Hop on the Local!

As my ability to walk and even stand continues to deteriorate, I dreaded the process of putting together this year's Thanksgiving meal. And I didn't have to, because my daughter took over in order to implement her wish to keep as much of the component ingredients local as possible (revisiting a concept I used for our 2006 dinner). The resultant menu is below, and here's a link to the menus from our previous 24 years at this address.

Cascading into the End of Time

From the Musical Vault Dept.: The Cascade Soloists, as a group, is no more, but clarinetist David Shifrin continues a distinguished career on the faculty of Yale (among other schools) and as a longtime part of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. Violinist Ik-Hwan Bae was an enthusiastic chamber-music performer as well as concertmaster of South Korea’s Hwaum Chamber Orchestra, while pianist William Doppmann was a composer as well, winning two Guggenheim Fellowships in that capacity; both died over a decade ago. I can find no recent internet trail of cellist Warren Lash. But we’re going back 40 years now (as we did last week) to revisit a wonderful concert performed by the four of them in Schenectady.

                                                                                       

Cascade Soloists is a charming name for a chamber music ensemble, and their performance at Union College’s Memorial Chapel on Friday night was a charming concert. The music was well chosen and received the kind of sensitive ensemble playing that is usually the result of many more years of collaboration than the few the Cascade Soloists have racked up.

The quartet comprises David Shifrin, William Doppmann, Ik-Hwan Bae, and Warren Lash playing, respectively, clarinet, piano, violin, and cello. That makes Olivier Messiaen’s “Quartet for the End of Time” a natural selection, and it concluded Friday’s concert.

First performed in 1941 while the composer was held prisoner in Germany, it combines a bleak sense of those surroundings with a bold tribute to the tenth chapter of the Book of Revelation.

There is a pastoral aspect to the piece in two senses of the term: the religious underpinnings are topped with a setting of birdsong, and this awareness of nature informs much of the work.

An Andean Flavor at a Mexican Restaurant

From the Vault Dept.: Tahuantinsuyo, a trio or quartet of musicians specializing in indigenous music of South America, was founded in the 1970s and endured at least until 2012. Their website no longer exists, however, but their recording “Tahuantinsuyo: Music of the Andes” is available at various online music sites. After reading the review below, which I wrote 40 years ago, I just might buy one.

                                                                                                  

BOB PHANEAUF, soon-to-be former chef of El Loco Mexican Café, is offering the Albany area a nightspot with good food and an impressive lineup of musicians, all in a comfortable atmosphere reminiscent of the folk clubs that proliferated in Greenwich Village 25 years ago. The question is: Will the area support such a place?

Based on the performance by Tahuantinsuyo, a quartet of South American musicians which appeared at the club Sunday night, there is an audience that appreciates such fine (if eclectic) music. The house (performances are given at the eba Chapter House at the comer of Lark and Hudson Streets) seats about 200 and most of the seats were taken.

Spokesman for most of the musical numbers was Pepe Santana, from Ecuador. Like the other three (who are from Bolivia and Peru), be plays guitar, mandolin, pan pipes, pennywhistle and drums, and sings. He explained that “Tahuantinsuyo” refers to the area that was once the Inca empire; it literally translates as “four corners of the world,” and refers to an area that now covers most of Bolivia, Peru, and Ecuador, and parts of Colombia, Argentina, and Chile.

The House of Pharoah Heard

YOU’RE PROBABLY NOT GOING TO like this set. But I don’t want to underestimate you. To make the critical balancing act worse, I don’t want to oversell you, either. I do this all the time in my house, praising to the skies a movie or a recording that my family then confesses didn’t at all live up to my encomium. 

Pharoah Sanders took the tenor sax out of the hands of John Coltrane, so to speak, and proved that its previously understood limiting factors could be stretched unimaginably further. He got all manner of sound out of its bell, many of them not immediately pleasing to humans and probably harmful to pets. 

While in his early 20s, Sanders and his horn settled in New York City, where he went from occasional homelessness – often crashing with Sun Ra – to gigs with the likes of Don Cherry. By 1965, he was part of John Coltrane’s ensemble. You’ll hear his early work on the Coltrane albums “Ascension” and “Meditations.” But if Coltrane was playing “anti-jazz,” as downbeat opined in 1961, Sanders had further to go.

Post-Coltrane, he continued releasing albums on the Impulse! label, with a few side-trips to Arista and Strata-East, but in 1980 he signed with the young Theresa label, beginning an eight-album association that lasted through 1986. 

"Good Luck"

Guest Blogger Dept.: Robert Benchley takes a gamble here to write about luck, our conceptions of which we can safely characterize as superstitions. If we’re lucky. Benchley portrait by Gluyas Williams.

                                                                                   

AND NOW they are trying to take away our superstitions from us. First they tax us until it is cheaper not to earn any money at all, then they force us to drink beer, and now they come along and tell us that we mustn't believe that if your nose itches you are going to have company.

I am not a superstitious man myself, but no Columbia University professor is going to sit there and tell me that if an actor (or anybody) whistles in a dressing room it doesn't mean bad luck for the person nearest the door. That's a scientific fact.

Neither will I be told that I must throw out all the little odds and ends of clothing and currency that I have accumulated during the past quarter of a century, each one of which has been certified by the United States Bureau of Standards as a definite good luck piece. I have proved their worth time after time (chiefly by not having had them with me when I had bad luck). I have an old green tie which I have worn so much that it now looks as if I were being led out to be lynched, and has that ever failed me? Never! I may not have always had good luck with it on, but it was because I forgot to wrap this long end around twice while tying it, or because I didn't have the ends even. The tie itself is sure-fire good luck, and I'll let no crack-brained theorist tell me different.

Backing Up, No Beeping

From the Tech Vault Dept.: Another of those mystery pieces that leap into my lap from time to time, in this case as I searched for something else in the depths of my computer archives. I would say this dates from about 2002, but I’m not going to go nuts finding out if it ever was published or not and if so, where. It’s about a technology that had its day, and caused a bunch of those oddball backup tapes to accumulate until the hardware went bad and orphaned my data.

                                                                                     

THE CENTURY TURNED, the lights stayed on. Your computer shrugged off the date change and you’re going to be sipping bottled water for a long, long time. How about backing up your data now?

What an unsexy subject! With all the inventive, colorful and just plain silly stuff out there competing for our time and money, backing up computer data is boredom itself. Unless you thought to shell out for the proper hardware when you bought your system (and it’s not a popular option), you have to pony up extra bucks for equipment that takes up space, requires costly media, gets in your way when you’re up late finishing a project, and then does nothing.

Until you lose a hard drive.

