Claude Monet 1874, Amsterdam

 

"Chandu the Magician" by William Cameron Menzies (1932)

After I enjoyed watching Netflix's "Hollywood", I moved on to allegedly popular "Stranger Things" but there was something so derivative about it - apparently this was a homage to both Steven Spielberg and Stephen King, which means I was very familiar with the story frame about kids on the bicycles running away from dangerous secret agents. I have seen shows like these, in fact I grew up watching shows like these so suddenly this was just too annoying and I gave up after two episodes. In a spur of the moment, I knew intuitively what would work and what would make me happy - one of those wonderful old black & white classics. 

And I was perfectly right. I wanted a glorious escapism, the opening credits waved by magicians hands because the hero of this movie was Frank Chandler known as Chandu and he is a perfect gentleman who somehow acquired occult knowledge from yogi in India. He is bowing to them, they are bowing to him, than he walks trough the fire to show them how much he has learned from them and everybody is happy. But - there is always but - there is a danger somewhere in Cairo and yogi are sending Chandu there to take care of great threat to humanity. You see, its not yogi but destiny that sends Chandu there because his family is there, threatened by mad Bela Lugosi and to add some spice, Lugosi also kidnaps beautiful Egyptian Princess Nadji (who looks nothing like Egyptian and wears jodhpurs) who is Chandu's old flame. It is all wonderfully silly and naive, with a lot of old-fashioned special effects that must have been thrilling in 1930s but are naturally just charming today - I have seen enough of these kinds of movies to recognise every cliché ("oh mother!", "oh father!", Middle Easterners are evil, British must be good, etc) and its still great to watch because it is so cartoonish and wholesome. Because the roots of Chandu are actually in than-popular radio show, its all very much like a pulp fiction, each scene motivated by the next, lots of cliffhangers and characters basically being one-dimensional - well, never mind. I thought it was wonderful and loved every single moment of it. Honestly, when it comes to cinema, I love nothing better than old black & white movies. I do seriously think that the scenery here might in the future inspire the adventures of Indiana Jones. 

Old Zagreb

In my previous post I ranted a bit about the difference between my grey hometown and the current home location, however to be fair I must admit that even my hometown - neglected as it is - has its charm, its just that I am unfortunately immune to it. Zagreb was always kind of "little Vienna" and later in life, during my subsequent visits to Austria I noticed that we picked up very much the same architecture, food, probably even the same way of living and passion for perpetual coffee-bars hopping, people watching, etc. Strudel, schnitzel, pancakes, goulash, you name it, we have it all. I do enjoy finding interesting historical pictures of Zagreb, since they give a completely different perspective on city's growth and I am able to recognise the locations - however, this is just a little hobby from a distance,the city does not look like this anymore. 

The earliest documents always mention the fact that city grew around two different (and very competitive) clerical centres, situated on a nearby hills: Gradec and Kaptol who actually fought against each other on a place remembered today as a "bloody bridge" (the street on that spot is actually named like this). Gradec was surrounded with several city walls of which only one is still in existence, so called Stone Gate from 13th century, that eventually became a pilgrimage spot for catholics who affectionately light the candles under the Virgin Mary painting for hundreds of years. I remember that even as a kid I would hear the expression "we must light the candle on the Stone Gate" if you really wanted something badly, for example before the school exam. A really pretty old classic novel was focused on this particular spot and the heroine Dora is immortalised as a sculpture next to the Stone Gate. 

Kaptol on the other hand, was always about ancient catholic district and a cathedral that was perpetually and forever surrounded with scaffoldings. Through the centuries there were several buildings on this spot, the only one really remembered was gone in 1880. earthquake and after that a glorious gothic cathedral was built here, this gothic cathedral is genuinely a sight to behold and it is a symbol of the city ever since. Interestingly enough, the old church was surrounded by a exciting walls that I have never ever seen in my life so its thrilling to find old photographs, it looks totally unrecognisable. 

As a kid I grew in the poor neighbourhood between these two ancient hills and while nowadays people find it all very romantic, believe me there was nothing pretty about it. All I remember was the poverty, drunken neighbours, ladies of the night and the constant smell of damp - my street was built above the old stream that is probably running somewhere deep underneath. There was a time when as a daydreaming teenager I did find it romantic, but I outgrew that period and don't find anything romantic about poverty anymore. In fact, I dislike even visiting that area when I'm around - I never go there purposely and actively avoiding going there. Apparently it is a very big tourist attraction nowadays and it looks completely different, with zillion of coffee bars, boutiques, etc. I do like discovering old black & white pictures from decades ago, but watching them from a safe distance. I am happy where I am right now. And so proud of myself that I made it out of there. 

