happy

Throwback Thursday: “Academic Festival Overture, op. 80,” Johannes Brahms

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I listened to this piece on loop during the last month of both my undergraduate and my graduate programs.  Normally I like the statelier tempo of George Szell and the Cleveland Orchestra, but Kurt Masur captures the real heart of this piece, which is basically, “oh please can this just be over already I am very very tired.”

There isn’t anything quite like the mad dash to the finish of any educational program.  You had no idea you had the capacity to write three papers and take four exams in the same week until you don’t have a choice in the matter.  The last month of my graduate program was especially heinous.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner could be found for $0.75 in the vending machine closest to the library.  My fuse was short as number of hours of sleep I allowed myself at night.  Fully inked yellow highlighters were currency.  I would do wall sits in between paper drafts to keep my legs limber (because clearly I couldn’t take an actual walk, that would take too much time).  The little dots next to my friends’ names on GChat would be red throughout the day until after 10pm, when they would turn over to green because they wanted company, moral support, and spell-check help.  It was a dark time.

And then, slowly, these massive boulders got pushed down the other side of the mountain, one by one, until one Tuesday afternoon.  I finished a paper, closed my computer, and after sitting for a minute, realized…I just did it.  I just did all my work.  I called my friend Rebecca who lived down the street and said, “I…uh…I think I just…finished.”  “Yeah…I think I did too…”  We sat in silence on the phone for a minute.  “This is weird.”  The daze lasted for about a day or two.  But then…

…at 8:30 in the piece, jubilation!  Gaudeamus igitur!  We got capped and gowned and graduated and drank champagne with little raspberries floating in it and called ourselves Masters.  It was a hell of a feeling.  So to all the students in my Capstone course, to all my friends who are turning in those papers now – keep your spirits up.  I promise it will be over soon.

Modernism Monday: “Not Half,” Alfie

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Normally I’m pretty perky on Monday.  Today, though…man.  The problem is, this weekend was particularly fun, and I know this week at work will particularly suck.  So there’s really only one song I can think of that will make me feel like I’ve got a compassionate friend.  Check out the horn interlude (you knew it was coming) at 1:43.  I had this on my headphones when I was grocery shopping once in college and I actually literally started dancing down a vegetable aisle.  I regret nothing.

Salubrious Saturday: “My Old Kentucky Home,” The Kings of Dixieland

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It’s Derby Day, Tune-Up fans, “the most exciting two minutes in sport.”  For my international readers who don’t follow or care about horse racing – unforgivable! – the Kentucky Derby is arguably the most important race of the year, and has been held on the first Saturday in May every year since 1875.  It is the first in what’s called the Triple Crown: the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness (held in Baltimore, Maryland), and the Belmont (in Elmont, New York, and no, that’s not a typo).  Whoever wins the Derby continues on to compete in the other two.  Kentucky being the seat of American horse country, it makes sense for the race that begins the Triple Crown to begin here.

The Derby has a number of traditions.  Official drink: the mint julep (which was invented in Washington, D.C., at the Round Robin bar, in case you had a trivia night planned later today).  Official flower: the red rose.  And, official song: My Old Kentucky Home.  Some call it the most moving moment in sports when the horses take the field and this song is played.  I think that’s a bit rich, and I love the Dixieland version much more.  So raise your julep and have yourself a grand day.  My money is on Wicked Strong (7-1 odds), by the way.  Obviously.

Throwback Thursday: “Violin Concerto in D major,” Erich Korngold

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I had the great good fortune of seeing this performed live with Gil Shaham about a few weeks ago and oh, jeepers, was it ever amazing.  I had never heard of Korngold before that night and I forgot how glorious it is to be surprised by new music.  This piece absolutely knocked me flat.

Korngold was an American composer and a contemporary of Aaron Copland – Korngold wrote this piece in 1945, three years after “Rodeo” and “Fanfare for the Common Man.”  Korngold experiments with both atonality and out-and-out romanticism than does Copland, but there are echoes of Copland’s work especially in the third movement (at 17:17).  More than anything, the violin concerto sounds like a movie score (“E.T.,” anyone?), which isn’t a surprise since Korngold did write movie scores.  In fact, his score for “The Adventures of Robin Hood” (with the raffish Errol Flynn) won an Academy Award in 1938, the first time the award had been given to a composer and not the director of the studio’s music department.

Beyond all this, the second movement (08:56) is just exquisite.  It’s my favorite part of the concerto.  Go ahead, call me a sap.

Termagant Tuesday: “Semper Fidelis March,” Bob Crosby

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What with all the hoo-hah happening in the world (yes, I am a defense analyst, hello), it occurs to one, especially this American one, that there are certain things we all count on to maintain order and stability.  Among these things, which would include trade and commerce, diplomacy, and a worldwide dislike of Justin Bieber (at least among those old enough to make powerful decisions), is the United States Marine Corps.  Say what you will about the use of American power abroad, you can’t deny that there is a reason why “Marine” has a powerful ring to it.  To salute my male and female friends in the Corps, most especially one friend in particular who is welcoming his first child into the world, I offer up this zippy Bob Crosby number.  Semper Fi!

