Friday Night Music

I have always loved the guitar playing of Hank Marvin (The Shadows), not just because if the nostalgia it brings me, but because it’s absolutely brilliant in its precision and clarity.  I forget who said it (Clapton or Jimmy Page, maybe?), but the advice given to any would-be guitar god was always:  “Unless you can play Hank Marvin’s lead guitar from the 1950s and 60s perfectly, note-for-note, you haven’t really done anything yet.”  It was, and remains to this day, the best foundation for any young lead guitarist.

Of course, the Shadows fell out of favor towards the end of the 1960s, as did all the old guitar instrumental bands, so Hank and rhythm guitarist Bruce Welch took a hiatus from the Shadows and formed a group called Marvin, Welch & Farrar with Australian songster John Farrar, and they made some wonderful music — this time as a vocal group — which featured close-knit harmonies which are, in my opinion, the equal of more well-known vocal groups like the Hollies or even (gasp) Crosby, Stills and Nash.

Listen to their eponymous album, especially Silvery Rain  (track #5).

Time, well-spent.

Friday Night Music: The National River, And A Bat

For those who don’t know the music I’ll be talking about here, a brief exposition.

The Moldau (Vlatan) River is regarded as the Czechs’ national river.  Read about it here, then listen to the music here (not the one embedded in the article).

The young conductor, Nejc Bečan, is one I’ve never heard before, but his direction of the orchestra is absolutely stunning, and the rendition of Bedrich Smetana’s Vlatan is the best I’ve ever heard.  It’s about a 15-minute piece, and it’ll make your evening.

Switching gears, here’s an old favorite, Strauss’s overture of Die Fledermaus.  But instead of an energetic young conductor, we have the old maestro Georges Pretre, and instead of a young orchestra, we have a performance from the seasoned pros of the Vienna Philharmonic.  It is probably my favorite rendition, and I’ve heard plenty.  It lasts about ten minutes.

Take, therefore, less than half an hour from your hectic routine, sit back, and enjoy.

Quote Of The Year

Seen on YouTube, as a comment on a Beatles song

“This is in a 50-way tie for my favorite Beatles song of all time.”

Priceless.

I’m just surprised he could keep it to fifty.

Saturday Music Musings

Stumbling along the digital highways and byways (a.k.a Teh Intarwebz) the other day, I was reminded of what I call “little-known greatness” in modern music.  Typically, this involves a musician or band which are not as well-known as the gods (e.g. Beatles, Genesis, Freddie Mercury, Robert Plant), but who are of astonishing brilliance.  Here’s one such example.

In my long-distant yoot, I heard a ballad played at a party which stopped me in my tracks — I actually stopped chatting up a girl to listen to it — and when I asked the DJ the name of the song or the band, he said,, “I dunno who the band is — it’s off a tape I got from a buddy — but I think the song is called Ten Little Indians.”

So the next day I went over to Ye Olde Recorde Barre and looked all over for Ten Little Indians, without any success.  Even Neville, the guy behind the counter — a complete encyclopedia of all things pop music — had never heard of it, so I went away frustrated.  (Remember, children:  in those days there was not only neither Google nor Internet;  Sergei Brin hadn’t even been born yet.)

Time passed, and I forgot about Ten Little Indians, as one does.  Then about a year later I went to another party, only this party featured a DJ spinning discs instead of playing tapes.  (Note to children:  ask your grandparents to explain “discs” to you.)  And mirabile dictu, that song got played.

Of course, its title wasn’t Ten Little Indians, it was Only One Woman, performed by a spotty-faced teenage Brit duo called The Marbles.  The lead singer was a guy named Graham Bonnet (“bonn-ay”) and he was (and is) one of the Little-Known Greats.  Here he is as I first heard him back in 1968, and here he is many years later, as the lead singer of Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow, performing Since You’ve Been Gone.

As an aside, Ritchie Blackmore can best be summarized as  “Guitarist: god;  human being:  complete asshole”, if for no other reason than he fired Bonnet as his vocalist because Bonnet didn’t have long hair, and Blackmore wanted a rock band that looked like a rock band.  Needless to say, the band never sounded as good after that.  (Ronnie Dio fans can shut up, at this point.)

But it doesn’t end there.  Still wandering along the Internet tributaries and branch lines, I happened upon the selfsame Since You’ve Been Gone, only this time performed by Queen’s Brian May and a fantastic  backing band.

Who knew that Brian May could sing like that?

We all know that Brian May = guitar god — duh — but as a singer, he can truly be called a Little-Known Great.  And to top it all, I think his guitar solo in the above song is better than Blackmore’s, and the backing singers are… phwoarrrr.