Sunday morning 20/06/2021

 

Blast from the past

 

I have just stumbled upon this photo - there is a online group devoted to old pictures of my hometown and it is always fascinating to see some really ancient black & white pictures from 1920s and such, but what I do find extremely annoying is when people passionately claim that everything used to be better in their youth, the food tasted better, the girls were prettier, the sun was shinier, the air was fresher, etc - add to this another claim, that Zagreb is the prettiest city in the world and many of them could never in a million years live anywhere else. And than they post some apocalyptic photo that completely contradict this claim and it is exactly the place I remember. This picture - showing my old neighbourhood precisely as it was when I was a boy - was very highly praised and nostalgically commented as "the good old times" and it just made me shudder. I have fought tooth & nail my whole life just to somehow escape it and find my footing elsewhere. 

At the age of fifty I have managed finally to turn a new page and open a new chapter, exactly where i always wanted to be. In a city that is beautiful even in the rain, where each street carries some interesting history and where multi-racial, bi-lingual society is accepted and welcomed, not criticised. I have never felt this kind of excitement when I walk trough my hometown, the way I feel here. Yes, I understand its all about the perception and they probably have their share of frustrations and problems like anywhere else in the world, but I am not aware of them - being a foreigner, I am able to switch off, something that I can never do in Zagreb, where I am aware of even the smallest difference in a spoken language. So now I am where my heart feels good and often still can't believe it finally came true. Seeing these old pictures is something that stop me dead in the tracks, I look at it and can't believe people feel nostalgic about these times. And that I had pulled out of it alive. 

Long walks and discoveries: Sloterkade and Ferry House

A few months ago I had finally find a courage to move to another address, even though the dark cloud of Corona epidemic and its possible effect on economy, market, jobs and therefore my financial situation was constantly present but I decided enough is enough and I won't live in fear and worry all the time. So I moved to another part of town - almost tearfully, as I genuinely enjoyed my long walks in the historical areas - and would you know, I survived perfectly well, in fact I simply discovered other places.

To tell the truth, my new neighbourhood is all-modern and there is not very much to see concerning beautiful old houses, but the buildings are very comfortable (unlike the creaky, shaky, mice infested old canal houses) and I am actually a walking distance from a beautiful lake surrounded by shadowy meadows so I got accustomed to piece and quiet very fast. However, I was constantly gravitating towards the city and one day my walks brought me to a beautiful canal called Sloterkade - this is a spot where you literary cross the bridge between the old, historical centre and the new part of town. On my side is the world of a high-rise, cement buildings and across the water are charmingly preserved old buildings. However, apparently there are still some beautiful old houses somehow surviving the attack of new urban development. In fact, locals are very open about not allowing new buildings here so on the canal itself, you can find several little jewels that were here long ago, untouched.

One of them - and first one I have discovered, laughing out loud from sheer pleasure - is Ferry House dating from 1634. when the whole neighbourhood was a little village outside of town. What is now The Schinkel neighbourhood, used to be spot where travellers to town were spending the night in taverns and one of the most famous was this little house. The whole area was eventually added to Amsterdam in 1921. and this little jewel was apparently neglected for the decades, but than lovingly restored in 1965. and proudly displays the marker of The Hendrick de Keyser Association which means that is a nationally protected monument. It is also the main office of group called Friends of the Amsterdam City  that takes care for protection of historical, old buildings. I am actually genuinely moved every time I see this plague on the old houses, because without passion and love for history these old buildings would have just been erased like so many others in town, but thankfully they are preserved and pronounced national monuments, so they can't be replaced with a modern apartment blocks. 

