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      Dave Frishberg, Writer of Songs Sardonic and Nostalgic, Dies at 88

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      A gifted jazz pianist and a singer with a limited range but a distinctive voice, he wrote mostly for grown-ups but reached his largest audience on “Schoolhouse Rock!”Dave Frishberg, the jazz songwriter whose sardonic wit as a lyricist and melodic cleverness as a composer placed him in the top echelon of his craft, died on Wednesday in Portland, Ore. He was 88.His wife, April Magnusson, confirmed the death.Mr. Frishberg, who also played piano and sang, was an anomaly, if not an anachronism, in American popular music: an accomplished, unregenerate jazz pianist who managed to outrun the eras of rock, soul, disco, punk and hip-hop by writing hyper-literate songs that harked back to Hoagy Carmichael and Johnny Mercer, by way of Stephen Sondheim.His songwriting wit was for grown-ups, yet he reached his widest audience with sharpshooting ditties for kids as a regular musical contributor to ABC-TV’s long-running Saturday morning animated show “Schoolhouse Rock!”Merely being aware of Dave Frishberg and his songs conveyed an in-the-know sophistication. He poked fun at this self-congratulatory hipness in his lyrics for “I’m Hip,” a classic of clueless with-it-ness that he wrote to a melody by his fellow jazz songwriter Bob Dorough:See, I’m hip. I’m no square.I’m alert, I’m awake, I’m aware.I am always on the scene.Making the rounds, digging the sounds.I read People magazine.‘Cuz I’m hip.Mr. Frishberg’s original lyric for “I’m Hip,” written in 1966, was “I read Playboy magazine,” but he later changed it.People magazine never did get around to profiling him (though it did briefly review one of his albums in the 1980s). But his niche in the niche-songwriting world of the cabaret smart set (when such a breed still existed) was lofty. Superb saloon singers came to be identified with the Frishberg tunes they sang. One of those singers was Blossom Dearie, whose rendition of his “Peel Me a Grape” was, in Mr. Frishberg’s view, definitive.Still, no one quite sang a Dave Frishberg song like Dave Frishberg, with his thin, reedy voice and compellingly constricted vocal range. Mr. Frishberg’s performance of his acerbic paean to “My Attorney Bernie” was unsurpassed, particularly his laconic crooning of the song’s refrain:Bernie tells me what to doBernie lays it on the lineBernie says we sue, we sueBernie says we sign, we sign.Mr. Frishberg’s songwriting gift extended well beyond the satirical jab. He composed some beautiful ballads, and he was an elegant nostalgist who wrote longingly (though also knowingly) about the mists of time and loss. There was the bittersweet Frishberg of “Do You Miss New York?,” the aching Frishberg of “Sweet Kentucky Ham” and the ingeniously eloquent Frishberg of “Van Lingle Mungo,” a touching wisp of a ballad constructed solely from the strung-together names of long-ago major league baseball players.Mr. Frishberg at the Oak Room of the Algonquin Hotel in Manhattan in 2002. His niche in the cabaret songwriting world was lofty. Richard Termine for The New York TimesDavid Lee Frishberg was born on March 23, 1933, in St. Paul, Minn., the youngest of three sons of Harry and Sarah (Cohen) Frishberg. His father, who owned a clothing store, was an émigré from Poland; his mother was a native-born Minnesotan.He began sketching athletes from news photos when he was 7 and hoped to become a sports illustrator, but he also listened closely to music growing up and could sing the entire score of “The Mikado” and other Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. His brother Mort, a self-taught blues piano player, soon steered him toward jazz and blues records, and to the keyboard, where the teenage Mr. Frishberg replicated by ear the boogie-woogie styles of Pete Johnson and Meade Lux Lewis before discovering the modernist pianism of bebop.“Jazz musicians were hip,” Mr. Frishberg wrote in his memoir, “My Dear Departed Past” (2017); “they were funny, they were sensitive, they were clannish, and they seemed to have the best girlfriends.”After graduating from St. Paul Central High School, Mr. Frishberg briefly attended Stanford University before returning home to enroll at the University of Minnesota. Though he was already a semiregular on the local jazz scene, his sight reading skills were too poor for a formal music degree. Instead he flirted with majoring in psychology before gravitating to journalism and securing his degree in 1955.He served two years in the Air Force as a recruiter, to fulfill his R.O.T.C. obligations, and then, in 1957, was hired by the New York radio station WNEW to write advertising scripts and other material for its disc jockeys and announcers. He quickly forsook WNEW to write catalog copy for RCA Victor Records, then finally stepped out as a working solo pianist with a late-night slot at the Duplex cabaret in Greenwich Village.Mr. Frishberg became an in-demand sideman at jazz spots like Birdland and the Village Vanguard for jazz luminaries including the saxophonists Ben Webster, Al Cohn and Zoot Sims and the drummer Gene Krupa. He also accompanied an array of great singers, including Carmen McRae, Anita O’Day and, for one dizzying night while backing Ms. O’Day at the Half Note, a timid Judy Garland, who tremulously sat in and sang “Over the Rainbow,” then asked Mr. Frishberg to become her musical director. He demurred.“I’m Just a Bill,” which Mr. Frishberg wrote for the animated children’s show “Schoolhouse Rock!,” brought him unexpected acclaim and long-lasting residuals for what he later ruefully acknowledged to be his “most well-known song.”Kari Rene Hall/Los Angeles Times via Getty ImagesIn the early 1960s, Mr. Frishberg began writing songs — “all kinds of songs,” as he recalled in “My Dear Departed Past.” When the singer Fran Jeffries asked if he could write her a bit of special material, something she could “slink around while singing,” he responded with “Peel Me a Grape”:Peel me a grapeCrush me some iceSkin me a peach, save the fuzz for my pillowStart me a smokeTalk to me niceYou gotta wine meAnd dine me.Written in 1962, “Peel Me a Grape” became Mr. Frishberg’s first published tune — though the publishing company that acquired it, Frank Music, owned by the illustrious Frank Loesser, did little with it. “As far as I knew, the song was a pretty confidential item,” Mr. Frishberg later wrote, “until Blossom Dearie’s version.” Still, it launched Mr. Frishberg as a songwriter.“I’m Hip” followed in 1966, leading to a swelling portfolio of songs. The demos that he cut to teach singers his songs began to tickle the insular jazz recording industry’s ear. Finally, Mr. Frishberg went into the studio himself to record an album, consisting of his own compositions. The record was released in 1970 on the recently formed CTI label under the title “Oklahoma Toad.”Mr. Frishberg decamped to Los Angeles in 1971, ostensibly to write material for “The Funny Side,” a new NBC variety show starring Gene Kelly. The show lasted only nine episodes, but work as a studio musician kept Mr. Frishberg afloat. He also began to perform his songs regularly in local clubs.In 1975, Mr. Dorough invited him to contribute to “Schoolhouse Rock!,” for which Mr. Dorough was the musical director and one of the writers. Mr. Frishberg’s first contribution, in the show’s third season, was “I’m Just a Bill,” an explanatory swinger about the legislative process sung by the jazz trumpeter and vocalist Jack Sheldon. It brought him unexpected acclaim and long-lasting residuals for what he later ruefully acknowledged to be his “most well-known song.”“The Dave Frishberg Songbook, Volume No. 1” earned Mr. Frishberg the first of his four Grammy Award nominations. “The Dave Frishberg Songbook, Volume No. 1” garnered a 1982 Grammy Award nomination for best male jazz vocal performance. The next year, “The Dave Frishberg Songbook, Volume No. 2” did the same. In support of that album, Mr. Frishberg appeared on “The Tonight Show.” Two more Frishberg albums were nominated for Grammys, “Live at Vine Street” in 1985 and “Can’t Take You Nowhere” in 1987.Mr. Frishberg’s marriage in 1959 to Stella Giammasi ended in divorce. He later married Cynthia Wagman.In 1986, he, his wife and their year-old son, Harry, moved to Portland, fleeing the freeway traffic and what he once referred to as the “malignant environment” of Los Angeles. He lived on in Portland, more or less contentedly, for the rest of his life, producing a second son, Max; divorcing for a second time; and, in 2000, marrying Ms. Magnusson. In addition to her, he is survived by his sons.In Portland, he collaborated regularly with the vocalist Rebecca Kilgore. As often as not, though, Mr. Frishberg reveled in playing solo piano in crowded hotel bars. When ill health overtook him late in life, he never stopped writing, just as he had mordantly predicted in 1981 in “My Swan Song”:Once I popped them out like wafflesThe good ones and the awfulsA new one every day. But nowI find I’m uninspired, my wig’s no longer wiredI’ve nothing left to say. …But I’ll say it anyway.Alex Traub More

