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Over on The Rittenhouse Review, James Capozzola has written about a concert he attended at the Philadelphia Orchestra’s new hall. In an “update”, he asks why the orchestras always tune to the oboe, and he gets an answer, but he seems a bit foggy about some of the particulars — specifically, what “A 440” means.

Well, they tune to the note “A”. I’m not sure exactly why it’s that note as opposed to, say, “E”, but that’s what they’re doing. So, when a conductor ascends the podium at first rehearsal and asks the oboe to “Give us the A”, he’s asking the principle oboist to sound an “A” so that the orchestra can tune. Easy enough.

So what’s this “440” business? That’s the frequency of the particular “A” — 440 hertz. (I think it’s hertz, anyway. It’s been a while since I did this stuff on a regular basis, and even then I didn’t pay much attention to the scientific stuff underneath it all.) If we define “A” as 440 hz, then it follows that a “B” one full-step up will have a higher frequency — 455 hz, perhaps. (Again, a guess. Don’t get indignant with me if I’m colossally wrong!) And a B-flat, in between, will be roughly halfway between the two. OK?

But “A = 440” isn’t carved in stone. If an orchestra wants to tune slightly flat, the principle oboe will sound the tuning “A” at, say, 438 hz; likewise, they can tune slightly sharp, at “A = 442”, perhaps. Sharpness is generally preferred, especially by the string players in an orchestra, because sharpness yields a brighter, livelier tone. Playing flat is generally viewed as “icky”. (“Icky” being, of course, a precise musical term. You can look it up.)

Now, if “B” is 455 hz assuming “A = 440”, then the musicians in the orchestra will naturally play a “B” slightly sharper than that if they tune to “A = 442”. The professional musicians who fill the ranks of America’s orchestras (and the world’s, for that matter) have good enough ears to adjust their tuning of all the notes (or “pitches”) at their command, based on whatever they have established the “A” to be. This is what is meant by the term “relative pitch”, and it is an absolutely essential ability for orchestral musicians to possess. If a musician, a trumpet player perhaps, was to walk into an orchestral audition and display technical proficiency on par with Wynton Marsalis’s, but also displayed the relative pitch of an average high school or college-level player, the trumpeter would not get the job, if (s)he were to even be called back for the second round of auditions. Tuning is the bedrock of ensemble playing, and that little ritual orchestras go through at the outset of each concert serves a very real purpose.

And it’s not, to castigate a horrible pun foisted on the world by a onetime band director of mine, the world premiere of the newest composition by Chinese composer Tu Ning.

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Those of you with expertise in television broadcasting (I’m thinking of one particular reader, here — hint hint, Aaron) will maybe be able to answer this question for me: is there something about the way NBC stations broadcast in general — something relating to a satellite feed, or something like that — that results in NBC stations invariably having the crappiest reception of all the network stations no matter which municipality I happen to be habitating at the time of watching?

We haven’t used cable since we moved to Metro Buffalo three years ago; a set of “rabbit-ears” was sufficient for our needs, and except for the Food Network, there really wasn’t anything on cable that we felt essential. But in both Buffalo and now Syracuse, while we lived within ten miles of each local network affiliate’s broadcast antenna, the major networks all come in nice and clear (even PBS), except for NBC, which either flickers or has weird static or general fuzziness.

I haven’t seen a clear episode of The West Wing since my cable days, during that show’s first season.

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I’m looking at pictures of what apparently constitutes significant snowfall in Indianapolis, and trying not to emit a large burst of haughty, smug cackling at the mere thought that any snowfall measured in units smaller than feet is considered a big deal. Heh!

Indy seems to be on pace for a snowfall record, having currently received 44 inches this winter. According to yesterday’s Syracuse Post-Standard, Buffalo has received 97 inches. And Syracuse?

One Hundred Twenty-Nine Inches.

Yep, we’re hardy folk up here in North Country. Now, I’m off to hitch up the dogs for my daily checking of the caribou traps.

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In the interests of fulfilling my daily quota of snarkiness (which I don’t always fulfill in this space, but what the hey), here’s a mental exercise.

:: Step One. Examine the picture below. That nice looking guy in the middle – the distinguished-looking gentleman with the glasses and holding the kid – is the university professor who last week was arrested for various charges relating to terrorism and Al Qaeda.

:: Step Two. Remove the familiar-looking guy standing just left of the Professor, and also remove the familiar-looking woman to that guy’s left. (The one leaning forward to get her head in the shot.) You should now have two vacant positions in the photo. OK?

:: Step Three. In the place where the familiar-looking guy was, insert the forty-second President of the United States.

:: Step Four. In the place where the familiar-looking woman was, insert the current junior Senator from the state of New York.

:: Step Five. Imagine the likely behavior of the national media if the photograph as we’ve just constructed were the real one, as opposed to the actual one we started with.

(And I don’t know about any of you, but things like this — plus that picture of Donald Rumsfeld in the early 1980s shaking Saddam’s hand — have me reaching for my tin-foil hat, pronto.)

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Tomorrow is the release date for the second batch of James Bond filmscore reissue CDs. The first batch was released two weeks ago, and thus far they are magnificent. To have the score to On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, almost in its entirety, is wondrous. Ditto Diamonds Are Forever and the expanded Live and Let Die (decent music for an utterly horrible film). The ones I plan to pick up tomorrow are Thunderball, You Only Live Twice, and A View To A Kill.

These reissues are the film music event of early 2003. Go get them, if you have any love of good music at all.

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An ANNOUNCEMENT: Next week, I plan to launch a secondary blog to this one, which will have a specific focus and reason-for-being. I’m still working with the template and the introductory essays. Stay tuned.

(Hint: the new blog won’t be political in content. Instead, it will reflect 2003-as-bicentennial for….)

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It’s always nice to see artistic value found in an unlikely place — not because the place is unlikely to yield art, but because we’re generally unlikely to look there for the art that’s been there all along. A case in point is the quilts of Gee’s Bend.

These quilts, made by slave-descendents in the tiny town of Gee’s Bend, Alabama, feature textile craft “imported” from Africa when the slaves were captured and likewise “imported”. Lately, the quilts of Gee’s Bend have attracted attention in art circles and have even been featured in museum exhibits in New York City. Amazing.

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It’s always illuminating to read about the trials and tribulations of an aspiring writer. This person’s frustrations and annoyances are, shall I say, familiar — although I wonder at the years involved. But then, I’ve been doing the same project for years, too. I am also hoping that my road to publishing — given that I’m a genre writer — will prove slightly easier than what this woman has endured.

(NY Times registration required.)

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I’ve seen Roger Ebert dislike quite a few films in the years I’ve been reading him, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him get as angry about a film as he does about this new Kevin Spacey flick, The Life of David Gale. I don’t plan on seeing this movie — the subject matter does not interest me one whit — but I’d still like to know just what has Ebert so annoyed here. His rigid rule about not giving away plot points means that basically his review says “This movie pissed me off!” without saying “This is why the movie pissed me off.” This is a strength of the AICN style of reviews, where Harry Knowles and Moriarty and cohorts write general, spoiler-free impressions, followed by a detailed, spoiler-filled (with plenty of warning and white-space preceding it) discussion of the film’s virtues or lack thereof.

So, if anyone sees the film and wants to let me know what I’m missing, feel free.

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