500 People Were Forced Into a Classical Concert

A couple weeks ago, I had the privilege to attend the Berlin Seminar, a conference hosted by the German Fulbright Commission bringing together outgoing German Fulbrighters with current US Fulbrighters in Europe. While the majority of people at the conference were based in Germany, the crowd also hosted the entire Swedish Commission and Fulbrighters from the UK, Spain, France, Turkey, Ireland, Netherlands, Hungary, and many more countries. The Fulbrighters were a mixture of graduate students (meaning those that have finished a bachelors degree--not necessarily in a graduate program) and ETA's (English Teaching Assistants). 

I provide this background to give an idea of with whom I spent the week: a number ranging from 2 or 3 of us wandering Berlin to 500 packed in a recital hall. The majority were young (I was one of the older attendees at 29), educated, and socially conscious. The group was culturally and socially diverse, though a quick look through stats would definitely show certain predominance in race and socio-economic backgrounds. Still, the US Fulbrighters were from all over the US, and while there could still be considered an easy majority, a great many different backgrounds came into play.

We could break down the demographic w/o bearings on race or specific socio-economic numbers (to which I don't have access) as 22-29, equally distributed male/female (by observation), educated, and socially and culturally aware (based on anecdotal evidence).

What follows is the first in a series of posts (labeled "Berlin Seminar" in the labels section--which I'm abusing less and less as time goes on). These posts attempt to look at cultural differences in Sweden, Germany, and the US in regards to music. They will look explore not only perception of the different groups involved, but also marketing, state sponsorship, and a bit about the idea of cultural heritage.

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The opening ceremony for the Berlin Seminar occurred the evening of the first day of the conference. We'd already had a chance to meet other Fulbrighters, a breakout session where groups discussed various issues. Mine started out as a conversation about Berlin theater, and it very quickly degraded into a talk about finances. It was not a discussion I had wished to have at the conference, or at least at 11am the first day of the conference. Still, I took the time to discuss some of my observations regarding the corporate culture of the large American institutions, and the growing issue of sustainability, and how that idea is approached from what is, increasingly, one of two viewpoints. I won't recount that discussion, as there will be a posting about it later by the official secretary of the group. Instead, know that my conference started out with more sighs than I'd normally like to begin a morning.

One issue I brought up was the idea of marketing--we talk about the desired audience, but we never really pin down who it is beyond "young." We never really discuss sustainable ideas for bringing in this audience, instead focusing on initiatives that are short-term ideas. "Let's do one concert like this..." is not a long-term option, and if only done once doesn't give a good idea the merit of an idea. My assertion has been that the problem isn't really young people--they're open minded and willing to show up. It's a matter of 1) cost 2) knowledge and 3) availability.

The opening ceremony was a combination of short talks--all ranging from 10-15 minutes in length--and a concert. It was if they accepted that the attention span of young people would only hold for a short time. The concert itself was under an hour, with a variety of works. All in all, the entire program didn't even span 2 hours, which got the crowd out to the important part; socializing, drinking, and since it is Germany, smoking (Note: smoking is much more prevalent in Germany, with each shop having a wide variety of rolling tobacco available at even the smallest bodega. This is unimportant to some, but for me at the moment, it was a stark contrast to Sweden).

I sat in a section with people I did not know, beyond a few I had seen in the morning session. And unsurprising considering where I chose to sit, I saw a fair number of people who had introduced themselves as doing research in music. We all made for the middle of the concert hall, as a general guess at how most recital halls act would dictate.

The concert was as follows:

Sonata II from Sonate concertate in still moderno Libro II--Dario Castello (1590-1658)
Division on Vestiva i Colli--Francesco Rognoni (1570-1626)
--Elicia Silversteen (BM Colburn Conservatory of Music, pursuing masters in Amsterdam)--Baroque Violin
--Jacob Street (MA Oberlin, currently in Lübeck)--harpsichord

Deep River--arr. Moses Hogan (1957-2003)
The Little Horses--Aaron Copland (1900-1990)
--Derrell Acon (DMA candidate Cincinnati Conservatory, MM CCM, BM and BA Lawrence U)--Bass
--Joseph Nyckel (Northwestern, U of Illinois, Hackschule fur Musik in Freiburg)--Piano

Karakurenai--Andy Akiho (1979)
Lizard and Riding the Tiger from Wind-Rose-Wood-Cuts--Baláza Juhász (1980)
--David Degge (Performance--Peabody, Music Education--Abilene Christian University)--Percussion (Marimba)

So, a fair smattering--Baroque violin sonatas, contemporary marimba, and traditional style vocal pieces. No Romantic or Classical repertoire, and no pieces really outside the Western styles, though there were small flavours in Karakurenai and Wind-Rose-Wood-Cuts. I wouldn't consider either of those pieces more related to a regional style, more the watered down globalized, borrowed style, where small elements are added to what is basically a Western aesthetic.

The concert was quite good. All the performers were masterful. Silversteen and Street performed well together, communicated directly, and gave a strong performance. One bit that struck me was Silversteen employing some half-step non-diatonic trills. For many performers, that'd fall outside the generalized notion of Baroque ornamentation--most ornaments are meant to be performed diatonically. However, I enjoyed the aural effect--it gave the pieces more of a folk flair, making the embellishments actually draw even closer to the original note. As to their authenticity, I have no idea, but considering this is Silversteen and Street's main area of study, I'll accept it as an interesting, unique, and engaging choice.

Acon's velvety bass voice was clear and beautiful, though it at times felt lost in the hall. It was a large hall at the Universität der Kümste, and the acoustics were a bit on the dry side. Still, I greatly enjoyed the performance, as Acon and Nykiel did a good job using a wide dynamic range, and gave each piece suitable solemnity or flair when needed. The Little Horses gave Acon and Nykiel a fine vehicle to show the wide range of style, from patter to an almost mournful lullaby.

The final pieces performed by Degge were virtuosic in nature, though in very different ways. Karakurenai features an ostinato in one hand with a difficult polyrhythmic melody in the other. And it never lets up until the very end, when the hands gradually shift phase into the same tempo. When the melody started up, every in my section all groaned a little--not in a bad way, but in a "Oh, this feels uncomfortable." When Degge was able to keep the ostinato rolling along and keep the polyrhythm rolling along in its own time, the section gave short gasps and subtle shifts. It's a difficult feet to keep your hands separated so completely for roughly 4 minutes. The other piece was less striking to me, more about the speed at which Degge could run up and down the keyboard--the sort of virtuosity I've grown accustomed to seeing. Musically, Wind-Rose-Wood-Cut was straight forward, tonal in nature, and nice, but nothing that struck me as interesting.

Enough of the short critique: what happened after is of far more importance. The demographic has been explained, the concert has been described. Now for the important part--the reaction.

One critique against classical music is that it doesn't reach a younger generation, that groups must resort to gimmicks or unique settings to draw a crowd. And then, hopefully, once the unsuspecting audience has arrived, the music will draw them in deeper. However, nothing was more traditional than this set-up. We were in a large concert hall. Everyone was more or less required to wear some sort of dress casual (which, for all those saying people don't want to dress up, I'd remind them that 1) tuxes are NOT required for attendance and I rarely if ever see them and 2) young people LOVE a good excuse to get dressed up--like, say, going to a club...which for all those unaccustomed to club life should find out usually includes some sort of "dressy" attire, or at least not dirty jeans and a tee-shirt. And who was the ONE person that complained and wore something more relaxed? You guess it...).

