Friday, June 14, 2013

Building Epiphanies

I finished my little summer break recently, and have started teaching again. For those who don't know, I teach private cello lessons. It's often kind challenging, and you have to be a little bit careful about well meaning but over bearing mothers who are making their kids do a thousand and one different extra-curricular activities, but... it's a lot of fun. At least, it is to me. I know other people who hate it, which makes me wonder why they're doing it. I mean, ok, money, but come on. The money isn't that good in private teaching. If you chose private teaching to make lots of money, well. You chose poorly.

Early on in my blogging, I wrote a couple of times about a book called "How People Learn." I thought it was a good book while reading it, but I'm convinced it's actually a great one. That's because I took some of the principles laid out in the book and used them in my lessons. The impact was immediate and profound. When you see a student's bow grip and bow stroke change dramatically for the better, and when even the student realizes they've hit on something good because they can feel and hear the difference, then you know you've got a winner.

All in all, they were some phenomenal lessons. When I did my post-teaching debriefing with myself (where I ask myself what I did well, what I did poorly, what was ok but could have done better, what I missed, etc.), I spent a lot of time thinking about what went right. Clearly, a lot of it came from the book, but there was something that happened that the book didn't cover very much. The students all had, within the lesson, epiphanous moments. Ah-ha moments. And I realized during my debriefing that those moments, while not consciously engineered, were not accidents either.

Either that, or we were terrifically, miraculously lucky.

Here's what I think happened.

The Will to Power
One of the biggest points "How People Learn" makes is, you don't teach the facts, you teach the principle. If you teach the principle, the facts will make sense and come naturally on their own. That's basically what the whole book is about, actually, and how to approach that fact of learning/teaching. I have puzzled over what the principles of movement are since I wrote about that particular pedagogical problem. Talking with numerous friends and a few teachers, here is what I have come up with.

1. Strength is highest in your core (torso), decreases as you move away from the core, and is lowest at the periphery (feet and hands). This is pretty easy to observe, actually. The muscles in your hand are far smaller than even the muscles in your forearm.
2. Strength is not the same as tension, and tension must be balanced: too loose, and you'll drop your bow; too tense, and you will hurt yourself.
3. Finally, movement starts from the muscles you activate and moves outward. If the movement starts from the wrist, the hand will move; from the forearm, the wrist and hand and fingers. etc.

The principle at work is thus quite simple: effective and relaxed movement starts from strength (the core) and radiates outward; but in order for that strength to be leveraged, it must be channeled. Too little tension, and the strength dissipates, too much and the strength is blocked. While not strictly part of the above principle, it should be noted that twisting (torque) is more effective than pushing (force), and that we should strive to gain mechanical advantage (give me a large enough lever and a fulcrum, and I can move the world) wherever we can.

Learning Bug in the Teaching Web
Once I had settled on the principle, I set about trying to teach it. But I didn't start with the principle, as the book tended to suggest. I instead hid the principle at the center of discussion, and led my students around the periphery, covering a wide variety of apparently unrelated problems. I did a number of the tricks in the book: Socratic method; teasing out assumptions; testing assumptions rather than simply correcting them; creating hypotheses and testing those. Those were all quite effective.

But then, slowly, gradually, I led my student towards the actual issue, the thing that tied everything together. When we got there, a most fascinating thing happened: an epiphany. And not just a random one, either! In teaching, we don't want to rely on chance... Natural epiphanies can be enlightening, but they are rather flighty birds, to be sure. No, this epiphany was instinctively (or accidentally) constructed. As soon as the principle became clear, the student went: "Oh. Oooooh!"

Thinking about what an epiphany is should make it quite obvious that this was the most natural reaction in the world. An epiphany is simply the sudden realization that a number of unrelated facts or problems are all related by an underlying idea. And that's exactly what we made. Epiphanies. The best part? Epiphanies are some of the most powerful aids to memory we can come across. It is very difficult to forget something that comes in the form of an epiphany. In its most extreme form, think of religious conversion. Now scale it back to earthly levels, and that's exactly what we've got.

Now go out and make some epiphanies happen!

Daily Recommendation
As usual, I have a couple of pieces in keeping with the theme. The first is a little piece by Claude Debussy called "Dr. Gradus ad Parnassum." The title alludes to what is perhaps the first musical text book in Europe, "Gradus ad Parnassum" by Johann Joseph Fux. The book is a series of exercises in counterpoint (the art of writing one melody against another), and was studied by a Haydn, Beethoven, and Mozart, among many others.

The second is the 4th movement of Mozart's Symphony 41. It, too, allegedly uses a motive found in Fux's text, but uses it brilliantly in a 5 voice fugetta (little fugue) featuring four themes all more or less at the same time.

Claude Debussy: "Dr. Gradus ad Parnassum," from the Children's Corner Suite.
Amadeus Mozart: Symphony 41, K. 551* 4th movement.

*Mozart's works were written before number works with an opus number was common. His pieces were all catalogued by 19th century scholar Ludwig von Köchel. Hence the "K." Like K-mart. Except klassier.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Composer Composting

Yesterday, I had a great time listening to and playing at a festival commemorating the cello teacher Lev Aronson. Here is a picture of me being awesome:


Yeah, look at that hottie. I'd totally jump his bones. Wait. No. Ew.

The event, as far as I could tell, was hugely successful. Despite the country music you hear at their page, the All Good Cafe was absolutely packed with customers. So everybody knows, yesterday's performance was part of a larger festival given in honor of Lev Aronson, a week long cello fest which will be recurring every year. I think that's pretty amazing, really.

All of the cellists were amazing. It was great hearing so many talented players all in one spot. There was, however, something which niggled at my brain while I was listening. It wasn't until I played near the end that I figured out what was bothering me: I was the only one who played any new music. Granted, it was mine, but still. We heard Vivaldi, Handel, Popper, Lee, Cassadó... But nothing from the 21st century.

So! I will rant a bit about that! What's going on, here? It's a problem I know I've touched on, before. The reasons why new classical music doesn't get performed regularly are multifaceted and complicated. I'll talk today about my experience in college, and maybe some people out there will recognize that experience and set about changing it in what ways they can.

The Great Gulf
In music school, there were two groups of people. Performers. And composers. Performers didn't compose. Composers didn't perform. There were also subtle undertones of "Four legs good, two legs bad" syndrome. People on both sides had a slight tendency to look down their noses across the aisle. It's like... When you're at a wedding. And the wife's side of the family doesn't entirely approve of the husband, and the husband's side of the family really isn't all to sure about it either, but it's a wedding so they're forced to more or less put up with each other... It was like that. And I know, from playing in the orchestra, that when student orchestration readings came up, there was often a slight tension in the air, as if some number of the musicians felt rather put upon.

I can only speculate as to how things got this way. Surely the fact that the two sides have become so distinct from each other is part of the problem. Composers, of course, play an instrument. But in my time, I never really saw too many composers compose for themselves, or groups they had created. And performers almost 100% never wrote any music. Most of that has to do with perceived ability, I imagine. Our current school system goes to great lengths to try and stamp out creativity where it can, and it leaves a lot of wounded souls in its wake. "I can't compose" is a phrase I heard not entirely infrequently.

Part of me is tempted to say "You mean, 'you won't compose.'" But... That is somewhat inaccurate and certainly callous. Mental blocks, as I wrote about yesterday, can be incredibly powerful, and it is foolish to imagine that something that is "all in your head" shouldn't have an impact in the physical world. Placebos, for example. Well, it's even more pronounced when it comes to creative endeavors. So there's that.

But there's also something else. There's very little music theory in high school programs, and none in middle school. Insofar as some amount of music theory is helpful for composing, it's perhaps also true the "I can't compose" line comes as much from ignorance as it does from self esteem. So there's that as well.

Building Jeff Bridges
The simplest way to start is to simply connect. Shake hands, make friends, grab a beer. Think back in the past how many pieces were written with specific performers in mind. Benjamin Britten for Peter Pears. Mozart for Anton Stadler. Haydn for Esterhazy. Brahms and Joachim. Etc. Etc. Etc. The list goes on and on. Collaborate. All the great composers of the past did, so should you.

Also, composers: Write for yourself. There is no easier way to get immediate feedback about what works and what doesn't than if you write something you can play, and go out and play it. The best part about it is, you don't have to pay for rehearsals. And performers: well... Try and break out of your shells a little bit. Write a short song. Or something in simple binary. Or a fugue or something. Whatever you want. It doesn't matter if you never perform it. Just getting into the composing mind set will help you understand music in ways you never get when you are just studying it for performance, or for theory. It's amazing how it clarifies things.

Recommendations of the Day
Today, I want to highlight a couple of the collaborations I noted above. In particular, Brahms' Violin Concerto and Britten's Serenade for Tenor, Horn, and Strings. Brahms wrote the violin concerto for Joseph Joachim, a great violinist from the 19th century, and the Serenade was written for Peter Pears, an absolutely phenomenal tenor. Both are somewhat long. If you're strapped for time, the Dirge from the Serenade will knock you flat, and the last movement of the Violin Concerto will pick you up again.

