That's the way it was...

Most of us tend to remember where we were and exactly what we were doing when news broke that would change the world as we knew it.

I well remember preparing for work as the tragic events of 9/11 were unfolding…and the near-impossible-to-comprehend enormity of what had happened in lower Manhattan. I was standing in front of the mirror shaving. On the TV, Katie Couric on NBC's "Today" was speaking to Pentagon correspondent Jim Miklaszewski regarding the military implications of what had by then been determined to be a terrorist attack on the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. Miklaszewski paused a moment and described a severe jolt he had just felt. There quickly came the revelation of more of the unthinkable that was unfolding on that bright, sunny September morning. Another terrorist-hijacked airliner had just slammed into the Pentagon…

I likewise remember another day, also lovely in terms of weather. It was early afternoon on November 22, 1963. I was a first-year college student at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, and was relaxing between classes at the student union building. A television set was on in the lounge, tuned to the daytime drama “As the World Turns.” The network was CBS.

My eyes were elsewhere, but my ear was caught by the unmistakable voice of Walter Cronkite, the network’s evening news anchor, announcing that President John F. Kennedy had been shot, as his motorcade slowly rolled through downtown Dallas, Texas.

The first bulletins coming in from Dallas were read by Cronkite over the CBS News Bulletin slide. Before long, though, there were pictures, with Cronkite at his desk in the CBS Newsroom in New York. Our young, vibrant President had been shot, in the back seat of his open topped car, next to his glamorous and publicly-adored wife Jacqueline. For so many, the Presidency of JFK represented a time of promise for America. “This could not be happening” was the sentiment echoed as more and more of us gathered around that black and white TV, and Walter Cronkite, in measured tones, informed us that, yes it was.

Cronkite enjoyed the reputation of being the most trusted man in America. Such was the gravitas then of a network evening news anchor of Cronkite’s stripe. Originally a print journalist, a United Press wire service reporter, Walter Cronkite was recruited by another heavyweight, Edward R. Murrow, who brought distinction to CBS in his reporting from London during the German blitz of World War Two, and in everything he did for the network subsequently.

Indeed the team that Murrow assembled at CBS, which included the solid, dignified, and consummately credible likes of Charles Collingwood, Eric Sevareid, Douglas Edwards, and the ever-classy Robert Trout, were additional reasons that the JFK assassination coverage on CBS was, for me, truly iconic.

This was not to minimize the credibility of NBC or ABC, the only other network news providers back then, but CBS News in that era just seemed to me the pinnacle, the gold standard. And the personification of that status was the avuncular presence, each evening at dinner time, of Walter Cronkite and the CBS Evening News. When “Uncle Walter” delivered the day’s news, whether good or bad, you knew you were in good hands. The adjectives that come immediately to mind are solid, genuine…and human.

But back to that November afternoon in 1963…What I will forever find even more compelling than the initial Cronkite voice-over bulletin announcing the shooting… was seeing him, about an hour later, momentarily take off his thick dark rimmed glasses, and announce the confirmation of the reports that Kennedy had been pronounced dead, giving the time in both Central and Eastern zones. There was that brief wave of emotion in his voice and persona, as he regained his composure and told us that Vice President Johnson had left Parkland Hospital and would presumably soon be taking the oath of office to become the next President.

But going beyond this trusted anchor’s solid presence in delivering such news, you’d have to understand something more about television news in that era, to grasp just how impactful this reporting was.

I don’t think the term “up close and personal” was in common use back then, but if it were, this would be its touchstone…its practical definition.

For on that black and white screen, there was no clutter of crawls, flashing graphics, or other moving "stuff" that would later define the media. There was Walter Cronkite in shirtsleeves, with a microphone in front of him. That was it - nothing to distract the senses from the message. Well, to be entirely accurate, there was some additional movement in the picture, that of newsroom staff working behind him in the cramped, unglamorous CBS Newsroom.

But when the camera closed in on Cronkite as he delivered that confirmation of what we feared, it was as up close and personal as one could ever imagine.

There was a definite purity about that. We didn’t know it at the time, because, after all, what could it be compared to? Other than radio, of course.

As the tragedy unfolded over the ensuing days, black and white film footage was incorporated, as well as reports from newsmen on the scene, witnesses, law enforcement officials, and so forth. And of course, there was the shooting, right there in the Dallas police station, by a man named Jack Ruby, of purported Presidential assassin Lee Harvey Oswald.

But it was all tied together by our much admired – and trusted – CBS anchor Walter Cronkite and his team.

While this remembrance is about Mr. Cronkite, it is, I feel, entirely right to mention the superbly poised and appropriately executed anchoring provided by Cronkite’s colleague Charles Collingwood who relieved Mr. Cronkite as the broadcast continued.

This would presumably have been to allow Cronkite to start preparing his 30-minute evening newscast. I’m reminded in viewing the kinescope recordings of the live coverage of that afternoon how very iconic it all was. The setting remained that cramped CBS newsroom. Collingwood did not stumble or flail or miss a beat, amidst the staccato in-rush of new information from Dallas. When the venerable Robert Trout – who almost twenty years earlier had announced to the CBS radio audience that World War Two had ended – came over to describe the scene outside in midtown Manhattan, in terms of public reaction, Collingwood simply moved the single desk microphone over in front of his colleague.

If you view this footage through our 21st century media attuned sensibilities, it looks curiously quaint…and technically rather crude. But the expression that keeps coming back is “up close…and – very – personal.”

Whether it was Cronkite or Collingwood in front of the camera, we were there as some rather troubling history was being made…and our attention was where it belonged: on the news, as delivered by trusted – and trustworthy – anchor/reporters.

The 1960s would continue as a turbulent decade. The increasing U.S. involvement in Viet Nam…the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King Junior… the Civil Rights and anti-Viet Nam war struggles and violence in our cities…And the 70’s would not be much of an improvement, with Viet Nam becoming a deadly quagmire, as well as the revelations of Watergate leading up to the resignation of President Richard M. Nixon.

But if one had to swallow the bitter pills of these years’ troubling events it was somehow reassuring to have the news delivered each evening by Walter Cronkite.

