Classic Ross Amico

Category: Daily Dispatch

Jerome Moross Hollywood’s Western Troubadour

“[A]s we hit the Plains I got so excited,” recollected Jerome Moross. It was 1936 and, at George Gershwin’s invitation, he was en route to Los Angeles to participate in the West Coast premiere of “Porgy and Bess.” When he stepped off the bus in Albuquerque, it changed him forever.

“…I got to the edge of town and then walked out onto the flat land with a marvelous feeling of being alone in the vastness, with the mountains cutting off the horizon. The whole thing was just too much for me… it was marvelous, and I just fell in love with it.”

Moross would recall this powerful communion with the American West decades later, when he came to write his best-known music, the Academy Award-nominated score for “The Big Country” (1958). Indeed, the “western sound” would color many of his future film and concert works, with the energetic syncopations of his native New York City supporting an easy lyrical gift that could easily pass for authentic American folk music.

This week on “Picture Perfect,” we’ll saddle up for selections from four of Moross’ big screen westerns. The success of “The Big Country” put Moross much in demand as Hollywood’s troubadour of the great outdoors. The trail was still fresh when he was enlisted to score “The Proud Rebel” (1958). The film starred Alan Ladd, as a Civil War veteran with a troubled past, and the Olivia De Havilland, as the ranch owner who takes responsibility for him. Tensions mount as a corrupt landowner and his sons attempt to drive the woman off her ranch.

While “The Proud Rebel” tapped into predictable western archetypes, “The Valley of Gwangi” (1969) exploded all expectations. A cross-genre western that might best be described as “Annie Get Your Gun” meets “King Kong,” the film’s premise hinges on the discovery by an enterprising band of cowboys of an Allosaurus in a lost valley in Mexico, which of course they press into service at their Wild West show. What could possibly go wrong? In a time before starships and superheroes dominated the cinematic landscape, “Gwangi” must have been very heady stuff for six-year-old boys everywhere.

The project was conceived decades earlier by Willis O’Brien, the special effects legend who created Kong. But it was left to his protégé, the great Ray Harryhausen, to bring the film to fruition. The result, while never scaling the operatic heights of “Kong,” is a fascinating mélange, a movie that is part cowboy, part creature-runs-amok.

For those of a certain age, one of Moross’ most recognizable melodies must surely be the theme to the television series “Wagon Train.” Somewhat awkwardly, that music was soon discovered to bear a striking resemblance to a secondary theme in “The Jayhawkers” (1959). Fortunately for Moross, competing studios were willing to look the other way. “The Jayhawkers,” which starred Jeff Chandler and Fess Parker, is set in the days of Bleeding Kansas.

Join me for an hour in the open air with Jerome Moross. We’ll be borne west on music of great vitality, this week on “Picture Perfect,” music for the movies, now in syndication on KWAX, the radio station of the University of Oregon!

Clip and save the start times for all three of my recorded shows:

PICTURE PERFECT, the movie music show – Friday at 8:00 PM EDT/5:00 PM PDT

SWEETNESS AND LIGHT, the light music program – ALL NEW! – Saturday at 11:00 AM EDT/8:00 AM PDT

THE LOST CHORD, unusual and neglected rep – Saturday at 7:00 PM EDT/4:00 PM PDT

Stream them, wherever you are, at the link!

https://kwax.uoregon.edu/

June 28, 2024
George Walker Pulitzer Winner and Pioneer

It’s crazy that the first time an African-American composer would receive the Pulitzer Prize for Music was only in 1996. I remember when it happened. It was a pretty big deal. A special award had been made to Scott Joplin in 1976 – 59 years after Joplin’s death – and there have been some special citations and a number of Black honorees since. But it was George Walker who broke the glass ceiling.

It was not the first time he was a “first.” Walker was the first Black pianist to present a solo recital at New York’s Town Hall (in 1945); he was the first Black performer to appear as soloist with the Philadelphia Orchestra (performing Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3); and he was the first Black musician to graduate from the Curtis Institute of Music (where he studied with Rudolf Serkin and Rosario Scalero).

Walker was born in Washington, D.C., on this date in 1922. His father emigrated from Kingston, Jamaica, to study at Temple University School of Medicine. Walker’s mother supervised his first piano lessons. He was accepted into the Oberlin School of Music at the age of 14. He was then admitted to the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia. Later, he attended the Eastman School. For two years, in common with so many 20th century composer of merit, especially Americans, he studied in Paris with the famed pedagogue Nadia Boulanger.

Walker’s own academic career included posts with Dillard University in New Orleans, the Dalcroze School of Music, the New School for Social Research, Smith College, the University of Colorado Boulder, Rutgers University (where he served as chairman of the music department), the Peabody Institute of John Hopkins University, and the University of Delaware.

