Fun With Two Pianos

Rachmaninoff: Symphonic Dances and Suites for Two Pianos; Emanuel Ax, piano; Yefim Bronfman, piano

It seemed, at one time, like a third of my class in school took piano lessons. Not very many of them talked about it. I suppose that piano lessons aren’t a popular recess time topic. And I suspect that my friends only took lessons for a few years. Then they probably chose either a band instrument or a sport. By the time my class got into our high school years and the dust had settled a little bit, five of us had opted to continue with our piano lessons.

One girl in our class, D. V.B., took lessons from a teacher in Brookings. One January day, before band practice at school, D. asked me, “You’re playing in the Brookings Area Piano Teachers contest thingy in May, aren’t you?” Yup. “My teacher asked me if I wanted to sign up to play something in the ‘two-piano’ division. It sounded like fun to me. What d’ya say? You wanna throw down some ‘two-piano’ wackiness with me?” You betcha.

We chose two pieces to play: “Sheep May Safely Graze”, by my man J.S. Bach, and “Jamaican Rhumba”, by Arthur Benjamin. We rehearsed twice at her teacher’s studio and twice at my teacher’s studio. And on contest day we received a “superior plus” rating. We looked at each other and said, “Well, that was easy. Let’s do it again next year and choose something even wackier.”

Our junior year in high school swallowed us up. We didn’t avail ourselves of the opportunity to have that two-piano experience again. And when we were seniors, we were too cool to care.

Sergei Rachmaninoff was the king of the two-piano empire. He composed two two-piano suites early in his career, both of them quite lengthy. The very last composition that he wrote may rank as his finest. Mr. Rachmaninoff completed the “Symphonic Dances” in 1940. Neither the orchestral version nor the two-piano version can claim the birthright, by the way. He composed both of them at the same time.

It’s interesting to consider what it reveals about Mr. Rachmaninoff that he preferred two-piano concoctions when compared with Johannes Brahms’ penchant for duets. With Brahms, we have the image of him sharing the piano bench with his friend Clara Schumann. Having played some of Herr Brahms’ duets, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve blushed after accidentally – yes, accidentally – knocking pinkies with another pianist on the bench. I think Herr Brahms intended that to happen. With Mr. Rachmaninoff, the romance is gone. Both pianists get their own bed. Keyboard. I meant keyboard.

I don’t think as many young people take piano lessons these days. I find it sad. How often anymore does a young man idle away the afternoon playing duets at the piano with a young woman?

Credits: To D. V.B., for asking me to play the piano with her. It was my honor. Do you suppose God has a two-piano studio in heaven?

Where Have You Been? Part 2

North by Northwest; The National Park Series; Randy Petersen, composer

Where have I been? Here is another partial list.

Leningrad and St. Petersburg, within a month of each other. Helsinki and Pori in Finland. Copenhagen in Denmark. Oslo, Bergen, Trondheim, Tromso, Nordkapp, Hammerfest and Tranoy in Norway. Amsterdam, Delft and Rotterdam in The Netherlands. Middelkerke in Brussels. Calais, Le Havre, Paris and Versailles in France. Lausanne, Morgins, Zermatt and Zurich in Switzerland. Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Dinkelsbuhl, Stuttgart, Fussen, Frankfurt, Munich, Dachau, Oberammergau, Berlin, Rostock and Warnemunde in Germany. Through the Kiel Canal. Innsbruck, Seefeld, and Salsburg in Austria.

I bought an extremely powerful pair of binoculars in Leningrad. On our last night in St. Petersburg in 1991, the captain of the Crown Odyssey treated the crew to an evening at the St. Petersburg Circus. Some friends and I had lunch at the Zetor tractor restaurant in Helsinki. I heard jazz legend Wayne Shorter at the jazz festival in Pori. A harpist friend of mine and I rode the roller coaster at Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen. Joe M. and I packed a picnic, rode the train up to Holmenkollen Olympic ski jump, and enjoyed a sunny afternoon on the hills overlooking Oslo. A funicular took me up to the top of the cliffs of Bergen where I saw Edvard Grieg’s house. I visited the Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim and I visited the Arctic Cathedral in Tromso.

I bought my score to Rachmaninoff’s “Rhapsody On A Theme By Paganini” at a music store in Amsterdam. I ogled over Delft ceramics in Delft. The group that I traveled with in 1991 rode an overnight ferry from Rotterdam over to England. Some friends and I watched a festival parade from our ship in Le Havre. I spent two hours at the top of the Eiffel Tower one afternoon, observing the metamorphosis from bustling European metropolis into the romantic “City of Lights”. When no one was looking, I ran the entire length of the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles to see how long it would take. Thirty-two seconds.

I bought some horrible tasting chocolate in Lausanne and fed it to Dr. W. I rode the ski lift to the top of the hills overlooking Morgins and followed a herd of cows in order to see the prettiest place in French mooing Switzerland to eat grass. When I got to Zermatt, I took two cable cars to reach the closest restaurant to the Matterhorn (only two miles away) and had the world’s tastiest bowl of goulash soup. I changed planes in Zurich. My sister K. and I purchased a Weinacht’s pyramid for Mom at a Christmas store in Rothenburg ob der Tauber. By the way, I also saw a falling star during the daytime in the park while in Rothenburg ob der Tauber. I sat on a bench with a wonderful friend and watched the river go by in Dinkelsbuhl. I sang with a chorus for Sunday morning services at a church in Stuttgart. The men’s room window, over the urinals, provided the finest view from the heights of Neuschwanstein Castle near Fussen. I flew to London from Frankfurt. A waiter gave me horrible service at a sidewalk café in Munich. As you can imagine, I spent a dismal two hours at the concentration camp in Dachau. The owner of a bed and breakfast in Overammergau held a conversation with me entirely in German for five minutes. I went to the Greek museum in Berlin. My friends took me to the Rostock Zoo for my birthday. On that same day, I had some of the best Italian food ever at a little restaurant in Warnemunde.

