The last scene of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg's second act is usually stirring, but doesn't often make the pit of your stomach drop as if you're in the London Underground's oldest lift. But this is Barrie Kosky's new production for the Bayreuth Festival. While white supremacists were marching and murdering in Charlottesville, we were in the Festspielhaus watching as Kosky unleashed across the entire giant plain of a stage an inflatable cartoon head, akin to the vile Nazi-era caricatures of supposedly typical Jewish appearance (as in the picture, but magnified a few hundred times). The riot in the town square here is fermenting an incipient pogrom against the Jewish Beckmesser. And, horrifying to admit, as an interpretation it makes sense.
That probably looks as if Kosky (the Australian director who has sometimes described himself as a "gay, Jewish kangaroo" - see my interview with him in the JC here) is bashing us over the head. Believe it or not, he isn't - or not solely. This masterful production poses many, many questions, but offers no easy answers. Kosky's laser-like imagination deftly clinches the linking image as one of judgment: the 'marker' is judging Walther, and Sachs judging Beckmesser, in the courtroom in which the Nuremberg Trials were held. Ultimately Sachs delivers his speech on great German art alone in the witness stand, before turning to conduct a newly visible orchestra to prove his point. At this moment, the audience must become the judges. We are saved by art alone... Or are we? That is up to us.
Saved by art alone?
We are not only judging Sachs, though - because this Sachs is Wagner. The overture shows us the interior of the composer's nearby house, Wahnfried, and as the first chords blaze out, the doors fly open and in strides the maestro, complete with his two Newfoundland dogs. We soon meet Cosima, who's been upstairs with a migraine; her father, Franz Liszt; a guest, the conductor Hermann Levi (who was the son of a rabbi, but was Wagner's choice to conduct the premiere of Parsifal). There's the spectacle of Wagner and Liszt playing this music to their captive audience as a piano duet, and the mercurial Wagner becomes puppet-master, directing everybody, while Levi is shown up as an outsider, reluctant to kneel for prayer - he's Jewish, but also he has gammy knees. A portrait of Cosima wins a central role, and soon from inside the piano emerge the mastersingers in 16th-century costume...
Wagner is transformed into Sachs; and his younger self, Walther; and his younger self still, David the apprentice; and two young boys in similar costume, perhaps Siegfried, or Wolfgang and Wieland. Cosima becomes Eva, if without such properties of recreated youth, and Liszt is her dad, Pogner. And Levi is coerced by the Master into becoming Beckmesser.
One can, of course, pick holes in the concept if one wants to - Eva/Cosima's hoppity-skippity ways in her dignified older-woman black crinoline don't always work convincingly. Yet the whole is carried out with the kind of flair, wealth of detail and technical brilliance that reduces such matters to relatively minor caveats. The crowd-scenes' Bosch-like ferments are punctuated by startling moments of stillness. Grass matting rises to fly skywards; Wahnfried wheels away, in its entirety, into the distance. (And how do those characters get into the piano to climb out of it? From row 24, the illusion of magic seemed complete.)
But the audacity of unfurling that giant antisemitic caricature is something that probably would only be acceptable in Bayreuth, a festival fated always to seek atonement for its historical disgrace. Today many scholars assert that Beckmesser was never intended as a Jewish caricature, while others declare it's obvious that he is one. Some productions hint at the issue genteelly - David McVicar's Glyndebourne production is a case in point - while others appear to by-pass it, notably the Bayerische Staatsoper's fascinating 1960s-set staging. Kosky grabs the issue and faces it, head on. That takes quite some guts. Besides, dramaturgically, historically, in terms of Wagner and Cosima's relationship, personalities and attitudes, the production seems watertight.
Kränzle & Volle as Beckmesser & Sachs
Musically things were not always as even as one might wish, although the best was the best of all the best. The peerless Beckmesser of Johannes Martin Kränzle was cherishable, with subtle, beautiful singing and detailed characterisation, carrying off both humour and humiliation with convincing aplomb. Michael Volle as Sachs/Wagner matched him in magnificence: a huge, charismatic personality with vast velvety voice, Volle seems effortlessly to hold stage and audience in the proverbial palm of his hand. The relationship between the two characters proved, as it should, the lynchpin of the entire edifice.
