Coraline

There are a handful of movies that are actually better than the book. This is not one of them.

Not that this movie is bad. I actually recommend it. But I recommend you see it with the correct intentions.

Watch this movie for the animation. It's beautiful and the 3D is tasteful and subtle. The voice acting is spot-on and the musical score fits the quirkiness of the movie brilliantly. The storyline of a lonely child misunderstood by her parents is one many of us can relate to and the "other" world that Coraline stumbles upon is portrayed as creepy and disconcerting.

But if you want a disturbing story that touches upon the dark side of love and entrenches you in a scarily desirable alternate reality, skip the movie and read the book.

The genius of Neil Gaiman is that he writes these "children's" books with an adult-like directness. He doesn't conceal or water down the eerie, nor make it into a life lesson. He simply does what he does best, tells a story with such uncanny charm that you are haunted for days after turning the last page and it never occurs to you that you just read a book recommended for those aged 8 and up.

The problem with this movie is that it tries too hard to stay a children's story. The bright colors and special effects, while pretty, dilute the chills that should run up your spine as the story unfolds. This would almost be acceptable if the movie was a 100% kid movie, but it somehow manages to keep one foot in the adult genre resulting in a cheese factor that is highly regrettable to a die-hard Gaiman fan like myself.

While A. O. Scott praises the slower pace of this production, I prefer the quicker pace of the book. There was a lack of suspense as the movie reminded the viewers again and again that Coraline felt lonely and neglected. The resolution then felt a bit rushed and anti-climatic, and as mentioned before, a bit cheesy (the audience, all adults, actually started to laugh at one of the key plot points).

It's been a few years since I read this book, and after watching the movie I felt such a flat response that as soon as I got home I grabbed the book off my shelf and started rereading it. I was instantly drawn in to Gaiman's writing and had to force myself to stop reading it so that I could get some sleep. I was relieved to remember how magical this story is, as I felt a little unsure after last night's viewing.

That all said, if you have NOT read the book, the movie is sure to be a different experience and I DO recommend seeing it for yourself. In fact, I say check out the interactive website first (which adds a fun element when you get to watch the scenes you played with online), see the movie in the theater if you can spare the $14.50 for the 3D as the most successful aspect of the movie is the animation, wait a month or so, then read the book. And let me know what you think.

Apparently we CAN all get along

courtesy of CNN

Enter Sandman... sorta

The day before our dress rehearsal my elementary jazz band had yet to be able to make it to the end of our version of Enter Sandman.

We had only decided on the ending the day before. I had told them that if on the dress rehearsal we couldn't make it all the way through the song without stopping, it was getting cut. I had prepped myself to hold firm to this ultimatum.

Amazingly, I didn't have to.

Here is a video of my lovely kids performing Metallica's Enter Sandman as posted by an anonymous student. My ego cautions me against sharing it as you will hear we got 2 beats off when I failed to cue the saxes in midway through the verse. But, as I've related my frustrations and trepidations about doing this tune several times on this blog, I'd be remiss not to share the grand summation of the Enter Sandman Saga.

I'm not quite sure what this performance says about the state of music in today's educational system. Nonetheless, I give you Enter Sandman, elementary jazz band style:

The Sandman finally Entered, and a slow death followed

Today the Jazz Band made it from the beginning of my crude arrangement of Metallica's Enter Sandman all the way up to the half time section. But before the horn section could shout, "Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight," I died. The music, or lack of, heartbrokenly killed me. Or killed whatever sliver of hope I had left in my being that the band will be able to pull of ES on our May 22 concert.

It would have been kinder if my death had come quickly. But as cruel and unusual deaths go, mine was dragged out for maximum pain, over the entire 50 minutes of today's third period.

The first stab was delivered by a 5th grade trumpeter, who informed me that there had been too much homework over spring break, from which we just returned this week, to practice. Right, I replied. Practicing was part of that homework. A pause, then blank stares. And I died a little bit.

In a futile attempt to not give up sweet life so easily, I gave (yet another) rather stern lecture about the importance of practice. I brought home my point by sharing the anecdote of the time Jo Jones threw a cymbal at Bird for daring to play so badly on a jam session. As the band sat in awed silence at the thought of physical violence as a repercussion of a poor performance, hopefully remembering that our concert is now three weeks away, I felt a premature victory. Then a 6th grade tenor sax player asked, Who is Charlie Parker? And I died a little more.

From here on it was the proverbial snowball set in motion down the hill, gathering speed and size, its only goal to take me out Indian Jones style:

My 6th grade 2nd chair electric guitar player forgot her music, and I died.

My 6th grade bass player forgot his bass, and I died again.

The D string on my 1st chair electric guitar player's guitar snapped when I foolishly tried to tune his permanently screwed down strings. He of course, has the main riff of the song, and for the rest of the class he played it an almost half step flat, allowing me to die even more.

My two tenor players still don't remember how to finger F# (IT IS APRIL OF THEIR SECOND YEAR OF PLAYING!!!!) and as I leaned over to reprimand their laziness, I realized the reason they were not making eye contact with me was not because they were ashamed, but because the shirt I wore was just a little too low cut for those 5th and 6th graders! And I died yet again.

