One year later; or, in the presence of the Master

A year ago, in the early stages of this blog, I described my experiences at “John Williams Film Night” at Tanglewood.  That’s always one of the most popular events of the season and I hadn’t really planned it out.  Jenny and I went sort of at the last minute, and by that time, seats in the Shed had long been sold out.  So, we lawned it…and well, last year’s blog pretty much told my thoughts on the whole experience.  Let it suffice to say that, back on January 24th, at 10 am, when individual Tanglewood tickets went on sale, I made sure I was on-line.  If I was going to go to “John Williams Film Night” again, I wanted in the Shed.  Being so far from the musicians…well,  you can read last year’s blog, if you’re that interested.

There are many things I love about living in Western Massachusetts…though I will confess, with this recent spate of hot, humid weather, that love is being somewhat tried.  But be that as it may, our proximity to Tanglewood is really a treat.  It took us just about one hour and 45 minutes to get from our driveway in Amherst to walking out of the car and up to the main grounds.  Though we weren’t sitting on the lawn this time, we still brought our picnic regalia.  Kudos to the intrepid Jennifer, who bought an ingenious device that included a cooler, plenty of storage, and even its own set of plasticware.  Best yet, it easily fit underneath our seats in the Shed!  It was around 6 when we arrived, and the grounds had been open for about 30 minutes.  The lawn was already filling up but since we weren’t in need of being near the Shed, we found some shade off to the side (really needed on such a warm, sticky evening); opened our bottle of wine; brought out the chicken, cheese and potato salad; and pre-gamed the Boston Pops.  Err…pre-concerted, I guess is the correct verbiage.

Tanglewood, Lenox, MA

When concert time drew near, we made our way to the Shed.  The lawn crowd was stretching farther and farther back.  At this point, I must confess, when I bought our Shed tickets on the first day, even in the first hour they were on sale, we weren’t near the stage    I suspect BSO season ticket holders get first dibs (which is absolutely fair; they’ve consistently supported the organization) and then they are open to the general public.  So, I thought we might be in the very back corner of the Shed.  Good enough to technically be inside, but really on the periphery.  If the stage is Earth, then maybe our seats where the stratosphere.  But to my surprise, our seats were actually very good.  They were on the end of an aisle, close enough that you could easily see the stage and the musicians upon it, but also about two rows back of one of the screens, on which the concert was projected.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say, it couldn’t have been better…but it was still quite good.  And it was so much better than last year’s Lawn experience.  Last year, I thought it might as well have been listening to the show on a radio.  Last night, I felt the connection.  I was there.  I could see the musicians at work.  I could see the music being generated.  And more importantly, particularly on the first half, I could see the joy on the conductor’s face.  And of course, I was also keen to watch how the conductor approached his craft.  You see, music is a communal experience.  The musicians make it, and the audience receives it.  A community is made.

The conductor for the first half was Richard Kaufman, who, according to his biography, has had a background in movie music industry.  He was a very clear conductor, and had a warm, gregarious stage presence.  Maestro Kaufman made jokes about the humid weather, which were well received, and seemed genuinely humbled and appreciative to be standing in front of the Boston Pops, at a sold-out Tanglewood.  In between numbers, he shared vignettes from his career, from being an violin student at the Tanglewood Music Center, to playing on some of the John Williams recording sessions in the 1970s.

The concert began appropriately with John Williams’ “pull out all the stops” arrangement of Hooray for Hollywood.  As I’ve written before, I have a thing for arrangers.  When I hear a big band, even one with the greatest of players, it’s the writing that catches my attention.  If I might deviate for a brief second (I promise) Saturday morning I attended a wedding of two former students.  It was a joyous affair and the reception had a touch of class to it with an actual swing band in the house.  They were a great group, featuring a few former students and even a colleague of mine behind the ivories.  But as great as the musicians were, it was the book that caught my attention.  It’s why I admire Glenn Miller so much more than any of the other swing band heroes; he was an arranger more than a trombonist.  And Billy May….my absolute musical idol.  So while John Williams is always going to be known for those sweeping movie themes (and justifiably so), I had a ball listening to his witty paean to the bygone glory of Tinseltown.  If you’re not familiar with the Williams arrangement of Hooray for Hollywood, well, just click here!   I always love when writers reference other works, and the appearance of those two great entertainment anthems, There’s No Business Like Show Business and That’s Entertainment…well, it shows that if John Williams had been born 20 years earlier, there’s no doubt he’d have fit right in with the Freed Unit over at MGM, whipping out the grandest musical entertainments Hollywood to this day has ever created.

But John Williams Night with the Pops was not a tribute to the technicolor heyday of MGM.  The first half was almost all John Williams, but not entirely.  The theme was “Up, Up and Away: the Movies Take Flight!” which allowed for some great presentation options.  Flight to Neverland from Hook was accompanied by a terrific video montage of aeronautics in the movies.  This covered the entire gamut, with clips ranging from  Wings (the very first Oscar-winner, way back in 1927) to Top Gun.  Super Man, X-wing fighters, the Starship Enterprise, Mr. Fredrickson’s house and Russell with the leaf-blower from Up, Peter Pan (both the Disney cartoon and Robin Williams), Wall-E, and Leonard DiCaprio playing Howard Hughes all dashed across the screen.  I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm with the copious amounts of World War I aircraft on display.  Now granted…I pretty much label any biplane a World War I device.  Never mind that the biplane I flew in came over 20 years after the Armistice.  But seeing those beautiful crafts, be they with the red, white and blue of the Entente or the Iron Cross of Germany, execute such gymnastics that would put Simone Biles to shame, accompanied by John Williams’ gorgeous music?  I might have died right there and been happy.  The fact that David Niven and Cantinflas, ballooning over the Alps from Around the World in 80 Days made it into the show….well, that was just the cherry on the top!

I have to say, the use of multimedia with these concerts so enhances the experience.  It was the case throughout the concert.  Conductor Kaufman joked that a tribute was to be made to the greatest of all cinematic pilots, for which the Pops played the rousing march from The Great Waldo Pepper.  But rather than Robert Redford, we saw Snoopy from The Peanuts Movie, giving battle to Manfred von Richthofen, in that glorious scarlet Fokker triplane of his (Aaaaah!).  In the second half, one of John Williams’ Olympic themes was accompanied by scenes ranging from Michael Phelps (who received quite the applause) to LeBron James playing from Team USA.  Similarly, the music from The Force Awakens had entire video that matched the music with the action.  Now…I know you can’t do this with the average orchestral concert.  For crying out loud, what kind of video could you even put to go alongside Mahler 3?  Each piece the Pops played was only about 4 – 6 minutes long, the perfect length for accompanying images.  But even I, who have three music degrees, found myself completely taken by the images.  It wasn’t that I stopped paying attention to the music; but rather, I found the entire experience enhanced with the images.  It’s something I might have to think about exploring in some context with my own concerts.

I don’t know if Maestro Kaufman selected the repertoire for the first half of the concert or it was prepared for him, but it certainly didn’t lack for fireworks.  Adventures on Earth from E.T.; both the love theme and that incredibly stirring title from Superman  (during which, I must confess, I probably made Jennifer more than a little embarrassed.  I just can’t sit still near the beginning, when the music starts picking up, the tempo builds, and then there’s that brass fanfare.  BAM!  It’s said that on the recording session for the movie, director Richard Donner ran screaming into the hall, proclaiming “That’s it!  That’s it!”); and a unique, very tuneful selection, Ireland, from Franz Waxman’s score to The Spirit of St. Louis. This was the telling of Charles Lindbergh’s flight across the Atlantic, and Waxman’s music evokes the soft strains of traditional Irish music emerging out of the haze, just as Lindbergh would have first seen the land.  I hadn’t seen the movie but the music was really enjoyable, and kudos to Maestro Kaufman on giving it a new lease on life.  For those as unfamiliar with it as me, give a listen.  It definitely deserves better than obscurity!

But as exciting as all this was, the highlight of the first half for me was something completely different.  When we think John Barry, if you know who he is, the first thing that comes to mind is James Bond.  There’s a good reason for that.  He was the composer for much of the classic Bond.  Though he didn’t compose the James Bond theme, he sure knew how to make the most of it.  But you talk the classic Sean Connery films, you’re talking John Barry.  And is there any theme bigger, bolder, brassier, and more awesome than this one?  But here’s the thing about John Barry.  As incredible as Goldfinger is…and it’s incredible…there may be no one in Hollywood history who could write a big, lush, sweeping Romantic theme like Barry.  Yes, I hear you, Maurice Jarre Lawrence of Arabia partisans.  It’s hard to argue with that.  But what about that famed John Dunbar Theme from Dances with Wolves?  It just grabs your heart strings (no pun intended, since it’s so richly string-scored).  The openness of the West, the opening of John Dunbar’s mind, and the melancholy of what is happening to the people he has befriended.  Listen and tell me you’re not moved.  Even with James Bond, Barry could still give us the sweeping, aching theme.  Take my favorite of the Roger Moore films, Octopussy.  Forget the Rita Coolidge vocal main theme; listen to it as it appears in the background of the love scene.  That’s Barry at his finest.  So rich, so deep…so gorgeous.

And so, the highlight of the first half was not John Williams but, keeping with the idea of flight, John Barry’s Oscar-Winning theme to Out of Africa.  In this case, let me show you the scene itself.  Meryl Streep as Karen Blixen and Robert Redford as Denys Fitch-Hatton, in the early 1920s, flying over the Africa countryside in a gorgeous biplane (aren’t they beautiful contraptions?  Oh, I could rhapsodize about the biplane.  So small against the terrain; flies so low that it’s always part of the scenery, not above it; capable of such wonderful maneuvers…but I digress).  Barry’s strings soar with that beautiful plane, and the horns….oh, those French horns!  When the Pops played this, I couldn’t hold back my emotions.  If I was on the edge of my seat for Superman, then Out of Africa found me clutching my heart, swaying back and forth.  Such beauty.  Maybe I’m a simpleton, and maybe, with my music degrees I shouldn’t be saying this…but those sweeping John Barry themes…I’ll take those over so many of the concert hall “masters.”  I’m not trying to disparage our greats.  But of those, not many move me like John Barry at his sentimental best.  Maybe I’m just a sucker for a big tune.  But let’s give Barry his due.  Yes, he could write something completely in your face like Goldfinger and do it exceptionally well.  And let’s also not forget, he is credited, alongside Duran Duran as the co-author of A View to a Kill.  In fact, if you haven’t seen this video before, it’s worth your time.  After Barry passed, Duran Duran paid tribute to him at a performance at Coachella, with a Bond/Barry medley before hitting their famed collaboration.  But for all those big moments, it’s Barry the sentimentalist, Barry the author of the gut-wrenching, heart-tugging, vibrato-loving string theme that gets to me.  You talk the great Hollywood composers and of course there’s John Williams.  Bernard Herrmann will be right there.  Milks Rozsa of Ben-Hur fame.  Nino Rota for The Godfather.  Ennio Morricone for those spaghetti Westerns.  So many more.  John Barry may not be the first name to come to mind, and that’s a shame.  He did a variety of styles and did them well…but that big, soaring string theme…that was his bread and butter and what I love the most.  And before I close the book on Maestro Barry, here’s one more.  I dare you to get that cascading string motif out of your head.  Just genius!

But Richard Kaufman, flying medleys, and even the brilliance of John Barry were just the warm-up to The Man himself.  Before that, though, I need to jump back to Out of Africa.  As I mentioned, those incomparable Barry string lines were accompanied by French horns that literally took flight.  Richard Sebring is the principle horn for the Pops and he had a night worthy of LeBron in the NBA Finals.  The John Williams music is not easy, particularly for the horns.  As was demonstrated in the second half, pieces like the Princess Leia theme from A New Hope and Luke and Leia from Return of the Jedi demand much from the solo horn.  It’s a major melodic voice, and often is just left out their to dry.  If the soloist misses a note, even by a fraction, it’s noticeable…particularly since everyone knows those Star Wars themes.  And it was this way throughout the entire concert.  On a standard orchestral concert, a player like that might have a couple exposed passages (the horn solo in the second movement of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony, for example).  But at Tanglewood, it was one feature after another.  Major kudos goes to Maestro Sebring.  He must have ice in his veins, for he never, for a fraction of a second, faltered.

In fact, last Saturday night’s concert was so memorable, the excitement continued at intermission!  No sooner had Maestro Kaufman left the stage than did a Tanglewood official grab the microphone and announce that severe weather was on the way and that anyone on the lawn needed to take cover.  May I remind how last year’ experience (when weather was perfect!) motivated me to buy early to get into the Shed?  That decision was motivated simply by a desire to be in communion with the musicians.  But the ability to have a seat and be settled, while hundreds of others scattered with their belongings for a dry space….well, I’ll call that an added bonus!  I should add, this wasn’t just rain.  It was rain that was coming down sideways.  It was the mighty trees on the Tanglewood lawn being blow this way and that.  It was the screens inside the Shed being rolled up, due to them swaying back and forth at an increasingly alarming rate.  And most notable of all, this intermission entertainment was bolts of light racing from the sky to the ground.  This continued on for well over 30 minutes, might have been over 45.  And yes, I did feel sympathy for our Lawn patron brethren.  I still was justified in my early January purchase but my smugness did have a sympathetic edge.  As the delay continued, I wondered if there’d be a second half.  I don’t know much about Musician Union contracts, but as the concert stretched later into the night, would they run out of hours, like a pilot or a railroad engineer?  What about Maestro Williams?  Would he say, “That’s it, it’s too late.  My contract said I’d be done by 10.  I don’t give a downbeat at 10:30.”  I don’t think I was alone in that fear, as I do believe some patrons decided to take their chances and make it back home.  If they were on the lawn, I wouldn’t blame them.  The lawn chairs, towels, blankets….all may have been a damp mess.  Ahh…the glory of the Shed seating.