"Promising Young Woman" by Emerald Fennell (2020)

Yay, after eight months of forced lockdown, cinemas are opened again. I have faithfully supported cinemas and was paying my monthly membership because I felt its the right thing to do - many of us did it and everybody I spoke to did very much same thing, we felt that we have to keep empty cinemas going otherwise there will bot nothing to return later. And the very first movie I wanted to see was  "Promising Young Woman" with a very interesting trailer and some positive buzz around it + there was a slight scandal with Variety critic questioning is the main actress hot enough to play this role. (It backfired on him)

After the movie, I just love going for a drink with my cinema-pal and discussing what we have just seen - for me this is the best part of the whole ritual, we go carefully over everything and give it our own rating. She is a bit younger so I explained to her that there is already a long tradition of female psychopaths: from "The Hand That Rocks the Cradle" and "Fatal Attraction" to "Single White Female" and "Misery" (where Kathy Bates won "Oscar") and sweet faced Carey Mulligan is up there with the best of them: just like a genuine psycho, she can switch between sweetness and utter disdain. There is a scene where she walks in the street and some guys are catcalling at her - she stops and just stares at them, long enough to make them feel uncomfortable and alarmed. 

Strangely, the movie is advertised as "black comedy" and I strongly oppose that stupidity - its even insulting to call it a comedy because it is a very dark psychological thriller with a extremely serious theme, so calling it a comedy misses the point completely. Unless you are one of those people who think that "boys will be boys" and "girls get what they deserve" - which is what this movie is all about. 

Its about how we are condition to accept that boys are not to blame because bad girls made them misbehave and this maddening, perpetual excuse how we "can't ruin guys life because of some girl" - this kind of thinking goes on forever and it just shows how deeply ingrained it is in everybody's way of thinking. Mulligan lives a double life here, daytime selling coffee is a little coffee shop, evenings hunting the bars and pretending to be dead drunk, where guys take her home and try to abuse - she is extremely scary once she reveals that she is not drunk at all. There is a very clever idea of casting fresh-faced guys as all these nasty men, just to enlarge our perception of what we think of "good guys"  and "bad girls" who were asking for trouble. I thought it was brilliant how it forces the audience to look at their own hypocrisy and face that its not so easy if it happens to your own sister or daughter. 

"Hollywood" TV Series (2020)

In general, I am not the one who gratefully accepts recommendations - if you mention something nonchalantly, I might be intrigued but most of the time people tend to be really forceful and pour avalanche of titles (and opinions) all at once, like its something I must experience or else. Which than consequently, produces completely opposite effect and subconsciously I don't want to what is demanded from me. It is not just going against the main stream but also making my own way trough the world and finding what makes me happy, not following orders. Give me a handful of books that I have to read and I probably won't but if you just mention a title, I might. With TV series is even worse because I am not a TV person at all and have lived more than a decade perfectly fine without following TV programmes - I am a person who goes to cinema or read  a book - however, when two completely unrelated friends both recommended the same TV series, it became obvious that this is something that might appeal to me. So I decided to have a look. 

"Hollywood" is a heavily fictionalised account of post-WW2 atmosphere in movie industry, with several characters struggling to make their way up, trough all sorts of obstacles, prejudices and machinations. It is also a mix of real historical people and fiction - young actors who were pumping gas and servicing customers as a gigolos actually existed, as well as some producers and agents who were just given different names in the TV show. Celebrities of the times also appear - Noël Coward, Cole Porter, Tallulah Bankhead, Vivien Leigh, Eleanor Roosevelt, Hattie McDaniel and many more have cameo roles and in a way what makes this very original and interesting is that now we started to daydream and improvise on historical facts - just like Quentin Tarantino decided to completely re-write real facts and made Sharon Tate surviving her murder in "Once upon a time in Hollywood" , this series is a full blown big budget extravaganza about WHAT IF - what if people were different, braver and closer to our modern sensibilities. Of course we all know that previous generations lived in their own times and Hollywood of 1940s and 1950s was the kingdom with its own rules - there were no places for ethnic minorities, gays, etc. No matter how talented they might have been, beauties like Lena Horne and Anna May Wong were never allowed the main roles because studios dared not to break the ice of perpetual racism. So this TV series kind of apologises and creates the story with a happy ending.

It could be that I was ready to watch something and that "Hollywood" simply caught me in a good mood. It could also be that is really well made, with a tons of stars and talent. But I guess my friends were right and this was simply something that appealed to me. I reacted like a perfect audience and it was a pure escapism - I giggled, laughed, clapped hands and eventually even cried later as the story turned darker and some sweet, innocent young people got habitually abused by unscrupulous producers and agents. "Casting couch" was accepted way of opening the doors and this whole sexual premise of the story might be very entertaining to some, but I just found it sad. There is a for example a character of a young kid who tries to break into Hollywood but he is so fresh, sweetly innocent and genuinely good that its heartbreaking to see what he must go trough before he is "discovered" and re-packaged as Rock Hudson. I am binging on this TV series but unfortunately it has only seven episodes so I must take it easy and enjoy it slowly, hopefully there will be a second season. 

