review redux

A few days ago, I reviewed a performance of Aleksey Igudesman's The Music Critic. I didn't like it very much. Today, Joshua Kosman slammed it more than I did.

Like me, he noted that it's "essentially the live-music version of" Nicolas Slonimsky's book The Lexicon of Musical Invective but without any credit to Slonimsky. But Kosman would go further than I would. He says that "to imply that [Beethoven's contemporaries] were buffoons for not understanding that music on first hearing is craven nonsense." No, what they're buffoons for is ludicrously inaaccurate denunciations of it. What's fair, if you don't understand the music, is to express your wonderment and bewilderment, like Berlioz's composition teacher who said that, at the end of the concert where he first heard Beethoven's Fifth, he went to put on his hat and could not find his head.

Imagine having that reaction to this now-best-known of all classical works! That's the kind of feeling I'd like to recapture.

Igudesman's subtext is that critics are only there to complain about music they don't like. Unfortunately in Kosman's case that is often correct. He'd rather spend a review complaining about Carmina Burana than judging whether it's a good performance whether he likes the work or not. I try not to do that.

Kosman left at intermission, judging that he wouldn't be missing anything worthwhile. He didn't. I stayed till just before the end, when I finally got fed up, and I could just as well not have gone at all for anything I got out of it.

books with erorrs

The Adventures of Mary Darling, Pat Murphy (Tachyon, 2025)

This book does to Peter Pan what Wicked does to The Wonderful Wizard of Oz: entirely deconstructs it. In this story, when the children disappear, their mother goes on a quest to find them. She's well-equipped to do so, having - it turns out - been with the Lost Boys in her youth; so was the children's father; so was Captain Hook. Captain Hook is a good guy, almost the only admirable male in the story. Peter is not a little boy who wouldn't grow up, but an entirely amoral and very dangerous though not entirely wicked spirit. That last is derivable from Barrie, but he doesn't emphasize it.

The first thing Mrs. Darling does is enlist the help of her Uncle John. That's John H. Watson, M.D., so his famous friend immediately jumps in. This book is a Sherlock Holmes story to which Holmes is entirely superfluous. He doesn't solve the mystery or do much of anything. In fact he's shown up as something of a patsy. Towards the end, there's some hasty backtracking by other characters in which they explain that Holmes is actually very talented in his limited sphere of expertise, but it is so very limited. The problem is that Holmes comes from a world with the same physical rules as our primary world, but he's stumbled into an alternate world with spirits and fairy dust in it, so his rules no longer apply but he doesn't know it.

The story actually made enjoyable reading, so where's the error? (Yes, I misspelled that deliberately above, damn you.) Murphy makes clear in the afterword that she aimed for historical accuracy in anything she didn't make up, but she made a huge clunker that fiction authors writing about British history make constantly, and that is ignorance of the nomenclature of British nobility. There's a character sometimes called Lady Hawkins and sometimes Lady Emily Hawkins. She can't be both at the same time. They mean entirely different things. "Lady" or "Lord" are not free-floating terms that can be used wherever you want. She is, like many wives of British peers at the time, an American heiress by origin, so she cannot be Lady Emily, which would make her the daughter of a high-ranking British peer, like the daughters of Lord Grantham in Downton Abbey, who are all Lady Firstname Crawley. That her husband is called both Lord Hawkins and Lord Robert Hawkins is equally impossible; if he is Lord Robert Hawkins, then his wife's proper style would be the bizarre but real Lady Robert Hawkins. (See Sayers' Busman's Honeymoon, where Harriet Vane, by now married to Lord Peter Wimsey, gives her style correctly as Lady Peter Wimsey.)

Victoria: A Life, A.N. Wilson (Penguin, 2014)

This is a readable and interesting book, so why is it filled with so many clunkers? On p. 166, Wilson says that Lord John Russell served as Foreign Secretary in the 1852 coalition headed by the Earl of Derby. No he didn't. He was Foreign Secretary in the following government, a coalition headed by the Earl of Aberdeen. Derby's government was not a coalition. Since Wilson goes on to tell us about Derby, this isn't just a glitch in name. On p. 192, Wilson says "A child was born to the marriage," but he had not told us who got married. Prince Albert died on December 14, 1861, as the text makes clear, but on p. 259, Wilson tells us that "A year on, in 1862, the Queen prepared herself for her first Christmas as a widow." Say there, Wilson, what day is Christmas?

impatient crash

Where the small access street to our development meets the main artery, there's a traffic light, and the exit direction of the small access street splits into two lanes.

