Tonight Spencer scored two tix to that Gang of Four show I blogged about. I have been looking forward to this since he mentioned it to me. Unfortunately, I do not know if I can uphold my obligation to him or not, as I have multiple conflicting engagements tomorrow. I am running a clear sleep deficit and really need to be 100%. I am struggling to get a power nap in, but it seems unclear to me if I will be able to. I’m really bummed about this; who knows, perhaps I will go to the show anyway.
Clog
My ear is so clogged up with wax that it is causing a bursitis-like pain in my jaw. It’s so amazingly painful, I can’t even describe it. So far, I don’t notice any pain-derived personality changes. I sure hope I can get it irrigated on Saturday.
Bell
Thanks to the quick-dialling Dayment, Viv and I attended the symphony this evening. In case that link evaporates, the program featured violinist Joshua Bell in front of a New York-based ensemble, the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. There were four works performed. Bell’s featured piece was the violin concerto.
Sibelius: Suite from Pelleas et Melisande
Saint-Saëns: Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor
Sofia Gubaidulina: Concordanza
Prokofiev: Symphony No. 1, Op. 25, “Classical”
I enjoyed all of them. The Gubaidulina was, strangely, a special treat. It’s a 1971 work, composed in Russia, and the dissonant bleeping and hissing and squawking is exactly the sonic employment of stage orchestral instrumentation that is sadly absent on the internet classical station we’ve been listening to. I have really missed hearing twentieth century orchestral stuff, especially late at night.
I got some good thinking done, as well, about a variety of subjects. Sadly, however, my right ear is utterly clogged with wax and let’s just say that the balance was off. Right now it hurts like hell, and I am a bit dizzy. I really need to make an appointment with the doctor to get it irrigated but I really do not have time until this weekend.
I should note here that Josh Bell came of age in Bloomington and I have memories of him being friends with people in my sister’s social circle. I believe that he and his family may have attended the same church that my family did, for a while at least. He did not attend the same schools as other kids his age in town. As I recall it, his family had moved to town in order to provide their gifted child with access to an important violin instructor, and Josh was engaged in studying with this maestro full time from pre-adolescence. My recollection, however, appears to be wrong, as Bell’s site notes that he was born in Bloomington.
I’m sure my mother will help fill in the details.
You say tomato
Harlem Nocturne
Viv was dining in the tender confines of happy hour, so I placed a few calls and wandered down to the specimen of declining urbanity known as Broadway, the cracked jewel of Capitol Hill.
I ended up dining at a small Pakistani establishment, and when I left, I was surprised to hear someone really busting out on a sax. He was standing on the corner across from the Starbucks that faces the newly-remodeled Broadway Market (which now houses a two-story full-city-block grocery store, ex-Seattleites may be interested to know).
I had just gotten set to record the sax when he wound up and fell into deep conversation with a woman who appeared fascinated, her small dog in tow. After much intent gazing and some note-scribbling, she crossed the street. He gazed after her for a moment, saxophone lowered.
He turned to face the stream of people passing on the sidewalk and lifted his ax.
“Harlem Nocturne” erupted from the instrument’s bell. Believing that I had previously activated the audio recorder on the phone I am posting this from, I crossed the street, excited.
After several minutes and a few muffed notes, the musician wound the tune up. As he placed his sax into his battered hardshell case, I walked by and gave him a five, saying “thank you,” reflecting my appreciation not solely of his playing, but also the beauty and drama of his musical choice following the interaction I had observed.
“God bless you,” was the unexpectedly heartfelt response. I watched a moment later as he boarded the number 60 bus.
A bookstore stop later (new Vollmann! The Men Who Stare at Goats!) I was excitedly mulling the prospect of converting my recording to mp3 and blogging it in the context of this entry. I had decided to head home as an economizAtion measure when I ran into my coworker Diana.
Her pals were playing at Julia’s, the former Ernie Steele’s space, and she was speaking to them outside. I excitedly tried to play my recording, but alas. I had been mistaken, and had actually failed to record the song !
I mentioned to Diana that I had been looking for a place to write, and to my surprise, that’s what Julia’s has proved to be – this entry was written and posted during her friends’ first set.
Now I should probably call Viv.
Haze, RIP
WFMU’s Beware of the Blog: Hasil Adkins dead at 67. [MeFi]
Frankenpasta
I’m sweaty as hell from a fast-paced hour in the kitchen cooking up a mean batch of my spaghetti while bending an ear to the majestic strains of In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning. Thank you, New Jersey, for your service to the nation.
Bonnie & Clyde
Looking for a real audio copy of British obscurity “the Ballad of Bonnie & Clyde”? Search no further.
I hear you
A remarkable collection of “bawdy songs.”
UPDATE: actually, the site itself is even more remarkable than I had realized. On March 31, the site author was in B-ton for “Extreme Folklore.” It’s a shame I was unaware of this; I surely would have alerted Holly.
The site author’s précis: “This website is dedicated to traditional bawdy songs, erotic toasts and other recitations. The name, Immortalia, was chosen because it is the name of the earliest unexpurgated bawdy songbook published in the USA.”
Please note, the above is a deliberate nose-tweak aimed at the TOS, which says, in part, “derivative works and other unauthorized copying or use of stills, text, sounds or graphics is expressly prohibited.” I have derived, and I have copied, as noted by the quotes.
The author appears to expressly encourage it, as on the “What’s New” page, he states, regarding a song entitled The Motherfucker’s Ball, “If you sing this song, please email me.”
Huh, that’s pretty obviously a derivative work. I wonder if the invitation is to provide for some sort of copyright enforcement.
The site remains remarkable. Perhaps the site author will exhibit the same sense of humor that much of the material so carefully collected therein does. I simply cannot believe the sheer density of the site.
iSuckage
Oh, I noticed an interesting side effect of the iPod and the iTunes music store today while holding for a support rep prior to going in: the music that was played on hold was the same pablum that gets pushed via promo agreements on the iTunes store. It was enough to make me want to rip my fucking ears off.
Once upon a time, the hold music was generic Silicon Valley technoschmutz, no vocals to allow you to personalize your feelings of violation and hatred as you listen to some ex-American Idol contestant promulgate idiotic, preadolescent fantasies about fate and relationships and rainbows and stormy skies. And ponies.
This new promo program (sources tell is it was code-named “Down Your Throat”) raises customer irritation to new heights. By the time the support person came on I wanted to kill them. This change must increase phone rage.
You know what Apple should do? When you get into the hold queue, they should give you a three-part choice of music programming. I bet they’d improve their numbers and at the same time that recent troubling decline in support-case closures would be nipped in the bud.
It’s not like it’s hard to program for my demographic. Some Ry Cooder, a little Tom Waits – basically anything you can sleep through that at the same time has pretensions of asking you to think is fine with me.