Prostitutes and Mind-Constructs, Oh My!

Another quickie post!

From Charles Ward of the Houston Chronicle. I have two issues.

Britten piece shows Belcea Quartet's got the goods

There's a tiny bit of Missouri in every music fan when encountering the next hot thing.

What?

"Show me your goods" is the implicit demand listeners throw at performers.

Oh.

Wait, what?

Are we shopping for produce, or some other merchandise? Or…picking out prostitutes? How would I go about throwing a demand? Indeed, demands are even harder to throw when implicit. Non-verbal demand throwing: the next Big Olympic Sport!

But then, whatever. However, later...

Britten wrote imaginatively and creatively:

Sounds good.

five movements of varying length and structural variety.

Makes sense…

The center movement, Solo, was arresting for the high violin melody that floated over a chaste accompaniment.

Chaste? Whatever. But this:

Don't listen with the mind, the melody seemed to say. Simply let your senses take over.

No. Sorry. Trained musicians (or critics?) listen with their minds. That is not, you see, because… Well, to wit, your next paragraph:

The final movement offered both a peeling away of style and baring of the soul. The music slowly edged towards a clearer sense of tonality,

Sorry, Mr. Ward. If you discerned that the music “slowly edged towards a clearer sense of tonality” you were totally listening with your mind. Tonality is a mind-construct, if you will.

You just can’t have it both ways.

Fact-Checking Is Hard

Quickie post!

From Scott Cantrell of the Dallas Morning News:

Strings rule at University of Texas Performance

It wasn't much publicized, so there wasn't much of a crowd for the University of Texas Symphony Orchestra concert Wednesday evening at the Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center.

Aw. I'm touched you attended!

UT's Butler School of Music must be one of the country's biggest.

It...must?

In just under five minutes, I uncovered the following facts:

The University of Texas' (newly re-named) Butler School of Music has about 700 students.

The famed Juilliard School has about 800 students.

The New England Conservatory of Music (alma mater!) has about 750 students.

The University of Michigan's School of Music has 1050 students.

Indiana University's Jacob's School of Music and The University of North Texas' School of Music compete yearly for the title of "largest music school", each enrolling about 1600 students yearly.

The University of Texas is not, in fact, one of the country's biggest. In fact, and I stress again the word fact, it is commensurate in size with the two top conservatories in the United States.

Just sayin'. Lazy journalists, sheesh.

Composer of the Day!

Today's Composer of the Day is Mauricio Kagel.

(1931- )

Kagel is an Argentinian-born composer, but he relocated to Germany in 1957. Perhaps his hybrid Italian-German name made the Argentinians nervous? No one will say.

Kagel's music is renowned for its theatrical aspects. He often directs the performers to use certain gestures or facial expressions, for example, at moments in his scores. He also commonly employs actors and dancers in his work. His music, and I guess sensibility, is sometimes compared to Dada or absurdist aesthetics.

Most recently I saw a performance of his piece Con Voce. (Sorry, I could not find a good link for you readers!) Three players sit in the dark with their instruments in playing position. Slowly and finally, they "try" to play, but only noises and strangeness arise--no "properly" performed sounds. Their voices have been stolen (by fascism!). It was fun to watch.

Here is a link to some Kagel percussion music. The theatrical element is well-represented; the music seems to be interrupted by gunshots! And stripping, or something. Yelling. Strangeness. Interesting stuff. The audience seems to get the jokes. Stop hitting yourself, guy-in-the-tie-dyed-shirt!

Here is a film by Kagel, called "Ludwig Van". I think it's about Beethoven. Or Germans. Something. Not really sure. Pretty cool to look at, though.

He also, apparently, owns a gigantic piano, or part of one. Judging, that is, from the picture, above, that is fun to look at.

You should listen to/look at his music.

More Helmut

I don’t know why I’m posting this, because, all in all, this is one of the best articles I’ve read in a long while. Good work Jeremy Eichler. But, damn it, there’s one obviously dictionary-mined adjective that doesn’t make sense, and I can’t help to report it, if only to supplement the previous post.

It’s about German composer Helmut Lachenmann’s s unusual sounds.

He shaped them into a masterfully strange, crepuscular music: tense, hyper-aware, quietly disquieting, at times maddeningly opaque but also with moments of improbable beauty.

