I am very poor. It has been many years since I have been to any live concert, much less a symphony. But I received a card in the mail alerting me to an upcoming performance by the Santa Rosa Symphony. The conductor, Bruno Ferrandis, had brought his brother, flutist Jean Ferrandis, in for the season finale. Being an old flute player myself, I decided to get tickets for the “Discovery Open Rehearsal” because it was cheap.

The rehearsal was not what I had expected. I thought this would be like the dress rehearsal for a play. At one of these, unless the lead actor’s hair catches on fire, the performance continues. The first thing I noticed here was that this was not a dress rehearsal; the musicians were mostly dressed in shorts and tank tops—it was 92 today in Santa Rosa. Then Bruno comes out and tells the orchestra, “Start at measure 22.” Of course, he says it in an outrageous French accent, so it was still pretty cool.

After about 20 minutes of rehearsal, they perform the whole piece: Debussy’s Jeux. It was unremarkable.

Then, Jean Ferrandis comes on stage with his flute. They are going to do the Mozart: the Flute Concerto in D—the lesser of the two flute concertos Mozart deemed to “write” (he did not like the flute, and I can’t really blame him). The first two movements go well enough. Jean is my kind of flutist: clear and accurate with little showiness. Half way through the third—and best—movement, the orchestra stops. I’m not sure why. It seems that Jean wanted to do a little rubato and Bruno forgot. I feel for both brothers. On the one hand, rubato used in that particular phrase worked really well. On the other hand, this is really pushing Mozart—it wasn’t meant to be!

At this point, there was a break. I was really thinking that I had wasted my money. Then the group came back together to perform Ibert’s Flute Concerto. Wow. One of my most favorite pieces in the world is Francis Poulenc’s Sonata for Flute and Piano. Ibert’s piece is perhaps as good. And Jean’s performance of it was exquisite, even though he didn’t have it memorized. (He seemed to have much of it memorized, but he was still dependent upon sheet music.)

Jean Ferrandis left and the orchestra performed a very capable version of Ravel’s La Valse. It seemed a strange program: 3 early 20th century French works and one of Mozart’s most banal adult works. Truly, it didn’t work, but I suspect that the Mozart was thrown in as a bone to make up for all the airy and dissonant music. It can’t have been that after all these years Jean still likes to perform it; I was bored with it at 17; then again, that may be what distinguishes a great artist from me.[1]

In the end, I wish I had ponied up the extra cash and saw a real performance. But certainly the Ibert was worth the entire cost.

And now for something completely different, a Cuban version of Für Elise:

[1] The D Major Flute Concerto seems to be a signature piece for Jean Ferrandis. On his CV it says, “Leonard Bernstein was so impressed by his performance of the adagio from Mozart’s D major concerto that he remarked ‘It is Pan himself!’ and subsequently composed a cadenza for Mr. Ferrandis.” On the front page of his website, there is an audio clip of the rehearsal of the concerto where Bernstein says this: “C’est pan lui-même!” Also, I don’t mean to put down Mozart. He remains the composer I listen to the most. I just don’t think he was at his best when composing these pieces, fun though they are.

Like most people, I discovered DeVotchKa (apparently Russian for “girl”) in the delightful film Little Miss Sunshine. And I’ve heard a bit of their music since then and generally liked it all. Just today, I came upon a song from their most recent album 100 Lovers called The Man from San Sebastian. It is a wonderfully energetic song, produced in an almost wacky manner. The stark opening accordion somehow reminds me of the zither used throughout The Third Man.

I wish I could say that I knew what the song was about. There seem to be many clues in the video, but they mean little to me. At one point, a headline appears on the screen, “45.3 Kilos de Uranio Altamente Enriquecido”: 45.3 kg of Highly Enriched Uranium. That’s pretty specific, but still, the people in the photos? I’m not a modern man! I don’t know what’s going on now or recently. What’s more: I’m sure I’m not the only one who does not remember the man from San Sebastian.

