Laurel Massé

the Sounds of Christmas

This weekend's storms have stripped the leaves from the tree outside my window, leaves that had stubbornly remained green weeks after every other leaf in town had turned gold, red, or brown, and then had been equally adamant about resisting gravity. This morning, though, light filters to my windows through a lacy network of bare branches.

I am home sick abed, felled by the Grande Dame of All Colds. Sore-throated, fuzzy-headed, sniffling and coughing, and not at all glamourous, I have not been this ill in a long time. My apartment is a TV-Free zone, so I am alternating drowsing with attempts to read and listen to music. Yesterday was Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent. Gaudete means rejoice, and I think I can stop some of my grumbling about premature Christmas music long enough to suggest some of my favorite Christmas rejoicing music to you all. It's not a long list, just my favorites.

The Sounds of Christmas, a long out-of-print Fred Waring recording, is a lovely collage of Christmas music that gives the impression of walking through a town where there are carollers on every corner. The first singing voice you hear on the recording, and the last, is that of my grandfather, Leonard Kranendonk. A more beautiful baritone cannot be imagined. I miss him.

Now is the Caroling Season and Caroling, Caroling, also Fred Waring. These are both available on CD. The singing is gorgeous and joyful, the diction unaffected yet all the words are completely understandable. Choir and other vocal ensemble directors, take note!

On Yoolis Night, by Anonymous4. Medieval carols and motets sung flawlessly, with soprano Ruth Cunningham's pure soaring voice lifting the listener to bliss.

He Is Christmas, Take Six. The perfect balance to the preceding recording, this acapella joy-fest is grounded in the body, and one must dance. Must!

Of course the Manhattan Transfer has done some lovely holiday recordings, too: The Christmas Album and  An Acapella Christmas.

Little Women, the fim soundtrack by Thomas Newman. One of my yearly rituals is the re-reading of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, a book I have been devoted to since I first read it when I was about 7. More than anything, I wanted to grow up to be Jo March. This novel has been adapted for film four times so far, once in 1918 as a silent, once in 1933 (Katherine Hepburn portayed Jo), and again in 1949 (my least favorite. June Allyson as Jo? I think not. Elizabeth Taylor as Amy? The mind reels.) My favorite of all these is director Gillian Armstrong's 1994 version, starring Winona Ryder as Jo and Susan Sarandon as Marmee - you can read more about this on the IMDB site. Thomas Newman's score is evocative and supportive and beautiful. Why is this on my Christmas list? Because the book opens at Christmas time, and as originally planned by Alcott, closes on the following Christmas (what we now know as Little Women was originally two books,Little Women and Good Wives), and so for me it has been part of my Christmas for ... hmmm... a few years.

Though at this moment I feel like I am going to be coughing all the rest of my natural life (you know that feeling!), I think that next year I will be able to add one more Christmas collection to the list: my own, which I am hoping to record in 2008.

But for now, more tea. I continue to wish you all a blessed Advent.

 

Upcoming dates

After many years away from the New York cabaret/club/listening room/boite scenes, I have just been booked for a four-night run at The Metropolitan Room, a lovely new venue in Chelsea. Intimate setting, great sound, real lights, and a fine piano in a really pretty room. I am thrilled - the booking is December 28 through 31, with a special show on the last night to celebrate New Year's Eve. My birthday falls in the middle, on the 29th. I am rather hoping you all will come and sing "Happy Birthday" to me. Tex Arnold will be accompanying me on piano; together we are working up quite a lot of new material for this date.

It is bliss to do several nights in a row at the same venue. I remember (and miss) the long runs of three to six weeks that used to be more common. They were part of what made the early Manhattan Transfer so fine. Every night you can explore and experiment within the music, hone and refine your performance of the night before, and get better and better and better.This is a most compelling and addictive aspect of being an actively working artist.

There is a great line in the film Babette's Feast that I think of often: "Throughout the world sounds one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me the chance to do my very best". The line always moves me to tears, as it is absolutely true. Most of the tiime we are trying to do our best "in spite of". In spite of an out-of-tune piano. In spite of a lousy sound system. In spite of a moody side-man, or nasty promoter. All difficulties to be surmounted so that, as much as is possible, the audience does not see the struggles. Every once in a very great while, there is nothing in the way, and then, and then!  At The Metropolitan Room, I may be set up to do my best. Can't wait.

By the way, if you have never seen Babette's Feast, you must rent it. It is one of my favorite films, with one of my favorite actresses, Stéphane Audran in the title role. It is about abundance and generosity, art and food, and go see for yourself!