Why aren't I writing symphonies?

Some popular articles on NPRs Deceptive Cadence making the rounds are by Kevin Puts on "Why Write Symphonies?"; a Q&A with David Robertson centering on the question "Why Are American Orchestras Afraid of New Symphonies?"; a discussion with Mohammed Fairouz on "Creating American Symphonies To Tell A 'Distinctly American' Stories;" an article by Derek Bermel  "Why Aren't Composers Writing More Symphonies Today?"; and an entire series looking at American Symphonies--here's just one post on Mid-Century American Symphonies. All of these have interesting discussions.

Puts' article is personal, and breaks down his story of how he got into writing symphonies. Robertson has very practical views, from audiences being afraid of new (which depends 100% on the demographic you're working toward-- this is a mentality I dislike, and Michael Kaiser backs me up.) as well as the very practical issues of cost of performance. And remember, Robertson is one of the musical directors completely unafraid to break new ground and program new works. He's the good guy, fighting that first mentality of "scared audiences," though he still seems a bit beholden to the idea. 

Fairouz, like Puts, describes why he personally writes symphonies. You can listen to some of Fairouz's work on his website. As for Bermel, well, he seems to take a more semantic approach--young composers are still writing orchestral works, but aren't using the word symphony, and are often keeping the works smaller in scope. 

Now, I'll tell you my story, what I've seen, been told, and experienced from orchestras.

My first experiences with orchestral writing came in undergrad. I was studying trombone and composition with Jim Beckel. He's the principal trombonist for the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, and has written several orchestral works. He told me, straight up, how difficult it was to get orchestral works performed, even when he has the "in" of being a part of the orchestra. Well, I wrote a terrible little piece that semester, and it shall remain hidden for all time.

Next came while I was studying with Carlos Carrillo. I was the trombonist with the chamber orchestra, and we were preparing a West Coast tour. The director, Orcenith Smith, had chosen a Haydn symphony for our large piece...So I was stuck sitting in the back for 25 minutes or so. Obviously wracked by guilt, he decided to let me play a solo. Carlos jumped on this and said "YOU HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR THE GROUP! AND SOLO!" So, after talking to the Prof. Smith, he agreed, as long as I kept it short, was strings and MAYBE percussion, and could be learned in the abbreviated amount of time. So, I threw something together.

And the piece was quite popular on the tour, especially when we hit high schools. It was my first moment of "stardom" with 14-18 year olds asking me all sorts of questions. It was fun.

But I learned something else about new music and orchestras--they like short and easy to learn. Because, let's be honest, they're going to spend their time on the big piece. And, as a young composer, the likelihood of my piece being the big piece is low.

It's now been almost eight years since I wrote my last orchestral piece. And I have no intention of writing an orchestral piece in the near future. I've waxed poetic enough--time to be blunt.

• When I think of writing an orchestral work, it's not a 10 minute intro piece. 
• When orchestras look to premiere pieces, they're either "intro" pieces, specific commissions by highly experienced composers, or concertos brought in by the player (sometimes a member of the orchestra, some times not). 
• The opportunities for me to get a large-scale orchestral piece performed at this point in my life are slim. Not to say impossible, but slim.
• Readings are available, but even these stress pieces being in the 10 minute range.
• Orchestras are looking for pieces they can put together in a short amount of time due to their rehearsal schedules. This is a practical consideration--when you only have a week or two to learn a piece, it becomes more difficult.
• There are tons of opportunities for me to write and get chamber works performed. New music groups are sprouting up all over the place, and competitions are everywhere. Even choirs put out more open calls for pieces.
• Even then, I don't write pieces for competitions. I either write them because I want to write them, or the more likely scenario, because I have a commission and/or performance lined up. Of my last ten or so works, only one was written with a clear performance lined up, and I was able to score 2 performances of it within six months of finishing the piece.
• These days composers are pushed toward "entrepreneurship." How easy is it to get together an 80+ piece orchestra? It's not something a young composer, or even a collective of young composers can pull off without a large amount of assets available. 
• This isn't to say there are no opportunities for readings, or working with orchestras. The American Composers Orchestra does readings every year, as well as workshops, and lots of programming of new works. There are other smaller orchestras doing the exact same thing around the country. 
• Even large orchestras are joining the act. Pittsburgh has had a reading session for ten years or so. Milwaukee has started a composer institute.  Even Memphis put out an open call for a commissioning project. 
• But let's be honest about Memphis. Will it go to a young composer? No, it'll more than likely go to an established composer. And this isn't a knock on Memphis at all, just the truth that in an open competition, it's going to be difficult as an emerging composer that's still working on craft to beat out, say, Chen Yi or Martin Bresnick. 
• So, there ARE opportunities, if you write the "right" kind of music. And have some ins. And want to spend your time working nearly exclusively in that medium.

