Trans-Siberian Orchestra Rocks the Christmas World

by Carolee Ross

The Transiberian Orchestra on Tour

            It's a Christmas concert not to miss, enhanced and electrified -- blazing and blasting with the energy of laser lights and pyrotechnics; a six-piece rock band, two guitars, two keyboards, bass drums, an eight-piece string section, six vocalists and a narrator. It's the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, which now has two TSO ensembles traveling throughout the United States

In the 60s and 70s, this musical experience would have been called a "happening." The sensory effect has been described as a witnessing a rock opera that takes its inspiration from The Who's "Tommy," "A Christmas Carol," "The Nutcracker Suite" and combines it with the gospel fervor of Mahalia Jackson, transforming it all into a heady spectacle. 

The Trans-Siberian Orchestra, a magical fusion of sight and sound, with nothing else remotely like it, blends rock, heavy metal, the elegance of classical orchestra and showtunes with rhythm and blues.

In TSO's creator Paul O´Neill's words, “As a band, we like having no limits. I like to think of our albums as large, old castles. They're magical from a distance or even close up, and the further you delve into them, the more there is to find. It's magical just to go inside, and it's magical just looking at the walls and wondering what might be behind them. But if you ever knock down a wall, what's behind it may, or may not, be the most magical thing of all.”

How Trans-Siberian Began

Trans-Siberian Orchestra was formed in 1996 by Paul O'Neill, a New York City native who performed as rock guitarist in the touring productions of "Jesus Christ Superstar" and "Hair" and produced Aerosmith's platinum "Classics Live, Volumes I and II."

Paul O'Neill

O'Neill approached long time friends and collaborators Robert Kinkel and Jon Oliva to form the core of the writing team. The trio produced the metal band Savatage album, "Hall of the Mountain King." Trans-Siberian Orchestra was formed as an offshoot of Savatage after its 1995 single "Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24" became a hit. O'Neill was looking for ways to make the music have greater and greater emotional impact -- searching for music that was so melodic it didn't need lyrics as well as lyrics that were so poetic they didn't need music. His solution was putting the songs within the context of a story to give the result a third dimension.

Jon Oliva

O'Neill began writing not just albums, but rock operas coupled with intimate, loving settings. Says O'Neill, "It's about creating great art. The purpose of art is to create an emotional response in the person that is exposed to that art. Good art will make you feel an emotion that you have felt before; you see a picture of a forest and you remember the last time you went fishing with your dad, you hear a song about love and you remember the last time you were in love. Great art will make you feel an emotion you have never felt before; seeing the Pieta, the world famous sculpture by Michelangelo, can cause someone to feel the pain of losing a child even if they've never had one. The emotions of love, empathy and laughter are much harder to trigger, but since they operate on a deeper level, they bring a much greater reward."

On the Road with Bob Kinkel

            Keyboardist, composer and music producer Robert Kinkel took out time from the Christmas road tour to talk about almost ten years of performing, making albums and touring with Trans-Siberian Orchestra. During the phone interview from Toledo, Ohio, he noted that while the constant touring could be grueling, it was worth every minute of the hours of rehearsing and travel.

Robert Kinkel

            "Our first tour was in 1999 and we didn't even know if anybody wanted to come see us live," he says. "The first show sold out in an hour and a half. And we went… Whoa! Somebody wants to come see us."

"Live performing is incredible. We can feel the energy from the crowd. Even when we're tired, when you hear the audience cheering, and we get recharged," says Kinkel. What's so amazing is that we get people at our concerts from all walks of life -- your hard rockers, your classical music buffs, children, families and grandparents. Maybe it's because we've taken Christmas music and are doing it a whole different way."

