Word: clarinet
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...couple years bumped into me the other day right outside Elsie's. "My big brother's taken up the piano," he told me. "He wants to be a concert pianist." In the past five years, big brother has taken up the sax, the cello, the flute and the clarinet. A combination of mediocre talent and slim job pickins had prompted a quick and tragic end to one instrumental fascination after another. Given this unfortunate history, I couldn't figure out why big brother decided to take a stab at the piano. "Well, this time he says he's really committed...
...Musical Offering by J. S. Bach," at King's Chapel, Sunday at 5 p.m., features performances on original instruments at baroque pitch with early tunings. Again in Jordan Hall, the NEC Faculty Chamber Music series begins on Tuesday at 8 p.m. The varied program includes Mozart's Trio for Clarinet and Piano, K. 498 and Ravel's Sonata for Violin and Cello. For info about any of these NEC concerts call...
...must say that it is extremely doubtful if so prodigious an undertaking could have succeeded without an actor of Ian Richardson's scope and power. His voice is like the trumpet of the Lord at the Second Coming. He can insinuate like a violin, wheedle like a clarinet and thunder anathemas like a great bass drum. And alongside that, Richardson maintains a physical counterpoint of impish comic invention, which is an equally essential element of the Shavian rhetoric...
When Goodman came in, the audience stood. He looked tired but suave, with his thinning white hair, holding his black clarinet, in his black and white suit. The couple in the balcony sat on edge. Benny was not young. His hand did not look strong when it gave Bunch the tempo, and he took a few deep breaths before he put the clarinet to his lips. But he followed the beat in and when he started to blow, forty years made no difference. Goodman played strong and jubilant, and moved like the puppet of some demon beat he swallowed...
...night; I could not say how long. We got lost in a river of swing that night. When Benny played smooth, he conjured bright images of a giant ballroom, like the inside of a wedding cake, where ethereal couples foxtrotted and tomorrow never came. When Benny made his clarinet wail, he raised memories of dark, empty places--lonely spots where it seemed the sun would never rise. He played to the heart of Friday night, but he was always a perfect gentleman. When he came back for an encore, he told the audience in a charming, tired voice, "Thank...