music – Page 2 – Life In A Word

Do-Re-Mi… Oh My!

Salzburg, Austria, a day-trip destination from our recent Viking River Cruise, is a popular draw for tourists. On most days you’ll find more internationals roaming Salzburg’s Old Town than you’ll find Austrians themselves. The compact city is famous for its historic buildings: churches, palaces, and fortresses dating back 1,000 years or more. Mozart was born here. But try as they might, Austrians will never be able to separate Salzburg from what attracts many to its streets: The Sound of Music.

I can think of only one movie we forced our kids to sit down and watch while they still lived under our roof. Close to Christmas one year (an arbitrary connection because of the lyrics of “My Favorite Things”), the five of us spent three hours together in front of our not-so-big-screen TV watching the somewhat true story of the von Trapp family. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve followed Maria, the Captain, and those seven engaging children as they outwit the Nazis.

For all of the movies I’ve watched in my life (and I’ve watched quite a few), The Sound of Music stands alone. I’d describe it as a jewel you display in an elegant glass box on the shelf, taken down every once in a while to appreciate up close. The Sound of Music is a feel-good story – if not accurate – produced in 1965 at the end of the Hollywood’s Golden Age. It remains the most successful movie musical of all time (adjusted for inflation), but I question whether today’s movie-goers would appreciate it as much as I do.

Most tours of Salzburg include references to buildings and locations included in The Sound of Music. Our own tour – cut well short because of the flooding of the Danube – was a brisk walk around the Old Town, with only an occasional mention of the movie. What surprised me was not how little of The Sound of Music was actually filmed in Salzburg (most was done on sound stages back in the States) but rather the Austrians’ utter disdain for the movie.

Consider, when it was first released The Sound of Music was only twenty years removed from the end of WWII. The Nazi overtones of the film didn’t sit well with citizens of Austria and Germany. Reviews (and box-office receipts) were not favorable in either country. Coupled with the liberties the producers took with the story, you can see why Salzburg residents don’t exactly “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” to claim the movie as their own.

You’ll find endless trivia about The Sound of Music at IMDB.com and elsewhere. Most facts are meant to point out discrepancies between the film and the actual story. Here are fifteen of “My Favorite Things”:

1) Julie Andrews was cast as Maria, of course, but only because Audrey Hepburn declined the part. Hepburn also denied Andrews the opportunity to play Eliza Doolittle in the movie version of My Fair Lady. Each played the opposite role in the original stage adaptations on Broadway.

2) Andrews kept getting knocked off her feet in the famous opening scene where she sings and spins in an Alpine meadow. She couldn’t keep her balance because the hovering helicopter used to film the scene generated too much wind.

3) Andrews’ hair was meant to be worn longer but a bad color job forced the pixie cut, which Andrews kept for most of her acting career

4) Christopher Plummer was not a fan of The Sound of Music. He reluctantly agreed to the part of Captain von Trapp and regretted every moment on set, especially those with the children. He described working with Julie Andrews as “being hit over the head with a big Valentine’s Day card, every day”. He nicknamed the movie The Sound of Mucus. Much later he acknowledged the film’s worldwide success, as well as the Oscar-nominated talent of Andrews.

5) Plummer regularly drowned his acting sorrows in Salzburg bars and restaurants. As a result his outfits needed to be resized towards the end of filming to accommodate his added weight.

The gazebo (moved from its original location). The interior scenes were filmed In a much larger stage set reproduction.

6) The von Trapp children are Rupert, Agathe, Maria, Werner, Hedwig, Johanna, and Martina… not Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, and Gretl. Also, none of the nine leads are Austrian (which certainly didn’t help the appeal of a film based in Salzburg).

7) Auditions for the parts of the von Trapp children included the four eldest Osmond brothers (not Donny), Kurt Russell, and Richard Dreyfuss.

8) Kym Karath, who played Gretl, the youngest of the von Trapp children, created her fair share of challenges. She had a cold during much of the filming. She almost drowned in the scene where the boat overturns in the lake because she didn’t know how to swim. And she ate enough sweets on set to where her weight was too much for Christopher Plummer. As a result, in the final scene walking over the Alps, Plummer is carrying a stand-in actress instead of Karath.

9) Nicholas Hammond, who played Friedrich, was not a natural blonde so his hair was bleached for the movie. The coloring process caused some of his hair to fall out, which is why you see him wearing a “Tyrolean Traditional Alpine” hat when he’s seen singing “Do-Re-Mi”.

10) The day after the real von Trapp family left Austria (by train to Italy and then to the U.S., not on foot over the Alps to Switzerland), the Germans shut down all of Austria’s borders.

Salzburg’s Schloss Leopoldskron, where lakefront and garden scenes were filmed

11) The real Maria von Trapp is on screen at the beginning of the movie.

12) The real Maria also claims, if you can blieve it, her own personality was livelier than Andrews’ on-screen version.

13) The real Maria taught Julie Andrews how to yodel. Watch the lesson here.

