Cooking with Cool

From the Jazz Vault Dept.: As noted elsewhere in these pages, I’ve been a Scott Hamilton fan since I discovered him at Eddie Condon’s on West 54th Street back in the mid-1970s. So it was a treat to catch up with the group when they performed at the State University at Albany in 1988, and here’s the review I wrote.

                                                                                                   

REPLACING A SAXOPHONE REED takes a few moments; you moisten the new one in your mouth,   unscrew the ligature on the mouthpiece, line up the reed, replace the ligature...

Scott Hamilton

Tenor saxophonist Scott Hamilton had occasion to replace his reed during a concert Sunday evening, and he did it in no hurry, laconically performing the necessary action while pianist Mike Ledonne soloed. He’s that cool about it. In fact, all five of the players have such a laid-back aspect that you might worry whether they can cook at all.

They can cook.

This is a group that, with one pianist or another, has been working together for more than 15 years. John Bunch has been at the keyboard for many of the last few years, but Ledonne was an able and inspiring replacement.

Guitarist Chris Flory, drummer Chuck Riggs and bass player Phil Flanigan are, like Hamilton, in their mid-30s. While it’s easy to see them as mainstream, swing-oriented jazzers, they actually assimilate a little bit of everything that has informed acoustic playing since the ‘30s. Hamilton, in whose voice are the accents of Ben Webster and Flip Phillips, is a player with a unique sound who revels in the standards and counts Sinatra as another major influence.

Listening to Heifetz: Preface

Obsession with Heifetz Dept.: Here’s the Preface to Listening to Heifetz: A Biographical Survey of His Recorded Legacy, in which I very subjectively appraise the violinist’s vast catalogue of recordings.

                                                                                                

MY VIOLIN LESSONS BEGAN AT AGE TEN, because I loved the sound of the instrument, the varnished box that in my hands emitted only godawful shrieks. Yet when played by accomplished artists, it became (to my young ears) the purest vehicle for emotional expression. And it still sounds that way to me.

I investigated the repertory. I bought sheet music and squeaked my way through the Mendelssohn concerto. David Oistrakh’s recording of the piece opened my ears to the magic that lurked behind those dots on the page – preparing me for the life-changing sound that hit me when I was 13.

The Mendelssohn concerto played on a portable radio as I sat in the dining room of my parents’ house. But this violinist was different. This one played with an urgency passion I’d never heard from the instrument before. This one took risks, dancing up and down the fingerboard like a tightrope walker. And when the lively third movement kicked into gear, I got chills down my back. The violinist was Jascha Heifetz.

I needed to hear more of his playing. I joined the RCA Record Club when I saw an ad that offered four Heifetz records for a penny, never mind the obligation-to-buy commitment and the need to send them a damn postcard every month to cancel the automatic selection. But now I had my own record of the Mendelssohn concerto – and Beethoven, and Brahms, and Tchaikovsky – and even a Prokofiev concerto that I found a little hard to take at the time.

Tasting History

SOME BRAVE SOULS at the New York State Library have been rummaging through its cookbook holdings to discover how our attitudes towards have evolved during this young country’s history. They presented a brief tour of some of their discoveries during a livestream seminar on April 25.

The Original
American Cookbook

Josie Madison, managing editor at the NYS Archives Partnership Trust, moderated the event, which featured Elizabeth Jakubowski, a senior librarian at the NYS Library, and Heather Carroll, an archivist at the NYState Archives. Working around them means you’re liable to be tapped as a taste-tester, as their photos of intrepid colleagues attest. And what where they tasting?

Stuffed Peach Salad, from “Mary Elizabeth’s War Time Recipes,” a 1918 book by Mary Elizabeth Evans. Cottage cheese and salted chopped pecan bits go on top of a pitted peach-half, which is then topped with a “French” dressing that turns out to be a vinaigrette colored with paprika. “The overall consensus,” according to an illustrated Facebook post, “was that this was a little strange but edible.”

