You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two

I also have marveled at James Fallows' word count, particularly when I'm looking for the inspiration to generate both the quality and the quantity of typing that blogging seems to demand. So tonight I will play the "picture equals" card and cheat by drawing your attention to a video clip:

Yes, yes, silly, ha-ha, but you might be willing to admit that there's a little bit of parity in here related to the broader implications of museum culture in the performing arts--and how audiences stop by to gawk a bit and wander around and then go home and watch another episode of "Law & Order." We come, we look and listen (at least a little), but in the end do we take away or do we cross off as "accomplished," in the dental cleaning or "20 years since my last confession" sense?

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I had the chance to hear the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra play not one but two Beethoven symphonies last week, with a fantastic violin concerto by Thomas Adès sandwiched in between. I give Baltimore mad props for an entire season stuffed with the names and faces of living composers, and in this case, Adès actually served as conductor for the entire evening's program as well. Though it wasn't a flawless performance, it was something more--awake. The hall was very full and vocally appreciative.

Still, it was a gluttony of Beethoven. I confess I was quite distracted towards the end and I found myself looking around and wondering if I would catch the wandering eyes of any other similarly stuffed patrons. (As it turns out, a few rows back Anne Midgette was asking herself the same questions I was, but on a deeper level than I could muster.) It's been almost a week, and I haven't figured out why we were listening to so much Beethoven yet either. I wasn't sure that anyone else in the crowd could have told me, but I was wrong. I'm not any less uncomfortable now that I have an answer, however. I mean, if a big name on the marque is what it takes to get 'em in the door, can I at least get a backbeat for a little something unexpected?

And then this morning I stumbled on Mark Swed's piece in the L.A. Times which, to be honest, only takes "dummy consumption" as its jumping off point. Still, it got me with a line. He writes, "The Atlanta orchestra takes pride in sending its listeners home happy, having been given a big sonic hug and assured everything will be all right."

I don't always know what I want out of performances when I go these days, but I don't arrive looking to be cuddled. If I think it over now, I want it to push me around a little, just like that professor in undergrad who never followed the syllabus and gave us extra books to read at the last minute--and we read them, too, and hung around after class, even though we were already overwhelmed by how much we had to do, just like those cheesy movie plots. Teacher shows delinquent children the path to brilliance and self-actualization!

But then again, the BSO's performance wasn't about me or my self-actualization, it was about us in the city of Baltimore. I got the chance to hear Adès in my new hometown. While complaining about gluttony, perhaps I was the one getting greedy.