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by Florence Foster Jenkins 
Mrs. Jenkins was a Veritable Force of Nature
Composers such as Alan Hovhaness and Paul Winter were leaders in the first wave of a musical trend, in which musicians play along side recordings of various noble and endangered animals, such as the timber wolf, the bald eagle, or the blue whale. This inclination toward the beautiful and graceful has given way to a more complete vision of the natural world. Take, for example, the recent recording of Yo-Yo Ma playing in antiphonal response to the subterranean gurgles of the giant earthworm Megascolides australis. Likewise, El Fisico Nuclear and his band Echidna Rex have recently released a version of Night on Bald Mountain on kazoo, accompanied by the digitally remastered grunting and squealing of wild swine, while the musicians who form The Art of Noise have embraced the world of nature by spicing up their latest album with sound bytes provided by amorous felines, katydids, and toadfish. If the creatures chosen in these efforts are of distinct types--noble and beautiful in the first case, and strange, disturbing or ugly in the second, the combination of their vocal efforts with human music derives from similar motivations. These recordings are attempts to create an illusion that our aesthetic efforts are part of the natural world, and that it accepts us. These musicians believe that such compositions reaffirm our connection with the cosmos. Artists such as these are well advised to read Robert Frost's poem "Come In," with its chilling last line, which denies humanity a place in the natural order, and reaffirms our eviction from the Garden of Eden. There are cases, however, in which music actually preserves our connection with nature, and gives the impression that biological creatures other than ourselves have an aesthetic sense. The distinct effects of classical and rock music on houseplants is well known, and one should not forget John Christie's cows, who preferred Mozart's compositions to more modern music. The sea turtles off the coast of the South Pacific island of Kadavu also speak to this connection: when women of the island gather at the edge of a cliff and begin to chant, the reptiles rise to the surface of the ocean to enjoy their songs for as long as they last. Or take the case of the voice of Florence Foster Jenkins, whose music is well represented on this album. A distant relative of hers happened to be attending a Midsummer's Eve festival hosted by my wife and myself, and he offered to play a disc of her music for the other guests. I gladly consented, since he is blessed with a high quavering voice which is a pleasure to hear, and I hoped for more of the same tones and range from the recording of his relative. It must be noted that Mrs. Jenkins was completely an urban phenomenon--she never appeared in the country, indeed she never sang anywhere but the finest of salons, and the high point of her career was a concert at Carnegie Hall. Had she ever performed in a pastoral setting, perhaps the fiasco which occurred at our gathering could have been avoided. Mere moments after her dulcet tones reverberated through the house and out into the yard, we were visited by a swarm of Jerusalem crickets, intent upon finding the source of the music. Apparently Mrs. Jenkins had inadvertently discovered and reproduced the mating call of the female of the species, and the males were intent upon finding the individual who must have sounded to them like the Marlene Dietrich of potato bugs. It was impossible to flee the wave of these loathsome insects without stepping upon them, which was most disagreeable, as the guests and the intruders headed in opposite directions: we for the open doors, they for the source of the music. Soon the speakers were covered with swarming insects, who proceeded to bite and claw at the equipment which they perceived to be the object of their affections. Only after some unlucky Romeo had gnawed through the wires of his erstwhile electric Juliet, and shorted out the entire system, some two hours later, did Mrs. Jenkins' warblings cease. This left us with a house in utter darkness and full of ardent and frustrated Jerusalem crickets. I love nature as much as the next person, but we had an exterminator come to the house that very night. I am pleased to report that the short circuit also burned through the workings of the compact disc player, and that I was unable to retrieve the disc for my guest. They went as a unit into the garbage. As a musical experience, Mrs. Jenkins is unsurpassed; as an Orpheus to the denizens of the subterranean world, her music has too powerful an effect. This disc does, however, make a wonderful gift for those country folk with whom you are on less than friendly terms. I accordingly give it five stars. |
