Some
time back in the seventies, Placido Domingo sang the
title role in Tales of Hoffmann at the
Lyric Opera in Chicago. As if that glorious tenor voice weren’t enough, that
was a blockbuster performance. When a nearly full-size train engine rolled
onstage, the audience rose to their feet and cheered. Of the many operatic and
theatrical performances I saw during 50 years of urban life, that one stands
out above all the rest.
Living
in New York in 1970, I had taken full advantage of entertainment there: There
were the Metropolitan Opera, Lincoln Center, and the many theaters. I heard a
lot of jazz and even met Dizzy Gillespie.
In
Chicago, we attended performances at Lyric Opera, the Goodman Theater, and the
Chicago Symphony. My husband and I lived for a time in Old Town on the near
north side of the city, where we spent many evenings at the Old Town School of
Folk Music and the Earl of Old Town saloon, listening to Steve Goodman, Bonnie Koloc, and other talented local musicians. In the sixties we had
seen the original Second City troupe,
featuring the matchless Severn Darden . Like New York, Chicago was a feast of entertainment.
When
we went to London, during an overwhelming week of theater we saw Angela
Lansbury, Ralph Richardson, and John Gielgud at laughably low prices. At the
D’Oyly Carte, John Reed sang the patter songs in Gilbert & Sullivan’s Pirates
of Penzance.
After
all that, San Francisco was a letdown, but we made do. The excellent Savoyards
at Stanford provided some great performances. There were occasional evenings at
the War Memorial Opera House and the Louise Davies Symphony Hall. Just a few
weeks before his death, I pushed my husband’s wheelchair to the opera house so
he could hear Frederica von Stade sing in Die Fledermaus; sadly, she had the flu and could not appear that
night.
That
fiasco may have been the last straw for me. Yes, I loved the urban life we led,
but I was already in my sixties, and it was becoming hard to find entertainment
that was affordable and satisfying. My husband was very ill and no longer able
to leave home easily. So, after his death I cut back greatly on trips to The
City (do they still call San Francisco that?).
Now,
living in rural El Dorado County, I scarcely ever go to theaters or concerts—and
don’t miss them. My companion and I contentedly rent movies from Netflix, watch
television, listen to CDs, and read books. Especially when traveling we do go
to many museum exhibits, some of which have actually improved over the years;
others seem too flashy and child-oriented. When I do attend something that
seems like a necessary cultural event, it is usually disappointing. Whether
entertainment has changed or I have simply grown old, modern plays and music
never seem comparable to those of years ago. I still hope to hear Domingo
again, though!
