The Critic[s] and The[ir] Audience[s]

I was thinking upon a point addressed by Gustav here (also by me here and here, and, well, in much of this blog) about the role of the critic.

Gustav's piece highlighted an article in the Salt Lake Tribune, in which a reader wrote the editors to complain about a review.

Her complaint:

"It's reviews such as this that discourage rather than encourage attendance at the symphony, especially when the Utah Symphony is struggling more than ever. The job of a critic is to comment on how well the orchestra plays, not to impose her narrow views on us.

Obviously, the reader's complaint is that the critic's opinion about the music per se was not within the parameters of her job as critic. The contention is that her job, explicitly, extends only to reporting how well the orchestra plays, not musing about the quality of the programming or the music performed.

The disconnect between the critic and audience is apparent, here, and the problem gets more thorny. Discussions about the role of the critic must take into account the audience who reads the criticism. More poignantly, there are different types of audiences to whom various criticisms are addressed, whose sets of expectations and experiences may differ widely. Furthermore, the assumptions and expectations of the critic about the audience(s) they are addressing may be more or less accurate.

That is to say: not all criticism is addressed to the same audience. The venue (type of publication), event (type of concert), and specialization of the critic all play into the dialectic between critic and audience.

How, then, is one to proceed? Who is the mythical, imaginary, abstract audience of the "classical" music critic?

Figure 1: The annual meeting of the Conference for Investigating Notational Problems in 17th Century Thoroughbass Music drew a record crowd this year.

Figure 2: Terry Riley's all-night concert is eagerly awaited by experimental music enthusiasts, no doubt leading to a counter-cultural "happening" during which these so-called "hippies" dabble in psychedelic drugs and other ungentlemanly pursuits.

Figure 2a: Terry Riley being awesome.

Furthermore and conversely, what can we infer about an audience from a review? Or, perhaps less concretely, but more accurately: what can we infer about a critic's assumed or intended audience?

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Consider the following:

Milton Moore, The Day (New London Connecticut), 1/25/2010

Shimada knows the score with ECSO

(Snarky admonishment of title-writer for lame music pun.)

[excerpts]

At the start of Saturday's Eastern Connecticut Symphony Orchestra concert, the fourth under new Music Director Toshi Shimada, the conductor asked the audience at the Garde Arts Center for a mid-term grade.

In the audience's programs, Shimada said, there's a questionnaire, one that focused on audience response to his programming of music new to this audience. "I'm wondering what you're thinking," Shimada said.

The writing is casual, almost, and introduces basic information; the conductor's name, for instance, and how many years he's held the post, is not taken for granted as common knowledge. (The first sentence in that last paragraph needs some tweaking, tense-wise, but it works.)

The location and prestige of the paper and symphony (eastern Connecticut) surely call for a different tone, than, say, the New York Times reviewing the New York Philharmonic.

However, while the critic absolutely addresses and assesses the performance of the orchestra on this particular occasion, he does not shy away from discussing the music itself.

The concluding Stravinsky suite, for all of its sizzle, is woven of thin cloth, with a handful of motifs that reappear again and again. It succeeds on its rhythmic energy and on the musicians' virtuosity as the score's spotlight moves from section to section - and Saturday, it was a success indeed.

Also, the audience is assumed to know, or at least be comfortable with, some technical music jargon-y terms.

Shimada kept the polyrhythms brewing, creating a sense of ostinato as its unifying character. He drew on all of its sonic power, especially the nearly sub-sonic rumblings from the large bass section, the contrabassoon and that most Russian basso profundo of instruments, the bass clarinet.

This implies an audience who doesn't feel intimidated or insulted (as ignorant) by the mention of basso profundo, which is not always the case. The feeling is that the audience has some familiarity with classical music and its attendant trappings; there's no need to explain what a "chord" is.

Figure 3: A wizard.

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Scott Cantrell, Dallas Morning News, 1/23/2010

Chamber Music International concert's lineup is first-class, with a few rough spots

[excerpts]

In Friday's concert, the first of two, it was clear that skilled and savvy musicians were at work. But none of the performances, at Southern Methodist University's Caruth Auditorium, entirely escaped reservations.

The most satisfying, bringing all the players together, was of "the" Dvorák Piano Quintet, the Op. 81 A major. There was certainly plenty of spirit, and Lee and Lim Lewis lent particularly big-hearted and warm-toned solos.

But tempos in the scherzo and finale were pushed just over the line between exhilarating and frantic. Both movements should dance, not scramble.

In this excerpt, as throughout the review, Mr. Cantrell is keenly aware of subtle and specific musical details. It's clear that he both knows the literature and is sensitive to performance distinctions, as well as difficulties. In a major metropolitan area (Dallas) with a sizeable arts scene, this type of criticism is common as well as logical. Is it, therefore, suitable?

The tone and style are crisper and less casual than the New London review, which one might expect. Of course, this type of review is very suitable for Mr. Cantrell's ear and musical concerns, since it does deal with familiar repertoire (Mozart, Dvorák, and Prokofiev).

In turn, it assumes an audience that is looking for pretty fine distinctions, well beyond "they done played purty".

