R : the music
Musical references are part of nearly every scene of J R, with the music ranging over the full spectrum of the popular and classical repertory. In the left column are audio clips in mp3 format (download free Basic Winamp player here); in the right, passages from J R. Scene numbers are from the outline by Steven Moore on this site here.
mp3 audio file
click to play
|passage in J R|
—I don't know, Anne. Nellie was flighty.
—I remember James using that word, now that you say it. It was when Rachmaninoff was visiting, I remember because he'd just had his fingers insured. Hand me those scissors please, Mister Cohen?
—However, yes, thank you, here . . . now, however, in the absence of any record of legally contracted marriage between the said Nellie and James.
—My dear Mister Cohen . . .
(scene 1, p. 9, Anne and Julia Bast talking to Mr. Coen)
—Or photographs, he came on in a flourish of papers at the wall behind him —for the purpose of comparing the physical characteristics of the child with those of the husband and such other man . . .
—Just behind your left shoulder Mister Cohen, that's always been my favorite picture of James. There, the two men sitting in the tree, the other one was Maurice Ravel . It shows James' profile off so nicely, though he always felt that our Indian blood.
—I don't think that's anything to get into now, Anne.
—It's quite all right, ladies. I have it here somewhere . . .
—Really, Anne . .
(scene 1, p. 11)
— Rhine . . . G O L D ! they howled into the glare of footlights, cowering round the empty table at the center of the stage.
(scene 5, p. 32)
—It wasn't either that's deSyph, that old junk heap that's deSyph's . . . and they drifted off to tell, over groundswells of lawn heaving with the slow rise, and fall, of light broken by the gentle sway of trees on winds bearing news, from higher up, of a used car sale blown down on retching waves of the tune Clementine to the wailing counterpoint of the saws in Burgoyne Street, where the used car plunged among the dangling limbs.
—The lesson's all set up, the visuals everything right from the teacher's guide . . . and the brief prospect of a straightaway freed his hand from the wheel to turn on the radio. —The script that's her script and that book, that's to pretend like you're reading it it's a prop . . .
—But this money, the boy who ran off with that paper bag we were using it in the Rhinegold rehears.
—You don't need it no, for the Mozart that Rhinegold bag it would throw off everything the testing, the whole.
—It's not that it's the money, it's the money . . .
Steel teeth overhead shredded a descending bloat of Clementine as the radio warmed to Dark Eyes, and the driver shifted in a seated schottische overshooting a turn to the right. —My wife will help you out don't worry, she's waiting for us I already called her and I told you about the singalong, don't forget the singa . . .
(scene 6, p. 37)
— Structuring the material in terms of the ongoing ahm, situation yes, on Mozart's, ah, Ring , is it?
—I noticed something here . . . Mister Ford spoke for the first time with the commanding indifference of an old-school drawl, running his finger down a catalogued list —here, The Rhinegold is it?
—Oh, you have one of our schedules, we . . . having trouble locating one, this use of, utilization of . . .
(scene 7, p. 39, in Whiteback's office)
—Can you ahm, yes can you pull the plug just pull the plug.
—You'd better watch your recordings on this open-circuit broadcasting you know. Royalty problems . . . The telephone rang. The door opened, closed, opened again to admit Mister Gall with the final allegro, assai .
(Whiteback and Hyde, scene 7, p. 43)
—Well you see they, there were some technical difficulties . . . he began, shifting in the seat as the space around them took life with a Clementi trio from the radio.
—Technical! tell me technical! Technical like you or one of that crew of Whiteback's switching channels, technical! And turn off that noise. Noise, you'll hide in noise any chance you get . . . look out!
