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.)
Showing posts with label classical music culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classical music culture. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
...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.
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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