Archives for September 2009

Okay, I’m not really sure Heidegger changed my life, though I do remember samples of his work being part of my existentialism survey course and can recall animated conversations about them over coffee after class. But how much of the knowledge and training that I have used to build my life can I consciously grasp and enumerate by source, the origins now well buried in the slow and steady chisel work of a nurturing liberal arts education? If I had spent my days under a rock or in a lab coat, how different would I be today? How much of what we idealize as our humanness is bound up in our genes, and how much in the mind we develop through our study of the world around us–in the consumption of literature, philosophy, music, art, and the surrounding conversations that lead to more questions and ways of seeing?

I kept coming back to these ideas and personal self-analysis as I read Mark Slouka’s education policy-poking essay Dehumanized: When math and science rule the school in Harper‘s September issue. Slouka is looking at what we teach our children these days and why, because he sees the fetishization of math and science in current education standards, and he’s worried–particularly due to the assumption that math and science are what students need (and only need) for our nation to excel in the global marketplace. He argues that when all lives are valued only in terms of dollars and cents, workers who can endure boring and rote tasks (and earn great SAT scores) will be, on paper, much more valuable to the engine. Poets, not so much.

But that’s terribly short sighted if we also buy into the idea that the future will be all about the “creative class”. Slouka notes that our army of cooperate office workers are indeed having some trouble keeping up on the communications end of things, and that’s dangerous to a democracy when you think about how much we as a society rely on gifted writers and orators (and filmmakers and musicians) to challenge power. So it seems this is an issue that it’s vital we reframe and consider in terms of political health and civic life before we stray too far, no matter how hard it is to push back against the balance sheet instincts of American companies fighting for their profits in a tough economy. Math and science can’t be all there is. A philosophy degree is not an idyll pursuit. We need the humanities.

Why? Because they complicate our vision, pull our most cherished notions out by the roots, flay our pieties. Because they grow uncertainty. Because they expand the reach of our understanding (and therefore our compassion), even as they force us to draw and redraw the borders of tolerance. Because out of all this work of self-building might emerge an individual capable of humility in the face of complexity; an individual formed through questioning and therefore unlikely to cede that right; an individual resistant to coercion, to manipulation and demagoguery in all their forms. The humanities, in short, are a superb delivery mechanism for what we might call democratic values. There is no better that I am aware of.

This, I would submit, is value–and cheap at the price. This is utility of a higher order. Considering where the rising arcs of our ignorance and our deference lead, what could represent a better investment? Given our fondness for slogans, our childlike susceptibility to bullying and rant, our impatience with both evidence and ambiguity, what could earn us, over time, a better rate of return?

(full article)

And if you find yourself getting as stirred up by this discussion as I did, you have more reading to do.

Mind the Gap has just been alerted that this blog is in the running for a Mobbie, the Baltimore Sun‘s first annual stab at “recognizing Maryland’s Outstanding Blogs.” Whether you are a Charm City resident or not, you can chime in your support for this or any of a whole host of interesting Maryland scribes here.

Don’t know much about Baltimore? If the city’s name makes you think of The Wire, and then John Waters, and then you draw a blank, well this is also a chance to blow up some preconceptions about the city’s cultural life. Vote early, vote often (seriously, you can click daily), and learn about all that Maryland has to offer you–besides the crab cakes.

I crawled into bed at 9 p.m. last night with my laptop and a box of tissues feeling pretty pathetic, but by 9:20 p.m. I had pretty much forgotten that I had a head cold and couldn’t breath properly because Glee (on FOX for those with TVs and Hulu for those who can’t stick to a normal schedule) is just that over-the-top awesome. After finally losing all hope that Gossip Girl would ever return to the ridiculous levels of word sparring that made me love it, I think I have a replacement, folks, and the jokes are even arts related! Also, hello a cappella transition music (did I just hear Mozart’s Requiem slide into a Journey classic?), not to mention the dancing footballers!

And yes, it’s corny and unrealistic, but possibly the show’s most ingenious hook is that it reminds us all of how we lip synced to pop tunes in our bedrooms to deal with the everyday dramas of high school while fantasizing that the whole school was our audience. In Glee‘s case, for better and worse, everyone really is watching.

I couldn’t believe that my fellow AJ bloggers weren’t already in on this high school musical, and indeed sounds like Chloe Veltman is also ready for her audition.

For those on deadline today, a rather lovely diversion: Icycle

And for those as coordinated as I am who will never see the higher levels of the game on their own skills, here’s a glimpse.

That cool. That style. As if we needed more evidence of the ways NPH rocks or reasons to adore him…

What a villain.

And while we’re discussing culturally interesting players in our 21st century, here’s Jonathan Ames.

Drew McManus over at Adapistration is teasing a new feature: What’s Bothering Jeff? That’s Philadelphia Orchestra associate principal trumpet Jeff Curnow to you and me, he of previous internet commentary such as:

Now, Jeff isn’t selling orchestra subscriptions here, but after watching that video, I’d be interested in buying a ticket to hear him play with Philly if I was in town–somewhat peculiarly, even to hear him play The Swinging Pendulum of Death Drenched in the Tears of the Afflicted.

