Eric Woolfson's Poe

This DVD arrived somewhen last week. Yes, just weeks apart from my last purchase. This is the effect of having a friend-turned-"personal shopper" who willingly assists in buying and shipping goods home from online stores. It's made spending money a breeze - which, though not at all a bad thing since I only buy the things I really need / want - is so not "me". I grew up in a sort of none too well-to-do family... sure, we had enough to eat, decent clothes and a constant roof above our heads - all the basic stuff - but not much else. I've been trained from young to be extremely thrifty and careful with what I spend on, which, I sometimes overdo. For instance, I started to avoid eating meat during my college days because vegetables were a lot cheaper. I'm still not well-off financially, but I have enough to not have the need to watch too closely every cent I spend... and I'm now slowly learning to allow myself what makes me happy. A friend said, at 30+, if we already have a saving plan, we should feel comfortable to spend as we want. I told him to not bring up the matter of age. He said, fine, we have 30+ years left. Gah, he's right. But, I'm supposed to be writing about the musical... how do I always manage meander so?

Suppose I should give a little background on how I discovered this musical, which debuted in 2003, but that would be meandering even more, so perhaps I would go into that at the end.

I have not seen so many musicals, but do I love them! There are those which are more dance than song, those which are equal in both and these, which I prefer by far, with more song than dance. And the songs in Edgar Allan Poe are simply beautiful - deeply moving, profound and just so beautiful. The stage props and setup were minimal, in my opinion, and mostly cast in darkness, most of the time. I find it perfect in eliminating distraction from the music and the cast members' vocal performance. The musical tells the story of Edgar Allan Poe, poet and author, from when he was a young, unknown writer to his tragic death. Here's the list of songs:

1. Wings Of Eagle
- A still-unknown Edgar Allan Poe presents his writings to a magazine owner.

2. The Murders In The Rue Morgue
- Poe's detective story gains popularity.

3. What Fools People Are
- Poe writes a negative review of a piece by rival author Griswold, who is then angered.

4. Blinded By The Light
- The earlier days of Poe's life is revealed: he sings of the death of his mother and the loss of his first love, Elmira Royster.

5. Tiny Star
- Poe tends to his sickly cousin, Virginia, while his mother appears (in his memory) and sings a lullaby

6. The Pit and The Pendulum
- Poe composes this masterpiece.

7. It Doesn't Take a Genius
- Griswold is pressured by the audience at a recital to read Poe's latest poem, "The Raven".

8. Goodbye To All That
- Poe and Virginia marry =)

9. The Bells
- The ensemble sings of Poe's troubled mind.

10. The Devil I Know
- It has been ten years. Virginia sings of her marriage to Poe.

11. Tiny Star (Reprise)
- Virginia falls ill. Poe sings the lullaby to soothe her, but her condition worsens.

12. The Bells (Reprise)
- Virginia dies.

13. Somewhere In The Audience
- Poe grieves for Virginia.

14. Trust Me
- Griswold succeeds in convincing Poe to make him his literary executor.

15. Let The Sun Shine On Me
- Poe is reunited with his childhood sweetheart, Elmira.

16. Train To Freedom
- Poe gets involved in a Railway campaign when he speaks against the company, and is beaten up by the Railway supporters.

17. Tiny Star (Reprise)
- Poe lies dying. The spirit of his mother appears and leads him away.

18. What Fools People Are
- Griswold writes a nasty obituary of Poe.

19. Somewhere In The Audience (Reprise)
- Elmira and the spirit of Virginia grieve for Poe.

20. Immortal
- Poe's spirit returns to sing of his immortality through the respect and passion the world continues to shower upon his work.

Steve Balsamo plays Poe extremely well. His acting is subtle - unlike the usual stage performing with exaggerated gestures and facial expressions - yet, powerfully convincing. He is able to very effectively project the array of emotions - love, grief, anguish - through his voice and his eyes, and I really do think that he's portrayed the character so well it is an achievement quite impossible to surpass.

It is way too easy to get carried away by Steve's stunning performance - I am fortunate I still could find enough attention to pay to the ensemble. The arrangements are fantastic and the harmony of their voices is almost perfect. All in all, this is such a gem of a musical I am surprised it hasn't gained more recognition. I'm sorry that I've only known it now, not sooner.

