Mewness
First Post
THE MUSIC SCENE
A Conversation about the Daunton Opera
By Telia Mosethirl
Everyone's talking about the Daunton Opera. The excellence and high spectacle of its productions have produced a buzz like nothing else in recent years. Unfortunately for local music aficionados, the leaders of this remarkable institution are notoriously close-mouthed about its operations, and the current Director, Gerhard von Putenbein, is no exception: it is almost unknown for a reporter to get a peek at the goings-on behind the Opera’s lavish scenes. Recently, The Screamer had a rare opportunity to talk with a veteran of Daunton’s classiest musical concern. Ten years ago, when he made his stage debut with the Far Winds Theatre, Scarmiglione was hailed as an amazing new talent; last year, critic Ernest Threadwick described him in these pages as “the greatest opera singer that you’ve never heard of.” Scarmiglione is a performer of uncanny versatility who, amazingly, has never had a leading role. Why? Apparently, because he’s a kenku. The Screamer caught up with Scarmiglione one afternoon in Amarette’s Lounge.
The Screamer: Ernest Threadwick, the music critic, says that nobody’s ever written a part that you can’t sing.
Scarmiglione: I’m sure that’s very kind of him.
TS: Is he wrong? Soprano, bass, male, female, children—
S: Well, that’s actually nothing very remarkable. You might say it comes with the heritage.
TS: Being a kenku?
S: Exactly. I don’t mean to imply that all of us can sing, of course. In fact, most of us are simply ghastly at it! But the versatility comes naturally.
TS: It seems like a wonderful advantage.
S: [snorts] Hardly!
TS: But the Opera must consider you such a terrific asset—you’ve been performing for ten years?—and played such an incredible variety of—
S: —Of tiny, inconsequential parts. Great heavens, I devote my life—my soul—my everything to the Opera and not once does it even occur to that monstrous simpleton that debases the entire Daunton musical community by his presence as an opera director to put the company’s finest singer in a part of any significance!
TS: Does he have something against you personally?
S: Clearly! We did “The Queen and the Swineherd” last year. I could have made a wonderful Hansorf. And whom did our illustrious Director of Musical Brutalization choose for the part? Barbariccia. Barbariccia, who practically croaks whenever he has to hit the lower notes of his Lament in Act One. And what was the excuse for this fiasco? I begged for the part. I’m ashamed to say I would have cleaned the floors of his scullery on my knees to get it. “But Hansorf is a romantic lead,” says our esteemed Director of Dissonance. “He has to kiss the Queen! You don’t have lips!”
TS: I can see how that is a problem—
S: Who cares whether I kiss her? It’s about emotion. The emotion is in the music. Why are humans so obsessed with pressing one another’s freakish pulpy mouth flaps together anyway?
TS: Um... [pauses] I would think that there are leading roles that would suit, even for a Director who’s such a stickler for physical details.
S: He always finds something. I can’t be the Beast of Anar because he must stamp his foot to make the thunderclaps, and my feet, apparently, are unsatisfactory. “Like chicken feet,” he declares. I doubt the man has ever seen a live chicken. The insults I have endured from that lummox! He despises me—it is as simple as that, and he has no more reason than that I am a kenku.
TS: So there’s no chance of seeing you as a lead in the future? I don’t mean to suggest anything sinister, but Director Putenbein is getting on in years...
S: No chance at all, since I’ve left the company.
TS: Really!
S: Just today, yes. If my only hope for getting the appreciation I deserve lies in waiting for our celebrated Perpetrator of Musical Misdeeds to choke on his digestive gruel and perish face-down in a basin of tepid mush, you’ll forgive me if I try to improve my prospects elsewhere.
TS: Have you signed on with another opera company?
S: Well—I hadn’t made any firm plans, to own the truth. My departure was—rather sudden. In fact, I left only about twenty minutes ago...
TS: What provoked you to leave? Was there a new part that you were passed over for?
S: Actually, no. To my knowledge, it hasn’t been firmly decided what the next production will be. It’s the way the decision is being made that incenses me.
TS: Oh?
S: [rolls eyes] You’ve heard of Throckmorton Whortleberry, I imagine?
TS: [laughs] I should think everyone knows the name of the wealthiest gem merchant in Daunton.
S: Yes, well. Simply astonishing, the silly trifles one can be famous for these days... He’s quite the Daunton Opera enthusiast. He’s donated very considerable sums to the arts for the last fifteen years or so. And he’s recently mentioned the possibility of funding the addition of a new wing to the concert hall—
TS: The hall is being expanded? It’s about time!
S: Yes, quite so. And all that our estimable benefactor asks in return is that he have some say in what we—excuse me, they—produce.
TS: You mean he wants some sort of creative control?
