Going into the ninth inning of today's game at Citi Field, the Yankees had a 6-3 lead that, based on how the Mets had played in the previous innings, seemed likely to hold if not improve. Sean Manaea, he of the 6.56 ERA, managed to hold the Bombers scoreless in t, he top of the inning. In the bottom of the inning, facing Yankees closer David Bednar, the Mets scored three runs, tying the game. The decisive hit was a three run homer by Tyrone Taylor.
In the top of the tenth Devin Williams held the Yanks scoreless. In the bottom of the tenth Yankee pitcher Tim Hill allowed two hits and a fielder's choice to put runners on second (following a steal) and third. Carson Benge then hit a chopper that allowed Marcus Semien to score from third for a walk off 7-6 win.
At the season's beginning I tried reading the Mets' tea leaves based on their performance in an 11-7 win over the Pirates. Noting that five of the Mets' runs were scored in one inning against a pitcher who was having a very bad day, and that the Bucs outscored them over the rest of the game, I concluded that I could just be "cautiously optimistic." Things went well for the Mets until April 8, when they plunged into a twelve game losing streak. For a time, they had the worst record in the Majors. They are now out of the MLB basement, though still fifth in the National League East. Some young players, like Benge, are showing promise. We now have New York City bragging rights; at least until the next Subway Series, at Yankee Stadium in September.
The Joy Luck Trio, consisting of (left to right in the photo) Karen Han on ehru, Donna Weng Friedman on piano, and Gao Hong on pipa, had their first Brooklyn performance at Bargemusic on Sunday, May 3. As I've noted before, I'm a fan of syncretismin music (and in other things). Joy Luck, in my estimation, does an awesome job of combining Asian and Western instruments and musical traditions.
They opened the concert with The Swan (Le Cygne, 1886) by Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921), which they did as written except for some improvisations. According to my sketchy concert notes Han's ehruproduced a "dreamy melody" while Hong's pipa yielded "versatile sounds." Friedman's piano was precise. This was followed by Hong's own composition, Flying Dragon, done solo on pipa. As its name implies, it had a soaring quality until the last note, which evoked the dragon's descent, and was made by Hong's dragging her thumbnail down a string, a move that produced a pleasing sound. Han then had a solo turn on ehru with Birds Singing in the Empty Mountains, by the Chinese composer Liu Tianhua (1835-1932). My notes indicate "conversational sounds" and "scope of timbre."
Next on the program came three pieces by the composer Stefania de Kenessey, who was present for the concert. These were from Microvids, a series of nineteen short pieces she composed after the worst of the pandemic had passed. The three performed at the concert were Reach for the Sky, Clouds, and Pure Joy. They were written for solo piano, but the concert performances included improvisations on ehru and pipa. It all worked brilliantly.
Hong then had another solo turn on pipa with a piece, Pastoral, that she said was inspired by the Mongolian countryside. Its evocation of a spacious landscape reminded me, in a good way, of Neil Young's instrumental, The Emperor of Wyoming. Friedman then had her solo turn on piano with The Three Maries (1939) by the Brazilian composer Heitor Villa-Lobos (1887-1959). These three short pieces, Alnitah, Alnilam, and Mintika, were given the names of the belt stars in the constellation Orion that are sometimes called "The Three Marys." My notes on each in order were: "playful"; "loving"; and "reflective."
The last two pieces in the program were Hong's Nostalgia, which she described as "chasing a dream" and for which my notes are "plaintive, then lovely," and Horse Racing, by the Chinese composer Huang Haihuai (1935-1967) which evoked the propulsive rhythm of hoofbeats and concluded with a convincing whinny on the ehru.
I have friends who think that the purpose of music, or of any art, should be to provide pleasure. I believe that great art should not only please, but also challenge the listener, viewer, or reader to hear, see, or understand in a new way. For me, Joy Luck Trio fulfilled that purpose. It made me hear music in a way I never had before.
In the clip above she sings her song "Red Dirt Girl" at the 2005 Farm Aid Concert in Tinley Park, Illinois. She was accompanied on guitar and harmony vocals by Buddy Miller, whom I'm delighted to see was wearing a t-shirt promoting the Texas gubernatorial run of my now late Lion's Head drinking companion Kinky Friedman.
Elite Hotel confirmed me as a fan of Emmylou in her own right, and I continued to collect her albums. I saw her in live performance once, at the short lived Lone Star Cafe outpost in Midtown. Happy birthday, Emmylou; thank you for all the enjoyment you've given me over fifty plus years. May you continue to enchant.
The Mets won their opening game from the Pittsburgh Pirates 11-7, at Citi Field. One game is no way to predict how a season may go. What, if anything, can we conclude from this game?
In the bottom of the first inning, down two runs, Mets batters jumped on the Bucs' starter, Cy Young Award winner Paul Skenes, for five runs. Skenes was taken off the mound before the inning ended. What could this mean? Were the Mets batters really hot? Or, was Skenes just having a very bad day? I suspect it was more the latter than the former.
