July 12, 2008
Clapping Music
Ligeti (previous) things of himself as microtonal, here we have macrominimalist Steve Reich. Again, for adventurous listeners.
You have to admire the concentration required for a performance.
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100 Metronomes
While looking for some music to match my mood of present (Alban Berg's Lulu comes to mind as one of the few possibilities), I found this delightfully odd experiment in sound. Enjoy, or, if you will, not, but I did for reasons I can't begin to understand myself.
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April 28, 2008
Waters and Obama
Had I any interest at all in the present election, and had I any interest at all in Mr. Obama, this would have finished it off.
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April 18, 2008
Ants in Surrealism
The presence of ants in some surrealist imagery never fails to both amuse and, in some small way, horrify me. Luis Bunuel and Salvidor Dali brought this imagery to the forefront in Un Chien Andalou although it had been a staple of Dali's painting for some time before that. I won't pretend to know the significance of the ant, but it does present a compelling image for contemplation of the junction of the natural and supernatural which is where surrealism lives. (Even though its chief thinkers--not really being very profound thinkers--ever knew or acknowledged this. But then, we're talking André Breton and his crowd of absinthe-imbibing Parisomaniacs.)
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April 16, 2008
"Last Night I Dreamt I went to Manderley Again. . ."
Not really. Instead I had a creepy little dream in which a very punked out proto-goth androgyne was taking me somewhere for some unspecified but distinctly unsavory or unpleasant rendezvous. He asked me, "Haven't you ever defied God?"
I answered, "Of course I have. All the time. But. . ." and fortunately that little walk came to a screeching halt with the sound of the alarm.
But the question and its circumstances were salutary and rewarding because it caused me to think that while I do defy God and while I do sin and ignore the things I ought to do, and while I am imperfect in the practice of my faith and even in holding the central principles of it, nevertheless, I always do what I do knowing that God exists. That may not seem like much, but when I got down under the skin of that statement, I realized that it is not possible for me NOT to believe in God. Despite all of the arguments I have read and those I can dream up myself, the existence of God is more proven to me than any proven fact or visible reality. God exists. I know that is belief, but I have discovered the place that Mortimer Adler describes when he says that belief can be the strongest knowledge there is.
So it is for me. I cannot choose to not believe in God or to act as though I don't believe in Him. I can choose to do what I want anyway. I can choose to go against the law I know to be true. (And I frequently do both of these things.) But I can't say, "There is no God and so I'm free to do as I choose." That simply isn't an option.
The odd part is I can't tell you why there is this solid foundation. Or I can tell you why but it would be meaningless to someone who lacked it. Grace. Amazing grace. He has graced me with this gift, this rock to which I always return. I cannot escape from Him, but He is no relentless hound--no, He is an island in a cobalt sea where the breezes play day and night and I am the only person to see and enjoy its pleasant shores--or if I am not alone, the crowds on the island are as vapor and there is neither clamor nor anguish in it. When I stray far from my island, the memory of it always calls me home. It does not follow me, it sings to me and calls me back.
And here is the song I hear (though not necessarily in Dean Martin's voice--but also not necessary NOT in Dean Martin's voice.)
Return to Me
Return to me
Oh my dear I'm so lonely
Hurry back, hurry back
Oh my love hurry back I'm yoursReturn to me
For my heart wants you only
Hurry home, hurry home
Won't you please hurry home to my heartMy darling, if I hurt you I'm sorry
Forgive me and please say you are mineReturn to me
Please come back bella mia
Hurry back, hurry home to my arms
To my lips and my heartRetorna me
Cara mia ti amo
Solo tu, solo tu, solo tu, solo tu
Mio cuore
Yes, God sings that to me--all of it--not that He can err or He can be the cause of my straying. But His love is in His kenosis and He, being love, can know that love hurts even when it does not desire to.
(Okay, so my theology isn't so great, I'll admit that. But theology is only as good as the purpose it serves--and if that purpose is to make one cling to God, then the theology, however inexact performs the necessary, life-giving function. We don't get into heaven based on our quiz scores.)
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April 6, 2008
Turandot--Orlando Opera
Friday night we went out to see the last opera of the season. This year it was Turandot. (For anyone curious that is pronounced pretty much as spelled in english--Tur-ahn-dot.) And it was magnificent. Orlando Opera company had gone all out to make certain that this 50th season closer would be a set of performances to remember, and they handily accomplished the goal. The sets, costumes, and staging were all spot-on, the orchestral unusually fine under the baton of Anton Coppola, and the singing by both hired talent and the company professionals, top-notch.
The story of the Opera is pretty repellent and ridiculous, and had me half alienated to start with--but as it played out, I was won over--which speaks to the power of Puccini's music.
The Opera is in Three Acts and starts abruptly, without an overture. I speculated that this may have been because Puccini never finished the Opera--it is his last and the music he composed for it ends somewhere in the third act. I speculate and suggest that Overtures may be among the last pieces composed for an Opera, requiring, as they do, a full range of the ideas in the remainder of the music. However, that is speculation.
What is not speculation is that while this is Puccini, it is Puccini in 1922 or so, and it reflects some of what was going on in music through the early twentieth century. There is some discordant and dissonant scoring, largely masked by the fact that the Opera takes place in China and Chinese harmonics are evident throughout the score.
Unlike Madama Butterfly, which to my mind had a single powerful, gorgeous, memorable aria--the music throughout this Opera has several memorable themes, not the least of which occurs in act three when Calaf, the hero, sings what for lack of a better analogy might be called his "Rumpelstiltskin" aria. Turandot, the Princess, is busy torturing and threatening the people of Peking to find our heroes name so that she will not have to marry him in the morning. While the people and Ping, Pang, and Pong (somewhat comic relief characters) plead with him for the sake of all to reveal it, he sings a powerful and memorable aria, which even the most casual classical listener is probably familiar with--"Nessun Dorma." (For better insights into the libretto and the meaning of all the weird goings-on, you might check out this site wherein I found the lyrics to the aria.
The performance of this aria with chorus caused a collective peril of anoxia in the audience--not a sound, not a rustle, nothing--still, quiet, attentive, rapt. And, of course, that was the intent of the composer. Probably the most magnificent of all of his Arias, in what is undoubtedly the capstone (both literally and metaphorically) of his career in Opera.
I had gone ready to hate it, from the story, from my previous Puccini experience, from the fact that I could just barely keep my eyes open. And I came away wanting to have a copy of this Opera so that I could listen to it regularly.
If anyone from the company happens to read this, Bravo and Brava. Magnifico.
Later: Our Local newspaper's review with film clips including Nessun Dorma.
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March 17, 2008
No Coincidence-More Faulknerian Ruminations
Synchronicty, not coincidence.
Reading The Sound and the Fury and what should transpire other than a trip to Boston. Why is this remarkable? Well, I can't really tell you straight out without giving away much of the book; however, suffice to say that one of the main characters has something critical and large happen to him in Boston.
So, reading The Sound and the Fury during Holy Week when it occurs during Holy Week, and visiting Boston, the site of one of the main events of the book. Wow! What a tremendous experience.
