My Mom's (Yearly) Quest To New Mexico

New Mexico is just not a big city kinda place. Even Albuquerque is more like an oversized town. Once you head North toward Santa Fe and Taos, you find a lot of towns dotted throughout the hills, many of them little more than dents in the road. Truchas is one of those dents.

The Truchas Farmhouse is an Inn that my mom fell in love with about 20 years ago. She makes a pilgrimage there every year, usually in August, just when we're starting to feel completely fed up with the heat in Phoenix. Mom loves the farm and the little casitas at the Inn, but she especially loves the lady who owns the place, Frutoza Lopez. Frutoza possesses a rare wit, and she and Mom like a lot of the same novelas (Spanish-language soap operas) and a lot of the same old Mexican songs.

Truchas was the inspiration for Siggy Lindquist's home town, in my novel Broken Time: the rugged hills, the streams and irrigation gates, and the little towns denting the roadside. The Farmhouse has its own stream, which passes under a bridge in front of the main house.

It also has a man-made pond out back, with at least two resident racoons – I surprised them this year when I trudged out with my camera and suddenly spotted them near a culvert. They disappeared into the pipe as quickly as they could. Unfortunately, I couldn't capture them on video.

From the Inn, Mom and I venture out to surrounding attractions. We've got a couple of favorite shops we like to go to, but they're not the expensive galleries and clothing stores that took over Santa Fe and Taos. They're thrift shops, where the fancy stuff gets sold second hand.

One of them is the second floor of a candy store in Española; items there run from 50 cents to $1.75. There are state and national parks to visit too.

If you drive along scenic route 14, you can see outcrops of tilted layers of welded tuff, superheated volcanic ash that fused into solid rock. Turn off the route into Cerrillos, and you can visit Cerrillos Hills State Park, which features several moderate hikes through a landscape of welded tuff & volcanic rock, scrubby trees & tough grasses.

My favorite is Bandelier National Monument, below the Jemez volcano, which formed along the Rio Grande Rift. Jemez exploded twice within the last million years, spewing about 50 cubic miles of ash and rock. Bandelier National Monument is in Frijoles Canyon, which eroded out of thick layers of rhyolitic tuff, some of the same stuff you see along Route 14. The Canyon walls are tan, white, pink, and light orange, full of holes from gas trapped in the tuff that cooled and eroded into fanciful shapes. This fused ash formed a rock that ancestral Pueblo people found very useful for building material, so the monument contains ruins and petroglyphs too. This year, forest fires in New Mexico forced park officials to close all but a tiny portion of Bandelier. We didn't get to hike our favorite trail. But that just makes us more determined to come back next year.

Mom lived in Santa Fe when she was a little girl, some time during the early 1930s. It's changed so much since then, I think it breaks her heart a bit. Taos has changed too. Even I feel some of this sadness – when I was growing up in Arizona during the 60s, we only had about one quarter of the population we have now. Crappy apartment and housing complexes have sprung up everywhere, ticky-tacky places that are poorly built and crammed close together, and that all look alike. Beautiful hills and mountains have cities and towns creeping up their sides. This is not an improvement.

But we still manage to find the beauty in New Mexico every year. Mom will keep making her pilgrimage, and I'll keep tagging along. It's true that you can't go home again.

But you can certainly visit from time to time . . .

Ernie's Robot

My husband makes up really great titles for things. If you were looking at a display of his art in a museum, you would have as much fun reading the titles as you would have looking at the actual art. But unfortunately for Ernie, he's married to me – and I like to make up my own titles for his work.

Take Ernie's Robot. I found him lurking in a forgotten portfolio. I like him so much, he sits in a prominent spot in the room where we spend most of our time. I see him every day when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep. He is there while I'm watching movies, while I'm working on our big desktop computer, while I'm folding laundry and putting it away. I meditate or vegetate under his glowing gaze; he watches me do my homework. He has witnessed hundreds of phone conversations, but he never repeats anything he's heard.

The Sphinx Lady presides over my science and travel library. She is so gorgeous, she would probably sell pretty quickly in an art show. But I suspect many who admire her obvious attributes do not suspect the appetites that are the flip side of her sublime expression.

