A morsel of carrot on the tip of a conductor's baton

National Symphony Orchestra's performance of Shostakovich's Eleventh Symphony last Saturday was not bad. On the contrary, it was excellent. I cannot recall the orchestra sounding better, and the massed violas in the third movement, accompanied by nothing but a quiet pizzicato in the double basses, produced some of the finest sound from the notoriously ornery instrument I have heard anywhere. But it could have been much, much better. The credit for nearly ruining the performance goes to guest conductor Andrew Litton's introductory remarks.

Now, just making some remarks, while unnecessary, could be forgiven. And to be sure, Shostakovich can benefit from historical context more than most composers. The relevant information could easily be placed in the program notes, or the interested listener could look it up in any number of print or online sources, but ok, talk if you must. The coup de grâce was Litton's musical examples. He started with a few bars of the opening, as if to apologize for the movement's supposed stasis and to assure us that it really does make musical sense, but it got worse. One of the Eleventh's most famous features is Shosti's use of songs popular in Soviet Russia of his time, most of them rousing numbers intended to motivate workers and soldiers. While it's true that a typical American concert goer of today almost certainly does not know these songs, anyone with half an ear can tell where they are. Any pop, or folk (for that is what these songs had become), tune worth its salt sticks out immediately in the context of a large-scale symphony. But Litton insisted on having the orchestra play every single one, stripped of its context, bookended by explanations, to hammer us over the head with their prominence and illustrate the ideological ambiguity the composer introduced by syncopating, transposing, or otherwise changing the raw material of these songs, lest we forget that Shostakovich was a Very Complex Man working under Very Complex Political Circumstances. For one example, he went so far as to play over the PA a recorded sample of a version as it was performed in Russia by the Red Army Chorus before giving us the composer's rendition. What gives? Surely a conductor of Litton's caliber knows that a symphony only makes sense when played in its entirety, from beginning to end, in order? Imagine an accomplished chef carefully preparing a four-course meal, but before serving it to you, he hands you a fork with a piece of carrot on it and says, “This is one of the main ingredients in the salad.” Then, a spoonful of rice: “This is what the first course will be served with.” After that, a mouthful of freshly ground black pepper. As you choke on it, the chef says, “This is the principal seasoning I used in the main course.” Is that how you would like your meal introduced?

The experience was so bizarre that it provoked a reaction from the audience. After one particularly martial passage, complete with a staccato snare part, and Litton's comments about the brutality it supposedly portrayed, someone screamed “Got it!” A few moments later, a voice clearly yelled out, “Stop talking and play your music!” Rude to be sure. Some boos from the audience ensued. When Litton was finally done talking, he got some strong applause, no doubt as a sign of support and a desire to put the heckler in his place. At least I hope that was the reason. If, on the other hand, the patrons genuinely enjoyed having a bunch of unmoored musical morsels stuffed down their throats and washing them down with a lecture, then classical music is truly dead, not because the audience is getting old and dying, or because the tickets are too expensive, but because we are no longer capable of hearing a complete work on its own terms and forming a personal relationship with it without a crutch. Say it ain't so.

Roasted Carrot and Chickpea Salad with Chiles, Cumin and Dill

Carrots and cumin are a classic combination, I was tired of seeing an old can of chickpeas every time I opened the cupboard, and I happened to have a bunch of fresh dill left over from making potato salad a few days earlier, so:

• 4-5 medium carrots, scrubbed, sliced diagonally into 1-inch-thick slices
• 1 Tbsp. + 2 Tbsp. olive oil
• 1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
• 1 4-oz. can whole mild green chiles, preferably Hatch, drained and sliced
• 2 tsp. whole cumin seeds
• Juice of 1/2 fresh lime
• A handful of fresh dill, finely chopped (about 2 Tbsp.)
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

 

1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.
2. Toss the carrot slices with 1 Tbsp. olive oil in a medium bowl. Sprinkle with a pinch of salt and toss again.
3. Turn the carrots out onto a cookie sheet or shallow roasting pan large enough to accommodate the carrot slices in a single layer and roast until tender but not mushy, and the edges are slightly caramelized. This shouldn't take much more than 10 minutes, depending on the thickness of the carrot slices.  Remove from oven and let cool for a few minutes.
4. Combine the roasted carrot slices, chickpeas, sliced chiles and cumin seeds in a bowl.  Add the remaining 2 Tbsp. olive oil, lime juice and dill.  Season with salt and pepper.  Gently but thoroughly mix the salad, cover and let stand at room temperature for a couple of hours or in the refrigerator overnight.  This will soften the cumin seeds and release some of their aroma.

