In Defense of A Giant Horses Head

What follows is my second post from my recent excursion to Germany for the Fulbright Berlin Seminar 2014. Hop back one post to see the introduction about the seminar, who was there, and one of my first experiences.

This time, I'm fast forwarding to my last full day in Berlin. I had decided early in the week that I had to catch some sort of major concert there--Berliner Philharmoniker, Deutsche Oper Berlin, Staatsoper (Berlin State Opera), Komische Oper, or any of the huge assortment of chamber concerts happening in town. As luck would have it, Deutsche Oper had Les Troyens in rep that Sunday. What better way to spend a Sunday afternoon and evening than with 4 hours of opera spread over a 5 hour evening?

First off, the ticket experience. Traveling with only my old phone (turned tiny tablet since I can't use it for phone calls), I had to go to the ticket counter. I assumed if I showed up about an hour and a half before, it'd be open, and I'd splurge and buy a nice ticket. Tickets range from 29€ to roughly 100€. I wasn't going to splurge on a 100€ ticket, but I figured I could find something in the middle.

Instead, I arrived to find the office still closed and a line forming. The line seemed to be composed mainly of people my age or younger, or much older individuals. My guess was that the younger group were all students and the older group was probably picking up will call.

The offices opened promptly 1 hour before the show, and it seemed my guess were mostly correct. Most of the older audiences members scrambled through the line quickly, while the younger members were pulling out cash. Being the introverted person I generally am, rather than strike up a conversation with any of the nearby young students, I just listened a bit to what was happening around me, and took a chance on student rush tickets. 12.50€, cash, only available day of, an hour before the show.

My experiences with student rush tickets have been varied. When I went to the Indianapolis Symphony as an undergrad, and student rush tickets were inexpensive ($10), but they weren't guaranteed seating. This meant that we had to wait in the lobby till the last second, then go through and see if there were open seats. Sometimes during the large crowds, I even missed the first piece, having to look for a seat during the break between the first two pieces. Other times it meant getting a fantastic seat in an expensive section--I remember wanting to sit fairly close for a concert with Bruckner's 4th Symphony so I could see Mario Venzaga conduct, as well as see more individual members of the orchestra. It paid off, and I sat in what was probably one of the more expensive seats in the house. Student rush tickets at the NY Phil are similarly priced (I think they were $20, but the site now says $13.50), are reserved seating, but only in the least desirable section. But, generally, I'm ok with having a cheap seat when I'm paying cheap money.

At the Kunglinga Filharmonikerna, students just get 10% off the ticket price. Considering the relatively low price of tickets (the most expensive ticket runs around 345SEK, which is only about $54), I generally "splurge", buy an orchestra level or 1st balcony ticket for 290SEK after the rebate. And as I've blogged before, this group is top notch. I recently saw them perform Bruckner's 8th Symphony with Alan Gilbert directing, and they blew me away. At this point I'd take them over the NY Phil, especially since I'm paying a fraction of the price.

Ticket prices are, of course, an apples to oranges comparison. In Sweden and Germany, the opera, orchestra, and other cultural institutions are heavily state subsidized. This helps keep ticket prices low. The differences between the groups are incredibly striking. But it's not the price of the ticket that I'm interested in, it's how the students are treated.

In Indy, it was a "here ya go, fill in where you can!" experience. Not bad, and for a 20 year old heading to the symphony, perfectly fine. For the NY Phil, I ended up paying full price for tickets rather than student tickets--even though I paid 10x more per ticket, I didn't feel like sitting in the rear of the 3rd balcony, especially to hear one of my favourite pieces. In Sweden, the tickets are generally inexpensive enough that shaving the 10% off doesn't matter too much, but it will buy me a coffee before or after the concert (yes, a latte will run you anywhere from 25-40SEK, or roughly $3.75-6.25...around Konserhuset, expect the higher amounts). In Berlin, I wasn't sure what to expect.

I was handed a ticket with an assigned seat. I checked the ticket--Did that say Parkett (or orchestra level)? Huh, that's odd. Wait, row 3? Seat 34? Hold on...that sound like front row, just off center...

Sure enough, that's where I was sitting. According to their website, these were normally 92€ seats. Why was I handed a 92€ seat for 12.50€?

