In defense of relevance

I've said it many times and I'll say it again (I'm sure Sam has grown weary of this) - one of my favorite catchphrases - "If you don't like change, you'll like irrelevance even less."

I was thinking about the whole notion of relevance over the weekend, particularly of the naysayers who claim that "classical"/concert music (can't we come up with a better term for it??) has no place in contemporary culture. How is it possibly relevant to the 21st century? Who listens to an orchestra?

My riposte: Are you kidding me? Are you watching the Olympics?

First of all, did you notice the group of musicians that participated throughout the opening ceremonies? Uh-huh. Not a rock band; members of the Vancouver Symphony (although there was the requisite kerfluffle over live vs. Memorex).

And speaking of the opening ceremonies, yes, of course we had Sarah McLachlan and k.d. lang, but we also had Canadian opera singer Measha Brueggergosman, singing the all-important Olympic hymn.

Now, the medal ceremonies. National anthems; empty fauxchestra MIDI recordings? No way. All recorded by a very much real Vancouver Symphony:



And it goes beyond the Games themselves. I'm always fascinated by music choices for TV ads, and two GE ads stood out to me immediately. This one clearly banks on the universality of Beethoven:



And another ad by GE, this one using the slow movement of the Ravel Piano Concerto. Call me a sucker for sentimentalism, but it pulls at my heartstrings every time I've seen it (nearly a dozen viewings at this point). And it's very much the choice of music that creates the poignancy of this ad:



And of course, we can't discuss classical music in popular culture without talking about figure skating - here's a link to what I thought was the better of the two Scheherazade compilations heard in pairs finals. The orchestral music/figure skating pairing is very logical; symphonic music provides the kind of variety of moods, shifting colors, grandeur and drama that make a great skating program. Sure, sometimes you get slightly odd mishmashes of selections, but the fact remains that it still exposes a broader audience (who isn't glued to the Olympics right now?) to concert music. I think it's a good thing.

Of course, then you get the purists who make snide remarks about how dumbed-down the music is - here's a bit of barely-contained snarkiness about how ignorant skaters are about the classical music often used for their programs. Which I think is misdirected, in a way, because I don't think they're concerned about "musical integrity" in the way one would be if one were, say, presenting a concert of the same music just as music, without the spectacle of the skating which is, after all, the main focus in a skating competition. So what if they chop up musical selections or go from Mendelssohn to Chopin? And who's to say what's "tacky" in this context?

This kind of commentary/critique bothers me because it does everything to confirm the perceived snobbery and elitism of those of us in the classical biz (critics and bloggers included). I don't expect a seamless, logical, historically informed performance of symphonic music in a skating program any more that I expect the average orchestral musician to know about a triple Lutz or the byzantine judging system. But I'm happy that music and skating intersect, that a larger audience hears and appreciates it, and that a few might even be interested enough to look up Scheherazade, or whatever. It's all about exposure, keeping in the public eye and ear, participating in contemporary culture. Because the world is an ever-progressing, ever-changing place. And who likes irrelevance?

Fan Relations

When you make your living as an entertainer of any sort, it's inevitable that you'll need to develop some degree of skill in dealing with the people who pay you to entertain them. Because whether you're a professional athlete, ballet dancer, or rock star, there are going to be fans who want more from you than just a performance. They might want an autograph, or a high-five, or maybe even a personal chat. And you have to decide what your personal boundaries are in these circumstances.

For those of us in the classical music world, of course, this is a pretty easy task. Not all that many people know who the heck we are, or care, so the demands on our time are pretty much confined to the few dozen regulars who flood the stage door after concerts. They're nice folks, for the most part, and it doesn't really take much effort to stop and have a word with them. And as for autographs, well, I'd say I've probably been asked for a total of ten in the decade that I've been in Minnesota, so there'd be virtually no excuse for my ever refusing to sign one.

