I care not for Caruso


L.C. Davis and Charles Kunkel, “Baseball vs. Opera” (1912)

A little ditty for Opening Day (Zambrano vs. Oswalt, 7:05 PM), with lyrics by sportswriter L. C. Davis, from the days when sportswriters rhymed more than they do now. (Yeah, that’s me singing. Sorry.) “Shine,” by the way, is not a racial slur against Italians as well—it’s used in the turn-of-the-century sense of “show-off.” (Too bad—I thought I could mock two of my ancestries at once.)

I’m practicing Appalachian Spring right now, trying to get my hands to stop thinking about how they already know “Simple Gifts” and instead actually pay attention to what’s on the page. (I’m pretending to be an orchestra for a conducting class later today.) I’m also still bleary from the weekend: worked all day yesterday, stayed up too late on Saturday helping my UConn-fan wife obliterate the immediate past with mojitos and Classical Barbra, and was out too late on Friday witnessing The Bad Plus in the flesh and then finally meeting Ethan Iverson. I bought Ethan a drink, after which somebody else came up and wanted to buy Ethan a drink. That’s right—his fans were fighting over who got to pay for his alcohol. Ethan swore that this had never happened to him before. I’m not sure I believe him.


  1. It’s a great enjoyable-concept-plus-surprisingly-enjoyable-in-actuality album until about four tracks in, when you remember that, oh yeah, the <>whole thing<> is nothing but slow and ethereal. Surprisingly good match for the drinkin’, though.

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