The Voice of an Angel...Susan Boyle

OK, I'm hooked, and for so many reasons, but the first is her incredible voice. I will certainly queue up to buy her first CD. If by some chance you haven't heard her yet, hit play, sit back, and enjoy. You're in for a real treat.

He's My Man...

Tonight I went to see Leonard Cohen at the Nokia Center in Grand Prairie. Cohen is one of those artists who makes an indelible impression; at least that's how it was for me. In the summer of 1968 I heard my very first Leonard Cohen song: Suzanne, recorded by Judy Collins on her 1966 album, In My Life. The lyrics were so beautiful and haunting that I was blown away, and stopped what I was doing so I could completely give myself up to listening to it. As soon as the song ended, I looked at the back of the album cover to see who had written it. Within the week I'd purchased my first Leonard Cohen album, and as much as I liked Judy Collins singing that song, I loved him singing it even more. That was the beginning of a long love affair for me with Leonard Cohen's voice and songs.

All these years later, everything still holds up beautifully. This was an absolutely wonderful concert by an incredibly talented singer/songwriter/musician/poet/artist who, at 74, is still going strong. If you have a chance to see him, do it. He doesn't disappoint.

The Midnight Special / Odetta

Odetta died on Tuesday. I was sad to hear of her passing. I was a huge fan, and hoped she'd sing in Washington on January 20. I heard her live once, in Chicago, a couple of light years ago. She was doing a small, informal concert for kids, and I took Alex, who was maybe 4 at the time. No one can listen to her rendition of The Fox without breaking into a smile, but I'm also posting a video of her powerful, beautiful voice singing The Midnight Special. Listen and enjoy. She will be missed by so many.

The Fox/Odetta

Thursday night at the Symphony...

On Monday I saw that the DSO was performing one of my favorite pieces of music this week, Sibelius' Violin Concerto. I called and ordered a ticket in the nosebleed section of The Meyerson. All week long, I happily anticipated hearing this concert tonight. Then this morning as I was driving to work, listening to a CD of Itzakh Perlman playing the Sibelius with the London Symphony in preparation for hearing it live tonight, my cellphone rang. It was the ticket office at the DSO.

"You ordered a ticket for the concert tonight," a young woman said.

"Yes?"

"Well, we'd like to upgrade your seat. Is it OK if we move you to the orchestra section?"

WOO HOO! Of course it was OK! It was MORE than OK! It reminded me of the time years ago, when I was relatively broke, that I won a hundred dollar gift certificate to a really neat (now defunct) bookstore, Taylor's, on Beltline in Addison. This was an unexpected bonus, just as that had been. In terms of sound, there are almost no bad seats in the Meyerson, but that said, some seats are always better than others, and tonight I ended up in a great seat, where the sound was terrific: Section C, Row L, Seat 6, to be exact.

The orchestra started off with a 4 minute piece by Stravinsky: Scherzo a la Russe, and that was followed by the Sibelius. The orchestra and soloist Karen Gomyo, led by guest conductor Vasily Petrenko, played it beautifully. I absolutely love this concerto. It is such an incredibly beautiful piece of music, and to hear it live...it doesn't get much better than that. I was so happy, I had a glass of champagne at intermission. I love champagne.

After intermission, the final piece was a tone poem by Strauss: Ein Heldenleben. It's not what I would have chosen to follow the Sibelius. It had it's moments, but I thought it was overly long, sort of like eating an entire sacher torte: "Do you like sacher torte? Have some. Have some more. And more. And more."

Still, there is nothing like live music. And it's nice to know my parking karma apparently works at the symphony sometimes, too.

Music Hath Charms...

It was October or November of 1965 and I’d just turned 16 the first time I heard Sounds of Silence. I was lying in bed, in the dark, in my little town (sorry, couldn’t resist) in Minnesota, listening to a Chicago rock station on a tinny radio as I fell asleep. That night, for the first time, I heard a vocal version of Sounds of Silence. An acoustic version had previously been released as one of the songs on Simon & Garfunkel’s first album (Wednesday Morning, 3AM). A few months after I first heard it, Sounds of Silence would become the title of Simon & Garfunkel’s second album, and then, a little over a year after that, the theme song of Mike Nichol’s definitive 60's movie, The Graduate. But that night, before all that had happened, I found myself blown away (and brought wide awake) by the aching, lonely beauty of that song, both the tune and the lyrics.

