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.

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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.

Mini Take Home Quiz, #1: All-Brahms

Name:__________________________
Date:___________________________

Take Home Quiz, #1: All-Brahms (50 pts. possible)

Part I. Multiple choice (5 pts. each)

Given the following quotes, correctly identify the person(s), thing(s) being described. (Circle one)

1. In the opening "Tragic" Overture, ______ led a well-paced performance of exuberant intensity, drawing a richly textured sound from the strings, especially the dusky violas.

a) Virginia Allen
b) JoAnn Falletta
c) Marin Alsop
d) Who knows? That could describe anyone.

2. [In the Violin Concerto] ______ managed the feat of communicating equally well with the audience and the orchestra.

a) Leila Josefowicz
b) Nikolaj Znaider
c) Scholmo Mintz
d) Again, who knows?

3. ______ once observed that the work is "a concerto for violin against orchestra -- and the violin wins."

a) Bronislaw Huberman
b) Leopold Auer
c) Joseph Joachim
d) Instead of saying “someone,” which the author did, it sure would’ve been nice to waste one extra word to cite the source.

4. Yet [the violinist’s] ______ became an integral part of his muscular interpretation.

a) sweating
b) cackling
c) grunting
d) any gerund will do


Part II. True or False (5 pts. each)

Indicate whether or not the following statements are True or False. (circle one)

5. Los Angeles has many nicknames. “Southland” is one of them.

True/ False

6. The opening sections of Brahms’ Violin Concerto summon the genial ghost of Fritz Kriesler.

True /False

7. An overly searching account of Brahms’ First Symphony, with its constantly shifting landscapes of darkness and light, can easily turn fussy and overblown.

True /False

8. If one conducts the “Tragic” Overture and the First Symphony from memory, then it is wise to utilize a score for the Violin Concerto.

True/False


Part III. Fill In the Blank (5 pts. each)

9. And though [the conductor’s] concentrated attention on [the] soloist occasionally made [his/her] reading sound a bit too ______, the orchestra's momentum never flagged.

10. An overly ______ account of [the First Symphony] [...]can easily turn fussy and overblown.


Extra Credit:

Name the person in the photograph.











Answers: (1) C: Marin Alsop; (2) B: Nikolaj Znaider; (3) A: Bronislaw Huberman (only after a bit of research); (4) D: any gerund will do (the author actually used, “striving”); (5) True—according to the Los Angeles Almanac, “it is commonly used by Los Angeles radio and television media to refer to their broadcast market...”; (6) True—according only to the author; (7) False, because that’s just stupid; (8) Trick question—the answer is: “how can one make that judgment from the audience?”; (9) Careful—we all know that too much concentrated attention tends to screw with momentum; (10) Searching—I gave you the answer in #7; and it’s still stupid (if you got this question wrong, you fail); (Extra Credit) a young Bronislaw Huberman.
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Blackberry Cobbler

(Abstruseness follows)

If I were to open a post with a brief explanation about my beat-up, 10 year-old Honda Civic, about its 30+ miles to the gallon, about its next scheduled tune up, which is sure to cost me more than the car is worth, or the fact that collision insurance costs more than my rent, you might think: Hmmm, what the hell does this have to do with music?

Well, my friends (that’s for you Sator), it might not explicitly have anything to do with music, but it has everything to do with the latest Mark Swed lead-in.

When General Motors called to ask about my "Slob service," I didn’t take it personally. Still, as a longtime Saab loyalist, I can’t say that I’m overjoyed that my tax dollars are needed to bail out the bunglers in Detroit who took over the once imaginative Swedish make a few years ago and have systematically devalued it.

That’s scarily analogous to the forgotten introduction of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address:

Honest Abe: On the way here, our train made a stop in a small town outside of Philadelphia. It was just long enough to catch a bite to eat at the local inn, where we had a nice roasted chicken, served to us by the owner’s wife. She was affable and, by and by, urged us to try her famous blackberry cobbler. Unfortunately for her, as a child I had a very bad experience with several blackberry bushes, which rendered the thought of eating the cobbler less than desirable.

I no longer expect to drive a new Saab on the road to a better future. I do, however, insist on a better future, like the one I saw at the EXPO Center on Saturday morning. The American dream exists if we want it and if we are not so stupid that we throw away all our money on the things that don’t work rather than fund the things that work brilliantly.

Honest Abe: Yet, the innkeeper’s wife was so polite and good-natured, I couldn’t help thinking that this is what makes America the number one-best country. If by trying her cobbler I can symbolically lift this nation toward unity, toward singular motivation, then burying the dead today fortifies my belief that no one monument is greater than one country’s enduring ideals.

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.

We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground.

Real work was done, and some real Beethoven was the reward.

Honest Abe: Uh, maybe we can hallow this ground, after all.
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The Easy Way Out

Here's a quick tip: The most obvious joke, perhaps the first one you think of, is likely neither the funniest nor the most poignant. This, I think, is true at dinner parties as well as in professionally written columns (see Dowd, Maureen).

To demonstrate, please welcome Mark Swed of the LA Times. He wrote a glowing review of the recent performance of Kurtag's Kafka Fragments. He obviously loved it, and this much-anticipated concert apparently delivered the goods. But how to introduce the review?

...

May we please stop obsessing over the hypoallergenic first puppy and change the subject to something deep, spiritual, life-changing?

