Mostly Music
quinta-feira, fevereiro 28
The Dib-dab
from the Portuguese by Dona Nora..
Ariel was a fairy who was still a little girl, and she was, like she usually was, being punished. That was because she was very distracted, and every now and then she would forget something that she was supposed to do, like, for example, looking after the flowers, or cleaning the clouds. When she was being punished, she lost the right to use her magic wand, which meant that she became just like any other little girl, just much prettier.
But there was also one other thing in her favor: her dib-dab-didub, brand new, model 2001, serial number 1-2-3-5-8. Now any fairy that had a dib-dab (that’s how they called it, for short), didn’t need a magic wand. And so she was only really being punished in theory. In practice, Ariel wasn’t being hindered in the slightest.
That might have been why it was so hard for her to improve.
What is a dib-dab? Well, it’s a kind of toy, but one that only children of fairies and wizards can have. It’s anything that the owner wants it to be. It’s a hundred, a thousand, an infinite number of toys; it’s as many toys as you want, all in one.
continues here
terça-feira, fevereiro 26
I THINK THIS POEM IS HILARIOUS...
Tenuous and Precarious
Tenuous and Precarious
Were my guardians,
Precarious and Tenuous,
Two Romans.
My father was Hazardous,
Hazardous,
Dear old man,
Three Romans.
There was my brother Spurious,
Spurious Posthumous
Spurious was spurious
Was four Romans.
My husband was Perfidious
He was perfidious,
Five Romans.
Surreptitious, our son,
Was surreptitious
He was six Romans.
Our cat Tedious
Still lives,
Count not Tedious
Yet.
My name is Finis,
Finis, Finis,
I am Finis,
Six, five, four, three, two,
One Roman,
Finis
.Stevie Smith
A REVIEW FOR MANOEL:
This CD is:
a) weird
b) interesting
c) good
d) bad
e) challenging
f) puzzling
g) all of the above
h) none of the above
If you checked “g”, you score high marks in this crazy test. My first reaction was: how strange! Then, how curious! Then I ran the gamut from a to h....
The personality which dominates this 2001 Supraphon release is that of singer Iva Bittová, and the very first piece is at once an exhibition of her vocal prowess and a pointer to the esthetic direction of the CD. Now it is hard to explain just what that consists of.
The texts written in the booklet account for the adjective “puzzling”. They are poetic, but do not explain much. The central idea seems to be that it contains pieces that deal with the concept of echo. But then not all of them do.
I thought of classifying the music as post-modern, but that was too easy a way out. A cop-out rather. So let me try again: the general recipe is a mix of folk central-European ingredients, with a bit of jazz sprinkled on some classical avant-garde music, a whiff of new-age flavoring, and world-tendencies here and there (a taste of shakuhachi, gypsy bands, Arab spicing...). The voice inflections of Iva Bittová are reminiscent of those of Portuguese singer Maria João, and there are echoes (oops! Sorry!) of Carl Orff, blues, sprechstimme...
The result is sometimes jarring, sometimes enchanting (the interplay between voice and over-dubbed flute in track 20 is very nice, with a lilting, gentle feel to it), and most often very fun, almost like an imaginary soundtrack for some animated cartoon film.
In a few instances, what must have seemed a brilliant idea falls flat: the re-enactment of Hotteterre’s Echo with the voice answering the flute in ever-expanding tone colors, for example. This would possibly (in fact, quite probably) be a big hit on stage, but after a few listenings it becomes irritating more than instigating, especially in the bleating passages. There are places where the music gets overly sentimental, or a bit cutesy (like in the neo-antique pieces in the style of Karg-Elert) or gratuitously experimental – it is easy to see that the players are having fun discovering new sounds to play with, but one is not quite sure one wants to travel the road to enlightenment along with them.
However, the high points are high indeed: all musicians are first class, committed to the music, and excellent both technically and musically. This is specially true of Ms. Bittová, who uses her voice as an instrument of surprising range and timbric variety. Even in this non-visual medium, her experience as an actress shows through, with renderings that are full of theatrical flair. In the liner text Ms Bittová wrote that ”since my childhood I have lived for music” – this is trite, but utterly convincing given the musical results. Her performances are direct and full of life, and one gets the feeling that if the group of musicians decided to go even further outside, she would be fully prepared. Her most frequent partner, Andreas Kröper, is an accomplished flutist, and his baroque flute-playing is more than just politically correct, it is flexible and heartfelt.