I have more to share on this. But now a delightful little tidbit. Arrived in Boston, walked down to the commons, stopped in a small used book shop near Emerson College and happened to pick up a first edition of The Collected Short Stories of William Faulkner for less than it would cost me to pick up a paperback edition. Oh, how wonderful to be back in a city where literacy is valued, perhaps even treasured.
One last point--the soaps and lotions and shampoos in this hotel are all verbena-scented. I have to come to the chilly late-winter north to smell "The Odor of Verbena." If the significance of that is not clear, google the phrase in quotation marks.
May God bless all who read this during this Holy Week. Indeed, may He bless anyone who reads this every--so few are my readers, I can afford to cast my blessings far abroad.
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February 25, 2008
Thanks to Julie
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January 8, 2008
Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
Full disclosure in case the review sounds unduly. . . something: my first experience with Sweeney Todd occurred on 31 October, probably 1983, when I went with the person who was to become my wife to the Kennedy Center and saw the inimitable Angela Lansbury and (I think) Len Cariou perform. Angela Lansbury played Mrs. Lovett and you can catch bits of this performance on You Tube if you care to take a look. It is unmatchable in its sheer brilliance. Helena Bonham Carter had a hard act to follow, literally.
Tim Burton made some interesting choices in the film. The original Sondheim play was a dark comedy/satire/social commentary wrapped up in a rollicking, non-stop nearly grand guignol spectacle. Burton's choices are directed toward making a darker, more somber experience. Perhaps he was aiming for tragedy--unfortunately, the character of Sweeney hasn't the substance of a hero and so what we get is bathos--elegant and beautiful bathos, but bathos nevertheless. One doesn't come away with a sense of how tragic it all was or how, with a few minor choices things could have come out all right. One comes away with a sense of having visited some of the more secure precincts of bedlam where not a person seems to have any grasp of the real and rational.
I won't go into the story--suffice to say that it came out of the time of the penny dreadfuls, taking its place alongside such delights as Varney the Vampire and other such. Burton films it beautifully. Johnny Depp actually does a creditable job of singing his role. The same cannot be said of Helena Bonham Carter, unfortunately; however, her performance is not so terrible as to damage the structure or intent of the overall film.
One major problem I had with the film is that while the instrumental music suggesting "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd" is played frequently, the audience that has not seen the play will have no notion of where it comes from. This choice is one that comes from adapting a stage play to the screen, but it is also one that deprives the viewer of the frame of reference and the clear sense of where the play was meant to go. It is the primary blow that changes the film from dark comedy to bathos.
In all, while I liked the film greatly, I don't think the changes in tone served Burton or Sondheim well. We get a solid film with interesting if oddly disconnected performances, reminiscent of professional night in the psychiatric ward; however, iltle of the brilliance of the play shines through.
Despite that, I enjoyed, indeed liked the film a great deal. One must try to respect the intent and vision of the artist when viewing a work of art, and while I don't think this film is as strong as its Broadway source material, it still serves well.
One other point--we have a mini-Harry Potter reunion in the forms of Snape and Pettigrew who play two of the key conspirators in the downfall of Mr. Todd and family.
Recommended for adults--especially if you've seen the play. It provides an interesting contrast to the original.
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December 10, 2007
Karlheinz Stockhausen R.I.P.
I had posted this some days ago, only to discover that for whatever reason it did not take, so I will repost.
Karlheinz Stockhausen died in his home in Germany on 5 December. While I do not think that he is a great composer, or for that matter much of a composer at all, I do think that his work was enormously influential, giving rise to entire strains of electronic and ambient music. Moreover, he did have an effect on the Classical World, in both directions. He inspired those inclined to experimental music to go forth and experiment and he provoked a strong reaction against the atonalism and structural chaos of the post-modern school of composers.
I know Erik would disagree with me in this evaluation, and I welcome the retort, but maintain the stand. Stockhausen is a divisive figure. However, whatever he may be in the realm of the art himself, he was an essential catalyst and a genius of sorts. His influences has permanently shaped that face of music. Much of what comes after him (in the classical realm) will be in some way influenced by him, either by reaction or inspiration. When the art world loses such a figure, it is always a great loss.
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November 29, 2007
In the Court of the Crimson King--Redux
A reader very kindly sent me this link to an in depth "reading" of the King Crimson Album, In the Court of the Crimson King. This particular section seems to be a "close reading" of "21st Century Schizoid Man" and looks at it from a psychoanalytic and Christian perspective. Go and enjoy.
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November 24, 2007
A Brief History of Classical Music
through its essential compositions
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September 4, 2007
Quartet and Quintet
About half of the references to The Bridge Between refer to it as a work of the "Robert Fripp String Quartet" which, considering it is made up of five guitarists, makes it an improbably, but certainly Frippertronic title. However, the "album" cover correctly lists it as "Robert Fripp String Quntet."
And indeed, the album is played by a group of stringed-instrument players That the stringed instruments are guitars adds a certain interest to the work. Additionally, that these guitars sometimes end up sounding very much like a traditional string quintet, becomes even more intriguing.
I have liked nearly every musical mask Mr. Fripp has decided to wear--and heaven knows they are many--Fripp and Eno, King Crimson (multiple groups under a single name with a single continuing member), the String Quintet, Fripp and Summers, The League of Crafty Guitarists, Robert Fripp and David Sylvian--and session musician and producer on countless albums. In a sense Fripp (and Rick Wakeman) is the Dostoevsky of the musical world--not necessarily in terms of quality--though I do tend to like almost everything--but in terms of sheer temporal lobe epilepsy productivity. It's phenomenal. (As I said, Rick Wakeman is also way up there--I'm astounded by the number of albums he has with a group, solo, or contributing.) Truly tireless workers in the field.
At any rate, this was only to alert those who are even less alert that I have been over the past XX years that there is much good from the days of really fine music to be discovered. Before the tide of grunge swept in and removed the electroeuroboys from the stage there was Fripp. And after grunge had washed away, leaving in its wakes a certain grittiness and definitely a fabric that could use some bluing, there is Fripp, still moving along, still playing, still producing music, ambient and otherwise--grating, experimental, soft, delicate. All the textures of the musical world wrapped up in one continuously moving producer of gorgeous sound.
The String Quintet album is definitely worth more than one listen. Go and sample at Amazon, I suggest tracks 9 and 10. Passacaglia, track 9, manages to sound considerably like a harpsichord and 10, Threnody for Souls in Torment has me once again thinking about the religious theme that underlay much of what Mr. Fripp produces.
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Hymn
Listening to Ultravox, John Foxx, and other friends of other times. And this one struck me both lyrically and, far, far more, musically.
Hymn
lyrics by UltravoxGive us this day all that you showed me.
The power and the glory 'til thy kingdom come.Chorus:
Give us this day all that you showed me,
The power and the glory 'til thy kingdom come.
Give me all the story book told me,
The faith and the glory 'til thy kingdom comes.And they said that in our time,
All that's good will fall from grace.
Even saints would turn their face,
In our time.And they told us that in our days,
Different words said in different ways,
Have other meaning from he who says,
In our time.(Chorus)
And they said that in our time,
We would reap from their legacy,
We would learn from what they had seen,
In our time.And they told us that in our days,
We would know what was high on high,
We would follow and not defy,
In our time.(Chorus)
Faithless in faith.
