The Winds of Programming Change

Olaus Magnus Historia om de nordiska folken

Off the podium, orchestral programming is one of the most rewarding and challenging activities that I do. (See my link of concerts on this blog to view the whole shebang) Given the recent national conversation regarding diversity (or lack thereof) in orchestral programming, I thought it prudent to look at my own programming for next year with three of the orchestras for which I have the responsibility of programming: the Salt Lake Symphony, Sinfonia Salt Lake, and the University of Utah Philharmonia. I’ve only included “classics” concerts. Excluded are pops, family concerts and the like, as that would greatly skew the “living composer ”category. It’s also hard to determine for certain concerts where some pieces are quite short—for example the December 6 concert with Monika Jalili, which will include songs by Iranian composers, as each song is only about 3 minutes in length. How does one compare that to a larger work? So for the sake of not appearing to “cook the books,” I’ve combined all of those songs into one category, counting them as a value of “one composer.” So here’s the score, out of 44 pieces programmed on classics concerts between 3 orchestras:

Composers of color: 5

Silvestre Revueltas, Shalan Alhamwy, Mohammed Fairouz, Banned Iranian songwriters, Saad Haddad

 

Women composers: 5

Anna Thorvaldsdottir, Stacy Garrop, Fanny Mendelssohn, Mary Lou Prince, Alexandra Pakhmutova

 

Living composers: 13

Arvo Pärt, Anna Thorvaldsdottir, Henry Wolking, Devin Maxwell, Nathaniel Eschler, Stacy Garrop, Mary Lou Prince, Alexandra Pakhmutova, Banned Iranian Composers (some?), +4 Composers for the Utah Arts Festival Commissioning Concert

While trying to program an engaging concert experience is my first goal, I do try my best to react correctly to the changing tides. I’ve no idea if this is a “good average” or not, but based on number of concerts, it appears to be more diverse than both the Cleveland Orchestra and Chicago Symphony, both of which had scathing articles (here and here) written earlier this year regarding their programming. (No judgment and not gloating, it’s just a statement of fact). Orchestral programming is exceptionally difficult to balance, considering the weight of the history of the repertoire. No other ensemble relies as much on the past as do orchestras. And therein lies part of the challenge.

So, what do the readers think? Does it look like a good average? And how will audiences respond? That is certainly a question to be answered from the seats next season, and perhaps from the box office in following years. I, for one, remain confident it is a direction we must take.

Feel free to make respectful comments below.

Copyright, 2018. Robert Baldwin, Before the Downbeat

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Thoughts on Mozart’s Coda

To me, the opportunity to perform a masterwork is similar to being allowed to touch a sculpture by a great artist like Michelangelo or Rodin. To feel every texture and contour, tracing your fingers where the master artist made his/her creation; each texture, rise and fall an imprint on eternity. What’s more, if you look deeply enough, there is artistic DNA embedded there. And like a scientist, secrets will be revealed to the performing musician who studies and prepares with patience, focus and openness. Then those secrets soon begin to work their inner magic on the initiate.

MozartsCoda_digital poster

A musical score that weaves through the personal landscape while still clothed in tradition, Mozart’s Requiem is one of those works that is as satisfying both to the audience as well as to the performers–intellectually, emotionally and spiritually. We will preface the massive K.626 with one of Mozart’s other final and fantastically personal choral works, also written in the last months of his life, the ever-so-poignant Ave verum corpus, K. 618. Tender and introspective, it provides a perfect scene-setter to the Requiem.

Yes, I’m excited about this weekend’s performance. I cannot assure that you will be transported to a different plane of existence, but why take the chance that you may miss out? It’s something special! I hope you can join us.

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Mozart’s Coda
Saturday May 19, 2018 7:30 pm

Libby Gardner Concert Hall, Salt Lake City
Julie Wright Costa, soprano, Kirstin Chavez, mezzo-soprano, Robert Breault, tenor, Seth Keeton, bass
Utah Voices, chorus

Mozart Ave verum corpus
Mozart Requiem

Mozart’s Requiem has long been hailed as one of the great masterpieces of western art. To listen to this music is to be transported to a different time and space. Come hear the Salt Lake Symphony, Utah Voices and U of U Faculty Voice Quartet perform this masterpiece, as we bring our season to a close with style and gravitas. It’s a fitting end to a grand season of music.