The concert performance was straight-forward: performers entered, played pieces, people clapped between movements and no one cared (again, a misconception--I see this regularly and few people give the stink eye. Maybe only at the NY Phil...so, perhaps, we should stop comparing the world to them?). Everything stank of traditionalism, except for perhaps the demographic of the crowd.

And did the crowd ever love it! The clapping was enthusiastic. Approaching performers afterwards was almost difficult, as it seems they attracted quite the posse. Everyone I spoke to said they loved the music, were impressed by the virtuosity of all the performers (I heard "That percussionist is a badass" more than once), the beauty and lyricism of Acon's voice, and the overall excitement from the pieces themselves. The more wine that flowed, the more people opened up about how they loved the experience, and wanted to go to more concerts.

This was a crowd that wants to be included, a crowd that is open to a wide variety of experiences. These are the cultural omnivores I read about in Jon Silpayamanant's blog. On his blog, he mentions a study that one reason for the decline in the arts is the decline of the cultural omnivore. But this seems to make an assumption about taste creation--that it is an inherent trait, rather than a learned trait. However, taste is developed through experience, and cultural omnivores are created by having a wide variety of experiences. So, if cultural omnivores are dying, it's because we, as a society, are killing them. I do not think this is true.

Instead, I think it's a question of marketing and availability. As I said, this concert was compulsory. However, not one person was complaining going into the concert. There was mostly curiosity. I fielded questions about the pieces, however I only knew the vocal works. I gave some learned guesses on the Baroque pieces and didn't even hazard a guess on the marimba works. Most people I spoke to simply stated "I'd love to go to more concerts, but I don't even know they're happening," or "I loved going to the symphony, but they just raised ticket prices, so I'm not sure I'll still be able to afford the tickets." These are simple problems.

No one complained about getting dressed up (besides me...), no one complained we were sitting in a concert hall, no one took issue with any of the traditional elements. Of course, they did have drinking to look forward to after the show, and were able to engage first hand with the musicians, two major differences than most large concert venues (but not so different than many chamber concerts I've attended).

So, let's look at a few facts:

• One demographic groups want to reach is the 18-35 age range. That is the only stated demographic. This is far too broad to address in any efficient or sustainable fashion.
• a smaller demographic, 22-29, educated, male and female, bi-national (US and German), large differences in background, but with the shared background of being Fulbright grantees (either currently or heading to the US) were curious and then excited by the concert.
• This smaller demographic complained of lack of marketing, availability, and pricing. There were no complaints about traditional structures when I asked. Most were open and interested in the experience
• The newer works brought more enthusiasm from the crowd, but almost everyone seemed wowed by the virtuousity of the performers.
• The concert length was not discussed directly, though a fair number of people I spoke to said "Fewer talks, more music!" Considering later in the week we all attended a 3 hour dance party without batting an eye, and then many went off to clubs afterwards, concert length really shouldn't be an issue (though regular breaks for a cigarette are helpful).
• People enjoyed being able to approach performers afterwards.

These facts, to me, are of importance, even if they are anecdotal in nature. They're important because 

1. I took the time to identify a focused demographic. If you talk to anyone in business or marketing, it's about creating a focused group to approach, not a wide audience. Each initiative/advertisement/pitch has to be more individually tailored
2. Specifics questions about performance are addressed to a group that is not self-referential. By this I mean I wasn't talking just to people who identified as musicians, artists, or a part of the music industry...quite a few weren't regular concert attendees (though it was great to speak to so many people who had been involved in music and the arts for a long while, and it still holds importance in their lives. Maybe that should be another avenue to really discuss?).
3. People were far more concerned with the music than anything else, and made that known from the beginning of the conversations.

These are just a few points I found from opening night. Later, I'll write about how people reacted to my project in casual conversation, my trip to the Deutsche Opera Berlin and their amazing performance of Les Troyens, and some thoughts about cultural advertisement I noticed in Berlin, as well as possibly discussing funding differences and issues between the disparate methods of the US vs. Germany and Sweden. 

Reflection and progression

2013 is coming to a close.

It has been quite the year. Back in March, I had a post go viral. For a blog that's been around for 5 years at that point and garnered no more than a few hits, it was astounding. That post got me linked and quoted on several sites, including an NPR station and several bloggers. I was also able to email some people in the San Francisco Orchestra, and learned more about what was happening.

From there, my readership has stayed somewhat steady, small, but steady. The year was spent more in cultural commentary and reactions, from what happened to opera to a long series of posts about "entrepreneurship" and the arts.

I jumped headlong into those conversations, had a length discussion with Jeffrey Nytch and others over at Greg Sandow's blog. It was a good conversation, and Nytch and I further sent off a few emails to each other, started mainly because his audio players weren't working well on his site, and I wanted to listen to his music!

April was a crazy month that saw my first 10 minute play, The Story: Alec and Grugh, get performances during InTENsity 2.0, produced by Frank Higgins and Tony Bernal at the Fishtank in Kansas City. It played to packed audiences (though a couple seats short of a sold-out run. SO CLOSE!) and I got to work with some of the best actors in Kansas City.

At the same time, Black House and KCEMA was ramping up rehearsals for Rites of Being. Rites was an evening of brand new short operas, all having some sort of electronic component. It was an incredibly varied night of entertainment, from the more abstract stories to fun satires, and music going from post-minimalist to improvisational to more modernist. My opera, Till Death Do Us Part, was given a great premiere by Stacey Stofferahn and Nathan Granner. Special thanks to Eli Hougland, Simon Fink, and Stamos Martin for their string work, and Brad Van Wick for hitting play on samples.

That production also saw me return to the podium as a conductor. It's something that I seem to do once every couple years, tackling projects that just happen to fall in my lap. Conducting is a fantastic challenge, and something I'd like to do more often. Some may not know, but I was originally going the route of a conductor, many moons ago, before deciding on composition. First a high school director, then wanting to go professional. The first visit for my masters was to University of Washington, to go in conducting.

The Spring stayed busy--I had scores to prepare and send for June in Buffalo and a presentation to prepare for Electroacoustic Music Studies Conference 2013 in Lisbon, Portugal. But it was the email I received at the end of April that changed my 2013 more than anything else.

I was sitting in my medieval music history course when my phone went off. I was beyond annoyed; usually I'm a good student and have my phone off or on silent during class, but my brain was foggy from too many late nights. I pulled it out to silence it and say the sender was "Fulbright." So much for classroom etiquette. I opened the email.

I got as far as "we are happy to inform you..."

Then I threw my phone. Yes, I threw my phone, in class. Everyone stopped and stared at me, so I did the only thing I could do--I quickly added to the conversation happening in the class. I have no memory of what was said, or even the topic for the day. I do remember my friend Joey coming up to me afterwards and giving me a look of "what the fuck was that?" So I told him.

Then went outside and started screaming and laughing. I fell over in the damp morning grass laughing louder than I had ever laughed in my life. And I called everyone.

April was a crazy month.

Rites of Being went splendidly. In June, I traveled to Buffalo for JiB and had a fantastic time. And I wrote a series of posts describing the experience and the various insights from the festival. I returned for a short while, the I flew off to Lisbon, Portugal for EMS 2013. I love EMS, made some new friends, and loved Lisbon.

July passed quietly. August saw me move back to Indiana for a few weeks, staying with my brothers. Most of my possessions were stowed in the empty basement of some dear friends in Kansas City (shout out to Justin and Jamie!), while various music books, my electric piano, and my recording equipment were loaded into my Jeep to go to Indiana.

It marked the last major trip for my 1995 Jeep Cherokee.

August was a wash--I was broke, living with my brothers, and just biding my time till I left for Stockholm. I did get one last trip in--my bff took me to a Cincinnati Reds game. Nothing like the American past-time right before I left the country for 10 months.