The clever instrumental combinations are definitely successful, and many of the works entice and involve the listener right away, and manage to tease and please at the same time. The CD reflects a sort of modesty, coupled with a real joy in music making. Nice! And let’s not forget the recorded sound, which is very warm, clean but not dry, round but not .... “echoey” (groan). The record cover is that rare thing, graphic art that truly reflects the musical choices.
As mentioned before, the liner texts could (and should) be more informative, particularly considering the original character of the music. I felt specially unsatisfied with the little importance given to the gypsy element, hinted at in the liner notes, but never explicitly discussed. Do these musicians have gypsy blood? It seems so, but it is impossible to know, maybe because in Europe this is still a politically charged subject. And it is not a minor detail – since mainly in Central-Europe the gypsies were, up to quite recently, the messengers of the outside world as far as musical influences go.
This is a bold, unconventional experiment. Not to every taste, but those who cherish more exotic fare will certainly get their money’s worth. I for one, await their next adventure with curiosity and excitement. And speaking of curiosity: if you happen to discover what the name of J. V. Stamic is doing in the cover, pray tell me. I could not find any further reference to him inside the CD or in the booklet’s many pages.
ECHOES Iva Bittová (voice); Andreas Kröper (fl). With Petra Klementová (fl), Pavel Novotny (trombone), Jan Beránek, Martin Flasar (vn); Bedrich Havlík, Helena Velická (vc), Vladislav Bláha (guitar), Alzbeta Horská (harp), Dan Dlouhy (perc); Milos Stedron, Jan Ocetek (cond) SUPRAPHON SU 3505-2 931 (46:29)
IVA BITTOVÁ Ecos I; Ecos II; Winds. JACQUES HOTTETERRE Ecos. ANDREAS KRÖPER Iva. MILOS STEDRON (Sr. And Jr.) Vanitas. MILOS STEDRON Sr. Passacaglia; Requiem Zingarorum. MILOS STEDRON Jr. Requiem; MILOS STEDRON Sr. & BITTÓVA Passacaglia.
Fanfare, Dec/Nov 2001
segunda-feira, fevereiro 25
FOR BIA (I SWEAR THIS IS THE ORIGINAL TITLE: )
Beatriz's song
When will he return?
Only to depart.
Harrowed by the omen
Of his restless heart;
Bondsman of the voice,
Rival to the Sun,
Viceroy of the sunset
Till his task be done.
Though he is my love
He is not for me;
What he loves lies over
Loveless miles of sea.
Haunted by the West,
Eating out his heart
When will he return?
Only to depart.
Text by Louis MacNeice (1907-1963)
Set by William Walton (1902-1983), from Christopher Columbus Suite, no. 2.
A ROYAL VISIT
This next week, Prince Charles will be in Rio. Guess who will be playing for him? The Brazilian Symphony Orchestra? The Municipal Theather Symphony? Guess again. By request of His Royal Highness, the kids from the Villa-Lobinhos Project will be the main attraction. Neat, isn't it? More details? Click here (sorry, in Portuguese only...)
A PERFECT DAY
In the morning, a most unusual program: we went to Copacabana beach (yes, I do that, about once a year!). The water was warm and surprisingly clean, fish (big ones!) bumping into us every five minutes, algae floating around, white sands, clear skies. And nice, friendly people all around (violence or not violence, dengue or not dengue, Rio is still the "cidade maravilhosa") Manoela premièred a new bikini, and I had the best time just frolicking with her in the water and watching her beautiful smiling face. Coming back home, we stopped by the open market, and I bought four pounds of fresh shrimp.
Big salad, shrimp with garlic and oil, a caipirinha with tons of ice, what could be better? The caipirinha made by Hermano
helped me forget that I myself look like a fat shrimp now - oh why do I forget that, though inside I am quite Brazilian, outwardly (skin deep?) I am, hélàs, a gringa...
In the late afternoon we went (Mom, the girls and I) to a music event at the Marina da Glória. An outpost of Garcia & Rodrigues (to the non-cariocas, a fancy restaurant in Leblom), it had the ideal happy-hour: a show by a new, sensational group, probably the best instrumental Brazilian popular music ensemble I have ever heard. Its core, the boys from Abraçando Jacaré, D'Artagnan (flute), Nando (guitar), Serginho (pandeiro). Plus João Hermeto playing percussion and a fabulous violinist from France, Nicolas, who plays like a wizard and already speaks almost-accentless Portuguese. In the repertoire, classic chorinhos (Um a Zero, Tico-tico no Fubá, etc...) as well as Jazz (Sonny Rollins), Jewish Music with all the gypsy overtones (Jerusalem), some original compositions by members of the group, you name it. The ensemble is well-balanced, fun, full of pep, ideas, swing. Mom was dancing in her chair, and even the girls, who were relluctant to go, at first ( "Mom, do we really have to go hear your students play?"), were trapped in the magic.
