The music of Cole Porter is so special to me, and in the hand of Ella Fitzgerald, it was pure magic. Here's one of my favorite Cole Porter songs of all time, and Ella brings tears with her delivery!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Something's Gotta Give - Ella Fitzgerald
Oh and could she swing! Here's another great performance of a wonderful Cole Porter tune.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
SHS Chorale in Anaheim
My 12-member madrigal singers will be performing at Fullerton College on Friday morning in the Heritage Music Festival. We'll be departing school on Thursday morning and will travel most of the day, arriving by five that afternoon.
My group leads off the festival in the morning and after it receives its clinic from three college choral directors we'll leave for the day and hit the beach.
Saturday we'll spend at Disneyland and will attend a 9:30pm awards ceremony. Sunday morning we are back on the road and at school by five that afternoon.
I'll have lot's of pictures and videos to post after the weekend. Watch for updates!
My group leads off the festival in the morning and after it receives its clinic from three college choral directors we'll leave for the day and hit the beach.
Saturday we'll spend at Disneyland and will attend a 9:30pm awards ceremony. Sunday morning we are back on the road and at school by five that afternoon.
I'll have lot's of pictures and videos to post after the weekend. Watch for updates!
Friday, March 25, 2011
The Adventures of Bun Bun and Tisa
Sometime in the early 1960’s, I want to say 1962 but I can’t remember precisely, my sister and I received two stuffed animals on that Christmas day. Bun Bun was a white and pink-stripped rabbit who was delivered by Santa to our meager tree, and Tisa was a gray and black tiger. He was sitting in a blue plastic Model T type toy car. Both were tied with ribbons.
Now in those days we lived in a four story apartment building at 1340 S. Newberry in Chicago. The area was called Maxwell Street back then and in its early history a large number of Russian-Jewish immigrants settled into this neighborhood with its brick apartment buildings at the turn of the century. Many famous people came from Maxwell Street, including William S. Paley, the founder of CBS TV.
By the 1960’s most of the original inhabitants of the neighborhood were long gone, though many still owned the apartment buildings. In their place blacks and Mexicans had replaced the Jewish families, and with them came the attendant problems of poverty, drugs, gangs and violence that were reflective of our society in general, then and now. Little has changed, except how we perceive it.
The apartment building that we lived in on Newberry Street was practically taken over by our extended family. Each floor contained a two bedroom apartment in the front and a one bedroom apartment behind that. We lived on the third floor rear. My mom’s sister, Opal and later their brother Charlie were on the fourth floor rear. On the second floor front apartment front lived my dad’s sister Marie and her long-time companion Pep, who we called Uncle Pep. And on the first floor rear lived my dad’s father and his older brother John. In the first floor front apartment lived yet another brother, Peter, with his wife. So as you can see, the Herrera’s and the Johnson’s practically lived in the entire building, save for three apartments.
We generally had Christmas celebration in Aunt Marie’s 2nd floor apartment; Santa was sure to have left a stockpile of presents there under their huge tree. But he also would leave some toys in our tiny apartment. Naturally Christmas morning my sister and I were in a constant state of agony waiting for our parents to get ready to go downstairs to Aunt Marie's place. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was obvious that people of little means did all they could to make our Christmas memorable. For a long time we were the only kids in the building. My sister is one year younger than I am.
But this Christmas Bun Bun and Tisa enthralled us! It was love and first sight! And indeed we began to give these animals their own persona – and they in turn helped to shape the course of our own lives by enabling us to mimic and act out the attitudes and behaviors of people all around us, though at the time we knew little of that.
