Unpunished Rapture

What Regional Opera Houses Can Do To Compete with the Met Movies

2009-02-27T10:18:00.001-08:00

This article in the New York Times has had me thinking recently about what regional opera companies can do to capitalize on the Met's HD performances. It is, needless to say, a struggle for regional opera companies to compete with the opera movies; as one regional manager put it in the article, "They're invading our space." I sympathize with their plight and have never had personal experience running an opera house, but I do think there are a number of innovative tools local theathers can use to keep their neighbors coming to live performances.

My ideas gravitate around Utah Opera in Salt Lake City, Utah. This is because Salt Lake is the "regional" city I am most familiar with, and I am somewhat acquainted with their advertising, programming, and audience demographic. Utah Opera has the unusual distinction of being folded into the same organization as the Utah Symphony. This cooperation started about five years ago in an effort to maximize budget and resources, and it's had mixed results. For my purposes, I will stick with ideas for the opera even though all of these would have repercussions for the symphony as well.

1. Localize the live performance experience. In short, know your audience. The thing the Met can't do is understand a community and know exactly their tastes and interests. In Utah, this could mean introducing "theme nights" that take advantage of local populations. An "Apres Ski" night could invite tourists from down the mountain to dress casually and enjoy hot chocolate during the intermission. A "Family Night" could take place on a Monday, to capitalize on the LDS Family Home Evening, and use apprentices or University of Utah singers in a more intimate, child-friendly environment. Targetting the legions of young dating students in the area seems like a wise move: "Date Night" or "Romance at the Opera" or something like that could feature a particularly romantic opera, invite formal dress or sell roses at intermission... The point is that these are local groups unique to the Salt Lake region. Advertising for these nights could be done in a targetted market to reduce costs: just at the ski resorts, just at family hangouts or just at the universities. Opera can no longer be considered a sacred experience to be untouched by gimmick marketing. Audiences must be targetted and the product attractively packaged.

2. Insist on cinematic productions. Yes, that means casting for looks as well as voice. It's no longer acceptable to cast a physically unattractive woman as Turandot, the princess men die for, even if her voice is glorious. From what I've seen over the past couple of years, Utah Opera still has an opportunity to improve on this front.

3. Work to sync interesting programming across performing arts and academic organizations. If the University of Utah is producing Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, put the Gounod opera on the program and then work with the University to cross market the contrasting works. This cross programming and cross marketing could be done with a number of different works and genres: work with the local art house to show the 1936 movie of Camille while La Traviata, featuring the same story, is playing at the opera. Do an exploration of Faustian characters across genres. (A similar idea was carried out with some success by Pamela Rosenberg at the San Francisco Opera.) Don Juan could be another theme: the Symphony could program Strauss' Don Juan tone poem while Mozart's Don Giovanni is playing across the street. This idea takes coordination and strong relationships with the other arts organizations, as well as additional funds for specialized marketing materials, but all the organizations benefit from this kind of cooperation.

4. Build alliances with other regional opera houses to share sets and costumes. This is already done frequently among houses, but I'm suggesting a more formalized union. I don't know much about the logistics of how this is done, but it seems to me that regional houses in the Rocky Mountain Region would benefit from working together to maximize resourses.

5. Abandon visits to schools and redistribute resources to getting students into the theater. I think there's very little benefit in bringing singers to school assemblies, etc. Opera music is so entirely different from what most young people are accustomed to today that one visit by a singer isn't going to make them immediately prefer a vertical melodic line over horizonal rhythmic music. Plus, they'll always associate it with school and who wants that. A more powerful introduction is the experience of actually going to the theater: seeing the otherworldliness of the curtain going up, people singing without microphones into a huge hall, learning to sit quietly out of respect for the performers, and most importantly, giving the students a sense of pride in their local organizations. This can be achieved by opening dress rehearsals, or using apprentices or vocal students in tailored programs.

6. Let donors decide where their money goes. To the extent possible, let donors decide if their money is going into the production costs, the singers' salaries or the young artist program. Maybe even let them pick the specific opera they want to put their money towards. Give donors a sense of ownership so that when they attend a performance, they can say, "My money helped create those costumes!" This kind of pride of ownership can only exist on the local level. Going to a Met movie doesn't give this type of satisfaction.

7. Promote the movies. As a regional opera house, do not let the community see that you fear the Met. Within a regional company there needs to be a healthy sense of the Met as competition, but I strongly believe that any audience interest in opera is good interest. It is too early to tell what the long term effects of the Met movies really will be on regional theaters, but my gut tells me that opera as an industry will benefit in the long term.

Some of these ideas take too much money; others are being carried out already. I'm sure there is a host of other creative ideas being tried across the country. I hope for the best for regional opera houses and applaude those who are doing their best to run them.

Introducing the Really Terrible Orchestra

2009-02-04T15:53:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine who lives in London just introduced me to the Really Terrible Orchestra (RTO), a group of amateur musicians from Edinburgh, Scotland, who somehow attract a paying audience. It seems that their founder is Alexander McCall Smith, the author of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series and an amateur musician himself. I'm not quite sure what to make of this ragtag group, but since I've never heard them perform, perhaps I'll defer to my friend's own description:

"None of [the musicians] have any real talent and they play songs like "Yellow Submarine" between jokes and readings by the author Alexander McCall Smith.... And if any of them progress to "good" status, they have to leave the group. Admittedly, it is bizarre fare but also delightful."

The RTO will be performing in New York on April 1st. (Is it a coincidence this is April Fools Day?) I would love to see what the appeal is: Is it a feel-good experience where the audience cheers on dedicated but inept souls for pursuing their dream, or is there an element of mockery that delivers an evening of perversely satisfying schadenfreude?

Two Violinists Take to Subway Busking

2009-02-02T09:39:00.000-08:00

I loved this profile in the New York Times' online edition. Henrique Prince is a self-taught violinist who jams in the Times Square subway station with his own bluegrass band. This is so New York to me: the chaos of the streets punctuated by the unexpected person making human connections. It may be what I love most about this city. As I've returned here after years of being away, I've been struck with what a prominent role music plays in the lives of people here, in a much more professional, academic way than the rest of the country enjoys it. This photo essay demonstrates this perfectly. In an effort to acknowledge this fact, I always let my children give money to subway buskers. They love this tradition and I know it helps them acknowledge how many people give their lives to their art form.

The profile also reminded me of the fabulous experiment conducted by Joshua Bell in April, 2007, reported in the Washington Post. Bell, a world-reknown solo violinist, dressed in jeans and a cap and annonymously played during rush hour in the L'Enfant Plaza station of the D.C. metro. The experiment was to see how many commuters would stop to hear the professional's music, or at least how many would pause in some subconsious recognition of exceptional skill. The official video of the experiment has been watched on YouTube by over a million viewers. That half a dozen people stopped out of the hundreds that passed by shouldn't surprise anyone familiar with this country's abysmal recognition of classical skill, but I was amused recently to see that portions of the Post's article have shown up in a email chain. The "isn't this terrible this happened?" tone of the email underscores the irony of the whole experiment: in theory, we believe classical traditions and skills are important to our culture but when those skills are put right under our noses, we still don't recognize them. It is terrible, but without the trappings of the concert hall and pricey tickets most of us would have probably walked right by Joshua Bell ourselves, although I like to think my kids would have given him a few bucks.

A Night at the Ballet

2009-01-26T08:27:00.000-08:00

I had the opportunity recently to watch two full-length story ballets, which is unusual for me since I don't follow ballet with the same regularity that I follow other classical art forms. The last time I attended a story ballet in person was probably about a decade ago, in San Francisco, where I thought the ballet company was, at that time, the finest performing arts organization in that city. (The opera was a little staid at that time and I heartily disagree with Tilson-Thomas's passionless Mahler.)

