For the last several elections—federal, provincial, and civic—I have lived in various apartments around the city. I have always assumed that this was the reason that I never had political candidates coming to my home to speak to me.
Until this past Monday, I had always thought that the candidates were simply not able to gain access to apartment buildings, either because the landlords/managers wouldn’t buzz them in, or because of some weird bylaw prohibiting canvassing in multi-family dwellings.
Of course, there is also the possibility that I’ve just never been home when the candidates have come knocking. I don’t buy that excuse, though, because when I lived with my parents, the candidates would always leave a note on the door or in the mailbox saying something like, “I’m sorry I missed you. Here is an outline of my platform.”
Because I have never received a notice like this at any of my apartments, I assumed, as I said, that it was—for whatever reason—not possible for political candidates to visit voters who lived in apartment buildings. On Monday, I realized that I was wrong.
There was a knock on my door Monday night and, having not got a call from the front buzzer, I assumed that it was just the building manager coming to tell me something. Working on this assumption, I didn’t bother to check the peephole, and so I was quite surprised to find two strangers standing at my door.
They were volunteers from NDP candidate Deron Bilous‘ campaign. They greeted me politely, told me who they were, and talked a bit about Deron’s campaign. They talked about who he is as an individual, and asked me if I had decided who I was voting for, and if I had considered voting for Deron.
I answered their questions, chatted with them briefly, took the pamphlet they gave me, and closed the door.
I wondered, after that encounter, why haven’t any other candidates (or their representatives) ever come to my door? Where is Liberal incumbent Laurie Blakeman? Where is PC candidate Bill Donahue? Where are the candidates from the Green Party, the Wildrose Alliance, and any other parties that might have candidates nominated in Edmonton-Centre?
At the very least, I would have liked to have seen a note slipped under my door from the other candidates saying, “Sorry we missed you…” At least that would have indicated that they attempted to come and speak with me.
Through the simple act of knocking on my door and talking to me about my concerns, and about his platform (albeit by proxy, through his volunteers) Deron Bilous gained a huge amount of respect from me. I was already leaning toward voting for him (there, I finally came clean), and that simple act of having someone from his camp speak to me in person really helped sway my vote.
There are still a few days left in the campaign, so the other candidates’ camps may yet stop by, but I’m not holding my breath at this point. I’m still not certain who I’m going to vote for, so by actually stopping by and talking to me, the other candidates may yet be able to earn my vote. If they don’t, it’ll be a lot harder to convince me not to vote for Deron Bilous.
And now, for the final piece(s) of the night, Duke Ellington’s arrangement of a suite from Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker.
Jazz…and The Nutcracker. I’ve never heard this arrangement before, but I’ve got to say I’m loving it. It’s a great twist on pieces that, while great in their own right, can sometimes feel tiresome after hearing them every year when the holidays roll ’round.
It’s funny, like most people, I have some familiarity with The Nutcracker (though, I admit, I’m not a huge fan, so I’m hardly an expert), but I’m having some trouble recognizing the different songs. I mean, I know they’re from The Nutcracker, and I know that I recognize them, but…well…I don’t recognize them.
I realize, of course, just how little sense that phrase makes, but hopefully you’re able to decode my cryptic ramblings and get some sense of what I’m trying to say.
Obviously, I’m not allowed to record this evening’s performance, but I’m sure you can find a version of the Ellington arrangement of The Nutcracker online somewhere. I highly recommend it.
Ah…here’s one I recognize. “Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies,” or, as Ellington’s version is called, “Dance of the Sugar Rum Cherry.” If you’d have told me before tonight that I would ever be using the word “sexy” to describe “Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies,” I’d have called you a liar, but there is some definite sexiness coming from the horn section right now.
And now: “March” (known tonight as “Peanut Brittle Brigade”. Another instantly recognizable yet totally unexpected version of a song that almost everyone in the Western world knows. I can’t say that I disapprove of this version.
Really, this entire Ellington suite has been very cool. It’s very different from the traditional versions, of course, but that’s the beauty of it. I really do recommend looking for a version of it online, or picking up a record if you can find one. You’ll thank me later.
And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is #5.
Note: I’ll probably go through and edit these posts sometime tomorrow, and toss up some afterthoughts, so make sure to check out River City Writer again tomorrow.
And, we’re back… with “Dreaming of the Masters II- Rhapsody GEB,” which was written by Allan Gilliland especially for Eddins, who is conducting and playing the piano. Impressive. And on top of that, he appears to be playing without reading any music. Extra impressive.