Benjamin Britten: Serenade for Tenor, Horn, and Strings, op.31
Johannes Brahms: Violin Concerto, op. 77

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Be Excellent to Each Other

There's still debate among researchers as to whether or not music is an evolutionary accident that arose alongside language, or if it music provides some kind of evolutionary advantage to humans. I'm sure the question is important in an academic sense, in that the answer might help determine how to research music in the future, but for our purposes the question is entirely irrelevant. All that matters here is that music is an incredibly powerful mode of human communication.

To that end, I have given thought to musicians connecting with people in times of need. Whether it's a few symphony players alleviating boredom during a long flight delay, flying halfway around the world to play for a grieving friend, or something as simple as volunteering time at a retirement home, music can often help make other people's lives better. Not just because of the music, although that certainly counts for something, but because the music is being given by an actual, honest to gosh human being.

However, I will admit to having felt a powerful mental lock recently, one which I wish hadn't been an issue but was for a number of reasons. So it's about to get personal up in here.

The Game of Life
The Game of Life is one of the worst board games you will ever come across. It's truly awful. One way it is awful is, they forgot to put in the explosions and tornadoes. I mean, if you're going to have the game of "life," you might as well go all the way. I am referencing two recent events in particular: the refinery explosion in West, Texas; and the recent rash of tornadoes up in North Texas and Oklahoma.

Now, I will admit, these events seemed about as far away from the topic of music as you can get. And yet, when I heard about the West, Texas explosion and the tornadoes, and kept hearing about their impact on the radio, I began to think that these people are among those who not only want music because of a basic human drive to create and listen to it, but actively need it. That while the human support they receive in the form of money, clothes, food and shelter are all critical, there existed an existential need that only be met by art or religion. Funny how those two things always seem to be closely linked, eh?

Anyways. I had that thought, epiphany even, and was just about to grab my cello and jump in the car when I had just about the worst case of the "What If's" I have ever had in my life.

What if I can't find a place to stay?
What if it's still dangerous out there?
What if I can't find a place to play?
What if they don't want me there?
What if it's inappropriate or presumptuous?
What if... What if... What if...?

I have to say, the What If's literally paralyzed my brain, and all action stopped, and I reluctantly went back to my routine. The frustration was enormous. Here I was, being prevented from helping in a way that is rather unique to trained musicians, and I was being stonewalled by a list of What If questions that all simply didn't matter. Granted, it was a five hour drive or whatever. Granted, I am an introvert to the extreme. Granted, some of the questions actually did matter. But whatever was standing in my way was equally unimportant. I had the opportunity to help, and I didn't.

Let It Be
In my usual way, I was pretty hard on myself for a while, but I calmed down pretty quick to do what I do best: think. It gradually occurred to me that stories about musical charity contributions were all rather exceptional. Not even in the way of "Rostropovich flew halfway around the world to play for his friend," kind of exceptional. Just the act itself was rather uncommon. Sure, you have musicians who put together benefit programs for charities or relief funds, but those are largely unattended by the people who were actually affected (I'm guessing, here, but I assume if you don't have food or a house, you're pretty off in a bad way as far as finances).

So thinking back, I found the other events that plagued me with What Ifs. They were: the first time I asked a girl out; going to college; and my first solo performances. In other words, they were all things which I had no experience with. And music as a charitable act was something I simply wasn't exposed to. It didn't even occur to me until my 26th year that it was something to do just because it's something you just... do.

Know people who need help? Play music for them. It's not bread, it's not a roof over their head, but they'll know in their bones that they're truly not alone.

The Daily Dose
Today I shall recommend some elegiac music. Fauré's Elegie for Cello and Piano is quite wonderful, but if you want something to truly knock your socks off, listen to Arvo Pärt's "Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten." Never has a scale been played with such emotion.

Gabriel Fauré: Elegie for Cello and Piano, op.24
Arvo Pärt: Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten

(If you're wondering why I don't link directly to a performance, just remember one word: copyright. And Google. Ok. Two words, I guess.)

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Art is Not Just Art

Continuing my musings about building societal value in music, I come to an interesting point: Music, art in general, is not just music and art. It's also a service. Now, I personally hope that we can come to an age where music is learned just because music is awesome and fun. But the reality right now is, we have politicians who are deciding whether it is worth the budget space to fund music programs in schools across the country, and those politicians need "reasons" for music to be included. Especially in a culture which highly prizes its standardized testing, and is constantly giving weight to that which is testable and 'objective,' the arts tend to get shafted. How do you test music or art? How do you test its impact on the life of a person? You can't. Not really, because those values are totally subjective, holistic, and multifaceted. There is no multiple choice answer to the question "How has music made your life better?"

A. It lets me socialize with my peer group.
B. It helps me form my own identity distinct from other people.
C. It helps me learn how to regulate my emotions.
D. It lets me communicate with my grandmother who has Alzheimer's.

The list goes on, but "all the above" doesn't cut it because music is everything for everyone, and everyone has different issues, and you can't just say "This is the right answer. Oh, music helped you form a social life? Wrong, the correct answer was 'Music helped you regulate your emotions.'"

However! There are, of course, numerous benefits to music, both listening and performing. Granted, many of these benefits are merely correlations, as we find in the Dana Arts and Cognition Consortium. Things like art relating to increase in sustained attention, geometrical representation, long term memory, etc. They are careful to note these are not yet causally related, but that's why they exist. To help draw research attention to these correlations for further study.

Music Therapy
Music in the realm of medicine has been increasingly validated by science. I admit, when I first heard of "music therapy," I was pretty skeptical. It sounds awfully similar to a lot of snake oils we've had in the past. But then I started reading. Alleviating Alzheimer's has already been noted. But there are numerous other benefits as well. Everything from helping depression and bipolar, to speech and even movement therapy.

Oh man. Speech and movement therapy. Let me tell you about that. Paraphrasing from Oliver Sacks' book "Musicophilia": A patient, Samuel S., developed severe aphasia following a stroke. Regular speech therapy produced no results even after two years. Then, a music therapist heard him singing "Old Man River," though only managing one or two words of the lyrics. The therapist worked with him to recover the rest of the song, and soon other songs followed. After two months, Samuel was able to make short answers to questions.

Also from Oliver Sacks' "Musicophilia," regarding movement therapy: An old lady required surgery for her hip, which required a long period of immobilization, both before the surgery and after. However, even after recovery, the leg remained apparently paralyzed, with no obvious cause. Upon questioning, Sacks found that the patient's leg responded to movement while listening to Irish jigs. Wondering if, perhaps, dance music could help, they went through jig after jig, march after march, for weeks. At the end of it all, she had totally regained the movement in her leg.

The Usual Disclaimers
It should be noted, Oliver Sacks' book is filled with the extraordinary. It may be we cannot expect such phenomenal results from every person who needs therapy of one kind or another. However, research continues to show the benefits of music for people recovering from stroke, or suffering from Parkinson's or Alzheimer's.

The ultimate point is, music is not just music. Art is not just art. These activities have benefits beyond just the pleasure of doing them (which is, in itself, quite a motivation for including these activities in your life). One day, we will understand that we do art just for the sake of doing art. Until then, we should strive to remind everyone we can that there are powerful justifications for the inclusion of the arts in any educational program, and beyond.

Recommendations of the Day
I think I should recommend something in line with today's article. To that end, I highly suggest, almost demand, that you put Beethoven's Heiliger Dankgesang into your life. It is longish, about 15-20 minutes or so, but you will not regret it. The piece itself is a "Song of Thanksgiving," and is dedicated as such: "A Convalescent's Holy Song of Thanksgiving to the Divinity." This was written after a long period of illness, and is phenomenal in every respect.

Heiliger Dankgesang, Beethoven String Quartet op*. 135, 3rd movement**

*Opus. Meaning "Work."
** Longer compositions are often divided into units which are simply called "movements." A typical symphony, say by Mozart, has four movements. It might be helpful to think of them as chapters in a book.

Monday, June 10, 2013

Lead by Teaching

Tickets are boughten, bags are packed, we're on the train to Valuetown. Classical musicians and music lovers have an instinctive feeling that classical music is valuable. However, we can't just assume that other people will see it in the same way, not least because the forms and harmonies which structure classical music often sound foreign and unintelligible to people who aren't used to them. So of course, some amount of teaching is assumed, even if I don't personally believe that an audience member needs to know everything going on in classical music to enjoy it.

It's like... When The Simpsons was in its prime, did people stop liking it even when they didn't get all of the multitudinous obscure or downright esoteric jokes? No. There was plenty of stuff for everybody to hang onto. But oh how you felt good when you got one of the jokes none of your friends got. It's like that.

Still, musical education in general is something we find missing in a lot of people's lives, whether it is classical or not. So lets look into some ways we can leverage what students we have to help create more societal value in what we do.

Disclaimer
Not everybody is a teacher. Oh wow, is this ever true. If you don't like teaching, if you don't want to teach, if you can't teach water out of a plastic cup, then don't. There are far too many good/great teachers who aren't being utilized because the pay is generally too low... but that doesn't mean the gap should be filled with terrible ones. Just because you can play doesn't mean you can teach, and if you really, honestly can't, just... do what you're good at, and play awesome concerts. Trust me when I say, everyone will be much happier that way.

