Down to the last strokes of finishing off Labour Vertue Glorie. Just have to attach the spinners to the volvelles in these copies (has to be done after casing-in & pressing or the spinners will deboss the facing sheet, even with the spacer leaf). It's fiddly work but mostly mindless: I can let my mind ponder elements of the upcoming Kelmscott/Doves leaf book....
Random notes of a bookish nature…
I’m currently reading Alix Christie’s 2014 novel, Gutenberg’s Apprentice. Just like lawyers can’t read most legal novels and cops can’t read cop novels, because they almost always ring false, my initial reaction to books about printing & etc. is extreme skepticism. So far Christie’s novel – which revolves around Gutenberg’s relationship with Johann Fust and his adopted son Peter Schoeffer – is entertaining & seems well researched, which isn’t surprising given her background in printing: she apprenticed at the Yolla Bolly Press, which produced some beautiful books in the 1980s and '90s. Christie still owns a Chandler & Price, although she now lives in London & it’s on loan to someone in San Francisco. Her publisher created a good Web site for the book, with some historical and technical background for readers who want to know more. Apparently the novel's English publisher issued a handful of a special "large paper" copies with an original leaf from the 42-line Bible tipped in, but I haven't been able to find any listings or info.*
Christie’s book sits on a shelf at home beside another Gutenberg novel, Blake Morrison’s The Justification of Johann Gutenberg (2000). Christie’s Gutenberg is a less immediately sympathetic character than Morrison’s, if I remember his book accurately. Both are enjoyable historical yarns.
I recently encountered a non-fiction book about letterpress and the associated crafts, which I will not name. It was so wretched that I couldn’t just toss it aside, I actually had to skim the entire thing to see if the banality & ignorance were sustained to the end. (They were.) It’s an example of a book that exactly does not understand the world of historical or contemporary letterpress. The narrative is built around the author’s collaboration with a local letterpress printer whose quirky personality is reflected in his publications. It is yet another case of someone stumbling on to an enthusiastic but not very skilled hobby printer; thinking they’ve discovered a forgotten world full of esoteric histories and occult practises; and deciding they’re the person to tell everyone about it. For readers with absolutely no knowledge of the history of printing or publishing, the book might be an entertainingly vicarious excursion, but there are many better choices if that’s an excursion you want to make. Readers already interested in the topics will find its naiveté and shallowness depressing – is this really what the traditional crafts associated with printing have come to, light fare for an unremarkable meditation on print culture? This book – probably like the one chronicled in its text – did not need to be published.
Bad letterpress printing (ahem you above) irks me, especially when the person doing it also presents her/himself as a representative for the medium. This is why I have only ever considered myself someone who knows what good letterpress should be, rather than someone capable of achieving it, much less teaching others. I’m all for introducing people to letterpress and fine-press publishing, but let’s lead with our best efforts so those people will also develop an appreciation for quality, in materials and execution. Just smashing type into paper only diminishes the work of people dedicated to mastering – and sustaining – the vocations and techniques that combine to produce a book.
Let’s end on a cheerier note: Arturo Pérez-Reverte’s The Ninth Gate was a fun read involving slippery antiquarian booksellers & clever forging of early printed books. Try the book but ignore the film…
AND ANOTHER THING!
The next book is underway & might even appear before the end of the year. It’s another leaf book: an essay by Alfred Pollard about the Kelmscott & Doves presses, accompanied by a leaf from The Golden Legend and the Doves Bible (!). I have enough leaves to issue a total of 55 copies. Details to follow…
* for details see date of this post...
Time for an update on Labour Vertue Glorie: that’s the trial binding for the 25 copies (Series 3, numbers 24—48 from the edition of 48) being cased at HM. It’s similar in appearance (but not execution, alas) to the quarter-vellum copies being bound by Claudia Cohen. She’s progressed farther with her work, but we’ll both be wrapping things up over the month of March, and copies will be shipping in April.
