Catching up

Well, it's been a whirlwind.

Frequent readers - and my thanks to all of you - will have noticed that I haven't been posting much. Ever since January, my life has been a mashup. I've been back and forth between New York and Rochester, teaching at Juilliard and Eastman. I've been spending time in Washington, DC, with my wife Anne Midgette, who's been doing spectacular work as classical music critic with the Washington
Post
.

I've been working with the Pittsburgh Chamber Music Society, helping to get their audience talking to them. (I'll be there next on March 31, for a concert by the Shanghai Quartet.) Anne and I traveled together to Seattle, for a summit (as they called it) on the future of classical music. I gave a keynote address, Anne spoke on a critics' panel, and gave closing remarks. Later we went to New Haven, to spend hours with a class on (roughly speaking) the music business, taught by the Dean of the Yale School of Music, Robert Blocker.

Music schools, in fact, have loomed large in my life. I've met with the heads of two of them (not places I teach), during the past couple of months, and on Monday will be meeting with a third. No names at this point, but I'm glad that I'm consulted.

And then I've been composing. And working on my book! Yes, the book on the future of classical music that for quite a while I was improvising in biweekly installments, right here on the ArtsJournal site. Now the final version is under way, and as soon as I have something to show, it's going up on the site as well. Or at least the beginning of it will. Then we'll see what the best way is to unfold the entire project. Eventually I'll publish a physical book, but I'm looking for ways to unfold at least a draft of the text, chapter by chapter online. I might ask people to pay what they like for each chapter, following Radiohead's pricing plan for downloads of their last album. (Comments? Does that sound like a reasonable idea?)

But enough generalities. As I read what I just wrote, I see I haven't quite communicated how mashed-up it all was. I revamped my course, finding new readings, new questions to discuss in class. That took far longer than I expected, but was more than worthwhile. I'll leave all that, though, and - in following posts - talk more about exactly what I've done.

March 13, 2008 12:00 PM | | Comments (2)

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2 Comments

Call me old-fashioned, but I like having hard-copy books that I can pick up, throw in my suitcase, and sit down with. I hope you publish this book 'properly' as well as online; I'll certainly buy a copy.

Rob, I don't think you're old-fashioned, and I should have said that there will be published copies, physical books. In fact, the online future of the book has to be part of a strategy for launching the hardcopy version, and that'll have to be discussed with whoever the publisher turns out to be. But don't be concerned -- there will be a physical book. I'm going to change the post to emphasize that.

I have been following this blog as a classical music lover. Now I would like to comment as a former academic specializing in popular culture. This blog argues that since popular culture is the ruling culture of today, with classical music barely surviving on the margins, we need to find a way to understand the great majority of people out in the real world; we need to find out what they want, maybe incorporate some elements of it in classical concerts, and thus hope to survive. In other words, change will take place from the bottom up - the masses demand popular music, so marginal minority of the classical elitists will have to swallow their purist pride and meet them.

This is a democratic view - majority dictates the outcome. However, history does not support it. Popular culture exists always, and it is by definition the culture of the majority, usually ignored and/or despised by the elites. But it is the elites who have the money and the prestige to bring about change. So whenever popular culture takes over the elite culture, it is usually the result of the elite changing orientation, not the masses exercising any influence. I can give an example of Indian Buddhism that started as an image-free religion that concentrated on the need of personal achievement, and later transformed to an image-rich religion that shifted to image worship. Various scholars believed that image worship was brought about by the masses' need to have an easier and more accessible religion. But it's been convincingly shown that masses had nothing to do with it; at some point rich monks decided to build images and commissioned sculptures for their monasteries (not for the people), and became the agents of profound change that took place in Buddhism. The change was from the top down - rich religious functionaries adopted and legitimized new religious form. Ultimately, availability of patronage and prestige is what allows a major shift in culture. Peter Brown writes extensively about various Western examples of the shift to "popular" being brought about by the elites themselves.

The relevance of this example for classical music is obvious. When university professors and influential critics make statements that equate popular musicians with the greatest classical composers, they in fact create the prestige necessary for a cultural shift. When American president publishes the playlist of his iPod, and it contains only popular music, it further marginalizes classical music. What follows is that to bring about change, the emphasis needs to be on identifying the influential people in whose power it is to provide exposure and confer prestige. One such person is Oprah who made Anna Karenina into a best-seller, even though she had not actually read the book herself. Important to note, the book was published in its original form, the only acknowledgement of the unusual book release was Oprah's name on the cover.

This blog concerns itself with immediate fix to the problem, and this fix requires classical music to redefine itself. Financially successful collaborations of classics and indie rock are cited as a viable solution to the problem. Packing a lot of young people into a hall maybe commercially and personally gratifying, but it will not achieve a long-term cultural shift. Powerful and influential patrons are needed for that, if we are to learn from history.

