Favorite songs

Mel And George Do World War II; Mel Torme, vocal; George Shearing, piano

One of my favorite times in music comes when somebody approaches me after a concert, or during a reception, and says, “I loved it when you played ______. My husband and I used to dance to that song.” Or, “That was my mother’s favorite song. You don’t hear it very much any more.” Or, “My father used to play that song on his clarinet late in the evening while my sisters and I would drift off to sleep.”

As much as I revel in the velvet tones of ever-so-smooth Mel Torme, I must confess that I favor that portion of “Mel and George Do World War II” where George Shearing plays a few numbers without Mr. Torme “backing him up”. I’ve never heard “I’ve Heard That Song Before” with more subtlety, class and elegance. The girl in the German song “Lili Marlene” never looked more glamorous, arresting and forlorn. But I heard the angels sing when Mr. Shearing serenaded me with “I Know Why And So Do You”.

I played this song at a reception following a concert a few years ago. It’s one of my top ten “first-call” songs when I provide a backdrop of music at the piano. Three days later at a rehearsal, a lovely woman came to the piano and asked, “How in the world do you happen to know the song ‘I Know Why And So Do You’? You’re way too young.” I heard it on a World War II album. “Thank you for playing it. It was my husband’s favorite song”.

The melody of the tune is out of this world. But, even better than the melody, are these words:

Why do robins sing in December

Long before the spring time is due

And even though it’s snowing,

Violets are growing

I know why and so do you

__________

Why do breezes sigh every evening

Whispering your name as they do

And why have I the feeling

Stars are on my ceiling

I know why and so do you

__________

When you smile at me

I hear gypsy violins

When you dance with me

I’m in heaven when the music begins

__________

I can see the sun when it’s raining

Hiding every cloud from my view

And why do I see rainbows

When you’re in my arms

I know why and so do you

I know why and so do you

THAT. Is a lyric, my friend. I would fall in love with anyone who could express themselves like that.

Credits: To George Shearing, jazz pianist extraordinaire. Fan: “Mr. Shearing, have you been blind your whole life?” Mr. Shearing: “Nope. Not yet.” Inspired!!!

This is the thirty-fourth of my final forty-five CD’s.

Food

Four Parables ~ Vaudeville ~ Klezmer Rondo; Paul Schoenfield, composer; The New World Symphony; John Nelson, conducting; Jeffrey Kahane, piano

I would suppose that the first food that I learned to prepare by myself was cereal; Cap’n Crunch, Froot Loops, Quisp and Apple Jacks. And probably toast. I don’t remember the lessons. But I do remember when Mom taught me how to steam a hot dog. That’s all I ate for the next full week in an effort to perfect my technique. Scrambled eggs came soon after. Popcorn came on the heels of scrambled eggs and then rice.

Around the time that I turned nine years old, Mom saw a contraption at the local Coast to Coast store called a PrestoBurger. Put the ground beef on the hot part of the gadget, press the lid down on the beef and you had a perfectly round hamburger in about two minutes. Shortly after that, she bought the Presto FryBaby. We really lived high on the hog from then on. I mean, honest-to-God crinkle-cut french fries … just like at the restaurants.

Soon I learned how to make macaroni and cheese, molasses cookies, Shake-N-Bake, grilled cheese sandwiches and oyster stew. Of course, I didn’t need the talent to make any of these things while I was in college. But, when I went to CCM, I had to summon all of the cooking and baking competence that I had achieved up to that time. While I can’t boast of a wide variety of food that I kept in the kitchen of my apartment, I can tell of how I ate out only four times during the first three months of my post-collegiate matriculation.

The summer of 1995 found me between jobs. Dad had always told us kids, “If you need to come home for a while after college, your rooms will always be here. There’s plenty for you to do around here until you figure out what comes next.” So, I stacked bales, cultivated corn and hauled grain wagons for Dad during July and August.

I remember the first day … about an hour before noon. Dad said, “Son, why don’t you go inside and fix us something for lunch.” I complied. Whatever it was that I prepared, apparently, hit the spot because the same thing happened the next day. “Son, why don’t you go inside and fix us something to eat.” I tried different things; pancakes, french toast, pork chops, beef stew. A couple of times I rustled up some home-made soup.

Now, on a scale of one hundred miles, with a carnivore on one end and a vegetarian on the other, my plot on the scale is about ninety-nine miles away from the vegetarian. But, can you believe that during that summer, I found that one-mile degree difference between my father and me? One day I made home-made cream of vegetable soup for lunch. He tasted it and said, “Say, this is pretty good. Maybe next time you can find some meat to add to it.” Full-blooded carnivore. I suppose it’s asking a lot for a man with a herd of cattle to sustain a plate of food that didn’t give up an awful lot to make an appearance at his table.

While I was fixing lunch one day, I heard on public radio an incredible piece called “Four Parables” for piano and orchestra. Someone had suggested to the composer that he compose a piece based on stories from his life. The suggestion resulted in these “Parables”. The story associated with the last movement of this wonderfully creative work involved his neighbor’s children and the death of the family dog. He found the children crying near the curb one day upon his arrival at home. To console them, he cheered them up with the story of doggy heaven, where the streets are lined with bones and there’s a fire hydrant on every corner. And, so, the last movement of “Four Parables” is what he imagines a jazz bar would be like in “Doggy Heaven”. It’s kind of like if Igor Stravinsky wrote “Rhapsody In Blue”. Mark my words: I am going to learn this piece and play it with an orchestra some day. Just you wait.

On the issue of vegetables, let me relate what I heard a friend say: With regards to pizza, I prefer not to include vegetables. If it didn’t die a horrible, horrible death, I don’t want it on mypizza.

Credits: To the Quaker Oats Company, maker of Cap’n Crunch, “an important part of this nutritious breakfast”.

This is the thirty-third of my final forty-five CD’s.

Nickel Creek!

