Wednesday night was opening night for Washington National Opera’s production of Handel’s Tamerlano. The Playbill claims that all of the tickets to this baroque opera are sold, but that doesn’t mean that it was a full house. By the beginning of Act Three it was obvious that there had been a sizable exodus—due no doubt to the role of Tamerlano, which was originally performed by an alto castrato and performed last night by countertenor David Daniels (pictured above).

Daniels is impressive in this role, but the high-pitched countertenor sound is odd to modern ears. (I swear I heard some muffled giggles when he was doing his trills in the third act; perhaps some of these folks were remembering Adam Sandler’s Operaman character from Saturday Night Live.) Let’s just say that bass-baritone Andrew Foster-Williams—who plays Leone, the smallest of the opera’s six roles—brought some much-needed heft.

In Sunday’s Washington Post, Jason Cherkis checks in again with Jack Carneal, the Malian music enthusiast and label owner of Baltimore’s Yaala Yaala.

Cherkis and I tackled Carneal’s first trio of recordings almost a year ago in City Paper (“Griot Grand” and “Interview with Jack Carneal”).

Now Carneal’s got a fourth Yaala Yaala disc, a self-titled release from Yoro Sidibe, a Malian hunter and musician who is “around 70.” The album came out last week.

According to Drag City, the Chicago label that distributes Yaala Yaala, “the grooves are as uplifting as any pep talk could be. They’re low and hypnotic — and after an hour of them shaking and rattling, you too will be loose and ready for what may.”

Given that there’s no music on Yaala Yaala’s MySpace page, we’ll just have to take their word for it.

A friend just pointed out this post from Jessica Hopper’s blog, in which the blacklist-happy music writer goes after Chicago black-metal band Nachtmystium. The problem? Well, Hopper thinks they’re racist and homophobic.

Now, I loved Nachtmystium’s last album from 2006, an arty slab of psychedelic metal called Instinct: Decay. But I don’t go around doing due diligence on every band I like, so I’d never read any interviews in which frontman Blake Judd uses questionable language, or expresses questionable ideas.

But I decided to Google Nachtmystium and “Zionist conspiracy” and got nothing but Hopper’s blog. (Googling “Nachtmystium” and “Zionist” gets you here.) I didn’t bother with the f-word, because it seems clear enough that the guy is upset with message board lurkers, not, um, gay people.

Now, I’m not going to condone what Judd said, but, if Hopper’s going to call out poor Stephin Merritt for not liking rap, then perhaps she will understand that–as Faulkner once said about the South–some of us like despite, not because of.

In this week’s New Yorker, staff writer Burkhard Bilger has a good article about American folk music. It’s not online, but it’s worth seeking out.

Not only does he interview Frederick, MD’s Joe Bussard, a 78 collector who has been the subject of several Washington City Paper features (Eddie Dean’s and Andrew Beaujon’s), but he also makes some worthwhile points about American folk music and its pursuit (whether by collectors or those making field recordings).

Most interesting to me—especially having grown up around adults who, in the ‘70s and ‘80s, were still in the thrall of the fifties folk revival—is how many of those musicians, such as Robert Johnson, who—especially since the ‘60s—has been written about in mythical, almost god-like terms, owe their legend to serendipity.

Bilger writes:

“Fame in folk music can be less a matter of talent than of opportunity, [down-to-Earth folk revivalist Art Rosenbaum] said. People talk about the Delta blues because Charley Patton and Robert Johnson were from Mississippi. But if H.C. Speir hadn’t opened his music store in Jackson we might talk about Georgia Blues instead.”

And then there’s the whole issue of authenticity—finding artists untouched by the modern world. This is like manna for folk-hunters. (When Leadbelly came to New York, Bilger writes, noted folklorist John Lomax “told him to put on prison stripes.”) But Bilger notes that even some of ye olde biggies might not stand up to present-day standards:

“When John Lomax first recorded the blues, the genre was newer than hip-hop is today, and both Leadbelly and Robert Johnson learned songs from records.”

None of this invalidates a good song (and Johnson, especially, wrote quite a few), but it would seem to invalidate the collecting and compiling concept that anything that’s old and, um, folky is worth transferring and cleaning up. Some recordings you’ve never heard of because they just weren’t very good.

Ben Sisario’s NYT article about indie record stores was quite a bummer, but Sasha Frere-Jones blog post from last Friday got me thinking that the demise of 3,100 record stores since 2003 isn’t such a bad thing.

SFJ writes: “There are many educating angels out there, and I owe several kind people a lifetime’s tuition, but, good Lord, record-store employees can be grumpy. And scary. And insulting. And make you feel like never ever going into a store again. And that’s relevant.”

It is relevant. We’ve all had these High Fidelity-type experiences and if you think of this stuff in small business terms–as opposed to cultural terms–it’s especially baffling.

I certainly don’t welcome the demise of record stores, but here are some questions to think about, once again in small business terms…

Will the stores that are left over have to work much harder for your money?

Will they have to do things to differentiate themselves from the vast resources of the internet?

Will they be much happier to see you walk through the door?

I think the answer to all three is ‘yes.’ Is this a tragedy? Not at all.

Baltimore gets “Best Scene” in the new Rolling Stone “Best of Rock” issue. Does this mean that the Baltimore scene is officially over?

Yesterday, in the A-section, the Washington Post ran an article about DJ Kool Herc and his efforts to save the Bronx apartment building in which he invented hip-hop back in 1973.

The developer who is trying to buy the building, where DJ Kool Herc spun in the rec room, would, presumably, turn it into something other than a hip-hop museum.

DJ Kool Herc is going to hold a fundraiser to help the tenants buy the building themselves. But wouldn’t this be the perfect acquisition for some hip-hop mogul? I mean, Lexus, shmexus. Who needs another hot tub when you can own the building where it all started? Am I right?

Los Angeles Times‘ Patrick Goldstein seems to think so. Of course, what he’s really talking about is consumer criticism–telling people how to spend their time and money.

I tend to agree more with Robert Christgau, who says–and I’m paraphrasing here–rock criticism isn’t for fans of rock music, it’s for fans of rock criticism.

I know. I know. It’s only April. Way too early to be making predictions about Album of the Year. Plus, it’s a metal record we’re talkin’ about and few will believe that a metal record–even a really catchy, accessible metal record–could ever be, you know, the record. (Those who already worship this album should just go check out the most genius thing on the Internet.)

But it must be said, just so I can say, I told you so: Torche’s Meanderthal, which came out on Tuesday, is this year’s album to beat. Even with its inappropriate title, Where the Wild Things Are cover art, and Heavy Metal Parking Lot lyrics (on “Across the Shield, Steve Brooks sings, “Impalin’ every born knight/Raidin’, pierced the hole, rite”), this album does more, aesthetically, and does it better than anything else I’ve heard this year, or last year.

Seriously.

You can hear Meanderthal here.

People don’t seem to get this, so let’s put it in cable-television terms: the reason that album sales are down is because albums used to be a monopoly of sorts (like cable packages) and once consumers had the option to pick-and-choose the songs they like, overall sales went down (which is why some stations like CBN lobby to keep these packages in place). It’s protectionism. And no protectionism equals lower sales. Which is why I agree with Rick Rubin: You gotta get the art right.