"The Second Lady" by Irving Wallace (1970)

As a teenager I was omnivorous reader, the type who would visit several different public libraries in hope that another one has different, better choice - they all had shelves full of best-selling authors like Harold Robbins and Sidney Sheldon who always had gripping stories and lots of sex. Coming from a greyness of Eastern Europe with economy collapsing and forced austerity, these stories about cutthroat movie agents, bitchy starlets and backstabbing millionaires represented another world to me - it was pure escapism, perhaps completely unrealistic picture of "America" and to this day I can't tell Robbins from Sheldon, in my head they merged into one big, guilty pleasure. I can probably safely add Jackie Collins to that list. Its not that I specially searched for these particular authors - its just that they were very popular and available so naturally I read their books, long before I had anything like taste. I would visit public library every Saturday with my school friend and we would happily look out for some new Agatha Christie or any of the best sellers - eventually I moved on to something different but she kept on borrowing same old pulp fiction until we stopped being friends. It made me realise that we are not so close after all. 

I have mentioned this because somewhere along the line a book by Irving Wallace came my way and I clearly remember it because it was extremely salacious story - "The Fan Club" was basically a pornography packaged as a serious novel and some flimsy story was there just as an excuse for more of the graphic description of sex. It left a deep impression of me as a teenager but I never had desire to re-read it or even to return to this author, until recently I saw description about this novel and thought perhaps its the time for a change of pace reading wise, maybe I should read some light fiction for entertainment, after all. 

The story itself is quite gripping and it kept me going until I finished the very last page, so as far as escapism goes, I guess it serves the purpose. Its a political thriller where KGB and White House try to outmanoeuvre each other with double agents and spies on top of double agents and spies. Russians replace the US first lady with identical imposter who was trained for this task and now they have a spy in a president's bedroom. 

It is all fairly interesting and complicated and I loved how Wallace casually mentions squares and the streets in Moscow, knowing that he probably poured over city maps just to get this right. What spoils it for me is a constant insistence on graphic description of sex - obviously this was selling books back than and Wallace happily obliged but my God what a bore - it is a part of the plot, because Russians must find out how the president's wife behave in bed - its just that I am not a teenager anymore and this kind of stuff has no appeal for me anymore, I have actually skipped the whole darn chapter because it was going on and on about "jackhammering" hips and "rotating" asses. The rest of the book was just fine and I find the plot gripping but man did I hated this completely ham-fisted style. If anything, it reminded me on how much I have changed and hopefully developed in the meantime. 

First vaccine

Well, that is behind me now, how relieved and grateful I am!

Initially the vaccination process in The Netherlands went excruciatingly slowly (while some types were being too dangerous and eliminated completely from the market) but recently it gained the speed and before you know it, I was able to apply for vaccination online. For some reason my home address did not matter at all because I got  choice of three completely random locations so me being me, I went for the randomest and selected the place I never saw before. Everything went smoothly because I had a chauffeur so we were both amused with little town Purmerend which is only a short drive from Amsterdam but it feels like another country (there are quite a few little satellites around and they all look very comfortable). 

It went very smoothly, like all the accounts I have heard there were quite a few volunteers keeping the tracks and pointing in the right direction - vaccination itself was so short and underwhelming that I actually didn't understand it was already over and done. "Is that it?" I asked. My life is a Peggy Lee song. I mean, there are people fussing so much about it and I am constantly reading about enormous resistance to almost any effort that comes from government (you know, "they") not to mention that some of my co-workers are passionately supporting conspiracy theories and here am I, getting vaccinated and it takes less than a moment. I had to wait some time in a waiting room just to make sure I won't drop dead immediately afterwards but obviously everything was perfectly fine.

In fact, not only I had no side effects whatsoever but I got really hungry - my appetite really exploded, probably because I was a bit nervous and now suddenly felt relaxed. We went around looking for some restaurant int his funny little town and stumbled upon a gloriously picturesque square that was previously hidden behind the little Dutch houses - you really have to search for it, but it turned out beautiful and full of people - it was a medieval cattle market that now houses rows and rows of fancy bars and restaurants. I mean, never in a million years you would expect such a joy in a otherwise quiet and boring little town. We had beautiful dinner and I drunk wine after wine, returned home quite thrilled with this discovery. But the strangest of all was this morning's discovery - the name of the street where I had a dinner last night was exactly the same as the street I have previously lived. 

