This afternoon, while cleaning the living room, I turned on PBS, and there (after The Lion in the House, which I missed) was an hourlong special, a Vegas show, “Sarah Brightman: Live.” Until today I’d never heard of Sarah Brightman, but the people at her concert were sure entertained. Apparently she is, according to the copy on her Official Website, a tantalizing mix of vixen and jailbait:

Is it the levitating quality of her sparkling, childlike voice? Or the unexpectedly robust turn it takes as she bursts into a soaring soprano? Is it the simple, schoolgirlish mannerisms she imparts off-stage? Or the imposing, larger-than-life diva persona she exudes on-stage?

What is it about Sarah that entrances us so? Remarkably enough, even her die-hard fans have trouble pinpointing the elusive, yet undeniable, appeal of Sarah Brightman. All agree, however, that the uncommon juxtaposition of waif-like vulnerability and worldly sophistication, in both voice and manner, casts an irresistible allure.

The copy goes on to say she is “the pre-eminent queen of the classical crossover world.” The chagrin I feel for not having known about the classical crossover world until now is lessened however, by my memory of the concert I watched, which was great pageantry: she had no fewer than seven costume changes; she sang arias, and she sang “Dust in the Wind” (conventional) and she sang “It’s a Wonderful World” (techno beat); she flew in the air, spinning circles and swinging back and forth; she was shrouded in red lights, gold lights, white lights; dancers surrounded her and rose petals fell from the rafters. It was grandiloquent, and best of all, it was topped, like candy sprinkles on a chocolate-dipped cone, with a beautifully absurd number, the kind only a Vegas crowd could love, of the order Elvis making his entrance to “Thus Spake Zarathustra.” The refrain should say it all: “Win or lose, / it’s a matter of honor!” Oh! How they cheered!

Could anything like that be taken seriously anywhere outside of Vegas?

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