Sergei Rachmaninoff at 149

I was going to spend this month writing about, among other things, composer Sergei Rachmaninoff, who was born on April 1, 1873. Then I did the math and realized that a whole month-long focus on Rachmaninoff might be a better idea for next year, Rachmaninoff’s sesquicentennial.

Meantime, I can’t let this great composer’s birth date go unmentioned, so here’s a wonderful performance of his Piano Concerto #2 in C minor, performed by Khatia Buniatishvili and the Filarmonica Teatro Regio Torino, conducted by Gianandrea Noseda. This is one of the finest performances of this work I have heard. Ms. Buniatishvili is an amazing musician. Note her attentiveness to the orchestra during the passages when she is not playing. (The music starts around the 1:45 mark; there’s some introductory stuff.)

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National Poetry Month, day 1: Seamus Heaney

I want to post a poem each day this month! Here is the first, a poem about writing poetry, by Seamus Heaney. Note how he compares his own work–writing, with the pen as his tool–with that of his father, who is digging up potatoes in the garden. It’s a metaphor that works in a lot of ways: if one characterizes writing as “digging”, then one sees writing as a way of delving deep into the regions of the mind as digging is a way of delving deep into the regions of the world.

But Heaney also sees a disconnect between the work that he does, the work with which he is accustomed and comfortable and skilled at doing, and the work that his father and his grandfather did with such strength and skill, stopping only to drain an offered bottle of milk. How vivid the details: the smell of the potato plants and their fungi, the sound the peat makes as one digs, the sharpness of the lines left by the men doing the digging. A tone of possible regret creeps in as Heaney notes that he has no spade to take up of his own. He cannot dig in the earth as his forebears did.

But he can dig with the “squat pen”.

“Digging”, by Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
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Something for Thursday

If you’ve seen the great movie Amadeus, you may recall a scene toward the end when Salieri, having driven poor naive Mozart to his literal deathbed, takes him home after he collapses during a performance of The Magic Flute, and then–under the guise of friendly helpfulness–grabs some paper to help Mozart compose a section of his Requiem (because Salieri is actually planning to pass the Requiem off as his own composition once Mozart is dead).

Of course the scene is utter fiction–Salieri and Mozart had no such adversarial relationship, and while a local noble did scheme about stealing Mozart’s work and claiming it as his own, it wasn’t Salieri, who lived a long and productive life after Mozart’s death and certainly did not end up in a sanitarium–but it’s an interesting piece of drama anyway, because it depicts how even adversaries can find themselves working collaboratively on a shared goal (no matter why the goal happens to be shared), and it underlines the film’s main theme of Salieri being a gifted professional musician who still can’t grasp the depths of Mozart’s genius, even when Mozart himself is sitting in the same room, talking him through it.

Someone took that scene from the movie and cut it together with a very clever animation of the actual score of the Confutatis (the section of the Requiem on which Mozart and Salieri are working). I love this kind of thing: when someone takes a piece of great filmmaking and uses it as a starting point for more terrific filmmaking.

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Baineses need not apply

Apparently if your first, middle, or last name is Lyndon, you get free admission to the Lyndon Baines Johnson Presidential Library.

Image from Rebecca Decker, an online friend

Generations of people named “Baines” are vexed by this, I imagine!

Posted in On Things I Find Funny | Tagged | 1 Comment

Tone Poem Tuesday

William Grant Still wrote a suite for solo piano called Three Visions, consisting of three short movements. A program of sorts exists for the work, according to Still’s daughter:

“Three segments of the suite, Dark Horsemen, Summerland and Radiant Pinnacle, tell the story of the human soul after death: the body expires, and the soul goes on to an apocalyptic judgement. If it is seen that the past life has been a good one, the soul may enter ‘heaven’ or ‘Summerland’. After a period of time, the soul may reincarnate to learn additional earthly lessons on the human plane. Some souls reincarnate many times in a constant circular progress toward Godly perfection.”