Skeleton Guy is an illustration for an article Ernie did for a gaming magazine, DIFFERENT WORLDS, about precolumbian monsters and spirits. If you see him, you have to be courageous enough to grab his exposed, beating heart, or the sight of him will drive you mad. I always thought he would make a great Halloween card.

We weren't careful enough when we stored The Jaguar's Wife and something stained her face. But I rather like it – she looks as if she just got done eating a chocolate ice cream cone. After all, it's not easy to hold onto a cone with your paws.

Ernie named this picture Cease And Desist – I call it Zeppelin Woman. I love the little chubby spot around her navel. I have no doubt she'll fight off the bad guys.

Here are some details from The Novel, a piece that I hope to have mounted and framed some day.


You can read it from either direction. Ernie did it on a whim, with some leftover particle board.

It has suffered some damage over the years, but I love it anyway.

The Crocodilian is still loaded with personality, even though he's dead. He's from one of Ernie's on-the-run sketchbooks. Ernie has kept several over the years, drawing in them with crayon and/or grease pencil. Happily, he has begun to scan some of this stuff into our computer, where he can work on it with the GIMP program. These sketches are some of his best work.

I have appropriated many drawings by Ernie to illustrate my blog – it's one of the perks of being married to an artist. Fortunately for me, Ernie is a kind man, gifted with infinite patience. We have even begun to do some art together, using my photographs and his skill with GIMP. Together, we designed the cover for my book, Broken Time.

We'll be doing more of this in the future, so . . .

… watch this space!

They've Got The Horizontal AND The Vertical . . .

I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona during the 60s, a time and place that I fortunately shared with the wonderful program director for Channel 5, who was a huge movie buff. His programs on Channel 5 included, The World Beyond, Tarzan Theater, John Wayne Theater, Charlie Chan Theater, Adventure Theater, and many others.

Each of those programs had wonderful theme songs. For The World Beyond, it was an excerpt from Also Sprach Zarathustra – not the most obvious bit, but the weird stuff with all of the voices that you hear in the movie 2001. For John Wayne Theater it was an excerpt from the last movement of Grand Canyon Suite. That program director just seemed to have a knack for picking 30 seconds of music that captured the spirit of the movies he loved so well. He understood how important that music was. He is the one who taught me to be aware of musical scores.

For me, the film score is always at least as important as what's happening on the movie/TV screen. Sometimes it's more important. Here are some movie and TV scores that rocked my world and blew my mind. I hope they'll do the same for you.

The Outer Limits, Dominic Frontiere

I consider myself very lucky to have seen the premiere episode of The Outer Limits: "The Galaxy Being." But the really lucky thing was that I was only 7 years old, so when the announcer said, "Do not attempt to adjust your television set . . ." I was literally reaching for the dial. I snatched my hand back, scared motionless.

"We control the horizontal," said the announcer, "We control the vertical."

Oh my gosh! They've got the horizontal AND the vertical! We're doomed!

So for the next hour I was a happy captive, utterly convinced that what I was seeing was the truth. But even more important, I believed the music, though I didn't know the mechanics behind it (and still don't). The music is utterly true, even though I now understand that The Outer Limits was just a very good story-telling device, not a transmission from benign-yet-spooky aliens. Dominic Frontiere belongs to the Great Soundtrack Composer Club, where he sits right alongside Bernard Herrmann and Elmer Bernstein (not to mention Igor Stravinsky and Aaron Copland).

The day after I had my visit from "The Galaxy Being" I rushed out to tell my friends about it, only to find that many of them had experienced the same thing. If you're younger than me, maybe you'll find this goofy. But sample the music – you'll find out it packs a wonderful punch. I'm so glad I own a copy of this album.

Beauty And The Beast, Georges Auric

In the interest of preserving peace in our home, my mom gave me my own little black & white TV when I was 9, an act that some might consider a blow against Western Civilization. But I was a weird kid, and I didn't spend much time watching game shows. I was hooked on movies, so Bill Thompson's Channel 5 got a lot of my business. We also had a good local PBS station, and that's where I discovered Jean Cocteau's Beauty And The Beast. I accidentally tuned in during the scene where Beauty is running through the Beast's castle, a haunting, silent sequence that runs at a dreamlike pace. Then the Beast steps out of the shadows and confronts Beauty. She faints, and the music starts up again.

Any thought I had of changing the channel was forgotten.

