OTAS, you found it

Last night I went to see “Le Nozze di Figaro” (The Marriage of Figaro), an opera by Mozart. More than the Puccini and Verdi operas that demand a diva, the music and theater are center stage. The work is a comedy.

Unlike other composers’ comedies such as Rossini that come across more like a Mel Brooks movie, Mozart’s comedies are more like, shall we say, Woody Allen movies. The characters and story are complex, and despite the humor you can find yourself teary. There is no single part that shines, yet it can be an emotional roller coaster.

Mozart’s comedies are not diva roles. But the Met has found such an extraordinary cast that even this ensample opera was turned into a singers' showcase, and, most importantly, what Mozart intended: an insight into humanity that laughs and cries at itself. The singing of these roles had people standing in their seats.

One of the stand-outs was Figaro, performed by Terfel: though conceiving the ridiculous plot, he was, at times, bitten in the ass by it. Those moments tore your heart out. The countess (performed by the fantastic Harteros) who’s husband was after another woman, sang a “Dove Sono” (What happened?) that aroused sniffles of pity up where I sat. This was, no doubt, what Mozart wrote this music to do and why, 250 years after his death, it sold out all the performances.

Brilliant.

A fortune cookie I got, “First they ignore you, then they attack you, then you win” couldn’t be more relevant to my current work situation.

I suppose I got the job because I’ve made my career understanding and enumerating “intangibles” though empirical approaches, a skill they are paying a lot for. Once in the door I now realize the skill needed to do this job is, apparently, political.

It came as a surprise to me that my efforts largely fell on deaf ears, at least initially. This is mostly because my boss, an argumentative bully, has it in her mind that the only good ideas are hers; every day she seemes to remind me how much experience she has while casually insulting my ideas (never mind the fact that my education and consulting experience has trained me far better than she will ever acknowledge, and for more complex things.)

I think my boss relies on me because she has no other choice; my peers have all quit, she was the one who hired me, and there’s so much work that even this control-freak, micro-managing individual has had to take her eye off me. A number of triumphs in the Cosmetics department have solidified my place as a respected and intelligent resource – it also helps that I’m far more pleasant than her to work with. I guess I’ve become a force for her to reckon with. This is not the most pleasant place to be.

She is openly hostile to almost everything I do. Projects involving her are a sort-of sick intellectual tango that we are both are trying to lead. It goes without saying that she and I have completely different ways of approaching problems and I find myself having to compromise a lot of my training in order to work with her. It’s ugly.

It’s come to the point where my favorite part of the work day is reading on the commute in. (It’s so relaxing.) At work, I have to be a shark: acutely aware of my surroundings, circling round and round, never resting, and waiting for the weak point. Apparently this is life in corporate America, especially in Manhattan.

I’m hoping to come to the part where “I win.” For the time being, I’ve found myself being attacked. But I’d rather be attacked than be the unnoticed, irrelevant plant-life nobody wants to go after. I have to be careful, though, play the game, and wait for the truce.

I've thought about quitting, but with the last job being similar in circumstance, I will tough it out and show that I can deal with this - this is the next step in my career. (Higher up in the corporate world is nothing like the cushy jr. R&D jobs I've had, but they pay for it.)

I'm learning.

Over the course of the last ten years my family has geographically dissipated; my parents moved to California to be among the beauty of the Sierras, I moved to the East Coast to further my education and career (and love life, to no avail), my brother has submerged himself in a relationship (he may as well have moved). For the last few years, I’ve spent Thanksgiving with my ex, my parents have spent it with neighbors, and only my brother has hung out with the family remaining in Chicago.

Christmas, too, has become difficult to spend together. Though we used to get together in California, my brother has recently taken to remaining local. Though I go to Chicago in December for a pre-Christmas with my grandparents, I do not spend the holiday itself there. Getting together with the family during the holidays is like herding cats.

In short, the holidays, once a bastion of local family and friends, has fallen victim to a change of who our family is.

