Last night I enjoyed a quiet NYE at home, where I taught my mom how to play Wii bowling (she's pretty good!) and took in portions of the NYPhil's NYE Schlocktacular on PBS. The soloist for the evening was Joshua Bell, who played mostly lighter fare, amidst selections from Swan Lake, Bolero, and other accessible nuggets.
Bell played on both halves of the show, using part of his intermission to field softball questions from the evening's host, Renée Fleming (who, as an aside, could put many morning show hosts to shame in addition to being a better-than-average singer).
Was this the best I've ever heard Bell play? Frankly, no. But it was still pretty damn good. I'm not saying that this was a bad day for Bell, by any means, but I do find that as I've progressed as a musician, I have become more empathetic to my colleagues when an interval is a little out or a note is missed. It happens to all of us, after all. This is something I had no patience with when I was an overly talented and inexperienced kid. I suppose age and experience have a way of mellowing you.
So I was humored a bit when I checked out the latest posts to the Yahoo! horn list. For my non-musical readers, most instruments have a couple of assorted list-serve type groups where people can throw questions or comments out to other members for consumption or advice. These lists are generally populated by amateur performers, and many of the concerns appear with a regularity that would allow one to set their watch according to their recurrence:
In any case, today's fare included some comments on last night's broadcast. Here were two that I couldn't help but share, from two different posters (their names are irrelevant and so I won't include them):
The first would've been easy enough to appease. Someone just needed to tell the commenter to close her eyes. But in the latter comment, we have an amateur hornist taking a shot at one of the most talented artists of our time because his intonation might have been a little out in spots.
I'm fairly certain that both of these commenters could perhaps learn a thing or two or maybe ten - hey, possibly even a hundred things - from Joshua Bell. I'm not defending everything Bell does and I know that there are people who will, for one reason or another, disagree with Bell's interpretive decisions now and again. But the unalterable fact is that Joshua Bell probably plays an instrument twice as well as 99% of us could ever hope to play.
Is he perfect? Of course not. But what is it that compels some people to be so negative about performers whose levels they couldn't reach on their best day?
I would never dream of jumping onto a list filled with dozens of musicians who make a full-time living as artists and making a comment as unnecessary as "yeah, that sax player sure squawked a few notes in Bolero, huh?" It happened in Bolero, sure, but it hardly ruined what was otherwise a very pleasant performance of a very overplayed piece of music.
It reminded me of an instance that occurred shortly after I arrived to town. I played a 9/11 memorial concert that featured some relatively mediocre piece that I have already forgotten about. The piece had a six or seven bar horn solo, unmetered, about three-quarters of the way through. Now, folders for this gig were doled on as people indicated their availability - and as I had arrived in town just two weeks before the concert, I was not playing first, but third. At the rehearsal, I was offered the opportunity to play first and declined. I have a full-time job being a principal. I don't think I need to suck up every chance in the community to play first. It's good for others to have their moments too.
Besides, the pay was the same either way.
In any case, this particular solo was not well-written and would've been difficult for even the most capable hornist to render in a manner that would be musically convincing. And so the performance came and went, and the solo wasn't perfect. But it wasn't bad.
The next week, going into a rehearsal for a different concert, I was approached by a woman not in the orchestra who asked if I was the new horn player. I responded affirmatively because, well, I am. She then asked if I was the person playing first at the 9/11 concert. I wasn't, and I told her that, although I could understand her confusion because from a distance I do look a bit like the person who was playing first. She then felt compelled to tell me how relieved that was the case, because she wouldn't want to have to listen to that playing at all of the subscription concerts.
Now, we've subsequently done Beethoven 3 and Tosca. Our paths have crossed after those shows and this woman is always so very complimentary of me. But the only thing that ever goes through my head when I see her is "wow, I can't wait until I clam a few notes, so you can talk shit behind my back, too."
It's as though musicians or aficionados of a certain level believe that criticism is emblematic of sophistication - that to point out the flaws in a particular performance is proof that one has a keen ear or knowledge of the work.
If I nail 98% of a show, I can assure you, as the listener, that I will think about that 2% plenty during the walk home. And then I'll go home and change, and go out for a drink, and I will have forgotten all about it by the time I go to bed. But why would you still be thinking about that 2% a week after the show? You paid money to enjoy yourself. Did that 2% ruin your ability to enjoy the other 98%?
So to my readers, I ask you this: whatever happened to just listening to a performance and enjoying it?
Bell played on both halves of the show, using part of his intermission to field softball questions from the evening's host, Renée Fleming (who, as an aside, could put many morning show hosts to shame in addition to being a better-than-average singer).
Was this the best I've ever heard Bell play? Frankly, no. But it was still pretty damn good. I'm not saying that this was a bad day for Bell, by any means, but I do find that as I've progressed as a musician, I have become more empathetic to my colleagues when an interval is a little out or a note is missed. It happens to all of us, after all. This is something I had no patience with when I was an overly talented and inexperienced kid. I suppose age and experience have a way of mellowing you.
