For Bach, National Cathedral > Kennedy Center

Since three of my friends joined the National Cathedral Choral Society, I've been more proactive about attending choral events. First I saw Verdi's Requiem at the National Cathedral in October, followed by Bach's St. Matthew Passion in the same location in February. Then this past Friday, my singer friend Michelle and I saw Bach's Mass in B Minor at the Kennedy Center. This last experience taught me that venue may play an important role in enjoyability, at least when it comes to Bach.

Typically, I love live choral music because the power of the choir simply cannot be replicated on a recording. Even though I had terrible seats for Verdi's Requiem, the moment the horns started for the second movement, Dies Iraes (Day of Wrath), chills ran down my spine. The several dozen voices seem to mirror the terror of the day of wrath.

In contrast, the St. Matthew Passion is a less emotive piece. Like an operetta, it features many soloists playing the roles of Narrator, Jesus, Judas, etc to tell the story of Jesus betrayal, crucifixion, and resurrection. Despite its lack of loud movements, and its heavy dependence on soloists, the chorale verses still emitted chills. Though the Passion didn't evoke the lushness of Verdi's Requiem, I recognized that this was mostly due to the less lush instrumentation of the Baroque period in contrast to Verdi's Romantic inclinations. In addition, a play that tells is story is not simply there to overwhelm the listener, but to narrate events in a nuanced fashion.

Despite knowing that Bach is not Verdi (or Brahms, or Orff), I was still surprised by the National Symphony Orchestra's production of the Mass in B Minor at the Kennedy Center. This "authentic" production used both a small choir of around 30 voices, and a reduced orchestra. While this may have been truer to how a 17th Century German would have enjoyed Bach, it was not the best staging for contemporary audiences at the Kennedy Center. The Kennedy Center's Concert Hall is fairly tall, with four tiers of seating. I was in the second tier towards stage right. Though I had a good view of the performers, they sounded extremely distant, as if I were listening to a recording. This made it difficult to stay engaged. Unable to see the soloists' expressions clearly, it was difficult to tell what mood the concert was supposed to evoke.

After nearly falling asleep, I wondered why the Mass was simply not speaking to me the way I had come to expect of choral pieces. Part of this was the nature of the piece and the minimalist staging, but part of it was most certainly the venue. The National Cathedral Choral Society's concert series is subtitled, "Glorious Music in a Glorious Setting." Glorious the Kennedy Center's concert hall is not. The mauve colored creaky seats screamed seventies. It was more difficult to let oneself go. Though I appreciated Ivan Fischer and his orchestra's technique, I won't hesitate to choose the National Cathedral over the Kennedy Center for choral events in the future.

The Complacency of Lorrie Moore

The first thing you notice about Lorrie Moore’s stories is that the characters speak in puns. The second thing you notice is that these puns are the characters’ attempt to distance themselves from their situations. In the opening story of her first collection Self-Help, “How to Be Another Woman,” Charlene finds herself dating a married man. Patricia, he tells Charlene, is an attorney. So in her own spare time, waiting for her boyfriend, Charlene ends up making to do lists: “CLIENTS TO SEE- Birthday Snapshots, Scotch Tape, Letters to TD and Mom.” Every time her boyfriend calls after several days of silence, Charlene rejoinders with a joke over the phone when she really wants to tell him how much she cares.

Indeed, the theme of each of Moore’s collections, Self-Help, Like Life, and Birds of America touches on the idea of the distance between oneself and one’s life. Self-Help is mostly told in second person. With titles such as “How,” and “To Fill,” it tells the stories of a mysterious “you” as she goes through events, as if telling you, the reader, how to behave in those events. For example, “How to Be Another Woman” opens with the narrator saying you should wait in front of Florsheim’s department store in a raincoat, and meet a stranger with whom you flirt. You later get depressed and find out he is not only cheating with you on his wife, but also on the woman he lives with. This second-person tactic distances whoever the narrator is from the events that are happening.

Like Life collects stories of women and some men who find themselves living the kind of lives like they once envisioned for themselves, but not quite getting it right. There’s the flameout playwright whose doctor girlfriend finally leaves him. There’s the poetess Zoe who finds herself out of place and too snooty for teaching at a Midwestern liberal arts college. There’s the New Jersey homemaker turned conservationist whose son is in jail and daughter never visits. Of course, each of these characters uses humor to cope with themselves. They would be pathetic if it weren’t for the fact that they also recognize the flaws that keep them from what they want. Zoe, for instance, knows she is too picky, especially when it comes to men, to acclimate herself to a happy, Midwestern existence. Moore’s stories document the journeys of discovering these flaws.

