Enjoying a Symphony

In this arrangement, the conductor has to be very careful when he bows.

People who know that James Brown was the “Godfather of Soul” might not know that Franz Joseph Haydn was the “Father of the Symphony”.  And vice versa.

In the mid-18th century, “Papa” Haydn began writing symphonies, which the Harvard Dictionary of Music calls “the most important form of orchestral music.”  It borrowed from earlier styles, but Haydn’s music inspired composers like Mozart, Beethoven and Tchaikovsky to write majestic pieces that helped some audience members sleep off the big meals they had just eaten.

Ironically, modern audiences occasionally have difficulty appreciating classical music concerts because these performances require us to a) sit still, and b) listen.  This can be torture when one has just gulped down three energy drinks and can feel their iPhone throbbing in their pocket.

In the right frame of mind, though, a symphony performance can be soul-satisfying in ways James Brown couldn’t touch.  To enhance your next concert experience, here are a few reminders of things you probably already know…

The size of orchestras has grown since the 18th century, when they were performing in some rich guy’s living room or garden.  In today’s expansive venues, a full symphony orchestra typically has 75-90 instruments, most of which are strings.

The usual seating arrangement for the musicians has the first violins to the conductor’s left and the cellos to his or her right.  Second violins and violas are inside the semicircle, which is closed by the woodwinds — flutes, oboes, clarinets and bassoons.  Behind the woodwinds are the brass instruments; the percussion section is in back.

The photo above gives the general idea; this display was mounted on the wall of the Italy pavilion at the Shanghai World Expo in 2010.  To my knowledge, no musicians were compelled to climb into those chairs.

But let’s get back to our hypothetical upcoming concert.

A few minutes before the performance is to begin, the Concertmaster enters; he is the first-chair violinist and is therefore despised by all the other violinists.  Oh, they’re nice to his face, but the minute his back is turned, well…

Anyway, the Concertmaster gets the orchestra tuned up — the musicians all play an “A” note.  Audience applause is not expected for that accomplishment.  Moments later, the conductor strides in and gets the program underway.

Most symphonies have four movements.  The first is allegro (fast), the second is adagio (slow).  The third movement is often something like a dance number — a minuet or a waltz, maybe, but sometimes it’s scherzo (very fast).  The final movement, allegro, is fast and energetic, has several false endings, and eventually results in boisterous applause from the audience.

By the way, it is considered a breach of classical-music etiquette to applaud between movements.  If you have any doubts about when to clap, you can wait until at least ten other people have done so.

If they’re waiting for you to lead, though, all you have to do is watch the conductor.  He’ll hold his baton above his shoulders until the last note has faded away, and then he’ll lower his hands to his sides.  When he does that, go crazy.  The conductor will turn and take a deep bow, the sweat dripping off him like he’s James Brown.

The Poet and the Painting

“Landscape With the Fall of Icarus”, attributed to Pieter Brueghel (c. 1560) — Musee des Beaux Arts, Brussels

When you visit an art museum, a comment you’ll often overhear is “what time are we supposed to be back on the bus?”  Other popular topics include the lines for the rest rooms and the prices in the cafeteria.

Occasionally, though, I’ve heard museum visitors say stuff about the art they were seeing that was so perceptive I’ve wanted to high-five them.  The poet W.H. Auden had one of those brilliant insights, expressed in a poem he wrote in the late 1930s.  It’s called Musée des Beaux Arts.

That’s the name of a museum in Brussels, Belgium; it houses a quirky painting that until recently was attributed to the 16th-century Flemish artist Pieter Brueghel the Elder.  Its title is “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus”.  (Click on the picture above to enlarge it.)

You probably remember the Greek myth about Icarus, whose father Daedalus made wings for himself and his son.  Wax was a component of the wings, and when Icarus flew too close to the sun, the wax melted and Icarus plummeted into the sea.

If a painting is titled, say, “Madonna and Child”, it’s not unreasonable to assume that the composition will prominently include Mary and the baby.  That’s one of the odd things about the Icarus painting, though:  He’s not the central figure.  In fact, you have to look closely at the painting to see Icarus at all.  In the lower right corner of the picture, his flailing legs are sticking out of the water.

