Scott Stilson

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Just listened to: A Sea Symphony, premiered by Ralph Vaughan Williams in 1910 and recorded in 2014 by Hallé—their orchestra and their two choirs—plus two other choirs—because how else do you evoke the vastness of the ocean and remind everyone this is how the 20th-century renaissance of English classical music began—than with four choirs? Subtle this is not. A bombastically English response to when the Frenchy-Japonesque La mer is not enough.

Not that this piece lacks quiet moments: You may have come for the giant “Behold, the sea itself!” that opens the first movement, but you’ll stay for the evocations of solitude on the beach in the second movement.

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I’m pleased that this year’s listening added the following albums to my previous list of Christmas albums playable front to back both in the background or attentively:

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Just re-listened to Merriweather Post Pavilion by Animal Collective (2009). I hesitate to recommend this wacked-out indietronica because like all the other Animaniac albums I’ve listened to, it’s easily heard as mere maelstrom of sophisticated-yet-juvenile, repetitive, acid-plus-coke freneticism. But on this one there’s just enough charm for me in the (still sophisticated-yet-juvenile, still repetitive) melodies, harmonies, syncopations, vocal timbres, and lyrics (often about family, which helps the charm) to overcome the hesitation.

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Currently, there are only five Christmas albums I can listen to all the way through with pleasure:

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Just re-listened to A King and His Kindness (2021) by Caroline Cobb. My favorite nuthin’-but-Jesus album since Rich Mullins’ 1997 demo tapes. Definitely square and very devout, hence the kind of album my enjoyment of which will lose me cool points with just about everyone I can think of. But these are the kinds of songs that make you not give a damn about cool points.

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Just re-listened to Electric Warrior by T. Rex (1971). I know it’s only rock ’n roll. But I like it.

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Just re-listened to A Home and a Hunger (2017) by Caroline Cobb. Very devout singer-songwriter Bible stuff that sounds like a fledging, lady Andrew Peterson. Gabe Scott’s tasteful CCM production, including bouzouki, banjo, lapsteel, dulcimer, and dobro, helps make that comparison. More Bibley than Peterson. Highlights: “There Is a Mountain,” “All Is Vanity (Ecclesiastes),” “Emmanuel (Every Promise Yes in Him),” and “Only the Sick Need a Physician.” Two of the other numbers cry out for a full-on gospel music treatment. I’m glad talented lyricists are still writing very Christian (instead of merely theistic) songs for the church and getting good production value.

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Here are the correct answers for “What are the best performances of Ravel’s Boléro on disc?”

In case Spotify goes out of business by the time you’re reading this, here’s a text-only list of the same, sequenced least best (but still quite good) to best:

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I realized the other week that I didn’t own a copy of a recording of Rhapsody in Blue. That felt un-American, so I went shopping. I listened to the following eleven renditions in search of one to buy:

All listened, the Harmonie Ensemble rendition is my runaway favorite. It’s a jazz arrangement played by a true jazz band. To me, the piece (even, to my surprise, the Big Tune) feels more at at home in those voices. Among those voices is jazz reed legend Al Gallodoro, a nonagenarian who here plays the opening clarinet slide for something like the literal ten thousandth time in his life.

But I know I’m sometimes going to want to hear the mid-20th-century version with the full orchestra, too. So for that, I’m opting for the Fiedler. He flies through the thing with verve and bravado. (It’s in the names: Boston Pops and Earl Wild.) A real crowd pleaser.

Now onto finding a Ravel’s Boléro to buy.

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Just re-listened to Saxophone Colossus by Sonny Rollins. Classic and therefore at this point entirely unsurprising tenor sax-led hard bop that maintains its faculty to please. It might have been better titled Saxophone Colossus with Drum Titan.

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Crosby, Stills, and gnashing of teeth
Wanna keep the young away
It’s not that I don’t wanna fight no more,
It’s just that I had a bad day. ✏️ 🎤 🎵

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Just listened to: Young Liars by TV on the Radio. For as much as I prize chordal playfulness and generosity as the prime musical virtue, I can really get into your endless chordal repetition if your vocals, fuzzy walls of sound, and/or rhythmic loops are striking enough. Which they are on all five slightly post-apocalyptic tracks here. Easily takes its place with Chronic Town, Kindred, and Magical Mystery Tour as one of my favorite EPs ever.

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O, for hymnody that combines awe, piety, and moral effort.

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Just re-listened to: Glo (2000) by Delirious? The technicolor final feather in the caps of this Sussaxon anthemic rock worship band whose early records, more than those of DC Talk or Jars, served as the heart of my enjoyment of CCM from 1994–2002. Delirious? released four more studio albums after this, but none of those hit the spot for me, which implies that my continued enjoyment of their early records may be a matter of nostalgia. But on Glo there’s a combination of the Muse-like sonic pleasures of their stellar 1999 outing Mezzamorphis with the get-really-into-it instrumental worship jams—which, as far as I was concerned, these guys invented—of 1996’s Live & In the Can that made and probably still makes Glo a favorite of mine.

