Adio, Luciano

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070906/ts_nm/italy_pavarotti_dc_9;_ylt=AkV_RoTJmsDMj1Zedm9K8h0E1vAI

That's the Reuter's article on Pavarotti's death.

What an amazing voice! And his technique was flawless! Can you ever remember his sounding being forced or pushed? It always flowed from his mouth like water. There was energy, there was intensity, but at no time did he ever sound like he was out of control.

I remember watching a Met broadcast on PBS. When they cut to a closeup of Pavarotti, something caught my eye: his jaw. I literally looked like his mouth was just hanging open. How many singers can claim that?

In voice lessons, George Bitzas used to make me grab my jaw and move it around while I was singing. I never got good at it. (George, on the other hand, could move his almost halfway to his ears, seemed like.) But, in watching Pavarotti, I realized why I had that tension: lack of breath support. If the breath, the sound is properly supported down in the torso, there's not need to "squeeze out" notes from the mouth. They just flow. (I did get better, BTW. I found out that--and it's a stupid thing that so many of us don't do it--practicing a lot helped develop breath support.)

As singers, we've always heard about the Bel Canto style of singing (I'm speaking of the first Bel Canto school in the Baroque era) and the horror stories about the teaching technique. An examples: students were forced to sing only one tone over and over again for weeks on end until they were able to sing it perfectly before advancing to two notes, three notes, etc. Pretty wild, but I guarantee you that that kind of tedium would motivate you to focus on proper breath support. There's no way around it.

I don't know how Pavarotti learned to sing. According to his bio, both his parents loved to sing, though not professionally. (Did have an autobiography out? Have to check on that.) But somehow he developed a tremendous amount of breath support that allowed him to do amazing things. What was it? Nine high Cs during a performance of Daughter of the Regiment at the Met? Incredible. And I'll bet that none of them sound forced or strained. I can't say that, on the occasions I hear a Met radio broadcast, many singers can claim that kind of sound. You always know when they're pushing like heck to get that note out.



I recall when Joe Wolverton was here doing Tales of Hoffman. That was my first production where I was an actual performer on stage. I had done supertitles for about a year previously, and if memory serves--not that it does so much anymore with me--Joe had done a Pinkerton with us with aplomb. But with Hoffman, it was his first attempt at the role and, as terrific a singer as he was, by the Third Act he was, as Mr. Bitzas used to say, "living on the principal and not the interest." I guess a more well-known addage would be "writing checks his body couldn't cash." But I'm willing to bet that Pavarotti never had a problem. (Though I can't say for certain whether he did the role. Google revealed some arias from the opera on CD but I didn't see a complete work.)



In cielo.

Welcome Back

Well, that's what all the kids are hearing throughout school these days. For me, it's an apology that I've been "on vacation," as it were. Ironically enough, "school" is the reason I've been in absentia. I've been taking some online classes that are quite challenging. They've required a lot of time. Add to that the past three plus weeks of 95-plus--and for a few days, 100 plus!--degree weather we've been experiencing around here, and you see a great reason for just standing still in front of the AC doing nothing. Then there are things beginning to happen on the house my bro and I are remodeling. Ah, yes! And rehearsals for various thing have already started.

Where did the summer go? I was in shock when I looked on the calendar and noticed it was August 1st. Then, before I knew it, people were talking about football in a non-hypothetical context and some teacher friends of mine were counting down the days to the Labor Day holiday! Geez it! September! Next thing you know, I'll be getting a packet of opera music. (I maybe already have. I don't check my mailbox everyday. Just how many Papa John's coupons and Bed, Bath, and Beyond catalogs do you need?)

Ah, well. If you don't jump on the bandwagon, you get left behind. And so...

Two recent opera-related obituaries came to my attention recently. The first was the tragic suicide of Jerry Hadley. Being an English tenor myself, I've always highly admired Hadley's work. His willingness to do English Sacred Music projects certainly enriched my collection. He was even willing to give modern composers support, premiering Paul McCartney's first major work for chorus and orchestra, Liverpool Oratorio. (I must admit, that's one of my only-listened-to-once CDs.) But his voice--unlike many "English" tenors--was capable of more power and brightness, such that he was able to have an excellent opera career.
But having so many commitments, working long hours through rehearsals, and living out of a suitcase the vast majority of the time can take its toll. Then, when you get older, maybe your voice starts showing a little wear, people stop calling your agent, and you see you career moving into its twilight.

Depression is a terrible, debilitating illness. I can speak from experience. Even with the advancements in pharmacological treatments in recent years and new theories of thought in psychology, it still takes a lot of painful and draining personal work to conquer it... if you ever do! Statistics show that people suffering an episode of depression are highly likely to suffer other episodes in the future. Though I can't name any research done on this topic, it stands to reason that people that are more sensitive emotionally (e.g., artists of any type) could suffer from a more severe form of the illness. So, when things go wrong in life, when negative things add up, sometimes the pain just becomes too great. Hadley's sagging career, financial problems, and apparently difficult divorce, compounded with any depression he may have been suffering from previously, overwhelmed him.

One of the opera choristers I sing with struck up a friendship with Hadley through a mutual acquaintance a few years ago. She had kept in touch with him, attended some of his performances, and visited him on several occasions. I do hope she is doing okay, as I don't have her email.

The second obituary I noted was the passing of Edward Zambara, who transformed a rag-tag southern university's vocal department into a top destination for the finest young singers in America. To drop a few names influenced by Mr. Zambara, try Delores Ziegler and Cheryl Studer on for size. And even though Zambara left UT in 1980 (one year before I first entered the university as a freshman--though, as an instrumental major), his influence is still being felt to this day in the opera apprentice program and his support for the establishment of a professional regional opera company in Knoxville. Even today, there are tales told about past professors in the UT Music Building, and Zambara's famous temper--surely a sign of his commitment to the highest artistic goals and to "encouraging" some students in the only manner that they understood--is legend. For a director to go from UT to Eastman School of Music speaks volumes about his talent and abilities, not to mention involvement with the Met. The word of his death reverberated around the email systems of Knoxville for several weeks.

It will be interesting to see what the KO does this season to honor him.

Stay cool!

A (Short?) Diversion

We're taking a break from classical music and opera stuff. (It's my blog and I'll, uh... "blog" what I want to.) Instead, we're going to talk about music that is also near and dear to my heart.

BTW, yes, that's a YouTube embed up there. "Viral video" is the generic term for it, an apt moniker, since these little bits of usual-fuzzy, out-of-focus motion pictures have "infected" pop culture. Eh... it's technology, so I should be enthused about it, right? Well, I don't know if enthused is the right word, but I thought I'd give it a shot.

Besides, this video is big news for a number of faithful people that have sweated through over 20 years of obscurity.

I'm talking, of course, about fans of Devo.

Remember Devo? As far as pop music is concerned, they were a one-hit-wonder. Their late 70s hit, "Whip It" got about six months of airplay before glam-pop took over the New Wave scene in the early 80s. (Can you say, Flock of Seagulls?) But they influenced pop music in so many ways. First, they were one of the first bands with a kitschy sub-text, mainly, that man had stopped evolving and was now "devolving;" hence, the band's name. They also embraced modern musical technology, basing much of their sound on early digital synthesizers, something that only mega-rock bands were beginning to use in their big studio and live productions. They and a few other bands created what came to be called "New Wave" music.

In fact, the members of Devo didn't even start off to be rock icons. In the mid 70s, two sets of brothers, some of whom were attending art school in Akron, Ohio, just began composing music as a backdrop for some of their artwork. But their "shows" were so eclectic and off-the-beaten-path, they hooked into an anti-establishmentarianistic movement withing college-age youth of that time. After awhile, some of their music made it into the hands of other pop icons of the time, among them David Bowie and Brian Eno. Eno offered to produce their debut album Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo, and the rest, as they say, is history. The album sold well among its target audience, and the band began appearing on television shows looking for new music to proffer to their viewers, shows like NBC's Saturday Night Live and ABC's short-lived SNL wanna-be, Fridays. (Guess what day it came on? And, a quick note: One of the very talented regular cast members was a lanky, kooky-looking fellow by the name of Michael Richards, who would have to wait another 10 years for the powers-that-be to recognize his brilliantly odd-ball character acting in the guise of Cosmo Kramer on Seinfeld.) However, Devo wouldn't receive major airplay of their music until their fourth album, Freedom of Choice, with the aforementioned single from it, "Whip It."