S: [sighs] It’s worse than you think. While I cannot deny that I’ve had my differences with Director Putenbein, I will concede that the arrogant, prating fool has at least a modicum of taste. But this... merchant has a son, his eldest, apparently, and surely no such pea-brained, flop-eared lackwit ever fancied himself a composer. I have spent the best part of an hour listening to the most unconscionably vile croonings ever produced by a talentless, thick-tongued imbecile, and with the tacit understanding that this abominable mockery is being seriously considered as material for the Opera’s fall season! It is intolerable! I certainly wasn’t going to stay to hear the end of it, if indeed such a blessed moment were ever to come.
TS: That’s incredible. I had no idea that the Opera’s repertoire might occasion such a scandal!
S: Oh, so it’s cheap gossip that interests you, is it?
TS: [laughs] I can’t deny that cheap gossip interests me. But verifiable gossip absolutely fascinates me.
S: [laughs] Ever wondered why one of the viewing boxes is always empty?
TS: I’ve noticed it in passing. One of the ones at the front is always empty. But not the same one.
S: It’s because they’re both reserved by the same man. And Sir Moynifried can’t watch the opera from two boxes at once, obviously.
TS: Sir Moynifried the Purehearted? But why would he want two boxes at the opera?
S: The Purehearted, yes. [snickers] You can’t guess?
TS: I have no idea.
S: [laughs] Because the pure-hearted Sir Moynifried has two wives. Who have nothing to do with each other—who haven't a clue. And both the wives enjoy the opera, it seems.
TS: Are you serious? Sir Moynifried? The slayer of the Dragon of Asparth? Doesn't he have a statue in the Halls of the Virtuous?
S: Oh, no doubt about it. He dresses very differently when he’s with Wife Number Two, of course—
TS: I—that’s amazing! I can’t believe it!
S: Of course I can’t actually prove it, but I shouldn’t think it would be too difficult to find out, if one is determined—
TS: Oh, I will definitely follow that up. What a scoop for the Screamer!
S: You work for the Screamer?
TS: [laughs]
S: Why are you laughing?
TS: Are you serious? I told you I worked for the Screamer.
S: You most certainly did not.
TS: I told you I wanted to interview you for a local paper!
S: You’re a reporter?
TS: What did you expect when I asked you for an interview?
S: I thought it was just an excuse to talk to me! Women do that kind of thing all the—
TS: You thought I was flirting with you?
S: Weren’t you?
TS: You’re a kenku!
A Conversation about the Daunton Opera
By Telia Mosethirl
Everyone's talking about the Daunton Opera. The excellence and high spectacle of its productions have produced a buzz like nothing else in recent years. Unfortunately for local music aficionados, the leaders of this remarkable institution are notoriously close-mouthed about its operations, and the current Director, Gerhard von Putenbein, is no exception: it is almost unknown for a reporter to get a peek at the goings-on behind the Opera’s lavish scenes. Recently, The Screamer had a rare opportunity to talk with a veteran of Daunton’s classiest musical concern. Ten years ago, when he made his stage debut with the Far Winds Theatre, Scarmiglione was hailed as an amazing new talent; last year, critic Ernest Threadwick described him in these pages as “the greatest opera singer that you’ve never heard of.” Scarmiglione is a performer of uncanny versatility who, amazingly, has never had a leading role. Why? Apparently, because he’s a kenku. The Screamer caught up with Scarmiglione one afternoon in Amarette’s Lounge.
The Screamer: Ernest Threadwick, the music critic, says that nobody’s ever written a part that you can’t sing.
Scarmiglione: I’m sure that’s very kind of him.
TS: Is he wrong? Soprano, bass, male, female, children—
S: Well, that’s actually nothing very remarkable. You might say it comes with the heritage.
TS: Being a kenku?
S: Exactly. I don’t mean to imply that all of us can sing, of course. In fact, most of us are simply ghastly at it! But the versatility comes naturally.
TS: It seems like a wonderful advantage.
S: [snorts] Hardly!
TS: But the Opera must consider you such a terrific asset—you’ve been performing for ten years?—and played such an incredible variety of—
S: —Of tiny, inconsequential parts. Great heavens, I devote my life—my soul—my everything to the Opera and not once does it even occur to that monstrous simpleton that debases the entire Daunton musical community by his presence as an opera director to put the company’s finest singer in a part of any significance!
TS: Does he have something against you personally?
S: Clearly! We did “The Queen and the Swineherd” last year. I could have made a wonderful Hansorf. And whom did our illustrious Director of Musical Brutalization choose for the part? Barbariccia. Barbariccia, who practically croaks whenever he has to hit the lower notes of his Lament in Act One. And what was the excuse for this fiasco? I begged for the part. I’m ashamed to say I would have cleaned the floors of his scullery on my knees to get it. “But Hansorf is a romantic lead,” says our esteemed Director of Dissonance. “He has to kiss the Queen! You don’t have lips!”
