Diana Krall vindicates the Presbyterian Curmudgeon

In an interview with NPR this morning, Diana Krall said, "If I had my choice now, I'd sing 'Girl from Ipanema,'" thereby confirming my sound judgment.

An Almost-Chosen People

To Mrs. Curmudgeon's bemusement, I am an obsessive listener of the EconTalk podcast, and have picked up the phrase "deep insight" from host Russ Roberts. Paul Johnson's lecture "An Almost-Chosen People," published in the June/July 2006 issue of First Things, is littered with them. Just one paragraph (get ye and read the rest):

"Since religious establishments were popular rather than hieratic, a distinctive American religious tradition began to emerge. There was never any sense of division in law between laity and clergy, between those with spiritual privileges and those without—no jealous confrontation between a secular and an ecclesiastical world. America was born Protestant and did not have to become so through revolt and struggle. It was not built on the remains of a Catholic Church or an establishment; it had no clericalism or anticlericalism. In all these respects it differed profoundly from the old world, which had been shaped by Augustinian principles and violent reaction to them. The word secular never had the same significance in America as in Europe because the word clerical had never conveyed an image of intolerance and privilege. America had a traditionless tradition, making a fresh start with a set of Protestant assumptions, taken for granted, self-evident, as the basis for a common national creed."

A Perverted Sacrament

"For they eat the bread of wickedness,
and drink the wine of violence." - Proverbs 4:17

Strictly applied, the canons of grammatical-historical exegesis forbid us to find in Proverbs 4:17 any allusion to the Lord's Supper because the original writer and readers could not have found it. However, we ought also read all of Scripture as part of the Christian canon and, because of the Bible's unitary Spiritual authorship, can find intertextual references which look forward as well as back.

Proverbs 4:17, then, describes a perverted sacrament. The wicked's religion is not faith in the Cross and does not include the faith-filled act of receiving and participating in the benefits of Christ's death and resurrection. Instead, their religion is worship of self, to whom they sacrifice the lives (literally and figuratively) of those around them.

The righteous receive the blood of Christ by faith and through the Spirit. The wicked shed the blood of others and would, if they could, crucify the Lord of glory.

Up

In one of his magazines or comic books, Thing One discovered a flyer from the Cartoon Network a couple months ago. It advertised a contest in which one of the top prizes was a toy lightsaber. Very excited (my brother-in-law bequeathed the curmudgelings his old Xbox, and "Star Wars Lego" has been their favorite), he asked me to enter him in the online drawing. I warned him he ought not expect to win anything, but he was nonetheless determined not to miss out on this opportunity. So I entered him for the inevitable disappointment, figuring this would be a chance to learn a Very Important Life Lesson.

You can see where this is going.

While he didn't win a lightsaber, he did get a free ticket to the movie of his choice. Said choice being Pixar's Up, I took him to see it yesterday afternoon. For what it's worth, this may be Pixar's best to date. While the computer animation is of course state-of-the-art, what continues to impress me about the studio's work is that it would be equally good using the old hand-drawn method. These films are memorable because they stick to what works: visual humor, solid plots, and excellent character development. They produce films of consistently high quality which are more remarkable for their humanity than for any computer-generated wowie factor.

In this case, Up is primarily a sustained meditation on the obligatory nature of family relationships in general and the nature and significance of marriage in particular. Its message is simply and eloquently stated: it matters less what we do than with whom and for whom we do it.

Up's run is coming to its end, and you should be able to find it at the dollar theatres soon (I think any movie is better seen at a theatre than on a TV of any size). The Disney marketing machine hardly needs my help, but here it is anyway: go see Up. Tell them the Curmudgeon sent you.

Common grace & the common curse

A lovely quote from Ken Myers, in an interview in the online edition of the PCA magazine byFaith: "Well, I don’t think everything that happens is evidence of common grace. I have a high view of the common curse, too."

Separation & Inspiration

"After three months we put out to sea in a ship that had wintered in the island. It was an Alexandrian ship with the figurehead of the twin gods Castor and Pollux." (Acts 28:11)

A philosophy known as "separation" is prevalent in certain fundamentalist circles. The idea is that the Christian must entirely separate himself from all sin and false worship. For example, not only ought one not attend the Roman Catholic mass, one ought have no Roman Catholic friends. The truly committed separated brethren will go the next step and refuse to associate with fellow fundamentalists who have failed to similarly separate themselves from Roman Catholicism.

Against all this stands Acts 28:11. When Paul's company left Malta, they did so in a ship whose figurehead represented religious worship and trust in Castor and Pollux, Greek gods who were thought to protect sailors. I think we can take for granted that the Apostle to the Gentiles did not share their idolatrous beliefs; nonetheless, he was willing to sail in a ship given over to idolatry.

Too bad Paul didn't have the advantage of sitting under fundamentalist teaching before he took up his missionary work.

Live in Australia, 1959

In my iTunes library, Frank Sinatra albums are usually grouped in the "pop" genre, but Live in Australia, 1959, from a tour with the Red Norvo Quintet, is definitely in the "jazz" category. This is due in large part to a genuine collaboration with Red Norvo, one of the preeminent vibraphonists and bandleaders of his day. Sinatra is remarkably free not only with lyrics, but phrasing and timing as well.

This album has been perhaps overhyped: in my not-so-humble opinion, the performances are mostly perfunctory until "I've Got You Under My Skin," when the energy levels shoot way up. From then on out, Sinatra and the band are swinging. It's a classic, and a delight.

How to make marriage matter again

Ummm... Stop committing adultery?

The Person from Ipanema

I first heard "The Boy from Ipanema" on the Red Hot + Rio album, as sung by Crystal Waters. It struck me then, as now, as a modestly enjoyable quasi-techno experiment. The original version, "The Girl from Ipanema," a cool jazz meets bossa nova triumph, featured ethereal female vocals by Astrud Gilberto and an otherworldly sax solo by Stan Getz. A worldwide hit, it is beyond compare. As no cover version could possibly come near it for absolute perfection, it would be churlish to point out any failings (and while I am a curmudgeon, I'm no churl).

But now Diana Krall has released her own "The Boy from Ipanema" (I have ended up with five versions of this song on my iPod, all of which I've carefully considered whilst writing this post), and the time has come for me to register my objection. Yes, even to Ella Fitzgerald's rendering. The problem is not with the performances, but the lyrics.

The narrative of "the X from Ipanema" concerns a person admiring from a distance, with romantic longing of course, a person of the opposite sex walking along the Brazilian beachfront. In "The Girl," the singer describes a young man's longing in the third person. When Astrud Gilberto sings it, the tantalizing possibility emerges that she is the girl and in fact does notice her young male admirer; perhaps she is not oblivious to his affections after all.

But in "The Boy," the singer describes her own longing in the first person. All of a sudden, this lovely piece of gossamer turns into an overly intimate confessional. At the same time, the object of her affections becomes that much more distant: there is no hope whatsoever the singer's love will be reciprocated. The song is no longer romantic, just sad and, frankly, borderline depressing.

The irony, of course, is that the gender-switching of the "The Boy" version is completely unnecessary; need a point out that Astrud Gilberto was a woman? Henceforth, if the lady singers wish to take a crack at this classic, by all means have at it. But let it be "The Girl from Ipanema," and never again "The Boy."

And that's right, I really don't have anything better to think about.