Music

“I certainly never planned on being a music director in a time of war,” says Hobart Earle, who has conducted this Ukrainian orchestra for 30 years.BERLIN — There was a warm ovation as the musicians of the Odesa Philharmonic Orchestra came onstage here on Tuesday evening, and cheers when the ensemble played the Ukrainian anthem. Applause greeted the conductor Hobart Earle’s spoken introduction in German.But none of that was as loud as the roar from the crowd at the Philharmonie when Earle switched to Ukrainian. To hear that language spoken in front of dozens of Ukrainian musicians in a Western European capital was a stirring sign of the defiant survival of Ukraine — and its culture — in the face of Russia’s war of aggression. (The concert can be viewed at mediathek.berlinerfestspiele.de through Sept. 17.)That defiance was particularly powerful coming from an orchestra from Odesa, whose port holds the key to the Black Sea and the global grain trade. The city may be the most strategically and symbolically crucial prize of the war as it drags on.The Philharmonic, which dates its modern history to the 1930s, was performing in Berlin for the first time, but it was led by an old friend: Earle, born in Venezuela to American parents, has been the orchestra’s conductor for 30 years, an unusually long tenure these days.“I never imagined that I would be a long-term music director,” Earle said in an interview the day before the concert. “And I certainly never planned on being a music director in a time of war.”The program of works by Myroslav Skoryk, Mykola Lysenko, Alemdar Karamanov and Sibelius came together rapidly after Winrich Hopp, the artistic director of Musikfest Berlin (part of the Berliner Festspiele), contacted the orchestra in early July. Earle, who had left Ukraine in February, flew back to Odesa to rehearse an ensemble that had been largely silenced for six months by the war.“How could I not go back to try and put this orchestra together again?” he said.With the Ukrainian government granting permission for male players to travel, even though men of military age are now barred from leaving the country, the performance could go forward. Even a double bass broken in transit could not dim the high spirits of the occasion, and what Earle called “the indomitable Odesa humor.”“Any orchestra is a mirror of its city,” he said. “Odesa is very well known in the former Soviet Union as a capital of humor. It’s a city where it’s so important during hard times, this ability to be flexible in the face of problems and to live life with a smile.”Below are edited excerpts from our conversation.Earle conducting the Odesa ensemble in Berlin in a program of works by Myroslav Skoryk, Mykola Lysenko, Alemdar Karamanov and Sibelius.Fabian SchellhornWhat has happened to the orchestra and the players during the past six months?My last concert was on Feb. 12, and the mood was going downhill really fast: “Maybe the American intelligence has something here; why are they sounding such an alarm; maybe this is really going to happen.” And we played — unplanned — the overture to Lysenko’s great Ukrainian opera “Taras Bulba,” one of our old war horses.After the war broke out, we didn’t know what was going to happen next. After the invasion of Crimea, in 2014, we had done a flash mob playing “Ode to Joy” in the fish market, and we tried to get permission to do that again, at sites around Odesa. But we couldn’t get permission. So we decided [to release online] the audio of the last movement of Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s 21st Symphony, the last big piece we played before the pandemic. It’s a kaddish he dedicated to the victims of the Warsaw ghetto. We took the music and added images from the concert hall and the war, but also images of Ukrainian life — to try and make it not terribly bleak, like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and we released that at the end of March.Had everyone stayed in Odesa?Some people had gone abroad, and some went to villages in western Ukraine. We have a lot of split families now — that’s very common, with wives and children abroad. But as people came back, the orchestra started playing weekly chamber concerts in May.Several of the players were in civilian defense units. One of our stagehands was actually in the army — he would be here except he had concussions and high blood pressure and got some time off, but he was on the front. Our principal clarinet is also in the armed forces, but his function right now is not fighting; he’s helping the wounded and driving ambulances. But they let him have time off to come with us.What was it like for you to return to Ukraine?It was rather sad, because the city is historically one of the great cosmopolitan cities of Europe. During the summer it’s usually bursting, and it’s empty now. But you can feel some life coming back on the streets, and in the restaurants and cafes.How did you initially connect with this orchestra?I came to the Soviet Union with a chamber orchestra from Vienna in 1990. With this orchestra, we had been doing rarely performed American music in Austria, and rarely performed Austrian music in America. And someone said we should take our American program to the Soviet Union. Almost none of us had ever been there before.One of the cities was Odesa, and I was then invited to come guest-conduct the Philharmonic. I came in April 1991, not speaking a word of Russian. I speak some Western European languages and English, but there wasn’t any ability to communicate. This was terra incognita, the Iron Curtain. And through an amazing turn of fate, there was one viola player from Cuba, and I could speak Spanish with him, and he was my translator. And it all grew out of that. If not for that, I wouldn’t have had any real chance of continuing. “Any orchestra is a mirror of its city,” Earle said. “Odesa is very well known in the former Soviet Union as a capital of humor.”Fabian SchellhornCan you tell me about program you’ve brought to Berlin?The basic idea was to focus on three composers. We start with Skoryk — part of his 1965 score for a classic of Soviet film called “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors.” This piece is called “Childhood”; it’s happy children’s music, very folkloric, and there’s so much folklore in Ukrainian culture and history. The idea was to go directly from this children’s music into an elegy by Lysenko — a piano piece, in a new orchestral version. And we’re dedicating this pairing to the children who are suffering so badly in this war.And Karamonov’s Third Piano Concerto?Nobody wrote music like this in 1968, not in the Soviet Union, not in Western Europe. He was a Crimean Tatar Muslim, and his father was exiled to Siberia, so in 1944 Karamanov wasn’t in Crimea but in Moscow with his mother, or else he would have been sent there as well.He went away from avant-garde music and came back to Crimea and this is one of the first pieces he wrote there. It’s a very religious piece: He was Muslim, but he had an experience that turned him totally toward Christianity, which was remarkable in the Soviet Union. He was very interested in jazz and all these forbidden things. It’s very reflective music; you can feel in some places the influence of Rachmaninoff and Scriabin, but that’s just fleeting moments. Other times you can feel these blues harmonies — with a deep