This Thanksgiving Max, his mother, and I (my brother was SUPPOSED to come, and canceled last min.) went to the all-American restaurant La Mangeoire for the meal. With Max’s father now dead and his sister and bother-in-law vacationing in the Bahamas, it was just the three of us talking about books, movies we saw, and work. We then went back to his mother’s posh digs at Sutton Place for Champaign, fruit, and small talk.

The holiday season is upon us. I know that now more than ever.

In luxury retail, we cater to the high-brow spenders. Those include shoppers who spend with us not 4, 5, or 6 digits, but well into the million of dollars on clothing, jewelry, and cosmetics, annually. Like most companies managing their relationship with the public, we attempt to create some semblance of charity this time of the year. And who better than an organization with access to the very rich to carry out these good deeds? You can imagine my shock that our main charity, St. Jude, receives a paltry $300k from our efforts. By no means am I saying our customers are not charitable. Demographic studies show them as among the most charitable of Americans. But they do not do it with us.

This population is solicited by professional fund raisers while we simply ask them for a donation - after they’ve spent $1,000 on a Chanel purse - to make a small donation. They are clearly donating elsewhere. But with the marketing and media around what we do for St. Jude, you would think we brought millions in. The reality is that the good customers of luxury retail do not raise enough to cover the average medical costs of a single patient.

It's all propaganda.

A while back I finished reading “The Grapes of Wrath,” Steinbeck’s genius novel of a family struggling with a potent combination of the Depression and technological progress in farming. As a book it is excellent, as economics, it’s certainly an argument for the Marxism which was the intellectual counter-current to the free-market ways that prevailed at the time. And it is as an economist that I will comment on this novel, its literary value notwithstanding.

The Joads were thrown into unemployment because agriculture in the United States became a capital-intensive industry. And this was during a time when, believe it or not, both capital and labor were idol, an inefficiency that baffled economists. This led to the type of thinking that the book promotes: socialism and unionization.

Economists shortly after figured out what was going on: deflation. This was something of a revolution in economic theory. Money, we assumed, was a veil, with no real importance. What was important to economists were endowments of labor and capital, the "factors of production."

Money does matter, we discovered. And what happened during the depression was a shrinking of the money supply due to runs on banks, caused by the Federal Reserve. With less money chasing the same goods, prices fell relative to wages, and companies sought ways to cut costs –in the instance of farming, they turned to capital (combines and the like). Wages are slower to adjust than the goods labor produces, consequently, “real” wages rose – those employed can buy more. Companies laid off employees as they shifted from labor to capital. So we have idol labor.

The folks laid off turned to debt to sustain themselves. With more people competing for fewer jobs, wages eventually began to fall to clear the labor market. In a futile attempt to keep wages high, unionization rose (the book notes how easy it was to break a union). Those that borrowed saw the “real” value of their debt swell: they now have to pay it off in a period of lower wages and prices. (Deflation effectively increased the interest rate.) Recall from the book those scenes at the company store .

With prices falling in the goods market first, then the labor markets, society began to fall apart. Unemployment fell further still; with less people demanding goods, goods’ prices fell further, leading to more unemployment. The vicious cycle continued. The monetary effects had devastating consequences. Recall in the book where goods were thrown into the ocean to keep prices high, all while the unemployed starved. Steinbeck writes:

"There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our successess. . . And coroners must fill in the certificates - dies of malnutrtion - because the food must rot, must be forced to rot... In the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage."

During the depression 1/5 of all banks closed, which contracted the money supply by 1/3, lowering prices by 1/2. Unemployment rose to 25%. These overall effects were not evenly distributed: blue collar household were hardest hit. This led to a worldwide recession the likes of which hadn't been seen in nearly a century,

There is little doubt that, in hindsight, the circumstances surrounding the Joads could have been averted with a monetary policy that kept the supply of money constant, a policy that the free market would have taken. And there is also little doubt that the extreme reaction to the Depression of putting the economy more in the hands of government -- wages, pensions, regulation, and the like -- to handle a problem it created was myopic. Money was important, but not in the long-term. We’ve spent the last thirty years dismantling it, and reversing stagflation it caused.

But nobody in Steinbeck’s time understood this. So we can forgive his point-of-view. Nonetheless, it gave rise to his great writing, which will endure in spite of his economics.

