This is not so much a reaction so much as it is a reflection on what Nicholas Cook said in Chapter 7 of Music: A Very Short Introduction. The line I'm referring to is:
"An even more basic example of how education institutions construct and naturalize musical culture is provided by what is sometimes revealingly termed 'ear training', a kind of conditioning that takes place at an early stage of conservatory or university education..."
After reading this I had to stop and think. It's been a good 6 years since I sat in an ear training class, but what I remember is very clear. I had 4 semesters of ear-training instruction plus an extra semester of Atonal Solfege. Atonal Solfege sounds horrible, but it was really one of the most practical classes I ever took. The 4 semesters of basic ear-training were a mixed batch. At Berklee I never had a class smaller than 25 students. Ear-Training was one of those things that weeded people out - separated those who were going to succeed from those who were going to inevitably drop out by the end of their first year. (in 2006 65% of students dropped out after their first year). No one ever took ear training seriously. It was a joke to a majority of the student body, and to some degree, still is. Students would blow it off and grind the day before to memorize all the material in hopes that they could pass with a C or B.
Very few of my classmates ever wanted to practice ear training with me cause they were embarrassed. Pop culture today seems to imply a certain sense of shame when singing. If you couldn't sing well then you couldn't pass the test. Singing the notes was always the hardest part and the most essential. The cleanness of the pitch was secondary to the actual pitch. This detail, more than any, caused so many people to drop out or quit. I can't begin to tell you all the friends I made who just didn't came back the next semester never to be heard from again. Even those that finished and graduated will all say that of all the classes they had ear-training was the 'worst'.
Even more so were the ones who openly questioned it's importance. Just today I had a Berklee student who was complaining to me that ear-training was useless and impractical in today's 'scene'. She seemed to feel that music wasn't something you heard any more, but something you felt. It was the idea of knowing what the pitches were that was throwing her off. "What does it matter what a perfect 4th of minor 2nd sound like?", she asked. "All that matters is that whatever you decide to sing you sing it well." I can leave that statement as it is and open for discussion. She did happen to believe that music theory was important though, but only the first semester.
There is a point here, though, not about ear training, but about this pioneering spirit I referenced last week. Whether it's ear training and sight singing, a horrible ensemble or a new job where the only music training we get is the whistling between the copy machine and the cubicle, it's all towards this one purpose. We have to take all this training, and even some of the non-essential bullshit, and make the best of it. There is something to be learned from making 200 copies a day at the copy machine just as much as there is from playing in a horrible group or singing ascending and descending minor 6ths and 7ths. Sometimes there doesn't seem to be a point and sometimes is seems to be just a thing we have to do to get by. There is always a point and it is never a thing we just have to do to get by. Everything we do to better ourselves is a step in the right direction. The moment you begin to delve into the futility of something you need to do is the moment you've taken a step in the wrong direction. We can't continue to make the mistakes the ones before us made, but we can learn from them. The first step is to take what we do with more than a 'grain of salt': more like a packet of salt.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Study Questions for Hewett, "Music: Healing the Rift"
Introduction
2. Why is the term “world music” a misnomer?
3. What does Hewett see as a reason for the “unhealthily hermetic character” of modern music?
4. Why does Hewett see as ironic the attempt by modernists like Boulez to rebuild the musical realm?
Chapter 1 Depths and Shallows
2. When music began to be transported from one location to another, what new formal aspect was created?
3. As the Age of Sentiment shifted criteria from taste to sincerity, how were musical forms affected? The notion of “pretty”?
4. What was lost as certain features of music became highlighted for particular attention?
5. What ironies are suggested when Couperin is accepted into the canon while Liszt in not?
6. Is all folk music admired?
7. What is the artistic response to a middle class that does not want to be highbrow all the time?
8. “In traditional societies, music cannot be a matter of personal choice.” Why?
9. Enumerate other ways in which our Western conception of music differs from that of traditional societies.
Chapter 2 Words, Words, Words
2. As music evolved from a public to a private endeavor, what changes did it undergo? Conversely, what changes emerged in the public music experience?
3. Characterize Stravinsky’s and Schoenberg’s opposing concepts of music’s content. Which 19th-century figures would agree with one or the other of the two composers?
4. How did composers and promoters respond to music’s becoming, increasingly, the province of professionals?
5. How did 19th-century musical trends develop in the 20th century?
Chapter 3 Things Fall Apart
2. In addition to a gloomy Viennese mainstream, suggest a second vein in which modern music developed in the 1920’s.
3. Before Western music embraces a novelty, it customarily neutralizes it. Which musical cultures was Western music able to embrace readily? Which cultures, conversely, proved problematic? For what reasons?
4. As we read in Levine, “mass culture” poses problems for modern music. How was jazz regarded, positively and negatively, in the first decades of the 20th century?
5. Hewett suggests an underlying cultural agenda behind Schoenberg’s 12-tone system. What is it? Why is his point curiously valid?
6. What qualities in Balkan folk music allowed Bartók to constitute his later compositions in a wholly different light?
7. In retrospect, what salient characteristic dominates the music of the 20th century’s giants?
Chapter 4 Multiplicities
2. How did mid-century composers respond to the absence of a simple, agreed-upon ordering of music?
3. How do middle-class audiences frequently respond to compositions that lack melody, harmony, tempo, or form?
4. What is the ironic result of the cult of “pure” music?
5. How do composers like Carter and Ligeti manage, in some regard, to make their music a collective experience?
6. How is Boulez’s highly mathematical system problematic in a way that Schoenberg’s is not?
7. How does one best describe the institutional unity shared by the highly personal constructions of modern composers? How does this differ from 19th-century Vienna, for example?
8. What danger do we court in our neutrality?
Chapter 5 Text, Body, Machines Depths and Shallows
2. In the first half of the 19th century, sincerity and simplicity were acceptable modes of musical discourse. What spectre arose in the second half of the century? With what unfortunate and enduring results?
3. What key elements of classical music composition does electronic music eliminate? What “metaphysical duality” is lost as a result?
4. How does a score differ from a blueprint?
5. In their attitudes towards the score, how do contemporary composers and performers differ from their counterparts who worked before the end of the 18th century?
6. The increased fetishization of the score has what result on performance?
7. What expressive need does the violence of modern music serve? What is its opposite?
8. Why did most mid-20th-century composers ultimately abandon attempts at styles of notation that gave performers more choice?
9. In what respects are the solutions of John Cage, Luciano Berio, and others, problematic?
10. How have some composers attempted to reconfigure the relationship between text, performance, and audience? With what result?
Chapter 6 Authenticities
2. In what respects have the paradigms of modern music changed in the past 30 years? What are some characteristics of the recently new plurality?
3. Since so few specifics characterize the bulk of modern music, is it sufficient for it merely to aspire to seriousness?
4. What traps make authenticity a slippery criterion?
5. What contradictions inhere in discussions of the authenticity of world music? Jazz? Baroque and classic repertoire?
6. When composers scrupulously avoid expressivity, what ironic result ensues?
7. When obliquity becomes a composer’s goal, what dangers lurk?
Chapter 7 Expression Makes a Comeback
2. At the start of the modern era, when tonality was seen to be not a law of nature but a convention, what changes occurred in its status within a composer’s available choices? With what results?
3. How does Hewett characterize sentimentality? How does minimalism avoid genuine sentimentality?
4. Hewett describes the music of several American composers. Which are you moved to investigate? Why?
5. How does Hewett distinguish between discourse and gesture?
6. What lay behind the 19th-century dream of a music without conventions? As modernism strove to realize that dream, what new conventions did it create?
7. What characterizes modernism’s fraught relationship with the past?
Chapter 8 The New Naivety
1. In modernism’s continuing dialogue with the past, what form of memory produces a deep discomfort?2. What other processes tinge the “desire to re-enter a lost paradise” that characterizes the new tonality?
3. Repeated patterns, and references to tonality, make possible un-classical classical composers. For all that they reject, what do they still desire?
4. What function did the “web of allusion” serve during the period of common practice?
5. What does Hewett see as the result of a musical discourse consisting solely of evocations?
6. How have the sampler and the fader affected modern music?
Chapter 9 Rediscovering Music
2. When music loses its social function and becomes an autonomous realm, how do performers and listeners then participate?
3. How is modern music faring in its strenuous efforts to maintain the integrity of its realm and not be taken over by expressivity, evocation, words, and images?
4. Discuss the two parodic inversions that music has undergone in the past decade?
5. What is the unspoken assumption of their music that composers fail to question? Why is this dangerous?
6. Why does Hewett feel that Western classical music offers the last best hope for the future of music? How do you evaluate his reasons for denying comparable status to one or another of the rival claimants for musical “depth”.
7. How is Hewett able to state that classical music is both historical and contemporary?
8. Within the concept that music only serves us well when we submit to it, what advantages does classical music hold over other musical practices?
9. What results will ensue if and when we are able to make musical culture active again rather than passive?
10. What advantages are there to being musically bilingual? Why does Hewett embrace this condition?
11. Hewett invokes Leonardo and Jung to suggest an essential component that is missing from our contemporary experience of music. What is that component? How are we to compensate for its lack?
Experiential Western Music
I have been struck recently by the experiential factors of Western classical music, and it’s ability to transcend boundaries of race, gender, and age among others. In many ways, Western classical music, while a product of European creation, really is an amorphous conglomerate of musical sounds that are taken from many traditions. Factors such as early modality, quarter tones, and even certain intervals that are hallmarks of other styles, have frequently been adopted by classical music. Many have called Western classical music elitist, and stuffy, but in reality, as an artform today, it makes use of traditions borrowed from many parts of the world, and is quickly becoming a music of unity and collaboration. At one time these negative labels were correct in their descriptions of classical music. However, I am noticing a change in that mentality as we become more open-minded as artists.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the traditional music of scattered people groups. The music of an indigenous people is very specific to the people it comes from. They have a special connection to the music, its sounds, and its rhythms. I enjoy listening to the musics of other peoples, but sadly I will never experience it the same way they do. I do not share the shared cultural knowledge of that people, and simply cannot receive the same meaning out of the music as they do. I am left to force my own cultural knowledge into the performance of their music, but in the process I am really doing a disservice to it. By not being able to experience the music as intended, I almost feel an unwelcome listener to foreign sounds that are seemingly greater than me. I have to imagine that this is how one of these indigenous peoples would feel of my classical music. They don’t share the connection with it that I do.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the traditional music of scattered people groups. The music of an indigenous people is very specific to the people it comes from. They have a special connection to the music, its sounds, and its rhythms. I enjoy listening to the musics of other peoples, but sadly I will never experience it the same way they do. I do not share the shared cultural knowledge of that people, and simply cannot receive the same meaning out of the music as they do. I am left to force my own cultural knowledge into the performance of their music, but in the process I am really doing a disservice to it. By not being able to experience the music as intended, I almost feel an unwelcome listener to foreign sounds that are seemingly greater than me. I have to imagine that this is how one of these indigenous peoples would feel of my classical music. They don’t share the connection with it that I do.
Before I continue, let me make it clear that I am not elevating any musical genre, or specific world music, above the other. I believe that regardless of the genre or locale, every music is important.
Yet, in recent history I believe we have seen an expansion of Western classical music to incorporate the sounds of other musical cultures. In a sense, we have syncretized our own musical palates and made our craft more accessible to others. I would certainly hope that this trend continues into the future as we aim to promote the life of our art in society. Especially in the melting pot we call America, we are almost required to do this. It is a reflection of the tides of our societal norms.
