Concert attendance, rituals, and all the wrong questions

Something has been bugging me the past few months. People in the "Classical Music Crisis" camp often make a big deal out of the unique nature of what's happening in classical music. What comes out of these problems are answers that are also unique--unique in that they seek to change the artform itself, rather than to address problems in marketing, image, and pricing. In the past, there was much talk over ticket pricing, but that has since died down with a focus instead on kitsch, on creating some sort of buzz by putting in some new product, designed by the masses, for mass consumption, including the experience, rather than focusing on the product (and the evolution of that product naturally, which, btw, includes lots of influences) and finding ways to market more effectively, change the preconceived images, and bring more people into the fold.

There's a focus on the idea of barriers to entry. Particularly, there's a take by Pierre Bourdieu which has to do with the barriers caused by differences in customs, rituals, mannerisms, etc. by different groups of people. There was a blog post in January about the largest barrier this person felt wasn't the ritual aspect, but the specific knowledge of the music that was the problem. It's not knowledge of the ritual itself that is the issue, but the shared vocabulary to discuss the art afterwards. The author cites that talking about art is an important part of the experience, and that is a portion missing. I've blogged about the educational issue before.

If there is an issue with the preconceived idea that specialized knowledge is needed to enjoy a classical concert, then how do we alleviate this issue? We can bolster education through outreach programs, and we can actively work to change the image that specialized knowledge is needed. One of the things I try to work as a musician is how to explain music without needing technical terms. As a composer, every conversation I have with a new acquaintance has the question "What kind of music do you write?" How do I explain this?

During my comprehensive exam, I had to answer area questions submitted by faculty members on my panel. Three of the questions revolved around "elevator pitches," or discusses my music and what I do with different types of individuals. One was "You have five minutes to explain your music to a total stranger with little background in music." Another was "you have ten minutes to explain your music to another musician you've met an a conference." These are two wildly different approaches.

One can easily talk about music without getting into technical terms. I asked the question on Facebook about "what makes music relevant (or irrelevant)?" and in the long string, specialized knowledge was brought into the discussion. If you don't have the knowledge base required, the music becomes irrelevant.

But this leads to a few philosophical questions. First off, it starts down a path of there being a single meaning behind a musical piece. Second, it pushes a sort of agenda--depending on what information is given, different interpretations are achieved. Third, it discounts different styles of listening--formal vs. mimetic listening for one dichotomy.

I've seen the transformation first hand when this barrier is removed for students. In my teaching of music appreciation courses, I always seek to find ways for students to engage with the music, so I try different methods. Sometimes these are formal--I give students an understanding of the form and structure, point things out in a specific music example, then challenge them to listen for similarities in other pieces. This can work. Other times I've had students focus on historical or interpretive aspects. This works especially well with opera. Regularly, I start to see students come around not just to appreciating the music, but to start to understand all that ways that one can appreciate music.

If there's one piece of knowledge that can remove the barrier around needing specific knowledge, it's the knowledge that you don't need any one particular piece of knowledge, but can approach the music personally.

The next bit that confuses me regards marketing issues. I have lots of friends that play in bands of various sizes. Some go on tour with major groups, some flit from band to band, able to keep playing even as one band succumbs to the harsh reality that is the music business. They range in genre from brass players that have played with John Legend to heavy metal bands to jazz trios and any other group you can imagine.

When there's bad turn-out at a show, do you know what they blame first?

Advertising.

They didn't talk to enough people. They didn't get word out to enough of their friends, who didn't get word out to enough of their friends. The marketing group did a terrible job prepping the major tour and there were no adverts on the radio or TV. They only made a dozen posters and must have chosen bad places. Sometimes it gets into bits about a venue not being where people that like that music usually go (hey, surprise, venues cater to specific forms of music), or some other external force comes into light (shit, we booked against eighth blackbird... yeah, that happened. 15 people showed up).

What do we hear in classical music?

The music doesn't reach people. It's irrelevant. The culture of the concert hall is to blame. People feel uncomfortable getting dressed up. I've blogged before about how odd this idea is. I've made comparisons between new music concerts and death metal concerts. Talking to a friend tonight over some great Mexican street food (IN STOCKHOLM!), I came to the realization that, really, only classical musicians talk about music this way (and jazz musicians, which I think is just a symptom of being put into academia). If a death metal concert is not attended well, it's not because death metal is dead. When Kanye West only sold 4,500 tickets at the 18,500 seat Sprint Center in Kansas City, the local critic didn't say that West's music obviously lacked popular appeal and had no connection with the audience. Instead, he linked meager attendance to the various scandals surrounding West at the time. Maybe considering the album the tour featured, Yeezus, only made it up to #37 in the Billboard top 200 for the year, West's popularity could be falling.