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Just re-listened to: Like A Rose (2013) by Ashley Monroe. A throwback country-pop gem, alternating well between touching and funny.

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Just listened to: Leonardo da Vinci: La musique secrète (2019) performed by Doulce Mémoire under the direction of Denis Raisin Dadre. Seventy-eight minutes of exquisite Renaissance chamber music selected as an expression of Raisin Dadre’s musicological reflection on ten paintings of Leonardo.

I especially like me the sound of some lira da braccio, an instrument which sounds like a slightly more primordial Italian take on the Swedish nyckelharpa. When nobility is built into the very timbre of the instrument, it’s hard to go wrong.

Bonus points for to whoever decided to allow little to no gap between the tracks on this album, a decision that in my limited experience listening to classical recordings is an interest-propelling rarity.

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Just re-listened to: I Want To See Pulaski At Night (2013) by Andrew Bird. Pretty. Mostly just layers of strings loops surrounding the one song in the middle. Thus I’m not sure it’d stand up well to fully attentive listening. But still, quite pretty.

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Listening to Peter Gabriels’s “Big Time” with the volume cranked up is an excellent way to extract and maintain one’s hold on the verve created by a winning streak but satirically strip out the attendant bigheadedness.

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Just listened to: Matthias Goerne’s and Leif Ove Andsnes’ recording of Robert Schumann’s Liederkreis, op. 24 & Kernerlieder op.35 on Harmonia Mundi (2019).

I’m new to lieder. But it’s more than apparent that Schumann was a master at writing them and Goerne a master at singing them. Add to this a world-famous pianist recorded at roughly the same volume level as Goerne’s baritone, and you have yourself a superlative 53-minute recital of German Romantic art songs.

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Just listened to: Portraits of a Mind (2023) featuring works composed by Ralph Vaughan Williams and Ian Venables performed by Alessandro Fisher, The Navarra Quartet, and William Vann. Maybe an hour of a tenor emoting impressionistic and devotional lyrics atop a string quartet and a piano isn’t your cup of English breakfast. It, or at least this particular hour of it, is certainly mine.

And maybe you’ll listen anyway to share in Vaughan Williams’ love for Dorian and Mixolydian modes, or to hear strong evidence in the Venables that the craft of contemporary art song lives on beautifully, or to wonder at or join in on the ardently devotional lyrics the agnostic RVW chose to set to equally ardent music.

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Just re-listened to: Cusp (2018) by Alela Diane. A gentle yet sometimes haunting song cycle foregrounding self-harmonized alto vocals delivering maternal lyrics over perfectly understated instrumentation. Indie piano folk with just enough vocal reverb to make the songs feel old—which is weird because in the era these songs lightly evoke, no one made records with reverb on them because they were doing it on wax cylinders. But hey, it worked for Fleet Foxes, and it works for her, their obvious fellow Pacific Northwesterner and tourfellow.

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Just listened to: The Livelong Day (2019) by Lankum. If you’re an Irish tradster but you let too much North Atlantic rain into your soul, your insides start to transmute into wet peat. For Ian, Daragh, Cormac, and Radie, that meant drone metal started to seep out of their pores. (And it’s getting worse.)

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It was a pleasure today to select recordings from which to make custom ringtones for when Sullivan and Éa call me. (I’ve been using “Whistle Stop” from Disney’s Robin Hood for Carla for years.) Éa even advised me on my selection for her, suggesting the winner (the first twenty-nine seconds of “Mrs. Robinson” by Simon & Garfunkel. For Sullivan, I chose the first thirty seconds of Quincy Jones’ “Soul Bossa Nova,” signifying his easygoing demeanor and his prioritizing enjoyment.

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Just re-listened to: Supernatural (1998) by DC Talk, an album whose release was the first one I can remember anticipating with excitement, prompting me to assemble something resembling a listening party before I knew those were a thing. (Primary reaction: “Let’s go figure out the weird chord progression on ‘My Friend (So Long)’!”)

Yet I don’t post it to recommend it—despite its considerable formal, vocal, and especially harmonic virtues, it comes off sonically bloated, smugly identitarian, lyrically derivative, and vapidly devotional instead of inventive, moral, artistic, and Christian—but rather to wonder: How am I only just now realizing DC Talk was a boy band?

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Just re-listened to: Love Is The King (2020) by Jeff Tweedy. The homey, sentimental sound of a veteran American songwriter, fifteen years sober, sitting on the front porch of his family home at sunset with his amps, his sons, and his elder son’s drum set, strumming perfect little gems of songs into existence on his many guitars, but especially his nylon-string Martin, because he has pandemic time to kill. Some of the songs are sung to his wife. Half of them are honky-tonk. The album gets a touch sluggish toward the end, but that’s because the sun has set and it’s time to go to bed.