Wishing you two clean and ready handkerchiefs every concert day, John.
On what would have been my dad’s 113th birthday I’d like to remember one of the few times he and I actually went to the movies together. This time we went to see, first-run, the warrior epic Taras Bulba (1962, screenplay by blacklisted writer Waldo Salt) on the recommendation of my girlfriend Tamara’s mother, who emigrated from Lviv after the war and was a booster for All Things Ukrainian. (A survivor of Axis bombings, she had that in common with my mom.) Our neighborhood was made up mostly of first- and second-generation Ukrainians, Italians, Guatemalans, Poles, Irish, and of course Filipinos—Catholics all. Of course the Lutherans surrounded us but being mostly Swedes, they had their own heritage too. And at Christmas, all that pepparkakor—num.
As for Franz Waxman’s “Ride of the Cossacks“, there’s a rather thrilling ostinato toward the end.