Yes, I know this is supposed to be an opera blog but how can I ignore the fact that during the last seven days four individuals each of whom was for one reason or another an American icon has died.

First it was Ed McMahon. I grew up in England so the nightly "Heeeeeer's Johnny!" was not a part of my cultural background. However, once I moved to the USA it was impossible not to become aware of him. And as recently as this year's Super Bowl there he was on television making a pitch for cash-for-gold or whatever. I could never view him as anything other than a cheap huckster but what do I know?

Farrah Fawcett. I was thirty years old when The Poster was unleashed on an unsuspecting generation of pimply over-stimulated and under satisfied teenage boys so I saw it in a somewhat different light from them but it was still a powerful image with the whole innocent/not-so-innocent thing going on before your very eyes. Sometime in, I think, 1981 I had a late-night drink with her then husband Lee Majors in the cocktail lounge of the Mandarin Hotel in Hong Kong. I sat there saying to myself "What did she ever see in this guy??"

Then Michael Jackson. I have a severe attack of Wagner Syndrome - that condition which makes us confuse in our minds and emotions the artist from the art he creates. I think it was our own Alexis Hamilton who helped me with that so much when she said that her view is that once a work of art has been created it takes on a life of its own and we must try not to view it in the light of what we may know or suspect about its creator. My only sadness at Jackson's passing is that I cannot but feel he must have been severely damaged physically and/or emotionally while in his childhood years and that damage prevented him from ever having what we might term a 'normal' life. Unfortunately that does not absolve him from the responsibility of his actions as an adult. Yes, yes I know a jury found him not guilty of child molestation (N.B. 'Not Guilty' does not mean 'Innocent') but O.J.Simpson was also acquitted of criminal charges so make of that what you will. Anyway, in the spirit of trying to see past all that I listened to Thriller last night. There's no getting away from it: it is an astounding piece of work. The songs themselves, the singing, instrumentation, driving beat and the production still leave one slack-jawed twenty-seven years after its initial release. If you haven't listened to it in a while you might want to go and do so but meanwhile here's something a little less frenetic for a monday morning:

That was some line-up! Wikipedia has some fun information about the recording session and the artists who took part - and some who didn't.

And then last - and probably least (unless you happen to be a member of his family or management team) Billy Mays died on Sunday. I don't have television so I have not seen Mr Mays do his thing but by all accounts he was an avuncular chap who was pleasing to be around and did what he did to the highest standard. But this is the real reason I am writing about his death: it would appear that about the first thing his son did after discovering his father had died was to post about it on his Twitter account. Please believe me when I say I am not being snarky or facetious or in any way demeaning to this young man in mentioning this. His tweet read as follows "My dad didn't wake up this morning.. I'm sure you'll all hear about it. It hasn't yet hit me but it's about to." I find it very difficult to articulate how I feel about this. It's just heart-breaking. And what a sign of the times that he felt the most efficient way to disseminate the bad news and somehow recognise and deal with it was in a public instant messaging programme.

Chinese tenors never die...
They are just condemned to spend for eversinging O Sole Mio and Nessun Dorma. Anne Midgette is the classical music critic for the Washington Post. She is also an Oregon native. Ever since she and I had a series of telephone conversations about Priscilla Barrow and I discovered what a neat person Anne is I have been a fan of Ms. Midgette and a follower of her writings. This week she wrote a fascinating article about chinese tenor Dai Yuquiang. Many of you will remember Dai from his US debut with Portland Opera in Turandot. He returned a couple of years later for Tosca. Then he pretty much disappeared. This article explains why. I spent a little time with Dai when he was here for Tosca. I had spent many years in what is now China and was interested to hear his views on all sorts of stuff. I was surprised that he spoke no word of English or Italian and after a while I came to the conclusion - whether fairly or otherwise - that he was not going to be a success here because he didn't seem prepared to do all of the hard work a successful career in opera in the USA would require. He had the raw talent but lacked the commitment to opera as a way to express it. It would seem I was right. He would rather lip-synch to Nessun Dorma four times a week than submit to the regular punishing grind opera singers in the US must submit to if they are to be successful. Seems like a waste.

Ummm...not exactly Lawrence.
Holly sent me the link to this and I thought it would be good to end this post on an upbeat note. Also I felt you just had to see it. Do not watch it while holding a cup of coffee over your computer keyboard or while drinking milk. You have been warned. Watch it till the very end. Please.

A modern spiritual from Dale and Gail? Tell me Mr. Welk - just what do you think a 'toke' is? And just a hint, Mr W. The addition of the words "Sweet Jesus" do not a spiritual make. Holly makes the point that Myron Floren who introduces the song seems to know precisely what it is about and is doing his very best not to crack up.

Next week I'll get back to fun opera stuff, 'k? Have a great one and enjoy your July 4th.