(scene 8, p.52, Dan diCephalis and Anne diCephalis)
—It's not funny it's, wait! behind you my phonograph, is it still there? he came toward her all motion, provoked no more than a drop of her hand to switch the thing on sending its arm moving over the turning record with an ominous assurance taken up, as she turned, by strings foreboding in a minor key . —That's not the point! if nothing's gone or broken it's the idea of somebody in here somebody I've never, I don't even know, it's like finding somebody's broken into the one place I, where nothing happens, where I work where nothing else happens can't you understand that! he came on loudly against the rising threat of strings sundering the eaves above —do you think music is just, composing do you think it's just writing down notes? he brandished the beer can at the studio windows —just part of, of all that out there . . . ? and the strings receded quelled by plaintive oboes seeking dialogue , severed by the stab of C under her finger.
(scene 12, p. 69, Stella and Edward)
—I said I don't know! he was up, took the steps after her she'd turned toward the stairs as counterpoint wove the strings toward extinction,
—That you, just that you're really standing right here in . . .
—No your music . . . she turned her head, caught his breath on her cheek —what happened to . . .
—No that's what I was trying to find something like the, like Beethoven took Egmont his incidental music for Egmont I tried to, I found that long poem of Tennyson's Locksley Hall of Tennyson's I remembered it from school and I've been trying to work out something like, it's something like an operatic suite that part you picked up there that line, those lines that open trust me cousin, the whole current of my being sets to, is that what you.
—No just that record, I thought something had happened to it.
—What the, that? that record?
—What happened. It just stopped.
—That it's nothing it's just a practice record it's, that's where the solo comes in the D-minor concerto without the piano part I thought you meant my, what I'm working on I . . .
(scene 12, p. 70, Edward and Stella at his studio)
—Lemme push it.
—Hey listen. That music, hear that music? Where's it coming from. Listen.
—What are we stopping for.
The doors opened silently. No one went and no one came. Nothing moved but notes of Dardanella . The doors closed.
—Can I stay on the elevator and listen to the music awhile Mrs Joubert?
(scene 15, p. 89, Amy's class, Typhon International, elevator)
—What sir the oh, the box lunches yes sir these are the box lunches but the class Mrs Joubert's youngsters had to leave because of the leak in the board room we'll have to throw them out, there's no . . .
—Throw them out? What's in them.
—Ham and cheese sandwich, banana, cupcake potato chips pickle wedge . . .
—Don't throw out good food, who ordered them.
—I did yes sir but . . .
—You ordered them you eat them . . . he bumped the surge of yellow where she backed the boys into the elevator, —hear me? Waste shows an undisciplined strain of mind, Mister what's your name . . .
They descended to Country Gardens , pressed out ahead of her
—hey aren't we going to eat?
—You're going to the automat instead . . . she held the yellow skirt against a gust of wind, —see over in that next block?
(scene 16, p. 110, Amy Joubert and her class)
—Yes but that's what you meant isn't it, about creating an entirely different world when you write an opera, about asking the audience to suspend its belief in the . . .
—No not asking them making them, like that E flat chord that opens the Rhinegold goes on and on it goes on for a hundred and thirty-six bars until the idea that everything's happening under water is more real than sitting in a hot plush seat with tight shoes on and . . .
(scene 16, p. 111, Amy and Edward)
—But of all things how absurd, paying a composer to.
—Yes well they didn't, I couldn't do it I mean, they were in a hurry they would have paid me three hundred dollars and I tried and all I could, everything I did they said was too . . .
—And that's hardly what I meant, someone being paid not to play who sends you somewhere to write nothing mus . . .
—Well what do you think I . . . ! he caught one hand back with the other, —I'm sorry I, three hundred dollars all I could think of was that concerto of Mozart's the D-minor , that's more than he got paid for the whole series and I couldn't even . . .
—But I think it's marvelous, that you couldn't write their nothing music? I mean just because you can't get paid to play Chopin or even write music that's . . .
—No but I am though, I didn't finish . . . he looked up from her fingertips touching his hands clenched there, —when I left somebody else there said he'd like to help me out and sent me downtown to see some dancers who want their own music for.
—Boys . . . ! her hand was gone, —settle down! she called after the collision at the marbled cashier's cage —I'm sorry, we.