(my italics) You know what? Here’s crepuscular. It kinda works, in retrospect. Not terribly well, though—you have to stretch it around a bit. But still, if I had a dictionary of unusually neglected biological terms, crepuscular wouldn’t be my first choice.

For fun: try to use crepuscular in a sentence today. You’ll either be heralded as a master linguist or you’ll receive a blank, crepuscularly crepuscular stare--both fun.

Composer of the Day!

Today’s composer of the day is Helmut Lachenmann.

(b.1935)

For Helmut, I will opt to take the facile route, and point to a short, but well-written biography, by Dan Albertson. Describing his music is a bit trickier than most, because his music can easily be mistaken for experimental or other things associated with 1960s-present German new music. But it’s none of these things, really. In fact, he embraces historical linearity, though not so apparent.

See? I already failed. Now, here’s the better bio.

And here are a few words by the composer, too. It’s also a little more visually/sonically illustrative.

Finally, here is a fantastic performance of Lachenmann’s percussion piece Interrieur, part I, and part II.

You should listen to his energy.

I Am Not Listening to You. Or: High Arts as Capitalist Running Dog Consumer Culture Service Industry

Are You Listening to Me?

The following excerpts a recent piece by Pierre Ruhe of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He throws his voice into the surging ocean of people wondering why composers just won’t write stuff they like! How dare they express themselves! Surely Beethoven’s early reviews were all stellar. Right?

"His great qualities are often alloyed by a morbid desire for novelty, by extravagance, and by a disdain of rule. The effect his writings have had on the art must, I fear, be considered as injurous... as much harshness, as much extravegance, as much obscurity, with little or none of the beauty or grandeur. Thus music is no longer intended to soothe, to delight.. it is absorbed into one principle-- to astonish"

--Quarterly Musical Magazine, London, 1827 (re: Beethoven) [thanks to reader AnthonyS]

-

Contemporary classical music is at a crossroads. The composer-audience relationship has been sour for decades, but both sides are starting to ask the same question.

What, sir, is that question? No? Fine…

Composers are at their best when they let music do the talking.

Shut up, composers! What the hell do you know about, um, your…music? We’re the audience, dammit!

Still, the urge to put their inspirations and aspirations into words is supposed to help the listeners.

Help the listeners…to…understand the music? Get a mortgage? Do their taxes? Or: Understand their music!?!

More likely, though, it weakens whatever artistic statements they are trying to make.

Yes. Verbal explanations of the fine arts usually serve to further obfuscate the meaning of the audience. Clearly. Duh.

This dilemma was on view again recently at Spivey Hall.

The dilemma…was on…view?

The fifth annual “Composers Now” concert in mid-March covered works by four prominent Atlantans: Mark Gresham, Jason Freeman, Chris Arrell and Nickitas Demos.

I don’t know any of these people, or their work, but I already prefer them to your review.

The telling moment came when Arrell, the show's organizer and a professor at Clayton State University, led a discussion with his colleagues. His simple question - about how the composer thinks of an audience when writing music - was met with awkward silence, then nervous chuckles.

Oh, those dismissive artsy types! They are so aloof. Clearly, no composer ever wrote what they felt they had to, contemporaries be damned. Surely, no. Definitely not Beethoven. Shostakovich. Wait. What?

Did this suggest these local creators share an I’m-too-cool-to-care attitude toward the recipients of their art?

Yes, yes it did. And it sucked. That is to say: I respectfully disagree.

When pressed, each composer had a properly respectful answer about the value of audiences.

Fakers.

Freeman, a professor at Georgia Tech, explained that he’s written online “wiki” style pieces, created anew with each Web visitor.

Okay…

Someone else mentioned that he writes for the performers and lets them make the case to the listeners.

Um…

All seemed to agree that top priority, as Demos put it, remains, “I gotta be true to myself.”

This seems like a rational approach. Most of the viewers and critics thought Picasso was insane. Kandinsky? Forget about it. Now? Established masters. Schoenberg? Still a pariah. Music is too precious to leave to the composers!

I encountered something more distressing last month, as a panelist at a national composer’s conference, hosted by Georgia State University and moderated by Demos, a GSU professor.

I can’t wait.

When someone in the crowd asked, “Why don’t [living] composers get more attention from the media?” I rashly shot back, “Well, isn’t that the composers’ fault?”

You sure did, rashly!

It poked an open wound. Contemporary classical composers feel embattled, marginalized from the broader American culture. Their niche audience seems as small as ever.

