Another Month

The end of September. Is plying her with tears in place of pearls no longer applicable? Only Walter Houston would know.

Master and Command

I am not referring to Patrick O'Brian's naval saga on my subject line. It's on something else.

Recently, an internet acquaintance invited the world to visit her 12-year-old son's audio-visual media clip. I visited the young person's work. It was really a createive and original piece of work. I made a mistake of calling her son 'Master Johnson'. This episode spawned the 20-questions (okay, maybe three).

When I called her son "Master...", it was a subtle double entendre. Perhaps she didn't understand and thought I had been unscrupulous in digging into her privacy.

The word master has several definitions. One of which is referring to a male child who is not yet an adult. It's a formal if not an archaic English word. I called young Johnson as such because I have high regards for his person as an artist. In any case, Mrs. Johnson thought I'd somehow found out her son's real name. I have no idea what her son's first name is. I didn't care to know at any rate.

The second reason I chose to call young Johnson "Master" was because he has mastered some technological skills very few of his age or even adults could have achieved.

As for my knowing Master Johnson's surname, because of his mother's email address in her correspondence to me on some other particulars.

I have to agree with other scholars that proper English usage is on the demise. Our generation doesn't care or want to understand the beauties of our native tongue anymore. We no longer master and command the language of Shakespeare. That is the sad truth.

Oh, Well

This post was sent from the mobile iPAQ hx2755.

Someone in the neighborhood has recently installed an unsecured Wi-Fi. It's most likely a g-router setup. My PDA is connecting to it as of this writing.

I have my own network and secondary service setup. This "free" connection will serve as my tertiary backup. An embarrassment of riches, as Wi-Fi goes. Oh, well.

Not So Vain Anymore

Among all of the reviews I have done on Amazon.com, most of them have to do with books. There were a few choral CD's thrown in here and there. Now, I am adding Carly Simon's new CD Moonlight Serenade (2005) to my short music CD review list.

This is an exceptionally fine recording of the "standards." The supposed voice of the passionate You-Are-So-Vain Carly was another voice of a distant past. The older and sophisticated Carly now sings with a sensual smokey voice not unlike that of Julie London, Dusty Springfield, or Diana Krall.

The jazzy orchestral arrangements coupled with Simon's phrasing of the songs once again certified the endearing artistry of Parish & Miller, Dubin & Warren, Rodgers & Hart, and etc.

EXPIRED: A sampler of Simon sings Rodgers & Hart - Where or When (1939).

Spiorad na nGael

Hear, Hear. That's the way, Irish.

As for the old days and troubled dreams:

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow
Raze out the written troubles of the brain
-- Macbeth, A5,S3.

Loved Walked In

EXPIRED: George Gershwin's Loved Walked In on his birthday on 26 September.

Romancing the Gadfly

"I try to make my music speak simply and directly that which is in my heart at the time I am composing. If there is love there, or bitterness, or sadness, or religion, these moods become part of my music, and it becomes either beautiful or bitter or sad or religious." --Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943)

At the risk of incurring the wrath and indignation from others, my unlearned thought on the great Russian classical composers is that their music is inherently beautiful yet pensive. If there be bubbling gaiety and insouciance in the compositions, the melodic strains are tethered to some shadowy melancholic emotions.

Today is Dmitri Shostakovich's birthday. He'd written a most contemplative score for the 1955 film, The Gadfly.

Janine Jansen, violin (2003)
Romance (The Gadfly Suite, Op. 97a)
Film Score: The Gadfly (1955)
Dmitri Shostakovich
Click here to view this L'Envoi YouTube.

A Season of Mellow Fruitfulness

A musical thought on the way to the farmers market.

Mozart's Violin Sonata in C Major K 296 would be the piece to listen on this glorious autumnal morning.

At the market I bought for brunch a Jalapeno and Cheddar Cheese wrap. As for the week's fruit supplements, I picked out a selection of pluots, late season freestone peaches, and Thompson seedless grapes. And for the carbs, some cranberry scones and a loaf of zucchini chocolate bread will suffice.

A Breath of Autumn

In this time of the year, the vinegarishness of wine making wafts incessantly from the Delicato Winery. A breath of autumn every state route 99 traveler knows so well.

First Day of Fall

After the tempestuous storm which passed through the valley a few days ago, once again the seasonal clime has returned. Today the high was 87°F/31°C. The forecast temperture for this evening and early morning hours will hover about 57°F/13°C.

Today is the first day of fall. The city tree crew came by the neighbood today and did some preventive maintenance on the deciduous trees. They trimmed much of the overhanging branches looming above the rooftops and utility lines.

Autumn brings a different but equally alluring charm than summer. The urgency is over. The Myrna figs are ripen in the backyard; the garden eludes attention - except for the two chrysanthemum plants I bought last week at SaveMart. They are now gracing the southside of the house.

In recent days, there is a stillness at dawn that is unique to the season - not a rustle of wind nor the cacophony of bird-speak. Early morning mists mask the orchard and fields along Route 99. Autumn fruits hanging on the boughs are ready for the harvesting.

The autumn equinox has ushered in the season of harvest and thanksgiving. It is a time for the scarecrows to begin celebration another successful year in their illustrious career. From one generation to another, they have toiled in the fields under the most inauspicious conditions. Truth to tell, there would be no cornucopias without the aid and dedication of these faithful friends. Yet, they demanded little in return. Most admirable of their kind is nary a disparaging word nor discontent ever uttered.

So then, on this very night when the scarecrows celebrate their annual Autumn Dance, I have decreed Shostakovich's Waltz Number 2 as their signature dance for the occasion.

(This music segues nicely into Dmitri's birthday celebration on 25 September.)