Tired of all that fastidiousness surrounding so-called proper concert hall etiquette? If so, I have the antidote: new music served under tents, in converted grain silos, and afloat on a rescue boat.
I’d like to focus this week on a particular musical urban legend: Everybody who’s hip to the Smiths seems to know someone who was saved from suicide by the their music.
Classical music as a genre has been too fixated on the past, so it goes to follow that most classical music enthusiasts would believe in yesterday more than in the here and now, but I’ve been experiencing a greater openness to new music than ever before.
Michael Colgrass’s list of what not to do when composing for young players can be boiled down to a list of five no-nos.
Microsoft vs Apple, the specter of advertorial, musical graffiti! Restore your wholesomeness: name this kitten.
Do composers too often listen with analytical ears?
Even in the age of the pop world’s power trio The Matrix, we’ve never asked a team of paid professionals to craft us a “number one with a bullet” orchestra hit. Lots of Billboard charters do it, so why don’t we?
Say you’re a composer who’s about to get married. What do you do about
The premise of Tonic’s new rock complexity festival last week was to highlight the ever porous boundary between rock and, for lack of anyone’s better term, contemporary classical music. But as exciting and as new as much of this music sounded, is this really a new idea?
All too often, music works are segregated into “teaching pieces” and “real music.”