A few favorites:
Monday 16 February 2015
Modern Photography
I saw a wonderful show of photography at MOMA. It consisted of work, primarily from the 1920's and 1930's, focusing on "modern" photographs. That period was when photography really came of age as an art form. I think it was a combination of technical advances and, more importantly, in these photographs, an urge to capture the modern world as the artists saw it. My favorites among the works shown were those that tried to capture the dizzying changes in urban life and the visual complexity of new constructions in the city. And the new perspectives afforded by views from high rises, etc. As always, MOMA can't just put up the pictures and be done with it; they have got to be contextualized somehow. In this case, they put a lot of effort into creating a web site which allows one to look at the photos and make connections. This is a good thing.
A few favorites:
A few favorites:
A Saturday Walk
It was a Saturday, and after working hard at home for a few days, I needed to get out. I decided to do a bookstore walk; visiting three of my favorites; Dashwood Books, the bookstore at the New Museum, and McNally-Jackson. Unfortunately, this meant braving the Saturday shopping crowds in Noho and Soho and Roho; apparently everyone desperately needs new clothes.
Dashwood Books is on Bond Street between Lafayette and Bowery (in Noho), a block which has a lot of memories for me. Back in the 70's, it was a pretty desolate area, but home to the avant-garde saxophonist Sam River's performance space. I remember many a concert there; and afterwards, wandering out late at night in the deserted streets, feeling somewhat nervous. (It was the 1970's, after all.) In the 1980's, we had good friends who lived in a loft on that block. By then the streets were less deserted at night; instead, crack dealers and their customers populated the block at night. I remember the police coming by and, by their presence, chasing them all away; ten minutes later, they would all be back. Now, the building our friends lived in has been torn down, and the block is dominated by Ian Schrager's high end condo building designed by Herzog and de Meuron. Fancy boutiques, etc. now line the street. I hope Dashwood Books survives; they are in a basement level shop, which might help.
Progress?
The same general narrative applies to Soho, though it all happened earlier. Now Soho functions as a giant shopping mall, which is sad, because the architecture is still there. And if you can ignore the retail throngs, you can look up and begin to imagine what it all looked like 50 years ago. There are still some amazing buildings.
MacNally Jackson Books in Soho is a fantastic bookstore; discerning taste and a large selection make for wonderful browsing.
And the Bowery is following the same trends as well, though the restaurant equipment stores that used to dominate the area are still around, and the architecture is not really that interesting. (There was a reason that it was the neighborhood for "bums".) And now the "bums" can go to Whole Foods. (I get disconcerted whenever I go in to a Whole Foods in Manhattan; there is too much room in the aisles, I can't possibly be in New York. I must be in a suburb, or Vancouver. ) The New Museum (on Bowery) has a great bookstore, which includes not only books about new art, but a carefully curated selection of literature, etc. Take that, MOMA!
Looking up in Soho:
It never ceases to amaze me how much elaborate decoration they put on these barely visible upper stories:
And you never know what you will find when you are walking around:
Dashwood Books is on Bond Street between Lafayette and Bowery (in Noho), a block which has a lot of memories for me. Back in the 70's, it was a pretty desolate area, but home to the avant-garde saxophonist Sam River's performance space. I remember many a concert there; and afterwards, wandering out late at night in the deserted streets, feeling somewhat nervous. (It was the 1970's, after all.) In the 1980's, we had good friends who lived in a loft on that block. By then the streets were less deserted at night; instead, crack dealers and their customers populated the block at night. I remember the police coming by and, by their presence, chasing them all away; ten minutes later, they would all be back. Now, the building our friends lived in has been torn down, and the block is dominated by Ian Schrager's high end condo building designed by Herzog and de Meuron. Fancy boutiques, etc. now line the street. I hope Dashwood Books survives; they are in a basement level shop, which might help.
Progress?
The same general narrative applies to Soho, though it all happened earlier. Now Soho functions as a giant shopping mall, which is sad, because the architecture is still there. And if you can ignore the retail throngs, you can look up and begin to imagine what it all looked like 50 years ago. There are still some amazing buildings.
MacNally Jackson Books in Soho is a fantastic bookstore; discerning taste and a large selection make for wonderful browsing.
And the Bowery is following the same trends as well, though the restaurant equipment stores that used to dominate the area are still around, and the architecture is not really that interesting. (There was a reason that it was the neighborhood for "bums".) And now the "bums" can go to Whole Foods. (I get disconcerted whenever I go in to a Whole Foods in Manhattan; there is too much room in the aisles, I can't possibly be in New York. I must be in a suburb, or Vancouver. ) The New Museum (on Bowery) has a great bookstore, which includes not only books about new art, but a carefully curated selection of literature, etc. Take that, MOMA!
Looking up in Soho:
It never ceases to amaze me how much elaborate decoration they put on these barely visible upper stories:
And you never know what you will find when you are walking around:
Opera Times Four
We heard the Metropolitan Opera double bill of Tchaikovsky's "Iolanthe" and Bartok's "Bluebeard". (We were originally planning on seeing this in January, but the performance was cancelled on account of the Great Non-Blizzard of January 2015.) Not knowing anything about "Iolanthe", we were quite impressed. It's a late work, premiered on a double bill with something called "The Nutcracker". Apparently the audience liked the opera better; little did they know. The story is about a blind princess (in medieval times) whose father decides that he will isolate her from the world so that she will never know that she is blind; thus all the servants, etc. are forbidden to mention anything that has to do with sight. This makes for an interesting libretto; as well as a different take on patriarchal relations. The music is wonderfully varied, like a tone poem, and occasionally, to my ears, foreshadows Debussy's "Pelleas". The singers were superb, especially Netrebko, who has an amazing voice; and in the pit was the ever-present Putin buddy, Gergiev.