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      Yoko Kanno composed the eclectic score for 'Cowboy Bebop'

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      Yoko Kanno has become one of Japan’s foremost composers since she created the eclectic score for the anime series “Cowboy Bebop.” She returned for Netflix’s live-action version.The anime series “Cowboy Bebop” debuted in Japan in 1998, combining futuristic space travel with Spaghetti Western grit and the slickness of film noir. In 2001, Cartoon Network aired an English dubbed version, introducing American audiences to the suave yet troubled bounty hunter Spike Spiegel and the ragtag crew of the spaceship Bebop.The animated import also acquainted U.S. viewers with the composer Yoko Kanno, whose swinging earworm of a theme song became among the most recognizable in anime. Her eclectic compositions — with their percolating jazz and doleful sax solos and languorous blues harmonica riffs — were an essential part of the cult hit, helping its director, Shinichiro Watanabe, set the mood for every botched payday, steely-eyed showdown, lovelorn flashback and fast-paced space chase. The show has since become internationally known as a top-tier anime, thanks in large part to her bold and brassy sound.In Netflix’s “Cowboy Bebop,” John Cho (bottom, with Alex Hassell) embodies the bounty hunter Spike.NetflixSo when the production teams at Tomorrow Studios and Midnight Radio decided in 2019 to create a live-action adaptation, the showrunner André Nemec believed it was “critical” to convince Kanno to return as composer, he said.“The fans of ‘Bebop’ know how important the sonic identity of the show is,” he said. “It’s a beloved anime, so there was a real effort to get that right.”The live-action series premiers Friday on Netflix, with Kanno once again overseeing the score. In the span of four months, she rerecorded key original tracks and crafted new pieces for the 10 hourlong episodes, which include Rat Pack-era jazz, Latin horns and even ’90s alt-rock. A soundtrack for the new series debuts on streaming platforms that same day.“She immediately started spinning her magic,” Nemec said of her return. “She really understands storytelling and she lived in those characters.”The original Spike, as seen in “Cowboy Bebop: The Movie.”Bandai Visual Co. Ltd.But it’s not as if Kanno was waiting idly by the phone. In the 20 years since the original show’s maiden voyage, she has become one of Japan’s foremost composers, creating the soundtrack for Watanabe’s acclaimed series “Kids on the Slope,” as well as music for other anime, video games and films, and album tracks for J-Pop stars. In 2019, she composed the piece “Ray of Water,” which was performed at the enthronement ceremony of Naruhito, the emperor of Japan. (She also conducted the orchestra’s performance.)Still, the decision to return to orbit with the Bebop gang was easy, she explained: “I’m a die-hard fan of the show.”On a video call from Tokyo, with the assistance of her translator, Kanehira Mitani, Kanno talked about reuniting with her band, Seatbelts, to rerecord tracks from the original series, and about engaging all five senses in order to create an interstellar soundscape. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.What was your reaction when you were approached to score the new series?The first response was surprise. Since the original anime series was from 20 years ago, that they would be making this live-action version now — I was surprised at the courage they had.How would you compare working on the new show to your experience back then?In the anime version, I didn’t really get any direction from Mr. Watanabe. So what I did was just create all these pieces of music, and then the director and creative team would piece it together and put it into the anime. I’d heard that was the kind of approach that Ennio Morricone used back when he was working on western movies. But in the live-action, we actually had to look at the material and spot where to put the music in.How did that work in practice?I received the script three years ago. Then the first time I actually saw the visuals that were shot was around April this year. During the time in between, I would kind of imagine what the music would be like and gestate those ideas. Once I saw the actual footage, those ideas went away and I started all over again.What changed once you saw the footage?In the anime, the main image that you have is Spike Spiegel, who’s lost all his emotions due to his traumatic past. He’s going through the arc of putting himself back together as he goes on all these dangerous adventures. That was the image I had in the beginning, but when I actually saw John Cho in the footage, I saw more subtle tones in his acting. It was more like he has this weakness that he holds and is trying to reconcile. So that made me change the approach to the music as well.Kanno crafted new pieces for Netflix’s adaptation and also rerecorded tracks from the anime series with her old band, Seatbelts. “We got a more ‘mature’ version of the original music,” she said.Tracy Nguyen for The New York TimesYou worked in genres like ska and dub that weren’t featured in the original. What prompted you to add those sounds?In the anime, there’s not really much killing. So in the live-action, where there is more, I had extensive discussions with André about how to musically represent that. When those scenes did happen, I was very aware of trying to alleviate it, to make sure the killing doesn’t seem too graphic or to make it seem ironic or comedic.And you revisited some of the original songs, too. What was it like to team up with Seatbelts to rerecord those?We got a more “mature” version of the original music. It’s kind of a miracle to have the same artists who played 20 years ago still in their A-game and in great shape, performing again. It’s a very rare thing.Were the “Bebop” sounds familiar to you once you got started, or did you have to get reacquainted with them?Since the recording started in April, it was a really tight time frame. We’d have to finish the score for one episode in two weeks. It was a really hard sprint, so I didn’t have the luxury to take time and go back to think