First, Teach by Leading
It's not enough to be a teacher if you don't know what the heck you're talking about. Like, I could have a PhD in Physics, but that doesn't make me qualified to teach a high school English course. That makes me qualified to teach a college physics course. Should be obvious, right? Well, apparently it's not obvious to some school districts which require teachers to have a master's degree, but don't require a degree in the subject you're going to end up teaching.

Like, I don't know...Imagine you're reading Grapes of Wrath, and your teacher suddenly says, "A train leaves west from station A at 45mph, and a train moves east from station B at 30mph. If station A and station B are 400 miles apart, how long will it take the Joad family to find work in California?"

Trick question. They never find work in California.

Wait, what was I saying? Right. Teach by leading. Don't just teach your students. Play for them. As often as you can. Show them that you know what you're about and that you mean business. It's amazing how quickly you earn respect that way.

Then, Lead by Teaching
So now you have a bunch loyal minions. I mean, students. What do you do? You tell them about all of your concerts. More specifically, you tell their parents about all of your concerts. This achieves a number of things. First, it puts some bodies in the seats. This is important because ticket sales.

But just as importantly, you're filling your audience with people who are slowly learning how to listen to music at a higher level. The students not only get to see you strut your stuff, but they also get to hear their own learning. Over time, they start hearing more and more from pieces they thought they knew. They start to get Haydn's inside jokes. They start to hear why Claire de Lune isn't just sparkly vampires.

They of course fail to pick up on the subtle subliminal messages put in by the Mozartian Masonites and, much later, by the Schoenbergian Fraternity of Tonebros, but that's all according to plan. If they knew what they were really listening to, it wouldn't work.

Finally, Play Music with your Students
You know what's awesome? When a teacher you really respect works with you on what is being taught/learned. It can be as complex or as simple as necessary. But there's something really cool about that kind of collaboration. Suddenly, you don't feel like just a student, and you aren't just a teacher. You're two people doing what people have been doing for tens of thousands of years. Making art. And ultimately, isn't that what's really important?

I mean, besides the pay check.

Friday, June 7, 2013

Valuetown

I'm going to spin a riff off of yesterday's post. Yesterday was about going out to less competitive waters. Today is about something different, but related. I'm going to talk about building value.

One of the critical problems we classical musicians are facing is, people don't value our stuff. Oh, they may say they value our stuff, but similar to the way Congressional representatives will say they value education, their spending habits don't match what they claim. If we are to move forward, we will have to change people's minds about classical music, and start to build value in the eyes of our customers. We must appear to be musicians worth spending money on.

Valuetown

I'm not going to be shy. I play Magic the Gathering. I know, what a huge nerdy thing to do, right? Well, yes. But it's also incredibly good for your brain in so many ways. I just wish the players in general were a little more socially graceful. And bathed.

That's beside the point. The point is, players who play Magic for a living (or attempt to) talk about "getting value." What they mean is, they spend X amount of resources, and they get X+Y amount of resources back. I will grant, this is an incredibly important definition of value. I'm going to talk about it sometime. I just want to make clear: if this is your concept of value, that's not what I'm talking about at the moment.

The value I'm talking about this post is, other people view your profession as something worth spending time and money on. A plumber is valued because he knows how to fix pipes. A banker is valued because they safehold your money against theft (in theory), and provide other convenient services along the way, like loans and such. Etc. Etc. Etc. You get the idea.

Right now, us classical musicians have a bit of a problem. I talked earlier about building a new audience, as well as audience retention. What we have now is, we retain audiences fairly well. Our fans are quite dedicated and devoted, to the point where some are vociferous about classical music being "the only music worth listening to." Which is wrong, but hey, I love the enthusiasm. If we're going to build an audience, then we're going to have to build value in other people's lives. We can't just play music, we have to make our job something essential, something that can't be replaced by anything else.

Whistle While We Work

One of the first issues we need to address is the idea people have in their heads that musicians "just happen." Not that they don't think we practice. Just that they don't realize how much we practice. The problem here is one of visibility. Audiences only ever see the concerts, the end product. But unlike a regular product where people have a strong idea of "well, people put in five 9-5 days a week to produce this," they don't have as strong an idea of "those musicians practice 4 hours a day on top of 3 hour long rehearsals... plus driving time. Oh, and they teach."

This is really simple to fix. It's mostly an educational problem. The easiest way is to just acknowledge the work you put in. Another, perhaps better, way is to sell tickets to open rehearsals. That way, audience members can see first hand how work intensive a rehearsal is. Still more is to make sure music programs are available to as many students as possible, because it's one thing for a parent to be told "we put in 3-4 hours a day," and quite another for that parent to actually experience. Not that young students should put in 3-4 hours a day, not at all. Just that even listening to their kids struggle through 30 minutes of practice will help make the practice WE do that much more clearly difficult.

There's more we can do, of course, but I will stop here for now.

Till Next Week

Well, the weekend is upon us again, which means you and I will part company for two whole days. T.T In the meantime, I am going to start ending with music recommendations. Before I get to that, though, I'm going to shout-out Kristin Center's project again, because it's pretty awesome, and you should donate money to it because it's awesome. Oh, and also because if you don't, Schoenberg's Fraternity of Tonebros will know. And, just to make the threat clear, the Tonebros are a branch of the Masonites, who themselves are a large subsection of the Illuminati. Just saying, your donation is a choice, but... if you don't, we're going to have another Great Recession on our hands. Your call.

Recommendation of the Day
Disclaimer: due to copyright reasons, I will not link directly to any recording I recommend. But you have this wonderful thing called "Google." You put what you're looking for in, and what your looking for pops out. It's like magic. Or magnets. Or both.

Beethoven Cello Sonata #3, op.* 69**
Mendelssohn Songs without Words: any, but especially op.* 30

*op. is short for "opus," which means "work." Very large works like symphonies were given their own opus number. Shorter pieces were usually collected into groups, and provided an opus number for the collection. This helps differentiate between pieces of the same name, as well as giving a somewhat chronological ordering. In this case, there are 48 or so "Songs without Words," in 8 groups of 6. The opus number lets you know which your are listening to in relation to the rest.

**(pfffpffpfpfpfpf)

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Open Waters

Open Waters was a terrible movie that you've never heard of. Don't watch it. It's bad. Instead of watching that, you should check out Kristin Center's Kickstarter project. It's about music and bees. Well, rather, using music to help increase awareness of certain social/environmental problems that we are facing. In this case, bees. It's a pretty cool project, with or without the bees. Music has long been used as a vehicle for social ideas and ideals, whether it's Wager's Gesamtkunstwerk in art, Shostakovich's private rebellion against dictatorship and authoritarianism, or Schoenberg's revolutionary ideals in the emancipation of dissonance. In fact, it is difficult to find any composer whose music doesn't put forth some social idea or another. Even Cage, or rather especially Cage, was putting forth a social and personal ideal when he was using chance procedures to create his music.

All of this is very interesting. You could spend a whole tenure writing about this idea. But it gets academic rather quickly. Instead, I want to talk about a different aspect of Kristin's project that we can abstract and extract for ourselves. This is where the open waters come in.

Bloody Oceans, Blue Oceans

I read some time ago a business book titled "Blue Ocean Strategy." The book itself is not so great. The idea, however, is quite relevant to the problems we face in Classical Music. The central idea was, there are two kinds of markets (sitting on extremes across from each other, of course): bloody oceans and blue oceans. Bloody oceans are markets where there is intense, vociferous, often cutthroat competition. Blue oceans are areas where there is very little competition because nobody is there.

If you consider the current market for classical musicians, the symphonies are most obviously bloody oceans. There are so many players competing for almost no spots in the symphony. The first few rounds of cuts are essentially a total gamble. You might as well be playing the lottery. This is bad business as a musician, pure and simple. We don't want to gamble our entire livelihood. We want to create something reasonable and sustainable.

This brings us to the blue oceans. Kristin's project represents a blue ocean. Not only is she using her classical training in combination with her singer/songwriter skills, but she is using that music in a way which is not often (or ever) used by contemporary classical musicians. You never see the symphony using their music to draw awareness towards social issues. It's just pure music. That's not a bad thing. I'm just pointing out the difference, and why the market Kristin is entering into is open.

Breaking Bad Boxes

Right now, the audition market is so bloody because of our preconceived notions. We have an idea in our head of what a successful classical musician looks like. That musician is usually wearing a tux or a black dress on stage with a bunch of other musicians wearing tuxes and black dresses. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be in a symphony. However, right now, it's a terrible market to be in. Total buyer's market, and us musicians are the sellers.

If we want to move forward and find success, we must start redefining success for ourselves. We must start driving forward in new, possibly risky directions. But consider this question. Which is riskier: going with a risky plan, or gamble your musical livelihood in the 1/10,000 odds feeding frenzy that is the symphony audition? I know my answer. It's not necessarily your answer. But you must answer it.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

With Our Powers Combined...

Today will be about kindergarten. Remember that? Remember how your teacher was always like, "Make sure you share your toy, Billy. Sally, don't hog all the crayons." and the like? That's what today's article is about. It's about sharing.