Er, I don't know anyone--at all--who is obsessing over the "first puppy". Not sure where you got that. Also not too spiritual. But I'm all for deep and/or life-changing. Where are we going with this? (And: did you run out of "and"s?)

Like detergent.

Ah! A non sequitur, perhaps? Intriguing!

Sunday night, President-elect Barack Obama, appearing with his wife, Michelle, on “60 Minutes,” spoke of household chores.

Is this a collage? Or a game of telephone? Puppies! Detergent! 60 Minutes! Purple monkey dishwasher!

He doesn't, he admitted, volunteer to wash dishes, but he washes them.

[I am absolutely not insinuating that Obama is a purple monkey dishwasher; it was a Simpsons reference-Ed.]

Also, er, if he doesn't volunteer to wash them...she...forces him to? Conscripts him? Odd.

And when he does, he said, he tries to use that as therapeutic practice, to find something soothing in the discipline.

Also, odd. That is an odd sentence. What is the predicate of "that"? "Wash dishes"? But I'm straying from my main point.

Almost as if on cue, Tuesday night Dawn Upshaw

Um. I'm pretty certain that this concert was planned well before the 60 Minutes episode that aired two days prior. But if you're going somewhere with this...

Almost as if on cue, Tuesday night Dawn Upshaw got out the Dawn.

Dawn Upshaw? Dawn dish detergent! Ha?

Oh, come on. Seriously? That's not even a good pun.


This is the equivalent of lame, lazy, pointless anthropomorphizing in marketing and mascots.

Marketing Dude: Hey, thanks for seeing me. I hear you guys do great work. We need a good image for our upcoming ad blitz.

Ad Agency Dude: Thanks for coming. What is it you sell again?

MD: Ice cream cones!

AAD: Oh. Hm. Well, we could just slap a face on it! No one's ever done that before!


Marketing Dude: Hey, thanks for seeing me. I hear you guys do great work. We need a good image for our upcoming ad blitz.

Ad Agency Dude: Thanks for coming. What is it you sell again?

MD: Raisins!

AAD: Oh. Hm. Well, we could just slap a face on 'em! No one's ever done that before!

Marketing Dude: Hey, thanks for seeing me. I hear you guys do great work. We need a good image for our upcoming ad blitz.

Ad Agency Dude: Thanks for coming. What is it you sell again?

MD: Tires!

AAD: Oh. Hm. Well, we could just slap a face on 'em! No one's ever done that before!

The balance of the article gives a nice account of the performance, which by all reports was excellent. But the lead-in completely baffled me. Why?

[lifts arms to sky, grimaces]

WHY?!?!

Turning the Vernacular Academic?

On one hand, the pop industry has been under the influence of the free-market since the first commercial recording. Is it so far out of bounds, then, to consider institutionalizing pop music in academia, too?

On the other hand, what might fall under the rubric “classical music” has always been taught in academic settings (for better or worse, one could argue, I suppose). If worse, however—that is, if its institutionalization stunted its growth, or even drained it of life (and I remind everyone that “academia” is almost always used in the pejorative these days?)—then why this:

USC's Thornton School of Music will make room starting next year for singers and instrumentalists who play pop music, breaking a long-standing tradition in higher education that requires students to dedicate themselves either to classical music or jazz.

Today the school is announcing its new bachelor of music degree in pop music performance, said to be the first of its kind at a major university.

"Why shouldn't a program like this start in Los Angeles?" said Robert Cutietta, dean of the Thornton School. "I've been in higher education for 20-some years, and it's been talked about, but everyone has been afraid to do it. No one wanted to be first."

Sure, there have been successful programs, like the Berklee College of Music, in Boston. But...

I guess my question is this: What happens when the vernacular is systematized, dissected? Does it lose its identity? Is this a good thing or a potentially bad thing?

I’m not so sure I’m willing to take a stance on this one. You?

And really, they consulted Randy Newman and Steve Miller?


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Ever hear of the Polish augmented-sixth chord? It's a minor triad. Pah-dum. Tss!

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If good argument follows, I might be willing to think USC's idea might be the best thing ever.

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Pwned!

Beyond mere description of the event, Mark Swed adds his own brand of cynicism, which I think speaks volumes about the state of classical music. Here, on András Schiff:

Schiff's intimate playing can be nervous-making. He has had a hard time in Disney in the past. He creates such an atmosphere of attention that any little thing can be a disturbance...

Now, I’m not so sure that “nervous-making” is really a thing, but Swed’s point is clear. In fact, it sounds like Schiff’s on-stage presence is rather transcendental.

...and listeners can get so wrapped up in his sound that they forget themselves, drop canes and the like.

Damn. Pwned, old people! And also, pwned, young people who don’t go to concerts and miss awesome performances by awesome performers like Schiff!

If only he said, “they forget themselves, become incontinent and the like...” That would’ve been super cool times like a trillion.
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Inconthievable!

Why do you keep saying that? I do not think it means what you think it means.

When pianist Yefim Bronfman steps onto the Walt Disney Concert Hall stage Thursday night for the first of four consecutive concerts with Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the moment will be weighted with musical history.

...as with everything ever done by every musician ever. Except musicians from Xiglot-2—they have no short nor long-term memory formation capacity. I feel for them, but they don’t know what they’re missing. (By the way, that would be some odd music!)