As small…as ever? What? So, what’s the problem?

The simplest notion — if you want an audience to appreciate you, you’d better take steps towards pleasing that audience — is not, apparently, obvious.

Free-market capitalist music! Pandering to the intended audience! It’s called pop. Look it up.

It brings to mind an infamous axiom by Arnold Schoenberg (1874-1951), the dissonant master who remains the bogeyman of the average concert-goer. “If it’s art, it is not for all,” he pronounced, “and if it’s for all it is not art.”

That seems about right. Sure, everyone loves Mozart and Beethoven! Except the rural farmers who have no exposure. (Not to their discredit or fault, just making a point.) By your argument, composers should write music for whosomever comes to the concert. “Dammit, Schubert! Your music should sound more like Hank Williams, dadgummit!” How is that rational? Challenge the audience. Make them work and/or think. If you don’t want to work and/or think, go see, I dunno, Linkin Park. (Apologies to any of our readers who are Linkin Park fans. If any. You know what? Nevermind.)

In recent decades, that’s been a mindset in the academic community, although that ice block is starting to thaw.

Nice metaphor. What?

But the lingering suspicion, voiced often by today’s composers, is that art that “panders” to an audience is cheap, anti-intellectual, tainted by commercialism or simply unfashionable.

By “panders”, I think you mean PANDERS.

Architects used to make this same argument. Our cities are choked with sterile buildings that don’t interact with life down on the street where people walk, or at least used to, before architects conspired to banish them from the designs.

In your construction, the architects banished the streets. Good work.

A WAY FORWARD?

Oh, good.

Composers have a harder time of it than others. There’s no middleman in a painter’s art. A playwright’s words can be interpreted on stage or read as literature by everyone who’s literate. But music notation — the treble clefs and quarter notes and 12/8 meters on staff paper — is accessible only to trained musicians.

Want to understand? Try a community college course, they’re cheap! Really, expecting understanding sans any effort at all is lazy, lazy art appreciation.

When a composer fashions his sound for the performance specialists, he hopes they'll spend enough time to discover its recondite virtues. First-time listeners, which is to say everyone else at the concert, are likely to feel like an afterthought in the conversation.

See above snark. To quote Frank Zappa: “…go to the library and educate yourself, if you’ve got any guts.”

And any individual composer writes the music he or she feels inspired to write, of course.

I know, right? Why have you been writing all of this…

But when the larger trend, entrenched over many decades, positions composers to face each other more directly than their audiences, should we wonder why living composers don’t get more attention?

You…I…

Yet unlike the performer-driven pop scene, composers remain at the core of classical music. They’re what biologists would call “primary producers” in an ecosystem: energy flows outward from them and into the larger classical community, for better and worse. Beethoven is always a bigger draw than the ensemble playing him; Schoenberg and his atonal brethren are said to be “box office poison.”

Fuck.

The Sorcerer

Remember David Hurwitz, from Classicstoday.com, the guy who can't keep his anti-modernist fingers off of the qwerty keyboard? He reviews a disc by, oh shit, John Cage.

There's really no way to "review" John Cage's "number" pieces, since they leave so much open to chance and it's impossible to say what they are supposed to sound like, or if the performance accurately reflects Cage's intentions.

Well, if you stuck to your guidelines (Classicstoday.com’s review philosophy), and if you knew a little something about John Cage...

Anyone who pretends otherwise is simply blowing hot air, so let's just say that if you are collecting this cycle of works and need One, Three, and Six, here they are, obviously well-played and very well recorded [sic].

...you wouldn’t have to talk about the “quality” of the music. Just flat-out say, “Here they are, obviously well-played and very well recorded.” Enough said. But you just can’t help yourself, can you?

The two works containing actual music as it's generally understood, ...

Fuck this. I’m going to go clean my cat’s litterbox.

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

Detritus favorite David Hurwitz seems to have himself an apprentice to continue the proud tradition of modernist hating while ignoring Classicstoday.com’s CD rating philosophy (written by the Hurwitz himself). His name? Victor Carr Jr.

In a review of a new disc comprised of Elizabeth Maconchy’s music, Mr. Jr. exacerbates Classicstoday.com’s already spotty track record of ethics, in the same manner as his venerable master.

Not so enjoyable is Serenata concertante (1962), a gray, angular piece that sounds like Maconchy's attempt to prove that she also can...

