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April 17, 2008

End times upon us, pray for your soul

Yesterday, a CTA subway train got stuck underground due to a "mechanical failure," according to the CTA, with 1,500 people needing to be evacuated from the Blue Line during rush hour.

On National Income Tax Day, the Chicago police shot and killed a cougar on the North Side. (Animal control? Not how we do things here. h/t Whet Moser) And word comes today that another cougar may be loose nearby, with a nice look back to the deceased:

"Investigators are still trying to determine if the cougar shot Monday by police was an escaped pet or a wild animal that wandered into the area -- possibly from South Dakota, the nearest location where the predators live naturally." [emphasis added]

When wild, predatory cats are migrating 800 miles to feast on city folk, that's generally a pretty good time to get the heck out of Dodge. And it is a good idea to get the heck out of Dodge, anyway, because it's located in nearby North Dakota.

I won't be the least surprised to read tomorrow that elephants wielding machetes were slashing at commuters' ankles as they stood on the platforms, waiting for their above-ground Red Line trains to arrive. (The commuters' trains, I mean, not the elephants'.) Does anyone know if the CPD have elephant guns, though? Do we go nuclear at that point? Apocalypse now!!!

April 15, 2008

DJ Dimmy Tree

This just in: Dmitri Shostakovich invented hip hop in 1966. Set up a backbeat with a tambourine in your Second Cello Concerto, and you're set. Bosch on Public Transit has the story; YouTube evidence here. Rumors of the song cycle Verses of the Szugarhill Gang might not be so far off, after all.

April 11, 2008

It's baaaaaaaaaack

In case you missed it the first time around (and you know who you are), Ben Niles's documentary Note by Note: The Making of Steinway L1037 has returned to Chicago for another run at the Gene Siskel Film Center, through April 17. "Back by popular demand," says the Film Center's web site. My Time Out Chicago review from last January is here, and it is surely as relevant today as is was then. Niles will attend the Friday screenings.

April 09, 2008

A plug

Cover_resound_mahler6

Just out yesterday and available for your listening pleasure is the latest CSO Resound recording featuring the Chicago Symphony conducted by Bernard Haitink. The CSO's principal conductor leads the orchestra in Mahler's Sixth Symphony, and the two-CD (90 minutes, yo) recording can be yours for $19.99 from the Symphony Store. The hybrid SACD version will set you back only $23.99, and you can check out audio samples right over here. It's also available right now from iTunes, and from other e-tailers (yeah, I said it) on June 10.

171 comments?!

Rbp The mild-mannered Chicago violinist Rachel Barton Pine found herself in a vicious, brutish corner of the internet last week, a pit filled with coarse comments about the Metra accident which cost her the free use of her legs and mobility, as well grossly deceptive comparisons between her physical loss and that of soldiers in the Iraq War. She was also slandered as a violinist who used the celebrity of her accident to further her career, as well as undeserving of the financial award she received after taking Metra and Northwestern Transportation to court. This ugly redoubt of the internet was that heretofore unknown hive of disrepute and slander, the comments section of the Chicago Tribune's Sunday Magazine.

The occasion for these outbursts (171 comments as of 8:30pm Monday) was Howard Reich's story on Barton Pine, catching up with her in Santa Fe 13 years after her accident and checking in on her career. No big deal. Far from a mere puff piece, Reich's 6,000-word story went into detail about her family's financial struggles growing up, and he delved into the minutiae of the court case that resulted in Barton Pine receiving, according to the story, roughly $15 million in compensation after taxes and court costs.

Now, none of this is worthy of having the very first commenter---"Call me a bonehead but" from Oak Lawn, Ill.---write "If the violin is stuck in the doors of a train, let it go, don't let it drag you onto the tracks." Not only is that not what happened, it's not what Reich wrote happened. Then there was "Mitch," who wrote:

"She hit the lottery for $30 million, but the real reason she is so embittered to this day is that she "only" got $30 million when she actually had sued Metra for $600!! million. Who the hell did she think she was...the next Mozart, Beethoven and Bach all rolled into one? Kids today suffer from a delusional sense of entitlement."