Nonetheless, I’m curious, David Mermelstein: Since when have “moments” supplanted “events?” For me, it’s rather disturbing. If you’ve seen any baseball this season, you’d have seen this transformation take place as clear as day. Take, for instance, the All-Star Game, to name one. Part of the pre-game ceremonies had a number of Hall-of-Famers introduced, by position, at which time they ran onto the field. It was kind of a gigantic self-masturbation for baseball fans who probably remember some things, especially pertaining to baseball history. What threw me for a loop was the sportscasters’ proclamations that it was an historic “moment,” (not to mention the pre-pre-game shows’ proclamations that said it "will be” an historic moment) as if it were (or will be) one, lonely instant on the time continuum, like all the HOFers suddenly appeared on field, and that was a historic “moment,” then they disappeared.

See, as I understand it, time is experienced in a roughly linear fashion (don’t get me started about how the brain tends to fill in missing gaps of memory and how it often rearranges bits of information on the timeline). So, if moments in a continuum are the carriers of historical weight, exactly which moment of the “first of four consecutive concerts with Esa-Pekka,” will be weighted by history, in your estimation? Don’t you mean “event?”

No. That would be too easy.

And that's saying something for a man who was a protégé of Isaac Stern, studied with Rudolf Serkin and Leon Fleisher, roomed with Yo-Yo Ma and made his first major orchestral appearances in the U.S. under the baton of Leonard Bernstein.

Those performances were when Bronfman was 18. Now, at 50, he is famous throughout the world.

Yes. A lot of historical baggage, weighing down everything he does.

But the Philharmonic concerts, at which he will perform Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto, will be his last Disney Hall dates with Salonen as the orchestra's music director.

So that’s why it’s significant. Guffaw! That’s like saying, “A moment of George Bush’s fourth-to-last day in office will be weighted down by history, because it will be the fourth-to-last day he will have Dick Cheney as his vice-president.” While technically correct, the significance lies elsewhere, namely, the fourth-to-last day, not a particular moment from that day. See? And the significance of that fourth-to-last day is rather dubious, too.

Remember Peter Serkin’s last concert series with Seiji Ozawa in Boston? Me neither. Thankfully, you’ll be able to see them together again in Boston this November 28th.

So much for historically weighted last moments and stuff. Can't wait for their second "fourth-to-last" performance together five years from now, too.
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Fueling the Elitist Fire

Annoyingly long posts often suck the life out of a blog, or so I’m told. But hey, look on the bright side, you’ve got your health. So be grateful. Enjoy it while you got it. And if you want to stay for a spell, just put on some background music, dim your screen and let me take you on a long ride in a short bus.

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The LA Times writers have been quite aggressive these past few days, penning what seems to be a large number of opinion pieces dealing with attitudes toward art (a whole two articles, in fact). Both Scott Timberg’s High culture meets low culture in a mass-media world and Mark Swed’s Elitism is not a dirty word have garnered numerous responses on the blogosphere and elsewhere. Most are favorable and they incite a load of discussion. Awesome. They deserve it.

So what are they all about and why am I here? Scott Timberg’s subtitle lays out the problem quite nicely:

Many stigmas are gone as the lines between highbrow and lowbrow blur. But will a loss of quality be the price?

To me and, I’m sure, many of you, this is not a new thought. In fact, I can’t remember a time when this wasn’t part of the discussion. But here it is in the Times, published this past Sunday, as if it were novel. However late it may be, it’s still worth the time to read and consider (props to the Tim and the Times).

Tim goes on to talk about the blurring of the lines:

Most people I know share my disparate taste, enjoying " South Park" alongside Franz Schubert, the crisply plotted novels of James M. Cain as well as the philosophically searching films of Antonioni.

“Hey Franz, remember the underwear gnomes?” Good times.

He goes on:

I WONDER sometimes if we may have succeeded too well in getting rid of distinctions, though. It's hard for me to avoid a low-grade worry that we're losing our ability to recognize quality itself.

A fine concern, indeed. To help him sort it out, Tim talks with people he knows, including music critic Alex Ross, book critic Laura Miller and film critic Steve Erikson. They all have interesting things to say. But it’s what travel writer Pico Iyer says that catches my attention.

"What we seem to have nowadays is more of a hierarchy of media," said Iyer, "whereby, for example, dance, classical music, opera, and even theater and books, all of which commanded their own sections in Time magazine only a generation ago, are now regarded as lofty and remote subjects for only a handful of connoisseurs." Those pages, he said, are "given over now to a Britney watch or extended investigations into the new iPhone."

Uh, Tim. Pico. As I read it, arts are still separated into hierarchies. So, there is no blurring of the lines, after all? Are you saying that things are separated into, you know, third tier, second tier, mezzanine, orchestra pit, books?

Also, classical music, because it’s regarded as “lofty and remote,” sure sounds elitist, doesn’t it?

Instead of feeling guilty about reading pulp novels, he said, we worry that we've become "elitist" if we go see chamber music or jazz.

Really? That’s the worry? The fear of becoming an elitist? That precedes peoples tastes? Being an elitist? Really?

“You know, honey, whenever I hear Carl Orff on an advetisement, I feel this inexplicable and sudden urge to go the symphony. I think I really like this kind of music.”

“That’s great! But don’t forget, if you go to a concert, you’ll look like an elitist.”

“Ewww. I don’t want that! Maybe it’s better to stay home and enjoy it in private. Or better yet, let’s go see the Lakers, instead!”

