The Last of the Heath Hens

Guest Blogger Dept.: It’s refreshing to learn that, along with all of his other passions, Robert Benchley nurtured an environmental awareness, as his report on the Heath Hen reminds us.

                                                                                      

WELL, THE HEATH HEN has gone! We might as well face it. The sole surviving specimen of Tympanudius cupido, which has been hopping and flitting about the island of Martha’s Vineyard for the past few years under the fascinated gaze of the ornithologists, has disappeared, and, it is feared, has died without issue. It was not enough that the world should be tottering, its reason going, its standards gone. The Heath Hen must be taken from us.

Robert Benchley
Drawing by Gluyas Williams

We knew that it would have to happen some time, but it is hard to believe that there will never be another Heath Hen. We didn’t mind so much when we were told that the Great Auk was extinct, or the Labrador Duck, or the Passenger Pigeon. Even the news about the Eskimo Curlews (although there is hope that there are still a few Eskimo Curlews left who are just playing possum or sulking) didn’t give us that sinking feeling that we experienced when we heard about the Heath Hen. No more Heath Hens – ever! Thank God, John James Audubon did not live to hear that gloomy pronouncement. (He missed it by just three-quarters of a century.)

It seems only yesterday that I saw the Heath Hen at Martha’s Vineyard. She looked as well then as she ever did, but she never was what you would call a robust bird. They did not keep her captive. She was too proud a spirit for that. 

The Old Song and Dance

From the Vault of the Distant Muses Dept.: Alongside the restaurant review I posted last week was a handful of other pieces of mine that appeared in Metroland in 1987. I chose three of them to illustrate the variety of goings-on in the Albany, NY, area back then. The Boys Choir of Harlem ceased operations in 2007, as Wikipedia is happy to inform you. Pianist Pola Baytelman continues to perform and record, and although Alvin Ailey died two years after my piece appeared (my writing had nothing to do with it), the dance company he founded continues to thrive.

                                                                                                 

YOU GO BACK TO 1968 to find the beginnings of the Boys Choir of Harlem, when Dr. Walter J. Turnbull and Ruth Nixon started a small choir in the basement of Ephesus Church in the well-known Manhattan district. Then the church burned down the following year.

The Boys Choir of Harlem

They moved to a local community center and had to endure a lack of heat in the winter. And their travels continued: in 1975 they were at the Church of the Intercession; in 1984 they got their first real home, an entire floor in what was P.S. 68, giving them classrooms, office space -- and proper performance areas.

An independent day school for girls was founded there in 1979; next year a similar co-ed program will be started.

But that’s hardly all that’s been happening with this active group. A year ago this month they performed on a TV special with Harry Belafonte. In June, Dr. Turnbull was given the Presidential Volunteer Action Award at the White House.

Newbie at the Hot Pot

From the Food Vault Dept.: Below is a review I wrote in early 1987, when I was about six years old. At least, that’s how it looks to me as I read it today. I’d been reviewing restaurants for only a few months, which was only about a year into my tenure of writing professionally about anything. I was (and am) a self-taught writer, and figured that my few years cooking professionally qualified me for the food-review gig. But Japanese food was new to me. Sushi was new to me (as you’ll see). And the phenomenon of shabu-shabu, also known as steamboat and hot pot, was completely new. I’ve had wonderful meals of it since, and even bought my own pot to offer it as at-home dinner treats. Sugi is long gone, and the space it occupied has gone through many incarnations over the years, including Charlie’s Corner, State Street Station, and Gar-Bo’s. 

                                                                                                   

“Is this your first time to order shabu shabu?” the waitress asked. Yes, I told her. “Oh, okay. Many people who are not used to shabu shabu don’t like beef in seafood broth.”

Shabu shabu

You can’t intimidate me that way. Not even in a Japanese restaurant. Octopus, for example, looks disgusting on a plate. But sit me down beside someone who says “yuck” and you can bet I’ll be smacking my lips over the cephalopod.

The place: Sugi, a busy little restaurant the Schenectady side of the intersection of Route 7 and State Street. The time: A recent Saturday, early evening.

Dining rooms don't get much less assuming. This is your basic paneling-with-drop-ceiling joint, but dressed with charming Japanese screens and fans to mask the plainness.

And there's a sushi bar at the far end of the room to capture the eye, with a handful of chairs for the dedicated eaters of the raw fish delicacies.

Taking It on the Chen

From the Classical Vault Dept.: Fifteen years ago, violinist Ray Chen performed in Schenectay, yet another example of a rising star being snagged for a local performance early enough in that career ascendancy to make such a booking possible. I thought we could have made him feel more welcome.

                                                                                      

Ray Chen

WHERE’S YOUR BACKBONE, PEOPLE? I’m talking to you, the audience at Ray Chen’s dazzling recital last week. The violinist finished with a Wieniawski finger-buster that spewed wicked spiccato, left-hand pizzicato, harmonics true and false and other virtuoso hallmarks, a spectacular finish to an astounding program. You leapt to your feet, applauding madly, and Chen and pianist Andrew Tyson returned and bowed and returned and bowed again.

