When Kronos came to town

I take this break from my normal rhetoric to bring a concert review

Kronos Quartet came to Stockholm on May 9th bringing a mixed program ranging from traditionals and popular music to several recently commissioned pieces to their long-time signature. The technical skill of the quartet is as strong as ever, their communication and cohesiveness still at the elite level. Their blend as ensemble is at times hard to judge--they make use of amplification throughout, and choosing to use just a stereo pair of speakers on sticks on either side of the stage makes it hard to tell. That set-up, if using a stereo image of the group (which the engineer was), causes blend issues based on location. I was a bit further house left, so I got a bit more violin in my ear. Honestly, I would make use of a different style of amplification set-up, perhaps utilizing the array already in place which would have done a better job at even amplification across the space.

The program is as follows

• John Oswald Spectre
• Geeshie Wiley Last Kind Words, arr. Jacob Garchick
• Raymond Scott, Powerhouse, arr. Michael DiBucci
• Traditional, Smyrneiko Minore, arr. Garchick
• Terry Riley, Serquent Risadome
• Karin Rehnqvist, All Those Strings!, for string quartet and kantele, featuring Ritva Koistinen
• George Crumb, Black Angels
• 1st encore, Jimi Hendrix, Purple Haze (arr. unknown)
• 2nd encore, Laurie Anderson, Push

Spectre is a piece designed as an opener, utilizing a smooth transition from tuning the string section into the piece. It follows a process from the beginning to the end, from a drone cello tone building up, through the use of electronics, to "a thousand Kronoses" (quote from David Harrington in the show). The process is straight forward and effective. The balance of the electronics to the performers was generally good, though a few passages were almost unheard during the loudest build-up of the electronics. During the climax of the piece, were "a thousand Kronoses" were battling it out, the performers pantomimed playing, either in stop-motion, hitting a position and holding it, or in an exaggerated fashion. This brought some chuckles from the audience around me, as the exaggeration was a bit campy. Pantomime is a difficult performance medium for some to take seriously. 

Geeshie Wiley's Last Kind Words is an old Blues song dating from 1930. Below is a recording of Geeshie Wiley playing the song

Playing a blues song that wasn't originally an instrumental offers challenges. Jazz players do it regularly, with the approach being keeping the form and melody, but adding lots of personal touches and long solo sections. What Kronos presented was the song, in it's entirety, transcribed for string quartet. It was less an arrangement and more a straight transcription.

Below are the lyrics:

Stanza 1: The last kind words I heared my daddy say
Lord, the last kind words I heared my daddy say
Stanza 2: If I die, if I die in the German war
I want you to send my body, send it to my mother, lord
Stanza 3: If I get killed, if I get killed, please don't bury my soul
I p'fer just leave me out, let the buzzards eat me whole
Stanza 4: When you see me comin' look 'cross the rich man's field
If I don't bring you flour I'll bring you bolted meal
Stanza 5: I went to the depot, I looked up at the stars
Cried, some train don't come, there'll be some walkin' done
Stanza 6: My mama told me, just before she died
Lord, precious daughter, don't you be so wild
Stanza 7: The Mississippi river, you know it's deep and wide
I can stand right here, see my babe from the other side
Stanza 8: What you do to me baby it never gets outta me
I may not see you after I cross the deep blue sea

Here's the issue with instrumentally performing songs--none of those words come across in the performance. That feeling does not get transmitted to the audience magically. The music in many songs aids in the transmission of the lyrics, adding to the ideas present.

A good arrangement of a song like this takes into account the missing lyrics and their meaning. Those emotions must then be portrayed and brought out by the arrangement in some other fashion. Having the first violin play the melody while the other three instruments perform pizzicato accompaniment imitating a guitar makes for a bland arrangement. I was bored in the concert without knowing the piece, and downright irritated after doing a quick search and finding the piece. A standard blues song form, with it's repeated 12 bar set-up, can become monotonous without the lyrics, or the additions most jazz performers add. Not a good arrangement at all.

compare this to Michael DiBucci's arrangement of Raymond Scott's well known Powerhouse. Almost all of you will recognize this piece instantly, even if you don't know the title.



This arrangement was faithful to the original, while making use of string quartet in a variety of fashions. The arrangement was solid, the orchestration well done, and the performance top notch. It suffered from none of the arrangement issues of Last Kind Words.

Smyrneiko Minore ended the trio of arrangements. It was performed well, with a much more imaginative orchestration, though it too stayed very close to the original. John Harrington specifically mentioned the recording below by Marika Papagika



Again, what came out was much closer to a transcription than an arrangement. In this case the musical material already included string instruments, which Jacob Garchick transcribed almost perfectly. The melody line was handled by the first violin, including all the embellishments.

It's interesting to contrast Smyrneiko Minore and Last Kind Words based on their original content and how interesting the transcriptions became in performance. Smyrneiko has a much more florid vocal line, with embellishments and quarter tones thrown around as a part of the expressive character. Last sticks to a more traditional blues style with a strong focus on the lyric character. The difference between the florid and simple settings make for vast differences in the transcriptions. For me, Smyrneiko was more compelling as a transcription, whereas Last would have worked better with a more careful treatment, using the instruments to bring forth the emotion content of the words rather than just repeating the melody.