It takes serious intellectual failings to equate lottery winnings with financial gain that comes at the cost of numerous surgeries, bone injuries, and the inability to walk unaided for the rest of your life.

In this same vein was "Booksdates," who claimed, "I'm in the business and she is on a cut from one of the acts that I handle. Average at best." Another chimed in later to claim that she was snobbish to them at some function at the Sears Tower.  Supposedly her contract stipulated that no one was allowed to talk to her.

If anyone knows of such a request for a classical violinist, please email me, because that claim does not pass any sniff test known to man.

I first heard of Barton Pine when she was soloing in Beethoven's Violin Concerto with theMast_bg_2 Indianapolis Chamber Orchestra around 2002. Before the concert, I knew nothing of her accident. When she came out on crutches and made her way to the custom bench she uses, I thought she had a birth defect, and only found out about the accident after the concert, when a friend from Chicago told me the story. After the concert, she was at a reception and mingled with everyone who was there and was perfectly gracious. The contact we've had since I started writing about music in Chicago has never been less than cordial.

To their credit, several readers jumped in to defend Barton Pine's integrity and her playing ability. But they shouldn't have had to, because those comments should never have been published on the website of a reputable news outlet, which the Tribune certainly is. The editors of the Tribune should be ashamed of the hurt they allowed Barton Pine to endure. That no one was screening those comments for malicious content is inexcusable.

Now, take a deep breath. I know the internet is an amazing tool of democracy and for creating communities and blah blah blah lolcats facebook britny speers nude. I don't care. Media outlets have to step up and stand for something, and unmoderated comments sections aren't cutting it. No newspaper allows anonymous letters to be published in print. Yet any malevolent malcontent with a modem can write any graffiti he wants over a story, airing half-brained (at best) schemes and rumors and slander and, yes, libel, and get away with it without divulging so much as a first initial, entirely in the name of NEW MEDIA.

Further, I know that Barton Pine is a public figure, and that it's supposedly to the good that people get this hot and bothered about a classical musician. But few of these commenters had anything valid to say about her musicmaking, other than to criticize her anonymously, with most people impugning her motives and questioning her judgment. It's a puerile, pathetic discussion that's on the same level of effectiveness, and just as filthy, as a prison inmate flinging crap at a passing warden from inside his cell.

"Democracy is rude," Michael Miner wrote this week in his column in the Chicago Reader. Rudeness has its uses, and it's a great way to grab attention. But there's a difference between the rudeness I've championed here in the form of Hunter S. Thompson's political coverage and that of the drooling monsters that populate that particular Tribune comments section. And Miner wasn't actually arguing in favor of rudeness in print, only saying that it has a way of getting things accomplished that politeness doesn't.

What set Thompson apart from run-of-the-mill jackassery was that he actually reported those stories. (Or reported what he didn't make up, but the grains of truth were there, along with some buds and stems.) He tracked down the principal actors and those on the periphery and cobbled together enough facts such that he could sort it out and create something resembling a reality. This is not how the average reader works. The average reader knows little to nothing of the inner workings of a story or its details, and has no more right to comment on it anonymously in the writer's publication than a wall should decide what color it gets painted.

If the Tribune and other major newspapers are going to survive and prosper in this era, they must apply some standards to these comments sections and actually make them into something the paper is comfortable putting its name to. I argued strongly against allowing anonymous posts when Time Out launched its blog, only to be told that if they didn't allow anonymous posts, there would be no posts.  (No, TOC is not a newspaper. The anecdote is still telling when it comes to a media outlet's priorities.)* In this piece from the Online Journalism Review responding to the Barton Pine profile, Roger Niles points out that media entities gain and lose credibility based on everything on their site, and those comments do nothing for the Tribune's. (h/t to aP for the OJR link)

Require names. Require working email addresses. Have your writers weigh in during the discussion, make it clear through some icon that denotes their presence that they are part of the publication, and create an actual forum and guide a discussion. Hire some tough editors to sort through the incoming comments and vet them with as much tenacity as Big Al and his handlebar moustache bring to manning the door at the Green Mill. Your readers will thank you, and might even start taking you more seriously.

