Broadway Rhythms

A fringe benefit of having family who live in New York: one has a home base for exploring the Theater District – Disneyland for folks like me who enjoy seeing plays and musicals. And treating my brother Paul to a show is the least I can do for imposing my smelly, hairy, often grumpy self on his family (that's them in the photo: Audrey, Rebecca, Chloe, Paul).

Recently we saw Equus. You know, the one where Harry Potter (I mean, Daniel Radcliffe) gets his kit off and then blinds a bunch of horses?

(Click here to find out more about the play)

I won’t write much about this play (since it’s not a musical) except to say that it was thoroughly engaging, a bit melodramatic, wonderfully acted and staged, reductive in its portrayal of the psychiatric profession and the spiritual opportunities of “madness” – and that Daniel Radcliffe isn’t a kid anymore. He’s quite diminutive – 5’ 2’’ I’m guessing – but has great stage presence nonetheless.

Speaking of short folks… “hey Shorty!” -- that’s what a homeless guy shouted at my niece Chloe on New Year’s Eve, right before he fell onto 59th street. Ah, New York… someday I’ll have to visit again with my ten Brazilian brats. Name that reference and I’ll give you $50 for the powder room.

Anyway, Chloe is six now – and this Christmas, my present was to take her to see Stomp. (I’ve already bought her every Polly Pocket imaginable.) You may have heard about or seen Stomp – it’s all percussion, no dialogue beyond grunts and shouts, and the “instruments” are everyday objects like brooms, lighters, basketballs, tubing, sticks, newspapers. This show is extraordinarily entertaining and inspiring. Here are a couple of clips:






The performers played characters: the leader, the joker, the jester… and it had a great dramatic arc – intense and loud numbers were balanced by quieter ones, with humor thrown in. Let me put it this way: six-year-old Chloe was never bored by the hour-and-forty-five minute show (neither was Uncle David), and she laughed out loud several times. Actually, her laughter became an obbligato to the performer’s improvisations – and at one point, part of the show, when they did a John-Cage-inspired number – coming onstage, totally silent, then riffing on the audience’s coughs, laughs, and assorted shufflings.

The audience was more actively involved as well. We did call-and-response clapping, and at the end the “leader” encouraged us in this activity as he slowly exited, the message seeming to be “go feel the rhythm and music of everyday life yourself.”

Unfortunately the only rhythm I could feel upon leaving the theater was the chattering of my own teeth (December in New York…). However, at the Virgin Megastore on 14th Street over hot chocolate and Doritos (don’t ask), Chloe let me know that the Stomp outing had been a success: “they were really good! I want to do that!” She also kept saying “I want to be her!” in reference to one of the performers: a tall, muscular African-American woman with dreadlocks.

Just as an aside -- not to get political, but I’m writing this on the eve of the historic inauguration. I’m old enough to remember a time when, and from a part of the country where, for a 6-year-old white girl to say that she wanted to “be” a black woman would have been almost unthinkable. So I think it’s pretty cool that Barack Obama is the first president that Chloe and my other nieces, Ande and Audrey, will remember. Ande (who’ s Chinese, BTW) was recently given a choice of 2009 wall calendars for her room: Disney Princesses or Barack Obama. She was adamant: “I want Rock-a-Bom-Bom!” Audrey is only 13 months old and as yet apolitical. The change she seeks almost always involves a diaper.

Back to the theater -- I was less satisfied by the other show I saw in New York: Spring Awakening. It’s a rock musical in the tradition of Hair and Rent, with music by indie-pop star Duncan Sheik, set in 1890s Germany, dealing with various teenage challenges: oppressive teachers, clueless parents, raging libidos, depression, suicide, abortion… all set to rock music. I’d been warned away, but when the show won a bunch of Tony’s (including Best New Musical) I thought I’d check out this phenomenon for myself. So I did with my dear friend Heidi, who bussed up from New Jersey.

I could wish that instead of seeing this show, Heidi and I had continued our pre-show activities: eating pub food, drinking Guinness, browsing music stores, and talking about Emily Dickinson. English Teachers Gone Wild!

