May 2004 Archives

Last night (Thursday, 5/27) was the first test of this device that I've been part of, a test we did with the New York Philharmonic. The Concert Companion is the heldheld PDA that audiences may, in the future, be able to rent from orchestras, or might get free with special ticket deals. It gives real-time program notes, that change with the music -- ongoing descriptions of whatever you're hearing at a given moment.

I wrote the text for this test, which involved Stravinsky's Petrushka, and Ives's Three Places in New England. After the concert, I had a chance to hear comments from a good number of people in the audience who'd used the device, and one thing was really notable. Everybody, absolutely everybody, said that it made them listen harder. In fact, they often used expressions like "analytical listening," to describe what the device made them do, contrasting that with the more relaxed, less directed listening they'd normally do without it.

Audiences in previous tests have said more or less the same thing, though not as forcefully. Their comments, of course, fly right in the face of fears that the device will encourage people not to listen, or else will distract them from listening. There was a third piece on the program, the Ravel Concerto for the Left Hand, for which we didn't have real-time commentary. One member of the audience said that having the commentary earlier in the concert, for Petrushka, made him listen harder to the Ravel. In other words, it got him doing careful, "analytical" listening, and did this so effectively that he kept on doing it even when he didn't have the commentary.

Creating this text, I have to say, is about the hardest writing I've ever done. I had to be very succinct, of course (which is hard enough by itself). But I also had to balance descriptions of the music, comments on the music's structure, along with omments on its history (the innovations, for instance, in 20th century composition that Ives and Stravinsky pioneered), and also a narrative of the stories all these pieces tell. All of it synchronized with the music, which means that sometimes when you'd like to say a lot of things, you discover that the music passes by so quickly that people will only have time to read one short sentence.

Everything had to be aimed at people who don't know much about classical music, without being so elementary that they'd insult more experienced listeners. I found myself going to rehearsals, and then going home to rewrite everything I'd done. The Concert Companion is an independent operation, separate from any orchestras (essentially it's a startup company, looking for both venture capital and foundation funding). We're testing it again with the Pittsburgh Symphony on June 10, as part of the big Pittsburgh arts gathering that includes the annual conference of the American Symphony Orchestra League. This time, the program includes a piece by a living composer, Joan Tower's Tambor. Joan and I will jointly write the commentary, which ought to be both informative, and a lot of fun.

I'm sure we all saw the front page story in The New York Times about the Metropolitan Opera orchestra and James Levine -- about how some of the musicians think Levine can't cut it any more.

In reaction, two prominent New York critics defended Levine. But in the flurry -- "He conducts as well as he ever did!" "He's lost it!" -- that naturally followed the Times piece, I think we lost one crucial part of what's going on. Even if the complaining musicians aren't right, the mere fact that they're complaining -- and, above all, that they were willing to complain to the Times -- poses a major problem for the Met.

Can we imagine what the mood was in the orchestra, after the story came out? The story appeared on a Saturday. The orchestra played not one, but two performances that day. The musicians who criticized Levine spoke anonymously, of course. So when the orchestra assembled to play the matinee, did the musicians all look at each other, wondering who had spoken? And was the process repeated when the musicians (not quite the same ones, either, because the Met has more than a standard-size orchestra, so the players can rotate) gathered again in the evening?

And what happened when the orchestra first played for Levine, after the story appeared? Did he look down the ranks of violins, wondering who'd ratted on him? The story, remember, was on the front page of the Times. That's a major event. The Met, with deficits, with Joseph Volpe leaving, with declining ticket sales, with no clear artistic vision -- it doesn't need this new problem, revealed to the world in the most public way possible.

My take, for what it's worth: Levine doesn't conduct at the Met with the energy or focus that he used to have. But there could be many reasons for that, apart from any problem with Levine's health, including boredom (on the musicians' or Levine's part, or both), or the simple, natural falloff that sometimes follows a peak.

But I wouldn't dismiss the musicians' view as quickly as some critics did. Yes, musicians can't always judge the effect of their performances. But if they think something's wrong with a conductor, there usually is. I remember, years ago, when Lukas Foss was music director of the Brooklyn Philharmonic (then called the Brooklyn Philharmonia). Musicians complained about him, saying he didn't have a clear beat. I thought his performances were wonderfully musicial, but I could also see, and hear, what the musicians didn't like; the performances, no matter how much I liked them, were certainly sloppy.