Our imagination and fantasies lived abundantly through the persona of these guys, for whom we invented our own language and speech accents. Bun Bun was shortened to “Byne” while Tisa kept his moniker. We invented elaborate societies with our collection of other stuffed animals that Byne and Tisa would teach in made-up school classrooms, perform surgery on as hospital surgeons, arrest as police officers, host in elaborate dinners in intricate homes made of large cardboard boxes cut and altered for the purpose, order around as army and navy officers, play as baseball and basketball players, or entertain as band members (to music of the Supremes, early Beatles, and LP’s our parents made professionally). There were both married from time to time to Barbie Dolls. Some life! There were so many scenarios every day that I have forgotten. I do recall though that they wrote short stories and made bound “books” in their characters and in other characters. I am sure that is where I earned my love of writing.
Oh and they soon lost their fluffy wholesome look. They fell into grime, were burned by too hot space heaters, fell in toilet water, grabbed by our dogs, dropped from 3rd story windows into the alley below, and torn and repaired so often that I actually learned how to make quick repairs to clothing years later in life with needle and thread work that I applied to my Tisa.
It was rich, wild and insular; our play with “Byne” and Tisa kept us safe from the raging currents in the neighborhoods, including the riots if 1968, that tore so much of Chicago apart. And they kept doing that for us all the way up to middle school, when we moved out of the neighborhood after Aunt Opal and Uncle Charlie both passed away at end of the mid-sixties and then our grandfather died in 1969.
We didn’t go very far, just on the other side of the train viaducts, purchasing a two-flat house in Pilsen, a Mexican and black neighborhood to the south of Maxwell Street. It seemed a world away to us. Bun Bun and Tisa of course came too, and enjoyed a sort of Renaissance, with even more new adventures in the new house, for which we had great space (7 rooms, three bedrooms and a huge back yard).
But these were our junior high years and our friends began to see more and more days when they were never touched. Yet we always remembered their lessons, their philosophy of life – fun tempered by and an attitude of eager role play. By high school they were in plastics bags and in drawers, out of sight but not forgotten.
As an adult I would sometimes think about those guys and how they were holding up. I knew that my sister, who still leaves in Chicago, had them with her at her place. Then a few days ago she sent me this picture and a flood of wonderful memories came back all at once and I knew I had to write about them! What we learned on our path to adulthood! Bun Bun and Tisa, we love you!
Now in those days we lived in a four story apartment building at 1340 S. Newberry in Chicago. The area was called Maxwell Street back then and in its early history a large number of Russian-Jewish immigrants settled into this neighborhood with its brick apartment buildings at the turn of the century. Many famous people came from Maxwell Street, including William S. Paley, the founder of CBS TV.
By the 1960’s most of the original inhabitants of the neighborhood were long gone, though many still owned the apartment buildings. In their place blacks and Mexicans had replaced the Jewish families, and with them came the attendant problems of poverty, drugs, gangs and violence that were reflective of our society in general, then and now. Little has changed, except how we perceive it.
The apartment building that we lived in on Newberry Street was practically taken over by our extended family. Each floor contained a two bedroom apartment in the front and a one bedroom apartment behind that. We lived on the third floor rear. My mom’s sister, Opal and later their brother Charlie were on the fourth floor rear. On the second floor front apartment front lived my dad’s sister Marie and her long-time companion Pep, who we called Uncle Pep. And on the first floor rear lived my dad’s father and his older brother John. In the first floor front apartment lived yet another brother, Peter, with his wife. So as you can see, the Herrera’s and the Johnson’s practically lived in the entire building, save for three apartments.
We generally had Christmas celebration in Aunt Marie’s 2nd floor apartment; Santa was sure to have left a stockpile of presents there under their huge tree. But he also would leave some toys in our tiny apartment. Naturally Christmas morning my sister and I were in a constant state of agony waiting for our parents to get ready to go downstairs to Aunt Marie's place. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was obvious that people of little means did all they could to make our Christmas memorable. For a long time we were the only kids in the building. My sister is one year younger than I am.
But this Christmas Bun Bun and Tisa enthralled us! It was love and first sight! And indeed we began to give these animals their own persona – and they in turn helped to shape the course of our own lives by enabling us to mimic and act out the attitudes and behaviors of people all around us, though at the time we knew little of that.
