tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81764731104236910302024-03-12T14:58:37.081-11:00opéra chanteuseJRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-28354910152271339842013-04-29T15:05:00.003-11:002013-04-29T15:06:02.092-11:00Lol<div style="text-align: center;">
Beecham or Toscanini to a female cellist: "You have between your legs one of the greatest instruments devised for the pleasure of man. Can you do nothing but scratch it?"</div>
JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-8634196461297460452013-04-28T10:51:00.001-11:002013-04-28T10:51:45.223-11:00On Friendship<div style="text-align: center;">
Leo Lerman on Truman Capote: "He saw me as I saw myself, and I saw him as he saw himself. We each saw each other's invention and through the invention into our true, ever-loving hearts."</div>
JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-77311375707513688042013-04-27T06:25:00.001-11:002013-04-27T06:27:13.244-11:00Prima donna assoluta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixseVczb6tMcVVWkuk8wKP7_SUH7HB1kXILa2AWkLBn6A3A7F8SkTLJri1GowNLSEeO8UlXiD1gMXH3TLQs0RdmsLLpwUBHdYCkrBxVTMcyaqzWeVc_OLo5zhU5Rb-OOSz-OO8hbx587Xg/s1600/Scan-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixseVczb6tMcVVWkuk8wKP7_SUH7HB1kXILa2AWkLBn6A3A7F8SkTLJri1GowNLSEeO8UlXiD1gMXH3TLQs0RdmsLLpwUBHdYCkrBxVTMcyaqzWeVc_OLo5zhU5Rb-OOSz-OO8hbx587Xg/s400/Scan-21.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-55980099585164807952013-02-27T06:57:00.002-11:002013-02-27T06:57:58.110-11:00Ulrica the Fortune-Teller<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-8126034772790948122013-01-02T10:03:00.001-11:002013-01-02T10:03:07.947-11:00The Divine Miss Simone II<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OJxOVlzLczU" width="480"></iframe></div>JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-71576045539065864742012-12-31T07:18:00.001-11:002012-12-31T07:18:55.900-11:00The Divine Ms. Simone<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DFVAoIU8vTM" width="459"></iframe></div>JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-34994116430044702272012-12-23T09:15:00.001-11:002012-12-23T09:15:57.208-11:00Incomparable!<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lEi9IDV3BzA" width="459"></iframe></div>JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-59575942294750882332012-12-22T08:11:00.001-11:002012-12-22T08:13:30.968-11:00Do You Hear What I Hear?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3RZsJNpyYrWjoeOLdlK7GtbMvnrcUWLewMsyDVg7Q99zPPg75-y94uBZ9wZDqn-sxF1mfjY37WEW4jfepWf9SNHAOm0UALkNJiNsd8PURTcftYIZvKjW3tpvW0d63WiucLNxSzV9K6bR/s1600/Yves+Saint+Laurent+Spring+2002+u7mli-SyZwXx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3RZsJNpyYrWjoeOLdlK7GtbMvnrcUWLewMsyDVg7Q99zPPg75-y94uBZ9wZDqn-sxF1mfjY37WEW4jfepWf9SNHAOm0UALkNJiNsd8PURTcftYIZvKjW3tpvW0d63WiucLNxSzV9K6bR/s400/Yves+Saint+Laurent+Spring+2002+u7mli-SyZwXx.jpg" width="287" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">To those who <em>still </em>believe in the magic of the season: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">the <em>Merriest</em> of Christmas.</span></div>
JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-80331994672142958102012-12-17T07:20:00.000-11:002012-12-17T07:26:06.833-11:00Pensée de la Semaine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Oscar Wilde: <em>“Hate blinds people. </em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><em>Love can read the writing on the remotest star.”</em></span></div>
JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-63842464105231411892012-12-10T08:34:00.001-11:002012-12-10T08:34:13.093-11:00"Pasquale" Telegram<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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BELATED STOP CHICAGO'S LYRIC PRESENTS PASQUALE STOP DUBBED POPCORN AND PASQUALE LAST SUNDAY STOP GEARED FOR CHILDREN AGES 5-12 STOP ILDREBRANDO D'ARCANGELO WAS VERY FUNNY AS TITLE ROLE STOP MARLIS PETERSEN AS NORINA WAS EVEN FUNNIER STOP COREY CRIDER AS MALATESTA WAS HILARIOUS STOP STEPHEN LORD LED THE ORCHESTRA STOP CIRCUS-LIKE AMBIANCE STOP THE KIDS WENT HOME HAPPY STOP </div>
JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-22161028892654234522012-12-06T05:36:00.001-11:002012-12-06T05:39:13.958-11:00Final Masterpiece<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the last dresses that YSL designed in 2002, the year of his retirement. In the show, it was worn by the Russian model Eugenia Volodina, as seen above. It is made of silk chiffon, in a shade of blue so beguilingly lovely that Giotto himself would have been mesmerized. As the photo shows, the dress is strapless, draped and caught at the side with a perky bow in silk organza. Masterful. Sublime. Saint Laurent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-52026389598515947902012-12-05T07:13:00.001-11:002012-12-05T07:13:26.028-11:00Beauty Diva<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_pDa-SOc2hw?fs=1" width="480"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Irene Esser, 21, Venezuela’s representative in the forthcoming Miss Universe pageant in Las Vegas, being interviewed by a Spanish talk show a few weeks ago. Words are inadequate to accurately describe the beauty of this jaw-dropper. If she doesn’t win, there’s something seriously corrupt with the Miss Universe organization. If she does win, she would grabbed the headlines, the likes of which would make someone like the future queen of England green with envy, precisely because Ms. Esser would make her look like a royal nanny. <o:p></o:p></span></div>JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-35406002005511561902012-12-03T05:59:00.002-11:002012-12-05T07:01:54.263-11:00Runway Diva<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Anna Bayle, fashion’s self-proclaimed First Asian Supermodel, was, in her glory days throughout the 1980s, one of high fashion’s most sought-after faces. She walked like no one else, whether on the runways of Paris, Milan, Rome, London, and New York. The 5’ 10”, Manila-born Ms. Bayle modeled for every major designer in the world: Saint Laurent, Christian Lacroix, Valentino, Thierry Mugler, Dior, Chanel, Givenchy, Versace, Oscar de la Renta, Michael Kors, Marc Jacobs, Calvin Klein, Mizrahi, et. al. And it was all because of her signature walk; a walk (above, it begins at :40.) that one <em>New York Times</em> critic described as though “</span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">she were crushing a cigarette butt with each step down the runway.” Ms. Bayle has long since retired, but through online videos of her triumphant years on the fashion stage, her exotic beauty and grace, but above all her inimitable walk, continue to inspire.</span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-6766965257791699552012-11-30T05:52:00.002-11:002012-11-30T05:52:54.324-11:00YSL: Pure Genius<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1_7yhUzFXBVvBe0eXAxvkc2mRpwA4cBEgoC4ew3dIodr-L6uK4rt5vrWK7b2-MtoMSu0iFuRiylz1RILgKsCpwVHM2ZEfZ9DShvr7MReLqEtTKz_9Rw_xCmj66yNW6l9AFpUA6AilbfF/s1600/Harper_s_Bazaar__France___1984_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1_7yhUzFXBVvBe0eXAxvkc2mRpwA4cBEgoC4ew3dIodr-L6uK4rt5vrWK7b2-MtoMSu0iFuRiylz1RILgKsCpwVHM2ZEfZ9DShvr7MReLqEtTKz_9Rw_xCmj66yNW6l9AFpUA6AilbfF/s400/Harper_s_Bazaar__France___1984_2.jpg" tea="true" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Yves Saint Laurent <em>haute couture,</em> autumn/winter 1984. Violetta Sanchez, shot by Helmut Newton for French <em>Harper’s Bazaar. </em></span></div>
JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-19225520338544133732012-11-25T09:09:00.001-11:002012-11-30T05:55:18.310-11:00Divine Sarah<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 15pt; line-height: 115%;">Sarah Vaughan. Unforgettable.<o:p></o:p><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-36303479324692139622012-11-24T05:18:00.001-11:002012-11-30T05:55:44.146-11:00Ella Enchanted<div style="text-align: center;">
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-60643713223996454872012-11-19T06:14:00.001-11:002012-11-30T05:56:00.535-11:00High Priestess of Soul<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 15pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The Divine Ms. Nina Simone. The way she ends this song sent shivers down every erogenous zone of my body. One of the greatest <i>frissons</i> of my entire musical experience. Devastating.