Then Chen pulled a fast one: He played a slow one, “Melodie” by Gluck, a Fritz Kreisler arrangement of a flute tune from “Orfeo ed Euridice.” It’s a beautiful display of violin tone and interpretive gentleness, but, as an encore, it does more than that. It calms the audience, robbing them of the furor that the finger-buster provoked. 

And you applauded, albeit in a more restrained manner, and even before they were offstage after their second set of bows that time, you packed up your hands and toddled home.

Enriching the Hall

From the Comedy Vault Dept.: Back in my reviewing heyday, I presented myself as someone able to write knowledgably about many different disciplines, usually the snooty ones, but I enjoyed forays into realms like comedy, popular song, and even offbeat subjects like ice skating. Here’s a look at Rich Hall’s stop in Schenectady in 1990. Hall dipped into the SNL universe for a season and since has been busy writing plays (at his ranch in Montana) and living and working in London.

                                                                                  

RICH HALL'S APPEARANCE at Proctor’s Theatre Thursday night was presented in the guise of comedy, and it’s true that he worked a lot of delightfully-entertaining bits into his set. But he’s really, down deep, a humorist, following a tradition too few comics know about these days.

I haven’t seen him on television and was worried that I wouldn’t be able to share in the instant recognition factor – and that there’d be inside jokes I wouldn’t get.

It wasn’t like that at all. Hall works the audience with easily-recognizable situations – like so many others, he has his own dog and cat routine – but he’s also got a fascination with language that leads him into a territory of free-association once the province only of people like George Carlin.

Like Carlin, Hall explores the sound and sense of words. They differ markedly in matter, however. Carlin shocks by going for the jugular of taboos and chills the audience into laughing at itself. Hall’s is a warmer approach, making friends with the crowd and inviting them into the banter.

Courting the Farmgirl

From the Concert Vault Dept.: Baritone Sanford Sylvan displayed such virtuosity as he moved through his 30s that his resume included appearances with major opera companies and orchestras throughout the world, and the creation of roles in two acclaimed John Adams operas: “Nixon in China,” in which Syvan sang the role of Chou En-lai, and then the title role in “The Death of Klinghoffer.” We were fortunate enough to see him several times in the Albany area, including performaces as part of what was then known as the Schenectady Museum-Union College concert series. He was based in Manhattan but long associated with Boston, and he spent sabbatical time in Scotland. When he died in 2019, at the age of 65, his New York Times obituary failed to mention, among his survivors, the man he married in 1996. I reviewed his 1984 Union College recital here; below is a recently unearthed review of his 1994 visit, with Schubert’s “Schoene Muellerin.”

                                                                                            

SUPPOSE YOU FINALLY GET this attractive farmgirl to pay attention to you, then she suddenly throws you over for some hidebound hunter. Do you punch him out? Sue him?

Sanford Sylvan

If you're a self-pitying German poet, you rush home and write verse about it, ending up with the lullaby sung to you by the brook you flung yourself into. 

I haven't checked to see whether Wilhelm Mueller was actually being autobiographical in his cycle of 23 poems, published in 1820, but the sorrow and sentiment in “Die Schoene Muellerin” shines through a reading of bare texts and erupts into a magical marriage of music and verse in Schubert's famous setting of all but three of the poems.

The Schenectady Museum-Union College Concert Series had a later-than-usual finish as baritone Sanford Sylvan and pianist David Breitman were at last able to present this cycle. Measles – that dreaded Capital District word just now – postponed the concert until last night.

Which meant no other hardship than that we got to see a gorgeous sunset through the high windows of the Union College Memorial Chapel as Breitman opened the program with the Drei Klavierstücke, D. 946, by Schubert.

Jazzing the Classics

FOR A FEW DECADES during the last century, when classical music was a familiar part of the musical landscape, many jazz bands borrowed tunes with pleasing results. John Kirby’s sextet recorded several such examples (his Schubert Serenade is a knockout), and Freddy Martin set lyrics to those strains. Harry James played the Bumblebee; Woody Herman did the Sabre Dance. The practice has fallen off a great deal since then, but two recent recordings remind us that, as bassist Mark Wade puts it, “A good tune is a good tune.”

Wade’s trio performs on “New Stages” (Dot Time), a fifteen-track collection that takes some unusual turns through the classical repertory, while pianist Ted Rosenthal’s trio (and guests) explore eleven songs on “Impromp2" (TMR), so-named because it’s a follow-up to his 2010 collection of classical-informed pieces. 

Both collections share rhythmically compelling, harmonically inventive approaches to the music under consideration and, remarkably, given the breadth of source material out there, they also share a single piece: Chopin’s Waltz in A-Flat Major, Op. 69 No. 1, known to many as the “Farewell.” 

Rosenthal’s version was fashioned as a vehicle for Ken Peplowski, in one of the clarinetist’s final sessions (see Chip Defaa’s tribute to Peplowski in the March issue). It opens with a straightforward reading of the tune by Peplowski in duet with Rosenthal, who gives a light swing to his first solo passage; without deviating very much from the structure of the piece, Peplowski and Rosenthal alternate 16-bar passages, diving behind its innocent sweetness to embellish the melody with increasing urgency before Peplowski calms it again and brings it home.