            Kinkel notes, "The show takes up 180 degrees of vision, with lights coming out over the audience and lasers spreading out everywhere. If you're sitting up above, we've been told that it seems as if the audience is looking through a translucent atmosphere of light to view the band. Bryan Hartley is our lighting designer and he's done work for Kiss and Meat Loaf." We just tell him, 'go out there, pull out all the stops and go for it!' "

            Pausing a moment from his exuberant description of the tour, Kinkel takes a moment to remember late band member Daryl Pediford. "He was the most amazing singer and had the sweetest soul of anyone I've ever known. It's hit us all pretty hard but we feel his presence as if he's on the tour with us."

The Performance

            Trans Siberian Orchestra's two-and-a-half hour long show is about an angel's journey to find one thing on Earth that signifies Christmas, mysterious strangers who do good deeds and bars full of people feeling the joy of the holiday.

            The first half of the performance is generally "Christmas Eve And Other Stories." The second half is a bit looser, with songs from "The Christmas Attic" Attic" and "Beethoven's Last Night" with more audience interaction.

TSO has also recently released The Christmas Trilogy Box Set. The set will include Christmas Eve and Other Stories, The Christmas Attic, The Lost Christmas Eve, and The Ghosts of Christmas Eve DVD. For more information on Trans-Siberian Orchestra, visit their website, www.trans-siberian.com or visit their Facebook Tour page.

A Tribute to Reuben Nakian: Remembrances of the Artist

By Carolee Ross

Reuben Nakian by Gordon Parks
1958

I’ve been thinking of my friend, sculptor Reuben Nakian lately. Perhaps it is because I just rediscovered an article I wrote that was dedicated to him on his passing in 1986. This was first published in the Times-Mirror Newspaper syndicate, The Greenwich Time and The Stamford Advocate. Reuben first encouraged me to pursue my dream of arts writing when I first met him in 1977.

A Young
Reuben Nakian Relaxing
by Walker Evans,
1930's

            A giant walked among us and his name was Reuben Nakian. He lived and worked in Stamford, Connecticut for over forty years and most of us knew him as a gifted artist who had sculpted American heroes such as Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Babe Ruth during the 1930’s, taking the art world by storm. Others remembered the sensuous drawings and monumental abstract sculptures of heroic mythological figures he had discovered later in his career, working the theme from the 1940’s until his death in 1986.

Unidentified Portrait
by Reuben Nakian
1930's

Nakian remained committed to traditional subjects, the stories of classical mythology, especially Europa, and in this respect his work harks back to that of his teacher, Paul Manship (1885-1966), who had elevated Europa and the Bull to a central place in his work in the 1920s. 'Myths are good', Nakian said, 'because they give you form and a grand story. I don't want only form; I want philosophy and love.'

Leda and the Swan
Drawing by Reuben Nakian

Recollections of Reuben: Friends and Family

            Some Stamford neighbors knew only Reuben’s family; his wife Rose and his sons, Paul and George or his assistants; the late potter, James Jackson Burt, and sculptors Basil Racheotes and Don Ross, who fiercely guarded their master’s privacy so he could spend his time at what he loved best, his art.

            That was the closest many of us got to Reuben. But others, who were fortunate enough to know Reuben on a more personal level, remember the multifaceted threads in the tapestry that composed the life of the craggy-faced, soft-spoken man with the impish sense of humor and the great mane of white hair.

            I knew Reuben through George Nakian, his youngest son. Back in the late seventies, as an aspiring writer and art historian, the greatest thrill of my life was the evening that George brought his father to my home to have dinner with my father, who had dreamed of sculpting his entire life. The two men enjoyed the food and although both were basically shy, they talked until the wee hours about art throughout the ages, philosophy, mythology and a shared love of beautiful women.

Europa and the Bull
by Reuben Nakian
Bronze, 1975
Jack Rutberg Fine Arts
Los Angeles, CA

Paul Nakian Remembers His Father     

Eldest son Paul Nakian, a local atorney, remembers growing up in Staten Island during World War II, before the family moved to Stamford.

            “My father had a studio in the house and he had to get there through a trap door in the floor,” he recalled with a laugh. “Those years were when he removed himself from the art scene and stopped exhibiting in galleries because he wanted to find a different way, his own personal vision. For him those years were his eventual transition to mythology. Prior to that, in the early twenties, he was apprenticed to sculptor Paul Manship and shared a studio with famed French-American sculptor Gaston Lachaise. He developed quite a reputation as an animal sculptor and then went on to portraiture with the New Deal Administration.”