There's a nice picture of Big Al standing watch right here.

*Edit: TOC's web editor wrote in to say that, to his credit, he aggressively moderates the comments that appear on TOC's online content, including anonymous comments.

April 05, 2008

Probably a bit overheated

Last year, temperatures ran high about Gustavo Dudamel and El Sistema being used as the friendly face of Hugo Chavez's Venezuelan government (briefly, On the Overgrown Path, anti-Chavez; Matthew Guerrieri, wait just a minute and think this through), but I think we can all agree that the insufferable fictional violinist and conductor Sir Roy Vandervane went too far in his opposition of Greece's government in the early 1970s:

'Telling a shag why I won't do Harold in Italy for him,' [said Vandervane.]
'I suppose the viola part would be rather on the-'
'No, no, this would have been waving the stick. Because of Byron.'
'What's he got to do with it?'
'Duggers, the music by Hector Berlioz, [from or around] 1869* as we both have cause to know, is based on a-'
'God. I'm with you. God.'
'Sorry, but these days you do rather seem to need to have stuff spelt out.'
'What's Byron got to do with it?'
'Christ, he's a Greek national hero. They're always going on about him.'
'So we refuse to perform a piece of music by a Frenchman inspired by a poem by an Englishman [ed.: about a visit to Italy!] who died a hundred and fifty years ago in case it might get blokes to turn soft on the present government in Greece. I see.'
'You can't let it slip, you know. Got too keep after them.'---from Girl, 20, by Kingsley Amis, 1971.

*Close: 1834.

 

April 04, 2008

Chicago Symphony vs. Smashing Pumpkins

In the spirit of March Madness, the Chicago Tribune dreamed up a few other bracket-focused contests, including one featuring Chicago bands. The Chicago Symphony ended up in the finals against Billy Corgan and Smashing Pumpkins, and the CSO duly smashed the pumpkins with a Mahler hammer, winning 58 per cent of the vote. La forza del destino, ya Mellon Collie chumps.

April 02, 2008

Americans love Liszt, I mean, lists

It's a democratic country, where we're all equal and the mainstream media can keep us down all they want because we can spread the news on our own, darn it, and we don't need to tabulate our popularity or readerships because that would be like counting newspapers' circulation and determining influence from that number and we don't need---what's that? A.C. Douglas compiled a list of the top 50 classical-music blogs? Stop the Googling monkeys! Alex Ross wins with 6,910 Google Points (GooPs), Chicagoan John Gibbons is No. 50 with 187 GooPs, yours truly is No. 22 with 1,360 GooPs, and the amazing thing is that, despite that level of fame and achievement, each of us would still have to pay $1.50 for a cup of coffee.

March 31, 2008

That explains the icy chill that went down my spine

As if my dreams hadn't been weird enough already, I had to find Inspiration, Dreams & Ash, a blog by Marian, a classically trained (I think) musician who recently discovered blues and jazz. So far, so normal. She landed on my radar by writing one of those "Woe is me, something didn't go right tonight" posts musicians occasionally lapse into. Also normal. The concert was at Orchestra Hall, apparently, and while the audience was enthusiastic, Marian felt it was average at best, and was extremely put out because she had bought box seats for her friends. Marian is apparently rather wealthy; Marian is also a vampire. And here we break with normalcy.

Piecing this together, it looks like Marian started playing jazz and blues, and later entered into some sort of vampire-centric group. A boy seems to be at the heart of the problem. (I say boy because, despite Marian buying a box of seats, she sounds like she's in college, and much of this takes place on campus.)

