Listening to Regine Crespin.

The great French soprano died recently--at the age of 80, of liver cancer.

So I'm listening to her tonight, as the fog creeps in over San Francisco.

I put my LP of her sublime Rosenkavalier on mp3 for myself. And I have CD's of her--live "sur scene" (onstage) in Mozart and other things, and also, of course, her famous epoch-making recording of Berlioz and Ravel.

(Someone did a nice fan site that has lots of audio, too.)

God, first Bubbles and now this.

Sills did commentary for a simulcast of I Puritani this winter. She just had to open her mouth to crack everyone up. She was just so fresh and real and direct, no matter what she did or said.

And apparently Regine's memoir is very, um, frank, too.

And don't we love diva's with potty mouths? I do.

Sirius is playing their live version of Sills' (and Verret's) sublime Rossini nonsense. I'll listen to it every time, too. The Rossini is not far from just scales, and the story--well, serious Rossini is really over-the-top, but the vocalism is unbelievable.

Rest in peace, my dear dead wondergirls.

--E. R. O'Neill