"...a seed was planted..."

I was raised in a truly horrendous time for music. The breakout stars of my childhood were Kirk Cobain, the Spice Girls, NSync...need I really say more? What a shame it was the many of the children my own age knew little of Mr. von Beethoven, much less Richard Strauss.

I was very odd, I think from the time of my birth. I remember arguing in first grade with my best friend about the merit of the orchestra as opposed to the rock & roll band. You see, this friend had grown up with his father’s taste, Pink Floyd and so on. I was exploring the mystery of Haydn’s Creation and its opening moments, Die Vorstellung des Chaos (The Representation of Chaos) as God simply willed the universe into existence. I think he must also have willed into me an interest in this frustratingly complex and yet wonderful art known as music.

I remember the moment that I became transfixed by singing. It was Mahler’s 8th Symphony, the "Symphony of a Thousand" in Cincinnati’s hallowed opera house, Music Hall. May had come, and in a tradition as old as the city the Cincinnati Symphony played four concerts of choral works. It is known as the May Festival and it is a celebration of everything about the city and its German lineage.

I truly wish that I knew who the singers were that Saturday night; they were almost all large women. One white, one black and an Asian contralto… come to think of it, that alone is extraordinary…and various men, but I don’t remember much about them. It was one of those performances where two sopranos of the same fach battle it out to see who’s voice is bigger and more stand out….the result was some wonderful singing. I should also not that the Asian contralto took the cake.

That evening, as Mahler’s harmonies washed over the audience and their plush velvet seats, a seed was planted in my sole. As I grew I found myself drawn to be a part of the community of those who have fallen in love with opera. a rare breed we are…but our passion is so great.