Tom Lehrer passed away yesterday at age 97. Harvard alum and professor of mathematics, Lehrer generated thousands of fans worldwide despite having a short performance career and limited discography. Here is a thoughtful obituary just published by the New York Times.
We owned all three of his original vinyl records, “Songs By Tom Lehrer” (1955), “An Evening Wasted with Tom Lehrer” (1959), and “That Was The Year That Was” (!965). I remember listening to them from an age way too young to understand the black and biting satire they contained.
Despite stating his website would be shut down, Tom Lehrer’s site happily remains live. It contains all his song lyrics, sheet music, and recordings.
Those who knew his songs loved the witty lyrics often containing hilarious rhymes:
“These are the only ones of which the news has come to Ha’vard, And there may be many others but they haven’t been discavard.” – closing lyrics to “The Elements“
The dark, sometimes bordering on gruesome images his songs sometimes conjured often were carried by lovely melodies. My father and I performed dinner music when I was in junior high and high school, including “The Wiener Schnitzel Waltz,” “When You Are Old and Gray,” and “I Hold Your Hand In Mine.” The first two, upbeat and lively Viennese waltzes speak of the transience and superficiality of youthful beauty and lust. The last, a sweet, romantic melody delivers a shudder-inducing love letter from a necrophiliac.
Performing dinner music with my father back in the 1980’s
His song, “Pollution” was undoubtedly the first environmentalist song I learned. His “We Will All Go Together When We Go” resonated for me and my generation, growing up in the looming shadow of mutually assured destruction. I was a big fan of “The Masochism Tango” for probably a decade before I had a clue what that word meant (later after I took up ballroom dancing, I couldn’t ignore what a great tango the song really is!).
In my teens, I was enjoyed hearing Lehrer’s songs on the syndicated radio show, “Dr Demento.” I was delighted when I got to college and found many kindred Lehrer fans with and for whom to sing.
The Tom Lehrer songbook from which my father and I performed
I wrote a letter to Lehrer in November, 2009, requesting permission to arrange, perform, and sell an arrangement of “The Masochism Tango.” People love his music, I wrote, although “I daresay some would have blanched had they heard the lyrics.”
He graciously wrote me back a hand-signed letter granting me permission to all of the above. We exchanged a couple more letters. The last letter he wrote me, in July, 2010, he closed with:
“Again, no payment will be required. If, however, you ever make a lot of money from it, please feel free to send me some.”
Those two hand-signed letters will remain treasures in my collection.
Click here if you are interested in the sheet music to my string quartet arrangement of “The Masochism Tango.”
In October, 2020, Lehrer announced he was relinquishing the rights to of his songs and lyrics. “[P]ermission is hereby granted to anyone to set any of these lyrics to their own music, or to set any of this music to their own lyrics, and to publish or perform their parodies or distortions of these songs without payment or fear of legal action.”
Long before Tim Minchin, far more biting than Steve Allen, Tom Lehrer will remain a giant in my parody song repertoire.
The word, “Lehrer,” means “teacher” in German. You taught us a lot through humor and music.
Last weekend I played principal viola in a concert with the Oregon East Symphony (OES).
Although I have performed for over two decades with the Newport Symphony and occasionally subbed with other orchestras (such as OES), I’ve only played principal viola once before last week.
What is a Principal Musician?
The principal is the leader of a section of instruments. There is a principal cello, principal viola, principal 2nd violin, as well as principal percussion, horn, etc. The principal 1st violin is called the concert master and has additional responsibilities.
The principal leads their section. That can include assigning parts when multiple voices are written. In string sections, the principal may suggest particular bowings and fingerings. They are expected to help visually cue when the section is to start playing after a long pause in the music, and so on. Sometimes, composers may write a solo specifically for the principal musician. For this reason, the principal musician is typically the most skilled member of that section.
Accepting the Role
I knew I was not the most skilled violist in the section, and when first offered the position, encouraged them to pick someone stronger. But they insisted I was the one they wanted, so I buckled down for the task.
Rarely does the viola section get to play the melody in an orchestra. They more typically play a supporting role, offering harmony, doubling with other sections (cellos, bassoons, etc.) or the “pa pa” rhythm in a waltz “oom-pa-pa.” Once in a while, composers like Brahms and Dvořák favor the viola section with short phrases of melody. Off the top of my head, I could count on one hand the number of symphonic works I can think of that have an actual viola solo.
