And so sang the singer-songwriter, too, as he strummed his ukulele , the miniature guitar-like instrument often associated with Hawaiian music, on stage at the 92nd St. Y Monday at 8pm:
"The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures and instructions for dancing
But, I love it when you read to me
And you, you can read me anything.
The book of love has music in it
In fact that's where music comes from
Some of it is just transcendental, some of it is just really dumb
But, I love it when you sing to me
And you, you can sing me anything."
So sang in his deep voice, Stephin Merritt, earnestly -- near tenderly. A stunning juxtaposition of low, thundering vocal sounds -- that somehow indicate seriousness -- and touching lyrics laced with sentimental turns of phrase.
Merritt has released albums under the band names the Magnetic Fields, the 6ths, the Gothic Archies, and the Future Bible Heroes. Rolling Stone and Spin magazines named the Magnetic Fields album, 69 Love Songs, released in 1999 -- the album containing the song quoted above -- one of the best albums of that year.
With lyrics that listeners find charged, it was ironic to hear Merritt all but refuse to acknowledge what others describe as a jarring quality that infuses his lyrics as he -- leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out straight in front of him, the tips of his shoes sticking up, the pageboy cap atop his head slanting down -- sipped on the amber-colored liquid he had poured into his glass from a cylinder placed on the stout table between singer-songwriter and interviewer.
Merritt seemed reluctant to talk about the meaning behind the lyrics he'd penned --most of which had been scribbled into his little black book as he sat in dark corners of bars, he said. Almost a smidgen resentful -- or at least ready to flip the question back to the interviewer, author Rick Moody -- was Merritt if Moody probed too deeply for more telling responses.
Even when Moody mentioned that "Book of Love" was played at both his wedding as well as, coincidentally, the wedding of a Y staffer, instead of answering the question thereafter posed -- as to if knowing this was at all satisfying to Merritt as an artist -- the singer-songwriter instead turned the question back on Moody.
"Well, why did you decide to pick that song?" asked Merritt.
"It has tremendous emotional force," said Moody.
And, yet, a force that Merritt would all but deny, seemingly unwilling to admit or agree to the potency of his own lyrics -- even to Moody, a well-versed fan who in his introductory statement of the evening, spoke the accolade: "He's the finest singer-songwriter of my generation."
A dedication mirrored by the tenth-grade English teacher next to whom I happened to sit, who also sung Merritt's praises before the show began. The teacher had traveled from Queens with a group of high school students to attend the performance.
As to if lyrics can and should be printed on the page and distributed as pure poetry, Merritt said "No," that the two are different. Poetry makes its own music, he said, with the varied rhythm of its words; whereas, lyrics alone would not generate music and go best with the tunes that were written to accompany them.
When asked by an audience member which of his lyrics is most authentic, Merritt shuttered at hearing the word, asking the audience, "Authentic?"
"I make no effort to be authentic," said Merritt. "I am authentically singing. I am authentically playing the ukulele. But, with lyrics, I make no attempt to be authentic."
Some listeners, though, may disagree.
In the song, "Walking My Gargoyle" (a ditty which Merritt confessed was somewhat about walking his Chiwawa whose hair resembles a gargoyle) he sings "I found him on the church/he helps me with my research." There is a dry humor in the lyrics. Each new line leads to something unexpected, and thus is eagerly anticipated. I'd argue that this gargoyle idea looks suspiciously, dare I say, authentic.
When asked if his lyrics are autobiographical, Merritt said "No."
Interviewer Moody didn't let him off easy on that question, coming back around a few times as if to say, in a manner far more eloquent, "Come on, Guy, are you saying that none of this stuff is taken from your life experience?"
Still, Merritt said "No."
All in all, Merritt performed three songs. After Moody exhausted his list of questions, index cards with questions from the audience found their way to the stage.
Moody handed the last card to Merritt, rather than read it aloud to the crowd.
"You decide first before I read the question," he said.
Written on the card, said Merritt, was a song request.
A request that met with denial.
"I don't have the words with me to that song," said Merritt.
As such, the evening ended, with Merritt giving a slight thumb's up when it was announced that his work for the evening was officially complete. He seemed not to like the spotlight, what's more, being asked to explain the words he had composed.
Merritt suggests that the lyrics he writes are humdrum modern pop songs with inauthentic lyrics.
Yet, upon hearing him sing and watching him play music live, one cannot help but see a certain playful, boyish humor and a downright borderline-sappy tenderness seep out. However it may be explained or brushed away, open your eyes and ears. It's there. And, it's beautiful.
These things -- lyrics -- really require no explanation, though.
And perhaps, in the end, that's the real take-home message from Merritt. To explain the lyrics may only take something away from the experience of that lyric, of that song.
Your Girl About Town
**Tuesday night: Get your hot wings and pitchers of beer at Trivia Night at Gael Pub. I'll be there with my five-brain team "Electric Mayhem". Last week we ... well, D, did swimmingly. Starts at 9pm. Hint: Study the dart board on the wall a few minutes before the first round begins ;)
**Wednesday night: Rockefeller Tree Lighting. No, it's not just a Christmas thing -- it's a good-cheer, holiday say-g'day-to-your-neighbor, giving-spirit, Happy ChristmaHanuKwanza One-World thing. Plan to get there at 5pm if you want to see the action up close. Last year, we got there at 7pm only to watch from a propped-up TV screen.
11/21/2006
UES...A Has-Been?
Before anything else, I must tell you this. Check it:
Singer-songwriter Stephin Merritt (Yes, of the Magnetic Fields) will have an on-stage chat with novelist Rick Moody about the life of the singer-songwriter at the 92nd St. Y on November 27 at 8pm. What’s more, a live performance with Merritt – on the ukulele – follows the talk.
If you're unfamiliar with the music, go to Rhapsody where you can play 30 tracks for free. Your Girl's favorite track? "All the Umbrellas in London." Good music to run your heart ragged to on a rainy day.
In other news, surely by now you've read all about it in New York magazine. Right?
It was one of the "most e-mailed" articles from the magazine last week.
The Upper East Side took an, err, lashing when it was pretty much labeled a has-been.
The article, The Death of (the idea of ) The Upper East Side, written by Jay McInerney, tracks the historic development of this very neighborhood and talks about – to the dismay of those clinging to the idea of Upper East grandeur – the recent migration of upper-echelon rollers downtown.
These ideas, reported by McInerney, did serve well to make his point:
1. In recent years, UES fell from zip code grace. In Spring 2006 Forbes announced Tribeca -- 10013 -- as the most affluent Manhattan abode (the 12th in the nation). Soho -- 10012 -- made a 31st-in-the-nation showing. The UES? It pulled a national ranking of 255.
2. John Kennedy Jr.'s migration to Tribeca may have been the impetus for the shift, as suggested by McInerney.
3. Big Girl Nan Kempner's death last year may have propelled the shift, and perhaps marked the end of the glamour-and-glitz years on the Upper East.
4. Denying Whitney its innovative, architecturally stunning glass tower indicates a certain persistence on the part of the Upper East to maintain a level of classic, conservative, somewhat stuffy style all but abhorring the edgy modern style those in search of a fresh, more "fun" vibe, as McInerney refers to it, may seek.
But, let us consider:
Yes, it is hard to find raging late-night activity on the UES. But it’s sometimes nice to go to the party, not have it blaring from the apartment above you or the bar below. Ever notice how many people you meet on the LES who live on the UES? It’s just a subway- or cab-ride away. I would point out, too, that many who choose to live on the Upper East like it this way, and even prefer the calm, having opted to move here because it is peaceful, with its no-honking ordinances.
I used to live at the corner of East 51st and Second Avenue, above a Rite Aid pharmacy and alongside a string of rowdy, all-night bars and pubs. Not a night went by when the bars didn’t belch a crooning group of revelers -- and many a vehemently arguing couple -- just below my window. Ambulances. Trucks. Pick-up of the glass recyclables at about 5am. Stacking of the plastic bins outside the pharmacy somewhere around 5:30am. Oh, how sweet that first night of Upper East sleep was (albeit on the living floor before our beds arrived) with the windows opened wide, not to the sounds of city chaos, but to a heavy rain. Here, I found a slumber deeper and sounder than I’d known over a year's time spent in midtown.