Indeed, it was enlightening to find out much later that in certain European countries, the act of anchoring a newscast had taken on the term Cronkiting (or Kronkiting).

It was not long after the Kennedy assassination that I got to meet Mr. Cronkite. The year was 1964. Lyndon Baines Johnson was President…our involvement in Southeast Asia was on the rise, the civil rights movement in the Southern states was escalating, and LBJ would be facing a hard fought Presidential election, with Republican Barry Goldwater as his main opponent. But within his own Democratic party, the nomination was not entirely wrapped up. George Corley Wallace, the feisty governor of the state of Alabama, an avowed opponent of school desegregation in his state, and a populist whose anti Federal bureaucracy stands were winning him significant blue collar support outside Alabama, had mounted a campaign for the Presidency.

Wallace’s showings were strong in my then home state of Maryland. And Cronkite felt the Maryland Democratic Primary to be of national import. He was to anchor CBS’s live coverage, from the Southern Hotel in Baltimore. I was hired in a minor role on the CBS production team for that night’s broadcast. I can’t say I remember all that much about the experience, other than it being very fast-paced; but what I do remember was, at the end of that long continuous coverage…it must have been about 2 AM…Cronkite came into the hotel’s bar where we were all unwinding…and sat down briefly with us production functionaries to chat. I could not begin to tell you what we spoke about. It was enough to be in the presence of this great anchor I so admired, and to realize he was not above having a beer at the end of a very long broadcast with low level support people.

That was the sort of thing that made a young man with broadcasting stars in his eyes…glow in the dark.

It’s no secret, television news has changed…a lot…since then, certainly advancing technically. I suppose it can be said that Walter Cronkite and that more intimate, personal, and uncluttered presentation were a product of an earlier era in mass communications. The media now seem acutely aware of the many forms of competition…and the shorter attention spans of consumers of the product...and it shows.

In McLuhanesque terms of the media being the message, we might say the message has changed. The networks’ evening newscasts, once their flagships – and our prime access to the day’s news (beyond newspapers, of course) now struggle against a plethora of other electronic media. So much of the "product" seems disdainful of in-depth coverage.

Or else, the hard news, to which Cronkite and his colleagues were so devoted to covering, gets diluted by so much life-style and "demographics-driven" fluff and clutter.

Or perhaps the mass media are simply recognizing – and reflecting – a new zeitgeist of instant gratification, instant messaging, texting, tweeting…and short attention spans.

I strongly doubt we’ll ever again see the likes of Walter Cronkite. But, to paraphrase his trademark sign-off, that’s the way it was…and I’m glad I was around for it.

©2009 Steve Ember

God has a way of sending me Miracle Ducks...

Sometimes, in our roamings about, we are fortunate enough, out of serendipity, to speak to a stranger, and in so doing meet a very special person. Such was the case for me in September of 1999, in a lovely spot in one of my very favorite cities, Vancouver, British Columbia.

I was there for a few days to visit some dear friends, whom I’d met twenty years earlier in the club car of the (pre-ViaRail) Canadian Pacific Railway train, The Canadian, gliding through the magnificent Rocky Mountains scenery west of Lake Louise, on the way to Vancouver.

It took a while to get back to Vancouver to visit again with Alf and Joyce, but I did so in 1997, falling in love even more with this jewel of the Pacific Northwest, before heading north to Alaska. A planned photo trip two years later -- to coincide with the changing colors of the Lyall’s larches on the high mountain plateau of Larch Valley above Moraine Lake in the Canadian Rockies in September, 1999, and to once again experience the dramatic beauty of Moraine Lake itself -- allowed for a return to Vancouver to visit with Alf and Joyce before driving up the scenic coastline for a couple days at Whistler, and thence across to Alberta and my beloved Rockies.

I was staying at the stately Hotel Vancouver, in a lovely part of downtown Vancouver. The weather was uncommonly sunny and dry, and I was enjoying some time on my own, just roaming about with my cameras, taking in the many inviting aspects of this special place.

A favorite spot of mine is the Centennial Fountain, the main feature of an inviting plaza that sits just outside the hotel along the wide expanse of West Georgia Street. I’d taken photos of the fountain two years earlier, but this time, I was trying out one of the newer Ektachrome slide films I’d come to like a lot. And the warm early autumn sunlight on this magical afternoon could not have been more inviting for photography.

But here’s where the serendipity kicked in…and I’m so glad it did, as it became one of those magical experiences one remembers and cherishes as a very special part of travel.

As I was scouting the right angles to shoot the fountain and capture the play of back-lighting sun on the dancing waters, my eye was immediately caught by a photo opportunity not to be missed.

It was impossible not to be “hooked” by the sight of a very sweet looking woman in a sun hat sitting at the fountain behind a large poster-bedecked, flower-adorned cart with a hand-made white sign on which appeared the message, in black letters, “Too many people with no place to live.” Below it in red, “Please help.” Oh yes, she was talking to...a very large white duck, comfortably perched at the top of the cart, wearing what appeared to be a lovingly handmade duck dress.

There is something very special about people who love animals and are not at all hesitant to demonstrate that love in public. The woman and the duck were interacting in a most sweet and tender manner in the warm sunshine, with the waters of the fountain rising behind them. There was something about that scene that had me smiling broadly, including inside.

I sensed a story there, beyond the chance for some special images on that E-200 film, and I asked if I might chat with this person…and her very calm and friendly feathered companion…

I learn her name is Laura Kay Prophet, a resident of Vancouver, and her little friend is “Bobbi the Duck.” There is an ineffable sweetness and kindness about this person, and her story is about as touching as it gets.

Severely abused as a small child, she has for many years devoted her existence to helping Vancouver’s homeless. And she’s a sort of psychic reader, proceeds of which go to her charity “Duck Soup.” I make a contribution to her work, and we continue to chat. She even lets me pet Bobbi the duck, who is clearly used to such attention from humans. As we chat, Laura Kay points out that Bobbi has tear ducts on either side of her long yellow and black bill, which she explains is most unusual for a duck. “She cries real tears, just like humans.”

Naturally, as we speak I shoot a number of images of this touchingly sweet relationship.

