gerberk
2011-10-05 22:08:03 UTC
"You cannot be a real opera nut if you aren't fucked up," Mr. Handelman
acknowledged.
The Parterre Posse
By NYO Staff 1/29/01 12:00am
"That aria, it just ran and ran- it was the Imodium aria!" Charles Handelman
declared. It was a rainy night, and the New York City Opera had just wrapped
a performance of Handel's Rinaldo at Lincoln Center's State Theater. Mr.
Handelman-a tall, gangly man with fluffy white hair-was holding court in the
lobby of the mezzanine level alongside one of the theater's corpulent stone
statutes. There, he offered stern words for one of the opera's
countertenors, Christopher Josey. "Who does he think he is?" Mr. Handelman
asked. " Marilyn Horne ?"
Next to Mr. Handelman was James Jorden, a former Web producer for Fox News
who publishes the informally titled bimonthly, parterre box: the queer opera
zine . When an opera debuts in town, Mr. Jorden, Mr. Handelman and a
scattering of other parterre box readers and contributors-razor-witted,
self-described "opera queens"-gather post-finale to deconstruct the
performance like a bunch of Yankees fans schlepping back from the Bronx on
the 4. (Mr. Jorden, in fact, noted that his colleagues have long referred to
the opera as "faggot baseball.")
Like all die-hards, Mr. Jorden and these New York loggionisti are demanding.
At each opera, performers are praised and bashed; composers are savaged and
sainted. "I want art to be a really transcendent experience," Mr. Jorden
explained. "I want to go and have my life changed by it."
Mr. Jorden, a boyish 46-year-old with a shaved head, said he was introduced
to opera as a teenager in rural Louisiana, when his junior high school
staged a production of H.M.S. Pinafore . Mr. Jorden assembled the production's
props with a student named Tony Kushner. "We had a really good time doing
it," Mr. Jorden said of his schoolmate, who would grow up to win the
Pulitzer Prize for drama for his play Angels in America . "I bought the
records of H.M.S. Pinafore and I just played them over and over and over
again, and one day my mother said, 'I can't take this anymore,' and she took
it off the turntable and put on a recording of Carmen ."
Mr. Jorden was hooked for life; years later, he would have a portrait of
Maria Callas (as Medea) tattoed on his shoulder.
These days, Mr. Jorden pays his rent coaching singers in the living room of
his shared apartment on the Upper West Side. There, he also edits and
publishes parterre box , which he began in 1993. His writers include men
like John Yohalem, a freelance journalist who contributes under the
pseudonym Hans Lick.
Mr. Yohalem was there that night at the State Theater, dressed in a
maroon-and-beige houndstooth blazer. "You need some absolute standard to
live your whole life by," he said. "And I grade everything by, 'Is it, or is
it not, good for opera?'" He had recently been in an argument with someone
who claimed that the Nazis were good for opera, since Adolf Hitler was so
pro-Wagner, Mr. Yohalem said. He disagreed, explaining that "Hitler put
Wagner in the doghouse for years."
The three men-even the two without Maria Callas tattoos-freely acknowledged
that their passion for the opera verges on the extreme. To a person, they
take their audience participation very seriously. If they are satisfied with
a performance, they applaud. If they consider a performance truly great,
they belt a lusty "Bravo!" They have been known to toss flowers-a dying art.
Mr. Handelman said he once hit a baritone in the head with a bouquet. "I
threw it so hard . and I hit him in the face," he recalled. "He must have
thought I was pitching for the Yankees."
On the flip side, if the performance is abysmal, they boo without remorse.
"Unless the possibility of booing is there, applause means nothing," Mr.
Jorden declared. There had been no booing at Rinaldo , however; Mr.
Handelman's comments about Mr. Josey and the aria notwithstanding, the three
men had generally enjoyed the performance.
But there was, as always, a desire for more. The men of parterre box are on
a romantic quest for opera greatness, and like all romantic quests, it has
made them a bit-well-mad. "You cannot be a real opera nut if you aren't
fucked up," Mr. Handelman acknowledged. "You have to be obsessive,
compulsive, fanatic. In your life, maybe that's not so good. But that's all
right for opera."