Everyone else in the painting is oblivious to this guy who has fallen from the sky and is drowning.  So Auden, who apparently visited the Museum of Fine Arts in 1938, stood in front of this painting and thought, “Hmm.  What was the artist trying to convey with this peculiar composition?”  For that matter, he wondered what other artists were communicating when they depicted people and animals around the margins who were seemingly missing nearby miraculous events.  Here’s what Auden realized…

Musée des Beaux Arts

 About suffering they were never wrong,                                                                      The Old Masters:  how well they understood                                                               Its human position; how it takes place                                                                    While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking                    dully along;                                                                                                                      How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting                                        For the miraculous birth, there always must be                                               Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating                                       On a pond at the edge of the wood:                                                                            They never forgot                                                                                                            That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course                                   Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot                                                                   Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse          Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Brueghel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away                          Quite leisurely from the disaster; the plowman may                                             Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,                                                                     But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone                                       As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green                                  Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen                      Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,                                                     Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

On Assignment

Because you’ve been nice enough to follow this blog, it’s the least I can do to explore more potential topics.  That’s one of the reasons I assigned myself the trip I’m currently taking; the fact that I love to travel has something to do with it, too.

If you’re able to read this, it means that I have been able to find internet service.  That has not always been easy, because Sally and I are in a part of the world that is not famous for its cutting-edge technology.  (The photo that accompanies this post might be misleading; it was taken in Madrid, Spain, which is very high-tech.)

After I have returned home and get my laundry in the washing machine I’ll resume posting, but in the meantime, feel free to browse around my blog.  See if you can discern a theme to it.  (As far as I can tell, there isn’t one.)  Thanks again for your frequent visits here — we’ll talk soon!

Changing the Subject

"Yes, we have to be dry-cleaned. We're wool, you know."

When you gather with friends and family for the holidays, you have a pretty good idea of what conversational pitfalls to avoid.  By now you know which family member believes aliens are real, or which friend thinks the solution to the current political situation is to nuke Massachusetts.

You know not to let Aunt Cynthia see you eating a cracker. (“Those things are laced with preservatives — you might as well eat poison.”)  You are careful to stay away from topics that ultimately make your loved ones storm out and slam doors.

When you’re at a social gathering of people with whom you are only slightly acquainted, though, it’s more challenging to avoid a) tension or b) boredom.  After you and the guest seated next to you have agreed that it certainly is unusual weather for this time of year, where do you risk going next?

Sometimes you don’t get a choice in the matter, because that stranger with whom you have been thrown together is a windbag.  Several years ago, Sally and I were at a banquet table; our dinner companions included a man who grew up in North Dakota.  He thought we would all be fascinated by stories from his youth, mostly concerning livestock.  He shared anecdotes about a calf that didn’t have a penis, about castrating cattle, about techniques of artificial insemination.  These were not stories, really, because they never went anywhere — it was just a jumble of ruminations involving things that shouldn’t be discussed at mealtime.

In circumstances like that, or when attempts at conversation have lapsed into awkward silence, obviously someone needs to change the subject –  but to what?  In the situation described above, it wouldn’t improve things much to talk instead about that fake doctor in Florida who was doing cosmetic surgery with cement, mineral oil, and flat-tire sealant.

The list of hot-button topics goes beyond the merely revolting to politics, religion, ethnicity, favorite sports teams, celebrity divorces, and the questionable military strategy of King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

So here’s one approach to changing the subject that should be relatively safe:  bring up an Imponderable.  You may not know them by that name, but they have certainly popped into your head from time to time.  It’s stuff for which there seems to be no simple explanation. 

For example, why does “homely” have an unpleasant connotation?  I think of home as a good thing.  Or here’s another one:  When something is described as “foolproof”, who did they test it on?

There are lots of Imponderables floating around the internet, like “What does cheese say when it has its picture taken?”  There’s also “What was the best thing before sliced bread?”  Did you ever stop to wonder why sheep don’t shrink when it rains?  One that just occurred to me is why we call them Imponderables — we’re pondering them right now, aren’t we?

Anyway, when you find yourself in a situation that requires a change of subject, bringing up one or more of the Imponderables could do the trick.  Before you know it, you just might be standing at that punch bowl all by yourself!

What to Think About at 3 a.m.