The answer was obvious when I started to look around, and saw the balconies filling. This seat was the simply an empty seat an hour before show time. I looked around and saw quite a few of the students I was in line with entering the same section. Dressed in our khakis or jeans with a button down shirt, or a pair of dress pants and a dressy top for the ladies, we sat next to older, possibly more distinguished people with their suit coats and dresses. The room felt a bit chilly to me, so I left my hoody on...and no one batted an eye. But enough about the amazing surprise that was my student rush ticket. This post is about a giant horses head.

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The quickest summary of Les Troyens is to simply state it is Virgil's Aeneid.  It starts around the time of the Trojan Horse and ends with Aeneas leaving Carthage for Italy, causing Dido to commit suicide and swear revenge--so it covers roughly the first four books of the Aeneid.

Much of the talk lately is on chamber performances, how to make leaner (and meaner) productions, bringing music out of the concert halls and to the people. These are all admirable pursuits, and while there are plenty of issues I have with this movement, I stand in common with them in regards to the basic idea that the largest companies need to change. The how is an area of which I debate.

Aristotle listed six areas that should be included in theatrical productions. These six things were hammered into my brain during my year of playwriting courses.

• Character Delineation
• Ideas or Themes
• Action, the order of events
• Speech, dialogue (projection and the words themselves)
• Sound (all the other sounds used. Remember, Greek plays often had singing and instruments)
• Spectacle, or everything you see. 

Which one of those is most difficult with a smaller budgeted opera production?

The first three are a major part of the writing of the opera, though things can be accentuated in the production. Speech is in the writing and in the training of the performers. Sound, in opera, is the pit, the singing, and any other sound cues used throughout. It's a focal point for operas. And finally spectacle, the feast for the eyes.

I've worked on several small budgeted opera productions. I begged and borrowed materials for the presentation of Opera Shorts in 2009. We did rear projection for scenery, and used a couple neutral painted flats for walls when we needed to hide entrances and exits. The costumers did a great job of finding items for incredibly cheap, and all the performers pitched in with whatever they had. It was very piecemeal. For the production at the wine bar, it was paired down to only the necessities--meaning only the costumes and the main props. We even had to use a keyboard rather than a piano (luckily there weren't any extended techniques for the piano...). 

In 2013 with Black House, we had much the same. The limited budget allowed our fabulous designer to come up with some nice budget costumes, find key pieces of scenery and props, and the performers were able to make a pittance on the performances. The performances were good, the audience loved them, but...

There wasn't a giant horse head descending from the ceiling. 

When we talk about making smaller, leaner productions, it's those horse heads that will go missing. It's the explosions from the Michael Bay movie--not every movie needs gratuitous explosions, but some movies do. What if there were no more explosions because "explosions are expensive"?

Costumes, sets, props--these seem like superfluous things. But it's what happens when you go to a production with all those elements that's truly amazing.

It's the looks of shock when the horse head descended from the ceiling in Les Troyens. It was the similar look of shock when a set piece started to raise on one side, moving thanks to a chain motor and hinges, dancers strapped onto the set and kicking at Greek warriors. It's the thin silken material separating Dido and Anna during their first duet, before Anna finally finds a way through the delicate barrier to her sister. It's the matching costumes for 50+ chorus members in Carthage, the bloody statuesque body of Hector repeating "Italy, Italy, Italy!" 

Yes, Les Troyens can be done without these elements, just as the Met productions of Das Rheingold could be done without the interesting effects at the beginning of the opera to simulate being underwater. The opulent production of Mephistofele by San Francisco Opera could be done without the multi-story set for the chorus at the beginning, nor the giant telescope in Faust's room. But, in all of those productions, those visual elements brought a life to the story that a smaller production cannot. 

I've written two operas to date, and both have been written and designed with a small theater in mind. The props are few, set pieces even fewer--a counter, a park bench, a cake, a bejeweled coffee carafe, two similarly ornate mugs, street clothes, basic robes. One has three vocal parts, all female, one has two parts, one male and one female. One is piano only, the other string trio w/ simple stereo playback of files. I'm not afraid for the durability of these productions.

I'm worried about how the current opinions in music will effect the Les Troyens and Das Rheingolds of the world. I'm afraid for the loss of spectacle as operations at large companies shrink.