Using resources found in special collections in the library’s rare-books room, four eras of this American journey were targeted. The other World War I-era book, also from 1918, was Amelia Dodderidge’s “Liberty Recipes,” The book’s title page identifies her as “Formerly, Instructor of Cooking, Manual Training High School, Indianapolis, Indiana; and Emergency City Home Demonstration Agent, Wilmington, Delaware. Now, Head of Home Economics Department, Wooster College, Wooster, Ohio.” Which isn’t as overblown as it sounds, what with credibility having been so much harder to achieve for women back then.

Power Sturges

BETWEEN 1940 AND 1948, Preston Sturges had an unprecedented Hollywood run of (mostly) successes with ten films he wrote and directed. Only Charlie Chaplin and Orson Welles had anything like this auteur status, although it took Chaplin over 40 years to make as many features, and Welles crashed and burned after only one.

Like those two, Sturges created nothing like Hollywood’s mainstream fare, but his films attracted enough of an enthusiastic audience to keep him employed – at least for a while. Some of those movies are among the funniest to hit the screen, and have kept their freshness long after the formulaic comedies of the period grew dated. Like Welles, Sturges had a fractured childhood. Born in Chicago in 1898, he shuttled between the U.S. and Europe as a boy. His free-spritied mother palled around with Isadora Duncan (and gave her the scarf that caused her demise), which exposed young Preston to France’s freewheeling artistic community.

Following his WWI service, Sturges worked for a few years at a New York store owned by his mother’s fourth husband. He was goaded into playwriting, so the story goes, while on an unsuccessful date with an actress. He made his Broadway debut as an actor in 1928; the following year, his play “Strictly Dishonorable” made him a small fortune and drew enough attention to him that he soon was working in Hollywood as a rewrite man, then contributing original screenplays. He proved versatile enough throughout the 1930s to allow him to talk his way into his first directing job, and at the end of 1939 began shooting “The Great McGinty” from an original screenplay. And it wasn’t all talk that got him the job. He agreed to sell Paramount the script for $10 if he’d be allowed to direct.

It’s a Gas

From the Theater Vault Dept.: Talk about a fairy-tale world. For a few seasons over thirty years ago, the Cohoes Music Hall was home to Heritage Artists, a professional theater ensemble heavy on musicals that guaranteed excellence. Talk about evanescence! Nothing at all comparable has taken its place in the Albany area. Even as trivial a piece as “Pump Boys and Dinettes” proved stellar.

                                                                                        

IN THE FAIRY-TALE WORLD of musical theater, characters are inclined to sing for what seems to be any reason. Sometimes they burst into song when you least expect it; sometimes they tire you with it; sometimes it seems that they’ll never stop talking get on with the singing.

“Pump Boys and Dinettes” features almost no talking. Short, and short on plot, it simmers from song to country-flavored song with a wit and sparkle that leaves you dazzled. As the season-closer for Heritage Artists, it’s been setting the Cohoes Music Hall rocking to the antics of a quartet of good ol’ boys at a gas station somewhere on Highway 57 in North Carolina – and the sassy sisters who run the neighboring diner.

Let’s put it on the line here: there’s absolutely no reason not to see this show. The performers, all of whom sing and play instruments and even dance from time to time, are the sort you wish would show up at your company picnic and take over the entertainment. The music, all  country-flavored, will appeal to anyone who enjoys good music and has no objection to laughing now and then.

The tickets don’t cost much more than what you’d pay to see a couple of movies, and this is an event that stays with you longer.

Hard-Working Bard

WITH ALL DUE RESPECT to the late James Brown, I believe that the hardest-working man in show business is Bridge Street Theatre’s Steven Patterson. He co-founded the theater; he handles publicity and building repairs. Sometimes he takes tickets or sells concessions, or possibly both. Other times he’s onstage, taking on a remarkable range of roles, from ensemble comedy to solo drama, from contemporary classics to whatever you call Eugene O’Neill.

