Wow – Canada!

Canada through the eyes of world literature

Archive for the tag “Calgary”

Pitching Into the Crazy Calgary Wind

mlewiscover

Michael Lewis, Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game (2003)

As this is a book about baseball — or perhaps I should say a book about exploiting inefficiencies in the market that takes place in the world of baseball — there are a number of passing references to Canada, and particularly to the Toronto Blue Jays, that aren’t of much interest. But this passage, about the pitcher Chad Bradford, seems worth noting, at least for the way it ties in to other ideas about Canada we’ve come across:

In late June, the Chicago White Sox promoted Chad from Double-A to its Triple-A team in Calgary. When he arrived, he found out why: his new home field was high in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies, wind blowing out. The place was famously hellish on pitching careers: the guy he’d come to replace had simply quit and skipped town…. What should have been ordinary fly balls rocketed through the thin mountain air every which way out of the park.  (230)

The way the thin air and wild mountain wind turn ordinary fly balls into home runs suggests the natural elements of Canada have a power unexpected by the American author and the American pitcher he’s writing about. Again we glimpse the (typically American) notion that Canada is a wilderness nation, where civilization has done less to tame the natural world than it has in the U.S.

(Fact break: Calgary is actually the third-largest city in Canada, though you wouldn’t think so from reading this; it sounds like a collection of shacks precariously perched on the edge of a mountain, trembling at every gust and waiting to be swept away by the next strong wind.)

There are sports fields in the U.S. where wind and thinner air are factors that can influence the outcome of plays, and occasionally even the outcome of games (the Denver Broncos stadium is maybe the most obvious example). But when these conditions arise in the U.S., they tend to be treated as something players have to deal with; in the case of this Calgary ballpark, the natural elements are made to seem like forces too powerful to be overcome. There is a sense that in Canada, human agency is too weak to counteract nature (though Bradford does figure out a way to pitch successfully in Calgary). We could almost see a kind of geographical or climatic determinism at work here: cities in the U.S. are what people have made them, but cities in Canada remain at the mercy of nature, which surrounds them and impinges upon them basically at will.

On the plus side, it’s sort of flattering to think that Chicago’s Triple-A club is based in Canada.

Sex, Drugs, Classical Music … and Canada, Of Course

tindallcover

Blair Tindall, Mozart in the Jungle: Sex, Drugs and Classical Music (2004)

This is a strange book. I suppose you could categorize it as a memoir and not be too far off; it also seems to purport to be an “exposé” of the dark side of the classical music scene, though it really isn’t, or not to any great extent. There’s very little in the way of a narrative thread running through the book: much of it concerns Tindall’s own life, of course, but she often drops her story for long disquisitions on the history of classical music in the U.S., the lives of particular performers, and so on. As a result, the book ends up being a heterogeneous mix of personal anecdotes, social history, and op-ed type passages on “the state of classical music.” If I had to sum it up in a word, I would call it “lumpy”.

When I got to the end of the book and found out that Tindall had become a journalist, the book’s form – or maybe I should say, its lack of consistent form – made a little more sense to me: it’s more like a lot of articles on various topics related to classical music strung together without much of an organizing principle. And when I looked up a few of her articles online, there were definite parallels with the book, suggesting that perhaps some repurposing had gone on. That said, a lot of the personal anecdotes are interesting or amusing enough to be worth reading, and the portrait of the life of freelance classical musicians in New York, which hovers somewhere between subsistence and poverty, is sharply drawn and affecting.

And, of course, there are a few references to Canada to make it all worthwhile. The first comes in a description of one of Tindall’s fellow students at the North Carolina School of the Arts:

Next door to me was Kristin. She’d brought her French horn from a Montana town of 250, where, at best, girls returned home to a husband and farm after attending a local college. One snowy night, pianist Lili Kraus had played eighty miles away in Great Falls, the only big town between Billings and Calgary.   (22)

The passage on a general level speaks to the cultural desolation that exists outside major cities. Interestingly, however, Canada is not mentioned as an example of some kind of wasteland, as often happens with American authors; rather, Calgary represents one outpost of civlization at the far end of the musical desert in which Tindall’s roommate has grown up. I think we can take that as a compliment.