But is it the music's popularity or West's?

Furthermore, attendance at all live events has been dropping. Live Nation has been facing financial issues because of declining ticket sales. There have been increases lately in ticket sales, though Live Nation is still having some financial issues. Overall concert attendance is down even though awareness is up. And, boy, if you want to start talking about a company that does a terrible job, and yet still exists, just look at Live Nation. But this isn't about Live Nation bashing, it's about continued decline in live music attendance.

If there's a problem in marketing with classical music, the problem lays with classical musicians. We're not doing our job well enough of reaching people. How many symphony musicians actively get their students to come to the symphony? When I studied with a principal player, he rarely mentioned the concerts. When I lived in Kansas City, I hardly heard a peep about what was happening with the KC Symphony, beyond the occasional "free tickets!" email sent to the conservatory. I didn't realize the KC Lyric was doing Nixon in China until it was sold out. It is, in part, my own fault. As a classical musician, perhaps I should be more "tuned in," and should be checking the arts calendars more often, and have the local symphonies webpages bookmarked and do the work myself. Perhaps I should sign up for the emailing lists...

But then again, that's a form of marketing that's very inactive, isn't it? It relies on the person you're trying to reach to go out of his/her way to find you. Then, once they've found you, you're in.

Take this against several of my friends in the jazz and pop world. Of course there's active use of Facebook, but it's important to remember the limited reach of Facebook--in the end, you're reaching your friends and followers. It's a bit more active, because you can initiate the contact, inviting people to like a page, or asking for a friend invite. I have to say the old system based on friending people with organizations was much better than inviting to pages. And, of course, they're posts only reach 16% of the people, on average. This means that while the bands my friends perform in do post their events, they also cross posted, repeatedly, with each member promoting as well. Some use twitter, and go out of their way to follow and gain followers. One friend in particularly still uses the old mass email.

I always know what my friends are doing. Even if I'm not paying attention, I can easily find out. They often reach out to me. I'm not saying social media and marketing is the way to go. Honestly, I don't think the reach is there for most businesses for it to be highly effective. But it's the active portion of it.

We also have to accept the reality of today's society. There's an ever growing portion of people that watch shows online instead of using TV. In fact, there's a growing number of people without TVs in their homes, with alternate devices taking over. About a third of the savior demographic utilizes the internet more for their viewing pleasure. On top of that, there's a large group that use ad blocking software. The privacy wars are raging, and it's causing a drop in ad space. While this can be good for symphonies and groups selling advertising (you can't block an ad in a live event), it can affect how a symphony markets itself. Paying for an ad on Facebook won't reach those tech savvy millenials you're after. Neither will playing on local TV.

I do not have an answer to the marketing issue...yet. But I'm working on some ideas that I think are perfectly in line with modern content and advertising ideas.

So, looking at this, what ideas really pop into your head? What ways are popular groups making a living these days? How are they advertising? Are they sacrificing their artistic ideas for the sake of more sales? The idea of the sell-out is of course omnipresent, as are the pop acts that are created by execs rather than by artistry. Should classical music change everything about itself to fit the idea of some mythical group?

Or should we find ways to reach people? Find ways so that people aren't angered by ticket prices. Address barriers to entry not from a "how do we change ourselves," thus leaving the barriers in place, just picking up and moving elsewhere (where there will be a new set of boundaries), or do we find ways to permanently remove barriers?

And if there are new modes to make money, how do we do them? I have quite a few ideas, and some have generated a fair bit of buzz in my secret meetings (look, I can do it too!). Look out in the future for any posts about upcoming projects, where some of these ideas come to fruition. 

Swedish Adventure 1: Saariaho

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is "reading" music fundamental?

   In the UK, a new 224 page national education curriculum is going up for a vote in August. Somewhere in the back of the document, for a few scant pages (three to be exact), outlines the most basic ideas of music education: the purpose, aim, and target "attainment" levels for key stages 1-3 (or through age 14). The three pages are barebones, giving only the passing nod to ideas such as "use(ing) technology appropriately..." which is an area I've heard a fair bit about during the last year.

