I spent four hours today applying myself to producing a literal translation of three poems of Hermann Hesse in preparation for a performance of Vier lezte Lieder, the ethereal song cycle composed by Richard Strauss. Indeed, these were his four last works, and through them he gently prepared for his own final rest at age eighty-four. I've yet to translate the fourth one, Im Abendrot, with text by Joseph Eichendorff. The final song was composed first, with the three Hesse lieder following, all in 1948.

 As Strauss left no instructions for his intentions, his friend and chief editor of the music publishing house Boosey-Hawks, Ernst Roth, assumed matters. It was to Herr Roth that Im Abendrot was dedicated, and he arranged the songs in their present order: Fruehling, September, Beim Schlafengehen and Im Abendrot. You with the sharp eye will note that I cannot produce umlauts with this software, therefore my spelling of Spring.

Why then hours in a day when three clean baskets of laundry lay begging for my affections ("Fold me! Ah..yes!")? Because. Because, you see, I have been raised by a coach of such impeccable standards, that I cannot bring myself to utter a tone before the habitual preparatory process she has instilled in me over the years is complete. I love her dearly for that. Without her nagging and exacting expectations of me, I would be far too ordinary, and much too lazy. I tease her and call her the mad wren, for she is tiny lady of great stature and industry. I cannot bear to displease her.

 So I surround myself with a small library of dictionaries and verb books, wrestling with stems and adjectives, painfully dissecting what Mark Twain referred to in his essay of the same name, The Awful German Language. No, the internet is really not much help, but perhaps I am too cheap and masochistic to cough up fees for a premium site.

Once I produce the literal version, I try to make sense of it and create a poetic translation. Every editor has their own English translation. Actually, the better word is "version." These versions only approximate the literal, and are intended for performance in English. Ach, Gott! It is universally agreed that most of these are trash. And anyway, song literature is always performed in it's original language, unlike opera, which benefits sometimes from a go in the vernacular. But creating a poetic version of one's own is a discipline which informs the singer of a greater understanding of the text, and ultimately results in a performance of authenticity and beauty. It is the foundation of artistry.

 My teacher always told me, "mean the words." To translate that for you is to explain that the magic in a performer, the thing which distinguishes a good singer from an artistic singer, is if she is the obedient servant of the text. The music can rest on it's own merits. Too often, a singer will work at making an effect or producing a color when the secret is much simpler. It is a quality which is unscientific in that it cannot be measured objectively, but the listener knows when it is or is not there. My wise teacher taught me that if I was honest with the words, my emotions and intellect would do the job of coloring and shaping my sound. It is not some witchy thing, and I don't completely understand, but I know.

 That is why all the grunt work must happen before ever phonating (Oh, stop that. It is a silly word, but I have used all the better synonyms by this point.) There is no other way, and no shortcuts. It's done correctly or it is not done at all. I suppose the process can be analogous to something like laboring one's child to birth. It is painful, time consuming, all consuming, and absolutely worth it.

 I'll leave you with my favorite excerpt from the Mark Twain essay. Enjoy!

"Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed about in it, hither and thither, in the most helpless way; and when at last he thinks he has captured a rule which offers firm ground to take a rest on amid the general rage and turmoil of the ten parts of speech, he turns over the page and reads, "Let the pupil make careful note of the following exceptions." He runs his eye down and finds that there are more exceptions to the rule than instances of it. So overboard he goes again, to hunt for another Ararat and find another quicksand.

Such has been, and continues to be, my experience. Every time I think I have got one of these four confusing "cases" where I am master of it, a seemingly insignificant preposition intrudes itself into my sentence, clothed with an awful and unsuspected power, and crumbles the ground from under me. For instance, my book inquires after a certain bird--(it is always inquiring after things which are of no sort of no consequence to anybody): "Where is the bird?" Now the answer to this question--according to the book--is that the bird is waiting in the blacksmith shop on account of the rain. Of course no bird would do that, but then you must stick to the book.

Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer. I begin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea. I say to myself, "Regen (rain) is masculine--or maybe it is feminine--or possibly neuter--it is too much trouble to look now. Therefore, it is either der (the) Regen, or die (the) Regen, or das (the) Regen, according to which gender it may turn out to be when I look. In the interest of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it is masculine.

Very well--then the rain is der Regen, if it is simply in the quiescent state of being mentioned, without enlargement or discussion--Nominative case; but if this rain is lying around, in a kind of a general way on the ground, it is then definitely located, it is doing something--that is, resting (which is one of the German grammar's ideas of doing something), and this throws the rain into the Dative case, and makes it dem Regen. However, this rain is not resting, but is doing something actively,--it is falling--to interfere with the bird, likely--and this indicates movement, which has the effect of sliding it into the Accusative case and changing dem Regen into den Regen."

Having completed the grammatical horoscope of this matter, I answer up confidently and state in German that the bird is staying in the blacksmith shop "wegen (on account of) den Regen." Then the teacher lets me softly down with the remark that whenever the word "wegen" drops into a sentence, it always throws that subject into the genitive case, regardless of consequences--and therefore this bird stayed in the blacksmith shop "wegen des Regens."

N.B.--I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was an "exception" which permits one to say "wegen den Regen" in certain peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is not extended to anything but rain."

One weekend, it's Jackson Browne and on the following night, The Waifs. This past weekend we had Bach and Buxtehude -I had a grown-up student, a baritone, performing- and then a delightful concert on Sunday afternoon by the American Philharmonic Orchestra, all the way up in Santa Rosa.  

Because I've been contracted to sing in the professional premiere of The Lion and the Rose, composed by music director and Maestro Gabriel Sakakeeny, it seemed prudent to take a listen to understand what I was getting myself into!  The sound from this eighty plus band was lush and absolutely satisfying. What concerns I had were assuaged by the warmth of the sound and the joy emanating from everyone on stage. Gabriel and I go way back, and to know that we will be collaborating again in something I happily anticipate. I really want to sing with this orchestra!

The Lion and the Rose, based on an allegory of the resurrection theme in the C. S. Lewis genre, is a lyrical- modern composition. Since I am working off the conductor's score while I await the piano-vocal reduction, every nuance is not yet clear to me, but it looks lovely. The composer has generously offered to reshape, as he said, any bits to accommodate me. How gracious. I wonder if this is the way Aloysia Weber felt when Mozart responded to her requests?

Not to draw too tight a comparison here by any means. Ms. Weber, Wolfie's sister-in-law, was an absolute goddess, but she comes to mind because I know her work so intimately in my repertoire. Also, I have occasioned a few times the opportunity of preforming a new work, or been asked to ornament or otherwise alter parts of a chestnut; something they call innovation, but I call...oh, never mind.

To be honest, there was one hideous time, a moment which I have tried to erase from a memory still haunted. I got stuck with a perfectly wretched piece by a composer too vain or perhaps insecure to understand that  much of what she had written was simply un-singable. She knew music, but she did not know how to write for voices. These people are hazards, and in refusing to listen to the singers, they find that the premiere is often the finale of their composition.

Back to The Lion and the Rose. May Sarton wrote a mystical poem which is reflected well in the score. Born in Belgium, Ms. Sarton arrived with her family in the United States at the tender age of three. Her initial pull was to the theatre, but she found her fulfillment in prosody, prose and non-fiction. Interestingly, there are no plays or adaptations amongst her published works. She enjoyed association with Harvard and Wellesley, and as an open lesbian, worked for homosexual rights. May Sarton passed way in 1995 after a long illness.

My boys and I took in the American Philharmonic Orchestra for a programme of twentieth century music. I was unfamiliar with the first piece, Atmospheres, a trippy flight through the cosmos to the time before time by Romanian composer Gygory Ligeti (1923-2006). For you linguists, there ought to be an umlaut over the "o," but I seem to have run out and must restock.

