Jonas Kaufmann is invited to my funeral.

And so is Rene Pape.  The two of them can just stand there singing Requiem aeternum and Kyrie eleison.  Of course, my family being what we are, they will be in grave danger of having mourners attempt to climb them like trees and siring a dozen new clones for the Clone Army by the end of the service, but circle of life and all that.

This week I set a few PRs and failed at one.  I really wanted that 225 deadlift, but as I was trying to break it off the ground something went POP in my sternum, so I decided that waiting was the better part of valor.  It hurt for a solid few minutes and is still uncomfortable, but there's not enough pain to make me want to go to the ER.  There was enough pain to make me cut my workout short, which sucks, but not as much as rehabbing sucks.  I'm hoping I'll feel better tomorrow.

Earlier this week, though, I set PRs on rack pulls (335), squats (145), walkouts (185), and good mornings (65 for sets of 10).  That was good, though I think I need to supplement the rack pulls for halting deadlifts since my lockouts haven't been giving me issues lately.  Or I could just, you know, do more deadlift volume.  The workouts with the PRs made me sore in a very strange way, like I'd charbroiled my entire nervous system root and branch.  Well, I'll get used to it.

In other news, my birthday is tomorrow and I bought myself a bunch of Jonas Kaufmann stuff from the Met.  Verdi's Requiem, which I'm listening to now, is amazing, and I say that as someone who thinks that Verdi (as someone once said of Wagner) has sublime moments and very tedious half-hours.  This is the La Scala version, directed by Barenboim and featuring Kaufmann, Queen Anja Harteros, Elina Garanca Who Is Just Plain Better Than You, and the magnificent Rene Pape.  Listen to Jonas and Rene belting out Requiem Aeternum with that ominous kettledrum booming out behind them and tell me they aren't invited to your funeral too.

I always think the test of any mass is its Kyrie; if you can make hay out of four words, you will probably do pretty well with the rest of the text.  Verdi's Kyrie is sublime; the Times reports that Kaufmann's first entry is "like an exploding volcano," and they're completely right.  That's what happens when you put Jonas Kaufmann in front of a choir.  His voice is the auditory equivalent of having the mills of God land on your head from a great height, grinding exceeding small but with the speed of a crazed buzz-saw - you're left stunned and unsure quite what happened except that you are pretty sure you just witnessed the Divine.

Queen Anja Harteros is flawless as usual, floating the most extensive phrases with such grace that you honestly wonder if she ever needs to breathe.  Elina Garanca hits low notes I wasn't even aware she was capable of; I'm not necessarily convinced of her emotional investment in the text, which is a handicap in this most operatic of Masses, but who cares when the sound is so gorgeous?  Rene Pape, who was the one redeeming feature of the execrable Met Faust my daughter and I saw a couple of seasons ago, here occasionally manages the superhuman feat of stealing the show from Jonas Kaufmann with his rich, glorious bass.  This is just really a collection of astonishing artists at the peak of their talents, tossing melodic themes back and forth like a team of Olympic athletes passing the ball in the end zone, and I bet there is no one whose life won't be materially better for having heard it.

Anyway, my sternum still hurts a little.  Hopefully it will be okay by tomorrow morning, but I think I'm going to wait until my next deload week to try 225 again anyway.