I usually get out to at least a few concerts every year, but the past month or so has proved a veritable feast for my ears, with four performances of note.
First, there was my children’s Spring Concert at school, with my daughter as one of the crowd of violinists and my son playing clarinet. I won’t pretend there weren’t some rough patches, but the Carl Orff pieces (well-selected and played), the simple, affecting melancholy of “When My Goldfish Died” (written by Hamilton school district’s own Daniel Tobias), and the novelty of hearing Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” played on piano and bass violin more than made up for nearly a year of listening to variations on “Old McDonald.”
Next, my wife and I ventured to Champions bar in Trenton to see Yorkshire Tenth, our friend’s band. The name “Yorkshire Tenth” comes from the appellation given to an area of New Jersey settled in the late 17th century—later known as Nottingham Township, and still later, as Hamilton Township. Yorkshire Tenth’s four members all have ties to Hamilton, making the name particularly appropriate, but happily, there’s more to the band than a clever name—a great sound that occupies that increasingly narrow domain of the music spectrum where my wife and I find common ground. Check ‘em out.
The next concert, in Philadelphia, might be the definitive example of the divide in musical tastes betwen me and my spouse. Magma is a French band founded by drummer Christian Vander in 1969, inspired in part by the works of jazz musician and composer John Coltrane. Magma’s songs are sung in the made-up Kobaïan language, based on elements of Slavic and Germanic languages and…scat-yodeling. Vander and company inspired a genre of similar music called “Zeuhl,” that is still carried on today. A reviewer once described Zeuhl music as “what you’d expect an alien rock opera to sound like,” so if that’s what you’ve been looking for, look no further. “Zeuhl” apparently means “celestial” in Kobaïan, but despite the different spellings, I always think of Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters, screaming and slamming her refrigerator shut as a reptilian demon shouts “Zuul!” That scene perfectly encapsulates my wife’s reaction to this music, and it, combined with the line by Mike Myers as Dr. Evil in Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery—“liquid hot magma”—would have made a great opening to this concert.
Finally, in Asbury Park, I attended the New Jersey premiere of a documentary, Eat That Question: Frank Zappa in His Own Words. As movie premieres go, this one was fairly tame, though I’m pretty sure I saw Frank’s son Ahmet wearing a cape as he emerged from a limousine. The movie features no narration, just various clips of interviews and other video footage, and while it was very good, the real show came after, a concert by a band called We Used to Cut the Grass (a Zappa reference). A 12-member group with two drummers and a well-stocked brass section, they played their own compositions, along with some Stravinsky and (of course) plenty of Zappa’s music. They’re young, talented, New Jersey-based musicians carrying on a tradition of intricate, innovative music that was cut short when Zappa died, and I can’t think of a better compliment than to say that Frank Zappa would’ve loved them.
As I traveled for these concerts, I thought of the talk of a performing arts theater in Hamilton, somewhere in the underdeveloped arts district proposed near the train station. I’ve been to concerts at Lakewood’s Strand Theater, the NJ State Theater in New Brunswick, The Count Basie Theater in Red Bank, Pollak Theatre at Monmouth University, Asbury Park, Newark, Princeton… it seems there’s no end of theaters, usually located right near public transportation hubs, that anchor arts and dining areas in these towns. A similar setup in Hamilton would provide economic benefits and boost public perception of the town. Plus, maybe then the weird bands could come to me.
Peter Dabbene’s website is peterdabbene.com, and his previous Hamilton Post columns can be read at mercerspace.com.
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