The day before I left, I was still broke. I had borrowed money from my brother to pay for my apartment. For food money...

I sold my Jeep. I had owned it since 2002, a graduation gift, partially paid for by me, and partially paid for by my parents. I put my old car down, plus another $1200 from my pocket...so about $3K down. My parents covered the rest on the car payments. It had driven all over the US, to Denver, Kansas City, Lawrence, Milwaukee, Chicago, Traverse City, Cincinnati, Columbus (OH), Dayton, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Atlantic City, Princeton, NYC, Boston, Syracuse, Rochester (NY), Wilmington, Baltimore, Morgantown, Paducah, and many more. I put roughly 175,000 miles on it myself. I never did get to all 48 contiguous states, nor to Canada like I had hoped. Still...to have a car for 11 years. It was sad to sell it for $350. I was happy for the money. I could eat. And it wasn't worth much more than that, honestly...

The first month in Stockholm I was sick and adjusting. I also wrote a great many posts about outreach, symphonies (and why I don't write them), and lots of cultural critiques, most interestingly on why I don't care that a famous person dissed a young artist. And it goes on to explain why historical context is so important.

My time in Stockholm has been amazing. I've written one 10 minute piece, wrote a piece of software for algorithmic composition (a skeleton of what I plan to use in my opera, hopefully...), got a commission from the Ghettoblaster project, which is nearly finished. And wrote a bit about what noise means to me. I've been to a ton of concerts, both metal and classical. I've finally started befriending people in the metal scene, and hopefully will get more interviews as time goes on.

But I've already gotten one HUGE interview--Anders Bjorler! Such a big deal. Anders is a great guy, and I had tons of fun in Gothenberg. Hopefully this will spell more interviews in the spring!

In the meantime, I've done a lot of anecdotal research, looked at crowds, made comparisons, and did tons of research. I found tons of songs using folk material, from various settings of Bellman's Epistles of Fredman No. 81, to less distinct influences. I found references to folk tales here and there. And started looking more into the political usage of the music. This has really stepped up after talking to Anders and hearing about the different ways that the people he knows deals with music.

The opera is going swimmingly. I did NaNoWriMo, more or less, and wrote the entire libretto. And then revised it. And revised it. And then five more times. I've written a bunch of melodic material, and come January 3rd, the blitz is on...every day in a studio working as many hours as I can...no excuses.

So, 2013 has been a year to remember. Hopefully, it's just the beginning of even more grand adventures.

An Interview with Anders Bjorler

An interview with Anders Björler

December 4^th, 2013, I headed to Gothenberg, Sweden. I decided to take the train. It’s an easy form of travel in Sweden, relaxed, and easy to navigate. I woke up feeling a little under the weather,  and was a bit worried the travel wouldn’t do well for me. I’m a piss poor traveler. My weak immune system deals poorly with recycled air.  I slept most of the ride, read Game of Thrones the rest. My questions were already prepped, so it would be nothing more than brushing up once I got to the hotel.

The hotel is decidedly Swedish. The bed is small, with a mattress pad. The hotel is a bit off the main roads, tucked into apartment buildings. Still, it’s fairly nice, especially for the price. Worth the 500 meter walk from Central Station.

Before going to meet Anders, I brushed up on my metal. I listened to some At The Gates and The Haunted. I jotted down some specific lyrics I might be interested in asking about. Really, I already knew the gist—folk influences, social and political themes in the music, asking about the significance of the use of various calendars in his new album Antikythera.

It’s hard to distill nearly three hours of continuous conversation. I had decided to forgo recording the interview and had decided on a more narrative syle of write up instead of a transcript. Because, for me, this experience wasn’t about the exactitude of the answers, nor my memory.

We met at a Starbucks in Central Station. I was sipping an Americano to warm my hands. Sweden gets damn chilly when the sun sets, and it sets damnedly early.  Of course it was a Starbucks Americano, so it tasted terribly. I saw Anders through the door, he came in and we shook hands. Then the talking began.

He asked me about my project, what I do. I asked him about music he liked. The first music he mentioned was Prokofiev.  Then Shostacovich. Next Penderecki, specifically Symphony 3. Anders mentioned he loved the Russian aesthetic, so melancholy and dark. I talked about all the classical musicians that liked metal, admittedly for similar reasons, as well as the great playing.

Next Anders asked me if I was looking into folk music. I mentioned I was, and that I was interested in folk influences. As my guess and “preliminary research” showed, it is indeed an influence for some metal groups. The ones I thought of particularly (In Flames and At The Gates) it definitely was. Anders grandfather played violin and folk music was a part of his life. I’d heard as much in interviews, but it doesn’t mean it actually goes into the music.

But it’s definitely there. If you listen to his latest album you can hear it most clearly. The similar melodies, the melodic minor scales. You can also hear guys like Esbjorn Svensson, Prokofiev, and all his work in metal music. Anders told me that influences come from all over, from everything he hears, so he can’t pin down any while he’s working. There are major influences, like folk tunes and classical music that are apparent, and which he admits to listening to on a regular basis.

I asked about the title of his album, Antikythera and the relationship of the song titles. Most of the songs are based on different types of calendars; the Callipic Cycle, the Saros Cycle, and Lunar and Solar eclipse. There’s one titled “223” which is how many gears one device had. The connection to the music? It’s a title, nothing more. Anders told me he had watched a documentary on the Antikythera mechanism and thought it was really interesting. To keep all the songs tied together, he picked different names of calendars. The material itself wasn’t worked out with the title specifically in mind. It may be fun to see if there are some odd occurrences, moments when the amount of years in a cycle correspond to some musical moment. Is there something about the numbers 76, 18, and 54 subconsciously in the music? I highly doubt it, but some musical scholars will spend their time mapping it. I, for one, will take Anders at his word, and accept the music for what it is without dissecting subconscious compositional methods.

The music he worked out in a short time—the general form and ideas were put together in two weeks. I joked that before the Fulbright began, I never could have believed it possible to put together 40 minutes of music in a couple weeks, but when you have time. And time is what Anders has, devoting it to working on music, making documentaries, and having beers with a random American wanting to ask him questions.

We later talked about the general attitude toward folk music. Anders told me that most everyone hears the music at some point. It’s taught in schools, but then promptly forgotten. The general populous tends to like the latest pop from America…or slightly older than the latest. Folk is as niche in Sweden as most everyone else, but there’s at least a general awareness.

We talked a bit about folk music in America. How there’s folk music from later immigrants, music from Ireland, Sweden, Italy, and Poland. And how there are distinctly American folk, like spirituals, American hymns (I thought of shape note hymns and American prayer books), and even loosely jazz. But I told him how so much of that isn’t attached to the everyday culture of the “majority” of Americans, the white middle and upper class. That when they hear folk, it’s Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan, the newer folk music. Even older collectors, like Charles Seeger or Alan Lomax aren’t as well known. It’s not that these people aren’t completely unknown, but compared to Sweden where if I bring up the Epistles of Fredman, songs by Carl Michael Bellman from the late 18^th century, it’s at least known. Of course it may help that there’s a Bellman beer which prints the epistles on the back. The beer itself isn't all that good, but the mass produced beers of Sweden aren't all that good...

And, of course, lyrics had to come up. With groups like Coven, with Jinx Dawson saying that she was a Satanist and meant the words. Then Black Sabbath and later the new wave of British metal and groups like Slayer where the lyrics were more about obliquely about social norms, fighting against perceived ills, and rebellion. There was a punk aspect to the lyrics. It was less about the paganism of Norway, though the imagery was always there.

