Sarah Brightman - Symphony
As she walked up and down the cathedral's aisle, her clothing suggested nakedness. Sitting along the aisles were many people of all ages, men and women, among whom I saw two women with hats of sorts. No one--in the audience and, especially Miss Brightman--appeared to be dressed appropriately for appearing in a cathedral, normally a place of worship, normally a place of decorum and respect, not only for oneself, but for the "sacred" place.
As a teenager I sang in the Motet Choir in St. Michael's Episcopal Cathdral, in Boise, Idaho; I've sung an aria from Handel's Messiah in Jewett Auditorium, College of Idaho--I know what singing sounds like echoing among the vaults of cathdrals, sounds heightened by wonderful acoustics--I can understand the appeal of singing into the vaults of Stephansdom. But I cannot understand the complete lack of propriety in Miss Brightman's appearance. The voice of an angel should not proceed from the lips of a woman dressed like a whore in a sacred space.