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Angus Grant’s Contact! is a jewel in this year’s Melbourne Comedy Festival. Workshopped at the Arts Centre at the beginning of 2011, it’s back, bigger, better and funnier in 2012. It’s the story of the training and playing trials and tribulations of the Hyatt Park Rangers netball team, their redoubtable coach Bev and her twins, Wendy and Bevan. Angus Grant and Kate Shmitt have woven elements of bogan suburbia into their witty libretto, and Grant has ably scored the opera for a small orchestra of percussion, strings and piano.
The ensemble singing is strong throughout, there are passages where good diction is required and achieved, and the choreography cleverly reflects the movements around a netball court in the confined spaces of the Fairfax Theatre. The pace of the show and its storylines leave no time for boredom, just some good belly laughs.
There are several stand-out performances, led by dramatic soprano Donna-Maree Dunlop as Bev. Blessed with a fine comic sense and an ability to sing through big dramatic lines, (think, Bev’s kitchen and the tactics table) the diminutive soprano has a huge stage presence and the voice to match, but doesn’t take herself too seriously. Brenton Spiteri gives a polished performance as Bevan, his light tenor voice in stark contrast to Dunlop’s. Honourable mention goes to soprano Janet Todd as Daisy.
Contact! is playing at the Fairfax Theatre until April 29th. See it and join in the fun!
Today it’s a year to the day since I was “dumped”. I wonder how many people remember and mark occasions like this one as I’m doing. For me it’s a milestone to be grateful for and to celebrate – my life has been restored to me and I’m as happy as I’ve ever been since the break-up. I put dumped in inverted commas these days because the physical dumping may have been done by the ex, but if I’m really honest about this, I had left the relationship a long time before it was ended physically. I never felt comfortable about the concept of ending the relationship myself though - I felt my ex’s behaviour might have become very unpredictable and it could be dangerous for me. I will not elaborate on that any further though, but suffice to say I have enough fodder to write a book about it!
In subsequent contact with the ex, and don’t ask me why I thought that was a good idea, (because I ended up being on the receiving end of a lot of verbal abuse), I was accused of moving on too quickly. Too quickly for whom? For the ex, clearly. This brings me to another question – how does one tell when the time is right to move on? I met someone shortly after this break-up and we’ve been together ever since. I would venture to say that this depends on whether or not the emotional investment in the previous relationship had waned before its end, and if it had, how long ago did that start? For me this was certainly the case. It’s a question I find fascinating though – do you wait for a certain period of time to elapse before moving on, or is it a case of self-awareness? Maybe it should be both time and self-awareness. I had promised myself a year of being on my own, but that never eventuated, and now I don’t regret that for second.
So life goes on, and for me, at long last, it’s happily!
I haven't posted too much recently about any of my musical passions, but the following should change that. I have long since been a massive fan of Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, and this details my journey and some of the influence she has had on me....
I was an impressionable 16 year old who, at the end of a balmy Sunday evening towards the end of Summer 1984, had just finished my homework and was looking for some relaxation ahead of a big week in my penultimate year at school.
Having stepped out of the shower and now in my pyjamas, I fumbled myopically towards the television to get a closer look at a singer who arrested me aurally in a way that had never happened before. On closer inspection it appeared she was having a lot of fun on the Sydney Opera House stage too. Who was this woman with the most beautiful almond-shaped eyes I’d ever seen? Where was she from? And that voice! She was about to make more of an impression on me than I could have realised at the time. The concert was being simulcast across Australia and the house seemed full to overflowing, and she was singing an encore which told the audience if they wanted more they had to sing it themselves. Cheeky!
Her name was Kiri Te Kanawa; being a Maori name there was no chance I would forget it, although it took me a few tries to say it correctly! Not only did she possess a silken, velvety voice, the joy she displayed whilst performing left an indelible mark on me, and she was also extraordinarily beautiful. I was intrigued. After rehearsing and then memorising her name, I resolved to buy at least one of her recordings during the course of the year, and it changed my life and bank balance!