From the Kiel Canal, I saw miles upon miles of cornfields. In Innsbruck, I marveled at the majestically colorful gardens in the city park. My friend S. and I rode “Der Happy Gschwandtkopf Lift” from the meadows surrounding Seefeld. And I sang Haydn’s “Lord Nelson” Mass at the Salzburger Dom on a Sunday morning with the choir of St. John Lutheran Church of Orlando, Florida.

But I have never spent any time in the Pacific Northwest of the contiguous forty-eight states.

Credits: To anyone, who can provide me with their best recipe for goulash soup. I think that God has goulash soup waiting for us at the great heavenly feast when we get called. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Waltzes and Waltzes

A Little Night Music; 1973 Cast Recording; Stephen Sondheim, composer

The Annapolis Chorale kicked off its 2008-2009 season with a concert production of Stephen Sondheim’s “A Little Night Music”. I had heard of the musical for years but had never sought out any information about it. Aside from “Send In The Clowns”, very few songs from the show lend themselves well to performances outside its synopsis.

I remember the day that Dad taught me the concept of categories. I don’t recall the circumstances, but he set me straight forevermore by simply stating, “Son, all pheasants are birds, but not all birds are pheasants.” It took me two seconds to understand what he meant.

All waltzes have a triple meter. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. But not all triple metered songs are waltzes. This rhythmic concept comes into play in the metric structure of the entire score of this musical. Every song that Mr. Sondheim composed for this show has, as its organic rhythmic base, some form of a triple meter.

He included a waltz, a mazurka and a polonaise. Some songs are in 3/4 time, some in 6/8 time, 9/8 time and 12/8 time. One is in 3/2 time. I have wondered whether this occurrence has any secret bearing on the overall plot outline, or any ponderous tenets to the storyline. But, from what I’ve seen and heard, it’s just a stunt. But what a classy stunt!

Credits: To my nephew N., for bringing pheasant for the Christmas dinner table. Mmmmmmmmmmmm.

A is for Apland

The Protecting Veil; John Tavener, composer; Yo-Yo Ma, cellist; Baltimore Symphony Orchestra; David Zinman, conducting

My Aunt J. lives in Cinnamonson, New Jersey. I make the trek about two or three times a year up route 301 on the Eastern Shore of Maryland to see her and her family. It’s a very pretty drive … until you get into New Jersey. The last five miles to her house, however, are quite nice.

About three years ago, while we were getting caught up over breakfast, I got a phone call on my iTelephone. Hello. “Hello, is this Erik?” Yes, what can I do for you? “I’m calling from the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. We have a concert series in the beginning of November that calls for a pianist within the orchestra. Would you happen to be available?” Yes. I am available. “Good. Well. That was quick.” What do you mean by “that was quick”? Did someone recommend me? “No, sir. I found you in the Baltimore Musician’s Union book.”

How about that? My new friend at the BSO must have turned to the A’s in the ol’ Union book and “struck gold” in the first few minutes. It seems that my qualifications to play with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra had less to do with my talent, abilities and musicianship at the piano than it did with my great-great-great grandfather’s last name when he walked off the boat onto American soil in the 1800’s.

I became curious about John Tavener’s instrumental music after hearing one of his choral pieces performed at the funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, in 1997. He imbues both his choral and instrumental music with an ethereal aura; with an almost palpable spirituality. When you hear his music, it feels like you’re wandering around in an ecclesiastical cloud. Profound significance completely surrounds you and meaning matters less than the intense experience itself.

The BSO called me three more times that season. In January, they called me for their Martin Luther King Day concert. In February they called me for a pops concert called “Pops Goes Vegas”. I thought it should have been called “Pops Goes Vegas, Baby”, but they forgot to call me about that. Then they called me to play in their big band that backed up the Four Freshmen.

But when I played for them in November, Michael Feinstein lit up the concert hall with his showmanship at the piano and his vocal prowess in such numbers as “Stormy Weather”, “The Way You Look Tonight”, and “S’Wonderful”. After singing a song from “Guys and Dolls”, he commented on composer Frank Loesser’s first marriage. He had married Lynn Garland in 1936. The two couldn’t make their union work and they divorced after only a few years. Forever after, Mr. Feinstein claimed, Frank Loesser referred to his first wife, Lynn, as the evil of two Loessers.

Credits: To Great-Great-Great Grandfather Apland, for giving me a leg-up in the Baltimore Musician’s Union book.

My friend from kindergarten

Expressions; Chick Corea, piano

I started kindergarten in the fall of 1971. Sioux Valley Schools put me in the “morning” kindergarten class. I got on the bus in the morning with my sister K. We dropped the first-graders through the sixth-graders off at the schoolhouse in the northwest corner of Bruce. Then my kindergarten classmates, along with the junior highers and high schoolers still on the bus, would continue on to Volga.

After a morning spent with Mrs. Clark, we got on the bus to go home at about half past eleven. And Mom had lunch ready when I got home.

We had about thirty-three kids in my morning kindergarten class. As a young South Dakotan, I never imagined that there could be that many people my age in the world. Then, Mom told me that there was an entirely different class that met in the afternoon full of thirty-three more kids my age. Well, who can make any sense out of that? I’ll believe it when I see it.

It took me a while to make friends out of these new kids. I am a procrastinator. It takes a while for me to scan the playing field and then bust a move. Eventually, I found a really good friend named Tim VW. We played together at recess. We sat on the floor together when Mrs. Clark taught us how to count to one hundred. We ate cookies together during snack time. And we rode the bus home together after school.

I must have talked about him to Mom and Dad because soon enough we went to visit him and his family. They lived on a farm only five miles away from us. Our families became pretty close.

In the fall of 1972, my seven Bruce classmates and I started first grade at the schoolhouse in the northwest corner of Bruce. For three years, we studied in isolation from the friends that we had made in kindergarten. Mrs. B., Miss M. and Mrs. P., in our new school digs, provided us with an almost “country school” experience. With as many as twenty and as few as twelve in a class, our teachers could wield a mighty powerful scimitar of discipline. The three of them excelled at playing “Good Cop, Bad Cop and ‘I’m Busy Over Here But Call Me If You Need Me’ Cop”. The shallow teacher-student ratio allowed our teachers to spend a little more time with each of us on an individual basis as need warranted. We took something like that for granted back then.

