I'm not sure what just happened in the Pats-Chargers game, but I know I like it.
But that's the Patriots -- they manage to minimize the damage from mistakes, and to capitalize on opponents' mistakes, and to stay close and do the big things when it matters most.
This week, Brady and Manning combined for a passer rating of 50.1. Your AFC Championship quarterbacks, ladies and gentlemen!
1.14.2007
1.13.2007
Fortune plango vulnera...
I've decided to start a series of posts discussing music in my collection based on an arbitrary-number generator. (If random-number generation is truly possible, the fact that I don't have exactly 1000 CD's blunts the randomness.) It's either quite ironic or quite fitting that the first disc selected via this method is number 571 -- Carmina Burana, a piece that I have very little desire to write about.
The Hickox/LSO recording (in a previous release on Fidelio) was among my first classical CD's, purchased at the Berkshire Record Outlet in my early teens. I loved it for some common, if immature reasons. It was loud and dissonant. The texts were funny, and treated sex and drunkenness. But mainly, it was loud and dissonant. (Boy did the final three movements pack a wallop -- you go from the insane Soprano range of "Dulcissime" to the loud brass/chorus of "Blanziflor et Helena" to the recapitulation of "O Fortuna.")
As I grew older, though, I started having second thoughts. As I studied music theory and became infatuated with Beethoven and Bach, form and counterpoint became more and more important to me. You can spend a lot of time buried in the score and fail to find much in the way of either. The form is predominantly strophic songs. The most common texture is unison or parallel blocks of intervals or chords. There's plenty of novel orchestration, but relatively little else of interest.
In time, I grew to view it as a piece in which nothing happens, for all its noise. (In the interest of fairness, I should note that I never tired of the "Olim lacus colueram" movement, concerning the swan roasting on the spit. I'd rate this among the funniest moments in musical history. That means that I enjoy under four of the piece's sixty or so minutes.) To me, it was another top-40 hit with little of value or harm. Then I discovered something troubling.
In many ways, the simple textures are meant to suggest a return to the ideals of Medieval music. However, in 1930's Germany, such an idea can actually be quite troubling. If Carmina Burana is to represent a more pure, earlier ideal of Germanic music, then it can be seen as a musical representation of Aryan ideals. It's a music that is without influence from inferior kinds of music, freed from the Italian foundation of German Baroque music. It's one thing to flag Wagner's music as representing proto-Nazi ideals; this was written the year of Germany occupied the Rhineland. This implication, that Carmina Burana is essentially Nazi propaganda, certainly can temper one's enjoyment. (It doesn't disqualify it outright; however, it should be in the canon of "problem works" of art that represent a view that is now seen as unacceptable due to bigotry. Just as productions of The Merchant of Venice invariably involve discussion of anti-Semitism or screenings of Triumph des Willens acknowledge the techniques Reifenstahl used to make the Nuremberg Rally so impressive, I feel that performances of Carmina Burana should highlight this less palatable aspect.)
A couple of weeks ago, in this space, I offered a reassessment of one of those other much-maligned top-4o hits: Pachelbel's canon. Can I offer any sort of positive reassessment Carmina Burana?
First a digression: the medieval poems that Orff selected are brilliant. The rhetorical delights of In taberna quando sumus, for example doesn't really translate to English, but is clear enough in the Latin.
But the subject at hand is really the music. The natural question arises: how can I enjoy Glass's Two Pages or Reich's Piano Phase, yet argue that nothing happens in Carmina Burana? While I could argue that a lot more happens in those austerely minimalist pieces (albeit very slowly) than in Carmina, I won't. The point stands, though, that we can't compare Orff's music to Bach's and Beethoven's, as he was consciously trying to use a neo-medieval style. As much as I'm trying, however, I can't defend this piece of music (which greatly pales in comparison to contemporary pieces like Schoenberg's 4th string quartet or Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta).
Next up: #452, Tchaikovsky's Pathetique Symphony, conducted by Furtwangler on Naxos Historical
The Hickox/LSO recording (in a previous release on Fidelio) was among my first classical CD's, purchased at the Berkshire Record Outlet in my early teens. I loved it for some common, if immature reasons. It was loud and dissonant. The texts were funny, and treated sex and drunkenness. But mainly, it was loud and dissonant. (Boy did the final three movements pack a wallop -- you go from the insane Soprano range of "Dulcissime" to the loud brass/chorus of "Blanziflor et Helena" to the recapitulation of "O Fortuna.")