As Walther, Klaus Florian Vogt had virtually everything, including the requisite metallic cut-through tone to carry off the rigours of the role and the power to soar over the textures, and in this context it's hard to ignore the way that blond "Aryan" look contrasts with the bearded Beckmesser when vying for Eva's affection. Günther Groissböck presented an exceptionally colourful and beautiful-toned Pogner, while Daniel Behle was a warm and mercurial David, and Wiebke Lehmkuhl a mellifluous Magdalena despite the flighty character assigned to her (as an aside, one couldn't help feeling that the female characters didn't fare too well in this staging). And the chorus was an utter glory. Less happy, sadly, was the Eva of Anne Schwanewilms, who seemed at times to be struggling vocally. Philippe Jordan's conducting slid towards some ponderous tempi; indeed, a couple of times one feared things were about to grind to a halt. Some of the soloists appeared to do their level best to chivvy the pace along.
A mixed evening, then, but one that has provided endless food for thought well beyond the Festival Bratwurst. I'd love to see it several more times.
The powerful and uncompromising Welsh tenor
Gwyn Hughes Jones sings Walther von Stolzing in the Royal Opera House’s new
production of Die Meistersinger von
Nürnberg, alongside his fellow countryman Sir Bryn Terfel as Hans Sachs. I
went backstage to meet him…
Hughes Jones (left) and Terfel (right) in the rehearsal room (c) Royal Opera House, photo by Clive Barda
Jessica
Duchen: Gwyn, can you tell us about Kasper Holten’s new production, without
giving the game away?
Gwyn Hughes Jones: No! Haha… I think people
already know that it’s set in a club, a sort of music club.
It reflects that idea of the application of rules to art and expression and
how, if they’re not applied conscientiously, they hamstring the expressive
sense of spontaneity, that creative evolution in art. We have to have rules in
art because human beings have to have structure. Two plus two has to make four:
we do need some kind of balance in nature and in the world. We can’t help
ourselves. But it’s when rules take over and exist for their own
sake that there’s trouble. I think this works for the piece: it doesn’t
compromise it in any way. It’s always interesting to see the path directors
take in their concepts of how to make a piece relevant to today. I’m sure that, as always, some people will like it and some people will not. We’ll see…
JD:
You sang Walther at English National Opera not so long ago, in English, so this
is your second Walther, but your first in German. What’s it like to make that
change?
GHJ:In a way, you start all over again. You can’t take anything for granted.
The structure of the language is different, the inflection of the stresses are
different, the way the language is used is slightly different too, so you have
to be mindful of those things in preparation and delivery. I think singing
these pieces in English is incredibly useful because you end up with a really broad
palette of colour choice. Instead of having maybe one to three colours for a
word, you have six or seven. Of course you still have to choose the right ones.
But as someone who works in, if you like, the discipline of sound-painting, to
have that choice of palette is always a very important weapon.
JD:
Walther is a notoriously difficult role. What are the biggest challenges?
GHJ: It’s long. It’s high in some places.
It’s not written in a friendly way. Nevertheless, you can look
at some works of Puccini and Verdi and you see they, too, are writing for the kind of
singer they have a right to expect. They don’t think we arrive without
having had any kind of vocal education. These pieces play a part in stretching
singers and not compromising them. I think the bel canto style was a
hugely important influence on Wagner and this is reflected in all his works to
some extent, but particularly in this piece. So it’s about having that elegance,
it’s having the youthfulness – and one of the biggest challenges is remaining
fresh to the very end.
One difficulty is
this paradox that characters like Walther are young, but in real life you have
to wait until you’re a fair bit older, a mature singer and a very physically strong
and sophisticated singer, to be able to sing these roles to their potential.
There is no other way. You will not find a 20-year old-who will sing Walther to
its potential. So one of the challenges in this kind of repertoire is to keep
the voice young, fresh and vibrant, so that when you come to
your potential you can fulfil it for as long as possible. That’s why singers
like Gigli, Björling and Pavarotti could keep that youthfulness and vibrancy in
their voices for a very long time and that’s what made them convincing
exponents.
Gwyn Hughes Jones as Walther with Rachel Willis-Sørensen as Eva in the new Meistersinger.
(c) ROH, photo by Clive Barda
JD: Do
you have a regime for looking after your voice?
