Compelling Backstory Explains Everything

I personally believe that music can (and most likely should) be enjoyed simply as a musical experience. However, I understand that some people get great enjoyment from extra-musical information. The life of the composer, the circumstances or inspiration for a particular piece can indeed provide a context that enhance our enjoyment of a musical performance. There's no doubting that...but it's not everything, right?

Review: Grand Rapids Symphony's Classical Series concert features glowing performances, low notes
Jeffrey Kaczmarczyk, The Grand Rapids Press, October 30, 2010

Sometimes knowing the backstory means everything.

Sometimes not. I guess it depends on what you mean by "everything". Or by "knowing".

The Grand Rapids Symphony's Classical Series concerts this weekend in DeVos Performance Hall has several.

Backstories? Can't wait!

For openers, the titles to the pieces can be misleading.

Misleading titles? You're suggesting that composers misled audiences?

figure misleading: Not me.

Plus, how much of a backstory is a misleading title anyway?

But you've got my attention...I'm racking my brain to think of a title I consider misleading. Maybe...Four Saints in Three Acts by Virgil Thomson (which contains some 20 saints in four acts).

What egregious examples of misleadingly titled compositions did the Grand Rapids Symphony perform?

There's nothing pathetic about Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky's "Pathetique" Symphony.

[smacks forehead]

Its composer dubbed it "passionate," which the French translated as "pathetique," and there it stuck.

Seriously, you don't have to speak French to know that is a pathetic translation.

"Pathetique", in French, denotes a feeling of passion and sorrow, and while sharing the same root (and being a literalistic translation), is not really a direct equivalent to the English concept of pathetic as "miserably or contemptibly inadequate". Context people. Context.

By the way: Great. Backstory.

Richard Strauss took his title "Also sprach Zarathustra" from a philosophical treatise by Friedrich Nietzsche, and thankfully little else.

Well, other than the inspiration, the movement titles, and the general narrative of the piece.

In a letter to Otto Florsheim (I assume of Florsheim Shoes fame), Strauss wrote:

“I did not intend to write philosophical music or to portray in music Nietzsche’s great work. I meant to convey by means of music an idea of the development of the human race from its origin, through the various phases of its development, religious and scientific, up to Nietzsche’s idea of the Superman. The whole symphonic poem is intended as my homage to Nietzsche’s genius, which found its greatest exemplification in his book, Thus Spake Zarathustra.”

But what I want to know is why this is "thankfully" so? It's a difficult read, yet Nietzsche created an original and radical philosophical which sent shockwaves throughout religious communities. Not to mention it's the book which contains the famous maxim, "God is dead." Whether or not you subscribe to any of the philosophies of Nietzsche, he is significant figure in literature and philosophy. How weak must one's beliefs be to feel threatened by a book written over a 120 years ago.

figure same name: They share the same name, but little else...thankfully.

But again, I guess the title's misleading. I guess.

Actually, no...wait, it's not misleading at all, since it tell us exactly (with no room for mistake) the source/impetus for it's composition.

Great backstory, though. I really feel like I know everything about the piece.

Tchaikovsky conducted his premiere 117 years ago last Thursday; Strauss conducted his premiere 114 years ago next month.

You're right. The titles don't give any reference to when the premieres took place. That is misleading.

For an audience of 1,048 on Friday, music director David Lockington led glowing performances of both major works, performed this month in part to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the opening of DeVos Hall in October 1980. Both were part of the orchestra's first season in the 2,400-seat auditorium.

Seems fitting. By the way...another great backstory. I wonder what tragedy befell those of the 1048 in attendance who were not aware of this important backstory.

figure backstory: Wait, is this the right backstory?

But thinking of misleading titles...your review title suggested something about "low notes". Did something go wrong at the concert?

No guest stars were on the program, apart from a lot of extra players and plenty of very, very low notes.

Uh.

Strauss' tone poem, famous from the opening minutes used for Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey," is an expansive, imaginative portrayal of the evolution of man.

As opposed to the text by Nietzsche?

And the obligatory reference to 2001 here...really? Does that count as backstory, or just a pointless aside?

Where Strauss' audience was fascinated by the technological advances allowing man to overcome nature, today's audiences are more interested in the technological advances allowing them to reach out and touch someone else, nature be damned.

O-kay. Where are you going with this?

Thus, the importance of the nine or so themes don't always resonate.

Not sure I follow. We have facebook instead of electric light, and therefore, the musical themes don't resonate? Are you sure?

Nor does the dichotomy of two different keys, B-flat for humanity, C major for the universe, seem as jarring.

Because of technology? Cellphones are the reason B-flat and C don't seem jarring?

Wow. You totally understand the last 100 years of music. Not to mention the advent of radio and television. I mean I just love how NBC has always insisted that every jingle used in advertisements be in the key of G to avoid any cosmic disharmony.

Timing and balance is everything in the famous introduction. The former was elusive, the latter better.

The balance was better than elusive? That's quite the compliment.

But I thought knowing the backstory was everything? And if the timing and balance are everything, can both things be true at the same time?

I'm going to chalk up this last one to hyperbole...for now...

"The Great Yearning" theme expanded lushly. The conclusion of "The Convalescent" shook mortar loose in the walls. The solo in "The Dance Song" was deftly handled by concertmaster James Crawford.

So, what's the backstory here? If not the Nietzsche text, then what??? It is everything you know.

The "Song of the Night Wanderer" at end floated away unresolved, as intended.

So, the performance was apt? By the way, how misleading were these thematic titles. The image of "The Convalescent" doesn't usually bring to mind building code violations. And "The Dance Song" doesn't even begin to tell me it's for a soloist. Maybe you were on to something.

Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony was a tale of unrequited love, and the power of that theme hasn't dimmed a bit.

Yes, unrequited love could never be thought of as "pathetic" or sorrowful...or the sixth.

It's also a well-known war-horse that demands attention to detail.

As opposed to new, unfamiliar music which, well, no one knows what the hell it's supposed to sound like, and therefore deserves no attention to detail.

Lockington took the long view, not giving overt attention to the big moments, but leaving himself elbow room for later.

