Yesterday, he had a language arts lesson in which he had to do a compare and contrast essay on the music he likes, and that which is parents like. He found it difficult, since we all pretty much like the same thing. However, for the next day’s lesson, he has to review and deconstruct someone else’s essay on the same subject, so I had to write one too. In the end, I realized I’m turning into my parents. Well, ok, my father (he was the one who loved classical music; I didn’t want to get into Heino). And I never thought I’d be digging classical music, and that when I would, I would discover both my father and I were into emo classical. Here’s the essay:

I like listening to indie rock bands like Everclear, Oasis, and Brand New. My parents liked to listen to classical music, especially the Romantic composers like Schumann and Strauss.

At first, I thought our musical tastes had nothing in common. Rock music is faster and more energetic. It also has lyrics I can relate to: it’s like musical poetry.  It takes a long time to listen to a symphony, while you can listen through a rock song in about 3 minutes. If you really like the song, you just listen to it again, while you can’t really repeat a one-hour symphony.

But now that I’m older, I see the similarities. Indie rock bands express emotion; so do the Romantic composers. They just do it in a different way. For instance, Gustav Mahler, a romantic composer, put syncopation into his 9^th Symphony to make it sound like a broken heart. Some people call this a “symphonic poem” and it’s like an all-music version of the poetic lyrics I like in rock music. Also, romantic classical music almost always has a motif running through the symphony, so you essentially have a song that repeats itself within the a bigger musical story.

So it turns out my musical preferences really may not be that different from my parents’ after all.

Here’s the spoiler, so you don’t waste time on the movie. Inexplicably, every single one of the candidates gets into Oxford’s History department, whether they wanted to or not, thanks to the help of one eccentric gay teacher who trains them to spontaneously act out vignettes in French, and a new school teacher who teaches them to just make stuff up on essays, cuz that’s the sort of stuff that’ll impress the admissions board at Oxford.

Once they’ve matriculated to Oxford, everyone abruptly comes out with his homesexuality. The ignorant stuffy headmaster comes to his senses and reinstates the eccentric gay teacher, whom he’d sacked for fondling the boys, even though none of them really minded. The new teacher (who is, of course, now openly gay) takes a joy ride with the eccentric gay teacher, whereupon they have an accident and one of them dies. The only character who may not have been gay dies when he grows up and gets shot in an Army regiment which hasn’t existed since 1968.

The end. It just reminded me that all English men are gay, even if they’re straight, just as all Italian men are straight, even if they’re gay. Is that really so? Anyway, you might like the early 80s songs, if you’re into that sort of thing.

A live stage performance is really the way the play should be seen, and tickets are usually only $15 or $20 a seat at local theatres. I get a lot more pleasure seeing our local theatre geeks, who are sociable and talented, and whom I might even cross paths with locally, than paying $60 a ticket to see a B-list celebrity who runs off to sulk about being in San Jose as soon as the show ends. But I digress.

I’d been waffling on and off about getting tickets, until yesterday afternoon, when I decided to just drop in on the opening show with Neil.

We went downtown, where Peter planned to take Kelly off for another adventure, and since the play wasn’t scheduled to begin until 8, we all went to the park near Peter’s office to see the band. Peter thought it was a Journey cover band, but it turned out he’d misread the schedule. The scheduled band was the Sierra Leone Refugee All-Stars, but they hadn’t started yet. Instead, there was a crowd grooving to another band on stage. I never found out who they were, but they were raggae-esque in a foreign language.

Their music was catching, even if I didn’t understand the lyrics, and Kelly and I danced along with the happy hippies, including this hippie wizard:

Peter bought some pizza at a pizza stand in the park, and then we moseyed over to the theatre over in nearby San Pedro Square (where there are free movies on Wednesdays, and the farmer’s market on Fridays). I had no trouble getting tickets, and even better, the tickets were free. Or actually, it was pay what you can day, which meant give the theatre a donation.

It turned out the theatre was in a former comedy club, where Peter and I had seen shows many years ago. It was set up slightly differently (better) for a theatre production, and the drinks and snacks at the bar were a lot cheaper. I took a look at our fellow theatre goers and was delighted to see one Nick Bottom was going to see the show as another performed in it:

He’s all blurry because of the magic. Ok, actually, I just turned my flash off. Seriously, I love theatrical theatre fans! Sometimes I’m one of them too.

This version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream was set in Mexico with Mayan mythology. I wish I could have taken pictures, because the costumes for the ushmal (Mayan fairies) were fantastic, and the production photos don’t show the costumes. The ushmals wore bodysuits with colorful patterns topped with manes and crowns of feathers, and Cobweb sported a set of Wolverine-like claws. The ushmals did native dances, and the humans Mexican folk dances, and other than that, it was true to the original script.