14) The film’s production demanded 4,500 extras, including those in the sold-out theater for the music festival. The audience sings “Edelweiss” as if they know the song, but only because they spent time beforehand learning the words.

15) Despite the aforementioned Austrian disdain, The Sound of Music is played nonstop on the televisions of most Salzburg hotels.

Maybe all of this trivia changes your opinion of The Sound of Music. Not mine. There are countless reasons this film includes the tagline, “The Happiest Sound In All The World”. The Sound of Music will always be that jewel in a glass box, waiting patiently to be enjoyed once more. Suffice it to say, I’ll never say “So Long, Farewell” to the adventures of the von Trapp family.

Some content sourced from the Internet Movie Database (IMDb), and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Season Before the Sun

Every now and then I come across a little fact that makes me feel my age. Fifty years ago this month a one-hit wonder named Terry Jacks released the single “Seasons In The Sun”, which parked at #1 on the music charts for three weeks and burned itself into my twelve-year old brain forever. Any teen from back then will never forget the We had joy, We had fun lyrics. Ironically it wasn’t a happy song (as in …goodbye Papa, it’s hard to die…) but not to worry. Today I want to talk about the season before the sun instead.

Whether you celebrate Easter (this Sunday), the vernal equinox (a week ago Tuesday), or college basketball’s March Madness (on-going), the hints are everywhere: spring is beginning to, uh, spring. For my wife and I, the season means strawberries, when the best of the fruit is available for the next sixty days. For others it means the kids are out of school for a week. But surely there’s no better indication of spring than flowers. The bright bursts put winter’s doldrums behind us while the sun shines more often. Flowers signify new beginnings.

Guys don’t talk about flowers much (unless we’re gardeners) but it doesn’t mean we haven’t had our share of close encounters with them. My first was probably with dandelions (yes, they’re flowers) and the childhood fascination of blowing the blooms into countless flying bits. Growing up in Southern California also meant going to the Rose Parade, where the bigger floats average more than 50,000 flowers. Senior prom was probably the one and only time I bought flowers in high school. Call a wrist corsage awkward if you will, but hey, it beats the terror of pinning flowers on a girl’s dress.

Speaking of awkward, when I first met my wife in college I decided to be coy and send flowers, forcing her to make the next move. But fate played a part when the bouquet was delivered to the wrong dorm, the flowers wilting at the front desk for days. I didn’t hear from her for a while and she didn’t hear from me, and that meant we were thinking nasty thoughts about each other. “Ungrateful” (my end). “Loser” (hers). Another girl finally let her know about the flowers and it’s a good thing she found out. A marriage was saved!

If you’re thinking my spend on flowers is below average, I’m confident I made up for it in a single day: at my daughter’s wedding. Her bouquet, her bridesmaids’ bouquets, down the aisle, around the altar, at the centers of the reception tables, and on and on – the blooms were everywhere. Let’s just say the cost of all that color was probably enough to buy a small car.

I’ve brought home several flower bouquets over the years, whether to my wife or to my mother. What used to be an in-shop, DIY experience is now pretty much Amazon, where you click your way through the colorful screens of 1-800 FLOWERS or FTD to create the perfect arrangement. And as you know, you rarely get the exact look you choose from the photos. The fine print protects the companies by stating something like “depending on availability”.

I like to bake (which is not the same as “to cook”), so when someone says “flower” I’m thinking “flour”. After all, flour is to baking as flowers are to spring. Flowers wouldn’t taste good in my chocolate-chip cookies, but you do find them in other foods. Top your soup with a squash blossom, your tea with chamomile flowers, or your salads with calendulas, pansies, or marigolds. Not for me; no thanks. When it comes to flowers as food additives I might be tempted to say, “the bloom is off the rose”.

Okay, so I went through the lyrics of “Seasons In The Sun” again and noticed …now that the spring is in the air, with the flowers everywhere… , so… what do you know? Terry and I are talking about the same season after all. At least this one lyric brings a little joy and fun to an otherwise depressing song. It’s what this kid born in the 1960s might call “flower power”.

Blogger’s note: “Seasons In The Sun” really was #1 on the music charts exactly fifty years ago this month. My wife and I bought strawberries last weekend, which had me thinking about seasons, which had the song bouncing around in my brain. But the fifty-years thing is an eerie coincidence, don’t you agree? Maybe a higher flower power is at work here.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Roof Rats

My granddaughter has a fancy starter piano with eight colorful keys. A flip of the switch and she can play musical notes, animal sounds, or hear the colors of the rainbow. She’s not even a year old so she pounds more than plays, creating a chorus of owls, frogs, birds, and rabbits. Those four I can handle. But every now and then she throws in a squirrel and the hairs on my neck stand at full attention.

Maybe you agree; it’s a little odd to include a rabbit in keyboard animal sounds (does a rabbit even make a sound?) Admittedly, the little piano trill conjures a furry friend with a twitching nose. On the other hand (paw?) the squirrel sound is a toneless gnawing burst, sounding very similar to the real squirrels who sharpen their teeth on my metal gutters. Whoever created this keyboard is having a good laugh at my expense. “Let’s see; I have the entire animal kingdom at my fingertips and I only need to come up with eight sounds. Let’s go with a squirrel!”

