Israel Philharmonic presents "Little Tchaikovsky", cond. Lahav Shani

Every year, the Vienna Philharmonic presents a New Year's Day concert of light music based around Strauss-family waltzes and polkas.  These concerts are legendary and are broadcast worldwide, reaching a viewership around 50 million people annually.   

This was essentially an unadvertised concert that didn't appear on their published schedule, with tickets sold to under-35's at a discount price.  The presumed goal was to capture a younger audience and turn them into more regular concert goers, present a different side of classical music other than the stuffy reputation that it usually gets, and bring a special holiday-type atmosphere to the concert hall in a manner that's worked so well in Vienna and elsewhere.  The results were a slam dunk success.  

The Nutcracker ballet is already a holiday classic around the world, and Tchaikovsky ballets basically transcend classical music (even people who think they don't know about classical music will recognize many of the melodies), so the theme makes plenty of sense.  This was far and away the best performance I've seen from Lahav Shani.  He might fancy himself a late Romantic/20th century specialist, but he's incendiary with "lighter" music, not only as a conductor but as an educator/entertainer.  He spoke with the crowd between pieces, and invited audience members to watch part of the performance on stage to "fulfill a dream" (which turned into an unexpected deluge of upwards of 50 people).  He came across more cool and approachable than he could ever be while conducting Stravinsky or Bruckner.  In a cute moment during the extended pizzicato during the third movement of Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony, he simply took a break from conducting and grabbed seat in the audience.  It drew waves of laughter, but many conductors wouldn't be willing to take themselves down a peg and display such a sense of humour.

The programme was brilliantly sequenced, beginning with three selections from the Nutcracker ballet -- Waltz of the Flowers, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies, and Dance of the Reed Flutes, each one delightful, each one recognizable to all.  This was followed by a selection from Tchaikovsky's String Quartet No. 1, arranged for string orchestra, and a performance of the first movement of the Violin Concerto featuring soloist Michael Shaham, a young violinist making his debut with the orchestra.  The start was a bit rocky, but he pulled it together by the end.  Finally, following the aforementioned rush to the stage, the full orchestra performed the third and fourth movements of the Fourth Symphony.  The third movement was a lively delight, and the final movement was sufficiently fiery to get across the overall mood of the piece.  One unannounced encore later, and the concert was over in a trim 75 minutes (no intermission) and not a single person left without a smile on their face.      

Another year without a list

I used to obsess over my year-end lists, but now, I don't miss them in the least.  Non-listmaking friends and online acquaintances used to claim that lists were simply not their preferred method of judging the music they listened to.  I thought it was a giant cop-out.  If you love music, then you should stick your neck out for the stuff you've been championing all year long.  Well, I get it now.  Lists are really nothing more than a snapshot of where your head is at, a timely and in-time review of the year/decade as you saw it at the time.  In that sense, lists are essential.  But if you don't make those lists, then you can still document your thoughts in other ways.  On a blog, or on social media, and so on.  

Resident Advisor published a their best music of the past quarter-century.  My tastes are too outdated, so I didn't recognize most of the tracks on the tracks lists, even by the artists I'm familiar with.  It looked more like an artist representation list than a tracks list, with an outsized attempt to feature lesser-known tracks by well-known artists.  The albums list was more of my thing, perhaps the last major contemporary list that I'll truly be able to relate to.   I have still never heard the DJ Sprinkles album at #2 in full but I can't argue with its impact.  Burial's "Untrue" at #1 indeed felt inevitable.  

On the contemporary side, Philip Sherburne wrote about the top 30 electronic albums of 2025 for Pitchfork.  I haven't heard anything on it, but damn, Sherburne always makes everything seem so compelling.  There is truly not enough time to listen to all the music I love.  That Los Thuthanaka album really comes across as a must-hear.  

I have been deep into techno nostalgia -- the em:t discography, the Round One to Round Five compilation, the still mind-blowing In Order to Dance 5 compilation on R&S.   I could never write about contemporary music again, and churn out steady content based on reviews and recollections of old compilations, much like I did for the Spacemen 3 tribute CD.  On some days, I convince myself I should migrate to an all-nostalgia review format, possibly through video channels instead of through writing.  

