• Listen on Sirius
• Listen on “Listen Live”
• Program, including synopsis
• List of musical numbers
• La Casa della Cieca

La Cieca’s resolutions:

• Getting past the technical issues of the past week. (This should be accomplished quite shortly.)
• Devising an “anchor” post each morning so early bird parterriani will have someplace to start the daily chatter.
• Attending more and varied opera performances, not just the obvious A-list opening nights. (There’s more to New York than the Met.)
• Reviving (at least on an occasional basis) Unnatural Acts of Opera.
• And finally, getting some kind of surgical intervention on that unsightly wattle.

Signora Taigi’s had been a rather successful debut in L’Africaine, or at least that had been my impression. If you don’t believe me, ask La Divina Cieca as she, too, was at the event, perched in her perilously high stilettos, pencil sharpened and scribbling away furiously. This recital then, which was the Vidda Foundation Award Recital as presented by Opera Orchestra of New York, promised to be a closer look of an upfront and personal kind at this engaging and promising young soprano.

Or so I thought.

What I instead encountered was rather a bizarre night of audition showcase arias, songs and scenas, of radically differing types. Now, to be fair, and according to Maestro Queler’s programme note, the aria format was specifically requested by the good people of the Vidda Foundation. Even still, when was the last time you have heard the combination of Lodoletta’s pathetic plea “Flammen perdonami”, followed shortly thereafter not only by “Casta diva”, but then topped off with the Scena Ultima from Il pirata? Divine madness? Not exactly. And that is the least of it, as things became curiouser and curiouser still.

Let me start at the beginning, a very good place to start. The programme commenced with the entry of Ms. Taigi with her accompanist, none other than Maestro Queler, herself. As the soprano glided onto the stage with her platinum blonde hair loosely coiffed, and wearing a dark evergreen floor length satin gown, I noticed a type of mink stole arranged about her shoulders, dyed the exact same shade as the dark green of the gown. Coupled with the ultra-platinum blondined halo, the overall effect struck me not as it had likely been intended, i. e. as Glamour, but as something eerily unnatural and contrived for an effect whose reach had exceeded its grasp. (An aside: Ercole Farnese came to mind, knowing his displeasure in the sighting of the fur-wearing diva.) Wouldn’t a sumptuous Loro Piana cashmere, or an Hermes silk shawl have done just as nicely, I asked myself?

Green mink? For crying out loud, what would Edith Head have said?

The calling-card number was, in effect, the pathetic Lodoletta, an unusual gambit but for me an especially favourite guilty pleasure… notably as sung by Pia Tassinari, Renata Scotto, or Mirella Freni. Ms. Taigi’s rendition was acceptable and marked by its emotive, descriptive interpretative detail and she triumphantly managed not to go flat as most do in this aria. All right then, a decent, if not a thrilling start. She did look a little apprehensive—but who could blame her?

Next, we switched gears by abruptly leaving the italianate veristic idiom, her fur bedecked shoulders now braving the steppes of Georgia. She sang one of my favourite Rachmaninoff songs, “Do not sing, o Beauty, sad songs for me” (“Ne poy, krasavitsa, pri mne” and correct the transliterative spelling, Krunoslav, if it so pleases), which suited the dark and rather mournful timbre of her voice very well. An assisting artist, Erica Kiesewetter (concert mistress of OONY), came onto the stage to play a violin obbligato, a nice touch. Although an abrupt departure from Italian verismo, this song came off very well and showed a marked coming to grips with the voice by the artist. It also possibly gave the a clue as to the necessity of the fur--those frigid, desolate Georgian steppes.

All right then, next stop, Nagasaki! Yes, abruptly back to the Italian lyric veristic stage with the beloved and done to death “Un bel di, vedremo” from Madama Butterfly. The acting out of the aria’s descriptive detailing of Pinkerton’s return was well done if perhaps a bit much, in such intimate settings. The first of a series of alarm bells sounded for me when I saw her gulping for air right before the climactic B flat, at aria’s conclusion. A sour note, shrill and shrieky, the inevitable first sign of her constant intrusion of too much chest voice upon the higher notes (acuti).

Not to be daunted, we now travelled to ancient Gaul to invoke the chaste goddess of the moon, and to turn back in time to the Ur-arci-romanticismo of 1831 Bellini and that irresistible diva-magnet, “Casta diva”. As, patrolling the internet I have come across an example of her singing of this aria last year, in concert, I will allow you to judge.