about what the [original] music was. That sort of intense, time-sensitive environment was similar to when I was doing the anime. I would run through it, not thinking too much, just kind of “in the zone.” Not too much good stuff comes out if you’re overthinking things. Spike has that personality, as well: “Don’t think, feel.”Did Covid precautions impact your recording sessions?What would’ve happened is I would fly to L.A. to attend all the recording sessions. But since the pandemic happened, I had to rethink my approach. I did try a couple of remote recording sessions, but inevitably, the time lag, even if it’s just a split second, would just be unbearable. If I’m playing something and I don’t get live feedback, my motivation drops really sharply.So I ended up doing recording sessions in Japan, where I could attend and actually see the whole thing. What turned out to be a benefit to the show was that musicians who would otherwise be too busy to attend the scoring sessions were able to because all their other gigs were gone due to the pandemic.Was your creative process affected by the pandemic, as well?Yes. In coming up with music, I usually get inspiration from smells, or tastes, or feelings, and not necessarily from audiovisual stimuli. If I wanted to express “the sea,” I would go to the sea, dive in and feel the waves and the overall atmosphere. The whole digital environment made that a challenge this time.So you weren’t able to go out and engage your senses the way you normally would when you’re composing?Exactly. Over the course of four and a half months of music production, Zoom meetings and exchanging demo pieces, I stayed almost entirely in a basement studio. Little by little, I would start feeling frustrated and unfulfilled, and then I knew that must be how the main characters are feeling. Feeling disconnected from Earth.So when composing for [the show’s] different locations, I would dive into my memory — from my experience being in the graffiti-filled dangerous areas in New York, or the atmosphere in Tijuana, Texas and Arizona, with the sandy feel, the smell of machine oil and the taste of food made of artificial ingredients.What other sensory ties to “Cowboy Bebop” characters and settings inspired you?It’s the food they’re having to fill their empty stomachs, as well as the cheap drinks. The ephemeral sense of not thinking much about the future. The sense of them treating their vehicles roughly, like when I used to drive a really old, ramshackle truck. Artificial light striking into the darkness of space, like arriving in Las Vegas from L.A. at night.In terms of how the world was built in the live-action version, it has a very steampunk usage of old materials, and you have a sense of grittiness. I was very conscious of the sense of rust that was present throughout the whole show. So I would use that secondhand kind of feel for the music, as well. I would do a recording in one take and then add these rusty, almost dirty sound effects.How did you feel when you saw the finished product?I was excited and super full of pride. I imagine a lot of fans are worried about how the creative team is going to handle this world that they’ve adored so much. To them, I’d say it’s the same thing, but different! And, really, it’s just fun to watch. I hope the show goes on and on. I want to see Faye [a bounty hunter in the show] grow up and become an old woman, still shooting her gun and being cocky, with her children running around. Yeah, I want to see that! More

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      Park Avenue Armory Announces Futuristic New Season

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      Highlights include the North American premieres of Michel van der Aa’s opera “Upload” and Robert Icke’s production of “Hamlet.”The Park Avenue Armory is taking a forward-looking approach in its 2022 season.“The current that runs through this season is technology and futuristic outlooks on the world,” Rebecca Robertson, the Armory’s president and executive producer, said in an interview on Tuesday.A highlight of the season, announced on Wednesday, is the North American premiere of the Dutch composer Michel van der Aa’s 80-minute opera “Upload,” about a man who uploads a digital version of his consciousness to achieve virtual immortality (March 22-30, 2022). In a review of the production at the Dutch National Opera, The New York Times’s Joshua Barone called the piece, which combines film, motion capture and live performance and stars the soprano Julia Bullock and the baritone Roderick Williams, “a sci-fi spin on a fundamentally human tale.”Next up, the British director Robert Icke presents a surveillance-focused staging of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” which will make its North American premiere after sold-out runs at London’s Almeida Theater and the West End in 2017 (May 31-Aug. 13, 2022). Alex Lawther (“The Imitation Game”) will take on the titular role, which Andrew Scott played to critical acclaim in London.“Hamlet” will play in repertory with Icke’s adaptation of Aeschylus’ “Oresteia” (June 9-Aug. 13, 2022) — for which he won the Olivier Award for best director in 2016. Originally a trilogy of Greek tragedies, the three plays have been condensed into a single family drama that follows a succession of brutal family murders and runs just over three and a half hours. Lia Williams, who was nominated for an Olivier for best actress in the 2015 production, is set to return in the role of Klytemnestra.Other highlights of the new season include “Assembly,” an exhibition featuring the second generation of Rashaad Newsome’s artificial-intelligence-powered creation “Being,” whose voice acts as the installation’s soundscape (Feb. 16-March 6, 2022); “Rothko Chapel,” a new commission by the composer and MacArthur fellow Tyshawn Sorey, based on Morton Feldman’s composition for the dedication of the chapel in 1971 and directed by Peter Sellars (Sept. 27-Oct. 8, 2022); and “Euphoria,” an immersive film installation by the German video and film artist Julian Rosefeldt that is a commentary on money, greed and consumption (Nov. 30, 2022-Jan. 1, 2023).A full season lineup is available at armoryonpark.org. More