Or think of the New York Philharmonic. I'm hardly alone in finding Lorin Maazel cold. Yet the musicians love him, because of his conducting technique. Are they wrong? Not factually -- anyone can hear that they play better, with more clarity and precision, than they have in many years.

One final warning, though: We shouldn't jump to conclusions. Levine conducted members of the Met orchestra last month at a ceremony honoring Carnegie Hall's late executive director, Robert Harth. He seemed very frail. Tongues wagged. But when I mentioned this to someone who works at the Met, I heard in response, "But I've seen him bound away from rehearsals and performances with the energy of a 17 year-old!"

(I saw Götterdämmerung at the Met on May 1, with Levine conducting; the first act was pretty messy, and none too powerful. Siegfried's entrance in the Gibichung scene, with the motif of the curse screaming from the orchestra, ought to sound crushing; instead it fell flat. But this was the orchestra's second performance that day, after a matinee of Rusalka, so who knows what the problem was? The second and third acts were much stronger; the second act, in fact, was quite hot. One telling moment: Brünnhilde's line "Er zwang mir Lust und Liebe ab" in the second act, sung freely by the singer with the first and second violins doubling her melody in thirds. With hairtrigger accuracy, Levine kept the violins exactly with the singer, something he couldn't have done if his beat had sagged or gotten invisible just then.

(I compared parts of the performance to the Met's DVD, recorded with Levine in the mid-80s. One section that fell flat on May 1, the Hagen-Alberich scene at the start of Act 2, was much more powerful on the DVD. But then the Alberich was much better. I found the Immolation Scene a little wan on May 1, but it seemed that way on the DVD, too. I think it's because Levine -- correctly, if you ask me -- hears that scene as the coda of the opera, or maybe of the entire Ring, and not as a separate structure with its own momentum. But maybe he takes that view too far. One astonishing, impressive fact: The tempi, in every place I compared them, seemed exactly the same in both performances. Again that might be evidence that Levine is in control.

(And this brings out something familiar but curious, about perception and memory. Neither are always reliable. Some people thought Levine had speeded up, that he'd lost the famous spaciousness he's brought to Wagner in the past. But, as I've said, the tempi seemed exactly the same.)

Out of the blue, unsolicited, from Matthew Burns in Los Angeles, came this marvelous comment on the LA Philharmonic's performance of music from the videogame Final Fantasy. I hope everybody takes it seriously, and reads to the end, for Matthew's answers to a couple of questions I asked him:

 So how many standing ovations do you think a modern - as in still living - composer of orchestral music could get in one night? The answer, as I saw it the other evening at the first live concert of video game music in the United States, is upwards of five, because after that I lost track. And while this might have been a wonderful bridge between generations, a pseudo-classical concert for the kids, I'm also worried that the musical establishment will, in response, just get angrier and more elitist.

I've never been to a symphony concert so giddy with palpable, almost insane excitement. Nobody's parents were in sight, the participants were young and willing, and the adolescent spirit of the whole event came complete with a premature ejaculation of cheering and applause the instant the first song started. Being there (I am a fan, myself), being part of the crowd who jumped to their feet and hollered their appreciation and who took multitudes of photos, even though photography was forbidden, I suddenly thought of the refrain - "why can't we get kids into the concert halls?" And that question was silly, meaningless, because here they were, in their Korn t-shirts and their yellow sneakers, filling the place (tickets sold out in 72 hours), experiencing an orchestra that honestly looked bewildered, maybe even envious, at the response their performance received.

 

Conductor Miguel Harth-Bedoya did an admirable job, giving into a performance of music from a video game series (video games!) more energy than I assumed he would, and, speaking to the crowd, said he hoped that the attendees of this concert would return to see the LA Philharmonic again sometime soon. And of course they will, provided that the music is relevant to them. My friends are already discussing what video game music they'd like to hear performed next - yes, I hear you groaning.

 

And to the LA Philharmonic, if any of you are reading this: I'm sorry you didn't much like the music you were playing. It showed. But whatever you may think of it, I don't want to hear any more hand-wringing over how to communicate through the generation gap. There's a clear way, and it entails a certain swallowing of pride, just as when you speak to any adolescent. Haven't you ever wished your parents would loosen up a little? And did you see - did you really see how eager those kids were to be there?