   Instead, it moves onto the subheading of the original article that brought this to my attention. Over at ClassicFm an article briefly introduced the idea that the national curriculum was changing. It waxes poetic on the beautiful idea that "music is a universal language," which, while a beautiful idea, isn't exactly true. But, again, that's for another time...

   It's the focus on music notation that caught my eye. The subheading states "by 2021 every 14 year old will be able to read music if the new curriculum is approved in August." That's a claim!

   The inclusion of being able to read notation in national curriculum's isn't new. NAfME (National Association for Music Education) has reading and notation music as a part of its national standards as well. So, I'm not surprised by the inclusion--if anything I'm somewhat surprised it's news. I'm not as up on UK educational systems, but it'd be surprising if there wasn't some cursory mention of reading and notating music at some level.

   But all this made me ask a question: is reading and writing music fundamental to a liberal arts style education?

    Seems like an odd question for someone finishing a doctorate in music composition to ask. I'm questioning whether something that for an active musician is fundamental. Or is it at that?

    Let me take this back a couple steps. What is, according to the new national curriculum in the UK, the purpose of studying music?

   "Music is a universal language that embodies one of the highest forms of creativity. A high-quality music education should engage and inspire pupils to develop a love of music and their talent as musicians, and so increase their self-confidence, creativity and sense of achievement. As pupils progress, they should develop a critical engagement with music, allowing them to compose, and to listen with discrimination to the best in the musical canon"

   Alright, poetic start. Inspiring pupils to develop love music, talent as musicians, self-confidence, creativity, achievement; all great ideas. Develop critical engagement with music, allowing them to compose, and listen with discrimination...also all good.

   My gut reaction is, of course "Man, I hope they get more than the once a week thing I grew up with in elementary school before I joined band. That's a lot to try and fit into those 32 hours a year you see a student."

   The aims get more specific and break down three main areas

• perform, listen to, review, and evaluate music across a range of historical periods, genres, styles, and traditions, including works of the great composers and musicians
• learn to sing, create and compose music on their own and with others, have the opportunity to learn an instrument, use technology appropriately
• understand and explore how music is created, produced, and communicated through pitch, dynamics, tempo, timbre, structure, and appropriate musical notations.

   So it took until the last two words to sneak musical notation in, tacked onto the end of what musicians call "the fundamentals of music." But is notation really fundamental?

    What's interesting to me is everything stated above until you hit those last two words, I could teach entirely without notation. If music is a language, then one could say that performing music is like speaking, and notation is like the written word. Except, there's a fundamental difference: even great musicians can't look at a score and hear the entire symphony in their head, especially if it's a symphony they've never heard! Musicians call that skill "Audiation." I believe it was coined by Edwin Gordon, and it was probably made most famous in "The Music Man" when Harold Hill discusses the "Think System." And, yes, I know that Gordon's theories on audiation are not the same as Hill's Think System, and that, yes, "The Music Man" Came out about 13 years before Gordon coined the term. But the idea of thinking about music, hearing it in your head, then playing it dates back much further than that...

   Point being this idea that the notation isn't realized until performance. We can "hear" a great deal in our heads, especially if we train ourselves to. But it's also a more difficult skill than learning music through action. Ok, so, learning music through action. That's a big part of many music education philosophies: Kodaly is all about learning music through singing, Orff is a combination of performing on specially designed percussion instruments, singing, and dancing (originally folk dancing), and Dalcroze/Eurythmics focuses a great deal on motion, the body, and singing (from an understanding of the body). Learning music by doing is a great thing. But does it require notation?

   Some of my favourite memories of learning Orff was learning about teaching composition to young students. We had all sorts of tools: felt or magnetic bars for bar notation (in this case, not having a traditional staff or rhythms, just short and long bars with relative height), various other symbols such as fruit and worms, and stories...

    I loved the stories. I loved the creativity that came along with writing a piece by using a story. The first exercises were "I'm going to tell you a story, when we reach certain parts, we'll come up with special music for it. Otherwise, we'll use ostinatos in the background (ostinatos are a big core of Orff playing)." The group would start playing, and after a little while, the teacher would say "It was a dark and stormy night. What would be good music for a storm?" You'd get through the piece, a little bit at a time, till the whole thing was learned, and the students could perform it. No "appropriate" notation required. Eventually, you can turn it into more games, having students come up with the next part of the story and the music. 