This Side; Nickel Creek

I have held off for as long as I can. I’m frankly surprised that I could last three hundred fifty-one days before blurting out this inborn, personal truth: I LOVE LOVE LOVE Nickel Creek!

From their CD’s – the only way that I have encountered this group, by the way – I perceive a spiritual, artistic and musically virtuosic deftness … a youthful effervescence, an almost athletic exuberance that draws ebullience from a charged and bottomless well of animation, verve, fire and dash. And all of that without the assistance of a drummer.

I purchased this CD in 2002 shortly before my trek home for Christmas. And, while I certainly enjoyed it on the way to South Dakota, it was while I cruised around Kansas, Oklahoma and New Mexico to get back to San Antonio, Texas, after my Christmas break, that the inspired music on this CD carved a niche in my soul. As with other CD’s when I traveled around in other places, “This Side” provided a travelogue soundtrack as I drank in the raw, open and wild Southwest.

Credits: To Nickel Creek. Wow! Wow! All I can say is Wow!

This is the thirty-second of my final forty-five CD’s.

On the road to Cincinnati

'Round Midnight; Nelson Riddle and his Orhestra; Linda Ronstadt, vocal

The word German word “bitte” means “please”. If you wanted to politely ask for a menu during your trip to Dusseldorf, you would say, “Ein Speisekarte, bitte.” It’s a very nice word. The Germans also use the word in the same way that we Americans say, “what?” or “huh?” or “I beg your pardon?” or “What’s that you say?” or “Could you repeat that?” or “I’m sorry?”.

Cincinnati is a German town. Her first mayor, David Ziegler, a veteran from the Revolutionary War, came from Heidelberg. Her Oktoberfest is the largest in the U.S. and she finds a sister city in Munich.

It is common to find native Cincinnatians whose vernacular allows them to use the English translation for the word “bitte” when they ask for people to repeat a statement, saying, “Please?” if the speaker’s words became lost in the wind.

I didn’t know that when I came rolling into town in August of 1988. Dad had bought me a car for three hundred dollars from D. who lived just down the road. “Would you drive it a thousand miles to get to Ohio?”, Dad asked. “Yup,” said D. “I’d change the oil first.” That was good enough for Dad. I had spent some time with family in the Twin Cities and then headed on down the road, bound for the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music.

I pulled into town right at noon. So, I stopped at the Wendy’s Hamburgers drive-thru. The following exchange took place.

Wendy’s Employee (WE): Welcome to Wendy’s. Can I take your order?

Me: Yes. I’ll take a bacon double cheeseburger with no ketchup, a large fries and a medium coke.

WE: Please?

Me: ….. Okay, I’ll play your silly little game. I’ll take a bacon double cheeseburger with no ketchup, a large fries and medium coke, PLEASE!

The poor little waif that took my money at the window had nothing but scowls for me. And I had no way of knowing why … until about three weeks later when one of my professors happened to mention the regional idiosyncracy during class. Have you ever experienced delayed embarrassment? I have. I did. I think I turned beet red just sitting in class and reliving my encounter with the Wendy woman.

All the way across Wisconsin, Illinois and Indiana, I listened to my dual cassette ghetto blaster. No CD’s, yet. Just cassette tapes. The one I listened to the most on my way to Ohio was Linda Ronstadt’s jazz album trilogy “What’s New?”, “Lush Life” and “For Sentimental Reasons”. All of the songs were arranged by Nelson Riddle. He passed away shortly after these albums. His last chart was for the tune “Goodbye”.

Credits: To D., for selling me a car.

This is the thirty-first of my final forty-five CD’s.

Uncle Paul and Aunt Vi

Give Me Jesus ~ Spirituals; The Moses Hogan Singers; Barbara Hendricks, soprano

Every once in a while, on the way home from church, Dad would say, “When we get home, I’m gonna feed the cows, let’s have a quick bite to eat … and then let’s go visit Uncle Paul and Aunt Vi.” Typically, whenever Dad made that announcement, there was a celebration of jubilee in the back seat. My sisters and I spent some of the best Sunday summer afternoons of our lives at the home of our Uncle Paul and Aunt Vi. What about our favorite great aunt and uncle captivated us? To be sure, lots of things.

Number one: a cuckoo clock. We didn’t know anybody else who had one. Parents, take note. Few things will quiet the children more than the anticipation of an impending cuckoo.

Number two: a windmill. When we turned south of the main highway that came west out of Oldham, South Dakota, we could see an old windmill that appeared on the horizon right after a rise in the gravel road. It amused all of us to no end because it looked like it stood right in the middle of the road, and that, were we to drive a little further than Uncle Paul and Aunt Vi’s farm, we would have to drive around it.

Number three: a magnificent backyard. Our aunt and uncle had thinned out the trees in the backyard just enough to provide a canopy from the hot rays of the sun. They had a huge stone chimney barbeque grill right in the middle of it all.

Number four: the coolest barn ever. We had a barn on our own farm, of course, and many hours of good times were had there by my sisters and me. But Uncle Paul’s barn had a haymow full of fresh hay and a Tarzan vine from which to plunge into the heaps of dried grass and alfalfa. If you have a mother, it is best not to tell her how much fun you can have in a barn until you are thirty-seven.

Number five: a reel-to-reel tape player. We listened to a seemingly endless barrage of stories from Bill Cosby one evening.

Number six: five hundred photo albums. We would sit in chairs and pour for hours over pictures of families, trips, graduations, baptisms and weddings. My sisters and I learned a lot about our family history by looking at those photo albums and listening to Uncle Paul and Aunt Vi tell stories.

Number seven: lunch. Aunt Vi must have had a section of the refrigerator set aside for when our family came over. She could lay out such a spread – usually involving cookies and pumpkin bread.

I could also tell you about a motorcycle, a spookhouse in the barn, a vegetable garden in last year’s cowyard, family picnics, new tractors and a bank of toys. Uncle Paul had that zest for life and story-telling that characterized the wagon load of Aplands that drove up to South Dakota out of Iowa one summer in the late 1800’s. He found a woman who matched his ardor, ounce for passionate ounce. And, together, they passed on their joie de vivre to three sons; who have also done the same.

