Archive for ‘Music’

April 20, 2012

The Bright Heart in Punk Music: Alice Bag

My next novel which I call Dead Strings, at this point, has yet to leave the ground, but I continue to mine my own experiences and gut-reactions with modern, rock & roll music for the heart of it. One musician/band who stirs my head, heart, and hips is Nina Diaz and Girl in a Coma. Stirring the heart of Nina Diaz, early in her career, was Alice Bag (of The Bags). Alice, too, is a Latina rocker, who now rocks classrooms with inspiration. This article in the San Antonio Current tells the story. Here’s an excerpt:

“Once upon a time there was no punk rock. No Clash. No Ramones. Sid had yet to meet Nancy. Punk rock had yet to be invented. Little-known to most, one of the inventors of punk rock spoke Spanish, grew up listening to rancheras, and watched lucha libre.” “I started working with the children of immigrants, children who were limited English speakers, just as I’d been when I entered school,” she wrote. “I encouraged my students to question everything and everybody, especially me and any other authority figure.”

Here’s Alice with The Bags:

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April 12, 2012

Esperanza Spalding Without the Floor

I used to hear Esperanza Spalding through the floor of my apartment as she practiced for classes at Berklee. I could tell she was good, but her music now excels at fusing the interaction of her band mates into a joyful whole.
Ms Spalding has a new album that shows off her music with a bit more tunefulness this time without giving up her usual multi-influenced style. The bebop elements are still there, dancing with Latin rhythms. The bass still duels with her voice. Her band is rock-solidly with her material. Though her style varies now from classical influences to avant garde, the sound is always pure Esperanza. Enjoy. There’s a bit of it here to hear below. Downbeat magazine says: “The most anticipated jazz album of the year has arrived, and Esperanza Spalding’s hook-filled Radio Music Society is an artistic triumph.”

http://www.downbeat.com/default.asp?sect=reviews


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radio_Music_Society

http://www.itemvn.com/player.swf?soundFile=F34EEF4F84&autostart=no&loop=yes

March 31, 2012

Come hear me rock my own songs on April 2.

Hi Cambridge-Area Folks,

I’m not just a novelist nerd, you know. I do write songs, too.
Come hear me rock on April 2. After that my next gig is in 2027,
when all rocking will be done in wheelchairs. Natali Freed and
Rick Drost will be performing that night, too.

Here’s the FB invite & the flier:
http://www.facebook.com/events/369655889722664/
David Krancher, songwriter
On April 2, Monday, 6:15 p.m.
All Asia Bar, Central square,
334 Mass Ave. Cambridge, MA
617-497-1544

January 1, 2012

Two Means of Swan by Alfred Lord Tennyson and Camille Saint-Saens

Two Means of Swan by Alfred Lord Tennyson and Camille Saint-Saens

The music and the poem:

The Dying Swan

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I.

The plain was grassy, wild and bare,
Wide, wild, and open to the air,
Which had built up everywhere
An under-roof of doleful gray.
With an inner voice the river ran,
Adown it floated a dying swan,
And loudly did lament.
It was the middle of the day.
Ever the weary wind went on,
And took the reed-tops as it went.

II.

Some blue peaks in the distance rose,
And white against the cold-white sky,
Shone out their crowning snows.
One willow over the river wept,
And shook the wave as the wind did sigh;
Above in the wind was the swallow,
Chasing itself at its own wild will,
And far thro’ the marish green and still
The tangled water-courses slept,
Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

III.

The wild swan’s death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear;
And floating about the under-sky,
Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole
Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,
Flow’d forth on a carol free and bold;
As when a mighty people rejoice
With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold,
And the tumult of their acclaim is roll’d
Thro’ the open gates of the city afar,
To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.
And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
And the willow-branches hoar and dank,
And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,
And the silvery marish-flowers that throng
The desolate creeks and pools among,
Were flooded over with eddying song.

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