Waiting for Gergiev

Like the amateur theater company in Waiting for Guffman, we slogged through a winter of discontent, preparing Soviet Music for a spring concert to be conducted by Maestro Valery Gergiev. Universally we were disappointed with Shostakovich. It is heavy handed when seen in its most flattering light. We struggled with the Russian text. As singers we are familiar with Latin and German. Russian is relatively unfamiliar, although we had done it last year. Our previous experience did not prepare us for our encounter with modern Russian. After all, last year we performed two chants in which the language was pretty simple.

Linguistics is a fascinating field. Why is there such a stark difference in pronunciation - the way in which sound is formed? Dunno. I slept through that lecture. We have now encountered the letter L in several permutations: the almost liquid Russian sound in the back of the throat; the German sound that is almost on the tip of the tongue; and the English letter that bounces squarely off the roof of the mouth. No question: if you do it wrong it does not sound like the right language.

A large part of this assignment was trying to get a handle on the Russian sound. We had great help: tapes from the language coach of the Metropolitan Opera and a huge effort from one of our members and the director. We were directed to memorize the work. Not being a savant, it was tough going to get the odd sounds into my head, let alone my mouth. Happily, by the time of the concert it was there.

We spent more than two months preparing for essentially 15 minutes of music. It took every bit of that time for me to be comfortable with it. I clattered some of those syllables like dropped dinnerware, and it took till the very end to get them in place. The music was secondary. There was nothing subtle about it, although as we went along the beauty of the work began to reveal itself. Having been braced to dislike it, it was a great relief to find moments of inspiration.

We braced ourselves for a rehearsal with Gergiev. After so many weeks of practice, there was confidence that we would not screw up but we did not know if the Maestro would like what he heard.
When we sang Mahler's 2nd Symphony last year, we had an encounter with him. After all, ten minutes cannot be called a rehearsal. He listened to us run through our part and approved. With barely a comment he thanked us and dismissed us. We were prepared for a similar experience this time. It was encouraging that, when he heard us, he did not immediately close his book and head for the door. Finally! The guidance of the master. "Sing marcato (march-like, brisk, pointed) - like a sword." He commented that we would probably not be audible over the brass section. We retooled our legato phrasing into war-like grunts, easier to hear over the battery of percussion and the heavy brass corps. This rehearsal, covering two pieces, lasted nearly 45 minutes. A marathon.

Our group of adult choristers had been joined by a few professionals and the elite college choir also led by our director. After the Maestro departed, we were chided by our director. "There is a culture of procrastination," he intoned, comparing us unfavorably to the youth corps and mercenaries. He seems to forget that we are a volunteer army. Some of us were late getting to rehearsal. Infuriating but most of us were there, and the stragglers had good reason no doubt. Nevertheless, the rehearsal went very well, and we left feeling that we were ready for the performance.

Who are we? We are capable of performing at professional caliber but only some of us are professional singers. We are teachers, scientists, scholars, professionals and just folks, united in a love of music and the ability to bring voice to it. We bring enthusiasm to our task, a great desire to do it well, despite lacking the natural gifts of outstanding performers. The fellow to my right explained it this way. "I was a musician in high school - good but never the best. Now I have sung here many times, and it has fulfilled my expectations. I have played a secondary role, which after all is what I should play." So do we all but the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.

Most of us arrived at the Great Hall on time, early even, and prepared for the run-through, followed shortly after by the performance. We trooped up the backstairs on to the stage in our concert regalia, only to find orchestra and conductor in mufti. We waited for our big entrance, foreshadowed by crashing drums and a factory horn, then sang away for a solid ten or so minutes. We retreated back to the Choir Warren, a room too small for the numbers, without adequate seating or ventilation but oddly equipped with stove and microwave.

An hour later we took the stage and gave a very good rendition of the work. The Maestro, the orchestra, the crowd and our director all seemed pleased by the effort. We withdrew again, changed out of formal wear and dispersed into the overcast city. Not bad for a culture of procrastinators.

At the Movies

Paradise Now is a Palestinian film about two men who decide to become suicide bombers. They vacillate about their decision, and the film expounds didactically about the reasons for and against martyrdom. We are offered competing arguments by people of conviction. It is difficult for me, an American Jew, to give fair consideration to the reasons in favor of martyrdom, however a few eventually got through.

In the West Bank, you can buy films of the martyrs made prior to their acts. You also can buy films of collaborators just before they are executed. The collaborator films are in greater demand and would fetch more money, but out of respect for the martyrs, the price is the same.

The martyr's mentality essentially is that Palestine is occupied by Israel. The occupation is hell, and it is better to die heroically than to live in hell. This philosophy is not rooted in Islamic fundamentalism.