As musicians, we have a tricky line to tow. Our business is collaborative by nature. But it is also competitive. Symphonies are by definition groups of musicians playing together. But when a chair becomes vacant and the symphony holds open auditions, well... it's blood in the water. Fair is foul and foul is fair. Love and war and all that. The point is, our business is odd.

What I think has happened in recent years, though, is we musicians have learned to view each other almost exclusively as competition. Now, I am happy the musicians I know aren't like this, but I have met my fair share of musicians who need to take some happy pills and stop acting like a cornered ferret all the time. To be sure, I am not arguing to end competition between musicians. That competition can be healthy and useful. It's just about balance. We must collaborate if we are to succeed in our field.

The Feud Fugue

Before I continue, a short note about competition. Brahms and Wagner, for instance. Two of the great musical minds during the late 19th century. Also centers of some of the most vitriolic competition between fans as we are ever likely to see again. I'd hardly wish for those times to recur. However, there is something to be said about the... enthusiasm which permeated the scene. It wasn't just an argument of music. It rarely is. It was an argument of values. And what is this blog but an attempt to convince others that classical music is something worth valuing?

Disagreements in and of themselves are not a bad thing. They can certainly get out of hand. But a disagreement is a sign that people care about the issue at hand. If people don't value something, they won't take the time to argue about it. However, disagreements can escalate to the point they stifle innovation, destroy competition, and otherwise make a scene so insufferable that it actively repels potential fans. That is the competition we must strive to avoid. In short, we must avoid becoming Congress.

Frenemies

The important thing to note is, our current supply of classically trained musicians far exceeds the demand for them. Hundreds of musicians will show up to the first cut of a major symphony audition. All but one will be turned away, where players will either suck it up and try, try again, or fall into the Wastebasket of Disappointing Reality.

But there is hope! A recent survey by the Philharmonia Orchestra found some 8/10 people listen to classical music with some regularity at home and in the car. The usual skepticism applies: lies, damn lies, and statistics, you know. But if there is any grain of truth to this, it is a sign that while the symphony market is over saturated with musicians, the audience market is not. And here is where sharing comes into play.

In order to find success, we must be able to tolerate each other to a point where we help each other promote each other's works and concerts and services. Think of it like this: if you're available to play a wedding on a Saturday night, but there are three weddings happening that night, you can't fill that demand. But if you pay the favor to another group and say "Yeah, those guys are awesome, too, you should talk to them," then, unless you are dealing with total assholes, the favor will come around back to you. Pay it forward, and all.

Similarly, there is very little to lose in helping promote the work of people who are not in your market. Musicians, even classically trained ones, often know many people who play different genres. But though the musician's market is separate, the audience's favored listening will often be split among many different genres. While another musicians work may appear to have nothing in common with yours, you never know where the Venn Diagram of Musical Consumption will overlap. You also begin to reap the benefits of an extended circle of contacts, helping you eventually meet Kevin Bacon. And who wouldn't want to meet Kevin Bacon? Not anyone I want to know, that's for sure.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

The Doctor is In

So yesterday I talked a little bit about interacting with your audience, and how even a little bit of per-performance talking can go a long ways towards building rapport with the people you want to keep around. There are other ways of doing this, as well. Q&A sessions with people who pay a little extra, maybe with a little wine and cheese. Happy Feelings Time, of course of course. A little brainstorming, and I'm sure you can come up with more ways of interacting with the audience. Today, though, I'm going to talk about something else. I'm going to talk about interactivity in concerts.

Boulez may be a bit of dick, but...

There's this composer you may or may not have heard of. His name is Pierre Boulez. When I was tube surfing on the YouTubes, I came across a fascinating video. If I am not mistaken, it was a concert directed specifically at Conservatoire students, but it appeared to be an open concert, as well. At this concert, he was conducting his own music. Boulez is one of those composers whose music is often labelled "difficult" here in America. That is, his music is not just a rabbit, but a Babbitt Rabbit as well. But here was a nearly full hall, including music students, musicians, and lay people, all gathered to hear his music. Granted, this was in France, and European concerts tend to feature more "difficult" music than here in America, but he was doing something I have never seen in America. He was breaking his music down into its musical parts, and discussing how they all fit together into the piece they were about to hear.

It was a phenomenal use of time. Yes, he took about 20 minutes just laying the nuts and bolts out, but by the end of it all, you knew how to listen to his piece. You knew what to expect, how it was put together. You could no longer make the claim that it was all just "random nonsense," because he was so clear, so lucid, you would have to either be totally, or willfully, dense to not get it. I was blown away. Here was a man who knew how to connect with his audience. True, he was using his own music as an example, but it worked. I walked away from that concert respecting Boulez a bit more than I had before.

Yes, but he's a Stinky Cheeseman Frenchy. What about us patriotic Americans?

Well, here in America we have a similar, but far less avant garde, conductor. We have Michael Tilson Thomas. He is director of the San Francisco Symphony, as well as the New World Orchestra. These are great institutions, but what I really want to spotlight is the TV series Keeping Score. In each episode, he discusses a specific work in its historical and musical contexts, as well as how that piece personally relates to the composer who wrote it. If you haven't seen any of these documentaries, they are really wonderful. Thomas is a genial and, just as importantly, knowledgeable host. He not only discusses the music, but plays some of it as well. He's kind of like... Well, he's kind of like a contemporary Bernstein, who used television to similar effect, bringing classical music into the homes of millions across America.

Concluding paragraph

If you want to connect to your audience, talk with them. Discuss the music. Bring it into a place where the audience feels they can relate to it. Or failing that, at least understand it. Break the music apart. Show how it's put together. Like Boulez. But just as importantly, make the music human again. Like Tilson Thomas. Building understanding will get people to respect you. Building humanity will get people to come back for more. You need both, which is tricky... But it's doable. It must be, or we die. In a fire. While being eaten by raptors. Sneaky, sneaky raptors...

Monday, June 3, 2013

Playing Doctor

Today's post is about interactivity! It's not just enough to play music. It's not just enough to have Happy Feelings Time. Those are both necessary, but it's the bits that fill the cracks that will be the glue holding it all together.

Music is ultimately about human connection. If the people in the audience don't feel like the musician is an actual person, the audience will not relate as well to the player. This happens with some frequency, as symphonies bring soloists in to perform concerti. The hope is, the sheer virtuosity presented will be enough to draw people. Problem 1. Most people don't know who Liszt is. Problem 2. Most people don't know who the soloist is, either. That's two strikes already. The third strike is the feeling that the value of the concert is not worth the ticket price. And out.

Happy Feelings Time is a great way to start. It allows lay people to meet the musicians in question, shake hands with them, realize the musicians are actual people. But there's a lot more we can do to help connect the audience to the stage. One is talking to the audience. Another is interactive concerts.

Table Talk

One of the simplest ways to create interactivity and bonding is to talk to the audience. Here is what happens in a concert today: Orchestra sits on stage. They warm up, and there's general cacophony for fifteen minutes. Curtain call happens, and the orchestra settles down. Lights dim. 10% of the audience falls asleep because the chairs are comfy and the lights are out. Concert master walks out to halfhearted applause. Orchestra tunes. 20% of the audience is out like a light. Conductor walks out to slightly more than halfhearted applause, but only from the people who have managed to stay awake and from the somnambulists. Conductor bows, then utterly ignores the audience. 30% is dozing. Baton lifts. Concert starts.

What's missing? That most basic of human interaction: talking. The best part about it is, at a concert, you likely don't have to cater to deaf people. I mean, maybe you want to cover your bases. Just in case. Anyways. It's amazing how much connection can be accomplished if the people in the audience actually feel like they are being addressed personally. You don't even have to talk that much! Thank them for coming out. Tell them why you like the piece you are about to play, why you are passionate about it, and that you hope to convey that same passion to them. Maybe throw in a joke or two. Like this: What's the difference between Beethoven and a cat? The cat can sing in tune. And make sure to shake it up. Remember Durdle the Turtle. You don't want him around too much.

Happy Feelings Time is, by nature, talk oriented, as well. It's even better because people are drinking alcohol. Speaking of which! You should be allowed to bring alcohol and drinks into the concert hall. All music gets better when you are a little bit toasted. The drawback is, you get old couples playing footsie with each other rather than listen to your performance. But no. Don't think of it as a drawback! Think of it as a goal! If your music can draw the attention of footsie playing elders, you're doing really, really well.

Until Tomorrow!

I have decided to make my blog posts shorter. People are busy. I'm busy. I still want depth, but it will be spread out a little more for my sanity and yours. If I'm writing 5 days a week, I want to pace myself. So! This is all for today. Have a great day. If you don't have a little coffee, or meditate a little, or pray or whatever it is you do. Then listen to good music. It's amazing what good music will cure.

Friday, May 31, 2013

The Great Musician Appearing Act

Yesterday, I wrote about community in the classical music world. More specifically, I wrote about the lack of any kind of community between the musicians and the audience. Today, I shall write about the most important aspect of building a community: presence. Presence is a larger concept of which Happy Feelings Time is a part. Basically, it comes down to the question: Do people know who you are?

In the case of, say, the Dallas Symphony, many people in the Dallas area know the Symphony exists. Very much fewer are the people who know the man who conducts it, or who the concert master is. Can you imagine a sports fan not knowing the names of their favorite team's members? No, you can't. Why? Because those people are invested. And just as importantly, a sports team is present in the lives of their fans. It is that level of attachment we must try to build, and to do that, we must be in the public eye as often as possible.

