David Byrne, Cultural Centers, and Creativity

In the past week, David Byrne has published two editorials, one on how the 1% is stifling creativity in NYC, the other on how streaming radio could spell the end of creativity. And, as always, I masochistically scrolled through the comments section, running salt over the opened wounds from Byrnes pointed words.

I lived in NYC briefly, most of the time, for about a year. I went to school in Brooklyn, traveled back and forth between NYC and my apartment in South Jersey (Little Egg Harbor, a beautiful place). Byrnes says NYC smells like sex. The commentators were more correct: it smells of urine and sewage. The city is much safer--by the time I lived there in '08, my neighborhood of Crow Heights wasn't so bad. My neighbors were friendly, if a bit reserved with me; different cultural backgrounds can create quite a barrier.

My brief stay there showed two different cities: there's the one Byrne describes, mostly found in Manhattan, but also moving into Brooklyn as well; and then there was the underground, where living, working artists still eked out an existence playing shows and showing art at dingy venues. Sometimes, it was right under the nose the Elite, such as shows at the Yippie Gallery (oh, what a show we had there), or they were further out in Brooklyn. Williamsburg was becoming an in-between zone, where hipsters, creators, experimentalists, and nouveau riche were hanging out at new niche restaurants then some moving onto clubs and bars around the area.

These were the people not associated with "a scene." NYC has their scenes, the Downtown scene, which isn't what it used to be, the Midtown scene with their post-minimalist functions and cross-over acts, and the Uptown scene, with their new experimentalism, avant-garde, and sometime dense and/or meaningless works. (Untitled) encapsulated so much of what I remember in NYC, making great satire of what I felt in my brief stay. Granted, if you don't know the NY scenes, you may not find humor in all the moments.

I was not a part of any of these scenes. Brooklyn College doesn't have the clout of a Julliard, Columbia, Yale, or CUNY Grad. We weren't from out-of-town coming into Mid-town to play concerts with Bang on a Can, nor putting on motion capture suits and using them to trigger electronics (though at least two of us were dying to try). Further out from the center, we experimented, played, found our voices, and had a lot of fun. And, possibly, drank a bit too much.

Rent was high, food was affordable, as long as you didn't want to eat like kings every night, and we got could afford booze and cigarettes. We eked by because we were academics. Loans, grants, and fellowships sustained us. I had a job elsewhere that could pay well enough to subsidize the living, with a little help from loans. If we weren't attached to academia, it would have been entirely different. I actually blogged about my experiences long ago, discussing my masters and moving to Kansas City

Let's just say, many things fell apart in '09 causing me to leave the East Coast. I never really fit into the NY scene(s). I didn't really fit well in NYC at all. My swan song was done at a vocal arts camp run by Remarkable Theater Brigade in July 2009. I wasn't going to come up for the show but decided last minute "why not?" I drove, trained, and subwayed to a performance of I Do Good at Grammar. And the piece, to me, was the perfect way to go out, my own little jab at how serious NYC seems to be, even in the crowds more focused on popular music.


This video was not from that performance, but a more recent version hosted by KcEMA with Brad Van Wick doing a bang up job.

The point was, I left NYC. It was supposed to be the Mecca of the arts, a place where I'd learn and grow, go to concerts, meet people. I found the concerts too expensive to frequent, the underground scene not so inviting to an outsider like me, and the huge amount of time to create my own niche infuriating. It may be the largest city in the US, but it also has one of the densest populations of artists, all fighting over the same little pieces of the pie. I was happy to leave, to head someplace where I could make my own way. Thankfully, as I left, I realized just how decentralized the arts were becoming in the US.

My journey took me to Indianapolis which also didn't vibe--their art scene was too new and lacking an infrastructure and support for art music. It's much more of a folk/Indie/singer-songwriter town. And that's fine, but it meant, again, a huge amount of work I'd have to do to create my scene...which when you're working 40 hours a week at a music store is pretty damn hard.

So, it was, to Kansas City for my doctorate. It was a desperate move, but one that worked out in the long-term. Kansas City was like Indy, but further a long. The art scene had started growing about 5 or 6 years before I got there, so I entered just as it started a booming age. Artists and composers collaborated, little art galleries were popping up everywhere, jazz was everyone. For the first time in four years, I found a group I could play regularly with, Black House Collective. Professionally, my career started to take off. And I still went to NYC for performances--it was easy thanks to non-stop flights via Delta airlines. In just five hours, I could be possibly be from my apartment to the rehearsal space in NYC (time-change not added).

The scene is bustling in Kansas City, as it is in places like Austin, New Orleans, Fort Worth, Greensboro, and tons of other places. Flights make it easy to move around, and if you've got friends all over, or can split hotels between lots of people, you can move from city to city. The last few years I've traveled more than anywhere else.

The arts are becoming decentralized, which I think is a wondrous thing. However, I'm the first to admit that, sadly, my life is tied up in the 1%. Or, really, the 5%, that slightly larger upper bracket. You see, as a non-mainstream artist, I will never sell enough records or make enough in royalties to make a living. It doesn't matter if I live in NYC or Kansas City (where $600/month gets me a 2 bedroom apartment in a nice neighborhood). My dozen performances a year don't make bank--and let me tell you that in the grand scheme of art music, a dozen performances isn't terrible--I have many friends who do far fewer performances, and are lucky to get one or two self-created performances a year.

Without non-profits, grants, and academia, I wouldn't be able to have a living. Byrne nods to this, that he has friends who teach, who have other jobs. That is a way of life for artists now, and it's not a good way to create.

One commentator said "Good, maybe the arts will go back to being a hobby" (paraphrased). I sincerely hope he was being sarcastic. I did that for a while. The first year I worked for a production company, the first year of my masters I could even argue was more of a hobby. My short stay in Indianapolis as I searched for a job, then finally found one. Art was a back-seat, something I practiced when I had time and when my mind and body felt up to it.

During the year before my masters and 6 months after, I produced 0 works.

During my masters my first semester, I produced 2 works, neither one of high quality. It wasn't until I got into my second year, rented a place in NYC, and really studied nearly full time that I started to make any strides in the quality and quantity of my work.

That's the kicker--artists need time to create. We don't just need time to practice, or a concerted hour that we assign for "writing music." If you haven't watched John Cleese's talk on creativity, do it. One thing he talks about is the "open" and "closed" mode. The closed mode is what we can think of when we're focused at work. Open mode is the curious, creative, and interesting mode.

And later Cleese talks about five ways to get into the open mode. These five things are space, time, time, confidence, and humor.

Create a specific space, a specific amount of time set aside, play with the problem over time, have the confidence to take a crazy chance, and humor.

All five of those things are difficult when you're working a 9-5 job. You spend all day in the closed mode, then you come home and have all sorts of life things to finish--shopping, cooking, family time, phone calls, bills, etc. Suddenly, it's late at night, and you just can't set aside the time. Throw in the anxiety created by creation, the fear of losing what little piece of the world we have for the slim chance of making a change that probably won't have good fiscal outcomes, and therefore be "meaningless" (at least in the current societal view of life being defined by capital expenditure).

So, the idea of being a creative "tourist," or someone that does it in his/her spare time defines that the person must have lots of spare time, an environment free of extreme anxiety, and free from so many life's difficulties.

It's difficult to put that time in. For many working class individuals, this means taking the "easy way" out because then we get to create, and it's done, and we can enjoy it on some level. But it doesn't always create the most compelling art. The same thing happens in a commercial environment. We have deadlines, stresses outside artistic nature (if we don't sell enough albums, we're screwed), and people telling us about the content we need to create.

We're told to be entrepreneurs, start our own groups, put out CDs, but also go to school, submit to competitions, play as much as possible, write as much and as quickly as possible.

At the end of the day, there's hardly time to breathe, let alone actually create. There's a difference between creation and working. We can work at music, stay in the closed mode, and pump out notation. It's not the same as creating. For that, to really come up with novel solutions to a problem, we need time.

This year, I'm on a Fulbright. For the first time in my life, I'm able to focus on research I want to do, and music I want to create. My days are programmed the way I want them. I write emails, make phone calls, try and get the interview thing happening. And I write music.

Since I've been here, I've worked on 2 pieces; my opera and a commission for trombone and percussion. In both, I'm examining all sorts of methods that I've never had a chance to examine. I'm getting to play with ideas. What's this led me to?

My trombone and percussion piece was, originally, going to be pretty straight forward. Then I decided to do a graphic score because I wanted to play with a much more flexible idea of rhythm and pitch. I generated random tables.

I didn't like the end result. It was the first idea, and it wasn't doing what I wanted. I took time to think about it.

Then, I created a computer program based upon probability--the highest chances go to "stepwise" motion in rhythm, meter, and pitch. Decisions are made contrapuntally. It took me three days of 8-10 hours a day to write that program (and it's still buggy and not perfect).

As I was hand-writing my score, I realized this was going to be a huge pain for distribution. I needed to find a large format scanner (ah, how I missed UMKC at that moment), and I'd have to do a "good" copy, in pen, on expensive paper, that'd be perfect. Be thankful none of you have read my hand-written scores. So, deciding that was a horrid idea, I set out to do it in Inkscape (since I don't own Illustrator).

I spent four days figuring out a template: sizes, staff spacings, finding a good music font, testing combinations, etc. At the end of the fourth day, I had one hand-written page done. It took lots of problem solving. huge amounts of problem solving.