Figure 4: Dallas, with its brand-new opera house, is widely regarded as a rising cultural force.

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Sherli Leonard, San Bernardino Press-Enterprise, 1/26/2010

San Bernardino Symphony opens with Michael Jackson songs

Awww, yeah.

Just kidding, I don't even want to talk about that.

[excerpts]

The San Bernardino Symphony Orchestra continues to prove itself to be more than a fine professional orchestra. Under the leadership of conductor Carlo Ponti, the staff and volunteers, it has become a gem for the community.

Praise--superlative, almost hyperbolic praise--is the unifying feature of this review.

With almost no tonality, the piece told a story as compelling as any told by a tune, mystical, alluring, with many textures, and never boring, and obviously a real and nicely handled counting challenge for the musicians.

Wow! As compelling as any told by a tune?

Ralph Vaughan-Williams' "Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis" featured strings only. Ten years ago, this piece would have severely challenged the string section, but not now. This orchestra's performance illuminated Vaughan-Williams' wonderful magical modulations, which seem to open up like the sun bursting through dark clouds.

The writing is interesting and descriptive, even impressionistic. And never really critical.

After the third lumpy-but-necessary change of chairs and instruments, the orchestra came back to the stage and pianist Eldred Marshall, a graduate of Rialto's Eisenhower High School, delivered a capable performance of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 9.

I guess it should be noted, in light of my meta-critique, that the staging changes were...lumpy. Oh, snap!

But: High school soloist, eh? How was that? Was it...awesome?

Matching the orchestra's perky, tidy approach, Marshall played with expression, sharp contrasts and attention to detail, all with a technique that developed more lightness as the piece progressed and reflected Mozart's playfulness.

That sounds pretty awesome, actually.

The achingly beautiful slow Andantino allowed for an exquisite interaction between piano and first violins, but the piano just would not sing for Marshall.

Ah, not totally awesome, then, but it wasn't his fault. The piano had a sore throat.

Marshall exploded into the Rondo/Presto movement, setting a pace even he couldn't keep up with. However, in spite of serious train wrecks on the descending runs in particular, he delivered a dazzling show of virtuosity.

I understand that it's a kid playing a piano concerto, and there's no reason to be super-critical (as it were) of him. But it was totally dazzling and awesome and stunning...with a few train wrecks.

The point isn't that it is or isn't a bad review, of course. The audience's expectations of the critic appear rather like those demanded by the complaining letter-writer from Salt Lake. There was a concert, it was good, here is some stuff that happened, and some praise. You should totally go see it!

Which is fine. But an audience expecting a nuanced performance critique (like the Cantrell) or a more thorough consideration of the program (Moore) would probably be disappointed.

Figure 5: Co-opting the stylistic hallmarks of the disenfranchised for mass consumption is a great way to render them powerless. Er, more powerless.
Gotta represent the 909.

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Allan Kozinn, New York Times, 12/30/2009

Gilbert Braces Listeners for Webern

Okay, look: I'm not holding up the Times as the epitome of criticism, of music or otherwise. In fact, their integrity and reliability in general are probably more fragile, or at least precariously situated, than at any time in my memory.

[See: Cheerleading for the Run-Up to Unjustified War, The]

In fact, and in the interest of full disclosure, I've addressed my issues this review here.

However...well, let's go to the review.

The stage of Avery Fisher Hall was decked out with flowing blue curtains and floral arrangements on Tuesday evening in preparation for the New York Philharmonic’s New Year’s Eve concert. But Alan Gilbert’s more pressing business was the orchestra’s final subscription program for 2009, an inventive juxtaposition of works by Webern, Mozart and Schumann.

Mr. Gilbert built this program with what appeared to have been the modest but telling goal of getting the Philharmonic audience to warm to Webern’s concise, focused 12-tone music, by way of the Symphony (Op. 21), which he conducted (and spoke about) in the second half. And he surrounded the symphony with very different works, all meant to undercut what some listeners still regard as its abstruse harshness.

In fairness, Mr. Kozinn has the luxury of reviewing the NY Phil, so although not all performances are stellar, it's a world-class orchestra. Also, and pretty clearly, the sort of influence and gravitas that comes with writing for the Times lends an automatic authority to the criticism.

Second, the audience (Times readers), although vast and global, is accustomed to levels of detail and thoughtfulness in its arts reporting not expected of smaller outlets. Contrariwise, the critic must live up to these expectations.

Though this is not always the case, Mr. Kozinn immediately sets a narrative in motion, following higher-order concepts and concerns (the inventive programming, the reaction of the audience, contextualizing modernism) than the three previous articles. And, by most measures, the writing is really good.

That said, this type of review is probably not appropriate for every newspaper. Especially in smaller markets where the level of musical background--and, importantly, tolerance for assuming any--is not as sophisticated as (and this is crucial) it seems to be in the New York Times's readership.

Figure 6: Not everything about New York is sophisticated and intelligent.
(Yes, damn it, I hate the Yankees. Bite me.)

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I've scratched the surface, here, of sort of backwards-engineering audiences based upon the reviews I chose more-or-less ad hoc from recent newspapers across the country. I don't think it takes a double-blind study to elucidate my examples.

