Night After Night

Lightning strikes twice.

The Columbia University School of the Arts has just named John Zorn the 2007 recipient of its William Schuman Award. Named for its first recipient and presented periodically by the dean of the School of the Arts, the award is an unrestricted grant of $50,000. Previous winners have included David Diamond, Gunther Schuller, Milton Babbitt, Hugo Weisgall and Steve Reich.

Says the school's acting dean, Dan Kleinman, in the official press release: "The School of the Arts is pleased to present the William Schuman Award to John Zorn, whose astonishingly diverse and extraordinary body of work has enlightened, startled and enchanted its listeners. His lasting contribution to the repertoire of today has changed the landscape of composition."

Zorn, who also won a MacArthur Foundation "genius grant" in September 2006, will be treated to a concert and award ceremony on Thursday, April 26 at Miller Theatre, details of which are to be announced.

Also quoted in this press release was a delightful line I'd never seen before, from a review by Justin Davidson in Newsday (context unknown): "Zorn has a mind as preposterously inexhaustible as Mary Poppins' carpetbag."

Interrogating the judge.

Stanley Crouch has long been one of the more powerful -- and controversial -- figures in jazz criticism. He's also a highly visible (and therefore easy) target for free-floating opprobrium...and of this, I've sometimes been as guilty as anyone.

The problem is that Crouch's occasional wrongheaded B.S. -- as in his ill-informed, unforgivable comments about Dave Douglas in his inflammatory, pernicious essay "Putting the White Man in Charge" -- projected and enforced by his legendary bellicosity, sometimes makes it virtually impossible to remember his gift of illuminating the art of jazz performance at the highest of levels.

And that is precisely what makes this long, long interview conducted by Ethan Iverson of the Bad Plus such completely mandatory reading for anyone with even the least interest in jazz -- not to mention race relations and American society.

Hats off, Ethan -- I know I couldn't have done it.

Double take.

Cuarteto Casals at Weill Recital Hall

and

New York Youth Symphony at Carnegie Hall
The New York Times, February 27, 2007

Passing tone.

I don't normally repeat news of an artist's passing until it's been firmly documented, but a thread on Jazzcorner's Speakeasy bulletin board has reported the death of violinist and composer Leroy Jenkins. Since the original post in the thread cites Chuck Nessa, founder of the influential Chicago avant-jazz label that bears his last name, I'm inclined to believe it. What Nessa reported is that Jenkins succumbed to lung cancer yesterday, here in New York City.

Born in Chicago on March 11, 1932, Jenkins was an early member of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (A.A.C.M.), the collective that pioneered new modes of composing and performing in the wake of the free-jazz explosion in New York. Jenkins was part of an innovative trio with Anthony Braxton and Leo Smith that traveled to Paris in 1969, then morphed into the Creative Construction Company. But it was his work with the Revolutionary Ensemble, alongside bassist Sirone and percussionist Jerome Cooper, that brought him to prominence.

I consider myself fortunate to have heard Jenkins on a number of occasions over the years, including the reunion set by the Revolutionary Ensemble at the Vision Festival a few years back. I actually didn't care much for that performance, though some friends of mine felt it was a life-changing event. But I did very much appreciate the new album that followed, And Now... on Pi Recordings.

Another encounter came years earlier, when Houston Grand Opera mounted the local premiere of The Mother of Three Sons, which had been commissioned by the Munich Biennale and also appeared at New York City Opera. Conceived by Bill T. Jones, this unconventional dance-opera had only one singer on stage; the rest sang from positions off to the side of the stage, while Jones and his dancers enacted the tale. The work was controversial and not entirely well-received; Edward Rothstein was decidedly mixed when he reviewed the New York premiere (here). But I recall Leroy Jenkins's score as being vibrant and powerful. Around the same time, Jenkins performed with his electric band, Sting, at the Houston International Festival.

A few years later, after I moved to New York, I bumped into Jenkins in a subway station. He listened very graciously as I babbled about my appreciation of his work, including his then-newly released CRI album, Themes and Improvisations on the Blues. I also remember seeing Jenkins perform with pianist-harmonium player Myra Melford at David Lopato's loft, InHouse; they were subsequently joined by Joseph Jarman in a trio that I never did see, Equal Interest.

If you don't have any recordings by Jenkins in your collection, head over to Destination Out right now and grab the two tracks from The People's Republic, issued by A&M Horizon in 1975 and long, long out of print.

UPDATE: Darcy James Argue, who also just posted about Jenkins's passing, links to a fond remembrance by trumpeter Kris Tiner, who studied with Jenkins at CalArts in 2002.