To recap the project, George Wither’s A Collection of Emblemes Ancient & Moderne shares the milestone for first emblem book printed in England with his contemporary Francis Quarles. Wither’s book, however, is distinguished by, among other features, its more lavish format and the quality of its copper-plate engravings, the same plates commissioned from Crispin van de Passe for Rollenhagen’s Nucleus Emblematum Selectissimorum.
L-V-G presents leaves from both books, side by side, illustrating the technical, physical, and conceptual similarities and differences. Although the history and elements of emblems pre-date the Renaissance, the most commonly recognized form — an image, a motto, and an epigram, which combined make the emblem — appeared in Andrea Alciato’s Emblematum Liber (1531). The form flourished through the 16th century, but was already considered somewhat old-fashioned by the time Wither and Quarles wrote their books. Enough time had passed by the late 19th century for emblems to be rediscovered, and they have since become a field of lively academic study.
The focus of L-V-G (the title is taken from Wither, Book 1, emblem V), however, is not the content or interpretations of the two authors’ emblems, but the production and form of the books from which these sample leaves come. To that end, the book reprints three of Wither’s prefatory notes from A Collection: one about William Marshall’s engraved frontispiece (a reproduction of which is included), one about the “game of lots” included in the book, and “To The Reader” in which he discusses at length the book’s intent and creation. Each of these is appended with comments from a variety of sources, discussing and sometimes disputing the author’s words. L-V-G’s own prefatory material includes brief biographies of Rollenhagen and Wither; some bibliographic details about the two books; a history of Augustine Mathewes, the printer of A Collection; and the story of Wither’s protracted patent dispute with the Stationers’ Company, and how it relates to the publication of A Collection of Emblemes. Engraved portraits of both authors are reproduced, along with facsimile settings of an emblem (i.e. page) each from Alciato’s Emblematum Liber and Quarles’ Emblemes.
In addition to de Passe’s elegant engravings, Wither’s book was noteworthy for including a game at the back: two volvelles with spinners that would direct players to a specific emblem in the book for their personal consideration. Most existing copies of the book lack this final leaf with the volvelles. L-V-G will reproduce both, with working spinners, and the volvelle from an earlier work, by the Jesuit Jan David, which is thought to have been the model for Wither’s lotterie.
Like any leaf book, the format of L-V-G was determined by the size of the largest leaf. The text was set in Monotype Garamond (several sizes) on a page that measures slightly larger (8 x 12 inches) than Wither’s quarto. Like the books from which the leaves came, the type was inked and printed by hand, with a handpress, on dampened paper (Arches Text wove for the introductory material, Golden Hind laid for Wither’s commentaries). A number of decorative initial letters from A Collection were incorporated to the setting, along with various patterns made up from the single printer’s flower used in that book. In Series 1 and 2 copies, the initial letters (a total of nine per copy) have been illuminated with metallic bronze paint.
Aside from brief preliminary material, Rollenhagen’s book is entirely intaglio, printed rectos only. Wither’s book combines the intaglio plates with extensive letterpress on each page, and is printed on both sides; thus, one Wither leaf presents two emblems (recto and verso), while one Rollenhagen leaf presents one emblem (recto only). With these different formats in mind, L-V-G is being issued in three states:
SERIES 1: Copies 1—16 with leaves containing the same emblems from Rollenhagen and Wither (i.e. two Rollenhagen leaves bookending a Wither leaf, presenting the same plate from each book side by side, as shown above), to allow for comparing the state and printing of the same plates. Also included will be a text leaf, from the preliminary notes and dedications in Wither’s book, as a frontis. These copies will be bound by Claudia Cohen in quarter vellum with Karli Frigge marbled paper over boards.
(* By advance subscription, copies 1—7 are being extra-bound by Claudia, with a vellum spine and gilt- & blind-tooled black leather over boards. These copies also include a second leaf of emblems from Wither’s book, opposite the colophon.)
SERIES 2: Copies 17—23 with a leaf from Rollenhagen paired with the same plate on a Wither leaf (recto or verso, as the case may be). Bound in quarter vellum by Claudia Cohen with Karli Frigge marbled papers.
