Quartet for the Beginning of an Era

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?