These are all things that I could not have done without time...without time where I could work in the open mode, playing with problems, and testing solutions, and in the closed mode, focusing on implementing ideas of long periods of time.

It was not the work of a hobbyist. If I tried to do this as a hobby, it'd be well into next year before the piece was finished. Actually, the piece as it stands wouldn't exist, because I never would have even attempted to do something this "complicated."

So, David Byrne is right, in a sense. He rallies against the idea that hardship breeds creativity and I agree with him. Hardship breeds inactivity. Have you tried writing a piece of music when all you've had to eat was a single serving of Ramen around 3pm, and that's all you're going to eat today? Or painting in a loft without heat? It's been shown in studies that poverty and hardship affects students; it's not much of a leap to say that these issues aren't just for students, but for all people affected by poverty.

I don't bemoan that the nouveau riche don't all understand the idea of social giving. But, unlike the commentator who talked about a "return of music as hobby" who lacked the historical understanding of music and the output of "music as hobby," and the stagnation that comes with the lack of creativity caused by the loss of the setting to be creative.

And I also think that the decentralization is great for the arts. The arts are major job creators, community supporters, and provide amazing opportunities for people of all backgrounds. Having the wealth of creativity spread around the world is a great thing. The problems of NYC in its commodification of art to placate a certain sector and keep donations rolling in is a sad problem. And with the major image problems facing orchestras and art music in general, any other issue can be catastrophic for a local scene.

But, in a way, NYC's loss is everyone else's game. As NYC loses artistic residents to burgeoning new scenes like KC, Austin, New Orleans (is it really "new?" Same with KC. Jazz was kind of a big deal), and other large scenes going strong such as San Francisco, LA, and Chicago, won't these other places be bolstered?

And does Byrne really think NYC's art scene will crumble? No, the allure of that city is too strong, the culture too deeply grounded. It may stagnate as certain turnovers occur, large institutions take on conservative or popular streaks to stay running, but that underground scene, the smaller clubs, venues, and galleries, will always carry on. Even if artists have to move further into the reaches of Brooklyn, Queens, and maybe even the Bronx. They'll still band together and make meaningful art. Outsiders like me will still fly in for the occasional performance, either of a commission or at a festival.

But NYC will carry on, in one form or another. I know too many people fighting to keep the scene alive, fighting for their piece of NYC. The 1% aren't going to find a way to buy out the arts--if anything, the arts will probably find a new way to subvert the 1% out of a nice share of money to put on a display attacking the 1%.

Opera as Theater--design cannot defeat music

But, boy, did it try.

I attended Parsifal at the Royal Opera in Stockholm on Tuesday evening. I prepared myself for the long haul--a roughly 4.5 hour opera with two 35 minute breaks, by reading the libretto and bookmarking a couple translations on my phone, to check during intermissions if needed. I also ate a tasty burrito at a local Chipotle-esque chain called Zocalo.

My decision to attend was simple: 50% off student tickets and the study of live opera. Writing an opera is half of my Fulbright, and Wagner's operas, in particular, make use of folk and traditional stories often times to espouse his personal political and social ideas.

Christof Loy's version of Parsifal offers a similar tract, placing Loy's own visions onto Wagner's masterpiece. If you're unfamiliar with the story of Parsifal, read here. Loy's version is fairly different, so having a relationship with the original plot may be helpful.

Reviews of Loy's production have all been stellar. Here are a couple examples. One thing you'll notice is that the two reviews had different impressions of the theme of Loy's Parsifal. Both seem to focus on positive aspects of how Loy's theme was played out on stage.

Personally, I had issues with several of the characterizations. My issue didn't come from the performance, nor from the continuity of the theme. I didn't read any reviews before going, so my judgements were my own. My issue had to do with a disconnect between Loy's telling and Wagner's story. To put it bluntly, the words did not match the action.

Parsifal was sung in German with Swedish super-titles. My German is weak, and my Swedish even worse, hence me reading the libretto and having it handy. From the outset, I was confused regarding the choice with Amfortas. Oh, there's no denying who Amfortas is supposed to be: he is portrayed as the forsaken savior, crown of thorns and all. It was his actions that didn't seem to fit the dialogue at times.

In the opening scene, Wagner's Parsifal has Amfortas arrive via processional, carried on a litter by his knights. Loy has Amfortas stumbling in, terrified, injured, barely functioning. The squires on stage look at him in complete disrespect, one even with obvious hate. Loy was beating me over the head--Amfortas is the forsake savior. I get it. But...why's he so pathetic? And why does everyone hate him?

Amfortas enters, and, later, hears that Kundry has found balsam for his wound. His lines: You, Kundry? Do I owe you my thanks again, you restless, timorous maid? Well then! I'll try the balsam now, and thank you for your trouble. (from http://www.monsalvat.no/trans1.htm)

In Loy's version, Amfortas sings these lines laying on the ground, weeping, reaching for Kundry, wanting to touch her, be with her. Kundry, in Wagner's version, is possibly a witch, the temptress, but also the redeemed whore, Mary Magdalene. When she is with the nights, she is paying her penance.

In Loy's version, she is the temptress, who as much reviles herself as relishes the role. She seems to have no control over all men fawning over her and falling for her. And all men DO fall for her in this version--Amfortas, who it later comes out was tempted by Kundry and that's why he is injured and lost the spear, wants nothing more to love her. Of course, in Wagner's version, he has no idea it was Kundry that seduced him and made him lose the spear. Gurnemanz is likewise tempted, regularly by Kundry...and in fact he is afraid to even touch her in Act III when he's supposed to be reviving her. Loy's version of revival is Gurnemanz singing from across the stage at Kundry, before coming near her at the end, taking her hand, and promptly falling into a deep longing for her.

So, thematically, what do we have so far? Amfortas as the frail, weak man, searching for redemption that is not his to attain.

Kundry as the free sexual spirit, and the temptation of all men through this? That men are weak of the flesh and women have infinite power over them, even when they don't want to power?

Ok...I can rectify those with the dialogue, though it makes Amfortas an incredibly weak character. His raging scene, excellently choreographed and designed in the second half of Act I, lays somewhat impotent. To me, he has no choices--he'll keep performing his duty because, while he rails against it and only wishes to die, he's too scared, too weak, of even death to possibly not hold on to this little thing.

The disdain shown to him by the knights and squires also caused me issues. Where did this come from? Why do they hate him so? Is Loy really just being this obvious that Amfortas is the forsaken Savior?

Enter Parsifal. For the most part, he is played close to Wagner's character, but in Act II, we see another moment where the words and the actions seem to be at odds. Or, at least, the interpretation of the words seems confusing to me at best. In "traditional" versions, Parsifal enters the garden after defeating Klingsor's knights, and sees a large amount of beautiful women. The lines to begin:

Chorus:Woe! You there! O woe! What is the cause of this distress? Cursed, cursed shall you be! Parsifal jumps down into the garden. Ah! Bold one!

Maiden Group 1:You dare to approach?

Maiden Group 2:Why did you strike down our beloveds?

Parsifal:You lovely children, should I not have fought them? They barred the way to you, pretty ones.

Now there are lots of ways to do a line reading of the above. Parsifal has entered, he needs to get through these ladies now that he's gotten through the knights. He can do the above lines as a sort of "Hey ladies, you're looking good...if you let me through, I'll come back and take you to a nice steak dinner." Parsifal can play the ladies man.

Parsifal could play it sardonically and sarcastically: "Yeah, I killed the knights to get to you. Now move your asses."

The action plays out to the point where Parsifal continues, "Never before have I seen such a handsome race: if I call you fair, don't you think I am right?">

and then

First Maidens: You struck down our playmates

 All Maidens: Who will we play with now?

Parsifal: I will, gladly!

Remember, Parsifal is supposed to be the "anointed fool." He doesn't know what's happening half the time. From the text, what would your reading be?

Loy's reading is that Parsifal starts out sarcastic, then tries to fight all the ladies, then finally flees until Kundry appears.

This is one possible reading--that everything is turned into sarcasm, that the flower maidens are more than just simple maidens, but horrible seductresses meant to turn Parsifal from his path to the spear. That Parsifal, in his combination of innocence and anger, chooses to flee rather than kill these evil sirens. Possibly.

But that's not what came across to me--what came across is action that didn't fit the words, line readings that seemed inconsistent.

The end, to me, was trite, unoriginal, and tossed in as an extra theme. Throughout the entire opera, the idea that "this is a story, a thing happening in the past" was beaten into me. From the book Gurnemanz is borderline obsessed with, to the lady in 20th century garb entering in every Act at some point, and even the stage direction. The blocking, to put it simply, was about creating pictures, images. This first happens before there's any dialogue: the squires enter, one by one, take a specific place, and pose, statuesque, for at least a minute or two. Then, one by one, they move, and take a new pose.

This happens, continuously, through every scene. That is the entire style of blocking--move one at a time, everyone in position? Great, now, PICTURE! and now one at a time move.

The style of blocking is obviously meant to make a connection to the idea of paintings, of history and stories told in other mediums. In the first Act as Gurnemanz tells the squires the story of Amfortas, a picture is revealed. One review comments that it looks like Monet, but I didn't see the connection to Monet. It appeared more like Arthur Hacker's The Temptation of Percival (which makes sense, considering Parsifal = Percival).