But a glimmer of hope was on the stage.  If the second half was to be cancelled, then not all of the musicians had gotten the message.  Mind you, it wasn’t the full Pops, but there were some of the players, hanging around the stage, in their chairs.  Granted, they were trombones, and you know how much trombonists love to play their horns.  There were others too; perhaps this concert was still a “go?”  And then, the official took the microphone, said they had gotten the “all clear” and John Williams was warming up in the bullpen.  And yes, those were his words.  This is what he said.  This is what that Tanglewood official said.  (Bonus points if you knew that is in reference to).  It was now a matter of minutes.

At this point, I must reveal that last year’s “John Williams Night” was absent the titular figure.  His health wasn’t the best, and Keith Lockhart stood in for the Master.  At Williams’ age (84 now, 83 then), the mention of illness is not something you take lightly.  But then, this past December, The Force Awakens descended upon us all, and there was no doubt, John Williams was still at it.  His themes for the new characters of Rey and Kylo Ren attest the genius is still there.  I conducted a band arrangement of the music with both the Lions Club All-State Band and the Amherst Community Band, and enjoyed every moment. From the grandeur of that main theme to the classic Williams action depicting the X-Wings in battle to that mystical Force theme, as Rey finally meets Luke Skywalker (sorry…spoiler?), The Force Awakens music showed that John Williams is still doing it, no matter when his date of birth is.

So, when the door opened and Williams walked out…well…it was something special.  The audience immediately rose to their feet, and why shouldn’t they?  The man who gave a sound to the approach of a shark.   The man who came up with a musical language with which to communicate with aliens.  The man whose music tells Indiana Jones which way to go, whose music gives honor to the victims of the Holocaust and tribute to those who died fighting for America in the Second World War.  I could go on, but you get the point.  One person wrote all that, and now there he was, walking on stage in front of me.  I once went to the same church as President George W. Bush.  Seeing him in person was unfathomable; as he walked down the aisle, we made eye contact and I believe he said”Hello”, “How you doing” or something similar.  It doesn’t matter what he said, because I couldn’t respond.  I had gone speechless.  I mean, there’s the President.  You hear about him, you see him on tv, but you never realize he’s a real person till you actually see him in person.  It’s like when I went to Abraham Lincoln’s tomb in Springfield, IL.  You see the crypt, and that’s when it hits you.  Abraham Lincoln was a real person.  His body is in there.  He wasn’t a myth, wasn’t a story; he actually walked on this Earth.  It’s all true.  And that’s what it felt like Saturday night when the older gentleman in the white tux coat walked on stage.  The composer of some of the most memorable movie music in history….he was a legend, he actually exists!

A few blogs ago, I wrote about how very clear and concise Keith Lockhart is as a conductor. He’s not flashy, but extremely functional.  You always can tell what Lockhart wants.  Williams seemed even more basic.  Now granted, he’s 84, and I don’t know how much rehearsal time he had with the Pops.  Lockhart is with them all the time.  Williams’ conducting was mainly cuing; it wasn’t flashy, but then again, I believe the ultimate test of a conductor’s efficacy is the sound that is produced.  And if the way the Pops played Saturday night is any indication, John Williams is the best conductor around!  But more than the conducting was his manner.  To the delight of everyone, he frequently spoke between selections, and in doing so, we got a back-stage pass into his world.  We learned of how he wanted to do the new Star Wars films specifically because he was taken by the character of Rey.  He praised Daisy Ridley and found both the character and the actress the inspiration for a very unusual, new theme.  He told us how director J.J. Abrams and producer Kathy Kennedy put together a sequence of clips from The Force Awakens just for the concert.  We learned how he’s about to start scoring Episode 8, which got more than a little applause.  And we learned how he made the original Princess Leia theme passionate, having no knowledge that Leia and Luke were actually brother and sister.  Apparently, George Lucas kept that one rather close to the vest!

So what did we hear?  I already mentioned the Olympics music, accompanied by the video montage.  There was all the medley from The Force Awakens, also with video.  So good is Rey’s Theme, that it was programmed later, as a stand-alone.  The virtuosity of the Pops showed on the music that accompanies the chase of the Millennium Falcon threw the Asteroid Field from The Empire Strikes Back.  From brassy fanfares to dazzling techniques, that’s one not for the faint of heart!  And of course, would the concert have been complete without The Imperial March?  I ask you, is there a better villain theme in the history of the cinema?  I can’t think of one.  Instantly identifiable, rhythmic, tuneful; there’s no surprise that so many college marching bands play it in the football stands.  I’m still thinking on that one…great villain theme music.  Nope, I got nothing.

The concert ended just as it did last year, with the Throne Room and Finale from A New Hope.  There’s no complaints here, though.  This time, the composer himself was on the podium. Williams introduced it by complimenting Harrison Ford’s performance in The Force Awakens, and describing the accompanying video we were about to see.  He prepared us, who after The Force Awakens, may have forgotten how young Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher and Ford were in 1977.  The music was spectacular, as you probably already know, and even if it included a reprise of the Princess Leia theme, no one was going to complain.  The video montage began with that famous scene from the end of A New Hope and went on from there.  Lando Calrissian, Boba-Fett, the Second Death Star, Mace Windu, Padme Amidala, and Anakin all made appearances, as did so much more I’m forgetting.  How can you beat that?  Maybe the grandest music Williams ever wrote for Star Wars, combined with the images from throughout the saga….let it suffice to say that when the brass played that majestic final quotation of the Throne Room theme, you didn’t have to wait to the last note.  Everyone was on their feet, ready to give the Pops and our hero an applause worthy of a Galactic Empire!

When I saw Seth MacFarlane with the Pops in July (a very enjoyable concert as well), he sang one encore and then was on his way.  That was a concert that seemed timed to the minute.  McFarlane was going to sing for a set amount of time, he’d done one extra, and that’s it.  With Williams, it felt different.  The applause was thunderous….and he didn’t let anyone down.  It was well 11 pm at this point, the concert having started at 8 pm and having an extended intermission.  Not did he come back out, not only did he perform two (not one but two) encores, he spoke about them, letting us know more about how they came about.  The first was the intensely lyrical Luke and Leia theme from Return of the Jedi, on which Richard Sebring, who had been playing more than a few notes for hours now, continued to shine on the French Horn.  For the second encore, we finally stepped outside of Star Wars, with a little bit of Harry Potter.  There were, of course, no complaints.  And just like hornist Sebring, the celesta player had no margin for error.  But since this was the Boston Pops and these are the best of the best, it was played flawlessly.  Williams and company earned another well deserved standing ovation, and at this point, no one could have asked for anything more (apologies, Gershwins).  What more was there to give us?  It didn’t matter if your ticket was on the lawn (assuming you were still there), or you had the best sat in the Shed; you got more value in terms of entertainment than what you paid for.

“John Williams Night” was the best concert I’ve ever been to.  The Pops played impeccably.  The music is so wonderful.  The coordination with the videos and music enhanced the experience.  And a  living legend was there.  I know, as someone with three music degrees, I should say that Mahler, Beethoven, Wagner, Brahms is superior to this.  They are all great.  You’re not going to hear me argue against Brahms’ First Symphony or ein Deutsches Requiem.  But even in those pieces, two of my absolute favorite in the repertoire, there are moments where I might lose interest.   Not every moment of the Requiem is Selig Sind.  That wasn’t the case with “John Williams Night.”  Maybe because each piece was only 4 – 7 minutes?  Maybe due to the informality of the conductor speaking to the audience in between selections?  Maybe the nature of the music itself.   Whatever it was, I NEVER lost interest.  And it wasn’t just John Williams.  As I’ve already mentioned, Out of Africa sent me into a rhapsody. And you know, as a band director, this gives me some room to think.  Much of the history of the wind band is based on a quest for respectability.  Bands began with the military and on the parade grounds.  They then moved into concerts in the park.  It’s after 1950 that concert bands and wind ensembles strive for a level of artistic achievement.  That’s all well and good.  But look at how many people loved an orchestra playing Star Wars that probably wouldn’t sit through the same musicians playing Mahler 5.  Both would be played impeccably, but it’s the Star Wars that brings them in.  If we want people to appreciate the music we prepare, perhaps we need to make sure what we’re preparing is what they want to receive.  And let’s also be frank; it’s not like John Williams is candy.  It’s very difficult music, reflecting a high level of craftsmanship that speaks to people.  It has value.  Star Wars wouldn’t work the same without it, and it stands just fine without the images…though that doesn’t hurt!

Two more things before I conclude these thoughts.  Above is a picture of Carl Stalling.  As many of you know, I have a passionate love for the Looney Tunes.  Stalling was the brilliant musician who scored those classic cartoons.  He, along with his MGM counterpart Scott Bradley, created the soundtrack that we now associate with animation.  I have a CD of some of Stalling’s work.  But I don’t have the opportunity to see Stalling in concert conducting.  Same with so many of those glorious Hollywood composers.  I can revel in Max Steiner’s great work to Gone with Wind and Casablanca amongst others, but I’ll not see him in action.  Nor Bernard Herrmann, Miklos Rozsa, Jerry Goldsmith, Maurice Jarre and many more.  Of the film composers active today, I don’t know if Alan Silvestri, Randy Newman, Michael Giacchino, Howard Shore and the like do concert appearances.  And those are guys, Shore in particular, that write for the traditional, big symphony orchestra.  People like Hans Zimmer, of Pirates of the Caribbean and Dark Knight fame, don’t use that approach.  John Williams might be 84, but he’s still active, he’s still writing great music, and he’s still making appearances.  I would have loved to have seen Miklos Rozsa conduct Parade of the Charioteers from Ben-Hur or Henry Mancini with that still-wonderful theme to The Pink Panther.  Last Saturday night, I had that opportunity with John Williams.  And it’s not like Williams is resting on his laurels.  Rey’s Theme ranks right up there with his best character themes.  Williams’ isn’t slowing down, and he isn’t a recluse.  He’s not just writing for the movies, he’s sharing his talents with us.  There’s so much to be said for that.  Heck, it goes back to my opening thoughts….music as a communion.  John Williams isn’t just gone to commune with us in a movie theatre; he’s still all about making the music live and sharing it with a music-loving public.  There is much to be said for that.  And the fact that John Barry made an appearance….well, that’s just so much the better.

And just as John Williams left the stage with a selection that wasn’t from Star Wars so do I close this blog.  I know it’s been a long one, so if you made it all the way to the end, you need a little reward.  I’m going to share with you what might be my favorite John Williams’ cue.  I’m not going with the big themes like Raiders of the Lost Ark, Hook, or E.T.  Nor am I going to go with the reverent and moving Hymn to the Fallen from Saving Private Ryan.  Rather, I’m going to go with a very underrated Steve Spielberg picture from the mid 2000s, The Terminal.  This is the one where Tom Hanks comes from a fictitious Eastern European country, Krakhozia, and while over the Atlantic, that nation has a coup.  Upon arrival at Kennedy Airport in New York, he finds his visa will not be accepted.  And so, he’s stuck in the terminal.  Williams’ score is a delight.  There’s a jolly Russian-sounding main theme, which features the clarinet.  He even wrote a national anthem for Krakhozia.  But the music I’d like to share is the theme he wrote for Victor’s love interest, Catherine Zeta-Jones.  She plays a United Airlines attendant, and I’ve always felt that Williams’ music, very warm and jazzily rich, has a somewhat resemblance to the lyrical theme of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue…which is the United corporate theme.  Take a listen and enjoy.  It’s not the best know of the Master, but I think it’s just as good as his other work.

And while you’re listening, raise a toast.  Here’s to good health, John Williams; 84 years and going strong!  And keep going strong; there’s more Star Wars films to go.   May the Force be with him indeed!