The Advertising Fallacy
Advertising provides presence. That can't be denied. However, it is wrong to assume advertising is the solution to all of our problems. I hear advertising for the Dallas Symphony all the time... on the Classical station. And audience levels are still rather low, excepting large performances of Carmina Burana or Britten's War Requiem.

Here's the thing. Advertising is there to let people know you exist. But if your presence in the public sphere doesn't extend beyond that, you cannot expect advertising to do all your work for you. Think of Coca Cola. They advertise. A lot. But they are also everywhere. Coke in McDonald's, Coke in restaurants, Coke at ball parks, Coke at the movies. Everywhere you can go where you can buy drinks, Coke is there. Coke's presence is as much part of that company's success as the advertising reminding people they should drink Coke. Reminding people "Yes, Coke is still here. Keep drinking."

Now, I doubt an orchestra can expect to have the same level of presence as Coca Cola. Unless you can put our Symphonies into liquid form and export that. Somehow, I do not expect such a thing to be palatable. Not only would it be a pulpified meat smoothie, it would also have to be served at such a temperature for the metals of the brass section to be melted. That is far too hot. The strings would make such a temperature a veritable fire hazard.

Playing for the People
The trick is, you have to get yourself out there. Sports teams, for instance. They have a game. They play on a field. How do fans know what's going on? They broadcast it. Why aren't orchestras broadcasting their concerts? Perhaps because of a fear that, should the concert be broadcast, people wouldn't bother to show up. And yet people go to sports games. Why? Because it's always better live. And what about the people who don't go? They're likely the people who wouldn't have gone anyways. But now they're watching, and you're making advertising money off of them.

Broadcasting helps people keep in touch, but orchestras have an advantage over sports teams: we don't need a rival team to play. Much better is to make sure to keep playing in very public areas. Dallas now has Klyde Warren Park, which has a stage, which could be used to the Symphony and Opera's advantage. There are always charitable events which could be played for. Churches are another popular place in Dallas. Bars and pubs. Etc. Etc. The list goes on.

"But how do we fit an entire symphony in these places?" Don't be so dense. You don't need to. You break the symphony into smaller pieces, and make sure the audience knows they are playing on the symphony's behalf. Chamber music shouldn't just be a treat that pops up from time to time. It should be happening as close to always as you can get. And there's no lack of opportunities, either. You just have to make them.

The great part about this is, you get extra advertising space. Fliers can be passed around, email lists can be signed, posters can be hung, shirts can be bought... Oh right, there's that. Hold on.

Merchandising!
Imagine! Dallas Symphony shirts, Symphony hoodies, symphony lunch boxes, Jap van Zweden figurines with judo-chop action, Symphony flame throwers! The sky's the limit!

And now back to our regular paid programming
But more important than the expanded advertising space is the fact that the players in the symphony are seen. They are heard. They are perhaps, occasionally, sniffed a little. People all over the city get the chance to meet the symphony not as a monolithic entity, but as individuals. The audience gets to shake hands with actual people, and the performers get to actually play the solos they always wanted to play. It's win win!

And also, they are still performing, which means lots of Happy Feelings Time after. So much Happy Feelings!

Granted, there are issues with monetizing events and paying performers. Ideally, these events would be as cheap as possible, or even free (gasp! goes the Board of Directors). But it could be done. I'm sure of it.

Now go out and play! Happy Feelings Time everywhere, with everyone! Whee!

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Naked Twister

Today I'm going to talk about getting hammered and playing awesome party games. Like, this one time, at band camp... Wait, no. I'm going to talk about community. Yes. Yes... This is something that I feel is missing from the classical music scene. Community. You know, groups of people getting together and sharing time with each other and bonding over something that everybody mutually enjoys. Like naked Twister. Or Bach. Granted, the classical music community as it stands would not be my first choice for naked Twister. But that's how you know you have a problem.

...and then my own snoring woke me up
The thing about community is, it's not just some random group of people. It's people who share something. The anime community, for example, shares its love for school girl uniforms. The video game community shares its arguments over whether Shephiroth was the best villain of all time or just the whiny mama's boy everybody should know he is. The important thing here is, people don't just get together at an anime convention, watch some anime, and go home. No. People often fly hundreds of miles and book hotel rooms for a weekend so they can be around other anime lovers and argue with them.

Now, I went to the symphony for a while before I realized it was a boring dull affair that isn't worth the money. Why is it boring and dull? Is it all the old people? Is it the stultifying pretensions? Is it the lack of a decent shot of whisky? Well, yes to all of this in part, but what I'm really concerned about is the following not uncommon scenario:

You drive 30 minutes or more in traffic to get downtown. You pay too much for parking. You hand over the ticket you paid a lot for. You go inside and are shuffled to your seat by well meaning, genial, and otherwise invisible ushers. You sit for 15 minutes waiting for the orchestra to enter. You listen, clap after the first movement because it was awesome and it seems the natural thing to do, then realize everyone else is looking at you like an idiot. The orchestra finishes. You get up, go to your car, and drive 30 minutes to go home.

Alright. That is your suburbanite's typical experience going to the symphony. When you put it in such stark terms, it's no wonder they never go! Heck, I live practically right next door and I never go either, simply because it's not worth my money or my time. If I want to hear the pieces I want to hear, I have the internet. If I want to go to the symphony, I need something more. What do I need? I need a community.

Happy Feelings Time
To me, community means a number of things. But mostly it means people are talking to each other. Drinks are had. Laughter and arguments and occasionally a pillow fight. Maybe some mud wrestling. A trip to the symphony lacks exactly all of these things. Maybe the director says a few words while people fall asleep in their seats. But look how different this is from Beethoven's time.

Beethoven didn't just play for anything. He played for gatherings, parties. Mostly rich people parties, but parties nonetheless. The musicians may have been the main event, but it was still part of a larger social structure. People met Beethoven. They shook his hand! Can you imagine? I can't imagine shaking the hand of a living composer unless I'm in the symphony itself. All of the cool stuff is happening behind closed doors. We never get the chance to meet the musicians, we never get to hear their stories, we never get to connect with anyone on stage. There's no humanity in the symphony.

You know good bands do? They meet with their fans. They shake their hands. Maybe autograph a breast or two. They may not like it, depending on how everything is going, but they do it anyways. Because after the show, it's Happy Feelings Time. That's when everybody is going around talking about how great the show was, how glad they were to pay the ticket price, how that one girl threw her panties at the lead singer and OMG I can't believe she did that. And the band members are there, and they're taking pictures, and it's all a good time. Happy Feelings Time.

Right now, the symphony doesn't have Happy Feelings Time. It has nothing, in fact. You go in, you go out, thank for your money, chumps. That's not what is said, but that is what is implied. No, you have to do better than that. The soloist can't just be met by VIPS, everybody has to have to opportunity to meet them. And probably not just the soloist, either. The conductor, the principle chairs, heck the whole orchestra should go out and have an good time drinking their prune juice or whatever it is they're drinking nowadays. Yeah, it lengthens your night. Yeah, it can be grueling. But that's what great bands do all the time. You're not going to be shown up by Lady Gaga, are you? Because that's what's happening right now.

The Need for Security
Basically, what I'm saying is, we might want to rethink how the symphony experience should look altogether. I think, if we don't need to hire security to make sure things don't get too out of hand, it's not good enough. Of course, I only really think that because hyperbole is fun. I'm only half joking, though. You don't want people to just "go to the symphony." You want people to "experience the symphony." And not just the performance, either. The whole symphony. All of it. We need Happy Feelings Time, and we need some naked Twister all up in here.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

The Art of Programming Conclusion: Just Look at Them Bones!

Our intrepid flatulaphonist has made it this far. He has decided whether he is acquiring audience members, or retaining the ones he's got. He has two rubrics in hand: machine guns and sniper rifles; rabbits and turtles. Now it's time to arm the troops for glorious combat in service to the motherland.

Context is everything
First off, the two extremes of the rubrics do not line up exactly with the two goals I have listed. For example, it could be that the machine gun style of programming is better suited to audience acquisition. Perhaps. But that does not mean that is its only use. Similarly, turtle pieces are perhaps better suited to audience retention, but not necessarily. Low risk pieces can also be an audience draw because they're probably pieces the layman has heard or can more easily identify with.

This is part of why programming is so difficult. Everything changes depending on what you're trying to accomplish. And we haven't even considered understanding the strengths of the conductor and the orchestra, yet. But lets ignore that and just think about how programs might be made with audience acquisition in mind. It is highly unlikely anybody has even heard of a flatulaphone, much less thought of attending a flatulaphone recital. We should name our heretofore anonymous flatulaphonist. His name shall be Fred.

Accuracy by Volume
We'll start with high variety programs. The idea here, if you will recall, is to present a large and diverse group of smaller pieces with the hope that something sticks. You don't particularly care that individual pieces resonate with the entire audience, just that everybody gets something they can walk away with going "Yeah, that Claire de Lune is such an awesome piece. I had no idea a flatulaphone could be so transparent and beautiful!" You also get the added benefit of discussion as audience members argue over which pieces were more worth their time. "What do you mean you like Claire de Lune?! That piece is such overplayed tripe. And it was in the Twilight movie! How can I possibly take it seriously? No, no, the Moonlight Sonata is where it's at."

