the bloom is off the rose.

(Well, that's been true for several years. But you, dear readers, are quite kind for never bringing it up.)

MegaPow! (Obvs not an action shot.)
Today we had auditions in San Francisco, one of my most favorite cities. The weather was capital-G Gorgeous. I woke up early, feeling better than I had in days, ready to kick some audition patootie. I went for a short run (because seriously? In San Francisco there are serious hills...kick your ass, just-as-hard-to-run-down-as-up hills. And little miss shin-splints here is unused to that particular kind of discomfort. 2 miles? Yep, c'est tout.), AND did some yoga AAAAND ventured out for coffee and breakfast with KPW.

A good start.

And auditions? Awesome. And difficult. At this point in the tour, I start losing language. I have a vocabulary of words that I can use to describe certain sounds...plummy. Uncomplicated. Wobbly. Covered. Complex. Bright. Lush. Focused. There are more, both flattering and less so, that I call on fairly frequently to describe what I hear. And it's at this point, after hearing a few hundred singers, that I feel like I'm writing the same comments over and over again. I'm religious in notating the auditioner's repertoire and some distinguishing feature - a purple dress, a red shirt. A matching tie and pocket square. A fabulous pair for shoes. (Natch.) But I find myself repeating comments like "pressed vibrat," "No connection to the text," "Ham and cheese hands" and "Mezzo? Soprano." in every single city we've visited.

And, as someone who struggled with every single issue on that list? Well, on one hand it's nice to know that I wasn't alone in trying to figure those things out. But there's also a frustration on behalf of folks who are getting sketchy information/recommendations. (Been there, still have the t-shirt.) Get your information from a group of people that you trust, and who have extensive experience in both academia and professional arenas. 

Anyhoo. Some familiar faces, some really beautiful singing. We met a new pal in pianist CP, and spent more time with JW and MegaPow. KPW and I took a short walk into Japantown(?) for my first ever bibimbap at a country-style Korean place. How have I never had this before? It might be the perfect comfort food!

It was good day.

(Well, except for the epic wait for a taxi. Seriously a full 30 minutes. New York has ruined me.)

And now?

I'm toast. Sit-on-the-couch, stare at the interwebs because reading is too hard, kind of toast. Listening to the people in the suite above me pace back and forth, pondering going to bed at 9pm.

Lamelamelamelamelaaaaaaaaame. But necessary, I suppose.
Tomorrow? Houston. Time change. Peter Grimes. Early to bed seems like the right thing to do.


My five:
  1. Silk dresses and sweaters in late November.
  2. Good singing.
  3. Finish lines.
  4. Silence.
  5. Laughter.
Here's one of the tunes I'm using to keep the aria jukebox out of my head. (On heavy rotation? Marie from Fille du Regiment, and Je suis encor from Manon. Constantly. I cannot escape. And they were never my repertoire!)It's particularly appropriate, given my mother's phobia of Great White Sharks, and her conviction that, if she ever flies in an airplane, that said plane will crash and she'll survive - only to be eaten by sharks. (And if you ask her about overland routes? She'll calmly answer "Water Parks. Aquariums.")


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