I bet Mark Swed has something to say about this.

EVERY NOW and then, writers at The Times lose a word. Mainly these are adjectives subject to misuse. Some years ago we were advised to let go of legendary. Similarly, don't expect to see iconic, which has become equally cheapened, in the paper much anymore.

The adjectival criminal I'd like to see handed over to the word police is elitist, especially in its relationship to the arts and popular culture.

I know, right? I’m in complete agreement.

To explain:

In the "elitist" Oxford English Dictionary, the first definition of "elite" is the "choice part, the best (of society, a group of people, etc.)," none of which sounds so terrible. But that is not what is meant when, say, classical music, my field, is scorned as elitist, as it regularly is.

And to echo Pico:

The arts are seen as for the select few -- too expensive, too inaccessible, too chichi for the general public devoted to movies, pop music, television and sports.

Ah. To remember the days of Bernard Holland, elite of the elite...

...Oh, right! Stay focused.

Mark drives home an important division: that the word elitist has been thrown about so much in the pejorative sense, even though it is by its very definition innocuous, that it has taken on a new and very strong negative connotation, which is often used to describe classical music. And that sucks.

Why?

In fact, the reverse can just as easily be true.

Ever see High Fidelity?

A ticket to hear the Los Angeles Philharmonic in fancy-schmancy Walt Disney Concert Hall may not always be easy to come by at the last minute and top seats are now $147. But for most programs, bench seats behind the stage (which many love) go on sale two weeks before the concert for $15. Do I need to detail the princely sums in the thousands it takes to attend an NBA playoff? On Broadway, $400 tickets no longer raise eyebrows. At Disney, we are a democratic audience who sit together. In the supposedly populist Staples Center, luxury suites resemble nothing so much as the royal boxes in European opera houses of old. Anyone can go to an art museum, but not anyone can get past the bouncers at the latest in-crowd club.

In other words, things that make you think are elitist. At least that’s my crooked interpretation, given the analogies. Just kidding, maybe.

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By the way, let’s do away with the adjective academic, too. I mean, is Elliott Carter really academic? Or is it in the mind of the beholder?

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Either way, the word elitist can apply to anything. So it must go. And I agree.

More importantly, if it can apply to anything, then the lines between media hierarchies, in Tim and Pico’s sense, have indeed been blurred. The question then becomes, strangely, why is elitism worrisome? And that’s something even Mark wouldn’t touch, because it’s so thorny.

But enough of that tenuous thread. It’s a little too hyper-inter-textually meta-nitpicky for my taste. There are a few things we can take from all this, though:

1) Classical music is often seen as elitist, but that distinction has blurred.
2)The word elitist is cheapened when it’s applied to anything; therefore, it must go.
3)Once we get rid of elitism, a synonym for “best” or “choice,” there’s a void for adequate descriptors.
4)How do we best fill that void?

Take it away Tim:

Having some standards seems more and more important in a time when the traditional arts have lost a bit of their prestige, some of their audience, and all of their monopoly on perceived quality.

If we’re going to continue to make or criticize art or music or art music, which is an important part of making our way through the blurry flurry of culture, then we might want to set up some standards. Good idea, sort of. This is how I might start.

1) Don’t refer to something as “elitist.”
2) ...

3) Profit!

This can get a little tricky, especially if you want to avoid being an elitist know-it-all. Nonetheless, and harmless enough, Tim hypothesizes what this kind of blurred-lines kind of art might look like:

The great 21st century work seems to me to merge this promiscuous blend of pop styles with a rigor and discipline that comes from the old-school approach to serious art.

To the contrary, I might say that the great 21st century work blends this promiscuous rigor and discipline with pop styles. Whatever. Who knows? Right?

It's what I expect to find when I see " The Dark Knight"...

Ugh.

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Empiricus, what’s your point? Why the song and dance routine?

I’m glad you asked. And thanks for your patience, again.

The situation that both Tim and Mark present us with is, for better or worse, post-modern. It’s a world where the lines between one thing and another have been erased. Pre-established hierarchies of quality have collapsed, leading to a lack of standard weights and measures. In other words, tradition has been bucked, but somehow we need to get back on the horse. Aware of this, Mark sees an opportunity to throw out some useless descriptors. Originally innocuous, elitist takes on derogatory meanings, often specifically in reference to classical music. But, given post-modernism’s set of goggles, just about anything exclusive can be viewed as elitist (as a negative); so why use it?

As he concludes:

But elitism, in its pejorative sense, is a state of mind, not a cultural phenomenon.

From our perspective, here at the Detritus, this is something we’ve argued for since the beginning, only in a different way. Since our meta-goggles are focused on criticism, it makes sense to evaluate reviews with similar sensibilities. How are reviews elitist? How can we reconcile inflated language so that it’s not inappropriately self-aggrandizing? What responsibility does criticism have toward its readers or culture in general? So, if I were to rephrase Marks conclusion toward our purposes, it might be a tiny bit different:

Elitism, in its pejorative sense, is a state of mind, not a cultural phenomenon; this state of mind, however, is not limited to the word elitism, it is easily observable in critics’ unnecessarily inflated language.

-

Take for instance Richard S. Ginell’s review, published a day after Tim and Mark’s pieces (also in the LA Times):

Mordern approach works for I Palpiti

It’s pretty standard fare...until we dig a little deeper.