Some months later I was perusing the 24 Hours magazine, the conduit into the world of the classical music that was my lifeblood. It was here that I again encountered the Maori name meaning “bell”, and a review of her new recording of Canteloube’s Chants d’Auvergne. I immediately decided to buy them – I was a budding French student at the time, and the dialect in which these songs were sung encouraged me to investigate the song texts further. (I learned that French verbs had not changed very much in the modern language, and that helped with both my understanding of these songs and my learning of the language.) On examining the covers of these LPs, one could have been mistaken for thinking Kiri was a supermodel, not a diva. It was a sad day when CD technology took over and there was no longer album artwork to look at. (despite the advances in sound.) The lush orchestral arrangements transported me straight into the Auvergne region of France, the piano replaced the harp in the arrangements which made them appetising, and they were also a perfect vehicle for Kiri’s warm lyric soprano voice. I could almost have told you the villages where every shepherd and shepherdess lived on those two volumes of music! I was a sponge at the time, ripe to absorb everything from music to language and travel! Thanks to Kiri and Canteloube, I was totally hooked on opera, and I listened to those songs every day for the next two years at least. They supported me through two tough years of study, Kiri made me laugh with her yips and yelps, transported me into a place of endless beauty and inspired me to explore some of the most beautiful operatic arias and repertoire I’d ever heard. Those songs will always have a special place in my heart, but I was only just embarking on this journey.
I arrived home from school one Winter’s day in 1985, to my father advising me to go and look inside an envelope on the bed in my parents’ room, but not to get too excited about it. Curious, I had to investigate this great mystery. I discovered a glossy brochure with a single red rose and a spotlight on it. Unfolding the paper, I read the four magic words across the top – Dame Kiri Te Kanawa – in concert in my hometown, that September! She hadn’t performed in Melbourne since winning the Sun Aria competition 20 years earlier. Barely able to contain my excitement, I began to pester my father every day for I don’t know how long afterwards to buy us tickets to the concert.
He did buy us tickets, in about row G of the stalls, and to this day I still have them – I did a good job pestering him, it seems. We weren’t too far away from the stage at all. I remember that Kiri sang Vissi d’Arte, the aria with which she’d won the Sun Aria competition at the Melbourne Town Hall, so I was delighted to be part of this history. (Had it REALLY been twenty years since she’d performed in Melbourne?) She was at the peak of her powers and I was totally mesmerised, giving her a standing ovation (along with many others) at the end of the concert. It was an unforgettable experience to be enveloped by that velvety blanket of sound resonating through the concert hall, my heart and soul that evening. It was also the first of many times I heard her sing Po Kare Kare – it was hard not to be moved. I was floating on my cloud for some time afterwards, on this the first of many times I experienced the dame in concert.
When Dame Kiri visited Melbourne in 1985 she gave an interview on ABC radio, and one of the topics for discussion was Richard Strauss’ Four Last Songs. She had made a recording in 1979 (the first of two), the interviewer played “September” and that piqued my curiosity again. What was all the fuss about with these songs? Why did they hold such pride of place in the hearts of singers, critics and audiences alike? I subsequently bought this recording, and learned what the songs are about. They are the tender and contemplative settings of four random poems that were grouped together (by publishers after Strauss’ death), written deep in the autumn of his life, about death. Great soprano after great soprano has recorded them, generating wild argument or critical acclaim, and in 1988, Dame Kiri returned to Melbourne to perform them. The following year she re-recorded them with Sir Georg Solti.
These songs are special to me, as they are to millions of others. I have both of Kiri’s recordings, along with two others. My loyalty on the interpretation of them will always remain with Kiri, because it was she who introduced me to them in the first place. I am lucky to have had exposure to such beauty over so many years now. The 1979 recording is never far from my reach and will always be a source of great comfort to me.
On the particular evening in question back in 1988, we heard the Exsultate Jubilate, penned by the precocious 16 year old Mozart, and the Four Last Songs by Strauss. I was delighted the dame was back in town, but to be quite honest, underwhelmed by her performance that evening. I cannot explain why. It didn’t matter anyway. What did matter was the live experience of these majestic songs, sung by my favourite soprano. I couldn’t ask for more, and to express my gratitude that evening, I presented Dame Kiri with a bouquet of flowers at the end of the concert. She crouched down to accept them and waited for me to say something to her, but I couldn’t. As I peered into those brown almonds, I was dumbstruck. I felt such a fool! She thanked me, and I clumsily blurted out, “No, thank YOU!” It was embarrassing and I felt I’d missed an opportunity to say something meaningful to the dame.
