The Reverberate Hills; or The Apotheosis of the Narwhal

The Darkling Thrush I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. ...

Back in the early days, I had to trudge through ten miles of snow to find a previous blog entry. Now all you need to do is check out the Lab...

This is my favorite picture of myself ever ! The photo is courtesy of Civic Center's fabulous sfmike . In case you can't tell what t...

After one of my recent postings on Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, artist Andrea Way e-mailed me and told me she had spent last year doing a painti...

I’ve been meme-tagged twice, first by Susan-being-kept-awake-by-opera and next by the Opera Tattler , so I guess I’d better cowboy up. This ...

I had been dimly aware of Meredith Monk for years, but only as an occasional comet I would read about streaking through distant avant-garde ...

Astonishingly, it was only by a chance visit to ArkivMusic.com, and only because they happened to feature it on their home page when I visit...

You will notice a little different look here. I switched to a glam new template, and one unintended result was that I lost the former blogro...

from the Met e-mail touting the upcoming New York premiere of Dr Atomic: the text "draws from . . . the poetry of John Donne, Muriel Ru...

I guess watching dancers do their thing night after night has taken its toll on me: I’m attributing my latest back outage to artistic sympat...