GHJ: It’s a lot to do with choosing the
right kind of repertoire and I think the root of it goes to the beginning of my
learning about singing. You have to be fortunate enough to work with good
teachers, you need to work with people who know what they’re talking about and
you need to be incredibly patient in your development. By all means, have
targets along the way, have a long journey, but also work hard within a sense of
context. You need to be sensible about repertoire choices and understand that
if you do aspire to sing Wagner, if you aspire to sing the Verdi and Puccini
spinto roles, then in the same way Wagner was inspired by Bellini, you have to
sing that repertoire too: you have to immerse yourself in the bel canto style.
You have to sing everything, but it is a process of building by small bricks.
You build a very solid foundation, then build on that. You don’t just wake up
one morning and find you’re a Heldentenor. It doesn’t work like that – and if
people do do that, they don’t last very long.
JD: So
it takes 30 years to be an overnight success…
GHJ: Yes, and to remain an overnight
success, that’s the thing. It’s not about that initial splash. Spotting
potential is the easiest thing in the world; allowing it to develop is something totally different. The onus is on us as individuals, but on the
people we work with as well. So it is very challenging and you have to be
incredibly patient too.
JD:
How did you start to sing?
GHJ: My parents were not academically
musical, but they loved opera, my father loved singing and there was always plenty of music in
the house. Also coming from Wales there was always plenty of
great culture around, so I was never far away from great literature and great
poetry in English and in Welsh, and great music too. It was a very common thing
for me to hear operatic arias when I was very young, sung by schoolteachers or
farmers. In Eisteddfods these are competition arias, so you’d turn up to an
Eisteddfod competition and there’d be people singing the ‘Prize Song’ and ‘Vissi d’arte'... So there’s a sense that, yes,
they’re great, great art, but also that it wasn’t an elitist thing by
any means: they were extremely reachable. You saw people who were having
a singing lesson once a week or once a month, singing these arias as well as
they’d be sung at some of the greatest opera houses in the world. That always
for me was an example to say, ‘Yes, why not?’.
As someone who comes from
Anglesey, whose father is an engineer, whose mother is a housewife, some people
would say I have no business whatsoever doing this. And yet all these
influences I had in my upbringing gave me the privilege and the opportunity to
be able to pick these things, experience them, enjoy them and find a path.
JD: People
always think there’s a mystique about the Welsh and singing, but is it perhaps more
down to this musical tradition that is very egalitarian?
GHJ: I think it’s a big part of it. Our
historical, cultural tradition involves hundreds of thousands of years of
storytelling. In this culture before the Romans came to Britain, we didn’t
write. And that oral tradition has always been incredibly strong – the old
tales in Welsh are thousands of years old and he oldest piece of poetry in the
Welsh language comes from the 6th century. As a nation that
struggled for its existence, you keep these things very close to you and
they’re the things that keep you believing, keep you defending your culture and
your language. They are incredbily important to us along with the sense of
struggle and telling the story of the struggle. We love our heroes, yet
we’re extremely melancholic too. There is that range of expressive colour in
our culture that all goes to arm this huge weapon we have, called
singing or storytelling.
As Walther in the new production.
(c) Royal Opera House, photo by Clive Barda
JD: This is quite a Welsh dominated Meistersinger:
you are Walther and the freshly-knighted Sir Bryn Terfel is Hans Sachs…
GHJ: I think it’s a great achievement for
the background we come from: the Eistefodd tradition, the amateur tradition. It shows how incredibly rich that
was. We both were given a kind of unofficial education outside school: we were
being taught some of the most amazing ideas and shown some of the most amazing
art and weren’t really aware that it was happening. That’s the most wonderful
thing and it’s easy to take it for granted. But it’s not just the musical
aspect, it’s the literary aspect too, it’s the poetry, the understanding of how
people use words and why people choose certain words to describe something. Being
immersed in that – this is the consequence! I think it’s something worth
reinvesting in: not just keeping it alive but allowing it to go from strength
to strength. And it’s difficult, because Wales is economically poor. So it
needs as much support as it can get.
JD: Have
you worked with Bryn much before?
GHJ: We did some concerts together in Wales
years ago, and we did Falstaff together in Chicago, which was my American debut
in 1999. But we haven’t sung together for a very long time. I could have had
the chance to sing Walther with him as Sachs when Welsh National Opera did Meistersinger, but it so happened with
that season that I was debuting two big Verdi operas and one Puccini within the
six months previously and I didn’t think it was wise to take on the part. But
then ENO asked me to take on the role and it came at just the right time. It’s
about having the longer journey, seeing the bigger picture – you don’t
compromise yourself. For every Meistersinger,
you need to do a Tosca, a Butterfly, pieces that don’t put you out
there to the same extent. It’s good sense.