In light of all the apparent syncretism in Western classical music, we have witnessed the artform’s ability to transcend boundaries. All over the world, in many different ethnic groups, Western classical music has taken hold and become a commodity. Think of Japan where the musical culture has been recently enamored with the music of Bach. In terms of cultural identity and history, they have no tangible connection to each other. Yet, they earnestly study his music. In an earlier post I mentioned my skepticism in regards to music’s transcendental properties. I am obliged to point out that my concern from that article is not refuted by my arguments here. In that post, I was voicing concern about Bono’s attempt to bridge political divides caused by war. What I am arguing here is that Western classical music is approachable by other people groups, and therefore can transcend the societal divides it faces. In my opinion it is often more approachable than unfamiliar indigenous music is to us.
I have already alluded to the idea of music as experiential. I would like to cite a very specific experience in my own life, where the ideas I have mentioned thus far were presented in a tangible way. This was a time when Western classical music was shared with people of another musical culture to great effect.
In the middle of my junior year, I was fortunate enough to participate in a brief study-abroad trip. Not only was this to be a study-abroad course (I was taking a world music credit), but members of my college choir attended and an international choir tour was conjoined to the trip. Our destination was Israel. In addition to the readings and assignments for class credit, we rehearsed and prepared a full repertoire to perform overseas. In addition to the life-changing trip, we performed in amazing, yet humble, venues. From an impromptu song in a Roman amphitheater, to singing with and for Palestinians in the West Bank, we shared our music with people of every walk of life and religion imaginable. Granted, Israel is an advanced nation to whom classical music is not foreign. Despite this, the peoples of that country have their own, very unique, musical idioms that are distinctly different from classical music. We performed for enthusiastic audiences who enjoyed our music, and despite any cultural dissimilarity, enjoyed what they heard.
What struck me, in a musical sense, was the unity music provided during this time. Despite the vast cultural divide between me and a Palestinian citizen, for two hours we were connected through music. It did not matter that I was Christian, and they might be Muslim, we shared the experience of music. There was no hint of the stuffiness people attribute to Western classical music during this time. I believe that that stuffiness is slowing ebbing away in our artform. We are learning and changing the perceptions that surround classical music. This is a good thing and isn’t a choice. This we must do if we want our music to continue to flourish.
For a fun anecdote, as a composer, this trip was also inspiring in a compositional sense. Upon returning I wrote a five movement suite for Bb clarinet, harp, and strings which evokes various regions and experiences in the country. So in closing, here is an experiential piece of Western classical music which is directly tied to the sights and sounds of my experience. My hope with this piece was to make it meaningful not only to myself, but to anyone who might listen, whether they be American, Israeli, or Palestinian.
The Doctorate
In reading Cook's chapter "Music and the Academy," many statements hit close to home, as I occupy this troubling, exciting and mysterious year that is the last of my masters program. I must confront the alluring, cloaked monster that is the Doctorate, and its sniveling rival, the Dayjob. The implications of pursuing a doctorate in music have micro-level effects - they provide certain benefits and obstacles in the life of the musician - and also macro-level effects, in that the growing necessity of the doctorate in an artistic field encourages it to remain in the elite, removed echelon of societal thinking.
The economy today has produced a general level of anxiety in those completing degree programs of any field, but perhaps the most for those with Masters degrees in artistic disciplines. Most of the time, our programs were not fully funded (hello $40,000 debt repayment that must magically appear from my nether regions! and I'm one of the lucky ones!), and most of the time, there isn't a clear, bill-paying path on which we can embark when the diploma sits finally on our desks (keyboards?). Many musicians will panic and turn to doctoral applications, which, while providing engaging goals and tasks for the next 4-5 years of ones life, may not yield a much greater wealth of job options. On top of that, one is 4-5 years older; the age limit for many young artist programs (in the case of singers), competitions, summer fellowships, and other non-degree opportunities is gone or fast approaching.
Yet, for those such as myself - those with prevalent liberal arts backgrounds, who love to read, write, research, engage in philosophic discussions, publish, teach, analyze, math, theory, cultural relativism, ALL OF IT! - the Doctorate seems to be a unique fit. I've always desired the intense level of inquisition and self-discovery provided by a lengthy research program, and to teach accomplished and curious musicians at the university level would be a dream. For the last five years, I have had the overwhelmingly lucrative Dayjob of teaching hyper-privileged 4-14 year olds how to "generally" make music, which can be minimally satisfying, at best. (If I was working with at-risk youth, which I have done occasionally, the level of job satisfaction is much, much higher). For the most part, this job is not stimulating for me. I have often used this analogy with friends: "Imagine a trained MIT space engineer teaching children how to draw airplanes. That is how I feel." For these reasons, it seems I am one of the few who probably should do a doctorate. But I often see my own plans treated critically by my peers, faculty, and society at once: because the prevalent thinking in the world of the conservatory is that one who choses the life of academia (which I believe does not have to be mutually exclusive from an artistic life) is one who is too scared, too lazy, or too dispassionate to embark upon a lone, rogue artistic venture.
I do recognize that is the case for many. I cringe when I hear musicians speak of their post-M.M. plans, saying, "well, i'm applying to doctorates I guess, I don't know what else to do." We all need to engage in confusing self-analysis when the question comes: many musicians, including myself, fail to think outside the box, ignoring the wealth of fascinating, engaging and important jobs in the arts - as administrators, teachers, organizers, even performers and composers, if your luck so happens. The Dayjob and the Nightjob. Required for this (as for the Doctorate as well, ironically) is a well-founded sense of self-motivation that can fuel one's artistic life on top of whatever is paying the bills.
There are pros and cons of each, and, on the micro-level, one has to make the decision that will best inspire themselves artistically. In the long run, for the individual, perhaps the outcome is the same - we make art on top of our job, be that a university job or as a development associate at the Boston Ballet.
But for classical music's place in society, there lies other questions. If the Doctorate because the ultimate goal, the only way of achieving validity (or salary) in todays world, there come a wealth of problems. First of all, admissions offices would clog (we are seeing this now) with mediocre applications, which can skew numbers, and often times prevent those who are truly suited for the program from pursuing it by means of necessary hyper selectivity on the part of the program. The result is a flow of less-than-inspiring, bored, university professors, and frustrated professorial minds left behind to be administrators. Similarly, with more admitted doctoral students, funding diminishes, and the important concept of a fully-funded doctorate would disappear (also happening). On an even greater scale, if Doctorates become necessary in the world of classical music, we alienate the masses, we separate ourselves from the other spheres of music and art, we contribute to museum culture, we block our flow back in to the mainstream. We assert that only the educated can understand our work. We prevent children from embarking upon initial interest. Imagine if you told a five year old child, who loves his or her piano lessons, or even a fourteen year old singer, that he or she will have to be in school until the age of thirty in order to have a true place in musical society? They would stop. They would turn to pop, to rock, to music as a hobby - which is not at all a bad thing for the child or for society - but for classical music, our numbers would be down yet again.
I've often thought that, well, maybe our numbers should be down - maybe it really is the stuff of Doctorates, and somehow we need to accommodate that. But I don't think that is true anymore. In order for classical music to work for everyone, both the non-doctoral path and the doctoral path have to be valid. One has to have inspiring, lucrative options in either place.
What can we do about this, as Masters students, as faculty? Students: we should undergo a decent bit of self-questioning, and choose a path that will allow you to flourish. Once you've chosen this path, do not back down. If you are not pursuing a Doctorate, make every effort to have your art exist in the world. Be someone, be real, find a Dayjob that allows you to be your own patron, and do not give up. Doctoral students: teach well, research well, write well, and assert that your academic attitude has importance and relevance in the world. Do not study or write for the sake of the degree - do it for the sake of the world. Teach your undergraduates to make these same decisions. Faculty: recognize in your students their unique path, and do not falsely advise. Never encourage someone who despises writing but flourishes in performance to pursue a doctorate for money's sake; and never encourage someone who is abstractly inquisitive or academically curious to ignore the benefits of a Doctorate.
Meanwhile, I work on summer program applications, I plan my year off, I research doctoral programs. Unfortunately or not, there are alluring aspects of each path for me.. time will tell. One thing I know: I will make art no matter what.
Questions for Dean Chin:
1. In light of this post, what are your thoughts regarding the necessity, or lack thereof, of a doctorate?
2. This might be a difficult question to answer in terms of your audience, but in your ideal world, would you prefer to be a performer without the academic position? Why?
3. As the Dean of a Conservatory, does a prospective artist-faculty member's level of education color your opinion of them in the hiring process? How so?
Peace and Love,
K
The economy today has produced a general level of anxiety in those completing degree programs of any field, but perhaps the most for those with Masters degrees in artistic disciplines. Most of the time, our programs were not fully funded (hello $40,000 debt repayment that must magically appear from my nether regions! and I'm one of the lucky ones!), and most of the time, there isn't a clear, bill-paying path on which we can embark when the diploma sits finally on our desks (keyboards?). Many musicians will panic and turn to doctoral applications, which, while providing engaging goals and tasks for the next 4-5 years of ones life, may not yield a much greater wealth of job options. On top of that, one is 4-5 years older; the age limit for many young artist programs (in the case of singers), competitions, summer fellowships, and other non-degree opportunities is gone or fast approaching.
Yet, for those such as myself - those with prevalent liberal arts backgrounds, who love to read, write, research, engage in philosophic discussions, publish, teach, analyze, math, theory, cultural relativism, ALL OF IT! - the Doctorate seems to be a unique fit. I've always desired the intense level of inquisition and self-discovery provided by a lengthy research program, and to teach accomplished and curious musicians at the university level would be a dream. For the last five years, I have had the overwhelmingly lucrative Dayjob of teaching hyper-privileged 4-14 year olds how to "generally" make music, which can be minimally satisfying, at best. (If I was working with at-risk youth, which I have done occasionally, the level of job satisfaction is much, much higher). For the most part, this job is not stimulating for me. I have often used this analogy with friends: "Imagine a trained MIT space engineer teaching children how to draw airplanes. That is how I feel." For these reasons, it seems I am one of the few who probably should do a doctorate. But I often see my own plans treated critically by my peers, faculty, and society at once: because the prevalent thinking in the world of the conservatory is that one who choses the life of academia (which I believe does not have to be mutually exclusive from an artistic life) is one who is too scared, too lazy, or too dispassionate to embark upon a lone, rogue artistic venture.
I do recognize that is the case for many. I cringe when I hear musicians speak of their post-M.M. plans, saying, "well, i'm applying to doctorates I guess, I don't know what else to do." We all need to engage in confusing self-analysis when the question comes: many musicians, including myself, fail to think outside the box, ignoring the wealth of fascinating, engaging and important jobs in the arts - as administrators, teachers, organizers, even performers and composers, if your luck so happens. The Dayjob and the Nightjob. Required for this (as for the Doctorate as well, ironically) is a well-founded sense of self-motivation that can fuel one's artistic life on top of whatever is paying the bills.
There are pros and cons of each, and, on the micro-level, one has to make the decision that will best inspire themselves artistically. In the long run, for the individual, perhaps the outcome is the same - we make art on top of our job, be that a university job or as a development associate at the Boston Ballet.
