Nolan Hamilton’s opinion piece, “Do Not Give a Dollar to the Opera,” expresses
a negative reaction towards the New York City Opera’s pleas for donations. The
opera company claims it needs $20 million in order to go forward with their
2013 season and 2014 season. Hamilton’s argument is that there are other more
important causes in need of charity in the world, such as the Against Malaria
Foundation and the Coalition for the Homeless.
Although fighting malaria and helping the homeless are
certainly worthy causes, I disagree with the premise of the article. This is
actually a logical fallacy, along the lines of saying that we needn’t talk
about poverty in the developed world because there are children starving in
(insert far-away place here).People
have the ability to care about more than one thing at once.
As for his argument that a dollar spent on one charity is a
dollar not spent on another, I would argue that though spending on the arts may
seem frivolous, I believe human beings need art and entertainment. We have
evolved to be creative and social. Anyone who has tried to live on a slim
budget can understand the urge to buy that one ticket to a fun activity, or
that one game you have wanted forever, or even just a chocolate bar instead of
something more nutritious. We need the break from all of the seriousness and
the gritty reality of life, and people are willing to pay for the experience.
And sure, the art of opera would survive the collapse of the New York City
Opera. But would it survive if everyone followed Hamilton’s advice into the
future?
Unfortunately I hear arguments like this in other venues,
often from people who work in fields far removed from the arts.They ask why anyone would want to get a
degree in the arts when they are destined to be poor and forever in debt
because of it.They question the need
for any spending on what they see as non-essential in a time of economic
crisis. I think it is critical for us to understand why people think this way,
and more importantly, what we can do to change their minds.
Recently, a New
York City chapter of the American Federation of Musicians published an email
newsletter that turned heads within the classical orchestral world. As
discussed here, one newsletter headline read, “How do you really
feel about 21st century repertoire?” and continues, “In many ways, the future
of classical music depends on the repertoire. But, as a musician, what do you
really think of new work?” The body of the short article encouraged musicians
to weigh in with their thoughts in an effort to understand the relationship
between composers, performers, and audience members. As pointed out in the above link, the objective of the post may have been noble, but was approached in the
wrong way. “With its inclusion of ‘really’ (in italics, no less), it is
improbable, at best, to imagine that a healthy discussion is what is intended,”
Rob Deemer writes. Reading the entire section of the newsletter, the
implication that performers do not (or should not) enjoy contemporary music is
apparent.
Why would a
professional organization include such a connotation in their newsletter? Is
there truth to their implication of the distance between audiences, performers,
and musicians? What exactly is the perception of the state of contemporary
instrumental music?
To answer the
latter two questions, I’ll direct us to this article, written in 2012 but
chronicling future concert programs through 2013. The Guardian, one of
the UK’s most popular news sources, paints an optimistic picture. The writer
describes that “audiences are flocking to work previously regarded as austere
and impenetrable,” before listing the conductors and orchestras that are
routinely programming avant-garde works. Among the reasons listed for the increase
in popularity of contemporary works are campaigns targeting people within other
artforms and musical interests, for example performing contemporary classical
music alongside bands such as The Aphex Twins or Joanna Newsom.
This optimism seems to be an abrupt change in the contemporary music world, as Alex Ross painted a rather bleak picture in 2010, describing a number of NYC performances
where audience members walked out. “A full century after Arnold Schoenberg and
his students Alban Berg and Anton Webern unleashed their harsh chords on the
world, modern classical music remains an unattractive proposition for many
concertgoers,” he writes.
As
performers, how can we combat this trend, if it exists in America? The music of
Stravinsky, Schoenberg, and Ives can provide us with new technical demands that
don’t necessarily exist in the great Classical and Romantic repertoire (not to
mention the techniques demanded by Crumb, Xenakis, Boulez, or Berio). The modernists
make us think and reflect upon why their music is so original. To address both
the audience and performer’s perspective, I’ll close by quoting Alex Ross, who
makes a great point: “Listeners who become accustomed to Berg and Ligeti will
find new dimensions in Mozart and Beethoven. So, too, will performers. For too
long, we have placed the classical masters in a gilded cage. It is time to let
them out.”