This is the goal. (Photo by Sally Reeder)

If you are an emergency room nurse or a policeman or an airline pilot and are on duty at 3 a.m., this is not for you.  Please stay awake!  However, if you’re one of those people who is supposed to be sleeping at that hour but is flopping around in bed instead, this just might help.

So you’re lying there, vaguely aware of the progress last night’s dinner is making through your alimentary tract.  What’s keeping you awake, though, is not what’s in your gut, it’s what’s in your mind — thoughts.  Specifically, you’re thinking about the wrong things.

Maybe you’re thinking about financial troubles, and that’s understandable.  But do you think the guy at the bank is losing sleep over your loan?  If he’s not, why should you?

Or perhaps your thoughts are focused on trying to recall the words to a song you loved back in 10th grade.  Thank you — we’re all grateful that you’re sacrificing a good night’s sleep to honor Whitney Houston’s lyricist.

A lot of awake-in-the-night is generated by relationship problems, and I know how much they can hurt.  Here’s something to remember, though:  Problems are patient.  They will be waiting for you in the morning.  Besides, even if you come up with the perfect solution at 3 a.m., you won’t be able to remember it by 8.

Another common mistake in the wee hours is thinking about what you have to do tomorrow.  The catch is, if you don’t go to sleep now, the most difficult thing you’ll have to do tomorrow will be trying to stay awake.

About now you’re saying, “Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”  (Your irritability is probably due to lack of sleep.)  OK, here’s what I’m getting at.  If what we are thinking is the problem, let’s turn it around and make it the solution.  Just as you would with a toddler in a busy intersection, you have to take your mind by the hand and keep it from going in dangerous directions.  Lead it to sleep-inducing thoughts, like these…

•  Imagine that you have bad seats at a hockey game.  All your mind’s eye can see is players endlessly skating in circles and flailing with their sticks.  Guys skate backward… they bump into walls…  (If you’re Canadian and therefore understand the rules of hockey, imagine you’re at a synchronized-swimming event instead.)

•  Think about shopping with a friend; you’ve been at it for hours.  She says, “Would you hold these bags while I try on this sweater?”  As you mentally stand there in the store, all you want to do is lie down and put your feet up — oh wait, you actually are lying down!  Gosh, it feels good, doesn’t it?

Now imagine she’s saying from the dressing room, “Could you see if they have this in a medium?”  Keep thinking thoughts like that until the comfort of being in bed – and not in that store — overwhelms you.

•  Picture yourself sitting on an airplane next to a stranger who is telling you the plot of a novel he/she is thinking of writing.  None of it makes sense, but you’re trying to be polite and listen.  By the time the would-be author gets to the part about the hero turning into a unicorn, you’ll be snoring.

These are just examples, and they do require some mental effort — which is the point.  If you have other ideas about sure-fire ways to get to sleep, share them with us.  And please don’t say “Reading your blog, Tom.”  Then I won’t be able to sleep.

Sea Glass

Part of Our Collection

It was about 20 years ago when I first became aware of it.  Sally and I were strolling on the beach and noticed a woman who was walking very slowly and staring at the wet sand where the incoming waves exhaust themselves.  Occasionally she would bend down and pick up small objects.  I assumed they were shells or pebbles, but I asked anyway:  “What are you finding?”

“Sea glass,” she said.

In case you haven’t heard of it, sea glass is broken pieces of glass that have been bounced around by the waves until the sand has buffed them smooth and jewel-like (see photo).  Green, white and brown seem to be the most common bits, and it’s not difficult to imagine that those shards were once part of beer bottles or windshields.

We have found pale shades of blue that look like they were from a Bombay Sapphire gin bottle, and darker blues that we assume may have once contained Vicks VapoRub or Milk of Magnesia.  Other colors, like amber or yellow, turn up occasionally.

Red sea glass sets off an impromptu celebration on the beach when it is found because it is so rare.  Presumably, red pieces were originally car tail lights, or nautical running lights.

So what does one do with sea glass?  Some artisans make jewelry out of it, and others make “stained glass” art objects.  My running joke is that I intend to make a mosaic replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s “Last Supper” out of sea glass.  “Oh, this will be perfect for Peter’s robe,” I’ll say when I find a little nugget.  My wife smiles tolerantly since that is the 497th time she has heard some version of that same joke.

Mostly sea glass collecting is a hobby, in the same way that other people collect antique mousetraps or sock puppets.  For all I know there are probably organizations formed by those hobbyists, just as there is a North American Sea Glass Association.

