OTAS, you found it

I’ve been pretty busy with New York life lately. It came with my mother’s arrival where we saw three operas “Il Barbiere di Siviglia,” “Die Walkure” and “Otello.”

Barbiere, the Bel Canto masterpiece was executed with dignity - despite the muffled sound coming from the staging - was taken in with great pleasure.

“Die Walkure,” with its famed third act overture presenting the steadfast female warriors made (in)famous by everything from Bugs Bunny (Kill da rabbit) to “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” (Apocalypse Now), was presented in raw form. Sheer vocal power and brilliant conducting made sure the great orchestra and sopranos (hurling out those high c’s) brought a drama that reminded us why this piece pervades popular culture. And nobody can assemble the singers, conducting, and orchestra the great Metropolitan Opera can. It was a thrilling evening.

Then there is Otello, Verdi’s operatic adaptation of Shakespeare’s Othello—the pinnacle of Italian opera. Where the Met needed to pull things off vocally, the all-star cast delivered. I can rarely think of an opera where the audience was stunned into silence at the end of the great arias. Botha and Fleming did it – not a single applause at any point. In the dark prayer “Ave Maria,” one of my personal favorites, Desdemona awaits her murder with such stunning drama and sang like her own life ended. We sat silently and let the music come over us in silence.

My mother was there for a little over a week. And I have to say I was exhausted with her company. I love her to death, but we are clearly coming from different walks of life. I’ll elaborate later, but for the time being lets just say the week was nice, but ended up like a bad date: Exhausted, unaffiliated, and ultimately relieved when we were apart.