I’m Late, I’m Late … (4/18/15)

In my defense, oh heck, I have no defense. On Saturday the 18th, I attended A Concert of Music for Winds presented by L’Amore Della Musica Woodwind Quintet (Cecilia Sparacio, flute; Veroslav Taskov, oboe; Simeon Loring, clarinet; Nancy Vizza, horn; and Lori Brand, bassoon). It was a fairly varied program that included composers who were new to me as well as some I knew well, metaphorically, that is.

Quintet No. 2 in d minor – Giuseppe Cambini (1746–1825)
Trio Sonata in F – Georg F. Handel (1840–1893) (arr. Simeon Loring)
Partita for Wind Quintet (1948) – Irving Fine (1914–1962)
Concerto No. 2 after Vivaldi – J. S. Bach (1685–1750) (arr. Mordechai Rechtman)
Esquisses Hebraiques – Alexander Krein (1883–1951) (arr. Simeon Loring)
Petite Offrande Musicale – Nino Rota (1911–1979)
Vent de Folie – Dider Favre (b. 1961)

I say fairly diversified because a woodwind quintet has its own distinctive sound—the flute tootles, the oboe and clarinet are their reedy selves, the bassoon percolates along, and the horn provides some oomph (and isn’t even a woodwind, but I digress). The Cambini, a composer new to me, had a gentle first movement, even in its more boisterous moments. The second movement was a waltz in a subdued tempo, with the theme passed from player to player. The final movement was brighter in tone and fuller in compositional style. The arrangement of the Handel trio sonata had a gentle opening, once again, and was pastoral, though also playful at times.

The Fine piece had a more modern approach in its opening movement, including some dissonant passages, but only lightly so. The second went off on a tangent, with some of the phrases expanded melodically and harmonically, while the third had dark, thicker chords with slight dissonances, and was in a slower tempo. The fourth movement was dance like and had touches of humor. Its second section was a bit disjointed, but not too far out there. The final movement had lots of filigree, rhythmically, though in a subdued way, even as it got louder and louder before finishing in a gentle manner. Unfortunately, cell phones went off at two different times during this piece. And there was a printed reminder as well as an announcement from the stage at the beginning of the afternoon.

After intermission the Bach opened with a thicker texture than I expected and was pleasant enough. The second movement had a variety of clarinet/horn, clarinet/oboe, and bassoon/horn duos and then a flute/oboe/clarinet trio, all with shifting textures that created interest. While the final movement was bright and tuneful with a lot of busy fingering for all, it didn’t quite hold my interest. The Krein (I’d never heard of him before) had lots of separate phrases that didn’t seem to fit together. It was pretty enough, though. A bassoon solo that led to a clarinet solo was nice, and the clarinet added a touch of a klezmer feeling from time to time.

Nino Rota’s piece really perked along, after an extended introduction, and then returned to the opening theme. It was a nice little jaunt. The Favre (also new to me) was brisk and bright. It sounded like a journey to me—more so like music to accompany a journey, if that makes any sense. While I enjoyed the concert, overall I found the playing to be just a bit on the tame side. I would have preferred a little more oomph.

Though it seemed slightly unwarranted to me, the quintet performed the Humming Chorus from Puccini’s Madama Butterfly as an encore.

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Tuesday/Thursday Twofer (4/14-16/15)

Sort of. Tuesday evening found me in the Washington Square area attending 360repco’s staged reading of Bash: Latterday plays, a set of three one-act plays by Neil LaBute. All three (one duologue and two monologues) had a dark tone about them.

A Gaggle of Saints, with Matt Cohn and Lulu Fogarty, was a recounting of a trip to New York as told by each of John (Matt) and Sue (Lulu). Their accounts were similar, if not always exactly in sync. And John contributed the dark tone in this one. Iphigenia in Orem, with
Paco Lozano, was a recounting of life on the road as a salesman, and also a confession concerning the death of his young daughter. Medea Redux, with Ms. Fogarty, was the telling of sexual awakening at thirteen (if not actual molestation), a somewhat lonely and dreary life, raising a son, and the death of that son. Dark, dark, dark.

While the acting was good all evening, Medea Redux seemed to me to be the strongest of the three plays, and Ms. Fogarty was superb in it. Her mannerisms throughout the telling of the chilling tale were spot-on. The staging of all three (Thom Fogarty, director) was minimal yet effective. As a side note, meeting Mr. Fogarty was fun, since we previously had only been Facebook connected.