I much more prefer the storyless one-acts of Balanchine et al, but I had the opportunity to see these recent two through the eyes of my oldest daughter, who is five. We attended Coppelia at New York City Ballet (Esme pictured with her friend, above) which was Esme's first live ballet performance. I was actually surprised we made it through the whole performance, since the ballet started after my daughter's normal bedtime. I found myself surprisingly pleased by the ballet itself. The music of French composer Delibes added an element of interest for me during the first two acts, which are dominated by mimed/danced storytelling, and then the third act offered a full half hour of satisfying dancing in an elaborate wedding scene. Perhaps it was just that my daughter was enthralled by the whole experience, but I found it refreshing to watch such a traditional performance of a wholesome, delightful show when so much of performance today is about reimagined productions or edgy cynicism.

Following Coppelia, my family watched the San Francisco Ballet's new production of The Nutcracker on TV. I know it's January and like everyone else, we're sick of Christmas stuff, but it was on our TiVo on a Sunday afternoon and somehow it sounded intriguing. I have seen (and performing in) the New York City Ballet production of The Nutcracker countless times, and this production was unlike any of the candy-coated tinsel that is passed off as ballet on so many stages during the holiday season. Taking its inspiration from the 1915 San Francisco World's Fair, the production has a restrained art deco influence. The set for the second act -- marzipan columns dripping with sugared fruits in so many other productions -- consisted only of a simple backdrop echoing the design of the San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers. The second act performers represented countries instead of candies or foods: Spain, Arabia, Japan, France etc. instead of Candy Canes, Marzipan, Hot Chocolate and others.

San Francisco's exceptional dancers, including the inestimable Yuan Yuan Tan, brought the highest quality to the dancing. On a cold Sunday afternoon in January, my whole family enjoyed the warmth of The Nutcracker as if we were seeing it for the first time.

Quartet for the Beginning of an Era

2009-01-20T17:47:00.000-08:00

Change. Hope. Yes We Can. While all of that was very exciting, what I was looking forward to most at this morning's inauguration was the quartet by John Williams based on the tune "Simple Gifts". Before full details of the quartet's performance were made public, there was speculation here that a performance for violin, cello, clarinet and piano could only mean one thing: Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time. Considering that Messiaen wrote the piece in a concentration camp in 1941 for the musicians he had on hand, I would have found a performance of the Quartet - however transcendental the piece may be - a little creepy on this inaugural occasion. Instead, I was thrilled with the multicultural but still exceptional performance of an all-American tune representing the all-American sentiments of responsibility, sacrifice and integrity.

The Food of Love

2009-01-13T06:44:00.000-08:00

The week before Christmas, I was excited to see the cover of The Economist magazine bear the headline, "Why We Love Music". The philosophy of music - why we respond to it, why it holds a prominent place in our culture, and how it affects our moods and behaviors - has always been of special interest to me, although more from a anthropological point of view than a neurological one. I suppose this is because my own musical interests span several different genres, and I wonder why so many different rhythms, tones and styles can all have meaning for me while "only" classical or "only" pop speak to others.

I was a little disappointed in the article's three hypotheses about why music is so eagerly consumed by our culture. While they might be scientifically proven, they seemed trite to me: 1. That music is a representation of our sexual personas and works to further our evolutionary reproductive drives; 2. That music binds groups of people together; and 3. That music satisfies an appetite in humans that is akin to "auditory pornography." It seems that most of the studies done by the scientists in the article are based on observations of primates and evolutionary biology, rather than looking at the particular relationship humans have with this "accidental language," as the article refers to it. A more insightful study of music, it seems to me, would choose to pick apart uniquely human responses to music: why, for instance, has music become more popular than ever in our cultures even though individual earphones have minimized the impact of social listening? Do we still feel unity with each other if we listen only in the virtual concerthalls of our iPods? If we're not listening in a group, what makes us feel like we're part of a group? Do we chalk up that feeling of unity merely to the marketing machine that accompanies most of today's music, or is there still something intrinsic in music -- even if experienced individually -- that links us to other humans?

The article states that "Anecdotal evidence linking music to sexual success is strong," a claim I do not doubt. But humans have drives beyond sex and a desire to belong that I believe also play into our cultural obsession with music. I would list among those alternative drives the desire to elevate ourselves to a more spiritual plane, a drive I doubt exists in primates (and one that was the seemingly-forgotten cultural force behind most of music up until the last few hundred years). Also, a drive to escape depression or to alter our mindset away from debilitating worries. A drive to express our creativity as humans, even if in a manufactured setting like karaoke or Guitar Hero.

Fortunately, this is an area of study that is still much of a mystery, so perhaps in the coming decades philosophers, anthopologists and perhaps even religious thinkers will join the evolutionary biologists in the study of why we love music. It should be a very exciting discussion.

In Memory of John N. McBaine, 1941 - 2008

2008-11-13T10:20:00.000-08:00

My father, John Neylan McBaine, passed away on August 27th, 2008, after an 18-month battle with melanoma. It's appropriate to remember him here because even though it was my mother who was the professional musician, my dad was the one who showed me what it meant to have a true passion for classical music.

His particular love was opera. He clearly remembered attending his first opera in 1958 in San Francisco. I believe it was Lucia di Lammermoor, and he remained a fan of the bel canto repertoire his whole life. While he extolled Joan Sutherland and Marilyn Horne, he also closely followed and adored the young, vibrant talent of Anna Netrebko, Angela Gheorghiu and Natalie Dessay. Although he bemoaned that much has changed about opera since his introduction to it in the 1960s, he never complained about the trend towards more beautiful, cinematic divas.

My dad took me to one of the first operas I can remember: a December 1983 performance of Fidelio at the Metropolitan Opera, starting Eva Marton and conducted by Klaus Tennstedt. I was not even seven years old and now, as the mother of a five year old, I am astonished by my dad's willingness to risk offending old-school opera etiquette by bringing such a small child. I remember the event so clearly because it provided material for one of the first entries in my new Hello Kitty journal: I kept the program and noted how we sat in the first row, right behind Tennstedt himself. At the end of the opera during the applause, Tennstedt turned to bow, and he winked at the small child sitting in front of him.

My father remained opinionated and vocal about the state of opera and opera companies until his death. He took pride in helping David Gockley assume the helm of San Francisco Opera in 2007, replacing Pamela Rosenberg of whom he was not a fan. Mr. Gockley graciously attended my father's memorial reception a few weeks ago in San Francisco. Also present at the reception was Ruth Felt, director of San Francisco Performances which my dad supported. Most touching to me was the presence of Philip Eisenberg, confined to a wheelchair. Philip was a prompter and coach at San Francisco Opera and at the Metropolitan Opera for many of the years that my mother was singing at those houses. Philip's friendship dates back to the early 1970s when my mom was touring with Western Opera and my dad was serving as the overseer of Western Opera on the San Francisco Opera board. A courtship blossomed in the back of the touring bus between the bohemian mezzo and the society bachelor. Philip was there then, and he was there for me the night of my dad's memorial.

Although my parents separated when I was twelve and divorced when I was nineteen, opera was always an olive branch in our home. It is hard for me to separate objective critique of the art form from the emotional peace it triggers from childhood memories. I am indebted to the singers, composers and directors -- including my own mother -- who offered the beauty and skill that made my father happy.

Response from Bill Lueth, Program Director of KDFC

2008-11-02T18:06:00.001-08:00

I was honored to hear from Bill Lueth, Program Director of KDFC, one of the radio stations I highlighted in my last post. Thank you, Bill, for taking the time to write to me and enrich this blog's discussion of the classical radio industry.