Neil, who I think hasn’t ever seen a full-length Shakespeare play on stage before, loved it. There was the unrecreatable spirit of being in an audience, laughing along at the jokes, and the charming little imperfections, like King Oberon’s feathered crown, which kept slipping until he finally tossed it off stage dramatically. And the rudeness of the very bad Showgirls-good production of Pyramus and Thisbee, featuring a wall with its chink in an awkward location. We laughed and laughed, and after the play we laughed some more. Neil said it was far better than the stiff and serious movie productions, and (natually) more lively and imaginative than the play just as written. So hopefully we’ll get a chance to see some more Shakespeare comedies in the area this summer.

In March, we drove to LA in my new car to a really awful comic book convention. But the children got to see LA and I got one of my favorite new shirts there.

Then Peter went to Germany, to a comic book convention, just as gas prices climbed to an outrageous level that put me on a driving strike.

Human Computing moved into new offices downtown, which are ever so much nicer, and better located, than where he used to be, in the office building purchased by, er, Ray. I’m sure I mentioned the new offices are across from the basilica, and I didn’t get around to mentioning that the new office building management put up spectacular Christmas decorations, on a level to match those at Christmas in the Park.

Neil found a boy scout troop to join, and I officially became a homeschool teacher. At the beginning of the summer, Neil found some neighborhood friends, which lightened my concerns about his social life. Little did I know that by the end of the year, I’d be homeschooling my daughter, too.

I also saw the San Diego Comic-Con again for the first time in several years, took full geeky pleasure in seeing Jim Butcher and Steve Coogan, and managed to keep myself sane by taking it in in only small portions.

We took an epic cross-country journey which let us see friends and family, as well as see and understand our fellow countrymen, plus get to know some of our most important national monuments. While we were traveling, the economy apparently decided to go to hell. But at least we knew all our other countrymen were in the same situation, no matter their situation or philosophy.

I have to say that I never expected that the fallout from Happy Happy Lenderman would be as dramatic as it turned out to be. I figured the banks were eating their lending mistakes, but it turned out the whole mess gave them massive indigestion–and the rest of us have to pay up now, too.

Our presidential election went well, but I’m not as excited about our president-elect as some other people are. Frankly the over-the-top adoration of him creeped me out, and I see a ordinary (perhaps egotistical) man who’s facing a tough situation, with an awful lot of overly-high public expectations. This tongue-in-cheek article from the Onion probably encapsulated my view of Barack Obama’s victory best.

But I go into 2009 in good health, with my family, and with a good freelance writing gig. For myself, I know 2009 won’t be as exciting as 2008, but it should be a’right. I hope all my friends and family will have a great new year, and if there are any rough spots that they’ll sail through them quickly.

Kelly and I caught the tail end of the farmer’s market, and I always end up vowing to come earlier. Kelly loves tasting the samples, but by the time we get to the end and turn around to buy the best of the produce, the farmers are already packing up. I did get Peter out of the office to check out the Superlight exhibit. It was hit and miss. Some pieces, like one (especially commissioned for this show by the museum) of scrap technology and garbage turned into a room of eerie, blinky creatures was brilliant, and cleverly complemented other exhibits in the museum, like the Chihuly chadeliers and the robot exhibit. Others, like Dazed and Confused dubbed over by South Asians, maybe as a comment on outsourcing, was meh: I like foreign films and I’m used to Indian accents, so what’s it to me if the hero’s named Ramesh, not David? Kelly and I liked a mockumentary about a man who abandoned his real life to become a character in Second Life, but it only had two headphones to it, so we hogged it while others could only see the video. And one artist had come up with an awkward computer simulation of how all major cities will move to the North Pole because of global warming. All I could think was, “Wow, I would love for it to be warm enough so I could live at the North Pole,” and “Al Gore, is that you behind that pseudonym?”

I helped out at the office for a while, and when Peter had to work after hours, I took Kelly downstairs to listen to the jazz festival. It was seriously fenced off to anyone who hadn’t bought a wristband to get in, which sadly also meant we couldn’t check out the vendors’ booths. I’m not particularly into jazz, even though the festival seems to have a wide range of it. Kelly and I walked around the edge of the festival as far as we could go before it completely blocked off the sidewalk, and found some seats by the art museum. Kelly liked picking out the bongos of the first act, a latin jazz combo, but we left while the next act was setting up, because the area outside of the festival proper was attracting a rough looking crowd. Unfortunately, the playground near Adobe was also being blocked off for a different stage of the festival. Luckily, Peter was nearly done, and after having to actually drive around a road block behind his office, we headed home.