SERIES 3: Copies 24—48 with a leaf from both Rollenhagen and Wither (but no duplication of plates). Cased in decorated paper over boards at the HM studio.
I’ve been telling people the papers used for the Series 3 copies was recently discovered at an Old Montreal customs house, in a basement room that had been walled off & forgotten sometime before WW I. That's a bit fat porky pie, but a fun story. They actually were made up at the studio, with acrylic paints and a grid of butcher’s string glued to a sheet of plexi.
As usual, contact any of HM’s booksellers (listed at right) if you’re interested in acquiring a copy.
AND ANOTHER THING!
Looks like next in the press will be another double leaf book, this one featuring the Kelmscott & Doves presses and an essay by Alfred Pollard. Like to have copies of that out by the end of the year; see how we go. And then - in 2019? — the long-promised expanded, illustrated second edition of Fragments & Glimpses…
The author & journalist Pradeep Sebastian is based in his homeland of India, but has had several extended sojourns to the United States in recent years. It was during one of these visits, about three years ago, that he contracted what appears to be chronic bibliomania, specifically the strain privata torcular. India, as he’ll discuss in the Q&A below, does not really have a tradition of book collecting (much less bibliophilia), and the modern fine press movement never got a toe-hold. Being already bookishly inclined, he was primed for seduction by the materials, methods and aesthetics of private press books.
Pradeep used his new-found passion as the basis for his first novel, The Book Hunters of Katpadi. The book was published in hardcover in late 2017 by Hachette, but available in India only so far. The story centers around an antiquarian bookshop in Chennai (the capital of the Indian state Tamil Nadu), its owner Neela and her apprentice Kayal, and the discovery of an apocryphal manuscript by the English explorer Richard Burton (below). Events are populated with the kind of odd, colorful and scheming characters that anyone who’s spent time at book fairs or in shops will recognize (including the bookseller who tells you that, while everything in the shop is for sale, unfortunately the book you’re interested in isn’t, no matter which book it is; see here for an account of Pradeep's real-life encounter with one such wastrel).
Pradeep’s novel, like Neela, has an underlying activist agenda: to develop and promote a culture of book collecting in India. Pradeep’s strategy to achieve this in the novel is to liberally sprinkle bibliographic arcana & asides throughout the well-plotted and quickly paced book. (Mentions of HM in the novel brought it to my attention, but I wouldn’t be posting this interview with Pradeep if I hadn’t enjoyed the book. Plus, he just seems such an enthusiastic and joyful person, two adjectives – and possibly the noun too – that would never be used to describe HM.)
Pradeep is back in India at the moment, so we conducted this interview by email. ¶
HM: Give us the short version of your life, particularly when, where & how books (or more specifically, book collecting) came into it.
Pradeep Sebastian: I became a collector the day I happened on my first fine press book. I had no desire (or the financial resources) to be a collector, but the beauty and brilliance of press books compelled me to begin collecting them. It happened by chance. One day, using a university’s Interlibrary Loan service, I requested a copy of Joel Silver’s Dr. Rosenbach and Mr Lilly, and instead of sending me the trade edition, they sent me the letterpress Bird and Bull edition! I relished everything about it, and if I recall correctly, I held on to it as long as I could, using up my two renewals. I returned it reluctantly. I felt as if an exotic, strange and exciting creature had flown away from me. Could I get one for myself? No; even the lowest priced copy on the antiquarian market was beyond me. At that point the most expensive book I had bought couldn’t have been more than twenty dollars. I now have a copy of that B&B book, but the purchase would come only after nearly two years of dreaming about it.
HM: How did being in the U.S. change your collecting? Did your condition worsen? I know that the start of my collecting overlapped with a period of frequent travel to the U.S., and exposure to all the shops there (vs what we had in Canada) was too much to resist.