After 4.5 hours of seeing this type of group blocking, I was actually annoyed. When there were two, three, or four characters on stage, the direction was magnificent! Act II between Kundry and Parsifal is beautifully done. Act I during Amfortas' railing against his duties was also fantastic. But add a chorus, and, look out for monotonous movement.

Yes, it ties into an overarching theme...but...

The musical finale is played as the back wall opens revealing a present day library. The same modern garbed woman takes Gurnemanz's book, hands it to another associate to be filed.

I actually groaned. This, this is what Parsifal has been leading toward? Amfortas is on the ground upfront playing in his father's ashes (btw, his father dies in this version), completely unredeemed. Humanity is still as frail as its ever been. And the rest of the troupe wanders into the library, looking amazed, as patrons, slowly mill (entering one at a time, though moving more fluidly now, as they aren't in the book). To me, this is so blatant that it's almost Absurdist. The final moments something is revealed.

And I honestly have no idea what. You see, it was placed at the furthest back point, and all the way up top. The front curtain was raised and lowered to various heights to create depth (great idea), and at this point was about 3/4 up...From the front row of the top balcony, I COULDN'T SEE THE BIG REVEAL!!!

This is one of the biggest blunders I've ever seen in a production. You lead up to a point, all the patrons in the library have stopped milling and are pointing and staring. And at least 1/4 of your audience can't see what's happening. Just because I could only afford a 150SEK seat doesn't mean I shouldn't get to see your big reveal.

This was either a) a mistake by the person operating the front curtain. If it had been all the way up, I would have been able to see it or b) a massive design mistake where no one bothered to check from the balcony.

Loy's production suffers major problems from my perspective. First off, it lacks all subtlety. Let's be honest: Wagner is not going to help you with subtlety nor with blocking. He has large blocks of stand and sing "I'm going to tell you a story now." That's one of the challenges of Wagner. He's blatant in lot of his imagery, such as Kundry anointing the feet of Parsifal when he returns: Yes, that's Mary Magdalene anointing Jesus' feet. He has his subtle moments, but those mostly come from when Wagner has mixed his original texts together, when Christianity meets old Germanic and Norse stories and you have to decide which meaning you'd like to take.

The design choices, to me, feel tacked on. They're not from the story, they're in lieu of the story. Wagner is incredibly direct, even blunt, with what his story is. There are multiple interpretations. But I just can't see where Loy's incredibly blunt statement of "This is a parable. I shall make this apparent that it's a story, but just because it's a story, doesn't mean you can't learn something. See, it's a library, because someone was reading the story, and look, the painting from the first act (I found that out by reading reviews. Lame)" is rectified in the story. It's added to the story, an outside idea forced on top.

And for me, that idea didn't work. I prefer theater that is organic, that comes first from the story, and is then brought out.

That is my problem with this production: so much of it comes not from Wagner, it comes from Loy. In fact, there's very little of Wagner's story. Oh, there are Wagner's words and Wagner's music, but not his story. This is Loy's story. Which, when the actions and characterizations don't match the words, then Loy's story can't work very well.

All the negative out of the way, the performance itself was spectacular! Ola Eliasson as Amfortas, Christof Fischesser as Gurnemanz, Michael Weinus as Parsifal, Martin Winkler as Klingsor, and Katarina Dalayman as Kundry were all spectacular. The chorus numbers were powerful, the flower maidens were all strong in their more soloistic moments.

Major hats off to Christof Fischesser, whose powerful bass voice was absolutely stunning. Not only was the singing technically perfect and musically satisfying, it was delivered with apparent ease and conviction. It allowed Fischesser to performer subtle and complex vocalizations, adding a layer of nuance to Gurnemanz character that was incredibly enjoyable.

The same can be said for Katarina Dalayman. This was especially apparent during her long scene with Weinus during Act II. Weinus has a strong voice, but needs to ground himself to really belt the difficult Wagnerian tenor role. This led to moments of action, then standing, then action. Wagner is unforgiving of his tenors, so this is not meant as negative criticism. Dalayman added nuance to the scene, being able to perform her lines in a variety of positions, sitting, lounging, reaching, and seducing all the while singing in a full, rich tone.

The orchestra matched the musical superiority on stage. Wonderful playing and musical direction. When a trained musician can count on his hands the tiny mistakes, then a group has performed amazingly. The loud sections of the orchestra were huge, nearly deafening (in a good way), and the more subtle sections were nuanced and immaculate. So far I've heard orchestral playing three times in Sweden, and all three times have ranked in the top 10 orchestral performances of my life. Amazing musicianship.

And this isn't to say that all the design choices were poor. I absolutely loved the choice of Kundry being in all black. This, to me, made a connection between Kundry and mourning, her dislike of her "role" and her fervent wish for redemption. The scenic design, other than the finale, was amazing. The front was designed as an all wood enclosure, first as a Gurnemanz cottage, then fancied up a bit for Klingsor's castle. The back wall of the wooden structure opened to a full, raked, and beautifully designed perspective of, first the chapel at Amfortas' castle, the garden of Klingsor's castle, and the library. The use of the sets caused movements from intimate (with a small cast, such as Kundry and Parsifal in Act II, or Gurnemanz and the squires in Act I) to claustrophobic (Amfortas being berated and attacked by his knights in Act III--a Loy construction). Amfortas' castle was open and spacious, while Klingsor's was enclosed and dark. Great scenic comparisons.

Klingsor's castle was perfect, the entire scene and idea. Placing Klingsor as aristocracy vs. the workingman garb of the Knights showed differentiation. His obvious control of the girls, dressed as ballerinas and other performers, as well as having spare chairs from the opera house made a "subtle" statement about the arts becoming controlled by money and being useless entertainment. But it was done in a way that didn't hinder the story in any fashion, in fact, added a layer of subtlety that gave me nice pleasure, a moment of "Here's the plot, here's Klingsor and he's an ass, and...wait, is that? Oh, it is! Nice..." This subtlety was lacking in most of the other scenes.

The lighting designed was equally masterful. It was, for the most part, utilitarian and sparse, but perfect. Windows would be opened to shine light across the stage, and the shadows cast became as interactive and important as the characters themselves.

One note on props: characters seemed to become attached to a single prop: Gurnemanz with the book, Amfortas first with the Grail, then with his father's ashes in an urn. This causes the props to have power. The power of the book becomes apparent at the end (or earlier for some). The power of the Grail is, actually, ignored. It is often placed on the floor, or on a bench, and the chorus moves around it, ignoring it. It's an odd sequence to see everyone reverential to an object, then put it on the floor, and almost kick it over. This was an interesting artistic statement. The same thing happens with Titurel's ashes: Amfortas fumbles them in the quarrel with his knights, breaking the urn and spilling them on the floor. Amfortas goes to wallow in them...moments afterwards the chorus is walking through them, kneeling in them, and ignoring them.

The statement, to me, seemed clear: what we revere in an object is only a personal affectation, fleeting in the moment. Or, perhaps, it is meant to personify the chorus, a group that is actively betraying their one time savior, now fallen--how easily they discard the past and ignored it's ramifications. Of course, all the while, they're telling Amfortas to uncover the Grail and perform the sacrament, even as they ignore the Grail itself. Always this double sided nature to Loy's direction which just added frustration to my experience--not because I "didn't get it" but because it was continuously at odds.

Finally, a moment of amazing direction, and which set-up my expectations for the show, which were then sadly not fulfilled. During the first Act, Gurnemanz talks of the past, of Titurel passing kingship to Amfortas, and Amfortas' quest. The squires move closer, and start to be swayed by the story. The movements become somewhat seductive. Two female squires/flower maidens move down stage, one brushing the others hair. All the other squires inch toward Gurnemanz. As Gurnemanz reaches the point of describing Klingsor's castle, the girl down center rips open her shirt, now topless, moving sensually. The other two female squires have reached Gurnemanz, seductively touching his leg and chest. The males move toward the downstage girl and toward Gurnemanz.

Quickly, Gurnemanz ends the tale. The squires, in a daze, replace their clothing, move away, and seem confused.

This was absolutely fantastic. If Loy was going for "the power of a story and history to affect the present," this scene showed it perfectly. It also shows the frailty of the human spirit, that at any moment we can be swayed, changed, and coerced away from our own ideas and beliefs. It was powerful, subtle, but not so subtle that I think it was lost on the audience.

If Loy had continued in this vein, and not gotten even more blunt, prosaic, and banal, the production would have been a complete success. Instead, I was left with absolutely loving the music, appreciating an amazing performance, and wondering where the nuance and cohesiveness of theater had gone.

A well-known person said something...

generalized, narrow-minded, and a little bit "curmudgeon-esque." Shocker, I know!

The person in question is one John Adams. No, not the US's 2nd President, though I'm sure he said plenty of "curmudgeon-ey" statements as well. No, the composer. He's known for many things:

Post-minimalist large scale works:




Opera:





And high school marching shows (Skip to 1:15 to get to Short Ride in a Fast Machine). 





Oh Texas marching bands and their John Adams. Actually, I saw this at least five or six times during my marching career (5 as a marcher, 2 as an instructor). And it's an arrangement. Sorry, bit of false advertising.

So that's the music of John Adams. Why did I bother posting that? I know most people hitting this blog undoubtedly know his music. It's all for context though. Keep those pieces in mind, or hop back to the top when you need a reminder. I'll be breaking down all sorts of points as we go though this...