Yes, there are many elderly Upper East Siders dressed in their Sunday best, parading around the neighborhood. But some, such as myself, may find a certain historical charm in this. One day, I was running to Central Park and saw a younger woman helping an 80ish man with a crooker back cross the street. He wore a shocking banana yellow shorts suit (Yes!) a safari hat and white socks pulled up to his knees. For me, there is an inexplicable lore in seeing these "antique" people as McInerney amusingly refers to them and gray-haired couples shuffling down the street holding hands, as young couples pushing strollers pass by. There is a history here; there are stories seeping from the walls of these doorman-clad buildings – and to be sure, there are stories here yet in the making.
No, I don't think anyone moves here these days seeking lavish luxury.
But, they may move here because: It's safe. It's convenient (86 & Lexington). The streets are clean. Boxes of flowers, brownstones, dogs, babies, and trees abound. The park in all its lushness is never more than a few blocks away. There's a sense of community here (just attend a couple of the local events) and an imperative placed on the arts. Thrift shops galore, august temples and churches, boutiques rife with non-branded clothing.
For those who take time to get to know where they live, there’s a favorite bagel shop, book store, coffee shop, bakery, restaurant, street block, neighborhood walk, produce stand, museum, community center, dog park, diner for each of them to discover.
And, for those open to it, the Upper East Side is a neighborhood -- full of characters to be met and old haunts to be explored anew.
Still, the question must be asked: If the Upper East has been redefined, does this mean the street names on the Monopoly board must change?
At home on the Upper East Side,
Your Girl About Town
Singer-songwriter Stephin Merritt (Yes, of the Magnetic Fields) will have an on-stage chat with novelist Rick Moody about the life of the singer-songwriter at the 92nd St. Y on November 27 at 8pm. What’s more, a live performance with Merritt – on the ukulele – follows the talk.
If you're unfamiliar with the music, go to Rhapsody where you can play 30 tracks for free. Your Girl's favorite track? "All the Umbrellas in London." Good music to run your heart ragged to on a rainy day.
In other news, surely by now you've read all about it in New York magazine. Right?
It was one of the "most e-mailed" articles from the magazine last week.
The Upper East Side took an, err, lashing when it was pretty much labeled a has-been.
The article, The Death of (the idea of ) The Upper East Side, written by Jay McInerney, tracks the historic development of this very neighborhood and talks about – to the dismay of those clinging to the idea of Upper East grandeur – the recent migration of upper-echelon rollers downtown.
These ideas, reported by McInerney, did serve well to make his point:
1. In recent years, UES fell from zip code grace. In Spring 2006 Forbes announced Tribeca -- 10013 -- as the most affluent Manhattan abode (the 12th in the nation). Soho -- 10012 -- made a 31st-in-the-nation showing. The UES? It pulled a national ranking of 255.
2. John Kennedy Jr.'s migration to Tribeca may have been the impetus for the shift, as suggested by McInerney.
3. Big Girl Nan Kempner's death last year may have propelled the shift, and perhaps marked the end of the glamour-and-glitz years on the Upper East.
4. Denying Whitney its innovative, architecturally stunning glass tower indicates a certain persistence on the part of the Upper East to maintain a level of classic, conservative, somewhat stuffy style all but abhorring the edgy modern style those in search of a fresh, more "fun" vibe, as McInerney refers to it, may seek.
But, let us consider:
Yes, it is hard to find raging late-night activity on the UES. But it’s sometimes nice to go to the party, not have it blaring from the apartment above you or the bar below. Ever notice how many people you meet on the LES who live on the UES? It’s just a subway- or cab-ride away. I would point out, too, that many who choose to live on the Upper East like it this way, and even prefer the calm, having opted to move here because it is peaceful, with its no-honking ordinances.
I used to live at the corner of East 51st and Second Avenue, above a Rite Aid pharmacy and alongside a string of rowdy, all-night bars and pubs. Not a night went by when the bars didn’t belch a crooning group of revelers -- and many a vehemently arguing couple -- just below my window. Ambulances. Trucks. Pick-up of the glass recyclables at about 5am. Stacking of the plastic bins outside the pharmacy somewhere around 5:30am. Oh, how sweet that first night of Upper East sleep was (albeit on the living floor before our beds arrived) with the windows opened wide, not to the sounds of city chaos, but to a heavy rain. Here, I found a slumber deeper and sounder than I’d known over a year's time spent in midtown.
Yes, there are many elderly Upper East Siders dressed in their Sunday best, parading around the neighborhood. But some, such as myself, may find a certain historical charm in this. One day, I was running to Central Park and saw a younger woman helping an 80ish man with a crooker back cross the street. He wore a shocking banana yellow shorts suit (Yes!) a safari hat and white socks pulled up to his knees. For me, there is an inexplicable lore in seeing these "antique" people as McInerney amusingly refers to them and gray-haired couples shuffling down the street holding hands, as young couples pushing strollers pass by. There is a history here; there are stories seeping from the walls of these doorman-clad buildings – and to be sure, there are stories here yet in the making.
No, I don't think anyone moves here these days seeking lavish luxury.
But, they may move here because: It's safe. It's convenient (86 & Lexington). The streets are clean. Boxes of flowers, brownstones, dogs, babies, and trees abound. The park in all its lushness is never more than a few blocks away. There's a sense of community here (just attend a couple of the local events) and an imperative placed on the arts. Thrift shops galore, august temples and churches, boutiques rife with non-branded clothing.
For those who take time to get to know where they live, there’s a favorite bagel shop, book store, coffee shop, bakery, restaurant, street block, neighborhood walk, produce stand, museum, community center, dog park, diner for each of them to discover.
And, for those open to it, the Upper East Side is a neighborhood -- full of characters to be met and old haunts to be explored anew.
Still, the question must be asked: If the Upper East has been redefined, does this mean the street names on the Monopoly board must change?
At home on the Upper East Side,
Your Girl About Town
11/17/2006
To Text or To Call
That was the question thrown onto the dinner table last night. And, over sushi, edamame, and pitchers of beer it was hashed out among the sexes:
To Text or To Call?
******
I let out a loud guffaw and an "Oh, come on" hand wave at a recent UES dinner party when someone said to me,
"Oh, you're blogging now. That's soooo Carrie Bradshaw."
With a quizzical look, I said, "Nah, I don't really cover that kind of stuff," dismissing the idea.
The reasoning seemed sound to me. En punto. Case closed.
But, there was this one snag that kept catching my fingernail. Not only did people keep repeating the Carrie Bradshaw comment, but every time I would be out and about I would get drawn into this playful banter revolving around the struggle between the sexes to figure each other out. In a flash, I awakened to this debacle that is dating on the UES.
Call it a little experiment, if you will.
But, every time I went out with young professionals, I started listening to see if dating came up; and if yes, how many times.
When I started to pay attention, the numbers overwhelmed me.
Yes, I was shocked. Dating came up. Constantly. Incessantly. Confusions. Dilemmas. Victories. Losses. Games. And more confusions. Who should pay? Who should call? After how long? Is the place-holder concept workable?
Surely, after all this time, after all these years, these marriages and divorces, these generations before us, we've figured this out ... right?
Oh, how wrong. No. Oh, no. Dating seems to confuse as many people now as it always has and guys, girls, women and men want answers.
Last night, I was persuaded by demand over the edge. I certainly can't answer these questions, but I'm open to exploring them.
Because the fact is that so long as you're living on the Upper East Side and you're not married, dating -- love it, loathe it -- is going to be a part of your life. Yeah, we all work a lot. But yeah, we play, too. Even if dating is not in your life and you like it that way, it's a part of your friends' lives.
Every week, I'll explore a dating topic that is not invented, but that has come up in conversations. Got a topic? Post it and we'll explore it. There seems to be an impromptu panel of us forming up here, and we're ready to get to the bottom of this enigma.