PS: It was the example and environment of collecting and dealing that exists in the U.S., Canada and the U.K. that fueled my collecting and bibliomania. It was here that I first encountered the world of the book arts: antiquarian bookshops and fairs, private press printers, rare book dealers and librarians, typographers, book artists, calligraphers, wood engravers, rare book schools and seminars, and several other practitioners of the arts of the book. I was really quite beside myself trying to take it all in. In India we don’t have such a lively, vibrant and ingrained tradition of the Book Arts. As a columnist in India for The Hindu’s Literary Review I had mainly focused on books about books. Time spent in the U.K. and U.S. exploring the rare book world has changed that focus to a column now on the book arts called ‘A Typophiles Notes.’
HM: One of the potential risks of writing anything that delves into a specific field of expertise, particularly one involving collecting, is getting some passing detail wrong. Your book deals with the antiquarian book trade, book collecting, one particular & long-established seam in book collecting, and fine & private-press printing. Presumably many of the potential readers of Book Hunters will consider themselves knowledgeable, and ready to pounce at the first perceived mis-step. Did you find yourself having to consciously balance how much detail to include as the story progresses, i.e. did you find yourself having to pull back sometimes.
PS: I’m afraid I didn’t pull back at all. I wanted to introduce the Indian bibliophile to this world of antiquarian book culture that I had become so intoxicated with, and since it has myriad aspects or levels to it – wealthy collectors, scholar-book dealers, fine press printers, auction houses, and bibliophile societies – I tried to get them all in. So, it’s quite possible mis-steps and some details could be wrong because of this rather overwrought scheme I stuck with.
HM: One of the book’s protagonists is an Indian antiquarian bookseller who wants to promote and develop a culture and tradition of book collecting in her country. I suspect that might be a mission you share with her. What is the current state of book collecting and the antiquarian trade in India?
PS: Yes, yes, I do share that mission with her! Presently, there is a growing interest in rare books among Indian readers and booksellers. There are even a couple of book auction houses. While we do have serious collectors, there is frustratingly no established antiquarian trade or market in the country. Our collectors largely depend on online dealers to fulfill their wants or areas of specialization and focus.
HM: I liked that your book included a few illustrations. It struck me as appropriately anachronistic for the type of story it is. Did you have any input to that, or was it down to the publisher?
PS: My publisher felt illustrations in a book that revolved around the art of the printed book would be a nice addition. The publisher and I offered the illustrator a few references for the kind of bookish images we wanted; however, the credit for the illustrations goes fully to the illustrator [Sonali Zohra].
HM: Would you like to write more adventures for Neela and Kayal? Is there any possibility of your book being published in the U.S.?
PS: It would be nice to imagine up another bibliophilic adventure for Kayal and Neela, though there are no plans for a sequel. I haven’t yet looked into the possibility of a U.S. edition, though bibliophiles in the U.S. and U.K. who’ve read the book are encouraging me to think of one. It would depend on a publisher there being interested enough in the book to acquire it.
HM: Have you heard from any of the English or American booksellers – including Bromers, the Veatchs, Claude Cox, and Vamp & Tramp – you mention in the book? It’s pretty cool being woven into a work of fiction – it probably will be HM’s best hope for posterity, for which I thank you.
PS: No, I haven’t – though that’s probably because none of them know they are in the book! Not only that, I’m sure they don’t even know of my book, there being only an Indian edition. As for HM’s hope for posterity resting with my book – ha-ha.
HM: You clearly are a bibliophile, and possibly a bibliomaniac. I know you’re interested in fine press books, but just how widely beyond that do your acquisitive tendencies range? And is that something you, as a collector, wrestle with – the question of how focused or cohesive your collection should be?
PS: Yes, I do have it bad for press books, and you are spot on in sensing this. I’m still in the throes of discovery, so I tend to gush and sound breathless in talking about them, having encountered fine press books only some three years ago (you’ve recalled how it was for you in the early years). The discernment that helped me not buy anything and everything that was or is finely printed is deciding on my focus early: collecting fine press books on the books arts, and my collection has largely stuck to this, though in the first year I bought some fiction and poetry.
