Saw this on the wall in a corridor in a San Francisco elementary school and had to share. I grew up in Maryland (even though I usually tell people D.C.), so it caught my eye.
No diseases? The “free religion” part I get. That was big stuff in the 1630’s. But, no diseases?
Oh, and what was I doing in a San Francisco elementary school? Philo starts kindergarten next year, so it’s time to start the process of choosing which schools to put on our magic list of seven. The system here is absolutely bananas. I’ll tell you about it sometime.
About a year and a half ago, I posted a little something about my son’s taste in orchestral music. He was about to turn three then, and now he’s four and a half. Since that time, my ability to play music for him has been limited for various boring technical and life reasons.
A few weeks ago, I got a new mobile phone that functions as a music player (not an iPhone, but I love it anyway). I’m still in the wide-eyed amusement phase over the fact that I can copy music files to it from my computer via Bluetooth, so just for the heck of it I copied a few favorite pieces over to see how that worked.
The first thing I had copied to my phone was a recording of Kodály’s brilliant little choral gem Esti Dal (”Evening Song”, pronounced ESHtee dawl), which I’ve been intimate with for over 20 years. In fact, it’s known to Philo too, as I’ve been singing it to him at bedtime for a long time now. So, one night I thought it would be interesting for Philo to hear the song in its true choral form. He was absolutely captivated, and I was encouraged to load some more choral music onto my phone for him.
Esti Dal is a very short and simple piece that offers its lovely melody three times. The first and third statements are given by the sopranos, accompanied by sustained humming from the lower parts. The middle statement blossoms with majestic counterpoint, and during this part Philo moves his hands expressively, much as a conductor does, and visibly moved by the slight ritard at the end of the verse. I, of course, am thrilled.
Here’s what that middle section sounds like:
Other choral music on my phone for Philo includes “Trois Beaux Oiseaux du Paradis” from Ravel’s Trois Chansons, which has to be some of the most beautiful music on the planet. Philo doesn’t say much about this one, but he listens to it very quietly and I can tell he is fascinated. I was lucky enough to learn this piece in my choral singing days, and it’s been a favorite ever since. In case you don’t know it, have a listen. You’ll plotz.
Another piece I’m lucky enough to have performed is Hindemith’s luminous Six Chansons, which is disappointingly not as well known as it should be. These songs offer lyricism and beauty not typically associated with old Paul, whom I feel is widely misunderstood. I gravitated to his music when I discovered it as a college freshman transitioning from Sondheim wannabe to, well, whatever I am now, and I’m still very fond particularly of his vocal music. Here’s a bit of the first of the Six Chansons.
Finally, and inevitably, there’s Bartók. Philo has been treated to several excerpts from Bartók’s Twenty-seven Choruses for women’s or children’s voices. I blogged about this piece around two years ago. It almost hurts to have to choose one of the 27 pieces, but here’s Ne Menj El (Don’t Go Away).
Just came down from doing a bit of bedtime reading to my son. Tonight’s selection was a little on the long side compared to the usual fare, so found myself looking for ways to make it more interesting for myself as well as my son.
I thought it would be fun to see if I could make good decisions on the fly about which words to emphasize, where and for how long to pause, what to do with pitch and tone, etc. Eventually, I realized what it was I was doing:
Acting.
Not that I was any good at it. I’ve never acted before; in fact, ever since school I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid any form of public speaking. But having been involved with theater for many years, the craft of acting is something I’ve thought about a lot, and I admire people who do it well. It’s harder than most people think.
Meanwhile, during all this I was also thinking about how much fun it would be to do a little semi-staged duet based on this particular book. My “acting” choices were merging into composition choices.
Here’s the thing: to write good dramatic music you need to use the same bone in your head that actors use when they’re doing what they do. Especially in opera, where the performer doesn’t have a lot of room for interpretation, you’re the one making the acting choices.
In a straight play, an actor can trial-and-error dozens of different line readings until he or she finds the “right” one. It can even change from night to night. But, if it’s sung, the composer has already made that decision for the actor, and there usually isn’t much latitude for reinterpretation.
(Hopefully, the composer has given it some thought.)
For a long time Philo was obsessed with Yiddish folk and theater music. I could not convince him to listen to anything else. (My own fault, I admit.)
Today it was Ravel’s Bolero. Yup, my almost-three-year-old sat through it twice in one sitting. Don’t get me wrong; I adore the piece, but I believe there are many adults who would rather drink their own bath water than sit through it once. (Their problem.)
But twice! Twice, and he was riveted, although disappointed with the sparing use of the bass drum.
I sure do like bass drum, dad!
(Did I mention he’s not three yet?)
Garbage Man Crying. 10/05
Philo’s interest in orchestral music has skyrocketed since we took him to see a puppet theater version of The Nutcracker back in D.C. Thanksgiving weekend. True, he needed to be removed from the theater in tears, along with several other two-year-olds (you know… Mouse King), but the experience made a deep impression on him. He frequently dances around to no music, and insists that he’s a scary puppet, and that one of us has to be the Nutcracker.
I don’t own a recording of The Nutcracker, but a few weeks ago I had an idea. “Hey Philo”, I announced, “Wanna hear some puppet music?” His eyes lit up. I put on Petrouchka, and he danced around, and acted out every character change in the music (and of course there are dozens). On this particular recording, The Rite of Spring follows, and he enjoyed that with a mixture of fear and fascination. (He did finally start freaking out a little near the very end, and I had to turn it off.)
I’ve since discovered that just about anything lively and orchestral works for Philo as puppet music, even if there’s no bass drum. (I was asked to turn off the Ravel Piano Trio — sigh.) Holst’s The Planets was a big hit, and if you have any doubt that I’m a sick, sick individual, I’ll mention that we also listened to Var�se’s Arcana, which follows on that particular recording. He actually didn’t mind it, which I think is great.
Here’s a partial Philo’s Thumbs-up list, based on lots of random trial-and-error:
Sorry. Not much of a post here. This is something my two-year-old son said at dinner this evening. I won’t ruin it by describing the context. Suffice it to say it made perfect sense at the time.
. I could not convince him to listen to anything else. (My own fault, I admit.)
. He actually didn’t mind it, which I think is great.
