21.6.07
Criticism Criticism
What are the purposes of criticism?
I wrestle with this question quite a bit in my roles as a critic, a composer, and as a consumer of criticism. When I read criticism, especially of the daily newspaper or weekly magazine sort, I want to know what the event (or movie or book, etc.) was like—how the art in question came off, what the artists may have been trying to do, and the like.
I return to certain critics again and again more because they are fine writers whose prose is a joy to read. Alex Ross is a current example; he is a fine stylist, despite his excessive love for the music of John Adams. Jack Kroll (of Newsweek) was a delightful film critic, whether I agreed with him or not. His opinions were often thought-provoking and always well put.
I bring all of this up as prelude to a couple of reviews of the same event: the world premiere of Kaija Saariaho’s Terra Memoria by the Emerson String Quartet this past Sunday at Carnegie Hall. I’ve indicated before that I’m a big fan of Ms. Saariaho’s music, and that undoubtedly colors my reading of these excerpts.
Let’s go to the tape. Bernard Holland of the New York Times (18 June 2007):
Mr. Finane, on the other hand, is all over the place. I’m pretty sure he didn’t like the piece, but I can’t be certain he engaged with it. Some of the adjectives he threw out (“angst-ridden”, “calculated”) seem contradictory, which can be an effective means of communicating an impression, but it doesn’t work that way here, for me.
Mr. Finane falls into the trap of claiming to know the composer’s intentions (“[t]he schema of the piece, which was simply to explore a sliding wash of color . . .”) while criticizing the piece for not having different aims (“but there is no catharsis here”). When a critic does this he is substituting a sort of Platonic ideal of the piece (based on his own private standards) for the piece itself, which is found to be lacking.
I’ll admit to piling on Bernard Holland when I think he is wrong or, more importantly, wrong-headed. But in this case, his piece is a very good example of how good criticism can be done. Especially in contrast.
I wrestle with this question quite a bit in my roles as a critic, a composer, and as a consumer of criticism. When I read criticism, especially of the daily newspaper or weekly magazine sort, I want to know what the event (or movie or book, etc.) was like—how the art in question came off, what the artists may have been trying to do, and the like.
I return to certain critics again and again more because they are fine writers whose prose is a joy to read. Alex Ross is a current example; he is a fine stylist, despite his excessive love for the music of John Adams. Jack Kroll (of Newsweek) was a delightful film critic, whether I agreed with him or not. His opinions were often thought-provoking and always well put.
I bring all of this up as prelude to a couple of reviews of the same event: the world premiere of Kaija Saariaho’s Terra Memoria by the Emerson String Quartet this past Sunday at Carnegie Hall. I’ve indicated before that I’m a big fan of Ms. Saariaho’s music, and that undoubtedly colors my reading of these excerpts.
Let’s go to the tape. Bernard Holland of the New York Times (18 June 2007):
No rough sounds for Ms. Saariaho’s “Terra Memoria,” commissioned by Carnegie Hall and having its first performance here. Ms. Saariaho’s elegant music begins and ends in whispery near-silence. Her care for the sound properties of instruments is a double gift to listeners. The overlapping conversations between voices are received as counterpoint, and yet the assembled sounds create a single cloudlike sonority. Most of the piece sings in a pervasive tenor-to-treble range reminiscent of Ravel or Fauré. The more Ms. Saariaho engages the past, the more original her music becomes.And Ben Finane of the Newark Star-Ledger (19 June 2007):
The Emerson's final concert of the series, delivered to a packed hall, featured a world premiere by Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho, bookended by two late Beethoven quartets. This work, "Terra Memoria," is only the second string quartet by the 54-year-old Saariaho.Mr. Holland is not what I would call a friend of Modernism, but that does not prevent him from writing a very clear and perceptive description of the piece and of Ms. Saariaho’s compositional evolution. In a few short sentences and telling phrases (“whispery near-silence”), he gives us an impression of the experience and is able to place the piece, (sonically and historically) for the reader. I don’t know for certain whether he liked it or not (that’s not the point), but there is no doubt that Mr. Holland listened, heard, and articulated a musical experience.