Sounds rather unsatisfying. Aren't the big moments, you know, the climactic moments of which the rest of the piece is constantly building? And "later"? Big moments mostly come at the end, no?

Also, "long view"? It's a symphony, not policies to avoid the complete collapse of civilization. Any view that looks at least an hour into the future should be adequate. One might even suggest you take it in four smaller parts.

figure long view: Taking the long view to parking at the airport. The hourly lot just doesn't make a lot of sense for my week long trip.

Somber at the outset, the famous second theme unfolded as a sunrise of its own, Lockington moving it along nicely, the orchestra responding rapturously.

Rapturous sunrise...sounds like a fabulous second theme indeed. But since we're saving elbow room for later, it's only a sunrise and not a supernova, right?

Some syncopated passages were slippery,...

No worries...it's a common problem. I've found that a little pine tar, or at least some rosin, goes a long way.

...but Lockington drew powerful sonorities from the strings, ending the long opening with a satisfying sigh.

Slippery, but powerful sonorities, ending in a sigh. Are any of these things "everything"?

But before you answer that...it's time for some Detritus Review Madlibs!

Tonight's entry comes to us from the home box office in Grand Rapid, Michigan -- discussing the third movement of the Tchaikovsky 6th Symphony, Mr. Kaczmarczyk wrote:

The _____ third movement was a(n) _____ moment of _____, _____ wrapped around _____, all on the road to a(n) _____, _____ conclusion.

fluidity
triumphant
magical
precision
upbeat
lovingly
brassy

I'm liking these options...so let's try...

The upbeat third movement was a magical moment of fluidity, lovingly wrapped around precision, all on the road to a triumphant, brassy conclusion.

Ooh. That's nice. But...it could be...

The brassy third movement was triumphant moment of precision, lovingly wrapped around fluidity, all on the road to a magical, upbeat conclusion.

It's tough call...let's just say they both work.

If some of the audiences don't applaud here, you know you've done it wrong.

Or perhaps those audiences who didn't clap are just stupid...did you ever consider that?

Friday's certainly did, and they were right.

Did what? Right?

Oh, they clapped. At least we know they're not stupid -- who doesn't know that you're not not suppose to clap between movements during certain symphonies?

Anguish poured out in the heartbreaking finale with its despondent chorale in the lower brass.

Again, I think just how right you are that the title "Pathetique" is just so misleading. And how that backstory was everything.

Lockington on the podium was visibly distraught afterward.

Really...but why?

It helps to know the backstory.

Yes, that may help, given that I can't divine the why from that one sentence.

Nine days after conducting the premiere, Tchaikovsky was dead.

I see. The symphony killed Tchaikovsky, and therefore Lockington feared for his own life. You're totally right...cholera couldn't have possibly been the culprit. If titles of popular novels tell me anything of the world, it's that cholera is a time of love, not death.

figure cholera: I've always thought that cholera would make a great backdrop for a love story.

He was 53.

Ahem. He was 53 and a half.

figure knowing: And now we know!

Tchaikovsky and Higdon make the perfect pear

One of our favorite memes at the Detritus is food metaphors. Oh, no words seem to explain the greatness of a piece of music quite like the comestibles it has nothing to do with.

Today's entry comes to us from the Richmond Times-Dispatch where Angela Lehman-Rios has the difficult task of explaining the difference between a "concerto" and a "concerto for orchestra".

Symphony impressive on a wide range of works

Saturday's Masterworks concert by the Richmond Symphony explored the relationship of parts to a musical whole.

I'm not at all certain what that means, but it sure does sound important.

What parts are we breaking down today. Are we just looking at rhythm? or perhaps harmony? Perhaps those are bit too broad...timbre maybe?

Oh, why guess when you can just tell me.

While the parts were sometimes more interesting, the sum was certainly a pleasure to behold.

So, the parts were more interesting, but you liked the whole thing too?

What were we comparing again?

The program started with "D'un Matin de Printemps" by Lili Boulanger.

Oh, no time for that "parts to the whole" discussion...looks like we've got actual music.

From its shimmering beginning to its full-bodied end, the short work demonstrates the grace and power of an orchestra playing all together.

Yes, the piece features a burst of bold raspberry, slutty kiwis and rambunctious African horned melons, along with hints of chicken, gravel and compost. After a short fugal explosion of toner, semisynthetic organic amorphous solids, and black currant, there is a long finish of nacho cheese with an intriguing ferrous hint.

Conductor Erin Freeman easily drew a rich, balanced sound from the musicians.

Excellent! So, it's as though Erin Freeman made a cohesive whole from the sum of the parts.

I like the unity. Go on.

Tchaikovsky's Concerto in D major for Violin and Orchestra, on the other hand, is a showpiece for a soloist.

Yes, I know what a concerto is, thank you very much.

[snip]

Okay, so far so good. What else was on the concert?

The evening concluded with the five-movement "Concerto for Orchestra," written in 2002 by Jennifer Higdon.

Wait, what? You said this is a concerto...but for what instrument? "Orchestra" is not an instrument, but instead is the sum of many instruments.

This work combines or isolates parts of the orchestra -- entire sections or players within a section -- in various ways, and also gives the full orchestra the sort of brilliant writing a concerto soloist gets.

So, it's a standard orchestra piece? I guess I don't follow. Perhaps you can break this down for me in easier to understand terms.

Think of a salad, if you will.

Okay. A salad.

figure salad: A salad.

Got it.

A violin concerto is grilled tuna atop a bed of greens...,

Whoa, whoa. Slow down...

...violin. concerto. is. grilled. tuna...

...but Higdon's work is a Greek salad:

...Higdon's. is. Greek. salad. Got it.

Okay. But what does it all mean?

In any bite, the feta, the pepperoncinis or the crisp lettuce may stand out, but the flavors work together as a whole.

But the tuna doesn't work together with the greens?

I think I understand?

Nevertheless,...

What do you mean, "nevertheless". We were just on the edge of breakthrough!

Okay, we'll move on, but this better be good.

...the second and fourth movements are perhaps most attractive for new listeners,...

What kind of salad are they?

...since they single out sections of the orchestra (string and percussion, respectively), which makes it simpler to take in something unfamiliar.

