Strange week, eh? Bleat-wise. I was talking to somebody today about Reno and I couldn’t remember if I had been there this week or last; it seemed like this week because I’d been Steeped in Renoism here on this site.
I’m afraid we have a pallid dog’s-breakfast for today, being the end of a busy week, but then again my dog has a pretty good breakfast. There’s the meaty-flavored grain-based kibble that makes him drool, and he gets to lick the cereal bowl. (Not my move. Wife’s.) It’s not as if he’s fed cricket husks and toothpicks.
There's some fun stuff down in Listen, just to shift the focus from words and pictures to . . . well, you'll see. Or hear. One guy, memorialized forever, nameless, unknown.
At the end of the week I have to recount something that occurred before the week even began. About five weeks ago I realized that the date of the Reno speech would bump up against my spring MC job at Orchestra Hall. Well, no problem; fly out, sleep a bit, get up and do it.
But there were no flights that worked. It’s unusual in this day and age, no? I couldn’t leave Reno Saturday and be in Minneapolis on Sunday afternoon. Whew: my speech could be moved to Thursday, and I’d be home Friday. I’d make the concert - which would conclude my 20th season with the Orchestra.
That’s . . . a long time. A few absences aside, I’ve done almost 60 shows. What began with stark terror, walking out on the big stage at Orchestra Hall, is now: eh, let’s have fun. I had the chance to vamp for five minutes during a stage reset, and to be honest I had four minutes of material in my head, but: eh. Let’s have fun.
It was an astonishing concert, thanks to the last piece: Gershwin’s Concerto in F, performed by Nachito Herrara, a force-of-nature pianist who brings jazz style to something often frozen in classical postures. After the first movement the audience applauded, and they knew they shouldn’t - they didn’t care.
I got a lovely ceremony marking my 20th, too.
It felt like a nice bow tied on a box, but it’s not something wrapped up to be placed on a shelf; I expect to be there for season 21. Something clicked over back stage afterwards, though. Twenty. Years. You’re not the running water anymore; you’re the rock around which it flows.
And I could go on with that thought but for heaven’s sake, why. It’s the end of the night, the end of the work week: watch some Bosch and relax.
And then think about how I can use it for TV Tuesday.
The Opus site is taking a while to get tall, because . . .
It's so broad.
Despite the absence of a tree, I think this one's topped out:
Around the corner, the dull part of the building is getting a meaningless fin attached to the corner. It will be glassed up.
It probably looked good as a model.
Meanwhile, the Nicollet Mall project shows absolutely no sign whatsoever of getting anywhere near completion.
Supposedly it'll be done soon.
As noted, I'm going through the entire Gildersleeve series this year - and there's a lot.
No music today - something else that's quite annoying.
Let's meet Leila Ransome. The Suthun Belle who had her cap set for Gildersleeve . . . sort of. Women hated her. Wonder why.
Hey - play that previous clip again. Then play this one. Hear anything?
Anything that . . . stands out? And shouldn't?
Was anyone giving the guy a look?
Even towards the end he gets one more in.
This is a different irritating guy.
But the same guy on a different show.
AD: Everything good in the world is this 1954 Plymouth.
a composer, pianist, and bandleader born in New York City, New York. He was the pianist and arranger for the Korn Kobblers, a popular 1940s novelty group billed as 'America's most nonsensical dance band', but was probably best known as the composer of the song 'Tell Me Why', which was a hit for The Four Aces in 1951.
arranged, conducted, and recorded for RCA Victor light orchestral "mood music" pieces utilising fully the possibilities of the newly developed Stereophonic sound, with whole sections of violins drifting between right and left speakers.
Clint Eastwood sang this in the movie. He oughtn't have done so.
We're out of aphorisms, so let's say good-bye to the Old Fellows with this peculiar show opening, best described as "the booth is going oh sh*t."