van dammage

There are only a few movies that I could say belong in the "I could watch them any time of day on any day of the year and be totally happy" group. Some folks might say that these reside on the ubiquitous Desert Island List but I'm not really sure that mine would qualify as "good enough" to be there. Others might call it their Guilty Pleasures List but, as someone wisely pointed out to me recently, the things which make up that assemblage eventually lose their guilt and just become "pleasures." like The Final Countdown (and I liked that song even before GOB showed up with a knife in his teeth and a deck of cards fanned out in front of his face). But that's a discussion for another time.

All that being said, here's how well my 16-year-old sister, Emma, knows me. She spent $5 at the bargain DVD bin and bought me one of my favorite movies of all time which, for some reason or another, I didn't own until now. 1988's most lasting contribution to the world: Bloodsport.

Let me qualify that statement, though. I am not a Jean Claude Van Damme fan by any stretch of the imagination. Timecop, anyone? I love the fact that this one starts out with, "In the year 2004, time travel is a reality."

Or how about Street Fighter? This one takes place in the futuristic and kickass world of 1994.


But we're not talking about that crap, right? This is Bloodsport, here. I love this movie for the simple reason that it's just plain, eat-your-popcorn-and-grin-for-90-minutes, own-it-for-the-hedonistic-joy-of-it-all, watch-JCVD-desperately-try-to-act, who-cares-if-it's-loosely-inspired-by-a-true-story, great cinema. This movie takes itself so unbelievably seriously that's it's just fun to sit through. In fact, as I said before, I could sit through this movie on any day of the year simply by being asked (most often by TBS or TNT). The fight scenes aren't that bad either and, apparently, they scored a bunch of extra points with the martial arts community by showcasing many different styles.

I have no idea how these movies choose me and, as a matter of fact, there are only 3 others on the list: Big Trouble in Little China, The Hunt for Red October and Sneakers (the last 2 of which sport amazing scores by Basil Poledouris and James Horner, respectively). Add Bloodsport to that and you've got strange bedfellows, indeed.















But whatever. See that face? He makes that at least half a dozen times (the same number of times, incidentally, he performs a full split...usually shirtless) during the proceedings. My favorite is when he does it before breaking the bottom brick in a pile (or, rather, making it explode out of the huge stack with the sheer force of his palm and eyeballs).

Here's a video of him training with his shidoshi (or whatever). I particularly enjoy the climactic part near the end where he's tied up and being tortured on some sort of crude stretcher by the sensei guy. Instead of watching the rope explode in slow motion because the Muscles from Brussels has the strength of 10 normal dudes, he simply crumples to the ground and waits to be untied after this incredible feat of macho libre. Way to go, Mr. Director. Total missed opportunity.

So there's my gratuitous, post-Christmas blog. I also got some other cool stuff (3rd season of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, anyone?) but this was the only thing that warranted blog inclusion...it's just soooooo awesome. And lest anyone accuse me of not freaking working, I'll just say that I've got 2 out of the 4 French tunes in the can and a third just a soprano solo's transcription away. I saved the biggest poem for last but I've got a cool harmonic progression in mind to play around with at the keyboard.

Take that.

the making of americans

Jocelyn and I went to see the world premiere of the opera, The Making of Americans, last night at the Walker Art Center and it was easily the most avant-garde theatre experience I've ever been through. It was the dramatic realization of Gertrude Stein's novel of the same name (which should tell you something right there) by Boston-based "experimental theatre" director Jay Scheib and New York-based composer Anthony Gatto (not to be confused with the juggler of the same name).

This is not to say that it was bad, per se, but when local baritone Bradley Greenwald (holy crap he is amazing...here's a great article about him) lifted a nearly full-sized, silver-coated tree trunk above his head and then spun around while singing I think my traditionalist brain checked out for the duration. The visual nail in the coffin happened later when the tenor and soprano who played newlyweds had sex on stage while singing at top speed and high volume right in each other's faces. My sense of humor couldn't ignore what was happening at that point (I thought it was hilarious...so sue me) and I lost all concentration on what was going on.

Okay, so it wasn't my proverbial cup of tea. I've certainly been to "weird" stuff like this before, but I think that type of theatre eventually becomes a caricature of itself when the novelty wears off and I find it extremely difficult to look beyond that. But that's okay because it was impeccably performed and we had a great chat about it on the drive home. The music was well-written and I was really surprised by the expressive capabilities of the small ensemble accompanying the vocalists (string quartet, 2 wind players, 2 percussionists and a piano). The music was written in such a way as to provide a real urgency to what you were watching and hearing.