As I grew older, though, I started having second thoughts. As I studied music theory and became infatuated with Beethoven and Bach, form and counterpoint became more and more important to me. You can spend a lot of time buried in the score and fail to find much in the way of either. The form is predominantly strophic songs. The most common texture is unison or parallel blocks of intervals or chords. There's plenty of novel orchestration, but relatively little else of interest.
In time, I grew to view it as a piece in which nothing happens, for all its noise. (In the interest of fairness, I should note that I never tired of the "Olim lacus colueram" movement, concerning the swan roasting on the spit. I'd rate this among the funniest moments in musical history. That means that I enjoy under four of the piece's sixty or so minutes.) To me, it was another top-40 hit with little of value or harm. Then I discovered something troubling.
In many ways, the simple textures are meant to suggest a return to the ideals of Medieval music. However, in 1930's Germany, such an idea can actually be quite troubling. If Carmina Burana is to represent a more pure, earlier ideal of Germanic music, then it can be seen as a musical representation of Aryan ideals. It's a music that is without influence from inferior kinds of music, freed from the Italian foundation of German Baroque music. It's one thing to flag Wagner's music as representing proto-Nazi ideals; this was written the year of Germany occupied the Rhineland. This implication, that Carmina Burana is essentially Nazi propaganda, certainly can temper one's enjoyment. (It doesn't disqualify it outright; however, it should be in the canon of "problem works" of art that represent a view that is now seen as unacceptable due to bigotry. Just as productions of The Merchant of Venice invariably involve discussion of anti-Semitism or screenings of Triumph des Willens acknowledge the techniques Reifenstahl used to make the Nuremberg Rally so impressive, I feel that performances of Carmina Burana should highlight this less palatable aspect.)
A couple of weeks ago, in this space, I offered a reassessment of one of those other much-maligned top-4o hits: Pachelbel's canon. Can I offer any sort of positive reassessment Carmina Burana?
First a digression: the medieval poems that Orff selected are brilliant. The rhetorical delights of In taberna quando sumus, for example doesn't really translate to English, but is clear enough in the Latin.
But the subject at hand is really the music. The natural question arises: how can I enjoy Glass's Two Pages or Reich's Piano Phase, yet argue that nothing happens in Carmina Burana? While I could argue that a lot more happens in those austerely minimalist pieces (albeit very slowly) than in Carmina, I won't. The point stands, though, that we can't compare Orff's music to Bach's and Beethoven's, as he was consciously trying to use a neo-medieval style. As much as I'm trying, however, I can't defend this piece of music (which greatly pales in comparison to contemporary pieces like Schoenberg's 4th string quartet or Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta).
Next up: #452, Tchaikovsky's Pathetique Symphony, conducted by Furtwangler on Naxos Historical
1.10.2007
Searching for "WCRB Playlists"
Lately, since WCRB switched from 102.5 to 99.5, I've been getting a lot of hits from people searching for CRB playlists. (The website, which used to have that information, is under construction for some reason.)
I find that quite odd; CRB is the station that tells you the names of all the pieces at the end of the hourlong blocks of classical music, after all.
I find that quite odd; CRB is the station that tells you the names of all the pieces at the end of the hourlong blocks of classical music, after all.
1.09.2007
Theiving artists exposed!
The Boston Herald is sure looking out for Massachusetts taxpayers today, calling for the elimination of a $350 African dance program and other small ticket arts items.
With a state budget of almost $20 billion, it's good to know that the fat cat arts groups who are conning the state out of tens of thousands of dollars are finally going to get what's coming to them. I'm looking forward to seeing the savings rolled into tax cuts in the amount of fractions of cents per taxpayer!
With a state budget of almost $20 billion, it's good to know that the fat cat arts groups who are conning the state out of tens of thousands of dollars are finally going to get what's coming to them. I'm looking forward to seeing the savings rolled into tax cuts in the amount of fractions of cents per taxpayer!
1.07.2007
Living in a Post-Tower Boston
In moments of stress or sadness, I like to use record shopping as a means of consolation. On-line shopping just doesn't do it in that situation; there's something about flipping through CD's, accumulating a huge pile, sorting through them to whittle it down to a reasonable amount, and then immediately being able to open them, listen to them, read the liner notes, catalogue them, and clear a place on the shelf for them.
I thought about this earlier this week. I was running errands in a mall, and popped into FYE to see what they had. I did end up getting something, though that was in spite of the selection. (There was a used copy of the concept cd "Ricecar," at half of what they probably should have charged for it.)
So, then, where to go for a brick-and-mortar record store in the Boston area? (Digression: William Safire's Language column today discusses retronyms, of which "brick-and-mortar" is an excellent example. They're adjectives that become necessary when a variant becomes common. For hundreds of years, there were just stores; only in the last decade have we had to distinguish "brick-and-mortar" stores from the on-line variety.)