Therein lies the rub, because the left lane of those two is a left-turn-only lane, clearly marked with an arrow on the pavement. That leaves the right lane, which has no markings, for both going forward and turning right.

I was in my car at the front of this lane, waiting at a red light, because I was going forward. Behind me was a U-Haul truck whose driver wanted to turn right. He thought I had to turn right too - which I could have done safely, had that been my intent - and got impatient. So - since there was nobody in the left lane - he decided to go around me.

At that moment the light turned green, and - not seeing this truck pulling this dangerous maneuver - I started to move forward. And he came around and clipped me, wrecking my left headlight cover and a bunch of other stuff. So, instead of saving 3 seconds, he wasted half an hour, because that's how long it took to settle things after we pulled over.

"Why didn't you go?" he asked me.

"The light was red," I replied.

"You could have turned right safely," he said.

"I wasn't turning right. I was going forward," I replied.

"Then you should have been in the other lane," he said.

"That's a dedicated left turn lane," I replied.

He then went over and looked at it, and what he thought after seeing the arrow on the pavement - which he could easily have seen when he was behind me - I don't know.

I got very angry with him and he responded by calling the police. The cops were bemused by what was a civil dispute, not a criminal matter, and mediated our exchange of information. One of the cops advised me not to get angry, with an implication that I did so as some kind of negotiating tactic. I said I expressed anger because I was angry. He said it wasn't a big deal, insurance will cover it.

Well, it won't. I have a large deductible, my insurance doesn't cover the cost of a rental car while mine is in the shop, and that doesn't count the nuisance and fuss of dealing with all this. My usual body shop has abruptly gone out of business, to my surprise, so I had to get the insurer to find another one on their approved list. I hope the insurer agrees that I wasn't responsible for this. That the other driver tried this tight going-around maneuver in a large truck is what seemed most to impress my insurance adjuster.

concert (sort of) review: San Francisco Symphony (sort of)

I heard an ad for this on the radio, and it sounded interesting: something called The Music Critic - ok, my latter-day profession, so I'm curious already - apparently some sort of one-man show starring John Malkovich, but at Davies, the SF Symphony hall.

It wasn't a one-man show. It was two men and an orchestra. Essentially it was a musically-illustrated version of Nicolas Slonimsky's Lexicon of Musical Invective, "written and conceived" by violinist/conductor Aleksey Igudesman, who conducted the SFS in various pieces while Malkovich, miked at a music stand with his script on it, read aloud critical denunciations of the composers over (and occasionally under) the music.

Not necessarily old ones, either (Slonimsky published his Lexicon in 1953), though there were a few classics, like Tchaikovsky calling Brahms "a giftless bastard" or César Cui's description of a Rachmaninoff symphony as the product of "a conservatory in Hell." (No credit to Cui, though, or to most of the other critics, and certainly not to Slonimsky for having thought of this idea first.)

But there were also newer ones, e.g. several claims that Beethoven is a barrier to contemporary appreciation of classical music, or even that he's unappreciable by LGBTQ+ people. At one point Malkovich read negative You Tube comments on Igudesman's videos, enabling Igudesman to respond with Max Reger's famous dismissal of criticism as if he, Igudesman, had thought of it - though, as it refers to paper, it makes no sense in an online context.

At the end, the program fell apart. Igudesman coaxed Malkovich into reading critical reviews of Malkovich's own stage performances, after which Malkovich left the stage and Igudesman announced he was going to play something evidently as a quick encore, but then Malkovich came back on stage to interrupt with incoherent critiques of the way Igudesman was playing. This was supposed to be funny but was witless and annoying. The second time it happened, I just got up and left. I'd had enough.

the evil dex

The late blogger Kevin Drum was under treatment for many years for multiple myeloma, which eventually killed him about a year ago. He wrote often about his medical adventures, and had particularly strong feelings about a medication he was on, a steroid named dexamethasone, which he called "the evil dex."

