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Yoshi Wada, Ingenious Creator of Sound Worlds, Dies at 77

On the 18th Manhattan. He was 77.

His son and musical collaborator Tashi Wada confirmed the death but said the cause was unknown.

Yoshi Wada’s music was characterized by dense, persistent sounds that could create stunning acoustic effects. He absorbed much of various musical traditions – Indian ragas, Macedonian folk song, and Scottish bagpipes – while supporting his musical life by working in construction.

In an early technique, in the 1970s, he attached mouthpieces to pipes that could be over six feet long. In ritual concerts lasting several hours, he immersed the audience in the sonorous drones that emanated from this alphorn-like instrument, which he called the earth horn.

In combination with the electronics of the sound artist Liz Philips, the pulsating sounds of the pipes offered a new interpretation of the minimalist style that was then in fashion.

“The result was certainly one of the most coloristically attractive of the many recent examples of minimalist, stationary sound you hear today,” wrote John Rockwell of the New York Times of a Wada concert in 1974 at the Kitchen in Lower Manhattan, “more like an evening at the very beginning of Wagner’s ‘Rheingold’. “

Mr. Wada’s idiosyncratic singing and the use of bagpipes became the basis for two major albums released on free jazz labels in the 1980s. One, “Lamentation of the rise and fall of the Elephantine Crocodile,” was recorded in an empty swimming pool; To delve deeper into the project, Mr Wada slept in the pool. The other release, “Off the Wall”, made on a grant in West Berlin, combined bagpipes with a handcrafted organ and percussion.

“What I would like to have is a feeling for the endless space,” he said in a 1987 interview. “I want to create this feeling of infinity with sound.”

Mr. Wada also created elaborate sculptural sound installations. For “The Appointed Cloud” in 1987 he hung organ pipes and gongs in the Great Hall of the New York Hall of Science in Flushing Meadows Corona Park in Queens. Led by a computer program developed by David Rayna, visitors pressed buttons to change the sound of the composition in real time.

“Lots of young children came,” recalled Mr Wada in 2016, “and they went crazy pushing the buttons and it was a lot of fun.”

Yoshimasa Wada was born on November 11, 1943 in Kyoto, Japan, to the architect Shukitchi Wada and Kino Imakita. His father died in World War II and his childhood was marked by the rigors of the post-war period.

Yoshi had strong experiences early on in hearing monks sing in a local Zen temple. Enthusiastic about Sonny Rollins and Ornette Coleman, he started playing jazz saxophone as a teenager. He studied sculpture at the Kyoto City University of Fine Arts and searched Japan for avant-garde collectives such as the Gutai Group and the Hi-Red Center.

“It looked at the moon in a Zen garden for a whole night,” Mr. Wada later recalled of a “happening” presented by the artist and musician Yoko Ono. “That was a very nice feeling. I remember taking a bath afterwards and going home. “

After completing his Bachelor in Fine Arts, he moved to New York in 1967. George Maciunas, who is considered to be the founder of the Fluxus movement, lived in Mr. Wada’s building. Soon Mr. Wada was caught up in Fluxus’ high-minded absurdism, which made music out of cardboard tubes and syncopated sneezes.

Mr. Maciunas had begun buying abandoned buildings in the Manhattan area that would become known as SoHo and converting them into artists’ cooperatives, and he enlisted Mr. Wada to help with the carpentry and plumbing work.

Never having formal training in music, Mr. Wada took electronic music lessons from composer La Monte Young and in the early 1970s became a student of guru Pandit Pran Nath, who taught classical North Indian singing in Mr. Young’s studio.

“He tried to take everything in on a very high spiritual level,” said Mr. Young in an interview about Mr. Wada. “He was a very pure and noble person.”

His fascination with the microtonal inflections and hypnotic drones of Indian ragas, along with his dissatisfaction with standard instruments, led Mr. Wada to create the earth horns. But his musical interest continued to expand. He heard Macedonian folk singing at a festival and decided to study it, then formed a small choir to sing eerie modal improvisations. He attended Scottish Highland Games in the late 1970s and was impressed with the possibilities of the bagpipes.

After learning the solo bagpipe style known as “piobaireachd”, Mr. Wada built his own “customized” version of the instrument – with plumbing fixtures, pipes and air compressors – for evening performances that fused composition and improvisation.

“In studying all these different traditions, he always spoke of wanting to find ways to make them his own,” said his son Tashi in an interview.

Mr. Wada supported his family by continuing construction work and even starting his own construction company. He stored his menagerie of makeshift instruments in the basement of their building, one of the ones that Mr. Maciunas had developed. Tashi Wada remembered that a drum kit from his childhood found its way into one of his father’s sound installations.

