Posts Categorized: Posts

Where to begin…?

The 2009 Summer Season of the Monteux School comes to an end today.  Not before our bitchin’ Pops Concert though — in less than two hours time, I’ll find myself playing cymbals on “American in Paris”.  I’ve also volunteered my services as choreographer on that piece, and without anybody even asking.  That’s just the kind of guy I am.

Other recent highlights have included conducting Bartòk’s “Dance Suite”, about the darkest work that one could imagine with that title, and therefore bad-ass, and taking the role of Sacrificial Virgin-cum-Conductor in Le Sacre du Printemps.  The former activity has me contemplating writing a satire piece called “Middle School Dance Suite”, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

In non-musical events, we continued a great tradition of the School Pig Roast.  Please notice the use, by one of my genius Southern colleagues, of mustard-based, Carolina Style BBQ sauce:

oinky expression

I think Maurice would be proud.  As would my South-Carolingian Great-Grandmother.

In other wildlife news, there was a firefly in my bedroom last night who thought he had found his Life Partner when my cell phone’s LCD screen lit up to confirm the completion of my battery charging.  Plus I saw a roach in my kitchen whom I strongly suspect of having been a free-verse poet in a previous life.

Quickly, my vigilant friend Mary pointed out in a recent blog comment that Alexander Bernstein called into “CarTalk”, and I think we’ve really got to sort through this one.  This is the link to the full interview.

We start with this: https://www.willcwhite.com/audio/ab%20cartalk%201.mp3

Questionable.

Next: https://www.willcwhite.com/audio/ab%20cartalk%201.mp3

Awesome.

Finally: https://www.willcwhite.com/audio/ab%20cartalk%201.mp3

So, Dear Readers, will you take the challenge?

Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra

This past Monday, I did the first of (hopefully?) many children”s concerts that I shall do over the course of my career.  All in all, things went well, though I learned that the worst part of any children”s concert is definitely the children — they”re just too unpredictable.  Plus, there were some real tweakers among the Mainish children to whom I presented.

Philosophically speaking, I would offer a typically Žižekian reversal and propose that Children”s Concerts are truly for adults: the parents and grandparents are the ones listening and learning, and they feel especially good because they”re doing something “cultural” for their children.  Of course, if we take this assertion to its natural conclusion, it should mean that adult subscription concerts are really for children.  Maybe this is not so far off the mark, but only for a certain kind of child – the child who is entranced not only by the music, but by the elusive ritual of adult nightlife — the child who would savor the rare treat of being allowed to share the company of adults on a special occasion.

Anyway, I tried slots to make the whole thing interactive.  Here”s a clip:

God I hate my voice.  I wish it was deep and gravelly, like Lenny”s or Bea Arthur”s.  I could try smoking it down an octave, but the last time I had a cigarette I booted all over the damn place.  I suppose I”ll just have to live with the curse of my clear, beautiful, ringing, natural tenor.

Overall I was happy with the Kinderkonzert, but let”s just say, I don”t think there”s any danger of a shift in my key demographic, as this YouTube Analytics Pie Chart will certainly indicate:

key demographic

Come to think of it, maybe it”s just my Children”s Concerts that are really for adults… or maybe just old ladies.

(Route) 1 is Down (with its bad self)

I have been in Hancock, Maine nigh on a month plus change, Conducting-Associating my little heart out for l’École Perry Montux.  Yesterday, the unthinkable occurred — we experienced our third straight day without rain.  Around these parts, that’s considered a dangerous drought, but I found it so inspiring that I decided to embark on a little photojournalism project to get to the heart of Hancock.

pms chainsaw

Where better to start any trip to Hancock than at The Raye Chainsaw Sawyer Artist? Nightly shows at 7:00 PM feature The Raye Chainsaw himself sculpting masterpieces from logs.  Speaking of logs, next we move to…

pms pine tree

Alden Bunker, Pine Tree specialist to the stars.  What Enterprising young Pine Tree specialist wouldn’t want to establish Hancock as his home base?  The one confusing thing about Alden’s is that the parking lot is always full of school buses, not pine trees.  Rather, I should say full of Handcrafted Pine School Buses, painstakingly designed by Raye Sawyer, nightly.

pms raggedy

It’s true that Raggedy Ann Dolls are not hard to come by — most small towns with populations of 500 or more have entire stores devoted to them.  Thank goodness I came to Hancock though, where Raggedy Andy is given his due.  I just hope that the owner of that 1984 gray Cadillac Sedan isn’t planning to dress his Raggedy Andy doll in any of those American Girl Size clothes.  They’d probably be too big for him anyway, what with some of these obese children I see walking around here.

pms debbies

Never having patronized Debbie’s myself, I can only imagine what sort of Blueberry Ware she has in store for us, but I do know one thing — if you’re sick of those high-end, marked-up Blueberry Ware prices, you can always walk right next door:

pms debbies outlet

Yes, all this plus a Conducting School and a Gazebo await you in beautiful Hancock, Maine.  I defy even Ludwig von Mises to explain this local economy.

I mean, really…

…how often does one hear a cover of a Maurice Ravel song…?

https://www.willcwhite.com/audio/hows%20your%20mug%20trim.mp3

Ravel: “How’s your Mug?” fr. L’Enfant et Les Sortilèges

My Brightest Diamond version

…much less a remix thereof?

Tim Fite Redux

OK, well, actually, it turns out that there may be one other example.  Amazingly, I heard this on Maine Public Radio today:

Tommy Dorsey, “The Lamp is Low“

…which of course began life as

Pavane

Can you hardly believe it?