The group has no name, yet. They accept suggestions, send them on...
Recording companies, where are thou?
domingo, fevereiro 24
JOKES FROM LÍLIAN
A guy from Brooklyn was in Hong Kong passing through the native quarter,
and was surprised to see a synagogue. He went in and sure enough, he saw a
Chinese rabbi and a Chinese congregation. The service was touching.
As the service ended, the rabbi stood at the door greeting his congregants.
When our Brooklyn friend came up, the rabbi said,
"You Jew?"
"Yes, I'm Jewish," replied the Brooklynite.
"Funny," said the rabbi. "You don't look it."
--------------------------------------
A Jewish lady's grandson is playing in the water, she is standing on the
beach not wanting to get her feet wet, when all of a sudden, a huge wave
appears from nowhere and crashes directly over the spot where the boy is
wading. The water recedes and the boy is no longer there. He simply vanished.
She holds her hands to the sky, screams and cries, "Lord, how could you?
Have I not been a wonderful mother and grandmother? Have I not given to
Bnai Brith and Haddasah? Have I not tried my very best to live a life that
you would be proud of?
A few minutes later another huge wave appears out of nowhere and crashes on
the beach. As the water recedes, the boy is standing there, smiling,
splashing around as if nothing had ever happened.
A loud voice booms from the sky, "Okay, okay, I have returned your
grandson. Are you satisfied?
She responds, "He had a hat."
------------------------------------
A Jewish girl went to London to work as a secretary and began sending home
money and gifts to her parents. After a few years, they asked her to come
home for a visit, as her elderly father was getting frail. She pulled up to
the family home in a Rolls Royce and stepped out wearing fur and diamonds.
As she walked into the house her father said 'Hmmm - they seem to be paying
secretaries awfully well in London.' The girl took his hands and said,
"Papa I've been meaning to tell you something for years but I didn't want
to put it in a letter. I can't hide it from you any longer. I've become a
prostitute." Her father gasped, put his hand over his heart and keeled over.
The doctor was called but the old man had clearly lost the will to live.
He was put to bed and the Rabbi was called. As the Rabbi was comforting,
the mother and daughter, the old man muttered weakly,
"I'm a goner, killed by my own daughter! Killed by the shame of what you've
become!"
"Please forgive me", his daughter sobbed. "I only wanted to have nice
things! I wanted to be able to send you money and the only way I could do
it was by becoming a prostitute."
The old man sat bolt upright in bed, brushing the Rabbi aside, and was
smiling. "Did you say prostitute? That was a close one - I thought you said
Protestant!"
=======================================
Lenin in Poland
Brezhnev wished to commission a portrait to be entitled "Lenin in Poland"
in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of the Russian Revolution. The problem
was that Russian painters, being schooled strictly in the realist school of
thought, were unable to paint an event which never occurred.
"Comrade Brezhnev, we would like to do it, but we cannot. It goes against
our training," was the reply which the Chairman received from every artist
he asked. Finally, after getting refusals from all of the great artists in
Moscow, Brezhnev was forced to go ask the old Jewish painter, Levy.
"Of course, I prefer to portray actual events, but I'll do the painting for
you, Comrade. It would be my great honor." Levy commenced work on the
painting. However, every time that Brezhnev visited his studio in an
attempt to see the work in progress, Levy rebuffed his efforts, telling him
that he never allowed his unfinished works to be viewed.
Finally, the day of the unveiling arrived. Levy stood proudly by the cloth
draped over his work. Brezhnev introduced Levy and gestured to his gift to
the Russian people on the fiftieth anniversary of the Russian Revolution, a
picture commemorating Lenin's historic visit to Poland. Everyone gasped as
the cloth was removed to reveal a picture of a man and a woman together in
bed.
Brezhnev was stunned. "Whoa, who is that man?" he stammered.
"Why, that's Trotsky."
"And who," Brezhnev inquired, "is that woman?"
"That is Lenin's wife, Comrade Brezhnev."
"But where is Lenin?"
"He's in Poland."
quinta-feira, fevereiro 21
COMMENT
OH, LIFE is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Roumania.
Dorothy Parker
For
SONNET TO A CAT
CAT! who hast pass'd thy grand climacteric,
How many mice and rats hast in thy days
Destroy'd? -- How many tit bits stolen? Gaze
With those bright languid segments green, and prick
Those lovely velvet ears -- but pr'ythee do not stick
Thy latent talons in me -- and upraise
Thy gentle mew -- and tell me all thy frays
Of fish and mice, and rats and tender chick.