Starting in 2007, Tashi Wada, who is also an experimental composer, helped reissue his father’s older recordings, which are now available on the Saltern label. In 2009, the Emily Harvey Foundation, which promotes the arts and had preserved some of Wada’s ear horns, invited him to repeat his performances from the 1970s. History lost the original electronic drone system; Instead, Tashi recreated the parts live. Father and son became regular musical collaborators.

Mr. Wada’s first wife was Barbara Stewart. In 1985 he married Marilyn Bogerd; they divorced in 2014. In addition to her son, he leaves behind her daughter Manon Bogerd Wada and a granddaughter.

In 2016, Tashi Wada interviewed his father for the art magazine BOMB and asked him about the hallucinatory effects he had experienced while practicing his music in a small studio in West Berlin in the 1980s.

“I didn’t use drugs at the time,” said Mr Wada. “It was not necessary. Sound pulls me into a dreamlike world when the sound is right. That is a very good effect and keeps me awake. “

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Eddy de Pretto Is the Proud Sound of a New France

Eddy de Pretto is now 27 and sings on some of the biggest stages in France these days – or he did when the stages were open. At the age of 21 he performed for a smaller audience: the tourists on the Bateaux-Mouches, the Paris sightseeing cruises that carry millions of people up and down the Seine.

“It was a pretty crazy job. I’ve been on the vocal cruises where dinner is served, ”said de Pretto in a recent video interview from Paris. From the little stage in the boat’s dining room, he recalled, he’d serenaded tourists by syrupy Charles Trenet standards to the point of utter indifference. “They ate and looked at the Eiffel Tower. They didn’t even notice anyone was singing – they thought it was a soundtrack. “

“But those three years on the Bateaux-Mouches were so typical of a career,” he added. “It was absolutely formative to sing in front of people every evening who didn’t care.”

Those lonely nights on the cruise ship are the origin of “À Tous Les Bâtards” (“To all the bastards”), de Pretto’s second album, released last month in France. “I waited patiently to ascend the throne / And they sang my songs as if I had sung ‘La Vie en Rose'”, he says on the first single “Bateaux-Mouches”, the lyrics of which started from Remember Take part in lots of hip-hop bragging rights. But the name verification of both Rihanna and Édith Piaf as your guiding stars? That’s less common.

De Pretto rose to fame in 2018 with his triple platinum album “Cure”, and his mix of urban beats and chanson poetics wasn’t the only unusual attribute. There was his voice: big and lively, with every syllable articulated for the back of the house. There was his gaze: hoodies and tracksuits, a three-day beard and a strawberry-blonde tonsure like that of a medieval monk. And there was his biography: a young gay man, uninhibited and undisturbed, from the suburbs, which the Parisians still typified as the cultural backbone.

He was born in 1993 in Créteil in the south-east of the capital. His father was a driver and his mother a medical technician who worshiped an earlier generation of French singer-songwriters. “We lived in public housing and my mother heard a lot from Barbara, Brassens, Brel and Charles Aznavour,” he said. “She heard it all along and was very loud too. Loud enough to be heard through the vacuum cleaner. “

De Pretto said he did sports as a child, bad enough that his mother enrolled him in acting classes. The stage suited him. He landed a couple of small television and film roles. But his theatrical tendencies did not match the macho culture of the Parisian suburbs.

This tension inspired his breakout single “Kid”, a mid-tempo ballad about parents and their female sons. “You will be male, my child,” de Pretto sings over replacement piano chords and digital hi-hats, although the song’s video shows how he tries to obey the call. Shirtless and drenched in sweat at the gym, De Pretto looks way too bulky to lift the massive dumbbells caught between family expectations and his true nature.

“Every single word of ‘Kid’ is so wonderful,” said singer Jane Birkin, who performed a duet with de Pretto in 2018 Friends. And I should think he respected himself – I wouldn’t mess with him. At the same time, it has great fragility and sharpness. “

“Kid” was an instant hit in France and seemed to come out of nowhere. De Pretto’s weighty voice sounded like a throwback from the 60s, but he sang over frugal, menacing, bass-heavy beats. The slang texts had the vibrancy of the suburbs, but they were as poetic as they were sour, with that French fixation on what de Pretto calls “the weight of the word.”

On his first major TV appearance in 2017, he only appeared with his own iPhone to accompany him. The album cover of “Cure” had the same Gen-Z casualness: mirror selfie, phone in hand, leg pulled up on the kitchen table. A reviewer for the French newspaper Liberation said, astringent – but not without reason – that it looked like a late-night drunk picture sent to a Grindr connection.

In fact, there was also de Pretto’s theme: furtive glances in the locker room, sloppy after parties in dark basements, gloomy evenings while browsing the apps. In his spiky single “Fête de Trop” (“One party too many”) he describes the discomfort of another evening that gets high and “sticks my tongue into the salivating mouth” of the “boys of tonight”. “Jungle de la Chope” (“The Hookup Jungle”) is about the “bland conquests” of casual sex, whether safe or otherwise.