Terry Riley's Serquent Risadome is a piece written for Kronos' 40th anniversary. The piece is very sectional, making use of a few ideas that are developed shortly, then left behind, to be brought back later for a fleeting moment. I haven't been a huge fan of Riley's more recent works, and this piece also didn't resonate with me. Kronos did a good job navigating the quick changes, and doing a fine job bringing out the moments that connect the seemingly disparate sections of the work.

George Crumb's Black Angels is a staple of Kronos' repertoire. They did not disappoint in their performance. Speaking to a friend afterwards, she was intrigued by the theatrical elements of the piece, and how much was built into the piece and how much was added. It's the type of piece that can draw in an audience into the performance. Kronos chose to have the wine glasses up on a separate platform covered by black cloth, making the reveal quite theatrical. This again brought a few chuckles from the crowd, but this theatricality fit into the piece well, and was part of what made the piece so memorable for my friend.

This is the triumph of new music. The choreography was needed but interesting, demanded in the same way as large percussion set-ups, and done in an interesting way that draws a little attention to the movement, but in a positive fashion. The many different sounds and ideas in Black Angels gives an audience a ride through different territories (figuratively, metaphorically, and literally as far as development of ideas). It was met with raucous applause by the audience.

The first encore was Purple Haze. Here's a quick reminder of Jimi Hendrix:



Pay attention to Hendrix's guitar tone. There's a bit of fuzz, but not an overwhelming distortion. There's an edge on the vocals, more like they were tracked a little hot. There's not a large amount of compression, but it's definitely present. The drums are slightly in the back, with the snares being quite rattly. This is a live performance. Compare to this to studio version, here off the Best Of album




There's obviously more distortion, a more fierce distortion. And yet, each note is clear as day. For all the crunch and nastiness, the pitch isn't obscured by the effect. It's crunched, but soulful. The drums are crunched and compressed, but in a way that is fitting. It's a classic drum sound that has been emulated for ages.

Also notice the funky 1960s style stereo panning with the vocals in the right channel until the later effects that sent it ping-ponging. There's delay and reverb on the voice as an effect, emulating the lyrics.

Hendrix knew what he was doing.

Kronos' version was so distorted and compressed that pitch no longer mattered. Most of the time I had no idea what was being played. The effect was so badly mixed that it was just a wall of noise. I've described to people tonight as "a group of 15 year olds playing used guitars into used, nearly blown Marshall full stacks, with only an old Boss distortion pedal turned up all the way. Everything just cranked all the way as loud as possible, jamming in their parent's garage, just shredding like they're the greatest thing ever."

There's something to a raw sort of version of Purple Haze. But what I got wasn't raw, it was almost unlistenable. If it had been billed as a Merzbow meets Purple Haze, I might have bought it. Instead, I got an interpretation that left me more annoyed than anything.

For a real look into how a group should approach a "new standard," and interpretations of songs, fall down the amazing rabbit hole of doing a YouTube search for All Along the Watchtower. Start with Bob Dylan. Visit Jimi Hendrix. Move to Dave Mason. Listen to Dave Matthews Band if you're so inclined. There's a video of Eddie Vedder. You can listen to Eric Johnson do a version that hearkens back to Hendrix with his guitar tone and style. Take a listen to Richie Havens version. Maybe hop to Jamie N Commons' version. So many groups doing version that range from tributes to Hendrix or Dylan to more original takes. Performers keep their style and their tone, not adapting or aping someone else. There's individuality along with reverence. But be prepared for the rabbit hole that is this search path.

Thankfully, Kronos gave the audience a second encore that was more fitting with Laurie Anderson's beautiful piece. It's a simple song, beautiful in its simplicity. It allowed me to clap and give Kronos the appreciation they deserved.

You'll notice I skipped one piece, All Those Strings! by Karin Rehnqvist. I was unacquainted with Rehnqvist's music before arriving in Sweden. She teaches at KMH, but my contacts were in the electronic department, not the acoustic composition. However, since I arrived here, I've made a point of listening to the music of as many different Swedish composers as I could. Luckily, Rehnqvist has a fair amount of music available through Naxos, so I was able to at least get a fair sampling. What I heard I enjoyed.

All Those Strings! includes a kantele, a type of plucked dulcimer/zither. It's an instrument native to Finland, and is linked to Norwegian Finnish* mythology through the Kalevala, a epic poem written in the 19th century (which has been the source of many works of various art forms since its creation). The Kantele is a beautiful instrument, with a bell like quality. It reminded me of the hammered dulcimers of Appalachia, or the cimbalom. The plucked quality reminds me of the guzheng. All these instruments share the same family, so the relations in my mind make perfect sense.

There are times when I feel a piece is too short. Not because the piece did not give adequate time to the ideas or themes, thus leaving me unfulfilled. This was Brian Ferneyhough's criticism of my piece Dance of Disillusionment and Despair, when my my concept of miniature movements did not end up serving the material (or the material serving the form, to different views of the same problem).