*******
Last night was a Lower East Side night. I went first for sushi with a group of four women, three men. NYU grad students in urban planning, advertising execs, finance execs, a recruiter who was out for the first time with one of the "new hires" after a company happy hour.
And, Lordy. They just kept being thrown down on the table. Men lusting after older women, women in "perfect" not-dating-but-best-friends relationships that sounded simple but complex, Ms. Y gets a call from a new interest -- should she call back? or text? She gets up from the table.
Then I went to a friend's birthday party.
Again, playing silent --Ok, not silent, but disengaged -- observer, I heard the dating questions crop up. Everybody seemed to have something about which he or she was confused, or curious, or both.
I ran into a friend from the 92nd St. Y down there at ACE and par chance, we ended up sharing a cab with his friend, the man at the 92nd St. Y who's charged with planning all the Y-sponsored "singles" events on the UES.
Hmmmm. What of these "singles" events?
You mean people actually show up to things called "Singles" events?
Oh yeah, he said. About 60 of them turn out at each gig.
************************
This brings me to last night's question of intrigue: You're dating someone. Should phone calls and text messages be interpreted differently?
Hmmmm. That's a good one. The guy I dated most recently actually did not have text messaging. It was not an option. And, my best friend here despises text messaging, claiming it's the most impersonal thing ... ever. She even mildly rebukes me if I dare to send a text instead of calling her.
Texting is many things. It's convenient: "c u @ 68 n Park @ 7" and it is also a way to put yourself out there, without putting yourself out there.
There's less pressure in texting. You text and so-and-so elects to call you back or not. There are the late night texts in which people can wax poetic; this can come into play in long-distance relationships. But, yes, I think it's safe to say texting is a bit of the easy way out, or a clever way to test the waters.
So, in that way, it makes sense to me to start a relationship off by texting the prospective date/mate. It's just easier, and safer. But, as things develop, I'd imagine phone calls are the preferable means of communication. It used to irk me when I could not send a text message to the guy I was dating. It forced me to actually pick up the phone and have to say something in my voice. And have to wait to hear the response.
You can get attached to a person's voice, and conversations have a way of being unpredictable.
Texting is straightforward. And while you can still get attached to those "I heart you" messages, overall, there's still less risk of eventual heartbreak there than if you're accustomed to hearing your datable say "Good night" on the phone.
So, if you dig someone, if you really dig someone, and you're over the testing-the-waters stage, I'd say pick up the phone and give him or her a call. Really get to know the person -- because texting won't really tell you much.
Unless, let's say, you're strings-free and really not interested in talking with someone or getting to know him or her. Well then, texts away. Set up a rendezvous. Go out on the town. Have a blast.
*******
Join in the dialogue.
I set it up, you all hash it out among yourselves, and maybe, just maybe, we'll all figure it out one of these days.
Keep smiling. And, keep dating. Keep livin' it on the Upper East Side.
Your Girl About Town
To Text or To Call?
******
I let out a loud guffaw and an "Oh, come on" hand wave at a recent UES dinner party when someone said to me,
"Oh, you're blogging now. That's soooo Carrie Bradshaw."
With a quizzical look, I said, "Nah, I don't really cover that kind of stuff," dismissing the idea.
The reasoning seemed sound to me. En punto. Case closed.
But, there was this one snag that kept catching my fingernail. Not only did people keep repeating the Carrie Bradshaw comment, but every time I would be out and about I would get drawn into this playful banter revolving around the struggle between the sexes to figure each other out. In a flash, I awakened to this debacle that is dating on the UES.
Call it a little experiment, if you will.
But, every time I went out with young professionals, I started listening to see if dating came up; and if yes, how many times.
When I started to pay attention, the numbers overwhelmed me.
Yes, I was shocked. Dating came up. Constantly. Incessantly. Confusions. Dilemmas. Victories. Losses. Games. And more confusions. Who should pay? Who should call? After how long? Is the place-holder concept workable?
Surely, after all this time, after all these years, these marriages and divorces, these generations before us, we've figured this out ... right?
Oh, how wrong. No. Oh, no. Dating seems to confuse as many people now as it always has and guys, girls, women and men want answers.
Last night, I was persuaded by demand over the edge. I certainly can't answer these questions, but I'm open to exploring them.
Because the fact is that so long as you're living on the Upper East Side and you're not married, dating -- love it, loathe it -- is going to be a part of your life. Yeah, we all work a lot. But yeah, we play, too. Even if dating is not in your life and you like it that way, it's a part of your friends' lives.
Every week, I'll explore a dating topic that is not invented, but that has come up in conversations. Got a topic? Post it and we'll explore it. There seems to be an impromptu panel of us forming up here, and we're ready to get to the bottom of this enigma.
*******
Last night was a Lower East Side night. I went first for sushi with a group of four women, three men. NYU grad students in urban planning, advertising execs, finance execs, a recruiter who was out for the first time with one of the "new hires" after a company happy hour.
And, Lordy. They just kept being thrown down on the table. Men lusting after older women, women in "perfect" not-dating-but-best-friends relationships that sounded simple but complex, Ms. Y gets a call from a new interest -- should she call back? or text? She gets up from the table.
Then I went to a friend's birthday party.
Again, playing silent --Ok, not silent, but disengaged -- observer, I heard the dating questions crop up. Everybody seemed to have something about which he or she was confused, or curious, or both.
I ran into a friend from the 92nd St. Y down there at ACE and par chance, we ended up sharing a cab with his friend, the man at the 92nd St. Y who's charged with planning all the Y-sponsored "singles" events on the UES.
Hmmmm. What of these "singles" events?
You mean people actually show up to things called "Singles" events?
Oh yeah, he said. About 60 of them turn out at each gig.
************************
This brings me to last night's question of intrigue: You're dating someone. Should phone calls and text messages be interpreted differently?
Hmmmm. That's a good one. The guy I dated most recently actually did not have text messaging. It was not an option. And, my best friend here despises text messaging, claiming it's the most impersonal thing ... ever. She even mildly rebukes me if I dare to send a text instead of calling her.
Texting is many things. It's convenient: "c u @ 68 n Park @ 7" and it is also a way to put yourself out there, without putting yourself out there.
There's less pressure in texting. You text and so-and-so elects to call you back or not. There are the late night texts in which people can wax poetic; this can come into play in long-distance relationships. But, yes, I think it's safe to say texting is a bit of the easy way out, or a clever way to test the waters.
So, in that way, it makes sense to me to start a relationship off by texting the prospective date/mate. It's just easier, and safer. But, as things develop, I'd imagine phone calls are the preferable means of communication. It used to irk me when I could not send a text message to the guy I was dating. It forced me to actually pick up the phone and have to say something in my voice. And have to wait to hear the response.
You can get attached to a person's voice, and conversations have a way of being unpredictable.
Texting is straightforward. And while you can still get attached to those "I heart you" messages, overall, there's still less risk of eventual heartbreak there than if you're accustomed to hearing your datable say "Good night" on the phone.
So, if you dig someone, if you really dig someone, and you're over the testing-the-waters stage, I'd say pick up the phone and give him or her a call. Really get to know the person -- because texting won't really tell you much.
Unless, let's say, you're strings-free and really not interested in talking with someone or getting to know him or her. Well then, texts away. Set up a rendezvous. Go out on the town. Have a blast.
*******
Join in the dialogue.
I set it up, you all hash it out among yourselves, and maybe, just maybe, we'll all figure it out one of these days.
Keep smiling. And, keep dating. Keep livin' it on the Upper East Side.
Your Girl About Town
11/16/2006
Managing Expectations
Ha! You have to laugh when you go somewhere expecting one thing, only to experience something far different -- no less pleasing, but far different nonetheless. Last evening I headed to the Americas Society at East 68th Street and Park Avenue sitting amid the hustle-bustle Hunter College campus. I'm abashed, but I admit that when I heard the words "Brazilian" and "Percussion" I was thinking: Rio, the vibrant city that doesn't sleep; and, Carnival beats with a slice of lush Brazilian Amazon.