Huh? So the reason new music has had such a difficult time finding mainstream audiences is the fault of the woodwinds and the brass sections?!?

Does Brian Ferneyhough know this?

The symphony's percussionists were clearly enjoying the chance to demonstrate a vast range of sounds, and delighted murmurs could be heard from the audience.

Don't they know you're not supposed to talk in between movements? That's like talking with your mouth full. It's just gross.

The third movement features short solos played by section leaders who are joined by the section and often paired with another section.

The section leaders are joined by the section and paired with another section?

Strangely, that couldn't make more sense.

Yes, pairing section leaders with a contrasting side section can be an effective way to build a menu...er, I mean work.

The violas, led by Molly Sharp, made delicious work of their tune,...

[insert food joke here]

...while Russell Wilson's piano and Lynette Wardle's harp were also highlights. Leisurely crescendos and decrescendos bind the elements together, as does a sliding motif played by the strings, although it becomes tiresome.

Yep, her music only has two moves: shake, and bake.

The full orchestra performed expertly in the first and fifth movements, and the piece ended with a flashy Hollywood-esque cadence that made the audience laugh.

Hehe. Film music is funny.

...

sigh.

Simile of the Week...

Prepare yourselves. The mysteries of Impressionism are about to be revealed to you.

Jeffrey Kaczmarczyk, of the Grand Rapids Press, illuminates us in his review of the opening night concert of the Grand Rapids Symphony.

Grand Rapids Symphony opens season with masterful performance

Peter Illyich Tchaikovsky wrote his Symphony No. 4 at a particularly difficult time in his life, when he was uncomfortable with his past, unhappy with the present, uncertain about his future.

I couldn't imagine a better summary. Also, Tchaikovsky was a person. He lived and died, and he knew other people. They also lived and died, or so he believed. Stuff often happened. He once ate a pickled egg -- he thought it smelled like intestinal gas.

So anything particularly relevant about his uncertainty and writing of the Fourth Symphony? Or were you just saying?

The very piece for the Grand Rapids Symphony to open its 80th season on Friday in DeVos Performance Hall.

Oh. I get it. The Grand Rapids Symphony is uncomfortable with its past, unhappy with the present, and uncertain about the future...just like Tchaikovsky.

What an odd way to start a review...

The Grand Rapids Symphony started it's 80th season in a foul mood, not particularly hopeful about the future.

The orchestra had the same rough patch the rest of us did last year. Money is tight, cuts have been made but a contract has yet to be signed between management and musicians.

An all too familiar story (although, many orchestras have been struggling financially for over a decade). And I'm sure you meant "and a contract has yet to be signed...". Or is this like the NFL next year and they're playing 09-10 season without a salary cap?

One could say all was forgotten at the downbeat Friday of Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony.

I can see that -- Tchaikovsky's piece about his crappy lot in life really lifted the mood.

Music director David Lockington led the orchestra in a masterful performance of might and melancholy. Subtle bits of give and take plumbed the depths of despair, clung fiercely to fleeting moments of hope, soldiered on resolutely.

I do love me some seriously overwrought prose. Did the intrepid Jeffrey Kaczmarczyk, with steely resolve, persevere in eating too many burgeoning spoonfuls of Frosted Alpha-bits this morning?

figure hgqyogyyae: This box came with a terrarium?!? Did you have to mail in proof of purchase for the sand and desert creatures?

It was the kind of performance one can’t always count on to open a season following summer vacation.

Slackers.

I’ll leave it to some armchair psychologist to explore the motivations.

Er. Uh. I.... Why not leave it to a real psychologist? Is lackluster performance really so dire that therapy is needed?

In any case, no armchair psychology here...then what are you here for Mr. Kaczmarczykzykzyk?

My task is to say the music was all that one would wish for.

Ah. That is a tough job you've got there. What a ringing endorsement.

And why bring up things that aren't your tasks, Mr. Kaczmazrzarzczyzk? Were you also there not to play viola? Or not to clean the toilets?

The orchestra, somewhat super-sized for this program, was its own guest artist to open its 80th anniversary season for an audience of 1,248.

"...was its own guest artist..."? I hope the symphony sprang for a nice hotel downtown, and not that seedy Extended Stay America under the overpass.

And 1248...that's an awfully specific number. At least he didn't say "...for an audience of at least 1,248." I hate when people do that.

Bach, Beethoven, Brahms and the rest of the German giants had the night off.

First one in over 148 years, six months and 14 days. I wonder how they decided to spend this unexpected free time...

figure 1: Maybe.

figure 2: Beethoven did like to spend a little extra time lounging in bed...

figure 3: I think so. Pastor Muckenfuss was very kind to lend them the church van.

Okay, so the Germans had the night off, and...

Claude Debussy and Maurice Ravel are called Impressionists, which tells you little.

Or quite a bit if you know anything about art or music.

But onto the reason why we're here...THE SIMILE OF THE WEEK!!!

Their music sounds less like neighbors than that of two people who see each other only now and then.

Clearly. Couldn't have put it better myself. The music of Impressionists are casual acquaintances. Thank god you're here to explain these things to us Mr. Kzzzaczmazrzarzarzczyzzzzk.

"Two people who see each other only now and then"? Maybe he means they were chums, or cronies? Colleagues? Sympathizers, compadres, associates, contemporaries? Or perhaps these people were well-wishers?

figure moe: "I'm more of a well-wisher. In that I don't wish you any specific harm."

Okay, so now that we understand Impressionists and their music, what of the music on the concert?

“La Mer” might be called a symphony, except that its composer could be counted on to try almost anything except imitation.

Or you could call it a 3-movement symphonic work. Hell, even a tone-poem could be applicable. Or you could cite the full title, La mer, trois esquisses symphoniques pour orchestre, or The sea, three symphonic sketches for orchestra for you Franco-challenged readers.

And symphonies don't try almost everything, and have lots of imitation?

Mr. Kaczmarczyk, your ideas are intriguing to me and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.

But in any case, carry on...

...

(whistles)...

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzczykczykczykczykcyzk...

figure 4: Waiting...

figure 5: Still Waiting...

