As I’ve mentioned here before, one of the features that makes Los Angeles such a wonderful city is all the hidden gems that abound, teasing you to find them. When you do, the pleasure of having found them really glows inside you for a while. Typically, you’ll find that pretty much everybody who knows anything about the city (and has not already prejudged it by viewing it through the glasses of European or European-wannabe (read: East Coast) models of cities) shares this feeling. This is also why people often hate the city. They can’t find things immediately, they see it from the freeway, and they decide that it is just an awful place, and pretty quickly the stupid cliches about there being “no culture” (which always means “no European culture”, sigh) begin to be repeated.

So imagine my delight when there was an article on Thursday called “Stages of Discovery”, in the Weekend Calendar section of the LA Times. It talked about some of the places in the region you can go to see music concerts of the “classical” (in the broad sense) type, besides the excellent Music Center Downtown, housing among other things the Disney Hall, of which I’ve told you of events several times before. Have a read of the article, by Chris Pasles, here.

Well, I had other things to do on the bus the next morning (which is when I read the Calendar Weekend section…it gives me ideas about what extra activities I might get up to that weekend beyond things already planned) and so I did not read it as thoroughly as I should have. I skimmed through in that way that one does when one is happy to satisfy oneself smugly that one already knows of and had been to at least some of the “hidden gems” already, and then made a mental note to keep the article for later detailed analysis, to learn more about the places that I did not know about.

On the cover was a picture (by Genaro Molina) of a particularly interesting looking performance space, with the Janaki String Trio posing in it:

… and somehow I did not really consciously note where it was. I was to read the article later, of course.

Well, later that evening I was to meet a friend of mine to go to a concert. She’d got the tickets from a friend and I was going along as her guest. I’d agreed to this a long time ago without even knowing what exactly they were for. I knew it was music, and assumed that it was the Disney Hall. Turned out I was wrong. It was at the Doheny Mansion, which happens to be just North of (imho, right next to) the USC campus. Convincing my friend to walk over there from campus (via that wonderful hidden gem, La Taquiza, sampling some excellent mulitas, for dinner), we showed up there in good time for the pre-concert talk, and went inside. Well, of course, you’ve guessed. I went into the splendid historic mansion, walked to the performance space, and was treated to the view above! Without the Janaki, of course. It is called the Pompeian Room.

Here’s a nice link to the Doheny mansion, complete with some history and some pan-able photos of the interiors. Once upon a time, this part of LA was the place to be if you were part of the high-class crowd. You woud have had a well-appointed house here, etc. The Doheny family were as high-class as it gets in these parts: Oil money (La Brea tar pits, etc…). This also explains why there are all those fantastic craftsman houses all over the neighbourhood that people are now giving any amount of money for, but that’s another story. It was not until later that the Beverly Hills’ of this world began to rise in stature, and the high-class set moved away….but the remnants are still here, if you know where to look.

Turns out that there is a society/club whose mission in life is to arrange chamber (more…)

Ok. You are probably tired of me enthusing about how so many things in LA are just great. (Well, those things I say are true, it is great, blah, blah, blah). However, sometimes things are just annoying in that “if we all agreed to fix this it would easily not be this way” sort of way. Here’s one such example:

Tuesday night. I went with two friends, Carol and Ilaria, to see an excellent group called Brazilliando play at Vitello’s in Studio City. It was a reminder of one of the frustrating aspects of LA nightlife. Basically, it was raining a bit outside, and combined with the fact that it was after 9:30pm, this just wiped out the audience. People don’t stay out very late much here especially during the work week (there are several nightspots, some of which I’ve mentioned in previous posts, which are exceptions to this rule, but not nearly as many as you would imagine for a city this size) even when the weather is fine, and when you combine that with a slight chill in the air, or a bit of moisture on the road, people just scamper off to their homes. So we turned up there to catch the second set and maybe hang out for maybe an hour and a half. The people at the font desk looked at us like we were nuts as we came in so “late” (9:30pm), and were not even sure if there was anything going on upstairs (the performance space is above the main restaurant floor).