Well, my preconceived notions definitely got their check last night. Yes, this was an event celebrating the First Annual Latin American Cultural Week in NYC. And, while we were celebrating Latin American culture, we were celebrating Upper East Side style with all its lush ballroom trappings, and chandeliered glory. This was no street carnival celebration; this was a high-culture concert.
Chairs had been placed in the formal second-floor drawing room where you could admire the intricate molding, high ceilings, hardwood floors and pastoral scenes painted on the ceiling. A study in creams were the walls, stripes of silky wallpaper lining the interior. Save for a few in the back, each of the roughly 60 seats was occupied.
This was percussion music, not "drumming" in the way I was thinking of it. The marimba music was refreshingly distinct to my ears. Brazilian percussionist Eduardo Leandro, who heads up percussion studies at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst played an instrument known as the quartertone marimba. I can't recall ever having seen this instrument played live before. Leandro played with four mallets, two in each hand, rolling his wrist back and forth to strike high and low notes on the wooden bars, bouncing them off each other. Quite an astonishing sight to see. The musical selections were pan American and made for mallets, including premieres of works by Alejandro Vinao and Florivaldo Menezes, marimba works by Mexican and Brazilian composers; and John Cage's Sonatas and Interludes for Prepared Piano, reworked for the marimba.
Remember those films you saw in high school anatomy class that showed how blood circulates through the ventricle system? There was always that man with the soothing voice narrating the blood's path through the canals of the human body ... and there was always that background music simulating the flow, the constant movement, of blood rushing through the veins. This was that music. The pings and pangs interacting drummed up an image of a pinball game -- just how batting the tiny ball again the walls of the pinball game creates tones, so does the striking of the mallet off the wooden bars. Of course the classical sonata tones are more complex and pleasing to the eardrums than the collage of sounds produced in the arcade game.
The next Upper East Side event is TONIGHT and literary in nature: The Launch party for Review 73: Literature and Arts of the Americas, a journal highlighting Brazilian writing. The panel discussion "Iconoclasts in Brazilian Culture and Society" starts at 7pm with panelists Christopher Dunn (Tulane University), K. David Jackson (Yale University), Nicolau Sevcenko (Universidad de Sao Paulo, Harvard, guest editor of Review 73)
Well, my preconceived notions definitely got their check last night. Yes, this was an event celebrating the First Annual Latin American Cultural Week in NYC. And, while we were celebrating Latin American culture, we were celebrating Upper East Side style with all its lush ballroom trappings, and chandeliered glory. This was no street carnival celebration; this was a high-culture concert.
Chairs had been placed in the formal second-floor drawing room where you could admire the intricate molding, high ceilings, hardwood floors and pastoral scenes painted on the ceiling. A study in creams were the walls, stripes of silky wallpaper lining the interior. Save for a few in the back, each of the roughly 60 seats was occupied.
This was percussion music, not "drumming" in the way I was thinking of it. The marimba music was refreshingly distinct to my ears. Brazilian percussionist Eduardo Leandro, who heads up percussion studies at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst played an instrument known as the quartertone marimba. I can't recall ever having seen this instrument played live before. Leandro played with four mallets, two in each hand, rolling his wrist back and forth to strike high and low notes on the wooden bars, bouncing them off each other. Quite an astonishing sight to see. The musical selections were pan American and made for mallets, including premieres of works by Alejandro Vinao and Florivaldo Menezes, marimba works by Mexican and Brazilian composers; and John Cage's Sonatas and Interludes for Prepared Piano, reworked for the marimba.
Remember those films you saw in high school anatomy class that showed how blood circulates through the ventricle system? There was always that man with the soothing voice narrating the blood's path through the canals of the human body ... and there was always that background music simulating the flow, the constant movement, of blood rushing through the veins. This was that music. The pings and pangs interacting drummed up an image of a pinball game -- just how batting the tiny ball again the walls of the pinball game creates tones, so does the striking of the mallet off the wooden bars. Of course the classical sonata tones are more complex and pleasing to the eardrums than the collage of sounds produced in the arcade game.
The next Upper East Side event is TONIGHT and literary in nature: The Launch party for Review 73: Literature and Arts of the Americas, a journal highlighting Brazilian writing. The panel discussion "Iconoclasts in Brazilian Culture and Society" starts at 7pm with panelists Christopher Dunn (Tulane University), K. David Jackson (Yale University), Nicolau Sevcenko (Universidad de Sao Paulo, Harvard, guest editor of Review 73)
When: 7pm, TONIGHT
Where: Americas Society: East 68th Street and Park Avenue. Reception to follow.
How Much: Free!
The First-Ever Latin American Cultural Week in NYC offers some fantastic events. And, the America Society has its own calendar of events. Here are a few up-coming, prime picks:
The First-Ever Latin American Cultural Week in NYC offers some fantastic events. And, the America Society has its own calendar of events. Here are a few up-coming, prime picks:
November 21: Columbia: Voicing the Conflict (Video Screening and Panel Discussion)
December 6: Dialogue between artist AA Bronson and curator Linda J. Park
December 13: A concert commemorating the 20th Anniversary of Jorge Luis Borges' death
It's a big world out there. And, it's a far-reaching town we live in. Get out there, get your cultcha, and get to know them both!
Your Girl About Town
11/14/2006
Tonight & Barnaby Furnas on Art
This just in: There's going to be a hot performance of Brazilian Drumming at 7pm esta noche (as in, tonight) that's ... Free! ... at the Americas Society: East 68th St. at Park Avenue in celebration of the First-Ever Latin American Culture Week. ***Call 212-277-8359 for reservations. Andale! Andale!
It's one thing to wander aimlessly through the Whitney Museum of American Art (945 Madison Avenue at East 75th), pausing only in front of the paintings that call out for one reason or another.
It's an entirely different thing to be led through a show at the Whitney by a contemporary painter who explains the works -- not only how they define an historical art movement, but also how the works helped shape his or her own art.
Tonight, American painter Barnaby Furnas,33, led a sizeable group through the Picasso and American Art show with associate curator Dana Miller. Through the public programs series, you can take such a Gallery Tour on certain evenings at 7pm for $8.
What struck me about Furnas immediately was how young he looked and how expressive his hands were as he talked about art. What I noticed next was the way in which he talked about art -- using a technical lexicon to explore line, space, and form as they related to the works; and broader concepts such as time as they related to a completed painting. Later what struck me were the tidbits about his personal influences, and moreover, his own work style.
When first hearing there was a Picasso exhibit at the Whitney, a museum featuring American art, I was a little perplexed. Picasso, I thought, that doesn't sound very American. Yet, seeing the juxtaposition of his internationally acclaimed work with the American works mirroring the maverick style, the idea made sense.
Though he admitted to never liking the word, Furnas talked about the advent of "cubism" and how radical this new way of looking at reality was for painters of Picasso's time.
In the first room, you see Picasso's cubism surrounded by the flickering of American artists' experimenting with the new spatial language. Here were Picasso's contemporaries following in his footsteps, treading along with him into untrodden territory, veering wildly from the traditional forms of painting that went before -- whereby if you saw an orange in a blue bowl on a table, that's what you painted.
What a time it must have been. Attempting something so new, with a brotherhood (hey, come to think of it -- where were all the sisters?) of painters, comrades "knowing what each of the others was working on at any given time," as Furnas put it. Painters who fed, literally fed off this unhinging momentum, urging it ever faster into the territory beyond.
At one point, looking at one painting in particular by Picasso, Furnas spoke about the strong influence this painting had on his work, an influence he says he never fully recognized until he was interviewed for Vogue magazine.
His father, said Furnas, had always wanted to be a painter but constricted by the Quaker household in which he was raised, became an architect instead. An architect that hung Picasso prints throughout the Furnas household. It was to these prints still hanging on the walls after his father left -- when Furnas was about 12 -- that he found himself looking into wondering where his father had gone and why. The fractured quality of his own work, said Furnas, can be traced back to that adolescent searching.