My bibliomania is unleashed only where fine press book and original leaves or fragments of early printed books and medieval illuminated manuscripts are concerned. I have no interest in modern first editions. If I were to accidentally stumble on some very high spot in that line of collecting, I would in a second trade the damm thing for a bunch of fine press books. Thirty to fifty thousand for one edition makes me only shake my head and think of how many lovely press books one could buy instead for that money. I am by sensibility not a completist collector, so that spares me from having to get the entire output of an author or a press. My focus from the start has been limited to fine press books on the book arts. Fine books on fine bookmaking. And I’ve tried within my collecting budget to acquire the best press books in this field, from modest productions to sumptuous ones. The illuminated and incunabula leaves are a recent interest and more a passing fancy than a focus. Once you get to chasing quires of illuminated manuscript leaves you are in the full grip of bibliomania. These days I’ve learnt to say, ‘Enough’. There is something enticing and promising about contemplating and toying with buying some highly desirable press book and then holding back - the idea of some unseen typographic beauty sitting there waiting to be plucked is more fun than actually getting hold of it.
HM: Early in the book you describe Biblio, the book shop where much of the story unfolds. The description starts with something another bookseller had once said to Neela, Biblio’s owner: “ 'The moment I shelve everything, customers stop coming. Now I leave everything lying around and they’re happy.’ As charming and welcoming as that might seem to casual browsers, Neela knew that an antiquarian bookshop that served the serious book collector couldn’t afford to have books lying around in joyful chaos.” That resonated for me because Vancouver’s last remaining downtown used bookshop (image above) is infamous for often being impenetrable due to towers of books and boxes clogging the aisles. Of those two extremes, which do you find more fun to explore?
PS: I still like the sight of bookshops (and rooms in houses) with overflowing shelves, packed aisles and shelving up to the rafters, but purely for aesthetic reasons and the browsing pleasures they seem to offer – but as a collector I know exactly what I am looking for and would like to be shown straightaway to the shelf where the kind of books I am hunting for are kept. Thus, now I prefer the ordered and finely appointed antiquarian bookshop where I am more likely to find what I have come in search of, rather than having to rummage through piles of books to unearth something desirable. The first time I looked at photographs of British antiquarian stores in the two-volumed pictorial record of The London Bookshop, I remember saying to myself, ‘Good God, they more resemble a tidy office! Featuring a couple of desks, some furniture, glass cabinets, and a large but empty (except perhaps for a table) floorspace, and not at all the storybook or Dickensian version of a cosy, dusty, overcrowded bookshop we’ve assumed they must be.’
HM: Who in India is currently making or publishing books that you find interesting in what we’d call a book-arts way? I understand there hasn’t been a fine/private press tradition in the country – your book touches on that – but is that changing? If not fine press, then maybe more in the artists’ book realm?
PS: No one I know, at least in the way I like my book arts printed. There are perhaps one or two small presses or publishing collectives that make handmade books, but their work has not interested me. It’s possible that in the artists book realm there could be more potential because of a long interest and tradition in handcrafted things. But letterpress book arts, no.
HM: Have you ever been tempted to buy a press and some type…?
PS: More than a temptation it is a fantasy, and will probably remain one because I’m sure I’ll have no talent or eye for it, even though there would be the passion. And then there is the wild goose chase aspect of going round and round in search of a suitable working hand-press, not to mention cases of fine hot metal type in India…..
HM: Your book also touches on the history of type and typography in Indian publishing. Could you recommend one or two titles for people interested in knowing more about that history?
PS: Three essays by Fiona Ross on Indian type in various Matrix issues and her book The Printed Bengali Character and its Evolution would be a good place to start, and for related aspects of Indian book history, a handful of notable books would be: Moveable Type, The Province of the Book, The History of the Book In South Asia, An Empire of Books, and Founts of Knowledge. There could be other more recent titles, but I am forgetting.
HM: What is your greatest find from India? (I mean a book found in India, not necessarily an Indian book.)