All people who love animals, no matter the breed, are very special in my book. But something about Laura Kay’s gentleness and trust in the goodness of humanity (she could have turned out a lot less so, given her terribly tragic childhood) made me feel just a bit more glad to be alive that day…and honored to have had the experience of meeting her.

Back then, before blogs and web sites were comfortable options for reaching out with my photos and thoughts, I produced a printed newsletter for those who followed my work. It usually coincided with having a show, or introducing new images. As I recall, on returning from the Canadian trip, I included, along with images of Larch Valley, and Moraine Lake, one of my photos of the Centennial Fountain, with a narrative about the shoot. I think I closed with something like, “Let me tell you next time about Vancouver’s Duck Lady.”

I meant it as a tease for the next newsletter, but as I read those words now, and realize they were written ten years ago, and the promised “rest of the story” never got written, I feel genuinely saddened.

Sometimes, we get just too damned busy, and lovely moments and best intentions get sadly shoved aside by this or that deadline or new project.

Recently I purchased a high quality film and slide scanner, so that I could start paying more attention, in a more technically up-to-date way, to the decades of mainly travel photography on film that pre-date getting my first serious digital camera last year.

Ah, so much to re-discover…and re-live.

Well, here’s where that word serendipity also fits. Last evening, in trying to make sense of a tiny corner of a huge backlog of haphazardly “filed” slides, I came across a sleeve containing six of those E-200 slides I’d taken on that sunny afternoon in Vancouver of Laura Kay and Bobbi.

Sadly, some of my notes from that trip were not immediately at hand, and some details were eluding recollection.

Google continues to delight and sometimes even astound me, as I look for bits of useful information, often relating to years-old images. So, on a whim, while my Epson printer is squirting its fine little droplets at a sheet of photo paper to produce a hard copy of my favorite of the “Duck Lady” images, I type in something like “Duck Lady Vancouver B.C.”

To my surprise and delight appears a short documentary, made by a Vancouver film-maker in 2004 as a project for the Vancouver Film School.

Once again, I’m in the presence of this kind and gentle soul who had so affected me. She speaks of her work, and the special relationships she enjoyed with ducks before Bobbi was given to her. “God has a way of sending me ‘miracle ducks’” I’m touched by her reminiscence of one such creature, Harvey, dying in her arms, and understand how she had to have felt. I also learn that she has physical impairment from Multiple Sclerosis which, on some days, leaves her weaker in terms of visiting the homeless who so depend on her kindness.

I hesitate to write more in this post just now, until I hopefully hear back from either the VFS or perhaps Ms. Prophet to update this five year old information.

In the meantime, may I share this vignette with you, with the hope that Laura Kay is still visiting that lovely plaza in downtown Vancouver…and if Bobbi is no longer her companion, that she has been blessed with a new feathered friend to love.

I am very glad to have made your acquaintance, if only briefly, Laura Kay Prophet. You are one of God’s very special people.

A Memorable Musical Pilgrimage

This column first appeared last year in the "what's new" blog on my web site (SteveEmber.com). It is reprised here in celebration of the wonderful music of both Bert Kaempfert and Herbert Rehbein and with the hope of introducing more readers to some very special delights involving their music.

I have been a huge fan of the Bert Kaempfert Orchestra from, as we used to say, “West” Germany, ever since Kaempfert’s recordings began to be heard on U.S. radio back in the early ‘60s.

Now, I suppose you’ve got to be of “a certain age” to even remember when your basic broadcast band had really fine music stations (sometimes even more than one in certain cities!), and tuning in such a station would reward you with recordings by Sinatra, Ella, Vic Damone, George Shearing, Peggy Lee, and, yes, Bert Kaempfert. I mean real music, not disposable, mindless Pop garbage screeching or thumping out of the speakers.

And, yes, I’m pleased to say in my local radio days, I did indeed get to play some Kaempfert!

Kaempfert recordings were typically a mix of standards (and, later, covers of some current hits) and those great Kaempfert originals, some of the best of which were co-written with a superbly talented composer and arranger by the name of Herbert Rehbein. Rehbein was also from Germany, and additionally conducted an orchestra for Swiss broadcasting.

A rather curious bit of “packaging” marked all of Kaempfert’s LPs on the American Decca label. Perhaps it was the fact that the Second World War had “only” ended about fifteen years before Kaempfert’s music reached our shores (with “Wonderland by Night”), but there was always the notation in the liner notes (Remember liner notes, I mean the kind you could enjoy without the aid of a big, thick magnifier?) that said “Recorded in Europe.” Kaempfert made his recordings in Hamburg for Polydor; Decca was the U.S. licensee. Germany did finally appear in the credits some years later.

Many years later, when I was finally able to locate one of the sublimely lush orchestral recordings by the Herbert Rehbein Orchestra (There is a connection!), also on Decca, I was not surprised to see that same “Recorded in Europe” notation.

Kaempfert…Rehbein…recorded in Germany…a bit too Teutonic-sounding for American tastes? Their music certainly wasn’t. Oh, and then there was the trumpeter in the forefront of most of the Kaempfert arrangements, credited on the backs of all those albums as “Fred Moch.” It wasn’t until many years later that I learned his name was actually Manfred Moch.

But no matter, the Bert Kaempfert Orchestra, “recorded in Europe” with “trumpet solos by Fred Moch” became a staple on American radio. And record stores had bins full of Kaempfert LPs. We fans were always eager to snatch up a new Kaempfert release, run home, slide a fingernail through the shrink wrap (Remember when opening recordings was that easy?), set that 12” vinyl treasure on the turntable, lower that tonearm ever so carefully so the (carefully cleaned!) stylus of that magnetic cartridge gently caressed the lead-in groove…and sit back and enjoy…or perhaps dance cheek to cheek with someone special. Fortunately for his legions of fans, by the mid-‘80s, Kaempfert “albums” soon found their way into the CD medium, somewhat later appearing as double sets with previously unreleased tunes, alternate takes, etc.

