You can't go home again

The best testament to the talent of Richard and Karen Carpenter was evident by what did not happen at the Knoxville Civic Auditorium last night during the KSO Pops presentation of "Yesterday Once More: A Tribute to the Music of The Carpenters."

There was no magic moment.

I didn't go to the concert expecting The Carpenters to appear out of the mists of time and channel themselves through the talent of the KSO Pops and vocalists Jen Burleigh-Bentz, Joanna Jahn and John Trones.

But I did expect it to be in the ballpark.

You can't blame it on the KSO Pops. The orchestra was simply superb.

You can't blame it on the sound snafus that marred much of the performance. These things happen. Ask anyone who has ever stepped on a stage.

But you can blame it on curious arrangements and puzzling song choices selected for each performer.

Some of the fault must lie with pianist Jim Brickman, who produced and arranged this production. Blame the rest on the fact that Richard and Karen's supernova shines so brightly that maybe this kind of tribute is a bad idea.

The first question, asked aloud by me and others: Where were the horns?

Oh, they were up there on the stage. The musicians were doing fine. The problem is the arranger, apparently Brickman, did not give them much to do.

If you've ever listened to a Carpenters record you'll know what I mean. Horns were missing during key moments of, for example, "Love is Surrender" and Leon Russell's "Superstar." Nobody sings like Karen Carpenter. We know that. But why in the bloody hell would anybody mess with Richard's arrangements?

The second question, asked aloud by me: Why wasn't the piano prominent in the mix? That, too, is a Carpenters trademark. Did it have to do with the sound snafus? Or was this, too, Brickman's mistake? I know the pianist was front-and-center, doing the job. I saw that with my own two eyes.

The third question, perhaps a personal pet peeve, is why were certain songs given to the wrong performer?

Pay attention to this: Bentz, Jahn and Trones deserve medals for keeping alive the cliche "The show must go on."

They didn't flinch due to the sound snafus or the fact that their microphones either didn't work or weren't mixed properly for much of the first act.

But, why, for example, was Trones picked to sing "(They Long To Be) Close to You"? It's a song meant to be interpreted by a woman singer and his version didn't work. His vocals fit much more comfortably into "I Just Fall in Love Again," but, again, that's a woman singer's song. Anne Murray and Ava Barber both did it better.

Why did Bentz begin "Please Mr. Postman" so bizarrely? Making it randy? Really? A Carpenters song?

Is this all Brickman's fault?

Whoever told conductor James Fellenbaum not to play the overture or entr'acte to make up for the show's sound-plagued time delay also made a mistake. We came to hear the KSO. No one was in that big a hurry.

"What would that have taken?" a woman next to me asked. "Ten more minutes?"

(Speaking of that, I didn't pay those kind of ticket prices to hear the foursome sitting behind Jenn and me talk throughout most of the concert. Show respect or stay home.)

The grand finale was an uninspired version of "Sing." Not much heart; no children's choir. After the lights went up, several of us just sat there.

"Is that it?" somebody asked.

If you've ever chuckled at The Carpenters you're showing your musical ignorance. Karen's singing was sublime; Richard's arrangements were exquisite.

Trying to re-create The Carpenters, even in tribute, without, well, The Carpenters, just isn't going to work. It's impossible.

As the couple beside me headed for the exits, the woman turned and said, "This just makes you want to go home and turn up all of The Carpenters' vinyl records."

She was right. No magic moment. The closest classic was "Top of the World." Jahn is a fantastic vocalist and came as close to hitting Karen's low register and carefully-timed phrasing as we're going to get.

Don't blame the KSO. Don't blame the featured performers. And, please, don't blame the sound snafus.

But I do have a few questions for Jim Brickman.

And I guess, unlike my satisfying return this weekend to "Dark Shadows," when it comes redoing The Carpenters without The Carpenters, you can't go home again.

Funny how the raindrops don't make a sound...

OK, I should apologize to my friend and favorite singer Robinella for paraphrasing her original tune "Teardrops" in my title. But it always comes to mind whenever I hear this Chopin prelude.

It's 2 a.m. and, as usual, I can't wind down. Have this problem every night anymore. I hate to take sleeping pills, or drink one of the cliched sleep-inducing beverages, or smoke a puff or two on my pipe, to try to relax.

I did all of those tonight. Nothing worked.

So, I'm sitting in the chair in my home office, feet up on the ottoman, listening to "Raindrop" -- Chopin's Prelude Op. 28/15 in D Flat Major. It's heartbreaking and sweet, which is why it made me think of that Robinella song I love.

Don't know much about classical music. Well, other than the basics and what any audiophile picks up here and there.

My dear friends Dean and Allison Harned and I have gone to hear the Knoxville Symphony a time or two over the last couple of years. It's been both an education and a grand experience. There is something almost spiritual about live music. (I recommend the KSO's Sunday Chamber concerts.)

The liner notes in this CD say that Chopin predominantly wrote pieces designed for the solo piano. Then it offers a description that gives a hint as to one reason why I have always been attracted to his work.

"Chopin's gift was emotion rather than intellect, instinct rather than analysis."

It reminds me of something former Shopper music critic Amanda Mohney once told me.

"You're a 'Kind of Blue' kind of guy," she said. "I prefer 'Bitches Brew.'"

She was referring to two classic Miles Davis albums. The former is emotional and tugs at your heart; the latter is experimental and appeals to the intellect. Amanda must be quite observant -- either that or I am an open book. Nine times out of 10, my initial response to something is usually with the heart rather than the head.

It doesn't appear that Chopin was afflicted with the artists' disease. Which was good to hear for a change. Apparently he died on the same day as Edgar Allen Poe. Who knew?

I'm beginning to feel a little more mellow, listening to Chopin's falling raindrop, lost in its poetry.

Don'tcha just love good music?

I'm off to sleep. Peace out.

The simple joys of the season

This time of year is like one big Technicolor motion picture come to life.

No, really. The grass is greener, the sky is a deeper hue of blue, everything is alive and I just get to feeling good despite myself.

Even if the Tigers can’t figure out how to win a darn ball game. But that’s another post for another day.

Yesterday, we took in Sunday brunch at the Downtown Grill. Quite nice, I must say. Dean ordered steak and eggs; Allison enjoyed the French toast. I branched out and tried something called Mountain Eggs -- cooked in a muffin pan. Good stuff.

We walked down Gay Street as the sun began to peek through the clouds. Ducking into the Mast General Store, we spotted Halls guy David Wayland downstairs in the outdoor gear. David works downtown on Sunday afternoons after church. He was the longtime guidance counselor at Halls High and says he is enjoying retirement.

From there, we headed south to the Bijou for the KSO Chamber Classics’ "All Mozart" concert. Maestro Lucas Richman took to the piano for the first selection, "Quartet in G Minor for Piano and Strings, K. 478." After intermission, the chamber orchestra performed Mozart’s final symphony, "No. 41 in C Major, K. 551," also known as the "Jupiter" symphony.

We walked out of the grand old Bijou into the golden sunlight of a spring afternoon. I didn’t want to sit at home on such a pretty day, and the UT baseball team had already concluded their abbreviated game with Florida, so I drove out to West Knox and took in a Chinese dinner with friends.

My former boss and good friend "The Rat" gave me a belated birthday present -- a collection of wartime correspondence between Random House co-founders Bennett Cerf and Donald Klopfer. Sounds nerdy, I know, but Cerf is one of my all-time favorite human beings. He surely led a charmed life.

I drove home in the fading twilight, Sinatra playing gently on the iPod (This time, we almost made the pieces fit, didn’t we, girl?), quite thankful for the simple joys of the season.