On Thursday evening I attended a performance of String Quartet No. 6, sz114 (1939) by Béla Bartók (1881–1945). There was also a pre-performance conversation with Evan Leslie, of the Lincoln Center Library for the Performing Arts, and the evening’s quartet, the Aeolus Quartet (Nicholas Tavani and Rachel Shapiro, violins; Gregory Luce, viola; Alan Richardson, cello). All four players spoke articulately about different aspects of the Bartók, including their favorite moments, interesting information about the score itself and Bartók’s markings (including the Bartók pizzicato), and touchstone musical moments in the quartet, some with demonstrations from the players. Having that information, as presented before the actual performance, made the actuality very interesting. Of special interest about the composition, itself, was that each movement—Piu mosso, Marcia, Burletta, and Molto tranquillo—was preceded by a Mesto, a haunting, interesting tune presented by solo viola for the first movement, cello (with tremolo accompaniment from the other three strings) for the second, and violin (first violin) for movements three and four. Mesto means sadly.

Piu mosso began, after the Mesto, with the quartet playing unisons and octaves leading to more contrapuntal writing. I caught sections of a previous phrase leading into a totally new phrase. The mix of various episodes had liquid, lightning shifts of rhythm and dynamics, closing with a fairly ethereal ending. Marcia, after the Mesto (well, you get the drift), was almost a caricature of martial sounds. At one point the violist was strumming, almost like a flamenco guitarist (his words, not mine). Compositionally, it was very evenly shared between all four. There was nice, quiet strumming to end the movement.

Burletta’s Mesto had the first violin joined by the second, the cello, and then, eventually, the viola. It was jaunty, with lots of rhythmic phrases and glissandos. Portions were strongly and specifically accented, though there were also portions of relative calm. One of the pizzicato sections had a real folk tune feel to it, something that is often prevalent in Bartók’s music. After Molto tranquillo’s Mesto (violin with full accompaniment), the movement was somewhat dolorous, yet with a sense of profundity; a feeling of sadness, but bearing that sadness without giving up.

This was the last piece that Bartók wrote in Hungary, before immigrating to the United States. The Aeolus’ performance was beautifully polished and very moving, and they received a heartfelt ovation from the audience. The evening’s guest of honor was Robert Mann, founder and first violinist (for 51 years!) of the Juilliard String Quartet. He is also a composer, conductor, teacher, and mentor, and the Aeolus had a chance to work with him on this Bartók quartet.

A varied mid-week foray for

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What a Weekend (4/11-12/15)

On Saturday afternoon, Canta Libre (Bradley Bosenbeck, violin; Veronica Salas, viola; Bernard Tomosaitis, cello; Sally Shorrock, flute; and Karen Lindquist, harp) gave a delightful concert of chamber music featuring the harp, specifically the music of
Marcel Grandjany (1891–1975). Grandjany’s Aria in Classic Style (1951) opened the program, and “O Bien Aimee” (1955) was also performed. Grandjany’s son was on hand (Maurice?) and offered some very interesting insights. “O Bien Aimee” was written as a gift for Marcel’s secretary for her wedding. Originally a song for baritone and harp, it was adapted here for cello and harp. It was very pretty and traditional, with touches of ’50s harmonies.

In between those two, we heard Sonata for Harp, Viola and Flute (1915) by
Claude Debussy (1862–1918), which was quite modern in terms of dissonances and format of the composition. The three movements were too segmented for my taste, though some of the segments were pretty, even with the dissonances. The third movement was quicker than the others and had a dark, stark quality. Following that was the Harp Concerto in B-Flat Major (1736) by G. F. Handel (1685–1759) with its jaunty back and forth between the solo harp and the small ensemble. You’d probably recognize the first movement. The whole piece was altogether bright and pleasant.

We were then treated to a brief lecture demonstration about the harp, itself. The concert harp has 47 strings made of three different materials—gut, for the mid-range; bound gut, for the lower range; and nylon, for the upper range. Since there are three positions for each of the seven pedals, that results in more than 2,000! moving parts in the neck of the instrument. Ms. Lindquist demonstrated glissandos, plucking, and even slapping the strings. And the wood of the harp can also be used as a percussion instrument by rapping or tapping it.