You sense my wrath already (and I’ve only logged a couple of paragraphs). But here’s the thing. I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, typing away, and I can’t claim full concentration because I’m expecting the sound of rodent enamel on metal at any moment. Words fail to describe it. Just imagine the grind of a dull hand saw… back and forth, back and forth on the gutter.

It’s not like the squirrels don’t have other nearby options for hanging out. We have fence lines dividing our pastures; convenient raceways when the squirrels dash to their trees and back. And about those trees: dozens of pines and oaks, with broad branches inviting a squirrel nest or ten. So why is one of them always attracted to the heights of my house?

The battle began last spring. The squirrel scampered happily across the peaks and valleys of my roof, pausing occasionally to gnaw a shingle or a gutter. Eventually he discovered one of my vent pipes tasted pretty good too, and realized with just a bit of mouth work he could open up access to the inside. Now we have a problem. I pictured all kinds of mayhem inside my attic: droppings, nests, stolen insulation, chewed electrical wires. It was time to take action.

My initial defense was a complete failure. The former owner left a full-size plastic owl behind – one of those bobble-head figures that looks remarkably lifelike. So I placed the owl close to the house and watched through the windows. Bobble bobble. The squirrels hesitated from a distance, eventually crawled cautiously closer, then pretty much made friends with my plastic predator. I checked Mr. Hoots recently and noticed his ears had been chewed off.

When yet another squirrel called “dibs” on my roof a few months later I knew it was time to get serious. Looked into my options and dropped a few bucks on a Crosman “American Classic” bolt action pellet pistol, a variable-pump long-barrel that looks more intimidating than it shoots. You drop in the ammo, pump a few times, and the compressed air blasts the pellet to kingdom come.

Now then, here’s why my pellet gun was about as effective as the bobble-head owl. One, my shaky hands have the gun pointing everywhere but directly at an annoying squirrel. Two, I’m old enough to need readers to align the sight at the end of the barrel. And three – and here’s the kicker – the impact of the pellet is nothing more than a gentle nudge. Seriously, these squirrels have so much fur and fat they could probably take a dozen pellets while pawing their little noses at me.

It’s a humble exchange – the squirrels and me. The first time I shot anywhere near one of them, I kid you not – he ducked. He was poised on my roof line staring down at me, wondering what the heck I was about to do, when suddenly BLAM! and my little pellet went whistling harmlessly over his head. Then came the ducking move and the amused stare, as if to say, “Missed me!”

So why do I still fire off a pellet every time a squirrel goes gnawing on my gutter? I think it’s one of those false senses of accomplishment. I take the shot, the shot misses, the squirrel relocates to the other side of the roof, and all goes quiet for another hour or two. Yep, I showed him.

So the battle rages on. There will be future chapters to share in this space, and… and… and right on cue, there goes the hand saw again. Gnaw gnaw gnaw. Time to holster my American Classic and take my best shot again. Oh wait, hold the phone – heh – it’s just my granddaughter playing her little animal sounds over in the living room. I think I’ll go teach her a little something about dentistry and extract a piano key.

First-Name Basis

It’s only Tuesday as I type, but I’ve already cleared my calendar for Friday. After all, I have a very important day ahead of me. So important in fact, I need to organize a parade, raise a flag, and prepare unique dishes for the expected throng of adoring fans. But why am I wasting words on the details? You already know we’re celebrating Saint David’s Day in a few days, don’t you?

They’ll be celebrating in Wales, at least, just as they do every first day of March. You’ll find my cathedral there too, way down in the southwest corner of the country. Well, St Davids Cathedral, I mean. And the funny thing is, he’s not the David you’re thinking of, the one from the Bible who took down Goliath as a boy and became king as a man. This David helped to spread Christianity throughout the UK, united the Welsh people against a warring England, and performed several miracles. David’s a big deal in Wales.

St. Patrick’s an even bigger deal, of course. At least Patrick rates a celebration in the U.S. But admit it, you’re not celebrating Patrick’s spread of Christianity throughout Ireland, nor his miracle of removing all snakes from the land. You’re thinking more about what garment of green to wear, four-leaf clovers, beer, and maybe, just maybe, this is the year you participate in your local St. Paddy’s Day 5k.

This business of saints is interesting to me because, well, it’s not as defined as I was led to believe. The rules and processes to put “Saint” in front a first name are a little vague. Suffice it to say, you need to be a model citizen, as well as a teacher, person of influence, and someone who cares little for the material goods and comforts of this world. I know a lot of people who fill this bill, but add in “wonder worker” or “source of benevolent power” and the list drops to zero.

Saints are also on my mind because I grew up in California and, well, they’re all over the place out there. Francisco to the north. Diego to the south. Barbara somewhere in the middle. My childhood home was right down the street from Monica. My brother lives in Fernando’s valley. 99.9% of the state’s residents think of those as “places”, but firstly they were people. You’ll find “San’s” and “Santa’s” all over the Golden State.

