Give it to the French to pack so much drama in every minute of a work. Manon, although I was definitely more familiar with the opera, was exquisite and scandalous, as much as classical ballet would allow, and perhaps a hint more. Here are some of the themes encountered:
- Prostitution
- Sex
- Adultery
- Gambling
- Cheating
- Fighting/Murder
- Corruption
How much more French can we get? Originally novel by Antoine François Prévost and published in 1731, part of the story takes place in the swamps of Louisiana and New Orleans. It is a tragic love story where the protagonists have to decide between love and wealth, ending up dead and penniless. I can safely assume that most would not expect classical ballet to explore such subjects outside of Italian cinema, but the beauty of ballet, is that you can, and still call it high art. I can also assume that deep inside all our psyche's, we'd all love to be the enchantress femme fatale having seductive powers through beauty, charm, and allure that drives others to obsession, exhausting, insanity and irrational behavior.
As I was facebooking and twittering during the second intermission (yes the work is long, very long, and always think that extremely long works are pompous and self-indulgent, no matter how good they are), I looked at the date, froze, and my disposition changed. I suddenly had a blast of the past, clearly remembering where I was the night before and the morning of the fateful day of 9/11.
I had gone to bed early. I was a first year grad student at Rice University, Shepherd School of Music, having taken one-year off to work prior to starting my Master's Degree. I was full of energy, with a strong appetite for academic knowledge, and had set up a nice little routine for myself. Tuesday mornings went this like: Yoga class, practice flute, aesthetics class, practice, flute lesson, opera class, then off to Memorial High School to teach. My schedule was predictable, but my practice time was often filled with moments of blurriness, as often, one does not remember what you are doing all the time.
That particular morning, I had taken my flute and began warming up in my aesthetics classroom prior to anyone being there. Paganini Caprices were my project thanks to my teacher instilling a love/hate relationship with them during my undergrad years. Something was odd. It was 5 minutes to class, and no one was here. I started to worry that I was in the wrong place, or perhaps we were to meet somewhere else for a special something. I ignored myself and went on. After all, darn it, I was going to nail and sail through a technical passage that was giving me trouble.
Now it was class time, and again, no one was there. Half on hour went by, and no one was there.
My friend Katie Young (a ridiculously fabulous oboist with whom I share a long musical and very personal history as we went to undergrad and grad school together, at the time we were working on putting together the Ginastera flute oboe duo) called and said, "we are being attacked." Those words meant nothing at that time. Attacked? What does that mean? I left terrorism and fear (I thought) when we left Peru in the height of the shinning path movement in 1989. Is there suddenly a raid against emerging classical musicians? Those words had no meaning to me as they were out of context in my personal realm of possibility.
The rest of the day was a blur. I remember watching the news at the student center, watching people tear up, and being panic stricken at the realization that many had not heard from some friends and family living or visiting NYC. I cancelled my lessons to be taught later at Memorial High School, and spent the day numb.
Those immediately close to me were not harmed. But many folks within 2 degrees of separation were. Today, I put my flags half mast to think about them, the millions affected, and the millions who helped. I suppose the rain is very appropriate today.
Here is a recording of Katie and I playing the Ginastera Duo for Flute and Oboe. The second movement is quite eerie.
