Thunderflakes

A Calendar for Procrastinators...

2012-01-16T20:32:00.000-08:00

...from a photographer's notebook

Sample image from "Photographically Yours, 2012" ©Steve Ember

At last, a photo wall calendar for the rest of us!

You know, those who don’t finish their Christmas shopping eight weeks before Thanksgiving…

So, fess up, now. Did you procrastinate in purchasing your 2012 wall calendar? Are you still looking at December on your ratty old 2011 calendar and trying to interpolate what today's date really might be? If so (and who really cares about January anyway, except your credit card company?) please consider supporting your humble photog (whose new calendar should appear by the time you've paid your January bills).

By then, you'll be needing something to look at and smile.

My “Photographically Yours, 2012” wall calendar is printed on premium high-gloss card stock, not that flimsy paper you might be used to in commercial calendars, with a sturdy spiral binding.

It features some of my finest Alpine landscapes, including from Kodachromes shot while that iconic film could still be processed! There is a new London Nightscape, and even a rainy evening “Dreamscape” for April. On this side of the Pond, there are Washington scenes, including last year’s “Super Moon” rising above a stunning Potomac panorama comprising the Capitol, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial.

And what else might you expect from your faithful photographer? Trains? Airplanes? Oh, yes, they’re there, too. Plus some hot air balloons. Hardest task was choosing only twelve images, but I think you’ll like the variety.

Naturally, the “Photographically Yours, 2012” Wall Calendar is offered at a discount, considering it will most likely not adorn your “waiting” wall until the end of January. I’d originally planned to offer this calendar for $20 plus shipping. I can not make ridiculous 50% “clearance” offers like the big guys, as the calendar is not produced in those huge quantities - I believe we call it a "cottage industry." But, for $15.95 plus modest shipping, it can be yours well before it’s time to reluctantly leave January’s German winter landscape for February’s Washington nightscape!

To order your “Photographically Yours, 2012” calendar, plus any additional copies for your procrastinating pals, please contact me at emberphoto@hotmail.com.

©2012 Steve Ember

A Misty (but vivid) Memory...

2012-01-03T20:49:00.000-08:00

...from a photographer's notebook


Church and Evening Mists, Lower Engadin

When it comes to my beloved Canton Graubünden in southeastern Switzerland, looking at or rediscovering one of my images from years past often encourages the process of writing those “thousand words” a picture is said to be worth.

Oh, you’re asking, “If it’s worth a thousand words, why do both?” Well, because the photo has a “back story” that informs much of my enthusiasm for Switzerland, Graubünden, the Alps...and if said image should receive gallery honors or other special notice, there's all the more desire to share it, as well as some memories relating to the visit that made for its creation.

So, without regard to meeting, or exceeding, those “thousand words,” here are some memories from my very first visit to Graubünden – specifically, the region known as the Engadin. To be accurate, the Engadin is really two distinctly different regions – the Oberengadin (Upper Engadin) and the Unterengadin (Lower Engadin). What is common to the Upper and Lower Engadin is the river that runs through both, and which gives both regions the “En” part of their names. That would be the River Inn. Yes, the same river that flows into Austria on its way to the Danube, and which gives Innsbrück (“Inn bridge”) its name. The Inn also meanders through portions of Bavaria on its scenic travels to the Danube.

Inn? En? Well, it makes perfect sense if you consider the oldest language spoken in the Engadin, to say nothing of greater Graubünden: Romansch. Romansch can certainly make for some seemingly tongue-twisting place names along the routes of the Rhätische Bahn and the Post buses, but some Romansch is just enchanting. For example Engiadina (Engadin is the German name) means “Garden of the En.” Er, Inn…

I mentioned Upper and Lower Engadin being distinctively different. I’ll leave culture, customs, village pride, and other considerations to those with a more scholarly approach. But, as a photographer, a distinction that I relish is the variety of weather conditions and the different kinds of light one encounters and what they do for the Alpine panorama. The Upper Engadin, typified by such places as St. Moritz, Pontresina, and Samedan, prides itself in its “Champagne Climate.” The south-facing slopes of the Alps benefit from mainly sunny and dry conditions – I believe the boast is that such conditions prevail over more than three hundred days of the year.

On the other hand, one is more likely to find a greater incidence of mountain-moody weather when journeying into the Lower Engadin. And that has its own attraction to a mountain-loving photographer.

“Church and Evening Mists, Lower Engadin” is special to me for the memories it brings. I mentioned it was taken during my very first visit to Graubünden. That is special in and of itself, as it started a tradition which (even though it did include a sixteen year interruption) I intend to keep up now with regularity.

I’ve often written – in connection with Switzerland, especially – of the beneficial effects of serendipity, those unexpected confluences of fate or simple happenstance that can make for delightfully memorable travel experiences.

One such instance of serendipity occurred in the autumn of 1989. After riding the Glacier Express from Zermatt (in Canton Valais/Wallis) to St. Moritz and spending the first couple of nights there, I moved on to the village of Pontresina to spend the next few days. The Rhätische Bahn station at Pontresina is an inviting departure point for trips into the Bernina Range, even going as far as Tirano in Italy if one so desires.

My plan on this quintessentially “Champagne Climate” day was to ride the Bernina Line to Diavolezza, there to embark on a photo hike on its snowy glacier. Actually, I wouldn’t enjoy Diavolezza’s dramatic vistas until the autumn of 2010, a visit during which I intended to celebrate my remaining stash of Kodachrome-25 slide film with the very best Alpine motifs I could arrange, while such film could still be processed.

So, Diavolezza in ’89, nein; but Serendipity, jawohl!

Doesn’t take reading too many of these rambles to know that your correspondent, in addition to being a camera-toter, is a train lover. Funny how such interests so often come together…

So, there I am, aboard a Rhätische Bahn train, soon to depart Pontresina. Another bit of serendipity: I got distracted walking from my hotel down to the RhB station. Easily done in the Upper Engadin, where so many photo motifs beckon. So, this particular train will not connect with the photo hike group I was planning to hook up with. But, well and good. A travel credo of mine, which usually serves me well, is that what I don’t see this time, I’ll certainly catch up with on a future visit. Diavolezza, case in point!

This RhB train had a make-up typical of the period. The lead car was actually also its “locomotive.” Thus, at the front of the car is the driver’s compartment. So, the irresistible urge to go up front and look at the controls, while waiting for the driver.

As my Nikon-bedecked self is checking out the control cab of this Rhätische Bahn rail car, I become aware of another Nikon-bedecked presence on my left. “Do you like trains?” a friendly German-tinged voice has asked. His name is Tom, obviously a kindred spirit in terms of trains and photography. I’d quickly learn, a kindred spirit, as well, in terms of the Alpine lure of Graubünden. Tom is down from Germany, on vacation, with his wife Ello, and their dog Felix.

Tom asks where I’m headed, and I confess to having missed the train I’d planned to catch, and thus undecided as to destination. In that case, Tom asks, why not join him, Ello, and Felix for a hike.

Turns out, Tom is extremely well versed in the scenic delights along the Bernina Line, as well as this entire region of Switzerland. The three of us, along with our energetic four-legged companion, left the train at Ospizio Bernina, the highest station on the steeply climbing narrow gauge line and hiked along Lago Bianco ("White Lake," but actually an inviting shade of glacial moraine turquoise, nicely setting off the red trains, this day also carrying yellow "Aussichtswagen" open cars, of the RhB Bernina Line). From there, we make our way across the ridge line, taking in the mighty Bernina Range peaks and glaciers all around, to Alp Grüm.

Hotel Belvedere, Alp Grüm - Kodachrome ©Steve Ember

There, on the sun terrace of the Hotel Restaurant Belvedere, in the inviting high altitude sunshine, we enjoyed a lunch of Bündnerfleisch, the Graubünden specialty of air dried meats, lots of hearty Swiss cheeses and bread, and toasted the scenery with a beer or three. Then, after looking down on the model train-like spiral curve leading up to Alp Grüm’s station, we boarded one of those open-air cars on a Rhätische Bahn train for the trip back to Pontresina.

Tom and Ello had their car and invited me along for more Graubünden-exploration over the next few days. One such trip carried us over the Flüela Pass, at 7,818 feet/2,383 meters, connecting Susch in the Lower Engadin with Davos. An October blizzard on the Passhöhe added to the adventure. Points of interest after the “early winter” on the pass included a charming little Unterengadin hotel restaurant in Zernez (where I remember enjoying my very first Tiramisu (yummy start to another “tradition”) and the Inn village of Scuol.

At Scuol, the road crosses a high bridge over the rushing, churning Inn. On a high bluff, overlooking the old town and the river is a church with a Romanesque stone tower . While we had left the snow on the Flüela Pass, traces of the storm were with us at the lower elevations, creating an evocative misterioso mood. Indeed, the mists were swirling about the church on its commanding perch above the village.

The image was captured on Agfachrome-100 slide film. I’ve written elsewhere of how purchasing my Nikon slide scanner in 2009 led to an ongoing rediscovery of my legacy film images. This was one of them, and it came packed with memories. Thanks for indulging me and allowing me to share some here.

My printer made a lovely 14x20 giclée capturing the atmospheric palette of this Lower Engadin moment from 1989. It has been selected for inclusion in the January 2012 exhibit at the Art League Gallery in Old Town Alexandria. If you are in the area, I’d like to invite you to the Artists Reception next Thursday evening, January 12. For more information, please phone the gallery at 703-683-1780.

Oh, yes, that serendipitous meeting in the control cab of that Rhätische Bahn train started an ongoing friendship – as well as solidifying my love for Graubünden, reaffirmed on many a repeat visit.

Tom and I remain in touch, twenty three years later. On most of my succeeding trips, whether to Switzerland or Germany, we’ve managed to link up to chase and shoot trains and the landscape, drink good beer, eat hearty meals, and raise our glasses to Graubünden, and, of course, the bright red trains of the Rhätische Bahn.

If you'd like to see more of my photos of the Engadin (Upper and Lower), other parts of Canton Graubünden, the trains of the Rhätische Bahn, and other aspects of Switzerland, please visit my work on FotoCommunity Once there, go to "To the Photos of..." and navigate the folders: Engadin, Swiss Alps, Rhätische Bahn, and Kodachrome!

Holiday Greetings, Dear Reader...

2011-12-22T17:51:00.000-08:00

A New Card Design, in time for the Holidays

2011-12-06T21:00:00.000-08:00

from a photographer's notebook...

During my Autumn 2010 visit to Switzerland's Canton Graubünden, I engaged in one of my favorite photographic pursuits - shooting the bright red trains of my favorite railway, the Rhätische Bahn amidst the stunning Alpine landscapes through which they run. I returned to Graubünden (and other regions of Switzerland) this past October for another wonderful stay, but time has been a precious commodity of late, so my photos might be a while in coming - and this little post is about honors for a particular image from last year's visit...

A high point during the 2010 trip was shooting these trains on the magnificent Landwasser Viadukt, along the Albula Line of the Rhaetian Railway, incidentally a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The weather could not have been more cooperative, allowing me to shoot under consistently fine conditions on several days, whether from a high viewpoint overlooking the Landwasser or from the train.

One of my favorite views, especially from the standpoint of lighting and color was taken from the open window of a Rhätische Bahn Regio Express bound for St. Moritz, looking ahead to the Landwasser as we crossed another magnificent stone viaduct that spans the Schmittentobel. There was something so satisfying in seeing the Landwasser up ahead of us, and knowing that the changeable weather conditions along the Albula Line were, once again, going to cooperate as we crossed it.

The image being a favorite, I had a large display print made. I was delighted in learning this evening that "Approaching the Landwasser" was selected for the December All Media show at the Art League Gallery in Old Town Alexandria. It can be seen through the end of December in a large archival 24 x 16 inch print. If you're free this Thursday evening, please stop by for the Artists Reception and say hello (or Grüezi Wohl or Allegra if you prefer!) and I'll tell you everything you've ever wanted to know about my beloved Graubünden and the Rhätische Bahn!

Oh, and with "Approaching the Landwasser" being honored, I decided to add it to my line of custom printed Photo Note Cards. So, if you're looking for an appropriate Holiday gift for the Alps and/or train lover on your list, do be in touch! The image above shows the card design.

And if you'd like to see a higher definition image, as well as other photos of the trains of the Rhätische Bahn in their wonderful Alpine milieu, and read about some of my adventures in shooting these images, please follow this link to my pages on Foto-Community. Once there, navigate the Rhätische Bahn, Engadin, Swiss Alps, and Kodachrome! folders.

The Val Parnell Room

2011-11-29T20:20:00.000-08:00

A couple of professional honors led to a trip to London earlier this month to attend an awards gala. As it was a major honor, I wanted the trip to be really special – an early birthday gift perhaps. And it was.

These London Vignettes relate some of the “special” parts of my visit, including a couple of theater evenings in the West End.

There is something so enchanting about letting a London theater speak to you of its rich history. And sometimes, all it takes is open eyes and a mind that may have been genetically engineered to collect trivia.

I hasten to add, while I do often refer to my own collection of gray matter as a veritable repository of trivia, much of it related to music and the arts, there will be nothing trivial about the talents referred to in this little account, occasioned by my first visit to the London Palladium.

During the interval (“intermission” to my fellow Yanks) in the enchanting new production of “The Wizard of Oz,” being in a celebratory mood, I headed for the theater’s attractive bar for some refreshment.

On the way there, I passed the men’s room. Someone had just entered, and while the door was open, I spied a photo on the wall. Frank Sinatra - one of the entertainment legends to have performed at the London Palladium – in a tux, with that famous smile. Not surprising, of course, but “special,” as one visits this legendary West End palace of entertainment for the first time, and opens oneself to any and all manifestations of its rich history.

But what really stoked up the trivia synapses residing somewhere behind my eyeballs and between my ears was the “Val Parnell Room.” Hmmm, the Val Parnell Room….

Val Parnell…Val Parnell...

Now, while I have been known to live and breathe Musical Theater, including having been an active broadcast proponent of the best of the genre for many years, I’ll admit to ignorance regarding Val Parnell. Well, sort of…

You see, one of my favorite Alfred Hitchcock films was his 1956 remake of “The Man Who Knew Too Much,” starring James Stewart and Doris Day with a superb British and European supporting cast. I saw it for the first time in one of Baltimore’s grand old movie palaces as a kid…followed by countless times on TV…and now it is a staple of my DVD collection.

Now, when I love a film, it takes up permanent residence in those dendrites and synapses of the aforementioned gray matter trivia processing center.

Val Parnell – Of course! When Dr Ben McKenna (James Stewart) and his wife Jo, a former musical comedy star, who, by the way also “played the Palladium” (Doris Day) come to London to track down their son Hank, who has been kidnapped in Marrakesh by an innocent looking British couple, the Draytons (Bernard Miles and Brenda de Banzie) and brought to London as insurance against some important information Dr McKenna picked up regarding an imminent assassination of a diplomat coming to the attention of authorities….

Well, as you may recall if you are a fellow devotee of this wonderful film, Dr McKenna phones ahead to London to Jo’s old Palladium friends, “the Parnells,” for assistance with booking a hotel.

Back to the “real” Val Parnell (and this is what I didn’t know), he was a London impresario from the mid ‘40s through the ‘60s, in charge of some of the city’s most prestigious theaters, including the Palladium. He was also a famous television presenter. And, if you take away nothing more from this ramble, next time you listen to the original cast recording of “My Fair Lady” or “Camelot” or watch “The Sound of Music,” you may wish to raise a glass to Mr. Parnell’s memory. He introduced a twelve year old Julie Andrews to her manager.

And, yes, I will now respond to Wikipedia’s “Personal Appeal from Founder Jimmy Wales” with a contribution.

So, to draw up that connection between my first enchanting visit to the London Palladium and a favorite Hitchcock film – and say “thank you” to my trivia-collecting gray matter neurons…

Hitchcock’s resourceful screenwriter for “The Man Who Knew Too Much” (1956 version), John Michael Hayes, paid a most appropriate homage to Val Parnell (and his wife Helen) while giving added facets to the “back story” of Doris Day’s character, Jo McKenna, by making Mr. and Mrs. Parnell characters in the screenplay.