“Dark Horsemen” is a brief burst of rhythmic dissonance that ends quickly, in favor of “Summerland”, a lyrical and optimistic portrayal of the afterlife that will be enjoyed by those who lived well.

Here is the Three Visions suite, played by pianist Umi Garrett:

(By the way! When I was watching Ms. Garrett’s performance the first time, I didn’t take much note of the fact that she’s playing from sheet music, because pianists do. Not everybody plays from memory all the time…but then I looked closer. The sheet music is actually displayed on a tablet. This had me thinking, “I’ll bet that makes page-turning easier!” After all, reaching up to flip a page without breaking the musical phrase isn’t the easiest thing in the world to do, and many times in performance pianists will actually have a page-turner sitting nearby. I figured a tablet would be easy: she just has to reach up and tap the screen on the right side and the page will flip. However, if you watch, she does not do this! The tablet turns the page automatically! Which means that there must be a music display app that listens to the performer and tracks them along with the score, and turns the page accordingly? That kind of blows my mind, I must admit. And for all I know, they’ve been doing it this way for years!)

The center movement, “Summerland”, has taken on a life of its own as a standalone work, even being arranged for wind symphony. It’s always interesting to hear the way a work changes depending on a change in performance instrument or group. It’s still the same work…and yet it is also a completely different work.

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Spring in the 716

Here’s the scene in my back yard, Sunday, March 27:

Ayup.

It’s funny about this area: we always get snow this late in the year. One recent year we actually got snow on Mother’s Day, which is still six or seven weeks away. This is not unusual. Granted, snows this late in the year don’t generally pile much on (unless you live in the hillier climes downwind of Lake Erie, areas which are ten to twenty miles south of Casa Jaquandor), but as much as I really do like snow, generally by St. Patrick’s Day I’m emotionally done with the stuff.

Being vexed by snow this late in the year is one thing, but what always gets me is how surprised a lot of people in this region are by it. Every year, we get our first post-equinox snow forecast, and I hear a lot of “Oooooh, I thought we were done with it for this year!” It amazes me that people can live in a place for years and still be caught by surprise by something that happens every year. Weird.

I continue to believe that Buffalo’s winters really wouldn’t get nearly the bad rap they do if spring here wasn’t like this: two months of mostly gray-and-muddy, punctuated by a random stray 50-degree day here or there and more often by a snowfall. We don’t start seeing real, honest green around here until mid-May, and I think a lot of people just mentally combine the cruddy two months of spring into the actual winter. And yes, it does get old. So I look out on our new fresh bed of snow, and all I can muster is, “Well, at least we don’t have to wipe off muddy dog paws today.”

Here’s the same photo from above, with a Prisma filter applied. Just because.

And I’ll probably get to take another just like it before long!

Posted in On Buffalo and The 716 | Tagged , | 3 Comments

Something for Thursday (Friday edition)

Yup, missed a day. And here it is, a day later, and I still don’t know what to post! So, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to sign onto my SiriusXM account, see what the first song comes up on whichever of my favorite stations loads first, and that’s what I’ll post here. Here we go!

[clicks a few times]

Huh. Well, OK, here it is! (And I solemnly swear that this really is what came up first. I did not choose this song for any particular meaning!)

I’m going to take a break for the weekend as I try to do some catch-up stuff. See y’all on Monday!

 

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The Result of a Rabbit Hole

In order, these things happened:

  1. SiriusXM played “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot.
  2. I looked up the song and read through the lyrics, where I learned that the last transmission from the ship was the Captain reporting, over the radio, “We’re holding our own.”
  3. I look up the details of the Edmund Fitzgerald and learn that she sank in just over 500 feet of water.
  4. YouTube suggests this video of an oil tanker encountering very rough seas.
  5. YouTube then suggests this video in which the depths of various shipwrecks (omitting the Edmund Fitzgerald) are compared.
  6. Noting that the deepest shipwreck on that list is over twice as deep as the Titanic, I look up the deepest shipwreck of all time.
  7. I find this news article about the surveying and mapping of the wreck of the USS Johnston, which went down in World War II in more than 21,000 feet of water.