The question, as one backup software developer once put it, isn’t if your hard drive is going to fail – it’s when. You don’t get much warning, if any. And when it happens, you’ll enjoy an unbelievably sickening feeling as you realize just how much data – data you need! – was sitting on that hard drive. 

The Music Comes Round and Round

YOU WILL COME AWAY from this book with no doubt about Alex M. Stein’s love for his favored music. In fact, no matter how fervent a music-lover you may think yourself, the 40 essays contained herein may cause you to question your own depth of passion.

Stein’s talent has been realized and honed through years of professional writing and theater-making. He often performs his stories before an audience, and I’m guessing it’s this that gives his prose appealing contours of rhythm and an engaging mellifluousness. He uses judicious repetition of words and phrases which, along with such tools as assonance and alliteration, reveal the poetry lurking within these pieces.

There’s a commonality among those who obsess early on about music. At least those of, as we say, a certain age. Physical possession was important. If your obsession began in the LP days, you stockpiled records, both latest releases and elusive antiques. Your ears, ever-alert to nuance, treasured the differences a single song could display across a number of performances, even (or especially) by the same ensemble.

But most profound are the emotional associations created by the confluence of song and event. Stein’s musical universe, inadequately defined as “rock ‘n’ roll,” is far enough away from mine that I feared I’d have no commonality with his book. Until I read, in the Introduction, “If you’ve ever been dumped by someone and found you can no longer stand the music you associate with them, you’re definitely my people,” and realized that, no matter the music, we have grounds for bonding.

Speaking in Tongues

AS A LIFELONG CAT PERSON, I am most comfortable when my beast of the moment is snoozing on the nearby chair or prowling the house and yard for snacks, or just sitting nearby, staring into the middle distance. Whenever I catch her at that (and my cats, over the sixty-some years I’ve had them, almost always were female), she doesn’t even acknowledge my gaze by meeting my eye but busily commences grooming, often comically sitting on her haunches and bending into positions that cause my back to ache merely through looking. A few swipes of tongue over fur and then she glances my way, asking, “And what’s the big deal, Sparky?”

We fare well together, these cats and I. I make no big deal of this pet preference, having long believed it speaks for itself. Evidently, however, it hasn’t spoken to my daughter. 

Two years ago, Lily decided she needed a dog. Another dog, to put it correctly. The one that had been in residence for several year, a black Lab, had health-declined so badly so quickly that we had to pull the plug. A process I hate, yet one in which I’ve participated at the end of the life of nearly every pet I’ve had for the past forty-or-so years. 

“I’ve had enough of it,” I declared. “I’ve played Charon to too many of our four-legged friends.” Undermining my cause a little, I fear, because my daughter interprets any flowery language to mean that I’m out of my mind (or more so than usual) and not to be taken seriously. Seeing her skeptical moue, I reiterated: “No more dogs!”

Dinner at the Family Manse

From the Food Vault Dept.: It’s the 25th anniversary of the review posted below, a review of a restaurant in Amsterdam, NY, that had been in business in its current incarnation for 17 years, and has surpassed that by remaining in business today. I’m sad to report that Vittorio Valentino died in August, but the family continues to operate the restaurant, and re-reading the review has me excited to visit the place again. The hours given are the current ones; as always, don’t expect current pricing to be anywhere near what’s reported below.

                                                                                      

VITTORIO AND ESTER VALENTINO struck me as about the sweetest couple I’ve ever come across in this business. When we dined at their restaurant on a recent Friday night, they and one of their sons were running the whole show, as far as I could see, and Ester seemed to know everybody else who was dining there. By the time we were through, she knew all about us, too, and we’d had a tour of the place from Vittorio.

In many respects, this could typify your friendly neighborhood Italian restaurant. But there are a couple of major differences. First is the location: It’s in a mansion, with a striking-looking tower that gave earlier restaurants their names. Second is Vittorio’s training, which includes a stint at the Cordon Bleu in Paris, which he attended while working for a diplomat’s family. 

Difference number two is more subtle in the context of the menu, which is classically Italian-American. A few French specials once graced the menu but, as Vittorio explains, his wife was still learning English at the time and the task of explaining them was too daunting. Now they have a following solidly grounded in the Italian food that’s featured, so I suspect they won’t be straying much from that menu. But I may ask for something French the next time I visit.

A Gamut of the Emotions

EUGENE YSAŸE was one of last of the virtuoso violinist-composers who dominated the late 19th century, but unlike Wieniawski and Vieuxtemps, he didn’t produce much in the way of the tuneful, show-offish morceaux that typically ended the concert recitals of the era. His works were thornier, more in keeping with the changes in the compositional atmosphere wrought by post-Wagnerians. Ysaÿe lived from 1858 to 1931 and began his concert career at the age of 27. A year later, César Franck wrote for him, as a wedding present, his renowned Violin Sonata. 

A recital by Joseph Szigeti that featured Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G Minor for solo violin (one of six such pieces by Bach) inspired Ysaÿe to write his own set of six solo sonatas, which he finished in July 1923. They are comparatively short works, each of them dedicated to a different violinist of Ysaÿe’s acquaintance. While they aren’t aggressively tuneful, they reveal masterful writing, using the violin’s technical resources to the fullest. They probably are best appreciated by violinists, especially those courageous enough to take on the virtuosic demands. 

The sonatas usually are recorded as a set, which only makes sense, and there are over fifty such recordings. One of the latest features Roman Simovic, a visiting professor of violin at the Royal Academy of Music in London whose resume includes appearances with all the top orchestras in Europe as well as distinguished festivals galore. He directed the London Symphony String Orchestra on four albums for the LSO Live label, for which he also recorded Paganini’s 24 Caprices.

Have Another Look

Art Isn’t Easy Dept.: Just when you thought that the late John Updike had once and for all dropped his pen, along comes yet another weighty tome – this time a collection of Updike letters. But don’t be fooled by my glib nonsense: I’m looking forward to reading it, confident I’ll enjoy it, just as I’ve enjoyed every one of his previous books, all of which are on a nearby shelf in my house. Meanwhile, let’s revisit my review of one of his more unexpected literary ventures, that of art critic. The piece below explains the rest.

                                                                             

THE RANKS OF WELL-KNOWN cartoonist-writers include James Thurber and Lou Myers, but unlike Robert Hughes, who moved from cartooning to art criticism, or Ad Reinhardt, whose cartoons were criticism, John Updike never professionally pursued his own drawing ability. In that regard, he’s like the early-20th-century writer Booth Tarkington, whose sketches livened the horrible penmanship of his letters.