Atmospheres is a work of magnificent beauty. As with many of his contemporaries,  Rigeti employs novel applications of instrumentation to create both harmony and dissonance.  The result is aurally and spiritually transformative. After the final cadence, if one could call it that, there was left a broad swath of space before the audience exhaled. Those are the magical moments performers so enjoy! Call it the cool factor. Applause was tentative while the listener shifted back into the temporal, and grew as the realization of what had been experienced settled into the listener.

The second work was the beloved Piano Concerto in G by Maurice Ravel (1875-1937). This was Ravel's final orchestral work, completed just six years before his death in Paris following experimental brain surgery. The procedure was anticipated to affect relief from the composer's dementia, thought to have evolved following a traffic accident some years before.  

Guest artist Stephen Prutzman gave a joyful, often whimsical performance, at times conducting the orchestra behind the Maestro's back with his head and body language. What could have been an intrusion instead lent charm and some theatricality which was in keeping with the feel of the piece. Ravel's derivations and quotations were intended to shape a light-hearted feel to the Concerto, and in Prutsman, Ravel had a perfect enabler. Prutzman's musicality, his slightly naughty boyishness, and consummate musicianship all worked together to provide a pleasurable performance.

Perhaps it is my city-girl sensibility and education, but I cannot avoid the annoyance I feel over audiences which still do not understand that applause between movements goes against convention. This old-school rule has not remained a custom to rob the enthusiastic listener of expressing joy and appreciation. Rather, the pauses between movements serve two purposes in my thinking, possibly more, and those are to allow the audience to reflect on the previous movement and to just...feel. The quiet space between movements provides an important transitional time for the musician. Time to shift mood or even make mechanical adjustments. Time to breathe and center oneself. That last last bit is important for the listener as well. I don't know the answer to educating an audience without risking offense.

The American Philharmonic Orchestra's final work was Stravinsky's sensually raucous Rite of Spring (Le Sacre du printemps). So much has been written of this piece. I will leave you to your research. Stravinsky is a passion of mine.  When I listen to Rite of Spring, or sing Les Noces or perform The Rake's Progress, I experience pleasure of a depth which overtakes me physically, mentally and spiritually. The music is carnal and erotically rough, and I am always left feeling  satisfaction similar to a good reckless romp. That this piece was initially scandalous is easily understood. That repressed post-Victorian people were attracted to such scandal is telling of human nature. The story is base, violent and sexual; those very things people find so fascinating.

The orchestra was superb. Exhilarating and exhilarated. This was a stunning performance by players who were certainly up to the task. Maestro Sakakeeny, himself a talented tympanist, let his percussion section have at it. The result was a performance full of the sort of passion I imagine Stravinsky would have loved.

Sakakeeny's programming was brilliant. He led us from the sublime sensuality of the Ligeti  to the sweet joy of the Ravel, and into the dark sexuality of the Stravinsky. Sunday's performance of The American Philharmonic was a journey through three related levels of human expression, all threaded together into one complete package.

Jackson Browne gave us a generous three hour, twenty-five song set on a balmy evening in Santa Cruz. He was gracious and relaxed, and was in good voice, moving between his keyboard and the sixteen guitars of various makes and tunings forming a lovely backdrop to frame the stage. My initial reaction was that Jackson's voice has become stronger over the years, and warmer.  Although a bit somber in the first half, Jackson was clearly happy to be playing in a town where some family members " and many dear friends have lived" at one time or another. He mentioned that the Civic was a place in which he had performed "dozens and dozens" of times, and was a personal favorite. The audience was a  pleasant blend of first and second generation fans. So many happy faces!

Jackson stopped playing his keyboard during the intro to his third song to ask us to stop taking flash photographs, as it interfered with his concentration, and made him want to keep his head down. A lady called out, "Then stop being so cute!" Jackson broke up, as did the house, and he responded, whilst stroking a recent beard, "Well, I'm trying my best. It can't be helped that I'm cute." The crowd loved it. The reference came round a couple more times before the night was over.