Various, "A Tribute To Spacemen 3" (Rocket Girl)

I don't know why I have never written about this album before, seeing as it influenced my buying habits for years afterward.  If memory serves, this was my introduction to Bardo Pond and Low.  I had heard the names of both bands prior to this but had never heard their music.  I had never heard or heard of Flowchart or Transient Waves.  I spent considerable time tracking down nearly everything released by Flowchart, and Transient Waves' second, self-titled album is a long time favourite of mine, a psych-ambient masterpiece if there ever was one.  

Bowery Electric's "Things'll Never Be the Same" finds them hurtling headlong into their "Lushlife" phase, as the hazy "Beat"-like intro segues into the trip-hop influenced main section of the song.  The general idea is to create a shoegaze-like headspace without relying on a bank of guitars, and it succeeds.  As the opening track on the compilation, it sends a clear message -- this won't be a note for note pastiche of the source material.  

Asteroid #4's take on "Losing Touch With My Mind" transforms the original from a bludgeoning grind of guitars and feedback into a space-rock epic, full of windswept atmospherics and apathetic vocals that work perfectly in this context.  It wouldn't be right to say that these versions improve on the originals, rather, they've been updated and remodeled in a 90's post rock context.  That's exactly what you want from a tribute album -- fresh takes on older ideas.  Incidentally, Asteroid #4 are one of the few bands on this compilation whose albums I didn’t end up buying—mainly because I could never find them.

Mogwai's "Honey" is presented in the vein of their debut album, in particular, "Summer" is an accurate reference point with it's use of glockenspiel and quiet/loud contrasts.  I would have loved for them to take on a track that lends more to a maximalist approach, like "Walking With Jesus", but what we got is still fairly good.

Flowchart makes a lateral move with "Ode To Street Hassle", taking one of S3's weakest songs, tacking on a drum machine, and keeping more or less the same mood and feel.  It's one of the weaker tracks on the album, although I would still end up buying nearly everything Flowchart released and playing the daylights out of it.  Same for Accelera Deck's "I Believe It", although I never really connected to their version and never bought any more of their music. 

Arab Strap renders "Revolution" nearly unrecognizable by slowing the tempo and replacing the urgency of the lyrics by Aidan Moffat's incomprehensible mumbling.  Then they bring it all together in the end with a furious, wailing guitar outro and a jittery pseudo-dance beat fed through an amphetamine-laced drum machine.  But that's Arab Strap for you, it's all very much on brand.  

Shit gets taken to a new level on the next track, Bardo Pond's crushing version of "Call The Doctor".  Obscure trivia time: in 2002-3, noted pro wrestling asshole and trainee abuser Bill DeMott was getting a minor push in WWE.  His gimmick was that of a grumpy, veteran ass-kicking and he was using some kind of "doctor" nickname that I can't recall.  Well, somebody in the WWE's music department must have been looking for inspiration for a new theme song for DeMott, searched for "call the doctor" on file sharing services or wherever one would search for obscure music in 2002 pre-youtube, pre-streaming, stumbled across this Bardo Pond track, and figured what the hell, let's rip off this band that nobody's ever heard of.  That's the only explanation that makes sense, because these tracks couldn't be any more similar.  

Bardo Pond, "Call The Doctor"

Bill DeMott's theme, "No More Laughing"

Frontier's "Hey Man" is yet another space-rock masterpiece, quite similar to Asteroid #4 but even more into the outer reaches of the stratosphere.  The album makes another U-turn by following that with Low's "Lord, Can You Hear Me?", certainly the most Low-like S3 track and an excellent choice for them to cover.  

Amp’s "So Hot" is the most purely gorgeous track on the compilation, retaining all the lightness of the original while adding subtle, ethereal touches that make it feel almost folk-like and magical.  Amp were arguably the most underrated act in the Bristol post-rock scene, I never heard a bad note from them throughout their vast catalog.  And they're still active!

Piano Magic understood that "How Does It Feel" is, above all, about "feel"—the more you try to do with it, the worse it gets. So they let the track pulse and breathe and drift toward its understated conclusion. It’s exactly what the song needs, and it makes for a fine tribute to the original.

There's only one song from "Recurring" on this compilation, and it's Transient Waves' version of "Billy Whizz".  A bit of a tangent -- the Jason songs on "Recurring" all have horrible titles.  Thankfully he'd get much better in Spiritualized.  Transient Waves were a lovely band and this is an ambient rock lullaby, the perfect track to end the compilation with.  