In the fall of 1995, Dr. C. told me, “Erik, you have to come up and listen to my choir sing ‘Joshua Fit De Battle Of Jericho.” Ah, the old chestnut. “Oh, no. I have the new arrangement by Moses Hogan.” Moses Hogan. Moses Hogan. Moses Hogan. Where have I heard that name before? “I don’t know, but the brother can arrange a spiritual, I can tell you dat.” Moses Hogan. Moses Ho…

Ah, HA!! Yes!! I remember!! Moses Hogan was the pianist who played Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky piano concertos with the Minnesota Pops Orchestra under Mitch Miller at Orchestra Hall so many years before; the night that I knew that I wanted to be a professional musician. After hearing how Mr. Hogan had transformed this traditional spiritual into a heated sermon, I knew that I needed more.

In January of 2003, I received the news that Uncle Paul had passed. I couldn’t go to the funeral. So I did the next best thing. I dug through my CD’s, searching for solace amongst the spirituals sung by the Moses Hogan Singers and soprano Barbara Hendricks. After finding it, I commissioned them to bear me up in light of this segment of childhood that had slipped away. They failed me only once – when they sang that ….

There’s a man going round taking names.

There’s a man going round taking names.

He has taken my father’s name,

And he’s left my heart in pain.

There’s a man going round taking names.

__________

Death is that man taking names.

Death is that man taking names.

He has taken my mother’s name,

And he’s left my heart in pain

Death is that man taking names.

__________

There’s a man going round taking names.

There’s a man going round taking names.

He has taken my brother’s name,

And he’s left my heart in pain.

There’s a man going round taking names.

I listened to this album twice within a month. The second time I heard it was upon the death of Moses Hogan, himself. He died on February 11, 2003, at the age of forty-five of a brain tumor. Within a month, two stalwart men,my favorite uncle and the man who awoke the inspiration for a musical career, entered the heavenly farm and concert hall of the Lord. These were “growing-up” moments.

Credits: To my great-grandfather Elias Apland, for moving to South Dakota. I hope you were as happy to move there as I was to grow up there.

This is the thirtieth of my final forty-five CD’s.

Thank you

Danke Schoen; Wayne Newton

In the spring of 1979, the music teacher for kindergarten through eighth grade at Sioux Valley Schools had the elementary school students perform a program of music through the decades with the first-graders singing a couple songs from the 1910’s, second graders singing songs from the 1920’s, and so on. When she got to programming music for the 1950’s, she decided that she wanted some bass and drums added to the piano. She also wanted to free herself up from the piano. She asked me to play the piano for the fifth and sixth grade classes. She also asked my friends John, who played bass, and Troy, who played drums, to play as well. Guess what. We were a huge hit. Guess what also what. We were terrible. But it didn’t matter. We were fourteen and fifteen years old. We made chord coordinated noise while somebody banged on a drum. That’s all you need at that age.

I always looked up to John. He was one of those “bigger than life” characters that all of us meet on the highway of life. He was more than the class clown. He was more than a show-off. He had pizzazz. He had panache. He had moxie, razzle, dazzle and zeal. He’s the only person I’ve ever met whose comedic and social shenanigans operated under a consistently full measure of serendipity and je nais sais quoi.

When I saw the movie “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”, I didn’t see Matthew Broderick on the screen. I saw my friend John. Like Ferris, John did funny things. Like Ferris, John said funny things. Like Ferris, John invented his own fast lane, and made it his own private drive.

Of course, the high point of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” is when Mr. Bueller jumps on the float in the parade and lip synchs to Wayne Newton’s “Danke Schoen” and then “Twist And Shout”. I don’t know if John would have been in possession of the wherewithal of hipness to know the words to “Danke Schoen”. But he might have known the lyrics to “Twist And Shout”.

In 1999, the lighting of the National Christmas Tree at the Ellipse in Washington, D.C., - called the Pageant of Peace – featured classical soprano Renee Fleming, country and bluegrass artist Marty Stuart and … you guessed it … your friend and mine … Mr. Las Vegas, his own ‘sef … Wayne Newton. “The President’s Own” United States Marine Band had been chosen to be the “house” band that year. And I had been chosen to be in the “house” band. We rehearsed with the musical guests on the day before the pageant at the Marine barracks. Wayne Newton, along with all of the other musical talent, was there to rehearse his numbers, was very personable, and took the time to talk with anyone who wanted to strike up a conversation with him. He wasn’t asked to sing “Danke Schoen”, for which he said “Thank you.”

Credits: To Wayne Newton, for warming hearts with your music and for his work with the USO. You’re a good man, Newt. And to John. I, to this day, revel in your impulsive, impromptu and expeditious nature.

Only three months until Christmas. Stores are open until ten o’clock after Thanksgiving.

This is my normal Saturday individual track posting.

Shakespeare under the stars

Scenes from Shakespeare; William Walton, composer; Academy of St. Martin in the Fields; Sir Neville Marriner, conducting; Sir John Gielgud, actor; Christopher Plummer, actor

My first exposure to William Shakespeare, post-high school, occurred during the summer of 1987 when I worked at the Grand Lake Lodge at Grand Lake, Colorado. Six of us employees, one day, realized that we had the same night off. “Who wants to take a trip to Boulder?” Well, that sounds like fun. Okay. Count me in.

As soon as we got into town, we started looking for something to do in the evening. One of my friends said, “Hey, the Colorado Shakespeare Festival is going on and they’re doing a production of ‘The Tempest’ tonight. How does that sound to everybody?” “Yeah.” “Yeah.” “Yeah.” “Yeah.” Really? Hmmm. That’s what you want to do tonight? Well. I guess so. Let’s get tickets.

