Summer Bling

Bragg-ing Rights

Melvyn Bragg. Photo by Antonio Olmos.

Esoterians (esoterica-philes?) of the world unite! Are you the sort who think no dive is too deep, no enthusiasm too obscure, no trivia too trivial?

Your confederates are out there. Let the hoi polloi content themselves with the latest Beach Read. For you, Colleen Hoover’s latest doorstop is a literal doorstop. Next to your chaise and umbrella lies a copy of Gibbon’s Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. You busy yourself with the latest 10,000 word article in the New York Review of Books. But if that review of A Cultural History of Hair in the Middle Ages barely wets your intellectual whistle, have I got a podcast for you.

In Our Time, BBC 4’s weekly “programme” (as the Brits prefer) is hosted by the 85-year-old Melvyn Bragg, who demonstrates his erudition every week with a trio of mostly British academics. Formerly the host of the BBC-TV’s arts oriented South Bank Show and BBC radio’s Start the Week, Bragg started In Our Time in 1998, when he we was appointed to the House of Lords and the powers at “The Beeb” frowned on the idea of an active politician discussing current events in a supposedly apolitical broadcast (those were the days, eh?)

Leave your worries about Iranian nukes and White House flagpole envy behind. Fire up your earbuds, point your browser to In Our Time and press play, treating yourself to an hour-long discussion of the nature of Slime Molds (Jan. 2, 2025), the 12th-century Persian poet, Nizami Ganjavi (Dec. 5, 2024), the Hindu goddess Kali (Feb. 27, 2025), or the work of Irish playwright-poet Oliver Goldsmith (Feb. 20, 2025). It will make your 30-minute commute just fly by.

Material Girl

Making the journey from auspicious indy debut to the Hollywood mainstream is always fraught. But it seems writer-director Celine Song has navigated those waters well. After her quiet dazzle of a feature, Past Lives, her second feature, Materialists, is true Hollywood, boasting a trio of A-list stars and a brighter, blingier mise en scène.

But there’s a subtle intelligence not usually found in the typical happily-ever-after. Lucy (Dakota Johnson) is a professional matchmaker with "Adore," a sort of Match.com for NYC elites. When one of her potential clients (Pedro Pascal exuding a suave, Burt-Reynolds vibe) sets his eyes on her at his brother’s wedding, she warily succumbs to his charm and generous checkbook. But wait! What about the old flame who happens to be working for the caterer of said wedding. He’s a struggling actor who she dumped after enduring five years of NYC-style poverty. He’s also played by Chris Evans—aka Captain America—so he’s not bereft of redeeming qualities.

Materialists: Do Dakota Johnson and Pedro Pascal check all the boxes?

Who gets the girl?  No spoilers here, but don’t watch Materialists only for its rom-com tropes. Song has some serious things to say about the nature of contemporary desire and relationships.

Adore is an elite anomaly, featuring live “agents” (who dress like extras of a Sex and the City episode). They meet clients in person and “check-in” via phone after a date. But its methods are infused with spirit of a Google search. Song intersperses the film with clips of Lucy's client interviews, in which she assembles a list of requirements and conditions--age, height, income, hair loss, etc. Finding a match means finding someone who "checks all the boxes."

So Lucy isn't necessarily selling the swooning love-matches that rise up to romantic violins. Pitching her services, she emphasizes the ever-after over the happy: "you’re looking for a nursing-home partner and a grave buddy," she tells her clients.

So A.I. marches on. Suggesting the right parka to buy for that trip to Greenland or the perfect date movie to enjoy with a special someone. And of course, if you’re diligent about checking your boxes, it will pick that special someone for you as well.

R.I.P. Alfred Brendel

Alfred Brendel in 2003.

There was very little bling in the career of Alfred Brendel. The Austrian pianist, who died on June 17th, eschewed adventure—in both repertoire and interpretation—concentrating his career on the works of composers from the Classical Era: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert. Some critics faulted his interpretations as stodgy and devoid of personality, but his champions thought him a supreme interpreter of the masters. Appreciations in print abound, but the best way to grasp his significance is simply to listen.

The New York Times’ Zachary Woolfe offers five examples of quintessential Brendel, one of which is his stately version of the opening movement of Schubert’s Piano Sonata No. 21.

Who’s to say if Brendel’s approach was the right way. These days, musicians (and, to be sure, their agents) often lean into edgy readings and unusual juxtapositions that will garner likes and critical interest. But Brendel showed the power of measured, intelligent playing that would likely have been embraced by the composers themselves.

Strings Attached

The Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra closed its classical season last weekend with Ken-David Masur conducting a program of opera excerpts featuring the MSO Chorus. It was a sneak preview of sorts—Masur will conduct two major choral works next season, his last as music director of the MSO.

The Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra and Chorus.

Chorus director Cheryl Frazes Hill had the group in fine form in a program of Wagner and Verdi. The hushed passages (parts of Wagner’s Die Meistersinger) were lush; the celebrations were boisterous and rafter-shaking (the “Triumphal March” from Verdi’s Aida). And of course, the fine MSO brasses (led by trumpeter Matthew Ernst and trombonist Megumi Kanda) blazed through their fanfares.

But the stars of this show were the MSO strings, nimbly skittering through a Mozart allegretto (in the overture to Die Zauberflöte) and coaxing every ounce of romantic angst from the overture to Verdi’s La Forza del Destino. It was an ambitious and satisfying program for both chorus and orchestra, and a fitting cap to the season.

Gatz the Great

Will you join me in wishing Nick, Daisy, Tom, Jordan and, of course, Jay a happy 100th birthday? Published in 1925, the anniversary of The Great Gatsby has been greeted with wonderful appreciations of F. Scott Fitzgerald and his novel (in particular, I enjoyed essays by Andrew Delbanco and A.O. Scott.) But I think it’s best to let Fitzgerald make his own case. Here’s an excerpt from early in the book, where Nick Carraway first lays eyes on the mysterious Mr. Gatzby

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red petrol-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight, and, turning my head to watch it, I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbor’s mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.

Stay cool, and see you soon.