Some gay musicians treat their homosexuality as a non-issue; others want to make it a differentiator. What made de Pretto’s debut so exciting was that he didn’t do either of these. He assumed his identity to the full, making it nothing special. “I write from my perspective as a gay man,” he said. “But the songs aren’t a defense for being gay. I mean, yeah, I’m gay and I look out on society. “

He did, however, record a sideways pride anthem. “Grave” (“A Big Deal”) is fun, dirty encouragement for anxious gay teens – think Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” for teens whose first look at same-sex intimacy comes from streaming video. It’s a catalog of gay rites of passage that, as de Pretto sings, are “no big deal”: locating classmates in physical education, fantasizing about your best friend, and a lot more that can’t be printed in a family newspaper. “Don’t Live: This is a Big Deal!” goes the chorus.

“If I had to compare him to anyone, it would be Christine and the Queens, even though Eddy hasn’t exploded internationally,” said Romain Burrel, editor of French gay magazine Têtu. “Christine really paved the way for gender and sexual orientation issues,” he said. “But Eddy is very, very French. There has been a globalization of music, but when you hear Eddy de Pretto you are in the 11th arrondissement. “

Musically, “À Tous Les Bâtards” sounds a lot like “Cure”: the same big voice, the same minimal beats. But de Pretto’s writing has become less angry and more sectarian. “Désolé Caroline” (“Sorry Caroline”), his second single, initially sounds like a breakup song directed by a young gay man to the straight girl he cannot love. (In the interview, De Pretto described this type of romantic rejection with the charming Franglais verb “friendzoné”.)

On the other hand, this “Caroline” that the singer wants to get out of “my veins” may not be a real girl. She could be a personification of cocaine: a double meaning that he emphasizes in the music video in which de Pretto sings in a white parka amidst the snowstorms.

“I love to play with these double meanings,” said de Pretto, “because it opens up the field of possibilities.” He leaves the field open at the end of “À Tous Les Bâtards” in the ingeniously dirty ballad “La Zone”. This is where suburbs and sexuality become interchangeable, as de Pretto in a slick falsetto asks us to risk a visit … well, a particular area that is often viewed as dirty or dangerous.

“La Zone” in French slang refers to a rough suburban area, the kind of place to buy drugs. But when de Pretto speaks of the “dark joys” of a place where “some men are afraid to leave”, we realize that the particular zone he invites you into is more anatomical than geographical. (Birkin said the song reminded her of “Sonnet du Trou de Cul,” a poem by Verlaine and Rimbaud from 1871. “It’s a wonder people don’t talk about it anymore!” She added.)

The Parisian suburbs have produced so many of France’s best singers, actors and artists, not to mention the reigning soccer world champions. And yet, Western Europe’s largest and most diverse city treats the cities outside its ring road as inaccessible places. “That was the whole project of the first and hopefully this second album: breaking those fantasies and ideas that everyone has about what is going on in the suburbs,” said de Pretto. “And from a pretty stereotypical view of being gay.”

“It is an artist’s job,” he said, “to find points of view that have not yet been found.”

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Justin Bieber, Nonetheless Searching for a Sound

It is with some awkwardness – confusion? – that I have to tell you that the first voice you hear on Justin Bieber’s new album, Justice, is that of Martin Luther King Jr., “Injustice everywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” King returns midway through Album back, in an interlude in which a speech is sampled about that a life without conviction and passion is no life at all, which is absolutely true.

King’s calls to action are undeniably powerful – they should be widely heard. And yet they do not feel anchored in the framework for an album by the 27-year-old pop star: a grand gesture in search of an equally ambitious commitment – political, spiritual, emotional, even musical – to strengthen it.

It just draws attention to the lingering underlying conundrum with all things Bieber has, namely that, despite some indelible hits, his fame far surpasses his catalog and that he has kept it – in an open or reluctant, destructive or self-protecting manner – throughout his career. never has rested in one place for very long and never tried to stand up for its own particularity.

Because of this, his last album, Changes, was one of his most successful, full of mid-range R&B that goes well with his slightly silky voice. It wasn’t a runaway triumph, but it was coherent and comforting, and most importantly, baggage-free. It was also a reminder that Justin Bieber, the musician and performer, may not be actively interested or particularly well-suited to the song scale that is usually prescribed for someone as popular as Justin Bieber the celebrity.

However, the disorganized, sporadically strong “justice” feels like a slap on the wrist for “change” or the version of Bieber that nursed it. Instead of settling for one groove, this album oscillates between several: quasi New Wave, Christian pop, acoustic soul and much more. Bieber’s sixth studio album, Justice, is filled with songs that feel like production practice, lightly splattered with eau de bieber, the musical equivalent of merchandise.

