Outside Perspective

Battling Perceptions - Justin Kownacki

Last weekend, before their departure to wow the audiences in China, I caught the PSO's performance with pianist Yefim Bronfman.  It was spirited stuff, with Bronfman's full-body musicality punctuating a program that merged Strauss, Mozart and Beethoven -- solid classics that any attendee would enjoy (or so it would seem -- more on that later).

5 Random Thoughts from a Random Night at the Symphony - Justin Kownacki

On a whim, my girlfriend (Ann) and I decided to attend the Symphony on Friday night.  I say "on a whim" because neither of us were familiar with any of the evening's selections, making this the first night we'd be entrusting our ears to the PSO based solely on the presumption that any of their performances must be fulfilling regardless of our prior opinions of the music involved.

And we were right.  But we also made several new observations along the way, including:

*  Being on time is NOT overrated.  We weren't able to pull ourselves away from the Lawrenceville UnBlurred gallery crawl in time to find easy parking before the show, so we were a few minutes late to the PSO performance.  In case you've never arrived late to the Symphony, here's what happens: they allow you to watch from the entryway to the seating area, but you must remain standing (and out of the seated patrons' sightlines) until the conclusion of the first piece, at which time you can seat yourself (and irritate the people who were there on time.  Sorry, folks).

*  Is there a close-knit group of conductors on Facebook? PSO conductor Manfred Honeck wasn't slated to lead the orchestra that night, and guest conductor Charles Dutoit had taken ill, so Finnish conductor Hannu Lintu stepped in under what I presume -- considering that Lintu's bio was printed on a separate page, and then tucked into the program guide -- was very short notice.  Which made us wonder: what's the process for finding a backup conductor in an emergency?  Is there an exclusive Rolodex somewhere that Symphony management can turn to in times of crisis?  (And do they book their flights on LastMinute.com?)

*  Talent is not always best-showcased in difficulty. The evening's soloist was 21 year-old Chinese piano prodigy Yuja Wang, whose skills are quite evident.  But the piece she played -- Prokofiev's Concerto No. 2 in G minor for Piano and Orchestra, Op. 16 -- was notoriously obtuse in its day, and its demanding and occasionally hostile composition isn't something I'm used to hearing at the symphony.  Kudos to the PSO for exposing me to music that forced me to evaluate it differently from most works they choose, but I'll admit, it made appreciating Wang's talents much more difficult because I was unable to base it against a more traditional frame of reference for "good piano playing."

*  Sometimes, being unfamiliar with the music is liberating.  Debussy's Le Mer closed the performance, and it was both beautiful and powerful.  It was also strangely comforting to enjoy a performance in which I not only had zero preconceptions about the piece in question, but also to learn (from the program notes) that Le Mer has no "story," which I often feel compelled to seek out when listening to works whose reference points I'm aware of.

*  The symphony is theatre without the wings.  Watching the individual musicians wait patiently for their moment to shine -- a moment that may only last for a single note -- I realize that playing in an orchestra is similar to acting on stage, but without the benefit of an "off-stage" area.  Thus, the audience gets to witness all the musicians all the time, and see how each of them reacts to, follows along with, and occasionally is amazed by the others.  Actors are afforded relative privacy where they can focus their creative energies; musicians in the symphony must rise to the occasion without that luxury.

After the show, we took a chance on a new restaurant that's only been open for a week: Melange (located, in true Pittsburgh direction-giving style, "where Frenchy's used to be").  Although we popped in late in the evening, the staff accommodated our need for an appetizer, salad, dessert and drinks.  And while the decor is still too new to feel truly inviting -- much like a new car, Melange needs a few bumps and scratches to feel "comfortable" to the touch -- the saganaki (flaming cheese soaked in brandy) was amazing and the flan was fabulous.  As if we needed any more reinforcement that dabbling in the unknown can yield rich rewards.

Barbarians at the Gate: The Orchestra vs. The Audience - Justin Kownacki

At last night's superlative PSO performance, in which conductor Yan Pascal Tortelier's magnificent orchestration of Ravel's Trio made its Pittsburgh debut, I learned a lot about the way an orchestration is created.  But I also discovered some of the barriers that classical music faces if it expects to find a toehold among modern audiences -- and one of those barriers is the audience itself.