When I started collecting albums, I searched for this soundtrack. My search lasted for 30 years, because Beauty And The Beast didn't have a soundtrack album. It wasn't until after the death of the composer, Georges Auric, that someone was going through his papers and found the score. Now I own two different recordings (this one and the NAXOS recording).

The score works both as a soundtrack and a classical suite. In turns it's haunting, romantic, heartbreaking, playful, transcendent, and triumphant. You'll like it even if you haven't seen Cocteau's film - and if you have seen it, hearing this music will evoke wonderful memories.

The Day The Earth Stood Still, Bernard Herrmann

It's impossible for me to imagine this film without its score, and that's the reason I won't see the remake. It's bad enough they thought they could replace Michael Rennie. But when I think of the wonderful sequence, “Nocturne/The Flashlight/The Robot/Space Control,” I can't imagine why anyone thought they could improve perfection. This sequence is the essential science fiction experience, an encounter with the unknown (and possibly the unknowable). It's a glimpse into alien minds and alien machinery.

The theremin (played by Samuel Hoffman and Paul Shure) in this movie produced a sound that became the standard “science fiction soundtrack,” at least in the popular imagination. But it was never used to better effect, and it was beautifully supported by an orchestra in Herrmann's score. It's inventor, Leon Theremin, was a genius with a long and very odd career. Bernard Herrmann went on to write scores for Alfred Hitchcock, including the next album.

Vertigo, Bernard Herrmann

The first time I saw this movie, I didn't actually see it. I heard it. It was playing so late at night, I was dozing on my bed when it finally came on the TV (which tended to be on, much of the time, in my bedroom). The music roused me from deeper sleep, and managed to keep me in an in-between state for the entire movie. Occasionally I would pry one eye open and see Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, talking, running, kissing. I knew some heavy-duty stuff was going on. And even though I didn't hear the dialog, the music told me everything I needed to know about the movie and its themes of love, obsession, deception, and ultimate loss.

This was the most grown-up movie I had encountered up to that point. It's so grown-up, I'm not sure you can truly comprehend it if you're under 40. But that's okay – the music is a road map. If you've heard it, you'll never forget it. It will tell you exactly how Jimmy Stewart's character was feeling. You'll be swimming in deep water. And that's an experience everyone should have at least once.

Jason And The Argonauts, Bernard Herrmann

Herrmann was a versatile composer who is probably best known (in the U.S., at least) for his score for Psycho, in which a band of crazy violins duke it out with some relentless cellos. The sound bite everyone knows (“scree-ree-ree-reet!”) doesn't really do the score justice. Listen to the whole thing some time – it's a masterpiece of suspense.

Brits may know Herrmann better for his scores, Anna And The King Of Siam and Fahrenheit 451. These scores are so beautiful, they deserve blogs of their own. I saw these movies eventually (happily, when I was still a kid, and my sense of wonder was still dominant). But the first Herrmann score I ever heard was Jason And The Argonauts.

The opening sequence is driven by the same sort of drum you would expect the rowers to hear on the Argo. Likewise, the horns might have sounded from city walls, warning of an approaching army or celebrating returning heroes.

But my favorite part is where the dragons teeth are sown, and the Children of the Hydra sprout into an army of skeletons. I'm pretty sure the dominant instrument in this sequence is the bassoon. It's effect is delightfully menacing. Once those skeletons start fighting, an array of percussion instruments join the wind section to create the effect of clashing swords and rattling bones. Ray Harryhausen's animation and Bernard Herrmann's orchestration make a dazzling team.

Le Voyage En Ballon, Jean Prodromides

Someone (on NPR, I think) once posed the question: “What are the five album that changed your life?” For me, that mostly happened before I was 12 years old. The only exception is the music of Ralph Vaughan Williams, which took my heart by storm when I was 30-something.

When I was a kid, the first album I became aware of was Snoopy And The Red Baron, by the Royal Guardsmen. I loved Snoopy, so it was only natural I would love the song about him. It's a wacky album, very British 60s pop/rock. But within a few years, my tastes became more sophisticated. Some new albums came along and rocked my world: Ports Of Paradise (Ken Darby and Alfred Newman), Rogers and Hammerstein's The King And I, and Jean Prodromides' score for Le Voyage En Ballon.

