I so love this seminar! Thank you for all coming together like this for our discussions and sharings.
I thought the discussion of Tedrin Lindsay’s review of the Lexington Philharmonic’s concert with Midori was very helpful. I wish I had taken more thorough notes, since we looked at that review—as well as the bigger issues of the function or reviews, the qualifications and responsibilities of the critic, the unique circumstances of each performance, etc.—from so many perspectives, that it would be useful to have the notes from the discussion as a guide. True there are so many variables and points to consider, that it can be complicated, if not agonizing, to decide on just how to write any given review, but I think it very important to be cognizant of the issues, then one can just let go and write!
Thank you, Daniel, for providing the link to the piece on Donald Rosenberg’s situation in Cleveland, since that adds another layer of complexity to the mix, i.e., not just what YOU want to write as a critic, but the consequences of maintaining a position that is unpopular with “the powers that be.”
From a Buddhist perspective we can all be working on uncovering our natural wisdom and compassion; yet, there is a third element that is essential: skillful means! How can we express ourselves in ways that will be effective and helpful? Mindful speech should be: truthful, helpful, kind, and timely. Should reviews be a kind of speech that would include some or all of these? How would we do that?
Thursday, October 6, 2011
So What
Feel free to offer suggestions/critiques. Thanks.
So What?
You think this is goin’ out of style?
That it doesn’t have anything to
say to people anymore because
it’s too introverted to relate?
So What?
It must have been hard to watch his world:
People so filled with rage, refusing
to admit negro children to schools.
Watching a country be torn by hate.
So What?
Why should it try to relate right now?
Its not as though he ever felt that
the people in this country believed
emancipation really happened.
So What?
So why should music cater to you?
It says what he wanted it to say,
and makes no apologies for that.
Sometimes the best cure is to create.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Rosenberg: An Ousted Critic
During our discussion regarding the review of the LPO concert, we touched on several issues which are pertinent to the ousting of one of America's finest music critics. This article discusses the situation and describes how he practiced his craft.
Momma's gonna buy you... the seven volume work of a mockingbird...
Mockingbird, Mockingbird on the tower there,
Why do you sing your song?
So loud, so loud it covers other sounds,
Why do you sing your song (so loud)?
So high, so high way up on your ivory cliff,
Why do you sing your song (so high)?
Alone, alone with no other birds to sing,
Why do you sing your song (alone)?
So long, so long it never seems to end,
Why do you sing your song (so long)?
So long, so long big-songed little bird.
I'm off to catch my breath,
I need to sing myself,
I've been too long in Oxford...
When Dr. Brunner gave us this assignment I was a little worried because poetry is definitely out of my comfort zone. I looked at the sheet he passed out last week with four-word starter ideas and I saw one that included the words "mockingbird" and "music.". It immediately made me think of Richard Taruskin... I think maybe it's the tone he takes in his responses to critics of his views. It also included the word "fence," but seeing as how Taruskin doesn't often sit on the fence with his opinions, I took the liberty and placed him in an inory tower, instead... I don't intend this as a negative view of Richy T. It is intended as a view of my perspective - standing in awe of his work - that come be so overwhelming to dwell on. Anyway, that's that.
Why do you sing your song?
So loud, so loud it covers other sounds,
Why do you sing your song (so loud)?
So high, so high way up on your ivory cliff,
Why do you sing your song (so high)?
Alone, alone with no other birds to sing,
Why do you sing your song (alone)?
So long, so long it never seems to end,
Why do you sing your song (so long)?
So long, so long big-songed little bird.
I'm off to catch my breath,
I need to sing myself,
I've been too long in Oxford...
When Dr. Brunner gave us this assignment I was a little worried because poetry is definitely out of my comfort zone. I looked at the sheet he passed out last week with four-word starter ideas and I saw one that included the words "mockingbird" and "music.". It immediately made me think of Richard Taruskin... I think maybe it's the tone he takes in his responses to critics of his views. It also included the word "fence," but seeing as how Taruskin doesn't often sit on the fence with his opinions, I took the liberty and placed him in an inory tower, instead... I don't intend this as a negative view of Richy T. It is intended as a view of my perspective - standing in awe of his work - that come be so overwhelming to dwell on. Anyway, that's that.
