Friday Quickie: Tired Cliches and Rants Edition

The best way to get your point across and grab the attention of the reader to make a connection right away. So, many critics find a point of agreement as their topic sentence. But that's where so many critics run into trouble -- the generalization.

I know, I know. It's just an innocent comment, but really...does it serve any purpose at all, other than to reinforce the idea that contemporary music is generally awful? Anne Midgette is an excellent critic, and I expect better from her on the fundamental issues like this one.

I mean, I understand. But sometimes...you know...[sigh].

Take it away, Anne.

If you want to scare off an audience,...

Wait for it...

If you want to scare off an audience, offer contemporary music.

Nailed it. Couldn't agree more. Yep, contemporary music is awful. And now that I think about it, classical music is boring, also. Which begs the question why anyone would ever program that new music garbage?

Oh, wait. Could it be that's a gross generalization that reflects antiquated thinking? The casting of an audience as a single, like-minded organism is so very lazy. I think it's safe to say that not all of us regular symphony patrons like the same music. Some of us want nothing more than to hear contemporary music often (very often) at the symphony, and to never hear the Bruch Violin Concerto ever again (for example).

I know -- we don't count. There's only so much information that can be included in your standard stereotype, so it's easier to ignore the minority and make all arguments as though we don't exist. But we do exist. And the problem is, at least as is my experience, some of us will purposefully avoid your average symphonic tripe on a regular basis, nearly assuring that we'll never feel connected to these institutions.

But the strange part (and the most reassuring part as well) is that while critics like Ms. Midgette (and actually I read Ms. Midgette quite often, so I know she's much better than this) dwell in the delusion about the awfulness of contemporary music, orchestras are smarter. It no longer makes sense to generalize about the attitudes of audiences, especially as the new garde of conductors -- Marin Alsop in Baltimore, Gustavo Dudamel in LA, David Robertson in St. Louis, Robert Spano in Atlanta -- all make programming contemporary music part of their missions. How is it that these people, who need to schmooze the blue hairs on a nearly daily basis as part of their very livelihood, are further ahead of the curve on this issue than music critics? Seriously. It's time for a new cliche.

figure scary music: Sounds like ants eating my face.

Oh, but I cut you off. Contemporary music scares audiences, but...

If you want to soothe it, offer George Gershwin.

Well, I would have said Beethoven, but 20th century American music is a good call too.

----------------
Read the full article here:
Concert review: Post-Classical Ensemble's 'Gershwin Project' at Clarice Smith Center
Anne Midgette, The Washington Post, September 23, 2010

Just Saying It Doesn't Make It So...

But it's a nice sentiment nonetheless:

Chicago Symphony Orchestra: not just for old people
(Erin Schumaker, Medill Reports (Northwestern University Medill School of Journalism), 10/13/2010)

As a bonus, it's a cogently written and, apparently, edited (!) article, if a bit of a fluff piece.

Still, it's nice to see that not only is classical music still attractive to younger people, classical music journalism may just survive into another generation yet.

Extra points for the hilarious title, even if it does reinforce an unfortunate stereotype (the very one that the article attempts to dispel).

Classical Musicians Are Boring

Classical music, as we all know, is boring. Really fucking boring.

It is distinguished from all of the other lively (or “fine”) arts; poets, painters, and even sculptors are generally animated folk who enjoy emotions, colors, and being alive. Musicians—classical musicians, that is—are, on the other hand, tepid and stiff, and would just as soon count beans or sit still as eat, drink or enjoy any sort of pleasure.

The general malaise of scholarship and intellectualism has infested this arm of the arts. Those suited to musical study are cheerlessly devoted to it; the joy of sounds and the interplay thereof give them no delight. It is, rather, a matter of pressing buttons or touching strings in the proper sequence without smiling.

The classical music world, then, is full of grey, dull sorts who’d raher do long division than hum a tune, and find laughter a useless diversion that only serves to steal precious time from their busy schedule of not caring what you think.

What a delight, a surprise, an anomaly, when we find that most exotic of birds: a joyous musician!

Pianist with global reach comes home for good cause
Tom Murray, Edmonton Journal, 6/17/2010

For Maria Thompson Corley, music is more than just an intellectual exercise.

For the vast majority of people who have given up the pursuit of other careers, paths in life which at some point have a beggar’s chance of providing a decent living, so that they may instead pursue their passion for classical music, music is just an intellectual exercise.

