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Canada's tiny, perfect chamber orchestra
Canada's tiny, perfect chamber orchestra


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Hear why The Times of London called Sharon Bezaly “God’s gift to the flute” when she performs with Anne Manson and the MCO. Works by Vivaldi, Serebrier (Tango, anyone?), Ginastera and Haydn. PLUS, FAMILY FUN! Reserve 3 days ahead for MCO’s Pizza Club, free pizza and a talk on the music you’ll hear, included in your ticket price!
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"Intense artistry ... a joy to behold." Winnipeg Free Press review of Wednesday's concert with Asier Polo
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Fantastic article on Spanish cellist Asier Polo in the Winnipeg Free Press, by Holly Harris
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You never know where an MCO con­cert will take you, but you’re always happy when you get there! Trum­pet vir­tu­oso Guy Few and bas­soon­ist Nad­ina Mackie Jack­son have planned a little jaunt for us with some­thing they call Car­nets de voy­ages.
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MCO rehearsal time lapse with Suzie LeBlanc.
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Rehearsal of the Elizabeth Bishop works wonderful today with Suzie LeBlanc! Get tickets at
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Breakfast Song, final movement in Alasdair MacLean's 'The Elizabeth Bishop Suite

My love, my saving grace,
your eyes are awfully blue.
I kiss your funny face,
your coffee-flavored mouth.
Last night I slept with you.
Today I love you so
how can I bear to go
(as soon I must, I know)
to bed with ugly death
in that cold, filthy place,
to sleep there without you,
without the easy breath
and nightlong, limblong warmth
I’ve grown accustomed to?
—Nobody wants to die;
tell me it is a lie!
But no, I know it’s true.
It’s just the common case;
there’s nothing one can do.
My love, my saving grace,
your eyes are awfully blue
early and instant blue.

(Photo: from the Elizabeth Bishop Centenary blog
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Bishop poem-of-the-day Dear, my compass, first movement in The Elizabeth Bishop Suite by Alasdair MacLean

Dear, my compass
still points north
to wooden houses
and blue eyes,

fairy-tales where
younger sons
bring home the goose,

love in hay-lofts,
Protestants, and
heavy drinkers …
Springs are backward,

but crab-apples
ripen to rubies,
to drops of blood,

and swans can paddle
icy water,
so hot the blood
in those webbed feet.

—Cold as it is, we’d
go to bed, dear,
early, but never
to keep warm
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Back to Hatzis, with Anaphora, our Elizabeth Bishop poem-of-the-day. This is the last movement in Four Songs on Poems by Elizabeth Bishop. Our concert with Suzie LeBlanc is Tuesday The acclaimed CD, I am in need of music, will be available there.

Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?" Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
         instantly, instantly falls
         victim of long intrigue,
         assuming memory and mortal
         mortal fatigue.
More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of classes
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
            prepares stupendous studies:
            the fiery event
            of every day in endless
            endless assent.
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