monoceros blogsGetting an interview on NPR is akin to hitting gold. Sales of books or albums usually rise after the author or musician appears on NPR. But in the case of Ximena Sariñana, excitement in the indie world began a little earlier when iTunes offered one of her songs as a freebie. Her debut album is called "Mediocre," but the lyrics - I read a translation, of course - of the title song are anything but so; they pointedly express the tragedy of mediocrity and a lack of individuality.
As an indie singer-songwriter who's on the crossover path, Ximena has a nice mix of influences in her music - jazz, rock, and a little pop (but minimal; it's almost subversive pop). Her voice, sans vibrato, packs a wallop, which may come as a surprise because Ximena is a pretty small person. Perhaps I like her all the more because of it. And I certainly like how she makes this quirky rendition of "Volare" completely hers. She just about eats up the song.
Mediocre, by Ximena Sariñana
Un Error, by Ximena Sariñana
While working on the Proust Questionnaire (more on this later), I surfed over to The Late Greats, whose latest post was about Jake Shimabukuro. It inspired me to answer the question "What is your idea of perfect happiness?" with this statement - to have Jake Shimabukuro play his ukulele for me in Central Park. I eventually wrote a different answer, but that's another story.
Still, the wild beauty in his playing is no small thing. The video below is a treasure. I watched it dozens of times when a friend first sent it to me. That was about three years ago; today, Jake and his weeping ukulele still leave me reeling.
Last week wasn't a good one, but I felt infinitely better yesterday night when I attended the first performance of the YST Conservatory orchestra series. My friend, Peiming, who has been pregnant for the past two years (a few months after bringing sweet Paige into the world, she became pregnant again with Mitch, due in December), performed for all of ten minutes on the harpsichord to accompany The Conservatory Orchestra. She'd given me a complimentary ticket, which I would gladly have paid for because the music selections were simply wonderful. Faculty members also performed, so that meant I was treated to the T'ang Quartet playing Edward Elgar's sublime "Introduction and Allegro Strings, Op. 47." To my amateur's ears, the performance was spirited and evocative, and I had to resist the storm of emotions welling up within me. And then there was Richard Strauss' "Mondscheinmusik" from the opera "Capriccio." By the intermission, my heart was in pieces.
After the performance, we went for a late dinner (for her) and dessert (for me) at PS Cafe. We had a delicious salad with seven kinds of mushrooms and a generous slice of cheesecake with berries and chocolate. We talked of many things - music, books, books about music and the mind, teaching music to toddlers, my writing, her paper that she'll present in Houston in October (which I promised to help proofread), her children, my journeys, the startlingly youthful appearance of the T'ang Quartet members (whom she promised to introduce me to), and the mushroom salad. I went home full - of music, food, memories, dreams.
Introduction and Allegro, Op.47, by Edward Elgar; performed by the Allegri String Quartet and the Sinfonia of London, conducted by Sir John Barbirolli
Today, I wish I could step into a place and have someone talk to me as gently as Charlotte Kendrick's bartender addresses a dejected customer. But it's hard to keep believing such a place exists.
Someone's Looking Out For You, by Charlotte Kendrick.
Going through my iTunes playlists is like reading my musical autobiography, especially when I actually have one that's titled "Soundtrack of my life." I was looking for Kermit's "The Rainbow Connection" when I came across the song, "I Will." When I was a teenager, I used to sing (or hum, if other people were around) the song a lot. It was written by that beloved songwriter, Paul McCartney, though the version I have isn't the original. Instead, it's by a famous musical pairing - Tuck and Patti. He plays guitar, she sings. (And if one needs to dwell on the race factor, well, he's white and she's black.)
People think it's a love song between a couple, but it isn't. It's about a person in your imagination, one you dream of meeting. It's also the one that chance shoves at you or sneakily offers up and then takes away - you could be walking down a street, racing to join the line for donuts, or searching for a book in your favorite bookstore, and right then, you pass the person you're meant to be with (if you believe in that kind of thing) without knowing it. It's altogether possible you'll meet the person later - properly, as in, you get to have a conversation - or never see him again. Fate is funny, and fickle. So songs like these make you feel better about it. It gives a nice shiny layer to something that could be potentially heartbreaking.
I Will, by Tuck and Patti.
In my youth, whenever I was particularly tired, my fatigue manifested in a propensity to laugh too much and say bizarre things that I didn't always understand. In short, if I was tired, I appeared tipsy. Today, I've lost the ability to laugh when I get tired. Instead, I just spout strange statements that I still don't understand. In addition, I've noticed a mis-use of vocabulary and also a higher chance of saying things without thinking, which alternates with a moody silence. I'm not sure which of these is the worst.
Sleepdriving, by Grand Archives.
Because I don't listen only to sad music (despite what music selections on this blog suggest), and because it's Friday.
Friday I'm In Love, by The Cure.
Some of the best lines from Adrienne Shelley's "Waitress" are addressed to an unborn baby. In a journal she's planning to give her daughter, Jenna writes:
"Dear Baby, I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that's all they do. They don't pull away. They don't look at your face. They don't try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight, without an ounce of selfishness to it."
When I heard those lines in the film, I thought immediately of tango. At a milonga, if a person holds you just right, it's a wonderful feeling for about 12 minutes, if not 20. As Jenna writes, he doesn't look at you or overwhelm you; he just holds you tenderly, protectively. And no one has to say a word. The sensation isn't about romance (though it could be for couples); rather, it's about connecting with another person, which is a rare event these days.
Last night, I listened to two pieces of music that reminded me of Jenna being held by Dr. Pomatter when she was particularly vulnerable. In the right embrace, a person can easily reach the state of forgetting, of oblivion. It's a good place to be, because sometimes we need to forget. And, sometimes, we just need to be held.
Oblivion, by Pablo Ziegler.
Magic Hour, by the Ahn Trio.
This is what I learned in music theory a long time ago: the passacaglia is an Italian music form. It can be quick and lively; it can be slow and grave. Either way, its hallmark is a repetitive pattern, line, or melody, that is, a melody that repeats almost unchangingly throughout the length of the piece while other lines vary freely. The passacaglia is also an ancient triple-time Spanish or Italian court dance based on this type of music. Listening to various pieces with passacaglia elements, I can imagine solemn dances held in grand, kingly halls; straight-backed men moving amongst bejeweled women in elaborate gowns, the sound of cloth and feet sweeping in time with the music.
The music, though, was allegedly played by musicians who belonged to the street and not in grand courts. They were wandering musicians; passacaglia originates from the Spanish words pasear (to walk) and calle (street). Musicians throughout history have often been wanderers, taking their music and instruments across lands and countries, enriching their repertoire with strange and stirring notes they hear from peers who look and dress differently, but who possess the same secret nerve that awakens when chords and phrases weave stories and pictures. Today, musicians and poets still embark on journeys to find new material, to widen their horizons and experiences in the hopes that doing so will make them better artists.
If the passacaglia marks the work of a wandering musician, I like to imagine the varying lines as the new and unfamiliar experiences the musician collects on his journeys, and the unchanging melody or bass line as the core within him, the self that remains true and unshaken while everything else is in flux. Similarly, we have a unique, constant rhythm within our minds, even if around us everything is topsy turvy, helter skelter - unpredictable. That rhythm can occasionally build with urgency or delight, or tumble with disappointment - just as heartbeats that quicken or slow - but it seldom varies beyond recognition, and sometimes that's all we can ever depend upon.
Here are three samples of the passacaglia. The first is by Handel, or rather, inspired by a theme of his and attributed to Norwegian Johan Halvorsen (this is arguably the most famous piece of music in the form of a passacaglia). The next is a composition by Luigi Boccherini, the fourth movement ("Passacalle") in a work titled "Musica notturna delle strade di Madrid." I saved my favorite for the last, "Passacaglia" by Bear McCreary. Boccherini's piece appeared at the end of the film "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World" and McCreary wrote "Passacaglia" for the TV series, "Battlestar Galactica." It comes as no surprise that both the film and series are about characters and their journeys, whether they are taken across oceans or galaxies.
"Passacaglia," performed by Quartetto Gelato (Handel/Halvorsen).
"Passacalle," performed by Richard Erdoes, Michael Fisher, Simon Oswell, Timothy Landauer, Bruce Dukov (Boccherini).
"Passacaglia," performed by the Royal Scottish National Orchestra (McCreary).
There have been mornings when I'd wake with an inexplicable sense of dread, a harbinger of some unpleasant event or an unwanted development. On most occasions, I was able to shake off the feeling, glad to be rid of it, though having felt it somehow prepared me for whatever happened later. Should I be grateful for these premonitions, made better for their warning? I rose twice this week with that heavy feeling in my stomach. It should have been a grand week - last week of the term, the end of grading, the beginning of some time at last to write and read, time for walks, time to clear and pack - but something was wrong or about to be very wrong, and I couldn't name it.
This too shall pass, by Justin Rutledge
Rant: I expected the months of March and April to be packed with work, but not this packed. The tasks are still the same, just more difficult to get through and taking longer than I'd planned. Plenty of grading, of course, which I was prepared for, but the editing is increasingly frustrating for reasons I shouldn't say. I'm already behind schedule as it is! And everything has to be clean and perfect or the software won't read the files. So I can't do a speedy job either; I'm very sore about the situation. I also have a task to complete in less than a week for my CELTA application, and application essays from my students to read and comment on, which I agreed to do since no other instructor would help them. Why can't I say "no" to people? Why does "bad timing" have to be the subtitle to my life?