Figure 1: George Gershwin, unsmiling and not smoking a pipe, engages in an intellectual exercise (ca 1936)

The Juilliard-trained pianist, who studied under the legendary Gyorgy Sandor, has been immersed in classical music since she was a young girl, but she doesn't look to it as the only soundtrack for her life.

Again, this is implicitly contrasted to most classically-trained musicians, who have no idea about this "Elvis" person they keep hearing so much about.

Figure 2: The soundtrack to unsmiling Charles Ives's life was nothing but stodgy old classical music.

"Oh, no," she says over the phone from her mother's home in Leduc. "It's all about what you feel like at the moment.

Oh, no! No no no! Music is an accoutrement. Like earrings, or underwear. To help you express your mood, absent the proper function of facial muscles.

Figure 3: Young composers Maurice Ravel and Igor Stravinsky only ever had one feeling at any given moment, which is why they composed classical music.

"Sometimes you want to dance," she laughs.

Never, ever in the history of Western culture has anyone actually danced to classical music. Ever.

Figure 4: George Balanchine loved classical music, so he never felt like dancing.

"A while back I wrote an article about Michael Jackson and the editor asked why I would want to do this. Michael Jackson was a big deal to me and my friends growing up. We would try and learn the dance moves to his songs.

Who ever heard of a classical musician that likes pop music? Outrageous!

Figure 5: Erik Satie never smiled, nor did he have any truck with popular music; he certainly didn't earn his living playing cabaret songs in a seedy bar.

"I once spoke with urban kids about classical music, and since there was no piano I just talked about how different kinds of music moved me. The kids would come up and ask me if I knew about Fur Elise or Moonlight Sonata.

I don’t understand this anecdote. Michael Jackson…urban kids…no piano…Moonlight Sonata.

"People do have open minds about these things."

I read this as having a British-style emphatic do.

You could certainly say the same of Corley, who met the exacting standards of Sandor while still maintaining a sense of fun often absent in the rigid world of classical music.

My goodness, that awful, rigid world of classical music devoid of fun.

Figure 6: Known far and wide as a joyless soul, John Cage certainly typifies the lack of fun in the classical music world.

It is of course generally understood that music students, when not practicing or learning the dull, stifling art of music and its history, are forced to sit, chained to a dank grey wall in a dungeon and read Spinoza aloud to one another ad nauseum.

I mean: let’s be honest here. Do you think music schools, especailly Very Serious ones (like Julliard), are full of young, artistically-minded, creative, intellectually curious types who spend their spare time going to lots of concerts with their friends, drinking, and fucking?

Don’t be silly.

Figure 7: Unlike most college students, 18-21 year old conservatory academics and musicians are interested in neither sex, nor drugs, nor rock 'n' roll.

Time to Hook up the Ivy

That's a bad pun, I know.

From Providence’s own Brown Daily Herald, which sounds like a pun, but is not:

The Brown University Chorus filled Sayles Hall with songs of worship and love Saturday night.

Okay, so not the review fare on which we at the Detritus usually aim our sights, but, nonetheless, there are issues worth considering.

Featuring five works from various genres, the hour-long concert elicited thunderous applause and a standing ovation.

Nice.

The chorus, which is composed of 50 singers and is one of Brown’s oldest performing groups, began the concert with Sergei Rachmaninoff’s “All-Night Vigil,” [Op. 37] a Christian song of worship.

Impressive! It’s not a small piece at all (about an hour in length).

Wait. The concert was only an hour long!? Oh. Oh! Ugh.

That they sang excerpts is, well, not very impressive. Failing to mention that they only sang excerpts is misleading.

Anyway.

The performance started off peacefully but quickly rose to a crescendo, giving the audience its first glimpse of the chorus’s musical abilities.

They have the ability to sing soft and loud. In other words, loads of ability.

They also sang Robert Evett’s “The Mask of Cain” and Stephen Chatman’s “There is Sweet Music,” followed by Kirby Shaw’s choreographed “Plenty Good Room,” which concluded the first half.

The second half of the concert featured a performance of “Narcissus,” a cantata written and arranged by James Woodman. Normally, a composer is responsible only for arranging the music, but Woodman also “wrote the poem itself,” Jodry said.

He made it up all by “himself”! Please.

After the piece’s last movement, the audience exploded into a standing ovation.

Figure 1. Old-timey gags are awesome.

