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I love opera (I have the pennant to prove it ) because it is simultaneously base and sophisticated.

Take, for example, the production of Die Miestersinger von Nürnberg at this summer’s Bayreuth Festival, which concluded last Tuesday. From what I read, Katharina Wagner, the composer’s great-granddaughter, is the heir apparent to the directorship presently held by her father, Wolfgang, who has ruled Bayreuth with unrelenting control for decades, and she has created a terrible production of Wagner’s sole comedy. According to Michael Kimmelman, so awful was this Meistersinger that, at the conclusion, as the über-hot Katharina was taking her bows, she was greeted by a cascade of boos. This is not uncommon at Bayreuth: in 2005 I wrote about that year’s production of Parisfal which I heard on the radio. At it’s conclusion, after the customary silence afforded that most sacred of operas, the audience erupted into loud boos. It was fantastic.

Certainly, the young Ms. Wagner knew she was about be be booed, and she handled it with dignity. It will be interesting to see how well she does in the long term if she, indeed, assumes the Geschäftsführung title. As Mr. Kimmelman points out in his New York Times review, the festival is ironic for being run in a fashion that is simultaneously conservative (its nepotism) and radical (its bizarre productions). The same part of me that appreciates that someone named Ford runs the Ford Motor Company also appreciates that a descendant of Richard Wagner runs the festival which countless disciples of the composer consider an essential pilgrimage. I, too, hope to one day see a Ring or a Tristan or a Parsifal at Bayreuth. I’d prefer it to be in a production that the composer would recognize. But, even if it isn’t, and Fasolt rapes Fafner, or Isolde is presented as a stripper, or Kundry is made to be a crack whore, I am glad to know that, thanks to opera’s duality of refinement and hooliganism, I can always boo.

I read this evening that Richard Jewell is dead. Jewell was the fellow whom the media crucified following the 1996 bombing at the Atlanta summer games which killed a woman and injured scores more.

What really happened was that Jewell was working as a security officer at Centennial Olympic Park when he discovered a suspicious bag that turned out to contain three pipe bombs. He immediately alerted authorities and helped clear the area, undoubtedly saving many lives. He was initially hailed for his actions, but when the Atlanta Journal-Constitution leaked that Jewell was a “person of interest” (with a headline which read, “FBI Suspects ‘Hero’ Guard May Have Planted Bomb”), ABC, NBC and CNN went with the bogus story, and in the public consciousness Jewell became guilty of terrorism.

Eventually, with much less fanfare, it became clear that Jewell was completely innocent, and the murderer was, in fact, a homophobic, right-wing religious zealot named Eric Rudolph, who had perpetrated a series of similar bombings across the South. I guess the media wasn’t looking out for someone like that. I mean, it wasn’t like there had recently been any other bombings by right-wing extremists. Oh, wait.

With the national attention span being what it is, and the media’s tendency to bury its mistakes, Richard Jewell was never fully able to restore his reputation, and that is a terrible shame. I’m glad I never forgot, though.  Richard Jewell was a hero, even if he didn’t think so:

“I never sought to be a hero. I have always viewed myself as just one of the many trained professionals who simply did his or her job that tragic night. I wish I could have done more.”

This afternoon, blogger Andrew Sullivan writes of his discomfort over President Bush’s increasingly provocative rhetoric vis-à-vis Iran.

I don’t feel the same apprehension, and here’s why: Bush possesses none of the “political capital” he once claimed to have.  With a (sigh) year and a half left in his term he is, for all intents and purposes, as lame a duck as there ever was.  Sure, he is still commander-in-chief of the armies of the United States, but to take any military action against Iran without a strong public mandate at this point seems to me impossible even for him to pull off, and he has pulled off some impressive feats of popular disregard.  But that was when he was surrounded by sycophants; lorded over a compliant Congress, eager to suckle at the presidential teat; and enabled by a feckless media.  He no longer enjoys those luxuries to the degree he once did.  In fact, almost any time he opens his mouth to speak these days there seems to be a great national disbelief; he isn’t credible, and the American people now know it.