Moore fully fleshes out this idea of helplessness in her last collection, Birds of America. While the title doesn’t make any direct appearances in the book, I like to think of it as a reference to the characters’ flightiness. Nearly all the stories center around characters who want to escape their current situations, but feel stuck. Unfortunately, they don’t really know what they need either. Illness often appears as a metaphor for helplessness. In one of the most memorable stories, “People Like Them Are the Only People Here,” a writer copes with her baby’s cancer. Moore documents the writer’s initial disbelief which grows into a final acceptance. The only agency the writer has is to document her baby’s progress, and her family’s experience living in and out of the hospital. “Real Estate” tells about a middle-aged empty nester with terminal cancer. She convinces her husband to move into a new house. Since the house turns out to be a lemon with bats living in the attic, she learns that a simple move can’t solve her problems. Even when the protagonist’s gun lessons culminates in a cathartic, surprising moment, she immediately goes back to her old self.

On one level, Moore’s stories can be seen as demoralizing. After all, America is built on the idea of self improvement. But on the other hand, Moore placates us by showing that self improvement is overrated. It’s key to enjoy our lives in the present instead daydreaming about what could have been.

What Precious and An Education Have in Common

Precious and An Education, two tales of 16 year old girls growing up, are also wonderfully thought provoking films on the subject of female agency and the role of education.

Precious, the more infamous of the two, is about an obese black girl (Gabourey Sidibe) growing up in Harlem in the 1980's. Her mother, played by Mo'nique, abuses her on a regular basis, treating her like a indentured servant who needs to cook to earn her keep. We immediately learn that Precious has also been consistently abused by her father, with whom she is now pregnant for the second time. After getting kicked out of her public middle school, where she is still a student at the age of 16, she enrolls in an alternative school and lands in the caring hands of Ms. Blu Rain. What teeters on the brink of cliche (teacher saves student; student transcends her situation with literacy) is saved by the constant barrage of bleakness in Precious' life. We learn that her oldest daughter has Down's Syndrome, and witness another terrible fight between Precious and her mother.

Most intriguing are Precious's seamlessly integrated fantasy scenes. While her mother force-feeds her while watching an old movie, Precious projects herself into the film and imagines a more caring dialogue between the two women. These fantasies are the only space where Precious is in charge of her life. Her mother is no more free. We learn that the reason she hates Precious is because her boyfriend (Precious's father) showed more affection for Precious than her mother from the moment she was born. Precious shows the limited agency of poor black women since both women's lives are controlled by the father, who is barely even in the film. The only characters who have some agency are the educated teacher, Ms. Rain, and the social worker played by Mariah Carey.

An Education is also based on a sordid, if more palatable, premise. Jenny (Carey Mulligan) is studying for her O levels on her way to Oxford when she meets David Goldman (Peter Sarsgaard), an older man. David quickly impresses her and her parents with his sophisticated pursuits (art, classical music, fancy restaurants, traveling), and starts to date Jenny for real. Though Jenny learns of David's sketchy real estate business, she still enjoys the worldly education he offers her via trips to Oxford, Paris, and the auction house. Soon, Jenny is faced with a critical decision: David or Oxford.

This decision is made more complicated as Jenny questions the point of going to Oxford. When she broaches the idea of getting married to her father (Alfred Molina), he tells her she'll be taken care of and doesn't "need" an education anymore. This is 1961after all, and even educated women seemed to have few options. Jenny's one teacher who went to Cambridge seems to be a lonely spinster who grades horrible essays all day long. Here's where the story gets interesting as the viewer ponders how women can gain agency through education.

Though Precious and An Education are set 26 years apart in different countries and across different socio-economic lines, they send important messages about education. Book learning might not be enough, but it is a start.

Nosaj Thing, jj, and The xx questioning Live Performance

Sunday night's triple billing at the (Historic) Sixth and I Synagogue was an exercise in defining the art of live performance. The XX headlined, playing with Nosaj Thing and jj.

I'd never heard o Nosaj Thing before, and was pleasantly surprised by Jason Chung's music. I was even more surprised by the fact that Jason Chung is a dj, so his entire performance consisted of him fiddling on a turnstile. While his act didn't need an entire stage with a seated audience at full attention, he was as lively as one could be for a music act that consists of turning knobs and pressing buttons. He danced in time with the music and did a dramatic flourish with his spindly fingers each time the beat changed, or the lull in the music was broken up, as if to emphasize that this was in fact being played live, and not pre-recorded.

