In today’s Orange County Register online, I review last night’s performance of Singin’ in the Rain in concert, the music performed live with a screening of the film.
Click here to read my review (one-day pass, subscription, or seven-day free trial required), or pick up a copy of tomorrow’s newspaper.
Today is the 99th birthday of conductor Carlo Maria Giulini. According to the book Serving Genius, I was the last American journalist to interview the maestro, a few days before his 90th birthday. It was unforgettable for me. The article printed below appeared in the Orange County Register on this day nine years ago.
May 9, 2004
The forgotten maestro
Carlo Maria Giulini brought greatness to the Los Angeles Philharmonic. But today, on his 90th birthday, all music has left him.
The bells are tolling in Milan, but Carlo Maria Giulini does not notice. When they are brought to his attention, he shows no interest.
The great conductor, who turns 90 today, has left all things musical behind. “It’s very far from my life now,” he says in heavily accented English. He apologizes for his sometimes broken sentences; there is little opportunity, or need, for him to speak anything but Italian these days. His voice sounds its age, worn and a little weary.
But he chuckles, too. Even on the phone, you can hear that he’s smiling. How does it feel to be turning 90? A little chuckle, then: “I can walk, I can read, I can think, and thanks God I am in good health. Touch wood.”
The celebrated maestro, the beloved music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic from 1978 to 1984, retired from the podium several years ago after he began feeling ill while conducting. Heart problems. “I have a physical bad feeling,” he says, “then I stopped. I said, ‘Now is finished.’ ” He seems since to have rather systematically removed all traces of music from his life. He no longer teaches or even listens. He is asked what made him decide to leave music completely behind.
“Because I was involved in my sentiments, and now in my age I need to be quiet.”
His contact with the musical world at large is minimal. He travels rarely, and then not far. His family (two sons, their wives, grandchildren) live near him, and care for him. He lost his wife, Marcella, a crushing blow, early in the 1990s.
There won’t be any public tributes to Giulini on his 90th. “No, no, nothing.” You can tell he wants it that way. The plans for the celebration are “very simple,” he says. He’ll be at home, “together with my sons and the grandchildren.” He wants nothing else.
In today’s Orange County Register online, I review super-organist Paul Jacobs in a recital of French music.
Click here to read my review (subscription or day pass required), or pick up a copy of tomorrow’s newspaper.
(There might be a free link out there somewhere.)
photo: Alexandre Guilmant. Library of Congress.
I was put in mind of my old friend Charles (it was always Charles, never Charlie) this week by two occurrences: Reading an essay about childhood and reuniting with our friends from then; and the surprise appearance of a box on my front porch containing the complete music criticism of George Bernard Shaw, sent by Paul. Here’s a column I wrote about Charles in 2004.
Requiem for a listener’s listener
Charles Warwick, resident of Anaheim, once sent me the nicest letter I have ever had from a reader. It was short and simple. It said he purchased the Register so he could read me.
Over time, I came to know him well. He wrote e-mails about my reviews, asked questions, reflected on his own listening and reading. It turned out that he was the most avid classical music listener that I’d ever met, bar none. He had a huge record, CD and tape collection, and especially enjoyed, just as I do, symphonic music and the great conductors. He subscribed to Gramophone and Opera News and read classical music articles in newspapers and would clip things and send them. He became, we joked, my personal clipping service.
A retired schoolteacher, he went to concerts constantly, and had been doing so since the ’50s. He had stories; he knew lore. When traveling, he visited composers’ homes and other musical landmarks. He knew more repertoire than I did, too, and soon started making me tapes, later CDs, of his collection, and passing them along gratis. I couldn’t have invented such a man. Here I was with my fancy music degrees and yet he was giving me an education. There were all sorts of audios he sent — symphonies by Vagn Holmboe, little-known Rossini overtures, interviews with conductors, rehearsals with Stravinsky, live performances conducted by Giulini and Monteux, the recordings of pianists Benno Moiseiwitsch and Leon Fleisher. Great stuff. He heard that I liked Radu Lupu but owned few of his recordings. Shortly thereafter, a batch of CDs arrived in the mail from Anaheim, including Lupu playing all the Beethoven concertos.
When I had an extra ticket, I began asking him along to concerts. He didn’t always say yes, and I liked him for it. He had taste. When he did come we had a good time. He had a Southern twang (he was from North Carolina) and had that rare gift these days, a gift for conversation, but he knew what was off-limits — namely, my opinion of the concert we were at. That had to wait for the review.
My ancient amplifier started acting up. Charles told me to bring it to the next concert. He took it home, opened it, found two decades of dirt, cleaned it up and promptly delivered it 20 miles to my house, in perfect working order.
When I was to meet Charles at a concert, I’d tell my wife I’d be late. We always ended up talking in the parking lot afterward, on and on. I hope he enjoyed it as much as I did.
The e-mails kept coming. He had a dry wit. “After reading your notice of the opening of the Bowl,” he wrote recently, “I’ve decided that my living room looks and sounds just fine, thank you very much.” Once he spied a famous conductor at an airport: “I figured he wasn’t going to come up to me and ask if I were Charles Warwick, so I approached him and asked if he were Andrew Litton. He said he was.” Of course they struck up a conversation. Litton finally asked Charles if he did anything besides go to concerts. “That about covers it,” Charles replied.
He passed away last Sunday. I have more than 200 of his e-mails in my inbox and can’t bear to delete them. You were a good friend, Charles.
In today’s Orange County Register online, I review last night’s Pacific Symphony concert, a French program conducted by the 24-year-old Aziz Shokhakimov.
Click here to read my review, or pick up a copy of tomorrow’s newspaper.
The Pacific Symphony will give the U.S. premiere of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ performed live with a screening of the film.
Click here to read my preview, in which I get into the nuts and bolts of pulling off such a thing, or pick up a copy of Sunday’s Orange County Register.
photo: courtesy of Pacific Symphony
The Columbia Journalism Review published a story today on the newspaper I work for, the Orange County Register, our new owners, what they are trying to do and what they are up against.
Kushner, a 40-year-old former greeting-card executive with zero experience in newspapers, is running the most interesting—and important—experiment in journalism right now. His thesis is simple, but highly contrarian: Newspapers are dying in large part from self-inflicted wounds, and there’s money to be made in print, particularly from subscribers.
Read the whole thing here, it’s very much worth your time.
photo: Aaron Kushner. Jebb Harris/Orange County Register
Music by Lalo Schifrin. Dig the bass trombone. The music stops, but you are permitted to watch the rest of the scene.
…the invention of the hula hoop and a quick lesson in economics. Music by Khachaturian.
To read my brief overview click here, or pick up a copy of tomorrow’s newspaper.
photo: East Verdi Bridge, Route 425, Spanning Truckee River, West of I-80 & State Route 425, Verdi, Washoe County, NV. Library of Congress.
Classical Life 