    You can also use a nice step-wise progression of "long and short" heighted (where you can see a difference in pitch height, but no staff lines) to get into long and short on a staff that corresponds to their pentatonic scale (when they're young, you keep the kids on pentatonic. Easier that way, no "wrong notes). The students can move things around, write new pieces, while slowly learning all the notation. It's effective, and a lot of fun. 

   I remember coming up with a game for fourth graders based on a twelve tone matrix--but instead of a twelve tone idea, it was a game of rhythms and melodies, made up of only a 6x6 grid, and overlays that could change the rhythms. You could flip the board any which way, read melodies "upside-down and backwards" and all that. But it still wasn't "appropriate" music notation--but it got to a much more "difficult" bit of musical thinking; how composers developed ideas to create new but related ideas. Heady for fourth graders. But what they saw was a game that they could manipulate, where a student could choose a path (and oh, they started choosing crooked paths, and I found that fun as well!) and we'd sing through the ideas together, me at the piano plunking it out first, then everyone singing with the piano, then just singing. But, still...no notation...

   And the kids were singing, or they were playing. No reading involved. Of course, if any of those students wanted to go into band or orchestra, they'd definitely need to learn to read music. But not everyone wants to do that...

   I guess I'm awkwardly moving to a point. The goal is fantastic to have. But, how many hours do you really get these young students in a general music class room? It becomes a bit of "what is 'most' important in all these important things." What do we really want younger students to get out of a music education, that can make a lasting impression, and keep with them forever.

   My school was an "odd" duck, and I accept that. There weren't too many students who, at one time or another, were not in band or choir. Granted, most of the band kids left by middle school, but they had time to learn a bit of an instrument, basics of reading notation, participate in concerts, etc. With choir in middle school, many joined up that preferred singing to band, and in HS when band and choir started overlapping, there was attrition between the two--but a vast majority still participated in one or the other at some point. Did those that didn't participate dislike music?

   Oh hell no--many were even more into music, just not that kind of music. What then, thinking about education from K-12 in the US, is really the purpose of music, and where does notation fit into that? One of the things I've always found unfortunate is that after elementary school, music education falls away for many students--if you're not in a band or choir, there isn't a music class for you. The idea being "well, everyone can sing, so if they want to sing, they can do music." Well, yes, that's true, but, what about everything else in music?

    What about those bits about being discerning, knowing the history, knowing the great composers? Did we all get that really well in band? I mean, Beethoven didn't write a HS band piece, and while there may be some odd arrangement of his third symphony for HS band, it's not really the same as learning the piece, is it? What about the use of technology, recording, etc? And exploring how music is created, produced, and communicated? It's almost as if we're saying "Hey, by the time you're in middle school in America, it's time to get 'serious' about this STEM thing, keep up your English in as much as being able to communicate is important, and the arts and other humanities can start to fall away." 

   Let me be blunt: classical music in America is dying, slowly, of old age. The audiences aren't getting younger, and we're not drawing them in. The ones that are drawn to that music were the students that were in orchestra, band, and choir in HS, which I accept is, normally, not a large percentage of the school. And even then, most start to fall away from "classical" music quickly. And then how many from HS go onto some degree in music, and then they either stick with it or fall away after undergrad.

    But there's this other music that's around, ya know, everywhere. Popular music, dance music, indie bands with ukeleles and mandolins (or mandoguitars), dance music, heavy metal, rap, on and on and on. And, some of these musicians learned to read music, might have even been heavily classically trained, and use that to their advantage. They come up with entirely creative things...

   Then there are those that don't read any music, and only think "holy crap, this guitar chord sounds awesome, and so does this one! and I can move between them! Hey, where are those lyric sheets, I bet I can come up with a melody for this...oh man, this is baller." They can read some tab, maybe chord symbols, but not "traditional" notation. Or they sit in front of a computer, making music all day, and coming up with unique sounds...without any knowledge of the acousmatic genre, Denis Smalley, or Pierre Schaeffer. 

   And we listen. We all listen. Constantly. iPods and iPhones are everywhere, people in their own worlds with their own soundtracks. I'm the odd one, being a musician, sitting here with only the sound of my fans, and clicking of keys and being more than content in the lack of music. And yet we have this horde of listeners, of people consuming music in a way that was unfathomable even 25 years ago. And definitely not 90 some years ago when Orff and his colleagues were coming up with Orff Schulwerk, or by Orff's death in 1982. 