religious underpinning. And a fascinating ending, totally unexpected: His words were that this is a rain, a spiritual rain.And the Sibelius?Winrich Hopp said we should play something in which the orchestra can really shine. And I came to Sibelius’s Second Symphony, which has the whole underpinning of patriotism. And we wanted to end with something upbeat. This music, the sort of narrative of this symphony, is something which now, during this war, we feel differently. This piece has a lot of dark moments, but that last movement …Has the issue of playing Russian music with the orchestra come up?I did a Shostakovich Five in Poland at the beginning of February, and that music fit the atmosphere so precisely. I’ve been asked a lot about Russian music. But Ukrainians just do not want to hear it now, and I think we need to respect that.Have you been able to explore Berlin during your stay?I realized that I haven’t been here since the fall of the Wall! So I’m exploring it. I found the site of the old Philharmonie, where the Berlin Philharmonic played. But there’s a sadness to being in Berlin now. It’s still a construction site. And it makes you wonder how many years it is going to take to rebuild Ukraine. More

We asked writers, critics and musicians including Meshell Ndegeocello and Angel Bat Dawid to tell us what moves them in Coltrane’s spiritual jazz.For the past several years, New York Times music editors have been asking: What five minutes would you play for a friend to make them love classical music? Last month, shifting the series’ focus to jazz, we asked musicians, writers and critics to share their passion for Duke Ellington.Now we want those music-loving friends to be moved by Alice Coltrane, the keyboardist and harpist who explored the universal and spiritual in jazz before her death in 2007 at age 69. Her husband John Coltrane had died in 1967.Before his passing, the couple explored the depths of spirituality together, traveling the world to take in new cultures, and letting those influences come through in the music. And where John used screeching saxophone wails to summon higher powers, Alice took the opposite approach, channeling serenity through the chords of her piano and the strum of her harp. In what would have been her 85th year of life, she’s still celebrated with tribute concerts and like-minded music from today’s purveyors of spiritual jazz.Enjoy listening to these Alice Coltrane songs, including a playlist at the bottom of the article, and be sure to leave your own favorites in the comments.◆ ◆ ◆Morgan Parker, writer and poetThe bluesy 1970 treasure “Ptah, the El Daoud” is a journey through the rituals of mourning. Of course it raps with a universal cosmos — but with one foot on Earth, where there’s no transcending grief. Composed in the years after her husband John’s death, and recorded in their family home, it features Alice Coltrane on piano with Pharoah Sanders and Joe Henderson on tenor saxophones. Except on “Blue Nile.” Here, they play alto flutes; Alice graces her harp. Following the aching prayers of the album’s “Turiya and Ramakrishna,” the opening strings of “Blue Nile” herald respite and repass, a moment to settle and reset. The musicians are downright grooving on this warm, imaginative track, both exhaling and exalting in every note.“Blue Nile”Alice Coltrane (Impulse!)◆ ◆ ◆Taja Cheek, musicianI know there was a time when I didn’t know who Alice Coltrane was, but I just can’t remember that time. I do remember taking a last-minute flight to California to visit the Sai Anantam Ashram that she founded in 1983. I remember crying with gratitude and anticipation on the plane there. I remember my phone dying, and worrying that I would be stranded in a place I didn’t know; but I remember the Indian food the ashram prepared more than I remember the worry. I remember the joy of meeting members of the ashram, of learning from them, of hearing them sing, of hearing them talk about their love for her. There are many Alices, depending on who you ask, where and when. There are many sounds, too: devotional chanting, spiritual singing, strings, jazz piano, harp, nasal organ. She was an innovator that studied tradition. A keeper of multitudes. But the music weaves through it all. I think of all of this when I listen to “Spiritual Eternal”: the way the sound dips slightly right before the strings come in. An organ stretched to its limits, cracked open as if by a hacker. Transporting listeners to outer space and inner space. There’s nothing like it.“Spiritual Eternal”Alice Coltrane (Rhino/Warner Records)◆ ◆ ◆John Morrison, writerI love the fact that in recent years, more people have come to the understanding that Alice Coltrane was a multi-hyphenate genius. Pianist, composer, harpist, spiritual teacher, Coltrane possessed a creative range that few have rivaled. Of all the stylistic twists and turns present in her catalog, songs like “Pranadhana” best illustrate the brilliance of Alice Coltrane for me. Singing in Sanskrit while accompanying herself on organ, Coltrane beautifully combines two great sacred music traditions: Hindu devotional songs and Black American gospel. Rich, meditative and overflowing with spiritual power, this song evokes both Coltrane’s childhood playing organ at Mount Olive Baptist Church in Detroit and her adulthood using music to build her spiritual community at her ashram.“Pranadhana”Alice Coltrane (Alice Coltrane)◆ ◆ ◆Lakecia Benjamin, musicianTo me Alice Coltrane exemplifies the meaning of transcendence: She and her music exist beyond the normal or spiritual level. Her musical artistry and spiritual awareness open the floodgates to empathy. One of the first things that made me love her work is the freedom in it. The genre and expression cannot be defined. And the music hits the soul of the listener, almost causing you to immediately be changed in some way. All of this is summed up for me on “Prema,” and particularly this version. It takes the listener down a path of subconscious reflection. And once that happens, you are forced to deal with the you that you tuck away and try to hide from the public view. I’m grateful Ms. Coltrane was born and walked on this Earth, and left behind the writings and music she did.“Prema”Alice Coltrane (Marian McPartland’s Piano Jazz/NPR)◆ ◆ ◆Angel Bat Dawid, musicianThis version of “A Love Supreme” slaps so hard! From Alice Coltrane’s wonderful album “World Galaxy,” emphasizing once again the collective genius and message of her music: that Black music is always spiritual music. Her deep love of spirituality and interest in Eastern religion show how Black music never separates those things into categories, and proves that Alice will never leave the roots that are the spirituals or “spirchiills” as the ancestors pronounced it. No matter how big and famous and genre-crossing and avant-garde she became, Alice was from Detroit, and you can hear the blues, funk, gospel and all those silly labels that are put on Black musicians as a way to categorize something that is felt but not entirely understood by those who are non-Black. Her rendition is an endearing and beautiful tribute to the shared message of her late husband. The “love supreme” is really the music, and it prevails no matter what.“A Love Supreme”Alice Coltrane (Impulse!)