Discomfort Zones
Over the weekend I went to a concert at Carnegie Hall that was somewhat uncharacteristic for me to attend—a program consisting of Barber, Prokofiev and Beethoven. A neighbor on the street asking where I was off to commented, “That’s a bit old fashioned for you.” In fact, even the president of the orchestra, spotting me after the concert exclaimed, “I’m very surprised to see you here; there’s nothing Post-War.” Reputations are hard to live down.
The orchestra was the Baltimore Symphony and the conductor was Marin Alsop, a huge champion of new music. And as an advocate for American music, there was actually plenty of reason for me to be there. This year is Samuel Barber’s centenary and I had never heard the Second Essay for Orchestra live. And Prokofiev’s Third Piano Concerto was actually completed and premiered in this country, although that might seem like clutching at straws since much of the material therein had been gestating in his mind for nearly a decade before while he was still living in Russia, unaware of the impending Bolshevik Revolution.
Strangely, however, it was the Beethoven that was most analogous to a new music performance. Rather than perform the tried and true Eroica as everyone in the audience had probably heard countless times, Alsop opted to do a version of it that Gustav Mahler performed in 1898, in which he tacked on a heftier brass section, more timpani, a greater dynamic range, and some additional countermelodies here and there to beef it up for late 19th century sensibilities. Trying to distinguish the music that Beethoven had composed ahead of its time (based on familiarity with the original) from the latter-day interpolations was quite a brain bender. Does such-and-such sound like Mahler because Mahler was influenced by Beethoven? Or because it was composed by Mahler? Or because knowing this was Mahler’s version is influencing the way I’m hearing it?
I’ve attended many a new music concert devoted exclusively to premieres that was more predictable than this. Of course, those new music concerts are the disappointing ones since the unexpected is usually what makes an experience of any kind fascinating to me. It has always baffled me that the classical music audience seeks an affirmational experience rather than a transformative one. Defenders of the status quo of the standard repertoire—and they still walk the face of the earth—claim that familiarity with the repertoire allows you to probe greater subtleties within it as well as to appreciate interpretative nuances. Yet there is almost no parallel for this in any other medium. John Corigliano once likened connoisseurs of the differences between different interpretations of repertory warhorses to folks who live to compare different terroirs of Bordeaux or Burgundy. But the stark differences between the resulting wines are more akin to different jazz improvisations on standards which ultimately can be very different musical compositions.
Last Wednesday night I was invited to attend the launch of a new single malt scotch, the Dalmore Mackenzie. It was absolutely extraordinary, in large part because it was very different from other Dalmores I had tasted over the years. But rather than the assembled folks being unsettled by its differences, the unique attributes of this whisky were happily cheered on. And this is stuff that costs $175 per bottle. In fact, I was sitting at a table with a single malt collector who recently paid $100K for a bottle whisky which he hadn’t yet tasted—the uncertainty of what it will be is part of the joy.
Indeed, the joy of living is not having a complete road map to what happens next. It’s why The Truman Show, in which scriptwriters attempt to control the life of an unwitting person, is such a disturbing film. Yet when most folks go to their local symphony for a dose of culture they usually know exactly what they’re going to get. I was delighted that Marin Alsop, even in a program devoid of bonafide new music, was able to make Beethoven sound new.