Reuben Nakin in his studio in Stamford, Connecticut

            Nakian also recalls that his father never disciplined him or his brother, George. “My mother had to be the disciplinarian and the support of the family because my father was obsessed with his art and worked on it almost constantly. It was hard then, because when I was growing up, nobody knew what an artist was. People were recovering from the war, trying to better their housing conditions and an artist was a peripheral part of society.”

            “People are more aware of art today. Back then, there wasn’t an appreciation and unfortunately, Stamford missed some artistic opportunities and one of them was not acquiring more of my father’s work.”

            Sara Nakian, daughter of Paul and wife Maria, recalls a quiet but playful grandfather, who wove tales of two characters named Skunky Wunky and Froggy Woggy, who resided in a defunct flower box in the garden. “I would beg him to tell more of the adventures” says Sara. “”Although he was quite shy, Grandpa was also a lot of fun and loved to have a good time at parties. It was kind of cool growing up with a grandfather who had long hair like a hippie and liked to hang out with my friends at my graduation party.”

The Stamford Art Community Remembers Reuben

            Kenneth Marchione, former Director of Art at the Stamford Museum, never got to meet Reuben. But, while working on an exhibit at the Stamford Museum and Nature Center, Reuben Nakian: Working the Image, he discovered that everyone with whom he had spoken had heartfelt memories of the man and his art. 

            Vivien White, who served on many art councils remembers going to art parties at the Nakian studio. “I was always surprised to see him refreshing drinks and emptying ashtrays for his peers,” says White. “Actually, my fondest memory is when he was having a gallery showing in New York. I walked around, admiring his work and suddenly, Reuben emerged through a back door and handed me a drawing he had made on the spot for me. He had a very generous nature.”

            Dina Pise, a sculptor who was a neighbor of Reuben’s for almost two decades, also remembers the artist’s love of parties. “He was very hospitable and loved showing his work to other artists. He particularly enjoyed being with voluptuous women, says Pise. “As a sculptor, he was very tactile and many of us remember the infamous Reuben pinch. Although he did say in the Smithsonian documentary that if he ever met a naked woman he’d run the other way, I doubt it. And of course, his wife, Rose always watched him very carefully.”

            Every artist who has ever come in contact with Reuben has fond memories of him. Renee Kahn, local artist and urban preservationist, remembers that she first saw Reuben about 25 years ago, as a passenger on the High Ridge city bus line. “Although we hadn’t met, I knew that I was in the presence of someone great, with his leonine head and the massive shock of white hair,” she recalls. “I sat there, transfixed. Because Reuben never drove, either Rose or his sons would drive him downtown where he had one of his first studios. If no one was available, he would take the bus to his studio, just like an ordinary Stamford resident.”

Artist Renee Kahn
at a showing of her
"Box City" exhibit

            The late Stamford artist James Jackson Burt first met the artist with whom he would work for almost fourteen years during a visit to the artist’s studio on Sawmill Road, which had been arranged by the Stamford school system.

            “When I was in high school, there was a very progressive program where gifted art students were chosen to tour local artist’s studios,” he said. “We visited about eight studios and they were all tame, compared to Reuben’s. I had been going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and looking at Greek vases and I could visualize Reuben’s drawings on my work.”

Terra Cotta Vase
by James Jackson Burt
Leda and the Swan drawing
by Reuben Nakian

            “After the studio visit, I was so impressed that I called him and asked if he would draw on my vases,” said Burt. “To my surprise, he said yes, immediately, and I went to pick him up and took him back to my dad’s studio (David Burt, also a sculptor). We made a vase together and he drew on it and that was the beginning of a long and wonderful relationship that had a major effect on my life.