Another death in the family.

Another former member of King Crimson has passed away: drummer Ian Wallace, who was part of the same Islands-era lineup as the recently departed Boz Burrell. I'll refer you to the post I wrote on Burrell's passing for specifics of that band's trying times and lasting legacy.

Wallace, who succumbed to esophageal cancer on Thursday, provided a deep groove and a marked sense of humor to that particularly strange, underappreciated version of the band. He went on to play with Bob Dylan (Street Legal, At Budokan), Don Henley (I Can't Stand Still, Building the Perfect Beast), Stevie Nicks (Wild Heart), Roy Orbison (Mystery Girl) and many others.

More recently, he replaced founding Crimson drummer Michael Giles in the Crimson alumni group 21st Century Schizoid Band, which is where I finally got to hear him play live at B.B. King Blues Club & Grill in 2004. That show was a remarkable experience: a chance to hear King Crimson material that the current version of the band no longer plays -- "21st Century Schizoid Man," "The Court of the Crimson King," "Epitaph," "Cirkus," "Formentara Lady," "Ladies of the Road" -- performed by some of the people who originally created it. The two shows at B.B. King's are boiled down on Pictures of a City, a two-CD live set released last year.

Robert Fripp has posted about Wallace's passing on his diary at DGMLive.com. A longer excerpt from Wallace's own tribute to Burrell has also been posted there, and you can also download free MP3s of Wallace's loony bit of stage patter, "My Hobby," and a burning version of "The Sailor's Tale," both from the band's remarkable Summit Studios show of March 12, 1972. (The full show is available on CD as the ninth volume from the King Crimson Collector's Club.)

Wallace is also remembered on the 21st Century Schizoid Band website, and in a passionate post on the blog of that band's singer-guitarist, Jakko Jakszyk. Original King Crimson lyricist Peter Sinfield has posted a poem dedicated to Wallace. The painful struggle of his final days are candidly recounted by his wife, Margie, on Wallace's own web diary. Condolences to her, and to all whose lives were touched by this musician.

Four-letter word.

Two posts back, busy blogophile Henry Holland -- whose postings I've long noted here and elsewhere with genuine interest -- left an inquiry in the comments field. I'll quote it here rather than addressing it there, because it deserves a post of its own:

...can you give a thumbs up/thumbs down/meh opinion on the new Marillion? I've loved the band, with both singers, since I got "Market Square Heroes" as a very pricey import back in the 80's. I'm going to their gigs in Leeds and Newcastle when I'm in Europe in June, I'm very curious about the new ablum (I didn't really like "Marbles", though I loved the run of albums from "Afraid of Sunlight" to "Anoraknaphobia". Thanks if you can spill any info! :-)

The new Marillion in question is Somewhere Else, the band's 14th studio album, which I've recently been "spinning," and which Henry noticed in the playlist du jour. The word "spinning" is in quotes because in reality, I've been streaming the album from a password-protected website set up in lieu of circulating promo copies of the disc, a strategy increasingly used by record companies to thwart illegal leaks. Every now and then, a voiceover -- keyboardist Mark Kelly, perhaps? -- solemnly intones, "You're listening to an advance promotional copy of Marillion's new album, Somewhere Else. Please do not upload it onto the Internet."

Like Henry, I am a longtime Marillion fan, ever since a high school friend's uncle who worked at Capitol Records sent his nephew a cassette of the newly signed band's debut album, Script for a Jester's Tear. Back then, the group was the leading light of the so-called "neo-prog" movement, a brief swell of British bands influenced by the original progressive rock generation -- King Crimson, Yes, Genesis and so on. Specifically, Marillion was viewed as a new Genesis, with the theatrical, facepainted singer Fish (real name Derek Dick) considered the second coming of Peter Gabriel. The cover art for the band's first two albums actually incorporated images of discs by Pink Floyd and Peter Hammill.

After four albums -- the last of which, Clutching at Straws, ranks among my favorite rock-band albums ever -- Fish left the group, embarking on a solo career that has yet to ignite despite copious worthy effort. His replacement, Steve Hogarth, brought a new sensibility to Marillion. Where Fish had provided high-minded poetry and dramatic delivery, Hogarth was a polished everyman fronting the world's most improbably sophisticated pop group.

Trouble is, the "prog" label -- that four-letter word to which my header alluded -- hung 'round the band's neck like an albatross, burdening its new plans with the weight of media suppositions. A name change might have headed this off, but at the time Marillion had to satisfy the needs of a multinational major label as well as a cultish fanbase, members of which referred to themselves as "Freaks" per a Fish-era B-side.

