This Year's Theme Song

If you recall, last year, my theme song was Jamie Cullum's Twentysomething. I turned thirty during the year and was enjoying my last moments footloose and fancy free.
Now is my first full year (or should I say fool year?) as a thirty-something. You know, it's not as bad as I thought it'd be, although my husband, Chris, has this notion that now that I'm thirty, I'll grow up.
Joke's on him.
But the new year has begun. It's 2008, and besides resolutions and prayers, I need my theme song of the year. The year before last year was La Vie Boheme from Rent.
It would probably be inappopropriate to choose a song from Sweeney Todd.
So I need some suggestions.
My favorite type of music: Broadway, jazz, crooners (i.e. Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin), Brit Rock, Oldies, U2 (yes, I just gave them their own classification).
So what do you guys think?
Oh, on being thirty--I've noticed all of the sudden that my hands look like my Grandmother's. That's okay. My grandmother had the softest hands. My mom does too.
Update: Just heard the song "Born in the 70s" by Ed Harcourt. Good possibility. Except for its reference to the land eel. And in some version there's a last line I don't like.

Salt Peanuts, Salt Peanuts

Miles Davis was young and sat in on these jazz sessions, and he couldn't do what he wanted to do. He would get up in these high registers on the trumpet and squeak and squawk because he had these brilliant ideas, but he didn't have the chops to do anything with them yet.

Today, I get inspired by bebop jazz. For all you cool cats out there, skat over to the Misfits blog.

In the Name of Love

"You're singing to your audience, aren't you?" my friend said to me in the car.

I blinked.

"I can tell when you get into the music because you look like you're singing on stage looking out to your audience. Or conducting. Or playing piano. Whichever."

Caught.

You know that scene in An American in Paris where the grouchy too-old child prodigy conducts the piece he wrote and plays every instrument (in his dream, I should add)? To someone who doesn't understand, this may seem egotistical, but it's actually passion, passion for something beautiful and bigger than self, passion to be a part of it.

You know how people critique music at churches that feels more like a concert than a worship experience? (I've said the same thing many a time.) Truth is, I wish the congregation would be as involved as the audience at a concert (pop, not classical). I'm listening to a Metallica concert right now, and the audience is almost as loud as the amped singers. In fact, when the band stops singing, the audience fills in the lyrcs.

When you get down to it, I wonder if too much time is spent talking about the music. No, that's the wrong thing to say. The wrong type of conversation is spent on this. Often, it's the make or break of the church. And, I must admit, it's important. It's important that we use music, coupled with lyrics that praise God in mystery, in awe and wonder, and without heresy (I'm speaking the traditional sense of heresy--going outside the boundaries of the orthodox church as defined in the creeds, not as defined in each local church's statement). It's important that we are excellent in our pursuit of it. It's important that the entire church is involved without a self-conscious concern of how they sound. And I think it's a good thing when the style reflects the personality of the church. But is it the only thing about a church? What about other arts? What about the family and community? What about the teaching and exhortation? Is God glorified by His creation through creative means and as they worship together?

But that wasn't my point. My point is, why does a U2 concert get more singers who could care less how their voice sounds when they bellow so loudly that the veins in their neck pop out than a church service? Have we forgotten the passion, the beauty, the bigger than self?

Tension and Release

My piano teacher used to say this over and over and over again until I could feel the tension and release in my shoulders. Tension and release. It's what
music is built on.

At some point growing up--I'd like to think it was early on being the
prodigy that I am--I began wondering how this relates to eternity, when God sets all things right and restores everything to pure goodness. Music with no tension? Then how can we have a Beethoven's third? How can we have stories?

Find the rest at the Misfits blog.

The Eggman

"I am the walrus," I said to my sister-in-law. My nephew chewed on his walrus toy.
"Huh?" Blank look.
I added, "Goo goo g'joob."
"Are you talking in a different language?" She turned to her husband. "She's talking in code."
Husband looked at me ready to interpret. I repeated and was rewarded with another blank stare.
What has happened to this country's music education where a reference to one of the greatest rock bands, a band that changed the face of popular music, that experimented, that was one of the few rock/pop/whatever bands that actually had good musicians, reaps confusion? I won't even go into mispronunciations of Wagner and misappropriation of tunes calling a Rachmaninoff a Mozart piece (isn't all classical music either Beethoven or Mozart?) or believing the cell phone company to have composed the Queen of the Night's aria. A whole generation who had hamsters for mothers and fathers that smelt of elderberries.
By the way, this came out of a family reunion of sorts from this past weekend. Laughs, squabbles, stress, and fun. A typical family outing.
Now go away or I will taunt you a second time.

Screech! The presses have officially halted!

I can't contain myself in my excitement. I just may very well pee myself. And because my husband, as darling as he is, was not properly ecstatic about the news, I had to come share it with you all.