A far more “live” acoustic in that concert hall, as opposed to that of the Weill Recital Hall helped out, I feel. A nice mezza voce was used in singing the opening phrases and those pesky turns which are splatted in any and all directions or generally approximated, were accurate. Other than an extra breath taken in the series of repeated A’s before the culminative B flat, a rather fluent account of this formidable aria, if not that reminiscent of a full moon-lit night in an oak grove. Somehow or another this cavatina came out better than the Butterfly excerpt—mirabile dictu!—as it is generally the other way around.

After applause for the Lunar Invocation, Ms. Taigi left the stage and another assisting artist, Ms. Melanie Feld, English hornist, accompanied by Maestro Queler, played the glorious opening phrases of Bellini’s “Col sorriso d’innocenza” from the 1827 landmark, “Il pirata”, one of the first successful “mad scenes” and a real tour de force, not to mention another of my guilty pleasures. The English horn is so critical in establishing mood and tone of this scena that I was grateful for the thoughtful preparation of Maestro Queler’s.

Of course as all you Callas queens know, this scene will never be bettered by anyone else! Well, maybe Caballe, but I’ll let you all pull each other’s hair on that one.

Ms. Taigi appeared on stage again, looking notably consternated and slightly like Our Beloved Madame Vera does when she makes an entrance, and launched into a surprisingly successful account of first, the cavatina (without the Caballe/Callas diminuendos and cadenza interpolations) and a very good, if truncated accounting of the fearsome cabaletta, indulging her chest voice in the lower portions, to her fullest contentment. As the climactic note is a C, I was worried about that note but it issued forth all right, as in the first instance it comes by an ascending scale, so the climactic final cry had been secured by the first foray upwards. As Imogene’s plight is sorry indeed, well, an hysterical cry, rather than an elegantly sounded note, is not entirely out of context.

As there is many a Butterfly ascendant in the opera heavens, the fact that she could manage the complicated dramatic fioriture of the cantilena belliniana was heartening to me. Also, her stark dramatic instinct was well used in the depiction of Imogene’s madness, if only slightly veering off into Galupe-Borszkhian territory. At any rate, I was grateful to have heard this wonderful scene, too rarely done.

After a brief intermission, Ms. Taigi reappeared on stage. There had been, in true diva fashion, the requisite change of costume. Thankfully, she had shed the green fur piece. Now she wore a very severe long-sleeved black and white floor length costume. I don’t quite know what effect she was going for but it had a nun’s habit or penitentiary aspect to it, rather severe even for concert stage. A long white sash trailing down to one side seemed to be there as a sort of lifeline by which she could be pulled back to a safe shore.

At this point we were again treated to an Italian opera excerpt, and in my opinion, the most entirely successful one, “Morro, ma prima in grazia” from Verdi’s capolavoro, Un ballo in maschera, with another assisting artist, Eugene Moye at the cello, playing obbligato. In this instance Ms. Taigi seemed to me to be singing with the most fully integrated voice, no chesty sounds and a fluent line. The attack of the cadenza at the end on the C flat was not bad but she swiftly went down into its descending line to land smack back into the full frontal chest voice she so favours and had avoided until then, but did manage to neatly come back up to close the aria with a lovely, long diminuendo, held along with the cello, to create a marvelous effect. This aria eliciting many bravos (sic). It helped, no doubt, that she had recently sung Amelia in Ballo, and apparently successfully, only just last week in New Orleans.

Now we leap continents and genres—to make the mother of all understatements— to travel to Brasil…? Well, that is what the programme says, “Estrellita: Canzone Brasiliana”!!! Poor Mexico:  like Rodney Dangerfield it just doesn’t get any respect! As Manuel Ponce is one of the most famous Mexican composers and his song “Estrellita” his most famous and beloved of all works, I would not have been so perturbed by the “Brasiliana” mistake had it been an obscure Maria Grever song termed “brasiliana” and it should rightfully have said “Cancion mex(j)icana”.

Well, cher readers, this is the climactic turning point when everything slid south—and not just south of the equator “down Mexico way.”

As she began the song (with a teensy South American pronunciation but otherwise good Spanish), she all of a sudden our primadonna went down the stairs off the stage and began singing to various gentlemen in the audience, one in particular, who shall re-appear later. It was all, suddenly last summer, as if we had been magically transferred to the Fontainebleau Hotel on Miami Beach! Well, why not? We’d already traversed the steppes of Georgia, the shimmering druidic groves of Gaul, the hilltop homes of Nagasaki, the palazzi of medieval Agrigento—why indeed not South Beach Salsa, as well?

