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The Music Column

Another Touch of the Bubbly

Well, after 50 years and more in New York, I have heard the fat lady sing, and I know what that means.  There have been some issues as the decades have zipped by, I must say; and I have dealt with the problems seriatim—riots, street crime, altercations, the murder of an elderly benefactor, and other misfortunes, as are the common lot.

There were other problems, such as the inflation of prices, as well as an odd sort of equity between corporate sports and the Metropolitan Opera.  The facts are not so easy to come by—sometimes the old or new Met is a good deal compared with the Yankees; but basically, it’s pricey, and not just the fee for a seat.  You have to add the refreshments, and the booze at an event is worse than the popcorn at a multiplex concession stand, which is saying quite a bit, actually.  The challenge of financing blue-chip musical access and vintage champagne at the same time is a bristling one, but it can be addressed and even surmounted, as I have proved and will eventually relate.  So don’t rush me, because I am overwhelmed by fond memories.

Scrolling back through so many musical recollections and shameful insults to the taste buds of inferior sham pains (Korbel, how I despise you, and Freixenet, you as well!), my teeming cerebellum is filled with analog images, not digitalized pixels.  My first operatic experience was not only Rigoletto from...

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