in concert
Photo by Steve Twedt
Hundreds and hundreds of people turned up for the Rainier Beer Sunbust at Skinner’s Butte last Saturday.
Rainier Sunbust good, but too long
Albert Collins, Charlie Musselwhite and the Felix Omar Band, and for
free, that’s not bad. And it wasn’t, The first Rainier Beer Sunbust of the
summer was Saturday at Skinners Butte Park and, although it didn’t run as
smoothly as one could expect, it was a nice afternoon for those who wanted to
lie on the grass, relax, and enjoy some mighty fine music.
Since sometimes you have a tendency to remember the bad things first, we
might as well get them out of the way. The biggest problem occured with the
lack of promptness of the musicians. KASH radio, who co-sponsered the
event with Rainier, had advertised the show to begin at 1 p.m., but the
producers weren’t scheduled to go on until 2 p.m. So it was almost 3 p.m.
before Charlie Musselwhite ambled on stage. With the late start and the
frequent power outages that were caused by a iack of power in the park,
what was originally scheduled to be a three hour show ended up lasting
longer than anyone ever expected. The sound system also caused some
difficulties.
Even with all the problems that were apparent, I don’t think that they
should overshadow what was, indeed, a fine afternoon in the park.
More than anything I think you have to remember that the whole show was
free and brought to you for your pleasure and enjoyment. Rainier Beer was,
for sure, trying to sell a few more bottles of beer, but how many companies
do you know that would shell out the kind of money for a free concert? I think
they deserve to sell some more beer, and, without trying to sound like I have
been bought off, they are giving you a break, so why not pick up a six-pack of
Rainier next time and give them a break, too.?
All breaks aside, it was sure good to hear the fine harp work of Charlie
Musselwhite. Musselwhite has been blowing harp for a long, long time, and
there just aren’t many people around who can even come close to his ex
pertise as a blues harpist. I had never seen Charlie Musselwhite before, so I
had nothing to compare him to, but I sure thought he played a fantastic set.
That’s more than I can say for Felix Omar.
After getting into the bflies with Charlie Musselwhite, it was hard to get
behind the driving, screaming sounds of hard rock. I think under different
circumstances I might have enjoyed the Omar Band a little more, but as it
was, I could hardly wait for Albert Collins.
The wait for Albert Collins dragged on and on. Power failures and a long
set kept Omar cm stage for almost three hours. By this time many of the
people who had sat quietly through the entire afternoon began to give up and
head for home. Unfortunately I am one of the ones who just got too tired to
stay apy longer. I had been at the park for nearly seven hours and I just
burned out. I really wanted to hear Albert CCollins and I knew I was going to
write this damned thing but seven hours was just more than I could handle.
I had a nice afternoon, met some fine poeple, got pretty bombed, and
listened to some good music, and you just can’t beat the price.
The next Rainier Sunbust is August 4 with Stoneground. Hopefully, things
will run a little more smoothly but even if they don’t I’m sure it will be just as
nice an afternoon.
Before closing, I think I should comment on the fine staging of the concert
which was done by the Thunder Circus People from Portland. Mike Neeley
and his boys did an outstanding job with the set-up and the staging. They will
handle the next Sunbust too, so we are almost guaranteed another successful
concert.
Another plus for the afternoon was the warm-up performance by
Eugenean Ron Lyodd who got things off with a little folk guitar and some
spirited vocals.
Bruce Micklus
II
uth Rilling
bring
to
baroque
special warmth
and richness
The Summer Festival olMusic is with us once again and, likewise,
German conductor Helmut Rilling stars for4iis fourth straight year
as the main attraction. Su#ay evening at Central Lutheran Church
witnessed the perforfhano #f two cantatas and ti motet by Johann
Sebastian Bach under the c lection of Meister Rilling. It was a strong
emotion-packed performan t—sometimes banal, often very moving—
but lacked the grace and efeance associated with more “authentic”
renditions by, say, the Vinnfl Concentus MusUas under Nikolaus
Harnoncourt. It was not am rening for Bach purists.
