Bernstein, Sondheim and Hammerstein.... (oh my)

We're three weeks to curtain on Urinetown (the musical), and I've pretty much had about all I can take of the sticky sweet, tonal, score. This musical is particularly bad for ear worms because it is completely post-modern. That is, it is a musical that mocks other musicals. Every song (and element of the plot) in Urinetown (the musical) draws musical inspiration from another popular musical (West Side Story, Les Miserables, etc). Pretty cleaver eh? I think so, or at least I thought so before a month of "Follow Your Heart" running through my head over and over and over, not to mention my cheesy lines--"Don't you see? The river is inside of you, it always has been!" (insert retching noises here)---. When I finish rehearsal I feel like my brain has been force fed candy for four hours. To prevent overall brain rot I've been on a quest for music with a little more substance. Here are a few you tube videos I've found savory enough to chase away the musical theater blues:

The Loan

John Vanderbeek was a simple man. His life was uncomplicated but comfortable. John worked as a personal banker at a Wells Fargo branch downtown, he helped people manage their bank accounts and apply for loans.  He was good at his job. The straightforwardness of banking suited him well and he liked to think he was making a difference in others’ lives. People sometimes worry too much about money, and having someone like John in charge of theirs put them at ease.   

Everyday, John awoke alone in his modest apartment. He washed, dressed, and made himself a breakfast consisting of exactly two slices of toast spread with margarine and a half of a grapefruit. He walked to work instead of taking the bus. Walking was better for the environment and John liked the fresh air, besides, he didn’t like to get to be too near other people. He arrived at work promptly at seven forty-five—slightly earlier than the other bankers—to set up his cubicle for the day. He sharpened his pencils, restocked his store of account forms, and straightened his three “Personal Banker of the Month” certificates in their plastic frames. At nine o’clock the bank opened and John began his work. He quietly handed out brand new checkbooks and patiently explained mortgage rates to his customers. At one o’clock John ate a dry turkey sandwich at his desk and at five-thirty he checked to make sure everything was in order before heading home. Every night, John prepared supper for himself and ate it while reading The Wall Street Journal. He washed his dishes while watching the news. At ten o’clock every night, John went to sleep. This was his life. It was consistent and uniform. One day, something unusual happened to John.

They day commenced like any other. The alarm beeped, the toast lightly margarined and the grapefruit sliced. John left his apartment right on time. On his normal path to work, he collided with an obstruction. The street he consistently took—a tranquil one—had transformed into a barricaded mess, swarming with boisterous orange-clad, construction workers.  They were laying a line for a new light-rail and the noise was inconceivable. John grew uncomfortable and agitated in the noise and commotion. His head pounded and his palms became greasy with sweat. He panicked as his mind processed the ramifications of this construction. He could not take this route to work. Not today, not ever? This is the route he always took to work. How would he get to work? He was going to be late for work. In his panic, John made a rash right turn down an alley, thinking only of escaping the terrible racket. The further he got away from the jarring clamor of the drill, the more relaxed he became. Finally John escaped the din of the drill, but just as he was breathing a sigh of relief, he realized with a start that he had become completely lost in a maze of narrow side streets. Trying to wrap his mind around this problem when he heard something else. It was as smooth and soulful as the drill was clamoring and metallic. John followed the velvety melody down the street directly in front of him and pinpointed the source: an old man playing a violin on his fire escape. Or was it a Viola? John wasn’t sure what the difference was, or if there was a difference for that matter. He didn’t know very much about music, but he knew that if this music were to stop something would go terribly wrong inside him. He sat down on the dusty curb and listened eagerly as the old man swept the bow delicately and purposefully across the strings. As the mournful tune drew to an end, the old man melted into another. John listened as the man played through song after song, some sweet and cheerful, others full of sorrow.  The tragedy that had befallen him earlier this morning seemed like a distant memory, as did his job, his dreary apartment. When the old man was finished John sat on the curb, evaluating this experience. He finally came to the conclusion that—for the first time in his life—he should take the day off. 

Commodification of knowledge

Probably one of the most common questions asked college students is "what are you going to do when you graduate?" This is an annoying and potentially hazardous question, because we should not plan our academic careers (or our lives) in reference to money. In this video Ken Robinson, a "creativity expert," talks about how our education systems are training us out of creativity, how our system has commodified a certain type of knowledge, and ignored the rest. Is this healthy for our society?