It’s a concise and partly comical piece that expresses a dilemma he perceives of classical music not effectively reaching and interacting with audiences through social media. I assume he means to include, under “classical music,” contemporary art music, since he is a composer. If his attempts to reach an audience through social media actually use the term “classical,” I think this may be part of the difficulty.
“Classical” just sounds like “old”. I, for one, first think “music that is preserved and that people have deemed worthwhile to put great effort into preserving” when I hear the term “classical music.” And, indeed, I do find much of it to be totally worth the efforts and expenses of preserving. But I’m not sure that there is a lot of crossover between the audience that is most enthusiastic about this “classical music” institution and the audience that is eager to see what kind of new cutting edge creative works are breaking out of the established boxes of pop music, jazz, folk, baroque, classical, romantic, or “modern” art music from the turn of the 20th century up to last week. Out of the people I’ve met in my life, those who would fit into both of these these demographics are mostly classically trained musicians (mostly college trained) and a disproportionately large percentage of them are composers.
I think that composers, and performers who are enthusiastic about new art music, would do well to distinguish it from all that can be implied in “classical.” Of course, if it is music that is sticking to the tonal, rhythmic, and formal conventions of the period we call classical (whether that be Baroque through Romantic, Medieval through early 20th century, or just 1750 through 1820 or so), as movie scores sometimes do, then that’s one thing. If, however, a composer is creating something that comes out of the context of right now, and speaks to right now, then it seems that the word “classical” could be a bit misleading and perhaps deterring to potential audiences.
Then there is the issue he brings up about creating a sense of real community and sharing through online social networks, as opposed to just marketing through them. Perhaps this could be helped by offering as well as asking/selling. For example: giving away a recording or two for free and not under a heading that begs people to please listen to it, but rather as a presentation of something valuable being given freely as a gift. Another idea would be to pose questions (through blogs, facebook posts, tweets, whatever works) about real issues in art music today, in which people could weigh in and interact. Then there is some interaction and when it is time to advertise a performance or an album release, or to put one’s self out there to potential performers, it’s not just showing up to advertise. Rather, it’s one part of being a community member.
In a recent interview (http://www.theguardian.com/music/2013/sep/02/male-conductors-better-orchestras-vasily-petrenko), the world famous conductor Vasily Petrenko made a comment that male conductors are better for orchestras than their female counterparts. It is discouraging to realize that such a dated statement is heard from a respected authority in the music world. The timing was sensitive too, as conductor Marin Alsop was to become the first woman to conduct the Last Night of the Proms in the near future. Petrenko’s attitude is an insult towards the efforts of gender equality and takes a step back in the long progress. Based on these comments, as well as the fact that there are far less top women conductors, parts of the music field seem to be slower in removing the glass ceiling than other professional fields. As a result of this, the development of the field is largely in the hands of men, and lacks women’s contributions. I wonder what opportunities and experiences there would be to discover if women had always been given the same possibilities as men. Petrenko’s defense for this statement is not that women conductors cannot reach the same level of expertise as men, but that they are a distraction to the players. In addition, he states that a woman’s family would come in the way of business and personal life. His comments are heavily influenced by the male perspective; it is expected that a woman will have children and be responsible for their upbringing. The notion of erotic distraction is filled with objectification. Don’t men have families too? Can the women in the orchestra not be distracted by an attractive man on the podium? He later claimed to have talked about only the situation in Russia. Nevertheless, women are women everywhere; it is disappointing to see that being confined by old beliefs is still true in 2013.