—Do you like Chopin ?
—Oh of course I do yes, that ballade the Ballade in G ? it's simply the most roman . . .
—In G-minor yes that's on the program if I could get tickets would you, it's next week would you like to go if I can get the tickets it's a recital by . . .
—That's awfully sweet Mister Bast I . . .
—No well I guess I, I mean you're married I didn't think of that I just . . . (scene 16, p. 112-113, Amy Joubert and Edward Bast talking in the cafeteria during Wall Street excursion of her class)
Dido and Aeneas
act 3, scene 1
—Edward . . .
—Never have to clean your toilet bowl again . . . he recovered the dissonant chord, —right?
—Well yeah you, you want to get the place boarded up, some kid gets hurt in here you could be in real trouble . . . straightening jackets, belts, pocketing pads, flashlights in departing scurries to the lighted eaves, toward the door abruptly choreographed, Sousa in chords of play by ear, a glissando descending to a dull thump.
—Kids that's all! a generation in heat that's all . . . he pounded two chords against each other's unrest —no subject is taboo, no act is forbidden that's all . . . ! and he struck into the sailors' chorus from Dido and Aeneas , —you'll never, no never, have to clean your . . .
(scene 19, p. 142, Edward, Stella, Norman, policemen)
She leaned forward to turn on the radio, fleeing one wad of sound
for another there as he swung the curve past the pepperidge tree. —Uh?
She'd snapped the radio off. —I kind of liked that, he said as she
rested back with that aspirate sigh leaving no sound but the regular
rhythm of the windshield wipers. Passing the firehouse he began to hum
and, passing the dark cavity of the Marine Memorial Plaza, she turned
the radio on and sat back abandoning it to a novelty group playing Phil the Fluter's Ball with vocal accompaniment that could only be
(scene 20, p. 143, Stella and Norman going home in their car)
—Hey Mister Gibbs?
—What is it!
—No I just wondered, did you see Mister Bast around anyplace?
—Bast? he licked the envelope in a turn for the Out of Town slot,
—you had him last . . .
—Thought your gang took him to the money museum, he said in a turn for the door —most popular man in town . . . and it banged closed behind him where smoke and flame escaping the black spread up Burgoyne Street found purchase on a descending bloat of Chloe as he dodged the car mounting the curb in arrival, digging in pockets at a half trot through the reek of asphalt to come up with a crushed cigarette package, matches with a half fare ticket stuck in the cleft, still digging as the door banged behind him and he reached the grilled window emptying a pocket —just turning in some tickets
—Wrong window, buddy.
(scene 28/29, p. 187-188, J R talking to Gibbs, who is on the way from Massapequa to New York )
… The doors opened silently. She pushed 15 and ascended alone to The Light Cavalry Overture as far as 3, where the doors opened silently on youth unbuttoned to the waist shifting packages to enter and press and stare into the top of her dress until they opened silently and he ran a hand up 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 14 before they closed behind him, to open silently on her alone at 6, and close, and open silently at 7, and close, and then at 8, at 9, at 10 she suddenly got out, pressed the up button and stood there waiting till, behind her now, doors opened on him waiting, and closed as she recovered her quick step forward to turn and press the up button again, and then again behind her doors opened silently on youth here white buttoned to the throat and black above it wheeling a cart of interoffice mail back for her entrance, staring at black backs of hands the bar or two mounting a Spanish rhythm for his exit at 11 the door closing silently behind him suddenly seized and held and now, as it closed, she caught her breath and her eyes away from the glistening chest and buttons flung loosely undone down it for those on the wall panel orderly numbered but for one reading simply, Doors, another Alarm, The Peanut Vendor seething through the palm sized screen above, an idly scratching hand thrust down the front of denims burnished where it moved hidden as the other, empty, rose behind her gasped against the waist high rail there for —You like to give head? posed in a tone as vacant as the face she fled for the lobby length explosion of blacks streaked with mad reserve on white doors opening silently on a coatless figure askew there as though he'd just burst free from the painting's restless labyrinth like a demented Virgil for the amorphous Dante surfacing behind him, dropping a briefcase of Gladstone bag design square before her in collision to stare, with apologetic fixity blurred by rimless lenses, into the top of her dress.