We must behold the things we see.(Chorus - Repeat 4 times and fade)
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August 31, 2007
From a Friend, Gratefully Acknowledged
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August 13, 2007
Hairspray
I've always liked John Waters's films. I don't know why--perhaps because I haven't seen the earliest--perhaps because I have seen that he has an extraordinary penchant for puncturing the worst of human foibles with a smile. He looks at the insanity of the world around him, grins, and holds up a mirror.
The original Hairspray was a film in this genre. The new one, secondarily derived from the original via a Broadway Musical has a lot to offer and a lot to think about. I enjoyed it tremendously after I got over a few deep-seated reservations. The reservations were not about the film itself--although there are some of those that I'll get to in a moment. They were about how I felt about the subject matter and how difficult it is to explain to a young man why some people used to treat people with brown skin differently from the way they treated people with white skin and why that still happens too often in the world today.
But the movie takes on the old view of prejudice and thereby introduces a new one that is both subtle and starkly disturbing. Taking on the purity of the late fifties/early sixties, the movie producers end up equating the liberation of the civil rights movement with the liberation of the sexual freedom movement. Throughout the film there are subtle but clear messages that those more in touch with the sexual nature of human beings (people of color) were repressed for this very earthiness which is clearly next to godliness. This was the one element of the film that kept bothering me. We've replaced the old prejudice of inferiority due to skin color with the new prejudice of superiority due to lack of moral inhibition. Neither are true for an entire group of people--both are prejudices, and both are harmful.
Okay, now that I have my preaching over with, on with the show. The movie is delightful--the songs, the message (with the exception of the caveat above), the fact that the heroes triumph in a completely nonviolent fashion and that the whole film resolves itself neatly without undue angst, trauma, bodily injury, or profanity. In addition, it has Queen Latifah. I don't know what this woman is like in real life, but every time I see her on the screen, I think, "Now there's a woman I'd really like to know in person." There is a warmth and a genuineness about her that gives a punch to lines like, "If we get any more white people in here, this will be a suburb."
John Travolta is amusing in Divine's role. Does he do as well? I couldn't really say--he brings something different to the role and the difference is amusing and entertaining in itself--so I suppose one might say that he does as well in his own right.
The movie is delightful, insightful, genuine, and warm. It has the single flaw I noted above, and perhaps that was a flaw resulting from too close a "reading" of the film. I can recommend this to all and it would serve as a good place to start talking to children about how we need to let people be people and love them where they are and as they are. After all, that's what God does isn't it? And that's what we, as the bearers of God to those in the world need to learn to do better. I think this movie helps to teach that a little bit.
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June 18, 2007
Two Surfers
Father's Day weekend was spent in movie theaters--not the best of situations, but certainly one that has its advantages.
Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer is typical fare for a comic book movie. It has all the depth and emotional appeal of a comic book, and all of the fascination with the impossible, outr&eaucte;, and bizarre. By far and away better than its predecessor, Rise of the Silver Surfer gives us in all its unalloyed oddity, the story of the Herald of Galactus and his arrival on Earth. Interestingly, Galactus is morphed from a person having shape and form into an intergalactic devourer of planets. Nice.
High points include (of course) the sky surfing and Johnny's "flame on" pursuit of the surfer early on to the draining of the River Thames. (An interesting possibility given its tidal nature.)
What I won't tell you, because you can guess, is whether Sue and Reed actually manage to tie the knot. The "demise" of Von Doom and of the surger himself, leave this movie open to a sequel. Given that this one is better by far than the first, that bodes well. What the producers did right in this case is kept the movie svelte. As a result there is a punch that many other such films, more larded and angst-ridden, lack. Surfing in at just about an hour and a half, this is one of those rare pleasures, a movie that moves quickly and leaves you wanting more even though your a satisfied with the roller coaster ride you've just experienced.
Highly recommended for older children (seemed fine for Sam, despite some mild sexual innuendo) and adults. May be too intense for younger or more sensitive children (scary earth-devouring things).
On the other hand, the second surf movie of the weekend Surf's Up, was an animation delight. Entirely unexpected, and therefore even more delightful, this story of the importance of friendship and of doing what is right as opposed to what makes you win, is a wonderful parable.
Filmed as a documentary of the world Penguin surfing championship, it starts with the recruitment of our lead character Cody Maverick, from his Antarctic home. We see him fall in love, develop a close friendship with a flaky chicken who introduces everyone to "Squid on a stick," an ultimately enter and . . . well, that would be telling.
The delights of this movie are its charming jokes, its deadpan documentary delivery, the remarkable voice cast, and the dead-on portrayal of certain aspects of the surf culture.. But its heart is the gentling and much-needed message that winning isn't the only thing, nor is it even the most important thing. In giving this message a real home and a real substance to children, the filmmakers give us all a great gift.
High recommended for all older children (8-up) and adults. And make certain you stay through the credits roll.
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April 21, 2007
Meet the Robinsons
In two words--"See it."
A loving and passionate tribute to the legend of Walt Disney the man in every possible way those words can be interpreted. Inventive, funny, inspirational, loving, and ultimately reaffirming about those things that matter most in family life.
I want to encourage everyone to pour their money into seeing this film to send the message that we want more films like these. I would far rather sit in the theatre for two hours to see this than to see the drivel that has recently been poured out as fare for our children.
So, to reiterate, "See it."
No, I'm not going to tell you about it--not a word--every moment is a surprise, although adults will see the denouement long before the end. The only words that need be said is that I didn't have a single "cringe" moment in the course of the entire work. Rare nowadays even for a family film. Go, take your children and enjoy.
Oh, and I saw the 3-D version and it was perfect--not a lot of stuff to just get a reaction, but it really added to the depth of the film. (Yes, I know, throw rotten materials elsewhere please.)
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March 25, 2007
Not Your Standard View of Butterfly
Took Sam to see Madama Butterfly Friday night and I had forgotten how angry the Opera makes me. It seems that Puccini lavishes his lyrical might in the service of a story that, at best, is a thin tissue of immoralities strung together by implausibilities: a predatory, pedophile, American naval officer toys with the affections of a mentally unstable codependent girl, leaving her with a chld to go off and marry a "real" wife in America, and returning only to steal away the son he had by here, ultimately to her destruction.
My questions--what use her friends, who in the moments of greatest torment run off one direction or another? Am I supposed to be sympathetic to the moral monster that is Pinkerton--please--knowing that you are basically hiring a long-term prostitute even though she thinks she's getting married, running off and marrying elsewhere, returning and then whining about how upset you are that you upset her?
Every syllable a waste in the service of such nonsense. Even the amazingly beautiful aria Un Bel Di basically a neurotic paean to deliberate and cultivated ignorance.
Well, I can say that the performance I saw had the virtue of versimilitude. Madama Butterfly was played by an up-and-coming young Korean Opera star, the voice, the orchestra, and everything flowed together smoothly into an evening of really beautiful, if terribly wasted music.
I know, I was supposed to cry. But I was too busy wondering where in all this mishmash there was anyone who really cared. Even when there are people who do care, there can be tragedy--but this ultimately manipulative melodrama is better listened to without any sense of the story--or with perhaps the few glimpses you get from time to time through television or the movies. Believe me--if you've seen them, you've seen enough.
