Frank Martin (1890-1974)
Concerto for Harpsichord and Small Orchestra, 1951
Chamber Orchestra of Lausanne , Conducted by Frank Martin.
Harpsichord: Christiane Jaccottet
Candide Vox Recording
Concerto for Harpsichord and Small Orchestra
1st movement: Allegro commodo
2nd movement: Adagio
3rd movement: Tempo di Valsa
As I write this the Los Angeles Clippers begin the wound-licking needed to heal from having just been swallowed whole by a 51 point loss to the Dallas Mavericks. It was a game that should have ended halfway through—by which point the Mavs already had a record 50-point lead at halftime. In basketball lingo, everything thereafter that halftime falls under the category of ‘garbage time’. So too, especially after a year like this, should the days after December 20th be considered a prolonged garbage time. The time for sitting back and marvelling either at a tremendous deficit or slim surplus that the year has procured for you. I hope, despite the shitstorms of the last ten months, that you’re finding yourself with the latter.
Original photo by Melika Dez
Garbage time nonetheless, I wanted to get something off my chest before year-end, and that is the small but significant saga involving the allegations made by dancer Nicholas Rose against the National Ballet of Canada. Small perhaps because of the larger background of year that was the equivalent of a Pollock painted with lava; significant, for many reasons, but mostly because this year resolved a couple ambiguities relating to what we refer to as ‘race relations’ and I got a clearer vantage on some of my experiences in the performing arts over the years. Significant as well as a reminder of why I want to keep maintaining this space as an all-purpose space for the performing arts, a place to turn to when marginalized voices are deemed unpublishable—come through, I and Blue Riband are here for you. And so failing to get a a number of publicatons to publish a story that a friend of mine wrote on Rose’s allegations, I brought it to Blue Riband. You can find it as a long form article, as well as a three-part podcast series.
The last two weeks were poured into publishing this article and the adjacent podcast series (hence the mini-hiatus from this journal that I continue to cherish immensely); I can’t thank Emily Trace (author of said article) enough, and Rose for his time and willingness for retrospect, though only months apart from the traumatic event in question.
We need your help in keeping engagements like these going. I’ve erected a shiny new DONATE button on the home page: if you’ve enjoyed our coverage in the past or are an artist/organization featured on here in the past—-we’d be so grateful for your support going forward.
Garbage time notwithstanding, the music around the house reigns on as always with a trail of concertos for the month of December. Beginning with violin and piano concertos, both by Tchaikovsky, then a Trumpet Concerto by Hummel, and this week a harpsichord concerto by Swiss composer Frank Martin. The aforementioned project is also my excuse for the scarcity of commentary on this piece aside from finding in it a spot of respite for my unrepentant and devout atheism that rarely gets to enjoy some guilt-free secular christmasy merriment.
SONG OF THE WEEK: ‘Light Years’ — Basia Bulat
Someday when you're light years
How long were you falling?
Light years shine you on
And you will still belong
It’s a wondrous thing, finding out the things that stick. Basia Bulat, for one, who I thought would only be contributing ‘Heart of My Own’ to my music library. Indeed that was the only Bulat song I subscribed to until one remarkable Thursday in October 2012 when, as a volunteer for the Canadian Opera Company, and for an off-site staging of Gianni Schicchi, I ended up in the same car as a musician who played backup ukelele for Bulat and politely endured my attempts at recalling song titles so she could confirm whether or not she appeared on them. Remarkable because I almost died later that night from an anaphylactic reaction to a crustacean served during intermission, were it not for some epi-pen-ex-machina.
Ondo Town, Nigeria
Ever since, I’ve been looking for an album of hers to swallow whole, but always instead find myself knit-picking one or two songs per album. Earlier this year she released the defiantly-titled, and gorgeously illustrated Are You In Love? A beautiful work in its entirety and—with gems such as ‘Love is at the End of the World’ and ‘The Last Time’—a boon for scavengers such as my self. I wish I was one of those who could fall in love with a song instantly and, as such, be free of its spell within the month—instead it takes months for a song to sink in. There was this obvious yet peculiarly fleeting feeling when I first heard ‘Light Years’ back in March, but I trusted that I would perhaps grasp the depth of that feeling soon enough.
Even now, I’m still dumbfounded by this song, the atmosphere of which is only possible through the slight high-and-lonesome lilt in Bulat’s singing voice. Then there are the words, quite obvious words, words that arrive at a place clearer than nostalgia. For me that place is my mother’s shop in the southeast coast of Nigeria, I spent most of my time there as a child. She’s since moved into a bigger space in the same town, but I still had her a take a picture of it. It’s now a shop for textiles and the like, and it took quite a bit of convincing on her part for me to accept that the shop in the picture is indeed the same blue shop in my memory. For Christmas, my girlfriend gifted me a Singer sowing machine almost identical to the one that used to sit at the entrance of that shop, as everlasting as the old lady that used to sit at the left of that entrance, palm always cupping her chin as she gave a perpetually running commentary on my shenanigans. My mother ensures me now that all her retaliatory curses are surely by now expired. The things that stick, it’s a wonder really.
Throwback to: YR3, WEEK21 — YR2, WEEK21
Click here for the full 2020/2021 roster of selected recordings