Balm: Of angels and angles, by The Decemberists
Things I've read or heard during brief breaks:
It is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence; that which makes its truth, its meaning, its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream - alone. ~ Joseph Conrad, from Heart of Darkness
If man does not live by bread alone, a nation does not survive in the long term by material prosperity alone. I’m going to risk being churlish and say that as long as Singapore’s leaders do not pay heed to the fundamental needs of the human spirit, they can never be called wise, only clever, and as long as the nation they lead is admired only for its material achievements, it can never be called great, only successful. ~ Catherine Lim, from "A challenge for the future: Democratising the Lee Kuan Yew model of governance?"
In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love; they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock. ~ Harry Lime, from "The Third Man"
A song was playing in the car over a month ago, and my friend, B, said it was good advice.
Keep breathing, by Ingrid Michaelson
A quick search on iTunes unearthed many more songs about breathing, most of which are from "Grey's Anatomy," a show with a number of extras and guest stars whose characters eventually stop breathing.
Breathe me, by Sia
Breathe in, breathe out, by Mat Kearney
Breathe (2 AM), by Anna Nalick
...definitely a thrill that Dario Marianelli received the Oscar for Best Score. His work in "Atonement" is marvelous; the pairing of the staccato of typewriter keys and a lush score is novel but it works very well for the film.
I first heard Marianelli's work in "I Capture the Castle," which stars Romola Garai (also seen in "Atonement"). And of course, he wrote the dreamy, romantic score for "Pride and Prejudice."
Here is a sample from the rare score of "I Capture the Castle."
A break with (or "from"?) tradition: here are a couple of upbeat songs. And they're about grammar.
Oxford Comma - by Vampire Weekend. Neil Gaiman put this up on his blog. A cool pick.
My Egpytian Grammar - by The Fiery Furnaces. I can't remember where I got this.
On Saturday, a dead bird lay somewhere between the front door and the coral tree in my garden. It wasn't a muscular crow or a small black mynah, nor was it an arrestingly beautiful sort of bird. It was unusual though; I'd seen tiny yellow birds darting about the neighborhood before, but never a green one before. My bird - in less than a minute, I'd already grown a sense of responsibility towards it - had dark green and gray feathers, though the ones on its head were snow-white. I'd like to think that when it was alive, its feathers were shiny and glinting in the sun. Like a fallen gladiator, now it was a still, dark shape among the bright red petals of the coral flowers on the ground.
Despite it being one of the least pleasant tasks I could ever wish for on a Saturday morning, I had to remove it before any stray cat came by to stake its claim. As it was, a trail of industrious ants were already on the scene. Who knows what they'd already taken. The eyes, maybe. I shuddered at the thought of picking up a dead body, even if it wasn't large or heavy. Even if it was just a bird that I'd never seen before till that morning.
I couldn't decide which made me more uneasy - the physical presence of this dead weight or the awful thought that the life had gone from a creature that had always made me think of joy and journeys and freedom. It was just a bird, someone might say, but it had once breathed and eaten and drank of this world, and though I had seen an unusual number of deaths in my youth, mortality and death and all the permanence linked to it have yet to become any easier to accept.
I was thirteen when I first touched a dead body. My aunt was 18 when she died of an aneurysm. I was at the hospital the morning they took her off the life support machine, and though I knew her body was still warm after she was declared dead, I was afraid to touch her. Because I'd grown up with her, seen her laugh, heard her sing, let her tickle me till I teared, and I couldn't quite believe that her vibrant spirit was gone from her, and her body, so warm and familiar beside mine when I was a child, would soon grow cold and then be taken away from us forever. I lay only a finger on her forearm for a second, and then I walked away from her, ashamed and certain that I never wanted to touch a dead body of someone I loved if I could help it. I didn't want to remember that instant of knowledge, the tangible proof that the life had gone from her, sensed through mere layers of skin, mine and hers.
But I still remember it, and I did again when I felt the weight of the bird as I attempted to push it into a bag. I was using a rolled-up newspaper, which proved too large and clumsy, so I used a slipper, and even then, despite the lack of contact, I could feel the bird's sinking deadness through the tips of my fingers, and I had to walk away several times, leaving the body half in and half out of the bag, and feathers falling away from the bird's wings in all directions. Finally, I returned, inhaled deeply, heaved it into the bag as far as I could, and pulled the bag up so the body would fall to the bottom.
As I tied the bag, I wondered if the bird was on its way home to a nest somewhere in the neighborhood, or if it was on its way out to look for breakfast, or maybe it was leaving its nest in search of a better one someplace else. I'd like to think it was out on a new journey, but that it wasn't meant to be, and that if there were a heaven for animals, then it was in a far better place now, where the skies are endless, worms are plentiful, and trees are tall and lush and perfect for building nests.
Back in my study, I pulled out three songs that use birds as metaphors, very good metaphors. I listened to them and thought of real birds - black birds, blue birds, and a green bird - and also of the people who yearn to be like them, to go off on long journeys, to leave a place forever, who fail to do so but still dream that they can.
Black Winged Bird - by Nina Persson
Homebird - by Brian Kennedy
Bye Bye Blackbird - by The History Boys; they sing it for a beloved but often misunderstood teacher who finally left on a journey of his own.
Last week, I spoke to my students about using fresh metaphors in modern songs and poems. We'd spoken before about tired metaphors and symbols like roses for love, doves for peace, but it hadn't occurred to me to refer to contemporary writing to show them how new images can startle and affect a reader. When I read online versions of the Guardian's booklets on Greek legends, I thought of a song that cleverly uses a scientific law to represent attraction. The class was thrilled about the song, though I suspect much of their excitement came from getting to listen to music instead of having to read or write.
It was Germaine Greer's foreword for "The power of love," that mentioned the comparison of love to gravity, or rather, she reminds us that gravity is just another word that means the force of attraction. Immediately, I thought of Sara Bareilles's interpretation of gravity, which had initially struck me as a conceit - something I used to encounter often enough in metaphysical poetry (John Donne, Andrew Marvell). Despite my initial resistance to the idea, it eventually grew on me and transcended the level of fanciful-metaphor-by-writer-trying-to-be-clever. Given Bareilles's genuine emotion when she sings, the haunting words and phrasing, the song easily made my list of top 25 most played songs. It's a song about falling in love, being unable to resist the force of it. The speaker wants to escape the pull, but says she can't, or perhaps she doesn't wish to.
dimsumdolly likes the song too. She writes a poignant entry about it.
Here is Sara Bareilles's "Gravity."
Here too is the a cappella version that she recorded with her former group from UCLA, Awaken.
Bonus: Awaken does a beautiful version of Billy Joel's "And so it goes," a song about keeping silent.
To complete the circle, here's another Sara (Gazarek) with a version of "And so it goes."
Since it's the first day of a brand new year, I figured it'd be good to listen to songs that cheer and inspire the spirit. I can't think of a better song than Feist's (one of last year's "it" female singers) contribution to the film "Paris, je t'aime."
Here are the English and French versions:
(dancing dragon, if you're reading this, know that I still think of you whenever I listen to the song. Hope you're doing well.)
Another song that gets plenty of airtime in my study is Peter Mayer's "Now Touch the Air Softly," which manages to sound traditional and romantic and timeless all at once. It's a song I like listening to late at night when it gets quiet and I sit by an open window dreaming of distant worlds and other lives. I love how the lyrics conjure up images that start from the small spaces of a home - a country house - then widen to rivers, mountains, and an open sky awash with stars.
However, Mayer didn't write the lyrics; William Jay Smith, a poet, did. In 2004, he wrote -
"As a lyric poet I have been pleased also to find that my poems have for many years attracted the attention of composers, jazz musicians, and folk singers. Recent concerts in Rome at the American Academy and in Paris at the Atelier de la Main d'Or by Ned Rorem, Liz Peterson, Donna Kelly Eastman, and Stephen Berg have presented prominent singers in settings of my poetry for both adults and children. This development has given me particular pleasure since I like to think of myself as part of the Southern oral tradition. One of the poems that has been a favorite with composers and is frequently sung at weddings is the following:
Now Touch the Air Softly
Now touch the air softly,
Step gently. One, two …
I'll love you till roses
Are robin's-egg blue;
I'll love you till gravel
Is eaten for bread,
And lemons are orange,
And lavender's red.
Now touch the air softly,
Swing gently the broom.
I'll love you till windows
Are all of a room;
And the table is laid,
And the table is bare,
And the ceiling reposes
On bottomless air.
I'll love you till Heaven
Rips the stars from his coat,
And the Moon rows away in
A glass-bottomed boat;
And Orion steps down
Like a diver below,
And Earth is ablaze,
And Ocean aglow.
So touch the air softly,
And swing the broom high.
We will dust the gray mountains,
And sweep the blue sky;
And I'll love you as long
As the furrow the plow,
As However is Ever,
And Ever is Now.
It's been three days since I returned from Japan, but I've yet to sort out my pictures and buckle down to write a detailed review of my trip. At least the luggage has been emptied, though some of its contents are scattered across my living room floor. I've also got to clean up the mess I left before I went on my trip, which includes mail, school handouts, CDs, books.