My mother, brother and I had seen the original version of Le Voyage En Ballon at a drive in. It was French, but didn't need subtitles, because it had no dialog – it was made by the same director who did The Red Balloon (Albert Lamorisse). The action and music told the story. Later, Jack Lemon bought the American rights and released the film with an awful narration track attached to it.

My mom loved the music, so she bought the LP. I played it to death. This is another album I searched for, for years, in CD form. I recently found it on amazon – as an import. I can't stress enough to you – get this album while you can. It's incomparable.

People have a tendency to romanticize times that are past, as if all adventure, glory, and achievement are long dead. I don't believe that's the case with film scores. People are still writing great ones. But today's composers are influenced and inspired by the composers who came before them. So am I.

I'll always be grateful to that program director for Channel 5. Every Saturday morning, he invited me to The World Beyond. On that show, and others, I heard some of the best film scores ever written.

I was a very lucky kid.

Confessions Of A Fan Dancer Wannabe

About 25 years ago, I was on a trip to New Mexico with my mother and my sister. We were staying at a Bed & Breakfast in Santa Fe, and one morning we sat down to breakfast with a couple of very nice ladies from North Carolina. Conversation started with what we were doing for the day, how beautiful New Mexico was, etc. But eventually, the subject at hand became what we did (or if you want to look at it another way, what we were).

My mother had a past she could be proud of – 25 years teaching Special Education, then subbing for the 3^rd grade. (Now she teaches English As A Second Language for adults). My sister volunteered that she was a college student, working on her Bachelor's degree in Geology. (Now she teaches 3^rd grade in California and lives in an Ashram – she spends several months a year living and volunteering in India). The whole time they were talking, my frantic little brain was scurrying around, trying to scare up something I could say that would not sound totally lame, disreputable, and/or pathetic.

I pretty much failed, because I am the Black Sheep of the family. I had already gone to junior college twice, trying to settle on something I wanted to do, but I didn't even have an Associates degree. I had no steady source of income, had worked a variety of low-paying jobs. The only thing I had going for me was the fact that I was a writer – but I wasn't published yet. In fact, I was on the brink of my first sale: a story titled “Shade And The Elephant Man” (which I later developed into my first novel, Shade). Charlie Ryan at ABORIGINAL SF had asked me for a re-write, and was looking at the result (I hoped) even as we spoke. What was I going to say to these ladies? I'm kinda-sorta on the verge of maybe selling a story . . .

My sister stopped talking, and one of the nice ladies from North Carolina turned to me. “Well then,” she said, seeing my extreme hesitancy, “you must be the fan dancer.”

Ha! I wish! The life of a fan dancer sounded exotic and glamorous. Fan dancers actually have dancing skills, you can imagine them waving their feathered half-shells in the courts of ancient kings. Or you might picture Gypsy Rose Lee, dropping her shoulder strap as she sings, “Let Me Entertain You.” You wouldn't picture the hard life of a nude dancer in today's men's clubs – a life that, frankly, seems more like the life I was really living at that time (metaphorically, at least). To be a fan dancer – how much better that sounded than the truth.

But I was on the spot. So I did what any self-respecting writer would do. I lied. “I'm a writer,” I said. “I just sold my first short story.”

My mom, god bless her, chimed in with her very high opinion of me, and the fact that what I wrote was science fiction (as if this were ultra-glamorous). The ladies were pleased, and it turned out that they liked science fiction too. Of course, they were Southern ladies, and this may have been a polite fib. But I can hardly point an accusing finger at them when I was the biggest liar at the table.

A week later, I returned home to discover that Charlie Ryan wanted to buy the story, and my lie turned into the truth. He bought two others after that. I sold a few more stories, and eventually I sold nine novels to NAL/Roc. I was also published in the U.K., Italy, and Israel. I just self-published two new novels as e-books, and I plan to do the same with my entire backlist. Nowadays, I'd have something good to tell those ladies. I'm even back in college, studying Geology (my sister had the right idea).

And I probably wouldn't have made a very good fan dancer anyway. Still, it might be nice to wave those feathers around, once in a while. Just for fun . . .