Both of them wrote about art late in their respective careers. Tarkington’s Some Old Portraits (1939) paid gossipy but insightful tribute to a selection of 18th-century works; the 23 essays in Updike’s first collection, Just Looking (1989), introduced us to a novelist unafraid to summon beautiful language to examine his relationship with the pre-Abstractionist world. From Vermeer in the 17th century to the still-living Richard Estes, the collection also gave a nod to cartoonists like Ralph Barton and fellow writer-cartoonists like Goethe, Poe, Oscar Wilde and Flannery O’Connor.

Another collection, Still Looking, followed in 2005, focusing on American art and covering such painters as Copley, Homer, Whistler, Hopper, Pollock and Warhol as well as photographer Alfred Stieglitz. After Updike died in 2009, enough uncollected essays remained for a final celebration. As a title, Always Looking tops the first two with its comforting, if Olympian, declaration of continuity; as an essay collection, it’s broader-based, but also solidifies the range of Updike’s favorites.

That Was the Tech That Was

From the Tech Archives Dept.: I found this pair of pieces in my archives and had a terrific laugh at the enthusiasm with which I celebrated what’s now obsolete in the first piece. The second is slightly less dated, but you’d be hard-pressed to find any of those mom-and-pop mail-order computer stores any more. 

                                                                                 

Format Wars

SMALL USUALLY WINS when you talk home electronics. Just as the cassette conquered reel-to-reel, so has the half-inch videocassette triumphed over the bulky open-reel jobs. Surprisingly, though, the tiny 8-millimeter format never caught on—or has yet to. It wasn't impressive enough its first time out to sway the market; whether any refinement lurks is as yet unpromised.

Navigating the shoals of videotape formats is a confusing proposition, especially for the novice. There are five or six of them to consider, depending how you wish to count, and each has its share of enthusiasts.

To get the abbreviations straight, a VCR is a video cassette recorder: it can record from and playback through a television. They start at about $200, discounted, although you can save a few bucks by buying a video cassette player, which has no record capability. You’re then at the mercy of your local video rental store.

The Stokowski Nobody Knew

HAVING TOILED IN THE TRENCHES of journalism for over forty years (albeit the more rarefied trenches of classical music, theater, and other cultural events), I like to think that I can manage sufficient objectivity to deal with anything I’m asked to cover. I may have strong opinions, sure, but I try to position myself as an open-minded audience representative. 

But I can promise no such objectivity in dealing with Nancy Shear’s new book I Knew a Man who Knew Brahms, and I’ll explain why after some introductory matter.

Nancy Shear Arts Services, founded in 1978, provides career consulting and public-relations services to musicians, and have worked and continue to work with a very distinguished roster. Shear herself has taught at New York University and The New School, been orchestra librarian with the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Curtis Institute, and has worked with a number of publishing companies in different capacities. She’s also a broadcaster who has been heard on WNYC, WHYY, and NPR, in the course of which she has conducted hundreds of interviews with star musicians.

Her memoir, however, chronicles her life in the years before she founded her agency, and it’s a fascinating, superbly written coming-of-age saga. It pulled me along not just through her skill at telling a good story but also because of the compelling commonality I discovered.

In 1960, Leopold Stokowski led a Philadelphia Orchestra concert at the Robin Hood Dell, an outdoor amphitheater in Philadelphia (now known as the Mann Center for the Performing Arts). Fourteen-year-old Nancy Shear, a resident of suburban Philadelphia, attended the event. She was enthralled by every aspect of it, from the orchestra tuning, to the sight of Stokowski waiting in the wings, to the program itself, which featured major works by Berlioz, Ravel, Debussy, and Shostakovich, among others.

Just Some Songs at Twilight

THE MAVERICK CHAMBER ORCHESTRA CONCERT is an annual event that recently welcomed the Caroga Arts Ensemble as its resident ensemble, a fitting acknowledgment of the quality of music-making going on in New York’s Fulton County each summer. The Maverick Concert Hall itself is in Woodstock (or Hurley, depending on your geographic preference), about a hundred miles south of Caroga Lake. The rustic hall in which the concerts take place was built in 1916, from an era in the area’s history when music and art and love were celebrated with no inkling  that another type of music festival, decades later, would put Woodstock on the map.

Photo courtesy Maverick Concerts

Saturday, August 23 was as perfect a day as you could desire in the middle of summer, which added to the fairy-tale aspect of this event. With its vaulted ceiling and decorative windows, the concert hall is a chapel where the faithful assemble to worship good music, a reasonable object of veneration. 

Seating is on padded benches arrayed in rows, flanked by lines of similar benches along the side walls. The large rear doors open onto a contained area with several more padded benches and, as I learned from arriving early enough to witness some rehearsal, there’s no compromise of the sound and the view. 

The hall was sold out for this concert, and that included the outdoor seating. While the second-half feature, Philip Glass’s Piano Concerto No. 3, performed by Simone Dinnerstein, was the draw, let’s wait to assess it. There’s a remarkable first half to consider.

A Fable

Mark Twain Dept.: Twain tinkered with storytelling techniques throughout his life as he transitioned from scrappy journalist to grand old moralist. Here; a trifle in the latter mode. The illustration is by Thomas Landseer.

                                                                                               

ONCE UPON A TIME an artist who had painted a small and very beautiful picture placed it so that he could see it in the mirror. He said, “This doubles the distance and softens it, and it is twice as lovely as it was before.”

The animals out in the woods heard of this through the housecat, who was greatly admired by them because he was so learned, and so refined and civilized, and so polite and high-bred, and could tell them so much which they didn't know before, and were not certain about afterward. They were much excited about this new piece of gossip, and they asked questions, so as to get at a full understanding of it. They asked what a picture was, and the cat explained.

“It is a flat thing,” he said; “wonderfully flat, marvelously flat, enchantingly flat and elegant. And, oh, so beautiful!”

That excited them almost to a frenzy, and they said they would give the world to see it. Then the bear asked:

“What is it that makes it so beautiful?”

“It is the looks of it,” said the cat.

Martinů: Magical and Mysterious

THE PORTRAIT OF BOHUSLAV MARTINŮ that emerged during a day of Martinů-related events at Bard College was uniquely unusual. He was a Czech-born composer who spent more time in France and America than in his native country. He lived from 1890 to 1959, thus placing his productive years in the midst of a time of great musical unrest. Yet he remained apart from it, absorbing much and transmuting it into a variety of forms. The portrait, therefore, eludes canvas and words: his music is the portrait.

“Martinů and His World” is the title of Bard’s 35th annual music festival. Each of the festivals has been dedicated to examining a composer not only through significant and lesser-known works but also alongside works by others of influence. I attended the three events presented on Saturday, August 9, 2025.

To truly explore the breadth of Martinů’s influences probably would demand many weeks of effort. As scholar-in-residence Michael Beckerman wrote, “Martinů provides us with an almost inexhaustible collection of works, approaches, and ideas. His fascinations, with such things as madrigals, Stravinsky, the Virgin Mary, jazz, Baroque music, Bartók, surrealism, neoclassicism, Byzantine chant, medieval miracle plays, and the folk cultures of Czechoslovakia, give his works shadings both subtle and powerful.” 