They let us go up anyway…. The band was beginning to pack up, and there was nobody -absolutely nobody- in the room (upstairs at the back). Just lots of empty tables with solitary candles. It was 9:35pm. Carol knew the percussionist (Ami Molinelli), and so after fond greetings and introductions all around, they agreed to play a bit more. Just for us. We sat at a table and tried to order food. Nope, kitchen closed early. At 9:45pm!!? (After Ilaria pressed a bit, they agreed to go and see if they could find a salad and some bread, which did materialize.) The bar was eventually convinced to produce me a gin and tonic, and we settled down for a personal performance. I tried to put out of my mind my memories of struggling through the snow to get to various Jazz clubs in New York and finding it pleasantly packed with other intrepid music-seekers willing to brave the weather. (Wonderful freezing cold snowbound trips up from Princeton to the Village Vanguard spring to mind….) I tried to put out of my mind memories of listening to excellent performances into the wee hours of the morning in any number of jazz clubs….. What on earth is wrong with these soft Los Angelenos? Sigh.

They ended up playing for us for at least 45 minutes, and they were really great! If you’re in town looking for a sweet, understated, swinging, small (Samba, Bossa Nova…. Brazillian flavoured) Jazz group, look out for Brazilliando, with Robert Kyle (Saxophones, flute), Kleber Jorge, (vocals, guitar) and Amy Molinelli (percussion…really making the whole thing swing). See Kyle’s website for dates. [Update: That night we had Mitchell Long on guitar and vocals, by the way, (see photo) and you can look at his website here.]

-cvj

I was at a particularly good dinner party on Saturday night over on the West Side. It had a little under a dozen people, from professionals in academia and surrounds (such as relativist Kip Thorne of Caltech, or Legal scholar and writer/broadcaster Jonathan Kirsch) to professionals in entertainment (such as writer/performer Julia Sweeney), and journalism (such as South African Journalist and Activist Zubeida Jaffer) and several other fields…. and a good time was had by all. I only had to explain string theory and the whole of particle physics three times (to three separate groups; and I was glad for the opportunity to do so) so I managed to get some food and wine down. I’m not sure if my biggest moment was convincing the razor-sharp Julia Sweeney that maybe she does not hate string theory quite so much any more, or whether it was just finding ourselves enthusiastically in agreement over public transport issues in LA (i.e., it exists, if only people would use it more! Well, you’ve heard me on this topic a lot…..)…this is a big deal to me since a lot of people never want to talk about this matter. We also spoke a lot about getting more science into the entertainment/media realm as well (you’ve heard me on that topic a lot too) a subject we agreed was worth pursuing…

It turned out that a couple at the party could not use their tickets for the Sunday afternoon concert at the Disney Hall, and they gave them to me. This was rather nice since I’d been thinking that it would have been nice to go to the concert. All I had to do was find someone in the short time available (Sunday morning; concert was at 2:00pm) to take with me to use the extra ticket. This was a challenge (combination of it being a sleep-in day with the time change, and me not being terribly flush with contacts who I can call on for that purpose at short notice…..people my age often come in bound states, and/or they’ve planned to do stuff on the precious Sunday afternoons that you only get once a week) but I succeeded. At 2:00pm, we were in our seats, waiting for the first half:

The concert was the last in the Los Angeles Philharmoic’s “Minimalist Jukebox” series. It was excellent, (although I beg to differ with the “minimalist” moniker for those particular pieces). The whole concert was conducted by John Adams, and the first part was a Phillip Glass piece (or set of pieces; selected scenes from his opera Akhnaten, in fact), while the part after the intermission was John Adams’ own Harmonielehre. It was an afternoon of wonderful music, overall. I particularly loved the opera (even with the rather silly words in places), which was beautifully orchestrated with a small configuration of the orchestra (it was in fuller configuration later for the second piece).

There was a great dramatic effect that the layout of the hall lends itself to very well. A person can stand right in the center of the wonderful explosion of wood that is the Organ (see above photo) and look out onto the assembled audience, and they look rather commanding from up there. Well, they had the actress Holland Taylor go up there, splendidly dressed and dramatically lit, to read the parts of the Narrator. She has a quite commanding voice, and so it worked very well indeed.

Ok, I admit that I did have a silly moment when I could not help but distract myself a bit when I heard things like this:
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I’ve been a fan of the Either/Orchestra for over ten years now, since first hearing them on a public radio station in Boston. This Cambridge-based jazz ensemble, a “little big band” in the tradition of the Mingus band, is one of my absolute favorite musical groups. (Whether the name is indebted to Kierkegaard is somewhat ambiguous.) Unfortunately, I moved away from Massachusetts soon after discovering their music, so I haven’t had a chance to hear them live. Until, that is, this last Friday, when they played Chicago’s historic Green Mill. Suffice to say, a decade’s worth of expectations were not disappointed.