Our imagination and fantasies lived abundantly through the persona of these guys, for whom we invented our own language and speech accents. Bun Bun was shortened to “Byne” while Tisa kept his moniker. We invented elaborate societies with our collection of other stuffed animals that Byne and Tisa would teach in made-up school classrooms, perform surgery on as hospital surgeons, arrest as police officers, host in elaborate dinners in intricate homes made of large cardboard boxes cut and altered for the purpose, order around as army and navy officers, play as baseball and basketball players, or entertain as band members (to music of the Supremes, early Beatles, and LP’s our parents made professionally). There were both married from time to time to Barbie Dolls. Some life! There were so many scenarios every day that I have forgotten. I do recall though that they wrote short stories and made bound “books” in their characters and in other characters. I am sure that is where I earned my love of writing.
Oh and they soon lost their fluffy wholesome look. They fell into grime, were burned by too hot space heaters, fell in toilet water, grabbed by our dogs, dropped from 3rd story windows into the alley below, and torn and repaired so often that I actually learned how to make quick repairs to clothing years later in life with needle and thread work that I applied to my Tisa.
It was rich, wild and insular; our play with “Byne” and Tisa kept us safe from the raging currents in the neighborhoods, including the riots if 1968, that tore so much of Chicago apart. And they kept doing that for us all the way up to middle school, when we moved out of the neighborhood after Aunt Opal and Uncle Charlie both passed away at end of the mid-sixties and then our grandfather died in 1969.
We didn’t go very far, just on the other side of the train viaducts, purchasing a two-flat house in Pilsen, a Mexican and black neighborhood to the south of Maxwell Street. It seemed a world away to us. Bun Bun and Tisa of course came too, and enjoyed a sort of Renaissance, with even more new adventures in the new house, for which we had great space (7 rooms, three bedrooms and a huge back yard).
But these were our junior high years and our friends began to see more and more days when they were never touched. Yet we always remembered their lessons, their philosophy of life – fun tempered by and an attitude of eager role play. By high school they were in plastics bags and in drawers, out of sight but not forgotten.
As an adult I would sometimes think about those guys and how they were holding up. I knew that my sister, who still leaves in Chicago, had them with her at her place. Then a few days ago she sent me this picture and a flood of wonderful memories came back all at once and I knew I had to write about them! What we learned on our path to adulthood! Bun Bun and Tisa, we love you!
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Who Are We?
That is a fundamental question that we find ourselves asking every day. We are a compilation of so many things in the totality of our life experiences. We are man and woman; wife, husband, father, daughter, son. It is a whole spectrum of viewpoints from the theological down to the most earthy. And not one of them can give a true complete picture of who we are.
Of course there is also our own self-image. And I should be so bold as to suggest that self-image is the most important of all, because it determines so much of our behavior towards ourselves and towards others in our lives.
Our parents have a fundamental role in helping us to form that initial picture of who we are. If that structure is sound, we have something significant to build on in our formative years and after. Today I see so many who are the products of single parent homes, broken homes, careless, indifferent or neglectful parenting that I wonder just how some kids emerge as successfully as so many do. And I do not suggest for a moment that single parents cannot raise a child properly, with the foundation children need to be a balanced, successful adult. It is just a little harder.
I owe so much to my own parents. In fact in my own self-image they are responsible for shaping the person that I am, with all my many good and bad attributes. They taught me so many things, but nothing more important than to love, cherish and protect my family. I live that motto every day.
But they taught me much more than that. As poor, working musicians they made do with so little that to me now it seems shocking. They could turn the most meager meal into a celebration; the most humble gift into a treasure. The poorest living conditions into a sanctuary filled with books, lively discussions and keen political conversation. Looking back, it was wonderful really, despite my memories of dreary, drafty, broken down and pest infected apartments and endless winter colds.
