Sunday Special: Singing of spring

Like everyone else in the Northeastern United States, I imagine, and legions elsewhere, I have begun to doubt the approach of spring, even as I desire it.  There is still snow on the ground here, and a few warm days have only served to sharpen the contrast with the freezing temperatures.  (At least they aren't much below freezing.)  But yesterday had warm sun with its cool breeze; and I saw the first buds on a tree this past week, and the first nubs of green bravely poking above the ground.  So here is a medieval musical miscellany to go with this changeable season:

And as an addendum of sorts: did you know that Hermann Prey (he bodes well to become a Sunday Special celebrity!) recorded some of the works of the Minnesänger?  I didn't before starting on the creation of this post, but now I do.

Sunday Special: In einem kühlen Grunde

I don't promise that this will become a regular feature, Gentle Readers, but I hope it will become a semi-regular one: tidbits of things suitable to soothing Sunday afternoons.  Many of you might say "Soothing?  This is depressing! Morbid, even!"  Ah, well... I have a hypothesis that early childhood familiarity with German Volkslieder gives one a somewhat, er, distinctive perspective on these matters.  Or, I might just be peculiar.  Either way, I think this is absolutely lovely.  Enjoy:

Tutti mi chiedono, tutti mi vogliono

The fall season may not begin for almost a month according to opera houses worldwide, but according to universities, including my own, it is well and truly upon us.  While of course I shall be continuing to obsess about opera without interruption, September may be a month of somewhat sporadic posting, as I reenter the academic arena as student and teacher.  If I can be as patient and firm as Minnie with her miners, I'll be doing well.  Getting into a routine of waking up with early-morning pinks and golds still on the brickwork, making sure my briefcase is adequately packed, notes adequately prepared for lecture and library, I've been feeling a certain amount of empathy for Figaro being pulled qua, là, su, giù.  "Ahimè," I was saying to myself, "che furia! Ahimè, che folla!"  

Is it possible not to be drawn in by the animal high spirits of Hermann Prey's Figaro?:

I'm always mildly shocked when Tito Gobbi isn't playing Scarpia... especially when he's having as much fun as here.  I love the old-Hollywood-style filming (although why a busy barber is wearing pompoms is a mystery to me): 

Watching these, I was struck by something:  Figaro is happy.  Just listen to him tra-la-la-ing!  Keeping long hours, being pulled this way and that, overwhelmed with demands... he's a happy man, who loves his work and is proud of doing it.  And I can say that too.  I need to remember that, like the barber of Seville, I am "fortunatissimo per verità."