Instead, I wanted to address how the often- and recently-discussed Role of the Critic is contingent to a large extent on for whom any particular critic is writing. That Role is not just one role, however much I'd like all of the reviews I read to be addressed to me.

Your comments are appreciated.

(I promise more snark and swearing next post.)

Review comes with ups, downs...but mostly downs

Barbara Zuck, writing for the Columbus Dispatch, reviewed two works she knew and one she didn't...guess which one she didn't like.

Pianist, guest maestro come with ups, downs

But they're both tops in our hearts.

The Columbus Symphony performed at its best for much of last night's "Classical 5" concert,...

..."for much" of the concert? Oh boy, I can't wait to hear where they fucked up.

And "Classical 5"? What does the 5 stand for? ... 5 pieces? At 5 o'clock? 5 drink minimum? Little help, eh.

...presented at a crowded Ohio Theatre under the leadership of guest conductor Andreas Delfs.

A program with an unfamiliar contemporary piece...

"Unfamiliar" and "contemporary" -- the double whammy of impending "I tried to like it" rationalizations.

...combined with two very famous works brimmed with potential pitfalls of diverse sorts.

Pitfalls?

Diverse sorts of pitfalls? Such as...?

I hope they're something like this pitfall:

figure atari: Harry, watch out for those crazy rolling logs!

So, which pitfalls should we be on the look for? If there's one thing I've learned from Pitfall it was that crocodiles always chomp their jaws in unison, and they can't eat you if you stand on their eyes. Hope that helps.

Delfs, a native of Germany with a long list of professional experiences, strategically avoided most of these to make a strong and successful first impression.

Oh, I forgot this was a review, we don't have time for explanations -- kind of like an episode of 24.

Needless to say, I think we're all relieved that Delfs was here to save us from the unnamed pitfalls.

Roberto Sierra's Fandangos, a CSO premiere, had listeners scratching their heads: Is this piece for real -- or just a lot of "bull?"

Bullshit?! [Don't worry, it's all right, you can swear on the internets.] You wanted to know if his piece was bullshit?

Seriously, Barbara, with all due respect, but when was the last time you were punked at the symphony concert?

figure douchebag: "Yo! That Sierra piece was totally whack, and you so fell for it! You should have seen your face, thinking 'I kind of like this piece'. But no, it totally sucks donkey scrotum. What a fucking awesome joke, don't you think?"

[Thinks to himself: Do the kiddies still say "whack"? or "yo"? Whatever.]

So, why don't you tell us a little bit about this bullshit pitfall.

Replete with Carmen references, Fandangos also contained terrific flute and percussion flourishes.

Okay, cool. Some great flute playing and and some gratuitous percussion vomit impressed. Who doesn't love those things? And of course, the piece referenced...Carmen? Wait, are you sure, or are you just bullshitting me?

Let me just check the program notes. Hey, these are the same notes you read.

[Skimming]...

"Hispanic"..."Ligeti"..."lively dance from Spain"..."Mozart"..."Boccherini and the Scarlatti"..."Like Ravel in his Boléro".... Nope, no Carmen reference.

Now, I've seen more than a few episodes of Matlock, so I think, utilizing my amazing powers of deduction, I can figure out this little pitfall of logic myself.

You see, it's my contention that you listened to this piece, having read that it's named after and based on a historical Spanish dance, and thought to yourself, "this piece sounds Spanish-y". And since Carmen, a famous opera set in Spain, features many Spanish dances you figured that all Spanish-sounding dances are from Carmen. Therefore, all Spanish-y music is a reference to Carmen. Right?

And then you used the paperweight on Mr. McKenzie's desk to bludgeon him to death. And then you framed his wife, Kathy, because you never liked her. Ever since she forgot your name at the company picnic and said the jello dessert you brought was "runny" you've held a grudge. Haven't you?

figure not Perry Mason: Matlock likes hot dogs.

But you hinted that you didn't like the piece...please, tell us why.

Yet last night's performance came across as both too slow and too loud -- an odd and not especially welcome combination.

Well, why didn't you just say so? Slow?! and Loud?!!! Fuck me. No wonder you thought the piece was bullshitting you.

Guest artist Andre Watts,...

Oh, right, there was a soloist mentioned in the title as well. Let's see what "ups, downs" his portion of the show provided.

...long a star of stage and concert hall, gave a highly musical performance as soloist in Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 ("Emperor").

Great, this must be the "ups" part of the concert.

Yet Watts' reading was strangely uneven...

Can a "strangely uneven" reading be "highly musical"? Hmmm...

Guess so.

...and one couldn't help but wonder whether a bothersome noise -- reportedly from a patron's hearing aid -- interrupted his train of thought.

Reportedly? Way to crack the case, Columbo.

What, did you get that from the police blotter? Is the patron with the hearing aid a suspect in the case, or merely a person of interest?

figure greatest lawyer ever: "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to prove to you not only that Hearing Aid Man is guilty, but that he is also innocent of not being guilty."

In any case, the best music-making from the sometimes theatrical soloist came in the third movement.

Isn't that always the case, the best music-making is always in the last place you listen.