You get bonus points if a fistfight starts, or you have to call security. This is in general, but nothing sells tickets faster than a good old fashioned audience riot.

Anyways. There's two directions I see that are valid. One is to take this type of program and fill it with turtles. The much maligned Andre Rieu does this all the time. He plays waltzes, polkas, and other generally popular and/or inoffensive pieces. The end result is a concert which appeals to just about everybody... at some point or another. But it's like cold calling. People don't remember the misses. They remember that part where it seemed like the medium communicated with them personally. That's where it's at.

The other direction I see is to take the opportunity to sneak in some rabbits. Higher risk pieces which may not resonate with many audience members, but you can get away with it because there are other sure hits which will cleanse the palate for those who found the rabbit's antics distasteful. There's probably a limit to what you can push on the audience. And yet consider: if you are specifically targeting newer audience members who are not yet acclimated to classical music culture, they will not know Schoenberg is almost universally maligned. Without previous expectations, they are more likely to listen with open ears. That doesn't mean they'll like it. But it does mean they'll probably give the risky piece a chance simply because "they don't know any better."

I personally like the second direction better because it will open up your programming options in the future. If the audience expects you to introduce pieces they've never heard before, but feel they can trust your taste in selecting them, you'll have a much easier time getting people to come back for more.

The Household Name and the Sniper Rifle
Lets say you want to attract audience members but still want to play big pieces. This is trickier, but not impossible. The best course of action here is probably turtles. If somebody is going to a concert featuring one or two pieces, they don't really want to spend their evening listening to somebody they've never heard of. Heavy hitters like Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, or Shostakovitch are all big draws.

The main issue here is, you can easily stagnate your repertoire if you're focused only on turtles. Over time, you become predictable, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but can lead to disinterest as you aren't presenting anything new and shiny to hold attention. It's all about the contrast. To that end, it's best not to focus entirely on one or two pieces. You might have one big symphony in the program, and then the rest of it is divide up machine gun style to keep things fresh.

A word of caution: it is tempting to view soloists as audience draws. While it's true the virtuosity brought by a concerto generally leads to good audience reaction, you cannot expect any random soloist to attract the attention of new audience members. Soloists draw sales because people can identify with them, because there's a face and a story that is familiar. Rostropovich wasn't world famous just because he was the best cellist of all time. He was also a political mover and shaker, had a personality, had gravitas. Soloists today usually just have a list of awards. That's not a story. That's a resume. If you're trying to attract new people with a soloist, you'll have to do better than that.

The Rabbit in the Rain
It may seem like the rabbit gets the short end of the stick, here. It's difficult. Risk is always difficult. But risk must be taken to keep the art form alive. The best way to turn a risk into not as risky is to make it a regular feature. If people come to expect modern and contemporary pieces, then they will come for that. There are, however, some difficulties. Certain repertoire is so difficult for the audience that it will simply never get performed, even if those pieces are masterworks. Here is where a well designed educatory program can help the most. That's another discussion, though.

Conclusion
Audience attraction will depend greatly upon a balance of pieces they are familiar with and pieces that are new to them. You want pieces that are riskier in your programs because you can't become staid and predictable. That's where the audience retention part comes in. If people always know what to expect, they'll lose interest. At the same time, you can't be doing random things all the time. Familiarity and novelty are your two main tools, within whatever program structure you choose.

Finally, a word about pacing. You want to start strong and end strong. Stuff in the middle can be whatever, but should still have shape. Programming is a lot like composition. You're taking the audience on a ride with ups, downs, curves, and loops. Slow pieces and fast pieces and middling pieces should all be carefully placed to help keep the audience's interest. Modality is also a big issue, because it lets you create progression through the program. What I'm trying to say is, if you've got a piece in Brown Note Minor, you should save it for the big climax at the end. It'll make for a performance no one will ever forget.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

The Art of Programming II: Rabbits and Turtles

Yesterday I talked about programming concerts/recitals. More specifically, I talked about goal setting for your concerts, as well as the machine gun/sniper rifle spectrum of program structure. Today I'm going to talk about cute things. Today, I am going to talk about bunnies and turtles.

Wascawwy Wabbits

Once upon a time, there was a rabbit. He had a lot of friends, but because he was a bit of a dick, he didn't have any particularly close friends. On the other hand, people enjoyed his antics and generally liked having him around for parties. You were never really sure what the rabbit would come up with next. Sometimes, it was glorious fun. Other times, somebody shot their eye out while brandishing a Red Rider BB Gun with a compass in the stock.

Durdle the Turtle

On the other end of the forest lived Durdle the Turtle. He was a fine, upstanding citizen. He paid his taxes on time. He looked both ways when he crossed the street. He was very deliberate with his choices. Sometimes, it would take him weeks to decide what box of cereal to buy at the grocery store. Then he would realize, he was a turtle, and didn't eat cereal. BUT! If he did, he sure well knew which box of cereal he would get. Durdle was not very popular. He did not get invited to the reindeer games, and not just because he was not a reindeer. The friends he did have, however, were very loyal to him, and vice versa.

GET ON WITH IT!
I bring up the Wascawwy Wabbit and Durdle the Turtle to help draw attention to the most basic of economic choices: risk vs reward. The rabbit is always taking risks. Sometimes, it pays off gloriously. Other times, it ends with a trip to the hospital. Durdle the Turtle is never taking risks. Sometimes, this lets him lead a safe and comfortable life. Other times, it leads him to choose a box of cereal he doesn't really need. He's also kind of boring.

So breaking it down to extremes: High risk versus low risk; high reward vs low reward. This makes a box. High risk/High Reward, Low Risk/High Reward, etc. etc. I hope I don't have to spell it all out.

Why talk about this at all? Because certain pieces of music will carry with them a certain amount of risk, and a certain amount of reward for taking that risk. The trick is, figuring out which is which. Occasionally, it is obvious. Schoenberg, bless his heart, is a very high risk proposition in American concert halls. The reward you might get from a concert featuring Schoenberg is a bit iffy, but in America, at least, the reward is likely to be rather low. Beethoven is generally rather low risk. People love Beethoven. It's also rather high reward. People love Beethoven!

In the art of programming, we need to carefully balance our risk. It is not that we can never play Schoenberg. It's just that we need to construct a context in which the risk of programming Schoenberg is mitigated by other factors. And it's not that we should always play Beethoven. While Beethoven is rarely boring, Durdle the Turtle always is. If you're constantly making low risk programs, people will lose interest. This means that we need to take a certain amount of gambles... while carefully balancing those gambles against much less risky programming choices.

The polls don't lie. Except when they do.

The big question is, how do you figure this all out? The most direct method is to just ask people what they like and what they want to hear. This has the advantage that you know exactly what to give the people. It has the disadvantage in that the people don't know what they didn't know they wanted to hear. That is, they will only choose piece based on their existing knowledge. Beethoven and Mozart will come up a lot. Schumann less so. Why? For the simple reason Schumann is less known. It has nothing to do with Schumann being a worse composer, far from it. Whenever I've seen or played Schumann, he has always been spectacularly received. He just doesn't have the same public image, and so won't jump to mind as readily.

Another method is less direct. You take opportunities to program lesser known works and judge the audience reaction. Was the applause polite or enthusiastic? Did the standing ovation seem obligatory or spontaneous? Was the audience falling asleep in their popcorn, or were they carefully paying attention throughout? Things like that. It takes careful observation from several perspectives. How did the orchestra feel they were received? How about the CEO in the audience? What about the ushers? What did everybody see and feel? That's how you tell what the audience felt. You have to watch closely and compare notes, because everybody has a different perspective, and it's only when you take them all together that you get a clear picture.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow

Alright. We're getting some focus here. We've got our goals. We've got our gun spectrum. We've got our rabbits and turtles. Now what is out poor befuddled flatulaphonist to do next? How do we start bringing this information together? Join me next time for the exciting conclusion to The Art of Programming: Building your Rabbit and Turtle Army! Time to crush our enemies, drive them before us, and hear the lamentations of their women!

Monday, May 27, 2013

The Art of Programming Part I. Machine Guns and Sniper Rifles.

Last Friday's article sparked some discussion. I am pleased with this. Most pleased indeed. *strokes hairless cat*

There a lot of good points made, and I wanted to incorporate some to create a more nuanced art of programming, as well as address one comment in particular. For those who are not classical music aficionados, 'programming' is the word we use for "selecting pieces for a concert." Usually the discussion ends there. "Did you select pieces for your flatulaphone recital? Yes? Done." More discerning people will ask something like, "Did you select pieces in more than one key? No, every piece is in 'The Brown Note' minor. Please change the program, for the love of..." Very rarely will someone enter the world asking the truly pertinent question. "What the heck is a flatulaphone?"