Longtime NYU prof Beckerman is about to become dean of the Herb Alpert School of Music at UCLA. A Czech-music specialist, he also was scholar-in-residence for Bard’s festivals centering on Dvořák (1993) and Janáček (2003).

Toothsome Haven

From the Food Vault Dept.: It’s the time of year when I should be schlepping to the Berkshires to frolic amongst the theaters and eateries that strew the landscape, but it’s not about to happen this summer. I may get a visit to Mass MoCA on the autumn calendar, but for now, let’s revisit a piece I wrote in 2013, a review of a restaurant that’s still thriving in Lenox. And, after re-reading this, I have to go back there sooner than later. Remember: All quoted pricing has changed in the intervening years. But you knew that. (Photos by B. A. Nilsson)

                                                                                                 

BECAUSE OUR EXOTIC VACATIONS are annoyingly few, my teenaged daughter and I play a game in which we imagine ourselves, at various moments, to be somewhere overseas. We typically end up in a European locale that combines Tuscany’s rural beauty with the urban indifference of Paris, where we just might have to bully through an inscrutable menu in order to tame our appetites at a picture-book café. 

The menu at Lenox’s Haven Café is in English, of course, and the downtown environment is unmistakably affluent New England. But, once seated at one of the polished wooden tables in the sun-warmed dining area, we decided that, with the addition of a thatched roof or two, we as easily could be in Cockington Village in Devon.

Not that any Cockington eatery would be offering grilled polenta topped with pesto ($14.50) or a $10 beet, apple and almond salad over arugula. Faced with the offerings for a Haven lunch, we were whisked back to Lenox and still found ourselves in a relaxing place. 

Not Every Rake Is Rescued

POOR TOM RAKEWELL! He’s a lazy fellow looking for easy money, trying to hang onto his fiancée Anne Trulove even as her father disparages his indolence. He makes a wish; the wish comes true. He has fallen into a fortune. And fallen is the word: The fortune comes with devilish strings attached. 

Adrian Kramer as Tom Rakewell, Marc 
Webster as Trulove, and Lydia Grindatto 
as Anne Trulove. Photo credit: Kayleen 
Bertrand/The Glimmerglass Festival

The Glimmerglass Festival debuted its first-ever production of Stravinsky’s only opera, and it’s a knockout. Adrian Kramer is a Tom who manages to be endearing in spite of his obvious self-involvement; Lydia Grindatto beautifully sings the rather thankless role of Anne, the role having been here written more as a 1950s TV wife than a 1730s bawd. But it’s Aleksey Bogdanov, as the evil, delightful Nick Shadow who steals the show. He almost can’t help it: villainous baritones usually are the most charismatic of the cast, but Bogdanov brings an extra dimension of vocal agility to his performance, to my ears edging out the Shadows I grew up hearing on recordings (viz., Mack Harrell, John Reardon, and Samuel Ramey).

William Hogarth’s series of eight paintings known collectively as “The Rake’s Progress” were completed in 1734 and immediately followed by a series he made of nearly identical engravings, the better for public distribution. It’s essentially an eight-panel cartoon strip, each panel advancing the plot of the decline of Tom Rakewell (as he was named in the series) alongside busy visual commentary driving home the attendant moral message. Eighteenth-century England reveled in misbehaving and then regretting such behavior; Hogarth’s satiric paintings thus were greatly popular.

Back to the Land

YOU’RE SAVVY ENOUGH to wish to dine responsibly. You visit farmers’ markets in season; perhaps you cultivate a vegetable plant or two. You’ve restructured your personal menu to allow those vegetables more opportunity to shine, and you may even be paying the price for locally sourced meat. Or you’re on the brink of discovering all this, and would like to know where to begin.

Let me recommend Origins Café. Located in the wilds of Cooperstown, New York, far enough from the village to bring nothing baseball-related into view, this seasonal restaurant has been successfully operating for 14 years. And if you didn’t know that everything they serve is carefully chosen and good for you, you’d be lulled into enjoying it as just another fine restaurant.

It was founded by sisters Kristen and Dana Leonard, who grew up on this property. “Forty-two years ago, our parents started a little greenhouse here,” says Kristen, “basically a small nursery in a little hoop house in a place that evolved to be the café. We literally grew up there, in a little crib in the corner of the greenhouse. And then like anyone who grows up in a small town, you want to get out and travel as much as you can. So we went off to school and studied environmental sciences. And that's actually how we got into food. It was through more of an environmental sustainability lens.”

A House of Her Own

PUBLISHED IN 1984, the novel The House on Mango Street became a best-seller for author Sandra Cisneros, selling over six million copies and becoming a classic for readers in casual and academic settings. It’s an episodic books, its 44 chapters running anywhere from a sentence or two to several pages, the first-person account of a 12-year-old Chicana living in a changing Chicago neighborhood.

The 2025 Glimmerglass Festival world premiere 
production of "The House on Mango Street." 
Photo Credit: Kayleen Bertrand/
The Glimmerglass Festival

The tone of each story is provocative but charming at the start; soon darkening as the stories proceed. We follow Esperanza, the narrator, as she comes to terms with evolving social and sexual challenges. How does a book that’s become a schoolroom classic translate to the opera stage? As we learned from its world premiere at the Glimmerglass Festival, it couldn’t be more timely and compelling. 

Cisneros, who co-wrote the libretto with composer Derek Bermal, preserves her slyly evocative literary style, in which a simple description can be colored by an unexpected simile or metaphor. “Sally is the girl with eyes like Egypt and nylons the color of smoke,” runs one description; “At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth,” is another. The novel presents as a memoir; the opera turns it into a memory play.

Art Isn’t Easy

THE 1985 PULITZER PRIZE-WINNING MUSICAL “Sunday in the Park with George” makes its Glimmerglass Festival debut in a handsome, enthusiastic, but flawed production. It inspired the theme of the current season, “The Art of Making Art,” which is drawn from a lyric in the show.

An amazing cast fuels this production. John Riddle and Marina Pires carry the show through two challenging acts, and though I detected some first-night nerves at the top of the opening-night performance, they quickly settled into the world of the piece with virtuosic aplomb. Riddle is George. In Act One, he’s the painter George Seurat; Act Two returns him as the painter’s (fictional) great-grandson, also named George, who is an artist using laser technology.

John Riddle as George and Marina Pires as Dot (far R) 
with the ensemble. Photo by Brent DeLanoy/
The Glimmerglass Festival.