But for classical music's place in society, there lies other questions. If the Doctorate because the ultimate goal, the only way of achieving validity (or salary) in todays world, there come a wealth of problems. First of all, admissions offices would clog (we are seeing this now) with mediocre applications, which can skew numbers, and often times prevent those who are truly suited for the program from pursuing it by means of necessary hyper selectivity on the part of the program. The result is a flow of less-than-inspiring, bored, university professors, and frustrated professorial minds left behind to be administrators. Similarly, with more admitted doctoral students, funding diminishes, and the important concept of a fully-funded doctorate would disappear (also happening). On an even greater scale, if Doctorates become necessary in the world of classical music, we alienate the masses, we separate ourselves from the other spheres of music and art, we contribute to museum culture, we block our flow back in to the mainstream. We assert that only the educated can understand our work. We prevent children from embarking upon initial interest. Imagine if you told a five year old child, who loves his or her piano lessons, or even a fourteen year old singer, that he or she will have to be in school until the age of thirty in order to have a true place in musical society? They would stop. They would turn to pop, to rock, to music as a hobby - which is not at all a bad thing for the child or for society - but for classical music, our numbers would be down yet again.
I've often thought that, well, maybe our numbers should be down - maybe it really is the stuff of Doctorates, and somehow we need to accommodate that. But I don't think that is true anymore. In order for classical music to work for everyone, both the non-doctoral path and the doctoral path have to be valid. One has to have inspiring, lucrative options in either place.
What can we do about this, as Masters students, as faculty? Students: we should undergo a decent bit of self-questioning, and choose a path that will allow you to flourish. Once you've chosen this path, do not back down. If you are not pursuing a Doctorate, make every effort to have your art exist in the world. Be someone, be real, find a Dayjob that allows you to be your own patron, and do not give up. Doctoral students: teach well, research well, write well, and assert that your academic attitude has importance and relevance in the world. Do not study or write for the sake of the degree - do it for the sake of the world. Teach your undergraduates to make these same decisions. Faculty: recognize in your students their unique path, and do not falsely advise. Never encourage someone who despises writing but flourishes in performance to pursue a doctorate for money's sake; and never encourage someone who is abstractly inquisitive or academically curious to ignore the benefits of a Doctorate.
Meanwhile, I work on summer program applications, I plan my year off, I research doctoral programs. Unfortunately or not, there are alluring aspects of each path for me.. time will tell. One thing I know: I will make art no matter what.
Questions for Dean Chin:
1. In light of this post, what are your thoughts regarding the necessity, or lack thereof, of a doctorate?
2. This might be a difficult question to answer in terms of your audience, but in your ideal world, would you prefer to be a performer without the academic position? Why?
3. As the Dean of a Conservatory, does a prospective artist-faculty member's level of education color your opinion of them in the hiring process? How so?
Peace and Love,
K
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Dressing to impress...ing
This week I attended two vastly different concerts. The first, "Solos, Duo and Trio," featured members of the NEC-based Callithumpian Consort in a concert of decidedly avant-garde works, all of which were written after 1975. The second featured up-and-coming virtuoso pianist Daniil Trifonov performing a solo recital, the program of which covered a range of music from romantic era etudes to 20th century masterworks. As varied as the performances and repertoire were, the most striking difference might have been the way the performers dressed. Each of the Callithumpian players was wearing an ensemble that might have been better suited (no pun intended) for a night out on the town; one woman in particular appeared as though she needed to return to her bar tending gig soon afterward, with her high heels and short skirt. Mr. Trifonov was the embodiment of formal, sporting a black tuxedo complete with tails and a bow tie. The attire of the performers was also reflected in the cost of admission: while the Callithumpian concert was free, Mr. Trifonov's recital featured an audience of well-to-do patrons, most of which have donated hundreds of dollars to the Celebrity Series of Boston.
The effect of seeing a professional performer who is dressed no better than yourself is disarming--especially for a concert program that at first glance appears foreboding. It becomes less a formal performance and more a friend welcoming you into their house and inviting you to listen to something they've been working on. Even in the rarefied air of avant-garde classical music, performed in such a cathedralesque space as Jordan Hall, the way the performers conducted themselves transformed the experience for me to an intimate, inclusive setting. In contrast, the Trifonov concert, while performed in a smaller, more intimate space, gave the impression of a much wider rift between performer and audience. It felt as though this rift was accomplished in part by the dress of the soloist--a physical representation of the hierarchy at work in the concert hall. I don't pretend to ignore the conventions of a solo piano recital (although this is the first one I have ever attended), but the effect of watching the pianist in his best clothes silently perform a carefully constructed program was that of alienation.
My questions for Dean Chin:
1. As a concert pianist, how do you prefer to present yourself to the audience? To what extent do you consider the clothes you wear, the demeanor you carry, and the way you respond to acknowledgement?
2. Do you see a dichotomy in the world of classical music between performers who simply play the work, and performers who actively engage the audience?
3. In your estimation, how far can one's appearance go in affecting the way one performs, or affecting the evaluation of the performance by others?
The effect of seeing a professional performer who is dressed no better than yourself is disarming--especially for a concert program that at first glance appears foreboding. It becomes less a formal performance and more a friend welcoming you into their house and inviting you to listen to something they've been working on. Even in the rarefied air of avant-garde classical music, performed in such a cathedralesque space as Jordan Hall, the way the performers conducted themselves transformed the experience for me to an intimate, inclusive setting. In contrast, the Trifonov concert, while performed in a smaller, more intimate space, gave the impression of a much wider rift between performer and audience. It felt as though this rift was accomplished in part by the dress of the soloist--a physical representation of the hierarchy at work in the concert hall. I don't pretend to ignore the conventions of a solo piano recital (although this is the first one I have ever attended), but the effect of watching the pianist in his best clothes silently perform a carefully constructed program was that of alienation.
My questions for Dean Chin:
1. As a concert pianist, how do you prefer to present yourself to the audience? To what extent do you consider the clothes you wear, the demeanor you carry, and the way you respond to acknowledgement?
2. Do you see a dichotomy in the world of classical music between performers who simply play the work, and performers who actively engage the audience?
3. In your estimation, how far can one's appearance go in affecting the way one performs, or affecting the evaluation of the performance by others?
HONK!
Sometimes you have to be a little noisy to get your point across. There is no shortage of distracting sounds in Cambridge so when I heard marching bands suddenly blasting down Massachusetts Avenue I was pleasantly surprised. This wasn't your typical Macy's Day Parade though. These people had a message.
HONK! is a an annual festival which brings together activist street bands from all over the world. The groups share a desire to resist the oppressive society in which we live. To them, playing music is a way to unite and empower people in a world which is too often divided. The role of the amateur in this sense cannot be overstated as many of the members do not study music in a formal way. In fact, a big part of the parade relies on energy and sometimes participation from the crowd. The fact that we are there and experiencing such a spectacle means that every one of us is temporarily an equal part in making the world a better place. This may seem like a radical thought but I wholeheartedly believe that it's true.
Wild uniforms, hundreds of drums, outrageous costumes, bikes, roller blades, and an unbelievable amount of color and creativity created a brief, but memorable scene. There was something raw and beautiful in the DIY spirit which brought these people together. The parade from Davis Square to Harvard Square was only one element of the entire HONK! festival this weekend which featured a wide array of performances, workshops, parties and other activities. As Noah mentioned in his post, many of the bands had performing slots at the Harvard Square Oktoberfest. The amount of new fans that they acquire from this weekend must be enormous.
I was equally impressed and moved by this grassroots, non-profit festival and the people that were a part of it. I encourage everyone to learn more about it and strive to emulate the goals.
Keep Honking.
HONK! is a an annual festival which brings together activist street bands from all over the world. The groups share a desire to resist the oppressive society in which we live. To them, playing music is a way to unite and empower people in a world which is too often divided. The role of the amateur in this sense cannot be overstated as many of the members do not study music in a formal way. In fact, a big part of the parade relies on energy and sometimes participation from the crowd. The fact that we are there and experiencing such a spectacle means that every one of us is temporarily an equal part in making the world a better place. This may seem like a radical thought but I wholeheartedly believe that it's true.
Wild uniforms, hundreds of drums, outrageous costumes, bikes, roller blades, and an unbelievable amount of color and creativity created a brief, but memorable scene. There was something raw and beautiful in the DIY spirit which brought these people together. The parade from Davis Square to Harvard Square was only one element of the entire HONK! festival this weekend which featured a wide array of performances, workshops, parties and other activities. As Noah mentioned in his post, many of the bands had performing slots at the Harvard Square Oktoberfest. The amount of new fans that they acquire from this weekend must be enormous.
I was equally impressed and moved by this grassroots, non-profit festival and the people that were a part of it. I encourage everyone to learn more about it and strive to emulate the goals.
Keep Honking.
Monday, October 8, 2012
My Trip to India
There is a great deal that the Western Classical musician has to learn about Indian Kathak dance; knowledge that has a great deal of potential to deeply enrich the musical experience of the performer(s) as well as to engage and persuade the audience. On Sunday, October 7th, the association for India’s development (A.I.D.) at M.I.T. presented an evening of Kathak, performed by Pandit Birju Maharaj and his troop. Birju Maharaj was born into a family of Kathak dancers. He was first taught by his father and after his father’s death, by his uncles. After a lifetime of dance and music, Birju Maharaj earned the distinguished social title of ‘Pandit.’ Now he is recognized as the greatest living exponent of North Indian Classical Dance. His youngest son Deepak Maharaj, is also part of the famous Maharaj lineage and dances with his father as part of the troop.
On my way to the concert, I met an Indian man with the same destination. We sat together during the performance. This performance was my first experience of Kathak so I felt fortunate to have a personal connection through which to aid me in my exploration of the art form. My companion told me that Kathak is a lifestyle and is carried down through generations. “The relationship between music teacher and student is the most important in one’s life,” he told me. “To be a Kathak dancer, one must be a complete musician. One begins with the dance. Then, when one is ready, one may proceed to the drums (which are pitched. They are referred to as ‘table’) and the vocals (from the Hindustani style of classical music)..”
The stage was blessed before the performance, the director walked out onto the stage (respectfully barefoot), to address the audience. Soon after, a beautiful orange light welcomed the first dancer to the stage who then told the first tale with feet of two-hundred bells. The word kathak is derived from the Sanskrit word katha, meaning story. The elaborate rhythmic footwork (tatkar), graceful spins (chakar), hand gestures (mudras), and subtle expressions of mood and emotions (bhava-abhinaya) that make up Kathak dance, all exist in order to express the subtleties of the human experience on this planet. The subject matter can be as complex and serious as an expression of devotion to the Lord Krishna or as trivial and playful as the experience of ball moving between two hands. Each and every performance is an intimate expression of the relationship between the dancer, the drummer, and the vocalist. In fact, all three players are perfectly fluent in the other’s modes of expression; they are able to switch instruments and they often do.
As a Western musician, I was particularly struck by the sheer embodiment of the characters and the concepts that the performers set out to portray. The feet, with their careful virtuosity, moved with such precision that it seems there was a thousand possible steps, each with it’s own timbre, energy, and attitude. The facial expressions and the mudras had such intention and purpose; every facet of the performer’s face was viewable from any vantage point throughout the performance, and every gesture was expressed to someone in particular, whether it be a specific member in the audience, one of the musicians, or to the manifested presence of Krishna. By far, the most impressive element of this art form was it’s collaborative element. Never before have I witnessed such sensitivity between chamber players. The material was improved and it was spontaneous in character yet the rhythms were impressively complex. Not only did the players perform together in time but they interacted with each other in an organic and genuine way. One player presented, the other responded and elaborated. Each sound was accompanied by a gesture.
During intermission, I noticed that this performance was treated as a celebration. Women were dressed in their best saris and the entrance hall was lined with tables of Indian food. Intermission lasted twenty minutes in duration during which strangers shared their love of the music with each other and ate together as friends.