PS: My answer will best illustrate the vacuum we have in rare book dealing and collecting here in India – alas, not one interesting find, let alone a great find. Of course, one could turn up rare or interesting antiquarian editions printed in India or about India in India, but they are bound to be mostly in poor condition. All the best Indian manuscripts and books are with dealers abroad or rare book institutions there. What I’ve never found – and likely to never find – is a fine press book here. In the novel, Kayal’s evangelical zeal in trying to stock the bookshop with press books is Biblio’s desperate attempt to help fellow Indian bibliophiles discover the world of fine printing. ¶
Copies of The Book Hunters of Katpadi can be purchased from booksellers in India through Abebooks. But maybe one of the American booksellers mentioned in the novel should bring over a few dozen, and have Pradeep sign them the next time he’s over. If you enjoyed John Dunnings' books, Book Hunters is much much much much much much much better, in the details & plot. Just thinking about all Dunning got wrong in Bookman’s Wake still pisses me off…
AND ANOTHER THING!
Some binding production details & photos for Labour Vertue Glorie will going up over the next 6–8 weeks. Claudia's about to attack the Series 1 and 2 copies. I just have to attach all the spinners (below) to the volvelles first...
Printing for Labour Vertue Glorie is now completed & we’re in the (early) binding stage (vellum spine of Claudia's first dummy for Series 1 and 2 copies above). The printing took a little more than 300 hours, spread over four months. It’s a lot of time standing at the press, rolling out the ink and cranking the bed back & forth. None of that time was spent in silence: there were some podcasts, but most of the time was spent listening to music. Once makeready is done and the ink adjusted for a form, printing is pretty dull: you have to pay attention, but not really do much thinking, so one’s mind tends to wander. One day I found mine playing the Desert Island Discs game: what ten albums would I choose if I were to be marooned on an island with no expectation of rescue?
It’s been my experience that many printers place particular importance on music, and that music often crosses into their projects, whether overtly or tangentially. Both scores and pages are composed, and both grapple with decisions around balance, color, harmony and space. While playing my game, I got to wondering what 10 albums printers I know, or at least whose work I know, would choose. So I invited some of them to play the game, and here present their lists.
The rules were simply ten albums, and album is defined as a single cohesive work. The three discs in Einstein in the Beach would count as one choice, but Sony’s 24-CD collection of Philip Glass would not. (I admit to considering the complete eight-hour recording of Max Richter’s Sleep, but decided it was a stretch; also, I won’t need help nodding off while lost on a desert island.) No explanations or justifications were required.
Readers familiar with this blog will know it does not invite comments, since people have proven they can’t act decently on the Internet. However, if anyone would like to add their own list to this collection, it can be emailed to me (see address lower right) and I will append it (or at least a few interesting ones). Please include your full name, location, and press name/affiliation if any. Don’t bother sending comments or critiques on any of the posted lists, we’re not getting into a debate over choices.
This turned out to be a lot of fun, since several of the lists included choices that were all unknown to me. The game also underscored the wide range of tastes at work, and the place music holds in the lives of the responding printers. (Jason Dewinetz, who prints on a Vandercook, raised a point I had not considered: a mechanized press makes noise, which could impede listening, or at least limit choices. My handpress makes no noise, and I’d go loopy without music while printing.)
Will Rueter (The Aliquando Press)
- J. Bach - Goldberg Variations. A dead heat among three interpretations: Simone Dinnerstein, Glenn Gould’s 1959 Salzburg recital, and Pieter-Jan Belder’s most recent recording. At the moment, Belder’s harpsichord version wins by a micro-hair.
- J. Bach - Mass in B minor. My current favourite version is by the Netherlands Bach Society.
- F. Schubert - String Quintet in C (Emerson Quartet, Rostropovich).
- M. Haydn - Requiem. Solosits, King’s Consort. An unknown gem.
- L. Janáček - The Cunning Little Vixen. Vienna Philharmonic, Mackerras. A comic strip about animals made into a profound opera. If there was a CD of Weinberg’s The Passenger, it would have absolute first place.