Medical care did not exist, and my parents were too proud to accept government assistance, though they surely qualified. They chose to do it alone, be independent, and raise their children properly and carefully, in their own way. As a young adult I worked not to buy cars, jewelry and date girls; my money was spent on extensive dental work my parents could not afford to take care of. My sister had similar issues as a young adult.
Was it a perfect household? Of course not. Mistakes were made; there were arguments, and sometimes their personality flaws were manifest more often than not. My sister and I grew up sometimes with much anger at these flaws but as we matured we realized that we all have them and no one is perfect. What we came to realize was that their efforts to give us all they had was genuine and from their hearts. In the end that was all that mattered.
Sitting now as I am, typing this and making use of wealth and technology that they could never dream of, I wonder if I am truly worthy of their greatest efforts; if I love my family as deeply as they did; if I value the smallest things in life as greatly as they did. I believe that I have, but the challenge is immense; every day I struggle to live up to their standards. That struggle is the crucible which has turned me into the person that I am, for better or worse. I think they would approve and be pleased. And based upon my observations of what is going on in this country today, I must say we were blessed.
Of course there is also our own self-image. And I should be so bold as to suggest that self-image is the most important of all, because it determines so much of our behavior towards ourselves and towards others in our lives.
Our parents have a fundamental role in helping us to form that initial picture of who we are. If that structure is sound, we have something significant to build on in our formative years and after. Today I see so many who are the products of single parent homes, broken homes, careless, indifferent or neglectful parenting that I wonder just how some kids emerge as successfully as so many do. And I do not suggest for a moment that single parents cannot raise a child properly, with the foundation children need to be a balanced, successful adult. It is just a little harder.
I owe so much to my own parents. In fact in my own self-image they are responsible for shaping the person that I am, with all my many good and bad attributes. They taught me so many things, but nothing more important than to love, cherish and protect my family. I live that motto every day.
But they taught me much more than that. As poor, working musicians they made do with so little that to me now it seems shocking. They could turn the most meager meal into a celebration; the most humble gift into a treasure. The poorest living conditions into a sanctuary filled with books, lively discussions and keen political conversation. Looking back, it was wonderful really, despite my memories of dreary, drafty, broken down and pest infected apartments and endless winter colds.
Medical care did not exist, and my parents were too proud to accept government assistance, though they surely qualified. They chose to do it alone, be independent, and raise their children properly and carefully, in their own way. As a young adult I worked not to buy cars, jewelry and date girls; my money was spent on extensive dental work my parents could not afford to take care of. My sister had similar issues as a young adult.
Was it a perfect household? Of course not. Mistakes were made; there were arguments, and sometimes their personality flaws were manifest more often than not. My sister and I grew up sometimes with much anger at these flaws but as we matured we realized that we all have them and no one is perfect. What we came to realize was that their efforts to give us all they had was genuine and from their hearts. In the end that was all that mattered.
Sitting now as I am, typing this and making use of wealth and technology that they could never dream of, I wonder if I am truly worthy of their greatest efforts; if I love my family as deeply as they did; if I value the smallest things in life as greatly as they did. I believe that I have, but the challenge is immense; every day I struggle to live up to their standards. That struggle is the crucible which has turned me into the person that I am, for better or worse. I think they would approve and be pleased. And based upon my observations of what is going on in this country today, I must say we were blessed.
Friday, March 18, 2011
SHS Jazz Band Area Jazz Festival - Shiny Stockings
SHS Jazz Band performing Skydive, Shiny Stockings and Naima at Canyon del Oro High School, earning a qualifying trip to the state jazz festival on April 27, 2011
Manicotti Recipe
Here's a favorite recipe to try:
Ingredients (Omit the sausage for a meatless version)
• 1 (8 ounce) package manicotti pasta
• 3 Italian sausage links, mild or hot, casings removed
• 1 1/2 cups ricotta cheese
• 2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
• 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 2 egg whites
• 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1 (32 ounce) jar spaghetti sauce
• Dash black pepper
Directions
1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook for 8-10 minutes or until al dente. Drain and cool. Reserve.