How did I get to be a Devo fan? It was my dad's fault, not because he was "in to" pop music, but because he wasn't. One year, when I was a freshman or sophomore, with my birthday coming up, dad walked into the mall record shop and asked the salesperson what albums were popular at that time. He or she offered several suggestions and dad purchased three. One was Freedom of Choice. Another one was Boston's self-titled debut album, which contained their hit single "More Than a Feeling." I can't remember what the third one was, but I suspect it was a Chuck Mangione album, possibly his concert recording double-album, Live from the Hollywood Bowl. Arrangements of Mangione's jazz fusion music were making the rounds in high school bands and drum corps of that time, and since I was a band geek--and an insecure teenager wanting to be like the cool band people--I was listening to him a lot.

And yes, I still listen to Boston, and to Chuck. But, as an "uncool" social outcast in high school, Devo's music spoke to me. Of course, the fact that they were tinkering with state-of-the-art synthesizers at the time was a big draw for me, too, as was their message that man didn't seem to be moving forward, but stepping back. Vietnam was over, but its repercussions were still being felt. The Cold War was in full swing, and living only a few miles from the Oak Ridge "Y-12" nuclear bomb factory, you were almost certain to become one of the first casualties. The Ayatollah Khomeini had swept to power in Iran, complete with foreign embassy hostages and chants of "Death to America!" And then the American people went and voted a half-senile, half-demented, war-mongering, McCarthy-like-communist-hating, retired second-rate actor and former Governor of California named Ronald Reagan into the White House. Someone had labeled Devo's music as "the sound of things falling apart," and it certainly seemed to me that their sound was relevant to the period.

Okay, Eric, cut to the chase. Bottom line: I was a Devo fan. I stayed a Devo fan. Even through not-even-a-blip-on-the-radar-screen albums. Even through the band's unofficial retirement, with various members going out on their own. Lead singer/composer Mark Mothersbaugh and guitarist Jerry Casale formed their own commercial music business, Mutato Muzika, which became and is still quite successful, writing music for the Rug Rats TV cartoon and movies, Pee Wee's Playhouse (TV and movie), and many critically acclaimed films, to name a few: Rushmore, Royal Tannenbaums, and Bottle Rocket.

But the legend and legacy of Devo lived on. Many of the bands of the 80s, 90s, and 00s paid tribute to Devo's influence, either by covering their songs or copying their sound. There were also a few surprise club appearances. Then, in the early 00s, Devo's name suddenly appeared on a few concerts of the then-famous Lollapalooza circuit. There were also quiet appearances throughout the world, e.g., Tokyo. It seemed that Devo was back, and they didn't appear to have lost any of their eccentricity and anti-establishment message. ("I'll bet you don't know why we're sitting down," said Mothersbaugh in a 1987 appearance at which the band did two relaxed acoustic arrangements of their usually-frenetic songs while seated to begin the concert, "Just to show you we still can after 10 years in this [music] business.")

Then, around 2004, Devo appeared to have sold out! Suddenly, the spud boys were singing "Swiff it, swiff it good!" to a dancing housewife promoting the Swiffer duster. To some, Devo appeared to be just poking tongue-in-cheek fun at the very product they were "promoting." Other fans were completely alienated. (Some were appalled that it was actually Devo performing the shameless spoof; others thought that this was a positive sign. They had kept their own music close to the vest.) Another commercial (little seen?) appearance touting Honda scooters in 2005 was less brash, with the band members back to mocking super-conformity, implying that Honda's scooters were available in a variety of styles to single you out.

Which brings us to the video above. Devo is back, and with smart style and the first original material written in years. Granted, they are hocking a Dell laptop computer. But the whole commercial has a natural Devo-esque feel to it, with the highly stylized post-modernist models in clean black, white, and red. Plus, check out the hot Dell XPS 1330 laptop! Fast Intel Core Duo processors, a big 13.3" screen (available with a regular fluorescent backlight LCD or the newer low-power LED backlit screen), highly customizable (as are most Dell computers) to your specifications and needs, and very thin and light at that. And all for a starting price of $1249. Su-weet!

On top of that, Devo just finished a European tour. (If you're interested, there are several video-phone videos of some of the performances.) And rumors are running rampant of a new album--"album" remaining the anachronistic term for a collection of songs published as one. Could we be perched on the brink of a Devo renaissance? Time will tell.

After all, we are living in a "Wiggly World," run by "Blockhead[s]," and we have "Freedom of Choice."

Freedom of choice is what you got. Freedom from choice is what you want.

How Much is Too Much?

Admit it. Those of you who did Carmen were exhausted by Sunday. Yes, yes, some of us did work the Rossini Festival on Saturday, but even without that, I'll wager everyone was glad when the curtain fell late Sunday afternoon.

Two performances. That doesn't count the weeks of rehearsals required to stage those two performances. "But," you say, "What performances... and what rehearsals!" Yeah, yeah. I hear you. It was grueling.

But, to put things in perspective, check out this NYT article about the Kirov Opera doing two concurrent Ring cycles at the Met this summer. Yes, on consecutive nights! The four Wagner operas! Twice!

Okay, let's just about this for a moment. What kind of forces would be required to do such a feat? Well, you'd probably want two groups to do each cycle, and you certainly wouldn't expect the major roles to be done by the same people on consecutive nights. One analogy I read said you wouldn't ask a soprano to sing Brünnhilde on consecutive nights any more than you'd ask a major league pitcher to start on consecutive nights. So, you'd need two of Brünnhilde and Siegfried, at least. (One might be pressed to find one set of singers for those roles.) Then there's the folks in the pit, which may or may not be interchangeable, not to mention tons of IATSE (production) folk and all appurtenances thereof.

What's amazing to me is that there was only one conductor: Valery Gergiev!

How many people have tried conducting? Show of hands? A few? Maybe you conduct your church choir in an anthem or two Sundays and rehearsals on Wednesdays. Of course, Christmas and Easter presentations require a little more preparation and length of time on the podium--a 45-minute cantata. Or maybe you teach choir in the schools. That's a little more conducting. Daily rehearsals, concerts for PTA and other civic groups, and one or two performances at semester's end.

Now, imagine waving your arms in the air for 4 hours a night for eight nights in a row! (There was a day off in there somewhere.) And people say, "Oh, music! That's a profession for wimps!" Ha! Think you're in shape? Workout at the gym? Free weights, you say? Two or three games of tennis or racquetball a week? (Maybe racquetball is passé nowadays.) Ooo! You're pumped!

Let's get an idea of what Maestro Gergiev had to do. Stand up and just put your arms up in front of you. They don't have to be out all the way, just out from you in a comfortable position. Now, stay that way for, oh, let's just say, 15 minutes. After 5 minutes, you begin to get that burning sensation that means that oxalic acid crystals are building up in the muscles; at 10 minutes, your arms begin trembling; at 15, you're probably on the verge of cramping.

Okay, rest a minute. Now repeat the experiment. This time, flail your arms in the air. Vary the amplitude--sometimes large, grandiose general movements, other times small precise movements. Maybe this time it's not quite as painful, as your muscles are at least getting some variance. If you're feeling fine after 15 minutes, try aiming for 30 minutes. Still going? Try 45, 60... Maybe, if you're lucky and have the biceps of Mr. T., you might get through an hour.

But Gergiev? Four hours! Every night! For 8 days! I would think that, rather than training for a single attempt at your best dead lift, one might take a leaf from marathon runners. You'd probably want to pace yourself, and learning perfect form would certainly be a must. The strength of economy. Still, that's a lot of arm waving.

The moral of this story is, if you see Valery Gergiev anytime soon, I'd refrain from challenging him to any arm wrestling.

Pete Townsend Writes New (Rock) Opera

Espied this article on my Yahoo portal. (Portal - an opening home page that serves as an aggregate reader for news and information. The 1990s equivalent of RSS feeds.) Yes, I know. You're hardly likely in your lifetime to see the Met do Tommy. But, you have to give credit to a guy that probably has taken every illicit drug there is at any one time and still has enough brain matter to live to old age and compose another rock opera.

I have to admit, I have only seen bits and pieces of Tommy. And it seemed like, as a child of the 70s, Elton John was blasting out a version of "Pinball Wizard" every five minutes. I vaguely remember the "buzz" (as in, a gnat at your ear: something you, and the rest of the world, hardly notice) when Quadrophenia came out, but, again, that was more about who was playing the main character: A guy named Sting, lead singer and bassist from an up-and-coming band named The Police. But, like so many "old" composers, Pete Townsend instills a sense of respect from the musical community. People are willing to listen to whatever the aging composer puts out.

