Monthly Archives: February 2013

book review (spoiler alert)

 

Finished An Equal Music by Vikram Seth yesterday.  The musical descriptions in the book are quite good. But it occurred to me that the book participates in the snobbery of the music world, denigrating all but the “greatest” music.

This might have worked out better except that the main character, Michael Holmes, is by turns vapid and/or unbelievable. He seems to have no thought of the people that his lover has gathered into her life in the interval in their relationship (which he initiated).

Their relationship seems to be mostly about his own infatuation and needs.

This is not very attractive.

At the same time, Holmes turns his back on what Seth apparently holds out as his eventual salvation, not relationships but the music itself.

This is tricky.

If the music in the novel is great (and I believe that it is — “Art of Fugue” by Bach, Trout Quintet of Schubert), how does a musician turn his back on it as Holmes does quitting the quartet because he cannot play “The Art of Fugue” now that he knows his estranged deaf lover will be performing it.

I think this is weak. It discounts (at least temporarily in the plot) what the author purports to be espousing —- that great art is as good as living.

Holmes has also spent his career playing a very fine violin on loan to him. This seems like a precarious way to proceed, very “student”-like to me. Surprise, surprise, there is a plot crisis where it seems he will lose his violin (he doesn’t).

Reading reviews of the book I found that Seth’s partner at one time was a violinist. I couldn’t help but wonder if the main character in this book was a way for Seth to parade both his love and detestation for his previous partner.

Certainly, musicians can be detestable (being humans). But there are some interesting people in the book — the violist in the string quartet who is a sister to the first violinist.

Her intriguing three-dimensional personality is begging for more details for the reader as is the cellist. Billy (the cellist) is both more conventional than his cohorts and more adventuresome. They reluctantly agree to play his compositions knowing in advance it will fall short of their snobbish small definition of music.

I find this unattractive. I believe that music grows easily out of maturity and relationships. I know that it’s not the only way that it works. But I have known enough very excellent musicians who were both exemplary human beings I strive to emulate and very very fine musicians.  I agree with Chet Atkins who said that he could tell a lot about a person by the way they play their instrument. I have found that to be so and usually use it as  an important way to understand another musician both as a person and a musician.

Although the music is great in the book and Seth makes it clear that the deaf pianist lover makes wonderful music when she plays, the whole thing rings a bit false for me. I wonder what sounds Seth imagines for her, the quartet and Holmes himself playing the second part alone to one of the fugues from the “Art of Fugue” at the grave of his benefactor who wills him his instrument at the last minute.

I suspect that Seth’s imagination would not be quite matched by any real realization of such narrow musicians playing music even though they are obviously excellent players.

I found myself wondering what kind of music the cellist wrote.

But there you are. This from the dude interested in composition (me).

I did like the writing and might read another by this author.

time off coming

 

gracewebsite

My church has finally got a working web site up and running. It has taken literally years for this to get going. They still are very conservative about what can happen online. At first they didn’t want any staff to do any editing. But I convinced the boss that I and the religious educator should have easy access to the pages related to our areas so that we could make updates. Yesterday I updated the music page which had information that was years old.

gracemusicpage

I had a very busy day yesterday. Didn’t even have time to treadmill.

kafkacharliebrown

The good news is I’m looking at some time off coming up. I have tomorrow off (ballet class was canceled for me). Monday and Tuesday Hope college is not in session so I have those days off. I need some down time. Hopefully I will get it.

Jack_At_Home_In_His_Wonderful_House,_Book_Of_Knowledge,_1910s

I have been thinking about old friends and acquaintances.  My brother recently linked me in to some videos one of the first Episcopal priests I worked with in Oscoda Michigan. This is decades ago. I didn’t recognize him until he started moving his a face bit then I could see the young man I knew (“There you are, Peter!”)

I have had many good friends over the years. It’s kind of weird that so many of them are no longer in my orbit. Some of them withdrew intentionally. Others I’m sure just faded out of my sphere of living.