Okay. This is all well and good. It sounds like it was a concert, with potentially interesting stuff. But:

[Conductor Frederick] Jodry said it was imperative to choose a “wide array of music” so that the audience didn’t lose interest, since the performance was so long.

There are several issues here. First, I don’t doubt that the pieces exemplified that “wide array,” but I take issue with the choice of program. If it wasn’t musically interesting enough to sustain itself without gimmicks of some sort or another, then why not choose different, perhaps better, music? It seems to me that the conductor made the job difficult for himself. Why not just perform the entire Rachmaninov? I’m not a huge fan, but the quality of the work and audience interest is guaranteed.

Second, and this goes hand in hand with the first, I think the conductor underestimated his audience. We’re talking about Brownians, smart people—smart people who have an interest in choral music. I mean, what more can you ask for? This isn’t a high school choir performing for their parents, after all.

Finally, if our critic’s concert time estimation was more-or-less correct, about an hour, then, generically, what does this say about concert culture? Nothing good. Might it be time to start phasing out Mahler, again?

The first three pieces were distinctly heavier than the fourth, which carried a more whimsical tone and “made the audience grin,” accomplishing its purpose of keeping the audience engaged, Jodry said.

-

Orchestra director: Let’s make the audience grin so they don’t nod off.
Board member 1: Huzzah!
Board member 2: What’ll we program? It should be topical, no doubt.
Board member 1: We need some kind of star power, too.
Orchestra director: I know! Let’s have a tribute to Teddy Kennedy, with...
Keith Lockheart: ...with narration from Morgan Freeman!
Board member 1: Huzzah!
Board member 2: And Ed Harris!
Board member 1: Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!
Orchestra director: Why not? Why not go all out and get Robert DeNiro and Cherry Jones, too?
Board member 1: That might be a bit much. Don’t you think?
Board member 2: And video!
-

Friday Quickie -- Asshat Edition

I ran across this blog entry from Steven Humphrey on The Portland Mercury's website a week or so ago. The Mercury is an alternative (read hipster) newspaper in Portland, Oregon primarily dedicated to covering the popular music scene in and around Portland. So, to be fair, they don't really cover classical music. And for this reason I hesitated to reprint this on our site. But upon further consideration, it's an intelligent and lively exchange of ideas that I think the Detritus readers would be remiss not to have read.

Today's Symphony Review. SNORE!!!!

HA! That's so funny. Because you know, now that I think about it, classical music is boring. Awesome.

figure symphony concert: BOR-ING!

As you probably realize, we jaded, tight-pant wearing hipsters here at the Smirkury HATE THE SYMPHONY!!

WHY?!

Why?

Yes, why?

Because it is OLD... TIMEY, yo!

Well, fuck, I've never seen it put so succinctly before. It is OLD! And for the most part I hate everything old too. But that can't be the only reason...why else do you HATE THE SYMPHONY?

The symphony is for Metamucil...

hehe...old people have more health problems than young people. Awesome reference!

figure boring: Old people like the symphony.

...Metamucil sippin' bucket kickers who are too freaking SQUARE to listen to the greatest band of all time (Vampire Weekend, 'natch).

figure old people: Old people don't know the greatest band of all time and, therefore, deserve our ridicule

figure greatest band of all time: Greatest band ever?! Talk about the greatest understatement of all time. I have no idea how I was able to make it through my life without this!

However, for the two or three creaky old-timers who accidentally stumble on to this site while trying to figure out their AARP benefits...

Ha ha! Old people need non-profit lobbying groups.

...or how email works,...

LOL! And they're terrible with technology. What a fucking waste of space old people are.

figure moe: "Call this an unfair generalization if you must, but old people are no good at everything."

Did you have help writing this, because I'm not sure it's humanly possible for one person to be as awesome as you.

...here is the latest in the weekly scolding emails we receive from symphony lover (HA!) Brian Horay. (Seriously, he writes us, like, every week. Can't he Twitter this?)

Fucking old guy doesn't use Twitter. Because everyone knows that the only way to be hip or cool is to use Twitter. Just ask any 13-year-old.

So, what email did this fucking loser send? ...

...wait?...he sent an email? Dude, Steven, I thought you said old people couldn't figure out email.

Fuck. Now I don't know what to think...