The premiere of "Terra Memoria" began softly, with low and high strings establishing the peaks and pits of the landscape that was to unfold. Languid motives gradually developed and expanded, sliding up and down the register, advancing and receding within the aural spectrum. The schema of the piece, which was simply to explore a sliding wash of color, made for music that was vociferous and angst-ridden, but also cold, clinical and removed.
Dedicated by the composer "for those departed," the work clearly has an element of lament and nostalgia, but there is no catharsis here. The only brightness in the premiere arrived in the form of Saariaho's vivid pink scarf, which came into view when the composer emerged from the audience and made her way to the stage to exchange bisou bisou (kisses in French, Saariaho lives in Paris now) with the members of the Emerson -- 12 in all for four bewildered players.
Mr. Finane, on the other hand, is all over the place. I’m pretty sure he didn’t like the piece, but I can’t be certain he engaged with it. Some of the adjectives he threw out (“angst-ridden”, “calculated”) seem contradictory, which can be an effective means of communicating an impression, but it doesn’t work that way here, for me.
Mr. Finane falls into the trap of claiming to know the composer’s intentions (“[t]he schema of the piece, which was simply to explore a sliding wash of color . . .”) while criticizing the piece for not having different aims (“but there is no catharsis here”). When a critic does this he is substituting a sort of Platonic ideal of the piece (based on his own private standards) for the piece itself, which is found to be lacking.
I’ll admit to piling on Bernard Holland when I think he is wrong or, more importantly, wrong-headed. But in this case, his piece is a very good example of how good criticism can be done. Especially in contrast.
20.6.07
13.6.07
28.5.07
17.5.07
Invisibility
Elaine Fine has posted a story about composer invisibility that will will set off pangs of recognition in most of us. It's an odd but common phenomenon that is manifest in a number of ways. I've been to many new music festival events where the performers failed to acknowledge the composer (and they had to have known the composer was there because the composer had coached them prior to the performance), and read numerous stories on new operas where the composer's name was buried in the story if s/he was even mentioned at all.
Art without artists!
Art without artists!
10.5.07
On Difficulty
Poet Robert Pinsky writes in Slate about the "stupid and defeatist idea that poetry, especially modern or contemporary poetry, ought to be less 'difficult'". I don't know about "stupid and defeatist", but there's no question but that the idea that poetry (and the other arts) should be easier to apprehend than it is.
Mr. Pinsky goes on to quote and explicate a number of poems from all periods that have difficulty as their subject matter. That's all well and good, as far as it goes. He says that there is intrinsic value in difficulty:
Oddly, the poems Mr. Pinsky explicates (by Michelangelo, Shakespeare, and listen favorite Wallace Stevens, among others) aren't especially difficult to understand, which I think undercuts his thesis as I understand it--that difficult art gives pleasure directly because of that difficulty, not in spite of it.
That's not to say that difficulty is inherently a good thing in art, any more than simplicity is an inherent good thing. There are those who would argue both sides of that, as well as their corollaries, that difficulty and simplicity are inherently bad artistic qualities. This is the basis of the Style Wars.
Since music is inherently abstract and poetry is not, the issue of difficulty in music requires a different approach. One parallel does exist, though, in the virtuoso composition, be it a concerto or unaccompanied work. There, difficulty of execution is definitely one of the subjects of the piece.
Pieces of music that pose difficulty of apprehension are a different kettle of fish, and you will often read commentary along the lines of the point-of-view derided by Randall Jarrell, as quoted by Mr. Pinsky:
I think Jarrell's tone is unnecessarily snotty, with its implication that anyone who decries Eliot is an utter philistine, but there is a point there. Many people who decry certain what they call excess difficulty in music draw the line at the most "difficult" music that they dig, and say "This far; no further". (It's different when composers do it, because attacking music that's different from yours is a time-honored defense mechanism.) For some, Beethoven is the limit in difficulties, for some, it's Wagner. For some, it's Dylan.
To my ears, music is "difficult" when the ambiguities in the musical discourse exceed what I have learned to process or are of a different nature altogether from what I am accustomed to. When the ambiguities are overcome, the music is assimilated and is no longer difficult, at least not in the same way.