I muse about Oscoda days because I have come so far since then. I was thinking yesterday that the musician I was in Oscoda would think I am a pretty good organist. The musician I am now often needs convincing.

untitled

Poor me.

nothing nothing nothing

 

Last night after supper, I realized that my body was very achy  Not in the usual old guy way, but in a body-cold way. I had a bad night. This morning I’m not too achy but wonder how this long day will go.

The internet failed me yesterday. I was trying to prepare my recommendations for Ash Wednesday and Lent for my boss. For Ash Wednesday this involved pointing two psalms (pointing is deciding how to line up each line of text with a repeated series of notes that are the psalm “tone”). I finished the first psalm, began the second. Then the internet went away.

Curses.

I waited a bit then went over to church to practice. There was no one in the office any way. This means that no one would need my recommendations until today.

I figured out what I wanted to play as a postlude for Ash Wednesday (O Mensch, bewein’ dein’ Suende gross BWV622 by Bach). That was as far as I got on working on Ash Wednesday.

I have added playing a harmonized scale in all keys (major and minor) to my daily organ rehearsal. I do this in the way that Dupre recommends doing it.

Also working on hard on a little postlude by Alec Wyton. Postludes are sort of a throw away moment at my church, but I still practice them and play them as well as possible.

Wyton at his job at Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NY

This day seems a bit daunting this morning. I’m a bit light headed from tossing and turning (and aching) most of the night. I have an 8:30 Ballet Class, a 10:30 Staff meeting (not sure if my boss will want to meet at our usual 11:30 time or after staff meeting or at all),  3 PM shrink appoint for Mom, pick up a student who sings in the choir around 5:30 PM, 5:45 meal with church members, 6:45 Kids choir, 7:45 chamber choir.

After I got back from church yesterday there was a phone message from my Mom’s nursing home. Mom had gotten confused and apparently thought her Wednesday appointment was on Tuesday even though there is a sticky on her mirror with the date and time. She had been waiting for me to pick her up for over an hour. I called and explained to the woman had left the message.

Here’s another amazing poem by Natalie Diaz

If Eve Side-Stealer & Mary Busted-Chest Ruled the World

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Suffolk County Still Struggling to House Sex Offenders – NYTimes.com

Reminds me of a novel I read in the last year.

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tuesday tasks and the usual jupe musings

I continue to stay about one step behind in my little tasks I give myself to do. I need to print up a corrected descant to the Gloria we have been singing at church (by Proulx). It’s an evolving descant I wrote. Proulx’s composition is more interesting than many musical settings of service music. There are lines in the accompaniment that I thought would make a nice little descant. I haven’t looked at his choral arrangement. I’m sure he has (had?) one published by G.I.A.

Proulx is dead. I remember when he was ailing, fellow AGO members taking up a collection for him since he had no insurance (church musician) and had collapsed on a commercial air flight. A former student of mine had little good to say about him. But that was because Proulx would not allow my student’s paramour to sing in one of his fancy little Chicago church ensembles.

Gossip.

I seem to remember taking a master class with him or something. He seemed very creative. He started out Anglican but converted to Roman Catholicism.

Like many of us, the RCs buttered his bread. He’s not the only musician I know that converted.

It’s hard not to be cynical about this sort of thing but who knows what happens in the cold hearts of us church musicians.

Plays piano.

I also need to email a flute player I know who has asked me to specify which Taize volumes she used when she worked with me so she (or someone she is working with) can purchase them. I grabbed copies of these volumes while I was at church Sunday in order to verify what to recommend. The ones the church owns are out of print (and published by G.I.A – Proulx’s publisher). I noticed that there are current versions available that replace them. I needed the old ones in hand to refer my friend.

I am planning to write SATB or SAB choral parts for the Kids’ Choir’s upcoming anthem. This is so the choir will have something to sing and back up my two or three children singers. Another task.

Eileen stayed home from work ill yesterday. She also missed church on Sunday. Nothing serious. A cold that keeps her tired and groggy.  My own cold seems to have spread from my ear infection to include lung congestion. Nice.

I have been entranced by Schubert lately. In An Equal Music by Vkram Seth (one of the novels I am currently reading, thank you, Rhonda), the plot continues to involve music. At the point I am in the book, the Schubert Trout Quintet plays a role. I have been listening to it. I think I like Schubert quite a bit.