There are a handful of used record stores, but none boast an extensive classical section. With used stores, it's all a matter of luck; maybe they have some gems, maybe they don't. I don't know of any used stores in the area that warrant special mention.
Tower's traditional rival has been Barnes & Noble (in the Prudential Center, as well as various locations in the suburbs). Unfortunately, the selection is whithering away, seemingly getting smaller every day. While there is some variety, it is mostly vanilla. The prices also aren't great, unless you buy the discount card. If you want to choose from 12 different recordings of a Beethoven symphony, it is a good bet. If you want to get outside "the box" of the 1700-1900 WCRB playlist, the choices are more limited.
Then there's Newbury Comics. As of two weeks ago, the Harvard Square location had more than doubled its classical section, although it remained quite spotty. The Newbury Street location, however, has shown a new commitment to classical music. They have taken on classical staff and set aside a sizable section (given the very real contraints of their footprint). While they don't have as many units as Barnes & Nobel, the selection is richer and more varied. There's a decent selection of opera and a small but interesting new music section. What I find particularly promising is the fact that the staff is still working to develop the section further. I look forward to seeing the results.
Unfortunately, in the immmediate future, it will be impossible to replace the two Tower locations. Let's just hope that some day there will be a store that specializes in classical music.
Digression 2: I was always fond of Newbury Pizza. Every time I stopped in, I always wondered how it survived. Surely, in that gentrified street, the landlord would prefer a high-end restaurant to classic greasy-spoon pizza place. I was very sad today to discover that it finally has closed. It's a real shame.
Digression 3: As I walked by Fenway today, it was perfect weather for a ballgame. Yet my calendar says January 6. I can't figure it out. (84 days until opening day!)
I thought about this earlier this week. I was running errands in a mall, and popped into FYE to see what they had. I did end up getting something, though that was in spite of the selection. (There was a used copy of the concept cd "Ricecar," at half of what they probably should have charged for it.)
So, then, where to go for a brick-and-mortar record store in the Boston area? (Digression: William Safire's Language column today discusses retronyms, of which "brick-and-mortar" is an excellent example. They're adjectives that become necessary when a variant becomes common. For hundreds of years, there were just stores; only in the last decade have we had to distinguish "brick-and-mortar" stores from the on-line variety.)
There are a handful of used record stores, but none boast an extensive classical section. With used stores, it's all a matter of luck; maybe they have some gems, maybe they don't. I don't know of any used stores in the area that warrant special mention.
Tower's traditional rival has been Barnes & Noble (in the Prudential Center, as well as various locations in the suburbs). Unfortunately, the selection is whithering away, seemingly getting smaller every day. While there is some variety, it is mostly vanilla. The prices also aren't great, unless you buy the discount card. If you want to choose from 12 different recordings of a Beethoven symphony, it is a good bet. If you want to get outside "the box" of the 1700-1900 WCRB playlist, the choices are more limited.
Then there's Newbury Comics. As of two weeks ago, the Harvard Square location had more than doubled its classical section, although it remained quite spotty. The Newbury Street location, however, has shown a new commitment to classical music. They have taken on classical staff and set aside a sizable section (given the very real contraints of their footprint). While they don't have as many units as Barnes & Nobel, the selection is richer and more varied. There's a decent selection of opera and a small but interesting new music section. What I find particularly promising is the fact that the staff is still working to develop the section further. I look forward to seeing the results.
Unfortunately, in the immmediate future, it will be impossible to replace the two Tower locations. Let's just hope that some day there will be a store that specializes in classical music.
Digression 2: I was always fond of Newbury Pizza. Every time I stopped in, I always wondered how it survived. Surely, in that gentrified street, the landlord would prefer a high-end restaurant to classic greasy-spoon pizza place. I was very sad today to discover that it finally has closed. It's a real shame.
Digression 3: As I walked by Fenway today, it was perfect weather for a ballgame. Yet my calendar says January 6. I can't figure it out. (84 days until opening day!)
1.04.2007
The Great Kinkades of China
Like the Mongols of the twelfth century, today's bloggers have breached the Great Firewall. Which is to say, I discovered last night that China is allowing foreign blogs to be read (at least, at the moment). I may as well take advantage of this opportunity and try to write some more about China, for my readers over there. Coincidentally, there's something good to write about in the paper this morning:
The Times discusses the recent trend in Chinese art: selling your work for millions of yuan. At first glance, this would seem to aid the artistic process in China, but does it really?