"I found your blog today interesting. Like other formats, all classical stations 'market' to specific audiences, WQXR included, as they are the marketing voice of the NY times. By design, they appeal to an older and more musically sophisticated audience to match their readership I suppose. KDFC is geared as the gateway to this great music to include a younger audience that is not necessarily trained. We have a large audience of musical moms, albeit not Juliard trained, (although we have musically-trained folks listening too.)
I heart NY, but WQXR attracts half again as many listeners as KDFC with almost 3 times the potential audience in a market of 15 million + vs. SF at under 6 million population (market #4).
That means KDFC in the Spring ratings was the #2 music station in the Bay Area. WQXR was 20th in greater NY.
Now, we know that doesn't mean either stations can appeal to all classical fans. it doesn't mean one is better than the other. Each chose a target. KDFC believes those who like this music, but don't know it, should be invited to listen too like this gentleman who emailed be today.
"I love listening to KDFC on my way to work and driving back home. Really eases the mind after a long day of work." He asked about a composer named "Gambrial Foray."
Since not all kids get to have a musically-trained mom to make them musically wiser, we are trying to do our part to grow a new audience for this great music. So far we're held up as an example of success in the arts world of how to gain traction in a format many considered was dying.
We know that we can't appeal to all nor can WQXR, but these are two great stations with the same overall mission in 2 great cultural cities: keep classical music on the radio!"

Bill Lueth
Program Director KDFC

A Tale of Two Cities' Radio Stations

2008-10-30T07:37:00.000-07:00

I've recently been spending quite a bit of time in San Francisco, where I lived from 1999 to 2006. While returning to a car culture, I've had the opportunity to listen to that city's classical radio station, 102.1 KDFC. Now that I live in New York and don't spend time in the car anymore, I listen to 96.3 WQXR at home while cooking dinner or hanging out with my kids. The difference between the two stations epitomizes the cultural differences I observe between the two cities.

WQXR, the New York Times' sponsored station, is the gold standard of classical radio. Because it is sponsored, it has fewer commercial breaks and it has the luxury of being able to play longer, more challenging works. Its audience includes some of the most well- trained classical enthusists in the world, and it has a thrilling local scene to draw upon as well. It's not uncommon to hear an entire symphony in the middle of the day, or to hear a new work recently premiered by the New York Philharmonic. The station plays recordings by first-rate performers -- I recently heard Horowitz playing a Chopin nocturne and Pollini playing a Beethoven sonata in the same afternoon -- and rarely sits back to rest on gimmicky favorites.

In contrast, KDFC caters to a much smaller city that doesn't have nearly the classical cultural focus of New York. To its credit, KDFC survives in a brutal industry in a city that has many other interests. Cities larger than San Francisco don't have their own classical radio station. But it unfortunately has to resort to a heavily contrived experience to hold on to its listeners. Instead of offering listeners a selective "shuffle" of great, timeless music performed by great, relevant performers, KDFC has created entirely risk-free programming within a manufactured marketing context. There is no shortage of pithy segments at KDFC: "The Island of Sanity: Weekdays at 2pm and 7pm"; "Mozart in the Morning: The Mozart Block at 9 O'Clock," etc. Its personalities, like more popular radio stations, are part of the show: Hoyt Smith takes you through the morning, followed by Diane Nicolini, Rik Malone. But rather than wake me up in the morning as other DJs do, the melifluous, faux-elegance of these guys makes me quickly lose interest.

This manufactured environment only plays music that is "Casual. Comfortable. Classical" resulting in more flute concertos and Telemann than anyone should have to hear. This spiritless tag line dooms the station to forever playing Baroque when it should be introducing San Francisco to Schostakovich, endless Mozart when Mutter waits in the wings. Since when is classical music "casual" and "comfortable"? I believe it should be marketed entirely the opposite way if it is to remain interesting and alluring to contemporary audiences. It should have us on the edge of our seats - even in our cars - with its contrasting volumes, earth shattering beauty, and natural rawness. How about a little "Raw. Riveting. Real." to shake up the day?

The Olympian

2008-07-30T11:11:00.000-07:00

Although it's not available online, check out the lengthy article by The New Yorker's own editor, David Remnick, in the August 4th issue of the magazine. After spending nine days with the pianist Lang Lang in Beijing, Remnick presents an enlightening portrait of the pianist's rock star reputation and the state of classical music in China.

Sounds of the City

2008-07-24T09:30:00.000-07:00

Since my last post, we have moved from Boston to Brooklyn where we have gone back to being an urban/subway riding/tote your own groceries sort of family. Coming back to New York City has been exciting for me (since I was raised here), but there are some realities of raising children in the city that I was either not aware of growing up here or else had forgotten. The constant sound on the streets has been particularly startling to me in our few weeks here. Perhaps it's because we live in a first floor apartment, and I can literally hear the conversations of people passing my windows, the chatter of my doorman on his cellphone, and the forlorn sound of the banjo player who camps out underneath my bedroom window one or two evenings a week. At this moment, I can hear some teenager belting out "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" from an arts day camp nearby. My daughters' favorite sound is that of the Mister Softee truck coming down our street to the school at the end of the block. I can't believe those trucks still play those tinkling bells!

But the street sounds that stand out to me most as a mother are those coming from cars trolling down the avenues or open air restaurant sound systems spilling onto sidewalks. Overwhelmingly, these sounds are dance music: hip hop, rap, techno. Always fast, always upbeat. I've been startled a few times as my girls have spontaneously started wiggling when we've passed a car or store blaring some music with a beat. They dance in line at the frozen yogurt store. They dance to the rap at the dry cleaners. They even started dancing at the elegant Italian trattoria where we ate dinner next to two European-styled older women -- while hip hop played in the background. Last night at dinner, my older daughter started singing "I like to move it move it... I like to move it move it..." Where did she get that??

Apart from the observation that my children -- who never hear or dance to any of these genres at home -- seem to innately understand and enjoy these sounds, I am fascinated by the ubiquity of these genres in our public spaces. Fast, electronic music is clearly the background sound of our everyday lives, and as one who notices which establishments choose which kinds of music, I'm usually amazed by how little thought goes into making the selected music congruous with the desired experience. The Italian trattoria, for instance, was decorated in earthy Tuscan tones with Italian posters lining the walls. Wooden beams were exposed to create a wine cellar feeling and even the plates had an authentically Italian terra cotta look. Clearly much thought had been put into the overall atmosphere and design... except when it came to the music. The default to standard hip hop showed a strange lack of understanding that aural experiences contribute to the impact of design, food, and atmosphere.

The only store I've been in recently that has demonstrated an understanding of this principle is a high-end children's boutique in TriBeCa that specializes in 1930s and 40s designs. The store is decorated to transport the shopper back to this time period: vintage toys, even a vintage front door invite the shopper to be totally immersed in the brand attributes. Thank heavens the sound system was playing standards from the Great American Songbook!

But experiences like this make me wonder what it would be like if the standard electronic background music of our everyday lives were replaced with more "authentic" (that loaded word) sounds? Would my own daughters, exposed to and trained in the acoustic tradition, still start dancing outside of a store if it were playing Rigoletto instead of Rihanna?

I recently had two experiences in which the standard public soundtrack was replaced with music that resonates more with me. On the evening of the Fourth of July, my family was in our car driving home from Connecticut where we had spent the holiday with some friends. As we neared our exit on the Brooklyn/Queens Expressway, the traffic completely stopped. We had hoped to avoid all the traffic from the local fireworks shows, but soon after we stopped the mother of all fireworks shows began: the Macy's show in Lower Manhattan. I suspect our traffic was generated at least in part by people in other cars stopping to watch the show, because from the Brooklyn side of the East River we were perfectly positioned to see the whole thing. As the fireworks started outside our front window, Beethoven's Emperor Piano Concerto started simultaneously on the radio station we were listening to in our car. So our soundtrack to the biggest fireworks show in the nation was none other than Beethoven and a glorious performance by Maurizio Pollini.