Because, let's be honest, the feast for the eyes is important in opera. There are some that claim that opera should be music first, music second, music third, and most everything else somewhere after, but that seems to move contrary to how opera has developed over the years. The original intention was to create a large, unified art form. Wagner codified that idea further, and without great librettists and strong stories, many of the operas we love would not have continued popularity. Yes, La Boheme's story is a bit on the trite side, and seems truncated. It's a limitation of the form, as singing anything takes longer than speaking it. However, it is still an engaging story...And it's the story that by Henri Murger, La Vie de Bohème that has captured the minds of audiences, and led to Rent and Moulin Rouge, a work of much loved theater, and an over the top visual spectacle of a movie. 

It's important to remember that opera is theater, a particular brand of theater, with it's own complex history, movements, styles, and considerations. However, it is still (usually) theater. There are, of course, examples of abstract operas, but no matter how abstract, there is still a story to be told. One that pops into my mind is XXX_Live_Nude_Girls by Jennifer Walshe, a work for 2 female singers, 2 puppeteers, camera operators, projection, and small ensemble. The work contains no spoken or sung words, only vocalizations. The action is done with dolls, shot by cameras, and projected live. It is meant as a live performance, and it's one that has some inherent costs attached to it (professional camera, video switching, and projection isn't super cheap--I should know, I did that for a living for a while). The story is abstracted due to the lack of words and human interaction. However, it is full of powerful imagery--a feast for the eyes. In a way, the eyes become the most important part of the performance. Without them, the abstract vocalizations wouldn't have the same level of meaning, but those throaty, gurgling cries mean much more when a doll is chased through a house and jumps out a window, or is date raped by another doll (yes, it is very much mature content). 

So, yes, let's talk about all the wonderful ways we can create small productions that are engaging. But let's not lose sight of the giant horse head, and the value of large companies.

Final note--"club nights" seem to be popping up a lot, with drink and food available at concert series, sometimes live-cast into a more relaxed club room. First off, I'm confused by the idea that offering alcohol and food was new to large productions. It seems fairly ubiquitous. Second off, the live-cast into an adjoining club room is a neat idea, but there's a fair amount of infrastructure (multiple cameras, high quality audio and visual feeds, not to mention the type of food and drink expected) that goes along with these experiences. Offering the same wine as always, and finger foods won't cut it. Maybe more of these culture types should hit the real clubs and see what table service is like. Yeah yeah, I know, it's not my scene either, but I've worked in enough clubs to know.

And I saw an interesting version of this at the Deutsche Oper. At the adjoining cafe during the 45 minute break, I saw people in full costume walking around outside and inside. It appears that chorus members were also doubling as wait-staff, in full costume. And it appeared several conversations were started up during my time "doing research" (ok, eavesdropping and spying). I've argued for more personal contact between audience and performers, and this seemed to be an interesting example. Too bad  I was just visiting so I couldn't pursue this line of thought easily. 

Refocusing the discussion on Sustainability.

This is the third post in a little series looking at some hot button topics in music these days. The first was an introduction. The second was an attempt to get us past the knee jerk reaction of "how different the arts are today," especially in regards to "full-time musicians" and "entrepreneurs." This focuses instead on sustainability.

One reason this all got started was an argument I had with a former professor about the idea of sustainability. Honestly, I'm sick of seeing the work "sustainable" tossed in with the arts. I'm kind of tired of the idea that orchestras exist to make "hand over fist" large sums of money. Why? Because orchestras don't exist to make money. Orchestras, and the arts in general, are not commercial. What's that mean?

It means that their purpose--their reason for being, is not to make money. Yes, professional musicians can and should be able to make a living performing and creating art. But that's not the same thing. It has to do with a philosophy, an attitude.

I've been recently working my way through the blog (and journal articles) of Jeff Todd Titon. His writings on sustainability, from a cultural, ecological, and financial standpoints are worth perusing. I bring him up because of a series he did back in March entitled "Music is not a cultural asset." In part 1, Titon gives background information, and in part 2 he takes apart David Throsby's arguments about the economics of cultural policy.

I'll let Titon's writings speak for themselves. I agree with most of his points, and definitely see how being tied to corporate structures, and treating music as an asset to be traded in a commodity exchange can cause major issues.. From a more specific standpoint, look at all the popular artists that get discussed as "selling out."