Sadly, Kaempfert and Rehbein never got to see the ongoing joy their recordings brought to collectors and fans, old and new, with the advent of CD. Kaempfert died in 1980, just short of his 57th birthday, not long after some brilliantly successful live concerts on the Continent, and at London’s Royal Albert Hall (He had a huge fan base in the U.K.). Herbert Rehbein passed away a year earlier. He was only 57. I suppose, had they lived a more deserved lifespan, they would have been saddened at the decline and fall of melodic “popular” music. Still, so sad to have such talent taken away from us when both men were still in their prime.

Now, I realize this account is likely to be seen, both by Kaempfert devotees and others perhaps less tuned in. So, to the latter group (and with no disrespect intended to the former!), I pose this question:

Still wondering who this Kaempfert guy was?

Would it help if I mentioned Red Roses for a Blue Lady…Spanish Eyes...Danke Schoen…L-O-V-E…A Swingin’ Safari…Strangers in the Night?

Anyhow, about that “pilgrimage”…

Funny how a “casual” search on the Internet can lead to, well, something really wonderful…and what I’m leading up to really was just that.

As I mentioned, being an inveterate liner credits reader, I had always been aware of this “shadow presence” named Herbert Rehbein. His name appeared next to Kaempfert’s in the writer credits for all of my favorite Kaempfert “originals.” These tunes, often lush and romantic, but always rhythmic…and just very special and distinctive in their "sound"…were among my strong favorites in any Kaempfert set.

I even remembered hearing, many years ago, when radio stations actually featured such music, a recording by the “Herbert Rehbein Orchestra.” As I recall, it was a Kaempfert tune, but given a somewhat more lush arrangement. Sometimes, when you cut your teeth on a particular recording, the song becomes so closely associated with that "sound," that someone else's recording just sounds "off." I remember this not being the case with the Rehbein "cover" of the Kaempfert tune. No surprise, this simpatico sound, for reasons I'd later come to understand, and appreciate!

Well, good things sometimes come to those who wait, thought I, and proceeded to do a Google search on Herbert Rehbein, hoping to find perhaps a CD or two re-issuing some of those lush, melodic recordings…

Now, the CDs remained elusive for a while, but I did find an ebay listing for a Decca Stereo LP by the Herbert Rehbein Orchestra. It was called (typical for that period) “Music to Soothe That Tiger.” And the album art was, of course of a lovely gal on a tiger rug flashing a “come hither” smile. In fact, the seller’s listing had to do more with the “cheesecake” album cover than the vinyl inside. But I bid…and won…and soon got to relish the long-lost sounds of this master arranger/conductor from “Europe.”

Well, now my interest was truly piqued. While I thought I was fairly conversant with Kaempfert, I developed a strong interest in learning more about the still shadowy Mr. Rehbein. Naturally the liner notes were typically vague, although I think they did concede to Rehbein’s connection with Swiss broadcasting.

Further nocturnal research on the computer led to the discovery of a two-CD Rehbein set from the then-current primary U.S. licensee of Kaempfert recordings. The set contained, on two CDs, all of the material from the three albums Rehbein arranged and conducted with his own orchestra, in collaboration with Bert Kaempfert. But, sadly, it was “out of print.”

I checked Amazon/Germany, thinking perhaps it might be available on a German label. Nope, only one used copy, and the seller did not ship overseas. So, back to Amazon/U.S. where one private seller, knowing he had “treasure,” wanted an exorbitant sum for his Rehbein set. Fortunately, he had competition, and I was able to snag mine for under fifty bucks. It was immediately copied as a safeguard against any accidental damage separating me from this hard to find and truly lovely lush orchestral material. Copies of the two CDs ride with me everywhere in the CD changer of my car, along with, of course, recordings by Bert Kaempfert.

But the Internet crawling did not stop there – I still wanted to know more about Mr. Rehbein. Then, Eureka! A link to YouTube, with a page full of video clips from a superb TV documentary on Bert Kaempfert, done by a German by the name of Marc Boettcher. Mr. Boettcher, to his great credit, gave ample coverage to the collaboration of Kaempfert and Rehbein as a songwriting team. Beyond that, it contained interview footage with such core players of the original Kaempfert band as Ladi Geisler, whose “knack-bass” guitar was a major element of the distinctive Kaempfert sound--fascinating to hear him describe how the sound was created.

There were segments with Kaempfert’s daughters, Marion and Doris, Rehbein’s widow Ruth, and so many others, all contributing fascinating information... conversation from other core players, both original and more recent, Kaempfert’s recording engineer, Peter Klemt, home movie footage of Kaempfert in his beloved Florida Everglades…There were also elements of one of the televised live concerts, including the wonderful Swedish Jazz vocalist Sylvia Vrethammar coquettishly singing to a bashfully smiling Bert Kaempfert, “Remember When (We Made These Memories).” I could go on and on about the quality, thoroughness, and sensitivity of this superb program. I had to have what existed beyond the You-Tube clips. But – Oh, no! – while the documentary has both German and English narration tracks, it’s not available in U.S. format.

But if you are a Kaempfert (or Rehbein, or both) fan, don’t let that stop you. Do yourself a big favor: Go and find a “universal” DVD player that will play PAL-standard DVDs and will accept other regions’ coding – they’re not gonna be at your local electronics superstore, but, trust me, an Internet search will get you where you need to be, and for around a hundred bucks, you’ll have such a player that snorts at petty concerns like “Region 2” or PAL vs. NTSC, and says “feed me anything and I’ll make it appear on your screen and emerge in glorious stereo from your speakers."

Then, while you’re waiting for it to arrive, scoot over to Amazon.de and type in "Strangers in the Night, The Bert Kaempfert Story" in the DVD category. Find a friend who knows German, or just plunge in – German Amazon is laid out pretty much like its U.S. cousin. You’ll pay in Euros, your bank will do the conversion to greenbacks, and you, my Kaempfert-loving friend, will thank me.

As a bonus, the documentary also comes with a CD containing some very worthwhile Kaempfert material you might not already have.

Say, oh wordy one, what about that pilgrimage?

I was saying how nocturnal Internet searches can bring unexpectedly wonderful results

In February, I enjoyed a wonderful trip to Germany, a visit planned around attending a concert in Frankfurt honoring the Bert Kaempfert sound.