Just in case you’re new to the Detritus, here’s a link to Classicstoday.com’s review philosophy. Did you read it? Good. If not, that’s okay, too. Here’s what it says: it says that they’re not supposed to judge the music, just the performance and the sound quality. The judging of the music is to be left to you, the consumer.

So let’s start over.

Not so enjoyable...

Hello? Mr. Jr.? You’re not supposed to judge the music. Remember? Italics mine.

Not so enjoyable is Serenata concertante (1962), a gray, angular piece that sounds like Maconchy's attempt to prove that she also can do "modernist".

Good God! Quotation marks?! Is that really necessary?

I seem to remember hearing a story about Stockhausen, in 1960. After completing a new piece, called Kontakte, he went to the rooftop of Darmstadt, naked, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Look! I can do ‘modernist,’ too!” But it was not so enjoyable, because it was gray and angular.

Sounds awful, doesn’t it, Mr. Jr.? It also sounds like I judged the piece.

Her technique is assured, and violinist Manoug Parikian offers impressive solo work, even if it's in the service of rather inert inspiration.

Because it was gray, angular and “modernist,” Mr. Jr. deduces that its inspiration was inert, and concludes that even an impressive performance can’t save it. Sheesh. “Inert inspiration.” Is that even possible? Can one really... no.

You know what? Let’s just throw out that pesky review philosophy shall we? Mr. Hurwitz, sir? Master? Please, just delete that page. It’s cramping your style, as well as your protégé’s. It’s not doing us any favors, either. I could be spending my time in a more constructive way—you know, learning my triads so when it comes time for you to review my work, I can’t complain about your ignorant and just plain stupid, irrelevant assertions and judgments concerning “modernism.” (My quotation marks are intended as parody)

It’s settled, then. I’ll drop it, if you do. Good.

Now let’s continue. Throw your best at me, Mr. Jr.; nothing can phase me now.

Finally, the symphonic poem Proud Thames, the first work on the disc, also is the earliest (1952), even though it sounds to be of recent vintage.

I’ll consider this a playful construction. Count yourself lucky that I no longer can be phased by anything.

This is due to the quasi-minimalist repetition toward the end, while the darkly playful interplay of brass and strings evoking the rushing river recalls Libby Larsen's Water Music Symphony.

Strike my last act of generosity! I no longer think that Mr. Jr.’s finally-first-earliest-recent-vintage shtick was intentional. Mr. Jr. just has no conception of time, as evidenced here.

Libby Lasen (born in 1950!) was two-years old when Maconchy wrote Proud Thames (1952. Okay, Larsen may have even been a one-year old, or almost three! Only one, stinking, lousy year old, or almost three!). Now, I may not know much about Maconchy (here’s a short bio), nor am I an expert on non-linear time, but I would dare to say that Larsen’s Water Music Symphony recalls Maconchy, not the other way around.

Congratulations, Mr. Jr.! Today you have done your mentor proud. And embarrassed yourself at the Detritus.

Oh crap! My dealine is in ten minutes. Uh... "Less is more!" Sounds good.

Unlike the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette’s Andrew Druckenbrod, I have nothing to do but sit in my basement all day, cheerlessly blogging about bad musical writing, which is why I can generously waste my time, for you, to dissect this whopping 600 word-long pile of steamy... musical clichés, written in just under ten minutes (I’ll bet my Star Wars cards on it, but not Chewbacca).

Great music is often defined by what isn't written as much as what is.

Cliché. Less is more.

An orchestra's near endless sonic possibilities can be a temptation to which composers often succumb.

Already, he’s riffing like Yngwie J. Malmsteen.

This allure often leads to "overwriting" their material, filling in the precious spaces in which the music breathes.

It just goes on and on...

Less is usually more.

...and the clichés keep piling up.

Yesterday's Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra concert at Heinz Hall brought the issue to the fore. Not only did it include Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2, a work whose heavy-handed orchestral writing is leagues away from the ultra-sophistication of his solo piano music, ...

Has anyone ever proven that Chopin sucks at orchestration? Or has it been around for so long that it’s become an old wives' tale? Either way, it’s as familiar as the old adage, “Brahms is dense and Carter is difficult,” from The Art of War.

As enjoyable as it was to hear both pieces under Swiss conductor Charles Dutoit and by Emanuel Ax, I could not help but think just how satisfying it is when composers have the guts to ask for a certain instrument but only use it when they want.