What happened after Skenes' awful outing? In the top of the first Mets' starter Freddy Peralta had given up two runs. He then allowed one in the third and another in the fifth, when he was retired. The Mets' bullpen gave up one in the sixth and two in the top of the ninth. Over the post Skenes period Mets batters scored one in the fourth, three in the fifth, and two in the sixth. Not bad, but if we discount the five Mets' runs scored off Skenes in the first, which I consider a "black swan" event, the Bucs outscored the Mets 7-6.
So, what can I conclude from this game? Not much. I remain cautiously optimistic.
If I had been asked, at age eight, if I could imagine reaching the age of eighty, I would probably have said I could not. My hope for my future was to die gloriously in battle, and with my dying breath to utter words that would prove inspirational for generations to come.
Fortunately, that was not my fate.
Here I am at eighty. I can't resist sharing a story I've shared recently in other contexts. If I recall correctly it comes from the Scottish writer and broadcast executive Moray McLaren, according to whom a collector of folklore visited a remote Scottish island. He got off the boat and, walking along the island's main street, sought to find someone with a long memory. He stopped a man and said, "Excuse me, but do you know if there are any octogenarians on the island?" The man furrowed his brow for a moment, then said, "Octogenarians? ... Ah, yes. There was two. But my brother shot the one and the other flew away. Octogenarians, yes, there was two."
I met Andy Irvine sometime in the late '80s when he performed at the Eagle Tavern on West 14th Street. I was introduced to him by my date, Zane Berzins, of blessed memory. She may have been the only native speaker of Latvian who was also fluent in Irish Gaelic. Later I learned that Martha, my future wife whom I had yet to meet, was at the same event.
Beannechtai na feile Padraig!
This was Fairport Convention's second song at a Carnegie Hall concert I attended in October of 1974. Although it was written and recorded four years before, it likely seemed timely in 1974 because memories were still fresh of the October 1973 Yom Kippur War, which threatend to expand into World War III because it pitted an ally of the U.S., Israel, against those of the Soviet Union, various Arab nations. It seems timely now, as Russia allies itself with Iran.
Why "Sloth"? It is one of the seven deadly sins, defined as the "culpable lack of physical or spiritual effort." I believe Richard Thompson, who wrote the lyrics, had in mind the indifference, or unwillingness to make the effort to protest, that allow war to begin. The second verse begins, "She's run away." I suspect that the "She" refers to peace.
I've referred to that 1974 concert before in a post about the late Sandy Denny.
At New Orleans' House of Blues sometime in the 1980s George Thorogood invited John P. Hammond, who died yesterday, to join him onstage in a rendition of Bo Diddley's "Who Do You Love." Hammond's growling vocal and his skill on blues harp, accompanied by Thorogood's guitar, made this a memorable performance. Hammond was the son of John Henry Hammond (1910-1987), record producer and civil rights activist, who promoted the careers of Black musicians. Young John's godfather, from whom he got his middle name, was Paul Robeson.
Neil Sedaka, who died today at 86, was a prominent contributor to the soundtrack of my adolescence. From 1959 through 1960 he had a series of catchy pop hits that were staples on the radio and at James Monroe Junior High School dances. One of these, "Oh! Carol" (1959, clip above) was inspired by his own adolescent trauma. He dated a classmate at Abraham Lincoln High School, Brooklyn, named Carol Klein. It seems the relationship ended unhappily. She, later known to the world as Carole King, along with her husband Gerry Goffin, wrote a joking reply song, "Oh, Neil".
Today, Carole King posted a tribute to Neil Sedaka, noting that he had inspired her to become a songwriter.
Born in Greenville, South Carolina in 1941, he belongs in the company of Rosa Parks, The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., Fannie Lou Hamer, John Lewis, and others who, in the middle years of the past century provided the energy and knowledge that led our country out of the shameful past of legalized segregation and discrimination. Robert Reich provides the full text of Rev. Jackson's speech to the 1988 Democratic National Convention, in Atlanta, which included these words:
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. lies only a few miles from us tonight. Tonight he must feel good as he looks down upon us. We sit here together, a rainbow, a coalition — the sons and daughters of slavemasters and the sons and daughters of slaves, sitting together around a common table, to decide the direction of our party and our country. His heart would be full tonight.
Rest in peace, Rev. Jackson. We are a better nation for your having been among us.
I'm fond of syncretism, "the combination of different forms of belief or practice" (Merriam-Webster). Christmas, of which we are now on the eighth of the twelve days, is a syncretic holiday, combining Christian celebration of Jesus' birth with Roman and other pagan rites appropriate to the winter solstice. Where I especially enjoy syncretism is in cuisine, where I encounter it regularly when I enjoy a bánh mì for lunch, combining Vietnamese fillings with a French baguette, and in music. As I noted in a previous post, most of what we consider American popular and church music has African influence.
Andy Statmanis a musical syncretist. He first became known as a bluegrass performer on mandolin, but became interested in combining bluegrass sounds with jazz, and with the klezmer music he knew from his Jewish childhood. In the video above he plays mandolin, while Michael Daves plays guitar, on "Surfin' Slivovitz," which Andy wrote and which combines elements of bluegrass, klezmer, jazz, and '60s California surf guitar music. Their performance took place at the Jalopy Theatre and School of Music, which annually presents the Brooklyn Folk Festival.
Slivovitz is a potent plum brandy made in Eastern Europe that has a special place in Jewish tradition.