By the time the Festival of International Laureates' I Palpiti string orchestra enters Walt Disney Concert Hall for its annual showcase...

In other words, they are displayed annually. Sounds like a special occasion. A rare treat. Is that elitist?

...it usually sounds ready to take on the world.

The group is world-class. Better than most. A hierarchy rears its ugly head, no?

Such was the case again Saturday night; the young 24-member ensemble played with a ripeness and polish...

Ripe = ready to eat, perfect taste; polish = silverware? And this is all pretty standard vocabulary—showcase, world-class, ripe, polished. No fault to Richard, this is the kind of language he inherited.

[Conductor-founder Eduard Schmieder] reached into the contemporary sphere and brought forth a profoundly moving threnody...

Profoundly moving!? I don’t know, but it sounds like Richard came out of this concert a new man, a man with a radically positive perspective on life; perhaps afterwards he made himself a resolution to donate twenty-percent of his paychecks to charity. That’s how profoundly moving it was.

[...] by Britain's John Tavener, who started out as a Beatles-sponsored wunderkind...

Wunderkind, to me, smacks of a kind of word-elitism. Why not use prodigy, instead. Why use the fun German word (I know it’s a common, so lay off)? Just saying.

...and evolved into one of the most popular of the so-called holy minimalists.

First, he evolved past the Beatles; he’s better, more popular. Second, he’s one of the “most popular.” Third, “holy minimalists?” It's not Richard's term, but still. If that’s not inflated language, I don’t know what is.

How about this?

...mystic trills...

If I had a nickel for every time some said that...

Or, how about this?

...everyone in the hall finally fell under the piece's spell.

Because, you know, pieces cast spells. Ugh.

So, that’s the Tavener. What else?

Malcolm Arnold's lushly neo-classical Concerto for Two Violins and Strings was a robust chaser.

Do you mean to tell me that something neo-classical is lush? It simply does not follow. Lush seems like an inflation, to me. Is that elitist?

And finally, the Grieg transcription:

...I Palpiti passionately nailed the Serenade's tough, fast unison runs.

How do string players passionately nail things?

...

You’re all filthy.

Like I said, I don’t fault Richard—this is the language he inherited. We all did. It’s just that, if classical music is to be seen as not elitist, then it’s up to our critics to call a concert a concert, instead of turning it into the second coming, which is very elitist.

(in an Andy Kaufman-like voice) tank you bery much.

-

I almost forgot, you can listen to Mark on Talk of the Nation defending his article, here.
-

Straw Men and Ghettos

Part One: Sator Arepo

Bizarre. Mr Swed has a piece up celebrating Esa-Pekka Salonen’s 50th birthday, and describing the accompanying festivities—some of which were web-based; you know, in teh intertubes. But before all of that perfectly reasonableness, we get the following as an appetizer:

Classical music online: Salonen, Sellars and Mozart

You can see a discussion about critics not writing their own titles here, but I am pretty certain that in American usage it’s customary to use a comma before the “and” in a list of more than two things. Just sayin’.

I do not unconditionally celebrate the Internet,

That’s odd. Because, you see, I’m reading what you wrote on the internet. The LA Times is, besides not being my local paper (ugh), not worth the price of subscription. Because, you see, I can read it for free on the internet. And yet, somehow [hint: ads, ads, pop-up ads, more ads] y’all still manage to get paid. Oh, sorry, you were saying?

particularly its intrusion into classical music

Agh! Intruder alert! Intruder alert!










Man 1: “You got your internet into my classical music!”

Man 2: “You got your classical music into my internet!”

Sheesh, seriously? Because it’s like all kinds of 2008 and shit. “You kids get off my lawn!”

As replacements for the record store, Amazon and iTunes have become necessary evils.

Meh, I’ll grant you that it’s easier to find a decent margarita in Boston than find a good classical record store anywhere.

Typical commercial downloads are sonic shadows of the superior sound of CDs.

Yeah, but on Amazon.com you can actually purchase CDs. Classical ones. Really! Lots of them!

Blogs ghettoize critics.

I…you…what? Wow. Ghettoize.

You have music degrees. I have music degrees. You have a job at the LA Times. I have a computer in my mom’s basement, am 13 years old, have an acne problem, no girlfriend, and eat cereal for every meal.

Fuck. This whole “bloggers are unqualified to express their opinions” deal has pretty much played itself out, don’t you think? Surely in the sports blogosphere it came, publicly, to a head and imploded.

If you feel “ghettoized” by a bunch of unpaid amateurs/academics freely expressing their opinions while you sit at your desk at the LA Freaking Times, you have some sort of victim complex. My sister’s a psychologist, shall I send you her number?

YouTube is pretty much a toy.

Whatever.

But there was no denying the Internet's potential as a genuine window onto the wider world this past weekend. Two recent European events of great interest to Angelenos went online, and that felt like a breakthrough.

Oh, goodness gracious. That whole first atrocious paragraph was just a straw man for you to knock down.

You’ve discovered that the internet can be cool and useful! You’re John Fucking McCain!

Crap. The internet is a “genuine window onto the wider world” and, in other news, rain falls from the sky.