Serve at room temperature as a side dish, part of an appetizer buffet, or bring to a picnic.  Feel free to adjust the amounts to taste, as well as substitute whatever fresh leafy herb you have on hand for the dill.  Cilantro works particularly well, but parsley will do in a pinch.

Royal Philharmonic at the GMU Center for the Arts

Some soloists, conductors, and perhaps even entire orchestras just aren't cut out for performing music written in certain styles or periods.  They are just not generalists.  Such was the case last weekend with the Pinchas Zukerman leading, from the violin, the Royal Philharmonic at George Mason's Center for the Performing Arts.  They opened with Bach's A-minor violin concerto, and it was quite likely the most boring Bach I have ever heard.  The orchestra's playing was baby-bottom smooth, with a dynamic range narrower than a bigot's mind.  This is music that cries out for playfulness and zest and can sustain almost unlimited amounts of experimentation and irreverence, but the Royals sawed away like automatons for the entire concerto.  Zukerman himself, his technique as smooth and characterless as that of his troops, looked bored, just standing there with no expression on his face (except maybe that of mild disdain) and consequently none coming from his fingerboard.  If you care so little for this music, why play it?

Zukerman and Co. followed up, less radically than it sounds on paper, with Schoenberg's Verklärte Nacht, Op. 4, scored for strings, and although I do not know the work intimately, it was obvious from the first few moments, that the group was much more in their element than on the Bach.  The smoothness and “of a piece” nature of their sound served the orchestra exceptionally well as Schoenberg's diffuse and mysterious score moved between the sections.  Written when the composer was on the cusp of his twelve-tone breakthrough but not yet there, this is gorgeous music, the the Philharmonic did it full justice.

The coup de grace of the concert came in the second half, as Zukerman and Canadian cellist Amanda Forsyth attacked Brahms' Double Concerto, Op. 102.  Clearly, Romantic symphonic material (the Concerto started out as the composer's Fifth symphony) is where both the soloists and the orchestra were fully at home.  The dynamics, so constricted on the Bach, were sweeping, and the tutti sections were delivered with unshakable authority.  Zukerman played well, but, for my money, was blown away by the glamorous and talented 47-year-old Forsyth (incidentally, Zukerman's third wife – what's with young soloists falling for cranky old conductors?).  Her tone was beautiful, yet full of character, with just enough juice in the attack to make her 1699 Testore cello sound distinctive on every note.  Spectacular performance of one of my favorite works by one of my favorite composers.  By the end, I was perfectly happy to forgive Zukerman and the gang their strangling of the Bach, though I must insist that the credit for lifting the violinist and his orchestra to such soaring heights go primarily to Forsyth.

Zwack! Or, How I Almost Invented a Cocktail

Stepping off the office elevator one morning, a colleague and I found ourselves face to face with a young project manager with whom we occasionally worked.  “Would you like some Zwack?” she asked cheerfully.  As if in a bad sitcom, the colleague and I looked at one another, then back at the PM and said, in unison, “What?!”  The PM reached into her bag and pulled out a squat, spherical bottle.  “Zwack,” she said.  “It's Hungarian,” she elucidated after an awkward moment or two.  The label did indeed read “Z-W-A-C-K,” with a symmetrical, Swiss-looking cross underneath.  The story apparently was that PM's husband, a former U.S. army soldier, used to participate in joint exercises with the militaries of various NATO countries, particularly Hungary.  Ever since, his army buddies have been bringing back beverages native to whatever country they happened to visit.  “Are you really giving it away?” I asked skeptically.  “Yes,” she assured me, “we have a ton of it at home.  There is no way we could go through all of it.”  I had no idea what the company policy was regarding accepting offers of free booze, but being reasonably sure that it was being offered in good faith and with no expectation of any return favors, I took it.

The PM's heartfelt assurance that the stuff was not available in the US was proven false after a single glance at the back label (“Imported by Diageo North America, Inc., Norwalk, CT”), but that made it no less interesting.  Zwack is a liqueur made with a proprietary blend of herbs and spices, in the manner of Italian amari, the original recipe dating back to the late 1700s.  Medium amber in color, it has a nose of citrus, especially orange, as well as gingerbread and molasses.  The herbs are evident, but muted.  On the palate, it is more sweet than bitter, with flavors of orange, a hint of tea, and a medicinal quality not unlike that of Benedectine, but more subtle.  It is as if Cointreau and Chartreuse has a love child who turned out to be an introvert.  Now I had a bottle of the stuff.  But what to do with it?  Hungarians reportedly drink shots of ice-cold Zwack, but to me it had "cocktail" written all over it.

