Archives for 2011

It was, in a way, very gratifying to turn up at the Red Poppy Art House in San Francisco’s Mission District on Friday night and have to listen to half of a performance while standing in the cold outside along with a bunch of other people not quite willing to accept the “sold out” sign and hoping that extra seats might open up after intermission. It’s not everyday that the management of a small arts venue hosting a chamber music concert has to deal with this problem. It’s a good problem to have.

The group that attracted such a scene was The Musical Art Quintet, a classically-trained string ensemble which plays original compositions written by group members ingrained with salsa, tango, jazz and klezmer influences. The Quintet is one among a growing number of chamber music outfits working to revitalize the genre by incorporating music from non-classical genres (e.g. The Turtle Island Quartet, The San Francisco Quartet, The Real Vocal Quartet etc.)

In some ways, the Musical Art Quintet didn’t give a jaw-dropping performance. The players’ technique was a bit slap-dash and the music didn’t seem particularly technically-demanding or original in its blend of different musical influences.

But there was so much feeling, love and life to the ensemble’s groove that I’m not surprised audiences flocked to the small arts space to hear them.

We were crammed in to the venue so tightly (when we did finally get inside, my friend Erika and I shared a stool at the back of the room which really tested the strength of our gluteal and calf muscles) that we could barely find room to stand up and clap. But stand up people did. Some of them even found space to dance. Imagine that — dancing to a string quintet!

This year, VoiceBox, the weekly public radio show that I host and produce for NPR-affiliate KALW about singing, has changed its production model from “live-to-tape” to “fully pre-produced.” The first show of the year, which airs tonight from 10-11pm (at www.kalw.org and via the dial at 91.7 FM), welcomes in the new system.

Listeners may perceive a shift in the feel of the show, though it might seem fairly subtle. Changes include more artful fades in and out of the musical excerpts, a higher number of audio samples, many of them shorter than before to maintain the balance between discussion and music, and far fewer verbal splutterings and guffs.

But the change probably means much more to me than it does to anyone outside the process.

There are so many advantages to working with my first-ever full-time producer — the thoughtful, musically-minded and technically-astute Seth Samuel. For one thing, it’s wonderful to have someone other than myself who’s invested in the project to bounce ideas off and share the production burden with. The end-product is far more professional, slick and marketable than before (meaning that I can start going after syndication opportunities and the like). Because I don’t feel so pressured to make the entire recording session fit to exactly 59 minutes in one take, I feel more relaxed (as do my in-studio guests, I believe) and can take the time to ask just the right question and chop and change ideas on the fly and even in post-production, which was not possible before.

Last night, for example, Seth and I recorded a program for January 14 which traced the development of the vocal melisma from the Baroque Period to the overwrought singing styles of contemporary pop stars like Mariah Carey, Christina Aguilera and Davod Archuleta. I realized only when I got to the station that I had chosen a Broadway recording of Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess when it would have made more sense to put in an opera version. (You’ll have to listen to the show next Friday to find out how Gershwin fits into this discussion.) In the old, live-to-tape days, I would have had to live with my mistake. But now, all I have to do is source a different version of the track and have Seth drop it into the mix in post-production. Easy peasy.

Still, there are things about the live-to-tape system that I miss. Gone is the thrill and adrenalin rush of having to pull off an hour of radio all in one, as-close-to-flawless-as-possible take. Also, the flow of the recording session used to be much smoother, shorter and in some ways more satisfying. Come hell or high water, the thing would be over in an hour (which always flew by) and my guests and I “lived” the recording session as if it were the live show, listening to the audio samples all the way through and treating the program as if it were going out on the airwaves then and there.

The closest analogy I can think of to illustrate the switch from the live to tape to fully pre-recorded model is that of an actor moving from doing a play at a theatre to working on a television program. The challenge for me, going forward, is to maintain the electric energy of a live show with the slickness of a carefully-honed product.

People are more precious about food and drink in the Bay Area than perhaps anywhere else in the country. The artisanal, locally-harvested, sustainably-grown approach to dining and drinking that was started by chefs like Alice Waters at Chez Panisse decades ago is now reaching a point where soup isn’t soup unless its ingredients have been culled by the light of the moon from hedgerows in Golden Gate Park and bar tenders are arguing about whether cocktail recipes should be copyrighted.

Have things gone too far? Should the making and serving of our daily sustenance be treated as an art form in the same way as, say, dance, drama and sculpture?

On the whole, I think, why not? After all, our senses of taste and smell are no less refined than our ability to see, hear and touch. And I’ve had culinary experiences in this part of the world that are on a par with my most memorable trips to theatres and museums.

On the other hand, a recent trip to a new coffee bar around the corner from my apartment made me question whether the artistry involved in preparing and serving the things we eat and drink might be reaching a level of pretension that’s way over the top.

At the new coffee place, which looked more like a swank cocktail lounge with its high, ornate ceilings, dark wood booths, mid-century modern armchairs and huge paintings swathed in contemporary splashings of color, I ordered a decaf Americano. It was the middle of the afternoon. The barista, who was dressed in a tidy black waistcoat (that’s vest to my American readers out there), a white shirt, bow-tie and smart black trousers (pants!), then proceeded to spend 10 minutes making my drink.