The consensus, at least among those whose views I am exposed to regularly, is that 2025 is best behind us. Carll Tucker, a writer I've come to respect and like, calls it "The Year From Hell." Still, he expresses some hope for the future. The last time I bade farewell to a year here was 2020, the year the pandemic struck. What little optimism I expressed was based on the outcme of that year's election. While the political scene improved for me in 2021, my fortunes took a turn for the worse when I fractured my left ankle the day before Thanksgiving.
That fracture has led to three surgeries. The last of them, in 2023, involved the fusion of my ankle and the placement of a lot of metal in my left foot. This was going well until this September, when I suddenly developed excruciating pain when I put any weight on my left heel. I went to the nearby ER, where it was determined that I had an infection attached to the metal. I was hospitalized and put on a course of intervenously administered antibiotics. After a week I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility where I continued to receive IVs, but also was given physical therapy. The therapy helped, and after several weeks I went from IV to oral antibiotics. After a month in rehab, I came home.
Since then, things have improved, but I've not gotten back to 100%. I've been fortunate to get onto the MTA's Access-A-Ride service that allows me to get to distant medical appointments, and even social occasions, at minimal cost, accompanied by Martha, my personal attendant, at no extra cost. I can't say enough about how helpful and patient Martha has been through my difficulties.
My personal hope for 2026 is that I'll be restored to full mobility, and can again take long walks down to and through Brooklyn Bridge Park, or take the subway to wherever I want. More importantly, I hope to continue my spiritual development, and do all I can to advance God's mission of love and compassion for all humankind.
This song is from the album An American Christmas, Carols, hymns and spirituals, 1770-1870 (Erato 5181459, 1993), performed by The Boston Camerata, at the time under the direction of Joel Cohen, who is now Artistic Director Emeritus. According to the album's notes, its source is "The Finest of the Wheat: Hymns New and Old for Missionary and Revival Meetings and Sabbath Schools (Chicago 1890) 'Geo. D. Elderkin, arr.'" The notes continue:
As the nineteenth century waned, the revival hymns, with their simple, keyboard-derived harmonies and rollicking refrains, displaced many a genuine folksong; but the best of them have an appeal of their own.
It's also noted that this song's "opening phrase ... bears an uncanny resemblance to the Going Home theme of Dvorak's New World Symphony, composed circa 1893." The author goes on to wonder if Dvorak had heard the song and "been reluctant to acknowledge his debt to such a lowbrow source." I had long believed that the source of the Going Home theme (Going Home is the title of a song Dvorak's student, William Arms Fisher, set to the theme) was a Black spiritual. That is given some credence in this Dvorak website under the heading "sources of inspiration" although it also quotes the composer as denying he "acually used" any melodies from Black or Indigenous American sources in his work.
By the late nineteenth century the influence of African musical traditions on American folk and popular music was undeniable. I believe this influence can be heard in "Jesus the Light of the World," in its rhythmic pattern and harmonies. It's possible Dvorak heard it and got inspiration from it.
In any event I love the song, which invites us to "[c]ome where the dewdrops of mercy are bright ... ."
Rob Reiner (1947-2025) will, for me, always be the maker of three of my favorite movies: This is Spinal Tap, in which he played the narrator of a "mockumentary" about the U.S. tour of "Britain's loudest band"; When Harry Met Sally, which his wife, Michele, who died with him, convinced him to give an upbeat ending, and in which his mom, in a cameo, gave an unforgettable line at the end of the Katz's Deli scene; and The Princess Bride, with its wedding scene that rivals the one in another of my favorites, Alan Arkin's and Jules Feiffer's Little Murders. I haven't seen A Few Good Men, but it's on my list because, as Alissa Wilkinson notes in her Reiner "appraisal" in today's New York Times,
it’s really in movies like “A Few Good Men” that you can see his notion of what makes for real goodness shine through: not getting everything perfect, or fixing the world, but more simply standing up to powerful people who hurt the weak.
Robert Reich reminds me of something I'd forgotten, or more likely never focused on, which is that early in Reiner's acting career he played Michael Stivic, Archie Bunker's "Meathead" son-in-law, in "All in the Family". In the video clip above, courtesy of Reich, I see that Arch (Carroll O'Connor) and I had something in common: at least a mild form of OCD.
The couple in the photo above are Joseph Di Ponio and Stephanie Corwin. Joseph is a composer and a co-director of Ensemble Ipse, "a contemporary music ensemble dedicated to showcasing the wide variety of practices in the current new music scene." Stephanie plays both modern and baroque bassoons (she is holding the latter in the photo) and is a member of Repast Baroque, which "is committed to sharing the spirit of seventeenth- and eighteenth century chamber music with audiences in New York and beyond." The other three members of Repast are in the photo's background. Left to right they are: Natalie Rose Kress, violin; Gabe Shuford, harpsichord; and Sarah Abigael Stone, viola da gamba, who serves as Repast's artistic director. During the bleak days of the pandemic, I got cheer online from Sarah's "Bach Everyday."