2. Meanwhile, in a large skillet separate and brown sausage on medium heat. Drain and cool.
3. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
4. Combine sausage, ricotta cheese, 1 cup mozzarella cheese, Parmesan cheese, egg whites and oregano. Season with black pepper and mix well. Stuff shells with mixture.
5. Lightly grease a 9x13 inch baking dish. Pour enough spaghetti sauce in dish to cover the bottom. Place stuffed noodles in the dish. Cover with spaghetti sauce and top with the remaining 1 cup mozzarella cheese. Bake in preheated oven for 50 minutes.
Ingredients (Omit the sausage for a meatless version)
• 1 (8 ounce) package manicotti pasta
• 3 Italian sausage links, mild or hot, casings removed
• 1 1/2 cups ricotta cheese
• 2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
• 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 2 egg whites
• 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1 (32 ounce) jar spaghetti sauce
• Dash black pepper
Directions
1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook for 8-10 minutes or until al dente. Drain and cool. Reserve.
2. Meanwhile, in a large skillet separate and brown sausage on medium heat. Drain and cool.
3. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
4. Combine sausage, ricotta cheese, 1 cup mozzarella cheese, Parmesan cheese, egg whites and oregano. Season with black pepper and mix well. Stuff shells with mixture.
5. Lightly grease a 9x13 inch baking dish. Pour enough spaghetti sauce in dish to cover the bottom. Place stuffed noodles in the dish. Cover with spaghetti sauce and top with the remaining 1 cup mozzarella cheese. Bake in preheated oven for 50 minutes.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Las Vegas 2011
The last time that I has spent any appreciable time on the strip was in March of 2003. Prior to that I'd been there a few times with my wife earlier, and in 2010 had been there with another school trip, but we had avoided the strip.
So last week I ventured to Sin City sans wifey (on a business trip) to spend some time with friends and do the town. By doing the town I mean a little drinking, talking, good food and perhaps a little night life. I'm not a gambler and my friends avoid the tables too. Oh we all tossed a twenty into the slot machines but other than that did not gamble. And yeah I got a little work done too!
I stayed at the Luxor, a 4,000 room hotel connected by interior halls and the monorail to Mandalay Bay on the south and Excalibur on the north. Mind you this was Spring Break week. There lot's of college kids drinking, carousing and generally having a good time.
What struck me immediately was the aggressiveness of the "skin" vendors hawking escort services and the people on the street and inside the hotels pushing shows, clubs and hotel events. The street folks have always been there but never with such aggressiveness, sticking photo cards with bare breasted women adorning in your face as you walked the street. I am always amazed at the amount of paper thrown down in the street. Las Vegas street cleaners must have their work cut out for them!
The hotel review? It was massive. That's all I have to say about that. Food offerings were spotty. Apart from the the taco bar overlooking the casino floor I preferred the restaurants in Mandalay Bay. Expect to drop $30 a person for the buffets and $50 or more for dinner.
This dismaying part of the hotel showed up immediately. There is no wifi; only wired complimentary internet service. And the reason is that there is something in the walls that block reception. I could not get a clean cell phone signal anywhere but the casino and the lobby areas.
Rooms were clean and roomy but felt a bit dated. The TV is an old-fashioned tube number. But who stays in the rooms in Vegas? Mostly guests are out and about. And I was!
I walked the strip, 4 miles from Mandalay Bay to The Riviera, at least three times, wearing out my legs and toes. Why? The sites along the strip alone being so damned intoxicating. Oddly dressed tourists, show girls, characters from popular movies to pose with on the street for tips; people bringing snakes and lizards to lure tourists, musicians playing for their own tips.