The final work on the program was Concert for Five (1923) by Joseph Jongen (1873–1953), a three-movement work that had very modern sounds, very rhythmic, with dissonances but also with a sense of completeness. (The three movements were Decide, Calme, and Tres Decide, with Decide meaning decisive or forthright, which I think prompted my feeling of completeness.) I enjoyed the concert, even though parts of the Debussy and Jongen were a little too dissonant for me. But when the harp was making its very pretty sounds, it was quite a treat.

Sunday afternoon found me at a completely different type of concert—Sō Percussion, a percussion quartet. The guys, Eric Beach, Josh Quillen, Adam Sliwinski, and
Jason Treuting were joined by an unnamed co-conspirator (her name was briefly announced from the stage, but I didn’t get it) for Music for Pieces of Wood (1973) by Steve Reich (b. 1936). That’s exactly what they played—blocks of wood that seemed to be varied enough in size to produce different pitches, yet still seemed very similar in size and shape. Each performer played her/his own distinct rhythm starting with the gal’s solo that was joined successively by each member, one by one. Once all the rhythms were going together, the entire sequence repeated two more times, though the beginning of each repeat was a duet. I’m not big on minimalist compositions, but this one held my interest, for the most part.

Two pieces by John Cage (1912–1992) were next: Child of Tree (1975) followed immediately by Third Construction (1941). Child of Tree was an eight-minute solo work involving a barrel cactus (the spines were plucked with fingers and other plant materials) and various additional plant matter including tree bark that was broken, twigs that were snapped, tissue paper that was crumpled and torn, and pine needles that were used almost as brushes would be used on a drumhead or a standing cymbal. Interesting, but no wow factor. Third Construction was the full quartet playing everything from drums (several sizes and shapes) to cymbals, claves (those heavy bar-like things you tapped with a mallet in elementary school music class) to metal cans/buckets, and even a conch shell. There was some real noise (and music) there.

The last piece was fairly lengthy, somewhat repetitive and involved made up instruments.
Music for Wood and Strings (2013) by Bryce Dessner (b. 1976) was commissioned by Sō Percussion and was played on four chordsticks, which were also created by Mr. Dessner. A chordstick is the head and tuning keys, and the fret board, of two electric guitars, with one tuning head at each end, laid out horizontally. The set of four were ranged like a soprano, alto, tenor, bass quartet. The strings of the guitars were then bowed like a violin, plucked, hit upon by mallets, like a hammered dulcimer, slid on like a steel guitar, and occasionally slid on along the fret board to create tunes, like a cellist would move his fingers along the fret board to create specific pitches. The overall effect was interesting and varied. It went on a little too long, and even though the dynamics were varied from time to time, I found most of it too loud. If you get a chance to see Sō Percussion (for free, like I did), I say go for it.

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Laurel ‘or’ Hardy; and ‘and’ (4/4/15)

Saturday afternoon’s silent movies showed us that Stan Laurel and Oliver ‘Babe’ Hardy each had movie successes on their own before being teamed in 1927. Laurel’s background was as a vaudeville comedian in England before traveling to the US and ending up in Hollywood. Hardy, on the other hand, was running a movie theater in the South in 1910 and decided, in 1913, to move to Jacksonville, Fl, which had numerous film studios. Who knew? Obviously, he also ended up in Hollywood. Okay, the history lecture is now over.

Just Rambling Along (1918) is a funny one-reeler that has Laurel as a fellow thrown out of a diner for lack of funds. After finding a wallet and being finagled out of it by a kid whose father is a cop, he eventually manages to get some money from the kid and follows a pretty young thing (along with a gaggle of other gents ogling her) back into the diner. In the funniest scene, he gets a taste of everything in the cafeteria line, rejecting each item and settling for a ten-cent cup of coffee. As the coffee is being poured, he stuffs his pockets with food and even gets his straw boater filled with flapjacks. While sitting with the pretty young thing, she slyly switches bills with him, and when he doesn’t have the $1.25 for the bill, he gets thrown out all over again.

In Smithy (1924), Laurel (Smithy) is mustered out of the Army and manages to find employment at a building site, though he has absolutely no experience. Via a letter delivered to him by mistake (intended for a different Mr. Smith, the boss’ second-in-command), Smithy ends up being the head honcho on the building site for a new house, even though he’s pratfalled his way through earlier attempts at different tasks on the site (ladder climbing mishaps, dropped construction materials, mayhem with hammers and nails and tarpaper, etc.). When the right
Mr. Smith arrives, demanding to be the building chief, Smithy’s house is already completed. Alas, when the last support beam is removed, the house tumbles to the ground like a house of cards, and Smithy ends up back in the Army. Funny stuff from Laurel sans Hardy.

