Every December is the same. Rev up, read up, throw up. Despite plenty of research of libretto and tracklistings, one of two things usually happens:

• I get everything arranged, get all the equipment set to capture the first Met broadcast of the season. I begin a flawless recording only to find that the singing "doesn't translate well." Naturally I place the blame on the bad singing. Everyone else says it's the broadcast compression. But it's like watching those awful reunions of Real World cast members, where someone objects to some episode with, "I didn't really say that" and then the black girl goes, "Yes you really did." So-and-so may sound good in the house, but what we're hearing on the broadcasts is what's really coming out of the mouths of those on stage. And what comes out of their mouths makes its way onto a tape or CD that I've created, and I get really anxious and regretful that I spent my time on such filth.
• I can't seem to get my sh*t together or can only get some of it together. Meanwhile, an absolutely unforgettable performance is taking place. And no matter how far away that showstopping aria is, I just can't find the proper cables or a good signal. I miss my chance, fumbling like a highschool freshman with some chick's bra strap. No recording, partial recording, bad recording. I suck.

Today something else happened—a little combination of both. So many semi-quasi-pseudo-high-tech-ish options nowadays, you know. A little freeware software, some digging around. I was ready. A little flub on my part left me with a recording of only a little of the first half of the broadcast. Not a big deal, since almost all of the singing was disappointing. And what a shame; there's something exotic about Vespri—the music, the Lifetime TV based-on-a-true-story flavor of it. Luckily, Sieglinde was liveblogging the peformance for all who never want to forget every excruciating but hilarious moment. Then, after a cute intermission with talk of sex changes and the contextually incontinent Peter Allen, everyone came back to the stage for Acts IV and V with noticeably more grace and gusto than before. And no matter the problems in the voices elsewhere [Radvanovsky's low notes playing peek-a-boo, uncharacteristic voice movements from Ramey, barking from Nucci, and pinching from Casanova], everything was distilled to near perfection with Sondra's moving "Arrigo, ah parli a un core."

MP3 Download Sondra Radvanovsky - "Arrigo, ah parli a un core."
Zipped MP3 [128 kbps] | 5.78 MB

Arrigo! ah! parli a un core
Già pronto al perdonare;
Il mio più gran dolore
Era doverti odiare!
Un'aura di contento
Or calma il mio martir
Io t'amo! e quest'accento
Fa lieto il mio morir!
Gli odi ci fûr fatali
Al cor che indarno spera:
Di sangue i tuoi natali
Poser tra noi barriera!
Addio! ne attende il cielo!
Addio! mi serba fè!
Io moro! e il mortal velo
Spoglio, pensando a te.

This was impassioned, intelligent singing, and anyone listening in is just eavesdropping on the plaintive whispers between Radvanovsky and Frédéric Chaslin's baton. Clearly one audience member heard something that the rest of us didn't, as evidenced by the ranchero hoot 'n' holler just before the applause. Is this one for Charlie's Madness? The bolero left a lot to be desired in terms of accuracy of the ornaments and the actual quality of the pitches [Good riddance, chest voice! Good afternoon, ye frightening high E-natural!]. Still, imagine experiencing this in the house this aria [this opera, for that matter] that is almost never performed and seems only to appear on a few recital discs [Take these children to school, Renée. Maria? Um, Rosa, f*ck yes.]. But, haw: still a thrill [anyone else dare to quote Jody Watley in an opera weblog?]… and clearly the audience loved it.

Zipped MP3 [128 kbps] | 4.15 MB

Mercè, dilette amiche,
di quei leggiadri fior;
il caro dono è immagine
del vostro bel candor!
Oh! fortunato il vincolo
che mi prepara amore,
se voi recate pronube
voti felici al core!
mercè del don, ah! sì!
O caro sogno, o dolce ebbrezza!
d'ignoto amor mi balza il cor!
Celeste un'aura già respiro,
che tutti i sensi inebbriò.

O piagge di Sicilia
risplenda un dì seren,
assai vendette orribili
ti laceraro il sen!
Di speme colma e immemore
di quanto il cor soffri,
iil giorno del mio giubil sia
di tue glorie il dì.
Gradisco il don di questi fior, ah sì!
O caro sogno, o dolce ebbrezza!
d'ignoto amor mi balza il cor!
Celeste un'aura già respiro,
che tutti i sensi m'inebbriò.

Now, I hesitate to say it, but I believe I can get everything in order to bring a proper review of next week's Tannhäuser. Of course, Ms. Lovelace has become the final word on Debbie… or at least unofficial spokesperson for the 80[-ish?] pounds. Stategic press conferences, one-liner t-shirts [OMG, Brit!!!], and workout videotape to follow. EDIT: Vilaine Fille has much more to say on the Vespri. As always, well-thunk and well-said. I, on the otherhand, tend to be terse, with a low threshhold for sub-par singing. I don't go for the analytical, critical attack. I just go for the attack. You sing or you suck, yea or nay. I guess that's why she's the writer, and I'm the singer.