I dunno, cher reader, how “Estrellita” got into the mix but it must needs be a favourite of someone in the Vidda Foundation. That is the only way I could explain it and its nightclub style presentation. Next stop—Boca Raton Century Village—hey there, you scoffer, if it’s good enough for Charo, it’s good enough for anyone else with chuchi-chuchi!

Now for the finale! What is the obvious follow up to “Estrellita”? Why naturally, that would be a partially sightread “Pace, pace, mio dio”!!! Well, at least the penetential nun’s garb she had on looked appropriate in this number. Sung in a similar manner as the others with another blaring B flat, screamed out as best she could.

Oh merciful heavens, it was over!

Nicht doch! Then came the encores!

Fleeing Leonora’s grotto and flaying for her life, la Taigi gave us, with yet another guest artist, this time a different accompanist, a Mr. Seth Farber (who was in the vent a terrific song stylist and accompanist), relieving Ms. Queler who fled the stage amidst modest protestations that she “couldn’t play that kind of music! Oh gawd, what kind of music are we about to hear? Alban Berg? “Coal Miner’s Daughter?” A bossa nova actually from Brasil?

No, cher readers, it was Gershwin’s “The Man I Love”. Once again, Ms. Casta Diva descended from her dais to serenade, South Beach style, the elder gentlemen of the audience, zeroing in on one corpulent package in particular. I wanted to stand up and shout “Get a room!”  Suddenly the Casta Diva had turned into Billie Holiday!

After this song styling, and it was very good indeed, in nearly perfect English and with the voice smooth, supple and elegant, no chest hanging blaringly out, there was a little speech by her and “the man I love”, who blathered on with a lot of stuff I blocked out as I had long since retreated to my “Safe Place”. After the palavering was over and she had placed him in a seat next to her, on stage, and abruptly went back home to Rome (she is, in fact una romana) and ended the night’s festivities with the Roman Diva par excellence, Floria Tosca, and an average accounting of “Vissi d’arte”, the by now familiarly blaring B flat furled out like a proud, war torn banner, once more. All the while holding on to Baron Scarpia’s hand as she sang. We were waved goodbye and dismissed rather as if at a school assembly.

Poor old Camille was left so dazed and confused by all the above she sought counsel with Mamma Grizzly Cieca, who advised her to write it all down, as a purgative. So here it was.

I’m just no longer sure of Ms. Taigi and what she is about. Apparently, you Londoners will be hearing her in the 2012-13 season as Aida, presumably at Covent Garden. This particular debut was the stated reason why she was unable to accept an offer from the Metropolitan to sing in this season. What does 2012-13 have to do with this season? Thereby becoming curious, I consulted the magical oracle of Operabase, where upon accessing her name, I found nothing listed beyond the 12th of December concert I’d just heard.

To sum up, Chiara Taigi is a stage animal. She has an expressive voice. She is House of Gelb camera-worthy (thank you, NN). She really has it all except that thing no singer can really do without, the “ligne de chant” (thank you, oedipe). She tries too hard for arty effects before establishing a real, even, and dynamic line that projects easily into the house. As I said above, the Weill Hall acoustics were probably not accommodating to her voice. Therefore, one is left hanging, much as one does with Poplavskaya, wondering what will happen on every note.

As Daniela Dessi and Barbara Frittoli, the only Italian sopranos of rank who regularly export to the States are now at their respective sell-by dates, I had set great hopes on this lady, from her one appearance in AF Hall as L’Africaine. Now I think, unless she learns to sing more cleanly and evenly, it is possible that her shelf life may be similarly limited and that is a shame. Perusing an extended scena of the finale of Suor Angelica, which she sang for RAI with Riccardo Chailly, I have jolted into an awareness of those constantly effort-filled and screamed out high notes. Of course, bad singing never stopped anyone, if they want to just emote. Look at Billie Holiday. Somehow, though, I think I’d rather listen to Billie, ’cause even senza voce, what she manages to communicate seems somehow more “real” to me, whereas Signora Taigi is teetering troublesomely over into the land of self-parody. A land already inhabited and expertly handled by the magnificent Madame Vera, who expresses in her parody, her palpably real and profound love and devotion to her Art.