Music at the movies, Part One; or Searching for Sugar Man

One of the real treats of where Jennifer and I live is our close proximity to downtown Amherst.  It’s just a 10 minute walk to restaurants, bars, St. Brigid’s Church, the CVS store, coffee shops, and the like, all of which we frequent.  And no, before you get ahead of yourselves, there’s no need to think too much of the ordering of the haunts.  I am sure it is a complete coincidence that bars came before Church.  Anyway, another establishment in downtown we visit is the Amherst Cinema.  We went there for the first time not long after we had moved here, in July 2011.  In the summers, they frequently have film festivals and that year, Humphrey Bogart was the honoree.  Jenny had never seen Treasure of the Sierra Madre before, and it had been quite a while for me.  Since then, we’ve become supporters of the Amherst Cinema; we’ve been members for a couple years now, and though I don’t see everything they offer, I do appreciate the variety.  To give you a quick rundown that indicates the breadth of their offerings, over the past five years, I’ve seen the Looney Tunes (and truth being said, it was that experience that ignited my passion for them…but that’s for another blog); Good Fellas; Dr. Zhivago; Die Hard; Who Framed Roger Rabbit; and more recently, The Lobster.  I’m not as big fan of the “art house” pictures; it’s the classics they bring back from time to time that I really enjoy. Good Fellas was part of a Martin Scorsese film festival, in which I also saw Raging Bull (hard to watch) and King of Comedy (vastly underrated; superb performance by Jerry Lewis, of all people).

There have been other special events, such as the one-night only Rare Films from the Baseball Hall of Fame, or a Friday at 10 pm before Christmas showing of Die Hard, where audience members were encouraged to dress in character.  Did I also mention alcohol is available in the evening?  That just made Die Hard that much merrier!  So hopefully, you can tell why Jenny and I support this local institution so much; movies, for the most part, you won’t see elsewhere, beer in the evenings, and in walking distance.  What’s not to like?  And it’s a non-profit, community enterprise.  Admittedly, my interest in studio politics is pretty much restricted to “Termite Terrace” on the Warner Bros. lot, where Bugs Bunny and his like leaped from inkwell to cinema…but I can appreciate supporting Amherst Cinema over the big boys down the street.

So, with that being said, there are two events going on this summer at Amherst Cinema.  One is a 10 year anniversary celebration, in which they are showing, for one night only, some of the most popular films to ever play there.  The other is a series entitled “Sound and Vision,” and it’s one night of films related to music.  These range from documentaries to concert films to some things in between.  As it turned out, this past week, both series collided.  Wednesday night’s popular redux was the documentary Searching for Sugar Man while Thursday’s “Sound and Vision” entry was Prince’s Purple Rain.    With the weather being warm, no air conditioning in the house and Jennifer working both nights, seeing movies on back to back nights seemed like a pretty good idea.  After all, I am a musician, so why not enjoy two movies about music?

I had first heard about Searching for Sugar Man a few years back; the story was told on 60 Minutes by my favorite correspondent, the sadly departed Bob Simon.  The story (which I’ll tell in a bit) is definitely intriguing but here’s the thing; it seemed like in a 20 minute 60 Minutes segment, I had basically heard everything. Why see a 100 minute (or so) movie when Bob and his team pretty much covered it all?  And truth being told, the little bit I heard of Rodriguez’ music, I wasn’t exactly digging.  So, when Searching for Sugar Man first came to Amherst Cinema, I passed.

Here’s the thing: Searching for Sugar Man played for weeks.  That’s not hyperbole.  It kept playing…and playing….and playing.  As they say, could 50 million Elvis fans really be wrong?  But when my resolve was almost about to break down, it was gone.  Go search for Sugar Man somewhere else, because he ain’t in Amherst in anymore.  That was a couple years back, so when I heard it would be making a one night return, I figured…what the Hell, I’m beaten down, resistance is futile, give me Sugar Man or give me death.  Besides, this was while Pokemon GO! mania was in full gear.  I talk like this was long in the past tense, back in the older days, when the street lights were lit each dusk by men with long sticks and unseemly dress. But I digress.  Anyway, I figure, people are already hunting for their beloved Pokemon; why shouldn’t I then search for the mythic Sugar Man?  And so, come Wednesday night, I was there at Amherst Cinema.

For those unfamiliar with Searching for Sugar Man, here’s the skinny.  “Sugar Man” is the name of a song by the (I guess you would call him a folk singer), Rodriguez.  He was from Detroit in the late 1960s.  That’s him above.  We find out about how record producers found him in a very smoky bar, and signed him to a contract.  A couple albums came out, critics liked him, but it just never caught on.  The label drops him before a third album could be finished, and that’s it for Rodriguez.

Except, the story now jumps to South Africa. Somehow, Rodriguez’ albums found their way over there and they really resonated.  As we’re informed, this is the height of Apartheid, and for many white youth, Rodriguez resonated with them.  Though it wasn’t clear if his songs were protest songs (he was recording during the Vietnam War), they were sexual and there was one song about being anti-establishment.  Anyway, this appealed to an entire generation of South Africans, and his music apparently was censored by the authorities.  Something I didn’t know was how isolated South Africa was at this time.  I knew, in the 1980s, they were a pariah on the world stage, but I didn’t realize how much the Government tried to internalize everything.  According to a record store owner, who loved Rodriguez’ music, it was impossible to get information about the outside world.  Because of this, no one could ask questions about what this music was, who Rodriguez was, and if there was anything else.  Out of that situation came rumors that Rodriguez killed himself on stage.  There were two versions.  One has an audience not responding to him, so he pulls out a pistol and fires it at his own head.  Another has him immolating himself on stage, in protest.  People apparently listened to his music over and over, looking for signs in the lyrics that foreshadowed his demise.

Well anyway, the record store owner and another reporter, working separately and then later together, try to find the truth about Rodriguez.  We’re now in the ’90s.  Apartheid is long gone and there’s this thing called the world wide web.  The fact that you’re reading my blog leads me to believe you’ve heard of it.  Phone calls first lead to the record producers and now the film takes us back to the United States.  One of those being interviewed is the legendary Clarence Avant, who was big in the Detroit scene because of Motown.  He gets emotional talking about Rodriguez, but didn’t seem to know much about him recently.  But eventually one of the South Africans gets to talk to a record exec who confirms that Rodriguez is absolutely still alive.  Meanwhile, a website asking for information about Rodriguez draws the attention of one of his daughters, and before long, one of the South Africans gets a phone call in the middle of the night from Rodriguez himself.

Its’ at this point we go back to Detroit and through a slow-developing close-up, finally see Rodriguez.  It’s been over an hour into the film.  As we find out, he lives in a modest home in an older area of Detroit.  He works construction and other manual labor jobs, and has three (I think) daughters.  He wears shades all the time and is very reserved.  He seems nice enough, but doesn’t have much to say.  Maybe that’s why he never was a star; he doesn’t have a rock star personality, that’s for sure.  So now we get the juxtaposition.  Rodriguez is told he’s bigger than Elvis in South Africa, yet back in Detroit, he’s at peace.  He does his work, his co-workers have no idea he’s had a music career, and he seems to have no regrets about how his life has gone.  There’s no bitter-sweetness about losing his musical career; he seems fine.  Well, from that point on, you can predict what happens.  Rodriguez tours South Africa, the crowd goes wild for his first number, but in the end, he’s back in Detroit, still doing his thing.  Apparently, his co-workers had no idea he went across the world and played sold-out crowds.  It’s definitely a strange story.

If you read up on wikipedia and some other sources, there is some question about how true that story is.  While its’ definitely true he had an unsuccessful musical career, he wasn’t quite as obscure as the movie makes him out to be.  He had already toured Australia a couple times before his South African discovery.  And while he was never “big” in the US, he wasn’t completely forgotten.  You can go over to amazon.com right now and look at his first album, Cold Fact.  There are reviews from 2006, well before Searching for Sugar Man was made.  There were people who knew about Rodriguez’ music.  Still, I think the documentarians’ point was more about Rodriguez’ appeal in South Africa: the legend about him, and the quest to know the truth.

So, is Searching for Sugar Man good?  I enjoyed it, but I have to admit, I thought it slowed down after the first hour.  Some of that is, as I mentioned, Rodriguez doesn’t have much to say.  Early on, we hear that, back in that smoky Detroit club in the ’60s, he performed with his back to the audience.  Apparently Sia wasn’t the first one to think of that.  So, while it was great to finally see the fabled Rodriguez, he actually doesn’t add much to the narrative.  There was also a couple possibly story lines that didn’t really get followed through.  Now I get that this is a documentary, so you can’t really just write your own story.  But there was a sequence where the South African reporter is trying to find who is getting the royalties off of Rodriguez’ albums, and this eventually takes him to Avant.  The latter turns the conversation away from that…and that’s it.  We never hear who gets paid from sales of Rodriguez’ music.  All we learn at the end is that he shares the profits of his South African tours with his friends and family and that he continues to live in the same home of the past 40 years.  I would have liked to hear more about this.  When Rodriguez became huge in South Africa, did none of the money make its way back to him?  If it didn’t, where did it go?  Maybe it’s impossible to know, which is why the movie left that out.

Something else that struck me was that while he was very popular in South Africa, it apparently was only with white people.  It’s only white people we see interviewed, talking about how Rodriguez was the sound track to the resistance.  When he tours South Africa in 1998, it’s only white people at his concerts. That could very well be how it all went down, but it struck me as somewhat odd.

And then there’s the biggest question of all….is Rodriguez an unjustly forgotten talent or is there a reason he never caught on?  Here is the song that inspired the name of the film.  My thoughts are…I find his voice very intriguing, and his lyrics do catch my attention.  But it just sort of goes on.  And on.  And on.  Obviously, Sugar Man is a drug song, which wouldn’t be too unusual for the late ’60s.  It’s an intriguing premise, but after the first 30 seconds, it seems we’ve heard all there is to hear.  Everything else was added in the production, from the descending bass clarinet (a nice touch) to the trippy sound effects.  How much input Rodriguez had on that, versus producer decisions, I don’t know.  Here’s another one, which was also shown as being very popular in South Africa, particularly with its openly sexual lyrics.  It doesn’t have as many “bells and whistles” as Sugar Man, but for me, it’s the same thing: his voice catches my attention, his lyrics are evocative….but it doesn’t offer much after that.  Rodriguez doesn’t add a guitar solo like an Eric Clapton or George Harrison.  His melodies are simple and I’ll agree, memorable, but they don’t go in a surprising direction.

Allow me to contrast.  Granted, this is about to be a high bar, but I’ll go there.  Frank Sinatra thought Something by the Beatles was one of the finest songs of all time, and I can’t argue with the Chairman of the Board.  Think of all the elements in that one: that soulful guitar, the way the melody evolves, the added motion on “I don’t want to lose her now,” and then the incredibly evocative lyric, “you know I believe in how,” and the phrase being finished by that unmistakable guitar.  And that’s just the first verse.  I haven’t even spoken about, in my opinion, the greatest B section in the history of a rock song.  The way the music just soars on “You’re asking me, will my love grow?  I don’t know, oh, I don’t know”, the punctuation of the rhythm section, and then again, “You stick around now, it may show, I don’t know, oh, I don’t know.”  And if that wasn’t enough, for my money, the single most melodic, beautiful guitar solo in the repertoire.  The way Harrison plays, it sounds like a human voice.  And not something cheesy like Peter Frampton’s talk box.  George Harrison’s guitar is as beautiful as the most emotional singing I’ve ever heard.  Something may be perfection in the rock song idiom; I don’t know how anything could be better.  Heck, I could write a blog just about that one song.  I haven’t even mentioned how perfect the string writing is.  It’s not over-produced, it’s not a gimmick; it just completes the mood.

Again, Something sets the bar incredibly high.  For crying out loud, that’s the Beatles we’re talking about.  That’s Abbey Road.  Has any band/musician ever had as perfect a final album as that?  It’s a perfect culmination of everything they were.  But I bring it up to say, it was in that environment that Rodriguez came on the scene.  His songs, at least the ones I heard in the film, are memorable, but don’t have that extra, well, I guess somewhat appropriate choice of word, something.  There isn’t the guitar work, they don’t seem to get to that next level.  In fairness, he only had two albums.  Abbey Road is the crowning achievement of all that was the Beatles.  So, it’s not a valid comparison.  I just bring it up to put Rodriguez into context.  I liked what I heard of him, but you can tell where his songs are, compared to others.  I’d be interested to hear how Sugar Man stands up, when you strip it off the sound effects and orchestral accompaniment.  Something can stand without its beautiful strings; I’m not sure Sugar Man could do the same.  But again, this isn’t a valid comparison.

But not everything is the Beatles.  Perhaps if Rodriguez had gotten to finish a third album, he would have made it.  He’s at the start of the 70s.  Give another album, maybe he develops his skills, and now he’s in the decade of the singer/songwriter.  Could he have had a place alongside Jim Croce, James Taylor, Gordon Lightfoot and the like?  Who’s to say.  But what’s interesting about Searching for Sugar Man is that such speculation seems to mean nothing to Rodriguez.  He’s at peace.  He really enjoyed playing in South Africa, and he really seems to be fine with his life in Detroit.  Now since the movie, his profile has been raised.  He’s actually on tour right now, and it’s more than South Africa.  Note, Australia is on the docket, which was not mentioned in the film.  I have no idea if he’s still working construction.  But here’s the thing, as the famous line from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance goes, “Print the legend.”  Sure, Searching for Sugar Man leaves out some details, and yes, maybe there was a reason Rodriguez didn’t catch on…but it still makes for a great story.  And it was worth it to see; there’s much more than 60 Minutes could include.  I personally enjoyed the interviews with his peers in Detroit, who had no idea he was some international star.  The facts may not perfectly jive  with what’s depicted, but that’s a small quibble.  The story is great, and the music isn’t too bad either.  After all, I took away more than a little familiarity with Rodriguez.  A movie ticket wasn’t the only thing I bought.  This baby is now on order, and I eagerly await it’s arrival:

In fact, in this case, the lyrics do ring true.  Sugar Man, won’t your hurry!