Also not because it was a particularly short piece. There's something to be said for a piece that gets in and gets in and gets out, making it's point.

No, All Those Strings! was simply enjoyable enough that I didn't want it to end. The piece was billed as 20 minutes in length, and it felt closer to seven or eight minutes. There have been few moments when I got lost in a new performance, but Kronos and Ritva Koistinen's performance was impeccable. Rehnqvist's writing was idiomatic and made strong use of all the instruments, employing a range of techniques in a fashion that fit the musical material. The piece is very new, so there are no recordings available at the moment, but do yourself a favour, check out Rehnqvist's music, and put All Those Strings on your "To Buy" list. Hopefully Kronos and Koistinen will make a recording in the near future.

Overall, the concert was performed with the high level of artistry that one would expect from Kronos. The weakest portions were the pop songs, where Kronos seemed to miss the point of the songs with poor arrangements. The strongest were the pieces written for Kronos that made use of all the strengths and breadth of Kronos' skills.

*Edit made 5/12/2014. Why I'm thankful for astute readers! That's just a silly mistake: of course the Kalevala is Finnish. A few of my teachers are shaking their heads right now...

A case against the 60 minute concert

My last two posts have dealt with my experience during the Berlin Seminar 2014 held by the German Fulbright Commission and open to Fulbrighters throughout Europe. These topics should interest the music community because 1) the group involved are the demographic that the populist movement is after-- 22-30, young professional or pre-professional, educated, open to new experiences, and worldly, all while still encasing a huge difference in socio-economic backgrounds, race, nationality, and just about any other background criteria you could add together; and 2) all the posts directly deal with problems proposed by various critics in recent years, from programming to style of concert experience to marketing.

This post is a bit different, as it recounts more recent experiences and thoughts, most notably the idea of the 60 minute concert.

A recent post on Greg Sandow's blog by Julia Villagra discusses how she attracts audiences to her concert/dinner series Tertulia. The series is fairly successful in NYC, filling an interesting niche as far as dinner entertainment. She's also far from the first person I've heard doing this--I have a very good friend, David Whitwell, who has also organized quite a few similar events in NYC, often with free improv groups.

First, I'd like to applaud Julia and Tertulia for running a successful program in NYC. It's not easy, and it's obvious a huge amount of work has been done. However, a few things bothered me in the post, namely when talking about the programming of the evenings.

Tertulia is intentionally cozy and intimate, with no stage to elevate the performers above the audience. Audience members in the front are seated just far enough away from the musicians to prevent a renegade bow from striking someone’s knee. The distance between artist and audience is gone, and a palpable energy fills the room.

Small concert settings are fantastic--the connection with the audience is palpable, something that's difficult to achieve with audience members sitting in nose-bleed seats needing binoculars to see the stage. However, there are a number of practical issues with these set-ups that critics seem to not address.

I've been attending a week long festival run by the Kunglinga Musikhogskolan (Royal College of Music), where I'm visiting on my Fulbright. The series is their annual student composition festival, and thanks to partnerships with a few organizations in town, the concerts don't all happen on campus. I attended a few at a local, and well established, new music organizations site, Fylkingen. The space is fairly small, allowing for around 60-100 chairs to be set-up, depending on the size of the ensemble The room is flat, and chairs get placed as close to the group as possible. Since many performances include electronics, space is reserved for the mixing console, and areas are often taken up by multiple projectors. I only have one major issue with the place:

The lack of a stage.

There's always talk about how a stage removes the performers from the audience, how it places some sort of barrier between everyone. And yet no one complains at pop concerts about the stage. The barrier is often much more physical there, especially for major bands. It's not just a rise and where the seats are, but a series of guards behind bike-rack barricades, purposefully separating the audience from the stars. And yet no critics of popular music strike against the stage.

The reason I dislike experiencing concerts in a flat room is from a purely practical sense--I can't see the band. Unless you're in the first couple rows, no matter how the seating is arranged, there's a head in the way. You turn this way and that, and yet I still can't see everyone. Judging from the picture in attached to the article, I can see the same thing--people at the end of the long table craning their necks more, people in the round tables on the right looking around people. For me as an audience member this is a huge turn-off. It makes for quite an uncomfortable experience (and remember, we hear music with not only our ears, but our eyes).

Beyond the sight-line issue, there are other practical issues about these sorts of space, ranging from acoustics to availability of a piano. These issues do not mean that a concert series cannot be successful. On the contrary, many great series are set-up in this fashion. However, if we're going to report on how these things work, we should put in all considerations, including how the space dictates the programming (no works for extended techniques or prepared piano when there's no grand piano available, for instance).

I recognize that traditionalists may be slower to embrace the Tertulia approach; we present only 60 to 75 minutes of music compared to a more standard 90 to 120 minutes, and have made intermissions a more substantial and deliberate part of the concert experience.