But, for me, the time isn't right, the support from major orchestras just isn't there for emerging composers, and I'm not willing to "play the game," run the circuit, and force myself into being "just" an orchestral composer. I still want it all.

And, when I think of writing an orchestral piece, it's like this: 

Remember, that's part one. The recording I have of this work runs over 30 minutes. And that's the sort of minimum I'd go for. John Luther Adams also pops to mind, though I run a bit more complex than he does...But that open, expensive, shifting idea. Something that moves and fits the orchestra.

And if I wrote that piece right now, I'd have 0 chance of performance. Even with the venues available, it'd be too long, too complicated, too taxing.

Now, this isn't to say I'll never write an orchestral piece. And, if I do, I may well title it "Symphony 1." I'm not so hung up on semantics as other composers, and don't particularly believe in programmatic works the same way others do.

And so much of this industry is "who you know." And I don't know that many orchestral conductors, composers sitting on panels for major orchestral commissions, or much associated with orchestras. If anything, I've probably pissed off at least three orchestras (if they read my blogs and/or posts elsewhere).

But, for now, there aren't opportunities to do what I want to do. Maybe, someday, there will be.

For now, I'll keep writing chamber works, chamber operas, and electroacoustic pieces. And, who knows, maybe I'll get the chance to write a symphony someday. Just as long as they give me a two year heads up, because I bet it'll take me that long to write one!

***UPDATE

I've already had some great conversations with people about this post! It's really great that this blog can start active discussions in the music community. After one conversation, I wanted to make a few points clear.

1) No one has flat out told me "Don't write symphonic works." If I made it sound that way, I didn't mean to. I have been cautioned at every step how incredibly difficult it is to get them performed.

2) It's really about opportunities to do what I want. I'm not "giving up" on orchestral music. Nor am I "selling out" my music by writing a certain way. What I would love to do with an orchestra is write a 60-90 minute gigantic piece, possibly with electronics and video. That'd take me well over two years to do, and unless I have a chance at a performance, I'm just not sure dedicating two+ years of my life to a single piece are worthwhile.

And, yes, I've dedicated large amounts of time to pieces before without a guarantee of performance and it worked out...but they weren't nearly this large. I spent a year on Cake, 8 months of which I didn't have any sort of venue for it. And I spent 6 months writing Dance of Disillusionment, then revising it, before that piece got a break as well. Those experiences have me wary, especially when I do have some groups eager to play my pieces.

So, I'm not sacrificing some dream for a practical matter, I'm just making a choice, the kind of choice we all make, all the time: do I want to do this or that more? For me, I'd rather work intimately with a wider group of musicians with more pieces right now than dedicate that much time to a symphony.

And all this is said as I'm working on another opera, which at the moment doesn't have a venue. But, unlike with symphonies, I have CONTACTS in the chamber opera world...so I'm a bit more confident I can put something together with it.

What can be learned from the NYC Opera?

I've been talking a great deal about the Minnesota Orchestra lockout and "negotiations," as well as going through a post by Philip Kennicott with a fine tooth comb. Then, another arts debacle slams its way into my thinking.

The NYC Opera my cancel most of their season, and next season, and indefinitely, if they don't raise a lot of money.