But first, a word is due be program booklet sold at $1 a shot as a
companion to this summers series of concerts. The Festival Com
mittee did themselves pro 1 coming up with an attractive program
format and layout comma urate with the quality of these summer
performances. Informativ, though brief, notes accompany the
program for each concert I especially appreciated Virginia Han
cock’s simple and concise form analysis of the Motet Jesu, meine
Freude (Jesus, my Joy) rhich enhanced my enjoyment and un
derstanding of its performa ce Sunday evening. Included, as well, is a
complete run-down of persnnel involved, the guest artists and the
members of the choir and orchestra. Too often we tend to take the
latter for granted.
The text translations, however, are far from adequate and often
misleading, evidently culled from some old English performance
edition. The first three lines in the third verse of the chorale Jesu,
meine Freude (fifth movement of the Motet) are a case in point where
the music depicts the fiery breath of the old dragon and not the roar of
the MGM lion.
Program Text
Fie, fie, thou roaring lion,
Fie, thou foe of Zion,
Fie, all fears, and cease.
German Text
Trotz dem alten Drachen,
Trotz dem Todesrachen,
Trotz der Furcht dazu.
Translation
Despite the old dragon.
Despite the jaws of death,
Despite the fear thereto.
Enough said: Jetzt, zur Sache!
The concert opened with Cantata 150 Nach dir, Herr, verlanget
mich (For You, Lord, I long). After a fine rendering of the short sin
fonia by the instrumental ensemble, the choir entered singing the first
of several magnificent choruses contained in this work. This first
choral movement is characterized by a descending chromatic line
heard periodically in all voice parts, and the choir tended to oversell
this feature often destroying the continuity of the beautiful
polyphonic writing.
If, however, one accepts the performers’ adage that the first piece
of a program is a throwaway, we received more <$han ample
repayment cn the short soprano aria immediately fottowing and in the
subsequent choruses. Soprano soloist Marie Seymour possesses £
gflfgeous focused instrument with which she wooed the audience with
its luscious sonority. The rather frenzied and violent rendition of the
alto-tenor-bass terzett created a truly delightful picture of “tempests
wildly blowing.” The final chorus of the cantata, a chaconne, in ad
dition to being well executed, afforded again the pleasure of hearing
the four soloists. Special mention is due Virginia Hancock, alto soloist,
who sang with beautiful rich tone and a graceful sense of melodic line.
God bless Neil Wilson! Cantata 82 Ich habe genug, freely tran
slated “I’ve had enough,” closed the first half of the Sunday evening
program. A solo cantata, it is perhaps the most introspective and
contemplative handed down to us by the great master. Bass soloist
Neil Wilson expertly^oYtayed the joy of Simeon, who, having held the
baby Jesus in his arms, is anxious to face death, his life then having
been fulfilled. Superb tone, flawless diction, phenomenal breath
control, a beautiful sense of line—what more can one say?
In the two outer movements, oboist James Mattheson’s liquid
tone, facility, and fine musical taste added measurably to the sublime
mood of the cantata. I should like to thank him, too, for volunteering
some ornaments not found in the score, especially at the da capo
repeats of these two arias.
The central aria Schlummert ein (Slumber now), a lullaby,
proved to be a high point. Here, the ensemble of soloist Wilson, con
ductor Rilling, and orchestra, created a tranquility not attained
elsewhere during the evening. Through a fabric of lilting strings
which, so to speak, rock the cradle, Wilson wove a melodic thread of
peaceful reassurance to the tired soul weary of earthly endeavors and
awaiting heavenly peace. A feature of this aria is Bach’s unique
handling of cadential formulas whereby the penultimate chord of the
cadence closes a phrase and, following a pause (rest), the ultimate
chord initiates the next. Rilling exploited the tension created at these
cadence points with artful mastery—the release of tension coming
always just at the right moment.