Broken Time

When my novel, Broken Time, was published by NAL/Roc, it was nominated for the Philip K. Dick award. Now I've published it as a Kindle book on Amazon and in several formats on Smashwords (who distributes it to sites like Barnes & Noble, Sony, Kobo, Apple, etc). This time around I don't have to use a pen name, so I've published it under my Emily Devenport moniker. Nice to be finally getting over my Multiple Pen Name disorder . . .

The cover was designed by my husband, Ernest Hogan, using one of my photographs. I like the way it turned out. Hopefully it will help me sell lots of copies of Broken Time.

Red Rocks, Rain, Haboobs, and Happiness

Our new work schedules have made it difficult for Ernie and me to do day trips together, but last Monday was an exception. We're not ones to waste an opportunity like that, so we piled into our truck and drove North to Oak Creek Canyon. Here's a link to Ernie's blog about our day. He did nifty sketches and everything.

We hiked on a path I'd never taken before, along Highway 179, in hot sunshine. By early afternoon, it was raining on us, and we got splashed with red mud. It rained on us most of the way home, but we finally hit a dry patch outside Black Canyon City. We rolled down our windows to dry off.

By the time we were driving South On I-17, into Phoenix, we saw a massive haboob rolling in. All in all, it was a fabulous day . . .

Humility 101

They say that anyone who can be discouraged from becoming a writer, should be discouraged. And though I'm not usually the sort to try to discourage anyone, if you're considering becoming a writer, there's something you need to know right off the bat: writing is a humbling experience.

Let's get our definitions straight. By humbling, I'm not talking about the way you would feel if you received an award and you got behind a podium and said, “I am humbled by this honor.” Because, let's face it, you're the opposite.

And I'm not talking about the way you would feel if you were writing a book about a tragic event, and you did a bunch of interviews with people who survived it, and you said, “I am humbled by their strength and their courage.” Because you're actually impressed, not humbled. Maybe a little shamed, too, because you might wonder if you could rise to the challenge as well as they did.

Nope. I'm talking about the way you feel when someone pisses on you in public and the witnesses all laugh at you. Or the way you feel when you've worked really hard on something, and you're really proud of it, and someone walks by, takes a long look at it, makes a face, and says, “Meh.” (Also in public, because that's one of the main components of humiliation.) And just in case you think these humiliations will go away once you've become established, popular, and successful – forget it. You will be humbled again and again, for as long as you continue writing.

I know what you're thinking. “Sure, Devenport – crummy writers like you get humbled. I bet you get lots of bad reviews, and no one comes to your signings, editors give you the razz, and your own agent probably doesn't even return your phone calls. But I'm talented! I'm [fill in the names of several writers you admire] all rolled into one! Sure, I may get an occasional bad review from a jealous critic, but 99.99% of readers will know talent when they see it. These people are hungry for good books. In fact, they're starving. I know I'm better than most of the bozos on the best-seller list. If people like that mediocre stuff, wait 'till they get a load of the real deal!”

Okay, maybe you would word it a little differently (you are such a backseat driver), but you know you're thinkin' it. And that's the main reason you will be humbled. It's not because of bad reviews by jealous critics. Critics aren't jealous, they're arrogant (a human foible shared by writers). It's not even because sales will often fall short of expectations (make that drastically short) – that's just disappointing and discouraging. Depressing, too.

The main reason why being a writer is such a humbling experience is that your expectations rarely match up with reality, even when you should know better, even when you've been at this for decades and have had your share of ups & downs. Because writing books takes more self-confidence than most people will ever have, and that's only a half-good thing. It's that arrogance I mentioned earlier. You need it so you'll take risks and believe in your work. You need an obsessive-compulsive condition too, an attribute that will goad you into writing more books, long after your common sense has warned you that writing is a crummy way to make a living.

There are a thousand insults and disappointments you will suffer as a writer. This is regardless of your critical and/or financial success. Remember what you just said about those bestsellers you can write better than? (Okay, I said it, but you were thinking it.) Log onto any book site featuring Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Stephanie Meyer, or any other popular writer you can think of, and you will find negative reviews tarnishing all the good ones. Every writer who has ever lived has critics who will pick apart their work. Sure, financial success probably mitigates a lot of that disappointment, but only about the top 5% of writers enjoy real financial success. The rest of us have to take the insults and the injuries. We live, breathe, and dream a book for several months (or years), and then watch it turn into McBook – just one more hamburger out there on the market being perused by consumers who are always at least a little disdainful, and jaded, and ready to dismiss us just as soon as the next thing catches their eye.