This album was a huge influence on me, serving as a virtual "who's who" of Spacemen 3 disciples.  This is where the shoegaze-adjacent, psych-drenched post-rockers came to play and to carry on the Spacemen 3 tradition.  It blew my mind some twenty years ago and is still and powerful listen today.  Does anyone still remember it?  The recent shoegaze revival has more or less pushed this style of music into irrelevance. It now comes across as weak and wimpy, too self-absorbed—much like the criticisms leveled at the first wave of shoegazers, which was a major reason they fell out of favor by the mid-’90s.

One Shot with Ed Sheeran

Of course it’s an advertisement for his upcoming world tour, and yes, he surely got a boatload of money from Netflix for doing it. But set the cynicism aside—One Shot is ridiculously fun to watch: a fresh, challenging, and genuinely unique take on the “no camera cuts” concept. They brought in the team behind Adolescence to execute the vision and the logistics, and Sheeran absolutely delivers under what is, when you think about it, enormous pressure and uncertainty.

Even though he had multiple attempts (three full takes were filmed), so many things could have gone wrong. It takes a special performer to stay fully engaged, think fast on his feet, and not get flustered. Sure, plenty of moments were staged, but there are also interactions with the public that are clearly real and off-script. Then again, if you’re going to attempt something like this, who better than the musician who commands a stadium for two-plus hours solo night after night? The key word being “solo.”

The songs are great, the settings are wonderfully unconventional, Sheeran nails the persona (part affable megastar, part Pied Piper), the camerawork is exceptional, and I’m not sure anyone else of his generation could pull off this kind of “concert film”—although I’m sure some will try.

Milli Vanilli -- Grammy revenge

In 1991, Milli Vanilli became the first and still only act to be stripped of a Best New Artist Grammy.  Now, more than three decades later, Fab Morvan has been nominated for Best Audiobook and may finally get the last laugh by winning that elusive Grammy.  It would make for a fascinating acceptance speech if it makes TV (which it probably won't).  

Never mind the fact that Rob and Fab themselves took all of the punishment (everyone involved with making their record from their manager on down received zero flack) for doing the same crimes that several other top dance acts were guilty of (Technotronic, C&C Music Factory, Black Box, and many others used studio ringers).  The Grammys have never had an abundance of credibility when it comes to the Best New Artist award.  

Looking over the past few decades of winners and nominees, the first thing you notice is a distinct lack of, let's call them, the biggest selling, most successful, generation-spanning artists of all time.  The first Best New Artist award was given in 1960.  Since then (i.e. excluding artists such as Elvis Presley who got an earlier start), the reputedly biggest selling artists ever are Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Elton John, Queen, Madonna, Led Zeppelin, Rihanna, Pink Floyd, Eminem, Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, Taylor Swift, Beyonce, Ed Sheeran and AC/DC.  Out of those fifteen acts, only two won the award (Beatles and Mariah Carey), and four others were nominated (Elton, Zep, Taylor, and Ed Sheeran).  And no, neither Destiny's Child or The Jackson 5 were nominated.  If the purpose of the award is to identify the next wave of blockbuster acts, then it has failed.

It took several years for the Grammys to figure out what this award was supposed to represent.  Nominations in the 60's were a veritable mish mash of jazz artists, folk groups, comedians (Bob Newhart won in 1961), singer/actors, blue-eyed soul acts, novelty acts and the occasional welcome surprise (Miriam Makeba nominated in 1961!).  From 1960-1965, I couldn't tell you a thing about half of the nominees.  Over the next fifteen years, most of the nominees were major hitmakers of their day, with legitimate claims to long-lasting stardom.  And almost every act was white.  Most years had one token black nominee, with the exception of 1975, which had two (Graham Central Station and Johnny Bristol).  But they had to expand the nomination group from five to six in order to do it.  Natalie Cole in 1976 was the only African-American winner of the award during that time period.  The next person of colour to win was Sade in 1986.  