Veteran British actor Alan Mowbray played Mr. Parnell, I daresay making the impresario’s name even more widely known, and the very lovely American actress Alix Talton played his wife Helen. Together, they create some charming moments with two other gals who played the Palladium with Jo, including, of course, their repartee over “Ambrose Chapel” (“It’s not a man; it’s a place!”) and speculate as to whether all the running about over the Chapel thing isn’t part of some sort of American gag. To which, Val says, “I’ll ask Danny” – apparently a reference to American entertainer Danny Kaye, another star who appeared at the Palladium around the time of the movie.

See the movie…take it down from that dusty VHS shelf…rent it or purchase a new DVD …oh, yes, and visit the Palladium. Now would be a good time, so you can enjoy the new production of “The Wizard of Oz.” It enchants.

During the interval, look in on the Val Parnell Room.

Oh, and do remember, if your back yard has been overrun by snails, there’s always a Frenchman.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall put Doris Day’s recording of “Que Sera, Sera” on my trusty Technics turntable, while I enjoy the photos and memories from my first night at the London Palladium.

Oh, yes, then ‘twill be time for another viewing of “The Man Who Knew Too Much.”

I Often Think It's Comical...

2011-11-26T19:40:00.000-08:00

As I write this, my studio monitors across the room are reproducing the robust London/Decca sound of the New Symphony Orchestra of London, being conducted by Sir Isidore Godfrey, in the majestic music of Sir Arthur Sullivan that opens Act Two of Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Iolanthe,” one of my top faves among the G&S comic operas.

The setting is the Houses of Parliament, at night, and in a moment the imposing baritone Kenneth Sandford of the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company, as Private Willis, will sing “When all night long, a chap remains on sentry go to face monotony,” in which the self described “intellectual chap” will muse upon matters of British politics. W.S. Gilbert took some deliciously pithy playful jabs at the Hereditary Peerage in “Iolanthe,” one of my favorites being Private Willis’ commentary, containing the lines

When in that house MPs divide,

If they’ve a brain and cerebellum too,

They’ve got to leave that brain outside,

And vote just as their leaders tell ‘em too…

Just imagine the fun Sullivan would have had writing about present day U.S. politics…

If you’ve read any of my own musings about music and photography, you’ll not be surprised that, on this magical first night in London earlier this month, this particular music was on that “gray matter gramophone” that often plays behind my eyes and between my ears when I’m out with a camera in some inspiring location.

Actually, on this particular night, the senses were so engaged that the GMG would have had to be (apologies to fellow audiophiles!) a multi-record changer. For vying for attention were numerous themes by Elgar…Pomp and Circumstance (and not just No.1)…the stirring final movement of the Enigma Variations…the opening strains of the Second Symphony…and, of course, the Triumphal March from “Caractacus!”

Oh yes, and a lush instrumental from the early stereo era called “In London, In Love.”

So what were you expecting from ol’ Thunderflakes, Lady Gaga?

You see, while this was not my first visit to London, it was a very special visit, in terms of what occasioned the trip, but also to find – on my very first night – such inviting conditions for photography. Hard not to be inspired by such a scene at any time of the day, but on a night with dampened pavement and just enough moisture in the air, oh, my goodness…I’m living right!

And while not my first visit to London, it was the first involving night shooting…and falling in love with the city, both for its vibrancy and the friendliness I found in the people I met there.

I would not call this visit extensively planned, as the decision to go was made literally days before the trip, but I was intent on making it very special, in terms of music and theater.


Surrounded by applause...Charles Dutoit and the RPO

So, for the first night – knowing I’d somehow rise above the jet lag – I’d reserved a seat at the Royal Festival Hall at Southbank Centre for the Royal Philhamonic concert. Irresistible program for my first time attending a concert by this wonderful orchestra, including my first time seeing Charles Dutoit conduct…and my first time for a live performance anywhere of Samuel Barber’s ineffably beautiful Violin Concerto, superbly played on this occasion by Canadian violinist James Ehnes. And when a concert opens with Berlioz’ “Le Corsaire” Overture and devotes its second half to Tchaikovsky’s powerful Symphony No.5, well, guess you could say this concertgoer was in a state of sheer delight.

And what a lovely modern concert hall. Oh yes, and the bar provides panoramic views across the Thames, so even the interval was enjoyable.

On left-handed applauding…

The things one learns from being observed…After the concert, a very nice lady who was sitting next to me asked me if I knew I applauded “left-handed.” Must say, I’ve done a lot of applauding in my time, but never gave much thought about whether I was doing it left-handed or right-handed. I mean, don’t you just slap both hands together and make noise? Apparently not. At least, not in my case.

Margaret pointed out that I was definitely attacking my right palm with my left hand! Perhaps not a surprise, as I’m left handed, although I’m told I do everything – except write – like a right-hander. Anyhow, she said she noticed because she is left handed as well. Well, y’know what they say about us “creative” people ;-)

Always nice to learn something new and unexpected, but especially so to have a friendly conversation struck up by a stranger on what will be remembered as a truly magical first night in London.

On rehearsing the “Schub”…

Found myself smiling at a sculpture of the great conductor Sir John Barbirolli just outside the concert hall.

Story goes, Barbirolli was rehearsing one of his English orchestras for a concert that included symphonies by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Franz Schubert, when the concertmaster, a violinist with a very thick Italian accent, asked “Eh, Maestro, we gonna rehearsa da Moz’?"

Barbirolli, without missing a beat, said, “No, my friend, we gonna worka next on-a da Schub.’

After the concert, more magic…

I had taken along a small tripod that would fit in one of the deep pockets of my trench coat when I checked it before the concert, in the event conditions proved conducive for some night photography after the concert, and was happy that I had done so as I reached the promenade that runs along the south bank of the Thames. Some intermittent drizzle had dampened the pavement, creating great foreground interest, and there was just enough moisture in the air to make the view across the river to the Houses of Parliament quite evocative.

By now, I’m guessing I’d been up for perhaps 32 hours, adjusting for the time change and a two hour cat-nap I grabbed at the hotel before setting out for Southbank Centre. But I was so energized by the concert and the opportunity to do my first London-by-night shooting in such great conditions, sleep was definitely the last thing on my mind.

A good thing, too. As I went up on the Golden Jubilee Bridge to check out the sight lines for more photos, I met two lively lassies from Scotland, and we decided to spend some time together. The intent was to find a quiet spot to chat, enjoy a drink and perhaps a late supper. So, off across the pedestrian bridge over the Thames to the Embankment and on past Charing Cross, in search of that quiet place. Well, the sought after quiet proved elusive, but we did wind up at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club in Soho. I’d known of this establishment for years and there was once again magic on this first night in London in discovering it…even more so enjoying it with new friends.

Guess I finally got back to my hotel around 3 AM on Wednesday morning, and must say it felt good to tumble into bed. Let’s see, started Monday morning at around eight East Coast time and hit the sack at 3 AM London time Wednesday. So, adjusting for the five hour time-zone difference and deducting two hours nap time…how many hours awake was that? Who’s counting!

As Noel Coward once told us in song, “London is a Little Bit of All Right!”

Photos and text ©2011 Steve Ember
I'll be making several of my London by Night and other images of London available as custom printed Photo Note Cards in time for the Holidays, as well as in archival gallery prints. For more details, please contact me at emberphoto@hotmail.com and to see higher definition versions, please use this link to my Foto-Community pages. Once there, just peruse the London folder for images as they are added.

A nice honor...

2011-10-27T13:50:00.000-07:00

As I was scrambling at the end of last month to tie up loose ends for my autumn trip to Europe, I was delighted – and honored – to learn I was a Finalist in the prestigious 2011 Association for International Broadcasting International Media Excellence Awards in the "International Radio Personality of the Year" and "Most Creative Feature - Radio" categories, for my programs in “The Making of a Nation" series for VOA Special English.

Special English is a broadcast and web-based service for people learning English around the world.

“The Making of a Nation” is devoted each week to a different chapter in American history. The programs recognized by the AIB judges involved General Eisenhower leading the D-Day invasion on the beaches at Normandy, and the Home Front during World War Two and how its music reflected the concerns over the war.

Each program is a 15-minute mini-documentary, combining music, historical actuality, and other audio elements, to create an engaging audio- and learning experience for the listener each week.

Like to hear a sample program? I'll post files of the Finalist programs on my web site in the next few weeks, once I've seen to re-working some elements on the site. Or just drop a line and I'll send you an mp3 file. Meanwhile, with a big "Thank you" to Ralf Gründer in Germany for posting my Berlin Airlift program on his Berlin Wall web site, this link will take you there.

If you are in the voice-over field, you'll understand my sending you to this site instead of VOA's, as the compression used there is designed for slow connections and often makes me sound like I've gargled with Drano ;-)

Oh, and if this is your first time listening to Special English, please understand the delivery is intentionally slow to enable those learning English to digest and comprehend.

Your C-54 awaits on the Tempelhof tarmac!

P.S.: I just had to add something to this post, especially if you choose to listen to my Berlin Airlift “Making of a Nation” on Ralf Gründer’s web site. I’ve long had an interest in the Airlift and the rebuilding of Germany from the devastation of World War Two with the help of the U.S. and its allies, as well as the often murky milieu of post war Vienna and other European capitals…the crucible formed of a populace hungry, desperate, cunningly resourceful, black markets, Iron Curtain, operatives on both sides…you know, the whole Graham Greene “The Third Man” scene.

But back to the Airlift…If you share my interest in this extensive “air bridge” operation to save Berlin from being starved into submission by the Soviet Blockade, let me point you in the direction of a pretty darn good movie by the writer-director-producer team of George Seaton and William Perlberg, who gave us some quite memorable World War Two espionage/adventure films in the ‘60s. Two of my favorites in that category were the location-filmed “The Counterfeit Traitor” (William Holden, Lilli Palmer, Hugh Griffith, and a superb cast of actors from Germany, Denmark, and Sweden, strong score by Alfred Newman) and the engrossing “Thirty Six Hours” (James Garner, Rod Taylor, Eva Marie Saint, and a strong German supporting cast, great score by Dmitri Tiomkin!). Too long for a “P.S.” to get into plot synopses, but highly recommended and most definitely on my desert island list for a sun-powered DVD player!

I vaguely remembered a film about the Airlift as I was producing the “Making of a Nation” program on the link in this post. And I do mean vaguely, as in having seen it on late night TV perhaps twenty years ago. All I really remembered was it was in black and white, and had great shots of C-54s on the approach to Tempelhof. This week, I finally tracked it down, and would like to recommend it to you. It was called “The Big Lift” and, turns out, it was an earlier Perlberg-Seaton production, if you follow such things. It was also an early role for the superb actor Montgomery Clift, with strong performances also by Paul Douglas and the lovely German actress Cornell Borchers.

“The Big Lift” was done for Twentieth Century Fox in 1950 as a semi-documentary and it had a gritty and realistic tone – not surprising, as it was shot in postwar Berlin amidst all the bombed out buildings and showing the narrow air corridors and precision approaches of C-54s into Tempelhof Airport in all kinds of weather. Beyond that, all military roles with the exception of Sgts. Danny McCullough (Clift) and Hank Kowalski (Douglas) were played by actual U.S. military personnel, pilots, ground crews, etc. on duty in Germany. A nice touch...

If you share my interest in aviation, the Airlift, and postwar Germany, the story is guaranteed to take you along…and of course there is the romance between Clift’s character and the young German war widow played by Ms. Borchers. But you’re in for a good ride, because the romance does not follow a “predictable” course (especially for films of this era) and the plot takes us into the decidedly seamy side of postwar Berlin. There's also a nice redemption of Douglas' character with the help of a good-hearted German gal.

If I’ve kindled at least a curiosity over the film, it’s a cheap gamble to try it on, yourself. Inexpensive DVDs abound on ebay. But if I’ve kindled an irresistible urge to see it now, and you don’t mind a few commercials you can skip past after five seconds, try it out here and let me know what you think.

Immediate seating in the loges. Enjoy!

'Wiedersehen.

A Classy Actor, and a Classy Old Gal in the Sky...

2011-09-11T00:58:00.000-07:00

from a photographer's notebook...

One of my all time favorite screen actors, Cliff Robertson, passed away this weekend. He was 88.

One of Robertson’s most affecting portrayals was in the film “Charly,” where he appeared as a gentle, sweet natured bakery worker with the IQ of a small child. A doctor played by the ever classy Claire Bloom conducts an experiment in which she raises Charly’s intelligence to that of a genius, but the change proves only temporary and the denouement sees Charly heart-breakingly regress to his former state. Cliff Robertson won a well deserved Academy Award in 1969 for his performance in the film, which also marked his directorial debut.

Cliff Robertson portrayed Lieutenant John F. Kennedy in the film “P.T. 109” in 1962. An early film role was in “Picnic.” Among my favorite Robertson performances was as the shadowy operative Higgins in the superb CIA thriller “Three Days of the Condor.” (I guess it is particularly poignant to think of that film today, as Higgins' office was on an upper floor of one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center, and exteriors of the towers, as well as views looking out from his office, appear in several scenes in the film.)

Robertson brought unfailing class even to less successful films in which he appeared. One of my favorites in the latter category was “The Pilot,” from 1980. I’m not sure that one has even made it to DVD, but that’s all right. My trusty Sony VHS Hi Fi HQ machine still gets its exercise with my copy of “The Pilot.” Robertson was a pilot himself, which could only have added to the realism he brought to the cockpit sequences and to his portrayal of airline captain Mike Hagan, a man “born in the left seat” but battling the demons of alcoholism. Robertson directed that one too, and hired some pretty solid supporting players, including Edward Binns, Frank Converse, Milo O’Shea, Dana Andrews, even Gordon MacRae (in his last film role) as the airline’s chief pilot, and, if I may use that descriptor one more time, the ever classy Diane Baker as his lover.

Oh yes, “The Pilot” also “starred” two very fine looking early classic jetliners. Two early model Douglas DC-8’s (-30s) were dressed in the livery of “North American” airlines, and they looked mighty sharp in the beautifully filmed aerial sequences. The film was shot in part in south Florida, including push backs, taxiing, and take-offs from Miami International Airport. I'm guessing the two DC-8s may have been provided by Eastern and National, two Miami-based airlines, as those two companies appear in the end credits. Another "clue" might have been Robertson's comment before the last take-off (oops, spoiler warning - you didn't read that) in the film. Just before engine start, he muses, "Who was flying this bird?" Then, a grin of recognition as he picks up a medallion from the center pedestal and says, "Ah, Skeeter Royal, eh?" Now, that was a really nice touch from Robertson, showing his respect for the profession he was portraying - turns out Skeeter Royal was Chief Pilot for National Airlines at the time. Must have been quite the spirited flyer - he once buzzed the MIA tower in a 747.

One had the feeling watching the film that, if the fates had dealt a different hand, Robertson could have made a fine airline captain. His respect for the details in flying the DC-8 and for those who fly the heavy metal was evident in the film. I can not think of another airplane movie that presented so much pre-take-off detail - about any airliner - I mean, where else might you hear in movie dialog the words "Blow-away jet to go?"

Here's another "guess" about this film and its attention to detail. Just a hunch, of course, but it wouldn't surprise me if director/star Robertson hadn't gotten SAG cards for some real airline pilots and flight engineers, to assure an extra measure of realism. Sort of like when directors engage real broadcast news people to play such characters; they know what to do at, say, a press conference. Reason I think that could have been the case in some of the casting for "The Pilot: I enjoyed watching the (possibly Canadian) actor who played Ken Howland, the other "North American" DC-8 captain, who hits - and almost loses his airplane to - severe clear air turbulence, after the radio conversation with Robertson's character, in which Mike Hagan tells Capt. Howland he's going to divert around what he suspects could be such dangerous conditions along the planned route. So, I check for other films in which he might have appeared. Seems Bob Willis was in only one film, "The Pilot." Likewise, the guy "playing" the Flight Engineer at the start of the film, Bob Kosloski. He sure looked and sounded authentic as he went through those checklists with Robertson and Converse. "The Pilot" was his only film as well.

There were also some beautifully filmed sequences featuring an open cockpit biplane, as Mike teaches his daughter Cricket some aerobatic maneuvers. And, speaking of words not normally spoken in more commonplace aviation films, when was the last time you heard "Lomcevák" (a dizzying aerobatic maneuver Mike is teaching Cricket to do) in a feature film?