And enough already with the Beethoven concerto. Three whole sentences?! What are you, fucking Wikipedia? I've got things to do, what else was "ups" on the concert?

Brahms' Second Symphony figures prominently in Columbus Symphony history; it was one of the works performed at the orchestra's Carnegie Hall appearance in 2001.

That was a thoroughly amazing performance. It'd take quite the enjoyable, valid interpretation to displace the memory of that historic rendition.

Last night's very different reading might not have displaced the memory of that historic rendition. But it was certainly an equally enjoyable, and equally valid, interpretation.

Enjoyably valid, but not enough to displace...hmmm...that is a quandary.

Help me break it down some. What were some of its attributes?

Among its attributes: a big, full orchestral sound; gorgeous horn and woodwind playing, most notably in the third movement; and the true sense of joy and euphoria in the finale.

Yep, I think I know enough to displace the 2001 performance from my memory and replace it with this one.

Done and done.

What if Bruckner was the pinnacle of classical music and nobody laughed?

Mark Swed of the LA Times is a good writer, and is certainly quite knowledgeable on the subject of classical music. I enjoy reading him from time to time because he is never afraid to share his opinion. An admirable trait in my eyes.

However, why must every piece performed in the LA area have epic historical context?

Music Review: Maazel's brilliant Bruckner Eighth

I must say that I'm getting a little sick and tired of the brilliance of Bruckner symphonies.

A little rain is not going to stop a Brucknerian.

Yes, but this might...

figure obvious joke: Referencing LA's traffic problems is funny because it's true.

And when it comes to the master’s Eighth Symphony, flood means nothing to a pilgrim.

figure doctored photo: Ah, making fun at the expense of the poor and unfortunate. It's nice to see, though, that they managed to save the necessities. A six pack is the only way I'd make it through Bruckner's Eighth too.

But for those not in the thrall of Bruckner’s massive frozen architecture, any excuse to stay home is welcome.

Frozen architecture? His music is an igloo?

figure frozen architecture: Brucknerian symphony.

On Thursday, when Lorin Maazel tackled Bruckner’s 84-minute symphony of symphonies, there were, as might be predicted, more empty seats than normal for a Los Angeles Philharmonic concert at Walt Disney Concert Hall.

Predicted? But this is Bruckner. He's fucking awesome. Plus his music is an igloo.

Nothing else was on the program. The mighty Eighth stands alone.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure a cloudy sky would have been enough to keep me away.

But the crowd was still sizable and mildly cultish. The Eighth is not exactly rare, but it doesn’t come our way all that often.

Kind of like a Phish concert tour, or the McRib sandwich.

figure McRib: Meat-like substance processed and molded into the shape of ribs. Yum.

For the symphonic purist, the Eighth, composed in the late 1880s and Bruckner’s last complete symphony, is not only the most magnificent of all symphonies, it is the end of the classical line.

[Okay, now the serious part.] Say what now?

The "end of the classical line"? That's quite the statement.

With his symphonic successor, Mahler, the symphony got grander still, but it no longer remained pure.

I think there are some serious problems with the idea of this Austro-German lineage of great composers. But yes, Mahler symphonies were larger and more grand on average than Bruckner.

But what of this idea of "pure"? The word pure implies there was some sort of de facto model of the symphony. As I'm sure you know, that isn't true. But the 19th century was an era of great symphonic composers, and after the likes of Bruckner and Mahler, the symphony became less important as a symphonic form. Is that your point?

The genre took on narrative meanings.

Guess not. May I direct you to Beethoven's Sixth Symphony (or his Third, or Ninth), Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, and some Tchaikovsky's symphonies to name the most obvious pre-Mahlerian examples. Or, if we are to include other symphonic forms, the tone poems of Strauss, Dukas, and many of the orchestral works by hyphenated composers Nikolai Rimksy-Korsakov and Camille Saint-Saens.

But I suppose we're talking about the tried and true four-movement symphony symphony. Yes, Mahler's symphonies (and much of the music by composers of the era, including those who didn't write symphonies) did take on narrative meanings in some cases.

It found new ways to present messy emotions and reflect the ego and the excesses of its creators and of its times.

Unlike Beethoven whose music is the model of the humble, well-tempered composer.

As the symphony found new life in the 20th century, some thought it an unseemly, even decadent, turn of events.

Funny how some also found a way to hate all the other music of the 20th century as well, not just the symphonies.

And oh that "decadent"20th century music. Bruckner must have been rolling around in his grave when he heard the effete self-indulgence of Stravinsky's Symphony in C.

For Bruckner there had been only one Creator.

figure Creator: Bruckner was right. It just makes burning dvds so much easier.

And he just stands in such stark contrast to the polydeism of composers like Mendelssohn, Bach, and Handel.

Who could forget the blasphemous Messiahs by Handel, or the famous aria in Haydn's The Creation where Jesus makes fun of Ganesh's extra appendages and hilarious elephant head, but praised his long patronage of the arts and sciences?

The symphony, and the Eighth more than any other, was his ideal monument to the Divine.

This sounds a bit like narrative to me. Maybe not a program, per se, but I've seen narrative before, and this is definitely hinting at narrative...

