Tape Recorders

Conversations With Myself; Bill Evans, piano

Great Uncle Paul owned a reel-to-reel audio tape player. Once or twice, when we went to visit him and Aunt Vi, he opened it up from the cabinet that it sat in, and played a few of his tapes. The one that we enjoyed most featured Bill Cosby.

Grandma E. owned kind of a mini reel-to-reel audio tape player and recorder with a microphone. I don’t know what Grandma had recorded on her tapes. It might have been conversations that she had with various family members.

Some time in the 1970’s, Mom purchased a Panasonic portable cassette tape player/recorder. My sisters and I had so much fun with it. We recorded the cows, the cats, the TV, the radio, each other and anything else that registered as hilarious to eight-, nine- and twelve year old recording enthusiasts.

At some point I came up with the notion of recording one part of a two piano or four hand arrangement of a song so that I could play along. This was amusing to Dad. “Now you need to have two tape recorders.” That was his version of a multi-track tape recorder: two tape recorders.

D. took some work as a baby sitter when she turned of age, and spent her money on a combination radio/cassette tape recorder. Dad’s wish came true. We now had two tape recorders. I don’t remember how I got everything timed right. I must have used a watch. But I learned how to record one part on one tape recorder, the other part on the D.’s tape recorder, and then play both tape recorders at the same time. It sounded pretty good. Dad said, “Now you need to have three tape recorders.” Dad could get into the spirit of things pretty easily.

The title “Conversations With Myself” provides a fairly self-explanatory description of the nature of this album by jazz pianist Bill Evans. Just to be clear, Mr. Evans recorded himself on one track, then recorded a second track for dubbing over the first one. Mr. Evans recorded this album in February of 1963. At that time, overdubbing was somewhat controversial. The potential to make somebody artificially sound better than they actually sounded kind of freaked everybody out. Whatever scruples and ethics that anyone in the recording industry had at that time, however, have completely evaporated. At the end of any recording venture these days is a desired effect, as opposed to the natural capabilities of the talent in front of the microphone.

“Conversations With Myself” allowed the industry and the LP-listening public to encounter the more positive aspects of overdubbing. We had two piano parts played simultaneously. The two pianists just happened to be the same guy. Now we need to have three Bill Evanses.

Credits: To Bill Cosby, for great, creative story-telling, for massive intelligence, and for personally mandating a higher level of sophistication, culture, speech and thought, not only for those in the “global” African-American community, but for everybody, regardless of race. Thank you for “Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids”. Hey, hey, hey!!!

Dancing in the sea

La Mer; Claude Debussy, composer; Boston Symphony Orchestra; Charles Munch, conducting

I have always had a susceptibility toward motion-sickness. The bus ride to school during my junior high years wreaked havoc on my, apparently, sensitive system. Thankfully, I developed a tolerance for the bus ride. But my proclivity for the “traveler’s” ailment didn’t go away entirely. When we left Outlaw Ranch out in the Black Hills of South Dakota to head home, I didn’t do too well on the curvy highway back to thankfully undeviating, straight-as-an-arrow Interstate 90.

The Golden Odyssey, the first of my eight or so cruise ships, sat small in the water when compared to other cruise ships of the day. I found out soon after casting off from the sweet, sweet, solid ground of the island of Venice into the beautiful Adriatic Sea that smaller, older cruise ships with no stabilizers bob around the water like a cork, up and down, back and forth, up and back, down and forth, up and forth, back and down … woof. That brought back memories. I learned to keep an eye on the weather reports in order to discern whether I should supplement my dinner with a Dramamine or two.

The Crown Odyssey had a bit more girth. And stabilizers. I did a little better on that ship. But in September of 1993, we sailed a few miles up the Bordeaux River. When I came up to the buffet for lunch, we had ourselves a windy day; something like twenty-five knots. A chap who worked in the casino informed me that remnants from Hurricane Emily were coming to visit. Well, wasn’t this exciting! Before we started rocking and rolling, the captain informed us that the local pilot, who would steer the Crown Odyssey out of the river and into the Bay of Biscay, would not disembark onto a pilot boat, as he typically would, because of the dangerous swells. A helicopter would follow us out, hover over the aft of the ship, drop a line, secure the pilot onto the line, haul him up into the helicopter, then head for sweet, sweet, solid ground.

For the next thirty-six hours, we rocked, we rolled, we boogied, we woogied, we hustled, we shuffled, we bustled, we rhumbaed, we twisted, we cut the rug, and stumbled the light fantastic our way through the thoroughly vexed seas off the coast of France. And at the end of our day and a half dance set, we had lost most of the dishes, a couple of one armed bandits in the casino, and one piano … yup, completely upside down – all three feet in the air.