In the autumn of 1975, the Sioux Valley school board decided to close our little school and to herd us in with the rest of our schoolmates. I got to renew my friendship with Tim.

One night in January of 1977, Tim’s mom and dad invited us over to their house. Over cookies and coffee, later in the evening, with Mom and Dad sitting right there, Mr. VW said to me, “Erik, I want you, over the next few weeks, to write down on a piece of paper every song that you know how to play. See if you can come up with enough music to play for maybe an hour and a half. Next month, the Brookings County Pork Producers will have their annual banquet at the Holiday Inn, and I’d like you to provide dinner music. Can you do that?” I think so, Mr. VW. Can Mom and Dad come? “Yup.” Even though we don’t raise pigs? “We’ll figure something out.”

I am a procrastinator. On the night before the banquet, Mom and I sat at the piano and wrote down every single song that I knew. Then the next day, while I was at school, she typed the list out on index cards, categorizing the songs by style. Before we headed into town she handed me the cards with a red pencil so that I could mark them off as I played them.

On a cold winter night, a school night, by the way, in February of 1977 at the Holiday Inn by Interstate 29 in Brookings, South Dakota, I played my first gig. I was eleven years old, I played solo piano for an hour and a half, on a rotten piano, they provided me with dinner, they provided my parents with dinner, and they paid me twenty-five dollars. Not a bad night’s work.

You don’t hear Chick Corea play solo piano very often. His musical interest lies more with his interplay within an ensemble. And he has played with so many ensembles. The way he plays within a combo setting wouldn’t qualify for a swing style characterization. He doesn’t play jazz like George Shearing, Oscar Peterson, Art Tatum and Teddy Wilson. Brazilian and Spanish-American rhythmic and musical styles exert their influence over his improvisations and his song choices. But that doesn’t mean he can’t swing. And he does on this album. Really, how can you do otherwise when your selections include Charlie Chaplin’s “Smile”, George Gershwin’s “Someone To Watch Over Me” and Billy Strayhorn’s “Lush Life”.

After graduation, I lost track of Tim. I heard through his parents that he got married and that he became a banker in a small town in Minnesota. On the stormy evening before Dad’s funeral, Tim made an appearance at the funeral home with a card and a plant. It had been almost thirteen years since I had last seen him. And now it’s been another thirteen years.

As many times as I have traveled between South Dakota and Minneapolis over the years, with Tim’s home somewhere in between, you would think that I would have taken the time to stop for a vist. Ah, but I am a procrastinator. Don’t worry, though. As my friends have heard me say before: I WILL conquer my procrastination problem. JUST YOU WAIT!!

Credits: To Mr. VW, for recognizing my abilities before realizing them myself. Thank you for giving a little “push” out into the world, to do what I’m supposed to do.

The last celtic CD

Celtic Christmas Silver Anniversary; A Windham Hill Sampler

Here, reader, on this fourth month after Christmas, this eighth month before Christmas, I present the last – yes, the very last – Celtic Christmas CD from Windham Hill Records. More of the same, I’m afraid, except that the tie to Christmas may be even more remote than the others. Brian Dunning and Jeff Johnson play a tune called “Christ Child Lullaby”. Otherwise, all of the other tracks have Celtic titles. They might have Christmas roots. Who can tell?

Anyway. Merry Christmas!

Credits: To Borders, the bookstore that sells CDs. Thank you for carrying these Celtic Christmas CDs. I fly to them when I want Christmas to be something other than how the rest of the world sees it.

Chickens

Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens; Phil Harris, vocals

We had a string of dogs out on the farm. In no particular order, we had Mike, Blacky, Max, Sam, Buddy and Hofer. Too many cats to mention found a home on our front stoop. Some highlights were: Fluffy, Gleason, O.J., Bertha, Duke, Calico, Morris, Grandma, Snoopy, Twerp, Lars, George, Boris, Isaac and Gray Kitty. Other than dogs, cats and cows, the only other livestock we husbanded on our prairie plot were chickens.

Accumulatively, as I recall, we probably only had poultry in our coop for about five or six years. I remember, when D. and I were four and five years old, that we would get to go along into town when Mom and Dad purchased a box of baby chicks. We would sit in the back seat and poke our fingers through the holes and feel the soft yellowness and thrill at the chorus of peeps that emanated from inside the cardboard.

By the way, we didn’t specifically invest in our chickens for the egg part. We got them for the Shake ‘N Bake part. And we helped.

Two years ago, for his birthday, my nephew N. made a request for forty baby chickens. He got them about a month before his birthday. N. likes the egg part. And for a couple of years now he has provided the Christmas eggs for all of our Christmas egg needs. One of his chickens, Helen, likes N.’s dad, my brother-in-law D. Ever since she stood next to him as he shot at a poultry-life threatening varmint, she has continually expressed her appreciation for his heroic antics. Mostly by rubbing against his boot.

Lord knows what I was looking for on the world wide interweb when I found Phil Harris singing “Ain’t Nobody Here But Us Chickens”. I never knew the emptiness of my own sorry life until I heard Phil Harris’ band laid down the swingiest, swankiest groove that ever proclaimed the phat and funky nightlife of chickens.

Credits: To Phil Harris, for being the hippest cat in the room, every time. Thank you for Balloo, Little John and Thomas O’Malley.

Pick Yourself Up

A&E Presents An Evening With Mel Torme - Live From The Disney Institute; Mel Torme, vocals

I was fairly oblivious to the song “Pick Yourself Up” for the first twenty-five years of my life. I’m sure that I heard it on various TV shows, movies clips or on the radio, but it didn’t grab a hold of me at those times. Jerome Kern composed the music to “Pick Yourself Up” and Dorothy Fields penned the lyrics for the 1936 film “Swing Time” featuring Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire.

The band leader on the Crown Odyssey had a nice, swingin’ arrangement of “Pick Yourself Up” and that’s what got me hooked on the tune. I also like the key sequence. Like most songs from the era, it has a thirty-two bar structure, divided into four eight-measure sections or, if you will, phrases. The first eight measures start out in F Major. The next eight bars are one whole step up, in G Major. The third set of eight bars, which is different melodically from the first and second sets of eight measures, what we in the biz call a bridge, moves up to A-flat Major for four measures and then moves up again to C Major, also for four measures. The song ends back where we started with eight measures of F Major. Do you like the way that the chord sequence keeps moving up, imitating the sentiment of the song? I do.