Pires is Dot, the audaciously named model who adores George but bristles at his offhand treatment of her. She and Riddle carry the bulk of the musical numbers, alone or in duet; a lively ensemble picks up the rest.

Inspired by George Seurat’s pointillistic painting “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte,” the first act follows the obsessive artist’s challenge of capturing an idyllic pastoral scene on an oversized canvas as he splits his time between plein-air sketching on the island itself and applying, in his studio, the thousands of colored dots that make up the work.

The Desire That We Love

JEALOUSY AND DESIRE: Two emotions that provoke nearly all the pain we suffer and the pain we inflict. Each is a confluence of component emotions, making them hard to put into self-aware words. But they’re easily reflected in music, the abstract nature of which carries it deep into our emotional core. Put words to that music and the feelings those words provoke become much more compelling. 

Greer Grimsley as Baron Scarpia, Kellan Dunlap as Spoletta, 
Yongzhao Yu as Mario Cavaradossi, with Jabari Lewis and 
William Predmore, members of the ensemble. 
Photo Credit: Brent DeLanoy/The Glimmerglass Festival

Puccini’s “Tosca” was criticized by its premiere critics for being too haphazard in structure, too ghastly in subject matter, and even too musically ugly. Wrote a Boston critic: “The composer shows a well-nigh diabolical ingenuity in massing together harsh, ill-sounding timbres.” Added the New York Sun: “Both eye and ear are often offended by the consecutive fifths, raw harmonic progressions, and alterations of the tawdry with the solemn.” And a London critic concluded: “Should this opera prove popular it will scarcely indicate a healthy or creditable taste.”

Blues with a Feeling

MANY OF THE SONGS we choose to sing spring to our lips because they’ve been drilled into our brains by corporate profit-fueled repetition, clogging airwaves and streaming channels. But there are other songs, songs that speak to our dreams and disappointments, songs that offer reassurance. Those are songs we have to seek out, parting the waves of noise to get to these underheard jewels.

Annie, Hannah, and Jonny Rosen
Photo by B. A. Nilsson

Those are the songs that Annie Rosen sings. She offers her selections in a carefree manner, but it’s clear that she’s living the material, drawing from it a power and joy that help shepherd each song into the hearts of her hearers. In one way, it’s the work of a mystic. In another – and this is probably what her Caffè Lena audience felt – it’s a rollicking good time.

Annie and the Hedonists is a family group, anchored by Annie and her husband, guitarist Jonny Rosen; many of the other performers have been working with them long enough that it wouldn’t surprise me to see them together at the Thanksgiving table. And there was a special guest vocalist at this particular show – daughter Hannah, who sang with her mother on “Here in California,” a Kate Wolf song, to the accompaniment of Dad’s guitar. 

O, Say: Can You See?

Happy Independence Day. As we continue to move through the most fraught, dangerous era in American history, let me offer some advice culled from Timothy Snyder’s excellent and more-appropriate-than-ever book “On Tyranny.” (Tim Duggan Books, New York, 2017). I recommend that you buy a copy for yourself as a handbook for the resistance that is so badly needed today.

                                                                                                  

Defend institutions: It is institutions that help us to preserve decency. They need our help as well. Do not speak of “our institutions” unless you make them yours by acting on their behalf. Institutions do not protect themselves. They fall one after the other unless each is defended from the beginning. So choose an institution you care about—a court, a newspaper, a law, a labor union—and take its side.

Beware the one-party state: The parties that remade states and suppressed rivals were not omnipotent from the start. They exploited a historic moment to make political life impossible for their opponents. So support the multi-party system and defend the rules of democratic elections. Vote in local and state elections while you can. Consider running for office.

Be wary of paramilitaries: When the men with guns who have always claimed to be against the
system start wearing uniforms and marching with torches and pictures of a leader, the end is nigh. When the pro-leader paramilitary and the official police and military intermingle, the end has come.

Stand out: Someone has to. It is easy to follow along. It can feel strange to do or say something different. But without that unease, there is no freedom. Remember Rosa Parks. The moment you set an example, the spell of the status quo is broken, and others will follow.

A June Wedding at BTF

From the Theater Vault Dept.: Looking over last week’s story, I noted that the adjacent piece in my files reveals some of the Albany area’s theater offerings as noted forty years ago on this date. It thus is merely an exercise in nostalgia, and an easy way to fill a blog-slot.

                                                                                         

Berkshire Theatre Festival

ONE OF THE DELIGHTS AVAILABLE to natives of a town small enough to publish a paper only weekly is the information thus available about what your neighbors are up to. One of the heartbreaks available to adolescents in such a town is the-black-and-white evidence of the inevitable nuptials of those you’ve loved and, romantically, lost. This was the case in the town where I grew up, and it was both painful and amusing to note the two great wedding flurries: the first occured right after graduation from high school; the second took place four years later. I subscribed to the paper long after I’d left the town, just to confirm that the matrimonial axe was still picking ‘em off.

This is in reaction both to the month of June, with its flurry of gowns, tuxes, and raucous motorcades, and the observance of this tradition by the Berkshire Theatre Festival, which has opened its season with Carson McCuller’s “A Member of The Wedding.”

Setting the Stage with Shakespeare

From the Opera Vault Dept.: Paulette Haupt made her conducting debut at the Lake George Opera in 1973, with “The Barber of Seville, and liked the experience enough to continue conducting in Kansas City and San Francisco during the ensuing years. She moved to the producing end and served as artistic director for the Lake George Opera from 1981 to 1985 – which means she was already on her way out when she spoke to me for the piece you’ll find below. She was co-founder and served as Artistic Director for the National Music Theater Conference at the O’Neill Theater Center from 1978 to 2017, which she left in order to concentrate on her company Premieres, which she founded in 2001. She also founded the Music Theater Mentor Program, but it was killed by the pandemic. She continues to be very active in the development and production of new works. 

                                                                                     

Paulette Haupt

“I’M PARTICULARLY EXCITED about the balance of the season,” says Paulette Haupt-Nolen, general director of the Lake George Opera Festival. “‘Romeo and Juliet’ hasn’t been done here since 1969, so there’s been a whole turnover in audience since then. And it’s one of my favorite operas – it’s so lush with music and drama. The conductor, Cal Stewart Kellogg, wrote to me recently – he conducts all over the place and just came back from a tour of Italy and Israel – and said how honored he is to be conducting here this summer. He, too, raved about the score.”

“Romeo and Juliet,” which opens the LGOF season July 13, was written by French composer Charles Gounod to a libretto fairly faithfully based upon the Shakespeare play: according to the Victor Book of the Opera, “If there are fewer words than in the original,. there is, at any rate, the consolation of the music that is sweetly sentimental and sometimes of a dazzling brilliance.” 

