"C" is for Critics

For the promised entry on conductors, I’d like to gather anecdotes from the rest of the orchestra. I’m sure we all have lots of stories– inspirational, humorous, or horror – about conductors. So “C is for Conductors” is forthcoming.

But first, here’s something to brighten your day.
C is for Clark, Petula:

Now on to more serious matters...

Anyone working in the arts has encountered...

"The Dreaded Critic."

Criticism can make or break, or it can be dead wrong. Capote’s In Cold Blood became a cultural phenomenon largely because of universal praise in the media. Keats’ early poems were panned; he was crushed, and then he died, yet his stature has grown ever since. All those critics who ran screaming from the first performance of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring couldn’t know that his music would one day accompany animated images of dinosaurs in Fantasia.

Musicians are no strangers to criticism. It starts from day one: no, hold the bow like this… position your arm like that… breathe here, not there… play louder… softer… faster… slower… it’s a treadmill of criticism.

I got on this treadmill early, like a lot of us. Beginning at age 11, I started going to solo and ensemble competitions. I’d play my piece for a judge, then they’d give a rating and a written evaluation of the performance. Over the years I got lots of helpful criticism: “work on speeding up your vibrato,” “your bow technique is weaker than your left hand,” “practice scales and arpeggios,” and “give the piece room to breathe” (at 14, I had no idea what that meant. I’m still not sure I do. But 20-something years later, I still work on vibrato, bow technique, scales and arpeggios). 

As a young violist, I didn’t know that I’d grow up to be a teacher/critic myself (at 14, I wanted to be the next William F. Buckley, Jr. -- this was during my Reagan phase). Teaching in any field involves criticism. It’s your job to praise students when they do something well, but also point out what could be improved. “Constructive criticism” is the goal. Destructive criticism comes more naturally. It’s like the dark side of the Force… easier, instant, more seductive. How many times am I tempted to write on a student essay “Your ideas are simplistic and superficial” but check that impulse and write “this is a good start. Think about how you can complicate the analysis by considering…” When criticizing, I always ask myself, “what would Yoda do?”

Harsh criticism sometimes works, though. A teacher once said to me: “You’re a viola-playing machine.” Ouch. He meant that I was all technique. I took it personally, but afterwards I did work on musicality. On the other hand, it’s frustrating when a teacher never criticizes. A high school teacher peppered my essays with comments like, “wonderful!” and “wish I’d written it myself!” Where do you go with feedback like that? The David-Hennessee-Is-Perfect Ride at Disneyland?

I think a lot about criticism because, technically, I’m a critic myself: a literary critic. My job involves writing hardly-ever-read analyses of hardly-ever-read literary texts. Come to think of it, grading student essays (which I should be doing right now) is a form of criticism. Hmm. What does it mean to be a critic, anyway?

And what is criticism for? Would my students write good papers if they knew they would all get A's? Would I work so hard at teaching if I knew that student evaluations would all be marked “excellent”? Would Britney Spears ever wear underwear if she weren’t constantly stalked by paparazzi? If a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, can I still save 30% on auto insurance by switching to Geico?

So what exactly is criticism? According to Dictionary.com...

crit⋅i⋅cism /ˈkrɪtəˌsɪzəm/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [krit-uh-siz-uhm] –noun

1.	the act of passing judgment as to the merits of anything.

2.	the act of passing severe judgment; censure; faultfinding.

3.	the act or art of analyzing and evaluating or judging the quality of a literary or artistic work, musical performance, art exhibit, dramatic production, etc.

4.	a critical comment, article, or essay; critique.

5.	any of various methods of studying texts or documents for the purpose of dating or reconstructing them, evaluating their authenticity, analyzing their content or style, etc.: historical criticism; literary criticism.

6.	investigation of the text, origin, etc., of literary documents, esp. Biblical ones: textual criticism.

So criticism can involve description, analysis, or judgment. Academic criticism is mostly descriptive/analytical. For example, when writing an article on Dickens’ Great Expectations, I spent not one moment considering how well the book is written. Instead, I analyzed how Pip’s coming-of-age represented and commented on mid-Victorian British debates about the nature of gentlemanliness. If you have a couple of free hours, I’d be happy to hold forth on this topic. Just give me some advance warning -- I’ll need to get my Pip and Estella sock puppets out of storage and make sure my Miss Havisham dress still fits.