What did John Adams say that blew up my Facebook feed, and probably blew up the bloggosphere as well It was around 11pm here, so I didn't do the blog, nor did I run down the rabbit hole last night.

He said this:

   “We seem to have gone from the era of fearsome dissonance and complexity — from the period of high modernism and Babbitt and Carter — and gone to suddenly these just extremely simplistic, user-friendly, lightweight, sort of music lite,” he said. “People are winning Pulitzer Prizes writing this stuff now.”
   Acknowledging with a laugh that he might sound like a curmudgeon, he added, “If you read a lot of history, which I do, you see that civilizations produce periods of high culture, and then they can fall into periods of absolute mediocrity that can go on for generation after generation.”
   On the subject of commercialism and marketing in new music, Mr. Adams said, “What I’m concerned with is people that are 20, 30 years younger than me are sort of writing down to a cultural level that’s very, very vacuous and very superficial.”

This statement is tossed in at the end of a press-release about his new saxophone concerto. Seems a question was posed about Adams' use of bop and jazz influences, and then Adams went on a little rant about the fad of using popular music.

I saw three responses to this: first was "Yay, new saxophone piece by John Adams!" and the statement was ignored; second a "He's kind of got a point. And, man, burn on the Pulitzer when JOHN ADAMS says the music is simplistic, user-friendly, etc."; and third was this long rant, which I'm attributing to the person that I saw as the poster that got shared, Darcy James Argue:

Dear John Adams,
     You are awesome at composing. You've written several works that have become pillars of the late 20th/early 21st century canon. Whenever you premiere a new piece, it's an Event. Your style is hugely influential. Basically everyone out there tries to orchestrate like you. There are maybe, like, two other living composers more famous than you. I think it's safe to say you've MADE IT.
     I also understand that it was hard for you when you were first coming up. Lots of mean old composers talked all kinds of smack about your music. They said it was boring and insubstantial and pandering and commercial and derivative and unserious. And that stung. I get it. It really sucks to hear people say that about your music, especially when it's coming from Established Famous Composers. And even moreso when those Established Famous Composers are just mouthing off without having listened carefully, because they are so stuck in their own little bubbles that they are unable to approach the music of anyone younger than themselves with anything other than reflexive, unconsidered disdain.
     But you SHOWED THOSE ASSHOLES. You shrugged off their bullying and just kept doing your thing, and now you're rich and famous and all the important people agree you are awesome at composing. You are ON TOP.
     So why do you still feel the need to inflict the exact same hazing on younger composers that you received when you were coming up?
     Seriously, here are the words you've been throwing around as blanket descriptors of the music of composers "20, 30 years younger" than you (by the way, you are 66 so that means you are describing the music of composers who are roughly between the ages of 36-46, and I just want to remind you that you wrote "Shaker Loops" when you were 31):
"extremely simplistic" "user-friendly" "lightweight" "sort of music lite" "absolute mediocrity" "very, very vacuous and very superficial”
     Has it occurred to you that these are precisely the words that all those Established Famous Composers used to describe your own music in the early years of your career? It seems impossible that this would escape your notice. But it also seems like maybe you don't realize that this is what everyone else is thinking whenever you use these kinds of epithets to insult the work of younger composers. Which it seems like you're doing with some regularity, of late.
     Have you seen Richard Linklater's Dazed and Confused? It seems like it's possible you've maybe seen that movie — unlike some of the mean old composers who used to rag on you, you've never been one to reflexively turn your nose up at ALL popular culture. I mean, the name of your blog is a Buffy reference! And Dazed and Confused is actually a really good movie. There's like a Criterion Collection edition and everything!
     Anyway: you know how, in the opening sequence of that movie, all of the high school seniors get all excited about the merciless ritual hazing they are about to inflict on the incoming freshman class? And as you watch them paddle the crap out of the boys and force the girls to "fry like bacon, you little freshman piggies," you realize that a big part of the reason why everyone's so excited about bullying these younger kids is that they, too, were hazed mercilessly as incoming freshmen? And even now, the wounds are still so fresh, so raw, that they can't wait for the opportunity to dish out that kind of punishment on someone else, as if doing so might somehow heal their own psychic trauma?
     What is your reaction when you watch these scenes? "This tradition is awesome"? "Hazing builds character!"? "Vicious circles are good for everyone"?
     Seriously, John Adams. Seriously. You are a brilliant composer and an incredibly smart and perceptive and sensitive individual. Why do you persist in acting like the high school bully who can't wait to dish out some of the abuse he was once on the receiving end of?

A lot of people rallied to this blog length post, saying "yeah, screw John Adams." My reaction was "Wow, someone really has thin skin and identifies exactly with the music he perceives John Adams is talking about."

Later on his feed, Argue linked a quite infamous article about Charles Wuorinen. I'm happy he did, because it saved me the trouble of finding it. I had every intention of including it in this blog. In it Wuorinen goes after the Pulitzer winner of that year, David Lang, as well as tons of other people. And Lang's response is equally wonderful.

Ok, I really hope you skimmed those articles. Why? Because, let's be honest, Adams' generalized, narrow minded, quick jab pales in comparison to the methodical attack by Charles Wuorinen. I've blogged about Wuorinen before, and, yes, he is abrasive, direct, and opinionated. I heard him talk 25 years after that infamous argument, and his complaints are the same.

And Wuorinen has a point.

So does Lang.

So does Adams.

Argue as well, but it gets muddled badly by a horrible comparison.

He equates flippant remarks as the same as hazing. Even compares it to Dazed and Confused.

Alright, let's give a quick summary of Dazed and Confused for everyone out there--as summary that includes the actions perpetrated, not a watered down "they were mean too" viewpoint.

End of school year, Juniors become Seniors, 8th graders become Frosh. The "tradition" is for Seniors to haze the new Frosh. For the men, this is mainly paddling, getting a few "good licks," a bruised backside, and then, if you're lucky, a beer or an invite to a party. For the ladies, it involves rolling on the ground "frying like piggies," lots of getting screamed at, having various food thrown on them, and finally taken through a car-wash. And, again, if you're "cool" enough, you may get to go to the party later.

In other words, direct physical and verbal abuse by the "gatekeepers" as a trial for incoming people to pass. If you pass, you're in.

John Adams remarks don't hurt me. They're hardly abusive. In fact, they're pretty impotent. They come off as someone that "doesn't like the music of kids today." I shrugged, laughed a bit, and then remembered all the music I've heard that does fit that exact specification, and think "well, he kind of has a point, mainly about going for appeal over art." And I started to recall a rant he did on masterclasses. Again, my friends (or friends of friends) are awesome, read my mind as I slept, and posted the exact blog post I was thinking of.

I remember reading that and thinking "Yeah, he's right, these are some broad trends. And they are problems...but not of just the upcoming generation, but of all young composers across time."

See, that's the kicker, isn't it? Historical context. And I don't mean historical context in the "Doesn't John Adams remember when he was picked on?" sort of way. I mean long term.

Let's take the inclusion of popular music, transformation of art forms, cross-fertilization, etc. Let's go old, let's say...13th and 14th century? We had a couple musical cultures in the West we know of pretty well: Troubadours, Trouveres, and their line; and the music of the Catholic church. Some composers did both, and did both awesomely. Guillaume de Machaut comes to mind. Machaut is amazing. A bit later (15th  to early 16th century) we get this Josquin de Prez cat, who is also amazing. Two composers straddling the "popular" and "serious" traditions. And they borrowed from both sides. L'homme arme masses anyone? Using popular tunes as the cantus firmus, the vocal line that is the basis of a piece?



Let's fast forward to the 17th or 18th century. Let's pick a guy at random...I heard someone say J.S. Bach. Sure, let's take an easy one.

Bach is known for being pretty much all around awesome. He wrote cantatas, Baroque concertos, keyboard works, all sorts of stuff. I can think of two great examples of "pop turned art" : for subject matter, the Coffee Cantata. (Which, yes, if you're JUST getting the reference of my opera to this, you're a bit late to the show. It's a reference I refused to point out because I thought SOMEONE would put it together...).


Sorry, didn't grab one with English, but this performance is kind of amazing...

Then let's hope over to something else...Suites.

I LOVE Bach's French Suites. During slow times, I would just sit and practice them for hours. Bach twists fingers, has wonderful passages, and is so damn musical. Sitting there coming up with multiple interpretations is one of my favourite past-times. I've always had a soft spot for Glenn Gould's interpretations, if for no other reason than he's not afraid to interpret them



This can keep going ad infinitum. From, say, Dvorak using a furiant in a symphony to, I dunno, me incorporating funk into a sinfonietta piece.


BUT, is this what Adams is talking about? Is it just the use of pop as starting point? What is he getting at really?

I think his comments in the blog post about masterclasses reveal it more. He's seen many young composers not understand minimalism and post-minimalism. As he said, an ostinato does not make a minimalist piece.

I joked with a friend slightly on Fb about the irony of the statement. Argue did that as well in his "look what people called your music!" But, I joked with a bit of knowledge, whereas I think Argue was just being defensive.

I said "the next time a marching band performs Short Ride in a Fast Machine, the world may implode from the irony." To which my friend replied "If irony could do that, Brooklyn would be a black hole."