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March 14, 2007
Speaking of Music
As I wasn't, last night I found two of the most remarkable and enjoyable pieces I've heard in quite some time. They're really off the beaten track so you may have to go out of your way to find them, but I assure you, it is worth the effort.
The first is Liu Wen-Jin's Erhu Concerto. The friend who shared it with me did not tell me where it came from, but it might be part of this.
The erhu is a traditional instrument of China--sometimes called the "Chinese fiddle." It has two strings and a sound that is, as with the Koto or the sitar, absolutely distinctive. When you hear this you will say as my wife did, "Chinese restaurant music." Now, she didn't listen to the whole thing, but she also has little tolerance for the tones of the Chinese instrument. And it is displayed to virtuoso perfection in this concerto. You never once leave the bounds of China, and yet the composition is also strangely formal and classically western, with moments that suggest Tchaikovski and Beethoven.
The other piece is a magnificent harpsichord concerto by Henryk Gorecki. The harpsichord is distinctive and yet perfectly blended with the orchestra in this very minimalist, or at least minimalist-influenced piece. It's only about 10 minute long and divided into two very agitated, very rapid movements. I love the harpsichord and I regret its relegation to the closet of antiquities just because of the tonalities of the Piano. It is good to hear it used to such good purpose in this concerto.
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March 13, 2007
The Shuffle Thing
In news you can't use--the top ten on the iPod after shuffle:
Cantus - Song Of Tears: Adiemus
Mexican Shuffle: Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass
Come Together/Dear Prudence/Cry Baby Cry [Transition]:The Beatles
The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of: Carly Simon
Ave verum Corpus: William Byrd
Ave Verum Corpus: Mozart
Temptasyon: Mediaeval Baebes
Hablas De Mí: Gloria Estefan
El Cumbanchero: The Ventures
Rose Garden: Lynn Anderson
That was actually fun and informative. Even if you don't post the results, try it--you might find the results very interesting.
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March 12, 2007
Alberto Ginastera
In the category of "as if you care" I am presently enjoying the string quartets of Alberto Ginastera--a remarkably fine treading of the sensiblities between utter atonalism and slavish modalism. For all I know reviled by both sides because he refused an encampment with either. But you know, it doesn't really matter all that much, it appeals to me. And critics largely exist to try to drain the joy from everyone else. So I've grown accustomed to ignoring them.
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February 28, 2007
Brubeck and the Church
So you thought I was joking--lookee what I found. Utterly fascinating.
Excerpt:
from "Jazz Goes Back to Church"
Fr. Michael Sherwin O.P.Brubeck reached a turning point in his religious development when he accepted a commission from Our Sunday Visitor to compose a Mass. Brubeck did not want to undertake the project. Not being a Catholic, he did not feel qualified. Yet, as Brubeck explains, the paper’s editor, Ed Murray, would not take no for an answer. "For two years he bugged me. . . . I’d kick him away like a dog you don’t want nipping at your heels, but he kept coming back." Finally, Brubeck agreed but only conditionally. "I told Ed, ’I’ll write three pieces and I want you to find the best Catholic expert to look at them and say whether they’re alright.’" Murray chose Sr. Theophane Hytrek. It was an inspired choice. "She got together a group of musicians in Milwaukee. The message came back, ’tell Dave to continue and don’t change a note.’" So Brubeck continued. The final result, To Hope ! A Celebration (1979), is stunningly beautiful.
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Jazz--A Lenten Discipline
The title is sort of a joke--but not really. I've promised myself to try to get over my almost gut-level reaction to most Jazz. I don't like the seeming formlessness of a lot of Jazz. I need melody, something that when I hear it I recognize and can "follow" the line of and understand the development of.
By way of exercising this discipline, I decided to pick up the Dave Brubeck Quartet's mega-best-seller Time Out.
I have nothing coherent to say about the album, and nothing particularly helpful to the readers except (1) you will recognize the sound if not the tunes--it seems to have infiltrated every film of the early to mid sixties and has given rise to countless imitations; and (2) I like it. A lot. Far more than I would have thought possible.
So, knowing that Erik and other more knowledgeable about these matters stop by from time to time, this post is merely a request for references to other similar, accessible pieces. I'm not ready to leap off into the world of Keith Jarrett whose piano work gave me impossible headaches in my college years--nor am I interested at this point in acid jazz or be-bop as such. I need to get a solid grounding in things accessible before I reach beyond. And I'm afraid I do need a hook to engage me. But if you all have any suggestions for good stuff to listen to, please note them and I'll look them up.
Thanks!
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February 8, 2007
Vicki Carr Spirituality
Don't blame me, I can't help where inspiration comes from.
It Must Be Him
I tell myself what's done is done
I tell myself don't be a fool
Play the field have a lot of fun
It's easy when you play it cool
I tell myself don't be a chump
Who cares let him stay away
That's when the phone rings
And I jump
And as I grab the phone I pray
Let it please be him
Oh dear God
It must be him
It must be him
Or I shall die
Or I shall die
Oh hello, hello,
My dear God, it must be him
But it's not him and then I die
That's when I die
After a while
I'm myself again
I pick the pieces off the floor
Put my heart on the shelf again
He'll never hurt me anymore
I'm not a puppet on a string
I'll find somebody else someday
Thats when the phone rings
And once again I start to pray
Let it please be him
Oh, dear God,
It must be him
It must be him
Or I shall die
Or I shall die
Oh, hello, hello, my dear God
It must be him
But it's not him
And then I die
That's when I die
Let it please be him
My dear God, it must be him
Or I shall die
Or I shall die
In a short, melodramatic song we have the summary of the spiritual life of most lukewarm Christians. Or at least how it might look from outside and how it sometimes must seem to God that we react.
I sit and wait for God, praying for intervention, enlightenment, help. I spend my time doing for myself, think my own thoughts and going my own way and telling myself that I can do it alone, completely alone.
Then something happens. Great or little, good or bad, the telephone rings and I rush to it completely devoted now to the thought that this is God's communication to me. He's there, he's calling, finally I'll hear what I've wanted to hear all this time.
And no, it isn't Him, and I'm let down. I die.
If so, I die in ignorance. It's always Him. Always. In every caress of the breeze, in the noise of children playing, in the traffic in the streets, in the snow in the driveway. Not one thing happens that He did not cause to happen. And every day we meet Him in the persons of those around us. Every day.
Nothing happens without His consent, without His will. What we see as catastrophic is His will for the moment and we must recall that "all things work for the good of those who are called to His purpose."
When the telephone rings, no matter who is on the other end, it is Him. There is a task, there is a job, there is a need to fulfill. I just need to learn to hear Him on the other end.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 7:58 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 28, 2007
Support Your Local Orchestra
A logical followup to the post below.
Particularly with classical music it is important to make the effort to get out and hear the performance in person. No recording I have ever heard reproduces every nuance of a live performance. Each suffers from a curious deadening effect of dynamics. It's rather like looking at an art print that has been too long exposed to the sun. You can get a sense of what it was all about, but it is pallid, washed-out.
