A couple years ago, I took a college class aimed at preparing future
educators to create lesson plans revolving around certain texts
representative of children’s literature. Although I have no plans to
teach, I took the class out of a deep love of and interest in juvenile
literature. Although we started the class with the universally familiar The Tale of Peter Rabbit, we soon moved on to more unfamiliar territory. Though most of us in the class had read and enjoyed Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are as youngsters, few of us had even heard of In the Night Kitchen. Some of us were in for a bit of a shock.
It’s hard to imagine such a simple children’s book causing such alarm,
but not everyone approved of the depictions that earned this slim volume
the distinction of Caldecott Honor. This is probably part of the reason
that it is not as widely known as Wild Things. It’s a
graphically driven book, with large pictures filling the pages and only a
few oversized, carefully lettered words driving along the narration.
Everything seems larger than life, which is appropriate given the fact
that the bulk of the book is a dreamscape. Young Mickey is tiny compared
to his surroundings, yet he twists his size to his advantage. The world
he has landed in is a distortion of the world he experiences daily; the
airplane hanging over his head as he drifts to sleep and the fact that
he hears a noise below him, where the kitchen would be, are indicators
of what sorts of images this dream will hold.
The three bakers
whom Mickey meets are large and pudgy, fairly unthreatening and
indistinct from one another. They are jovial characters except when they
fear they will have no milk to complete their cake. After reading
through the book a couple times, I noticed that their eyes remain closed
until Mickey makes his presence known, indicating visually that they
have been oblivious to his presence up to this point. They seem to
represent authority, but in Mickey’s dream they hold no sway over him.
The book taps into a child’s disdain for societal conventions. The
simplest and most controversial manifestation of this comes when Mickey
falls out of his clothes. He appears startled and disturbed when still
in his pajamas, but when he is free of his clothing he seems to be quite
content. Later, he strikes a compromise, accepting the societal
convention of clothes but fashioning them for himself out of batter. He
further expresses his individuality by insisting that he get milk for
the bakers “the Mickey way.”
Both Wild Things and Night Kitchen
involve a young child finding a niche for himself in a strange and
fantastical setting. This tale further purports to serve the purpose of
an explanatory folk tale – in chronicling Mickey’s journey, it tells us
why we have cake every morning. Of course, most of us don’t have
cake every morning, but this further goes along with the idea of the
child being in charge here. If Mickey had his way, we would have cake every morning. Hey, sounds good to me.
It took me a few readings of this book to decide I liked it. The
illustrations really require more reading than the words and reveal
possible deeper meanings in the story. The illustrations, though rather
dark and flat in color, are intriguing; especially enjoyable is the
cityscape consisting of food containers. I wouldn’t let a little nudity
get in the way of enjoying this book. It may not be as immediately
embraceable as Wild Things, but it’s worth taking the extra time to settle into an appreciation of it.
Friday, February 6, 2004
Measure of a Man's Overproduction Strives to Make Clay's Voice Invisible
Back when Clay Aiken’s debut album came out in October, I went to my
local Media Play at midnight to snag a copy. Whatever expectations I had
of a Harry Potteresque release party were soon crushed when I arrived
to find myself one of only half a dozen people there – and the rest were
there to pick up a copy of The Matrix Revolutions. Still, I was
satisfied to have my long wait come to an end that night. I intended to
review it as soon as I bought it, but I was disappointed to discover I
wasn’t crazy about the album. I wanted to give myself some time to warm
up to the album. I have since heard Clay perform several of these songs
on various television programs, and in every case I preferred his live
version. Most of the songs are still a bit contemporary for my taste,
but they’re not bad. But they’re much improved when Clay’s voice is
allowed to be in the forefront.
Invisible - After singing Bridge Over Troubled Water and This is the Night on television appearances for three months, it probably was a bit of a relief for Clay to be able to sing something new. I’ll wager he soon grew rather tired of this little number too, though. I first heard it at the American Idol concert in Cleveland in July and it failed to capture my imagination. After listening to it dozens of times, it’s grown on me, but I think I still like This is the Night better. It’s a catchy number in which the narrator bemoans the fact that the girl he adores doesn’t seem to know he’s alive. The chorus gets a bit stalkerish as he imagines himself being invisible and watching her in her room before it switches to the realization that, in a metaphorical sense, he truly is invisible. There’s all kinds of weird effects on this one that, to my mind, detract from the overall listening experience, but it’s a pretty solid song and certainly has gotten a decent amount of airplay.
I Will Carry You - This inspirational tune follows right on the heels of Bridge. It’s the exact same type of song, in which the speaker promises to support the one he cares about, and Clay carries it out in the same grandiose manner in which he handled Bridge. Of all the tracks on the album, I think this one seems to most reflect what Clay is all about. Definitely one of my favorites.
The Way - Clay’s been singing this one on television quite a bit lately. Co-written by Enrique Iglesias, it’s the album’s romantic standout, a nice slow song describing all the things that he loves about the object of his affections. It’s a funny thing that Clay seems to specialize in love songs when he claims to have never been in love himself. You’d never guess his inexperience from the passion he brings to his renditions. This tender ballad is another of my favorite tracks.
When You Say You Love Me - A pretty up-tempo number with just a touch of a country feel. The speaker states his affection for a girl he admires but insists he is interested in her for the long run. No no-one-night-stands insistence sounds very Clayish. An all right song, but it doesn’t really grab me.
No More Sad Songs - Possibly my favorite track on the album, this piano-driven ballad has heavy echoes of Elton John, an artist whose material Clay has covered with mastery before. Aside from the slightly distracting presence of the phrase “the way” in the opening line after the song of the same title two tracks earlier, this is a very strong song which allows Clay’s opportunity the chance to shine the way it should.
Run to Me - Another nice ballad in which the objects of the speaker’s affections has been bruised by a prior relationship and the speaker wants to assure her that he can wait for her to heal. Not bad, but not a particular standout for me.
Shine - This is another sort of inspirational song, and it’s got kind of a nice message, but it doesn’t do much for me musically. It’s got a bit of a techno feel to it and is one of the most overproduced tracks on the album – and every track is overproduced.
I Survived You - This is an interesting song, because it seems to be either the favorite or least favorite track of most everyone who listened to this album. I didn’t like it much at first, and though it’s grown on me somewhat, it’s still nowhere near the top. Clay sounds uncharacteristically bitter here, leading to speculation that he may really be thinking of his estranged father in his delivery of the song. The speaker has clearly been scarred by this relationship but is going to rise above it. It’s inspirational in a way, a song of survival, but it’s a little too acidic for me. The pace is a little strange, too; he often seems like he has to rush to get all the words out before the music moves on to the next line. And for all the emphasis on Clay’s valiant fight to keep this album clean, these lyrics include a mild but unnecessary bit of profanity. It’s easy to miss, though; I didn’t even catch it until the third or fourth time listening to it.
This is the Night - Ooh boy! A bonus track of a song that everybody who bought this album already owns! I know I’m excited. Oh, well, it’s still a good song, but if they’re only going to give us twelve songs, couldn’t they have given us something we haven’t heard before? Aside from the overproduction, my biggest disappointment with this album was the fact that I had heard it was going to be very cover-heavy, drawing from such sources as Elton John and Neil Sedaka. I guess they wanted to move Clay away from material that is firmly established in the realm of more experienced artists, but those are the types of songs I love and Clay performs them so well, I would have been happy with a whole album full of classy covers. As it was, none of the promised standards survived the final cut. A much more satisfying bonus for me would have been the inclusion of Solitaire or Can You Feel the Love Tonight?. I’m still waiting for those…
Perfect Day - There’s an enjoyable exuberance to this track, a demonstration of that on-top-of-the-world just-fell-in-love feeling. It’s kind of fun, but a little loud for me.
Measure of a Man - Another standout song, and an appropriate choice for title track. Like I Will Carry You, this seems to be a song very much in keeping with Clay and his values. It’s particularly appropriate to him now that he has achieved such star status so quickly. He’s got thousands of girls who would give anything for a date with him. But what if all the glitz and glamour was gone? All the fame and prestige? And what if they discovered that the angelic Mr. Aiken has a few faults of his own? Would he hold up when the pedestal of their unrealistic expectations begins to weaken? This is one of my favorite songs lyrically and vocally, except for one baffling moment towards the end when his words are engulfed by what sounds like a sonic boom. I always forget about it until that part comes along and it scares me silly. What were they thinking?
Touch - Definitely my least favorite. This, like I Survived You, is favored by many who have the album, while others find it out of keeping with Clay’s style. For one thing, if Shine had a touch of techno, it’s out in full force here. I would say it’s the least musical of the tracks, and also the least G-rated. As hard as Clay worked to keep inappropriate innuendo out of his album, this is an awfully steamy song for my tastes. True, it’s not describing a one-night stand, but it still seems out of keeping with Clay’s persona. I usually shut the album off after Measure of a Man.
So is it a good album? As good as can be expected, I suppose, when he’s tethered to this company. It has grown on me since I first bought it, and most of the songs are pretty good, even very good when Clay sings them live. But for some reason, the producers seem to feel the need to drown out that gorgeous voice in the studio. A lot of contemporary pop is overproduced because the singers can’t make the grade on their own. That’s clearly not the case with Clay. So let his voice stand on its own already!! I’m thrilled the album went double platinum and hope that this means Clay will have greater creative control over his next album. I want a return to the quietude and vocal clarity of his exquisite demos. Until then, I’ll have to satisfy myself with the knowledge that he did the best he could with what he had to work with. I’ll give it a five on the strength of Clay’s voice, but it’s taken me three months to feel it merited that. Support Clay by picking up a copy, but if you really want a sense of what he can do, hunt down Look What Love Has Done and Redefined.
Invisible - After singing Bridge Over Troubled Water and This is the Night on television appearances for three months, it probably was a bit of a relief for Clay to be able to sing something new. I’ll wager he soon grew rather tired of this little number too, though. I first heard it at the American Idol concert in Cleveland in July and it failed to capture my imagination. After listening to it dozens of times, it’s grown on me, but I think I still like This is the Night better. It’s a catchy number in which the narrator bemoans the fact that the girl he adores doesn’t seem to know he’s alive. The chorus gets a bit stalkerish as he imagines himself being invisible and watching her in her room before it switches to the realization that, in a metaphorical sense, he truly is invisible. There’s all kinds of weird effects on this one that, to my mind, detract from the overall listening experience, but it’s a pretty solid song and certainly has gotten a decent amount of airplay.
I Will Carry You - This inspirational tune follows right on the heels of Bridge. It’s the exact same type of song, in which the speaker promises to support the one he cares about, and Clay carries it out in the same grandiose manner in which he handled Bridge. Of all the tracks on the album, I think this one seems to most reflect what Clay is all about. Definitely one of my favorites.
The Way - Clay’s been singing this one on television quite a bit lately. Co-written by Enrique Iglesias, it’s the album’s romantic standout, a nice slow song describing all the things that he loves about the object of his affections. It’s a funny thing that Clay seems to specialize in love songs when he claims to have never been in love himself. You’d never guess his inexperience from the passion he brings to his renditions. This tender ballad is another of my favorite tracks.
When You Say You Love Me - A pretty up-tempo number with just a touch of a country feel. The speaker states his affection for a girl he admires but insists he is interested in her for the long run. No no-one-night-stands insistence sounds very Clayish. An all right song, but it doesn’t really grab me.
No More Sad Songs - Possibly my favorite track on the album, this piano-driven ballad has heavy echoes of Elton John, an artist whose material Clay has covered with mastery before. Aside from the slightly distracting presence of the phrase “the way” in the opening line after the song of the same title two tracks earlier, this is a very strong song which allows Clay’s opportunity the chance to shine the way it should.
Run to Me - Another nice ballad in which the objects of the speaker’s affections has been bruised by a prior relationship and the speaker wants to assure her that he can wait for her to heal. Not bad, but not a particular standout for me.
Shine - This is another sort of inspirational song, and it’s got kind of a nice message, but it doesn’t do much for me musically. It’s got a bit of a techno feel to it and is one of the most overproduced tracks on the album – and every track is overproduced.
I Survived You - This is an interesting song, because it seems to be either the favorite or least favorite track of most everyone who listened to this album. I didn’t like it much at first, and though it’s grown on me somewhat, it’s still nowhere near the top. Clay sounds uncharacteristically bitter here, leading to speculation that he may really be thinking of his estranged father in his delivery of the song. The speaker has clearly been scarred by this relationship but is going to rise above it. It’s inspirational in a way, a song of survival, but it’s a little too acidic for me. The pace is a little strange, too; he often seems like he has to rush to get all the words out before the music moves on to the next line. And for all the emphasis on Clay’s valiant fight to keep this album clean, these lyrics include a mild but unnecessary bit of profanity. It’s easy to miss, though; I didn’t even catch it until the third or fourth time listening to it.
This is the Night - Ooh boy! A bonus track of a song that everybody who bought this album already owns! I know I’m excited. Oh, well, it’s still a good song, but if they’re only going to give us twelve songs, couldn’t they have given us something we haven’t heard before? Aside from the overproduction, my biggest disappointment with this album was the fact that I had heard it was going to be very cover-heavy, drawing from such sources as Elton John and Neil Sedaka. I guess they wanted to move Clay away from material that is firmly established in the realm of more experienced artists, but those are the types of songs I love and Clay performs them so well, I would have been happy with a whole album full of classy covers. As it was, none of the promised standards survived the final cut. A much more satisfying bonus for me would have been the inclusion of Solitaire or Can You Feel the Love Tonight?. I’m still waiting for those…
Perfect Day - There’s an enjoyable exuberance to this track, a demonstration of that on-top-of-the-world just-fell-in-love feeling. It’s kind of fun, but a little loud for me.
Measure of a Man - Another standout song, and an appropriate choice for title track. Like I Will Carry You, this seems to be a song very much in keeping with Clay and his values. It’s particularly appropriate to him now that he has achieved such star status so quickly. He’s got thousands of girls who would give anything for a date with him. But what if all the glitz and glamour was gone? All the fame and prestige? And what if they discovered that the angelic Mr. Aiken has a few faults of his own? Would he hold up when the pedestal of their unrealistic expectations begins to weaken? This is one of my favorite songs lyrically and vocally, except for one baffling moment towards the end when his words are engulfed by what sounds like a sonic boom. I always forget about it until that part comes along and it scares me silly. What were they thinking?
Touch - Definitely my least favorite. This, like I Survived You, is favored by many who have the album, while others find it out of keeping with Clay’s style. For one thing, if Shine had a touch of techno, it’s out in full force here. I would say it’s the least musical of the tracks, and also the least G-rated. As hard as Clay worked to keep inappropriate innuendo out of his album, this is an awfully steamy song for my tastes. True, it’s not describing a one-night stand, but it still seems out of keeping with Clay’s persona. I usually shut the album off after Measure of a Man.
So is it a good album? As good as can be expected, I suppose, when he’s tethered to this company. It has grown on me since I first bought it, and most of the songs are pretty good, even very good when Clay sings them live. But for some reason, the producers seem to feel the need to drown out that gorgeous voice in the studio. A lot of contemporary pop is overproduced because the singers can’t make the grade on their own. That’s clearly not the case with Clay. So let his voice stand on its own already!! I’m thrilled the album went double platinum and hope that this means Clay will have greater creative control over his next album. I want a return to the quietude and vocal clarity of his exquisite demos. Until then, I’ll have to satisfy myself with the knowledge that he did the best he could with what he had to work with. I’ll give it a five on the strength of Clay’s voice, but it’s taken me three months to feel it merited that. Support Clay by picking up a copy, but if you really want a sense of what he can do, hunt down Look What Love Has Done and Redefined.
Thursday, February 5, 2004
"You Gotta Be Quick With Me! I'm From Erie, PA!"
I was browsing through the cast page of a Lord of the Rings
website recently and was disappointed to discover that whoever compiled
the list of film credits for each actor neglected to mention Elijah
Wood’s role as Huck Finn, the character with which I always identified
him prior to LotR. Now he is most widely recognized for
portraying one of the greatest characters in British literature, but I
would have thought one of the greatest characters in American literature
would have been worth mentioning as well. My disillusionment was
further exacerbated when my scanning of Liv Tyler’s bio revealed another
glaring omission: That Thing You Do. For some reason, this
family-friendly flick about a group of guys who hit the big time with a
catchy tune seems to be one of Tom Hanks’ most forgotten films. I
consider it nothing less than my civic duty to protest.
And why is that? Because America’s favorite Guy Next Door decided to make a movie set in my own little neck of the woods. Heck, I took piano lessons at the very college where the fellas get their first big break in a local talent show. I attended the high school of the same name. I’ve got a personal connection to this movie, even if Hanks declined the offer to premiere it in Erie at the newly built Tinseltown, at the time one of the largest movie theaters in the country. Even if none of the filming was actually done in Erie either. Even if most of the cast members have probably never been to Erie and have no interest in ever checking it out. Doggone it, it’s about hometown pride! Besides, it’s a pretty great movie too.
When Art Garfunkel ventured to Erie back in 2000, he caused the audience momentary confusion when he brought up “the O-nee-ders,” the butchered pronunciation of the name the band in the film chooses for itself. Once we caught the allusion to That Thing You Do, Garfunkel went on to tell us how he liked the film because it reminded him of his early days in the music business, ramming around England with Paul and singing in the streets while their friend Kathy collected money. There certainly is an air of youth and innocence about this film, which takes place during the same general time when Art and Paul were starting out. But this little band wasn’t destined to have quite the same shelf life. The film chronicles the fictional foursome’s roller coaster ride from obscurity to stardom and back again.
The key player in the film is Guy Patterson (Tom Everett Scott), a likable young man who bears a remarkable resemblance to Hanks. Passionate about music but always butting heads with his father, he drowns his dreams in the drudgery of tending the family store until a stupid prank leaves the percussionist of a local band incapacitated. The band members just happen to be friends of Guy’s and happen to be playing a big talent show at Mercyhurst College that night, so they convince him to fill in. As it turns out, Guy does for the soon-to-be-named-Oneders what Ringo did for the Beatles, taking the band to a level it could not have achieved with its old drummer. His fast-paced percussion turns That Thing You Do from an insipid wannabe ballad into a catchy up-tempo number. It really is an enjoyable song, though we probably hear it one too many times in the course of the film. It was one of the first songs my brother learned to play on the guitar. It’s easy to imagine such a tune rising through the ranks of the pop charts.