Given the different musical focuses of Ipse and Repast, it's tempting to think of Joseph and Stephanie as a musical odd couple. They were, nevertheless, determined to find a way for the two groups to interact and produce a concert that could please members of both of their groups' usual audiences. This came to fruition last Sunday in a concert, "Science Fiction: the Music of the Spheres," at the First Unitarian Congregational Society, Brooklyn.
The concert began with Sarah's instrumental arrangement of Sfogava con le stelle from Il quarto libro di madrigali (1603) by Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643). The program notes quote the lyrics (unsung in this performance) of the madrigal as being about "a lovesick man" who was "venting to the stars" in which he saw "beautiful images of my idol whom I adore" and begged them to "so demonstrate to her my loving ardour." The music captured this sense of longing.
We then moved from the early seventeenth century to the present with "Other Fields of Gravity" by Molly Herron, who describes it as her impression of what it would be like "to be at the very edge of earth's gravitational pull" where she would "feel the gentle tug of other fields of gravity." Each of these would have "its own texture, taste, color." The music, conducted, as all the contemporary works in the concert were, by Matt Ward, evoked these senses. This was its world premiere, as it was for all the contemporary pieces in the concert.
Next was a revisit to the seventeenth century with Sonate concertate a 2 in stil moderno No.8 (1621) by Dario Castello (1602-1631), a Venitian of whom little is known other than his music, which was within the avant garde of the time, "push[ing] the boundaries of harmonic expression and virtuosity." This piece showcased performances by Natalie on violin and Stephanie on bassoon.
We returned to present time with "Harmonious Diesis" by Judith Berkson. "Diesis," according to the program notes, "refers to a small musical interval, represented here by the small pitch difference between both ensembles (Ipse is tuned to A=432Hz and Repast to A=415Hz)." This may seem a recipe for discomforting dissonance. Instead, the composer argues, it is "[l]ike hearing a musical memory while processing something new, where the difference between the past and the present is experienced through sound." I agree with her characterization. At the conclusion of the piece, Gabe's harpsichord became "the terrain for the tunings to diverge and merge with one another."
Joseph got to show his chops as a composer with "A Continuity of Rooms" which, like "Other Fields of Gravity," explores the interaction between a large entity, in "Other Fields" earth and in "A Continuity" an art museum, and more distant or lesser entities, in "Other Fields" the moon, sun, and planets; in "A Continuity" galleries and the corridors connecting them. Both pieces, in my view, succeed in evoking a sense of the relationships between entities greater and smaller and, in "A Continuity," inclusive.
After a break we returned to hear "Mars Hill" by Stephanie Griffin, who is also Ipse's violist. The piece takes its title from the town of Mars Hill, North Carolina, where the composer spent time in the Emerson Dorsch Artist Residency, and is dedicated to its founders, Tyler Emerson-Dorsch and Brook Dorsch, and its executive director, Ibett Yanez del Castillo. It opens with "high pitched morning sounds" initially produced by a duet between Margaret Lancaster on piccolo and Alex Shiozaki on violin. It then "winds its way down in register until the sky explodes with stars and visions of distant planets orbiting in perfect harmony around another imagined sun." Special praise must be given to percussionist Colleen Bernstein for her deft handling in rapid succession of drums, triangle, tiny tinkling bells, and a gong.
Next on the program was "Zero Body Problem" by Max Giteck Duykers. The program notes for this consist entirely of a three paragraph quotation from Richard D. Mattuck's A Guide to Feynman Diagrams in the Many-Body Problem. "Feynman" is the late Richard Feynman, nobel prize winning physicist known for his work on quantum field theory. After much discussion of many body problems the quotation from Mattuck concludes: "And within modern quantum field theory, the problem of zero bodies (vacuum) is insoluble. So, if we are out after exact solutions, no bodies at all is already too many." My scrawled notes on the program about this piece are "Slow, then lively." The "lively" part may be an expression of the notion "too many." In any event, I didn't find the music "insoluble"; I found it challenging but enjoyable.
The concert ended as it began, with Monteverdi; this time with Sarah's arrangement of O stellae coruscantes (1607) which, the program notes, is a "sacred contrafactum of Sfogava con le stelle" (1603), the Monteverdi pi ece that began the concert. While the earlier piece expresses romantic longing, the later sees heavenly bodies as "genial images of Him whom I worship" and concludes with "Praise Him eternally." It was approriately worshipful.
Credit goes also to the musicians not mentioned above who played exceptionally well: Christa Van Alstine, clarinets; Caleb van der Swaagh, cello; and Geoffrey Burleson, piano, who during a break explained for me some special effects he created with small devices placed on the piano's strings.
Yes, I enjoyed this concert, from start to finish. Not everyone did. During the contemporary pieces a few people got up and left. Some years ago I might have done likewise. How did I change my mind? By listening. In part it was some works by David Lang, whom I met when our chidren were schoolmates, and in part just by hearing contemporary pieces on WQXR. I came to appreciate music that didn't always conform to familiar patterns of chord progression, rhythm, or harmony.