Yes, Robertson truly loved airplanes and flight...

May he soar forever over his celestial airfield on "laughter-silvered wings." (High Flight, Gillespie Magee, RCAF)

Learning of Robertson’s death led me, I guess predictably, to get out my copy of “The Pilot.” (I’ll watch “Condor” tomorrow). Watching “Mike Hagan” make the best of a weather diversion to take his DC-8 passengers on a low altitude flight-seeing tour of the Grand Canyon, as well as point out to them in his folksy P.A. announcements “the famous buttes and mesas” in Monument Valley, where director John Ford shot “Stagecoach,” all to John Addison’s fine score and the lovely cinematography of Walter Lassally showing off the graceful yet muscular lines of the DC-8, made one forget the dramatic license of a DC-8 buzzing the western U.S. landscape at such a low altitude. Aw, hell, it was poetic...and romantic.

See, I have this long-standing fondness for the DC-8. She was the first jetliner I ever flew on. I well remember walking on red carpets rolled out on the tarmac, a bit before the jetways were installed at Baltimore’s Friendship International Airport, to those big United DC-8 Mainliners, with city names under the pilots’ windows…a detail not lost on Cliff Robertson for his “North American” DC-8s. Now, that was what you called getting up close and personal with the beast. Hearing the machinery…smelling the kerosene…

So, as these stimuli have a way of doing, I just had to seek out some old slides of the old gal. May I share one such early slide, and ask that you look past the grain of the old “High Speed” Ektachrome slide film for a glimpse into another era.

It's early evening at Chicago-O'Hare. The year is 1964, and this early model DC-8 "Mainliner" in United's "Jet Delivery" colors is ready to board her passengers for a flight to Baltimore’s Friendship International Airport, which would later become Baltimore Washington International. As familiar a sight in the early years of the "Jet Age" as the more "iconic" Boeing 707, the DC-8 would actually outlast the 707 in passenger service, especially in her "stretched" versions, and United would go on to have the largest domestic fleet of these distinctive Douglas work-horses.

Like all her early jetliner peers, she was a loud and smoky beast (at least from the outside!), until noise regulations mandated quieter (and cleaner) engines. The rugged build of the DC-8 in her "stretched” 60-series made her a fine candidate for the quieting "makeover" that turned her into the more "polite" and environmentally friendly "Super 73."

My first DC-8 flights were in 1964 on "Jet Mainliners" like this one, and I last enjoyed her spacious comfort on a -73, flying cross country nearly twenty years later. Quite a run for this grinning Pioneer Lady of the Jet Age.

About those "smiling" and "grinning" references...

In my "Confessions of an Airplane Lover," I spoke about the DC-8 having a nose that looked like it was grinning at you. That had to do with the two intakes for her air conditioning/pressurization packs, whose placement at the lower edges of the nose gave the "8" a quite unique appearance, especially in relationship to the black radar "tip" of her lengthy nose.

I know, I tend to "anthropomorphize" some of my favorite airliners, but have a look, and see what you think!

Is that a grin, or what?

Oh, by the way, the astute airplane lover will recognize, behind the two DC-8's an early version of their younger U-A-L colleague, the Boeing 727... and off to the far left, a Vickers Viscount turboprop.

©2011 Steve Ember

Up, Up, and Away!

2011-08-13T21:03:00.000-07:00

from a photographer's notebook...

Coming soon...a new Photo Note Card Design.

Please stay tuned - Details to follow.

Strangers on a Train (but not for long...)

2011-06-05T16:21:00.000-07:00

from a photographer's notebook...

One of the joys of travel is the chance acquaintances that may be made along the way - whether they happen to be of the two- or four-legged variety.

If you’re familiar with my work, you know the photographic disposition regarding the four-legged kind is toward cats, for which I have a particular fondness (although if you have perused some of the recent work on my pages on foto-community, you know that during my travels last autumn in Switzerland’s Canton Graubünden, I found some worthy subjects among the bovine communities in Splügen and Zillis in the Via Mala region).

But you would have had to search long and hard through my image bank before coming up with a doggie. Until now…

Minouche was an unexpected acquaintance made early on in my trip last October. I’d flown over to Zürich to begin the Swiss portion of my visit. Arriving on a Saturday morning, I sent my luggage along to Chur, so that I’d be unencumbered in shuttling over to do some initial shooting at the Calatrava designed rail station at Stadelhofen.

Then, the plan was to shuttle back to the main station at Zürich, take the train down to Chur, rendezvous with my luggage, and board the Post Bus for Splügen where I’d be spending the first few days.

Now, you might think that first l-o-n-g day of travel, considering the time-jog to the system of a transatlantic flight and dealing with luggage wrangling and transfers and full camera pack – i.e., all the gear, film and digi (I only go to small-pack once I’ve reached my destination!) – could prove a bit arduous. But not when you’re back in Switzerland after too many years. And not in the inviting autumn sunshine that made its appearance by mid-morning in Stadelhofen and would continue the entire day…All one feels under the circumstances is invigorated, and ready for good things along the way.

Like meeting Minouche on the train from Zürich to Chur.

I was traveling in First Class and picked out a nice window seat on the one-abreast side of the comfortable SBB (Swiss Federal Railways) carriage. As I was seeing to my cameras and enjoying the Swiss lakeside panorama gliding smoothly by outside the large window, I became aware of the curious gaze of a fellow traveler from across the aisle.

The gently inquisitive and intelligent look on her face held my attention, and I soon asked her companion if I could join them and take some photos of this appealing little furry voyager, sitting calmly on the towel that had been set out for her.

Minouche enjoys First Class comfort and view on the SBB ©Steve Ember

I learned from her human that Minouche is indeed a quite experienced rail traveler, and it certainly showed in her calm demeanor. Indeed, for the entire hour and fifteen minute trip, she was as calm and composed as she appears in the photos.

And when Mommy had to excuse herself briefly, she asked if I’d mind taking care of Minouche. She attached a leash to her collar and handed me the other end. I moved over to sit beside Minouche. The leash was totally unneeded, as we had become friends and she sat calmly as I petted her. But I noticed those big inquisitive eyes now followed Mommy down the aisle...and stayed fixed in that direction all the while until Mommy returned.

We parted company at Chur, where Minouche and Mommy would continue by Rhätische Bahn train into the Upper Engadine, while I collected my luggage, did some photography around the station, and boarded the Post Bus for Splügen, all under the inviting autumn sunshine of a splendid first day of a trip rich in photos, experiences, and memories, of which the chance meeting with petit Minouche was one pleasant example.

If you'd like to see a larger version of the photo of "Minouche" at the top and more of my images from Switzerland and elsewhere, please click here.

A Once Upon a Time Jewel on the Potomac

2011-05-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

from a photographer's notebook...

Washington Monument in Restoration Scaffolding

Were you in Washington back around 1998 - 2000?

If so, you remember a magical sight, especially at twilight.

The Washington Monument was undergoing a major restoration.

An elaborate framework and lots of protective plastic surrounded the stark obelisk, turning it into a shimmering multifaceted jewel.

It inspired many a new look with the cameras, from many different vantage points from sunset through twilight to full night-time. Indeed, on a clear night, it was nothing short of stunning!

I was pleased to have the above photograph selected by Lillian Fitzgerald, Director of Alexandria's Fitzgerald Fine Art, who juried the May All Media Show at the Art League Gallery in Old Town. It will be displayed this month as a 14 x 20 print.

If you are in the area, please join us for the Artists' Reception on Gallery Night in Old Town, Thursday evening May 12th. The Art League Gallery is on the First Floor of the Torpedo Factory at the intersection of King and North Union Streets. 703-683-1780.

This view was shot from inside the Lincoln Memorial on a very clear night in July 1999, looking down the Reflecting Pool toward the Capitol. It was captured on Fuji NPS-160 film. It is part of a portfolio of images bringing back those jewel-like aspects of the monument's restoration. They will be offered as custom printed Photo Note Cards as well as laboratory chemistry prints and archival Giclée renderings in various sizes.

You may see additional views of this "Once Upon a Time Jewel on the Potomac" by visiting my photo site on foto-community. Follow this link, and once there, please navigate the "Nightscapes-U.S." folder for some additional Washington by Night images, including some taken on our Super-Moonrise evening earlier this year.

My Friend Miezekatze

2011-04-03T14:49:00.000-07:00

from a photographer's notebook...

“When a cat adopts you, there is nothing to be done about it except to put up with it until the wind changes.” – T.S. Eliot

I’ve no idea what her family calls her, but to me, she’ll always be Miezekatze, or Mieze for short. And she will always remind me of a wonderful autumn afternoon in Samedan, in the Upper Engadine region of Switzerland's Canton Graubünden.

It was nearing the end of a perfect day of shooting in Samedan's high Alpine sunshine. I had reached the very old Romanesque St. Peter parish church, at the top of the steep cobblestone way, and set about getting some pictures…when, across the road, well up a path leading to some houses, I became aware of a little black and white kitty. She had apparently been watching me.

Mieze trots over to meet and greet a visitor to her village ©Steve Ember

“Rrrowllll?” she called over to me, an inquisitive purr-gurgle carrying across the distance. Well, there was nothing to do but to answer.

“Rrrowllll,” said I. Then, considering she might not recognize my “American” accent in Cat, I went into bilingual mode, and called over, “Hallo, Miez-Miez-Miez!”

At which point, she began a brisk trot down the long path, across the road, and directly up to me!

A curious examination of my shoes, trouser legs, and nearby camera pack and clear baggie full of film ensued. I then knelt down and she proceeded to climb into my lap and up to my face, her purr-machine going at full tilt.

Then, it must have been time for her evening devotions. Or perhaps Miss Mieze just sensed I wanted to shoot the Alps across the way while the light remained good. She trotted confidently over to the open church door and ambled inside. I did my shooting from the church's terrace and just as I returned, out she came.

Now, we cat lovers know that a tail held erect with the little "crook" at the end denotes a happy kitty. A hanging tail, perhaps not so happy. A swishing tail, maybe one should keep his distance.

But pure horizontal? Perhaps Mieze was merely in the process of restoring her tail to its upright "happy" stance once again as she prepared to rejoin her new friend, the photographer who had been attempting to converse in Katze, but with a strange Amerikaner accent. In any case, the unusual "tail language" had me smiling as I edited my images from that afternoon. I hope it makes you smile, too!

If you'd like to see larger images of this sweet little "Swiss Miss" (as well as her lovely Alpine village of Samedan), please visit my foto-community pages.


I'm back! Didja get some good shots of the Alps? OK, let's play some more! By the way, got anything to eat in that film baggie? ©2010 Steve Ember

Moon Song

2011-03-26T21:01:00.000-07:00

from a photographer's notebook...

Most of us who enjoy the beauty of a moonlit night don’t think in terms of “apogee” or “perigee.”

Those terms are for astronomers – not songwriters, romantics…or photographers. Songwriters have waxed poetic over “harvest moons” – as in Shine on, Harvest Moon, for me and my gal…Blue Moon – you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart; without a love of my own. Oh, You Crazy Moon, look what you’ve done. Moonglow…How High the Moon…Moon Song, Moon Over Miami... But admit it - you’ve never heard a song about the moon’s apogee…or perigee…

Me, I didn’t know the difference, or much care about it…until a friend who knew my photography, alerted me to the Super Moon that was to rise here in Washington at 7:39 PM last Saturday evening.

What was so special about this particular moonrise? One word: Size. Yes, size matters when one is including the moon in a nightscape type of photograph. And I have any number of favorite spots in our nation’s capital for capturing a moonrise. One is on the Virginia side of the Potomac, where one can see a panorama that includes the U.S. Capitol, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial, all nicely arrayed before one’s lens…just waiting to be adorned by a great big full moon. My preference tends to be the big orange colored “harvest moon” of the type we see around here in autumn.

If you’re a photographer, or just a moon-loving romantic, you are certainly aware of the fact that the moon – especially the full moon – looms much larger when it is close to the horizon. In other words, shortly after moonrise. And if you’re a traditionalist behind the camera, you like to capture that fullness as it actually appears, and not use Photoshop or other technical wizardry to make the moon take up five times as much space in your photo. Fun, perhaps…but kinda bogus.

There is also the consideration that while the moon always rises in the east, the actual point in the sky will vary…and that, of course, affects where it will appear in your photograph, composition-wise. And, if it’s going to be a full moon – and your (photographic) stars are in alignment, such that it will be just where you want it, but a big bank of storm clouds or other meteorological impediment should rain on your parade, what then?

One begins to see why some photographers diss Mother Nature and cut and paste that full moon…

So, imagine my glee at the weather conditions Saturday evening. Dry, comfortable temperatures, and superb visibility from my chosen viewing point, as I arrive, set up my tripod, latch on the camera, and compose my view. Dome of the Capitol at the left, nicely lighted…the spire of the Washington Monument equidistant between the Capitol dome and the crisp, brightly lit columns of the Lincoln Memorial in the center, casting its reflection in the indigo, almost still Potomac.

Just a few minutes to consider the differences between apogee and perigee and their bearing on something called the “Super Moon.” No, I hadn’t heard that term before. Was I not paying attention back in 1993? That was the last time a full moon – at perigee – paid us a visit. Well, maybe we didn’t know to name it back in ’93… But it was there. And it was soon to be here. And best to catch it, as the phenomenon will not re-occur for another 18 years or so.

Now, this is not to say songwriters, romantics, and photographers will have to wait 18 years to be enchanted by a big orange full moon rising majestically over our favorite masterpiece of nature or architectural landmark. And we photographers, through judicious selection of varying degrees of telephoto lens perspective, will be able to make that moon as large – and as textured – as fine optical glass and a solid tripod can provide.

But, back to what made the Super Moon so dramatic…and so very unique.

Our Moon travels around the Earth in an elliptical orbit, and that elliptical path happens to have a farthest point – called the “apogee,” and a nearest point, called the “perigee.” Now, according to NASA, moons at perigee appear 14% larger and 30% brighter than moons at apogee.

But … a perigee moon almost coinciding with a full moon … that is what all the fuss is about. Technically speaking, a full moon is only a “full” moon for an instant. On either side of that tiny time point, it is not quite exactly its perfectly round, uniformly bright self. But let’s not quibble over such minutiae. I mean, I’m going to leave my sextant and measuring tape at home.

As you can see in my Washington photos, the (OK, nearly!) full moon presented itself as a big orange disc while still low to the horizon. As it rose, it would become both smaller and whiter. And if you viewed it, say, at 8:39 PM (an hour after it appeared), it looked pretty much like any other full moon in a nice clear sky.


Mighty big when it first appears! ©2011 Steve Ember

And that gets us back to why the relatively few minutes after moonrise were so visually dramatic – a “Super” moonrise, if you will. For at the point where this (almost!) full moon is at perigee, a sort of optical illusion I will not pretend to understand, or even try to explain, makes it look truly formidable. One can only imagine the primal fears it inspired in our hunter-gatherer forbears as they went about with their clubs in search of dinner on the hoof.

A glowering fiery orange…mass…on the horizon. Out of all proportion to any harvest moon we’ve admired. Or sung about. Or photographed. To present such to you myself, I would have had to be on higher ground with a much longer lens than the telephoto I was using Saturday, in order to get a clearer shot at the true horizon. And that would have precluded capturing the panorama you see above.

On the web, you’ll find many such dramatic shots with the moon supernaturally large, during that very brief phase, at and just above the horizon, which most precisely defines a “Super Moon.”


While looking perhaps a bit less "super," by 8:17, the moon has risen sufficiently to cast a nice reflection in the Potomac. ©2011 Steve Ember

Incidentally, have you ever wondered how much the moon climbs in the sky in, say, thirty seconds?

Typically, when I’m shooting after-dark cityscapes, I will use time exposures of varying lengths, favoring a small aperture for best depth of field and capture of the lights in the buildings, street lighting, traffic, etc., as well as capturing some nice “starbursts” in those lights. The smaller the aperture, of course, the greater the interval the shutter must stay open. Fortunately Saturday, in most of my shots, I was conservative as to those l-o-n-g exposures, preferring to shoot many bracketed sets to get just the right lighting during a fairly short window in which the moon was still large and in the proper space within my composition.