Handel churned out work after work in his old age. He had become famous in England by then, and there was no shortage of royalty during the mid-18th-century willing to pony up the money for whatever he wrote. By then, he had developed all of his formulaic techniques and could just churn out the pages for whomever. I wonder if the phrase "Sold out" existed back then. One could make that argument for Handel, as one might make the argument of any rock band in the 1970s.

Yadda-yadda...

What's that? You know I'm tech-head and gadgeteer and want to know what I think of the iPhone? Well, thanks, but I don't have one and have no plans to purchase one. And from the reading I've done, that's a good thing. Sure, it looks cool, but it's not the vast jump in technology that everyone was hyping it to be. As a matter of fact, as a phone, the general consensus is that it's awful. The sound is bad, it's difficult to dial manually or send text messages on the "virtual" keyboard displayed on the smooth glass face, and said face gets caked with oily fingerprints, making viewing a movie or a web page a less-than-stellar experience. The last complaint has been a continuing complaint about the iPods since they were first released.

Now, you have to understand, I'm a dyed-in-the-wool PC guy. I'm not an Apple-head. My heroes are (well, in some cases, were) Carly Fiorina and Bill Gates. Yes, I know, "artistic" types are supposed to swoon over every word that comes forth from the mouth of Steve Jobs and rush out to buy every product that he sells.

And I have to admit, I did break down and buy an iPod Nano, begrudgingly. And I've been very impressed with it. I probably have it two-thirds full of albums from my own "old" CD collection and have even bought a few things off of iTunes. I think iTunes says that adds up to about 2.2 days worth of music (about 58 hours of constant listening to music). And, though, you'll find quite a bit of rock and stuff, you'll also find a lot of early music, some jazz, and a little opera. To me--a guy who lugged around a 10-pound "boom box" throughout much of the late 70s and early 80s, then a large case of cassettes when the Sony Walkman came out, then a large case of CDs when the CD Walkman came out--the idea of holding two straight days of music in a box smaller and less-hefty than an old-style cigarette lighter, it's a dream come true. (I own a couple of non-iPod MP3 players that are equally amazing in their size but lack the intuitiveness of the iPod.) Yes, I do record the music in a compressed format (as opposed to Apple lossless), but the quality doesn't degrade that much. I love my Nano!

But when it comes to computers, I'm a PC guy. I was much more excited about the release of Windows Vista than I was OS X, and I'll scoff at the people that stand in line to buy Jaguar, the next Apple OS release, coming, well... whenever Apple gets the kinks out of it. (In Apple's defense, they do put out a polished and complete product, as opposed to Microsoft's release-it-and-we'll-work-out-the-bugs-later philosophy.) Part of this bias is that the particular field I work in uses PCs almost exclusively. I make my living off being able to make Microsoft Office stand up and beg for people. And what office productivity suite do most Mac-based-businesses using? Office for the Mac, which is very different from the PC version. Yes, there are alternatives to MS Office, but none of them have yet been developed to the point of overtaking the capabilities of the Microsoft product--this includes Corel's WordPerfect suite.

So, no iPhone for me, thank you. At least, not for the foreseeable future. As a matter of fact, I recently purchased a new Samsung phone which I'm very happy with. It can surf the web, sort of. I can play games on it, should I be so inclined, which isn't very often. And I have a contacts list on it, but just to facilitate dialing numbers. (If I need more in-depth knowledge of names and schedules "in the field," I have my trusty Palm Pilot, which, incidentally, syncs up very well with my copy of Outlook on my home PC.) The call quality on the Samsung is excellent, and it's Bluetooth enabled. So I have a wireless earpiece/mic arrangement which makes me look a bit like a cyborg. And the light on it blinks, which tells everyone around me that, yes, I am that important a person.

I happened to catch an old video of Beverly Sills singing "The Willow Song" from Ballad of Baby Doe on the ARTS channel yesterday. (I don't know anything about the ARTS channel, except that it broadcasts on the Knox County Schools channel when the school system doesn't have any programming, i.e., at night or during the summer. They show old videos of classical music performances.) It was an old, old video, judging by the look of things, probably the early to mid-1960s. She was on what appeared to be some kind of talk show, with a couple of hosts in director chairs and a small studio audience. That kind of genre of show was popular in the 60s, so that's what made me think it was from then. Anyone who has seen Monty Python lampoons of talk shows from the BBC in the 1960s/early 1970s will know the format I mean.

I wish I'd caught the whole performance instead of the last minute or so. But, c'est la vie. It was wonderful to watch such a consummate singer as Sills. The key to good opera singing is to make it sound--and look--like it's just the easiest thing in the world. The next time you see a video of Pavarotti, check out his jaw. There's absolutely no tension whatsoever. It's just hanging there, even though he's belting out high Cs and Ds. Ditto for the tongue. And, of course, he sounds like, "Why, Cs and Ds are in the middle of my range." And Sills was no exception in this video. The closing high notes--I'm not familiar enough with the opera to know what they were--were just as easy as all the other notes. You could see that her body, the diaphragm, all the torso musculature, was doing all the work. But she didn't look like she was working hard at all.

The only thing I found odd was how much she dropped her jaw on the highest notes. It seems to me that the jaw has a natural range of motion, opening and closing. If you exceed your natural downward extension, you have to exert extra energy in those muscles that pull the jaw down. (Forgive me, Ms. Michaelopolis. I don't remember the names of them from vocal pedagogy.) That's tension. And any tension anywhere in the facial muscles affects the sound... not that Beverly Sills sounded that way at all. It just looked rather odd. I don't think singers today do that. It may have been an affectation peculiar just to Sills, or it may have been the pedagogical thought at the time. (Research on singers via endoscopy was probably just getting revved up in the late-50s/early-60s)

Pedagogy, like any science, changes. Any singers around with the weird, fast vibrato so popular in the 30s and 40s? Nope. Thank goodness! And though everyone reads Enrico Caruso's treatise on singing and the singer in vocal ped., there's a lot of things in it that don't hold water in this day and age. An example would be alcohol consumption, although a) this might be cultural (Italian vs. American), and b) Caruso doesn't say to drink it in excess. In his defense, also, many scientists today agree that a glass of wine a day has an overall positive effect. Other things he says have stood the test of time. He touts a diet rich in fruits and vegetables. (Don T. has related how Pavarotti requested large platters of fresh fruits and vegetables when he was in Knoxville oh-so-many years ago.)

For protein, Caruso said that he ate primarily lean chicken and fish.

I believe he also mentions taking a brisk walk every morning, though, given the air pollution in most major industrialized cities during the early 20th century, one wonders how the scale would weigh in on if that behavior would be healthy or hazardous. In any case, the plug for daily exercise is there. As I say this, I've been sitting at my computer drinking strong coffee since I got up 3-1/2 hours ago. My chief plan of exercise for the day is walking around my parents' house with the contractor and, possibly, lifting a Blue Coast Burrito or two... not to say that anyone would ever confuse me with either Caruso--or even Mario Lanza--physique or vocal-wise.

But, regardless, Sills treatment of "The Willow Song" is wonderful. And, if I may say, physique-wise, she was pretty much a babe. I don't recall ever seeing her in the media where she didn't look dressed to the nines, always elegant and composed. The paragon of opera sopranodom, or just femininity.

Ahem. I do hope that Britney, Paris, and Nichole will read this and take heed.

Sad Day for Opera

The Reuters article on Beverly Sills dying today.

Not growing up an opera buff, I remember Beverly Sills as the host (nobody uses "hostess" anymore, right?) of An Evening at the Met, at least, I think that's what it was called, on PBS. On the occasions I watched it, her enthusiasm was infectious. She obviously loved her craft and loved sharing it with others.

I was surprised to read that she was, at one point, on the board of Time Warner. Time Warner! And they say sopranos are airheads!

The last paragraph is so sad. Her husband died last year, which I'm sure took a lot out of her.

It's an all-to-common thing, people dying shortly after their spouse passes away. You hear stories about it all the time. The strain of dealing with living without someone you've spent so much time with just wears the physical body down, which leads to all kinds of opportunistic maladies. My mom had a stroke five months after my dad passed away. She managed to hang on another year, but, at the end, I think she just got tired of being on this earth without dad.

In a way, it's kind of sweet. Even in this day and age, when some psychologists and sociologists proclaim that humans weren't meant to be monogamous throughout their entire lives, it seems that, in so many cases, they're wrong. Homo sapiens seems to mate, literally, for life... or tries to, as the case may be.

It gives those of us that have not found that special someone hope. I have always felt like I had a very naïve concept of love, a viewpoint I attribute to watching too many Disney movies when I was a kid. (Didn't Dean Jones always get Suzanne Pleshette in the end?) What if love is like the early Disney movies and all those learned "experts" are wrong?

