Mysteries Abysmal

Facebookers

Last week I had a Peroni-augmented discussion with a friend who furiously argued about how inane and artificial the concept of Facebook is. A few days later I came across this little doozy-do on YouTube which sort of buttresses his claims. With just about everyone starting up accounts on the 'Book daily (my aunt, for one instance; David Lynch (allegedly) for another), this is easily one of the wildest social experiments I've seen in my lifetime. The video's approaching a million views, so sorry if this has already made the rounds in your world.

Depp, Dillinger, Lincoln Ave.

This blog's server, TypePad, has made it infinitely harder to post pictures to size (see test photo below) and I'd like to say their widespread makeover is a big loser all around. That out of the way, the radical transformation taking place on Lincoln Avenue between Fullerton and Lill streets is worth a look. Johnny Depp will play John Dillinger in the 2009 Michael Mann film Public Enemies, and I believe the filming begins here next month. The entire street is being rebuilt to look exactly as it did in the early 1930s and so far they've done a convincing job. They've even built a street car track down the center of the road. Favorite grad school hangouts like Lincoln Station and Fiesta Mexicana have virtually disappeared from sight; the amount of costly construction that's obscured the current businesses is eye opening. Hmm, is "method staging" a real term?

Photo test

(American Gothic house, Eldon, IA.)

Arbiters

Tim Mangan over at Arts Blog has a compelling little essay (Via ACD) about the widespread shallowness of "average" classical music fans. In short, these listeners favor the melodic over the less-melodic and generally have no appetite for modernism. He's right on most accounts and yes, I too instinctively roll my eyes at every graying Louise who tells her pal Thelma how "exquisite" or "wonderful" the afternoon's music was. What slightly bothers me about Mangan's thoughtful article is how negligent he is in providing any tangible examples. That could really push his argument forward. "Schoenberg wrote for an elite ear..." leaves me wanting more, especially after all the specifics he just assigned to Romanticism. How do you account for a goth kid who melts when he experiences the visceral chaos of Penderecki or the wicked little Webern Op.6? I know gaggles of non-classical music fans who find real enjoyment in 20th century noise but wouldn't be caught dead blaring Handel. Why is melody so often the punching bag when it comes to musical sermonizing? To compose a great one seems to me, well, kind of an elite gift (See FFC's Op.59.No.1 or even Roy Orbison's refrain-less "In Dreams.") In Harrison Birtwistle's Ritual Fragment, for instance, he has every single mobile soloist come to the center of the stage to play and mimic Orpheus's journey to the underworld. That seems to me a trivial device that just might appeal to the non-musical ear, much less an average one. But there I go oversimplifying and generalizing...

Wilkommen SMB von Portland

NB: Snarkily super critic Stephen Marc Beaudoin of From Every Corner fame is swapping blogs with me for a day or two. He's in town visiting so thought it'd be fun for you all to read a left-coaster's stream-of-conscious mutterings as he galavants around our wholesome but urbane town. You're up Stephen...

How do you shave a few bucks off Chicago cab fare? Serenade an Eritrean cabby with some Bob Marley.This I learned around ten o’clock, en route to Boys Town antics, on my second night here in Chicago with BM (He stayed behind at a party in Logan Sq).

In case you missed it, I’m up in the City of Broad Shoulders this weekend as a visitor from the City of Roses (that’s Portland,Oregon, btw), where I’m a hyperactive creative type who yokes together work as a musician, writer and “person of the theatre.” I met Mr. Manning last fall during our time together in the NEA/Columbia Institute for classical music criticism and was instantly smitten (who isn’t, right?). So here I am, latte at close reach (at the, uh, “Maui Wowi” coffee shop in BBM’s ‘hood, Jimmy Buffett on endless maddening loop), a little bruised and battered from a big night out but ready for another round.

Today’s agenda: a 3 pm choral concert at Rockefeller Chapel, quick change and dinner, John Adams’ new “Flowering Tree” at Chicago Opera Theater, parties, drinks, parties, drinks, you get the idea.

Gotta say I’m totes crushing on you, Chicago. Great urban design, stunning architecture, choice culture, good looking dudes. More soon from the front lines. --Stephen Marc Beaudoin

Headphone candy

I thought my days of hearing Chopin anew were drawing to a close. Yet I heard a performance of the Third Sonata, Op.58 on WFMT that was completely foreign and fresh to me. I'd never heard the Largo so otherworldly and serene and the Presto sizzled. Primal. Gerald and I tested out the Scherzo No.1 on Cyber Classical last night and were equally bowled over. The man I speak of is William Kapell and while you probably know the name, you need to listen to him now. Musical spontaneity, no inhibitions, awe-inspiring virtuosity, and total vision.

Offensive, actually

American philistine media are doing their best to keep us guys in our place. Two horrible examples from the last few weeks stand out. On MSN, it's obvious no guy wants to take his woman to the opera. A recap: Men hate music that doesn't have a beat or rhyme; American men shouldn't have to put up with languages other than their own; men would rather play video games on their cellys. Maybe some of that's true for most of the population, but this following sentiment is a brazen lie: "And yet we still get the evil look from girlfriends when we try to stay awake during Madame Butterfly ...." After several years in Chicago, I personally have not come across many young women who are all that curious about opera in the first place (Maybe I've been in sororityville too long). And if she called me out after I dozed off during a production, I'd be a rich man. But the cruelest instance came from a McDonald's radio ad I caught while driving around rural Michigan (This is from memory.)

Johnny was watching French films, listening to Indie bands and not showering. We took him to McDonald's and now, thank god, he's back to normal and giving high fives on football Sundays like he's supposed to.

Tree of roses

The internet just got a little richer now that Jonathan Rosenbaum has launched his website. The semi-retired film critic from the Chicago Reader has gathered some 21 years of essays and uploaded them into one convenient spot. A few essential facts about the man: Godard supposedly called him America's finest film critic; he views the medium principally as feminine rather than masculine; his favorite movie is Jacques Tati's Playtime but apparently doesn't like--no, loathes--one of my favs.

(photo courtesy of the Reader website)

Mother Four

Here's my Chicago Sun-Times' review of Thursday night's CSO performance of Shostakovich's Fourth and Haydn's Symphony No. 1,342 (Or was it 101?) I considered mentioning the obnoxious coughing fits that disrupted the awesomely controlled finale Haitink was brewing.  But alas this town is famous for those, so I let it go and have now come to accept it's part of the culture.  Where was I recently where a PR person announced that those who thought a hacking episode was imminent might wait it out in the hall? In my best Tom Cruise voice, a la Magnolia: "RESPECT THE PIANISSIMO!"

Facebach

Craig's Liszt Time Out Chicago, May 8-14. Several months ago I was kicking around on MySpace when I came across this guy's page. Intrigued by the flute writing in his composition Enwrapt, I shot this Evan Kuchar fellow a message and asked him if he was playing anywhere. He and his ensemble, Anomie, are slowly getting off the ground by playing Friday nights at Danny's Tavern, a suprisingly classical friendly space Marc Geelhoed wrote about back in 2005. I met him for coffee one morning, learned his story and then took him upstairs to the Time Out offices to get his photo taken. Looking back, I think the piece is less about Kuchar and more about the possibilities that come to you by turning on the computer.

(photo of Anomie, taken from their MySpace page.)