"To make a very long and intricate storey [sic] short, a group of people much like us got in too deep with some supernatural phenomena, and literally were trapped onto the campus. Leaving always involved an accident or something mysterious to prevent that person from leaving. They had decided to read from a book (almost like a spell) only it brought to life something seemingly evil and sentient."

We then stumble into her denial phase:

"I am dodging the lynchpin [sic!!!] of this whole insanity. I mysteriously refer to the damned and being damned, but the horror of this situation keeps me in partial denial of my new form. I can't possibly stay in denial due to the requirements of maintaining my new form, but it's easy to try and forget as I record my experiences.

Essentially, Darius not only took my heart, but my life. It could be poetically rendered as the "kiss of the death". It was a damned good kiss though."

A denial phase marked by traces of noirish writing.

She then starts to get comfortable with it, that fairly nasty business of chomping down on a jugular:

"It's been difficult already to balance my feeding to keep my personal promise to not take more than a human should have to endure, and to make it as pleasurable as I can for them, but I'm getting more of the hang of it...especially with Darius' help."

That same month, she begins playing concerts for vampires at the Discarded Image, a club I haven't heard of. (This blog is on record as supporting these sort of guerrilla outreach efforts, but really hadn't considered the essential rightness of reaching out the supernaturally inclined until now. Marketing departments, take note.)

We then find her rebelling against the leaders of her coven (or vampire group? ensemble? An exaltation?) She settles on something called the Carthian group.

"I really liked the head of Carthians, Walt Barowski. He seemed much more in touch with reality and the current world, not the ancient times of Merlin and King Arthur. I liked him enough to realise I could go Carthian except for my overwhelming interest in the secrets of the Dragons that will help me remove this Vampiric nature, or, at least tone the "needs" down to something more controllable."

The leaders of this group are Barowski, and the (mostly) lovable old lady Rowen.

This is followed by a turf war with werewolves over who controls the blues club B.L.U.E.S., who then meet to discuss their differences like the families in The Godfather, or something:

"Despite the tenseness of our meeting, I think we were all pleasantly surprised with how agreeable we actually were, including the Werewolves. Hank and I headed up the talking, since our ability to negotiate and "impress" had vastly increased with our new abilities, and I played to light up the place and put everybody in a good mood."

Of course she did. The vampires and werewolves are now in alliance with each other, which should help everyone sleep at night.

The vampires took a trip to Michigan in the middle of February to Mackinaw Island, the farthest northern point of Michigan not in the Upper Peninsula. (And this is where my friends will accuse me of an April Fool's prank, since my family used to go there for vacations, but that's a coincidence.)

Marian then wraps up with the post about playing in Orchestra Hall, and if anyone knows who she is, please let me know. There are no CSO Chorus members with the name Marian. I already checked.

(I know the timing is suspect, but I couldn't come up with this as an April Fool's joke. This woman knows way too much lingo for me to contrive it, and I've had a fear of this sort of occult stuff since I was a kid. When I was 7 or 8, I was literally too frightened to go upstairs in my Grandma's farmhouse after watching a sitcom about a possibly vampiric uncle. And C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters did a number on me. When I worked at Borders, I did just about everything I could to keep from reshelving books in the section with all those H.P. Lovecraft books.)

March 29, 2008

A.T. Curtis

How Euro can you get? While tooling around on the 'net (by which I mean Facebook), I stumbled upon this video of pianist Alexandre Tharaud's performance of Couperin's Tic Toc Choc. He's aided by two dancers, and the result is, I guess, something like Mark Morris with a little more street cred. (As I've said before, I'm not a dance critic.)

Also noteworthy is this performance on Instant Encore of Dvorak's String Quintet by students at the Curtis Institute with the president of the conservatory, violist Roberto Díaz, sitting in. (Via) This may have been the only student ensemble in the country in which every member was present for every rehearsal. It shows, too; they don't sound like students.

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