Linda and I took Samuel to hear Mozart's Symphony 41 and Holst's The Planets on Saturday evening. I had forgotten some of the tonalities and all of the dynamics of The Planets and was very happy to make their acquaintance again. It is remarkable how even in a mediocre performance, they overwhelm anything you've heard on CD or vinyl (despite the latter's reputed "warmth").
Symphony Orchestra's need care and feeding. They need the support of the local community. And they need an audience. Help do the truly conservative thing and preserve the great pieces of the past and do it in a progressive way--locally. Then you can boast to all your progressive friends about how progressive you are in your retrogressive fashion.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:37 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Dancing About Architecture
“Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.”
– Frank Zappa
Nevertheless, despite the genius of Mr. Zappa, I intend to write about music--but what I have to say is less about music and more about true conservation.
Classical music has fallen on hard times. It's hard to make money with performances live or on album. There are any number of explanations for this; however, the reason matters little--we are in serious danger of losing a great heritage if we do not pay attention.
Many people seem to think that classical music is "for the few, the proud," . . . the snobs. Not so. One of the reasons people may come to this conclusion is that music may be the most underappreciated art. Most people don't know how to listen to music, or don't care. Erik Satie noted that the way in which most people listen to music turns it into wallpaper or furniture. When we see the number of people strolling around with iPods or glued to their headsets at work (I admit to being among them), we can see that there is considerable truth to the statement.
Even when people begin to listen to music rather than just hear it, the reactions tend to be on one plane--"I like it, I don't like it." Now our reaction to almost any form of art begins with this simple dichotomy; however, for most of us, we do not remain there. "I like The Violent Bear it Away because. . . " "I don't care for the paintings of Georgia O'Keefe because. . . " What follows the because begins to enter the realm of analysis if it consists of anything more than mere surface impressions. But most of our reaction to music come down to, "It's got a great bit, good, kicky melody, really danceable, I give it an 8 out of 10."
Music, classical or otherwise, requires attention. In fact, because its impressions are fast and fleeting, it can require more attention than any of the other arts. Unlike walking through an art gallery where you can choose to stand for as long as you wish in front a a painting, a live performance of a piece of music is a fleeting, ephemeral experience. If you are not trained to listen, the experience can be exhausting. And yet. . . to experience music it is necessary to really listen--and despite what many people think, you can listen even if you have no real idea of how the music gets to be the way it is.
So, you can't read a note and you've had no music appreciation courses. What's a person who wishes to listen to do? I suppose it might be wise to start small. Pick something you really like and listen to it. Observe how the notes go up and down, get faster and slower, louder and softer. If it's vocal music, listen to see how the voice interplays with the instruments. You may not have the words to describe this interplay, but you can hear and understand it.
All music has depth. Some pieces are deeper than others. You'd be surprised where you might find musical depth if you listen. Just listen of "Eleanor Rigby" or "Take me home, Country Roads." There is more to them than what most people ever know. They hear it, but they do not really understand or listen to it.
Music is great for creating a soundscape conducive to other activity; however, this is a secondary function, but like hanging a painting to "decorate" your house. Indeed, the painting does "decorate" but its primary function is to stimulate the mind and the heart. When we allow either music or art to become wallpaper, we've lost a source of contact with God. (You knew I'd get there sooner or later.)
Music and Art speak either directly or indirectly of the creator. Often they speak of the creator despite the express intentions of the artist. It cannot be otherwise because it is an act of co-creation. The creation of art is a participation in the divine life and so will always reflect the divine life.
What a tragedy then, when we deny ourselves some part of the good that has been laid out before us.
So today, before you do another thing, take a short break and begin the practice of really listening to music. Turn your musical lawnchair or William Morris into a piece of art again and begin to appreciate how it is turned and fashioned, what went into its making. If you've any musical ability at all, sit down at a piano and try to compose just six or eight bars of melody--forget harmony for the moment. Begin to understand that music, like art and writing, truly is an endeavor requiring an incredible talent and precision.
Then do yourself a favor and start to listen--really listen to the music that you love. Don't use it for a background for something else--or if you do get to know it first so that it can transport you, even as a background, out of the world as it is and into the world as it can be.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:24 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 26, 2007
Who Is the Crimson King?--A Catholic Reading
Following in the line of my much "admired" and frequently sited "award-winning" "Devotional Reading of H. P. Lovecraft," I present for your delectation and delight and short excursion into In the Court of the Crimson King. Partly this was driven by the discovery of Robert Fripp's magnificent Pie Jesu album, which is apparently a compilation of other bits and pieces. And there are frequent hints throughout his oeuvre of a religious background if not of a religious feeling. Working on the premise that God uses great art often despite the intentions of the artist, I present this consideration of the first song on In the Court of the Crimson King.
I have no idea who composed the lyrics for this song, but as Fripp was always a leader of the group, no matter how many people swirled around it at a time, and considering that the album is a work of musical genius, we can find in it the fingerprint of the Creator. (All one needs to do is squint and look hard enough.) {Also a caveat: I won't pretend that this is a profound musicological understanding of the work as a whole--I haven't the background for that. I work with words, and so it is the interplay of the words and the music that I shall try to look at and open up for you what I see there.)
For our first class let's consider the first song: "21st Century Schizoid Man." For those who have not heard it, it is a rather grating introduction (as befits the subject matter) to a magnificent album. There is a very astringent guitar line with a voice altered in some way to create the sense of growling or screaming. The song proceeds for the first two verses indicated below in a very rigid, tense semi-melodic line--yes, there's a sort of tune to it, though I don't think one would typify it as hummable.
21st Century Schizoid Man
Robert Fripp/Ian McDonald/Greg Lake/Michael Giles/Peter SinfieldCat's foot, iron claw
Neurosurgeons scream for more
At paranoia's poison door
21st century schizoid manBlood rack, barbed wire
Politician's funeral pyre
Innocence [Innocents?] raped with napalm fire
21st century schizoid manDead sea, blind man's greed
Poets starving children bleed*
Nothing he's got, he really needs
21st century schizoid man
Now, if you haven't heard the song, you need to know that the first three lines of each stanza should be read as accented/stanzaic poetry in which there is a pause in the middle of the line--very common to Celtic Epic Poetry. Thus the effect is
Cat's foot
Iron Claw
Neurosurgeons
Scream for more
at Paranoia's
poisoned door
21st Century Schizoid Man.
This detail merely contributes to the image of the song. In addition, this first stanza (as well as the title) give us the immediate indication that whoever the Crimson King is, his court is not a thing of the past, but a very modern, very relevant occurrence. This is in opposition to some of the songs that follow in which there is a vaguely medieval or ethereal sense to what is happening. "I Talk to the Wind" seems a perfectly appropriate follow-up to this song, because to whom else will a schizoid (who, as we shall see, experiences a total psychotic break) talk to?
After the first two stanzas of this song, the music enters into a instrumental break that initially takes the form of a fugue, mimicking the state of some schizoid patients. The saxophone and guitar take off on their own and begin chasing one another in a free-form jazz mode. Initially the structure is quite tight, but the fugue state breaks down to bring about the musical equivalent of a total psychotic episode.