Is one of the things music can do, beyond providing us with familiar pleasures, expanding our ability to respond to aural experiences previously unfamiliar to us? I can't help recalling the time in 1956 when I was ten years old and with my father, riding in our '55 Chevy along a two lane blacktop in the loblolly pine woods of the Florida Panhandle. Dad had the radio tuned to a local station that played country music. The DJ said, "Now, here's Elvis Presley." I'd heard of this guy and seen pictures of him wearing a lavender suit with frilly trim. I'd read that he drove girls crazy, so I assumed he was a crooner, in the mode of Frank Sinatra or Vic Damone. Then I heard the clang of a single major key guitar chord, followed by "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog" in a growling voice, and lots of frenetic rhythm. I thought, "Obviously this is a song Elvis Presley has done as a joke, but I love it!"
Jimmy Cliff, born James Chambers in 1944during a hurricane that destroyed his mother's house in St. James, Jamaica, died today at age 81. His first recorded song, when he was 14, appropriately was about a hurricane. After that he tried various musical styles, including covers of pop and rock hits and some original songs, with some success. After living in London for several years he returned to Jamaica. Thanks in part to his longstanding relationship with record producer Leslie Kong he began making music that appealed to Jamaican audiences.
In 1972 he became a movie star, playing Ivanhoe "Ivan" Martin, a young man like Cliff who came from poverty and tried to make it in music, but unlike Cliff, was cheated by crooked agents and producers and so turned to dealing drugs. The movie, The Harder They Come, produced by Perry Henzell, had a spectacular soundtrack that was released as an album in 1973. It includes cuts by Cliff as well as other reggae stars, including Desmond Dekker and Toots and the Maytals.
The songs best remembered from the soundtrack are the uptempo, optimistic ones, the title track and "You Can Get It If You Really Want". But Cliff's music also reflects the difficulties he faced growing up, and knew he continued to face even after achieving success. For example, there's "Many Rivers to Cross," the song in the video at the top of this post.
Yesterday was Bonnie Raitt's 76th birthday. She's a spring chicken; I'm three and a half years her senior. In the video above she sings one of her songs along with Keb Mo, whom I had the pleasure of hearing live at St. Ann & the Holy Trinity Church here in Brooklyn Heights some years ago. This rocks!
I'll start by answering that question. I will, because I'm too much of a narcissist not to. Still, there are concerns. My frequency of posting was high during the early days, but dropped off considerably once I got onto Facebook. Small items that would have gone on the blog went to Facebook instead, where they got more attention. Over the past few years I've been averaging about two posts per month. It's now the end of October, and this will be my only post for the month. This can partly be blamed on my having been in a physical therapy facility all month, during which time I've focused on keeping the Brooklyn Heights Blog going. I hope to be home soon.
Apart from my posting frequency, there are larger concerns. I've read that blogging is a dying pursuit, except perhaps for some well financed organizations that link their blogs to other public communications. I link all my posts to Facebook, but facebookers seem largely reluctant to follow links, preferring to keep scrolling. My blog's masthead has the boast, "Taxing your attention span since 2005." Has today's internet environment contributed to even further shrinkage of that span?
Then there's the name. In 2005 the term "self absorbed boomer" had become something of a meme; largely, I think, because of President George W. Bush's having used it as a jab at John Kerry in Bush's successful re-election campaign. Again as noted on my masthead, a New York Times reporter, Sewell Chan, called my blog "delightfully named." Today, to members of younger generations, "boomer" has become an expletive. We are seen as holding them down, either by our younger members keeping positions to which they aspire, or by older ones consuming financial resources.
I see my blog as a kind of diary, not of day to day concerns but of my interests and thoughts. I hope that this will prompt at least a few helpful obervations and suggestions. Thank you for bearing with me.
Last year, at least they made it to the playoffs. This year they started hot, which prompted a long reminiscence of my history as a Mets fan. Summer produced a long period of mediocrity, but at the end of August, thanks to a series sweep of the division leading Phillies, I expressed some qualified optmism. Unfortunately, the Mets record from then until yesterday's season end was 11-18, including being swept in four games by the Phils. They still had a shot at the playoffs going into yesterday's game, which they lost to the Marlins 0-4. As a result, the Mets and Marlins ended the season with mirror image records, 83-79 and 79-83, respectively. I take some consolation in the Mets having finished second in their division, if only because of the woefulness of the Marlins, Braves, and Nationals.
What went wrong? Tim Britton and Will Sammon of the New York Times tried to find an answer but couldn't find any decisive factor or factors. I'm left with the pre-1955 Brooklyn Dodgers fan's cry, "Wait'ill next year!"
In the summer of 1971 I was at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, going through U.S. Army Field Artillery Officer School. A few of my several hundred classmates were U.S. Marines, who relied on the Army for artillery officer training. A few others were German, Thai, or Vietnamese. One of my Marine classmates was Mike, a genial Texan and Aggie. Mike knocked on the door of my Bachelor Officers Quarters room one afternoon and asked if he could see my notes from a class he had missed. I was glad to help.
After looking at my notes he picked up my "flying saucer" dress cap with a device like that in the image above. He said, "You know, there was a time when the eagle faced the arrows instead of the olive branch. That was before nineteen and forty eight when these liberals took over the government and changed the name of the Department of War to the Department of Defense, so nobody would think we were the kind of country that would stand up and fight for what we believe in." I let this pass instead of challenging his assertion that liberals had taken over the government in 1948. At the time, I knew that there had been Democratic presidents (FDR and Truman) from 1933 until 1952. I also knew that Truman, who became president when FDR died in 1945, won the 1948 election, remembered for the erroneous Chicago Daily Tribune headline declaring Dewey the winner. What I didn't know is that the Republicans had controlled both the House of Representatives and the Senate from 1945 until the 1948 election gave the Democrats majorities in both houses, along with the White House. Whether this amounted to liberals taking over the government is debatable.