The film’s focus remains largely upon Guy, but it follows the whirlwind success of the Oneders, who soon become the Wonders to avoid confusion. Its other members include Jimmy (Jonathan Schaeck), the arrogant songwriter and bandleader; his long-suffering girlfriend Faye (Tyler); the future GI bass player (Ethan Embry); and Lenny (Steve Zahn), the lovable goofball with the maturity of your average 6-year-old. We watch them soak up the thrills from winning a talent show, landing local gigs, and recording a single to hearing their song on the radio for the first time, setting off on a nationwide tour and landing a spot on a show of the Ed Sullivan variety. They are soon joined by Mr. White (Hanks), a no-nonsense manager who puts them on the road to mass exposure but knows that an implied “One-Hit” will soon precede their group moniker. He’s a savvy character, with maybe just a touch of cynicism, but he’s pretty classy nonetheless and serves as a good mentor for Guy, who’s left holding the drumsticks when the band crumbles around him.
Despite the untimely demise of the Wonders, the film is primarily a light-hearted romp through a more innocent time, a clean comedy with a touch of romance and plenty of good music to help it along its way. At its core, it’s a tribute to all those corny pop groups of the Sixties who may not have lasted long but sure had a good time getting to the top. And hey, it starts out in Erie. Who could ask for anything more?
And why is that? Because America’s favorite Guy Next Door decided to make a movie set in my own little neck of the woods. Heck, I took piano lessons at the very college where the fellas get their first big break in a local talent show. I attended the high school of the same name. I’ve got a personal connection to this movie, even if Hanks declined the offer to premiere it in Erie at the newly built Tinseltown, at the time one of the largest movie theaters in the country. Even if none of the filming was actually done in Erie either. Even if most of the cast members have probably never been to Erie and have no interest in ever checking it out. Doggone it, it’s about hometown pride! Besides, it’s a pretty great movie too.
When Art Garfunkel ventured to Erie back in 2000, he caused the audience momentary confusion when he brought up “the O-nee-ders,” the butchered pronunciation of the name the band in the film chooses for itself. Once we caught the allusion to That Thing You Do, Garfunkel went on to tell us how he liked the film because it reminded him of his early days in the music business, ramming around England with Paul and singing in the streets while their friend Kathy collected money. There certainly is an air of youth and innocence about this film, which takes place during the same general time when Art and Paul were starting out. But this little band wasn’t destined to have quite the same shelf life. The film chronicles the fictional foursome’s roller coaster ride from obscurity to stardom and back again.
The key player in the film is Guy Patterson (Tom Everett Scott), a likable young man who bears a remarkable resemblance to Hanks. Passionate about music but always butting heads with his father, he drowns his dreams in the drudgery of tending the family store until a stupid prank leaves the percussionist of a local band incapacitated. The band members just happen to be friends of Guy’s and happen to be playing a big talent show at Mercyhurst College that night, so they convince him to fill in. As it turns out, Guy does for the soon-to-be-named-Oneders what Ringo did for the Beatles, taking the band to a level it could not have achieved with its old drummer. His fast-paced percussion turns That Thing You Do from an insipid wannabe ballad into a catchy up-tempo number. It really is an enjoyable song, though we probably hear it one too many times in the course of the film. It was one of the first songs my brother learned to play on the guitar. It’s easy to imagine such a tune rising through the ranks of the pop charts.
The film’s focus remains largely upon Guy, but it follows the whirlwind success of the Oneders, who soon become the Wonders to avoid confusion. Its other members include Jimmy (Jonathan Schaeck), the arrogant songwriter and bandleader; his long-suffering girlfriend Faye (Tyler); the future GI bass player (Ethan Embry); and Lenny (Steve Zahn), the lovable goofball with the maturity of your average 6-year-old. We watch them soak up the thrills from winning a talent show, landing local gigs, and recording a single to hearing their song on the radio for the first time, setting off on a nationwide tour and landing a spot on a show of the Ed Sullivan variety. They are soon joined by Mr. White (Hanks), a no-nonsense manager who puts them on the road to mass exposure but knows that an implied “One-Hit” will soon precede their group moniker. He’s a savvy character, with maybe just a touch of cynicism, but he’s pretty classy nonetheless and serves as a good mentor for Guy, who’s left holding the drumsticks when the band crumbles around him.
Despite the untimely demise of the Wonders, the film is primarily a light-hearted romp through a more innocent time, a clean comedy with a touch of romance and plenty of good music to help it along its way. At its core, it’s a tribute to all those corny pop groups of the Sixties who may not have lasted long but sure had a good time getting to the top. And hey, it starts out in Erie. Who could ask for anything more?
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Make a Place for Garrison Keillor in Your Home for the Holidays
Tonight, renowned humorist Garrison Keillor - a man hailed by some as
the next Mark Twain - brings his nationally broadcast radio show, Prairie Home Companion,
to my own little neck of the woods. His arrival has been eagerly
anticipated since the date was first announced this past fall. Yes, here
in Erie, Pennsylvania, we’re serious about Prairie Home Companion.
It could be our atmospheric affinity with Minnesotans; Garrison will
feel right at home when he steps out on the Erie sidewalk and his hair
follicles begin to frost over. It could be the considerable population
of Lutherans, whose antics Garrison so aptly captures in his skits and
hometown yarns. Or it could be the fact that although Erie is one of the
largest cities in Pennsylvania, it’s podonk enough that its residents
almost feel like we live in a small town like Lake Wobegon. Whatever the
reason, Erieites snatched up all of the tickets in a few hours and will
watch in glee tonight as Garrison picks apart our hometown on the stage
of the Warner Theater for all those tuning in to National Public Radio
to hear.
In the long hiatus between the purchasing of the tickets and the watching of the show - and the shorter breaks between the weekly broadcast, which I’m not always able to catch - I kept the edge off my hunger with A Prairie Home Christmas, which sits near the top of my Essential Christmas Albums list. This double-CD set spanning several years of PHC Christmas specials is packed with warmth, humor, and music in just the right proportions. All the tracks are worthwhile; I’ve highlighted the ones that stick out most in my mind.
Disc 1
Christmas Time’s A-Comin’
Jordan/Carols
Shop for Christmas Presents - One of my favorite tracks on the album. Generally, while there is no dearth of talented musicians on PHC, it is the zany humor that really gets me going. When you combine the two, it’s an especially welcome treat. This track begins with Garrison complaining to Santa about all the work involved in Christmas shopping, leading to Santa’s stern admonition to “shape up and shop.” He’s backed by a choir singing, to the tune of Lonesome Valley, encouragement to the weary mallers: “You’ve gotta shop for Christmas presents. You’ve gotta do it by yourself. Nobody else can do it for you. You’ve gotta shop for Christmas presents by yourself.” He does manage to drop a few colorfully illustrated hints along the way, however. If you’re ever stuck for a gift, just remember dried food, stamps, and underwear and you’ll be just fine!
Scrooge - The obligatory nod at Dickens comes this time with a theatrical twist. Walter Bobbie is an actor who just can’t summon up Scrooge’s curmudgeonly spirit. His nice-guy antics seem harmless enough until the ghost of Joanne Marley reveals to him the negative impact his untraditional performance will have on the theater.
Children, Go Where I Send Thee
The Twelve Days of Christmas - Truly one of the most insufferable songs in the Christmas carol canon. I’m not one to dislike Christmas music, but even I’ll admit this little number has given me a headache from time to time. And as if it weren’t hard enough to remember all those obscure and, frankly, ludicrous gifts, there are half a dozen slightly different versions floating around. Garrison plays on the irritation factor of this song-that-never-ends, creating my all-time favorite rendering of the song. This is sound effects man Tom Keith’s shining moment as he pumps all his energy into absurd vocal representations of the gifts. The result is as hilarious as it is abbreviated.
Christmas Gifts for the Staff - One of the most ridiculous of the tracks, this sketch has Garrison single out several significant members of the PHC staff and present them with Christmas gifts purchased with the profits garnered from a dubious business deal with a casino in Sparks, Nevada. The gifts range from the laughably luxurious - a jumbo jet, a 50-foot limo, and a farm - to the pathetically paltry - a nonexistent dog. This is wacky Garrison at his best.
If It Doesn’t Snow on Christmas - This track is actually the reason we bought the album. This was my dad’s favorite Christmas song as a kid, but he couldn’t find a recording of it anywhere. When my mom happened across this, she had to get it for him. The song, a cute little soliloquy by a kid worried about how Santa’s going to make it to his house if there’s no snow on Christmas, is performed by John McDonough, the same fellow who played Santa in Shop for Christmas Presents. Interesting contrast...
Settin’ By the Fire - This here’s my anthem. A nice laid-back tune about a person content to just sit by the fire with her dog and while her days away, not caring about anyone else’s expectations. Not too Christmassy, but it has a cozy wintry feel about it.
Nothing But a Child - This is probably my favorite serious religious song on the album. It’s performed with gusto by Robin and Linda Williams, frequent PHC contributors whom Garrison has called a more impressive duo than Simon and Garfunkel. They certainly do a nice job with this tune, which reminds us that Christmas all started with “nothing but a Child,” so at this time of year “we all can be children for a while.”
Christ Child’s Lullaby
Nowel: Owt of Your Sleep
Bach’s Christmas Oratorio - An interesting blend here of the humorous and the serious. This is mostly an amusing tale about poor Bach’s attempts to write a Christmas oratorio while working for a bunch of lunkheads teaching music to a crew of untalented pre-teen boys. But when he finally does finish his work, we get to hear bits of this deeply religious song, and it leaves us with a sense of awe and majesty, as well as sadness that this composer was not properly acknowledged during his own time.
Disc 2
A Polish Christmas with Walter Bobbie
Det Kimmer Nu
Oh How Lovely is the Evening
Silent Night - A very fun, bluesy take on the song. Not very silent sounding, but nonetheless one of my favorite renditions of the classic carol.
Nine Lessons and Carols - My dad complains about this track because it treats Christmas with such cynicism. It’s true, this is not a very heartwarming look at the holidays. But it is a hilarious peek into the chaos that mars the holidays of most families out there from time to time. The series of vignettes focus on various members of a particular family as they prepare to gather together for Christmas. Each discordant scene is followed by an ironic snippet of a carol extolling the virtues of home. You may never listen to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” quite the same way again.
Carol of the Children
Mr. Bergy’s Christmas - Here at last is the News from Lake Wobegon, the segment of each show in which Garrison stands up and weaves a tapestry of life in his imaginary hometown, seemingly introducing threads on a whim and leaving others dangling. It’s a long time to sit and listen to one person talk, but Garrison is a master storyteller, and somehow it all comes together in the end. This particular tale is infused with little gems of wit but its overall tone is wistful, bemoaning the fact that nothing can ever be quite as nice as we’d like it to be, or as we remember it being when we were young. A rather sobering monologue.
Solstice Medley
The Christmas Pageant - Mostly religious with splashes of humor, this is the traditional Christmas pageant, including everything from the holy family’s arrival at the inn to the journeys of the shepherds and wise men and underscored by several carols.
There are Angels Hovering Round / O Little Town of Bethlehem - Although it wasn’t drawn from the same performance, this feels like a natural conclusion to the pageant sketch and makes for a nice understated finale to the album.
Christmas may be over, but A Prairie Home Christmas is worth a listen at any time of the year. I’d recommend it to long-time fans as well as the uninitiated; this album may just make you a regular listener.
In the long hiatus between the purchasing of the tickets and the watching of the show - and the shorter breaks between the weekly broadcast, which I’m not always able to catch - I kept the edge off my hunger with A Prairie Home Christmas, which sits near the top of my Essential Christmas Albums list. This double-CD set spanning several years of PHC Christmas specials is packed with warmth, humor, and music in just the right proportions. All the tracks are worthwhile; I’ve highlighted the ones that stick out most in my mind.
Disc 1
Christmas Time’s A-Comin’
Jordan/Carols
Shop for Christmas Presents - One of my favorite tracks on the album. Generally, while there is no dearth of talented musicians on PHC, it is the zany humor that really gets me going. When you combine the two, it’s an especially welcome treat. This track begins with Garrison complaining to Santa about all the work involved in Christmas shopping, leading to Santa’s stern admonition to “shape up and shop.” He’s backed by a choir singing, to the tune of Lonesome Valley, encouragement to the weary mallers: “You’ve gotta shop for Christmas presents. You’ve gotta do it by yourself. Nobody else can do it for you. You’ve gotta shop for Christmas presents by yourself.” He does manage to drop a few colorfully illustrated hints along the way, however. If you’re ever stuck for a gift, just remember dried food, stamps, and underwear and you’ll be just fine!
Scrooge - The obligatory nod at Dickens comes this time with a theatrical twist. Walter Bobbie is an actor who just can’t summon up Scrooge’s curmudgeonly spirit. His nice-guy antics seem harmless enough until the ghost of Joanne Marley reveals to him the negative impact his untraditional performance will have on the theater.
Children, Go Where I Send Thee
The Twelve Days of Christmas - Truly one of the most insufferable songs in the Christmas carol canon. I’m not one to dislike Christmas music, but even I’ll admit this little number has given me a headache from time to time. And as if it weren’t hard enough to remember all those obscure and, frankly, ludicrous gifts, there are half a dozen slightly different versions floating around. Garrison plays on the irritation factor of this song-that-never-ends, creating my all-time favorite rendering of the song. This is sound effects man Tom Keith’s shining moment as he pumps all his energy into absurd vocal representations of the gifts. The result is as hilarious as it is abbreviated.
Christmas Gifts for the Staff - One of the most ridiculous of the tracks, this sketch has Garrison single out several significant members of the PHC staff and present them with Christmas gifts purchased with the profits garnered from a dubious business deal with a casino in Sparks, Nevada. The gifts range from the laughably luxurious - a jumbo jet, a 50-foot limo, and a farm - to the pathetically paltry - a nonexistent dog. This is wacky Garrison at his best.
If It Doesn’t Snow on Christmas - This track is actually the reason we bought the album. This was my dad’s favorite Christmas song as a kid, but he couldn’t find a recording of it anywhere. When my mom happened across this, she had to get it for him. The song, a cute little soliloquy by a kid worried about how Santa’s going to make it to his house if there’s no snow on Christmas, is performed by John McDonough, the same fellow who played Santa in Shop for Christmas Presents. Interesting contrast...
Settin’ By the Fire - This here’s my anthem. A nice laid-back tune about a person content to just sit by the fire with her dog and while her days away, not caring about anyone else’s expectations. Not too Christmassy, but it has a cozy wintry feel about it.
Nothing But a Child - This is probably my favorite serious religious song on the album. It’s performed with gusto by Robin and Linda Williams, frequent PHC contributors whom Garrison has called a more impressive duo than Simon and Garfunkel. They certainly do a nice job with this tune, which reminds us that Christmas all started with “nothing but a Child,” so at this time of year “we all can be children for a while.”
Christ Child’s Lullaby
Nowel: Owt of Your Sleep
Bach’s Christmas Oratorio - An interesting blend here of the humorous and the serious. This is mostly an amusing tale about poor Bach’s attempts to write a Christmas oratorio while working for a bunch of lunkheads teaching music to a crew of untalented pre-teen boys. But when he finally does finish his work, we get to hear bits of this deeply religious song, and it leaves us with a sense of awe and majesty, as well as sadness that this composer was not properly acknowledged during his own time.
Disc 2
A Polish Christmas with Walter Bobbie
Det Kimmer Nu
Oh How Lovely is the Evening
Silent Night - A very fun, bluesy take on the song. Not very silent sounding, but nonetheless one of my favorite renditions of the classic carol.
Nine Lessons and Carols - My dad complains about this track because it treats Christmas with such cynicism. It’s true, this is not a very heartwarming look at the holidays. But it is a hilarious peek into the chaos that mars the holidays of most families out there from time to time. The series of vignettes focus on various members of a particular family as they prepare to gather together for Christmas. Each discordant scene is followed by an ironic snippet of a carol extolling the virtues of home. You may never listen to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” quite the same way again.
Carol of the Children
Mr. Bergy’s Christmas - Here at last is the News from Lake Wobegon, the segment of each show in which Garrison stands up and weaves a tapestry of life in his imaginary hometown, seemingly introducing threads on a whim and leaving others dangling. It’s a long time to sit and listen to one person talk, but Garrison is a master storyteller, and somehow it all comes together in the end. This particular tale is infused with little gems of wit but its overall tone is wistful, bemoaning the fact that nothing can ever be quite as nice as we’d like it to be, or as we remember it being when we were young. A rather sobering monologue.
Solstice Medley
The Christmas Pageant - Mostly religious with splashes of humor, this is the traditional Christmas pageant, including everything from the holy family’s arrival at the inn to the journeys of the shepherds and wise men and underscored by several carols.
There are Angels Hovering Round / O Little Town of Bethlehem - Although it wasn’t drawn from the same performance, this feels like a natural conclusion to the pageant sketch and makes for a nice understated finale to the album.
Christmas may be over, but A Prairie Home Christmas is worth a listen at any time of the year. I’d recommend it to long-time fans as well as the uninitiated; this album may just make you a regular listener.
Thursday, January 8, 2004
Return of the King a Soundtrack as Enchanting as the Film Itself
The Voice of Middle-earth
One of the most satisfying aspects of the Lord of the Rings film trilogy is its score, through which Howard Shore developed the themes running through the films with the intricate textures of his music, evoking the rich tapestry of Tolkien’s world with breathtaking skill. Listening to the music on its own, it is easy to visualize the characters and situations that accompany it; in context, it provides more than a backdrop. Playing as vital a role in the success of the film series as the New Zealand’s majestic landscapes, it provides the voice of Middle-earth.
Most of this third soundtrack repeats and builds upon themes already established in the first two. We have the pastoral hobbit music, which makes brief appearances throughout the soundtrack before dominating the final two instrumental tracks. More predominant is the music of Rohan, a theme mixing valor and despair through the plaintive strains of a fiddle, and the tentatively triumphant theme used to indicate moments of great bravery. Here, too, are the dark, pounding choruses of the orc hordes and Sauron himself and the ethereal Elven choirs, not to mention the Gondorian theme characterized by Sir James Galway’s wistful flute. Most tracks interweave despair with hope, evil with good, building up the tension that will finally explode during the climactic tracks.