Dear Mercury: I've completely given up on you. Not only did soloist Chee-Yun tear up the Schnitzer with a 302-year-old violin at the Oregon Symphony this weekend, she was also featured in a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode last fall. All this without even a mention in your so-called music previews. If Horse Feathers was playing a show with a 302-year-old fiddle, it would have been on your fucking cover. Once again, you've managed to drop the ol' proverbial ball.

Brian Horay
SE PDX

You're totally right, Steven Humphrey, old people are just TOO SQUARE to be taken seriously.

It's hard to see how you've managed to tolerate totally bogus emails like this for so long. Thanks for putting this old guy in his place. It's really a public service you're providing and frankly, it's probably the Lord's work you're doing (I can only assume that God hates old people too).

So from one music lover to another, Thanks. And, oh, by the way...

figure fuck you steve: "Fuck you, Steve."

FUCK. YOU.

Here's hoping some old woman hits you with her out-of-control Camry.

!naidrauG ,aY tA kcaB thgiR

The eight-lane road that wends its way to the Oakland McAfee Coliseum is, this rainy Wednesday evening, crowded with studded leather jackets and extensive makeup. Tonight sees the concertizing of KISS, and the seats of the California venue is flooded with drunks, their voices ringing clear and crisp across the stadium. I stand there in my slacks and sports jacket, flapping my broken umbrella, and gulp.

For years now, the nation's various rock venues have been making strenuous efforts to attract a more diverse audience - with specialty foods, cheap to expensive tickets, outdoorshows, cinematic screenings, "simulcasts," club nights, cult artists, a presence on Facebook and YouTube, and even ticket offers in the Chronicle. It does seem to be working: KISS concert attendance figures are up 80,000 on last year; 48% of patrons are newcomers; more than 22,000 students are registered for the company's stand-by ticket scheme; and 385,000 people download the podcast each month.

But can they make me want to come back? I am, surely, exactly the sort of person they are trying to tempt. I spend much of my time listening to music and attending gigs. I will happily spend vast sums on merchandise. Yet stadium rock has always seemed a raucus and smelly land, set far away across a sea of elitism. I have had little desire to visit it and I have always bridled at the notion that rock is considered a more accessible art form than classical. Sod your anthems, I thought, I'll stick with Fischer-Dieskau singing: "Im wunder schönen Monat Mai."

Accordingly, I have attended the one of these concerts just once, over a decade ago. It did little to encourage me. Yet some things have intrigued me: the bursts of pyrotechnics during the encores; the fact that when I interviewed the great Gene Simmons, he raved about new stage setups. So tonight, sitting in the puke-covered seats of the Coliseum, listening to the banal riffs heave and huff, I try to keep an open mind.

Although it is performed in English, there are no surtitles for when the singing grows incomprehensible, and there is an extravagant set, full of amplifiers and intricate lighting, which will hopefully prove compelling should one's mind begin to stray. Which it does. Repeatedly. The problems are various: I don't really care for the singing, all the fah-diddly-dahing smothers the musicality. I find it extremely annoying that they keep repeating everything; a singer will reiterate precisely what he has already said in the most tedious fashion. On top of it all, it's rather warm. I reach the first set change feeling decidedly drowsy.

Everyone rushes to the concession stand where they serve cheap beer and I am suddenly surrounded by umpteen leather-clad, middle-aged men shoving their way in front of me. I can't recall the last time I encountered such rudeness. Not even in the city's most dog-eared classical venues do you find such uncouth behavior. For a small fortune, I eventually procure a “Bud” and some nachos, and stand in the corner contemplating how objectionable everyone is. I think of my friends, somewhere across town watching a new staging of The Rake’s Progress and feel tearful.

My heart lifts when I discover that the second set is generally shorter than the first. Back in my seat, feeling more buoyant, I wonder what I make of Poison (the first band), and conclude that, while it looks spectacular, it is actually very dreary while, musically speaking, I like it slightly less than Toby Kieth. After the requisite “I Want to Rock and Roll All Night,” I am off across town to meet my friends at the usual little bar where there is better beer and plenty of quiet air to speak.

The next evening I return for the Rolling Stones, this time with a friend. "It's the worst place in the world!" I tell him. He, however, is enthusiastic, because he wants to hear the famous "Satisfaction." I tell him he has three long, pitchless hours before him and his zeal evaporates. Again, it looks gorgeous and the music is quite raucous. It is undoubtedly more engaging than the Kiss, but my mind still wanders. "Why do they need to repeat everything?" my friend whispers. "Exactly." I reply. "They could get the whole thing done a lot faster if they just said it once." We quell the boredom by surreptitiously eating an orange. At the intermission, we head to the concession stand. "Weren't you here last night?" the barman says. "Yes," I sigh. "Dear God," says a woman. "I don't think I could do two nights in a row."