As you proceed through the rooms, you see cubism yield itself to something more aggressive, a more vociferous response from the American artists.
You come to a room rife with de Koonings and Pollocks that is charged with a ferocious thrashing about of paint.
"This is as aggressive as painting gets," said Furnas when standing in front of a canvas that Pollock had stood over, striking and swirling the paint as he saw fit.
And in that same room, there it was: That Willem de Kooning scraped-over painting of the Woman on the Bicycle (1952-3). That painting has stayed with me since that art history classes of my college years, and still intrigues me. I'd never seen it live and in person. It's ginormous. A Bukowski poem rendered through paint, that's what it reminds me of. This struggle to paint a woman, as shown through a canvas that's been worked and scraped over until an image as grotesque and eye-popping as they come is hung and stamped with the word "woman", reminds us how many times the sexes have battled. Such unnerving bitterness. Whatever did she do to him?
On what it is like to be a contemporary painter making works of art in the footsteps of such masters, Furnas said that for painters, hearing that they can now do anything can be daunting.
What was most interesting to me was hearing Furnas talk about his work process. He likes to wear big headphones. "So I can be there," he said, "really be there." He sits alone, under a solitary spotlight. And he creates expressive works of art. And sometimes, he said, he just wants to "Paint the music." Sounds like a radical concept. Sure hope he's wearing a bulletproof vest next time he goes into those blood-soaked battlefields.
Included in the 2004 Bienniel Exhibition, Furnas' paintings depict American history using violent imagery and rich colors. His large-scale Apocalypse (2005) was recently on view at New York's Lever House.
**Check out the next Gallery Talk: November 29 at 7pm with Ken Silver and Christine Stansell (there's a sister painter) on the same Picasso and American Art exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art, 945 Madison Avenue at East 75th Street.
Your Girl About Town
It's one thing to wander aimlessly through the Whitney Museum of American Art (945 Madison Avenue at East 75th), pausing only in front of the paintings that call out for one reason or another.
It's an entirely different thing to be led through a show at the Whitney by a contemporary painter who explains the works -- not only how they define an historical art movement, but also how the works helped shape his or her own art.
Tonight, American painter Barnaby Furnas,33, led a sizeable group through the Picasso and American Art show with associate curator Dana Miller. Through the public programs series, you can take such a Gallery Tour on certain evenings at 7pm for $8.
What struck me about Furnas immediately was how young he looked and how expressive his hands were as he talked about art. What I noticed next was the way in which he talked about art -- using a technical lexicon to explore line, space, and form as they related to the works; and broader concepts such as time as they related to a completed painting. Later what struck me were the tidbits about his personal influences, and moreover, his own work style.
When first hearing there was a Picasso exhibit at the Whitney, a museum featuring American art, I was a little perplexed. Picasso, I thought, that doesn't sound very American. Yet, seeing the juxtaposition of his internationally acclaimed work with the American works mirroring the maverick style, the idea made sense.
Though he admitted to never liking the word, Furnas talked about the advent of "cubism" and how radical this new way of looking at reality was for painters of Picasso's time.
In the first room, you see Picasso's cubism surrounded by the flickering of American artists' experimenting with the new spatial language. Here were Picasso's contemporaries following in his footsteps, treading along with him into untrodden territory, veering wildly from the traditional forms of painting that went before -- whereby if you saw an orange in a blue bowl on a table, that's what you painted.
What a time it must have been. Attempting something so new, with a brotherhood (hey, come to think of it -- where were all the sisters?) of painters, comrades "knowing what each of the others was working on at any given time," as Furnas put it. Painters who fed, literally fed off this unhinging momentum, urging it ever faster into the territory beyond.
At one point, looking at one painting in particular by Picasso, Furnas spoke about the strong influence this painting had on his work, an influence he says he never fully recognized until he was interviewed for Vogue magazine.
His father, said Furnas, had always wanted to be a painter but constricted by the Quaker household in which he was raised, became an architect instead. An architect that hung Picasso prints throughout the Furnas household. It was to these prints still hanging on the walls after his father left -- when Furnas was about 12 -- that he found himself looking into wondering where his father had gone and why. The fractured quality of his own work, said Furnas, can be traced back to that adolescent searching.
As you proceed through the rooms, you see cubism yield itself to something more aggressive, a more vociferous response from the American artists.
You come to a room rife with de Koonings and Pollocks that is charged with a ferocious thrashing about of paint.
"This is as aggressive as painting gets," said Furnas when standing in front of a canvas that Pollock had stood over, striking and swirling the paint as he saw fit.
And in that same room, there it was: That Willem de Kooning scraped-over painting of the Woman on the Bicycle (1952-3). That painting has stayed with me since that art history classes of my college years, and still intrigues me. I'd never seen it live and in person. It's ginormous. A Bukowski poem rendered through paint, that's what it reminds me of. This struggle to paint a woman, as shown through a canvas that's been worked and scraped over until an image as grotesque and eye-popping as they come is hung and stamped with the word "woman", reminds us how many times the sexes have battled. Such unnerving bitterness. Whatever did she do to him?
On what it is like to be a contemporary painter making works of art in the footsteps of such masters, Furnas said that for painters, hearing that they can now do anything can be daunting.
What was most interesting to me was hearing Furnas talk about his work process. He likes to wear big headphones. "So I can be there," he said, "really be there." He sits alone, under a solitary spotlight. And he creates expressive works of art. And sometimes, he said, he just wants to "Paint the music." Sounds like a radical concept. Sure hope he's wearing a bulletproof vest next time he goes into those blood-soaked battlefields.
Included in the 2004 Bienniel Exhibition, Furnas' paintings depict American history using violent imagery and rich colors. His large-scale Apocalypse (2005) was recently on view at New York's Lever House.
**Check out the next Gallery Talk: November 29 at 7pm with Ken Silver and Christine Stansell (there's a sister painter) on the same Picasso and American Art exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art, 945 Madison Avenue at East 75th Street.
Your Girl About Town
11/13/2006
Neighborhood Wares
Yes, you really can't get the mood of a canvas wrong when it's called "Table with Lanterns." Enough said. The scene has been named, the table set. The good news is that -- had you a yard -- the vision itself could be replicated for a fraction of the asking price.
The power in this painting though, is in capturing a moment in time -- the cusp of a wish, the vision of a dream, the uncorked wine bottles shiny with anticipation. Who knows if for the artist this scene actually existed or occurred, or if it was all imagined. Does it matter?
Wonder what it would cost for this gorgeous painting "La Table Aux Lanternes, Gerberoy" by Henri Le Sidaner to adorn the walls of your home?
Well, I can tell you.
While it was estimated to go for between $800,000 and $1,200,000 at the Sotheby's auction, this softly glowing oil painting, Lot 203, was sold to the highest bidder for $1,360,000 on November 8th.
And, if you purchased a Claude Monet painting from the estate of Lilyan S. Lindemann it would have run you upwards of $700,000.
At the urging of a friend, I accompanied him to the tall, sleek, silver-gray Sotheby's building at the corner of 72nd Street and York Avenue to check out the "property of distinguished collectors" that was up for the bidding. In anticipation of the mid- and late-November auctions, a showing of the wares for sale was taking place.
We first hit up the paintings. While period furniture is nice to look at, it's the paintings that really draw one in. I could stare at Claude Monet impressionist paintings for hours.
This was just like being at the museum. Although here, a spectator (albeit a well-to-do spectator) could shop, as well. Some of the paintings available for purchase were truly stunning up close. It may have had to do with the strategically directed spotlights that shone on the paint from just the right angles, picking up clumps of paint here, and glints of gild there. Many times, even the intricate frames were up for grabs.
Actually, this was more a cross between a museum and a cocktail party (hold the drinks). Clusters of would-be buyers huddled together, the tips of their eyeglasses dangling from their mouths as they pointed at canvases, heads lilting, and consulted one another.
Sotheby's folks, clad in black and holding open black binders close to their chests, watched from afar, ready for the take.