It’s interesting how you can just follow links and ask a few questions and learn something new, isn’t it?

And it’s been an interesting year for shipwrecks, what with the Endurance being found and a dispute forming over the possible wreck of the Endeavour.

Posted in On Science and the Cosmos | 1 Comment

Tone Poem Tuesday

Returning to the Ukrainian composer Aleksandr Shymko, I’ll bet you didn’t think an accordion would be a natural instrument to pair with a string orchestra, did you? Why, no, you didn’t. Luckily, Mr. Shymko did.

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“They’re called ‘quotation marks’.”

Diving a bit deep into the weeds of the writer brain, I’m always thinking about…quotation marks. Because my way of using them is, for most Americans, incorrect. This drives my poor friend and editor, Jason Bennion, to distraction each and every time I send a manuscript his way. And I am always sympathetic, apologetic, and…unwilling to change.

What’s the issue?

The problem isn’t quotation marks in passages of dialogue; those I deploy correctly (or when I mess up, it’s a genuine typo). My problem comes when using quotation marks when denoting words or phrases specifically, at the end of a sentence. Because now the question becomes, Where does the punctuation go?

In American usage, punctuation always goes inside the quotation marks, no matter what:

“Surely you’re joking,” he said. “You cannot seriously think we’re going to let Mr. Bond live.”

Now, that example I get right. But here’s an example where I differ with many:

He passed her a slip of paper on which he had written a single word: “Monopoly”.

See the difference? In American usage that should be:

He passed her a slip of paper on which he had written a single word: “Monopoly.”

To me, though, that looks wrong. And it always has looked wrong to me. In my brain, what’s in the quotes is itself a single unit, and I honestly don’t get why the period should be inside. This holds even for phrases in quotes:

We were playing Hearts, and as I looked at my hand, I realized I could take all the tricks in this hand. This is called “Shooting the Moon”.

But, if that phrase where in a sentence that is itself a quote? I get even messier:

I looked at my hand and I thought to myself, “Look at this hand! I might try…’Shooting the Moon’!”

Again, this drives my editor friend crazy.

To my great delight, though, a while back I did some searching to see just how badly incorrect I am on this–not that I had any intention of correcting my habit, because at this point in my life the die is cast, I can budge no farther on this, and it will have to be my way of things, one of my authorial and personal editorial quirks, not unlike how The New Yorker always employs a diaresis in words containing diphthongs (not to be confused with the umlaut)–I found an article that makes the point very nicely. It turns out that my preferred usage of quotation marks aligns with the British:

Since a period marks the end of a sentence, it should not be placed before marking the end of the quotation. You can compare this with nested or hierarchical structures, or with stacks, or even with first in, first out methods of computing, systems theory or asset management. Under any comparison, the British style will seem preferable to the American. You resolve the nested item first, before resolving the parent.

While I certainly do not align with the British in all such matters, in this one, their approach seems much more logical and sensible, as well as more consistent. But reading this post, I suddenly realize where my tendency on this comes from: way back when I was a computer nerd (in another universe I’m something of a computer programmer), I learned that in programming, parentheses must always be closed, and if you closed them incorrectly, bad things would happen to your program. If you had a program section or line with multiple parentheses-usages inside each other, you had to close them out. This results oddly (in passages that (might look kind of (if you’re not used to it) strange)). This also made debugging programs a lot of fun, if the bug that was killing your program was that somewhere in Line 63 you had three left-parentheses but only two right-ones.

So I treat quote-marks as programmers do parentheses: You close one out before doing anything else, and that includes any punctuation that does not specifically belong to the word or words in the quotation marks.

I shall therefore continue using my quotation marks in the British manner, and I shall continue to “eschew the American”.

i have spoken

 

 

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