Unfortunately, we’re having a moment of technical difficulties—the sound system in the room isn’t working—so I can’t tell just how impressive it truly is. This room is quiet soundproof. We’re able to hear some of the louder parts…and, there we go. We’ve got sound again.
Seriously…conducting and playing the piano? I’ve never seen that before. I don’t want to call it gimmicky, because it’s really not, and he’s doing a good job of it, but it’s so usual that I really don’t know what else to say about this piece.
Let’s start with this: it’s beautiful. I love jazz piano, and this is jazz with an orchestra. It’s got all the playfulness of jazz, with the power of the symphony. Very cool. I’m not even sure what to call this. It’s not jazz, but it’s definitely got elements of jazz to it.
Whatever it is, it’s an enchanting piece of music. It reminds me of the ocean…East Coast ocean, with large waves crashing against cliffs on a grey day. Except, it’s happening in slow motion. And in silence. And in black and white. The music is the soundtrack to a silent movie whose core emotion I can’t quite pin down.
In the midst of this, there is a moment of high energy. We’re in a dance hall or a ballroom somewhere. We’re in the same film, but now there is colour. Are we in the same location? Is this dance hall in a town on Canada’s east coast, or somewhere in New England?
We’re taken back outside for a brief moment before something dark and sinister creeps in. Violence? No. There’s a playful note underneath this seemingly dark section. It’s audible in the music, and visible in the way that Eddins is moving and interacting with the musicians he’s leading.
Still, something here is not quite kosher. There is a tension. Is it a fight? Is it tension between lovers? Whatever it is, we’ve hit the big jazz number. This could be a playful dance between two strong characters, or it could be the lead-up to a fight between two rivals.
And…wow…let’s call that #4 with a bang! If I wasn’t in this room, I might even been standing with the few people who are giving a standing ovation.
I’m fascinated by the percussion section in orchestras, particularly the guys who seem to only perform a few notes all night. There is strange sort of nobility about getting dressed-up in a tux, only to sit still at the back of orchestra for most of the night, waiting for your 30 seconds of drum-pounding glory.
This especially true when one considers that, if they’re doing their job right, you likely won’t even notice those 30 seconds. Or, rather, they won’t stand out as anything other than a seamless part of the whole performance. And, yet, without them, something would be noticeably amiss.
Ladies and gentlemen, Bill Eddins has left the stage. And he has returned with a microphone. With rock star panache, he does the whole, “How are you doing out there?” Weak applause are followed by what is essentially an, “I can’t hear you!” Louder applause…
Eddin’s between-song banter proves again the man’s sense of humour, and ability to make classical music accessible to everyone. (Note to the purists: Yes, I’m using “classical” as a broad-sweeping term to cover a wide array of “art music,” which is not necessarily classical music in the technical sense of the term. Deal with it.)
And now…a piece from what may be the quintessential American opera—Porgy and Bess.
I admit, I have absolutely no knowledge of this song. Hell, I has essentially no knowledge of opera. I respect it as an art form, but I often find that those who perform it almost have too much respect for the music. Rarely do they take risks with it. Rarely do they approach old operas from new angles.
There’s something to be said for purity in art, and I would never suggest that we abandon the traditional versions of our great works of art—opera, theatre, film, whatever—but as society changes and moves forward through history, it would be nice to see how our current sensibilities affect our approach to older forms of “high art” such as the opera.
Of course, having about as much knowledge of opera as the chair I’m sitting on, I has no way of knowing whether Eddins and the ESO are taking any risks with this performance. (I realize that this makes my whole tangent about taking risks with opera a bit ignorant, but I stand by it nonetheless.)
Suddenly, we hit a sequence that rings familiar in my ears. I have heard this song before…or at least something inspired by it (or which inspired it?). I can’t place it, but I’ve got Google and Wikipedia for after the show. I’ll inform myself as best I can and, if I figure it out, I’ll report back.
And with the end of that piece, we’ll call this “Dispatch #2.”
Afterthought: I’m hearing the word “musical” tossed about in blogger’s room. Is it a musical or an opera? Proof of my ignorance, I suppose.
The crowd shuffles in. A letter from the mayor regarding ESO conductor Bill Eddins’ tendency to shake his ass while conducting is read. It is, of course, a letter praising what Eddins has done for music in Edmonton (which is that he’s made it more vibrant that ever). Laughter ensues.
Eddins himself walks out. Applause. And we’re into the first piece of the evening.
West Side Story…complete with finger-snapping, but minus the highly-trained dancing gang members. I’ve got to say, I much prefer this symphonic version to the campy musical theatre version of the song, but it does feel weird to have no pirouetting Sharks and Jets stabbing each other with perfect choreography as the song reaches one of it’s dramatic peaks.