If you were in the market, here would be some of your options:
* Le Fumeur signed by Pablo Picasso on June 6, 1953 ($9-12,000,000)
* Au Val Saint-Nicolas Pres Dieppe, Matin by Claude Monet
* Pins Au Laget by Theo Van Rysellberghe signed by the artist in 1912 ($300-400,000)
One floor below one could find the discount racks.
There, a painting of a similar impressionist style, but a dissimilar and unfamiliar moniker was going for a mere $18,000 to $25,000. (Was Ferdinand de Puigaudeau rolling over his grave? He had it all: the stroke, the palette ... save for the name to fame?)
One interested eyeballer was asking questions intently. Seems wise enough, if one is contemplating buying from among the discounted goods.
"How many works have sold in the last three to six months?" he inquired.
And, "Why is the pricing so?"
"Can you tell me more about the artist, the painting?"
He seemed willing, asking really, to be swept up by a story. One of tragic woe, in which the artist (as a young man, to borrow from the classic) saw this landscape just before setting sail on a sea voyage to the art school in Italy he felt compelled to attend. While aboard ship, he tragically contracted scurvy, which led mercilessly to his untimely demise.
This, my friend, (cue pat on the back) was the last bedazzled horizon the aspiring artist set eyes on so fondly with the wisp of his paint brush. And as the story goes, he had painted this as a parting gift for his one true love. But, needing the money so desperately for his art schooling, he had been forced to sell it. The penned inscription was found only later scribbled on the back of the canvas. Ahhhh, the tragic life of the artist. Truly a shame.
Instead, the salesperson stayed the stolid course with this response:
"His work shows an impressionist influence. We sell one every now and again. The price is so because his name is not Monet."
On hearing that, the prospective buyer briskly walked away.
As with anything else, it pays to do the research. Surely, the history would lend itself to a story or two.
Go here to see a schedule of upcoming auctions at Sotheby's New York
Your Girl About Town
Tonight: Dance Theatre of Harlem
The show was sold out. A packed house. I lucked out by getting a last-minute, stand-by ticket to see the Dance Theatre of Harlem at the Guggenheim Museum last night at 7:30pm, marking more than 30 years since the company's Guggenheim debut in 1971. Tonight, there is another performance at 7:30pm. I strongly recommend you check this out: Seeing the ballet performed with urban beats and urban dips is quite awesome.
Chock-full was the program with actual dance. Sometimes at the Works and Process events where performances are followed by discussion with the creators themselves the chatter can be a little, well, long-winded, leaving you to crave seeing more of the actual work. Not last night. All told, there were three gripping, multi-part dance performances. After each, the choreographer would explain what had just occurred on stage. I'm a bona fide novice when it comes to dance performances, feeling moved by what I see but not having the expertise and vocabulary to recognize the technicalities of what I am seeing. Thus, hearing from the choreographers on how they came up with the dance ideas and what each of them is trying to do, and say, with the works provided much insight into the head of a dancer/choreographer. They each had a vision, and there were things they wanted these silent movements to say.
Set to the inquisitive sounds of maverick maestro Harry Partch, the excerpts from Castor and Pollux choreographed, by Robert Garland started the evening. The eclectic rhythms give this piece life. Men in ballet slippers surrounded and moved around one woman in the piece as their bodies maneuvered around one another, lifting and pulling and clinging -- it was quite powerful. The style was at once urban -- dancers would slink their bodies into position -- and classical -- once in positions they would hold them stern.
"It used to be a joke when I would describe this as post-modern urban neo-classicism," said Garland, laughing, who was principal dancer before he became choreographer. But, the definition took hold and he admits its accuracy. He incorporates vernacular moves with classic ballet and adds music that emphasizes rhythm and conjures up an exhilarating performance. This was not his first attempt at choreography, said Garland, who humbly said that the first piece he choreographed was to the same music, and was what he described as horrible. This showed the whole idea of "works and process". It's an on-going, evolutionary thing, this art. And having a few misses along the may be what leads to the many bull's eye hits to follow.
Next up on the roster was Endalyn Taylor, who said she got the idea for the "Ugly Duckling" when reading the classic story to her four-year-old one night. This is the first piece she ever choreographed. As an African American female ballet choreographer she is a pioneer. Despite some parts of the work (in process) being without the final musical score, and slight mishaps such as the wrong music being cued for the dance, Taylor remained calm and enthusiastic about the piece she had prepared for the audience, eagerly setting the stage for every part of the drama to be played out. Here, at Works and Process, that's what you see, the process of this work of art coming together. Awesome! It was comforting to know that true masterpieces may not start out that way. But through discipline and work and passion the vision becomes solidified in reality.
This piece was dramatic and almost acrobatic, sweeping up the audience in three vivid scenes from the story. Ashley Murphy was phenomenal as the lead dancer. In the first scene, the duckling awakens to her beauty and floats lightly around the stage; then, she meets her prince and escapes attacking peacocks clawing at each other; lastly, the duckling finds others just like her and spins around merrily with her prince. I cannot wait to see this ballet in its entirety!
The clasping and spinning and sweeping movements of the duckling and her prince were astonishing. He lifted her high above his head and spun her around; she slid down, clasping to and then releasing her body from that of her prince. The interplay of the two characters, meshing seamlessly, was dramatic and athletic. These young dancers outdid themselves and were poring every ounce of their passion into this dance.
To hear Taylor speak about the ideas behind the work and why she chose this theme was to see that she is sending a message, she is speaking her voice strongly into this work. We may see beauty in others that they do not themselves recognize, she said. To get them to see what is inside them is the gift, the mission. The world can be a cold and callous place, making swans feel like ugly ducklings, different and foreign, awkward and simply not good enough. But, the swan will eventually emerge. Or so the fairytale goes. And, all will be right in the world again. Now, that's an idea I like to see rendered by movement.
And, perhaps that's the key. These choreographers are making statements. Movement has a way of saying much without saying anything at all. And spellbound, you sit there, eyes glued to the dancers. How do they do that with their bodies? you ask as you revel in the pure beauty.
Keith Saunders choreographed the last work. Set to the music of Norah Jones, Ewan McColl, and Irving Berlin. "The first time ever I saw your face" started the lyrics. To hear the patter of ballet slippers and the tenderness of this song through movement was jarring.
The Harlem Dance Theatre is currently in hiatus. Thus, the group performing was the traveling ensemble that visits schools throughout New York City where many students have never seen dancers gliding gracefully on their toes. Arthur Mitchell, founder and artistic director of the Dance Theatre of Harlem, spoke about the changes going on, his new focus on the school and the training he is providing multiple students so that one day they may take over his role.
Miller expects the company to be back soon. Meanwhile, said Mitchell, he's enjoying teaching. His favorite group of students? "The three- and four-year-olds." Mitchell has dedicated his life to training young dancers, many of which have taken the discipline he instilled in them and gone onto successful careers -- the dean of the Creative Writing Program at Columbia University and the first African American woman to receive her medical degree from Columbia University were both his dancers, said Mitchell with pride. He has dedicated his life to giving young people the belief in themselves, the strength, and the tools to make their dreams come true.
If you're free, you don't want to miss this show tonight at 7:30 pm, the Guggenheim Museum, Fifth Avenue at 89th. Get there early to make sure you get a ticket -- or buy one online now.
Your Girl About Town
Chock-full was the program with actual dance. Sometimes at the Works and Process events where performances are followed by discussion with the creators themselves the chatter can be a little, well, long-winded, leaving you to crave seeing more of the actual work. Not last night. All told, there were three gripping, multi-part dance performances. After each, the choreographer would explain what had just occurred on stage. I'm a bona fide novice when it comes to dance performances, feeling moved by what I see but not having the expertise and vocabulary to recognize the technicalities of what I am seeing. Thus, hearing from the choreographers on how they came up with the dance ideas and what each of them is trying to do, and say, with the works provided much insight into the head of a dancer/choreographer. They each had a vision, and there were things they wanted these silent movements to say.