I know. I'm a hopeless romantic.

Leaue, me, O loue which reachest but to dust,
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things.
Grow rich in that which neuer taketh rust;
Whateuer fades, but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beames, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedomes be;
Which breakes the clowdes, and opens forth the light,
That doth both shine and giue us sight to see.
O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide
In this small course which birth drawes out to death,
And thinke how euill becommeth him to slide,
Who seeketh heau'n, and comes of heau'nly breath.
Then farewell world; thy vttermost I see:
Eternall Loue, maintaine thy life in me.
--Sonnet 150, Astrophel and Stella, Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)

Homeowner's Journal for 6/23/07

I hesitate to mention this yet again, but my brother and I are in the process of renovating our deceased parents' early 1950s rancher. Up to this point, we've been primarily concerned with getting 45+ years of junk thrown/given/sold out of the house and assessing what needs to be done and what we'd like done with the place. Other than dire maintenance (e.g., roof suddenly leaks, get new roof), the house is pretty much what it was when it was built in 1952-53, so there's a lot to think about and dream about.

This is my first experience with property ownership, so I'm just a wide-eyed kid when it comes to deeds, deed restrictions, zoning, permits, etc.. My brother, on the other hand, bought a townhouse 15 or so years ago, but he's never had to do any kind of major remodeling. So we've been floundering about what we want done and what must be done. We've watched enough flip/remodel shows to know that hiring contractors is an absolute crap shoot, so we've floundered in finding someone to do the job.

Thankfully, aid has come to us in a close family friend who renovated/remodels houses, primarily down in Alabama but also one or two in K-town. But he only does oversight. However, he has worked with another family friend who does do the actual contracting work and has agreed to work with us.

I think I had intimated previously that we had met with both friends to talk about possibilities. After that meeting, my brother and I felt like we'd gotten further along on the house in a couple of hours of talking with them than we had in the previous year since our mom died. But it was all preliminary talk, as my brother and I hadn't really nailed down what we wanted, or even if we were going to keep it or sell it. So we had some work to do between ourselves. We've been getting together for the past few weeks to dream about all kinds of wild possibilities for the house.

Well, today we're meeting our newly-hired contractor friend and talking real turkey! Like, what do we want done and when construction can actually start. It's kind of exciting... and scary. But having two friends you trust in the business of contracting has made so much difference in how we look at things.

Actually, three friends! I have a real estate buddy that really helped us get the ball rolling as far as return-on-investment, what buyers look for--though we're not selling in the near-term--and positive things that were already going for the house.

So, as oil landscape painter Bob Ross used to say on his PBS program when he was about to demonstrate a make-or-break brush stroke on the canvas, "This is your bravery test." I'm feeling a little chicken right now, but am more confident every day. I'm sure that, once a few things are redone or added to the house, I'll be much more willing to make my bigger, bolder ideas come true.

Thou Shalt Suffer for Thine Art

An interesting article in the UK's Guardian online equivalent of a composer suing a reviewer for libel. (Actually, it's about a higher court overturning an earlier decision by a lower court that said the reviewer was libel.) It seems that Keith Burstein's opera, Manifest Destiny, presented in 2005 at Edinburgh, was disparaged by reviewer Veronica Lee in The Guardian. Burstein was incensed enough by some of the things said to take her and The Guardian to court.

The opera is about a young Palestinian woman training to be a suicide bomber (How does one "train" to be a suicide bomber?) whose cell leader falls in love with her and, to save her, turns her over to the Americans. Ms. Lee did not care for the subject matter, saying that the opera was "trite," glorified suicide bombers, and had an anti-American tone to it. Mr. Burstein took this to mean that he was anti-American and sympathetic to suicide bombers and--in this day and age of don't-you-never-be-dissin'-on-America--brought suit. The lower court had allowed the suit to go to trial; the jury found for Mr. Burstein, and he was awarded 8,000 pounds. The higher court overturned the ruling, ordering Burstein to repay the 8,000 plus an additional 80,000 of the defendant's legal costs. The judge said that, though the opera did have an anti-American tone, it was a matter of opinion (apparently, a brief one at that) and, as such, was protected by freedom of speech.

It would be interesting to posit whether here in America such a case would even go to trial. We have the First Amendment that pretty clearly keeps the press out of court, though it does happen. A recent example is the government suing the New York Times for an article leaking what was considered sensitive information. C'mon! How much more frivolous does the case in question seem compared to that?

Besides, composers have always been trying to push the public's buttons. That's the artist dream for ya! To push compositions (be they music or other media) to the cutting edge. To push the craft forward. Beethoven's later symphonies, particularly the Ninth, were much disparaged as being too far out. Stravinksy and Diaghilev caused a riot in Paris with Rite of Spring (but from all accounts they were ecstatic about the reaction). Imagine an almost-but-not-quite post-Victorian-era audience watching Strauss' Elektra and Salome. The Met had to close Salome after one night; Elektra's dissonances garnered cartoons of Strauss directing an orchestra of animals. (Some things don't change. For the record, when KO did Salome a few years back, I think there were more people on stage and in the pit than were in the audience.) Then there's my favorite, Charlie Ives, poor guy. He endured a lifetime of ridicule and was an old man before 20th century music "caught up" to things he'd written in the 1890s.

Don't think that we performers get off easy, either. We have to suffer for our art. While our non-music friends in college were partying on Cumberland Avenue and looking forward to six-figure offers on graduation, we were in dark, dank, dusty practice rooms or pouring over a crumbling score in a two-foot cubicle in the music library. Someday, perhaps, we would find a town that would allow us to eke out a living on a music-derived salary, or perhaps we have another career area we can survive on while plying our craft. "You sing opera?! Amazing! I didn't know Knoxville had an opera company?" could just as easily be "You juggle cats?! Amazing! I didn't know Knoxville had cat jugglers?"

Yet we composers, performers, painters, sculptors, what have you... We continue on unabated.

Take me for example: My senior year in high school I had an extra period open so I took freshman French and did fairly well in it. Upon graduation, I told my mom that I was going to go to UT and pursue a career in music, to which she replied, "But what about your French?" And it wasn't like she was ignorant. Her brother was a famous jazz and classical musician and college band director in Chattanooga! When I got out of school--both times--I could've been a band director or direct a church's music program, but I elected to ply my performance craft and find some kind of job to put food on the table: air conditioner salesman, clerk, word processor, ticket counter, data programmer. One day I had a revelation. What if I just kept on doing what I was doing? Working a regular, full-time, salaried-but-not-high-paying job by day and singing at night and on the weekends? Would my life change significantly? Well, yes. I'd be making enough money to get a car, rent an apartment, and have an occasional dinner at P.F. Chang's. Duh! As the Steve Miller Band opined, "Go on, take the money and run!"

And so it goes. Here I am, at another crossroads of my career, developing a different area of my talents in order to survive. But I don't intend to give up music! If that means working at Sears again, then so be it. You gotta do what you love and you gotta do what you have to. If those things aren't the same, well, then so be it. Oh sure, I've thought about "retiring" from singing--more and more as I get older and those easy high As aren't as easy as they used to be. But that's a ways off, if at all. They'll have to pry the photocopy of the choruses in La Boheme from my cold... dead... hand!

Suffer on.

Annie Karenina Hall?

Los Angeles Opera's general director, Placido Domingo, announced today that Woody Allen would direct "Gianni Schicchi" in the 2008 production of Puccini's Il Trittico.

William Friedkin, who directed The Exorcist and The French Connection, will direct the other two parts of Trittico, "Il Tabarro" and "Suor Angelica."

Perhaps Tom Eberts should begin work on relearning his "role" as the hapless (and dead) Gianni Schicchi. Maybe he could get an audition!

When was it we "Schicchi?" Fall 2001? Wow! That long ago? We did Pagliacci on the second half of the bill. The ridiculous and the sublime. I have pictures. I think it was Frank Graffeo's second year with us. It should be a good fit for Allen. From what I remember, it was really quite funny. And our illustrious opera apprentices at the time did a good job with it.

It's too bad that Puccini didn't write more comedies. I think they would've been good.

But, no! He was too involved with jilted Japanese girls, frigid Chinese princesses, sopranos jumping from parapets, and the artsy-but-poor-and-disease-ridden of Paris.

What was it about nineteenth century life (and I think of Puccini as a 19th c. composer) that made everybody that wrote stuff back then so darned depressing? Maybe it was all that coal oil they were breathing. The weltschmertz of the early industrial revolution?