The second half of the double bill, Bartok's "Bluebeard's Castle", was gripping and intense. The orchestra was truly phenomenal; this 1911 work, written before Bartok was really Bartok, is full of extraordinary sounds.
The production, unfortunately, was in fact quite bad; the director's work is a good example of the kind of outrageous stuff they routinely do in Europe. He had the idea of adding really tacky sound effects to the Bartok; creaking noises, and things like that. Where were the grownups when he decided to do this? On what planet does Bartok need to have sound effects added? In addition, he demonstrated his Eurotrash credentials by having Judith (the main female role) suddenly appear in a bathtub, full of water, taking a real bath on stage (and seemingly nude). Then she had to get out of the tub, put on her bathrobe, and sing for fifteen minutes while barefoot in a wet bathrobe. Apparently all this (and the Tchaikovsky, too) was set in some sort of "film noir" world. And why does the heroic count who rescues Iolanthe first appear in the forest with a pair of skis on his shoulder? And the director often puts the singers in odd and peculiar places where they can't be seen.
But most of this doesn't matter too much when you have singers and an orchestra of such extraordinary caliber.
Judith in her bath:
So what do the grey antlers mean? From Iolanthe:
From Bluebeard:
Earlier in January we were invited by my stepmother to see the Met production of Lehar's "A Merry Widow', which I had never heard before. It's an operetta, which means there is quite a bit of dialogue. Written in 1905 in Vienna, this is, for all intents and purposes, a musical, complete with hit songs (the "Merry Widow Waltz") It's interesting to realize that this formula was present so long ago. I enjoyed myself (Vera much less so). And I also realized that the Marx Brother's film, "Duck Soup" is in part parody of the "Merry Window". (Rich widow needed to save the small country from ruin.) So seeing Renee Fleming on stage, I was thinking Margaret Dumont.
The second half of the double bill, Bartok's "Bluebeard's Castle", was gripping and intense. The orchestra was truly phenomenal; this 1911 work, written before Bartok was really Bartok, is full of extraordinary sounds.
The production, unfortunately, was in fact quite bad; the director's work is a good example of the kind of outrageous stuff they routinely do in Europe. He had the idea of adding really tacky sound effects to the Bartok; creaking noises, and things like that. Where were the grownups when he decided to do this? On what planet does Bartok need to have sound effects added? In addition, he demonstrated his Eurotrash credentials by having Judith (the main female role) suddenly appear in a bathtub, full of water, taking a real bath on stage (and seemingly nude). Then she had to get out of the tub, put on her bathrobe, and sing for fifteen minutes while barefoot in a wet bathrobe. Apparently all this (and the Tchaikovsky, too) was set in some sort of "film noir" world. And why does the heroic count who rescues Iolanthe first appear in the forest with a pair of skis on his shoulder? And the director often puts the singers in odd and peculiar places where they can't be seen.
But most of this doesn't matter too much when you have singers and an orchestra of such extraordinary caliber.
Judith in her bath:
So what do the grey antlers mean? From Iolanthe:
From Bluebeard:
Earlier in January we were invited by my stepmother to see the Met production of Lehar's "A Merry Widow', which I had never heard before. It's an operetta, which means there is quite a bit of dialogue. Written in 1905 in Vienna, this is, for all intents and purposes, a musical, complete with hit songs (the "Merry Widow Waltz") It's interesting to realize that this formula was present so long ago. I enjoyed myself (Vera much less so). And I also realized that the Marx Brother's film, "Duck Soup" is in part parody of the "Merry Window". (Rich widow needed to save the small country from ruin.) So seeing Renee Fleming on stage, I was thinking Margaret Dumont.
The Marx Brothers had cooler sets...
And lastly, we heard Gluck's "Iphigenie in Aulide" at Juilliard in a semi-staged concert version. It was an extraordinary experience. The performance was a collaboration between the Met and Juilliard, featuring young up and coming singers and instrumentalists from Juilliard's early music program, all brilliantly conducted by Jane Glover. I have seldom heard such a wonderfully nuanced performance from an orchestra. Because the opera was done in the relatively intimate space of Juilliard's theater, you could hear every detail. The singers, too were excellent; and I would guess that some of them will become famous singers some day.
The opera itself, based on Euripides and Racine's versions of the tale of the god's demand that Agamemnon sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia, is a serious drama with a happy ending. Gluck, famous for his reform of the excesses of 18th century, combines the music and the drama in a perfect way. I heard a lot of what Mozart did subsequently in his operas, especially in the ensembles. The only problem with Gluck is that in his zeal to combat the excesses of opera at the times, he sometimes extinguishes those very excesses that people love about opera. He could certainly write a great tune, but if the drama didn't call for it, it wouldn't happen. Which is why you rarely see his operas at your neighborhood opera house.
So involving was the music and the drama that I scarcely noticed that there were no sets or costumes; sometimes, I think opera would be better off without them.
Anyone reading this would be well advised to check out any of the opera productions at Juilliard.
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