(scene 30, p. 194, Amy in the elevator, Typhon International)
—A lady called yes, asking for Edward. I can't imagine who it might have been.
—Not the one who calls herself Ann?
—Heavens no, this was a lovely contralto. I was certain I'd heard it somewhere before but the voice I was thinking of was Homer, Louise Homer when she did Gluck's Orfeo , she said she'd just called to thank him for something.
—She must be getting along in years, I wasn't even aware he knew her. I thought he might be out this weekend and ordered two nice chickens, they're here on the drainboard.
(Anne and Julia Bast, scene 37, p. 235)
—I said is Edward coming?
—No . . . the curtain quivered, —all I see is the sun that makes a haze, and the grass looking wet . . . and the curtain fell still on the soaking lawns where apples laced in the grass hard as stones snared in seaweed imperiled passage toward the road stretching slick as a breakwater before the burst of the siren toward the highway, swept up the rutted shoulders flowing with rivulets into the flattened weeds forming a pool round the extinct washing machine gone to earth in the sanctuary of Primitive Baptist Church where woodbine renewed its attack on the locusts in the next lot, penetrating to the mangled saplings and torn trunks at the forward edge of the battleline fronting a hill of mud naked but for the protruding legs of a chair and the fluke of a toilet seat pointing on toward Burgoyne Street where the sky opened wide for the siren's shriek that would have flung birds broadcast in the air when there were limbs to fling them from, now merely added a note of cheer to White Christmas already spilling from the bank, of adventure to the elderly venturing from curbs and indoor hostages to Alaska Our Wilderness Friend alike, even of fugitive relief from hopeless combat.
(scene 37 and transition, p. 235-236, Anne and Julia Bast talking, then transition to Burgoyne Street )
—Enjoy the basketball! Are you . . .
—No way of knowing one bus from the other was there.
—Enjoy the basketball, my God! What are you talking about, one bus from the other.
—Never mind. I was afraid you'd understand.
—Afraid I'd, Vogel you're crazy you know that? You're crazy.
— Daisies won't tell .
—Vogel you . . . wait, you're not going to leave me to sort these kids out, come back here! I'm the one that's leaving. All of you give your permission slips to Mister Vogel, she got back over a shoulder and then, past post and rail treated to appear old and filled ironwork made of aluminum to appear new, wagon wheels at threatening angles and post lights bright in bilious greeting, — Daisies won't tell , my God . . . up past the cast iron stove still stranded short of the door, —enjoy the basketball! and the door closed like a shot.
(scene 45/46, p. 310, Coach Vogel talking to Ann diCephalis]
Sling and trousers went in different directions, recovered as the door swung in for him. —Oh Coach, Coach wait . . .
—What? Who did you . . . Dan? Why, why Danny, I hardly knew ye .
—Yes I, I was in a . . .
—In a road crash, we read about it in the newspaper, but come in
and the boy between them holstered arms and wheeled with a savage stamp of heels, —quick before there's more killing Dan. Why look at ye, ye'll have to be put in a bowl to beg.
—No, no I'm all right but I, I thought I was in north seven, that boy's class is supposed to be in east . . .
—Been demobbed Dan, make room for the equipment.
—Yes but that's what I, where is it? all the equipment that was here, the teaching equipment and all the, what's this? all this?
—Stoves, washing machines, brake linings, hair dryers . . .
—But what happened to all the equipment that was still . . .
—Ask the C 0 Dan, it's too many for me . . . and they rounded the corner in full collision, backed against a racked firehose as the shock of bangs lost to the toss of blonde hair receded repeated in the thighs.