After too many four bar isolations, with too many reminders of fingerings, explanations of where 2 is and how many beats a quarter note rest get, repeated demonstrations of steady eighths on the drum set (AGAIN!) and last ditch efforts of Just listen to how I sing it and copy that, we tried one final run through...

(dramatic pause)

The opening riff was in a new, indistinguishable key, there was a noticeable lack of bass, the drummer's eighth notes hailed from some undiscovered dimension like Earth 527, the tenors honked, the trumpets strained, the pianists' hands were moving but I heard nothing over the noise that was akin to a Reich phase, and as we reached measure 36 (that's right folks, we've been working on this for over 2 months now and we can only get to measure 36), I took an invisible knife, stabbed myself in the heart, and collapsed onto the dirty auditorium stage floor... and died my final death.

Memorial services will be announced later this week. Condolences can be made in the form of chocolate, foot massages, and tequila shots.

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POST SCRIPT: Classroom violence is no joking matter, and is all too real. I use the above expression of being killed by the music because that was truly my emotional reaction to today's rehearsal. I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart. I mean no disrespect to teachers and students who deal with real violence at schools, a place which should be a safe haven meant to foster growth and education, not fear and duress.

Hearts, Smiles, & the Blues

I may moonlight as a composer, but my secret identity is that of a part-time public elementary school music teacher. I teach Kindergarten general music, third grade recorders, a 4th grade beginner concert band, a 5th and 6th grade advanced concert band, and a by-audition only Jazz Band.

Every year on Valentine’s Day, my principal expects the music and dance teachers to put together a “Brotherhood” Concert. This concert is intended to be a celebration of heritage, community, and brotherly love. In reality, it is an exercise in stress, cramming, and the fine skill of organizing a concert with children 6 weeks after our last big (Holiday) concert. With the poor timing of standardized tests that occur in January keeping kids out of rehearsals, the Brotherhood Concert is usually very short with one performance (instead of the usual three) from each group.

With the stress this concert brings, coupled with the organizational problems and clash between teachers and administrators at my school, the concept of “brotherhood” feels like a stabbing, hypocritical joke. And yet, today my heart glowed as all hearts should on a day dedicated to love.

As a composer, I spend quite a lot of time trying to perfect the music I write. I agonize over each chord, motif, and voicing so as to most accurately express whatever feeling or emotion I am trying to portray. I strive to tell stories, and communicate certain ideas through the perfection of the music. This is one reason my current commission is taking so long.

As a teacher, I am constantly reminded, as I was today, that the magic from music comes not entirely from the perfection of the writing, but from the intentions of the musicians.

My jazz band performed a simple 5 note, three chord, medium swing blues that I wrote for them last year. They work hard to get the swing feel, but overall my bass player and left hand pianist (also playing the bass line) keep a pretty steady tempo. My sax players still have not figured out how to use their tongue or remember to keep their bottom lip rolled under, and my trumpet players still miss partials. Tuning is not a word they’ve heard me use, except for with the guitarists.

And yet, to be completely generic, they rock! What makes their music so enjoyable is the kids’ excitement. They are SO into it! I have to instate 5 minute breaks of no playing so they don’t wear their chops out. This morning I walked out of the music room onto the stage to find a tenor and a trumpet player standing next to the drummer, the three of them “jamming.” My heart swelled with pride!

They work so hard at it- before the concert started, my alto player played me the first strain of the tune and asked, “is THAT the right feel?” He’s almost got it. The majority of them want a solo, asking for one, then changing their mind, then changing their mind again.

I’m not one to call out or hoot and holler when I hear something I like. When I’m into the music, I find myself smiling.

Listening to my shy right hand pianist manipulate her F blues scale with confidence as the drummer and bass get super soft to accommodate, I can’t help but smile. When the drummer crescendos his 1 bar fill into the showy tenor solo, who has figured out the trick of the trill, I can’t help but laugh. THIS is music. The audience applauds loudly after I myself applaud, letting them know its okay to clap after each solo. The coda offers a Basie piano wink, followed by the only non-unison part of the song- the typical loud, dominant 7 chord finale. One of my trumpet players aims for the super high D in the staff, but misses. Its okay- the audience roars, and I smile.

Later, the chorus performs and I can’t stop smiling. Their faces are so intent as they start off softly, “Some… times in our lives, we all have pain, we all have sorrow.” They over enunciate the “t” in “but” and I smile. They go all forte on the chorus- “LEAN ON ME!”… and I smile. They even manage to clap on the 2 and 4! They performed a second song, a two-part rather cheesy song entitled “Gonna Rise Up Singing.” This one featured two soloists- a 6th grade veteran, and a newbie third grader who is reminiscent of a young George Strait (or so I imagine!) Seriously, this song literally brought tears to my eyes. Not because of how well it was written, but rather from the passion and honesty with which it was sung.

Perhaps I feel this contrast so sharply because I am struggling to finish up this sax quintet. And I’m certainly not saying music should have no intelligence in its composition. I just appreciate the reminder that music does not have to be complicated to be wonderful. It just has to be heartfelt.