For really high-profile performers, though, personal boundaries will very likely define your public image more than anything else. You might be a profoundly mediocre major league ballplayer, but if you make a point of sticking around after games long enough to sign autographs for every kid who wants one, you'll very likely develop a reputation as a great and generous guy. But push past one kid's outstretched hand, or snap at one pushy collector while a camera's rolling, and you run the risk of forever being known as a guy who thinks he's too good for the whole world.

Is it fair? Of course not. But it comes with the territory. Besides, you never know what consequences could come back to bite you later for an act of thoughtlessness today. Consider one Brendan Shanahan, retired NHL hockey legend and all-around good guy: earlier this week, Shanahan was on a radio show, and related a fantastic story about how he reacted to being rebuffed by one of his heroes...

“When I was 14 years old I was skating in the summertime at a rink in Toronto. Rick Vaive happened to be skating at an adjoining rink and we were actually in dressing rooms that were right next to each other. I went in when he was sort of settled and asked him for an autograph. I didn’t get the best response...

“Fast forward four years later and Rick Vaive is waiting for a meaningless faceoff in Buffalo. He’s now playing for the Sabres. He’s lined up next to some 18-year-old kid from New Jersey. When the puck dropped, I attacked Rick Vaive.

“It was a quiet, uneventful game. He couldn’t believe the rage I had, not only in attacking him, but it took two (linesmen) to restrain me afterwards and throw me in the penalty box.”

Now that's harboring a grudge. And it's also the best reason I've heard yet to never turn down a fan request...

Take Me Out (Symphonic Remix)

It's Opening Day for baseball fans across North America, and that makes it one of those days that I'm very glad to have a job where I work weekends and get Mondays off. Sarah and I sport a fair amount of allegiance to the Phillies, having both spent good chunks of our lives in the ironically nicknamed City of Brotherly Love, but I've also been a Twins fan since my grandfather showed me how to dial in Herb Carneal on his kitchen radio, so I'll be swinging by the MetroDome plaza later today to check out the madness and dream of open-air baseball, one short year away.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to think of a good musical parallel to draw to the season opener, and bemoaning the fact that, while everyone wants to write poems, odes, tributes, and even symphonies to the glamour teams (Cubs, Dodgers, Yankees, Sawx, etc.) those of us who root for outlier teams (even World Champion outlier teams - sorry, couldn't resist one last gloat) generally have to make do with horribly cheesy, if locally beloved, anthems.




Worse, some teams on the cusp of greatness try to stir fan emotion by commissioning new fight songs in whatever hideous musical vernacular is popular in TV ads at the time...



Seriously, that song existed. I remember hearing it and cringing during the '91 Series. And really, the problem here is that these embarrassing attempts at commercially manufactured musical excitement lack the timeless quality of Take Me Out To The Ballgame or Casey At The Bat.

So here's my thinking: there's nothing more timeless than a lot of the music we play on stage every week at Orchestra Hall, right? Furthermore, silly electric guitar riffs and hyper-vibrated pop star renditions of the national anthem aside, there's really nothing more musically powerful than a symphony orchestra in full cry. So why don't more teams make use of our kind of pump-up-the-volume moments? Just imagine, the hush falling over the crowd as the anthems are over on Opening Night, and this plays underneath the obligatory gauzy video about the coming of spring, the reawakening of grass and infield dirt...



...then transitioning to this as highlights of the previous year begin to play on the big screen...



...and finally, as the players take the field, the sound system erupts with...



...okay, yeah, you're right, this is Minnesota, and that might be a bit ostentatious. Let's just dial that back a notch...



Now, tell me you don't want to see Justin Morneau, Denard Span, and the boys taking their places to that. 'Cause I do.

Takin' It One Concerto At A Time...

Back when I worked as an editor at ArtsJournal.com, my boss and I used to have occasional friendly debates over whether sports analogies used in the service of explaining parts of the arts world were a) a useful tool, or b) a plague on literate humanity. I'll grant that such analogies are way overused in all areas, but sports are so omnipresent in our society, for better or worse, that a writer or speaker attempting to acquaint an unfamiliar audience with, say, the culture of orchestras, can at least assume that a sports analogy will not go over the heads of most of those on the receiving end.