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Droid Sans Mono','serif'; font-size: 15pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-23255152070067574502012-11-14T06:19:00.001-11:002012-11-30T05:58:03.867-11:00A Thorougly-Modern Mess Redeemed By Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 15pt; line-height: 115%;">Just a quick review of <em><span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Werther,</span></em> unveiled Sunday afternoon at LOoC. The production’s director, Francisco Negrin, must truly hate Massenet so deeply for him to have conceived such a pointless, heartless <em><span style="font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Werther</span></em>. The spare, modernist sets, designed by Louis Désiré, did nothing to alleviate Negrin’s gloomy, preposterous staging. Thankfully, the singers were in top form. While tenor Matthew Polenzani, as the love-lorn Werther, did not quite steal the show as a truly great Werther must, he nevertheless sang the role with conviction that seemed to pour effortlessly out of him without resorting to clichéd gestures. He may not have compelled the audience to follow his lead by contemplating suicide in the name of unrequited love, but he gave a performance that was genuine and believable, vocally and physically; one never forgot, in listening to Polenzani, that Werther is a poet. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Droid Sans Mono','serif'; font-size: 15pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 15pt; line-height: 115%;">It was Werther’s beloved Charlotte, however, who made an indelible impression. Mezzo Sophie Koch’s voice is tailor-made for this role, like a Chanel jacket on Anna Wintour; it has the gleam of gossamer silk so finely spun that it seems ethereal. One could almost see the twinkle in her eyes when Werther declared his undying love. Her gestures alone, contained, graceful, suggested what her heart wanted to say, to Werther, to Albert, to me. Unbelievable to think that this performance was her first-ever foray onto the American operatic stage. Baritone Craig Verm was Albert as he should be portrayed: sensitive, alert to Charlotte’s feelings towards him, or lack thereof; a thoughtful portrayal of a thankless role. Soprano Kiri Deonarine as sister Sophie was charmingly naïve; Massenet would have been entranced. The orchestra, led by Andrew Davis, was often splendid, evoking the romance and beauty of Massenet's tear-jerker of a score that had the sweeping effect of a film score reminiscent of Max Steiner at his most feverish.</span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-15699811869948774002012-11-01T04:58:00.005-11:002012-11-01T04:58:51.104-11:00After the Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-11067493556668924332012-10-31T04:11:00.000-11:002012-10-31T04:11:07.072-11:00Happy Halloween!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-41234305847663701892012-10-17T06:01:00.001-11:002012-11-30T05:59:51.217-11:00The Past is Prologue<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Verdi’s so-called “symphonic opera,” <i>Simon Boccanegra,</i> opened Monday night at Lyric Opera of Chicago. <i>Boccanegra </i>is hardly a staple in the repertory, but when it <i>is</i> performed</span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">—and given justice—one is struck at how familiar the opera seems, as reassuring as one’s own grandfather. I feel like I’ve been acquainted with it somehow, when in reality Monday’s prima was my first live exposure to this astonishing gem beyond the unsurpassable Abbado recording. Verdi, ever the master at tugging our heartstrings, compromised not a single note in bringing to life Boccanegra’s universal story, going so far as to revise his work some twenty-four years after its 1857 Venice premiere, transforming it at once into a very human drama that goes straight to all our hearts. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Droid Sans Mono','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Baritone Thomas Hampson sang the title role. Amelia/Maria was soprano Krassimira Stoyanova. Tenor Frank Lopardo was Gabriele. Fiesco was bass Ferruccio Furlanetto. Baritone Quinn Kelsey was Paolo. All five principals offered riveting performances that were slightly marred by opening night imperfections, for which the evening’s conductor must take the blame. Under Andrew Davis’ baton, Verdi’s gorgeous score seemed bereft of eloquence that this music so desperately requires. Certain key moments in the drama such as the moving climax of the “recognition scene” between father and daughter went by without fanfare. Davis is <i>not</i> a Verdi conductor. The meat of this opera is, of course, the Council Chamber scene. <i>Boccanegra</i> without it is akin to <i>Onegin</i> without the Letter Scene. When everyone on stage (and pit) conspire to set this scene on fire, the effect is extraordinary, unlike anything in Verdi. Monday night’s rendition of this volcanic episode came close to setting the Lyric stage aflame. Stoyanova’s piercing cries of “pace” helped to ignite it, but was put out by the conductor’s unimaginative wand. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The Bulgarian soprano, who is making her Lyric début, sang her first and only aria, “</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Come in quest'ora bruna,” with mellifluous grace that recalled Mirella Freni’s golden-voiced Amelia, except that Stoyanova’s is more lachrymose in timbre than honeyed <i>à la</i> the beautiful Mirella. What was missing in Stoyanova’s voice is a Gheorghiu-style urgency; that, and some old-school diva abandon <i>à la</i> Millo, from whom she can take a masterclass. Hampson’s Boccanegra</span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">—vocally—</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">is not one for the ages. There are no incidental joys to be had in listening to him. As there are no opportunities to bask in the warmth and beauty of the baritone voice, for his has none whatsoever; if it can be likened to an ice-cream flavor, it would have to be vanilla. But, as an artist, he says more about his character’s life story through his impeccable musicianship than could any Boccanegra with the voice of God. Looking pale and gaunt in his death scene, he <i>was</i> Boccanegra. Other cast members weren’t so convincing. Lopardo’s heroic Gabriele vocalized unabashedly, as though he were singing Lohengrin, cracking a note or two in the course of his duet with his betrothed. His voice is as unreliable as a weather forecast; in fact, it seemed to hover in the air like a traveling cloud that gave no hint whether it might rain or not. Kelsey was a domineering Paolo, in voice but more so in demeanor. Vocal honors must go to the Fiesco of Furlanetto. With a voice that could plunge the deepest ocean depths, he dominated the stage with his voice alone. After last season’s victorious <i>Godunov,</i> the Lyric stage is artistically richer with him on it. The rest of the cast were in fine form throughout a long evening of heavy, testosterone-fueled vocal matches.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The production, borrowed from Covent Garden, was directed by Elijah Moshinsky, with not a whiff of modernism about it. (After a disturbing David McVicar staging of <i>Elektra</i> now playing at Lyric, so much for the better!) The sets are handsome enough to be visually satisfying: imposing ivory pillars stood proudly like Genoese skyscrapers, while the Council Chamber interior resembled a D.C. memorial park. (See photo above, by Dan Rest.) The lighting by Jason Brown was evocative of the paintings of Georges de Latour; the stage looked as if it were lit by candlelight. The Peter J. Hall-designed costumes worn by the men were splendid: brocades and damasks in an autumnal palette of reds and oranges that seemed borrowed from Tintoretto. Amelia’s frock looked sedate in comparison to what her father wore, which could set any geisha an example in elegant carriage. </span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-19151159647724932882012-10-02T06:17:00.005-11:002012-11-30T06:00:43.387-11:00Remembrance of Yves Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">A Saint Laurent opening has always been a red-letter day in French high fashion. Hedi Slimane’s premiere Saint Laurent collection, shown last night, was no exception. It was the hottest ticket of the entire spring/summer 2013 season. The show will no doubt please YSL purists; but, as a fashion statement, it had nothing new to say. It was rather like a greatest hits parade of the beloved couturier’s most iconic collections, namely Saint Laurent’s eponymous “Ballets Russes” collection of 1976 and the Spanish gypsies of 1977, thrown in with see-through blouses culled from 1968 for shock value. (Slimane need not have bothered showing them, for they no longer have any shock value left. Monsieur Saint Laurent’s controversial and often plagiarized sheer blouses seemed shocking back in 1968 when he first showed them with Bermuda shorts, but for 2013 they look merely vulgar.)