As we flipped radio stations after the concerto was over, I realized that several other popular radio stations had provide their own official soundtracks during the show: a little Billy Joel, Springsteen, and several other good ol' American bands. I thought about what a different experience we had had watching the show to our own soundtrack-- a soundtrack that, for me, truly emphasized the majesty not only of what we were seeing but of what we were celebrating that day. My response to the moment was so much greater because it was accompanied by music that matched the hugeness and glory of what was going on outside.

More recently, I took the girls to a children's opera in a nearby playground -- a 30 minute version of Carmen in which my daughter was very disappointed that they had edited out Carmen's death at the end -- that was amplified to accommodate the outdoor setting. After the performance was over, the sound engineers turned on a soprano aria that I was not familiar with but which blared over the entire playground. As I pushed my daughters on the swings, I looked around at the scores of other children and parents/nannies milling around that park and wondered if they even noticed what was playing. To me, it was exquisite to have a simple act like swinging my kids on a crowded playground accompanied by the heavenly tones of this mellow-tempoed solo aria. The moment was made even more poignant since the middle school kids with us at the swings were laughing about which of them were "fags" and "whores". It reminded me of that moment in The Shawshank Redemption when the duet from Marriage of Figaro gives the prisoners a moment of emotional freedom. I teared up as we started walking home, devastated to leave this playground soundtrack behind and a little shocked that every single person at that park had not completely stopped what they were doing to marvel at the gorgeous music around us.

I'd love to hear more opinions on this topic. What are your responses to music in public spaces? Do you even notice it? Does it ever bother you, disrupt your dinner, drive you out of a store? What do you think would be the general response if public spaces featured a variety of genres? Would there be any response or are we too inured to the whole subject?

Beethoven's Ode to What?

2008-06-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

In the hubbub of graduating and moving, I haven't been posting a lot the last several weeks, but a recent conversation with my dad prompted me to formulate some thoughts about larger philosophical issues in music. The cover of this month's Gramophone magazine features six of "Today's Great Composers", including Reich, Golijov and Adams. I'm familiar with music from all of these composers and I understand -- on the surface at least -- where they are coming from in terms of answering the musical traditions of the past. My dad, an admitted musical reactionary of extreme proportions, has trouble with all of their music, claiming that it lacks "melody", his defining factor for greatness (think Verdi). He also noticed with distain that all of the photographed composers are dressed in jeans or black khakis. Our opposing reactions to Gramophone's cover spurred an interesting conversation.

While some of these current composers are turning away from the esoteric philosophy-composition that has dominated so much art music of the last 50 years, there is no doubt that composition -- even with melody and with audience appeal in mind -- has been permanently transformed since the last of the canonical traditionalists in the 1940s or 50s. I argue that this is an inevitable evolution responding to the fragmentation of genres and the domination of commercialized music, and that members of the "Shuffle generation" like me -- younger people who routinely listen to music of a swath of genres -- understand the influences and the relevance of the music of Adams, Ades, Glass, et al. The best of their music is complex, thoughtful, beautifully structured and contains compelling lines, even if you might not get a "Di Quella Pira"- type melody with every aria. My dad sees this transformation as an inability to hear or understand real beauty, and therefore an irredeemable fault. In our conversation, he argued that the music of "today's great composers" simply isn't beautiful.

He's right in that the main purpose of most music today is not simply to represent beauty, as it has been in ages past. Often the purpose of today's art music is to represent more negative feelings, or at least a realistic sense of the world we live in. But this rejection of romantic ideals isn't just happening in art music. It's been in progress for decades in all art forms. Music may be where disillusionment, frustration, and anger are most commercialized -- those are, after all, the primary sentiments of much rap and hip hop -- but it's not an evolution confined to Western art music. In that vein, I suggested to my dad that the next generations might not even hear beauty the way he does; that, in fact, Beethoven's Ode to Joy might not even mean triumph, joy, and beauty to listeners in 50 years, the way it does to him. This idea absolutely floored him. There has always been to him, and to many of his generation, one absolute aesthetic. But if a child of today grows up hearing only commercial music, what guarantee is there that that child will think "Oh! Joy, brotherly love, beauty!" if suddenly confronted with the Ode to Joy?

I realized during my class this past semester how much our aesthetic sense has changed as humans over the course of the past few hundred years as we discussed modes and liturgical music. In early church music, modes were beautiful, although they mostly sound a little strange to us today. Similarly, as we studied Islamic music, I was made aware of the maliable construct of our 12-tone scale. In Islamic music, their scale has 47 tones! There apparently is no absolute even in those elements of music that are mathematically constructed.

These aesthetics change over much longer periods than just one person's lifetime, which is why my dad has such a hard time imagining a world without the Ode to Joy. After all, Western art music of the past three hundred years is, essentially, all he's ever known. As a reactionary myself -- although not to the degree of my father -- I want to work to make sure the Ode to Joy always means joy, brotherly love, and beauty to those who hear it. But I also understand that there is no absolute aesthetic, that Western art music must work to find its place among the myriad of contemporary genres, and that those other genres are speaking to people with as much force as the Ode to Joy speaks to my dad.

This Is Why I Love Opera

2008-04-22T17:25:00.001-07:00

How many people can do this live without a serious sound engineer working overtime?

Karajan Reviled

2008-04-06T18:05:00.000-07:00

I came across a rather startling article in the British publication The Independent. This weekend marks the centenary of Herbert von Karajan's birth, the Austrian conductor who dominated the symphonic and operatic scene in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. In my home growing up, Karajan was the standard of excellence that every performance was measured against. He was considered the great modernizer, the passionate madman who brought true fire to every work he tackled. His tempos were faster or slower than others', his dynamics louder or softer. I've never read a true rebuke of his work such as this one. Norman Lebrecht, a prominent British cultural commentator, spares no words for the man he feels destroyed the classical music industry in the twentieth century:

"Whether Herbert von Karajan was a bad man or a good man is immaterial. He was a brilliant organiser with the gift of tuning an orchestra to his personal sound, an ability that he exploited to extreme ends. He inflicted his ego on the world of classical music in a way that crushed independence and creativity and damaged its image for future generations. It is not the bad man he was that we should deplore but the reactionary and exclusivist legacy which is being "celebrated". For music lovers, there is not much to celebrate. Once the centenary is over, we will drop the curtain once and for all on a discreditable life that yielded no fresh thought and upheld no worthwhile human value. Karajan is dead. Music is much better off without him."

Miracle at the Met

2008-03-05T11:00:00.001-08:00

On Monday, I ventured across the Charles River to hear Peter Gelb speak at Harvard's Kennedy School of Government. Gelb was tapped in 2003 as the new general manager of the Metropolitan Opera, and in the last season and a half he has proven to be the savior of that institution. The business of music is utterly fascinating to me and I took four pages of notes from his presentation, but here I'll just list the most interesting facts that help paint a picture of what he's been able to accomplish.

* In 2003, the average age of the Met patron was 65. Five years earlier, the average age had been 60. Hmm. Clearly, the audience was literally dying out.

* Box office sales were at 76% when Gelb took over in the 2005-2006 season. Today they are at 88%. Just as significant, patron donations have risen 40% from their 2005 levels.

*Gelb has doubled the number of new productions the Met offers each year. In choosing to open his first season with a new production of Madame Butterfly, directed by acclaimed film director Anthony Minghella (English Patient, Cold Mountain), Gelb offered the Met's first new production on an opening night in twenty years.