◆ ◆ ◆Tammy Kernodle, scholarThe manner in which Alice Coltrane’s music and artistry intersected strongly with her spiritual identity has always resonated deeply with me. While many might equate this with conventions that emerged out of jazz during the 1960s and 1970s, it was much more. The intersection of Coltrane’s music and spirituality reflected her personal journey to a life driven by divine purpose and her role in birthing an idiom of liturgical jazz. “This Hymn” is a reminder of how Coltrane’s music and theology of transformation and liberation were rooted in the emotive, ecstatic and contemplative sounds of Black Baptist and Pentecostal churches.“The Hymn”Alice Coltrane (Impulse!)◆ ◆ ◆Courtney Bryan, composerThe music of Alice Coltrane (also known as Swamini Turiyasangitananda) is profoundly healing, like a spiritual deep-tissue massage. It leads me to a peaceful place within and to an awareness of connection with the universe. Particularly, her recordings “Turiya Sings” (1982), “Divine Songs” (1987), “Infinite Chants” (1990) and “Glorious Chants” (1995) resonate with me. These recordings led me to visit her Sai Anantam Ashram to better understand her music and teachings and to sing her music in the mandir. Listening to “Keshava Murahara” from “Divine Songs,” I treasure her compositional genius — the grounding presence and modal harmonies of the organ, the evocative chanting of the bhajans, the soaring strings, and the otherworldly synthesizer that in the final minute illustrates what it may feel like to transcend this material existence to higher realms of spiritual consciousness.“Keshava Murahara”Alice Coltrane (Luaka Bop)◆ ◆ ◆Meshell Ndegeocello, musicianAt around age 14 or 15, I would walk down to Kemp Mill Records to browse as often as I could. Eventually I even got a part-time job there, only to be fired on Day 4 for playing the music too loud in the store. Kemp Mill had a jazz bin mostly filled with straight-ahead, smooth, and vocal jazz artists, and I regularly flipped through it. I browsed the used records bin often as well. That is where I found this Alice Coltrane album, “Ptah, the El Daoud.” If my memory serves me correctly, it was the cover art that first sparked my interest. The next were the titles. The iconography and track names were maps to other ideas, cultural truths, an affirmation of my burgeoning suspicions. I was beginning to question my conservative Christian upbringing after learning a different version of Egyptian mythology from my Iraqi friend Mahmoud. I had only known of the biblical references to Egypt before then.The reason I loved this album, and its title track, is that it begins with this walking bass line; then come the piano sounds, and it moves with a sway and groove that feels so good, uplifting you, you can’t help but nod with joy and power. The music, stoking my curiosity and psychic independence, was also calming to me, a young person living in chaos. I revisit Alice’s music when I am in need of healing: She is a guide, a symbol of hope, that music is more than entertainment or livelihood or, worst, for profit. Music changed my life’s circumstances, but it is how I connect with my creator. Alice Coltrane changed my heart and consciousness. Her music is for the inner world and it is from there she seeds transformation.“Ptah, the El Daoud”Alice Coltrane (Impulse!)◆ ◆ ◆Marcus J. Moore, jazz writerAlice Coltrane’s fourth studio album, “Journey in Satchidananda,” begins with a title cut so strong that it’s often tough for me to move past it. A soothing mix of harp, hypnotic bass and melodic saxophone, it was meant to honor the spiritual guru Swami Satchidananda, who helped Coltrane see the light following her husband John’s death in 1967. The swami was “the first example I have seen in recent years of Universal Love … in action,” Alice Coltrane wrote in the album’s liner notes. Not only is the track a rightful tribute to Satchidananda, it sets a proper tone for one of the greatest albums ever — a meditative masterpiece centered on Coltrane’s ascendance from despair.“Journey in Satchidananda”Alice Coltrane, featuring Pharoah Sanders (GRP)◆ ◆ ◆Surya Botofasina, musicianDivinity. Grace. Devotion.In this chanting, I hear passionate calls for internal, soul-reaching connection. This song epitomizes what Swamini is for us: The ultimate instrument and example of devotion. Hear how every note of her organ and synthesizer harmonically supports every person’s earnest plea for a personal bond with the divine? “Hari Narayan” — spirit of the Lord Vishnu, the Preserver. The voice of my mother, Radha Botofasina, is the one you can hear the most in this recording. This song is my ashram childhood. Swamini blessed us with music which is beyond meditative; she provided the one thing a spiritual heart can hope for: inner peace.“Hari Narayan”Alice Coltrane (Luaka Bop)◆ ◆ ◆Brandee Younger, harpistI’m at the edge of my seat trying to hold on. She’s bringing us along with her on this exciting ride, plowing through everything in her path and absolutely taking no prisoners. The energy between the organ and the drums is just infectious. I don’t want it to end … and I didn’t realize that an organ could make me feel such a full range of emotions. As it closes with the theme one last time, it’s clear that she has made it to her destination while bringing us on the ride of our lives. It ends and I feel somewhat out of breath and spiritually fulfilled.“Affinity (Live)”Alice Coltrane (Rhino/Warner Records)◆ ◆ ◆Giovanni Russonello, Times jazz criticFrom the 1980s, when she founded the Sai Anantam Ashram in Southern California, to 2004, three years before her death, Alice Coltrane released nothing but religious and devotional music. It was heavy on synths and voices, and vested with an extra dose of magnetism by the fact that, if you heard it, you were listening on cassette. (In those years, you’d likely have to travel to the ashram to get hold of a tape.) Finally, after much urging by her son Ravi Coltrane, she put out one last studio album, “Translinear Light,” in 2004, which served as a reminder of her musicianship’s breadth. She reaches to Black spirituals, original compositions, John Coltrane classics and Vedic devotional music. On a slowly flourishing version of “Jagadishwar,” an original that she first recorded for the 1982 cassette “Turiya Sings,” Ravi joins her and an all-star rhythm section: Jeff (Tain) Watts on drums and James Genus on bass. But it’s Alice Coltrane’s synthesizer, diaphanous though it is, that fills most of the space. There’s hardly a contradiction between her sense of spiritual purity and her use of advanced tech: The synth is beams of sunlight, it’s baths of seawater, it’s a passageway beyond all matter.“Jagadishwar”Alice Coltrane (Impulse!)◆ ◆ ◆Georgia Anne Muldrow, musicianIt’s true, Turiyasangitananda is that lady. She’s that woman, that vessel. She’s that miracle, that supermodel. She’s that gorgeous, that genius, that she can soar up through the most butterfly-wing-finest of holographic harmonic places. Never have two chords orbited in my heart the way they did on “Oh Allah.” I heard and saw everything — the planets, cosmos and harmony of life — in this song. The doo-wop of angels in the meter of The Lawd, armed with the organ of Justice. She demonstrates the usage of worship and praise in the Black experience in spaces that predate our painful places, ripping the keys to exalt that which sustains life. I played this song two days straight on repeat in my little Discman, nursing my newborn little man. He loved the song, just cooing in key. This song has an axis of electrum, chile. Oh Allah. A song of mercy, of praise. Hallelujah, Alice Coltrane. Hallelujah, Ornette Coleman, for transcribing the strings in a meeting of minds that would forever be imprinted in the primal places of my life.“Oh Allah”Alice Coltrane (Verve)◆ ◆ ◆ More