And I can’t escape Nirvana by switching to another station. One satellite station plays “deep alternative” meaning indie songs from the 80s to the current day. Nirvana is a staple on that station, too. I can turn to the “classic alternative” station, and guess what, they play Nirvana a lot, too! I fear that one day, I will tune in to the classical pops station and hear the London Symphony Orchestra doing an instrumental cover of “Rape Me,” and the channel programmer, just like the channel programmers on every other radio station, will find it so engrossing that it will have to be played every fifteen minutes. For all I know, Nirvana is also in heavy rotation on heavy metal, easy listening, top 40, and the Coldplay-all-the-time channel, too.

Normally, the death of the lead singer and the subsequent break up of the band means they’re over, but clearly, and especially in this day of band resurrections (i.e. INXS, Queen, multiple duelling versions of 60s bands), it takes stronger stuff to get rid of pernicious music. But I have a few ideas that might do it. If Barack Obama and/or John McCain chose “Smells Like Teen Spirit” for their campaign song (or better yet, if both chose it and then argued about which candidate is the more sincere Cobain fan), I might enjoy a less-Nirvana filled life. What if Madonna did a trance disco version of “Polly Wants a Cracker”  with a video for it showing her as the pied piper of naked African toddlers, or “Come As You Are” played for a widely-aired Viagra commercial, preferably starring, say, Nick Nolte? Do you think that might work?

OK, it won’t keep the London Symphony Orchestra from covering “All Apologies,” but maybe, just maybe, it might ruin the song enough so that Nirvana will only pop up once an hour on any station I listen to, instead of every ten minutes. Of course, I could just listen to my iPod with songs I like, but that limits my opportunity to hear songs I haven’t heard before (which supposedly would play on XM Ethel). What I’m really looking forward to is when I have a device, like Peter’s iphone, that can play Pandora (an internet radio station where you can skip over songs you don’t like) in my car.

Until then, excuse me: I need to send a suggestion to the campaigns of the major presidental candidates….

I haven’t really been in a going out to San Francisco mood ever since gas prices took a stratospheric jump, and I was even dragging my feet on this concert. I generally dislike having to see opening bands, and I remember many a show not even beginning until an hour after the scheduled show time. Peter reminded me I was still in a 90s frame of mind. I had to remind myself that this decade in music concerts in much better: the opening acts aren’t always an insult to the audience, and most shows start on time, instead of having the band you wanted to see finally appear 4 hours after the scheduled start.

The opening band (and there was only one) was Penelope Houston, whom I didn’t know, but whom Peter recognized vaguely as the lead singer from a seminal San Francisco punk band, The Avengers. By the time we arrived, she’d already gone on stage, and she surprised us both (pleasantly) with how amazingly good she was. She’s evolved into an alt-country singer with impressive musicianship both in herself and her band. And the lyrics were edgy, like these from one of my favorites among those I heard, Pale Green Girl. Penelope Houston’s playing a zither these days, and she kicks musical a**.

She was a good opener for Stan Ridgway, who opened with “Factory” and joked that he was going to bring us all those feel-good songs of the New Wave era. He followed that up with his film noir song “Peg and Pete and Me,” which is still going through my head. The show followed that vein throughout the night, with Stan Ridgway occasionally singing out “Walking on Sunshine” to remind us that there was never anything frothy about his songs. Unfortunately, though Peter’s been seeing Stan Ridgway since the late 80s, I’d only seen him once before when he played at Slim’s in 2006. I had to ask Peter if Ridgway had always been as quirky as he was on stage, and Peter said he’s pretty much been the same kind of guy, but his fans are getting a little more eccentric (us included, probably.) It seems to be a tradition for someone (or perhaps a tradition for a small group of fans) to send Stan vodka martinis. Does this only happen in San Francisco, or does he get vodka martinis all over the world? He received three drinks while he was performing, though he only had time to take a polite sip from each.

This show was set up with chairs and tables for the audience, which was a surprise, since I’m used to open venues in which I’m shoved about near the front of the stage. But the Great American Music Hall is a small venue, so even seated, the show had a pleasant, intimate feel, and the people who wanted to dance just gathered on either side of the stage. And as I said, the acoustics were great: I could hear both Stan Ridgway and Penelope Houston clearly, and I’m used to having to decipher lyrics through garbled sound.

So in all, the concert turned out to be even better than I expected: it was a nice crowd, an intimate feel, great acoustics, and even a worthy opening act.

In a way, the outdoor concerts are nicer for families than a symphony hall. If you come early enough, you can sit where you want, and if you just want to enjoy the music and not sit at all, you can hear it throughout the park. Like us, most people brought a picnic to enjoy with the music.