AR, thanks for this. I disagree with you about a few things, starting with your summary of what you think I'm saying. I'm not at all concerned with the masses or mass taste, and I don't have any notion that classical music people have to get involved with mass taste. My whole point was that there's popular culture that's not any kind of mass taste at all, and that the smart, educated, artistic people who in former generations would have been oriented toward classical music are now oriented elsewhere. And that classical music now seems pretty dumb to them, because it's not as complex or contemporary as the culture they deal with every day.

But beyond that, I'd cite three points.

First: popular culture is no longer necessarily popular. It's greatly varied, and much of it isn't popular at all. (Or, more precisely, there's a spectrum from mass popularity at one end to near-total obscurity at the other, all of it within the umbrella of what's misleadingly called "popular culture." One obvious example -- the films up for the big Oscars this year, which (as was so often said after the telecast) weren't popular films. Which hurt the telecast's ratings. Another well-known example: Captain Beefheart, a rock icon for 40 years, but who never was popular, and never will be.

Second: I think you miss the dialectic between the elite embrace of something new, and the non-elite ferment that leads up to that embrace. Take Christianity, which certainly was established when whichever Roman emperor it was made the religion mandatory. But that never would have happened without centuries of underground Christianity. Similarly, I'm sure you remember the dispute between Clinton and Obama about Lyndon Johnson and Martin Luther King. Who gets credit for the civil rights legislation of the '6os? Well, obviously King wasn't in any position to get it passed. It took politicians to do that. But equally obviously LBJ would never have been supporting civil rights bills if there hadn't been a movement that changed both the political consciousness of the nation, and the political necessities in Washington.

Another example, very familiar to anyone who knows the history of pop music in the rock era. Almost every new style, starting with rock & roll itself, started spontaneously, far from the radar of the elites. Often the elites in the music business mocked the new styles, only to be forced to jump on board later on. In the late '60s, the elite record companies had to hire new staff people, because none of their established elite employees understood the new music of the time, the music we now call '60s rock. Same thing happened at the end of the '80s, though on a smaller scale, with alternative rock.

Third: I think you may underestimate my own standing in the classical music elite. I realize -- especially as I read that sentence over -- that this may sound like bald-faced arrogance, but at the very least, I know I have the ear of many people in the elite, because I know who I talk and e-mail with every day. Nor is it only me. Alex Ross, who takes positions very like mine on so many of these issues, is also someone I'd define as a member of the classical music elite, or at least as someone whom the elite pays attention to. A few years ago, he published a stunning piece on the future of classical music, and it was circulated widely inside major classical music institutions. Alex and I don't work in exactly the same way -- he has a far better public forum than I do, and I might have more private contacts. But I can guarantee that we're both reaching the elite you're talking about.

You won't find most of these "el;ite" people (I'm getting tired of the word) commenting on this blog, because they can't conduct these discussions publicly. But I think you might be surprised at how many classical music insiders, some in leading positions, are having discussions like those that take place here. My sense is that the elite -- speaking very broadly here -- is in the process of changing its mind about many things, and a tipping point might be closer than we think. Or else it's a few years away, and will be driven home by a generational shift that's already in motion. One thing that's certain, though, is that there's quite a large movement for change, and it's emerged in the past couple of years very visibly, as people give new kinds of concerts, sometimes with overwhelming success. The elite, I can promise you, is starting to take notice.

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Resources

Age of the audience 
Conventional wisdom: the classical music audience has always been the age it is now. Reality: It used to be younger -- dramatically younger, in fact. Here's some evidence -- primary sources (actual texts of old studies, links to NEA studies) -- plus two of my blog posts on this subject, and some anecdotal data.
more

earlier resources

Things I like

Back in the day 
Once upon a time, a generation ago or so, classical music was far closer to everyday life than it is now. We all know this, I'm sure. But it's good to be reminded. So here are four quick appearances of classical music in the popular culture of the past.

The Birds (the classic Hitchcock film, released in 1963): Tippi Hedren, the star, playing a woman in her 20s, visits a normal middle-class family, husband, wife, 11 year-old daughter. The family has a piano. Hedren sits down and plays Debussy's First Arabesque, which isn't identified, any more than her playing is remarked on in any way. Nobody says, "Oh, you play classical music." It's just taken or granted that she might.

Laura (the classic noir -- or, more accurately, semi-noir -- thriller, released in 1944): Vincent Price, playing a high-society type who appears to be in his early thirties (Price himself was 33 when the film was released), is a suspect in a murder case. Where was he, the detective asks, on the night of the murder? At a concert, he says. What music was played? Brahms's First and Beethoven's Ninth, he replies. And whether a concert program like that makes sense, or would have been heard back then, the fact that he's at a classical concert is simply taken for granted. There's nothing special about it. Of course he might have been there.