Upon continuation of the performance, Birju Maharaj engaged the audience, “The number one is the most important number, we begin life as one and we end it as one.” He then proceeded to perform a short rhythmic improvisation with his feet to express the musical downbeat in such a way as to comment on it. It can be overt but “it can also be silent.” Then he began to speak words rhythmically. The tabla responded, mirroring not only the rhythm of his words but also the inflection, “A language,” he quickly yet profoundly summarized.The finale was a climax of footwork performed by the entire company.
I honestly confess to shedding a tear or two during my experience of this beautiful performance art. The source of these expressions are from the individual; they are from the heart. Their art is not truncated from the rest of the performer’s life experience. They do not lock themselves away and practice from the written score verbatim, they live, through music. Chamber music is not discussed strictly in metaphor, instead, it is treated as a study of human relationships. Performance techniques are not methods of audience manipulation, instead they are about what is true for the performer at the moment. The stage is not an altar, instead it is a platform on the level of the audience. Each musical concept is traced to it's expressive source and delicately delivered to the audience.
After the performance I had a brief conversation with a woman from the audience. “There is just so much love on stage,” I said. “...and the beauty shines through,” she responded, “he is simply a beautiful man.” My audience companion introduced me to a few others and we spend the rest of the night out eating, drinking and talking about Maharaj. This music really has a way of bringing people together.
All proceeds from this concert went towards supporting sustainable developmental work in India. The entire concert effort has been put together by committed volunteers, working professionals, sponsors and supporters in our community. For information regarding the Association for India’s Development (A.I.D.) please vist: http://www.aidboston.org At this concert, I was introduced to the possibility of travelling to the ITC Sangeet Research Academy in India in order to study Indian Raga in exchange for teaching Western music. This is an opportunity that I am seriously considering. For anyone interested in learning more please visit: http://www.indianraga.in/opportunities/itc_sra
On my way to the concert, I met an Indian man with the same destination. We sat together during the performance. This performance was my first experience of Kathak so I felt fortunate to have a personal connection through which to aid me in my exploration of the art form. My companion told me that Kathak is a lifestyle and is carried down through generations. “The relationship between music teacher and student is the most important in one’s life,” he told me. “To be a Kathak dancer, one must be a complete musician. One begins with the dance. Then, when one is ready, one may proceed to the drums (which are pitched. They are referred to as ‘table’) and the vocals (from the Hindustani style of classical music)..”
The stage was blessed before the performance, the director walked out onto the stage (respectfully barefoot), to address the audience. Soon after, a beautiful orange light welcomed the first dancer to the stage who then told the first tale with feet of two-hundred bells. The word kathak is derived from the Sanskrit word katha, meaning story. The elaborate rhythmic footwork (tatkar), graceful spins (chakar), hand gestures (mudras), and subtle expressions of mood and emotions (bhava-abhinaya) that make up Kathak dance, all exist in order to express the subtleties of the human experience on this planet. The subject matter can be as complex and serious as an expression of devotion to the Lord Krishna or as trivial and playful as the experience of ball moving between two hands. Each and every performance is an intimate expression of the relationship between the dancer, the drummer, and the vocalist. In fact, all three players are perfectly fluent in the other’s modes of expression; they are able to switch instruments and they often do.
As a Western musician, I was particularly struck by the sheer embodiment of the characters and the concepts that the performers set out to portray. The feet, with their careful virtuosity, moved with such precision that it seems there was a thousand possible steps, each with it’s own timbre, energy, and attitude. The facial expressions and the mudras had such intention and purpose; every facet of the performer’s face was viewable from any vantage point throughout the performance, and every gesture was expressed to someone in particular, whether it be a specific member in the audience, one of the musicians, or to the manifested presence of Krishna. By far, the most impressive element of this art form was it’s collaborative element. Never before have I witnessed such sensitivity between chamber players. The material was improved and it was spontaneous in character yet the rhythms were impressively complex. Not only did the players perform together in time but they interacted with each other in an organic and genuine way. One player presented, the other responded and elaborated. Each sound was accompanied by a gesture.
During intermission, I noticed that this performance was treated as a celebration. Women were dressed in their best saris and the entrance hall was lined with tables of Indian food. Intermission lasted twenty minutes in duration during which strangers shared their love of the music with each other and ate together as friends.
Upon continuation of the performance, Birju Maharaj engaged the audience, “The number one is the most important number, we begin life as one and we end it as one.” He then proceeded to perform a short rhythmic improvisation with his feet to express the musical downbeat in such a way as to comment on it. It can be overt but “it can also be silent.” Then he began to speak words rhythmically. The tabla responded, mirroring not only the rhythm of his words but also the inflection, “A language,” he quickly yet profoundly summarized.The finale was a climax of footwork performed by the entire company.
I honestly confess to shedding a tear or two during my experience of this beautiful performance art. The source of these expressions are from the individual; they are from the heart. Their art is not truncated from the rest of the performer’s life experience. They do not lock themselves away and practice from the written score verbatim, they live, through music. Chamber music is not discussed strictly in metaphor, instead, it is treated as a study of human relationships. Performance techniques are not methods of audience manipulation, instead they are about what is true for the performer at the moment. The stage is not an altar, instead it is a platform on the level of the audience. Each musical concept is traced to it's expressive source and delicately delivered to the audience.
After the performance I had a brief conversation with a woman from the audience. “There is just so much love on stage,” I said. “...and the beauty shines through,” she responded, “he is simply a beautiful man.” My audience companion introduced me to a few others and we spend the rest of the night out eating, drinking and talking about Maharaj. This music really has a way of bringing people together.
All proceeds from this concert went towards supporting sustainable developmental work in India. The entire concert effort has been put together by committed volunteers, working professionals, sponsors and supporters in our community. For information regarding the Association for India’s Development (A.I.D.) please vist: http://www.aidboston.org At this concert, I was introduced to the possibility of travelling to the ITC Sangeet Research Academy in India in order to study Indian Raga in exchange for teaching Western music. This is an opportunity that I am seriously considering. For anyone interested in learning more please visit: http://www.indianraga.in/opportunities/itc_sra
Thinking, Talking, and Communicating
Last Tuesday, I attended a "Think Concert". The event was advertised as "an evening of thought, journey, and discovery with sonic slide show". The so called-slide show, in addition to its rather conspicuous trombone pun, refers to a new piece by the Boston-based trombonist and composer Norman Bolter, who also conducted the piece. Bolter's piece comprises several movements, each representing a certain aspect of Bolter's recent visit to St. John's, Newfoundland. The movements varied in nature from musical representations of the composers emotions to an explicit homage to the St. John's "Boat Concert", where each of the players imitated the sound of a boat horn.
This premier, however, was only the second half of the concert. For the first half of the concert, Bolter spoke to the audience directly and informally in what the program billed as a "Think Concert with sonic prompts". Bolter lectured on art and music as well as philosophy and science. Moreover, he stressed awareness of all of these things and the concept of focusing in the moment.
While it has long been common for the conductor to give a pre-concert talk about the music to be played, Bolter's talk was extraordinarily uncommon. For one, the talk was billed as part of the concert itself, rather than the "pre-concert". Also, Bolter did not even mention the piece to be premiered until the last minute or so of his talk. This concert format represents a new brand of audience inclusion strategy. While many musicians fancy themselves painters of sound on silence, Bolter uses sound to forge links between one mind and the next.
Music, as with all forms of art, is about communication. In order to communicate effectively with his audience, Bolter elected to prepare them for the music, rather than simply playing and being prepared to blame the audience should the piece receive a poor reception. It will be interesting to see if more performers adopt this concert format, especially when for the premier of a piece that audiences may not be able to understand at first glance. Bolter has a small but strong, almost cult-like following in the greater Boston area, and I'll be curious to observe the greater impact of this event.
This premier, however, was only the second half of the concert. For the first half of the concert, Bolter spoke to the audience directly and informally in what the program billed as a "Think Concert with sonic prompts". Bolter lectured on art and music as well as philosophy and science. Moreover, he stressed awareness of all of these things and the concept of focusing in the moment.
While it has long been common for the conductor to give a pre-concert talk about the music to be played, Bolter's talk was extraordinarily uncommon. For one, the talk was billed as part of the concert itself, rather than the "pre-concert". Also, Bolter did not even mention the piece to be premiered until the last minute or so of his talk. This concert format represents a new brand of audience inclusion strategy. While many musicians fancy themselves painters of sound on silence, Bolter uses sound to forge links between one mind and the next.
Music, as with all forms of art, is about communication. In order to communicate effectively with his audience, Bolter elected to prepare them for the music, rather than simply playing and being prepared to blame the audience should the piece receive a poor reception. It will be interesting to see if more performers adopt this concert format, especially when for the premier of a piece that audiences may not be able to understand at first glance. Bolter has a small but strong, almost cult-like following in the greater Boston area, and I'll be curious to observe the greater impact of this event.
Thoughts on Longy and Celebrity Series
I had the great pleasure of being able to hear Daniil Trifonov perform this past Friday--and better still, I did not have rely on livestream, as I was backstage acting as Stage Manager for the concert. Though I couldn't see very well through the peep-holes in the backstage doors, I was able to hear the wonderful playing, and catch glimpses of the pianist as he rushed backstage in between pieces, smiling and out of breath from enthusiastic musicianship.
It was an interesting experience, to be sure. Celebrity Series employees flitted about, worrying over whether everything was set in its right place, whether Mr. Trifonov had enough water to drink, and whether their (wealthy) patrons were accommodated well enough. The concert was professional, well-presented and enjoyable. It was also sold out--but only to patrons from past seasons. In fact, nearly every Celebrity Series debut concert at Longy this season is sold out to previous patrons. Longy students did have the opportunity this weekend to view the concert via livestream in another classroom, but unfortunately, due to the limits of Pickman Halls' seating, that is as close as they could get to a concert being put on in their own school.
Certainly, Celebrity Series of Boston doing these sorts of debut concerts at Longy is a wonderful thing; we may gain a wider reputation as a music school with the chance to show that such acclaimed musicians have performed in our space, and we have been able to prove our capability in working with a higher-stakes sort of performance, among other things. Celebrity Series itself is also an excellent organization, touting on their website that they "envision a community of Greater Boston where the performing arts are a valued, shared, lifelong experience". What better mission could we ask for?
It was, however, quite interesting to me that this has been one of the only times I have seen our hall sold out. It was wonderful seeing it filled with people, lit up and polished, and the air practically sizzling with excitement for the performance. The audience members were all patrons who had donated to Celebrity Series in the past, and who felt a loyalty toward the arts the series produced. It made me wonder: how can we, as individual musicians, attract an audience like that? What does it take? Simply from viewing a little bit of how Celebrity Series works from my behind-the-scenes vantage point, it takes... quite a lot of people, a metric ton of organizational skills, and an incredible willingness to bend over backwards for patrons who will donate. Daniil Trifonov is an outstanding musician, but I am willing to bet that Celebrity Series could have produced a large enough crowd for almost any performer, such is their advertising and business skill.
I then wondered: how can we, as individual musicians, learn this type of skill? We touched on this a bit in class last week--how musicians are often encouraged in schools to forego thinking about the more practical side of making a living with music in order to spend more time in the practice room. Longy is benefiting from this partnership with Celebrity Series this year--how can we, the students, further benefit?
It was an interesting experience, to be sure. Celebrity Series employees flitted about, worrying over whether everything was set in its right place, whether Mr. Trifonov had enough water to drink, and whether their (wealthy) patrons were accommodated well enough. The concert was professional, well-presented and enjoyable. It was also sold out--but only to patrons from past seasons. In fact, nearly every Celebrity Series debut concert at Longy this season is sold out to previous patrons. Longy students did have the opportunity this weekend to view the concert via livestream in another classroom, but unfortunately, due to the limits of Pickman Halls' seating, that is as close as they could get to a concert being put on in their own school.
