C-Hall is presenting a four-concert series of James Taylor concerts this spring, and wanting to see what all the hype was about (and wanting to see Alison Krauss, who was to be a special guest), I bought tickets for myself, my mom, and two family friends.
After hearing and reading amazing reviews of the first concert in the series, I was pretty excited to see ours last Wednesday. James Taylor and guests were billed to perform American hymnody, blues, and bluegrass—the music that influenced Taylor’s music—in his “Roots” concert. I have never been drawn to James Taylor, but to be fair, I don’t know much of his music. Despite my disinterest in James, I do really like Alison Krauss and an opportunity to see her, along with the musical genres programmed for “James Taylor Roots” and the amazing press the first James Taylor concert received, I felt drawn to attend.
On Wednesday night, the house was packed and surging with electricity. The excitement was on the brink of overflowing. Audience members around us spoke of their love for the man and recounted the many James Taylor concerts they had seen. “This is my 200-something-th James Taylor concert,” the middle-aged woman to my left said. I didn’t know if she was exaggerating or not because I was not sure if attending that many concerts by one single artists is, in practice, possible. I understood that the artist has many die-hard fans who would do many things I would deem impractical, but whether one could literally attend 200 concerts by one artist, I don’t know. I suppose if he has been performing for about 40 years, it could be. Maybe I should look this up. I might. But not at that moment, because mid-contemplation of the seemingly impossible, the lights dimmed, the audience erupted into an applause hardly customary for a classical music venue, and from my row-H side balcony seat thousands of feet away, I saw James Taylor walk on the stage.
Two minutes into his first number, I remembered, “Wait, I’m not 60 years old! I would never want to go to a James Taylor concert!” Why was I there?
Just because a famous non-classical musician was performing at Carnegie Hall and had received incredible publicity and has many, many fans (who do in fact like his music), it doesn’t mean that I would enjoy his concert. And about five songs in, I realized I had heard a lot of his music but never bothered to remember it because it was all the same.
I was so bored and I wanted to leave. Alison Krauss was amazing, but I had hard time deciding whether her 10 minutes of excellence was worth the remaining hour of destined mediocrity. Probably not.
I felt badly, though, sitting with my mom and being so unenthused. I was afraid I was ruining the concert for her. At intermission, the couple next to us commented on how nice it was for mother and daughter to attend a concert together, and I felt even worse! Here I was, resentful at having to sit through the repetitive and relentless acoustic folk stylings of James Taylor (and despite what he and his fans—nostalgic for their drug-addled days of yore—think, adding chimes and synthesizer only makes the music worse), while these strangers admired me and the relationship I share with my mother. “I must be a good daughter!” I resolved. “I must live up to the standard thrown on me by that couple!” During the second act, I livened up and tried to act engaged.
Fortunately, the second half was a bit more to my liking because the music played was predominantly “root” and not at all “leaves” or “fruit”. JT and his band played blues with hardly any sixties acoustic folk flavor, and then a real blues musician, serving as a special guest, came on stage and played blues significantly better than JT and his folk-band ever could. The plucked, broken guitar chords that characterized almost every song in the first half were far less frequent in the second half, and dare I say scarce among the blues numbers.
After a super-surprise performance by Tony Bennet, James Taylor played, to my sweet relief, his final number: “Oh, what a Beautiful Morning,” from Oklahoma. The man grew up on listening to musicals, among other things (like hymns, bluegrass, and blues, apparently, as I learned from the program notes and his on-stage musings), and while I would never before have heard a connection between Taylor’s music and that of Rogers’ and Hammerstein’s, I did that night. However, I have a suspicion that this was due more to Taylor’s interpretation of the song than of any real connection between the music of Oklahoma and say, “Fire and Rain.” Regardless of who influenced who, the strong link hit me during the intro. “Wow,” I thought, “This is exactly like all my favorite James Taylor music!” And that’s because it was. James played his go-to plucked intro of broken chords that he had been playing all night long (the reason I have heard and forgotten—and consequently deemed indistinguishable—all of his music), and then began to sing Curly’s opening strains.
After the concert, my mom commented, “I liked it better before the guests came on. They were so much better than him, I didn’t really want to listen to his music anymore.” Well, that was good news. My lack of interest didn’t ruin the concert for her after all. James Taylor did that all by himself.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Ken's Creation
A week or so ago, when I was too busy at work to compose any blog entries, I called Ken to see what he was up to at home.