As luck would have it, this concert featured a rare viola solo.
One of the pieces of the program was “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” by Paul Dukas. Based on poem by Goethe and made popular in Walt Disney’s 1940 animated film Fantasia, it vividly depicts the story of the young sorcerer, bored and tired with his assigned of task carrying buckets of water, deciding to use magic to enchant a broom to do the work instead.
He is unable to stop the broom. He even resorts to splitting the broom with an axe only to see the individual pieces and splinters continue the work. He completely loses control of the situation and the room floods with rising water. The old sorcerer returns, and with a wave of his wand, quickly reverses the spell.
Mickey Mouse as “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” in Disney’s Fantasia (1940)
Musically, each character in the story has a dedicated theme. The old sorcerer has an ethereal melody played by the upper strings. The enchanted broom (later brooms) has a distinctive march played by the bassoon.
After the return of the old sorcerer and his climactic spell ending the brooms’ enchantment (2:03 in the clip above), the musical theme for the old sorcerer is played (2:24), and a short, mournful melody is played on solo viola. In Disney’s Fantasia, Mickey Mouse, who plays the Sorcerer’s Apprentice returns to his mentor the magical hat while wearing a chastened and embarrassed expression (2:32). The solo viola plays its melody twice (although the second time is cut in the abbreviated Fantasia version).
Fates Collude Against Me
The week leading up to the rehearsals and concert I was alarmed to find my left ear was blocked. I tried drops to remove any ear wax, took antihistamines, and found little relief. A healthcare provider peered in my ears and perceived no infection or wax, but she did see some fluid. She recommended saline nasal rinses, nasal decongestant spray, and failing that, a nasal steroid spray (Flonase).
At first rehearsal, I could hear almost nothing out of my left ear, which is the one closest to my instrument. I couldn’t tell if I was in tune at all during the first rehearsal. It was nerve wracking!
The veritable apothecary of medications started to take effect, and as I worked through the various rehearsals, my hearing gradually improved. My friends and colleagues gave me encouragement and helpfully answered my request for feedback and advice on my solo. Come concert day, I was feeling reasonably confident.
An overdressed principal violist
I showed up in my concert tuxedo … and saw everyone was dressed in open collar black shirts. My heart sank into my stomach. Rereading an earlier email, I found the part I had missed: “For the performance, dress all in black and for comfort. Tuxedos will probably be a little too much to bear. Short sleeved shirts/sleeveless dresses are totally acceptable attire.”
Great. So, I was overdressed (and likely going to overheat).
But happily, it all worked out in the end. I was satisfied with my solo and was humbled to receive praise from several musicians and members of the audience.
Perhaps the magic of the music buoyed me in my time of need.
Update: This post was written long before the pandemic. Although things are opening up, I remain cautious and have been hosting karaoke parties online, which you can read about here.
Last night I attended a karaoke birthday party for the daughter of one of my high school friends. Anyone who knows me knows that I love to sing karaoke. I even got to sing karaoke in its country of origin, Japan, a few years ago.
I met the birthday girl’s siblings, a cousin, and a friend, and an evening of joyful song and harmonies ensued. I found it especially heart-warming to see siblings and mother happily singing together in harmony.
I have written why I like karaoke (I used to avoid it) and want to share that essay again here.
Learning to Love Karaoke By Toby Loftus, 2017
I sing karaoke. A lot. Nearly once a week finds me in any of a number of area karaoke bars singing with friends. I recently sang karaoke in Japan, and thus checked one item off my bucket list. I was not always so enamored with karaoke. Indeed, like many, I used to avoid karaoke and thought poorly of those who partook. This is the story of my journey from resistance and judgement to enthusiastic embrace and evangelism.
What possesses a person to get up in front of strangers, many possibly inebriated, and sing (or at least make an attempt)? When I was younger, I supposed it was a need for attention, and, knowing my own predilection for the spotlight – often to hide my insecurity at the cost of more deep, vulnerable connection with others – my resistance to taking part was pretty firm and automatic. I judged the karaoke aficionado similar to the person who thinks, incorrectly, they are funny and entertaining while commandeering a mic – much to everyone’s great dread and discomfort.