How ‘bout these lyrics? They burst with optimism; nourishing the public with a much needed boost to an intensely shallow depression era national morale.

Nothing’s impossible I have found,

For when your chin is on the ground,

You pick yourself up, Dust yourself off,

Start all over again.

_____

Don’t lose your confidence, if you slip,

Be thankful for a pleasant trip,

And pick yourself up, Dust yourself off,

Start all over again.

_______

Work like soul inspired,

Till the battle of the day is won.

You may be sick and tire,

But you’ll be a man, my son!

_______

If you remember those famous men,

Who had to fall to rise again.

So take a deep breath, Pick yourself up

Start all over again.

Mr. Torme teams up with inspired jazz pianist Mike Renzi to channel J.S. Bach during their rendition of “Pick Yourself Up”. After a spirited opening, all the others drop back to allow Mr. Renzi to wax eloquent in the style of a Bach invention. And then Mr. Torme wants a piece of that. And then bassist John Leitham. And finally with a quasi roll-off from drummer Donny Osborne, they swing harder than they did in the beginning.

Mr. Torme finished his recording career with this album. He still sounded young, despite his seventy-one years. Believe it or not, I really dug his homage to J.S. Bach. You know, I think I like Bach more as a jazz cat than as an oratorio composer.

Credits: To Jerome Kern, one of America’s greatest composers. Thank you for “Show Boat”.

Rehearsal tactics

Choral Fantasy, Op. 80; Piano Concerto No. 5, Op. 73 "The Emperor";Ludwig van Beethoven, composer; London Philharmonic Orchestra; London Philharmonic Chorus; Bernard Haitink, conducting; Alfred Brendel, piano

I don’t like people to be around when I rehearse. It mostly has to do with the frequent passes I will take over a series of measures. It is not uncommon for me to play a certain sequence of measures over and over again, maybe two, three, four, even five hundred times or more. That type of verbatim scrutiny would drive an unsympathetic listener bonkers.

The number of hours invested into the performance of just a few minutes of music would astound the lay-person. Many years ago I subconsciously subscribed to the following practice philosophy, which maybe you have heard before: An amateur rehearses so that he or she can play the music right. A professional rehearses so that he or she can’t play the music wrong.

Let me ask you this: How does a composer practice? How does he or she hone his or her craft? Certainly the composer hears something in his or her head and he jots it down the way that he or she thinks that it will sound. But how does he or she know how it sounds? There’s confidence that comes with experience, assuredly. But until that time comes, the composer has to assemble some friends to play his creations, while he or she stands in the background, noting that “this worked”, “that didn’t work”, “this needs a doubling”, “that needs to be an octave higher”, “this melody doesn’t cut it” and “that harmony works better than this one.”

Before Ludwig van Beethoven could compose his Ninth Symphony, he needed a rehearsal. He hadn’t written for a chorus, yet; at least, not on the grand scale that he required to match his “Ode To Joy” orchestral horses. A concert on December 22 in 1808 offered the opportunity.

Both his Fifth and Sixth Symphonies received their premieres at this concert, in addition to portions of his Mass in C Minor and a few piano pieces. He wanted to conclude his program with a single piece that would unite the different musical elements highlighted in the concert: piano solo, chorus and orchestra. In just a few days time, he wrote the “Choral Fantasy”.

The piece has a relatively short performance time; about twenty-one minutes. It begins with a twenty-six measure long piano solo that has an improvisatory nature. Then a conversation between the piano and orchestra ensues; inventing and developing two or three different themes before zeroing in on a suitable melody for a choral finale. Indeed, the chorus and its soloists don’t appear until the last five minutes or so. But when they sounded forth on that first performance, you can bet that Ol’ “Aerial Ears” Beethoven had his radar working to see if he had his game on when it came to choral writing.

Needless to say, it sounds fantastic. Oddly, though, the melody sounds, not just similar, but, maybe only five inches away from the “Ode To Joy” melody. So I ask: What kind of composer are you in the first place if you can’t borrow musically from yourself?

Credits: To Alfred Brendel, for championing the music of Beethoven and for bringing life to music written by a genius more than two hundred years ago. Bravo, master.

A stellar performance

A Vintage Year; Mel Torme, vocals; George Shearing, piano

I’ve never seen the midnight sun. I think my sister K. did when she worked in Alaska. As I recall, she and some friends played volleyball until two o’clock in the morning during the summer solstice because they could.

In South Dakota, we celebrated D.’s birthday on the summer solstice. Late in the evening on June 21, I used to enjoy walking out north of the trees on the farm, to see the rosy glow in the northwest. How I wish that I would have done that crazy thing: stay up until two o’clock in the morning to see the rosy glow reappear in the northeast. And then witness that unhurried, protracted – maybe even a little poky – breath-taking transfiguration from the genesis of pre-dawn to the volley of sunbursts as they utterly fracture any residue of darkness.

Leave it to Johnny Mercer to bring romance to a celestial event. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how you write a lyric:

Your lips were like a red and ruby chalice, warmer than the summer night.

The clouds were like an alabaster palace rising to a snowy height.

Each star its own aurora borealis, suddenly you held me tight

I could see the Midnight Sun.

______

I can’t explain the silver rain that found me – or was that a moonlit veil?

The music of the universe around me, or was that a nightingale?

And then your arms miraculously found me, suddenly the sky turned pale,

I could see the Midnight Sun.

_______

Was there really such a night, it’s a thrill I still don’t quite believe,

But after you were gone, there was still some stardust on my sleeve.

________

The flame of it may dwindle to an ember, and the stars forget to shine,

And we may see the meadow in December, icy white and crystalline,

But, oh, my darling, always I’ll remember when you lips were close to mine,

And we saw the Midnight Sun.

Lionel Hampton and Sonny Burke composed the music to "Midnight Sun" in 1947. Mr. Mercer heard the tune seven years later on the radio while driving along the California coast one night. He called up the radio station to ask the name of the song, who wrote it and “if you could play it one more time, please?” He had the words in his head before he pulled up to his house.

