Showing posts with label Postmodern Fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Postmodern Fun. Show all posts

7/23/10

The Ketchup Is too Spicy for My Tater Tots

You think the title is on the ridiculous side? Well, have I a review for you!

The Seattle Chamber Music Festival is beloved by its fans for its Romantic sweet spot, but even the most ardent champions of easy-on-the-ear melody would have had to reconsider the merits of dissonance last Sunday night.

Damn! That, indeed, sounds spicy. So spicy, in fact, I might reconsider renewing my subscription to Earplugs-R-Us, the Anti-modernist Relief Association’s bi-annual magazine that caters to concertgoers who are routinely subjected to unresolved fourths. The magazine also comes with complimentary earplugs, duh.

But, really, who am I kidding? Bring on the pain! Bring on the pain!!

The evening opened with Mozart's crisp and deceptively melodious Piano Trio in B-flat Major...

Bring on the p...

Huh?

Uh, surely, the Mozart isn’t the spicy bit; it doesn’t even hit the “Romantic sweet spot.” It makes me wonder, then, what, if anything, could make one “reconsider the merits [really, merits?] of dissonance”?

Compared to the pleasant, cuppa-tea-with-milk-and-honey Mozart...

(Does your stomach churn when you see “cuppa,” too?)

Compared to the [...] Mozart, Prokofiev's Quartet No. 2 in F Major is a stiff shot of vodka.

Prokofiev? You’re shitting me.

F friggin’ major!?

And dissonant to the point that it makes one wonder if dissonance is overrated? Huh? What are you? Eight years old?!

To jog our memories, maybe we should give it a listen.



Example 1: Movement I

Oh! Now I get it. Because Russians drink vodka, see, unlike Mozart. And they’re all bears, bears who drink vodka. So, they’re un-bear-ably dissonant.

Right?

...

Wait. That doesn’t make any damned sense. What’s really going on, here?

Maybe the rest of the review will explain.

The starting Allegro is a stolid contraption of levers and pulleys, a steel factory producing energy in the form of audible vibrations.

Not to ruin your nice little story, but did you ever consider that the actual, in-front-of-you string quartet is, you know, making real, audible vibrations?

Maybe it’s just me, but confusing the real for the simulation (metaphoric description) is, well, a detrimental symptom of postmodernism that nobody needs; not here, anyway.

It seemed impossible that the night could get any better, but after intermission it did.

I’ll cut to the chase: it was Lalo. Lalo’s Piano Trio in A friggin’ minor. (The descriptive writing is a bit over the top, here, so it is omitted) Anyway...

End of dissonance inquiry.

I don’t get it. Either our author has a weak stomach or...I just don’t get it.

Maybe the title and hook left us some clues.

Review: Stiff shot of dissonance vibrates at Seattle chamber-music fest
Sumi Hahn
Special to the Seattle Times


No help here.

Dissonance in music is a taste acquired over time.

If only Bach wrote dissonant music...

Like a craving for coffee or scotch, the appetite for such harmonics is also culturally conditioned.

That’s part of it, sure, I guess.

One man's song may well be another man's noise.

There you have it: dissonance.

And now: Mozart, Prokofiev, and Lalo. Enjoy!
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7/30/08

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.

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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.

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I almost forgot, you can listen to Mark on Talk of the Nation defending his article, here.
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3/10/08

No Title Can Accurately Describe the Awesomeness!

And the Band Played Badly

I found this delightful piece hiding in plain view in the New York times. It hilariously undermines many of the trappings of classical music we regularly chide and deride here at Detritus. In fact, I’d argue that this is detritus of the highest order. And the lack of humor of the critics is also hilarious. Excerpts and commentary below, the entire piece can be read via the link above. Or, you know, at nytimes.com.

WHY should real musicians - the ones who can actually play their instruments - have all the fun?

Indeed!

Some years ago, a group of frustrated people in Scotland decided that the pleasure of playing in an orchestra should not be limited to those who are good enough to do so, but should be available to the rankest of amateurs. So we founded the Really Terrible Orchestra, an inclusive orchestra for those who really want to play, but who cannot do so very well. Or cannot do so at all, in some cases.

Excellent. That reminds me of the old Portsmouth Sinfonia from the 1960s and 70s.

The announcement of the orchestra’s founding led to a great wave of applications to join. Our suspicion that there were many people yearning to play in an orchestra but who were too frightened or too ashamed to do anything about it, proved correct. There was no audition, of course, although we had toyed with the idea of a negative audition in which those who were too good would be excluded. This proved to be unnecessary. Nobody like that applied to join.

Some of the members were very marginal musicians, indeed. One of the clarinet players, now retired from the orchestra for a period of re-evaluation, stopped at the middle B-flat, before the instrument’s natural break. He could go no higher, which was awkward, as that left him very few notes down below. Another, a cellist, was unfortunately very hard of hearing and was also hazy on the tuning of the strings. As an aide-mémoire, he had very sensibly written the names of the notes in pencil on the bridge. This did not appear to help.

This had me laughing heartily. Next, they hire a conductor (!) and begin rehearsing.

Our initial efforts were dire, but we were not discouraged. Once we had mastered a few pieces - if mastered is the word - we staged a public concert. We debated whether to charge for admission, but wisely decided against this. That would be going too far.

Probably!

So should we go to the other extreme and pay people to come? There was some support for this, but we decided against it. Instead, we would give the audience several free glasses of wine before the concert. That, it transpired, helped a great deal.

I bet! However, it would have been ludicrously aweseome to give each patron a ticket and two dollars, or something.

Anyway, it turned out that people were more than willing to come see the Really Terrible Orchestra. Wouldn’t you? Just the refreshing idea is enough to make me want to go. The critics, however, didn’t get the joke. Or the idea that music can be inclusive!

“How these people presume to play in public is quite beyond me,” wrote one critic in The Scotsman newspaper. And another one simply said “dire.” Well, that may be so, but we never claimed to be anything other than what we are. And we know that we are dire; there’s no need to state the obvious. How jejune these critics can be!

Predictable. Humorless. Critic-like. I can only imagine what our favorite critics on this side of the pond would have written.

There is now no stopping us. We have become no better, but we plow on regardless. This is music as therapy, and many of us feel the better for trying. We remain really terrible, but what fun it is. It does not matter, in our view, that we sound irretrievably out of tune. It does not matter that on more than one occasion members of the orchestra have actually been discovered to be playing different pieces of music, by different composers, at the same time.

That is unquestionably awesome. I can’t wait for the CD!