The New Bone-Dust Theory of Behavior, or, Is Your Elbow All It Should Be?

Guest Blogger Dept.: Which I ought to rename Robert Benchley Dept., because I have featured Benchley essays more often than those by any other writer. They are gems. Some of them don’t age well if you’re thinking in terms of historical context, but all of them endure for his masterful use of language.

                                                                                      

A LITTLE WHILE AGO, it was your teeth that were to blame for everything. And now, after you have gone and had tin-types taken of your teeth, showing them riding in little automobiles or digging in the sand, some more specialists come along and discover that, after all, it is your glands that are the secret of your mental, moral and physical well-being.

Benchley by Gluyas Williams

A book called “The Glands Regulating Personality” claims that the secretions of the various glands throughout your body determine whether you are a good or a bad boy, cheerful or agile, Republican or Democrat. Anyone singing “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow” does not face the facts squarely. The words should go: “For he has jolly good glandular secretions, which nobody will deny.”

In order to be at least two jumps ahead of the game, we are prepared to set forward another theory to take the place of the gland theory when that shall have become scratched. All enthusiasts who want to keep abreast of the times will dip right into ours now; so that when the time comes they will be able to talk intelligently on the subject.

Briefly, the facts are these:

Balm for Mom

From the Food Vault Dept.: I missed Mother’s Day again this year. My own mom is long-gone, but I’m married to a mom. She, however, put in some years in a restaurant kitchen, as did I, and we thus became inured to the insanity that holiday provokes. Thirty years ago I put a hopeful spin on the occasion, which I hope can still be helpful these days.

                                                                                          

AN ENTIRELY JUSTIFIED culture-wide sense of guilt gets us schlepping Mom out to dinner on Sunday, resulting in the busiest day of the restaurant year – busier than Thanksgiving, busier than Easter, busier than the end-of-the-year holidays.

Which means that Mom might easily end up subjected to one of the worst meals of her life. Follow the instructions in this handy guide, however, and you might pull through relatively unscathed. This advice is based on the years I spent waiting on tables and, later, cooking. The scenario may have changed since then – but I doubt it.

The type of restaurant that can turn out 700 dinners on a Saturday night is generally well suited to Mother’s Day traffic, and usually can afford to put out a special menu with bargain prices. But the objective usually is turning over tables, so you won’t see many parties lingering over coffee and holding hands. Then again, it’s been years since I held hands with Mom after dinner.

So the most important things you can do when planning a meal at such a restaurant are to make a reservation, give an accurate count of the people involved and show up on time. Too many customers think that they’ve simply reserved a table for the duration and give themselves a half-hour of leeway here and there. And restaurants try to indulge that – it’s good business, after all, not to yell at the patrons – but they can’t afford to do so on Mother’s Day.

Bach Meets Bond and More

From the Vault Dept.: Again asking myself what I was doing forty years, I discovered that, beyond not truly wishing to know, I’d been to two quite different area concerts, the reviews of which follow.

                                                                                    

“WHAT’S THE POINT OF COUNTERPOINT?” is the question asked by a new work for narrator and orchestra by Victoria Bond, music director of the Empire State Youth Orchestra. The piece had its world premiere in a concert Saturday afternoon at the Egg at Albany’s Empire State Plaza with the combined forces of the ESYO and Sesame Street’s Bob McGrath. While it may not achieve a “Peter and the Wolf” height of popularity, it certainly addresses a most difficult musicological question with considered insight.

Victoria Bond

With the wealth of music by Bach and Handel being performed, this year, we’re surrounded by some of the finest examples of counterpoint ever written. It is so complicated a subject, however, that to appreciate all of the mathematical permutations going on in, say, Bach’s “Art of the Fugue” requires the acumen of a well-trained composer. It’s nice to have some kind of introduction to it, and the Bond piece could serve the needs of listeners of all ages. Its construction is as a children’s tale: the protagonist, a tune, is looking for a friend. Tune is befriended by a bird, which takes him on a tour of the cities of Rhythm and Harmony before discovering the tent where the city of Counterpoint is headquartered, and being treated to a display, rendered with a likening to acrobatics, of part of the “Art of the Fugue.” 

A Tone Parallel to Duke Ellington

THE STANDARD BIOGRAPHICAL APPROACH in which the subject is born, did remarkable things, then died gets upended by Jack Chambers’s new Duke Ellington book. Titled A Tone Parallel to Duke Ellington, it satisfies that promise by looking at the man in terms of his music. Acknowledging Ellington’s own preference for terming much of what he did as “beyond category,” the book nevertheless proposes a number of categories that become lenses through which particular pieces of music are studied, revealing, in many cases, fascinating aspects of the man. If it sounds hifalutin’, fear not. Chambers makes it a very accessible journey.

Eleven chapters plot the journey, offering a remarkable variety of topics. Take “Forty-Eight Years with the Duke on Trains.” It serves the dual purpose of acknowledging Ellington’s love of that mode of travel (his most frequent use of which “coincided with the golden age of rail travel in the United States,” as Chambers notes) and the many effective songs he wrote that captured an essence of rail travel. 

Of course, the best-known, “Take the ‘A’ Train,” was written by Ellington collaborator Billy Strayhorn, and it’s a subway song, if you want to get technical, but the Ellington-written catalogue includes the beginner effort “Choo Choo (Gotta Hurry Home),” from 1924, just after he arrived in New York;  “Lightnin’” from 1932; “Happy-Go-Lucky Local” (1946); and the dazzling “Daybreak Express” (1932). About the last-named, Chambers writes:

Ad Nonsense

SUCH AN ENTICING OFFER! Subject the reader (that’s you) to an ad or two and you’ll start raking in the earnings in no time. Online revenue was making millionaires out of people far younger than I am, yet I was there at the beginnings of all this computers ‘n’ internet stuff, writing about it, for heaven’s sake, so why should I be left out.

And it would be so simple to get started. Just answer a few 
questions . . . 

As it happens, I went through that process already, soon after I started this blog in 2011, back when ad-clicks quickly turned into money and I actually got a couple of payments. Then it turned out that the majority – in fact, the entirety – of those clicks were coming from my wife’s workplace, as she generously pursued a campaign of putting some money in my pocket (thus avoiding having me take money out of hers). Google caught on, and ripped away my ad-revenue account.

Classic Vanguard Jazz Piano Sessions

HALFWAY THROUGH CD 3, which is given over to the protean Mel Powell, comes his Sonatina for Piano, nestled between the likes of “You’re Lucky to Me” and “Makin’ Whoopee.” The piece was included on the original Vanguard ten-inch LP release, an album titled “Mel Powell Septet,” the septet in question also including Buck Clayton, Henderson Chambers, Edmond Hall, Steve Jordan, Walter Page, and Jimmy Crawford, recorded at the end of 1953. High-powered players, and they really dig in on the four tracks where they’re included.