Processes in Sound: An Alvin Lucier Tribute Concert
Tuesday, October 11, 7:30, Niles Gallery
I could write a poem, but Dave sent me a video more inspiring than anything I could ever put into words. We hope this concert will sound something like this.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yVkdfJ9PkRQ
I could write a poem, but Dave sent me a video more inspiring than anything I could ever put into words. We hope this concert will sound something like this.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yVkdfJ9PkRQ
A Review of the Review - LPO Concert
Friday night's concert by the Lexington Philharmonic was not the first time I heard them play this repertoire. Last week, I was assigned to be their cover conductor so I had been observing their rehearsals from beginning to end - watching, listening, giving feedback to Scott Turrell (Music Director) and talking to the players about the pieces. I was very curious, therefore, to hear a fresh opinion of the concert.
Blair spend most of his (or her? is "Tedrin" a masculine or feminine name?) time focused on the Beethoven Violin concerto played by internationally renowned soloist Midori - naturally. There's a lot more problems to comment on when accompanying a soloist so there's typically more meat for critics to chew on. In general, I thought his comments were good though I wish at least the Ravel would have gotten some of the attention that Midori received.
His main comment was that the LPO's strength and "ruggedness" didn't match the delecacy of Midori's rendition of the concerto. Midori's approach was much more classical, more restrained and gentle than most, which I found very refreshing. However, this made it very difficult to accompany. Already, the string section had been reduced by at least 2 stands from it's normal size. After the dress rehearsal (the only time they had to rehearse with Midori and only 45 minutes at that) another stand from each section was cut. Also, the winds and brass were moved from the center risers to stage right on the floor to help with balance issues. In all, everything that could be done to gentle the orchestra was done.
In all fairness, Blair does say that "almost any orchestra would have sounded inelegant alongside Midori..." and I agree. There were times I could barely hear her when she was playing by herself, let alone trying to be heard over a full symphony orchestra. Her sound was beautiful, with a kind of sweetness I had never heard in the Beethoven. Great... if you are playing a lone or with pizzicato accompaniment. But it's a balancing nightmare to try and accompany that kind of sound without squishing the soloist. Particularly in our concert hall.
Our concert hall in the Singletary center favors winds and brass far more than strings, especially strings that are close to the audience - like a violin soloist, for example. The further back a player is, the better they are heard. This means the winds and brass are very live, the strings less so, and the soloist even less live then the string section. Blair did have many positive things to say about the concerto - breathtaking moments, the fine bassoon solos etc. I thought his review of the Beethoven was fair, but didn't take into account hall acoustics and other factors.
I do understand only taking a few sentences to talk about the two Tchaikovsky pieces - the Waltz and Polonaise from Eugene Onegin. There's not much meat on them. They are just show pieces. But a work like La Valse by Ravel certainly deserves more attention that one sentence: "The concert ended with Ravel's La Valse, which Terrell rendered aggressively, emphasizing the piece's menace more than its evanescence, but bringing out its brilliant orchestral colors sharply and clearly."
La Valse (though having typical "Ravelian", French colors) is far from being a generally delicate or "evanescent" piece. La Valse carries the listener thought the Waltz - it's birth, it's growth, and finally it's death as is whirls out of control toward the end of the piece ending with a huge crash. Many of the sections are quite aggressive and explode with fireworks of sound. My memory of the piece was that the LPO rendered the delicate spots delicately and the aggressive sections aggressively. I'm not so sure there was an overemphasis of one over the other that isn't inherent to the music itself. Perhaps Blair was just reacting negatively to the menacing sections without realizing that they are meant to be so. Not sure. I thought this comment was true, but didn't account for the fact that the piece is, in fact, very "menacing" at times.
Blair spend most of his (or her? is "Tedrin" a masculine or feminine name?) time focused on the Beethoven Violin concerto played by internationally renowned soloist Midori - naturally. There's a lot more problems to comment on when accompanying a soloist so there's typically more meat for critics to chew on. In general, I thought his comments were good though I wish at least the Ravel would have gotten some of the attention that Midori received.