JD: Do
you see yourself doing more Wagner soon?
GHJ: I think so... Ironically, the
first opera I ever saw was the Patrice Chéreau production of the Ring cycle on
TV, when I was nine or ten years old. It
was Dame Gwyneth Jones and it was something amazing. Even on TV,
you could tell how amazing it was. Those costumes! Those giants! It made a huge
impression. Also, the first classical music tape I bought was 'Ten Tenors sing
20 Arias', which included plenty of Wagner. I enjoyed listening to it,
but it didn’t appeal to me anywhere near as much as the Italian repertoire, Verdi
and Puccini – that was what I really wanted to do and the kind of singer I
wanted to be. So I didn’t really entertain the idea of being a Wagnerian
singer. I started out as a baritone and when I became a tenor there’s an idea
of the kind of colour you carry through from being a baritone: people
immediately say, “Oh, you’ll sing Florestan, you’ll do Walther and Lohengrin…”
But I was thinking about Rodolfo, Cavaradossi, Chénier, all these pieces, and I
didn’t see myself as being a Wagnerian singer.
As Pinkerton in Madama Butterfly
I listened to snippets of Wagner over the
years and it didn’t appeal to me. Also the way it was performed didn’t appeal to me,
because it seemed that everything I believed in was being compromised. There’s
no point working to make the voice as expressive and beautiful a communicative
instrument as possible when you’re battling against an orchestra and a conductor
who don’t acknowledge that actually they’re accompanying, And in some instances,
too, you find that not necessarily the actual decibel volume, but the colour of the volume can be overwhelming
to voices, so you have to be incredibly careful with the way that you
accompany. Even when they’re
expressing emotions that are not beautiful, there still has to be a sense of
continuity in that character and that expression. You mustn’t compromise that in
order to be heard, because then it totally defeats the purpose. You miss the
potential of the work in the first place. So I was reluctant, from hearing the
way people were singing Wagner’s music, to entertain the idea of doing that.
But then I found people were saying, “Well,
Walther is a lyric part, it’s an Italianate part,” and your ears prick up
because you realise it can be done that way and actually it should be done that way. If you go back and
listen to people at the beginning of the 20th century, they sing this
music in a lyrical, Italiante way – Walther, Lohengrin, they have line, beauty,
harmony. You realise that somehow, in the last 50 years of performing this
music, something has been allowed to fall into the shadows. And the idea that
it can be, needs to be beautiful, it
needs to be expressive in the right way, that made me incredibly interested in
doing it. So when Welsh National Opera did put on Meistersinger in Cardiff, I
went to see it and finally thought that, yes, I could see myself singing it. When the offer did come to sing Walther, I jumped at it, because it had come at
the right time.
Now I’m going to be doing Lohengrin in
about three years in the US. Parsifal and Siegmund are certainly roles I’d do
as well. I do regard myself as an Italianate singer, though, so they’re not my
main mission. There is so much to do... I’m not really interested in saying I
have done 200 roles. I don’t think you achieve anything except marks on the
post that way. The more you do a piece, the more you realise that you actually
don’t know it and the more you discover about it. To do the iconic roles that
are the mainstream in every opera house in the world, to work those pieces to
their potential – not just getting through them but producing work that is
significant – that interests me a lot more than tallying the numbers. I’m far
more interested in doing 350-400 performances of Tosca than having 200 roles under my belt.
JD:
How did you turn into a tenor from being a baritone?
GHJ: I think it’s about the colours you
have in your voice. It’s funny – learning how to sing is like forgetting
everything you learned between infancy and adulthood. You have to go back to
that point where you find the voice works at its most efficient. One of the
biggest traps that young singers fall into is that they try to create a voice
colour well beyond their years. You have to allow the voice to develop
into these colours. It’s OK to sound young, it’s OK to sound not ready – it’s
part of that long journey. So in the pursuit of that idea, I sang as a baritone
because baritone music was what suited my voice.