The typical shorthand description of Bruckner is to point out that he captured the majesty and radiance of Wagner’s sound while staying true to Beethovenian structural ideals.

"...staying true to Beethovenian structural ideals"? That's quite the loaded statement. Do you have an example?

This statement seems to imply that any piece that doesn't meet the structural standards of Beethoven is somehow inferior. Or that there was actually some sort of quantifiable ideal established by Beethoven in the first place.

Forgetting for a moment that Beethoven actually was the first composer to prominently break away from classical forms in the symphony, and famously bring in his own ego and idea of narrative power to the symphony, Beethoven is just a single composer and does not (by himself) establish structural ideals. His symphonies, while great, do not represent some absolute model of perfection to which all symphonies should be compared.

He wrote Beethoven’s Ninth symphony over and over again.

That's sort of the standard Bruckner joke, yeah.

But yes, Bruckner (like Brahms and every other Romantic composer) felt a direct line of their symphonies to those of Beethoven as divined by God, but that doesn't necessarily make it so.

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Let me clarify my comments a bit here. There is nothing wrong with writing that Bruckner's symphonic compositions are in a lineage with other great German composers who preceded and followed him. However, there is something wrong when you start to ascribe value to that lineage. This idea of purity of the symphonic form is simplistic version of history at best.

We see this same sort of over inflated importance of extra-musical circumstances in your reviews a here:

Music review: Tchaikovsky's 'Pathetique' Symphony 'unwound' by Pacific Symphony

Tchaikovsky has been saved by his sad story. At times when absolute music has been in fashion, the morbid Russian Romantic with a flair for melody and melancholy has been out of it. These days, narrative in music – possibly thanks to the ascendancy of pop culture – is prized. And, yes, we love a mystery. Did a tormented Tchaikovsky commit suicide? Was his last symphony testament of forbidden love?

Yes, maybe. But you're framing this question incorrectly. The extra-musical story associated with Tchaikovsky's symphony has been a subject of much debate for many years. Is it interesting? I suppose. But that's not why this music ever went in or out of fashion. As far as I can tell, no piece of music has ever suffered fewer performances solely on the fact that it may have a narrative associated with it.

Could it be, just possibly, that Tchaikovsky's music went out of favor because of its lush orchestration, or highly affected tonal language? Perhaps it went out of favor not because of something it did, but because orchestras wanted to play different, less often performed works...maybe even new music?

While there are relevant arguments of programmatic versus absolute music, or where Bruckner's symphonies fit historically, these are not the things that make a piece of music good or bad, enjoyable or unlistenable.

------------------------

I should also note, that despite my protestations, both of these reviews are quite nicely written with wonderful descriptions, and good information. Plus, in an unrelated note, Mark Swed did uncover this alarming piece of information...

Maazel, no mystic he, has no truck...

When will the powers that be snap into action and address the real crisis of America's truckless conductors? Ganesh be with us if Michael Tilson Thomas were to ever have his truck repossessed.

figure truck: MTT's baby. The only way he's able to navigate that decadent 20th century music.

In Defense of Music Critics

In between our snarky witticisms and acerbic critiques, we here at the Detritus are faced daily with some fundamental questions. And I believe that these issues deserve some special consideration from time to time, both by the Detritus Review and by our readers.

The Issue: What is role of the music critic?

Despite using this blog as a platform to lampoon some critics, we hold the profession of music critic in high esteem. And while we wish to compel, through criticism, everyone in the profession to the highest standards, we still believe in the importance of the role that the music critic plays in the arts.

The role of the critic isn't easily determined since the critic serves so many masters, each wanting something different and personal. Some wish to be informed and some wish to have their opinions affirmed (or challenged). It's easy to force your expectations of what a good review should be onto a critique that doesn't necessarily agree or aims to please a different demographic. But one thing that I think cannot be mistaken is the relationship between critic and reader, and an understanding of the service being provided, as public recounting of our shared heritage and culture.

What prompted me to write about this issue was a review in the Salt Lake Tribune this past weekend. I read many (MANY) reviews, and this one was neither great nor terrible. It didn't really distinguish itself as typical fodder for the Detritus. However, the paper also published this letter to the editor response online.

I found the letter interesting in the way it attacks the critic for not understanding her role as critic. Good question,"what is the role of a critic?"

I must respond to Catherine Reese Newton's review of the recent Utah Symphony concert ("Symphony Rachs on," Tribune , Jan. 9). To call Rachmaninoff's Symphony No.2 gooey is beyond my understanding. Has Newton never heard music that has moved her to her very soul? That's what I feel when I hear a piece of beautiful, overpowering music, such as that played Friday night. It was obvious that the audience felt the same as I did. It was plain that the young girl sitting with her parents not far from me wasn't finding the piece gooey. What is wrong with loveliness and sublime beauty?

It's reviews such as this that discourage rather than encourage attendance at the symphony, especially when the Utah Symphony is struggling more than ever. The job of a critic is to comment on how well the orchestra plays, not to impose her narrow views on us.

Kaye D. Murdock, Salt Lake City

Needless to say that Ms. Murdock and I would likely not be friends, but let us first explore, without yet considering Ms. Newton's actually review, her suggestion as to the role of a critic.