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      Astroworld Disaster Rekindles Fears About Music Festival Safety

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      The concert industry notes that serious problems are still rare, but over the years a number of deadly stampedes have shown the inherent dangers of big, excited crowds.On Dec. 3, 1979, a crowd amassed outside Riverfront Coliseum in Cincinnati for a concert by the Who. The show was booked without seat reservations, giving early-bird fans the chance to rush toward the stage. In the confusion outside the venue, 11 people were crushed to death.In response, Cincinnati banned that kind of general-admission model, sometimes called festival seating, and the incident served as a reminder of the inherent danger when pop music is mixed with big crowds.Cincinnati’s ban was lifted in 2004, just as a new, lucrative era of music festivals was taking off, led by events like Coachella, that were modeled after European festivals where fans roamed free and took in attractions on multiple stages.But through the years a series of disasters at concerts, clubs and festivals have served as reminders of the dangers of crowds, like the death of nine people at a Danish festival in 2000, or a stampede at a nightclub in Chicago in 2003 that left 21 dead.Those fears were rekindled again with Travis Scott’s Astroworld festival in Houston last Friday, where nine people died and more than 300 were injured, at a packed event that drew 50,000 people to NRG Park.For now, more questions than answers surround Astroworld, including how well the festival’s security plan was followed and why it took nearly 40 minutes to shut the show down after Houston officials declared a “mass casualty event.” The Houston police are conducting a criminal investigation, and dozens of civil lawsuits have been filed against Mr. Scott and Live Nation, the festival’s promoter, among other defendants.The event, and the finger-pointing in response, seemed all too familiar to Paul Wertheimer, a concert security expert and longtime critic of the industry. He began his career investigating the Who disaster and has since documented thousands of safety incidents at festivals and concerts; his research has included hours studying the dynamics of mosh pits.“I’ve been living this recurring nightmare, what happened in Houston, for 40 years,” he said in an interview. “I’ve seen it over and over again.”In 1979, 11 people were killed in a stampede at a Who concert in Cincinnati that had no assigned seats.Bettmann/Getty ImagesThe Astroworld disaster has already ignited debate about the safety of festivals, just as the industry has finally seen the return of large-scale touring after more than a year of dormancy during the pandemic.To critics like Mr. Wertheimer, Astroworld is yet another sign that concert promoters prioritize profits over safety. The concert industry sees it differently, arguing that the rarity of serious problems given the many thousands of events that go on without major incident each year proves that most shows are perfectly safe, and that expertise has been developed to protect the public.Live Nation, the world’s largest concert company, put on some 40,000 shows of various sizes in 2019, the most recent year that it had a full slate of events. Deaths and major injuries are rare, and when they do occur they often involve factors like drug overdoses.Still, the impact of the deaths in Houston are already being felt in the industry, as executives calculate the increased costs and heightened security measures they expect will be required in the future to avoid becoming the next Astroworld.Randy Phillips, the former chief executive of AEG Live, a concert giant that counts Coachella among its portfolio of festivals, said that for shows he is planning on his own as a promoter, “we are oversecuring and overinsuring all participants in a way we probably wouldn’t have pre-Astroworld.”Until the criminal investigation is completed, and courts sort out liability in the civil suits, it may be unclear just what steps festivals promoters and concert venues should take to prevent a recurrence. But few doubt there will be repercussions that will affect insurance, security, government regulations and contractual agreements among promoters, performers, venues and various third parties like security firms.In a statement, Live Nation said, “We continue to support and assist local authorities in their ongoing investigation so that both the fans who attended and their families can get the answers they want and deserve.” The company declined to comment further.For Live Nation and other promoters, festivals have become an important moneymaker. The day before the Astroworld disaster, in a conference call with analysts to announce Live Nation’s third-quarter financial results, Michael Rapino, its chief executive, said that when the company controls all revenue streams for a festival, “it’s our highest-margin business.”Crowd-control plans are an essential part of those events, and have evolved over the last two decades or so as festivals have become a key part of the touring industry.To manage general-admission events, long barriers known as crowd breaks are usually deployed to divide large spaces into smaller zones that contain as few as 5,000 patrons, reducing the risk of overcrowding, Mr. Phillips said. Other practices have emerged, like the use of counterprogramming on multiple stages, with overlapping set times, to prevent the full force of a festival audience from piling into one place at the same time.It is unclear how well those lessons were implemented at Astroworld.In 2010, 21 people died when crowds of thousands passed through a narrow tunnel on the way to a festival in Germany.Erik Wiffers/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesIn an appearance on NBC’s “Today” show on Tuesday, Samuel Peña, the Houston fire chief, said that barricades had been used to prevent the crowd from surging forward, but the movement of the crowd toward the stage “in essence caused other areas of pinch points.”“As the crowd began to surge and push and compress toward the front,” Mr. Peña said, “it was those people in the center that began to get crushed and the injuries started.”Astroworld has also stood out for the role of Mr. Scott, the festival’s creator and star attraction. A chart-topping rapper and entrepreneur, he has developed a reputation for putting on chaotic, high-energy shows, even encouraging fans to sneak in. Twice before, Mr. Scott has been arrested and accused of inciting crowds at his shows, and pleaded guilty to minor charges.At one point last Friday, Mr. Scott paused his set to take note of an ambulance in the crowd. But what he knew about the extent of danger in the crowd will surely be a central point in the investigation and the civil suits.The relative lack of injury at most big events has led concert executives to defend what they do as safe.Carl Freed, the promoter of the Hot 97 Summer Jam, an annual hip-hop festival at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey, called Astroworld “a horrible tragedy,” and added: “But there’s been a great deal of thought put into the safety of patrons. Always has been, always will be.” Summer Jam, which has assigned seating, has had a number of incidents over the years involving fans trying to push their way through security and sometimes scuffling with police.The history of trouble with overcrowding goes back to the very beginning of rock ’n’ roll. In 1952, the disc jockey Alan Freed’s “Moondog Coronation Ball” in Cleveland was shut down by police after up to 25,000 fans showed up for an arena that could hold just 10,000.And a number of events have turned deadly. In 1991, three teenagers were trampled to death at an AC/DC concert in Salt Lake City. That same year, nine people died in a stampede outside a benefit basketball game at City College in New York that was presented by a young rap promoter, Sean Combs. In one of the highest-profile disasters in recent years, 21 people died in 2010 when crowds of thousands were forced to pass through a narrow tunnel on the way to the Love Parade, a festival in Duisburg, Germany.The rise of big outdoor festivals in the late 1960s helped establish rock as a paramount cultural force, but the problems at Woodstock (gate-crashing; traffic and sanitation failures) and Altamont (a fan’s death at the hands of a Hells Angels security crew) frightened local governments around the country, which passed public gathering laws that stunted the growth of American festivals for decades.Brian D. Caplan, a lawyer who is not involved with the Astroworld suits, said that it may take courts time to establish which parties face liability, but that the history of dangers and violence at concerts serves as fair warning to promoters that steps must be taken to protect the public.“These happen sporadically, but all large promoters would know that an event of this nature could happen,” Mr. Caplan said. “They do the best they can to ensure these things don’t happen, but when they do it’s difficult to escape some form of liability for the consequences.”Viewing the footage of Astroworld, Mr. Wertheimer said that the deaths could have been prevented simply by reducing the density of the crowd. But with the popularity and profitability of festivals, he doubted that would happen.“It’s going to be business as usual after this in Houston,” he said, “unless officials rise up and try to protect their communities.” More

