In My Changer, 11/26/02

Franz Schubert

Piano sonata no. 19 in C minor; Moments musicaux

Alfred Brendel, piano

Philips

and

Pyotr Ilytch Tchaikowsky

Symphony no. 5 in E minor

Oslo Philharmonic Orchestra, Mariss Jansons, cond.

Chandos

Two recordings with similar flaws and dissimilar strengths. The main problem with both is that the musicians involved refuse to subsume themselves in the musical narrative, standing at a remove from the events as they occur, telling you about it rather than living it. Jansons's Tchaikowsky cycle has been widely praised, but on the basis of this record I fail to see why. The performance is ice-cold, brusquely fast, lacking atmosphere and color and, well, interest. The horn melody in the second movement rushes forward; it doesn't settle into itself, relax with its golden tone, let you ravish and linger in it for a while, like it really should. The opening deep woodwind phrases, so pregnant with sorrow in versions like Mravinsky's, come off as grace notes to the sonata-form argument. Tchaikowsky's music doesn't invite such an approach, and it's hard to understand why one would try to force such an approach on it.

Brendel's performance of the Sonata, too, stands a bit aloof. This was recorded during a time when many critics could hear a kind of neurosis in his interpretations; I think that had a lot more to do with the fact that Brendel is an old white Mitteleuropan guy and doesn't truck with fireworks than any actual neurosis. And he's not helped by the recording here, which puts you at the back of the recital hall. Even playing with the knobs, though, you can still hear him not quite caught up in the brash opening chords or the demonic rondo or the melting second movement. It's all the more frustrating because he sinks perfectly into the Moments musicaux, investing these little slices of pure lyricism with emotional import while retaining a light touch to glide us from moment to moment.

But Brendel, unlike Jansons, at least seems to think that the events he's observing from a distance are pretty damn interesting, and worthy of the best playing and richest tone color and most careful attention he can pay to them. His performance doesn't pack quite the adrenaline I'd like, but it stays in my mind for days after I play it, every time. I don't know where else to turn for a Schubert Sonata no. 19; Schiff is a little too luxuriant for me when you get right down to it, and I'm scared of that trick piano Mitsuko Uchida rigged for her Schubert sonatas. Unless I see someone like Leif Ove Andesnes or Stephen Kovacevich or (not likely) Martha Argerich with a record of it, I'll keep Alfred, weird distancing and all.

Jeru the Damaja

"Come Clean"

Payday

and

Audio Two

"Top Billin'"

First Priority

I made a mix CD for a friend of mine who is unschooled in the ways of hip-hop (I'm reluctant to put names up on the Web in the same places where I would have dropped them with abandon in the e-mail, for obvious reasons), and included these two songs as examples of the amazing beats and rhymes she'd missed during a lifetime of listening to less bumpin' music. I have officially gone on a jag for both songs. "Come Clean" is a classic DJ Premier production, with its minimalist three-note cells of deep vibes and dirty, powerful drum samples beneath driving the thing along. Jeru strides over the beat as if he was made to do so, his positive rhymes taking extra power from his amazingly hard delivery. Never have lines like "I'm a true master, you can check my credential/'Cause I choose to use my infinite potential" sounded like such threats. This fits with Jeru's aesthetic, which (on The Sun Rises in the East, the album "Come Clean" eventually ended up on) is basically Jeru vs. the demon of ignorance and racist white people and (in the only bad song) "Da Bitchez." I want to get Jeru's second album, though I want to get about ten hip-hop albums right now, so this may not happen anytime soon.

I'm pretty sure I never want to hear another Audio Two song, because "Top Billin'" bears all the marks of a one-hit wonder. What a one hit, though, seeing as how knowing its lyrics still serves in some circles as a credential for fans of real hip-hop. Which is strange because there's nothing incredibly memorable about them. "MC am I, people call me Milk/When I'm busting up a party I feel no guilt/Gizmo's cuttin' up for the/Sucker's that's down with me!" Wow, he rhymed "the" and "me"! But this beat is even more spare than that of "Come Clean"; a stuttering drum loop and occasional subdued samples of the "Go Brooklyn!" chant, with only Milk's amazingly nasal voice to provide any sonic contrast at all. And Milk, too, rocks the beat like he was made do, in the process providing samples for rappers both better and worse than he; outside of Rakim and Slick Rick, this may be the most-sampled 1980's rap single. And everybody loves the chorus: "Milk is chillin'/Gizmo's chillin'/What more can I say?/Top billin'/That's what we got, we got it good/And since you understood, would you..." At least humor me

In My Changer Home

The Rest of Our Culture Home

Spam-O-Matic Home