I enjoyed the conductor for this concert, James Gaffigan, because he was less restrained than the conductor at the last concert. I liked that because when music is played well, it’s passionate, and it should move you. In fact, it seems a little wrong to stick people in seats and expect them to sit quietly and hold their applause when they’re listening to music with such drama. My father would play maniac conductor to Schumann music and my cousin would dance to Mozart (at home, not in concert halls), and at most of the concerts Peter and I go to, the musicians are happy to see their fans dancing. But then, I’m an uncivilized, untutored music fan, and my end of the family’s no better. To wit, the audio system was playing Tchaikovsky before the show, and Kelly joined some boys and danced to it:

When the orchestra took the stage, we made her sit down and be quiet, and she complained about being bored, even though two of the pieces were from Tchaikovsky’s Symphony Number 4.

My favorite of all the selections was the opening piece, the overture to La forza del destino by Joe Green, the Opera Machine, a.k.a Giuseppi Verdi. it’s just the sort of cheesy melodrama completely devoid of subtlety that I love in my classical music. It made me want to get on a horse and do a swordfight. But then it was over. Next the symphony took us in a different direction with Dvorak’s Allegro con fuoco from Symphony Number 9. And last, as I mentioned before, there were two selections from Tchaikovsky’s Symphony Number 4: really pretty pieces (duh, Tchaikovsky) that highlighted the different sections of the symphony. Peter enjoyed this feature especially. I think the bassoonist rocked it, but ok, I’m just being crude and uncultured again, I guess (though he did rock it).

As before, it was highly appreciated and well received by the culture vultures of San Jose: the symphony received standing ovations after every piece. Here is the conductor and the violin section of the symphony taking one of their bows in front of the crowd:

Peter had discovered that his camera was missing its card, but also that a new video camera he’d just bought was in his backpack. So, mostly to check the camera’s audio quality, he recorded some of the concert (there weren’t any signs forbidding it). As it turns out, video taping the concert was not allowed, so afterwards, someone from the symphony politely but firmly made sure Peter erased the tapings. I just gushed on about how delighted I’d been to see the symphony again. I entered the drawing to win free concert tickets, but I think my odds of winning are slim, given all the other fans who dearly wanted them, too. So I hope we’ll be lucky to see the orchestra in the park again sometime in San Jose.

Socialist realist imagery! Zombie Stalins! Super Conan the Barbarian Gorbachov! Russian folk music interlude! Conspicuous consumer glee! Tacky sexual innuendo! It’d be even better if the Russian singers were singing it in Russian, but at least this way you can enjoy it, too:

GORBACHOV: THE MUSIC VIDEO – BIGGER AND RUSSIANER from Tom Stern on Vimeo.

Here’s the band’s MySpace page.

1) “Let’s All Dance to Joy Division” by the Wombats. I’m so happy this song has finally hit American radio. Come on, everyone, let’s all dance to Joy Division! Whoo, they’re so fun!

2) Symphonie Fantastique, Fifth Movement by Hector Berlioz. I swear, I am not being some classic music snob by this choice. My music appreciation teacher turned me on to this symphony in the first place, and now I’m revisiting it, thanks to the Fundamentals of Music Course I’m making Neil listen to. From thecol legno bouncing of bows on violins to mimic the sounds of dancing skeletons in a graveyard and the distorted Dies Arie as sung by ghosts, it’s a goth fest. And it has all the over-sentimental drama I love in my favorite classical composers. Turns out Neil loves it too. In short, la Symphonie Fantastique rocks.

3) “Do the Panic” by Phantom Planet. I can’t explain why I like this band, but I just have since their first album. This, like other of their best songs, is insipid, yet deep, with that inexplicable Californian cool. As soon as I heard it, I had to download it.

4) “Santa Monica” by Everclear. It’s a summer song. It’s about going to the beach to escape your woes! It’s Everclear. What more do I need to say?

5) “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell. I was at a party yesterday and some sixteen year olds were singing the song amongst themselves. I said, “I know that song. OMG, it’s so totally 80s!” And then we all looked at each other and were totally mortified.

6) “Viva La Vida” by Coldplay. I loathe Coldplay. Specifically, I loathe Chris Martin, because he is so incredibly P.C. and pathetically sincere. But it caught my attention with “the king is dead, long live the king,” and the whole (maybe) tie-in to medieval history. So I love hearing it, but I still reserve the right to hate Coldplay.

7) “No Handlebars” by The Flobots. I thought of it as a Spring song, because it was in heavy rotation then. But now that Neil and Kelly are singing “I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars” as we’re walking to the bus (or light rail) stop, it’s definitely a summer song. Ironic, though, that they’re singing about biking as they’re walking. Wishful singing?