The problem is that when the focus becomes economic, then the art suffers. This may not have been a concious strategy by the government to protect itself from satire, but it's working wonders by bringing these artists into the fold, and moving their focus to money. The question is no longer what Zhang Xiaogang [张晓刚] has to say about China during the Cultural Revolution; it's how many new versions of that same painting of the family of three his studio can churn out and sell. Who cares what Fang Lijun [方力钧] thinks about the post-Tiananmen world. How many paintings or sculptures of distorted faces can he finish in time for the next auction?
It's as if the artists of China are collectively turning from the Pollocks, Rothkos, and Warhols into many Thomas Kinkades, using "art" as a way to print money, expression be damned.
I realize that this is an overly bleak assessment; I look forward to a new generation of artists who will come shine some light on this problem by finding a way around it. I fear that it's too late for the current generation, though.
The Times discusses the recent trend in Chinese art: selling your work for millions of yuan. At first glance, this would seem to aid the artistic process in China, but does it really?
The problem is that when the focus becomes economic, then the art suffers. This may not have been a concious strategy by the government to protect itself from satire, but it's working wonders by bringing these artists into the fold, and moving their focus to money. The question is no longer what Zhang Xiaogang [张晓刚] has to say about China during the Cultural Revolution; it's how many new versions of that same painting of the family of three his studio can churn out and sell. Who cares what Fang Lijun [方力钧] thinks about the post-Tiananmen world. How many paintings or sculptures of distorted faces can he finish in time for the next auction?
It's as if the artists of China are collectively turning from the Pollocks, Rothkos, and Warhols into many Thomas Kinkades, using "art" as a way to print money, expression be damned.
I realize that this is an overly bleak assessment; I look forward to a new generation of artists who will come shine some light on this problem by finding a way around it. I fear that it's too late for the current generation, though.
1.03.2007
The Ethical Dilemma
I recently met someone who minored in music at college and was an enthusiastic fan, but professed to not be interested in contemporary music. Much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, I'm an unashamed proselytizer of what I consider good music, which means that I often find myself stepping up to bat for the music of the past hundred years. (It is deeper than that, though; I also push early music and everything in between, if the need is there.)
My theory is simple: if people gave this music a chance, they'd fall in love with it too. If anyone is willing to listen, I'm willing to play the music for them. At the same time, I'm smart enough not to throw anyone in heads first into, say, some of Boulez's gnarlier scores or Einstein on the Beach. (I hated Einstein for years, but it got its claws into me, and I was only able to fight it off for so long. I now hold the final two sections are up there with any concluding movements of any piece of music ever written.)
It was easy enough to select some good pieces from the triumvirate of Schoenberg/Berg/Webern. Pick a track from Quartet for the End of Time and War Requiem. Throw in a couple of sonatas for prepared piano by Cage. "O King" from Sinfonia fits in nicely.
But then I hit the dilemma. The [post-]minimalist style is really hard to anthologize. The pieces tend to run long, and it's easy for the person to just get bored and skip ahead. As much as I love Gay Guerilla by Julius Eastman, I know it isn't the right place to start. So, then, my thoughts turn to On the Transmigration of Souls. While not particularly representative, it is an effective piece of music. (Making that even more tempting is the fact that this person's field is counter-terrorism.) Is highlighting Adams's pulitzer-prize winning piece manipulative or simply demonstrating that even today, classical music has something to say about the world?
My theory is simple: if people gave this music a chance, they'd fall in love with it too. If anyone is willing to listen, I'm willing to play the music for them. At the same time, I'm smart enough not to throw anyone in heads first into, say, some of Boulez's gnarlier scores or Einstein on the Beach. (I hated Einstein for years, but it got its claws into me, and I was only able to fight it off for so long. I now hold the final two sections are up there with any concluding movements of any piece of music ever written.)
It was easy enough to select some good pieces from the triumvirate of Schoenberg/Berg/Webern. Pick a track from Quartet for the End of Time and War Requiem. Throw in a couple of sonatas for prepared piano by Cage. "O King" from Sinfonia fits in nicely.
But then I hit the dilemma. The [post-]minimalist style is really hard to anthologize. The pieces tend to run long, and it's easy for the person to just get bored and skip ahead. As much as I love Gay Guerilla by Julius Eastman, I know it isn't the right place to start. So, then, my thoughts turn to On the Transmigration of Souls. While not particularly representative, it is an effective piece of music. (Making that even more tempting is the fact that this person's field is counter-terrorism.) Is highlighting Adams's pulitzer-prize winning piece manipulative or simply demonstrating that even today, classical music has something to say about the world?
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