None must sleep, none must sleep

Pavarotti – Nessun Dorma

[…] Perhaps his biggest gift to the music world was when he teamed up
with Spanish stars Placido Domingo and Jose Carreras at the 1990 soccer
World Cup and introduced operatic classics to an estimated 800 million
television viewers round the globe.


Sales of opera albums shot up after the gala concert in Rome's Baths
of Caracalla and since then Puccini's aria "Nessun Dorma" from his
opera "Turandot"
has been heavily associated with Pavarotti and soccer. […]

"Pavarotti in 'serious' condition: Italian media"
Gilles Castonguay
Reuters
Wed., Sept. 5, 2007 7:04 PM EDT
Paul Potts singing Opera

[…] "This is insane," Rubin said enthusiastically as the clip began. In
the video, an ordinary-looking middle-aged man waited nervously
backstage. When he faced the judges, he told them he worked at a
mobile-phone store and wanted to sing opera. The studio audience looked
annoyed — they clearly wanted to hear a pop song — and the judges were
cold and dismissive. No one expected anything remarkable from this
dull-looking, forgettable guy.

But then Paul Potts sang —
"Nessun dorma" from "Turandot." He had an improbably beautiful voice.
"Where does that come from?" Rubin said as he watched. Tears were
rolling down his cheeks. "I can't look at this without crying," he
said. "His voice is so beautiful." When Potts finished his song, Cowell
said, "I thought you were absolutely fantastic." The studio audience
roared with approval, and Potts beamed.

"It's August now — that
show was eight weeks ago," Rubin said. "In England, Paul Potts is
already gigantic, but we are going to launch him in America. This just
blew my mind."

No one could have predicted that one of the first
new Columbia artists to excite Rick Rubin would have been a would-be
opera singer from a televised talent contest. "I certainly didn't
expect his response to be so positive," said Steve Barnett, who
originally brought Paul Potts to Rubin's attention. "I was surprised
and pleased that he wanted to jump on it."

Rubin has an immediate
plan for Potts — he wants to test the powers of his "word of mouth"
department. "I want to see if we can create interest without there
being a record to buy," he said. "I've told our whole staff to send it
to everyone, to tell everyone, to mention it everywhere. I want to get
Paul Potts out to the world." Rubin stopped for a moment. "Although, if
someone tells you how great this is, it's not as moving. It's the
element of surprise that makes you interested in Paul Potts: he looks
so bland, and then he sings so well. If you expect him to be great,
will the clip still be great?"

The question cannot be answered. A
word-of-mouth campaign, like so many possible remedies for the ills of
the record business, feels forced. "I just don't know how else people
will see Paul Potts," Rubin said. "And I'm really glad I saw him." He
paused and looked out at the surf. "I know this sounds hard to believe,
but I never had any expectations of success," he said finally. "I knew
what I liked, and I didn't really care if anyone else liked it. I still
never assume that anyone will like anything. But I can't imagine that
they won't, either." […]

"The Music Man"
Lynn Hirschberg
New York Times
Sept. 2, 2007

B major, suspended

[…]
So, however rude and annoying Obama got in his repeated insistence that
he would not dislodge the earbuds from his senatorial ears, I felt the
strong urge to make him comfortable, happy, and part of the party.
"Tell me what kind of music you like." I said, "Maybe we have a CD
you'd prefer to the one that's playing." Obama obliged, listing six or
eight band names I'd never heard of. If only I could recall some of
them, but all I can say is that 1. they sounded like indie rock bands
and 2. they were totally unknown to me. I felt foiled.

Then I got another idea. "Let me listen to a couple of songs on your iPod, and I'll see if I have some music that I think
you would like, based on what you're listening to." Reluctantly, Obama
obliged, handing his earbuds over to me. At this point a surreal,
only-in-your-dreams moment occurred and I realized that Obama's iPod
was somehow connected to a heavy cable that trailed off into the other
room, which made it awkward to manipulate. I managed to get the earbuds
in and, to my great astonishment, I recognized the song that was
playing. Quite improbably, it was "Race for the Prize," the first track
off the Flaming Lips' CD The Soft Bulletin. I got inordinately
excited, all of the frustration and anxiety that had built up over
Obama's musical intransigence and my inability to please him melting
away in a wash of excitement. "The Flaming Lips! We listen to that
band! We have this CD!" As I disentangled myself from Obama's iPod and rushed off to put The Soft Bulletin on the CD player, my dream melted into some other scene…

"Barack Obama's iPod,"
Oral Hygiene Queen,
May 5, 2007

[…] Barack Obama said his last purchase was "probably" "Ray," the score
from the Oscar-winning movie on the life of R&B crooner Ray Charles. […]

"Prez pols' sound of music,"
Neil Graves,
New York Post,
May 10, 2007
(via stereogum)

At first listen, the Indigo Girls
don't make any sense, not for the hyper-macho world of a presidential
campaign, much less a summertime rally for a superstar like Barack Obama.
But his sound people are piping in the feminist folk duo's music anyway
to pump up a crowd of hundreds at this small-town coffee shop on the
Fourth of July. They play "Hammer and a Nail," a 1990 declaration of
female empowerment and emancipation. "You've got to tend the earth,"
the Girls sing, "if you want a rose."

Then Obama comes out, looking lithe and dashing, with his
6-year-old daughter, Sasha, in his arms. The soundtrack starts to make
sense. "I'm a sucker for girls," says the man who wants to be president.
"There is nothing more difficult than me being on the phone hearing
about their soccer game, hearing about what happened to them in school
and knowing that I am not there in the evenings to share a lot of their
life." He turns to his wife, Michelle, who is sitting nearby on a
stool. "She is smarter," he says. "She is tougher." […]

"Hillary is from Mars, Obama is from Venus,"
Michael Scherer,
Salon.com,
July 12, 2007

[…] "I'm old school, so generally, generally, I'm more of a jazz
guy, a Miles Davis, a John Coltrane guy, more of a Marvin Gaye, Stevie
Wonder kind of guy," Obama said in the interview. "But having said
that, I'm current enough that on my iPod I've got a little bit of
Jay-Z. I've got a little Beyonce." […]
 

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"Barack Obama gets name-dropped in hip-hop,"

Peter Hamby,
CNN,
August 17, 2007
"You've been in a room once in a while with a rock star. He walks into
the world, and he takes your breath away. I'd love him to be president,
quite honestly. […]"

"Clooney: Obama's Like a Rock Star,"
Colleen Barry,
Associated Press (via Washington Post),
Sept. 1, 2007

[…] Rock stars may hide behind all sorts of masks — be it makeup, a
thuggish image or an alter ego named Sasha — but when they perform,
the best of them give the audience the sense that it's witnessing a
very real part of their personality.

There's something charmingly old school about the notion of a rock
star, a larger than life character that at once seems untouchable but
also like an intimate friend. The Internet can't make a rock star — at
least not yet. Sites like YouTube
celebrate accessibility and the notion that everyone should be equally
seen and heard. Rock stars still benefit from the quaint notion that
they are more subversive, more audacious, more fearless, more sensitive
than everyone else. They speak truth to power. They speak for the
disenfranchised. They are poets. It doesn't matter that some of the
biggest stars are akin to private corporations with all the
hierarchies, for-profit motives and mainstream popularity that implies.
The myth of the rock star endures. And at some point, everyone turns into a groupie.


"For Those Who Rock, We Salute You,"

Robin Givhan,
Washington Post,
Sept. 2, 2007