So that was Wednesday night’s music at the movies.  Tomorrow, I’ll chime in on a cinematic musical experience completely different, Searching For Prince, through the Purple Rain.  Until then, may your searches be as sweet as sugar!

An afternoon with Seth, Keith, Nelson and Billy; or the Capitol Years under the Shed

We are rapidly approaching the one year anniversary of “Guy in a Boater.”  I’d have to go look it up (not doing it right now), but I think it was late July (or maybe early August) that I first a.) donned a boater as my hatwear of choice and b.) decided to online chronicle it.  Those of you who have followed this journal since then know it didn’t take long to break away from the adventures of an antiquated hat.  We’ve had Catholicism, movie reviews, book discussions, World War I airplanes; we’ve been all over the place.  One of my early posts addressed my impressions of sitting on the lawn at Tanglewood.  I had been to Tanglewood a few times before; I’m a music teacher, I live in Western Massachusetts…it’s probably what I’m supposed to do.  But prior to last August, I had never done the lawn thing; it had always been in the Shed.  Since I’ve already shared my opinions about lawn, wine and symphony, there’s no need to do so here. If you really want to read it, just look back a ways.  Let this statement suffice: when individual tickets for the current season went on sale way back in January, I was ready the moment the link went live.  There were two shows I really wanted to see, and the lawn just wasn’t going to be my thing.  Been there, done that; and unlike last week’s biplane ride, it’s not something I’m clamoring for a repeat performance.

The two concerts I bought tickets for were John Williams Film Night (which is in about a month, and on the first day, I was just able to get seats at the back of the Shed) and today’s show, the Boston Pops with Seth MacFarlane.  I don’t know who is more well-known between those two.  I’d think Star Wars is a bigger deal than Family Guy and American Dad, but does the average American know the composer of the soundtrack compared to the voice of Peter Griffin?  Seth’s show I was able to get pretty good tickets for, and based on what I saw the week of, if it sold out, it was a late run.  Definitely not sold out in as far advance as John Williams.  So, within the classic musical community, score one for Darth Vader over Stewie.  Or Quagmire.  Or Stan Smith.  But I digress.

I will admit, I’ve never been a big fan of Seth McFarlane’s animated work.  The randomness of Family Guy just drives me crazy.  And yes, I know what you’re thinking.  You, Guy in a Boater, who absolutely refuses to stay on topic here, you dare complain about randomness.  Touché.  It also didn’t help that in terms of cartoon wars, I sided with South Park.  I guess you can be fan of both, but I put my flag squarely in the Parker/Stone camp.  Well no, that’s not true.  My true cartoon loyalties are of the Looney Tunes variety…but that’s for another day.  The point is, I never saw Ted, I just sort of didn’t pay attention to Seth MacFarlane.

What I had been paying attention to, though, since my senior year of high school, was the music of Frank Sinatra.  I had already been really into the big bands, like Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey, for about a year.  When Harry Met Sally came out and that was my introduction to Harry Connick, Jr.  I think it was my Dad who decided I was now ready for the real stuff.  That came in the way of a Christmas present, December 1990: a three cassette box set, with voluminous booklet, Frank Sinatra: The Capitol Years.

Sure, I had heard Sinatra before; who didn’t know My Way or New York, New York?  To be honest, though, that Frank didn’t really work for me.  It was loud and bombastic; it seemed anything but subtle.  But that was not the Frank from the Capitol days.  There was artistry in the Capitol  work.  There was craftsmanship.  There was incredible source material: Harold Arlen, Rodgers and Hart, Jerome Kern, George Gershwin, Johnny Mercer.  And perhaps what fired my imagination even more, there were the arrangers.  Ever since I first got into big band music, the arrangers interested me more than the soloists.  Sure Benny Goodman was great, but how about Eddie Sauter’s arrangement for the band?  Star Dust as recorded by Artie Shaw: just as beautiful as Artie’s clarinet solo is Lennie Hayton’s writing.  And maybe that’s what drew me to Glenn Miller; he wasn’t the greatest trombone player, but as a writer, he came up with a sound unique to his band that the public just loved.  He was then able to get his proteges Jerry Gray and Bill Finegan (for my money, the best of all the commercial big band writers) to build upon that.

And so it was with Frank in the Capitol Years.  It’s where I became familiar with two names that I have never stopped admiring: Nelson Riddle and Billy May.  Both were just brilliant and in different ways.  Riddle’s music pushes Sinatra; you may argue he was the architect behind that classic Frank sound.  The subtleties such as the use of bass trombone and bass clarinet, the light touch of strings; Riddle’s writing is so much more than just a swing band.  It’s a completely unique sound.  And then there was Billy May.  A former big band trumpeter who wrote for Charlie Barnett and played for Glenn Miller.  There seems to always be a  joke whenever Billy was on the job, some sort of gag.  It’s oh so clever!  Later in my career, as I tried stretching my own arranging chops, Billy May became an inspiration to me.  A few years ago, I did a band transcription of his orchestral arrangement of When the Saints Go Marching In, which he wrote for the Boston Pops.  The entire process, from the solitary act of the transcription, to the semester of teaching it to my students, I felt like I had a semester long, independent study with this master from another generation, a guy who worked with….well, where to start…Bing Crosby, Bobby Darin, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, and all those already mentioned!  Since that experience, I find my writing, most likely unconsciously, leaning toward Billy May.  There’s not any particular gesture or lick; it’s more the “tongue and cheek,” subtle musical gags finding their way into my music.  And oh, the habit of ending a chart with a loud chord and percussion blast.  That’s from May, and I seem to keep taking that one to the bank.  But let’s move on, shall we?

Nelson Riddle on the left, Billy May on the right; both with Frank Sinatra.

So, I’m not sure how I first was exposed to Seth MacFarlane’s singing.  It may have come from a conversation I had with my good friend, Dave Sporny.  Dave taught trombone at UMass for many years, and also was on the jazz faculty.  To this day, he’s an active player and leads his own big band.  I think I might have told Dave how I was working on the Billy May transcription and the conversation was turned to those great studio albums of the 1950s.  Whatever the reason, Dave mentioned how a student of his from Interlochen (Dave, if you’re reading this and I’m wrong on the details, please correct me), Joel McNeely, is the arranger for Seth MacFarlane’s albums.  I knew who McNeely was; I had the recording he made of Bernard Herrmann’s score to Vertigo, with the Royal Scottish Orchestra.  But I was unfamiliar with any of the MacFarlane stuff; as I explained already, I hadn’t been a fan of any of the cartoons.  Dave gave me a copy of the CD Music is Better Than Words.  And that, my friends, is where everything changed.

Some have dismissed Seth MacFarlane’s singing as a vanity project.  I don’t know if that’s true, but from reading the liner notes (which is a reason I purchase CDs and not mp3s.  I want the information), it’s very clear how sincere MacFarlane is about what he is doing.  He has a fine voice; it’s not as full as Sinatra’s….but neither was Dean Martin.  Or Harry Connick, for that matter.  But when you read the liner notes, you understand what MacFarlane is up to.  He has a deep respect for those Capitol Records albums of the 1950s, and with McNeely writing the arrangements, he managed to put together something that sounds right out of that era.  MacFarlane made sure the recordings took place in the same studio the Sinatra sessions were done; he used the microphone from those days, and his drummer, Pete Erskine, made sure the set he played on was of the type used back then.  And McNeely’s charts just hit the right notes.  Those Capitol recordings weren’t a swinging big band.  You need double reeds, you need strings, you need much more sonorities than saxes/trombones/trumpets.  And not every chart ends with a big chord; it’s the little, novel touches that writers like Riddle and May made shine.  The other thing about MacFarlane’s album that he’s very clear about, he wasn’t interested in yet another recording of Fly Me to the Moon or any similar Sinatra standard.  He wanted to record lesser known songs from that era, and give them their due.  My favorite track on the album, far and away, is his take on Something Good from The Sound of Music.  Here it is in concert, in case you hadn’t heard it:

So anyway, today was the big day, a Sunday matinee at Tanglewood, the Boston Pops under the direction of Keith Lockhart, with Seth MacFarlane singing.  I had my tickets from the day they went on sale, so there was no way I wasn’t going to be in the Shed.  There was rain on and off in the morning and the temperatures were cool…so much so that I wore long sleeves and slacks.  I know Tanglewood is a summer thing and it’s casual…but I just can’t get around wearing shorts to classical music.  It’s probably my hang-up, but it just doesn’t seem to work, particularly when the musicians are all in tuxes.  White coats and pants today, for the Pops.  So, with cooler temps, I was glad to be a little more formal.

Anyway the rain held off, which is a mixed bag, as Massachusetts could really use it, but I’m sure all those picnicking on the lawn didn’t mind…at least not for those two hours.  The first half of the concert was just the Pops with an All-American program: Leonard Bernstein’s Overture to Candide, the Largo from Dvorak’s New World Symphony (I’ll explain), Hoe-Down by Aaron Copland, a medley of George Gershwin love songs, and Duke Ellington’s It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing).  The Dvorak was included, as Lockhart explained, because it came about from the composer’s sojourn in New York City in the 1890s and his imploring American composers to seek their own native voice.  He then pointed out that within a few years of Dvorak leaving, Gershwin, Ellington and Copland were all born.  Thus, a true American musical style was soon on the way.  This was the first time I had ever seen Lockhart conduct; last year, at John Williams Film Night, I never actually saw him.  I just heard the music.  Anyway, a couple things struck me about him: a.) he doesn’t use a baton, b.) he’s very easy to follow.  I respect that greatly.  I’ll freely admit, I’m not a very pretty conductor.  That used to bother me, but lately, I’ve kind of changed my thoughts on that.  I think the best thing a conductor can do is to be clear, give the players the information they need, and then get out of their way.  There’s no need for superfluous gestures.  Look at Lockhart; he’s standing in front of the Boston Pops.  It’s like driving a Ferrari!  It’s a high performance vehicle right there.  The players are virtuosos, and he brings it together.  I have very good friends who are very florid, emotional, visual conductors.  They produce wonderful sounds from their ensembles.  I have great respect for them.  I just wonder sometimes, how much of the visual of conducting is a show, and how much is getting to the music?  There’s probably no solid answer that works in all situations.  But I really enjoyed watching Maestro Lockhart.  It wasn’t flashy (though he did bounce around a few times), but everything was clear.  His time was right on; I could always tell exactly what was going to happen through watching him.  I didn’t have to guess.

I should also say something about the arrangements.  And yes, of course, everything sounded great.  Again, its the Boston Pops.  America’s orchestra.  The best players in the world.  Of course, it was going to sound great.  Anyway, both the Gershwin medley and the Ellington were listed in the program as being arranged by Sebesky.  I was hoping there would be more information about this person.  Thankfully, we now have wikipedia, though that had to wait till my descent from the Berkshires; there’s no much coverage up there.  Facebook still hasn’t loaded my pictures.  But then again, is it such a bad thing to have to focus on the music and the beautiful scenery?  Anyway, here’s Sebesky:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Sebesky

His Gershwin arrangement was really lovely.  It included Love is Here to Stay, Someone to Watch Over Me, and The Man I Love.  As with most medleys, the real “pass muster” test is how to handle transitions.  That’s why, for high school bands, you’re not going to do much better than those great old Clare Grundman works, like the American Folk Rhapsodies.  The way he segues from one tune to the other are so tasty!  And that’s what Sebesky did; his move from Love is Here to Stay to Someone to Watch Over Me was just magic.  The setting of The Man I Love was piano heavy, a somewhat Rachmaninoff interpretation, and it absolutely worked.  It set up a clever ending that quoted the final bars of Gershwin’s beloved Rhapsody in Blue.

The second half of the concert was Seth MacFarlane, with the Pops and MacFarlane’s preferred rhythm section up front.  I was expecting him to do music from this album, but that wasn’t the case.  Interestingly, MacFarlane’s repertoire were all old arrangements, most of them by Nelson Riddle and Billy May, from their work for Sinatra and others.  What a delight!  First off, my immediate question would be, how do you even get your hands on those?  There’s a good deal of Billy May’s arrangements in the Library of Congress, but none of it is the Sinatra stuff.  Trust me, I tried to find Come Fly with Me; no dice.  Obviously, I couldn’t get to the stage to see what was on the music stands, but to these ears, what the Pops played didn’t sound like a recreation, something written in the style of May or Riddle; it sounded like the real thing.  But then again, Seth MacFarlane’s net worth is rumored in the $200 million range.  Getting that music probably isn’t too big a challenge.

