Doom is relative. Lately, my colleagues in the British press have been lamenting the decline of London’s musical scene; John Allison, the editor of Opera magazine, writes that in the wake of Brexit the city “feels like much less of a great cultural capital.” Yet a recent three-day visit to London left me envious of the riches on offer. I first went to Royal Albert Hall to attend the Last Night of the Proms, the culmination of the BBC’s summer concert jamboree; the towering Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen thundered forth “Rule, Britannia” while five thousand spectators struggled to match her in volume. The following morning, at Wigmore Hall, I saw the Doric Quartet play Schubert’s G-Major Quartet before a capacity crowd. Finally, I took in a new production of Wagner’s “Rheingold” at the Royal Opera. If I’d been able to replicate myself, I could also have heard the tenor Lawrence Brownlee, the soprano Asmik Grigorian, and the pianists Mitsuko Uchida, Jonathan Biss, and Paul Lewis. And London’s half-dozen orchestras had not even started their regular seasons.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der October 02, 2023-Ausgabe von The New Yorker.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der October 02, 2023-Ausgabe von The New Yorker.
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YULE RULES
“Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point.”
COLLISION COURSE
In Devika Rege’ first novel, India enters a troubling new era.
NEW CHAPTER
Is the twentieth-century novel a genre unto itself?
STUCK ON YOU
Pain and pleasure at a tattoo convention.
HEAVY SNOW HAN KANG
Kyungha-ya. That was the entirety of Inseon’s message: my name.
REPRISE
Reckoning with Donald Trump's return to power.
WHAT'S YOUR PARENTING-FAILURE STYLE?
Whether you’re horrifying your teen with nauseating sex-ed analogies or watching TikToks while your toddler eats a bagel from the subway floor, face it: you’re flailing in the vast chasm of your child’s relentless needs.
COLOR INSTINCT
Jadé Fadojutimi, a British painter, sees the world through a prism.
THE FAMILY PLAN
The pro-life movement’ new playbook.
President for Sale - A survey of today's political ads.
On a mid-October Sunday not long ago sun high, wind cool-I was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, for a book festival, and I took a stroll. There were few people on the streets-like the population of a lot of capital cities, Harrisburg's swells on weekdays with lawyers and lobbyists and legislative staffers, and dwindles on the weekends. But, on the façades of small businesses and in the doorways of private homes, I could see evidence of political activity. Across from the sparkling Susquehanna River, there was a row of Democratic lawn signs: Malcolm Kenyatta for auditor general, Bob Casey for U.S. Senate, and, most important, in white letters atop a periwinkle not unlike that of the sky, Kamala Harris for President.