Part of my resistance was due to my identity as a musician. Classically trained, starting at age four to play the violin and other instruments subsequently, I’ve never had any vocal instruction save for a couple years in junior high choir. I can carry a melody and know when I’m out of tune, but I’ve never considered myself a singer, really. As comfortable and versatile I may feel with a viola under my chin, I’ve never had that level of comfort with my own voice. Sometimes things come out of my voice I don’t intend, and like most people, I shudder with discomfort when I hear recordings of my own voice. There is something really unvarnished about singing, and doing so, especially in front of strangers, can feel like standing alone, naked and vulnerable.
When I was a kid, my father loved to have sing-a-long parties. He collected sheet music of old pop tunes from the 30s and 40s. He mimeographed pages of song lyrics and made makeshift song booklets. He was always trying to get a group of people to sing these old songs. I never fully understood the appeal, but I went along with it. Sometimes as a family we’d sing some old turn-of-the-century songs in 4-part harmony. I liked that, just as I liked playing string quartets and block flute duets and trios. Playing string quartets is, to this day, one of my favorite activities, and I’ve added my own compositions and arrangements to a growing library of quartet music I enjoy reading with friends.
I do like to sing by myself, and I often rewrite song lyrics for fun. Since Christmas carols are played repeatedly for weeks, if not months before December, I’m usually so sick of them that changing the lyrics in my head is one way I amuse myself and maintain my sanity. I have also played in the pit orchestra for musicals. By the end of the many rehearsals and shows, everyone knows every song lyric and line. So I’ll rewrite the lyrics to amuse myself and my fellow musicians and actors. I also like to choose a favorite song and rewrite the lyrics for birthdays, anniversaries, and other special occasions for friends. In all, I’ve probably rewritten over three dozen song lyrics. But singing alone, or singing for or with friends is different than karaoke. It’s safe, and fun, whereas a karaoke setting is quite another thing.
My first karaoke experience happened several years ago. My eldest brother loves to sing karaoke and celebrated a birthday with a party in a private karaoke suite. I decided to get up and sing a Sinatra tune. It didn’t go badly, and it wasn’t unpleasant. Maybe there was something else about this I was missing.
Another time, during a weekend where I was performing with the Newport Symphony, some acquaintances suggested some after-concert karaoke at a local dive bar. Okay, I decided to give it a try. As I entered the bar in my tuxedo, all eyes were upon me as I looked for my friends. I took a deep breath and walked through the bar as confidently as I could, finally locating them in an adjacent room. My friend, Melissa, was so enthusiastic and encouraging, I couldn’t help but be disarmed of some of my judgement and insecurity, and so I got up and sang, appropriately, “Sharp Dressed Man” and got a rousing ovation from the locals. That was kinda fun!
I started doing this regularly in Newport, coaxing fellow musicians into joining me. We became regulars, recognized and enthusiastically received by the locals and the KJ of the Newport bar whenever we’d show up. I loved getting to see and hear my musician friends sing. The surprise of hearing their voices and seeing what songs and genres they would choose was far removed from the relatively narrow genre of symphonic music I had previously played and associated with them.
At the beginning of 2017, I decided I wanted to play more chamber music, and I wanted to sing more karaoke. I now have in my car a USB drive containing the Billboard top hits from 1946-2004 which I regularly listen to, finding songs to add to my list of possible karaoke tunes. I have created a Facebook page with a growing number of members, some of whom get together every week or so – sometimes even more frequently – to sing karaoke.
So why, why am now I so immersed in karaoke? I’ve thought a lot about this, and there are several reasons.
1. Expanding Musical Horizons As indicated previously, I am a classically trained musician. As a child I studied violin, piano, and flute. I took private lessons and performed often with my father. I grew up in a household with an extensive vinyl collection of classical, jazz, and folk music, but very little popular and rock music. I didn’t listen to any rock-n-roll (other than maybe some Beatles), and also no country and western music. It wasn’t until I was a sophomore in high school that I started listening to rock music and attending dances and parties. I didn’t attend my first rock concert until I was in college. So I was a late bloomer.