What? That's it? That was the last sentence? Nothing more to add?

Impressionist music sounds like people who nod hello near the mailboxes of their apartment complex, and "La Mer" could be a symphony.

I guess always leave them wanting more.

Ha Ha! Men Hate the Arts!

Goodness gracious. Seriously? This?

Here's a list of things most guys would rather do than sit through The Nutcracker: Watch football, drink beer, mow the lawn, go fishing, ask for directions, watch Sleepless in Seattle, eat glass and run naked through the lion exhibit at the zoo while smeared in barbecue sauce.

So, so witty. Barbecue sauce! Ha!

But, try as we might, many of us will, in fact, be sitting through The Nutcracker sometime over the next few weeks (if we haven't already). So, wipe off that barbecue sauce and man up - here are a few reasons to actually look forward to the experience.

Man up!? Dude! Tell me more!

Those dancers are serious athletes:

Duh.

Assuming you see a production with trained dancers, take a minute to consider how hard it is to do what they're doing. Ballerinas train their whole lives to develop the strength to stand on tiptoe like that, and if Reggie Williams could jump like those Chinese dancers in the second act, the Jaguars wouldn't be in the mess they're in.

Ah, your sports metaphor totally makes me feel okay to see ballet. Whew! That was a close one.

If, on the other hand, you've been dragged to your niece's fourth-grade production, you're on your own, pal.

1) Your niece's fourth-grade production of anything is going to be cute and awful.

2) Thanks for calling me pal, pal.

The story is totally psychedelic, dude:

Dude! Pal! Chief! Boss! STOP IT!

This little girl, Clara, gets a nutcracker doll for Christmas. (Who gives a kid a nutcracker anyway?) She falls asleep and dreams it comes to life and battles this man-size mouse. Then she and the nutcracker guy visit the Kingdom of Sweets where the Sugar Plum Fairy treats them to a show put on by dancing tea, hot chocolate, peppermint sticks and flowers in tutus.

Thanks for the synopsis. It's totally like not the most famous ballet, ever, dude, pal.

There's some serious violence: Not, like, Steven Segal violence.

Dude: how awesome would it be if there was? Or maybe Chuck Norris?

Fuck yeah!

Then Segal would never wear a leotard.

Your lack of comma confuses me. You seem to mean: in the event of...Segal would never wear a leotard. In the event of what?

There's a battle scene between the mouse army and the nutcracker army and a nasty one-on-one fight between the Nutcracker and the Mouse King.

Appeals to dudes! And pals!

You might actually recognize some of the music:

Get the fuck out.

The tunes in The Nutcracker are pretty much inescapable. You hear them in Publix.

I don't know what that is. [Google] Oh, Jacksonville super market chain. Fair enough.

In commercials.

Friskies Cat Food, anyone?

In your wife's car when she makes you take it in for an oil change.

Ha ha! Women are incapable of doing that.

And there's good reason for that. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky was a rock star of his day, a regular Axl Rose of 19th-century Russia.

Analogy:

Analogy is both the cognitive process of transferring information from a particular subject (the analogue or source) to another particular subject (the target), and a linguistic expression corresponding to such a process. In a narrower sense, analogy is an inference or an argument from one particular to another particular, as opposed to deduction, induction, and abduction, where at least one of the premises or the conclusion is general. [via wikipedia]

You're doing it wrong.

He wrote operas, symphonies, ballets, chamber music, piano music and some of the earliest forms of grunge.

What the fuck?

Well, not that last one.

Oh. Ha ha! Good one.

But still, in an era dominated by a group of composers known as The Five, he was a rebel, an outsider who was, reputedly, quite fond of vodka (which might explain the whole dancing peppermint stick thing).

You...what? Seriously?

You can score big points with your lady friend:

Ha ha! Men only go to ballets to get laid. Good times.

As the couple is dancing near the end of the show, lean over and comment on how the pas de deux they're performing is far superior to anything on this season's Dancing With the Stars.

Fuck me running. [Ed note: I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a knitting needle than watch Dancing with the Stars. Also, dude, pal, don't capitalize prepositions.]

Did we mention the ballerinas in tutus? Enough said.

Ha ha ! Women are objects!

Jebus.

'Tis the Season for East Indian Giving

The question you should be asking yourself right now is not “Do I want to see the Kansas City Ballet’s scrumptious production of "The Nutcracker?”

Ah, ‘tis the sugar plum season. And, apparaently, it’s also the season for quotation marks to go awry. (I’ll let Lisa Jo Sagolla of the KC Star correct this for herself)

But, the questions I’m asking myself today are whether or not I can afford my house, send my kids to college, buy next weeks’ groceries. Stuff like that.

So, do I want to see the scrumptious Nutcracker? Probably n...

Of course you do.

But, but...

It’s a holiday treat that children adore and all but the most Scrooge-like among us value as a time-honored, family-entertainment tradition.

By “Scrooge-like,” do you mean “tight wad?” Is this an advertisement or a review?

Your dilemma is to decide how many performances of "The Nutcracker" time will allow you to attend.

Or, for $19.98 plus tax, I could find myself an awesome DVD of the Nutcracker, then watch it as many times I very damn well please, and in front of my ultra-deluxe fireplace in my soon-to-be foreclosed house. (Not that I’m advocating this; it’s just that the cheapest seat to the KC Ballet is $20, which means it’ll cost at least $40 for a parent and a kid to sit in the balcony, which is approximately .3 miles from the stage.)

Fine. Advertisement it is. Lisa Jo, close the deal and let’s be done with this.

The Kansas City Ballet enjoys an abundance of riches when it comes to talented dancers who can perform the ballet’s exciting array of featured roles. Wisely, the company’s artistic director William Whitener has double- and in some cases triple-cast virtually all the solo parts. If you really want to appreciate all this production has to offer, seeing the show just once is hardly enough. At the opening matinee on Saturday afternoon, the stand-out performances were Nadia Iozzo’s gorgeous interpretation of the sensual Arabian Dance, Deanna Doyle’s dynamic portrayal of Dewdrop, and the exquisitely polished corps de ballet work by the women’s ensemble in both the Waltz of the Flowers and the Snowflakes scene.

