It's been a while since my last meme. However, the proprietress of Score Desk (to whom I wish a belated buon compleanno) has tagged me, and I'm inclined to oblige. Especially as she credits me with her discovery of baroque opera, a distinction I'm only too proud to hold. So here, staying roughly on-topic, is the Seven Things About Me meme.
1. I have softened quite a lot since starting this blog four (almost five) years ago. It surprises me sometimes to read older posts: I don't remember being quite so venomous!
2. If I didn't have opera, bluegrass would probably be my musical obsession of choice. Ask me my favourite singer in the whole wide world and chances are I'll choose, not an opera singer, but Alison Krauss.
3. My very first diva (of sorts) was Nancy Sinatra. I wrote her a letter when I was five. She never replied.
4. Back in day, I used to adore Parterre in a starry-eyed sort of way. Now I find it quite an unpleasant environment, and visit less and less. The vulgarity and vitriole in the comments is appalling: I cannot imagine anything worse than attending the opera with people like that.
5. It probably means I'm a terrible person, but I strongly dislike the singing of Dame Emma Kirkby. I appreciate her significance in the revival of early music, and for that she has my utmost respect. But in anything post-Hildegard (and especially Handel) I'm afraid I can't abide her.
6. I am still tortured by the knowledge that, about six months (or less) before my opera obsession declared itself fully — though I was already sliding slowly in that direction — there was a production of Der Rosenkavalier in Wellington, starring Yvonne Kenny as the Marschallin. Had it happened a year later, I would have been there. As it was, I wasn't, and so I'll never see her in what might just have been her greatest role. (Some consolation, though, in news along the grapevine that the 2010 season will include the Marschallin of another Australian soprano of whom I am also rather fond.)
7. 14 months after it closed, I can no longer sing the whole of A Streetcar Named Desire in my head, although large chunks remain. Even at this distance, I have no wish to hear it again, and yet, against all reason and good sense, it is possible I will travel to Melbourne in December to see it just one more time. More for finality's sake than anything else, I think.
I'm now supposed to tag seven people. But I think I will take my usual cowardly route and just say, if you feel so inclined, consider yourself tagged.