Jack Rento as Julian, Em Whitworth as
Rosemary, Andrew Gorhring as
Henry, and Steven Patterson as
William Shakespeare.

In the case of “Rude Mechanics,” world-premiering on the Bridge Street stage, he essays that dizzying range in one show, playing three roles ranging from the frantic to the ethereal, with (literal) Shakespeare in-between. And he’s playing these in the company of three other actors who help spin a dizzying web of confusion and intrigue backstage of a production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” that’s about to be performed before King James I and some royal visitors from Spain. It’s 1612. Cast members are succumbing to the plague infecting London.

That’s why Julian Crosse will be going on as Francis Flute, who plays the female role of Thisbe in the play-within-this-play. Julian is nervous, excited, terrified – a panoply of emotions that give Jack Rento, making his Bridge Street debut, a hilarious set of instant transformations.

The Big, Fat Lummox

Guest Blogger Dept.: We welcome back Booth Tarkington, whose 1916 novel Seventeen was, like most of the author’s books at the time, a best-seller. It’s fair to day that it hasn’t aged well; in fact, one wag observed that, if it were to seem relevant today, it should be retitled “Thirteen.” It offers the lovelorn William Sylvanus Baxter, pining with infatuation for the baby-talking Lola Pratt, a summer visitor to William’s midwestern town. The boy is about to join a number of his friends, all vying for Lola’s attention, on a picnic excursion.

                                                                                          

IN THE MORNING SUNSHINE, Mrs. Baxter stood at the top of the steps of the front porch, addressing her son, who listened impatiently and edged himself a little nearer the gate every time he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Willie,” she said, “you must really pay some attention to the laws of health, or you’ll never live to be an old man.”

“I don’t want to live to be an old man,” said William, earnestly. “I’d rather do what I please now and die a little sooner.”

“You talk very foolishly,” his mother returned. “Either come back and put on some heavier THINGS or take your overcoat.”

“My overcoat!” William groaned. “They’d think I was a lunatic, carrying an overcoat in August!”

“Not to a picnic,” she said.

“Mother, it isn’t a picnic, I’ve told you a hunderd times! You think it’s one those ole-fashion things YOU used to go to—sit on the damp ground and eat sardines with ants all over ‘em? This isn’t anything like that; we just go out on the trolley to this farm-house and have noon dinner, and dance all afternoon, and have supper, and then come home on the trolley. I guess we’d hardly of got up anything as out o’ date as a picnic in honor of Miss PRATT!”

Mrs. Baxter seemed unimpressed.

Fair Seedtime Had My Soul

 ADAM ALEXANDER, whose curiosity prompted travel all over the world collecting endangered vegetable seeds to grow and share, writes that

“Crammed into two fridges in the garage behind my study are jars and boxes filled with envelopes containing – at the time of writing – 499 varieties of vegetable seeds, sadly most no longer commercially available.” Adam Alexander grows some 70 varieties a year for food and seed-saving, something he started doing in the 1970s, although back then it was only about producing vegetables.

The seed-saving part of his book The Seed Detective starts in 1988, with a pepper. The author discovered it in the Ukrainian city of Donetsk; more specifically, in a farmers’ market stall, grown by a granny too poor to buy seeds and thus in the habit of saving them.

He doesn’t identify the woman except as a generic type, but notes that he “would always seek out this individual when scouring food markets around the world.” He’s extolling a generic grower, of course, but a grower of very specific produce: Vegetables that sprout from seeds uncorrupted by the chemical processes that have allowed Big Ag to copyright what once was a gift from Nature.

The “tennis-ball-sized sweet pepper with a fiery heart” kicked off Alexander’s search for other heritage and heirloom seeds around the world, many of which he than grows in his garden in eastern Wales. It’s a proving ground for his research as well, as he studies these vegetables to discover exactly what the word “heritage” means in relation to each.

