“Hey. Sorry to trouble you. I was wondering if I could have a word with my client.”
Tell us: What was the best of 2025?
Parterre Box concludes the thrilling first year of Talk of the Town by inviting your lightning rod opinions on several more categories of operatic argumentation.
Doomed Lucia di Lammermoor was only halfway through her Mad Scene at the time of the incident.
For tonight’s distinguished premiere of Lucia di Lammermoor at the Algonquin Opera, there would in fact be far more blue hairs in the audience than blue collars.
Even dauntless Evan Ingersoll felt his nerves beginning to mount.
After an early Saturday shift bar-backing at Aura Bar, Evan had trotted over to his friend Jesús Halévy’s for a late-night slumber party à deux.
Evan clicked over to the his favorite music critic’s weekly column, “Slings and Arias.”
Walls of tinted glass engirdled a heated portico-terrarium, where two figures could be seen polishing off the last of their Crêpes Suzette.
“Have you seen the lawsuit yet?”
They all wished, for reasons at once superstitious and deeply misguided, to avoid over-rehearsing the sextet.
At last, Jesús Halévy had found the right size. The small ecru sweater was buried beneath a stack of extra-larges at the Macy’s on Herald Square.
Supernumerary callbacks for the Big Apple Singing Theater Association’s spring production of Bison Don’t Cry were held later that night at the Mariachi Playhouse.
As if the corner of Broadway and 53rd weren’t already busy enough, Evan Ingersoll couldn’t believe the line leading into the Mariachi Playhouse where BASTA tryouts were held.
The day of the big BASTA audition, Evan found the flier Paul Upczuk had passed him the previous weekend at Aura Bar.
It was already nearly two o’clock in the morning, late for a work night, and Nixon Ben Mahmoud was ashamed to find himself crying real tears.
Jerold Offerman had spent the day readying the Algonquin Opera orchestra for a high-profile, high-stakes revival of Lucia, and things weren’t going well with the glass harmonica.
The guy in the green plaid shirt motioned Evan over within seconds of spotting him at Aura. Evan rolled his eyes, checked his abs, and sidled up to the bar.
Weekends at Aura Bar on 53rd and Ninth are typically big money makers for the morons who run the place. Jonjon and Yoni.