The phrase "selling out" is entirely tied to the idea of commodifying music. An artist creates a piece of work and said work is not "profitable." Let's say, for instance, this is a punk group that is about as hardcore as it gets--screaming, heavily distorted guitars, political statements, everything that is "in your face." They get produced by an independent label, or self-produce, and do alright. An exec from a large label says "we're interested in you, but, you'll have to tone it down one notch. Then you'll go platinum." It's the difference between making a great product, and making a product solely to fit the marketing consensus.

There is a deep philosophical difference between the two issues, the idea of creating a product for it's intrinsic value and finding an audience (or user of the product), and creating a product for the sole purpose of making money, cutting out innovation when needed, and giving users only what metrics define as being "profitable." Companies focused solely on "profitability" often aren't sustainable--look at the bank collapses caused by poor lending practices (which were highly profitable at the time), or companies that find it more profitable to shut down a manufacturing wing because it wasn't making enough money, only to see huge public backlash, and even worse profit margins. Removing the human element, and focusing on "profit" are bad combinations in the corporate world (just ask Hostess), but even worse in the arts.

I've digressed a bit, but here's the main point for me, as an artist--it's about a philosophy and an attitude. Financial sustainability does not cross my mind as I'm working on a piece. It's value as a commodity never crosses my mind. Even similar questions such as "will enough people like this piece?" don't really cross my mind--I accepted many years ago that some people will love my music, others will hate it, and a great many will be indifferent. This is true with all art, no matter if it's folk, popular, or "high." What is on my mind is "how do I create a work that is meaningful to myself, does something that interests me (and thereby, hopefully, others like me), and has some sort of deeper 'universal' quality which is translatable." Granted, that last bit doesn't go into my musical thinking often, but it is a part of what I do as I'm writing (this blog, a research paper, or even another play). Music is, in a way, universal, as well as deeply societally defined...I tend to be more experimental than worry about the tropes, but I have been studying music and cognition a great deal, hoping to unearth something useful (this is, of course, a different topic altogether, so I'll just leave it on this side-street for later examination).

It's this philosophy that's important. Almost all music organizations promote this in their mission statements (except for, maybe, Minnesota Orchestra's old mission statement...oy...). Simple statements like "Great performances for greater audiences" (Kansas City Symphony--though the "we have to make money!" creeps in their statement as well), "To perform, present, and promote music in its many varied forms at the highest level of excellence to a large and diverse audience" (Los Angeles Phil Association), or an even more specific one from the NY Phil:

The mission of the New York Philharmonic is to support, maintain, and operate an internationally pre-eminent symphony orchestra in New York; to maintain and foster an interest in and enjoyment of music; to encourage composition of symphonic music; and to instill in its community, and the nation at large, an interest in symphonic music by providing local concerts, domestic and international tours, education programs, media broadcasts, and recordings. 

And now for a local group, newEar from Kansas City, MO:

newEar contemporary music ensemble dedicates itself to commissioning and performing music of our time and providing listeners with unique and stimulating musical experiences that are rooted in artistic excellence and enhanced by education opportunities.

All these groups are financially sustainable with their current ideas. Looking at their programs also gives a nice idea of what happens when groups focus first on the artistic output, and further down about the financial sustainability. The LA Phil has the Green Umbrella music series--a home for new and experimental works. It's been around for quite a while, and Esa-Pekka Salonen fought hard to keep it running during tough financial times. And what you get is reviews like this, as well as a thriving musical culture always looking forward while still performing "the greatest hits" of past generations.

In summation, it's all about attitude. If an artistic endeavor, orchestra, chamber group, art studio, etc is approached from "how do we make enough money to stay open," what invariably follows is stagnation, conservative programming, and, unfortunately, a loss of money. Sustainability is a quick way to fall away from innovation, away from the Green Umbrella series', and toward a commodification of the art form.

Because if art is simply commodity, just a product meant to be traded with some sort of societally defined financial value, and some harder to define cultural value, then it will cease to evolve. Just like if Steve Jobs thought "I need to think of a product people will want," vs. "I need to think of something that people don't know they want." One statement is innovative, the other not.

And innovation breeds sustainability--by providing new ideas and products that people didn't know they would want, or even need, you can change the world. There's a very old adage "you have to spend money to make money." This is doubly true in innovation, because it won't always work. But if you take a conservative stance, it will, inevitably, not be sustainable. Remember, even though NYCO went under, it wasn't because of their new works. Anna Nicole was, after all, nearly sold out before it even opened. It wasn't the new works that killed NYCO, it was mismanagement (such as going dark for a season, which is a quick killer!).