Having nearly a full hour commute to work would seem to many a nightmare: What I’d initially thought was bad luck (delays) getting into and out of Manhattan using the subway is, in fact, routine. But I’ve come to accept this fate graciously knowing my rent has been cut in half and apartment size has doubled since moving out here. Alas, I have more important problems to occupy my mind: I am not a multi-billionaire, am not married to Hugh Jackman, and cannot figure out how to get my Showtime on-demand working. Furthermore, viewing this time as valuable to doing other things, I recon, would be better: I’ve turned to reading more, and reading different things.

Unlike recently where I exclusively read non-fiction, newspapers and magazines, I’m endulging in fiction – literature, mostly. Not NY Times best-sellers but real literary classics; It’s remarkable. Having been to undergrad and grad school for almost 7 years, the reality is that since high school I’ve only taken two English classes. The rest have been studying mathematics and disciplines using mathematics. The use of language for something other than function – communicating a point of theorem or in a power point presentation – has been relatively foreign to me. As a mathematical person, the arts I’ve exposed myself most to have been, as you well know, classical music, the opera in particular.

But with two hours a day I find I can get though about 300 pages a week, with some non-commute time thrown in (from time to time I’ll stare at the buildings and bridges on my way in). I’ve gotten through “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”, “The Grapes of Wrath”, “The Sun Also Rises,” “Reservation Road,” and, just today, “To Kill a Mockingbird.” It’s been marvelous. I actually look forward to my bus ride into the city because I'm not just reading the New York Times, The Economist, or Newsweek bitching about politics or the war on terror, but literature.

Any suggestions?


Why don't I blog about these books as I do the opera? Good question. Bobby's turned me on to "Good Reads" and my network is there.

If the Met had a fall from grace last week with its casting of Verdi’s “Aida” and “Macbeth”, it certainly made up for it with a cast change in “Aida” and with Renee Fleming singing “La Traviata.”

The reigning Diva at the Met, Renee Fleming, brought her Violetta back (with, what looks like new gowns and stunning jewelry that the Met had made for her). Though I’ve seen this opera many times and listened to the greats such as Sills, Callas, and Sutherland sing it, I was thrilled and moved by Ms. Fleming: Her passage work in the first act was top-notch Bel Canto, and her lyricism and drama in the remaining acts had even the jaded opera-goers in the front row of the balcony, where I sit, in tears. “I’m sorry, it got to me” my neighboring season ticket holder, Meredith, said as she wiped her eyes. By commandeering Verdi’s Violetta, a soprano-crusher, Fleming has solidified her place in Diva-dom and operatic history.

If that wasn’t enough to put the Met back into my good graces, Mary and I splurged on Orchestra seats to hear Angela Brown sing Verdi’s “Aida.” The last time I saw it, the opera sucked. This time, energized by an Aida with the pipes to fit the role –a nearly extinct breed – the cast and conducting were brought to a vibrant life and took this powerful music to where it was intended to be. Soaring into the high notes with a restrained power and grace, then down to the low notes with passion, belting out above a 200+ chorus and orchestra, Brown demonstrated she is, perhaps, the only singer that should be singing this role. All those difficult Verdian lines sounded easy to do. They are NOT. The house came down for her. Even Mary, who I was concerned that these 4-hours of singing would be too much for (this is only her second opera) was totally moved by the performance. She sat with an intense concentration throughout the opera and finally said that “It went so quickly”. It was midnight. She certainly “gets” it, and is able to enjoy a formidable evening.

So though the twilight of the tenors is upon us, the divas, now, have taken up the slack and reign supreme. They are taking on some of the most difficult music written and winning over, even, Verdi fans. Perhaps turning in his grave last week, Verdi can get a little P&Q.















Angela Brown (Aida) and a fantastic Mark Delavan (Amonasro) in Verdi's Grand Opera, "Aida", the best work the met has done this season.

Instigated by e-mails from my old advisor at Hopkins, I decided to make a trek down to Washington this weekend. It’s been years since I’d been there and it was due time.