Then when I get a chance I sit down and read through portions of his piano sonatas. Very satisfying.

The last two ballet classes the chair of the department has asked me to play for other teachers. Not sure what this means exactly. I think I do my job well but it’s hard to tell how the teachers feel because of the highly evolved etiquette in dance class work.

This etiquette can and often does include a concluding combination called the reverence (reh vair RANCE).

This is a stylized warm down of slow elegant bows.

Yesterday the teacher I was working with asked a student to lead it. The leader moves slowly enough that the entire class can follow and mimic a ballet curtsy to an imagined audience. If they remember they turn and bow to the pianist as well. It’s a quaint charming etiquette procedure.

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Reformers Aim to Get China to Live Up to Own Constitution – NYTimes.com

I once had a rabid conservative ask me if China had a constitution. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but the implication was that China was basically a completely repressed godless COMMUNIST country. I confessed to the dude I didn’t know. Looked it up. Glad to see this article as well.

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Saving Timbuktu’s Priceless Artifacts From Militants’ Clutches – NYTimes.com

People saving stuff for humanity.  Thank you!

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Chris Kyle, Author of ‘American Sniper’ Reported Killed in Texas – NYTimes.com

Tragic story of two vets doing good shot by a crazed third they were trying to help.

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BBC News – Richard III dig: DNA confirms bones are king’s

I love this stuff.

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Exquisite Corpse – Interview with Jack Micheline

Bookmarked to read. I really like this guy.

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bad poetry and bad religion

 

This morning’s office Gospel reading has Jesus saying to the disciples, “Whoever is not against us, is for us.” This got me to thinking about the popular American notion of the early 21st century as voiced by our then president that whoever is not for us is against us.

These are not necessarily the same idea. In fact, it strikes me that there’s a radical difference between these two statements. In the first, one assumes the best about others. This for me is a rule of collegiality. Once I have identified someone as a colleague, I attempt to assume they are competent and coherent.

The second statement confines the other to either following the dictates of the speaker or is assumed to be a mortal enemy.

I never thought of that before.

I was reading in Paula Bohince’s book of poetry this morning, The Children. I was thinking how her poetry seemed to be based largely in almost artificial takes on nature. I like nature poetry generally. I find that a poet can illuminate her/his surroundings in ways that I perceive as the poetic pop of meaning. I wasn’t getting that from Bohince but persisted in reading.

Then I came across her poem, “Gethsemane.” It’s about Jesus in the garden before his crucifixion. I read it and put the book down. I have read so many poems and heard many sermons about Jesus in the garden. I was repelled by Bohince’s poem.

It’s not religion that repels me so much as mundanity. Or at least what I perceive as mundanity.

I have been reading in the book of Samuel in the Old Testament.

It tells the story of David which is one I love.  David the shepherd, David the King, David the naked dancer, David the evil next door neighbor who sends the hot neighbor’s husband off to war to die so they can fuck.

 

I love his holiness and his screw ups. Whatever his story is, it’s not mundane in my thinking.

I went from Bohince to another poet I am experimenting with reading, Natalie Diaz. To me,  her poetry jumps off the page (instead of floating ethereally and falsely into the air as Bohince’s words seem to do).

I like this and it seemed to be an antidote to the bad religion that sometimes rattles around in my head.

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Truth is, there may be angels, but if there are angels
up there, living on clouds or sitting on thrones across the sea wearing
velvet robes and golden rings, drinking whiskey from silvery cups,
we’re better off if they stay rich and fat and ugly and
‘xactly where they are—in their own distant heavens.
You better hope you never see angels on the rez. If you do, they’ll be
marching you off to
Zion or Oklahoma, or some other hell they’ve mapped out for us.

from “Abecedearian Requiring Further Examination of Anglikan order valium from india Seraphymn Subjugation of a Wild Indian Rezervation” by Natalie Diaz in When My Brother Was An Aztec.

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Yesterday I decided that Jack Micheline was such a profound poet I had to order a collection of his work I am reading. I did so.

