The Reverberate Hills; or The Apotheosis of the Narwhal

So are my Red Sox the new Yanks? Uh, no, not quite, as any Yankee fan will eagerly tell you. Two World Series wins after an eighty-six year ...

Sometimes more really is less. I had been eagerly anticipating the Bunraku Puppet Theatre of Japan’s visit to Berkeley. They rarely travel, ...

I think we can safely call Graham Vick’s production of Tannhauser controversial, which might be the only safe thing about it. Actually, I th...

About a week before I went to Oakland Opera’s Turn of the Screw, I received an e-mail from them warning me that their location had changed, ...

Some of the world premieres I’ve gone to have been tarted up with klieg lights and glam women in gowns they should have known better than to...

I walked past a movie theater today and its marquee was advertising both the regular feature and the Friday night midnight movie, so it read...

Sometimes it was just by chance that I started listening to certain composers. I can’t remember when or why exactly I started listening to P...

I have just returned from hearing Olga Borodina at Zellerbach Hall. Cal Performances Director Robert Cole came out beforehand, but since I w...

Recently I stumbled across a French translation of this blog, which mystified, fascinated, and delighted me. I have no idea who prompted thi...

Actual overheard dialogue during the first intermission of Samson et Delilah at San Francisco Opera last Tuesday: Man with ratty shoulder-le...