And that was just the beginning. Paul Simon has been writing incredible songs for over 40 years, and this evening, I’ve been listening to and watching the Library of Congress 1st Gershwin Prize for Popular Song, celebrating Paul Simon, on PBS. It’s a terrific concert, filled with wonderful musicians - James Taylor, Lyle Lovett, Alison Krauss, Buckwheat Zydeco, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, to name a few...each doing their own renditions of some of Paul Simon’s myriad, genius, songs.

Watching the various musicians, singing and playing instruments with their eyes shut...I am struck by how music manages to pull most of us “into the groove”. I neither play an instrument nor sing...well, that’s a lie, I DO sing (and this, in spite of the fact that no one seems to want me to!)...but despite these shortcomings, I dunno, maybe I have an ear, because music has always been able to pull me into the groove, and it’s not just one kind of music that has this power over me...bluegrass, folk, rock, classical, opera, jazz, even some rap...it truly hath charms to soothe the savage breast, to soften rocks or bend a knotted oak, as William Congreve so eloquently wrote (and he did write breast, not beast, and he wrote it in The Mourning Bride)...

A Night at The Symphony

I didn't make it to the nail salon today. I was on my way there when I got a phone call from my daughter, Katharine (coincidentally my symphony date this evening). Originally, I'd planned to pick her up at her house in Richardson so we could drive to the concert together, in one car, but she called just before 6:00 to tell me she was still at work, ergo still downtown, and wondered if we could we just meet at the symphony. She sounded tired and said she'd been so busy she hadn't eaten all day, so I suggested we both drive immediately to the Meyerson for an early dinner before the symphony. I didn't have to twist her arm.

By 7:00 we were seated at one of the many small tables covered with crisp white tablecloths in the vast lobby of the Meyerson. Katharine ordered a glass of chardonnay and I ordered one of merlot, and then we walked through the buffet line, where we helped ourselves to a couple of kinds of pasta, salad, and bread, with dessert and coffee to follow. I couldn't help but think that this was a very civilized way to begin an evening at the symphony.

The program tonight was Shostakovich's 9th Symphony and Copeland's Clarinet Concerto (performed by Gregory Raden), followed by Schuman's 2nd Symphony. Katharine attended high school just down the street from the Meyerson , at Booker T. Washington High School for the Performing Arts in Dallas. Booker T is as close to the old tv show, Fame, as any high school is ever going to get. A lot of very talented kids have gone there; Nora Jones was one of Katharine's classmates. Admission to Booker T is by audition, but many who try don't make it; Katharine was successful, and her instrument was clarinet, so she had a special interest in tonight's concert.

I don't subscribe to the DSO. I bought these tickets on a whim, at the last minute, and I wasn't sure where our seats were located, but I really lucked out: our seats were front center orchestra. Wellllllllll...not RIGHT in front, but who wants to be right in front? I'm not going to be specific about where we sat, because if I did, names might have to be changed to protect the innocent, or we might be killed, etc. Suffice it to say we were close enough to see the stage well...REALLY well.

And so the concert began. The Shostakovich was wonderful,and the Copeland was incredible, a terrific performance by a virtuoso clarinetist. At intermission we went to the lobby; we discussed the music and people watched and talked home repairs, a favorite topic for both of us these days.

After intermission, as we got settled in our seats to enjoy the Schuman, I realized that in these seats, my eyes appeared to be at the crotch height of all of the musicians. I don't know why I didn't notice this rather interesting phenomenon during the first half of the concert, but I didn't (maybe that glass of merlot was a little more effective than I thought it was...whatever)...but suddenly, after intermission...it was as if my old eyes had just figured out how to focus, and, without thinking about it, I scanned what I could see on the stage...nothing very interesting, (nothing I hadn't seen before) until...***GLEEP***WTF?

The musicians were still tuning their instruments. I nudged Kath. "Check it out...the lap of the guy to the (I'm not even going to say Right or Left here) of Andrew Litton..." (for all you non-Texans, Andrew Litton is the conductor of the DSO). Kath gave me a rather wilting look, that said, without her actually saying it, "MUH-THUR!", but she looked...I watched her eyes scanning...and then, just as the lights went low and the music started, she saw what I'd seen...and I saw her eyes go wide...and then we both began to try to not laugh (especially because we both have a tendency to snort when we really get laughing)...