Track List
1. A Storm is Coming
2. Hope and Memory
3. Minas Tirith
4. The White Tree
5. The Steward of Gondor
6. Minas Morgul
7. The Ride of the Rohirrim
8. Twilight and Shadow
9. Cirith Ungul
10. Anduril
11. Shelob’s Lair
12. Ash and Smoke
13. The Fieldsof the Pelennor
14. Hope Fails
15. The Black Gate Opens
16. The End of All Things
17. The Return of the King
18. The Grey Havens
19. Into the West
I won’t review each of the individual tracks here, but I will give particular attention to those which had the most powerful impact on me. The whole of the soundtrack, indeed of this and the prior two soundtracks, builds up to tracks 15 through 18. In the first two, evil is unleashed with unmatched ferocity, yet the pervading aura of gloom and doom provided by the booming choruses and percussion gives way to moments of hope and victory accentuated by Galway’s flute and Renee Fleming’s soprano. These tracks resound with great and terrible majesty, making way for the final two, which bring resolution to the most beautiful themes in the trilogy.
“My Friends, You Bow to No One”
The nearly 10-minute-long title track begins on a hushed note with a return to the themes of courage, hope, and Gondor itself before yielding the floor to Viggo Mortensen, whose regal Elvish chanting gives a nice authentic flavor to Aragorn’s acceptance of the throne. Then it is the haunting chords of the elves themselves as Arwen and Aragorn reunite. But it is the theme of friendship which resonates most strongly here, the stirring melody featured in The Breaking of the Fellowship which I consider the main musical theme of the entire trilogy. It is whenever this theme reappears that the heart truly swells. Here, as it intermingles with the whimsical hobbit motif and the magisterial tones of Aragorn, the theme provides the support for his thrilling acknowledgment of the hobbits’ contribution to the quest, a gesture as simple and grand as the halflings themselves.
”We Come at Last to the Breaking of our Fellowship”
One of my favorite film finales is the ending scene of Ghost, which features a gentle orchestral version of Unchained Melody to accompany the image of Sam being engulfed in light and, after a touching farewell, making his way into the next life. Such is the scene here, although it is more than one theme being developed. Hints of the courage theme and the elegiac strains following Gandalf’s fall creep into The Grey Havens, but for the most part the track makes a very tender, hesitant transition from In Dreams into this film’s end-credits anthem, Into the West.
While there is an undercurrent of sadness, the pervading sense is one of acceptance and peace. Gandalf now leaves his friends on his own terms, imparting comfort in a scene as placid as his first departure was tumultuous, while Galway’s whistle acts as a whisper on the wind, summoning Frodo to a land far beyond the burdens this life has placed upon him. And so he follows, to meet the sunrise with his mentor, his dear uncle, and the noblest of elves, but carrying with him the undying love of Merry, Pippin, and most especially Sam.
”Death is Just Another Path”
Of the three songs that grace the credits of each volume of Lord of the Rings, Into the West is my favorite. A companion to both The Grey Havens and In Dreams, the song, performed by Annie Lennox, hearkens back to Gandalf’s heartening words to Pippin as they watch the enemy’s monstrous battering ram pound its way into the city. Having experienced death first-hand, Gandalf is uniquely qualified to give the comfort Pippin seeks. We cannot say for certain if the wizard speaks from this authority or has merely woven a beautiful web of words in which to entrap his young charge’s terror, but faith that he speaks the truth carries us until the end of the film, when we, too, can see it just beyond the horizon into which Frodo is about to sail.
I’m still not clear if the words address Frodo directly, in this particular instance, or are meant to apply generally, towards all those who fell over the course of the films in the struggle to defeat evil and all those who will eventually come to this journey themselves. I lean towards Frodo because, after all, this is the conclusion of his quest, and because he and Bilbo are unique among hobbits in their inclusion on the Elven ships departing West. The song’s courageous undertones seem particularly suited to these weary but intrepid travelers. Yet the film leaves us with the powerful sense that while Frodo has taken an unusually direct path, those distant shores are not for him and Bilbo alone.
”Why Should Your Songs Be Unfit for My Halls?”
I realize I have gone out of order here, but that is only appropriate given the surprising nature of this track. As inspiring and beautiful as those last three tracks are, they also provide exactly what I anticipated. I expected a glorious conclusion, a sweeping return to all of the trilogy’s loveliest themes, particularly In Dreams, and a haunting aural actualization of the Grey Havens with all its emotional import. No less did I presume the final end-credits song would focus upon Frodo’s departure from the Havens. My expectations were gorgeously met, but it was The Steward of Gondor that left me open-mouthed, in no small measure because it caught me completely off-guard.
After the extreme diminution of his role in Towers, I wondered if Pippin might be lost in the shuffle in Return. I decided to trust the scriptwriters to allow Sam to carry the day - and Astin, I knew, would rise to the challenge - but I wasn’t even certain what I wanted out of Pippin besides more air time than Towers allowed him. Although I fell instantly in love with Boyd’s cheeky portrayal in Fellowship, the depth and sincerity he brought to Pippin in Return astonished me, and the scriptwriters’ decision to give him some of the most powerful scenes in the film left me deeply impressed.
This track finds Pippin in the service of Denethor, depraved Steward of Gondor. In the face of the lord’s grief over the death of his son Boromir, Pippin rather rashly offers himself in payment of the debt left to him when Boromir saved his life. The finality of this decision causes him to stumble as he pledges lifelong allegiance to Denethor, whose unkindness to his remaining son shocks Pippin. The lord is decent enough to the hobbit, but watching him gorge himself in his empty hall as his son rides to near-certain death leaves a bitter taste in Pippin’s mouth. Adrift in the midst of this grotesque grandeur, finally aware of how bleak the future of Middle-earth looks, he receives the request of a song from his new lord and master.
We have seen Pippin sing before, once in the extended edition of Fellowship and once near the beginning of this film. Both times, it’s a rowdy drinking song which includes dancing on the table by him and Merry. We get the sense that Denethor finds Pippin amusing, and he probably intends to use him more for a court jester than anything else, so it is most likely this type of entertainment that he seeks from his young servant. But as so often is the case in literature, it is the “fool” who speaks most wisely here.
We sense that Pippin’s hesitation stems not only from a sense of inadequacy but a reluctance to accept the full burden of knowledge of the horror about him; once he puts his fear into words, there can be no going back to the bliss of ignorance. The two and a half minutes leading up to his performance are the aural equivalent of a looming thundercloud about to burst until the unsteady advent of Boyd’s dulcet tones which echo funereally through the hollow halls of Minas Tirith. The words are Tolkien’s, from an old walking song written by Bilbo, and the Celtic flavor suits Boyd’s exquisite accent perfectly. The lament is made all the more powerful in the film by phenomenal editing, which turns the song into an elegy for Faramir’s doomed troops.
Boyd’s stirring a capella delivery of the song imbues each word with such weight that we truly get the sense that the enormity of the war has all come crashing down on Pippin in this single scene. The word “edge” in particular carries a bone-chilling quality, reflecting Pippin’s fear that the end of all things is at hand, while “fade,” the heartbreaking final word which he is barely able to verbalize, carries with it the intensity of his love for the Shire, which he now believes he will probably never see again, even if, against all odds, the quest should be successful. He is an innocent swept up in matters far beyond his control, and his wistful vocals allude to all those whose simple lives have been interrupted and endangered by the catastrophe of evil.
The inclusion of this stunning track alone is enough to recommend the album by, not to mention the Kleenex-worthy final three tracks. But the entire soundtrack is a masterful work which eases the long wait until Return makes it onto DVD. A must-have for anyone moved by the film.
One of the most satisfying aspects of the Lord of the Rings film trilogy is its score, through which Howard Shore developed the themes running through the films with the intricate textures of his music, evoking the rich tapestry of Tolkien’s world with breathtaking skill. Listening to the music on its own, it is easy to visualize the characters and situations that accompany it; in context, it provides more than a backdrop. Playing as vital a role in the success of the film series as the New Zealand’s majestic landscapes, it provides the voice of Middle-earth.
Most of this third soundtrack repeats and builds upon themes already established in the first two. We have the pastoral hobbit music, which makes brief appearances throughout the soundtrack before dominating the final two instrumental tracks. More predominant is the music of Rohan, a theme mixing valor and despair through the plaintive strains of a fiddle, and the tentatively triumphant theme used to indicate moments of great bravery. Here, too, are the dark, pounding choruses of the orc hordes and Sauron himself and the ethereal Elven choirs, not to mention the Gondorian theme characterized by Sir James Galway’s wistful flute. Most tracks interweave despair with hope, evil with good, building up the tension that will finally explode during the climactic tracks.
Track List
1. A Storm is Coming
2. Hope and Memory
3. Minas Tirith
4. The White Tree
5. The Steward of Gondor
6. Minas Morgul
7. The Ride of the Rohirrim
8. Twilight and Shadow
9. Cirith Ungul
10. Anduril
11. Shelob’s Lair
12. Ash and Smoke
13. The Fieldsof the Pelennor
14. Hope Fails
15. The Black Gate Opens
16. The End of All Things
17. The Return of the King
18. The Grey Havens
19. Into the West
I won’t review each of the individual tracks here, but I will give particular attention to those which had the most powerful impact on me. The whole of the soundtrack, indeed of this and the prior two soundtracks, builds up to tracks 15 through 18. In the first two, evil is unleashed with unmatched ferocity, yet the pervading aura of gloom and doom provided by the booming choruses and percussion gives way to moments of hope and victory accentuated by Galway’s flute and Renee Fleming’s soprano. These tracks resound with great and terrible majesty, making way for the final two, which bring resolution to the most beautiful themes in the trilogy.
“My Friends, You Bow to No One”
The nearly 10-minute-long title track begins on a hushed note with a return to the themes of courage, hope, and Gondor itself before yielding the floor to Viggo Mortensen, whose regal Elvish chanting gives a nice authentic flavor to Aragorn’s acceptance of the throne. Then it is the haunting chords of the elves themselves as Arwen and Aragorn reunite. But it is the theme of friendship which resonates most strongly here, the stirring melody featured in The Breaking of the Fellowship which I consider the main musical theme of the entire trilogy. It is whenever this theme reappears that the heart truly swells. Here, as it intermingles with the whimsical hobbit motif and the magisterial tones of Aragorn, the theme provides the support for his thrilling acknowledgment of the hobbits’ contribution to the quest, a gesture as simple and grand as the halflings themselves.
”We Come at Last to the Breaking of our Fellowship”
One of my favorite film finales is the ending scene of Ghost, which features a gentle orchestral version of Unchained Melody to accompany the image of Sam being engulfed in light and, after a touching farewell, making his way into the next life. Such is the scene here, although it is more than one theme being developed. Hints of the courage theme and the elegiac strains following Gandalf’s fall creep into The Grey Havens, but for the most part the track makes a very tender, hesitant transition from In Dreams into this film’s end-credits anthem, Into the West.
While there is an undercurrent of sadness, the pervading sense is one of acceptance and peace. Gandalf now leaves his friends on his own terms, imparting comfort in a scene as placid as his first departure was tumultuous, while Galway’s whistle acts as a whisper on the wind, summoning Frodo to a land far beyond the burdens this life has placed upon him. And so he follows, to meet the sunrise with his mentor, his dear uncle, and the noblest of elves, but carrying with him the undying love of Merry, Pippin, and most especially Sam.
”Death is Just Another Path”
Of the three songs that grace the credits of each volume of Lord of the Rings, Into the West is my favorite. A companion to both The Grey Havens and In Dreams, the song, performed by Annie Lennox, hearkens back to Gandalf’s heartening words to Pippin as they watch the enemy’s monstrous battering ram pound its way into the city. Having experienced death first-hand, Gandalf is uniquely qualified to give the comfort Pippin seeks. We cannot say for certain if the wizard speaks from this authority or has merely woven a beautiful web of words in which to entrap his young charge’s terror, but faith that he speaks the truth carries us until the end of the film, when we, too, can see it just beyond the horizon into which Frodo is about to sail.
I’m still not clear if the words address Frodo directly, in this particular instance, or are meant to apply generally, towards all those who fell over the course of the films in the struggle to defeat evil and all those who will eventually come to this journey themselves. I lean towards Frodo because, after all, this is the conclusion of his quest, and because he and Bilbo are unique among hobbits in their inclusion on the Elven ships departing West. The song’s courageous undertones seem particularly suited to these weary but intrepid travelers. Yet the film leaves us with the powerful sense that while Frodo has taken an unusually direct path, those distant shores are not for him and Bilbo alone.
”Why Should Your Songs Be Unfit for My Halls?”
I realize I have gone out of order here, but that is only appropriate given the surprising nature of this track. As inspiring and beautiful as those last three tracks are, they also provide exactly what I anticipated. I expected a glorious conclusion, a sweeping return to all of the trilogy’s loveliest themes, particularly In Dreams, and a haunting aural actualization of the Grey Havens with all its emotional import. No less did I presume the final end-credits song would focus upon Frodo’s departure from the Havens. My expectations were gorgeously met, but it was The Steward of Gondor that left me open-mouthed, in no small measure because it caught me completely off-guard.
After the extreme diminution of his role in Towers, I wondered if Pippin might be lost in the shuffle in Return. I decided to trust the scriptwriters to allow Sam to carry the day - and Astin, I knew, would rise to the challenge - but I wasn’t even certain what I wanted out of Pippin besides more air time than Towers allowed him. Although I fell instantly in love with Boyd’s cheeky portrayal in Fellowship, the depth and sincerity he brought to Pippin in Return astonished me, and the scriptwriters’ decision to give him some of the most powerful scenes in the film left me deeply impressed.
This track finds Pippin in the service of Denethor, depraved Steward of Gondor. In the face of the lord’s grief over the death of his son Boromir, Pippin rather rashly offers himself in payment of the debt left to him when Boromir saved his life. The finality of this decision causes him to stumble as he pledges lifelong allegiance to Denethor, whose unkindness to his remaining son shocks Pippin. The lord is decent enough to the hobbit, but watching him gorge himself in his empty hall as his son rides to near-certain death leaves a bitter taste in Pippin’s mouth. Adrift in the midst of this grotesque grandeur, finally aware of how bleak the future of Middle-earth looks, he receives the request of a song from his new lord and master.
We have seen Pippin sing before, once in the extended edition of Fellowship and once near the beginning of this film. Both times, it’s a rowdy drinking song which includes dancing on the table by him and Merry. We get the sense that Denethor finds Pippin amusing, and he probably intends to use him more for a court jester than anything else, so it is most likely this type of entertainment that he seeks from his young servant. But as so often is the case in literature, it is the “fool” who speaks most wisely here.
We sense that Pippin’s hesitation stems not only from a sense of inadequacy but a reluctance to accept the full burden of knowledge of the horror about him; once he puts his fear into words, there can be no going back to the bliss of ignorance. The two and a half minutes leading up to his performance are the aural equivalent of a looming thundercloud about to burst until the unsteady advent of Boyd’s dulcet tones which echo funereally through the hollow halls of Minas Tirith. The words are Tolkien’s, from an old walking song written by Bilbo, and the Celtic flavor suits Boyd’s exquisite accent perfectly. The lament is made all the more powerful in the film by phenomenal editing, which turns the song into an elegy for Faramir’s doomed troops.
Boyd’s stirring a capella delivery of the song imbues each word with such weight that we truly get the sense that the enormity of the war has all come crashing down on Pippin in this single scene. The word “edge” in particular carries a bone-chilling quality, reflecting Pippin’s fear that the end of all things is at hand, while “fade,” the heartbreaking final word which he is barely able to verbalize, carries with it the intensity of his love for the Shire, which he now believes he will probably never see again, even if, against all odds, the quest should be successful. He is an innocent swept up in matters far beyond his control, and his wistful vocals allude to all those whose simple lives have been interrupted and endangered by the catastrophe of evil.
The inclusion of this stunning track alone is enough to recommend the album by, not to mention the Kleenex-worthy final three tracks. But the entire soundtrack is a masterful work which eases the long wait until Return makes it onto DVD. A must-have for anyone moved by the film.
Tuesday, January 6, 2004
Return of the King One Film to Rule them All
Opening Remarks
All good things must come to an end. So it is with Peter Jackson's exhilarating adaptation of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, and it is indeed a bittersweet parting. While we still have the extended edition to look forward to, the two-year journey - twice the length of the quest itself - has ended. I can only imagine the emotions of those who immersed themselves in this, the finest of worlds, for several years.
But as King Theoden says as he prepares to lead his troops into battle against insurmountable odds, "If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance!" In this, Jackson and his team have succeeded, meeting and, though it hardly seems possible, exceeding my astronomical expectations.
Picking Up the Slack
My biggest concern for The Return of the King was how they were going to squeeze in nearly half of The Two Towers. I needn't have worried. Though it necessitated some deviation from the book in terms of chronology, scriptwriters Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillippa Boyens interwove the crucial scenes of the epic’s final third with admirable skill. As a result of the shift, the most drastic character developments - particularly of the hobbits - are averted to the final film. Although I have spent time speculating on which scenes may be included in the extended cut, at no point did the theatrical version seem to me to be incomplete. In fact, it was the only one of the three films against which I could make no major complaint. Such was the insight of the scriptwriters and the talent of the cast that the changes upheld the integrity of the characters and heightened their emotional impact upon the audience.
The White Wizard
One of the trilogy's most complex and brilliantly acted characters, Gandalf (Ian McKellen) operates on a different plane than the rest of the Fellowship. Although he cannot bring about the destruction of Sauron, he remains the greatest power of good in the trilogy. Each of the films brings with it a new manifestation of this ancient being. In Fellowship, age and the troubles of the world seem to be taking their toll on him. He is bent, frazzled, weary. Awash with uncertainty, he becomes a rather curmudgeonly old man. Towers sees him renewed, elevated to the status of white wizard, blinding in his splendor. It is Gandalf, but he is detached, enveloped in a glowing mystique. He seems more supernatural ally than friend and mentor.
In Return, his personality begins to emerge once more. He is more human, deeply concerned about the fate of Middle Earth and of his friends in particular. Yet the weariness that encased him in Fellowship is absent here. He conjures no great magic in this darkest hour to counteract the forces of evil but stands as a stabilizing force, a calm amidst the storm.