Spring Awakening is basically Rent meets High School Musical minus brain cells. It’s Rent-like in its high tragedy (people dying for no good reason, others carrying on despite their pain). It’s like HSM in that it features almost completely clueless kids confronting tough ethical dilemmas for the first time. It’s Rent for those who’ve never had to pay rent.

Even though its characters were dealing with heavy stuff, Spring Awakening didn’t make much impression on me because I found it almost impossible to care about what I was watching. I began to wonder why, and thought about it. Heidi and I talked about it (English Teachers Gone Wild! Deluxe Edition: The Critical Review). I realized that I had a hard time engaging with Spring Awakening because its characters were presented in no recognizable historical or social context. They could have been anywhere, so they were nowhere. It was a musical starring teenaged Platonic forms: here’s Libido, here’s Misunderstood, there’s Naïve and her friend Sexual Abuse Survivor, Oppressed will now sing a ballad…

I could care about the characters in Rent, by contrast, because that show is forcefully located in Reagan-era Alphabet City, when AIDS and gentrification were systematically destroying the bohemian culture of the East Village. Even to High School Musical I could relate – I know what it’s like when you have to choose between high school friends who don’t get along. Another example: West Side Story… I’m not a Shark or a Jet, or even a Maria (except for that one Halloween…) but their particular environment is presented so convincingly that it becomes universal. Other examples: The Breakfast Club – a more “80s movie” can’t be named, but it’s timeless in its portrayal of in groups and out groups. The Graduate, Hair, Harold and Maude: quintessentially 60s/early 70s, but universal in their themes of angst, desire, and hope for the future.

With Spring Awakening… eh. It didn’t flesh out its 1890s German context at all, aside from telling us in the program that the show is “set in 1890s Germany,” giving characters names like “Wendla” and “Melchior,” and dressing the cast in old-timey costumes. The characters were located in a Never-Neverland of teenage angst.

I suppose that’s where teen angst lives – a timeless world of self-doubt and self-discovery – but to get adults to care about that, a few details would be helpful. Perhaps the point of this vagueness was to bridge past and present: “hey look! What was going on then is still going on today!” Hopefully this awareness would be of some comfort to younger audience members.

And it seemed to be, judging by the head-banging of the emo-teens seated in front of Heidi and me. Still. I can’t help but think that substandard art like this dumbs down the experience of adolescence, and does a disservice to kids trying to figure out who they are through the representations our culture gives them.

Consider the contrast in the poetry: lyrics from “Somewhere” (West Side Story):

There's a place for us,
Somewhere a place for us.
Peace and quiet and open air
Wait for us
Somewhere.
There's a time for us,
Some day a time for us, 

Time together with time to spare, 

Time to look, time to care, 

Someday! 
Somewhere. 

We'll find a new way of living, 

We'll find a way of forgiving 

Somewhere.

Or High School Musical (admittedly, lesser poetry, this is Disney-fied adolescence, after all):

Now I know you’re not a fairytale
And dreams were meant for sleeping
And wishes on a star
Just don't come true
Because now even I can tell
That I confused my feelings with the truth
Because I liked the view
When there was me and you.

Here are the lyrics I remember from Spring Awakening:

“We’ve all l got our junk and my junk is you.”
“Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!”

Don’t kids today deserve more than “junk” and “Blah”?

Well, at least no one blinded any horses. The actors did get partially nude, though, and have simulated sex onstage, which had all the appeal of an Ann Coulter interview. 

Sometimes good music can make up for a weak book (hello, Funny Face). I didn’t find this to be case with Spring Awakening. The songs alternated between forgettable plaintive ballads, more forgettable heavy, angry rock, with a few gems scattered throughout that I would have loved to hear songwriter Duncan Sheik sing himself.

Now, I’ve been a fan of Duncan Sheik for quite a while. He writes tender, intelligent chamber pop; his voice and delivery are heartbroken and vulnerable. He’s capable of some beautiful work.