This production of “The Tempest” took place outdoors and not one cloud blotted out the stars. We sat in comfortable chairs in the throes of a cool summer evening breeze. I figured the weather would be the best part of the evening. Wrong.

I never imagined that I would get turned on by the acting out of a play by William Shakespeare. And, yet, I sat there amidst all the elements of an idyllic Colorado alfresco experience … and hardly noticed them … nor the time that went by. When Prospero, shorn of his powers, invited the audience to set him free from the island with their applause, I steadfastly refused. I wanted more. Right now. More.

I found out later that the Colorado Shakespeare Festival is one of the three finest of its kind in the country. And I don’t doubt it. To turn an unbeliever into a believer within the confines of a couple of hours is a rare feat. I would like some day to go back.

When Lawrence Olivier directed his Shakespearean “Trilogy” for the cinema – Henry V, Hamlet and Richard III – he called on one of his fellow countrymen, British composer Sir William Walton, to provide the soundtrack. The music for each film speaks of regality, bravery, heart and hope.

The music for these films has been put into suite form. When Neville Marriner decided to record this music, he asked Shakespearean actors Christopher Plummer and John Gielgud to recite specific soliloquies between the suite selections. William Shakespeare, William Walton, Christopher Plummber, John Gielgud, Neville Marriner – noble Englishmen all. It just doesn’t get any better than this.

Credits: To Laurence Olivier, for excellence in Shakespeare interpretation. Chris, Johnny – you’re pretty good, too. Bravo.

This is the twenty-ninth of my final forty-five CD's.

Another guitar album

Let It Fall; Sean Watkins, guitar

When I listen to some of my instrumental jazz and pop CD’s, I tend to consider them as a whole. It usually happens when I don’t know any of the tunes that the artists choose to play. If I should chance to listen to an Oscar Peterson album where he features music by Master George Gershwin, then I will, typically, mentally compartmentalize each tune on the recording because I know so much of the music of Mr. Gershwin. I can compare his interpretation to one by other artists … not from a standpoint that one is any better than another … but from a perspective that the differences in style therein are absolutely valid and can be celebrated.

When I listen to Sean Watkins’ 2001 CD “Let It Fall”, I hear a complete work. I don’t sit in a chair and listen to the recording with the set list in front of me. Since they are instrumental and I’ve never heard them before, the titles don’t really mean that much to me. But the music does. And I like to listen to how each tune connects to the next. I suppose you could conjecture that I listen to the music in the same way that I would listen to a symphony.

Beethoven didn’t construct a symphony by pasting together a bunch of pretty tunes. In his head, each movement related to each other. In a similar fashion, I have to believe that Mr. Watkins had a iron-clad conception of how his tunes – all of the tunes, except one, on this album, by the way, came from the pen of Sean Watkins – would fit together on this album.

I’m not saying that this is the “right” way to listen to an album. It is, however, the way that I listen to instrumental jazz recordings.

There is one exception: the title song, “Let It Fall”. It has words and, in my mind, stands separate from the others. It’s a beautiful song. They say that Mr. Watkins wrote this song with a specific singer … a famous singer … in mind. And when it came time to record the song, he went to the famous singer and asked him if he would. I have to say that it takes a special kind of fiber, determination and pluck to ask a recognized musical artist to come and sing a song on your album. But that’s what happened.

Glen Phillips played guitar, sang vocals and wrote songs with and for the alternative rock band Toad the Wet Sprocket. When Sean approached Mr. Phillips with the song, he tried it and liked it. It takes the number two position on the album “Let It Fall”.

My kingdom’s walls have fallen down

But I know that

I don’t wear an undeserved crown

And though it seemed to fit me well

Underneath it

I would certainly fall down

__________

Last summer we left things unsaid

That should be now a long time dead

And now it seems that time has put it well

The words can chase away a friend

But to a lie they’ll bring an end

And Throw it down the darkest, deepest well

__________

Let it fall

Let go.

I found this album at Rock’n Rudy’s in Missoula, Montana, during the Christmas of 2001. I like the orange color on the front of the case. It reminds me of when I came back to my sister’s apartment after purchasing the CD. Mom and my sister K. had been feeding my nephew N. carrots one right after the other. His face was completely orange.

Credits: To Glen Phillips, for a wonderful singing voice and for choosing a great name for a band. Toad The Wet Sprocket. Wow!

This is the twenty-eighth of my final forty-five CD's.

A Chance Meeting

Take 6; Take 6

In 2001, President George W. Bush extended invitations to several African-American musicians to help celebrate “Black Music Month” with an afternoon gala at the White House on June 30. In attendance were Shirley Caesar, the Blind Boys of Alabama, James Brown, the Harlem Jazz Museum Artists and Lionel Hampton. The acapella vocal Gospel ensemble Take 6 and Jazz/Gospel artist Regina Belle entertained the capacity crowd.

The White House had requested a pianist from “The President’s Own” United States Marine Band to play the grand Steinway for the guests as they came up the stairs, through the entrance and cross hall, and into the East Room for the occasion. The Marine Band volunteered me.

It was a Friday afternoon and President Bush had business up at Camp David over the weekend. After the hour-long celebration in the East Room, the President invited all of the guests to approach the south windows to watch him and Mrs. Bush take off on Marine One. Since the function had concluded, the head usher asked me to begin playing the piano. All of the guests, however, remained at the windows to watch the President’s helicopter take off. All of them except one.

While I was playing the piano, here came this short energetic man around the corner, heading for the stairs. I thought to myself, There’s only one man in the world with a coif like that. And for just a few seconds, two universes collided. The “hardest working man in show business” and the straight-laced, corn-fed, All-American, Midwestern, Marine Band piano player had an encounter.

James Brown, with his smile setting at Dazzle Thirty-Seven, he looked at me and something like “You … {unintelligible} … piano … {again, unintelligible} … good!” I smiled right back at him and said, Thank you, Mr. Brown. He responded with, “Hyeah!” And he went out the front door like he owned the place.