Y’see, a click or two after nailing down that documentary, I landed on the news that in February there were to be four Tribute Concerts to the music of Bert Kaempfert, in Frankfurt, Hamburg, Düsseldorf, and Berlin, featuring some of the band’s long-standing key players, including Ladi Geisler, saxophonist Herb Geller, and the wonderful Dutch trumpeter and flugelhorn virtuoso Ack Van Rooyen, as well as the above mentioned Ms. Vrethammar, who had become closely associated over the years with Kaempfert’s music.

I considered this an event “not to be missed,” and planned a trip to Germany around it…a sort of musical pilgrimage to the man whose music I’ve loved for such a large chunk of my life.

To be continued...

In Bruges (Not the movie) Part Three (Conclusion, at least for now...)

So, there I was last November, enthusiastically planning the visit to San Francisco, including the performance of "Die tote Stadt" at the Opera, and visiting those locations seen in "Vertigo" (and "Bullitt" of course) for some photography, especially The Golden Gate Bridge from Old Fort Point. Yes, I know Ernie's is no more, and the mission down the coast has no bell tower. But that's all right; there'll be much to enjoy.

Well, talk about "best laid plans." As I'm about to reserve my seat at the Opera, and make the other necessary arrangements, something comes up that stops the process. Not important what it was, but the frustration I felt at having to cancel a trip I was really looking forward to soon turned to being very glad I didn't go.

Ed is an old friend and professional colleague who shares many of my interests in music. He found, on line, a review of the production in one of the San Francisco newspapers and, thoughtfully, e-mailed me a link. What follows explains why this was the rare instance where backing out of a trip I'd so looked forward to planning turned out to be...a relief. The review instantly told me what I would have had to spend a grand or more, and blow a bunch of valuable airline miles, to find out: I would have been sadly repulsed at sitting through that around which I'd enthusiastically been planning a trip.

I mentioned in Part Two that I had an axe to grind against a certain segment of the opera (and other musical performing arts) world, inhabited by egos-on-steroids directors intent on putting their own - often bizarre - stamps on the works they stage. Who knows the reasons - there are probably many. Perhaps to make a "dated" piece like "Die tote Stadt" more "relevant" to what passes for present day "culture." Or maybe just to feed their sometimes outrageously over-developed egos and make an artistic "statement."

Case in point...I cited the easy-to-obtain DVD of the Opéra du Rhin 1999 Strasbourg performance of "Die tote Stadt." Without doubt, it is beautifully sung, with a cast headed by Angela Denoke (another fine singing actress) as Marietta/Marie and and Torsten Kerl as Paul. I'd gladly listen to it, alongside the three preferred performances mentioned earlier - as long as I didn't have to watch this bizarre staging.

Before giving examples, let's state the obvious: Paul remains hopelessly in love with his dead wife and can only try to revive such feelings with her doppelgänger, and only in a tortured dream sequence that turns into a sort of mortal combat. So it's rife with the stuff that makes psychiatrists and psychoanalysts rich. But Korngold's music and vision are sublimely beautiful. As are the Bruges settings in any simpatico staging, such as the 1975 New York City Opera or the 1983 Berlin productions mentioned earlier.

As with any fantasy, no matter how dramatic or emotionally tortured, it requires a suspension of disbelief, and certainly in the case of Korngold's powerful music, the willingness to immerse oneself in the story, especially in Paul's dream-turning-to-nightmare, which constitutes most of the opera.

Anyone who has loved intensely and lost that loved one should be able to view Paul as the tortured and tragic figure he is...to empathize, even to a modest degree, with his rapture at discovering this young woman who reminds him so much of his lost love, as well as with his ill-starred attempt to regain the love he had with Marie.

I could continue throwing words at it...but if you watch James King in the 1983 Berlin production (as far as I know, the only available video representation of a "traditional" staging), you won't need my words. Mr. King nailed it.

And he did so with dignity. We do not see him clutching a ... doll! Nor do we see him reaching for a skeletal hand coming out of the floor (presumably from where he buried his dead wife??) Are you creeped out yet? Must admit I was at learning of these new staging features. Nah, I thought, that can't be - you must've misread something in the reviews. Viewing clips on YouTube confirmed these bizarre aberrations and countless others, both in the Opéra du Rhin and the San Francisco Opera production I'd been so anxious to attend.

But here's a particularly odious "touch" that seems to be showing up a great deal in these "modern" stagings of "Die tote Stadt." Marie's hair (and that of Marietta) are key dramatic elements in the plot. Paul loved Marie's hair. He keeps a long braid of it in a glass enclosure. He is attracted to Marietta, in no small measure, because her hair reminds her of his beloved. In the dream sequence, Marietta, determined to win Paul over from his devotion to his deceased wife, reminds him how much he loved to touch her own hair.

Perhaps I'm missing something here, but what then is the logic or validity of having Marietta spend most of the dream sequence...in a bald wig?!?

I suppose I should be glad this is a "modern" quirk. As beautiful as Karan Armstrong is as both Marie and Marietta, in the 1983 Berlin production, I doubt I'd have cared to see even Ms. Armstrong portraying a bald Marietta. And, fortunately, I was spared of any such nonsense being inflicted on the lovely Ms. Neblett in 1984 at the Kennedy Center.

Oh, yes, I should add I'll gladly do without crucifixion in the dream sequence...and why make a mockery of the classic beauty of Bruges, as some recent stage settings have done?

What is going on here?

I'm not into "conspiracy theories," but seems to me if a segment of the Art Universe were seeking to drive a stake into the passionate heart of "Die tote Stadt," they could not have found a better way to do so than some of these recent travesties.

Then, in December, I learned The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden had a production scheduled for January. Surely, this august and venerable institution would stage the opera with more respect to its creator's vision...

So, once again, the travel wheels start turning. A few nights in London, perhaps also taking in a musical or two on the West End...then, a first ride on the Eurostar to Belgium for, naturally, a pilgrimage to the ever-appealing Bruges, once again in close proximity to having seen a satisfying performance of "Die tote Stadt."

Now, I'm really excited. Until I learn more about the production planned for Covent Garden. Yep, more bald-Marietta and other gross distortions to the beauty of what I've come to love as sympathetic staging of the opera.

