Vanity Fair

Just bought their annual music issue. Gorgeous, thoughtful photos, lots to read (or at least skim). An overview of where music is right now, for many of the people we in the classical music world hope to reach.

And of course nearly all of it is pop, in all pop's striking variety. What part does classical music play? Well, look at "The Music Portfolio," starting on page 333, a kind of honor roll of musicians in 2003. First The Dixie Chicks, in a warm, arresting photo luxuriously spread over two pages. Clearly three smart women, and, above all, fine musicians -- they're glamorous enough, but also not done up extravagantly, and focused, in this photo, on their instruments, banjo, fiddle, and guitar.

Then Perry Farrell, who's back with Jane's Addiction after many years out of the spotlight, an arresting dandy. Then Bette Midler, timeless, playful, elegant, relaxed. Then Jimmy Scott…80 years old? Suave in a tux, waving a cigarette while he gestures. What a presence! 

You look at these people, and you want to hear their music. You almost can hear it, just from looking at the photos. There's a wonderful shot of Elvis Costello and Diana Krall, she standing by a grand piano in a luxurious living room (or that's what it looks like), him lying on the piano, his head on her shoulder, his hand touching hers. Two of the happiest people in the world, you'd think, head over heels in love. And, of course, musicians of serious stature, which makes the photo all the more delightful.

Turn the page, and there's another photo that almost gave me chills -- Robbie Robertson and, white-bearded, Ronnie Hawkins! If you don't know the story, it's just wonderful. In the '50s, Hawkins, a rockabilly guy from Arkansas, got big in Canada, and used to tour there with a group drawn from both Canada and the American south. Robertson, only 15, joined the band as a guitarist. Some years down the road, the musicians who played with Hawkins went out on their own, eventually calling themselves The Band, and the rest is history, as they became one of the most deeply satisfying (and musically deep) rock bands ever to play. Robertson became something of a music intellectual -- and here he is, nearly 50 years down this road, still great friends with the very different, completely non-intellectual man who started him off!

But wait. Classical music? There are two classical entries in this happy pantheon. Anna Netrebko, first, soprano and glamour queen, heavily pushed by her record company, Deutsche Grammophon, walking down a hallway, looking almost like an old-time movie star in a striking, deliberately grainy black and white photo. And Juan Diego Florez, the terrific Rossini tenor, in a double-page spread that made me almost laugh out load. He's on a European beach, compact and dapper in a white shirt (linen, I'd guess) and shorts. Behind him are beach chairs and beach umbrellas, echoing the sky in blue and white, and on the right of the photo, a crowd in bathing suits has gathered to look at him. And maybe he's been singing -- at the front of the crowd is an older woman, grinning, with her hand cupped to her ear.

What a delight to see this! But there's one sadness. Florez, too, is heavily pushed by DG, and while there's nothing wrong with either him or Netrebko, what we have here is a portfolio of widely diverse pop figures, some trendy, some not, joined by two heavily promoted classical flavors of the year. Again, no disrespect to Florez or Netrebko -- but classical music has its own survivors, its own long-time figures of total class and integrity, its own Robbie Robertsons, Bette Midlers, Perry Farrells, Jimmy Scotts, and Elvis Costellos. Why not get them in Vanity Fair? Why do the editors use their own fine judgment when they assemble pop greats, and then, in classical music, take their cue from the publicity machine?