Tag: connection

It Ain’t Necessarily… Oh Wait, It Is.

On May 2, 2010

If there’s one thing I adore, it’s making connections -whether it’s between people, or ideas, or a crazy, heady mixture of both.

So it was with a mix of curiosity and excitement that I attended the opening of The Soul of Gershwin: The Musical Journey of an American Klezmer recently. It’s the final show offered in the current season of Toronto’s Harold Green Jewish Theatre Company, whose last work, Talk, I was pretty nuts about. The Soul of Gershwin was created and written by Joseph Vass, and it deftly draws connections between the musical artforms that so informed and shaped the work of the inimitable George Gershwin. Using a live band, Klezmerica -a super-talented music ensemble that has performed all across the US and at the International Klezmer Festival in Israel -along with three vocalists (Bruce A. Henry, Prudence Johnson and Robert Marinoff) and a narrator standing in as Gershwin himself (Michael Paul Levin), the show is a celebration of music, culture, history, and heritage -between and around and through several, in fact.

Musical combinations are sometimes magical and sometimes unusual, with surprising, delightful results. The duet between Henry and Marinoff, particularly, as the two engage in a kind of sonic duel between the plaintive intonations of a Cantor and the peppy joy of gospel is particularly beguiling; the duel soon gives way to a smooth synthesis, as the the intimate sonic connection between the two is rendered undeniable. Shalom and Hallelujah become joined in one joyous sound unto every Lord. Magnificent.

Another memorable moment occurs with the sung introductions to common Jewish traditions, followed by a winkingly sly “It Ain’t Necessarily So” -a song that was considered scandalous in its day for its flagrantly non-biblical approach. The “shock” we realize, must’ve been every bit as pungent in the Jewish community as the Christian, what with the convenient lifting of a religious melody to underscore a fundamentally naughty, amazingly tuneful song that hasn’t aged a day since its debut in Porgy and Bess in 1935. Johnson gives a playful, slinky interpretation that shows off the song’s timeless appeal while underlining the sly, naughty lyrics that so shocked (and delighted) audiences at its premiere.

It’s these kinds of connections -between past and present, between cultures, genders and traditions -that The Soul of Gershwin does so well: show (or rather, play) the history, and then show how Gershwin played with it to create something that was entirely new in its day, and still retains the gorgeous, rich sheen of genius crafted so carefully and lovingly by a man who understood how America is, at its very best, a crossroads of history, peoples, experiences, and an ‘otherness’ creating a unified whole. His music, even -or especially -now reflects this.

Now there were whisperings at the show’s opening that the Gershwin pieces were few & far between. But those with complaints need to read the full title of the show: the musical journey of an American klezmer. It’s not meant to be a turnstyle of Gershwin’s Greatest Hits. “Klezmer” (in this sense) means a lowly-paid musician who plays parties. Vass & Co. clearly feel Gershwin was a kind of modern klezmer made good, and it shows. The production is par history lesson, part remembrance, entirely celebration. If you don’t know much about Jewish music or culture, don’t worry: cultural traditions and words are clearly explained, and Klezmerica, as a band, are completely mesmerizing. Levin’s narration occasionally becomes slightly overbearing, if only because the power of Gershwin’s music is such that it really doesn’t need the kind of detailed introduction Voss has written, but then again, if you’re not sure about the history, and enjoy context, the interjections might be for you. Overall, you’ll come away from The Soul of Gershwin rich in knowledge, and in spirit. Shalom, Mr. Gershwin, and thank you, HGJTC. Can’t wait for next season.

Song Song Sunday

By Catherine Kustanczy

On April 18, 2010

In opera

Lying in bed mid-morning this sunny Sunday, two thoughts presented themselves: ‘why can’t I go back to sleep?‘ and ‘what the heck is the name of that French-Canadian electro band from the 1980s?‘ Several cups of Bewleys, a plateful of waffles, a scan of the weekend paper and a load of laundry later, I set myself the task of answering the latter question (there is no answer to the former, other than the mysterious wonders of the human body). A bit of snooping, and… voila. I thought of The Box in relation to Gorillaz‘s new single, “Stylo” -there’s that same pulsating beat, that bloopy-bleepy bass, that high-ish, scarily monotone vocal. It’s creepy and compelling all at once.