This is the only film in which Gandalf's whereabouts are never in question. We know that his departure from Aragorn takes him directly to Minas Tirith. But he selects for himself an unlikely companion: Peregrin Took, with whom he has lost his patience on numerous occasions. It might even be argued that Pippin was responsible for Gandalf’s fall in Moria, as it was he who alerted the orcs and likely they, in turn, who awakened the balrog. Now, after so many false steps, Pippin has the chance to prove himself to Gandalf, and their developing relationship is one of the most tender aspects of the film.
The Future King
Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen), the monarch to whom the film's title alludes, must now step up and accept his destiny as King of Gondor, meanwhile convincing Theoden to honor the old alliance between Gondor and Rohan and come to Minas Tirith’s aid as it faces attack. So formidable is this foe that Aragorn risks calling upon the legions of dishonored undead to repay their debt by helping to defeat Sauron’s army. His authority established, he leads the troops into one last climactic battle, knowing that no military victory can succeed if Frodo fails in his quest but hoping to keep Sauron's Eye off of Frodo long enough for the task to be completed. His heart is burdened, meanwhile, with the knowledge that Arwen has chosen to seal herself to his fate and will soon die if the Ring is not destroyed.
A Fading Lord
As war rages and his idyllic realm darkens around him, the stoic leader of Rivendell (Hugo Weaving) must come to grips not only with the departure of his people from Middle Earth but with his daughter Arwen's (Liv Tyler) decision to forgo her Elven inheritance in favor of a mortal life with Aragorn. Call me unromantic, but I always found Arwen's choice terribly frustrating. I couldn't imagine turning my back on my people and on immortality for the sake of romance, even with one so noble as Aragorn. But until the films, I never stopped long to ponder the heartache she must have caused Elrond. Weaving brings the subtlest of nuances to this noble Elf Lord, allowing just the tiniest trace of emotion to carve his statuesque features. Yet in those moments, we can see how deep his love for his daughter runs. Of all the elves in Middle Earth, it is he who most moves me.
The Odd Couple
Speaking of elves, He Whose Likeness Must Be Attached To Tweens' Lockers nearly fades into obscurity here. Legolas (Orlando Bloom) elicits a sigh when his eager face and golden tresses grace the screen, but we see little of him beyond the battle scenes. Gimli (John Rhys-Davies) fares a little better, being the gruffer and more talkative of the two, but the pair are easily the least visible remaining members of the Fellowship in this film. The friendship Legolas and Gimli have developed is at the heart of most of their scenes here; in one exchange, when Gimli states his wonderment at the idea of dying fighting alongside an elf, Legolas replies with the query, "How about fighting alongside a friend?" For the most part, though, the elf is silent; I would be willing to bet Bloom had more lines in Pirates of the Caribbean than the whole of Lord of the Rings. However, Legolas provides a good sense of the solemnity and ethereal beauty of the elves, contrasting Gimli's earthiness. He also struts his stuff as a mighty warrior, particularly in one most unTolkienish but captivating stunt; his and Gimli's running tally of felled enemies is an amusing if slightly distracting affirmation of their unusual friendship.
The Steward and his Son
I always liked Faramir (David Wenham), so I was distressed when Towers presented him in such a largely unsympathetic light. Prior to seeing Return, I saw the extended cut of Towers and was pleased to see the Faramir I knew emerge from the added scenes. In Return, Faramir seems sinister no more. Rather, he is an ordinary man living in the shadow of Boromir (Sean Bean), the fallen older brother favored by his father Denethor (John Noble), steward of Gondor. He is desperate to win the love and respect of Denethor, who fears the rumors of Aragorn's return and refuses to acknowledge the inability of his forces to defeat the approaching enemy on their own. Blinded by his determination to break the ranks of also-random, Faramir follows his crazed father's orders to find his efforts a failure once more. One aspect of the novel that is left out of the film is the relationship between Faramir and Eowyn, yet another reason to feel sorry for Faramir; when Eowyn cannot have the man she loves, she settles for Faramir, letting him know yet again that he is second best. Faramir's lifelong misfortune seems to stem from the steward, who comes across as quite a vile character: dour, paranoid, and perfectly willing to tell Faramir to his face that he wishes it had been his younger son who died.
Warrior Princess
Women do not figure largely in Lord of the Rings, but when they appear they certainly make an impact. Frustrated by her inability to play a direct role in the defense of her people, Eowyn (Miranda Otto) has her opportunity to become the soldier her uncle will not allow her to be. Theoden (Bernard Hill) only wishes for his niece's happiness but does not understand that she will never be satisfied with staying behind when there is a battle to be fought. Crushed by the realization that Aragorn's heart lies elsewhere, she pours her energy into readying Merry for battle, only to discover that he, too, is deemed unfit to ride. At once, Merry becomes a metaphor for herself and a fellow outcast. Inspired by his valor, she sneaks the two of them into the ride for Minas Tirith, where both will have the opportunity to prove their worthiness. While her comradeship with Merry is touching, it is around the relationship with her uncle that her shining moment truly revolves.
Nasty Hobbitses
In Fellowship, Gandalf would probably be considered the standout character. In Towers, it is Gollum (Andy Serkis), the centuries-old wretch who "loves and hates the Ring as he loves and hates himself." In the second installment, he is constantly at war with himself; the vindictive Gollum begins to weaken as the gentler Smeagol is awakened by Frodo's empathy. We watch as Frodo painstakingly earns his trust, only to have it shattered when Faramir tricks him into luring Gollum out of the Forbidden Pool to be brutally interrogated. If Gollum was on the road to eventual redemption prior to this, he takes a U-turn in Return. He becomes cruel and conniving, intending to lead the hobbits to the lair of a ravenous spider. Sam, however, proves a stumbling block to his plans, and we see how malevolent Gollum can truly be in one of the trilogy's most wrenching scenes. Yet it is still difficult not to feel pity for this creature, a computer-generated character brought to life with astonishing realism by Serkis and dozens of animators and technicians. We witness his transformation from Smeagol to Gollum and understand the power the Ring holds over him. His life is a tragedy, but it ends in an ironic moment of triumph and the revelation that without Gollum, the quest probably could not have succeeded after all.
Concerning Hobbits
Although the film's title would indicate that Aragorn is the key figure here and that the focus should be upon the epic battle scenes accentuated in the previews, at its heart Tolkien's tale is about peace and the preservation of a simple life. Thus it is that the hobbits are truly the heroes of the trilogy, which Aragorn acknowledges in a most dramatic and inspiring manner. After all, the first step in Tolkien's journey that would eventually lead to the writing of his epic were the words "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."
The Bearer of the Ring
Return is a dark time for Frodo (Elijah Wood), who spends the majority of the film under the Ring's growing weight. As a result, he is generally not a pleasant person; indeed, poisoned by Gollum's lies, he turns on the one person without whose devotion he never would have gotten this far. Wood does a fine job of conveying this deterioration, sprinkled with lucid moments filled with guilt and exhaustion. Frodo, too, is a bit of a tragic character, as his experience as Ring bearer leaves him too changed to enjoy the Shire he toiled to save. And yet the result is less sacrifice than reward, a final peaceful voyage fit for one who has endured so much.
Pint-sized Valor
Throughout the trilogy, Merry (Dominic Monaghan) operates largely as a foil to Pippin. Although both are young and mischievous, Merry is slightly more mature and realizes much earlier the gravity of their situation. As his constant companion, he strives to keep Pippin in line but cannot always protect him from his Tookish impetuousness. Early in the film, another of Pippin's foolish whims lands him a fix from which Merry realizes, to his dismay, he cannot extract him. Up to this point, Merry and Pippin have always been together; their separation is touching and traumatic, and Merry's concern for his friend is tangible as Pippin is whisked away to where he cannot follow.
Yet this is also Merry's chance to emerge as the valiant soldier he wishes to become. We catch a glimpse of this spirit in his impassioned speeches to Treebeard and Pippin in Towers, and in Return he takes it one step further by gearing up to fight in Theoden's army. Finding an ally in Eowyn, he has his moment of victory; together they take on a foe against whom it was thought there could be no successful attack. When at last he and Pippin are reunited, it is Pippin who must care for him in the aftermath of battle.
A Fool's Hope
Ah, yes, Pippin (Billy Boyd), that rogue with the brogue who upstaged Sam in Fellowship. In all of literature, I have never found a character with whom I am more in love than Samwise Gamgee. Yet Pippin has always followed close behind. Thanks to the films, I'm afraid I must have divided affections, for it seems that Pippin has caught up. I suppose I can live with that, since Sam is already spoken for...
Although all of the hobbits are innocent prior to their departure from the Shire, Pippin is the embodiment of naivety. Oblivious to the magnitude of danger facing them and possessing an uncanny magnetism toward mischief, he accidentally endangers his companions time and again. Yet he hasn't a malicious bone in his body. Sweet and good-natured, a laugh and a half, and deeply dedicated to his friends, he can hardly help that trouble is always nipping at his heels. Throughout the bulk of the first two movies, he is virtually unaffected by the unfolding chaos around him; although he does display some courage and good sense after his capture by orcs, his adventures don't seem to make him any more careful or careworn.
At the beginning of Return, he is still the happy young hobbit fooling around with Merry and enjoying a bit too much of the South Farthing's best tobacco. But when his curiosity gets the better of him once again, it leads to a terrifying scene in which he comes into direct contact with the Dark Lord himself. Shell-shocked but rapidly recovering, he does not understand what the consequences of his actions will be until the last minute. In the dreadful moment when he realizes he and Merry are about to be separated, possibly never to meet again, he becomes a frightened child, finally torn from his lifelong friend and only link to the Shire. Without Merry, the prospect of home fades into the distance, along with Pippin's innocence.
Yet just as Merry has a chance to show what he's really made of once he's on his own, a more somber Pippin balances out his prior indiscretions under Gandalf's watchful eye. During this unlikely partnership with the wizard so often confounded by Pippin's foolishness, he earns the respect of Gandalf, who twists the term "fool" to the hobbit's benefit in one of their best scenes together. By the end of the film, Gandalf’s affection for Pippin is as apparent as his affection for Frodo has always been. As I said, I've always loved Pippin, but the scriptwriters and Boyd truly let him shine in the films, particularly this third one. And I don't suppose that exquisite accent hurt, either...
Samwise the Brave
So now we come to him, the fiercely loyal hobbit who, to my mind, has always been the true hero of the trilogy. After Fellowship, I was worried that Sam (Sean Astin) would not be given his due, but Return makes up for his inauspicious debut in the trilogy. The beginning of the film finds him with the difficult task of keeping Frodo from succumbing to the Ring's malevolence as they draw closer to Mordor. Making this especially hard is the fact that Gollum, whom Sam still does not trust, continues to lead them onward, and it seems Frodo's loyalties lie more fully at this point with Gollum than with Sam. The heartbreaking reality of this reversal becomes clear when Gollum tricks Frodo into believing that Sam has stolen their provisions and will soon steal the Ring itself. The anguish of Frodo's rejection is nearly too much for Sam, and the audience, to bear.
But he presses on, devoted to Frodo despite the betrayal, summoning all of his courage to come to the Ring bearer's aid. Frodo's strength is nearly spent at this point, his soul so burdened that he cannot even remember what the Shire looks like. It's up to Sam to do what his master cannot, even to the point of bearing the Ring himself when he mistakes Frodo for dead. After leaving the film, my brother and I both agreed that the one scene we would most like to see in the extended edition is Sam's temptation by the Ring once he decides to carry it. Nonetheless, it feels like the right decision to have left it out of the theatrical version, shortening Sam's solo scenes - re-watching the Rankin and Bass version of Return, even I began to get slightly tired of all of Sam's talking to himself - and heightening the tension by not letting the audience know where the Ring is.
Although Lord of the Rings begins as a heroic endeavor on which the selfless Frodo must embark, it is Sam who comes closest to fulfilling his part in the intricate epic. Only a humble hobbit, accustomed to tending gardens and pining after Rosie Cotton, he musters up the resolve to see the quest completed, no matter what the cost. He snatches Frodo from the jaws of death time and time again and lets his strength compensate for Frodo's weakness in the final leg of their journey. Yet for all his grand deeds, he remains the simple fellow who followed Frodo from Hobbiton, and the task falls to him to preserve the Shire's way of life and keep the story of the quest alive. It seems telling that of all the major characters in the trilogy, he is the only one with a name one would encounter in the world today. And ultimately it is plain old Sam who concludes the masterpiece with the most appropriate of afterthoughts, ready to ease the segue into the Fourth Age.
In the Background
I find it ironic that an epic which contains so many allusions to the evils of technology should require such technology in order for it to be translated to the big screen. The film is gorgeously rendered, thanks in part, of course, to the natural beauty of New Zealand, a place I am now most eager to visit. But a blend of many technologies helped the film to achieve its incredible feel of realism and majesty. From the lighting of the signal fires along the mountaintops towards Rohan to the ominous march of the oliphaunts to the arrival of the fleet of undead, the cinematography and special effects worked side by side to create an impeccable whole.
Howard Shore's score enhances the film immeasurably, somehow capturing the feel of each group of characters and occasion. When the familiar strains of In Dreams swell one final time as our friends part company at the most beautiful and bittersweet of endings, the emotional impact is staggering. The soundtrack itself is well worth purchasing.
Many Partings
Return's three and a quarter hours are filled with many emotional partings before the film brings us to the grandest departure of all, a conclusion truly fit for such a magnificent trilogy. Although very few films have caused me to shed tears, this one did on several occasions. But as Gandalf advises his friends as they see him off for the final time, "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil." The mere memory of some of those scenes mists my eyes all over again. I have heard many complaints that the ending was too lengthy, but I would not omit one moment from the climax to conclusion. We have, after all, invested nine hours in these characters, more if you count the extended editions. Can't we at least stick around long enough to give them a decent farewell?
Final Thoughts
No book will ever hold a greater place in my heart than Lord of the Rings, and as far as I'm concerned, no film or series of films will ever conquer Jackson's adaptation. He brought to life a world I have always loved but never experienced so fully until now, and I salute him and everyone involved. Now, if he could only manage another foray into Middle Earth with The Hobbit. He's taken me there; I want to go back again.
All good things must come to an end. So it is with Peter Jackson's exhilarating adaptation of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, and it is indeed a bittersweet parting. While we still have the extended edition to look forward to, the two-year journey - twice the length of the quest itself - has ended. I can only imagine the emotions of those who immersed themselves in this, the finest of worlds, for several years.
But as King Theoden says as he prepares to lead his troops into battle against insurmountable odds, "If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance!" In this, Jackson and his team have succeeded, meeting and, though it hardly seems possible, exceeding my astronomical expectations.
Picking Up the Slack
My biggest concern for The Return of the King was how they were going to squeeze in nearly half of The Two Towers. I needn't have worried. Though it necessitated some deviation from the book in terms of chronology, scriptwriters Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillippa Boyens interwove the crucial scenes of the epic’s final third with admirable skill. As a result of the shift, the most drastic character developments - particularly of the hobbits - are averted to the final film. Although I have spent time speculating on which scenes may be included in the extended cut, at no point did the theatrical version seem to me to be incomplete. In fact, it was the only one of the three films against which I could make no major complaint. Such was the insight of the scriptwriters and the talent of the cast that the changes upheld the integrity of the characters and heightened their emotional impact upon the audience.
The White Wizard
One of the trilogy's most complex and brilliantly acted characters, Gandalf (Ian McKellen) operates on a different plane than the rest of the Fellowship. Although he cannot bring about the destruction of Sauron, he remains the greatest power of good in the trilogy. Each of the films brings with it a new manifestation of this ancient being. In Fellowship, age and the troubles of the world seem to be taking their toll on him. He is bent, frazzled, weary. Awash with uncertainty, he becomes a rather curmudgeonly old man. Towers sees him renewed, elevated to the status of white wizard, blinding in his splendor. It is Gandalf, but he is detached, enveloped in a glowing mystique. He seems more supernatural ally than friend and mentor.
In Return, his personality begins to emerge once more. He is more human, deeply concerned about the fate of Middle Earth and of his friends in particular. Yet the weariness that encased him in Fellowship is absent here. He conjures no great magic in this darkest hour to counteract the forces of evil but stands as a stabilizing force, a calm amidst the storm.
This is the only film in which Gandalf's whereabouts are never in question. We know that his departure from Aragorn takes him directly to Minas Tirith. But he selects for himself an unlikely companion: Peregrin Took, with whom he has lost his patience on numerous occasions. It might even be argued that Pippin was responsible for Gandalf’s fall in Moria, as it was he who alerted the orcs and likely they, in turn, who awakened the balrog. Now, after so many false steps, Pippin has the chance to prove himself to Gandalf, and their developing relationship is one of the most tender aspects of the film.
The Future King
Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen), the monarch to whom the film's title alludes, must now step up and accept his destiny as King of Gondor, meanwhile convincing Theoden to honor the old alliance between Gondor and Rohan and come to Minas Tirith’s aid as it faces attack. So formidable is this foe that Aragorn risks calling upon the legions of dishonored undead to repay their debt by helping to defeat Sauron’s army. His authority established, he leads the troops into one last climactic battle, knowing that no military victory can succeed if Frodo fails in his quest but hoping to keep Sauron's Eye off of Frodo long enough for the task to be completed. His heart is burdened, meanwhile, with the knowledge that Arwen has chosen to seal herself to his fate and will soon die if the Ring is not destroyed.
A Fading Lord
As war rages and his idyllic realm darkens around him, the stoic leader of Rivendell (Hugo Weaving) must come to grips not only with the departure of his people from Middle Earth but with his daughter Arwen's (Liv Tyler) decision to forgo her Elven inheritance in favor of a mortal life with Aragorn. Call me unromantic, but I always found Arwen's choice terribly frustrating. I couldn't imagine turning my back on my people and on immortality for the sake of romance, even with one so noble as Aragorn. But until the films, I never stopped long to ponder the heartache she must have caused Elrond. Weaving brings the subtlest of nuances to this noble Elf Lord, allowing just the tiniest trace of emotion to carve his statuesque features. Yet in those moments, we can see how deep his love for his daughter runs. Of all the elves in Middle Earth, it is he who most moves me.