What neither Mike nor I knew was that the name Department of War was eliminated in 1947 as a result of legislation, the National Security Act, that passed the GOP controlled Congress and was signed into law by President Truman. Until then there were two cabinet level agencies that controlled the military: the Department of War, which controlled the Army; and the Department of the Navy. The National Security Act put the Army, Navy, and newly created Air Force under the control of a new cabinet level agency, the National Defense Establishment, headed by a Secretary of Defense. In 1949 the National Defense Establishment was renamed the Department of Defense. The direction the eagle faces on the cap device, which is modeled on the obverse of the Great Seal of the United States, was changed by presidential order in 1945.
If President Trump succeeds in renaming the Department of Defense the Department of War, will he think to reverse the direction of the eagle's gaze? If so, Mike, if you're still with us, and I hope you are, congratulations. Despite our differences on political matters (I prefer DoD to DoW and olive branches to arrows), I enjoyed our time as classmates and hold you in great respect.
Back in April I posted that the Mets then sported the best record in the Majors, but added the question, "Can we stop the season now?" The reason for this bit of facetiousness was my observation, back in 2008, that the Mets have the "ability to raise hopes, then smash them like cheap china." Long time readers of this blog may recognize a recurrent theme here.
It seemed things were going that way again this year. On August 5 Will Sammon of the New York Times noted that the Mets had a "prolonged stretch of mediocrity" since June, with a record over that time of 27-28. He pointed to their weakness in all aspects of the game: pitching (both starters and bullpen), hitting, and fielding. Meanwhile their divisional rivals the Phillies went on a tear, holding as much as a seven game lead in the NL East. That was until this week, when the Mets swept a three game series with the Phils, reducing the deficit to four games.
Today Sammon wrote that the Mets are "clicking again" He attributes this in part to the performance of rookie pitcher Nolan McLean (photo: D. Benjamin Miller, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons) who baffled Phillies batters to seal the series sweep yesterday. Since being called up, McLean has started and won three games, and has an ERA of 0.89. Sammon also noted that Mets batters are hitting again.
It seems then that the answer to the question I posted in the caption is, "Yes." At least it is for the moment, but I can't discount the possibility of a derailment. They have a challenging schedule for the remaining season: three games with the Tigers (78-57 as of now) next week; a four game series with the Phillies, which could be their make-or-break, September 8-11; three with the Padres (now 75-59) September 16-18; and three with the Cubs (now 76-57) September 23-25. Injuries, which seem to be a persistent problem for the Mets (I speculated why here), are always a worry. Still, I'm feeling better about our chances now.
Update: well, maybe no. Fresh off a sweep of the Phillies, the Mets lost to the Marlins 7-4, then pounded them 19-9 yesterday. That game featured the first major league start for Jonah Tong who, over six innings, allowed one run on six hits, no walks, and six strikeouts. Today the Mets suffered a very ugly loss. Starter David Peterson lasted only two innings, during which he allowed eight runs off eight hits and gave up three walks. At the end of the sixth the Mets had tied the game 8-8, but after that their bats went silent. The Marlins scored once again in the seventh, and the usually reliable Edwin Diaz gave up two more in the ninth. The Mets have one more game with the Marlins, and an opportunity to tie a four run series, tomorrow. After that, the mighty Tigers await.
When I first heard Leonardo "Flaco" Jimenez doing his accordion magic, he was in distinguished company. It was on the album Doug Sahm and Band, which I acquired not long after its release in 1973. Along with Doug and Flaco, the musicians on the album included Bob Dylan, Dr. John, David "Fathead" Newman, David Bromberg, and Kenny Kosek. With all that I heard Flaco's accordion, an instrument for which I hadn't yet developed a great liking, doing wonderful things.
After that, Flaco joined the Texas Tornados, another Doug Sahm led group that included Freddy Fender (born Baldemar Huerta), a star in his own right, andAugie Meyers, whose stylings on his Vox Continental organ (an instrument also used by Ray Manzarek of The Doors) thrilled me since I'd first listened to the Sir Douglas Quintet in the '60s. The video above is of the Tornados doing "Is Anybody Goin' to San Antone," a song that was made a hit by Charley Pride, the first Black artist to be inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. I chose the Tornados' version of this song as an example of Flaco's style because of the delightful interplay of his accordion with Augie's Vox organ, and because of my own connection to San Antonio, where I spent a couple of formative childhood years.
As I've told elsewhere, it was in San Antonio that my mother, who grew up in central Pennsylvania, learned to buy fresh tamales, wrapped in cornhusks, that we would often have for dinner, and where, for my fourth birthday, I was given a "Billy the Kid" outfit that included a hat, denim shirt and jeans, boots, a belt with a holster, and a cap pistol, from Joske's of Texas. When I returned to San Antonio in the '90s for a convention I went to what had been Joske's but had become part of a national chain, hoping to get a pair of "cowgirl" boots for my then three year old daughter. I was told they didn't carry such things. I then learned that the place to go for Western attire was el Barrio.