After all, Beethoven is wonderful, but putting a Beethoven symphony, which the metrics would say sell out every time they are played, is a bad idea. Hyperbole, of course, but the sentiment is similar--"playing it safe" doesn't create a sustainable program. It just puts everything on life support, limping along for a year or two longer...

Badminton with Words

There are two words being bandied about a great deal in the classical music community these days: entrepreneurship and sustainability. Neither one are new concepts, with bloggers and modern writers tackling the issue for the past few years. Even more importantly, both have been vitally important portions of music from the beginning of time, and are inexorably linked to creative fields.

However, in the last couple years, we've seen a veritable boom in thinking about these two concepts. Part of it comes out from studies, including National Endowment for the Arts surveys on public participation, studies showing what many musicians have anecdotally known for years: that classical music audiences are older than they were. We've also seen a lot of reactionary material on rethinking degrees and recitals. My own alma mater, DePauw University, just got a 15 million dollar gift to revise their curriculum for musicians of the 21st century. With the failing of two major institutions, the general orchestral crisis with striking symphonies, ailing endowments, and reactions that range from conservative programming, to kitsch and pop driven programming, some national (and international) ire, and tons of local support, everyone has appeared to give their two cents on the subject.

Some people are reactionary (myself included), others have been at the fore in the years preceding the current financial issues. Greg Sandow has done a good job showing trends that may lead to understanding where the failings began with his timeline of the crisis. Jon Silpayamanant's blog has shown how some studies and ideas are red herrings, and his bibliographic timelines are great resources in studying 20th century (and sometimes into the 19th century) trends. And, of course, there's Drew McManus and many more that have graced my own blog over the past year. Maybe someone should put together a large repository of links just to people working on the subject? Not me, not today at least.

For my part, I'm done being reactionary at the moment. Time for some "innovation," if you will. But this innovation isn't about tossing my ideas on "how to fix the problem." Instead, it's going to be innovation on thinking about the problem. And by innovation, I mean changing my own stance and thinking creatively, not necessarily coming up with new ideas.

So, as with any good story, a good place to start is at the beginning. In the beginning of this blog, there were two words: entrepreneurship and sustainability. What do these terms mean? First, let's talk about entrepreneurship. What is an entrepreneur? A simple economic definition is "one who starts and runs a business or businesses." But is that really all an entrepreneur is? Other key components listed in various sites are "leadership, initiative, and innovation." From a business standpoint, this could mean someone inventing a new device, or upgrading a past one, and selling it in their own business--highly touted entrepreneurs (and venture capitalists) include Elon Musk of Tesla and Space X; Henry Ford and the auto industry; Steve Jobs and Bill Gates in computing; and many more. Entrepreneurs are separate from researchers who may be incredibly innovative, be major leaders, and even have large amounts of initiative by the simple economic situation--a researcher or scientist may not take the step to start their own business.

So, what is an entrepreneur in the arts? The main focus I've seen is on how artists can make a living. This may include innovation, but mostly innovation from an "economic" standpoint--how do we market better, how do we utilize social media, what do we teach students so they can make a living post graduation? There's also a bit of focus on collaboration, mainly with other artists, as a way to create something "sustainable:" the idea that by working together in collectives, we may have a better chance to make enough money to live.

Then there is sustainability. This is a loaded term with at least two separate, equally talked about areas of study; economic sustainability and ecological sustainability. Prior to the current crisis, there was a lot of blogging and talk about sustainability in ethnomusicology groups. Jeff Todd Titon is a name that pops up a lot in modern research of cultural sustainability, which looks at a combination of economic and ecological sustainability of the arts--mainly of folk traditions.

What I see in modern conversations about sustainability is entirely economical; not cultural, not ecological, purely economical. How do we make enough money? What is enough money? Fundraising ideas? For me the biggest tell of the shift in thinking was in the Minnesota Orchestra mission statement:

The Minnesota Orchestral Association inspires, educates and serves our community through internationally recognized performances of exceptional music delivered within a sustainable financial structure.

That's all well and good, but notice it doesn't actually mention orchestral music, and says quite firmly "within a sustainable financial structure."