Of course they do. Powell was revered by the jazz community at this point in his career, acknowledging his dynamic jazz piano playing, composing, and arranging, most notably with Benny Goodman in the late 1930s – at which point Powell was still in his ‘teens. His earliest piano studies were in the classical realm, but a performance by Teddy Wilson so astonished him that he veered into jazz, with outstanding results. Powell’s Army stint during World War II put him in Glenn Miller’s Army-Air Force Band; while in liberated Paris at the end of the war, the French-fluent Powell sat in with Django Reinhardt and visited the Bibliotheque Nationale’s Debussy archive, celebrating one of Powell’s all-time heroes and inspiring his composition “Duplicates: A Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra,” which won him the Pulitzer Prize in 1990.

You can see Powell in the 1948 film “A Song Is Born,” a vehicle for the always-annoying Danny Kaye but which contains a fantastic jazz sequence in which the incredibly youthful-looking Powell is joined by Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Louis Armstrong, Lionel Hampton, Benny Carter, Charlie Barnet, Louis Bellson, and the Golden Gate Quartet. But it won’t prepare you for this Sonatina.

Lorin Maazel in Cleveland

THE CENTERPIECE of this 15-CD set is an appealing Beethoven symphonies cycle spread across seven CDs to replicate the initial LP box-set release. (That actually was an eight-record set, but a judicious shift of some overtures reduced the count.) Mired as I was in vinyl during my formative years, I don’t mind this approach. I don’t need all 80 CD minutes filled, and I’m still spared the side-flip in the middle of a symphony.

Lorin Maazel led the Cleveland Orchestra in those Beethoven sessions beginning in October 1977, with the recording of Symphonies 3 and 5 and a trio of overtures; the following February they taped 6 and 7 and, on a single-day marathon, 1, 2, 4, and 8. (Donald Rosenberg’s biography of the orchestra disagrees and spreads out the sessions, but I prefer to believe the superhuman marathon approach.)

The ninth, saved for last, was recorded on October 13, 1978, and included the voices of Lucia Popp, Elena Obraztsova, Jon Vickers, and Martti Talvela, with Robert Page leading the Cleveland Orchestra chorus. Excellent vocal work in a thirlling finale. In an audacious move, the symphonies came out the following March as that eight-LP set. Although maybe it wasn’t so audacious: Had the symphonies hit the shops as individual items, buyers probably would play favorites, leaving poor 1 & 2 and 4 & 8 to languish.

Going Back to T-Town

THE STORY OF ERNIE FIELDS BEGINS, as it must, with the visit from John Hammond. This was in the late 1930s, when Hammond was prowling the country to find the kind of jazz talent he enjoyed. He’d already discovered Count Basie but was always eager for more. Tipped to the talent of the Fields organization, he traveled to Tulsa, Ernie’s home city, where he tracked down the bandleader and set up an audition.

Hammond was delighted. He set up an audition for Willard Alexander, the powerhouse band-booker for William Morris. Alexander also was impressed. Next step: Move the band to New York. Make some records, play the Apollo.

Some problems start to creep in. Some members don’t want to travel. Alexander had already told Fields that he might have to replace some of the weaker members, so Fields brought some new hires aboard. Trouble was, the guys who insisted on staying behind were the very players with whom Alexander was most impressed.

But the band did make it into the recording studio, waxing nine sides for Vocalion in August 1939, and four more a month later. They played the Apollo and some city ballrooms and took some upstate gigs as well. And then – nothing. Alexander was promising more dates, but money was running out and some of the band members wanted to go home. Soon enough, Ernie shared that feeling.

Fantastic Four

WE’RE HEARING an increasing death-knell for big box sets, so I’m thrilled to welcome the reissue of all of the Guarneri Quartet’s RCA Red Seal recordings in a 49-CD set from Sony Classical (current owner of the RCA catalogue). The recordings run from 1965 to 1986, with a singular jump ahead to 2005. The quartet changed labels in the mid-‘80s, recording for Philips and Arabesque (much of the time re-recording works initially waxed for RCA). But this set is an excellent starting place for getting to know the core quartet repertory – and also a benchmark collection of those recordings. Performances don’t get much better than this.

You’ve got all of Beethoven’s quartets, as well as his charming quintet in C; a complete Brahms and Schumann package, issued as it was originally as a three-record, now three-disc set, alongside quintets and piano quartets by those composers as well. Lots of late Schubert, Mozart, Dvořák; quartets by Mendelssohn and Grieg and Debussy and Ravel. And a complete Bartók  traversal for a little more crunch.

What’s not here are the likes of Barber and Ives, no Lutosławski or Berio, and certainly nothing Second Viennese. Which is not to say those weren’t in the Guarneri repertory: works by many of those composers were performed in concert, but I suspect that nervous RCA execs discouraged them from recording the more modern stuff. Even their wonderful disc of Tchaikovsky’s “Souvenir de Florence” sextet was dropped from the catalogue for lack of sales mere months after it appeared in late 1966. (It was reissued a decade later, after the ensemble had achieved superstar status).

Nightmare on Main Street (Encore)

From the Food and Wine Vault Dept.: I wrote this piece in 2009, when the issue of wine in grocery stores was gaining momentum. I blog-posted it in 2016, when it seemed to be gaining some traction. Now it has more traction than ever, with a lot of press being churned up by plausible-sounding advocacy groups that probably are on the payrolls of grocery conglomerates like Price Chopper. The figures in the piece below are outdated, I suspect, but the sentiment remains the same.

                                                                                                

AMONG THE NEW YORK STATE DEPARTMENT OF BUDGET’S many breathless proposals to save, grab or re-claim money, the one of most concern to this column is a proposal to allow wine sales in grocery stores. It’s pitched to accrue something like $150 million over the next three years ($105 million the first year; far less thereafter), most of it coming from the licensing fees the supermarkets would pay.

Whether all 19,000 grocery and convenience stores across the state actually would pony up is but one of many variables projected into this proposal. But the Business Council of NY State has eagerly signed off on the issue, promising that it “will create new markets for upstate and Long Island wineries and convenience for consumers,” according to council president Kenneth Adams. “In addition, the proposal will generate new revenue for the cash-strapped state.” It’s a point of view no doubt shared by two of council’s board members with a large stake in the issue: Paul S. Speranza, Jr., General Counsel and Secretary to Wegmans, and Neil Golub, CEO of Price Chopper.

