Something for Thursday

I’m guessing this would fall under the category of “cultural appropriation” in some way, right? This is movie music by English composer John Barry, which he wrote for the James Bond film You Only Live Twice. The film takes place in Japan, so Barry tried to incorporate an “Oriental sound” into his score, which was the practice in 1967 but which now seems oddly disrespectful.

And yet, it’s John Barry, so the result is unquestionably beautiful. This cue underscores a false “wedding” in which Bond, disguised as a Japanese fisherman, takes a local “wife”, who is really an undercover agent working with him. The cue is lovely and delicate in a way not usually associated with Bond.

 

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A metamorphosis, in progress

When we moved to WNY way back in 1981, my grandmother visited and noticed that our new backyard had a lot of milkweed in it. She told me that milkweed is a preferred plant for Monarch butterfly caterpillars, and we should go out and see if we could find any. And we did! Quite a few, even. She helped me modify a jar (by punching holes in the lid), and after picking a few milkweed leaves and stalks, we had ourselves a habitat for a caterpillar. In this way she showed me how to nurture a caterpillar all the way to the formation of its chrysalis, and then to monitor the chrysalis for the shifts in color at the end that indicate that a butterfly will soon be emerging. At that point we would open the jar and put it outside so the butterfly could escape when the time came. I never did get to actually witness the moment of emergence, but it was still an amazing bit of participation in the natural world. It was also, I imagine, the kind of participatory lesson that is passed on from generation to generation, not unlike catching fireflies in a jar for a bit or learning to fish. (I never learned to fish, by the way. Not every lesson gets learned by everyone. And no, that’s not a complaint. Fishing looks like a lovely pastime, but it’s not one where I feel like I’ve missed out.)

Why do I bring any of this up? Well, a few years back a milkweed plant managed to seed itself in the mulch bed right outside our front door. We’ve let the milkweed grow each year, and this year it finally happened. This past Saturday we met this individual:

And then our friend disappeared. We wondered where the beastie got to…and then, yesterday when I got home from work, I found the beastie’s new digs. Right on the siding. I wonder why (s)he built there and not in the safety of the milkweed…but I suppose it’s fine.

The wheel turns.

 

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Tone Poem Tuesday

The things you learn on the radio! This morning I heard this piece, and after it was done I learned why they played it: on this date in 1962, the lower deck of the George Washington Bridge, which connects Manhattan and New Jersey, opened. American composer William Schuman later wrote this piece for concert band, inspired by the span of this great bridge. Schuman, one of the most important American composers of the 20th century, wrote of this piece:

There are a few days in the year when I do not see George Washington Bridge. I pass it on my way to work as I drive along the Henry Hudson Parkway on the New York shore. Ever since my student days when I watched the progress of its construction, this bridge has had for me an almost human personality, and this personality is astonishingly varied, assuming different moods depending on the time of day or night, the weather, the traffic and, of course, my own mood as I pass by.

I have walked across it late at night when it was shrouded in fog, and during the brilliant sunshine hours of midday. I have driven over it countless times and passed under it on boats. Coming to New York City by air, sometimes I have been lucky enough to fly right over it. It is difficult to imagine a more gracious welcome or dramatic entry to the great metropolis.

(credit)

Here is George Washington Bridge by William Schuman.

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Pictures from a Weekend

Presented without comment. More on my Flickr page!

 

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Two sentences each on some movies we’ve watched recently

I don’t have much in depth to say about some of these, so I’ll limit myself to two sentences each!

::  Happiness for Beginners: This cheerful and utterly unsurprising rom-com, which unfolds on a hiking trip, is worth watching for some STUNNING nature shots. Keep the PAUSE button at the ready.

::  Always Be My Maybe: This, on the other hand, is a cheerful but actually occasionally surprising rom-com, featuring Randall Park and Ali Wong as Asian-American friends from youth who wander in and out of a relationship over the years. It has some big laughs, lots of heart, and a terrific cast.

