cyntillating sounds: w

a column on the state of classics

It ain't over 'til it's over

Upon entering the music temple in Palm Beach (Florida) more fondly and rightfully

known as The Kravis Center for the Performing Arts, one quickly sees a sign of

Etiquette and Rules hanging on the lobby’s wall. Rule numero uno is: It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.

Well we used to joke as students that the opera was certainly never over

‘til the fat lady had sung. Not quite knowing what to make of the Etiquette as read,

and fascinated by the Palm Beach ‘beauties’ quickly filling the really large hall,

we found our seats and prepared ourselves for an evening with Bob Lappin conducting

the Palm Beach Pops in a tribute to two American Songbook legends,

crooner Dean Martin and nightclub icon Bobby Darin. The PB Pops,

unlike their renowned namesake in Boston, is a really small orchestra,

bumped up by varying degrees of amplification, and consisting of various

degrees of musicianship, this we quickly realized.

The Alpha: a dedicated and inspired all rounder, Concertmaster Mary Rowell,

who we better know in her avant garde and totally funky string quartet Ethel,

and a smooth as silk sax player Jimmy Haywood, was here paired with Omega:

the wobbly and quirky Maestro Lappin himself (Roger Rabbit to intimates).

These particular pops have potential but are maimed not only by the lack of

etiquette of their Palm Beach public who we as dead an audience as a frozen tuna

until just before it was time to get the car, but by a total lack of professionalism

and inspiration from their Maestro. Lappin leads the group not only with a baton

and from behind the piano, but obviously with an iron hand on the cash register.

Rehearsals, we are doomed to assume, are few and not very sweet.

The American Songbook, actually a misnomer for a great orchestral and vocal

tradition dating back to the thirties and continuing with vigour up until

the rocking sixties, is challenging music, deceptively so considering the laid

back professionalism of its icons which certainly include both Martin and Darrin.

And the Songbook did survive last evening in Palm Beach, barely, despite

Roger Rabbit’s badly timed and repetitive pianistic clichés in which he mostly hit white keys…,

his hopelessly lost baton technique, and, worse of all, his endless ad libs into the microphone.

Every time he opened his mouth after a medley, what magic there was, vanished

instantaneously into an endless stream of thanks to specific sponsors

(who also filled page upon page of the colorful program book)

and acknowledgements of specific musicians who were, of course,

as he had chosen them, no less than ‘the best in the world’.

After the intermission (when we had found our drinks already served and waiting for us

with our name scribbled on an accompanying napkin at the bar: how creative!),

things thankfully improved. Enter Michael Andrew, a professional, musical,

entertaining and attractive crooner anno 2009. Now we’re talking!

Catch Andrew whenever you can, certainly when he performs with his own orchestra

as opposed to these pop tart pops in Palm Beach: his is a class act without doubt.

It would be easy to condemn the concert as something that does more harm than

good for all things musical. Yet the PB Pops has an education program,

reaching out to schools and paying for it themselves, laudable in these days

of shrinking arts funding and abominable American arts education.

So complete condemnation is not suitable.

Yet we left the hall, later than most: yes indeed, many leaving before it was

really over despite a well performed encore… rather despondent.

The state of the musical arts in this conclave of educated, well to do

Americans wintering in the Florida sun is ‘challenged’. They deserve better,

they should want more certainly when paying high ticket prices.

So please, Maestro Rabbit, appreciate a career that is, for whatever its worth,

more than over, and leave your well deserved legacy in tack for your public

as well as the next generation, the likes of Rowell and Andrew for instance.

Step down, step back, and save what could be a chance for a dedicated

well healed audience to really enjoy the true beauty of the American Songbook

which is a treasure to be cherished, not misused. It’s over Roger!

cyntillating sounds: w

It ain't over 'til it's over

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