The obligatory “Is it dead yet?” article o’ the week reveals that the body is still breathing, but frankly I’m finding tales of the classical souls reaching out to us from the grave an entirely more compelling storyline. So yes, watch your ass, Alex Ross. We’re all counting on that new book of your’s to float us out of these dark waters. Well, you or a certain Italian. We suspect he’s the kind of conductor who gets to put the concertmaster in the corner, if he damn well wants to.
You might not be able to kill a classical artist no matter how hard you try, but those pop stars best make sure their health insurance is paid up. We’d blame all the drugs, but we’ve opened the medicine cabinets of a few opera folks and know better. We have not, however, checked the nail polish drawers of our free jazz friends.
I love math, tests, and charts as much as the next musician, and now that the school year is off and running, those of the academic persuasion are back to their readin’ and writin’—well, those not barred from the country by the U.S. government, at least.
Personally, I’m glad to have my formal education years behind me, though the chance to perform in The Wild Beast music pavilion is certainly cause for pause on that point. Also, I’d be down for a second crack at nursery school if the teachers ran around in blue body paint. I suspect these mini music masters might be game, as well. Also, good for those who need to review how to recognize irony. Maybe Sherri Shepherd should come, too.