-Alicia Brownell
That Is All, People
acknowledged.
The Parterre Posse
By NYO Staff 1/29/01 12:00am
"That aria, it just ran and ran- it was the Imodium aria!" Charles Handelman
declared. It was a rainy night, and the New York City Opera had just wrapped
a performance of Handel's Rinaldo at Lincoln Center's State Theater. Mr.
Handelman-a tall, gangly man with fluffy white hair-was holding court in the
lobby of the mezzanine level alongside one of the theater's corpulent stone
statutes. There, he offered stern words for one of the opera's
countertenors, Christopher Josey. "Who does he think he is?" Mr. Handelman
asked. " Marilyn Horne ?"
Next to Mr. Handelman was James Jorden, a former Web producer for Fox News
who publishes the informally titled bimonthly, parterre box: the queer opera
zine . When an opera debuts in town, Mr. Jorden, Mr. Handelman and a
scattering of other parterre box readers and contributors-razor-witted,
self-described "opera queens"-gather post-finale to deconstruct the
performance like a bunch of Yankees fans schlepping back from the Bronx on
the 4. (Mr. Jorden, in fact, noted that his colleagues have long referred to
the opera as "faggot baseball.")
Like all die-hards, Mr. Jorden and these New York loggionisti are demanding.
At each opera, performers are praised and bashed; composers are savaged and
sainted. "I want art to be a really transcendent experience," Mr. Jorden
explained. "I want to go and have my life changed by it."
Mr. Jorden, a boyish 46-year-old with a shaved head, said he was introduced
to opera as a teenager in rural Louisiana, when his junior high school
staged a production of H.M.S. Pinafore . Mr. Jorden assembled the production's
props with a student named Tony Kushner. "We had a really good time doing
it," Mr. Jorden said of his schoolmate, who would grow up to win the
Pulitzer Prize for drama for his play Angels in America . "I bought the
records of H.M.S. Pinafore and I just played them over and over and over
again, and one day my mother said, 'I can't take this anymore,' and she took
it off the turntable and put on a recording of Carmen ."
Mr. Jorden was hooked for life; years later, he would have a portrait of
Maria Callas (as Medea) tattoed on his shoulder.
These days, Mr. Jorden pays his rent coaching singers in the living room of
his shared apartment on the Upper West Side. There, he also edits and
publishes parterre box , which he began in 1993. His writers include men
like John Yohalem, a freelance journalist who contributes under the
pseudonym Hans Lick.
Mr. Yohalem was there that night at the State Theater, dressed in a
maroon-and-beige houndstooth blazer. "You need some absolute standard to
live your whole life by," he said. "And I grade everything by, 'Is it, or is
it not, good for opera?'" He had recently been in an argument with someone
who claimed that the Nazis were good for opera, since Adolf Hitler was so
pro-Wagner, Mr. Yohalem said. He disagreed, explaining that "Hitler put
Wagner in the doghouse for years."
The three men-even the two without Maria Callas tattoos-freely acknowledged
that their passion for the opera verges on the extreme. To a person, they
take their audience participation very seriously. If they are satisfied with
a performance, they applaud. If they consider a performance truly great,
they belt a lusty "Bravo!" They have been known to toss flowers-a dying art.
Mr. Handelman said he once hit a baritone in the head with a bouquet. "I
threw it so hard . and I hit him in the face," he recalled. "He must have
thought I was pitching for the Yankees."
On the flip side, if the performance is abysmal, they boo without remorse.
"Unless the possibility of booing is there, applause means nothing," Mr.
Jorden declared. There had been no booing at Rinaldo , however; Mr.
Handelman's comments about Mr. Josey and the aria notwithstanding, the three
men had generally enjoyed the performance.
But there was, as always, a desire for more. The men of parterre box are on
a romantic quest for opera greatness, and like all romantic quests, it has
made them a bit-well-mad. "You cannot be a real opera nut if you aren't
fucked up," Mr. Handelman acknowledged. "You have to be obsessive,
compulsive, fanatic. In your life, maybe that's not so good. But that's all
right for opera."
-Alicia Brownell
That Is All, People