The Festival Choir of some 50-odd voices finally had its chance to
shine in the Motet Jesu, meine Freude. With only instrumental
doubling of the vocal lines by strings and occasional winds (notably in
the ninth movement), the choir treated the audience to the glorious
sonority of a large mixed vocal ensemble. Although employing no
harpsichord continuo here, Rilling retained the violone doubling the
bass line one octave lower than sung. Consisting of movements, the
odd numbered being six verses of the chorale Jesu, meine Freude, the
five even numbered ones taken from Paul’s Letter to the Romans
8:1,2,9,10,11, the architecture of the work clearly manifested itself
arriving at a natural climax in the central sixth movement and
descending from there to the final movement, a chorale har
monization identical with that of the first movement. It is this type of
large scale architecture that Rilling projects so well and few are his
equal.
There were, to be sure, some strange moments—the clipped
timing of rests in the second movement, the ugly grunting and
shouting of the basses in the third and fifth movements; but the
beautiful qualities of^his performance greyly outweighed these few
unfortunate shortcomings. The tenors shone radiantly with a small
but robust transparent tone. It was as though I hadn’t heard them
earlier in the program because, I guess, the orchestra had tended to
cover them. The ninth<jnovement, Gute Nacht, o Wesen (Good night, o
being), reached a level of grace and elegance unlike anything else
heard that evening. For sopranos, altos, and tenors (the bass section
and, thank goodness, the double bass were here absent), this fifth
verse of the chorale bids farewell to the wordly life of sin, pride, and
splendor; and the mood projected here was certainly one of humility
and sfihplicity.
Helmuth Rilling brings to Baroque music, and notably here to the
works of J. S. Bach, a warmth and richness which we today often
mistakenly refer to as romantic schmaltz. To be sure, he is no slave to
Baroque performance practices (he often ignores them) which may
irritate some (even me); but he is a slave to the score, that is, the text
and the music, through which he attempts and, indeed, succeeds in
creating a profound musical statement. After all, old Brch composed
his cantatas and passions to be heard by the people—not by trained
musicians, but by peasants, servants, and noblemen, as well—in order
to strengthen and reaffirm their faith in God and Jesus Christ. What
Rilling does may not be the last word in Baroque music, should we
ever attain that goal; but he gives us music that is certainly more than
a part of what Bach had in mind. I heard a friend term Sunday
evening’s performance a “religious experience.” Right on!
Randolph Bourne
The
Rolling Stones
and
the
age
of
‘decay-dence’
I’m going to call this: “Ya Don’t Want to See Me Trousers Fall
Down,” or, ‘‘The Rolling Slones and the Decline of Western Culture.”
First of all, if you think that the title of this article is too pompous,
perhaps you are right. I am still locked up in the culture where things
have to be given names, and distinctions are to be made about the
relative merits of any supposed work of art. Forgive me. If you don’t
want to read any further because of the second part of the title, skip
the second part and pretend you are reading something called “Ya
Don’t Want To See Me Trousers Fall Down.”
Good — now we should all be comfortable.
My contention is not that Mick Jagger and company are in some
kind if insidious, communist flouridation-type plot to upset the future
of “The Free World,” by sexually arousing the youth of America to a
state of uncontrollable frenzy. That would malign the Stones too
greatly, and give them credit for a situation that they inherited rather
than created. The Stones phenomenon is only symptomatic of our
culture.
Why are the Rolling Stones the acknowledged “Greatest Rock
Band in the World?” Perhaps their music is better than any other
band, although fans of the Grateful Dead would gladly take issue. The
key figure in Stones’ success is undoubtably Mick Jagger, the pouting,
shouting lead singer and songwriter. Jagger is the bad boy of rock.
Even back in 1964, the Beatles were the cute, funny guys from
England, while the Stones were the brooding, potentially dangerous
crew. Their hair was longer, their manners were never quite right,
and their songs were more blatant. It did not matter that you knew
that John and Paul wanted to do more than just hold your hand,
because it was all in the name of good, clean fun. Jagger screaming
for “Satisfaction” always left rape as a possible solution to his
problem.
What made the Stones the world’s greatest rock band was not the
records, but the group’s highly volatile live performances. A live
appearance by the Stones could generate a crowd of a half-million at
Hyde Park in London, sell out Madison Square Garden in New York
for six shows in three days (although 132,000 did get to see Mick,
nearly a million other fans sent in post cards for the privilege of
buying a ticket, and were disappointed), and get 350,000 to a racing
stadium at Altamont in the Bay area. The Stones could create more
pure frenetic response per decibel than any other band, and people
were willing to do anything to participate in this experience.