On one warm summer evening in 1987 at the Paul Masson Winery, high in the hills overlooking Silicon Valley, Mel Torme and George Shearing matched the melody and words of this masterpiece to the easy rocking of a gentle bossa. The melding of the minds of these two old pros, on this one track, casts a light of effortlessness that practically eclipses the subject of the song.

In late July last summer, while heading north on Interstate 29, about twenty miles north of Sioux Falls, at about half past ten in the evening, six weeks after the summer solstice, I saw the faintest hint of a rosy glow in the northwest, disclosing the lurking point of the sun below the horizon. People detain me frequently, when they hear about my South Dakotiness, to ask why anyone would want to remain in such a desolate location. This does it for me.

Credits: To Lionel Hampton and Sonny Burke, for lifetimes committed to musical excellence.

Fun name

Chopin and Liszt; Eldar Nebolsin, piano

I suppose that it’s somewhat revealing of my character that I once bought a CD because of the recording artist’s name: Eldar Nebolsin. From the moment that I saw this CD, this poor fellow’s name has amused me. First of all, Eldar sounds like he could be Superman’s uncle: El-Dar, brother of Jor-El. And then, Nebolsin sounds like Jerry Lewis trying to say Mendelssohn.

Mr. Nebolsin, I decided, must have a sense of humor by the way he’s looking up at his name, on the cover, as if to say, “Are you kidding me? You’re going to put my name there? And you think that’s going to move CD’s?” Well, Eldar, buddy, I have to tell you. The tactic worked on me.

In 1996, a few years after I purchased his recording, Mr. Nebolsin appeared on the performance lineup of Minnesota Orchestra’s four-week long Sommerfest in Minneapolis. Well, I had to go see him. Expecting to encounter the fun-seeking, maybe mischievous rascal who performed schtick on his album cover, I witnessed, instead, a straight-laced, perhaps a little shy, pianistic dynamo with loads upon loads of passionate ideas to exert upon the passionate ideas of Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt and Scriabin. His performance at Sommerfest stayed with me for many days.

Eldar Nebolsin. Eldar Nebolsin. Eldar Nebolsin. I can’t stop saying his name. Eldar Nebolsin. Eldar Nebolsin. It sounds like erudite, high-brow, intellectual baby talk. I place it right up there with my Cousin W.’s friend Marjorie Bernadotte Bareboom Jablimsky. Man. I have to take a nap after saying her name.

Eldar Nebolsin.

Credits: To the Minnesota Orchestra’s Sommerfest, for lighting up the summer in Minneapolis with first-rate classical, jazz and R&B. Try to bring it back to four weeks, friends.

Golden Gate

Escales; Jacques Ibert, composer; Montreal Symphony Orchestra; Charles Dutoit, conducting

After spending the summer of 1994 in Alaska on the Star Odyssey, the ship headed south toward Los Angeles and Mexico. Our itinerary had us stop in San Francisco on the way.

During my short time on board, I had made some connections with the baker and various workers in the kitchen. On the morning that we headed into San Francisco Bay, I arranged to pick up some hot croissants with bacon and cheese from the baker, and five cups of coffee from the coffee … guy. Then I called all of the fellas in the band at 5:45 in the morning and told them that we would traverse under the Golden Gate Bridge in twenty minutes. The only thing that kept me from getting thrown overboard by these guys was the promise of hot rolls and hot coffee. Let me say that they were good sports; they came up in about ten minutes and, to their credit, enjoyed the early morning spectacle.

Fog enshrouded the bottom portion of the bridge as we came around the bend from the north. As we came closer to the bridge, the cables on the top took on the brunt of the fog to where we could now see the lower parts of the bridge. The captain blew the horn nice and long as we slipped into San Francisco Bay underneath the famous landmark of The City by the Bay. As the captain began docking procedures, the sun peeped over the horizon, bathing the bridge behind us in glorious Technicolor sun.

MMMmmmmmmm. Croisants. MMMmmmmmmmmmm. Bacon and cheese………

About three blocks away from where we disembarked the ship, I found a Tower Records. This CD of the music of Ibert (say ee-BAIR) had just been released a few days before. I remember the composer’s name from Music Literature V from my days at SDSU, but I had heard little of his music. So I picked up a copy.

When we left San Francisco, we had a Bon Voyage party outside on the deck. We in the band were busy playing as we went under the bridge a second time that day. But it was still a pleasure.

Credits: To the builders of the Golden Gate Bridge. You’ve constructed an edifice of profound beauty, my friends. Bravo.

Norwegian puppets

Peer Gynt Suites; Edvard Grieg, composer; Berliner Philharmoniker; Herbert von Karajan, conducting

Some time in the early 1970’s, Mom took D. and me to a Young People’s Concert in Donor Auditorium on the campus of SDSU. The highlight of the performance came when a touring marionette theatre from Minneapolis brought portions of the story of Peer Gynt to massive life using puppets and life size marionettes; all to the live accompaniment of Edvard Grieg’s incidental music to Henrik Ibsen’s play “Peer Gynt” as played by the SDSU Civic Symphony.

I don’t remember the puppets very much. But I remember the rapture of hearing a live orchestra, probably for the first time. “In The Hall Of The Mountain King”, “Ase’s Death”, “Anitra’s Dance”, “Morning Mood” and “Solveig’s Song” all sustained a short-term residency in my young biological iPod after that memorable and magical encounter with the great Norwegian composer’s imaginative, folkish, yet, sublime score.

Given the great Scandinavian traditions and culture of the geographical area in which I grew up, I find it fascinating that I never really took on any of the piano literature by Mr. Grieg. Like so many of the truly great composers, Grieg didn’t write very much music for an early piano student to play. Neither did Chopin, Liszt, Brahms or Schubert. To tell the truth, I didn’t really pay any appreciable attention to Mr. Grieg’s music at all until I visited his country. Actually, his hometown. That will be an excellent story. Stay tuned…..

Credits: To Mr. John Colson, for his years of service to SDSU, music education and the SDSU Civic Symphony. Thank you for thinking of the children when you programmed your seasons. The experience “stuck” with at least one young person.