Check this out if you’re interested:



Sheik has said that he’d like to write for Broadway again, and I hope he does, and if so, perhaps he’ll find better source material. His talent requires it.

I’ve gone on longer than I intended. Substandard art just really disturbs me. It’s a wonder that I can stand to hear myself play the viola. But then, I keep practicing. It’s the activity that matters. As John Updike said: "Creativity is merely a plus name for regular activity...any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about doing it right, or better."

DH

PS. Viola joke: In addition to shouting “fire!” in a crowded theater, what else can land you in jail?

Shouting “viola solo!” in a crowded concert hall.

"C" is for Conductors...

Living as we are in the age of Obama, I’m going to step away from my Bush-era role as “decider” of this blog’s content, and instead let a “team of rivals” do my work for me. As in, incorporate some other perspectives.

We all know the conductor is the only guy (or increasingly, gal) onstage who’s not playing an instrument. Well, they actually are playing an instrument: the whole orchestra.

With 70+ musicians in an orchestra, we need someone to keep us together. Musicians learned as much hundreds of years ago. As choirs grew in size during the Middle Ages, it became apparent that someone needed to keep the beat with a large staff. This led to tragic results in one case:

“The large staff was responsible for the death of Jean-Baptiste Lully, who stabbed his foot with one while conducting a Te Deum for the king's recovery from illness. The wound became gangrenous, and despite the efforts of doctors the gangrene spread to his leg and he died two months later.” (from Wikipedia, “Conductors”)

Some things never change. Oboist Dawna Davies recalls:

“repeated experiences of having the baton slipping out of the fingers of various enthusiastic band conductors and flung at me, thankfully not as a weapon.”

(Those of us in the SLO Symphony who sit near the podium experience the runaway baton with some regularity, though it’s more like baton-pong than anything dangerous.)

As orchestras grew, the concertmaster or harpsichordist would sometimes function as conductor. By the 19th century, orchestral music was getting more complex; the orchestra was expanding, and so it became necessary to have a separate conductor. There are several things a conductor has to do:

Tempo
Conductors make patterns -- “beat patterns” -- with their hands/arms/batons to indicate the tempo of the music. The tricky thing is the “ictus” – that’s the exact moment in the gesture when they expect the beat to occur. This can vary from conductor to conductor. Tempos vary from group to group – some play “on the beat” – right with the conductor – but some play “behind the beat.” And some do both at the same time, which is always interesting.

Dynamics
How loud or soft to play. Some conductors will keep time with one hand, and use the other to indicate dynamics. Raising the hand up usually means louder, putting it palm down (as in “shush”) means quieter. Or they can just shout “Too much viola! There’s way too much viola!” (Stop smiling, Tanya). The scope of the conductor’s gestures also indicates dynamics: big gestures mean loud; tiny beat patterns mean soft.

Cues
Telling us to wake up and play, when we’ve zoned out, worst-case scenario. Best-case: gesturing in a way that indicates our part is important and needs to be heard. Cues can be really important for brass, winds, and percussion in some repertoire: for example, Mozart, Haydn, and many operas. I’m not sure I could count 200 or more bars of rest, like they have to do, without actually going to sleep. The viola part can be soporific enough.

Musicality/Expression/Articulation
There’s a lot variance here among conductors and musicians’ preferences. Some like conductors to keep the beat, be clear on cues, and to be very precise about expectations. Others prefer more dramatic, Romantic, expressive conducting.

Conducting isn’t all about technique. The conductor is like the coach or spiritual leader of the orchestra. They’re the one who convinces us to drink the Kool-Aid. Conductors do so by different means. Some are nice and encouraging; others are demanding, and some can be intimidating. Each approach has it benefits and drawbacks.

My teacher, Wayne Crouse, told a story about Sir John Barbirolli that shows the maestro to have been encouraging, but still demanding. The Houston Symphony was playing Elgar’s Enigma Variations, one movement of which ends with a delicate viola solo (red flag!) – buh-buh-buuuuum. Mr. Crouse was nervous, and at the Friday concert, the solo came out – buh-buh-scratch-buuuuum. Sir John spoke to him before the Saturday show (I’m paraphrasing, of course):

“My dear Wayne, what I love about your playing is its human quality. You don’t play like a machine. So mistakes will be made from time to time.” (Dramatic pause.) “Just don’t make that mistake again tonight.” (And he didn’t.)

