Well, I just did (imagine, at my age), with
Dmitri Hvorostovsky, a hunky Siberian Baritone - together with millions of other music lovers.
(Please, wish Dmitri well. He is valiantly battling a brain tumor.
If there is such a thing as cosmic justice, he must beat it.)
Sept. 5 -- Good News - visit Dmitri's official website: http://hvorostovsky.com/
Having grown up in Austria with music everywhere, I became a veritable hermit after moving into the (lovely) countryside of Arkansas. While I am happy here writing my novels, the things I most miss are my former seats at various opera houses of the big cities I have lived in.
At first, there was Vienna followed by the Chicago Lyrical Opera. A seat in Boston's Symphony Hall assured me concerts with Pavarotti et al. Then came a center box at the Met - company-owned, mind you and administered by me through my boss of - you guessed it - Italian extraction.
During the New England winters, I couldn't give those 12 center-box seats away. Hence, when they were in danger of going unused, I jumped into my sporty little Opel and, braving sleet and snow, drove from New Hampshire to NYC. Was it worth it? You betcha! Despite getting three speeding tickets one night (in three different states - oh, well, I won't have to worry about that anymore now that I drive a Volvo!)
Then came my happy San Diego days. The Opera House is one of the great venues for world-renowned singers these days. I heard Beverly Sills, Dame Joan Sutherland, Luciano Pavarotti in the eighties, and many other wonderful singers over the next decade.
Sherill Milnes still holds a special place in my melodic heart. When he sang the reviled Baron Scarpia, I even felt Tosca could have been a little nicer to him (instead of stabbing him to death).
Then, one of my highlights was a concert given by heartthrob
Placido Domingo. That man has such charisma it is palpable from the first moment he comes onstage. The pricey ticket was given to me by my then boss Chris and his lovely wife Eloisa (was it they thought I was a good employee?).
As I sat there, wondering if the exorbitant price was worth it, I concluded YES. A resounding, heartfelt YES.
At a Boston concert, several times at the MET, and even in San Diego, I was privileged to hear
Luciano Pavarotti. The world is poorer for having lost him.
And now, that I am (quite happily) ensconced in the foothills of the Ozarks writing novels, I do miss the excitement of live performances.
Although, with my new super-duper computer, I discovered
YouTube - and with it the virtual world of Opera!
AWESOME!
And then, we have a young German tenor -
Jonas Kaufmann.
Equally hunky, sexy, and quite extraordinary.
What did I tell you?
(He reminds me a bit of a young Placido Domingo - perhaps it's his rampant locks.)
To fall for him would be robbing the cradle.
However, as they say, in music and literature, there are no boundaries.
Levity aside, why do we become "enamored" with artists, be they painters, singers, musicians or - yes - even writers?
It's because their artistry elevates us to a higher plane of "being human." So what, you say. Aren't we special anyway? Followed the news lately? Mostly, a sad, sad example of our supposed culture.
Therefore, celebrate the artists who inspire you! Who show you there is beauty. It can be yours too. But only if you're willing to embrace it.