Sounds like it could be really—what was it?—“scrumptious.”

Also noteworthy was Angelina Sansone as the stately Snow Queen. The lanky dancer made elegant use of her head, neck, and upper body to form stunning classical lines.

Okay, I’m sold. Let’s head on down to the Music Hall, shall we! How much, again?

If only she had been able to find her center on her pirouettes. Sansone has a habit of dropping her chin as she begins to turn which compromises her aristocratic allure and probably doesn’t help her pirouetting.

Oh...

While Michael Eaton needed to be a bit more percussive in his rendition of the challenging Chinese Dance...

While Lisa Jo needs to ease off, if she wants me to buy a ticket or two.

...the production’s only significant weak link was Lisa Choules’s portrayal of the Sugar Plum Fairy. A stiff, brittle-looking dancer with a jerky jump, she brought a lovely delicacy yet complete lack of clarity to the choreography. Her dancing is pretty, but makes no visceral impact. She seems to relinquish her muscular tensions just before she hits the endpoints of her positions, so her body shapes don’t fully register and no energy is projected out beyond her body.

I thought, for a half-second, that I might want to go to this at least once, if not twice. But, now...

Man, this is getting ugly.

Set to the famous Tchaikovsky score, played live by the Kansas City Ballet Orchestra under the expert direction of Ramona Pansegrau, the ballet’s uneven choreography, created by artistic director emeritus Todd Bolender, needs a bit of freshening up.

Uh, come to think of it, I’d rather spend my money elsew...

What’s that? You’re not finished?

While the enchanting second-act variations are first-rate, much of the movement performed by the children during the first-act party scene is too slow, simplistic, and predictable to be dramatically engaging.

Not even the kids are spared. Heartless. Just heartless.

The kids’ leisurely, pedestrian moves are placed squarely on each steady beat of the music, making even the tiniest of the dancers’ rhythmic errors glaringly obvious.

So, is it still a moral obligation to see this more than once, because I’d go if it was? But, it doesn’t sound all that good, so...













Figure 1. Actual nutcracker used in ballet

The attempts at physical comedy by the battle scene’s troupe of fat, effeminate mice fail to tickle, frighten, or entertain. Their actions descend too often into movement clichés that beg for more imaginative choreographic re-invention.

I could just watch a marathon of A Christmas Story, that’s sort of a tradition these days.
-

Really? Q. for T.S.

As you’ve more than likely guessed, we’re not too up to date with our dance. And! (exclamation point)...this is why today’s post might yield some funny results.

Spectacle has been a big part of ballet from the beginning. Ballet, opera and pageant blended at the French royal court, from the horse ballets of Catherine de Medici’s day to outdoor re-enactments of sea battles in lakes built just for shows under Louis XIV.

Neat. In fact, I like to understand a little about what’s at hand. Historicism is often lost in the 700-800 word review. Thank you, Tom.

Even in more modest, indoor shows, the costumes of some grotesque or allegorical characters resembled parade floats.

This, I cannot attest for, but rest assured, I’m not surprised, but intrigued.

Virtuoso dance values became more important in the 19th century, but spectacle remained a staple of the art. Even the great innovator and choreographer Marius Petipa celebrated spectacle during his long, influential reign at the Imperial Maryinsky Theater in St. Petersburg, Russia. "The Sleeping Beauty," from 1890, is among his most notable spectacle ballets and an icon of the art. It typically features dozens of elaborate, bejeweled costumes, enormous sets, lots of stage machinery and a huge cast.

How does a company such as the Milwaukee Ballet, with 25 full-time dancers and a lean budget, take on such a monster? MBC will stage its "Sleeping Beauty" from Thursday through next Sunday.

Michael Pink, the company's artistic director had the answers in an interview.

What? Yeah. I know. I’m copying and pasting the entire review. So what? Wanna fight about it?

"We bought the costumes from Ballet International, a company in Indianapolis that is now defunct," he said. "They were really rather well made. International got them from the Maryinsky."

On the cheap and cheap; nothing wrong with that, especially today.













Fig. 1 Dust Bowl

The Ballet International set, Pink said, comprised three tired-looking painted drops. He thought about renting the Houston Ballet's production, but it is so big that it wouldn't fit the Uihlein Hall stage at the Marcus Center. It also would have cost $80,000. So Pink had to get creative.

This is the economy, I guess. Whatever—fine.

"I thought that if I could put 'Sleeping Beauty' in a neutral setting, I could eliminate set changes and move the story along," he said. "I thought that would be better than some threadbare, poor-relation production we could have afforded to rent."

Bottom-line is important to a degree. Sounds average, but I’m still all ears.

Pink conceived and sketched out a "Sleeping Beauty" of his own.

Tom?! Hello?! Not gonna rail this? (Like I said, dance is a bit foreign to me, so set us straight, if you got the time.)

A white, open set trimmed with hundreds of white silk roses is a lighting designer's dream, as it can take on any hue when bathed in theatrical light. Pink worked closely on the design with lighting wizard David Grill. He also worked with music director and conductor Andrews Sill.

How’d that work out? (Wow. I’m constantly amazed at my ability to sarcastically bait the next statement. Fun, nonetheless.)

They trimmed Tchaikovsky's score from 3½ hours to two hours. [It. mine]

(Not surprised) Mmmm-hmmm.

We’re idealists, to a point. But. WTF?!!!? They just cut ‘Sleeping Beauty’ by one and a half hours? Because of money?

Shame.

Shame.

"There are yards and yards of repeats," Pink said.

Fuck repeats! In fact. FUCK repeat performances!!! They cost too much money!

"We have omitted many of them. I doubt that anyone will complain about that."

I haven’t given them my Visa number yet, so...

He’s got me there.

He's also eliminated yards and yards of processions, the point of which was to allow parading of yards and yards of expensive fabric formed into lavish costumes. That sort of thing doesn't play well these days, and it slows down the storytelling.

Like I said, I don’t know about that. So...

Really?!? Pink is gonna cut 40% of the music? Maybe this is a music-centric conceit, but isn’t ‘Sleeping Beauty’ largely a product of the music? There’s an orchestral suite, right? Might that be a reason for its success?