Much like his album, MacFarlane performed the songs that aren’t as well known.  He didn’t do I’ve Got You Under My Skin, which is probably the most celebrated Nelson/Frank swinger from the Capitol years.  Instead, he sang their versions of Too Marvelous for Words and I’ve Got Plenty of Nothing.  With May, it was arrangements of lesser known tunes such as Granada and Moonlight on the Ganges (the latter, I only knew from a Tommy Dorsey version).  Instead of singing One for My Baby, the most celebrated (and with good reason; see my blog from December, if interested) tune off of Only the Lonely, MacFarlane sang Gone with Wind, which is equally beautiful, but not as common.  Same with the Come Fly with Me album.  The title track was never heard; instead, it was May’s stunning ballad, Autumn in New York.  MacFarlane’s survey of the era showed how much he really knows his stuff.  He performed a song from Doctor Dolittle (the 1960s movie, not the Eddie Murphy incarnation); a dramatic Nelson/Frank version of Old Man River; a Gordon Jenkins ballad (another one of Frank’s great writers), and a Billy May bluesy number, amongst a set of what had to be well over 10 songs, lasting just over an hour.  And MacFarlane doesn’t just pay lip-service to these talents.  To hear him talk about Riddle, May and the like, it’s clear he really appreciates those 1950s recordings, and really respects the talent that went into them.  I came away with the impression that MacFarlane is on a crusade to get those writers the recognition they deserve.

A few other things come to mind.  First off, I mentioned how, from high school days, I was fascinated by arrangers. When I got to college, I couldn’t wait to take Arranging for Band.  Since then, I’ve written marching band charts for my high school band and the colleges  I’ve been affiliated with.  I’ve been dabbling more and more in concert band writing.  But here’s the thing.  I took four semesters of undergrad music theory and an arranging course.  More importantly, I have the advantage of computer software that allows me to hear immediately what I just wrote.  I can hear multiple lines being played at once and make decisions then and there.  Both May and Riddle did not have a college education.  They both played in high school band and then professionally in the swing bands.  Riddle apparently learned a little from Bill Finegan.  May played tuba in high school band, was bored with his part, so he investigated what everyone else was doing.  These guys didn’t have advanced collegiate harmony training; they learned themselves.  It’s similar to the story of Irwin Kostal, who was the music director for both Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music.  He turned down an opportunity to study music in college, and said he learned more from studying orchestral scores in the library.  Riddle and May both had brilliant, original musical voices…and it didn’t come from a university music education.  They learned from playing others’ works, listening to what made it happen, and then experimenting on their own.  And again, they didn’t have a digital playback.  They had to write everything by hand, and wait to hear it played by the ensemble to know if it worked.  There’s no doubt in my mind, those guys had incredible minds.  If they didn’t have perfect pitch, it had to be really close.  When you listen to what Riddle and May wrote, it’s not simple.  It’s not just melody and accompaniment.  Take my favorite May chart, It’s Nice to Go Traveling, the penultimate track on the Come Fly with Me album.  There’s a lot going on there, with all of May’s musical jokes.  Yet, with the exception of clanging away on a piano, he didn’t hear the sound of it till the ensemble read it.  Me, I can have a computer simulate the orchestra.  But not those guys.  If I hadn’t already idolized those writers enough, today I came away with even greater reverence.

Billy May with pencil and paper, no computer as his assistant.

Seth MacFarlane’s stage presence is intriguing.  He wears all black, as does his rhythm section.  That stands out immediately, from the Pops, who were all attired in white.  The show moved briskly.  He would introduce each song, explain a bit about it and the arranger, and would also include a joke or two.  These ranged from a couple shots at Donald Trump to Massachusetts humor (the proliferation of Dunkin Donuts, and a reference to Stop and Shop).  When his Trump jokes were well-received, he made the observation, “What a surprise that the educated, concert-going crowd isn’t a fan of his” or something of that sort.  That drew even more applause.  MacFarlane frequently brought up the dual nature of being the Family Guy…well, guy, and the songster.  He mentioned how next week, the guys from Bob’s Burgers would be at Tanglewood, doing Beethoven.  Perhaps my favorite line was when he talked about how great the Pops were, how people had practiced their entire lives to be in this group, and now they’re backing up the guy who voices Quagmire.  This led to one subdued “Giggity,” which, for the record, was the only appearance of any of the MacFarlane animated voices…and it really wasn’t in Quagmire’s voice, to be honest.

While MacFarlane’s voice isn’t necessarily deep, it’s always accurate.  In the era of pop singers relying on auto-tune (or, as he put it, “Swedish guys dicking around on iPads”), MacFarlane deserves kudos for always being right there, on key.  His back was always to the orchestra, so Lockhart and company had to follow him.  I don’t know that he and the Maestro ever made visual contact while a number was going on.  Yet, MacFarlane sings with confidence; his sense of rhythm is right there.  Not once did he ever seem lost in a song, or caught off-guard.  I have no idea how much he rehearsed with the Pops, if he had at all.  When he first came on stage, he mentioned how he needed a stool, since there wasn’t one out there and he had just flown in.  I know this was not the first time he’s sung with an orchestra, so perhaps he had a well-practiced set and Lockhart and the accompanying musicians had an recorded example to follow.  Either way, MacFarlane always seemed comfortable on stage and fully in control.  The moment never seemed too big for him; he really seems to feel naturally at home in the setting.

So what did I think of Seth MacFarlane with the Boston Pops?  I LOVED IT!  As soon as the final number was done, I was on my feet.  I called out for an encore.  I had my hands in the air, so my applause was visible, after almost every song.  The Riddle/May charts I knew, I was dancing in my seat.  The ones I didn’t, I was listening astutely, trying to learn something new.  As the regulars of the Band Building could tell you, after I received Music is Better Than Words, you couldn’t go by my office for weeks and not hear it playing.  At home, it was the soundtrack for dinners for quite a while…and I think it’s still in the CD player over there.  I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a musical performance as much as I did today.

And that leads me to my final point about Seth MacFarlane.  If his musical forays are  a vanity projectm what one person might call vanity, I call American popular music musicology.  Sure, singers do Sinatra tunes.  When Michael Bublé recorded Come Fly with Me, it sounded like he was using much of the Billy May arrangement…though there were some stylistic differences.  That’s not what MacFarlane and Lockhart did today.  They didn’t stylize Nelson Riddle; they performed what the man wrote.  Lots of people will sing New York, New York.  What about so many other great tunes that Sinatra and his like recorded, that aren’t as well remembered?  Are these only to exist on recording, known only by the hard core fans of the genre?  MacFarlane has the wealth and the clout to make sure these musical treasures are not forgotten.  What if it is a vanity project? If the end result is to make sure Billy May, Nelson Riddle and the like aren’t forgotten, then sign me up as an endorser every day of the week.  Those guys were talented, and if MacFarlane is going to dedicate his resources to preserve and recreate their labors in a stylistically accurate manner their labors, then I say, sing on, Seth!  After all, is that any different than historically accurate performances of early Beethoven or Haydn?  I think not!  Gershwin, Kern, Richard Rodgers, Harold Arlen, Jimmy Van Heusen and so many other great song writers of the first half of the 20th century are an important part of our American musical fabric.  Writers such as Nelson Riddle and Billy May added their own unique flavor to those tunes.  And if Seth MacFarlane wants to sing like Frank Sinatra and keep that music alive, then I’m all for it.

So, if you hear that Seth MacFarlane will be appearing with an orchestra near you, consider this my endorsement to go see it.  It’s a sincere tribute to music of a past age, and a desire to keep it fresh.

And you know what…as much tender loving care MacFarlane has given this music, maybe I really should give Family Guy another try!  It’s the least I can do, to repay what he’s done for two heroes of mine, Nelson and Billy.  Bravo, Seth and Keith; keep the music alive!

 

A joyful noise: Day 14 of a Lenten “Way”

Music and worship have gone hand in hand for days immemorial.  I believe the book of Genesis claims that Jubal was the first musician.  Joshua’s trumpeters marched outside the walls of Jericho while young David was skilled on the lyre.  Though the music hasn’t survived, it is assumed the entire book of Psalms were meant for singing/chanting, not for recitation.  Amongst the earliest forms of music notation in the Western canon are Gregorian chant.  From there, it’s a steady line that includes Leonin and Perotin’s experiments in polyphony at the end of the 12th/beginning of the 13 century; Guillaume de Machaut’s unified Mass; Martin Luther’s singing Church; the glory of Johan Sebastian Bach; Brahms’ Ein Deutsches Requiem, which manages to avoid any specific dogma; to Britten’s War Requiem, and all the way to the religious music of John Rutter or today’s praise bands.  Along the way there have been many hiccups, false starts, close calls and dead ends.  We have the Council of Trent’s reported displeasure with music and Palestrina’s simpler style to Church polyphony; Lowell Mason’s displeasure with American shape-note singing, and his (apparently successful) attempts to codify an European-influenced style of hymns;  and of course, the phenomenon known as Christian rock.  You’re free to have your opinion on all of these, but suffice it to say, it’s clear that music has long been a part of the worship experience.

As I think I’ve said on here before, I was raised Lutheran.  For Martin Luther, congregational singing was a vital part of the worship experience.  At his time, the music of the Catholic Mass was quite extravagant.  We are in the Renaissance, when the polyphony of madrigalists is in full affair.  Music by the likes of Ockeghem, Binchois, Joaquin and their contemporaries was pretty darn intricate.  It took a trained choir to perform.  So, if you were attending a Mass, chances are, you didn’t do the singing.  That was up to the pros.  Composers were challenged by the concept of the cantus firmus Mass to become more and more ingenious, and with piling upon layers and layers of polyphony, the text was pretty much obscured.  It’s why Luther’s approach to liturgical music was such a revelation.  He believed strongly that singing wasn’t just a decoration in the service; it was something a congregation should participate in fully.  The spirit of God and His Word could be spread through music.  It’s why he worked with skilled musicians and he and others created chorales that everyone in the congregation could sing.  It didn’t require a highly trained choir of professionals to perform these hymns; they belonged for all.  Compare Luther’s magnum opus, A Mighty Fortress is our God, with something by Palestrina (the same Palestrina who sought to simplify Catholic music).  One most all can sing, the other takes a great deal of preparation.  Now, A Mighty Fortress in the hands of that most Lutheran of composers, Johann Sebastian Bach…that’s another story!

So fast forward to my childhood.  In the Lutheran Church, you sing every verse of every hymn. The service is not done until the music is done.  And everyone participates.  That was the tradition I was brought up in, so you can imagine my surprise at becoming Catholic.  First off, for a Church whose musical repertory included Mozart, Gounod, Liszt and so many more, what was this?  Songs like Gather Us In; Taste and See (which I really like, for personal reasons), On Eagle’s Wings and the like.  The music was just melodies, no harmonies, and often accompanied by a guitar or a piano.  From the tradition of Notre Dame School of Polyphony to Bob Dylan-esque folk music.  I can only surmise that at Vatican II, the notion was to take a Giant Leap into the contemporary; jump from the Renaissance to the 1960s.  Vatican II, after all, was about making the Church more accessible.  No more Latin Mass, more lay involvement in the service, and the like.  By making the music more accessible, perhaps Catholics would sing more.

In my experience, though, that hasn’t been the case.  At a typical Mass, the Church sings the opening hymn as the Priest processes in.  Maybe a handful sing along.  The participation seems to be even less for the hymns during the Collection.  The responsorial Psalm might have more involvement, but honestly, when a Choir isn’t there and it’s just spoken, even that monotone mumbling has more people involved than singing.   The only parts of the service that often will get a more active role are the traditional parts of the Mass: the Gloria, the Alleluia before the Gospel, and all the songs involved with the Eucharist: Holy, Holy, Holy; the Acclamation; the Amen; and the Lamb of God.   Because of the centrality of the Eucharist to the Mass, there you’ve got a chance to get more people singing.  But the song during/after Communion….forget it.  The moment’s gone.  That may not be a bad thing, though; I can definitely understand the argument that with something as Holy as Christ’s Body and Blood, a moment of quiet reflection is more than appropriate.

The worst moment, though, bar none, hands down, is at the end of the Mass. The Priest has said the Benediction, the choir strikes up its final song….and everyone is gone.  Most people wait till the Priest recesses, but once he’s gone, the evacuation is on.  I often feel the closing hymn is like the music during the credits of a movie.  You have the die-hards who will stick around.  After all, who doesn’t want to know who the key grip was!  But for the majority of people, you’re in line to shake the Priest’s hand before the last note is sung.  Coming from a Lutheran background, where Church isn’t over until all verses have had their due, the idea of the closing hymn being background music to the Grand Exit….well, it’s more than a bit striking.

The thing is, it’s not like the Church goes out of its way to de-emphasize music.  The Council of Trent,as mentioned, zeroed in on excesses in liturgical music.  Granted, that was 500 years ago.  But still…it did happen!  St. Josemaria Escriva addressed the important of music as part of worship; let’s see what that esteemed saint and Catholic writer had to say:

#523:  The Church sings, it has been said, because just speaking would not satisfy its desires for prayers.  You, as a Christian – and a chosen Christian – should learn to sing the liturgical chant.