            “One of the greatest lessons I learned from Reuben was the day he asked me if I were shy. When I answered yes, he advised, ‘Don’t be shy, it doesn’t pay.’ He wanted to pass that along to me and it has helped tremendously in my career. ”

             Sculptor Basil Racheotes of Fairfield first met the artist when he was attending the New York Studio School in 1974. “Although there were three teachers, Peter Agostini, a pop artist, Giorgio Spaventa, a more academic artist and Reuben, says Racheotes, “everyone loved Reuben and his enthusiasm for art and flair for life. “He would take us to Greenwich Village coffee houses, or suddenly, during class, he would decide that it was a good time for a trip to the Metropolitan Museum, where he paid for all of us and then gave us a grand tour.”

            “During the golden years as his assistant,” says Racheotes, “I must have mixed hundreds of pounds of plaster.  When the weather was good, we worked outside on the studio deck, where he enjoyed it most.” Racheotes oversaw the production of the sculpture of the late abstract expressionist
artist Reuben Nakian. Duties included creating monumental plaster enlargements, oversight of all aspects of bronze casting, from wax models to final patina, exhibition installation, studio maintenance, while working closely with the artist in all phases of production. He now focuses on his own works in terra cotta and bronze.

            “Watching Reuben sit at a drawing table,” adds Racheotes, I would think about how lucky I was.  Not many people had an opportunity to see someone with so much skill creating art.”

Reuben Nakian’s Career and Awards 

Nakian was a guest of honor at the Famous Artist’s Evening at the White House (1966), and the Smithsonian Institution produced a documentary on his life and work titled “Reuben Nakian: Apprentice to the Gods,” (1985). He was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1931 and a Ford Foundation Fellowship in 1958, and he represented the United States as the major sculptor in the VI Bienal in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

The Rape of Lucrece
Painted Steel
by Reuben Nakian
1955-1958

Nakian’s work is represented in the permanent collections and sculpture gardens of many of America’s most prestigious museums and institutions. He has been honored with major one man exhibits at the Los Angeles County Museum (1962), the New York Museum of Modern Art (1966), the Hirshhorn Museum, Washington, DC (1981), the Milwaukee Art Museum (1985), the Gulbenkian Centro de Arte Moderna, Lisbon, Portugal (1988), and a Centennial Retrospective at the Reading (PA) Public Museum and the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, DC (1999), the site of Nakian’s first one-man museum exhibition in 1935 (1961) and the 1968 Biennale in Venice, Italy.

Reuben Nakian Sculpture Exhibition
at Jack Rutberg Fine Arts Gallery

Suburbiad: An Epic Poem in Couplets

The City
by George Grosz
oil on canvas
1916/17
Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection,
Madrid, Spain

This poem is the work of a collective group of surrealist poets who worked together a long, long time ago, in a town about fifty miles outside of New York City (the Mecca). It has pathos, passion and sorrow -- wrapped in ambiguous characters, and awkward symbols.                                      

       (with respects to El Grande, Robert Hughes, and the late and great John Lennon)

Near docile Green Hills and gentle, lapping Sweet Sound

Lies a land in which artists and writers Abound,

It is, as you know, an Ambiguous Region

Of which Sages and Analysts all ponder in legion,

Oh, Children, Kind Strangers, and Interested Lecherous,

Oh hear my Sad Tale of the True and the Treacherous --

Hear the Terrible Toils of that Strange Threatened Land,

Where all who exist heave a Ponderous Hand,

Oh it's not very Good, but it's not very Bad,                               (Chorus)

And lately they tell me that I should now add,

That it's being called by folk Far and folk Near,

The Suburbiad, an Epithet, they've now come to Fear.

Behold, Swelling Mortgage of artist and writer,

Whose Taxes Increaseth, and never grow lighter,

Where Debits Expand and grow Large in the Night,

Whilst they protest in anguish,

Their Middle-Class Plight.

Why, it's here that they play at the Noble Savage

Whilst their Work and their Art --  Suburbiad does Ravage.