Well, I must admit I've never previously been acquainted with the late Eric Woolfson's work, and I only came to know about this one while watching YouTube videos of Steve Balsamo. How I came across this amazing vocalist is another (somewhat long) story, so I should not go into it - too much digressing for one post. The gist is, once I've heard him sing, I could not stop listening to him. The chance discovery led to a near-obsession, and soon I was scouring the web for his work. Such a voice! His voice - the quality, the control, the expressiveness, the 3.5-octave range... why isn't such a talented person more widely known? I'm sorry I've only heard him now, not sooner.

Seriously, someone give me a list of all the great voices I should be listening to but haven't heard!

Pretty Cupcakes

Why we shouldn't buy them:
1. Really expensive.
2. Laden with food colouring.
3. Sugar paste (the fondant) is well... SUGAR.

So, we're basically paying a lot of money for decorative edibles that most of us probably don't want to eat, which translates to mindless waste.

Why we should buy them:
They make me happy. They make me SO happy! When I got them this morning, I spent several minutes staring at them, and the rest of the morning feeling happy.

Ahhh..... *still happy*

On A Real Positive Note

In all honesty, when I signed up at Blogger.com in 2005 (yikes... 7 years ago?!), I thought blogging was dumb and didn't plan on actually doing it. I only signed up under "peer-pressure" and narcissism - several friends were blogging and they kept telling me to do it because I love to write and I write so well (they said it!). *Ahem*

Then, I started posting pieces mainly as a means to vent the frustration that built inevitably from my 24 weekly contact hours with college kids. I got caught on the very appealing informality and anonymity (I now know many of you Readers actually know who I am, but really, neil used to be completely anonymous!) of blogging and there was no turning back. However, it is also worth noting that one of the other important motivating factors is Bee Ree - there's nothing like an avid blogger roomee to keep me company in this odd virtual world.

I am aware that many of my earliest posts were rants reeking with negativity and sarcasm. Sure, I wrote this post, but I wasn't being positive. I was just being as I always am - sarcastic. And... it's just dawned to me, as recently as a couple of hours ago, that I'd never actually written a sincere post on the bright side of my profession. I imagine I must've given the world the impression that I haven't an ounce of brain, or any backbone, for staying, now past 10 years, in my teaching job, which according to Ahem, is quite possibly the most horrible occupation conceivable.

As much as I can, I want to be positive. I want to see the good in all that life dishes out to me, in everyone I encounter, in everything that goes wrong. I make comedy out of mishaps, I even laugh and invite others to laugh along, at personal "flaws" I cannot rid (like being unbelievably prone to falling down despite having a supposedly low center of gravity from being so short). Therefore, I can't believe I've been so totally negative, blog-wise, all these while in this regard. I blame it on my subconscious mind.

So, here I will write an actual positive post - all the things that keep me going to work willingly, say, every 8 out of 10 working days.

Before I start, let me say this - teaching, in itself, is very rewarding. I love, and I do mean, love the feeling I get when after going through a difficult lesson, I find my class being able to answer my questions. I find it especially rewarding when some students pose questions that indicate that they'd not only understood the subject matter, but had actually been thinking about it. Most, if not all, of my issues with students stem from their attitude, not IQ.

To illustrate, there was a girl who took my course three times before she passed. I'll always remember her for being one of the best-behaved students I've ever taught. She attended every class, paid attention, did her all her work diligently and honestly and approached me often for additional guidance. After the first failure, she went a step further and attempted the problems at the end of every chapter from the textbook. To say I was impressed would be understating it. Yes, she was weak, she was perhaps in the wrong major, but she worked very hard and for that I was more than willing to spare for her whatever little time I had. I would imagine lecturing would be a dream job if the average students all have the attitude of this girl.

Still, I've had my share of good, fun students. I remember those who'd helped liven things up by occasionally cracking jokes, those who'd been happy to participate in my experimental learning methods, and those who'd made my work a breeze by adhering to deadlines and observing the rules. I particularly remember a class which had developed such a strong friendship amongst themselves they had a nickname for every person. Once, they wrote, beside each name in my attendance list, the person's nickname. Seeing the shock on my face as I got the list back, they laughed and told me they'd done it so I would remember them. I still kept that list somewhere, and I do remember them. And I remember a boy who, after being taught three times (different subjects) by me, felt comfortable enough with me to tell me how he's grown through the years, and how he's more mature then compared to when he first started college, and how he felt he was foolish to have not worked harder for his previous subjects with me.

When I moved from a college to a university, I had a pleasant surprise, for at the time, the students were mostly fantastic. A majority of them were sufficiently independent and well-behaved. I remember the time I had my class design and program games for their assignment - it was open-ended, theme-based rather than question-based. I wanted them to explore all that the programming language could offer and get creative. Most of the class came up with projects that blew me away... they had such brilliant ideas, such ingenious manners to work around limitations and obstacles, and shown so much diligence, interest and fervour in their work they delivered more than I'd expected, and from the impression I got, managed to have some fun while doing it too. It was a time when work didn't seem like actual work to me.