Nowadays, "prog" (and "freak," as well) are among the words the members of Marillion least care to see in reviews of their current work. I don't blame them, really: there's little in critics' darling Radiohead (whose "Fake Plastic Trees" this band respectfully covered) and best-selling Coldplay that can't also be encountered in recent Marillion records. But this band has a memory that extends well before and beyond the prog-rock era; the Beatles, Pink Floyd and U2 are all touchstones, especially now. (That said, one sure way to break that longtime association with prog-rock would be to cut out those songs of more than seven minutes' duration -- but then, it wouldn't be Marillion.)

If anything sets Marillion apart from pretty much any other band I can think of, it's the fierce devotion of its admirers -- and the way that loyalty has been mobilized. Confronted with news that the band couldn't afford a U.S. tour in 1997, fans worldwide raised some $60,000 in donations without any promise of a return on the investment. And Marillion did in fact tour the U.S. that year. Ironically, I wasn't able to attend the local show, but I am the proud owner of a signed copy of Marillionrochester, the donors-only live release.

Surprised but emboldened by that experience, Marillion later solicited pre-orders for its as-yet unrecorded 12th album, Anoraknophobia, rewarding subscribers by printing their names in a deluxe version of the release. I am indeed the "Steve Smith" whose name appears therein. Since then, Marillion has extended its grassroots appeal with a series of subscription-only concert recordings, none of which I own.

All of that said, can I be trusted to weigh in on Somewhere Else with anything approaching an objective opinion? Somehow I'm still inclined to think so, given my longtime familiarity with Marillion's output. That's why I can't answer Henry Holland's question directly just yet: I do plan to review the new disc for Time Out New York in April, when it will be released domestically. (British fans will get the new album on April 9; here, we have to wait until the 24th.)

So Henry, the indirect answer to your question -- a status report, really -- is that some of the songs on Somewhere Else are about as fine as anything Marillion has written. "Thankyou Whoever You Are" and "Most Toys" are already stuck in my head. I'm not yet sure how it coheres as an album per se, but maybe that's not important. Interesting that Marbles is where your attention flagged; that one seemed especially strong to me. And if it tells you anything, I think the current band's shining hour might well be the decidedly unproggy Radiation. ("The Answering Machine" is one of my very favorite H-era songs, for what that's worth.)

It's tough to judge an album streamed from a website; there are so many distractions available when you're online. That said, so far parts Somewhere Else recall the Beatles and U2. But mostly, it sounds like a new Marillion album -- and that's a mighty fine thing.

Big chords.

I'm sure this video has done the rounds before, but I'd never seen it until guitarist-impresario David Spelman forwarded it earlier today. The conundrum pondered: How does a pianist with small mitts handle the massive chords demanded by Rachmaninoff ? Igudesman and Joo offer a novel solution. There are more clips of the duo to be found on YouTube.

Teacher's pet.

There are three words I've frequently used to describe what's covered in the parts of Time Out New York that aren't about arts and entertainment. Two of these words are "eating" and "shopping." The third, another "-ing," didn't strike me as suitable for use in a classroom full of undergraduate journalism students on Monday morning. I coined a new term on the spot: "conjugal recreation."

The class was a journalism colloquium at the University of Richmond, in which I was asked to spiel for roughly 15 minutes about my so-called career path, then take questions from students who'd been armed in advance with my resume. It wasn't originally on my agenda -- Dr. LP had initially booked me to speak to her arts journalism seminar, a tidy little bunch of some 16 students, on Tuesday afternoon. The colloquium, by contrast, found me in front of something closer to 50 students. The group was attentive, and well prepared with pertinent questions about shrinking space for arts coverage, recreational blogging, public relations writing and more. I was appreciative of their interest, and they were certainly appreciative that I'd gotten them out of their usual current-events quiz.

Mindful that I'd read the complete New Yorker essays of Andrew Porter, start to finish, on something of a dare two years ago, Dr. LP originally asked me to come talk about my career and Porter's work for her seminar. When I also agreed to do the colloquium, we decided that talking about my own work again would be redundant. But confronting a small class full of mostly non-music students with a pile of Porter's toothy prose seemed like too much, so instead I gave them three Porter essays and two by Alex Ross, as a means by which to discuss their differing approaches and, by extension, changing tides in arts criticism.