The singular genius of the E/O is to simultaneously stimulate the pleasure centers of the right brain and left brain in equal measure. They are a ten-piece group at the moment — bass, piano, drums, six horns, and congas. Past configurations have varied, with personnel changing fairly frequently; distinguished alumni include John Medeski. But the spirit of the group has remained constant: sophisticated arrangements of eclectic music, played with an enthusiastic fervor that carries you along for the ride. Each of the band members is an accomplished soloist, and they work together in intricate configurations that certainly appeal to the intellectual side of one’s musical appreciation — but at no time could they be accused of being stuffy. Each song is generally constructed around a catchy hook, whose possibilities are thoroughly explored rhythmically and harmonically. These guys rock, groove, and swing.

The E/O’s repertoire has always been wide-ranging, from original tunes to classics by Monk and Ellington and Miles to quirky covers of pop songs from the Beatles and Dylan to — wait for it — King Crimson. In the last few years they have been heavily influenced by Ethiopian music, culminating in a recent live album from Addis Ababa. One of the songs performed Friday night will give you an idea of a “typical” E/O tune. It was a suite in two parts, both of which were influenced by the Azmari music of Ethiopia. The first movement originated when saxophonist/leader Russ Gershon became intrigued by the massinko, a kind of one-string violin played in Ethiopian clubs. He composed a Western-style string quartet (“of all things”) inspired by this music, with the playful idea of getting classical musicians with incredibly expensive instruments to try their best to sound like cheap one-string violins you might hear in Addis Ababa. He later arranged the quartet for ten-piece jazz ensemble (don’t ask me how you do that), to form the first movement. The second movement came from bass player Rick McLaughlin, who had taken Thelonious Monk’s classic Well You Needn’t and arranged it with a Azmari-style rhythm. And voila — a suite that only the Either/Orchestra could possibly come up with, or for that matter perform. And it was beautiful.

Besides getting the chance to hear the band play live, I finally had the opportunity to meet Russ Gershon, the founder of the group, in person. A few years ago I sent an email to their record label, asking to be put on the mailing list, and was pleasantly suprised to receive a personal reply from Russ himself. In my response I mentioned that he should let me know if he had any questions about cosmology; this led to a few back-and-forth emails, along these lines:

Date: Mon, 10 Sep 2001 13:00:25 -0700
To: Sean Carroll
From: Russ Gershon
Subject: Re:

So the dark matter is not atoms, protons, quarks – it’s something
else? That’s kind of alarming, what with it being 96% of the whole
thing!

Russ
–
Russ Gershon
Accurate Records
288 Norfolk St.
Cambridge MA 02139 USA

Well, yeah, it is kind of alarming, I have to admit. As you might guess from the date, our conversation was derailed by events. Still, jazz musicians with an interest in cosmology should be rewarded, don’t you think? Maybe someday we will get a Dark Energy Suite. So go buy the records already. My first discovery was The Calculus of Pleasure, so I have a soft spot for that one, but they’re all good.

I arrived a bit early to the show to grab a good seat, since the Green Mill is always crowded. Naturally I grabbed some napkins and started writing equations, as one is wont to do — six cocktail napkins were sacrificed, but for a good cause, as I figured out something important about auxilliary scalar fields. The bartender, Jill, noticed my scribblings and asked me what they were about. As it turns out, she is currently taking a class on differential equations, working toward her Master’s degree to someday be a high-school math teacher. And she gave me a free glass of wine to demonstrate solidarity between we equation-oriented types. The guys sitting next to me also noticed, and between sets I ended up explaining dark energy and the accelerating universe to a bunch of jazz fans. See, another good reason to go to grad school in physics — it opens doors in the most unlikely venues.

This famous 1958 photo by Art Kane, A Great Day in Harlem, brought together 57 jazz musicians for a group portrait. Luminaries range from Count Basie and Coleman Hawkins to Charles Mingus and Dizzie Gillespie and Sonny Rollins. Norbizness points to a helpful web page: harlem.org, which provides a clickable version of the photo! Point to any musician, and it will tell you who they are and provide a brief biography.

Years ago I saw a documentary by Jean Bach about the making of the portrait, which included many interviews with the surviving musicians (now available on DVD). My favorite part was seeing Thelonious Monk get ready for the shoot. You see him strategizing about how to stand out among all the other luminaries. First he decides to wear black, to look cool. Then he figures that everyone else will be wearing black, so he’s going to wear white. (As it turns out, everyone else had the same thought, so there’s a lot of white jackets in the photo.) Finally he realizes that the best thing to do will be to grab a spot next to the ladies, where everyone will be looking first. And lo and behold there he is, next to fellow pianists Mary Lou Williams and Marian McPartland (still going strong as host of NPR’s Piano Jazz). Monk needn’t have worried; he didn’t have any trouble standing out.