*New ticket programs have been initiated (100 tickets are available at $20 the night of the performance), rehearsals have been opened to the public, and performances have been broadcast into Times Square and Lincoln Center Plaza.

*An annual family production has been introduced. (Last year it was an abridged Magic Flute directed by Julie Taymor, this year it's been a production of Hansel & Gretel.)

*John Adams, the most respected contemporary opera composer in the U.S., has never had an opera produced at the Met. His Doctor Atomic is coming next season.

*In the spirit of Chagall and Hockney who had deep relationships with the Met in their eras, Gelb is reaching out to contemporary artists to create banners for publicity and to hang in front of the house. The gallery art space in the lobby of the house also features works inspired by the operas.

Gelb's most publicized change, of course, has been the introduction of live HD transmissions into movie theaters. This year, the transmissions are going out to 650 theaters in 14 countries, estimated to reach over 110,000 people. Fifty percent of box office revenues are currently coming from HD tickets! In a feat of arts management, each broadcast is easily covering the incremental $1 M it takes to distribute the film-- and generating profits!

The ingenuity of what Gelb is doing rests in the fact that he believes intensely in opera's role as "high art". He is trying to make opera connect with contemporary society, but he is not doing it at the expense of dumbing down -- or making "accessible"--the productions, the singers, or the overall quality. Instead, he is focusing on the distribution of the art form, and in this he is revolutionary.

At the end of the presentation, I had the opportunity to ask Gelb personally about the future of the HD broadcasts. After seeing Hansel & Gretel in January in the same week I saw Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd, it occurred to me that it would be a nature next step for the Met to separate its production capabilities from the realm of the live performance and perhaps break off a separate film production arm. "The Metropolitan Opera Company presents... Electra, directed by Tim Burton." If Gelb is giving film directors the chance to direct live opera, why not meet them on their own playing field and have them direct opera for film? Few attempts have been made at this, most notably Ingmar Bergman's Magic Flute, but with the global brand and excellence of the Met, it could become standard practice. Alas, Gelb agreed it was a good idea, but claimed he had no idea where the money would come from to pour into a production arm. Well, maybe in 10 years he'll hire me to be heading up that initiative....

MoTab Isn't for Everyone...

2008-02-28T10:31:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, I had a very interesting experience which fed my ever-growing curiosity about the psychology of music: how people can have such different aesthetic preferences, how the same music effects people differently, what role music plays in our social psyche, etc. I was asked to speak at a New England young single adult conference for my church, hosted in New Hampshire, and I chose to conduct a workshop on the difference between "Sacred" music (i.e. the genre, marketing label) and "sacred" music (meaning any music that is meaningful or inspirational to the individual listener).

First of all, my workshop went head to head with Roger Porter's (a Harvard prof who was economic advisor to Ford, Reagan and Bush I). Hmmm. Yes, people did still come to my class (although I probably would have chosen Porter's over my own!). My attendees were college-aged, and in preparing for the presentation I wanted to work with the fact that most people of this age group these days are steeped in commercial musical genres that are not part of the church's emphasis on the traditional, classical arts.

I divided the workshop into two themes:
1. Encourage participants to find the "sacred" in the popular music that they listen to everyday, and not feel limited to finding spirituality in the "Sacred" music genre.
2. Conversely, encourage participants to value "Sacred" music more and gain a deeper appreciation for the church's classical art tradition.

The first part was fascinating: I played 30 second clips from 12 songs that you all recommended and asked each participant to jot down silently whether or not the clip represented "sacred" music to them. Then, after I'd revealed what the songs were, we had a terrific discussion about what people responded to and why.

Here's the playlist of the 12 songs:
1. Crucifixus -- Choir of St. John's College, Cambridge (medieval church music)
2. Sweet Little Jesus Boy -- Jesse Norman (traditional Negro spiritual solo)
3. Hey Mama - Kanye West (current hip hop song)
4. Piano Sonata no 7, 3rd mvt - Prokofiev (example of no words)
5. Come Thou Glorious Day of Promise -- Mormon Tabernacle Choir (traditional choral hymn)
6. Jesu Me Kanaka Waiwai -- Gladys Knight and Saints Unified Choir (Hawaiian hymn)
7. Every Time I Feel The Spirit - Little Richard (traditional spiritual with Baptist choir)
8. Umbrella- Rihanna (Pop)
9. Down to the River to Pray -- Allison Krauss (Bluegrass)
10. I Will Follow You Into the Dark -- Death Cab for Cutie (Alternative rock)
11. Cast Thy Burden On the Lord -- Mendelssohn's Elijah (traditional oratorio)
12. Blessed Assurance -- Gladys Knight (traditional spiritual with choir)

Some of the responses:
"No way #1 is sacred cause it's clearly just a movie soundtrack"
"MoTab is way too bland to be sacred" vs. "Only reverent music is sacred so none of the Gospel music is sacred"
"Kanye West's message about loving his mother makes his song the most sacred on the list"
"Death Cab for Cutie's song is the most authentic, real, therefore the most sacred"
"Anything that sounds like opera totally drives the spirit away"
"That Elijah song could be good if it had a little rhythm behind it." (I have to say that was one of my favorite comments)

We also talked about the idea of how Mormon culture contributes to our responses (i.e. sacred = quiet), and how our own family culture contributes. Then we switched gears and talked about the response each of the participants has to the hymns. The general consensus seemed to be that the kids don't enjoy singing them at church on Sundays ("boring, no energy") but that they are the first thing they turn to when they need personal comfort or inspiration ("I read through the poems or sing them to myself"). We talked a lot about the hymns as an important cultural record of our church's history, why it's important to preserve that musical aesthetic, and our role in making Sunday singing more enjoyable.

After such an experience, it's hard for me to deny that music I consider to be universally appealing... well, isn't. On the other hand, I'm grateful that the generation after me continues to find spiritual meaning in the music of their own time.

Musical Diplomacy in North Korea

2008-02-27T11:13:00.000-08:00

I guess it takes a visit of the New York Philharmonic to North Korea for classical music to make the front page. There's been no shortage of discussion about this week's visit: Alex Ross calls out several of the national music commentators who have weighed in on whether or not the Phil's visit is a good idea, or just a pandering to the North Korean PR machine. The discussion ranges from critiques on the light-weight program (Dvorak, Gershwin, Wagner's overture to Lohengrin) to a condemnation of the West's effort to civilize the barbarian regime with the elevating effects of classical music. Perhaps I'm naive about the art of diplomacy and the need for political statements through programming, but I do believe in symphonic music's ability to communicate our democratic values. Not in a preachy, proselytizing way, but in an open-hearted representation of what we find uplifting. Who knows, maybe there'll be some common ground there. Isn't that diplomacy in itself?

See my posting from Dec. 13, 2007 for additional thoughts. For photos of the audience and the performers and a liveblog description of the concert, visit Pete Matthew's blog.

Also: Update to my post on La Vie en Rose, the movie about Edith Piaf. Marion Cotillard won the Oscar for Best Actress. So I wasn't the only one moved by her performance!

Church Music for Today?

2008-02-14T07:49:00.000-08:00

I'm going to be a bit sparse with my blogging for the next couple of months because I am now fully entrenched in my music class, The Future of Music, at the Harvard Extension School. But I couldn't resist writing about this fascinating article from this week's New Yorker magazine. Nico Muhly is a twenty-six year old composer who is primarily inspired by the Renaissance religious music and and by contemporary minimalism. His own compositions are receiving wide acclaim, as well as ample performance. He's got such powerhouses as Philip Glass and John Adams behind him, so watch out, he's here to stay.