Yngwie J. Malmsteen.

There's no unnecessary extra writing for the trumpets, bass trumpets and tenor tubas (Wagner tubas in these concerts) in "Sinfonietta" just to please their players.

Janacek = not Ygnwie J. Malmsteen

It's about the music.

Ugh.

And what a fun piece "Sinfonietta" is.

Andrew Drukenbrod = not Yoda

The main reason composers selectively use instruments is for color.

Yoda is a fictional character. I breath air. The world is flat. Yngwie J. Malmsteen riffs. Orchestration is the selective use of instruments for color.

And none were better at that than Ravel and Debussy.

By the way, did you hear the one about Chopin? Turns out he couldn’t orchestrate well. That reminds me, did you hear the one about Debussy?

Debussy's "Jeux (Games)" was awash in color, often coming in waves, in a fleeting depiction of a tennis match leading to amorous activity (and to think Maria Sharapova and Anna Kournikova weren't even born then!).

1. Are the quotation marks correct?

2. Did you hear the one about Maria Sharopova and Anna Kornikova? They make appearances in a classical music review about a piece that references tennis and sex.



Dutoit's sensitive conducting alternated between continuous arm movements and abrupt stops, depending on if the work called for surface fluidity or rhythmic underpinning.

But that's the definition of conducting, only more convoluted! Drukenbrod = Stuffit Expander.

That Dutoit continues to be a master of the French repertoire was abundantly clear.

Drukenbrod = Yoda?

Ax's light attack not only fit Chopin's phrasing for the pianist, but lent the concerto an improvisatory spirit (I could swear he gave a few extemporaneous flourishes, too). The only downside was it further exposed Chopin's stilted writing for orchestra.

No. Drukenbrod = Yngwie J. Malmsteen

Clearly the best parts of this work occur when the pianist plays.

Clearly the best part of this review is when the reviewer reviews.

Ax substituted for Alfred Brendel three weeks ago. It would be a shame not to hear him again for a while.

Less is more.

Kosman's Wang: Tonally Firm

In a review of the same concerts featuring pianist Yuja Wang (see previous post), Joshua Kosman of the San Francisco Chronicle... well, I’m not quite sure what he does. Suffice it to say it’s awkward. There has to be a better way to say it.

In an otherwise exemplary review, he says this:

More striking, though, was the way she brought out the humor in the outer movements [...] and contrasted that with the radiant tonal colors of the slow movement.

Italics mine. Did she really contrast the humor with tonal colors? Aren’t they Mendelssohn’s colors? Tonal as opposed to atonal colors? Were the outer movements atonal? Was Mendelssohn’s tonal language ever in dispute? Radiant tonal colors are the opposite of humor?

I’m not entirely sure what is meant by this. Maybe just “colors” would be enough to make this intelligible. Though, even then, I’d want a little qualification, since “colors” isn’t exactly precise.

Later on, the same problem arises.

Perhaps that sense of haste was helpful in goosing the performers out of the unruffled sleekness that is the Academy's house style, or perhaps it was simply Wang's vivacious contributions. Whatever the reason, the concerts sounded rhythmically fresh and tonally firm.

“Goosing the performers” is fun. But...

Tonally firm? This could mean any number of things, including: “Since I believe that one of the priorities of music criticism is to educate the readers, I will do the opposite. I will confuse them to the point where things become ambiguous, or worse, meaningless.” Go MCANA!

Rhythmically fresh could use some qualification, too.

Seriously, does Joshua mean “tonal,” or does he really mean “intoned,” or “harmonic,” or “sonic,” or “winningly sardonic,” or “alluringly misplaced for prosaic effect?”

Either way, it’s confusing. It’s a good thing, too, because...

Mendelssohn's early String Symphony No. 10 in B Minor filled out the program alluringly.

Winningly sardonic italics mine.

Metaphor Hit by Pitch, Charges Mound

Baseball season is here again and it comes of no surprise that baseball metaphors are flying off the bats. And even the pianists seem to have a better shot of going all the way than the Giants.

Pianist hits home run with Mendelssohn

This one comes from the San Jose Mercury News and author Georgia Rowe, presumably a Giants or A’s fan. Now, I’m all for baseball metaphors, in general. Home runs are part of our collective American lexicon. So it saddens me when the metaphor becomes awkwardly stretched, to say the least.

Everybody loves a great pinch hitter, and [pianist Yuja Wang] was an excellent example of an artist stepping up to fill in on short notice...