After intermission, Jackson was more playful and energetic. He made references to Santa Cruz being open and progressive, and how comfortable that made him feel. He played a lot of his political material, in part because of the crowds' encouragement, and certainly due to the fact that this is an election year. At one point in the second act, after hitting on two of the aforementioned political criticisms, he asked the house whether he was pushing this area too hard. There were many voices shouting out approval, and lots of applause, so he continued on with four more of that genre.

JB also performed a few songs seldom heard in concert, such as Song For Adam with an extra verselette. The big treat of the evening was to hear three songs off the forthcoming studio album, which he mentioned would be out in the fall.

The first, a sweet love song was not completely cooked, he said. He is working out a bridge and hasn't got the thing nailed, but it contains some harmonic interest I liked. The second was a tune which he said had already been cut. He offered no title. The third was a searing criticism of the Bush administration and it's failed foreign policy (In My Time). I am laying odds that the latter song will be released well ahead of the election if the album is not ready by then.

Other highlights: Someone called out for a song "for Warren."  Jackson played  the classic Warren Zevon tune, Lawyers, Guns and Money on guitar. At one point during the chorus, singing in his best Zevon voice. Next, Jackson went over to the piano and played The Mutineer. We were treated to (Little Stephen's) I Am A Patriot, an anthem which has held up well over the years and is still spot on.

A voice called out, "Play one for Danny!" Danny Federici, long-time keyboard man for The E Street Band, Bruce Springsteen's former and present support, passed away after a long illness last Thursday. The lady next to me called out for Don't You Want To Be There. Jackson had already started to noodle on a guitar at this point. His head whipped up, and for a few seconds he looked out at the house in our direction ( 5th row, dead center) and froze with a serious expression, as if considering this loss. But then he smiled, with an "I agree that is just the song" expression and got up, put the instrument back in the rack, and sat down at the piano to play the requested song. There was a lot of passion in his voice and hands. He clearly loved playing that song, and one had the feeling that he didn't expect someone to request it. The tune was a fitting tribute to Danny. You could hear the gospel choir in your mind, but the song did not lack for anything in this spare form.

The last song Jackson played before he returned for his encore was The Pretender, which has become his standard closer on this tour. Unlike the studio version on the record of the same name, his attitude now, thirty years later, is one of bemusement. We all know the dark humour and irony of this piece, and Jackson played it with the understanding that we are all by now in on the joke.

For me, who watched two nights from the Running On Empty tour at the Universal Amphitheater in LA as a high school kid from backstage (my sister was a local radio DJ-and I was stunned by my access- can you imagine?), I appreciate how far Jackson has come with his stage presence and comfort in performing. Not much left of the shy fellow who hid behind his hair. In fact, the hair is exactly the same as it's always
been, but now we can see his eyes and his expressive face. He is charming, and freely shares his dry wit with the audience.

I was nowhere else in my head last night but in this warm, comfortable hall, surrounded by a terrific audience of my peers. The sound was excellent. Clear, well mixed and perfectly modulated. Among us players and singers, there is a universal agreement that the best hall is a box with high ceilings and some wood. The Santa Cruz Civic served Jackson well. The evening was as pure an aural pleasure as one can experience.

The Guacamole Fund reception after the concert at a nearby restaurant for a local guy who is running for Assembly, was lovely and lively. Jackson was relaxed, and talked about what fun he's had being out on tour, with only a few more dates to go. He has plans to perform benefits for democratic candidates between now and November.

When asked recently why so much time has elapsed between his last  studio album and the forthcoming release, he offered insight about the record business. As of this past January, Jackson has regained sole rights to all his material. The timing of Solo Acoustic Volume 2, released in early March, reflects this change.