Dear Dean Wayman Chin, President Karen Zorn, and the Longy Community:
Fifty
years ago, we learned that dreams were the fuel for action, and action was the
path to resolution. While perhaps my little dream is seldom discussed, it is subconsciously
manifested and of colossal importance for the well-being of generations to
come: and so I dream it. In my dream, artists are inexorably linked to the
health of society, and thus tied to the decisions that society makes, and tied
to the policies that create and shape our societies. In a way, this dream has
already come true – without poetry, from which element would Lincoln have
carved his words? Without music, how would the strength and resilience of the
black American community be communicated to populations around the world? President
Barack Obama himself has emphasized the importance of the artist in saying that
“the tools of change, and of progress, of revolution, of ferment -- they're not just pickaxes and hammers and screens and software, but they've also been brushes and pens and cameras and guitars." Yet, today, I interpret this
reality as a dream, because the links are muddied, the artists consistently
teetering on a precipice of imprisonment and disengagement. (To write a letter
to my congressman, or to practice? To sign a petition, or to practice?) Many of
us do not even exercise our right to ask these questions, because our classical
music community faces perpetual veiling from the outside world. It is for this
reason that I ask: how does Longy expect to educate civically engaged,
community-minded students – a self-proclaimed goal, as outlined below – when it
ignores one of the most important days in recent history?
Today, January 21, 2013, President
Barack H. Obama, our first black president, took his second oath of office on
the bible of Dr. Martin Luther King. It also happens to be Martin Luther King Day,
a national holiday for remembrance of his life and message, and it also happens
to be the year which marks the 50th anniversary of Dr. King’s
revolutionary “I Have a Dream” speech. Yet at Longy, classes were in session,
even though busses ran on a Saturday schedule, even though staff was off, even
though NEC, Boston Conservatory, Berklee, and all public institutions were off.
We, at Longy, missed the Inauguration coverage.When my children learn about this in their history classes
in the decades to come, they will ask me in their sweet voices – “where were
you, mommy?” I will answer, “I was in seminar, watching someone perform a
Mozart aria.” Is this the legacy we want to leave to our children, as artists?
As art administrators, as art educators? I ask you, dear Dean and President - how
does Longy expect to positively contribute to the relevance problem of
classical music if it continues to operate with such civic nonchalance?
Longy’s
mission statement, even in its clarity and pragmatism, draws many students
(including myself) because of the artful repetition of the word “world.”
Indeed, Longy claims to “[prepare] musicians to make a difference in the world”
and “foster an attitude of inquiry about the role of music and the musician in
the larger world.” From today, however, one might surmise that the method of
inducing inquiry included ignoring important public events and meaningful
holidays, in hopes of provoking responses such as this. With apologies, I’m not
sure if I can attribute my “attitude of inquiry” on this day to Longy’s
indifference, but rather to the efforts of my undergraduate institution,
Whitman College, which, while imperfect in its civic engagement, attempted with
a Sisyphean attitude to remedy this. Every year, we took off classes for a day to have a
school-wide conference about race and privilege. And every year, more students
graduated with a fire of public service ignited inside of them. Whitman, which
in its size and prestige has many elements in common with Longy, can serve as a
model for honest desire to connect to the “larger world,” as Longy strives to
do. Further, Longy claims to “offer programs which provide our students with
opportunities to engage with the world in new ways” – this, in its
manifestation in the Experiential Education sequence, drew me to Longy, and I
am ecstatic to embark upon my final EEP work this semester. Departing from the
theme of this letter, I am thrilled to have been able to ask and discuss these
very questions while at this school, and will continue to sing Longy's praises. But
it begs the question: what about students who struggle, through their
background or even through their natural interests, to connect to the outside
world? What kind of message does it send to ignore these meaningful holidays,
to force class attendance when the rest of the nation is witnessing history?
What kind of EEP project will they present, through no fault of their own
curious and hard-working souls, and, beyond Longy, what kind of career, will
these students hope to have when, outside of this sequence, they’ve been living
in a cultural vacuum? Is that the kind of student that a school, in our
increasingly global, diverse, and connected world, will want to hire to teach
their music classes? And is that the kind of student that doctoral programs,
increasingly pressured to produce professors who can research outside the box
and teach even further outside the rectangle, will want to admit? And is that
the kind of performer that audiences will want to see? And is that the kind of
performer that will even accrue an audience? We’ve asked these questions
before. Do not misinterpret: Longy is genuine in its mission and the faculty
and staff are skilled and passionate in executing it. But awareness works in
small ways too: observing MLK Day, thereby encouraging students to have watched
this historic inauguration, would only have served to support Longy’s
self-proclaimed values of “dynamic interaction with the larger world,” “creative
thought and innovation,” “the freedom to explore,” and, above all, “advocacy
for our art.”