I assigned three Porter essays: "Bouleversement," about Pierre Boulez as the center of new music in New York circa 1972; "Proper Bostonian," about Sarah Caldwell's pioneering Opera Company of Boston production of Verdi's Don Carlos, which restored excised passages that Porter had uncovered in Paris; and "At the Right Time, in the Right Place," an essay on audience etiquette (or lack thereof) at the Met. I also included his "Autobiographical Preamble" from his second anthology, Music of Three Seasons. Ross was represented by "Handel Time," a May 2006 essay on that composer's current prominence, and "Fascinating Rhythm," about the Steve Reich celebration held in New York last year.

My hunch was right. A student named Amelie volunteered that on first encountering Porter's work, she glazed over. It was hard work, she said, and had she encountered it in a magazine, she most likely would have flipped past it. As much as I deeply admire Porter, I knew what she meant: as edifying and vital as his work is for the music devotee, it's not especially friendly toward (or even tolerant of) the lay reader. Dr. LP chipped in with the interesting note that in consulting not only scores but original manuscripts, paper stock and watermarks, what Porter was doing was the work of a musicologist; she pointed out that when Porter had begun his critical career in the 1950s, the music PhD had only just been born with the generation of Lewis Lockwood.

Ross, on the other hand, was a hit; students commented with admiration on his vivid use of colorful descriptive metaphor rather than a surplus of technical jargon. And honestly, upon encountering this opening passage...

There is nothing in music more unstoppably beautiful than a Handel aria moving in slow, regal splendor. It is like a godly machine, crushing all ugliness and plainness in its path.

...what sensitive reader wouldn't be inspired to investigate the veracity of the claim? Dr. LP found this passage especially illuminating:

The prior century made a cult of Bach, whose music takes the form of an endless contrapuntal quest. Perhaps, in an age of information overload and ambient fear, we have more need for Handel's gentler, steadier art. At the same time, though, this composer appeals to the permanent hunger for high-class melodrama and psychological theatre.

And I made a point of emphasizing this line...

He does not want to save the world, only to make it better for a little while.

...in order to suggest that Alex's writing has precisely the same effect.

(Incidentally, I went to Richmond stocked with copies of the latest issue of Time Out New York to hand out. I'm sure it must have impressed at least some students to see page 121, on which my review of a fine new CD by Viktor Krauss, II, appeared directly below a review of the latest Rickie Lee Jones disc, Sermon on Exposition Boulevard, penned by Dr. LP herself. A nice little coincidence, that.)

Those who read my last post already know that the JetBlue crisis prevented me from leaving town on Saturday. What I learned later was that it had also cost me an excursion to the Gospel Chicken House in nearby Montpelier, VA. Sigh. Another time, perhaps. I arrived on Sunday afternoon, just in time for a fine faculty recital by Antonio J. García, who teaches jazz classes at Virginia Commonwealth University. The concert included a handful of standards in crafty arrangements for trombone and percussion, which García played simultaneously. Also on the bill were a number of García's original compositions, handsome vehicles for the high school and college musicians who performed them. The Great White Lie, a quirky piece of chamber music scored for soprano, flute, clarinet, violin and bass trombone, recounted the true story of a young García's attempts to convince an iron-deficient female friend that Geritol was yummy.

After my colloquium on Monday came another treat: I got to observe the "Music Scenes" class team-taught by Dr. LP and the remarkable new-music ensemble eighth blackbird, currently in residence at the university. The lively, engaging quality found in their concerts definitely extends to the classroom. The blackbirds performed and discussed excerpts from works included on the concert they are presenting at the school as I type this on Wednesday night: Franco Donatoni's Arpege, David M. Gordon's Friction Systems and Carlos Sánchez-Gutiérrez's Luciernagas. Students did a good job of answering questions the musicians presented ("Is this in duple or triple meter?" "Which players were working together in that section?"). On Tuesday afternoon, just before my seminar, I hung around in the hallway and eavesdropped as they rehearsed bits of Lukas Foss's Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird with soprano Lucy Shelton.

Despite the delay (and a dearth of finger-lickin' gospel), this was a fine excursion. It was also a real confidence builder to learn that I could handle myself in front of student groups big and small, offering something organized, informative and -- I'm assured -- reasonably entertaining. My thanks to journalism faculty members Tom Mullen and Steve Nash, and to the students, for making me feel welcome. And, of course, to Dr. LP, who was determined to show me just what it's like to do what she does -- day after day. Mission accomplished.