That group concluded its annual festival in New Jersey on October 9th, at which a giant check for $1,000 was presented to the 2011 Grand Prize winner in the Shard of the Year contest.  (It was a very unusual orange piece that was once a toy watch.)

Incidentally, we are not members of that organization; we haven’t gotten to that level of sea glass commitment.  We’re content to just pick it up when we happen to see it, and appreciate the beauty that has developed from something that used to be trash. 

Sally once remarked that the same principle that makes sea glass so attractive may apply to people, too:  sometimes life has to toss us around a little to smooth out our rough edges.  No, actually I think her point was that someone who has been cast aside by one person can be seen as valuable by someone else.

Either way, she may be on to something, and here’s what I’m thinking…  maybe if I get tumbled for another 10 years or so, I might win one of those giant $1,000 checks!

Gone Again

Don’t think for a moment that I’m just off having fun somewhere.  No, I’m currently doing research for a future blog post.  Without divulging my exact location, let’s just say that as you read this, I am probably pleading with a hotel desk clerk who can find no record of our reservation.  And I may not be doing that in English.

I’ll get back to my word-arranging duties soon, so you can expect to see new posts in a couple of weeks.  While you’re waiting, though, feel free to have a look around; check out posts you may have missed.

Since the inception of Tom Reeder’s Blog in 2009, the most popular post has been “Blondin’s Question” (1/14/09), about the French daredevil who crossed Niagara Falls several times on a tightrope.  Others that have had a lot of views include “Fake Beer” (10/1/09), “Artistic License” (12/17/09) and “The Circle of Willis” (2/4/11).

On the other hand, if you’d like to visit posts that are feeling neglected because they didn’t get a lot of attention, there is “Look, You Can See Our Farm From Up Here” (8/17/10), which deals with the invention of the Ferris Wheel, or “Food Is Bad For You” (6/27/11).

Feel free to hang out as long as you want, and stop by again soon!

Get to Know Your Sister

The Broad-shouldered Sister of Paris

Do you have a sister city? 

Well, not you personally; I mean, is the community in which you live paired with another one somewhere in the world?  It was just a few days ago when I learned that my town has an official relationship with a place in Mexico that I didn’t know existed.  In fairness, most of their population has probably never heard of us, either.

It got me wondering, though, what the deal is with sister cities.  When it’s Thanksgiving, can you ask your sister city to bring pumpkin pies for 200,000?  Will your sister city let you cry on her shoulder when that nice-looking midwestern township you’d been seeing dumps you for Las Vegas?

An organization called Sister Cities International, which facilitates these relationships, traces its roots to the Eisenhower administration, but Toledo, Ohio, and Toledo, Spain, claim to have been hermanas since 1931.  Coventry, England, and Stalingrad (now Volgograd) formed a misery-loves-company friendship in World War II, when both were heavily bombed.

Incidentally, in some parts of the world these municipal partnerships are referred to as friendship cities or twin towns.  No matter what they are called, the basic idea of these relationships is to carry out cultural and economic exchanges to their mutual advantage.  This initially involves city officials getting together, drinking too much and making long-winded toasts.  Worthwhile projects eventually emerge, though, and I’m in favor of anything that encourages international cooperation.

The connection between some city pairs is not obvious, at least not visually.  I have been to Albany, New York, and Nassau, Bahamas, and never once thought, “Wow, those two could be twins!”  Similarly, if I woke up in Buffalo, New York, my first thought would not be, “This is just like being in Siena, Italy.”

Those are probably exceptional pairings.  In most cases, it seems that the glamorous cities seek each other out, like rush in a sorority house.  Beverly Hills has two sisters:  Acapulco and Cannes.  Shanghai, China, has 61 municipal siblings, including places like Casablanca, Montreal, Istanbul, and Milan — Wichita need not apply.

Some of the most beautiful sisters in the world are in the family of Paris:  Washington, D.C., Rome, San Francisco, Buenos Aires, Prague, Berlin, São Paulo, Moscow, Madrid, Beirut and Chicago are among them.  Technically, most are called “partner cities” or some other euphemism, but they all hang out with Paris and go shopping for purses together.

