For those of You who don't know, I've had this nasty sicko thing going on for quite a while now; I haven't been able to sing for 4 weeks, and am due to perform next week. Being the Neurotic Singer that I am, I went straight to the doc, who then confined me to vocal rest for the next few days. She also assigned steroids, enough that I might have to start waxing my chest.
In the meantime, I thought now might be a nice bit of time to, je ne sais pas, actually blather in my Blatherscope. So here goes: BOOKS!!!!
1. True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey--Cutting to the chase, I adored this book. This is very close to that most illusive of all art-forms: a Perfect Book. Winner of the 2001 Booker Prize, Carey gives us Lucky Readers the "autobiography" of 19th-century Australia's most notorious outlaw, Ned Kelly. Accounting his life for his baby daughter, Ned begins, "I lost my own father at 12 yr. of age and know what it is to be raised on lies and silences my dear daughter you are presently too young to understand a word I write but this history is for you and will contain no single lie may I burn in Hell if I speak false." Carey sweeps the Reader away in the wonderfully athletic language, phrasing, and punctuation (or lack thereof) of a man on the run because of following his own honor. At the age of 14 1/2, Ned is arrested:
"Did I know he [the constable] asked me what were the penalty if I were convicted.
No.
It is death by hanging you little eff.[*]
Many more times would death be pronounced over me but on this 1st occasion I were least prepared I could hear some boys playing cricket in the yard across the road also the regular chink chink chink of a nearby blacksmith at his forge. My legs must of give way beneath me but I didnt realise I were sitting down till I felt the crib's cold hard cleats behind my knees.
Then I heard the mongrel laugh I couldn't see him properly no more than the white of his teeth the reflection in his big bug eyes but as he laughed I knew him weak and thus were comforted."
Carey, however, packages his narrative in documentary detachment, describing each of Ned's "parcels" (conveniently used as chapter divisions) of writing scraps by type of paper used, presumed writing utensil, and how (if) it was bound, followed by a brief, clinical summation of the parcel's contents. "PARCEL ONE: His Life until the Age of 12. National Bank letterhead....There are 45 sheets of medium stock (8"x10" approx.) with stabholes near the top where at one time they were crudely bound....Contains accounts of his early relations with police including an accusation of transvestism....A story explaining the origins of the sash presently held by the Benalla Historical Society. Death of John Kelly." Other "documents" form the untitled pro- and epilogues, giving the epistles the surreal tinge of bureaucratic filing, adding a thick sense of horror to how government deals with life.
An amazing feat of fiction. But be sure to brush up on your Australian slang:)
2. The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan--Haunting, infuriating, passionate, inspiring: this is the story of The Dust Bowl, those who survived it, and those who did not. Egan's heartrending prose justly earned him the National Book Award for non-fiction last year. This book was humbling--how could I not know about this disaster? I mean, I knew It was a part of The Great Depression (from which we are less than 80 years removed, Blatherscopians!), I knew some of America's land was extra dusty for a while, and I knew John Steinbeck wrote his searing The Grapes Of Wrath ** about a family escaping from It, but....I had no idea the magnitude of the actual disaster; I am appalled and in awe. "A Sunday in mid-April 1935 dawned quiet, windless, and bright. In the afternoon, the sky went purple--as if it were sick--and the temperature plunged. People looked northwest and saw a ragged-topped formation on the move, covering the horizon. The air crackled with electricity. Snap. Snap. Snap. Birds screeched and dashed for cover. As the black wall approached, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand, like ocean water rising over a ship's prow, swept over roads. Cars went into ditches. A train derailed....
That was Black Sunday, April 14, 1935, day of the worst duster of them all. The storm carried twice as much dirt as was dug out of the earth to create the Panama Canal. The canal took seven years to dig; the storm lasted a single afternoon. More than 300,000 tons of Great Plains topsoil was airborne that day."
The story of The Dust Bowl is Homeric tragedy: how Human Ingenuity turned to Hubris and stripped millions of acres of earth bare within two generations; the earth has just to recover as thousands of acres of the former Great Plains remain a drifting desert of sand. Oh....ARG!!! There are so many amazing parts of this history, but I don't want to spoil any of it. This book is both Good and Important (how often do those two adjectives coincide, eh?); I highly recommend it (on the High-O-Meter, it gets an 11/11).
Exclamation point!