My hunch is that the song itself is post-modern in the sense that it isn’t about anything. It is a song that pretends to be about revolution but is more about love but is really about nothing but word play. Here are the main lyrics:

According to the director of the video, Vincent Comparetto, the political photos are from people in the Basque Separatist Movement in Spain. He apparently did an interview with NPR, but you are best to check out the DeVotchKa—Making of Video video at Prometheus Productions (sorry, no direct link).

Suzanne Vega’s Marlene on the Wall was one of the great pop songs of my youth, but its meaning was always murky to me. Over the weekend, I happened to hear the song again. For the first time, its meaning became clear.

It is well known that the Marlene on the Wall in this song is a picture (poster, painting) of Marlene Dietrich. Below is Susanne Vega in 1996 doing Marlene on the Wall with an introduction about how it came to be written. The story is a little confusing, because Vega merges how she came to admire Dietrich with how she happened to write the song. [The video is no longer available. Thanks to commenter RichardP, here is a different recording with the introduction.]

Here is the quotation from the concert. It shows that she is not talking about the start of the song, but rather the start of her adoration of Dietrich:

It is usually a mistake for artists to talk about their work. I wish that Vega had not made the title character concrete, because I think it would be even more interesting to consider that it was a Marlene Dumas painting. But Marlene Dietrich is interesting, and the whole idea of adding the perspective of a painting hanging on a wall is very clever.

Verse 1

“Marlene on the Wall” starts out with its two fundamental themes: apathy and violence. The first verse:

She is saying that she’s unsure of why she is in this relationship, but whatever it might be, it can’t be outweighed by the violence that she suffers at the hands of her partner. However, she is vague about this violence. The bruising—”rose tattoo”—does not come from fists or other tools of torture. In fact, fingerprints imply someone trying to hold on. I imagine a large male hand grasping a thin female wrist.

Regardless of the kind of violence, this opening verse clearly says that the singer is unclear about whether she wants to be in this relationship, even apart from the violence she is subjected to.

Verse 2

The plot thickens in the second verse:

Here she continues her clinical appraisal of the relationship in “Marlene on the Wall.” The main problem seems to be that the partners are alone despite their physical proximity. It is easy to conclude that the “danger zone” that she is talking about refers to the violence of the first verse. I think this is wrong. When she talks about the danger zone, she is talking about the area where people are close to being truthful to one another. I’m sure we’ve all had relationships where we could never quite get past the play acting, which is the foundation of most human interactions, into being truthful with the vulnerability that requires.

Refrain

Then she comes to the refrain:

Vega does something very strange. She’s been singing in the second person to her lovers, but here she switches suddenly to an introspective third person through the vale of Marlene Dietrich.[2] The implication is that her encounters with men are at their places. At home, she is alone. Also, it would seem, she only really exists when she is alone. Hence the third person narrative when she is away with her lovers.

The use of the soldier as a metaphor serves two purposes. First, it reinforces the violent subtext of the song. Second, and even more important, it puts forth the idea of a line of men—serial monogamy. At this point—during the first refrain—this seems to be the extent of her changing: from one abusive man to another.

Verse 3

Vega complicates matters in the third verse:

Here she continues the effective but confusing second person point of view. The first two lines make clear that the singer is not forced into this relationship—she goes of her own free will, if indeed any of us have such a thing. Mostly, however, she is speculating about the advice that Marlene Dietrich would give her, but which she (as we see shortly) doesn’t follow: don’t give yourself away to these awful men.

Verse 4

In the last verse, she resolves the plot and shows growth of the singer:

Here she comes back to the original violent image of “Marlene on the Wall.” But it is contrasted with her memory of their first meeting, which we can assume was much more gentle—no fists were used that night. This contrast tells her that she should not be in this relationship. I choose to believe that this insight is enough to change her behavior, but of course, a darker reading is possible.

When she repeats the refrain, Vega changes the word “soldier” to “men,” to make it concrete. She is, shall we say, past speaking about her relationships in terms of metaphor. As such, her claim that “I am changing” sounds far more credible; now she may be changing in a more fundamental way, away from her dysfunctional relationships to something better, if only to being alone with Marlene Dietrich. It is due to this that “Marlene on the Wall” is hopeful despite its dark themes.