So, just why do people go to these mega-rock stadium concerts? As far as I can see, it's too long, the music, singing and pyrotechnics never work together, and it is staggeringly self-indulgent, like sitting through the most noodly Carlos Santana guitar solo, only for Chris Rea to appear and go through it all again, with Mark Knopfler joining in for good measure. I think people must attend these things in the same way they introduce roughage to their diet - because they ought to, rather than because they want to.

Later that month, I catch a train to Santa Barbara for the rock festival, to see what’s left of Metallica, and the remnants of a once punk Red Hot Chili Peppers. Santa Barbara is a gorgeous place and the crowd far less annoying. I have been listening to Kill ‘Em All repeatedly, to accustom myself to the style of singing. It seems to be paying off: I enjoy Metallica far more than I expect. The Chili Peppers, though, is a struggle. It's the watered-down aspect, but rendered more politically with nods to terrorism and latter-day dictators.

When they’re on stage, it's lovely, but whenever Flea starts lamenting about everything, I just want him to stop moaning. It doesn't help that Anthony Kiedis, in the style of his hair and the way he dips his head when he sings, puts me in mind of Princess Diana being interviewed by Martin Bashir. Still, as the production feels considerably more am-dram than anything at the Coliseum, it makes me like it more.

Next is a trip back up to Golden Gate Park, a little jewel of the rock world. It is raining the day my friend and I visit in jeans and T-shirts. Fine gray mist is sweeping across the lawn where the picnickers are dressed in all their rock-wear. The rain rather puts a dampener on what is meant to be a splendid day out to the park, with a bit of rock’n’roll on the side. We are here to see a Beatles cover band. The Beatles are one of my favorite groups, so I'm actually excited.

Anything but well-played, it is sung in English, Latin, Spanish and Yoruba. I want to like this, really I do, but everything I love about the Beatles - their ripeness, their deliciousness - has been stripped away. It makes me very sad.

At the first intermission, we spill out into the grounds to drink champagne. The sense of occasion here at Golden Gate Park, the casualness, the tofu burgers and the strolls through the luscious grounds, make it feel like a county fair. My feelings towards the audience here are more benign. There is one exception: the woman who glares at us as the photographer takes my picture on the lawn. "That's so not San Francisco!" she hisses. I have a profound desire to spit in her hair.

It is not just incidents like this that will keep me from returning to rock’n’roll. It is the fact that I just cannot find a friend in this music. I can see it is fun. I can tell they are infectious, but it stirs nothing in my belly, conjures nothing in my heart. It carries for me none of the fire, the spine-tingling, stomach-flipping, bone-chilling lifeblood of classical music.

Back at Golden Gate Park, the rain is falling hard. With the applause still ringing, we dash to the taxi. "Get us out of here!" I tell the driver as he takes us to the BART station. "As fast as you can!" On the train home, we secretly swig cheap rosé straight from the bottle and eat dry-roasted peanuts, letting the rock ballads fade into the distance...

-

Screw that. Send me to a fucking rock concert and see what I write!
-

Snotty and Insufferable?

Disclaimer: Clearly, this is a humorous column, or at least an attempt at one. I am, I hope, not without a sense of humor. However, I do not take kindly to ignorance and stereotyping. So after much thought, I’ve decided to…

How to be a classic snob

Um. Thanks for interrupting, Joel Stein of the LA Times. And I think you mean “classical snob,” unless that’s some sort of attempt at a pun.

Learning the tricks behind having a snotty attitude about orchestral music

Snotty? Nice. It says over here in your biography that you’re starved for attention. Is that true?

A few years ago, I began working toward my retirement goal of being an intolerable old man.

I must say, that’s an admirable goal.

I'm way ahead of schedule on knowing enough about wine to bore anyone,

Hey, me too! Because, you know, I’ve studied and stuff.

but classical music has proved much more difficult, largely because no matter how much you listen, it does not get you drunk.

No, because you haven’t studied it. You think it’s okay to be “snotty” about wine because you know a lot about wine, but you want the shortcut to being “snotty” about classic [sic] music? Boo, sir. Boo.

