Acknowledge. Then, move on.

Sometimes, an orchestra director chooses to acknowledge an issue with his players passively instead of harping on it.  (Yes, it happens sometimes.)  My high school orchestra always knew when the director was unhappy with the class's playing but didn't want to dwell on it.

"Goooooing onnnnn...," he'd say, elongating the syllables to let us know he heard our miscues.  Other times, at the end of a movement the class hadn't played well, he'd say, "Pitch that, and go to (the name of the next movement, piece, or composer.)"

Sometimes, that's the best approach for a director to take with an orchestra.  Acknowledge indirectly that you heard the musicians' mistakes, infer that more practice is needed without saying it, and then, go on to the next movement or piece.

Does anyone else hear this?

Sometimes, I wonder if I'm the only one who hears the common ground between certain tunes.  For instance, does anyone else who hears Nilsson's "Gotta Get Up" think, "Billy Joel could sing that. I don't know if he would have written such a song, but his voice fits it?"  Or, when listening to Gerry Rafferty's "Night Owl," has anyone else ever thought, "This could segue with ABBA's 'Take A Chance On Me.'  'Night Owl''s opening riff sounds like a slower version of Take A Chance...''s theme?"  Or, am I hearing things in those songs that aren't there to the extent I think they are?  Is there wisdom I should heed from Paul Simon's "Think Too Much (B)" or "Think Too Much (A)?" I wonder...

Persistent earworm alert XLV

Since yesterday, a tune from 1978 has been on my mind, for unknown reasons.  Allan Clarke, a former lead singer of The Hollies, recorded a tune I hadn't thought of in years, "(I Will Be Your) Shadow In The Street."  Listening to it now, it strikes me as a somewhat friendlier way of conveying the "You won't forget me" sentiments found in the Stevie Nicks-penned Fleetwod Mac tune, "Silver Springs" or the surveillance aspects of The Police's "Every Breath You Take."  Conceivably, it could work as background music for a commercial about drones.   I think it would also segue with Lee Ritneour and Eric Tagg's  "It It You?" 

It's odd how a song that you haven't heard in years can suddenly click with you on multiple levels.

FM dial scan highlights LXXV

Afternoon and late night standouts heard recently:

KDHX 88.1 FM

• Stand Tall-Childish Gambino (Jazzy, inspirational R&B vocals with fusion-style instrumentation seemingly pulled out of the '70s.  Something about the tune, especially from the 4:45 mark on, fit particularly well with the out-of-character-for-January 71-degree temperature in St. Louis this afternoon...)
• The Three Of Me-William Bell (...and it segued well with this bluesy, well-sung tune about deciding what kind of person you want to be.  Both of these songs were released in 2016; I wish I'd known that last year.)

WSIE 88.7 FM

• Wade In The Water-Eva Cassidy (A natural fit for Cassidy's soaring voice.)
• Fadin' Away-Robert Cray (A good midtempo blues number, with a reassuring reminder from Cray that "good times always follow the bad.")

KCLC 89.1 FM

• Old Friends-Everything But The Girl (Tracey Thorn's voice is ideal for bittersweet, nostalgic lyrics such as these.)
• Everyday I Write The Book-Elvis Costello (An example of how tastes change: When this song was released, I was indifferent to it.  Over time, however, I came to appreciate its lyrics and low-key, midtempo vibe.  I understand now why it's one of Costello's most-played tunes on the radio.)

Appreciating live albums and band intros

I've always liked band intros on live albums because they give the players their due and, quite often, end an album on an upbeat or warm note.  My favorite band intro is on the "Scratch" album by The Crusaders.  During "Way Back Home," trombonist Wayne Henderson tells the audience, "I want to tell you who's playing for you--individually, though..."  With the audience's approval, he introduces Max Bennett, Larry Carlton, Wilton Felder, Stix Hooper, and Joe Sample, expressing his appreciation for the musician and/or a mention of each artist's hometown or nickname.  Joe Sample's keyboard underscores the intros, and after Henderson says, "...We got one more--me, Wayne Henderson, trombone...," the rest of the band joins in just in time for Felder's saxophone solo.  The Crusaders finish "Way Back Home" with an appropriate concert-ending keyboard flourish from Sample.  I imagine the audience at The Roxy the night the concert was recorded must have gone home glowing as much as the musicians.

Decades ago, I used to think that live albums were, at best, a compromise.  I thought, "Even if a live album contains good versions of a band's tunes, they're likely to be imperfect and marred by crowd noise."  What I didn't see then but definitely acknowledge now is that a strong live performance can be even better than a studio album.  Instead of a technically perfect, patched-together-from-multiple-takes studio edit, you get an honest picture of how the band played on a particular night, solos that weren't on the original recording, and a glimpse of the band's humanity and appreciation for its audience.  Not a bad combination of benefits for the money you shell out...

An occupational hazard of vinyl

I remember listening to a singer-songwriter radio show in the '90s.  The DJ gave a thoughtful intro to the song she was about to play, saying that it was appropriate for such a rainy day.  Then, the song started.  It was immediately apparent that she was playing a record, as a contemplative singer who recorded a thoughtful song at 33 RPM was singing--at 45 RPM.  When that happens, the DJ can fade the song out and start another song.  Or, the DJ can switch the turntable speed and open the microphone to say, "Let's try this again."  A third option is to switch the turntable speed during the song without explaining what happened.  The DJ in this case went with option three, causing the singer's voice to careen from an overly caffeinated chipmunk octave to her natural alto sound.  Alas, if an announcer plays enough records on the air or in a club, that's bound to happen at least once in a career.  Obviously, turntables aren't used nearly as often these days, but certain college stations and noncommercial stations still use them part of the time.

Tardy? Yes, but...

I've written before about Mr. D., my middle and high school orchestra director.  Mr. D. had a sense of time that was all his own.  Fairly often, he would start talking after class about a piece we were playing, a piece another orchestra was playing, or about his experiences as a music teacher.  During my junior year, I would ask him to fill out a tardy excuse slip for my next class.  After about five minutes of additional talking, I'd have to ask him to change the time on the slip.  It got to the point where he just dispensed with the tardy slips.  Instead, I asked him to initial a piece of notebook paper.  I would walk into my sixth hour class, hold up the page with Mr. D.'s initials, and the teacher wouldn't question it.  After all, he'd heard about Mr. D.'s in-his-own-world ways.  Considering that music teachers often exist in their own reality, I probably wasn't the only student who had such a routine.