::  Bridesmaids: I’ve no idea why, but I expected this to be a kind-of female-cast version of The Hangover. It isn’t, and that’s not a problem because it’s really good and Kristen Wiig is always a delight.

::  The Laundromat: I was completely flummoxed by this very strange film. I honestly don’t think I could assess it without a rewatch.

::  Bullet Train: This movie is so flat-out gonzo weird that I loved it. Imagine Pulp Fiction, on speed, on a bullet train in Asia.

::  How Do You Know: If you want a rom-com you won’t remember the next day, here you go. And that’s too bad, because the cast is fantastic.

There you go! More to come after we’ve watched some more stuff! Lately we’ve been plowing through Never Have I Ever…, which we’re loving and which we’re almost done with, as well as old episodes of Cutthroat Kitchen. And of course, MasterChef, which remains as full of shit as ever. The third season of Only Murders in the Building is unfolding as I write this, and four episodes in, this go-round is more uneven than the last two, though it does seem like in the last two episodes the mystery is starting to lock in, after quite a bit of backstage filler material. But the cast and the production is still perfect and I’d watch this trio of leads if they just recited old Presidential speeches, and not the good speeches, either. We’re talking Chester Arthur here.

As John Oliver likes to say, “Moving on….”

 

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Nineteen

It’s the birthdays you should be celebrating, but aren’t.

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“Still, in all, I’m happy….”

(The formatting for this post went a bit wonky when I cut-and-pasted the lyrics from another site. I hope this renders the way it’s supposed to.)

There are a few songs that I’ve known since the earliest time I was aware that there were things called “songs” in the first place. One of them has lyrics that go like this:

CHORUS: I have been a roverI have walked aloneHiked a hundred highwaysNever found a homeStill in all I’m happyThe reason is, you seeOnce in a while along the wayLove’s been good to me.

There was a girl in DenverBefore the summer stormOh, her eyes were tenderOh, her arms were warmAnd she could smile away the thunderKiss away the rainEven though she’s gone awayYou won’t hear me complain

CHORUS

There was a girl in PortlandBefore the winter chillWe used to go a-courtin’Along October hillAnd she could laugh away the dark cloudsCry away the snowIt seems like only yesterdayAs down the road I go

CHORUS

This song is called “Love’s Been Good To Me”, and it was written by poet and songwriter Rod McKuen, whose work was apparently very popular in the 20th century. I honestly don’t know much about his work at all other than this particular song, to be honest.

This song has not attained “classic” status, but it hasn’t vanished into obscurity, either. It’s been covered a bit, though not so much as some other stalwarts of the “Great American Songbook”. Maybe that’s because melodically it’s not a “big tune” kind of song that rewards vocal pyrotechnics; this isn’t the kind of ballad that the Whitney Houstons of the world would belt from the stage of an arena in front of 15,000 lighter-waving (or cell-phone waving, these days) fans. It’s a more wistful kind of song; the attraction here lies in the words themselves. A convincing performance of this song requires vocal acting, really: the singer has to actually sound like a person looking back at relationships from the vantage point of years (or even decades), with a mix of sadness that the love has ended but also the happiness that the love happened at all.

Here is the Kingston Trio:

That’s lovely, although it’s not the version I grew up hearing. This next version, by Tom Jones, is interesting. Of all the versions I’ve heard, Jones comes closest to making “Love’s Been Good To Me” into a vocal showpiece, which is probably to be expected; after all, it’s Tom Jones. He chooses a slower tempo, which is interesting in itself, and the guitar in the background is certainly busy. The song becomes more of a vocal showpiece by virtue of Jones taking it slow and pitching the song to favor his almost-operatic sound in his upper register. This is a beautiful rendition, but still not the one I knew as a kid.

Next is, so far, the only cover I’ve found thus far by a female singer: Nina Simone, who gender-flips the song for her own tastes. Her voice here does have the sound of someone with the experience of roaming the country, occasionally finding love along the way. She has a raspy quality, especially in the higher notes, that suits this song pretty well.