The Odd Couple
Speaking of elves, He Whose Likeness Must Be Attached To Tweens' Lockers nearly fades into obscurity here. Legolas (Orlando Bloom) elicits a sigh when his eager face and golden tresses grace the screen, but we see little of him beyond the battle scenes. Gimli (John Rhys-Davies) fares a little better, being the gruffer and more talkative of the two, but the pair are easily the least visible remaining members of the Fellowship in this film. The friendship Legolas and Gimli have developed is at the heart of most of their scenes here; in one exchange, when Gimli states his wonderment at the idea of dying fighting alongside an elf, Legolas replies with the query, "How about fighting alongside a friend?" For the most part, though, the elf is silent; I would be willing to bet Bloom had more lines in Pirates of the Caribbean than the whole of Lord of the Rings. However, Legolas provides a good sense of the solemnity and ethereal beauty of the elves, contrasting Gimli's earthiness. He also struts his stuff as a mighty warrior, particularly in one most unTolkienish but captivating stunt; his and Gimli's running tally of felled enemies is an amusing if slightly distracting affirmation of their unusual friendship.
The Steward and his Son
I always liked Faramir (David Wenham), so I was distressed when Towers presented him in such a largely unsympathetic light. Prior to seeing Return, I saw the extended cut of Towers and was pleased to see the Faramir I knew emerge from the added scenes. In Return, Faramir seems sinister no more. Rather, he is an ordinary man living in the shadow of Boromir (Sean Bean), the fallen older brother favored by his father Denethor (John Noble), steward of Gondor. He is desperate to win the love and respect of Denethor, who fears the rumors of Aragorn's return and refuses to acknowledge the inability of his forces to defeat the approaching enemy on their own. Blinded by his determination to break the ranks of also-random, Faramir follows his crazed father's orders to find his efforts a failure once more. One aspect of the novel that is left out of the film is the relationship between Faramir and Eowyn, yet another reason to feel sorry for Faramir; when Eowyn cannot have the man she loves, she settles for Faramir, letting him know yet again that he is second best. Faramir's lifelong misfortune seems to stem from the steward, who comes across as quite a vile character: dour, paranoid, and perfectly willing to tell Faramir to his face that he wishes it had been his younger son who died.
Warrior Princess
Women do not figure largely in Lord of the Rings, but when they appear they certainly make an impact. Frustrated by her inability to play a direct role in the defense of her people, Eowyn (Miranda Otto) has her opportunity to become the soldier her uncle will not allow her to be. Theoden (Bernard Hill) only wishes for his niece's happiness but does not understand that she will never be satisfied with staying behind when there is a battle to be fought. Crushed by the realization that Aragorn's heart lies elsewhere, she pours her energy into readying Merry for battle, only to discover that he, too, is deemed unfit to ride. At once, Merry becomes a metaphor for herself and a fellow outcast. Inspired by his valor, she sneaks the two of them into the ride for Minas Tirith, where both will have the opportunity to prove their worthiness. While her comradeship with Merry is touching, it is around the relationship with her uncle that her shining moment truly revolves.
Nasty Hobbitses
In Fellowship, Gandalf would probably be considered the standout character. In Towers, it is Gollum (Andy Serkis), the centuries-old wretch who "loves and hates the Ring as he loves and hates himself." In the second installment, he is constantly at war with himself; the vindictive Gollum begins to weaken as the gentler Smeagol is awakened by Frodo's empathy. We watch as Frodo painstakingly earns his trust, only to have it shattered when Faramir tricks him into luring Gollum out of the Forbidden Pool to be brutally interrogated. If Gollum was on the road to eventual redemption prior to this, he takes a U-turn in Return. He becomes cruel and conniving, intending to lead the hobbits to the lair of a ravenous spider. Sam, however, proves a stumbling block to his plans, and we see how malevolent Gollum can truly be in one of the trilogy's most wrenching scenes. Yet it is still difficult not to feel pity for this creature, a computer-generated character brought to life with astonishing realism by Serkis and dozens of animators and technicians. We witness his transformation from Smeagol to Gollum and understand the power the Ring holds over him. His life is a tragedy, but it ends in an ironic moment of triumph and the revelation that without Gollum, the quest probably could not have succeeded after all.
Concerning Hobbits
Although the film's title would indicate that Aragorn is the key figure here and that the focus should be upon the epic battle scenes accentuated in the previews, at its heart Tolkien's tale is about peace and the preservation of a simple life. Thus it is that the hobbits are truly the heroes of the trilogy, which Aragorn acknowledges in a most dramatic and inspiring manner. After all, the first step in Tolkien's journey that would eventually lead to the writing of his epic were the words "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."
The Bearer of the Ring
Return is a dark time for Frodo (Elijah Wood), who spends the majority of the film under the Ring's growing weight. As a result, he is generally not a pleasant person; indeed, poisoned by Gollum's lies, he turns on the one person without whose devotion he never would have gotten this far. Wood does a fine job of conveying this deterioration, sprinkled with lucid moments filled with guilt and exhaustion. Frodo, too, is a bit of a tragic character, as his experience as Ring bearer leaves him too changed to enjoy the Shire he toiled to save. And yet the result is less sacrifice than reward, a final peaceful voyage fit for one who has endured so much.
Pint-sized Valor
Throughout the trilogy, Merry (Dominic Monaghan) operates largely as a foil to Pippin. Although both are young and mischievous, Merry is slightly more mature and realizes much earlier the gravity of their situation. As his constant companion, he strives to keep Pippin in line but cannot always protect him from his Tookish impetuousness. Early in the film, another of Pippin's foolish whims lands him a fix from which Merry realizes, to his dismay, he cannot extract him. Up to this point, Merry and Pippin have always been together; their separation is touching and traumatic, and Merry's concern for his friend is tangible as Pippin is whisked away to where he cannot follow.
Yet this is also Merry's chance to emerge as the valiant soldier he wishes to become. We catch a glimpse of this spirit in his impassioned speeches to Treebeard and Pippin in Towers, and in Return he takes it one step further by gearing up to fight in Theoden's army. Finding an ally in Eowyn, he has his moment of victory; together they take on a foe against whom it was thought there could be no successful attack. When at last he and Pippin are reunited, it is Pippin who must care for him in the aftermath of battle.
A Fool's Hope
Ah, yes, Pippin (Billy Boyd), that rogue with the brogue who upstaged Sam in Fellowship. In all of literature, I have never found a character with whom I am more in love than Samwise Gamgee. Yet Pippin has always followed close behind. Thanks to the films, I'm afraid I must have divided affections, for it seems that Pippin has caught up. I suppose I can live with that, since Sam is already spoken for...
Although all of the hobbits are innocent prior to their departure from the Shire, Pippin is the embodiment of naivety. Oblivious to the magnitude of danger facing them and possessing an uncanny magnetism toward mischief, he accidentally endangers his companions time and again. Yet he hasn't a malicious bone in his body. Sweet and good-natured, a laugh and a half, and deeply dedicated to his friends, he can hardly help that trouble is always nipping at his heels. Throughout the bulk of the first two movies, he is virtually unaffected by the unfolding chaos around him; although he does display some courage and good sense after his capture by orcs, his adventures don't seem to make him any more careful or careworn.
At the beginning of Return, he is still the happy young hobbit fooling around with Merry and enjoying a bit too much of the South Farthing's best tobacco. But when his curiosity gets the better of him once again, it leads to a terrifying scene in which he comes into direct contact with the Dark Lord himself. Shell-shocked but rapidly recovering, he does not understand what the consequences of his actions will be until the last minute. In the dreadful moment when he realizes he and Merry are about to be separated, possibly never to meet again, he becomes a frightened child, finally torn from his lifelong friend and only link to the Shire. Without Merry, the prospect of home fades into the distance, along with Pippin's innocence.
Yet just as Merry has a chance to show what he's really made of once he's on his own, a more somber Pippin balances out his prior indiscretions under Gandalf's watchful eye. During this unlikely partnership with the wizard so often confounded by Pippin's foolishness, he earns the respect of Gandalf, who twists the term "fool" to the hobbit's benefit in one of their best scenes together. By the end of the film, Gandalf’s affection for Pippin is as apparent as his affection for Frodo has always been. As I said, I've always loved Pippin, but the scriptwriters and Boyd truly let him shine in the films, particularly this third one. And I don't suppose that exquisite accent hurt, either...
Samwise the Brave
So now we come to him, the fiercely loyal hobbit who, to my mind, has always been the true hero of the trilogy. After Fellowship, I was worried that Sam (Sean Astin) would not be given his due, but Return makes up for his inauspicious debut in the trilogy. The beginning of the film finds him with the difficult task of keeping Frodo from succumbing to the Ring's malevolence as they draw closer to Mordor. Making this especially hard is the fact that Gollum, whom Sam still does not trust, continues to lead them onward, and it seems Frodo's loyalties lie more fully at this point with Gollum than with Sam. The heartbreaking reality of this reversal becomes clear when Gollum tricks Frodo into believing that Sam has stolen their provisions and will soon steal the Ring itself. The anguish of Frodo's rejection is nearly too much for Sam, and the audience, to bear.
But he presses on, devoted to Frodo despite the betrayal, summoning all of his courage to come to the Ring bearer's aid. Frodo's strength is nearly spent at this point, his soul so burdened that he cannot even remember what the Shire looks like. It's up to Sam to do what his master cannot, even to the point of bearing the Ring himself when he mistakes Frodo for dead. After leaving the film, my brother and I both agreed that the one scene we would most like to see in the extended edition is Sam's temptation by the Ring once he decides to carry it. Nonetheless, it feels like the right decision to have left it out of the theatrical version, shortening Sam's solo scenes - re-watching the Rankin and Bass version of Return, even I began to get slightly tired of all of Sam's talking to himself - and heightening the tension by not letting the audience know where the Ring is.
Although Lord of the Rings begins as a heroic endeavor on which the selfless Frodo must embark, it is Sam who comes closest to fulfilling his part in the intricate epic. Only a humble hobbit, accustomed to tending gardens and pining after Rosie Cotton, he musters up the resolve to see the quest completed, no matter what the cost. He snatches Frodo from the jaws of death time and time again and lets his strength compensate for Frodo's weakness in the final leg of their journey. Yet for all his grand deeds, he remains the simple fellow who followed Frodo from Hobbiton, and the task falls to him to preserve the Shire's way of life and keep the story of the quest alive. It seems telling that of all the major characters in the trilogy, he is the only one with a name one would encounter in the world today. And ultimately it is plain old Sam who concludes the masterpiece with the most appropriate of afterthoughts, ready to ease the segue into the Fourth Age.
In the Background
I find it ironic that an epic which contains so many allusions to the evils of technology should require such technology in order for it to be translated to the big screen. The film is gorgeously rendered, thanks in part, of course, to the natural beauty of New Zealand, a place I am now most eager to visit. But a blend of many technologies helped the film to achieve its incredible feel of realism and majesty. From the lighting of the signal fires along the mountaintops towards Rohan to the ominous march of the oliphaunts to the arrival of the fleet of undead, the cinematography and special effects worked side by side to create an impeccable whole.
Howard Shore's score enhances the film immeasurably, somehow capturing the feel of each group of characters and occasion. When the familiar strains of In Dreams swell one final time as our friends part company at the most beautiful and bittersweet of endings, the emotional impact is staggering. The soundtrack itself is well worth purchasing.
Many Partings
Return's three and a quarter hours are filled with many emotional partings before the film brings us to the grandest departure of all, a conclusion truly fit for such a magnificent trilogy. Although very few films have caused me to shed tears, this one did on several occasions. But as Gandalf advises his friends as they see him off for the final time, "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil." The mere memory of some of those scenes mists my eyes all over again. I have heard many complaints that the ending was too lengthy, but I would not omit one moment from the climax to conclusion. We have, after all, invested nine hours in these characters, more if you count the extended editions. Can't we at least stick around long enough to give them a decent farewell?
Final Thoughts
No book will ever hold a greater place in my heart than Lord of the Rings, and as far as I'm concerned, no film or series of films will ever conquer Jackson's adaptation. He brought to life a world I have always loved but never experienced so fully until now, and I salute him and everyone involved. Now, if he could only manage another foray into Middle Earth with The Hobbit. He's taken me there; I want to go back again.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Simon and Garfunkel Recapture the Magic in Cleveland, October 20
Background
For as long as I can remember, any interview with Art Garfunkel or Paul Simon had to include some variation on the obligatory question: “When is there going to be a Simon and Garfunkel reunion?” It was a question neither one particularly liked, and after all these years I had all but satisfied myself with their repeated implicit suggestion: “Never.” They never completely closed the door on the possibility, but it was starting to look as though the members of my favorite band would not only not tour together again but would remain estranged for the rest of their lives. Then, this year, a change. Simon and Garfunkel performed Sound of Silence together on the Grammys. Suddenly, anything was possible.
The rumors of a tour flew fast and furious following the Grammys, but they eventually quieted down, only to flare up again when Art confirmed on a June 20 morning show appearance that he and Paul were thinking of touring again. Then another two months of relative silence until an announcement on the Everly Brothers’ website provided a breakthrough. Don and Phil would be joining Art and Paul for their reunion tour. The buzz reached fever pitch, and a certain contingent of fans breathed a collective sigh of relief when Art and Paul finally officially confirmed on September 9 that they would be embarking on tour of North America. A dream was about to come true.
Pre-Concert
I, of course, was bouncing off the walls when I realized that Simon and Garfunkel were actually going on tour and I would actually be able to see them. I banked on them hitting one of the major cities near Erie, and while they gave Pittsburgh and Buffalo a miss, I soon discovered that Cleveland was the third stop on their itinerary. Thanks to www.artgarfunkel.com, I was able to find out when the tickets would first be available for purchase. I agonized over what tickets to get and decided on the middle range. However, the morning of the pre-sale, I decided that I ought to go for the very best seats available. So there I was at 10 a.m. on Ticketmaster, clicking away in a desperate bid for $130 seats. And I got them. Funny thing is, they didn’t seem like $130 seats when we got there. I must admit, I was just a bit distraught over how far away my top dollar early bird bid had gotten us. I wonder if I might have been better off if I’d gone for mid-price tickets the day of the actual sale? Oh, well. One of life’s little disappointments: no second-row seats for me. The important thing is that I got tickets at all.
Over the summer, I attended the American Idol concert in Cleveland. That was at the CSU Convocation Center, while this concert was at the Gund Arena. Both venues are huge. They were both very nice, but if I had to venture a guess I’d say the Gund is the better of the two. Upon our arrival at 7:00, I headed right for the souvenir stand to buy a tour book and t-shirt before the lines got impossibly long. There were several different styles of t-shirts, though none was particularly thrilling. I got the black one with the Bookends cover and “simon & garfunkel” on the front and a list of tour stops on the back. I’m glad I got it, but I don’t think it was much of a deal for $35. I got more bang for my buck with the $25 tour book, an attractive collection of photos, quotes and stats along with a brief history of the duo and its significance by Bud Scoppa. If an additional $25 investment doesn’t sting too much, I definitely recommend the book to all serious Simon and Garfunkel fans.
It wasn’t quite 7:30 when we got to our seats, which, as I mentioned before, were located considerably further from the stage than I had hoped. Yes, I’d looked at a grid of the arena, but I never was good with maps. And I was just so glad to have tickets at all, I wasn’t going to hold out for better seats and risk losing our spots altogether. So we watched as the crowd slowly filed in and entertained ourselves by perusing the tour book and listening to one particularly enthusiastic beer vendor hawk his wares; every time his overzealous bellowing of “THE BEER GUY!!!!!” and “COLD BEER!!!!!!” echoed through the arena, my brother and I erupted into giggles. At 8:00 the hall was alarmingly empty, but the rest of the audience gradually arrived. It was nearly 8:30 when all of the lights went out suddenly. The time had come to begin.
Spoiler Alert: I intend to recount this concert in as much detail as I can, if for no other reason than to cement it as solidly in my memory as possible. If you plan to attend a later stop on the tour and don’t want any surprises ruined, you may want to stop here. Everyone else, feel free, to quote The Princess Bride, to “skip to the end” if my starry-eyed rambling bores you...
The Concert
Shortly after we were plunged into total darkness, the distinctive opening notes of America filled the arena. Accompanying this pre-recorded instrumental track was a slide show of significant cultural and historical snapshots interspersed amongst photos of Art and Paul through the years. If we were a bit further from Simon and Garfunkel than I would have liked, we at least had a prime view of the Jumbotron. The clever, eye-catching opening earned cheers from the audience, but they could not compare with the roar that erupted when the presentation ended and a beam of light revealed the men themselves upon the stage. Before they could begin, they had to wait for the instantaneous standing ovation, the first of many, to subside.
While we came prepared with spyglasses to enhance our viewing pleasure, I soon discovered they were not very effective tools in a venue such as this. Fortunately, the Jumbotron took care of that for us. Most concerts I’ve attended have been too small to merit technological aids like this, but ironically I was able to see Simon and Garfunkel with much greater clarity than almost any performer I have seen live. As they sang the title song of their tour, we were able to see that these truly were two “old friends.” However tenuous their relationship may have been in the years since their last major tour together, the old magic was clearly back. It was a tender yet somber beginning to an evening that would chronicle their career as a duo and provide a living testament to the strength of their friendship.
The hints of mortality continued with Hazy Shade of Winter, one of their most hard-edged songs. In the Simon and Garfunkel catalog, this number does not rank terribly high on my list, simply because it’s much harsher than most of their music. Still, I am convinced there is no such thing as a bad Simon and Garfunkel song, and if nothing else, Hazy Shade was rockin’! After the quiet ending of Bookends, the electrifying opening of this song was as jarring a transition as the ill-conceived placement of Keep the Customer Satisfied directly after the lullaby Feuilles-Oh on the Old Friends compilation. Once we recovered from the shock, though, it was a great way to bring the audience up to our highest energy level. For whatever reason, they omitted quite a bit in the singing of this song, most appropriately, I suppose, the line “it’s the springtime of my life.” The emphasis was on the chorus, with verses often skipped altogether or replaced with instrumentals. Very effective nonetheless.
The next song threw me for a loop, reminding just how similar certain portions of Simon and Garfunkel tunes sound. After the guitar intro, I was expecting Homeward Bound; what I got was I Am a Rock. Silly me! This was the second tune of the night from their Greatest Hits; the only song from the album to get left out entirely was For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her. I’ve heard Art describe I Am a Rock as Paul’s most neurotic song and Paul express embarrassment over having written it, but it has always been one of my favorites. The themes of isolation and betrayal are ones that most of us can relate to at one time or another. They probably also contain a hint of what the two may have felt in regard to one another sometimes. I found the harmonies interesting, as they were significantly altered from the original version. Throughout the night, most of the songs featured arrangements and harmonies differing slightly from the recordings, but this song contained some of the most apparent alterations. Art’s high-end vocals were reminiscent of the triumphant chorus of A Church is Burning, resulting in the song feeling less like a pity party and more like a bold statement of individuality.