Alright, for the moment I'm going to ignore the wanker that posted this article which is bereft of sense and chock full of logical fallacies. Mainly because my good friend Ashley Hirt already took care of dealing with that nonsense. Instead, I want to look at a correlation between NYC Opera and the Minnesota Orchestra.

Back in 2009, the NYC Opera went dark for the season. This was due entirely to the renovation of their hall in Lincoln Center. I remember quite well some of the past fights. George Steel, general manager and artistic director, was actively trying to move the NYC Opera out of Lincoln Center (this is in 2011, I believe). He said it cost too much money. The musicians wanted Steel out. Great stars signed a petition to keep the NYC Opera in Lincoln Center. In the end, the company left Lincoln Center and has performed at various venues around NYC. Even at Steel's hire in 2009, the company was in bad straights. There were some major hurdles to overcome.

Going dark for a season is incredibly costly. No productions means no immediate revenue. It also makes getting donations difficult, even when you went dark for a "nice" reason like renovations. And the timing was horrendous. Here's NYC Opera, taking out large sums from their endowment to pay fixed bills, loans, administrative costs, and all the day to day workings of a company. They laid off quite a few administrators in '08-'09 to save on costs. But the recession decimated a poorly invested endowment, along with taking out huge sums to pay their trimmed down cost.

They finish the dark '09 season with no endowment to speak of. That means they had little or no money to borrow from to get their shortened '09-'10 season going--a season which started late and had less planning, as their previous director was fired during the dead season and replaced with Steel.

Donations generally lagged after '09. The controversy over leaving Lincoln Center, and unpopularity of the move hurt donations. Costs were being cut as quickly as possible, with the orchestra turning from a full-time gig, to a part-time gig, to a "pay as you go" gig. The amount of productions shrank. Slowly, but surely, NYC Opera was going away. All this translated to one big factor:

A loss of faith in the company by it's musicians and patrons.

Hopefully you've started to see the correlations between NYC Opera and the Minnesota Orchestra. Minnesota just spent a season dark. While data on donations from last year haven't been reported, I would guess they are WAY down. And I would guess they had to pull from the endowment to pay for just about everything. There are tons of fixed costs--the hall, administration, electricity--that are still there whether or not the orchestra is playing.

And if the orchestra isn't playing, it's harder to get donations. Here's a board screaming about the dwindling endowment, and the high rate of costs, but how high are those costs compared to revenue right now? Considering there is no revenue from concerts (in fact, they've having to pay back for tickets), and donations are undoubtedly way down, I'd guess that their grand plan of "breaking the union" is doing nothing but bankrupting the orchestra.

We all understand times can be hard. Most people want to pitch in and make things work. Musicians want to make music, and want to keep orchestras solvent. But the mismanagement of the orchestra is so amazingly obvious, that it's almost unbelievable.

So, why not learn from the NYC Opera. Going black for a season is a quick way to kill any non-profit. Or for-profit! Let's be honest, what would happen if Wal-Mart closed FOR A YEAR. All the stores. What happened if they didn't open for a year and a half, and when they did, they were half the size with only a few people working.

Would anyone bother going back to Wal-Mart?

The trust of the Minnesota Orchestra is horribly shaken, just as it is currently with the NYC Opera. Both are struggling to survive. But at least the NYC Opera, while definitely having a tumultuous relationship with its general manager, are at least trying to work together. In both cases there have been horribly mismanaged moments. And, in both, it wasn't the musicians that boned most of it up. In NYC, the musicians have given back, tried to make it work. And it hasn't.

In Minnesota, they're not even getting a chance to make it work.

Can you really trust this organization now? Even if a contract is ratified, how long until Minnesota runs into the same (or worse) issues because of this horrible gulf? Will they stagger on like NYC Opera, or fold immediately?

The musicians have shown they can self-produce concerts--18 in fact. Now it's time for the management to show they actually know how to run an orchestra.  Though, I fear, the damage to the community's faith has been irreparably damaged.