This is such an odd statement to me. First off, the idea of the 90-120 minutes of music concert experience vs. the 60-75 minutes of music. I've been organizing concerts on and off for longer than Tertulia has been around, and the 60-75 minute recital was the norm then for a chamber performance. It was a norm as an undergrad planning performances, it was the norm when planning HS concerts as part of my secondary instrumental methods class (or even shorter, depending on skill and such), the norm when I planned my senior recital (way back in '06!), the norm when I helped plan concerts with our short-lived group in NYC, dfe (though we went past 60 minutes, but split it up with more breaks), and the norm running concerts at UMKC. 60 minutes of music became 90 minutes of program with the changes of personnel, breaks, etc. The only groups going over the 60-75 minute mark were symphonies, and hardly even then! Most symphonies I've attended in the last few years have done the same, usually settling in around the 75 minutes of music. I recently attended Bruckner's 8th Symphony here in Stockholm. Depending on conductor, this piece runs from about 75-85 minutes...and it was the only piece on the entire concert. I left feeling a bit sad--it was an afternoon concert and I could have gone for another few pieces, with a 20-30 minute intermission for drinks in the middle!

I had the same complaints from people at the Berlin Seminar--they wanted more music! The program ran about an hour. And now I'm going to say something that some may find contentious--young people want long concerts.

Have you been to local pop show? How do those evening usually go down? 2-3 bands play. In a 3 band set-up, the opener plays a short set, maybe 25-30 minutes. Then there's a 15-20 minute break for turnover where everyone heads to the bar (first band included). The next band plays a full set, roughly 45 minutes (or the average length of a record). Then there's another break, sometimes longer because the main act has more happening. Finally, the main group comes on. This group plays at least a full set. There are plenty of instances of fans being angry when a band plays less than what is expected. Jack White played a 55 minute set and fans were enraged. I won't go into all the many different expectations different audiences have, but if we're going to talk about engaging a young audience, let's talk about what young audiences want in more concrete terms.

They want an evening out. If they're going to a concert, they want an experience. This has been tossed around by lots of people. But what's that experience? Is it to sit through 60-75 minutes of music with 2 or 3 breaks for food service then a longer, nice dining experience afterwards? For some, most definitely. For others, they want what they actually get at a club: 2-3 groups, each playing sets of music, chances to socialized before, during breaks, and after, and the feeling that everyone involved gave their all in the performances. They don't want Scott Stapp coming onstage drunk and falling over. And they don't want to be babied with a little music that "might be challenging." If they are there for a concert, they are there for a concert! Give it to them! This is something Fylkingen often does very well: several sets in an evening, giving me an entire night's worth of enjoyment. Compare that to my sadness today when Pierrot Lunaire ended, and I realized "that's it for the concert..." I love Pierrot Lunaire, but to have my experience end after 45 minutes on a Saturday afternoon, I felt a little dazed and lost...

For example, clapping is encouraged between movements. Or if a piece is long, lasting 35 minutes or so, I will program only part of it, maybe a movement or two, a choice I sometimes make to keep the evening balanced (and to minimize fidgeting).

Man, I'd sure love to get beyond this clapping between movements talk. It happens. It happened during Bruckner's 8th in Stockholm (along with even longer coughing, to which Alan Gilbert turned around and smiled, giving the audience a nice chuckle). It happened at Les Troyens after a few particularly juicy arias. It happens quite often. And who usually poo-poos the clapping? Not the conductors or the performers, who are usually gracious. No, it's the audience. To take a phrase from libertarian thought: One person's freedom ends where another person's begins. Some people are for clapping, some are not. I don't much care. Neither do most young people. Can we drop this now?

The bigger thing is that last statement "if a piece is long, lasting 35 minutes or so, I will only program part of it...and to minimize fidgeting."

That is the definition of pandering. This approach is saying "Hey, the audience really can't deal with a 35 minute piece. I mean, 35 minutes, that's like, nearly an act of a play. Or maybe the introductory act of a full length film. And, I mean, seriously, it's Beethoven, that's over most people's heads...it makes them uncomfortable. So why put them through that difficulty?"

Taking movements of a longer piece to balance an evening can work. Many multi-movement works are conceived of as wholes, but at the same time have enough separate character to work on their own. Deciding to play a single movement from a larger work because of programming considerations is fine. Deciding to do it because your performers can only handle parts of the piece is also fine, for pedagogical reasons. We went over that pretty extensively when I learned about planning concerts. Younger groups play shorter concerts because their stamina isn't high yet. More advanced groups may be ready for parts of a Beethoven symphony, but the scherzo is a bit too fast and difficult for them. Or the group may be missing a crucial solo instrument (say, an English Horn), and so they cut a movement. These are major programming considerations.

To limit fidgeting should never, ever, be a consideration.