Of course, the CDs and books should be a pleasure to deal with. One of them is Stacey Kent's first Blue Note Records album, "Breakfast on the Morning Tram." There are two beautiful French covers, "Ces petits riens" and "La Saison Des Pluies" but the track that I play on repeat is her cover of Stevie Nicks' "Landslide." It's a sad one, and if you've read this blog long enough, you'll know that sad songs are the kind that hit me hardest.
I love the questions the speaker in the song asks, because I know so many who've asked the same ones -
Oh, mirror in the sky - What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
I don't know, I don't know
Listen to it here and make of it what you will.
And since I love coincidences and roundabout connections, I have to mention that one of the lyricists Stacey Kent selected for her album is novelist Kazuo Ishiguro, who wrote four songs about relationships, all narrated by travelers. In Japan, I read his recent work, Never Let Me Go. And while I was away, I received in the mail a DVD of "Remains of the Day," the 1993 film based on Ishiguro's novel.
A favorite music blog of mine (The Late Greats) often puts up homonym posts, listing songs with the same title or that have the same word in the title or singer's name. It's inspiring to hear these songs that sound exactly the same in title but differ so greatly in music and lyrics. Very much the way two (or three or four) people might have the same name, but have personalities as different as say, iron and wine, incidentally a band that appears on the playlist of homonymic songs I created this afternoon.
It began when I was looking for Sia's "Breathe Me." I typed "Breathe" in the search bar and found five songs with the word "breathe" in their titles. After that I went a little crazy and began typing random words that popped into my head just to see what songs my library would chuck at me. It was nice enough to find a handful of songs for each word and then put them into a playlist, but I soon noticed that the words I chose started to sound like a strange poem when I lined them up.
breathe gravity drive sway bird lonely everything broken gone crash arms save grace superman words lost goodbye afternoon secret away
Words (and numbers) I'll try later: garden, living, daughter, eyes, tonight, call, tomorrow (I'm sure a number of "Annie" songs are going to turn up in this search), 95, 100
I've been swamped with papers, and am having a trying time at work. No time to write, no time to read, no time to think much about anything really. But when my father sent me this link about a bird performance, it made me sit up and smile. I haven't seen a show this good since...since...well, I don't know. It starts out a little slow and screechy, but then really gets good.
Go here to watch and listen.
Let's add Travis' "The Boy With No Name" to the list of May music releases.
Here is the video for "Closer" (fun cameo included). The supermarket setting reminded me of a classmate at my MFA program who was fascinated by grocery stores in America. I remember a story of hers set in a supermarket. Quirky and captivating. Now I'm missing my balm-for-the-spirit late-night shopping at the 24-hour Kroger.
This isn't a May but June release. But since I've mentioned the band, Travis, I should add that my thoughts always go to this fellow workshopper (he was a year ahead, a classmate of EK's) when a song of Travis' appears in the iTunes window. Part of his novel was one of the first pieces I got to read in at the start of the program. It's lovely to see that work come so far.
Pink Martini's third album, "Hey Eugene," is arriving in May. It's just one of the slew of new albums from popular musicians, singers, and bands coming out that month. Among others, there are Maroon 5 ("It Won't Be Soon Before Long"), Tori Amos ("American Doll Posse"), Erasure ("Light at the End of the World"), Michael Buble ("Call Me Irresponsible"), and Rufus Wainwright ("Release the Stars") - he's not so popular or widely known but he ought to be! I suppose May's the time for new music since school's out and summer beckons, the season for long road trips or lemonade afternoons at the park (prime music-listening occasions).
On a personal note, in May, three close friends celebrate their birthdays, and another will depart for a year-long adventure. Much celebration, anticipation, and farewells. I can't decide if I'm going to love or lament the coming of May.
After sampling tracks from Pink Martini's new offering, I'm pretty sure it's going on the shopping list the next time I visit the music store. They haven't changed their recipe much, but it's that tried-and-tested-and-loved recipe their fans adore and want a lot of anyway - distinct flavors from across the globe, capable switching between gentle and vigorous vocal stirrings. More importantly, given the long production period between the first two albums, it's a thrill that the third one's coming out this soon.
You might not have heard of Patty Griffin, but you probably know the singers who've sung her songs, who admire her as a singer and a songwriter. The Dixie Chicks, Jessica Simpson, Linda Ronstadt, Martina McBride. One of her songs even appeared in a mainstream Hollywood film - "We Were Soldiers," performed by Mary Chapin Carpenter.
I found Patty Griffin's own version of "Dear Old Friend" a while ago, and it set off a flood of thoughts and emotions. It's a song to listen to if you've ever lost a friend to illness, war, graduation and moving away. Though the last stanza sounds hopeful - "how will we smile ever again / i'm asking you sincerely, my dear old friend / the moon on the hill says we probably will" - it's a wistful sort of hope, even fleeting. It's very much like the final scene in "Once Upon A Time in the West," when Jill asks Harmonica to come back again. He has a look in his eyes that says he's already miles away, and when he says, "Someday," you know that "someday" will never come to pass.
"Dear Old Friend" by Patty Griffin (13 Ways to Live)
how will we smile ever again
i'm asking you sincerely, my dear old friend
what do you say, is there a way
my dear old friend
how will we laugh just like before
when there's water rising up to our door
and we may never see each other again
my dear old friend
will there be someone to remember
a little place that we loved
how the music played all night and day
through the windows up above
how the birds sang in the morning
how the dog barked in the yard
i guess that's nothing much but everything to us
and that's what seems so hard
how will we smile ever again
i'm asking you sincerely, my dear old friend
the moon on the hill says we probably will
my dear old friend
Jessica Simpson's album A Public Affair is mostly upbeat. You can tell she's moved on from her divorce, her grief; all determined to have a grand time. But one song stands out in its spare yet breathtaking rendition, and it's the closest reference to the recent events in her life. Though I didn't care much for the other songs on the album - or any of her earlier music, for that matter - I thought she nailed this one. Beautifully.
"Let Him Fly" by Patty Griffin (performed by Jessica Simpson in A Public Affair)
Ain't no talkin to this man
Ain't no pretty other side
Ain't no way to understand the stupid words of pride
It would take an acrobat, and I already tried all that so
I'm gonna let him fly
Things can move at such a pace
The second hand just waved goodbye
You know the light has left his face
But you can't recall just where or why
So there was really nothing to it
I just went and cut right through it
I said I'm gonna let him fly
There's no mercy in a live wire
No rest at all in freedom
Of the choices we are given it's no choice at all
The proof is in the fire
You touch before it moves away
But you must always know how long to stay and when to go
And there ain't no talkin to this man
He's been tryin to tell me so
It took awhile to understand the beauty of just letting go
Cause it would take an acrobat, I already tried all that
I'm gonna let him fly
I'm gonna let him fly
I'm gonna let him fly
I've never flown a kite before, but I liked watching people fly them. When I lived right by Bedok Reservoir, I often took walks there and sometimes stopped to admire several avid kite fliers, their arms deftly maneuvering the kites like soaring puppets. They reminded me of the one red balloon that, as a child, I lost hold of one Saturday afternoon. I'd stared hard at it then - just as I stared at the kites - watching it drift farther into the sky, thinking that it was heading straight for the land of lost balloons, where they bobbed eternally and held balloon parties for newcomers.
It's been ten years since I went to the reservoir, and I wonder if they still fly kites there. And listening to Rosie Thomas's "Kite Song" brought back all those images. The gentle bobbing of balloons; the sharp, graceful swerves of kites as they traverse the sky. Of course I learned eventually that balloons fall back to earth and sag into forlorn swatches of rubber, but kites...a kite may fall, lie low for some time, and then the wind will find it again and pull it skyward for a new journey.
"Kite Song" by Rosie Thomas
Oh, tie me to the end of a kite
So I can go on, I can go on with my life
Every marigold I pass below will be my guiding light
I just want to go away from here
Oh, tie me to the end of a kite
So I can go on, I can go on with my life
Every time the wind blows stronger,
I will feel my spirit rise
I just want to go away from here
Oh, tie me ever tightly by your side
So I may go with you wherever you reside
And anytime the road looks dimmer
I will be your guiding light
I just want to go away with you
I just want to go away with you
It's been nearly impossible to blog for the past month. I moved, and the new place did not have an Internet connection for an extended period of time. Then my desktop at my parents' crashed, so what little online time I got became next to nothing once I lost my only computer with online access.
I finally signed up for a Singnet account last week, solved further problems that prohibited online access, and here I am blogging on a Dell laptop at my new desk. The experience is exquisite.
Other experiences -
In January, I got to have an old friend stay for a few days. Ice-cream and coffee and cookies and ideas about which is more amazing: that there is life beyond our planet, or that we are completely alone in the universe?
In January, I also started teaching at a particular university in Clementi. I'm teaching English to students from China, and dare I say, loving (and loathing...on some days anyhow) it. Since many of the other lecturers in the department are much older, I dress corporate in a bid to gain a measure of respect from my students. However, it seems I can't run from my baby face; in the washroom, I've noticed the quizzical looks from Singaporean girls (all dressed in the latest fads - knee-length leggings, belted tunics, babydoll tops which are on the return) who probably wonder why a university-going kid dresses like an office girl.