His main comment was that the LPO's strength and "ruggedness" didn't match the delecacy of Midori's rendition of the concerto. Midori's approach was much more classical, more restrained and gentle than most, which I found very refreshing. However, this made it very difficult to accompany. Already, the string section had been reduced by at least 2 stands from it's normal size. After the dress rehearsal (the only time they had to rehearse with Midori and only 45 minutes at that) another stand from each section was cut. Also, the winds and brass were moved from the center risers to stage right on the floor to help with balance issues. In all, everything that could be done to gentle the orchestra was done.
In all fairness, Blair does say that "almost any orchestra would have sounded inelegant alongside Midori..." and I agree. There were times I could barely hear her when she was playing by herself, let alone trying to be heard over a full symphony orchestra. Her sound was beautiful, with a kind of sweetness I had never heard in the Beethoven. Great... if you are playing a lone or with pizzicato accompaniment. But it's a balancing nightmare to try and accompany that kind of sound without squishing the soloist. Particularly in our concert hall.
Our concert hall in the Singletary center favors winds and brass far more than strings, especially strings that are close to the audience - like a violin soloist, for example. The further back a player is, the better they are heard. This means the winds and brass are very live, the strings less so, and the soloist even less live then the string section. Blair did have many positive things to say about the concerto - breathtaking moments, the fine bassoon solos etc. I thought his review of the Beethoven was fair, but didn't take into account hall acoustics and other factors.
I do understand only taking a few sentences to talk about the two Tchaikovsky pieces - the Waltz and Polonaise from Eugene Onegin. There's not much meat on them. They are just show pieces. But a work like La Valse by Ravel certainly deserves more attention that one sentence: "The concert ended with Ravel's La Valse, which Terrell rendered aggressively, emphasizing the piece's menace more than its evanescence, but bringing out its brilliant orchestral colors sharply and clearly."
La Valse (though having typical "Ravelian", French colors) is far from being a generally delicate or "evanescent" piece. La Valse carries the listener thought the Waltz - it's birth, it's growth, and finally it's death as is whirls out of control toward the end of the piece ending with a huge crash. Many of the sections are quite aggressive and explode with fireworks of sound. My memory of the piece was that the LPO rendered the delicate spots delicately and the aggressive sections aggressively. I'm not so sure there was an overemphasis of one over the other that isn't inherent to the music itself. Perhaps Blair was just reacting negatively to the menacing sections without realizing that they are meant to be so. Not sure. I thought this comment was true, but didn't account for the fact that the piece is, in fact, very "menacing" at times.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
A Personal Story
Friday night, in Greenville, SC, the Bob Jones University Chorale gave a concert of Craig Courtney's sacred choral anthems, with Courtney conducting. I sang bass in the Chorale from 1999 to 2005. My youngest sister is now one of the altos, and Friday was her birthday. But my mind wasn't on the performance, the performers, the music, or even the composer, who has been one of my favorites since college.
In the broadest sense, music is sound worth hearing--valuable sound. What gives sound its value, though, is where humans disagree. John Cage, to the extent that he would have anything, would have listeners enjoy every sound for its own sake. E. T. A. Hoffman would have the Romantic generation devour Beethoven symphonies for their expression of infinite Sehnsucht. Hildegard von Bingen would have her novitiates (and perhaps townspeople) follow Virtue instead of Satan. Many others simply would have their hearers dance a certain way, enjoy a certain story, or hear a certain mood. In every case, the experience is most valuable to the listeners when their values are expressed in the music.
On September 30, 2009, my brother died. (Please don't feel uncomfortable; explaining why it's OK is another story, but I love to tell it. I mention it here only because . . .) Friday, also September 30, was the second anniversary, and my family had gathered to commemorate it and to celebrate my sister's birthday. When we realized that the concert would take place that night, we knew it would help us do both. What we didn't realize was how well it would.
My family and I were introduced to the music of Craig Courtney (bio) in 1999. Since then he has become one of our favorite composers. The intensely personal spirituality and relative musical depth of his settings (meaningful to cultured listeners, if not always accessible to amateur performers--have you heard this before?) have made several of his anthems something of family heirlooms for my mother the pianist and music educator, my father the choral director and Christian educator, and me the churhc musician and hopeful hymnologist. A cello was playing one of these heirlooms (MP3) as my fiancee walked down the aisle to become my wife. If I had to spend part of such an important evening at a concert, I thought, at least I might get to really enjoy some of my favorite pieces.