Aww, crap, I have to leave for rehearsal soon. I will continue with the Avalanche of Books when I return. Until then, gentle Readers, meditate on balloon animals. Or whatever.
*Because the memoir is writing for his daughter, Ned refuses to use the actual swear words; instead, he says things like, "Get away from my adjectival horse, you b------d!" His faithfulness to this convention endeared him to me--that bit of stubborn protection made the character all the more human.
**Steinbeck's masterpiece has recently been turned into an opera by Ricky Ian Gordon. And I cannot believe it is any good--Steinbeck's story is already operatic, it doesn't need the extra schmaltz of Gordon's over-cooked melodies. Gordon is essentially a Musical Theater composer who wishes he had the grandiose vision for opera--but he doesn't.
In the meantime, I thought now might be a nice bit of time to, je ne sais pas, actually blather in my Blatherscope. So here goes: BOOKS!!!!
1. True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey--Cutting to the chase, I adored this book. This is very close to that most illusive of all art-forms: a Perfect Book. Winner of the 2001 Booker Prize, Carey gives us Lucky Readers the "autobiography" of 19th-century Australia's most notorious outlaw, Ned Kelly. Accounting his life for his baby daughter, Ned begins, "I lost my own father at 12 yr. of age and know what it is to be raised on lies and silences my dear daughter you are presently too young to understand a word I write but this history is for you and will contain no single lie may I burn in Hell if I speak false." Carey sweeps the Reader away in the wonderfully athletic language, phrasing, and punctuation (or lack thereof) of a man on the run because of following his own honor. At the age of 14 1/2, Ned is arrested:
"Did I know he [the constable] asked me what were the penalty if I were convicted.
No.
It is death by hanging you little eff.[*]
Many more times would death be pronounced over me but on this 1st occasion I were least prepared I could hear some boys playing cricket in the yard across the road also the regular chink chink chink of a nearby blacksmith at his forge. My legs must of give way beneath me but I didnt realise I were sitting down till I felt the crib's cold hard cleats behind my knees.
Then I heard the mongrel laugh I couldn't see him properly no more than the white of his teeth the reflection in his big bug eyes but as he laughed I knew him weak and thus were comforted."
Carey, however, packages his narrative in documentary detachment, describing each of Ned's "parcels" (conveniently used as chapter divisions) of writing scraps by type of paper used, presumed writing utensil, and how (if) it was bound, followed by a brief, clinical summation of the parcel's contents. "PARCEL ONE: His Life until the Age of 12. National Bank letterhead....There are 45 sheets of medium stock (8"x10" approx.) with stabholes near the top where at one time they were crudely bound....Contains accounts of his early relations with police including an accusation of transvestism....A story explaining the origins of the sash presently held by the Benalla Historical Society. Death of John Kelly." Other "documents" form the untitled pro- and epilogues, giving the epistles the surreal tinge of bureaucratic filing, adding a thick sense of horror to how government deals with life.
An amazing feat of fiction. But be sure to brush up on your Australian slang:)
2. The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan--Haunting, infuriating, passionate, inspiring: this is the story of The Dust Bowl, those who survived it, and those who did not. Egan's heartrending prose justly earned him the National Book Award for non-fiction last year. This book was humbling--how could I not know about this disaster? I mean, I knew It was a part of The Great Depression (from which we are less than 80 years removed, Blatherscopians!), I knew some of America's land was extra dusty for a while, and I knew John Steinbeck wrote his searing The Grapes Of Wrath ** about a family escaping from It, but....I had no idea the magnitude of the actual disaster; I am appalled and in awe. "A Sunday in mid-April 1935 dawned quiet, windless, and bright. In the afternoon, the sky went purple--as if it were sick--and the temperature plunged. People looked northwest and saw a ragged-topped formation on the move, covering the horizon. The air crackled with electricity. Snap. Snap. Snap. Birds screeched and dashed for cover. As the black wall approached, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand, like ocean water rising over a ship's prow, swept over roads. Cars went into ditches. A train derailed....
That was Black Sunday, April 14, 1935, day of the worst duster of them all. The storm carried twice as much dirt as was dug out of the earth to create the Panama Canal. The canal took seven years to dig; the storm lasted a single afternoon. More than 300,000 tons of Great Plains topsoil was airborne that day."