Set to the inquisitive sounds of maverick maestro Harry Partch, the excerpts from Castor and Pollux choreographed, by Robert Garland started the evening. The eclectic rhythms give this piece life. Men in ballet slippers surrounded and moved around one woman in the piece as their bodies maneuvered around one another, lifting and pulling and clinging -- it was quite powerful. The style was at once urban -- dancers would slink their bodies into position -- and classical -- once in positions they would hold them stern.
"It used to be a joke when I would describe this as post-modern urban neo-classicism," said Garland, laughing, who was principal dancer before he became choreographer. But, the definition took hold and he admits its accuracy. He incorporates vernacular moves with classic ballet and adds music that emphasizes rhythm and conjures up an exhilarating performance. This was not his first attempt at choreography, said Garland, who humbly said that the first piece he choreographed was to the same music, and was what he described as horrible. This showed the whole idea of "works and process". It's an on-going, evolutionary thing, this art. And having a few misses along the may be what leads to the many bull's eye hits to follow.
Next up on the roster was Endalyn Taylor, who said she got the idea for the "Ugly Duckling" when reading the classic story to her four-year-old one night. This is the first piece she ever choreographed. As an African American female ballet choreographer she is a pioneer. Despite some parts of the work (in process) being without the final musical score, and slight mishaps such as the wrong music being cued for the dance, Taylor remained calm and enthusiastic about the piece she had prepared for the audience, eagerly setting the stage for every part of the drama to be played out. Here, at Works and Process, that's what you see, the process of this work of art coming together. Awesome! It was comforting to know that true masterpieces may not start out that way. But through discipline and work and passion the vision becomes solidified in reality.
This piece was dramatic and almost acrobatic, sweeping up the audience in three vivid scenes from the story. Ashley Murphy was phenomenal as the lead dancer. In the first scene, the duckling awakens to her beauty and floats lightly around the stage; then, she meets her prince and escapes attacking peacocks clawing at each other; lastly, the duckling finds others just like her and spins around merrily with her prince. I cannot wait to see this ballet in its entirety!
The clasping and spinning and sweeping movements of the duckling and her prince were astonishing. He lifted her high above his head and spun her around; she slid down, clasping to and then releasing her body from that of her prince. The interplay of the two characters, meshing seamlessly, was dramatic and athletic. These young dancers outdid themselves and were poring every ounce of their passion into this dance.
To hear Taylor speak about the ideas behind the work and why she chose this theme was to see that she is sending a message, she is speaking her voice strongly into this work. We may see beauty in others that they do not themselves recognize, she said. To get them to see what is inside them is the gift, the mission. The world can be a cold and callous place, making swans feel like ugly ducklings, different and foreign, awkward and simply not good enough. But, the swan will eventually emerge. Or so the fairytale goes. And, all will be right in the world again. Now, that's an idea I like to see rendered by movement.
And, perhaps that's the key. These choreographers are making statements. Movement has a way of saying much without saying anything at all. And spellbound, you sit there, eyes glued to the dancers. How do they do that with their bodies? you ask as you revel in the pure beauty.
Keith Saunders choreographed the last work. Set to the music of Norah Jones, Ewan McColl, and Irving Berlin. "The first time ever I saw your face" started the lyrics. To hear the patter of ballet slippers and the tenderness of this song through movement was jarring.
The Harlem Dance Theatre is currently in hiatus. Thus, the group performing was the traveling ensemble that visits schools throughout New York City where many students have never seen dancers gliding gracefully on their toes. Arthur Mitchell, founder and artistic director of the Dance Theatre of Harlem, spoke about the changes going on, his new focus on the school and the training he is providing multiple students so that one day they may take over his role.
Miller expects the company to be back soon. Meanwhile, said Mitchell, he's enjoying teaching. His favorite group of students? "The three- and four-year-olds." Mitchell has dedicated his life to training young dancers, many of which have taken the discipline he instilled in them and gone onto successful careers -- the dean of the Creative Writing Program at Columbia University and the first African American woman to receive her medical degree from Columbia University were both his dancers, said Mitchell with pride. He has dedicated his life to giving young people the belief in themselves, the strength, and the tools to make their dreams come true.
If you're free, you don't want to miss this show tonight at 7:30 pm, the Guggenheim Museum, Fifth Avenue at 89th. Get there early to make sure you get a ticket -- or buy one online now.
Your Girl About Town
11/06/2006
Tonight, Tonight
Tonight at 8p.m., there's a performance of James Tate's poems set to the music of contemporary composers at the Guggenheim Museum. I went the show last night. Here's what to expect.
Now, you know Your Girl is often griping about the high ticket prices of arts events along Museum Mile, opining on how the prices deter many of her neighborhood friends from joining in and attending. Pleased to report decent price: $24 ($15 for students) and a good number of young bohemians in the mix.
It was a pleasantly uplifting experience I had at the Guggenheim Museum last night when poet James Tate spoke about his work and watched his poems be performed as set to sound.
How superb was it that after the event, there was a reception (included in the ticket price) in the bright, white main foyer where you could pick up a glass of wine and a triangular cucumber sandwich and actually meet the composers, musicians, and the esteemed poet himself to hear about their work.
Spot on, Guggenheim.
Herein rests the enticement and excitement of an event.
Not only that but viewers in attendance were standing around, chatting with one another. As I am always looking for other locals who enjoy checking out the local arts scene, I was delighted to see that people actually stayed, standing around to share their thoughts on the performance. Now, I go to a good number of events on the Upper East Side and I rarely see these types of receptions and minglings after the event. And, quite an eclectic group of spectators had turned out.
Bravo, Guggenheim. Bravo.
I definitely will be attending more Works & Process events in the near future.
Now, a taste of the performance itself.
Aren't living poets an interesting lot. James Tate sat cross-legged on the stage, his tie hanging diagonal from his neck.
He seemed much more comfortable reading his poems than be asked about them. He gave short answers when probed for the deeper meaning, as if to say, in his way, 'Hey, I write the things and let the reader bring and take what may.'
"There were quite a number of references to animals in your poems," said the moderator.
"And I read in your bio that your grandfather was a ... zoo keeper? Is that correct?"
The question conjured up laughter from the crowd.
"well, yes, that is true."
For this Works and Progress event, four contemporary musical composers -- Fred Ho, George Flynn, Arthur Kreiger, Charles Wuorinen -- each chose a James Tate poem that struck them and set it to music.
When asked why he chose to compose to the poem "Never Again the Same" said one of the composers: "Because it scared me."
Though Tate said he would describe himself as a realist, and not a surrealist, many of his poems invoke the absurd. "Teaching the Ape to Write Poems" may be one such example.
And, there is a certain immortality ever-present in his work as shown by one of his poems:
"Dear Reader
I am trying to pry open your casket
with this burning snowflake"
As Tate put it, this is reality, this is life, if you are open to it. It is unexpected and you do not know what awaits you around the bend.
"I'm just sitting around waiting for things to happen," says Tate.
"And when there's a goat at the door, you let him in."
One thing it did take some getting used to, was that with the words being sung and joined by music, you almost had to be reading the program simultaneously to make sure you were getting the poem itself. So, be sure and pick up a program on your way in.
Hungry for more?
Check it out tonight at the Guggenheim Museum 8pm.
Your Girl About Town
Now, you know Your Girl is often griping about the high ticket prices of arts events along Museum Mile, opining on how the prices deter many of her neighborhood friends from joining in and attending. Pleased to report decent price: $24 ($15 for students) and a good number of young bohemians in the mix.
It was a pleasantly uplifting experience I had at the Guggenheim Museum last night when poet James Tate spoke about his work and watched his poems be performed as set to sound.
How superb was it that after the event, there was a reception (included in the ticket price) in the bright, white main foyer where you could pick up a glass of wine and a triangular cucumber sandwich and actually meet the composers, musicians, and the esteemed poet himself to hear about their work.
Spot on, Guggenheim.
Herein rests the enticement and excitement of an event.
Not only that but viewers in attendance were standing around, chatting with one another. As I am always looking for other locals who enjoy checking out the local arts scene, I was delighted to see that people actually stayed, standing around to share their thoughts on the performance. Now, I go to a good number of events on the Upper East Side and I rarely see these types of receptions and minglings after the event. And, quite an eclectic group of spectators had turned out.