The kind of criticism we encounter in the arts involves analyzing and evaluating quality, but it also includes description and context. I love reading theater reviews in The New Yorker. It’s almost as good as going to the play itself. There’s information on the playwright, some background on the play’s performance history, a plot summary, and then the red meat: evaluation of the sets, costumes, and acting. Carnivores, vegetarians, vegans – it doesn’t matter – this is the protein we need. Should we spend our hard-earned money on this thing? Or will we want those three hours of our lives back? Should I switch to Geico and save 30% on auto insurance so I can I afford to take my niece Chloe to see The Little Mermaid on Broadway this Christmas?

A critical article on a classical music concert is different. It’s basically an autopsy: retrospective, not prospective. It’s not done primarily for the purpose of encouraging or warning off potential patrons. What’s it for, then? Raising the profile of the group? Recreating the event for those who weren’t there? Helping concert attendees relive the experience? Giving them another point of view to put next to theirs? Encouraging musicians always to play their best, knowing their performance will be evaluated? Aspiring to be itself a work of artistic merit (as Oscar Wilde suggests in “The Critic as Artist”), before it ends up catching parakeet droppings or disappearing into the internet ether?

I got some early experience confronting these questions. When I was 16, playing in my hometown’s orchestra, the local paper got a new music critic. She was a good writer, but highly critical of our playing, and not used to the politics of a small town. People in the orchestra – and the community – got quite upset with her critical reviews. After all, we were lucky to have a symphony orchestra in an Oklahoma town of 80,000, and no one came to our shows expecting to hear perfection. So she toned the reviews down. By contrast, a few years later, the critic for the newly formed Oklahoma City Philharmonic didn’t pull any punches. His candor, many of us felt, was appropriate, as the orchestra strove to raise performance standards.

"Criticism isn’t criticism without some element of judgment and evaluation, even if that’s negative. That’s what separates it from advertising."

An issue that recurs with criticism: who are you to judge me? One hears this question all the time on American Idol (I have a lot of ideas on American Idol – be warned, and be afraid... very afraid). In post-audition interviews, rejected contestants who sing like cats with amoebic dysentery always say things like, “what do the judges know? I’d like to see Simon get up there and sing. @###%$!  %%$$##@, ^&%%*!” This is fallacious reasoning (I once knew a drag queen named Fallacious Reasoning... OK, not really). One’s inability to do something doesn’t mean that one can’t judge others doing it. I can’t write or direct films, but I can perceive that Woody Allen is a superior filmmaker to, say, Judd Apatow. Annie Hall vs. The 40-Old-Virgin? Come on.

Recently I came across this article in the Tribune. (click the link below) The orchestra critic for the Cleveland Orchestra lost his job because he was too consistently critical of the Music Director.

"Critics bellow over orchestra reviewer losing beat"

As a writer and writing teacher, I pay a lot of attention to the conventions of various genres. I've noticed that reviews of classical music concerts include description and evaluation of the performance, some context on the composer and their times, a few words on the audience’s response, and perhaps some discussion of past or future concerts.

The SLO Tribune’s classical music critic, Jim Cushing, incorporates these elements in his reviews. He also discusses the visuals (like what the soloist wears) that make a live concert such a radically different experience from listening to a CD on one’s stereo at home. What I particularly appreciate about Jim’s reviews is that he draws on his knowledge of Western history and culture to locate our concerts within ongoing conversations about human nature and artistic expression. To me, these ruminations are more worth reading than blow-by-blow accounts of what was technically right or wrong about our performance. But that’s just my perspective. There are no doubt others. 

A problem with criticism can creep in when one is asked to criticize someone or something in which one has some degree of personal and emotional investment. Some folks favor absolute honesty, a “cruel-to-be-kind,” “tough love” approach. I’m more of a utilitarian, and most people I know are. To us, one has to weigh the pros and cons of absolute candor. Will any purpose be served? Will anyone be made happier? Will future problems be avoided? Will I save 30% or more on my auto insurance by… AHH! Get thee behind me, gecko!

I’m reminded of a situation with a good friend years ago. He had just gotten a great new apartment. He invited us over to see the place, which he’d spent a fortune decorating. It was like Ikea had thrown up. A soulless, pre-fab nightmare. Two days there and I would have been reaching for a shotgun – not for me – for the furniture. Did he need to know all that? No. So I said, “the furniture is perfectly arranged to manage traffic flow.”

Though not entirely up front, I would call such criticism a deliberate act of kindness. Love, even?

DH
P.S. almost forgot the viola joke:

What is the main requirement at the "International Viola Competition?"
Hold the viola from memory.