I heard the great and powerful music of Take 6 that day, a group I have adored for over fifteen years. They have a unique sound. When I left the barracks that day for the White House, I knew that they would be there and I was excited. They didn’t disappoint. But their visit was eclipsed by a chance meeting with James Brown.

Credits: To Lionel Hampton, one of the greatest vibes players ever. I’m glad I got to see you, sir. Well done.

This is the twenty-seventh of my final forty-five CD’s.

John Williams

By Request ... The Best of John Williams and the Boston Pops; Boston Pops Orchestra; John Williams, conducting; John Williams, composer

Friends, this is probably the easiest entry that I have.

John Williams.

I have nothing else to say.

Credits: To John Williams. I still have nothing else to say.

This is the twenty-sixth of my final forty-five CD’s.

Beautiful Islands and lost music

Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini; Sergei Rachmaninov, composer; Piano Concerto No. 1; Dimitri Shostakovich, composer; Paganini Variations; Witold Lutoslawski, composer; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra; Vladimir Ashkenazy, conducting; Peter Jablonski, piano

My sister K. once told me a story about an Independence Day parade in a small Minnesota town. It seems that in the late evening hours that lead into the day of the parade, some shameless, knife-brandishing rascals slinked surreptitiously through town and slashed all of the tires on all of the floats that the fine Minnesota citizens of said town had decorated for their parade. Refusing to succumb to the general ill-will, malignity and rancor of these miserable, dispiriting scamps, the parade committee decided to continue with their plans for the parade, having each of the entries –flat-tired floats, marching bands, horse troops, boy scouts, girl scouts, drill teams, corvette clubs, fire trucks, Masons, service clubs and pooper scoopers – line up in parade order. At the time the parade was to start, they asked the parade-watching public to, please, make their way along the parade route … in a type of “un”-parade … so that everyone could see the floats, in addition to all of the other entries.

This scene played through my mind in 1991 and 1993 each time the Crown Odyssey negotiated her way through the parade of islands that line the shipping lanes through Sweden’s archipelago east of Stockholm. For almost three hours, either preceding an entrance to, or after a departure from, the beautiful harbor of Stockholm, I was witness to oasis after oasis; tiny bits of land, big enough for a house, a yard, a dock and a boat; completely surrounded by water. Truthfully, this was one of the quaintest marriages of land- and sea-scape that I ever saw during my time on the high seas.

I found a fantastic CD shop in the busiest part of downtown Stockholm. When I entered the store, I heard the majestic eighteenth variation from Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, bringing me to the realization that I didn’t have a recording of this great work. When I approached the register, I saw the recording that was being fed into the shop’s sound system. Swedish pianist Peter Jablonski had recorded, not only the Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, but also the Piano Concerto No. 1 by Dmitiri Shostakovich and the “Paganini Variations” by Polish composer Witold Lutoslawski.

Composers have been haunted by the twenty-fourth caprice of Nicolo Paganini’s Twenty-Four Caprices for Solo Violin before the ink was even dry on the parchment. Robert Schumann, Franz Liszt, Johannes Brahms and Mr. Rachmaninoff are just a few who have found inspiration in the Italian’s virtuosic show piece.

During World War II, Witold Lutoslawski formed a piano duo with fellow pianist and composer Andrzej Panufnik, and for this ensemble Mr. Lutoslawski had written some two-hundred arrangements, of which “Paganini Variations” was the most famous. A few days before the Warsaw Uprising of 1944, Lutoslawski and his mother left Warsaw, taking with him just a few scores, sketches and … the “Paganini Variations”. None of the rest of his compositions survived the destruction of the city.

“Paganini Variations” has become one of the most popular compositions in the two-piano repertoire. Based on Franz Liszt’s version of the variations, Mr. Lutoslawski’s take on the Caprice lasts about eight minutes. In 1978, a concert pianist, I don’t remember who, approached the Polish composer and asked if he would orchestrate the piece for piano and orchestra. The result is a brilliant lesson in orchestration. He didn’t orchestrate just one piano part; he orchestrated both. So that each variation would be played twice back to back; once with the piano playing the part of piano one and the orchestra playing the part of piano two, and then again with each entity switching parts. It is one of the most glorious ten minutes of music on my iPod.

The joy of seeing these two pieces, with a single melody in common, bookend this album was enough for me. But, wait, there’s more. Peter Jablonski is a pianist for the ages. I hear brilliance, excitement and sensitivity in his playing. Rhythmically, he is as solid a player as I’ve ever heard. Let me tell you why. When he was seven years old, he was named the best jazz drummer in Sweden.

Credits: To Witold Lutoslawski, an outstanding composer. Two-hundred two piano arrangements – lost. That’s rough, pal. We are so thankful for your variations. Bravo.

This is the twenty-fifth of my final forty-five CD's.

My friend Larry

From Paris To Rio; Karrin Allyson, piano, vocal

Larry Skinner was one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever met and with whom I’ve ever had the opportunity to play music. When I started working on the Delta Queen steamboat in New Orleans, Louisiana, in the January of 1997, Larry was the trumpet player and leader of the “Riverboat Five” Dixieland band on board. He was an instant friend; not only of mine, but of virtually anyone he met. The way he interacted with the staff and, most importantly, the passengers endeared him to me and my fellow band members.

His abilities with Dixieland and jazz were matched by skills in classical music. It is rare, in the realm of jazz, to find a trumpet player who could play the lead trumpet book in a jazz band, and then take the second chair solo position. Larry accomplished this with ease.

My favorite time of the week on the boat came on Sunday. The staff would get together to lead a church service. Larry always attended the service and played special music with me toward the end of worship, right before the benediction.

After leaving the Delta Queen at the end of 1998 to begin my four-year stint in “The President’s Own” United States Marine Band, I heard from him periodically. He would be in port somewhere and take the time to call me. It meant a lot to me.

The last time that I talked to him, he was excited about a singer whose most recent CD he had purchased just a few days before. Her name was Karrin Allyson. He made me promise that I would go to the CD store … that day … to pick up my own copy.

