Archive for the Music Category

Nobody’s fault but mine

Posted in Jazz, Uncategorized with tags on May 2, 2010 by telescoper

It being a rainy bank holiday weekend, I’ve been working, although I didn’t start until I’d done the Sunday crosswords and watched the football on the telly. Now it’s too late to post anything substantial, so I’ll resort to something from my back catalogue of bookmarked masterpieces from Youtube. This is a wonderful bluesy gospelly piece by the late great Nina Simone, a rare example in my opinion of a cover version being better than the original (in this case by Blind Willie Johnson).

Incidentally, I wonder if either of my regular readers can think of cover versions better than the original? Jeff Buckley’s intensely moving  version of Leonard Cohen’s great song Hallelujah springs to mind, but I’d be interested to hear other suggestions…

Pierrot Lunaire

Posted in Music with tags , , , , , on April 22, 2010 by telescoper

I’ve had a lot of readers this week, largely down to Anton’s inflammatory guest post about mathematics. In order to return to my normal situation as an idle backwater of the blogosphere I thought I’d do a quick post about something that probably not many people will like (apart from me).

A few weeks ago I stumbled across a short clip on Youtube which intrigued me, so I sent off for the DVD it was taken from. It arrived last week and I’ve watched the whole thing three times since then. In short, I’m captivated. The film in question is a realisation of Arnold Schönberg’s extraordinary work Pierrot Lunaire.

It’s hard to know exactly what to call this. It’s basically a musical setting of a series of poems (by Albert Giraud, but translated into German) so you might be tempted to call it a song cycle. However, it’s not quite that because the words are not exactly sung, but performed in a half-singing half-spoken style called Sprechstimme. Moreover, they’re not really performed in the usual kind of recital, but in a semi-staged setting rather like a cabaret. It’s not really an opera, either, because there’s only one character and it doesn’t really have the element of music drama.

The whole thing only lasts about 40 minutes so the 21 individual pirces are quite short, and they’re arranged as three groups of seven with the narrator Pierrot dealing with different themes in each group. The work was written in 1912 and is his Opus 21, so it’s a relatively early example of  Schönberg’s atonal music but before he turned towards full-blown serialism. Atonalism isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it can (and does in this case) allow a hugely varied orchestral landscape.

I’ve heard this work before, on the radio, and found it very intriguing but then I saw a youtube clip of the film version made in 1997 with Christine Schäfer as Pierrot. This is not a film of a concert or a recital, but an extraordinary visual response to the remarkable music and words. The director, Oliver Hermann, creates a grotesque dreamlike urban setting through which Pierrot wanders like a ghost, with emotions alternating between desperate alienation and amused reflection. I think music and film together create a wonderful work of art, which has gone right to the top of my list of favourite music DVDs.

Atonal music is very good for communicating a sense of disorientation and loneliness, course. The lack of tonal centre (or key) means that the listener is denied the usual points of harmonic reference. Hum doh-ray-me-fah-soh-la-ti and you’re drawn very powerfully back to the tonic doh. Deny this framework and the listener feels discomforted, but also, at least in my case, gripped.

Miles Davis’ classic album Kind of Blue – arguably the greatest jazz record of all time – was the first record I heard in which jazz musicians experimented with atonalism, and it has the same effect of most listeners, a spreading sense of melancholia and introspection. Perhaps not great for party music, but, in its own way, extremely beautiful.

Here’s the clip I saw on youtube that started me off on this. It’s the eighth item of Pierrot Lunaire (or, more accurately, the first of the second group of seven; Schönberg was quite obsessed with the number 7, apparently). It’s quite short, so hopefully won’t upset those who can’t stand atonal music for more than a few seconds, but it nicely exemplifies the extraordinary surreal imagery conjured up by the director as a response to the equally extraordinary music. Fantastic.

The Easy Winners

Posted in Football, Music with tags , , on April 19, 2010 by telescoper

I’ve been a bit busy today so all I’ve got time to do is mark the news that by beating Plymouth Argyle, 2-0 away from home Newcastle United have won the Championship. In truth they only needed one point from their remaining three games to be sure of the title, but they passed the winning post in style with a comfortable victory that in fact condemns Plymouth to relegation. This may not mean very much to most readers of this blog, but I can assure you that being a Newcastle supporter is sometimes a thankless task and ‘m absolutely delighted to see the club return to the Premier League in such  a surprisingly convincing way.