A variety of guest functions offer the opportunity to try out different appearances with varying degrees of success. The production of “Love You Different” with dancehall rapper Beam nods weakly to the Caribbean, but nowhere near as effective as Bieber’s 2015 smash “Sorry”. Nigerian star Burna Boy appears on “Loved by You”, but Bieber doesn’t match his guest’s casual gravitas.

“Die for You” is perhaps the most ambitious stylistic collision here. A fast-paced, synthetic duet with aspiring pop slacker Dominic Fike that dates back to the mid-1980s, but Bieber isn’t the kind of power singer who can beat the extravagance of the production. The same goes for “Unstable” with Kid Laroi, the Australian singer-rapper who knows his way around Juice with a WRLD whine – Bieber sings seriously and clearly while his partner bows in fear.

By far the most successful of the collaborations is “Peaches,” a sun-drenched and seductive R&B number starring up and coming stars Daniel Caesar and Giveon, which Bieber finds most vocally (although he was in even better shape when he debuted this song solo the Tiny Desk Concert from NPR.

More often, however, “Justice” tries to force Bieber a big-tent-pop – the John Hughes movie chords on “Hold On” or the runway walk-bop on “Somebody”. In places like “Ghost” these impulses are at least soured with the acoustic guitar, and the shift in his singing is remarkable – he switches from the accented piece to the main character.

Lyrically, “Justice” focuses on songs about triumphing over unfortunate behavior, about preaching devotion to a more powerful being – a woman, a God – who has not left you in a time of need. “You prayed for me when I was by faith / You believed in me when no one else did / It’s a miracle you didn’t run away,” he sings pointedly, “As I am”.

At the end of the album is “Lonely”, the moving piano ballad that he released last October and that felt like the cleanest break with his former self that he had ever hired for a song. These songs are Bieber at its most self-referential, least crowded, and also at its strongest – they end a steady, intimate feeling that runs through an album that does anything to distract from it.

Justin Bieber
“Justice”
(Def Jam)

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Christopher Plummer, Actor From Shakespeare to ‘The Sound of Music,’ Dies at 91

He played Hamlet, Macbeth, Richard III, Mark Antony, and others of Shakespeare’s towering protagonists on prominent stages, and he starred in “Hamlet at Helsingör,” a critically acclaimed 1964 television production directed by Philip Saville and set in Kronborg Castle The film was shot in Denmark, where (under the name Elsinore) the play is set.

But he also accepted roles in a whole series of clinkers, in which he brought some clichés to life – like the evil fanatic who hides behind religiosity in “Skeletons” (1997), for example in one of his more than 40 television films. or as the gloomy emperor of the galaxy, who appears as a hologram in “Starcrash”, a rip-off of “Star Wars” from 1978.

A measure of his stature were his leading actresses, which included Glenda Jackson as Lady Macbeth and Zoe Caldwell as Cleopatra. And even leaving Shakespeare aside, one measure of his reach was a list of the well-known characters he played fictional and non-fictional on television and in the films: Sherlock Holmes and Mike Wallace, John Barrymore and Leo Tolstoy, Aristotle and F. Lee Bailey, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Alfred Stieglitz, Rudyard Kipling and Cyrano de Bergerac.

Mr. Plummer’s television work began in the 1950s, during the heyday of live drama, and lasted for half a century. He starred as archbishop in the popular 1983 miniseries “The Thorn Birds”, appeared regularly as an industrialist in the 1990s action-adventure series “Counterstrike” and won the Emmy Awards – 1977 for portraying a sensible banker in miniature Series “Arthur Hailey’s The Moneychangers” and in 1994 for the narration of “Madeline”, an animated series based on the children’s books.

In the films, his appearance in “The Sound of Music” as von Trapp, a strict widower and father whose heart was warmed and won over by the woman he hires as governess, triggered a parade of distinctive roles, more character changes than main roles across an impressive range of genres. These included a historical drama (“The Last Station” about Tolstoy and “The Day That Shook the World” about the beginning of the First World War); historical adventure (as Kipling in John Huston’s boisterous adaptation of The Man Who Would Be King, starring Sean Connery and Michael Caine); romantic comedy (“Must Love Dogs” with John Cusack and Diane Lane); political epic (“Syriana”); Science Fiction (as Chang, the Klingon general, in Star Trek VI); and Crime Farce (“The Return of the Pink Panther,” in which he played a retired version of the Debonair jewel thief originally portrayed by David Niven to Peter Sellers’ incompetent Inspector Clouseau).

Mr. Plummer won a belated Oscar in 2012 for the role of Hal, a man who enthusiastically emerges as gay in the bittersweet father-son story “Beginners” after decades of marriage and the death of his wife.