It's a joke. A very generalized joke. I lived in Brooklyn. Rather than being hurt, I said "I remember the first time I drank a PBR in Brooklyn...I felt like I had to scream 'I'm not being ironic! I'm poor and out of whiskey!' "

Again, generalized statement. A joke. Are you offended? Do you think I'm talking about you, specifically?

Here's the thing: Adams has a point. The point is horribly articulated in a few short toss off sentences. The point is hit home a bit more in his blogpost. This is a trend. And here's where I'm having problems with people's reactions.

Does everyone remember Daniel Asia's article attacking John Cage? I blogged about that as well. Same sort of thing, isn't it? Here's an influential composer that severely dislikes an entire style of music. A broad trend. I pointed out my main problem: that I hope he's more open minded with his students, and encourages them to explore lots of different avenues. Turns out, he does.

And I've spoken to many students about the general issues--formal, structural, historical context and understanding of a style (the "I'm writing this kind of piece but it's definitely not that kind of piece and here's why"), directionality (does this go anywhere? is there forward motion? backwards looking motion? Static? Stasis? What do those different energies accomplish?), and all sorts of compositional problems. Guess what, these are common for all composers throughout the ages. Adams seems to insinuate it's special for this time, but it's not really. We just hear more of the bad stuff (more opportunities for performance, recordings for everyone, all posted online, hell, even sold!).

John Adams is not a "gatekeeper to cool" though. If he doesn't like my music, it will probably have little bearing on my life outside anything he judges. Alright, fine...guess what, every composer/judge/conductor/performer has these exact feelings about SOME type of music. Some only like the latest strain of mid-town post-minimalism. Others really only like the music of Brian Ferneyhough, and would like nothing more than to do concerts of only Ferneyhough, Helmut Lachenmann, and their ilk. This has been the way of the world since the inception of time.

People have opinions. Some of them are over-generalized such as "I dislike all rock music." They are entitled to their opinions. If you want to change their mind, the best approach isn't "Now you've hurt my feelings because I play in a rock band! Be more supportive!" The approach I've found that works is finding out what they like, thinking of something that relates to it, and then leading them through experience to a new realization. Like what?

Ok, say someone says they hate rock music. So you ask "what music do you like?"

"Country"

"do you like the Eagles?"

"Dunno them."

"They're from the 80s. They're more like Garth Brooks than Dolly Parton though. Do you like Garth Brooks?"

"Yeah!"

"Alright, here, let's listen to some. What do you think?"

"Pretty good."

"How about some Lynyrd Skynyrd?"

"Sweet home alabama! love it!"

"Ok, Z. Z. Top?"

See what happens, slowly but surely, you introduce more "related" material.

Or, you look at someones past comments. Does John Adams hate all new music? Is it all vapid? His blog says otherwise, as he praises inventive uses of forms, interesting music, etc. Even music that uses popular themes.

So, what's he on about then?

Stagnation. Lack of individual voice. Lack of experimentalism and forward movement in the vocation. What John Adams perceives is that there is a large amount of people in the younger generation just copying: copying him, copying David Lang, or Brian Ferneyhough, or Lachenmann.

Derivative works.

Derivative works that are being watered down, because while we feel like we SHOULD write like David Lang or John Adams, we don't quite have the skills to orchestrate as well. Or we don't have the deep understanding of the process and through put into minimalism and post-minimalism. We hear In C and think "Oh, I can just write a bunch of fragments and toss them up there!" Or we work on an "invention in the style of Bach" and don't modulate even a quarter as much as Bach did...In fact, we forget those pesky sharp 4s to tonicize the dominant. All those problems I listed earlier, all those skills not yet developed.

And, time for honesty everyone, many composers will never master those skills. I may never master them. I certainly haven't yet. I've gotten enough criticism in the past year that many composers would just walk away. Yehudi Wyner really didn't like my opera. And ya know what? I thanked him for not liking it, for challenging me, for making us talk about all the issues. Because there are major issues with it. Oh man, are there issues. There are formal issues, counterpoint issues, libretto issues...Take that direct criticism and fix it.

What about John Adams indirect criticism? If you were really hurt by it, maybe you should ask why. Is it because you think older composers should be "father figures" and encourage us to do our best? Is it because you love and respect John Adams music, and to hear him disparage any music offends you? Is it because you identify with the music he's pointing out and say "fuck you!"? Or is it because you just fit in the age bracket, and you wonder what beef he has with late 20s to early 40s composers? 

Me, I looked at it, laughed a bit, and shrugged it off. I didn't even care until everyone started taking sides. Then I started asking "why is everyone getting worked up? Why are people taking sides?"

I'm not sure I found answers in this...

But, I did prove that Adams comments lack historical conviction. At the same time, there is validity. All those composers I linked to above did something to their music--they weren't all "complex" in the vein of, say, Babbitt or Wuorinen. But they did treat the material with a great deal of thought, great craftsmanship, and care. The same cannot be said of all music being written today. Or all music written at any point in history. (BTW, I'm not including myself in that praise. Need to revise that piece as well).

So, here's my advice: shrug off Adams comments. Work hard on your music. Write music you love. If John Adams doesn't like it, who cares? Will you miss out on a few awards? Maybe, but, again, who cares?

If you create great art, with strong craftsmanship, extreme care, and the knowledge of past and current trends, then you've created a great piece. Will it last forever? Maybe, maybe not. There's a lot of luck involved. Even composers that were well known in their time don't always stand the test of time (Telemann anyone?).

So, don't be sensitive about your art. Be strong. Don't call people bully's because they disagree with what you do. Strongly disagree even. Why? Because it cheapens the idea of bullying. A general "I think this stuff sucks" is not the same as "You suck" which is not the same as "You suck go kill yourself" which is not the same as "You suck go kill yourself n'ah I'll just beat the hell outta you now" which is not the same as "I'm going to kill you because of "X" arbitrary reason." Though, I'm guessing, the person wouldn't use the word arbitrary.

To recap: Yes, Adams comments were very general, narrow-minded, and kind of ignorant. Because of that, they shouldn't be taken as a big sore, but ignored. Or simply asked "could you be more specific." Being outraged over a generalization is as ridiculous as the generalization. So is equating it to hazing. Or Hitler. No one said Hitler, but it was about time he got brought into this hyperbole. Adams view may lack historical context in one sense, but he's far too intelligent to not know everything I mentioned, and explain how those still "pushed the envelope." And, maybe, we should look into our own feelings, and figure out why we had the reaction we did.

And, maybe, just maybe, take the attitude of John Adams that Argue pointed out...And show John Adams that his words are too general, and that there is exciting new music happening. I'm guessing he'll agree.

Who knows, maybe he'll like your piece. And then you may have a commission from the MET.***


***commission not guaranteed. This is hypothetical. Better put that, or someone will call me on it later.

The essence of an open mind.

every once in a while you listen to a piece you're "supposed" to hate. It's not "original" enough. It's by someone that just pumped out music without taking time to craft it. It's kitsch. It's poorly orchestrated. It's too harmonically simple. It's predictable.

Everything you've been "taught" tells you to hate it. No one tells you to listen to it, but you do anyway, because you think "I can learn something from anything, be it what to do or what not to do."

So, you listen. The opening line is kitschy, tonal, simple. The orchestral tutti later is trite. The section that follow is done as block chords a la a hymn. Everything you've been "taught" tells you that you shouldn't like. There's even a fugue, a simply created fugue, not a double mensuration canon, just a straight forward fugue, constructed well enough. Not as impressive as Bach. The orchestration is the standard Romantic fair, almost formulaic in its accumulation. A trumpet hits the melody just before the next tutti. You want to groan. Everything you've been taught says you shouldn't like this piece.

And, maybe, most other days you wouldn't like it. But today, you're listening because other people told you how new music is dead, how it's not complex enough while citing Beethoven as the example. You tuned in after reading blogs and articles all morning discussing what's wrong with symphonies, what is the American symphony, criticism of every style possible, the symphonic music, in general, is a complete waste of time and money. You pulled up this piece because you knew exactly what it was--the title said it all. You knew the composer, and could guess exactly what would happen.

Even as the first movement ends with block chords, timpani rolls, bells chiming, you're wondering why you haven't shut it off. The second movement kicks in--a jig. Less Irish and more American barn dance. You don't even bother looking at the title: knowing the composer it's probably titled after the tempo. The violins are fiddlin' away. Now you're really thinking "I should really hate this right now." Then brass blaring repeated chords, chimes, and a forlorn English horn melody. It's a late enough piece you wonder how much film music played into the creation of the piece--less Korngold and more John Williams. Another trumpet solo with undulating strings. Your stomach is what should be undulating...but still, you listen. Are you waiting for the train wreck? Like the piece from a few days ago which was so horrific you forwarded it to all your friends with the title "BEST.PIECE.EVER!" much like you pranked them with Tough Guys Don't Dance? Meanwhile a piccolo starts a duet with the English horn. This is the first moment you shudder, mainly from the thought of "Oh God, no, not a piccolo" but it doesn't destroy your ears as you thought. It's almost...pleasant? As the brass come in blaring the melody you start to wonder about the construction: so much direct repetition of a single melody is offense 1 in any composition course. Development, development, development! We're even told the minimalists developed ideas, just a single idea.