After some thirty years of white/rock/blue-eyed soul/lounge singer dominance, 1990 was the most diverse group of nominees in the award's history to that point: Milli Vanilli, Neneh Cherry, Indigo Girls, Tone Loc, and Soul II Soul.  Part of the resentment toward Milli Vanilli was based on the perception that their popularity was more likely to be a fad, as opposed to the other four more serious, career-oriented artists.  It's almost as if people believed that justice was done when their award was revoked because they didn't deserve to win it anyway.  I like the other four artists very much, but their time in the upper reaches of the charts didn't last beyond 1995 or so.   In 1990, Milli Vanilli were unquestionably the hottest act of the bunch.  This can't be disputed -- they had five US top five hits from their debut album, including three #1's.  There have been far more indefensible choices since then:

1992.  As a direct reaction to the Milli Vanilli scandal, Marc Cohn won over Boys II Men, C+C Music Factory, Color Me Badd, and Seal.  Even at the time, it was widely known that C+C Music Factory (and many similar dance-oriented acts of the day) were lip synching as well and using ringers in the studio.  At least Marc Cohn was a friendly white act who could be trusted not to engage in that.  Or something.  No offense to Marc Cohn and his perfectly acceptable MOR hit "Walking In Memphis", but this was a horrible choice.  

2011.  Esperanza Spalding won over Justin Bieber, Drake, Florence and the Machine, and Mumford and Sons.  From 1997-2011, female artists and female-fronted acts won the Best New Artist award in twelve of the fifteen years.   Maybe it was a given that a female artist would win, given the voter's tendencies.  Male artists won for the next four years, but since 2016, only one male artist has gone home with the award.  A remarkable run of dominance for female acts.  But Spalding beat four acts that would rack up several dozen #1 songs and albums between them, and tour stadiums around the world multiple times over.  Strange. 

2014.  A travesty so unforgivable that they should lecture on it in university ethics classes.  Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, a flash in the pan rap act led by a demented anti-Semite, won the Best New Artist award over James Blake, Kendrick Lamar, Kacey Musgraves, and Ed Sheeran. This was indefensible at the time and looks about a billion times worse in the years since.  Any time a smiley white rapper scores a hit song out of nowhere, don't worry, Grammy comes running!  I'm feeling nauseous just writing about this.   

LFO, "Advance" (1996)

Hard to believe that this album is nearly 30 years old.  At the time, it felt wholly out of place.  Although released on Warp, "Advance" couldn't have been further removed from the "Artifical Intelligence" style of bedroom techno that had dominated the label in the previous few years.  It was too sobering and grounded for the rave scene, and not propulsive or hedonistic enough for the trance scene.  At least half of its tracks aren't suited for the clubs at all, and most DJ's would have been hard-pressed to meld even the more "conventional" kick drum heavy tracks like "Shut Down" and "Kombat Drinking".  Not coincidentally, those were the tracks that Gez Varley worked on.  Most of the album is an extended production reel for Mark Bell's future career as the knob twiddler for A-list electronic acts like Bjork and Depeche Mode. And those tracks still sound as if they were beamed in from an unexplored future world.  Nothing sounds like "Advance", even now.  

"Jason Vorhees" simmers with nervous energy due to its crashing percussive beats and mind-melting filters, but is layered over a serene ambient drifting background.  "Them" lays out a low-tempo squelching funk plastered over lost in the forest, horror movie sound effects.  I'm hard pressed to think of any near equivalent to either track.  DItto for "Tied Up", a sort of headbanger's techno-funk that ascends into a kind of electronic shoegaze paradise, full of breathy sounds and high pitched whistling and god knows what else (this was the single, by the way, and was remixed by Spiritualized into a nine-minute drone-fest).  "Shove Piggy Shove" is perhaps the lone throwback to LFO's bleepy roots, with a cavernous, speaker-rattling bass line to match.

But for me, the album centres around the title track and "Loch Ness".  The former is simply the most heart-stopping, dramatic, crystal shards of sound collapsing on one's head, fist-pumping mindfuck in 90's techno, bar none.  At 105 or so BPM, yet it's not danceable in the least in the context of a conventional techno set.  It starts out quietly with the whispered word "advance" and grows into a monumental cascade of droning and caterwauling.  The kick drum rains hammerfist blows into your chest, the bass causes the entire room to shake uncontrollably.  "Loch Ness" has an undeniable build of a different kind, tricking you into a false sense of security with its tranquil opening synth washes, before exploding into a chorus of electronic birdsong, yet another bass timbre to collapse one's chest, and accompanied by a militaristic snare drum workout.  There is no way to characterize any of this, it's a genre truly unto itself.