I wanted to sing Verdi and verismo
baritones, but I always suspected I didn’t have that baritonal colour of all
the singers I admired – people like Piero Cappuccilli, Leonard Warren,
Robert Merrill had this beautiful round colour. Even at that age I wasn’t interested
in being a lighter baritone singing Verdi’s music because I didn’t think it was
honest. It wouldn’t have the gravitas, that noble colour, that these lines demanded.
I came to study in London at the Guildhall when
I was 18, with David Pollard. He said to me, “I won’t tell you you’re a tenor
or you’re a baritone, I have my suspicions of where you’ll go but what we have
to do is work to the potential. We have to get you singing, we have to find out
where your voice is most comfortable.” So I started singing as a baritone,
because that was the music that fitted my voice. I sang a lot of
song repertoire, so even though I didn’t have to make any cast-iron decisions
about the kind of voice I was going to be, I was getting an incredibly rich and
intense education in repertoire. I sang everything from the beginning, Verdi
from the beginning, to get the vocal culture in place.
Then I won the Kathleen Ferrier Prize in
1992, as a baritone, and people started asking if I was
interested in working on contract at various companies. The repertoire I was
offered, though, was far too challenging. It was understudy
work, but it’s one thing to learn a role and quite another to go on stage and perform it, which as an understudy you
would have to do, and it wasn’t a good idea.
Meanwhile with my teacher we were starting
to look at excerpts of very iconic
tenor music – the third act of La Bohème,
the first duet between Cavaradossi and Tosca, part of Manon Lescaut, parts that could show unequivocally whether I was a
tenor for that sort of repertoire. One day David sent me to William McAlpine down
the corridor, a very brilliant Scottish tenor who was also a teacher at
Guildhall, to see what he would say. I sang him one aria and he
said: “Yep, no doubt!”
But as I’d won the Ferrier as a baritone, a
lot of people refused to accept that it was a good idea. I’d also won a lot of
scholarships to allow me to study and those were as a baritone as well. But
the way I saw it, I was awarded them because of the singer I was, not because
of the voice type I was. That’s the point: you have to be allowed to discover
and develop. People will always have opinions about the kind of singer you are,
but in the end you have to decide where you want to go. And David said, “You
have to make a decision: you can be a very, very good baritone, or you can be a
better tenor. It’s up to you.” For me there was no question: this
was the time to study, to make those decisions, as opposed to
waiting another ten years when I might be already established in my career.
As Cavaradossi in WNO's Tosca. Photo: Robert Workman
JD: And
you’ve never looked back...
GHJ: No – there’s too much to look forward
to! But you do look back, of course, because this is a career that requires absolute discipline: it requires you to
be able to work right at the coalface, work in detail at things and not shirk
those challenges. It’s correcting those weaknesses that allow you to build. You
don’t want to take a step forward and then realise that the very thing your house
is built on isn’t sturdy. So you have to work in that way, while at the same
tine being able to step back and see how far you’ve come, and never lose
sight of that. It’s difficult to strike that balance. We’re trying to be as
good as we can be, and that’s always exciting.
JD: Is
Wales still home?
GHJ: Yes indeed. It is my home and I’m
obligated as a Welsh professional to work for Welsh National Opera. It’s a
fantastic company. You have the potential to produce world-class opera there –
you have a great orchestra, world class technical staff, a fantastic 2000 seat
theatre, the opportunity to work with Carlo Rizzi, you have the opportunity to
work with people who are at the best opera houses in the world and are regarded
as the best in their field in the world.
JD:
What’s next after Walther?
GHJ: Next I have some concerts between now and
the summer at the National Eisteddfod – there are some works I’ve commissioned and
as a Welsh artist I think it’s incredibly important to stimulate new compositions
in Wales. In the autumn I do my first Radames in Aida and then the new year
brings Forza. Next year is heavy on the Verdi and the Puccini, and then I come
back to Lohengrin. You have to find a balance between the stuff that stretches and
stimulates you and the stuff that stimulates you, but allows you to rest.
JD:
I should let you rest too... Thank you very much for talking to us, Gwyn, and
we’re looking forward to opening night.
Wagner's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg opens at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, on 11 March. Kasper Holten directs, Sir Antonio Pappano conducts and besides Hughes Jones and Terfel the cast includes Johannes Martin Kränzle as Beckmesser, Rachel Willis-Søresnsen as Eva and Allan Clayton as David. Details and booking here.