Now….as some of you know, my career is one of a music educator.  I have three degrees in music.  I also attend Catholic Mass regularly.  In the past I’ve sang in the choir.  I don’t do so now, but I do raise my voice with all hymns.  And, I should point out, I met my wife through the music ministry at our Church in Fresno.  So, you see, good things can come from singing in Church.  With that being said…I doubt I could sing liturgical chant.  Over  the centuries, there have been attempts to restore plainchant (that’s the basic Gregorian chant; everyone singing the same notes) into the Mass.  But again, they take us back to the differences of Luther’s time.  It almost always requires trained musicians to perform chant; it’s not something the lay person can pull off.  For starters, the notation is completely different than what standard, Western musical notation is.  It doesn’t have the same basic rhythmic pulse that we are familiar with, and it also doesn’t function in the major/minor key signature structure we all know and are accustomed to.  The times I’ve heard it done somewhat was in a “call and response” format.  At St. Brigid’s in Amherst, we have a very talented vocal soloist who is well-versed in early music.  She can perform chant in the stylistically correct manner, and during Lent, she will sing the Kyrie in that vein. We are asked to echo her.  The congregational response is not always accurate, but it’s the effort that counts.  Still, despite Escriva’s pleading, I don’t know that chant is on the way back.

The lack of Catholic congregational singing is something that probably won’t be changing anytime soon.  Again, it goes all the way back to the Church’s history.  The Cathedral of Notre Dame was ringing with gorgeous polyphony, but it’s not something the congregation probably joined in on.  If they did…what magnificent music education programs there were in Paris in the early 1200s!  Meanwhile, Luther starts his Church, and music belongs to the congregation from the get-go.  Two different paths, and we’ve been going down them for centuries.  So maybe it’s my Lutheran roots; I refuse to write it off as a lost cause. By no means do I think God begrudges anyone who doesn’t sing in Church.  I can’t imagine those who abstain from song on Sundays will find their path to Salvation challenged.  But that being said, even if I’m amongst the few, I will sing on.  Taste and See may never be confused with Schubert’s Ave Maria, but again that’s not the point.  Much of the treasures of the Catholic Church’s musical repertoire were written for performance.  If singing is a greater form of prayer, as Escriva suggests, then a simple song meant as worship will do just fine.

But before I go, I realize it might not be a bad idea to share with you all some of what I’ve been talking about.  I used to teach Music Appreciation at a previous job, and I’ve always enjoyed Music History.  So, without further ado, here’s a quick over-view of sacred music over the years!

1. First up is plainchant.  This is unison singing, with what are called “melismas.”  That’s where you get many musical pitches on a single note of text.  I’ve always found this particular chant absolutely gripping.  Accredited to the 1th century monk Hermannus Contractus (aka Herman the Crippled…classy, eh?), this is Salve Regina.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5p_U8J0iRQ
2. Next we jump to the Notre Dame School of Polyphony.  Polyphony now is not everyone signing the same thing.  We have multiple parts involved.  This was active at the Cathedral of Notre Dame at the end of the 12th/beginning of the 13th century.  Traditionally, one voice had a pre-exisiting chant and others “danced” around it.  This is one of my favorites, Perotin’s Sederunt principes.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SA_XhMKH6oo
3. In the mid 14th century, French composer Guillaume de Machaut wrote one of the first unified settings of the Catholic Mass.  This is long before the concept of major/minor music as we now today.  Yet, at the ends of phrases, there are moments that sound like major triads.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvIEA2dBKGA
4. And then Martin Luther came on the scene with his simplification of Church music, so that all the congregation can participate.  Here is that battle anthem of Lutheranism, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADamVJaXZMg
5. Legend has it that Palestrina composed the Pope Marcellus Mass as a means to show the Church that polyphony had a place.  It’s more simplified than previous composers, and does not obscure the Biblical text.  Here is that famous work: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRfF7W4El60
6. Though Luther and Johann Sebastian Bach do not overlap by a period of 150 years, it has been said that the former’s theology came alive in the latter’s music.  Bach’s music is notoriously difficult, so this would have required a trained group to perform.  However, Bach’s brilliance is showcased in how he masterfully handles Luther’s A Mighty Fortress.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNo79VGRaXs
7. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was many things in his life, but judging by his correspondence, it seems he remained Catholic.  He definitely wrote music for the Church, and perhaps none more beautiful that this setting of Ave Verum Corpus.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXjn6srhAlY
8. A very unique American musical tradition is that of shape-note singing.  It’s rugged, rhythmic and it’s harmonies are not always pretty.  William Billings, a Revolutionary Era tanner and largely self-taught composer, wrote many such tunes.  There were hymnbooks in the early 19th century, The Sacred Harp, The Southern Harmony,  and The Kentucky Harmony, to name three.  The beloved tune Amazing Grace was first printed in The Southern Harmony.  Here’s a sampling of that music.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyrUhdBHOg8
9. In opposition to shape-note was Lowell Mason.  He stands a giant in American music history, but his place is not without controversy.  In Boston in the 1830s, he started the first public school music curriculum.  He believed American music was inferior to that of the European masters, and so he wrote many hymns that he attributed to composers such as Handel, Haydn and Mozart.  Most famous of these is Joy to the World of which only the “Let Heaven and Nature sing” comes from Handel’s Messiah. Mason’s hymns were less rhythmic and had a clear melody in the soprano.  They also required an organ accompaniment, of which the Mason family had a business interest.  Here is Mason’s original hymn, Nearer My God, To Thee:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaxrY1rxZKE
10. It’s probably not correct to call Brahms’ Ein Deutsches Requiem “sacred music.”  Brahms’ was pretty ambivalent about religion, and rather than use the Requiem text, it relied upon Martin Luther’s German translation of the Bible.  All the tracts make no mention of Jesus, or any type of dogma.  The idea was a Requiem to comfort those who have lost.  It’s one of my favorite pieces of music.  Here is the opening movement, Blessed Are They, Those That Mourn:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1S3zRcILDI
11. And lastly, some of Catholic music of today.  This is the aforementioned Taste and See.  It’s always had a personal meaning to me, which is why it was in our wedding Mass.  It’s essentially a folk song, but in this styling, it gets the trappings of majesty. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyQNNLVY05M

 

A hundred years, condensed into two songs….or One for Nelson Riddle (and one more for Billy May)

As a one who has made his career in music, I am often asked what kind of music I like.  That’s a tough question o nail down, so more often than not, I simply say “good music,” and leave it that.  I think that’s broad enough.  You can fit Duke Ellington, Sergei Prokofiev, the Beach Boys, Duran Duran, Nirvana and much more under that umbrella.  Best to be broad.  The other thing, like most everything else in my life, I go through phases.  My family, to borrow from “Wind in the Willows,” would tend to call it manias.  As a kid, I idolized Napoleon Bonaparte.  When in high school, I religiously watched “Late Night with David Letterman” and wanted to pitch for the New York Mets.  7 years ago, I read about every fiction I could get my hands on that came out of the Soviet Union.  And so it goes with music.  I had a Beatles phase, a Nirvana phase, a classic rock phase, and so on.  I’ll get on a bent, listen to an artist (or more often than not, a single song) till eventually I’m distracted by the next big thing.  With all that being the case, “good music” works just fine.  It covers all these manias.

That being said, there are two artists whose music I don’t always listen to, but who I find I come back to over and over again.  Whenever one of their tunes comes on randomly on my iTunes, it’s cause to listen.  They are two artists, who from the moment I first discovered them (almost the exact same time, as a matter of fact), I fell in love.  In the 25 odd years since, I  have never lost that respect.  And who are those two pied pipers, who have long held such a grip upon my musical tastes?  1940s big band leader Glenn Miller and American crooner extraordinare, Francis Albert Sinatra.

I discovered both around the same time, by way of the same artist.  1989 and the movie “When Harry Met Sally” comes out.  As you may recall, the soundtrack was basically Harry Connick, Jr.’s introduction to the world.  Sure, he had done stuff before, but when I saw him on “Saturday Night Live”, in front of a big band, singing “It Had to Be You,” with that show business Marc Shaiman arrangement, it did something for me.  It wasn’t Harry’s voice, but that big band sound…and those songs.  Later on, Connick did originals, but that whole album was standards.  Who hadn’t heard of Rodgers and Hammerstein….but who were Rodgers and Hart, that wrote such a great tune as “I Could Write a Book”?  And the Gershwins?  I had heard the name.  I think I knew the “Rhapsody in Blue”.  But those songs? Suddenly, an entire new world was opened to me, one accompanied by swung eighth notes, a full saxophone section and words and music by Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and the rest.  Music would never be the same to me.  I think wore out my audio cassette of the “When Harry Met Sally” soundtrack.  But as it turns out, it was just the gateway to something much bigger.

Two roads opened up to me and somehow I went down both at the same time.  One was that big band sound and the great American songbook.  I was a junior in high school and the only music I had known was piano lessons I had given up on a couple years back.  I was now motivated to start up again, but I wasn’t interested in classical music.  Get me Gershwin, get me Porter, get my hands on that kind of music.  At the same time, I needed to get that big band sound.  From Duke Ellington, I found Benny Goodman.  From Benny, Tommy Dorsey.  And then at some point, Glenn Miller entered the scene.  That’s entirely for another blog, but let me say this, a picture of Glenn, his hair slicked back, in a formal tuxedo, with a trombone in hand…that was all the reason I ever needed to take up the instrument.  I wouldn’t be where I am today if I had never heard “Moonlight Serenade.”  To this day, that unmistakable Miller reed sound…it still thrills me.  When the Miller band played a ballad, it created the sound of America during World War II.  And it still resonates today.

But that’s not the point of today’s blog.  I remember thinking I had discovered something special in Harry Connick, Jr.  The other kids my age didn’t seem to know about him.  I never made my mashed potatoes into a record, but I did want to channel my inner Richard Dreyfuss, “This is important, this means something!”  Knowing that his style was before my time, I was eager to share him with my parents, and even my grandparents.  To my surprise, they weren’t as excited.  I couldn’t get it.  How could this kid from New Orleans, singing the classic American songs in front of an orchestra, why wasn’t it knocking everyone over?  The answer came at Christmas my senior year of high school.  Without me asking for it, I had been given a special three cassette collection: Frank Sinatra: the Capitol Years.  My taste in music would never be the same.

To be clear, I definitely knew who Frank Sinatra was.  He was still active at this time (1990), a larger than life personality.  But his music seemed bombastic, him bellowing out “New York, New York” or “My Way.”  It didn’t really do much for me.  Or, I had heard the very young Sinatra, singing “I’ll Never Smile Again” with Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra.  Though Glenn Miller was the reason I took up the trombone, that incredible sound produced by Dorsey was a siren’s song to me.  And to be perfectly frank…err, honest, the young Sinatra’s voice seemed weak.  It just didn’t do anything for me.  Basically, Frank wasn’t on my radar screen.  But my Dad (at least I think it was him) who bought me “The Capitol Years” had a mission in mind.  As he put it, since you like Harry Connick so much, it’s time to learn who did it first.  And boy was he right.

Not long after that Christmas, he and I drove with my grandparents to their home in Oregon, to pick up a car they were giving me, as a high school graduation present.  We then drove that car back from Oregon to our home outside Sacramento.  It was a long, two day trip, and we must have listened to all of the Sinatra songs multiple times.  And I have to tell you, my opinion of Frank was now completely different.  This was no longer the bombardment of “My Way”, nor was it the trembly voice in front of Dorsey’s band.  The first song on that collection was “I’ve Got the World On A String,” and from the very beginning note, I knew this was something different.  Brassy, bold and full of vigor…and Frank hadn’t even sung a note yet.  When he did come in, there was nothing soft, yet it wasn’t forced.  His voice was confident and interpreted the words.  There was life in the music.  My previous, somewhat negative image of Frank was gone forever.  Or at least, as I discovered, it only existed after Sinatra left Capitol.

Those tapes were a sampler of Frank’s years at Capitol Records, presenting the best from several of his albums.  It changed everything for me.  I kid you not, it was not until 2011, when I bought “Blue Light, Red Light” on CD, 20 years after its initial release, that I found time for Harry Connick, Jr.  again.  That was probably an overreaction on my part.  But once I heard Sinatra in his prime (and that’s what those years at Capitol were), there was nothing else.  Connick just seemed to lose his luster.  I now had the source.

This coming Saturday will mark the 100th anniversary of Frank Sinatra’s birth.  CBS last week had a terrific special, where a variety of current artists performed many of Frank’s hit songs.  And it got me wondering: out of a career that began around 1939 and ended in the 1990s, what were the  Chairman of the Board’s best songs?  So many to choose from!  The obvious choices will be “My Way” and “New York, New York” but neither do much for me.  I find Frank bombastic on both, and then there’s something else.  Something I learned from the Capitol recordings is what a difference an arranger makes.  I’ll explain more shortly.  It’s like Glenn Miller.  With Bill Finegan and Jerry Gray, the Miller Band had two guys who really could produce a sound.  Gray may have written better swinging tunes, but Finegan really knew how to get that legendary Miller ballad sound.  But back to Frank.  To be honest, I don’t find “New York, New York” or “My Way” to strike me with the writing.  First off, they’re newer tunes, they’re not from the pens of Harold Arlen, Johnny Mercer, Sammy Cahn, Jimmy Van Heusen, Cole Porter, the Gershwins or any of the other great writers Sinatra so frequently mined for brilliance.  You can tell the difference in lyrics.  Do we really think Ira Gershwin would have penned, “I ate it up and spit it out?”  Or Johnny Mercer?  Or Sammy Cahn?  I rest my case.

