[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]"No one's questioning now. This is the first time in five years a classical
performance has generated the level of enthusiasm that approached no, it
almost exceeded that of gospel music in the Cannon Center. Word's gone out,
though. The remaining tickets were gone in less than a half hour after the box
office opened this morning.
"She can sing, and he can play, and it's just that simple. Of course, it
doesn't hurt that she's beautiful. Here ... take a look."
The image shifted from the announcer to one of Llysette before the
interviewers.
"Is there any message behind your concert, Miss duBoise?"
"Message?" Llysette laughed. "The beauty of the music will last when we are
gone."
"How do you like Deseret?"
"Many of the people, they are friendly. I have not seen much. I have prepared
for the concert."
Llysette's smiling image remained on the screen, frozen, as the commentator
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added, "For those of you who haven't any idea of how beautiful this music
truly is, here's a brief excerpt."
Of course, the excerpt was from Perkins's Fragments of a Conversation, but
even over the degraded videolink speakers, Llysette sounded gorgeous.
The one news announcer looked to the other. "She seems very gracious."
"She is. After she sang last night, she signed programs and talked to admirers
waiting outside in the snow. And if you think all entertainers are elitists,
she walked that's right, walked back to her hotel. No limousines. If you
haven't seen her and Doktor Perkins, beg a ticket if you can. You sure can't
buy one now."
"Oh." Llysette's voice was somehow very small.
I turned and flicked off the set, then walked toward her, but she sat in the
other armchair before I could give her a hug.
"Are you all right?"
"To get ready for the master class I must."
"That, my lady, didn't exactly answer the question."
She smiled, wistfully, sadly, and with restrained happiness all at once. "So
many I ... we ... would have liked to see this, and now it happens in a
foreign land. Only you understand, and that is sad."
"Your father?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Your mother?" I didn't ask about the deacon Carolynne's deacon. I knew.
"She loved me. She did not understand." Llysette stood.
I did hug her tightly and for a moment, we clung together. Then she blotted
her eyes. "Still I must ready myself for the classes."
"What do you do at these classes?"
"I must listen, and then I must offer instructions. You will see."
She dressed, and I showered and dressed, and we were ready about the same
time.
We walked the short distance to the complex, and I held the map in my hand,
occasionally noting that the Danites continued to trail us. How were they
different from the Spazi? I wasn't sure, only that it felt like we'd been
shadowed for half our lives when, in reality, it had been something like two
months. Or had it? Weren't we shadowed by government most of our lives, one
way or the other?
Outside, the sky was mostly clear, but the wind blew, far more than in New
Bruges, but not quite so cold. Llysette still shivered within her coat.
An oval-faced woman was waiting in the lower hall outside the lecture room,
neither pacing nor totally composed but worrying her lower lip. A smile of
relief crossed her face as she stepped forward. Her long blue skirt nearly
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swept the floor, but I could see that she wore stylish boots that matched the
belt that was mostly covered by the short suit jacket. Her cream blouse was
silklike.
"I'm Joanne Axley, professor of voice at Deseret University."
"Llysette duBoise," I said for my diva, "and I'm her husband and escort, Johan
Eschbach."
"I'm so glad you could spend the time with us, Doktor duBoise. I've limited
this group to graduate students in voice." She smiled apologetically. "Doktor
Perkins did prevail on me to let several of his graduate students sit in as
well."
"I would be happy to hear all, and offer what I might." Llysette's smile was
professional, her voice slightly warmer than cordial.
The procedure was relatively simple. A student got up. Llysette was given a
copy of the music and a little time to glance over it. Then the student went
over beside the piano and sang one song and then stood and waited for
Llysette's comments.
Llysette wasn't at a loss for words, not in teaching.
"Your dipthongs, you are letting them change the pitch."
The blonde young woman nodded.
"When you shift to the second vowel, the pitch changes. Stay on the first
vowel.... Touch lightly only the second."
That got another nod, but I wondered about the comprehension.
"One more time...."
The blonde cleared her throat gently and then sang.
"Non! ... Like this...."
Llysette sang the same phrase, and even I could sense the difference.
After a time, Llysette gestured toward the next student. The dark-haired
girl/woman almost trembled as she stood beside the piano. I could tell that
the student's tone was good, better than that of most of the students Llysette
had at Vanderbraak State, but there was no life in the song.
Apparently Llysette agreed. "Stop!" My singer shook her head sadly. "What does
this verse mean?"
"It's in Italian."
"Ca, we know. But what do the words mean? Tell me with your own words ... what
does this mean?"
"Ah ... Doktor ... she's singing about how she is sick and everything is
hopeless."
"Do you sound hopeless?" asked Llysette with a smile.
The dark-haired student looked confused. In the background, Joanne Axley
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nodded, and I understood one of the reasons for master classes. After a while
students tune out their instructors. When someone famous and important says
it ... then the teacher sometimes regains credence.
"You must sing the words and the emotions. A voice, it is not a piano. It is
not ... a drum."
The next student had trouble with something that Llysette called "the
anticipation of the consonant."
"The body ... it knows the next sound is the consonant, and it desires to sing
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plkajaszek.htw.pl