Then there’s this, maybe the most convincing version as far as the sound goes: you can’t hear this version and not think, “Yup, that’s the voice of someone with decades on the road behind them.” This is Johnny Cash, who covered “Love’s Been Good To Me” on one of his very last albums. (In fact, it was released posthumously.) At this point, Cash’s baritone remained, but it was thinner, reedier; you can hear the air in his voice, and you can hear him working to get into the higher register. In all the versions of this song I’ve heard, Cash’s might be the closest marriage of the meaning of the words with the voice singing it.

There are others that I won’t post here, more for space reasons than anything else…Orson Bean covered it (though it seems to have disappeared from YouTube for now), and of course Rod McKuen himself recorded it, quite effectively. If you search the song on YouTube you’ll find a lot of covers, some by well-known singers and more by singers who are not much known these days anymore. But the version I grew up learning and knowing?

Well, that’s by perhaps the single biggest singer of the entire twentieth century. I always figured that he was a younger man when he recorded it, but I’ve just looked it up, and the album A Man Alone, which is all songs by McKuen, came along when the singer in question was already in his 50s.

Here’s Mr. Sinatra.

 

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Something for Thursday

Ladies and gentlemen…Mr. Kermit the Frog.

 

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Thinking about Light

I took this quick photo of Carla and Rosa, enjoying the sun by the patio door, last week. It was just a quick “Hey, that’s cute, let me grab my phone” kind of thing; I didn’t put any effort into composing the shot in any way. I just liked the way it looked.

There’s nothing wrong with Carla’s right eye; it just looks like that in the picture for some reason.

Looking at the result, with the shadows cast across their bodies by the upright parts of the sliding door, reminded me of a conversation I had with a photographer friend years ago, and a lesson he tried teaching me that I didn’t understand at the time.

His name was–still is, I’m guessing, though I’ve lost track of him over the years–Robert, and he was an artist who was skilled in a number of different mediums but who ended up working as a photographer. He was an artistic photographer, that is to say, and his main focus was on the human body. He worked to create images on film (or, later, digital, I suppose) that captured and celebrated the human form in a way not unlike the statue-carvers of Ancient Greece and Rome. Robert chose his models carefully and coached them into poses that made their bodies look astonishingly perfect. Apparently one of his models, upon seeing the result, commented along the lines of “You make us into gods.”

The lesson about light went roughly as follows: Robert emailed me a photograph of his, in which a lovely young model is standing in bright light that is streaming into a dark place…but she is also standing behind a ladder. Thus the rungs of the ladder cast strips of shadow onto her body, and they did so in such a way that the shadows weren’t so much cast onto her body as draped across it, like strips of cloth. He angled the camera in such a way that the shadows were not straight blocks of anti-light, but organic-looking shapes of darkness that followed the model’s curves, the way her body rose here and fell there. It wasn’t just that light was present, it was the way the light was shaped by its blocking of the ladder and by the careful position of what the light was falling on.

I found this interesting at the time, but I don’t think I appreciated it nearly as well as I’m starting to now, as I begin exploring photography in a much more intentional way. I haven’t been getting out when the light is considered “best” by pro photographers–sunrise, sunset, and overcast days–but being in forests can help, as the trees themselves make the light dance and fall in interesting ways.

It’s quite a transition, going from thinking in terms of capturing a scene to thinking in terms of capturing light.

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Tone Poem Tuesday

Our local classical station, WNED, tends to be a bit heavy on the Dvorak. They play a ton of him. Like, a whole lot. Sometimes I think they need to tone down the Dvorak a little.

Other times I choose to listen to some Dvorak and I think, “Yeah, it’s fine, he is a crowd-pleaser, after all, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” This probably comes from his use of rustic folk songs and dance rhythms in his music, in which you can hear his Czech heart beating through every bar. Like in this concert overture!

Here is “My Home” by Antonin Dvorak.

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