"Advance" is probably Mark Bell's masterpiece, the best advertisement for what  he could offer as a producer in the following years.  He was a talent that was truly taken from us too soon.  

BBC Music ranks the top 12 classical pieces that bridged the pop culture divide

 It's always nice to see a list that covers a subject that hasn't been overdone.  Other than Percy Grainger's "Country Gardens" -- the only piece on the list that I wasn't familiar with, it must be a Brit-centric thing -- each of these pieces has been featured, immortalized, and run full circle into parody.  These are truly famous pieces that have spanned oceans and crossed borders, and there's really not too much to argue about here.  One could argue for "Tubular Bells" if one wished to stretch the definitions into classical-adjacent forms, but even that's not a huge stretch considering the ELP version of "Fanfare for the Common Man" that is linked in the article.  There's also a good case for the Dr. Who theme if we branch into experimental music from post-WWII composers.  But if we just stick to tonal composers working with conventional instruments and ensembles, this is as good a list of the "most famous" classical works in pop culture over the past few decades. 

I grew up learning about classical music subliminally through Hanna-Barbara cartoons.  I was pleased to see that the connection to animated series hasn’t entirely disappeared—see the links to Bluey and SpongeBob SquarePants, two cartoons even my own kids enjoy.  Wagner and Strauss are indelibly tied to Apocalypse Now and 2001, respectively, to the point that mentioning the movie titles likely evokes those pieces of music more readily than any specific line or actor from the films

Shlomo Artzi, live at Park Raanana

Twelve years ago, I saw Shlomo Artzi in concert for the first time and was blown away.  At the time I wrote that "I'm not sure I've ever seen an artist connect with his audience as well as Shlomo Artzi connected with the crowd in Ashdod".  The connection was "almost telepathic", operating on a deeper, more personal, more empathetic level than just about any other artist I've seen -- in any country, singing in any language.  

Remarkably, twelve years later, it's all still true.  Artzi is nearing his 76th birthday and still commands the stage like no other.  He can still unite multiple generations of Israelis, appeal to the secular and the religious, and create memorable moments through an almost unimaginable personal connection with an amphitheatre full of thousands.  Coldplay go to great lengths to manufacture these connections with their fans through their goofy kiss cams and light-up bracelets and choreographed singalongs and B-stages and C-stages that bring them close to their audience.  But it always comes across as nerdy millionaire pandering to the simple plebes.  I can't even blame them -- bridging the divide between stage and audience is difficult, especially in a stadium.  Not every performer strives for it, and that's OK too.  Shlomo Artzi does it effortlessly, through his personal stories both sad and humorous, impassioned words about the soldiers and hostages, and through his impeccable timing and synchronization with his band, always knowing when to raise and lower the energy in the room.  

He spoke about attending shivas for soldiers and about the hostages and said "I don't know what's happening right now in the USA -- probably many of you know better than me" -- a reference to the Trump-Netanyahu meetings taking place that day.  It was an off-hand remark, meant to segue into a broader wish for peace.  But inevitably, it led to a large number of people reaching for their mobile phones, hoping for a major news update.  And moments later, a screenshot from the nightly news—viewed on a concertgoer’s phone—was projected onto the stage’s big screens, essentially a screenshot of a screenshot.  The headline read "hostages to be returned in three days", an impassioned roar rose from the crowd, and Artzi abruptly stopped speaking and admired the photo.  He may have mumbled something like "how about that ..." his words trailing off.  Like I said, the man has impeccable timing.  Time seemed to stand still for about half a minute.  Even when Artzi is at a temporary loss of words, he can still forge a genuine connection.   

The pacification of music criticism

Kelefa Sanneh hit a home run with his excellent piece in the New Yorker, covering the decline of music criticism from acerbic, witty truth telling to the placid, homogenized landscape that we have today.  

Additional context comes by way of a video by Dave Hurwitz, and even though he's talking about the classical music industry (his specialty), the sentiment is applicable to other genres as well. In short, as magazine readership began to decline rapidly, publishers and editors became reluctant to risk alienating a shrinking pool of potential advertisers with negative reviews.  The magazines continued on their death spiral, and review culture never recovered.  