He will begin a five-year contract as music director of the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra in 2024, after stepping down from the New York Philharmonic.Jaap van Zweden, the New York Philharmonic’s music director, surprised cultural leaders and audiences last year when he announced he would leave his post in 2024, saying the pandemic had made him rethink his priorities.Now he has started outlining his post-New York plans: He will begin a five-year contract as music director of the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra in January 2024, the ensemble announced on Sunday.Sohn Eun-kyung, the Seoul Philharmonic’s chief executive, said in a statement that van Zweden would help “upgrade” the quality of the ensemble and turn it into a “world-class orchestra,” according to South Korean news media reports.Van Zweden, who was in Hong Kong where he serves as music director of the Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra, could not be immediately reached for comment.His publicist, Mary Lou Falcone, said: “This is about building something — the building of an orchestra, as he did in Hong Kong. That’s what he does.”The move is another unconventional choice by van Zweden, 61, an intense and meticulous maestro from the Netherlands who came to New York in 2018, only to have his tenure interrupted by the pandemic, which forced the Philharmonic to cancel more than 100 concerts and impose painful budget cuts.While the Seoul Philharmonic is among Asia’s most prominent ensembles, it has struggled in recent years with financial problems and management woes. The current music director, the Finnish conductor Osmo Vänskä, recently announced he would not renew his three-year contract when it expires later this year.Van Zweden, who served as music director of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra before coming to New York, was at one point, while leading the Dallas ensemble, America’s best-paid conductor, earning more than $5 million in a single season.Van Zweden agreed to step down from his post in New York after the 2023-24 season, a year later than he had initially planned, to give the orchestra time to settle into David Geffen Hall, scheduled to open in October after a $550 million renovation, and to search for a successor. His six-year tenure will be the shortest of any Philharmonic music director since Pierre Boulez, the French composer and conductor who led the orchestra for six seasons in the 1970s.He will leave his post in Hong Kong in the spring of 2024, after 12 years, and assume the title of conductor laureate.In an interview last year, van Zweden said the pandemic had prompted him to reconsider his relationship with the New York Philharmonic, as well as with his family, which he rarely got to see during his time on the road. He said he felt it would be the right moment to move on, with the orchestra set to move into its new home.“It is not out of frustration, it’s not out of anger, it’s not out of a difficult situation,” he said at the time. “It’s just out of freedom.” More

The 1990s rapper known as Vanilla Ice is back, performing concerts, opening a museum and hawking a namesake energy drink.“I just want to go back to the ’90s,” said Vanilla Ice, the rapper.It was a Thursday morning, two weeks after he had performed at the Palladium Times Square in New York City. And after blowing off one interview altogether and showing up 15 minutes late to this one, Vanilla Ice finally got on the phone through his publicist.He began by explaining that he’s been super-busy. He was in a car on his way to do voice-overs for a home makeover TV show, “Vanilla Ice Home Show,” that is being shopped around. Then he had to pick up his 4-year-old daughter from school.“She won’t let me sit down,” said Vanilla Ice, 54, whose real name is Robert Van Winkle. “I feel like I am in constant Zumba classes with her every day because she’ll listen to, ‘You’ve got to move it, move it,’ and make me dance.”Three decades after he hijacked teenage pop culture as a “white boy rapper” with a zigzag haircut and break-dancing moves — and an appearance in a Ninja Turtles movie — Vanilla Ice is making a run for relevancy again.This summer, he has been the headlining act in the “I Love the ’90s” national concert tour, which features other forgotten acts of that decade including Color Me Badd, Coolio and Tone Loc. He also performs at Collect-A-Con, a pop culture convention that draws tens of thousands, including a sizable number of Pokémon fansIn June he teamed up with Joyburst, an energy drink company in Toronto, on a new flavor: Vanilla Ice, naturally. Ads for the drink, which feature a boombox, gold chain and silver track suits, have started to appear online and elsewhere. And he is opening a brewery and pop-culture museum in Lake Worth Beach, Fla., where he lives.“During the week I have to be a lousy adult, because I do construction, and not just for TV,” he said. “But during the weekend I am the oldest teenager in town.”Below, in an edited interview, he muses on the decade he loves — and that loved him back — and talks about his current comeback.On TikTok, where you are very active, you’ve gotten almost a million views on videos preaching to Gen Z-ers about why the ’90s were so much better than today. Why do you think they are listening?The ’90s are infectious. The decade was so colorful with neon colors. Nothing was that serious. It was, “Let’s enjoy life, let’s make friends.” We had Beavis and Butt-Head, we had block parties, we had fanny packs. If you walk through the mall today, everyone is wearing items from the ’90s. Sneakers are going crazy. The checkerboard Vans, that is from the ’90s. It’s all back.Why do you think the ’90s has such strong appeal?The ’90s was the last of the great decades, because after that, computers killed the world. We were excited about things like floppy disks. Now there are so many channels that divide everybody and try to control your thoughts. In the ’90s they reported the news. It wasn’t this side or that side. I have fans on every side of everything, and I try to embrace it all.You performed at Mar-a-Lago on New Year’s Eve in 2020, to a maskless crowd during a height of the pandemic. How is that not political?I live in Palm Beach, that place is legendary. The architecture was unbelievable. You should have seen Mayor Giuliani dancing. And Don Jr., he was going bananas. He knows every word to every song.But by performing there, weren’t you taking a side?Heck no. The people who get it, just get it. We are all neighbors here, man. Don’t panic because my hairdo is different from yours.Who goes to your shows?It’s a very young crowd, and I see college kids, which is the hardest crowd to get. They might get introduced through their parents, but I think more find me through my Adam Sandler movies. I also have the Ninja Turtle connection, which always keeps me young. Some come dressed as turtles. The soccer moms, the 35- and 40-year-olds, also