Certainly, Celebrity Series of Boston doing these sorts of debut concerts at Longy is a wonderful thing; we may gain a wider reputation as a music school with the chance to show that such acclaimed musicians have performed in our space, and we have been able to prove our capability in working with a higher-stakes sort of performance, among other things. Celebrity Series itself is also an excellent organization, touting on their website that they "envision a community of Greater Boston where the performing arts are a valued, shared, lifelong experience". What better mission could we ask for?
It was, however, quite interesting to me that this has been one of the only times I have seen our hall sold out. It was wonderful seeing it filled with people, lit up and polished, and the air practically sizzling with excitement for the performance. The audience members were all patrons who had donated to Celebrity Series in the past, and who felt a loyalty toward the arts the series produced. It made me wonder: how can we, as individual musicians, attract an audience like that? What does it take? Simply from viewing a little bit of how Celebrity Series works from my behind-the-scenes vantage point, it takes... quite a lot of people, a metric ton of organizational skills, and an incredible willingness to bend over backwards for patrons who will donate. Daniil Trifonov is an outstanding musician, but I am willing to bet that Celebrity Series could have produced a large enough crowd for almost any performer, such is their advertising and business skill.
I then wondered: how can we, as individual musicians, learn this type of skill? We touched on this a bit in class last week--how musicians are often encouraged in schools to forego thinking about the more practical side of making a living with music in order to spend more time in the practice room. Longy is benefiting from this partnership with Celebrity Series this year--how can we, the students, further benefit?
ICE
Following last week’s class and the announcement of one of the 2012
MacArthur award recipients, Claire Chase, I decided to look her up.
Although I’d met her several times in Chicago, and even crashed at her
Brooklyn apartment during a brief visit to NYC, I hadn’t seen her or
been in contact with her for several years. I confused the success of
her organization with that of Eighth Blackbird, another Chicago-based
chamber group which collaborates with “a motley crew of composers, young
and old, modernist and indie.” I incorrectly informed the class that
Claire had been co-founder of Eighth Blackbird, when in fact, she is
co-founder of the International Contemporary Ensemble: ICE. Both groups
were initially created in Chicago, and while they each have exciting
and lofty goals, for now, I prefer to explore Claire’s organization and
present a glimpse of what this ICE is all about.
First of all, I was impressed by the comprehensiveness of their website. Not only does it have a clear calendar of events but it invites its visitors to interact, experience and participate in an active discussion on music and its evolution. For instance, IceLab is a program created to bring new composers to the forefront of the music scene: Six composers are selected annually to participate in this project, and are given the chance to discover, learn and interact with each other, as well as with the members of the ICE ensemble for whom they will be creating their pieces: “The ICElab structure embraces the essential composer-performer collaboration through which radical musical ideas emerge.”
Furthermore, the blog entries that may be accessed through the website, offer a peek into the thoughts of these various composers, sometimes with images or video footage of the process they went through to create their compositions. It is an unusual privilege that allows the audience member to be privy to the creative process, helping to bridge the gap that seems to have been so deeply gouged between performer and listener. ICE performers contribute as well, giving their impressions of particular performances, compositions, or simply to write about various ideas that may help shed some light on the process of music-making.
ICE has also created an educational program that is innovative and full of potential, called The Listening Room, which targets “public schools with no formal music program, the curriculum draws on the rich vocabulary of experimental music—improvisation, graphic scores, team-based performances, and non-traditional instruments—to teach collaborative creative skills to students of all ages and skill levels.” Although this program is only in its first year, I believe it is a great example of how to reach children at a young age and introduce them to the world of music, with all of its possibilities, from classical to rock to contemporary. The group also hopes that “by exposing young people to the creative process through which new compositions emerge, we hope to plant the seeds for a more diverse, more engaged audience for the experimental music of tomorrow.”
The more I read, listen, and learn about ICE, the more honored I am to have had the opportunity to hear this group play live, and the more excited I am that Claire Chase was one of this year’s MacArthur recipients. She and her colleagues certainly deserve it. Their investment in the future of music is exemplified by the promoting of new composers and by their desire to involve the next generations of audiences in the creative process, thereby ensuring that music will not only be created, but more importantly, that it will be heard.
For more information, please visit their website at www.iceorg.org
First of all, I was impressed by the comprehensiveness of their website. Not only does it have a clear calendar of events but it invites its visitors to interact, experience and participate in an active discussion on music and its evolution. For instance, IceLab is a program created to bring new composers to the forefront of the music scene: Six composers are selected annually to participate in this project, and are given the chance to discover, learn and interact with each other, as well as with the members of the ICE ensemble for whom they will be creating their pieces: “The ICElab structure embraces the essential composer-performer collaboration through which radical musical ideas emerge.”
Furthermore, the blog entries that may be accessed through the website, offer a peek into the thoughts of these various composers, sometimes with images or video footage of the process they went through to create their compositions. It is an unusual privilege that allows the audience member to be privy to the creative process, helping to bridge the gap that seems to have been so deeply gouged between performer and listener. ICE performers contribute as well, giving their impressions of particular performances, compositions, or simply to write about various ideas that may help shed some light on the process of music-making.
ICE has also created an educational program that is innovative and full of potential, called The Listening Room, which targets “public schools with no formal music program, the curriculum draws on the rich vocabulary of experimental music—improvisation, graphic scores, team-based performances, and non-traditional instruments—to teach collaborative creative skills to students of all ages and skill levels.” Although this program is only in its first year, I believe it is a great example of how to reach children at a young age and introduce them to the world of music, with all of its possibilities, from classical to rock to contemporary. The group also hopes that “by exposing young people to the creative process through which new compositions emerge, we hope to plant the seeds for a more diverse, more engaged audience for the experimental music of tomorrow.”
The more I read, listen, and learn about ICE, the more honored I am to have had the opportunity to hear this group play live, and the more excited I am that Claire Chase was one of this year’s MacArthur recipients. She and her colleagues certainly deserve it. Their investment in the future of music is exemplified by the promoting of new composers and by their desire to involve the next generations of audiences in the creative process, thereby ensuring that music will not only be created, but more importantly, that it will be heard.
For more information, please visit their website at www.iceorg.org
Oktoberfest in Harvard Square
This recent Sunday as I was on my way to get some afternoon practicing done, I heard the loud voices of crowds, brass bands, and music in the distance. When I walked up to see the commotion I noticed that there was a festival of sorts, Oktoberfest I soon found out. It was an interesting sight to behold. There was a large number of young people enjoying delicious smelling foods from all over the world with their beers, live entertainment acts which included a mime and a young gentleman riding a unicycle and jumping on a pogo stick, and live music.
What struck me later as odd was my lack of awareness in noting the music. One would think that, as a musician, I would be more inclined to actively listen seek out the live music. The only thing that I did notice was that there was a alternative-rock style band playing when I walked past. Although this style music is not my absolute favorite genre, I still thoroughly enjoy it as anyone can easily find out by looking at my iTunes playlists. However, I cannot ignore the fact that I did not give the musicians my full attention.
In my past experiences performing in venues with large crowds, I appreciated anyone who came to listen to me (or the band I was playing with) even if just for a minute. Moreover, I feel that although these people who listen may not particularly be giving the performer(s) money, their sheer presence alone can be deemed as "support" for that said artist. With that said, people listening can do a great deal of good for the artist's morale.
With the previous having been said, I believe that fellow musicians should fully support our brethren in their musical outlets. How can we, as artists, expect to receive support for our works if we do not do any supporting ourselves?
This may seem a little bit extreme given that the band playing at Harvard Square must have already been well established since it was playing at a crowded venue such as Oktoberfest. However, I think on the micro scale, attending concerts frequently of our friends and colleagues in the music world can do more help for them then we may give credit to. After attending Oktoberfest, I realized that I need to improve my active listening skills. In addition, I also realized that giving five minutes of my time to listen to a local band perform may make a small, but significant difference in the future.
What struck me later as odd was my lack of awareness in noting the music. One would think that, as a musician, I would be more inclined to actively listen seek out the live music. The only thing that I did notice was that there was a alternative-rock style band playing when I walked past. Although this style music is not my absolute favorite genre, I still thoroughly enjoy it as anyone can easily find out by looking at my iTunes playlists. However, I cannot ignore the fact that I did not give the musicians my full attention.
In my past experiences performing in venues with large crowds, I appreciated anyone who came to listen to me (or the band I was playing with) even if just for a minute. Moreover, I feel that although these people who listen may not particularly be giving the performer(s) money, their sheer presence alone can be deemed as "support" for that said artist. With that said, people listening can do a great deal of good for the artist's morale.
With the previous having been said, I believe that fellow musicians should fully support our brethren in their musical outlets. How can we, as artists, expect to receive support for our works if we do not do any supporting ourselves?
This may seem a little bit extreme given that the band playing at Harvard Square must have already been well established since it was playing at a crowded venue such as Oktoberfest. However, I think on the micro scale, attending concerts frequently of our friends and colleagues in the music world can do more help for them then we may give credit to. After attending Oktoberfest, I realized that I need to improve my active listening skills. In addition, I also realized that giving five minutes of my time to listen to a local band perform may make a small, but significant difference in the future.
Hoping that the name value of our school becomes famous…
Last Firday, Pianist Danil Trifonov was debut at Pickman Hall by venerable Celebrity Series of Boston. I was wondering the reason that he chooses Pickman Hall as first on stage in Boston, concerning his brilliant career. It is natural that most people want to perform at famous hall or place. Of course, I admit that our school has a great Hall in terms of acoustic sound and balance.
However, after Q&A session on last Thursday, I seem to understand the reason that he chooses our School.
On the one hand, I thought it is great opportunity to make the name of our school famous to more people. When I have a conversation with someone living n Boston, they still do not realize the existence of our school. I would like to know many people remember our school name through events like this series.
On the other hand, I would think it is better to increase the value of our school’s name by promoting the performance ability of our students. The best school is not always fixed. It can be differed depending on the average ability of the students at a certain year. Yet, it is still true that people in the neighboring community have little chance of knowing the level of performance of Longy students. If we increase opportunities about this chance, people living in Boston would be more familiar with the name of our school.
Pianist Trifonov inaugurates Boston series with captivating mastery
http://theclassicalreview.com/2012/10/pianist-trifonov-inaugurates-boston-series-with-captivating-mastery/
However, after Q&A session on last Thursday, I seem to understand the reason that he chooses our School.
On the one hand, I thought it is great opportunity to make the name of our school famous to more people. When I have a conversation with someone living n Boston, they still do not realize the existence of our school. I would like to know many people remember our school name through events like this series.
On the other hand, I would think it is better to increase the value of our school’s name by promoting the performance ability of our students. The best school is not always fixed. It can be differed depending on the average ability of the students at a certain year. Yet, it is still true that people in the neighboring community have little chance of knowing the level of performance of Longy students. If we increase opportunities about this chance, people living in Boston would be more familiar with the name of our school.
Pianist Trifonov inaugurates Boston series with captivating mastery
http://theclassicalreview.com/2012/10/pianist-trifonov-inaugurates-boston-series-with-captivating-mastery/
The Importance of Amateur Musicianship: An Interview
While our efforts are well intentioned, discussing the
meaning and future of our own art comes laden with baggage and bias; and in
this process, it is important to realize that we cannot gauge how meaningful
our art is to greater society. Many can enjoy, appreciate, and even
enthusiastically support its survival as an art and an institution, but it is
of little consequence whether or not classical music flows with the mainstream.
It makes those of us in the arbiter position wonder – do we have to try so hard?
