Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Regular friends of the decanter may recall my mention a couple weeks ago of the twelve year old’s  desire to sing Fiordiligi from Mozart’s Cosi fan Tutte?  Well, one of the things about this gel is that once she gets an idea in her head she doesn’t tend to let the grass grow under her feet.  Unbeknownst to me, not only did she download a performance of the opera on to her iWhateveritis™, she also hunted up an old vocal/piano score that used to be the Old Gentleman’s and had made it into my own collection of sheet musick, the better to study the words.

Thusly armed, with a big grin on her face she sidled up to me after dinner last evening and asked if we could perhaps run through a couple of the bits she’d been working up.  The first was Fiordiligi’s great piece of indignant puffery, Come Scoglio (The gel hadn’t tackled the recitative that comes just before, but I’m sure we can remedy that):

I think ol’ Gangrl dropped those voice-cracking jumps in to suggest that Fiordiligi is going just a wee bit over the top in her conventional protestations, a subtlety missed in this performance.

 Then, we went on to her lovely (and much more, well, genuine) rondo of anguish at what she’s about, Per pietá, ben mio:

Yes, I got to imitate all those nifty little horn passages in this one.

What fun! What fun to be able to bash my way through un po’ di Mozartino with the gel!  Both of us, if I may say so, have enough talent (barely enough on my part) to stumble along and, more to the point, to appreciate what we’re about.  More than once I couldn’t help thinking to myself, “Wow, we’re really….making musick!”

Of course,  I’m sure we are violating just about every canon of professional musick instruction and development by hot-dogging it like this, but so what.  If she doesn’t make the Met because of the bad habits she developed messing about with her old father in her misspent yoot, well, too bad, I suppose.