Modernism Monday: “Touch The Sky,” Julie Fowlis

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Oh, Tuners, I am on such a high.  I ran the Nike Women’s half-marathon yesterday and I can’t believe I did.  I honestly can’t.  It’s going to be an experience that I’m going to lean on for years to come.  This song came on my iPod just as I was getting into a sweet cruising zone, and so now whenever I hear this, I’m going to remember that feeling of, “holy crap, I can do this!  I am doing this!” Every now and again, it feels really, really good to see what you can do when you really push it.

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”  – R.W. Emerson

Salubrious Saturday: “Conquering Lion,” Souljazz Orchestra

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Someone once asked me what my motto was.  And by “someone once asked me,” I mean I wish someone would have asked me once.  Except then I wouldn’t have been able to come with one on the spot, so thanks, everyone, for holding off until I could think of one.

Actually, ok, I lied.  I have a few.

  1. “Don’t be mean, don’t be stupid.”  – High school art teacher
  2. “Keep Calm and Don’t Suck.”  – A sign I saw once
  3. “What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.”  – R.W. Emerson
  4. “If there’s a can of whoopass in the room, I open it.”  – Brian Williams (yes, the NBC News Brian Williams.  Yes, he really said that.)

I like to think this song encapsulates all four.

Termagant Tuesday: “Jolie Coquine,” Caravan Palace

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Let’s list the things I want and can’t have, because that’s fun and healthy:

  • longer legs
  • thousands of dollars in disposable income per month for clothes
  • a bi-monthly trip to Europe (Paris, Prague, Munich, London, Barcelona, and Rome – on rotation)
  • internal organs that regenerate every night so I can indulge my vices scot-free
  • feet that can handle four-inch heels without pain
  • a mint green Vespa (I can’t have this because I would absolutely get pasted onto the side of a bus)
  • be best friends with Stephen Fry, P.G. Wodehouse, Dorothy Parker, Fred Astaire, George Plimpton, and David Rakoff, and have them over for dinner weekly
  • lots of glamor and very little responsibility
  • a metabolism like a bullet train so I can finally have a fettucine alfredo-centric diet
  • fluency in the theories of particle physics and epistemology
  • a microwave that doesn’t sound like a Zamboni when it heats up my turkey meatballs (I could have this if I didn’t have a fundamental belief that home appliances should cost about $10)
  • a castle
  • be guest conductor of the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra
  • be able to play the shawm (my neighbors would kill me)
  • basically be the most interesting woman in the world.  With really long legs and undead friends and absolutely incredible clothes.

I can’t have any of that.  But I can listen to this song and daydream about it.  That’s something.

Modernism Monday: “Don’t Carry It All,” The Decembrists

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I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what we require of ourselves and what we require of others.  What can we reasonably expect from other people?  What can we reasonably expect from ourselves?    And are our standards different?  I’ve always been aware that my standards are a bit skewed for certain emotions, by which I mean that I think I expect other people to be happy and allow myself a bit more breathing room.  Whereas, when it comes to sadness, it’s the complete opposite.  It is sometimes – most times? – easier for me to bear my neighbor’s burden than to ask them to help me bear my own.

But once we figure out what ratios are healthy for us, then the trick is sticking to it.  As my mother likes to say, “people don’t change – they just stand more clearly revealed.”  We have all had friendships sour because the person never stopped leaning on us, never started carrying their own weight again.  And maybe we’ve lost friends because we’ve done the same to others.  Do we slough off those friendships?  Or do we keep them?  It’s hard.

In the midst of all of this weird back-and-forth, this constant assessment, is the central fundamental truth that the only thing about a relationship that you can rely on is that it will change.  The Rector at my church, Luis Leon, gave a brilliant sermon on Easter Sunday in which he said that there is no such thing as absolute security.  I think that’s right, and I would gently bend that statement to fit this blog post by asserting that there is no such thing as an immutable relationship.  The best we can do, really, is to offer up an educated guess and see what happens.

This is what “Don’t Carry It All” reminds me of.

“So raise a glass to turnings of the season
And watch it as it arcs towards the sun
And you must bear your neighbor’s burden within reason
And your labors will be borne when all is done.”

Sacred Sunday: “Surrexit Christus Hodie,” Samuel Scheidt, John Arnold

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Surrexit Christus Hodie!  It’s Easter!  Hooray!  I apologize for being so late posting today’s Tune-Up, faithful readers; I’ve been singing Easter service and doing post Easter service activities.

Easter is, obviously, all about the resurrection of Jesus.  This being a joyous occasion, Easter music is just about the best of all liturgical music in the calendar, and all hinges on the central theme of rebirth.  We sang a few versions of this today.  First, my choir sang this glorious anthem by early 17th century German composer Samuel Scheidt. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been looking forward to it all year.  The version we sang was much longer than this (there are a total of six verses) but the tempo and tone are very similar.

Surrexit Christus hodie

Humano pro solamine

Mortem qui passus pridie

Miserrimo pro homine.

Laudetur sancta trinitas,

Deo dicamus gratias.

The words are from a 14th century Bohemian carol.  What do these latin lyrics mean?  This piece grew up to be that gem in the Easter crown, “Jesus Christ Is Risen Today,” whose tune was written by John Arnold about a hundred years later in 1749.

 

Whatever religious tradition you follow, wherever in the world you are, I hope you have a joyous day today.