Heaven Sounds Like Elgar

2008-01-30T10:23:00.000-08:00

Last weekend for my birthday, E took me to the Boston Symphony Orchestra's performance of The Dream of Gerontius by Edward Elgar. Elgar, best known to me by his cello concerto and , composed the oratorio in 1900 to the poetic text of a Catholic cardinal. I was so clueless about the piece before going I thought it was titled something about Geronimo... Why a Brit would write about Geronimo was not something I even paused to think about, so you can see how much thought and research I put into the evening before the lights went down.

The piece requires an enormous orchestra, organ, full chorus and three soloists -- a huge ensemble as you can see from the picture taken at a 1964 rehearsal. E and I were very quickly entranced: the orchestration is lush and Wagnerian, and Ben Heppner was a revelation as a true Helden tenor. I especially enjoyed Gerald Finley as the baritone. By the end of the piece, I was convinced it was perhaps one of the most purely beautiful works I have ever heard. Truly what I imagine choirs of angels sound like. And a highlight was the incredible moment when Gerontius sees God - "for one moment" -- and in that moment all the instruments must "exert their fullest force". Wow.

Opera on Film

2008-01-30T07:04:00.000-08:00

Well after a VERY long Christmas hiatus, I'm back with my exciting musical adventures. The past month or so has actually provided a number of experiences ripe for discussion. First and foremost, I saw three very different operas on film and the results made me excited and curious about the future of opera performance in the digital age.

Although Jenny was one of my mother's starring roles at the Met Opera, Los Angeles Opera's production of MAHAGONNY was actually the first time I've seen the opera on stage. (I was 8 at the time my mother sang it and a little too young for Jenny's seductions.) I know some of the music quite well, but I was unfamiliar with the story or any production concepts. I was prepared to really like this film, since Alex Ross included the production on his Top 10 list of performances in 2007, but I was actually underwhelmed. I think the filming of the stage production was not intimate enough for my taste: too much time was spent in the broad panning of the full stage and not enough time on the individual singers. With very little set behind them, I felt that the camera could have done a better job grounding the viewer in the scenes with intimate camera work. Instead, the singers looked like they were drowning in the plain backdrops and expansive space of the stage.

I thought Audra McDonald was marvelous and Anthony Dean Giffrey was a highlight as Jimmy, but as much as I've loved Patti LuPone in the past, she spoke her way through this role and seemed out of place with the rest of the excellent vocals.

The second opera I watched recently was the Metropolitan Opera's production of HANSEL AND GRETEL. I was a gingerbread girl myself in the Met's production many years ago and Hansel too was one of my mom's starring roles, so I have many fond memories of the candy house and the witch with the green tongue. Well, this production couldn't be farther from that fairy tale ideal. Although certainly not what I would have chosen as a representation of the Grimm story, I didn't mind the dark interpretation as much as I thought I would. And I thought it worked exceptionally well on film. E and I attended the New Year's Day screening in HD while we were in Utah for Christmas; I was surprised and delighted by the enthusiastic and sold out crowd in the middle of Murray, UT, and the whole experience was mind-opening and completely fabulous to someone like me who grew up loving opera but in a technological age. I can't wait for more of the Met's HD broadcasts.

Lastly, I finally got around to watching the Met's EUGENE ONEGIN, the HD version broadcast on PBS that I had TiVoed. I had missed it in the theaters but had heard rave reviews of Hvorostovsky as Onegin. Ramon Vargas was a bit disappointing as Lensky, but Renee Fleming certainly delivered. As with Hansel, I again thought the filming of the stage production was effective, even though, like Mahagonny, the set was minimal and it would have been easy for the characters to have been lost among the plain backdrops. The final scene was riveting.

My overall conclusions from these three experiences is that the Met has an advanced aptitude for filming staged opera for the movies. Both on screen and on TV, the two Met productions were much more effective than the LA Opera production. It is thrilling to me to think about the possibilities for this art form as it continues to be transferred to advanced viewing techniques: first of all, the possibilities for directors and settings of the opera seem limitless, a theory the Met has already explored by hiring Hollywood and Broadway directors. Could Tim Burton direct a feature film of Electra, produced by the Met? (Seeing his Sweeney Todd over break made me remember the Covent Garden production I saw of the opera where blood ran down the corrugated metal walls.) How about Joe Wright over a production of Tristan and Isolde? As if Atonement wasn't sad enough...

And then questions arise about the singers. Will some singers embrace the film format while others will shy away from it? To what degree will appearances dictate casting in the future? Will the voice no longer reign supreme if the singer is required to appear in the next theater down from Reese Witherspoon or Meryl Streep?

The Politics of Music

2007-12-13T11:35:00.000-08:00

On Monday, December 10th, the New York Philharmonic announced that it will be traveling to North Korea to perform a concert there on February 26th. The concert, which will come at the end of the orchestra's China tour, will include pieces by Gershwin, Dvorak and both the US and North Korean national anthem.

What has startled me most about this recent announcement is the negative reaction it has received from some. For example, I heard Terry Teachout interviewed on CNN just before the announcement was official and he berated the orchestra for crossing boundaries of political hostilities. If the United States has diplomatic sanctions on North Korea, he argued, why should we freely offer them our musical pleasures?

This point of view seems to me to show an egregious misunderstanding of music's role in history as a political equalizer. Perhaps I'm under the influence of The Rest is Noise, but even during the totalitarian reigns of Hitler and Stalin when music was at its most highly politicized, music served as a no man's land where many composers were able to communicate with the outside through their universal language. Even some Jewish musicians were spared by Hitler because their musicality raised them above their ethnicity. Can't that same universality help us today, even if classical music isn't the soul of our culture as it perhaps used to be? I guess I should be heartened that an orchestra's touring schedule still has the power to elicit passionate responses from politicians, journalists and music fans alike.

Edith Piaf: The Voice of France

2007-12-10T10:02:00.000-08:00

Biopics are no new thing in film. 2007 saw its fair share: Jane Austen, Beatrix Potter and Truman Capote have all had screen time recently. Musicians Ray Charles and Johnny Cash also received attention in recent years. But not one biography of an artist has gripped me like La Vie en Rose, the summer release based on the life of legendary French singer Edith Piaf which I saw for the first time the other night.

Aside from the tragic life that made for fast-paced and wrenching storytelling, Piaf's original music fantastically illustrates the atmosphere of France before and after World War II. Her gutteral tone--almost speaking on pitch-- is so closely associated with French folk singing that I, not having heard any particular Edith Piaf recordings before this movie, instinctively understood the cultural setting of the movie.

Also remarkable about this film is the performance of Marion Cotillard, who plays Edith Piaf. It's hard to believe Cotillard is the beautiful young woman who co-stars with Russell Crowe in A Good Year. And it's hard to believe that the same actress plays Piaf through all her adult years; she changes so dramatically in her appearance and demeanor as her character grows older and more sickly.

I have already searched iTunes for Piaf's best-loved songs. Her voice, while not always beautiful, spoke the language of a whole people.

Review: Browns in Blue (The 5 Browns)

2007-11-30T08:04:00.000-08:00

I've followed the five Brown siblings for several years now for two reasons: 1) because they are Mormon and attend the same church I went to as a child, across from Juilliard where they study, and I'm always in favor of prominent Mormon musicians; and 2) because they are clearly trying to make classical music "accessible" to people of our generation and I admire their efforts. I've enjoyed this latest album Browns in Blue mostly because each of the selections has a classically beautiful melody, many of which will be recognizable even to those who don't follow piano repertoire (except for the arrangement on the Vaughn Williams hymn "If You Could Hie to Kolob" which will mostly likely only be recognized by LDS people). The siblings are clearly targeting a younger listener who needs a little glamor and schmaltz to go with an all-acoustic recording, and I for one enjoy their glitzy poses and hang-loose personalities.