For now, I’ll stick with Madame Vera when I want to see Divine Madness. At least, she’s the Real Deal. I’m sure you’d never catch her in a saloon in South Beach, or God forbid, Boca Raton, America’s rudest city.

Thank you for your attention, all my many dear associates of parterre, and my even more numerous frenemies and enemies. Camille has now taken her purgative and feels better and will now recline in the sanctity of Leonora’s grotto, which she has spruced up to resemble Venusburg. Hey, why not? It’s a do-what-you-feel-like-doing kinda world these days, innit?

Please note that La Cieca will have only limited internet access this week and so will do updates only as necessary. If you get wind of some whopper of a news story, please post what you know in this comments section, preferably with “BREAKING” as the first word of the comment in order to alert your fellow cher public.

SPOILERS BELOW!

4:30: “Although Donizetti is one of my least favorite ‘standard-repertoire’ composers, I enjoyed today’s Anna Bolena at the MET.  McVicar’s production is very simple and straightforward—nothing that the Sybil Harrington Trust would object to funding (although this was paid for by Mercedes and Sid Bass), with ravishing costumes against very simple monochromatic sets.  Mumford was an astonishingly boyish Smeaton, nicely sung although not as impressive as her Paulina last season.  Gubanova was awfully ‘plain Giovanna’ asSeymour, and not particularly suited to this repertoire with a very raw top.  Abdrazakov, a striking-looking Enrico, lacked the bottom notes but was incisive and secure throughout the rest of the range—I liked him a lot.

“I’d never heard Costello before and was very impressed by his singing, although the end of his first aria went a bit awry.  His stage deportment is quite another matter—I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a more awkward and disengaged performance on the Met stage.  If he ever made eye contact with anyone on stage, I missed it, and his hang-dog posture and vague expression got really tiresome by the end—and what was with the house slippers for ‘Vivi tu?’

“The eponymous diva of the moment started out sounding uncharacteristically rough—the first aria and cabaletta going for little.  After that, she seemed to find her form and character and gave us a highly dignified and impassioned Queen, in opulent voice for the rest of the performance.  Her launching of the stretta of the Act 1 was exciting as was her soaring D at the conclusion. I indeed heard the rising series of trills in the final cabaletta—not all of them fully voiced but at least attempted with some speaking more clearly than others—evidently she had worked on this sinceVienna.  Other than the long interruption before the final scene due to a stage elevator snafu, the most spontaneous moment was when Netrebko broke character during the huge applause after ‘Al dolce guidami’ to acknowledge the English horn player in the pit.

“Spoiler: This time the McVicar executioner stays clothed.”

3:10: “The Queen is dead!  It’s fine, though McVicar has some kitschy ideas. For the final scene, there’s the chorus of women in front of a wall, then the wall goes up (that was the crash we heard earlier), looking almost exactly like the transition into the Tomb Scene of Aida. The executioner is on top of the wall instead of Amneris. The ladies separate, and Anna is kneeling with back to audience, giving the impression she has already been beheaded.  There’s an open door with a smoke effect she sings into, she wanders for a while. Then Keith Miller and Costello arrive in various states of undress, Smeton fully dressed but all bloody. Before last pieta, there’s this big fussy business of Anna putting her hair up in a bun, marching upstage to the door, then turning and waiting for the orchestra to drop out before singing a high B-flat. There doesn’t seem to be much sense of musical choices, how to make the most effective points in the music. The chain of trills didn’t work. She sounds fine, but I just don’t think bel canto is her strong suit.”

3:05: “Nebs nailed the mad scene. Once set went up, effective and quite handsome. Set is black white and red all over. Final image is of giant red satiny curtain (covers entire stage) falling as symbolic beheading. Effective and big!”

2:45: “Suggested headline: ‘Old Man Yells at Stagehands to Sabotage Met Opening Night’” [Apparently this is the "Franco Zeffirelli" moment of the production: the prison rises up on the stage elevator, or fails to rise, as the case may be. - LC]

2:25: “Singers pretty damn good and solid all through second act. Set malfunction at beginning of last act. Loud boom, set couldn’t rise. ”

2:20: “Huge crash backstage at the beginning of the mad scene.  Work lights came up and the music stopped.  15 minute break announced.”