But because my cultural 401(k)

Okay, that’s funny.

depends on being able to cite conductors, orchestras and recording years,

“Recording years” is pretty awkward. Simplify, man! I’d go with “dates”.

I called David Moore, a bassist for the L.A. Philharmonic, and asked him to get me on the road to insufferability.

You’re already on that road, my friend.

Moore met me at the Walt Disney Concert Hall and said that, like me, he got into classical music late -- in his case at USC, where he started out majoring in jazz, which he discovered by getting into guitar solos in Rush and Iron Maiden songs.

He discovered jazz by…listening to Iron Maiden?

New York is the center of high culture because its orchestra members keep these kinds of things secret.

Zing! Also, because people take the time to educate themselves, unlike (apparently) in LA, where any shortcut to cultural currency is welcome. Those stupid East coast idiots, learning about stuff!

His first tip was to tell me not to bother buying a lot of CDs because, unlike with rock bands, the live experience is far more important. "The Varese piece had 16 percussion instruments, and you can't capture that in two ear buds," he explained. I'm not exactly sure what his point was, but I longed to say things like, "The Varese piece had 16 percussion instruments."

Wow. Look it up, Einstein. And it’s “Varèse.” Plus, I don’t have to “long to say” facts that I already know, because I know them.

When I accused him of just saying this to get me to buy concert tickets, he told me that he never listens to classical recordings at home unless it's for work. Again, the New York guys would keep that quiet.

Zing!

Moore kept giving me advice on appreciating music, but I didn't care about that. I wanted to know how to express snobbishness about it.

Great. That’s great.

"Knowing Sibelius is Finnish and influenced by natural surroundings can deepen the experience, but you don't need to know it's cold and dark in Finland to appreciate it," he said. Yes, I do. This was great advice. A quick Wikipedia read is always the first step to intolerability.

Oh, right, I took my eyes off your prize. Intolerable, insufferable. Without working. I get it.

Sensing my excitement, Moore started to get what I was looking for. "If you can refer to recordings or conductors, then you can be elitist and mock me for not knowing that stuff," he said. Check. "Also, pronounce composers in their language of origin." Got it. BAY-toe-fen.

Jesus.

And if people applaud between movements during a concert, I should stare, loudly shush and shake my head in disapproval.

Um. What? Everyone knows that, because…

The musicians don't mind the clapping,

What? I’m pretty sure they do. Ever get stared down by the conductor? Oh, wait…obviously not.

but snotty audience members love to assert their knowledge of classical music etiquette.

Yes. “Snotty.” Etiquette is so snotty. Hey, Mr. Stein? Would you like a ham and cheese sandwich?

When I'm old enough to have really gotten the hang of this, I'm sure I'll be able to use my phone to excoriate the clappers on an online social network inhabited only by the snotty, old and self-obsessed. It would still be called Facebook.

Hey! America? It’s common to not clap between movements of a work at a “classical” concert. Clear? Clear. Not too hard, right? Full of tiny, intricate, inviolable rules? No? No. See?

After banging out some classical licks on a piano that did seem pretty memorable, Moore invited me to the orchestra's performance of Mahler's Sixth, with guest conductor Christoph Eschenbach. Not only was this supposed to be a great performance, but more important, I could tell people, "I saw Eschenbach do Mahler's Sixth." Moore was starting to understand my needs.

I think your needs are clear.

But before I went, Moore suggested -- against his earlier advice -- that I actually get the disc and listen to it once or twice. This could help with my most serious hurdle to remembering any piece I hear live: staying awake.

Good Lord.

"The familiarity of a piece is like a return drive," he said. "It doesn't feel as long because you recognize the landmarks along the way." Also, during the performance, I could focus on a particular section -- say, the bassists -- to give me something to do with my eyes besides close them. That's when I got the awesome idea for Solid Gold Philharmonic Dancers.

That is totally an awesome idea, brah! How about "Orchestral Babes Gone Wild!"?

When I got home, I downloaded Leonard Bernstein's version of Mahler's Sixth and read the Wikipedia entry about the symphony. This turned out to be really smart because I found out the symphony not only requires a triangle, a glockenspiel and, awesomely, cowbells,

Cowbells are, admittedly, awesome.

but, according to Mahler, a hammer that was to be pounded "breif and mighty, but dull in resonance and with a nonmetallic character (like the fall of an axe)." Somewhere, a child-prodigy percussionist is being yelled at for not pounding a wooden hammer dully enough.