The next reference to Canada is simply a brief mention in a performance itinerary about Tindall’s friend (and sometime lover), the pianist Sam Sanders:

By April, Sam hit the road with Itzhak, traveling to Dallas, Quebec and across the Midwest.  (182)

There’s an interesting pattern of decreasing specificity there: Dallas is a city, Quebec a province, and the Midwest a region that encompasses several states. Ordinarily it’s Canada that is treated in the vaguest way in lists like this and U.S. locations that are named more specifically, but here the one Canadian location actually occupies the middle position, and it is “the Midwest” that is treated like a vast expanse of nothingness.

So that’s a nice step up for us. Of course it would be Quebec that the famous Itzhak Perlman includes on his tour.

And finally, there is this, which was definitely the most interesting Canadian reference in the book:

Schlepping back from a gig in Jersey, I held my instruments tightly while passing through Port Authority. The bus station had long been known as a magnet for crime. However, today it felt safe, even bucolic, as Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik echoed down empty corridors. New York had discovered “musical bug spray,” a term coined by Northwestern University professor Robert Gjerdingen. The technique was first used in 1985 to chase away loiterers at a Canadian 7-Eleven. The trend spread as Pavarotti cleared out Denver parking lots, Chopin thwarted Toronto thugs, and an endless loop of Mozart blared across a Florida slum….
I thought about the message of the Port Authority’s Mozart. It was 1994, and the sound of classical music had become offensive enough to be used as an effective weapon against crime.  (205)

Tindall doesn’t seem to think the trend towards using classical music to chase away loiterers is anything to be proud of, but at least in this somewhat questionable area, Canada can claim to be a leader. This passage also reflects an idea of Canadian cities that runs counter to their usual image of being much “safer” than American cities: even Toronto, it turns out, has thugs.

Personal Reminiscences

In an example of what Northrop Frye might have called the “pre-critical response,” I have to confess a particular fondness for that paragraph because I experienced what it describes first-hand. In the mid-90s, when I used to travel to the wilds of Scarborough to work, I had to take a bus from Kennedy station (apologies for the Toronto references for those who have no idea what I’m talking about), and during that time the TTC, in response to a couple of stabbings, instituted exactly the program Tindall is describing at Kennedy: in an attempt to make the station feel inhospitable to the sort of people who stab other people, they started piping in classical music (I think it was mostly Beethoven) all day. And so every morning, while I waited for my bus, I was treated to some music.

(Of course in the age of the iPod/iPhone, when anyone who wishes can walk around permanently cocooned in whatever music they choose, this “musical bug spray” idea would never work. But those were different times.)

What were the results? I don’t personally recall feeling any “safer” in the station, but then I was only waiting around there in the mornings, and the stabbings likely occurred at night. I don’t think anyone else got stabbed while the classical music was being played, so I suppose it “worked,” in some sense. The program didn’t last very long though – I think after a month or two at most the station was silent again. No doubt non-stop Beethoven was driving the TTC employees crazy and they complained about a “poisoned work environment” or something like that.

The Music

Since the book is about music, it seems a shame not to include a little. Here is Mozart’s Oboe Concerto, just to give a sense of what Tindall’s instrument (did I mention she’s an oboist?) sounds like:

“An ill wind that no one blows good,” as a repeated joke in the book has it.

One of Tindall’s boyfriends has a particular fondness for Mahler’s Fifth; here’s a version conducted by Leonard Bernstein, who also features in the book:

Though I find this version by von Karajan more compelling, particularly the first movement:

Bonus Pop-Culture Tie-In

Mozart in the Jungle has recently been used as the basis for a TV series by Amazon. I haven’t watched it, but here’s the trailer:

My impression, based on that, is that the show bears little relation to the actual content of the book, but really just uses the subtitle as the jumping-off point for a largely fictionalized narrative. Still, it might be fun.