On the other end of the spectrum, some conductors can be mean bastards. Some can be insulting, inadvertently or deliberately. Oboist Linda Ashworth recalls a performance of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto #1 (which has a 3-oboe soli section) with another orchestra. Afterwards, the conductor said to her and the other two oboists:

"Well, three oboes in unison is better than two oboes in unison."

Linda was a recent convert to the oboe (from clarinet) at the time, so you can imagine these weren’t the most encouraging words to hear.

Sometimes conductors can be intimidating. Here’s another story from Dawna Davies:

“So I was a teenager, playing 2nd oboe in California All-State band, and had the honor of turning pages for the 1st chair oboist. I inadvertently turned 2 pages simultaneously, instead of one. The 1st chair messed up the solo, and points vindictively at me. When I apologized and tried to explain, the conductor raged at me, ‘What are you going to do? Stand up and tell that to the audience?’ I shrunk, and still recall the shame pounding in my ears and the audible gasp from the woodwind players around me.”

Cellist Tracy Sparks tells a great story that illustrates the differences between inspiring and intimidating conductors:

“I think the greatest assets a conductor can have are respect and a sense of humor. I have been to and played at concerts where the orchestra members are so stressed out about making a "mistake" that the pieces sound as tense as the musicians looked. I respect a conductor wanting to bring the best out of a group and musicians need to stay focused, but degrading, humiliating and tearing apart a musician is not the way to get it. Sometimes allowing the musicians a few brain-burp moments can have great rewards.

For instance, I played in an orchestra where there were ten cellists. It felt good to play in this section, because you felt like someone was always covering your back if you were having an off day. Well, during one dress rehearsal we were playing a piece where the cellos had a soli that built up to a glorious climax on a note that was two-thirds of the way down the fingerboard. A risky jump, but we had been making it, albeit tentatively, at every rehearsal. The moment comes and we built up to -- nothing! We all missed it -- we didn't hit the wrong note, we just didn't play it! We were all so uncertain that we thought we'd let the "other guy" get it.

Our conductor kept going, not missing a beat, finished the movement, stopped to talk over a few things with the other members of the orchestra and nonchalantly said, "and cellos, you may want to play that "F#" a little louder next time, it seemed a little, (dramatic pause), weak" (he did have a twinkle in his eyes when he said it -- or were those tears?). We went home and practiced it for hours and when the time came for our big "moment" during the concert, we nailed it -- every single one of us! We laughed about it for years and vowed to NEVER let that happen again!

Of course it could have been a nightmare, but because our conductor had a sense of humor, a lot of patience and an understanding that "poop" happens, we went home to practice the piece, not out of fear, but out of respect for him. He trusted us to bring our best game to that performance, just as we trusted him to consistently guide us through the piece. It was a win-win situation, the biggest winner being of course, the audience. Because of course, that's really why we are there!”

Tracy’s thoughts about trust and communication between conductor and orchestra remind me of this interesting fact Randy Garacci shared:

“Years ago there was an article in Psychology Today comparing orchestra conductors and animal trainers. After observing both, the author concluded that conductors and animal trainers both communicate using gestures. As training progressed, the gestures became increasingly subtle so as to be barely noticeable except by the “trainee.” I think the best conductors I have worked with talked less and expressed more through gesture.”

Here’s an image to keep in mind the next time you attend a concert:
The Conductor as the Dog Whisperer. http://www.cesarmillaninc.com/dogwhisperer/

BTW, if you’d like to read about Mike Nowak’s thoughts on being a conductor, check out this interview: http://digitalcommons.calpoly.edu/moebius/vol6/iss1/11/

He speaks about several topics I didn’t have room to cover here: programming, working with soloists, music education, conducting professional vs. community orchestras, etc. Here’s a sample:

“At the free dress rehearsals I’ll look out at the auditorium and think ‘there are 1100 people here who want to hear us. There’s a real desire for what we do. And it’s just a rehearsal.’ I’ve been here 24 years, and my goal is to stay here long enough that the next conductor, to beat my record, will have to live to be over one hundred years old!”