Thoughts on outreach

Philip Kennicott's long article is full of ideas. One area of his concern was that orchestras are straying from their principle goal. to play great music, and spending too much (wasted) time on outreach. He talks about how in 1993, orchestras were "strong-armed" to "think about their community's needs, not their traditional role as custodian of a musical tradition." For Kennicott, this equated to pops orchestras proliferating. He discussed how subscription services had the many Beethoven loves subsidizing the minority of listeners and their "idiosyncratic" tastes. And he later pointed out the fact that the St. Louis Symphony, with all it's focus on education, still had very few African Americans in the St. Louis Youth Symphony.

I see these as two distinctly different problems. In one part, I agree with Kennicott--pops orchestras have proliferated, and those are indeed somewhat separate from the main service of the orchestra. Pops are the new subscription service subsidy. Why wouldn't a group like the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra do almost an entire month of holiday concerts? I'm sure it generates more revenue than their "Lily Series" (funded, of course, by Eli Lily). Kennicott views the cultural and financial problems as being intertwined.

I do not.

I see a different problem in outreach. When I see empty seats during a "classical" concert, I wonder why. When I see sold out concerts to the pops, with many of the same faces around me as the classical concert, I wonder why. And when I don't see many African Americans in the audience or the groups playing, I wonder why.

I think the problem is outreach. For one, I don't see pops concerts as outreach at all. And if orchestra management views them that way (which Kennicott says, and he does have insider information, as his article was written in response to the orchestra league meeting), then that is a major problem. I wholeheartedly agree with Kennicott there. But, if they're such a bad thing, why do I see the same subscription faces at the pops as I do at classical concerts? Because Kennicott and many others really need to face a harsh reality: the group of listeners that are really into Beethoven, Brahms, Schumann, classical and contemporary classical music, and all the "serious stuff" and only the serious stuff, is incredibly small. It is definitely the huge minority.

I like to use my grandmother as an example. She's in her late 80s and enjoys orchestral music, though she is far from a raving fan. She likes Beethoven and many other Classical and Romantic composers. You know who she loves? And I mean absolutely adores?

Andre Rieu.

You know what else she loves? Jazz orchestras. Benny Goodman, Lawrence Welk. The old guys. She absolutely adores them.

In fact, she is much more likely to go to a show similar to those than Beethoven, even though if you ask her she'll say she likes Beethoven. And I don't have a problem with that. I don't have a problem with an orchestra playing a bunch of holiday concerts (which my grandmother also enjoys. Her favourite of all favourite things is Andre Rieu's New Years concert).

Now, I don't like Andrew Rieu. I'm always reminded of this article in the Daily Mail. But Andre Rieu is not outreach. No pops concerts are outreach concerts.

What, then, is outreach? Or, perhaps a better question, what should be outreach?

My first thought is one toward Kennicott. He obviously dislikes a large swath of "contemporary classical" music. He definitely dislikes music that is more than purely instrumental. And genre crossing. So, my little brain with its continuously spinning wheels (driven by some sort of bandicoot, I assume).

This kind, not the Crash kind.
from http://www.wildlife.org.au/wildlife/livingwithwildlife/image/bandicoot.jpg

My first thought is there's a good chance Kennicott, and many others, hadn't heard anything like this until long after their formative years. And, by then, it may already be too late. Not everyone can remain incredibly flexible in their thinking and appreciation. Slowly we all start to get "set in our ways." It's not entirely a bad thing.

Then I start thinking about a presentation by Benjamin Zander. If you're a classical nut, or in the Boston area, you've probably heard of him. He conducts the Boston Phil, among many other things. If you're into Ted Talks, you may have also seen this:

Every single board member, executive, and administrator in a symphony needs to watch this. Ya know what, go ahead and have the musicians watch it too.

While I don't agree with his overly Romantic language at times, and priming everyone with the "remember a dear one you miss dearly" is a bit of a cop out,* it's a video that strikes to the heart of the matter.