Same with the Swedish metal scene. They wanted to speak, be heard, and protest…something. I asked about what they protested, and Anders talked about a combination of having the freedom to choose and being socialist. They didn’t want to system of ownership inherent in Capitalism, something which was spreading in Sweden at the time. And yet, they wanted the ability to choose their own path, something that the social system in Sweden somewhat prevents. Everyone should be equal in Sweden, share the wealth and opportunities. Some people, especially younger generations, seem to rail against this. They want the freedom, the opportunity. Metal music expresses this, in its abstract way. There’s often talk of fighting imperialism, being forced into horrible situations, and general melancholy and unhappiness. The longer I’m in Sweden, the more I understand…It’s not just the winters that can cause this issue (though they are cold and dark).

Of course, I contrasted this with life in America. What so many young Swedes see as opportunity in America is a false conception. We talked about the level of capitalism, quipped about how the current conservative Swedish government is still more left than the farthest left group in America.

What about all the “devil talk.” It’s just that, talk, symbolism for other things. Anders told me about how secular Sweden is. He group in a secular household, and didn’t care one way or another about religion. If there was a message regarding that in the lyrics, it was a message of “look at all the world is learning! Open your eyes and accept all that’s happening.” Less a condemnation, and more a “C’mon guys, the world is a big place.” He contrasted this to Norway, which seemed to be a more religious country. There was more open rebellion against Christendom then, but they were more driven by Paganism—as Varg Vikernes put it, “They (the Christians) desecrated our graves, our burial mounds, so its revenge.” It’s a long time to hold a grudge, but, for some, that can happen.

Metal has a link then with personal rebellion and expression. It’s a very personal form of expression, as most music is. It reminded me of punk music, but instead of straight forward speeches there is complicated symbolism. Instead of raucous cacophony there is intense virtuosity. The message can get more obscured, with the vocal styles and the poetry, but it is there…at least in The Haunted and At The Gates, and with some of the groups Anders is more familiar with.

The concert environments themselves seemed different though. I recounted for Anders my experience in a metal club in Stockholm with a trash band. Everyone was so happy. The people in the mosh pit were smiling. Crowd surfing was happening with laughing. After an encore, the bass play dove into the audience and was carried all the way to the merch table by the two largest men in the club. They dropped the bass play, everyone full of laughter and smiles. I compared this to  in America, when I’d go to a pop metal group, like Bullet for My Valentine, and see a mosh pit where people came out bloody. When going to OzzFest (which Anders played in 2005 with The Haunted) and seeing the outfield destroyed at then Deer Creek Music Center. He told me he saw the same thing happen when he went on tour with The Haunted. I asked about if he saw a difference in the scenes between American, Sweden, and Norway. He said it seemed more laid back in Sweden.

And, of course, it came to the Norwegian Black Metal guys…or rather, guy. Anders described the whole thing as more of a fluke, a few guys that took things way too far. Of course everything was really tied to one band, Mayhem, and really around one iconic figure, Varg Vikernes. Is it so much of the negative hype really tied to this one group? Of course there are tales of Ozzy Osbourn and the bat, the displays put on by GWAR, and other extreme metal bands, but it seems the death metal scene in Sweden wasn’t into that. Instead, they let their music do the talking, with political lyrics.

We went back to talking about folk music. Since I started drafting this, Anders has been so kind as to send me links to tons of Swedish folk music, both traditional and new takes. I’ve listened to a few as I type, but I’ll have to give it a more concerted listening. I can hear the influence of the melodies, the sad melancholic tunes that Anders described. The simple melodies, the layering of voices; now that I’m becoming aware of the music, the sounds are becoming more identifiable. It’s interesting how this heritage can become part of the culture.

This was a meeting of two musicians, both passionate about what they do. We connected over beer (I had one too many), spoke of many things, and I learned more about Swedish culture and the connections to death metal in three hours than I had from watching and reading all the interviews online, and going to the concerts. And what I learned that was most important?

That metal, like all music, is a deeply personal way of communication. Even composers who are modernists, use stochastics, chance, or improvisation, or ignore all “programmatic” ideas of their pieces are still trying to communicate something they find deep about their existence. This may be the Duvel talking, but I found it invigorating. You never know what will happen when you meet a stranger for beer. This time I walked away a wiser and better man.

Thank you Anders Björler for taking the time to meet with me.

Also, a special thanks to Johan Lundgren. He sent out the email to Anders and got this rolling. Also, his pickups are more than a little amazing and famous. If you’ve heard Meshuggah, you’ve heard his pickups. http://www.lundgren.se/

And a special thanks to Björn Juhl, who put me in contact with Johan. His pedals are also well known, under the moniker of BJFe designs. Check out some here http://www.bearfootfx.com/

And these aren’t ads, they really are thank yous! Moving across the Atlantic, setting myself up in Stockholm, and getting things rolling has been a crazy enterprise! Without Björn Juhl and Johan Lundgren, this wouldn’t have happened.

NaNo-Post Mortem

I knew these to be myths, some with grains of truth, others completely falsified for reasons both benevolent and nefarious--Boots, from Mel, Act I, Scene 1

This year I took on NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month.  However, since I am not a novelist, nor did I plan on writing a novel (at the moment), I did it with a different twist; to complete the libretto to my first full length opera. Mel, as it is tentatively titled, is my doctoral dissertation and a part of my Fulbright project here in Sweden.

This autopsy of the month was originally going to be distilled into a bullet-point style advice column. After ten minutes of writing, I was annoyed with the format. I was beginning to sound like all the online advice columns I have come to dislike over the past three months. Those dealing with opera are some that I've especially come to loathe.

So, instead, I'm returning to the roots of this blog. I'm sure only a handful of you have read that first fated post, in May, 2008. I was sitting in a hotel room in North Jersey...can't remember which. I was working a gig for Concert Quality Sound, a commencement. My memory is foggy on specifics, but I'm guessing it was Stevens Institute of Technology. Moot point...

In the beginning, this blog was about my first opera, Cake. That seems like a good place to begin, to reach the ending. I was a foolish youth, as I am still a foolish man. Cake will always have a place in my heart, however, it showed off my lack of skills. The libretto is passable, the music at times had drama, other times was lost in translation...my own translation, from mind to paper.

Cake is an adaption of a short story by Eileen Wiedbrauk. Neither of us had written a libretto or a play, so there was a lot of stumbling around. Me writing a draft, sending it to Eileen. She'd give some feedback, and I'd jump back at it.

For a first go, Cake made for a pretty good show. The story was conveyed remarkably well considering my inexperience. The short story is gripping, a nice combination of seeing someone's neurosis upfront, while leaving details to the imagination of the reader. Hopefully, the readers imagination starts to take off just like the main character, Sarah.

Because of the inside the head moments, it gave me chances to write some arioso passages for Sarah. Prose and poetry, poetry and prose, attempting to marry them in some fashion. Again, it was passable. As a novice, if I hadn't had a story to work from, I would have been lost. There I was, learning a new style of music, studying opera, and trying to synthesize everything into something new. I lacked the writing skills to start from scratch.


And I learned two very important things going forward about librettos. First that I wanted to work from original material as often as possible. There are so many operas of "unoriginal" material, based on books, plays, folk tales, and real life events. I wanted to do something different.

Second, to work with a librettist from now on.

It appears I followed only one piece of my own advice.

I knew it, but I didn’t believe it. Belief is a different matter, a deeper matter. To live is to believe.--Boots, from Mel, Act I, Scene 1

Flash forward, I knew when I started my doctorate I had to "one up" my masters thesis. Cake is a twenty one minute chamber opera for three singers and piano. Obviously, my dissertation could be no less than an hour, for more voices and chorus, and a chamber group (or possibly full orchestra). When I told my composition professors this at the beginning of my idea, they were against it. Didn't want me to spend so much time on a single piece. My retort was simple "When will I ever have this much time again?"