Breaking the Curse

From the Food Vault Dept.: It delights me to discover that a restaurant I enjoyed visiting decades ago continues to thrive. Here’s one of them, in another twenty-year lookback. Although I dined at Lanie’s a couple of times after writing this review, I haven’t been back in a long while. A glance at the restaurant’s website confirms that the menu has changed and prices, you won’t be surprised to learn, have increased. So don’t be lulled by what’s listed below – those prices are mementoes of a fabled past.

                                                                                          

“THERE WAS A LOT OF TALK about how this spot had a curse,” says Lanie Lansing, “but I think the success of a restaurant really depends on what the people around it want. You can’t open a doughnut shop in an area that doesn’t eat doughnuts.”

This spot in Loudonville’s Kimberly Square hosted The Bistro most recently; before that, Olivia’s, Smoothy’s and Desperado’s, among others. Lanie’s vision, and it’s been quite a success during the restaurant’s nearly two years of operation, has been to offer a family-friendly menu that also features some fancy stuff, in a space that’s as suited for after-work relaxing as it is for full-scale dining.

But the emphasis is on casual. No white linen here, and you’re as likely to spot a pizza on a table as you are a complicated seafood dish. Lansing opened her restaurant with a well-focused vision, a vision that evolved during her many years in the business, which included 16 years as a bartender. “I worked at Ralph’s Tavern, J.T. Maxie’s, Thirsty’s, the Barnsider and many other places. But I always wanted to have my own restaurant. I love to cook. My whole family cooks. When we decided to go into this place, my husband gave up his contracting business to help me.”

In the Neighborhood

From the Food Vault Dept.: We look back twenty years to a Schenectady neighborhood (and a bit beyond) where the city’s Italian heritage was culinarily honored. But there have been changes since I wrote this piece. Garofalo’s closed in 2018, when an internecine family dispute led to its demise. La Gioia Deli closed in June 2022, but a niece of the founders reopened it four months later, so it’s still there to keep you stocked in Italian specialty items. Saddest of all, Cappiello closed its retail store in 2022, after 101 years in business. Perreca’s thrives, however, and Maria Papa not only opened a restaurant next door but also took over management of nearby Cornell’s, a restaurant at 39 North Jay Street.

                                                                                                

SCHENECTADY HAS AN AMBITIOUS REVITALIZATION PROJECT on tap that seeks to throw money at various parts of the city to see if magic beanstalks grow. Like the Jay Street pedestrian mall, Center City and the moat around Proctor’s, it probably looks good on paper. But no amount of fancy construction has created a downtown that can sustain a fine-dining restaurant. That’s because there are no people to support it.

A fresh Perreca's loaf emerges
Photo by B. A. Nilsson

Schenectady’s strength has long been its neighborhoods and sense of family, cultivated when the city was a one-company town, now eroded into tiny pockets of such cohesion. One such pocket is the North Jay Street area, now targeted to become the city’s Little Italy.

In truth, it’s been that for a while, although shifting population centers have depleted the neighborhood. The Sons of Italy is headquartered nearby, but what really give life to the area are the markets.

Begin at a small storefront at 33 North Jay St., easy to recognize by the many bread loaves in the window. Inside, if you visit early enough in the day, you’ll be drenched in the yeasty aroma of the emerging batch. Breadmaking technology hasn’t changed much over the past centuries, and part of Perreca’s success is its simplicity: a couple of ingredients, hand-formed loaves and a trip through the coal-fired oven.

Iberian Melodies

From the Concert Vault Dept.: 81-year-old Jordi Savall is still going strong, still exploring corners of the musical world typically neglected by the classical, folk, traditional, jazz – you name it – worlds. He ties together ancient musical trends in an attempt to remind us that peace and harmony are the default pursuits of the human race. He should have won a Nobel Peace Prize decades ago. Here’s my 2007 review of an appearance he and his ensemble made at Tanglewood.

                                                                                         

THE FLORENCE GOULD AUDITORIUM is a lovely, lively venue in handsome Seiji Ozawa Hall, itself overlooking one of Tanglewood’s lush lawns. Folks in the very full house were obviously pleased with the performance, but this wasn’t really the place for the program presented by Jordi Savall’s Hésperion XXI.