For some reason, a lot of musicians I've known have been extremely attached to the idea that what we do onstage is heavily relatable to what professional athletes do. And in truth, there are some distinct similarities: the relationship between a music director and his/her musicians is much like the relationship of a head coach to his players, and when the partnership goes south in either situation, it tends to be both ugly and public. On another front, just as a football team tends to be only as good as the worst players on its offensive line, orchestras are full of unsung and virtually anonymous players without whom whole performances would collapse.

But of course, the analogy breaks down after a point. The glaring difference between the Minnesota Orchestra and the Minnesota Wild is that we don't have an opposing team on stage with us, doing everything they can to stop us from performing Beethoven's 7th. (Insert your own viola-section-as-opposition joke here.) Additionally, we don't do our jobs with anywhere near the constant media glare that athletes do - the vast bulk of the press coverage we receive is positive, and reporters who really dig for the seamy underbelly of the business (and yes, there is one) are few and far between.

Still, I love the analogies, myself, and lately I've found myself compiling a list of my favorite quotes from athletes real and fictional, and wondering how they would translate into my professional world, were the media ever to start forcing us to hold post-concert press conferences...

Original quote: "My game is like the Pythagorean Theorem! There is no answer for it! (pause while he thinks this over...) Well, okay, there is an answer for it. But by the time you figure it out, I've got 20 points and ten boards." -Shaquille O'Neal

Orchestral version: Our trumpet section is like the Second Viennese School! There is no solution to it! (pause...) Well, all right, there might be, but by the time you work out the tone clusters and retrograde inversions, we've played the scherzo and started in on our post-concert beers.

Original: "You don't need a quadraphonic Blaupunkt, you need a curveball!" -Crash Davis, fictional catcher portrayed by Kevin Costner in the greatest baseball movie ever made

Orchestral: You don't need a $5000 tux and a Grammy award, you need to learn to play in rhythm!

Original: "American football is just Rugby after a visit from a Health and Safety inspector." -Anonymous

Orchestral: Mahler is just Brahms after a good working-over by six bipolar musicologists and an alcoholic philosopher.

Original: "A coach's main job is to reawaken a spirit in which the players can blend together effortlessly." -Phil Jackson

Orchestral: A conductor's job is reawaken a spirit in which the players can blend together without ever realizing that they're following orders.

Original: "Swing hard, in case they throw the ball where you're swinging." -Duke Snider

Orchestral: Play hard, in case the notes on your page turn out to be the important ones.

Original: "You got to be a man to play baseball for a living, but you gotta have a lot of little boy in you, too." -Roy Campanella

Orchestral: Maturity's important if you're gonna make your living in an orchestra. But you'd better not forget what it felt like when you were 16 and slammed your way through a Mahler symphony for the first time.

Original: "The harder I practice, the luckier I get." -Gary Player

Orchestral: The harder I practice, the luckier I get.

Looking For A New Classic

Last night, the NHL's Minnesota Wild opened their 2008-09 season at home against the Boston Bruins, a fact which was noted in eye-rolling fashion by our principal trombonist, Doug Wright, during the stage-setting break between the first and second works on our Saturday night program, when he walked into the musicians' lounge to find five musicians plus Osmo clustered around the TV, checking the score before we had to rush back onstage for a piano concerto. (Doug, who doesn't play the concerto, had the right to make fun of us. The hockey obsessives in this orchestra do tend to be fanatical, even by sports fan standards, and I noticed that Osmo had one of our personnel managers reporting the score of the game to him as he came offstage for intermission, as well.)

Later, at the end of intermission, principal cellist Tony Ross had to literally drag Osmo out of the lounge by one arm when the "on stage" call was heard, lest he plant himself permanently in front of the game, where the Wild had jumped out to a 4-1 lead. This, of course, is why Osmo doesn't have a TV in his private dressing room.