While
advocacy for art is essential for its dissemination, there remains an unspoken
and elemental bond between great art and awareness of the human condition. I
have often heard classical musicians disparage popular music for pervasive and
vapid messages of dance floors and puppy love. And if these themes are truly
the avenue for meaningless art, then we can surmise that art loses meaning when
it disengages from the profound conundrums of life and society. While I don’t
necessarily agree with such a blanket statement, there is an element of truth
in that great music of any style – from the heart-wrenching laments of Kurt
Cobain to the celebratory frenzies of Senegalese mbalax to the profound implications of Beethoven’s fifth – deals
with universal themes. And what better place to look for universal themes than
OUTSIDE of the conservatory hall? Think of the days and days of music that grew
out of the Civil Rights movement, the myriad wars of a torn Europe, and, now,
the music that is erupting from our globally connected and impassioned
generation. Great art happens when artists are engaged in life that hasn’t
already been made into art. I guarantee you that I would have found more
inspiration to meaningfully sing my Alma Mahler songs if I had stayed home to
meditate on the words Dr. King and President Obama; more fodder for a work I’m composing about race and privilege. Instead, I learned about audition technique
and a few things about opera librettists. Essential knowledge, sure, but did I
have to learn it while history was happening, instead of history? The moment I realized this, I was graced with a
laughable wash of absurdity. It felt silly. This,
right now, is more important than THAT? I realize my words are impassioned
and not universally felt, but I do believe it is a question worth asking – one
that conservatories must ask every moment of every day in order to continue to
exist in our new world.
I decided to go through the blog and re-read some of the posts I missed the first time through, and Kaley's post about titles reminded me of this article by David Rakowski (professor of composition at Brandeis):
I think it does a great job of examining the history of titling in classical music, while summing up many of the concerns that arise when deciding on titles. For the record, I often use punning titles for my work, or titles with multiple meanings. I think it sends the message that I don't take myself too seriously and I have a sense of humor about my work, which is important to the way I think about music. My favorite title I came up with was "Brazen Overtures" for a brass quintet.
Also, here's to continuing to use this blog as a place for music discussion. I'll definitely be checking it every so often and I hope y'all do so as well!
In this last blog post, I'd like to firstly thank everyone who contributed towards making this class enjoyable and informative--namely, Isaiah and all of my fellow classmates/bloggers. I especially appreciate the mutual respect that was apparent in all of our class discussions, even when we disagreed on certain points; I always felt free to express myself, which, as a generally shy and inward person, doesn't normally happen for me. So, thank you for providing the platform upon which ideas could be expressed and contemplated.
More than anything else, this class has made me aware of how deeply personal music is for each individual--though the need for music as an expressive and communicative tool is absolutely universal, everyone approaches it in a slightly different way, and this makes it all the richer. The myriad of approaches under a single genre, Western classical music, is formidable. This, to me, is the reason why collaboration is critical to developing and extending the art--as humans, we move from dependency (as children), to independence (as adults), and hopefully to interdependence (as collaborators). The progression of music would do well to mirror this evolution, as we create increasingly rich statements.
I may be in the minority in saying that music as an intellectual pursuit is still valid and thriving; I don't see a necessity for simplicity or universality in classical music, because classical music itself is not universal (nor should it attempt to be). In fact, I see divorcing music from its "natural" (ie. communicative) function as much an art form as that of unifying it with that function is. This stance doesn't suggest that complexity is better than simplicity, simply that it has an equal amount of validity in western classical music. In my own music, I strive to combine them in equal parts according to my taste--subsequently, I don't expect universal appeal. But then, that's the beauty of music--the multiplicity of personal styles, approaches, and genres. I hope that the coming years at Longy expose me to an even wider palate, and I can't wait to see what the future has in store.
