Wish list

It’s the new year and people are full of resolve to achieve their goals of weight loss or world peace. And it’s not like I don’t want to be buff and have Bono put a sock in it, but I have some selfish goals that are, sadly, more achievable. I want to hear my favourite singers perform, the Canadian baritones Brett Polegato and Etienne Dupuis.

Brett Polegato stole my heart when he strode onto the stage of the Jubilee Auditorium in 1998 and sang the Largo al factotum with sprezzatura – an effortless grace and electric charisma. He sang with every particle of himself; the hall was a vibrating column of air and I was vibrating too, to the golden timbre of his voice. He turned me into an overnight opera fan, an addict, actually, wanting my hit of that moment of sympathetic resonance, pierced like Saint Theresa by the arrow.

His Schlummert ein, ihr matten Augen from Bach’s Cantata 82, Ich Habe Genug, is meditative and tender-sweet as a lullaby, and his Sorge infausta una procella from Handel’s Orlando is virile, heroic, muscular with dancing agility when he climbs to the upper register of his voice.

But Brett, you’ve broken my heart by not showing up to performances I’ve bought ticket for – Cosi Fan Tutti in Edmonton, with Benjamin Butterfield whose voice complements yours so beautifully, and a Messiah in Calgary. I am hoping that you’ll be there in Toronto in April, for Eugene Onegin.

A baritone whose voice is becoming increasingly breath-taking is the young and talented Etienne Dupuis. He has a strong and yet lyric voice, and an easy, confident stage presence that complements his assured sound. I am looking forward to hearing him this May in Starmania in Quebec City.

Tragic endings

I went to last Saturday’s opening show of Opera Montreal’s new season, Verdi’s “A Masked Ball”. Midnight Poutine has a review of it, with plot summary. I love opera, and think Canada has some incredible voices, but I don’t care much for Verdi. I just wanted to see Richard Margison, as I’ve heard his big, heroic voice many times on the CBC. At the start of the show it was announced that Margison was indisposed; in other words he wasn’t feeling well and likely wouldn’t be singing with his full voice, but his performance was wonderful. I’d like to hear him on a good day. The women shone in this production, and I am looking forward to hearing more of Pascale Beaudin’s radiant voice. But Verdi operas have never engaged me. To my ears, it’s a big opera with big emotions, and a slight disconnect, for me, between the feelings being portrayed and the music that’s expressing them.

Speaking of big, a lot of the singers were very big people. Maybe that’s what it takes to sing a Verdi opera, although the slight Pascale Beaudin seemed to have no problem. The Gazette has an interesting article on standards of beauty being brought to bear on opera singers.

More disturbing than King Gustavus’ tragic end is the Bialetti Mukka Express, a little machine that’s supposed to make a perfect cappuccino. And to be fair it did, but only once. The first time I used it, it made a lovely cappuccino, with a crema coffee and steamed milk with an impressive amount of foam. Every time after that, though, it fitfully exploded, spraying coffee, grounds and foam everywhere. I am glad that The Bay has a good returns policy. The clerk wrote the reason for the return as “Explodes!” and I added “BOOM”.

I was intrigued as to what the deal was with this machine. Googling revealed that there is no grey area of opinion. Views are as black and white as its cute little cow spots. In one camp, there are people who are fascinated with finding out whatever it takes to get the perfect brew, which depends on a lot of factors, such as:

• stovetop temperature
• amount of milk
• not having even a particle of coffee on the gasket

These are people who’ve tinkered with it and are willing to share their secrets, such not too hot a temperature for boiling the water, but not too cold either, because then the milk won’t foam. Or rubbing olive oil on the gasket to keep the pot from spurting coffee everywhere as the pressure reaches critical mass. They share their tips and encourage one another. “I’ll try that olive oil! I’ll get back to you!”

I’m in the other camp, with people who think the Mukka Express is possessed. I’m not up for a challenge in the morning, and having to deal with the wiles of a coffee pot with an explosive temperament is beyond me. I don’t put up with this much drama in people I’ve dated. So it’s easier for me to get a coffee from the Brulerie St-Denis and let someone else at The Bay try their luck with exploding espresso.