Meanwhile, up in Canada, a music-related hockey drama has been slowly unfolding over the past several months, ever since the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation somehow managed to lose the rights to the theme music to Hockey Night in Canada.



Let's understand the seriousness of this. Those of us who live south of the 49th parallel and have no connection to our neighbors to the north probably can't really grasp just how famous the Hockey Night theme is. The closest we can probably get is the Monday Night Football theme, but even then, I'd wager to say that a far higher percentage of Canadians can sing you the hockey theme than Americans can sing that pumped up NFL jingle. It's a major cultural touchstone for a proud hockey-loving nation, and it's now gone from the airwaves of the national broadcaster.

(That's not to say it's actually gone completely. The reason CBC lost the rights is that it was outbid for them by commercial broadcaster CTV, which owns TSN, Canada's version of ESPN. TSN broadcasts multiple hockey games to the entire country every week, and the hockey theme now prefaces each of them. But to a lot of Canadians, that's just not the same thing.)

So, CBC was in a spot. Obviously, it wasn't going to cancel Hockey Night in Canada, a Saturday tradition that still draws some of the highest ratings anywhere. So it needed a new theme, and it turned to the public to get it. Culling 15 finalists from over 15,000 entries it received from across the country, the network spent a ridiculous amount of time over the past month or so flogging its viewers to vote for a winner. Last night, they revealed the winner live just as Hockey Night in Canada went on the air...



The winning composer is Colin Oberst from the western province of Alberta (note to Bright Eyes fans - that's Colin Oberst, not Conor - no relation as far as I know,) and I have to say, while his theme isn't the classic that the original theme was, I like it a lot. It's up-tempo, innocent, and a bit old-fashioned, which is just so Canada, and the Celtic pipes that open and close the song are a distinctive nod to Atlantic Canada's roots in the British Isles. And all in all, despite the fact that many will likely never forgive the CBC for letting the original theme get away, the whole contest strikes me as a great way of involving the audience in something they care passionately about...

Oh Say Can You Sing

On this, the last day of baseball's regular season (unless you're the White Sox, the Tigers, or the Twins,) let us take a moment to consider the North American practice of singing or playing national anthems before sporting events, a tradition which may cause more cringeworthy moments than any other type of musical performance. Musicians (and non-musicians who can tell the difference between Ashlee Simpson and Deborah Voight) attending ballgames almost always have to look away from each other to avoid giggling or groaning during the anthems, and you need only run a quick Google search to come up with hundreds of embarrassing attempts.

Part of the problem, of course, is that The Star-Spangled Banner is really difficult to sing. It spans more than 1-1/2 octaves, whereas Oh Canada and Take Me Out to the Ballgame require only a single octave's range. If you aren't careful to start on the right note for your particular range, you may find yourself in a world of hurt when the rockets start glaring, as Carl Lewis famously found out one night at a Chicago Bulls game...



Then, there's the fact that a shocking number of Americans seem more than a little fuzzy on just what order the lyrics come in...



The problem isn't helped by the fact that a lot of sports teams seem to view the singing of the anthem not so much as a musical performance, but as a chance to let some ordinary fans on the field. The Minnesota Twins, for example, tend to trot a bunch of elementary school "choirs" (should you really be allowed to call it a choir when everyone is singing in unison?) out onto the MetroDome turf to shriek the anthem while giggling and poking each other, perhaps on the theory that no one is ever going to sound good in a Dome with an antiquated sound system, so why the hell not? The Minnesota Wild, by contrast, have had a succession of professional and semi-professional singers on staff to sing the anthems at each game, but then the Wild have pretty much had a handle on the whole choral music thing from the beginning.



In Canada, they seem to take the whole anthem thing awfully seriously - in Ottawa and Montreal, actual Mounties with voices good enough for the operatic stage are regular anthem singers, and Irish tenor John McDermott frequently stops by to do the honors for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Even at a minor league baseball game I once attended in Winnipeg, the anthems were sung by a shockingly talented barbershop quartet.