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      in Television

      What Does Abba's Music Mean to You? Readers Respond.

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      From around the world, readers sent in memories of loved ones, dancing, childhood and musical inspiration.From left, Leena Hamad, Bobae Johnson, Paul Tamburro and Nishita Sinha dressed as Abba for Halloween in 2019.“I firmly believe that there is an Abba song for any and every occasion that might arise in life,” said Paul Tamburro, a reader who lives in Cambridge, Mass. “Sad and lonely? Try ‘One of Us.’ Happy and energetic? Try ‘Rock Me.’ Feeling a little bit wild? ‘Summer Night City.’ I could go on and on.”This sentiment was shared by many readers who responded to a request for thoughts on what Abba’s music means to them. Readers from 20 to 70 years old described how the Swedish group has provided the soundtrack to moments joyful and heartbreaking, mundane and extraordinary. With a new Abba album recently released, many were looking forward to that continuing.Here is a selection of reader memories and stories, edited for clarity and length.Dancing QueensEleanore, left, and Marjorie Woodruff at an Abba tribute concert in 2019.Stephen Hayes “I loved Abba in the ’70s, because the sound was upbeat and danceable. I am now 60 with a 21-year-old daughter. We don’t share many common interests, especially in music, but are both Abba fans! We go to the tribute show every time it comes to town.” MARJORIE WOODRUFF, 60, Weehawken N.J.“Their music makes me happy. I can’t sit still when their music is playing: I bob, dance, swing my head, wave my arms, and feel sooo good afterward. Always.” MARLENE CARTAINA, 78, Briarcliff Manor, N.Y.“My first memory of Abba is dancing to the Greatest Hits vinyl album with my little brother and sister in our living room in 1980. We’d turn off all the lights, use flashlights as a disco ball, dress up in my mom’s flowy nightgowns and pretend we were in the band.” KATE KELLY, 49, Seattle“To me, Abba means the joy and freedom that comes with dancing alone — usually sans pants — with a bottle of wine in hand.” ALEKSANDRA FITZGERALD, 27, Middletown, Conn.“There’s nothing more purely joyful than hitting the dance floor with friends to dance to ‘Dancing Queen’ and sing at the top of your lungs. Every bad thing that might have happened that day or week completely vanishes.” ADENA BARNETTE, 40, Ripley, W.Va.Remembering Loved Ones“Abba’s music always reminds me of my grandmother, who was a big fan and made me a fan. When I went to visit her at her house, the two of us would dance, and sing ‘Chiquitita’ in Spanish, her favorite song. She passed away last year, so I continue to enjoy Abba’s music, not only because I’m a fan, but also to remember her.” FERNANDA GONZÁLEZ PÉREZ, 22, Santiago, Chile“Our dad, Paul E. Brackbill, enjoyed Abba for as many years as I can remember. Music was important to him. When we would ride in the car, we would sing along to Abba with gusto. Over his happy life of 102 years, he noted that ‘Thank You for the Music’ was his favorite song.” JAN TUCKER, 74, Fayetteville, Ga.“My most precious Abba memory is from the summer of 2020: I had quit my job and moved in with my grandmother (who took me to see “Mamma Mia!” on Broadway), to take care of her during Covid-19 and for what turned out to be the final months of her beautiful life.She and I had a blast together. My old truck just has a CD player, and Abba Gold was one of the only CDs I had. I’d drive along the highway, windows down, ‘Take a Chance on Me’ or some other Abba banger blaring at top volume, singing my head off and feeling so free. It was my soundtrack of the summer, of the most beautiful months of joy and freedom and family and purpose I have ever felt.” ELLIE DUKE, 28, Cambridge, Mass.Global SuperstarsAt the Abba Museum in Stockholm in 2016, Julia Weis, center left, and her sister Jessica, center right, joined the band.Annie Weis“Growing up as a Swedish American, I was taught you have to pick a side — you either love Abba or you hate Abba. My mom hates Abba. But I love Abba. I think they mean so much to me because growing up in the U.S., everyone always confused my homeland with other countries (particularly Switzerland), so it felt good to be recognized for great music that anyone can dance to. And for something other than cheaply built furniture.” JULIA WEIS, 24, San Antonio, Texas“In the ’80s I lived in a small steel town in India where families were protective of their daughters while sons partied with gay abandon! Just to get girls to experience fun and dance, my dad organized a May Day party. My tween friends and I danced until sundown to ‘Dancing Queen’ on repeat and then wound up (or attempted to wind up) with slow dances to ‘Fernando.’ I meet girls who are lawyers and doctors now and they remember that May Day disco!” RICHA BHATNAGAR, 47, Denver“My parents immigrated to the U.S. from Honduras when I was a toddler. One of their first jobs and my first memories (since they had to bring me along) was cleaning furniture showrooms at night, where they were allowed to play music. The soundtrack? Abba in Spanish. Their music has always made me feel safe, cared for and happy. Later it allowed me to not feel like such an outsider as a child of immigrants, because I knew all the melodies to some of the biggest songs of that generation.” MAYRA QUINTANO, 29, San Francisco“I remember Abba’s concert aired on the Polish TV station TVP2 in 1976, during the country’s Communist era. That was a very special event, and the flavor of the West in ’70s Poland was the sound of Abba. I was listening to Pink Floyd and Abba and didn’t see any dissonance. Ah, happy days.” JAROSLAW PLUCIENNIK, 54, Lodz, Poland“In 1979 I was a model working for five months in Japan. I did not speak any Japanese and my co-workers in the densely packed, camera-filled photo studios oftentimes spoke very little English, but they knew the words to every Abba song. Every studio I worked in played this band nonstop, clapping with excitement to boost the energy with ‘Dancing Queen’ or ‘When I Kissed the Teacher.’ I cannot hear any Abba tune without remembering to face the box light and smile.” LYNKA ADAMS, 68, Napa, Calif.The Music’s Complexity“As the drummer for Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, I recall that while recording the song ‘Prove It All Night’ for the 1978 album ‘Darkness On The Edge Of Town,’ reference was made to get that ‘Abba keyboard sound’ for the opening signature melodic hook. Listening to it again I believe we did!” MAX WEINBERG, 70, Delray Beach, Fla.“Getting to know Abba in a country like Colombia, charged with tropical rhythms and influences, and right when I was enjoying a happy and carefree adolescence, meant discovering that my senses could vibrate like never before to the beat of delicious, almost subliminal energies.” JUAN CARLOS RIVERA MEDINA, 59, Cali, Colombia“I love their happy music juxtaposed with Bjorn’s depressing and heartbreaking lyrics. Pure brilliance. Abba helps me write music. I study their chord progressions, harmonies, instrumentation, lyrics, style, and so much more. They give me constant inspiration.” KAYLA NORTH, 32, Seattle“I’ve been a fan since ‘Waterloo’ became a worldwide smash and I think it’s very telling, some 47 years later, that I broke down in tears when I heard Frida’s voice, deepened and enriched by time, sing the first lines of ‘I Still Have Faith in You.’ For me, it’s always been a mix of the vocals, the harmonies, the production and the craftsmanship. It’s a magical combination.” JIM STEVENS, 61, Altamonte Springs, Fla.‘Chiquitita, You and I Know’“I was a young child when my dad gave me an Abba LP that included the song ‘Chiquitita.’ We played it often and its music became part of the soundtrack of my suburban childhood. The group’s music is and forever will be a favorite, but ‘Chiquitita’ holds a special place in my heart — more than a song, it is a safe and happy place where I feel loved and protected.” LAURA RENTAS, 44, San Juan, Puerto Rico“I have loved Abba’s music since I was a kid. My all-time favorite song of theirs is actually ‘Chiquitita,’ because it’s my mom’s favorite, but also because of these lyrics: ‘Chiquitita, you and I cry, but the sun is still in the sky and shining above you.’ That has gotten me through some really hard days.” ALANA GEORGE, 22, Birmingham, Ala.“My best friend and I found a mutual fondness for Abba in high school. The song that stands out the most is ‘Chiquitita,’ which my friend burned onto a mix CD and mailed to me at college (along with brownies) after I got dumped by my high school boyfriend. Now, I’m newly graduated with a master’s, restarting my career and newly engaged. I play ‘Chiquitita,’ think of my friend, and remember that I am strong, loved and capable of change.” ISABELLE THOMSON, 29, Durham, N.C.Elda Cantú and Ana Sosa contributed reporting. More

