Assertion Evaluated

Opening sentences—commonly known as hooks or attention grabbers—often seem grandiose or obese, fattened by wild assertions. This practice is so misused, so misguided, that they border on the absurd and surreal. To a fault, opening sentences too often shroud the prose in a foggy haze of tainted farts. All the stuff we passionately want to know about—the descriptions, the evaluation, the subjects—are, thus, left to wither inside a noxious methane cloud of “Huh?”

What to do? Or better, what not to do?

Thankfully, the nice people at Pearson Longman Publishing have made available the overview of their guide, The Allyn & Bacon Guide to Writing. Along our way, we'll reference Chapter 15, Making an Evaluation, which is appropriate for a concert review and a nice way to introduce, you know, sound writing practices.

Today’s attention grabber comes from Newspaper W, in City T, which is located in State F.

If you closed your eyes you’d swear you were listening to one of the great violinists of the past.

And in case you don’t remember, let’s name some of them: Jascha Heifitz, Fritz Kreisler, Yehudi Menuhin, Joseph Szigeti, Alma Moodie, Jacques Thibaud, David Oistrakh, and so on and so on. You get the picture.

Open [your eyes], and it’s time for a reality check.

Aha! So, based on the former, if we listened to today’s violinist, he/she would be indistinguishable from one of the above greats. Got it.

So what’s my problem, then? Well, if we take a look at Chapter 15 of the Allyn & Bacon Guide, the first—and probably most important—point to understand about making an evaluation, such as “the violinist sounded like one of the greats artists of the past,” is that:

1. Evaluation arguments proceed by a process called criteria-match.

In other words, we can’t compare apples to oranges without sacrificing the strength or validity of the evaluation. We can’t assert “apples are so much better than oranges,” without providing the context, or criteria, on which we base the evaluation.

Now, here’s how the author chose to match the criteria for his claims; this includes everything in the review referring to the violinist’s performance:

Her tone and color were very impressive.*

*Unless he’s referring to intonation, rather than “tone” which also means color, acousticians will weep.

Following a frenetic beginning, [the violinist] played with vibrancy and virtuosity.*

*Isn’t the emphasis on how the violinist played, instead of with what the violinist played? Shouldn’t it read, “the violinist’s playing was vibrant and virtuosic?”

In the “Passacaglia,” [the violinist’s] burnished tone and heart-rending softness were remarkable.*

*Tone, here, means color. Doesn’t it?

After an extended meditative solo by [the violinist], the work was concluded with [...]*

*I think this refers to the music (i.e., the score), so this doesn’t fall within the scope of our discussion. But, the work “was concluded?” Ick.

Anyway, the author detailed his reasoning for the opening assertion, right? Well let’s condense what he said: The violinist’s playing was vibrant (colorful), virtuosic, and heart-rendingly soft, with an impressive tone (color) and color (color).

Yes. In fact, these descriptors establish the criteria for evaluation; the violinist sounded a particular way, similar to past greats. Since what the author said about today’s violinist must also be true of the greats: “The greats’ playing was colorful, virtuosic and heart-rendingly soft.”

Good evaluation, then? No!

See, the criteria are so broad, they can’t possibly describe, let alone effectively evaluate, what makes violinists great. It's like saying, "All great cars from the fifties have windows and seats and wheels." What’s true of the past greats are true of the greats of today, of a hundred years ago, of two-hundred, of three-hundred years ago. Not to mention the possibility that “color,” or tone, refers to the actual violin(s), not the violinist(s), or that virtuosity is a prerequisite to play the piece in question—if someone even attempts to play Shostakovich’s First Violin Concerto they’re probably pretty darn good to begin with.

In all, our author didn’t say one thing. My conclusion: stupid opening sentences are like making out in a Dutch oven.
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Fast Eddie's School of Music Criticism

The professor’s name was Fast Eddie. He was peculiar, to say the least. He wore a plaid fedora, in which there was an old betting stub (or so it seemed) stuck hastily in the collar. In his jacket pocket there was a tattered spiral notebook and several unsharpened pencils, lead end up. He walked with unusual speed, very deliberate, but nervous. And this is how he spoke, too.

His lesson, which was alarmingly curt, went something like this:

Eddie: Nice t’meechyas, class. I’ll make this quick. Then ya can get into the game, presto. Just like that, see? Now whatcha gotta do is give em a line. A headline. Somethin colorful. Maybe it has somthin t’do with the players, maybe not. Just go for the gusto. Maybe something like this: (waves hand like reading a headline)

Sober Bartok With a Swirling Finale

They like that. They’ll go nuts for it. But it’s gotta be vague, intriguing. See? You gotta keep em wanting more. Cause that’s how ya make the big moolah. Then ya give em somethin over their heads. It’ll be like, “I’m smart and ya gotta listen to me.” Maybe somethin like this:

Big ideas in music gravitate toward big sounds.

T’ them, the saps, the writin sounds big. Gotta be big. Then ya follow that up with another doozey. A real zinger. See? They’ll be hooked in no time. Guaranteed. They’ll be throwin their money atcha. It’s like call and answer. Like a phone call: “Hey, how’s it goin, Marty?”

“F.U. Where’s my money, Fast Eddie? I gave you two weeks.” See? Zing! Zip! Flashy and a bit ballsy. See? Maybe something like this:

Well used, a single instrument does even better.

See? It don’t have to make sense. They’ll fall over themselves. They’ll be crazy for ya. You got em where ya want em. They gotta read the whole thing now. They cant get enough of ya.

Now all ya have t’do is apply my, “Quick and Easy,” formula. There’s a couple a things ya gotta know first. One, you don’t have to make sense. Ya already got em reading, that’s the main thing. It don’t matter whatcha do after. Just keep writin. And two, whatever ya do write, it’s gotta be colorful. I mean, ya don’t want a cheesesteak without the peppers. Am I right? Bingo, bango. Just add some sugar to the coffee.

The formula is easy. See? You just kinda throw in some names and you “pepper” em up. Make em sound expensive. Like the saps need to want this bull. Make em want to spend some more money.

If ya got “Concerto for Orchestra,” ya do it up like this:

great ode to symphonic luxury.

Zing! I am right?

If it’s loud, make it louder.

...public declamation filled with color and exclamation points.

See? It’s an f’in sonata. Just a fancy way t’say loud. They’ll eat it up. And if ya have to, exaggerate a little. It never hurt anyone, nohow.

If a lovlier, more touching piece of linear writing exists in 20th-century music, I don’t know it.

Ya gotta show some humility, too. Ya don’t wanna insult the poor slobs. If they get their little feelins hurt, it ain’t gonna go good.

And if ya didn’t like the show, hide it a bit. Like thankin someone for givin ya socks on Christmas. Do it up like this:

Brahms was good at destroying music he did not want remembered, but the C minor Scherzo at the start of this impressive evening might have escaped by hiding itself inside a hybrid sonata.

Oh yeahs. And always two adjacent adjectives. The more the better. Am I right? Or am I right? Or sometimes, hows bout an adjective that modifies an adverb? Always a winner. Stick to my formula and you'll be writin good in no time. You can take that t' the bank; better than a two-to-one at the track.

Alright knuckleheads, class over. Ask the bartender for your corrected homework on the way out.

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This transcription was provided to me by an anonymous source. This source also mentions a few names who attended this class. Those names will be made available at the appropriate time. Here, is one of them.
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