Diamanda Galás is here for two days, performing and giving an interview. Last night's concert was amazing, with astounding piano licks and a ventriloquist's array of voices – but also almost parodic at points, with an edge of blackly camp satire I've rarely seen in her work before. I went backstage to talk to her afterwards, as I've done three or four times over the years; was gratified that she recognized me (she is, after all, a star). I told her I'd taught about her a lot this semester, and that five or six of my students were writing about her – she's always pleased with that.
Unfortunately, I also said several utterly stupid things – I always do this; I can remember managing to annoy such famous figures as Meredith Monk, Steve Reich, Michael Frayn, Mauricio Kagel, Al Parker, and a host of others. I get too intimate too fast (some Americans can deal with this, few others of course), and say things that are frankly foolish. You have to be especially careful with Diamanda – although she is exceptionally intelligent and excruciatingly direct, and so doesn't need people baby-talking to her, she is also a great diva and a grand ego; it's no accident that her name closely resembles that of Callas (whom she quoted at me, possibly in order to suggest that I should be more careful in speaking to her).
Ah well. Some of these famous types ultimately forgive me, and even seem to come to like the clumsy honesty – at least they certainly remember me (just how they remember me is, in many cases, another question). There is, ultimately, no way I can ever be anything other than a bit of a jerk; I am long reconciled to that – it is partly why my career and life have drifted the way they have, downward and away from the successful and famous. And perhaps I'm not alone in this – I talked briefly to a bigwig from the concert hall, and he said something bitchy that would have gotten his head taken off if he'd said it within Diamanda's earshot.
Anyway, at the very least, I should be able to remember certain rules, so that I can prevent my relations with the great and powerful from getting any worse:
(a) never compare the star with anyone else or even mention anyone that the star may regard as a rival (this one is particularly hard for me).
(b) never agree in any way with any of the star's self-criticisms.
(c) never hand out your opinion of the star's work until you have a lead from them as to what they want you to think about it.
(d) never imply that the star has changed in any way over the years.
(e) never justify or defend anyone that the star has denigrated or disagreed with.
(f) never express hesitation about writing something adulatory about the star's work.
(g) never, ever, suggest that the star's age is perceptible – or not as perceptible as one might expect, given the facts – or that they look anything other than fabulous.
Maybe I should write these on the back of my hand – or, even more appropriately in this case, tattoo them on my knuckles for permanent reference....
Comments