Diva overload

 

I watched from a far this year's Croatian music awards "Porin" - inaugurated in 1994. right after Croatia became independent country and it is a local version of "Grammy" but unfortunately it is a small country so awards seems to go in the circles and its always same faces congratulating each other, occasional posthumous award and three recording companies patting themselves at the back. I know this is not what anybody wants to hear, but the size of homegrown market means that this is neither big, nor important really - it is what happens between several towns. I grew up in much, much bigger Yugoslavia  where market was six times bigger, competition far more stronger and getting a national award meant achieving actual success across the borders - in comparison, our tiny "Porin" is like a children's garden party. Oh well. 

Two veteran singers who were genuine superstars back in the days of Yugoslavia and are still around were photographed together - I find it very interesting because there are not many photographs of Tereza Kesovija (82) and Josipa Lisac (71) together, although they must have shared same stages, musicians, colleagues and surely same lyrics writer (Ivica Krajač) during 50 years in music. They both created their own individual paths and enjoyed impressive careers, perfectly comfortable in their own orbits and always talking respectfully about each other. Perhaps this is a sign of a true superstars who are relaxed and don't hold a grudge, unlike some of their contemporaries who were never even close to their success but still complain about not getting their due. Oh, the curse of backup singers ...

Both ladies were huge superstars back in 1960s and 1970s when I was growing up, so they had to establish themselves amongst far bigger competition. While Lisac eventually re-designed herself as the first local rock diva, Kesovija also balanced a French career together with homegrown and just a few days ago French government awarded her with Officier des Arts et des Lettres (she was already a Chevalier two decades ago, around the same time as Philip Glass, Tina Turner and Yohji Yamamoto). Its wonderful to see them happy and still going strong. 

Back from Hollywood

I have just spent a wonderful week in a very elegant place, taking care for luxurious place of my friends while they were on the vacation - we do this almost annually now, when they leave and ask me to be so kind to take care of their pets & plants. The last time I was "in Hollywood" happened just before the pandemic broke and I remember informing them from here how is the situation going on (they were somewhere in Caribbean and completely unaware what was going on), in fact I was so worried not to transfer anything unwittingly to them, that I left them the key in a mailbox. Which was very thoughtful from me as I got Corona not soon after that and might perhaps even had it for a while before realising it. However, during my previous time "in Hollywood" I had a busy working schedule so it wasn't like I was really enjoying it, it was more a change of sleeping arrangements than anything else. This time it was different because I actually had enough time to rest and do nothing so it really felt as a vacation - it was wonderful to have the whole space for myself, my own music playing all over the place without concern do I bother anyone, parakeets were left outside of the cage and doing whatever they wanted in their corner of the upper floor, I would feed the fishes once a day and that was it. I had not switched on a TV even once. It just didn't appeal to me - I had my own computer but even so, wasn't interested in any movies, because I have returned to the reading. 

And this is interesting: why did it took me so long? All my life, since I know myself, I was a passionate reader and also loved writing my diary. But since I have re-located in Amsterdam two years ago, something has happened that I simply didn't enjoy these two life-long habits anymore. First, my backpack was stolen on arrival to Amsterdam in the train so there was a certain drama and heartbreak involved in being so connected with something material that can easily be lost or stolen, like why even bother with a diary when everything can disappear. (Even worse, my Teddy Bear was stolen and I will never get over it, even though I got two of his brothers as a replacement). As for books, instead of escaping into my beloved world of literature, I got distracted with the articles on the internet. And no matter how much I tried, the reading itself just didn't appeal to me - it was like my brain suddenly had a short attention span. I would collect and pile up books on my nightstand and they would just collect dust there. 

Eventually at the start of this year I forced myself into reading again - it was a conscious decision and wisely I refrained from any "must do" lists that bothered me previously. I always had some imaginary "must do" lists of classics that were never a pleasure and were always just a chore - I might one day return to them out of the sheer masochism but for now I am looking the other way and decided that life is too short to waste it on Moby Dick - we only live once so I might as well read out of the joy and pleasure and pure escapism. So I started the year with Kate Summerscale and her real-life ghost story, which was a little bit dry but god enough to keep me going. And than naturally not one, but two books about pop music, which was pure pleasure. Than a book about Aliens written by Paul Wallis whom I love watching on youtube - that makes a unimpressive number of four books in five months but what is really a good news is that I didn't need a break but continued right further with a political thriller by Irving Wallace and have other three books on a backburner, so it appears I am actually back on the track with reading. Same with writing my diary. And I am delighted that this inner balance just returned by itself, without me doing anything about it - obviously I pampered myself with a long walks and enough reflective times to finally come in touch with my inner self and who I really am.  