I’m thinking Kirk Gibson, hobbling ‘round the bases, fist pumping, sleazy moustache (I’m still mad about that one). The problem here is, one, the assertion "everyone loves a great pinch hitter" is thorny. With the exception of one lousy, lucky Kirk Gibson at bat, I can’t think of another “great” pinch hit or hitter. (Any suggestions?) At any rate, there are simply no “great” pinch hitters for anyone to love. If they were great, they’d be playing everyday, not coming to bat in substitution for a pitcher in the latter innings.

Two, because of the improbability of there actually being great pinch hitters, I assume that Kirk Gibson was the inspiration for this sloppy metaphor, in which case, he was a Dodger(s), a hated rival of the Giants and victors over the A’s in ‘88. So why, oh why, would a Giants or A’s fan construct this metaphor around a glorious Dodgers World Series moment, if only to dump on this season’s futility (the Giants will stink with the best of them, the A’s are question marks), thereby dumping on Yuja Wang? Unless...

Unless Georia Rowe is a Dodgers fan, celebrating both Kirk and Yuja! Oh my!

Watch out Bay Area baseball fans! Georgia Rowe is the enemy.

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.

Metaphors Can Be Tricky! (or: You're Doing It Wrong, Part II)

Metaphors, like similes, can do great work for a writer. However, they often offer certain pitfalls. It is key to know about both members of your metaphorical construction! Otherwise, you end up saying the opposite of what you mean. Here to demonstrate this concept for us is Pierre Ruhe, critic for the Altanta Journal-Constitution.

Soprano Kate Royal’s Atlanta Debut

English soprano Kate Royal arrived in Atlanta for her U.S. recital debut Friday evening, the opening salvo in her all-but-inevitable conquest of America.

Inevitable?

Inevitable?

Um. That’s what I…

Almost no one on this side of the pond has heard, of yet heard of, the appealing 28-year-old, who’s already a star in Britain.

I’m going to go ahead and chalk “heard, of yet heard of” up to a typo. It is, however, hilarious. But let’s keep our eyes on the prize!

Her debut CD — “Kate Royal” on EMI — was well received among opera specialists, although it didn’t gain much attention in the wider world.

Sounds good!

Yet Royal arrives as an almost-complete package, where her only serious shortcoming happens to be the one thing that American audiences don’t seem to miss from a singer’s arsenal: a crisp, theatrical sense of words and language.

This is, I think, an interesting and very specific criticism. Can you elaborate?

Streams of lustrous sound is what Royal offers in abundance. It’s an oaky, buttery-smooth voice, a glass of the best Chardonnay in the world — a taste that will appeal to many, even as it leaves others craving more complexity and nuance from their pleasures.

No. Oh, no no no no no.

I almost hate to do this, but your metaphor, sir, is not apt.

You just said her voice is this:

Which, at $13 and approximately 8 bazillion cases produced, is the “best chardonnay in the world” in your estimation. (Or something like it. Also, why did you capitalize “chardonnay”?) While it does appeal to many, as you say, it does lack complexity and nuance. Complexity and nuance are hallmarks of the best chardonnays in the world. I would nominate something like this:

Your broader point is well-intended, and taken, sir. But why would you assert that the best Chardonnay [sic] in the world is the one with broad appeal, but laks complexity and nuance (and, one could argue, balance)?

All in all, though, a thoughtful review. Perhaps I could find work as a metaphor editor, a specialist. A meta-editor. A…meditor?

All the world’s a stage, and metaphors are a bull in a china shop.

I'm Really Tired of This Dreck

Here’s another Bernard Holland train wreck, which doesn’t justify my time, nor anyone else’s time. So, I’ll just give you a link and a parting faux pas.

The link.

The faux pas:

And “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” almost a part of popular culture by now, was swift, clean and gimmick-free.

My italics. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. And another Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Enjoy, you Detritus masochists.

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.

Wait, is this something I've heard before?

Wait, is that a melody?

No, I’m mistaken.

No, just a fleeting fragment.

Hey, I heard that before, right?

Didn’t we hear that figure before?

Yes.

Maybe.

Well, not that exact phraseology.

But not in that exact form.

I remember now. Didn’t everyone who ever reviewed Elliott Carter say as much? That’s consistent, at least.

The sound world of Elliott Carter is not the most obvious one to navigate, but his aesthetic at least is consistent.