I have no way of knowing if Damon Albarn et al have heard The Box’s 1980s hit “L’Affaire Dumoutier (Say To Me)“, but I do hear a definition connection between the two:

There’s always been a European sensibility to what Gorillaz do, much in the same way with what Quebecois artists were doing twenty years ago. That spirit of experimentation, of pushing pre-conceived norms, of being… just plain different, feels weirdly duplicated and canned these days; ideas of what constitutes “authentic” within the musical realm are hazy at best.

I type this after an evening of half-observing the Twitter insults flying around over Ke$ha’s appearance on Saturday Night Live between sips of red wine and bites of calamari in a busy trattoria; I couldn’t help but feel compelled to observe the nastiness being hurled at the “garbage chic” singer/songwriter, and feel, at least, a bit sorry for her. Online, the running theme was that she ripped off Lady Gaga, in both sound and appearance. People know -or like to think they know -a fake when they spot it, and yet more often than not, the same fickle public openly applauds pre-conceived, packaged musical figures who’ve been primed to be the sassy “rebel” while simultaneously keeping a well-groomed public persona that has nothing to do with music and everything to do with celebrity. What’s original? What’s a rip-off? Is being obvious a hugely bad thing -especially when put beside artists that look (and, oh yeah, sound) like they’ve dropped out of a machine? I’d argue the online culture has blurred our ideas of what constitutes originality, in both good and bad ways. To borrow Warhol’s phrase, people want their fifteen minutes -but with fifteen different costume changes and a team of publicists, stylists, and hangers-on, ever singing the same damn over-manufactured, cutesy-wootsy, auto-tuned song. Some of us notice.

Incidentally, I remember Madonna’s break-out in the 80s, and her getting the tired old “trashy” / “slut” / “ripoff” insults hurled her way, too. Ergo, there’s something about all the hatred towards Ke$ha that makes her way more interesting to me. Fabulously shabby, awkwardly un-hip, and defiantly dirty, the young singer has less of the Gaga glam that so lends Ms. Germanotta to MAC campaigns and Philip Treacy hats, and more of the desperately young, ambitiously sexy vibe of Madonna’s live performance of “Like A Virgin” from the 1984 MTV Awards. She’s out of tune entirely, gets tangled in the wads of white netting and emanates such a vibe of delicious trashiness, you’ll want to take a shower at the end of it -but you can’t take your eyes off of her, either.

Then again, maybe I’m being an old fart. I do think it’s useful to go back and draw threads from past to present, however obvious, or un-obvious, that may be. Finding an original voice takes time, patience, and most of all, living (especially living away from the nefariously homogenizing forces of the record industry). It makes separating, mixing, kneading, and baking the authentic from the inauthentic that much more rewarding. Imagine a meal in a box; now imagine a meal in the oven. Originality is a tiresome old notion to throw around in the 21st century, but it behooves us to think about it, and how we approach our music, and what we expect from its performers, more carefully. Everything really is everything, as Lauryn Hill sang.

Herewith, a probable inspiration for The Box and Gorillaz -and probably everyone else, too:

He Likes Us

By Catherine Kustanczy

On January 8, 2010

In interviews

I love this montage of press junkets put together by filmmaker Jason Reitman during his Up In The Air interview rounds. The fun, punchy style of the piece is in stark contrast to the dreary, true nature of junkets.

Having interviewed a few people during TIFF, you do feel as though you’re one in a long assembly-line of reporters armed with microphones, recorders, and the standard line of questioning. More than once, I’ve actually felt bad for the interview subject -if only because they spend their days answering the same, inane questions. Time must surely stop at such moments. I can only imagine how many times Reitman was asked “what was it like to work with George Clooney?” It’s easy to forget, amidst the hype, that there is a real human being sitting in front of you. That person has real thoughts, feelings, ideas and perceptions.