Tim Burton is directing a film version of Sweeney Todd. Yes, that's right, folks, the musical by Stephen Sondheim. I happen to love Sondheim, and Sweeney Todd was my first exposure to him, so I have a special place in my hard for the murderous butcher. In fact, I can't hear the word "thicker" without singing "more like vicar." I did one paper on Sondheim and another paper on Sweeney Todd in college (I loved being a music major!), so I'm ready! To top it all off (I may have to jump around the room a bit), it will star Johnny Depp, my favorite actor. I think I'm going to cry. Johnny Depp, under the direction of Tim Burton, will be going around singing about murders to the lyrics and music of Stephen Sondheim. Can you see why I'm excited? I realize that this news it a bit old hat, but since I'm not so good about keeping up with the latest Hollywood releases, this is as good as it gets. Alas, it looks like I have to wait until January to see it. That's a whole lotta crossed legs.

Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd.

He served a dark and a vengeful god.

What happened then, well that's the play,

And he wouldn't want us to give it away.

Not Sweeney,

Not Sweeney Todd, The demon barber of Fleet Street.

2007 Pulitzers

I'm a blogging fool today! I'm using up all my blogging time for the next three weeks to come in one morning. But I had to call attention to this, and then I'll shut up.
2007 Pulitzer Prizes:
Of course, most of them I gloss through. Two are important to me, no, make that three (cuz I can't count when I've posted this much): fiction, drama, and music.
Fiction: The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It's on my list, but I haven't read it, yet. Wish I had so that I could be one of those (like Lisa Samson and Mary DeMuth) who predicted its greatness.
Drama: Rabbit-Hole by David Lindsay-Abaire. I confess, I've lost track of what's going on in the dramatic world due to trying to keep up with other things, so I don't know this work.
Music: Sound Grammar by Ornette Coleman. Big year for jazz this year! John Coltrane (whom I love more than Coleman, mostly because I get him) got a special citation. Coleman fathered free jazz and made huge strides toward avant-garde music. If memory serves correctly, which it may not, Coleman decided to castrate himself as a stance against the overt masculine sexuality dominating jazz music at the time. He didn't go through with it, though.
Coltrane started out with Miles Davis and Thelonius Monk and ended up in jazz-rock fusion and free jazz stuff, too.
In case you wanted to know.
Also of note: Ray Bradbury received a special citation. I'm not an avid sci-fi/fantasy fan, but I love me some Bradbury, although my favorite of his is Dandelion Wine, which is probably the least fantasy if it can even be considered fantasy (which, I suppose, it can't).
And I'm done posting.

Music Soothes the Savage Breast

Not so much.
This statement does not apply to me, and I’m a musician. Shouldn’t it soothe me? I mentioned the other day that I can’t practice when already frustrated. I also can’t sleep when music plays, can’t write, can’t sit still in any form or fashion. I must move. The music moves inside of me somewhere and my body needs to reflect that. If the passions get too bottled up, I explode. I don’t care how cheesy that sounds, it’s true. At a symphony concert once, I saw a boy dancing at the end of an aisle. I was jealous. I wanted to dance with him. Instead, I beat my entire leg (often both legs) with the piece. In the car, I conduct or sing along Broadway style. When I worked in an office, I was known for my habit of breaking out into dance at periodic times to the music. I do this at home even more. At least it’s great exercise (because I do not do anything half-heartedly—except clean—so the dancing is energetic). Speaking of cleaning – put some good music on and choreograph the dusting. Dance with that broom. (The vacuum cleaner has two left feet, though, so good luck with him.)
The saddest song in the world? The Day the Music Died.
The best song to dance to? La Vie Boheme from Rent (seriously – just try sitting still to that one)
The best music to run to? Cowboy Mouth (no dilly-dallying when they’re on) and U2
The best music to conduct? Beethoven and Rachmaninoff (those romantics know how to be dramatic!)
Need a little happiness? Put on some Rodgers and Hammerstein and sing your heart out
Need a good cry? This list is too long. I love my good cries, especially when accompanied by music.
So soothing my breast? Not so much.

Beethoven

Everyone loved Beethoven at first. He was all the rage. His piano concertos and sonatas, his early symphonies, everyone wanted to hear them. At first. But he grew out of fashion. The crowds didn’t understand what he did. They didn’t understand those long, complex development sections, and just when they thought they came to the recapitulation, they found Beethoven had only began a second development section. The horrors! He sat on the cusp of that new Romantic age. Ushered it in, actually. But it wasn’t quite there. Not yet. They still wanted the Classical music of Hadyn they all enjoyed so much.
Give us something nice. Give us something like him!
So Beethoven did. As a joke. He thought, I’ll write something they ask for, and they’ll see how inferior it is to what I’m doing now. The piece is called Wellington’s Overture. Legend has it, Beethoven told the musicians to switch instruments just before the performance. I guess he thought it would tip the audience off to the farce. It didn’t. The applauded. A standing ovation. Disgusted by the audience’s idiocy and frustrated by his loss of hearing, Beethoven receded into dark corners behind curtains. He died a pauper.
Why do I tell you this? I’m not exactly Beethoven. The music I have composed and the books I have written cannot be in the same room as Beethoven. Nay, not even the same house. I see Beethoven and I see someone committed to his art, no matter what everyone else said. Sometimes he held popularity. Sometimes he faced rejection. But he never stopped working hard.
I will never be successful in the way of Stephen King and John Grisham and all the other bestsellers crowding the front tables of Barnes and Noble and Walden Bookstore. But Beethoven died a pauper. Jesus died betrayed by one of his closest friends and abandoned by almost all, including his Father. Those are some pretty darn large footsteps to walk in.