The job of a critic is to comment on how well the orchestra plays,...

Okay, yes, I'd have to agree that this is part of the job of the critic. The orchestra sits as the cultural epicenter of most metropolitan areas' classical music offerings. They require enormous budgets that are often funded primarily by donation and municipal grants. An account of the performance by that orchestra does seem like an important part of accountability to the community.

...not to impose her narrow views on us.

And again, I would agree. Proper editorial journalism starts with the facts at hand before coming to a conclusion, not beginning with preconceived notions.

However, and I don't mean to pick on this one woman and her opinion too much, but it seems that it is she, and perhaps the majority of orchestra patrons and those who still read arts criticism in newspapers, that have the narrow views.

---------------------------

Let me go back a little bit here and start, in part, with what my feelings are on the subject.

I have always bought into the vision of the critic as a public expert, advocate, and to some extent, a teacher. In one famous text on the subject, Philip Weissman wrote that “the step from connoisseur to critic implies the progression from knowledge to judgment,” in his essay The Psychology of the Critic and Psychological Criticism (1962). It is that progression from knowledge to judgment that yields the critic an authority worthy of attention. Without that knowledge base the criticisms will ring hollow.

The problem is that most people view the critic as a person who "criticizes." And they view that sense of expertise as being arrogant and superior. And with subjective arts, such as music, people are not easily convinced by knowledge-based arguments, and so-called "theories". They, perhaps rightly, view music as instinctual and creative, and therefore, all opinions are essentially equal. Criticisms contrary to our own are then met with disdain. But good critics are not the snobs they are often accused of being, but those who hold their opinions to a higher standard. You see, it's not enough just to have an opinion, even when discussing purely subjective issues. You need to know why you like (or dislike) a piece of music. This is not a question of finding a correct answer. As many would rightly argue, there is no right and wrong. However, there is the ill-conceived and the uninformed. The ability to explain why you think what you think is a fundamental part of having an opinion. And the critic is, theoretically, someone who is best able to articulate his/her opinion in a manner both open and honest.

This issue of "right" and "wrong", "good" and "bad", seem to be the biggest stumbling blocks for most readers, and critics themselves. Many critics (especially the ones featured on this blog) are too afraid of offending those sensibilities and revert to half-statements and banal trivialities that don't reflect the sort knowledge I'm referencing here. I believe that good criticism is given with an awareness that these terms of definitive value do not apply. The critic doesn't have the answers, nor speaks for everyone. But guided by a strong grounding in the history, the theory, and a lifetime of listening, their criticism will serve as the starting point for our community discussion - serve as an example and model. The critic should be able to frame the debate clearly, noticing things that others may not notice, and provide a context that may otherwise be hidden. The critic can also offer up comparisons, both historical and contemporary, and provide a summary of the extra-musical circumstances.

It has clearly become an unpopular concept, but the music critic is, in essence, a public intellectual. (I'm not sure why the idea of scholars and experts, and the idea of learning rather than dismissing, have become so unpopular, but they have.)

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Okay, returning to our letter to the editor, the primary contention was that Ms. Newton's word choice of "gooey" was just too much of an insult to the Rachmaninoff Symphony. Well, perhaps. But let us check the source first, shall we.

Utah Symphony Rachs on

We are not amused.

Minczuk's [the conductor] refreshingly light touch, coupled with decisive tempos, brought out the work's folk flavor much more than the heart-on-sleeve romanticism for which Rachmaninoff is beloved -- and reviled -- the world over.

An interesting, if somewhat banal, introduction to the Rachmaninoff. But it does touch upon the stylistic connotations with this work, and other works of the era. This seems like a perfectly acceptable line of criticism with which to proceed. Many people may not know this, but the over-the-top lushness of late romantic works such as this one, do induce hatred amongst some. This is highly affected music and is, therefore, somewhat polarizing. Point well taken, Ms. Newton.

And, in addition, Ms. Newton has already begun to offer up her opinion of this given performance by praising the conductor's "light touch" and "decisive tempos". And these are comments both germane to a discussion of the embracing of the "romanticism" inherent in the work, and to her specific enjoyment of the performance.

He even brought the orchestra through the third movement, which boasts one of the gooiest principal themes in the symphonic repertoire, with its dignity intact.

Oh. There's that word "gooey".

[For those of you unfamiliar with the work, you can listen to it here.]

figure goo: Rachmaninoff Symphony No. 2, 3rd movement

Now, to me, this is primarily a positive review. Ms. Newton obviously enjoyed the performance, which should have satisfied Ms. Murdock and her "The job of a critic is to comment on how well the orchestra plays." But yes, it does acknowledge a certain personal bias that the critic may have about lushly orchestrated music (she does not make her opinion explicit in the article other than to praise this "light" performance).

However, our critic of critics also basically accused Ms. Newton of not appreciating the "loveliness and sublime beauty" in the work. Well, I suppose that Ms. Newton doesn't categorically attribute her positive review to the inherent loveliness of the Rachmaninoff. But, obviously, there's more to like about the performance. Yes?