If you’re going for consistency, where’s the dissonance? The anger? The intellectual rigor? The violence? The punchiness? The lack of tonality? The necessity of repeated listening? The legendary inscrutability? The 100 years? The worn-out clichés and lazy interpretation?

It’s right here.

All provided for you by Peter Dorbin of the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Addendum: Here's a really, really cool link to a video interview with the 99-year old Elliott Carter in celebration of his centenary. What a sweety.

Does the NY Times know that 300-year old Bernard Holland still writes for them?

In the 18th century the piano danced. In the 19th it sang.

What a beginning. Where could we be going next? I’m already bored.

The 20th century liked to use the piano as an assault weapon.

Of course. I didn’t expect anything otherwise.

This lovely review is about one concert of three produced by composer-pianist Joseph Rubenstein.

The choices may represent the tastes of the composer-pianist Joseph Rubenstein, curator of the event, but it may also tell us about current events in musical politics.

We know. Assault weapons, etc., etc.

It was interesting how so many of these items ended on simple Mozartian triads.

As his ears perked up in a way they haven’t since 1791.

I may have been imagining a collective sigh of relief,

It's called Alzheimers.

... but something seemed to be whispering in my ear that the Dark Ages of postwar atonality were over and tentative reconnections to the past were under way.

I had a conversation with co-conspirator Sator Arepo a few days ago where we discussed our blogger-tone. And well, sorry SA.

What the FUCK??! Seriously, does the NY Fucking Times know that 500-year old Bernard “Alzheimer” Holland, the fervent musical bigot, still writes for them? Why would THE leading daily give a 600-year old music hater free reign of a music column? Are they stupid? Do they edit? Do they suggest changes? Do they have fucking brains? Are their ethic sacks located in the politics department, instead? Apparently, no. They don't have ethic sacks, anywhere.

I hold the NY Times entirely responsible for this hateful dreck. Screw the crossword puzzles.

Give me Jerry Cantrell any day of the week.

By the way, what the fuck about “musical politics?” Huh? You don't have anything else to say about that? Nevermind, then.

This is how it happened

First, Richard Strauss (composer), with pen in hand: “I want this piece to be a telling expressive force.”

Second, Jose-Luis Novo (conductor), with baton in hand: “I want to conduct with a particular telling expressive force.”

Third, Tim Smith (Baltimore Sun Critic), with fingers on the qwerty keyboard:

“Novo shaped [Strauss’ Death and Transfiguration] with a particular telling expressive force.”

That’s how it happened, I swear.

Richard Strauss: Tod und Verklärung. A particular telling expressive force.

That’s what happened.

1/3 Review, 2/3 Farting on the Page with Words*

Here’s a classy title, too.

ELITISM IS DEAD

And an even classier epanalepsis.

Long live classical-music elitism

If Wikipedia is right, this cliché (appropriated from “the King is dead; long live the King!”) refers to the replacement or succession of one type of elitism with classical music elitism. Good premise for a review, don’t you think?

Recently the musical world has been discussing the impending death of classical music.

Oh good. Another cliché.

This chatter, often led by lovers of the genre, may in fact be hastening the demise, as various writers attempt to conjure up reasons classical music must exist.

(silent repulsion)

We, as a society, desire high art, whether we acknowledge it or not.

I have good bumper sticker idea. How about: Stop Making Generalizations About My Driving!**

I think it could be successful, like “Kerry/Edwards ‘04.”

Just look at the success of shows like Bravo’s Project Runway or Top Chef, which focus on extraordinarily talented artists competing to be the best before a panel of sophisticated judges.

This is not a successful pop culture reference. But go on, make your point.

These reality programs deliver to millions of Americans an accessible version of high art — and it’s working.

Pandering to an audience. Free market. Good point. I’ll think about it next time I pen a symphony.

Recently, the Norman Lear Center conducted a survey on the correlation between political party and entertainment.

Recently, I referenced a study that had little or no importance, too.

It was found that “all political types claimed they enjoy classical music”...

People enjoying music? How interesting. Political types, sure. What about income levels? No? No. Go on.

...and “classical music nudged ahead of rock as the most popular genre overall.”

The problem? Is classical music more popular than popular music? Good study. And good reference to show how elitism has been replaced by classical music elitism.

And now for something completely facetious.