[1] She is likely referring to the 1931 film Dishonored, but she misquotes it.

[2] Note that Vega is incorrect in the video above when she talks about the POV of her song.

As I noted previously, Justin Bieber’s Baby ft. Ludacris is the most watched video on YouTube with over 630 million views—200 million views more than the next most watched video, Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance, which I will come back to shortly. The thing is, I really had no idea who Justin Bieber was. I am not exactly on top of pop culture. When I happened to see a few minutes of TMZ, I never know any of the people they feature. If I go to the trouble of finding out who someone is, I am usually disappointed; it doesn’t take much to be a celebrity today (and maybe it never did): being the girlfriend of the sax player of a band that once had a song that dipped into the Top 40 for a week seems more than enough. I knew, however, that Justin Bieber was more than that.

So I decided to listen to this song.

Wait. Really. Just a minute. I need a drink to steady myself.

First things first. When this song was released Bieber was 15 years old. Packaged to look 12. Singing lyrics that are adult in concept, if not in any other way. The verse lyrics? If I had a five-year-old who wrote them, I would encourage him to work on his math skills. The chorus lyrics work better—or at least they would if sung by someone who had to shave more than a couple times a year. “And I was like; Baby, baby, baby no; I’m like baby, baby, baby no; I’m like baby, baby, baby no; I thought you’d always be mine mine.” Could Barry White makes those lines work? Of course. He could make anything work. At the same time, he didn’t depend upon it. Can’t Get Enough of Your Love Babe is a great song in its own right. And the lyrics are hardly complicated.

It was horrible listening to what sounded like a child sing these lyrics, and prance around provocatively. Is our shame limited to female children who populate our stages and screens behaving inappropriately for their ages? (Not that most people have any shame about that, either.) I understand that 15-year-olds are sexually mature in a biological sense, but they are not in a cultural sense. This is why they can’t drive until they are 16, vote until they are 18, and drink until they are 21. This is why 18-year-olds go to jail for sleeping with 17-year-olds. Is this right? Probably not. But it is the deal we’ve accepted.

All of this is minor.[1] From the first syllable out of Bieber’s mouth, I was assaulted by the worst technological innovation since the atomic bomb: pitch correction. I hear it everywhere. It first came to prominence in Cher’s hit Believe (You know: “Do you believe in love after love?”). The effect on Cher’s voice is pitch correction used at a high level. But it was an effect. It wasn’t being used because Cher (1) couldn’t sing in tune or (2) had a very weak voice that required some help. After that song, the effect became a fad. It finally died away, but afterwards, there was this residue of the stuff. I could always hear this effect used on some (many) singers’ voices. It wasn’t as strong as in the case of Believe, but it was there nonetheless. And then it hit me: these people (e.g. Taylor Swift[2]) couldn’t sing in tune! Why not? That makes the job of record companies much easier: find someone cute who can move. The pitch correction works in real time, so these tone-deaf savants can even perform live. Ladies and gentlemen: Island Records recording artist Justin Bieber!

A couple of notes. The production on the song is first rate. The Ludacris section is quite good. But there are always professionals for hire to do professional work.

Lady Gaga does not, in general, use pitch correction. She can sing. She can dance. But have you noticed: she is not cute.

The end of western culture came some time ago. I just hadn’t noticed.

[1] Andrea points out this is an excellent pun. It never occurred to me, of course.

[2] Have you seen the Taylor Swift Covergirl ads? She does her own talking and not a hint of pitch correction!

Roughly three decades ago, I went to a master class with the British flutist William Bennett—at the College of Marin, I think. The class consisted of four flute performers (three of them were professionals, just not of Bennett’s caliber, and one was a college student, my age and slightly better than I). Bennett worked with each of these performers to improve their technique and performance while roughly 40 other (non-performing) flutists watched, listened, and tried to learn.