Finally, the idea of cost/benefit. The price of arts concerts is on the rise, as are concert prices everywhere. Major pop tour prices have risen with the cost of transportation, the rising cost of local labor, and tons of other factors. Many tours offer tickets ranging from a few hundred dollars to lawn seats or general admission in the $30-40 range. Ever since I was 14 I've gone to these large concerts--I was at the first OzzFest, tearing up sod and getting contact highs (which for me is dangerous since I'm allergic to pot...so not only did I tear up sod, I also threw up on it). Once inside at, say, the last major tour I hit, Rockstar's Mayhem Tour, you're treated to a day of music. The upcoming Mayhem tour features 19 bands over 4 stages  with seemingly perennial headliner Avenged Sevenfold, Korn, Cannibal Corpse, and a host of other groups. Korn played Kansas City last year, and tickets ran $75 at the small theater--small theater, high demand, high price. Mayhem Tour as it rolls through Indianapolis/Noblesville has lawn tickets at $38.50 up to The Pit tickets (front row center mosh pit) for $250. And, of course, the venue makes a fair bit from drink and food sales, while bands make some extra scratch at merch tents. Festivals also usually have various vendors set-up. I remember a festival that came through Camden, NJ when I lived out East working for Concert Quality Sound--The Download Festival hosted by Seagate Technology. The headliners were The Killers, which I got to hear and see their soundcheck after I set-up a Seagate tent featuring the Frag Dolls. While bands were doing soundchecks, I was setting up a tent with a ton of PS3s, HDMI splitters, several plasma screens, and a basic sound system.

This is one of my favourite memories of working for CQS, because when I got to meet and play against the Frag Dolls. Honestly, I don't know who was on the team at the time, because I had lost track of professional gaming by this point. But staying and playing a few games of Rainbow Six Vegas 2, and getting all the way up to 2nd during one match is quite a highlight. Along with the group saying "Wait, who is that in second?!?", me timidly raising my hand, and then the joint scream of "SOUND GUY!!!" Sound guy had game, once...

But this is what the young crowd expects. They expect that for their price of admission they're going to get more than 60-75 minutes of music. For $100, I better get a nice meal, with a glass of the house red on the house, and the ability to buy more glasses at a reasonable rate (I'd guess $7-10 a glass). And I want more than 60 minutes of music.

Critics and pundits keep talking about drawing in young people, but seem to completely ignore the culture we've been brought up in. The club scene isn't just getting drinks, it's having an entire evening in a club, music for 3-4 hours, drinks flowing all night. It's getting dressed up to hit the club--you don't show up to, say, The Pool After Dark at Harrah's in jeans and a tee-shirt. You'd get turned away immediately (well, unless they're designer fitted jeans). When I discussed Metal or New Music Concert I bring up the fact that almost all these experiences have dress codes, whether written like at Harrah's or unwritten like the metal scene in Stockholm. And people learn these codes quickly if they want to fit in. And just like you'd never catch me at The Pool, you'd probably never catch me at Tertulia--for $100 for dinner and a concert, I expect something pretty spectacular. Blame that on my humble Midwest roots.

This turned into a bit more of an angry rant than I had intended. I am truly happy that Tertulia is doing well, and that Julie et al have found their niche. But if we're going to put up these groups as examples, we have to be willing to be critical. Tertulia would never fly in Indianapolis, Kansas City, any most Midwest towns. I'd guess it'd struggle a bit in Chicago, but could find an audience. It'd probably do well in Boston, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Other Eastern towns like Philly or Baltimore it may work in, but it would depend on getting the right clientele in early--the groups are there, but they're not as abundant as in NYC.

Cost/benefit changes with location. In Indianapolis, for that $100 price tag is incredibly different than in NYC or Stockholm, Sweden. It's incredibly important to remember those local differences--again something that seems glossed over in many conversations.

And it's time we stopped lowering expectations of the concert and give people what they want--more music, a memorable experience, and something worth coming back for. Read Jon Silpayamanant's blog about his series to see what people in Indianapolis/Louisville expect. Man, a show at a restaurant/bar lasting that long...If there's hookah involved, I'm beyond sold. I'd end up dropping $100 on dolma, shisha, wine, and tips for the band.

That's what my friends expect going to a concert--an all day/night affair worth putting on clean clothes, and maybe shining up my boots...

N'ah, I'll wear the Vans.

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. 

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.

Swedish Adventures 2--I went to the symphony

In Swedish Adventure #1, I went to a night of Kaija Saariaho's chamber music. Saariaho is a current Polar Prize laureate, and the concert was the kick off of her year. In my second major Swedish adventure, I headed out to hear the Kungliga Filharmonickerna (Royal Philharmonic).

This was a spur of the moment decision. I was online chatting with a friend about all the tears being spilled over John Adams. Over the course of the conversation, I was contemplating how I should spend the evening, or weekend. I needed to get out and be disconnected from the internet for a while. The topic started with "should I buy some hockey tickets" to "wonder where I can go to a metal show tonight" and finally to "Well, lemme check the konserthuset website and see if there are any interesting concerts."

And there was a concert starting at 7pm that evening. Tickets aren't expensive, and with a student discount, I can actually splurge every so often for "nice" seats. The concert itself didn't have anything on it that astounded me. George Enescu's Suite No. 2, Beethoven's 4th Piano Sonata with Leif Ove Andsnes as soloist, and Nielsen Symphony No. 2. My interest was somewhat piqued with Nielsen--I've never actually heard any of his symphonies live.