When a critical mass in difficulty is reached, a significant number of composers begin a simplifying movement, and the process starts anew. We can see that happening in recent times, with the rise of aggressively simple (not simplistic or simple-minded, to be sure) tonal music in response to the ambiguities of various schools of High Modernism and Postmodernism in the 50s through the 70s of the century just past. And we are now seeing rising complexity in music that derives from those schools (postminimalism and metametrical msuic, e.g.). And then it will star all over again.
Daniel Wolf has some related posts here and here, and Kyle Gann here.
Mr. Pinsky goes on to quote and explicate a number of poems from all periods that have difficulty as their subject matter. That's all well and good, as far as it goes. He says that there is intrinsic value in difficulty:
Difficulty, after all, is one of life's essential pleasures: music, athletics, dance thrill us partly because they engage great difficulties. Epics and tragedies, no less than action movies and mysteries, portray an individual's struggle with some great difficulty. In his difficult and entertaining work Ulysses, James Joyce recounts the challenges engaged by the persistent, thwarted hero Leopold and the ambitious, narcissistic hero Stephen. Golf and video games, for certain demographic categories, provide inexhaustible, readily available sources of difficulty.
Oddly, the poems Mr. Pinsky explicates (by Michelangelo, Shakespeare, and listen favorite Wallace Stevens, among others) aren't especially difficult to understand, which I think undercuts his thesis as I understand it--that difficult art gives pleasure directly because of that difficulty, not in spite of it.
That's not to say that difficulty is inherently a good thing in art, any more than simplicity is an inherent good thing. There are those who would argue both sides of that, as well as their corollaries, that difficulty and simplicity are inherently bad artistic qualities. This is the basis of the Style Wars.
Since music is inherently abstract and poetry is not, the issue of difficulty in music requires a different approach. One parallel does exist, though, in the virtuoso composition, be it a concerto or unaccompanied work. There, difficulty of execution is definitely one of the subjects of the piece.
Pieces of music that pose difficulty of apprehension are a different kettle of fish, and you will often read commentary along the lines of the point-of-view derided by Randall Jarrell, as quoted by Mr. Pinsky:
When a person says accusingly that he can't understand Eliot, his tone implies that most of his happiest hours are spent at the fireside among worn copies of the Agamemnon, Phèdre, and the Symbolic Books of William Blake.
I think Jarrell's tone is unnecessarily snotty, with its implication that anyone who decries Eliot is an utter philistine, but there is a point there. Many people who decry certain what they call excess difficulty in music draw the line at the most "difficult" music that they dig, and say "This far; no further". (It's different when composers do it, because attacking music that's different from yours is a time-honored defense mechanism.) For some, Beethoven is the limit in difficulties, for some, it's Wagner. For some, it's Dylan.
To my ears, music is "difficult" when the ambiguities in the musical discourse exceed what I have learned to process or are of a different nature altogether from what I am accustomed to. When the ambiguities are overcome, the music is assimilated and is no longer difficult, at least not in the same way.
When a critical mass in difficulty is reached, a significant number of composers begin a simplifying movement, and the process starts anew. We can see that happening in recent times, with the rise of aggressively simple (not simplistic or simple-minded, to be sure) tonal music in response to the ambiguities of various schools of High Modernism and Postmodernism in the 50s through the 70s of the century just past. And we are now seeing rising complexity in music that derives from those schools (postminimalism and metametrical msuic, e.g.). And then it will star all over again.
Daniel Wolf has some related posts here and here, and Kyle Gann here.
30.4.07
Tallahassee Symphony: Faure, Sibelius, Higdon, Ravel
Review, Tallahassee (FL) Democrat, 30 April 2007.
28.4.07
FSU Percussion Tour
The Florida State University Chamber Percussion Ensemble, under the direction of John W. Parks IV, is giving a performance at the Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall in New York City this coming Friday, 4 May 2007, at 8pm.
DISCLAIMER: I am proud to consider John Parks a friend and colleague. I am writing a concerto for him, and consider him an artist of the highest caliber. I want to be upfront about that.
The Ensemble will play music by David Skidmore, Blake Tyson, Andrew Thomas, Bob Becker, and Minoru Miki on the program, which they previewed here in Tallahassee last night. Post-minimalism carried the day in just about all of the pieces, and its influence could be heard throughout the program.