Here’s another reason that I love working at a University with a broad spectrum of activity, in an exciting and diverse city. You get the most wonderful connections between different segments of your life:

After an extraordinarily exhausting week, Friday evening came and I jumped on the Brompton and cycled up Figueroa the 37 blocks to the heart of downtown, where you can find the music centre, and the wonderful Disney Hall. My errand was to somehow obtain tickets for an extremely popular concert. The box office, once I got there, had only a few returned ones, at $120 and $90 each. I could not bring myself to pay that much without exploring other avenues (I’ve several expenditures to worry about) and so I thought I would wait in case anyone turned in orchestra seats (those are more like $35), or to see if the price would drop nearer the concert start, or (my main hope) to see if someone showed up with an extra ticket (maybe a friend could not make it) and would just sell it to me right there near the box office. So I stood there for over an hour, watching the world go by, most of it looking curiously at my bike in half-fold position. It dawned on me at some point that I’d no really reliable way of discovering who might have tickets to sell or not. This became especially clear after a group of people who came well after me and were hanging around managed to get a ticket in this manner. So after a while I began to learn who had “the look” of maybe having a ticket to sell, and with about ten minutes to go before the concert (and after a long conversation about the bike which made me miss at least one more sale) I managed to negotiate an $82 ticket down to $50 (I could have done better, but it seemed fair), folded up and popped my bike off in the coat check area and emerged (appropriately attired) for an evening of a bit of relaxing to some Mozart.

I came because I had three students (Joesph Benson, Kyle Patterson and David Reese) in my Physics 151 tell me that they had to miss some parts of a few Thursday lectures because they had to go and rehearse for a concert. Of course, I asked what concert it was, and it turned out that they (as part of the USC Thornton Choral Artists) would be performing Mozart’s Requiem with the LA Philharmoic at Disney Hall over three nights! Of course I had to find a way to go!

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If you don’t already know about this, click here, and just type names of your favourite musicians into the search engine. Tons of video of various sorts… bits of musicians on lost TV show appearances, amatuer video, etc. Just random video clips that have been submitted by random people. Wonderful resource…..

(It is old news for some, but I heard about it last week on NPR, being well on the other side of hip these days.)

Random finds in my first minutes of visiting:

Thelonius Monk, with Charlie Rouse, Ben Riley and Larry Gales playing “Blue Monk”. Oslo, 1966. (Link here.) I always love watching his tapping foot, and his wonderful fingering choices which are pure genius…. as do several cameramen who’ve filmed his performances. This unfortunately isn’t one of those times when Monk gets up and does a little dance… I love it when he does that!

Bizarrely camp and ridiculously cutesy (but beautifully sung) version of “Rocket Man”, by Kate Bush and her band, on MTV. (Link here.) Just excellent, despite being amusingly 80s in style (but actually early 90s).

[Update: Oh.. and one of my favourite recordings of "So What", with John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Paul Chambers (bass), Jimmy Cobb (drums) and I'm guessing Wynton Kelly on piano (from the style, the back of his head, and the time, '58 or '59) ....(Link here.)]

[Update: I forgot to mention that I was hoping that I might find a video clip of Strings 98's perfomance of "The Maldacena", by 400 string theorists in unison (to the tune of "The Macarena"), but that seems to be lost forever... see here, and here, for more on that, by the way.]

-cvj

Zadie Smith, in her novel On Beauty, describing Mozart’s Requiem:

Mozart’s Requiem begins with you walking towards a huge pit. the pit is on the other side of a precipice, which you cannot see over until you are right at its edge. Your death is awaiting you in that pit. You don’t know what it looks like or sounds like or smells like. You don’t know whether it will be good or bad. You just walk towards it. Your will is a clarinet and your footsteps are attended by all the violins. The closer you get to the pit, the more you begin to have the sense that what awaits you there will be terrifying. Yet you experience this terror as a kind of blessing, a gift. Your long walk would have no meaning were it not for this pit at the end of it. You peer over the precipice: a burst of ethereal noise crashes over you. In the pit is a great choir, like the one you joined for two months in Wellington in which you were the only black woman. This choir is the heavenly host and simultaneously the devil’s army. It is also every person who has changed you during your time on this earth: your many lovers; your family; your enemies, the nameless, faceless woman who slept with your husband; the man you thought you were going to marry; the man you did. The job of this choir is judgement. The men sing first, and their judgement is very severe. And when the women join in there is no respite, the debate only grows louder and sterner. For it is a debate — you realize that now. The judgement is not yet decided. It is surprising how dramatic the fight for your measly soul turns out to be.

