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 community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. 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.
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.
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...
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.
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!
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.
...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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)