So I was humored a bit when I checked out the latest posts to the Yahoo! horn list. For my non-musical readers, most instruments have a couple of assorted list-serve type groups where people can throw questions or comments out to other members for consumption or advice. These lists are generally populated by amateur performers, and many of the concerns appear with a regularity that would allow one to set their watch according to their recurrence:
"What's the best kind of valve oil?"
"How do you improve your low register?"
"What's your favorite recording of Strauss 2?"
"Which Marcus Bonna case should I get?"
In any case, today's fare included some comments on last night's broadcast. Here were two that I couldn't help but share, from two different posters (their names are irrelevant and so I won't include them):
"Soloist was a violinist, Joshua Bell, whom I will not critique because I could not endure the constant body movement."
"If Joshua plays with the same sloppy intonation on the street that we heard in the PBS performance, there is little wonder he could be incognito."
The first would've been easy enough to appease. Someone just needed to tell the commenter to close her eyes. But in the latter comment, we have an amateur hornist taking a shot at one of the most talented artists of our time because his intonation might have been a little out in spots.
I'm fairly certain that both of these commenters could perhaps learn a thing or two or maybe ten - hey, possibly even a hundred things - from Joshua Bell. I'm not defending everything Bell does and I know that there are people who will, for one reason or another, disagree with Bell's interpretive decisions now and again. But the unalterable fact is that Joshua Bell probably plays an instrument twice as well as 99% of us could ever hope to play.
Is he perfect? Of course not. But what is it that compels some people to be so negative about performers whose levels they couldn't reach on their best day?
I would never dream of jumping onto a list filled with dozens of musicians who make a full-time living as artists and making a comment as unnecessary as "yeah, that sax player sure squawked a few notes in Bolero, huh?" It happened in Bolero, sure, but it hardly ruined what was otherwise a very pleasant performance of a very overplayed piece of music.
It reminded me of an instance that occurred shortly after I arrived to town. I played a 9/11 memorial concert that featured some relatively mediocre piece that I have already forgotten about. The piece had a six or seven bar horn solo, unmetered, about three-quarters of the way through. Now, folders for this gig were doled on as people indicated their availability - and as I had arrived in town just two weeks before the concert, I was not playing first, but third. At the rehearsal, I was offered the opportunity to play first and declined. I have a full-time job being a principal. I don't think I need to suck up every chance in the community to play first. It's good for others to have their moments too.
Besides, the pay was the same either way.
In any case, this particular solo was not well-written and would've been difficult for even the most capable hornist to render in a manner that would be musically convincing. And so the performance came and went, and the solo wasn't perfect. But it wasn't bad.
The next week, going into a rehearsal for a different concert, I was approached by a woman not in the orchestra who asked if I was the new horn player. I responded affirmatively because, well, I am. She then asked if I was the person playing first at the 9/11 concert. I wasn't, and I told her that, although I could understand her confusion because from a distance I do look a bit like the person who was playing first. She then felt compelled to tell me how relieved that was the case, because she wouldn't want to have to listen to that playing at all of the subscription concerts.
Now, we've subsequently done Beethoven 3 and Tosca. Our paths have crossed after those shows and this woman is always so very complimentary of me. But the only thing that ever goes through my head when I see her is "wow, I can't wait until I clam a few notes, so you can talk shit behind my back, too."
It's as though musicians or aficionados of a certain level believe that criticism is emblematic of sophistication - that to point out the flaws in a particular performance is proof that one has a keen ear or knowledge of the work.
If I nail 98% of a show, I can assure you, as the listener, that I will think about that 2% plenty during the walk home. And then I'll go home and change, and go out for a drink, and I will have forgotten all about it by the time I go to bed. But why would you still be thinking about that 2% a week after the show? You paid money to enjoy yourself. Did that 2% ruin your ability to enjoy the other 98%?
So to my readers, I ask you this: whatever happened to just listening to a performance and enjoying it?
4 Comments:
In a word:
Recordings.
I think audiences have become so accustomed to the perfection that only spliced and engineered recordings can afford. This, of course, fosters false expectations of professional orchestras and chamber groups. It's hard to say what can be done to reverse this trend. Where possible I try to obtain recordings of live performances, but I imagine that the average listener would be hard pressed to go through the trouble.
You're right, that's probably a big part of it. Hopefully that's starting to change. It does seem that more and more orchestras are doing their production in-house, using live recordings as the basis of their efforts. Even if it's four shows and a patch session, the end result will still be more realistic than three days in an empty hall with no audience.
I love this post, Spot. I think it is one of your best, and I couldn't agree more. I daresay you got it "Spot On."
A number of years ago, I worked with a man who also was interested in classical music. It was not unusual for us to go to the same programs some weekends. On Monday, we would discuss the concerts. I might say, "I really liked that Bach cantata" or the like. He would groan and start enumerating the errors or take exceptions with interpretation decisions. Most of the time, I had heard the flaws he mentioned, and sometimes I agreed with his complaints about interpretation, but my overall opinion was generally good and his was generally bad! I thought it was really unfortunate that he did not get the sense of pleasure out of his concert attendance that I did. Then I realized we all have several hats to wear in an audience. One is that of a supporter of the arts and a fan of classical music; another is that of a critic. We need to keep these somewhat separate and at least be aware of which hat we have on.
Bill in Dallas
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