- M. Ravel. Anything, but especially Daphnis et Chloe, with choir.
- C. Monteverdi - Vespers of 1610, with Gardiner. Or any opera. Or madrigal.
- Leonard Cohen - Probably Ten New Songs
- D. Shostakovich - My musical hero for so many years. Impossible to choose, but probably Symphony #7 ‘Leningrad’ or any of the quartets.
- Jacques Loussier - Any record of his riffs on Bach; he’s beyond brilliant.
Before you put the question, neither of us had really thought very much in any systematic way about what we play when working. The daily programming runs fairly true to a pattern. We often begin the day with an opera, these days tending towards the bel canto (we're particularly fond of Donizetti, Bellini, and Rossini) but we're also devoted to Verdi, Puccini, Massenet, and Mozart. Then we'll usually segue into orchestral music, usually late romantic or modernist - let's say from Tchaikovsky through to Shostakovich, Janacek, or Walton. (20th century English music is a shared pleasure, and ballet scores are too.) Towards the end of the day, when energy is flagging more than somewhat, we often switch from classical to jazz (some of which we've mentioned), rock (the Stones, CCR, Beatles), old rock 'n' roll (pre-1960 Elvis, the Everly Bros., or mixes I've put together), or electric blues (Tommy Castro, Muddy Waters, Studebaker John, Junior Wells and the like), just to keep the blood flowing.
Jan and I both made lists, and it was interesting for each of us to look at the other's once they were done. Our tastes coincide about 90% of the time. Jan’s choices reflect more of the later afternoon repertoire, which is probably due to her requests for the bouncy stuff dominating the playlists from about 3 p.m. on. The Mozart, Bellini, and Netrebko recital she's chosen are all music we know well, and except for the recits in the Mozart they are all pretty energetic and audible even over a Vandercook, I guess.
As for my final choices, they are largely representative of groups of possibilities. For instance, while Der Rosenkavalier is certainly one of my top ten favourite operas, and I might have chosen another in that slot - Die Walküre, Aïda, or Il barbiere di Siviglia spring to mind -- Rosenkavalier is more complex and would probably have more staying power once it had been plugged into the nearest palm tree on that island of yours. Ask me next year, and the list would probably alter in particulars, but in the main would remain as it is.
- I. Stravinsky - Firebird and Petroushka (Columbia Symphony Orchestra, Stravinsky con.)
- W. Walton - Symphony #1 (London Symphony Orchestra, A. Previn con.)
- P. Tchaikovsky - Symphony #3 (London Symphony Orchestra, V. Gergiev con.)
- Shelley Manne & His Men - Live at the Blackhawk
- Gerry Mulligan - The Concert Jazz Band Complete Recordings
- M. Weinberg - Symphony #2 & Chamber Symphony #2 (Umeå Symphony Orchestra, T. Svedlund con.)
- A. Bruckner - Symphony #4 (Münchner Philharmoniker, S. Celibidache con.)
- M. Ravel - Daphnis et Chloe (Berlin Philharmonic, P. Boulez con.)
- L. Janáček - Opera suites incl. The Cunning Little Vixen; From the House of the Dead; The Excursions of Mr Broucek (Prague Symphony Orchestra, J. Bělohlávek con.)
- R. Strauss - Der Rosenkavalier (Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, G. Solti con.)
- W.A. Mozart - Le Nozze di Figaro (Philharmonia Chorus & Orchestra, C. M. Giulini con.)
- Gilbert & Sullivan - The Gondoliers (Glyndebourne Festival Chorus & Pro Arte Orchestra, M. Sargent con.)
- Ella Fitzgerald - The George & Ira Gershwin Songbook
- Benny Goodman - Carnegie Hall Concert
- V. Bellini - I Capuleti e i Montecchi (A. Netrebko, E. Garanča, et al., F. Luisi con.)
- A. Netrebko - Opera Arias (Vienna Philharmonic, G. Noseda con.)