I've been thinking especially about the accessibility of classical music over the past few days. It's a topic that comes up with a fair amount of frequency at my job, when I discuss what I do with coworkers. Recently, after inviting a coworker to a performance of opera scenes, I was met with the exclamation, "I've always wanted to see an opera!"
Though I hear this type of response often (and I was happy at her enthusiasm), this made me wonder for a moment. Even in a city like Boston, where classical performances are widely available, I know many people who feel it's inaccessible to them. Granted, a large part of the "I've always wanted to..." answers I hear are probably politeness, but nonetheless, the fact that classical music is a foreign world to many people remains.
It's a feeling I understand--until I was taught music, much of the classical world seemed overwhelming and strange to me (sometimes it still does!)
I'm not sure this is a problem that can be easily or wholly fixed in such a world of consumerist music, as Healing the Rift describes. People listen to music differently now than they did one hundred years ago, and the perception of classical music has changed in part simply because it's difficult to enjoy it in the same manner as popular music. The bigger question is: do we want the way we listen to classical music to change in the name of accessibility?
In the meantime, I'll hope my coworkers really do enjoy the opera!
For a last post, I would like to reflect on what I have learned throughout this semester as a student of this class. My general perception of the modern classical musician was that they were highly specialized individuals whose career goals was to find a job as an orchestral player. If anything, this course has helped me completely change my perceptions on what modern classical musicians can do. With the influx on many styles in the 21st century, it seems that classical musicians are using this to their advantage to blend styles. I find comfort in the fact that more opportunities to perform outside of the traditional classical realm are appearing for young musicians in a time when they need it the most. I am also pleased with the fact that classical musicians are taking advantage of technological resources to spread their talent. Sources such as YouTube have far reaching effects.
One of the most important things I learned about this class, however, is how classical musicians need to work together to spread their careers. Encouraging dialogue in which pressing issues are discussed in the field, as done in this course, are gateways to spreading our talent. We also can discuss how we can make our field more accessible to the public. In addition, by communicating with each other about our field we are showing are support for one another, support that we all can rely on. Moreover, by communicating with each other, we open up to ideas of collaborating with one another.
I have learned a significant amount from this course. What I most enjoy about this course, however, is that I will continue to learn from my experiences in this class for years to come.
My experience in this class has been truly memorable. I was impressed by my creative, innovative and intelligent colleagues as well as inspired by my enthusiastic, passionate professor on a weekly basis. I began to experience the class as a living, breathing representation of the current state of the Classical music world. Classical music is alive today and there is passion running through its veins in the form of shared anticipation with regard to upcoming concerts, a swarm of constantly festering musical thought and most importantly a deep love for the personal behind the music. Among the many gifts that the class had to offer, the most profound was a simple reminder that although the Classical world may be a micro-cosmos, it is a world lined with honesty and integrity and filled densely with the best of each of its members.
It had been a while since I felt such a profound sense of community. The last time I was so inspired was when I chose to go into music. I was a high school student and on Saturdays, I was a preparatory student at Mannes, The New School for Music. In addition to lessons in piano, theory, and solfege, all students met in Senior choir at the end of the day. Our director, Matthew Brady, was brilliantly creative and his love for music spread throughout the room like a powdered potion. Before concerts, one of us would always speak about how much the music and the members meant. Sometimes we said a prayer, sometimes we listened to a Tibetan singing bowl, sometimes we had moments of silence, sometimes we read poems. The concerts were spiritual experiences for many of us. Afterwards, we always went out to dinner to share food and memories.
Future of Classical Music has given me the tools to form that community wherever I go for the rest of my life. We must constantly remind ourselves that the element that makes music so powerful is the personal element. We must make an effort to connect to that network of musical minds in order to stay on top of what's relevant, inspire each other, support each other, and perhaps most importantly play for each other. We should all continue to write for a blog and read each others posts. We should continue to share information about our upcoming recitals and attend those of our colleagues. We should never become complacent; always play something new, write something new, and try something new. Perhaps . . . we could sacrifice just one hour every week from our busy schedules, to sit at a single table together, and talk about the world.