I get to have lunch with my old Michigan crony, Peiming, who teaches at the Conservatory, and we commiserate about being the youngest and looking the youngest (of course, she has a height advantage which I dismally lack). I get to walk around the bazaar area, taking in the sights and sounds as a tourist would. Today, I bought souvenirs. Two hand-painted wooden doll-magnets - the boy's dressed in a yellow shirt and blue shorts with suspenders and the girl's got on a red Hawaiian dress.
Two days ago, I found an old CD that marked my last undergraduate days in Ann Arbor. During that time, I had attended a few ceremonies, done my reading for the writing program, and had one final essay to complete. One afternoon, I left my brother to entertain my parents, and drove in the pouring rain towards the graduate library. I found relevant books on Percy Bysshe Shelley and his poem "Ozymandias," selected a carrel, and set to work.
Back then, I had my Creative discman constantly at my side, and on that afternoon, I was playing a CD my father had brought over for me. Jacintha Abisheganaden's "Autumn Leaves." She made several pleasant renditions of Johnny Mercer songs, but it was the final bonus track that I kept on repeat mode - "Here's to Life" which Jacintha sang for the film "Play it to the bone."
Staring at the rain falling over the roofs of the university buildings, knowing it was the last essay I would write as an undergraduate, wistful about my departure of a town I'd come to love very much, I spent more time listening to the lyrics of the song than analyzing the lines of "Ozymandias," which itself is a great poem about the passage of time and the inevitable fading of human life and all things material. It was a favorite poem of mine, but music has a slightly greater power over me and I gave myself over to the melancholic strains of the song.
Of course, a few years later, I returned to the same university for graduate school. Much had changed by then (in the town and in myself). But I was glad to be back and doing what I'd always wished to do: read and write. And then the time to leave came by again. It was harder the second time round. And what did I return to? I'm still not sure. Perhaps I'll leave it at a life that's been good and painful.
Here's to life by Jacintha Abisheganaden
I've had two tracks from the self-titled album for quite a long time now, but it wasn't till I caught the youtube video of R and G playing "Diablo Rojo" that I was blown away by their playing. The songs are certainly giddy, delightful marvels but I didn't know it required that kind of playing to produce that kind of sound (I thought someone else was doing the percussions, not the guitarists themselves).
The song's on my "Morning music" playlist, and it certainly gets me moving on the hardest days of the week. The strong beats, the lighting-quick playing. It makes you sit up, learning their the album made it to no. 1 in Ireland; but then you learn also that Dublin has a reputation for taking in struggling musicians and then it's little wonder that an album by two not-very-ordinary guitar-playing Mexicans got that no. 1 spot.
Rodrigo y Gabriela played in Singapore some three, four years ago, at Womad, and I hope the folks who loved them then will remember to get their new album now. It's a studio recording but reputedly captures the magic of the duo's live performances. Listening to "Tamacun" and "Diablo Rojo," I'm more than convinced of it.
Here's a listen. (You might want to hold on to your feet once the song starts.)
So I haven't seen the film yet, but I plan to do so next week with Dimsumdolly. We'll most likely schedule a viewing of the original Italian version when Tiggie, aka Ms Overacuppa, returns with the DVD in December. As of now, she has it in her apartment in bitterly cold Minnesota! Thank you, Tiggie, for helping me get hold of the DVD.
In anticipation of the films, I thought I'd put up two songs, one from each version. From the American adaptation - Imogen Heap's string mix of "Hide and Seek," a song I like not least because it has a favorite phrase of mine, "what the hell." The string-less version is what you get on the soundtrack, though both are equally surreal, as are unexpected betrayals and disappointments. It's a wonderful contrast, the ethereal vocals and the sharp, angry lyrics.
And from the Italian version - "L'Ultimo Bacio." Carmen Consoli's voice is a dream.
Someone asked me about the lyrics to Carmen Consoli's "L'ultimo Bacio." My translation skills are sketchy at best, so I chose only a few lines that I knew I understood.
"L'ultimo bacio mia dolce bambina
brucia sul viso come gocce di limone
l'eroico coraggio di un feroce addio
ma sono lacrime mentre piove
piove"
"The last kiss, my sweet girl,
burns on the face like drops of lemon
the heroic courage of a ferocious goodbye
but there are tears as you cry
you cry"
Sicilian elements, political lyrics, smoky Italian vocals - these are things that Carmen Consoli offers in her latest album. I'm plesantly surprised that an Italian singer is getting publicity in the US, where few foriegn-language singers receive such entry into the market, unless it's opera or classical crossover work by Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban and the like. The most successful Italian songstress I can think of is Laura Pausini, but even then, many of her songs are sung in English (several in Spanish).
Carmen Consoli's music has been mainly rock but this recent album is very acoustic, understated, even traditional in the instruments used. It reminds me of a rather famous song of hers, "L'ultimo Bacio" - the last kiss (in the video, look for the lovely Italian actress, Giovanna Mezzogiorno, who plays the protagonist's girlfriend; the long-haired brunette). It was the theme song of the Italian film of the same name, which has been made into the Zach Braff-starring American version, The Last Kiss (opening in Singapore on November 30).
"Eva Contro Eva" is fully Italian, though the track list has been translated for non-Italian speakers/readers. The titles are small beauties indeed -
1. Tutto Su Eva (Eve Against Eve)
2. Maria Catena (Mary Chain)
3. Dolce Attesa (The Sweet Awaiting)
4. Sulle Rive di Morfeo (On Morpheus' Shores)
5. Pendio Dell'abbandono (The Slope of Abandonment)
6. Preghiera in Gola (A Prayer in the Throat)
7. Piccolo Cesare (Little Caesar)
8. Madre Terra (Mother Earth)
9. Signor Tentenna (Mr See-Saw)
10. Sorriso di Atlantide (Atlantis's Smile)
Here is yet another music post, but it's one I must write because Tally Hall is a band from Ann Arbor, a band from my alma mater, the University of Michigan! Go Blue!
I always find out about the good stuff only after it becomes far less accessible. But at least I find out about it, thanks in no small part to Lim Jia, trumpet and harpsichord player who's in town to obtain her German student visa (she's about to begin harpsichord classes in Berlin). Her main squeeze, Jake, is friends with Andrew Horowitz, a former music student from U of M. Andrew and four other fellows make up Tally Hall, named for a closed-down strip mall in Farmington Hills, Michigan.
They don't have any particular style - that is, they do all styles - and they like to call their music "wonky" or "fabloo." A quick listen of their debut album confirms that you can't really pin them down to a certain type of music. There's the rap-like "Welcome to Tally Hall" and the Jamaican-sounding "Banana Man," whose lyrics are quite absurd but still catchy. It's a head-bopping, danceable song, like many of the others on the CD, and I cannot get the tune out of my head. And the music video is something else. It's filmed in Ann Arbor, and you really feel that the guys are tripping on something. Okay, probably tripping on the fun of it all. It helps that one of the band members was a film student; the short films on their website are hilarious and very strange.
They do enjoy what they're doing, and according to Jake, they got their degrees as sensible young men are supposed to, but they weren't afraid to indulge their crazy, talented sides, which have taken them pretty far. They've had appearances on national TV - MTV and late night shows - and had one of their songs play on an episode of "The O.C."
I also found out that although Andrew Horowitz was primarily a pianist at college, he also wrote collaborative pieces for tuba and piano, and alternative, world, folk music and rap. Those works go under the name of Baker Broz or (Bros). He's also won Hopwood prizes for fiction and poetry, and Hopwoods are the writing awards to win when you're at UM.
So the band writes their own music, makes their own videos, gives rad live performances, and have a made-up name - fabloo - for their particular style of music. And as much as I'd like to watch them in concert, I'll have to make do with their CD, which I begged a friend traveling to the US to bring back for me.
A little over a year ago, my friends Lim Jia and Jake sent me a link to a video of a Japanese-Hawaiian ukulele player named Jake Shimabukuro. The playing, the energy near winded me. I couldn't take my eyes off him, or my ears away from the music, which was at once beautiful and wild; his right hand on that ukulele moved like a circular razor in motion. He didn't just draw out music from the instrument, he whipped the notes into beings, and what spectacular ones they were. I'd never heard "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" played with such sensitivity and gusto before. He plays with such heart, as my friend Jake once said.
I sent the link to noob, who, resourceful fellow that he is, emailed in return a high-res file of the video. It's been over a year since I last watched it; life and other business got my attention, and the file stayed hidden for a time. So it was with much cheer when I spotted a feature on him during my evening visit to the NPR website. His latest album is an acoustic one, and in my opinion, the kind worth getting because previous studio albums had him record with a band, which distracted from his playing and diluted much of the energy that he's known for, the energy he seems to display best in live performances.
So thanks again to my friends for sharing their musical finds with me - Lim Jia and her Jake, the tuba-playing Jake, who can be seen below embracing a large red clock in Iowa.
Photo courtesy of Jake
Postscript: I'd like to think that if I could one day start living my life with say, even just half the energy and passion of Jake's as he plays his ukulele (see above-mentioned video), then it'd be a pretty good life. Dimsdumdolly and I had dinner yesterday and we spoke of how we didn't want to be typical - and this is a sweeping generalization - Singaporeans who are defined only by their work. We didn't want to just work, go home, go to work, go home, work, get home...you get the idea. Life's more than a job, more than fulfilling duties, and existing drearily. There's a world beyond making a living - unabashedly pursuing quirky interests; gushing about a perfect paragraph or a damn fine song; learning about the world and its history; going on adventures, walks, or hugging a red clock; seeking out the unusual; relishing big ideas and gargantuan things, and the little ones too; traveling to places that I've always wanted to see and really seeing them. Sure, having a job and being good at it does matter, but I'd like to be in love with life too. I'd like to think I am, and that I still have a sense of wonder about this world. But then, there are too many people I know who have lost that. And it saddens me.