All writers, obscure or popular, well paid or broke, share an essential disappointment, a realization that ultimately our work is just smoke and mirrors, an illusion we've tinkered together, a collection of ghosts who can't stand up to the daylight. It doesn't matter what anyone says or thinks about our work now, because eventually no one will say or think anything about it at all. It's like that poem by Shelley about Ozymandius, “Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Nothing is left of those works but a pedestal.

Shelley's poem will probably survive several more centuries, but even his work will probably fall to dust, eventually.

This fact does not sit well with the grandiose fragment of the writer's personality that drives us to write in the first place, so we feel humbled. Add that to all the other slights and disappointments we suffer as writers, and that humility really starts to pile up.

And that's not a bad thing. I would venture to say it's good for you. But you have to be tough to withstand it. So grow a thick skin.

You're going to need it.

Desert Island Albums

I'm a kid from the tail end of the Baby Boomer Age, and I think it's safe to say that most people from my generation don't list classical albums among their favorites, even though many of them are just as passionate about music as I am. Many of my writer buddies on facebook post clips from their favorite albums, everything from jazz, to rock, to easy-listening/lounge, to experimental – but never classical. Okay, granted, you don't see classical music videos very often (if at all). Unless you count footage of orchestras playing. Movie scores are often classical, but most of the people who watch movies are only vaguely aware of the music (which is a good indication that it's doing its job).

I'm a lot more than vaguely aware of the music. I've always loved classical music, even when it doesn't have a movie attached to it. When I was a kid, I eventually learned not to play my favorite albums for friends – unless I wanted to watch them take a nap. And that's when I realized that for many people, listening to classical music is just too much work. Plus there usually aren't any words. And when there are, they're in Italian.

Still, I believe that many people could learn to like classical music. There's a wide variety of it – it's not just Bach and Beethoven and Mozart. I believe there's classical music to please just about anyone. And once you find something you like, you may be inclined to explore some more. I'm not saying you should. But if you're curious, I've got a list of faves that you may feel inclined to explore. Just for fun. Honest.

Rachmaninoff, Suites For Two Pianos

The first few notes of this album play, and a door opens into a magical world. That's how it always happens to me. I play Suite No 1 and hear "The Barcarolle," and then "La Nuit," and then "Les Larmes," and "Paques," -- and I see a lost world, the sort of place the Russian upper class used to live and love. Sample it, you'll hear what I mean.

Suite 2 is more rousing, an adventure, rather than a romance. A carriage ride through busy streets, a climb on a hillside with babbling brooks. Watching a parade of soldiers in their best uniforms, knowing that they won't be going off to war anytime soon. All of these pieces were new to me when I first heard this album. I was well aware of Rachmaninov's piano concertos, and of "Isle Of The Dead." But what really amazed me was this double-piano version of his wonderful "Symphonic Dances." I prefer it to the orchestral versions I have, even though they are marvelous. This is just that much better.

Yolanda Kondonassis, Debussy's Harp

I had never heard Debussy performed on harp before I listened to "Debussy's Harp," and it was a delightful discovery. I am particularly impressed with Kondonassis' rendition of "The Sunken Cathedral." Previously, my favorite version of this was on Tomita's famous album, Snowflakes Are Dancing. But Yolanda's harp captures the magnificence of that magic cathedral better than any other instrument or collection of instruments I've ever heard.

Pay what you need to pay to get this album. It's worth it.

Claude Debussy, Orchestral Works, Vol 2, Geoffrey Simon

This may be heresy, but I have to confess, "Prelude To The Afternoon Of A Faun" and "La Mer" are not my favorite pieces by Debussy. My favorites are on this album, performed beautifully by Geoffrey Simon and the Philharmonia. In fact, this is the Debussy album I love the best, the one I'd want to have with me if I were stranded (with lots of batteries and a good stereo system) on a desert island. All of the pieces are orchestral versions, beautifully arranged. "Nocturnes" and "L'isle Joyeuse" are my favorites, but every single piece on this album is an absolute delight, and you may find that you have your own favorites when you listen to it (again and again, as it deserves).