Oh there in that Region of Nether and Edge,

With lots of dense rock we hear they call ledge,

There's Fury and Fire all going Amuck,

Why, they recently boasted a mayor called Schmuck.

Oh it's there, in that fabled Edge-City of Bad

You know it, I know it -- The Suburbiad.

Oh could we, oh would we, just Move to the City,

With Patrons and Dealers even slightly more shitty?

It's bad for the Kiddies, they Rant and they Scream,

Why it's Here I hold on to my Perilous Dream,

Of winning the Kudos, Recognition and Praises,

Of the Curators' Art Squad, in all of their phases.

What's this, an Uproar, a Cry that we hear,

Oh no, could it be, an assault to the ear,

It grows now -- A voice, a Sad Sob, and a Whine?

We hear Loud the Chorus, sung with Venomous Brine,

 In muffled cries they Moan, Gnash and Berate,

The neglectful Art Critics of Gotham the Great.

Who look with Disdain on their downcast, Sad Throng,

While writing words Mighty, Derisive and Long,

Of those Legions of Masters, with Moxie, who Strain,

Whose efforts give writers Persnickety Pain.

Oh the artists and poets and writers and dreamers,                  (Chorus)

Oh the seekers, the canny, the nefarious schemers,

How they long for the Fame,

And the Glory Galore,

But they hang their artwork in a grocery store,

Or sometimes, with luck and appreciative Thanks,

They place it in Storefronts, or even in Banks.

What's this, they cry out, with Anguish they Scream,

To all the great, Visiting Panels Esteemed?

Oh look at my work, I tell you, I mean,

That It came to me once in a Sexual Dream,

Oh come, oh, Please come, to Antique Yale and Town,

Please take a look, oh please, please, come on round,

Cry Big Bird and Little Bird, whilst dreaming of Rube,

Who looks down from Sculpture Heaven amongst angels sweet and nube,

From Your Wonderful Throne, Rube, where you perch with aplomb,

Oh please, guide them, lead them and inspire them,

Do you want us to bomb?

You've got your Collection of Critics, The Great Ones Do Say,

We know they're not quite St. Vincent Millay,

But your Timesian Rain-Ore scrawls of Moil with such Grief,

While Stamford's Queen Artsy tries hard to be brief,

And Straining and Groaning, with all of her might,

Aspires to be Witty and quite Erudite,

Oh no, hear her Scream and look quick with Alarm,

Oh, Look what they've Done, my Conclusion's been Harmed,

Then Brooksian Katie gives it a shot,

But we know what they're after --

It's Old Rain-Ore's Spot.

But she hangs on with Gripping, Gnarled Hands that appall,

Whilst Ignoring the Words which Appear on the Wall,

That Papers are Fading,The Economy, now Rust,

And No One, yes, No One -- has a Gig that they Trust.

You've got Museums Galore There, They repeat and entreat,

Just kiss the Foul Bottoms of their Directorship Feet,

Volunteer, serve on Boards, till it gets you Quite Down,

That's the way you'll get known in all parts of your Town.

Like Gray Nature's Lady, your critic of old,

Who Proclaims to all who Wait to be Told,

Her Fame and her Wisdom, her Charm and her Wit,

But as far as we hear, No One gives a Great S _ _ T.

From up at the Mine to Larry's Avant,

And Cousin Brucie's in Greenwich,

What more could you want?

But Critics, Oh Great Ones, you don't Understand

It isn't museums that we do demand,

It's Spaces to Show In,

It's Patrons to Buy,

It's Mentions in ARTnews,

That will make us feel Grand.

Oh, come now, don't bellow,

And don't you Dare say,

That you want Us to Write of your local Arts day,

Or the Landmine, the Hasty, or May Street and Such,

Why, asking all that would be really Too Much,

Go look at Katonah, and Whitney, Do View,

And then you will see what you Then Have to Do,

Make haste! Move to Houston, Chicago, or even L.A.,

Now Thank You, Goodbye pests,

That's all we will Say.