Perhaps this entry should be titled "The game of improvisation." Gabriela Montero is a Venezuelan pianist who's got the chops not just for classical piano performance but also improvisation. An NPR feature has her listen to the song "Take me out to the ballgame" and then improvise it on the spot. In another broadcast, she improvises the theme for the show "All Things Considered." My favorite is a piece titled "Beyond Bach: Improvisation on a Bach theme."
On iTunes, I downloaded a podcast (this is supposed to be a series of five shows, but there's been only once since May) and I love what she did with "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." The podcast is mostly an interview (and Ms. Montero has a lovely voice and accent) and ends with the interviewer's request of an improvisation on a theme of childhood. Gabriela doesn't just improvise themes by other composers; give her an idea or an emotion, she interprets it on the piano and then improvises immediately after. Her improvisation on the theme of childhood made me very wistful.
Since I was in a wistful mood all morning and afternoon, I went to her website and put in a request (the interviewer said they were taking them, though I'm sure they're very selective). I asked for an improvisation on the theme of lost futures - the lives we might have led, but didn't.
Tonight, I played a song I haven't heard in nearly three years. I bought Lisa Thorson's CD, "Out To Sea," in my first semester at grad school. Listening to it brought me back to my Willowtree Apartment, back to the Serta bed where I sat and read each night before falling asleep. I remember reading Wicked and listening to Thorson's soft humming. Three years. A lot has happened since then, and I realize, a little sadly, how I've come to accept many things I never thought I would. Is it defeat, resignation, or just another form of endurance?
Part of me longs for that time three years ago. Oh, if I knew then what I knew now. But I am here now, sitting by my desk editing proofs, half a world away from that tiny apartment with the tree outside my window, that tiny apartment where someone else now reads and sleeps. The more Thorson's songs play here in this room in Singapore; the more it plays as I do different tasks and read different books, the more I will forget the nights I first listened to them in Ann Arbor. As Christina Rossetti wrote once upon a time, "Better by far you should forget and smile / Than that you should remember and be sad."
So I was looking for a particular jacket on nikewomen when I heard the stirrings of a song that made me feel like bopping my head to its beat. I usually mute music players that load up when I hit a webpage or visit a blog but I decided to give Nike's workout mix a listen. Not that I really workout or when I do, I don't really work out to music but some of these songs are actually addictive. I particularly like Junior Boys's "In the morning" and Elf Power's "An Old Familiar Scene."
What's nice - if I'm guessing correctly - is that Nike changes the mix every month and you can download about half an hour's worth of funky beats to flex your muscles to.
Both Sides Now
Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all
Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way that you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way
But now it’s just another show
You leave ‘em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away
I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions that I recall
I really don’t know love at all
Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say “I love you” right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way
Oh but now old friends, they’re acting strange
And they shake their heads and they tell me that I’ve changed
Well something’s lost, but something’s gained
In living every day
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions that I recall
I really don’t know life at all
This week's free download on Itunes is a laidback acoustic ditty called "Put Your Records On" by Briton, Corinne Bailey Rae. A song for the summer; a song for the girls; a song to keep me company as I work tonight. This world isn't going to let us off easy; we should all put our records on sometime.
"Three little birds, sat on my window.
And they told me I don't need to worry.
Summer came like cinnamon
So sweet,
Little girls double-dutch on the concrete.
Maybe sometimes, we got it wrong, but it's alright
The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same
Oh, don't you hesitate.
Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.
Blue as the sky, sombre and lonely,
Sipping tea in the bar by the road side,
(just relax, just relax)
Don't you let those other boys fool you,
Gotta love that afro hairdo.
Maybe sometimes, we feel afraid, but it's alright
The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change.
Don't you think it's strange?
Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.
Just more than I could take, pity for pity's sake
Some nights kept me awake, I thought that I was stronger
When you gonna realise, that you don't even have to try any longer.
Do what you want to.
Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
Oh, You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow"
Boy, an update is long overdue. I'll get to that in time (which may mean never), since I wrote this post mainly to rave about today's offering on NPR's Song of the Day. Rose Melberg sounds decidedly folksy; her voice makes me think of the long branches of willow trees and the smallest and softest of dandelions. But no matter how light or mellow her music sounds, there's a palpable sadness to it. "Take some time" has the sort of softly lilting melody that's best heard on a slow day on the porch or a leisurely drive in the back lanes, but the words are something else. I like what Stephen Thomson had to say about the song - "It surveys miles of emotional wreckage, yet the scene it sets seems oddly sweet."
Thanks to noob who sent me the link to a song, "Thanks Again" by Georgia Murray. I've played it so often I can't get it out of my head. Written by James Rushing, re-interpreted by Murray. It's a cover but what a cover. Her deep, resonant voice, a solo guitar and lyrics that have their way with your emotions.
Peter Ho Davies, my advisor at grad school, once named a story collection "Equal Love," questioning if love between parents and children could ever be equal. For how can we ever repay our parents for the years of love and devotion - in my case, the goodnight songs, late-night feeds, homemade cakes and cookies, trips to the library, sewing clothes for my dolls, carrying me down the streets of Hong Kong when I couldn't walk anymore, letting me go away to school even though it was the hardest thing to do.
I think about how wonderful that each of us was a child once, and that one day, we might become parents. Perhaps we'll understand many things only then. Thank God for parents, the ones who try so hard and who love unequivocally. It isn't easy to let them go. Last week, in the large columbrium near Upper Thomson Road, I watched my mother anxiously hunt for the urn holding my grandmother's ashes. My brother and I stood by her as she spoke private words to a small picture of our grandmother. April 16th was her death annivesary. 18 years have passed, but my mother still tears up before the saffron-colored urn. Her mother was her best friend, she once told me.
"Thanks Again"I've sent bouquets for Mother's Day,
For Father's Day, a shirt and card.
While they came from the heart,
They all fell short of saying how special you both are.
It wasn't ' til I was up and gone,
Married with a couple of kids of my own,
Doing what mamas and daddies do,
That I realized what I must have put you through.
So thanks again for the love in the cradle,
And all of the changes that kept me dry.
And thanks again for the love at our table,
And tannin' my bottom when I told you a lie.
For takin' me fishin' and flyin' my kites,
And tuckin' me in, yes, night after night:
To my beautiful life-long friends,
Hey, Mom and Daddy thanks again.I'm still a young girl, least I think I am,
But I'm watchin' my own hair turn gray.
And your call last Sunday brought to mind,
That I owe you a debt I can never repay.So thanks again for worryin' and waitin',
When I started datin' on weekend nights.
And thanks again for the help with my homework,
And sittin' up with me till I got it right.
Your car for the prom, your letters in 'Nam,
But most of all, Daddy, for marryin' Mom:
To my beautiful life long friends,
Hey, Mom and Daddy thanks again.To my beautiful life long friends,
Hey, Mom and Daddy thanks again.
"Don't Wait Up" by Colin Hay
Don?t wait up
For her tonight
Coz she won?t be coming home
Don?t wake up
Till it gets light
And by then she?ll be long gone
Her restless heart
Has set its sail
She can feel the waves washing over
She knows what life
With you entails
Love her strength, you despise your weakness
Don?t wait up
For her tonight
Coz she won?t be calling home
Don?t wake up
Till it gets light
The dogs are scratching at the door
Your jealous heart
Has won the day
You can feel the darkness creeping over
She paid the man
And sailed away
Leaving you your incompleteness
It's so clear tonight that I stood in the garden looking at the stars for a few minutes. Orion's Belt. Check. Little cluster of stars. Check. Large stand-alone stars. Check. (I don't have a whole lot of background in astronomy.)
This was quite a contrast to last evening's entertainment. Yes, I attended my first rock concert. Franz Ferdinand at the Indoor Stadium. Mogan had complimentary free-standing tickets, and since his girlfriend is back in Germany for a while, I was the backup date. We had some adequate fried rice for dinner and then cold sake to get us buzzed for the concert. I downed quite a few until I was red in the face and neck.
We were a little late getting in and had to push our way to somewhere near the left speakers. They were huge speakers with the bass booming so loudly I would have been blown away had it not been for the billion bodies that rocked and shook violently beside me, so close that I couldn't tell whose sweat it was on my bare arms. It's hard not to be sucked into the music. Those wicked rhythms. There was a fair amount of headbanging and beating the air and shaking fists above the heads. I mean me, of course. Yeah, I had a good time. And the crowd was literally hopping mad.
It was a brief concert. Just a couple of hours, but there were good moments. Like when three of the guys (I couldn't really see who was who; most of the view was obscured by persons taller than me, which was nearly everyone around) started playing on the same drumset. And then there was a minute when a shirtless white guy got lifted or had his friends lift him so that he rode above the crowd not too far from me. I was taken by the band's genuine happiness at being in Singapore. They even invited all of us to an informal after-concert party at the foyer of the Hotel Intercontinental. "Bring food," Alex Kapranos said. And if we had any problems getting in, we were to look for the general manager, who was now a pal of Alex's.
