The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

The nice thing about reading a book prior to seeing a subsequent cinematic adaption is that you can go in fresh, with no notions or expectations.  So when I picked up a copy of Robin Moore’s The French Connection, published in 1969 and later adapted into a hit movie starring Gene Hackman, I only had a vague idea of what to expect.  Actually, that’s not entirely true.  I had a vague idea that it would be an action-packed story with lots of chases and maybe shootouts.  Also, I was pretty sure it took place in France.

Turns out I was wrong on a few counts.

For one – and I trust I’m not spoiling this for anyone – the book actually takes place in New York City.  It details the investigation of and subsequent arrests of a group of shady characters involved in the heroin trade.  The thing is, it’s a lot less exciting to read than it probably was to participate in.  Moore’s tome, built almost entirely from a number of sources (police reports, criminal diaries, court transcripts, etc.), is heavy on facts to be sure.  I came away from reading the book with an appreciation of just how mundane and frustrating the work of an undercover narcotics detective can really be.

Moore offers a perfunctory look at the story’s two main protagonists – New York City narcotics detectives Eddie Egan and Sonny Grosso – but seemingly more as an obligation than an attempt to really humanize them.  With that out of the way, the painstaking detail of Egan and Grosso’s months-long investigation is laid out over the course of a few hundred pages.  There’s a lot of waiting, watching, and sleepless nights peppered by the occasional car chase.  Only as the investigation draws to a conclusion does the action pick up, but even then it’s a lot more routine than those raised on modern TV and film crime dramas would expect.

Aficionados of true crime stories will enjoy The French Connection, as it is rich in facts and details concerning the international heroin trade of the late ’60s (with some sweet Mafia action thrown in for good measure).  But those looking for action will probably be disappointed.  I don’t pin that on Moore, as it is a well-written book, but that’s my take on his work.  Now I need to see the movie and compare.

One of the true bright spots of last year’s bummer of a musical 2008, The Week That Was (the current solo project of Field Music’s Peter Brewis) is in the midst of a brief jaunt across the Pond.  In fact, the show was billed as “Field Music Presents The Week That Was”.  Last night brought them (and a trio of openers) to the rather intimate Mercury Lounge in New York City’s Lower East Side.  It’s the first time a Field Music-related project has hit the States since School of Language was here early last year, so I jumped at the chance to see them.

But first, let’s talk opening acts.  There were three of them, although I missed the first one (Monuments).  The second, Philadelphia’s own Arc in Round, put on a decent performance that was unfortunately partly sunk by lousy vocal acoustics.  Most of the songs they performed put me in mind of a typical late-’80s episode of 120 Minutes.  Not bad, but not particularly memorable.

Hallelujah the Hills followed, and the leap in musicianship and compositional skill was amazing.  The six-piece ensemble out of Boston put on very good show, mixing subdued pieces featuring a cello with upbeat pieces that had me and many others in the club moving.  I was impressed enough that I’ve already acquired their most recent album, Collective Psychosis Begone.

While this was going on, observant fans in attendance may have spotted David Brewis standing around inside the venue.  But if they did they sure didn’t act like it.  I can only assume they didn’t recognize him, which I suppose is understandable.  I didn’t want to be one of “those fans” and bother him so I left him alone.  Anyway, on to the show.

The touring version of The Week That Was that took the stage is scaled down from the one on the album – it consists only of Peter Brewis on guitar, keyboard and vocals, David Brewis on drums and vocals, Peter Gofton on bass, marimba (or something similar) and backing vocals, and Kev Dosdale on keyboard, guitar and backing vocals.  (Brewis took over for Dosdale at the keyboard halfway through the set).  Almost more than my eagerness to just hear the band play, I was curious to see how successfully they could replicate the dense, rich textures captured on record.

To their credit, the quartet pulled it off with aplomb.  As I expected, the focus of the show was on the brothers.  Peter (standing a lot shorter than I thought, incidentally) delivered spot-on vocals and excellent work on guitar and keyboards, while brother David stood out with his muscular drumming and beautifully complementary backing vocals.  Gofton and Dosdale acquitted themselves nicely, although the regimented structure of the show – there were just a few moments that really expanded musically on the album – kept them from showing any real chops.