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      Before the Astroworld Tragedy, Travis Scott’s ‘Raging’ Made Him a Star

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      The multiplatinum rapper earned a reputation for concerts that teetered on the edge of mayhem. Then eight people died during his performance in Houston on Friday.Travis Scott has always been a showman first and foremost.A master of marketing who is equally skilled at curating big-name collaborators and exclusive experiences, Mr. Scott is a figure of few words and little eye contact who isn’t known as a technically adept rapper or a dynamic offstage celebrity. Instead, he has built his multiplatinum, widely licensed name as an avatar of excess and a conductor of energy — an electric live performer who prioritizes how his music makes you feel (and act).Since 2015, when he established himself as a reliable concert headliner, Mr. Scott (born Jacques B. Webster) has gained an international reputation as a star attraction and an evangelist for good-natured physical expression — what he calls “raging” — whipping up mosh pits, crowd-surfers and stage-divers as his shows teeter on the edge of mayhem. In a rare trajectory, the smash hits came only later.“The way he interacts with his crowd, he’s one of the only artists that when he comes on, he can vibe with every single person,” one fan explained in the Netflix documentary “Travis Scott: Look Mom I Can Fly,” from 2019. Amid montages of blood, sweat and colliding bodies, another added: “You can fall and everyone will pick you up. It’s weird how one person’s music can turn everyone into such a family.”Such expressive, loosely choreographed rowdiness — a common and longtime feature of live performances across musical milieus, including metal, punk and ska — does not necessarily equate with mass danger.But Mr. Scott’s attempts to balance a kind of community-based catharsis with the powder keg of a rambunctious young crowd — which has led to accusations that he has incited fans and encouraged unsafe behavior — tipped decisively toward tragedy on Friday night in Houston, where eight people were killed and hundreds more injured as the rapper performed the final set of the night at the third iteration of his Astroworld festival.Several people died and dozens of others were injured at a Travis Scott concert in Houston, after a large crowd began pushing toward the front of the stage. Video showed crowds amassing earlier in the day, as about 50,000 people attended the festival.Amy Harris/Invision, via Associated PressAuthorities are still investigating what caused the surges in the audience of 50,000, and how that contributed to the “mass casualty event,” which lasted for an estimated 40 minutes, according to law enforcement. The Houston police chief, Troy Finner, said officials worried that ending the show sooner could have caused a riot.Mr. Scott said in a video statement on Instagram that despite acknowledging an ambulance in the crowd, he did not realize the extent of the emergency. He noted that he typically halts his concerts to make sure injured fans can make it to safety, adding: “I could just never imagine the severity of the situation.”Representatives for Mr. Scott said on Monday that he would cover all funeral costs for those who died at Astroworld, while also providing refunds to all attendees who bought tickets. The rapper has also canceled his upcoming headlining appearance on Saturday at the Day N Vegas festival, they said.While crowd-control disasters have occurred at rock concerts, religious celebrations and soccer matches, the incident in Houston has quickly turned Mr. Scott’s biggest selling point and foundational philosophy as an artist into a flash point about his culpability after years of encouraging — and participating in — extreme behavior by his fans.Twice before, Mr. Scott has been arrested and accused of inciting riots at his concerts, pleading guilty to minor charges. In an ongoing civil case, one concertgoer said he was partially paralyzed in 2017 after Mr. Scott encouraged people to jump from a third-floor balcony and then had him hoisted onstage.Yet those incidents only served to bolster the legend of the rapper’s live shows, with footage of stretchers, wheelchairs and the daredevil stunts that may have necessitated them — like leaping from lighting structures — used to illustrate Mr. Scott’s roving carnival of a career.By Sunday, however, an official commercial for this year’s Astroworld festival that emphasized such imagery had been removed from YouTube.Mr. Scott atop an Austin crowd in 2013, during the early days of his career.Rick Kern/WireImage, via Getty ImagesFinding an identity onstageMr. Scott, a Houston native who dropped out of the University of Texas to pursue music, became a protégé to Kanye West in 2012. Using Mr. West’s inclination toward cultural pastiche, along with the genre-hopping, fashion-forward templates of artists like Kid Cudi and ASAP Rocky, Mr. Scott quickly emerged near the forefront of a micro-generation of rappers — Playboi Carti, Trippie Redd, Lil Uzi Vert — who brought a punk-rock sensibility to the mass scale of modern rap, especially in concert.After a few high-profile guest appearances and two mixtapes released in 2013 and 2014, Mr. Scott’s first studio album, “Rodeo,” was released by Epic Records and the rapper T.I.’s Grand Hustle label in 2015. Just a year earlier, Mr. Scott was playing for tiny audiences. But following his proper debut, the musician began realizing his dreams of ambitious stage design and adrenaline to match.In a 2015 GQ segment called “How to Rage With Travis Scott,” the rapper linked his childhood fantasy of becoming a professional wrestler to his later desire to make his concerts “feel like it was the WWF.”