The two Hardy shorts had him as a feature player, as opposed to Laurel’s starring appearances. Should Men Walk Home? (1927) was a vehicle for Mabel Normand and Creighton Hale as a pair of bumbling criminals who decide to hook up and work together after trying to con each other. A lot of the funny stuff happens at a big party in a fancy home. The two criminals are out to steal a precious piece of jewelry. When the brooch gets unceremoniously plopped into a punch bowl, Ms. Normand decides to keep an eye on each and every cup of punch that is poured. Unfortunately for Mr. Hardy, every attempt to get and drink a cup of punch is thwarted by the diminutive Ms. Normand. Slapstick ensues and is very funny. The crooks never get the brooch, and as they’re being tossed out of the party, tons, and I mean tons, of silverware tumbles out of Mr. Hale’s tuxedo.

Fluttering Hearts (1927) also had Mr. Hardy as a supporting player. Here’s what I wrote about it when I first saw it in June of 2012:
“Fluttering Hearts starred Charley Chase (not Chevy) and Martha Sleeper (touted as the “ultimate flapper”). It also had a very funny Oliver Hardy in a supporting role. The plot: Our flapper rushes off to a sale (bed linens at 89¢—with a caveat of only three to a customer). She enlists the help of the beau who followed her and the cop who wanted to give her a speeding ticket (did I mention that this was a comedy?) and mayhem ensues at the shopping spree.

Meanwhile, Flapper’s father needs to retrieve a compromising letter—if he doesn’t pay $10,000 it’ll be made public and ruin him. Our hero, Mr. Chase, convinces dad to dress in drag to allow them entry into a speakeasy. Mayhem ensues, dad is chased by the cops, hero gets a female doll (literally) and even attaches its feet to his shoes in a very funny dance sequence (a precursor to “Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” and countless drag show routines). Mr. Hardy has the letter. Our hero eventually gets it—then loses it—then our flapper replaces the female doll, with the letter down her bodice and all ends well! Did I mention that this was a comedy?”

The final film on this past Saturday was Two Tars (1928) starring Laurel and Hardy. I’ve also seen this one before in December 2011 but did not write a synopsis. Laurel and Hardy are two sailors on a brief shore leave (sound familiar, Comden & Green?). They meet and pick up two sweet young things in their rental car, after first going through a bit of slapstick involving gumballs and pratfalls. The rest of the film is essentially one long (very long) running joke about different ways to beat up on cars and their owners involved in a massive traffic jam. There’s a lot of funny stuff, and a few of the repetitions are good, too, but it’s really just too much. However, it certainly cemented their partnership for the future.

Saturday’s segment of the series was curated by Rob Stone, of the Library of Congress and, as always, the indefatigable Ben Model supplied the piano score for each film. Bruce Lawton and Steve Massa were also on hand for the Q&A session afterward. I didn’t stay for that, but did hear as I was leaving that we had gotten the UK version of Two Tars as evidenced by the Title Cards. There was much laughter involved all afternoon.

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Songbook, March 2015

Brief reminder, here. Songbook is a program that features up and coming, as well as some established, composers and lyricists writing for the musical theater. This past Monday’s edition, featuring the songs of Sam Carner and Derek Gregor, was superb. The past couple of Songbooks I have attended were good, though marred by an overwhelming case of instrumentalists completely overpowering singers (even though they were all using microphones). The techniques on display by the composers completely overshadowed the work of the lyricists. Not so, this past Monday.

On top of being able to hear and understand the singers (with a few minor exceptions), these songs themselves were really, really good. There were fifteen songs performed, from various shows, some of which have had performances, some of which are preparing to be workshopped, and some of which are from shows in their gestation periods. Four songs from Island Song kicked off the evening, and while all of the performers were good, Jackie Burns (recently of If/Then) and Leslie Kritzer were standouts. The first, “I’ll Take It All,” had real accompaniment (provided by Mr. Gregor, at the piano, plus cello, guitar, and percussion) with a nice jazz-rock feel that extended to the song as well. “Sing, But Don’t Tell” was very funny, telling the story of a singer who thinks she’s in love with her accompanist, but feels inhibited about telling him. Ms. Kritzer played it to the hilt, even including some ad libs to the cellist along the way.