But I did shoot one frame with a teeny-tiny f/stop and (according to the EXIF data recorded by my camera) a shutter duration of 30 seconds. Look closely at the photo below and you will see some “ghosting” around the moon, showing just how much it rose in the sky in those 30 seconds!

By the way, speaking of sublime lunar experiences, have you ever heard the sublime Sue Raney singing "Moon Song?"

G'night.

©2011 Steve Ember
I will be offering a number of my "Super Moon over Washington" nightscapes as Photo Note Cards and gallery prints in various sizes. For a higher quality view, please go to my fotocommunity site and click on the Nightscapes-US folder to see more.

I LOVE this Billboard!

2011-03-14T11:35:00.000-07:00

from a photographer's notebook...

Disclaimer: I have no commercial connection with Smyth Jewelers, but I could not stop smiling when I saw this billboard! If you are from Baltimore, or have any knowledge of the city, I’ll bet it makes you smile as well.

I grew up in Baltimore, before moving to Washington to pursue my broadcasting career.

Unlike some cities with large transient segments in their populations, Baltimore does not forget its roots and traditions. It embraces them.

And this sign simply and at the same time, eloquently, “marries” two of those traditions: Natty-Boh (that’s National Bohemian Beer, for the uninitiated) and Utz Potato Chips.

For as long as I can remember - and that goes back to childhood - Mr. Boh, the one-eyed, mustachioed, hair-parted-down-the middle, trademark of National Bohemian, represented the beer in TV commercials (some of which were nothing short of brilliant in celebrating “The Land of Pleasant Living” - he made a damn fine troubadour - see below!), print ads, and, most certainly, neon signs adorning the city’s neighborhood taverns and package goods stores.

Another fondly remembered trademark in Baltimore was the Utz Potato Chips Girl, with her wide eyes, the big bow in her hair, and her hand (where else?) in a bag of Utz potato chips.

Thus, what a stroke of genius to add the stick figure and diamond ring to Mr. Boh, as he proposes to “Miss Utz,” to represent Baltimore, tradition, and love in one simple, eloquent statement. Bravo, Smyth and your ad agency!

So, how did I come to see – and shoot – this smile-maker of a billboard?

Earlier this month, I produced a program on my old home town for the Voice of America’s English teaching service (known both as VOA Special English and VOA Learning English). It was a lovely experience, as well as wicked good fun, as I was also asked to do a lesson in “Bawlmerese,” a unique dialect spoken (to greater or lesser extent) by many Baltimoreans.

But another wonderful part of this project was being asked to illustrate the program’s web pages with my photos of Baltimore, taken over several decades, as well as producing a slide show. You may see all of the foregoing, as well as hear some full-out Bawlmerese (by clicking on the embedded audio player) here.

The “sidebar” feature, “An Extended Lesson in Bawlmerese” was illustrated by my editor, who put up some of the photos I hadn’t used in the slide show. I decided there needed to be some more “specific” photos illustrating some of the Baltimore places and institutions of which I spoke, so I planned another trip over there yesterday to shoot such images. Some of these now appear on the "Lesson in Bawlmerese" page of the VOA web site.

Prominent on my shooting list were Baltimore’s row houses and marble steps. But a recent Baltimore shoot to capture the Inner Harbor at twilight, seen at the top of the VOA story and here, combined with the excitement I felt in turning up, for that presentation, several slides I’d taken in my earliest years behind a camera, reawakened my interest in capturing more of the rich urban tapestry of my old stompin’ grounds.

A serendipitous juxtaposition ©Steve Ember

And, as I had great fun in mentioning Natty-Boh, both as a Baltimore tradition and in examples of the distinctive “O” sound heard in full-out Bawlmerese, I absolutely had to include a photo of the beer’s longtime print and TV “spokesman,” Mr. Boh. And that meant including Brewer’s Hill (site of the erstwhile National Brewing Company – the beer is now brewed elsewhere, but remains a Balto tradition, alongside of steamed crabs!). Brewer’s Hill is located in East Baltimore’s Canton, and the plan was to hit that neighborhood sometime after dark, to shoot the Natty Boh Tower and – of course – the big red neon sign of…Mr. Boh, looking out over the city that loves him.

But that left a lot of shooting to be done in daylight. And the perfect sunny afternoon conditions I and my shooting partner, my cousin Eric (also from Baltimore), enjoyed made for some great photo opportunities.

After shooting in Druid Hill Park and then capturing some brightly colored row houses nearby, along with those marble steps, we headed down to the old Mount Royal Station so I could capture the tall clock tower mentioned in the “Extended Bawlmerese Lesson.”

Mount Royal station was, in my early years, the uptown terminus for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad’s premiere passenger trains to New York, Washington, Chicago, and other destinations. It’s now a part of the Maryland Institute College of Art. But passenger train service is alive and well over at the Pennsylvania Station, just across town, and that’s where we headed so I could photo illustrate my references to “llaocaomaotives” as an example of both the Bawlmerese guttural L and diphthonged O.

We parked on North Charles Street, just across from this impressive Beaux-Arts terminal, serving both Amtrak and the regional MARC Rail, as well as Baltimore's Light Rail system No sooner had we gotten out of the car than we spotted the sign, just north of the station. The fence in the foreground is along the bridge that carries Charles Street over the tracks leading into Penn Station.

I’ll show you some more Baltimore scenes, or provide links to them, soon. But for now, I just wanted to share this simple but eloquent statement of a cherished bit of Baltimore.

Ciao, Hons.

And with sincere thanks to the guys at Atomic TV, I offer you...

I was young and she was beautiful...

2011-03-12T20:28:00.000-08:00

...from a photographer's notebook

I have owned a lot of automobiles, as my decades on the planet might suggest. But not that many cars. Not quite as many as would be the mean for someone with this many years on his odometer.

The reason is simple: I tend to get attached to my cars. Well the good ones at least, and there have been many good ones. One of my two current cars is a 1990 Ford Thunderbird Super Coupe. I bought it new, which means it will be 21 in October, as I bought it toward the end of the model year.

But this little story is not about my longest owned car. It’s about my first new car, and, oh, was she a honey. And oh, was I young.

I’ve thought of her over the years. Wondered who might be loving her now, keeping her garaged, lovingly maintained, and driven only in fair weather…polished to a fare-the-well…and pampered.

More romantic to think of her that way, rather than the more likely scenario that twenty years later, guys in tee shirts were probably chugging beer out of frosty cans that once were part of her sleek body panels.

But what triggered this little stroll down memory lane was actually a bit of serendipity involving my photography...which goes back to even before I held my first car keys.

Earlier this month, I worked on a program about my home town, Baltimore, Maryland for the Voice of America. I was invited to work up a slide show of some of my photographs of Baltimore for VOA’s Special English web site. While I took some new photos for the story, I got to thinking it might be fun to plumb my image bank for some real “legacy” photos of the ol’ home town, before all the modernizing that came with such projects as the Inner Harbor. And, as Baltimore was represented in some of the earliest efforts with my cameras, I just knew that, lurking amidst boxes and boxes of hopefully not faded color slides from the ‘60s might be some images showing the Baltimore in which I grew up. Maybe they’d even be good!

Now, this has proved to be a somewhat helter-skelter search, as I only developed a serious filing modality more recently. And, truthfully, I’d not done all that much with my Baltimore images in the past several years.

But I knew of a couple boxes of slide trays from the early ‘60s, whose depths I had plumbed a couple years ago for some photos of New York taken in 1963.

So into that first box I delved. No, I didn’t find my stealthy teen rookie photos of Baltimore's infamous “entertainment” district, The Block.

But I did come upon a tray of slides taken of that first new car. Taken with all the pride that anyone who loves cars and cameras knows so well. Funny how that new car smell also triggers a keen photographic response!

Guess it’s time I told you what “she” was…

She was also a Ford. No, she wasn’t a Thunderbird, although she wore the T-Bird badges on her front fenders to signify that purring under her broad, sleek hood was the big 390 cubic inch displacement Thunderbird V-8 that also powered the primo Ford Luxo-machine of that name.

Taken with pride in the summer of '63 ©Steve Ember

She was my 1963 Galaxie 500 convertible. My first “new” car.

A source of automotive pride. An emblem of an era of optimism…and Camelot. Yes, she came home with me in the early summer of 1963. John F. Kennedy was our President, with the lovely Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy as First Lady. They brought a special aura to Washington. The situation in Viet Nam had not become the morass it soon would. Cuba was worrisome, but the era was called “Camelot,” after the Lerner and Loewe musical play of that name. King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, Sir Lancelot, the Round Table, where might served right. At least that was how it began. And how could one not feel optimism, mixed with glamour.

And, yes, the better cars being turned out by Detroit’s “Big Three” automakers, GM, Chrysler, and Ford were emblems of that optimism mixed with glamour. And why not? Gasoline was less than a quarter for a gallon of premium.

You could lower the top, turn up the radio and hear Vic Damone, George Shearing, Peggy Lee, Frank Sinatra, Nelson Riddle, Ella, Rosie Clooney, Percy Faith, Bert Kaempfert.

Times were good. And she...was beautiful.

Those Sundays at the Airport...

2011-03-07T20:09:00.000-08:00

from a photographer's notebook...

The original Baltimore Friendship International Airport ©Steve Ember

A few years back, I wrote a story for Airliners magazine about my lifelong love affair with airplanes. It was called “Confessions of an Airplane Lover.” Perhaps you read it or maybe you’ve listened to the CD.

Early in the narrative, I mentioned how that love affair began, with Sunday morning visits with my Dad to “a sleepy little airport called Friendship.”

Recently I was asked to collaborate on a program about Baltimore, the city in which I grew up, for The Voice of America. The person who undertook the project learned from our mutual colleagues that I was from Baltimore, and as the program was to delve into the very quirky “Bawlmerese” dialect that many Baltimoreans speak and I can do a pretty wicked Bawlmerese…well, one “fing” led to the next there, Bunky. (For the uninitiated, you’ve just read some Bawlmerese.)

I was also invited to illustrate the story with some of my photos of Baltimore, both recent and “vintage.”

As I started toting around a camera before I even had a driver’s license, I was pretty certain I could document the Baltimore of well before the showplace Inner Harbor and revitalized downtown. The only question was: Was there any remote chance of locating my slides from roughly 50 years ago?

Now, over the last decade or so, I’ve been fairly organized in terms of classifying and filing slides and negatives. I wrote, in another post, of my “kid on Christmas Morning” glee in rediscovering scores of “legacy” images when I finally purchased a slide scanner in 2009 to begin integrating my film images into a digital workflow. Lots of happy rediscoveries there, but they didn’t include any of the “old” Baltimore. Guess I just wasn’t digging quite deep enough.

But the VOA story was, well, motivation. I once interviewed the legendary Boston Pops conductor Arthur Fiedler. I marveled at his energy for an octogenarian. He matter-of-factly said, “You want something done? Ask a busy man. He’ll always find the time.”

That advice struck me as sounding a bit paradoxical, but I guess it stuck in one of those little “nooks and crannies” of gray matter. And I am surprised at how often I find myself recalling it, as I burn the candle at both ends while scrambling on multiple projects. And while I was, indeed, on multiple projects, I could not keep from rummaging deeper and deeper into the past on this quest to unearth my old Baltimore slides.

Did I mention they were all over creation? Goodness, does any photographer sans assistant ever manage to file all of his images? Somehow, I think that would mean forsaking shooting. And that, we camera-toters know, is an absolute impossibility.

So, with dogged determination I find two boxes full of Ansco (does that tell you how old?) slide trays. I mean, folks, this was pre-Carousel! Yep, straight, rectangular Ansco trays of the type that hold forty slides.

Now, let’s see…I bought my first Kodak Carousel projector in 1964. So the slides in those Ansco trays are…OK, not to put too fine a point on this, I learned to drive in a five year old 1955 Chrysler and remember watching a lot of black and white TV. I think that makes me what we call “seasoned.”

And so are some of the slides I hoped to find of my old home town to illustrate that Baltimore story on the VOA web site.

I knew I was getting warm when I found the tray containing slides proudly taken of my first “new” car, my 1963 Ford Galaxie 500 convertible gleaming in the summer sunshine on the driveway of the house in which I grew up. I’ll tell you about her in another ramble and show you my first automotive “object of desire.”

But, now, the hunter had the scent. Hmm, Ford Galaxie…First airplane trip, to Niagara Falls – in 1963…Aha! Baltimore in the early 60s!

Pay dirt, including the “old” Baltimore downtown skyline, rising behind the dingy docks, sheds, and warehouses of the original Inner Harbor, long before we even called it the “inner” harbor, a place my Dad warned me to stay away from when my teen buddies and I would go out prowling in the car on Friday nights. Yes, it was grim down there after dark. But no worse than any other big industrial city in need of revitalizing. They all have their underbellies and skid rows. That was Baltimore’s Inner Harbor in the ‘50s and ‘60s…

You can see the difference between blighted and beckoning in a slide show I put together for the VOA story. You can also, if you'd like, hear some examples of the above-referenced Bawlmerese.

But this little story started out talking about “a sleepy little airport called Friendship,” didn’t it?

Loves and passions always start at some fondly remembered event. And the brighter they burn, the more vividly we remember how they started. Sometimes, we’re even lucky enough to possess visual mementos. My passion for airplanes started with those Sunday morning trips “out to Friendship.” Friendship was Baltimore’s “new” airport, undertaken with great civic pride a few years after the Second World War ended. It opened in 1950, dedicated by President Harry S. Truman, and was named for the area in Anne Arundel County, just south of the city, where it was built.

I’m guessing I first visited Friendship sometime in 1955 or ’56, as I recall riding shotgun down the Baltimore Washington Parkway with my Dad in our then-new ’55 Chrysler with its big V-8 engine.

It was a gem of an airport. Clean, modern, friendly, and back when I was a ten year old with my first camera, a Brownie Hawkeye, not very busy. That would come a few years later.

When I was first visiting Friendship with my Dad, it was still playing second fiddle to the more established Washington National Airport. Indeed, it was not uncommon, if one was flying across the country, to hop a connecting flight out of Friendship on a “feeder” airline’s DC-3 or Martin 4-0-4 for the 12 minute flight over to DCA to rendezvous with a major airline’s DC-6 or -7 or Constellation. Not always, of course, but Friendship had some catch-up ball to play back then.

But then came the Jet Age, and Friendship truly spread her wings. Those big shiny 707s and DC-8s that ushered in the age of jet travel needed much longer runways than National provided. And Washington-Dulles wasn’t yet in operation. So, by default, Friendship, with its nice long runways, became the jetport for the Washington Baltimore area, and the “International” in her name took on real meaning as the sleek 707s of Pan American and TWA boarded passengers in Baltimore for overseas destinations. But that’s getting way, way ahead of this nostalgic little journey…

You know what was wonderful about Friendship? There was a long, broad, open promenade running the entire length of the roof of Friendship’s Pier B. Well, what would you expect a concourse to be called at an airport serving a seaport city? Friendship had three “piers,” A,B, and C. Pier B, being in the middle, was a great place for that open promenade, as it allowed visitors to look out on the tarmac areas serving most of the airport’s real estate.

From that wonderful open promenade, one looked down at Capital Airlines DC-3s and DC-4s, Eastern Airlines Martin 4-0-4’s, the occasional TWA Constellation (there was glamour!). This was before enclosed jet-ways. Passengers would walk out from the gates below, across the tarmac, sometimes along a red carpet, and up the stairs to their plane, where they were greeted by graciously smiling, attractive stewardesses in tailored uniforms, often wearing white gloves. Back then, if you loved airplanes and air travel, you could truly get up close and personal with your aluminum clad radial-engined magic carpet.

Well, there’s more about those saner days of air travel in “Confessions of an Airplane Lover.” But the slide I turned up with such glee, while certainly not one of my more “glamorous” images was evocative in ways I’m not even sure I could describe. You see, Friendship International Airport – is no longer there. Oh, the nice long runways are still there, but the neat post-war modern airport building was razed to make way for a huge BWI mega-terminal, and the original airport’s modest but forward-looking heart and soul got swallowed up by the inevitable march of progress. That’s why my photo is, to me – I’ll say it boldly – an all-out gem.

