Let’s do this.

Conductor Christoph Eschenbach who told Die Welt (English translation via Google) that he thinks the Philadelphia Orchestra management during his time there as music director was “incompetent” and that they “lie.” He continued by reportedly accusing them of mismanagement that directly led to the orchestra’s current economic condition…

(Via So No Hard Feelings Then? : Adaptistration. Image via CharmCity Current.)

Joe Wilson, you are never not funny.

Eschenbach, please…

And by “might,” I mean I did.

And by “my own,” I mean, not (as) funny.

3-4-3

Angel

OK, ha ha ha, snort snort, Sarah McLaughlin is in my iTunes. Let’s move on, shall we?

She had a good thing going here. I the other choruses she simply chills on the third of the F#major7 triad. You know, all pop-ish and stuff. But Sarah has to show you she knows a little something about music too. So this time, this time, she adds the accented upper-neighbor tone. Hoo-boy, does that ever get your attention!

Love it.

Price: $1.50 (Would have been $2.00, but when your friends are scrolling through your iPod looking for Sara Bareilles and they see this, well, they starting thinking about those ADORABLE puppies in that commercial, and then they crying starts. No, I’m not crying right now, there’s something in my eye, SHUT UP!)

A few weeks ago my great friend, David MacDonald, asked me about my paper. I have been fairly mum about it because I didn’t even know if I could prove what I believed to be true. After I stumbled through a 25 word, beer-laced synopsis, David, a big thinker and reliable skeptic, made “that face”¹ and basically told me that he thought I was full of shit.² Never one to back down from a challenge, and as a guy who needs that occasional ass-kicking, I got to work proving him wrong.

I started doing a lot of reading. One chapter or article, every day, no exceptions. If David didn’t think I knew what I was talking about, then I probably didn’t. I was able to find out a lot about the topic, but not a lot about the composer, who is, in this case, the late William Albright. Unfortunately, as brilliant as his music is, scholarly research concerning his musical ideas and personal philosophies is confined to his obituaries. That wasn’t going to cut it.

Back to the bar.

As it so happened, another great friend spurred me on the next week. The brilliant Laura Donnelly asked me about my research (because Laura is basically a pro-researcher; your mind: boggled) and I told her about my problem. Since she’s such a pro, she said, “You should contact the University of Michigan Library.³ They might have something that can help you.” See? Pro.

So I contacted the U of M Library. I admit, I wasn’t very hopeful, but I needed to try. As it turns out, the U of M Bentley Historical Library actually had all of Albright’s papers cataloged and available to the public! Score! I made plans to go.

The whole morning I was pumped. I was going to do real research! Judging by the titles of the documents, I was pretty sure I could find something I could at least crowbar into supporting my point. Boy, was I in for a big surprise.

When you arrive at the library you have to write your name and vital information on, no lie, four sheets of paper, before they will disappear into the depths of their catalog and bring out one of the 77 boxes that hold Albright’s papers. I started with box 8 which contained most of Albright’s lecture notes and professional files. They brought it to me, explained the rules of reading: only one folder may be removed fro the box at a time. A large placeholder must be inserted into the box. The order of the folders must be preserved. Made sense, if not a little bit OCD. Whatever.

I pulled out my first folder, opened it, and it hit me. This man was real. He wrote things with his hands. On paper. Until then he was just a name at the top of the pieces I was playing. An idea. When I saw his handwriting on yellow legal paper, he became real. It was like seeing the Mona Lisa. At that point Albright wasn’t an idea anymore. He was fingers, and blood, and problems, and life. I flipped through that folder once, just to see what it was like, and to get over that feeling, because I was really moved by what I was looking at.

That’s what it looked like.  Not surprisingly, I spent a lot of the day trying to figure out what some of his words were. There were hundreds of pages that looked like this on all different kinds of paper. Unlike me, Albright seemed to prefer handwriting to typing. Also, unlike me, he also seemed to be willing to write with whatever on whatever he had around. I saw documents written on the backs of department memos, and some written in calligraphy marker. If nothing else, he was a devout recycler.

One of the other interesting things that I was able to glean just from examining this box is that he must have been a horrible filer. He wrote the document you see above nearly 20 times and saved it in his office until he died. Over the years it went through a few changes and expanded slightly, but it remained essentially the same over the 20 years. He clearly was a fan of using outlines to guide his lectures, but comfortable enough with what he was speaking about not to need to write it all out. He believed it.