But lo! Here, look, gaze and behold,

You've got there a Legend, at least it is told,

A Rumor goes Round of a Near-Success Story,

Of an Aged Ingenue who craves Town Fame and Glory,

Why, it's Little Lolita who Gushes and Fawns,

to gain Lofty Favor with Designers of Dawns,

I want just The Best for this Town, she declares,

While bumping and grinding her Hot Derriere.

Her big Claim to Fame, Groupie Art-Syncho-phants,

Beauticians and Leapers and Fashion Consultants,

Why, there's Robo, the dentist, who tries to be valiant,

As Bad Poets, with Worse Verses, entertain at Fete Gallants.

Oh back to the Tent, oh Lolita, do go,

Where June's gentle breezes will soften the blow.

But wait! Here's Tan Nacho, oh please, all of you,

He tries to make way, through the Terrible Crew,

Oh beat loudly our hearts, he does Saveth the Day,

From Politicians, The Authorities, and Great Scoundrels array.

It's He who will Save our Sweet Town from Despair,

Don't scold, can he help it, he's shaped like a Pear? 

And if his rude mouth always gets him in trouble,

The artists will save him from the thick of the rubble.

Now, true there's a Teacher, so Wise and so Fair,

With great Libran balance -- she'll never despair,

Of greeting each challenge with Skill and Aplomb,

While hoping and wishing that Grants will still come.

Can Teacher steer Nacho to a Quieter Rage,

Whilst Guiding us all with a Skill oh, so Sage?

Now I hear By the By, that there's Plenty of Feuds,

With most of 'em frivolous, not terribly lewd,

Between Nacho, Lolita and don't forget Blank,

Who Simpers and Laughs all the way to her Bank.

And most of them snap at the Whistling Bard,

Who tries to be Chic, oh so Terribly Hard,

But his Mouth, Crowned with Thistles, so Bristly and Brusque,

Is coated by fragrance, why  -- can it be  -- Musk?

And up at the Yukon, they vie for a Spot,

Oh take me, enroll please, I'll make you So Hot,

Why, if it should happen,

Town Hall as of Late,

will be deemed as The Arts Place,

Well, just don't you wait,

I'll  Mold you and Shape you and make you "For Sale"

You'll soon get your atelier in Old Town and Yale.

Look, there's Chairs Con Cajones who leads in a song,

Wow -- it's her Work she's Showing in New York's Swell Throng,

She's survived the Vague Drawl of the Gallery Matron,

Who perceives herself as Muse, as well as a Patron.

Who frequents all Imminent Loft Studios,

Then advises Art Editors with Upturned Foul Nose.

Look -- there's Jose and Boris and Sweet Little Honey,

Whose goal's to Work Quick and then make some Money,

And let's never forget the Excessive Garb,

of the Post Office Lady who takes many a Barb,

Or the Committees who Fancy all Pretentious Art,

With the sloppy Director, who Expounds with a fart.

As Hughes calls Our City the Shlock Dealer's Dream;

Much Wind, Little Talent, and Vast Self-Esteem.

And at the Town Crier, the Paper with News,

Where Wise Ones look down at the Town from their Pews,

The Hip One, The Plump One, The One sans a Spouse,

Of Them it is Told that We all love to Grouse.

There's One of Them There whose Big Mouth is so Loud,

That most would just love to throw her to the Crowd.

The artists implore Them, oh, Write of my Art,

Gotham Greats have ignored It and Broken my Heart,

But the Truth can be Told, with Knife and with Sword,

That all Townie News leaves them Terribly Bored.

Oh is it all just a Sad Tale of Woe,

for as Hughes has written and you all do know,

We Long for the Patrons whose Indulgent Glance,

The artist does crave, the dealers do dance?

And will the harsh title Suburbiad mean

For artists and writers, all Days of Great Lean?

Oh Hope, oh Kind Hope, let the Global Village show,

That denizens of Taste will be likely to Know,

That There in the Outskirts of Suburbiad Lurks,

Talent and Creativity along with the Jerks.