Just listened to: a recording of Abrahamsen’s let me tell you (2008) by Barbara Hannigan and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra under Andris Nelson (2016). And well, we got the second coming of Ophelia. But she’s definitely a ghost. If in her first coming she had sung like this to Hamlet, he’d never have spurned her—because he’d be in a trance. Spectral orchestral song cycling at its best, although to call these “songs” is to stretch any normal person’s definition.
Just listened to: Christmas Songs (2004) by The Eddie Higgins Trio. Straight-ahead Christmas piano trio jazz of the sort you get for free on a Roku music channel.
Lately, I have grown slightly bothered by the aloneness of two of my favorite things to do: listening to recorded music and reading books (and poetry). In most cases, these pursuits involve me walking, standing, or sitting by myself taking in artifacts of work done by people I don’t know—often people who I couldn’t know this side of eternity because they’re dead. Of course, none of that entails listening to records and reading books solo can’t be good. Often, the artifacts are insightful or beautiful enough to move me toward thanksgiving to the Ultimate Creator, to engender joy or peace, to inspire good deeds, and even adjust the course of my life.
No, the bother comes from the non-sharing of these very benefits. I suppose addressing that bother is partly why I blog. Yet blogging is an indirect way to share. It’s not exactly interpersonal. And interpersonal is the way of Life.
So. Today I took two small steps toward making music appreciation and book reading interpersonal: (1) I called and left a voice message for Travis suggesting we take periodic turns suggesting we both listen to specific classical music recordings, perhaps even simultaneously even though we’re a continent apart, and then talk about them; and (2) I called and spoke with Aaron suggesting we recite passages and stanzas to one another in person, in phone conversation, or via voice message whenever something really hits us.
Just listened to: a recording of Messiaen’s L’Ascension (1933) by Paavo Järvi conducting Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich on Alpha Classics (2019) while on a short sunset walk. Because sometimes you wanna go beyond la frontière Debussy. A devout, twenty-something, 20th-century French organist composes a short, innovative, delicious four-course symphonic prix fixe from a mathematically constrained but phenomenally boundless (thus predictably unpredictable) harmonic palette, neither tonal nor dodecaphonic. And a world-class, Grammy-winning Estonian conductor and his first-rate Zürcher waitstaff serve it with all the attention and grace you expect at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
I’m not sure I enjoy any sociospatial context more than free-spirited, small-group conversation at a table at Webster’s Bookstore Café, surrounded by the sight and smell of used books, the taste of good tea, and the sound of vintage hipster music that isn’t even trying to be cool. (I just wish they stayed open past 7 PM!)
Just listened to: a recording of Beethoven’s last three piano sonatas (1820–1822) by Penelope Crawford on Musica Omnia (2011) during a rainy walk through the neighborhood. A master of the fortepiano plays the final trilogy of a (by then deaf) master of piano composition. Together, they bless us with helpings of hymn-like lyricism, proto-jazz, and Debussy—the last two written eighty years ahead of schedule. (They also serve us some C Minor storminess. But with this guy, what else is new?)
Just listened to Kings Kaleidoscope (2023) by Kings Kaleidoscope. Therapeutically upbeat chamber beatbox pop that sits just on this side of my K-LOVE hate line (thanks to its offering some musical adventuresomeness alongside its therapeutics).
Just listened to: Yesterday’s Wine (1971) by Willie Nelson. More Christian moral instruction in a single, ten-line song than in whole catalogs of Christian devotional music. What a dirty, liberal, redneck hippie. And what an understated, if occasionally soporific, country mini-masterpiece the whole album.
It’s not regimen or self-discipline I’ll need if I want to write songs, silly. I have that. It’s company. In the sea of commitments I swim in, it’s commitments alone that cause efforts to float. It’s time to start a songwriting group.
Just listened to: Reina De Reinas (2012) by Los Tres Yucatecos. Were I wealthy enough, I would fly these three trovadores up from Mérida for all my special occasions.
Just re-listened to: Swordfishtrombones (1983) by Tom Waits. Barroom theatre under a heavy patina of sonic curios (horns, accordion, harmonium, Chromelodeon, bagpipes, bass-marimba, aunglong, squeeze drum, bell plate, brake drum, legs of a stool), creating a whole pocket universe of underbellies. If Heath Ledger didn’t take direct, wholesale inspiration from “Frank’s Wild Years” for his portrayal of The Joker, then I’ll be an organ grinder’s monkey.
Just listened to: Midnight Of A Good Culture (2025) by Sho Baraka. Fortysomething 116er delivers 57 minutes of mannered, Christian yet doubt-laden, occasionally 80s/90s retro, occasionally obnoxious, yet masterful conscious hip-hop. RE: “Christian”: Despite this—and it is charmingly unabashed—this album ought to have a Parental Advisory sticker on it. It’s certainly the first Christian album I’ve heard with “n——” in the lyrics. RE: “mannered” and “occasionally obnoxious”: When the recording artist describes himself as a polymath and wears his love for André 3000 and Kanye on his sleeve, what else should I expect?
Just re-listened to: The Ballad of Dood & Juanita (2021) by Sturgill Simpson. Like the art on its cover, dramatically it’s just a sketch (or a series of sketches in a single narrative line). A hackneyed one at that. But country, bluegrass, and old-time music trade in hackney almost by definition. And if this is the kind of affectionate craft (and vocals!) you put into your seven-plus teetering-on-corny vignettes, I’ll take seven more, please. A top-ten EP for me.
Just listened to: Audio Vertigo (2024) by Elbow. Hey hey, my my—rock and roll (of the Peter Gabriel and In Rainbows variety) is still alive. Amidst middle-aged men in Manchester, anyway. (Props to them for pushing themselves as fiftysomethings.) How does a band like this count fewer than a million monthly Spotify listeners? The music is inventive, skillful, mostly happy, frequently groovy, and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny. It isn’t petulant, mean, lascivious, repetitive, or harmonically simplistic. Oh, wait.