“I’m making an egg candle,” he told me, rather excitedly. The idea he thinks he came up with (but that I think he stole) is to, through a small hole, fill an egg with wax and wick and then sell, allowing the customer himself to crack the egg open and expose the candle. The reason I feel his idea is not original is because we have both seen a lamp at The Museum of Modern Art that is white ceramic, egg shaped, and comes with a hammer, allowing the owner to crack the ceramic egg himself. The reason Ken feels his idea is original is still unclear to me.
Regardless of any ethical quandry of stealing ideas that are already on display in prominent museums, Ken was very excited to finally be making his egg candle.
“I bought ostrich eggs and black and gold spray paint. I am going to spray the outside black and the inside gold. I also have a surprise for you!”
A few hours later, I called to tell Ken I was on my way home.
“How is the egg?” I asked.
“There is wax all over the kitchen, and I burnt off part of my eyebrows. Apparently, a small explosion occurs when you fill a container with spray paint and later light the wick inside it.”
“Is that the surprise?”
The following week, Ken created his second egg-candle trial with greater success. Rather than use spray paint with flammable fumes, he coated the egg’s interior with a mix of glitter and glue. His eyebrows remained unharmed.
“I’m making an egg candle,” he told me, rather excitedly. The idea he thinks he came up with (but that I think he stole) is to, through a small hole, fill an egg with wax and wick and then sell, allowing the customer himself to crack the egg open and expose the candle. The reason I feel his idea is not original is because we have both seen a lamp at The Museum of Modern Art that is white ceramic, egg shaped, and comes with a hammer, allowing the owner to crack the ceramic egg himself. The reason Ken feels his idea is original is still unclear to me.
Regardless of any ethical quandry of stealing ideas that are already on display in prominent museums, Ken was very excited to finally be making his egg candle.
“I bought ostrich eggs and black and gold spray paint. I am going to spray the outside black and the inside gold. I also have a surprise for you!”
A few hours later, I called to tell Ken I was on my way home.
“How is the egg?” I asked.
“There is wax all over the kitchen, and I burnt off part of my eyebrows. Apparently, a small explosion occurs when you fill a container with spray paint and later light the wick inside it.”
“Is that the surprise?”
The following week, Ken created his second egg-candle trial with greater success. Rather than use spray paint with flammable fumes, he coated the egg’s interior with a mix of glitter and glue. His eyebrows remained unharmed.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Macbeth
Ken and I saw Cheek by Jowl’s production of Macbeth last night at Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM). I purchased the tickets for Ken for his birthday as I had a somewhat fuzzy memory of Ken telling me in high school that Macbeth was his favorite Shakespeare play. Honestly, I was no longer 100% sure that it wasn’t Hamlet that was his favorite, but Hamlet wasn’t playing at BAM and Macbeth was.
It turned out that my memory was correct, and Ken was pleased to receive tickets to his favorite Shakespeare play (along with three seasons of How I Met Your Mother, Ken’s favorite Shakespeare television show) for his birthday on April 4.
I have only seen a play at BAM once before, and Ken hasn’t seen any. We arrived obscenely early because I was nervous about time, so we stopped by the BAM café that was featuring a wonderful happy hour. Food (which was good) was only $5 and beer $3. The ambiance was très modern, which Ken ate up like handsomely designed candy. “We should come here more often,” Ken said. Yes, our bill may have been about a quarter to a fifth of what it would be anywhere else and the café bar was very relaxing with its dim lighting and its architectural mix of brick and steel, I don’t know if $3 beer and a nicely designed space is reason enough to trek to Brooklyn, and I also thought that saying “we should come here more often” when we had never been there before was a little silly (why not say, “I like this, let’s do it again”), but I smiled and nodded because it was Ken’s birthday present.
As I mentioned, I have seen one other play at BAM. I saw Ibsen’s John Gabriel Borkman, with many a cast member from Harry Potter (Alan Rickman and Fiona Shaw. Okay, only two.) in February, and it was a total bust. The acting was good, and maybe even great, but the play itself is melodramatic to the point of ridiculousness causing the acting, despite amazing reviews, to seem absurd. To tell you briefly, the play is about a former banker under house-arrest for embezzlement and fraud. He and his wife do not speak and have lived under the same roof in disgrace for over 10 years. While I’ll admit some people can hold grudges, there is no way that all characters in the play (including the couple’s son and the wife’s twin sister, who was John Gabriel’s first love) are still bitter to the extent that they are, nor that in one evening, all four of them finally achieve emotional resolution. Further, every other line is overly powerful, trying too hard to be memorable. “Remember me!” the lines seem to say, “I mean something! I am profound!” Let me tell you, plus hours of profundity becomes rather intolerable.