The performances were really good--intense, tight, and expressive. The Ensemble will be stopping along the way to New York to paly the program:
April 29, The University of Georgia (Athens) School of Music , 8pm
April 30, Furman University (Greenville, SC), Daniel Recital Hall, 8pm
May 1, Spring Arts Festival, Kimbrell-Warlick Fine Arts Center (Gastonia, NC), 7:30pm
May 2, The University of Virginia (Charlottesville) School of Music, 8pm
If you have the opportunity to hear them, go. You won't be sorry if you do.
DISCLAIMER: I am proud to consider John Parks a friend and colleague. I am writing a concerto for him, and consider him an artist of the highest caliber. I want to be upfront about that.
The Ensemble will play music by David Skidmore, Blake Tyson, Andrew Thomas, Bob Becker, and Minoru Miki on the program, which they previewed here in Tallahassee last night. Post-minimalism carried the day in just about all of the pieces, and its influence could be heard throughout the program.
The performances were really good--intense, tight, and expressive. The Ensemble will be stopping along the way to New York to paly the program:
April 29, The University of Georgia (Athens) School of Music , 8pm
April 30, Furman University (Greenville, SC), Daniel Recital Hall, 8pm
May 1, Spring Arts Festival, Kimbrell-Warlick Fine Arts Center (Gastonia, NC), 7:30pm
May 2, The University of Virginia (Charlottesville) School of Music, 8pm
If you have the opportunity to hear them, go. You won't be sorry if you do.
27.4.07
Tristan Does New York
What do A. C. Douglas and Savanna Samson have in common? A love of Wagner, of course!
Ms. Samson is interviewed as part of WNYC radio's multimedia "Tristan Mysteries" project, a web and radio enterprise timed (it runs from 28 April to 5 May) to coincide with the Lincoln Center presentation of the Los Angeles Philharmonic performing the Peter Sellars/Bill Viola/Esa-Pekka Salonen Tristan Project.
(Alex Ross vividly reviewed a Paris performance here.)
"Tristan Mysteries" includes an interview with composer/writer Danny Felsenfeld, among others. An overview can be found here.
Tristan und Isolde was the first opera I ever saw. It was at the Met in January 1975, with Erich Leinsdorf conducting. I had studied the "Prelude and Liebestod" in school, but had not heard the rest of the opera. It was an overwelming experience, and perhaps the fastest five hours of my life.
Ms. Samson is interviewed as part of WNYC radio's multimedia "Tristan Mysteries" project, a web and radio enterprise timed (it runs from 28 April to 5 May) to coincide with the Lincoln Center presentation of the Los Angeles Philharmonic performing the Peter Sellars/Bill Viola/Esa-Pekka Salonen Tristan Project.
(Alex Ross vividly reviewed a Paris performance here.)
"Tristan Mysteries" includes an interview with composer/writer Danny Felsenfeld, among others. An overview can be found here.
Tristan und Isolde was the first opera I ever saw. It was at the Met in January 1975, with Erich Leinsdorf conducting. I had studied the "Prelude and Liebestod" in school, but had not heard the rest of the opera. It was an overwelming experience, and perhaps the fastest five hours of my life.
If you build it . . . (I)
A reader writes:
I'll deal with this in some detail soon, but I want to open the question up to anybody who cares to take a shot at it, either in the comments or from their own podium.
I think that musical structure is, regardless of style, a very useful illusion. Wallace Stevens built an entire poetics around the idea that the human mind has such a "rage for order" that we will impose order, or "structure", even where there is no inherent order:
Anecdote of the Jar
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion every where.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
Composers place "jars" in their music as ways for listeners to create/perceive and order to the music they are hearing. Performers can differ as to where in the piece the jars are located, and through accents of various kinds point them out to the listener.
We think of structure in functionally tonal music as a result of the deployment of changes and different melodies in time, to create a convincing musical argument. How is structure created or implied or facilitated in music that is not functionally tonal? Conversely, given our rage to order, is unstructured music even possible?
What determines the formal structure in 20th century music? It seems that much of the music written in the early decades of the 20th century would lack structure (so it sounds to me)... Any thoughts?
I'll deal with this in some detail soon, but I want to open the question up to anybody who cares to take a shot at it, either in the comments or from their own podium.