1:10: “Initial thoughts post act I. Halfway through the act  it seemed that this opera was being hijacked by the men of Tudor. The opening scene was a bit disappointing with a Nebs entrance seemingly designed as a star entrance which wasn’t received as such, i.e., no entrance applause, and than an opening scene where she didn’t seem ‘on’.

“This was followed by Jane Seymour’s bedchamber in which Ildar as Henry was unbelievably hot, sexy, sensual and vocally amazing. This was a scene where he made Jonathan Rhys Meyers‘ Henry on Showtime look like a princess. The lovely 80ish year old woman next to me fanned herself during this scene- he controlled the stage and Ekaterina G. while good seemed to melt into the background.

“Next the park scene where Stephen Costello was in great voice and the audience with was him. Nebs returned and from here on, she was the Queen in all respects. Vocally anything tentative an hour ago was gone and you couldnt keep your eyes off her. She ended this scene by planting a big kiss on Ildar (Henry) that was charged to say the least.

“Her next scene with Costello was lacking the sexual chemistry that she had in that one moment with Ildar. They seem to not be melding together yet, and McVicar may want to work on manning up Costello especially with Ildar’s smoking hot king.

“The end of act ensemble was well done (albeit cut) and Nebs ended the act with a strong assured high D center stage that made it clear that even with the strong male competition it was still her show!

“Production-wise, the set is drab and Spartan (McVicar’s Tudors don’t have much in terms of home decor) but the set is movable and let’s the act play nonstop (no interminable set changes here.) The man knows how to keep up pacing and how to move the action on this stage. Costumes are where the money seems to have been spent- luxurious and really good looking from royalty to courtiers.

“One quibble- those two ugly wolfhounds who were paraded around Zimmerman’s Lucia (and even got some press out of it) are back! Do they have a deal that they must be in any new production of a Donizetti opera at the Met? Should we assume we will see them next season in Maria Stuarda and L’elisir?

“Orchestra was ok- overture was treated with too much omm pah pah playing but got better from there.”

12:50: “Sets are somewhat modern (minimal) but traditional (period). Very safe but effective.  No props other than candelabras, a few throw pillows and one bed. Dark brown, greys and black seem to be color scheme  Moving walls, trees for forest descending from flies. Smooth ‘a vista’ transitions between scenes. Costumes for chorus are pilgrim chic: black and white. Netrebko is singing quite well:  smooth, huge voice, though her acting is somewhat stilted.   Guberova is belting and quite shrill at times – ‘Slavic edge’ if you will.  Costello looks and sounds hot as hell. Mr Borodina is solid but bland, but looks good from dress circle. Isobel Lenard Tamara Mumford got a mid aria applause in scene before Anna enters. Orchestra sounds together as does chorus.”

12:37: “Anna sounds absolutely great, the voice big and luminous, though her singing does not, I think, have a lot to do with bel canto style. It’s beautiful but not electrifying. The part of Enrico is a bit low for Ildar, but he sounds fine. Stephen Costello is singing very well, not scooping, in tune. The production, well, looks like Anna Bolena: muted color, ornate walls that slide and reveal rooms within rooms. Otherwise it’s mostly people standing around singing; thus far there’s nothing you could call a coup de théâtre.”

12:25:  First reports coming in!

8:45: Honey, it hasn’t even started yet. Relax, enjoy your brunch, and check back later.

(Photo: Brigitte Lacombe/Metropolitan Opera)

The winner in the category of “Most Expert” is Justintp89, with this disquieting composite:

(The original of this photo may be found here.)

The competition for Most Scathing was, as you may expect, ferocious, but La Cieca was partial to the sheer vitriolic brilliance of A.K.‘s entry:

… which, as you of course recognize, is an updating of this classic snapshot.

La Cieca would like to recognize as well several Honorable Mentions, the more dishonorable the better.

Thanks to all for playing! Winners will soon be enjoying their Sony live Met CD releases and historical DVDs.

(Follies photo by Joan Marcus)

She has withheld the patron’s name by request.

Good morning.

I have received the subscription renewal brochure for next season, and as usual I have read it quite carefully.

At the risk of sounding absolutely ancient and out-of-it, I’d like to mention that I have attended City Opera performance for many years, probably beginning around 1959, when I attended a memorable performance of The Consul, with an astonishing Patricia Neway. There were seasons where it seemed that everything I saw there was great, and other times that I was not so entranced.