Claude Debussy finished writing “La Mer” or “Three Symphonic Sketches for Orchestra” in 1905 while staying in Eastbourne on the English Channel coast. Notice how M. Debussy uses the term “symphonic”. He doesn’t use the word “symphony”. French composers of the day didn’t mind writing ballets and operas, but they shunned symphonies, sonatas and concertos; terms that would trap their creative output in an archaic box. M. Debussy preferred that you consider each of his works on a unique and individual basis. Even though “La Mer” functions as a symphony, complete with three movements, he considered this composition as a set of three pictures of the sea.

Three weeks after our dance with Emily, we had an almost carbon copy storm that fought us all the way to Portugal. The things you learn in the baptism of fire. This time, before heading out to the high and low seas, some enterprising assistant Maitre ‘D got the great idea of buying paper plates and shipping the china plates and glassware to our port on the sweet, sweet, solid ground of Lisbon. I wish they would have done that with the musicians.

Credits: To Poseidon. We stand in awe of what you can do, but can’t you pick on someone your own size? YOU deal with the Kraken. But leave us alone, God bless ‘ya.

What'd you say?

Steppin' Out; Tony Bennett

In the summer of 1995, my older sister K. threw off the shackles of employment in order to go back to school for a year. This brought sadness to the rest of the Apland clan as we had come to love the quirky little cottage that she lived in out in the country. But, she had stepped up to the plate, aiming her bat to the northwest toward Grand Forks, North Dakota. So to let her know that we “had her back”, we all arrived in Rochester, Minnesota, in time to see the last box get stashed in the U-Haul. Isn’t that horrible? We can’t help it. Tardiness runs deep in the domesticated Apland veins. We like to joke that our ancestors came over on the Juneflower.

I rode with K. in her truck to North Dakota. She put me in charge of CD’s. I don’t remember any of the other CD’s that I played on my discman. But we definitely listened to Tony Bennett’s “Steppin’ Out”. How do I know that? Because we couldn’t figure out some of the words that he sang on the song “Top Hot, White Tie And Tails”.

I’m puttin’ on my top hat

Tyin’ up my white tie

Brushin’ off my tails

I’m dudin’ up my shirt front

Puttin’ in the shirt studs

Polishin’ my nails

I’m steppin’ out, my dear

To breathe ???????????????

That simply reeks with class

And I trust that you’ll excuse my dust

When I step on the gas……

We listened to that same two seconds of music fifty times over the course of ten miles of Interstate 94 just west of Saint Cloud, Minnesota. We played it loud, we played it soft, we slowed down the truck, we sped up the truck, we rolled down the windows, we stopped in the middle of the phrase, we started in the middle of the phrase … nothing gave us a clue. Every single time it sounded like “in that pig’s ear”.

I’m steppin’ out, my dear

To breathe in that pig’s ear

That simply reeks with class

That’s not the old spit ‘n polish Irving Berlin savoir faire that I remember. Who would have ever thought that “in that pig’s ear” could rhyme with “an atmosphere”?

“Steppin’ Out” was Mr. Bennett’s homage to the refinement, sophistication, sparkle, luster, sheen and shine of Fred Astaire. The album earned Mr. Bennett a Grammy for Best Traditional Pop Vocal Performance in 1994. A music video of “Steppin’ Out With My Baby” got some MTV air-time, awakening a young generation to the musical artistry of two masters.

I only know the work of Fred Astaire from one place: He voiced the narrator, the mailman, in the 1970 classic animated Christmas special “Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town”. “That’s Entertainment” parts one and two both featured Mr. Astaire, but only in clips. Someday, I will have to watch one of his movies. I don’t have any of his CD’s. But if I did, I bet I would be able to understand the words.

Credits: To Fred Astaire, Mr. One-More-Time. You inspire the urge to “nail it, just give me one for chance.”

Camp food

Bohuslav Martinu, composer; La Revue de Cuisine; Camerata de Geneve

In the Lutheran Church, we label “church camp” as “bible camp”. My first year at bible camp occurred the summer after the seventh grade. Camp NeSoDak (think Northeast South Dakota) sits on the shores of Lake Enemy Swim and has fairly rustic accommodations. My mom and the mothers of M.M. and D.G. packed us up with suitcases, sleeping bags, bug repellent and twenty dollars to spend at the canteen then stuffed us into Pastor B.’s car. We left on a Sunday in June after church for a week of swimming, hiking, worship and food.

On one afternoon, the camp counselors took us up an old fire tower out in the middle of a forest and it seems like we could see for a hundred miles or more. One evening, they took some of us halfway around the lake where we had hamburgers and a bonfire. Right before going to bed, at an appointed time with the kids who stayed behind at the camp-site, we yelled the Lord’s Prayer back and forth across the lake; we shouted the first two words, they shouted the next four, we took the four after that, and so on. We slept under the stars that night, just a few yards away from the water.