The only real missing ingredient was the string section, and I was able to mentally add them into the mix so it wasn’t a problem.  An unexpected benefit of the pared down lineup was more of a focus on songcraft than production flourishes.  And it turns out that even stripped down to basics, a composition with the name Brewis attached to it is a potent force indeed.  Bring on the next Field Music project!

In a neat little coincidence, I surpassed 50,000 tracks played on my last.fm account right around the time this humble little web log logged its 50,000th visitor.  As I mentioned when I hit the 10,000-visitor mark in April 2008, the interest in this site continues to amaze me.  But don’t worry, I won’t let delusions of adequacy get in the way of posting album covers, random scans of old pieces of paper, and mildly funny original content on a haphazard basis.

I just wanted to take another opportunity to thank all of you who have stopped by over the last few years, whether you’re a regular in these here parts or just a drive-by visitor.  And I’d like to give a special shout-out to #50,000, coming to us from New York City and checking out the 2nd part of my Get to Know entry on Genesis.  Hope you enjoyed it my friend!

In celebration of two new CDs from New Amsterdam Records, four of the label’s acts took to the stage last Friday night at Joe’s Pub, located in New York City’s über-artsy NoHo district.  Despite having already heard music from three of them, I still wasn’t sure what to expect from the evening.  After all, classical guitarists and modern chamber groups are not the types of shows I usually see in the Big Apple.

The evening got off to a rather interesting start as, one by one, the three members of opening act Janus took the stage and contributed a few lines to a spoken word loop that comprised the vocal foundation for a piece called “I Am Not (Blank)”.  It was a rather startling way to begin a performance to say the least.  The trio’s style (comprised of viola, harp, and flute) is not for the musically meek, and I’m fairly certain the term avant garde could correctly be applied to the music I heard.  Anything and everything was turned into an instrument for Janus, including bubble wrap and glass bottles.

After a few pieces, the trio was joined by the first headliner of the evening’s double bill – classical guitarist and composer Andrew McKenna Lee.  Together they performed “the dark out of the nighttime” from Lee’s Gravity and Air album.  It was a stirring performance of a very intense composition, and sounded even better than on the CD.  Afterward, Lee remained alone on stage to perform almost the entirety of his album, beginning with the title track.

Between songs, Lee’s easygoing nature became evident as he explained the theory and inspiration behind some of his music.  But once he started playing, he displayed an intensity and passion that should have converted any unbelievers in the room.  As he expertly made his way through the first third of his “Scordatura Suite” and the whole of “Five Refractions of a Prelude by Bach” (plus the original “Prelude for Lute in D Minor”), Lee and his guitar created an atmosphere that was both sedate and joyful.

To Lee’s credit, the mood was not even broken by the rumble of the subway underneath the building (or even by one jackass who couldn’t be bothered to turn off their cell phone).  His dedication to his craft became even more apparent as it looked like he was playing the last part of his set with a broken and bleeding fingernail (although it could have been a trick of the light…or the beer).

One intermission later, and it was time for the second half of the evening’s festivities.  First up was Build, one of my favorite new acts of any genre.  The quintet, led by composer/violinist Matt McBane, performed four songs for what was a very receptive crowd.  The short set ended with a raucous and high energy performance of “Magnet”, one of my favorite numbers from their album and now their live set.  As with Lee’s performance, the group really shone in a live setting.

I’ve compared Build favorably in the past to Penguin Cafe Orchestra, but after hearing them live I’m not doing that anymore.  Although I think there are still similarities between the two, Build’s sound is much more muscular and incorporates more rock and jazz influences than Penguin Cafe Orchestra.  But I digress.

Last but not least was QQQ, who performed seven songs in support of their new album Unpacking the Trailer… The quartet boasts a sound that is unique to many American ears, being that the Hardanger fiddle (a Norwegian folk instrument) is its foundation.  As expected, it was played to beautiful effect by Dan Trueman, joined on stage by Monica Mugan (classical guitar), Beth Meyers (also of Janus, on viola), and Jason Treuting (drums and melodica).