I think that musical structure is, regardless of style, a very useful illusion. Wallace Stevens built an entire poetics around the idea that the human mind has such a "rage for order" that we will impose order, or "structure", even where there is no inherent order:
Anecdote of the Jar
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion every where.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
Composers place "jars" in their music as ways for listeners to create/perceive and order to the music they are hearing. Performers can differ as to where in the piece the jars are located, and through accents of various kinds point them out to the listener.
We think of structure in functionally tonal music as a result of the deployment of changes and different melodies in time, to create a convincing musical argument. How is structure created or implied or facilitated in music that is not functionally tonal? Conversely, given our rage to order, is unstructured music even possible?
Slava
The great Russian cellist, conductor, and artistic rights champion Mstislav Rostropovich has died.
Allan Kozinn's New York Times obituary includes this:
As if that list wasn't amazing enough, for its variety as well as its length, there's this:
He will be missed, but his artistic legacy remains as comfort, inspiration, and living memorial.
Allan Kozinn's New York Times obituary includes this:
As a cellist, Mr. Rostropovich played a vast repertory that included works written for him by some of the greatest composers of the 20th century. Among them were Shostakovich Cello Concertos, Prokofiev’s Cello Concerto, Cello Sonata and Symphony-Concerto, Britten’s Sonata, Cello Symphony and three Suites. He also played the premieres of solo works by Walton, Auric, Kabalevsky and Misaskovsky, and concertos by Lutoslawski, Panufnik, Messiaen, Schnittke, Henri Dutilleux, Arvo Pärt, Krzysztof Penderecki, Lukas Foss and Giya Kancheli.
As if that list wasn't amazing enough, for its variety as well as its length, there's this:
Mr. Rostropovich always said that one of the principal lures of the podium was that the orchestral repertory seemed so vast when compared with the cello repertory. But he did not confine himself to the established classics. He commissioned regularly, and led the premieres of more than 50 works. Two of the pieces written for him during his National Symphony years — Stephen Albert’s “Riverrun” Symphony and Morton Gould’s “Stringmusic” — won Pulitzer Prizes. Leonard Bernstein, Jacob Druckman, Richard Wernick, Gunther Schuller and Ezra Laderman were among the other composers who wrote for him, or whose works had their world premieres under his baton.
He will be missed, but his artistic legacy remains as comfort, inspiration, and living memorial.
9.4.07
Future: Tense
The debate about the future of our music continues apace.
With friends like Gene Weingarten, who needs enemies? The condescending tone of Mr. Weingarten's article about Joshua Bell playing in a Washington (DC) subway station, has drawn notice elsewhere in the popular press and in the political blogosphere. I'm not sure concert music's worst enemy could have put together a more embarrassing and guaranteed-to-blow-up-in-everbody's-face cock-up if they had tried.
[Side note from the Pedagogy Department here at listen101: Mr. Bell oversells the Bach "Chaconne" here:
And speaking of pompous, Norman Lebrecht doesn't even have the whatever to name ALEX ROSS by name when attempting to refute ALEX ROSS' very fine post on the sale of recording of concert music. Mr. Lebrecht seems to equate the world of concert music with big recording companies, which equation doesn't add up, as ALEX ROSS demonstrates. Also, be sure to read ALEX ROSS' survey of the New York music scene here.
Finally, Helen Radice offers her always-more-than-two-farthings-worth:
Read the whole enlightening thing here.
With friends like Gene Weingarten, who needs enemies? The condescending tone of Mr. Weingarten's article about Joshua Bell playing in a Washington (DC) subway station, has drawn notice elsewhere in the popular press and in the political blogosphere. I'm not sure concert music's worst enemy could have put together a more embarrassing and guaranteed-to-blow-up-in-everbody's-face cock-up if they had tried.
[Side note from the Pedagogy Department here at listen101: Mr. Bell oversells the Bach "Chaconne" here:
not just one of the greatest pieces of music ever written, but one of the greatest achievements of any man in history. It's a spiritually powerful piece, emotionally powerful, structurally perfect.I can tell you from painful experience that that is a set-up for a tepid response, even though it's true. Tell them it's got some great moments, show them how to follow it, and make sure they know it's long.]