Rewind a couple of years and two thousand miles or so due west.  On a visit to Oregon, I had discovered Rogue's Pink Spruce – a locally made gin aged in Pinot Noir barrels.  A bar in Portland made it into a convincing Aviation Cocktail for me, and knowing I could not get it back home, I brought back a bottle.  The problem was that it proved not to be interchangeable with a traditional English gin in most contexts.  With a nose that was musty and not particularly fresh and a sharp burn of alcohol on the front palate, it was both more assertive and less refined than the gins I was used to, though with careful tasting, I detected some cucumber and spice on the finish.  The key difference, though, was that it was sweeter than any other gin I've ever tasted, Portland's own famously sweet and floral Aviation included.  Somewhat disappointed, I shoved the bottle into the back of a cabinet.

Although my embrace of the nouveau-cocktail culture has been slow and skeptical (let's face it, I'm just too old to hang with the faux-speakeasy kids), thanks to a couple of places in Asheville and Philadelphia I have grown fond of the Martinez, a mix of gin, sweet vermouth, maraschino and orange bitters that may or may not have been the predecessor of the modern martini.  Its main challenge, however, is that it calls for Old Tom gin, a relatively sweet precursor to the modern English gin, which only the most dedicated of home mixologists would keep on hand.  Could the Pink Spruce be an effective stand-in?  The answer proved to be a qualified yes.  After a few experiments with proportions, I had a reasonable facsimile.  But why not keep going?  Could Zwack's pronounced citrus flavors work synergistically with the bitters to mask the dank basement quality of the Pink Spruce?  This time, the yes was far more resounding, if I say so myself.  What I ended up with, though not that similar to the original Martinez any longer, was balanced, not too sweet, light-bodied enough not to coat the tongue but with enough layered depth to keep you focused and prevent you from drinking too many too quickly (Pink Spruce clocks in at 90 proof, after all).  I am still trying to come up with a good name.  My working name, in a nod to the Corpse Reviver, is Rosemont #2 (#1 still being under development), though if someone has something Hungarian-sounding to offer, I'd love to hear about it.

Rosemont #2
2 oz. Rogue Pink Spruce or Old Tom gin
¾ oz. sweet vermouth, preferably Dolin
¾ oz. Zwack
Generous dash of orange bitters

Fill a cocktail shaker half-way with ice.  Add the ingredients and stir vigorously for 30 seconds.  Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.  Garnish with a swath of orange peel.

Complexity vs. Simplciity

An Atheist Defends Religion: Why Humanity is Better Off with Religion than without It
Bruce Scheiman

Capsule Review

In An Atheist Defends Religion: Why Humanity is Better Off with Religion than without It (Alpha, 2009), Bruce Scheiman makes the claim that religion offers the best means of understanding one's place in the world regardless of whether God exists.  Specifically, in his view it offers more than a purely materialist, science-based approach ever could.  He offers many interrelated arguments to support his claims.  Unfortunately, I do not have the time to dissect Scheiman's ideas in detail, but, after the majority of his edifice eventually collapses under the barrage of questions with which any thoughtful reader would inevitably bombard it, one question remains standing that we must consider.

Scientific materialism is reductionist – it holds that complex natural phenomena can always be reduced to a collection simpler ones.  Thus, any biological process is a collection of chemical ones, and a chemical process is a combination of physical ones.  In other words, biology is just chemistry, and chemistry is just physics.  And we all know that left to their own devices, physical processes will always move towards greater entropy, i.e. a lack of order.  So physics will always move away from greater complexity towards greater simplicity.  Yet few of us would deny that life, over the millions of years of its existence, has evolved towards greater complexity.  From RNA to DNA, from single-cell organisms to multi-cell ones, and eventually towards consciousness and intelligence.  How do we reconcile this glaring contradiction?

Scheiman says that only religion can do this.  This, though deeply appealing to a vast majority of people (he is right about that), is, of course, false.  Thomas Nagel, for one, has offered the idea of natural teleology that is compatible with a fully non-theistic view of the world.  His ideas, which, though fascinating, are a subject for another day, may yet end up being, if you will allow me, reduced to scientific materialism as we understand it today.  Still, the question of how to reconcile the physical imperative of greater simplicity with life's inexorable march towards greater complexity is something those of us who use science to guide important life decisions must examine seriously.

