50 posts tagged music
Claudio Abbado, RIP
(Beethoven, Symphony 3, 2/5)
Flamenco in Montagnola
"Quizás, Quizás, Quizás" performed by Ibrahim Ferrer and Omara Portuondo.
Like most people I know, I first came across this song in Wong Kar Wai’s movie, In the Mood for Love.
Although the choice of Nat King Cole’s version in this movie is masterful, I’ve lately been rummaging the internet for different versions. This certainly caught my attention.
An Evening’s Screening of Петя и волк for Baby Tragos.
Tonight, Baby Tragos, Mrs. Tragos, and I were listening to John Gielgud’s narration of Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf, when I began to wonder: what the hell does this sound like in Russian? (Not that I know Russian. I don’t.)
It turns out that in 1958, the Soviet animation studio Soyuzmultfilm produced a stop motion animation version of Peter and the Wolf.
We here at Tragos HQ (Baby Tragos watched the entire animation!) were entranced, as I think you will be. Cat lovers beware.
Over the weekend, Mrs. Tragos, Baby Tragos and I travelled to Istanbul. It was Baby Tragos’s first venture by plane. To her credit, she still prefers train and boat transportation.
On Sunday, after a morning swim in a pool alongside the Bosphorus (very Tragos-endrosed), we lit out for a little nuclear family exploration of the coast. First a long walk with the Baby Bjorn, where I finally met other similarly accoutered fathers, and Baby Tragos got to chat with friends traveling at eye-level. Then, to the Sabancı Museum, where Baby Tragos got her first glimpses of Rembrandt paintings. She seemed to like the bright more than the dark.
And then, to an Italian restaurant nearby. Midway through dinner, the restaurant was invaded by bagpipe players. In the photograph above, I believe you can detect that exact midpoint between amusement and bemusement on both our faces.
Forget her voice for a minute. Think about what she looked like.
Rail thin, smooth skin, winning smile, mischevious almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones — she looked like the model she had been. Conventionally and undeniably beautiful. Clive Davis recognized that those physical attributes…
The Coffee Song (The Frank Sinatra Collection)
Frank Sinatra • Ring-A-Ding Ding!
Music to drink your morning coffee with.
Frank Sinatra: Coffee Song
Paul Wittgenstein (Nov. 5, 1887 to 1961), older brother of philosopher Ludwig.
Photo: Madame D’Ora Atelier
Paul Wittgenstein (Nov. 5, 1887 to 1961), older brother of philosopher Ludwig, was a well-respected concert pianist who lost his right arm in combat in WW I. Nonetheless, he persisted with his musical career, enticing several composers to write concertos for the left arm especially for him.
Most celebrated among these works is that of Maurice Ravel which is still frequently performed by pianists today (one- and two-armed ones alike)…
Photo: Madame D’Ora Atelier
BjÃ¶rk • Post
—Björk, “Hyperballad”, Post (1995).
She sleeps. I don’t wake her up. Why don’t you wake her up? It is my sorrow and my happiness. I’m sorry that I can’t wake her up – that I can’t put my foot on the burning threshold of her house – that I don’t know the way to her house – that I don’t know in which direction the way lies – that I move constantly away from her, powerless like the leaf carried away from its tree by the autumn wind. And furthermore: I was never on this tree, a leaf in the autumn wind, but from no tree. – I am happy that I can’t wake her up. What would I do, if she would rise, if she would get up from bed, if I would get up from bed, the lion from his lair, and my roar break into my frightful ear.
Sie schläft. Ich wecke sie nicht. Warum weckst du sie nicht? Es ist mein Unglück und mein Glück. Ich bin unglücklich, daß ich sie nicht wecken kann, daß ich nicht aufsetzen kann den Fuß auf die brennende Türschwelle ihres Hauses, daß ich nicht den Weg kenne zu ihrem Hause, daß ich nicht die Richtung kenne, in welcher der Weg liegt, daß ich mich immer weiter von ihr entferne, kraftlos wie das Blatt im Herbstwind sich von seinem Baume entfernt und überdies: ich war niemals an diesem Baume, im Herbstwind ein Blatt, aber von keinem Baum. – Ich bin glücklich, daß ich sie nicht wecken kann. Was täte ich, wenn sie sich erhöbe, wenn sie aufstehen würde von dem Lager, wenn ich aufstehen würde von dem Lager, der Löwe von seinem Lager, und mein Gebrüll einbrechen würde in mein ängstliches Gehör.
—Franz Kafka, Nachlaß (Posthumous Writings), probably Autumn 1923.