The strings break your wandering thoughts, cascading lines--another barn dance. Canonic. The bass drum, timpani, and chimes spell out the underlying pulse. Your foot is tapping. Why in the name of...Seriously, why is your foot tapping! This should have you on the floor gasping for breath, wishing someone would turn off the racket. But, you don't reach to turn it off. You're listening as the whole group spirals out of control till the brass enter, predictably. The tuba player shines, somehow becoming your focus. Who focuses on the tuba at a time like this? They release the chord and you're starting to wonder if your sanity is gone...

Harp, oboe, strings. No one writes for harp these days. You used to think there was good reason, but now you're wondering why not? And you're trying to remember the pedalings and realize you don't write for harp because it terrifies you...and you're afraid no harpist would play what you wrote. Strings in canon again. That's at least three times the composer has used canons as a transition--there were probably a few more but they slipped by you. The harp and oboe come back, simple melody, repetitive accompaniment. You should be reaching to turn it off because you just know the fourth movement will start off with...

A chorale. Yes, the chorale has returned. You knew it even before the first notes were played. There was no excitement in realizing you were right--the musical guessing game ending before this piece even began. Canon, again with the canons. You're finally starting to dislike the piece, but only a little. You're starting to wonder "If I was an orchestra conductor, would I program this? I think I would." As the basses and cellos move their stepwise bassline you're wondering how much flak you'd take for programming this piece, and if you'd even care. The audience might like it, as it's more Mendelssohn than Lachenmann. Then you wonder if you could program it with a Lachenmann piece...All the while the chorale is still going in the background, orchestrational pairings are just as you'd expect then horns holding a chord. Then pizzicato strings...then...oboe? What is the oboe playing? What mode is that? The line is being passed through the woodwinds. This passage you really shouldn't like. It's reached the point of buffoonery--there's not one ounce of development, just theme to theme to theme, repetition, canon, orchestrational change. Everything you've learned says this is a lesser piece. You know it's a lesser piece. It's backwards thinking. This piece came out around the same time as Christopher Rouse's Gorgon, and it's about as far an antithesis as can exist.

Another theme. Related? Back at the dance. A canonic entrance of voices, the first few notes repeated. The closest thing to development that's happened the whole piece. Even the second half of the melody is just a transposition of the first phrase. The brass enter with their chorale one more time because "Why not?". There's a sudden harmonic shift. It's jarring...At this point you must be sitting there because you've made it the first 30 minutes so what's another three at this point? That has to be the reason. Orchestral tutti of the chorale. The final chords...was that I-V7-I? Crescendo and release...

You sit for a minute, stunned. You just listened to a 33 minute piece that all your schooling said "dislike this." It was kitschy--oh golly was it kitschy. You hate kitsch. It was trite...or was it? Something didn't feel trite about it. Folk style themes for an orchestra in an unadulterated manner usually equals trite...right?

You're still thinking about it. You're not reaching for Berio, Ligeti, or Ferneyhough. Not even going for Shostacovich. Just the fan is your accompaniment.

Why don't you hate this piece? If you listen tomorrow, you probably will. Your gut says that two listenings may be too many. There's not enough substance there. Heck, even a Lost Prophets song takes more than one listening just to get all the words...But, right now, you don't hate it. You kind of liked it. May the contemporary composition gods forgive you, you kind of liked it. This was Mendelssohn with a large orchestra. This.is.not.the.music.of.1985. It is not the music of now. It's a music of yesteryear.

And you're ok with it. You click back over to Naxos and start looking for more American symphonies written after 1980. That's your listening for today. But it sticks with you...

This piece that, by all accounts, by all learning, by your own goddamn taste, you should hate.

You didn't.

And you're happy you listened to the whole thing, gave the music a real chance. It seems like many composers musicians critics listeners people wouldn't do that.

The piece, some might be wondering? Alan Hovhaness' Symphony No. 60 "To the Appalachian Mountains." Couldn't find a video, but it's on Naxos.

And I know I'll hate it tomorrow. But, for today, I'm alright with myself.

That is the essence of an open mind.

Follow-up: Ingram Marshall

Earlier I wrote a blog about Philip Kennicott's post in the newrepublic. Among the many things discussed was Kennicott's vehement dislike of Kingdom Come by Ingram Marshall. During the end of his article, Kennicott takes a pretty unfair stab at new music, creating a checklist which describes at best one small scene of new music (often called the Midtown scene, after the work of collectives like Bang on a Can, and various composers that like to blur the line between pop and contemporary. And get lumped in with the touristy Midtown).

Here is Kennicott's checklist for in-vogue new music: harmonically and melodically accessible; socially topical; mixed media; and draws on musical culture outside the concert hall.

If you're even a semi-literate musician, you'll see how that checklist is, well...bogus. But I'll come to that a bit later.

First, I finally got the download from nonesuch records of Kingdom Come. Took a couple days, which in this day of digital downloads seems a long wait. Still, I have it without dealing with iTunes. Yay! One of the first things I did this morning was fire up the recording.

It's recorded by the ACO (America Composers Orchestra) and features recorded media along with a full orchestra. And listening to the piece, I do agree with what Kennicott said.

It is harmonically and melodically accessible. Meaning that the piece is triadically based, with a fairly Romantic notion of tension and release. Dissonant pitches are accrued then resolved more or less via good contrapuntal relationships. It seems to fit more into the mold of a Listz or a Wagner than a Brahms, with maybe some hints of Barber, especially in his string melodies. One of the more interesting parts were the dissonant low brass tones toward the beginning, which felt immediately linked to the rumbling pitch shifted voices that come in immediately after. All in all, I actually enjoyed the work--it's a bit more Romantic than I usually lean in my listening these days, but I may have needed it after a night of Saariaho.

It is socially topical, being influenced by the death of Ingram Marshall's brother in law in a bombing in Bosnia in 1994, as well as field recordings he had of chanting, singing, and bells from Bosnia. The title, in Marshall's words, can be related to the phrase "blown to kingdom come." If you didn't listen to Ingram Marshall's discussion with the St. Louis Youth Symphony, check it out.

So, yes, the piece can have these elements. I repeat, CAN. No one forces the listener to hear a piece in a specific way. Yes, there is semantic priming due to program notes, and recorded media often uses direct, unaffected sounds to create a more specific metaphor or relation. But this is one of the beauties of music: regardless of what we read about a piece, what we are told, and what the composer says, the listener has the final say on what is heard, based upon their experiences and what they choose to focus on.

Kingdom Come does use mixed media. In the recording, it is integrated quite nicely, with a well mixed balance of ensemble and media. The musical connections between the media and the orchestra seem clear to me, with lines being moved between recording and orchestra, harmonic movement being taken by either side, and a nice orchestration between all the parts. Kennicott obviously has a distaste for mixed media without taking into account the medium itself. That's fine, you don't have to like every medium, but to call it a bad piece because you don't like the medium is poor criticism.

And, yes, Kingdom Come does draw from musical culture outside the concert hall. There is chanting and church bells. I'm not sure what else Kennicott might be getting at, but it could be that it sounds more like "film" music to him than, say...well, I don't know, since film music comes directly out of the Romantic tradition and shares many characteristics with the repertoire he holds so dear. But it has the stigma of being for "film." Yes, I'm sure Korngold is impressed with your disdain.

Is Kingdom Come a "bad' piece of music? No. It does not, as Kennicott states, "fail." It is well crafted, firmly grounded in counterpoint, is balanced well between the media and orchestra, orchestrationally speaking. Of course, there could have been mixing errors in the live listening, but a critic has to be able to tell the difference between a poorly mixed piece and a poorly written piece.

Is it a piece I'll listen to repeatedly? Maybe not. It is a bit too Romantic for my liking, and, yes, a little simple in the harmonic spectrum. But then so is Brahms. And Strauss. And Beethoven. Especially Mozart and Haydn.

And this is the crux: Kennicott's list makes no sense. What is harmonically simple music? By what standard? By the standard of the past? Triadically based? Diatonic? All those things describe the repertoire Kennicott holds as being the core of the orchestra. It is no more or less adventuresome than Barber, Mendelssohn, or Boccherini. Or does Kennicott mean minimalist music that focuses on stasis or deep examination of a single area (such as Dennis Johnson's November)? Or does he mean modal music, such as Miles Davis' So What off "Kind of Blue?" That description to me makes little sense. It is not simple in the "pop tune" variety, meaning having only four or five chords. But it is triadically based. But, then, I doubt Kennicott likes the harmonically complicated music of, say, Boulez.

What about socially topical? Using that in a negative context seems so bizarre to me. It ignores a huge facet of history. For instance, for whom was Beethoven's 3rd Symphony (Eroica, or, Heroic) originally dedicated to? Napoleon Bonaparte. Wait, you mean that guy in the French Revolution that Beethoven so admired? That guy that then claimed to be emperor, and Beethoven grew disgusted? And then Beethoven scratched out his name, saving his fee (it was supposed to be dedicated to the guy that paid him, of course), and showing his now disdain for the "conqueror."

Here is, again, the thing about music: anyone that claims that it exists somehow outside reality, that composers aren't influenced by society, are wrong. In the wonderful movie (Untitled), Adam Goldberg's character states toward the beginning that his music is completely abstract and has nothing to do with life. SPOILER: he realizes later that he is influenced by all the sounds around him, thereby his music is connected to society.