So, the airline miles stay in my account. But, at this stage, I despair of seeing "Die tote Stadt" in a European opera house. And that's more the tragedy, as it seems these "adventurous" (to be kind) stagings are somewhat the norm in Europe and elsewhere, at least for the present. Even in Korngold's Vienna, it would appear the upcoming Staatsoper production is to be one of those bizarre distortions.

One hopes this idiocy and disrespect for a beautiful work will pass. Meanwhile, I suppose I can either imagine Korngold turning in his grave...or if there is a Heaven, I'm sure it's equipped with the very best celestial audio/video system imaginable, and I envision dear Erich Wolfgang, perhaps kicking back with Götz Friedrich and James King, smoking cigars, drinking brandy, and watching the tape of the 1983 Berlin production, with big broad smiles, entranced as I at viewing a production that is truly a Gold Standard. When I get there, I want to shake their hands and say "Thank you, Gentlemen, for a gift that enriched me immensely." Perhaps when Karan Armstrong arrives (and hopefully, not for many years!) she'll join us and I can thank her too.

Meanwhile, on the serendipitic chance that someone reading this knows of a "traditional" production of "Die tote Stadt" (no bald headed Marietta, no Paul clutching a doll or a skeletal hand, no one nailed to a cross, please) with a suitable sized orchestra and fine performers, planned for...anywhere...I'd certainly appreciate your being in touch with the particulars.

Till then, I shall treasure the Götz Friedrich/Karan Armstrong/James King Berlin production on my DVD...The Stockholm production on CD...and those Dolby-B tapes of Leinsdorf's recording in Germany...as I hold out hope of enjoying at least one more fully staged and beautifully sung and played - "traditional" - production of "Die tote Stadt." Dare I hope for such a staging in Bruges itself, or at least a train ride away?

OK, Dear Reader, that's my story on "Die tote Stadt," and I'm stickin' to it. If I've introduced even a few, out of curiosity, to this work, I'm happy.

One quick post-script before closing: I wrote in the previous post how taken I was with Karan Armstrong's intelligent beauty and expressiveness as an operatic actress. Even if you are not moved by the foregoing narrative to fully immerse yourself in this video of "Die tote Stadt," please go on YouTube and look up the clip of the final scene. Type in: Die tote Stadt James King Karan Armstrong - that should be enough to get you on the right page. Then select "Die tote Stadt - Final." Make sure you select the HQ version for the clearest video. If you're in a hurry, scoot the cursor up to 1:54. You need only watch from there to 3:08. In that one minute and fourteen seconds, you'll see a good example of why Karan Armstrong is so enchanting as a singing actress. A vision in stylish white, she returns (as Marietta) to Paul's house, where she left her umbrella and the very large bouquet of roses the infatuated Paul gave her in Act I.

She sings how she wonders if perhaps her returning for them might be considered an omen...she draws ever closer to Paul, searching his eyes as to whether they might kiss, but sees that he can not respond to her. Watch the recognition in her face and the sensitivity of her acting and movement as she turns to leave, pausing to look back once more at Paul's helpless stance, his hands still held out, but unable to call her back, and her curtsy to Paul's friend Frank who enters as she leaves. All to Korngold's achingly beautiful orchestral accompaniment.

Some of life's most indelible and affecting beauty comes to us in short moments. For me, this was one of them.

In Bruges (Not the movie) Part Two

2008 was my “rediscovery” year for "Die tote Stadt," Erich Wolfgang Korngold's powerfully romantic stage work of which I wrote in Part 1. I do not even recall what prompted this re-awakening of interest, but it was probably a combination of influences. Probably the most direct nudge in that direction was seeing the trailers for the film “In Bruges” with its visuals of the Belfry, the canals, and the distinctive Flemish architecture.

Of course, it could easily have been more subtle than that, as there are numerous framed photographs in my house of images I captured on film during my visit to Bruges in 1984.

Or it might have been an evening spent with my DVD of “Vertigo,” one of my favorite Alfred Hitchcock films, and one I’ll probably never tire of viewing. If you are familiar with “Vertigo,” you know that James Stewart’s character, former San Francisco Police detective John “Scotty” Ferguson, is caught up in a deadly deception by his old acquaintance Gavin Elster. Elster plans to do away with his wife Madeleine, and his plan hinges on his knowledge of Scotty’s affliction of vertigo, dizziness relating to heights. Elster engages Scotty to shadow Madeleine, whom he describes as suicidal, haunted by the spirit of an ancestor she never knew, but who took her own life during the “mission days” of old California.

Scotty is reluctant to take on such a job, but one look at the alluring “Madeleine” at Ernie’s Restaurant is all it takes to reel him in. Much of the first half of the film has Scotty following this mysterious and troubled woman, played by Kim Novak, to various places in San Francisco, and rescuing her when she jumps into the bay in the cinematically iconic scene at Old Fort Point on the Presidio, with the Golden Gate Bridge looming in the misty background. By the end of the first act, Scotty is helplessly in love with “Madeleine” and intent on helping her solve her mysterious affliction. Her death by suicide, this time jumping from a mission bell tower, leaves him institutionalized out of grief…and guilt over his not having been able to prevent her jumping, due to his fear of heights.

When released from the hospital, it is not long before Scotty spots, on a downtown street, a woman bearing an uncanny resemblance to his beloved Madeleine. Her hair is a different color, worn in a different style than Madeleine’s, she is definitely more earthy, and decidedly hard…but Scotty becomes obsessed with Judy Barton’s similarity to his lost love “Madeleine.” The role of Judy is also played by Kim Novak, as a brunette. He follows her to the seedy hotel where she lives and implores her to allow him to spend time with her. A romance develops, but it, too, is ill-fated.

Sound familiar? A doppelgänger for a lost love, appearing by chance, less refined but terribly alluring…bell tower, misty settings by the water…a lovelorn man helplessly clinging to his second chance…

Oh, yes, and powerfully, passionately, romantic symphonic music. “Vertigo” is regarded by many as the legendary Bernard Herrmann’s finest film score.