Can we exist eternally in the elite – and is this necessarily negative? In
pondering this, I- as composer and performer from a non-musical family –
decided to interview someone who strolls along the periphery of the classical
music world, who can speak to the manifestations of classical music in the
United States, Europe, and Latin America for both the performer and the
audience member.
Lucas Eaton is a talented violist who has enjoyed training
from age 9; he has played semi-professionally and as an amateur in quartets and
symphonies in Washington, Montana, and Luxembourg. An astute world traveler, he
has lived for extended periods in Luxembourg, France, Chile, and the US, and
traveled far beyond each locale, witnessing classical and non-classical music
performances in endless permutations. With a uniquely musical public school K-12 education, B.A. in Anthropology and
Linguistics from the University of Montana and an M.A. in Learning/Development in Multicultural and
Multilingual Contexts from the University of Luxembourg, plus years of work as a
translator and foreign credential evaluator, he approaches every topic in his
life with an impressive cultural sensitivity and awareness of social and
economic issues. As such, his views on classical music as a global force are
specific, passionate, and invaluable to the modern musician. (He is also my
brother.)
In this interview, I asked him to discuss his background as
a musician, his global experiences, and his thoughts about the future. It is
important that we, as professional musicians and conservatory students, listen
to the words of a global mind that has never been entirely in our
world, but understands the importance of our art. He can contextualize its
relevance, something that is extraordinarily difficult for insiders.
I highly suggest you take a few moments to listen to this
interview clip – Lucas advocates for public school funding for the arts,
cheaper concert tickets, and, most importantly, the preservation of an amateur
musical culture in our society. Lucas, as the ultimate cultural relativist,
surprised me in his conclusion: that classical music, while perhaps
representative of a white, European, imperialistic power structure, is still
just music, and it shouldn’t die out. Based on his entirely public education
sequence, from preschool to graduate school, he learned that public funding for
the arts – especially in elementary schools – is key for the development of the
children and the preservation of arts in our society. As an avid Northwesterner
in many respects, he is, of course, a fanatic of the Seattle indie rock scene
and the great history of grunge, in addition to his life as classical violist;
but he sees no reason for either genre to change fundamentally. The solution is
to allow everyone access, and move on from there.
[I am working on a
transcript; 20 pages is overkill for this blog, so do take the time to
listen to the audio file!]
Virtual Ensembles?
For last week’s blog post, I was debating between writing about the Classical Revolution and Eric Whitacre’s virtual choir. I ended up writing about the Classical Revolution, and I am glad I did, because after reading Peter’s post about the Doctor Who Fan Orchestra, it provided me with more of a direction with which to discuss the virtual ensemble.
Back in 2009, Eric Whitacre started experimenting with the concept of a virtual choir. He gave an excellent talk on TED about the experience, and has then proceeded to produce 2 more installations of the virtual choir, with a third in progress. After watching the TED talk, I was amazed by the sheer number of people who participated from all across the world, ranging beginners to experts. For his piece Sleep, the choir comprised 2,052 singers. For something like this to be possible is truly awe inspiring and owes everything to the great technological advances we have been able to make. However, when I listened to the final product, I couldn’t help but notice certain musical and ensemble issues. The diction isn’t always consistent, many of the consonants at the ends of words and phrases finish at different times creating a strange effect, tuning isn’t always the greatest, and the performance lacks the sense of an ensemble working together to make music with each other. In other words, it’s not what you would call an excellent performance. But it did bring 2,052 people together to share in this musical experience, and for all the issues, it is pretty good. During the TED talk, Eric shares some feedback he got from some of the choir members. They were all super positive and raved about the whole experience, expressing their excitement for the next one. This got me wondering if perhaps the process itself makes up for the lack of ensemble unity and musicality.
Enter the Doctor Who Fan Orchestra. As soon as I read about it, I signed up, and not just because I love Doctor Who. This is the perfect opportunity to see what the virtual ensemble experience is all about. The deadline for submission is in December, so I’ll hopefully be able to report back on how things progress from my point of view. I think the virtual medium is an interesting one for ensemble experience, but as of now, there is no true ensemble work actually happening. Yet the participants are an ensemble; they are part of a group that sang the same piece (just not at the same time) and produced a final product of a performance. I thought Skype, or something like it, might make for a solution to the ensemble feel, but the coordination of that would be a nightmare, and would most likely result in excluding many people from participating. The technology is not quite there yet, but I bet it will be soon, and we should all be keeping an eye on what it means for us as musicians. It would be pretty awesome to be able to have a true rehearsal or performance experience with people from around the world through our computers. Until then though, the current virtual ensembles will continue making progress and bringing us together for the love of music, Doctor Who and technology.
Questions for Dean Chin:
1. How does Longy compare to other conservatories by staying relevant in the changing world of (classical) music?
2. What kinds of technology could/does Longy employ to expand our outreach not only in terms of education but performance?
3. When have you found technology to enhance a performance or any musical experience?
Back in 2009, Eric Whitacre started experimenting with the concept of a virtual choir. He gave an excellent talk on TED about the experience, and has then proceeded to produce 2 more installations of the virtual choir, with a third in progress. After watching the TED talk, I was amazed by the sheer number of people who participated from all across the world, ranging beginners to experts. For his piece Sleep, the choir comprised 2,052 singers. For something like this to be possible is truly awe inspiring and owes everything to the great technological advances we have been able to make. However, when I listened to the final product, I couldn’t help but notice certain musical and ensemble issues. The diction isn’t always consistent, many of the consonants at the ends of words and phrases finish at different times creating a strange effect, tuning isn’t always the greatest, and the performance lacks the sense of an ensemble working together to make music with each other. In other words, it’s not what you would call an excellent performance. But it did bring 2,052 people together to share in this musical experience, and for all the issues, it is pretty good. During the TED talk, Eric shares some feedback he got from some of the choir members. They were all super positive and raved about the whole experience, expressing their excitement for the next one. This got me wondering if perhaps the process itself makes up for the lack of ensemble unity and musicality.
Enter the Doctor Who Fan Orchestra. As soon as I read about it, I signed up, and not just because I love Doctor Who. This is the perfect opportunity to see what the virtual ensemble experience is all about. The deadline for submission is in December, so I’ll hopefully be able to report back on how things progress from my point of view. I think the virtual medium is an interesting one for ensemble experience, but as of now, there is no true ensemble work actually happening. Yet the participants are an ensemble; they are part of a group that sang the same piece (just not at the same time) and produced a final product of a performance. I thought Skype, or something like it, might make for a solution to the ensemble feel, but the coordination of that would be a nightmare, and would most likely result in excluding many people from participating. The technology is not quite there yet, but I bet it will be soon, and we should all be keeping an eye on what it means for us as musicians. It would be pretty awesome to be able to have a true rehearsal or performance experience with people from around the world through our computers. Until then though, the current virtual ensembles will continue making progress and bringing us together for the love of music, Doctor Who and technology.
Questions for Dean Chin:
1. How does Longy compare to other conservatories by staying relevant in the changing world of (classical) music?
2. What kinds of technology could/does Longy employ to expand our outreach not only in terms of education but performance?
3. When have you found technology to enhance a performance or any musical experience?
Embracing a Modern Consortium
I have to start out by saying that our last class was a real eye-opening experience for me. For the first time we all had a chance to hear different persons perspectives on music and what our concerns were moving forward. This, to me, is the real essence of what FCM is. Unfortunately, time constraints left us with very little time to actually brainstorm possibilities of where we go. What I'm attempting to do is outline my idea and hopefully create a dialogue.
For most of us at Longy, the very center of what we do is performing. Not only do we like to do it, but we are all extremely talented and good at it. There is no reason we shouldn't be trying to bring our specific skills the public. We have much to offer the public and I think it would be beneficial for ourselves and our colleagues to do something that can set us apart from the rest. What I am proposing is the creation of our own Modern Consortium.
Consortium or consort, by cliche, will sometimes tip people off to very old renaissance music and with more era-appropriate instrumentation. That's not what I'm getting at. My desire is to see a collection of chamber groups playing a wide variety of music together in concert - nothing original, but we don't always have to be original to succeed. The groups will work together to book venues, advertise the concerts and help bring awareness to what we are dong. To start out everyone will work with their specific chamber group and each member of each group will have the responsibility of booking one show. If there were three to four groups, of lets say 8-12 people that would give you anywhere from 2-3 months of consistent work.
Concerts could be themed to more modern 20th and 21st century music with exceptions being made once in a while if it's consistent with the program. The idea would be to perform regularly, lets say 4-5 times a month. At first it would be a little rough cause we wouldn't have the amount of material necessary to do this, but think about the possibilities after a year. If four or five groups played together for a year we would have enough material to fill multiple concerts at the same time. Groups can mix and match with other groups, play longer or shorter concerts, and have a different theme to each show all with the underlying purpose of moving forward with the music.
It's hard to see how anything we do in this context is a step in the wrong direction. Something like this is exactly what we, as performers, and modern music need. There is a lot more going on at Longy than classical music. I see people who are in to Jazz and R&B, Bluegrass, people who write and perform folk and pop music, electronic music and probably some others I've missed. Wouldn't it be great to blend that all together in one concert? I see an endless road of possibilities with this and if done right, it could be the start of something new and important. I have a guitar duo and a guitar/voice duo ready to roll. Who's with me?
My questions to Dean Chin:
1.) Lets say this Modern Consortium actually took off. Would Longy be willing to help us get the word out and advertise our performances on their website?
2.) As a performer, What flaws do you see in the modern concert atmosphere?
3.) What sort of realistic changes could you make?
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Where have all the students gone?
I attended the Radius Ensemble concert, Dragons, this past Saturday night in Pickman Hall. I'm not going to talk about the program, but suffice to say, it was fantastic. What impressed me at the concert was the small number of Longy students in attendance. There were still many students there, but when I think of the number of students in our school, we could almost fill Pickman Hall ourselves. I would have really expected more students to be in attendance.
Maybe I'm being a bit unfair. I know many students work at night to support themselves or perform in their own right. But I have noticed this absence of students at concerts on other nights of the week as well.
I should explain why this perplexes me. I have always found that attending musical performances is crucial to my own musical development. In a concert, I am exposed to great literature, outstanding performance techniques, and generally inspired in my own endeavors. Not to mention, I am often starstruck and my spirits lifted. Many, if not most, of the concerts at Longy are also free. Except for work conflicts, it appears there is very little to prevent students from attending our concerts.
So what is keeping students from attending these valuable concerts?
In my own experience, part of the problem is the time. Many of our concerts don't begin until 8pm. Given the average length of two hours, our concerts end at the reasonable hour of 10pm. However, after a concert I have to rush to catch a subway train, get off at my stop, wait great lengths of time for a bus, and hope I get get home before midnight. With the sparse bus service on the weekends in particular, I always run the risk of missing the last bus for the evening and walking several miles home. It is worth mentioning that I do not live in the nicest part of Boston. Walking a few miles alone and late at night isn't the wisest choice. I know many students use public transport to get about, and that I am not the only person who faces this issue with the availability of public transport. Would more students be in attendance if our concerts started earlier, thereby making transportation less of an issue?
My final thought about this is naturally the impact of concert attendance on our musical future. If we as students won't attend concerts now, are we really dumb enough to expect people to attend our own concerts in return? We will one day be the educators and proprietors of music in this country and the world. If we don't demonstrate and appreciate the value of concerts now, do we really expect the next generation to do so as well? It is time for us to begin leading by example. If not, why are we studying music if we don't want to listen to it ourselves?
Now for my questions for Dean Chin.
