Monday, June 13, 2016

Let the Bright Seraphim

Funny the places one can find solace and inspiration.

For example, in the collaboration of a zaftig, beaming diva and the frontman of a chat-show orchestra, teaming up to bring a doubtless bemused late-night audience a slice of Handel (and of coloratura heaven).

It's times like these, after all, in which we most need to let our loud uplifted angel trumpets blow. I have angels on my mind this week, and if you think that's sentimental twaddle, well, fuck you very much.

Sorry, kids, I'm in a mood. I have a feeling many of us are.

What I'm not, however, is surprised. After everything that's happened until yesterday, until today, how can I be?   The question is, I think: what are we going to do?

Answer, as Miss Parker was wont to say, comes there none. But at least there's Sills, and Handel, and that glorious trumpet call. For right now, that will have to be enough. It's not enough.

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