Not to say that Korngold and Herrmann wrote in a really similar style, but, to my sensibilities, the Herrmann of “Vertigo” and the Korngold of “Die tote Stadt” come close enough to elicit some of the very same emotional responses.

And, in a way, one makes you want to listen to the other. Add the similarities of plot, and, well, a great many nocturnal hours can get spent in front of the speakers and the screen, just letting it all wash over you.

Also in 2008, I discovered two other superb recordings of “Die tote Stadt.” One was even a video, but both were eye-openers into this emotionally affecting and musically powerful work.

Naxos offers a very reasonably priced 2-CD set of the complete opera, a live performance by the Royal Swedish Opera in Stockholm, conducted by Leif Segerstam with Katarina Dalayman as Marietta/Marie and Thomas Sunnegardh as Paul heading the cast. It is well recorded, with the orchestra and singers living up to the power of Korngold’s score.

But the real “sleeper,” despite its not quite as thrilling sound when compared to the Segerstam and Leinsdorf (noted in Part 1), was the video - initially discovered in a few short clips on YouTube of all places - of the 1983 Berlin Opera performance created and directed by Götz Friedrich and brilliantly conducted by Heinrich Hollreiser. This production featured the American tenor James King, in the role of Paul. Anyone at home in the operas of Wagner or Richard Strauss, as King was, is certainly a fine casting choice for Paul. Plus he simply looked right in the role. (Some of his stage gestures and expressions were just that, and perhaps appear too exaggerated in TV close-up, but that's a very small quibble!)

Ah, but the real surprise was his compatriot the lovely Karan Armstrong, also with an active opera career in Germany. As I admitted in Part 1 to not being an opera maven, I freely admit I’d never known of Ms. Armstrong, and discovering her, singing both the free-spirited, coquettish Marietta, the spectral Marie, appearing to Paul at the end of Act I, and certainly the wicked dream-Marietta, and making each a compelling stage presence, was one of life’s happy revelations. Not only a fine – and breathtakingly beautiful – soprano, but genuinely a singing actress. Apparently Herr Doktor Friedrich agreed, as not only did he star the gorgeous gal from Montana in several productions; he married her. (Could I be imagining here, or is the lovely Ms. Armstrong the only true actress/soprano to have a cleft chin? No matter, it made her even more beautiful to me, and somehow this facial feature lent character-strength to both her Marietta and her Marie.)

To understand why I came to truly cherish this production, despite its video and audio quality limitations – and believe me as a serious audiophile when I say, you will quickly get past them in perhaps the first few minutes of the first act when Paul sings his rapture at seeing Marietta’s resemblance to his deceased wife – you have to possess some awareness of the vandalism certain present day egos-on-steroids directors have inflicted on “Die tote Stadt.”

Let me return to that thought in Part Three. Meantime, I didn't mean to so highly praise a production that can only be seen in low-quality clips on YouTube. While not as readily available as the Opéra du Rhin 1999 production on a commercial DVD, for reasons I’ll get to later, it’s definitely worth seeking out. Or perhaps it would be instructive to seek out both, to see what I mean about vandalism in service to ego. More on that topic in Part 3. Yes, I have a wee axe to grind on that particular topic, especially when it comes to this particular opera...

So, back to “Vertigo,” “Die tote Stadt,” and…photography. Should I have named this blog Non-Sequitur instead of Thunderflakes? I don’t think so…

Last time I visited San Francisco was in 1984 (if you don’t count changing planes at SFO on the way to Vancouver in 1999). That’s too long…as many viewings of “Vertigo” (and “Bullitt”) pointed out.

So, when I heard the San Francisco Opera was mounting a performance of “Die tote Stadt” in late 2008, the wheels began turning. A chance to see a live production of Korngold’s operatic masterpiece…and, as photographer and incurable romantic, to make a pilgrimage to the locations I found so affecting in Hitchcock’s cinematic masterpiece.

OK, plenty of United miles to do it, even in First Class, if I so chose. Mark Hopkins or Fairmont on Nob Hill for lodging, in honor of those scenes in “Vertigo” and “Bullitt”). The naughty side of me considers renting a V-8 Mustang…or a black Charger. Nah, nix on the latter. The ’69 Bill Hickman drove in “Bullitt” was simply more snarky than the present bulked up version…Hmm, imagine instead a ’56 De Soto Firedome two-door hardtop with a big ol’ V-8.

Note to self: Do I watch too many movies?

Now, this is not the first trip I’ve planned that was inspired by a musical event, and I’ve enjoyed them all. So, why did the vision die? Not for lack of motivation, time off, airline miles, or funds.

Hold on to that egos-on-steroids vandalism thought, and we’ll pick it up in Part 3. Meantime Google “Die tote Stadt” James King Karan Armstrong Berlin, in whatever order you like. If you are at all a romantic…if you love Korngold’s music…even if you already have an audio recording of the opera, I think you might enjoy this discovery, especially if you sleuth around and find the DVD from that 1983 Berlin TV production. It’s ridiculously affordable and you might thank me.

In Bruges (not the movie)...

Disclaimer: I am not a music critic. I don’t even play one on TV. And I am not an opera maven. I am a lover of fine music, with a decided preference for the lush romantic scores, powerfully played by a large symphony orchestra. Should that include a sensuous vocal line as in Puccini, I’m there.

Ditto, Erich Wolfgang Korngold.

Korngold, opera?? Isn’t he the guy that scored those Errol Flynn swashbucklers for Warner Brothers in the ‘30s and ‘40s? The Sea Hawk? Elizabeth and Essex? Right. And many soaring, romantic, lyrical scores as well. But that was after he fled the Nazis from his beloved Vienna in the ‘thirties and settled in Hollywood.