When I got this, I replied with many thanks, and much appreciation. I also asked Matthew two questions. What did he think of the LA Philharmonic flutist who was quoted in a press report, saying she didn't like the music? And would he go to a normal LA Philharmonic concert?

Here are his answers:

For the flutist. Well, my honest opinion of this music is that no, they aren't staggering works of genius. She probably has much more musical training than I do, and her point is well taken. But she's never played the games they come from, either. And I would like to tell her about a guy at work I know named Nathan (I work at a video game company).

 

Nathan has never graduated high school. For a while, he lived in a car.

Nathan's musical diet, as you might expect, tends towards metal, maybe some hip hop, I don't even know. But the music of Final Fantasy brought us together, and our talking over the month and years eventually led to his purchasing Carmina Burana, in search of the source of the sound he'd heard previously only in quoted form.

 

Soon afterwards, I lent him a recording of Mahler's 5th Symphony. Did he become an instant convert and renounce his barbaric ways? Of course he didn't, but his musical boundaries were expanded in a way they wouldn't have been otherwise. So it was he who really convinced me to go to last night's event.

 

I would certainly like to go to see the LA Phil (or any classical concert), but I already had a vague desire to do so beforehand. The usual things stopped me: time, money. But the other problem is that if you are a person of my age (23) who is not in academia, and you want to go to a concert of Tchaikovsky or whoever, you can be certain that you are going alone. Even if I somehow convinced, coerced, or blackmailed a couple friends to attend, we would be an island unto ourselves inside the hall. And that's where the impulse to buy tickets completely dies.

I listen at home.

 

The Final Fantasy concert, on the other hand, felt in an odd way like home. We all cheered because we all recognized the part where so-and-so sacrifices her life. The actual plot point, and the actual music, doesn't really matter. What mattered was that 2,000 people got together and simultaneously remembered an emotional point in a certain video game, with the music helping them along. And the experience was shared so strongly by the audience that the enthusiasm resonated and reinforced itself, and they became wild. It was crass and commercial and genuine, all at once.

 

Symphony orchestras should absolutely do more concerts of this nature, if they can deign to accept them. I hope they can, and learn to have some fun with them at the same time. It's video games, after all.

There's a lot to think about here.

Note the following, from a Pittsburgh Post-Gazette story by Andrew Druckenbrod, about the Pittsburgh Symphony and its new head, Larry Tamburri:

Publicly, the new CEO of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra is a laconic leader. Privately, however, he has spent his first four months on the job in nonstop conversations within and without the organization.

"Meeting the community has been very important because the Symphony is a community institution," Larry Tamburri said. "I have been out in the arts, business, political and religious communities to see what sort of relationships the Symphony has, where things need to be done, what people think of the Symphony."

He also has instituted community partnership concerts, such as one June 18 at Heinz Hall with the PSO and singer Roberta Flack that will benefit 31 local nonprofits. "It is important for the community to know that we care about it and we are giving back," he said. "It also puts us in front of a new audience, which is important to the Symphony."

Similarly, brown bag lunches have resulted in good communication between the musicians and management. "The orchestra is not shy about telling me their opinions, and I find it really useful to hear what is going on in their minds, and it is good for them to hear what I am thinking."

Tomorrow, Tamburri will step out and meet subscribers and donors at 5:30 p.m. at Heinz Hall "for a discussion of his vision for the orchestra's future," says the invitation.

Does this sound routine? It isn't. Orchestras haven't, up to now, functioned as community institutions, and orchestra managements haven't talked much with musicians or ticket-buyers.

But there are signs that all this is changing. Rapprochement with musicians has been a high priority for the past few years, and now there's a lot of talk about bringing musicians into administrative, financial, and even artistic management. The community, too, is becoming a priority, and so are relations with the audience. Larry's comments here, in other words, give us one small sign of some places that orchestras might be going.

[Disclaimer: As many readers know, I do projects with the Pittsburgh Symphony, most notably a three-concert series aimed at that elusive new audience, which I help to conceive and program, and then host. I'm also friendly with Larry. My comments here, though, have very little connection with either of these relationships. During my last trip to Pittsburgh, I read Andy's interview in the paper, just as anyone else might, and then connected the dots between what Larry is quoted as saying, and things I've heard many people in the orchestra world talk about.]

