… and the livin’ is easy.

Yes, you know this song. It’s part of the American landscape now, having been recorded over 25,000 times. It is, of course, by George Gershwin, from his opera Porgy and Bess. The 1935 performance featured an all African-American cast, and received poor reception due to the color of the cast as well as the racial themes of the work. Since then, the opera (especially “Summertime”) has exploded in popularity and is one of the most-performed operas today.

Gershwin himself called this a “folk opera”; it lies in that funny “crossover” place between a Broadway Musical and an Opera. The song form of “Summertime” is quite simple – the phrases would be analyzed as A,A’,A,B – like a folk song or a Broadway number. Most people know it as a jazz standard or a popular song, where the vocals tend to be in a much lower tessitura, giving it a sensual, sultry sound. This makes the music sound like a sexy love song that could be sung to your lover over a cigarette and a martini on a sweaty summer night. However, the original idea of the composer, though, was a sweet lullaby that a high, floaty soprano sings to her baby.

I originally had written a different post for today, but Saturday night’s tragic event forced me to publish it earlier than expected.

A year ago today, nine people in Charleston were killed in an act of hatred and terrorism. Sadly, we Americans hear this story a couple of times a year. It’s all too familiar; we humans are very capable of some very disturbing behavior. If you want to read about that, you can find it by searching any media site. Instead, I want to counter this frighteningly common, disturbing behavior, with the fact that humans are also capable of creating things of beauty – things that uplift our species and help us to look forward, even though there are some of us who behave like animals.

Composer Parker Kitterman was deeply moved by the 2015 Charleston tragedy, both because of the senselessness of the crime, and because of his deep south roots. His response to the massacre was to write a Requiem in nine movements – one for each of the victims of the attack. As the Charleston shooting was intended to incite a racial war, Kitterman responded by writing a work that seamlessly blends the sounds of European Art Music with that of African-American Gospel. The end result is a brand-new work (less than a year old) that will hopefully carry the banner of love and help bring healing to a sick world.

Kitterman’s Requiem was premiered on November 1st, 2015, on the Feast of All Saints’, when the Christian Church remembers those who have died in the last year. I am very proud to be participating in the second performance of this work, this evening.

This recording, from the Nov. 1 premiere, is the Introit, which gives just a little taste of the work. This performance is for choir and organ alone; tonight’s performance will use piano, drums, and bass as well.

When I was 17, I visited Oberlin College, the school where my mother went. The two-day trip was a powerful experience for me in many ways, and left an indelible memory burned in my mind. First, this was my first visit to a college. I went there, had a lesson with the organ professor, and spent the night in the dorms as a guest of a current student. Oberlin really puts the “liberal” in liberal arts (and that’s probably a gross understatement), and the people I met left a strong, positive impression on me. In that two-day and one-night trip, I went to a midnight organ concert, played Quake with other students on the college network (this was a brand new experience for me – it was just 1997, after all), went to the art museum, and went to one of the weirdest and best movies I had ever seen.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is … well, I don’t know how to best describe it. It’s a French-Jazz-Musical-Opera-Art Film. The colors are truly technicolor and exaggerated to the point of being obnoxious. The story is heart-wrenching. Michel Legrand‘s film score is awesome: at times hilarious – like the opening number, an upbeat jazz number where the hero, Guy, sings about fixing cars; at times so corny that it traverses the corny spectrum and becomes good again – like the strings’ main theme; at times, somewhere in between – like the love duet between Guy and Geneviève.

Seeing this movies as an impressionable teenager, accompanied by the witty and clever commentary of the Oberlin students, instantly made it one of my favorites. If you don’t know this movie, I would highly recommend seeing it. There’s nothing quite like it. I don’t know what exactly it is, but I like it.