And speaking of pompous, Norman Lebrecht doesn't even have the whatever to name ALEX ROSS by name when attempting to refute ALEX ROSS' very fine post on the sale of recording of concert music. Mr. Lebrecht seems to equate the world of concert music with big recording companies, which equation doesn't add up, as ALEX ROSS demonstrates. Also, be sure to read ALEX ROSS' survey of the New York music scene here.
Finally, Helen Radice offers her always-more-than-two-farthings-worth:
Some people may be more fufilled by literature, galleries, the theatre, football, or even by what I believe is called 'popular music'. But there remain many people throughout the world passionately in love with 'classical music' (if so it must be called). Like any other major art form, it - recorded or otherwise - is not fucking dying. It is evolving, like anything else alive. It may be there is less of a market for more CDs of 'The Four Seasons', but there now exist 435 recordings of this piece, and even a seminal pop album like The Bends only comes out the once, give or take some re-mixes.
Read the whole enlightening thing here.
7.4.07
Arts Funding
The Tallahassee (FL) Democrat published a piece by a local political columnist this past Thursday, which piece called for the elimination of public funding for the arts.
My response is here. There's a lot more to say on this topic, and I hope at least some of you will say what you have to say in comments.
My response is here. There's a lot more to say on this topic, and I hope at least some of you will say what you have to say in comments.
3.4.07
400
According to Maynard Solomon (my memory may be less than perfect on this, and any corrections would be more than welcome) about 400 people heard the three premiere performances of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Piano Concerto 24, in c minor (K. 491, 1786). The fame and reputation of the concerto and its composer has grown exponentially since that beginning. Of course, Mozart was, well, Mozart, and times are different, but I wonder if there isn’t an encouraging lesson to be found here.
Among these 400 there must have been other musicians of the professional or amateur variety. Musicians who talked about the piece, obtained a copy of the score, and learned it. More important, there must have been people in the audience who heard the piece and were struck or moved by it, and proceeded to talk about it with others, people who weren’t in the audience for the premiere.
Mozart’s time was a before mass markets and mass media, obviously. Just as obviously, our time is an age of mass media and related markets:
I think Mozart’s experience and Aimard’s comments point us to a new approach, one that is rooted, in part, in the long tail theory and in compound interest. Concert music is a niche market, very small and diminishing, or slowly growing, depending on who you read and on their agenda. The new and emerging technologies of internet distribution and electronic “rendering” of scores in recordings that are very close to performance quality enables composers to find their 400. If they are like the audience Mozart had you may see interest in your work grow. It’s a long, agonizing process, but if you can get 400 people to “go forward into the emptiness” with you, it will be worth it in the long run.
Among these 400 there must have been other musicians of the professional or amateur variety. Musicians who talked about the piece, obtained a copy of the score, and learned it. More important, there must have been people in the audience who heard the piece and were struck or moved by it, and proceeded to talk about it with others, people who weren’t in the audience for the premiere.
Mozart’s time was a before mass markets and mass media, obviously. Just as obviously, our time is an age of mass media and related markets:
We live in a society that observes very much the mass reactions, and is all about markets, including in music. I think our responsibility is to work against that, to have a taste for adventure, to be courageous enough to go forward into the emptiness, to open new doors, and then be followed—or not—by our audiences. --Pierre-Laurent Aimard, quoted by Jeremy Eichler in the Boston Globe, 25 March 2007
I think Mozart’s experience and Aimard’s comments point us to a new approach, one that is rooted, in part, in the long tail theory and in compound interest. Concert music is a niche market, very small and diminishing, or slowly growing, depending on who you read and on their agenda. The new and emerging technologies of internet distribution and electronic “rendering” of scores in recordings that are very close to performance quality enables composers to find their 400. If they are like the audience Mozart had you may see interest in your work grow. It’s a long, agonizing process, but if you can get 400 people to “go forward into the emptiness” with you, it will be worth it in the long run.
1.4.07
30.3.07
The Best Disinfectant
Stirling Newberry, posting at the Agonist, asks bloggers to remove On an Overgrown Path from our blogrolls because of this post, which links to an article in the American Spectator on affirmative action in orchestras. Mr. Newberry believes that the linking of the article is an indication of "soft bigotry" on the part of Pliable, the Path blogger.