—Look at that rise and fall, just look at that! they came on up the corridor,
—look at that reciprocating beam motion and you can see what got Newcomen started on the steam engine can't you.
—Well I, I hadn't thought of . . .
—Never pictured him with Mrs Newcomen out together dancing cheek to cheek ?
—No, I guess I . . .
—Frightening thing how machinery can give you ideas like that about a simple schoolgirl. Start off with that steady reciprocating movement and the next thing you know you've got a bottom, round and droops a little but still good, nothing wrong with it at all. It's when you add that socalled parallel motion James Watt introduced that you've got ass, push pull, push pull, quite an improvement, always sorry I never got a look at Mrs Watt.
—Yes well I, I think I'd . . .
—It's rump you want to steer clear of Dan, that sort of mononate you get with a girdle and goodbye nates, goodbye Rock of Ages and goodbye Augustus Montague Toplady, he never would have come out singing if she hadn't dropped her corset that day back in eighteen thirty-two.
—Yes well I think I'd.
—Rock of ages cleft for me, let me hide my . . .
—I think I'd better get over to . . .
— The song is ended but the malady lingers on , we forgot derriere didn't we, kind of a euphemism? euphuism? You know Mrs Joubert, Dan?
—Well I, yes but not . . . and he ran up against a shoulder on the turn.
(scene 47, p. 318, Coach Vogel and Dan diCephalis)
—Coach? Say Coach? Wait . . .
—Why, it's like the morning after Blenheim Mister Gibbs, walking wounded everywhere. Come into the locker room and we'll fit you to a crutch.
—Have to walk this way or the God damned slipper will fall off listen, have to take a glass of, class of Glancy's tell you what I need though, a shoe.
—For want of a nail wasn't it, watch the door here. We'll have a look in the lost and found box I think there's a pair of ice skates that might fit you.
—Didn't lose ice skates, listen.
—Just a flight of fancy Gibbs, skating down a slope of Tchaikowski's Eighteen Twelve Overture it's been on my mind since the time you told me Venice was frozen music, but what was the name of the tune they used? Steady, steady now, remember Howard's sacred gore? Here it comes now.
—But that's, wait. He's shrunk!
(scene 49, p. 342, Coach Vogel and Gibbs coming out of the school, seeing Dan diCephalis)
—Please Jack, stop it. It wasn't nice and it, it certainly wasn't funny. He sagged somewhat, dug out a cigarette and came forward, trying
buttons, —there . . .
—Do we need the radio?
—Looking for the God damned lighter.
—It's that one, at the end. Can you turn that down a little?
—Little, thought it was Moonglow but it's that damned Tchaikowski thing . . . he settled back in smoke as they veered to an open lane, waved to the glimpse of age clinging to the wheel of the car they passed.
—Jack I wish you could just.
—Wait let's hear the commercial, thought it was Tchaikowski but it's that God damned . . .
(scene 49, p. 349, Stella driving Gibbs home)
Once, twice nearing the bottom of a page he looked back to see a whole bar missing, stopped a hand raised to crumple it and stared at the slow rise and fall on the sofa, standing to slide a foot silently toward the kitchen and past the rush of water over the bank of paper to Appletons' to stare under the shade into darkness and as silently back, standing over the sofa licking his own lip against a mucous whisper in the crevice bending, once as though to loosen his belt and then as abruptly standing away to blow off a clean scored sheet back under the punctured shade of the lamp, pausing as though to listen, shreds of sound escaping sporadic partings of his lips and he was up, mounting the Musical Couriers, pulling their gap wider with his ear to it.