First, he found a small cylindrical steel cup and peered into it while turning it around slowly in his hands as if checking for grubs. Then he put the cup on a counter-top scale with old-fashioned brass parts that belied the modernity of the digital reader. He carefully measured out the right number of whole coffee beans (harvested from a large jar with a scoop), adding and removing beans a couple of times in order to reach the precise weight. Then he ground the beans, timing the action using his wrist watch. Then he messed about with a shiny coffee machine for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, pulling levers and fussing with dials. The machine made pleasing swooshing and gurgling noises. Eventually, he barista handed me a plain paper cup with dark brown liquid in it, and said, without smiling: “That’ll be $2.50 please.”

The beverage was fine, but not exceptional. I prefer the quality of the same drink at my regular morning hang, which takes the barista about 30 seconds to make and costs $1.75.

But if coffee-making can be viewed as a form of performance art, then I certainly got my money’s worth.

I finally got around to catching Darren Aronofsky’s film Black Swan at the flicks this past weekend. The movie falls in line with the long tradition of hard-bitten films about ballerinas starting with the 1948 classic The Red Shoes.

In Aronofsky’s film, which is entertaining to watch at times, cliches of the genre run amok, from bleeding toes to overpowering choreographers equipped with European accents and big libidos. Dancing oneself to death is beyond cliche at this point. 

Most ballet movies are scary when you think about it. I don’t think Aronofsky is doing anything new or unusual with his psychological thriller of an approach to classical dance.

I only wish the film had moved me more, though Natalie Portman acquits herself well in a demanding role.

As more arts journalists find themselves leading increasingly peripatetic lifestyles either by choice or necessity, ethical issues that have always existed in the journalism world become increasingly pronounced and thorny.

It’s one thing for major media organizations to forbid their employees from going on press junkets, receiving free tickets to arts events and accepting gifts etc. But these rules are quite a bit harder to maintain in an environment where media entities are laying off staffers and increasingly relying on freelancers, while at the same time not remunerating these writers satisfactorily let alone covering their expenses.

The issue is exacerbated even further in the current climate of the “journalist entrepreneur” — that is, a media person who decides to step out on his or her own and develop a new arts journalism project without the financial backing of any existing organization.

When a journalist starts to be a fundraiser as well as a reporter/commentator, things get tricky. The obvious individuals and organizations from which to solicit funds are those with a vested interest in what you’re doing. The perceived (and sometimes real) conflict of interests creates a complex knot that is at times debilitating to the growth of the entrepreneur-journalist’s project — not to mention his or her credibility as a professional member of the media.

So what are the solutions to this problem?

Obtaining funding from “neutral” grant-making bodies is the most obvious way to get “guilt-free” support. But grants are few and far between these days and large numbers of organizations are all fighting over the same small pot of money. Startups tend to fare worse in a poor grant-giing climate than established organizations with a strong track-record.

Transferring out of one journalistic beat into another beat that isn’t related to the entrepreneur-journalist’s new entrepreneurial project is another potential way of avoiding ethical quandaries. But why would you go and write about sports or agriculture if the basic reason why you’re starting the project in the first place is out of a love of cultural journalism? Doesn’t make sense.

Simply avoiding covering the work of individuals and organizations that give you money is a third possibility. But many art-makers would much rather maintain the opportunity of getting “free advertising” from a journalist who covers them in an established media outlet than pay to be a sponsor of a new arts media project which is starting out with a negligible audience. So it can be hard to convince like-minded organizations to get behind you. And if you do manage to get funding from some of them, your pool of potential stories diminishes. 

In short, it’s a can of worms.

If you have any good ideas for how to forge ahead as an entrepreneur in the field of cultural journalism, I would love to hear them. Please send your thoughts my way by commenting at the bottom of this blog post. I’d like to work towards assembling an “Ethics Toolkit” for the new decade of entrepreneur arts journos and your help in this regard would be much appreciated.

Plans to spend a week in New York experiencing, among other things, “Three Pianos” at New York Theatre Workshop, “Fanciulla del West” with Deborah Voigt and Julie Taymor’s “Magic Flute” at the Met, and a New York Phil concert featuring Alan Gilbert and soloists from the orchestra, were dashed on Christmas Day when inclement weather (ie blizzards) interfered with travel eastwards.

Rather than wait two days to try to make it to New York (including being rerouted via Miami on a red-eye — urk) I decided to cancel the trip. Instead of rushing around seeing things in a busy city, which is what I do on a daily basis, I spent the week sequestered in the California countryside and mountains. Turns out that this is just what I needed in order to recharge the batteries for the new year. The break also gave me a chance to reflect on what I need to do as an arts journalist in 2011.

A brief summary of my professional resolutions:

1. I need to develop a thicker skin.

2. I need to be more targeted about what arts events I experience.

3. Even in the difficult economy, I mustn’t sell myself short.

4. I need to continue to diversify — but not too much.

5. I need to find a more effective way of balancing journalism with entrepreneurism.