Now, I'm not knocking either idea. Entrepreneurship and sustainability are both important to music. However, it's important to think about how semantics can prime a situation. When someone says "sustainability" the current in many brains right now means "sustainable financial structure." When we hear about sustainable financial structure, what comes to mind? Well, if you read the news in the US, it's something that's a highly polarized issue that gets tossed into two broad categories: out of control spending by a large government; and not enough spending by the government to help push economic recovery.

Dichotomy, it's the essence of the human mind. As my playwriting teacher once told me: keep everything to dualistic choices, they're easier for everyone to understand (My edit: mainly in a limited time).

What I'd like to push for is more options and ideas on the subject. My gut reaction is that the conversations about sustainability and entrepreneurship are actually being hampered by the words themselves. We've reached a point where specific meanings of coalesced and we're being split into camps. This is decidedly uncreative, and unbecoming of artists. Really, a field that prides itself on diversity, on proliferating new ideas, we're letting a couple common definitions cloud our judgement? Perhaps it's time to remove the language itself from the equation. So, I'll do my best to avoid those terms, and find terms more specific to the situation.

The second issue I'm seeing, past the semantic, is that of historical context. For many, this crisis is seen as completely unique, something that has never happened before. Have there been no crises in "classical music" before? I can think of several--the move from a patron based system to an independent system (pushed by Beethoven but adopted by many in 19th century Romantic view. And, of course, it's not like patronage actually ended, but the move from a court position to an independent position caused all sorts of interesting battles). Do we forget the troubles and trials of Mozart, who attempted the lifestyle before Beethoven and didn't do such a great job? Or how hard Beethoven fought for his share of the pie? And how, moving into the 20th century, patronage didn't go away, but shifted, from nobles in the 18th century, to orchestras, opera houses, and the state in the 19th century, to academia starting in the late 19th century into the 20th century as support from the state dwindled. This is just one instance where a historical perspective could be very helpful: how did the arts change during these major changes in economic, social, and political change? We see countries moving from monarchies to democracies (or to more heavily structured parliamentary systems), the industrial revolution changing economics on a huge scale (much like the information and electronics age are changing economics, especially rapidly in the rise of digital media and online retailers), and social movements in creating the middle class, the ending of slavery, serfdom, and other forms of indentured servitude, and an increase in freedoms for people through the 20th century. How has art and music transformed during these time periods?

In other words, why are so many people attempting to reinvent the wheel? Why are so many of us (including myself) being reactionary? and even deeper, why are we looking for roots to the problems?

Which is my third issue: we need to identify roots of problems and not just treat symptoms. There are organizations and individuals looking at these problems: Jon Silpayamanant is going in this direction; the NEA published a report on how technology influences arts participation, a study I'm currently working my way through and considering deeply. But many of us (myself again included), haven't always been looking for the root of problems. We've found problems, for instance, the aging audience. However, why is the audience aging? There has been some recent work looking into this, from raising ticket prices to outreach to the distancing from the public. I've posited a few in my posts recently as well.

But now's the time to stop positing and actually investigate and find out why. Time to do studies and see which of these many factors are actually influencing people in specific communities and nation-wide. Before we start leaping into making curriculums (even though I agree we need to create new curriculums in colleges at all levels), we need to identify the root of the problem. Otherwise our changes are nothing more than band-aids tossed on a tumor.

There is a third word bandied about as well: collaboration. It is, also, misused, I think, and in need of some semantic repair. But, at the moment, I think I'll stop and collect my thoughts again--this has been sitting for a few weeks as I worked through my thoughts.

Because it's time we stopped being purely reactionary. There's a time and place for it, but, when we are faced with deep problems, problems of a financial, philosophical (both as far as the place of the arts in society, as well as the roles of various agencies in the arts), political, social, and ecological. Actually, I could sum up by saying let's look at the deep problems of the arts and the world, but that is all at once too broad, too prosaic, and too philosophical.

Instead, let's simply take a breath and act like artists: ask a question, work through that question creatively from many angles, find a deeper, more important question, and come up with several hundred possible ideas to try, then try them, one by one, in various scenarios. Let's step back from the answering phase we seem to be at, and move back to questioning.

Mainly, now that we've identified problems let's ask "What is the root of the problem?"