—Just heard the first movement of Anton Dvorák's sev
(Edward Bast composing in 96th Street apartment, radio playing in the background, scene 54, p. 372-373)
“… nice operetta twenty or thirty up there in the God damned nest eating oats and corn everything down below joining up all wrong God damned commotion, heads swell up out of the nest give us a few bars from Traviata little opening chorus cinco Jones in there how's that, little Hexenritt from Hansel and Gretel God damned witch comes on. . . […] gives them a little Che volo d'augelli from Pagliacci God damned heads really rear up at that all pile out come down and dance around her hell of a thing to choreograph how's that, parish priest swells into a big God damned tumescent baritone gives us Se vuol ballare from Figaro breaks into a tap dance rest of them get the God damned Anvil Chorus banging away in the background how's that. . . .”
(scene 57, p. 407, Gibbs)
—Oh Mister Eigen good morning . . . arms full, she stayed the elevator door with a hip, —you back?
Reaching across her for the button he muttered —Yes don't tell anybody, rising to Begin the Beguine .
—Oh Mister Eigen you're always so satirical.
(scene 58, p. 415, Eigen and Carol, Typhon International, elevator)
—Your, gee no she said as the doors opened silently and he stepped in, closing as silently on her —come see us again, and the figure rounding the corner behind her fighting loose a tie with —Oh Carol . . . descending to Don't Fence Me In and a lobby filled with policemen which he got through and as far as the city ambulance at the curb before his —What happened? provoked response, a dulled obscenity from a lounger against the granite sill unbuttoned to the waist in the cool air where Don't Walk flashed as he crossed at a lope, down the block, down the ramp into the garage.
(scene 34, p. 218, Hyde on the elevator, Typhon International; all Crawley's partner in his music venture knows about music, we later learn, is that song, see p. 447)
—But if you thought I think it's funny because I, because a boy I knew in boarding school family so God damned wealthy all they exchanged at Christmas were three percent municipals I used to try to help him with his stamp collection, they probably could have bought him the British Guiana two cents rose if they'd ever thought of him as anything but retarded luggage but the Minuet in G you'd look at him and know he was hearing things you didn't, knew things nobody else did my throat still closes when I hear that, sweetest lonely God damned person I ever…
(Gibbs to Amy in her apartment, scene 65, p. 498)
—Oh let me see let me see this passage right here how simply delicious what part is it.
—That's the, the harpsichord part it.
—Mmmmmmmm! delicious, yes there's a little Rameau there isn't there mmmmmmmmmm . . .
—Well his, his piece The Gnat [The Gnat by Couperin, not Rameau] I just wanted the feeling of.
—And you certainly caught it didn't you I feel prickly all over now what's this oh how ominous . . .
—Yes well that's, that's the string bass but about the cemetery I think you'd better talk to Mister Hop.
—Yes Mother said it was simply vast thousands of acres somewhere nearby called Union Falls ? that you've taken over an entire right of way for it? Mmmmmm mmm mmmm hmmm . . .
—Well it's no not exactly nearby, this cemetery is in the middle of a right of way up near our . . .
—Mmmmmmm hmmmm hmmmm, hmm hmm delicious yes three thousand acres your J R person told Mother and imagine he's concerned about unprofitable plots of course burying the welfare poor has always been a losing proposition simply noblesse oblige the agencies pay such a pittance but his proposal to make it pay by placing them six and eight deep to a plot when he was describing the entire package idea on the telephone as vertical integration Mother was simply aghast she thought he meant darkies and whites stacked in layers like a giant Dubos torta don't you just crave one right now? We could slip over to . . .
—No, no I . . .
—The Hungarians are so clever with pastries but no all he meant was getting into the monument trade he'd just learned it runs over a third of a billion annually but you must tell him those monstrous granite memorials are quite quite passé the maintenance is simply prohibitive, you'll want stones flush with the ground so your lawnmowers can simply whirr past overhead oh how brilliant, mmm mmmm mmmmm mmmmm mm mm m how simply brilliant and with your handicap Mister Bast oh forgive me, forgive me for mentioning it but I can only think of those cruel people telling Beethoven they heard shepherds' pipes where he heard absolutely nothing and that heartrending will he wrote at the time of his exquisite Second Symphony you mustn't think of taking your life Mister Bast you simply must not.