Tuning Torture

The first up was the college student who played Mozart’s Flute Concerto in D Major. He was very good. The average listener would not find much difference between his performance and that of Jean-Pierre Rampal.[1] However, he did not get to perform much of the piece until the very end of his half-hour allotment. Before this young man could play more than two measures, Bennett stopped him; the student was out of tune. They spent the next 20 minutes working on tuning. I was sitting next to my venerable flute teacher and she whispered in my ear, “See? This is what it is all about!” I think that was the moment that I decided I would never be any musician—at least not professionally.

Bennett wasn’t unkind to my peer. In fact, he was doing the young man a great favor in a friendly and helpful manner. That young man may now be first flutist with the San Francisco Symphony for all I know.[2] But it had to have been humiliating at the time. Think about it. You’ve study the instrument for years. You are very good. You have practiced the D Major Concerto to death. You have probably even performed it a number of times. You know it and you are good at it. And now you stand in front of 40 peers being instructed in the most basic aspect of performance: playing in tune.

At that time, I was well aware just how difficult it is to play a flute in tune. My instrument especially (because it was a cheap, student flute) was horrible. It often seemed that I had to compensate with my embrasure for every note played. What I did not know at that time, was that William Bennett is as well know for his work on improving how well flutes play in tune as he is as a performer. The Bennett-Cooper scale is named after him and if I can find some technical information on the physics of this, you can be assured, I will write about it here.

Finding this information about Bennett put some context into my 30 year old memory. But it in no way changed me feelings about my career path.

More William Bennett

William Bennett has his own website; it isn’t great, but it does contain much useful information—primarily a good list of his recordings and a casual memorial of Jean-Pierre Rampal and Fernand Dufrene. Here he is playing part of Camille Saint-Saëns’ Airs De Ballet D’Ascanio. It will give you a idea of what a wonderful player he is.

[1] Or James Galway, if you insist on someone alive. To my ear—which is probably a good deal better than yours!—Rampal was better. I most like his phrasing; he had an intuitive gift that knew how a piece should be played. I’m also very fond of him for what he left to other players. His edition of Francis Poulenc’s Sonata for Flute and Piano is definitive. So is his recording of it. This isn’t to say Galway is bad. Mostly, he is just different. In performance, they are quite distinct, but of equal caliber. I’ve always preferred Galway’s tone to Rampal’s. What it all may be is that Galway panders to his audience much more than Rampal. And having said that, if you ever get a chance to see Galway, do so! He is wonderfully entertaining and his music is great. I’m splitting already slit hairs here.

[2] Being a performer in a symphony orchestra means you are very good. Being the first flutist in a major orchestra means you are great. It is mostly a matter of accounting. Orchestras need a lot of violinists, for example. Orchestras need only three flutists and one of them must double on the piccolo. In my experience, there are a lot more flutists than violinists. Even if I’m wrong about that, you have as many as 30 violins (15 violas, 15 cellos, and 8 basses) and only those three flute spots. The first flutist being great is also because the flute parts in orchestral works are often wonderful. I have known a number of people in the string sections of orchestras and they have all complained that it is dull work. But it’s steady!

Wayne Poehlman is a singer/guitarist that I recently discovered on You Tube. To me, he’s the kind of performer who you listen to when you tire of the glitz and the posing and the pitch-correction of what is today called music. Of course, this goes along with my recent submersion into music of the past such as Geeshie Wiley and Mississippi John Hurt (the “Mississippi” to distinguish him from the guy who has the creature burst through his chest in Alien). Poehlman calls his online solo act “Pow Wow Theater.”

I first discovered him performing a minor song off the first Jules and the Polar Bears album: Following Every Finger. The tune stands out for a number of reasons. First, he changes the chords to make them more traditional (Shear can get a little weird) and he sings the song in a more melodic manner that works better and allows the listener to understand all of the words. I highly recommend listening to it.