I suppose if I were interested in hiding my “seasoned” age, I would not have posted the image. Friendship’s clean-lined terminal looked that way for several years after the photo was taken, but the cars out front, speak to the slide’s age. And no, I wouldn’t think of cropping or air-brushing or cloning them away. Couldn’t find a date on the slide, not even the lab’s processing date stamp, but I’m guessing I took it in 1959 or ’60.

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. I suspect I may have written a bit more than the proverbial thousand. But that little slice of silver coated celluloid surrounded by a cardboard mount is, well, almost as powerful to me as finding that photo you took of your first flame and being overwhelmed at how beautiful she was in her wool sweater and skirt on that very special sunny autumn afternoon.

Now, I have a splendid visual token of the handsome, inviting portal that transported me to the delights of a life long love affair with airplanes.

Oh, yes, thank you, City of Baltimore and Maryland Port Authority. Thank you, VOA Special English.

And thank you, Dad.

Kodachrome - Say It Ain't So!

2011-02-13T10:26:00.000-08:00

from a photographer's notebook...

Story to follow. Please stay tuned.

Another Kaempfert-Abend!

2011-02-13T09:59:00.000-08:00

Text to follow...Please stay tuned!

Schwanger?

2010-12-17T18:50:00.000-08:00

I don’t usually find pregnancy a source of humor. So why did I find myself chuckling at this sight, repeated in several Swiss railroad stations on my recent trip?

“Maybe Baby” is the name of a pregnancy test. The product is sold, along with chocolate bars and other edible treats, in these vending machines. Cute name, of course, reminding one of the 1957 tune by Buddy Holly and the Crickets. So, a smile, yes. But the chuckles, verging on all out laughter the first time I saw one of these machines?

And why was that chuckle accompanied on the Gray-Matter Victrola by the stirring strains of Richard Wagner’s “The Ride of the Valkyries?”

If you remember Billy Wilder’s 1961 film “One, Two, Three,” you - of course! - know the answer!

The madcap comedy, set in divided Berlin, just before the Wall went up, starred James Cagney in a vigorously funny portrayal of C.R. MacNamara, a Coca Cola executive hoping to get the company’s product to the entire Soviet bloc, the ever classy Arlene Francis as his wife, Lilo Pulver (in the polka dot dress to end all polka dot dresses!) as Fräulein Ingeborg, Mac’s sexy and oh-so-willing secretary and “Umlaut instructress,” Pamela Tiffin as Scarlett, the hot-blooded daughter of Mac’s boss in Atlanta, and Horst Buchholz as the rabid young (underwear-disdaining) Ost-Berliner Communist Otto Ludwig Piffl, with whom Scarlett falls in love, after he saves her from being arrested for taking pictures of a Workers Parade.

Mac’s boss has imposed on him and his wife to take care of Scarlett, whom he’s sent to Berlin to keep out of trouble (you know, the romantic kind…)

By the way, while the film does not contain one un-humorous scene, for me the iconic moment will always be Lilo Pulver’s deliciously provocative “table dance” in a run-down East Berlin hotel, in that polka dot dress, brandishing two flaming shish kabobs (even lighting a Russian Commissar’s cigarette with one!), to the tune of Aram Khachaturian’s “Saber Dance,” as part of MacNamara’s ploy to get Piffl, Scarlett’s now-husband out of the East Berlin Polizei's custody…which he had earlier arranged with the help of his right-hand man Schlemmer (played by Hanns Lothar), a balloon, a motorcycle, and a cuckoo clock that plays “Yankee Doodle” as Uncle Sam pops out.

The reason Mac needs to get young Piffl released is the revelation that Scarlett is not only his bride but…well, that’s where “schwanger” enters the plot (Bet you thought I wasn’t gonna get to that, hmm?)

See, when Otto fails to pick up the packed up mink-wearing Scarlett to catch the 7 PM Moscow Express (which “leaves promptly at 8:30”), Mac explains Piffl won’t be coming, as he is in the custody of the East German authorities…at which point Scarlett collapses.

The doctor is summoned. He’s a rotund and jovial chap with a few holes in his English. As he takes Scarlett’s pulse, he looks at his watch and frowns. Mrs. MacNamara asks if this bodes ill for Scarlett. Au contraire! He simply explains he’s missing the first act of “Die Walküre!” Then, he assures everyone that Scarlett is going to be fine. Oh, yes, and that she’s “schwanger!” For the life of him, he can’t think of the English word, to the consternation of both Mr and Mrs MacNamara. Until their children pipe up. They know what “schwanger” means: “Scarlett’s gonna have puppies!”

The doctor joyfully embraces this new nugget of English medical knowledge, and leaves the MacNamara-Haus exuberantly singing, to the tune of “The Ride of the Valkyries,” Schwanger ist pregnant, Pregnant ist Schwanger…

I refuse to give away any more of this comedic Meisterstück (even if you were to torture me with a record of “Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” played eccentrically on a cheap phonograph!) But, the transformation of Piffl into the “respectable” Count von Droste Schattenburg, capitalist extraordinaire, is worth the price of admission. Oh, and did I mention Lilo Pulver’s polka dots?

By the way, if you’re reading this on the left side of the Pond, the price of admission is a region-free DVD player.

Short of that, if you don’t mind watching in chapters on your “small screen,” Underworld Projector has done us fans of the movie a great service by posting some pretty decent quality clips on You Tube (link below)

For some inexplicable reason, “One, Two, Three,” while a Hollywood film, is not available on DVDs coded for North American use. But you can get it in its European released DVD version, if you also buy that region-free player.

So glad I purchased one when I discovered the Bert Kaempfert documentary a couple of years ago!

http://thunderflakes.blogspot.com/2009/03/memorable-musical-pilgrimmage.html

Herr Kapellmeister! More rock und roll!

Peer Award for "Confessions..."

2010-11-14T16:17:00.001-08:00

A favorite voice-over project of mine - because of its subject matter and its very "personal" story - received a very special honor last night at the TIVA-DC Peer Awards Evening at the National Press Club.

"Confessions of an Airplane Lover" was honored with a TIVA Silver Peer Award in the Voiceover - Long Form, Male category.

For readers outside the industry, every year, TIVA-DC (The Television, Internet, and Video Association of DC) presents its Peer Awards, honoring "Tbe Best and Brightest of Washington DC." These prestigious awards recognize "the professionals of the Metropolitan Washington media community who have demonstrated excellence in their work, as judged by their peers."

In keeping with this year's Peer Awards theme, "A Decade of Excellence," a new "Classic" category was created to recognize work produced prior to the current year's window of eligibility.

Happily, "Confessions" fell into that Classic category, prompting me to enter it, and I was delighted when it received this "peer" recognition.

"Confessions of an Airplane Lover" is a 38-minute audio production on CD. Here's what it is and how it came to be.

At the time of the centenary of powered flight in 2003, marking the 100th anniversary of the Wright Brothers’ first flight, I realized my life-long love affair with airplanes had, by then, gone on for some fifty years. It began with childhood visits with my Dad to the observation promenade of Baltimore’s Friendship Airport (now B-W-I) in the 1950s and would never get “old.”

From time to time, I’d write narratives relating to favorite airliners or aviation experiences to go with my exhibits of aviation photography. In 2003, I decided the time might be right to expand those cherished memories into a unified story. “Confessions of an Airplane Lover” was published in the May/June 2004 issue of Airliners.

But, being a voice-over guy with my own studio, I thought it might also be fun to voice and produce “Confessions,” with music and (of course!) airliner sounds. And what fun it was!

The twelve chapters on the CD are an unabashedly sentimental and romantic account of cherished experiences involving airplanes and flight, mainly from a saner – and classier – era of commercial aviation, although one chapter does deal with the welcome sight of airliners returning to the skies over the Potomac, when Reagan National Airport was finally reopened after the horrors of 9/11. And a final chapter, relating to a photo I took of a little boy gazing out of a Dulles departure lounge window at a huge Triple-Seven, brings it all back to the child’s wonderment at watching airliners with his Dad at “that sleepy little airport called Friendship.”

The story is dedicated to my Dad, who got the love affair started with those trips to the airport, and to all the aviation professionals whose dedication, expertise, and courtesies to me on board their aircraft made possible the experiences it relates.

Thank you, TIVA, for recognizing a project so very near to my heart. I may not "land" for quite some time.

That Kaempfert-Abend in Frankfurt (2008)

2010-11-12T18:59:00.001-08:00

This is the continuation of the post from 2009 "A Memorable Musical Pilgrimage"

http://thunderflakes.blogspot.com/2009/03/memorable-musical-pilgrimmage.html

as originally presented in the "What's New" blog on my website.

So, time to build a trip around this special musical opportunity…and to make it a special one, as it’s my first vacation in too long, as well as my first return to Europe in several years.

The wheels start turning. I can get away for two weeks. The Kaempfert Tribute Concert is the impetus for the trip, but it is just one evening. So, about 12 days to fill with enjoyable pursuits once on the right side of the Pond.

Now, if you read these posts, you know my passions (beyond Kaempfert) include photography. Oh, yes, and trains, and that shooting snowy landscapes ranks high among my favorite activities behind the lens. And a long-standing wish of mine (which had eluded realization for years!) has been to shoot steam trains in the snow. So, Germany in February…hmmm, this might just be the opportunity.

I have a friend in Germany who is also a railroad enthusiast and photographer. We actually met back in 1989 in Switzerland as we both found our camera-laden selves checking out the control cab of a Rhätische Bahn Bernina Line train before its departure from Pontresina. Tom and I had linked up a number of times since, whether in Switzerland or Germany, and had discussed getting together again, so I contacted him, asked if he’d be interested in attending one of the Kaempfert concerts with his lady friend, and discussed my desire to shoot trains (ideally steam trains) in the snow. Tom, being well-versed in European train photography, immediately mentioned the Fichtelbergbahn and Pressnitztalbahn narrow gauge steam railroads in the Erzgebirge region of eastern Germany, the latter in fact having a special weekend of steam activities, beginning just three days after the Kaempfert concert in Frankfurt. He also suggested other places we could visit for train photography, as well as other non-railroad points of interest we could include as a good workout for our cameras.

And voilà, two weeks in Germany looks like a superb idea. I even – finally – cease procrastinating and buy my first digital single lens reflex camera and a couple new lenses. Of course, traditionalist that I am, the digital SLR will augment, not replace, my trusty film SLRs.

Oops, guess it’s time to hit the “off-on-another-tangent” brakes and return to the intended topic of this account: My Memorable Musical Pilgrimage, Part Two. But, in the event the “Steam in the Snow” or other photography in Germany references piqued your interest, the following link will take you to one of my happiest moments ever behind a camera. Steam in the Snow (Once there, you may sample more of my Germany images – trains and otherwise – by navigating through the folders on my FotoCommunity pages.)

So…on to the Kaempfert concert at the Alte Oper and its many delights – and discoveries!

As mentioned, I invited Tom and his lady friend to be my guests for the “Kaempfert-Abend.” After a most enjoyable afternoon exploring Frankfurt on foot, we settled in for a nice cozy dinner in Sachsenhausen before walking back across the Eiserne Steg over the Main to the Alte Oper. Over dinner, we talked about, among many other topics, music. I knew from previous chats that Tom’s musical tastes ran more to Kraftwerk than Kaempfert. Turned out neither of my guests claimed any familiarity with Kaempfert.

This knowledge led to my first “discovery” an hour later: that of the universality of Kaempfert’s music. For it didn’t take more than a tune or two at the top of the concert for my guests’ faces to light up with the recognition that “Of course! We know this music!” And that gave new meaning to Kaempfert’s rather self-effacing statement (considering his reputation as the father of the Easy Listening genre of music): “If people know my tunes, that’s enough. My music says everything I have to say."

Between thee and me, I’ve always had a wee problem with that moniker “Easy Listening.” I suppose the music business must rely on facile labeling such as this one – makes it easier to design radio “formats” and bins in record shops, among other things. I suppose “Easy Listening” can be interpreted as “relaxing,” but a part of me still feels it implies a sort of dismissive bias toward the craft and substance that Kaempfert and writing partner Herbert Rehbein brought to their melodies and the superbly tight musicianship that marked those many recording sessions at the Rahlstedt studios.

I wrote in the first part of this account about how, when a sound is so well ingrained in our musical awareness – say, like a classic Kaempfert arrangement – it’s sometimes a bit “unsettling” to hear a different arrangement or hear the tune played by a band or orchestra of different makeup. I admit to falling into this trap for the first short while, that night in Frankfurt.

It’s a tribute to those original arrangements on my countless LPs and CDs of Bert Kaempfert tunes that every note of Manfred Moch’s trumpet parts, every propulsive swipe of Ladi Geisler’s “knack-bass” or Rolf Ahrens brushes on the drums, the precision of the ensemble in “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love,” or “Remember When,” or "Snowbird" or countless others...well, they’re all good and trusted friends, of whom one never tires, with the ability to raise my spirits whenever I hear them. (And the worse some of the contemporary pop cacophony becomes, the more I cherish them.)

So, yes, I suppose I was expecting a more “exact” recreation of the Kaempfert arrangements with the excitement, of course, of hearing them “live” for the first time. For whatever reasons - economic realities, perhaps, being a part, or the desire to “modernize” maybe - the ensemble was smaller than the typical Kaempfert recording orchestra, or, for that matter, the orchestras he conducted in videos I’ve mentioned elsewhere, such as the superb 1979 televised concert or the 1967 television performances marking the introduction of color TV transmissions in Germany. And the arrangements, as played by the Berlin Jazz Orchestra, were new, some of them more toward jazz ensemble than the “classic” Kaempfert orchestra (although a smallish string section was included). Fortunately, the choral aspect of Kaempfert was honored and the Berlin Voices filled the bill nicely, adding a new jazz flavoring on such tunes as “Spanish Eyes” and “Remember When,” as they backed up Sylvia Vrethammar’s vocals.

Well, whatever “discontent” I felt was most definitely short-lived. Indeed, some of the more jazz-attuned arrangements Jiggs Whigham led – including his sensuous trombone line in “I Love You So” – spoke eloquently to the timeless and versatile appeal of Kaempfert’s melodies. If you’d like to hear what I’m referring to, there is a CD, made in conjunction with an earlier set of concerts in 2006. And, as there was a video recording crew at the concert, my hope is that a DVD is in the works.

The supple-voiced Swedish jazz singer Sylvia Vrethammar has a wonderful association with Kaempfert’s music. I first enjoyed her while watching the Marc Boettcher documentary I wrote of in Part One, and even more in the full-length Kaempfert Concert DVD I purchased as a result of watching the documentary. So, the fact that Ms. Vrethammar would be joining Jiggs, Ladi Geisler, Herb Geller (saxophone/flute), and Ack Van Rooyen (flugelhorn/trumpet), all core players of the Kaempfert band in the 60s and/or 70s, was another reason this concert was a “not-to-be-missed” event for me. Her presence was vivacious and magnetic and she’d clearly not lost her touch with a Kaempfert tune.

There was also piano showman Joja Wendt…and a young man with whom I’d not been familiar but who has been introducing new and younger audiences to the music of Bert Kaempfert – jazz vocalist Marc Secara.

So, between Marc and Sylvia, lots of reminders of how wonderfully those Kaempfert instrumentals enhanced the popularity of so many popular singers – Al Martino, Dean Martin, Nat King Cole, Jack Jones, Andy Williams, and of course Frank Sinatra, to name a few – when lyrics were added. And I must say Marc Secara’s reading of “Lonely is the Name” at that concert (you can hear it on the CD) rates right up there with the best of Kaempfert vocals – Superb.

Yes, that evening left me glowing, and very happy that all my nocturnal internet research (described in Part One), led to planning a trip to Germany around this “Kaempfert-Abend.”

©Steve Ember
For a short sample of that evening in Frankfurt...Please enjoy (and one fine day, we might get to enjoy the entire video)

Wunderland bei Nacht? A "new" nightscape...

2010-09-03T17:02:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

If you follow my photographic work, you know I'm very fond of shooting "nightscapes," city scenes in the special, often magical, atmosphere of twilight to full night. Many of my favorite nightscapes have been European. If wet cobblestones reflecting bright or intense colors are present, so much the better. Throw in a train or a tram, and I really get inspired. As I am now displaying my work on the European photography web site fotocommunity.com, I was inspired to revisit much of my work from my trip to Germany in the winter of 2008. As a result, several of these images are being displayed for the first time.

