We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
A pretty good cover of Bob's Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts by St. Paul's Martin Devaney and band. A bit too sing-songy for me, but I can't find Bob's edgier, darker version. (the remarkable lyrics here)
I grew up down the road from Bernstein's weekend house. My Mom was friends with Mrs. B. and I recall that they did garden designing together. A gay friend of mine who had met him at a party acknowledged that Lenny was "as gay as a Christmas Tree", but I guess he and Mrs. B. worked it out somehow and they had three kids.
Who cares about that? Bernstein was a rock star, and contributed a heck of a lot to American culture. As best I can recall, I only heard him conduct the New York once in youth, but I wouldn't know the difference anyway. Conductors do their interesting work in rehearsal, not on stage. If you want to learn about music performance, attend a rehearsal instead of the final performance.
He loved Mahler. When he grew older, Bernstein devoted himself to musical education. His Young People's Concerts on youtube are valuable to any adult. They were always sold out in NYC. Here's one of his Young People's Concerts at Carnegie Hall:
Bernstein claimed that Copland was his real teacher. West Side Story had to be one of his composing masterpieces, an opera, it is Romeo and Juliet:
I was told that, when Leonard Bernstein retired from the New York Philharmonic and took on the Vienna he gave them hell for playing the notes perfectly but not playing the music.
Live, 1986. An energetic performance (thanks, Gerard). I think that's Tom Petty on guitar.
Play list (In The Garden is a Christian song. I'll Remember You is a magnificent song. That Lennie Bruce song is stupid):
1.In The Garden 2.Just, Like A Woman 3.Like A Rolling Stone 4.It 's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) 5.Girl From The North Country 6.Lenny Bruce 7.When The Night Comes Falling 8.Ballad Of A Thin Man 9.I"ll Remember You 10.Knockin 'On Heaven's Door
A dear church brother died Christmas week, an older guy and friend of over 20 years. A fellow who embodied the notion that Christianity is caught, not taught, because his joy, peace, manly innocence of heart, and love, were contagious.
As far as he was concerned, whoever he met was a child of God. Even me. Did not care about your flaws. This is not funeral exaggeration. I have never known a man quite like him. Some people are selected to be the "angels" - the messengers - not by preaching but by being what and who they are. Coffee hour will never be the same for me.
Church packed to the rafters, violating all fire laws, with all of the people Christ touched through this humble, gentle man who also, but secondarily, happened to be a very successful corporate exec and the author of at least ten books. Even when ill unto death, he only wanted to make you feel better. He knew about loss. In his medical travails, he only wanted to be the comforter.
We sang his favorite hymn at his memorial service yesterday. The story behind that hymn is on this Youtube. Lyrics here.
Since 1498 - the Vienna Boy's Choir. They have four touring groups of 25 kids each. They sing like angels. We caught their Christmas in Vienna concert at Carnegie Hall today with Mrs. BD's music-loving parents after a very pleasant brunch at Petrossian down the block (the prix fixe, friends - but festively with caviar and blini, and champagne). Mrs. BD got us good parterre seats.
As a reprise, they sang the beloved but cornball Leise rieselt der Schnee. Give the tune a listen if you don't know it. You might end up humming it for 48 hours. With all of our German-origin Christmas songs (eg Stille Nacht), it's a wonder we English never took this one. Maybe because of the bland lyrics (but this translation stinks - I can do better even though my German is not very strong anymore). Here's a version of it.
Buddy sent this comment regarding the vid below on the topic of "Why Brubeck's guys never move their feet":
Watch the insane stop at 3:00 and the double stick whirl at 3:38 --this is 1945, and the war was peaking, spilling into popular culture through the second channel --the meta story, not on screen, not under director or even actor control. You see that in Krupa's despairing eyes (as he apes the opposite attitude) in the close up at 3:20 to 3:25 --ten years later the avante garde model will have passed on to Paul Desmond, world war in a wood wind, played standing straight up and stock still (note the Krupa crouch attacking the vertical plane) without moving a muscle, the kinetic continental killing now scaled down to chromatic vs diatonic, a new mankind saying, "reed my lips, no new praxis!"
With Dylan's Not Dark Yet. She's too young and pretty to sing this song, but she pulls it off. She borrows Dylan's incredible phrasing. Buddy found this, so you know it's worth it. Trust us:
Here's another lovely offering from Severa with Vlado Kreslin (no idea what they are saying):
1. Overheard from a wise old(er) RN in the ER this morning, "She's dying. Let her be."
2. Hospital bill for one of my patient's daughters for a 3-day ICU stay after an overdose: $124,000 (not including the bills from the numerous specialists who consulted on the case). That's the price of high-tech combined with tort fears. Tort-sensitivity prevents common sense in medicine, and results in rigid one-size-fits-all (expensive) protocols.
3. One-day ER bill for a stumbling drunk on the street brought in by the police after shouting to strangers that he was going to throw himself in front of a car: $3200. One wonders what happened to good old drunk-tanks at the police station. ER staffs prefer that drunks and addicts intoxicate themselves quietly without drawing attention to themselves.
4. An OR friend emailed me this pic of a nurse friend posing jauntily with surgical sponges. People have to have a little fun and humor in the OR. Fighting over what music to play is sometimes the most fun. Every OR has its CD player. Generally, the surgeon picks unless he or she is feeling especially generous towards the anesthesiologist or the nurses. Surgeons who want opera drive everybody else crazy.
Enrique Granados drowned in 1916 while attempting to save his wife after their ship was torpedoed by the Germans. He was returning home from a performance for President Wilson.
This weekend, we heard a performance of his Danzas espanolas, written for piano but, in our case, amazingly arranged for harp and guitar. Wow. You don't get to hear that everyday - harp as the melodic instrument, with guitar as back-up. Especially after a very pleasant church picnic hanging out with the brethren. A fine day indeed in Yankeeland, then later a delicious no-carb Asian dinner out with dear friends and their Ivy League math genius daughter. Les tres riche heures du Bird Dog. Did I mention three hours of yard and farm work before church?
The classical guitarist we heard with the harpist has a sideline as a studio rock musician. Mrs. BD said classical guitar is like ballet. If you can do ballet, you can do any other sort of dance easily.
The rondalla is wonderful if you can find it, but this is the "Oriental" bit, arranged, in this case, for two guitars:
Live, 1986. An energetic performance (thanks, Gerard). I think that's Tom Petty on guitar.