It isn't that I want to compare each batch with the previous, but one just can't help notice the declining independence, sense of responsibility and problem-solving abilities. I should wrap this up before I involuntarily slip into the negative... once more, I blame my subconscious mind.

So, there - despite all that I do not enjoy dealing with, I still enjoy teaching because I enjoy imparting knowledge. I am proud when my students learn what they have to learn, and learn to love learning. I am proud that some of them are alert and knowledgeable enough to point out mistakes that I make and am definitely proud of those with enough sense of humour to laugh (very loudly) with me when I wrote C++ code in a Java lecture. This is the real positive note of this aspect of my career.

Reader, if you were once in my class; if you enjoyed my lectures and felt they made a difference in your education; if are wondering if your teacher is proud of you... yes, she is. =)

The POTO At The RAH

The Phantom of The Opera at the Royal Albert Hall DVD I ordered arrived 2 weeks ago but I only had time to actually sit and watch it from beginning to end (plus the bonus features!) yesterday night. I've been listening to music from the musical (the original London cast recording with Sarah in it, of course) so much, so often that I could pretty much sing along to every song, but I've never actually seen the stage production in its entirety.

Sure, I saw the 2004 movie with the Phantom, who wasn't old nor made to look ugly enough and who only learned to sing when he was cast, and a wide-eyed wide-mouthed Christine who totally cannot sing despite supposedly having singing experiences prior to the role. Still, I liked everything else about the movie - the orchestra, the set, the costumes, Patrick Wilson and even Minnie Driver's Carlotta.

So, back to this 25th Anniversary production - I love it! Sierra Boggess portrays Christine brilliantly. She has a lovely voice which she uses very well and projects all the right emotions beautifully through her singing and acting. In the scene on the roof of the opera house she looks so frightened and so helpless being haunted by the Phantom I wanted to cry; in the final scene where she takes leave of the Phantom, I actually cried... (or maybe it's just me being so easily moved to tears..) I like Ramin Karimloo's Phantom well enough - he is vocally strong and passionate, and shares a great on-stage chemistry with Ms Boggess. I find the Raoul guy wanting though... sort of not manly nor charming enough - the kind Christine should likely choose the horribly disfigured maniacal murderous musical genius over. I also find Meg a little too loud and irritating. Still, in spite of them, I totally love the show! The costumes are extravagant; the music is luscious and moving; the dancing is elegant and abundant without being overwhelming.

And, like icing on the cake, Lord ALW, the real musical genius, came on stage at the end and brought on the creative teams, the original company, and a very stunning and glowing Sarah Brightman! It's always so heart-warming to hear him call her his Angel of Music (because she is!) and watch them regard each other with so much respect, admiration and love. It's an even greater treat to have Sarah sing the title song with Peter Jöback, John Owen-Jones, Anthony Warlow and Colm Wilkinson - 4 gentlemen who were / are / will be the Phantom in different productions. Simply breathtaking!

Breathtaking! =)

Contemplation and Comedy

I started my teaching career way back in August 2001. I was very young (and looked even younger) and inexperienced, and the students knew it. In fact, quite a number of them were the same age as me, and some others older than me. I remember how nervous I was the morning of the very first lecture - such that I had my colleague, Mr Kopi, accompany me to class. He stayed with me until the first students started walking in (for which I will be forever grateful!).

That class, I remember, had some nasty troublemakers. There was this boy who sat at the back of the class and deliberately disturbed the lectures by chatting away, yawning very audibly, and on several occasions, announcing loudly "This is so boring! So boring!" The last time he did, I chided him. The discourse went more or less like this:

"This is the syllabus that I have to teach."
"It's SO BORING!"
"What do you expect me to do? Sing and dance?"
"Yeah! That's good, do that!"
"If you really like that, you're in the wrong major. You should go and do Performing Arts instead."

He had no witty comeback (not that any of his antics and rebuttals were witty in the first place) so he was silenced. He did not give me any more trouble for the rest of the semester, but he did lead a group of the naughtiest in the class to bully one of my other colleagues (who was also a first-time lecturer) into tears. There was also this girl who loved to ask questions and/or request that I repeat certain parts of the lecture, but when I gave her answers or repeated stuff as per her request, she would be busy playing with her phone and not listening. Every single time. No, I'm not joking.