America was pretty straightforward. We’d already gotten a preview of that with the slide show, and I had heard them perform it on television last month, so there wasn’t anything particularly surprising there. Great harmonies, and a nice appreciative cheer from the audience at the mention of boarding a Greyhound in Pittsburgh.
Paul started in on At the Zoo himself, with what seemed to be a rather flip air about him. Art joined in and they breezed right through it, forgoing any instrumental breaks or returns to the opening lines. They seemed to be having fun with it, and it was particularly entertaining to watch Art hold that note on “gas” towards the end. Once they reached the end of the vocals, however, they launched into an unexpected and rather lengthy instrumental ending that turned out to be a segue into Baby Driver. This is another tune I claim among my least favorite Simon and Garfunkel tunes, but I have to admit it’s a fun song, and never more so than last night. They really seemed to be having the time of their lives up there, and Art’s imitation of the car motor was dead-on and hilarious. I also took particular note of Warren Bernhardt, whom I have seen several times at Art’s concerts. He’s always impressed me, but man, was he making those ivories dance on this song! I had almost as much fun watching him boogie-woogie on the piano as I did watching Simon and Garfunkel sing one of their most youthful...one might almost say adolescent...songs.
I’ve heard Art’s introduction to Kathy’s Song before, and it really didn’t change a whole lot between his solo concerts and this one. Just a few moments of reflection on the simple life he and Paul had before fame hit, when they survived day to day on the strength of their music and their friendship. When they had to practically force people to stay for their show and toss a few coins in the hat their friend Kathy passed around instead of having fans clamoring to score $130 tickets to see them perform. A description of the song as pure nostalgia but also the most beautiful love song Paul ever wrote. Nothing really new here, but it took on much deeper meaning with Paul standing right next to him. And when Art began to sing, accompanied only by Paul’s masterful guitar playing, it was a moment whose intimacy was perhaps unrivaled all that evening. While this is a song Art often does in concert, it is Paul’s song in the original recording. Hearing Art perform it last night was like witnessing a gift: Paul passing the song along to Artie, whose superb, wistful treatment of it expressed his deep love for that time in their lives.
Thus engulfed in a cloud of nostalgia, they took themselves back one step further, back to the day when they introduced themselves to one another for the first time as cast members of the class production of Alice in Wonderland. Paul noted drily, in the concert tour’s most quoted sound byte, that “We met at 11, started singing together at 13, and started arguing at 14.” The next milestone? A recording, landing a spot on the charts and an appearance on American Bandstand. Not bad for a couple of 16-year-olds. They launched into a quick, self-deprecating rendition of Hey, Schoolgirl, after which Paul dead-panned, “I have no idea where the ‘woo baba lichi wa’ came from.”
The sound, however, he could explain. Simon and Garfunkel crafted their distinctive harmonies by copying the Everly Brothers, a rockabilly duo especially popular in the fifties. The best homage he could give to the duo without whom there probably would be no Simon and Garfunkel was to invite them to take the stage and sing a few of their biggest hits. The applause from the audience was resounding, and the Everlys warranted yet another standing ovation, but it was unclear whether their appearance was a surprise to the majority of those present. I have seen several articles this week remarking on the unexpected presence of the Everly Brothers, which struck me as odd since I have known they were a part of this tour for two months. Maybe I was just more “in the know” than I realized!
Simon and Garfunkel stepped back at this point and let Don and Phil do their thing. They first launched into a spirited rendition of Wake Up Little Suzie, arguably their biggest hit. Simon and Garfunkel landed on the charts with their live cover of it during 1981's Concert in the Park. This song was great fun, but All I Have to Do is Dream was my favorite of the three they sang solo. They sang it very slowly, and a slowly rotating blue light washed the entire arena in a dreamlike glow. Very nice. Let It Be Me was the only song of the night which I did not know. I was familiar with it, having read that Art and Julio Iglesias recorded a cover of it several years ago, but I had never heard the song. All three songs allowed the audience to hear how these brothers influenced Simon and Garfunkel with their tight harmonic style. Simon and Garfunkel returned at this point to join the Everlys in a very lively Bye Bye Love for which the audience sang along. A wonderful living tribute to this band who meant so much to Art and Paul in their formative years.
The next song was a cover of a different kind for Simon and Garfunkel, with their definitive version of the old English tune Scarborough Fair. Art started out on the first verse, joined later by Paul, singing the harmony. The counter-melody, Canticle, could be heard from time to time in the instrumentals. A lovely performance, and the first of four Greatest Hits songs in a row. Homeward Bound was also pretty straightforward, with no major changes. In his concerts, Art usually takes the opportunity to make a jab at Paul in this song, singing “tonight I’ll sing his songs again... all his words come back to me in shades of mediocrity.” This obviously was not a part of the song last night, but I wonder whether Art will continue to sing it that way when he goes back to his solo tour next year.
Sound of Silence got a huge reaction from the audience. Certainly one of their most enduring songs, and the one that started it all. When they performed it at the Grammys, I was struck by a sense that this did not feel like a Simon and Garfunkel performance; rather, it was a Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel performance, and that was not the same thing. They had not merged to become a separate, transcendent entity, to create that magical quality that their engineer Roy Halee said could not be accomplished by overdubbing tracks of them singing alone. Last night, the magic was very much alive again, which was apparent from the beginning of the show. Few songs better exemplify the their harmonic blend than this plea for connection in a world that continually facilitates alienation.
At this point, the Jumbotron became the focal point once more as the recording of Feelin’ Groovy accompanied Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel-related video clips from concerts, both duo and solo, films and specials, as well as snippets of The Graduate. This fun little montage preceded Mrs. Robinson, usually another opportunity for Art to poke fun at his relationship with Paul by explaining the reasons they broke up. One explanation: he wanted to sing “Jesus loves you more than you ever knew, woo woo woo,” and Paul would have none of it. He then takes the liberty to change the lyric in his performance. No lyric change last night, just an energetic reading of a perpetual fan favorite which neither performer counts among his favorite songs. If they minded singing it, though, it didn’t show at all.
The remaining songs, prior to the encores, were all taken from either the late or the post-Simon and Garfunkel catalog. Slip-Slidin’ Away was one song from his early solo career which Paul said he always thought should have been a Simon and Garfunkel song. I’ve always liked it, but it has especially grown on me since I received the Concert in the Park DVD. A sad and lovely song containing some of Paul’s finest lyrics, it’s on the verge of edging out Kodachrome as my second favorite of Paul’s solo efforts. This performance included a delightful candid moment when Art started to sing the song too early and stopped short, realizing he had jumped the gun. The audience got a good chuckle over that; it’s just nice to be reminded sometimes that they’re ordinary folks just like us and equally capable of flubbing up a bit. Interestingly, this song caused Art slight confusion during the Concert in the Park as well; you can see him conferring with Paul prior to the song’s beginning over which verse he is supposed to sing solo. The ending was elongated last night, featuring rich harmonization of Art and Paul well after the actual lyrics had ended, and Art’s neatly timed finger-snapping added nice accents throughout the song.
El Condor Pasa was very nicely done, and while I didn’t really notice this, it included accompaniment on the ukelele that my dad thought gave it a sort of Russian Jewish feel, rather than the typical Spanish feel. At any rate, a great performance, and Art’s vocals on the bridge were particularly nice. The next song was the second to throw me for a loop. I didn’t recognize it from the introduction at all, but then the song doesn’t really have an intro in the recording so that could be why. Keep the Customer Satisfied was about the only guess I could venture, and it was right, but it sure sounded different without that brass section. They skipped a bit of the chorus the first time around but otherwise went all out with this one, making it one of the most rollicking tunes of the night.
I can’t pick a favorite song from this concert, but when I heard that The Only Living Boy in New York was on the set list, I was a bit surprised and very pleased. There were several songs at the concert which I had never heard them perform together in a live setting before, but this one in particular stood out, largely because of how very personal it was. This was one of three performances of the night which most profoundly affected me, the first being Kathy’s Song and the third, Bridge. All three gave me a strong sense of the depth of their friendship, of the agony and ecstacy their relationship encompassed. Paul introduced it by saying he had written it for Artie when was in Mexico filming Catch-22. Just that sentence or two set the tone for the song, forlorn and affectionate. This clearly was something special; to emphasize it, the Jumbotron broadcast Paul in black and white.
Those familiar with the history of Bridge Over Troubled Water know that, while this album was hugely successful, it was fraught with tensions and difficulties. Not least among these was the fact that Paul and Roy couldn’t do that much work on the album with Art down in Mexico working on the movie. From a practical standpoint, Art’s absence was detrimental to the production of the album. But that isn’t what comes across in this song. It’s not frustration that Art’s alternate project was taking so long or anger that when they did get together they had trouble agreeing on what to put on the album. This song comes down to friendship, pure and simple. Paul’s good buddy Artie is far away, and he misses having him around. But he also wants him to know that he cares enough about him to let him go his own way, even if that way is in the opposite direction.
Paul sang the song by himself, at least the address. In my fifteen or so years of listening to Paul sing, I have found that he is a master of melancholy; few singers can convey that state of being as effectively as him. He stood in the center of the stage alone and sent his plaintive message out to Art, and it really did seem as though Art were hundreds of miles away. When it came time for that haunting descant, Art got backup from one of the band members. Their vocals blended beautifully to form a chorus of angelic reassurance to counter Paul’s isolation. I have always read the song as though the descant is Art trying to get through to Paul, across the vast distance that separates them, to comfort him and to tell him that he has not abandoned him, and I have always been left with the feeling that he falls just short of conveying the message. Last night, as the song resolved itself, I got the sense that the gap that had stood in the way for so long had finally, miraculously, been bridged. The glory of the entire tour painstakingly contained in one song. Breathtaking.
Once the song ended, Paul acknowledged the man who had been singing with Art, after which Art piped up, “What about me?” This brief moment of levity preceded my favorite song from Paul’s solo years, and probably Art’s favorite as well. In his introduction to American Tune, which he performs in his solo concerts to great effect, he said it was one song which he wished had been written when Simon and Garfunkel were still together. He expressed his love of the song enthusiastically before singing it, and just after it ended, he announced, “I adore that song!” The vocal arrangement was slightly different this time than when they performed the song during the Concert in the Park. This time, Art sang the first verse himself, Paul the second himself, Art the first half of the bridge, Paul the second half, and then they sang the last verse together. Beautiful and haunting, and fascinating to see the different interpretations Paul and Art brought to it. Art’s rendition was wistful, with just a tinge of hope, while Paul’s seemed mired in despair. The interplay was particularly suited to follow Only Living Boy, and the mix of hope and hopelessness was just as effective here.
My Little Town was another rocker, accompanied by reddish lights that flooded the arena. It was a good change of pace after two of the night’s most solemn songs, particularly considering the grandiosity that would follow it. The crowd had fun with it; some folks up in the nosebleeds maybe had a little too much fun, coming up with crazy dances to fit this and other more energetic tunes.
Next was the point in the concert that everyone both anticipated and dreaded. Once we heard those opening notes of Bridge, we knew that the conclusion of the concert could not be far away. Nonetheless, we sat rapt, too caught up in the moment to care much about what was going to happen after this song. I once more found myself jealous of Warren Bernhardt, whose brilliant piano playing formed an essential undercurrent to the song, like the rippling of that troubled water. Art stepped out into the spotlight after Warren’s piano intro set the tone and launched into what seemed to me the most vulnerable performance of that first verse I have ever heard. Perhaps I only imagined it, but it looked and sounded to me as though Art was nearly overcome with emotion as he sang, battling tears as he gently guided that verse to its conclusion.
But the real surprise for the audience was when the second verse began with not Art but Paul. I had heard that Paul would be joining Art on the song so it wasn’t a complete shock to me, but I got the impression that it really floored the majority of the audience. As he began, a spontaneous cheer arose from the crowd. Here was something you didn’t hear every day. Not only was Paul singing the second verse a great strategy to jar the audience from their expectation, it was also the perfect verse for him to sing alone, as it is the darkest and most melancholy of the three. The two sang together on the third verse, with Paul taking the harmony but stepping aside for the last couple lines to relinquish the spotlight to Art.
It is ironic that this song which is such a great testament to unity should have been a source of dissension for its creators. But even though Paul presented the song to Art as a gift, he found it frustrating that this song so often viewed as their crowning achievement was almost exclusively associated with Art. Seeing them share the song last night brought the same feeling of reparation as Only Living Boy in New York. Paul and Art got almost equal time. They were able to carry the song together. Then when it finally came down to the wire, to that glory note that Art is so famous for, Paul graciously stepped aside so his friend could bring the song to the grandest of conclusions. And Art did not disappoint. In fact, I have seen him perform the song live three times and on live television appearances several more times, and this was the strongest Bridge ending I have ever heard. As he sustained the note for what seemed like an impossible length of time, the crowd rose as one in a scene that reminded me of the inspiring en masse rising of the crowd toward the end of Angels in the Outfield. Here there was a similar sense that we were a part of something big, something awe-inspiring, drawing strength from one another. Art and Paul took their time exiting the stage, and they were gone for a full two minutes, but we were still on our feet applauding loudly when they returned for their first encore.
Now it was just time to have a bit of fun with Cecilia as the first song in the first encore. While I confess that I rather missed Tommy Igoe’s dizzying percussion performance from Art’s solo concerts, this rendition was just as engaging. We stayed on our feet and had a grand old time. The arrangement was different enough on this song to bear mentioning. Several lines were repeated or elongated, and there was a final emphasis on the word “jubilation,” drawn out and richly harmonic, that accentuated the joy of the finale.
After Cecilia, they finally played The Boxer, another of the most perfect examples of the Simon and Garfunkel harmony as well as an epic story of survival. When they got to the chorus, they invited the audience to join in on the “lie la lie” part, which we gladly did. Featured in this song was a strange instrument unfamiliar to me which produced the haunting bridge between the second verse and chorus. Whatever it was, it was impressive. Oddly enough, Paul and Art omitted the additional verse which was not included on the original recording but which they did sing in recent television appearances. With its theme of the passage of time, it seems like it would be especially appropriate for this tour. The song was fine without it, though, and earned another standing ovation from the crowd.
After this, they left again. One lucky fellow in the front row scored a high-five from Paul on his way off the stage. But a minute later they were back again, this time to sing a song Paul said they had not performed together since 1967. “Well,” he corrected, “actually, we sang it last night. But before that, not since 1967.” Leaves That Are Green would have brought the concert full circle from Old Friends. Another reflection on mortality and the passage of time, this song tackles it from a very youthful perspective. On Art Garfunkel’s website (www.artgarfunkel.com, featuring the finest message board for Simon and Garfunkel fans on the web), there had been a discussion of whether the lyrics to this song might change slightly if they sang it during the tour. Specifically: “I was 21 years when I wrote this song. I’m 62 now, but I won’t be for long.” Nope. Still 22. But there was a particular poignancy about this song, which started with Paul solo, moved into Art solo, and concluded with them in harmony. Its simplicity and sadness, the heart-rending “that’s all there is,” the too-cheery music for the too-dreary words... Lovely and affecting, but I’m glad they went out on a happier note than that.
The last song of the entire concert was Feelin’ Groovy, and you really got the impression that they meant it. In spite of everything, the passage of years, the toils and tribulations they both have suffered, life is good now for Artie and Paul. This was another get up and dance number, and Art did a bit of this up on stage. Paul, meanwhile, showed his virtuosity as a whistler. We celebrated life and, in particular, these two lives so deeply entwined which have brought us such joy over the years. And then we were done, left with Art and Paul’s gratitude and their music ringing in our ears as we streamed out of the arena. Thus ended the concert of a lifetime.
Observations
What can I say? Simon and Garfunkel are legends. Seeing them perform together was an amazing opportunity I thought I might never have. The first thing that struck me when they took the stage and began to perform was how loud they sounded. This is a rather silly observation, I suppose; when you’re playing to “ten thousand people, maybe more,” you’ve gotta have that amp cranked up. Nonetheless, I felt as though I was hearing their music in a way that I never had before, beyond just the sheer thrill of being in the same room in which they were performing. Being a part of such a massive crowd for this concert was a pretty impressive experience as well. When that many people rise to their feet and cheer, it’s an amazing thing to be a part of. And I don’t believe my brother and I were the only Gen Xers there, either. True, when Art asked who remembered the early sixties a large cheer went up, but Simon and Garfunkel have loyal fans of all ages. I was proud to be among them.
And what of the Old Friends themselves? Utterly fantastic. One thing that struck me in comparison to the 1981 concert was how Art held his own this time around. While he was clearly “blissed out” during the Concert in the Park, it seemed as though it was maybe a bit much for him to handle. I got the impression he felt rather shy and self-conscious before the massive crowd and was content to let Paul take the lead. Here, he spoke as much as, if not more than, Paul and seemed completely at ease on the stage. He also made a deliberate effort to perform for the folks sitting behind the stage. His was the first and last comment of the concert, and when he told the audience, as he always does, that we had charmed his life, as well as Paul’s in this case, it was the perfect words to have lingering in our ears as we left. That’s not to say that Paul was any less effective in his interaction with the audience. His introduction to the Everly Brothers was particularly witty and warm, and his words prior to Only Living Boy were most endearing.
Having been to the American Idol concert in July, which featured, among other things, a constant change of outfits and a crew of back-up dancers, I was refreshed once again to see Art and Paul come just as they were, no frills, no distractions. Heck, there they were on a history-making reunion tour, and they spent the whole two-hour set (which, by the way, had no intermission, though people were free to come and go as they pleased) in jeans and black t-shirts. What you see is what you get with these guys. Let me tell you, I like what I see.