Now I believe it too. I found things in his writing that came more closely to proving my hypothesis that I could have imagined. It’s very frustrating to me that he isn’t around to pin down on these questions that remain, but these documents go so far for me. I am grateful to the U of M for having the foresight to catalog an old drunk’s documents and make them available to the public. I am also deeply grateful for my super smart, talented, awesome friends who kick my ass when I need it and give me advice that helps me.

I’m telling you, you have to rely on your friends. Thanks guys.

2. Let me tell you, the guy who tells you your ideas are full of shit are the best people to keep around. Trust me.

3. Albright was a professor of composition at The University of Michigan when he died.

I have a Soft Spot for Clem Snide. I first heard them back in 2002 on Conan O’Brien’s Late Night Show (a simpler, happier time). They played “Moment in the Sun” from their album the Ghost of Fashion. Megan and I frequently played a game where we would make a snap judgement on the merits of a musical event called “Is this genius or is this stupid”. (Outkast: genius, The Killers: genius, Gwen Stefani’s solo carrer: stupid, etc.). We decided that Clem Snide was genius.

At first, you will say, “You are fools! Listen to that guy! He can hardly sing! Plus, he sounds drunk!” and you would be right. Eef Barzalay is a horrible, horrible, singer. As is Bob Dylan. In fact, in an American Idol style singing contest, Eef wins. Every time. So, it’s not that bad.

But the Clem Snide’s appeal isn’t in the pitches or the timbre, it’s in the songwriting. And Eef isn’t any old songwriter who slaps together an inspirational poem to a four-on-the-floor drum-machine and cashes his checks. He carefully places each word metrically and iambically to give his songs just the right feel.

Then there’s the lyrics themselves. The best Clem Snide songs are the ones where the lyrics take the most unexpected twists and turns. Eef is a master of the parallel cliché in which he begins a phrase that everyone knows the ending to, then ends the phrase not with that expected ending, but with the end (or beginning) of a different familiar phrase. The result is a wonderful, surrealist, juxtaposition.

The new album drops on February 23. You can listen to the whole thing this week via NPR’s website. If you are new to Clem Snide I suggest the aforementioned albums The Ghost of Fashion and Soft Spot.

(from letters to dead people – a really neat site that I hope you check out.)

Freddie really had it all. Range, tone, songwriting skills, a 5 foot vertical leap,

the ability to record this without laughing uncontrollably:

How Can I Go On

and, of course, the world’s most famous moustache:

To be serious for a moment, Freddie was truly one of the best male rock singers who have ever lived. That is not up for debate. It is a shame he died too young. The “new” Queen album is a travesty. Freddie was Queen. I wish Brian May and the rest would simply realize that and do other things. and not degrade the Queen moniker any further. May has enough talent to do literally anything he wants to except revive his old band.

O’Hara tracks the movement of the hands of people engaged in life activity. Essential vitality is caught and rendered visible on the page. Live Transmissions are drawn with both hands and with two or more pencils: people talking, working, dancing, reciting poetry, playing music, giving birth, repairing shoes, practicing martial arts.

Movement of the hands of pianist Martha Argerich while performing the first movement allegro con brio of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 at Carnegie Hall, New York City on 28 October 2001.

Check out all of his work at www.morganohara.com

New Year’s Resolutions:

1. Worry about time as little as Ray did.
2. Rock it. Hard.

[SineWaves2.zip] 125.8 MB

I can hear your groans from here, but hear me out. Beethoven wasn’t just some Haydn wannabe, the dude was out to mess some junk up in a serious way. He was a recluse, often disheveled, and difficult to deal with. He knew exactly how he wanted his music played, and wouldn’t settle for anything less. Furthermore, he basically invented the Sonata for solo piano, and just about when everyone else was catching on to that, he went and broke it down into unrecognizable bits from which it has never really recovered.

Here’s the beginning of the end for Sonatas which just happens to be my most favorite piece by Beethoven too (as performed by Alfred Brendel):

Sonata No. 28 in A major, Op. 101 – I. Etwas lebhaft und mit der innigsten Empfindung

Happy birthday, Beethoven.