Tortelier has been constructing this orchestration since the 1980s, which means he's spent at least two decades translating a work intended for three instruments into a piece that can be performed by a full orchestra.  As such, he's solved a lot of problems along the way, and so he spent about 15 minutes before the performance explaining some of his decisions to the audience.  These anecdotes came complete with examples (played by the orchestra), often consisting of a few measures of Ravel's original work, immediately followed by Tortelier's full translation, so the audience could understand how the two works coexist.

Personally, I found this experience to be quite illuminating.  Tortelier offered a brief history of Ravel's original work, included notes on its various themes and the cultural significance of certain musical aspects, and then explained how and why he converted Ravel's relatively simple and elegant solutions into something far more complex.

However, while leaving Heinz Hall at the end of the night, I overheard another trio -- two older gentlemen and a woman, walking a few paces behind me -- complaining about Tortelier's explanation.  It wasn't that they disagreed with his choices; it's that they resented him explaining it at all.

"I felt like I was back in gradeschool," said one of the men.  "But I liked it when they finally played it."

Considering that Tortelier is essentially one of the world's authorities on Ravel, it's possible that the audience might have been flattered that they were getting a valued peek into the man's creative process.  Instead, they just wanted him to shut up and play.  And that insular attitude is, in my opinion, the greatest hurdle classical music has to clear if it expects to include anyone under the age of 40 in its audience: it has to be open to new ideas -- and that includes reaching out to audiences who AREN'T classical music experts.

In addition, I detected a lot of upset clucking and shaking of heads from the older audience members in my section whenever any younger -- or perhaps "less cultured" -- audience members would clap during the breaks between movements of Grieg's Piano Concerto.  The issue of WHEN it's acceptable to applaud during a PSO performance has been discussed before, but evidently any diversion from the accepted norm will send some members of the audience into a hand-wringing fury.

And so, I wonder: if nothing about the orchestra ever changes, and the experience remains static from generation to generation, how long would it take for the size of the audience to dwindle to a point where the PSO could no longer operate?  Fortunately, the wiser heads behind the scenes at the PSO are too savvy to let that happen.  But every time they make modernizing concessions to non-native classical music listeners, they run the risk of upsetting their longtime constituents.

So how will classical music -- and the PSO in particular -- find a way to keep both old and new fans happily engaged?

Obama, Rhetoric and the American Opera - Justin Kownacki

Last weekend, I attended the PSO's performance of excerpts from John Adams' opera "Nixon in China," followed by his symphonic adaptation of another opera -- also his own -- "Doctor Atomic."  Although I enjoyed the entire performance, I found myself far more satisfied by the symphony than the opera.  I chalk this up to a potentially simplistic but nonetheless legitimate artistic stumbling block: the English language.

Simply put, I'm not yet convinced that English -- and, specifically, American -- translates gracefully to the structure required of an opera's dialogue.  American English follows a far different rhythm (and relies on far fewer syllables) than the European languages in which most operas I'm familiar with have been written.  Thus, the American language must be shoehorned into the format of an opera, which then has the unintended consequence of making profound statements seem comedic and dramatic moments contrived, due simply to the arrangement and delivery of the syllables.

Conversely, the symphony drawn from "Doctor Atomic" is free to rely solely upon the music to convey the emotion of the story -- in this case, the tortured conscience of atomic bomb craftsman Dr. Robert Oppenheimer.  Adams was on hand to explain how he translated the words of his opera into music, and even showed a film clip of the opera's (masterfully sung) denoument.  And yet, when compared to the eloquence of the instrumental variation, I have to say that Adams did himself no disservice by transposing his lyrics into the mouth of a trumpet.

So what does this mean for the American language?  Is it unable to achieve the lofty emotional highs of the classic romantic languages, or of music?  I think anyone who witnessed Barack Obama's inaugural address today would disagree with that suggestion.  Words, like instruments, are simply tools in the hands (and mouths) of the player or the speaker; it's the human being delivering those sounds to our ears who's charged with the responsibility of conveying the meaning and emotion of the moment.  (This is the same reason I wonder how cultures with tonal languages convey irony, when every fluctuation in one's speech creates not a distinction of intent but a completely new word or phrase.)