I’ll give you that one.

That night, I did a lot of staring at the hammer guy, who, to my delight, was also the triangle and cowbell guy. And his hammer was this gigantic, Wile E. Coyote-sized mallet that he slammed maybe five times onto this enormous wood chopping block on wheels. I couldn't decide if I was more delighted by the notion of Eschenbach, who conducts this symphony all over the world, trying to persuade airport security to let him board with his carry-on giant hammer, or the idea that the Philharmonic keeps a giant hammer and table in storage just for Mahler's Sixth. Or that, for the rest of my life, I can talk about the sublime dullness of the hammer, which gets lost on recordings, as soon as Mahler's Sixth comes up in conversation. Which it will. Because I will bring it up.

Yes, yes you will. Because you saw it, and bothered to learn something about it.

See how that works? Just like wine. In the end, did you learn this? No?

Sigh. Again, I know it’s a humor column. Touting ignorance, snotty-ness, and ridiculing things you know nothing about is hilarious. I almost didn’t do this post. And it is, after all, funny. However, the point (easy cultural legitimacy) is undermined by the fact that the author actually did some research, listened to the piece, and went to the concert.

So what was the point again?

Holy Shit.

Here, we wouldn’t dare say “music is the universal language of mankind,” without rightly extending Wordsworth's sentiments to include women.

But, then again, in some corners of the world we could, just not classical music.

Judging by the reactions of some Saudis to Mozart, I worry that by finally introducing "romantic climaxes," Beethoven might be revolutionary once again, but for vastly different reasons, i.e., if it’s not too boring.

Because we all know it is!

Classical Music is Boring! And: Nobody Likes It (Except Old People).

Looking for the Classical Music reviews on the Chicago Sun-Times' website is sort of like trying to find fresh endive at the supermarket. You know it must be there, somewhere. But it seems as though they don't want you to find it. (Try it! Lifestyle? No. Entertainment and the Music tab both take you to oceans of club listings and pop reviews. Arts? Oh, visual arts.) One would think that the primary newspaper in a major city with one of four major American orchestras would have a vibrant "art" music scene. Maybe they do. They sure hide it well.

After some searching, I found this little gem. This gentleman, apparently, gets paid (if occasionally) to write about music. Now, I realize that classical music is, perhaps, not his milieu. Also...wait, you know what? No more hedging.

"Catching Some Zs in D Minor"

Midway through Quintet Attacca's performance at the Chicago Cultural Center last Monday afternoon, I spied a fellow audience member stifling a yawn.

Classical music is boring!

She had a right; along with the other fifth graders from Henson Elementary School in attendance, she'd just used up all her energy playing impressive versions of "Jolly Old St. Nicholas" and "The Gift of G-A-B" on the recorder.

Oh, sorry. I spoke too soon. She was just a tuckered-out little kid. Classical music isn't boring. Not for nothing, but I really want to know more about "The Gift of G-A-B". I wonder if it was constructed around linear ascent through a major third?

Dave and I, on the other hand, had no excuse for dozing off during the event, unless you count staying up late to watch Sunday Night Football.

Okay. You're a regular [read: likes football] guy who also enjoys the occasional classical music concert. That's cool. Trying to expand the audience is cool with me! How was the concert? Who's Dave?

"I wouldn't call that 'rambunctious'," noted Dave as he was startled awake by the set-ending applause.

I wouldn't call staying up for Sunday Night Football "rambunctious" either. Who's Dave? Your roommate?

He was referring to flautist Jennifer Clippert's introductory description of Irving Fine's "Partita for Wind Instruments."

Oh. The "that" in the previous sentence referred to something you hadn't mentioned yet. Who's Dave?

"I guess it's all relative," I replied, stretching.

Your casual, narrative style seems designed to put me at ease. I hope.

I had been counting on Dave to keep me interested in the concert, since he was once a dedicated cello player (his prized instrument was stolen last year; he is currently offering a free haircut for anyone who can ensure its safe return).

That is sad. Dave is forced to be a hairdresser for a living since his cello was stolen? Or had he previously given up music in favor of a career in hairdressing? Um, who's Dave?

Also, you expected the concert to be soporific (since classical music is boring) and expected your classical nerd buddy (or something) to keep you interested. Your casual, narrative, parenthetically anecdotal tone is starting to wear thin. However, I'll keep a positive attitude. How was the concert?