Pardonnez-moi, monsieur.

I’m just sitting here in the office trying to mind my own business, and this creepy old dude keeps staring at me:

pierre the lech

Sir, though you may like what you see, please do avert your eyes and get to conducting something by someone named Igor or Johannes, if you would.

In other news, I’m happy to report that a certain JvR was pleased with my not-so-recent efforts which have just been released on disc.  Do you think that means I should take back some of the mean things I said about him?  Well, maybe not… but I guess I didn’t have to call him John Boy.

But while we’re on the subject of the American Chorale Premieres CD, might I suggest that you buy it?  Or at least download one track in particular?

Sign me up for the history books, boys.

So, word on the street is that Paul Hindemith marked the fourth movement of his Solo Viola Sonata (Op. 25 No. 4) to be played Quarter Note = 600-640.  Never one to back down from a challenge, I’d like to use this space to present my own new Solo Viola Sonata:

Picture 3

I would ask that performers pay particular attention to the staccati.

Upon further thought, I have decided to authorize this piece for performance on the 35,000-year-old Vulture Bone Flute.  From henceforth, it shall be known as the White Solo Sonata for Viola or 35,000-year-old Vulture Bone Flute.

Seeing as there is no other music or music-industry related news that I could possibly comment on, I bid thee adieu.

Nagelkiste

squirrel w walnut

Editor’s note from the first edition (State Music Publishing House, Moscow, 1938) of Prokofiev’s 2nd Suite from Romeo and Juliette:

The “maracas” (6th movement), originally from Cuba, consist of two walnuts hollowed and dried, and then packed with grains.  This instrument is used for playing rhumba (jazz).  A box filled with many nails can be substituted for the maracas.

An open response to the Editor:

No, it certainly can’t.  Might I recommend that the next time you are dancing the rhumba or any other (jazz) number, you kindly take the aforementioned box of nails and beat it against your skull?  Oh, and would you please send me some Gargantuan Russian Walnuts while you’re at it?  I’m feeling a bit peckish.

Is this your tempoo?  Tooo Slooow…

Ina Garten Da Vida

Normally I don’t like to go dragging other people into the muck that is my blog life, but the following e-mail correspondence was just too good not to share.  When I received the first message from my boy B-Dubbs in LA, I knew it was going to be a special day:

From: B-Dubbs

Subject: culinary psycho

i have become frighteningly obsessed with ina garten.

to the point that i want to murder that fucker jeffrey in his sleep and take ina back to my apartment to live with me and my girlfriend.  in his fucking sleep.  the smug fuck.

From: willcwhite

Subject: re: culinary psycho

I know — what IS it about her???

The food, to be sure, but then it’s so much more.  It’s her attitude towards the food and towards life in general I think.  It’s the fact that she keeps a full stable of gay men to decorate her dining room table.  It’s the fact that she invariably calls the most complicated dishes simple, and breezily mentions that you could use a good canned chicken stock, but homemade is so much better.

She’s the only one on that whole Food Network that’s worth a damn!  I actually kind of like Jeffrey… actually, on second thought, what I really like is when Ina talks about Jeffrey… about how much he’ll like a particular dish, ingredient or piece of silverware.  You know she’s really just using him as an alter ego to amplify her own opinions.

Have you seen any of the episodes with her friend “TR”?  Major hottie.

Is TR the graying one who buys desert and worked in her restaurant as a young lad?

Yeah, maybe that’s what bugs me about Jeffrey.  He’s neither one of her gay mob, nor one of her uncomfortable female friends who are watching their weight.  He’s just away during the weeks on business.  When he should be at home with his genius fucking wife.  He should be chopping shit for her.  He should be giving her never-ending backrubs.  He should be bringing her bushells of red fresh cut roses every fucking time he walks through that door.

Because, as I said, if he’s not, a psychotic fan like myself is liable to do something highly illegal.

And yeah, her vibe is certainly about much more than food.  It’s about dark collared untucked oxfords that look best on the beach in the hamptons during the off season.  It’s about 5 sticks of butter when a dollop of olive oil would probably do the trick.  It’s about all the fish merchants and wine store clerks who may or may not actually know her name.

She’s just a fantastic human being.  And she deserves better.

And, yes, for sure the only one on that network worth a damn (although The Neelys for sure have something special going, even if they probably secretly hate each other)

the very one: http://trpescod.com/

good stuff.

let’s admit though, that Mr. Pescod is a bit of an outlier among the usual Barefoot guest crowd looks-wise…not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Concern with looks is really kinda below Ina’s socioeconomic/intellectual strata, wouldn’t ya say?

Oh I definitely would say.  Yes, you’re right about the looks and also, he is a pretty rare visitor (although increasingly featured). The real old school ugly gay men are the core of the program — how many florists can there possibly be in the East Hamptons?

Quiz: what’s Ina’s favorite flower?

fuck, now you’re testing the limits of my ability to actually pay attention to what the hell she’s saying rather than sort of just zoning out to her general lilt.

um….the big white ones with a shitload of petals?

all i know is that there are definitely arranged by her friend Michael.  how bad can THAT be?

did you watch the clips from Barefoot on TR’s website?  Look under the “host” tab

Answer: orange roses.  Just a tip in case you’re ever invited to the same party as her…

You turn up that volume, Ina!  God, I really can’t get enough.

who wouldn’t want that?

ina with orange roses