To Pink, the story counts.

Oh. (Again, amazed at my ability for sarcasm.)

To move the story along and to intensify and clarify motivation, he has tinkered with Charles Perrault's fairy tale and the Petipa/Tchaikovsky scenario.

..and Hamlet doesn’t die in the end.

Princess Aurora no longer falls into a yearlong slumber because she pricks her finger when encountering an old woman at a spinning wheel. Rather, she pricks it on the thorn of a red, red rose, the only item of color in her white world.

“A red, red rose?”

"It's full of dancing," Pink said of his "Sleeping Beauty."

As ballets ought to be, with music and its rhythmic-movement coincidences. “A symbiosis, my young padawan.”

"It's not just a cut-down version of a classic. It has its own integrity."

Tchaikovsky. Cut by one and a half hours; the time it takes to drive from Islamabad to Peshawar.

Watered-down booze if you ask me.

Tom?!!!?? Was it good? Does it irk you? Maybe I just don't get dance.
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The West Is Normative!

Okay, brace yourselves, people. A Detritus Review first time ever: ballet!

Now, I don't really know anything about ballet, but I know a little something about hierarchies.

In a nice review of Tchaikovsky's ballet Eugene Onegin, Molly Glentzer writes (Houston Chronicle):

The quotation printed in Russian on the front scrim for Houston Ballet's Onegin says, "If I am without honor, honor does not exist."

Confession: I had to look up "scrim". (Also, that sounds like Klingon. Honor! and Glory!)

It's taken from the unfinished narrative poem of the same name by Russian literary icon Alexander Pushkin, who's been called that country's William Shakespeare.

Surely, surely we would never say that Shakespeare is the Pushkin of England.

How about: Japan is the England of Asia!

(Although his romantic sensibilities are more like those of his contemporary Lord Byron.)

Byron's sensibilities are more like those of Pushkin than of Shakespeare. No? Why?

Clearly comparisons can be helpful to describe things; obviously comparisons to the familiar make sense. But it seems to me Pushkin can be considered in his own right at this point.

...

Debuting as Tatiana, Herrera is the Audrey Hepburn of ballerinas — intelligent, lyrical, sensitive and sincere.

I don't really even know what to do with that. That could just as well describe James Joyce.

Ah, well. Here's a picture of Derrida that is fun to look at.

Music As Lincoln Logs

Calvin Wilson of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch reviews a ballet for us. Well, it’s not so much a review as an interview with the artistic director of the St. Louis Ballet, a gentleman named Gen Horiuchi. As will be made plain shortly, my issues are less with Mr. Wilson than Mr. Horiuchi. Because, well…

A timeless fairy tale comes to life

I bet it does! Ballet! Right? Right!

Along with Cinderella and Snow White, the Sleeping Beauty is among the most popular females in fairy tales

Any stats to back that up? Some kind of Disney-aged princess poll? No? Just sayin’.

Not to be confused with the Beauty who became involved with the Beast

Good lord. I was totally confused before you clarified that for me.

(and who is high on the list of storybook favorites), the character whose slumber can only be ended by a prince's kiss has enchanted countless children.

Yes, we all know that.

So it's not surprising that the Sleeping Beauty would inspire a ballet by composer Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky,

“Would have inspired”? Just sayin’, again.

who may be best known among the younger set for "The Nutcracker."

Pander pander pander.

But really, that’s all fine. I was just having my fun. Here’s the problem:

In a recent interview, Gen Horiuchi, artistic director of St. Louis Ballet, talked about "The Sleeping Beauty," his approach to it and the appeal of its Tchaikovsky score.

Q: Why did you decide on "The Sleeping Beauty" as the latest presentation in your company's Master Works series?

A: Because of the music.

You decided to perform…a ballet…because of…the music? Seriously?

We'd done "The Nutcracker" and "Swan Lake," both with music by Tchaikovsky, and I've always loved his music for "The Sleeping Beauty." The rhythm of Tchaikovsky's music is very easy to count,

Uh, it’s a ballet. Hopefully that’s the case…

and the melody fits well with dance movement. At the end of a rehearsal, you're humming the melody over and over. And that's what's so special about Tchaikovsky.

Yes. Special. Most ballet composers utterly fail to write memorable melodies.

But worse still, and the real point of my little rant:

Q: Would you say that "The Sleeping Beauty" is one of the more challenging ballets?

A: Definitely. I was just at the Edison Theatre this morning, and we're absolutely using that theater to the max. "The Sleeping Beauty" is almost three hours long (if performed in its entirety), and nobody sits for three hours in the theater anymore. So it's always a challenge for me to cut unnecessary segments of the music, and speed up the music, and speed up the transitions from one scene to the next. But that's also the fun part.

No no no no no no no. To paraphrase:

“I really like Beethoven’s 3rd Symphony, but it’s just so gosh darn long! So I omitted the development and most of the recapitulation. Also the second movement; so unnecessary. And the finale? Forget it. Totally gone. I can just change the music any way I want! Wheee!”

Let's take the Mona Lisa, cut it into thirds, and paste the first and last thirds together! Totally the same work of art!

You're Doing It Wrong

Similes are not that hard.

One thing is equated, figuratively rather than literally, to another. Their meta-qualities are put into a kind of ratio, if you will. The reader is asked to find the similarities between objects that are, perhaps, not usually, or only tangentially, related.

Lawrence A. Johnson of the Miami Herald demonstrates the concept for us in this article.

By now, the Cleveland Orchestra's vaunted refinement and virtuosity are known quantities locally after two Miami residency seasons.

Good.

Still, while owning a Rolls-Royce is nice, someone with skilled hands still needs to operate the controls.

Um. Okay, that is a metaphor, and not a simile, but…well…really? Normal drivers cannot operate a Rolls? Hmm. Continue.

Music director Franz Welser-Most's Miami concerts have been uneven to date, which increases the interest on those programs directed by guest conductors.

Fine.

Now 36, Midori has been before the public since she was 10 and her artistry has only deepened, as was made clear in the Japanese violinist's revisionist take on Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto.

Okay.