An article recently appeared on npr.org's music page with a headline beggin the question "Do Orchestras Really Need Conductors?" The article, by Shankar Vedantam, reports the findings of a recent study attempting to scientifically determine the relationship between the conductors movements on the podium and the string players' bow movements. According to the article, the study concluded not only that the conductors movements predicted the movements of the players bows, but that audience members find music conducted by professionals to be more aesthetically pleasing than music conducted by amateurs.
The implication of this article is that the answer to the titular question is "yes", but the study was not aimed at answering the question at all. All the study showed is that when there is a conductor, he or she can influence how the orchestra plays, and, the former being true, that better conductors yield better musical results. To answer the question "Do Orchestras Really Need Conductors?" would require a control group. How does a professional orchestra sound without any conductor at all?
Luckily for us, some data regarding that question already exists. Groups such as the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra regularly perform without the assistance of a conductor. In addition to its Grammy Awards, the orchestra has been named to The WorldBlu List of Most Democratic Workplaces for six years running. For an orchestra the size of Orpheus (comprising 34 musicians), it is quite clear that a conductor is not necessary.
The question raised by this article is one worth examining, but to call this study scientific proof that orchestras need conductors is to ignore the definition of science. The better question would be "When does an orchestra need a conductor?" - the answer to which I doubt will present itself in numerical form."
I came in to this class with the knowledge
that passion is the most important element of my life as a musician.
What I had chosen to ignore however, was the fact that playing our
instruments and perfecting our crafts is only a small part of the
equation. Our careers depend on so much more, from education to
performance, from finding audiences to venues, there are so many
elements that I had chosen not to think about because somewhere, I
feared that facing these issues would lead to the realization that maybe
classical music isn’t so relevant anymore. But what I’ve gained from
this class, and what I’ve found most inspiring, has been to discover
that all of us have dreams and are looking for ways in which to make
them reality. Looking back on the first few weeks of class and our
initial discussions, I feel like many of us felt uncertain about the
future of classical music, and therefore of our own fates in this world.
Whether our outlooks were optimistic or defeatist, it didn’t seem as
though we had much of an idea as to how to tackle the obstacles that lay
ahead of us.
Of
course, I can only speak for myself when I say that I had my head
buried in the sand, ignoring the very real issues that concern us all
directly, and focused on my violin with the blind faith that things
would somehow just work out. But now, having gone through the process
of analyzing the reasons why classical music has fallen out of popular
culture, and having an understanding of the way concerts used to be
performed, I feel more prepared and even more excited about my choice to
be a musician. Music, for me, has always been a means to communicate
with people, and having an audience is therefore necessary for music to
come alive. I know that we haven’t found the perfect answers to our
concerns, but we’ve uncovered a variety of possibilities and I see in
all of us the potential and the desire to turn our ideas into realities.
I thank you all for giving me direction, a deeper understanding of
what needs to be done, and showing me that passion is still the most
important component of what we do. Isaiah, I’d like to thank you for
guiding us in this process, for giving us a forum on which to contribute
our thoughts regularly, as well as for giving us the opportunity to
benefit other musicians, musical groups and causes that we each feel
passionate about through our Wikipedia articles.
Farewell, and cheers to the future of classical music!
I’ve never been one for farewells. There have been few crafted farewells in my life that have been truly final, so instead of wishing everyone goodbye and good luck, I want to thank you all for a thought provoking, inspiring, crazy, and revelatory semester. From the readings to the blog posts to the class discussions, I know we will all leave this class wiser about how we want to change the face of the musical world. And, we have left an “immortal” record of our journey from which to look back and draw inspiration. We have covered so much this semester and established a strong foundation for ourselves as we begin (or in some cases continue) our careers in the world outside of the conservatory. We should make sure to stay connected and draw upon each other's strengths. Let's change the world, friends.