Clearly, we're missing something in our discussion of programming. But before I elaborate, I wanted to rebut (he heh... but...) a comment made by one of my friends. Perhaps rebut (pfpfpfff....) is not the right word. But (OMG) anyways. The comment is paraphrased as such: "The reason programming is not discussed more often is because it is such a personal issue." The implication seeming to be either, 1. It's so personal there's no use talking about it at all (which I do not think was the intent of the comment) or 2. It's so personal it is very difficult to make generalizations about the art, and so people just avoid it rather than deal with it.

I think the second point is actually the more relevant issue. The first one is easily dismissed: music and interpretation are, after all, highly personal arts, yet we talk about them all the time. They are arts we are much more comfortable discussing, though, and given the human tendency to avoid looking like an idiot at all costs, well... We'd rather maintain silence than remove all doubt. Nevertheless! If we're going to make progress at all, somebody is going to have to look dumb, and it might as well be me. So here I go!

Goal Setting

In my experience, I have never really heard this come up in the realm of classical music. It is likely because goal setting is more what those stuck up business people do. Well, guess what, people... Music is a business. Get over it. To get better, to compete, we have to realize what we are aiming for. And no, "being a financially solvent institution" does not count as a goal. That is called "a given."

As far as I can tell, there are two goals which are necessary. The first is audience acquisition, the second is audience retention. Which goal you are concerned with will change how you approach your programming.

Machine Guns vs. Sniper Rifles

There are also two extremes with which we can approach organizing a program. On one end, we have the classical kitchen buffet. You have a concert filled with pieces by different composers from different time periods, and it's all over the place. The advantages this type of organization can give you is you're much more likely to hit something somebody likes. It won't be everybody at the same time, but in general, it's hard to miss. Accuracy by volume, as it were.

The other extreme is to have a single work fill up the entire concert. Something like a Mahler symphony. The advantage here is the audience knows what they are getting and they are almost certainly going to be blown away by the awesomeness of the awesome music they want to hear. BOOM! Headshot!

Disadvantages of the Machine Gun approach are: not as much power, not as much accuracy, much more difficult to organize into a meaningful whole. Disadvantages of the Sniper Rifle include: a (potentially) more narrow target, often asks a great deal of the audience.

To my knowledge, there are a handful of large works that operate well under both methods. This hat-trick category include pieces like Britten's War Requiem, or Orff's Carmina Burana. They are large works which take up an entire concert, but are divided into a series of smaller chunks which provide the variety of the first method. It is not surprising that pieces such as these tend to fill up seats really well. The DSO was nearly sold out for Carmina Burana recently, and WAS sold out for Britten' War Requiem.


Ok, so a basic ground work has been laid. We have some goals. We have a metric to judge program structure. We have a flatulaphone. Now what is our flatulaphonist to do? You'll have to wait and find out! Join me next time when I discuss types of music you might want to program!

Friday, May 24, 2013

Headbanging with Beethoven

I'mma let you finish, but Beethoven is the best composer of all time. Of all time!

There. Post over.

... ... ...

Ok, so not really. Beethoven is among my most common go to composers. It's really not hard to figure out why, either. He speaks clearly, directly, and passionately. He's not afraid to get up in your grill and shake you by the collar until you break a vertebrae, but then he'll show you the most sublime stuff afterward that you realize that's what he was trying to get you to hear all along. You just weren't listening and he got frustrated. That's all.

If there's one thing I can say about Beethoven, it's his ability to speak to an incredibly wide range of people. Did you know the Japanese sing Ode to Joy, like, all the time? Did you know Beethoven is usually listed among the favorite listenings of metal heads of all stripes? Heavy metal, Death Metal, Black Metal... In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize metal heads have a somewhat peculiar affinity for classical music in general, not just Beethoven.

Perhaps it's the fact that metal is more virtuosic than your average bear. They don't just want the picnic basket, they also want the ranger's head on a pike. Not to say that metal is more complex than pop or regular rock, necessarily. It, like almost everything in life, depends on the case. But usually, metal solos are wickedly difficult to perform. Listen to the riffs of Metallica in their prime and compare them to Beethoven's Piano Sonatas, and you can probably hear some resemblance. The primary differences are modality and amplification.

Speaking of amplification, there is no doubt in my mind if you gave Beethoven a tube amp, he would blow the thing out in, like, 15 seconds.

But moving on. The main reason I bring this up is simple. The old guard of classical music was, and still is in many ways, quite exclusionary. Either it was classical and good, or it wasn't. Nowadays, that is changing, but I think we can do a lot to speed up the process. I think the main thing getting in the way of classical music's popularity is image. The idea that classical music is some stuffy, moth-balled, hoity-toity music that is irrelephant to the demands of contemporary culture.

Some of this is valid criticism. Stuffy? Perhaps. In fact, likely. Classical music performances are rife with hidden rules and rituals that are not intuitive to newcomers. Also, for some reason, clapping between movements of a longer work is received like somebody just kicked a puppy. Harumph harumph harumph! Clapping between movements! What an ignorant neophyte! Go to your shame hole and think of what you have done! Harumph harumph harumph! As for moth balls, well... It is not unlikely some sort of artificial preservation is going on with certain people in orchestras nowadays. I'm not going to point fingers, but maybe possibly we should rethink our idea of tenured musicians.

But irrelephant? First, that's not even a word. Second, I will paraphrase Steven Fry: "If you cannot find a way to connect with music of the past, that is more a reflection of your own lack of creativity than a fault of the music of Bach." Now, I personally think Mr. Fry is being a little harsh, there. People walk into a concert with assumptions about how music works, and sometimes classical music can, in fact, be rather overwhelming to a new listener. Heck, I didn't like Brahms until I was 25, and that was after studying music for 14 years. However, I think Mr. Fry has something of a point. What we have, here, is a failure to communicate.

How do we bring people into the fold? The primary focus has been on 'music appreciation.' This is one of those well-meaning but utterly misguided attempts to connect with people that has plagued classical music since the late 20th century. Lets put it this way. Do you think people "appreciate" the music they listen to over and over again? No! They love it. Otherwise, they wouldn't listen to it more than once. Do we want people to merely appreciate classical music? No! We want them to love it! That's what really brings people back, is the connection they make to it. Trying to educate people about how classical music works might open some doors, but the interesting details lurking beneath the surface (things like form, melody, harmony, progression, counterpoint, etc) are all secondary to the fact that the composers loved the music they wrote. All of those details are merely technical points which are incidental to that underlying state of mind. Bach wouldn't sign ever piece "With thanks to God" unless he really, really loved what he was doing.

So if not music appreciation, then what? How about this. One of my friends learned of my utter distaste for opera. He told me: "Look, full operas are dumb. You don't really go for the whole thing. You go for the one or two arias that you really like. Then, after a while, you start seeing how those arias connect to the other stuff around it. Pretty soon, you won't think opera is dumb any more."

Arias: They're like gateway drugs.

But he has a point. When you look at concert programs, they usually focus on one or two large pieces, with maybe a smattering of smaller stuff. But if we're trying to attract new people, this is exactly wrong. They've never heard classical music! They don't know what's out there! They don't realize how diverse and multifaceted classical music is! If you only ever present one or two pieces at a time, and new audience members don't connect with them, they're not coming back. But if you present a sampler platter... Now we're talking.

Then, a new audience member will hear the stark contrasts between Baroque and Romantic, Classical and Modern, Empfindsamer Stil and aleatory. Then, maybe, just maybe! One or two of those pieces will hook them. They'll go, "I want to hear more of whatever the heck that was." And you give it to them.

This is all well and good, but ultimately, it comes down to one thing. Passion. And this brings me back to Beethoven. Beethoven, more than any other composer I can think of (except possibly Shostakovich) knew how to cut to what was important. As musicians trying to bring these pieces alive for a new generation, we have to do the same. It is not enough to play the notes. It is not enough to play with feeling. We must play like our lives depend on it, like we will die if we do not say what we have to say. We have to pick people up by the collar, shake them, and show them the heights and depths classical music has to offer. We have to try again and again with piece after different piece to find a way to connect with each audience, one person at a time. And we have to trust that the composers we near worship truly had something worthwhile to say.

And if we find we can't perform in such a way? Then perhaps we'll have to admit that the composers we deify didn't have something worth saying. How do I know that's wrong? Because every fiber of my being revolts against such an idea. But it's not the audience's job to find the connection. It's ours.

Post-Script:
People head bang to metal because they're lost in the music. When people literally move to classical music, we'll know we're on the right track.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Teaching Orchestra Classes

Continuing with my educational theme, today I'm going to discuss orchestra as a school class. I make the distinction between a 6th grade orchestra and a college orchestra because at the college level at least the players know how to play their instruments. Although, after having lived through numerous college orchestra rehearsals, I sometimes wonder if that is a fair assumption to make.

Anyways. After hearing a student orchestra rehearse the same piece for five weeks and not really ever get better, I began to think maybe we're doing something wrong. Is it possible that perhaps we don't know as much about teaching music as we think we do? I think it is.

So lets get cracking.

Problems Facing School Orchestras

1. Class size. It is well known by now that class size is an important factor contributing to student success. Large classes tend to hinder learning, smaller classes tend to help it. Or at least, not get in the way. The book "Boys and Girls Learn Differently"(a book which I recommend with reservations... it's a whole article unto itself) says that the optimal classroom size for middle school is around 20.

Twenty.