Two songs from Unlock’d followed, and my favorite of the two was “Out of the Bay,” which showed influences from Sondheim and Gilbert & Sullivan and was very strong both musically and textually. Stephen C. Anthony did a fine job in performance.

Next up were two songs from Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York, based on a cult novel from the 1970s. Interesting side note here: Carner and Gregor are providing additional songs for the show, which was shelved when the original composer died. The book writer, Todd Graff, decided to dust off the project and approached Carner and Gregor to continue with it. After a false start, David Perlman sang a great performance of “Settle Down,” a piece with a real vaudeville feel. Ms. Kritzer returned with “29 Words,” which is her character’s typing speed, in a very nice song about self-exploration and celebration. One nice turn of a phrase was, “I find peace when I see what I say.”

The three Cabaret Songs that were next were all winners. Mr. Anthony kept finding girls who were “Savin’ It”—for Jesus, as it turned out. Very funny stuff. Natalie Weiss sang “A Piece of Me,” about someone buried in the past, opening up (but just slightly) and realizing that “piece by piece we could be whole.” Mr. Perlman’s slightly manic “What Do You Do With Your Arms” explored a bit of physical comedy as well as hitting (just right) Mr. Carner’s use of humorous and humerus. I’m not making this up, you know! Of the two songs from Toast, “Advice to a Young Firefly” was, hands down, the winner—a power ballad–style number given a dynamite performance by Tituss Burgess. A fitting ending to the concert was “Opening,” the opening number from Island Song. The vocal quintet performed well, but this was one of those cases where five microphones at one time, with overlapping phrases, both musically and textually, made for a bit of a muddied result.

Here’s the thing, though, and I only came to realize this when thinking about the concert afterwards. Carner and Gregor’s songs are so successful because they’re so well crafted. But you’re not hit over the head with their technique. It just is. It is there; it is good; it is really spot-on. They were video recording the concert for Playbill, I believe. If I learn anything about how to access it, I’ll be sure to pass it along. Hat’s off—but not the red hat—to John Znidarsic for putting together Songbook, in general, and this really superb edition. It truly was the real deal.

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Elora Festival Singers (3/15/15)

The Elora Festival Singers, Noel Edison, conductor, is a Canada-based professional choir that I heard in concert at Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church on Sunday afternoon. The 23-voice ensemble began their program with what I call the “English choir school sound”—sort of like a choral organ (a white choral sound, as in vocal purity with very little vibrato). There were two pieces by Timothy Corlis (b. 1972), a Canadian composer who was in the audience, and two by Eric Whitacre (b. 1970), an American, er, USofAn composer. The first Corlis work displayed the choir’s nicely blended choral sound and had minimal piano accompaniment, in a slightly minimalist style. James Bourne, one of the basses, was the able accompanist throughout the afternoon, as needed. The first of the two Whitacre works that followed was calm and slightly dissonant at times and demonstrated nicely controlled dynamics. Immortality, the second work by Corlis, was commissioned especially for the choir’s recent appearance at Carnegie Hall. While I liked it, I found it to be a touch too repetitious toward the end. Two more contemporary pieces followed before closing out the first half with Benjamin Britten’s (1913–1976) Rejoice in the Lamb, an eight-movement cantata for choir, soloists and organ (played here by
Andrew Henderson). The rather absurdist text, written by Christopher Smart while he was in an insane asylum, is pretty well known to me, and I had no problems understanding it in the choir’s capable hands. The four soloists, stepping out from the choir, all sang well. The eight movements progress in a through-composed style—each is distinct but leads to the next with no real break, yet not exactly nonstop.

After intermission, the works were a bit on the lighter side, including a small set of four Old American Songs by Aaron Copland (1900–1990). Of the four, my favorite was I Bought Me a Cat, which is sort of like a grown-up’s version of Old MacDonald. Along the way we hear cat, duck, goose, hen, pig, cow, horse, and wife(!) sounds. It was robust, as compared with the two tender songs that preceded it, At the River and Long Time Ago.

Folk songs and quasi-folk songs followed, including settings of John Brown’s Body (with a terrific soprano solo), a jazz-tinged Londonderry Air, Loch Lomond, Shenandoah, and She’s Called Nova Scotia. The latter could have become treacly, but the powerhouse baritone solo just about turned it into a power ballad/anthem with piano and choral accompaniment. The final work was a William L. Dawson (1886–1970) arrangement of the spiritual Soon-Ah Will Be Done. The enthusiastic crowd response led to an encore of another spiritual (maybe also a Dawson arrangement?), Every Time I Feel the Spirit.