Korngold was a true musical Wunderkind, praised by no less a figure than Gustav Mahler. That Korngold loved and understood the power of a large symphony orchestra and all its textures can be appreciated in listening to any of the fine audio showpiece recordings in conductor Charles Gerhardt’s “Classic Filmscore Series” for RCA in the ‘70s, and currently available on CD. Or seek out his Symphony and other “serious” orchestral works. (How I hate that term “serious” and what it implies regarding some of the finest symphonic film scoring ever done…)

Anyhow, back to Korngold…opera…and a magical place called Bruges. If you’ve not visited this “Venice of the North” with its meandering canals and characteristic Flemish architecture, the gothic Bell Tower, and cobble-stoned byways in the northwest of Belgium, perhaps you have some recent images in your mind’s eye from the 2008 film “In Bruges.” Please hold onto them, or any other images you may have of Bruges, preferably by night, while I attempt to tie this all together…

When Korngold was but 23, he created a powerful, romantically intense opera (with his father’s collaboration as librettist) based on a troubling story of a young widower in Bruges who cannot move past the death of his beloved wife. He sees her doppelgänger in a young actress/dancer in a troupe visiting Bruges and what ensues is highly romantic, erotic, turning violent, but only in his frightening dream journey through love, lust, and grief over a loved one he cannot replace.

The opera was “Die tote Stadt.” The title, German for “The Dead City,” was derived from the novel by Paul Rodenbach “Bruges-la-Morte.” That “Dead City” reference is to the decline of Bruges as a seaport as its harbor silted up. There went its commercial life, and its glory. Of course, that was before the big modern tour buses and “If it’s Monday it must be Belgium,” oh yes, with a quick stop in that quaint little Bruges. Culottes, anyone? But I digress.

To the passionate strains of Korngold’s music, the protagonist, Paul, whose house is a shrine to his deceased wife Marie, spies the young(er) Marietta. She is warm and inviting and receptive to his attentions, until…

“Die tote Stadt” was immensely successful for Korngold. It even had simultaneous openings in Hamburg and Cologne. It quickly made its way around the world and was a big hit at the Metropolitan Opera. Perhaps a part of its immense success was in being the right work for the times, with audiences having just come through the turmoil and trauma of “The War to End All Wars.”

Sadly, unjustifiably, for many years, all that was really heard from “Die tote Stadt” was the meltingly beautiful “Mariettas-Lied,” the song with which Marietta enchants Paul in the first act, as she plays the lute that belonged to Marie.

The opera's time for full rediscovery– finally – came in 1975, with a magnificent production by the New York City Opera, featuring soprano Carol Neblett in the dual roles of Marietta/Marie. She had also appeared in a full length recording on RCA conducted by Erich Leinsdorf.

And here’s where the magic of “Die tote Stadt” and Bruges came together for me.

In 1984, the NYC Opera production was staged at the Kennedy Center in Washington. By this time, I’d already discovered the recording mentioned above, actually on a superb two-reel Dolby-B tape set. I can still remember being lost in this quintessentially romantic ocean of sound as the reels turned at 7.5 ips on my Dolby system equipped Revox and those analog electrons journeyed down the cables to my then-new Yamaha C-1 preamplifier, thence to my warmly glowing McIntosh 275 tube power amplifier, and down the thick speaker cables to my AR-3 speakers, augmented by the MicroAcoustics tweeter arrays. Ahhh, it is times like these when living in a detached house on a hill is the only way to go, especially at 2 AM or thereabouts….

So, I knew the “sound.” But was I ever not ready for the visuals! When the action of “Die tote Stadt” is not in Paul’s gloomy high-ceilinged house, it is on a quay overlooking one of Bruges’ many canals, at night. NYC Opera’s scenic design was – and there is no other way to say this – breathtaking in its use of both sets and scrims derived from actual night images of Bruges. These very effective projections even included moving images on film.

It was visually indelible…as I was to discover later that year, when I first visited Bruges and roamed its nightscape with my cameras…I still remember that incredible déjà vu of the Belfry, seen from across a canal…the quays…the stolid Flemish architecture, the forbidding-looking religious buildings, all emerging from the indigo night sky, glistening in the after-rain ambience. All the while, Korngold’s achingly beautiful score filling the rest of my senses (no Walkman required).

Hundreds of Agfa, Perutz, and Ektachrome images of Bruges, many by night, fill my image bank. A relative few managed to get printed and displayed over the years. So many more reside in boxes of slides in my filing cabinets. Perhaps time to get them out and scanned to D-files. Guess you can imagine what will be on the audio system while this activity is going on…

There’s a more recent chapter to this “Tote Stadt”/Bruges musical journey. Please stay tuned.

Who is -- or what are -- Thunderflakes?

In a word, ME! And since this (dare I say it as a somewhat reformed Luddite?) B-b-b-b-blog is likely to be about anything, everything, music close to my heart, airplanes, trains, photography, travel, voice-over projects, Mewer (The World's Best Cat), serendipity, romance, favorite movies, curmudgeonly rants about people yapping at high decibel levels into their mobile phones in public places, and perhaps a wicked fantasy regarding Those-Who-Live-To-Text-or-Twitter-at-Inopportune-Times (Do I really need to know, or even care, what total strangers are doing this very moment?)...I just decided Confessions of an Airplane Lover, Intransigent Romantic, Why I Love My Cat, or Curmudgeon (even Cuddly-Curmudgeon, as I've been known) were, well, a bit limiting. (I promise you all subsequent sentences will be of manageable length!)

Now, about that Thunderflakes moniker...
I have a friend named Marge. We go back eons. Probably for many reasons. In no particular order: She was a fan of my radio programs...she is the kind of friend who pulls no punches...and she always manages to make me laugh at myself and my foibles. Plus, she's a damn fine travel consultant. But back to the old radio show. One day, in a universe far distant, I was doing my program on an afternoon of quite unsettled weather; as I recall, the only thing that wasn't going on outside was a blizzard of frogs.

Anyhow, I described what was going on as "Thunderflakes," which was quite accurate, inasmuch as the sun was out, but the sky to the west was dramatically leaden, big wet snowflakes were swirling about...and there was impressive thunder.

Marge found my neologism -- sheesh, I hate pretentious sounding words! --Marge happened to be listening that day and found my made-up-word to tickle her sense of humor. As I recall, she said something like, "It's so you!"

So, it kinda stuck, to where I'd sign my e-mails Thunderflakes. (OK, at least to her...)

And, I kinda like the sound of it as the name for a blog that can cover some wildly disparate subject matter.

And with that bit of "explanation," I welcome you to my naughty little blog. (Well, you never know, it might be...)