Playlist:

Grateful Dead - Download Series, Vol. 4: Passaic, NJ 06/18/76 (Grateful Dead)

Dimmu Borgir - In Sorte Diaboli (Nuclear Blast, out April 24)

Jorge Drexler - 12 Segundos de Oscuridad (Gasa/Warner Music Latina)

Thomas Quasthoff - The Jazz Album: Watch What Happens (Deutsche Grammophon)

Joseph Haydn - Symphony No. 22, "The Philosopher"; Charles Wuorinen - Symphony No. 8, "Theologoumena"; Johannes Brahms - Symphony No. 4 - Boston Symphony Orchestra/James Levine (WCRB webcast)

Grateful Dead - Dick's Picks, Vol. 20: Landover, MD 09/25/76 (Grateful Dead)

Marillion - Somewhere Else (MVD Visual, out April 24)

Johann Nepomuk Hummel - Der Durchzug durchs Rote Meer - Simone Kermes, Veronika Winter, Hans Jörg Mammel, Ekkehard Abele, Wolf Matthias Friedrich, Rheinische Kantorei, Das Kleine Konzert/Hermann Max (CPO)

Huang Ruo - Chamber Concerto Cycle - International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE)/Huang Ruo (Naxos)

Nicky Skopelitis/Sonny Sharrock - Faith Moves (CMP)

Navel gazing.

While searching Google News for reviews of Charles Wuorinen's Symphony No. 8, premiered by the Boston Symphony on Thursday night (and mentioned in my post immediately below), I stumbled upon an intriguing essay on Jason Gross's Crazed by the Music blog at PopMatters. In a February 4 entry titled " Navel-gazing as journo trend?" Gross -- a colleague, friend and founder of the pioneering, influential avant-music web zine Perfect Sound Forever -- mulls over a certain self-referentiality that he has noted lately in two high-profile publications: Salon and The New York Times.

Given the gargantuan checklists of outstanding arts journalism that Gross compiles at the end of each year, I have no doubt that he reads more widely than most, which provides an advantageous perspective from which to examine trends. He opens with this:

As much as you might admire the New York Times or Salon, you have to wonder if some dictate from above is now steering their content to mention themselves as much as possible now.

A Salon essay on the Internet's effect on journalism, by Gary Kamiya, is taken to task first. Gross's criticism here strikes me as off-base to a degree: Salon is indeed referred to many, many times in Kamiya's essay, but that's because the essay is fundamentally inspired by the writer observing the results of Salon's decision to allow virtually all of its readers' comments to be viewed on the site, rather than sifting through e-mails and choosing only the best and brightest. One fascinating quote in the article illustrates the risk inherent in that policy: "Several Salon contributors and staffers have complained to me that our open letters policy leaves the impression that our readership is much stupider and coarser than it really is."

The experience of other publications is mentioned, but most of the quotes come from Salon insiders. Still, as a reader I don't have a problem with this, because I understand it to be a sort of meta-reported think piece: Salon on Salon, as an illustrative example of a larger trend. One can't precisely apply the same measure that one would bring to bear if a similar self-referentiality had littered a review of a Pynchon novel, an Adams opera or the new season of Lost.

Gross's other example is my own recent New York Times feature on the symbiosis that has developed between Wuorinen and James Levine. After making some very kind statements about me and my work, he takes issue with the fact that my article opens by referring to an earlier Times article on Wuorinen, and cites another Times piece further on. "Is that where Wuorinen’s whole rep lies?" Gross asks. "No, but you wouldn’t know it from the piece."

I don't think that's an accurate representation, but that's not my point. Rather, it's Gross's conclusion that I want to address with regard to my article:

One reason this might be happening is branding.  When you’re holding a newspaper or magazine in your hands, you’re committing yourself to that specific pub for at least a while and you’re aware of that.  When you’re surfing online, you’re hopping around a bunch of links, maybe not always realizing where you’re going or where you’ve gone.  As such, is madly pointing to the publication one way to remind us of what we’re reading online?

Gross's conclusion, as well as the introductory speculation at the beginning of his post (quoted earlier), proposes some kind of editorial edict that effected these pieces. Speaking for myself -- and only for myself -- I'd like to put this notion to rest.

I opened my Wuorinen article with a reference to one of the most often-cited previous pieces ever published about him -- "Wuorinen's Bleak View of the Future" by Joan Peyser, published by the Times on June 5, 1988 -- specifically to make the point that Peyser's grim projections of Wuorinen's future prospects, and those of modernism in general, had not come to pass in quite the way her article predicted, even if several of the problems she outlined have persisted.

