The Value of Regional Orchestras

Matthew Eilar2 Comments

The Wall Street Journal drama critic Terry Teachout has been making waves in the classical music internets for a provocative column questioning (in light of the Pasadena Symphony’s recent troubles) whether “regional orchestras” have any value in today’s musical world:

[T]his leads me to ask a tough question that nobody in the music business ever asks, at least not out loud: What, if anything, justifies the existence of a regional symphony orchestra in the 21st century? Many people still believe that an orchestra is a self-evidently essential part of what makes a city civilized. But is this true?..

Most, after all, offer a predictable mix of ultrafamiliar classics and soufflé-light pops programs. If I lived in a city with such an orchestra, would I attend its concerts? A century ago I would have said yes, because live performances were the only way to hear music you didn’t make yourself. But downloading and the iPod have made it possible to hear great music whenever and wherever you want. Is there any point in going to hear a pretty good live performance of a chestnut like Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, Elgar’s “Enigma” Variations” or the Schumann Piano Concerto, all of which figure prominently on Pasadena’s five subscription programs for the 2010-11 season? For a fast-growing number of Americans, the answer is no.

I speak as a devout believer in the power and permanence of Western classical music. But if I were the head of the Podunk Foundation and had to choose between funding the Podunk Philharmonic and a nonmusical group identical in quality to Palm Beach Dramaworks or the Nelson-Atkins Museum, I’d dump the orchestra in a heartbeat. The best regional theater companies and museums provide an aesthetic experience that cannot be duplicated by any other means. Not so third-tier orchestras. Their primary historic function has been rendered obsolete by technology, in much the same way that many of the historic functions of regional newspapers have been usurped by the web. You don’t have to buy a ticket to the Podunk Philharmonic to hear Beethoven’s Seventh any more than you have to buy the Podunk Times to figure out what movie to see on Saturday night.

Terry Teachout is a professional troll, but there have been many spirited defenses of America’s orchestras going around. Charles Noble, a violist with the Oregon symphony defends regional orchestras as a sort of musical farm league, allowing local players to get better and play classical music. Sound and Fury snarks that perhaps, if Teachout is satisfied with MP3s on iPods, he should forego art museums and theater in favor of coffee table books and DVDs. David Stabler, classical music critic for The Oregonian, writes that the communal experience of being in an auditorium and listening to a piece of music at the same time as hundreds of people is a rare experience in today’s world. I myself wondered if we should get rid of most of the NBA just because only a handful of teams could be champions.

Teachout’s argument makes me sad. I appreciate the local orchestras I’ve patronized throughout my life for both tangible and less tangible reasons. I find listening to music–just listening–very hard. A live orchestra provides a visual accompaniment to the music. It’s for this reason that I prefer YouTube videos of unfamiliar works to recordings where possible. If not, I use a score. I think it has to do with mirror neurons; by watching the musicians, I get to feel a little bit of what it feels like to directly manipulate the sound.

I also think that a reliance on recordings for the “quality” or “right” performance is a crutch that hurts music in the long term. The mentality that if you’re not going to hear (or produce) a perfect performance, then the whole thing is worthless runs counter to individual participation with music. Why participate in a community softball league if nobody is going to the world series? It’s a ridiculous standard that is not applied to any other part of community life, but this gets confused by the quality and ubiquity of recordings.

By coincidence, the same day that I read that Teachout article, I came across this BBC report on the Kimbanguist Symphony Orchestra, the only orchestra in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It has been making music for over 25 years, amid neverending war and strife. There’s a video in the report, and one can tell immediately that it’s not the highest quality orchestra in the world–exactly the kind of ensemble that Teachout questions. You can tell from the video that every member of the orchestra is dedicated to the mission of the ensemble–the music director describes how in the orchestra’s firs years of operations, there were only five violins for twelve violinists.

Not every regional orchestra has the problems of the Kimbanguist SO, but the root problems are universal: maintaining funding in uncertain economies without government support, growing an audience, balancing artistic ambition with financial considerations. Some of those questions only apply to the orchestras, while others apply to classical music as a whole. None of them can be solved with an iPod.

Videos!

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My friend Will Sturgeon, bassist for The Smiles and all around good musician, linked to this video from his Twitter feed (@sturgeo):

I kind of hate the song, but it’s undeniable that the drummer has chops. I rewatched it a couple of times just for the drum fills alone.

In other Will Sturgeon news, he has a new solo video/song up:

Zombieland

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  • Zombieland (2009). Dir. Ruben Fleischer. With: Woody Harrelson, Jesse Eisenberg, Abigail Breslin, Emma Stone.
  • This movie is for: Viewers that like comedic gore. Fans of horror/comedy mashups like Dead Rising or Shaun of the Dead. Those amused by Woody Harrelson going berserk.
  • This movie is not for: anyone that has no stomach for gore. At 75 minutes running time, those who value quantity over quality.

This movie features one of the most disgusting titles sequences I have ever seen. As the credits fly by, we are treated to gory slow-motion shots of zombie’s heads exploding, or falling zombies splatting on the ground, or zombies feeding on human flesh. Those gory shots come at the end of cartoony gags that would be at home in a Warner Brothers cartoon. That dichotomy pervades the movie: gore and straight-ahead action sequences paired with witty comedy.