So anyway, will be looking forward to his new videos. As Drew points out, “you might think that a professional trumpet player in one of the greatest orchestras in the world lives such an idyllic life that nothing could possibly bother him. Then again…” Indeed. First episode is slated to drop 9/28/09. A teaser for the new series is here.

Here’s one for your Thursday morning from the “Aww, shucks” department: Baby Elliott Carter.

No relation. In fact, there’s a proud new grandpa here doing some digging into the man who accidentally gained a little namesake, so if you’re a friend or fan of Elliott the elder, drop by and leave some record recommendations.

In the brief history of rock-to-classical ventures Joe Queenan penned for the NYT last week, he points out something that I think has hit quite a few artists attempting to cross the aisle, no mater which side they’re originally coming from. He identifies as a central problem the fact that often it’s “music that acts as if the 20th century never happened.” Maybe for those going classical-to-rock, the problem is only clocking in at 15 years behind the times, but still, the naiveté seems only to irk fans and alienate new ears no matter which new audience it’s making a grab for. I’m not sure if a reading room stocked with back issues of Rolling Stone and Gramophone would help alleviate the problem or not.

In this most recent case, a crash course tutorial seems not to have been necessary. Queenan was preempting a performance of “Time Turns Elastic” by Trey Anastasio (yes, of Phish) with the New York Phil at Carnegie Hall, and after sampling some previous versions of the piece, he offers Anastasio props for skirting the usual pitfalls of this equation: “Unlike other rock stars dabbling in the classical realm, Mr. Anastasio has composed something that sounds like it was actually written by Mr. Anastasio. It might be vapid. It might be meandering. It might even be ridiculous. But at least it won’t sound like the soundtrack from ‘Gladiator.’ ” As things turned out, it sounds like it was a great deal more than that indeed.

I’ve been thinking about this mix a lot lately, both because of the “indie rock band with orchestra” trend and events like the Chris Thile Mandolin Concerto coming down the pike this season. If this is the future of the orchestra, can it be wholeheartedly celebrated as both an interesting and profitable way of resuscitating the museum-like institutions quite a few of these ensembles have become? Still, will this road lead to serious symphonic innovation or merely a permanent demotion to backing band for the orchestra?

With these concepts on my mind, I was excited to hear what Ty Braxton did with the orchestra on his new album (Central Market on Warp, Sept. 15), mostly because if he gave up something boring after this…

…and after bringing this much energy to the stage over and over again…

…well, that would just be depressing. Here’s a sample of what he came up with. NewMusicBox has the back story on his approach.

“Reading a newspaper, I saw a picture of birds on the electric wires. I cut out the photo and decided to make a song, using the exact location of the birds as notes (no Photoshop edit). I knew it wasn’t the most original idea in the universe. I was just curious to hear what melody the birds were creating,” writes Jarbas Agnelli, creator of this video:

And for those worried the internet, with its remixing and YouTubing, has crushed out the creative musical souls of Our Youngest Generation, further signs of quiet inspiration. Remember auto-tune the news? Well, while Apple and T-Pain continue to walk toward the technology, this guy takes it back a step.

I have to admit this kind of thing fascinates me because it represents much smaller steps in our culture’s musical development. I can’t take this as a negative. Rather than crashing through endless strings of “new,” a little more time is taken along the way to muck about inside ideas (musical and otherwise) before we all move on. Is there a need to rush? That’s not to say that the above needs performed at Lincoln Center, but thanks to the internet, it’s as if my roommate invited me to check out this neat transcription he made while I sip my morning coffee, and then I can call up a few of my pals and share it with you guys after he goes to work.

Of course, this whole “the internet helps us share the work load of distributing and developing ideas” can be scaled as needed.

Not so much, apparently.

Whenever I pass posters promoting the remakes of both 90210 and Melrose Place, I wonder who green-lit these nostalgia projects. Who brought the idea of updating these particular bits of nighttime TV soap to the table in the first place, and now that they’ve been made, who is watching them? And I wonder if much of this all hinged on the “imagine what stirring some Twitter and Facebook into the plot pot would do!” If only Heather Locklear had had a Blackberry. For those of us who grew up and moved out while the original shows were on air, it
seems like a chance to peek in on the class reunion to see that we haven’t
aged a day.

This thought line was iced over with a second one this week when I saw that Slate (okay), and then the New York Times (yeah), but then also the New Yorker (wha?) had all spilled ink over the recast of this trashy TV show from the ’90s.

And there’s plenty more, um, analysis, but Matthew Gilbert, writing for the Boston Globe, may have summed up the state of things best: “And so I “like” the new “Melrose Place,” in that I think it has the potential to be as addictive, and phony, as a can of Pringles potato crisps. The trashy CW series, tonight at 9 on Channel 56, has none of the hokey moral quandaries of the show that precedes it, “90210,” no lesson-learning unless you’re a student of chicanery and double-dealing. The new “Melrose Place” is just a mess of gossipy plotlines about adultery, murder, and secrets. If it has a moral compass, the arrow is stuck pointing down, to hell.”