“From Paris to Rio” has wonderful songs that Ms. Allyson sings in English, French and Portuguese. I have three favorites: the opening song, “Sous Le Ciel de Paris”, “That Day” from the film “Cinema Paradiso” and the one that Larry liked called “O Pato”, or, in English, “The Duck”.

Larry passed away in 2000 from complications after a stroke. I miss him dearly. But I get to think of him whenever I listen to “The Duck”.

Credits: To Larry Skinner. An excellent musician and a first class friend.

This is the twenty-fourth of my final forty-five CD’s.

Talent contest

Taylor the Latte Boy; Kristin Chenoweth, vocal

When I was in the sixth grade, Mom entered me into a talent contest in Brookings. It was associated with the Snow Queen contest.

Now, allow me to say right here, so as to nip in the bud, right here, right now, any jokes that you are forming … and you are … concerning me and the Snow Queen contest. I was not entered in the Snow Queen contest. Do you understand? I was entered in the talent contest. The Snow Queen contest was a qualifier for young women to participate in the Miss South Dakota contest. If a young woman won the local Snow Queen contest, she got to participate in the State Snow Queen contest. And that’s really all I know … and all I want to know about the Snow Queen contest.

Well, I won the talent contest. That meant that I went on to compete in the state talent contest at the … aforementioned … {ahem} … Snow Queen contest. Well, guess what. I won the state contest!! I came home with a trophy; the only trophy I’ve ever picked up. And I still have it.

Mom had actually entered me in the same talent contest the year before. The local coordinators had set up a junior division and a senior division in the talent contest. I won the junior division, but the winners of the senior division were given the opportunity to go to the state contest.

It was blizzard conditions during that first contest. We had talked about stopping for a bite to eat at evening’s end. But Dad said, “Let’s get home.” It’s a good thing that we did, too, because, after we got home, the blizzard turned itself up to eleven and socked us in for five days.

Garrison Keillor’s “Prairie Home Companion” on National Public Radio has the atmosphere of a talent or variety show. It harkens back to the brief but brilliant Stan Freberg Show from 1957 when the crafty host would feature acrobats, jugglers and skating penguins on his radio show. Mr. Keillor has a virtual encyclopedia of sound effects (in the form of soundman Tim Russell) to create the acoustic atmosphere suitable for his skits, poems and stories.

When Mr. Keillor brings musical talent on board, I would guess that he encourages material that would respond well to both a live and a radio audience. And it is under these circumstances that I once heard the refreshing soprano Kristin Chenoweth since a campy little song called “Taylor, the Latte Boy”. With her classically trained, yet child-like, voice, she plays the part of a young, grown-up seventeen-year-old who stops to get her double latte from the boy who works at Starbucks.

So today at 8:11 when he smiled and said, “How are you?”

I said, “Fine, and my name’s Kristin”

And he softly answered, “Hey.”

And I said, “My name is Kristen, and thank you for the extra … foam …”

And he said his name was Taylor,

Which provides the inspiration for this … poem …

Rhyming “foam” with “poem”. Brilliant. It reminds me of the song “Old Joe’s Place” by the Folkmen when they sang:

There’s a puppy in the parlor

And a skillet on the stove

And a smelly old blanket

That a Navajo wove

Now, that’s inspired.

Credits: To Tim Russell, a latter day Jonathan Winters. I remember you from WCCO radio in Minneapolis. I love your Julia Child impression.

This is my normal Saturday individual track posting.

Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur

Violin Concertos; Samuel Barber, composer; William Walton, composer; Baal Shem; Ernest Bloch, composer; Blatimore Symphony Orchestra; David Zinman, conducting; Joshua Bell, violin

An old Jewish legend has it that, when God permitted the waters of the Red Sea to return upon the Egyptian army as it attempted to follow the exodus of the Jews out of Egypt, the angels rejoiced, singing and praising God. But, as the legend continues, God stops them during their celebration. “Can’t you see,” He asks, “that some of my Egyptian children are drowning?!?”

Every year, during the season of Lent, Passover and Easter, I seem to encounter those folk who choose to “remind” me that I, as a Christian, blame the Jews for the death of Jesus Christ. If I ever had the opportunity to respond to that “reminder”, I would say that I don’t blame the Jews for any such thing. Christ’s death occurred at the hands of some people who happened to be Jewish, and were responding to the ministry of Christ in a way that they thought was right. I can hardly blame an entire Jewish nation, and world-wide community, for an incident that occurred under very specific circumstances almost two thousand years ago.

Lent and Easter is also when I come to grips with one of the greatest ironies of ironies. I worship and honor my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ … who was Jewish. I’m not Jewish. And, yet, I devote my life to the veneration and exaltation of one who, when He walked this earth, lived the Jewish life. If I follow His teachings, though, I’m not Jewish.

I view that season of the year as a little divisive. Not a lot; just a little. Thankfully, on the other side of the year, the High Holy Days … Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur … occur. Why, you may ask, do I say “thankfully”?

This year, for the fourth time, I sit at the keyboard, at the Temple Beth Shalom to provide service music, along with members of the Annapolis Chamber Chorus, for their congregation on the holiest days of the Jewish year. For me, it is a place, a figurative place, where I, and other Christians, can meet the people of the Jewish faith. They have a need, and we are able to fulfill it. Nothing is said about differences. The differences are not what the High Holy Days are about. Not for them; not for us. It’s about caring. It’s about community. It’s about giving, imparting and offering.

Jewish composer Ernest Bloch was born in 1880 of Jewish-Swiss parents. He found his way to the United States by accepting an invitation to conduct the Maude Allen Dance Troupe on an extended tour through the US. Upon their arrival, however, they discovered that the troupe was bankrupt! Rather than consider himself stranded, he decided to stay in the US, becoming a professor at Mannes School of Music, and eventually becoming the Director of the Cleveland Institute of Music.