The story of The Dust Bowl is Homeric tragedy: how Human Ingenuity turned to Hubris and stripped millions of acres of earth bare within two generations; the earth has just to recover as thousands of acres of the former Great Plains remain a drifting desert of sand. Oh....ARG!!! There are so many amazing parts of this history, but I don't want to spoil any of it. This book is both Good and Important (how often do those two adjectives coincide, eh?); I highly recommend it (on the High-O-Meter, it gets an 11/11).
Exclamation point!
Aww, crap, I have to leave for rehearsal soon. I will continue with the Avalanche of Books when I return. Until then, gentle Readers, meditate on balloon animals. Or whatever.
*Because the memoir is writing for his daughter, Ned refuses to use the actual swear words; instead, he says things like, "Get away from my adjectival horse, you b------d!" His faithfulness to this convention endeared him to me--that bit of stubborn protection made the character all the more human.
**Steinbeck's masterpiece has recently been turned into an opera by Ricky Ian Gordon. And I cannot believe it is any good--Steinbeck's story is already operatic, it doesn't need the extra schmaltz of Gordon's over-cooked melodies. Gordon is essentially a Musical Theater composer who wishes he had the grandiose vision for opera--but he doesn't.
1 comment:
Variety
Waves of beauty and transcendence
Gordon’s compositions are startlingly accomplished in range, and refreshingly uninhibited in scope
Korie’s lyrics are almost perfectly matched to Gordon’s score
Korie writes passages of piercing beauty
Meek is a powerhouse throughout the night
Nothing short of incandescent
LA Times
A success. First rate.
Outstanding
The sense of excitement was unmistakable
A fluidity that verges, in an opera setting, on magic
The entire production luxuriously unfolds
A brilliant production and cast
Opera Today
The great American opera
Verdi on steroids
Gordon’s amazing and universal score
Of epic sweep and of mesmerizing grandeur
In the company of Janáček and Shostakovich's “Lady Macbeth”
One recognizes, to be sure, art songs, musical comedy, jazz, traditional blues and other references to the music of the time of the novel, but the composer has assimilated these influences and washed over them with a style essentially contemporary.
Minneapolis Star Tribune
A splendid, almost perfect production of an opera that is funny, touching and harrowing in all the right places.
Eloquent
Richly resonant
Powerful
Superbly structured
Impressive, eye-filling production
Rang true from start to finish
The kind of simple but beautiful aria—a lullaby—that most opera composers seem incapable of writing these days.
St. Paul Pioneer Press
A production of might and sweeping scale, one that in vision and craft honors Steinbeck’s source material.
A cagey and nuanced piece of writing.
A grand, sprawling, politically astute and musically compelling affair.
New York Times
An epic in a peculiarly American way
Skill, grace and flair
A lyrical sweetness
Garrison Keilor
Magnificent
The New Yorker
At firs glance, Ricky Ian Gordon’s “The Grapes of Wrath,” which recently had it première at the Minnesota Opera, would seem to be one more entry in the book-club genre. But it has teeth
Gordon, who first made his name in the theatre and as a composer of Broadway-style songs, fills his score with beautifully turned genre pieces, often harking back to American popular music of the twenties and thirties: Gershwinesque song-and-dance numbers, a few sweetly soaring love songs in the manner of Jerome Kern, banjo-twanging ballads, saxed-up jazz choruses, even a barbershop quartet. You couldn’t ask for a more comfortably appointed evening of vintage musical Americana. Yet, with a slyness worthy of Weill, Gordon wields his hummable tunes to critical effect, as in a song-and-dance number devoted to the mass-production methods of Endicott Canneries, where the itinerant Joads seek employment. “Savor the flavor / choosy mothers favor / Always ask your grocer / For Endicott Brand,” a women’s chorus sings, in harmonies that clash slightly as they bounce along. It’s a commercial jingle that can’t conceal its cynical grimace.
Deseret News
The music Gordon has written brings these events and characters to life. At once simple and complex, the score captures the scope and breadth of the story persuasively. Gordon's musical language is a fascinating mix of different styles that incorporate the best of American 20th century music. The score for "The Grapes of Wrath" is a wonderful merger of Aaron Copland, Samuel Barber, George Gershwin and Leonard Bernstein, all of which is mixed together and blended into a sophisticated concoction that is uniquely and unmistakably Gordon's.
Mezmerising, unforgettable.
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