Other than the aforementioned fiddle, QQQ’s real musical strength on CD and live is the diversity of moods they create and the idiosyncratic nature of their arrangements.  For example, the somber tone of “Sister Sparrow” – partly inspired by Paul McCartney’s “Jenny Wren” according to Trueman – was followed up by the upbeat Norwegian folk tune “Beth’s Springar”.

And like labelmate Build, QQQ apparently knows showmanship.  The two bookends of their set – the bluegrass stomp of “Runaway Puppy” and the rocking ebullience of “Tøykey Jøykey”, esnured that no one in attendance at Joe’s Pub – including yours truly – went away unsatisfied.  And that reflects well, not just on the acts themselves but on New Amsterdam as well.

And so we’ve come to the final installment of our second trip through time, via View-Master.  So hop on the tour bus and take a ride to Washington Square…

Located in the famous Greenwich Village neighborhood of Manhattan, Washington Square Park has an interesting history.  It was the site of a Native American village until it was taken by force by the Dutch; they in turn gave the land to freed slaves, earning it the nickname “Land of the blacks.” These former slaves owned the land from 1643-1664.

Fast forward to 1797, when the area – still farmland – was purchased for use as a burial ground.  The cemetery once housed there was closed in 1825, but even today there are 20,000 bodies that call the Square home (creepy!).

Fast forward again, to 1889, and that’s when the arch shown in the slide was constructed to commemorate the centennial of George Washington’s election to the presidency.  The original plaster and wood arch became so popular that a longer-lasting marble one was put in its place in 1892.

You can read more about Washington Square at your local library!  Or you can save yourself the hassle and go to Wikipedia instead.

While the signs have changed many times over the years, Times Square is just as identifiable today as it was in 1952.  Of course what seems to have changed is the sheer volume of lights – this image looks positively subdued compared to the garish displays of consumerism seen in the Square today, but I imagine it was still pretty impressive back then.

There’s some businesses I can’t make out, but others are hard to miss.  The ones I can get are:

• Chevrolet (dead center)
• Kinsey Blended Whiskey (under Chevrolet)
• Pepsi-Cola (two below Kinsey)
• Astor Hotel (on the left – it was demolished in 1967)
• Capitol Theatre (bottom left)
• Loew’s State Theatre (right of Chevrolet – the original closed in 1987 and was demolished in 1990)
• Bond (apparel chain, very nice display on the right)

Our journey through Ye Olde New Yorke continues – from the air!  This image, quite obviously taken from a shiny prop plane, is of the departure of the famed cruise ship RMS Queen Elizabeth.  The really cool thing about this photo is the scale.  You can get a good sense of just how huge this ship was when compared to not only the other boats around it, but even the buildings on the shoreline.  Incidentally, the ship held the record as the largest passenger liner ever built for 56 years.

Launched in 1938, the Queen Elizabeth was originally designed for use as a cruise liner but owing to World War II, she was instead fitted as a troop transport.  She avoided destruction at the hands of the Luftwaffe by bypassing Southampton on her maiden voyage and instead sailing directly to New York.

After the war the ship was fitted for her original purpose – a passenger liner.  She served for more than 20 years (along with the Queen Mary, another Cunard White Star liner) as part of a two-ship weekly transatlantic service from Southampton to Cherbourg (France) to New York, until rising fuel and labor costs (not to mention competition from more economical jet liners) made her too expensive to operate.

Cunard retired the Queen Elizabeth in 1968 (the Queen Mary was retired in ’67), and replaced them both with the smaller and less expensive RMS Queen Elizabeth 2 (QE2).  A group of businessmen attempted to convert the ship into a tourist attraction and hotel (as had been successfully done with the Queen Mary), but that failed and she was sold again.  A fire and capsizing in 1972 pretty much sealed the ship’s fate, and she was dismantled for scrap a few years later.