I now know that Flaco and I had San Antonio in common; he was born and raised there. When I first moved to Brooklyn Heights in the mid '80s I often indulged the taste for tamales I had acquired in San Antonio at a now long gone little restaurant called Old Mexico. On weekends an accordionist, whose name I'm sorry to say I've forgotten, would play there. I told him I enjoyed his music, and that I was a fan of Flaco's. He said he had recently seen Flaco perform, that he was as good as ever, but that Flaco wasn't flaco (Spanish for "skinny") any more.
Adios, Flaco. Perhaps the heavenly choir will appreciate some accordion accompaniment
To a New Yorker, "the Met" may signify the Metropolitan Opera or the Metropolitan Museum of Art (there are also the Mets, but that's another story). On Friday Martha and I went to the art museum to see Sargent & Paris, an exhibition that focuses on the time John Singer Sargent (self portrait,1907, at left; public domain via Wikimedia Commons) spent in Paris, which was a large part of his early life. His father, FitzWilliam Sargent, an eye surgeon, gave up his practice and moved to Paris with his wife, Mary Newbold (Singer) Sargent, whose inheritance enabled them to remain expatriates. While they spent much time in Paris, they traveled extensively. Their son John was born while they were visiting Florence.
During Sargent's childhood and youth the family continued its footloose ways. He had no formal education but showed early talent for drawing. He received instruction from his parents; his mother was an amateur painter and his father a medical illustrator. During their travels he was inspired by great artworks he saw in museums throughout Europe. In 1874, at the age of eighteen, he gained admission to the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. He did well in his studies there, and also enjoyed the companionship of, and instruction from, other artists. Among these were Carolus-Duran, Léon Bonnat, and Paul César Helleu, whose gift to New York is the Constellation Mural on the ceiling at Grand Central Terminal. He and Sargent had a long friendship; he and his wife are shown in a Sargent painting included below. While in Paris Sargent also enjoyed companionship and inspiration from a fellow American, James Carroll Beckwith, with whom he shared studio space.
When Martha and I arrived at the exhibition it was crowded, possibly because it would be closing after two days. I tried to spot paintings that seemed especially interesting. What follows is a somewhat random sample of Sargent's work while he lived in Paris, and some after.
Rehearsal of the Pasdeloup Orchestra at the Cirque d'Hiver (c. 1879) The Art Institute of Chicago. While Sargent is best known as a portrait painter, he also had a strong interest in music, played piano well, and liked to paint musical subjects. This painting of an orchestra rehearsing is strongly impressionistic. I was drawn to it by the swirling pattern of white sheet music. The figures in the foreground are circus performers.
Édouard Pailleron (1879). Oil on canvas, 127 × 94 cm (50 × 37.01 in). Musée National du Château de Versailles. Unlike most of Sargent's portraits, this is informal in its arrangement. The subject is described in the notes accopanying the painting in the gallery as a satirical writer and "bohemian" who was an early admirer of Sargent's work, and commissioned the portrait.
Portrait of Edouard and Marie-Louise Pailleron (Édouard Pailleron's children) (1881). Oil on canvas, 152.4 × 175.3 cm (60 × 69 in). Des Moines Art Center, Iowa. This portrait of Pailleron's children, done two years after his portrait, is interesting for, among other things, the children's dour expressions. According to the notes, ten year old Marie-Louise and Sargent "battled over her attire and pose" which necessitated mutiple sittings.
Atlantic Storm (1876), oil on canvas, National Museum Stockholm. Anyone who has known me, or been a reader of this blog, for some time, knows that, as a result of having crossed the Atlantic by ship four times in my childhood (my first crossing was a stormy one), I have a love for ships and the sea, as did Sargent. I was drawn to this painting because it shows a ship's stern pointing down as it climbs an oncoming wave. It also shows Sargent's talent for portraying sea scenes.
Mrs. Albert Vickers (Edith Foster) 1884 Natasha Oil on canvas Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond, Virginia The Adolph D. and Wilkins C. Williams Fund,Jpeg: Pat Yates. I had to include one example of what's thought of as a "typical" sargent painting, a full length, carefully poised portrait of a woman in elegant attire. I think this is an especially good example.
An Out-of-Doors Study, 1889. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Museum Collection Fund, 20.640. (Photo: Brooklyn Museum). Here's a plein air painting of Sargent's long time friend and fellow artist Paul Helleu, also at work on a painting, with his wife Alice snoozing behind him and their canoe beside them. The notes describe this as "a dynamic and modern composition."
This exhibition opened my eyes to many aspects of Sargent's work, and increased my appreciation of him as an artist.
Tom Lehrer, who died yesterday at 97, began writing songs when he was a student at Harvard College, majoring in math, in the 1940s. One of his earliest efforts, "Fight Fiercely Harvard," in the clip above, was a fey take on college football fight songs. The presence of "albeit" in the lyrics tells us we're not exactly on the scrimmage line. Unfortunately, current events have made the song timely, though not in a way related to football.