So, spur of the moment, I said goodbye to my friend, threw on a dress shirt and khakis (changing from the jeans with the hole in the knee, and a somewhat ratty white tee), and flew out the door. Luck had me arriving at the bus-stop just as a bus rolled up. This is somewhat of a miracle. I've actually never ridden the bus from my apartment to the subway. It stops infrequently, and I'm too impatient to just wait 10 minutes...especially since it's a 15 minute walk.

On the bus I leapt (which, btw, my browser is saying isn't a word. Made me doubt myself and look it up. Chrome, you're wrong). No, I actually did leap onto the bus, as I had to sprint the last half block to catch the bus. The public transit in Stockholm really is fantastic (AND CLEAN!). But enough about travel.

So, here I am, last minute decision to go to a concert. I purchase a nice ticket, but not "amazing." Floor level, slightly to the right of center, just back from the "middle" row. The hall is beautiful, the seats are comfortable, and I'm surrounded by strangers all coming to hear the orchestra. My first thought is "wow, there's a goodly number of people around my age. That's awesome. Wonder how many are here for the soloist?" It wasn't sold out, but had a good sized audience, definitely respectable.

The piece was Enescu's Suite No. 2. It is just as Enescu always is: an pseudo neo-classicist, basic developmental techniques, lots of repetition of themes, and Romantic orchestration. I've heard Enescu live before, and it's surprising how homogeneous is style is. But I didn't really come for the Enescu. That being said, I don't write off music just because I didn't come for it.

During the first movement, I stated to notice things about the orchestra. There was a lot of eye contact between principals. The principals were cuing in their sections, turning slightly and bringing them in. The players were moving, really moving with the music. I swear the viola section was going to jump out of their chairs.

Later in the Enescu, there was a duet between the principal cello and violin. They played it like chamber music. The moved together, were almost staring each other down. The principal violist was smiling the whole time. I noticed some second violins, especially toward the rear chairs, really getting into the fast and loud moments. It seemed like everyone leaned back a little bit when they got quieter.

The orchestra was active. They were engaged. By the time the piece was in the final movement, they had me. Here I was enjoying a piece of music I don't particularly like because the orchestra, almost every member I could see, was engaged and enjoying themselves. They were having fun playing.

The Beethoven was the same. It was obvious Andsnes loves the piece. There were no flowery movements like you'd see from Lang Lang (or Liberace Jr.). But he moved. When the orchestra took up a phrase, it was obvious they had been paying attention to how Andsnes just played it. During a cadenza, I looked around the orchestra. There were first violins and cellos toward the back leaning slightly so they could see Andsnes better. The first stand violins were smiling. The associate principle second violinist was swaying lightly to the music. I couldn't quite tell, but I thought her eyes were closed, just soaking in the music. They were enjoying listening to the soloist, but still more than present enough in their own music to nail their next entrance.

The Nielsen was a joy. This was the piece I was looking forward to, and now I was wondering how they would handle it. It's a large piece. It's loud sections should dwarf Enescu and Beethoven. It's quiets should be sublime. This may have been the one weakness of the group, or perhaps of the hall: the loud sections did not ring out, they were not giant masses of sound. The orchestra was playing with all their might coordinated, but it still felt chamber like. For sheer power, they didn't compare to a NY Phil blasting Bruckner 7. But the players were obviously playing with all their heart.

I walked away feeling invigorated. I'll be honest, there have been few orchestral performances that really drew me into the action. NY Phil and Bruckner 7 was great--I love that piece, so a good performance will always draw me in. But it's what happened during the pieces I don't love that impressed me.

I pulled up a recording of Enescu Suite No. 2 from Naxos today, just to make sure my brain wasn't faulty. It didn't impress me. It's a lively piece at times, but everything seemed very formulaic and conservative. And his "fake endings" didn't add any suspense. Instead, it seemed like he had finished talking, then had one more sentence that was of no importance tacked on. It was alright to listen to the recording, but not something I'd search out.

And that's when I made the final decision: I will go to another Kungliga Filharmonikerna concert. If they wow me with their intensity and connection to the music again, I'll know that what happened was not a fluke.

This seems like a group the genuinely loves to play music. And because of that, for the first time in quite a long time, I really enjoyed going to a symphony. I would go to a concert by the Kungliga Filharmonikerna of music I don't like. I'd go to an all Mozart concert. Why?

Because I think they'll draw me into the performance. And if they can do that, then I'll undoubtedly hear things in Mozart that I've never heard. I'll hear Mozart the way Mozart should be heard.

No other symphony has made me feel this way. The only other orchestral experience I've had that's really similar happened while playing trombone at DePauw. We did a concert on a "short turnaround," only four weeks. So, Prof. Smith pulled out Dvorak Symphony 7 since he assumed lots of string players would know it. He was right. And during that performance, I saw him slowly light up as the group really played well together. So many people knew the music. When I got my cue for the trombone melody at the end, he was flushed, and instead of the direct, somewhat reserved cue I usually got from him, I got a huge sweep of the arm and Prof Smith rising almost to his tip-toes.

I nailed that entrance. I nailed my line. I felt the energy.

Last night, with Kungliga Filharmonikerna, I felt that energy in the audience. And that is a fantastic feeling, and something missing from many performances these days.