Saints get a little watered down when you consider the Catholic Church’s take on them. More than 10,000 have been recognized over time. Even more to the point, Catholics acknowledge anyone making it to heaven to be a saint. I’d hope that count is way more than 10,000 by now. Maybe it’s the reason we have patron saints: the cream of the crop, the ones regarded as “heavenly advocates of particular nations, families, or people”. My patron saint isn’t David by default, but I sure like his name.

Eat Welsh Rarebit when you celebrate on Friday (grilled cheese on toast, zero rabbit)

Admittedly, my mind wanders somewhere other than historical figures when I think of saints. Our dog is a Saint Bernard, one of those gentle giants you picture with a brandy brandy around the neck. A few years ago we went on a cruise, with a stop in the Baltic Sea port of Saint Petersburg. “St. Elmo’s Fire” is a luminous phenomenon caused by an atmospheric electric field. (also a pretty good movie from the 1980s). And so on.

You can read a bit more about Saint David and his cathedral in one of my very first blog posts: unsung. You’ll discover that his town of Pembrokeshire – the smallest ~~kingdom~~ enclave in the UK – is right across St. George’s Channel from the Irish town of Kildare, where you’ll find St. Brigid’s Cathedral, my wife’s namesake. The blog post is really about Brigid but at least David gets a mention towards the end. Even if you don’t “read a little more”, remember, Friday’s the big day. Parades, flags, and fun food, all for a darned decent guy. Makes me blush anytime somebody says, “Dave, you’re a saint.”

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Dreamy Las Vegas

DID YOU HEAR? The price of Super Bowl tickets dropped this week! That’s right, you and me will pay less for seats today than those jump-the-gun fans who got theirs ten days ago. The game’s in three days so we’ve got no time to lose! Let’s make our travel plans!

I’m gonna surprise my wife. I mean, I’m the bigger football fan, yes, but she’ll be so proud of me for getting our game tickets for less! And to celebrate “all things her” I figure, why not splurge on the rest of the trip since I’m saving money on the game? Once in a lifetime, I’m telling myself. Heck, by the time the Super Bowl comes to Vegas a second time she and I could be dead!

FIRST, new luggage. I want the two of us to be those people, where just a glance at their bags has you thinking, “Whoa, who are they?”. So, a quick trip to Tumi for a couple of their hard-shell packing cases ($1,500 per) and matching carry-on’s ($750). Getting the gold finish too, because you’ve got to look the part if you’re going to Vegas.

SECOND, airfare. I got me an itinerary lickety-split on Expedia, flying American. Leave Thursday, return Tuesday. Turns out we can’t get there direct since we live in the middle of nowhere but at least we can fly first class, for just $6,826, with only $600 in taxes and fees. Score!

THIRD, transportation to the hotel. I’m not about to show up at the front doors with Tumi luggage in a rental car so it’s limo service for us! My choice: a modest SUV for two (well, three, including our private driver). I know, I know, I could’ve gone with the BMW stretch limo that seats twenty-five, but what are my wife and I gonna do – run laps around the inside of it? Besides, the SUV is described as “… for the VIP who prefers discretion” and that’s a great way to describe my wife. Round-trip: $375, with $75 in tips.

NOW THEN, the hotel. Gotta be big and flashy, right? Can’t be going to Vegas and the big game and staying at a Motel 6. Let’s go with the Bellagio. I don’t need a suite but I’d sure like a view of those lovely fountains. The hotel website quotes five nights for a “1 King Bed Fountain View” at $10,113, including $3,144 in resort fees. Yeah, I winced a bit with the five-figure quote but then the website flashed, Jackpot! This is today’s low rate! so I felt much better. The website also added a ten-minute timer on the rate but no worries – I booked it in less than five! Makes the $300 room service dinners seem like nothing, doesn’t it?

In the days leading up to the game I’ll pamper my wife a little. In fact, since I love the view of those Bellagio fountains so much, guess what? I can order up a couples massage right there in the room! Only $650 for the two of us, including $110 of gratitude to the masseuses. Then we’ll be nice and relaxed for a dinner at, say, the Eiffel Tower Restaurant at the Paris Hotel (and another view of those fountains). We’ll start with Casco Bay scallops ($32), followed by mixed greens ($38) and the “Queen’s Cut Beef Tenderloin Filet Mignon” ($138), with a plate of accompaniments and sauces ($42). We’ll finish up with a couple of the house special “Eiffel Tower soufflés” ($44), and wash it all down with a nice enough bottle of red ($80). Another $110 in tax and tips calls it a night.

Now wait a sec’. Since when does anyone in Vegas “call it a night” after dinner? So I thought about taking my wife to a big-name concert at the new Sphere but then it hit me. ‘O’ by Cirque du Soliel is right there in the Bellagio hotel! Two orchestra-center seats: $657, and only $93 tax/fees!