My German photographer friend Tom Reitzel and I had taken the train over to Mainz for what turned out to be some very rewarding rainy late afternoon and evening shooting, whether of trains at that city's very busy main station, or along the city's cobblestone streets. Many of those images appear, for the first time on the fotocommunity site, and I'll provide a link below. After dinner (and more wet street shooting) we headed back to the station to catch our train.

As we approached the station, on Bahnhofstrasse, natürlich, I turned around just in time to catch a brightly colored tram rounding a curve in the wet cobblestoned street. Just as it was passing an edifice that, shall we say, was not exactly a "shrinking violet." Indeed, its violet lighting and "Blues Brothers" statues on the balcony made for a wonderful counterpoint to the warm colors of the rest of the scene.

I believe the conversation went something like...
"Tom, is that building what I think it is?"
"It's exactly what you think it is."

I've written often of musical associations that insinuate themselves into my photography, whether at the time of shooting or afterward. And, while it’s “The Blues Brothers” hanging out there on that balcony of “Das Crazy,” in Mainz on this rainy evening in February 2008, the music I heard when working up this image – and whenever I view it – is the Bert Kaempfert instrumental hit from 1960 “Wonderland by Night.”

The tune was written by cabaret artist Klaus Günter Neumann for “Unser Wunderland bei Nacht,” a 1959 German film about the post-war German sex industry (where, apparently, business was booming). Kaempfert recorded it as a single in the big band style he’d been developing, with what would become his trademark lead-trumpet sound.

Story has it, Kaempfert’s German record company, Polydor, disparaged the record’s chances for becoming a hit, owing to the subject matter of the film. Kaempfert, however, believed strongly that the single, “Wunderland bei Nacht,” had the right stuff. He and his wife boarded a Lufthansa Super Constellation bound for New York, and with his new American record producer at Decca, Milt Gabler, laid the groundwork for a body of music and recordings that would make the Bert Kaempfert sound a solid staple in the United States for years to come. “Wonderland by Night” with Charly Tabor’s trumpet line would provide that auspicious launch. It also became Bert Kaempfert’s first big international success.

Guess he knew when he had a good thing, and was not about to be discouraged by provincial thinking. Imagine Kaempfert’s delight at the album art for Polydor’s German release – a romantic nightscape of Manhattan with an attractive couple dancing superimposed, and the bold-face header “Deutsche Aufnahme (German recording) – Millionen-Hit in U.S.A.”

Vielen Dank, Bert, for standing by your convictions. Your music has been a part of me since 1960… and always will be.

And now, a big "first" for my wee bloggie (or should I say kleine Blogchen?) - A music video! (Well, it excites me, being the web newbie that I am, that I was actually able to make it appear!) And if I've ever wanted to share a music video, this is the one.

If what you've just read (or the longer Bert Kaempfert story I posted here in March of 2009: http://thunderflakes.blogspot.com/2009/03/memorable-musical-pilgrimmage.html) served to whet your appetite - or perhaps you're already a fellow Kaempfert fan - I offer you below, not just "Wunderland bei Nacht" but three other Kaempfert hits, "Afrikaan Beat," "A Swingin' Safari," and the wonderful "Strangers in the Night." In fact, this has actually become my favorite Kaempfert performance of the latter tune because of the sheer magic of the live performance and the warm and wonderful audience recognition in the first notes voiced by the chorus. My sincere thanks to YouTube member januariobezerra for posting this Kaempfert treasure. It happens also to be quite historical in the annals of German television - the second day of color television transmissions in Germany in August 1967. The lead trumpeter is not the aforementioned Charly Tabor who was featured in the original recording of "Wonderland by Night" but Manfred Moch who would serve in that capacity with the Kaempfert orchestra for much of the '60s.

You'll find "Wonderland By Night" at 1:12 into the clip, but please do enjoy all of this Kaempfert gem.

And, if you'd like to view a larger, higher definition version of the photo, please click on the link below (or copy it into a new browser window) which will take you to it on my fotocommunity page. Once there, you may view other European nightscapes by going to that folder. Hope you'll also check out my photos in other subject areas. Many new ones posted on f-c since our last visit here in blog-land.

http://www.fotocommunity.com/pc/pc/mypics/1571414/display/22104386

©2010 Steve Ember

Those Summers on the River...

2010-08-05T23:52:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

I often write of the “musical soundtracks” that play in my mind's ear as I am out and about with the cameras. Not sure I remember what was on the “Grey-Matter Victrola” on this perfect afternoon in September 1999, as I paused in Chase, British Columbia for a photo-and-refreshment break on the way to Moraine Lake in my beloved Canadian Rockies. I do recall a tape mix I had made for this trip, which included Melissa Manchester singing “The Gypsy in My Soul” and Chicago doing “Saturday in the Park.” Both would have fit nicely with my free spirit and the location, as I pulled over, appropriately enough in a lovely parkland setting along the South Thompson River.

As I've written elsewhere, the slides from that afternoon, including the little girls under the sun awning of the grocery store [See “Best Friends” in the July posts] would have to wait patiently in their yellow and green boxes in a dark drawer...for ten years...before being scanned and re-discovered.

I like the slide, taken on high-saturation Ektachrome EBX, but it suggested another sort of treatment.

And so I summoned my Digtal Genie out of her bottle very late last night and said, “Genie, my Dear, do you ever feel warmly nostalgic?”

And, speaking of a musical soundtrack, how about Eddie Heywood's wonderful piano trio recording of “Soft Summer Breeze?” Or perhaps Pat Boone and “Love Letters in the Sand”...or maybe Gogi Grant and “The Wayward Wind.”

A soft summer breeze on the river...the scent of pine trees in the warm late afternoon sunshine...a double-dipped ice cream cone (with sprinkles) from the neighborhood grocer...a cookout later that afternoon...and no texting, twitter-ing, or video games.

I'm there.

Hope you can join me for a spell.

This image is available in gallery prints as well as in my line of custom printed Photo Note Cards. For a larger, higher resolution view, please click on this link:
http://www.fotocommunity.com/pc/pc/mypics/1571414/display/21962405
While there, if you would like to view more of my images, click on "More photos of this photographer."
©2010 Steve Ember

A different sort of "Blast"...

2010-08-02T21:20:00.000-07:00

...as in Aww-S-[Expletive-Deleted]

In early July, I received an e-mail from Shell announcing their “V-Power Fuel My Passion” Contest.

Now, I'm not big into entering contests, but this one had good prizes and, well, it had my name all over it.

To wit:

If you are one of those people who affectionately names your car, talks to it when no one else is around, or reads your owner's manual for fun, Shell invites you to share how Shell V-Power fuels your passion for your ride.

Skimming through the announcement, I saw it involved sending a photo of your special car (or other motorized vehicle). Ooohhh, interesting, as Big Kitty's classic lines and lithe form have inspired a great deal of photography, especially in those first several weeks after we became a pair. Just had to capture her in some inviting country settings...

Ah, but the photo has to be the car with its owner. That'll work. Not surprisingly, as Big Kitty was the first “new” addition to the driveway of Mewer Manor in 17 years, I'd made sure to record the event. So, some nice photos on file of the two of us, on Delivery Day in 2007 and a few other times.

Oh, but wait – the photo has to have the owner flashing the “V-sign” with both hands, and the entry must include a little narrative about how Shell V-Power gasoline “fuels my passion.” We can DO that...I've written elsewhere about finding and falling in love with the Kitty. And what's more, it would be "truth in advertising," as ever since I drove her off the dealer's lot, Big Kitty has dined exclusively chez-Shell, sipping enthusiastically from the 93-Octane V-Power nozzle.

All right, let's do this thing!

Now, a very long time ago, I learned, if I wanted to be sure of remembering something, like a date by which a chore must be done, to write it down. Whether it's in my Day-Timer, or scrawled on the back of a long-lost laundry ticket, the mere act of “writing it down” is usually enough, as I have a photographic memory.

This time, I neglected that simple memory-insuring act.

A few weeks ago, while dining with my cousin Eric and his family, I mentioned the contest to him, and he offered to take some photos of me flashing the “V-sign” in front of Big Kitty. So, I thank him, and file that offer away, thinking somehow that the contest is gonna run the whole summer. So, next time we get together – yesterday – we drive to a nice wooded setting, and Cuz takes the pictures.

We burn them to a CD, and this afternoon, I select my favorite...and prepare it for entry in the Shell contest. I access the e-mail with the contest announcement, and see the deadline for entry was...five...days... ago!!!

As stated above...Shit!

Have you ever thrown away a big winning lottery ticket? Well, maybe not that dramatic a scenario, but I will hope the contest is deemed successful enough that they'll do it again next year...

BTW, if you happen to be a Jaguar enthusiast, or know someone who is, you might like to have a look at the Kitty-Cards in my series of custom printed Photo Note Cards.

Snow Kitty No.1, created during our winter blizzards, is the latest in the series. The image is also available as a matted print. If you'd like a higher resolution look, click on the link below. Once there, if you would like to see more of my photography, simply click on more photos of this photographer at left below the image.

http://www.fotocommunity.com/pc/pc/mypics/1571414/display/21793955

Eine Blast from the (college) Past...

2010-07-31T21:05:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

The more years I spend on the planet, the more I marvel at the capacity of the human brain (well, at least mine) to store major amounts of trivial information, bordering on the useless…until such time, that is, when it just might morph into being useful (in a crazy sort of way).

Case in point: Decades ago, while taking a beginning German course in college, I happened to learn the phrase: Die Katze ist auf die Mauer gesprungen. It means: The cat has jumped on the wall.

Not exactly as useful as asking where the rest room is in that Frankfurt Gasthaus, or how to get to the Bahnhof in Bamberg.

But I just liked the sound of it, so it snuggled its way into those remote little little gray matter “nooks ‘n’ crannies.”

Fast forward to February 2008 during a photo trip to Germany. My German friend Tom Reitzel, a fellow photographer, and I were wandering through the inviting cobblestone streets of the town of Bad Mergentheim. I was concentrating on architectural features, timber-framed houses and such…when a cute little tabby cat came scurrying across the cobblestones and leapt up onto a stone wall, close to where I was standing, and peered back at me as if to say, “Here’s your next Kitty picture.”

After shooting a few frames of said kitty on the wall, and attempting to converse in Cat, I found myself shouting excitedly over to Tom (somewhat to the amusement of some of the town-folk who had been watching this camera-laden Amerikaner taking pictures of…and trying to carry on a conversation with a cat)…

“Thomas – Die Katze ist auf die Mauer gesprungen!”

Well, I suppose "you had to be there," but sometimes I do feel those university years were actually worthwhile.

Herzlichen Dank, Frau von Braunmühl, for having me learn all those worthy little German tidbits...

This vertical image is available in gallery prints as well as in two versions in my line of Photo Note Cards.

For a larger, higher resolution view, please click on this link:

http://www.fotocommunity.com/pc/pc/mypics/1571414/display/21910027

While there, if you would like to view more of my images, click on "More photos of this photographer."

The Vanderbilt, Ambassador...and Savoy 'Plaz'...

2010-07-30T17:40:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

Central Park Summer Impression

Somewhere back in the ‘60s, New York café singer Ronny Whyte penned some very witty lyrics in which he invited the listener on a tour of his beloved Manhattan. The catchy little tune was called “Let Me Show You My New York.”

Ronny’s inspiration was a Charles Addams cartoon he saw in the New Yorker, in which a spectral sign-board guy (remember those?) touted a tour of all of those landmarks in Manhattan that had either closed or come out second-best in a contest with the wrecker’s ball.

Among the erstwhile NYC attractions Mr. Whyte offers up are the Stork Club, Lindy’s, the Hickory House (a steak and jazz venue if you’re old enough to recall)…the hotels The Vanderbilt, Ambassador, and Savoy ‘Plaz...’ And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the tongue-in-cheek line that follows, Then we’ll go down to Birdland and hear some swingin’ jazz….
Well you get the idea. I played the song regularly when I did programs devoted to songs of New York on the radio. As with present day radio, one wonders if New York is quite the wondrous place it once was. Oh, but of course it is.

Good music, especially when married to intelligent lyrics is such a part of my life that it is never far from my conscious when engaged in other activities…like photography. Often when I’m shooting, some appropriate music is playing somewhere in my head in the process. How well I remember photographing along the Seine while the long September sunset yielded its heady palette of hues, as the sky slowly transitioned through vermilion to twilight…and hearing, in my “mind’s ear,” Maurice Jarre’s theme “Paris Smiles” from the film “Is Paris Burning?” I still hear that music, whether playing on my audio system, or in the equally high fidelity of the music player that sits behind my eyes and between my ears, when I view those images.

But, back to that “Savoy Plaz” reference…

Over the past several months, I have been enjoying a most inviting voyage of “rediscovery” … of hundreds of photographic images, mainly on color slides that have languished in boxes in drawers or transparent sleeves in binders in my photo workroom. It’s the “fate” of many of us who shoot images of our travels, or subject matter closer to home, and have done so for…decades. There is the excitement of capturing those special moments or works of nature in the viewfinder…the second shot of delight when we find the capture to film was as grand as we hoped, when those boxes of slides or sleeves of negatives come back from the lab. A third little shot of pleasure, when sharing them with others, whether in a portfolio or slide show or in a gallery exhibit.

But there are only so many images one can afford to print and frame for display. And, so, the numbers tell the story. The greatest number of one’s photographic captures suffer the ignominious fate of…oblivion, consigned to dark drawers that are rarely opened. After all, the shooting does go on, and one’s “darlings” are often the ones most recently shot…or those benefiting from the contented glow in returning from the latest trip to Europe or the Canadian Rockies.

Well, all that began to change, when I finally ceased my procrastination and purchased a high quality film and slide scanner last summer. The actual impetus was a client wanting to purchase a small print of a photograph she had purchased perhaps ten years earlier from one of my exhibits. But it focused me on the desire I’ve had to work more of my legacy (film) images into present day work flow, including my line of photo note cards.

Bingo! Next I knew, I was attempting to master the learning curve of professional scanning of film images. It’s very much like buying a new digital camera and learning all of its benefits (and traps for the unwary!).

Nonetheless, every journey begins with that first step, and the Whee! Factor quickly set in. I call it the “kid on Christmas Morning” feeling, wherein he doesn’t know which Lionel box to open first. Logic, of course, dictates…the locomotive! But, what next? The streamlined passenger car? The white dairy car with its tireless milkman bringing forth countless silver jugs of milk like the Sorcerer's Apprentice? Or is it the lumber mill? Don’t get me wrong: my childhood wasn’t that privileged…I mean, usually it was more like one Lionel box! But you might understand the progression of events after confirming that my new Nikon scanner had said hello to my computer and each liked the other.

Boxes of slides, unopened for years, gave up their contents of cardboard- (or plastic-) mounted slides, bearing the iconic names of Ektachrome, Fujichrome, Agfachrome, Perutz, and, of course, the many evolutions of Kodachrome, sixties onward.

Bruges! Paris! Iceland! The Berner Oberland! Moraine Lake! And, on deeper probing into drawers and boxes, late teen emerging photographer’s takes on Manhattan, Chicago, the Caribbean…Hel-lo again, dear little slivers of silver-coated celluloid. Into the scanner you go, and let’s see what we have! Were the years a bit unkind? Did you fade a bit? Did that “High Speed” Ektachrome have grain the size of golf balls? Did the dreaded Mildew Monster spew his nastiness right in the middle of Michigan Avenue, 1964, or put a splotch on the bright white paint above the windows of a shiny new United DC-8? Well, that’s why we love our photo software so bad!

Fortunately, 95% of the slides I unearthed in my “Christmas Morning” celebration that began in July, stood the test of time just fine. I knew those Kodachromes would, and my delight was complete at seeing those Fujichrome Velvia renderings of my beloved Alps and Rockies, and the heavenly coastline of British Columbia, with Vancouver and Howe Sound as its sublime centerpiece.

Do I feel a persistent tug at my sleeve…as in what about that “Savoy Plaz?” business?

Back during the winter, I was recuperating from shoulder surgery. It required wearing a sling 24/7…a definite physical hindrance, especially as the shoulder in question is my left…and I’m left-handed. Anyhow, housebound for two weeks. No driving. No lifting heavy EOS-1 type cameras. Ah, but right-handed typing and photo-editing…now that works!