   I sit here wondering, without answers, if, maybe, music education needs to shift with the times. By middle school, music education is mostly about performance. By high school it definitely is. Is that a dated mentality--no longer is music only consumed by it's playing, by attending a concert and getting a single chance to hear a song. Records, magnetic tape, and radio started changing how most people interact with music. The walkman gave mobility to the masses, and freedom from the radio. And now, instead of having a bulky collection of tapes or CDs, thousands of songs are stored a device that travels with us everywhere, earbuds in, tuning out the world. Has classical music missed the boat, holding on desperately to outdated models?

   I don't think the music itself is old--I think my music has something to say to this time, not 100 years ago, and maybe only slightly to 100 years in the future. But I do think how we approach music in education may be holding on far too much to old practices.

    What is the answer? No idea. I would love for everyone to be able to read music, enjoy playing an instrument (any instrument!), and interact with music through performance at home. It's romantic, this idea of salon music, music happening communally instead of individually, and with a more personal attachment to the music making. But do we fight for that idea, actively, or do we just hold to traditions for the sake of holding to traditions? And would more people be engaged by classical music if it was approached another way?

   I don't know...But it's something I think about a lot...About my role, as a living composer of "contemporary concert music," as a musician on an "antiquated" instrument like a trombone, and as an audio engineer that sees kids consuming and using technology without understanding what's happening. I don't know if there are any answers, but I often ask "what can I do?"

 

   I have some ideas on that...one is I'm not sure if teaching all students to read formal "appropriate" notation is the answer to "what can I do?" Especially since not everything I write uses "appropriate" notation by the standards of classical music.

Ferneyhough and Me (part 2)

Many moons ago, I wrote a blog entry about Brian Ferneyhough. At that point, I had not met him. My thoughts came from various quotations from a rather old article/interview with Ferneyhough.

A few weeks ago, I got to meet Brian Ferneyhough. My first impression actually came through talking to a few of his students in attendance. We traded stories over some fabulous Korean food. Getting the "inside scoop" from his students was nice--I got to hear the good and the bad. And from two different types of students: one an ardent supporter; the other more disillusioned. Both agreed, however, that whether or not you buy into Ferneyhough's aesthetics or theories, that there's no denying he's brilliant.

I went into the masterclass a bit worried. What would I show him? I was assured that Ferneyhough actually didn't push his aesthetics onto composers, and worked from within the pieces. So, I thought I'd bring a piece that's a couple years old, but one dear to me that I honestly think is a pretty good piece--Dance of Disillusionment and Despair. Dance is a piece I've always enjoyed, and many others seemed to as well. However, I haven't been able to get it a life outside the 2 performances in 2011. I've been showing it in masterclasses, hoping to figure out what I can do to bring it along. John Corigliano really hated it.

Ferneyhough, however, didn't hate it. He did, however, dislike the contraints I put on the music. By choosing (arbitrarily) to make each movement 1 minute, he felt like I shortchanged the material. Almost every movement he would say: I like where this is going, you're starting to make something, then it ends.

At first he wasn't sure about the construction, with some movements having dense material, other movements being incredibly sparse (especially pitch-wise). When I told him the decision came from mapping measures in the first movement through the whole piece, he flipped through the whole piece, skipped to the beginning a few times, and said (paraphrased, of course. as was the earlier): Ah, ok. Fair enough. It appears you stuck pretty well to that. Sometimes, I don't like what happens, but it's a clear reason and you stick to it. Fair enough.

Finally, he came to the main points. And they were quite poignant. I had written a 17 minute piece...that was meant to be 35-45 minutes. I shortchanged my material in every movement. And, the endings...By making so many endings, I played out the possibilities.

Food for thought from Brian Ferneyhough: There are a million ways to begin a piece, but only a dozen or so ways to end one.

And when you have 13 endings, you're bound to have repeats.

What struck me about Ferneyhough was how romantically he talks about music. He quickly fell into the world of Dance, which is fairly Romantic. And then, during his talk, he referred to his own music in much the same way. Systems be damned, it was supposed to be musical, even Romantic. Ferneyhough seemed to use the different systems and construction methods just as a structuring device, a way to limit his own thought moving through his pieces.

When you look at a Ferneyhough score, "Romantic" isn't the first word that pops into your brain. When you hear some recordings, "mechanical" seems more like what should be heard.