- The Rolling Stones - Hot Rocks
- various - Forrest Gump (film soundtrack)
- Paul Simon - The Essential Paul Simon
- S. Rachmaninov - Dances (Philharmonia, N. Järvi con.)
Sarah Horowitz (Wiesedruck)
I thought I’d have to think about my list, but I didn’t once I looked at what I had. It’s all over the map. I grew up as a teenager with the Beatles, Stones, Jefferson Airplane, Morrison, Hendrix and Janice (yes, in the ‘80s, so I didn’t exactly fit in). Over the last 10 years I have tended towards dark, depressing classical music, but I can’t just listen to that so bits and pieces of all the phases I went through in between have stuck with me - klezmer, latin, old time…
- W.A. Mozart - Requiem
- Hilliard Ensemble - Motets of Guillaume de Machaut
- O. Golijov - Yiddiishbbuk
- A. Pärt - Tabula Rasa
- Portland Cello Project - (anything)
- Regina Spektor - Regina Spekor and Soviet Kitch
- Paul Cantelon with Gogol Bordello - Everything is Illuminated (movie soundtrack)
- Orishas - A Lo Cubano
- Golden Delicious - Old School
- Shakira - Laundry Service by Shakira. Because everyone needs to tango a little while printing, especially when it’s been a long day…
Bob McCamant (Sherwin Beach Press & emeritus editor of Parenthesis NA.)
- Darlingside - Birds Say
- Tarkan - Dudu
- fun. - Aim & Ignite
- Nick Lowe - Labour of Lust
- John Grant - Pale Green Ghosts
- Jane Siberry - Bound by the Beauty
- Graham Parker - Howling Wind
- The Beautiful South - Quench
- L. van Beethoven - Symphony #7 (Tbilisi Symphony Orchestra)
- G. Handel - Judas Maccabaeus (Philharmonia Baroque)
Jason Dewinetz (Greenboathouse Press)
I rarely listen to music while working; I like quiet, and I also like to hear and feel what the machine is doing: the hiss of the ink, the rumble of the cylinder rolling over type, the click and clank of the casting machine. All of these sounds tell me things about how the work is going, and often I make adjustments (to ink, to the speed of the casting machine, etc.) based on these sounds. That said, occasionally I do put some music on, although I tend to turn it off again after half an hour because it starts to get on my nerves.
- The Smiths - The Queen is Dead
- SNFU - And No One Else Wanted to Play
- Liz Phair - Whip-Smart
- Violent Femmes - Violent Femmes
- Tom Waits - Frank’s Wild Years
- Pixies - Doolittle
- Skip James - Blues from the Delta
- Metallica - Master of Puppets
- The Cramps - Bad Music for Bad People
- PJ Harvey - Rid of Me
I have found four streaming “radio” stations that have effectively made my own music collection excess to requirement. Like the Elsteds, my listening during a day of printing has an arc, which these four stations neatly span: Ambient Sleeping Pill and/or Drone Zone for the first few hours, while getting a form set up and printing right; Deep Space One mid-day; and Space Station Soma for the final push. But with no Internet on the island, my playlist is comprised of albums that aren’t necessarily favorites, but ones I know would withstand repeated listenings over the years.
- Kyle Bobby Dunn - Kyle Bobby Dunn & The Infinite Sadness
- Harold Budd & Brian Eno - The Pearl
- Stars of the Lid - The Ballasted Orchestra. Hard to choose one SOTL album, but the song titles alone make this a fun choice…
- loscil - Plume
- Bill Laswell & Style Scott - Dub Meltdown
- Harold Budd & Eraldo Bernocchi - Music for “Fragments from the Inside”
- Miles Davis - Sketches of Spain
- The Rolling Stones - Some Girls
- Aphex Twin - Selected Ambient Works 2. Despite a couple of clunker tracks…
- Fatboy Slim vs HM - The Mix Tape. This was never released, exists only as a lathe-cut test pressing, and is impossible to find. The only known copy will be with me, thereby assuring people will come looking, rescue me, and I won’t be stuck on an island with just ten albums for eternity.