Seriously. We don't call that musical era "Romantic" for nothing. So many people hear that word and think immediately of love. But there's a broader meaning: Webster's says "imbued with or dominated by idealism, a desire for adventure, chivalry, etc." (OK, it also gives a narrower definition pertaining specifically to the musical period.)

Doesn't that sound like music of the 19th c.? A broadening of the harmonic language. New instruments. Improved old instruments. Longer, broader compositions. Programmatic music. More feeling!

Yawn. My apologies on the ADD-ness of this entry. Maybe it's best we just end things here. I'm tired. I worked out in the yard at the house this afternoon. Bad idea. My sinuses are having a conniption.

All Voice, No Looks

I came across this article (a humorous take) on the winner of Britain's (sort of) version of American Idol, a guy named Paul Potts, who actually sang opera as his talent.

I agree with the author of the article, Rick Coster, completely. Mr. Potts, though a pretty-talented guy, is probably not going to go anywhere. Oh, he'll get his 5 minutes in front of the Queen, but that's going to be the peak of his career. But, in the meantime, way to go, Paul! Let's hear it for the not-beautiful people making some waves!

Now, you must know that that picture of me at right is my "head shot" and, like most singers, it was taken about 15 years ago. (C'mon, admit it! It's true! When was the last time you saw any singer, other than some kid fresh out of college, whose head shot was current?) I wish I looked that good now. If I'd known I'd looked that good back then... but then, I didn't. I'm realistic about my looks, then and now. Especially now that the "blush of youth" has left my cheek. I know that, though I can sing Britten and Handel and Purcell, Covent Garden isn't going to be calling me anytime soon.

But that's the whole point of this article. Looks. This guy, Paul Potts, isn't exactly a handsome fellow. He's overweight, has bad teeth (I can hear the jokes now, "But, don't all Britons have bad teeth?"), and is not exactly a fill-up-a-room-with-his-personality type of guy. Yet he does have a very good voice. (Check out the YouTube video.) I can't even fake my way through "Nessun Dorma."

But he did manage to win Britain's Got Talent, which I suppose is more the equivalent of the eponymous American counterpart than Idol... except instead of a manic Simon Cowell, America's Got Talent has a drunk David Hasselhoff. Potts not only had to beat out singers, one of which was a cute 6-year-old, but jugglers, comedians, etc., which makes it all the more impressive.

But, you say, maybe Britain has more of a "thing" for opera than we do. After all, it is a European country. While there may be some truth to that in the case of older folk, I would imagine that the younger Brits, i.e., those that watch a "reality" series on the telly, could, like their American cousins, care less. They're more about pop culture: Hugh Grant/George Clooney, the White Stripes, and MySpace and/or Facebook.

So what does an average-Joe, portly opera singer in America or Britain, or any other country in the world nowadays do? Everything today is looks, looks, looks. If Pavarotti had been born 20 years later, would he have done as well as he has? "You have an amazing voice, Mr. Pavarotti, but we're really looking a different type, someone who could play the handsome, romantic lead. Thanks for coming in."

Meanwhile, a teenage girl in Kansas is sticking her finger down her throat so that she'll vomit and become as thin--and beautiful--as Kate Moss. Dr. Phil has a family in which the mother and older daughter have had breast implants and now the youngest, 19-year-old daughter wants them, but--get this!--her older sister and mother are against it. Hmmm... A fat kid from Corbin, Kentucky absolutely loves musicals and moves to New York to pursue his dream, only to end up a stock boy in a downtown chain store.

I'm all for technology, but maybe all those guys who are credited with inventing the camera did us a disservice. Look at the pictures of paintings of Beethoven, Bach, Handel, even Mozart. Do you think they really looked that good? (Well, there are some later paintings of Handel that aren't exactly flattering.) With a diet as poor as ours today, a sanitation system that consisted of a rut in the middle of the street, and health care that touted bleeding a person almost dry for "expelling the ill humors from the body"? I seriously doubt that. But composers have it easy, even today. A patron is much more likely to hear a work by a composer and realize its brilliance than to hear a talented singer without looking at his or her head shot. At least, back in the day, they gave you the benefit of a doubt.

But, I hear you, painters made the ugliest people beautiful; then photographers learned certain dark-room tricks that would cast, literally, a favorable light on someone's appearance; the invention of the airbrush brought us further along the path of "retouching"; lots of carbon-arc lamps did wonders for the complexions of Hollywood motion-picture starlets in the 1920s and '30s; and now we have digital--Photoshop (new version CS3!) and its kine--to help us to look our best. People have found ways to not look how they really look for millenia. And, perhaps, someday we'll all have some kind of advanced, light-bending clothing to make us look really good in public.

But, until then, good luck Paul Mott. We're pullin' for ya.

I took a quiz that attempts to discern which American accent a person has. Not surprisingly, I got this:

What American accent do you have? (Best version so far) Southern People used to hate Southern accents but now everyone wants one.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

As singers, particularly opera singers, our ears have to know how to hear different languages and reproduce them correctly. Italian, French, German, (The King's) English, Russian, or Ogalala Sioux, it shouldn't matter. Unless you've spent years studying all these other languages, it is often difficult to understand what you're singing word-for-word, so we are reduced to reproducing the appropriate string of sounds--technical name, "phonemes"--and hope for the best. If the particular phoneme doesn't exist in our native tongue, e.g., the French "u"/German "ü," we have to be extra diligent in our practice and attentive in our performance to make our bodies conform themselves to produce that sound. After awhile, it becomes a lot easier. Our brains have linked the symbol with the sound. Even though we don't use it in our everyday language, it sits ready to be used, regardless (with some polishing, ya know). We take pride in that fact. I take pride in that fact.

The thing is, when I speak, I don't hear myself as having a Southern accent. Huh? I'm an opera singer! I'm supposed to hear things like that! What's going on? I don't have a Southern accent! I'd know it if I did... right?

Now, before you go yapping that I do have an accent, I know that. When I was an undergrad doing student teaching, we had to record ourselves in class and then listen to see what we did right, what we did wrong, did we stick to our lesson plan, blah-blah. The thing that amazed me when listening to the tapes was how hard a Southern accent I had. It embarrassed me to listen to the tapes. Part of that is just me: I absolutely can't stand to listen to a recording of me, whether I'm singing solo or in a choir, teaching, or lecturing. But why was my accent so much more pronounced when I was student teaching?

Curious, I did a little research. It turns out that when one gets nervous, their accent usually becomes more pronounced. I can't remember the theory behind it, but it kind of makes sense. Stand up in front of 150 middle or high school students that you don't know that well and attempt to bend them to your will. Can you say "stressful"? And it was, for me, at least. It was intimidating. (That turned out to be the least of my problems in my short student teaching career. But that's an unrelated long and sad story.) I became so focused on other things--hundreds of other things--required for teaching, I didn't even give a thought to how I was saying what I was saying. Hence, my brain relied on what it had stored in its speech pattern buffers since birth. So I sounded more like I was from further up "the holler" than I actually was.

Isn't language an amazing thing?! We take bits of sound that our bodies can produce and string them together into a group of sounds that convey an idea. Whether it's Italian, German, French, English, or Swahili for that matter... and the thousands of dialects within them, we all are able to discern meaning from our grunts and yelps. Even small geographical differences make huge differences in the sounds we use.

Example: When my brother (2 years my junior) and I were seven or eight years old, a family from Middle Tennessee, south of Nashville, moved next door to us. There were three daughters, two of which were approximately our ages. The oldest daughter (my brother's age) was named Sarah, which I pronounced "Seh-ra"; however, her mom, having grown up in a certain area of Middle Tennessee, always pronounced it "Say-ra." Sarah, had had the chance to start school at her former home, so she tended to sound more like her mother in speech. One dialectic affectation that always tickled me was how she and her mother pronounced "our." Now, here in East Tennessee, most people would say that word either as a very pirate-like "arrr" or with a lighter "a" sound, "ah-r." Well, Sarah and her mom said it with a long "a" sound, "A-yerr," or a lighter, more short "e" sound, "Ehr." See the pattern? They tended toward the long "a" sounds in their speech.

The middle sister, was named "Mary Beth." You might conjecture that when Sarah and her mother spoke her name, it might be something like "May-ree Bay-eth," but they pronounced it similar to anyone would in East Tennessee: "Merry Beth," though, oddly enough, when they contracted the name to "Beth" it was long "a," "Bay-eth." Now Beth, being younger than Sarah, hadn't had as much socialization in Middle Tennessee as had Sarah, so her accent was much less affected by the long "a" sounds, though she did call her sister "Say-ra." Overall, Mary Beth ended up with an East Tennessee-styled accent, as did the youngest--probably 10 or 11 years behind us--Amy (her mom's, "Ay-mee").