Bravo, Guggenheim. Bravo.
I definitely will be attending more Works & Process events in the near future.
Now, a taste of the performance itself.
Aren't living poets an interesting lot. James Tate sat cross-legged on the stage, his tie hanging diagonal from his neck.
He seemed much more comfortable reading his poems than be asked about them. He gave short answers when probed for the deeper meaning, as if to say, in his way, 'Hey, I write the things and let the reader bring and take what may.'
"There were quite a number of references to animals in your poems," said the moderator.
"And I read in your bio that your grandfather was a ... zoo keeper? Is that correct?"
The question conjured up laughter from the crowd.
"well, yes, that is true."
For this Works and Progress event, four contemporary musical composers -- Fred Ho, George Flynn, Arthur Kreiger, Charles Wuorinen -- each chose a James Tate poem that struck them and set it to music.
When asked why he chose to compose to the poem "Never Again the Same" said one of the composers: "Because it scared me."
Though Tate said he would describe himself as a realist, and not a surrealist, many of his poems invoke the absurd. "Teaching the Ape to Write Poems" may be one such example.
And, there is a certain immortality ever-present in his work as shown by one of his poems:
"Dear Reader
I am trying to pry open your casket
with this burning snowflake"
As Tate put it, this is reality, this is life, if you are open to it. It is unexpected and you do not know what awaits you around the bend.
"I'm just sitting around waiting for things to happen," says Tate.
"And when there's a goat at the door, you let him in."
One thing it did take some getting used to, was that with the words being sung and joined by music, you almost had to be reading the program simultaneously to make sure you were getting the poem itself. So, be sure and pick up a program on your way in.
Hungry for more?
Check it out tonight at the Guggenheim Museum 8pm.
Your Girl About Town
11/04/2006
License to Roam
The seating at the Met Auditorium is always assigned, so that the quality of seat you get depends on the person working the ticket booth. On this particular occasion, the booth attendee was rather nonplussed when I asked about the locations of the remaining seats and gasped at the one-size-fits-all $50 price tag. I was given a ticket reading Q1.
Soon, I learned what that meant when an attendant led me to Q1. Up one, two rows from the very last, there was mine, on the end.
There was one man seated in front of me. We were the only people in each of our respective rows. This at once made me laugh. Because while a healthy crowd had turned out on this Wednesday evening to listen to the Orquestra de Sao Paulo, directed by John Neschling, there were more than a few (a great many, to be exact) vacant spots nearer to the stage.
It seemed that it would be better for the musicians' morale (who had come from so far to play), if they could look out into the audience and sees a robust crowd applauding their performance. And, let us not forget that the whole thrill of seeing live music is the actual sight of it -- watching the musicians interact with their instruments to produce the most intimate and raucous of sounds, pinching their fingertips and arching their arms. The performance is as much in watching their bodies fold and curve, bowing to their instruments, as it is in hearing the notes themselves as they rise and fall.
So, with that justification in mind, when the auditorium fell dark and the music began to wash over the audience, I scurried up to the fourth row to take my seat.
Soon, I learned what that meant when an attendant led me to Q1. Up one, two rows from the very last, there was mine, on the end.
There was one man seated in front of me. We were the only people in each of our respective rows. This at once made me laugh. Because while a healthy crowd had turned out on this Wednesday evening to listen to the Orquestra de Sao Paulo, directed by John Neschling, there were more than a few (a great many, to be exact) vacant spots nearer to the stage.
It seemed that it would be better for the musicians' morale (who had come from so far to play), if they could look out into the audience and sees a robust crowd applauding their performance. And, let us not forget that the whole thrill of seeing live music is the actual sight of it -- watching the musicians interact with their instruments to produce the most intimate and raucous of sounds, pinching their fingertips and arching their arms. The performance is as much in watching their bodies fold and curve, bowing to their instruments, as it is in hearing the notes themselves as they rise and fall.
So, with that justification in mind, when the auditorium fell dark and the music began to wash over the audience, I scurried up to the fourth row to take my seat.
Now, I was in business.
The orchestra was quite large, filling the entirety of the stage. The women wore elegant black gowns, the men, dark suit coats. I kept marveling that none of the men's elbows had poked through their suit coats what with all the bending and straightening their elbows were doing as they dragged the bows up and down the strings of their instruments.
The Orquestra de Sao Paulo began with the Overture Guarnieri composed by Camargo Guarnieri.
But it was not until the second piece, Tchaikovsky's Variations on a Rococo Theme, Opus 22, featuring Antonio Meneses on the cello, that the crowd fell heads first into the stupor of adoration.
There are few words adequate enough to describe what it is to watch Meneses play his cello. It reminded me of the scene in the movie "Scent of a Woman" when Al Pacino danced with a beautiful woman, inhaling her feminine mystique and clutching her hand with ardor. At times, he slightly pushed away the instrument, reaching far back with his bow before striking another note; at other times he was fully hunched over the cello, reaching for the highest of notes with one hand on the bow, one hand on the strings, the two nearly meeting.
From the moment Meneses sat down and adjusted his instrument, his eyes were for the most part shut. On his face there was a slight grin and as the music gained complexity so would the look on his face, eyebrows furrowing, lips pursing. His fingers reached magically across the expanse of the strings, notes tumbling from high to low in the blink of an eye, his virtuosity shining through. His knowledge of the music flowing, his playing holding the crowd rapt.
As I sat, I thought. The work-a-day week halted. Images, come what may, flooded into my mind unabated. A classical music performance has a way of doing that. There are no words to distract you; there are no pictures to look at, other than the musicians giving themselves over to the music, enticing you to do the same. It is like reading poetry. Not in the way that there are words with prescribed meaning, but in the way that each spectator brings his or her own experience to the words and takes from the reading the message that most resonates. I won't bore you with the details on what I was pondering. I will tell you that I was smiling. Quite ridiculously, actually.
And, I can tell you that one glance around the auditorium told me I wasn't alone. This was full-on license to meditate. License to roam. And anyone not taking advantage, well, I suppose that was their loss.
In fact, I'd suggest a concert at the Met as a good first date, if you're into the arts scene. There's less pressure to come up with inane small talk that can bore the beegeesies out of you, and during a particularly climactic measure of the piece, one glance at your first date's face should be enough to tell you everything you need to know. Isn't it better to know all that without suffering through an entire small-talk-driven dinner about your favorite hobbies and your hometown?
There was a lot of Portuguese batted around the auditorium during intermission, as elegantly dressed men and women gesticulated lavishly. Over to my right, a woman ran her fingers again and again through the hair of the man with whom she was sitting next to as he looked off to the side. "Wasn't that just marvelous?" I overhead a woman say to the gaggle of white-haired companions surrounding her.
The Rachmaninoff piece that polished off the program had a rather feisty, energetic
bite to it. The final strike of the bows was met with an enthusiastic standing ovation. A collection of "Bravos" and whistles flew out from the back of the auditorium.
In response, Orquestra de Sao Paulo played an encore.
Can't say I've ever heard of that happening ... at a symphony performance. A most pleasant surprise.
And for the final number? What else other than a classic Brazilian piece that involved foot-tapping on the part of the orchestra members and a peppy drum beat reminiscent of a Brazilian street fair.
Now, that's what I call an encore.
On one final note, wouldn't it be great if the Met did a last-call ticket sort-of thing for mid-week concerts? I know countless twenty-somethings in the neighborhood that would love to pick it up and haul it a few blocks on a Tuesday or Wednesday evening to a concert (and that would surely help out a few of the lads in the first-date department). As it stands, I saw maybe a handful of young professionals, maybe five, at this concert. The arts could use some younger members in the audience -- and surely the younger musicians on stage would enjoy looking out to a few of their contemporaries.
The next orchestra performance at the Met will be January 26, 2007, The Hamburg Symphony with Andrey Boreyko, conducting and Robert McDuffie on the violin.
Enjoy!
Your Girl About Town
Your Girl About Town
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)