Nay, look not down, nor lick thy dainty wrists --
For all the wheezy asthma, -- and for all
Thy tail's tip is nick'd off -- and though the fists
Of many a maid have given thee many a maul,
Still is that fur as soft as when the lists
In youth thou enter'dst on glass bottled wall.
--John Keats
domingo, fevereiro 17
BLIND AS A BAT
Sorry, friends, but this blogger will disappear for a couple of days. That is because I am having new contact lenses made, and the ophtalmologist said I have to stay at least 3 days wearing no contacts so that my eyes can be measured properly. That means I cannot see at all, since my eyes are just awfull... I'll see (!!!!!) you soon, though.
Saiu no Platypus...
Written by two reviewers for the print-based Fanfare magazine, Mostly Music contains quotes about music and reviews of classical music by Laura ("I am addicted to period instruments") and Tom ("The joy in this music should sparkle with wit, the sadness weep").
Poetry in three languages complements the high-culture tone of this blog; only go here if you know your arpeggios from your allegros.
sábado, fevereiro 16
sexta-feira, fevereiro 15
Why God does not have a Ph.D.:
1. He had only one major publication.
2. It was in Hebrew.
3. It had no references.
4. It wasn't published in a refereed journal.
5. Some even doubt he wrote it himself.
6. It may be true that he created the world, but what has he done since then?
7. His cooperative efforts have been quite limited.
8. The scientific community has had a hard time replicating his results.
9. He never applied to the ethics board for permission to use human subjects.
10. When one experiment went awry he tried to cover it by drowning his subjects.
11. When subjects didn't behave as predicted, he deleted them from the sample.
12. He rarely came to class, just told students to read the book.
13. Some say he had his son teach the class.
14. He expelled his first two students for learning.
15. Although there were only 10 requirements, most of his students failed his tests.
16. His office hours were infrequent and usually held on a mountain top.
A TRUE STORY (don’t you think The Reader's Digest would pay for this one?)
There was a young woman, once, who saw war, and lost a large part of her life in Europe. Her house, her friends, her piano. But they did not take away her pleasure, her talent and joie-de-vivre. And her harmonica. She managed to escape, and reconstruct her soul in a country in the South, where she met a man, got married, had children, became a university professor. And played the harmonica, first for her husband, then for her children and friends, then for her grandchildren.
One day her house was robbed, and the creeps who stole her TV, stereo, silver and jewelry also stole the humble harmonica; a German Hohner, chromatic model. Her relatives insisted that she buy another. No, she said. It's no use. I will never find one just like that one. And in fact, no one ever did find one just like that one. So for twenty years nobody heard the plaintive sounds of the harmonica anymore, and the house was silent. Except for the sound of the flute, played by the woman’s younger daughter, who became - you guessed it? - a musician (nobody is perfect!).
Years passed, and her two children grew up and had children of their own. The woman’s older daughter got married, had a son and a daughter, and they eventually grew up, married Americans and moved to the States.The son became a father, and he would longingly tell his daughter about his beloved grandmother, and how she used to play the harmonica for him, when he was a little boy, before The Great House Robbery.
But the sound of the harmonica was just a pale memory, a thin sound lost in the waves of the aggressive noises of daily life. After a while, nobody mentioned the harmonica anymore, and that was that.
One day, the grandson in America was out for a leisurely walk, and fell upon a garage sale. In the mumble-jumble piled over a wobbly table a patch of color caught his eye. It was a familiar dark red harmonica case, the blue Hohner name discreetly showing beneath some less dignified junk. Inside, rusty and dilapidated, was the magical harmonica, just like the one grandma had had and loved. It even had the original instruction booklet, and a date, printed on the case’s edge: 1937.
Unfortunately it was just the ghost of an instrument. Decades of neglect had taken a toll, and it spoke no more, and cried no more. The mechanism was gone, the shine was lost. But the grandson was an optimist, and a very stubborn optimist, to boot. Certainly $7 were worth the risks. He bought the harmonica, and carefully opened its bowels, performing a delicate and lovingly planned operation. The results? A true miracle: the harmonica came to life once more, and seemed anxious to be put to good use.
Last week the young man came to his sunny motherland to visit his family and introduce to them his new son, a lovely 3-month old gringo. And, as a surprise, he brought the instrument to his grandma.
I think you can all imagine her face when she opened her gift. But you will not be able to guess what was the first piece she played on it, after twenty years of musical silence. Twinkle twinkle little star? Happy birthday to you? Nope, try again.