Can't quite believe that it's been a month since I blogged, but…my schedule, like Crazy Eddie's prices (for those who remember those long-ago, screaming TV ads), has been totally insane. And it's all blog-related, all involved with projects that touch on the future of classical music, including my Pittsburgh concert series (for that elusive new classical audience), the Concert Companion (program notes that describe orchestra music in real-time, as the music changes), my Juilliard course (about the future of classical music), and, almost back to back, private conferences about orchestras and professional music education.

All of which leaves me much to think about. I get the feeling that the pace of change has picked up -- that classical music is, in the next few years, going to change faster than most of us expect. I'll have to be discreet about some things I've picked up on, but I'll quote one provocative statement from an associate dean at one of the major music schools, who, at a meeting I attended, said, "Classical music right now is like East Germany just before the Wall came down."

Without context, without further explanation, I'm sure that sounds a little too sensational. But the speaker isn't someone anyone would tag as a flaming radical, and what he said isn't atypical of what I've been hearing from many people, some of whom might not talk publicly the way they talk in private. We might be in for some surprises.

Last night (Saturday) I went to hear Götterdämmerung at the Met. When Levine came out to conduct, the crowd gave him the largest, warmest ovation I think I've ever heard for a conductor at the start of an opera. Now, maybe they were so friendly because it was the last night of the season, or because it was the last night of the last Ring cycle (certainly many people there were hearing all four operas, and for them Levine's appearance at the start wasn't the beginning of something new, but the continuation of something wonderful).

But I'd guess the loyal Met audience was also reacting to the Times story of a week before, about how some (many?) of the musicians in the orchestra didn't think Levine could cut it any more. Encouraged, perhaps, by critics in both Newsday and the Times, who'd contradicted the musicians and said that Levine is still brilliant, the audience might have been giving Levine its own support. "Yo, Jimmy! We still love you!" For which I'd hardly blame them, if that's how they feel.

But clearly something pretty intense is going on, inside that orchestra. The musicians who talked to the Times, anonymously, must have felt very strongly that something was wrong. Why else would they talk to the press? Orchestral musicians almost never do that. So it's fine to say, as some people have, that musicians can't always tell how good (or bad) a performance is. But you still have to explain why those musicians cared so much about what they see as Levine's deterioration. What made them go to the press? (Or, at least, speak to the reporter when she approached them.)

The simplest theory is that things are, in fact, really bad, that Levine -- some of the time, anyway -- isn't giving the orchestra a clear enough beat. Musicians aren't often wrong when they say that, especially if they're talking about how a conductor's beat has changed. It's a fairly objective thing; either a beat is clear or it isn't. And while of course we hear about conductors like, famously, Furtwangler (though I think Koussevitsky was worse) whose beat was indecipherable, and even so their orchestras stayed together, in those cases the orchestras played with those conductors a lot, and there's no record (or at least none I've ever seen) that the musicians had varying views. You don't find members of the long-ago Berlin Philharmonic saying, "Everybody's wrong! Furtwangler's beat really WAS clear!"

And of course it's true that orchestral musicians can't always judge the overall effect of performances they give, though they're not going to be wrong about tehcnical matters. Musicians won't often debate whether they were in tune, or whether their rhythm was accurate. "We played those triplets exactly together!" "No, we didn't!" That's not a dispute you're likely to hear, at least from musicians in a top-class orchestra.

So what musicians might not judge right -- or at least not judge the same as some sophisticated listeners -- is the feeling in their performance. The musicians in the New York Philharmonic love playing for Lorin Maazel; many people in the audience find the performances cold. But even then, even if you're one of the people left cold, you can hear what the musicians love. By any musicianly measure -- intonation, balance, ensemble, tone quality -- the Philharmonic has never sounded better. So when musicians and sophisticated listeners disagree about a performance, neither side is wrong. They're just hearing different things. I used to like Lukas Foss, when he conducted the Brooklyn Philharmonic. The musicians complained about him, said he wasn't clear or precise. And I could hear that -- but I thought the performances, sloppy as they could be, were musical.