This is a wonderful album to take on a road trip if you're planning to drive through fantastic landscapes. The first few bars will usher you into another world, a place of magic and mystery.

Harps Of The Ancient Temples

King David was reputed to love harps, and the first piece on this album pays homage to that history. Listening to it, you can imagine yourself in David's court, being serenaded by the finest musicians in the land. This is one of the most beautiful albums ever recorded, and this CD edition has marvelous sound clarity, even better than the LP edition I still have. I would classify it as classical rather than new age – the pieces are based on real, ancient music, and sound just the way you would expect them to if you could climb into a time machine and visit each of these civilizations. Perfect! And finally back in print! Hooray!

Mahavishnu, Apocalypse

If I could only keep 10 albums, Apocalypse would be one of them. I first heard it in LP form, when I was 14 years old, one hot summer in Phoenix, Arizona. It has always reminded me of the more dramatic parts of the Arizona landscape, not to mention the spectacular monsoon storms we have. At first, I played side one the most. I love the beautiful, contemplative piano piece that starts the album, "Power Of Love." And "Vision Is A Naked Sword" would make a perfect soundtrack for the super-charged lightning storms I've witnessed in Arizona. But eventually, "Wings Of Karma" and "Hymn to Him" also grew on me.

Recently my husband and I went on a second honeymoon, a driving trip through Arizona. It was January, and we passed a power plant in the middle of a desolate flood plain. A giant plume of steam hung over the plant, held in place by the super-cold air. "Vision Is A Naked Sword" was playing on our car stereo – it was one of those moments you remember the rest of your life.

People who review music sometimes have a tendency to be overly intellectual. When you listen to Apocalypse, rely on your gut. Don't compare it to other albums, let it stand on its own merits. I own 2 copies – I just bought a 3rd to give my brother. I hope it NEVER goes out of print (or at least, not in my lifetime). I'll always love it.

Ralph Vaughan Williams, London Symphony, John Barbirolli

It's high time that I write a review for my all-time favorite performance of Vaughan William's 2nd (London) Symphony. I love the John Ireland piece too – Barbirolli's interpretation of the material on this album is masterful – but what really makes it stand head and shoulders above every other performance I've ever heard is his tempo for the third movement of RVW's 2nd symphony. Other conductors have had a tendency to rush through it – Barbirolli nails it perfectly. Every time I hear it, my spirit soars, and if my knees weren't so creaky I would probably break into a jig.

One of the DJs on our local classical station used to excerpt the third movement on this recording to introduce his show every day, long before I knew who RVW was, and I always stopped to listen. Now I own about 20 recordings of RVW's work, including performances conducted by Adrian Boult, Andre Previn, Bryden Thomson, and Yehudi Mehuhin, but John Barbirolli is the master of the 2nd. If you're going to own just one performance of this symphony, this is the one.

Tomita, Snowflakes Are Dancing

This album came out in the early 70s, when I was a teenager, and I remember it generated both praise and scorn. The scorn was due to the fact that it was electronic music, produced on synthesizers. The group Yes had produced an amazing album titled Close To The Edge that used synthesizers to fine effect, and many artists across Europe were doing the same. But no one had attempted to do an entire classical album with synthesizers until Tomita came along.

I loved it the moment I first head it. If it weren't for Vaughan Williams, Debussy would be my favorite composer. Tomita doesn't just go through the motions and produce a generic electronic sound for this music, he interprets it as if his synthesizers were an orchestra. My favorites on the album are “Reverie” and “The Sunken Cathedral.”

This is another great road trip album. I own three copies . . .

Gustav Holst, The Perfect Fool

I love Gustav Holst, and I'm not trying to knock "The Planets." It's a beautiful, marvelously imaginative suite, and I think it ranks among the greatest compositions of all time. But it's a shame that music lovers often don't realize Holst wrote other orchestral works, and they are wonderful too. My favorite is "Egdon Heath," which is performed on this high quality EMI recording by Andre Previn and the London Symphony Orchestra.

This album is actually a compilation of earlier EMI recordings, all of which are very high quality. The vocal offerings are directed by Holst's daughter, Imogen. I have always preferred orchestral works over vocal, but these selections are an exception, some of the most moving I've ever heard.

Think of this album as a Holst sampler, and one well worth having.