The following year in July Dame Kiri returned to Melbourne to perform Mimi in the Victoria State Opera season of Puccini’s La Boheme. Again, I was privileged enough to see this, but under a cloud of grief. I had lost my father two months earlier – it was a bitter disappointment to me that he never saw Kiri perform on stage, as I had, as I know he would have loved it.
Dame Kiri did not disappoint – she was again at her peak and played to packed houses for the eight performances of the season, one of which was televised. They were the hottest tickets in town. I know this because I tried to get a seat for a second performance, to no avail. For a second time I bought a posy of flowers and sent them around to the stage door with a note. After my experience the previous year I didn’t quite have the courage to plant myself at the stage door and wait there to speak to the dame. (I left that to the old dears who frequently did this, as I didn’t feel I could compete!)
In the note I wrote what I couldn’t say earlier, and told her of my father’s death. I didn’t think too much more about it until a letter arrived late that year. It had an English stamp on it, which I found curious because I couldn’t think of anyone who would be writing to me from England, and the address was handwritten. The letter was from Kiri, thanking me for the flowers, expressing her sorrow at my father’s passing and encouraging me in my musical career. Just as I still have my first Kiri concert ticket, I also still have this letter which buoyed me at a time when life was throwing curve balls.
September 22nd 2011 05:05
Life has been good, very good since the demise of the relationship of which this blog is the subject. The reason for that is I have moved on somewhat more quickly than I anticipated, found someone else, someone who has made me acutely aware of how much of a mismatch I was with my ex. This is also the reason for the lack of posts here – I thought I could bare my soul about how I felt about the break-up, but it’s turned out I haven’t needed to do that at all.
A few months ago I had the shock of encountering the ex for the first time since the break-up. Somehow, it wasn’t any easier seeing that person for the first time in several months, even though I have moved on. I was sitting on a train, the ex got on, fortunately I was listening to my iPod and was able to use that as a prop, and drop my head on realising what had just happened! It was still quite a shock. It’s funny how these things work out. As we all know I was dumped by this person, and I felt there was a degree of arrogance about the manner in which the dumping occurred. On seeing the ex for the first time since the break-up, I’m not so sure survival has been so easy for the dumper. It appeared the world was their oyster, having just returned from holidays, about to start a new job, blah blah. Somehow I no longer think it’s been so easy, and there has perhaps been in the last days of our relationship an element of inflated, grandiose ideas about self rather than truth. Having lost a pile of weight, I notice that much of it had been put back on again – having bought a number of suits, there wasn’t one being worn on the day in question, although perhaps it should have in the big wide corporate world. Is it possible that this person is feeling the pinch somewhat? I witnessed some almost amusing behaviour – the person turned and faced the opposite direction on seeing me, for the entire train trip, so that no contact, eye or otherwise, could be made. We both got off at the same stop, twice in ten minutes. I saw this person, who is a notoriously slow walker, practically run from one platform to another, and then walk quickly up some stairs to escape any chance of a further encounter with me, clearly social poison. I never knew I wielded such power actually
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It's now 6 weeks since the demise of my relationship, and my last post consisted of describing the traits of a sociopath. Why? Because on doing some reading and research, these are the traits that the ex displayed, in almost textboook fashion, and I felt compelled to let others know that there are people out there who appear to be normal, but they're not. It's really important to trust your instincts if you think someone's behaviour is slightly off, most importantly, to believe them and follow them.