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


Part Two: Empiricus

Hold it right there cow-guys and gals! Just to let y'all know we're not exactly done, here's an eye-catching color. Sator Arepo graciously allowed me to ride the tail end of his post, because I cried, then whined, then cried some more for inclusion (I’m only 11, you know. So I can still get away with such things. Also, I don’t have acne yet, but I do have a little soul patch down you-know-where—I’m almost a man, dammit!). Really, though, I’d like to add my four halfpennies, because I feel strongly about some of the topics brought up herein and therein. And away I go, in letter form...

-

Dear Mark (May I call you Mark? Or is it Mr. Swed all the way up there on your critic pedestal? Hello? Fine. Mark it is.),

Listen, Mark. I don’t think you were specifically referring to our blog, when you said, “blogs ghettoize critics.” However, I can’t help but to think that we are a part of your so-called “intrusion into classical music,” because, after all, we are a blog and we criticize the critics of classical music, hopefully disrupting your consequence-free world. Thus, I feel the need to respond.

Don’t get us wrong. We don’t have contempt for you, nor any critic. What we think of you as a person is not correlated with your writing, nor for whom you write. Most critics, in fact, seem to be jolly folk, with a good sense of humor. What we read of yours never leaves the page...er, the virtual page. What we dislike, on the other hand, is the content of what critics like you write. That’s where we take issue.

Early on in our endeavor, I can see how one might have thought otherwise. We certainly had our faults. And as you say, “the internet—It doesn’t keep secrets.” In the beginning, we were, perhaps, a little too aggressive, too scathing, or simply over-critical. But, we have changed. For the most part, I’m happy to say that we’ve have corrected many of our errors of journalistic naivety. While the message hasn’t changed, our tone is more civil, cussing is less directional, and the points clearer and, hopefully, more prescient.

Even in our mellowed tone, we still take issue with bad writing and thinking. Again, to qualify myself, we value the service that critics provide. In my opinion, we need experts to break-down the music. There’s too much for one person to learn in a lifetime and critics can help bridge that gap. As musicians ourselves, however, it is heartbreaking to read each and every ill-informed, misconceived, deceiving and, yes, prejudiced generalization that critics type, like, “blogs ghettoize critics”—oh, to think of the poor soul at the paper-end of the process reading that dreck! To judge things at your level is a privilege, not a right. And we hope that, if you don’t do your job well, there’s some recourse.

Our blog is where that happens. We’re not calling for your heads; we don’t want out-of-work critics. We simply want to discuss the issues that concern how we talk about and judge music. Hopefully, by doing so, we can ameliorate our poor level of musical dialog for the benefit of your readership, the average, non-musical person. To quote my namesake:

[...] the greatest indication of the vast and limitless difference in the intellect of human beings is the inconsistency of the various statements of the dogmatists concerning what may be appropriately chosen, what avoided [...]

Okay, we also want to poke fun in your direction, like a slap on the wrist.

That said, we can be wrong. In fact, we have been wrong. This is why we feel it imperative to seek others’ input, retorts and comments. We don’t moderate our comments section, because everything we write is, in the end, open-ended. Everyone’s input is valuable. It’s an ongoing discussion.

And this leads me to the internet, specifically blogs. Mark, as you noted, there is “no denying the Internet's potential as a genuine window onto the wider world...” Everything is at your fingertips, no doubt about it. The internet is replete with choices. There are countless blogs about this and that and classical music. Everyone gets their say. As with anything else, however, there will be same proportion of the good mixed with the bad, like good criticism and bad criticism. What is inherently special about the internet is that you, the reader, get to choose what and who you read, unlike, say, when reading the L.A. Times. And I think it goes without saying, but, without a readership the newspaper dies. So, too, do blogs. Yet, the good ones have a way of sticking around and the bad ones fade away. Whatever you choose to read, your experience of the internet and blogs is only what you make of it. So, you see, there is no reason to generalize about blogs ghettoizing critics. You've shown perfectly capable on your own.

Finally, a note about who is qualified to write about music. Honestly, I don’t know the answer. Mark, I received my master’s degree in music from Mills College, too. So, before you knock critic-bashing blogs, in general, it might be helpful to keep in mind that some of us have the same or more musical qualifications than you. Alright? We are qualified ambassadors of music. So get off your high horse, partner. We are qualified to speak about music, wherever we choose, even on a blog. And we do so for the love of music and the people who love music, not for the money that accompanies a job--that would be a luxury. If maintaining this blog were an actual job, we’d proofread it once in a while.

Mark, I hope you will join our dialog,

Empiricus
-

Dude, that chord was like so totally bright

Ah, the Netherlands. A place with mesmerizingly intricate dikes, tulips, head-to-toe orange-covered football fans, deliciously dank marijuana, heavenly hash...uh...Olivier Messiaen...and...huh?...Mark Swed?

Yes, that’s right, folks. We’re going to Amsterdam, where L.A. Times’ Mark Swed had the pleasure to take in some of Messiaen’s music in a city celebrating the synaesthete’s Catholic birdcalls.

There have been some things even the most dazed Dutch, hazy-headed from the legal hash and marijuana sold in "coffee shops," probably couldn't have missed this month in their teeming capital.

Really? Because, let’s face it, quenching the munchies is practically a full-time job.

This month at the Concertgebouw, the celebrated main concert hall, the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra performed his first great orchestral work ("L'Ascension"), his last ("Éclairs sur l'Au-delà") and his most famous (the "Turangalîla" Symphony). The Radio Philharmonic took on the evening-long "La Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur Jésus-Christ." Dutch pianist Ralph van Raat played "Vingt regards sur L'Enfant-Jésus." Messiaen's organ music was heard around town. And the Netherlands Opera produced his glorious epic opera, "Saint François d'Assise" -- gloriously.