He performs a number of other notable songs. In particular, he performs Michael Peter Smith’s The Dutchman. If you aren’t familiar with this song, it seems to be about an old man with dementia and his wife who takes care of him. The chorus is:

Let us go to the banks of the ocean
Where the walls rise above the Zuider Zee
Long ago I used to be a young man
And dear Margaret remembers that for me

Poehlman manages to interpret the song just perfectly—like he really understands what this man and woman are going through. He also performs Them Dance Hall Girls by Allan Fraser (although I think it might be based upon a traditional tune) that is very good. His All Time Woman is not as good as John Stewart’s—plus there is some distortion when he belts out the chorus; but it’s still good. There is a nice cover of Del Amitri’s Driving with the Brakes on; Poehlman has a rather similar voice to Amitri’s, so it isn’t surprising. The cover of Good Old War’s Coney Island is probably the weakest of what Poehlman has to offer. The Amazing Rhythm Ace’s song 3rd Rate Romance is covered in an unusual manner with a drum machine; on it, he sounds like he is channeling Jules Shear at times. Finally, there is another drum machine tune: Red Ball Texas Flyer by Jerry Riopelle. It is good enough; I’m not that fond of the original song.

At 59 years-old, Wayne Poehlman (or “Pow Wow” as he goes by) is what you might call a “late bloomer.” He tells me that it was less than 15 years ago that he finally learned how to write a proper song. Although he plays professionally at bars and events where he is expected to perform a lot of covers, he sees himself primarily as a songwriter. And a fine one he is too.

I have two free MP3 files of his original songs. The first is Looking for Juliet. Of this song, he writes “One night, I saw Juliette Binoche in [Krzysztof] Kieslowski‘s Bleu and I was reminded of an artist-friend, Julie who loved Paul Klee. Beyond the similarity in their names, I think I made a connection between both women being artists and my unrequited love for both that prompted me to reference some of the Romeo and Juliet imagery. And of course, if you use either of those two names it’s going to come up, like it or not.”

The second is Desperate People. This song is a little more produced than Juliet and a little more “pop.” As with anything that Pow Wow does, his take on it is intelligent and knowledgeable.
He says it is “[c]omedy with poignancy. [It is d]etermination evidenced by surreal behavior in an effort to fulfill ones destiny.”

In the end, what I most like about Poehlman is that he creates simple music that is intelligent (often witty) and beautiful. Check him out.

Okay, let’s get this out of the way. My first experience with Internet radio was with Last.fm. And I know there are many others: Deezer.com, Mee Mix, Musicovery, Play It, Slacker, as well as many other similar kinds of services. I really liked the way that Last.fm worked, but it stopped working for me, so I switched to the Music Genome Project and Pandora.

It is nothing new, but if you aren’t using it, you should be. I’ve found so many great artists this way. Just tonight, I discovered Pink Anderson (the Pink of Pink Floyd) and the Red House Painters. I feel a little ashamed that I only discovered them tonight, but I can’t be smart all the time. Red House Painters came up right after I entered American Music Club as a new station. I discovered Anderson on my Old Blues stations that I have been tinkering with for a good six months now.

The great thing about Pandora is that I use it while cooking and sometimes (every night) someone comes on who causes me to stop everything and find out more. And, of course, it is good for commerce, because I just bought three new CDs (sorry folks, I still like CDs—and albums; I bought Presenting… Julie Andrews and the first John Prine album last night) because of what I heard on Pandora tonight.

The bad side is that I heard The Kid With the Replaceable Head by Richard Hell and the Voidoids. This made me think, “I should really get Destiny Street again—more because of the liner notes than anything (it isn’t as good as Blank Generation) because Hell makes it clear whose guitar solos are whose (not that I really need to be told; Ivan Julian is a better guitarist than Robert Quine—I just think Quine is more creative, which is not a slam against Julian; he’s great and enormously under-rated). But the only copy available is almost $100. I suppose that isn’t so bad when you consider that you can’t find my second book (now out of print) for less than $100—usually around $150). I don’t even own a copy!

Update: 25 July 2010

Destiny Street has dropped to $30, while by book has gone up to $200 used or $400 new. One good bit of news: I found out that the book was not dropped; the publisher just went out of business.