The New York sorority is a bunch of lookers, too:  Cairo, Tokyo, Beijing, London, Johannesburg and Budapest are sisters of the Big Apple.

The Sister Cities International website gives some suggestions about how these relationships can begin, but I still wonder who asks whom first:  “Do you want to share cultural, educational and economic development projects?”  That has to be awkward at times.  How do you say “no” when someone wants to be your sister, even if you have little in common?

Well, I don’t think you can (unless you’re one of those rich-girl cities).  You just smile and say, “I’d love to!”  Based on that, Nashville might be the best sister a city could have:  it said “yes” to Belfast, Ireland, and Edmonton, Alberta.

Fresh Laughter

A view from the seats

You’re sitting at home, watching an alleged comedy on television.  A character in the show says, “My butt hurts,” or something else that falls well below your standard of what constitutes funny, but unseen people inside your television are roaring.  Some are even applauding a line of dialogue that made you sneer.  You dismiss the crowd reaction as “canned laughter”, assuming that it must be a recording stolen from some other show and cynically edited into this one. 

Well, you’re wrong.

OK, maybe not completely wrong (as I’ll explain in a bit), but generally the laughter you hear on a TV show soundtrack is supplied by people who are reacting to what they are seeing and hearing in person:  a real studio audience, in other words.  When you’re watching at home, you have no way of knowing that the actor had flubbed that mediocre line three takes in a row.  The studio audience knows, though, and when he finally gets it right, their boisterous laughter and applause is sort of a sarcastic cheer.

Now, here’s where you’re not wrong about canned laughter:  Occasionally there are jokes that do get the benefit of “sweetening”, as it’s called, but usually that means adding a few recorded chuckles, not major guffaws.  And that doesn’t happen nearly as often as you suspect.  For the most part, you’re hearing the honest audience reaction, whether you think it’s deserved or not — it’s fresh laughter, not canned.

So who are these studio audience people, and why do they find everything so darn funny?  There are the agents, managers, and current spouse of the star; the writer’s wife; some relatives of other cast and crew members.  Those people all have a financial interest in laughing loudly, but they represent a small percentage of the total audience.  Most of the 200+ seats are filled with people who are under no obligation to even smile.

There is an outfit in Los Angeles called Audiences Unlimited that is used by most of the show production companies to recruit guests and distribute tickets, which are free.  It probably was a breeze to find people interested in seeing Cheers or Seinfeld or Everybody Loves Raymond.  On less popular shows, recruiters may have to resort to, “Hey, man, at least it’s a chance to get out of the rain for a while.”

Once inside the studio, the audience is greeted by a “warmup man” (or woman) who keeps convivial patter going during the breaks in filming –  it often takes 2 or 3 hours to film a half-hour show.  The warmup man also reminds the audience about plot developments in previous scenes.  I’m guessing that when you watch the show at home you don’t have a warmup man; you have a sour stomach from that leftover pizza you probably shouldn’t have eaten, and the dog is clawing at the door so it can go outside and do its business.  Distractions like that may make the show seem less funny to you than it does to the people who are seeing it in person.

There’s also something to be said for the collective experience they’re having — laughter is contagious, as the saying goes.  (The star’s spouse may also be contagious, but that’s just a rumor.)  Real laughter — fresh laughter, not the canned stuff — is definitely a live virus.

Out the Door

It’s time for a hiatus here at Tom Reeder’s Blog.  As it happens,  the entire editorial staff will be heading out on a research assignment for a couple of weeks.  It will be eerily quiet in the office corridors of TRB, no doubt — the clatter of word-processing equipment replaced by the pacing of our guards from Shoot First Security Services.

New posts will resume in mid-September, but in the meantime you are welcome to browse through the archives.  There may be earlier posts that you missed or that you’d like to re-read, such as “Wow Moments” (10/11/09), which elicited several thoughtful comments.  If you haven’t weighed in on that topic, we’d love to hear from you.  (Bear in mind that the comment moderator is also temporarily absent.)

Other articles that might be worth your time are “Psst.  Hey, Buddy — Wanna Buy a Rembrandt?” (5/6/09), “One for the Books” (7/15/10), and “Chapter One” (6/25/09).  Or feel free to type a word or phrase into the search pane and see what pops up.

Thank you for checking in here from time to time.  When I return, I know I’ll have more stories that I’ll want to share with you, so come back soon!