But taking pride in our obvious shortcomings seems to be a distinctly American quality, and there's actually something endearing about clearly unqualified vocalists willing to risk public humiliation for a shot to stand on a field with a microphone. There but for the grace of God and all...

Into the wild

Well, not really, I'm heading up to Maine and Vermont to festival hop with my husband (a rare pleasure, as we seldom get to travel together, and I've taken time off this summer to do just that). I'm not sure what internet connectivity will be like, so posting will be spotty for the next few weeks.

I leave you with this:



The opening ceremony of the Olympics was stunning, immensely impressive and cinematic in scope; but what really struck me was Lang Lang's presence in the middle of it all, a testament to the rise in popularity of Western classical music and to Lang Lang himself. A lot of food for thought there, that I'll hopefully get to before too long.

Hope everyone is enjoying some time off this summer!!

And It's Root, Root, Root For the Twinkies...

Around this time of year at Orchestra Hall, while Sommerfest audiences are spending their intermission break sipping wine, strolling Peavey Plaza, or conversing on any number of high-minded topics, the best place to find about half our orchestra's musicians is clustered in a corner of our backstage lounge, watching the Minnesota Twins on one of the two TVs we've stacked on top of a filing cabinet there. (We even have cable!)

Why two TVs? Well, we've had one forever, or at least as long as I've been around, and it was fine for baseball season (if a bit small for a whole roomful of people to try to watch,) but during the winter, disputes were known to break out between the hockey crowd and the basketball crowd over which sport should be on, and eventually, our principal cellist used his winnings from our annual NCAA March Madness pool to buy us a brand new set, and our wily stagehands threw a splitter on the cable wire, and voila! No more arguments.

Well, okay, there are arguments. But they tend to be your standard-issue sports talk arguments, which, as everyone knows, are fun, right up until they aren't anymore. And with multiple games playing on multiple sets simultaneously, there can be some very entertaining (and confusing) crosstalk in our little corner...



I recorded that last November, I think, just to hear how much we sound like a bunch of typical morons at a sports bar. Quite a bit, apparently. By the way, the cast list for that little bunch of nonsense, as best I can make out, includes yours truly, bassist Dave Williamson, violist Megan Tam, and violinist Mike Sutton on the hockey talk; cellist Tony Ross, percussionist Kevin Watkins, and horn player Mike Gast talking hoops;and violist Richard Marshall asking questions about a sport I can't identify.

So, anyway, back to the Twins. They're doing awfully well this year, quite a bit better than anyone really expected in what was supposed to be a rebuilding year, which is great for us in the orchestra, because we tend to make a lot of noise in our little sports corner when good things are happening to our teams, and it's always nice to go back on stage with a bit of extra adrenaline. But what's impressed me most about the Twins this summer isn't anything they've accomplished on the field: it's something they dared to do off it, in full view of the public, despite virtual assurance that they'd come off looking more than a little goofy.

If you've watched any Twins games this season, you probably know what I'm talking about. The team, always known for the great TV commercials it produces, got its entire pitching staff together to record a promotional ad in which, for no apparent reason, they stand on chorus risers in the middle of an outdoor diamond and sing about themselves to the tune of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy," while pitching coach Rick Anderson conducts them with a miniature bat.



That takes some serious guts, if you ask me. Imagine if someone asked you and everyone you work with to sing a little song for everyone in your city to watch on television for the next six months. (Actually, you don't have to imagine it. There's a reality show on TLC that does exactly that...) And the most amazing thing about it is that, with the notable exception of Matt Guerrier, these guys all seem quite capable of singing on pitch! I mean, none of them is going to be taking gigs away from Nathan Gunn anytime soon, and maybe I'm just imposing a stereotypical view of professional athletes on the situation, but doesn't it seem surprising that the Twins pitchers can (almost) all sing decently?

Just one more reason to love 'em, I guess. Now, if you'll excuse me, SportsCenter's about to start...