I can safely say that it was not the acting, directing, nor the production’s translation that was the cause of melodrama. The fault is entirely Ibsen’s, which surprised me, as I remembered enjoying A Doll’s House when I read it in high school English class. I read John Gabriel Borkman during the week before I saw the play, and what I read was ridiculous. The Abbey Theatre performance at BAM was better than my mind’s interpretation, so that was a pleasant surprise, but not pleasant enough to keep my friend from leaving during intermission and myself to debate walking out as well.
Fortunately, Macbeth was enjoyable, and Ken was pleased with his gift. I think he may have acted more excited that he really was because he knew that I was worried that I had not gotten him a good enough birthday present. I didn’t really know if a play was something he would want to go to or not, Ken did a good job to assure me that he was excited to go and that he had enjoyed it thoroughly.
Am I going to tell you about Macbeth? It was good, and (spoiler alert) everyone died.
It turned out that my memory was correct, and Ken was pleased to receive tickets to his favorite Shakespeare play (along with three seasons of How I Met Your Mother, Ken’s favorite Shakespeare television show) for his birthday on April 4.
I have only seen a play at BAM once before, and Ken hasn’t seen any. We arrived obscenely early because I was nervous about time, so we stopped by the BAM café that was featuring a wonderful happy hour. Food (which was good) was only $5 and beer $3. The ambiance was très modern, which Ken ate up like handsomely designed candy. “We should come here more often,” Ken said. Yes, our bill may have been about a quarter to a fifth of what it would be anywhere else and the café bar was very relaxing with its dim lighting and its architectural mix of brick and steel, I don’t know if $3 beer and a nicely designed space is reason enough to trek to Brooklyn, and I also thought that saying “we should come here more often” when we had never been there before was a little silly (why not say, “I like this, let’s do it again”), but I smiled and nodded because it was Ken’s birthday present.
As I mentioned, I have seen one other play at BAM. I saw Ibsen’s John Gabriel Borkman, with many a cast member from Harry Potter (Alan Rickman and Fiona Shaw. Okay, only two.) in February, and it was a total bust. The acting was good, and maybe even great, but the play itself is melodramatic to the point of ridiculousness causing the acting, despite amazing reviews, to seem absurd. To tell you briefly, the play is about a former banker under house-arrest for embezzlement and fraud. He and his wife do not speak and have lived under the same roof in disgrace for over 10 years. While I’ll admit some people can hold grudges, there is no way that all characters in the play (including the couple’s son and the wife’s twin sister, who was John Gabriel’s first love) are still bitter to the extent that they are, nor that in one evening, all four of them finally achieve emotional resolution. Further, every other line is overly powerful, trying too hard to be memorable. “Remember me!” the lines seem to say, “I mean something! I am profound!” Let me tell you, plus hours of profundity becomes rather intolerable.
I can safely say that it was not the acting, directing, nor the production’s translation that was the cause of melodrama. The fault is entirely Ibsen’s, which surprised me, as I remembered enjoying A Doll’s House when I read it in high school English class. I read John Gabriel Borkman during the week before I saw the play, and what I read was ridiculous. The Abbey Theatre performance at BAM was better than my mind’s interpretation, so that was a pleasant surprise, but not pleasant enough to keep my friend from leaving during intermission and myself to debate walking out as well.
Fortunately, Macbeth was enjoyable, and Ken was pleased with his gift. I think he may have acted more excited that he really was because he knew that I was worried that I had not gotten him a good enough birthday present. I didn’t really know if a play was something he would want to go to or not, Ken did a good job to assure me that he was excited to go and that he had enjoyed it thoroughly.
Am I going to tell you about Macbeth? It was good, and (spoiler alert) everyone died.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Boss
I have not been able to post because I have been at work almost all of my waking time! The rest of my time is spent watching The League. However, with all this work, I get overtime pay, and that overtime pay sponsored the following story:
I needed to buy a fancy dress for work, and because I had extra money, I wanted to buy a really nice dress. Months ago, I had seen a lovely, sparkly dress on a mannequin in the window of Hugo Boss in Columbus Circle. I absolutely loved the dress, but assumed (quite correctly) that Hugo Boss fashion is a bit more pricey than I am capable of partaking in. But whatever! Overtime!
I looked through all the Hugo Boss dresses online, and the sparkly one was actually still for sale (and discounted!), and I hoped that it was still available in the one store location that I would bother going to (I am overworked, and don't have time to shop).