—No well I, I hadn't no I, driver . . .
—To think of leaving the world before you've brought out all you have within you no, no you must promise . . .
—Yes well I, excuse me yes I think we're at Ninety-fifth Street , driver . . . ?
(scene 68, p. 547, Brisboy talking to Edward on a cab ride)
Orfeo ed Euridice underworld
…Elena in Turgenev's On the Eve flung down at two am as elsewhere pages feverishly turned to find her serving tea to friends by one gone back to bed to toss alone till dawn came in another part of town where someone else gave up importuning her shade through Gluck's underworld with a twist of the dial to study in his own unsteady hand of the night before….
(Gibbs alone in 96 th Street apartment, reading his manuscript, scene 71, p. 584)
Symphony No. 8
—Wait wait listen . . . he tripped against Hoppin' With Flavor!
—don't move listen . . .
—I hear it man it's the flicking telephone I mean go answer it.
—Told you wrong number listen!
—Look man the phone's not up there it's in the other . . .
—Quick toward the window move you're the aerial listen . . . ! Tonic Water Twist Cap capsized into Won't Burn, Smoke or Smell as he gained the plateau of Musical Couriers —little further listen!
—Man I have to answer it maybe it's . . .
—Don't move . . . ! he was gone between 24—10 Pad Pkgs and 48 No 1 Cans Beef Gravy —there!
—Look I'm answering it man maybe it's my
—selection from Bruckner's eighth symphony brought to you by
—Bastards you ow . . . ! he caught his head, came down pounding Trade Extra 1909 slipped against z Dozen 57 The World's Largest Selling Ketchup and kicked, got the mop handle —bastards!
(Gibbs and Rhoda in 96 th Street apartment, Scherzo of Bruckner's 8 th played on the radio, scene 71, p. 608-609)
—Day or two! Christ a day or two listen I, something I have to talk to you about Tom wait wait Freddie here, give me the newspaper get the tub closed put that bag down before the whole God damned bottom falls out get those cigarettes Tom, must have carried it three miles in the God damned rain we got in a cab downtown radio playing Gluck's Orfeo drove all over hell so Freddie could listen to it, just getting into Che faró senza Euridice counted my money and we had to get out at the God damned Museum of Natural History driver so God damned obnoxious about his eight cent tip I left his back door open pouring rain he roars away rips it right off against the back of a bus….
(Gibbs to Tom in 96 th Street apartment, scene 72, p. 619)
—about the concert grand . . . ? of a charming Chambolle-Musigny you'll adore . . . care of yourself.
—Hey look he's going to get run over if he runs along by us like that holy.
—found this delicious new Czech recording of the Kindertotenlieder .
—Yes goodbye, goodbye.
—to know you're all we have left au voir au voir.
—No but who was that suppose to be hey.
—Just be quiet for a minute.
—Sure okay but I mean who was.
—Nobody! it, wasn't supposed to be anybody . . .
(scene 74, p. 635, J R and Edward on a cab, Brisboy running beside them)
Cantata No. 21
part 2, duetto
—That's not what it means! That's what I'm trying to, listen all I want you to do take your mind off these nickel deductions these net tangible assets for a minute and listen to a piece of great music, it's a cantata by Bach cantata number twenty-one by Johann Sebastian Bach damn it J R can't you understand what I'm trying to, to show you there's such a thing as as, as intangible assets? what I was trying to tell you that night the sky do you remember it? walking back from that rehearsal that whole sense of, of sheer wonder in the Rhinegold you remember it?
—Listen to it then! look hold it up you'll hear two voices a soprano and a bass , it's sort of a dialogue between the soul and Jes . . .
—Okay okay! I mean how can I hear anything if you keep . . .
—All right listen to it! and his hand dropped from the torn shoulder, his other rose to join it covering his face against a sweep of lights from the road.
—Okay I heard them, I mean it's like starting to rain can we . . .