Though he enjoyed success as a songwriter and performer, for Lehrer music was an avocation. He had a long career as an academic mathematician and scientist, a pursuit that inspired several of his songs, including Lobachevsky (this and the next two linked songs are from live performances and begin with some, I think, amusing chatter). Many of his songs, like We Will All Go Together When We Go ("When the air becomes uraneous/We will all go simultaneous"), had dark, sardonic lyrics set to lively, happy tunes. He was a fan of the light operas of Gilbert and Sullivan, Victorian London's precursor to Broadway, and used the tune of "I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General,"from The Pirates of Penzance, for The Elements, another math and science inspired song. Although he was on the Harvard and MIT faculties for many years, in his later ones he taught at the University of California at Santa Cruz. Life in California inspired him to write (I'm Spending) Hannukah in Santa Monica.
Despite his talent, popularity, and wisdom in many fields, Tom Lehrer was a humble man. At the beginning of his website, Tom Lehrer Songs, he released all his works to the public domain. He had a good. long life, but will be missed.
As her New York Times obituary notes, Connie Francis is mostly remembered for dreamy ballads like her first million seller, Who's Sorry Now (no question mark in the title). She did occasional rockers like "Lipstick On Your Collar" (video above, with an introduction by Dick Clark). She grew up in Newark's The Ironbound, a neighborhood that was probably grittier in her childhood than now as, like many inner city areas, it is undergoing gentrification. When Bobby Darin decided Connie was his Dream Lover, her father showed him the door at gunpoint.
"Lipstick On Your Collar" is my favorite of her many hit songs. I like it because it shows her tough side. I like it for the same reason I like Doris Day as Calamity Jane.
Farewell, Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero from The Ironbound. You gave much to many. You also endured much, both emotionally and physically, but you always prevailed. Maybe you and Roberta Flack can thrill the heavenly host with a duet.
I've been crazy busy, but I feel I must join, if belatedly, in commemorating two brilliant artists we lost recently, both of whom profoundly affected the course of pop music in the 1960s, a time when I was especially attuned to it.
I first heard "Everyday People" by Sly and the Family Stone sometime during my second year of law school, probably on WBCN, then Boston's "underground" FM rock station. It grabbed me for its sound, a bold blend of the principal styles of Black pop music at the time: R&B, funk, and soul. Some writers claim it also incorporates "psychedelica." I don't hear it, though it may be true of some of the group's other songs.
What most caught my attention, and admiration, were the lyrics. Unlike most male pop singers, Sly began, not with a boast or a statement of despair, but with humility: "Sometimes I'm right, I can be wrong./ My own beliefs are in my song." In the next verse he made the statement everyone remembers: "Different strokes for different folks!" He begins the next, and also the final verse with a plea: "We've got to live together!"
It's a song as meaningful and relevant today as it was in 1968.
The Beach Boys rode a wave of popularity in that began in 1963 when "Surfin' USA" reached number three on the Billboard chart .Like much rock and roll, the song drew directly on Black roots. The music is credited to Chuck Berry, as it uses the tune of his "Sweet Little Sixteen", slightly arranged by the co-credited Brian Wilson, who wrote the lyrics with assistance from his cousin and fellow Beach BoyMike Love.
The song I chose to feature in the clip above, "Don't Worry Baby," released in 1964, shows Brian turning from the macho pose of his earlier songs, and showing vulnerability. It begins with his protagonist having vague misgivings - "Well it's been building up inside me/ For oh I don't know how long" - but his girlfriend provides comfort and reassurance - "Don't worry baby/ Everything will turn out alright." Then we learn the specific reason for his anxiety:
"I guess I should've kept my mouth shut/ When I started to brag about my car/ But I can't back down now/ Because I pushed the other guys too far"
His big mouth has led to his being challenged to a race. Does his girlfriend beg him to ignore the challenge and not race? No way:
"She told me baby, when you race today/ Just take along my love for you/ And if you knew how much I loved you/ Baby nothing could go wrong with you"
Was she right? Did he survive, even win, the race? So it seems, although the song doesn't tell us. After all, he's a narrator still around to tell the story. Moreover, the optimistic feeling of the song convinces us that he didn't suffer the sad fate of Tommy in Ray Peterson's "Tell Laura I Love Her."
I was surprised to learn that the lyrics of "Don't Worry Baby" aren't exclusively Brian's. The title, and chorus, are his, as is the general story line. He was inspired by the Ronettes' hit, "Be My Baby." Working off this, possibly with inspiration from his girlfriend Marilyn Rovell, who later became his first wife, he got the title, "Don't Worry, Baby" and the general idea for a story line, along with the chorus. He gave this to his frequent collaborator Roger Christian, who presented Brian with lyrics in a parking lot. Brian took them home and composed the music.
That Brian's songs were almost all the products of collaborations doesn't, in my view, diminish his status as a genius. If anything, I think, it improves it. His ability to envision a song's concept and to find an ideal collborator - Christian being a natural for car songs as he was a racing enthusiast who earned the monicker "poet of the strip" - speaks to his brilliance.
Sly Stone photo: Sarfatims, CC BY 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Brian Wilson photo: IthakaDarinPappas, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
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