I think not.   

reeeeemix (ode to evans)

a beautiful day
sun shining outside
but a room with no windows
is where i'm confined
they say that practice makes perfecttion
but right no i can't corers
my fingers to rehearse
these scales in ascending or descending directions
my voice wont do it either
today its acting funny too
phlegm is chocking up my vocal chords
like something caught in a chimney's flue
these pitches just aren't sounding right
somethings wrong with my intonation
maybe theres some correlation
to the room on my left
where the tenant is jamming with mozart in tenor cleft
or, "hey guy next door,"
haven't your practiced those three measures a hundred times before?
and you down the hall
with your pesky bugle calls
can you not hear
your sound waves tearing through these walls?
i want to send you all my hate
why can't you understand
i just can't concentrate
on this bel canto aria i'm singing
with your blaring chopin's endless ringing
until i put myself in your shoes
and deep down I understand
if we started up a band
we would be practicing in these same small rooms
able to commiserate on this terrible fate
of studying music in a building
built far too out of date

Yum

ARGH!

This has been a terrible week. I have become as a terrible student. Life in general is terrible. I decided not to go home for fall break (even though my parents offered to buy me a ticket) because I knew I had a lot of work to do. So I worked. I practiced aural skills and spent an hour a day on the dreaded Mac Gamut--an ear training software we use in our theory course. I also slept a lot, because the unfortunate fact about being a singer is you CAN'T just stay up all night practicing, (or out all night partying) because it will ruin your instrument. So I was relaxed I felt ready for the week and prepared for the big, scary things that were coming. A hearing (something that strikes fear in the hearts of music students everywhere). The Rogers concert (probably the biggest deal concert the music department has...also the only one the president of the college attends, for some reason I have agreed to sing an ridiculously hard avant garde Ives piece---why? I have no idea) . Also...the musical? Supposedly we're supposed to be off book because now is the time for serious polishing. Um, wait a second, how can we polish scenes we haven't blocked? Apperantly the director is a kind of fly-by-the-seat-of his pants type. This can be fun, its fun improvising sometimes....but every scene? Four hours a night? This is not fun. I hate when professors aren't prepared for class because I AM, and they are getting paid to do this! This is incredibly frustrating. I have no idea what I am doing acting-wise (because hey, I'm a musician). Also I fell like I am failing all of my classes, I keep on making silly mistakes on theory homework and I failed a math test. This is very unlike me and I don't know what to do! ARGH!

Dreams, etc.

I cringe every time someone asks me what my major is, because I know what question is coming next....what are you going to do with that? The truth is I have absolutely no idea what I want to do when I graduate. Choosing a major was hard enough, I bounced through a lot of departments at Lewis and Clark before I came crawling back to music. At first I wanted to change the world, the best way to do this seemed to be politics, then I quickly realized how boring it was to read hundreds of pages of convoluted legal doctrine. Then I thought Sociology might fit me better, but while sociologists tend to be better writers than political scientist, they tend to be extremely pessimistic. All this time I was in and out of the music building, masquerading as a music minor while jealously eying the theory textbooks and conducting patterns of the majors.

It seems like music should have been the easiest choice from the get-go, but declaring music as your major, your calling, is something that was very scary for me. By my sophomore year I had outgrown my obsession with musical theater, but I hadn't had enough classical training to take myself seriously as a classical singer (see: opera diva). I was afraid of making music my major, declaring it my passion and then not doing anything with it...

Obviously I have declared this major, passion, live goal etc, what now? I practice basic skills and repertoire for hours a day and have absolutely no idea what I am preparing for. When I think about this, it scares the crap out of me, so instead of thinking about specifics I came up with a few basic things I want out of life, and what I am willing to do for them. Here they are:

1) I want to have an intellectually and creatively stimulating career, but I am willing to do other crappy jobs before I get this

2) I want to be somewhat financially stable, but not necessarily wealthy

3) I want to have a life outside of work, but I am willing to try to make my work as productive as possible in order to achieve this

4) I want to travel and experience other artistic passions besides music BUT

5) I also want to become the best musician (see: artist) that I can be

Ok, I know these are vague, but they're all I've got right now. Maybe in a year (come graduation) I'll have a real plan.