And still on the topic of Guitar Gods Who Can Sing, how about Eric Clapton doing Stormy Monday ?   (B.B. King apparently called it the best version of the song he’d ever heard.)  And of course, Clapton’s guitar solos are a wonder of blues improvisation.  Which leads me to my next meandering point.

One of the knocks on classical musicians is that while they are wonderful performers of music, their expertise is limited to written music — i.e. they can’t improvise on the fly.  Even Bach’s Goldberg Variations are scripted, so to speak.

Step forward, Victor Borge — whom we all know as a wonderful comedian as well as a brilliant classical pianist.  Here he is, playing along with maestro violinist Anton Kontra, providing accompaniment to a song he had never heard before.  But it doesn’t end there:  not only does Borge improvise the backing, but as the piece progresses, the devilish Kontra tries to trip him up with sudden key-, rhythm- and melody changes;  and Borge not only keeps up, but returns the favor.  (As one of the commenters puts it:  when the lead violinist is sweating at the end…)

Finally, before I wander off the point and into a pit, let’s consider Rowan Atkinson as the Devil (a.k.a “Toby”).   Go ahead and enjoy it first before going below the fold. Read more

Record Straight, Setting The

Apparently geriatric rocker Mick Jagger has had his memory go bad:

Mick Jagger has called out Paul McCartney for claiming The Beatles were bigger than The Rolling Stones.  The singer, 76, hit out at the Hey Jude hitmaker, 77, for suggesting The Rolling Stones copied whatever The Beatles did during their time as music rivals.
‘The big difference, though, is that The Rolling Stones is a big concert band in other decades and other areas when The Beatles never even did an arena tour. They broke up before the touring business started for real…  They [The Beatles] did that [Shea] stadium gig [in 1965].  But the Stones went on.  We started stadium gigs in the 1970s and are still doing them now.  That’s the real big difference between these two bands.’

Of course, ol’ Mick is showing signs of senility — or at best, selective memory.  As Paul pointed out:

‘I love the Stones but The Beatles were better.  Their stuff is rooted in the blues. Whereas we had a lot more influences.’

Paul’s being kind.  The Beatles created influences while the Stones just kept on playing their garage-band versions of blues.  And when the Stones didn’t do that, they copied the Beatles, as Paul noted:

Suggesting the Paint It Black hitmakers began to copy the Beatles, Paul added: ‘We started to notice that whatever we did the Stones sort of did it shortly thereafter.
‘We went to America and had huge success, then the Stones went to America.  We did Sergeant Pepper and the Stones did a psychedelic album. There was a lot of that.’

As for Mick’s comment:

‘One band is unbelievably luckily still playing in stadiums and then the other band doesn’t exist.’

Jagger’s confusing longevity with talent, which is like saying that Leonard Bernstein was a better composer than Mozart because he lived longer.

The Beatles broke up because they had three unbelievably-talented creative musicians who wanted to go their own way;  the Stones only ever had Keef as their creative source, so they were never going to break up:  since Let It Bleed, their music has always been about making money, not about the music.  And Keef, as he’s always admitted, is and always has been a blues musician.  Lennon, McCartney and Harrison played pretty much every kind of music — and created their own forms as well.  The Stones have never done that, ever.

Stick to prancing around the stage in skintight yoga outfits, Mick.  Nobody does it better.

Remembering

The other night I watched a little movie on Netflix entitled simply “Itzhak”, which unsurprisingly was a little mini-biography about virtuoso violinist Itzhak Perlman.

Some background is necessary before I go any further.  I attended a classical concert in Chicago many years ago, and the “house band” was the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, then and now one of the finest orchestras in the world, conducted by Georg Solti, one of the finest conductors ever to wield a baton.  The opening piece (if I remember correctly) was something by Beethoven, and the CSO played it wonderfully.

Then Itzhak Perlman came to the stage, painfully hobbling along on his crutches, his polio-ravaged legs waving helplessly as he made his way to the First Violinist’s chair.  He sat down, rearranged his legs with his hands, then waited while the CSO began playing Brahms’s  Violin Concerto in D major, which is characterized by a lengthy introduction before the lead violinist plays a note.  Then it came time for Perlman to play… and the CSO took off like a fighter jet.  In other words, one man’s playing grabbed the already-magnificent orchestra and literally propelled them into a performance of unbelievable virtuosity.  The standing ovation from the audience lasted nearly as long as the performance itself, and several of the orchestra’s violinists dabbed at their eyes with tissues, so moved were they by the experience.

Itzak Perlman was and is a force of nature.