1. Why doesn't Longy have stricter policies on concert attendance?
2. Why do our concerts begin at 8pm rather than 7pm, or 7:30pm?
3. Why doesn't Longy maintain a large, student vocal ensemble (choir, etc)? We have an orchestra and chamber groups, but there is no equivalent for the large number of vocalists at the school.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Classical music in Media
For composers, video games are the surreal land of opportunity
http://herocomplex.latimes.com/2012/09/28/for-composers-video-games-are-the-surreal-land-of-opportunity/
The composers in this article effort to integrate their music into real life using their musical talent and skills. Although it is not easy to make people hear one’s music, people are unconsciously familiar with music pieces when those become background music for drama, TV commercials, or even movies. If I overhear any portion of a classical piece from TV or other places, I try to focus on that music in order to figure out its title, or just love that moment with music. Music pieces become a more attention, if those become parts of the original sound track (OST) of a drama in Korea. In fact, it is a truism in our culture that people tend to be interested in a certain TV show when the scene and music are well harmonized. Therefore, whenever people hear a typical musical piece, they recall a typical scene that came with that music piece. It might represent the importance of the music as a crucial part of the visual scene.
http://herocomplex.latimes.com/2012/09/28/for-composers-video-games-are-the-surreal-land-of-opportunity/
The composers in this article effort to integrate their music into real life using their musical talent and skills. Although it is not easy to make people hear one’s music, people are unconsciously familiar with music pieces when those become background music for drama, TV commercials, or even movies. If I overhear any portion of a classical piece from TV or other places, I try to focus on that music in order to figure out its title, or just love that moment with music. Music pieces become a more attention, if those become parts of the original sound track (OST) of a drama in Korea. In fact, it is a truism in our culture that people tend to be interested in a certain TV show when the scene and music are well harmonized. Therefore, whenever people hear a typical musical piece, they recall a typical scene that came with that music piece. It might represent the importance of the music as a crucial part of the visual scene.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Mixing Classical Music With Rap
Classical pianist Jade Simmons has ventured into a new way style of music: mixing classical music with rap. Jade Simmons is a classical pianist who has been pushing the boundaries of the genre for sometime. She has been known to incorporate jazz, electronic, pop, and experimental music into her live performances. However, the recent addition of rap in her albums seems to be a rather bold move.
From my perspective at least, rap and classical music are polar opposites. I believe that in the contemporary cultural world, society has done its way of distinctly labeling the two genres. Classical music, as perceived by most, is associated with the old, maturity, class, and sophistication, where as rap is often associated with youth, vulgarity, and sometimes rebellion.
While after listening to a few sample tracks of Jade Simmons' classical and rap mash-up I will admit that I did find it too sound odd and lacking in cohesion and natural flow, I believe that this album is on the right track to break down musical stereotypes. By combining these two vastly different genres, Ms. Simmons is opening a pathway for many young classical musicians who are influenced by multiple genres (the irony is that young musicians today do not fit into the musical stereotypes as much as their parents generation do due to the accessibility of media, which is a main source of contemporary music, such as rap). However, who is to say that Ms. Simmons is only helping classical musicians? Young rap musicians can start blending the two genres as well (some rap musicians do use classical music interludes from time to time at the beginning of tracks).
As a young classical musician, I see this blend of genres as a small gain in our field. This can potentially open up a new outlet of performance opportunities for young classical musicians so they are not just limited by the orchestral field.
From my perspective at least, rap and classical music are polar opposites. I believe that in the contemporary cultural world, society has done its way of distinctly labeling the two genres. Classical music, as perceived by most, is associated with the old, maturity, class, and sophistication, where as rap is often associated with youth, vulgarity, and sometimes rebellion.
While after listening to a few sample tracks of Jade Simmons' classical and rap mash-up I will admit that I did find it too sound odd and lacking in cohesion and natural flow, I believe that this album is on the right track to break down musical stereotypes. By combining these two vastly different genres, Ms. Simmons is opening a pathway for many young classical musicians who are influenced by multiple genres (the irony is that young musicians today do not fit into the musical stereotypes as much as their parents generation do due to the accessibility of media, which is a main source of contemporary music, such as rap). However, who is to say that Ms. Simmons is only helping classical musicians? Young rap musicians can start blending the two genres as well (some rap musicians do use classical music interludes from time to time at the beginning of tracks).
As a young classical musician, I see this blend of genres as a small gain in our field. This can potentially open up a new outlet of performance opportunities for young classical musicians so they are not just limited by the orchestral field.
Maestro Who?
I have long been a fan of the British TV series "Doctor Who" which has been running on BBC on and off since 1963. Although Captain Kirk claims to have gone boldly "...where no man has gone before", The Doctor and his various companions were traveling to distant worlds of the past, present, and future five years prior to Star Trek's creation. The program's most recent incarnation has gained an international cult following, due largely to the internet. Those who cannot watch the episodes when they air on BBC in the UK can simply purchase them on iTunes for $2.99 the next day.
Not surprisingly, The Doctor's fan base has used to reach out to one another through blogs, message boards, and, surprisingly, a web-based orchestra. The Doctor Who Fan Orchestra is a group of musical whovians who volunteer their time to prepare, record, and submit a recording their instrument's part in an arrangement of music from the show. The parts are then spliced together into a video that the group posts to youtube.
Earlier today I decided to join my fellow Doctor-loving musicians and participate in their sixth collaborative project. All that was required of me was a straightforward online sign up and email based account confirmation. I now await the trombone part for the DWFO's "A Christmas Carol Suite", featuring music from last year's Doctor Who Christmas special. I look forward to posting more information about the group as I receive it.
Not surprisingly, The Doctor's fan base has used to reach out to one another through blogs, message boards, and, surprisingly, a web-based orchestra. The Doctor Who Fan Orchestra is a group of musical whovians who volunteer their time to prepare, record, and submit a recording their instrument's part in an arrangement of music from the show. The parts are then spliced together into a video that the group posts to youtube.
Earlier today I decided to join my fellow Doctor-loving musicians and participate in their sixth collaborative project. All that was required of me was a straightforward online sign up and email based account confirmation. I now await the trombone part for the DWFO's "A Christmas Carol Suite", featuring music from last year's Doctor Who Christmas special. I look forward to posting more information about the group as I receive it.
Global Citizens
Although I’ve always believed that music has the ability to transcend
racial and cultural divides, it is sometimes easy to forget how exactly
this can be done. We get so caught up in perfecting our craft that we
can easily let the most important aspects fall away from our list of
immediate priorities. The idea that music must fight to remain relevant
in today’s society is something which has been touched upon in our
class discussions, and it is always exciting to see some concrete
examples in which music (classical or otherwise) is doing its part to
make the world a better place.
I was reminded that there are many organizations that use music to promote their projects by a festival that took place in New York City’s Central Park on September 29th. The Global Citizen Festival brought together such renowned artists as Neil Young, the Foo Fighters, and the Black Keys, to an audience of more than 60,000 people all in the name of fighting extreme poverty around the world. According to the New York Times Article by John Pareles, “there were video clips, activists and celebrities — among them Katie Couric, Selena Gomez, Olivia Wilde and Katharine McPhee, as well as the economist Jeffrey D. Sachs — detailing poverty-related death tolls and efforts to change them. The concert’s hosts called for actions like sending a poverty-related tweet to the presidential candidates.” It is inspiring to see how social media and music can work hand in hand to create change for the better. The concert was internationally webcast, and tickets were made available to people for free if they accepted the following conditions: “enrolling an e-mail address with Global Citizen and then performing certain actions through the Web site, including watching videos, spreading information via social media and doing something for a partner organization.” Using music to promote one’s ideas is nothing new, but it is inspiring to see it being used on such a large scale with a tangible goal in mind. However, some might say that this isn’t surprising, particularly as this particular event invited already well-established artists, none of whom happened to be classical musicians. But the truth of the matter is that classical musicians have also been involved as global citizens.
I was reminded that there are many organizations that use music to promote their projects by a festival that took place in New York City’s Central Park on September 29th. The Global Citizen Festival brought together such renowned artists as Neil Young, the Foo Fighters, and the Black Keys, to an audience of more than 60,000 people all in the name of fighting extreme poverty around the world. According to the New York Times Article by John Pareles, “there were video clips, activists and celebrities — among them Katie Couric, Selena Gomez, Olivia Wilde and Katharine McPhee, as well as the economist Jeffrey D. Sachs — detailing poverty-related death tolls and efforts to change them. The concert’s hosts called for actions like sending a poverty-related tweet to the presidential candidates.” It is inspiring to see how social media and music can work hand in hand to create change for the better. The concert was internationally webcast, and tickets were made available to people for free if they accepted the following conditions: “enrolling an e-mail address with Global Citizen and then performing certain actions through the Web site, including watching videos, spreading information via social media and doing something for a partner organization.” Using music to promote one’s ideas is nothing new, but it is inspiring to see it being used on such a large scale with a tangible goal in mind. However, some might say that this isn’t surprising, particularly as this particular event invited already well-established artists, none of whom happened to be classical musicians. But the truth of the matter is that classical musicians have also been involved as global citizens.
For
example, Daniel Barenboim’s West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, which he
created in collaboration with a Palestinian literary scholar, Edward
Said, in 1999, aims to “bring together young musicians from Israel and
the Arab countries every summer. The orchestra seeks to enable a
dialogue between the various culture of the Middle East and to promote
this through the experience of making music together.” This project has
been a great success in demonstrating that bridges can be built in
order to make communication possible and supports the idea that music is
capable of transcending cultural gulfs. Another great example of
Classical music taking center stage on the Global scene is El Sistema, a
program which began in Venezuela to bring music to poor children. It
has become an international phenomenon, helped in part by the fact that
the young, charismatic, and internationally recognized conductor Gustavo
Dudamel began his studies with this program. Today, it reaches more
than 300,000 children in Venezuela and is becoming more and more
established here in the United States. Its goal to “transform the lives
of children through music,” has succeeded in creating a nurturing and
inspiring environment for thousands of under-privileged children in over
25 countries.
I believe that it is of the utmost importance to remember that programs
like these exist because it reminds us that social change is not only
possible, it is part of our reality as musicians. There are so many
opportunities to help existing projects or to create our own, that it is
only up to us to ensure that music remains pertinent to our current
state of affairs.
The Classical Revolution
A few months before I had to leave Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, LA, I got a facebook request from one of my oboe player friends asking if I was interested in joining the Classical Revolution. After a prompt Google search, I discovered that the Classical Revolution is an actual movement, with chapters in many large cities worldwide. There is also an offshoot group, Classical Revolution PDX, with a home base in Portland, OR.
If you visit the Classical Revolution PDX site, the home page features a manifesto. “We love classical music. We love playing classical music. We love listening to classical music. We are tired of the elitist and inaccessible nature of the classical world. We believe that there are many that would enjoy classical music if they could access it in a setting that is comfortable for them. We believe classical musicians should be allowed to perform in a setting that is more casual - where the audience is allowed to have a drink, eat a scone, laugh a little, and clap a lot. We believe everyone can enjoy the music that we love.” Essentially, the Classical Revolution is comprised of classical musicians bringing (mostly) chamber music to different audiences through non-traditional venues. Cafes, bars, neighborhoods, parks; everywhere is fair game.
The success of this movement has been mentioned in the New York Times, and they mention orchestras who have gotten in on the revolution. The San Francisco Symphony holds an After Hours bar scene at Davies Symphony Hall, and I’m sure we all have seen the YouTube videos of flash orchestral mobs taking place in train stations, actual trains, and malls. Classical music is moving out of the concert halls and taking the music to new audiences, quite literally.