But then y'all know about that kind of thing already, as we see even tighter geographical dialects. Knoxvillians, for the most part, tend to pronounce a small town to the northeast of the city, Maryville, as "Merry-vul" or "Mehri-vul," whereas folks in and around Maryville, Blount County, nestled right against the Great Smoky Mountains, tend more toward the characteristic East Tennessee hard "r"s, "Murr-vul."

But if you want to study accents and dialects, Oak Ridge is the place to do it. You have to understand, everybody knows Oak Ridge today as a part of the Manhattan Project (development of the atomic bomb) during WWII. But, prior to 1939 or so, Oak Ridge was just that: pretty much a ridge covered in oak trees, a name in small type on a georgraphic map. There was little or no town to speak of. It was all farmland: cows, chickens, horses, and backwoods, Appalachian country folk (which we'll stereotype them for argument's sake, even though the area sits against the Cumberland Mountains more north and west of Knoxville). But, along comes the Manhattan Project! Suddenly people from all over the country--all over the world, even--converge on the poor little valleys in and around Oak Ridge. There was a mass of dialects; there was a mass of different cultures, all tossed in together with the farm-folk (many of whom had had their land forcefully purchased by the government).

I really hope that some sociologists are taking a look at Oak Ridge. As it stands today, it's even a more diverse community. The establishment of Oak Ridge National Laboratory and the "Y-12" plant, which still produces nuclear weapon parts to this day, and all the high-tech industries and companies that have sprung up around them(even as far as Knoxville and Maryville), have become havens for the best minds in the world from all countries and cultures. So, we have multi-PhD Nobel Prize winners walking into Walmart (yes, the presence of Walmart indicates that Oak Ridge is a real city) with pig farmers and coal miners that dropped out of grade school to feed their families. You have snake-handling, splinter-sect Baptists from up in the highest "hollers" conversing with Hindi and Muslims. I once temped for a very prosperous technology firm that was started in Oak Ridge by a man who began life as a water buffalo herder in Korea!

So, it will be interesting to see what kind of dialect comes out of Oak Ridge in a century or so. Welcome to America, melting pot and land of opportunity. I doubt they'll ever write an opera in that dialect, but who knows? That "dead" language Latin is still around with us. Thanks to the Catholic Church, primarily, those of us who sing in sacred music have an additional set of phonemes to memorize. A thousand years from now, distant relatives of Don Townsend may say, "And please! Look at your Oak Ridgian text and work on it."

So, to bring things back around, dear readers, dear singers, be ever watchful of the tricks our brains and attached "ears" play on us. It's not like the French "u"/German "ü" are going anywhere soon.

More Details on UT's New Music Building

A followup story in the Knoxville News-Sentinel on UT's new music building.

The new $40 million facility ($30 from the state and $10 a gift from Jim and Natalie Haslam) will be built at the current location at the corner of Volunteer Boulevard and Andy Holt Avenue. The old building (Hallelujah!) will be torn down to make way for the new one, with construction slated to start spring of 2009.

But it will be a hassle for everybody, at least for the two years it will take to build it. The choir room would be moved to the (recently renovated, I believe) Panhellenic Building on Cumberland Avenue. UT bands and other large ensembles will get use of a large (hopefully heavily acoustically modified) gym in the Phys. Ed. Building across Andy Holt behind Tom Black Track. Other facilities would be located in Dunford Hall which, if memory serves correctly, is a block off of Cumberland Avenue on Volunteer. (Dunford has become a catch-all for construction-displaced departments, apparently. When I was there it was used as everything from UT Library to office space. It was originally a dorm, so I imagine that the small rooms will make excellent practice rooms.)

The new building sounds like it's going to be sweet! It will have a 600-seat concert hall (current one probably only holds about 300), a 225-seat recital hall (similar to facilities in the newly renovated Alumni Hall), larger rehearsal spaces for choir, band (including the Pride of the Southland), and other large groups, practice rooms, private studios, a recording studio, piano and music technology labs, classrooms, and administrative spaces. As a sacred music grad, I am speculating that the university would relocate the three or four practice pipe organs and reinstall them in the new building. Perhaps best of all, again, as a former student library assistant, I'm very happy to report that the music library will have three times its current space!

It's exciting to see UT finally taking an interest in the School of Music. (Back when I was there, it wasn't called a "school," it was just another liberal arts, uh... that is, arts and humanities--believe that's the current moniker.) The fact that they renovated Alumni Hall into a first-class performance venue, added rehearsal and chamber performance spaces, built a half-million-dollar pipe organ, and now are replacing the past-its-prime main building is evidence enough.

To have the Haslams take such an interest in the music program is not a bad thing, either. The Haslams, owners of Pilot Oil Corporation and parents to our current Knoxville mayor, have been supporting the symphony and opera company for many years. Apparently, they care about what kind of performers, composers, historians, theoreticians, and conductors will be feeding those organizations and those like them around the world.

According to the article, of the 175 students accepted to the music program last year, approximately 80 went elsewhere for their education due to UT's lack of modern music facilities. Kind of sounds like there might have been some financial incentive for the the university to build a new building, eh? C'mon, let's all admit it: UT is all about profit and the bottom line. Having the next Pavoratti not attend your school, or having him come, graduate "make it" in the big time (i.e., ka-ching $$$$), and then ignore his alma mater because he's embarrassed by it--there are real-world examples of this behavior, by the way--is another incentive.

I am so stoked right now! I didn't think I'd ever see the day when a new music building would be built! When I was in grad school, we used to toss around the rumor that the music building was, like, number 5 on the list of campus facilities to be replaced. Apparently, it was a little further down the list, but they did get to it.

Of course, it would be nice to be like the athletic department, that can wish "Hey! It would be cool if we had yet another practice field... or how 'bout some sky boxes!" and it magically appear. But ya gets what'cha can gets.

UT Gets Funding for New Music Building

Alumni of UT-Knoxville music rejoice! The state has finally set aside funds for a new music building!

According to an article in the Knoxville News-Sentinel, "UT's capital budget for next fiscal year includes... $30 million for a new building for the UT School of Music in Knoxville...." How much it will cost in total to build a new building and where that building will be located, I don't know. Also unknown is whether the new building would incorporate all of the music department, including the offices, classrooms, and studios in the newly-renovated Alumni auditorium (I still think of it as "gym"), or just replace the dilapidated current music building.

The old building was designed and built in the early 60s, if memory serves correctly. Back then, George Devine and composer and conductor of the Knoxville Symphony David Van Vactor raised enough cane to get a building that would house an auditorium, band room, classrooms, practice rooms, offices, and a branch of UT Libraries that would be devoted specifically to musical materials. (As a matter of fact, the music library is named after George Devine and, among other things, it houses the David Van Vactor collection) The space would allow instrumental and vocal studios that were spread all over campus (many of them in old houses) to be brought together under one roof, with ample space for performance. Its design would reflect the post-modern style. And while it did this very well, some practical considerations were compromised.

In 70s, when I was in middle and high school band, I remember coming to UT for concert competitions (East Tennessee School Band and Orchestra Association). My impression then was that the building was already antiquated. It was dark, dingy, and dirty. And my impression didn't improve when I became a UT music student and had to live in it for most of the hours of my day. The practice rooms on the ground floor were grottoes in a vast cave hallway system. The only windows in the place were the two small windows in the doors on opposite ends of the main hallway. The rooms weren't very big, maybe 6 feet by 5 feet; add in a medium-sized upright piano and its bench, some kind of dried-seaweed-like acoustical absorption system, and an instrumental or vocal student and accompanist and it was downright tight.

Worse, the lighting was terrible! I think the lighting designer was going for the idea that musicians would want an ambiance similar to what they would encounter on stage. And they did a good job with the concept, for what it was worth. But the phrase "Practice how you play" has its limits. The rooms, originally, had one or two incandescent "can"-style lights. As a result, it was like you were on a darkened stage with spotlighting. They did come in later and put in standard office fluorescent fixtures, but half the time most of the bulbs were burned out, so you ended up with the same amount of illumination as in the past.

The classroom and office spaces on the succeeding floors were somewhat better. To minimize sound-reflecting glass surfaces, the windows were tall and thin and pivoted vertically in the center. They did provide adequate ambient light. On two sides of the room were the aforementioned "seaweed" acoustical treatments, and some of the rooms were actually built out of square to break up the sound.