Stop. Producing. For. 3%. Of. The. Audiences. And STOP. WISHING. FOR. 4%!

I, personally, think outreach with listeners of all ages (but especially younger listeners), meaningful talks and presentations, MORE CONCERTS, and open discussion will bring in new audiences. I'd guess Zander would agree. We may get along...Though he's much nicer than I am (at least as a public persona).

A final kicker on outreach--Do you know why there aren't tons of urban youths in the St. Louis Youth Symphony? Or in most youth symphonies? Money. Not money for the symphony.

Money for the kids. Listen to this from NPR

String instruments are incredibly expensive. The setup cost is fairly prohibitive for many low-income families. And where do low-income families live? Urban and rural areas. Toss in cost of travel to/from rehearsals, the lessons needed to even pass the audition process, the cost to be in the symphony (many are not free, though you can fill out a wonderful form that can often get you some scholarship) and all of a sudden things are getting priced out of the range of many students.

Schools make up for this by giving instruments to students. This is fantastic. Most schools don't have enough instruments. Programs regarding use range from "you can take this and use it as long as you need it/play professionally" (I can think of a great program in Dallas like this), to "well, we all have to share, so, you can sign out days to take it home...maybe." And that's often for larger instruments, like cellos and basses. In the brass world it's often euphonium/baritones, horns, and tubas (the three most expensive beginning instruments).

Take it from me: my brother is just starting down this classical musician road. He's older and paying for everything himself. Right now he's leasing a $2100 student cello. By the end of the lease, he will have paid double for the instrument. But a single guy, on his own, going to school and working p/t as best he can can't really afford $2100 for the cello, plus another $100 or so for the cheap bow, straight out of pocket. So he, like many other younger performers, is making due as best he can. In his case, he's got an instrument on rental. For many other poor performers, they're on loan from schools.

And that is a disservice, and a place for outreach--free or inexpensive lessons (maybe less often, $10-$15 a half hour), donation of instruments (either permanently or on an "as needed basis"), sectionals (free), outreach concerts, etc. Tons of room here to grow.

Some orchestras are great about this. Some do well in their immediate metropolitan. Other, small groups don't do well with this at all. I never once met an orchestra musician in HS. There was a local orchestra in the nearest town, and I never met any of the players. Maybe it's because we didn't have a string program? Maybe I would have been interested and switched if I HAD met someone. Maybe not--but the experience was never there. I never heard a string quartet live till college. I heard a symphonic work...once? And I think that was a 6th grade trip to see the Nutcracker.

My experience isn't unique--it's the norm for rural areas. Rural areas get the shaft just like urban areas, just in different fashions.

Suffice it to say, I really think groups--not just orchestras but pretty much all arts organizations--do need to do a better job with outreach. The US is a country that isn't investing in education. Arts education is the first to get cut.

And this is where professional artists, musicians, dancers, actors, directors, theatrical technicians, and any strong amateur groups NEED to step up. We need to be giving concerts and talks in schools and in the community. We need to be offering opportunities and helping people of all ages enjoy music, not just in the concerts we present, but through a chance for them to perform, and opportunities to work with master musicians for as small a cost (or free) as possible. This isn't about "making money"--that's what the symphony gig, teaching job, compositions, etc are for. This is volunteer work, like what many others do with non-profits every year. It's about growing the arts community through action, not just exhibition. Because if people are reached at this point, and are given chances to go see concerts, they will support the groups, see the shows, and even donate money. But FIRST they have to think it's important.


Because art and music isn't for 3% or 4% of the people. It's for 100%. Most people just haven't had a chance to open their ears in a legitimate experience multiple times in their lives.

Keeping up with Minnesota

If you haven't been following the unfolding network drama that is Minnesota Orchestra Lockout (Season 2!), you're missing out. Let's start small:

Norman Lebrecht posted this short update. Turns out the Minnesota Orchestra Board is more than willing to let their music director Osmo Vänskä walk. And to cancel the Carnegie concerts. And to possibly loose their recording contract for the Sibelius symphonies. Oh, wait, they didn't mention that...Well, without Vänskä it'd probably happen. Oh, and to cut ties with the whole orchestra and hire new players. Here's a link to the newspaper article.  BONUS: you get to see me feed a troll more than he wants to eat.