Event 3- when the birds flew into town

I've done the production manager thing before. Contacted venues, gotten gear lists together, driven a 24' box truck, gone to rehearsals, heck i've even judged competitions before.

But nothing compared to when eighth blackbird came to town.

For those not in the know, check out the about on their page and catch the part where they've won a couple Grammy's (no. 73, a couple down the list, for 2012). They are the premier chamber ensemble in the nation, possibly world. Complete beasts.

I mean their playing. They're all delightful people. I had several great conversations with various members, including a fairly long one with Lisa Kaplan as I showed her cross campus.

Oh, the event! right. Through the Barr Institute at UMKC, eighth blackbird presented various masterclasses for the past year, a concert of music of their choice, and then one other project. The other project was put out as a submission to the conservatory at large. Groups, or individuals, could write proposals.

When eighth blackbird had come to town in April, I was talking to a local museum about hosting a series of concerts through the conservatory. We were in the final stages of putting together quite the idea- a commissioning project where each semester 5 students would be chosen to compose site specific pieces based upon art on display. And the goal was to have a "resident ensemble," maybe start with the university new music ensemble, Musica Nova, then see who would be game. Pretty frackin' cool right? Well, this idea got brought up during a large conversation with 8bb that somehow became them asking questions about what the composers organization on campus did. They loved the idea, the novel concept, the cultural link, and Matthew Duvall said "that's the kind of concert that if someone pitched it to us, we'd consider it." Being an opportunist, I said "Hey, so, we've got this concert we're planning in the fall, and I heard you'd be around..." It was a good laugh.

The this project proposal came around.

And I was flat out told "John, you have to submit that project. but spruce it up a bit." So I did. Instead of just 8bb playing the pieces, I pitched it as a "side-by-side" where UMKC student performers would get to work with 8bb, prepare brand new music submitted by composition students, and we'd hold a concert at the museum. Dance was even added in collaboration, so they get to say they've worked with 8bb (though I'm not sure how important that is to dance. Hopefully really important).

It was accepted. and I thought "woo! venue is already in! I won't have to do anything for this at all. Maybe they'll have me collect the scores or something."

Oh man...was I wrong.

So, long story made medium, the original venue had some issues. There was some turn over, all our efforts were lost in the shuffle, and come August, no venue. Well, shit. We were hell bent on the concert being off campus, so I set to work. Sadly, I couldn't find a "free" place, but I got a decent deal on a space for an all day rental (we had no idea at the time of booking how much time, so i said quote all day, we'll pay all day, and you'll prolly come out ahead. Fast way to get a yes). Alright, great...then came me being the middle man to get everything paid for. If you've never had to deal with that in a university (or other really large company) then I pray you never do. If it wasn't for great administrators, and certain higher ups covering my ass, I would have lost it

Ok, ok, we've got a venue! it's booked! Reception? uh uh uh...ok, held off as long as we could...No! We'll just go to a bar afterwards. we'll all be tired anyway, and we will need to get everything put away. Ok, great. Piano? SHIT, PIANO! WE NEED A PIANO!!!! WHY IS IT IN FOUR WEEKS AND I FORGOT TO EVEN GET A PIANO?!?!?!?!

To be fair, by this time about 5 people were involved in various fashions with ordering, coordinating, etc, and none of us remembered piano. Ok, no big deal, piano received. Great, how do we get equipment to the place? I suggested a 14' truck. Oh, good, someone else is driving...

Wait, what, he can't drive? Ok, fine, that's fine. OH, it's a 24' truck? well...shit...at least it's automatic. one less thing to worry about.

So here I am, night before, tired as balls, can't sleep. Have to be up at 7 to be at rehearsal (just in case, I was at almost all the rehearsals). Get there, drinking coffee, ok, I'll get the truck, load it...

And then the day went normally. Loaded a truck, drove it downtown, set-up stuff, drove truck back, got some lunch. The, uh, normal people in the venue complained about the noise...yeah, Stamos' piece is hella loud after all. But we did SAY from the beginning "rehearsals start at 2, show at 5:30." Guess that didn't make it throughout the company. Alright, fun. We're here, we paid, not much can be done.

Show is beyond packed. Standing room only, and we're in there like sardines. John Corigliano is in the audience, in town to begin his Barr Laureate status. And here I am, hopping up in front of everyone. Little sleep, only a couple weeks after comps, during which I was dealing with every pitfall possible in getting this concert to happen. I'm sure I looked like hell.

Then the concert happened. It was fantastic. 8bb and all the conservatory students played the hell out of the pieces.

In the aftermath, even more great news. Hey, remember that $4K you asked for, and proposed that since it's a project effecting at least 4 different student groups, that'd only be $1K a piece? Yeah, we decided it's really only for 1 group, and we're giving you a total of $1780. Oh, no no no, not for this one project...for the year. Yep, you're actually getting less than every other year. Have a great year!

But, ya know what? the concert was awesome. 8bb was awesome. The food afterwards was delicious

And, I learned I can still back a 24' box truck down a narrow alley without trying

What's in a bio?