Courtney, however, had not built a concert around what attendees were hoping to hear. After an energetic opening, the program began with an anthem called "The Yearning" and progressed to songs of assurance and hope. The journey to Hope, however, traveled through a land of a specific kind of Sorrow.
Courtney introduced each song and its place in his program. When he reached "None Other Lamb" (to a Christina Rosetti text), he pointed out that he had written it and the following two anthems literally for three couples who had each lost one of their children. After he had lost one of his own, others had asked him to write for them. I had sung and heard "None Other Lamb" many times but had never known the story. I had not before heard the next, "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." But it was the text a dying girl's mother had recited while rushing to her side. The third, "None Like You," was one of my favorites, and Courtney had published its backstory in the octavo. But Courtney told each story with a frankness and restraint that only increased its setting's musical and theological tensions. The tensions themselves--from near-despair to celestial reality to purposeful praise--moved each other toward Hope in a musical-dramatic-spiritual progression that was as real as it was transcendent.
The three pieces could not have been better chosen. My brother's parents had come to celebrate their living daughter and commemorate their dead son. Courtney had no idea what day it would be for them. Most of the 500 people there had no idea what was happening in our row. But the values of the composer, transmitted through a live performance, were aligning perfectly with the values held by the hearers. It was a night I will never forget, and one I hope someday to relive.
In the broadest sense, music is sound worth hearing--valuable sound. What gives sound its value, though, is where humans disagree. John Cage, to the extent that he would have anything, would have listeners enjoy every sound for its own sake. E. T. A. Hoffman would have the Romantic generation devour Beethoven symphonies for their expression of infinite Sehnsucht. Hildegard von Bingen would have her novitiates (and perhaps townspeople) follow Virtue instead of Satan. Many others simply would have their hearers dance a certain way, enjoy a certain story, or hear a certain mood. In every case, the experience is most valuable to the listeners when their values are expressed in the music.
On September 30, 2009, my brother died. (Please don't feel uncomfortable; explaining why it's OK is another story, but I love to tell it. I mention it here only because . . .) Friday, also September 30, was the second anniversary, and my family had gathered to commemorate it and to celebrate my sister's birthday. When we realized that the concert would take place that night, we knew it would help us do both. What we didn't realize was how well it would.
My family and I were introduced to the music of Craig Courtney (bio) in 1999. Since then he has become one of our favorite composers. The intensely personal spirituality and relative musical depth of his settings (meaningful to cultured listeners, if not always accessible to amateur performers--have you heard this before?) have made several of his anthems something of family heirlooms for my mother the pianist and music educator, my father the choral director and Christian educator, and me the churhc musician and hopeful hymnologist. A cello was playing one of these heirlooms (MP3) as my fiancee walked down the aisle to become my wife. If I had to spend part of such an important evening at a concert, I thought, at least I might get to really enjoy some of my favorite pieces.
Courtney, however, had not built a concert around what attendees were hoping to hear. After an energetic opening, the program began with an anthem called "The Yearning" and progressed to songs of assurance and hope. The journey to Hope, however, traveled through a land of a specific kind of Sorrow.
Courtney introduced each song and its place in his program. When he reached "None Other Lamb" (to a Christina Rosetti text), he pointed out that he had written it and the following two anthems literally for three couples who had each lost one of their children. After he had lost one of his own, others had asked him to write for them. I had sung and heard "None Other Lamb" many times but had never known the story. I had not before heard the next, "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." But it was the text a dying girl's mother had recited while rushing to her side. The third, "None Like You," was one of my favorites, and Courtney had published its backstory in the octavo. But Courtney told each story with a frankness and restraint that only increased its setting's musical and theological tensions. The tensions themselves--from near-despair to celestial reality to purposeful praise--moved each other toward Hope in a musical-dramatic-spiritual progression that was as real as it was transcendent.
The three pieces could not have been better chosen. My brother's parents had come to celebrate their living daughter and commemorate their dead son. Courtney had no idea what day it would be for them. Most of the 500 people there had no idea what was happening in our row. But the values of the composer, transmitted through a live performance, were aligning perfectly with the values held by the hearers. It was a night I will never forget, and one I hope someday to relive.
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