I haven’t mentioned it before, but in Provincetown I had a week-long romance with someone living there. It was a true East Coast experience – entirely sexual, uncommitted, casual (though spending every night together). In most ways he was perfect for me: he loved the opera, worked for the Cato Institute, and sexually we were an extremely good match. But it always had a certain tacit that this was something of the moment, and nothing else -- the geographic differences, my determination to live in NY and his to devote himself to his causes in DC, made it such. We haven’t talked much since Provincetown and, though I was tempted to call, never did. Instead I decided not to complicate the weekend and focused my attention on friends.

I saw Ken and Dan, new friends I’d made though Eric, Olivia, and Professor Weiss. I had a weekend of great lunches, dinners (some work-related with Saks folk), drinks, and coffee with the people that had been part of my academic and social life in the DC and Baltimore area.

Prior to leaving today, I’d invited Weiss to brunch and he made the trip in from Baltimore, the catalyst for the trip. We dined at the Tabard Inn where chatted about economics, family, politics, his assent to associate program chair, my current work and former grad school melodramas at Georgetown. On a level, I’d always regarded my dropping out of a PhD program as a failure, but, in his own way, he made me feel good about it.

Coming off the heels of two great performances at the opera last month, I was extremely excited to see Verdi’s epic opera, “Aida,” and his lesser-known opera (and new production) “Macbeth” this week.

I’ll start with Aida. The scale of this production is fit only for houses capable of pulling off Grand Opera – hundreds of extras (even animals), a large choral ensample, and ballet. The Met is such a house. The music is among the most difficult to sing; Verdi demands large voices to carry those famed Verdian lines of sounds steadily throughout the highest and lowest of ranges, effortlessly, to fill a large house with sound. When there are able singers, “Aida” is one of the most memorable nights of all theater. But when the singers are not fit it seems more like watching a twelve-year-old, who cannot drive stick, being given the keys to a Ferrari. I, with regret, must say this cast of “Aida” seemed more like the later.

The ill-advised Micaela Carosi made her debut in the title role. Perhaps it was the stress, perhaps that her Radames cancelled all his performances, perhaps it was that last season a performer was booed off stage at La Scala. Who knows? Whatever it was, her top notes were not supported, the acting seemed antiseptic, and her diction in the final duet with Radames had all those things, plus bad diction. The performance by our Radames, Franco Farina, was similarly plagued. So what we were left with was mediocrity dressed to the nines. The only thing that made this performance worthwhile were the performances in the supporting roles: Olga Borodina as Amneris, and, in particular, the outstanding performance of Aida’s father, Dimitri Kavrakos. Regardless, the overall experience was dreadful.

I’ve given the Met another chance, though. I got tickets to hear Angela Brown, whose substitution for the role was met with wide audience and critical acclaim last year, in the title role.

The next night of opera was Verdi’s “Macbeth,” a lesser-performed opera and only the second production at the Met. This tasteful new production updated the action to the 20th century without seeming like Eurotrash. Our Macbeth, Zeljko Lucic, was great. But our Lady Macbeth, played by Maria Guleghina, was not so great. Yes, she had all the notes, but they – as she always does – were powered with a scream that probably stopped traffic on Broadway. Granted, the role of Lady Macbeth is a difficult balance of dramatic soprano and good technique, but Guleghina clearly sided with her Puccini roots and delivered them with a Mack truck.

The issue, clearly, was, first off, that recordings of these operas by the greatest Verdian sopranos – Callas, Price, Milanov – set the standard extremely high. Secondly, Verdi wrote his music during the twilight of the Bel Canto technique but demanded his singers had had that training AND with big voices. Now, good Bel Canto technique is more difficult to come by especially among nthose with dramatic voices (who have pigeonholed themselves into Wagner, Puccini, etc.). No matter what roles you sing, Bel Canto should be mastered. I recall the great dramatic soprano, Nilsson, saying: “I know I have not been very good to Mozart, but Mozart has been very good to me.” Singing these difficult passages, runs, and rolanades, is not easy, and singers have gotten into the habit of simply powering the notes with deafening volume for effect. But knowing how to lighten the voice, make it limber, and versatile, is something every type of singer should master, if, for nothing more than that the money roles, and audiences of Verdi, demand it.