My intention was not to correct or debunk Peyser's thoughtful piece, which accurately depicted the tenor of its day. Rather, what I wanted to point out was that times have changed, and in Wuorinen's case, largely due to the arrival of a powerful advocate. In a larger sense -- although perhaps I failed to make this point clearly -- what I wanted to convey was a sense that we have finally reached a point where a composer's success has less to do with any dogma or "-ism" than with the excellence of his or her music. Today, one can easy find new-music concerts in which Wuorinen's music sits comfortably alongside works by Jacob Druckman and John Adams, or Steve Reich and Nico Muhly. (Those are both actual past programs by the ACME Ensemble, incidentally.) Had Peyser's article appeared in Gramophone, the National Review or, I daresay, Perfect Sound Forever, it would still have formed my thesis.

The second Times citation in my piece, a passage quoted from Tony Tommasini's review of Wuorinen's Theologoumenon in its Met Orchestra premiere, was a matter of self-imposed deference. True, I attended that concert, and could certainly have described the piece myself. But in trying to tell this story objectively, I found it useful to cite the opinion of another observer. Given that the chief critic of the Times had reviewed the concert, and that his description was so accurate and lucidly stated, it seemed proper to quote Tony rather than offering a second opinion that would have done little more than echo the first. (Interestingly enough, David Mermelstein's profile of pianist Till Fellner, which appeared in the same issue as my Wuorinen piece, also cited an earlier Tommasini review.)

I realize that in expending so many words to address Gross's essay, I run the risk of seeming thin-skinned. I don't think he's wrong to ponder the question that he raises, but with my motivations laid clear, my article doesn't provide an especially effective means by which to further his argument.

In my contributions to the Times, I've never once considered (nor been burdened with) any demand to reinforce a brand identity. What does cross my mind is that when I write there, I speak my mind but I also take part in a larger corporate continuity. I don't have to make my opinion conform to anyone else's. But I do find it useful to be aware of the big picture -- and yes, on occasion, to refer to it.

=====

As for reviews of the BSO's Wuorinen premiere, you can read Jeremy Eichler in the Boston Globe here, and Keith Powers in the Boston Herald here. Listening to the WGBH broadcast online yesterday afternoon, I found the Symphony No. 8 to be a powerful, elegantly crafted extension of themes and ideas from Theologoumenon. I also thought it was far too much information to absorb in one sitting, and wished for a second chance.

Which goes to prove that you should be careful what you wish for. As I write this, I am supposed to be in Richmond, VA for a four-day stretch with Dr. LP, not staring out the window of my apartment in Queens. Unfortunately, I'd booked my flight with JetBlue; had I checked their website before setting out to JFK at 6am this morning, I'd have learned that they'd cancelled all flights to Richmond this weekend. One brutally expensive round-trip sedan excursion later, I've rebooked for tomorrow. From La Guardia. On another airline.

Guess I'll be tuning in to the WCRB webcast tonight, after all.

Playlist:

Joseph Haydn - Symphony No. 22, "The Philosopher"; Charles Wuorinen - Symphony No. 8, "Theologoumena"; Johannes Brahms - Symphony No. 4 - Boston Symphony Orchestra/James Levine (WGBH webcast)

Tony Oxley - Ichnos (RCA)

Fred Frith - The Happy End Problem and Impur (Fred/ReR)

Grateful Dead - View from the Vault II (Monterey Video)

Tobias Picker - Thérèse Raquin - Diana Soviero, Sara Fulgoni, Gordon Gietz, Richard Bernstein, Dallas Opera Orchestra/Graeme Jenkins (Chandos)

Radio, radio.

Charles Wuorinen's Symphony No. 8 ("Theologoumena"), which received its world premiere during a Boston Symphony Orchestra concert last night at Symphony Hall, will be broadcast and streamed live today on WGBH-FM and wgbh.org. The radio station's web page lists the broadcast at 1pm; the BSO site says the concert begins at 1:30pm. The program also includes Haydn's Symphony No. 22, "The Philosopher," and Brahms's Symphony No. 4. And amazingly enough, you'll also have a second chance to hear the piece: WCRB-FM and wcrb.com will be streaming Saturday night's concert at 8pm.

Wuorinen's symphony is thematically related to Theologoumenon, a symphonic poem that Levine premiered in a concert with the Met Orchestra at Carnegie Hall in January (covered here). That piece was without question one of Wuorinen's most beautiful creations, which makes these broadcasts all the more enticing. The same Met Orchestra concert included a fabulous rendition of Brahms's Symphony No. 3.