Mogan and I had our left ears facing the speakers, which resulted in our being hard of hearing on that side. Mogan said he felt a little wounded by the blast from the speakers. My ears did hurt during the concert but after that, it felt more like someone had stuffed cotton wool - loads of it - deep inside. We decided to bow out and let the youngsters have all the fun at the party.
On our way out, I watched teenagers - Asian, Caucasian, South Asian - whip their drenched locks with the fury (or glee) of wet dogs. A few sets of parents had accompanied their children. A few guys looked like they'd probably been around long enough to have attended a few Rolling Stones concerts back in the day. I felt a little old myself, especially during the performance when I got into the whole hopping thing for a few seconds and then my knees started hurting.
We decided to wait for the traffic to clear, taking a walk to Kallang Bridge and airing our ears out. It seemed the after-concert party had already begun at the back of the Indoor Stadium where screaming youths had waylaid the band and demanded autographs.
Later, we had more drinks at Blooie's, a laidback, airy bar very near my home. I slept quite soundly after that. It isn't too hard when your ears are temporarily out of order.
I miss Scrubs. I really do. Season 5 is showing in the US right now. The only thing I can do to satisfy the craving is re-watch old episodes. Oh, and listen incessantly to my "Scrubs" playlist and read episode guides on the latest episodes.
I've had the two DVD boxsets on my wishlist (on two separate websites) for the longest time (even though I have most of the episodes, courtesy of noob). I'm not sure what's stopping me. I love the writing, the acting, the fact that it stands apart from all other comedies, those with the laugh tracks, the live audiences and multiple cameras.
I also love the music (which explains the playlist; again, courtesy of noob). Colin Hay, the Cary Brothers, Keren DeBerg, Josh Radin. So I was checking out this week's free downloads on Itunes when I spot a new release by Mr Radin, his first full-length CD (incidentally, another Scrubs musician - Shawn Mullins - has an album out too). I sample all 11 tracks and wonder how I should get the music. I could buy it off his official site (I want an actucal CD!) or Itunes. I could wait and see if it will reach Singapore. I could wait for noob to get hold of it and then pester him for a music dump the next time I'm in Ann Arbor. I could buy it off Itunes. Yeah, I guess I could.
He has a blog too, which I could read as I listen to his new music. That would be nice.
Here are lyrics to the favorite track, which played at the right moment on a particular episode of Scrubs.
"Winter"
I should know who I am by now,
I walk the record stand somehow,
Thinking of winter
Your name is the splinter inside me
While I wait.
And I remember the sound
Of your November downtown,
And I remember the truth,
A warm December with you,
But I don't have to make this mistake,
And I don't have to stay this way
If only I would wake.
The walk has all been cleared by now.
Your voice is all I hear somehow
Calling out winter
Your voice is the splinter inside me
While I wait.
I could have lost myself
In rough blue waters in your eyes,
And I miss you still.
I enjoyed the soundtrack of Motorcycle Diaries very much and was delighted when I learned the composer/guitarist, Gustavo Santaolalla, planned to work on a quite-little-but-look-where-it's-gotten project called Brokeback Mountain. His music tends to be Argentine-influenced, the guitarwork is always amazing, and the melodies very much enhance and even define the scene it was written for. And yes, the score for Brokeback Mountain got nominated for an Academy Award, but why isn't "A Love That Will Never Grow Old" by Emmylou Harris up for Original Song? Or "I Don't Want To Say Goodbye" by Teddy Thompson? Those songs made a lot of people cry.
Another recent work of Santaolalla's is 21 Grams, a film I didn't watch though I did catch bits of the OST. It's considerably more haunting and darker than Santaolalla's other scores but what surprised me were the titles of the tracks on the album. They're arresting, to put it simply, all very large and pregnant sort of questions. Here they are:
1. Do We Lose 21 Grams?
2. Can Things Be Better?
3. Did This Really Happen?
5. Should I Let Her Know?
6. Can Emptiness Be Filled?
8. Can I Be Forgiven?
10. Is There A Way To Help Her?
11. Does He Who Looks For The Truth, Deserve The Punishment For Finding It?
12. You're Losing Me
13. Can Dry Leaves Help Us?
14. Can We Mix The Unmixable? (Remix)
15. Can Light Be Found In The Darkness?
16. When Our Wings Are Cut, Can We Still Fly?
The last track is performed by the brilliant Kronos Quartet.
I've been listening to David Gray lately. His album Life in Slow Motion is a nice piece of work. Piano-driven songs and ever poignant lyrics like the one from the song Lately below -
That the sky would lift
That I'd find my place
That I'd see your face in the door
And the sun would glint
On a time well spent
On a time that ain't no more
Taste the broken hearts
In the vacant lots
See the fruit that rots on the trees
Try to turn my head
Leave it all for dead
But it's in my mind always
Honey lately I've been way down
A load on my mind
Honey lately I've been way down
Load on my mind
Someone tell me where did it go
Darling I'm damned if I know
I seen that look in your eye
No-one ever gave it a chance
I could have said in advance
You saw it all in a glance
And goodbye
Drag a salted kiss
From this cup of bliss
Watch a new lie twist on the breeze
You can paint it red
Leave it all for dead
But it's in my head always
Goodbye
Honey lately I've been way down
Lately
Some of the music is deceptively upbeat. The lyrics tell a different story. Such good lines like - "Taste the broken hearts / In the vacant lots" and "Watch a new lie twist on the breeze" and "Now I'm leaking life faster / Than I'm leaking blood."
Unfortunately, the album - at least in the US - has been listed as one of the CDs affected by Sony's malevolent anti-piracy software. Read more here and here. What to do then? Get it off an online store.
Sometimes music is so tied up with a film that it makes the movie or surpasses it. As far as blogging goes, I can't figure out how to classify some of my posts. A good score may lead me to the film (I have a habit of buying soundtracks before seeing the film - at times not seeing it at all - because I know and love the composer's work) or a movie will introduce an previously unknown scorer, musician, or singer.
And trailers are terrific vehicles for doing all of this - introduce the movie, showcase some of the score (or bring to attention the beauty of another film's score; trailers often use existing music), and highlight new songs written for the movie.
Bee Season is a terrific book written by Myla Goldberg, and now it's a little movie opening this fall (so little that I wonder when - or if - it will reach Singapore). Are you tired of seeing Richard Gere in those Visa ads? This time he gets to pull some dramatic weight along with Juliette Binoche and newcomers, Max Minghella (son of Anthony, the director), and Flora Cross, who plays the little girl who seems ordinary for the first several years of her life and then stuns everyone around her with her spelling talent. From the trailer, her character appears sweet and homely, thoroughly genuine, without the indulgent cuteness that often accompanies young actors.
After seeing the trailer a couple of months ago, I couldn't get its song out of my ahead. When the soundtrack got released (look for it on Itunes for sampling), I was hoping it would contain the song, "What are we made of." Although the score itself - written by Peter Nashel - sounds promising (I'll probably pick this up), I was disappointed that the only vocal on the album is Ivy's "I'll be near you," not bad either, but not quite the loveliness that is the trailer song.
But never mind all that, you can easily download it here, thanks to the generosity of Scott Mallone, the performer.
And for the movie - watch the trailer and then the movie if it ever shows near you.
I took my final nap in the office today, and I also turned in grades for my students. And then I cleared out my books. It was a little wrenching.
I cheered up in the evening when I attended my friend's saxophone recital. Tom is a writer, musician, and fluent in Italian. Also a fan of Astor Piazzolla, though he's taken his interest a step further by actually taking Argentinian tango lessons.
I'm not familiar with classical saxophone pieces, but what I heard was quite spectacular. Mostly contemporary work by composers like Paul Ben-Haim, Paul Hindemith, and Francis Poulenc. Alexandre, Glazounov, Debussy, and then two lovely arias by Puccini.
The recital just got better and better, and when Tom got to the two arias, I was ready to give a standing ovation. (I didn't though.) Tom was accompanied by Kathryn Goodson on piano for the arias. Both were beautiful duets, though my favorite was "Vissi d'Arte" (I Live For Art) from the opera, Tosca.
The food at the reception was terrific. Crabcakes, cheese, dips, and other great munchies. I hung out with Andrea, the lady who works in the Hopwood Room, the one who brought me to the dog show last year. Andrea, Tom, and I flock together because of our overlapping interests in Italian, Italy, music, and books. We're always huddling together at the teas. But well, not anymore, since Tom and I are both graduating.
I had Easter brunch with one of my favorite couples, Leslie and Noella. It was Polish and Hungarian fare at a small eatery called Cafe Amadeus. We talked about weddings, rooms at the Beaufort in Sentosa, dowries, future plans, Leslie's book that's due in 2007, the kinds of dogs we'd like to have. I'll miss them, and I'll certainly miss lazy brunches like the one we had today. Pretty soon, we'll all be starting new lives elsewhere - Peiming will start a position at the Yong Siew Tong Conservatory back in Singapore, Leslie has a tenured position at Melbourne, Noella will find work there soon, Jake is auditioning all over the world, and I'll either be in Michigan for another year or move home in August.