The brass section played with just the right degree of bluster, the woodwind solos were all spot on, the strings displayed a nice transparency and the percussionists delivered plenty of punch. Nearly as impressive, though, was the sleight of hand by which Minczuk produced his baton from within his jacket for the finale after conducting the third movement without it.

While I think that these sections from the original review make it clear that our letter to the editor probably didn't read the review very closely, that's sort of the point. She didn't really read the review, and doesn't really know how to digest music criticism. Ms. Murdock perceived a slight offense at what she held as the opinion on Rachmaninoff Symphony No.2 and anything that deviated from that opinion was viewed more as an attack than as, what it really is, analysis and interpretation. In other words, she doesn't like criticism.

So, why am I bothering to take on this meaningless letter to the editor? Clearly, I don't intend to simply criticize, because I think this is easily dismissed and ignored. But, she just doesn't get it. She doesn't understand what a music critic does, and as has been my experience, her opinion echoes that of many who, in their ignorance, have contributed to the diminishing and devaluing of the public intellectual/critic in our communities.

Her letter, while insignificant, requires a response, because I believe in the role of classical music in our society. And part of that is a public discourse led by experts, advocates and teachers.

As a quick aside, let me finish my argument with a quote from infamous food critic, Anton Ego,who you may remember from the film "Ratatouille":

"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations, the new needs friends... Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere."

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Now, that I've had my say, please let us know what you think. What is the role of the critic?

Friday Quickie -- A Little Thing Called Contemporary Music

figure obvious: Well, duh.

I think Mark Kanny, of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, thinks I'm stupid.

International Contemporary Ensemble sees endless possibilities in contemporary music

figure obvious: Yes, but do you have huts?

There's a word for my response...an expression of disdain for something stupid or obvious, especially a self-evident remark. Hmmm...?

Contemporary music offers the opportunity for incredible variety in assembling a concert program.

I think Mark Kanny just discovered the 20th century, or that there is music written for ensembles other than orchestras and string quartets.

There's no dominant style of composition today, and the ingenuity of fresh instrumental combinations is breathtaking.

If only I knew how to express my annoyance at this banal, obvious statement.


The situation has spawned a new world of mixed chamber groups that go far beyond dominance of string-quartet instruments, often with piano, characterizing older chamber music.

The situation? This sounds serious.

figure obvious: This is also serious.

Now, the possibilities for varied sonorities are virtually endless.

Boy, those contemporary music guys sure are clever people.

The International Contemporary Ensemble will present a program of mixed chamber music Saturday evening at the Andy Warhol Museum in the North Side.

Sounds like a cool event. Bringing in musicians from around the world to present the music of international composers to a new and interesting alternative space....awesome.

The concert continues the collaboration between the University of Pittsburgh's Music on the Edge concert series and the Warhol.

Nice. Kind of wished I lived in a city that offered such events.

So, we're in Pittsburgh, in a museum dedicated to a quintessentially American artist...how about you tell us about the international component of tonight's concert? The International Contemporary Ensemble...from which far off land of mystery do they hail?

The group is based in Chicago and New York City, and numbers 30 musicians.

Ah, the great Republic of Chicago, and the Federated States of New York. How very international.

It recently was described in The New York Times as "one of the most adventurous and accomplished groups in new music." Four musicians from the roster of the International Contemporary Ensemble will play the Saturday concert...

Excellent. I bet they all have exotic, international names...

...flutist Claire Chase, clarinetist Joshua Rubin, percussionist David Schotzko and guitarist Daniel Lippel.

Claire, Josh, David and Daniel? How ever do you pronounce these crazy foreign names? Me and my blasted American education.

figure obvious: Obviously.

Also, flute, clarinet, percussion, guitar...that's a funny sounding string quartet.

Note that there is no string quartet instrument -- violin, viola or cello -- and no piano.

Oh, right, this is "contemporary" music -- full of possibilities.

But no piano? Where does contemporary music get off taking the piano out of the string quartet?

Sounds like the work of socialists if you ask me.

And frankly, all these foreign names, far off lands like Chi-cag-o, and now, no piano in the string quartet, is beginning to make me think that I might not be ready for this "contemporary music" and their "varied sonorities". I think you can just count me out.

figure contemporary music: Contemporary music is trying to make me take drugs and turn me into a socialist.

Slowly, Finally, Coming to Grips with Modernism?

Who's up for some well-intentioned propagation of the Myth of the Awful Modernist Music? I know I am!

As programming approaches go, the one that James Levine ventured in a concert by the Met Chamber Ensemble at Zankel Hall on Sunday evening was a doozy.

It''s artful the way the structure of the sentence seems to reflect the purported programming approach.

So what was so, uh, zany about this program? Or, rather, the Maestro's approach to the program?

Oh, sorry. The title of the article was:

Part 1: A Dose of Knotty Modernism. Part 2: Quaint Nostalgia.

(Steve Smith, New York Times, 1/11/2010)

Ah! Knotty, then quaint. Say, that is a doozy!

The first half of the program offered vocal works by Milton Babbitt and Elliott Carter, formidable modernists for whom Mr. Levine has shown a durable affinity;

Ha ha! His affinity is "durable" because, I mean, who really likes that knotty, formidable modernist crap anyway?

the second, Richard Strauss’s “Bürger als Edelmann” Suite, quaint, nostalgic music written for a staging of Molière’s play “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.”