I was thinking of posting a little bit of music to celebrate, and this sprang to mind. It’s my favourite Scott Joplin rag and it’s called – appropriately enough – The Easy Winners. It was written in 1901 and the original sheet music is decorated with pictures of sporting events. It is also one of the few rags that the composer himself recorded as a piano roll, although I have my doubts as to whether this is actually that version..

Petite Fleur

Posted in Biographical, Jazz with tags , on April 9, 2010 by telescoper

So the short Easter break draws to a close. I haven’t had much time off at all as I’ve been trying to catch up with some papers and other stuff. I was in the department over the weekend and on Monday and have only really had yesterday and today completely off. We’re back teaching on Monday.

However, things haven’t turned out too badly as we’ve got very nice weather right now and it’s set fair for the weekend. I’ve spent most of today in the garden and got quite a lot of preparation done, although my hands are now covered in scratches. It’s still quite warm approaching 7pm so I’ve decided to sit outside and have myself a cocktail before dinner.

I have a complete set of cocktail-making gear: measures, stirrers, shakers, and ice-crusher as well as the various tools needed for making the trimmings, such as a canulating knife. I also have a reasonably complete range of glasses appropriate for various drinks. My taste in cocktails is, however, fairly limited. Not being partial to Gin eliminates quite a few and I’d rather drink a good Malt on its own than have cocktails with cheaper whisky in them. However, I do have several books of cocktail recipes and, now and again, I pick recipes to try out.

My favourite pre-dinner cocktail, especially in summer, is called a Petite Fleur. It’s a great aperitif, with a refreshing sharpness to prime the palate.  It’s also very easy to make:

1 Measure White Rum
1 Measure Triple Sec (or Cointreau)
1 Measure Grapefruit Juice (preferably fresh)

Shake the ingredients well together with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Decorate with a twist of orange peel.

Mentioning this cocktail also gives me the excuse to include the tune of the same name that was a big hit  originally for the great Sidney Bechet (and then later on over here in the UK for Monty Sunshine, erstwhile clarinettist of Chris Barber’s band). Here’s the wonderful original version, with Bechet on soprano saxophone, which is the perfect accompaniment to a spot of self-indulgence. Enjoy!

You’ve Got To Give Me Some..

Posted in Jazz with tags , , , on April 2, 2010 by telescoper

Another quick break from writing gives me an excuse to post another favourite tune…

If you thought that raunchy lyrics were bound to be banned from records made 80 years ago, then just get a load of this.
It was recorded in 1928 by the greatest female blues singer of them all, Bessie Smith (“The Empress of the Blues”), together with Clarence Williams on piano and Eddie Lang on guitar. Bessie Smith was a notoriously loud and sometimes violent woman, who had an insatiable appetite for booze and sex (with, it’s said, both men and women). She also had a voice like no-one else on earth before or since.

 This is one of several very naughty records she made in the late twenties, others including “Do your duty” and “Take me for a buggy ride” but this is probably the rudest of the lot. I like the video too. Enjoy!

Now, anyone for round steak?

Othello Molineaux

Posted in Jazz with tags , , on April 2, 2010 by telescoper

Well, it’s a cold and rainy Good Friday holiday and I’ve got a stack of work to catch up on. Before I resume after my coffee break, however, I thought I’d share this little bit of Caribbean sunshine with you.

 I first came across the name of Othello Molineaux about 30 years ago on a record he made with Monty Alexander, and was completely blown away by his virtuosity on the steel drum,  an instrument I thought was very limited until I heard him play it! Here he is demonstrating his astonishing skill and musical imagination at a live concert recorded only last year. It’s great to see he’s still going strong 30 years after I first heard his music!

About a month ago, a typically rambling blog post of mine led to a discussion of the use of unusual instruments in jazz. This would have fit nicely into that thread if I’d remembered it at the time! Better late than never. Remember that if you enjoy this half as much as I do, then I enjoyed it twice as much as you..

Tremblin’ Blues

Posted in Jazz with tags , , on March 31, 2010 by telescoper

I just noticed that a few days ago someone posted this lovely old blues on Youtube. It’s by one of my all-time favourite blues piano players, Little Brother Montgomery, who died in 1985 aged 79. He was self-taught (as many of the great jazz and blues musicians were) and was such a quick learner that he was playing professionally by the time he was 11.

He toured the UK and Europe quite regularly in the  1960s and made many recordings here, including some wonderfully relaxed music recorded at the Sussex home of eccentric jazz enthusiast Francis Wilford Smith, a  marvellous old character who passed away a few months ago in 2009. I mention this because I have an old LP that features Tremblin’ Blues by Little Brother Montgomery, recorded on the Magpie label. That one is much slower than the one here and is punctuated by chuckles from the pianist, suggesting that he might have been just a little bit inebriated at the time. This one’s a bit crisper, free of giggles, but still a lovely performance.