Then I read another of his poems this morning that hit me.

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Poem

There is no separation
between my life and my work. Thank God
let it be one thrust
let it be the light against the dark night
I go again and again to the punishment block
among the deathly crowns of sewer rats
among the sickly intellectuals of words
among the hardened faces of a lost youth
who seek more causes to swallow their pain
who seek in a relentless pace which swallows the sunsets
enmeshed, surrounded by the enemies of art
the artists themselves are but a handful
the falsifiers
the lovers of money
the rich who give nothing to the world
but a child’s unloved face attacking all
defending the virtues of their state
cowards proclaiming the latest fashion
what is a poet’s life but pure rebellion
saintly virtues
poverty
and relentless wars of the heart
The rock and roll singers who mimic just words
the modern age crushing all who oppose it
the deadly eyes
everywhere a flower must grow
everywhere there is work to be done
everywhere a flower rises it must be loved and watered
There is a war in the arts
a war for the roses
a war against the dark night
and the triumph is but a single thrust into the sparrows

1962

from North of Manhattan: Collected Poems, Ballads and Songs by Jack Micheline

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Spotify isn’t music to their ears in the House of Representatives | PCWorld

Did you know peer-to-peer networks were forbidden in the halls and offices of Congress? I didn’t/

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BOOKMARKED TO READ:

Bill Gates on the Importance of Measurement – WSJ.com

For 40 Years, This Russian Family Was Cut Off From All Human Contact, Unaware of World War II | History & Archaeology | Smithsonian Magazine

Druckversion – Crime Story: The Dark World of Moscow’s Bolshoi Theater – SPIEGEL ONLINE – News – International

This last article is about the guy who recently had acid thrown in his face.

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What Happens When Drones Return to America — Printout — TIME

Excellent article about the tech of drones, not just in war but behind the lines in the hands of regular people here in Amerika and other places.

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Robert Johnson poses with fellow blues musician Johnny Shines in the newly released photograph.

Robert Johnson: rare new photograph of delta blues king authenticated after eight years | Music | The Observer

My daughter Elizabeth put the pic up on Facebookistan. Boing Boing linked in to the Observer article about it.

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Prince George’s considers copyright policy that takes ownership of students’ work – The Washington Post

This article is little hysterical, but still….

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Gay issue leads Scouts to find new Keene home | New Hampshire NEWS

Article in my brother’s hometown quoting him. Makes me proud.

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Your Paintings – Paintings

Over 200 K paintings online. Thanks to the Davepaul for this link.

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happiness is for pigs

 

Eileen has been telling me that I don’t seem all that happy lately. It’s tricky to consider one’s own happiness. Happiness doesn’t seem to be an end in and of itself. To seek it is to miss it entirely. But one can certainly think about one’s situation and whether it’s aligned with one’s perceived intentions.

I think I miss large amounts of unstructured time. I have the happy self image of being a bum. My first wife’s grandmother was polish. She was a large woman who I remember as always sitting in a chair. I can hear her saying, “He’s just a bum.” She wasn’t necessarily talking about me but this memory makes me smile. I liked being a bum.

Now it’s hard for me to honestly (or even dishonestly) think of myself in this way. I am working more hours than ever at the ballet department at the local college. I am also doing more at church. Plus I do some stuff to keep my Mom afloat in the nursing home (weekly tasks like bills and take her books and chocolates).

Yesterday I had an honest-to-god unstructured Saturday morning. I organized the kitchen.

It felt good. We are planning to revamp our house so that we can live here for the rest of our lives (before we get carted off to a nursing home).

This involves converting the main floor into a living space: renovating the bathroom, installing a washer/dryer on this floor, and making what is not the chaotic library our main bedroom.

The kitchen will lose a significant storage area, a little closet we call the pantry. I have been in the process of emptying it out so that the contractor can tear up the ceiling and see what the heck is up there.

This has meant reorganizing the kitchen significantly, reducing and cleverly storing stuff. That’s what I did yesterday. I listened to Benjamin Britten on Spotify and goofed around in the kitchen. Eileen likes to call this “putzing” around. It amuses me that she says this. And it seems to fit.