"Escaping from Eden" by Paul Wallis (2020)

"Though I had only ever read Genesis as a creation account, understanding the Clovis event made me consider for the first time that what we have in the pages of Genesis 1 may be not a creation account at all, but a story of recovery"

I was familiar with Paul Wallis because of his youtube channel, where he discusses theories about Alien civilisations, parallel universe, esoteric knowledge and world mysteries in general - he is a engaging speaker with honest, open face so I have listened him carefully for a while before finally dived in this book. At one point he admits that sometime in his youth he was intrigued with writing by Erich von Däniken and sure, in a way all the modern readers of this type of books are Däniken's children, he broke the ice and took the criticism like a champ, just to have generations and generations continuing his work. So if you are reading this, dear reader, you are probably already interested in theories about Alien influence on life on Earth - Paul Wallis is preaching to the choir here. 

Each of these books - from Däniken and Zecharia Sitchin, to Hancock and now Wallis are written by dreamers and enthusiasts - they are perhaps not 100% perfect but each of these authors comes with another grain of idea, another spark of imagination worth pondering. Wallis discusses a lot the mythology and religion of humans around the globe, going about bi-polar nature of Yahweh and how it make much more sense to think of beings rather than one being. What stopped me in the tracks was his idea that perhaps the explosion of Clovis comet (that almost erased life on Earth) was what human race remembers in the oldest mythology and religion - and the subsequent recovery from that dangerous times is actually the beginning of the oldest creation stories. Of course, Wallis tributes this recovery to Alien influence and help from outside, which makes sense if you are looking at the old scripts and think of "creator". 

The rest is more or less stirring the pot of interesting theories but it all goes back to Däniken - he should really be more recognised and celebrated, instead of being ridiculed as a famously misguided amateur. After all, it all started with him. Wallis himself has a serious background in religion (he is a Theological Educator in Australia) so towards the end he gets a little bit lost in long-winded discussion about the Bible - this might sound interesting to him but its in fact a bit complicated for layman like me who is not entirely familiar with every chapter and page. I read it with biggest pleasure in a week so this obviously appealed to me and I'm glad it relighted my passion for reading. 

Song of the Day

"La Diva" by Natalie Choquette ‎(1995)

I have heard people talking excitedly about her, long before I have actually set my eyes on her - according to my friends, Natalie Choquette ‎gives a spectacular, unforgettable one-woman show and by all accounts it was something completely unique, however I never expected that I would actually have chance to see her performing live. And than it happened - I clearly remember browsing the Dutch newspapers (that was long before I actually started learning the language, obviously I understood some bits and pieces) and finding that she is actually going to have a concert in The Hague. So off, to The Hague I went, I think with two friends who were thrilled as I was.

Canadian soprano Natalie Choquette ‎is completely unique artist in a current classical music world because she has discovered a intriguing and I must say delightful manner to market herself - she is a comic diva. Obviously, there is a vocal training, talent and experience + natural gift for acting, so where hundreds of others would swoon and faint and do the usual prima donna shtick, Choquette creates characters like a spoiled diva, a Russian matryoshka doll, a olympic sportswoman, a beggar lady who in a moment turns into a sex kitten and so on. Each of her song had another character and not only that she hugely entertained the audience, she also soared to the ceiling with a magnificent voice so it was a evening of warmhearted laughter and also a beautiful music.  

Instantly, I bought this album as a memento on a unforgettable evening - apparently she has recorded much, much more both before and after this one, a quick check on her website details that Choquette is busy as ever. It seems she is loyal to her Canadian recording company, which perhaps explains why she is not more promoted but on the other hand, she has a great reputation as a live performer so that makes her always welcome on the stages around the world. The material on this album does not give away her comical talent - this is pure classical music, performed seriously like arias from "Faust", "Samson et Dalila", "Rigoletto", "Porgy and Bess" and naturally the most popular of them all, "Carmen". I have noted that she actually sounds much better in real live performance but this can also be because she is excellent live performer and there is a beauty, joy and excitement in actual performance that cannot be translated in the studio.