Completing Louis Armstrong

AROUND THE TIME Louis Armstrong moved from a big band to a small-group setting in 1947, grumblings were being heard. At first, it came from the Black community, especially from fellow musicians. Dizzy Gillespie termed him a “plantation character” in a DownBeat article, and would later amplify that sentiment. Miles Davis went after both Armstrong and Gillespie, writing “I hated the way they used to laugh and grin for audiences.” The general argument was that Armstrong’s onstage antics were too reminiscent of minstrelsy, an era laden with racist baggage. And this attitude was writ in stone by white critic Gunther Schuller in his 1967 book Early Jazz, wherein he praised Armstrong’s innovative genius, “at least until the early 1930s, when he did succumb to the sheer weight of his success and its attendant commercial pressures.”

This chorus of misguided criticism would crescendo throughout the 1950s and ‘60s as the critics parroted one another, not unlike the classical-world phenomenon of ritually calling Jascha Heifetz’s performances and recordings “cold,” a judgment only attainable without listening to the artist. But critics tend to be reliably sheeplike.

This is why it’s a good thing that Armstrong authority Ricky Riccardi began his three-volume biography of the jazz genius with the third book in the series, What a Wonderful World, published in 2011. It picks up Armstrong’s story from 1947, when he made the important transition to the small-group setting that he’d use for public performances for the rest of his life. The most important task for anyone wishing to paint a balanced portrait of the man’s life is to objectively present those criticisms, then counter them with thoughtful analysis.

The Once and Future Ormandy

THREE MASSIVE BOX SETS have given us nearly 300 CDs of Eugene Ormandy conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra in recordings made between 1944 and 1968, which is the entirety of his recordings for the Columbia label. Ormandy decamped to RCA, according to a 1967 New York Times piece, with mixed feelings, laying the decision at the feet of the orchestra’s board. But, according to the article, Columbia’s then-president Clive Davis “indicated that a dispute over the repertory Mr. Ormandy had been permitted to record figured heavily in the split.” The article finished with Ormandy recalling his earlier years with RCA, implying that he had more freedom then.

We had a look at what’s almost the earliest of Ormandy as a conductor with the 11-CD box of Minneapolis Symphony recordings, presenting an astonishing amount of repertory recorded in January 1934 and January 1935, including a terrific Mahler 2. Now we can explore the conductor’s first steps with the Philadelphia Orchestra, where he succeeded Leopold Stokowski on the podium – as thankless a challenge as could be imagined.

Stokowski, after all, was handsome, dynamic, and relentlessly charming, probably the only symphony conductor ever impersonated by Bugs Bunny. And he’d shaped the orchestra into an ensemble that easily sat alongside the bands in Boston and New York. Ormandy co-conducted for a couple of years before taking over the job completely, and the two co-recorded during that time as well. (Sony should consider issuing a box set of Stokowski’s Philadelphia work.)

Finish Lines

ONE OF THE STANZAS of “Crooked Foot Lane,” the opening track of Amy Engelhardt’s new album “Finish What,” runs

Downloaded directions / How to escape / Wrapped all of his fractures / In surgical tape

and is part of a compact paean to aspects of disability and acceptance. But the phrase “surgical tape” has a special resonance here. Engelhardt’s lyrics carry the incisiveness of a surgical operation, and I’m mired in enough of the past to decide that the tape in question could also be a strip of magnetic recording tape, once the usual vehicle for an audio recording.

In which case this entire collection of eight songs and an instrumental could be filed under “surgical tape.” The lyrics pierce more skillfully through the epidermis of our emotional lives than I’m accustomed to encountering, even as they dance to catchy tunes presented in inventive arrangements – and there’s a story behind that that we’ll get to shortly.

Engelhardt harbors an impressive nexus of talent, developed as she went from musical-theater kid to in-demand singer to songwriter to playwright/performer. A recent manifestation of the last-named is her solo show “Impact,” which I saw at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and wrote about here.

Lash Resort

From the Food Vault Dept.: Speaking of Vermont, as was the case with the last two posts, here’s a journey back some 17 years to revisit the piece I wrote about The Whip Bar & Grill, a restaurant at Stowe, Vermont’s Green Mountain Inn. It’s still in business, although no longer serving lunch. Keep in mind the menu and, especially, prices have changed since I wrote this piece. But don’t let it affect your appetite.

                                                                                          

DRIVE UP STOWE’S MOUNT MANSFIELD (or, if you have a constitution more rugged than mine, bicycle or walk) and, when you near the peak, clamber in and around the paths and boulders that constitute Smuggler’s Notch. Imagine the forbidden cattle being herded over that mountaintop, cattle from Canada, forbidden because conflict with Canada-friendly Britain was a defining feature of early 19th-century politics.

And agriculture was a defining Stowe industry, and politics be damned: cranky Vermonters needed their animal trade.

Mt. Mansfield dominates the town: it’s the highest peak in the state, and has given rise to the tourism upon which the area now thrives. Hikers, campers and, especially, skiers show up when it’s warm or cold; foliage draws tourists in fall.

Lodges humble and swanky flank the road to the mountain, but in the center of the charming village of Stowe sits the Green Mountain Inn, one of the first structures listed on the National Register of Historic Places, with an 1833-vintage building at its heart. Other buildings have been added over the years, and the complex now offers tasteful accommodations ranging from a single queen bed to a two-bedroom, multi-story townhouse – over 100 rooms in all.

Latchis Past and Present

USUALLY WHEN A KID RUNS OFF with the family money, it’s for a nefarious purpose. We expect the kid to come to no good, to crawl back, if he’s lucky, and beg forgiveness. This was not the fate of Peter Latchis. His father, Demetrius, emigrated from Greece to New Hampshire at the start of the last century, operating a pushcart from which to sell produce. He grew his enterprise and did well enough to amass a tantalizing amount of cash. His son suggested that the family invest in the up-and-coming film industry. Dad refused, so Peter took it on his own initiative to help himself to some of that money and build a movie theater, opening it as the country (and the movie business) entered the no-holds-barred 1920s.

The theater was enough of a success to inspire the family – Peter had six brothers – to build more, eventually running a chain of 20 of them throughout New England, along with hotels and restaurants. And movies were a good business: Despite the Wall Street crash of 1929, the family remained financially unscathed.

In 1938, the Latchis brothers opened a grand memorial to their late father in Brattleboro, Vermont. It was what they termed “A Town within a Town All under One Roof,” including a hotel, restaurant, ballroom, and a lavish 700-plus-seat theater. The first movie shown there was the Sonja Henie comedy “My Lucky Star,” but the theater was designed to host live entertainment as well; among the performers were the Trapp Family (pre-”Sound of Music”), pianist Rudolf Serkin, all the big-name big bands, singers from the Metropolitan Opera, and, more recently, Don McLean, Roger McGuinn, Al Di Meola, the Brattleboro Concert Choir, the Windham Philharmonic, Paula Poundstone, and even operas by Wagner.