My favorite part of the entire production was the set design. It all took place inside this house or outside in the "front yard". There were cameras inside that the actors periodically engaged and the images they captured were then processed (sometimes a lot) and projected onto the large screen above the musicians. Way cool.

So here's the problem I think I ultimately had with what I saw: it was rich rich rich rich with metaphors...like over-the-top, ice-cream-sundae-with-crème brulée-on-top-with-a-side-of-sweetened-condensed-milk rich with metaphor. They were in everything the actors did on stage (how they moved, what they sang and how they sang it, where they looked, what props they interacted with, etc.). When you were finally able to figure out just exactly what was going on through all that metaphorical haze it was like coming up for a breath of fresh air. Then you gradually sank back down into the metaphor soup again and, when you were finally able to realize you were down in that stew again, it was too late to figure out what you had missed. (I have my suspicions that the original novel is mostly to blame for this.)

All that being said, I'm really glad I was able to attend the performance (1 of only 2 they're doing in the Twin Cities). There was some music that I just didn't like and there was other music that was supremely beautiful (particularly the finale to the first act). Cheers to Mr. Gatto for a fantastic premiere! I hope I'm as lucky some day. I'll get back to We, The Boys when this French set is done.

the pioneer press and Arvo Pärt

The Singers are performing my arrangement of Gabriel's Message for their "What Sweeter Music" series this December (and doing an amazing job as always) and Ron Hawley of the Saint Paul Pioneer Press gave a fantastic review earlier this week. It's not much, but he was complimentary and, frankly, that's all I can ask for when someone writes a widely-read opinion of any of my pieces. You can check out the entire thing here (he was very good to the choir as a whole) but here's what he had to say about my piece:

"...and a terrific arrangement of a Basque carol, 'Gabriel's Message,' by ensemble member Joshua Shank opened with a massive, dramatically built chord that flowed into an energetic four-part carol rendition."

I love the use of the word "massive". I'm 5'7" but, according to one of the Midwest's most widely-read newspapers, I can be massive and dramatic.

Mr. Hawley was nice enough to include it in the same sentence as Z. Randall Stroope's "All My Heart This Night Rejoices" (they're paired together) which I think was the best compliment of all. Being a true composer-in-residence with this choir over the past five years has been a total blessing and I can't wait to hear their reading of To Sing You To Sleep for the next concert series.

MPR woke me up this morning with the "Prayer" from Arvo Pärt's Kanon Pokajanen and I've been in a great mood all day. I wonder if there is some sort of alarm clock I can buy that only plays his choral works around 5:15am every morning. Either way I'm going to dig out my Pärt recordings and listen to them again. I've been hitting a lot of Poulenc lately and it's high time to calm back down. Thanks, Arvo!

french music

I've been hard at work on these French pieces for Chapman over the last 2 weeks and I'm having a fricking blast (I wrote one entire movement in a single sitting the day after Thanksgiving). Why have I never set anything in this language before? It's actually easier than writing in English.

That being said, it's been a challenge because what's coming out is really different from anything else I've ever done before. I actually wrote in a functional fully-diminished seventh chord the other day and completely fell in love with it (if you've got a keyboard in front of you it's Bb-Db-E-G and resolves out to Ab-C-Eb-Ab). It's got such a harsh, prickly edge to it that it makes me scrunch up my face and one of my eyelids flutters when I play it on the piano. That can't be bad, right?

One of the interesting things I'm finding in regards to my own creative process is how theory can sometimes intrude upon what I find fun when I'm improvising. Case in point: my setting of Rimbaud's "Ma Boheme" was coming along fine at the keyboard and I was really digging what was coming out. It was actually exhilarating (if I can use that term) because it was just a whole lot of garish fun to play around with. Big, bull-in-a-china-shop music that makes you smile while you perform it. Then I went back later and all I saw was the theoretical analysis of what I had written. For instance, I remember feeling really unoriginal that I had just written a V7 chord that--surprise!--resolves to a I chord.

So there is this weird balance I've had to strike between writing something I like and something that I don't feel is derivative of anything. In fact, I think I've hit a major hurdle with the concept of being able to put away my ability to look at a piece of music and see how it functions without hearing it (I'm not bragging here...it's just what I went to school to learn is all) while at the same time writing. So "yea" for that, I guess.

Here's an obligatory picture of the Eiffel Tower from the archives.