Anatoli Liadov, Orchestral Works

Westerners who like Russian composers usually know the giants, like Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev, Stravinsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, Shostakovich, and the Grand Master, Tchaikovsky. But Liadov was a giant too, he just wasn't as prolific as the more famous fellows. His music evokes essential Russian characters like Baba Yaga, the grandmother witch. When you listen to "The Enchanted Lake," you will see that magical place, and his "Eight Russian Folk Songs" will transport you to the Age of Fairy Tales.

Prokofiev, Alexander Nevsky

I don't own the enhanced version of this CD, but I'm very happy with the regular version. The music paints the images of this story extremely well. I first heard this recording on a listening station at Borders, the year it was released, and I was sold within a few notes. I had seen the movie on PBS many years before, when I was a teenager. I tuned in during "The Battle On The Ice" scene. The music captured my interest first, but I have to confess I noticed something else that isn't really relevant to this review (but I can't help commenting about it). The actors were wearing fantastical helmets that looked familiar to me. I stared at the screen for several minutes before I figured out where I had seen them before. I used to read the comic book THOR, and I'm pretty sure I saw those helmets on the gods of Valhalla. Jack Kirby may have been the artist. So the Eisenstein movie has had a profound influence on a lot of people over the years.

I love this recording from beginning to end, but I have some favorite parts: The opening of "The 13th Century" sounds wonderfully Medieval. "Arise People Of Russia" is a profoundly moving choral piece, and so is "The Field Of The Dead." You can't help but think about the invasion of Stalingrad that occurred a few years after the movie was made. "Nevsky's Camp" captures the mood of a band of soldiers who expect to die in the morning. "April 5, 1242" is dramatic and ominous. A sound effect is included that will raise the hairs on the back of your neck at the beginning of track 10, the charge of two armies who clash in the middle and begin to fight with metal weapons. "Pskov: Procession of the Fallen and Judgement of the Prisoners," includes church bells and is utterly grand. And "Final Chorus" will knock your socks off.

Prokofiev is among my top 5 favorite composers, I love him without reservation. The emotions he expresses are both dark and light, harmonious and dissonant. ALEXANDER NEVSKY stands on its own, but is also a superb film score. Listen to the CD, then rent the movie if you've never seen it. It's worth your time.

Respighi, Pines And Fountains Of Rome, Eugene Ormandy

This is, hands down, my favorite recording of "The Pines Of Rome" and "The Fountains Of Rome." It's also the best of the recorded performances Ormandy did of these pieces, so beautiful it still brings tears to my eyes when I listen to it (and I've heard it at least 100 times). If I were still playing the LP version of this album, it would have been worn to the nub years ago. If I could only listen to 10 albums for the rest of my life, this would be one of them. It haunts my heart and stimulates my imagination.

I hope this album will be made available as a high-quality download, it would be a shame if it slipped into obscurity. Buy it while you can, it's an investment you won't regret. I own two – I don't want to risk losing it!

The Orthodox Singers, Basso Profondo From Old Russia

Back when the Borders where I worked had a music section, we received a demo of this album, and it piqued my curiosity. When I listened to the first track, I thought, "Oh well, interesting, but not something I'll want to take home with me." But when the second track began to play, I was hooked for life.

I tend to prefer orchestral music over choral or opera, but there are some notable exceptions. I find that Sacred Choral music from England and Russia is extremely moving. These are two very different musical traditions, but they share a spirituality that inspires me. I don't need to understand the words to get the message, the tones express it perfectly. Though there is one word just about anyone will recognize in track 5 of this beautiful album: "Hallelujah." It's my favorite track.

Russian singers are the best bass singers in the world, maybe because they love that range (though the singers in the higher ranges in this album are equally passionate, and their voices are gorgeous). I think it might be fair to say no one sings that "Old Time Religion" better than the Russians. During my Music Section Expert days, I sold many copies of BASSO PROFONDO FROM OLD RUSSIA to customers simply by playing it. Unfortunately the sample tracks on Amazon are selfish little snippets that don't do the album justice. So here's a thought – buy a high-quality download of track five, "Blessed is the man who seeks no council among the impious." I bought one from the iMusic site for $1. Once you listen to it, you'll know everything you need to know about this album.

Blessed is the music fan who takes this counsel!