The patient recovers briefly--long enough for the final stanza, which may be the key stanza of the whole song, and perhaps one of the keys to the entire album:
"Dead sea, blind man's greed
Poets starving children bleed
Nothing he's got, he really needs
21st century schizoid man"
And within this one line on which hangs much of my thought about this as a fundamentally religious song--"Nothing he's got, he really needs." At once a biting criticism of modern society and the true schizoid state of the person who is a materialist and who has acquired all that he has through the pain and hardship of others and still seeks to fill the emptiness inside. None of it will. Ever. It cannot. You cannot put gold into the hole in your soul. And everything you acquire trying to fill that emptiness only rips the hole wider until it becomes a wound at the surface of the mind--the materialist becomes a schizoid personality, constantly fleeing reality in the pursuit of filling the void that he only succeeds in making larger.
Now, this is just as easily a secular criticism of a plutocratic society in which the pursuit of wealth is regarded not only as laudable but as something nearly holy. However, as I am a Christian, I tend to place a great deal of weight on "Nothing he's got he really needs," which conversely indicates that what he really needs, he does not have. If he does have all this wealth, if he really is within the Court of the Crimson King, what could he possibly be lacking?
Peace--peace that comes when the mind assents to the soul's prompting to look for what really matters. The 21st Century Schizoid Man lacks knowledge of God and desire for God. And what is truly frightening about this is that from my survey of many people within the Church, this is as true of them as of the hard-core materialist. We have surrendered, in many cases, the one-track, express-train pursuit of God for the pursuit of the legitimate, lesser goods of our present life. While we aren't in the full fledged auto-drawing-and-quartering that occurs to the ardent materialist, we have been sufficiently affected by his disease to have lost our own sense of belonging to God and pursuing His ends over our own. I can think of countless examples just from the blogging world, and I think each of you can as well.
Okay, to finish up--the last verse is sung, brought to a resounding screeching, scraping end, and then there is a total break. The interlude between verses two and three are a fugue state--a loss of self-control and self knowledge. The very end of the song, which features every musician flying off on their own riffs--the saxophonist not so much playing notes as torturing the instrument--the schizoid man has gone psychotic. And then, he "talks to the wind."
The ultimate end of pursuing material things is a total break with reality. In our language, were we to die in that state, it is called Hell. Hell is a state of being utterly opposed to the only reality. Hell is the continued anguish of trying to fill up a gaping hole, when all you are is that gaping hole. Hell is what is left of us when all we have done with our lives is to seek to make more of ourselves.
And the music seems to nicely mimic this as well. Hell is cacophony, the cacophony of self in the total absence of boundaries and freedom. Hell is being chained to our own wills for all eternity. "Neuro surgeons SCREAM for more at paranoia's poison door." All because we cannot surrender to love--we seek love from created things and create more pain for ourselves and for others in our pursuit.
In the Court of the Crimson King is a hard album. It has an adamantine brilliance--a high gloss that results both from the genius of the musicians and from the truth they manage to convey so clearly. Whether or not they buy into the truth, God has nevertheless used their music to convey a strong message to the person who takes it seriously. The flaw with the album is that no way out is shown--the Court of the Crimson King is simply the prison entered by the 21st Century Schizoid Man. In the title song, "In the Court of the Crimson King", the last song on the album, there is an initial promise of freedom:
The dance of the puppets
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
But that is all done away with by the end of the song:
On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.
I cannot say where they were going when they composed this modern masterpiece, but I can say where they go for me. When we surrender to our materialist urges we are made puppets by the things we desire. We will do anything to have them because they will fill the void, or so we think. But that void, unless fill by the One, is a black hole--all that is fed into it strengthens it and enlarges it.
The only way out is to negate "nothing he's got he really needs," and to find the one thing necessary--Our Lord.
*Later Upon rereading this, I found this line very interesting. although it is pronounced
Poets starving
children bleed
I wonder whether it isn't a single thought regarding the starving children of poets? Thus:
Poets' starving children bleed.
Fascinating the way punctuation or lack thereof can lead to a productive and fruitful ambiguity. It works that way in scripture often as well.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:27 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 23, 2007
Rediscoveries--Annie Haslam--Still Life
Annie Haslam was the lead singer for the progressive group Renaissance (I don't know if some version of Renaissance still exists.) On the album A Turn of the Cards, they introduced the idea (or at least perfected the idea which had actually been made prominent by Procol Harum in "A White Shade of Pale") of singing lyrics to classical music that wasn't meant to be vocal. The song, "Cold is Being," was sung to the tune of Albinoni's famous Adagio.
Still Life (1985) is an album of such songs. It features songs sung to the tunes of Mendelsohn's Overture to the Hebrides (aka Fingal's Cave), St. Saen's "The Swan," Wagner's "Seigfried's Rhine Journey," and Satie's "Trois Gymnopedies No. 2." She reprises the use of Albinoni's Adagio in a song titled "Save Us All." There are other melodies that I can't so easily place--famous and immediately familiar if not leaping directly to the memory. In addition she does a treatment of "Ave Verum Corpus."
Annie's voice may require a bit of getting used to for some. I find it pure and lovely while not so ethereal as the voice of, say, Sissel or even Sonja Kristina. There is a robust quality and roundness of tone. While I'm not wild about some of the vocal choices she makes, they do tend to grow on you as you listen.
The classical melodies do tend to make for overly dramatic lyrics at times and occasionally some overly dramatic vocal choices. However, overall, it is very pleasing to hear familiar melodies with an interesting overlay of words. Annie's voice has always had a tremendous appeal for me--it is pure and clear, light and delicate, while still being robust and full bodied. It's an interesting combination.
When I first heard her solo work, I was so used to her work with Renaissance, I didn't care for it; but now, upon a relisten with years between and the memories of Renaissance not nearly so close to the surface, these are very appealing and lovely songs. It is so nice to make their reacquaintance without the patina of ingrained preconceptions.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:38 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 22, 2007
One I Left Out
You know in all that blather a couple of posts down, I managed to leave out a real favorite:
Alan Parson's Project, Tales of Mystery and Imagination.
I first encountered them with I, Robot and never liked Tales as much--but I've concluded, perhaps incorrectly, that I was wrong. I'll need to listen to I, Robot again and see where it falls out.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 1:28 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
In The Court of Excess
People truly love King Crimson. Things I found while looking for lyrics:
In the Court of the Crimson King
and for those who can follow it better than I can,
An Analysis of In the Court of the Crimson King
If you get a chance, you really should listen to this album, most particularly the title song which is at once quite lovely in ways that I cannot give proper voice to and a bit melancholy. When I listened to this album again, I was reacquainted with brilliance. I believe this is the version of King Crimson that includes Greg Lake of Emerson, Lake, and Palmer on both bass and vocals.
And you know, considering that there is a fair amount of a type of Jazz that I absolutely dispise on some of the tracks, this recommendation might be regarded as some fairly strong stuff. If you find yourself initially put off, skip the first track--or better yet, listen to the last track, "In the Court of the Crimson King" and after you have a sense of the group, come back--it makes better sense. (In fact in the context of "21st Century Schizoid Man" the endless tootling of the acid jazz, or whatever it is called makes perfect sense and gives the whole song interesting context, vision, and power.