WHAT WE SAW: How shall I put this delicately? Ummmmmmmmm...there was a veritable...tent...in the lap of one of the musicians. I mean, it was...HUGE. And this guy just looked like...well...just an ordinary guy. Not even ordinary...a little on the dweeby side. And he was of an age...well, let's just say, if he and I were having a conversation, he'd get my context. By which I mean, if I said, "So where were you when Kennedy was shot?" he wouldn't blurt out, "Good God! Ted Kennedy's been SHOT?" Nevertheless, in spite of his dweebiness, in spite of his age, there it was...this...tent...with apparently an active three-ring circus beneath it...in marked contrast to all the other male musicians around him. I tried not to stare but I couldn't help myself.

At one point I thought it must be a fanny pack, and that he must have something in it; like a big kerchief in case he perspired or something.

But then it appeared to move.

On it's own.

I've never seen a kerchief in a fanny pack do that.

I didn't stare throughout all 4 movements of the Schuman; I SWEAR I didn't (and if Kath says otherwise, she's lying). But I admit I stared intermittently during all 4 movements, expecting to see the tent...deflate. But it didn't happen. Anxiously, I awaited the end of the concert. I applauded impatiently, waiting for that magic moment, when all the musicians stand...and it happened, as it must; eventually they all stood, and when they did, I admit my eyes were glued to the tent which just...disappeared.

Standing, he looked like every other male musician on the stage. Welllllll...perhaps his trousers were a little more...pleated?...in front...but maybe not. Kath thinks it was just cheap fabric, tenting in his lap as cheap fabric will sometimes do.

Maybe she's right.

I don't know.

I just wish I knew the size of his feet.

why I love Ft. Worth...

Note: I didn't take this photo; I got it from Google images for the Bass.

I went to the symphony this afternoon...the Ft. Worth Symphony. I live in Dallas, but I subscribe to the Ft. Worth Symphony, which means that every time there's a concert, I drive (or am driven) 60 miles roundtrip to attend. That's considered...eccentric at best...by many Dallas and Ft. Worth natives. But I discovered a long time ago that insofar as the arts are concerned, Ft. Worth is a happenin' sort of place, much moreso than Dallas. Both have great concert halls; great acoustically speaking, and aesthetically too. Dallas has the Meyerson, designed by I.M. Pei, and Ft. Worth has the Bass, designed by David M. Schwarz. Both have talented conductors; the Bass has Miguel Harth-Bedoya, and the Meyerson has Andrew Litton (although this is his last year). I've gone to my share of concerts in both places, and I buy tickets to individual concerts at the Meyerson, but each year for the past several years I've subscribed to the Bass. It's my observation that Ft. Worth is a little more adventuresome in terms of program selection, but also...there's something sort of "down home" about going to the symphony in Ft. Worth.

A couple of years ago I had tickets for the Rach Three, considered by many to be "the Mount Everest of piano concertos"...it's the piece that drove Geoffrey Rush's character to madness in the movie, Shine. Andre Watts was scheduled to perform it with the Ft. Worth Symphony, and it was rightly billed as one of the highlights of the concert season. Imagine my dismay, then, when, the afternoon of the concert, Miguel Harth-Bedoya stepped onto the podium and said that he regretted to inform us that Andre Watts was unable to perform that afternoon because he'd sprained one of his wrists. There was a shocked silence followed by much agitated whispering, at which point Mr. Harth-Bedoya tapped sharply on the podium with his conductor's wand and said, with a smile, "We've asked a local pianist to step in for Mr. Watts...and we trust that you won't be disappointed!"

He then turned toward stage right, and there was a measureable gasp from the audience as none other than Van Cliburn stepped from behind the heavy velvet curtains and walked onto the stage. What an amazing performance I heard that afternoon.

The Ft. Worth Symphony has never disappointed me. Each concert begins with the audience rising to sing the Star Spangled Banner, accompanied by the orchestra, conducted by Mr. Harth-Bedoya. I have friends who might find this corny, but in fact it's rather touching. The audience is then seated, and the orchestra launches into whatever program is planned for that concert, and when it's good...as it usually is...they're not above performing an encore.

And that's what happened today...it was a beautiful afternoon and a beautiful concert: Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings in C Major, which has a waltz that almost anyone who's waltzed has surely danced to; Dvorak's Violin Concerto in A Minor, performed beautifully by a very pregnant Adele Anthony, and , after the intermission, Saint-Saens Symphony No. 3 in C Minor, Opus 78 (Organ). The orchestra received a well deserved standing ovation at the end, at which point Mr. Harth-Bedoya came back onto the podium. He flashed a wide smile at the audience, cupped his hand to his ear, and boomed: "What's the magic word?" "ENCORE!" those of us in-the-know shouted back...and we were rewarded.