MacGamut, Oh MacGamut

MacGamut, Oh MacGamut

How you make me feel like a twit

Though software to train my ear,

seems to be ideal

I cannot do it, not one bit

Each time I sit and try, 

Melodic, harmonic or rhythmic dictation

I fail, I cry

Until, with hesitation

I hear the notes, I enter the beats

And you give me a green box of congratulations!

MacGamut, Oh MacGamut

How I love you so.

After hours of practice with you, 

Aural skills no longer brings me woe!

Projections, Poetry and Pre-teens.... Oh My!

The Case of the Waltz

Though my main instrument is voice, I consider myself to have a fairly decent sense of rhythm. I can sight read most things in compound meter and I basically eat pieces written in common time for breakfast. Unfortunately I have always had a certain awkwardness towards three-four. I don't know where it comes from but I always fumble with only accenting beat one. Luckily as a vocalist, I have been able to avoid most waltzes, but somehow this semester fate realized I was doing this. Waltzes have been haunting me. It began innocently enough. At my first piano lesson my teacher assigned me two waltzes: one Schumann, one Shostakovitch. Apparently butchering a piece at the first sight reading is the universal sign to music teachers everywhere that it will be "good for you." Impossibly, I found out later that day that there is one thing worse than than having to play a waltz.... having to dance one. 

I went to musical rehearsal with my head hanging low after an hour of counting to three. I'm also not the most graceful human, so I wasn't looking forward to a rehearsal with the choreographer.  Since the song we would be blocking, "Follow your heart" is a fairly slow duet, I figured we would just be basically standing there singing to each other....nope. Our director is Czech and has never directed a musical before. I can tell this from his ambition and optimism about every number in the show,  

"Now, this song I want to be a beautiful viennese WALTZ"

I confusedly looked at him, then suddenly panicked realizing that "Follow Your Heart" was written in three-four. Then I looked at my knees, which I had not-so-suavely skinned that morning running for the bus.  I finally gazed down with horror at my poor dance partner's toes, painfully obvious in his flip-flops. 

Lets just say I don't think he'll be wearing those flip flops to rehearsal again. 

But by the end of the semester, I'll probably understand the ins and outs of triple meter. 

Beethoven's Pathalogical Jump-Start

Ludwig Van Beethoven is widely recognized by musicologists as being an incredibly temperamental, bitter, socially awkward slob. Basically, he was the portrait of a creative genius. Beethoven began composing and performing at a very young age and though all of his work was influential, important, and incredibly beautiful; his most significant works were done at the end of his life. In his article, Beethoven and his Nephew, Maynard Solomon argues that it was not Beethoven’s impending death or the loss of his hearing that brought on this intensely creative period in his life, but rather a conflict with his sister-in-law, Johanna, over the custody and care of his nephew, Karl.
Beethoven’s life was that of a tortured artist, a man whose life was tragic from the very start. At the young age of sixteen, Beethoven suffered from both the death of his beloved mother and baby sister. Since his father was an abusive alcoholic, Beethoven was left as the sole caregiver of two younger brothers. Already a budding artist on the brink of stardom, he was forced to leave them in order to travel for his career. This brought him to feel a great amount of guilt that he was forced to carry for the rest of his life. Solomon argues that this painful childhood stunted Beethoven’s creativity for most of his life, and that he subconsciously used Karl to fulfill the duties neglected not only by his father, but also by himself. Unfortunately this subconscious paternal need manifested itself in a deranged manner.
As a musicologist who has also studied psychology, Solomon studies the situation from an artistic and a scientific perspective. Solomon’s three psychological theories on Beethoven’s pathology at this time in his life are: the “rescue fantasy,” the “Family Romance”, and Beethoven’s sexual desire for his sister-in-law. In the theory of the complex, “rescue fantasy,” Solomon claims that Beethoven believed he had an intense need to “rescue” Karl from his mother, based on the historical evidence that Beethoven fought Johanna for custody in court many times, each accusing her of another outrageous offense. Solomon suggests that this need to rescue Karl Beethoven subconsciously attempting to rescue himself and his brothers from his own abusive father. The theory of the “Family Romance” is similar to this in that Beethoven was acting as a father figure, but different as it was based more on Beethoven’s fantasies of nobility than his relationship with his own child. The theory of the “Family Romance” is the idea of a person of noble blood choosing to raise a common child. Finally, the third and most fascinating theory is that of Beethoven’s sexual desire for Johanna. Based on historical rumor and on primary documentation by Johanna herself, Solomon argues Beethoven was using Karl as a means to keep in constant contact with Johanna.
All of these theories are exciting and relevant, as Solomon also describes the music being created before, during, and after this period in Beethoven’s life possibly proving that this conflict could have brought on the famed late period. Altogether Solomon understands each character’s motivation and significance in the plot as well as the historical and musical significance of the events. It is an excellent read for someone interested in music, history, psychology, or scandal.