After orals

The Hunt For Red October; Basil Poledouris, composer; Cincinnati Pops Orchestra; Erich Kunzel, conducting

My thirty minute oral examination at CCM scared me more than anything I’ve encountered in life so far. My professors appraised their investment in me by scrutinizing my in-depth knowledge of nine hundred years of music history, music theory and piano literature. What an ordeal. I hope there are no oral examinations to get into heaven.

After all of the trauma, torture, misery and agony, I needed to delve into something that had little to do with music. So, I picked up the book “The Hunt For Red October” by Tom Clancy. I had made a pledge years before that dictated that I read a book (provided that it’s a good book) before I see its movie. I enjoyed the book thoroughly and went to see the movie on the very day that I finished reading the book.

Someone told me, a few years later, that the film score, composed by Basil Poledouris, had included some of the men’s chorus sections from S. Prokofiev’s “Alexander Nevsky”. So I downloaded the choral sections from “The Hunt For Red October” to see if they matched anything from “Alexander Nevsky”. They didn’t.

Credits: To Tom Clancy, for excellent techno-thrillers. Thank you for Jack Ryan. He’s an American Hero.

An orchestra and a church

Soundtrack to "Amadeus"; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, composer; Academy of St. Martin In The Fields; Sir Neville Marriner, conducting

During the summer of 2001, my friend Chad H. and I took a two week trip to Scotland, England and France. Having been to London many times before, but on someone else’s time table, I relished the freedom to visit places of appeal and significance for as long we wanted. Friends and interested parties had provided me with several places to visit, most of which I had already gone to see. But one recommendation started with, “If you’re looking to save some money…” They had my attention.

Apparently, the Crypt café, beneath the St.-Martin-In-The-Fields Church near Trafalgar Square in London, serves up some of the least expensive fare in the city. So I jotted it down on our itinerary. May I tell you? Not only are their food selections not expensive, they’re spectacular. We ended up going there three times, just to save on food funds.

You, dear reader, probably recognize the name of the church. It is, indeed, the home of the famous Academy of St. Martin In the Fields Orchestra. Under the baton of Sir Neville Mariner, this chamber orchestra provided the beautiful, impassioned and “spot on” soundtrack for the 1984 Academy Award-winning motion picture “Amadeus”. This soundtrack reached No. 56 on the Billboard Hot 100, making it one of the most popular recordings of classical music ever. With the exception of an early 18^th century gypsy tune and a portion of the Stabat Mater by Giovanni Pergolesi, every piece comes from the elegant pen of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

St. Martin of Tours, France, provided the name for the classically styled rectangular church in the middle of London. Only God knows when parishioners first started worshipping in this place. The earliest existing document that makes reference to the church comes from 1222 when a dispute broke out between the Abbot of Westminster and the Bishop of London over who had control over it. Almost three hundred years later, King Henry VIII had the church rebuilt. At that time, the church was literally “in the fields”, isolated between the quite small cities of Westminster and London.

I started college in August of 1984. In those last five or six weeks as I headed into my transition period from farmboy to egghead, I made sure to see all of the movies that I intended to, figuring that I wouldn’t have the time to see them after classes started. Not a single “Amadeus” trailer did I see at the movies; not even on TV. Nobody, not even my Music Major peers, made me aware of this upcoming biopic that wasn’t a biopic. It took my roommate M., courteously inquiring if I’d like to go with him to see this movie – AFTER IT CAME OUT!! – to find out that an “Amadeus” movie existed.

Finally, after marching band rehearsal one Friday, some friends and I went to see the film. About a third of the way through, however, the movie took a weird turn and we couldn’t figure out what was going on. About two thirds of the way through the film, the theatre manager stopped the movie, brought up the lights, and came in to tell us that the man in charge of changing the reels had accidentally shown them out of sequence: one, two, four, three, five was how we were seeing them. The manager kindly offered us tickets to see it the next night. I didn’t have time to see it the next night. And the next night, it had gone.

I liked it, anyway. I looked forward to its release on VHS so that I could watch it in the proper order. The movie falls, I would suppose, under the category of “Historical Fiction.” Sig. Salieri and Herr Mozart didn’t have the relationship as illustrated in the movie. But the “powers what be” had researched the historical period aspects of their subject so thoroughly that I honor this film more highly for the cultural truths they depicted. Beyond that, they’re just a bunch of dirty, rotten liars.

Credits: To St. Martin of Tours, for seeing the visage of Christ in the face of a homeless beggar. Thank you for lending your name to Herr Luther.

Collaboration

Gershwin Fantasy; George Gershwin, composer; London Symphony Orchestra; John Williams, arranger and conducting; Joshua Bell, violin

I have enjoyed following the career of master violinist Joshua Bell. Though a couple of years younger, he comes from my generation. I remember seeing him perform on the Tonight Show in the early 1980’s. In addition to outstanding technical and musical instincts beyond his, what, thirteen or fourteen years, he exuded outstanding stage presence, this incredible ability to present and control the scene, the visual look, aura, the musical climate as the audience would see it. All aspects of his performance on the TV in our living room in South Dakota left a first impression of monumental proportions.

At some point, Mr. Bell broke through the barrier – barriers? – that divide(s) prodigy and respected world-class artist. It must take more than just stubbornness, drive and nerve to arrive on the other side with as much heart, spirit, verve and zest as this gentleman exudes.

I bought “Gershwin Fantasy” at a CD store at Union Station in St. Louis, Missouri. Many years ago, I made it a point to acquire all CD’s in the Joshua Bell discography. But, I knew immediately that this one would stand out from the others. All selections on this album featured the arranging and conducting talents of none other than John Williams. Two favorite music icons together on one project. I could hardly wait to get back to the Delta Queen to absorb the brilliance created by these two musical marvels.

In August of 1998, after bringing home Nelson, my Dodge Durango, I took Mom for her first ride on a warm late afternoon - in air-conditioned comfort. She had to go to the church in town to finish printing the bulletins for Sunday morning. While she worked in her office, Pastor H. happened to drive up … and began admiring the shiny new vehicle next to his. He began to ask questions. “Four wheel drive?” Yup. “Eight cylinder?” Uh-huh. “Third seat?” Yes. “Tow package?” I’m ready to hook up to your boat as we speak. “Well, this is marvelous.”