The Russian war horse is performed so often as a vehicle for surface fireworks and ego-driven solo display that one can forget the depths in the score.

Sure…

Like centuries of grime removed from ancient paintings, Midori's refined poetic sensibility made one appreciate this music anew.

The…

Reading. Writing? Comprehending…

The sentence above insinuates that “Midori’s refined poetic sensibility” is like, in some way, “grime removed from ancient paintings”.

What?

Midori's sensibility is...like...grime?

I don't think that's what was intended here.

Let me take a crack at that failed sentence.

“Like ancient paintings from which ancient grime has been removed, Midori’s refined poetic sensibility…”

No. That equates the ancient paintings to Midori’s poetic sensibility. Which is similarly nonsensical.

The apparent meaning is that Midori’s sensibility reveals intricacies in the score that have been obscured (by centuries of War-horse-ness) somewhat like the removal of grime from ancient paintings reveals hidden details, or whatnot.

I think?

Reader challenge! Make it make sense, dammit!

Fast Eddie Reappears!

Fast Eddie owns the now-accredited School of Music Criticism somewhere in Queens, where he has been able to shape the minds of those who shape ours about classical music. I recently had a chance to sit down with the famed and elusive grammarian for a brief interview. We discussed one former student in particular.

Empiricus: Thanks for taking the time to talk to the Detritus Review, Eddie.

Fast Eddie: Yeah. Make it quick. I don’t like stayin put for too long. Know what I’m sayin?

E: One of your former students, who now writes for the Seattle Times, wrote this on Friday:

Nothing can shiver the timbers of Benaroya Hall quite like the “Organ Symphony” of Saint-Saens, who combined the “king of instruments” with full orchestra to thrilling effect.

FE: Now that’s got pizzazz! It sets the tone right away, see—shiver the timbers, king of instruments, thrilling effect? Just vague enough, yet excitin enough to keep ya interested.

E: I see.

FE: Ya gots t’understand. When ya got a deadline, ya gotta get it out quick, see? Ya gotta leave something out, then give it to em, right away. Fills in the words quick, and doesn’t make a point. Now, I haven’t read this review of which you speaked, but I’ll bet the favorite that the next sentence goes somethin like this: This performance was thrilling, cause the performers played this piece. Am I right? Or am I right?

E: Pretty close. In fact this is what was written:

Thrilling, at least, when the performance is as satisfying as was the Seattle Symphony’s on Thursday evening, with guest maestro Jun Markl rushing about on the podium.

FE: Can I teach good or what? There’s even some extra bang in there—satisfying, maestro (gotta keep the upper-class thing going, see? Gotta make it sound expensive and luxuriant.)—and rushin about. That’s damn catchy, a splendid counterpoint, if I may gratitude myself.

E: You mentioned that the idea is to fill in the words without making a point?

FE: Yeah. Ya got better things ta do than write a review, right? I always say, “just type until ya finish fillin the space.” Now, if this review’s worth its salt, it it’ll go on about the conductor, kind of stream-of-conscious-like.

E: Again, sir, you’re right.

The 48-year-old German-born conductor has always made a good impression in his visits to Seattle, and the current program is no exception; his crisp energy, spot-on cueing and precise baton drew an unusually pointed performance from the orchestra.

To me this one sounds a little more compact, with the semi-colon.

FE: Well we can’t all be perfect, see. But it’s still good. If ya break it down, ya still got nothin.

E: What do you mean?

FE: It coulda said, “the conductor made a good impression, again.” See? By addin the “48-year-old,” the “always made a good impression,” and the “current program is no exception,” the reviewer extended the thought from 7 words to 25. But it got even better and longer. Am I right? The semi-colon thought that followed that one said nothing. See? It’s more bang, more snap. I mean, no one knows what “crisp energy” is. Nobody worth conductin a symphony could do it without “spot-on cueing and precise baton.” See? Combine em and ya get what? An “unusually pointed performance?” What the fuck? Right? Coulda just said that they all played good. But it paints a picture. It keeps ya readin.

E: I see your point. Nobody reading this would say, “Hey, look! ‘Crisp energy.’ I want to go to this concert!”

FE: Zing! Ya got it!

E: So when the reviewer said this,

Joseph Adam was the organist, and in the finale—when the mighty chords poured out of the hall’s Watjen Concert Organ with the rumble of a departing jet—he delivered perfectly judged thunderbolts of sound.

the reviewer didn’t intend that the chords that “poured” and rumbled like a departing jet to be correlated with thunderbolts (because thunderbolts are quick and sharp, right?) Instead, the reviewer just paints a picture. And it doesn’t matter how convoluted the picture becomes, it’s merely to make the performance seem evocative.

FE: Now you’re on to it! Might I suggest a particular school to go to, for only $1,500 a semester?

E: Well, I don’t think....

(somebody knocks at the door)

FE: What else ya got? I’m on borrowed time, if ya know what I mean?

E: I’ll try to be fast. So this also goes for a statement like this?

Among the many fine solo passages were those of Susan Carroll, whose horn solos were exemplary.

FE: Coulda said, “Susan Carroll’s horn solos were good.” See?

E: And what about this?

The opener, Liszt's Symphonic Poem No. 5 ("Prometheus"), is the sort of work that makes one wish Liszt had stuck to the piano. But that didn't matter, because up next was the evening's featured soloist: pianist Horacio Gutiérrez, always one of those artists you look forward to with pleasure. Gutiérrez, who returned to the stage earlier this year after several months' absence (while he underwent treatment for primary gastric lymphoma), is definitely in top form. He played one of the great warhorses of the repertoire, the Tchaikovsky First, with the grand romantic style for which he is known, but also with a poetic sensibility to go along with the big-moment technical prowess.

FE: Does as little as Derek Jeter at short. But it’s flashy. “Great warhorses” is in my textbook, which ya could buy right now for a modest fee of 65 big ones. You’ll get numerous others, like “romantic arc,” “romantic arch” and “accelerating like a Porsche.”

E: No thanks, I’ll...

(knocking at door grows louder)

...make this my last question. How about the ending?

FE: What about it? Like the beginning, ya gotta give em some zing! Down on the pedal, I gotta go.