But more than just the songs, it was how they were presented.  That Capitol Records cassette collection included a booklet.  And from that book, I learned of the arrangers who shaped Sinatra’s sound.  And there’s no name more important in Frank’s career than perhaps Frank himself than that of Nelson Riddle.  That “I’ve Got the World On a String,” where I talked how I had taken notice even before Frank sang his first note.  Nelson Riddle.  I had heard of him before, as I remember my parents liked the albums he had done with Linda Ronstadt in the 1980s.  But that was before I discovered any of this, and I really didn’t care.  Boy, how wrong I had been!  Sinatra’s sessions at Capitol, along with his Academy Award-winning turn in the film “From Here to Eternity” are often credited with resurrecting his career, when it seemed fizzled out.  But there’s no way it doesn’t happen without Nelson Riddle.  A former big band trombonist and arranger, Riddle was already writing for some of Capitol Records’ biggest artists, most notable Nat King Cole.  But the way Riddle wrote for Frank was entirely different.  But where to begin?

First off, it comes with the material.  Sinatra clashed with Mitch Miller at Columbia, because the latter wanted the singer to do novelty numbers.  At Capitol, Sinatra’s repertoire included the works of the finest song writers the music industry had known.  You could argue the Great American Songbook received its codification through the Sinatra Capitol journey.  Give such source material to Frank and Nelson and you have a recipe for genuine alchemy.  It’s hard to categorize the Riddle sound.  Sure, it swings….but it’s not a big band Frank is in front of.  That will wait to his second album with Billy May, 1959’s “Come Dance With Me.”  The Sinatra/Riddle sound requires French horns, strings, bass clarinets, and an occasional double reed.  Just as thereare tasteful improvised solos by saxophones, muted trumpets, or trombones, much is understated.  A carefree flute is just as common as a wailing sax.  There are plenty of choruses of full brass, but they’re off-set by the subtler moments.  More often than not, a Sinatra/Riddle tune will end quietly.  It’s made it’s point, it’s story is told.  The bombast of “My Way” or “New York, New York”…not here.  A Riddle arrangement builds to a climax and then slowly, gracefully fades away; the former big bander knew how to get the most out of his most talented employer.

“I’ve Got the World On A String” is the just first of a string (errr..word already taken) of classics that Frank and Nelson swung together (pun definitely intended).  Following that were such gems as “You Make Me Feel So Young;” “Young at Heart;” “Witchcraft”; “Nice and Easy”; “Night and Day”; “The Lady is a Tramp;” “Too Marvelous for Words;” “I Get a Kick Out of You;” and maybe the best of all, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”  Many say that chart is the pinnacle of the Sinatra/Riddle collaboration.  For swing tunes it is….though I really, REALLY like the very subtle, perfectly timed, “I Thought About You.”  The alterations between Frank’s voice, brass, flute, and strings, each having a say…it’s magical.  But Frank and Nelson did much more than swing.  The Beatles’ masterpiece “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” is often credited as being the first concept album.  For rock musicians, that may be.  But Frank and Nelson were doing concept a decade before that.  In 1955, they recorded “In the Wee Small Hours,” an entire album of what Frank called “saloon songs:” ballads, torch songs, numbers that dealt with loss and loneliness.  The result was artistry.  For any singer, it would be a career achievement.  But for Frank Sinatra and Nelson Riddle, it was only the prelude.

The real masterpiece, the magnum opus if you will, for both gentlemen was 1958’s “Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely.”  My original “Capitol Years” cassette collection had a few selections from this album, and much later in life, I made it worth while to get on CD the whole work.  What a great purchase.  Anytime a song from “Only the Lonely” comes on my iTunes, it demands attention.  Again, the songs all deal with loss.  The use of wind instruments in Nelson Riddle’s writing is sparse, but the strings are never overdone.  That would make the subject matter maudlin.  And the singer never overdoes it, either.  Together, they explore the darkness.  Along the way, they cover up their loss while buying a round for everyone at the bar (“Angel Eyes”), compare love to the oncoming tide (“Ebb Tide”) and re-work the Harold Arlen/Johnny Mercer classic “Blues in the Night” so that it will always sound inappropriate as an up-tempo swinger from then on.  Sinatra/Riddle milk ever bit of sorrow and really find new meaning in the tune.  All of this is great; the entire album would make the career of any singer.

And then there’s the final track.  It’s as if all of “Only the Lonely,” which is a masterwork of an album, every tune perfect…all of it is just an opening for that final song.  Cue that rollicking (yet tasteful) piano intro by Bill Miller.  And then Frank begins…..”It’s quarter to three, there’s no one in the place, ‘cept you and me…”

Let’s go back a bit to Harold Arlen.  This is obviously for another blog, but has there been a less appreciated genius in American song?  Here’s just a short list of songs he composed: “Come Rain or Come Shine;” “Get Happy;” the afore-mentioned “Blues in the Night” and “I’ve Got the World on a String”; “Stormy Weather” and all the songs to a certain 1939 technicolor motion picture musical called “The Wizard of Oz.”  Why on Earth Mr. Arlen isn’t mentioned in the same sentence as Irving Berlin or Cole Porter is a crime against humanity!  Judy Garland was known as a champion of his work, and not just “Over the Rainbow.”  Arlen wrote another tune for Judy to sing in a movie, and it became the anthem of her later career:  with lyrics by Ira Gershwin, the absolute churning, “The Man That Got Away.”  But just as good as Judy was with Harold Arlen’s creations, Frank Sinatra is right there.

“One for My Baby” was written for Fred Astaire to sing (and of course, dance to) in the 1943 movie musical “The Sky’s the Limit.”  It’s fine.  I love Astaire.  It makes for a great production number.  But when Sinatra and Riddle get their hands on it, the true potential that Arlen and Mercer invested in the song comes to life.  Sinatra often performed the tune live, but I don’t know if he ever was able to recapture the absolute mastery of art that is on “Only the Lonely.”  Everything works.  The listener is transported to the scene….some quite bar on a corner, in the early morning, a man who has been to several places, sitting at the end of the bar, sipping away, while the bartender is wanting to cash out.  You can see it all happen….and you believe.  Why?  First off, Frank’s voice is so …..vulnerable.  He’s weak.  He’s broken.  He’s down.  There is none of the braggadocio of “My Way.”  This man has taken the blows, but if this is his way, it’s not going well.  The volume of Frank’s voice, the timing, the phrasing….it so perfectly takes Mercer’s words and makes it all come to life.  Arlen and Mercer may have had a scenario in mind when they wrote the tune, but Frank lives it.

And let’s not forget about Nelson Riddle.  His genius is shown here in just what he DOESN’T do.  So much of the accompaniment is Bill Miller at the keys.  He stands in for Joe, the silent bar tender.  In this case, it’s a lounge pianist, waiting for the night to end.  But the piano isn’t Sinatra’s only accompaniment.  A touch of strings come in at times…but only when it has the most impact.  They’re not flashy, but they’re not just for ambience, either.  Has there been a more perfect fit than when the strings replace the piano, as Frank pleads, “Can’t you make the music easy and sad?”  From then on, strings and piano trade off but always with subtlety.  And at the end of every phrase, there’s that piano riff that starts the tune. The strings fade.  That honky-tonky piano reminds us, should we have gotten lost in Nelson Riddle’s artistry, that we’re back in the bar, with the drunken loser and the bartender who wants to go home.  Nowhere is this more notable than in the B section, as Frank proclaims, “You’d never know it, but buddy, I’m a kind of poet and I’ve got a lot a things to say.”  Nelson, in his brilliance, leaves this braggadocio to only have a piano to play with.  Strings and other instruments are held back.  If he had added them, it would have legitimatized this drunken crooner’s claim of importance.  By surrounding Frank only with piano, it reenforces what we know.  This is a sad man, and Nelson will not grace him false platitudes. The strings only return, accompanied this time by a mournful saxophone, when Frank admits, “Well, that’s how it goes, and Joe, I know you’re getting anxious to close.”  The strings are a bit more active now, crescendoing with Frank, as he declares that “This torch that I’ve found, it’s got to be drowned.”  But after that, they’re gone.

And it is here where “One for My Baby” enters into the realm of complete greatness.  As Frank says, “So make it one for my baby, and one more for the road”, the strings and saxophone are no longer with us.  For the last time, it’s that bawdy piano.  As this loser is about to sulk away into the early morning darkness, he goes alone.  No strings to serenade him.  Just that saloon piano, reminding him that he’s on his own.   And this where you HAVE to hear the original version from the album.  In concert, Frank would end the tune.  On the recent television special, Seth McFarlane (who has an absolute love and profound respect for Sinatra and his team) ended the song.  But in the original,  Frank never finishes the lyrics.  It’s supposed to go “So make it one for my baby and one more for the road.”  He then fades away, “The long….the long…it’s so long.”  And he never finishes the thought.  He never says “the long road.”  The voice just fades farther and farther away, leaving Bill Miller at the keys to finish things off.  By the time he hits that final bass note, we imagine the lights go off, the bar is now closed.  Godspeed to our loser protagonist.

Judy Garland’s famed 1961 appearance at Carnegie Hall is often called “The Greatest Night in Show Business.”  Friends, I contend Frank Sinatra’s recording of “One for My Baby” is the pinnacle moment in American song.  It is a complete matching of mastery.  Mastery in the songwriting team of Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer.  Mastery in a brilliant arranger in Nelson Riddle.  And masterful storytelling in the vocal performance by Francis Albert Sinatra.  This is not the man who bellows “My Way.”  This is an artist creating a masterpiece in every sense of the word.

The record of “Only the Lonely” ends appropriately enough with “One for My Baby,” because, really, where do you go after that?  For the later CD version, two other Sinatra/Riddle tunes were added, to create a coda.  The  first is the charming “Sleep Well”, where strings and flutes send Frank off to a good night’s sleep.  But this is “Only the Lonely”.  There can’t be a happy ending.  To adequately complete the cycle was a dramatic version of Rodgers and Hart’s “Where or When.”  For almost the entire song, Frank is accompanied by a lone piano.  Nelson’s orchestra does not enter till the very final phrase, with strings on a mighty tremolo.  The orchestra crescendoes with Frank’s voice till it all comes to tremendous, spine-tingling climax, brass finally arriving for the big moment.  When listened to as the final track of “Only the Lonely,” the effect may leave you emotionally numb.  But it only works because of how heart-renching, yet not maudlin, the entire album is before it.

Frank Sinatra would do many albums after “Only the Lonely,” and he would work with Nelson Riddle again….but nothing ever approached what he did in 1958.  Perhaps their last great pairing was 1966’s “Summer Wind,” in which Riddle really adapted his style for the aging singer.  Much of the remainder of Frank’s career was filled with good music.  But it wasn’t “One for My Baby.”  Even when performed live, like on the “Sinatra at the Sands” album, it doesn’t match the perfection of the album version.  A colossal talent, at the height of his powers, with discretion in his voice, and an arranger of equal brilliance.  Lighting in a bottle.

Nelson Riddle was not the only former big bander that wrote for Sinatra while at Capitol Records.  Nelson Riddle I stand in awe of.  Billy May, I adore.  May played trumpet and arranged for the big bands of Charlie Barnett and Glenn Miller before becoming a studio musician.  Like Nelson, Billy wrote for about everybody.  Whereas Nelson seems subtle, May is irreverent.  Odd instrument choices.  Brisk tempos.  Lots of punch in his music.  A Billy May chart is full of life.  And my, he really did write for everyone.  John Williams had May write for the Boston Pops in the 1980s.  I don’t have the time (or really, the sources) to go into May’s rambunctious life, but if music reflects on the person, Billy May was one joke-filled, larger than life, son of a bitch.

May and Sinatra did three albums at Capitol Records, the “Come _ with Me” series: 1957’s “Come Fly with Me;” 1959’s “Come Dance with Me;” and 1961’s “Come Swing with Me.”  In my opinion, their quality can be ranked chronologically.  “Come Fly with Me” was a concept album invoking a travel theme.  After the title number, each song evoked a place around the world, a musical postcard, if you will.  May uses strings and big band, and alternates up tempo numbers with string-heavy ballads.  “Come Dance with Me” puts Frank in front of a standard big band, with almost all up-tempo swingers.  And “Come Swing with Me” is the odd all-brass instrumentation, two identical groups recorded in stereo, bouncing off each other like a big band ping pong match.  It’s a novelty, but somewhat undone by an uneven quality of songs.  “American Beauty Rose” and “Five Minutes More” won’t be challenging “One for My Baby” in the echelon of the American songbook anytime soon.  But back to “Come Fly with Me.”