Aside from the lighting effects and the Jumbotron, both of which were extremely well done, the only addition to Simon and Garfunkel were seven instrumentalists of the enormous talent required to bring the proper texture to each of the songs they performed. All are incredibly versatile, brilliant musicians: the aforementioned Warren Bernhardt on piano, Jamey Haddad on percussion, Jim Keltner on drums, Pino Palladino on bass, Rob Schwimmer on keyboards, and Mark Stewart and Larry Saltzman on guitar. All added depth and flair to the evening. But I was also struck once more by Paul’s incredible adeptness with the guitar. He truly is a masterful player, and I think he should definitely have been included in Rolling Stone’s recent list of 100 greatest guitarists. His voice, meanwhile, is of a unique timber and possesses a compelling lonesome quality, while Art’s soaring tenor can still carry the most challenging of tunes. Beyond their abilities, there is still the matter of their renewed friendship, which is of even greater value to many of their fans than the chance to see them perform together. The affection is apparent, and I don’t see estrangement any time in the near future.
Final Thoughts
When asked once what he was feeling standing before all those cheering fans in Central Park in 1981, Art replied simply, “love.” As a member of the audience last night, I felt the same vibe, surging from us but also back to us. This concert is more than two guys getting together and singing a bunch of good songs. It’s a testament to the enduring power of beauty and friendship, despite the hurdles both encounter. The songs remain, in spite of a constantly changing culture. They remain as powerful today as the day they were written. And the friendship remains, tested to the breaking point but stronger now than ever. In an uncertain world, these two men present a vision of comfort. That no matter how dark life gets, there is always hope, and no matter how much troubled water has passed under the bridges we build between one another, the foundation can withstand the strain. This is love. This is endurance. This is their lasting legacy.
For as long as I can remember, any interview with Art Garfunkel or Paul Simon had to include some variation on the obligatory question: “When is there going to be a Simon and Garfunkel reunion?” It was a question neither one particularly liked, and after all these years I had all but satisfied myself with their repeated implicit suggestion: “Never.” They never completely closed the door on the possibility, but it was starting to look as though the members of my favorite band would not only not tour together again but would remain estranged for the rest of their lives. Then, this year, a change. Simon and Garfunkel performed Sound of Silence together on the Grammys. Suddenly, anything was possible.
The rumors of a tour flew fast and furious following the Grammys, but they eventually quieted down, only to flare up again when Art confirmed on a June 20 morning show appearance that he and Paul were thinking of touring again. Then another two months of relative silence until an announcement on the Everly Brothers’ website provided a breakthrough. Don and Phil would be joining Art and Paul for their reunion tour. The buzz reached fever pitch, and a certain contingent of fans breathed a collective sigh of relief when Art and Paul finally officially confirmed on September 9 that they would be embarking on tour of North America. A dream was about to come true.
Pre-Concert
I, of course, was bouncing off the walls when I realized that Simon and Garfunkel were actually going on tour and I would actually be able to see them. I banked on them hitting one of the major cities near Erie, and while they gave Pittsburgh and Buffalo a miss, I soon discovered that Cleveland was the third stop on their itinerary. Thanks to www.artgarfunkel.com, I was able to find out when the tickets would first be available for purchase. I agonized over what tickets to get and decided on the middle range. However, the morning of the pre-sale, I decided that I ought to go for the very best seats available. So there I was at 10 a.m. on Ticketmaster, clicking away in a desperate bid for $130 seats. And I got them. Funny thing is, they didn’t seem like $130 seats when we got there. I must admit, I was just a bit distraught over how far away my top dollar early bird bid had gotten us. I wonder if I might have been better off if I’d gone for mid-price tickets the day of the actual sale? Oh, well. One of life’s little disappointments: no second-row seats for me. The important thing is that I got tickets at all.
Over the summer, I attended the American Idol concert in Cleveland. That was at the CSU Convocation Center, while this concert was at the Gund Arena. Both venues are huge. They were both very nice, but if I had to venture a guess I’d say the Gund is the better of the two. Upon our arrival at 7:00, I headed right for the souvenir stand to buy a tour book and t-shirt before the lines got impossibly long. There were several different styles of t-shirts, though none was particularly thrilling. I got the black one with the Bookends cover and “simon & garfunkel” on the front and a list of tour stops on the back. I’m glad I got it, but I don’t think it was much of a deal for $35. I got more bang for my buck with the $25 tour book, an attractive collection of photos, quotes and stats along with a brief history of the duo and its significance by Bud Scoppa. If an additional $25 investment doesn’t sting too much, I definitely recommend the book to all serious Simon and Garfunkel fans.
It wasn’t quite 7:30 when we got to our seats, which, as I mentioned before, were located considerably further from the stage than I had hoped. Yes, I’d looked at a grid of the arena, but I never was good with maps. And I was just so glad to have tickets at all, I wasn’t going to hold out for better seats and risk losing our spots altogether. So we watched as the crowd slowly filed in and entertained ourselves by perusing the tour book and listening to one particularly enthusiastic beer vendor hawk his wares; every time his overzealous bellowing of “THE BEER GUY!!!!!” and “COLD BEER!!!!!!” echoed through the arena, my brother and I erupted into giggles. At 8:00 the hall was alarmingly empty, but the rest of the audience gradually arrived. It was nearly 8:30 when all of the lights went out suddenly. The time had come to begin.
Spoiler Alert: I intend to recount this concert in as much detail as I can, if for no other reason than to cement it as solidly in my memory as possible. If you plan to attend a later stop on the tour and don’t want any surprises ruined, you may want to stop here. Everyone else, feel free, to quote The Princess Bride, to “skip to the end” if my starry-eyed rambling bores you...
The Concert
Shortly after we were plunged into total darkness, the distinctive opening notes of America filled the arena. Accompanying this pre-recorded instrumental track was a slide show of significant cultural and historical snapshots interspersed amongst photos of Art and Paul through the years. If we were a bit further from Simon and Garfunkel than I would have liked, we at least had a prime view of the Jumbotron. The clever, eye-catching opening earned cheers from the audience, but they could not compare with the roar that erupted when the presentation ended and a beam of light revealed the men themselves upon the stage. Before they could begin, they had to wait for the instantaneous standing ovation, the first of many, to subside.
While we came prepared with spyglasses to enhance our viewing pleasure, I soon discovered they were not very effective tools in a venue such as this. Fortunately, the Jumbotron took care of that for us. Most concerts I’ve attended have been too small to merit technological aids like this, but ironically I was able to see Simon and Garfunkel with much greater clarity than almost any performer I have seen live. As they sang the title song of their tour, we were able to see that these truly were two “old friends.” However tenuous their relationship may have been in the years since their last major tour together, the old magic was clearly back. It was a tender yet somber beginning to an evening that would chronicle their career as a duo and provide a living testament to the strength of their friendship.
The hints of mortality continued with Hazy Shade of Winter, one of their most hard-edged songs. In the Simon and Garfunkel catalog, this number does not rank terribly high on my list, simply because it’s much harsher than most of their music. Still, I am convinced there is no such thing as a bad Simon and Garfunkel song, and if nothing else, Hazy Shade was rockin’! After the quiet ending of Bookends, the electrifying opening of this song was as jarring a transition as the ill-conceived placement of Keep the Customer Satisfied directly after the lullaby Feuilles-Oh on the Old Friends compilation. Once we recovered from the shock, though, it was a great way to bring the audience up to our highest energy level. For whatever reason, they omitted quite a bit in the singing of this song, most appropriately, I suppose, the line “it’s the springtime of my life.” The emphasis was on the chorus, with verses often skipped altogether or replaced with instrumentals. Very effective nonetheless.
The next song threw me for a loop, reminding just how similar certain portions of Simon and Garfunkel tunes sound. After the guitar intro, I was expecting Homeward Bound; what I got was I Am a Rock. Silly me! This was the second tune of the night from their Greatest Hits; the only song from the album to get left out entirely was For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her. I’ve heard Art describe I Am a Rock as Paul’s most neurotic song and Paul express embarrassment over having written it, but it has always been one of my favorites. The themes of isolation and betrayal are ones that most of us can relate to at one time or another. They probably also contain a hint of what the two may have felt in regard to one another sometimes. I found the harmonies interesting, as they were significantly altered from the original version. Throughout the night, most of the songs featured arrangements and harmonies differing slightly from the recordings, but this song contained some of the most apparent alterations. Art’s high-end vocals were reminiscent of the triumphant chorus of A Church is Burning, resulting in the song feeling less like a pity party and more like a bold statement of individuality.
America was pretty straightforward. We’d already gotten a preview of that with the slide show, and I had heard them perform it on television last month, so there wasn’t anything particularly surprising there. Great harmonies, and a nice appreciative cheer from the audience at the mention of boarding a Greyhound in Pittsburgh.
Paul started in on At the Zoo himself, with what seemed to be a rather flip air about him. Art joined in and they breezed right through it, forgoing any instrumental breaks or returns to the opening lines. They seemed to be having fun with it, and it was particularly entertaining to watch Art hold that note on “gas” towards the end. Once they reached the end of the vocals, however, they launched into an unexpected and rather lengthy instrumental ending that turned out to be a segue into Baby Driver. This is another tune I claim among my least favorite Simon and Garfunkel tunes, but I have to admit it’s a fun song, and never more so than last night. They really seemed to be having the time of their lives up there, and Art’s imitation of the car motor was dead-on and hilarious. I also took particular note of Warren Bernhardt, whom I have seen several times at Art’s concerts. He’s always impressed me, but man, was he making those ivories dance on this song! I had almost as much fun watching him boogie-woogie on the piano as I did watching Simon and Garfunkel sing one of their most youthful...one might almost say adolescent...songs.
I’ve heard Art’s introduction to Kathy’s Song before, and it really didn’t change a whole lot between his solo concerts and this one. Just a few moments of reflection on the simple life he and Paul had before fame hit, when they survived day to day on the strength of their music and their friendship. When they had to practically force people to stay for their show and toss a few coins in the hat their friend Kathy passed around instead of having fans clamoring to score $130 tickets to see them perform. A description of the song as pure nostalgia but also the most beautiful love song Paul ever wrote. Nothing really new here, but it took on much deeper meaning with Paul standing right next to him. And when Art began to sing, accompanied only by Paul’s masterful guitar playing, it was a moment whose intimacy was perhaps unrivaled all that evening. While this is a song Art often does in concert, it is Paul’s song in the original recording. Hearing Art perform it last night was like witnessing a gift: Paul passing the song along to Artie, whose superb, wistful treatment of it expressed his deep love for that time in their lives.
Thus engulfed in a cloud of nostalgia, they took themselves back one step further, back to the day when they introduced themselves to one another for the first time as cast members of the class production of Alice in Wonderland. Paul noted drily, in the concert tour’s most quoted sound byte, that “We met at 11, started singing together at 13, and started arguing at 14.” The next milestone? A recording, landing a spot on the charts and an appearance on American Bandstand. Not bad for a couple of 16-year-olds. They launched into a quick, self-deprecating rendition of Hey, Schoolgirl, after which Paul dead-panned, “I have no idea where the ‘woo baba lichi wa’ came from.”
The sound, however, he could explain. Simon and Garfunkel crafted their distinctive harmonies by copying the Everly Brothers, a rockabilly duo especially popular in the fifties. The best homage he could give to the duo without whom there probably would be no Simon and Garfunkel was to invite them to take the stage and sing a few of their biggest hits. The applause from the audience was resounding, and the Everlys warranted yet another standing ovation, but it was unclear whether their appearance was a surprise to the majority of those present. I have seen several articles this week remarking on the unexpected presence of the Everly Brothers, which struck me as odd since I have known they were a part of this tour for two months. Maybe I was just more “in the know” than I realized!
Simon and Garfunkel stepped back at this point and let Don and Phil do their thing. They first launched into a spirited rendition of Wake Up Little Suzie, arguably their biggest hit. Simon and Garfunkel landed on the charts with their live cover of it during 1981's Concert in the Park. This song was great fun, but All I Have to Do is Dream was my favorite of the three they sang solo. They sang it very slowly, and a slowly rotating blue light washed the entire arena in a dreamlike glow. Very nice. Let It Be Me was the only song of the night which I did not know. I was familiar with it, having read that Art and Julio Iglesias recorded a cover of it several years ago, but I had never heard the song. All three songs allowed the audience to hear how these brothers influenced Simon and Garfunkel with their tight harmonic style. Simon and Garfunkel returned at this point to join the Everlys in a very lively Bye Bye Love for which the audience sang along. A wonderful living tribute to this band who meant so much to Art and Paul in their formative years.
The next song was a cover of a different kind for Simon and Garfunkel, with their definitive version of the old English tune Scarborough Fair. Art started out on the first verse, joined later by Paul, singing the harmony. The counter-melody, Canticle, could be heard from time to time in the instrumentals. A lovely performance, and the first of four Greatest Hits songs in a row. Homeward Bound was also pretty straightforward, with no major changes. In his concerts, Art usually takes the opportunity to make a jab at Paul in this song, singing “tonight I’ll sing his songs again... all his words come back to me in shades of mediocrity.” This obviously was not a part of the song last night, but I wonder whether Art will continue to sing it that way when he goes back to his solo tour next year.
Sound of Silence got a huge reaction from the audience. Certainly one of their most enduring songs, and the one that started it all. When they performed it at the Grammys, I was struck by a sense that this did not feel like a Simon and Garfunkel performance; rather, it was a Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel performance, and that was not the same thing. They had not merged to become a separate, transcendent entity, to create that magical quality that their engineer Roy Halee said could not be accomplished by overdubbing tracks of them singing alone. Last night, the magic was very much alive again, which was apparent from the beginning of the show. Few songs better exemplify the their harmonic blend than this plea for connection in a world that continually facilitates alienation.
At this point, the Jumbotron became the focal point once more as the recording of Feelin’ Groovy accompanied Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel-related video clips from concerts, both duo and solo, films and specials, as well as snippets of The Graduate. This fun little montage preceded Mrs. Robinson, usually another opportunity for Art to poke fun at his relationship with Paul by explaining the reasons they broke up. One explanation: he wanted to sing “Jesus loves you more than you ever knew, woo woo woo,” and Paul would have none of it. He then takes the liberty to change the lyric in his performance. No lyric change last night, just an energetic reading of a perpetual fan favorite which neither performer counts among his favorite songs. If they minded singing it, though, it didn’t show at all.
The remaining songs, prior to the encores, were all taken from either the late or the post-Simon and Garfunkel catalog. Slip-Slidin’ Away was one song from his early solo career which Paul said he always thought should have been a Simon and Garfunkel song. I’ve always liked it, but it has especially grown on me since I received the Concert in the Park DVD. A sad and lovely song containing some of Paul’s finest lyrics, it’s on the verge of edging out Kodachrome as my second favorite of Paul’s solo efforts. This performance included a delightful candid moment when Art started to sing the song too early and stopped short, realizing he had jumped the gun. The audience got a good chuckle over that; it’s just nice to be reminded sometimes that they’re ordinary folks just like us and equally capable of flubbing up a bit. Interestingly, this song caused Art slight confusion during the Concert in the Park as well; you can see him conferring with Paul prior to the song’s beginning over which verse he is supposed to sing solo. The ending was elongated last night, featuring rich harmonization of Art and Paul well after the actual lyrics had ended, and Art’s neatly timed finger-snapping added nice accents throughout the song.
El Condor Pasa was very nicely done, and while I didn’t really notice this, it included accompaniment on the ukelele that my dad thought gave it a sort of Russian Jewish feel, rather than the typical Spanish feel. At any rate, a great performance, and Art’s vocals on the bridge were particularly nice. The next song was the second to throw me for a loop. I didn’t recognize it from the introduction at all, but then the song doesn’t really have an intro in the recording so that could be why. Keep the Customer Satisfied was about the only guess I could venture, and it was right, but it sure sounded different without that brass section. They skipped a bit of the chorus the first time around but otherwise went all out with this one, making it one of the most rollicking tunes of the night.
I can’t pick a favorite song from this concert, but when I heard that The Only Living Boy in New York was on the set list, I was a bit surprised and very pleased. There were several songs at the concert which I had never heard them perform together in a live setting before, but this one in particular stood out, largely because of how very personal it was. This was one of three performances of the night which most profoundly affected me, the first being Kathy’s Song and the third, Bridge. All three gave me a strong sense of the depth of their friendship, of the agony and ecstacy their relationship encompassed. Paul introduced it by saying he had written it for Artie when was in Mexico filming Catch-22. Just that sentence or two set the tone for the song, forlorn and affectionate. This clearly was something special; to emphasize it, the Jumbotron broadcast Paul in black and white.
Those familiar with the history of Bridge Over Troubled Water know that, while this album was hugely successful, it was fraught with tensions and difficulties. Not least among these was the fact that Paul and Roy couldn’t do that much work on the album with Art down in Mexico working on the movie. From a practical standpoint, Art’s absence was detrimental to the production of the album. But that isn’t what comes across in this song. It’s not frustration that Art’s alternate project was taking so long or anger that when they did get together they had trouble agreeing on what to put on the album. This song comes down to friendship, pure and simple. Paul’s good buddy Artie is far away, and he misses having him around. But he also wants him to know that he cares enough about him to let him go his own way, even if that way is in the opposite direction.
Paul sang the song by himself, at least the address. In my fifteen or so years of listening to Paul sing, I have found that he is a master of melancholy; few singers can convey that state of being as effectively as him. He stood in the center of the stage alone and sent his plaintive message out to Art, and it really did seem as though Art were hundreds of miles away. When it came time for that haunting descant, Art got backup from one of the band members. Their vocals blended beautifully to form a chorus of angelic reassurance to counter Paul’s isolation. I have always read the song as though the descant is Art trying to get through to Paul, across the vast distance that separates them, to comfort him and to tell him that he has not abandoned him, and I have always been left with the feeling that he falls just short of conveying the message. Last night, as the song resolved itself, I got the sense that the gap that had stood in the way for so long had finally, miraculously, been bridged. The glory of the entire tour painstakingly contained in one song. Breathtaking.
Once the song ended, Paul acknowledged the man who had been singing with Art, after which Art piped up, “What about me?” This brief moment of levity preceded my favorite song from Paul’s solo years, and probably Art’s favorite as well. In his introduction to American Tune, which he performs in his solo concerts to great effect, he said it was one song which he wished had been written when Simon and Garfunkel were still together. He expressed his love of the song enthusiastically before singing it, and just after it ended, he announced, “I adore that song!” The vocal arrangement was slightly different this time than when they performed the song during the Concert in the Park. This time, Art sang the first verse himself, Paul the second himself, Art the first half of the bridge, Paul the second half, and then they sang the last verse together. Beautiful and haunting, and fascinating to see the different interpretations Paul and Art brought to it. Art’s rendition was wistful, with just a tinge of hope, while Paul’s seemed mired in despair. The interplay was particularly suited to follow Only Living Boy, and the mix of hope and hopelessness was just as effective here.