—All of it! he came forward and coughed, caught one shaking hand back in the other to draw his knees close where his head came down from the wind hollowing the empty shell around them, raising dead leaves in a rush and falling away, driving them back.
—Hey? Okay I heard it I mean that's the end of the . . .
—Is that all?
—Sure I mean that's the end of the . . .
—That's all you can say? okay I heard it?
—Well I, sure I mean what . . .
—Look tell me what you heard then, just tell me what you heard.
—Well I, I mean you know . . .
—Why can't you just tell me what you heard!
—Well just, because.
—Because what! what's . . .
—Because you'll get mad I mean you're already mad! [………..] I mean you're telling me how neat the sky looks you're telling me listen to this here music you even get pissed off when I . . .
—I asked you what you heard! that's all, I . . .
—What like it lifted me out of mysel . . .
—Not what I said no you! what you heard!
—What was I suppose to hear!
—You weren't! you weren't supposed to hear anything that's what I'm . . .
—Then how come you made me lis . . .
—To make you hear! to make you, to make you feel to try to.
—Okay okay! I mean what I heard first there's all this high music right? So then this here lady starts singing up yours up yours so then this man starts singing up mine , then there's some words so she starts singing up mine up mine so he starts singing up yours so then they go back and forth like that up mine up yours up mine up yours that's what I heard! I mean you want me to hear it again?
(scene 75, p. 656-657, J R and Bast in the rain on Long Island)
—Rest your head back yes I believe we share an interest in your knee Mister Bast if you can move your knee, in fine music . . .
he shall rear my dusty race want to say scrotum in Danish Mister Coen?
—Not, not particularly if I can, if I can just find some music yes if there's one thing I dislike Mister Bast it's disorder I don't like surprises, the caterwauling on most of radio that's why I felt the expense of having this FM here here listen! it's, I think we have Handel that's better isn't it yes Jephtha? Handel's Jephtha I remember this part yes when I was a child, I thought the soprano here was singing get away ! get no no stop! stop! we almost what made you do that! We we could have been killed no get your foot down!
—Up yours Mister Coen.
—But you, you put your foot right through the . . .
—Up mine up mine du haaaassest mich!
—No no listen Mister Bast stop it stop singing! I can't no, no you'll have to sit still I can't drive if you . . .
(Coen driving Bast to the hospital, Bast suffering from a nervous breakdown and pneumonia and the shock of having shared Bach's cantata 21 with J R a few minutes ago, scene 76, p. 667)
—Mis, Mister Duncan I'd better ring for the nurse . . .
—Going at three fifty a good time to sell out I lost a daughter, did I tell you that Bast? Both of us get fixed up and go homesteading she could spell almost anything how do you like that, she was taking piano lessons when they took out her appendix son of a bitches never let you down do they it wasn't her appendix at all. I took a bride doll up to her that's the one thing she wanted, a bride doll, she'd keep missing the right notes keep trying it again she was learning a song called for Alise's something like that I never did hear it like it was supposed to be, she'd miss notes leave little parts out and start again I always thought maybe someday I'd hear it right hear what I was supposed to there was a delicatessen near us named Alise's then, that's why I can even remember the name of it still hear it like she played it though that's all I, all I want, I can still, hear it? hear it . . . ?
(scene 80, p. 687, Mister Duncan talking to Edward Bast in the hospital)
…. let me get the phone maybe the call I've been, hello . . . ? Yes, yes fine . . . fine yes there's somebody here now who can bring him right down, did she say whether Sitting in there peaceful as can be look there wasn't any violence just grabbed the inspector's gun when they broke off the Minuet in G for an aspirin commercial fired it down there till the thing finally . . . that's what I mean once he's in his sister's custody yes, he . . . Right now yes somebody here who can bring him right down, hold on a minute. Look can you take Freddie down there right now? Someplace in the Seventies . . .
(Tom Eigen on the phone in the 96 th Street apartment, scene 83, p.722-723)