Tickets: $15.
Available from utahvoices.org, or at the door with cash, check or credit card.

Free Parking for Libby Gardner Hall: 100 South and Wolcott (1450 East)

 

Earworm of the Day

Emerson,_Lake_&_Palmer_-_Lucky_Man

Traveling down memory lane to one of the most haunting songs I know. When I was a kid, I remember hearing ELP’s “Lucky Man” for the first time, getting wrapped up in it, and then being blown away when the last verse hit:

A bullet had found him
His blood ran as he cried
No money could save him
So he laid down and he died

Historical fact: the song was almost not recorded. (From Wikipedia): “On the last day of recording their debut album, Emerson, Lake & Palmer discovered they were short of satisfying the label’s contract requirement of 21 minutes of music per album side, and therefore needed one more song. Greg Lake began playing “Lucky Man”, a song he had written when he was 12 years old.”

12 freaking years old? Such depth….and that Moog synth – first time EVER used in a piece of popular music. And the arc and lyrics of the song. Amazing.

I am not sure there will be another creative team quite the same as Keith Emerson, Greg Lake and Carl Palmer in popular music. Please help me understand if I am missing some creative genius on the current popular music scene. I highly doubt it. (I’m speaking of true compositional ingenuity, not a creative performer. There are plenty of those).

Much of ELP’s music is masterful, and I’ll add that “Karn Evil 9” from the album, “Brain Salad Surgery” is a true masterpiece that belongs in any discussion of the most important compositions in any genre of the second half of the 20th century. So there. And you thought I only listened to Bach.

Copyright, 2018. Robert Baldwin, Before the Downbeat.

Image from Wikipedia, courtesy Island Records.

Risk

Risk_logo
Risk. It’s not just a board game. It’s also illustrated in the persistence of a performing career–seen in every musician who walks onto a stage in front of a live audience, week after week, year after year. It can be seen in the way a piece of music is composed and presented, or even how concert program is designed. It exists every time musicians open themselves to others–with the audacity to share, move, create. Risk. It’s what makes art work.
Addendum: And we don’t need to conquer, we simply win everyone over to our side.
Copyright, 2017. Robert Baldwin: Before the Downbeat

Surrounded By Greatness

 

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Something I’ve noticed a lot over the years: The great performers, in any genre, who create new and exciting things, last across generations and put a stamp on the field do so by doing one thing—collaborating with other artists who are at least their equal or even sometimes better than themselves. From Arturo Toscanini to Frank Zappa, these musicians surrounded themselves with other great musicians, which allowed for them to realize an artistic vision. Toscanini wanted the best orchestra possible, so the NBC Symphony was an assemblage of some of the finest classical musicians of the era. This enabled him to further explore his own creative pursuits and provide performances at an unparalleled level. Frank Zappa did the same thing, as does Sting, Paul Simon, Yo-Yo Ma, Wynton Marsalis, and so many others.

It doesn’t matter what the personality traits of the artist in question. They can be autocrats, like Toscanini and Zappa, or great humanists like Marsalis and Ma. It is the assemblage that matters–the act of collaboration. And collaborations can be long or brief; maybe it is just for one performance or album, perhaps it is for years or an entire career.

We tend to think of these artists as super egos (even the nice ones). Certainly a certain amount of ego is necessary to perform. But, among those in the “truly great category,” few to none are threatened by other musicians, even those that may surpass their depth, skill or knowledge. Rather, they grow and thrive because they surround themselves with great talents. Yo-Yo Ma is the prime example of this.

Not that this is without its problems. The Fab 4 and the Guarneri Quartet both had well documented issues of getting along with each other, and yes, Toscanini’s tantrums are the stuff of legends. But there is something to be said for their successes as well. But besides the personality issues, there is something about the group dynamic that makes it worthwhile. The sum of the parts is greater than the whole.

What does this mean for a college educator, community conductor or chamber musician? EVERYTHING. While we may not have the resources of a great maestro or rock star to add already developed artists to our ensembles, we still strive to engage with the best musicians possible. We hold auditions to add new members to established groups to enhance the quality of the ensemble; we engage in new collaborations to open new pathways, and we develop student musicians into the artists to reach higher levels of achievement. And part of that equation is the charge to continually develop our students into better musicians. From our engagement, new performers and teachers will enter the profession, new ensembles will emerge, new art will be created.

And that, is why I love my job.