The United States Has Ceased to Exist

Bon Iver, “Calgary” from Bon Iver (2011)

As a small pendant to the larger discussion of American hipsters’ obsession with Canada (begun in our Patricia Lockwood post), I thought it would be worthwhile to glance at this song. I’m not going to quote all the lyrics – they’re easy enough to find online – but only the part that seems like it could be relevant to Canada:

So it’s storming on the lake
Little waves our bodies break

There’s a fire going out
But there’s really nothing to the south

It’s not immediately clear why the song is called “Calgary.” Most of the songs on the album have place names as their titles, and it seems fair to assume that each song is in some way associated with the place it is named for. And while I think we are free to interpret works of art in our own way, and aren’t necessarily obligated to be guided by the creator’s “intentions,” it might still be worth pointing out that Vernon himself has confirmed that the song is about Calgary, Alberta.

So if we imagine that the singer is in some sense speaking from Calgary – or his idea of Calgary – how remarkable does the final line quoted above become? There’s not very much of Canada south of Calgary, which is in the southern part of Alberta, but there is quite a lot south of Calgary: most obviously, the United States, which is here referred to as “really nothing.”

Could there be a clearer example of an American hipster trying to escape his Americanness and proclaim himself a Canadian? Is there any more obvious way that he could try to tie himself to the effortless cool he associates with Canada? The singer essentially denies the existence of his entire country – a country of hundreds of millions of people – in an attempt to establish his hipster bona fides.

And that isn’t the only clue to his desire to be Canadian. His “band” – which seems to have a more notional than actual existence – is named after a corruption of the French phrase “bon hiver” (“good winter”) – and French, I believe, is one of the official languages of Canada, not the U.S. And then his record label, jagjaguwar, recently merged with – can you guess? – that’s right, Secretly Canadian.

American hipsters wish they were Canadian. What more proof do we need?

Kindred Spirits

It’s always a good feeling to know you’re not alone. So I was predictably excited to find Amy Jo Espetveidt’s piece about the search for fiction set in Calgary on the Calgary Is Awesome blog. It focuses on Canadian writers, so it’s not perfectly in line with my own search; on the other hand, looking for references to Calgary in Canadian fiction is probably a lot like looking for references to Canada in world literature.

I found this through Sam Hester’s blog — which also features a reference to Wow – Canada! in the Notes section of one of her posts. (She’s even tracked down a reference to Canada in Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom!, which I read years ago but don’t recall that clearly. I may have to investigate further.) The post itself talks about the importance of local settings, and raises the question of why certain cities are considered “appropriate” places to set novels while others aren’t. It also touches on the thrill of finding a book set in a place that you’re familiar with, which is relevant to what this blog is all about. I expect the thrill is greater in proportion to the obscurity of the place – no doubt people who live in New York don’t jump up and down for joy every time they come across a book set in New York.

Perhaps, if you live in a city that features constantly in fiction, you require a higher level of specificity to get you excited. I know I’m thrilled just to see the world “Canada” on the page, but maybe if you live in New York, you’re not that interested until you see a reference to your own neighbourhood, or even your own street, or the subway station where you board a train every day, or a park you walk past, or a favourite store.

Or perhaps, at a certain point, the process begins to work in the opposite direction: are New Yorkers sick of reading books about New York? Do they gag every time they come across the phrase “Brooklyn novelist”? There could be an untapped market here – Londoners sick of books set in London; Parisians who are bored of reading about Paris; New Yorkers who have been living next to the pulsing heart of the universe for so long that it has induced a throbbing headache.

They want to escape the ubiquity of the places they live. They’re desperate to read books set somewhere – anywhere – else, books that introduce them to a place they know nothing about. Books set somewhere like … Calgary. Why not?

Post Navigation