Two Violinists Take to Subway Busking

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

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

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?