How’s that for encouraging?

Best, DH

PS...
A conductor and a violist are standing in the middle of the road. Which one do you run over first, and why?

The conductor. Business before pleasure.

Alternate version:

A conductor and a violist are standing in the middle of the road. Which one do you run over first, and why?

Neither. Take evasive action, and look for a music critic standing in the middle of the road. ;)

Tchaikovsky and the Holidays

I’m back from my holiday sojourns to Texas and New York, and notwithstanding travel delays and bad weather (including turbulence on the runway in Dallas), I had a great time. I wish I had a video of my one-year-old niece Audrey saying “Baaa?” (that’s “bottle” in baby-talk) then grabbing an empty beer bottle and putting it in her mouth.

Since I really have no idea what I’m doing with this blogging thing, for Christmas I asked for “The Huffington Post’s Complete Guide to Blogging.” And I got it, from my computer-savvy brother-in-law. I also got some really great Steve Madden shoes. Mmm… shoes.

In keeping with La Ariana’s sage advice on blogging, here’s a short post, not-very-well-written-or-edited, that incorporates visuals.

In Fort Worth, my sister, 5-year-old niece, and I attended a performance of The Nutcracker, along with another 5-year-old and her mother. I hadn’t seen the ballet since I was a child, and I’ve never played it (just the orchestral suite), so I was really jazzed. They used recorded music, which was disappointing, but I got used to the tinny sound after a while.

Maybe it was being surrounded by children, but the performance really took me back to my childhood love of Tchaikovsky. When I was a boy, I would listen to The Nutcracker for hours, lying on my bed, letting my mind fill with the images conjured by the music. Later, I got into the 1812 Overture and Marche Slave, and eventually the symphonies.

At some point, though, I began to turn off Tchaikovsky. I still enjoyed playing his music (the viola parts are very satisfying, and challenging) but I didn’t really enjoy listening to his work, live or recorded. Shortly after joining the SLO Symphony, I had a conversation with Mike Nowak about Tchaikovsky. He’s not a huge fan either – doesn’t program the symphonies – even though Tchaikovsky is a crowd-pleaser. That made me feel a little better.

Now, when I decided to do this blog, I knew I wouldn’t pretend to be a musicologist, but I’ve been reflecting on Tchaikovsky lately and thought I’d share some of these thoughts.

What’s the appeal of Tchaikovsky? The melodies, first of all, are immediately attractive. They’re memorable, too, because they are based on scales and arpeggios, and they get repeated a lot. His work is not cerebral or abstract – it appeals first to the emotions, which, I daresay, is how most people experience music. The emotions evoked are fairly straightforward:

Heroism (1812 Overture)
Heartbreak (4^th movement of Symphony #6)
Joyful exuberance (last movement of the Serenade for Strings)

I think Tchaikovsky would have made a terrific film composer. To this day, as when I was a little boy, his work conjures mental images. Perhaps this is why (in my view) his most successful works are the ballets – his talent found fullest expression when he was composing music with images in mind.

I feel the symphonies and his other “absolute” music suffers in comparison with his ballets, and when compared with other masters of absolute music, like Bach, Beethoven, or Brahms. But maybe this is an apples and oranges issue.

Here’s a little bit of Nutcracker:

I guess for me, Tchaikovsky was a sort of “starter” composer. He paved the way for my later appreciation of guys like Brahms, Mahler, and Shostakovich.

I guess it’s normal to grow in and out of music. After all, in junior high, this was my favorite song:

Best,

DH

P.S. Stay tuned for reviews of Stomp and Spring Awakening, and “C is for Conductors.”

P.S. Why was the violist not allowed to carry his viola on the airplane?

No hazardous materials allowed on board.