In those early days, I often thought of my favourite teachers and lecturers, and thought about the qualities in them that made me love them so much. Dedication. Passion. Genuine concern for their students. Teaching with the earnest aim to educate would, usually, result in developing a good teaching style. That much, I believe. I tried, so very hard, all through the years, to continuously improve my style. I figured out the best way to deliver difficult lessons, the best way to explain difficult concepts, the best way to illustrate the abstract. Above all, I tried to instill the love of learning in my students - I tried to encourage them to be inquisitive. I often asked them to ask questions. I often said, upon having presented a point or a solution, "Don't you want to know why?" Asking "why" is important. I tried so very hard to teach that. So very hard.

Reader, you could perhaps have sense the heavy tone of resignation by now.

For, an education isn't what they really want. They don't care that I put so much effort and energy into delivering the lessons in ways best suited for their level of understanding. They don't like it when I criticize their shoddy work, and they don't like it when I refuse to waste my time listening to excuses. They say that I'm harsh, that I don't give them the chance to "explain", that I set the standards too high, and that I shouldn't even be a lecturer. They don't like it when I check their bad manners, and they don't like it that I don't spoon-feed them and expect them to take some responsibility in their own learning. They say that I should calm myself down, that I should understand that the subject is "very difficult", and even that I have failed in my attempt to "teach" them self-learning.

Maybe it is true that I have failed, or that I am indeed not suited for this lowly-paid (but highly-intellectually-demanding) occupation. Don't get me wrong - I am way past the era of being hurt at ridiculous comments thrown at me. At first, I was just really sad that this generation has degraded to such new lows - the mentality they showcased is beyond shameful. At first. After seconds and thirds... I got used to it. I constantly remind myself that no matter how the majority wouldn't know good teaching if it came up to them and spat them in the face, there are always a few who would truly appreciate the way I put my heart into their education. Even if there is ONE, out of a hundred, my efforts would not be in vain.

I don't know where the comedy is in all of these... perhaps it is in reading a report and finding this statement: "The best way to make full step is to make two half steps."

Or getting the answer, "Lagrangian tree is a tree", for a question asking the definition of the said term.

Or looking at a program for controlling traffic lights at a cross junction that is written such that all the lights will turn green at the same time.

Or getting a signal-to-noise-ratio with the unit of Hz in an exam script.

Or this:

Ahhh, how I love Academia! Truly!

Peony In Love

Last October, my roomees and I planned a day full of "unconventional" activities - bouldering for beginners in the morning, a scrumptious lunch (a must!) and the largest book sale I've ever seen. While I have to admit I'd never been so delighted, I do think many people bought way too many books that they perhaps were never going to read, simply because they were so cheap. Novels that usually go for RM30+ were selling at RM8. So, I don't know if such sales actually encourages reading, or simply fueled unparalleled impulse buying. Fortunately, my roomees and I were still rather level-headed. We didn't blindly grab all the RM5 and RM8 titles we didn't intend to read... I think. *Ahem*

Some time later, Bee Ree suggested that we share among ourselves brief synopses of the titles we've read. The first one she wrote was for Peony in Love by Lisa See. There was love and loss, and ghosts. I asked to be the first to borrow it.

Last Saturday, we met. While I forgot all about Bee Ree wanting to borrow my copy of Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol, she placed the book I asked for in my hands. You see, Reader, this is karma - I've always laughed at her for being somewhat senile, and look what I've become...

When I got home, I forced myself to complete my work duties - exam scripts - and then started eagerly on the book. I read well into the night. I read continuously through the next day. It's been years - and I do mean, yearsss - since I indulged so, and it felt so good. I finished the 273-page book (well, a 280-page for me, since I'd read the Author's Note at the end as well) that night - within 24 hours since I started it.

The story was set in the 17th century during the Qing Dynasty. Peony was two days away from turning sixteen, and just months away from her wedding day. The man she would marry had been chosen for her since her birth and he would be a stranger to her until their wedding night. Such, was the custom - marriage was a compulsory duty to one's family and not in the least a choice or had anything to do with love. This is a solid and recurring point presented throughout the book - families took care to raise and educate their daughters to please their future husbands' families.