Of course, during all this, the Minnesota Orchestra Board released their "independent" review and their Full Strategic Plan. Of course, over at Song of the Lark, it's quickly pointed out that, it's not a "full" plan, but a summary. It even says summary all over the document and leaves out tons of details! This is what they call "negotiating in good faith." While covering such a morose subject, Emily's writing has given me plenty of joy--I'm a huge fan of snark and righteous fury. Keep up the awesome writing!

Some of you may want to read the "independent" review. Here it is, from AKA Strategy. Here's a link to their strategic plan, done all "fancy" like (and if I didn't know it wasn't expensive to do, I'd say it's a waste of money. Because I personally do think "schnazzy high gloss interactive page flipping" is a waste. Especially with no internal links to broader information. That'd be way more useful to me).

Emily over at Song of the Lark already beat down the Strategic Plan Summary. But what about AKA Strategy's review? Let's leave that to more of a pro, Robert Levine. And he does quite a bang up job of taking it apart. BONUS: He also did an article about Kennicott. I hope he finds this and reads mine--I can't comment because I can't create an account on Polyphonic right now.

Levine lays into one of the big problems I had reading AKA Strategy's plan: Baumol's law. I think people in my neighborhood thought I was crazy yesterday as I paced around with coffee, talking through exactly why Baumol's law doesn't really apply to orchestras in the same way it applies to for-profit corporations. Worst part is I couldn't remember what Baumol's law was called! I knew it existed, but the name escaped me. Still, Levine nails everything on the head with this. And really calls out the "we've tried everything" point of view. Bullshit! Most orchestras haven't tried even a quarter of the options!

Drew McManus at Adaptistration also nailed all these points in his usual succinct and poignant way. I gotta learn about blogging from this guy.

Over at Case Arts Law (a site I fanboyed during the SFO strike), a great article on logical fallacies and poor negotiating tactics. There is an entire series by professionals who blog going through various issues with the strike. Check the bottom of the article for link heaven! And, yes, I'm still a a fanboy of Kevin Case.

This whole slew of releases by the MOA (I prefer MOB for Minnesota Orchestra Board because the acronym is way better) all revolves around their sudden release of info (after holding some of it for several months, like the AKA report from JUNE) and their new contract offer. And, hey, guess what, it was denied by the musicians. One of the biggest complaints by the MOB is that Musicians aren't offering any contracts offers. That's wrong, as they're sticking to the one proposed by George J. Mitchell who is acting as mediator. The Musicians claim that it's wrong for the MOB to keep sending out crappy contracts without even going through the mediator they agreed to use. I tend to agree with the Musicians. Why have a mediator if you're going to circumvent him and the mediation process?

If you like up-to-date quick posts on the Minnesota Orchestra Lockout and other music things, you should follow Janet Horvath on twitter. She has "ins" with the community (former associate principal cellist with Minnesota) and has led me to some wonderful posts...Such as this one:

Did you know the MOB actually took out a full page ad to defame the Musicians and called for Musicians to just take their horrible offer already? Scott Chamberlain at Mask of the Flower Prince captures the entire debacle wonderfully.

All these links and I'm barely scratching the surface of what's happening. I don't have many readers, but the few I do have, I feel obliged to keep abreast of all these situations.

The last bit is, basically, an "I told you so!" If you have been following this blog, you've gotten a pretty fair sense of my ideas on what orchestras, and musicians in general, need to do to stay relevant and keep the doors open. Well, yesterday, I got some (unknowing) back-up from a big name: Michael Kaiser. His post on HuffPo Blogs backs my assertions up. I'm sure he has no idea who I am, or that this blog exists, but it's still nice to know that my thoughts are shared (even unknowingly).