This was a wonderfully performed concert by a fine choral group. They hit the mark whether it was a cappella, with piano accompaniment, or with the organ, in a nicely varied performance, with the choir as the main event, backed up by fine step-out solo turns from individual singers. Many thanks to Andrew Henderson and Mary Huff for providing me with the opportunity to hear the Elora Festival Singers.

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A Very Busy Weekend (3/13, 14, 15/15)

Friday evening found me at the US premiere of the play Keeping Up Appearances, based on characters from the British comedy television series. Those of you who know, or know about, the series have a bit of a leg up. Those of you who don’t, feel free to let your eyes glaze over.

The main characters are all represented. This is not a re-creation of any specific portion of the series, but a true stand-alone piece. Hyacinth Bucket (“It’s bouquet!”) starts out quarreling with her neighbor Emmett, who is preparing to rehearse a play he’s directing, thus preventing Hyacinth from displaying her painting (oil on silk—she could never use anything so coarse as canvas!) as part of the art display that is supposed to be set up in the church hall. An interesting metaprime moment here is that the performance I saw was staged in a church hall. Hyacinth insists that she’s committed to the painting group and could not possibly devote any time to Emmett’s play. That is, until she hears that the role of Lady Malverne still needs to be cast. Well, she graciously wheedles her way into the production.

What she does not do, however, is read the script and see that Lady Malverne gets murdered early on in the first act, and that she must also play a lowly cook in the second act. She is not amused!

Along the way, we find out that her sister Daisy is in the cast (as a duchess, no less!), as are her sister Rose and Daisy’s husband Onslow. There is a recently divorced gentleman, Edward “Milly” Milson, for Rose to ply her wily charms upon, Richard is on hand to run various errands for Hyacinth, and the Vicar is on hand (in a non-speaking role) to turn tail every time he sees the “Bucket woman.” Even Daddy makes an appearance, after giving sister Violet the slip (she’s the one with the Mercedes, swimming pool, and room for a pony). She is only referenced in a couple of Hyacinth’s set pieces—phone monologues. Seeing that the location is not Hyacinth’s home, the phone monologues take place on her clunky cell phone that gets trillingly answered, “You have reached the exclusive private mobile phone of Hyacinth Bou-quet. She herself is speaking!” Hyacinth also has the requisite phone monologue with her son Sheridan.

Well, you get the drift. There were lots of laughs in this Theatre Fellowship of Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church production, with its mix of two Actors’ Equity members, several variously trained actors in the equivalent of a very good community theater performance, and a handful of church members. Wisely, none of the actors tried to imitate or impersonate the cast members of the TV series. There was a mix (and a mix of success) of British accents. The entire cast performed well, with special kudos going to Isabella Knight as Hyacinth, who provided laughs as Hyacinth, Lady Malverne, and the lowly cook. I had a very pleasant evening in the theater.

On Saturday afternoon, I attended a program of silent films with live piano accompaniment. This was the second in a series featuring the Hal Roach Studios, and all seven of the shorts featured Harold Lloyd in films ranging from 1915 (he had only gotten his start in the movies in 1914 as an extra) through to 1920. It ably demonstrated his growth as a comedian and Roach’s growth as a director and producer, but it was a little heavy handed and a little too much same old, same old for my taste. While I enjoy these silents, I’m not a real diehard aficionado, and this seemed more like a mini movie class as opposed to just an afternoon of fun. The 1915 offering, Peculiar Patient Pranks, and the 1917 offering, When Clubs Are Trumps, were both single-reel offerings and both had fairly heavy condition issues. Maybe one of them could have been dropped?

The City Slicker (1918) was more enjoyable for me, and Get Out and Get Under (1920) was the most sophisticated of the seven. Even though I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it before, it still packed a lot of laughs. As always, Ben Model’s mostly improvised scores were quite impressive, as was his stamina, and Steve Massa’s program notes were packed with information, though he tended to cover a lot of it in his introduction to the first two films. Hey, I read program notes—I don’t need them essentially read to me. But that’s just my minor quibble, and I’ll most likely attend the third in this series later in the spring. More on Sunday in the next post.

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