Valentine’s Day brings the blues to many, but today, my kids gave me something much better that a heart shaped box of chocolates (especially since it’s Lent again, so no sweets for me!).

They gave me the Blues. They brought magic to music. And that makes me smile.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

The Joys of Teaching

Me: Okay, break over- we need to go back to practicing your major scales.
5th grade clarinet student: Ick! I hate scales!
Me: I thought you liked scales?
5th grade clarinet student: Scales are only fun if you are sure of them.
Me: How do you think you get sure of them- it doesn't happen magically!
5th grade clarinet student: WHAT?! It doesn't?! This is a rip off!
Me: *long, exasperated sigh*

Enter Sandman?

Dear Jazzers,

I know it seems this blog has spun in place, lights flashing, 70's disco music cued, and with a not so subtle cut screen, emerged into a skimpy, yet patriotically costumed comics blog.

Guess my mind has needed a break from all that jazz.

However, after today's second rehearsal of Maspeth Blues (the 5 note wonder chart!) by the PS 58 Elementary Jazz Band, lead by yrs trly, I'd like to pose a thought to all you jazzer intellectuals (and any other readers out there).

How wrong would it be to arrange an incredibly simplified version of Metallica's Enter Sandman for... elementary jazz band? Would I be reinforcing the current social musical hierarchy which places jazz somewhere above Kenny G, but way below Justin Timberlake (yes, I love him), Toby Keith, and Metallica? Or would I be stealthily bringing these young minds into the jazz fold through pop accessibility?

In the year and half that I've been working with this once a week rehearsing band of 5th and 6th graders, we've done nothing but jazz tunes: a simple unison blues (the aforementioned Maspeth Blues), an arrangement of When the Saints Go Marching In (a beginner jazz band staple) and most recently, a swinging arrangement of Jingle Bells entitled Jingle Jangle Jingle (yes, a reference to Brookmeyer's Ding Dong Ding).

I must say, these kids can swing! Or at least they try really hard. We talk about Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Buddy Rich and they are familiar with the popular players for their instrument. But as much as I'd like to think they are all about jazz, their free play at the beginning of class betrays them. At the beginning of 3rd period today, instead of hearing the repetitive strains of Maspeth Blues, I heard the electric guitarist belting out the introductory riff of Enter Sandman to the delight of the rest of the band.

I locked shocked eyes with Fran, the full time music teacher at my school, and my body was seized with th3 anxiety that accompanied my 8th grade year when that song was so popular.

"How do these kids even know this song?!?"

After Fran and I traded a few rounds of "That's awesome!" (these are elementary kids, we give lots of positive reinforcement), the instantly cool 6th grade guitarist turned a hopeful face to me and asked excitedly, "Can we play it for our spring concert???"

Um, do I look like Jack Black?

But then... my over-achiever overly-caffeinated mind started racing through all the cool ways I could interpret heavy metal through big band. And oh the challenges of doing it with a severely limited range (my lead trumpet rose to the occasion and managed a D in the staff for our holiday concert), 4/4 time signature, and with as few notes as possible for my heavy fingered saxophonists!

Thoughts?

Beethoven’s Imperial March

Tonight I had a student inform me that Beethoven could have written John William’s Imperial March (Darth Vader’s Theme) in his sleep. This insightful 5th grader explained that the Imperial March had all the "emotion and feeling of Beethoven’s later works." If Beethoven himself didn’t write it (in his sleep) he most certainly would have approved of it.

As my clarinet student fumbled his way through my hasty transcription, trying to master both the dotted eighths and expression of the “powerful,” “evil,” and “march-like” qualities, no doubt envisioning formations of storm troopers awaiting his command, I was reminded of a similar lecture once received on the brilliance of Darth’s ominous motif.

Anyone that has ever caffeinated through Ed Green’s Film Scoring class at the Manhattan School of Music knows the lecture I refer to. While I will save discussion of the finer points of that class for a forum less public and as easily accessible as the internet, I will share, in a most simplistic form, the one point that stuck with me. Green’s praise lay in that the minor theme continually and repeatedly returned to the tonic, forcing “one” “one” “one” upon the listener, thereby musically reinforcing the totalitarian dictatorship of an evil and selfish egocentricity as one as poor Anakin.

And oh yeah, evil will never triumph over good.

These interpretations were for me, the highlights of that class, and I say that without the sarcasm many might assume.

Regardless, an encouraging thought process for a 10 year old.

Child Prodigy

I'm speechless... and quite ashamed of myself for being annoyed. I just read a release about the newest prodigy to "grace" the jazz scene. Her name is Grace Kelly. She's labeled as a Singer/Songwriter/Saxophonist. She's booked at the Standard this week. She's 14.

. . .

I know my skin is turning an unattractive shade of green, but how bad is it that I was relieved not to care for her saxophone playing after listening to her newly registered myspace? Her vocals on the track "I Will" I found more convincing.

Maybe it's the shared name, or the instrument, or the career, but come on folks, the Standard?!!