I got to hear five pieces by Ferneyhough during June in Buffalo: Incipits, Exordium, Terrain, Mnemosyne, and Intermedio alla Ciaccona. This festival was the first time I've ever gotten to hear any of Ferneyhough's music live. And it was a treat. I'll even forgive JACK Quartet for changing their program and playing Exordium instead of String Quartet No. 2, even though SQ No. 2 is one of my favourite pieces of all time.

It's a great mix. Terrain and Intermedio had Irvine Arditti as the soloist, Terrain with Ensemble Signal. Terrain was handled masterfully by Talea Ensemble, JACK took on Exordium, and Mnemosyne was performed by Keiko Murakami (I believe) of Ensemble Linea (I can't find my program, but she's listed as the regularly flutist with Ensemble Linea).

Everyone played passionately. This doesn't mean they missed notes--they were all inscrutably perfect. But there was music in every note. Every awkward leap, every crunchy harmony, all the subdivisions within subdivisions moving at different time ratios, every nuance had meaning. Watching Arditti play Terrain and Intermedio was astounding. There was no break, no phrase that wasn't carefully attended to. JACK playing Exordium was masterful, with Arditti watching from the audience (and clapping quite enthusiastically when I stole a look in his direction).

This all leads me to one major thought: Ferneyhough, while writing in a method that some would call "dense," is still trying to reach people. He still wants an audience to get a reaction from the piece, to be drawn into that world. In the masterclass, the way he talked about my piece was more about how I failed to do exactly that. And hearing his music live, I was drawn into the music, the drama, the entire experience. During his pieces, I found myself moving closer to the edge of my seat, listening with full attention. If I didn't have full attention, I'd miss a single detail, and the following sequence may be rendered meaningless.

Ferneyhough creates experiences. Let go of the preconception, of the "i don't understand." Stop trying to understand and just listen, be a part of the music. Maybe, eventually, you can listen and "understand" but that's not really the point. He's giving you all the information, and, just like in a certain author's books, you don't have to READ the whole page, just relax, and skim, and the information will "magically" come to the surface. Ferneyhough is like that.

And what I learned from him is I'm not there yet.

Milton Babbitt, take 2

First, this is one of the most lovingly created and introspective biographies i have ever seen. Considering it clocks in at just over an hour for a 94 year life, that's really saying something...

http://www.npr.org/blogs/deceptivecadence/2011/02/02/133372983/npr-exclusive-new-documentary-on-the-late-composer-milton-babbitt

In memorial of Milton Babbitt, I am taking "Milton Babbitt listening, day 2." I original did one the weekend of his death, and am now undertaking a second.

I am listening to most of the same exact pieces and albums i hit the first time.

Babbitt was a staggering genius. His works are comical, powerful, thoughtful, and thought-provoking. They are brain food.

My brain does not always "get" them. But i don't think it's Babbitt's fault. I really believe it's my fault. I'm listening incorrectly. I'm listening to him the same way i'd listen to Mozart, Beethoven, or any number of other composers throughout the ages. I'm listening for repetition, for form, for sign-posts, for a motive or theme...These do not exist as such in Babbitt.

His music is not about repetition in a strict sense. So while my ears still "don't get it" even if my mind can look at a work and perceive its structure, it doesn't mean i dislike Babbitt. I dislike Babbitt because i cannot be Babbitt. He was a genius extraordinaire. His music is deep, incredibly deep. It isn't something you put on in the background and "enjoy." This isn't music for someone who is not invested in music.

Babbitt didn't write what he thought people wanted to hear. I think he wrote what people should hear. and just like our mom's telling us "don't eat the pizza right away, it's still a little too hot," but we all did it anyway as kids and got burned. As is his music. There is beauty there, and whimsy. And slowly, i'm getting to the point of hearing it.

As one person states in the documentary "It touches my brain, and makes me think. And then through my brain it touches my heart..." (openly paraphrased from a bad memory...).

It is an odd path, reaching the heart through the brain. But then i jump with joy (literally) when i program sounds that get named "Reginald" and identified with a stodgy old Englishman with a cane and hat, opening his mouth, and these random gliding tones pop out of his mouth...so obviously my heart can be reached through my brain.

Perhaps we should all give Milton another try. and then a dozen more. And really listen. That's what i'm doing.

RIP Milton Babbitt