show up. They get babysitters and they come dressed up, and they have a night. I can tell they are really reliving high school.Tell me about your pop-culture museum.It’s four floors. On the bottom will be a speakeasy with a piano player. I am mimicking the one from “Titanic” — when people see it, they will see Leo. There is also going to be a brewery, and seven celebrities are making beer along with the brew master. I can’t say who they are, but they are all super-iconic celebrities who we all know. The rest will be a collector’s heaven. There will be rare stuff, like Ninja Turtle cereal bowls, or things that Muhammad Ali owned.What keeps you going?I know it sounds cheesy, but I get oxygen through vegetables. I have this blood type, O negative, that is rarely rare, and I have to keep my body healthy, so I’ve been vegetarian for 19 years. I do lots of salads, and I learned how to drink smoothies. My favorite is Indian food. There are full vegan Indian restaurants all around me.But also, it’s good that I have young fans. I use their energy to keep me young, keep me moving, and keep my pep in my step. More

A revival of the classic musical offers a fresh twist on the founding for the post-“Hamilton” era.“Our contribution to the history of the production is our bodies, our physical selves,” Crystal Lucas-Perry said of the Broadway revival of “1776,” and its cast of female, nonbinary and trans actors. Clockwise from top left: Sav Souza, Lucas-Perry, Elizabeth A. Davis, Carolee Carmello, Patrena Murray and Oneika Phillips.Camila Falquez for The New York TimesHow do you solve a problem like America?For the creators of the musical “1776,” the answer was to wrap it in jaunty tunes, 18th-century double entendres and enough twisty dialogue to make a dramatization of the debate over the Declaration of Independence feel like a thriller.Premiering on Broadway in 1969, the musical ran for 1,217 performances, won the Tony Award for best musical and, over the last 50-plus years, has left more than a few critics scratching their heads over how such a resolutely square show won over Vietnam-era America.But 1776 isn’t what it used to be. In 2022, a touchstone of national identity has become a culture-war hot potato. And “1776,” which arrives this month on Broadway in a new revival for Roundabout Theater Company, isn’t the same either.The revival, directed by Jeffrey L. Page and Diane Paulus, has the familiar rousing melodies (in new, rock-infused arrangements), star-spangled color scheme and corny dad jokes. But they’re delivered by a racially diverse cast of women, nonbinary and trans actors, whose embodiment, Paulus said, wakes the language up.“I want the audience to hold that dual reality, of what the founders were, but also a company of actors in 2022, who never would have been allowed inside Independence Hall,” Paulus said in a video interview last month, after the show concluded its pre-Broadway run at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, Mass., where she is artistic director.The idea, she said, using a phrase that has become something of a mantra for the show, “is to hold history as a predicament, rather than an affirming myth.”Announced in 2019, the revival may initially have seemed to be riding the post-“Hamilton” vogue for all things Founders, while doing that show’s inclusive casting one better. But the two-year pandemic delay — which saw nationwide racial-justice protests, a bitterly contested presidential election and the Jan. 6 insurrection — have only heightened the stakes.“The deeper you get into it, the more poetry, the more stuff, exists inside of it,” Page said, in a separate video interview.At bottom, “1776,” he said, is “about a clandestine meeting of people who desperately want to change the world.”Then again, “1776” was never the whitewashed retro-patriotic celebration it is often remembered as. For all its traditionalist guys-in-powdered-wigs look, the show — with songs by Sherman Edwards, a history teacher turned Brill Building tunesmith, and a book by the playwright Peter Stone — was as politically pointed in its time as “Hamilton” (and perhaps, some argue, more so).Written ahead of the Bicentennial, it was meant to humanize the founders — “Demigods? We’re men, no more, no less,” Benjamin Franklin declares — while also challenging what the authors described as the “jingoistic” history they had learned in school.Sara Porkalob, center left, Lucas-Perry and Davis in the production during its pre-Broadway run at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, Mass.Evan Zimmerman for Murphy MadeThere was the bite of songs like “Momma, Look Sharp,” a denunciation of the carnage of war that might have been sung by a G.I. on Hamburger Hill. And there was “Molasses to Rum,” a chilling call-out of freedom-espousing New England’s complicity in the profits of slavery.The production even stirred its own mini-controversy: When cast members were invited to perform the show at the Nixon White House, they were asked to cut “Cool, Cool Considerate Men,” a satirical minuet of money-loving conservatives who move “ever to the right, never to the left.” (They refused.)“I continue to be surprised when I meet people who say, ‘Oh, 1776! It’s my favorite musical. It’s just what our country needs!” Paulus said. “I keep thinking, what are they talking about?”But then, when the touring production company NETworks first suggested the show to her in February 2019 as a possible revival, she knew little about it, except that it had beaten out “Hair” (which she had directed a Broadway revival of in 2009) for the Tony. “I had a vague assumption it was a kind of a celebratory look at American history,” she said.When she read the book, on a long plane ride, she said, she “almost fell out of the airplane.”In particular, she was struck by the dramatic climax: the debate over Thomas Jefferson’s fiery denunciation of the slave trade, which was ultimately cut from the Declaration, to secure unanimous approval.Even talking about it now, Paulus still sounds incredulous. “I was unaware of that crossing out,” she said. “How could I not know?”“That began my journey into the show,” she continued. “I had to reckon with my own experience of American history.”A 2016 Encores! concert staging in New York had already used some racially diverse casting. Paulus said she was told off the bat that the estate would be open to an all-female cast, but she emphasized that the production takes a less “binary” view of gender.There was a first reading in New York in August 2019, with the principal actors, including Crystal Lucas-Perry as the irascible and obstinate John Adams, leader of the “independency” faction. By early March 2020, the show was fully cast, with an opening in Cambridge set for that May, to be followed by a national tour and then a Broadway run.Instead, they retreated to Zoom, like the rest of American theater. Without the pressure to stage the show, Paulus said, they could go deep in American history, including meetings with various scholars like the political theorist Danielle Allen and the historians Vincent Brown, Jane Kamensky and Annette Gordon-Reed.With the approval of the creators’ estates, the show includes a (wordless) depiction of a 14-year-old Robert Hemings, Jefferson’s enslaved bodyservant (and brother to Sally Hemings), inspired by Gordon-Reed’s scholarship. It also adds a long excerpt from Abigail Adams’s famous letter advising John to “remember the ladies.”While the gender-flipped casting may be the show’s claim to “firstness,” the core of the production is a grappling with race.Even before the murder of George Floyd, Paulus said, discussions around race within the company were “very raw.” Then came the protests, and the roiling conversation on racism, representation and hierarchy in the theater set off by the “We See You, White American Theater” open letter.In September 2020, the American Repertory Theater announced a set of initial antiracism commitments. When it came to “1776,” she said, the conversations prompted by the protests “impacted everything about our process.”Paulus said she first met Page (whose long résumé as a choreographer includes extensive collaborations with Beyoncé) in 2017, when he was starting the M.F.A. program in directing at Columbia. He was initially hired as the show’s choreographer, in 2019. In the summer of 2020, he also became co-director.