Get ready to meet some crucial writers along my journey

You’ve no doubt heard more than one person boast that their life could be a book, perhaps even adding that it would make a fortune and lead to fame. Perhaps you even shuddered because this was somebody who doesn’t read books, somebody essentially uninterested that way. As a fellow writer once quipped, he could simply look at a page and tell immediately if the creator was a reader.

The fact is that good writers are also devoted readers. We are inspired by good models, informed by their content, and strengthened by their style and structure. They give us standards to measure up to, excellence to aspire toward, and frontiers to explore. They caution us against getting lazy or complacent.

As my diamond jubilee winds down, I find myself reflecting on novelists and poets and a few others who have accompanied me at some crucial stretch in my writing and editing practice. I’ve come up with a list of 50 plus one.

It’s a quirky list, with an emphasis on those who have been influences at one point or another. Sometimes just one book is enough to leave an impact. I’m not calling these “favorites” – much of my pleasure reading isn’t necessarily that original or elicit that spontaneous “Oh, wow!” reaction. Think of what I’m presenting as godfathers and godmothers of a work. These have served as touchstones or charm stones, elders, wilderness guides, guardian angels. They weren’t there to be imitated or copied but to provoke, definitely, and sometimes comfort.

Over the coming year, I’ll present one a week. They’ll run alphabetically – by first name, just to shake up expectations.

Feel free to name your own personal top writers in the comments as we go. If you’re a reader, one name will lead to another.

Onward!

How to really play a Strauss waltz

Most conductors try to make it melodious and strictly in time, constrained by starched shirts and gowns. Seated audiences typically go for that tuneful approach, not that humming along is approved.

What I find more compelling and exciting, though, is when the performance is filled with bubbles, like champagne, and a tad tipsy. One dance partner stepping on the other’s toes. Even better, when there’s some tension between, say, the brass and the strings, with a hint of freedom within the beats, the way one dance partner is a hair ahead or behind the other. Yeah, a little swing, if you will. And a little playful unpredictability.

Well, here we go, in the air approaching another new year.

Opera fans have their memories, but few are like this

Thinking about arts performance scheduling and audiences has had me recalling some of the first operas I attended.

They were at the Cincinnati Zoo, at the corner of Erkenbrecher and Vine.

Don’t laugh. The performances were top-flight. The Cincinnati Summer Opera, as it was commonly known, was informally considered the summer home of New York’s Met, and it provided seasonal employment for members of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra.

The company had an impressive pavilion on the grounds, and visiting the animals before watching the singers was part of the experience, if you allowed yourself time. I especially remember being amused by the monkey island antics at intermission. And many of the singers, so I’ve read, humorously came to think of themselves as a special kind of animal.

Especially notable was the first time you heard a roving peacock screech. It sounded like somebody was being murdered and could happen at any time during a performance. Veteran singers used to wait to see if newbies could maintain their composure when the cry rang through the theater. In the opera world, this was an inside joke and a rite of passage, at least for those who passed the test.

I’ve been trying to remember how long the season ran, but there were usually four performances a week – one production on Thursday and Saturday, and another on Friday and Sunday, if I have it right. In the late ‘60s, that spanned six to eight weeks, best as I can recall.

Think of that – 12 to 16 different productions each year. Only a few big houses in the world surpass that.

But at its height, there were 18 different offerings over 61 performances in a ten-week season. Where did that many operagoers come from out in Ohio and neighboring Kentucky and Indiana?

The tradition originated in 1920, making the Cincinnati Opera Association the second-oldest opera company in the U.S., and continued until moving into the renovated and air-conditioned Music Hall in 1972, where the season still happens each summer, though on a much different scale.