Moving forward several years, I helped spearhead an opera project in Kansas City, along with Hunter Long and Black House, and the Kansas City Electronic Music and Arts Alliance. Of all the composers involved, I was the only one who had written an opera. Everyone took their own path, some writing their own librettos, some choosing to work with a librettist. One commonality I found invigorating--most wanted to have original stories. In fact, a few bristled when I suggested we all take a scene from a play, or all choose from works by a single author. It gave me joy to see so many people want to write contemporary operas with new stories.

I mentioned it all to my brother, and he came up with a great story. It was about coffee, a simple morning ritual. Till Coffee Do Us Part is a farce, a piece of satire, presented relatively bluntly with a telegraphed message at the end. Think...Mozart.





My brother, unfortunately, wasn't able to finish the libretto, but I took his story and wrote the words myself. I was in a playwriting course taught by Frank Higgins, a fabulous playwright whose play Black Pearl Sings has been making the rounds in professional and amateur theaters.

I had joined the playwriting course not to become a playwright, but to understand how plays were written. I was already in talks with various writers, trying to convince them to write a libretto for my doctoral thesis. The class, for me, was a way to learn all the background I didn't have, that combination of prose and poetry, dramatic pacing, the specifics I felt I lacked my first go round.

What happened is I turned into a bit of a playwright. Never encourage me--a piece of advice mentors never seem to hear, even though I often tell them. When encouraged, even slightly, I end up doing things. In this case, I wrote The Story-Alec and Grugh, a funny little ten minute play that had a wonderful premiere in April. Sadly, there were a couple seats open one night, so I can't say it played to sold out houses...just nearly sold out.

With this encouragement, I set off on libretto no. 2. Of the many great lessons I took away from that course, editing was easily the largest. Monumental, I would say. Gargantuan.

I edit my music, but not in the same way I edit words. It's mostly about typesetting editing. By the time I've sketched and realized on paper, the piece is complete. I may move a note or two around in that final stage, but, normally, the music is nearly complete before I put it on paper.

The same is true for my writing. This entire post was written in the shower, gone through in my head this morning, from bits and pieces that have been floating in my mind for the last couple weeks. Yes, there was a "draft" earlier, a failed attempt at a form. But this isn't so much an edit of that draft, as it is a complete rewrite, based on similar ideas.

The Story went through six rewrites. Till Coffee went through four, and if I had time, would have gone through at least one or two more in rehearsals. The process of editing a play during a first run is different--words are cut in rehearsal, entire speeches marked out, even pages torn out. In music, the idea is to walk in with a finished product. The composer's jobs is complete once the score has been handed off. Only in a "workshop" setting does one bring multiple drafts, work through problems and ideas. If it's just a premiere, well, it better be ready, because we have three rehearsals to get it right.

The Story had four rehearsals. Shortly before the first one, I met with the director, and we did more or less a line by line reading. He tore it apart, in the nicest way possible. My pages were full of marks by the end. I thanked him, from the deepest bowels of my heart. This was an experience we don't get often in music, someone going line by line, tearing apart a single word choice as well as wondering what an entire three pages were really about. From "Are you sure about this word" to "Over these four pages, the energy stalls. Where's it going?" That night, I went home and feverishly edited.

The first rehearsal I saw was a dress in the space. They had done a few on their own, and had wanted to work some things out themselves. The actors ad lib'ed some lines, the ending was changed slightly, action was amplified. I marked down their ideas, vetoed a couple, and expanded a few. It was wonderfully collaborative.

Till Coffee was more polished when it arrived in the hands of the performers, but not polished enough. It needed editing. Still needs editing. But it was hard enough that if I started messing with the notes, there's a fair chance it wouldn't come together. I made the choice.

Mel is a different story altogether. Cake, within a short time of it's conception, was given performance chances. Till Coffee was written for a specific evening. Mel has no performance opportunity. It's scope is such that self-production is almost entirely off the table. The story itself is grand, 11,100 words of text, including stage directions, are spread over 65 pages. It's a solid three acts with an epilogue. My estimates of time sit at around three hours. I've cut nearly a thousand words from the story, and I'm not positive what else can go.

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I never meant to write another libretto, especially one this large. I'm not positive, but I'm relatively confident I've never hit 11,000 words. This blog is at 1600 or so at the moment, longer that Till Coffee by 500 words. Till Coffee runs 16 minutes or so, straight through. If set at a similar pace, Mel would be 160 minutes. And Mel will have scene changes, instrumental numbers, and at least one dance.

Mel has gone through seven edits this month. I did a marathon of writing over two days early on, kicked out 7000+ words in one day. The original draft was written in a week. My final edit is sitting beside me, a complete retyping of the document following editing by hand. This was another technique I picked up in the playwriting course. It mirrors how I write music almost exactly, writing first by hand, then setting in the computer. It's a wonderful way to catch errors, and make further revisions.

The poetry is much stronger in Mel than either Cake or Till Coffee. The story itself is stronger, I think, with a clear rise in action. There's a lot left to the imagination of the audience. My goal was to try and reveal information as the narrator learned it--a play that operated in two time scales.

I’m real, really here.

Not a fake princess

A real person, real person

Real…The moon is so bright

The night so clear

I feel I could fly away-Mel, from Mel, Act I, Scene 2 

The story itself deals with complex themes. I attempted to couch these themes inside events that would be understood in our time with specific references, but universal enough that people outside my own experience will understand them. We live in conflicted times. A War on Terror rages when most people want a return to normalcy. Protests shoot up all over the world, fighting for basic human rights and liberties. Tyrannies are overthrown, only to be replaced by military juntas. Sectarianism is running rampant in the world, as people splinter into small warring factions. These small factions are simplified into two groups, us vs. them, a binary understanding of a situation.

Mel attempts, in its own way, to break this down. To take a page from Kierkegaard, it's the individual within a crowd, the idea that it's not only what one person sees, but how one sees it, that defines a thing. I'm not an existentialist scholar, nor do I subscribe to their viewpoint, however when tied to the idea of the United States, where individualism reigns supreme, I thought to actually take a look at an individual.

But American individualism is not existentialism. There's an odd viewpoint in America: we hold the individual to be the highest priority, to such a level as to ignore ramifications. You cannot encroach on me, and what I do to you when you encroach is your fault, not mine. Only a country so confused could create spawn the assembly line, the perfection of the factory, a place where the individual no longer exists. Only in a place so confused would a populace separate individuality at work, sacrifice eight to ten hours a day (if not more), for the chance to express oneself personally after hours.

Only in a place so confused would we fight for individualism, small government, and states rights, while in the same breath use those powers to take away rights from other groups.

What I've come to realized, slowly, while working on this libretto, reading large amounts daily, that it is not, in fact, an American condition. That was my folly, my level of individualism. Even as I moved outward, attempting to create a more inclusive identity, I let nationalism get in the way. This idea that, somehow, personal experience is shared across this nation in such a way that there are overarching trends. That the individual was the crowd.

And that our crowd was different than your crowd. That some gross generality could describe the complexity of the American mindset. You see, it all crept in.

There’s more to what’s happening, and more ways to make changes than challenging police. You’re an aspiring journalist, tell the world what’s happening! Give voice to the people.--Boots, from Mel, Act III, Scene 1 

That is the essence of Mel. The story of two groups, a bifurcation, a schism in viewpoints, generalized into a binary. A story told by two people, whose viewpoints twist, weave, separate, and merge.