"Nothing he's got he really needs,
21st Century Schizoid man. . ."
After which we have complete breakdown.
Followed by , "I Talk to the Wind."
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Vinyl Review
In the course of converting vinyl to mp3, I've made some interesting rediscoveries. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed some King Crimson albums--In the Court of the Crimson King and Lizard are standouts for me. I had also forgotten small treasures like Hero and Heroine by The Strawbs, Pawn Hearts by Van der Graaf Generator and 666 by Aphrodite's Child.
In looking through the collection I dug out 801 Live, Night after Night by UK, and Taking Tiger Mountain (by Strategy) by Brian Eno. I also pulled out the eponymous The B-52s and once again visited "Planet Claire." (Same recognized this cut from a Hallowe'en album we have.) Echo and the Bunnymen and Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division, mixed in with Dazzle Ships (OMD) and Chameleon in the Shadow of Night--Peter Hammill. I renewed my acquaintance with "The Pothead Pixies" who appear first on Camembert Electrique and then drive the entire Radio Gnome Invisible trilogy.
We mustn't forget the electronic side of things--Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream, Edgar Froese (particularly Aqua), Cluster, Roedelius, Klaus Schulze.
But, what was most gratifying is to hear that despite youthful pretensions, the real talent and drama of Genesis was there, right from the beginning. From From Genesis to Revelation right on through to The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway there are, at first flashes, and then a sustained high level of art, intelligence, and real beauty. Foxtrot is still the standout, but I had forgotten some of the beauties of Trespass, Nursery Cryme and Selling England by the Pound.
All of this before the stranger realms of This Heat and From a View to a Scream by Tuxedo Moon. Snakefinger and Nash the Slash make appearances before we arrive at the pinnacle of oddness and interest--The Residents. I got through The Residents, The Third Reich and Roll Album and Fingerprince--I have yet to get Diskomo, The Commercial Album and whole "Eloi and Morlock" trilogy of Plutonian Jazz.
Next up--I hope--The Unfortunate Cup of Tea, The Tain, The Book of Invasion, The Man who Built America and other treasures from the nearly forgotten Horslips. And perhaps some YMO, more Peter Hammill, Gentle Giant, Gryphon, Renaissance, Curved Air, and bits and pieces from more renowned but less preferred sources--The Cars, Focus, The Human League, Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet. And then there's the standout of Ultravox and John Foxx. They still await electronic transformation. And given Metamatic I don't know why I didn't pull these out first--perhaps deferred gratification.
It's very nice to visit past greatness and it gives me pause to wonder why I stopped listening. And then I remember--I got married and everything else faded in importance. Now, I hardly know a modern group or a modern sound and somehow, I have no real sense of deprivation. That's a good thing.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:24 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 16, 2007
Supper's Ready
As a result of You-Tube exploration, I went back to the vinyl collection that I have kept from my early interest in music and wondered, other than the fact that the technology is now so primitive as to be nearly outmoded, why I didn't listen to these things what were so formative for me at the time.
So I turned back to several favorites and listened to them as I thumbed through the Amazon Catalog (and finally contacted a friend who had been ripping vinyl to MP3). Chief amongst these early works were Tales of Mystery and Imagination by The Alan Parsons Project, Phantasmagoria by Curved Air (the You-Tube cut by Sonja Kristina, "Melinda (More or Less)" is from this album) and Foxtrot by Genesis (with Peter Gabriel).
Foxtrot is something of a "concept album" with the second side consisting of a single song in multiple movements. I remember listening to this over and over again at the time it was issued. I thought it one of the most profound pieces of music ever written. You won't be astonished to hear that I was wrong. But the people who wrote the lyrics knew how to pull strings and how to set up certain expectations. Much of this is youthful pretension--one can end up reading all sorts of meanings into the song, but much of this is an exercise in reading the overstuffed and vague lyrics in a certain way. All of this amounts to a certain amount of pretension--a pretension that comes of youth.
"He watched with reverence as Narcissus
was turned to a flower. . .
A Flower?. . ."
And the next song bounces along "happy as fish and gorgeous as geese" hops along in its odd sort of way.
And take this delightful bit of nonsense:
Lyrics from "Supper's Ready"
Apocalypse In 9/8 (Co-Starring the delicious talents of Gabble Ratchet)
With the guards of Magog, swarming around,
The Pied Piper takes his children underground.
Dragons coming out of the sea,
Shimmering silver head of wisdom looking at me.
He brings down the fire from the skies,
You can tell he's doing well by the look in human eyes.
Better not compromise.
It won't be easy.666 is no longer alone,
He's getting out the marrow in your back bone,
And the seven trumpets blowing sweet rock and roll,
Gonna blow right down inside your soul.
Pythagoras with the looking glass reflects the full moon,
In blood, he's writing the lyrics of a HIP brand new tune.And it's hey babe, with your guardian eyes so blue,
Hey my baby, don't you know our love is true,
I've been so far from here,
Far from your loving arms,
Now I'm back again, and babe it's gonna work out fine.
As Sure As Eggs Is Eggs (Aching Men's Feet)Can't you feel our souls ignite
Shedding ever changing colours, in the darkness of the fading night,
Like the river joins the ocean, as the germ in a seed grows
We have finally been freed to get back home.There's an angel standing in the sun, and he's crying with a loud voice,
"This is the supper of the mighty one",
The Lord of Lords,
King of Kings,
Has returned to lead his children home,
To take them to the new Jerusalem.
And we're to make what of this? I remember back before they published the lyric sheets just trying to figure out what the heck they were singing. Now that I know, I'm little better off. And yet there is such a tremendous sense of fun about the whole thing--sheer delight in verbal wordplay. "666 is no longer alone. . ." such an interesting observation that can be taken so many ways depending upon one's perspective.
That said--it is still solid and interesting. One can forgive the excesses of youth and even engage in them from time to time. This is the kind of thing that true geniuses look back on and say, "Oh well, youth, what can you do about it." The music moves in all sorts of interesting symphonic ways and rock ways--there are about 20 styles and segues that lead through a labyrinth of possible meanings to result in sheer entertainment.
So rather than faulting meaning or lack thereof, it's far better to sit back and enjoy the sheer loveliness of some of the treatments and let the rest go. Yes, some of it is silly, some pretentious, some overblown. But there are delicate interludes and a real sense of unity and organization in a piece that goes on for about 22 minutes--a true symphony of sorts. And it still charms.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:39 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
January 13, 2007
Okay, One Step Beyond Lene
Possibly inspired by her, possibly part of the zeitgeist Nina Hagen was Germany's response to Lene Lovich. And here you see her at her best.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:13 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 12, 2007
The Proof of the Pudding
In the arena of too much information--my wife endured this grueling test of character prior to our marriage. After she agreed to attend a Lene Lovich concert I knew that she was the girl for me.
(Among Lene's true admirers her style was known as Transylvanian Boogie. Perhaps another reasonable characterization might be a deranged Pippi Longstocking.)