After lunch, in the dining room, on the day before we left to go home, somebody started a chant: WE WANT A KITCHEN BAND!! WE WANT A KITCHEN BAND!! WE WANT A KITCHEN BAND!! Soon, the three women who had been preparing all of our food during the week burst through the kitchen door, each of them banging on a pan with a metal spoon right in time with the chant. Then somebody started us off singing…

Oh, when the saints

Go marching in

Oh, when the saints go marching in.

How I long to be in that number

When the saints go marching in.

I don’t remember how many songs we sang after that one. The cooks kept playing their instruments; up this aisle and down that. We stomped our feet and banged on the tables. When we ran out of songs, our three culinary heroes stood up on top of one of the tables and bowed to all of us. And that was how we thanked them for all of the food preparation for the week. I often wondered if we could have gotten away with that at home.

My friend J.F. from the Marine Band recruited me in the formation of a sextet, clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, cello, violin and piano, that would perform “La Revue de Cuisine” on one of the Marine Band Chamber Recitals in 2000. Bohuslav Martinu originally wrote this music as a jazz ballet in 1927. From the ten movements in the original dance production, Mr. Martinu formed a four-movement suite that tells the ballet story a bit more succinctly. The Charleston and the Tango identify this composition as a 1920’s, almost European, art deco piece de resistance. The synopsis of the ballet comes across as very “Be Our Guest”-ish, with the marriage of Pot and Lid with the interfering of Twirling Stick and Broom. You can read about it here.

I went one more year to bible camp; this time to Outlaw Ranch in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The following year Mom and Dad sent me to South Dakota All-State Music camp. My biggest concern during “camp” years was bullying. I always felt that I easily wore the target. A part of me followed sheer logic: I should be safe at bible camp. Who’s ever heard of a Christian bully? They exist all the same. My younger sister D. was very brave. She went to music camp and faced the “music bullies” before going to bible camp. D., you’re my hero.

Credits: To Mom, and moms all over the world, for the cooking of the food. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, makes better potato salad than my Mom.

A Shakespeare ballet

Sergei Prokofiev, composer; Romeo and Juliet; Kirov Orchestra, Leningrad; Valery Gergiev, conducting

I’ve never seen a production of William Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”. We had to read it at some point during high school, but I don’t remember when. I don’t have a weakness for this type of Shakespeare. I prefer the comedies and the historical plays. Hamlet captures my attention. Probably because I’m one-quarter Danish.

Now, I have to back-pedal and say that I have seen Charles Gounod’s opera “Romeo et Juliette”. Does that count? The librettist wrote the words in French. Well, then no, I think. And we’ll just leave that there shall we?

Sergei Prokofiev wrote music for a ballet of “Romeo and Juliet” in 1935 for the Kirov Ballet. The first performance occurred on December 30 in 1938 in Brno, Czechoslovakia. Often, Mr. Prokofiev’s music doesn’t offer immediate appeal to the layman classical music lover. But, in this case, an expressive score delivers the perfect romantic tone to, admittedly, one of literature’s most passionate love stories.

Lamentably, I had a difficult time finding a copy of this CD cover. I don’t know that I have a more striking CD cover on my iPod. It features conductor Valery Gergiev, Artistic Director of the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg, Russia, with the beautiful Mariinsky Theatre interior as the backdrop.

Oddly enough, when Mr. Prokofiev and his artistic friends set out on this Shakespearean venture, they planned a “happy” ending to the synopsis. Can you imagine? It would have the same improbable effect as:

Scarlett: Rhett, Rhett! Rhett … if you go, where shall I go, what shall I do?

Rhett: Frankly, my dear, since you put it that way, let’s hitch up. Hawaii, here we come!

Credits: To William Shakespeare, for “Hamlet”. For some of the most beautiful English ever written and spoken, and for “Henry V”. For the romance of one hundred fifty-four sonnets, and “King Lear”.

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend

The brightest heaven of invention,

A kingdom for a stage, princes to act

And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!

Easter Peanuts

Tchaikovsky: 1812 - Marche Slave; Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, composer; Russian Easter Festival Overture; Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra; Neeme Jarvi, conducting

I don’t think that I could claim a favorite Peanuts character. Each personality varies so sharply from the others. Of course, everybody loves Charlie Brown. You’re supposed to. He’s the master of ceremonies. He’s the “every man”. Very few people in the world can’t relate to Charlie Brown.

The others, though, possess traits and foibles much too exact for broader appeal. Not everyone can hang with Lucy’s crabby exterior. Not everyone can cope with Sally’s hang-ups with school. Snoopy shuns responsibility of any kind to live the “Walter Mitty” life. Schroeder’s preoccupation with music almost makes him a single issue character, except that he plays catcher on the baseball team. Peppermint Patty can have low self-esteem one moment followed by unbounded and unfounded self-confindence. Frieda loves cats … and where do you go from there?