At the end of this process, I am mentally fatigued. This blog has been about current events of late, me following trends, responding to criticisms, putting together Buzzfeed style lists. I was sensational as the rest, then I tried to move away from it. Now, I dread opening up my feed to see what's coming in, to read the latest news, the crisis here, the gloom there, the blown out of proportion story here. Hence why no posts, why I've sequestered myself away from the internet except for cartoons and the occasional Rooster Teeth/Achievementhunter show. Why I'm sick of politics, and even trying to watch a comedy about politics made me feel ill, because it was a surprisingly good satire, which meant reality and fiction were fusing in ways that made me squirm...Especially when my mind was tired of dealing with the problems.

To read a report based on a study of five people. To read a response on an industry the writer does not understand. To read a story where some sort of odd, perverse metanarrative has been created, a narrative that always seems to have an "us vs. them" mentality, that there is a right way and wrong way to do things. It's a structuralist mentality in a post-post-structuralist world. Modernism and structuralism went hand in hand, post-structuralism and post-modernism as well. Now we're seeing a rallying cry against this, a movement post-post-modernism, that one author gave the name authenticism.

I had written Mel before I read this article, but the author is naming a movement that has been growing for years. It's a movement I first actively joined in NYC, where wiser and more learned friends introduced me to a wider world of philosophy. Where I met viewpoints as different from my own as possible, and experienced both the group and the individual.

To me, that's what Mel is about. It's not about eclecticism, in the sense of I must fuse my experience to create a post-modern narrative. It's not about creating a post-structuralist text; the many themes are at once calculated and unconscious, and of the several readers of the text, differing viewpoints have been given. And I enjoy that.

But the point of this opera is much like that of the other operas I've written--it's a story about people. Mozart's operas were about people, their journeys, as much as it was about the events that take place. Billy Budd is as much a psychological journey as it is a series of events. Salome is a disturbing scene, but we learn a great deal about humanity from it. Wagner was often heavy handed, giving the audience every clue into his mind, and yet gave leeway for the imagination to take flight--the many versions presented, from minimalist, to post-apocalyptic all try to show various different parts of Wagner's grand message, from the power struggles in Valhalla, to the frailty and strength of humanity. There are personal stories within these large schemes. And one can always question "who's story is it?" Is it Figaro, Cherubino, the Count, or Susanna's story? Is it all of their stories? Is it Captain Vere, Billy Budd, John Claggart, or Danskers story?

Our music is our attack, my mouth a cannon

My words break down walls, shatter defenses

Protect the weak from the wolves

Release the people from oppression-Nick, from Mel, Act II, Scene 3. 

I don't believe I can change the world with my music anymore. But I do believe I can make people think, consider the world around them, and see the world through someone else's eyes. Most of all, I wanted this opera to say something, to take a personal stance, to show where my loyalties lay. There probably won't be many questions about my beliefs, or whether they are in the music. They most certainly are, as are the beliefs of the characters, all of my friends, and all of the influences in my life.

Because while some say musicians and actors should stay out of politics (what do we know if it anyway), I disagree. But there are many ways to serve political ends. It's the essence of an argument. It can be turned into a competition, an "us vs. them." Or it can become a discussion. The exchange of ideas can be heated, but does it have to end in punch? If it's about winning or losing, how far are people willing to go?

Mel isn't about punching the audience in the face. It's not about parading on stage and telling the audience exactly what they should think. The audience is not "The Man," nor are they "The Dragon."

We’re more than our clothes

Than the makeup we wear

And the hairstyles we bear

We’re more than hollow shells

Or dress up dollss--Mel, from Mel, Act I, Scene 2

 One person's point of view is an important way to see the world. What is a group, except a gathering of individuals? We can study their trends, the ideas of large groups, but it only works in generalities. A statement such as "Most people are good," leaves room for "Some people are bad." Even the terms good and bad are subjective. To a socialist, spreading the cost of healthcare between all people, and giving all people at least the same basic level of care is important. To a capitalist, the individual takes precedence, the rights of one man to have or not have insurance, and their right to personalize it as much as possible. Commercialism is about showing individuality through purchases, be it a TV or insurance. To accept a universal system is to lose the individual. "Us vs. them." But is it?

If a group is made of individuals, and the idea is agreed upon by a majority of individuals, then is the choice really negating the individual? Can the group be understood through the eyes of one person? Or several people? And can the views of several people be distilled into large movements? Can large general trends, which can be pushed and pulled in a wonderful assortment of ways, actually tell an orchestra who its audience is? Is a graph enough? Good studies seem to pair statistics with anecdotes, direct quotes from the interviewees.

The group vs. the individual, is it even a dichotomy? Are we falling into the same trap by trying to separate these ideas? It's been long held that researchers can learn a great deal about a society from its culture. One can read Shakespeare and better understand the time period, what people wore, and how they acted. Art can be a mirror to society. Or perhaps a magic ball. We see ourselves and we see others, but always through mediation.

Scriabin was said to be synaesthetic, but research shows he probably was not. Yet he created a colour organ, a device that displayed colour and sounded music. Messiaen was most definitely synaesthetic, and that played a great deal in his music, to the point he wrote a book about it. Yet his music was not about synaesthesia. It was most assuredly informed by it, as much as Quartet for the End of Time was informed by his religious beliefs and his experiences during World War II. No matter how universal Messiaen's piece are (and I believe they truly are), they are still tied directly to the individual. They are tied to Messiaen and his view of the world, which then informs the listener. Still, the listener is informed by his own knowledge. Those knowing of Messiaen's experience will hear Quartet differently than those who do not know his experience. And, interestingly, other synaesthetes will not see the same colours as Messiaen, even after they read is descriptions.

I accept these things wholly in Mel. That what I include will influence what others hear and see, but it won't be the exact message. There will be overlap, of course. Our cultural experiences are shared, creating shared memories. History is told through these shared memories, often the memory of the winner. It's why Howard Zinn's People's History of America was so controversial--it questioned that idea of memory. It questioned the idea of a winner, but it kept to an "us vs. them" mentality. Zinn tells you how you should think of these events. I heard a presentation given about burial rights for Southern soldiers, and women's organisations that sprang up to make sure that Southern soldiers were given proper burials. It interested me to think that there was even that level of "us vs. them," that in losing, Southern soldiers were even denied the burial of their choosing. By being on the wrong side, they lost a human dignity. Sad, when one reason for the war was to give human dignity to a group of people who had theirs revoked.

Myths, though, have a powerful potential. They can feed upon our beliefs and grow stronger.--Boots, from Mel, Epilogue.

Man has created myths since the dawn of understanding. They explain thunder, seasons, death, life, and the whole of human experience. Pantheons were created, personifications of events, feelings, and ideas. In many places, this separation of the human experience into small bits were slowly swallowed by a single deity. An individual.

Pantheons had a hierarchy, often created through bloody war. The Greek Gods battled the Titans for supremacy, and defeated the Old Gods. It explained why giants were no longer seen, and why the myths were held in places long ago and far away. But each story told a tale, a parable.

The parables of old are repeated over and over. Jesus told new versions of old stories, parables to show a philosophical viewpoint. Old folktales still exist in this world, holding over from the pagan days--stories of trolls, faeries, giants, magic armaments, djinn, and worlds parallel our own, yet somehow separate. These stories explain the human condition, give warning of avarice and pride, and seek to teach lessons. Aesop's Fables give some of the same advice as Jesus.