“I felt that the most powerful and honest reflection of our collaboration,” Paulus said, was to be “coequals.”Jeffrey L. Page and Diane Paulus directed the production, which starts previews at the American Airlines Theater on Sept. 16 and opens Oct. 6.Matthew MurphyThe George Floyd moment, Page agreed, “changed everything” about the show. The team, including the set designer Scott Pask, had already started moving away from the original scenic designs, which Page described as attempting to land the show too much “in the world of realism.”“We came together and said, this doesn’t feel right anymore,” he said. “We started asking, when you break it all the way down to the core, what is this piece about?“These were men who were attempting to make a change inside the world,” he continued. “Who cares about the chair they sat in, and are we getting it right?”The production, with its spare, Brecht-influenced design, is set not in Independence Hall in 1776, but onstage in 2022, where it’s performed by a company of actors from the present who arrive in street clothes, with no fanfare, before putting on their 18th-century(ish) waistcoats and period-appropriate shoes.(One performer also puts on a beaded necklace — seemingly a nod at the fact, mentioned in Stone and Edward’s original authors note, that Native American leaders would often appear before the Continental Congress, as leaders of independent nations.)Page, whose other recent directing credits include this summer’s revival of “Ain’t Misbehavin’” at Barrington Stage Company, also cited the importance of an “affinity space” for Black cast members, which helped guide the show’s exploration of race.“With the other cast members, the main thing we communicated was, ‘You’re going to feel some things,’” Page said. “What the Black cast members asked was to leave your fragility at the door.”In a group interview with four of the show’s founding “fathers,” Elizabeth A. Davis, who plays Jefferson, recalled a video meeting in which cast members presented their family trees, as part of an exploration of how personal and national history intersect. She said she could still remember exactly where she was sitting — “in my grandmother’s old room, in the middle of Texas” — as Black colleagues described hitting the so-called slavery wall, beyond which ancestry can be hard to trace.“It was a profound moment for me,” she said. “It was understanding something not just intellectually, but viscerally and cellularly.”Lucas-Perry nodded. “I remember saying, ‘I feel a little without,’” she said.The 2020 protests, Lucas-Perry said, contributed to a “hyper-awareness” of the way the casting altered the meaning of the text, and the importance of a production using diverse bodies “just because it can.”“Our contribution to the history of the production is our bodies, our physical selves,” she said. “We were looking for ways of taking advantage of moments where you can dig deeper into what it means to be other.”“Momma, Look Sharp” lands differently sung by a Black woman (the big-voiced Salome B. Smith, as a courier bringing news from the front) to another Black woman, after the founding “fathers” have left the room. (The courier’s piercing “Momma!,” Page said, echoes Floyd’s cry as he gasped for air.)But the show’s dark heart is the silky and sinister “Molasses to Rum.” Traditionally, it’s presented as a vocal tour de force (see John Cullum’s stentorian baritone in the 1972 movie), and critics have often paid more attention to the singing than the chilling substance of the song.In their staging of the song (sung by Sara Porkalob), Page and Paulus force the audience to consider the enslaved people who form one corner of the Triangle Trade not as abstractions, but as real bodies, massed in a wordless chorus that includes the Black actors who play Adams, Franklin and John Hancock. (The sometimes defiant choreography, Page said, reprises some gestures from “Cool, Cool, Considerate Men.”)Carolee Carmello, who is joining the Broadway production as John Dickinson of Pennsylvania (one of the cool, conservative men), played Abigail Adams in the 1997 Broadway revival, which had a white cast. She had heard “Molasses” hundreds of times, but wasn’t prepared for seeing it in the new production.“The understanding of what they’re actually arguing about is extremely powerful,” she said.Lucas-Perry said the song “feels like it goes on forever” — “and it did go on forever,” she added, referring to slavery. “I’m not going to lie,” she said of the scene. “There’s not a night where it doesn’t hit me.”“Hamilton” was fundamentally celebratory, reflective of the liberal optimism of Obama-era America, and the feeling that the arc of history was bending its way. Page and Paulus’s “1776,” for all its humor and exuberance, is darker and more uncertain.But neither show is the last word on the founding, or on the Declaration, a document that might be seen as the ultimate American classic: time-bound and flawed, but also profound and visionary — and requiring continual revival and reinterpretation, by a perpetually changing cast of Americans, to stay alive.Page summed up the heart of 1776, and “1776,” crisply: “How do we self-proclaim our presence in the world?” More

Young people are increasingly at ease consuming culture via digital avatars or made with artificial intelligence. Should the same moral guidelines and laws apply to those works?The story of FN Meka — a fictitious character billed as the first musical artist partly powered by artificial intelligence to be signed by a major record label — might seem like a bizarre one-off. In August, Capitol Records dropped FN Meka, whose look, outlaw persona and suggestive lyrics were inspired by real-life music stars like Travis Scott, 6ix9ine and Lil Pump, amid criticism that the project trafficked in stereotypes.But to seasoned observers of technology in pop music and the debate over cultural appropriation, the rise and fall of this so-called robot rapper, whose songs were actually written and voiced by humans, has raised important questions that are not going away anytime soon.Last month alone, an A.I. artwork won a prize in Colorado and a computer program improvised a classical music solo in real time in New York City. From DALL-E 2, the technology that creates visual art on command, to Hatsune Miku, a Japanese software that does something similar for music, the arts world may be on the precipice of a sea change in how its products are created.And young people feel increasingly at ease consuming culture via digital avatars like FN Meka. It has already been happening in hip-hop: A hologram of the rapper Tupac Shakur, who died in 1996, performed at a music festival in 2012; Travis Scott gave a concert through his avatar in the video game Fortnite in 2020; and Snoop Dogg and Eminem rapped as their digital selves and their Bored Ape avatars in a metaverse performance at the MTV Video Music Awards last month.In this brave new world, do fake characters based on real people amount to unseemly borrowing, even theft, or just the kind of homage that has always defined pop music? Even when artificial intelligence does help write music, should the humans behind it be accountable for the machine-created lyrics? And as far as race is concerned, how do the rules of cultural appropriation work when the person doing the appropriating is not a human being with a unique cultural background but a fictitious identity backed by an anonymous, multiracial collective?