Also, I used to really detest country and western music. As I have often shared, my best friend in high school and I used to joke you could convert any song into country by just adding a “bare chicken” to it (“bare-chicka bare-chicka bare-chicka…” – you can often hear this rhythm in the drums on most country songs).
As I’ve listened to and watched people sing karaoke, I’ve come to really appreciate country and western music and have begun to sing a little myself. Other genres I have previously avoided, or only listened to, I now embrace and may sing (rap, Disney songs, show tunes, 70s and 60s pop, do-wop, etc.). I enjoy continuing to discover, rediscover, and find new joy and beauty in music I’d previously avoided or discarded.
2. Universal Acceptance and Support I have heard a lot of karaoke singing, some good, some great, some mediocre, and some pretty awful. But I have never heard a single “boo!” or heckle. It is good karaoke form to always clap and cheer on every singer, regardless of ability, and I see that every time. The very worst response I might have witnessed was a subdued golf clap, that’s it. Never anything negative.
What could be a more potentially antagonistic situation than a stranger, dressed in a tuxedo, walking into a dive bar to sing in front of local fisherman and townspeople? When I did it, they were enthusiastic and supportive of me. How about a diminutive school teacher getting up and singing a song in Spanish in front of the same group? People got up and danced while she sang!
In a time when it seems like everywhere one turns there is argument, ad hominem attack, polarization, and friction, seeing this kindness, enthusiasm, and universal positive acknowledgement and support really warms and heals my heart.
3. Overcoming Insecurity Nearly every person I know who sings has some insecurity about their voice. And I know some people who have amazing voices. I will never forget the first time my friend, Jennifer, got up to sing. She was tentative and had to be gently cajoled a bit to sing. Then she sang Whitney Houston’s “Saving All My Love.” My jaw hit the floor as she brought down the house. Recently, a friend, Chelsea, got up and sang Eartha Kitt, and the bar was mesmerized into silent awe. Several people told her she should try out for “The Voice” or other singing contest shows. The fellow who followed her proclaimed, “Chelsea, you’re great! I’m f***ed!” Everybody laughed, and he did fine.
I, myself have had to overcome my own insecurity about my voice. Like most, I probably could list all the things I don’t like about my voice, myself and what I am unable to do, and I would struggle to make a list of the positives. But people encourage me, just as I encourage others. I truly love to hear others sing and have to tell myself they may feel the same for me. It’s really delightful to see someone who has been tentative and fearful to sing, get up there, and gain confidence in the accolades they receive. It’s like watching a flower open up in full bloom.
4. Harmony and Healing In karaoke, I love to sing harmony with others. Whether it’s singing Kool and the Gang or Air Supply duets with Joe, “Stumblin’ In” with Lisa, “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” with Jennifer, “Islands in the Stream” with Rochelle, “Suddenly Seymour” with Alicia, or “Elvira” with Eric and Joe, there’s something really magical about harmonizing with someone else. Like playing string quartets, I delight in listening to and responding to others musically, supporting and being supported by them. I used to be an avid ballroom dancer, and a good duet feels as joyful and uplifting as a really well executed waltz.
The late film critic, Gene Siskel famously loved the movie “Saturday Night Fever,” so much so that he reportedly watched it 27 times and bought Travolta’s white disco jumpsuit at an auction. In a 1993 “Our Favorite Scenes” special on Siskel & Ebert, Siskel calls out the “Night Fever” routine from the movie:
As the Bee Gees music builds, these quarreling kids are brought together by the music…The music is healing as the ‘Night Fever’ dance number turns into a dream of what might be if young people could learn to dance with each other off the floor as well…What could be a better dance scene than one that shows dance as capable of bringing about…a reverie of peace?
Indeed. I’ve always believed there was much more commonality between people than difference. Singing together reaffirms this belief in my mind and in my heart. I look forward to my next karaoke session with friends, wondering who will come, what people will sing, and preparing my own song list. After a karaoke session, my feet float a little lighter with each step as I recall the songs sung, the laughs shared, and the deep feelings of joy and affection felt by and shared among my friends. It doesn’t even require one to sing; there are some friends who attend, but never never sing. They come cheer on others and dance to the music.
I cannot promise you will find the solace, healing, and communion I do in karaoke. But I encourage you to give it a try. And if you ever want to join me, you are always warmly invited.