How do I feel about this now? Well, given that I've done quite an amount of reading, I don't feel quite so alone about it all, and things that didn't make sense before about the ex's behaviour are making a lot more sense now. Most importantly, I am not taking the dumping personally - when you realise you're dealing with a compromised person who was highly skilled in hiding the compromise, things are not so bad. It's not merely a compromise though, being a sociopath is like being devoid of one of the five senses, only there are no aids to relieve the affliction. So in fact, the condition is a very pitiable one, and basically one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy - they have no idea what they're missing out on in life, and that's just sad
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I was thinking I'd had a bad week last week and had been feeling sad about the demise of my relationship, but I did something which made me feel a whole lot better about this situation I find myself in. I did a little research on the meaning of the word sociopath, and it clarified a number of behaviours in my ex that I found disturbing to say the least. I had begun to doubt and question my own ability to assess the character of others, and for a long time this bothered me. However, from what I have read and from other people's stories, it seems I was in a relationship with a sociopath. So this latest post serves as a warning. If you know anyone with the following traits, stay well away from them, as they will hurt you:
* glib and superficial
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Well, I've made it through almost two weeks after the demise of an 8-year relationship. I'm almost slightly alarmed at how much calmer and happier I am since this has all happened. Most of week one was spent with a stomach that wouldn't stop churning and pretty horrid sleep deprivation.
This week however, is a different story. I have re-established a friendship with someone with whom I was very close, after a 5 year hiatus and the ex forbidding me to keep in contact with this person. So I have been given a great gift back - this person has without question offered me so much support, I can't help but feel comforted, calm, and able to cope with things
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So, what does one do, having been dumped, when the ex decides they still want to be friends? In fact, the proclamation is that you're best friends and have been through too much together over a number of years, to lose one another. It's fine and dandy for the dumper, but the dumped? Basically the dumped gets emotionally thumped either way - apparently, the dumped has the privilege of remaining in the dumper's life, and even gets to watch when a new partner comes along. Really? Is the dumped expected to enjoy that and swallow it whole? What do people think of this? Is this a fair expectation and the basis for a genuine friendship? I wouldn't have thought so, but I'm interested in the opinions of others.
I recently decided to try and make hollandaise sauce, and yes, I’ve become quite an old hand at it – this would suggest I know what the actual ingredients are then. Last weekend I decided I’d treat myself to a night in a swanky hotel in the city centre after my office Christmas party. So I made my last minute booking, had a girlfriend tag along, and decided I’d really lash out and prepay for breakfast while I enjoyed my ‘modern, minimalist’ room. (so why did the bathroom basins look like a hospital basin?)
On the morning after the night before, and feeling seedy, I decided to order poached eggs with smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce. You can imagine my disappointment when the smoked salmon was the best part of the whole meal. The eggs arrived, having previously whirled around in their eddy for some time apparently; if they’d been cooked any longer they would have morphed into prunes. Welcome to disappointment number one. Disappointment number two arrived on tasting the ‘hollandaise’ sauce, which had clearly come straight from a packet. The flavour had a strange air of familiarity about it, the kind of familiarity you feel when you go to a (pretty B-grade) function with alternating, mass-produced meals. This ‘hollandaise’, tinged with curry powder, would be laughed out of town by any French person.
I decided I’d complain about this, and the fact I was told it would take 20 minutes to produce the breakfast whilst it actually took 50. Apparently this hotel uses only organic this and that. I almost asked if that includes the egg yolks, butter and lemon juice that should have gone into the hollandaise? Clearly their definition of organic is totally artificial! This particular manager persisted in his attempts to explain his way out of this organic debate, but for me it was totally futile. If the chef is not watching his eggs poaching, there’s no way he’s standing around ensuring his hollandaise is fresh, organic, and not curdling
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As a musician I am always pondering this question – above all, I think music ennobles us and serves as a reminder that Man, through the achievements of many of the great composers, is separated in a positive way from the rest of all living creatures. Or at least, that’s what it should do – I think the times I listen to music the most are those times when I’m trying to fathom some disgusting piece of human behaviour – music, through its beauty and its ability to move in a spiritual way, comforts in those difficult times and reminds me to be optimistic about what human beings are capable of, and about what we should be striving for each day.
Quite apart from that, I think I can illustrate what music gives me by mentioning my favourite singer, Bebel Gilberto. She is capable of changing my mood from feeling just OK to feeling happy in the course of one song, her music carries me to places both geographical and emotional that can’t be reached through any other means. I don't think there's too much more to be said about it than that
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Comment by Anonymous
on Damned Either Way.....
Five Passions - Cooking, Tennis, Bicycling, Music and French
Relationship Ponderings