Mr. Bloch said, “It is the Jewish soul that interests me … it is the better part of me. It is this which I endeavor to transcribe in my music; the venerable soul of (our) race.” From this fire came “Hebrew Meditation”, “From Jewish Life” and “Nigun”.

Joshua Bell included a powerful three-movement work by Ernest Bloch entitled “Baal Shem – Three Pictures of Chasidic Life” on his 1997 album that featured Violin Concertos by Samuel Barber and William Walton. I bought the album for the Barber Violin Concerto. It’s fantastic. So is “Baal Shem”.

Credits: To Ernest Bloch, for staying in the United States. Like he had a choice. We’re glad you stayed anyway. Beautiful music. Shalom.

This is the twenty-third of my final forty-five CD's.

Cartoons and Superman

Inside Wants Out; John Mayer, guitar, vocal

Whoever invented the concept of Saturday morning cartoons knew my, and my generation’s, prepubescent profile implicitly. You couldn’t drag my age group away from the TV on Saturday mornings. In the days before Saturday morning soccer, ballet, baseball, music lessons and art classes, executives at the major TV networks figured out that a very specific viewing audience had more time than anyone else to watch television before "The Wide, Wide, World of" football, baseball, basketball and golf. And that audience was me and my friends.

I couldn’t get enough Bugs Bunny, Scooby Doo, Yogi Bear, Captain Caveman, Speed Buggy, Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm, The Pink Panther, “Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle” and “Help!...It’s the Hair-Bear Bunch!”. So many other shows were intermingled with all of these classics and I had the whole morning’s schedule memorized. I knew when to change the channel for what show and when I had time to take a shower.

Bugs Bunny was my all-time favorite. I also liked Superfriends and the League of Justice with Superman, Batman and Robin, Wonder Woman, Aquaman and those stupid Wonder Twins.

In 1974, a live-action show debuted on the Saturday morning line-up called “Shazam!”. When someone cried for help, young Billy Batson would yell, “Shazam!”, lightning would strike him, and he’d turn into DC Comics’ superhero Captain Marvel. For a long time, I thought it was Captain Marble. But somebody turned me around on that. It was kind of like Superman, but there didn’t seem to be any really cool villains like Lex Luthor or the Penguin.

To this day, I’ve never had the opportunity to watch any episodes from the old “Adventures of Superman” series that ran in the 1950’s. All I knew about Superman was what I saw on Saturday morning. But when I saw a trailer for the 1978 movie “Superman” and was told that I would “believe a man can fly!”, I had to go. And I did. And I was impressed. I didn’t go running around the house afterward, with an “S” plastered onto my chest, and a blue cape behind my neck. No, sir, not with two sisters in the vicinity.

In the movie, they jumped fairly quickly from three-year-old Clark Kent’s ship landing on earth to teenage Clark Kent running home from school. And shortly after that, to his interview at “The Daily Planet” and Metropolis. I always wondered, How do you raise a superhero?

In 2001, when the W.B. station announced a show called “Smallville” that told of the early years of Clark Kent, I thought, Aha! Very clever! Television had once more read my profile and provided for my needs. Good for you, TV. Always looking out for your friend from so long ago. Thank you.

The production team of Smallville, from the beginning, adopted a process where, in addition to musical underscore, each episode would have its own soundtrack, comprising one or more songs by musical bands. Toward the end of the first season of “Smallville”, a song caught my ear on “Obscura”, the second to last episode.

“Welcome to the real world”, she said to me

Condescendingly

"Take a seat

Take your life

Plot it out in black and white"

__________

Well, I never lived the dreams of the prom kings

And the drama queens

I’d like to think the best of me

Is still hiding up my sleeve

__________

They love to tell you

“Stay inside the lines”

But something’s better

On the other side

The soundtrack for that episode had included John Mayer’s song “No Such Thing” from his album “Room For Squares”. And it was like John Mayer was reading my profile.

My talents, and the way that they “operate” the goings-on in my life, don’t conform to orthodoxy. The varying things that I can do actually prevent me from being “pigeon-holed”. Some may think that they have me figured out … pigeon-holed … and then they find out that I can do something else … and something else … and then something else.

I haven’t, yet, at the tender age of forty-four years and eleven months, figured out what my lasting contribution will be to our planet and its human race. Maybe it’s been done. I hope not. I have this glimmering hunch, this hopeful sense, this foggiest, this faintest, this sometimes overwhelming suggestion that … the best of me is still hiding up my sleeve.

I can be impulsive. When I heard this song toward the end of that episode of “Smallville”, I drove straight to Tower Records to find the album that featured it. “Room For Squares” sat on the shelf next to another John Mayer album called “Inside Wants Out”. The latter was the recording he made before garnering a Sony contract. At the time, he didn’t have his own band. There were other instruments included on some of the tracks. But mostly, it was just him and his guitar. And I was utterly knocked out by the quantity and quality of music that emanated from the body and accessory of one guy – just one guy. To me, a bass, a drum, a saxophone … even a piano … would have been a distraction.

John Mayer is a major pop artist now and still writes excellent songs, despite fame and fortune. The last part of his song “No Such Thing” he wrote for himself.

I just can’t wait till my ten year reunion

I’m gonna bust down the double doors

And when I stand on these tables before you

You will know what all this time was for

Credits: To Christopher Reeve, for a complete life, regardless of its brevity. “Noises Off” was good. “Superman” was great.

This is the twenty-second of my final forty-five CD's.

A world class concert career

Poeme; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra; Andrew Litton, conducting; Joshua Bell, violin

If you’ve been hanging around my blog for a while, you’ve probably noticed the number of CD’s in my collection that feature Joshua Bell. I certainly have many of his recordings. He is a master of the violin and internationally renowned for his impeccable musicianship.

I follow his career with interest for two reasons. First of all, he comes from my generation. Although, I think that I have the advantage over him by about two years.

