2005-08-23

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It may be that I should worry about the result of this particular silly quiz (nicked from [livejournal.com profile] yhlee), especially since the adjective "beardy" makes me blink a little. But I am rather pleased that I could use process of elimination to figure out those titles that I didn't know off the top of my head; and there are worse self-esteem fixes to pick up on a weekday afternoon.

(Cut to learn how geeky I am. Yeah; who's surprised?)
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Inspired by Max Raabe's rendition of "Mein kleiner grüner Kaktus," I've been listening lately to the Comedian Harmonists (Die Kommedische Harmonisten), and not only do I like them very much, I'm struck by how little a cappella has changed since the 1920's. Okay, they use piano accompaniment occasionally. But in their unaccompanied pieces, the vocal percussion is there, the close harmonies, all the backup nonsense syllables I expect to hear when I turn on All A Cappella. (And I'm sort of impressed that it doesn't matter what your native language is, your vocal impersonation of a trumpet sounds rather like, well, a trumpet.) Only their repertoire immediately suggests the 1920's and '30's; but they might as easily be a retro-themed modern group. Pieces like "Flight of the Bumblebee" done entirely in buzzing or an all-vocal cover of the overture to Il barbiere di Siviglia are so peculiar, I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear The Bobs* perform them.

I never really thought about the history of popular a cappella before. (There's Gregorian chant and then there's Rockapella. Hm. There must be something in between the two . . .) Now I'm wondering if maybe the Comedian Harmonists really started the trend. But mostly, I think I need more of their music.

*The only other a cappella group to which I listen at all regularly; I have two of their CDs, My, I'm Large (1987), and Coaster (2000), and I am capable of getting "My Shoes Are on Top of the World" stuck in my head with distressing ease. Their collective sense of humor borders on the absurdist and sometimes tips over into and-two-to-paint-the-bicycles surrealism: their songs can cover any topic from inconveniently precognitive husbands to impassioned pleas for politically-correct love to evil mastermind cats; and it all sounds great. I saw them live once in high school. That was fantastic. There may be other groups that write their own a cappella work rather than primarily performing covers, but with the exception of whoever it is that performs "Easter Island Head" (I want a head like the heads you see on Easter Island / I want a three-ton nosejob / I want to stand up tall / I want a head like the heads you see on Easter Island / I want to stare at the seaside and do nothing—at all), I think there are none better than The Bobs.

[edited 2005-08-23 14:16]

"Easter Island Head" is written and performed by Throat Culture. Whose first CD is not available from amazon.com. Sigh.
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Belated revelation for today . . .

One of my favorite Bob Dylan quotes, especially in recent political years, has been these lines from the last verse of "Sweetheart Like You":

They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings
Steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king


(Ahem, ahem.)

Yesterday I was browsing reviews at moviediva and ran across one for the 1933 film of Eugene O'Neill's The Emperor Jones, which is both a play I have never read and a film I have never seen. (Desire Under the Elms, yes. Mourning Becomes Electra, yes. Past the classical variants, we're on shakier territory—I think Long Day’s Journey into Night is it, although I have some faint memory of reading Anna Christie under the desk in high school chemistry.) There I found the following speech, by the eponymous Brutus Jones:

Dere's little stealing like you does, and dere's big stealin' like I does. For the little stealin' dey gits you in jail soon or late. For de big stealin' dey makes you Emperor and puts you in de Hall o' Fame when you croaks.

Why is it that I started listening to PJ Harvey last winter and already I know the connections between her "A Perfect Day, Elise" and J.D. Salinger's short story "A Perfect Day for Bananafish," but it took me over twenty years—because I can't remember a time when I didn't know Dylan's music, even if it was only through Joan Baez—to learn that Bob Dylan read Eugene O'Neill?

I bet there's an academic footnote in here somewhere.
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