It’s nice to see Reitman thinks the same of journalists; there’s a curiosity about these people, inherent in the fast edits of this clip, that they have lives, too, and those lives aren’t always strictly defined by livelihood. The Joe Strummer soundtrack also hints at a punk ethos that doesn’t quite gel with the promotional duties outlined by Hollywood, that leaving the human out of such marketing-based interaction robs one of experiencing the true joy of the moment. It’s also neat to see Reitman using social media with such flair and creativity; maybe it’s a sign of his (our) generation that we understand its deep ability to share and connect in ways that weren’t possible years ago. I wonder what directors like Frank Capra or Alfred Hitchcock would do, would that they had today’s technological tools at their disposal. It’s too easy to forget the humans amidst machines -that there’s a real person on the other side of the microphone, the tweet, the status update. Reitman’s junket montage, with its myriad of faces and smiles, is a wonderful reminder of the power of connection in today’s techno-obsessed world.

Don’t Sign This

By Catherine Kustanczy

On September 15, 2009

In inspiration

The Beatles Rock Band opening Cinematic E3
by pamelapatty

I came across this incredible piece of animation courtesy of my illustrator friend Kit on Facebook, who kindly provided a link. It’s taken from The Beatles ‘ Rock Band game. Yes, it seems the Fab Four are everywhere these days, what with videos and box sets, and, from what I can glean across social media networks, a whole new demographic coming to know and adore their enormous -and enormously influential -body of work. Watching this animation, with its combination of running, flying, playing and well… playing, I was struck by the sprightly, fun spirit of the piece, and how it perfectly encapsulates the madness that was Beatlemania.

Equally, I can’t help but look at the footage with confusion and a discomfort. I’m immediately reminded of the masses lined up outside some of Toronto’s swankiest hotels for the past few days. People are breathlessly waiting for some kind of glimpse of a celebrity -a wave will suffice, never mind the pandemonium around a handshake or an autograph. There’s a surreal kind of madness around fame that I do not pretend to understand. Perhaps my own time around the famous and celebrated has jaded me, although, in all frankness, I’ve seen people of all stripes and levels of notoriety at their very best, and at their very worst. When it comes to artists, the guy playing the back room of a dirty beer joint is sometimes more awe-inspiring than the stadium-fillers (and the latter will cop to this, too); the violinist on the subway platform can produce a more transcendent experience than a symphony, a spontaneous piece of graffiti inspire something deeper and more stirring than any framed canvas. I guess it depends on one’s mood, and perhaps more tellingly, perspective.

But at the heart of it, people are people, whether they walk around barefoot or they’re escorted everywhere in Cadillac Escalades. Artists -not ones playing at art or fussing around its edges -are seeking some kind of connection, to a wider world and experience than is easily granted. Does fame water down artistic output? That’s a tough one -one I’m still at odds to work out. Does the public actually want to be challenged? I engaged in a debate around celebrity reporting earlier on my Twitter feed, with Doug Saunders and I both agreeing that, from a journalistic point of view, offering intelligent, insightful reportage is harder than ever (though if you’re looking, check out Lynn Crosbie, who is one of the best). The Beatles manifest in cartoon form is, on many levels, a keen commentary on the nature of popular perception around fame -we like our heroes two-dimensional, don’t we? Don’t make a mistake, don’t get too weird, don’t be political, and talk in a language we all get. (The whole “Dammit, be normal and stop the weird crap, you’re one of us! / Dammit, you’re so awesome and stratospherically awesome, you’re not like us!” dichotomy is a whole other argument, and perhaps, future blog post.) The fact you can now play along with The Beatles, and thus claim your own little slice of Beatles-dom, makes it even more interesting, twisted, and surreal: “You too can be Paul, John, George or Ringo… just press a button!” Forget practise and craft. Pffft.

For me, artists -the ones I really admire, am challenged by, and who open up ways of perceiving existence and point at (indeed, celebrate) the world in all its maddening, chaotic horror/splendor -they aren’t two-dimensional (even if some choose to take that by-now-tiresome ironic pose, or play that damn role into the ground -especially annoying if you know they’re actually interesting). In the same vein, I don’t buy the airbrushed version of celebrity. I don’t want to. Messy, human, faulty, wrinkly, fat, grey and ridiculous: kind of like the rest of us, only with flashbulbs, sharpies, Whole Foods and questionable taste.

I’ll be on the Park Hyatt‘s roof shortly -not because I want to meet any celebrities, but because it’s simply one of my favourite spot in Toronto, and I want to enjoy the September sunshine while it lasts. If anyone wants a chat, famous or not … you know where to find me. Leave the cartoon-you on the street below.