Let me say that I thank God everyday for the level of musicianship and technical pianistic facility that He has left in my care. Yes, as I always say, all humility intact, piano-playing comes pretty easy for me; not that I don’t work at it. I do. I really do. But there’s a shameful side, that I typically keep to myself, that wishes “for a little more”. Isn’t that selfish? If the musical aptitude could have been just – a – little – bit – bigger – well, maybe I could have had that world-tramping concert career that every classical musician pines for when they’re young.

So, in a sense, there’s a quiet part of me that lives vicariously through the musical life of someone my own age: Joshua Bell, violinist.

I also follow this young musician’s career because he is one of the few musicians who was able to break out of that “child prodigy” mold, becoming a serious, adult, concert artist. So many of his recordings, made when he was in his teens, have this handsome high school student on the cover … and it’s hard to make that connection between the virtuoso playing and that dimpled grin holding a fiddle.

With “Poeme”, recorded in 1992, he leaped out of that adolescent template, grabbed a hold of his public and made them see a grown man who has artistic integrity, a passion for music that has matured way beyond what anyone could ask of a “high school kid” and an ability to draw the enthusiasm, zeal and fervency out of an audience. Every CD since has stood on the shoulders of the one before it.

Mr. Bell is a talented artist who will always hold my attention and represent that which I will forever hope that I had.

Credits: To Mr. Joshua Bell, for finding his way out of adolescence to the world’s concert stages. Bravo.

This is the twenty-first of my final forty-five CD’s.

Honors and Tributes

Tribute; The Keith Jarrett Trio

I’m going to go out on a limb here and state that when they close the book on TV and all of us move on to – whatever it will be that surpasses TV – critics and enthusiasts will agree that some of the best television EVER came from Johnny Carson’s “Tonight Show”.

I don’t ever remember Mom or Dad having to tell us kids that it was time for bed. It seems to me that my sisters and I voluntarily hit the hay when exhaustion came home to roost. But, now and then, I allowed myself the opportunity to indulge in the sophisticated, interesting and witty banter between the Hollywood set and Mr. Carson behind his desk. It was the good old days. Naturally funny people brought funny stories to tell. Everybody was friends with everyone else and, to my eyes and ears, sincerity and innocence prevailed simultaneously

One time, when Don Rickles was guest hosting the show, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby and John Wayne all walked out onto the stage together, right in the middle of Mr. Rickles’ monologue, apparently without his knowledge that it was about to happen. Four huge stars in one place, and no battle of egos (egi?) to mar the interaction. Just good clean fun.

Back in the day when Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, The Smothers Brothers, Flip Wilson, Andy Williams and many others had their own show on TV, they would honor other musicians or actors by having them as guests on their show. They don’t have those kind of shows anymore. I haven’t even seen a Christmas special for years.

So how do stars, Hollywood or musical, honor each other anymore? About eighteen years ago, Tony Bennett released an album called “Perfectly Frank” as a tribute to Frank Sinatra. The group called The King’s Singers put out an album that honors the Beach Boys. Mel Torme honored Bing Crosby with an album entirely devoted to the elder crooner’s songbook.

I’m not really a fan of Keith Jarrett. He is a fine pianist. He has fought many personal demons and come out on the other side still playing music. I don’t know why, but I don’t particularly care for his style…

…Except on his album called Tribute. For some reason, what he has to offer musically truly resonates with me. He honors singer Nancy Wilson with the tune “Little Girl Blue”. He remembers saxophonist Charlie Parker by playing “Just In Time”. “All Of You” is dedicated to Miles Davis. Coleman Hawkins makes Mr. Jarrett think of “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes”. There are many others. My favorite has the trio recalling singer Anita O’Day with “The Ballad of the Sad Young Men.”

I wonder what song anybody would play to honor me? I know what my sisters would pick: The Root Beer Rag.

Credits: To The King’s Singers. I love your versatility, your humor and your music. Bravo.

This is the twentieth of my final forty-five CD's.

Train music

Spider Dreams; Turtle Island String Quartet

Since I was very young, I have been captivated by the notion of an oasis. The thought of a place of fresh water, vegetation and respite from ruthless, even deadly, desert surroundings of massive proportions is powerful to me. I’ve never been to, or seen, a real oasis. But I encounter them all the time.

My 2008 Chevy Trailblazer is an oasis. I set the temperature to a cool sixty-two degrees, turn on the Sirius/XM radio – or local radio – and the outside world keeps its troubles to itself. All I have to do is drive around the troubles.

My house during a snowstorm … or during a ninety degree summer day … is an oasis. The wilderness is outside. Pancakes, maple syrup, puzzles, movies and board games are inside.

The cruise ships on which I worked … oases. The lap of luxury completely hemmed in by thousands of square miles of water. My cabin on the Delta Queen, without a port hole, because it was below the waterline – definitely an oasis – a retreat from the nasty brackiness that passed by only inches from my pillow.

The first time I took the Amtrak out to Montana in 1997, I couldn’t stop thinking about the quarter-mile long oasis on wheels – on tracks – transporting me across the plains, carrying me through parts of the earth that seem to have been impacted very little by our fancy modern times. I looked outside to see the world as nature chose to present itself in these lonely, grassy and treeless places. Then I looked inside and saw the carpeted floor, an comfortable chair, a place to put my cup and a resting place for my feet. Now, HERE was an oasis.

On that trip I listened to “Spider Dreams” by the Turtle Island String Quartet, released in 1992. I had bought it some months before, but I had only listened to it once. It had sounded like something that needed my focus. That is to say that it didn’t provide particularly soothing background music. So I chose it for this trip. Interestingly enough, since the new music coincided with the new landscape, they bonded. Now, whenever I listen to this album on my iPod, I have a silent North Dakota/Montana travelogue reel that plays endlessly inside my mind. How ‘bout that? A mental oasis. Beautiful.

Credits: To Aunt Jemima and her pancake mix. You bring so much happiness to the first few hours of the morning. God bless you.

This is the nineteenth of my final forty-five CD's.