TS: I can see how that is a problem—
S: Who cares whether I kiss her? It’s about emotion. The emotion is in the music. Why are humans so obsessed with pressing one another’s freakish pulpy mouth flaps together anyway?
TS: Um... [pauses] I would think that there are leading roles that would suit, even for a Director who’s such a stickler for physical details.
S: He always finds something. I can’t be the Beast of Anar because he must stamp his foot to make the thunderclaps, and my feet, apparently, are unsatisfactory. “Like chicken feet,” he declares. I doubt the man has ever seen a live chicken. The insults I have endured from that lummox! He despises me—it is as simple as that, and he has no more reason than that I am a kenku.
TS: So there’s no chance of seeing you as a lead in the future? I don’t mean to suggest anything sinister, but Director Putenbein is getting on in years...
S: No chance at all, since I’ve left the company.
TS: Really!
S: Just today, yes. If my only hope for getting the appreciation I deserve lies in waiting for our celebrated Perpetrator of Musical Misdeeds to choke on his digestive gruel and perish face-down in a basin of tepid mush, you’ll forgive me if I try to improve my prospects elsewhere.
TS: Have you signed on with another opera company?
S: Well—I hadn’t made any firm plans, to own the truth. My departure was—rather sudden. In fact, I left only about twenty minutes ago...
TS: What provoked you to leave? Was there a new part that you were passed over for?
S: Actually, no. To my knowledge, it hasn’t been firmly decided what the next production will be. It’s the way the decision is being made that incenses me.
TS: Oh?
S: [rolls eyes] You’ve heard of Throckmorton Whortleberry, I imagine?
TS: [laughs] I should think everyone knows the name of the wealthiest gem merchant in Daunton.
S: Yes, well. Simply astonishing, the silly trifles one can be famous for these days... He’s quite the Daunton Opera enthusiast. He’s donated very considerable sums to the arts for the last fifteen years or so. And he’s recently mentioned the possibility of funding the addition of a new wing to the concert hall—
TS: The hall is being expanded? It’s about time!
S: Yes, quite so. And all that our estimable benefactor asks in return is that he have some say in what we—excuse me, they—produce.
TS: You mean he wants some sort of creative control?
S: [sighs] It’s worse than you think. While I cannot deny that I’ve had my differences with Director Putenbein, I will concede that the arrogant, prating fool has at least a modicum of taste. But this... merchant has a son, his eldest, apparently, and surely no such pea-brained, flop-eared lackwit ever fancied himself a composer. I have spent the best part of an hour listening to the most unconscionably vile croonings ever produced by a talentless, thick-tongued imbecile, and with the tacit understanding that this abominable mockery is being seriously considered as material for the Opera’s fall season! It is intolerable! I certainly wasn’t going to stay to hear the end of it, if indeed such a blessed moment were ever to come.
TS: That’s incredible. I had no idea that the Opera’s repertoire might occasion such a scandal!
S: Oh, so it’s cheap gossip that interests you, is it?
TS: [laughs] I can’t deny that cheap gossip interests me. But verifiable gossip absolutely fascinates me.
S: [laughs] Ever wondered why one of the viewing boxes is always empty?
TS: I’ve noticed it in passing. One of the ones at the front is always empty. But not the same one.
S: It’s because they’re both reserved by the same man. And Sir Moynifried can’t watch the opera from two boxes at once, obviously.
TS: Sir Moynifried the Purehearted? But why would he want two boxes at the opera?
S: The Purehearted, yes. [snickers] You can’t guess?
TS: I have no idea.
S: [laughs] Because the pure-hearted Sir Moynifried has two wives. Who have nothing to do with each other—who haven't a clue. And both the wives enjoy the opera, it seems.
TS: Are you serious? Sir Moynifried? The slayer of the Dragon of Asparth? Doesn't he have a statue in the Halls of the Virtuous?
S: Oh, no doubt about it. He dresses very differently when he’s with Wife Number Two, of course—
TS: I—that’s amazing! I can’t believe it!
S: Of course I can’t actually prove it, but I shouldn’t think it would be too difficult to find out, if one is determined—
TS: Oh, I will definitely follow that up. What a scoop for the Screamer!
S: You work for the Screamer?
TS: [laughs]
S: Why are you laughing?
TS: Are you serious? I told you I worked for the Screamer.
S: You most certainly did not.
TS: I told you I wanted to interview you for a local paper!
S: You’re a reporter?
TS: What did you expect when I asked you for an interview?
S: I thought it was just an excuse to talk to me! Women do that kind of thing all the—
TS: You thought I was flirting with you?
S: Weren’t you?
TS: You’re a kenku!
