Welcome to the Voice.

All you really need to know about my night is that I have now seen Elvis Costello in a cassock chase Sting around a stage menacing him with an actual taser. And singing about his taser. To opera music.



1. Welcome to the Voice was thrillingly (and then, after, crashingly exhaustion inducingly) awesome. It was a really weird thrill to see two performers that I've listened to and enjoyed for most of my life in that kind of context. The reason I couldn't find any reviews of the staging is because there has never been one before, not really. The opera was written to be recorded, which is how it was released. I think they all stood on a stage in New York and sang through it before. But this grand spectacle with the muses of opera flying through the air and welding arc sparks and images projected on giant billowing silk curtains was done by the Theatre du Chatelet for the score. Though I imagine it could be easily adapted for other theaters by reshooting the digital video parts. As far as I can tell it's not touring, though.

2. My one quibble: there was not nearly enough Elvis Costello in it for my taste. Which is how I discovered that I probably like Elvis Costello more than I like Sting. Would have called it apples and oranges before.

2a. My one other quibble: it was kind of Diet Les Miserables Lite Now With Half the Content And A Somewhat Simplified Storyline But Now With Added Marxism. E.g., the following lyrics:

Workers: We are the workers at the heart of this planet: Guevara and Gramsci and Saint-Just
Dionysos: And Mozaaaaaart.
Workers:Rosa Lux, Zapata, Spartacus
Dionysos: And Mozaaaaaart.
Workers: and Karl Marx and John Brown, Mayakovsky
Dionysos: And Mozaaaaaart.
Workers: We are the workers in the heart of this planet
All: and Verdi and Kurt Weill, Stravinsky,
All: and Mozaaaaaart
All: Honegger Shostakovitch and Clement
All: and Mozaaaaaart

2b. That part struck me as simultaneously retarded, pretentious, and goofy. Which was actually kind of fun.

3. However, I did not understand and was slightly bothered by Elvis Costello's costume, which was stuck somewhere between "deacon" and "Blue Meanie" with a giant handcuff-bedangled belt.



4. Maybe we were all just high on Sting when we clapped our hands off at the end, because though the audience loved it (in a clap forever way - not a standing O way) it also got one of the most scathing, blistering, insanely uncharitable, utterly hilarious reviews I've ever read:

"La rencontre de divers styles musicaux sous la plume de Steve Nieve s’est révélée être une copulation frénétique donc le public a assisté à l’accouchement douloureux au Châtelet. L’enfant est informe : ni comédie musicale, ni opéra. Mais compositeur et librettiste l’ont qualifié d’art lyrique. Respectons donc dans nos colonnes leur volonté."

Trans: "The meeting of diverse styles of music under Steve Nieve's pen reveals itself to be a frenetic copulation, and the public assists at the painful resulting childbirth at Chatelet. The child is deformed: neither musical nor opera. But the composer and the librettist are qualified in the lyrical art. Therefore we respect their intentions in our column.

Le Monde called the lyrics laughable platitudes. Gonna have to agree with that part for sure. Muriel Teodoro's lyrics = yawn, and watching the three phantom muses of opera writhing all over Sting was only cute the first time. Then I just felt kind of bored and jealous while watching them give him lapdances while singing stupid lyrics in perfectly lovely voices. The French translations on the subtitle card were more interesting. Le Figaro also blasted the shit out of it, but it's a right-wing paper and this is a lefty story if ever a lefty story there was, but it does not seem all that political and in places it's freaking hilarious, viz:

"Le seuil de la douleur est atteint lorsque Elvis Costello entre sur scène, dans le rôle d'un commissaire de police au pistolet Taser menaçant. Inaudible sur ses propres disques depuis qu'il a pris des cours de chant, le pauvre erre a beau déployer tous ses efforts, il est incapable de placer une seule note juste dans aucune de ses apparitions."

Trans, "The threshold of pain is acheived when Elvis Costello enters the stage, in the role of a police commissioner with a menacing Taser gun. Unlistenable on his own recordings since he took voice lessons, the poor man deployed his best efforts but was unable to sing one note on key in any of his appearances."

Ed. - I totally disagree. He was, a few times - but not more than four or five, what Randy Jackson or Paula Abdul would call "pitchy."

5. Something cool: French people know how to enjoy themselves at the freaking opera: they were like hanging from the balcony and the people in the back rows have this whole system in which they tip the seat up and sit on it that way so they're extra tall and some people scootch into the aisle and just sit there, and it was all kind of floppy and comfy and laid-back (other than that one chick), not at all ramrod straight in the seat best behavior mother says don't cross your legs cross your ankles type thing. Or maybe that was just this opera and I best not be thinking I could do that at Aida or whatever.

6. It was not a rock opera ok? Mos def not. Opera opera. I had to use the French subtitle cards to tell wth they were saying when they were singing in English most of the time. My favorite parts were sung in French - which, weirdly, I understood a lot better. I think it is possible that maybe English is just not a good language for opera. At all. Possibly. Then again, I can't tell what the hell is going on in Delibes' Lakme unless there are cards so probably that's all just neither here nor there.

7. What made this opera good for me in particular is that I only like the chick parts of operas. Men singing all operatically makes me want to run away or open a vein or run away while opening a vein. And in this one the men sang rock-style and the women sang operatically but the score was not rock, it was opera. Except for this one part with an electric cello on stage and the electric cello looked just like an electric guitar only humongous. It was kind of cool. Also, everyone on stage was having the freaking time of their lives and it showed, so at least they're not letting the reviews get them down. I looked around me at the other audience a few times and practically everyone I saw was totally into it and/or openly grinning at the awesome. So I'd say that it was a crowd-pleaser, even if it wasn't a critic-pleaser. And, well... Screw the critics. They're funny when they're mean, and that's about all I have to say about them.

8. The theater was really gorgeous. I had a pretty good seat in the first balcony, second row.



9. I love how cold it is. I walked from my apartment to Chatelet and then around and around and then home and took the long way and I felt very good, really excellent. The colder the air, the better my brain works. Where can I live where it is cold all the time but is not a polar research station? And where there is Starbucks and wifi also.

9a. I really like walking in the Marais at night. I love this neighborhood. It's wonderful, gorgeous. safe, friendly, and awesome.

9b. I kind of wish I could stay in Paris longer. Like a year. Or two. But only as the concubine of a wealthy elderly man whose idea of a dream mistress is scintillating conversation and as much cleavage as he can eyeball. All the other options look too painful and/or exasperating.

10. Still, I miss snow on the ground.