Copyright 2017, Robert Baldwin, Before the Downbeat

“What I have here accomplished, I will never achieve again.” ~ Camille Saint-Saëns

LibbyConcertHall-1

Once upon a time, I had a conversation with a respected, “high-seated” professional musician who expressed dismay that I was considering programming Camille Saint-Saëns “Organ Symphony.” He said is was a shame that I would consider programming “inferior music.” That comment floored me. I was young-ish, for a conductor anyway, and quite impressionable. It gave me pause and made me think that maybe I didn’t know what “good” music was, maybe he somehow knew better than I—so I cut it from the season program. The organ and the orchestra remained silent for that piece because I doubted my training, and more importantly, my instincts.

When this same person, years later, criticized my choice of Brahms Symphony 3 on the same grounds, I finally figured it out that his bias was pretty skewed—caddy wampus, even—or maybe he just hated anything titled, “Symphony No. 3.” Luckily, by then I had the experience to know better. Brahms was on and remained on. I’ve conducted several satisfying and successful performances of that work since.

This spurred me to revisit the Saint-Saens score about a year ago, a work I have played several times and have always enjoyed. It is a fine work. I like it. It’s OK to LIKE a piece of music. On the surface, it is a wholly attractive work, and while perhaps not deeply profound, certainly worthy of performance. The orchestra will love playing it and the audience will hopefully leave the hall happy. And that too, is fine. It may not change the world, but then again, it just might help. We find satisfaction in many different ways and through many different guises.

Of course, I’ve learned a lot over the years and by now know to trust my instincts (and take criticism with a grain of salt). But we must remember that WHAT we say to each other and HOW we say it can make a difference. You never know what may be squelched from a holier-than-thou attitude or a flippant remark. I, for one, am happy that I finally figured it out (at least this time).

So the stage and organ will only be silent for only a few weeks longer. I cannot wait to dig in to this work with the SL Symphony! It’s going to be a great way to open the season. Hope to see you there!

Salt Lake Symphony Season Opener
Saturday September 30, 2017 7:30 pm

Libby Gardner Concert Hall
Rachel Call, violin, Linda Margetts, organ

Walton Portsmouth Point Overture
Sibelius Violin Concerto, op. 47 in D minor
Saint-Saens Symphony #3 “Organ Symphony”

Copyright, 2017. Robert Baldwin, Before the Downbeat

Stranger Things (than nostalgic memories are exactly what we need today)

 

netflix stranger things poster

As a fan of nostalgia, I have thoroughly enjoyed watching Netflix’s Stranger Things on a variety of levels. The show does a remarkably good job at catching the zeitgeist of the era–the early 1980s, and includes music, both old and newly composed that set the scenes perfectly. Two members from the Austin based group S U R V I V E, Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein, provided the eerie original music for the series.

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/music/la-et-ms-stranger-things-netflix-survive-score-20160727-snap-story.html

Set in 1983, the show uses, sights, sounds and nearly forgotten period costumes and props to set the plot in the tradition of such classics as Super 8, the Goonies, and E.T. This was the era of my high school and early college years, so even with my having grown up through the 1970’s there is still enough there to make me feel as if I’ve traveled back in time. I’m not really feeling “old,” per se, just feeling the passage of time, stemming from experiences and things—how they change and yet also stay the same, and what our past might mean for our future. Here are my thoughts on a trip down Memory Lane, inspired by Stranger Things. Some will correlate somewhat to the show, others are simply curious observations of life, then and now.
“What you talkin’ about, Willis?” Words and meaning change over time.

For example, the “Amazon” I grew up with was a river in South America. “Amazon” also referred to the race of super women, aka Linda Carter as Wonder Woman. (Ok, now I’m feeling young again). Some other examples include:

  • Social media” was a wall-mounted telephone with a 6-foot cord. “I can’t talk right now” was code for “my parents are listening.” (and not very good code, at that…) Social media could also refer to the notes that were passed in class or left on your locker. The most important happening in one’s “social media life” was getting a note with someone’s phone number and the words “call me” written on it.
  • My Space” was my room. No Sisters Allowed!
  • Tinder” was something you used to start a fire. I also ironically note from experience that such skills were not very conducive to getting actual dates (or a note with the words “call me” written on it). ☺
  • Speaking of that last symbol. The ONLY emoji was the smiley face. And it wasn’t called an “emoji.” It was simply a “smiley.” We were trying to stay positive.
  • “Bad” meant good. “Face” meant getting caught doing something you should feel embarrassed about. “Burn” was used to diss someone. Additionally, TV gave us the most useful phrases to make our parents and teachers cringe: “Sit on it!” “Up your nose with a rubber hose!” “Nannu-nanu.” “Boss, ze plane, ze PLANE!” “Jane, you ignorant slut…” “Dyn-o-mite!” “Goodnight, John-boy.”
  • Just like the when Joe DiMaggio didn’t understand the reference in Simon and Garfunkel’s “Mrs. Robinson,” our teachers and parents TOTALLY missed the point of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.” (Side note: was it possible we somehow understood metaphor better?)
  • The closest thing to “Facebook” back in the day was a yearbook. This meant you only got to update and post messages to your friends using this method once a year. And you were stuck with those words and that terrible school photo forever.

Like the kids in Stranger Things, we used walkie-talkies with friends and dreamed of the coming realities of Star Trek communicators. (Side note: The flip phone I owned in the early 2000s was my favorite because it made me feel like Captain Kirk). While the Corvette, Porsche 911, and Ferrari were the cars I dreamed about owning someday, I simply “got by” riding my Sears Spyder bike (just like the kids in Stranger Things-REALLY) and, later, a bright yellow Schwinn 10-speed). I continue to dream…

And, upon reflection, DREAMING was a lot of what that era represented. In those, my formative years of the 1970s and early 80s, people still had hope for the future and did things to forward our goals. Men walked on the moon; space shuttles flew; and the Computer Age matured into something we now take for granted. Yet we also realized the dark side of our activities. We read books about overcoming adversity, from Tolkien’s LOTR (representing an earlier age) to King’s “The Stand” (representing the future). Those of us who took the time and energy to think about it realized there would eventually be a price for everything.

This is where the setting of Stranger Things coincides beautifully with the emotional motivation for the plot. The Duffer brothers, creators of the series, found a way to capture both the hopes and the fears of the time. Spoilers follow—skip the next paragraph if you still want to watch Season 1. Examples abound and are too many to list here, but here are a few. Again: Spoiler ALERT!

Will’s mom, played by Winona Rider, displays constant anxiety and paranoia and is on the verge of falling apart throughout the entire first season. Her obsession with the idea that she can almost fix everything—almost reach her lost son—is a reflection of both the hope and the feeling of impending doom many people felt at the time, and also the increasing loneliness of a population. As a single Mom barely tying ends together, raising two boys, she is faced with a new challenge far above her comprehension and education. Nevertheless, she uses both intellect and ingenuity to discover ways to communicate with her son, lost in the Upside-Down. Similarly, Police Chief Jim Hopper’s frustration and despair over losing his daughter to cancer, in an age that supposedly would promise the eradication of disease through technology, is challenged as he both fights the system of crooked medical research gone and also connects with Eleven, the young girl with paranormal powers made possible by that very misguided research. On a certain level, he knows the very same technology being used to destroy, can also be used for good, and ironically seems to have produced a surrogate daughter for him (we’ll see in Season 2). But beyond all that, human connection is what matters. And let’s not forget the very real situation of nerdy kids throughout time both facing their fears and overcoming them. In this case both the Demogorgon, a monster of of their fantasies, and the awkwardness of human interaction in their everyday realities are brilliantly met and resolved in the series.

In the 70’s and early 80s we were faced with problems and seemingly insurmountable challenges. But, no matter how overwhelming the situation seemed, we acted. We simply had to take action. The horror of how we were polluting the environment resulted in the invention of a new science: “Ecology.” The horror of ongoing war opened doorways for the exploration works and words, old and new. The wisdom of Ghandi, Ram Das, and the Dalai Lama came into our world and helped us both see and heal. The lasting horror of the nuclear age also provided advances in medicine, space and research to save our planet. We yearned to find ways to co-exist with progress…and each other. We still do. We simply have no choice.

I continue to dream…

(and eagerly await Season 2)

Until then, here’s the complete soundtrack used in the entire first season, including the haunting title theme by Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein, two members of the Austin, Texas, instrumental electronic group S U R V I V E. The compilation includes original music and a lot of great pre-existing music that set the mood of the show perfectly. Thanks to Luciano Milici for the excellent compilation.

 

 

Copyright, 2017. Robert Baldwin, Before the Downbeat.