FINALLY… what I’ve been building to for hundreds of words now – Super Bowl XVIII. I’ve never been to Allegiant Stadium before and this’ll probably be my only visit, so… No, I didn’t go completely off the rails (like seats on the fifty or a sky box) but I do want to see the plays up close and personal so it’s got to be lower bowl, at least the 20-yard line. Oh man, what a relief! I found the last pair of tickets in Section C137 for $29,000 out the door (only $5,000 in service fees!) A flame emoji and a blinking “selling fast” sign had me sweating but I managed to get ’em before the next guy! Don’t forget, these same tickets would’ve cost me even more just a week ago. Can I find a bargain or what?

(Yawn… stretch…)

Oh, uh… hey… it’s Dave, your, uh, “weekly blogger”. Holy cow, let me tell you, I just woke up from the craziest dream. I was headed to the Super Bowl last-minute, see, and everything about the trip was the best Vegas had to offer. Hotel, dinner, show, game tickets – the works. Now that I’m awake, I’m wondering what all that fun would’ve cost me. $53,598 comes to mind for some reason but I’m sure I didn’t “spend” anywhere near that amount. Just a crazy dream. Anyway, sorry to write and run but I’ve got to return a call to my bank, asking about unusual activity on my credit card.

Some content sourced from the CNN Business article, “Super Bowl ticket prices have dropped but they still cost a fortune”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Calling… Into Question

When I first started piano lessons as a kid, my teacher gave me a little book of scales and keyboard exercises called “Teaching Little Fingers to Play”. I came across that book again recently, and the title made me think about smartphones. Our grandchildren will get their very first phones one of these days, on which they’ll be teaching their little fingers – not their little voices – to play. Maybe the first word they should type is T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Travis Tritt also wrote “T-R-O-U-B-L-E “, one of his country music hits from the 1990s. The song’s chorus starts out with Well hello, T-R-O-U-B-L-E, Tell me what in the world, You doin’ A-L-O-N-E. Kind of describes kids and their smartphones, doesn’t it? They let their fingers do the talking instead of their voices. It’s hardly a personal relationship with whoever’s on the other end, but more like the one you and I’ve developed through our back-and-forth blog comments.

If you’re an adult with kids who have smartphones, you’ve probably had the following conversation at some point in their lives: Daughter: I talked to Jacob today. Dad: Did you actually TALK to Jacob? Daughter: Well no, we were texting but you know what I mean. Sigh…

Telephones in transition

In a sense (or several senses), smartphones weaken our human connections instead of strengthen them. Think about it: before the traditional telephone our default means of communication was face-to-face (sight). Then the telephone comes along and we go ear-to-ear instead (sound). Then the smartphone replaces ear-to-ear with typing (touch). On the one hand it’s technical evolution; on the other, social regression.

Have a conversation with most members of Gen Z and you’ll want to type A-W-K-W-A-R-D. The dialogue (if there actually is a dialogue) doesn’t flow. They’re hesitant to offer insights or ask questions because they can’t back up the cursor and retype to get their words just right. There are moments of uncomfortable silence; lots of them.

Moments of silence used to be a good thing. Flashback to my teens, when a relationship with a girl meant spending a lot of time on the phone, defined as a corded handset held up to the ear (instead of a speakerphone where you multi-task). Those conversations were priceless to a young person. Phone calls helped to overcome shyness, and were practice to express feelings or ask a girl out on a date. Sometimes we’d just stay on the line in silence, enjoying the fact we were the only person in each other’s moment.

The style I grew up with

Phone calls also helped me learn to talk to adults (and credit to my parents for not making them for me). I still remember those first few dials to people or businesses, nervous over the fact it was me initiating the conversation. What do I say? Won’t I sound stupid? I hope my voice doesn’t crack.

Texting absolutely has its merits, as a recent article in The Atlantic argued. When exchanging brief, useful information, texting is dreamily efficient because there’s none of the “water cooler” effect. As they say, get in, get out, and move on. But when it comes to opinions, recommendations, or more detailed information, phone calls are essential, if only to allow the voice to add emphasis and/or emotion. The Atlantic article made several arguments in support of the “gauche” phone call but surprisingly, “developing conversational skills” didn’t show up until the final paragraph.

Budding conversationalist

When I moved away from Colorado after almost thirty years, I left behind a particularly close friendship, one where we’d see each other weekly for an outdoor jog together. But thanks to Zoom, I didn’t really leave it behind. Once I got to South Carolina we looked at our calendars and booked a monthly videocall, where we could have the same conversations we had on the trail, with added ability to share photos, links, and documents in the moment. Our conversations are as spontaneous as they were when we were face-to-face. It’s a great way to keep in touch and maintain a relationship because technically… it’s a phone call.

Maybe Gen Z will figure this out before Gen A takes its rightful place as America’s youth. If you can’t be face-to-face, at least pick up the phone and have a voice call. Keep the topics light and spontaneous. Let the conversation flow, and don’t get distracted by typing, emojis, or multi-tasking. Build the relationship.