The number of times I have played music for a non-human audience I can count on one hand. It appears, however, that music may well move our animal fellows in ways similar to how it moves us.
While in Pendleton to perform with the Oregon East Symphony, I stayed with my friend, Emily. Here is Emily’s dog paying attention to me while I played her piano.
I was warmly rewarded for my efforts.
My friend, Hamid is a skilled healer and musician with whom I’ve enjoyed jamming on a few occasions. While we were playing, his dogs came in and disrupted our music with kisses and attempts to sit in our laps.
I enjoyed visiting my friend, Erin and her menagerie of animals. I spied a piano and sat down, which seemed to delight her cockatoo, Raspberry.
Watch closely to see us bobbing our heads at each other.
I’m not in these videos, but my friend, Jenny has a sweet dog, Buddy, who sings when she plays the violin. I love revisiting these videos often.
Franz Schubert is one of my favorites composers. He died at age 31, yet left us a prodigious amount of music, some of which was not discovered and appreciated until well after his death; Such was the case for the Symphony in C.
Consider this photograph of the last measures of the last page of the viola part:
Those who read music may notice the number of measures: 1154 in total! Considering several lengthy repeats in the work, performing it can take nearly an hour. Some sections (e.g. wind and brass) may enjoy lengthy periods where they don’t play – called “rests,” which is especially appropriate for and appreciated by musicians in this work – string players such as myself enjoyed very few. We were exhausted by the sheer magnitude of the work, but played it with joy because it is such a rapturous work.
Although there are pages of repeated ideas and phrases within a section, I don’t find the work as a whole repetitive or overly long from a listener’s perspective. That being said, some enthusiastic audience members told me afterwards that they were exhausted – so emotional and great was the lengthy musical journey.
What boggles my mind is the thought of writing this thing, by hand – over 1100 measures’ worth of music. Now multiply that by the number of individual parts: 5 string parts, 8 woodwind parts, 7 brass parts, and timpani – 21 parts in total. That amounts to over 24,000 measures. So first you write the score. Then you have to write out the individual parts (for which you need multiple copies). Today, using computer transcription software that will still be a Herculean task. Hearing all that music in one’s head and writing it down by hand – I cannot imagine it.
I cannot find a photo of Schubert’s manuscript for this work, but here’s an image from his Symphony No. 8 (“Unfinished”):
9 measures with 15 staves = 135 measures. Just 178 more pages like this and you would approach the total work of his Symphony in C.
There is a dual tragedy of Schubert’s brief life.
First, he never got to hear this great work performed. He struggled in relative obscurity and suffered poor health and poverty most of his short life. Appreciation for his musical genius didn’t arrive until he was already gone. Ten years after his death, Schubert’s brother showed Robert Schumann a copy of the work, and Schumann took the copy back to Leipzig where it was performed by none other than Felix Mendelssohn. Just imagine how much music Schubert wrote that was lost forever.
Moreover, one can only imagine what wondrous more music Schubert would have composed had he lived another 5 or 10 years.
Ready for the first performance
Maestro Adam Flatt giving a pre-concert talk
Close friends and classmates cheering me on
My excellent stand partner and guest principal violist, Brooke
Come to the coast for a fantastic concert by the Newport Symphony. We’ll be performing Schubert’s Great Symphony in C, and Ernest Bloch’s Concerto Grosso no. 1.
Concerts will be Saturday, November 2, at 7:30pm, and Sunday, November 3, at 2pm at the Newport Performing Arts Center (PAC). For directions, click here.
Franz Schubert is one of my favorite composers. His music combines beautiful, soaring melodies interlaced with moments of darkness and melancholy. He completed this work in 1825, just three years before his death. That he lived only to age 31 is a profound tragedy to us all. He composed an amazing amount in his short life, but one cannot help but imagine how much more of his wonderful music we would enjoy today had he lived 10 or even just 5 more years.
Ernest Bloch lived to the age of 79, more than twice as many years as Schubert. He spent the last two decades of he life in Agate Beach, OR, just a few miles north of the Newport Performing Arts Center where the Newport Symphony will perform his work. The Concerto Grosso for string orchestra with piano obbligato was composed in 1925. It is considered his best work by many critics and musicians alike.
Blatant Calm 