Then he looked at me – squinted, really. “Is there something else you want to show me?” Get in. I turned on the stereo …

And Nelson turned into a shimmering concert hall. Tonight, on our stage, the London Symphony Orchestra, John Williams conducting, and our soloist, Joshua Bell, playing the very best of George Gershwin. For twenty minutes and twenty-four seconds we juiced on the collaboration of three wizards as they streamlined us through memorable and stirring scenes from Mr. Gershwin’s masterpiece “Porgy and Bess”. "My Man's Gone Now", "I Loves You, Porgy", "Bess, You Is My Women Now", "D'eres A Boat That's Leavin' Soon For New York", "Summertime", "I've Got Plenty Of Nuttin'", "It Ain't Necessarily So" and "Oh, Lawd, I'm On My Way" ... one by one, they amalgamated within the confines of my dear Nelson. And when the spectacle concluded …

The birds, the trees, the gravel, the grass, the sidewalk and the old church bell returned to our purview. Pastor H. looked at me and paid the ultimate, the superlative upper Midwest Scandinavian compliment. “Uff-da, my”.

Credits: To Johnny Carson, for bringing excellence of all kinds to his stage. Including yourself, Mr. Carson. You were one class act.

Banjos and Spears

Tales From The Acoustic Planet; Bela Fleck

In the fall of 1994, on board the Star Odyssey, a faction of loyal listeners from WOR Radio in New York City, a CBS radio affiliate, descended upon our vessel for a cruise through the Panama Canal. They brought with them several radio personalities including Charles Osgood of “CBS Sunday Morning” and “The Osgood Files” fame.

After the evening’s entertainment in the Odyssey Show Lounge on the second day of the cruise, I felt a tap on my shoulder as I was putting my music away. I turned around to see a familiar, smiling man extending the hand of friendship. “Hello, Erik. My name is Charles Osgood and I love your band.” Why, thank you, Mr. Osgood. Of course, I know who you are. Welcome aboard. “Well, thank you. Listen, I brought my banjo along on the cruise. I hope that doesn’t scare you.” No, Mr. Osgood, I’ve dealt with banjo players before. Just keep me out of your “Deliverance” battle and we’ll be just fine. “I was hoping that you and I could lead a sing-along some time during the cruise. Does that scare you?” No, sir. Let’s do it.

I gave him the phone number to my stateroom so that he could contact me. The next day, Mr. Osgood appeared on the receiving end of my stateroom telephone. “Hello, Erik. This is Charlie Osgood. Let’s meet in the foyer outside the Odyssey Show Lounge at 1:30 this afternoon, shall we?” Sounds good. I’ll see you then.

We had an entertainer on board named Jim Coston who played the banjo. Mr. Osgood had corralled him as well. The three of us started with “Way Down Upon The Swanee River” and when we finished the song, ten people stood nearby, ready to sing along. Then we played “I’m Gonna Buy A Paper Doll” with twenty-five more people chiming in. After “Good Night, Irene”, we had fifty people. And after “I Want A Girl Just Like The Girl That Married Dear Old Dad”, more than one hundred and fifty cruisers had gathered, crammed really, around the piano. We played and sang for about ninety glorious minutes and polished off forty or fifty tunes … with our sing-alongers joining us every step of the way.

Bela Anton Leos Fleck was born in New York City. His parents named him after Hungarian composer Bela Bartok, and Czech composers Anton Dvorak and Leos Janacek. With a name like that, you really don’t stand a chance. Sooner or later you’re going to end up with an instrument in your hands.

Bela Fleck, as he is known, heard the theme to “The Beverly Hillbillies", as played by Earl Scruggs, and instantly began a love affair with the banjo, receiving one from his grandfather when Bela turned fifteen. Though proficient on many musical instruments, he grew increasingly skilled both technically and innovatively as a master banjo player.

Fortunately for us all, Mr. Fleck didn’t stay on the island of Banjo Music. He has island-hopped to many different styles and has brought his banjo with him. He likes classical, jazz, rock, country, blues, bluegrass and pop. In fact, in the history of the Grammy awards, no other musician has been nominated in more categories. He has secured his place as Mr. Crossover by virtue of his artful performances with Chick Corea, Joshua Bell, the Dave Matthews Band, Edgar Meyer, Bruce Hornsby, McCoy Tyner and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, just to name a few.

About a year after I purchased this album I happened to see Charles Osgood tour a banjo factory with Bela Fleck on “CBS Sunday Morning”. In one fell swoop, this chance TV broadcast brought home to roost both my respect for the musicianship and ingenuity of Mr. Bela Fleck and the delightful afternoon I spent with Mr. Charles Osgood sharing the joy and warmth of a friendly sing-along with the hearts of a gracious and grateful “Shine On Harvest Moon” bunch. In a way, Mr. Fleck, Mr. Osgood and I came to a full circle.

Pastor M., this evening at EveningSong service, talked about Thomas, doubting Thomas, who missed the first post-resurrection appearance of Jesus with the disciples. “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe,” he said. “Put your finger here,” Jesus said to Thomas eight days later, “and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.”

History tells us that Thomas took his ministry of Christ to India where he started several Christian churches. Thomas met his end, however, when one local citizen, who neither liked nor wanted the story of Christ brought to this part of the world, killed him with a spear. This brought to a full circle the placing of Thomas’ hand in the spot where the Lord received the wound of a spear, and then Thomas receiving a mortal blow, himself, with a spear.

Now isn’t this weird? My banjo and spear analogies usually end a little differently. Today’s analogy has a happier ending for the banjo player.

Credits: To the inventor of the banjo. If it weren’t for you, there’d be no Eddie Peabody, Roy Clark, Jim Coston, Peter Mezoian, Earl Scruggs and Bela Fleck. And Charles Osgood might have taken up the accordian. Yeeeach.

Cows

Ella & Her Fellas; Ella Fitzgerald

When my sister D. asked her daughter M. what kind of birthday party she wanted when she turned four, she got an answer for the ages. “I want a cow party.” That’s my girl!!