Well, that's all for now. One side effect of having to structure my own days is I set aside large amounts of time for reading and writing. Which means, this blog will get more regular posts. I've actually got several just sitting around waiting for revision (yeah, I know, scary...me revising something). Hopefully my these things will get popular.

And now, link fest for my own blog posts regarding strikes (because, let's be honest, my labeling system is sort of a joke, a hold over from before anyone read this thing).

Is Outreach the Problem?

Closing Arguments (about SFO Strike)

Orchestras Don't Exist to Make Money

Why You Shouldn't Talk About an Industry You Know Nothing About (over 12K hits!)

At What Cost: A review of the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra contract.

Another One Bites the Dust: When I first mentioned Minnesota, and was updating Atlanta and ISO

Silence in the Halls: Chicago's short strike, and more updates

Civil Disagreement: This gives some insight as to why I so vehemently blog and fight for these causes.

to quote myself:

I will not go quietly into the night, sitting in my empty concert hall. You may call it idealism, but music can change the world. The arts are society. I will live in it, breathe in it, and present my views of it...it is being an artist...we do not live in a vacuum.

I will not go quietly... 

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...

Swedish Adventure 1: Saariaho

   I've been in Sweden since Friday and I'm still recovering from jet lag. I screwed the pooch on getting acclimated, was a bit ill over the weekend (something I ate while traveling), and haven't been able to break the funk since. However, today was a day I wasn't going to miss because of my stomach nor my head.

   Kaija Saariaho is the recipient of a Polar Prize this year, and tonight was a concert of her music to kick off the festivities. The concert was an hour long with four pieces, three of which featured cellist Anssi Karttunen. If you're familiar with Saariaho's work, you'll probably recognize that name: most of her cello works are written for Karttunen.

   I was excited for the concert. Bill Brunson had let me know over the weekend it was happening, so I marked it on my mental calendar. I walked the 15 minutes to the tunnelbana (metro, subway, tube), and headed into downtown Stockholm from my suburban abode in Bromma/Sundbyberg. The T is very easy to navigate in Stockholm county, so getting around is cake. The bus system is equally good, and much nicer than any other city I've been in. MUCH nicer. But getting to the konserthuset is easy--T to T-Centralen, walk a couple blocks.

   An hour before the show, I picked up the ticket and a latte. The ticket was acceptably expensive (180 SEK or about $25-28 depending on the exchange). The latte wasn't very good, but I haven't had coffee since I got to Stockholm, so it was worth it. After finishing, I decided to walk the block and ran into Bill and his wife, completely unplanned. I knew he was going, but I wasn't out looking for him.

   Enough about the day to day of Stockholm. Onto the concert.

   I sat down about 10 of, and a crowd started forming quickly to my side. I glanced over and saw Saariaho. So, after she shook many hands, I hopped up and said a quick congrats and hello. Saariaho seemed pretty shy, and there was a crowd, so I wasn't going to draw her into a deep discussion. But, yes, I did "meet" her, though I doubt she'll remember my name (with all the hellos, names, and handshakes occurring).

   The show began with a quick chat with Saariaho about the four pieces. The pieces were Sept papillos for cello, Serenatas for cello, percussion, and piano, Duft for clarinet, and Je sens un deuxieme coeur for viola, cello, and piano. Karttunen played the cello throughout, while members of Norrbotten NEO, Robert Ek (clarinet), Kim Hellgren (viola), Marten Landstrom (piano), and Daniel Saur (percussion) made up the rest of the players.

    Saariaho explained the pieces simply: Sept papillons was written during rehearsal for L'amour de loins, her opera about Jaufre Rudel's possible (fictional?) love of the countess of Tripoli. She described it as her escape from all the drama, craziness, and huge amount of people. Serenatas was written using music that had been kicking around since sketching Sept papillons. They are a series of Serenades that can be played in any order. Duft for solo clarinet is based on music from an orchestral piece about the sense. Duft is German for smell, and it's her musical idea of the linking of smell and sound. Finally Je sens un deuxieme coeur (I feel a second heart) was inspired by Saariaho's second pregnancy, when she started thinking about how there was a second heart beating inside of her, beating very fast and slowing over 9 months. She mentioned polyrhythms as well as the programmatic aspect of the work.