“Raging and, you know, having fun and expressing good feelings is something that I plan on doing and spreading across the globe,” Mr. Scott said. “We don’t like people that just stand — whether you’re Black, white, brown, green, purple, yellow, blue, we don’t want you standing around.”A concert review from Complex that year was titled, “I Tried Not to Die at Travi$ Scott and Young Thug’s Show Last Night,” calling the concert “the most dangerous safe haven” and “a turnt-up fight for survival.”But as Mr. Scott’s diverse audience expanded and his operation professionalized, he also ran up against the limits of his amiable anarchy. At the Lollapalooza festival that summer in Chicago, the rapper’s set was cut off five minutes in, after he told fans to rush the barricades, flip off security and chant, “We want rage,” resulting in a stampede that injured a 15-year-old girl. Mr. Scott later pleaded guilty to reckless conduct and was put under court supervision for a year.In 2017, Mr. Scott was arrested again following a performance in Arkansas, where he was charged with inciting a riot for encouraging fans to rush the stage and bypass security. He eventually pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor for disorderly conduct, and paid a $7,465.31 fine.The 2019 Netflix documentary “Travis Scott: Look Mom I Can Fly” traced the rapper’s evolution into a live performer with a specific aesthetic.NetflixA superstar expands his influenceMr. Scott’s celebrity soon skyrocketed. The same year as his arrest in Arkansas, he joined the extended Kardashian universe as the boyfriend of Kylie Jenner; the couple had a daughter, Stormi, in 2018 and are now expecting their second child.But it was the release of Mr. Scott’s third album, “Astroworld,” in the summer of 2018, that cemented him among the upper echelon of superstar performers — and salesmen. The album release was paired with an extensive merchandise collection that drove purchases, and it helped lead to collaborations with McDonald’s, Hot Wheels, Nike, Reese’s and more.“Astroworld” also featured the rapper’s first Billboard No. 1 single, “Sicko Mode,” with Drake, a feat Mr. Scott would repeat three more times from 2019 to 2020. He has collected eight Grammy nominations since 2013, released three chart-topping albums and is known as a streaming juggernaut.After recreating rodeos and flying atop an animatronic bird over his crowds, Mr. Scott staged an international tour for “Astroworld” — named for a defunct Six Flags theme park near where he grew up — that featured a functional roller coaster that shot out over the audience.Rolling Stone called it “the greatest show in the world,” comparing Mr. Scott’s “unhinged leaping” to Michael Jackson’s moonwalking, while The Washington Post crowned the rapper “one of the most electrifying performers of the moment,” a “maestro directing the chaos.”Amid his big-budget diversification, Mr. Scott used his blockbuster release to kick off the festival of the same name, building on the industry trend of big-tent, weekend-long concerts branded and curated by major artists. (Astroworld was canceled in 2020 because of the Covid-19 pandemic; still, 28 million viewers watched Mr. Scott perform within the video game Fortnite.)The Netflix documentary “Look Mom I Can Fly” chronicled the lead-up to the “Astroworld” album and the first edition of the festival. But even as it underlined Mr. Scott’s penchant for stoking hype — fast-forwarding through the empty crowds of his early career to the bedlam of Lollapalooza, Arkansas and his pyrotechnic-heavy arena shows in hectic, high-voltage footage — there were moments that gestured toward the need for caution, as well.Mr. Scott is seen chastising security and egging his crowd on, but he is also shown multiple times pausing onstage as seemingly unconscious bodies are lifted through the crowd to be treated. “I feel bad, though,” he says following his release from jail in Arkansas. “I heard about kids getting hurt.”Ahead of another show, a member of the rapper’s team is shown backstage, preparing the venue’s security staff.“Our kids, they push up against the front and spread all the way across that and fill in the whole front floor, so the pressure becomes very great up against the barricade,” the man, whose face is blurred in the footage, tells them. “You will see a lot of crowd-surfers in general, but also you see a lot of kids that are just trying to get out and get to safety because they can’t breathe, because it’s so compact.”“You won’t know how bad it can be with our crowd,” he adds, “until we turn on.” More