Just re-listened to: Semper Femina (2017) by Laura Marling while on a foggy walk at dawn. I enjoy her stuff most when it’s paired with alternative tunings and/or uptempo drumming (especially hand drums). I hear little of that here, which, despite the Tom Waits feint opener, results in a more MOR offering, like some slightly fey (that might’ve been the fog), ivory, female Amos Lee record. Not that I’m complaining.
Just listened to: Don’t Shy Away (2020) by Loma. Arrangement and composition are equal artistic partners in this trip-hoppy, art-rocky, twilit, encouraging, other-oriented dream pop.
Just listened to: venter på noen som venter på noen (“waiting for someone as waiting for someone”) (2025) by Valkyrien Allstars. More Norwegian prog folk rock, occasionally sonically reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac. Not as shimmering as their 2020 outing, and I miss the bit of vocal variety brought by Erik Sollid taking half a song’s worth of lead on that one. Still, even though I’m not Norwegian, these feel like some of my native sonic-musical textures.
Just listened to: Our Gilded Veins by Rory Macdonald conducting The Royal Scottish National Orchestra on Outhere Music / Linn (2024). Bracing, pictorial, alternately elegiac and cathartic Scottish and English classical music, all of it written within the last forty-five years, most of it this century. Hubert Culot has written a more detailed review on MusicWeb International that renders much further comment from me superfluous, but I should like to note that the flautist Katherine Bryan’s performance in the title piece qualifies her as an endurance athlete.
Just re-listened to: Ratatat (2004) by Ratatat. Because laptops were instruments even back then—and instruments capable of contributing to the creation of bittersweet instrumental vibes, at that, albeit indietronica vibes best suited for, say, an indie Sega Genesis game in which the characters mostly wander city streets. I admit I’m often not entirely sure which sounds are the synths and which are the guitars. Anyway, this is an album my whole family can agree on. Good for close listening or for background music, but admittedly slightly better for the latter.
Just listened to: I quit (2025) by HAIM. My bias in favor of bands with three or more lead vocalists has a sibling: A bias in favor of bands comprising siblings.
Just listened to: All The Difference (2024) by Skye Peterson, aka Phoebe Bridgers’ pseudonymous bid get on lists like this one and gain airplay on K-LOVE. 😉
In all seriousness, this is thoughtful, doubt-speckled, faithful journalmusic crafted by the Christian twentysomething daughter of Andrew and produced with tastefully anodyne charm by her brother, making for an incipient CCM dynasty I feel excited about. I even dared recommend it to my daughter.
Just listened to: two appealing recordings of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (1824), mostly while lollygagging in Spring Creek Park in the late evening, both upon David Hurwitz’s recommendation:
- Ferenc Fricsay conducting Berliner Philharmoniker on Deutsche Gramophone (1959), and
- Osmo Vänskä conducting the Minnesota Orchestra on BIS (2006).
The latter is like in that episode Star Trek: The Next Generation where Data claims people say his violin playing is technically flawless but lacks soul. To describe the Vänskä exactly like that would be to overstate things—otherwise, I wouldn’t have liked the recording at all—but its primary appeals are its tightness of execution and the clarity and dynamic range of the recording itself. You’re basically hearing the sheet music in brilliant lucidity. With Beethoven, that’s not a bad thing.
The former is a volcanic ripsnorter of a performance whose only drawbacks are the audibility of recording hiss during the quiet parts and the inaudibility of the alto soloist admist her cohort.
My son just revived our old Tivoli Model CD and gave it to my daughter as a birthday present along with a pair of cheapo computer speakers. I’m doubly gratified: He used his skills to bless her, and she is now interested in my CD collection.
Just listened to: a recording of Beethoven’s Missa solemnis in D major, Op. 123 (1824) by Nikolaus Harnoncourt conducting the Concentus Musicus Wien on Sony Classical (2016), mostly while on a slow drive to and from the supermarket in Manahawkin, NJ for beach-house groceries, but partly later that evening while pacing the boardwalk to and from the 21st Street beach in Barnegat Light on our final full day at the Shore this week.
They say this piece is one of the pinnacles of sacred Western classical. They are right. It is spaciously majestic. It features two of my favorite modes (Dorian and Mixolydian). It’s not overweighted with Beethovian repetition, about which I have mixed feelings, usually depending on how I feel about the charm of the theme. (For example, the theme of the first movement of the Fifth Symphony? Unplesantly, incessantly intense. “Waldstein”’s first-movement theme. Pure charm.)
Plus, it’s anything but solemn. (Apparently, “solemn” in musical settings means “lengthy and elaborate.”) That is, except in its final, lugubrious Adagio, set to the “miserere nobis” portion of the Agnus Dei plea. For such a long, stirring, adventurous piece of sacred music to spend its penultimate seven minutes on a dirge that misses the desperate, yearning spirit of the plea is a disappointment. Beethoven teases relieving my disappointment with an unexpected drum break about a fifth of the way through the next and final portion of the text (“dona nobis pacem”), surprising me and priming me to expect a barnburner of a finale. But it isn’t to last: He soon settles into music that comes off to me as brotherhood-of-man pabulum.
Speaking of the brotherhood of man—but hopefully not of pabulum—I have just one more piece of Beethoven repertoire piece to go: Symphony No. 9. But which recording? As a first pass, I’ll opt for Vänskä / Minnesota Orchestra on the strength of Hurwitz’s review.
Kevin Max is apostate. Tait is a sexual predator. Toby, don’t fail now.