Never losing a beat, and technically clean as if she had never stopped practicing, grandma soloed…STORMY WEATHER.
Get that.
segunda-feira, fevereiro 11
CCLXXXVIII.
P. B. Shelley (1792-1822)
MUSIC, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken;
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed:
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
domingo, fevereiro 10
Is an image worth a thousand words?
No text, yet. But I just loved the image. Tom, how about finding a text that will fit this?
WELL, I NEVER HAD THE COURAGE TO CONFESS, BUT IF MT SAYS IT...
I have witnessed and greatly enjoyed the first act of everything which Wagner created, but the effect on me has always been so powerful that one act was quite sufficient; whenever I have witnessed two acts I have gone away physically exhausted; and whenever I have ventured an entire opera the result has been the next thing to suicide.
Mark Twain, 1891
OUR DAILY QUOTES
The optimist thinks this is the best of all possible worlds. The pessimist fears it is true.
Robert Oppenheimer
A pessimist is one who has been intimately acquainted with an optimist.
Elbert Hubbard
sábado, fevereiro 9
FAUTE DE MIEUX
Dorothy Parker
TRAVEL, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme-
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.
sexta-feira, fevereiro 8
MORE BACH
Bach’s solo cello suites are, without a doubt, true masterpieces.Sublime yet never too heavy, profound but never boring, they achieve a perfect balance between implied harmony, singing melody and rhythmic variety. One would imagine that they would be, to music, what shrimp is to the culinary arts: the foolproof goods, impossible to spoil. Having been transcribed to every possible instrument, they have been used as soundtrack for bad soap operas and good movies, and even after three centuries they continue to be a challenge to the best cellists in the world.
So it is not entirely surprising to find them in a recorder version. After all, having lost its place to the traverso from the middle of the eighteenth century on, the recorder suffers from a blatant lack of repertoire, and recorder players are always trying to expand the depth and reach of the pieces available to them. In this case, with dubious results.
In this 1999 recording, the jacket cover has a quote from Fanfare, which praises these performances as “committed and convincing”. I agree in part. More precisely, I agree with the “committed” bit. As to convincing…
Ms Verbruggen is a very accomplished player. Her fabulous technique, fast fingers, perfect articulation, suave breathing and good musical instinct have given us many a pleasurable moment. The present CD is a tour de force, with passages where it is almost hard to believe that only one instrument is playing. In the liner text (by John Butt) a very coherent reasoning almost manages to make us believe that this shrimp dish will taste even better than the original recipe. Almost.
The Bach suites, however spare in their chordal writing, are still dependent on the vertical structure, and even though the beauty of several melodic lines makes them tempting for a recorder player, the harmonic aspects sometimes override all others. This happens specially in the preludes, and in several of the slower movements as well. Ms Verbruggen opted to utilize appoggiaturas to evoke the resonant double-stops of the cello. In fact this substitution is all-pervasive and extremely annoying at times, and notwithstanding the technical prowess, the effect touches on the ridiculous (the second gavotte in BWV 1012 is a good example of this: the constant appoggiaturas end up reminding the listener of some hysterical bagpipes lost in the highlands).
The absolute impossibility of the recorder to sound ponderous is a major drawback, and affects all the slow movements. But even in the faster movements or the ones where melodic lines are dominant, and which might seem appropriate for a wind instrument, the high, clear timbre of the recorder is indeed a very poor substitute for the deep, dark timbre of the cello. Not to mention the differences in expressive and dynamic range between the two instruments. Borrowing another analogy from the animal kingdom, it feels like a mouse trying to imitate an elephant.
This version is curious, and of interest to recorder players in general. To anyone else, the original works are more attractive by far, and make for an easier listening.
BACH Suites for recorder (trans. from the originals for solo vc); No. 4, in Eb, BWV 1010; No. 5, in c, BWV 1011; No. 6, in D, BWV 1012. Marion Verbruggen (rcr). Harmonia Mundi HMU CD 907260 (75:35)
Fanfare, September/October 2001
quarta-feira, fevereiro 6
FROM THE QUOTATION DEPARTMENT:
Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.
Scott Adams
If love is the answer , could you please rephrase the question?
Lily Tomlin
ODE
Arthur O'Shaughnessy. (1844–1881)
WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
on whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
sábado, fevereiro 2
Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire.
--François de la Rochefoucauld
HAPPINESS
Carl Sandburg (1878 – 1967)
I ASKED the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell
me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of
thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though
I was trying to fool with them
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along
the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with
their women and children and a keg of beer and
an accordion.
(Meg, this one is for you!)