But the Quintet's songs proved to be an effective, if pleasurable, sleep aid,

Oh. Classical music is boring.

and my roommate and the 60-year old spectator to his right were soon dreaming woodwind dreams.

Really boring. Soporific, even. Literally! Plus: new information! Dave is totally your roommate. I assume. Although I am not sure, given your predilection to postpone predicates.

Forced to fend for myself, I spent much time looking around Preston Bradley Hall, the home of the Classical Mondays concert series.

Good thing you weren't listening to the music. Otherwise you might be able to tell me how you liked the concert. I know: how about a digression!

The ornate room, featuring the world's largest stained-glass Tiffany Dome, is a clear reminder of the building's previous life as the Chicago Public Library. It's covered with multilingual inscriptions about books as well as the names of masters like Shakespeare, Chaucer and Dante.

That sounds really nice. It sounds like a nice place to be. I wish I had a blog making fun of architecture reviews. How was the concert? Boring? So boring you were reading the names of authors? On the wall?

It's also huge, and much to my surprise, the space was needed for this concert.

This is awesome. It is surprising to Dave's everyman-roommate Ben (a writer) that people come to free classical concerts. Much surprising!

While I'd expected some Loop workers on lunch break and maybe a street-dweller or two looking for a respite from the cold,

Classical music is boring. Nobody likes it. Concerts of this type (especially, I guess, free ones) are mostly attended by street people, who are cold.

I wasn't prepared for the packed house that left me just inches away from the bobbing head of the man in front of me.

I guess not. People? At a concert? Bobbing?!

Evidently, the description of the award-winning Quintet Attacca as "up and coming" isn't just PR spin; the group is clearly popular with the coveted 45- to 75-year-old market.

Hey-O! Derision of the middle-aged and elderly. That was totally necessary! You know who likes classical music? Old people. Take that, old people!

I could only imagine how many homebound fans were listening to the live broadcast on WFMT (98.7 FM).

Take that, homebound fans! You are totally homebound. And you know what else? You like classical music. Which is boring. By the way, Ben, how was the concert?

Classical concerts demand a certain level of propriety, and the well-mannered audience members were model citizens throughout.

The audience, which consisted of a) tuckered-out fifth-graders, b) football-loving everymen Ben and Dave, and c) boring old people, was well-mannered. This is awesome journalism.

Though I'm a rule-follower to a fault, I was tempted to shake things up, if only in a last-ditch effort to stay awake.

It was so fucking boring.

As long as I had to watch horn player Jeremiah Frederick empty out his spit valve at every pause, why couldn't I clap when the urge struck?

Brass instruments accumulate spit as a result of the physical necessities of generating sound through a metal tube using your mouth. This is very, very slightly gross and has nothing to do with your clapping "when the urge struck". I don't really understand. How was the concert? Boring? How's Dave doing about now?

Sadly, Dave wasn't alert enough to share in my civil disobedience,

Ah, bored to sleep. But well-mannered!

and I had to sit on my hands like everyone else until the group members stood up to signal for applause.

That must've been torture. Boring torture.

The performers weren't all business; their colorful and informative introductions to each piece elicited chuckles from the crowd, and revealed their deep understanding of musical history.

The performers sound well-informed. Their "colorful" introductions sound pretty cool. This sounds a lot like the kind of newer, casual style of "classical" concerts that younger ensembles stage nowadays in order to educate and interest a wider audience. I think that's exemplary.

I wonder if they played well, too? How was the selection of pieces? How was the concert?

My personal favorite was the preface to Arturo Marquez' "Danza de Mediodia." Oboist Erica Anderson explained that the title translated to "Noon Dance," and referred not to the time of day, but rather the stage the Mexican composer was at in his career when he wrote it.

What was your favorite piece?

According to Anderson, the song is meant to be played standing, but due to aesthetic concerns and the weight of Collin Anderson's bassoon, the group members would be "dancing from [their] seats."

I'm not really sure what this means, or where it's going. I'm sure you are driving at something here. Do you approve? Disapprove? What was the effect? How was the piece? How was the concert? How is Dave?

Amidst all the post-noon swoons and kids eager to get back on the school bus, I'm sure there were a few toes politely tapping in the audience as well.

That's it? That's the end? For fuck's sake man! How! was! the! concert!? Did Dave ever wake up?