In contrast with the reiterations of the idea of the worthlessness of daughters, Peony's parents loved and doted on her. Her father arranged a production of her favourite opera, The Peony Pavillion, to be staged in the compound of their family mansion, and she was sure it was meant to be a treat for her, though he would never put it that way. The opera would play for three nights. On the first night, Peony grew restless in the middle of one of the scenes, and stole away into the garden. There, she met a handsome young man whom she'd spotted among the audience earlier. In the era where women, especially the unmarried, were not allowed beyond the inner walls of their homes, where they must stay hidden behind screens when there were male guests, being alone with a male stranger amounted to way more than a scandal. Peony was aware that she could ruin her life if they were caught. Yet, they exchanged words. They exchanged musings on the opera. They somehow fell a little in love. He asked to meet again, and for the next two nights, they did. Peony fell hopelessly in love with the man, a poet, whose name she did not know.

Thus, began her obsession with The Peony Pavillion, in which the female protagonist, Du Liniang, had a passionate dream of a scholar and subsequently died pining for her dream-lover. Peony couldn't eat nor sleep. She thought about her love for the poet, about her impending marriage to her betrothed whom she was sure she would not love, about living her entire life without love. These tortured thoughts she penned in form of poems and commentaries in her copy of the opera. Month passed; Peony wasted away and died, just days before her wedding. Too late, she found out, the man chosen for her was the man she'd fallen in love with.

Her ghost continues to narrate - how her tablet, not yet dotted, was hidden away and forgotten, causing her to indefinitely roam the earth as a hungry ghost; how she watched her family and her poet carried on without her; how she learned the history of her family from deceased elders; how she wronged and righted her wrongs. Her soul wandered for twenty-nine years. In that time, she influenced her poet's following two wives to complete her intended commentary of The Peony Pavillion.

The Three Wives' Commentary is a real publication - written by the three wives of a poet, Wu Ren (also Wu Ren in the novel). Peony In Love, in fact, is the fictional story of how a real and significant work by three real women, at a time when women were insignificant, came to be.

There are references to and detailed descriptions of many traditional Chinese customs, including foot-binding and rituals performed for the dead. I personally do not believe in most of the customs and superstitions, but I enjoyed this read, regardless. On the theme of love - at first, though - I found it hard not to laugh at someone who threw her life away over a dream, and someone who fancied herself so deeply in love after just three rendez-vous that she starved herself to death. Then, I reminded myself that theirs is a world too different from ours. When one must walk her parents' chosen path for her - to marry for the main purpose of producing sons, to always obey and always made inferior, to literally have nothing much to live for - the very thought of the loss of what could have been is quite possibly enough to snuff out the feeble will to live...

Belle

QUASIMODO:
Belle
C'est un mot qu'on dirait inventé pour elle
Quand elle danse et qu'elle met son corps à jour, tel
Un oiseau qui étend ses ailes pour s'envoler
Alors je sens l'enfer s'ouvrir sous mes pieds

J'ai posé mes yeux sous sa robe de gitane
A quoi me sert encore de prier Notre-Dame?
Quel
Est celui qui lui jettera la première pierre?
Celui-là ne mérite pas d'être sur Terre

Ô Lucifer!
Oh! laisse-moi rien qu'une fois
Glisser mes doigts dans les cheveux d'Esmeralda

FROLLO:
Belle
Est-ce le diable qui s'est incarné en elle
Pour détourner mes yeux du Dieu éternel?
Qui a mis dans mon être ce désir charnel
Pour m'empêcher de regarder vers le Ciel?

Elle porte en elle le péché originel
La désirer fait-il de moi un criminel?
Celle
Qu'on prenait pour une fille de joie, une fille de rien
Semble soudain porter la croix du genre humain

Ô Notre Dame!
Oh! laisse-moi rien qu'une fois
Pousser la porte du jardin d'Esmeralda

PHOEBUS:
Belle
Malgré ses grands yeux noirs qui vous ensorcellent
La demoiselle serait-elle encore pucelle?
Quand ses mouvements me font voir monts et merveilles
Sous son jupon aux couleurs de l'arc-en-ciel

Ma dulcinée laissez-moi vous être infidèle
Avant de vous avoir menée jusqu'à l'autel
Quel
Est l'homme qui détournerait son regard d'elle
Sous peine d'être changé en statue de sel?

Ô Fleur-de-Lys
Je ne suis pas homme de foi
J'irai cueillir la fleur d'amour d'Esmeralda

LES TROIS:
J'ai posé mes yeux sous sa robe de gitane
A quoi me sert encore de prier Notre Dame
Quel est celui qui lui jettera la première pierre
Celui-là ne mérite pas d'être sur Terre

Ô Lucifer!
Oh! laisse-moi rien qu'une fois
Glisser mes doigts dans les cheveux d'Esmeralda
Esmeralda

From the musical Notre-Dame de Paris
Music: Richard Cocciante
Lyrics: Luc Plamondon