I hope Noella keeps performing after she moves to Melbourne. Her recital at University Commons last Saturday reminded me what a spectacular musician she is. My friend, Irene, and I were late, of course, since I was the designated driver. We arrived in time to hear half of Bach's Adagio from Toccata in C Major. I enjoyed Peteris Vasks' Das Buch "Dolcissimo", for which Noella had to sing while playing the cello. The last piece, Tangoella, was composed for and dedicated to her by Andre Myers, a DMA student at the music school. It was a beautiful piece, perfect for Noella.
How shall I put it? Noob is an evil influence, but I'm still grateful that he supplies me with excellent music and graphic novel recommendations. Latest music in the player - Howie Day, a twenty-something song-writer, singer, and guitar-player from Maine. He's very good with the writing and singing, and remarkably adept at looping and mixing in live shows. With two sets of complicated dials, pedals, buttons and what-not, he creates percussions and layers guitar and vocal parts all on his own.
You'll have to watch the splendid DVD and see for yourself the ease and style with which he loops phrases, echoes, guitar strumming etc. And the songs are very, very good. "Ghost" and "Madrigals" are my favorites, and of course, the very addictive "Collide" that got me started on Howie Day's music, which is a little more haunting, a little more rock than John Mayer's own stylings but still terribly listenable.
If you're in Singapore, and you love jazz/classical tango music, I recommend you attend the concert by Quadro Nuevo, an Austrian quartet, at the Esplanade. And if you purchase tickets with a Citibank credit card, you get a souvenir CD. I've got an album of theirs - Canzone Della Strada (Song for the Road) - and it's lovely work.
I am never home at the right time.
...do not agree. I seem to have great difficulty getting things done ahead of time. I stayed at the music school till three this morning, typing out my teaching philosophy. Collapsed in bed at four, got up at 8:30 in the morning (much thanks to my faithful morning caller, LK, who was out shopping on a Friday night) and began writing and revising. I finished two cover letters and then raced to school. My job applications were submitted fifteen minutes before the deadline.
Now I'm too exhausted to do much else. I did manage to clear the mess on my living room floor and also put some gas in the White Rabbit.
I'm now listening to Nat King Cole. I remember listening to an album called The Love Songs of Nat King Cole on my first discman (my brother gave it to me after my "O" Levels) in Istanbul. It was December 1995 and I had made my first trip to Europe. Winter, choral singing, my warm Limited coat. I was 17 and happy and wrinkle-free.
I lost the cd a few years later and felt a little guilty since it belonged to my father. I recently purchased it again - $9.99 on Amazon. Oh, the memories.
Spring break is here. It's really here! A year ago, I was furiously editing several ELT books for my old boss. I couldn't believe I wasted half of my spring break editing non-stop. I could hear my neighbors watching DVDs while I made so many proofreading marks that I dreamed of them at night. This year, spring break is mine. Well, I'll be grading and writing and reading and preparing for the next six and a half weeks of the semester. But still, it's wonderful just to say "Spring break is here!" LK has warned me not to get caught on any programs that vaguely resemble "Girls Gone Wild." Heh. The wildest thing I might do is watch Constantine and scare myself silly.
Last evening, Peiming had her first of three recitals for the semester. I'd have to say my favorite was Camille Saint-Saens' Piano Concerto No. 5 in F Major, Op. 103. Peiming was accompanied by a 35-piece orchestra, which was brilliant on the ears and eyes. The music was by turns lyrical and rousing and my heart certainly rose in line with the ascending notes on the piano and violins. A few of our friends were among the players; Noella was lead cello and Lim Jia played in the trumpet section. No tuba for this work, so Jake was part of the audience this time. He'd just returned from a conference in D.C. where he purchased a new tuba which he let me try playing after the performance. Needless to say my diaphragm was too weak to produce a nice brassy sound on the tuba. I barely managed two toots and that was it.
A nice spread of food courtesy of Peiming's aunt and uncle, who drove down with their children from Buffalo, New York that day and were driving back after the recital. Her uncle was in computer science before picking up theology and is now a pastor at a Chinese Christian church. Very nice people. I picked up the sushi from Saica which was slow in the making and then worked on putting little eclairs and cream puffs on silver trays. A few pieces disappeared, of course.
Although I hadn't planned to stay long, I was one of the last to leave, having indulged in conversation with old friends I haven't seen in a month. Noella, Leslie and I talked wedding, even deciding to make a trip to Chicago during spring break for Noella to find her dress. I've also promised to find a sea-themed poem for their wedding card. Yew Hoe related how he wouldn't be headed to Shanghai after all. And Boon and Isabel had to witness my painful stint with the tuba.
A delightful evening with music and friends, and now I'm back to work. I hope I can manage. Too many eclairs.
Sad melody, even sadder lyrics. I'm a sucker for such stuff. At some point in our lives, we all could play this song and think, she's singing my lines.
Sheila Nicholls's "Fallen For You"
~ from the movie High Fidelity
Fallen for you.
Did you ever see me
Watching from periphery?
I was playing another game,
I hoped you catch on all the same.
Fallen from view.
Did you ever touch me,
Floating through your potpourri?
I thought I felt your fingers once
After waiting all these months.
But I was wrong, so wrong.
That was just another song
You wrote for another girl.
And I hoped the day could be
When you'd write a song for me.
But it never came.
I thank you all the same,
But I'll go now, so you won't know how much I've
Fallen for you.
Boy who's trying to be a man,
Boy who don't know if he can.
I thought I knew you well enough
But your walls are still too tough.
But I was wrong, so wrong
That was just another song
You wrote for another girl.
And I hoped the day could be
When you'd write a song for me.
But it never came.
I thank you all the same,
But I'll go now, so you won't know how much I
Thought about you all the time,
Walking round the Guggenheim.
Like a rhyme in my mind,
There you are in my car,
But we don't drive very far
To the beach, out of reach,
Next to me... my fantasy.
Fallen for you
Did you ever see me,
Watching from periphery?
I was playing another game
I hoped you catch on all the same.
Both these titles are English translations of the originals. La Finestra di Fronte is an Italian film and Xin Dong, a Taiwanese/Hong Kong one. (I have to resort to hanyu pinyin since I don't have Chinese script on my computer).
Both these films have theme songs set to pop music that instead of coming across as cheesy, work really well for the movies.
I won't list the lyrics but the gist of the Chinese song is about remembering a love from the past and wondering where he or she is now. It goes roughly like this: He lives only in my heart now, and his memory accompanies each breath I take (which sounds like another song, but I'm going to ignore this; the song really is a lot nicer in Mandarin). What else: the pain of not being able to recall his smell, his voice. Hmm, maybe someone else should be doing the translation. I think I'll have to ask LK to help me out. Thank goodness I married a fellow whose Mandarin far surpasses my own.
The movie is a terrible (as in too effective) tearjerker, starring Gigi Leung and Takeshi Kaneshiro. And I got suckered into watching it after my godsister and FatGirl said it was one of their favorite films. The airport scene at the end really broke my heart.
The English title for La Finestra di Fronte is Facing Windows, and the film has a nice subplot about two neighbors with facing windows, played by Giovanna Mezzogiorno (her last name literally means mid-day) and Raoul Bova. Raoul Bova, I repeat! Even with those Clark Kent glasses, he is a dream. Then again, so is Giovanna Mezzogiorno, who really lights up the screen with her face. Those eyes, that hair. To continue, the main plot is about Giovanna's friendship with a strange old man her husband finds wandering the streets of downtown Rome. That story is the more compelling one. The one with Raoul Bova, (again) is a heartbreaker, but less interesting.
Anyhoo, I really like the soundtrack for the film, composed by Andrea Guerra. It has an old Spanish tune, "Historia De Un Amor" or "story of a love," and a terrific end credits track, "Gocce di Memoria," which means "drops of memory." The English titles sound really corny, but the songs are great. I wish I could offer a link, but there weren't any I could find.
Movement III of Jonathan Elias's The Prayer Cycle is featured on the trailer of Kingdom of Heaven, and it's great. Moving, haunting, all the good things to be expected of choral music. An unusual ensemble of guest singers - Alanis Morrissette, Linda Ronstadt, James Taylor. But the one voice that stands out belongs to a young male (who sadly remains unnamed) whose vocal chords remind me slightly of Ben del Maestro's. Ben del Maestro can be heard on the soundtrack of The Fellowship of the Ring and the other two titles in the trilogy.
In the mean time, I've also been listening to the Children of Dune soundtrack. It's been a week and I haven't taken it out from the player. I'm even tempted to hunt down the dvd to watch the montage scene, the very one in which the song, Inama Nushif, is playing.
But, I have some writing to get done. And 372 pages to read this weekend - Isak Dinesen's Out of Africa. I could just watch the movie, but that'd be cheating.
One of my favorite past-times as a kid was to sit beside my brother as he played PC games. I eventually played several of those games myself - 7th Guest, Leisure Suit Larry. But most days, I would just watch him play. One of those games was based on Dune, the world that Frank Herbert created in a series of books. In the computer game - a strategy one - my brother would build cities and monitor the spice flow. My sole task was to alert him of the great Worm that appeared every now and then, and off he'd go, rescuing his buildings and the people of Dune.
It was noob who got me hooked on the song "Inama Nushif," written in Fremen, the native language in Dune, by Brian Tyler. The young composer's dedication led him to plough through Herbert's novels so that he could learn enough of the language to put lyrics to one of the 174 tracks that he'd written and recorded in six weeks. The result of those six weeks is a startingly majestic TV mini-series score that is available on CD. Alas, it contains only 36 of those original cues.