E: Like this ending?

If you think you're bored with the Tchaikovsky, here is an artist to show you otherwise.

FE: Yeah. Ya got another exit?

E: Down the hall to the left.

*at this point Fast Eddie collects his leather jacket, fedora, and numerous miscellany and rushes out the back exit.

Exciting Economic Report

Before I get going, I need to apologize for two things. One, I try to make it a policy to only go after music critics who write reviews (or, as in the previous post, critics who make “liberal” use of the word review)—those who write for major daily newspapers. Unfortunately, I stumbled across this clunker, which is from an opinion blog associated with the L.A. Times. However, its author, Tim Cavanaugh, is widely respected for his political blog and opinions; so I don’t feel that bad. And this time, he says some strange things about music. Second, I don’t like going after the blogs of bloggers. But, I can’t resist. So I’m forgoing ethics, just this once, hopefully. Sorry.

I’m sure that it goes without saying that music, especially “classical” music, is not terribly profitable, which forces or, more likely, directs composers to seek financial stability in academia. Tim Cavanaugh has a problem with this, as I do. But not for the same reasons.

Sound of money: free-market economies and long-hair music

Longhair does not need to be hyphenated. But I don’t care about that, this time. What’s important is that we’re going to discuss the free-market. Is it good for “classical” music? Is it bad? Something along those lines, anyway.

KUSC ran a richest-classical-composer feature a few days ago, which drew its top-10 list from a 2005 survey by a U.K. radio station.

There’s a link to this in Tim’s blog. In it, the survey adjusts composers’ salaries and commissions for inflation. Its purpose, to simply compare financial success among composers across different eras. And to Tim’s surprise some names were absent.

It's unlikely the numbers — which were apparently calculated in adjusted currencies — have changed much since then, so here's the list:

1. George Gershwin
2. Johann Strauss II
3. Giuseppe Verdi
4. Gioachino Rossini
5. George Frideric Handel
6. Joseph Haydn
7. Sergei Rachmaninoff
8. Giacomo Puccini
9. Niccolò Paganini
10. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Why is this interesting (to me at any rate)? Because longhair music is pretty much universally recognized as an art form that can't compete in an open market and must be supported through royal or (these days) public patronage. Yet this list is remarkable for the lack of patronage its members enjoyed.

A thesis! Financially successful composers were antithetical to general economic knowledge.

All but two of the composers on the list date to the industrial revolution or afterward, and the two who came earlier than that — Haydn and Handel — did plenty of lucrative for-profit work in Britain, which boasted the most liberal economy in Europe. Verdi, Rossini and Puccini were all piece-work producers who were less interested in pleasing the royal ear than in filling up the house with paying customers. Paganini and "Waltz King" Strauss were expert self-promoters and brand builders, Rachmaninoff made much of his fortune on recordings and performances, and Gershwin made it to the top of the list strictly by producing music for a large popular audience. I'm not sure he ever got a dime of public support.

For the most part, I agree with the above analysis. Those composers were, and still are, financially successful. These guys filled seats; in some cases, to do so, they pandered.

By comparison, Richard Wagner, another 19th-century rock star with a long list of patrons and supporters including a king who built the composer his own mansion and theme-park/mini-city, didn't make the list. That's a special irony given how massively popular Wagner was and still is, not just in opera houses but throughout the popular culture.

He is still popular, to a degree. What are we supposed to learn from this?

You could counter that money earned is no indication of musical achievement,

Yes. I could counter with that. But, then again, we weren’t talking about musical achievement. We were talking about how financially successful composers did not require patronage, thus bucking common knowledge off its horse.

and that wastrels like Wolfgang Mozart and Franz Schubert, or humble workers like J.S. Bach, would top a list of actual composing value.

They would. (I think “wastrel” is a little archaic. Don’t you?) So give some counterpoint, buddy boy.

True enough, but hardship and poverty are the default positions of human existence.

Like Jeb and his comatose brother.

It's success that's the unusual thing,

“Financial” success, not success, which we already knew, and agreed upon.

and the numbers here indicate [financial] success becomes a little more likely in a profit-centered environment.

In other words, in order to make a lot of money, i.e. be “financially” successful, you should focus on making a profit. Those words of wisdom would moisten Benjamin Graham’s eyes.

Interestingly, Gershwin and Rachmaninoff, who both died before the middle of the 20th century, are the most recent names on the list. Audience indifference has since encouraged classical composers to avoid the uncertainty of the marketplace;

There have always been only a few composers who wee able to make a living solely by composing—the lucky ones, like John Adams. Hell, even Beethoven taught piano lessons.

but maybe all those composers with academic sits would have been better off trying to make a bigger buck.

Again, his point: if you want to make a bigger buck, try to make a bigger buck. Foolproof! How come no one ever thought of this before?

What I find funny, though, is that many of the composers on the list wouldn’t necessarily be financially successful today, much less “in the canon,” without the exploitation of their music in commercials, television shows or movies.

So, I’d like to try an experiment. Guess the piece that I have linked with the composer. Are you correct? Have you it heard before? If so, where?

1. George Gershwin
2. Johann Strauss II
3. Guiseppe Verdi
4. Gioachino Rossini
5. George Frideric Handel
6. Joseph Haydn
7. Sergei Rachmaninoff
8. Giacomo Puccini
9. Niccolò Paganini
10. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Were you right? Okay, I admit that the Haydn is tough, and I could have found a better Rachmaninoff (but Shine crossed your mind, didn’t it?). Either way, can you think of a second melody by these guys? In some cases, I’m very hard pressed to do so. Now how about Beethoven, the financially crippled piano teacher? Of course you can.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm saying, except that the free-market influences the canon. And one hit wonders like Rachmaninoff, Leoncavallo and Pachabell benefit.
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The Best Adjective-Noun Pairing of the Day!

Today’s honor goes to distinguished L.A. Times Staff writer, Chris Pasles for this eloquent pairing:

Neurasthenic Undertones

Of which there were none found in the two Tchaikovsky works performed by the L.A. Philharmonic,

... even when they explored melancholic depths.

Congratulations Chris! Keep up the good work!
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