Excuse me while I vomit out my nose from laughing too hard. I'm not saying this is unattainable, but 'good' orchestra programs, even at the 6th grade level, rarely if ever have fewer than 30-40 kids in a class. It's not surprising, as orchestra is by nature a group activity. But still.

2. Lack of teacher's aides. In absence of low class size, "Boys and Girls etc" recommends the help of one or sometimes even two teacher's aides. These teachers are able to provide individual assistance where the head teacher cannot. When staring down a battalion of 6th graders, allies will at least give some moral support. But in an orchestra, you are far outnumbered, and they can smell your fear. Just say to yourself, "This. Is. SPARTA!" and go down in glory.

No. I mean, get some additional help.

"But what about money?"

Money? Oh right. Money...

3. There are other problems, but I'm going to stop with a big one here. When learning music in an orchestra or a band, there are actually two subjects going on. There's the subject of the instrument, which is obvious. It's the thing you just dropped $500 on for a ten month rental. Then there's the subject of music. Which is less obvious, but mostly because it's so obvious nobody thinks to think about it.

See, music isn't just playing notes. It's also knowing how notes are put together. Learning patterns. Reading notes. As it is, we're teaching those kids the ABC's without teaching them how to string them into words, much less how to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs and paragraphs into whole compositions. Imagine trying to read Les Mis one letter at a time, and you'll get some grasp of what we're expecting orchestra classes to accomplish.

Ultimately, it is problem number three which poses the most difficulties to a student orchestra and their director. They are really trying to learn and teach two different subjects in the same amount of time as one. Problems 1 and 2 exacerbate this problem greatly, as individual help cannot be provided to struggling students in real time, and the class is usually far too large to facilitate group discussion of music or problem solving.

So it's no wonder orchestras take so long to learn a piece. The students are reading one letter at a time without comprehending words, there are more students making mistakes than a single teacher can reasonably be expected to keep up with, and that teacher somehow has to try and divide 45 minutes worth of time into teaching instruments and teaching basic music theory. Yeesh! Even Sisyphus had it easier than school orchestra directors.

Possible Solutions

1. There's not a lot that can be done here because orchestras are, by nature, usually rather large. There are some things that immediately spring to mind, however. The first is the divide orchestra classes into sections, rather than the full orchestra. This will not only reduce the class size, but also make it easier on the teacher as he or she will not have to deal with all of the little idiosyncrasies which plague each instrument. Other than that, I don't know what to say. This is the most intractable of the problems.

2. Get aides. No, not AIDS. The other aides. This is only problematic insofar as it requires money, but the benefits would be well worth the cost. The size of the classes almost requires additional assistance for effective teaching. And I don't just mean "Let's divide the orchestra into sections and have the assistant teach one and the head director teach the other." I mean the class is going on with two teachers: the head director giving the large scale instruction, and the assistant weaving in and out helping individuals with their own unique problems in real time.

I cannot stress this enough. Mistakes must be addressed quickly as the mistake is being made. Otherwise, it is highly likely the student will not even realize there is something wrong and keep on doing what you don't want them to be doing. Not that they weren't doing what you didn't want them to be doing in the first place, but... you know what I mean.

In addition, assistants can provide much needed moral and psychological support. "Is it me, or does Jimmy's intonation sound worse than a donkey getting eaten by a velociraptor?" "No, it's not just you. But at least his tone is good. Emily's violin sounds like it needs an exorcism. I keep expecting the scroll to twist around while spewing out obscenities about my mother." "Ha ha! I know, right?" (This is totally not an actual conversation I have had with an orchestra director. Totally not at all.)

There. Don't you feel better now? This way, you can relieve all your frustrations without ever taking them out on your students.

3. And now the radioactive elephant in the room. I mean, I don't even know where to start. However! There is some hope. At the 6th grade, beginners level, I highly doubt students need more than 15-30 minutes of practice a day. There's just... not enough to practice, you know? They know all of three notes. Only so much you can do with that.

Keeping this in mind, it is entirely possible orchestras spend far too much of their class time teaching the students how to play. Given a 50 minute class, if you divide up the class into a 25 minute theory class and a 25 minute practice, we can probably cover everything we need to cover so long as we are exceedingly efficient about it. This is still far from ideal. Music theory is a class of its own, but it is progress.

Another possibility is the use of computers. "How People Learn" describes an experiment wherein students learning physics are allowed deliberate practice through a computer-based tutoring program. The students exposed to this program were able to reduce the time it took to reach real-world performance criteria from 4 years to a paltry 25 hours.

I mean. What? Really? Is this real life? Did I seriously just read that? Well.

I can attest to the usefulness of these programs, as well. One of the private schools I teach at has several computer modules where piano students go to learn their music theory. It would not be difficult to adapt those kinds of programs to the specific needs of string, wind, and brass players (and singers who, judging from performance at the college level, seem to need help the most).

So like I said. There is hope. But we have a lot of work to do. Now lets hunker down and prepare for the onslaught. It's a long night, and Gandalf isn't guaranteed to show up.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Birth, Death, and Beer

Today is Wagner's birthday. I say this with little enthusiasm. Wagner induces drowsiness in me better than coitus. However, I understand there are some non-zero number of misguided souls who fly into raptures at the mere mention of Wagner. I therefore feel compelled to mention today is his 200th birthday in deference to the lunatic ward of the classical music community.

For me, Wagner was only worthwhile insofar as it led to Elmer Fudd in a viking costume. If ever there was an argument for historical inevitability, this is it: Kill the wabbit.

In other news, Henri Dutilleux died today. Mr. Dutilleux is one of those composers who is criminally underplayed. If you don't believe me, just pick a piece of his and go crazy. I recommend his Cello Concerto. Granted, 20th century music is not every person's cup of tea, but Dutilleux is definitely worth a try, at least. What could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words, I know.

Bringing Music to the People

I have already mentioned Classical Open Mic in one post. Due to a recent news article, I feel I should mention it again.

Apparently, the Cleveland Orchestra has decided it would be a good idea to play around in bars. Lets just hope there aren't any lumberjacks in the audience. Oh, but what am I saying... It's a new century. If lumberjacks want to dress up like women and hang around in bars, who am I to judge?

Sorry, got off track there. This move is, I think, brilliant, not least because bars are where people go to get drunk, and when you're drunk everything sounds awesome. Why do you think country music has stuck around for so long? Whisky. So not only are you close to guaranteed to get an audience, they are almost guaranteed to like what you play due to inebriation bias. It's like beer goggles for the ears.

Alcohol also leads to decreased inhibitions. I only bring this up because classical music culture is almost as socially inhibited as the Royal Guard outside Buckingham Palace. Seriously, the most excited expression a classical music audience ever gives is a "standing ovation." Oooo. So enthused. Where's the crowd surfing? Where's the mosh pit? For God's sake, can we have a decent orchestra hall riot sometime soon? It's been almost 100 years since the last one! Step it up people!

Ahem.

What I really want to know is, why is this such a big deal? Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn played for parties. Chopin played in parlors. I remember reading Stravinsky, Poulenc, and some of the French crowd got into a giant pillow fight at 1am during a house party. Bach wrote music about coffee addiction when coffee houses were all the rage. (They still are, I suppose...) Where did all of this go?

Maybe it was never really there. In medieval artistic representations of music, instruments were considered vulgar. Angels certainly don't play the hurdy-gurdy! How droll! It didn't get much better in the Renaissance. So even then, there was a sharp social distinction between "art music" and "music of the people." And, true, the Viennese School played for parties, but they were upper-crust... sorry, upper-class parties. Not that they weren't unruly, just, you know. Politely unruly.

That said, whatever the historical case may be, classical music's move into the barroom is something that I know can work. I've seen it work. I've participated in it. Even when I played in a band, I would sneak in some Bach cello suites. They never failed to get applause. I just wish classical musicians would go farther.

The problem I have with the symphony model isn't just that the culture is on life support. It's that the musical hall is centralized. If you're in the burbs and you want to see some classical music, be prepared to drive for an hour that evening. And then spend twenty minutes parking. Oh, and you have to dress up, too, so... Right, and dinner. Don't forget dinner. Going to the symphony requires as much planning as a wedding anniversary. It's no surprise people aren't going.

But what if, just, you know, bear with me here... What if musicians, now hold on, this is some mind-blowing stuff coming up... What if musicians went to their audience. Instead of expected their audience to come to them. What if, you know, musicians went out to the burbs to play for their money instead of sat on their butts wondering why no one is showing up? I know, I know, it's a lot to wrap your head around.

Seriously, though, if classical music is to survive, the musicians have to become mobile. There are many ways to do it. Bars are one. Churches are another. Local performing art centers. Parks. Restaurants. There's a lot of options.

And don't forget the internet! The MET has had some success broadcasting their operas to movie theaters, which is great, but let me introduce you to a little website called twitch.tv. This site is used to stream video games, usually tournaments, like Starcraft 2, DotA, and others. Think of what would happen if classical musicians leveraged this kind of infrastructure for live performances. Granted, the accounting side would have to work hard to monetize it well, but no harder than they are working now, trying to give CPR to a beached whale.

Just think about it. Brainstorm about it. And don't take my word for it... Actually do it. You may be pleasantly surprised.