Isaiah, I can not think of a better or more relevant final project for this class than our Wikipedia articles. Thank you for the introduction to the musical Wikipedia world, and for pushing us to expand our views of music, of ourselves, and of our role in the world at large as musicians.
I truly thank everyone in this class (Isaiah included) for providing me with a thought-provoking view of Classical music and for becoming my friends. I find that the most effective way to spread an idea is through people you know so I will share all of your work with my friends. Each connection we make is a bridge to countless other connections. Let's continue to be passionate about a topic that can help to hold together our fragile world. I often think about how few people in the world sit at a table together and discuss Classical music for over an hour every week. We have definitely been doing something unique and worthwhile these past few months. I have no doubt that every one of you will continue to have these important discussions with more diverse sets of people. We are faced with a decreasing set of career options and an increasing amount of pessimism from the Classical establishment. However, I am more optimistic now than ever about the future of this music. It is through people like us that it will continue to thrive. We aren't purely interested in a 'Classical' image of ourselves. We simply want to play music that we believe is worth sharing with people that are interested. This might mean a performance at a concert hall, nursing home, maximum-security prison, dive bar, anarchist book fair, gay rights march, coffee shop, relay for life event, your grandmother's apartment, or your friend's brother's neighbor's rabbi's house. It really doesn't matter. We love Classical music and will find the right audience regardless of whether they paid a $10 admission fee or are locked up for life.
That's an odd thing for sure. I have no desire to say goodbye to any of you. Why should I? If we do our job and follow the intensity we've shown all semester then I'll be seeing (and hearing) many of you for years to come. Perhaps saying goodbye to the class format is appropriate, but the rest of you don't need goodbyes. If we've learned anything from this class it's that we have a lot of work to do if we're to have a successful career in a dead art. That's right I said it: Classical Music is Dead. However; I don't think that is a bad thing. If Hewitt is right then now is our time to strike.
I believe we have a large responsibility as performers and composers to play and write new music. The 21st century is fast moving and quick to leave people behind. The ugly truth is that we must adapt to this by compromise. Compromising our ideals with what people want to hear is the only way to make it. If we are unable to compromise then we will have a hard time reaching new audiences. I feel this, above all, is the one fatal flaw in all of our training: No one in the Conservatory prepares you for the music business. However; do not blame your teachers. It's not your teachers fault. They are only teaching you the craft - not the way to success.
Success does not come from our heart, our ideas or our talents. It's from the acknowledgement of them by others. This is the 21st century. Do you want to be successful while you are alive or when you are dead? No one says you can't follow what's in your heart, but what's the point of following your heart if no one wants to hear you or even know you? Get someone's attention first then you show them what you got.
And so, I give you the end of a
golden semester. Not only have I triumphantly reached the end of 15 weeks of grueling
conservatory classes, but I have now finished my first semester of graduate
school. I am humbled when I look back and think of my first college class as it
occurred 6 years ago. 18 year-old Jared sat in college algebra and had no idea
that he would attempt a Master's degree on day, or that it would be in music. I
was on a track to enter architecture school, but music resumed its alluring
call. For those that don’t know, after high school, I earned an Associate’s
degree in Architectural Drafting and then returned to a four year college to
study Music Performance.
Let me just say, graduate school
rocks! I love my classes, I love my professors, and most importantly, I love what
I have learned. In a single semester, I have seen myself grow tremendously as a
musician and as a person. Thanks to often mind-bending classes, such as Future of Classical Music, I have
learned to think and analyze in ways I had never previously considered. In
particular, I contemplated my role in the future and history of music. I haven’t
developed a Beethovian posterity complex, but I am much more keenly aware of
what I can do to leave my mark, and make music last in this world. To me, the
biggest determining factor regarding the prosperity of music in the future will
be collaboration. Any art form that simply prances about alone will not endure.
The arts must come together! The arts in general fight against an erroneous
stigma in society today. They have to strive harder to prove their appeal and
legitimacy over cultural giants such as athletics and sporting events.