So noob had (or still has?) the song on repeat mode in his car (a neat feature to have), while I recently got hold of the rest of the score. I put it on the Ipod, brought it with me to the Commons on Friday night, where I read Don Lee's novel Country of Origin while listening to the entire score. Didn't even have to skip a track. It's that good.
Tyler has scored some other films; he started small and then he got bigger jobs. His latest project is the film, Constantine. Children of Dune has really impressed me. I listen to it before going to school - the music gets me into the right mood. Very rousing.
Inama Nushif
Inama nushif (She is Eternal)
Al-asir hiy ayish (No malice can touch)
Lia-anni (Singular and ageless)
Zaratha zarati (Perpetually bound)
Hatt al-hudad (Through the tempest)
Al-maahn al-baiid (be it deluge or sand)
Ay-yah idare (A singular voice)
Adamm malum (speaks through the torrent)
Hatt al-hudad (Through the tempest)
Al-maahn al-baiid (be it deluge or sand)
Ay-yah idare (A singular voice)
Adamm malum (speaks through the torrent)
Inama nishuf al a sadarr (Forever her voice sings)
Eann zaratha zarati (through the ages eternally bound)
Kali bakka a tishuf ahatt (Sacrifice is her gift)
Al hudad alman dali (one that cannot be equaled)
Inama nishuf al a sadarr (Forever her voice sings)
Eann zaratha zarati (through the ages eternally bound)
Kali bakka a tishuf ahatt (Sacrifice is her gift)
Al hudad alman dali alia (that Alia will one day equal)
Inama nushif (She is eternal)
Al-asir hiy ayish (No malice can touch)
Lia-anni (Singular and ageless)
Zaratha zarati (Perpetually bound)
It's 1842 hours on Christmas Day, and it's still terribly dark and grey out there. But I keep company with myself, books, music, and candles (specifically, Yankee Candle's Ocean Water).
On Itunes, John Pizzarelli is singing "Da Vinci's Eyes," and I'm reminded of how I was first introduced to Pizzarelli's guitar-playing and warm, nasal warbling. Years ago, Mogan, my old pal from junior college and emcee at wedding, was telling me about recent purchases he'd made at Tower Records, the old one at Pacific Plaza (yeah, it was that long ago). Of the singers he listed, Pizzarelli's name stayed with me though I'm not sure why. I later found out my father had several albums and I listened to every one. And of all the songs, "Da Vinci's Eyes," was the prettiest. A gentle melody, really sweet lyrics, and tasteful name-dropping - Shakespeare, Mozart, Da Vinci. A modern love song with a whimsical, old-world feel.
You can get a free download from Amazon right here - Da Vinci's Eyes.
Shirley Verrett, a luminous opera singer who's been a professor at Michigan's School of Music since 1996, was the highlight of our musicology class yesterday. She's 73 but doesn't quite look it. Every inch of her is glamor, grace, and confidence.
She was one of the first African-American singers to achieve success in the world of opera. My own professor sought her as special guest for our class so we could learn firsthand about the difficulties of being an "Other" while playing lead roles that aren't ethnic. We began by introducing ourselves; everyone in the class is a music student except me, and I was the last to announce myself. When I said "creative writing," I suppose that made her easier to notice me and my name. I felt a little embarrassed about my non-music field, so I added that I studied in Italy where I got to watch my first few operas. Prof. Verrett brightened immediately and asked wherabouts. She said she'd made her debut in Florence so the city is dear to her as it is to me. Because her role was Queen Elizabeth, I asked her how the makeup process went; they had to put fat layers of foundation on her since Queen E. wasn't just Caucasian, she also wore that ghastly white paste on her face.
Prof. Verrett also spoke of her debut - Carmen - at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. She prepared for each role by reading books about the time period and viewing paintings from that time and place. Acting is equally important, she said, which reminded me of a comment my professor once shared - "Park and bark." It refers to the old-style opera singers, who were also pretty large and refused to move around a lot so they would stand in one spot and just sing.
What I liked best was hearing about how she came into singing. She'd been singing since she was a small child, and her parents had always wanted her to be a singer. But she never felt she was ready until she was in her twenties. She went to college, took Law 101, Economics 101, and worked in her businessman father's office, handling the book-keeping and taking notes in shorthand. Later, she sold real estate around California. When she began to tire of making sales pitches, it occured to her that she should be singing instead of selling houses. She found herself a voice instructor and eventually got a place at Julliard, won several competitions, then went on to a wonderful career that saw her working with Placido Domingo, Zubin Mehta, and other great singers and conductors.
Unfortunately, she didn't sing anything for us. She did show us her "limp" for one of her roles and her manly stride that she used when she played Leonora in Fidelio. I truly enjoyed listening to her speak. She's incredibly eloquent and vivacious. When she mentioned how people accused her of singing "white," that she didn't sound black enough, she became a tad indignant at the memory. To this she said, "I don't care. I sing with a voice God gave me. This is a country that's a melting pot, and our voices are influenced by all kinds of people and cultures."
When the class ended and she left the building, the place seemed poorer for it.
I've been trying hard to finish grading papers and writing several of my own. Since it's Thanksgiving weekend, the school of music has been relatively quiet with just a few die-hard musicians and one desperate writer. I've been using one of the seminar rooms - no distractions, no food, no comfortable futon to nap on (although I did manage just one power nap while slouching in the chair).
I met up with Frank, who's been practising Bartok, and enlisted his help with some argumentation questions that arose while I was grading. After that, I got him to play Chopin's Berceuse just so I could hear it being played properly for once. I don't quite do enough justice to the piece on my own so it was nice to hear Frank perform it. I also requested some of Ennio Morricone's music, and watching him sight-read the scores (without errors, of course) made me appreciate my friendships with musicians. It's always nice to listen to recordings but to watch a musician perform before you (and now I'm reminded of the time I watched Peiming and Noella rehearse Astor Piazzolla's Le Grand Tango) is a real treat. I'm very much looking forward to the recitals lined up for next semester.
Frank also introduced to me Chopin's Barcarolle. What did he call it, a piece of gondolier music? It's very pretty and I'm going to hunt for my own recording. Becuase I'm going to graduate and leave Ann Arbor one day, and then I won't be surrounded anymore by musicians who I can bully into playing my favorite music. Of course I could always holiday in Melbourne and ask Noella to play something just for me, or I could ring up Peiming and have her visit under the pretext of tea and egg tarts, and then point out the piano, how about some Debussy? But she'd probably see right through me.
A classmate in my musicology course - a retired piano teacher and wife to the saxophone professor in the music school (oh, and her son happens to play drums for Alanis Morissette) - once mentioned to me how she loves being retired in Ann Arbor. She gets to take up university courses (without having to write the papers) and she is never far from the music scene. Large scale performances or student recitals, the events make retirement a joy, she said. Something's always going on. What better way to fill the autumnal years? Attending football games? Oh, she goes to those too.
As I listened to her, I tried not to appear envious. There's plenty to look forward to when graduation rolls around, but I'm probably going to miss Ann Arbor very much when it's time to leave. And then there're the friends who'll be staying on or moving away. I don't think I'll go into that today. Still got another semester. Still got to finish that Carmen paper.
The evening started out with a nice gathering at Kay's place. Great food and company. As I was talking to Lim Jia and Sophie, the two mentioned they had to leave for a concert. When I heard it was Dave Brubeck's concert, I near jumped out of my seat. I knew about his visit, but I didn't think I'd go since I hadn't bothered to ask around if anyone else was keen to go. I was reluctant to tag along since I might not get a last-minute ticket, but Lim Jia assured me that I'd have no trouble. Plus she had an extra ticket which might not be used at all. I felt bad for jumping ship but I couldn't give Dave Brubeck a miss now.
The three of us left at five minutes to eight, with me holding a plate of my half-finished food. We got to Hill Auditorium as the first song was starting up. Lim Jia and I dashed in (after I'd finished and disposed of my plate of food), and from the first notes that reached my ear, I knew I'd made the right decision. You just don't get live jazz like this very often, if at all.
Four white-haired men playing like they were in their twenties. When Dave Brubeck began speaking, the age showed in his voice. But it didn't matter, his hands moved incredibly on the keyboard. His drummer, Randy Jones, probably has arms stronger than men far younger than himself. His percussions displays went on and on; just when you think he was done, he'd start another round of whipping those sticks like weapons. Bassist Michael Moore was stylish as he plucked and bowed his instrument. Bobby Militello played both saxaphone and flute, and did really amazing things with the flute. For a Japanese-inspired Bebop piece, he created a sound very similar to one made by a Japanese kind of flute (the name eludes me). Eventually he got to humming while he played the flute. He was singing into the instrument, and the force of his singing kept the flute going, so he was actually harmonizing with the notes he played on the flute. I'm not sure if I'm explaining it clearly enough. His fingers would be creating one tune and his voice another.
One piece titled, Elegy, was dedicated to a friend of Dave's who was in the audience that night. An army buddy whose picture is in the album notes (or maybe the cover itself?). Caught behind German lines in World War 2, they contemplated their fates. His friend, John, told him all the awful things that would happen if Dave didn't remember the password. Well, they're both still here today. I'm not sure how many people in the audience wondered at the miracle that Dave never got the shakes from the