Paul Robeson’s dream of universal brotherhood was a lifelong commitment to the idea that all human beings, regardless of race, nationality, or economic standing, are interconnected and deserving of dignity, equality, and peace – concepts still unfortunately radical in 2026.
The man certainly walked the walk. Happy birthday, Paul Robeson.
I was listening to a recording of Jascha Horenstein conducting Mahler’s Symphony No. 8 on Henry Fogel’s “Collectors’ Corner” last night on KWAX. Frequently identified as the “Symphony of a Thousand,” this is Mahler’s grandest statement, as if he took the choral finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, dialed it up to 11, and stretched it more or less to 90 minutes. It is hair-raisingly thrilling.
“Try to imagine the whole universe beginning to ring and resound,” Mahler wrote, in his characteristically overheated way. “There are no longer human voices, but planets and suns revolving.”
All the same, a man needs his sleep, and 11:00 (EDT) is already past my bedtime, especially if I want to do some reading. So I rose from my chair to turn out the lights and shut off my internet radio, when what did I notice on one of the speakers, but a spider with its legs splayed, unmistakably riding the grandiose waves of the music.
I couldn’t take that away from him. So I went back and sat down until the end of the first movement (about 25 minutes in duration).
I was reminded of Helen Keller, deaf and blind since she was a toddler, who experienced the thrill of Beethoven’s 9th purely through the vibrations of her radio speaker.
I waited until the end of the first movement to turn off the radio. I figured I’d allow the little guy his moment of ecstasy.
I’m not sure what I believe, exactly, but if I’m ever reincarnated, I hope someone will do as much for me.
I received this private message from Pete Foltz this morning (which I am sharing with his permission):
“Ok – the best soundtrack for circling the moon? Entrance of the Gods into Valhalla? Or Pink Floyd?”
Anyone?
Astronauts have taken a lot of music to space over the years. Here’s a post I wrote about Rusty Schweickart, who took Vaughan Williams and Alan Hovhaness, before it was cool, on Apollo 9.
Before the internet and when CDs were still in their comparative infancy, I was still snapping up whatever LPs I could find of classic film scores. The Charles Gerhardt series with the National Philharmonic Orchestra, of course, was the gold standard. I also collected all of Bernard Herrmann’s recordings of his own music. Beyond that, it was mostly whatever original soundtrack albums I could lay my hands on: “The Ten Commandments,” “Ben-Hur,” “The Alamo,” “The Thief of Bagdad” (a rare find from “Elmer Bernstein’s Film Music Collection”).
During this period, while browsing the record bins in the back of The Book Trader in Philadelphia (at its old location at 5th & South), I stumbled across a series of recordings issued by United Artists featuring classic film scores with LeRoy Holmes conducting. It’s possible these were inspired by the unexpected success of the Gerhardt series.
Sadly, they in no way match Gerhardt’s exuberance and vitality. In fact, the performances were downright depressing. Threadbare orchestras in boxy acoustics sounding like they were captured on the first run-through. The orchestra for “Kong” was so insufficient that the percussion in the opening credits put me in the mind of those Meco covers of “Star Wars” and other popular ‘70s scores, reimagined as disco hits. (Yes, this was a thing.)
I don’t know what the deal was with the United Artist records. I do know that within a moment of the stylus touching the groove my heart sank. I had picked up several of these – I remember another one was Alfred Newman’s “The Prisoner of Zenda” – and they were all equally terrible. I hurried back to the store with them at my soonest possible convenience.
When I described the problem, the clerk didn’t want to take them back, denying responsibility for the quality of the actual recordings. But my vehemence must have been such that he was persuaded to put one of them on in the store. Right away, his face screwed up as if he were sucking on lemons. “Yeah, I see what you mean,” he said. “I wouldn’t want them either.” He walked over to the cash box and refunded my money.
These came bubbling back up into my consciousness like studiously repressed nightmares when discussing “Kong” recordings with a friend recently, who’d acquired the superior Fred Steiner recording (no relation to Max) on vinyl the last time we visited Princeton Record Exchange.
Now, with the internet at my disposal, I was able to look into LeRoy Holmes. And what do you know, he was no hack. Yeah, from his album listings and unfortunate record covers, it looks like he did a lot of easy listening and middle-brow arrangements of movie themes. But he was a Juilliard graduate, who also studied privately with Ernst Toch.
He learned his craft, then wrote, arranged, and/or conducted for Harry James, Judy Garland, Dinah Shore, and Nelson Eddy. For a time, he was house arranger and conductor at M-G-M. He composed and performed for Ernie Kovacs, for Kovacs’ own show and his appearances on “The Tonight Show.” He backed Connie Francis and Shirley Bassey. His recording of Dimitri Tiomkin’s theme for “The High and the Mighty” became a big hit. He also enjoyed success with his covers of Ennio Morricone spaghetti westerns. (Who didn’t?)
Obviously, he had the chops. Holmes scored films and recorded for United Artists and Everest Records. Why these classic film score records are so, so bad is a mystery I don’t mind recalling for a Facebook post, but do not wish to dwell on.