It's amazing to me, now, to think that UT was able to develop world-famous marching and concert bands, a top-notch jazz program, and--of all things, in Tennessee!--a solid opera studio in such a space. I guess having brilliant people like Dr. W. J. Julian, Jerry Coker, and Donald Brown, on staff overcame many shortcomings in the building.

But, regardless of program or facilities, I really learned an important fact about being a musician when I came back to graduate school at UT in the early 90s: It's not where you've been, but where you're going that counts.

Strauss Heirs Have to Share

An Associated Press article in the Knoxville News-Sentinel this morning tells of a Munich state court's decision which would force the heirs of Richard Strauss to share royalties from his operas with heirs of his librettist, Hugo von Hoffmansthal, who collaborated on some of Strauss greatest hits, e.g., Rosenkavalier and Elektra.

We tend to think of composers before the 20th century as paragons of virtue. They wrote because their muse told them to. They spread their music all over the world for the betterment of mankind, never worrying about things like royalties and commissions. If someone did commission a work, that person was also virtuous in that he was helping a composer spread the joy of his talents.

In other words, we don't think of composers and averages Joes. They were like characters on our modern TV: static, melodramatic, and never encumbered with going to the bathroom:

Knock-knock. "Jack! Jack Bauer! Are you in there? The evil president is threatening to launch all our nuclear missiles!"

"Uh, well... hold on a second. That chili dog I had for lunch went right through me."

The reality is quite different. Artists had to eat. They had to have a place to stay... and to go to the bathroom. They had to buy clothes and sundries. They had wives and/or ex-wives and/or mistresses, kids, parents, etc. to take care of. So they had to work, hard! If you're amazed at Bach's musical output, consider that he had 17 kids to feed. (Which begs the question, how did he have time to write everything he wrote, teach music at two schools, and oversee the music programs of three churches... or anything for that matter?) Beethoven never married, but he had various "amenuenses"--that was my Masters committee music history prof's $1.75 name for "assistants"--among them Anton Schindler, who wrote a very entertaining if somewhat spruious biography on the classical romanticist's travels and travails ("Or was Beethoven a romantic classicist?" My history prof, again).

So, all those folks you see in oil paintings, they had to get out every day and pound the pavement to find a job to feed themselves and their retinue. And, in those lean times, they scraped by. Some got other jobs. The eccentric composer Charles Ives, who made millions as an insurance agent while composing the greatest American music of the early 20th century, was very adamant about supporting his family: "If a composer has a nice wife and some nice children, how can he let the children starve on his dissonances?" Other composers were assisted by more affluent family members (e.g., Mozart's dad). But they all got by, somehow.

The same goes for artists that worked with composers: choreographers, poets, librettists, singers, instrumentalists, etc. Unfortunately, often these people were forgotten when a work they'd done for a composer was a hit and vilified for ruining things if it wasn't. Regardless, they're often cited in a footnote of the 1,000-page biography of a composer.

And so we come back to Herr Hoffmansthal. From the article, it appears that Hoffmansthal talked to Strauss about the problem of his contributions being forgotten and they worked out an equitable and legally-binding agreement. (I wonder when legal documents started coming into commissions and collaborations in music? Probably about the same time that things like honor and personal responsibility began to wane.) And so, nearly 80 years after Hoffmansthal's death, his forebears can still receive the fruits of his labor, the world's way of saying "Thanks for having a great relative. We appreciate his contribution to mankind's brightest and best creations."

Sydney Opera House Website Infected

An article in the Sydney Morning Herald yesterday announced that the Sydney Opera House website was hacked last month. The hacker installed a Trojan horse program that infected visitors to the site with code that could potentially capture sensitive information (e.g., bank account usernames/passwords).


For those unfamiliar with term, a Trojan horse (or simply "Trojan") is a type of malicious computer software (aka "malware") that, like its namesake, disguises itself as a legitimate program and sits silently on a system until activated. A Trojan isn't a virus per se, as a virus infects other files. A Trojan sits in its own file. When a computer accesses an infected website, the Trojan downloads and installs itself and does nasty stuff like steal passwords or render the system vulnerable to an attack. Visitors to the opera house's site that had not applied security updates to their web browsing software (e.g., Internet Explorer) were infected.

The malware was discovered by a good ol' American geek, who notified the SOH information systems folks. The malicious code was promptly removed. The house insisted that no user data (i.e., names and credit card numbers of ticketholders) was stolen.

The moral to this story is, update your software regularly: Internet Explorer, Windows XP, Firefox, even OSX... all of 'em. The only possible excuse you might have is that you're still on a dialup connection and it would take a millenium to download a 50 megabyte file. Even so, you need to try to keep current. Most companies will ship you their latest software patches on CD for a small mailing fee. A corollary to the moral is to use both antivirus and anti-malware software, update it, and scan your system regularly. Anyone on a broadband connection (i.e., cable or DSL) needs to purchase an inexpensive network router or switch to place between their system and the filthy environs of the internet. These boxes contain hardware "firewalls" that drastically reduce your online vulnerablility. And, since you asked, your cable or DSL modem doesn't do this.

Consider yourself "geeked" for the day.

AMA Might Need New Definition for "Brain Dead"

"In the future, I plan on taking more of an active role in the decisions I make.
--Paris Hilton

You know, 1,000 years from now, people are likely to look back on 20th century Hollywood and say, "Why couldn't they be more like those nice 1st century Romans?"

An Inauspicious Start

Yet another "nugget" from a stash of historical documents at my parents' house.

Tales of Hoffmann was the first Knoxville Opera production that I actually sang on stage. Previously, I had been operating the supertitles. Actually, the supertitles "gig" I stumbled into accidentally, too. A friend was doing them but was going to be out of town, so I filled in for him. I think he liked being relieved of the responsibility, so he would call on me every production. Eventually, the opera company started calling me directly. Then Don Townsend found out I was a singer... and a tenor! and the rest, as they say, is history.

Below is a transcription of the Knoxville News-Sentinel review, November 21, 1992. Bob Barrett was right. Hoffman was long! And it was a whole lot more work to be on stage than to doing supertitles. With supertitles, I just had to come in during production week, read through the score, and push a button. As a chorus member, I had to study and memorize the score, go to music rehearsals, and then block off two to three weeks for staging and production. It took me awhile to began enjoy doing chorus. I did a few more supertitles, begging off with Don Townsend. But, as I may have mentioned previously, it became easier to just do chorus than to say no to Don everytime he called.

Length, heat sole ills in outstanding opera
by Bob Barrett

The Knoxville Opera Company production of Jaques Offenbach's "The Tales of Hoffmann" gets off to a rousing start but begins to drag before its three-and-a-half hour production ends.

Enjoyment of the opera was not helped by the heat in the Civfic Auditorium that reminded operagoers of the summer production of "Don Quixote." Many of the men in the audience shed their coats and those that remained to the end were in shirtsleeves.

Many others were not able to stay through the entire evening.

It's a pity. The voices were excellent, the staging inventive and the acting well above par for most operas.
Top vocal honors must go to soprano Stella Zambalis, who starred as each of Hoffman's loves, but took the audience by storm in the "Olympia" segment with her comedic talent.

For those unfamiliar with the story line, Hoffmann falls in love with Olympia, unaware that she is only a mechanical doll. Her movements and comic timing as she delivered the starring aria of the scene were without compare.

It's too bad the members of the chorus could not all act the part of automatons as well as the gifted Zambalis.
Their part in the act was adequate for a local product, but that's all.

A deep bow to the one who staged the method for getting "Olympia" to glide so smoothly over the stage while being pushed by servants. (The secret is roller skates--I kid you not.)

Only a hair behind Zambalis in vocal fireworks was Lester Senter. Her role as the muse and Nicklausse was outstandingly done. Had she had as much to sing as Zambalis, it would be a tough call.
Joseph Wolverton, as Hoffmann, had the longest role among the male voices, but, good as his tenor was, he paled before the power and execution of Richard J. Clark's fine bass-baritone.

Clarke played the roles, if you will, of Satan--bringing Hoffmann to the depths with each of his lady loves. He was a convincing evil, with rich body that carried all the overtones of evil he intended to portray.

Cesar Ulloa, was outstanding in his character tenor roles. His comic timing and rubber face only complimented his fine voice. Some may be put off by his hunchback characterization in the final act as an unnecessary cut of those afflicted, but that's the way someone decided to play it.

WUOT's voice of classical music, Daniel Berry, was in fine fettle in several supporting roles. His fine voice was best in solo and duets, but tended to be drowned out in the trio with Wolverton and Clark in the second act.
Scenery, belonging to the Virginia Opera, was oustanding.