But looking back, just about everything was worth seeing, and there were many many performances that still linger in my memory many years later. I will never forget literally shaking in my seat at Norman Treigel’s final scene in Mefistofele in the fall on 1969, and Sills in Lucia that same year. I recall wonderful performances of challenging works like Ginastera’s Bomarzo and Don Rodrigo. (With young Domingo, no less.) I sat next to a weepy Paul Newman at a performance of Hoiby’s Summer and Smoke.

And such indelible artists as Patricia Brooks and Maralin Niska, who placed their own unique stamps on many of the productions done for Sills. And who could ever forget Brooks in La Traviata? More recently, and in more difficult times, I was quite thrilled to see Antony and Cleopatra again in the semi-staged version at Carnegie Hall.

I have always been a rather thrifty and low-end tickets buyer. When a certain amount of money is available, I like to get the largest number of performances, and have never felt I was missing much by sitting in the fourth or even fifth ring. My first Sills Manon was a one dollar ticket in the fifth ring of a sold out performance. No problem. Everything came across to my satisfaction.

Last year, my fourth ring subscription tickets came to (I believe) 12 dollars per seat. I saw all the operas, as well as the additional “concerts” and although I was not quite wild about everything, the City Opera has long provided an incentive to see unusual things at a reasonable price. I would not be in a hurry to see any of them again, but I don’t regret having seen them once. Even Seance on a Wet Afternoon, which, if little else, had interesting and committed performances.

This year, it appears that the least expensive ticket will be $60. Or $48 if one chooses to attend all four and get the discount. I’d say that is quite a jump.

In addition, I suspect that traveling from the Bronx to and from BAM ( although I have done it on very special occasions) might be a bit more than I want to undertake for Rufus Wainwright’s Prima Donna or Jonathan Miller’s take on Traviata. To speak of BAM, John Jay and El Museo as “curated venues” (whatever that actually means) strikes me as a bit euphemistic. And as for the “specially-curated subscription series,” well that strikes me as a bit too much “curating” to be claimed in one letter.

In short, I feel quite insulted by your brochure. The extremely offhand and casual way you present a 400% or 500% ticket price increase and a move to what seem like rather substandard (however “curated”) venues is especially insensitive.

Sincerely,

[Faithful Member of the Cher Public]

Other distinguished brunchers included Bluecabochon, Peter, SF Guy, The Other Dan and Joe Q—not to mention all the additional friends who showed up in the house but couldn’t make it to brunch. It was an absolute treat meeting everyone. And a special thank you again to Peter for dealing with the reservations.

These get-togethers have been so much fun. I hope Parterrians in other parts of the world will feel encouraged to try the same thing!

(Ring photo by Cory Weaver)

The Most Plausible season was devised by Operacat, offering a mix of standard and offbeat repertoire, with casting balancing artistic merit and box office appeal. Sign this cat up, OONY.

The Campiest season evoked a number of wild-eyed responses, but perhaps the most bizarre was Unfaithful Zerbinetta‘s notion of asking Placido Domingo to show up and sight-read five random scores, including one in drag.

U.Z.’s season was also in the running for Most Demented, which just goes to show you that one man’s meat is another man’s, well… let’s let that adage lie, shall we? La Cieca is overjoyed to announce that the competition for Most Demented was so very fierce that the panel of crack experts (who also know quite a bit about opera) were forced to declare a tie.

Dementia shall be shared, then, then, between Grimoaldo‘s “après moi, le déluge” cavalcade of superstars and Killian‘s banquet of Francophone amuse-bouche, either of which would guarantee a lifetime of queenly screams of, “oh, but my dear, you should have been there!”

Congratulations to all four winners, who should be watching their inboxes for news of lavish prizes!

Your doyenne asks that if you have chitchat; announcements of birthdays, deaths or anniversaries; or any other sort of comment that doesn’t seem to fit into an active topic, you keep it in this thread. Going forward, La Cieca will post a new “Intermission Feature” OT conversation anchor each Sunday night for the following week’s chitchat.

“A reconfirmation went out yesterday to everyone I have on my list. So if you haven’t heard back from me, please check with me. And for you slowpokes who still haven’t RSVP’d, there’s still time. If you don’t have my email address already, you can use this form.”
.

“I have about 40 years’ worth of the British magazine Opera, most of them bound, which I would love to get rid of (no charge.) No library here is interested, but I thought some opera fanatic might want them. He or she would have to pick them up from my building [on the Upper West Side].”

If you are the fanatic in question, you may contact the declutterer at hooziedujour@gmail.com.