And always the homeless, often with creative, unique signs; here a man laying in the gutter with a dirty cardboard sign reading "Why lie? I need a whore", there a sign being held by a man that said "I need help - I'm black". You just shake your head at some of these people but you also realize the town has not only attracted tourists, but alcoholics, the mentally unstable, the homeless and feeble minded. And all of these people coexist juxtaposed with the Gucci stores, extravagant hotels like Bellagio, Caesars Palace and The Winn hotel group.
Despite all of the gaudiness of the casinos and the desperation of the many on the streets I love this town. Putting all of this in perspective you must experience this desert show for sure at least once in your life .
So last week I ventured to Sin City sans wifey (on a business trip) to spend some time with friends and do the town. By doing the town I mean a little drinking, talking, good food and perhaps a little night life. I'm not a gambler and my friends avoid the tables too. Oh we all tossed a twenty into the slot machines but other than that did not gamble. And yeah I got a little work done too!
I stayed at the Luxor, a 4,000 room hotel connected by interior halls and the monorail to Mandalay Bay on the south and Excalibur on the north. Mind you this was Spring Break week. There lot's of college kids drinking, carousing and generally having a good time.
What struck me immediately was the aggressiveness of the "skin" vendors hawking escort services and the people on the street and inside the hotels pushing shows, clubs and hotel events. The street folks have always been there but never with such aggressiveness, sticking photo cards with bare breasted women adorning in your face as you walked the street. I am always amazed at the amount of paper thrown down in the street. Las Vegas street cleaners must have their work cut out for them!
The hotel review? It was massive. That's all I have to say about that. Food offerings were spotty. Apart from the the taco bar overlooking the casino floor I preferred the restaurants in Mandalay Bay. Expect to drop $30 a person for the buffets and $50 or more for dinner.
This dismaying part of the hotel showed up immediately. There is no wifi; only wired complimentary internet service. And the reason is that there is something in the walls that block reception. I could not get a clean cell phone signal anywhere but the casino and the lobby areas.
Rooms were clean and roomy but felt a bit dated. The TV is an old-fashioned tube number. But who stays in the rooms in Vegas? Mostly guests are out and about. And I was!
I walked the strip, 4 miles from Mandalay Bay to The Riviera, at least three times, wearing out my legs and toes. Why? The sites along the strip alone being so damned intoxicating. Oddly dressed tourists, show girls, characters from popular movies to pose with on the street for tips; people bringing snakes and lizards to lure tourists, musicians playing for their own tips.
And always the homeless, often with creative, unique signs; here a man laying in the gutter with a dirty cardboard sign reading "Why lie? I need a whore", there a sign being held by a man that said "I need help - I'm black". You just shake your head at some of these people but you also realize the town has not only attracted tourists, but alcoholics, the mentally unstable, the homeless and feeble minded. And all of these people coexist juxtaposed with the Gucci stores, extravagant hotels like Bellagio, Caesars Palace and The Winn hotel group.
Despite all of the gaudiness of the casinos and the desperation of the many on the streets I love this town. Putting all of this in perspective you must experience this desert show for sure at least once in your life .
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
A Night of Broadway - Phantom of the Opera
On January 6, 2011 our SHS Chorale, a 12 member choral ensemble, presented an hour and a half of great Broadway tunes for an enthusiastic crowd of parents and members of the Sahuarita community. While there was no video made audio recordings were made from the pit. Here's what was recorded of the ensemble singing Phantom of the Opera Highlights
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
My Chorale
I have a small group of gifted singers, mostly seniors, who have been in my vocal program for four years. These students are singing all the time; church, outreach anc ommunity choirs, privately and performing for community musical companies. Several have earned scholarships to universities across the country.
We'll be taking these kids to Anaheim at the end of March to perform in the Heritage festival on April 1. This 12-piece group will be singing A Capella English Madrigals. Here is a little sample of their work from a rehearsal last month. It's rough here but coming along.
We'll be taking these kids to Anaheim at the end of March to perform in the Heritage festival on April 1. This 12-piece group will be singing A Capella English Madrigals. Here is a little sample of their work from a rehearsal last month. It's rough here but coming along.
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