So when I saw this movie on Netflix, I hit Play with gleeful anticipation, and was not disappointed.

Itzhak Perlman is no ordinary man.  Quite apart from his virtuosity with the violin, he is a man of infinite compassion — his charitable works and teaching violin alone would set him apart from most people — he’s been married to his priceless wife Toby forever, is a devoted father to his large family, and loves his pet dogs almost as much, I think, as his children.  He is also wonderfully funny — his description of looking up something Jewish on the Internet as “Jewgle” made me guffaw for several minutes.  I have always loved Perlman’s playing — who could not? — but this was something different:  the longer the movie went on, the more I fell in love with this incredible, singular man.

But, of course, he’s Jewish.

And this would make him a target for all the assholes in the world:  the Muslims, the alt-Right, the academe and intellectuals (especially in Europe) and people like the loathsome Labour politician Jeremy Corbin who are infected with their foul brands of anti-Semitism.

Make no mistake:  to these people — think of Hitler and his Nazis as just the extreme embodiment — this man Perlman, this extraordinary, wonderful man who has been one of the greatest gifts to civilization ever, would be just another Jew to harass in the street, another Jewboy to kick and spit on, and just another Untermensch to load onto a train to be sent to Auschwitz.

Almost two years ago to the day, I wrote these words:

Pound for pound, the Jews have contributed as much or more to Western civilization than any other group — it’s even called the “Judeo-Christian tradition”, FFS — and to discount this contribution deliberately, to me, shows a shallow intellect at best.  (At worst, Hitler, but I’m not going to go there.)  Of course, I know that many Jews are socialists, communists, progressives, one-worlders, and all those things that are not only themselves distasteful, but are contradictory to Western thought.  Ending slavery in the Western hemisphere (an action performed solely by Western nations, lest we forget) is not the same as allowing Western culture to be perverted or submerged by inferior cultures — and let’s be perfectly honest, when compared to Western culture, all other cultures are in general absolutely inferior to ours.  To say otherwise is to be ignorant of history, or to be able to consciously deny the fact of the matter despite all evidence to the contrary.  Judaic culture, by the way, is not inferior to, say, Western culture and civilization because in no small part, theirs is almost indistinguishable from that of Western Europe because of their commonality.  That Israeli liberals seem perfectly prepared to help bring about the destruction of Eretz Israel was always a mystery to me until it was explained to me (by one of my good friends, an Orthodox Jew) that these liberals hate the state of Israel because it is culturally closer to Western European democracy than it is to Eastern European socialism.  And the liberal Israelis have camp-followers all over the world:  in Europe, Britain, the United States and anywhere that Jews can be found in any numbers.  Does that mean “conspiracy”?  Sure, if you’re a moron, because there are many, many Jews who are conservative, too — but somehow, the Conspiracy seems to have passed them by?  Not credible.
So:  am I pro-Israel?  You betcha.  I’m even more  supportive of Israel when I look at the nations of assholes who want Israel destroyed.
Do I think that a lot of Jews are liberal assholes?  You betcha, again. (Don’t even ask me about Jews and their support for gun control, unless we also mention JPFO, who also seem to have missed the memo.)
Am I prepared to become an anti-Semite because of The Great Jewish Conspiracy?  Think again, Adolf.
Would I stand aside if some anti-Semitic pricks started playing their little neo-Nazi reindeer games with Jews in the streets?  Not only would I not  stand aside, but I’d be standing between the two groups, telling the anti-Semites that they’d have to get past me first.
Ich habe Dachau gesehen.
And as long as I have breath in my body, “Never again!” will not be just an empty phrase, even if that seems to be the case with some Jews(!), who think that their tribe’s survival of the Holocaust was somehow irrelevant in today’s world.

Today, coincidentally, is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, and this post is dedicated to all my Tribe Readers especially, but also to all my Jewish friends and acquaintances all over the world.

After watching the movie about Itzhak Perlman, a rage descended on me that has not dissipated in the days since, and I’m not sure it ever will.

So here’s what I’m going to do.  Winging its way to me on the wings of the USPS is a yarmulke (kippah) — something not purchased, but given to me by a Jewish friend because, as I explained to him, it would mean more to me coming from a friend than if I’d just purchased it somewhere.

It’s going into my jacket pocket, to be carried everywhere I go.  And from now on, every time I walk around in an area which might be regarded as anti-Semitic — majority Muslim, majority Black, majority alt-Right, whatever  — I’m going to wear the yarmulke, not because I’m Jewish, but because I’m sick to death of this bullshit.

And to anyone who may take issue with me over this:  fuck with me at your peril.