The Thieving Magpie

Posted in Football, Opera with tags , , , on March 30, 2010 by telescoper

Well, I’ve spent the evening working as well as following an important night’s football. My team – Newcastle United – were playing their promotion rivals Nottingham Forest at St James’ Park (in Newcastle). Going into the game Newcastle were at the top of the Championship, 10 points clear of third-placed Nottingham Forest with a game in hand. With 80 points from 38 games, and only 8 remaining to play, a win would virtually guarantee that Forest (on 70 points after 39 games) couldn’t catch them and Newcastle would therefore be in one of the top two positions guaranteeing them a return to the Premiership next season.

Although this was apparently a commanding position, I’ve been a Newcastle supporter for too long to take anything for granted; they’ve demonstrated their ability to throw away apparently unassailable leads far too often for me to feel complacent. Fortunately, they didn’t let me down. Two second-half goals (from Shola Ameobi and Jose Enrique) saw them win 2-0. Now 13 points clear of third place (with Forest only having 6 games to play), they are on the brink of automatic promotion. Mathematically they now need 6 points from 7 games to be sure, but they could seal it on Saturday away against bottom club Peterborough, if Nottingham Forest lose against Bristol City.

I confess that I get badly affected by nerves when following games on the radio or TV. I’d much rather be there in the flesh, but sadly that’s impractical. When the final whistle went tonight I was enormously relieved and more than a little bit elated, despite the heavy cold I’ve got at the moment.

Anyway, I thought it called for a bit of musical celebration. Newcastle United’s nickname is The Magpies, so I thought I’d offer the overture from Gioachino Rossini‘s Opera La Gazza Ladra (The Thieving Magpie).  It’s not the greatest opera, but the overture is superb. Apparently Rossini had to be locked in his room and forced to write it as the deadline for the first performance approached. If that’s true, the pressure had a positive effect on him because what he produced is a cracker.

This performance is tremendously virtuosic – as you’d expect from the Vienna Philharmonic – especially in the accelerando part at the end, which is wonderfully exhilirating.

I’ve only known a few professional classical musicians at a personal level, but all of them, when asked, said that the composer whose music they most enjoyed playing was Rossini. I was always surprised to hear that, but listening to this piece I can certainly understand them. It’s got to be great fun playing this…

P.S. Another thing worth mentioning is that the current owner of Newcastle United Football Club bears more than a passing resemblance to Rossini!

Cantaloupe Island(s)

Posted in Jazz with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 20, 2010 by telescoper

It’s been a pretty exhausting few weeks, but now we’ve reached the end of teaching term. Not that I’ve got nothing to do, but I should be able to concentrate on writing up a few papers that I’ve struggling with for many months.

Anyway by way of a celebration, and to correct for the fact that I haven’t posted much music recently, here are two totally different versions of a great tune by Herbie Hancock called Cantaloupe Island. The original recording of this came (made on June 17 1964) appeared on the album Empyrean Isles which came out on the Blue Note Records label. Its instantly catchy riff and fine solo playing turned it into a big hit, and it quickly became a standard.

The first  video clip features the original personnel of Herbie Hancock (piano), Ron Carter (bass), Tony Williams (drums) and Freddie Hubbard (trumpet) but with the addition of the great tenor saxophonist Joe Henderson. It was recorded during a special concert in 1985 to celebrate the Blue Note label. It’s got a similar groove to the original version, but the live performance allows the players to stretch out a lot more than on the original, so it’s about twice as long.

The second rendition also features Herbie Hancock on piano (and other keyboards), but it’s totally different. Taken at a faster tempo, and firmly in the style of Jazz-rock Fusion that Hancock gravitated towards later in his career, it features Pat Metheney (on electric guitar), Dave Holland (bass) and Jack de Johnette on drums. They’re all great, but the drummer on this track is sensational! I saw Jack de Johnette playing years ago – at the Jazz Cafe, I think – and I couldn’t believe the speed of his hands and the immense drive he generated even while playing complicated patterns. Awesome. 

PS. I’ve used the spelling I believe to be correct, as that’s how it’s written on the original Blue Note record (of which I have a copy). I’ve seen many variants, though, including those on the youtube clips shown here.

