Terry Teachout's Blog, page 101

TT: Snapshot

"To Hear Your Banjo Play," a 1947 film short by Alan Lomax, narrated by Pete Seeger:



(This is the latest in a series of arts-related videos that appear in this space each Monday and Wednesday.)

TT: Almanac

"The rule is perfect: in all matters of opinion our adversaries are insane."

Mark Twain, "Christian Science"

CD

Maria Bachmann and Adam Neiman, French Fantasy (Bridge). Sensitive yet bracingly incisive performances of sonatas by Franck, Saint-Saëns (the D Minor, familiar to Proustians as the model for the "sonate de Vinteuil"), and Debussy, with a lovely performance of Jascha Heifetz's violin-and-piano arrangement of Debussy's "Beau Soir" thrown in for good measure. Bachmann , who doubles as the violinist of Trio Solisti , is one of the outstanding soloists of her generation, and Neiman is no mere "accompanist" but a sonata partner of impeccable authority. This one's a winner (TT).

TT: Lookback

From 2003:

I just got back from Sotheby's, where I failed to bring home the bacon--an exquisite 1931 etching by Giorgio Morandi on which I bid unsuccessfully this afternoon--but had an exhilarating, educational, and slightly scary time anyway.

Sotheby's New York is near the eastern end of 72nd Street. As soon as I got there, I went straight to the seventh floor, where I registered and was given a numbered paddle, which you need in order to place bids. (No, you can't accidentally buy a million-dollar painting by scratching your nose at the wrong moment, unless you're dumb enough to scratch it with the paddle.) Much to my surprise, all I had to do was show a photo ID. I wasn't asked to furnish proof of solvency. Had I wanted, I could have bankrupted myself several times over, and no one would have been the wiser until it came time to settle the tab....

Read the whole thing here .

TT: Almanac

"He had only one vanity; he thought he could give advice better than any other person."

Mark Twain, "The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg"

TT: Up and down, up and down

On Monday I flew from Tampa to New York, where the weather is demoralizingly gray and soggy, with no prospects for immediate improvement. I staggered out of the plane, looked at the fog, and felt my spirits sink. Then I went into the terminal, booted up my laptop, checked my e-mail, and discovered that Bill Shinker, the man who runs Gotham Books, my new publisher, read the manuscript of Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington over the weekend and loved it. Modesty forbids my quoting Bill directly, but suffice it to say that his note made me forget about the weather.

I'm not done with Duke yet. The manuscript is now being copyedited, and I'm giving it a second editorial pass myself. I also have to finish choosing the photographs that will appear in the book (and obtain permission to reprint them, which is a horrendous chore). Nevertheless, the boss likes it, and that's what matters most.

TT: Almanac

"As I slowly grow wise I briskly grow cautious."

Mark Twain, "English as She Is Taught"

TT: Just because

A rare 1973 interview with Katherine Anne Porter:



(This is the latest in a series of arts-related videos that appear in this space each Monday and Wednesday.)

TT: Getting there

On Monday afternoon I'll be returning to New York after a month and a half on the road. During that time I drove all over Florida and saw seven shows there, flew up to New York and back twice to see four more shows and give a ten-minute speech, finished writing and editing Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington and sent the manuscript off to Gotham Books, and saw the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico a dozen times. It was warm--mostly--but it wasn't a vacation, not even slightly. I can't remember the last time I took one of those.

My traveling days are now officially over until the end of April. Except for occasional weekend jaunts to Connecticut and a fast trip to Rhode Island to see a rare American revival of a play by Eugène Ionesco, I'll be totally preoccupied with theater in New York. That's all right with me: I'm going to miss Florida, which I've grown to love in recent years, but I'm tired of living out of a pair of suitcases, and I like the idea of sleeping in my own bed again.

Home, however, is where Mrs. T is, so I'm not really coming home today. She'll be spending an additional week in Florida with family, then flying to Los Angeles to visit friends and stay warm. I won't be seeing her again until March.

I'm glad I missed the blizzard. I seem to have lost my taste for snow, and to some extent for New York City as well. Fortunately, I still love a great many people who live there, and I wouldn't want to be without the theater district, not to mention the other cultural institutions that are for me the whole point of living in Manhattan. That said, I'm definitely feeling a bit disoriented these days, not wholly satisfied with the present and unsure of the future.

It could be that I'm suffering from a mild case of the postpartum depression that has been known to assault writers who've just finished a long and demanding book. It could also be that returning to my New York apartment will restore the sense of stability that has lately deserted me. I've always have a way of feeling at home wherever I am--which is, I suppose, another way of saying that I don't feel entirely at home anywhere.

So...what now? As soon as I empty my bags, I'll let you know.

TT: At least a thousand words

I'm now assembling and obtaining permission to reprint the photographs that I plan to include in Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington. I recently ran across this "image" (as we say in the publishing business) in the course of my research. Nothing that I could possibly say about it would be as eloquent as the thing itself.

If you want to understand what Ellington's life as an American artist was like, this explains a good-sized chunk of it.