Mel exists in this world. Myth is an explanation of reality. Reality seems more amazing than myth. Some believe the Illuminati control world governments. The reality isn't far from the myth, in a sense, but the myth seeks to distill a complex problem into a simple explanation. Morality, complex power struggles, physics, metaphysics, life, and death are all complex problems. Each individual deals with them in their own way, seeks to come to an understanding of it to bring peace into their lives. For some this is in religion, others philosophy. Others seek physical comforts.

Mel is this world, our world, and all other worlds. The characters are searching for understanding, of each other and their circumstances. "Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

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That was what I went through this month--piecing together all these ideas. It had been jangling in my head since last year, with outlines, notes, and drafts of speeches starting in the spring of 2012. When I write, be it papers or music, the entire piece is written in my head. This happens consciously and subconsciously, talking or singing to myself in the shower, or having it swirl through my mind as I read Ursula Le Guin or George R.R. Martin. A hundred ideas, swirling around, until they finally coalesce, and come spewing out in long sessions.

We all write differently. We can even write in different voices, depending on what we're writing. The voice of this article has changed since the beginning. Shall I go back and edit it, for continuity? Or allow the reader to see what happens, see how the discourse itself changes the character of my writing?

I set out to explain the process of creating the libretto to Mel. I'm not much of a technician, so I left the technical aside. You won't find much talk of feet, rhyme schemes, or accent patterns. They are there, often discovered while writing, then edited for continuity. Other times, they're noticed, used for a short time, then thrown away in a fit of stream of consciousness, and left to dangle.

Like I've read so often lately, I've taken an argument and turned it into a philosophical discourse. I've been reading R. Murray Schafer's The Soundscape. The tone is similar. As is the tone of many other philosophers. I unconsciously took the tone, and the style, as my words moved from history to philosophy, from what I did to why I did it. How I did it isn't as interesting, at least to me. I'll leave that to others to analyze.

And this is where I sit on December 2nd, 2013. It's to the music now, with jumbles of notes scratched on the paper. A folk melody here. A reference back to an earlier melody there. There is, slowly, a plan emerging. Some of the lines make me sing melodies as I speak them...often the melodies are different each time. Capture improvisation, it's something I do in my works, but not always well. Again, my ability to transcribe thought and sound is not my strongest suit. Systems are where my strength lies--creating then breaking them.

NaNoWriMo was a success. My mind is tired. This article is catharsis, expelling a slew of thoughts to attempt to begin anew. I've learned a great deal from the experience. And one of the most important things I've learned is that me giving advice to young composers about writing an opera is futile.

Write an opera, if you want to write an opera. Write an opera your way. Do it with your friends, begging them to read it, do it with the supervision of one or two people, or do it alone. Create the text algorithmically from a collection of texts by five different authors. Create the music completely by intuition, ignoring any conscious use of systems.

And, just like any good improvisation, know when you're finished.

Metal or Classical Music concert?

***Note--everything below is from limited anecdotal evidence from my time in Sweden so far.

I'm still learning a lot about the local metal scene here in Stockholm, but I'm finding trends very quickly. Last night I went to a different club, Rocks, to catch Obscyria, Nominon, and Protector. Three bands, three different starting decades, three bands that had a lot in common...

with classical music.

I wonder how many scoffed when I said that? There have been studies done showing links in mentality. There are discussions on internet forums with people tossing out theories as to why there's a link. There are programs jumping up in metal studies, a conference dedicated to metal music, and some nice journalism with interviews comparing backgrounds of musicians from both walks of life.

But this isn't new information. I came to Stockholm looking for these influences, as well as folk, myths, and political statements.

What I'm finding is different, but equally fascinating.

When I showed up for my first show at Püssy A Go Go, I wasn't sure what to expect. Fellow-Fulbrighter Tom Ward is an avid metal fan, and having already been in town the year new the scene knew where to go. Can't even begin to thank Tom enough for pointing me to the right clubs. We met for that first concert, and he gave me some info: expect everyone to be pretty respectful; the moshpit is up front, but it's more fun than insane; for how hardcore the music is, it's laid back.

I wasn't sure what to expect. You hear stories like this from nearby Norwegian bands, or think about the first Ozzfest when it came to Indy, and how the entire center section of the GA grass section turning into a vortex of death, followed by the majority of sod being pulled up and thrown around. These are the experiences we hear about on the news, or see in person--yes, I was at that Ozzfest, got hit by sod, ran in the vortex, flipped off a camera, and a Coal Chamber shirt that had "Don't Fuck With Me!" printed on the back. Said shirt later got me in trouble...and sadly, I have no idea where it went.

But, as I'm finding out, it's not really how the Stockholm scene is dealing with these metal bands. Instead, I see correlations to classical music concerts.

1) Attire. Classical music has it's "specific formal wear." Onstage with an orchestra, it's a tux. And, boy, are there people who hate tuxes. So then we get the newer chamber groups, with flashy modern dress garb. You end up with two groups--concert black, which now means an all black clothing, something a little nice, but no suits; or black with flair, some sort of bright accented colour. No matter what people try to do with classical music, we still end up conforming to our little groups. And that's not always a bad thing.

Go to a metal concert with three bands, what do you see? Everyone on stage is probably wearing a band shirt--and not necessarily for their band. In fact, it's often NOT for their band. In the audience? Band shirts, leather jackets, leather vests with patches from a hundred bands. Surprisingly uniform. Sadly, I left my couple band tees in the US, and I tend to leave my hoody on, so I stand out like a sore thumb. If it wasn't for my long hair and bushy beard, I probably wouldn't fit in at all. Though, that's more a stereotype and not something I see that often.

I'm seeing this less as a class issue--there is of course issues of class attached to types of clothing. I always chaffed at wearing tuxes because I am most definitely not of a class of people who would normally wear a tux. And I have a thick neck.

I'm seeing it as a form of bonding, creating a unique experience, and adding to the "ritual" of the occasion. Shared dress, shared mannerisms, a community made manifest in the physical world.

2) Respect. It's interesting, there's always a fight about not knowing when to clap, and people feeling awkward at a classical concert because they don't understand the conventions. And then there are interruptions via cell-phone, no flash photography, and other rules. As a classical musician, I never cared if people clapped between movements, even though it can ruin the flow...and I think part of that falls on performers on how they choreograph the movement changes. People regard orchestra concerts as stuck up and stiff. During many new music concerts, the paradigm has shifted to a more relaxed attitude. But, one should still be respectful (don't yell in the middle of the song)

Flash to a metal concert in Stockholm. Crazy concerts, intense bands, screaming, headbanging, photography...Well...kind of.

There's definitely headbanging. The majority is up front. Wanna headbang? Join the group doing it up front! Want to do it where you are? Also fine, but keep to your own area.

Screaming! Haven't heard it at all. Not even a lot of talking during songs--there's a little, usually in the next room (where the bar is). But if you're in the live room, you're there for the music. There's no need for a convention saying "Don't talk," because the people there aren't talking--they're attending to the music. There's some singing along, but not often (Well, except when someone is pulled on stage).

Mosh pit! What's a metal show without a mosh pit?!?

I've been in moshpits in the US. They're grungy, nasty things--elbows and fists fly. I take the glasses off when I go in because they will come flying off...and then someone will step on them, then punch me in the face.

Ok, hyperbole...a bit. But even for tame "pop-metal" groups like Bullet for My Valentine, the mosh pits can be dangerous places.

A most pit in Stockholm? Well, there's a lot of head banging. Then someone will start pinballing, hitting shoulders. Arms are tucked. Fists and elbows are not flying. There's shoving...and laughing. Lots of laughing. in fact, I've never been to concerts with so many happy people.