Jordi Savall and members of Hésperion XXI

“The Sephardic Diaspora” gave us a rich series of songs, both instrumental and vocal, from one of the richest musical melting pots of antiquity – 15th-century Iberia. The songs are plaintive, sometimes sarcastic, always deeply affecting, characterized by a melisma-rich minor-key modality.

Which is why this concert should have been given in a blues club. And when percussionist David Mayoral got two or three drums going, his fingers a blur over the different-sized skins as in “Nastaran,” a song from Sofia, we’d clearly settled into a boozy, late-night groove.

In a Terrific Jam

NINE CONCERTS; 31 jazz legends; 86 different songs; twelve hours of music on ten CDs. The statistics are staggering. These are the long-neglected 1950s Jazz at the Philharmonic concerts that Norman Granz presented, by then following a well-worn formula that had served him since 1944. That’s when he conceived the idea of putting his favorite jazz musicians on stage in a jam-session setting, which proved successful both in concert and on record.

As John McDonough’s exhaustive liner notes point out, the initial six years were documented in a 10-CD set issued in 1998 by Verve (a label Granz founded). It’s out of print, but a decent copy won’t bankrupt you. Once a Mosaic set goes out of print, however, the price tends to skyrocket, so if you have neither, I’d start with this one. True, you won’t have Billie Holiday or Charlie Parker or even Charlie Ventura, but ‘40s JATP veterans Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Shavers,  Bill Harris, Illinois Jacquet, Flip Phillips, Hank Jones, Ray Brown, and Jo Jones are all here. And Oscar Peterson, who was just dipping his toe in the JATP water in 1949, plays his butt off on most of the sessions in this Mosaic set.

The recordings are drawn from nine concerts given at venues ranging from Carnegie Hall to the Hollywood Bowl. As the box-set title reminds us, these are “Classic,” not “Complete,” a distinction that gives Mosaic latitude to cherry-pick the best of a bunch. And ownership issues prevented including all or part of some of the 1950s JATP concerts. Granz originally issued much of this material on labels he created but ultimately sold, and those sales seem to have gone every which way.

Over the Moon

From the Food Vault Dept.: Against all odds, this unique little restaurant endures. It’s a world unto itself, offering creative vegan and vegetarian food choices in a place where you will like as not end up chatting with your table-neighbors – if you’re not digging the live music that’s a regular feature. Not a lot has changed since I wrote this piece 15 years ago except the prices. Check them out at this website.

                                                                                           

SHORTLY AFTER WE ARRIVED, a spirited discussion broke out at the counter about personal philosophy, reminding me that it’s been a dog’s age since I’ve heard any self-definition beyond “I’m a Mets a fan” or “Yeah, I’m a Democrat. Wanna make something of it?”

Photo by B. A. Nilsson

This discussion soon veered towards food, a natural segue both because of the good food served at Moon & River and because there’s something ’60s-enough about the vibe here that it should inspire one to recall that “you are what you eat.”

Moon & River Café opened three years ago at what was long ago a shabby deli on Front Street in Schenectady’s charming Stockade area. It’s been refurbished to a fare-thee-well and appointed with living room-like furnishings that should remind some customers of a place called Mother Earth Café that once thrived in Albany.

That’s because they’re the same furnishings. “I put them in storage when I closed Mother Earth,” says Richard Genest, “and now they’ve found a new home.” This means that you can sit at tables, at a counter, in an armchair; you can play board games, read the paper. You can observe, as we did, the darkening skies of a summer thunderstorm while nursing a good beverage (my own cup of tea was appropriately soothing, but my daughter’s cup of creamy, aromatic chocolatl ($2, styled as “Aztec hot cocoa with sweet spices”) seemed more appropriate to the changing weather.