Anyway,  by the time I got around to my tasks for the day (grocery shopping, picking up Mom’s books to take back to the library and getting her new ones, practicing organ, treadmilling) I realized that the morning spent in the kitchen doing what I wanted to do had left me feeling relaxed and satisfied.

It was the first day off in two weeks since last Saturday Eileen and I drove to Muskegon in the morning.

So there you have it. The whole morning put me in a good mood. Not exactly the same as being a bum, but close.

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Illumination by Natasha Trethewey

This is the last poem in Trethewey’s Thrall. I like it. It’s about reading someone else’s annotations in a second hand book. I relate.

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The Library and the Architect Respond to a Critic – NYTimes.com

I find it interesting when people reported on respond with letters. In this case, both of these letters are subjective and not terribly convincing, but fun to read in especially in light of the initial reporting.

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In Senate, Traditional Decorum Gives Way to New Discord – NYTimes.com

I suppose it’s inevitable that old fashion etiquette is abandoned in every nook and cranny of life.

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Ethnic Tensions Arise in Timbuktu After Islamists Leave – NYTimes.com

Complicated relationships between Islamists and historical secularists.

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German Legislators Vote to Outlaw Bestiality – NYTimes.com

Learned a new word in this article: Zoophile.

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Italian Court Convicts 3 Americans in Kidnapping Case – NYTimes.com

C.I.A people breaking other countries’ laws.

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Zoom views of Hagia Sophia and other Byzantine Monuments

All you can do is zoom in on this pics, but what the heck, it’s still cool.

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transforming the old into the new

 

T. S. Eliot was so angry at the audience at for laughing at Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring that he “poked his neighbors with the point of his umbrella.”

About the music, Eliot said that it “seemed to ‘transform the rhythm of the steppes into the scream of the motor-horn, the rattle of machinery, the grind of wheels, the beating of iron and steel, the roar of the underground railway, and the other barbaric noises of modern life.”

These quotes are from Lyndall Gordon’s bio of Eliot, T. S. Eliot: An Imperfect Life. She goes on to say that Stravinsky’s ballet music  was an example of “a revelation of a vanished mind of which the modern mind was a continuation.” I love the way she writes and thinks. Though her thought is probably not as true today because the mind of the many is not often a continuation of anything. History is an unfelt breeze in many lives. Still it’s a nice way to think of Eliot and Stravinsky both of whom are clearly speaking in a context of transforming the old into the new.

Speaking of transforming the old into the new, Natasha Trethewey casts her eye over history and gleans some pretty marvelous references to Casta paintings from the 17th and 18th century.

Casta is a Spanish and Portuguese term that refers to “mixed-race people.”   Trethewey bases much of her poetry on descriptions of paintings from this time and place.

Referring to the painting above, she writes: “Still, the centuries have not dulled/ the sullenness of the child’s expression./If there is light inside him, it does not shine/through the pain that holds his face.” Of the mother Trethewey writes “the boy’s mother contorts, watchful/her neck twisting on its spine, red beads/yoked at her throat like a necklace of blood,/her face so black she nearly disappears/into the canvas…”

And for this one, Trethewey writes “How not to see/ in this gesture/ the mind/ of the colony?/In the mother’s arms,/ the child, hinged/ at her womb—.”

I couldn’t find the painting online for the following poem. I think the poem itself stands alone magnificently anyway.

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Torna atrás

After De Albina y Español, Nace Torna Atrás (From Albino and Spaniard, a Return-Backwards is Born) anonymous c. 1785-1790

The unknown artist has rendered the father a painter and so

we see him at this work: painting a portrait of his wife –

their dark child watching nearby, a servant grinding colors

in the corner. The woman poses just beyond his canvas

and cannot see her likeness, her less than mirror image

coming to life beneath his hand. He has rendered her

homely, so unlike the woman we see in this scene, dressed

in late-century fashion, a chicqueador – mark of beauty

in the shape of a crescent moon – affixed to her temple.