The irony is that, at this point, even if he were to start telling the truth–don’t worry, he won’t–two-thirds of Americans still wouldn’t believe him.  That’s what is what will keep us from attacking Iran.

In the New York Times this morning, music critic Anthony Tommasini has a piece entitled “Grandeur of the North, Yours by the Bushel, From Sibelius”. In it he describes how the Bis label has just embarked on a new, long-term project to release the complete works of Jean Sibelius in 13 volumes, totaling some 70+ CDs by 2010.

This is exciting news. You see, though I don’t quite qualify as a genuine “Sibelian”, I certainly enjoy the Finnish composer’s music, and do have a reasonable selection of it in my personal collection, including a couple sets of his seven symphonies, many of his important tone poems, and even some of his vocal music - the Finlandia with chorus most notably.

In addition to my own collection, at work I have access to many thousands of recordings, including hundreds of compositions by Sibelius. And, although my job entails little more than listening to music, I still would think that, given his status at the nation’s premiere newspaper, on top of free tickets to every major concert in New York, Mr. Tommasini would have a pretty sweet CD collection. This is why it surprised me to read that he only heard Lemminkäinen’s Return“for the first time” in 1997. Now, God bless him, he got to hear it under the baton of Sir Colin Davis–a Sibelian if ever there was one–but still, for the first time? It isn’t like that tone poem is especially rare. It is, after all, part of the suite that includes the well-known Swan of Tuonela. I am certain that Mr. Tommasini has heard countless pieces in concert that are much more obscure than Lemminkäinen.

Meanwhile, a recording of that piece has been available on disc for decades. In fact, I played the complete Lemminkäinen Suite, Op. 22on my show within the last month or so. I don’t mean to criticize Mr. Tommasini; I enjoy his reviews a great deal. I suppose, more than anything, this says something good about the music education I have received, both from working as a DJ, and from reading whatever material I could get my hands on that would expand my understanding of the vast body of Western art music.

That said, even though I already have Neeme Järvi’s disc of Lemminkäinen–naturally, on Bis–I am still quite interested in the notion of a “complete” Sibelius traversal.

Yesterday Miriam hosted a tea party, and it was a great success! Guests included old friends Steve and Kathleen; new teacher, Briana; and Andrew and Shannon, who came in spite of feeling a tad under-the-weather. Miriam had planned things well, and prepared all manner of desserts and sandwiches. Briana was a tremendous help in that regard, since a little more work had to be done to get things to the table.

And what a table! I think all her soirees have featured impressive spreads, but she says this one was her best. There were cute little cups and saucers, and a teapot, salt and pepper shakers and platter with an Alice in Wonderland theme. I don’t drink tea, but everyone else seemed to like it, and there were cookies and sweets to beat the band. We sat around the table telling ghost stories, and Shannon’s were, hands down, the most disturbing.

Later, we gathered in the living room and played Pictionary. Steve, Kathleen, Andrew and Shannon were ahead of us, but right at the end we rolled a six, and that made all the difference.  Pictionary reminds me how terrible I am at drawing anything.  Even when the clue was “box”, my box was inferior to Shannon’s.  I think what would make the game more fun would be if all the clues were all-plays.  I don’t like how one team can feel excluded for several minutes at a time.

Finally, late in the evening, I took Briana across the street to see Elke’s baby bunnies, and, as I promised her, they were adorable beyond belief. I called Steve and Kathleen over as they were leaving, and Kathleen seemed to delight in the bunny-hugging. I got to rub one on my face.  Bunnies are so soft and, though they lack that obvious personality that most cats have, they make up for it by being incredibly soft and cuddly.  I think Kathleen wanted to sneak some home in her purse, though she wouldn’t have had to; Elke is offering them free to a good home.  She tells me I can come over any time and play with them. I intend to take her up on that.

Eventually Andrew and Shannon had to leave, and we took Briana home in time to get back to watch the second-to-last episode of “Flight of the Conchords” for the season.  It was a splendid evening. Huzzah!