The Goose Hangs High

From the Opera Vault Dept.: The Berkshire Opera, in its earliest years, aspired to a Glyndebourne feel. And there were some eight summers of truly marvelous productions in a former chapel on the grounds of a posh resort before the company had to scramble to find venues. Productions remained good, but that Glyndebourne magic was gone. Here’s my review of a double-bill from the company’s second summer that included the first professional production of a Mozart one-act. And you can find the wonderful soprano Maureen O’Flynn mentioned over here as well.

                                                                                                

STOCKBRIDGE NATIVE MAUREEN O’FLYNN, now a soprano with the New York City Opera, returned home in glorious voice Tuesday night. It was the opening-night gala of the Berkshire Opera Company, a 2-year-old group whose quality work should herald many more seasons. The audience braved squalls and felled limbs to make it to the Pierce Theatre, where two one-act operas comprised the delightful bill.

Maureen O'Flynn

Mozart’s The Goose of Cairo" is an under-performed gem, complete with father-frustrated lovers and uppity servants and a mechanical contrivance, the titular goose, that threatens to steal the end of the show. This production easily could have been titled “Road to Cairo,” thanks to stage director Thomas Lee Rindge’s Hope-and-Crosby-ish irreverence.

Comic opera is a challenge for the director: how much can be added to the humor of the music and text? Rindge was not afraid to take risks and was probably 90 percent successful.

The plot gives us lecherous old Don Pippo, grumpy papa of Celidora (O’Flynn). As played by Adrij Dobriansky, he has the funny befuddlement of Hugh Herbert, the “woo-woo” man of the old Busby Berkeley films.

Even as he prepares for his wedding to the young Lavina (Judith Gray), Don Pippo flirts with his maid, Auretta (Karen Smith). Naturally, this enrages Auretta’s sweetheart, the servant Chichibio (Vaughan Fritts), whose puffed-out chest seems to achieve more buoyancy the more he gets upset.

The Play’s the Thing

From the Theatrical Vault Dept.: Here’s another orphan piece, orphaned insofar that I can’t find any indication that it ever ran in any of the publications that used to publish me. So I offer it as a snapshot not only of what I chose to write about in 2006, but also the kind of cultural offerings that came to the Albany area – in this case, to a school that badly needed such things.

                                                                                        

IT HAS BECOME the most daunting of theatrical roles, one that has enticed and destroyed actors for four centuries. Because the bar is perceived to have risen so high, Hamlet’s famous “To be or not to be” soliloquy is the bane of many an actor.

Tom Wells

Yet Shakespeare’s masterpiece continues to be the most-performed play in the Western world, has been translated into every major language, and has been the subject of dozens of films and operas. The version presented Mon., Feb. 6, at Watervliet High School by Lenox, Massachusetts-based Shakespeare & Co. is a 90-minute, seven-character touring production tailored for use with school groups.

As such, it probably will serve its audiences as a first glimpse of this formidable play and can, in that context, be judged as something of a success. It moves quickly; it held the attention of a restive audience; it played up elements of Hamlet’s character that remain resonant with teenagers.

As a theater piece, this production bears the stamp of Shakespeare & Co. in its kinetic staging and energetic approach to vocal delivery. Too often, however, this energy got in the way of the play. “Speak the speech,” Hamlet is famously quoted, “trippingly on the tongue.” The youthful cast in this production tended to mistake outright yelling for passion, and, instead of tripping, sometimes fell.

This Mulligan is a Gimme

From the CD Vault Dept.: Here’s a trio of CD reviews from 23006 that I found languishing in a single file (computer, that is, not physical) no doubt intended for Metroland magazine. But I don’t think they were published. I find no record of them in my sent-to-Metroland directory. Jazz, old-timey folk, and pseudo-opera are considered. So, in the spirit of exhuming anything and everything to which I put my digital pen, I offer them here and now.