If more Americans listen to classical music than watch football (according to the Lear Center survey), why does Eli Manning make millions of dollars while amazing pianist Ingrid Fliter drew a crowd of fewer than 500 to the Merrill Auditorium February 6?

Cogent rhetorical question (for a paraplegic Hygomenocite from the planet Groc). Wait. It’s not rhetorical? Sigh (that’s the facetious part).

A possible answer: elitism.

Weeeeeee! This is fun isn’t it? I swear, it gets even better.

Since the Baby Boomers condemned classical music as the despised genre of their parents, leaving those who remain fans labeled proprietors of an inaccessible art form incongruent with popular art.

Weeeeeeeeeeeee! Sentence fragment!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Bumper stickers!

“If it is ‘elitist’ to create works over average people’s heads then why is it alright [sic] to have schools to educate them?” Portsmouth composer Roger Rudenstein asked recently in an essay in the e-zine NewMusicBox.

The disappointing thing here is that I think this was the grundgestalt, the originating idea/impetus, for the tone of the review. It’s neither here nor there, so I’ll leave it alone. But, don’t fret. We’ll return to this later.

There is nothing more elitist than suggesting a genre is over average people’s heads.

An important distinction to be made, Emily Parkhurst of the Phoenix, how big should we make your bumper sticker?

If a composer is composing art for the sake of art and a performer is interpreting that art for an audience there solely to bear witness to that art, elitism is utterly out of place.

I tried to make a reductive outline of this article, and I failed miserably, which is why I’m going sentence fragment by sentence. I apologize.

I mean, elitism is out of place? Where the F did that come from? Should I use a roman numeral or an arabic letter? Should I just make a new outline on a different page with a different pen in a different language?

Once the notes dissolve into the air, it is up to the audience to decide if the music was over their heads. And if many of them agree that it was, possibly the composer missed his mark (or will not be appreciated in his lifetime).

It’s certainly not popular, then, is it? Like popular music or Top Chef.

The rise and fall of Serialism is an example of elitist musicians’ willingness to alienate the very people they need to survive: their audience.

Didn’t you just say that it’s okay to write art music for art’s sake? That it is not elitist?

And by the way, what do you think serialism (not capitalized) is? Is it merely a technique? Or is it more akin to, say, facism? Facism is not populist, like Top Chef.

The casualties of this alienation, like waiters at a bad restaurant, are the musicians on the stage.

As a composer, and in lieu of tactful Top Chef references... I disagree.

New Hampshire pianist Paul Dykstra's new self-released album, An Ivory Winter, includes a number of what Dykstra calls “works that mean a lot to me.” These include Beethoven’s “Appassionata” Sonata, two Chopin works, and an exquisite rendition of a Scarlatti sonata. Dykstra suggests this is “music to drink hot chocolate to,” a fitting description, considering that every work on the album is in a chilling minor key. But Dykstra keeps the metaphor going, showing a little bite: “the tone of this album is more like dark chocolate than milk chocolate.”

Wow, I almost forgot that this was a review.

While most of Dykstra’s dark-chocolate interpretations were smooth, they were disturbed by the bitter taste of the last two tracks: two movements from Roger Rudenstein’s Piano Sonata No. 7, an abrupt and inaccessible composition.

As promised, here we are again, at Roger Rudenstein, the elitist whose words apparently struck a shriveled nerve with our dear incomprehensible reviewer.

Of Rudenstein's method, Dykstra says, “he composes everything in a stream of consciousness. He’s a very intellectual composer who uses a very mechanical process.”

Elitists and intellectuals and processes! Oh My!

Dykstra’s interpretation of this mechanical work is worthy of note and Rudenstein is wise to keep working with him. His fluidity through the difficult atonal passages revealed unmistakable technical prowess.

Yes. Yes. The only way Rudenstein’s elitist music might sound good is if he continues to write for Dykstra. Explitive! Etc.

As I was listening to this piece with a friend...

Oh good God!

As I was listening to this piece with a friend who has little classical-music background, he turned to me and said, ...

“Reviewing is not your calling.” No? Okay.

...he turned to me and said, “I really like classical music, except when I hear something like this.”

Ooh, an informed opinion, something you’re supposed to have, Emily Parkhurst of the Phoenix.

Elitist indeed.

Elitist indeed.

*Literally, 1/3 of this was a review, the other 2/3 a brownish poop smear on the page.

** I have another idea for a bumper sticker: My Other Car is an Elitist POS