Now that's more like it. Nostalgia is outstanding. Things were better back when things were awesome.

Finding offers for midconcert ticket handoffs on Craigslist would have been no surprise.

I know, right? Sheesh, people were probably giving their tickets away for free. I mean, what's wrong with Mozart? Could we please get some Beethoven up in this bitch?

It was surely a sign of faith in Mr. Levine’s judgment, and in the talents of his collaborators onstage, that a sizable audience assembled for Sunday’s quirky concert and seemed to appreciate it throughout.

Because there's no fucking way that 599 people in all of New York City would possibly want to hear Elliott Carter and Milton Babbitt's music. Even, presumably, if you bribe them with nostalgia after the intermission, .00723% of New Yorkers would not go downtown for that shit.

They must, therefore, "surely" really, really trust James Levine.

Figure 1: The Face of Trustworthiness, even vis-a-vis Modernsim.

If there was a unifying element to be found, perhaps it was in how far each composer had bent to accommodate the particular demands of a text.

The doozy of the (perceived) programming approach was that its unifying element (if there indeed was one) was the degree to which each composer accommodated the text?

Okay. That kind of is a, uh...doozy.

In “The Head of the Bed,” Mr. Babbitt’s 1981 setting of a 1974 poem by John Hollander, the answer was, evidently, not much.

Ah. Oh, Milton. You're no fun, and you never let the text have any fun, either.

Figure 2: Fun!

Mr. Hollander’s text, parceled out in 15 stanzas of 15 lines apiece, offers a haunting barrage of vivid impressions dealing with sleep and dreaming.

15 X 15 sounds like extra serial goodness. So in what way did Uncle Milton not accommodate the text?

Mr. Babbitt varied the instrumental combinations to indicate the poem’s formal boundaries;

Man, delineating the formal structure of the text with instrumentation is totally unfair to the text. That's the text's form, man! Get your own damn form!

...vocal lines wrinkled and leapt over a constant rustle that could be interpreted as unconscious fitfulness.

That sounds pretty good. What's the catch? What was his big non-text-accommodating faux pas?

Still,

Oh, here we go...

...it would be hard to imagine this poem set more convincingly by any conventional method.

Still...what? That sounds...good. What the hell? Where was the...

And the soprano Judith Bettina, a seasoned, persuasive interpreter of Mr. Babbitt’s music, was dazzling in her lucidity and commitment.

That sounds great!

I'm confused.

Not for nothing, but without all of the appeals to the "nobody likes/wants to hear this music" meme in the opening paragraphs, this comes off as really positive.

Instead, though, after being warned that the music is knotty and formidable, taken quasi-medicinally in "doses", and remarking that it's surprising that anyone at all came to hear it instead of giving their goddamn tickets away on Craigslist, the ultimately positive review is rather tepid.

Look: I'm not saying the music's not sometimes hard, but rather that those descriptors have a loaded, negative connotation which ultimately dissuade the prospective listener from giving it a serious hearing.

[deep breaths]

So, where were we? Carter?

But where Mr. Babbitt’s work resounded for its formal accomplishment, Mr. Carter’s “Syringa,” a 1978 setting of ancient Greek texts and a modern poem by John Ashbery, rang out as an instantly perceptible masterwork.

Figure 3: Elliott Carter (l) with Frederic Rzewski in Berlin, 1964. (He was 55!)

Interesting. A Carter masterwork, eh? High praise for thorny modernism!

Through long acquaintance, Mr. Carter’s complex webbings of simultaneous sensations have become not only approachable but also familiar.

Who knew that if one became familiar with a style or musical language it'd be easier to understand?

More and more, he has come to seem like a prescient sage of a multitasking era:

Ooh, careful. That almost sounds postmodern.

...so much the better for a listener to respond as Evan Hughes, a bass-baritone, barked lines of myth in Greek, while Kristin Hoff, a mezzo soprano, patiently intoned Mr. Ashbery’s parenthetical observations in English. Mr. Carter’s music sounded responsive to the words, even voluptuous at times. The guitarist Oren Fader, the work’s third featured performer, played brilliantly.

Outstanding. This isn't the same performance, but here's a clip:

Embeddence 1: Carter, "Syringa" (part 1 of 2)

Had Mr. Levine not been sidelined by spinal surgery for several months, he might now be conducting Strauss’s luscious “Rosenkavalier” at the Metropolitan Opera.

He...might be?

The same mix of flamboyant technique and wistful nostalgia found in that opera saturates the zingy Neo-Classical “Bürger als Edelmann” music to slighter effect, and Mr. Levine and his players — especially David Chan, the principal violinist — had an easygoing loll in it.

That sounds dreadful, but maybe I'm just not in the mood for "flamboyant technique and wistful nostalgia".

Figure 4: Oh, no thanks. I had too much casual Orientalism over the holidays, I'm trying to cut down.

Yeah, no. I'll take a dose of Thorny Modernism for a thousand, Alex.

Figure 5: Trebek, cannily presaging Levine's hair-thing (see Figure 1).