Dare I say it, there’s another word to be spelled on this topic: A-I. I can envision a day when you’re talking to a friend, only you really aren’t because he or she has created an avatar who looks, talks, and thinks just like they do. Heck, maybe their avatar is talking to your avatar, and you’re not even around to witness the conversation! I’d call that another way to spell T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Christmas Customs Crisis?

In the 1971 movie Fiddler on the Roof, the musical numbers are familiar even fifty years after the fact. Songs like “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” and “Sunrise, Sunset” play in my head in the voices of those long-ago performers. But it’s the opening number – “Tradition” – I hear most clearly, in the robust voice of actor Topol. The lyrics, covering the expected roles of father, mother, son, and daughter, speak to maintaining things as they always were. Which brings me to Christmas, and my family’s somewhat threatened traditions.

The easy way out here would be to list mine and ask you for yours. We’d probably have some traditions in common and others we’d be hearing about for the first time. Instead let me ask, are any of them robust enough to make it through the long haul? As fast as the world is changing, you have to wonder what Christmas celebrations will look like ten and twenty years from now. Seriously, do you expect hard-copy Christmas cards in the 2030s? (Will you even have a mailbox?)

The Christmas tree is a good place to start. As I’ve blogged about before, our tree is always real (versus artificial), purchased from a nearby lot after choosing the best fit for the house and budget. This year however, I admit to a pause when I saw the price tags on the branches. I swear the cost of Christmas trees doubled from 2022. Economics says it’s a case of supply and demand, but in this case both are declining. Tree farms surrender to developers. The preference for artificial trees has risen steadily over the past fifteen years (to 77% of us now). So less trees and less demand. My 2030 Christmas may include an artificial tree whether I like it or not.

Christmas dinner faces a similar challenge. The beef tenderloin we prefer for our celebration is a once-a-year luxury but it’s about to become a never-a-year purchase. Even at a big box like Costco a trimmed tenderloin sets you back $40 a serving. You start to wonder if burgers wouldn’t be just as satisfying simply for the money saved. Even better – snacking throughout the day, and then your Christmas dinner appetite will be satisfied by a few side dishes and dessert?

Christmas (Eve) church already faced its toughest test (COVID) but did it really survive? I remember the service we attended in 2020… from the “comfort” of our car with the preacher and the choir at the edge of the church parking lot. The next two Christmases brought parishioners back indoors… but in far fewer numbers. I admit to getting comfortable with “laptop church” every now and then, but Christmas Eve will be in person as long as there are sanctuaries and services.

Christmas carols may be the one tradition where serious change is in order. Maybe you heard; Brenda Lee’s 1958 version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” hit #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 this year . That’s “staying power” (maybe staying a little too long) but it also suggests we’re not creating enough new music. And how many versions of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” are we going to make before we decide not to change the lyrics but rather to ditch the song once and for all? Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, and Karen Carpenter will always have a place on Christmas playlists. The rest are getting old and it’s time for more “new”.

Christmas lights don’t leave much room for debate. Not only will they be shining brighter than ever in the 2030s, they’ll be holographic, animatronic, and experiential. Instead of a drive-thru Christmas display, the display will probably drive through you. You’ll also have the option of enjoying your neighbors’ displays from the comfort of your living room (using the “mixed reality” headset you got for Christmas).

Finally, Christmas movies have pretty much run their course because you can only spin so many stories around the holiday (and anything on the Hallmark Channel doesn’t qualify as a movie). Having said that, I’ll go to my grave watching It’s A Wonderful Life every December. Even if there are no Christmas cards, tree, or dinner, and I’m tortured with yet another version of “Baby It’s Cold Outside”, I know I can always find tradition and the true meaning of Christmas alongside Jimmy Stewart, in a little town called Bedford Falls.

Merry Christmas!

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Five Gold Rings

So… if it really was the fifth day of Christmas you wouldn’t be singing Christmas carols anymore, now would you? I mean, how many of us do Christmas anything after December 25th? Not many. Accordingly this post is an early Christmas present to you: five carols worthy of the coveted Gold Ring award. “It’s impossible”, you say. “Select only five Christmas carols?” Yes, I get you, but today’s challenge isn’t fruit(cake)-less. We just need a few rules to refine the recipients:

You can’t choose more than one from the same singer (which eliminates about five hundred from Amy Grant).
You can’t choose more than one version of the same song (in other words, please dream of only one “White Christmas”).
Your choices should dance into your head like sugar plums, instead of having to consult your several Spotify holiday playlists.
(and perhaps the most difficult): Your choices should qualify as “carols” and not just “songs”. I mean, c’mon people, if we’re giving out gold rings the music better convey the spirit of Christmas, right?

Here then, my five gold rings; the ones adorning my hand every Christmas for as long as I can remember (or at least, for as long as Carrie Underwood’s been alive). They’re probably not the same as your five gold rings but that’s okay, because you wouldn’t give me the same presents I give you, would you? Would you?