We are taught as Jews that Jews can never be oppressors. The film forces one to consider the Palestinian plight through their eyes. Their world is impoverished and bleak. It is pervaded by rootlessness and a sense of futility. They are confined within the West Bank and Gaza, not free to move about, under the nominal protection of the Palestinian Authority. However, Israel has demonstrated its willingness to violate this authority when it rolled its tanks into Ramallah and cut off Yassir Arafat from the outside world. The Palestinians have no military and are unable to defend themselves.

When the bombers cross the West Bank border into Tel Aviv, the landscape is filled with the vision of shiny, new buildings. The cars are new and brilliant, the opposite of the burnt-out shells littering the Palestinian landscape. It is no less striking than Dorothy leaving monochromal Kansas for technicolor Oz.

Although there is no name given in the film to the political movement staging the bombing, it is difficult not to think about Hamas and its recent electoral victory. Israel has cut off the flow of revenues to which the Palestinian Authority is entitled, stating that it will not support the Authority unless Hamas foreswears terrorism and rescinds its platform for the destruction of Israel. This is understandable from an Israeli point of view. However, the Palestinians would say that this is another act of thuggery by an oppressor nation, punishing the Palestinians for exercising their right to vote. Palestine threw out the discredited Fatah Party, which also advocated terrorism and the destruction of Israel, in favor of Hamas, a party that had galvanized the voters with promises to end corruption and improve life for the people. It is too early to tell if Hamas will move to the center, as some predict. In this case, one must watch the hands and listen to the words.

Experience Necessary - Topsy Turvy Revisited

Most of the time that a Presidential administration engages in a coverup, it is a lousy idea. The initial goof, however embarassing, is rarely as damaging as the attempt to conceal it. Katrina Gate, however, is one of those stories that the President was smart to try to smother. This week's release of the pre-storm video conference, showing what Bush knew and when he knew it, caused six months of denials to evaporate. Bush failed to act upon the certain knowledge that a storm "bigger than Hurricane Andrew" was about to touch down on the Louisiana shore and the almost as certain understanding that the levees would not hold. Like the Seinfeld bunch, our man in Washington is guilty of criminal indifference.

The video conference footage itself is bizarre. Sitting at the far end of a long table in a makeshift setting at the Crawford Ranch, Bush, his face shrouded in darkness, recites the bullet points provided about helping the good folks in the zone of danger. There is a sound man sitting behind him to this left, someone else seated at his right. The one-camera setup at a distance offered no close-up of the President's face. From a distance, one could not help but notice his rigidity. He has to be thinking, "When will this all be over?" It's not sure if he's thinking about the video conference or his second term.

Bush did nothing about the coming storm. He did not mobilize supplies, people, evacuation efforts. He did not send in the National Guard, but then they were previously engaged, bird-dogging (we'll get to the VP soon) oil fields in Iraq. His stunned expression immediately after hearing of the September 11 attacks reappeared in the video conference. The only difference this time was that someone had pulled together some bullet points, which Bush repeated ad nauseam.

The coverup is scandalous because Bush has denied vehemently having prior knowledge of the storm's potential. Bush's levee has been breached, and the waters are running free at last. Yes, he knew -- and he did nothing. Even if the damage was unavoidable, mobilization could have saved and protected people's lives. The administration's failure to act is disgraceful. Politically, it is such bad news that it truly is worse than the coverup, although it confirms again that Bush has no compunction about lying, as if additional confirmation were needed, or pushing off blame on subordinates and those who criticize him. Damage control is not new. The lack of damage prevention may not be new, but rarely has its failure been so blantant and clueless. 2008 cannot get here fast enough. What people like Bush and Clinton fail to recognize is that, short of treason, a Presidential acknowledgement of wrongdoing is the quickest way to kill a hot story.

As a leftward leaning democrat, it would never have crossed my mind to vote for Bush in 2000 or 2004. But, assuming all things were equal, and my vote was undecided, it would have gone for Gore for the simple reason that Gore already had executive experience. This being the executive branch of government, its first duty is to execute and carry out the laws of the nation and to further the interests of the American people.

Bush attempted to counter this image by bringing on board experienced members of previous adminstrations. Indeed, whatever the political disagreements, it made one think that even if the man at the top is a marionette, we may get a few adroit puppeteers. This turned out to be a disappointment. Not only where such old hands as Cheyney and Rumsfeld, along with their staffs, ideologues of a high order but they have not done a good job bringing order to the chaos inherent in West Wing operations.

FEMA was placed under the direction of Homeland Security, which has been nothing but four years of pork and handouts. They were not ready or able to handle the crisis. This is not a surprise. The administration has failed to produce adequate results except for production of favoritism legislation. Anyone who's ever been warned about magicians would know it. My father told me to ignore the running commentary and watch the magician's hands. He was right, you know. See if you catch the President's slight of hand.