Tosca

Posted in Opera with tags , , , on March 6, 2010 by telescoper

I’ve been so busy over the last couple of weeks that I almost forgot that the current run of Tosca at Welsh National Opera was about to come to an end without me having seen it. Nightmare. I suddenly remembered on Thursday that yesterday’s performance was the last one in Cardiff, but I managed to get tickets just in the nick of time. Unsurprisingly, there was a packed house in the Wales Millennium Centre last night; we were treated to an evening of jealousy and murder set to gorgeous music by Giacomo Puccini.

Tosca is an opera in three acts (which means two intervals, glug glug..). It’s basically a melodrama, and is set in Rome in 1800. Each act takes place in a very specific location within the eternal city. Act I is in the Church of  Sant’Andrea della Valle, Act II in the Palazzo Farnese, and the final denouement of Act III takes place among the battlements at the top of the Castel Sant’ Angelo overlooking the Tiber. The setting is so specific to time and place that it resists being monkeyed about with, done in modern dress, staged in a chip shop or whatever. Thankfully, Michael Blakemore’s production (of which this is a revival) is very firmly of the period and location required. As a longstanding opera bore, I have to admit that I have been on a Tosca pilgrimage and have visited all three locations in Rome. The scenery used in last night’s performance isn’t exactly as the real locations but it definitely evokes them very well.

(Incidentally, there was a famous reconstruction of Tosca made in 1992 in which all the action was staged at the true location. You can find an example from Act III here.)

Floria Tosca (Elisabete Matos) is a celebrated opera singer who is in love with an artist (and political radical) by the name of Mario Cavaradossi (Geraint Dodd), who helps to hide an escaped political prisoner while working on a painting in Act I. The odious Baron Scarpia (Robert Hayward), chief of police, comes looking for the convict and decides to catch Tosca and Cavaradossi too. He lusts after Tosca and hates Cavaradossi. In Act II, we find Scarpia at home eating dinner for one while Cavaradossi is being tortured in order to find out the location of the escapee. Tosca turns up to plead for his life, but she hasn’t bargained with the true depths of Scarpia’s depravity. He wants to have his way with her, and to put pressure on he lets her listen to the sound of her lover being tortured. She finally consents, in return for Scarpia’s promise to let Cavaradossi go and grant free passage to the two of them. This he seems to do, but while she is waiting for him to write the letter of conduct she sees a knife. Instead of letting Scarpia defile her, she grabs it and stabs him to death. Act III begins with Cavaradossi facing execution, sure he is about to die. Tosca is convinced that this is just a charade and that Scarpia ordered them to pretend to shoot Cavaradossi so he wouldn’t look like he was being merciful, which would be out of character. The firing squad fire and Cavaradossi falls. But it was no fake. He is dead. Tosca is distraught and bewildered. Shouts offstage reveal that the police have found Scarpia’s body and that Tosca must have murdered him. To avoid capture she hurls herself from the battlements. Her last words are “O Scarpia, avanti a Dio!” – I’ll meet you before God, Scarpia.

The opera wasn’t particularly well received when it was first performed in 1900, being famously described by one critic as “a shabby little shocker”. I think the secret of its success is twofold. First and foremost the music is wonderful throughout. Of course there are the great arias: Vissi d’arte, Vissi d’amore sung by Tosca in Act II and E Lucevan le Stelle from Act III, sung by Cavaradossi; but even apart from those tremendous set-pieces, Puccini uses the music to draw out the psychology of the characters. And that leads to the second point. Each of the three principals could have been very two-dimensional. Cavaradossi the good guy. Scarpia the bad guy. Tosca the love interest. But all the characters have real credibility and depth. Cavaradossi is brave and generous, but he succumbs to despair before his death. No superhero this, just a man. Scarpia is a nasty piece of work all right, but at times he is pathetic and vulnerable. He is monstrous, but one is left with the impression that something made him monstrous. And then there’s Tosca, proud and jealous, loving but at the same time capable of violence and spite. They’re all so real. I guess that’s why this type of opera is called Verismo!

The orchestra and cast were excellent. Elisabete Matos has a fine voice for the role, and also managed to spit venom at Scarpia in authentic fashion. Geraint Dodd sang wonderfully, I thought. E Lucevan le Stelle is done so often that it’s difficult to make it fresh but his rendition was overwhelmingly emotional. Best of all, Robert Hayward has a dark baritone voice that gave Scarpia a tremendous sense of power and danger.

The only problem with the performance was right at the end. Elisabete Matos didn’t appear on cue for her curtain call. I was baffled. Eventually she appeared on stage, helped by a member of the backstage team. She looked very unwell and was clutching her ribs. I think she must have landed badly after her fall from the battlements. I hope she’s not badly hurt.

Whoever was responsible for health and safety might be for the firing squad themselves.