After transferring oodles of money from my savings account to my checking account (credit cards are for people who want debt), I walked up to Columbus Circle to buy a bitchin' dress.
I was slightly under-dressed--i had a nice coat on, but was wearing falling-apart Aldo sandals from last spring with chipped nail-polish left over from Valentine's day, but luckily, benevolent Hugo Boss did not Pretty-Woman me. They allowed me to shop.
I browsed through a number of dresses, and believe it or not, the sparkly dress was still available! And in both of my possible sizes!
I tried on the sparkly dress, among others, and it looked AMAZING! And so did another dress....but both dresses were on "sale" (which means that they only cost about 1.5 to 2 times what I would normally spend on a dress), so I decided to get both. A girl can always need 2 dresses.
I was ecstatic as I was checking out. This is literally the first year of my 25-year-long life that I have made and spent my own money (spoiled? yes. But I prefer to consider myself a scholar who my parents generously supported through schooling), and it is exciting and rewarding to spend large sums of money that I made and saved myself. The check-out clerk commented on the sparkly dress, "I love this dress! I bought it with my allowance," she told me. "It's so pretty! I saw it in the window months ago, and was so happy that it was still here!"
talk to me more! I want to relish this moment!
The cashier and I did not become best-ies, but I felt like the million dollars I spent walking out of that store and back underground, to the subway, where I belong.
I was still glowing on my subway ride home and decided to buy a celebratory bottle of wine to drink alone while I watched X-Men II.
At the wine store, I received a phone call.
"Hello, this is Chase Debit Card Fraud Alert."
I assured Chase that yes, It was me who blew a lot of money at Hugo Boss, and they apologized for the inconvenience. I didn't mind the inconvenience of verifying my purchase; I think it is nice that my bank looks out for me. I minded that they made me feel guilty for spending enough money to warrant a fraud alert.
But, like any well-trained girl, I told myself, "You deserve those dresses! Particularity because you look amazing in them!" and when I got home, I went ahead and poured myself a glass of wine.
I needed to buy a fancy dress for work, and because I had extra money, I wanted to buy a really nice dress. Months ago, I had seen a lovely, sparkly dress on a mannequin in the window of Hugo Boss in Columbus Circle. I absolutely loved the dress, but assumed (quite correctly) that Hugo Boss fashion is a bit more pricey than I am capable of partaking in. But whatever! Overtime!
I looked through all the Hugo Boss dresses online, and the sparkly one was actually still for sale (and discounted!), and I hoped that it was still available in the one store location that I would bother going to (I am overworked, and don't have time to shop).
After transferring oodles of money from my savings account to my checking account (credit cards are for people who want debt), I walked up to Columbus Circle to buy a bitchin' dress.
I was slightly under-dressed--i had a nice coat on, but was wearing falling-apart Aldo sandals from last spring with chipped nail-polish left over from Valentine's day, but luckily, benevolent Hugo Boss did not Pretty-Woman me. They allowed me to shop.
I browsed through a number of dresses, and believe it or not, the sparkly dress was still available! And in both of my possible sizes!
I tried on the sparkly dress, among others, and it looked AMAZING! And so did another dress....but both dresses were on "sale" (which means that they only cost about 1.5 to 2 times what I would normally spend on a dress), so I decided to get both. A girl can always need 2 dresses.
I was ecstatic as I was checking out. This is literally the first year of my 25-year-long life that I have made and spent my own money (spoiled? yes. But I prefer to consider myself a scholar who my parents generously supported through schooling), and it is exciting and rewarding to spend large sums of money that I made and saved myself. The check-out clerk commented on the sparkly dress, "I love this dress! I bought it with my allowance," she told me. "It's so pretty! I saw it in the window months ago, and was so happy that it was still here!"
talk to me more! I want to relish this moment!
The cashier and I did not become best-ies, but I felt like the million dollars I spent walking out of that store and back underground, to the subway, where I belong.
I was still glowing on my subway ride home and decided to buy a celebratory bottle of wine to drink alone while I watched X-Men II.
At the wine store, I received a phone call.
"Hello, this is Chase Debit Card Fraud Alert."
I assured Chase that yes, It was me who blew a lot of money at Hugo Boss, and they apologized for the inconvenience. I didn't mind the inconvenience of verifying my purchase; I think it is nice that my bank looks out for me. I minded that they made me feel guilty for spending enough money to warrant a fraud alert.
But, like any well-trained girl, I told myself, "You deserve those dresses! Particularity because you look amazing in them!" and when I got home, I went ahead and poured myself a glass of wine.
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