Meistersinger in Munich: Jonas Kaufmann as Walther. Photo: Wilfried Hösl
I've been away for a couple of weeks in Germany and Switzerland, starting the trip with two Wagner performances which might resurface somewhere in this year's Chocolate Silver Awards for Best Opera and Weirdest Moment respectively (admittedly there's plenty of the year left for others to exceed, but they'll have to try hard...).
I reviewed both events for the Critics' Circle website: Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg on the final night of the Munich Opera Festival, starring Wolfgang Koch as Sachs and Jonas Kaufmann as Walther, conducted by Kirill Petrenko - a dark-hued, clever, detailed, fascinating, roller-coaster production by David Bösch, set in 1968; and Parsifal at Bayreuth, the new and fervently anti-religion production by Uwe Eric Laufenberg, with Klaus Florian Vogt in the title role. The editors have entitled this one, with perspicacity, 'Twilight of the gods'.
'Weirdest moment' goes to the latter evening. Eating out with friends afterwards, we found ourselves in the same restaurant as Angela Merkel, who had been at the opera too, and she was perfectly friendly when some members of our group bounced up to her to explain how desperately sorry and embarrassed we are about Brexit.
Reviews from Munich, and tweets by critics who were there, suggest that we who are due to see this later in the year (I'm heading for the last night of the BSO Festival on 31 July) are in for a musical treat, and that the modern-dress production works really well, give or take a predictable boo or two.
Closer to home, Glyndebourne's revival of the David McVicar production is about to open, on Saturday, starring Gerald Finley as Hans Sachs. Details and booking here.
... it's Friday, it's gone 4 o'clock and it's high time we had a quick look at what Jonas Kaufmann is up to.
Singing Walther in Meistersinger in Munich, that's what - on the near horizon. Opening night is 16 May 2016, Kirill Petrenko conducts, Sara Jakubiak sings Eva and Wolfgang Koch is Hans Sachs.
It will be Kaufmann's first time in the role on stage - he sang it once before in concert at the Edinburgh Festival - and the Bayerische Staatsoper has issued this trailer in which he and the director David Bösch talk about the challenges that Wagner's glorious opera poses for them both. (With English subtitles.)
* Glyndebourne is filming Die Meistersinger this afternoon and it will be webcast live and free on The Guardian's website. It's also to be shown in the Science Museum in South Kensington. Stephen Moss will be doing a live Meisterblog and tweets are invited, as on the first night, with the hashtag #diemeistertweeter. There's a treasure-trove of supporting articles and webcasts on the site. Details of the streaming, interview with Vlad etc, here.
* In similar vein, Norman Lebrecht makes the point in today's Telegraph that all of a sudden the issue of access, access, access is no longer relevant. We have access, thanks to webcasts, cinecasts and the Big Screens, and apparently this, our very own wet and soggy island, is where the future of opera is being carved. (Discuss...)
He also had a high old time at the ENO's new Nico Muhly opera Two Boys, which I had not initially planned to attend. Had it been sold as a "Susan Bickley is Helen Mirren in Prime Suspect" opera (as every man and his cat has been saying that it is since the premiere on Friday), I'd have booked in at once. But from the marketing it sounded like a niche thing that was fashioned for young gay blokes who live online; therefore it mightn't be interesting for married, female, 40-something technotwits... There shouldn't be a problem getting in, though. When I checked the website on Thursday to see if there were seats left for Monday, the place was less than half full. If all is well up north (we have difficult family issues at present), I may go. Alternatively I might catch up with DVDs of another wonderful woman detective: Brenda Blethyn as Vera in the ITV series based on the absolutely brilliant Geordie detective novels by Ann Cleeves, if said DVDs are yet available.
* This morning @MalteseTenor Joseph Calleja was on the Andrew Marr Show on BBC1, singing 'E lucevan le stelle'. Michael Gove, our education minister - currently trying to avert a strike by teachers this week - was listening from the sofa, where he'd been trying to say he wasn't really intending to exhort parents to strike-break. He applauded enthusiastically... Feel the power, Micks. Let the people hear the music. Let the people learn music, too, at school. Music for all, please: right here, right now.
Speaking of opera and the internet, Calleja shared my blog on his Facebook fan page the other day. Aw shuks. Can you imagine a world in which Richard Tauber had internet access?