The Mayseles brothers (A1 and David) were turned on to the
uniqueness of the Rolling Stones, and decided to shoot a documentary
describing their 1970 concert in the Bay area. That concert turned out
to be the disaster at Altamont, and the movie became "Gimme
Shelter.” The Mayseles allowed the audience to see the Stones apart
from the myths that surround them. The camera removes us from the
immediacy of the frenzied crowds, and permits us to view the per
formance objectively. The myth of Mick Jagger as the incarnation of
evil is explpded. Jagger would have us believe that he is Lucifer
himself when he sings “Sympathy for the Devil.” But who is the devil
at Altamont? Certainly not Mick. He is just a performer trying to do
his gig in the face of true evil in the form of the Hell’s Angels. The
camera shows his Satan to be a pouting and posturing devil in drag.
When the events leading up to the murder are taking place, it
becomes apparent to everyone that Jagger neither knows what is
going on, nor how to handle it. Somehow he is responsible for the mood
of the crowd, yet he has no intellectual understanding of his power.
The camera zooms in on Mick’s face, which reveals his total lack of
comprehension. He is no longer the cavalier, fun-loving rogue
pretending to be the devil. He is another confused human being, more
than a little bit frightened by what he has wrought. In an ex
traordinary juxtaposition, we are shown Jagger performing, bringing
the crowd to its feet, and Sonny Barger, leader of the Hell’s Angels,
staring at Mick with total contempt. Barger, more than any other
person in the crowd, knows what Mick is all about. Barger knows
where the real evil is and where the pretense is, and this fact is caught
dramatically by the Mayseles’ camera.
At Altamont, the flowers that Jagger tossed to the crowds turned
into the garbage and beer cans the Angels hurled at the audience. This
was perhaps inevitable—the Woodstock Spirit could not last forever,
and it was fitting that its final note was sounded by the Stones.
Jean Luc Godard was clued in to the Stones in his film “2 + 2 —
Sympathy For the Devil.” In “2 + 2,” there are scenes of the Stones
recording their song “Sympathy for the Devil,” intercut with scenes of
a pornography shop, and black revolutionaries who had their
headquarters in a junk yard. It was a picture of Western civilization in
decay. The language people used had been so twisted that it prevented
them from acting. The condition of life is obscene, people indulging
themselves in pornography but not experiencing life for themselves.
The price of purchase: a slap in the face.
The Rolling Stones are part of that slap in the face. The vitality
and abandon that they project on stage is a result of a long mechanical
process, that, taken in any of its several parts, is absurd. What could
be sillier than three grown men singing “Doo-Doo” over and over
again, as they listen on headphones to the rest of the song which has
previously been taped. Hardly a picture of spontaneity. They don’t
even get a vital beat to the song until a Black African drummer is
added. The Stones are an excess, a frivolity in the Roman orgy of our
civilization.
Mick Jagger is the highlight of the spectacle, the master orgiast,
as it were. In an orgy there is only groping. Feeling that something
might come of your actions would ruin the party. Consequently, there
is nothing wrong with Jagger as an individual. At the pinnacle of
achievement, he is, in effect, the “negative man.” He defies every
value of our culture. He cannot sing, yet he is a wildly successful
singer. He cannot dance, yet he is considered a great dancer. He is not
handsome or virile, yet he is a sex symbol. He is a card-carrying
professional performer, yet, somehow, he is deemed to be the in
carnation of evil.
This total reversal of values is indicative of a vast change in our
society. The recent emergence of transvestite rock (Edgar Winter,
David Bowie, Lou Reed, and the re-appearance of Little Richard) is
just one more example of the decay-dance. Jagger was in the
vanguard of this movement (Remember “Performance”).
It’s all pretty pornographic. A dirty little picture of a culture that
only pretends to have values. Mick is a joke, but he isn’t a very good
comedian.
Howard New an