     I won't embark on a piece by piece analysis or discussion. Instead, here are some general remarks about Saariaho's music. First off, three of the pieces had some sort of programmatic aspect. These aspects, if I had not been told about them in the first place, would not have come through in the music at all. In fact, even listening with the "insider information" straight from Saariaho, I did not hear any of the programmatic elements. Nothing in Duft made me think of smell, and nothing in Je sens un deuxieme coeur made me think of feeling two heartbeats during pregnancy. And, while these were impetuses and muses for Saariaho, I do not think I was supposed to hear anything overtly programmatic. Instead of listening for little signs, trying to tease out the program, I felt as though I was supposed to just relax and experience the music. And that is exactly what I did, letting the music wash over me.

    All of Saariaho's music takes a high level of virtuosity, especially the two solo works. Karttunen and Ek did fabulously on their ends, performing at high technical and musical levels. Saariaho's music favors the delicate over the raucous, though she is not afraid to put together a forceful section. However, it was the moments of relaxation that intrigued me the most.

    Sadly, as the concert went on, I started hearing the same motives over and over again. I've always enjoyed Saariaho's music, though I was introduced to it fairly late in the game. I did notice in L'Amour de loin that long passages of time, an hour or so, would sit in nearly the same musical area, even as the action moved around the stage. In the opera, this created an odd sense of stasis along with movement. In an hours worth of chamber music, it didn't create such an intriguing effect. Instead, I was left thinking "What else can Saariaho do?" As passages died down, Saariaho would turn to trills between harmonics. If she wanted to keep energy going but pull back the sound, it'd be harmonic arpeggios. All the material seemed woven into the same large rich tapestry.

    While I love that tapestry--it's colourful yet subtle, harmonically and motivically interesting--it is the one tapestry. When I hear Saariaho break out the most is when she uses electronics. For instance, Lonh, a beautiful piece for voice and electronics (performed beautifully by Dawn Upshaw on a recording available from Naive or Ondine...and streaming on Naxos).



    This piece, to me, is Saariaho at her finest. But her style is so distinct, so incredibly tight and structured, that it seems like her pieces are coalescing into one piece.

     This isn't necessarily a problem. As I said before, if all the pieces are woven into one tapestry, it is a beautiful, subtle, wonderful tapestry. But something happens when you hear four pieces that sound so incredibly close together. The music got less interesting, lines blurred, and I found myself slipping.

     My experience is incredibly personal. I know other people that with such a program would be able to drift more fully into the music, experience the parallels, ride the waves of sound, and be quite happy. Maybe I am still a product of my generation, one that grows impatient with too much of the same. It's why writing a 25 minute drone piece was the hardest thing I've ever done (yes, worse than 2 operas), and why even during my favourite symphonies, I can start getting antsy halfway through a movement.

    That being said, I am excited for the Kungliga Filharmonikerna concert in October with Saariaho's Laterna Magica, Chopin's 2nd Piano Concert, and Schumann's 4th symphony. Funny, I just brought that symphony up in my last post. Heh.

     And I'm still quite happy I went to this concert. I had never gotten a chance to hear Saariaho's music live, and honestly the music didn't disappoint me. I think I disappointed myself. Instead of being able to just relax, and get washed away by the music, my mind instantly started analyzing all the similarities between the pieces. I couldn't even concentrate on the differences, just the similarities. So, now I've identified what I see to be a weakness in myself.

    Because music is about the experience of the moment, not to over think it.

     I listened to Lohn tonight when I got home after eating a giant smorgorsar (accents missing) and drinking an Orangina. In the quiet of my room, I was able to relax more and just let Saariaho's beautifully nuanced music flow over me. Hopefully, this mode of listening can stay with me--attentive, but not to the details, just to the music.