![]() Thompson’s diction is as clear as a bell, and he easily distinguishes between trills and vibrato.” The article went on to describe Christopher’s versatility, saying “Thompson flipped a figurative switch and sang in a perfect cabaret style for three om Jacques Brel’s Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. For his recent recreation of the epic tale, Nibelungenlied with The Broken Consort, the Boston Musical Intelligencer reported that “Christopher Preston Thompson with harp in hand, delivered 14 stanzas in Medieval German with great outward passion, the words themselves made biting, piercing.” And, most recently, Christopher was praised by Classical Voice North Carolina for a “stylish and delicate” French Baroque performance during a concert spanning 900 years of repertoire, noting “Thompson’s liquid and transparent voice is perfect for this type of music, with its complicated melody and ornamented phrases. ![]() Described by Opera News as a “versatile, funny, game and attractive…obviously well-trained singer”, Christopher ranges in experience as singer, actor, and historic harp player, with specific focus on Early Music and New Music.įor a recent performance with Toby Twining Music, the Sarasota Herald-Tribune reported that Christopher “had an amazing vocal and rhythmic command that helped create some of the most other-worldly and percussive effects…remarkable.” New York Concert Review deemed his performance in the title role of Benjamin Britten’s The Prodigal Son as “superb”, hailing him “a fine singing-actor…singing with dramatic intensity, great sound and crystal-clear diction”. We still have a few more hours to go through the halls of blazing aspen, but already, I'm back.With a “mystical harp and a beautiful voice”, Christopher Preston Thompson has “enchanted” audiences (The Epoch Times) in New York City and beyond. I’m getting chilly, time to dig out a fleece top. There it is, that wonderful high country evergreen sent filling the air, like a terrestrial visit to heaven. Into the high country dark, the mountains hugging close again. Coasting down past drowsy Silverthorne, the going feels easy now. ![]() Denver was caffeine, Eisenhower is a pot of burnt coffee. Eisenhower Tunnel: flying the haze-white portal. Pushing the Pathfinder up to the Divide, curvy road, headlights cutting the black rock walls watch. City limits left behind, now the foothill climb. Night beat, wheels still spinning, hours left to go, talk radio streaming through my brain. We hit Denver Friday evening traffic flowing smoothly, caffeine-haze yellow lights glinting off the cars. The westering daylight drains, fades, dies. The mountains for me have been, and are many things.Ī place of refuge from seemingly overwhelming cares,Ī goal for which I strive and in the process strengthen my mind and body.įlight of the Spirit Driving west on I-70, every passing minute brings me closer, plains passed by. Once the mountains have gazed into your soul, you are theirs, and they are yours.
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