</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The bulk of Slimane’s “Saint Laurent Paris” show—as he has chosen to call the brand, eradicating the elegant “Yves”—consisted of slim capri (if they can be called that) pants worn with a multitude of suede vests and jackets that, at first glance, remind one of Tom Ford’s mid-'90s shows for Gucci, when that designer found it useful to borrow ideas from Saint Laurent’s illustrious repertoire years before he became creative director of YSL. Slimane, a former Dior Homme designer based in L.A., has had no previous experience in womenswear. It showed. The whole collection had the look of a design student's graduation show, laboring to assert his style. Though Slimane emphasized Saint Laurent’s fascination with folkloric dressing, he ignored one major aspect of his vocabulary: color. Slimane’s somber palette was limited to black, brown, and beige. The evening ensembles reeked of nostalgia, and not the most flattering of aromas, either. Worn with floppy fedoras that have seen better days, the finale consisted of swirling capes and flowing dresses that evoked both Saint Laurent muse Talitha Getty and his passion for Moroccan garb. What's missing in Slimane’s rendition was Saint Laurent’s seemingly effortless mastery of draping. Slimane’s shapeless frocks appeared sloppy even on the most anoretically thin of models. Though this was a spring show, a dark, autumnal air seemed to permeate the Grand Palais where the show was held. Viewing the collection online, one can sense that the venue had no ambiance or mood to complement the clothes. The models had none of the womanly elegance that Saint Laurent mannequins such as Mounia and Kirat exemplified to perfection in the 1980s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Three designers have already tackled the demanding Saint Laurent mantle—Lanvin’s Alber Elbaz had a brief stint in 1999, followed by Ford in 2000, preceeded by Stefano Pilati in 2004, each of whom had a modicum of success that was hardly spectacular—only to be dismissed when their vision for the brand fizzled or failed to excite Saint Laurent aficionados. Slimane is the fourth designer to be given the job. Judging from the merits of this show, he has plenty of magic to perform if he intends to have the sacred house of Saint Laurent—essentially a twentieth-century establishment—prosper and flourish in the twenty-first.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Droid Sans Mono','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-15423221639467955622012-09-29T05:50:00.001-11:002012-11-30T06:01:16.940-11:00Perfect Symmetry<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Fashion is a vicious cycle. The clothes that came down the runways in New York, where the collections originated, and those that marched down the catwalks in Milan, destined to be worn next spring, seem light years away, now that the Paris collections are in full swing. The clothes that the French are currently offering fashion editors, buyers, and celebrities alike will, in about six months’ time, be a distant memory once the cycle begins again. Only a handful of these collections will remain etched in the minds of those who follow fashion as religiously as one might follow the presidential election on TV. I think it’s safe to say that Raf Simons’ début ready-to-wear <i>défilé</i> for Christian Dior is one of those rare collections that will have a lasting impact, one that would mature and perhaps even endure in the collective consciousness. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The Belgium-born Simons, Maison Dior’s newly-appointed creative director, replacing the disgraced John Galliano, sent out a 53-piece collection that seemed fresh and young, innovative yet unpretentious, unburdened by the weight of history as baffling as the frilly eighteenth-century and the anything-goes chic of the 1920s that Dior’s former designer advocated season after season. The clothes that Simons showed are quite simple: not deceptively but genuinely. They require no further inspection other than the knowledge that they are lovely to look at. A belted cocktail dress looked arrestingly modern as is, but the designer attached an overlay of pink organza shaped like a triangle, an obvious nod to Dior’s famous “A-line” silhouette that took the world by storm in 1955, a look that will certainly be reinterpreted in myriad ways in 2013. The perennial tuxedo jacket was given star billing in the show: hourglass-shaped blazers that did not scream YSL circa 1966 but, instead, recalled a leggy, tuxedo-clad Judy Garland in the finale of <i>Summer Stock,</i> belting out the feel-good ditty “Get Happy.” Eveningwear echoed the pared down attitude of the daytime pieces, which included a black long-sleeved jersey sweater paired with an ankle-grazing iridescent ballskirt printed with large 3D roses in pastel shades: a post-modern homage to Dior’s penchant for extravagant ballgowns. The opening ensemble—a slim tuxedo pantsuit—set the tone brilliantly, but it was the airy dresses that succinctly encapsulated the message Simons so elegantly imparts: freedom. A standout evening dress of sequined midnight-blue with a tent-like overlay of tulle was an outright tribute to Dior’s 1958 “Trapeze” collection designed by a child prodigy with the name of Yves Saint Laurent. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">No one was more miscast than Monsieur Dior in the role of fashion revolutionary; he looked more like a country bumpkin or, to be charitable, a middle-aged provincial doctor. But, as those in fashion only know too well, looks are deceiving. Simons, a forty-something straight man who resembles a Sorbonne professor, will have more opportunities to prove his worth at Dior. But, as he has shown in this highly promising collection, he is one of the chosen few who will point fashion in the right direction. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Droid Sans Mono','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-53738152208848009982012-09-27T04:27:00.000-11:002012-11-30T06:02:32.687-11:00Ah, Give Me Paris in the Springtime<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="400" kea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCRh3P0X2xgZq-gmxOaqAT-26udp1FCArgR-LXvlMq3bIHVjmMe_orLE7_VWYmgid0e7MIn2JidboY2CgZLdQmDAXFV6E3GVI6v2InkBpaFihyphenhyphenS9X-f3Vn7h3ftqw1JgvKy502vDXUym0S/s400/Balmain.jpg" width="266" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIOSsyowK_5wLVRMBQYmW7cEDNNQyIwa4JcZRdBPBPkUaykUYMmeZYyYxd2XB2LIRHVuuw_UyKXUOVXWgLoEAE_Y2CLSnNu0vTbdX288oEDSLmHajgbqwvfBmSeZK205mmaeQ7YjK_BkE/s1600/balenciaga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIOSsyowK_5wLVRMBQYmW7cEDNNQyIwa4JcZRdBPBPkUaykUYMmeZYyYxd2XB2LIRHVuuw_UyKXUOVXWgLoEAE_Y2CLSnNu0vTbdX288oEDSLmHajgbqwvfBmSeZK205mmaeQ7YjK_BkE/s400/balenciaga.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Paris Fashion Week 2013 (yes, for those who don't know, high fashion is always six months ahead) is being unveiled this very minute in the City of Light. This morning, two standout collections will have fashionista tongues wagging: Balmain and Balenciaga. The former, designed by Olivier</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Garamond','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> Rousteing,<i> left photo,</i> seems to have been inspired by the oeuvre of Claude Montana: big, Joan Crawford shoulders with cropped hemlines worn with wide-legged 1940s-style trousers in bold, eye-catching prints. The painstaking detail of Rousteing's clothes almost raises the level of their craftmanship to <i>couture</i>. Nicolas Ghesquière's Balenciaga collection for spring/summer 2013 was all about tailoring, as it always is: edgy, cool, precise, modern. Ghesquière<b> </b>seems to have raided the stellar Balenciaga archives for inspiration and was overwhelmed by what he saw: marvel at his flirty black and white flamenco skirt, <i>right photo,</i> and cropped origami top in glacial white. Other noteworthy pieces in the show include graphic dresses emblazoned with barbed wire motifs; an off-white peacoat cut with the freedom that only a kimono <i>sans</i> obi can give; a post-modern take on the sports bra paired with tuxedo pants, which opened the show; a pristine white lace shirtjacket over what appears to be a tweed miniskirt borrowed from the closet of Mademoiselle Chanel. Ghesquière further elaborated on the Chanel reference by sending out a half-dozen skirtsuits in heavy flecks of black and white tweed that make one wonder if they are at all conducive to wear in ninety-degree climates. Both shows are triumphs of construction. It's interesting to see as to who will have the guts to wear them come spring.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Droid Sans Mono','serif'; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176473110423691030.post-47147289207825108572012-09-24T04:09:00.001-11:002012-09-25T06:28:47.838-11:00Pensée du jour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<em>"Time has reduced her to an essence: as a grape can become a raisin, roses an attar."</em></div>
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Truman Capote on <em>Out of Africa</em> author, Isak Dinesen.<br />
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Isak Dinesen:<br />
<em>"Love, with very young people, is a heartless business. We drink at that age from thirst, or to get drunk; it is only later in life that we occupy ourselves with the individuality of our wine. A young man in love is essentially enraptured by the forces within himself."</em><br />
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JRDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06668174652520224455noreply@blogger.com