Another issue fueling my uncertainty about Adams' work may stem from the personae involved.  Richard Nixon was no Barack Obama, either emblematically or linguistically, and while "Nixon in China" may take a complicated look back at a politically-charged epoch in world history, it still asks that the audience consider Nixon as a hero (or villain) worthy of operatic enshrinement, with his "guy-next-door" vocabulary and all.  In fact, if the entire purpose of Adams' exercise is to showcase the absurdity of such a concept, then "Nixon in China" succeeds implicitly.

Still, how long before we're asked to consider George W. Bush a folk hero worthy of lyric immortality?  Or Barack Obama, for that matter?  While building a bomb capable of obliterating humanity is an action whose inherent drama could survive translation to an opera or a cave painting, I'm not so sure that the economic and bureaucratic challenges surrounding our current figureheads will hold up to similar historic scrutiny.

But if anyone should someday try, perhaps they'll do it in Italian.

Behind the Scenes: Violas and Alcohol - Justin Kownacki

Although I enjoyed Friday night's PSO performance, I now find myself incapable of just enjoying a performance; I have to analyze it -- because, as a blogger, I have to find my angle.  (This is the same paradox that disrupted my pleasure in any CD I ever reviewed during my tenure as a music critic: a great performance is no longer good enough, because I'm now in search of a story.)

As often happens, this weekend's story happened offstage.  Not behind it, but rather a block away from it, during the reception held at Olive or Twist by the PSO's New Leadership Board.  (I'm not a new leader, but I play one in public.)  Here, I had the opportunity to discuss the evening's performance with other symphony-goers, musicians and devotees, which provided a much richer context for the music than I would have experienced otherwise.

It also reminded me that all musicians are complicated humans with their own egos, needs and aspirations.  (And, frequently, an off-color sense of humor that doesn't translate well to an all-ages blog...)

Among the many tidbits I gleaned over a Guinness or two:

• Nick and Ranaan, two thirds of visiting improvisational trio Time for Three, mentioned that this was only the 6th time that they'd played the evening's composition, Concerto 4-3, by Jennifer Higdon.  Considering their ingenuity as musicians, I'd never have known that they were still, in theory, getting the hang of this piece.
• One of the area's viola players explained how he makes a living as a freelance musician, currently contracted by three different regional organizations.  (He'd also played the Higdon piece's debut.)
• Like most jobs, orchestras respond differently to each conductor, playing their hearts out for some and just going through the motions for others.  The audience may not notice the difference, but observing musicians can usually identify these clues.
• One local composer is about to debut two new works -- one in Utah, and one performed here by Pittsburgh's gay chorus.  That ironic juxtaposition is, he assures me, completely unintentional...
• Time for Three were quite pleased to report that they were staying in the same hotel as the Dallas Cowboys... particularly because the Cowboys' cheerleaders were rumored to be staying on the floor above theirs.

And perhaps that's the lasting lesson I'll retain from this weekend: when simply hearing music is no longer "enough" to satisfy one's cultural curiosity, it helps to know who's playing it, how, and why.

But it's even better to know what they do when they're not on stage, because an artist's personality puts all art in context.

A Night Without Honeck - Justin Kownacki

The PSO season's "sneak preview" was my first night at the Symphony in nearly a decade.  Since it apparently intersected with newly appointed maestro Manfred Honeck's night off, I made sure to spend some quality time with his cardboard facsimile...

As for the orchestra itself, my fellow bloggers have done a great job in recounting the specifics of the night's selections (and notable absences, such as works by John Adams).  Instead, I'd like to comment on the stream-of-consciousness observations that swept through my mind during the evening's delightful performances, including:

Two Heads Are Better Than One - Justin Kownacki

Although I'm a music lover, a former DJ and an ex-music critic, I'm also aware that I don't know everything there is to know about music -- especially the genres I'm less familiar with, like classical.  Fortunately, my girlfriend Ann is a classical music fan who played countless compositions in her previous life as a high school band member.  Little did she know that her adolescent fling with Rachmaninov would someday score her a pair of tickets to some of the hottest concerts in town, as my copilot on this adventure through a season with the PSO.

So rest assured, even when I have no idea what I'm talking about, I'll have someone sitting beside me who does -- and, if she's feeling benevolent, she may stop me from making a complete fool of myself.  (Though, for your reading pleasure, she probably won't.)

Photo courtesy of Locobone; our puppy, Rufus, will (sadly) not be attending the PSO this year...