If I say his painting is unfinished, that he has yet to make her beautiful,

to match the elegant sweep of her hair,

the graceful tilt of her head, has yet to adorn her dress

with lace and trim, it is only one way to see it. You might see,

instead, that the artist – perhaps to show his own skill –

has made the father a dilettante, incapable of capturing

his wife’s beauty. Or, that he cannot see it: his mind’s eye

reducing her to what he’s made as if to reveal the illusion

immanent in her flesh. If you consider the century’s mythology

of the body – that a dark spot marked the genitals of anyone

with African blood – you might see how the black moon

on her white face recalls it: the roseta she passes to her child
marking him torna atrás. If I tell you such terms were born

in the Enlightenment’s hallowed rooms, that the wages of empire

is myopia, you might see the father’s vision as desire embodied

in paint, this rendering of his wife born of need to see himself

as architect of Truth, benevolent patriarch, father of uplift

ordering his domain. And you might see why, to understand

my father, I look again and again at this painting: how it is

that a man could love – and so diminish what he loves.

from Thrall by Natasha Trethewey

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Prosecutor Shot to Death in a Town Near Dallas – NYTimes.com

This looks like an execution. Chilling.

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Sept. 11 Hearing Censorship Ordered Stopped – NYTimes.com

Unseen offsite censors stop video if they determine it’s a security breach. Judge takes umbrage since the judge should be ruling on such stuff. Very orwellian, in my opinon.

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In Iceland, Court Says a Girl Can Finally Use Her Name – NYTimes.com

Some pretty heavy government intervention thwarted.

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Beethoven on the brain

So I’m reading An Equal Music by Vikram Seth. It’s a novel recommended by my friend Rhonda. Michael, the main character, plays second violin in a string quartet. He is obsessed by an old lover with whom he used to play. One piece comes to his mind that reminds him of her: Beethoven’s early piano trio in C minor (Opus 1 no. 3).

beethovenopus3cover

His current lover (who is not a musician) reveals to him that Beethoven made a different version of this same music and changed from a piano trio (piano, violin, cello) to a string quintet (2 violins, viola, cello).  beethovenopus104cover

 

This latter piece (Opus 104) is pretty obscure I guess. Michael searches high and low for recordings and the sheet music of the quintet. At this point, the story becomes pretty dated. I became curious about the music and stepped to my computer and was looking at scores almost instantly online.

beethoveenopus1.3.01

Also it turns out that the local college owns performing copies of the piano trio. I checked them out and my violinist and cellist graciously agreed to play through it. Which we did yesterday.  The violinist fell in love with the music. We played the first and last movement of the trio that Seth uses in his novel. The last movement, a finale, was more immediately understandable to me. As I confessed to my musician friends, Beethoven has never been a composer that I was simpatico with. For me, he has definitely been an acquired taste in my life. But I have acquired it. Like so much good romantic music, it doesn’t make that much sense to me initially. I have to let it sort of sit in my brain for a while. We played the first movement twice. It made more sense the second time, as Beethoven often does for me.

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When Jim Crow Drank Coke – NYTimes.com

Duke Ellington worked for Pepsi. Who knew?

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Keeping Blood Pressure in Check – NYTimes.com

Different drugs for different cases of high blood pressure. Bookmarked to talk to my doctor about next time I see her.

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Shadowy Squads Enforce Modesty in Hasidic Brooklyn – NYTimes.com

Ay yi yi.

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Norman Foster’s Public Library Will Need Structural Magic – NYTimes.com

Hope College is planning some new buildings. This article sheds light on how difficult it is to that sort of thing well.

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84 pictures of dead malls | Death and Taxes

Speaking of large public buildings, these are great pics.

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Beijing Takes Emergency Steps to Fight Smog – NYTimes.com

China’s idea of emergency measures is to call a news conference and lie apparently.

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Drone Strike Lawsuit Raises Concerns on Intelligence Sharing – NYTimes.com

What confuses me is why the USA is not being the subject of a lawsuit since we’re the ones actually killing people.

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After the Brazil Nightclub Fire – NYTimes.com

I seemed to have missed the reporting on this recent tragedy. This article brings it life in a tragic way, plus comments nicely on what’s appropriate when reporting something like this.

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