First off, before i get this discussion rolling, this is not an attack on the program office involved. They are a very traditional establishment and i accept that. They produce quite nice programs that are edited quite well. This is just a difference of opinion on what makes a biography, not any sort of attack. Just so happens my view is quite different.

So, i know i've discussed my views on bios before on this blog. Today, i received an "edited" version of a bio i sent to a festival. This is what I sent:

John Chittum drinks water, but could probably stand to do so with more frequency. He is a composer, multi-media artist, sound engineer, and occasionally plays trombone. He has had works performed all over the universe, including EM-NY's IEAMF, DePauw Univeristy's Chamber Orchestra's 2006 West Coast Tour, and the anthem to Rigel 7's "Intermorphic Games 2009 (Earth Year)." His music has been described as “microtonal post-neo-litho-mini- Max/Msp-moderno-anticonservative-primitavisitic concert music and film scores.” When not writing music, John enjoys wrapping speakers in foil so the government (any and all) cannot steal his music, staring at blank walls, and working with UMKC's Composer's in the School program, and teaching at KCKCC (CCKCCKCKCCC), and UMKC (CCKCCCKC), helping to teach the next generation of poor starving artists. He has a fine leather bound degree from DePauw University in a box somewhere, an MM from Brooklyn College in an envelope on his desk, and is attempting one more "because i couldn't get a real job" at University of Missouri Kansas City. John also has a sense of humor, laughs a great deal, and refuses to take life too seriously. He’s known for being “the kind of guy who will watch 8 hours of Futurama and read Proust at the same time.”

and yes, that final quote is a quote. It's actually from Russel Thorpe who authored an amazing bio about me for the Black House Improvisors' Collective. Absolutely amazing.

I expected edits. Oh yes, indeed i did. The program office here is very traditional. They've been known to edit professor's bios if they mention things that are too "out there." If you read this blog, you've probably noticed i'm not exactly a strict tradition guy. Well, this is the bio that came out of this...

"John Chittum is a composer, multimedia artist, sound engineer and occasional trombonist. His works have been performed at EM-NY’s International Electro-Acoustic Music festivals and the 2006 West Coast Tour of DePauw University’s Chamber Orchestra. When not writing music, Chittum enjoys working with UMKC’s Composers in the School program and teaching at the Kansas City Kansas Community College and UMKC. He holds degrees from DePauw University and Brooklyn College and is currently a doctoral student at UMKC."

well then, that took all the fun out of it...and it became just a meaningless list of accomplishments. Yep...pretty boring. and it says nothing about me. nothing

This bio, when i read it, tells me nothing. So, he's had performances and he teaches, has a couple degrees, and does all sorts of shit. Who cares? That doesn't mean anything. The bio i sent really tells you who I am. You read that, you know EXACTLY who John Chittum is. The edited version has absolutely no life to it at all. I definitely would have preferred they just say "this is unacceptable. Please write something more traditional."

In light of the massive edits that sucked the soul out of the bio and left only factoids, i wrote a new bio to send them. i hope this revision goes in

"John Chittum (1984) is a composer, educator, multi-media artist, trombonist, and audio engineer. As a composer he has had pieces performed across the US with groups such as Remarkable Theater Brigade, DePauw University Chamber Orchestra, and in association with KcEMA. As an educator, John has taught audio engineering courses at Kansas City Kansas Community College and University of Missouri-Kansas City, music appreciation at Brooklyn College, music appreciation through the S.T.A.R. program associated with Brooklyn College, and as a Composers-In-The-Schools fellow at UMKC. John still actively performs on trombone, most recently playing with Black House Improvisors' Collective and is planning a trombone and electronics concert for 2012. Working mostly as a monitor engineer for Concert Quality Sound, John has enjoyed experiences with L.L. Cool J, The Trammps, The Blue Notes, Chubby Checker, and Tony Orlando. In the electro-acoustic scene, John has worked as a lead engineer and system technician for the International Electroacoustic Music Festival (IEAMF), KcEMA, The Composers Guild at UMKC, and Musica Nova. While John has many varied musical experiences that have influenced his work, his non-musical experiences, such as driving a large delivery truck in Philadelphia, traversing long distances in his 1995 Jeep Cherokee without a stereo, his regular trips to the Atlantic City and Ocean City, NJ beaches, and his forays into culinary experimentation, are of equal importance in his musical development."

At least that one still has some of the whimsey, and, let's face, if you want me to LIST ACCOMPLISHMENTS, BRING IT ON! I've got a few. I'll name drop, i'll put down professional credit, whatever. However, it's the final sentence, now couched in more formal writing, that still says more than anything...

and, knowing the office, there's a chance it gets cut.

So, here's the question: what are people's takes on bios? should they stick to tradition or break the mold? What says more about a person; a list of accomplishments or a something really composed in their own style? For those that know me (and read this blog), which of the three really does tell you about John Chittum?

This is NOT a knock on this office. I know they are traditionalists and i took a chance sending the zany bio. I do wish they had just asked for another rather than editing it though. I am capable of writing a traditional bio, just dislike to use it unless I am required. But, they do mean well and produce fantastic looking programs

which reminds me, i need to send them a program for the Guild concert in April.