Stir crazy? Not this Christmas Morning kid. On my desk sits a stack of slides, from one of the orgies of random slide box opening that followed my scanner purchase last July. Naturally, most of those images I purposely sought out have now joined my electronic image bank.

But sometimes, random is…fun!

So, here’s a slide in the cardboard mount of a now probably defunct lab in New Jersey, where I sent most of my slide film in the ‘sixties. The mount bears my roll number 15 EH. The low number is consistent with the fact I was just getting serious enough about my photography to make an effort toward organization and methodology. My current roll numbers – yes, I do continue to shoot film alongside digital – are in the mid-fifteen hundreds. Oh, yes, the EH part signified “High Speed Ektachrome.” (That was one of Kodak’s first “High Speed” films, and I guess it showed. Things later got much better in terms of grain and image quality in the ensuing years, although I still favor “slow” films for serious work.)

OK, let’s forget all that stuff about “vintage” slide mounts and film stock…and look through the transparency, shall we?

It was a late summer day, in September 1963. That date is significant for what follows, although the month of September 1963 was joyous for me in other ways…my first airliner trips…and, as written about elsewhere, falling in love with the Lockheed L-188 Electra, one of the most remarkable airliners ever built. And that first Electra whisked me on her turbine powered magic carpet from Buffalo/Niagara Falls to Manhattan, via LaGuardia.

It was not my first visit to NYC, nor was it the first one with 35 mm hardware hanging off my neck. I believe this one would have been a trusty Pentax (metal throughout, don’t you know!), probably the Model H1A, with a right good Takumar (Pentax) lens screwed into it. Yep, the old Pentax/Praktika screw mount…Great for embarrassing oneself with co-eds as one refines his portraiture on the C&O Canal towpath on a chilly day, misses the mark in aligning the thread of the lens with that of the camera body (we aspiring pro’s do not limit ourselves to one lens, you know!) Plop! Splash! Lens sleeps wit da fishes...

Ah, but clumsy though they might have been, those Takumars were sharp! Another “curiosity” of this era of Pentax was that, unlike more modern SLRs, this system made you stop down the lens to meter. Thus, if you cared about such things, you always knew your depth of field while composing and metering.

That’s beside the point in the case of this image, just a bit of historical “color.”

So, back to that re-discovered slide from 1963. It’s a Central Park scene, looking west-to-east across to the Fifth Avenue skyline at 59th Street. That much is clear from a cursory look before the shot of air to be certain no lint or nasties lurk. The slide gets slid into the Nikon. It comes to whirring, clicking (and all the other-worldly sounds scanners make) life, and several seconds later, the image pops up on my screen.

Whoa! Something’s different in that scene – very different! There’s the roof of the Hotel Pierre rising above the trees on the left…the iconic spire of the Sherry Netherland Hotel at the northeast corner of Fifth and 59th Street…and on the far right, one recognizes the equally distinctive architecture of the Plaza Hotel peeking through the trees. But that elegant looking building to the right of the Sherry Netherland, with its green copper mansard roof with its two chimneys…is it an apparition of my romantic nature? Has my slide taken me into the “Twilight Zone?”

A photo taken today from the same vantage point would show the modern tower of General Motors Building, soaring high above the neighboring structures at this southeast corner of Central Park.

Looks like I was at that vantage point “Not a Moment Too Soon” (to quote another Ronny Whyte tune) in terms of capturing a slice of New York history.

But, now, to identify the mystery structure sitting exactly where the GM building (should?) be. OK, 40-some years can dim some aspects of one’s memory. I’d visited New York a number of times since September of 1963, but I’m guessing I must not have been in the vicinity of Fifth and 59th on the next two visits…but I do remember lunching at the Autopub restaurant…smack dab in the GM building…on a visit in 1972.

Back to the photo…That “mystery” building just had to be a hotel, thought I, from its location, style, architecture, and so forth. And a Grande Dame hotel, at that.

But which one?

Back to magical Ronny Whyte tune, “Let Me Show You My New York” Didn’t I remember a line in that tune…where he’s mentioning hotels that were no longer around? Hmmm, the Da-Da-Da, the Ambassador, or Savoy ‘Plaz’…

I retrieve the LP from my shelves, and place it on my trusty Technics SL-1015 with its superb EPA-500 tone arm. Ah, vinyl, lovingly cared for…the music lover and audiophile’s “comfort food.”

Yes, of course, it’s “The Vanderbilt…the Ambassador…and Savoy ‘Plaz’!”

So…remembering the locations of the Vanderbilt and the Ambassador…it’s gotta be the Savoy “Plaz,” er, Plaza.

But, just to be sure, some web research, ably assisted over the phone by my cousin Eric, to establish both the location, and appearance, of the Savoy Plaza.

As the original of this scene, captured on that old Ektachrome, "rediscovered" while scanning long-unviewed slides, no longer exists in reality, I followed my "Digital Muse" with the desire to depict a New York moment that lives on in romantic reverie.

The design is available in my range of custom printed Note Cards.

If you'd like to see a larger version, please click on this link:

http://www.fotocommunity.com/pc/pc/mypics/1571414/display/21900505

Once you're there, you may see a variety of my photographs by entering Steve Ember in the search box. Another sampling of my photos can be seen at

http://jpgmag.com/people/SteveEmber

The Digital Genie meets the Corn Cobs...

2010-07-22T20:42:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

Chicago Forms No.1

I have always been attracted to the strength and diversity of Chicago's architecture. Anytime I'm in the Windy City, my cameras are always active. And, as my visits to Chicago are usually separated by years, there are always new motifs to beckon.

While this image is not strictly speaking a new motif, it is a new interpretation of an old favorite “rediscovered” while scanning some long-unviewed slides last summer.

I first photographed the distinctive Marina Towers, as a teen rookie photographer on my first visit to Chicago. My vantage point was the bridge that carries Michigan Avenue over the Chicago River, between the Wrigley Building and the Tribune Tower. I was using a very basic rangefinder camera without the benefit of a wide angle lens. And I couldn't figure out how to get far enough away to allow my modest little 45 or 50 mm lens to encompass the soaring height of the twin “corn-cobs” (a nickname I later learned was used by locals to describe the unique shape and features).

Somewhere in a nondescript old box would be a crude (by today's digital standards!) black and white “panoramic” that a local camera store's lab cobbled together from two adjacent frames of Plus-X shot in that basic little camera.

New views of the “corn-cobs” were shot on each subsequent visit. The cameras (and their lens capabilities) got better, of course, but the viewpoints were always at street- or water-level.

Then, on one visit, as a result of a chance meeting, I had the opportunity to shoot some Kodachrome-64 slides on a spectacularly clear day from a balcony halfway up one of the Marina Towers.

Naturally, there were all manner of cityscapes, including elevated trains, the Chicago River, and the aforementioned architectural feast.

But that high viewpoint also allowed for some nice telephoto-generated geometrical contrasts between the curving balconies of the East Tower and the stark vertical lines of the dark monolithic office building adjacent to Marina City at 330 N. Wabash (I believe it was then called the IBM Building).

As much as I like the unaltered Kodachrome slide, the nocturnal creative urges took over, and I allowed the digital genie out of her bottle briefly, for a bit of interpretive license.

Hope you'll enjoy the discovery as much as I did...

Chicago Forms No.1 is currently available in matted and framed 14x20 and 12x18 Epson Archival Giclee Prints. It can also be ordered in additional sizes, both larger and smaller, as well as in custom printed Photo Note Cards.

If you would like to follow my photography on the web, please visit http://www.jpgmag.com/people/SteveEmber

I'm pleased to announce that my work can now also be seen on the Europe-based FotoCommunity. Click on

http://www.fotocommunity.com and enter my name in the Search box. If you like what you see, please bookmark the sites, as new work is added each week. Thanks!

Rush Street, 2 AM

2010-07-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

Usually, looking through my photographs makes me smile, as it brings recollections of favorite places, fondly remembered travel experiences, or the quiet joy of capturing a very special work of nature.

But sometimes a photo gets made simply because it’s “there” and, through the photographer’s eye and sensibilities, it can’t not get made.

Such was the case one late night in Chicago in the middle 1980’s. I was walking back to my hotel after a late dinner and some jazz along Rush Street.

Fortunately, there was still some high speed fim in my camera from some shooting earlier that night, which allowed me to capture this fleeting but, to me, very poignant “nightscape.”
© 2010 Steve Ember

Rush Street, 2 AM, from an Ektachrome transparency, is available in matted and framed prints in various sizes and will be joining my line of Photo Note Cards.

Best Friends

2010-07-15T20:43:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

There are photographs that make me smile when I first see them in my viewfinder…and subsequently, whenever I look at the finished image.

There is something utterly timeless about this scene, don’t you think? Perhaps mid-20th century? Before everyone was “wired” to iPods and such…an enduring small town ambience, comforting in its innocence and wholesomeness…

It was actually taken close to the turn of the century, in 1999. I was visiting Western Canada and this was on the second day of a leisurely drive from the West Coast to Moraine Lake. I’d overnighted in Kamloops and was driving the Trans Canada Highway toward my destination in the Banff Rockies. In mid-afternoon, I decided to break up the trip at the village of Chase, in the interior of British Columbia, and walk about with my cameras in the inviting afternoon sunshine.

Chase, actually named after an American who settled there in 1867 after coming to Canada to find his fortune in the Fraser Canyon Gold Rush, sits along the South Thompson River. OK, I’ll admit the reason to stop here was to capture the bright red locomotives of the Canadian Pacific Railway pulling their long freight trains along the forested banks of the South Thompson, and perhaps to even catch a passenger train amidst that same scenery. But after doing so, the timeless, small town ambience of Chase invited further exploration.

So, about that photo of the two young ladies…

I stopped at a small convenience market for some refreshments. It was a rustic little place run by a charming Asian couple. After taking some photos in the store, I returned to the sunshine, in time to see the two girls outside the store under the sun awning.

What charmed me about the scene were the many elements in juxtaposition…the “little lady” with her purse (I think she was the shopkeepers’ daughter) and the cute little “tomboy.” Different clothing styles, but clearly “Best Friends.” While I’m certain they both enjoyed the ice cream by Nestlé as well as the soft drinks by Pepsi, my hunch is the “tomboy” might also have found use for those worms (see the sign in window)…at the end of her fishing pole in Shuswap Lake at whose mouth Chase sits.

Recently, while searching out film images to scan for a stock agency representing my work, I “rediscovered” the slides from that afternoon in 1999, including of this lovely moment in the Chase sunshine. While I like the original slide, the “lost in time” nature of the image suggested its treatment in toned black and white.

Perhaps you’ll indulge my nostalgic, sentimental side in adding the deckle-edge border to the “snapshot.”

In the words of Koko, the Lord High Executioner...

2010-07-14T18:49:00.000-07:00

...I've got a little list.

Oh, my...it actually is a very long list. And a moving target in terms of time and money coming together at propitious moments. A list of journeys I wish to make...photos I want to shoot (or scan from thousands of slides sequestered in drawers of yellow, green, and silver boxes - slide film devotees know exactly what those colors mean)...the Special Lady I wish to find...projects I want to do...piles of stuff I need to file or toss...the new driveway...and the topic of this short post:

Starting a web site for my photography!

Well, it's not as though my work is not "out there," web-wise. But it would be so nice to have one dedicated spot in the cyber universe on which to display my work to clients, friends, and visitors. That might take a while longer, but I'm happy to announce a very nice spot in www-land to which I was introduced as a result of entering a recent photo competition. Indeed, it was the first photo-sharing site I found really appealing, and I have been enjoying adding new work to my pages on jpgmag.com (as well as enjoying the work of so many fellow photogs). Indeed, some of my favorite images are making their first appearance on this easy-to-navigate site. Here's one - Hope it takes the edge off the summer heat and humidity for you.

Tractor in Winter

If you'd like to have a look at some others, just click on the following link. You may then click on any images that look appealing for a larger view, including on a nice black background, by using the "Lightbox" feature.

http://jpgmag.com/people/SteveEmber

If you like what you see, please bookmark and come back often - It's a work in progress!

Oh, that reminds me, I've got this open-reel tape of Gilbert & Sullivan's "The Mikado" by the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company with a wonderful cast headed by John Reed as Koko (the cat with that gruesome snickersnee), the yummy Valerie Masterson as Yum Yum, and the great baritone Kenneth Sandford as the quintessential haughtily bureaucratic Pooh-Bah, all conducted by Isidore Godfrey in glorious London/Decca ffss sound (am I revealing my era?)...that I've been wanting to transfer to cassette or CD for enjoyment on the road.

Guess I should move that one up the list, eh?

Tractor in Winter is available in matted and framed prints in many sizes, and will be joining my line of Photo Note Cards, just in time for the Winter Holiday Season.

A fleeting (photo) moment in the rain...

2010-07-06T18:03:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

Some of my favorite photographs just happen to fall into that delightful "serendipitic surprise" category of those I hadn't planned to take. From previous postings, it's probably clear the kind of photographs I hope to make when in my beloved Alpine settings, but the vagaries of mountain weather always present opportunities and serve to remind this shooter not to stash those cameras too quickly. Case in point...

On my first visit to Innsbruck, expecting to capture vistas of the magnificent Austrian Alps looming just beyond the old town’s distinctive architecture and cobblestone streets, I was disappointed to find the mountains totally obscured by the clouds that insisted on dumping a soaking cold rain on the town.

While consoling myself with Innsbruck’s sinfully rich pastries, and warming my insides with her rich coffee brews, I did manage to walk off a few of the calories in the old town’s sheltered arcades…when suddenly, perfectly presented--for one fleeting moment--across the cobblestone gasse was a woman standing under her umbrella, framed in the doorway of a stately rose-colored building which led to an open courtyard, against which she was silhouetted.

Up came the Nikon with the high-speed color film and the 50-mm lens. No time for swapping lenses or alternate views with one of the other cameras. Unlike many of my images that were part and parcel of lengthy shooting, "Domplatz" was captured literally in the blink of an eye. It has been one of my more successful photographs in terms of juried honors, but more notably, in terms of what I’m so pleased to have been lucky enough to capture.

I am delighted that Howard Paine, former Art Director of the National Geographic (and the man responsible for introducing photography to that magazine's cover!) selected "Domplatz" for inclusion in the July exhibit at the Art League Gallery in Old Town Alexandria. (703-683-1780)

Domplatz is available in framed or matted prints in print sizes up to 16x24 (it is displayed as a 14x20 print in the Art League's July show). It will also be joining my line of custom printed Photo Note Cards.

Switzerland Serendipity

2010-07-03T19:21:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

Eiger-Mönch-Jungfrau Massif from Harder Kulm, Interlaken

I am probably guilty of some pretty heavy use of the word “serendipity.” But so many of my most fondly remembered travel experiences – and their associated photographs – would never have happened, were it not for that funny-sounding word sharing the travel see-saw with careful planning.

Take Switzerland, for example…

Considering my passion for photographing rugged Alpine settings, it might sound strange that it took me about 25 years of running hundreds of rolls of Kodachrome, Ektachrome, Fujichrome, and Agfachrome through a bunch of cameras before my first “meeting” with the Swiss Alps!

And it wasn’t even what I’d call a well planned visit. Firstly, the trip in 1988 was shorter than my typical European visits – I think it was only eight days in length. The intent was to visit Paris for a few days, and then ride the TGV for the first time, to make my first visit to Switzerland. The time in Paris kept getting extended for reasons that are best briefly summed up by that old expression “Cherchez la femme!” Well, la femme turned out not to be as interested in cherchez-ing moi, and I realized if I was going to see Switzerland at all, I’d best allez-myself-en, tout-de-suite.

As I was doing some photography of the vicinity around the Paris Opéra, I noticed a Swiss Government Travel Office. Let’s call that Serendipity No. 1, not for its discovery, but for what occurred inside.

With great embarrassment, I explained to the gentleman my plight – namely that I now had only a short time left on my trip for a visit to Switzerland, that I had to be back in Paris in three days for my return flight, and that I was in need of guidance as to the best way to accomplish this in a way that would provide the best introduction in terms of Alpine photography.