In particular, Sanneh makes a fascinating connection that I'd never considered before.  As rockism fell into disfavour -- in no small part due to Sanneh's endless debated piece in the NYT --  and poptimism rose to fill the void, negativity in music reviews also waned.  He writes, "poptimism intimated that critics shoudl not just take pop music seriously but celebrate it ...".  This new culture of positivity was also spurred by the explosion of blogs and online mags, where countless writers competed to be seen as tastemakers with a keen ear for discovering and popularizing new music through glowing reviews, mp3 blogs, etc.  

Sanneh highlights the online presence of Anthony Fantano and Rick Beato, as two examples of influencers (each with millions of followers) who aren't afraid to regularly dole out negative criticism.  It's important to note that Fantano and Beato are independent and not beholden to an editorial direction influenced by outside funding.   It's hardly a surprise that "old school" criticism lives on through outlets such as theirs.  

Sanneh makes just one misstep.  Toward the end of the piece, he explains that twenty years ago, he wrote negative reviews regularly, whereas now feels less compelled to do so.  This is in part because when reviewing an album that he doesn't take to immediately, "why commit that judgement to print, when, instead, I could wait to see whether it will grow on me, as awkward -seeming albums sometimes do?" I believe he's trying to restore some nobility to the art of writing reviews, seeking honour in this new era of criticism where very little is actually criticized.  But for me, this sentiment runs counter to a fundamental consequence of good criticism.  The critic's skill and expertise give them the vision to recognize a record's greatness and its potential long-term impact long before the general public catches on.  This is a key motivation behind my writing -- opining on the music I like and don't like, putting a time stamp on my thoughts, and hoping to be proven right in the long run.  And even if I'm wrong, or change my mind, or what have you, there's always a learning experience in the process.  In contrast, biding one's time and letting their opinion be continuously re-shaped by the shifting consensus isn’t leading the critical charge—it’s following it. It’s almost glorified gossip-column hackery: scanning what others are saying to gauge public sentiment, then presenting the safe, majority-approved opinion.

Dr. Guiseppe and Mr. Sinopoli

I have taken to Sinopoli's recordings as somewhat of a guilty pleasure.  His style certainly isn't for everyone.   Most people value instrumental clarity and individual sonorities when listening to classical music.  Sinopoli didn't care about any of that, he approached the orchestra as if it was a gigantic, people-powered modular synth, with separate components only existing to mold the overall sound.  I wrote about his marvelous, semi-shoegaze-y Bruckner 7th -- a piece that benefits (in my view) from a a cathedral-like, blurry sonority.   

The problem with Sinopoli is that he would apply the "treatment" to just about anything and everything.  The results were entirely hit and miss.  And yet, even when I know that it's a miss (based on critic's reviews) I still can't help but listen.  

For example, take the widely panned Elgar Symphonies 1 and 2, with the Philharmonia.  The consensus is that the 2nd symphony in particular is dreadfully, drudgingly slow, a recording to be avoided at all costs.   But I just had to hear it for myself.  And I discovered, indeed, that the slow tempos completely kill the piece.  Nevertheless, as an experiment in Elgar, it's oddly fascinating.

On the other hand, Sinopoli's version of the Brahms German Requiem with the Czech Philharmonic works surprisingly well.  It runs completely opposite to the stoic treatment of Klemperer, often thought of as the reference recording.  It may not be for everyone, but if you ever wished for a psychedelic mind trip version of the German Requiem, then Sinopoli's recording may be for you.

Sometimes the Jekyll/Hyde dichotomy occurs on the same disc, like with the pairing of Mahler's 8th and 10th symphonies with the Philharmonia.   The Mahler 8 presents a grandiose, sweaty, wall of sound that is entirely appropriate for a piece in which more excess is always better.  However, the Mahler 10 (Adagio only), runs for an interminable 33 minutes (!!) and is very nearly unrecognizable compared to any competing recording.  It comes across like one of those time stretched recordings where every note blends into the next and the dynamics are flattened out into a sprawling void of nothing.  I have no idea what to make of  

I'll continue on this mini-quest to subject myself to the odd but daring stylings of this maverick conductor ...