Eric Bana. And I love Superbad, but who doesn’t.
The Big Sick defies the usual expectations of genre. Is it even a comedy? For much of the film we’re watching someone who seems to be dying, and I mean in addition to the inept comedy we see onstage. What happens when people get close to one another in a hospital while standing by someone on the verge of death? If you’ve been there—and I confess I have—this film will be poignant beyond anything you see in formulaic Hollywood comedy.
We see Nanjiani in the hospital with Emily’s parents, played by Holly Hunter –whom I’ve missed terribly over the past few years—and Ray Romano. I didn’t recognize RR right away. He underplays so well we doesn’t resemble an actor, but a real human. I think that’s a good thing even if critics likely were thrown for a loop. He’s unrecognizable, and I think that’s a good thing.
I think we’ll see a lot more of Nanjiani, especially if he and Apatow have any other projects up their sleeves. I love that my ideas of comedy are being played with, enlarged, and revised by the great writing and courageous performances. I’ll see it again mostly because it feels like the best film I’ve seen in months, and also to see how it feels the 2nd and 3rd time. I have to see it again! The first time I was hesitant about laughing in many places that were painful. NOW, knowing how it ends (and I hope I am not accused of being a spoiler by reporting that in this romantic comedy, the girl at death’s door in the hospital ICU –played by Zoe Kazan—does actually survive), I think I’ll dare to laugh in a few places that were painfully scary the first time.
The Toronto Symphony presented the first of two concerts titled “A Tribute to Maureen Forrester” tonight, a celebration of a great Canadian artist, and two premieres.
It felt a bit like a radio program, given that
Ben Heppner was “host” for the evening
His comments as well as those from conductor Peter Oundjian went back and forth between our two official languages
We even had a little bit of an old CBC interview of Forrester played.
If tonight’s concert was being recorded for some sort of broadcast, I believe that the levels will work better in the re-produced version than they did in the hall, as I strained to understand Maureen, even if it was a wonderfully precious moment to hear that familiar voice speaking.
The program included the following:
John Abram’s Sesquie Start
Howard Shore’s song cycle L’Aube, for mezzo-soprano & orchestra , sung by Susan Platts
Gustav Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde, sung by Platts and tenor Michael Schade
As a tribute to Forrester the occasion did push some buttons for me, in the performance of a Mahler work she had sung and with which she was associated. In our opera class a couple of weeks ago, I played a performance of her singing “Von her Schönheit” both as a demonstration of her unique voice and to encourage the class to come to this concert.
There was a definite sense of occasion.
Abram’s Sesquie was two minutes of wacky sound, reminding me of the music one hears in cartoons, unpretentious & fun. It made a great impression.
Next came Howard Shore’s new song cycle with texts by poet Elizabeth Cotnoir, an occasion for some lovely sounds, including a wonderful trumpet solo in the first song, a brass choir in the last, and of course the rich voice of Susan Platts. I’m very fond of Shore’s work in films. He’s known for the Lord of the Rings films, but my favourites are his subtly psychological work with David Cronenberg such as Dead Ringers or Crash. I wish I could say there was comparable profundity here. It’s my first listen to the cycle, and so perhaps I just don’t get it; but I felt that Shore was being very self-effacing and supportive in most of the songs, ambient and rarely very dramatic rather than taking the stage and showing us something distinctive. But the music was beautiful, if rather undistinguished. I couldn’t help contrasting Shore’s work to Abram’s, where one composer boldly sought our attention, where the other seemed very self-assured and relaxed.
But to be honest I was really there to hear the Mahler, to hear Platts, Schade, Oundjian and the TSO, and they did not disappoint.
Michael Schade waits his turn, while Susan Platts sings, with Peter Oundjian’s eloquent leadership of the TSO (photo: Jag Gundu)
Again, I’m mindful of broadcast. In the two loudest songs, namely the first (“Das Trinklied vom Jammer der Erde”) and fourth (“Von der Schönheit”), the big sound of the TSO covered the singers. Perhaps you have to be a Vickers or a Forrester to avoid that fate? I’m not complaining. The flood of sound from the orchestra was very rewarding, whether in the flawlessly executed solos or in powerful tutti, with Oundjian favoring faster tempi. I’m conflicted because I prefer faster Mahler, just the way Oundjian did it, yet for this occasion and our reminiscence of Forrester, I suspect slower would be a more accurate evocation of her era and the conductors such as Bruno Walter with whom she worked. But that’s splitting hairs.
Schade continues to be a revelation, with a voice that can make claims on repertoire bigger and heftier than what we used to expect. While he still sings a stylish Tamino there is a power suggesting he could undertake heavier roles if he wanted to. While not quite a helden tenor, the sound was ample for this occasion.
Platts gave us a profound and thoughtful interpretation, particularly in “Der Abschied”, the massive song that closes the cycle. She had quite a big sing tonight, with the Shore piece as well.
Oundjian continues to get better results from the TSO all the time. It can’t simply be because he’s no longer dying his hair –since his 60th birthday—and as a result getting a different sort of respect from the orchestra. Maybe it’s that with every new player, there’s a bit of a shift, and fewer players left from before his era began. That era is approaching its conclusion, and I find myself enjoying his presence, his kindness and warmth onstage. He has nothing left to prove, and as a result might simply be enjoying his remaining time with the TSO.
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