Suggestion: split the symphony in half. One side, the Sharks; the other side, the Jets. Knives replaced with cellos and trombones. It’d be a musical disaster, but it might do something to get Edmontonians more interested in the symphony.
Of course, I’m kidding. Despite what the cynics will tell you, Edmonton is an art’s city. From up here in the press box, I can see that most of the seats are filled. This city does love it’s symphony (a little too much, perhaps, given our inclination to every performance and standing ovation).
For those who’ve never seen or heard the ESO perform, the good things people tend to say about them are true. If you have any doubt about their ability to draw a crowd into the music, come to the Winspear and get a seat in one of the balconies. You’ll see the way people lean forward in their seats, even before the first piece is finished, to catch every note.
Even folks like me, who have a rather short attention span, will be completely enraptured and taken in my the quality of the performance (and the famous Winspear acoustics). Even as I try to write this blog entry, I find myself drawn into the music, distracted from the glowing screen in front of me. Given that I may have a minor case of “Internet addiction,” this is no small feat.
And, as this symphonic gang fight wraps up, let’s call that “Dispatch #1.”
Just a quick reminder that tonight is Blog Night @ the ESO. This means that journalist-bloggers Elizabeth Withey and Todd Babiak, as well as 3 random Edmonton bloggers—Eric Mulder, Darlene Hildebrandt, and me—will be blogging about tonight’s ESO performance. There was supposed to be a 4th person, but the Journal hasn’t linked to any other blogs at the time of writing this post, so I’m assuming that there won’t be a 4th citizen journalist type person after all.
So, if you’re not already going to be attending the tonight’s performance, and if you have nothing better to do on a Friday night that to live vicariously through other people’s blogs, please keep your eyes on the 5 blogs listed above.
If, on the other hand, you do have something better to do, feel free to go and do it. It’s absolutely beautiful outside, and these blogs things apparently get etched onto one of the tubes that make up the internet for all eternity. Basically, even if I delete this, you can still find it if you look hard enough (unless I manage to be faster than Google).
The point is this: I will be blogging live from the ESO tonight, as will 4 other people. If you’ve got nothing better to do, read our reports as they come in. If you do have better things to do, well, read our reports later. Either way, read our reports. We writers are a sensitive lot and it makes us feel sad when no one bothers to read the dreck we publish.
I watched the debate between the party leaders this evening, and couldn’t help but laugh at most of it. I mean, it was classic schoolyard bull-crap.
Admittedly, after the first portion of the debate, they (mostly) stopped trying to talk over top of one another. Perhaps Lynda Steele gave them a stern talking to during the break.
For many people, the leadership debate likely helped them decide who to vote for, if they hadn’t already decided. For me, the opposite is true.
Until tonight, I was about 99% sure of who I was going to vote for. After watching the debate, I’m not sure his party is the best choice for Alberta.
I still think the person in question (again, I won’t name him, because I’m trying to keep the blog semi-neutral) is the best candidate for my riding. But, I know that voting for the party, rather than the candidate, is often the more sensible and pragmatic thing to do.
The candidate is, in my opinion, the best one for the job. But, the party? I honestly don’t think so.
What about you? Did watching the debate help you make your decision, or are you still undecided who you’re going to vote for on March 3, 2008?
If you’re constantly looking for new places to eat in Edmonton, you might be interested in a Facebook group I came across today, known as “The find a place to eat group.” You’ll need to have a Facebook account to view/join the group.
If you don’t want to join yet another Facebook group, just keep an eye on the Edmonton Restaurant Guide, as I’ll likely be using this group as a way of finding new restaurants to review and add to the guide.
A few weeks ago, I entered a contest which I subsequently forgot about. The prize, as it were, is a pair of tickets to the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra (ESO) on February 22, 2008.
But, that’s not all. The deal is that the winners will live blog the performance. I figured that River City Writer would be a perfect blog for this sort of thing.
Evidently, the ESO agreed, as I got a call a few minutes ago informing me that I’ve been chosen to be one of bloggers for this event.
This is very cool. I get free tickets to the symphony, free food and drinks while I’m at the show, an opportunity to meet conductor Bill Eddins (who will also be on piano for this performance), as well as some of the other musicians who’ll be involved.
On top of that, my review of the show will be featured on www.edmontonjournal.com.
As you can imagine, I’m pretty pumped about this. This is the sort of thing I want to be able to do with this blog. But, ticket prices often keep me away from events like this (plus, normally, you can’t blog during a performance).
So, keep your eye to River City Writer on the evening of Friday, February 22, and you’ll get as close to being at the symphony as you possibly can be (without actually being there, of course).
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