“A lot of our moral intuitions and codes as humans may have evolved for a context where we have discrete human actors,” said Ziv Epstein, a Ph.D. student at the M.I.T. Media Lab who studies the intersection of humans and technology. “These emerging technologies require new legal frameworks and research to understand how we reason about them.”From left: The Tupac Shakur hologram, Travis Scott in Fortnite and Snoop Dogg at the Video Music Awards.From left: Christopher Polk/Getty Images; via YouTube; MTVFor FN Meka’s critics, the presence of more Black people or people of color in the rooms where the character was conceived, designed and promoted may have helped prevent the negative stereotypes that they say it furthered. Industry Blackout, a nonprofit advocacy group, said FN Meka “insulted” Black culture and leeched off the sounds, looks and life experiences of real Black artists. Capitol seemed to agree when it apologized for its “insensitivity” in a statement.To the critics, FN Meka’s (exaggerated) debt to A.I. and its exclusively digital existence had the effect of absolving the people who were really calling the shots. “There are humans behind technology,” said Sinead Bovell, a futurist and the founder of WAYE, an organization that educates young people about technology. “When we disconnect the two, that’s where we could potentially risk harm for different marginalized groups.“What concerns me about the world of avatars,” she added, “is we have a situation where people can create and profit off the ethnic group an avatar represents without being a part of that ethnic group.”In pop music generally and especially in hip-hop, the culture most likely to be exploited is Black culture, said Imani Mosley, a professor of musicology at the University of Florida.“There’s so much overlap between digital culture and Gen Z culture and Black culture, to the point where a lot of people don’t necessarily recognize that a lot of things Gen Z says are pulled from African American vernacular,” she said. “To interact with that culture, to be a part of that discourse, is to use certain digital and cultural markers, and if you don’t have access to that discourse because you’re not Black, one way to do that is to hide one’s own ethnicity behind the curtain of the internet.”For some, though, vilifying FN Meka’s creators raised the specter of artistic censorship.James O. Young, a professor of philosophy at the University of Victoria who studies cultural appropriation in art, acknowledged there is a long tradition in music of placing a premium on the artist’s lived experience. Young quoted the famous line attributed to the jazz legend Charlie Parker: “If you didn’t live it, it won’t come out of your horn.”But recently the consensus has moved toward sanctioning only art that arises out of lived experience, to the detriment of both art and political solidarity, Young argued. He pointed to an episode five years ago in which a white artist was pilloried for painting the Black civil rights martyr Emmett Till’s corpse.“One of the claims is, ‘This is digital blackface,’” Young said of FN Meka. “Maybe it is.” But he advocated for balanced examination, rather than swift reaction. “You’ve got to be very careful: I don’t think you want to claim that all representations of Black people are somehow morally offensive.”The broader impoverishment highlighted by both sides of this debate is a lack of language and concepts for discussing art that is not, or not entirely, made by people.Epstein, of the M.I.T. Media Lab, cited the thinking of Aaron Hertzmann, a scientist at Adobe Research. In a paper called “Can Computers Make Art?,” Hertzmann argued that at the moment art can be made only by humans, who are the only ones capable of interacting socially with other humans. In this understanding, machine learning is a tool; the artist behind a drawing made by DALL-E or the similar program Midjourney is not the software, but the person who gave it instructions.However, Hertzmann allowed, “Someday, better A.I. could come to be viewed as true social agents.”Meanwhile, as culture is increasingly mediated through the digital realm, questions of how to account for all of the other people who directly or indirectly touched that art will multiply, undermining the conventional notion of the artist as expressing her indivisible perspective.Some art is now the result of “a complex and diffuse system of many human actors and computational processes interacting,” Epstein said. “If you generate a DALL-E 2 image, is that your artwork?” he added. “Can you be the social agent of that? Or are they scaffolded by other humans?”A final question is deceptively profound: Does it even matter who, or what, composes the song, paints the painting, writes the book? Metaverse avatars and A.I. programs are intrinsically derivative: They are all but guaranteed to be riffs on already existing artists and their works.Anthony Martini, a co-founder of Factory New, the virtual music company that created FN Meka, stands firmly on one side of that debate: “If you’re mad about the lyrical content because it supposedly was A.I.,” he said, “why not be mad about the lyrical content in general?” More