When someone crowd surfs, it's amazing. The group comes together and holds the person up. There's no jerk trying to pull him down. There's no "inappropriate" touching. When someone stage dives, they are caught and carried, laughing, the length of the club...to be carefully set down with everyone involved almost falling over in pure mirth.

I actually almost have a tear in my eye because, to me, that scene was beautiful.

It was pure respect and fun. Here are these guys, screaming about death, murder, Satan, dark pacts, etc...and they're all smiling ear to ear and laughing. Even when the bar got so packed I couldn't move, and there was some light shoving to get to the bar...it was always light, with a nod and a smile.

Respect, pure and simple. The people have come to hear this music, with all its thrash and doom. And that's what they want to do. If you're at the bar, talk away. If you're screaming in the club, you get a few looks--no shooshes or someone yelling "STFU," but a look of "Hey, aren't you here for the concert?"

Oh, there is flash photography, but no one seems to mind. But then, for all those groups, playing their music is second nature--you'd have to rip the guitar from their hands to have them miss a note. With a new music group with three or four rehearsals to put together the latest "new complexity" piece, it takes every ounce of concentration. So, I'll defend the "please, as few distractions as possible."

3) Small groups, made up of other musicians and a few hardcore followers.

I went to a new club last night. I saw a ton of the same people. Some have even started smiling at me in recognition (Soon, I'll be in the group!). And, as I'm finding out, many are in their own bands, or were in bands. Then there are the followers--obvious family members, or significant others. Then, there are the people like me, who will go to just about every concert. All in all, for the concert last night which was packed, probably 150 people. Considering how "big" Nominon and Protector are (in the niche), it'd seem like there'd be more...

But it's important to remember, even in the land of metal, it's still niche. I still got made fun of by a  prick in a rugby shirt coming out of a club--"Have a good time? Rock on! " "Hej hej! Thanks, the concert was awesome. Have a pleasant evening " Pretty sure he was more confused by my reaction than I was surprised by his. It's a niche that's demonized (though not as much in Sweden), and misunderstood (everywhere).

This sounds so much like what we hear in the "Crisis of Classical Music" conversation. The audience is getting older. We're playing mostly to ourselves. Any slight deviation from the norm will scare the audience, and we'll lose them. Find alternate venues and ways to put your music on!

It's interesting, because metal takes the opposite approach in some ways. They've stuck to their traditional attitudes--death metal from the late 80s sounds a lot like death metal being written now. They still play tiny, hole in the wall clubs...when, honestly, the concert last night would have done well someplace a bit larger. Definitely someplace where more than 75 people can be in the live room. 

The audience is the same, and yet, the metal audience doesn't shrink, it stays about the same size. Why? Two bands I've seen were pretty young, Obscyria and Insane (Sweden, not Italy). New music, traditional modes, younger audience following the younger bands. Why are younger generations still interested?

No answers, just questions to ponder.

4) Traditionalism. You won't find two groups more based in the traditional.

When Opeth came out with "Heritage" it was automatically decreed as not being death metal, not even really being metal. Maybe prog metal or melodic metal, but definitely not death metal. This upset some of their base. It also brought in the audience for more prog metal styles. Yes, they are different audiences, though there is overlap (just like the audience for Brahms may not be the audience for Mozart).

As musicians grow, change, and evolve, there's push-back from the traditional crowd. There's a reason bands from the late 80s like Protector still tour actively--the traditional group loves them. They have the attire, lyrics, amazing instrumentals, screaming. If there's a derivation, it's something else.

Orchestra vs. new music. Death metal vs. prog metal. Cassettes vs CDs. Live concerts vs. streaming. It's the question of traditional vs. progressive. The fight over attire can be seen in this light. The evolution of the music itself can be seen this way.

There will always been audience for the traditional. There will always been an audience for progressive. There will, invariable, always be an audience for any given style or genre of music. It may not be a large audience, audiences will overlap, and people's tastes are fickle, but there will be an audience. And there will always been an audience for concerts that like to mix everything up.

And, yes, I still see cassettes being sold at concerts.

********************

These are just a few points where I'm seeing nice correlation. There's also a very good chance these ideas could be spread to broader generalizations of how people interact with music in general. In fact, there are at least three or four general theories above that I've encountered in my studies. But, sometimes, more specific (thought still broad) examples can help see that we're not alone.

That is perhaps the biggest issue I'm having in the "musician of the 21st century" talk--too often the conversations seem to have blinders on; we think the challenge is unique to classical music; that it's the first time in history; that we have to reinvent the wheel.

But what's happening is not isolated to classical music. Trends, ideas, and experiences are much more widely spread than we are taking into account. We do need to prepare classical musicians for modern trends in music--we're already far too late. And we should be looking to other groups to see how they've kept their scene together, melding traditional and progressive. All this without reinventing the art-form itself.

Fulbright Update

Being on this grant has kicked in my "I deserve to be here!" self-advocacy gene into overdrive. Being surrounded by so many talented and brilliant scientists, sociologists and political scientists, and artists can give a guy a bit of a complex.

Some parts of this proposal are going amazingly--namely the music side. It's astounding what setting aside huge amounts of time can do for your artistic output! The interviewing side started out seemingly strong, disappeared, and I'm now starting on what was my "original plan" of finding the underground scene, talking people up, and getting ingratiated into the scene. Had to recalibrate my expectations after the start.

As for musically, I'm on the final page of drawing notation for a commission--I used this commission to work on all the skills I'll need to finish my dissertation, namely algorithmic composition, stochastic control processes, graphic and proportional notation, and translating all my crazy handwritten stuff more directly into a digital score than what Sibelius was ever able to produce. The big things for me were the programming and drawing program use--my control programming has always been shit, with most of my good programming coming in the way of synth building for performance (so putting all the controls for someone else to use, not developing several patches of "if this happens, do these things). As for using a drawing program, well...it's all still really blocky looking, but it's leagues better than it was on my earlier scores where I would do it in Sibelius, export a graphic, import it into another program, resize oddly, etc...It was inefficient and of not great quality. Now I just need to work on making my drawn scores look less blocky, and more fluid. Since I'm not an artist by trade, this will be a huge difficulty...

But with the commission almost finished, thought I'd post this: quick hit list of what I've accomplished in 2 months here

1) realized how difficult it is to get interviews, even from people saying "yeah, totally!"
2) worked heavily on my control programming skills in Pd and Max
3) honed my skills in Inkscape
4) Found a free program that creates VPNs so I can direct connect with people on other computers wherever they might be
5) found a crazy sci-fi epic poem/opera that it seems like every Swedish composer knows about, but no one has ever seen since its premiere. It's entitled Aniara, and I'll be dissecting this bad boy during my time here for sure! And doing my damnedest to stage a US production someday.
6) mastered an album
7) Listened all the way through November twice over a 2 day period. Great album R. Andrew Lee, Irritable Hedgehog, and all the amazing people involved.
8 ) listened to far more contemporary music than I ever did "in school," so much so that I gave up keeping track when I almost finished my fourth page of listing research materials
9) wrote 10 minutes of music, 20 pages on the libretto, and who knows how many pages in blogposts (that are relevant if for no other reason they allow me to gather my own thoughts).
10) watched several documentaries on Scandinavian heavy metal
12) have gone to more live shows that I didn't work in some capacity than I had in the past year
13) Eaten a whole lot of pizza
14) Pulled stops on an organ built in 1728! And explained a bit of the inner workings of organs to scientists who asked difficult technical questions.
15) Applied for a bunch of jobs, because this Fulbright, sadly, doesn't last forever...
16) Read Formalized Music by Xenakis, stole his ideas, and incorporated them into a piece that he would undoubtedly have disapproved of greatly.

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.