What exactly was evil about it he never made exactly clear, but it seems that it prevented him from sleeping, leaving him groggy all the time.

I do not have myeloma, but I have been taking intermittent courses of dexamethasone - one to four days each - and have to report differently. It doesn't seem to have caused any disruption in my sleep, which has actually been getting less disrupted lately, and though that may be because I was taking the dex in the mornings, I've had it in the afternoons with no further effect.

What it does cause is a spike in blood sugar, which has to be watched over carefully. And either it or some of the other medications I've been taking at the same time has been causing constipation, about which the less said the better.

mystery solved

At Corflu, where the banquet was catered at our hotel meeting room from a Puerto Rican restaurant nearby, I was pretty sure I'd been to that restaurant before. Having gotten home, I went to leave a review on Yelp and discovered that not only had I been there (nine years ago, a wonder I remembered it) but I'd reviewed it.

Had I checked my review, I could have been definite on something I was trying vaguely to recall during conversations at the banquet. The food line offered two kinds of plantains, green and sweet. What I recalled was getting a mixture and liking one but not the other, but I couldn't remember which one. Turned out that what I'd written back then was, "The fried green plantains were fairly dry and crunchy, the sweet ones far too intensely sweet and got over anything they touched."

That was in contrast to general opinion at the banquet, which is that the green ones were inedible while the sweet ones were quite good. (I didn't have either this time.)

convention report: Corflu 43

Although I still receive a few fanzines, I consider myself retired from fanzine fandom, which is pretty much why I hadn't been to a Corflu, the annual convention of that small and elitist fraternity, in 15 years. But this one was to be in Santa Rosa, easily accessible from home, and the membership list was full of people I knew and would like to see again. So why not.

It felt like I'd never left. Conversations were resumed without any hitch. Only the visuals were startling. Many of us, and I don't except myself from this, have aged so much as to be hardly recognizable at first after a long time gap. And the number of physical infirmities and mobility aids was impressive. It's a sign of the times that, when 14 of us headed out on a group expedition to the Charles M. Schulz Museum (which I'd been to before more than once, but it's an excellent museum well worth revisiting), we all qualified for the senior discount but one, and she was given it by courtesy.

The hotel was a comfy Marriott just outside of downtown, with plenty of restaurants within walking distance, though because of my dietary restrictions I refrained from joining in. But I did risk the convention banquet, which was catered at our hotel meeting room from a Puerto Rican restaurant nearby, a favorite of Rich Coad, the convention chair. I was able to nibble at the ground beef picadillo, and some seasoned rice and beans, all delicious. It was an excellent choice of venue, at least for all of us, and the convention was altogether superbly run, so kudos to Rich and all the committee.

Interesting programming, too, curated by Jeanne Bowman. A couple panels on Bay Area fannish history, one on the Magic Cellar, which as moderator Deb Notkin aptly described it, was a nightclub that felt like home to the fans who frequented it; I was lucky enough to be one of its denizens for the last year of its existence in 1977-8. And a panel on local fandom of the 80s, which while it paid notice to the local clubs, the Little Men and PenSFA, which I frequented, concentrated on a circle focused in San Francisco some of whose members I knew well but which as a group I had no connection with.

Panels also on contemporary fan editing and APAs. I haven't belonged to an apa in 20 years, so some of the discussion of their migration away from print was news to me. I agree with the general opinion that an online discussion community isn't an apa, but the production of apazines as PDFs and their distribution over email, saving both the expense and time of physical mail - especially for international members - seemed a good idea, despite a song by Sandra Bond poking fun at the whole idea of efanzines that was sung lustily at closing ceremonies.

Of lighter programming, charades based on fanzine titles was a little dubious, especially as many of the attendees, including those tasked to do the charading, hadn't heard of some of the titles, and having them be ones we recognized was the whole point. On the other hand, slam storytelling - you get the microphone for five minutes, tell an amusing anecdote from your life - worked very well. The convention theme was pickles, so the storytellers worked that in somehow. In only a couple cases did that involve physical pickled cucumbers, but all the rest told of being in a pickle. Mostly stories of travel or of animals, or both. Tom Whitmore and Karen Anderson's story of transporting pet cats by car was perhaps the most amusing.