So again I
say, thank you to everyone for an amazing semester. I have enjoyed reading your
posts and engaging in passionate discussions with all of you. Let us all be
grateful that we have been a part of this education experience. An experience that is yet another
lesson in the life-long pursuit of continual growth and knowledge.
A few events from the last 24 hours, I think, are relevant to my final post. Many questions have come up in this class - purpose, venue, audience, consonance, dissonance, pretension, condescension, class, the list continues - which, in my personal sphere, center around one dichotomy: complexity versus simplicity. Last night, while writing up something bizarre, convoluted, thrilling and questionable for EEP, I was happily interrupted by one of my artistic partners, a choreographer and playwright I've worked with on large-scale chamber ballets as well as 4 minute improvisatory solo dances. In discussing an upcoming project, she shared with me this piece of music, asking me if I was interested in creating something in this spirit for a very personal dance solo she was showing in a few months:
Her words: "I want you to explore and make the music that comes for the essential Kaley AND you should know, right now, I am very wedded to this particular feel. the simplicity. the stirring quality. The repetition. it's very cinematic actually. I listened to this this morning when snow was falling... it's snow falling music. it's water rushing music. it's of the nature music. it's melancholy beauty."
I was struck immediately by the youtube comments (9,330 listens, 127 likes, 1 dislike): "Exquisite." "This is flawless artistry." "Musical perfection which stirs the heart and soul...music to write by..." "This piece almost has a mystical flair to it, I feel like I'm looking over rolling hills and enchanted forests from some old fairy tale." "On iPod on repeat. She is magical." "Nothing compares to the sound of the piano in this song. Nothing. Beautiful piece of music."
And then I remembered a composition lesson I had once long ago, not in this lifetime. I was showing a few sketches of a piece I was writing that used many drones, repetitive structures, and consonant harmonies, based in a West African tradition. The professor said something, nonchalantly, to the tune of, "I mean, if you keep making choices like that, it's going to be a minimalist piece. And obviously you don't want that." I remember staring at the score, puzzled, after this comment. The professor looked a little startled, confused that my reaction wasn't an immediate rejection of this horrifying prospect. "I mean, do you?" I think I shrugged, said something stylish and P.C. like, "I don't think I'm far along enough in the piece to know yet," etcetera. I left feeling confused, frustrated.
So I have been thinking about this piece non-stop since I listened last night, not only for its beauty but for the genuine, universal reaction it elicits. Why would we, as composers, ignore this? Why would we ignore this utopian acceptance of a piece, simply because it makes sense, it makes people feel things, it gives them images, it is a gift, an offering, a reaching out? Is it our goal to transcend that? And is that really transcending, or is it avoiding?
Of course, after listening to this song and considering the setting of a dance solo, I happily accepted my partner's offer, with the following response: "It will be therapeutic for me to achieve this [simplicity], since every force in my musical life pushes me out of simplicity into complexity." She responded, simply, "I know."
With this on my mind, the morning's events at my usual church gig were rather poignant. A few hymns, a few choral pieces in, the minister decided to add a musical coda on to his sermon. He sang a phrase, modal, pentatonic, American: "There's always more love left." He asked the congregation to join in and sing any harmony they wanted.
I was astounded. At the sound, and the feeling I had making it. I can't really describe it, just, harmonies, community, the ministers eyes closed, no one expressing anything too effusive, just a gentle, loving moment, probably inducing a surge of oxytocin in all of us. And then I realized that all other attempts at making music simply exist to replicate this feeling. Rarely do we experience an exact copy.
So, these two experiences, in the last 24 hours, have cemented a belief in my mind: music is not an intellectual experience. It is a physiological one. The future of music, I think, depends on this realization. The future of music is the above two experiences (and, interestingly, that's the past of music, too).
I probably sound like a broken record on this point; but I can't ignore it when I consistently have these shaking reminders - reminders that the most earth-shattering musical experiences of my life were communal, cathartic, and none of them took place in a concert hall.
Farewell, class - I'm privileged to have pondered these things in your company. Isaiah, I hope to continue to write on this blog as more interesting conundrums present themselves in my musical life....