My Little Town was another rocker, accompanied by reddish lights that flooded the arena. It was a good change of pace after two of the night’s most solemn songs, particularly considering the grandiosity that would follow it. The crowd had fun with it; some folks up in the nosebleeds maybe had a little too much fun, coming up with crazy dances to fit this and other more energetic tunes.
Next was the point in the concert that everyone both anticipated and dreaded. Once we heard those opening notes of Bridge, we knew that the conclusion of the concert could not be far away. Nonetheless, we sat rapt, too caught up in the moment to care much about what was going to happen after this song. I once more found myself jealous of Warren Bernhardt, whose brilliant piano playing formed an essential undercurrent to the song, like the rippling of that troubled water. Art stepped out into the spotlight after Warren’s piano intro set the tone and launched into what seemed to me the most vulnerable performance of that first verse I have ever heard. Perhaps I only imagined it, but it looked and sounded to me as though Art was nearly overcome with emotion as he sang, battling tears as he gently guided that verse to its conclusion.
But the real surprise for the audience was when the second verse began with not Art but Paul. I had heard that Paul would be joining Art on the song so it wasn’t a complete shock to me, but I got the impression that it really floored the majority of the audience. As he began, a spontaneous cheer arose from the crowd. Here was something you didn’t hear every day. Not only was Paul singing the second verse a great strategy to jar the audience from their expectation, it was also the perfect verse for him to sing alone, as it is the darkest and most melancholy of the three. The two sang together on the third verse, with Paul taking the harmony but stepping aside for the last couple lines to relinquish the spotlight to Art.
It is ironic that this song which is such a great testament to unity should have been a source of dissension for its creators. But even though Paul presented the song to Art as a gift, he found it frustrating that this song so often viewed as their crowning achievement was almost exclusively associated with Art. Seeing them share the song last night brought the same feeling of reparation as Only Living Boy in New York. Paul and Art got almost equal time. They were able to carry the song together. Then when it finally came down to the wire, to that glory note that Art is so famous for, Paul graciously stepped aside so his friend could bring the song to the grandest of conclusions. And Art did not disappoint. In fact, I have seen him perform the song live three times and on live television appearances several more times, and this was the strongest Bridge ending I have ever heard. As he sustained the note for what seemed like an impossible length of time, the crowd rose as one in a scene that reminded me of the inspiring en masse rising of the crowd toward the end of Angels in the Outfield. Here there was a similar sense that we were a part of something big, something awe-inspiring, drawing strength from one another. Art and Paul took their time exiting the stage, and they were gone for a full two minutes, but we were still on our feet applauding loudly when they returned for their first encore.
Now it was just time to have a bit of fun with Cecilia as the first song in the first encore. While I confess that I rather missed Tommy Igoe’s dizzying percussion performance from Art’s solo concerts, this rendition was just as engaging. We stayed on our feet and had a grand old time. The arrangement was different enough on this song to bear mentioning. Several lines were repeated or elongated, and there was a final emphasis on the word “jubilation,” drawn out and richly harmonic, that accentuated the joy of the finale.
After Cecilia, they finally played The Boxer, another of the most perfect examples of the Simon and Garfunkel harmony as well as an epic story of survival. When they got to the chorus, they invited the audience to join in on the “lie la lie” part, which we gladly did. Featured in this song was a strange instrument unfamiliar to me which produced the haunting bridge between the second verse and chorus. Whatever it was, it was impressive. Oddly enough, Paul and Art omitted the additional verse which was not included on the original recording but which they did sing in recent television appearances. With its theme of the passage of time, it seems like it would be especially appropriate for this tour. The song was fine without it, though, and earned another standing ovation from the crowd.
After this, they left again. One lucky fellow in the front row scored a high-five from Paul on his way off the stage. But a minute later they were back again, this time to sing a song Paul said they had not performed together since 1967. “Well,” he corrected, “actually, we sang it last night. But before that, not since 1967.” Leaves That Are Green would have brought the concert full circle from Old Friends. Another reflection on mortality and the passage of time, this song tackles it from a very youthful perspective. On Art Garfunkel’s website (www.artgarfunkel.com, featuring the finest message board for Simon and Garfunkel fans on the web), there had been a discussion of whether the lyrics to this song might change slightly if they sang it during the tour. Specifically: “I was 21 years when I wrote this song. I’m 62 now, but I won’t be for long.” Nope. Still 22. But there was a particular poignancy about this song, which started with Paul solo, moved into Art solo, and concluded with them in harmony. Its simplicity and sadness, the heart-rending “that’s all there is,” the too-cheery music for the too-dreary words... Lovely and affecting, but I’m glad they went out on a happier note than that.
The last song of the entire concert was Feelin’ Groovy, and you really got the impression that they meant it. In spite of everything, the passage of years, the toils and tribulations they both have suffered, life is good now for Artie and Paul. This was another get up and dance number, and Art did a bit of this up on stage. Paul, meanwhile, showed his virtuosity as a whistler. We celebrated life and, in particular, these two lives so deeply entwined which have brought us such joy over the years. And then we were done, left with Art and Paul’s gratitude and their music ringing in our ears as we streamed out of the arena. Thus ended the concert of a lifetime.
Observations
What can I say? Simon and Garfunkel are legends. Seeing them perform together was an amazing opportunity I thought I might never have. The first thing that struck me when they took the stage and began to perform was how loud they sounded. This is a rather silly observation, I suppose; when you’re playing to “ten thousand people, maybe more,” you’ve gotta have that amp cranked up. Nonetheless, I felt as though I was hearing their music in a way that I never had before, beyond just the sheer thrill of being in the same room in which they were performing. Being a part of such a massive crowd for this concert was a pretty impressive experience as well. When that many people rise to their feet and cheer, it’s an amazing thing to be a part of. And I don’t believe my brother and I were the only Gen Xers there, either. True, when Art asked who remembered the early sixties a large cheer went up, but Simon and Garfunkel have loyal fans of all ages. I was proud to be among them.
And what of the Old Friends themselves? Utterly fantastic. One thing that struck me in comparison to the 1981 concert was how Art held his own this time around. While he was clearly “blissed out” during the Concert in the Park, it seemed as though it was maybe a bit much for him to handle. I got the impression he felt rather shy and self-conscious before the massive crowd and was content to let Paul take the lead. Here, he spoke as much as, if not more than, Paul and seemed completely at ease on the stage. He also made a deliberate effort to perform for the folks sitting behind the stage. His was the first and last comment of the concert, and when he told the audience, as he always does, that we had charmed his life, as well as Paul’s in this case, it was the perfect words to have lingering in our ears as we left. That’s not to say that Paul was any less effective in his interaction with the audience. His introduction to the Everly Brothers was particularly witty and warm, and his words prior to Only Living Boy were most endearing.
Having been to the American Idol concert in July, which featured, among other things, a constant change of outfits and a crew of back-up dancers, I was refreshed once again to see Art and Paul come just as they were, no frills, no distractions. Heck, there they were on a history-making reunion tour, and they spent the whole two-hour set (which, by the way, had no intermission, though people were free to come and go as they pleased) in jeans and black t-shirts. What you see is what you get with these guys. Let me tell you, I like what I see.
Aside from the lighting effects and the Jumbotron, both of which were extremely well done, the only addition to Simon and Garfunkel were seven instrumentalists of the enormous talent required to bring the proper texture to each of the songs they performed. All are incredibly versatile, brilliant musicians: the aforementioned Warren Bernhardt on piano, Jamey Haddad on percussion, Jim Keltner on drums, Pino Palladino on bass, Rob Schwimmer on keyboards, and Mark Stewart and Larry Saltzman on guitar. All added depth and flair to the evening. But I was also struck once more by Paul’s incredible adeptness with the guitar. He truly is a masterful player, and I think he should definitely have been included in Rolling Stone’s recent list of 100 greatest guitarists. His voice, meanwhile, is of a unique timber and possesses a compelling lonesome quality, while Art’s soaring tenor can still carry the most challenging of tunes. Beyond their abilities, there is still the matter of their renewed friendship, which is of even greater value to many of their fans than the chance to see them perform together. The affection is apparent, and I don’t see estrangement any time in the near future.
Final Thoughts
When asked once what he was feeling standing before all those cheering fans in Central Park in 1981, Art replied simply, “love.” As a member of the audience last night, I felt the same vibe, surging from us but also back to us. This concert is more than two guys getting together and singing a bunch of good songs. It’s a testament to the enduring power of beauty and friendship, despite the hurdles both encounter. The songs remain, in spite of a constantly changing culture. They remain as powerful today as the day they were written. And the friendship remains, tested to the breaking point but stronger now than ever. In an uncertain world, these two men present a vision of comfort. That no matter how dark life gets, there is always hope, and no matter how much troubled water has passed under the bridges we build between one another, the foundation can withstand the strain. This is love. This is endurance. This is their lasting legacy.
Thursday, October 9, 2003
For Anyone Who's Ever Loved a Dog
Four weeks ago today was September 11, the second anniversary of one of
the most tragic days in American history. It was also the day I found
out my dog Sandy's kidneys had stopped working. She had been in good
health up until a couple weeks before, and when we had taken her to the
vet a week earlier he said she probably had tapeworms. She was 13, but
we thought she had at least another year or two in her. We brought her
home that evening and stayed with her for the next two days. She died in
our living room on Saturday night.
I haven't felt much like writing since then, but since the Livingston Taylor concert prompted me to break my review silence, I figured I should get the ball rolling again. And how better to do it than with a review of one of my all-time favorite books, particularly appropriate to this time in my life? I read Where the Red Fern Grows in sixth grade. I believe it was the first, and still one of the only, books that made me cry. You know what you're in for from the outset of the novel; the narrator tells you up front. But that doesn't make it any easier to read when the time comes.
Where the Red Fern Grows is a tale of the bond a boy shares with his canine companions. It's a theme that has been revisited many times, but with the exception of Old Yeller, I can't think of a more heart-rending take on the theme. The boy in question is a 10-year-old lad named Billy Coleman who lives in the Ozarks and dreams of owning a pair of hunting dogs. His family is poor and can't afford to buy him the dogs he wants, so he spends two years taking odd jobs to earn the money for the hounds himself. When he finally has all the cash he needs, he walks all the way to town to pick them up, deeply impressing the local sheriff. This is a kid who knows what he wants and will stop at nothing to get it.
He names the hounds Old Dan and Little Ann and spends the majority of the book training them and gallavanting through the woods on hunting adventures with them. With Billy's patience and Dan and Ann's skill and devotion to him, they become the best coon-hunting dog team for miles around. Some good, sound advice from Grandpa doesn't hurt either. Billy's dogs are the hounds of his dreams, but the older Billy has already warned us that this dream is not destined to last as long as it should. The intrepid trio deal with heartache in their journeys, but nothing can compare to their final gut-wrenching adventure. If you can avoid it, don't read those last couple chapters in public. It's no use trying to disguise those sniffles.
Where the Red Fern Grows is a homespun tale of the triumphs and tragedies of growing up. The words flow with such natural beauty, taking the readers to a simpler time and place. And the development of Billy's relationship with his dogs is something any dog lover can readily appreciate. I find it very hard to rank books in terms of favorites, but this one has to fall in my top five. It's one of those books I think everyone ought to read at some time or another.
As my luck would have it, I discovered that this book that I have so carefully stored on my shelf for years mysteriously disappeared when I needed it most. I still don't know where it went, but it looks like it's time to admit defeat and buy another copy. This is one book I cannot do without, particularly now that I finally can truly empathize with Billy. If you've never read it, open it up one of these days. You won't regret it.
I haven't felt much like writing since then, but since the Livingston Taylor concert prompted me to break my review silence, I figured I should get the ball rolling again. And how better to do it than with a review of one of my all-time favorite books, particularly appropriate to this time in my life? I read Where the Red Fern Grows in sixth grade. I believe it was the first, and still one of the only, books that made me cry. You know what you're in for from the outset of the novel; the narrator tells you up front. But that doesn't make it any easier to read when the time comes.
Where the Red Fern Grows is a tale of the bond a boy shares with his canine companions. It's a theme that has been revisited many times, but with the exception of Old Yeller, I can't think of a more heart-rending take on the theme. The boy in question is a 10-year-old lad named Billy Coleman who lives in the Ozarks and dreams of owning a pair of hunting dogs. His family is poor and can't afford to buy him the dogs he wants, so he spends two years taking odd jobs to earn the money for the hounds himself. When he finally has all the cash he needs, he walks all the way to town to pick them up, deeply impressing the local sheriff. This is a kid who knows what he wants and will stop at nothing to get it.
He names the hounds Old Dan and Little Ann and spends the majority of the book training them and gallavanting through the woods on hunting adventures with them. With Billy's patience and Dan and Ann's skill and devotion to him, they become the best coon-hunting dog team for miles around. Some good, sound advice from Grandpa doesn't hurt either. Billy's dogs are the hounds of his dreams, but the older Billy has already warned us that this dream is not destined to last as long as it should. The intrepid trio deal with heartache in their journeys, but nothing can compare to their final gut-wrenching adventure. If you can avoid it, don't read those last couple chapters in public. It's no use trying to disguise those sniffles.
Where the Red Fern Grows is a homespun tale of the triumphs and tragedies of growing up. The words flow with such natural beauty, taking the readers to a simpler time and place. And the development of Billy's relationship with his dogs is something any dog lover can readily appreciate. I find it very hard to rank books in terms of favorites, but this one has to fall in my top five. It's one of those books I think everyone ought to read at some time or another.
As my luck would have it, I discovered that this book that I have so carefully stored on my shelf for years mysteriously disappeared when I needed it most. I still don't know where it went, but it looks like it's time to admit defeat and buy another copy. This is one book I cannot do without, particularly now that I finally can truly empathize with Billy. If you've never read it, open it up one of these days. You won't regret it.
Monday, October 6, 2003
Livingston Taylor Lives Up to the Family Name in Erie, PA October 4
I am a big fan of James Taylor, but I had never heard of his brother Livingston before this week. That was when I read that he would appear in concert this past Saturday with the Erie Philharmonic. Unfamiliar as I was, I had a hunch that the talent ran in the family. The article certainly presented Taylor as the type of artist I would enjoy seeing perform. So on Saturday night, my dad and I headed over to First Assembly of God and bought last-minute tickets for $10.
While I would have expected the cheapest tickets to land us somewhere in the nosebleed section, they weren't marked with a particular seat assignment so we were told we could sit anywhere except the "A" section. That landed us eight rows from the stage. A pleasant surprise, but this was a church after all, and "the last shall become first" was true in this case! The Erie Philharmonic generally performs at the Warner Theater, but it is under renovations so First Assembly offered its space as a replacement. It worked very nicely as a concert hall.
I have been to concerts of this type before, most notably when I saw Art Garfunkel in Pittsburgh and Buffalo. In both of those cases, the Philharmonic performed alone during the first half, and Art came out for the second half. That was the plan for this show, but they decided to change it up a bit. The Philharmonic, under the direction of Jeff Tyzik, performed a number of hymns and spirituals; I wonder if the location had anything to do with that? The orchestra played Tyzik's arrangement of Amazing Grace, which he said was supposed to present a feeling of unity. The Mercyhurst College Choir lent their vocals to Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring, John Williams' Hymn to the Fallen, and a spiritual by Erie native Harry Burleigh.
Livingston came out to do a couple of songs before the intermission. He wore a vest and a blue bow tie and bore quite a resemblance to James, an impression that was only strengthened when I heard him sing. His voice is lower than his brother's but very similar in tone. He sang I Will Be In Love With You and Glad I Know You Well before the break; both were very nice songs, and his guitar picking skills were impressive.
From the start, he seemed like a very down-to-earth and friendly person, bantering back and forth easily with Tyzik as though they were old friends and grinning throughout. He commented that he is generally used to playing for audiences half the size of the orchestra so that was taking some getting used to! I got the impression that he does most of his gigs on his own. He didn't have a band with him on this night.
The Philharmonic's performance of Aaron Copeland's Rodeo was moved to the beginning of the second half, leaving Livingston time to grab a bite to eat after the intermission crowd had died down. My dad and I bumped into him on our way back and directed him towards the concessions, assuring him that they had coffee. The Copeland movements were fun, culminating in the familiar soundtrack for the "Beef: It's What's For Dinner" commercials. After this, Livingston was ready to take the stage once again.
He started out with Somewhere Over the Rainbow, including a little-heard introductory verse to the song. From there, he sang When Sunny Gets Blue, getting down off the stage at one point to dance with a woman in the front row. He gave a nod to his famous brother by singing Carolina On My Mind and let the brass section shine on Blind, a song he had written as a teenager.
Perhaps the most entertaining performance of the evening was the Railroad Medley, including I've Been Working on the Railroad, Chattanooga Choo Choo, Atcheson, Topeka & Santa Fe, and The Trolley Song. He was incredibly animated throughout this performance, acting out the songs from chugging along like a locomotive for the first song to panicking over the attentions of a girl in the last. I wonder if this is a medley he usually performs or if it was specific to this concert, as he noted that our city is right in the rust belt and that railroads have played a big part in Erie's development.
The regular set ended with Banjo Extravaganza, which he introduced by playing Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring on the banjo and commenting on his love of the instrument. He said he was going to play a little something that he didn't expect the Philharmonic to know but that they should feel welcome to fill in should they feel so inclined. He began playing, and gradually more and more of the orchestra joined in, starting with percussion and branching out. When he ended the song, the orchestra kept on playing, so he had to work himself back into the song for a grand finale. This was also a very entertaining performance that reminded me a lot of Eric Weissberg and Warren Bernhardt's Dueling Banjos at Art Garfunkel's concert in Erie.
After receiving a standing ovation, Livingston came back for one a capella encore, a spiritual-like tribute entitled Grandma's Hands. All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening, well worth the ticket price. I only wish he had sold some albums there, because I would have bought one. I now have another Taylor to add to my list of admired musicians. Livingston is not as widely known as his brother, but from what I saw at this concert he shares many of the qualities that I admire in James. His discography is also quite impressive, so finding an album or two of his shouldn't be very difficult. I imagine that the concerts he usually does, without a backing orchestra, have a very different feel to them but are also very enjoyable. I would certainly recommend him to any fans of his brother or of mellow music in general.
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