A position on gun control


The Aurora, CO movie theater shooting is only the latest event keeping the gun control debate on the front burner, but in fact it is something I have been thinking about for a long time, and have finally arrived at something I hope resembles a coherent position.

If you believe that ensuring public safety legitimately falls within the purview of government, then it is reasonable for the government to regulate, restrict and even ban certain types of weapons such as assault rifles. Now, this is a big if. Everyone should decide for themselves whether they believe that there is such a thing as public safety, and whether it is government's proper role to ensure it. But if you do, then it follows that it is also proper to restrict or ban certain forms of weapons. However, the Second amendment guarantees the individual's freedom to bear arms, and as currently interpreted by the Supreme Court, that freedom is absolute. Therefore, restricting or banning any form of weapon today would result in violation of constitutional law, and therefore we must not do it.

The problem is that the Supreme Court blew it when interpreting the Second amendment. Its text reads: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary for the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” But the Supreme Court basically threw out the entire Militia clause – a grave mistake. There is a good reason why the Founding Fathers put the militia business in. In the early days of the republic, the army was small, weak and ragtag, with no formal reserves. Communication and industrial infrastructure was non-existent. The fledgling Federal government had no way to mobilize the army quickly in an event of an attack, and had to rely on the citizenry to be ready at a moment's notice to go into battle. With their own guns. Hence “...militia being necessary for the security of a free state...”

Today this is not the case. Even the most strident originalist has to acknowledge that some evolution in how we interpret the Constitution is inevitable for simple reasons of history and scientific progress (cars? internet? nuclear weapons?). Second amendment is a perfect example of where such evolution has to take place. Assault weapons are an instrument of war and should be treated as such. They are no different than an F-16 jet fighter or an Abrams M-1 tank. You don't show up at your local dealer's lot and drive off in one of those. The same should hold for an AK-47.

What about the argument that “if guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns?” I do find this argument compelling, but in the case of assault rifles and other high-powered weapons, treating them as instruments of war would go a long way towards addressing it. The government – specifically, the military – would have a great degree of control over their manufacture and distribution (and, indeed, specification), making them much more difficult to obtain illegally. Yes, I have just advocated increasing the amount of government control over something. But this should not be controversial. If you believe that a state can legitimately raise and maintain an army, answerable to a civilian, more or less democratically elected government, then most aspects of that army's operation will naturally fall within government's control.

There is a law enforcement side to this, too. Once assault weapons are fully militarized, penalties for their illegal possession and use should be very severe. If you steal a fighter jet (or smuggle in one bought overseas) and use it to attack people, that's a big deal. Far bigger than stealing a car and running over a pedestrian with it (as bad as that is). The same should hold for an AK-47.

So how to move forward? I believe the Second amendment should be repealed. Impossible? Today, it is. But it may not always be. Think about the Nineteenth amendment. Today, it strikes us as a ludicrous abrogation of the government's responsibility to protect individual rights. At the time, however, the social and economic impact of drinking was so immense, that a confluence of political and social forces enabled the amendment to pass. Yes, I realize that the Nineteenth amendment was woefully ineffective. See enforcement, above. It is also true that overall levels of drinking did decline during Prohibition, and have never gone back to pre-Prohibition levels after repeal. And besides, there is a qualitative difference between the desire to buy a bottle of gin and mix a round of martinis and the desire to buy and use an assault rifle, to say nothing of the relative number of people affected. My point is that as assault weapons proliferate and the shootings along the lines of the Aurora, CO movie theater, become more frequent and more deadly, political will will eventually obtain to repeal, or at least significantly reinterpret the Second amendment. It will take years, decades even, and thousands of people will have to die, but one day it may not seem as unrealistic as it does today.

Katherine Boo

Katherine Boo's Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity has been well covered elsewhere, so I will not attempt a full review here.  Suffice it to say that I cannot recommend it enough.  One of the remarkable things about the book is that it would be unreadable if it weren't for Boo's perfectly dispassionate, detached, documentary style.  A drop of emotion, and the events described in the book would be overwhelming even to the most atrophied heart.  What really sent me for a loop, though, is that more than once while reading I thought that perhaps there are places and times when a government does have a legitimate role that goes beyond merely ensuring that individual rights are not infringed upon as I usually like to maintain, and that role might reasonably be – can I really be thinking this? – to enforce a one-child policy.  Would China be where it is today if they never had such a policy, or never enforced it?  Would that be a good thing?  And for whom?