Quick plot summary: After a global outbreak of (basically) mad-cow disease for humans, most of the population of the United States are zombies, and the human population is dispersed and disorganized across the wasteland, sardonically referred to as “Zombieland.” Jesse Eisenberg is a socially awkward anti-Casanova that manages to stay alive by adhering to his set of rules, which are referred to constantly throughout the movie. He meets up with Woody Harrelson, then gets conned by the sister con-artist duo of Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin, who are headed to Pacific Paradise (Six Flags Magic Mountain stand-in). They join up, and hijinks ensue.

For all the gore and gags, the movie makes it’s biggest impression in how charming it is. Eisenberg’s character is the type of stereotype that we’ve been coached to despise (compulsive World of Warcraft player, hasn’t been outside for two weeks, drinks Mountain Dew: Code Red by the liter), and yet he’s a vulnerable and sympathetic lead. I’m still figuring out what I think of Emma Stone, but here she does a serviceable job with the tough-as-nails outside, heart of gold inside character that serves as a love interest and foil to Eisenberg. Abigail Breslin does a good job with her material (although she did not stand out), and there’s an extremely funny cameo from Bill Murray.

Even with all these fine performances, the movie is Harrelson’s. He takes every “Woody Harrelson” character, then dials it up to 11. His function in the movie is similar to Johnny Depp’s in the Pirates of the Carribean franchise–equal parts competence and madness. He’s insanely funny, and worth the price of admission alone.

Black Snake Moan

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  • Black Snake Moan (2006). Dir. Craig Brewer, with Christina Ricci and Samuel L. Jackson.
  • This movie is for: people interested in a vibrantly colored, delightfully weird take on the Southern Gothic.
  • This movie is not for: anybody, and I mean anybody, that is uncomfortable with sleaze. Or is uncomfortable with a plot that centers around the reformation of a disease-ridden nymphomaniac. Or anybody that doesn’t like movies that sensationalize domestic violence, racism, and child abuse for entertainment.

Quick plot summary: Samuel L. Jackson is an old blues man who hasn’t played in public for many years. His wife is in the process of separating from him, and things are kind of at a low point. Christina Ricci is a nymphomaniac that’s fucked just about everybody in the shitty small town where she lives. Justin Timberlake is a soldier that’s been in love with Ricci forever, but has anxiety issues. Ricci turns down Timberlake’s best friend, who’s a big douche, and he beats the shit out of her and dumps her on the road near Jackson’s house. Jackson nurses her to health, and chains her to the radiator while he tries to get her “demon” out. Then some Hollywood bullshit about them healing each other happens.

There are many reasons not to like this movie. Even now, I’m conflicted by how good it is and how bad it is at the same time. It’s a movie that exists in its own universe, and behaves by its own laws. You have to look at it like a Tarantino movie: you have to accept that it’s valid to think that a movie is good, while rejecting the juvenile mindset of its director and some of its sequences. Tarantino movies are so interesting, even threatening, because they’re good. If they were shitty, we’d either watch them because they’re so-bad-it’s-good, or we’d dismiss them entirely. Instead, we’re forced to be a little more nuanced.

Because it’s more fun, let’s start with the bad. First off, almost all of the elements are presented in a sleazy, exploitative manner. Revelations about child sexual abuse are tossed around as plot elements, the version of the South presented is a grab-bag of backward Southerner cliches, the director/production designer revels in presenting an unvarnished and grotesque look for their characters. Christina Ricci’s character is pushed around by everyone: her “solution” to her nymphomania is a symbolic gold chain that she uses to restrain herself and remind her of the time spent chained to Sam Jackson’s radiator. Enlightened sexual politics, it ain’t. It’s a movie that takes an unashamedly backwards look at some of the things (race, gender, disability) that we’ve tried to become more enlightened about–a movie that tries to push political-correctness buttons. Depending on how much of a stake you have in those issues, this movie goes from great fun to unbearable.

There’s an equal amount of good. These days, Samuel L. Jackson specializes in performances that range from known quantity to self-parody, and yet he’s really good in this movie–self-referential “motherfuckers” notwithstanding. As regressive as Christina Ricci’s character is, she puts everything in the role, and manages to put a little class into a decidedly un-classy role and movie. The soundtrack, and the way that the music is incorporated into the music, is first-rate, using blues music as old-time music was in O Brother, Where Art Thou?. The movie is slick and stylish in all the right ways. Jackson’s and Ricci’s relationship is beyond fucked up, but their dynamic at the end of the movie is touching, and weirdly sincere. The whole thing kind of works.

I was talking about the movie to one of my oldest movie watching partners, and he said that he’s always been curious about the movie, but has always felt too embarrassed to check it out from a video store or Redbox. That’s kind of the space that the movie operates in. There  are some people that are never going to enjoy this movie, but if you give it a shot, it just might surprise you.

Status Update

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MOTB has been on hiatus for a few weeks, as I have been visiting family in California and hosting visitors. When I return to writing, I’ll have plenty to post about. Quick list: Zombieland, Kick-Ass, Black Snake Moan, LA Opera’s production of Sigfried, Persepolis, and Tales of the City.