"Ancient" Technology

If you read my previous blog, you know that I've been taking a trip down memory lane to my high school days and before. In cleaning out my parents' house, I've been finding bits and pieces of history: homework assignments, journals, report cards, pictures. With all these "treasures" just waiting to be discovered, it's becoming hard to actual get any throw-out work done at house, as the minute I grab a box, I see some of these trinkets of my past. So, naturally, I have to stop and look at them all. I suppose many people would just go ahead and dump it in the dumpster. Alas! I've been on a quest to "find myself" for the past few years, so finding stuff like old papers, etc. gives me a lot of pleasure, a certain sense of groundedness. As we age, our memories tend to forget the reality we lived in in the past. Finding an artifact from your past--especially something like a journal that you had to keep in English class--is both gratifying ("I was a darned good writer back then.") and somewhat disheartening ("Yikes! I thought I was a better speller!").

So, the other day I'm going through a closet and, lo and behold, here's this book on programming in BASIC (Beginner's All-Purpose Symbolic Instruction Code) for the Wang 2200 computer I used in "Computer Math" in high school. The copyright date on the book is 1976; I started taking Computer Math a couple of years after that, and it changed my life forever.

Talk about the memories flowing back. I'd been a science geek kid since I was in kindergarten! During show-and-tell in second grade, I had attempted to explain the three states of matter (solid, liquid, gas) with a candle, Peter Pan peanut butter lid, tongs, and an ice cube. If there was an Apollo mission in space, I was glued to the TV for every moment of the coverage. Mom and dad had always fostered my wonderment with science and technology. They both worked for Oak Ridge National Labs (ORNL), dad as a graphic artist and mom as a secretary. The highlight of my year was when Union Carbide would have a "family day" and open up the lab to family and friends so you could see what people did for a living. I distinctly remember standing at a railing looking down into a giant "swimming pool" at the blue-white glow of the High-Flux Isotope Reactor (HiFIR) at ORNL as a kid. (Yes! A nuclear reactor! I know you're incredulous, but the late 60s/early 70s were a different time. Pre-Three Mile Island and Chernobyl. Nuclear energy was our friend.) So I was all ready for a career in a white lab coat. And what scientist didn't use a computer, even back then when "microcomputers" were as big as a roll-top desk?

Case in point, the aforementioned Wang 2200. As I was entering high school, the school purchased two Wangs: one for use in keeping library records, the other for classroom use. The models they purchased looked similar to the picture at left, though the CRT (monitor "box") incorporated a cassette data drive and an old IBM Selectric typewriter was hooked up as a printing device. Though computer math was considered a senior course, I was able to weasel my way into it just by hanging around the computer center, talking with friends that were already taking the course, and picking up a few things. I also joined a computer Explorer post during that period. (Explorers was a program set up by the Boy Scouts for young men--and women!--"exploring" a specific career area. For example, other Explorer posts in the area were devoted to law enforcement and firefighting.) Happily, the post was sponsored by the local Wang dealer, so I was already familiar with the hardware and how to operate and program it.

The school's Wang 2200s had a whopping 8 kilobytes of memory--kilobytes (1,000), not megabytes (1,000,000), and certainly not gigabytes (1,000,000,000). The floppy disk drives (the vertical slots in the CPU box, bottom right) were a full 8 inches in diameter. These were true "floppy" disks, as they were composed of a thin, flexible shell enclosing a mylar disk with a magnetic coating that served as the recording media. They held a full megabyte (1,023 kilobytes) of data. At Explorer's, we learned that by cutting a slot at a certain place on the shell would allow to you access "side B" with another megabyte's worth of code, although you couldn't access both sides at once. Like an LP record, you would have to take the disk out and flip it over.

Software for the computer? None. If you wanted a program to do something, you had to write the code yourself, in BASIC. The school could've purchased some programs available commercially, but back then software was almost as expensive as the computer itself. And since the whole purpose of the computer math class was to teach kids how to program themselves... So, when the computers were purchased, everybody had to "roll their own." (The brainiac students ended up writing a cataloging program for the library's Wang.)

Of course, we didn't have Windows' lovely graphical interface; likewise, the first Mac was at least five years off. In the late 70s/early 80s, though, Xerox's Palo Alto Research Center--PARC--was beginning to develop a graphical interface using a new input device they called the "mouse." One day a young kid by the name of Steve Jobs visited PARC, and later duplicated Xerox's research and built the second most powerful technology empire in the world. To be fair, at that time Xerox didn't think that the idea had any potential and were merely indulging their researchers. Ironically, at this same time, a nerdy kid named Bill Gates was pulling a similar stunt with IBM.

To use the Wang, you had to use cryptic verbal commands like "SELECT DISK 310" and "LOAD DC F" to get the computer to do what you wanted it to do. And each program ran serially from first line of code to the end. If someone said "event-driven software," they must've been talking about driving a hot babe to a concert. So programming was really and truly a separate "language" you had to learn to speak. Thankfully, BASIC was designed to be very conversational. Commands like "PRINT 'YOU WIN!'" and "LET X = 1" were self-explanatory. So it was a good language for aspiring young programmers to start with before they graduated to more cryptic and powerful languages like PASCAL and FORTRAN.

I spent many an hour on the Wang. I would wheel into the computer lab between classes and, if someone wasn't already using it, jump on. Needless to say, I was tardy to English, French, Economics, etc. Somehow, we did end up with some games someone had written. But the graphics on the Wang were all character based and the only sound it could output was a beep, so you had to use your imagination. A screen shot of "Star Trek," probably one of the most popular games, is at right. But we had to write more serious software, too. I developed a program that would ask a user questions and, based on a scoring system, evaluate his/her risk for a heart attack. I also was instrumental in finding a bug in the library computer's software. I even took a stab at writing a grade recording/computing program. Pretty soon, people were coming to me to ask questions instead of the other way around. Eventually, I was able to work my way up into the elite few in computer math that even the instructor consulted on difficult problems.

Even when, during my senior year, the school purchased two early model Radio Shack TRS-80s (aka "Trash 80s"), I continued to prefer the Wang system. Being developed for big business made it a far more elegant platform to work on, even if the TRS-80s had double the memory and the ability to display more than alphanumeric graphics. The Wang's floppy drives were vastly superior to the TRS-80s storage system, which consisted of a $30 Radio Shack cassette tape player that was unreliable, slow, and highly inefficient. With the cassette system, you would spend all class period loading a program only to have the computer tell you "LOAD ERROR" just as the bell rang. But the TRS-80s were destined to be the future. They were about an eighth the size of the Wang, had the aforementioned 16 K of memory, and cost probably 10% of what the school had paid for one Wang system. So, even back then, we were learning that technological development was moving along at a break-neck pace.

Alas, I didn't go into computer science in college. It would've been fun. However, back then, math skills were critical in programming computers, and my grades in Algebra I and II and Geometry hadn't exactly been stellar. (Trig? Me?! Yeah, if they'd let me stay at high school another year.) So, in assessing my skills my senior year, I decided the only thing I was really good at was music. The rest, as they say, is history.

Or is it? I somewhat kept up with programming. As a music education student, I took a programming language called PILOT (Programmed Inquiry, Learning or Teaching) designed for ease of use so that teachers could develop instructional software for their classes. When I learned WordPerfect, I got tired of doing tedious, repetitive projects and delved into its macro command language. Years later, I did the same with Microsoft Office products. Starting with the 1997 version, Microsoft sought to integrate Office's crude macro language into its Visual Basic (VB) programming language so that developers could take advantage of Word/Excel/Access/etc.'s capabilities for processing words and numbers. The result they called Visual Basic for Applications, and I became very proficient with using it to efficiently manipulate data for reports, tables, graphs, etc. I've also tried to keep up with VB, though only recently, with the 2005 .NET edition, have I done so seriously. I'm currently taking classes in VB 2005 in the hopes of furthering my career.

Which brings me to the present. I had this old BASIC programming manual for the Wang 2200 and I got to thinking, "I wonder if other people liked using the Wang as much as I did?" A quick Google turned up Wang2200.org, which had tons of history, documentation, specifications for the old Wang systems. Some programming guru had decrypted the 2200s operating system and written an emulator (a program that "emulates" another computer or programming environment) which I downloaded. The site even has all the old games available for downloading and playing on the emulator. (The Star Trek screenshot is from the emulator.) I've been having been having a lot of fun with "relearning" the Wang's ancient dialect of BASIC. In a way, it's a bit like taking Latin: You know nobody's actually speaking the language anymore, but you see its roots in all the modern languages.