Sissel Kyrkjebo/Mormon Tabernacle Choir – “In The Bleak Mid-Winter”. The Methodist church I grew up in always reserved a spot for this 1906 carol in its Christmas Eve services, so it blooms with nostalgia for me. Sissel’s angelic voice – backed by The Choir – captivates me every time, especially on the introspective lyrics of the final verse. I think you’ll agree; Sissel is as graceful as one of those seven swans a-swimming.

Amy Grant – “Breath of Heaven”. I love everything Amy Grant sings about Christmas (until her 2016 album “Tennessee Christmas” came along, which was as bad as curdled eggnog). I thought it would be difficult to choose just one of her carols, but “Breath of Heaven” is Amy’s unparalleled signature to Christmas. The lyrics “Help me be strong… help me be… help me…” always get to me, and are as successive as three french hens, one after another.

Laura Story – “I Lift My Eyes”. Laura Story is a pastor, songwriter, and singer (better known for her contemporary Christian hit “Blessings”). She sings from the heart. Of the ten carols a-leaping on her Christmas album “God With Us”, “I Lift My Eyes” leaps the highest. Frankly, it soars.

Michael W. Smith – “Almost There”. Bit of a cheat here because Amy Grant shares in the singing, but I still consider this one a standout Michael W. Smith carol. The lyrics speak to Mary’s journey to Bethlehem, her journey to the birth itself, and anyone’s journey through Advent to Christmas. You could also say it’s a carol about the partridge pursuing the pear tree, but not quite to the branches yet.

Carrie Underwood – “All Is Well”. Michael W. Smith also gets the credit for this one, which was recorded by two other artists before this latest rendition. The lyrics are simple and repetitive, but with Carrie’s ridiculous range you’ve got something more powerful than eleven pipers piping. Carrie draws out the final (all is) “well” for so long, you’ll wonder if it isn’t New Years Day when the carol is done.

So there you have them, and now it’s time for your own gold rings. Remember, five off the top of your head, only one per singer, only one version of any choice, and music that speaks reverently to the season. Gift your rings back to me in the comments and we’ll feel as cozy as two turtle doves. Whatever those are.

It’s Thanksgiving Season (#1)

Listen carefully… hear the clock a-tick-tick-ticking? Better hurry up! You’re already a day (or more) into the Thanksgiving season and you have so much to do! “No Dave”, you correct me, “Thanksgiving’s just one day (or at most a long weekend) way-ay-ay at the end of the month… I still have plenty of time to prepare!” No you don’t. Junk that perception, online friends, because the times they are a-changin’. I, blogger Dave, hereby decree Thanksgiving to be three weeks… and the season’s already underway. So c’mon – get grateful already!

It’s fitting I’m writing this post on Halloween, “… the conclusion of spooky season…” as Lyssy in the City referred to it. And isn’t it true? Just like Christmas, the air goes out of the holiday balloon the very next day. Cinderella’s carriage turns back into a pumpkin at midnight (ironically). There is no “residual” spooky season on November 1st. Halloween died the night before.

Retailers are determined to steamroll Halloween and Thanksgiving with the Christmas season, of course. The artificial trees and decorations were available for purchase at Costco and Lowes this year before the Halloween candy even colored the shelves. As I said in Third-Wheel Meal two years ago, Thanksgiving is fighting an uphill battle between the ever-expanding seasons before and after. It’s like a sandwich with two massive pieces of bread but not much in between.

Thanksgiving is not just another holiday in my book; it’s a uniquely American holiday. It’s the one we’ve been celebrating in the U.S. for 160 years thanks to the persistence of one Sarah Josepha Hale (who also wrote “Mary Had a Little Lamb”). Hale, along with Abraham Lincoln’s stroke of the presidential pen, made sure the holiday was “permanent… an American custom and institution”. Gives this juncture in the holiday season a little more respect, wouldn’t you say?

Like an Advent calendar, I propose we take twenty-three days to be grateful for what we have. Open the little cardboard door on any given morning of November and the question will always be the same: What are you thankful for today? Surely you can come up with twenty-three things. Or how about twenty-three people? Wouldn’t it be something if you told one person how grateful you are to have them in your life… every day until Thanksgiving Day?

As with Christmas, it’s not the wrapping; it’s the gift inside. Thanksgiving goes way deeper than turkey and football. If you’re planning a trip to America and don’t know much about Thanksgiving, VisitTheUsa.com is not helping my cause. The website reduces Thanksgiving into turkey and pie, Turkey Trots, parades, football, the pardoning of a single turkey, “shop ’til you drop”, and the travel challenges of a four-day weekend. Really? That’s the meaning of America’s Thanksgiving?

Maybe it would help if moviemakers and songwriters joined my cause. I mean, think about it. Halloween movies come to mind without much thought (with some, like A Nightmare on Elm Street, approaching ten sequels). Hallmark churns out Christmas movies faster than you churn out Christmas cookies. But are there any movies about Thanksgiving? Well, yes actually, just this year we have Thanksgiving (the movie). But please, don’t seek out the trailer. This garbage has nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with gratuitous violence.