But the kicker is the listener makes the final determination. If no one tells you the "story" behind a piece, then you are 100% free to make your own. Even when you're told, no one forces you into one mode of thinking. Your decision comes from your own experiences, pulling from cognitive schemata to influence what you hear and what it means. When I listen to Kingdom Come, I first grab all the musical elements. It's what I'm trained to do, as a musician. In particular, I listen to relationships between parts, motivic development, etc. My mind doesn't "make a story" because that's just not what I personally do. It does this with a piece programmatically titled, or a "string quartet."

Others will hear a relation to music from a movie, and equate it with some scene. Maybe something from Three Wise Men or another Middle Eastern/Balkan/Recent war type movie. Maybe the chanting sounds like what a person heard at the funeral of a beloved Eastern Orthodox family member. The list is large.

And the same is true for Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Brahms, etc. If you're going to hate on Ingram Marshall for it, then you should hate on Beethoven for the Eroica symphony, hate on Mendelssohn for the Hebrides overture, really hate on Berlioz's Symphony Fantastique, not to mention Haydn's London Symphonies, and Mozart's String Quartets dedicated to Haydn.

And what about music "outside the concert hall?" Who gets to decide what comes into the concert hall, and when? Take, for instance, the Minuet. It is, after all, a dance. One can look back at Baroque Suites and see collections of dances, now made as concert music. Is this as large a sin? Moving forward, do we attack Dvorak for having a furiant and dumka in his string sextet? They are, after all, popular dances in Bohemia. What of the choir in Beethoven's 9th symphony? Or Gorecki's 3rd symphony with it's soloist and obvious homages?

In other words, the whole list makes no historic sense. Kennicott is basically saying "Don't do what others haven't already done." He is another version of Eduard Hanslick, a deeply rooted formalist praising the works of Brahms while attacking Bruckner for being too much like Wagner. But Bruckner was far from writing programmatic music--his biggest sin was probably his poor development of themes, direct repetition, and large lush orchestration. Kinda like Mahler...

But Kennicott has an odd twist. I'm interested to find out what he considers harmonically interesting. What are these great pieces he holds so dear that by today's standards are so harmonically rich? Because, to my ears, if it's diatonically based, more than likely I will disagree.

That does not make a piece "bad." It does not make a piece that should be hid away from kids, because kids shouldn't play such rot! Kennicott must really hate what most young performers play, from Robert W. Smith to original and simplified string works of Del Borgo. Definitely shouldn't later tackle any of the works I put above.

No, young performers need to be taught the widest amount of music as possible from the youngest age possible. It's one of the great problems of our musical society. Too many musicians share Kennicott's (inferred) views that all the great music has been written, and that anything new is not worth pursuing. I came from a different type of upbringing--without the heavy handed lessons and top performing groups, I was as free to play and listen to whatever I wanted. I once quite piano for a year because my teacher couldn't work with me on jazz and she wanted me to play hymns. Later we came to terms and I tackled Bach Preludes and Fugues, works by Edward MacDowell, and whatever else I played. And I played Ben Folds, Train (yes, Train. We were all 15 once), and whatever else I could either buy a songbook for or pick out...which if you know my ears means "buy a songbook."

If anything, we need more outreach to young students, both performers and listeners. They need to hear the wealth of music that's been made, not just the pop music of today and their current genre loves, nor of just the "classics," but a great balance of everything.

It reminds me of the listening I used to do on the first day of music appreciation. I almost always started out with some shock value, usually Penderecki's Threnody. I play it without giving the title, and we talk about it. Then I give the title. THEN I give the story of how he changed the title to Threnody later. Also on the playlist? Mozart, Snoop Dog, Free Speech by Noach Creshevsky, Un Bel Di, and Weezer's Butterfly from El Scorcho. There were a few more, but that playlist hasn't been used for many years...

The classics of yesterday were created during someones lifetime. Music is living, breathing, and evolving. Music changes as people change. To ignore that fact is to ignore history itself. And I go to the museum not to spend my time lost in thought about how amazing this ancient civilization was, but to look at a piece of art, or an artifact, and realize that, just like today, people are making what they feel they need at that moment.

So, young (and old) performers, play new music. Listen to Ingram Marshall's Kingdom Come, and every other piece I mentioned in this post. I didn't even link them, so you'll have to use Google/Bing/Yahoo/Yandex (maybe I have Russian readers?). Or if you're at a university, drop by Naxos, or DRAM, or something similar. And listen. DRAM has an amazing "random" button.

And, soon enough, I'll tackle the "problems in outreach." I agree they are there, but the answer isn't to abandon it--if we do, soon there will be no audiences for our music!

And study your history, or else some guy will call you out on not knowing it...

Is new music and outreach the problem?

UPDATE: Check out my 2nd post on this topic, this one taking on Kennicott's ideas of new music.

An article posted at newrepublic is making the music rounds. It's title and page name give it all away: America's Orchestras are in Crisis: How an effort to popularize classical music undermines what makes orchestras great. The page title: orchestras-crisis-outreach-ruining-them.

The article starts out describing Nashville Symphony's near foreclosure, mainly due to being unable to afford the interested on a letter of credit that helped build a $123.5 million symphony center. The symphony has been running deficits for the past few years in the $10-20 million range. Yes, this is a problem, somewhat...If we take for granted that they are supposed to always operate in the black and be a for profit. Which, as I discussed earlier, isn't really the point of orchestras.

Which gets me to the main question that popped into my head after reading this article: What is the point of an orchestra. According to the writer, Philip Kennicott, it is mainly about the standard rep. And that is a stance he maintains throughout the article.

There are lots of interesting bits, a notable attack on the "Americanizing the American Orchestra" document, with a fun quote by Edward Rothstein calling it "thoroughly wrongheaded, an abdication of the tradition orchestras represent and a refusal to accept responsibilities on artistic leadership." Kennicott seemed completely in league with this opinion.

It's interesting to me, as I decided to re-read the "Americanizing" before posting this. Kennicott says that most orchestras adopted the basic tenets of the document. After re-reading it, I couldn't disagree more. "Achieving Cultural Diversity" is laughable, the entire chapter on "The relationship of Musicians and the Orchestral Institution" has been completely ignored, the concert-going experience has become less and less varied over the years, orchestras in education are more about working with elite groups, or small movements forward, volunteerism is low, orchestral leadership is mostly run by non-musicians that have no training in even running a non-profit, and the repertoire is stagnant. So, what do I mean? Well, taking apart Kennicott and the 200+ page "Americanizing" would be a dissertation--and while I am writing a dissertation, it is not on the American Orchestra. I am a composer, after all...

So, let me approach these problems from my perspective: 29 years old, composer and trombonist, finishing a doctorate in music composition, starting my professional life pretty well, and someone who loves Beethoven, Brahms, Bruckner, and any number of other composers whose last names start with B.

Skipping ahead through Kennicott's history of the orchestra (which is quite good), I come to a statement that made me a bit sad: "Almost none of this is of any interest to serious listeners, including those with diverse musical tastes who prefer the real thing to the local orchestras attempt to imitate jazz, ethnic, or pop forms." This in reference to Detroit symphony having special events that include video-game nights, the Texas Tenors, the Indigo Girls, holiday events, movie nights, etc. My gut reaction?

Well, I'm interested in video-game nights, Indigo Girls (or similar style concerts), and movie nights. I'm not into holiday events, but that's because I'm a Grinch, and I'm not into cross-over artists like Josh Grobin (though I have been to a Josh Grobin concert, and he is a charismatic guy. Just not my cup of tea). So, I sit here thinking "Who is Kennicott representing?"

My answer is simple: "The Olde Guard." These are the same people that dislike Boulez, and wanted music that was, no matter what, tied to the "orchestral tradition," which is really not that old, nor is it that demanding. Kennicott is right on to point out how things have changed, how the silent listening is "counterculture" and even that it's a good thing. Couldn't agree more there, though I think the amount of "shushing" when a concert goer does send some heartened gratitude toward the orchestra at an "inappropriate time" is also rude...I'm sure most concert-goers in a normal audience would have freaked out when, after a group premiered a piece of mine and nailed it, I jumped up, screamed "YEAH! WAY TO GO!!!" and wanted to just run on stage and hug every musician for performing so beautifully. In that moment, it wasn't that it was "my" music, but that this was a piece I was intimate with, and they nailed it. The same could be said after hearing the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra perform Bruckner 4 to a nearly empty house many years ago. It was so empty, with my $10 student rush "sit wherever is open" ticket, I got premium seats. The ISO NAILED that performance, and, without a moment of hesitation, I clapped between movements, and leaped from my seat at the end screaming "BRAVISSIMO!" Yes, I'm that guy that, at that point being around 21, and an undergraduate in music, was so excited for Bruckner that I screamed like a Beilieber.

I've been in on conversations about orchestras, and, honestly, I think while Kennicott has some good thoughts, and his heart is in the right place, he's not looking at some facts.
Fact 1: the "base" is getting older, and isn't willing to spend money in a tough economy.

Fact 2: Orchestras are not doing a good job expanding their bases.

Fact 3: Younger generations are turned off by orchestras not just because of the music, but because the orchestras and their defenders themselves tell them "this music isn't for you. You're not 'serious' enough."

Fact 4: young musicians ARE TURNING AWAY FROM ORCHESTRAS! Not only are orchestras alienating future attendees, but the musicians themselves are turning away. Kennicott doesn't care about video game music. Well, guess what, most of us don't care about seeing every Beethoven symphony offered every year in a single metropolitan area. Why? because

Fact 5: All music is available for people to listen to at a moments notice for a small price (or free), and the orchestra isn't doing a good job of showing what they provide over the recorded medium, or offering things that the recorded medium can't offer.