The article is indeed a fetid pile of half-truths, unsupported assertions, condescension, frat-boy style bigotry, and false concern. (I say "false concern" becuase in the world dreamed of by the editors and writers of that magazine, there would be no elite orchestras, because they wouldn't be able to make it in that market-driven pit.) However, I won't remove the blog from my roll because I believe that we do better in fighting for what we believe in when those we opposed are exposed to the light of day. I don't know if that was Pliable's point in linking to the article, because he doesn't comment on it.
And that brings me to the action that I will take in response to this. I frequently post links to other sites, be they blogs, magazines, etc., and offer them without comment. In the future I will endeavor not to do that.
The article is indeed a fetid pile of half-truths, unsupported assertions, condescension, frat-boy style bigotry, and false concern. (I say "false concern" becuase in the world dreamed of by the editors and writers of that magazine, there would be no elite orchestras, because they wouldn't be able to make it in that market-driven pit.) However, I won't remove the blog from my roll because I believe that we do better in fighting for what we believe in when those we opposed are exposed to the light of day. I don't know if that was Pliable's point in linking to the article, because he doesn't comment on it.
And that brings me to the action that I will take in response to this. I frequently post links to other sites, be they blogs, magazines, etc., and offer them without comment. In the future I will endeavor not to do that.
27.3.07
Oh, why not?
Matthew Guerrieri's Proustian quiz:
1. Name an opera you love for the libretto, even though you don't particularly like the music.
Stephen Paulus' The Postman Always Rings Twice.
2. Name a piece you wish Glenn Gould had played.
Basic Training, Lee Hyla.
3. If you had to choose: Charles Ives or Carl Ruggles?
Ives, but I love Ruggles' Sun-Treader.
4. Name a piece you're glad Glenn Gould never played.
Trois Gymnopédies, Erik Satie.
5. What's your favorite unlikely solo passage in the repertoire?
The piccolo solo that ends Carter's Symphonia.
6. What's a Euro-trash high-concept opera production you'd love to see? (No Mortier-haters get to duck this one, either—be creative.)
Parsifal in Vegas.
7. Name an instance of non-standard concert dress you wish you hadn't seen.
Pass; we don't get much of that around here. One I'm glad I did see was Dr. John Boda wearing a scarlet tux to play on my doctoral recital.
8. What aging rock-and-roll star do you wish had tried composing large-scale chorus and orchestra works instead of Paul McCartney?
Ugh. Jeez. Hell, I don't know. Crap. The guy that sang for the Ides of March, I guess.
9. If you had to choose: Carl Nielsen or Jean Sibelius?
The Finn.
10. If it was scientifically proven that Beethoven's 9th Symphony caused irreversible brain damage, would you still listen to it?
It doesn't?
1. Name an opera you love for the libretto, even though you don't particularly like the music.
Stephen Paulus' The Postman Always Rings Twice.
2. Name a piece you wish Glenn Gould had played.
Basic Training, Lee Hyla.
3. If you had to choose: Charles Ives or Carl Ruggles?
Ives, but I love Ruggles' Sun-Treader.
4. Name a piece you're glad Glenn Gould never played.
Trois Gymnopédies, Erik Satie.
5. What's your favorite unlikely solo passage in the repertoire?
The piccolo solo that ends Carter's Symphonia.
6. What's a Euro-trash high-concept opera production you'd love to see? (No Mortier-haters get to duck this one, either—be creative.)
Parsifal in Vegas.
7. Name an instance of non-standard concert dress you wish you hadn't seen.
Pass; we don't get much of that around here. One I'm glad I did see was Dr. John Boda wearing a scarlet tux to play on my doctoral recital.
8. What aging rock-and-roll star do you wish had tried composing large-scale chorus and orchestra works instead of Paul McCartney?
Ugh. Jeez. Hell, I don't know. Crap. The guy that sang for the Ides of March, I guess.
9. If you had to choose: Carl Nielsen or Jean Sibelius?
The Finn.
10. If it was scientifically proven that Beethoven's 9th Symphony caused irreversible brain damage, would you still listen to it?
It doesn't?
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