I like Linus. Yeah, the blanket … I know. All of the characters are smart. But we have in Linus an intellectual, who has the same amount of intelligence as the rest of the gang, but has thought things through a little further.

“Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?!”

“Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about. Lights, please.”

In the comic strip, Linus proves to hold the gift of prophecy. He philosophizes beyond his second-grade level. And, as an authority on “Queen snakes” and “chicken birds”, he has acquainted himself with nature and comes across as probably the “greenest” temperament in the strip.

Charles Schultz’s genius with Linus lines up here: with intellectual property can come an “ill at ease” with religion. There can’t be just one guy that brings presents and candy for all the good little children only once a year. Thus, he banks his beliefs in accessory “messiahs”: The Great Pumpkin and The Easter Beagle. And his convictions in each festive entity spike the closer he comes to the holiday that they embody.

I recalled today one of the strips where Linus stares out the window for a while, gets an idea then hurries to Lucy. “Why don’t we round up the gang and go out to sing pumpkin carols?” Oh, good grief.

Christmas and Easter stand at even par, as far as religious significance is concerned. Easter might even have a mite stronger emotional charge, what with the death of Christ on Good Friday. But the secular aspect of Easter doesn’t make a dent in the secular free-for-all of Christmas. I can only think of “Easter Parade” by Irving Berlin and “Peter Cottontail” by Steve Nelson and Jack Rollins for secular Easter songs.

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakoff wrote his “Russian Easter Festival Overture” between 1887 and 1888 and programmed its premiere in St. Petersburg; oddly enough, in December of 1888, not at Easter. The tunes used in this fifteen-minute long masterwork come from the Russian Orthodox liturgy, reproducing the solemnity and mystery of the evening of Passion Saturday and the jubilant celebrations of Easter Sunday morning.

Perhaps the greatest expression of Easter morning sentiment comes from the “Hallelujah” chorus of “Messiah” fame by G.F. Handel. Cousin W. has pled the case that I post one of her favorite renditions of this chestnut. She immediately voiced her concern that it may show too much irreverence for Easter Sunday. I think it shows too much irreverence on any day. So I might as well post it today. It gets my younger sister’s shoulders rolling.

Credits: To Linus, for his ability to draw security from an object that never had any security to offer in the first place.

The scary movie

Princess Leia's Theme; The Boston Pops Orchestra; John Williams, composer; John Williams, conducting

I have never liked scary movies. Or horror films. Or monster or ghost flicks. Even when they’re on the comedic side, like “Ghostbusters”. Not that I’m jumpy. But the imagery can linger … for quite a while. I have a fertile imagination. The mental movies I can create at bedtime, from the loitering visual impressions of even the minutest hair-raising motion picture experience, regularly win Oscars for “Let’s scare the bejeezus out of Erik.”

I like to tell the following story. Once, when I was still in elementary school, Mom and Dad went out for the evening and put K. in charge. K. thumbed through the television guide to see what we could watch on TV. “Channel three is showing ‘The Birds’. Let’s watch that.” Well, why not? What can be wrong with watching a movie about birds?

Two hours later, K. led a petrified brother up the stairs, down the hall, into his room and shoved him into bed. But just before she turned off the light, she opened up the window and threw bread crumbs on him.

Okay, that didn’t really happen. I have a fertile imagination.

I don’t know where I got it in my head that “Star Wars” was a scary movie. I suppose it was the notion that it happened out in space, where Stars are, and that some type of War had erupted, involving sinister robots, disturbing aliens and some black-cloaked, magic-wielding mouth-breather. It kind of creeped me out.

My friend Steve L., who was very brave, by the way, went to see this forbidding film and couldn’t stop talking about how good it was. Eventually I had to ask him to tell me all about it … in the daylight … when it was safe. So, he laid it all out, in as much detail as a fifth-grader is capable. Which is a lot. Hold it, Steve. Stop. I’m losing you. Jump to the scary part. “What?” Tell me the scary part. “What scary part?” Isn’t this a horror movie of some kind? “Dude. It’s a space movie. The ugly old witch in ‘Snow White’ is scarier than anything in ‘Star Wars’.” Oh. “Sheez, you’re a weird kid.”

Two years later, when the studio released it again, a few weeks before the premiere of “The Empire Strikes Back”, I manned up. Steve, D. and I went to see “Star Wars”. Need I say that it was awesome?

Inside one of the finest scores for any movie is one of the most exquisite melodies I think I’ve ever heard. “Princess Leia’s Theme” never fails to charm. My iPod is richer for the presence of this track.

Credits: To Alfred Hitchcock, for “The Birds.” And “North By Northwest”. And “Vertigo”. And “Psycho”. And “Rear Window”. And “Dial M for Murder”. And “The Man Who Knew Too Much”. And “To Catch A Thief”.