If Nosaj Thing wanted to come across as a live act, then jj most definitely did not. jj, a Swedish duo with two albums under its belt (no 2 and no 3), produces a dreamy, poppy music that reminds me of Beach House. But their live performance was anything but fun. The music consisted of a recording played pumped through an iMac on stage. The lead singer then sang along to the music into a microphone. She maintained a grumpy look the entire time. Her partner, who is supposed to be the musician of the group, came out several times to give the singer a hug before retreating to the wings, as if to say "I'm part of the band, but have transcended my need to play music during a live performance." Perhaps this was an attempt to make an artsy comment on the value of live music, but it definitely left many audience members grumpy.

The xx finally came on at around 10 pm. The most traditional presentation of the night, the three band members came bearing guitars and a keyboard. Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim even sang into their microphones. But they also made me question the purpose of a live performance because of the huge disparity between their live sound and their album sound. As New Yorker critic, Sasha Frere-Jones, has pointed out, The xx makes music that's meant to be whispered into your lover's ear. Most of the lyrics traverse the territory of quiet broken hearts, nostalgia, and misbegotten romance. I expected an intimate concert that mirrored the intimate cocoon of their album. What I got instead were histrionic lights, thumping bass, and an aggressively swaying Oliver Sim. This made for an overly dramatic experience that rendered such lyrics as "Heart skipped a beat, but when I caught it it was out of reach," ridiculous. Though I enjoyed the music, I hope The xx tones it down for future performances.

Why I'm not a Fan of Up in the Air

"Did I make you feel cheap?" Alex (Vera Farmiga) asks Ryan Bingham as she leaves him alone in his hotel bed after a night of escapades in Up in the Air. "Yeah, leave the money on the dresser," he says. This exchange is what I remember about the film days after seeing it for the first time. It recalls the lighthearted, intelligent banter between Clooney and Farmiga that makes the film go down so smoothly as you watch. But it also reminds me that there's something cheap to Up in the Air's message, as if it's cashing in on a moment of economic weakness.

By now, you know that Up in the Air is about a man who fires people for a living. Ryan Bingham tells us in a series of voiceovers that he loves the air and hates attachments. But then he meets a woman who invites him to "think of me like yourself, except with a vagina." Alex and Ryan embark on a series of dalliances, meeting up in airport hotels across the country. Meanwhile, Ryan must bring one of his newest co-workers with him to show her the ropes. Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick) is an earnest college graduate who constantly badgers him about what his deal with Alex is. The deal turns out to be quite predictable. Through a series of well-written, well-acted events, we eventually get the message that connections and people are the things that we hold on to, whether or not we're employed.

This would be all fine and good if it weren't for the fact that Up in the Air seems like an attempt to placate an underemployed audience in the laziest way possible. In one scene where Clooney is firing someone, he tells him to see it as an opportunity to follow his dreams and become a hero to his kids, instead of wiling away at his lame desk job. What Clooney says has a ring of truth to it, but it also looks like he is merely pandering to the laid-off employee. Throughout the movie, I couldn't help wondering if the makers of Up in the Air were mirroring this technique by telling audiences something they want to hear. Are they condescending to tell us that in this world, human connections are all that ultimately matter?

Like many of Clooney's firees, I was also suspicious of the messenger. Ryan Bingham is not an empathetic figure. Nor is anyone else in Up in the Air. Keener is extremely annoying, and faux-feminist. Alex is almost too witty and feminist, until you learn that she's not. Up in the Air may have captured our attention this past awards season, but will certainly fade from memory the second the country grows strong enough not to see past Clooney's soothing voice.

Hole-in-the-wall Food Adventures

A few memorable, yet inexpensive meals I've had in the past two days has reminded me that when it comes to eating out, the act of eating is sometimes only half the fun. While another quarter may be the companionship, the final fourth, how you get there, can make the difference between a typical dining experience and a memorable one.

The weekend's food adventures began at the Well-Dressed Burrito (19th and M). A coworker got a few of us together to make the short walk there. I had never heard of it before, but was guaranteed amazing burritos. It is also located literally in an alleyway between M and N streets. We finally found it thanks to a sign on 19th street that points you to the alleyway, and the number of people walking by with bright yellow Well Dressed Burrito bags. The brick exterior and narrow entry exuded some charm, but the interior did not with its flourescent lights and few table and chairs that also doubled as someone's office. But any skepticism quickly faded as the servers quickly took our orders in a line that was much more efficient than Chipotle's. Yes, it's slightly sketchier that the food is made in the back and comes out really quickly, but how long does a burrito take to assemble anyway when you've got all the ingredients cooked already? And this was a very satisfying burrito. I got the house special, the well dressed burrito, which has ground beef, rice, cheese, and sour cream. The ingredients complement each other in a perfectly textured blend.