I have two complaints, however. In all the marketing and comfortable programming, I feel that the individual artistic temperaments have been sacrificed. Presumably each of these siblings has a distinct style or taste that varies (however insignificantly) from the others'. But you'd never know it as one carefully executed piece by one sibling moves right along to another carefully executed piece by another. I'd like a little more blood and guts left on the floor of the recording studio-- I'd like to be able to tell when Greg is playing or when it's Deondra-- but perhaps the ensemble work that's brought them fame has also diminished their individually passionate voices.

The Chopin Nocture (Op 48 No 1) played by Greg seemed to me to have the most soul and drive of any of the pieces on the recording. A rather adventurous video of his "Superstar Etude" suggests that there's something more under his surface, which, for me, is reassuring.

Secondly, I come away from the 5 Browns' recordings feeling that the potential of five pianos being played at once has barely been scratched. What a thunderously rich, orchestral noise five pianos can make together! And yet the arrangements in which all five of them are playing suggest to my ear that each of the siblings is perhaps playing a single line, or a simplified part, rather than a fully developed polyphony. I compare their arrangements to those Leif Ove Andsnes emplyed at his Risor festival when he gathered 10 of the greatest pianists in the world and had them play everything from Bach to a Jamaican Rumba.

All in all, I am thrilled for the 5 Browns and would reach for their latest if I were to recommend an introductory piano recording to a friend. It's happy, untortured stuff and for that I am grateful.

A Palette Cleanser After Too Much Turkey...

2007-11-28T08:01:00.000-08:00

The Friday after Thanksgiving, my dad and I went to a matinee at Symphony Hall to hear the BSO perform Smetana's Overture to The Bartered Bride and Ma Vlast, his symphonic work of six tone poems. As a patriotic composer, Smetana is often overshadowed by his Czech countryman Dvorak who also made ample use of native folk tunes. James Levine is a "complete, unabashed Smetana nut," according to his program notes, and since I've never actually heard Ma Vlast performed, I was anxious to hear his usual unbridled enthusiasm in full force.

Perhaps it was all the 20th Century stuff I've been listening to in conjunction with reading The Rest is Noise, but Smetana's overwrought string work and alternating dominant/tonics sounded more like movie music to me rather than the "masterpiece" Levine claims it is. Not that that is a bad thing: after too much Stravinsky and Mahler, some good ole symphonic storytelling was an effective palette cleanser! I left the concert feeling ready to dive head first back into the Russian and German totalitarianism of the 1940s.

Alex Ross Live

2007-11-21T09:12:00.000-08:00

On Monday night, I left the kids with E and ventured into Harvard Square to hear Alex Ross, the author of The Rest is Noise, speak at the Harvard Book Store. I felt very cool indeed as I took my place among the graduate students and professorial types; kind of an out of body experience actually as I haven't been one of the academic crowd for so very long.

Ross spoke initially about himself and how he came to write such a book: as an undergraduate at Harvard he had been involved with the campus radio station and discovered many forgotten LPs among the station's library that introduced him to 20th sounds, both classical and popular. His stated mission is to make clear the connections between classical music and the rest of the 20th century, both politically and musically, but intertwining music with stories of governments, wars and personal histories. He clearly has a thorough analytical understanding of how music came to be the way it is today, and in what way each genre owes its dept to traditional Eurocentric music of the past.

As a speaker, Ross is remarkably eloquent. His book is written in a comfortable yet nourishing style, and his speech is the same. He stated that his book hosts three different conversations: the first is a discussion of the "explosion of style" that defined 20th century music; the second is the discussion of how "politics and music intermingle" with the composers "becoming soldiers"; and third, a discussion of the "lonely, outlying figures" like Sibelius who didn't define new styles or revolutionize sound and therefore are often overlooked in histories of the period.

The only thing that disappointed me was that he was not nearly as witty as I had hoped he'd be. This was important to me not because I was in the mood for jokes, but because I've felt through his writing that he's been able to lighten the atmosphere surrounding classical music and I was hoping his personality would convey an equal lightheartedness about his subject. I feel strongly that classical music could use some advocates who don't take things quite so seriously, who are able to convey the joy and all-consuming nature of music study without bogging it down in the ladder-climbing and self-satisfaction of the academic elite. Ross' writings have done the entire industry a huge service in this regard, but I still feel that academics, journalists and business people within the field of classical music could make further strides in readjusting the industry's perceived uber-seriousness.

Perhaps I'm looking for a public figure who, through sheer force of personality, could lift the industry out of its "obscure pandemonium" (as Alex Ross says) up to a place of mainstream recognition. With Pavarotti's death so recently behind us, his image comes to mind. Is there an academic or a business leader who could have a similar effect, making not only "Nessun Dorma" widely recognized but the whole language of classical music?

Mahler's the Name of the Day -- Again

2007-11-15T06:58:00.000-08:00

So today, after Levine and Walter, I listened to Simon Rattle's version of the Mahler 9, which he just performed with the Berlin Philharmonic in New York as part of Carnegie Hall's 17-day Berlin in Lights festival. Reading the New York Times' ArtsBeat blog about the festival, it makes me think that there is a non-condescending way to do thematic programming after all. All of New York --from Chinatown to St. John the Divine -- have been introduced to the sounds and talents of Berlin over the past week. The musical energy in the city this week has had a little help from Gustavo Dudamel and the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra who, according to YouTube footage, have a hard time putting on airs.

In Praise of The New Phil

2007-11-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

I'd already been playing the piano for a year by the time I was my daughter's age. I've resisted the ambitious mother's inevitable capitulation to the siren call of Suzuki, but that doesn't mean I haven't taken her to her fair share of "children's concerts". After four years of them, I've started to dread even the very term. There's been very little that's child-friendly about most of the ones we've attended: they're still in large, intimidating concert halls where the kids are preferred, if not expected, to be quiet and take what's good for them. But last Saturday, the little one and I ventured out to the Newton Cultural Center where we sat on the floor in a converted gym and listened to the New Philharmonia Orchestra play to fifty toddlers and their parents.

The last movement of Dvorak's 6th symphony was first on the program. Little E was sitting on my lap, and at the first crashing chords she looked up at me and said, "Wow!" Wow, it was loud! Wow it was cool to be sitting so close. Wow it was cool to be able to say wow and not have other (better) parents look at my kid and go "Shh." After that, there was a very coherent explanation by a first violinist of the term "ostinatto" and a selection from Holst in which the kids sang along with the ostinatto. Finally, a series of variations on Yankee Doodle showing off each instrument in the orchestra and with the vocal talents of a local 3rd grade. Little E was in awe.

The afternoon finished with an "instrument petting zoo" -- E tried a pint sized cello, violin, trumpet, horn, trombone, and snare drum. ("And triangle!" she reminded her dad.) Fabulous.

An Even Better Mahler Moment

2007-11-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I listened to Bruno Walter's 1938 recording of the Mahler 9 (remastered in 1989) and I decided I liked it better than the Levine performance the other night. The tempos were simply faster all around, and it was easier to digest emotionally than the excruciating pulling of Levine's fourth movement, which was so tortured that it periodically lost my interest.

A Marvelous Mahler Moment

2007-11-09T08:53:00.000-08:00

Last night, E and I went with some friends to the Boston Symphony Orchestra to hear the Berg Violin Concerto -- played by the eternally youthful Christian Tetzlaff-- and the Mahler 9th Symphony. (Congrats to our friends who heroically made it through the 90 minute symphony!) James Levine, my mom's former boss at the Metropolitan Opera and now musical director of the BSO, conducted. It had been years since I had seen Jimmy conducting live. I periodically read about his left side tremors, and while I didn't notice any overt shaking, he clearly favored his right side.