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:31 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Some Sounds of My Time (Before My Time)
Curved Air, "Melinda More or Less" featuring the remarkable voice of Sonja Kristina
The equally remarkable Annie Haslam with Renaissance
I entered the musical world at a date later than these bands and discovered them in retrospect. Those I discovered as they came along include:
Camel and The Snow Goose, their finest effort:
And then there is:
"In the Court of the Crimson King"
Eddie Jobson, who worked with, among others UK and Ultravox--here with Memories of Vienna
The weird, even for me, even at that time, The Residents with "The Simple Song"
And Gentle Giant giving us the odd poetry of psychiatrist (and bad poet) R. D. Laing in a modern-day madrigal--"Knots"
The Strawbs with Rick Wakeman at the Keyboard--"The Hangman and the Papist"
And Peter Gabriel in his previous incarnation as the Leader of Genesis
The guitarist, Steve Hackett, on his own. . .
Finally, because the fifth amendment is insufficient protection for some of the excesses of youth, the remarkable John Foxx, one of the talents behind Ultravox.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:50 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
January 6, 2007
Things Seen, Things Read
Okay, first beware:
The dreadful tedium of yet another animated mess--Happily N'ever After. This pallid attempt to capitalize on the genuinely clever Hoodwinked starts from the wrong premise and from there makes ever choice in precisely the incorrect manner to assure maximum adult tedium. The kids may get something from it--but not enough to endure except perhaps on DVD as the iPod gently lulls the mind.
Now to the excellent: Apocalypto. When I first heard that Mel Gibson intended to make another film in which dead languages feature largely, I thought, "Oh goody. More pretension."
Don't judge a film by its pretensions. By turns amusing and truly ghastly; high-school locker room and abbatoir, the film has heart and meaning for anyone trapped in the grinding soul-breaking toil of much of the American Corporate system. The message, in a sense boils down to a simple Simpson's episode. Those who watch it will know what I mean when I say "Do it for her."
A love story, a survival story, an historical epic--the true brutality and horror of life among the peoples of ancient North America is exposed for what it likely was. No PC approach to living in harmony with nature, although that is also shown for what it is.
I haven't said much, but I was moved and enjoyed the film despite the gory and ghastly images that can linger behind. Intense, but intensely meaningful and really beautiful.
And now, for reading. I finished one last book during vacation, a book by an author I had long ago abandoned and thought never to pick up again. The author: Dean Koontz. The book Odd Thomas. I believe I first saw a positive word about it at Julie D.'s Happy Catholic and as our tastes have large areas of overlap and her enthusiasm was evident, I thought it good to try the series. Well, I must confess myself surprised and satisfied. This is not the usual stamped-from-the-same-fabric plot that Dean Koontz churned out in so many early books that he finally alienated me as part of his audience. Odd Thomas has many clever ploys and dodges that wind up in a most satisfying, if somewhat unexpected conclusion.
Odd Thomas, you see, sees dead people. He sees the ghosts of those who pass on--including Elvis who has as many unique features as a ghost as he had as a living person. These ghosts, and other, more unpleasant entities, cue him on on happenings or about-to-be-happenings in the spirit world that affect the world of the living.
A remarkable and entertaining diversion that contains hints of something more. As I continue to read the series I am hoping to see that something more develop. But as it stands, Odd Thomas is recommended reading.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 7:28 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 18, 2006
Eragon
It should come as no surprise that when an 8-year-old boy is given the choice between Eragon and Charlotte's Web, it is nearly inevitable that he will choose Eragon. I see this as a very healthy interest for the young--action, excitement, adventure. It should also come as no surprise that their middle-aged fathers would far prefer the gentle remembrance of youthful reading, especially when the reviews for Eragon were so tepid.
So, what of Eragon? It's faults are faults that every reasonable child will overlook, and every adult whose chief interest is the happiness of that child can deal with readily. The movie is precisely what one would expect of a movie made from a highly derivative novel written by a 15 year-old boy. Every plot turn is not only expected, but is directly mappable to something you've seen elsewhere. There are youthful romantic notions of what it means to die with dignity. There is a Sauraman-like evil wizard who commands groups of made-from the Earth nasties whose chief job is to hunt down the hero and kill him. There are several references to Star Wars, one in the death of Eragon's Uncle another in the mysterious mentor who helps Eragon become a dragon-rider.
I won't go on with the catalogue, these illustrate the point. The movie takes bits and pieces of nearly every prominent action/adventure/mythic movie made in the last 30 years and compounds them into a unique film. Was it good? Well, let's say that it was as good as a film of this description could possibly be. The dragon-riding was probable and well-done, the acting mostly passable. It was not a fantastic film, but given its source material, that would be much to expect.
It was sufficient to entertain, entrance, captivate, and otherwise stimulate the mind and imagination of an eight-year-old boy. And so, it served its purpose well. Is it as good as other films that might do the same? Probably not. But this is one of those matters that is judged by the instance, not by the entire literature of film. In this instance, it performed to a magnificent degree the task set before it. It made an 8-year-old boy, and thus his father, very happy for a short time. It isn't a saga for the ages, but it is a saga for age 8.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:32 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 7, 2006
"The Shifting and the Solid" and Debussy
For those of you who are admirers of the fiction of Virginia Woolf, you will already know to what I refer by these words--and she was among the leading practitioners of them. If you read Mrs. Dalloway or To the Lighthouse or most particularly Jacob's Room you will experience within the works an oddly disconcerting element, a subtle ambiguity of character and incident. There is about her stream of consciousness a looseness, an almost frightening element of uncertainty, instability, which resolves into a rather gentle, perhaps slightly surreal, serenity. It pervades the works and its ambiguities make the characters themselves rather ambiguous in some ways.
I was thinking about this solid and shifting as I considered how whatever I was feeling, wheresoever my emotional state, I could put on Debussy (and for me, it is only Debussy, not Ravel, not Vaughn-Williams, not Delius, not Holst, not even Satie--Debussy alone) and the entire world seems to shift for a moment in its orbit and is suddenly a better place--better lit, better coordinated, better composed. Debussy captures the serenity of flowing water, the tumble of the stream over a rocky bed, the smell of smoke in autumnal air, all things momentary, evanescent, ephermal, diaphanous--all things that shift in a moment and are gone. Debussy encapsulates them all and contains them so that shifting and solid are together. Those glimpses, those moments, those intuitions, are suddenly tangible--no longer vague and fleeting and gone, but substantial, permanent, perennial. The moments of the opening of a blossom are suspended, it is forever opening--not a loop, but a continuity that never reaches an end. In this way, for me, Debussy capture eternity--time vanishes while I listen to his music and I am caught up in the flow of the eternal where all that happens happens not in a moment but in a continuity that never ends. The blossom never stops opening even though at some point the flower is full-blown.
And if that isn't vague enough for you, just post a comment and I'll see if I can make it even more vague.
Later: Although on reconsideration, there are parts of Daphnis and Chloe that approach the power of Debussy to bridge the shifting and the solid.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 1:26 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 2, 2006
Karlheinz, revisited
Because I really do want to try to see the beauty in things that others recognize as beautiful, I listened through a couple of things on Erk's site and then went here to sample the music of Karlheinz Stockhausen. It had been some time ago that I first formed my impressions of this composer and it was time to revisit.
While I have to say that my impressions were a good deal less negative t