Projections, Poetry and Pre-teens.... Oh My!

Ages young and old gathered at Reed College on Saturday night to hear the Portland Chamber Orchestra open their 62^nd season. Self described as “the intimate symphony with infinite imagination,” the Portland Chamber Orchestra is one of the few classical groups thriving in Portland, announcing Saturday the creation of a newly endowed chair as well as the recent hire of their very first general manager. The concert that followed justified this announcement with something fresh and original,featuring the works of Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara, Saint- Saëns and Beethoven.

            The program began with Rautavaara’s Cantus Arcticus Op 61. Concerto for Birds and Orchestra. At first I was skeptical of the orchestration “birds”, but the recordings harmonized seamlessly with the orchestra (Rautavaara collected the recordings himself while hiking around the arctic circle). The first movement, Suo or “the bog” began with two flutes fluttering about and is slowly built up by pastoral woodwinds and twittering birds. The second movement, Melankolia, or “Melancholy,” perfectly embodied the feelings of a foggy autumn day. In this piece, the strings were slow but intense, building on top of the bird chorus. The final movement, Joutsenet Muutavat, “Swans Migrating” began with the stings playing uncoordinated chaos with a recording of swans, but the chaos slowly calmed to a proud melody accompanied by a glistening harp. As a whole this piece was reminiscent of the hearty, warm, style of Aaron Copland, who Rautavaara studied with. It was executed perfectly by the PCO, although I could have done without the animation that was projected on a screen over the orchestra, it distracted more from the music than it added to the work as a whole.

            Following Cantus Arcitcus was Camille Saint- Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals, a comedic piece featuring two pianos and spoken poem in twelve short movements. This work was originally written to entertain Saint- Saëns’ personal friends—he never intended it to be played publicly— thank goodness it was! The piece was, at very the very least, a spectacle. Local actor Tobias Anderson narrated in a safari outfit, while the dueling piano parts were played by twelve-year old Megan Yip and her thirteen-year old sister Megan. The twelve movements musically illustrate all of the animals fit for a zoo. The Camille Saint- Saëns’ Zoo includes everything from the commonplace lion or kangaroo to the more exotic “pianists” and “people with long ears.” The movements hop from a beautiful undulating cello solo in The Swan to silly, keyboard-wide scales in The Pianists, sampling various tunes—including Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Rossini’s Una Voce Poco Fa—along the way.

            The concert closed with Beethoven’s slightly more conservative Symphony No. 6 in F Major: The Pastoral.  Though slightly more elegant than the rustic sound of Rautavaara or the charm of Saint- Saëns,’ the pastoral is still something you can sink your teeth into. The first movement has a cheerful pull-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps motif played mainly on the strings, but accented by robust woodwinds. The second, slow movement is much dreamier, imitating the sounds of a peaceful, babbling brook. The highlight of the piece, however, is the last three movements. Played without a break between them, these movements sequentially depict through music: a rousing party of peasants (dancing jigs to catchy triple and duple meter dances), an earth-shaking thunderstorm, and a shepherd’s feelings of joy after the storm has passed.  The Portland Chamber Orchestra moved seamlessly through each piece, playing them each with the appropriate amount of vigor. Overall, the programming was spot-on and the execution flawless. My only complaint would be the venue. Reed College’s campus is beautiful, but Kaul Auditorium’s vinyl floors and padded folding chairs are not. Next time I see the Portland Chamber Orchestra I would like it to be at a venue that reflects their superb artistry, not one that reminds me of a middle school’s cafetorium.