Both singer-songwriters came of age in the South and started out in indie-rock. Their joint project explores a spectrum of country influences and lets them reckon with their pasts.Jess Williamson and Katie Crutchfield of Plains, a project born in the pandemic during long phone calls between the two musicians.Barrett Emke for The New York TimesThough they first met only five years ago, the musicians Katie Crutchfield and Jess Williamson have long walked parallel paths.Both grew up in Southern states where country music was omnipresent (Crutchfield, who records as Waxahatchee, in Alabama; Williamson in Texas). Coming of age in the late ’90s, they were shaped by mainstream country radio’s strong but ultimately fleeting embrace of powerhouse female artists: Williamson pored over the lyric booklets to the Chicks records; Crutchfield hummed along to Shania Twain, Martina McBride and Trisha Yearwood songs in the back of her parents’ car.As many teenagers do, they later rebelled by getting into punk and indie-rock. But as they grew older and matured as artists, both found themselves reconnecting with their country roots and trying to make sense of their contradictory feelings about their Southern heritage, finding kindred spirits in elders like the individualistic outlaw songwriters Townes Van Zandt and Lucinda Williams.Crutchfield and Williamson finally crossed paths in 2017 — introduced by Crutchfield’s boyfriend, the musician Kevin Morby, at a restaurant in Austin — and became fast friends. “I just immediately was like, ‘This person is for me,’” Crutchfield said on a video call from an instrument-strewn room in her home in Kansas City, Kan.On the call from Marfa, Texas, in a floral-printed dress and a silver crescent-moon necklace, Williamson remembered another prolonged stretch of bonding time in Los Angeles just before the pandemic: “We’d be at parties and it would just be me and Katie in the corner talking,” she said.In spring 2020, both released piercingly introspective, career-best albums — Waxahatchee’s cleareyed “St. Cloud,” and Williamson’s enchanting “Sorceress” — but were unsure when they’d be able to tour. They shared their frustrations and creative aspirations over long telephone calls during walks in the early months of the pandemic, and one day Crutchfield blurted out, “This is making me want to start a band.” Simple as that, Plains was born.For Williamson, Plains’ debut album “I Walked With You a Ways,” out Oct. 14, was something of an aesthetic continuation of her previous solo release. “‘Sorceress’ was the most I’d ever leaned into country sounds, and I felt like I had unfinished business,” she said, describing the project as a way to “channel these influences that we love,” like Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris’s records as Trio.In spring 2020, both musicians released piercingly introspective albums — Williamson’s enchanting “Sorceress” and Waxahatchee’s cleareyed “St. Cloud.”Barrett Emke for The New York TimesCrutchfield envisioned Plains, though, as something of a palate cleanser after a rewarding but emotionally intense album cycle. “‘St. Cloud’ was a really big record for me in so many ways,” she said. “I got sober right before I made it, and I had to work backwards to recognize myself again and learn how to write songs and make records again.” She said she wasn’t quite ready to make another Waxahatchee record, “but I had all of this energy to do something, so I feel like this project was such a godsend.”A self-described “harmony head,” Crutchfield is no stranger to collaboration: All her life she’s sung and made music with her twin sister Allison, most notably with the precocious, now-defunct pop-punk group P.S. Eliot. Williamson, on the other hand, had mostly worked as a solo artist, so the Plains experience meant opening herself up to new techniques: Crutchfield wanted to achieve a loose, spontaneous feel by tracking their vocals in as few takes as possible, for example.Crutchfield and Williamson each brought songs they’d written individually — relying on the other for some “in-the-room punch-ups” — and they found their styles to be quite complementary. “A lot of Jess’s songs were these old-school country waltzes, which I love,” Crutchfield said, “and it was a nice juxtaposition to the songs I was bringing in, which were a little more ’90s pop-country or Southern-rock feeling.”Williamson’s vivid songwriting and keening voice shine on “Abilene,” a heartbreaking, poetic ballad that harkens back to Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette. Crutchfield’s soulful “Hurricane” filters the take-me-as-I-am swagger of the Chicks through the sharp self-examination of her own songwriting, as she croons in her dusty drawl, “I come in like a cannonball/I’ve been that way my whole life.” When their voices entwine in harmony, though, as they do on the sprightly opener “Summer Sun,” all of these disparate, cross-generational influences unite to form a timeless sound.They hope their upcoming tour together will be as light and carefree as the project itself. “When you’re touring on your own record, your solo project, your life story, there’s so much pressure,” Williamson said. “This project just feels really fun and celebratory. It feels universal, in a way.”“A lot of Jess’s songs were these old-school country waltzes, which I love,” Crutchfield said, “and it was a nice juxtaposition to the songs I was bringing in, which were a little more ’90s pop-country or Southern-rock feeling.”Barrett Emke for The New York TimesFor both artists, the sound of Plains represents a kind of homecoming, since the evolution of their singing voices has reflected their own personal reckonings with their pasts.“If you only knew how hard I was trying to suppress that Southern accent for so long,” Crutchfield said. “It’s sad, I listen to the affectation on some of my earlier records and I’m like, I’m really trying hard to cover that up.”The palpable sense of self-acceptance and hard-won confidence that attracted listeners to “St. Cloud,” though, courses through “I Walked With You a Ways” as well. Crutchfield can hear that maturity in her own voice. “People grow as singers over time,” Crutchfield added. “You develop your voice and chip away at what it’s really supposed to see. As far as I’ve seen, I feel that we all get better as we age. So I think that just trying to relax a bit has helped me a lot.” She let out a deep sigh. “It almost feels like I’ve taken my bra off.”Williamson was delighted with the metaphor: “I like that image, Katie,” she said. Then, as tightly in unison as they are on their record, they laughed. More

The LP, featuring Drake, Kanye West and others, had the equivalent of 107,500 sales in the United States last week. The K-pop group Twice wasn’t far behind, with 100,000 at No. 3.Each new LP by DJ Khaled, hip-hop’s indomitable guru of positivity, is an all-star summit, chocked with A-list guest stars. “God Did,” his 13th studio album, which opens at No. 1 on Billboard’s latest chart, is no different. Its 18 tracks feature Drake, Jay-Z, Dr. Dre, Rick Ross, Travis Scott, Roddy Ricch, Eminem, Future, Kanye West, SZA, 21 Savage and three Lils — Wayne, Durk and Baby — as well as a posthumous appearance by Juice WRLD.“God Did,” DJ Khaled’s fourth album to top the chart, had the equivalent of 107,500 sales in the United States in its first week out, including 130 million streams and 9,500 copies sold as a complete package, according to the tracking service Luminate. Among the configurations of “God Did” in physical form is a $40 boxed set that comes with a Funko Pop figurine of the artist.Also this week, the K-pop girl group Twice opens at No. 3 with a seven-track mini-album, “Between 1&2,” with 100,000 sales that relied heavily on collectible CD packages (17 in all). Bad Bunny’s “Un Verano Sin Ti” falls to No. 2 after its ninth time in the peak spot; the biggest album of the year so far, “Un Verano” has been bouncing between the top two slots on the chart for 17 weeks now.Kendrick Lamar’s “Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers,” which opened at No. 1 back in May, rises 20 spots to No. 4 after coming out on vinyl; of its 55,000 equivalent sales last week, 36,000 were on the LP format. At No. 5, Morgan Wallen’s “Dangerous: The Double Album” notches its 85th week in the Top 10, tying the run set by Peter, Paul and Mary’s self-titled debut album from 1962, with iconic folk songs like “If I Had a Hammer.” More