Whoa. I see. There’s no way those drugged-out Nederlanders could have missed all that, even with a full-blown case of the munchies.

(sigh) I want to move to Amsterdam.

Why the Dutch have taken to this eccentric composer besotted by birds and mystical Catholicism is anyone's guess.

Hmmm. The way you set up your review (with your “hazy-headed” Dutch)...well, I might have a couple of guesses. Nice use of “besotted,” though.

But Amsterdam's enlightened accommodation of innovation and tradition, to say nothing of its acceptance of unconventionality, may have something to do with the city's fervent embrace of Messiaen.

Uh...interesting. But I wouldn’t have guessed that is why “hazy-headed” Dutch like Messiaen. Instead, I would have made this connection:

...synesthesia may arise through "disinhibited feedback" or a reduction in the amount of inhibition along feedback pathways. Normally, the balance of excitation and inhibition are maintained. However, if normal feedback were not adequately inhibited, then signals coming from later multi-sensory stages of processing might influence earlier stages of processing, such that tones would activate visual cortical areas in synesthetes more than in non-synesthetes. In this case, it might explain why some users of psychedelic drugs such as LSD or mescaline report synesthetic experiences while under the influence of the drug.

And pyschedelic drugs are generally known to mean: hallucinogens.

Marijuana and hashish, two substances derived from the hemp plant (Cannabis sativa), are also considered natural hallucinogens...

See?

Their effects include a feeling of relaxation, faster heart rate, the sensation that time is passing more slowly, and a greater sense of hearing...

Which brings me to Richard Cytowic:

...of course LSD and peyote and mescal and even marijuana can produce synesthesia, usually visual and auditory, so that sounds can become colours and shapes, and I think people are -- that's fairly common knowledge...

Is it any wonder that the potheads found their way to concerts of a synaesthete’s music? Ever hear of the saying, “It takes one to know one?”

Just so happens that, dudes, this totally blows my mind:

The Dutch enjoy a special relationship with this opera [Saint François d’Assise], which is more than five hours long and has next to no action. The central scene is St. Francis preaching, for some 45 minutes, to the birds -- and that comes at the end of a two-hour second act. It takes him an additional hour to die in the last act.

Whoa. Dudes.

[Sorry, science-minded people. I no longer have access to Pub Med.]
-

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?

Puffy Pandering's Plateau

Seriously, who cares?

HOW DO you add sparkle to a fatigued operatic war horse? Bring out the jewelry and let it shine under the spotlight.

(blank stare)

But not just any old jewelry. For its latest revival of "Tosca," opening Saturday, Los Angeles Opera has obtained a rare stage artifact -- the jewelry worn by Maria Callas in 1956 for her Metropolitan Opera debut as Giacomo Puccini's tragic heroine.

Made of nearly 200 tear-shaped Swarovski crystals, the jewelry was created specifically for Callas by the Atelier Marangoni in Milan, Italy.

The three-piece set, which consists of a tiara, earrings and a fanned-out necklace, is worth approximately $85,000, according to Swarovski, the current owner.

"To wear this talisman -- I have to pinch myself," says soprano Adrianne Pieczonka, who shares the role of Tosca in this revival with Georgina Lukacs. "People were taken aback by how bright they were during rehearsals. It doesn't bother me, but I hope it won't be a distraction for the audience."

Pieczonka will wear the Callas jewelry in Act 2 of "Tosca," which is the most vocally and physically demanding section of the opera.

You know, I heard through the grapevine that the Berlin Philharmonic will be touring North America under the direction of a secret, but famous, conductor to be announced later. He/She will be wearing Karajan’s underwear. The very underwear the maestro was sporting during a random performance of Strauss’s sweaty, super-physically demanding “warhorse,” Ein Heldenleben. And in case you're wondering, the Maestro's extra-special change depository hasn't been washed for nearly thirty years.

I mean, really, who cares? That's as deep as this analysis is going. Take it or leave it. Don't like it? Whatever, I do what I want.
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We Are the Dohnanyi, You Will Be Assimilated

I don’t know if he meant it that way, but Mark Swed made a curious reference concerning London Philharmonic conductor Christoph von Dohnányi and his old-school ways.

One can fight Dohnányi's stern approach. I tried. But the players clearly revere this conductor. And in the end, when the brass stood and played too loud for the hall, when the clotted strings and winds became a sonic army, when Dohnányi's sense of mission produced a startling climax, resistance seemed futile [it. mine].

If anyone was to deserve this reference, musically speaking, I thought maybe Hanz Pfitzner would be the ideal candidate. Or even, Richter. Klemperer. Strauss. Furtwängler.

Sheesh. How jejune. Anyway, silly Germans.
-

The Swed Treatment: A Mad Lib

On the bright side, this paints a vivid picture. Only, it’s of a sleezy motel somewhere on the outskirts of Las Vegas.

Rearrange the extracted Mark Swed modifiers into their proper place, if any.

Avid
Dripping-with-color
Drug-induced
Fabulous
Full
Highly charged
In-your-face
Multichannel
Technicolor
Wide screen

After intermission, Berlioz got the _______, _______, _______ Dudamel treatment—a(n) _______, _______ “Symphony Fantastique.” Berlioz portrays _______ dreams and nightmares. Dudamel added _______, _______ and _______ sound in a(n) _______ performance that underscored absolutely everything he could possibly underscore.