                                                                                          

MOSAIC RECORDS has an admirable history of issuing the finest series of jazz compilations you’ll ever want to invest in. They’re a joy to own and listen to, and once each limited-run pressing goes out of print, its collectible value skyrockets. Typically ranging from four to ten CDs in an attractive box with very detailed program notes, they sport about the best remastering I’ve ever heard, and the scope of each defines a particular jazz artist and/or label during a particular scope of time.

Recently they initiated a new line of reissues under the title Mosaic Select, each a three-CD set that focuses on (typically) a more recently active artist. Not as exhaustive in scope as the big sets, they allow more of surgical strike on the artist’s catalogue. Thus we have Art Pepper from 1956, some 1957 Bob Brookmeyer sessions (complementing Mosaic’s now out-of-print Jimmy Giuffre set), live Dexter Gordon club date recordings from 1978-79, plus sets by Randy Weston, Bennie Green and many more – 22 of them as of this writing.

Number 21 fits in nicely with the series, presenting Gerry Mulligan in a number of different settings (and contrasting with Mosaic set no. 221, which features Mulligan’s Concert Band recordings from 1960-62).

Back to the Classics

From the Musical Vault Dept.: Keith Jarrett was a little grumpy when I got him on the phone. This was in 1985, and I called to interview him in advance of his appearance in Troy, NY, playing classical Baroque-era selections. Or maybe I came across as a jerk and pissed him off. Either is a possible explanation as to why I didn’t get very much out of him and resorted to quotes from others to fill out the piece below. Nevertheless, I was looking forward to seeing his performance, but he cancelled at the last minute. Five years ago he suffered a pair of strokes that have ended his performing career. So this remains my only in-person brush with the man, although I unreservedly recommend his recording of Shostakovich’s Preludes and Fugues. I’ve left the piece below in its entirety, including a glimpse of other arts events in the area.

                                                                                           

IT LOOKS LIKE an abrupt change of career, but Keith Jarrett’s recent switch to playing the classics is really a sort of coming home for the pianist, whose early studies included rigorous classical training. Referring to this change, Jarrett told one interviewer last year, “It seems sudden, but several years have been involved. I won't call it a shift. It’s more a choice for the music.”

Keith Jarrett

This makes sense when you realize that Jarrett considers himself not so much an improvisor at the keyboard but a voice for the music he plays, leading him to observe, “It’s appropriate for me to play music that already exists. I’m redirecting the same energies.”

On Saturday, Jarrett brings a program of music by Bach, Handel, and Scarlatti to the Troy Savings Bank Music Hall for an 8 PM concert. Those three composers are being feted this year for sharing the same year of birth three centuries ago. Did this fact motivate Jarrett’s programming? “It’s fortunate that this 300th birthday happened at a time when I might have done this anyway. It’s nice to know that it works out. But I also feel, for example, that Handel’s keyboard music needs to be played more often.”

Coca Nuts

From the Theater Vault Dept.: The madcap excesses of the “Barber of Seville” we discussed last week reminded me of a very different, very funny musical: “On the 20th Century.” I saw it in 1987, when the Broadway tour came to Schenectady. The musical opened on Broadway in 1978, where Judy Kaye replaced Madeline Kahn after a few performances, and it made Kaye’s career. Also in that cast was Imogene Coca, the incredibly funny foil to Sid Caesar for so many years. We were fortunate to have both Kaye and Coca in the cast of this tour, as noted below.

                                                                                           

THE DROP THIS TOURING COMPANY USES for a curtain has giant postcards painted thereon, as if written on board the Twentieth Century, a train that once connected New York and Chicago. The portraits cleverly used on the stamps are of the songwriters responsible for the musicalization of this vintage play: composer Cy Coleman and librettists Betty Comden and Adolph Green.

Imogene Coca

Might as well be so bold as to display their faces. It needed a team this good to take an already good play and make an entirely convincing musical out of it.

It started as “Napoleon of Broadway” by Bruce Millholland. Charles MacArthur and Ben Hecht fashioned it into “Twentieth Century,” placing the emphasis on board the train.

