Columnists :: Holding The Center
Opening night and not a thing to wear by Richard J. Rosendall
contributing writerThursday Sep 20, 2007It was opening night for the National Symphony Orchestra, and my friend Alan had gotten comp seats from his friend Renée Fleming, the evening’s featured vocalist. Alan’s husband Will was home with their son Sam. So there I was on a balmy evening at the Kennedy Center, under-dressed amidst the Washington elite in their tuxes and gowns.
Among the late arrivals was the cute ABC News Sunday morning anchor whom my friend Barrett refers to as George StuffItUpHisAss, who sat down directly in front of me. Along came my city council member, Jack Evans, who offered to loan me his tie, and introduced me to his date as his biggest supporter. I like the sincerity of Jack’s bullshitting, a valuable political skill.
The opening set had a couple of overtures and a performance of a Liszt piano concerto by a 15-year-old prodigy named Peng Peng, which is pronounced Pahng Pahng. Liszt pieces are great for gala evenings because they run up and down the keyboard and make lots of dramatic noise.
During the intermission we drifted upstairs to the box tier where champagne was being served, which gave me an opportunity to ogle a cute Secret Service officer at close range. Alas, Alan and I had forgotten our opera glasses, so we hadn’t been able to see who was in the presidential box. We headed outside, passing a woman dressed in what appeared to be a large cabbage. From the terrace we admired the crescent moon and watched quotes from President Kennedy that were being projected onto the trees of Theodore Roosevelt Island across the Potomac. I made out the phrase, "Bear any burden, pay any price." I was sorry they didn’t project words from our current President, like "Is our children learning?"
Miss Fleming sang wonderfully, but her gown by John Galliano for Dior made her look like a bronzed salmon, which prompted me to wonder if Washington Post fashion writer Robin Givhan was in attendance. I confess that once I finished examining Miss Fleming’s gown, my eyes wandered across the stage to longtime NSO violinist Desimont Alston, a handsome man who has bicycled competitively and filled out his white tie and tails quite nicely. As Renée was dramatically working her pale green wrap, I was admiring Desi’s bowing technique.
During the applause after the Fledermaus overture, Alan said, "That was 12 minutes of filler." I responded to his complaints about the orchestra’s programming by suggesting that the much-anticipated departure of the Bush Administration might provide a theme, in which case a perfect selection would be the finale from Poulenc’s Dialogues of the Carmelites. This consists of a group of nuns singing "Salve Regina" as they are led off one by one to the guillotine.
I was sorry they didn’t project words from our current President, like "Is our children learning?" Fleming returned and sang a couple of obscure Korngold arias followed by a lovely piece by Richard Strauss. She sang two encores: another Strauss piece and Puccini’s "O Mio Babbino Caro." Lovely.
As I followed Alan backstage, I met an orchestra member who was using crutches that evening, and told her, "Isn’t it lucky this isn’t a marching orchestra?" We waited in the green room for the diva to appear. I stepped into the hallway to see if I could spot Mr. Alston, but an officious staffer insisted that we stay in the room. Peng Peng appeared and smiled nervously as we all applauded.
An artistic-looking older woman wearing a fan-shaped brooch approached me and boozily announced, "I’m Evelyn Lear." "How wonderful to see you again," I replied, wondering who she was. Alan told me later that she was a leading soprano from decades past. According to Wikipedia, "Lear was well known for her musical versatility, having sung all three main female roles in Der Rosenkavalier." Do they mean, at the same time? It turns out Evelyn is 81, though she doesn’t look it. (When you tell an octogenarian how good she looks, aren’t you really expressing surprise that she’s alive?) NSO Conductor Leonard Slatkin came in, and since I was standing just inside the door I extended my hand and said, "Congratulations, Maestro," while thinking, what am I doing here?
Eventually Miss Fleming arrived, having changed out of her aforementioned fabulous gown, and said cheerily that she saw us in the audience. Alan introduced me by way of saying that in his household I am known affectionately as "Rabbi Rick," although I’m not even Jewish much less a Rabbi, because I wrote and officiated at his wedding ceremony 13 years ago.
Renée is one of many opera luminaries who have met little Sam. Prior to Sam’s arrival, Alan and Will approached me about writing a bris ceremony, but - even though they were only seeking my writing skills, not asking me to be the mohel - the thought of knives in connection with that general area did not inspire me. But how rude of me to bring up foreskins during a discussion of Renée Fleming. Anyway, Alan wanted to get going, so I thanked Renée for the tickets and told her honestly that her singing had been sublime.
Alan was parked across the street in front of the Watergate. I asked him to join me for a drink, but of course Papa had to get home. I should have invited Miss Lear.
Richard J. Rosendall is a writer and activist whose work has appeared on Salon.com and the Independent Gay Forum (www.indegayforum.com). He can be reached at rrosendall@starpower.net.
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