Fact 6: People are generally uneducated about the music, not in a "you don't understand sonata form" but in the "I've never even heard something from an opera" or "What instruments are in a symphony? Strings, right?"

Fact 7: Never before has orchestral music been so much about being a "museum." And, to defend myself from Kennicott's attack of "Well don't you like museums?" my answer is "Yes, I do, but orchestras are not museums." Orchestras are living, breathing entities. During Mozart's time, did they play nothing but Telemann and CPE Bach? During Beethoven's, nothing by Haydn? During Brahms, nothing by Beethoven?  If they had, we wouldn't have gotten much Mozart, Brahms, etc...No, before Beethoven the groups were tied to courts with each court having its own composer. Orchestras got bigger and less centralized starting in the Classical period, and by Beethoven there were more state-run groups (which coincided with the creation of centralization of power in the 18th and 19th century). Even then, groups were "clique" oriented, with some composers being the laureates and taking charge--I think of the French Grand Opera and Meyerbeer as resident. Orchestral programs often had local flavors from the great composers of the area, and at times it was difficult for composers to become more "metropolitan." And many died in obscurity, or with one or two modest hits outside their area. Take, for instance, Bruckner, who had one major orchestral success--his 7th symphony. Beyond that, he was somewhat known for his masses, and definitely for his organ playing. He applied for teaching positions in Vienna regularly, and was turned down almost continuously, until he reached a much older age and finally had got to teach a few years. All this in his mid to late 60s.

These facts are important. And the way to fix most of them is through outreach. Kennicott thinks turning to outreach defeats the purpose of the orchestra. What is the purpose of the American orchestra? Most say it is to bring the greatest music at the highest possible level to their community. If your community doesn't know the music you're playing, then is the concert the correct "teaching" experience? I don't think so.

The final bit in Kennicott's writing is more a review of a specific piece. First Kennicott talks about the failing to increase the amount of black musicians in the St. Louis Youth Orchestra...which, I have an entire blogpost formulating on why youth orchestras, and music program in general, fail with many urban and rural communities, really only thriving in suburban areas (lemme give you a hint: money).

Kennicott dislike Ingram Marshall's "Kingdom Come." Now, I'll admit that I am somewhat ignorant of the piece--and I've tried to purchase and download it, but it seems being in Sweden makes that process a little more complicated...

Anyway, Kennicott created a checklist of the "currently fashionable...new classical works: ...harmonically and melodically accessible and socially topical, it mixes media, and it draws on musical cultures outside the concert hall." Hm, well, I don't see a problem with those things at all. And, I guess he hasn't gone to many new music concerts because to make such a blanket generalization about contemporary music is as profoundly silly as making such a blanket generalization about orchestral music. Kennicott also seems to like melodic styles than motivic styles, which makes me wonder how much he likes the development sections of, say, Brahms. But that's not where I get a little concerned: these are opinions, and we are all allowed our opinions. And until I hear "Kingdom Come" I can't really enter a dialogue about its effectiveness as a piece...and even then I lose the live portion (such as Kennicott's critique that the recorded media weren't of high quality. Well, that could be any number of things, from the speakers to the production, to the overall aesthetic. When I get the recording, I can make a better judgement. hopefully in a few days).

No, it's the end. "The problem with 'Kingdom Come' is that it subverts much taht is good about the tradition it supposedly continues. The orchestra willingly suppressed virtuosity, spontaneity, and the raw power of its acoustic sound...Why make young people play it? It seems a very ill sign for the future that bad music is so willingly foisted on serious juniors musicians who have already made a commitment to the art form." (emphasis added)

Wow dude...wow. Ok, I get that Kennicott is a critic. And, honestly, I'm also pretty damn scathing. But let's approach it from this fashion. Virtuosity...in orchestral playing? Really? Alright, I'm gonna be honest. As a trombone player, I haven't had an orchestral part I couldn't basically sight read written by anyone pre-20th century. There was once a tricky part of a Schumann symphony where I had to run arpeggios through the circle of fifths. If that wasn't a general exercise I did every day at that point, it may have been difficult. But orchestral music ISN'T about virtuosity. In fact, when a modern composer writes a truly virtuosic work, it's often not played.

Spontaneity, eh? Yes, Brahms is incredibly spontaneous. Well, he might have been 100+ years ago. But we're talking about a fully notated medium. The spontaneity factor of live music comes from the active participation of many people in a live artistic act. If, someone, Ingram Marshall defeated that, then I am truly impressed. If it was defeated, it wasn't because there was fixed media, but because the group hasn't worked in the medium long enough...not to say fixed media doesn't have it's own challenges for spontaneity, but it is, in some form, interactive (albeit passively). To say that since the recording never changes, it destroys the experience is tantamount to saying "I don't listen to recordings because they're always the same." A good fixed media part will have a depth and interest that brings the performers and audience into the work. Now, did Marshall do that? Dunno yet (nonesuch, get on the bandwagon and let me download same day at least...).

Raw power of the acoustic sound: to me that says "no Mahler sized tuttis." In that case Mozart doesn't have much raw power. No, unless the group is truly, 100% subservient, in that their role in the piece is completely secondary, then there is raw power.

Now, there is of course there is the reality that Marshall may have written a bad piece of music. He may have failed and created an overwhelming tape part with sparse background accompaniment. The mix in the hall may have been so far off that the fixed media dominated when it wasn't supposed to. All of these are readily possible.

But let's take a look at that last bit: Is it "bad' music, and why force young people to play it. Well, did he talk to any of the young performers? There are two really interesting videos that are recordings of the youth symphony skyping with Ingram Marshall about the piece. The musicians seemed very engaged in the conversation. And be sure to listen to part 2 as well.

And, maybe, here's the crux--these musicians don't know the tradition of electronic music. I'm guessing Kennicott doesn't either. Listeners are even more in the dark--not only do they have electronics, which is unknown and therefore "evil" AND Pärt like music, and you've got a recipe for a difficult reception. But the question is "why does this matter to the orchestra?"

Because the orchestra is about performing great music. If it is just a museum, then we limit the possibilities of great music, and actually ignore the tradition of working with living composers. We also take for granted that music that isn't "pop," that isn't something that can be completely understood in a single listening (at times), and that if you don't get it, you're not in the club. Maybe we, orchestras and all musicians, should strive to bring more people into the club. And to not get stuck on purely aesthetic issues--Kennicott doesn't like Ingram Marshall's piece. That's perfectly fine. But to turn it into demonizing new music and asking "why should young performers play it?" Because if no one first played Beethoven, we wouldn't play it now. Because if Stravinsky hadn't worked with the Ballet Russe and worked with a crazy, innovative choreographer and put together Firebird, then orchestras wouldn't be putting it on concerts as their "new music."

So, by having more than a 19th century aesthetic, are we showing fear? Are we destroying the orchestra by having outreach programs?

Or is the orchestra falling under the weight of a 19th century aesthetic that doesn't connect with as many people today? And who's fault is that? Obviously I love this music. I didn't get into music as an orchestral guy, but it grew on me. I didn't even play in an orchestra till undergrad (tiny school in rural Indiana--we had a band, mainly a marching band...and definitely no orchestra). But the problem comes from all sides, the contemporary folks and the "olde guarde."

One last anecdote: the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, as they were coming out of huge cuts and terrible press, got Time for Three as their resident chamber group, and scored a nice collaboration with New Amsterdam records. What came out of it were a series of concerts with tons of newer works, some pop music (Time for Three is known for their pop arrangements), and high attendance. That's right, they got results from the programming. Do you know who went?

Friends of mine from HS, people that had played in band, but hadn't played an instrument in 10 years. People that heard the buzz and wondered who Nico Muhly was. People that enjoyed instrumental music because of their experiences at a young age, being drawn into the music. People that, prior to that year, hadn't gone to the orchestra.

Then I look at their latest season. Conservative doesn't even quite cover it. The only "new" work that really takes a leading role is Gorecki's Third Symphony. It's a gigantic, beautiful work, but is 100% aesthetically Romantic.

No, orchestras have tons of problems. But outreach and "bad new music" isn't really the problem. At least not when a 29 year old, young professional musician looks at it...a musician that feels as locked out of the concert hall as he does the bar with his own music and aesthetic.

So, why don't we leave the criticism on the side of the road. When I posted about the conservative season by the ISO, I had lots of people jump down my throat, saying I should be "supportive of our orchestra no matter what." I responded "I AM supportive. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have told them. I want them to succeed, and I think they'll alienate the audiences they drew in the spring!" More yells at me. Who defended me? The musicians. Why?

Because being supportive means offering criticism, but also looking at facts. Until orchestras, and their staunch "olde guarde" defenders really look at the facts of a changing musical landscape, they'll continue to flounder.

And much respect to Philip Kennicott. His article did need written, and it shows a point of view I think many people have. Now let's really start the conversation, without the orchestra league (which, yeah, is kind of impotent), and without the management (cause, well...if you've read my past stuff, you'll know I'm pro musician run and anti-for profit farming that it's become). Let's find real answers and keep an important institution around

UPDATE: Check out my 2nd post on this topic, this one taking on Kennicott's ideas of new music.