What’s a cow party, you ask? What’s the matter with you? At a cow party, the birthday girl gets stuffed cow dolls and everyone eats cake with a picture of a cow on the frosting. Do I have to explain everything?

I think of M. and her cow party whenever I hear Ella Fitzgerald sing the “Cow-Cow Boogie”. She recorded it with the Ink Spots in 1944. This compilation CD features Miss Ella in cahoots with some of music’s finest fellers: Louis Armstrong, Louis Jordan, the Mills Brothers, the Delta Rhythm Boys and Chick Webb with his original recording of Ella scattin’ on “A-Tisket, A-Tasket”.

Do you know how long it took me to find a stuffed cow doll? Three days. You would think, in South Dakota, that you could find ‘em free ranging in toy stores all over the state. Not so much.

Credits: To the Ink Spots, for “If I Didn’t Care” and “Java Jive”. Every successful vocal group should have two cats named “Hoppy” and “Deek”.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my blog is half-way finished. Only 182 days to go.

Another Enya CD

Shepherd Moons; Enya

I informed you, dear reader, some weeks back, in the middle of a tirade, that I actually have two Enya CD’s. I purchased “Shepherd Moons” in Dublin, Ireland, to mark the occasion of my visit. Enya makes her home Manderlay Castle in Killiney, County Dublin.

I have no story to tell. However, I’m fascinated, and delighted, with the inclusion of the song “How Can I Keep From Singing?” on this album; known to many Christians as “My Life Flows On in Endless Song”. The refrain is quite powerful

No storm can shake my inmost calm

While to the Rock I’m clinging.

Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,

How can I keep from singing?

Ms. Enya takes a few liberties with the melody and the words. She chooses not to sing about Christ, proclaiming instead:

Since Love is Lord of heaven and earth…

She finds different verses to sing than the verses I have in my Lutheran hymnal.

The one time that I went to Dublin, my friends and I found a restaurant called the Bad Ass café. A sign outside the front had a picture of the back end of a donkey getting slapped, or spanked, as if it had been bad.

Okay, I’m sorry, I guess there was one story.

Credits: To Robert Lowry, for composing “How Can I Keep From Singing?” and “Shall We Gather At The River”. You’re a master hymn tunesmith, Mr. Lowry. Thank you.

My first real chamber music

Johannes Brahms, composer; Piano Trio No. 1 in B Major; Charles Ives, composer; Piano Trio; Trio Fontenay

During my first year at CCM (University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music), I joined a violinist and a cellist, D. and W., for a romp through W.A. Mozart’s Piano Trio in G, K.564. Jack Kirstein, cellist in the La Salle Quartet, quartet-in-residence at CCM, served as our coach. I had hoped to play something big like a Rachmaninoff piano trio or the Ravel piano trio. Mr. Kirstein asked me, “How much chamber music have you played, young man”. None. “None?” Sorry. “Oy gevalt! Rachmaninoff? Ravel? They’ll eat you alive. Let’s set you guys up with something a little less dangerous.”

Mozart certainly did the trick. D., W. and I loved our rehearsals and our coachings with Mr. Kirstein. He taught us how to listen to each other and helped us create our own distinct style by corralling the very best of what each of us could contribute to the ensemble.

I found this recording of Brahms’ Piano Trio No. in B Major in a bargain bin at a huge CD shop in Amsterdam. Oddly enough, I bought it for the Charles Ives piano trio, remembering from Music Literature V the brilliance and humor that Mr. Ives brings to the ears of his audience. But the infectious pomp and regal pageantry of the first movement of Herr Brahms’ trio attains a higher status of popularity on my iPod.

The first time we left Mr. Kirstein’s office, D. looked at me and whispered, “Watch this.” She flashed a grin at seventy-year-old Mr. Kirstein and said, “Hang loose, man”. And, without missing a beat, he smiled at her and said, “Catch you on the flip side, baby.”

Credits: To Mr. Charles Ives, for matchless and peerless musical ingenuity. You stretch our ears, sir.

I'm happy together.

Happy Together; The Turtles

Remember that gig where the client had asked for a few songs from the 1960’s? I had downloaded a few high-profile 1960’s tracks onto my iPod to learn for the gig. This is one of them.

“Happy Together”, sung by The Turtles, arrived on the scene in spring of 1967. It knocked The Beatles’ “Penny Lane” out of the number one spot on the Billboard Hot 100, and stayed there for three weeks. Although a few more of their songs made it onto the Billboard, only “Happy Together” made it all the way to the top.

Many:

Movie directors have included this song on their film sountrack.

Television show episodes have made reference to this song.

Television commercials have built their ads around this song.

Musical artists like Donny Osmond, The Captain and Tennille, The Nylons and Blue Meanies, have recorded their own version of the song.

BMI, a US performing rights organization, named The Turtles’ recording of “Happy Together” as the forty-fourth most performed song during 20^th century American radio airplay, siting five million performances. This puts it in the same league as “Yesterday” by the Beatles and “Mrs. Robinson” by Simon and Garfunkel.

All musical aspects of this song make it one for the ages. The composer put together a fine work. I’ve said before that I rarely take notice of lyrics. But the distinct and remarkable rhythmic sequence in the opening measures of the melody brought the words to my attention. And … Oh, my.

You know, I don’t think that I have ever seen a more selfish, one-sided love song. It starts from the top:

Imagine me and you…

Didn’t we learn from our teachers that we refer to ourselves last? If one sang about his or her love for someone else, wouldn’t he or she start with the one that he or she loves?

If I should call you up, invest a dime

And you say you belong to me and ease my mind…

And how ‘bout these:

I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you…

When you’re with me, baby, the skies’ll be blue…

The only one for me is you…

Boy, I tell you, how nice for him, huh? I mean, the only consideration he, presumably he, gives to her is that he asks her to imagine him and her. Actually, he tells her to imagine him and her.

It’s a nice song, though.

By the way, How is the weather?

My wallet is leather.

I want to see Heather.

My cap has a feather.

Credits: To The Beatles, for “Penny Lane” and “Yesterday”. Great tunes, boys.