Leonard Feather's excellent article ("Singing the Grammy Blues," March 3) pointed up once again the attitude of the people responsible for the show's content toward jazz and classical music.
Clearly, the Grammy Awards program has deteriorated into nothing more than a commercial enterprise, aimed solely at record buyers, with little or no respect for the great throng of classical and jazz artists, who, because they do not generally sell thousands of cartons of "product," are considered unimportant and therefore not worthy of exposure on "The Grammy Show."
Perhaps it's time for two Grammy Award programs--one cast in the same mold as this year's and another devoted to the symphony and jazz recipients. In short, how about a little balance in the music universe?
Torme won jazz vocal Grammys in 1982 and '83.
I've been perusing the new Filmex schedule, and it certainly demonstrates the wisdom of replacing Gary Essert.
It's finally become the kind of exclusive Westside event we've always hoped for: six bucks a shot, Mafia parking fees, smaller number of films, an opening night Gala of a nice little film we saw five months ago in Europe . . . and no "discount series" for ragged apartment dwellers.
It goes to show what can happen when a Responsible Management Team (RMT) takes over the show. With our luck, though, some new Gary Essert will pop up and organize a competing festival with low prices, unsettling films, a staff of Hollywood misfits. . . .
But not to worry, it will be nothing that another RMT can't turn into a fashionable showcase for us glitteratti.
Can you tell me why is it that when people are openly gay, such as the boys in Bronski Beat, they are labeled as "militant" (Record Rack review, by Richard Cromelin, Feb. 17). I do not hear anything militant concerning Jimmy Sommerville's gutsy "I got those need-a-man blues" plea.
What I hear is a cry for something that all people want: closeness and tenderness with another human being. When will people get it in their heads that all people, gay or straight, want the same things in life: to love, to be loved and to be happy.
Tell me, Mr. Cromelin, when Lionel Richie croons "she's three times a lady," is he being militantly heterosexual?
Loosen up, Richard, and open your eyes. This is the '80s.
DAVID ISRAEL ARMENDARIZ
In "Shooting 'Eleni'--Can the Truth Survive Its Wounds?" (by Donald Chase, Feb. 24), screenwriter Steve Tesich states that he has not only made many cuts in order to compress a more-than-600-page book into screen running-time--that's understandable--but, conversely, has also "invented certain situations and scenes that now comprise one-third of the script."
One of these "inventions" was so phony that even original author Nicholas Gage's wife was turned off. Tesich's cop-out defense?
"I'm fulfilling an obligation to myself as an artist, following my honest, intuitive feelings about how I would react in a similar situation."
This doesn't wash, however; no wonder Gage fears "for the emotional authenticity of the movie." Instead of Tesich worrying about his obligation to himself, let him worry about his obligation to the truth.
DAVID R. MOSS
TONES & TRENDS
What's goten into Calendar lately? I picked it up March 3 and neither Prince, Bruce, Exeene or Boy George were on the cover. Instead, your cover subject was Natalia Makarova. The week before it was the cultural boycott of South Africa. The week prior to that it was Glenn Close and Mandy Patinkin (or is it Mandy Potemkin?)
Who will you have on the cover next? Fredrica Von Stade? Phillip Glass? Laurie Anderson? Has Martin Bernheimer ransomed the first born of all of the Calendar staffers? (Put Handel on the cover next week or your kids will all be placed into Swiss boarding schools.)
Keep up the good taste. Who says that L.A. has no high culture? Join the Calendar Culture Club. The dues are the cost of this newspaper and the ability to hum Mozart's Jupiter Symphony in the shower.
ONE TRACK MIND
I don't know why you continue to publish the meanderings of Joyce Sunila ("Disappointing in Love," March 3). The woman is obviously wacko. She is on permanent emotional tilt. She seems to be angry with Gillian Armstrong for not turning "Mrs. Soffel" into a feminist tract.
Sunila apparently would like Mrs. Soffel in 1900 to possess the smoldering, frustrated rage of today's most ardent feminist. Sunila decries Mrs. Soffel's lack of "special inner fire" and "vast confusion" as motives for her actions.
Sunila is totally blind to any viewpoint that doesn't match her own preconceived notions of what should make a woman tick. She plain and simply cannot accept that any woman would act this way out of love, sympathy, compassion and, yes--sexual attraction.