The Guest of Honor, name picked out of a hat as customary, was Jerry Kaufman, and his GoH speech at the banquet, on the embarrassing circumstances long ago which is why he never gives speeches, could have been another entry in the previous evening's storytelling. Past president of fwa, an honorary position chosen by acclamation, was Jeanne Gomoll. Geri Sullivan and Pat Virzi showed around the current draft of a book of Corflu memorabilia they're editing. Next year's Corflu will be in Vancouver BC, run by some of the same people running this one plus sundry.

I had a good time. I picked up a bunch of interesting-looking fanzines. I'm glad I came. Health permitting, I should resume going more often.

concert review: San Francisco Symphony

The problem with Mozart's Requiem is that he didn't live to finish it (ironically, since it's a requiem), and the substitute composers drafted in to complete the commission were not, frankly, very good. As a result a complete performance trails off awkwardly in the last few movements.

Various ideas have been tried to rescue the work from this problem. Today we had Manfred Honeck, music director from Pittsburgh, in to conduct his version. His plan is simply to cut out the parts Mozart had nothing to do with, and beef up the work by inserting other material. Sticking Ave Verum Corpus, a brief motet Mozart had written not much earlier, at the end was the conventional part of the plan; I've heard that done before, and it's a fine motet, so that works well. Also stuck in here, mostly as prelude but some as interludes, were other appropriate Mozart pieces, a movement from a Vespers and the Masonic Funeral Music, some Gregorian chants sung offstage by an almost inaudible male chorus, and some spoken readings, including the bit from Revelations about the Dies Irae, instantly followed by the music plunging into that movement of the Requiem.

The intent was to frame the work as a memorial for Mozart himself (highlighted by one of the readings being his letter to his dying father on the consolations of death), which was abruptly turned into a memorial for Joshua Robison, former SFS music director Michael Tilson Thomas's husband, who died last week. What it meant musically is that this was a very heavy, almost dragging, performance especially of the slow portions. I didn't find it very compelling artistically. That's a pity, because the performers (at least the ones onstage) were excellent, notably the Symphony Chorus which was as strong and rich as it's always been since Jenny Wong took over direction, and the soloists who don't get a lot, but of the four of them, all vivid with fine voices, the great Sasha Cooke stood out most.

Also on the program (the rebuilt Requiem took about an hour), works by Mozart's fellow Vienna classicists: Haydn's lively and quirky Symphony No. 93, and Beethoven's imposing Coriolan Overture, both more effectively put across than the main event.

three concerts in three days

It would have been four in four, except that a bad side-effects reaction to medication I'd been taking laid me out for a few days including Thursday's SF Symphony all-Beethoven concert. But I was feeling better by Friday.

Friday, Stanford Department of Music
All-Mendelssohn program by recent graduates. The Octet in full, the first two movements from the Op. 49 piano trio (in the opposite order. Why? Because they think it works better that way), and the first movement from the Op. 44/1 quartet. That last item was the best: dicey technically, but brought vivid soul to the music, especially the second theme.
Held not in the usual mini-auditorium but in the rehearsal hall, where there is little space. Already there was a small crowd there when I arrived half an hour early; by showtime the audience was bursting out of the room.

Saturday, Palo Alto Philharmonic
My niece's orchestra. Audible pizzicato thumps from the string basses, which she plays. Half Debussy: Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune, Nuages, Fêtes. Surprisingly technically proficient, and fairly crisp in the execution, which does Debussy more credit than he deserves. Half Tchaikovsky: the Pathétique. Rougher, without much grace but gotten through effectively.

Sunday, Junction Trio
Noe Valley Ministry concert in the City. Worth it for an exquisite Schubert Op. 99, Conrad Tao's piano merging perfectly with the strings. A little less notable for Beethoven's "Ghost" Trio, not as charming and, alas, disfigured by having alien music inserted between the ghostly Largo and the finale: an equally spooky piece by contemporary composer John Zorn supposedly inspired by the Beethoven but sounding nothing like it, instead being an entry in the "bleeps and whispers" school of ultra-modernism. Plus some early fragments by John Cage in the ethereal wispy style he cultivated when still writing conventional scores.

the reference formerly known

Why aren't people referring to Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor as "the Andrew formerly known as Prince"?