House Dick (a hard-boiled mystery thriller by E. Howard Hunt -- yes, the Watergate burglar, though that doesn't matter for my purposes here, and he turns out to be quite a sharp writer): The world-weary hotel detective, banged around by life, attracted to the wrong kind of women, has had a hard day. He goes home, and listens to Brahms on the radio. This is just a throwaway reference, nothing special about it, no need to explain why a tough ex-cop would listen to classical music. He just did it. The book was published in 1961.

And now my favorite, an extravagant interlude from Skylark Three, the second (despite the "three") in a trilogy of science fiction novels by E. E. "Doc" Smith, the greatest name in the great old tradition of "space opera," stories in which evil aliens plot destruction, planets explode, and the laws of physics are pretty much ignored. This book was serialized in Amazing Stories magazine in 1930.

For our purposes here, it doesn't matter why two married couples in their twenties are traveling through space, many times faster than the speed of light, saving the galaxy from a ghastly threat. Or why one of them plays a Strad. But here they are, entertaining themselves in a rare quiet moment:

"What say [says the hero, Richard Seaton] you girls get your fiddle and guitar and we'll sing us a little song? I feel good...it's the first time I've felt like singing since we cut that warship up."

Dorothy brought out her "fiddle" -- the magnificent Stradivarius, formerly Crane's, which he had given her, and they sang one rollicking number after another. Though by no means a Metropolitan Opera quartette, their voices were all better than mediocre, and they had sung together so much that they harmonized readily.

"Why don't you play us some real music, Dottie?" asked Margaret, after a time. "You haven't practiced for ages."

"Right. This quartette of ours ain't so hot," agreed Seaton. "If we had any audience except Shiro [their Japanese servant, an ethnic stereotype from a thankfully bygone age], they'd probably be throwing eggs by this time."

"I haven't felt like playing lately, but I do now," and Dorothy stood up and swept the bow over the strings. Doctor of Music in violin, an accomplished musician, playing upon one of the finest instruments the world has ever known, she was lifted out of herself by relief from the dread of the Fenachrone invasion and the splendid violin expressed every subtle nuance of her thought.

She played rhapsodies and paeans, and solos by the great masters. She played vivacious dances, then "Traumerei" and "Liebestraum." At last she swept into the immortal "Meditation" [this would be by Massenet, the "Meditation" from Thais], and as the last note died away Seaton held out his arms.

"You're a blinding flash and a deafening report, Dottie Dimple, and I love you," he declared -- and his eyes and his arms spoke volumes that his light utterance had left unsaid."
It's sweet that she plays light classics, which Doc Smith reveres as if they were the greatest masterworks. But note that these aren't culturally fancy people. Great scientists the men might be, and galaxy-spanning warriors, but as the dialogue shows, these are colloquial people (well, three of them are -- Seaton's buddy Crane is adorably stiff), in their behavior perfectly normal twentysomethings from their time. But classical music (which, if my memory is accurate, shows up just twice in the Skylark trilogy, is an easy part of their lives.
Dion on YouTube 
He's singing his first big hit in the balcony of a theater, with his group (aka two backup guys) the Belmonts. The song is gentle, and if you listen to the words, it's supposed to be sad. "Why must I be a teenager in love?" But Dion is cocky and confident, enjoying his easy triumph. So this -- in Milan Kundera's famous definition -- can't be kitsch. There's no subtext telling us that he knows he's being sad, because he's not being sad. But the song is honest. It's about something he might have felt before he was famous. And surely it catches the helpless longing all the girls listening to him felt, all the girls clapping dutifully, right on the beat (because we white people hadn't yet learned what a backbeat is).

Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles 
Smart, searing TV series. For instance: Cameron looks like a teenage girl, but really she's a killer robot from the future, reprogrammed to help people, rather than kill them. But she's still a killer. And though she tries to understand human beings, she can't grasp empathy. Someone finds a turtle on its back, and turns it over, so it can walk again. Why do that? Cameron asks. Later she attacks -- with unrelenting violence -- a friend of the people she's helping, because she thinks he's a liar. "Stop," she's told. She looks down at the man -- battered, groaning -- and with no expression turns him over.
 
Lucinda Williams, Little Honey 
Her most joyful album, but also her roughest -- very frayed, vocally, with edgiest band she's ever had. I don't know if I trust the joy (and I'm sad to say that), but she sounds like she's bitterly earned it.

Mantra for the arts 
From a New York Times Sunday piece on Wong Karwai, describing how he made his early film Ashes of Time:

"Mr. Wong was in a corner watching on a monitor. Every so often, in his measured way, he...called out to his cinematographer, Christopher Doyle, 'Is that all you can do?'

"Mr. Doyle, now a longtime collaborator of Mr. Wong's, said in a recent telephone interview that he heard that question as a constant challenge. 'It should be the mantra for all people in the arts.'"

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This page contains a single entry by Sandow published on March 13, 2008 12:00 PM.

Age of the audience was the previous entry in this blog.

Teaching is the next entry in this blog.

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