“Lilacs for Voice and Orchestra” was introduced by soprano Faye Robinson on February 1, 1996, with the Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by Seiji Ozawa. The 15-minute work is a setting of texts from Walt Whitman’s 1865 Lincoln elegy “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d.” “Lilacs” was described by the Pulitzer committee as a “passionate, and very American, musical composition with a beautiful and evocative lyrical quality.”

“Lyric” is a descriptor that followed Walker his entire life, or at least since his music became more widely known. His most popular work is his “Lyric for Strings,” a touching piece for string orchestra. Like the ubiquitous “Adagio” by Samuel Barber (who also attended Curtis), “Lyric” was arranged from the slow movement of a string quartet, in Walker’s case written while he was still a student. Originally, he had titled the piece “Lament.” But comparisons with Barber’s “Adagio” end there. Walker’s work doesn’t strive for profundity or wrench the soul as Barber’s does. But it is moving, all the same, for being so evidently personal, confessional even.

Walker wrote the piece in 1946, following the death of his grandmother. For anyone who learned about slavery in America from a history textbook, it’s sobering to discover that Melvina King actually lived it. Walker went on to a career studded with impeccably crafted works that brought him many honors and much critical praise. But “Lyric” has the distinction of going straight to the heart.

A longtime resident of Montclair, NJ, George Walker died in 2018 at the age of 96. I often wonder if he ever got tired of hearing about his resume of firsts. In relation to his skin color, I mean. It was always the first thing you ever read or heard about him (and, alas, this post is no different).

In an interview given in 2012, Walker commented, “I’ve always thought in universal terms, not just what is Black or what is American, but simply what has quality.”

Hearing “Lyric for Strings” was once a rare treat. Now, in the past few years, everyone has taken it up. I have no doubt that the work will hold a lasting place in the standard repertoire.

“Lilacs for Voice and Orchestra”

Walker plays his Piano Sonata No. 1

Brief 2012 documentary on Walker, in which he is interviewed, for the occasion of his 90th birthday:

A fascinating interview conducted by Frank J. Oteri. Also includes some great photos!

George Walker: Concise and Precise

June 27, 2024
David Cripps Star Wars Horn Hero

When sifting through the musical obituaries, my eyes usually settle on the composers, conductors, and star performers. Less glory is allotted to orchestra musicians, whose artistry often is not properly appreciated until it’s too late. I mean, their importance is understood, if perhaps a tad taken for granted, but wider fame and adulation usually elude them. This, despite the quality of their performances having such a profound impact on listeners.

It’s only days after I saw that David Cripps died that it finally registers who he was. Cripps served as principal horn of the London Symphony Orchestra during the halcyon years of 1974 to 1983. So it is Cripps’ horn that set me dreaming as an 11 year-old as I wore out the grooves on my original two-LP set of the soundtrack to “Star Wars.” That’s Cripps conjuring the romance of far horizons in “Princess Leia’s Theme” and the music for Tatooine’s binary sunset. As was often the case, John Williams tailored much of his music recorded with the orchestra during that era by drawing on his intimate working knowledge of the LSO’s principal performers.

During his time with the orchestra, Cripps also appeared as soloist in repertoire ranging from the Mozart and Strauss Horn Concertos to Benjamin Britten’s “Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings.” I assume that’s him in the slow movement of André Previn’s recording of Vaughan Williams’ “A London Symphony” and as principal horn at the other links provided below.

Cripps joined the LSO as a section player in 1970. Previn served as the orchestra’s principal conductor from 1968 to 1979. He was succeeded by Claudio Abbado, who held the post until 1988.

Cripps spent the latter part of his career in the U.S. He died in Tucson on Saturday. He was an unsung hero, in a way, having touched so many beyond the concert hall who never knew his name, thanks to the medium of the movies.

Cripps talks “Star Wars”

“Princess Leia’s Theme”

Binary sunset

Vaughan Williams, “A London Symphony,” Mov’t. II: Lento

Mendelssohn, Nocturne from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”

“André Previn’s Music Night”

June 26, 2024
Philly’s Lost Gem A Mechanic’s Farewell

When you live in a city, there are a few essentials that, once you find reliable sources, you hang on to them like grim death. It can take years to find a decent barber, for instance. Ditto, a dentist you can trust. I had so many friends with nightmare stories about their experiences with Philadelphia dentists that at a point I didn’t have my teeth cleaned for seven years! (When I finally took a chance on a recommendation, it took two appointments to chisel me out – but guess what? No cavities!)

Until I was in my mid-20s, I was able to make do with the professionals and service-providers I grew up with. You know, the people I used since I was a kid, basically. I’d simply head back to the hometown a little early on a Friday and then make it a weekend with my folks. Then I started working seven days a week. That meant I would have to start using city people or resign myself to looking like Ben Gunn.

Most difficult of all was finding a trusted mechanic. I had been reduced to using those while-you-wait oil-change places (at least it got me a free car wash) and shelling out for new tires from a tire center whenever I happened to pick up a nail, which was infuriatingly often. (Thank you, Philadelphia contractors!) Anything more serious than that, and I’d roll the dice and usually get burned.