Here’s the answer.

Also, apparently, Gustavo Dudamel drips color. Gross.

Are you there God? It's me, Empiricus.

Let’s just get to this, shall we? Here’s Mark Swed.

There are many foolish attempts to change concert life, such as surveying young people who aren't interested in classical music about what bait would draw them in. Say we served pizza in cellphone-friendly concert halls, installed sofas and video screens, and guaranteed that no "song" would last more than five minutes? What if we made that gourmet pizza and supplied a fine Gewürztraminer to wash it down? Free iPhones to the first 50 who log on to our website?

Say we make a maximum age requirement for critics? Free copies of Aristotle’s Ethics to the first 50 who make absurd judgments based on wild opinion, then humorously attempt to satirize said judgment? Viagra?

But over the weekend, five serious young women gave two remarkable concerts here, and they weren't responding to surveys. These exceptional virtuosos have their own ideas about breaking down concert barriers.

Ideas.

Resourceful revolutionaries, they don't ask and don't pander but insist on change.

Change.

And by devising authentic new ways to concertize that feel right for them and their times, they proved magnets for the young.

New ways: magnetic for young.

Now that we know what these virtuosos are doing, let’s find out exactly how they accomplish it.

...QNG, as the recorder quartet calls itself, attacks tradition. The four women played nothing written for their period instruments Saturday, although they briefly acknowledged early music in arrangements of a John Dowland pavan and Hugh Ashton's Masque. Weirdly, they also arranged a short choral work by Bruckner for four recorders.

To me, this doesn’t sound all that revolutionary, nor weird.

But a whole lot more weirdly,

Wait. Wait. Wait. Hold on. “But a whole lot more weirdly,” !!!&^@%#^%$*!?????????? Yuck. Just Yuck.

But a whole lot more weirdly, they put on wigs and moved like robotic sex toys in Chiel Meijering's "Cybergirls Go Extreme."

Sex toys?

The confrontational Dutch composer, who has said that he likes to make these women sweat, is one of their favorites.

They enjoy getting sweaty, together?

Paul Moravec, a New York composer, heard QNG and immediately asked to write for them. They got "Mortal Flesh" two weeks ago and went through 20 different instruments in five minutes playing it Saturday.

Mortal Flesh?

Kelly Garrison, the Chamber Music in Historic Sites general director, said during intermission that when he first offered some seats for a recorder quartet to SCI-Arc students, there were no takers. But a QNG sound check caught the kids' attention, and the seats were snapped up.

Hello? They were practicing Mortal Flesh and getting sweaty together like robotic sex toys.



Four attractive young women may be an obvious draw.

You think.

Their instruments -- some modern and made from organ pipes -- are striking and also a draw.

And how does one play a recorder? Click here (don’t worry, this link is safe for the kiddies)

By the way, I told you Fugue can be a four-letter word.

But the ensemble's music is modern, its attitude is with-it, and its virtuosity is mind-blowing,

It may be.

...all of which is the best youth bait of all.

Something bait.

Seriously, I have no doubt that these performers are top notch. However, Swed refuses to see what’s right in front of his face, sex. By doing so, he renders his thesis, well, stupid.
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Metaphors like Giant Bouncing Balls

Thanks for the title Mr. Kosman. But alas, I am not poking fun at you. Instead, I would like to turn to Mark Swed, who has chronic metaphor and coherence spasms, a perfectly common neurological disorder (see here).

Mark reviewed a solo concert by Lang Lang, at L.A.’s Disney Hall.

The audience was antsy, wanting fireworks, and Lang Lang eventually delivered. First, though, he had to prove he was a poet.

By reciting, in Greek, an original poem on the subject of nuclear love.

He is a poet.

See.

But he is an immature poet with a nuclear arsenal, and that makes him a very dangerous poet.

...

Would you care to clear this one up for us, Mark?

The nuclear part of the weaponry is a killer technique.

Uh, and...?

The threat is in the delivery system.

...?...

He has the charisma to hold an audience in his power.

This is still part of the same paragraph, and he is still qualifying “immature poet,” I think.

Responsibility, though, is another matter.

Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.

Yeah! New paragraph!

The first half of Tuesday's recital was refined, elegant and verged on the eloquent. It began with Mozart's B-flat Sonata, K. 333, played with delicacy. Then Schumann's large Fantasy in C brought out ardor. In both pieces, Lang Lang skimmed the surface. But the surfaces he created were flawless.

I think Swed is insinuating that Lang lacked depth. Fine.

Not every lake is best appreciated by jumping in.

...?:”!@&^...?...

But it’s okay Lang doesn’t have depth, because he’s a nuclear threat, which trumps charisma and responsibility, at least for poet-pianists.

I have no idea what he’s saying. In fact, I have no idea what I’m saying anymore. So, I give up. I’m done.

-

I lied. I would like to point out that this was printed in the L.A. Times. Thank you.

No, really. Thank you. I mean it. Thank you. Thank you so much. I am a better person, now. Because of the article. And how good it was. Seriously. It was good. Thanks. Poets. Wow. I'm amazed at how much I learned. Really. It was good. Very good. So good I am a better person. Thanks a lot. I super-really mean it, tools.

No. Big rubber balls.
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