Remembering Miss Winehouse (Cabaret Music pt.2)

There was once a cool college radio station in Boston.  When I was a teenager it taught me everything I knew about the Blues, and alternative music (not the Seattle stuff, real alternative music), it even turned me on to a cappella music. Hold there for a moment, Gentle Reader, and do not scoff — it steered me well.

The stations last gift to me, before it died an undignified corporate death, was Amy Winehouse. It was when Frank came out and “Stronger than Me” was on heavy rotation.  I didn’t know anything about her, I had never heard of her and she hadn’t yet been crushed beneath a heavy stack of gossip.

It used to be pretty consistently on the radio when I woke up and drove to work in the morning. She doesn’t write in a morning mode, unless by morning on means 3 a.m. Pretty soon I had my own copy of the album, and I became aware of the gossip and the baggage. The British seemed more interested in her bad behavior, smoldering eyes  and beehive — and who really can resist the latter two? — but none of that matter much to me.  I had fallen in love with that voice, and the songs.

The songs had an edge to them that were lessened but all the things that critics like about them — the cursing, the Mark Ronson production, and all of those dull remixes.  Maybe they did vault her to the top of the charts, and if they did they neither her nor her music any favors.

She wasn’t a repository of kitsch and slander, although she seemed to attract both.  She was a cabaret singer of the highest caliber.  her voice and her songs have gotten stronger over the years, even if all of the celebrated ‘hip-hop’ influences have only become increasingly distracting and dated.  There are a few unmarred tracks she did, but there aren’t enough she embraced all of the tawdriness — the weed, the sampling, the drum machines, everything.  It is part of her and there is no separating her from it.  If she wanted to be the bad girl she would have to reject some of the good, and so she wanted and she rejected.

When she died, a friend of mine marveled at her enviously, because she joined the famous 27-Club, as if it were an accomplishment.  I chalk it up to her and me getting older (we were in our early 30s) and our chances of living fast dying young and leaving good-looking corpses were up.  But I can’t envy it.  Couldn’t then.  She and I had come to the age when we knew that we weren’t going to live up to our early potential.  It is a knowledge that still hurts.  But wasting potential, letting the match burn itself to nothing before it lights any other fire isn’t a solution or a cop out. it is only a waste.

Luckily for us, there is a BBC album that is pure and sound, edgy and unkitschy

Saint Carannog’s Day

Today is Saint Carannog’s Day, as some of you know I am rather fond of this particular saint, and wrote about him once

There are a few extant stories about him, and my favorite never seemed particularly Christian, at least to me.  It is also unusually pro-dragon; even though it comes from as anti-dragon an age as ours.  But nobody seems to be celebrating. I take it as a sign of anti-dragon bias.

An Apology

Some of you may have noticed that my last entry wasn’t very good, but that isn’t quite true. The truth is it wasn’t even written.

Over the summer I sketched out a series of blog entries to get me through the fall and winter in an effort to force myself to keep writing.  That, however, isn’t quite how it worked. I just kept rescheduling the posts until one week they caught up to me and the piece on Auden was published and then the next week I forgot the Amy Winehouse article was next — even though they are numbered. I’m not sure exactly how I made the same mistake twice in a row, but I did. I also found that my view on the matter changed between the time I initially wrote it and the moment of its premature publication — so it needed more than polishing — it needed to be rewritten.

So there you have it.  if you have any faith in this blog left, tune in next week for Amy Winehouse reconsidered. If not feel free to use me as a warning to your children about the dangers of planning for the future.

WALPURGISNACHT

NOTE: This is a slightly revised version of an entry from my old blog from April 29th 2016.In celebration of Walpurgis Night, I have decided to post this old translation that I have done from the Old Wendallan. I couldn’t find a trot to work with so the translation might be a little inaccurate, but hopefully not an act of vandalism. I have done my best but I am no expert on the language. So feel free to post any corrections that you have.

 

On Walpurgis Night   none should leave,
Or walk alone,   on the Witches’ Sabbath
When the devilish and the wicked    walk the Earth —
The wicked who hide    all year in the heaths
And the wicked among us    who want to join them.                                                                            –Kreduleð of Gulmanshire

 

Of Kreduleð we know nothing except that he stayed in the abbey of Gulmanshire for much of his life and disappeared in April 535. This brief poem and a Latin treatise on gardening are the only works currently attributed to him.

Auden’s Music con’t

It seems the British Library has been thinking about Auden’s songs too, and produced a handy guide to them. 

The blog I posted last week didn’t include any introduction to them whatsoever and I had been planning on doing a little one in case anyone​ was curious about what I was talking about. 

I don’t suppose that many people are familiar with Auden or cabaret music these days, but it seems I did suppose so when I wrote that entry.

Auden’s Songs (Cabaret Music pt. I)

I can’t find a suitable version of Auden’s cabaret songs.  I can find some well-done versions, but they are all done in the operatic style.  It may have something to do with Britten’s settings, or the simple fact that Britten did the settings, which are musically fine, but don’t really reflect how good the lyrics are, or the nature of the material.

Opera can ignore bad writing, because it is about the performance, but the same is not true here — the quality of the song depends largely on the quality of the lyrics. That is the story of popular music in the first three quarters of the 20th century.

There was a sentimental movie in my youth that featured one of these songs read aloud at a funeral as if it were a poem. Whoever wrote the screen play showed good judgement here (if not anywhere else).  The lyrics aren’t poetry (there is a very big difference and Auden wrote on the subject) but they do function better on their own.

It doesn’t have to be the case. Certainly, we can imagine these songs would be better if they had been scored by Kurt Weill, or George Gershwin, but it ain’t necessarily so. The music is better than sufficient, but the songs themselves need to be sung in different voices — the baritones and contraltos they were meant for. The ones that could deliver the wry jokes with the sly winks they need.  The songs need to be transposed into a different sensibility (and perhaps into keys low enough for us to hear the words).

But, alas, the song are, and have always been, the property of the classical world.  It is a world of composers and of performers, but not of lyricists. It is a world where changing a key is an act of impiety, where a great performance treats the voice as an instrument, but it is far away from the world where these songs belong.

A Day for Angels, A Day for Witches

 

I warned you before that I had a Christmas story appearing in a horror anthology, so look for ‘Christmas Angels’ in the newest edition of the Yellow Booke. Like the previous editions, it will be illustrated by M. Grant Kellermeyer. And will be released on the very night of the Witches’ Sabbath, Walpurgisnacht, April 30th.

I should also say that it will Kellermeyer_Christmasbe released as an ebook so you can download it, be safe, and not venture out of the house.