Then one day, I decided to use this local garage that was about four blocks south of my apartment – which is to say, two blocks below South Street (shallow South Philly). It didn’t look like much – what garage does? – but it was a family business, it had been around for a while, and the lot was always packed.

I owned some pretty high-maintenance vehicles in my time. Once, after I cracked an engine block, the car had been sitting on the street with a leaky trunk for so long (I had a parking permit that was good for a year), that when I finally went to retrieve the paperwork from the glove compartment, I discovered the inside had turned into a giant moldy blueberry. The pages in the manuals were all wavy from the humidity. As the vehicle was hoisted onto a flatbed to be towed away, I kid you not, water poured out of the trunk, like that scene in “Risky Business.”

But I digress.

I can’t remember what exactly was the issue on the occasion that first brought me to 11th Street Auto (a.k.a. Sauer’s Garage). My reasoning was probably that it was close enough that I wouldn’t have to take public transportation or walk miles across town. All I know is that it was love at first sight.

Frank, son of the guy who founded the place decades before, was personable, no-nonsense, always professional in the best possible sense, and clearly compassionate. If he knew you didn’t have two cents to rub together, he would only charge you one. Sometimes he didn’t charge you at all. After they’d done real work too! In fact, 11th Street gave me so many deals, I started to wonder how it was that they could even afford to keep the doors open.

What’s more, I would send my friends there, and they wouldn’t charge them either! I guess they just dealt in volume, and they built such a loyal, grateful clientele that they never hurt for business. I don’t know, maybe the really big jobs carried a lot of the lesser ones? Either that, or the entire operation was a front. (Just kidding.)

Doing business with 11th Street was a throwback to a lost age of handshake agreements and keys left under mats in unlocked vehicles after hours. Now that I think about it, nobody in their right mind would ever want to cross Frank. He may have been a nice guy, but he had the kind of physique that comes from bench-pressing engine blocks for a living. I remember walking into the darkened lot at 10:00 at night, having just gotten back from work at the radio station in the Trenton-Princeton area, and the incredulous feeling on finding, lo and behold, my car, like the Star-Spangled Banner, was still there.

I finally got the hell out of Philly eight years ago, having done my time and then some (32 years I’ll never get back), but I still drive in from time to time to meet friends for dinner or head to a concert. And I noticed some months ago that Sauer’s had closed. It struck me as the closing of any beloved institution does. I felt a pang of sadness and a wave of nostalgia. More recently, I saw a chain-link fence had been erected around the lot, an ominous harbinger of things to come. Sure enough, on my next trip in, the building had been demolished.

I was afraid that illness or death had led to the closure of the business. I am thankful, at the very least, to have found the news story at the link below. It’s amazing how certain people and businesses that flourished before the rise of the internet so often leave the scarcest footprints.

Anyway, Frank is alive and well. He says it just felt like it was time (to close, that is). I’m sure the garage made enough that retirement was possible at 60. Still, he leaves a gaping hole – now literally, alas – in the fabric of old Philadelphia. Honest, affordable, mom-and-pop mechanics are not easy to come by. This was not a chain, but rather a small business that grew up organically with its neighborhood.

Frank is as decent as the longest day at midsummer. His lieutenants were equally trustworthy. They sent a lot of positive vibes out into the world, and that counts for a lot in Philadelphia. This was more than just an automotive shop. It was like taking your car to a mechanically-inclined uncle who would often fix or install something for the sheer satisfaction of it. I wish them all the best – thanks, guys! – and for Frank, a long and happy retirement.

https://www.nbcphiladelphia.com/news/local/a-neighborhood-staple-closes-doors-after-50-years-in-south-philly/3574133/

June 25, 2024
Medieval Dance Mania The Fatal Outbreak

Probably the last thing anyone wants to do after a long night of leaping over bonfires on St. John’s Eve is cut a rug – but 650 years ago today, that’s precisely what happened. On June 24, 1374, against their collective will, hundreds found themselves swept up in an involuntary dance mania.

It was not for the first time, nor would it be the last, but it was one of the largest and most noteworthy outbreaks of terpsichorean madness, a malady that seems largely to have been a phenomenon of the Middle Ages. Participants danced until they collapsed from exhaustion. Some dropped down dead.

The cause of the frenzy has never been adequately explained.

Read more about St. John’s Dance (often attributed to St. Vitus) here:

https://www.onthisday.com/articles/the-fatal-dance-manias-of-medieval-europe?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR2-Yyg1Gyc-DqbJ0MeIhKIpk2H7TzQu-sfrVH9-9TFGs6w82LDW-ADlzoM_aem_Jt6r7qd7ALVA-g_kgq8gZQ

And here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dancing_mania…

Gotta dance!

June 24, 2024

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