I love the fourth sentence of the manifesto. “We believe classical musicians should be allowed to perform in a setting that is more casual - where the audience is allowed to have a drink, eat a scone, laugh a little, and clap a lot.” I don’t think classical music should make the move to bars or cafes exclusively, but by making music and sharing it in a more casual manner, the culture of classical music begins to stop taking itself so seriously and opens up to new possibilities.
If you visit the Classical Revolution PDX site, the home page features a manifesto. “We love classical music. We love playing classical music. We love listening to classical music. We are tired of the elitist and inaccessible nature of the classical world. We believe that there are many that would enjoy classical music if they could access it in a setting that is comfortable for them. We believe classical musicians should be allowed to perform in a setting that is more casual - where the audience is allowed to have a drink, eat a scone, laugh a little, and clap a lot. We believe everyone can enjoy the music that we love.” Essentially, the Classical Revolution is comprised of classical musicians bringing (mostly) chamber music to different audiences through non-traditional venues. Cafes, bars, neighborhoods, parks; everywhere is fair game.
The success of this movement has been mentioned in the New York Times, and they mention orchestras who have gotten in on the revolution. The San Francisco Symphony holds an After Hours bar scene at Davies Symphony Hall, and I’m sure we all have seen the YouTube videos of flash orchestral mobs taking place in train stations, actual trains, and malls. Classical music is moving out of the concert halls and taking the music to new audiences, quite literally.
I love the fourth sentence of the manifesto. “We believe classical musicians should be allowed to perform in a setting that is more casual - where the audience is allowed to have a drink, eat a scone, laugh a little, and clap a lot.” I don’t think classical music should make the move to bars or cafes exclusively, but by making music and sharing it in a more casual manner, the culture of classical music begins to stop taking itself so seriously and opens up to new possibilities.
Musings on Musicians, Perceptions, and Pay
At my part-time job, I am lucky enough to be working with several other people who are striving towards a degree and career in music--however, I am often met with furrowed brows and dubious looks by my non-musician coworkers when I explain that I'm a classical singer. It's certainly not news to me that getting a degree in music is distasteful to some. "What are you going to do with that?" they inevitably ask, which has always been puzzling to me. You don't wonder what a law student is going to do with their law degree, do you? Recently, though, my mouth runs off with explanations for them, but my mind is often left wondering the same. What am I going to do with that?
It's all up in the air, as degrees in music don't often lead to direct career paths. There are many options available, of course: I could teach, I could audition, I could perform, I could collaborate, I could work behind-the-scenes. "Through it all, I will sing, and I will be a musician!" I often think determinedly. Harder to ignore at times is the little voice creeping up that responds, "will you?"
What seems to be the issue with my career choice that bothers most of my coworkers is that I'm not necessarily on the road to a 9-to-5 job and a steady increase of income (a fact I have, admittedly, lamented while looking at my bank account). I can't count the number of times I've been advised by older and wiser musicians to practice around a work schedule--or to find work that will pay and not require a lot of responsibility--so that I can focus on music. It leaves me with a sense of optimism for being able to leave my mark in the music world, but not with much optimism for getting paid for my hard work in music.
There's a perception that tends to slide through people's heads, insinuating that the the very idea that musicians should be paid for their work is absurd. It's seen as an afterthought, something you should do in your downtime (while at the same time celebrity or master artists are worshiped). It's a trend in perception that has come and gone throughout history. This can be seen in the wider art world, as well--"I can't pay you for [your performance/your design work/your composition/your writing], but I can buy you dinner as thanks", is an unfortunate proposition heard by many. It often goes hand-in-hand with the wonderful, "You should just be happy people like you", implying that I should be happy to work for free in order to please an audience.
It's a tricky situation, because certainly, as performers, we do want to please an audience. It is how we can find success. I'm personally invested in pleasing an audience as well as honing my craft, but the audience doesn't always want to pay me, and I also happen to be personally invested in making money.
Whether or not this is a perception we as musicians can change is unclear to me. The general public very obviously values art and entertainment, but devalues those that wish to be paid for producing it--this cultural idea is made quite clear in the discussion on musical authenticity in Cook's Music: A Very Short Introduction. I have a Bachelor's degree in music and I am pursuing a Master's; I know that I've worked very hard to get here, and that talent and love alone could not have propelled me forward. This is not seen as authentic musicianship by much of the population.
No career is certain, however. Perhaps next time I'm asked, "What are you going to do with that?", I'll respond in kind.
It's all up in the air, as degrees in music don't often lead to direct career paths. There are many options available, of course: I could teach, I could audition, I could perform, I could collaborate, I could work behind-the-scenes. "Through it all, I will sing, and I will be a musician!" I often think determinedly. Harder to ignore at times is the little voice creeping up that responds, "will you?"
What seems to be the issue with my career choice that bothers most of my coworkers is that I'm not necessarily on the road to a 9-to-5 job and a steady increase of income (a fact I have, admittedly, lamented while looking at my bank account). I can't count the number of times I've been advised by older and wiser musicians to practice around a work schedule--or to find work that will pay and not require a lot of responsibility--so that I can focus on music. It leaves me with a sense of optimism for being able to leave my mark in the music world, but not with much optimism for getting paid for my hard work in music.
There's a perception that tends to slide through people's heads, insinuating that the the very idea that musicians should be paid for their work is absurd. It's seen as an afterthought, something you should do in your downtime (while at the same time celebrity or master artists are worshiped). It's a trend in perception that has come and gone throughout history. This can be seen in the wider art world, as well--"I can't pay you for [your performance/your design work/your composition/your writing], but I can buy you dinner as thanks", is an unfortunate proposition heard by many. It often goes hand-in-hand with the wonderful, "You should just be happy people like you", implying that I should be happy to work for free in order to please an audience.
It's a tricky situation, because certainly, as performers, we do want to please an audience. It is how we can find success. I'm personally invested in pleasing an audience as well as honing my craft, but the audience doesn't always want to pay me, and I also happen to be personally invested in making money.
Whether or not this is a perception we as musicians can change is unclear to me. The general public very obviously values art and entertainment, but devalues those that wish to be paid for producing it--this cultural idea is made quite clear in the discussion on musical authenticity in Cook's Music: A Very Short Introduction. I have a Bachelor's degree in music and I am pursuing a Master's; I know that I've worked very hard to get here, and that talent and love alone could not have propelled me forward. This is not seen as authentic musicianship by much of the population.
No career is certain, however. Perhaps next time I'm asked, "What are you going to do with that?", I'll respond in kind.
For the Love of Craft
Reading Jared's post got me thinking about the relationship that classical musicians have with their craft, and subsequently with their audience. I think most of us tend to think highly of the music that we make--otherwise, we wouldn't be making it. But the characterization of classical musicians as snobs is worth examining more closely; particularly, whether this perceived air of conceit is a function of the venues we perform in or the audiences we perform for, rather than any actual documented snobbery. It becomes a chicken and egg argument--to what extent is this perception perpetuated by musicians, and to what extent is it maintained by cultural forces outside of our hands?
Like Kaley, I too was at the Friday evening Septemberfest concert, "La Muse en Voyage," recording from the concert office behind the balcony. Reflecting upon the sensation of being contained behind a glass barrier during the concert, It's amazing how removed one feels from the experience. Besides being exempted from the dictates of concert etiquette, you miss out on the visceral, sonic energy that comes with a live performance, even as you're watching it unfold in front of you, some fifty feet away. I became more acutely aware of the issues I (and, incidentally, many of us) have with classical music concerts--the ritualized rules about when to applaud, the mandated silence during a performance, and the inherent subordination of audience to performer (which Kaley aptly describes). Given this and the fact that I was part of the production, I was struck by how artificial it all seemed. This isn't to say that the music wasn't great--it was well performed and the programming was effective, but I always find concerts that rely on extensive program notes to lack an essential element of engagement between audience and performer. If I attend a concert, I want to know why a performer has chosen to present a particular piece, and why I should care about their presentation--which brings me back to the relationship between the artist and their craft. If we think so highly of what we do, why are we reluctant to explain our craft to others? Furthermore, why must we insist on performing at the same types of venues for the same types of audiences, playing the same types of music?
Part of the answer lies in cultural precedents, but it also lies within us--as young, well-educated artists, it is our duty to expand the working knowledge of how classical music is perceived. It is our imperative to reveal and undermine the transparent assumptions in music, such as those that grant the composer authoritative clout or those that place authenticity above reproduction. In short, we need to change our modus operandi. The difficulty lies in the fact that as young musicians, gaining popularity and notoriety seemingly necessitates going through the usual channels of promotion, and performing in the usual venues for the usual audiences with the usual repertoire. Unless we are able to break free of this linear trajectory and embrace a more ontological approach, we may unintentionally contribute to the furthering of this cultural hierarchy.
To me, the key is how we promote ourselves: the mediums we use, the people we reach, and the "products" that we sell. Personally, I have struggled with self-promotion--I never want to appear as though I'm asking for emotional validation, and I worry about being judged by others. I prefer to share my craft with those who ask for it; as a result, my audience is limited in size and demographic. Such is the challenge that I face--how do I reconcile my aesthetic preferences with my desire to connect to a broader audience? I think it's a challenge we all face. But, armed with the proper methodology and a love for one's craft, it's a challenge that is not insurmountable.
Like Kaley, I too was at the Friday evening Septemberfest concert, "La Muse en Voyage," recording from the concert office behind the balcony. Reflecting upon the sensation of being contained behind a glass barrier during the concert, It's amazing how removed one feels from the experience. Besides being exempted from the dictates of concert etiquette, you miss out on the visceral, sonic energy that comes with a live performance, even as you're watching it unfold in front of you, some fifty feet away. I became more acutely aware of the issues I (and, incidentally, many of us) have with classical music concerts--the ritualized rules about when to applaud, the mandated silence during a performance, and the inherent subordination of audience to performer (which Kaley aptly describes). Given this and the fact that I was part of the production, I was struck by how artificial it all seemed. This isn't to say that the music wasn't great--it was well performed and the programming was effective, but I always find concerts that rely on extensive program notes to lack an essential element of engagement between audience and performer. If I attend a concert, I want to know why a performer has chosen to present a particular piece, and why I should care about their presentation--which brings me back to the relationship between the artist and their craft. If we think so highly of what we do, why are we reluctant to explain our craft to others? Furthermore, why must we insist on performing at the same types of venues for the same types of audiences, playing the same types of music?
Part of the answer lies in cultural precedents, but it also lies within us--as young, well-educated artists, it is our duty to expand the working knowledge of how classical music is perceived. It is our imperative to reveal and undermine the transparent assumptions in music, such as those that grant the composer authoritative clout or those that place authenticity above reproduction. In short, we need to change our modus operandi. The difficulty lies in the fact that as young musicians, gaining popularity and notoriety seemingly necessitates going through the usual channels of promotion, and performing in the usual venues for the usual audiences with the usual repertoire. Unless we are able to break free of this linear trajectory and embrace a more ontological approach, we may unintentionally contribute to the furthering of this cultural hierarchy.
To me, the key is how we promote ourselves: the mediums we use, the people we reach, and the "products" that we sell. Personally, I have struggled with self-promotion--I never want to appear as though I'm asking for emotional validation, and I worry about being judged by others. I prefer to share my craft with those who ask for it; as a result, my audience is limited in size and demographic. Such is the challenge that I face--how do I reconcile my aesthetic preferences with my desire to connect to a broader audience? I think it's a challenge we all face. But, armed with the proper methodology and a love for one's craft, it's a challenge that is not insurmountable.
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