At the recent ASCAP convention earlier in the month, Jackson discussed with us that the traditional methods of compensation and residulas were inequitable, and that he was looking to provide his band and all those involved in production, from engineers to producers, with a better deal. Since his last studio album, The Naked Ride Home, Jackson has shared credits with all his band-mates on most songs.


There ought to be a good tour next year with the band to promote the new album. And yes, I do want to be there!

Please advise me of any mistakes you find in the set list! I'll cop to any errors in the text as well.

All with* on guitar.

1*Barricades of Heaven
2*These Days
3*Alive in the World
4 Farther On
5*Looking East
6 Bright Baby Blues
7 For A Dancer
8 Don't you Want To Be There?
9 For Every Man
10 Song For Adam
11*Lawyers, Guns, and Money(Zevon)
12 Mutineer (Zevon)
13.*new song
14 * New song next album....a nice love song
15 ?In My Mind? Time? (new song- next album)
16*Lives in the Balance
17*I am a Patriot
18 Roll out the Drums
19 Guns of war
20 Before the Deluge
21 Sleep's Dark and Silent Night
22 The Pretender
23 Running on Empty
Encore:
24 Take It Easy
25*My Stunning Mystery Companion

LAST EDITED ON Apr-20-08 AT 04:25 PM (EDT)
The following review is the sole property of the reviewer, and is registered under Christine's ASCAP membership, 2008 GoshGusMusic.

It's true. I am back! After a sabbatical to launch two boys, I am relieved and grateful to be back at the thing which has been a part of my life since my parents dragged me out to sing for company as a pre-schooler. Getting back to business has been easy. The hard part, the painfully slow part of my process, was realizing that one of the contributing factors to my discontent of the last several years had everything to do with the fact that I was missing an important piece of myself- the very core of my being.

I have to sing. I need to perform. I like to write music, and listen to all of the music I cannot sing as a classically ( and, mind you, expensively) trained singer. I practice and study the likes of Mozart, Verdi, and the bel canto masters, and the joy is returning. But when I am finished with that work (did you know that the word "opera" can be translated into English as "work?"), I crank up rock and blues, old and new, and fill my environment with music. At home. In the car. While I am writing on this blog. Everywhere. The only other sound I must have is silence. I require at least a few hours of silence and solitude every day or I can't function. Odd woman? Perhaps. But it took a good deal of psychic pain and the firm convictions of a few good friends to remind me that who I used to be is someone I still am.

When I had my sons, I welcomed the chance to escape from the madness of constant travel, being away from home for up to sixteen weeks in the summer, and the exhausting effort of managing good working relationships with difficult personalities. The sheer volume of opera scores to translate, memorize and work into my voice, often on short notice, and often, when performed in English, the ability to sort out different translations for different productions was sometimes overwhelming. So I did one-hundred percent mom for awhile. It was glorious and exhausting in it's own lovely way. But after a few years of all mom, all the time, I became increasingly depressed and anxious, and confused that I should be dissatisfied with my life. "Isn't this what I wanted?" Well, yes. And no.

 Typically, I catch onto something, and give it complete focus, as I did with my music for many, many years. When motherhood called, I dropped the former for the latter. I didn't know how to split myself over two creative processes at once. I know women who have and do, but for some reason I have yet to unwind in my thinking, I was not. But I am back. Something clicked that feels more "right" than I have felt for what seems like a long time. Now, I listen. I sing. I teach and write. And I mother. I have found the way to create wholeness from these two dichotomous yet singular bits of myself. Full circle.

Sooner or later, I was certain to go down and surrender to blogland. The pressure was too great. So, here I am, white flag in hand. I've no idea where this will take me. Or you.

Before I become more present, I must learn how to edit this thing, and develop some competency. I have questions. Where, for example, is the spell-check feature, if there is indeed such a beast. Otherwise I am resigned to write and edit in Appleworks before pasting here. I am fastidious about these things. Blame mother and Mrs.Pederson.