Smith’s title, by the way, is derived from Elaine Scarry’s On Beauty and Being Just, a thought-provoking if not always transparent little book.

Some holiday frivolity for you. I’m a big fan of Yes‘s progressive-rock masterpiece Close to the Edge, but I’ll admit that I always presumed the lyrics were mostly nonsense. Not true! It turns out that every line is imbued with subtle and hermeneutically challenging messages, worthy of the closest of readings. Happily, such a reading has been provided by the Church of Yahweh (don’t ask). Here are the lyrics by Jon Anderson, Steve Howe, and Chris Squire; have a crack at interpreting them yourselves before peeking at the answers.

I. The Solid Time Of Change

A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace,
And rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace,
And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar,
Then taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour.
And assessing points to nowhere, leading ev’ry single one.
A dewdrop can exalt us like the music of the sun,
And take away the plain in which we move,
And choose the course you’re running.
Down at the edge, round by the corner, not right away, not right away.

Crossed the line around the changes of the summer,
Reaching to call the color of the sky.
Passed around a moment clothed in mornings faster than we see.
Getting over all the time I had to worry,
Leaving all the changes far from far behind.
We relieve the tension only to find out the master’s name.

Down at the end, round by the corner.
Close to the edge, just by a river.
Seasons will pass you by.
I get up, I get down.
Now that it’s all over and done,
Now that you find, now that you’re whole.

II. Total Mass Retain

My eyes convinced, eclipsed with the younger moon attained with love.
It changed as almost strained amidst clear manna from above.
I crucified my hate and held the word within my hand.
There’s you, the time, the logic, or the reasons we don’t understand.

Sad courage claimed the victims standing still for all to see,
As armoured movers took approach to overlook the sea.
There since the cord, the license, or the reasons we understood will be.

Down at the edge, close by a river, close to the edge, round by the corner.

Sudden call shouldn’t take away the startled memory.
All in all, the journey takes you all the way.
As apart from any reality that you’ve ever seen and known.
Guessing problems only to deceive the mention,
Passing paths that climb halfway into the void.

As we cross from side to side, we hear the total mass retain.

Down at the edge, round by the corner, close to the end, down by a river.
Seasons will pass you by.
I get up, I get down.

III. I Get Up, I Get Down

In her white lace
You can clearly see the lady sadly looking.
Saying that she’d take the blame
For the crucifixion of her own domain.

I get up, I get down, I get up, I get down.
Two million people barely satisfy.
Two hundred women watch one woman cry, too late.
The eyes of honesty can achieve.
How many millions do we deceive each day?

Through the duty she would coil their said
amusement of her story asking only interest
could be laid upon the children of her domain

I get up, I get down, I get up, I get down.

In charge of who is there in charge of me.
Do I look on blindly and say I see the way?
The truth is written all along the page.
How old will I be before I come of age for you?
I get up, I get down.

IV. Seasons Of Man

The time between the notes relates the color to the scenes.
A constant vogue of triumphs dislocate man, so it seems.
And space between the focus shape ascend knowledge of love.
As song and chance develop time, lost social temp’rance rules above.

Then according to the man who showed his outstretched arm to space,
He turned around and pointed, revealing all the human race.
I shook my head and smiled a whisper, knowing all about the place.
On the hill we viewed the silence of the valley,
Called to witness cycles only of the past.
And we reach all this with movements in between the said remark.

Close to the edge, down by the river.
Down at the end, round by the corner.
Seasons will pass you by,
Now that it’s all over and done,
Called to the seed, right to the sun.
Now that you find, now that you’re whole.
Seasons will pass you by,
I get up, I get down.

1. Perrier
2. Chardonnay
3. Snapple
4. Slim Fast

Via Chad Orzel, Scott Spiegelberg’s instructions on How To Sing the Blues.

If death occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it’s a blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another blues way to die. So are the electric chair, substance abuse, and dying lonely on a broken-down cot. You can’t have a blues death if you die during a tennis match or while getting liposuction.