Comden and Green added lyrics and some dramatic touches of their own, with a Coleman score that is a throwback to the operetta-ish stuff of Jerome Kern’s day.

The spectres of great actors hang over this show. Thanks to the 1934 movie, it’s easy to recall John Barrymore and Carole Lombard as the irascible producer and mercurial star. Which gives Frank Gorshin and Judy Kaye a hell of a tradition to top, but they did so with gusto.

Savoring “Seville”

From the Vocal Vault Dept.: We’re traveling back to 1985, when I was still finding my feet as a music critic, and a brief review I wrote of Texas Opera Theater’s visit to Schenectady’s Proctor’s Theater with a delightful “Barber of Seville.” (And this was before I began complaining about staging an opera’s overture.) The melancholy aspect, in retrospect, is that director James Atherton died two years later of an AIDS-related illness. He was a tenor with the Santa Fe Opera from 1973 to 1978, and made his Metropolitan Opera debut in “Boris Godunov” in 1977. He would go on to sing 277 performances there in a repertory of 17 roles. In recent years, he had branched into directing, of which this “Barber” was a shining example. He was 44 years old and lived in St. Louis when he died, where he served as artistic director of the opera studio at the St. Louis Conservatory. But let’s find him, still alive, in Schenectady.

                                                                                                 

THE AUDIENCE AT – and cast of –  Thursday night's Texas Opera Theatre production of “The Barber of Seville” had so much fun at Proctor's that it is easy to speculate that this was the kind of presentation that originally boosted Rossini’s opera to the prominence it now enjoys.

James Atherton

The opera was played strictly for comedy, low and high, with the kind of talent and zeal that makes for a great evening at the theatre.

Much of the humor originally was based on what was considered a shocking play in its time: Beaumarchais’s script mocked relations between masters and servants so savagely that productions were banned in parts of Europe. Today, of course, the subject is antiquated into quaintness. Rossini’s score added a magic of its own, and, as the Texas Opera production attests, the potential for enduring fun.

Tenor James Atherton turned stage director for this version, leading the cast through comic turns which might tax the imagination of film director Richard Lester. The scenic design, by Eduardo Sicango, used fans as a motif; fans decorated costumes and stage; there were giant folding fans on each side of the stage; and a large fan-shaped drop served as curtain. During the overture we met the principal characters with a silent commedia dell’arte-style prologue, a delightful use of those minutes.

Gieseking of the Keys

AS A LIFE-LONG INSOMNIAC, I grew up dependent on overnight radio listening to ease the struggle to get to sleep. But you know me. I sought classical-music stations for solace. And, because I grew up in the New York metropolitan area, I had a choice of several. That is, until WNBC-FM abandoned the format, followed pretty much by WBAI. WFUV and WKCR were only sporadically classical by the time I discovered them, and WRVR was bizarrely unpredictable. That left WNYC, which intruded too many public-affairs programs for my taste, WNCN, and WQXR. (There was also Bridgeport, Conn., anomaly WJZZ, profiled here.) And the overnight programming I liked best was anything offered by Bill Watson, a silken-voiced polymath with very specific tastes who gypsied from station to station. (You can hear a recording of him here.)

Watson was particularly fond of tenor Jussi Bjoerling and pianist Walter Gieseking, and Gieseking’s Mozart especially grabbed my ear. The combination of his gentle but no-nonsense performances and the warm recorded sound was hypnotic. While working for a classical radio station in 1981, I cassette-taped an eleven-LP set of Mozart piano music that Gieseking recorded in London in 1953-54. I transferred the cassettes to minidiscs (o much-missed format!) 20 years later, and not long after that sent them to a hard drive. Those journeys weren’t always kind.

Which is intended to explain my fanatical joy at receiving the 48-CD boxset of Gieseking’s “Columbia Graphophone Recordings,” covering the bulk of the studio recordings he made between 1923 and 1956, when he died suddenly. That’s a lot of listening, only somewhat ameliorated by the fact that he revisited some of the repertory here more than once, so you may wish to ration yourself.