For me, a gauge of Frank Sinatra’s clout by the time he was in high gear at Capitol Records, is that he could hire such a fine pair of song-writers as Jimmy Van Heusen and Sammy Cahn to write original tunes just for his records.  Much like Harold Arlen, Van Heusen is a shamefully unheralded genius of American song.  He and Cahn wrote some absolutely terrific numbers, not for a musical or a movie, but because Frank needed a tune.  For both “Come Fly with Me” and “Come Dance with Me”, the duo provided Sinatra and May the album’s title track.  “Come Fly with Me” (the song) is widely known.  Billy May’s arrangement has become such a standard that when Michael Bublé recorded the tune in the early 2000s, he used the May version.  The opening orchestration sets the breezy tone for the entire album, with the instruments recreating the sound of an aircraft taking off, and perfectly setting up Frank to proclaim “Come fly with me, come fly, let’s fly away.”  It strikes the perfect tone for an album that may lack the artistry of “Only the Lonely,” but certainly is filled with charm….the breeze of when travel was glamorous.  Oh, for those days again!

But just as Van Heusen/Cahn provided an opening track, they also provided a closing one, too: “It’s Very Nice to Go Traveling.”  It’s a tune little known, but for me, it’s my second favorite Sinatra tune.  The lyrics tell of how great traveling the globe is, but how much better it is to get back to the States.  There’s some dated references, such as the lyric about how nice it is to wander “the camel route to Iraq.”  Not sure how carefree that would be these days!  But besides that, it’s a fun song and May’s writing is on fine display.  Though he has brass, saxes and strings, he never uses them together.  Each instrumental voice gets a phrase.  Strings here, trombones there, and some punchy trumpets with the punctuation.  Every time the arrangement gets brassy, May quickly pushes the strings up to the front.  Sometimes trumpets are muted, sometimes they’re open.  It’s a crayola box full of different colors that May keeps hurling at Frank, and never the same way twice.  Somewhat appropriate for a song telling you of  a world of charm, don’t you think?

Being it’s Billy May, there are gags a-plenty.  A Latin rhythm breaks out as Frank sings, “and the senoritas are sweet.”  When Frank talks about winging home, the woodwinds swirl upwards, like at take-off from “Come Fly with Me.”  The entire tune is breezy, fast-paced though at a leisurely tempo, and it just so perfectly culminates the album.  If “One for My Baby” is the penultimate statement in a contemplation of loss, “It’s Very Nice to Go Traveling” is the final stop on a stylish excursion.  It’s cool, but not overly hip.  Billy May is always more of gagster than a hipster; that waits for Quincy Jones.  But the combinations of colors, along with Sammy Cahn’s witty lyrics and May’s sucker punch of brass makes for such an irresistible combination.  Much like “One for My Baby,” “It’s Very Nice” fades away, as Frank sings about what will happens when he gets home. “No more packing, and unpacking.  Light home fires.”  But this is Billy May, not Nelson Riddle.  And we’re not talking about loss here.  With such an odd last line as “Make a pizza,” May irreverently ends the album with a tremolo of strings and one last uppercut of brass.  It’s goofy…but that’s Billy May.  And for this album, it’s the perfect finish.  No, it’s not the art of “One for My Bay,” but “Come Fly with Me” is not that type of album.  It’s high spirited, globe-trotting fun, and the barely-known “It’s Very Nice to Go Traveling” perfectly caps it all off.  Take a listen; it deserves a far better fate than the forgotten last track.  Frank and Billy had fun with it…and you will too.  If “One for My Baby” takes you to that loser in the saloon, “It’s Very Nice” concludes a pleasure trip.  Both are rewarding.

I just realized that this is, by far, the longest blog I’ve written.  But why not, with this kind of a subject!  100 years is a long time, and a whole lot of great music.  If you’re going to reduce that century to two songs, you better take the time to justify it.  Frank did much, from when he come on the scene in 1930s till when he took his last bow in the 1990s.  But through all of that, it was a decade at Capitol Records where his greatest heights were reached.  That wasn’t a crooner, nor a belter.  That’s an artist, surrounded by equal talent in Nelson Riddle, Billy May, Harold Arlen, Johnny Mercer, Jimmy Van Heusen, Sammy Cahn, and many more.  The American songbook at its highest moment.  We may never see such talent converging again.  Here’s hoping these tunes last another 100 years.

And to that, I’ll toast.  Make it one for me, one for Frank, one for Nelson, one for Billy………..and one more for the next 100 years.  It’s long….so very long….

 

 

A classical music..tailgate?

My wife (who, in case you were wondering, does NOT wear a boater) and I have lived in Western Massachusetts for four years now; arrival date was July 8, 2011, to be exact.  Since then, we have tried to take in much of the local flavor: we shop at our farm market, we make at least one yearly trip to Fenway Park, we’ve gone apple picking, we haven’t done the Cape together, but it’s on the list.  We’ve also gone to that wonderful haven of culture in a beautiful setting, Tanglewood.

For those unfamiliar, Tanglewood is the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and sometimes the Boston Pops.  It’s tucked away up in the Berkshires, which, for New England standards, is a mountain range, chock full of old homes, charming storefronts, and historically, an artist’s recluse.  Now, by the standards of the mighty Sierra Nevada, in whose shadow I have spent much of my life, these Berkshires are a mushroom.  But for Massachusetts, these Berkshires are the Alps.

We’ve gone to Tanglewood a few times before.  It’s really an idyllic setting.  The driving through the hills is half the enjoyment.  The grounds are spacious and on warm summer evening, it’s quite leisurely.  It’s just something nice to take in…a moment of tranquility, a chance to remove from the hustle and bustle and enjoy life’s offerings.  In the past, we had sat in the shelter of the massive Koussevitsky Music Shed.  Last night’s concert, however, was completely sold out; it was a program of movie music, half of which was John Williams, performed by the Pops.  The first half of the concert was conducted by David Newman, of the Newman royal family of film composers, and the second by Keith Lockhart.

When I say the concert was “sold out”, I should explain further.  The shed seats were all gone; what was available were spots on the lawn.  We noticed this on our previous visit.  That time we had seats near the stage.  We saw people who arrived quite early, and brought in chairs, coolers, bags, all kinds of picnic essentials.  I was not sure if they were going to a concert or preparing for some sort of military operations.  Many brought their own drinks of the adult variety.  How fascinating!  But absolutely dependent on a benevolent Mother Nature, no doubt.  And in New England, you could be playing with fire.  Well, not so much fire, as the rain would dampen any flame…but you catch my drift.  On one of our previous visits, a downpour greatly diminished the audible subtleties of a Mozart piano concerto.  But for last night, the weather looked promising, and so we gave it a try.

We came prepared: chicken wings, wine, chips and guacamole dip, cheese, towels, and lawn chairs.  As soon as we got near, you could tell tonight was going to be a big one.  The show did not begin till 8:30, and traffic was bumper-to-bumper a few miles out.  It is, of course, only two lanes but why would you want more?  Asphalt would just ruin the setting.  Now, if you want to discuss a satellite parking area with shuttles, that might be a conversation worth exploring…but that’s not my business.  On the walk up, a pleasant site was how more diverse this audience was than in our previous trips.  More families, and a greater variety of ethnicities.  A program that included “Forrest Gump,” “Jurassic Park,” “Star Trek: Into Darkness”, and “Star Wars” is going to be more “user friendly” than Mahler or Rachmaninoff.  I’ll save my thoughts on the former of those two composers for a later day.  But it was wonderful see more people engaging in the arts.

So, by 6, we had secured our little spot on the lawn, set up our camp, and had our first toast (of the clinking of glasses variety, not of the heated bread type).  It was still 2 and 1/2 hours till kick-off…..err, downbeat.  Because really, that’s what this felt like: a classical music tailgate.  Since age 18, all but four years of my life have been involved with college marching bands, either as a band member, a staff member, or a director.  Geez…I didn’t realize it’s been that long.  Because of that, the tailgate culture is something I have not partaken off too often.  I have had a few times, such as when I’ve gone to Iowa games over the years since graduation.  A good friend has a tailgater I drop by during lunch break on my current game days.  But for the most part, the set-up, cook, drink, relax, socialize for hours before kick-off, that’s been an experience I’m seldom a part of.

But that’s what being on the lawn at Tanglewood was.  As I looked around, it reminded me of game-days in the SEC.  Some people had tables with table cloth on them, and all manner of serving dishes.  One person had a candelabra.  And the offerings weren’t just wings or sandwiches.  Some had finger sandwiches, patés, all variety of wine, pies, cakes…many of these outdoor classical enthusiasts sure knew how to do it up right.  It brought back memories of what used to be called “The World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party,” aka the annual Florida/Georgia football game.  Played on the neutral site of Jacksonsville, the stadium is always half Gator, half Bulldog, and the tailgating seemed to rival the on-field contest.  UF and UGA backers try to out-do each other in terms of the most impressive pre-football banquet.  That’s what the Tanglewood lawn felt like.

When the concert began, it was quite the novelty.  You can hear the music well, and there is a screen in which you can see what’s going on.  For some of the pieces, the music was accompanied by the movies. Most delightful of this was during “Forrest Gump”, which showcased clips from Paramount Studios over the year.  All the music, as you can imagine, was delightful.  Perhaps my favorite was an encore to end the first half, Lalo Shifrin’s incomparable “Mission Impossible” theme.  Well…”Jurassic Park” was pretty good too, who am I kidding?  It was all great…..but I felt it lacked something.  And that something was not just the notable absence of “Indiana Jones” from the John Williams offerings.  Nor anything by the Newman family when David was conducting.  You would think “How the West Was Won,” “Conquest”, “The Natural,” “Skyfall”, or even “You’ve Got a Friend In Me” might drop in.  But I am digressing from my main point.  You had to think there would be a point to this blog at…well, some point.  It is this:  I just felt disconnected not being able to see the musicians.  There was a disengagement; I heard the product but I was missing seeing the production take place.  I suppose there is a Marxist interpretation of that, but I’ll leave that for someone else.  There are two topics this blog is going to try and avoid: politics and the UMass band.  Politics because those blogs are a dime a dozen and can be so polarizing; my goal is amuse all.  I’d rather the world be changed through a smile, not through rhetoric.  The UMass band because, well…people already have their own opinions, and I’d like to keep my thoughts close to the vest.  Or maybe under my hat.  Which is a boater.  But you knew that already.  So any reader coming here hoping to get the inside story on what goes with the band….this blog may not be for you.  But I do hope you stay.  Come back.  And tell your friends.  End shameless plug.

Anyway, back to the Tanglewood lawn…I loved the environment, the festivities, the atmosphere, but it just didn’t click for me, being combined with the concert.  Even if my seats at a football game are away from the field, I still see the action.  I can still see the players doing their thing.  Last night, I only saw musicians through a screen. That was disappointing to me.  I could hear, but not see.  And if you’re asking, isn’t that what you do when you listen to a recording…well, of course you’re right…but that’s part of the bargain there.  The music isn’t being produced in front of you, you’re hearing a re-creation.  At a concert, we are all part of a community that shares in this act of creation.  We are there at the birth of a sound.  It happens in front of our own ears and hopefully eyes.  But with the eyes not being able to partake….it was a disconnect.  I felt left out of part of the process.  It all kind of felt like a big gathering on the lawn to listen to a recording.  It was a great recording, that’s for sure, played spectacularly, and the ambience of a kind unique to this special place.  But it just didn’t have the music-making synergy that I enjoy at a concert.

It’s very similar of why I find live theatre so special.  The drama is in real time, occurring right in front of us.  As an audience member, I am witnessing art in the making.  This art didn’t exist in this physical presence before; it’s happening now.  You don’t get that with a movie, nor with a recording.  For example…earlier this summer, we sat in the Shed and heard the BSO perform the Gershwin Piano Concerto.  I’ve heard that piece many times before; I absolutely love it.  I knew from recordings what was  going to happen next, no notes came as a surprise.  But seeing it being performed, witnessing the creation of the sounds with my eyes..it made a beloved piece that much better, all because of the visual enhancement.  That was what was missing from my experience last night, visually witnessing the creation that makes live music a community.

So, now we can check that off our New England “to do” list; sit on the lawn at Tanglewood.  I liked the eating outdoors; in a perfect world, I would have my shed tickets (not an option last night), enjoy a pre-concert dinner on the lawn, and then move into the real seats for the show.  That way I can watch the musicians.  Of course, now you have the logistics of what to do with the lawn furniture and dinner supplies.  Did Sherman ask himself these questions before embarking on the March to the Sea?  Or the Casement brothers, when they built the Union Pacific? (No, follows of “Hell on Wheels”; Cullen Bohanan did not actually build the railroad).  Something to ponder.

As an epilogue, I will say this.  The first thing I did this morning was work in my garden.  The weeds took to our recent rain and went on a growth spurt.  It was time to pull out the intruders, prune back the tomato bush, and also trim up the hanging flower pots.  My musical accompaniment was no Boston Pops or any other world class orchestra.  It was the chatter of birds at our nearby feeder.  And that, my friends, was a sweeter symphony than I have ever heard.  The fresh dirt in my hands  and on my knees, and the sounds of a Sunday morning outdoors.  I challenge even John Williams to write better.  Let that music play on, and that is a community in which I will gladly partake.