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      How a 55-Year-Old California Teacher Became a Bollywood Actor

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      Richard Klein left behind his life as a Hebrew day school teacher in California and became an actor in Mumbai, often playing a “mean British officer.”It’s Never Too Late” is a series that tells the stories of people who decide to pursue their dreams on their own terms.By most accounts, Richard Klein had a pretty good life: a solid job as a teacher at a Hebrew day school in Oakland, Calif.; friends that were like family, and a passion for singing and dancing that ruled his nights and weekends. But one morning, at the age of 45, he woke up and realized that he had yet to embrace his full potential. He wanted to break into Bollywood.“I’ve always loved performing, and I was listening to Indian classical and devotional music a lot,” at the time, Mr. Klein said. The 2001 Bollywood epic “Lagaan” inspired him to try and make his passion his profession. “Things have come full circle,” he said, adding that he appears in the 2022 film “Lal Singh Chaddha” with Aamir Khan, who starred in “Lagaan.”Six months after that fateful morning, Mr. Klein, who is divorced and has no children, moved to Mumbai. At first, he lived in the coastal metropolis part time. He alternated between a gig editing subtitles for English-language television shows in Mumbai and tutoring back in California, where he would make enough money to underwrite another six months of trying to make it in the performing arts world in India.Eventually it paid off. Mr. Klein, now 55, has appeared in dozens of Indian films, television shows and commercials, playing such varied roles as a scientist, doctor, chef, spy, and, owing to his ability to nail a British accent, quite often, a “mean British officer.”Making the change was not without strife. Still, he said he would do it all over again. “I’m in India, you know, the land of reincarnation,” Mr. Klein said, “but as far as I’m concerned, I have this one life that I’m dealing with. I want to make the most of it.” (The following interview has been edited and condensed.)“Being here gives me the opportunity to be the best version of myself. I wasn’t feeling that opportunity in the U.S.”Prarthna Singh for The New York TimesWhat was your life like before you made this change?I had been living in the San Francisco Bay Area for about 20 years. Mostly, I was a teacher: math, science, computer lab. My nights and weekends were spent doing some kind of performing arts. I’ve always had an affinity toward music. I remember being a little kid, walking through the park, singing. A stranger walked by, and I sort of got quiet. My mom said: “Don’t be shy. You sing out loud and don’t worry about anybody else.”What was the watershed moment?I was working as a teacher at a Hebrew day school, and one morning I woke up and thought, “If I don’t do something, I could be here for the next 20 years.” That wouldn’t be a terrible outcome, but it wasn’t the one I wanted.I studied India in graduate school, when I was pursuing a degree in religion. Learning about India inspired me to adopt the nickname Bhakti, which I’ve used since 1991, though I never changed my name legally. In a broad sense, Bhakti means devotion and love. The word is a reminder to lead with my heart instead of my head, so every time I hear my name, I think of that.My first trip to India was in 1995 as a backpacker. I absolutely loved it. I went back a few times after that. So I thought: what if I go there, stay, and see what happens? On one of my first nights in Mumbai, I went out to a jazz club. All the performers were foreigners. We got to talking afterward, and I ended up joining their group as a singer, which was my first foray into the performing arts world here.Richard Klein acts out a role from a potential script in his Bandra apartment.Prarthna Singh for The New York TimesPrarthna Singh for The New York TimesWhat was the biggest challenge that you had to navigate?When I first arrived, I was staying in fairly cheap places. A lot of times, there was no hot water in the shower. A lot of times there wasn’t even a shower — most of my time in India, I’ve taken a bucket bath, which is actually great.Five Movies to Watch This WinterCard 1 of 51. “The Power of the Dog”: More

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      Northern Ireland’s Health Minister Is Suing Van Morrison Over Covid Criticism

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      Northern Ireland’s health minister has sued Van Morrison, who has said the minister’s handling of Covid-19 restrictions was “very dangerous.”Paul Tweed, the lawyer for the health minister, Robin Swann, confirmed on Monday that a lawsuit had been filed.“Legal proceedings are now at an advanced stage, with an anticipated hearing date early in 2022,” Mr. Tweed said in an email, adding that he could not comment “any further at this stage.” The Belfast Telegraph reported the lawsuit on Sunday.Joe Rice, a lawyer for Mr. Morrison, did not immediately respond to a request for comment on Monday. He told The Associated Press that Mr. Morrison would contest the claim, arguing “that the words used by him related to a matter of public interest and constituted fair comment.”In June, Mr. Morrison denounced Mr. Swann from the stage at the Europa Hotel in Belfast after several other concerts were canceled because of virus restrictions.Mr. Morrison, 76, who was born in Belfast and was knighted in 2016, has dismissed the coronavirus pandemic — the death toll for which surpassed five million people last week — as media hype and has criticized Covid-19 restrictions though his music.In the fall of 2020, as another wave of the pandemic raged, Mr. Morrison released three protest songs that criticized the measures that Northern Ireland’s government had taken to slow the spread of the virus. One song, “No More Lockdown,” claimed that scientists were “making up crooked facts” about the virus.At the time, Mr. Swann called the songs “dangerous” in an interview with BBC Radio Ulster.“I don’t know where he gets his facts,” Mr. Swann said of the songs. “I know where the emotions are on this, but I will say that sort of messaging is dangerous.”The songs also prompted Mr. Swann to write an opinion article for Rolling Stone in which he said that Mr. Morrison’s “words will give great comfort to the conspiracy theorists.”In August, Mr. Morrison dropped a legal challenge against a “blanket ban” on live music in licensed venues in Northern Island, according to the BBC. As Northern Ireland eased Covid-19 restrictions, live music was allowed to resume.Mr. Morrison welcomed the news at the time but also said he was disappointed that he had to cancel some concerts in Belfast over the summer.In May, Mr. Morrison, who is known for hits like “Brown Eyed Girl” and “Moondance,” released a double album, “Latest Record Project, Vol. 1.” The album, including the songs “Why Are You on Facebook?” and “They Control the Media,” has been assailed by critics who have accused Mr. Morrison of antisemitism and embracing conspiracy theories. More