I mentioned he was a gentleman. Without making me feel like the inept travel planner I knew I was guilty of being at that moment, he suggested Interlaken as being the best target, for its central location amidst some quite impressive Alpine sights. Honoring my desire to experience the high-speed TGV, he worked out my rail itinerary, TGV from Paris to a little spot called Frasne, where I’d board a Swiss Federal Railways (SBB) train to Bern. Transfer at Bern to another train for the short trip to Interlaken.

My patient Swiss advisor told me that, at that time of year, late September, there’d be no problem finding a hotel in Interlaken and that there were many lodgings in close proximity to the centrally located main station, Interlaken-West – where I’d get off.

Now the trip from Bern to Interlaken starts to get very scenic at Thun. From there, through Spiez and on to Interlaken, it closely follows the lovely Thunersee (Lake Thun). And as we sped along, I began to see those impressive Swiss Alps in the distance.

The older-style SBB car in which I was riding had those “pull-down” windows that make a photographer’s heart leap in rapture. My fellow passengers seemed not to mind, so I was a happy camper with my new Canon EOS-620 auto-focus SLR, purchased for just such applications, as well as my trusty Nikons.

So involved was I in my photography that, as we rolled into Interlaken-West, I realized there’d not be enough time to put my gear away, gather up my bags, and disembark. But that was OK, as I knew the train would terminate at a station called Interlaken-Ost (East), just a few minutes down the track at the other end of town, and I’d not run the risk of forgetting any of my belongings in the haste of rushing to get off. And, besides, I could take a taxi back to where all the hotels were.

And now, for Serendipity No.2…

I knew nothing about Interlaken-Ost station other than it being the end of the line for my train. I had no idea that, in addition to it being the terminus for the standard gauge mainline, it was a magical gateway for the narrow gauge trains that call at villages along the Brienzer-See (Lake Brienz) on their way to the Brünig Pass and Luzern…or meander through the mountain valleys and provide access to the higher mountain villages, and even the Jungfraujoch at some 11,000 feet worth of altitude.

Nor did I know that the view from Interlaken-Ost was not only a colorful assortment of trains and rolling stock I’d never before seen (yes, I am a rail-fan if you hadn’t already surmised), but that the station sits in the shadow of the mighty Eiger-Mönch-Jungfrau massif.

I in fact had no idea that towering mass of semi-cloud wrapped Alpine majesty was the mighty triad that dominates the Jungfrau-Region of the Bernese Alps. What I remember feeling, however, was this sense of wonderment at finally coming face to face with those Swiss Alps.

So, between photographing the colorful assortment of mainline and narrow gauge mountain trains at this busy station, as well as those towering peaks, I suppose an hour or more had slipped by, and I still had not snagged a hotel room for my stay in Interlaken.

As I contemplated whether to find a taxi or walk back to the central part of Interlaken, I began to pay a bit more attention to the charming looking rose colored building that stood just across the street from the station.

Serendipity No.3…

It was a hotel…right there at the station, and it certainly looked inviting, to say nothing of convenient. The sign said Hotel du Lac. And a room was available. This was my first taste of that wonderful friendly and efficient Swiss hospitality I’d heard about. My comfortable room was a train- and mountain lover’s dream as it gave a higher viewpoint of the activity at Interlaken-Ost as well as those imposing mountains I’d admired from trackside.

Once I’d freshened up, I went downstairs to speak to the friendly folks who had checked me in and get some guidance as to the best ways to spend my too brief first visit to the Alps. The Hotel du Lac is owned and operated by the Hofmann family, and Herr Hofmann could not have been more helpful in helping me plan some good itineraries based on my railroading and Alpine photography interests.

For that afternoon, he suggested I relax with a nice meal in their restaurant overlooking the Aare River and then to take the late afternoon cruise on Lake Brienz, which would depart from the hotel’s dock. It was one of those perfect late September afternoons, and I followed his suggestions, including getting off the lake steamer at Brienz to ride up the Rothorn mountain on the Brienzer Rothornbahn train, and then return to Interlaken on the narrow gauge line that follows the shore of the Brienzersee.

The next day was just as photo-perfect, allowing a higher-altitude visual feast – the first visit to Mürren – and Piz Gloria!

The village of Mürren sits at an altitude of 5,400 feet, on a mountain ledge, high above the Lauterbrunnen Valley. The valley floor is 2,624 feet below. Mürren is traffic-free – as in: you can’t get there by automobile. The only wheeled conveyances are electric vehicles for transporting luggage to and from the hotels…and little red wagons, so kids can transport groceries.

There are but two ways to reach Mürren, assuming you’re not a hawk. I’ve tried them both (on different visits), and I recommend them both! On this first visit, the itinerary was the Berner-Oberland-Bahn narrow gauge train from Interlaken-Ost, via Wilderswil, to Lauterbrunnen. From the Lauterbrunnen station, one boards an incline railway (funicular) train for the (maximum 60% gradient!) climb up to Grütschalp. Well, at least that’s what was there in 1988, the time of my first visit. The funicular was, shall we say, rustic, but rustic in a Swiss way (read: noisy and not terribly comfortable, but entirely safe). Since then, however, the steep rocky slope into which the incline cog-rail tracks were set was deemed unstable, mandating the end of the funicular, in favor of an aerial cableway covering the same distance. I can only imagine the cable car giving even more impressive views of the Alpine splendor than were possible when riding the funicular, and I intend to try it on my next visit.

The third stage of this journey is from Grütschalp to Mürren via narrow gauge electric railcar of the Bergbahn Lauterbrunnen-Mürren (BLM), although a hike along this plateau ledge affords numerous views of the rugged peaks of the Berner Oberland if you’d prefer to carefully set up your shots. And if you should tire along the way, there is a mid-point station for the railway at Winteregg.

I mentioned there are two ways to get up to Mürren. The other is the breathtaking Schilthorn Bahn cable car ascent from Stechelberg, also in the Lauterbrunnen Valley. Stechelberg can be reached from the Lauterbrunnen train station by Post Bus. It’s just a short ride from Lauterbrunnen, and these buses are coordinated with the train schedules such that, if you can’t get there by train, the bus will get you there, and there’s usually a bus leaving within minutes of your train’s arrival. As the large and comfortable cable car begins its ascent from Stechelberg, I know you’ll be smiling.

Here is a photo taken on a subsequent visit capturing the enchanting Winter Wonderland view of the Lauterbrunnen Valley from the intermediate station at Gimmelwald. Just had to come back and see that rugged Alpine splendor in Winter’s lovely dress. See why I love the Schilthorn Bahn?

That same Schilthorn Bahn will take you high above Mürren to – where else? – the top of the Schilthorn, perhaps better known from a certain James Bond movie as Piz Gloria. More on that destination in a bit. (Bring your appetite along!)

Back to Mürren, where the view across the valley is stunning. That same majestic Eiger-Mönch-Jungfrau Massif I’d admired from my window at the Hotel du Lac takes on another dimension when viewed from higher up, along Mürren’s main street or from one of the hotel terraces looking out over the Lauterbrunnen Valley.

Mürren lies north-to-south on that aforementioned mountain ledge. If one is merely visiting for the day, it would make sense to arrive via the Lauterbrunnen-Grütschalp-BLM connection and to depart via the Schilthorn Bahn cable car back down to the valley floor at Stechelberg, Post Bus back to Lauterbrunnen for the train connections to Interlaken or other points in the Berner Oberland.

But…if you ride the Schilthorn Bahn cable car only between Mürren and Stechelberg, you will miss half (or more!) of the breathtaking vistas of the Berner Oberland, including the view from the terrace at Piz Gloria at 9,744 feet…or the hearty deftig fare in the revolving restaurant, which presents a 360 degree view of the surrounding peaks in the span of an hour.

And, yes, there is something, oh, romantic about enjoying that “shaken, not stirred” Martini with your meal as you glide ever so slowly past the window that says “007” while savoring the breathtaking (Have I used that word too often? I offer no apology!) panorama of Swiss Alpine grandeur.

If anything I’ve written implies Mürren is merely a day-part excursion, that is not my intent. I relate merely the experiences of my first visit and a subsequent brief return with some friends. My intention is to experience Mürren again for at least a few days, staying in one of her inviting hotels, so as to take in – and photograph – the mountains in all their moods, from sunrise to Alpenglow.

Naturally, the D-SLR will be at hand, but those 20 rolls of Kodachrome-25 in my freezer, as well as a similar number of rolls of Agfa-Pan 25 black and white deserve something really special to excite their fine-grained emulsions, especially the K-25 that the one remaining Kodachrome lab (in the world!) will stop processing at the end of 2010. Seems this is the time for that hoped for return to my beloved Swiss Alps…including that little mountain gem called Mürren.

The original photographs, from Kodachrome and Fujichrome transparencies, are available as matted or framed gallery prints or as custom-printed Photo Note Cards.

Flower Child

2010-06-26T18:29:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook.

Arosa is a mountain village, high up in Switzerland’s eastern-most canton of Graubünden. It is reached by a most scenic one-hour train-ride from Chur, the cantonal capital, on the Rhätische Bahn, the narrow gauge railway that serves the canton.

I first fell in love with the various lines of the Rhaetian Railway and the views they provide of the glorious Alpine settings in this region in 1989. A highpoint of that visit included riding the famous Glacier Express from Zermatt (in Canton Valais) to St. Moritz – the Rhätische Bahn operates the train from Disentis to its eastern destinations, whether St. Moritz or Chur. That visit also introduced me to the Alpine enchantment of the RhB’s Bernina Line which connects the sunny Upper Engadine Region with Italy. But the RhB route that most engaged my passion for photographing brooding mountain landscapes was the Albula Line, which connects St. Moritz and Chur, and includes the soaring stone Landwasser Viadukt as well as other similarly dramatic structures, carrying the line over the deep gorges of the region.

While the Upper Engagine boasts its “Champagne Climate” with more than 300 sunny days a year (and what’s not to like about that?) the Albula route brings more of a brooding cloud- and mist-swept aspect, making those craggy gorges and soaring stone viaducts all the more wildromantisch. This is not to say the Albula Region does not see sun, just that its weather is more “mountain-variable.” And certainly more of a challenge to the photographer…

So, what does my little stone urchin have to do with trains and mountain weather?

It took me five years to return to Graubünden and the inviting red trains of the Rhätische Bahn. In early autumn 1994, I spent a few days in Chur. Chur is something of a train lover’s magnet. Its main rail station is the connection point between the mainline trains of the Swiss Federal Railway (SBB) and the narrow gauge trains of the Rhätische Bahn. Perhaps lost on the disinterested traveler in the easy cross-platform transfer from the SBB express from Zürich to the waiting Schnellzug nach Sankt Moritz, is that he is entering the domain of an extensive narrow gauge railroad system that reaches deep into the Albula Region, the Upper (and Lower) Engadine, the Vereina Region of Davos and Klosters, and the high-altitude line through the Bernina Range into sunny Italy. Ah, but the train lover revels in the different types of locomotives and rolling stock, and if he is patient, he might even catch sight of one of the RhB’s iconic brown “Crocodile" locomotives departing with a mixed goods and passenger train.

Another attraction for the railfan at Chur is upstairs from the mainline tracks, in front of the station, where the train to Arosa departs. Narrow gauge, like its brethren downstairs, this train begins its journey into the mountains by rumbling up a main thoroughfare of the capital, like a city tram. Before long, the buildings of Chur give way to some seriously beautiful mountain views, with stone viaducts that remind one of the bridges traversed on the Albula Line. Re-powering of the line in 1997 replaced the red multiple unit electric trains pictured here with blue equipment pulled by locomotives. I’m certain the blue cars are just fine, but frankly, I’m glad I was there in ’94 to catch the red trains in their autumnal mountain surroundings.

Well, about my little stone urchin…

Sometimes, an expected shoot – especially in the Alps – takes on a different character. While the trip began in sunshine and included lots of pristine sunlit vistas along the way, by the time we had climbed to Arosa, we were into the mists at the base of the clouds that shrouded the mountain peaks. So, Arosa itself was rather cloudy, chilly, and damp, with nary a peek at the surrounding mountain grandeur. Well, the photographer’s eye is always open for motifs that make him glad he’s “there.” And so, the shooting while awaiting the train back to Chur was more at close ranges than infinity. More like f/4 than f/22. The Velvia was stashed in favor of some “Faster-Fuji” that would allow some handheld shooting in the misty village. No sooner had I reloaded my trusty EOS-1 when my exploring eye caught this whimsical little sculpture. What made it really appealing was the serendipity of the purple flowers, which transformed my little stone cherub from mere monochrome. Oh, yes, and those wide white eyes.

And in that moment, I was glad I was there.

“Flower Child” was juried into the June show at the Art League Gallery in Old Town Alexandria. It is available in matted prints as well as framed. It will also be joining my line of Photo Note Cards.

I hope he brings you a smile.

Vejprty Station, Once Grand

2010-04-06T22:33:00.000-07:00

...from a photographer's notebook

One might imagine when, in its prouder days, the once grand Vejprty railway station, rising beyond the decrepit and decaying baggage and freight buildings in the foreground, served as a busy rail frontier between Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, with through trains from points in Germany and Western Europe making this their first stop in what would later become the Czech Republic.

By the time this photo was taken, in February 2008, this faded edifice no longer serviced through trains, but served instead as a transfer point where passengers entering from eastern Germany on infrequent regional trains would disembark and board the stolid diesel railcar for the continuation of their journey to destinations within the Czech Republic, such as Chomutov.

Yes, whatever "grandeur" might have once enhanced the aura of this particular railway station had most certainly faded. But the rough-hewn textures of the old brick, stone, and wood, with the somewhat forlorn-looking railcar, proved an inviting motif for photography on this chilly winter's day.

In fact, in the absence of train activity, I found myself imagining the scene, well before the Communist-era inattention and decay had taken its toll on these buildings. Perhaps never a "glamour" stop, or even a rail line worthy of inclusion in one of the great train novels...but the romantic in me couldn't help conjuring up an immaculate Deutsche Bahn train pulled by a thundering steam locomotive as it crossed the trestle from Eastern Germany and rolled into this border station...On the station platform, uniformed customs and railway officials...Amidst clouds of steam and coal smoke, a man in trench coat with slouch hat pulled low makes eye contact with elegant looking woman of mysterious mien standing in the vestibule between two sleeping cars...she hands down to him a folded over Berliner Zeitung and disappears in the swirling steam...

Oh, my...was I sniffing too much creosote as I walked along the tracks with my cameras?

The photograph recently made its first Gallery appearance. It was selected for inclusion in the April show at the Art League Gallery in Old Town Alexandria, where it also received Honorable Mention. For local readers, the gallery is located on the first floor of the Torpedo Factory Arts Center, at the corner of King and North Union Streets, along Alexandria’s waterfront. Phone 703-683-1780.

Vejprty Station, Once Grand is currently available as a framed 14x10 Epson Professional Giclée Archival print with 8x archival mat. It can also be ordered in larger and smaller sizes in framed or matted prints. It will be joining my line of custom printed Photo Note Cards in time for the Winter Holidays.

That's the way it was...

2009-07-26T12:45:00.001-07:00

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.

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

2009-07-05T14:50:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-31T12:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Part Two

©2009 Steve Ember

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

2009-03-29T16:40:00.000-07:00

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 him 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?

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

2009-03-26T18:56:00.000-07:00

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” was the video - initially discovered in a few short clips on YouTube - 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 any video and audio quality limitations on the DVD – 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 love it as much as I. The DVD is offered by a company named Premiere Opera. You'll find it on this web page:
http://premiereopera.com/search.aspx?find=Die+tote+Stadt

In Bruges (not the movie)...

2009-03-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

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 (See note at end of this post for availability). Or check out his Symphony and other “serious” orchestral works. (How I hate that term “serious” and the notion of inferior quality it's use often 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 Tuesday this 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.

Meantime, my applause and gratitude to ArchivMusic.com http://www.arkivmusic.com/ for ensuring the continued availability of several of those great Charles Gerhardt recordings of Korngold film scores and those of other masters of the genre (sadly neglected by the original company). You'll find other Korngold offerings in their catalog, as well.

Who is -- or what are -- Thunderflakes?

2009-03-15T09:07:00.000-07:00

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...)