I was particularly excited to go to this concert because I've been reading about both of these composers in Alex Ross' book, The Rest is Noise, and so I've been making new connections between these composers and their historical contexts. They were both, coincidentally, inspired by the deaths of Alma Mahler's children: Mahler first wrote his symphony in 1910 after the death of his and Alma's own 4-year-old (a little close to home since I have a 4-year-old myself) and Berg wrote his concerto in 1935 after the death of Alma's daughter from a later marriage, Manon Gropius.

I was surprised by how exquisite I found the Berg. I love his opera Wozzeck, but I've always had a harder time with atonality in instrumental music. E preferred Anne-Sophie Mutter's performance, but I love Tetzlaff's complete immersion in what he's playing. As for the Mahler, it's an emotional overload and leaves the listener feeling totally cathartic, but the most distinct moments for me were in the third and fourth movements -- the endless hum of the strings at the close of the fourth were transporting.

The Rest is Noise

2007-11-06T11:52:00.000-08:00

I recently began reading Alex Ross' inaugural book, The Rest is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century, which shares its name with his fabulous blog. As a critic for The New Yorker, Ross captured my attention (and many others') years ago when it became clear that he promotes a holistic approach to music, rather than a genre-based elitism. In other words, he likes things because they're excellent, not because they're "classical". He blogs about everything from American Idol to esoteric jazz groups like The Bad Plus to outrageous productions of standard opera repertoire and anything else that runs along the continuum of music's natural historical progression. In 2004, he wrote a defining piece that encapsulates the way I too feel about "classical music" and its bedragled place in the musical constellation.

The book offers an overview of musical development throughout the 20th Century, starting with Mahler and Strauss and focusing how the composers worked within their larger historical contexts. I just finished an amazing chapter in which Ross disects the introduction of African-American tunes and musicians into the fabric of standard, Eurocentric music and his conclusions are remarkable: the rise of spirituals as the foundation for 20th century music was predicted as early as Dvorak in the 1890s, but racist American culture in the 1920s and 1930s prevented talented black musicians from joining the traditional performance circuits and forced them to find a voice within their own underground venues. The chapter led me to wonder what would music be like today if this split hadn't happened? Can we even imagine European music moving along the same trajectory it had for hundreds of years, absorbing and celebrating black influence instead of spitting it out and spawning the birth of jazz and everything else that's followed? Ross suggests we started to see this in Jerome Kern and Gershwin, but "classical music" was already too narrowly defined to let their ideas revive the integrated "high-low art of Mozart and Verdi".

Music is Like That...

2007-11-05T11:45:00.000-08:00

Well here I am. I'm not a professional musician, but I was raised in a world of professional musicians and consider myself an educated fan. I was raised in Manhattan as the daughter of a Metropolitan Opera mezzo soprano, and I myself studied solo piano at Juilliard while in high school. I'm trying to keep up my piano skills, but my current full-time job rests at home with my two little girls.

I thought I'd start off by sharing the program notes I recently wrote for my mother's production of Cosi fan Tutte, Mozart's comedy which she is currently directing at the University of Nebraska where she now teaches. My mom's sung Cosi in a number of productions, but I myself didn't know the opera very well. I saw the San Francisco Opera's production of it in 2004 with Frederica von Stade as Despina, a part for which she was deservedly well-renown. I remembered the rest of the cast being stellar too, and in searching around to find who they might have been, I found this nifty site of SF Opera archives where you can look up any past performance.

That 2004 production played Cosi as a lighthearted farce, as evidenced by this photo of Flicka and the seaside resort set designs, when in fact the plot has a malicious undertone which my mom has chosen to play up in her production. So after quite a bit of absorbing research, here's what I came up with.

UNL Program Notes

2007-11-05T11:24:00.000-08:00

About Cosi fan Tutte, for University of Nebraska Opera

By the time Mozart wrote Cosi fan Tutte in 1790, opera buffa (“comic opera”) was a well-established musical genre. Operatic comedies had arisen in response to opera seria, the previously dominant style in which plots revolved around kings and gods and lavish materialism foreign to the common people. Mozart in part became so popular with the masses because he fully fleshed out their genre: the comic opera in which maids, peasant girls and soldiers – not kings and gods – are the central characters.

Of all of Mozart’s opera, Cosi is perhaps the finest example of his opera buffa skills. With his librettist, Lorenzo da Ponte (with whom he also collaborated on Le Nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni), Mozart created a neat, symmetrical cast – two simple girls, their two soldier lovers, and two cynic “teachers” – and tossed them all together in a soap opera mix up of disguise and deceit. The theme of swapping lovers was not new with da Ponte’s libretto; in fact, strains of this plot device appear as early as 13^th century literature and are fleshed out often in Shakespeare’s own “comic” plays such as Midsummer Night’s Dream and Twelfth Night, or What You Will.

It seems strange that exchanging lovers so quickly and at will has remained a staple of comedic plots since, if one really considers the emotional toll of such an exchange, real-life swaps seem more nightmarish than funny. But in this opera, the trauma is quickly shaken off by a pithy phrase – “Cosi fan tutte,” concludes Alfonso at the end of the opera, “Women are like that”—and the consolation that there’s been a lesson well-learned. Such troubling resolution reminds us of similarly cheeky titles in Shakespeare: All’s Well that Ends Well, As You Like It, and Much Ado About Nothing. Are we really laughing at these “comedies” or are we more likely laughing at how pitiful human nature really is at confronting and acting out our true depth of feeling?

But Shakespeare only had one creative medium – the spoken word – with which to weave his tragi-comedic emotional roller coasters. Mozart had two: the words and the music. And with Cosi’s uneasy plot, the music makes all the difference. Mozart was universally acknowledged to be at the height of his creative powers during the opera’s composition, and its long list of regularly-performed arias as well as its being the fifteenth most performed opera in the United States suggests that despite the ambiguity of the plot we have not yet tired of the music.

And yet it is the beautiful music which has led some to criticize Cosi over the years: some say the music and the libretto simply don’t match. Aren’t such beautiful melodies at odds with the psychologically disturbing sentiments of the plot? Does the heavenly music dull us to the evil of Alfonso’s treachery and Despina’s implicit anger? Or on the other hand, does the plot contaminate the purity of the sound, making it impossible for us to hear the music without thinking dark thoughts?

Such contradictions offer interesting opportunities for directors of the opera. Some productions choose to sweep the disturbing elements under the rug, playing out the opera in candy-colored sets and treating the fiancé swap as a spring break farce in Florida. At the other extreme, one recent European production depicted Don Alfonso as the devil himself, channeling a bit of Faust with Despina as his misogynistic sidekick.

Neither extreme seems to us to catch the full complexity of the word/music pairing. Perhaps one reason the opera is so popular today is that Mozart is so unwittingly modern in challenging his audience to decipher the contradiction of beauty intertwined with with moral ambiguity. It seems overly simplistic to represent the opera as either all farce or all darkness. In our production at UNL, we have chosen not to deny the ambiguity of the plot (in fact, all of our lovers end up unhappy) yet we have a beautiful, classic set with mostly traditional stage direction. Hopefully this vision of the opera will allow you to decide for yourself how to react. Are you amused? Or a little disturbed? Has the music allowed you to transcend the uneasiness of the plot? Or do you remain mired in the human frailty of the characters? Maybe you leave with the hope that music can make even the ugliest of situations seem a little more bearable. Whatever the opera means to you, Cosi is like that.