I think I spent too much time this week thinking about art song performances.
I had a dream last night that I was at a song recital. It was in one of those rooms that you find in the basement of academic buildings – square, gray walls, hard gray carpet on the floor, a few windows up near the ceiling on one side. We all had to sit on the floor because there weren’t any chairs. I do not remember who was singing (I think it was an imaginary soprano, not a real person, but I am not entirely sure) but she had to stop at one point because the straps of her dress were bothering her (you know how straps of dresses, bras, etc. can slide off your shoulders over and over if the dress doesn’t fit right or the straps are too long? she was having that problem) and she marched through the audience, right past me, to the back, where a guy at a desk had scotch tape and she put little bits of tape on her back to hold the straps in place. And then she went back up to the front of the room, murmured something about “this is complete bullshit” to the pianist, and the concert went on.
I wish I knew who this imaginary singer was that my brain made up; she seems kind of bad-ass.