Then yesterday, Mike and I decided to take advantage of the sunny weather and trek out to Arlington for the legendary Ray's Hell Burger. This place has attained such mythical status that it's even been graced by Obama and Biden's presence. We expected the line to be long, but were pleasantly surprised by the efficiency. Signs on the walls tell you to refrain from finding a seat until you've ordered and been given a number. "Trust us - it works," it reads. Indeed, they space out the order taking so that people can find seats right after they've ordered. I got a grilled burger with sauteed peppers and onions with Gruyere cheese, and Mike got a peppercorn-covered burger with sauteed mushrooms and blue cheese. They came out in a reasonable time. The 10 oz burgers were intimidating at first, but so juicy thanks to a secret lean to fat ratio, that both of us were able to wolf down our respective meals. I didn't try the fries because they looked pretty standard, and I wanted to save my fry-petite for the evening at Granville Moore's.

Later that evening, Mike and I arrived at Granville Moore's at around 7:30 to try our luck at a table for three before my friend Susan and I left for our concert at Rock N Roll Hotel. (We walked by it several times before finding it, since it is literally a hole in the wall, with a sign that looks almost written in sharpie posted to the window). Knowing that this "gastropub" famous for its mussels would be crowded, our back up plan was to scout out other places in the neighborhood. As we expected, Granville Moore's wait was 60 to 75 minutes. But so were the waits at the two other restaurants by there, Souk and Sticky Rice. After standing around Souk for a while "sorry we don't take names down," we decided we might as well just wait for Granville Moore's and wiled away some time at the Red and the Black bar. Though they don't have a tap system (can this really be considered a bar?), they did have some good bottled beer specials Susan and I took advantage of.

So finally 75 minutes after we first put our names down, a table at Granville Moore's opened up. The mussels were truly excellent and creative (try the Moroccan or the four cheese), but not worth waiting around for so long. I will not be going back unless I felt like killing 75 minutes in an "up and coming" neighborhood. On the upside, the wait staff and hostess were incredibly nice. Our waitress took drink orders quickly and was attentive despite the full crowd. Only today, though, did I learn that they failed to serve us bread with our mussels. At the same time, I will undoubtedly remember the Granville meal for a long time, for the journey more so than the food.

The Privileges: Rags to Riches in the Twenty-first Century

Jonathan Dee's new book, The Privileges, has been paired with other novels about money and the 2009 economic collapse in recent reviews. This seems like a logical choice for a novel that traces the lives of Adam and Cynthia Morey, an extremely attractive couple who quickly rises to the upper echelons of Manhattan wealth after getting married at the age of 22. The Moreys (think more + money) are a couple that inspires envy and hate. Blessed with two beautiful children, they are also favored by Adam's wealthy boss, allowing Adam to become fabulously wealthy--seemingly without--any work.

About ten years into the marriage, Adam becomes involved in a classic insider trading scheme. But the story doesn't end here. Dee doesn't take Adam down. The point is not to show how wealth leads to greed. Instead, Dee lets Adam walk away without criminal prosecution, and go on to leave a productive life in New York high society. The point is to show how greed leads to wealth.

This is because, at its heart, The Privileges has more in common with The Great Gatsby than with The Bonfire of the Vanities. Like Gatsby, the Moreys embrace the wholly American definition of success. Like Gatsby, the Moreys are also driven by love; in this case, their "epic love" for each other, as their son puts it, pushes them forward. Most importantly, like Gatsby, the Moreys are determined to free themselves of the shackles of their histories. Adam and Cynthia come from middle class backgrounds, from parents whom they refuse to ever acknowledge. Though we meet Mr. Morey at Adam and Cynthia's wedding, we don't hear about his again until Adam is forced to tell his firm that his father is dead. The silence is painful when Adam fails to understand his colleague's shocked expressions. As far as Adam is concerned, his father has nothing to do with his current identity as a rainmaking venture capitalist.

No - the Moreys are not likable. Dee uses free indirect style to show us how Adam and Cynthia think. They are disdainful of anyone who hangs on to their pasts or acts based on nostalgia. Cynthia's stepsister accuses her of raising two spoiled children. Maybe she should withhold things from time to time, she suggests. Cynthia silently laughs at this idea; what's the point of imposing hardship on children simply to replicate some romantic notion?

While Cynthia and Adam remain flat throughout the novel, the only dynamic character who's morality is at stake is their son, Jonas. He is into indie music, art, and actually gets along with Cynthia's stepsister. The novel's climax involves a moment when Jonas has to decide if he'll pursue and interest in art and history, or focus on living in the present, with eyes set on the future like his parents.

Throughout, Dee creates a tension in the reader. We are at once jealous and horrified at the Moreys. On the one hand, we want to be like them; so forward looking and unburdened by the past. On the other hand, we pity them for their myopia -- their inability to see how their lives lack meaning and create a destructive path. To be or not to be like the Moreys? It's up to us to decide.