I was going to make the same case for music. Halloween has you dancing to “Thriller” and “Monster Mash”. Christmas has you “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”. There is no “Thanksgiving carol”. But then I remembered Amy Grant’s “‘Til the Season Comes ‘Round Again” (my wife’s favorite). It’s a song about Christmas, make no mistake, but you could argue there’s a little Thanksgiving dressing mixed into the first verse:

Come and gather around at the table
In the spirit of family and friends
And we’ll all join hands and remember this moment
‘Til the season comes ’round again

Get what I’m saying? Take the next three weeks and find the true meaning of Thanksgiving. Like Halloween, the treats will still be there on November 23rd. Like Christmas, you’ll still have the stress of travel and getting things done. Those holidays are about finding your inner child. This one’s about finding your inner adult. So c’mon – get grateful already!

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Mom-and-Pop Music

Flip through the chapters of my life and you’ll find a bookmark at 1975. It was the year I became a teenager. It was the year I started middle school. But most importantly, 1975 was my first foray into Top 40 music. In those days, punk, funk, disco, and metal were just getting started; all too progressive for a kid taking his first dip into the pool of radio rock. Instead, my preference was to chew on something a little sweeter. Like bubble gum.

In the 1970s, I was way too young to witness the birth of rock and roll. I also missed the advent of pop music. But I was right on time for a musical genre known as bubblegum. Bubblegum siphoned off pop music’s more catchy, upbeat tunes and marketed them to children and adolescents. And what better way to market theses songs than kid TV? Anyone who ever watched The Partridge Family, The Monkees, or the cartoon rock of The Archies on Saturday mornings enjoyed bubblegum music.

As for 1970s Top 40, it’s easy to look back on those weekly lists and find bubblegum. “Love Will Keep Us Together” (Captain & Tennille), “Laughter In The Rain” (Neil Sedaka), and “He Don’t Love You, Like I Love You” (Tony Orlando and Dawn) are just a few examples from fifty years ago. Like most things back then, music was more innocent.

Having said that, bubblegum wasn’t even specific enough to define my own tastes. The industry standard Billboard Magazine generates a Hot 100 list at the end of every year based on sales and radio plays. It’s fun to go through the 1975 list and recognize just about every song. But I was looking for three names in particular and – no surprise – all of them made the list with multiple entries. Hello again, John, Olivia, and Barry.

John Denver was only 53 when he was tragically killed piloting a single-engine plane above California’s Monterey Bay, yet he managed to create over twenty-five years of gentle hits before that. When I first heard his voice he’d already landed top-ten’s like “Leaving on a Jet Plane” (from the movie Armageddon for you younger readers), “Take Me Home, Country Roads”, and “Rocky Mountain High”. One of Denver’s biggest hits, “Annie’s Song”, was a love song to his first wife. Another, “Calypso”, paid tribute to the late ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau. I purchased most of Denver’s albums (cassette tapes!) with a good chunk of my meager teenage savings.

I was an Olivia Newton-John fan well before 1978’s Grease became a Hollywood phenomenon. Newton-John and her sweet Australian accent were an instant teenage crush, with songs like “If You Love Me, Let Me Know”, “Have You Never Been Mellow”, and “I Honestly Love You”. Then Grease came along and good-girl-turned-bad Olivia turned my teenage heat up several notches. A testament to Newton-John’s popularity came in the form of 100 million records sold, fifteen top-ten singles, and four Grammy awards. To this day, the soundtrack to Grease remains one of the world’s best-selling albums.

Barry Manilow and his music are more of a confession than the two we’ve already visited with. It wasn’t at all cool to admit to liking Manilow’s “adult contemporary” music back then. His hits were better suited for your parents, like “Mandy”, “This One’s For You”, and “Even Now”. “Copacabana” was a dance number you couldn’t get out of your head. “I Write the Songs” spoke to my inner-musician wannabe. Manilow’s talents on the keyboard certainly captured my attention as I pursued the piano myself. Unlike Denver and Newton-John, I purchased every Barry Manilow album as soon as it hit the shelves. Somewhere in my attic I still have a boxed CD collection of his best work.

Like him or not, what is remarkable about Manilow is his enduring popularity. He has been ensconced in Las Vegas for years now. He just completed his 600th performance at Westgate’s Resort & Casino (an achievement which prompted this post), breaking a record held by Elvis Presley. The one time I saw him in concert – at an outdoor venue in the Bay Area – I knew every song he performed. Sure, almost all of his audience members are now graying at the temples, and his popular music is from five decades ago (!) but you still have to give him props. The man has staying power.

Do I still listen to John, Olivia, or Barry? No, but I can sing entire songs from memory. There’s nothing like the music of those three to take me back to my teenage years. Call it adult contemporary if you want, but this guy will always think of it as “Pop” music.

Some content sourced from The Atlantic article, “It’s Okay to Like Barry Manilow”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.