I want to take some of the issues in my last post a little further, particularly jumping off a comment left by friend and colleague Ian Moss. He writes:
To me, that freedom is the stereotype. No matter what, you’re going to hear stuff that you don’t hear every day, and that isn’t limited by someone else’s idea of what music is supposed to be. That’s not very specific, but I think it captures the creative impulse that is shared by those who call themselves composers.
And in response I am moved to write, “Exactly!” Many people (Hi, mom!) say they want music to comfort them, to keep them company in their day-to-day life. It’s the sort of music you find on the radio, even if it’s the intellectual hits on All Songs Considered. But for the subset seeking “new” music–that “unlimited” music we’re talking about here–that audience tends to be conversely very open to a wide range of sound, stylistically speaking. But for their patronage and support, how can we do better by them?
Brian and I have been having a lot of car-ride conversations about this issue as he gets a music series up and running here in Baltimore at the Contemporary Museum. Maybe it’s the city or the venue, but this is not an academic exercise. “Quirky” is actually the new music box it’s tough to stay out of in this town. So we’ve spent a lot of time talking about ways to build up the trust of a new audience base. How do you get to the point that you can really stretch out as far as you like as a curator without anyone getting nervous? This means the focus has to be on consistently delivering quality, not a gimmick.
And at points, the discussions have been as basic as: Should we have a lighting designer come in? Should there be snacks? What should we wear? These are not frivolous decisions, because I would argue that it does play into the music you’ll be able to present and the distance you’ll be able to take your audience with you. It’s the same as saying, “Let’s respect ourselves and all our massive amounts of training enough to do this well, right down to the last detail.” You may be focused on the repertoire, but your audience is taking in the entire event.
Ha, thanks for the shout! I’m not much of a tech person, so I hesitate to act like I know what I’m talking about here, but…I would say that it depends a lot on the space and what works practically there. Since it’s a museum, I’m imagining that trying to make it like a dive bar is not going to work so well. So my advice would be to work with the strengths of the space instead of trying to make it something it’s not. Think of the set design and the snack arrangement and all of those other details as their own extension of the art that you’re programming and that will be framing the walls. Art galleries and similar spaces are perfect for this because they fit that experimentalist vibe very well: they are all about designing the space (and the experience) the way you want it.
The case for new music sometimes sounds a lot like the case for live music. Lighting, food, and attire can be mustered to separate concert attendance from listening to music over your laptop’s speakers. I think the effort that’s going into these details is absolutely worthwhile. Anything that enhances the specialness of music as a living practice will only increase the chances of encountering one of those numinous experiences, unique to live performance, that keep us coming back.
It will also position you a cut or two above Baltimore’s other new music offerings, which are often extremely cool but not exactly short on rough presentational edges.
Yes, Brian and Erik have several shows at the Contemporary Museum under their belt now, and they’ve had a great experience using the space. I would highly recommend it to others looking to start something in their own communities as an option to explore. Unlike some stories I’ve heard about spaces in New York, in this case the administration has been extremely supportive of the ideas Brian and Erik have brought through the door–from PR plans to the creative lighting they wanted to install. (This brought a lot of extra gear into the space–everything from spotlights to candles. Not something your typical “keep the wine away from the art” space might be amenable to.) As a result, the shows have looked and sounded great and the critics have been impressed. Their first full season starts in the fall. I’m excited to see what they do next.
“The case for new music sometimes sounds a lot like the case for live music.”
I think Colin is spot on here. And to take that a little further, I like to think that there’s a big distinction between a ‘concert’ and an ‘event.’ With Mobtown Modern, we’re putting a lot of effort into presenting events in which sound, light, visuals, ambiance, and comfy chairs all work in tandem to create an inviting experience for the audience. One of the things that’s really struck me about our last couple of events is that unlike many of the shows I’ve played in the past, there are lots and lots of people in the audience whom I don’t know (!), which might be an indication that something we’re doing is reaching beyond the generally small circles in which we continue to run laps. It’s important that people–especially those for whom new music is a whole new concept–feel comfortable enough to be subjected to music that they don’t hear on television or the radio or even at the symphony. I really think that building that sort of trust with an audience is the key to building, growing, and keeping a dedicated audience base, which will then allow you to take them into thornier sonic territory in the future. But it’s not just about the music for those audience members. They like the music, sure, but they really want to go “do something,” not just listen. That’s when all these extra little details start to make a big difference.
Can I offer a slightly different perspective? Why in the world are we discussing how to make an audience “comfortable”?
Last summer I produced two shows of live improvised music for contemporary silent films. We had two full houses (well over 50 people each night) who braved the heat outside and the heat inside the space I had rented. We lost some people the first night – in spite of some fans we put up to try and help with the crummy A/C units we had grinding away. The second night, I took time in between each film to direct the audience to free water that was available. Both nights I kept the musicians hydrated with bottles of water I’d bought before each show.
The audience got SWEATY. And some people were uncomfortable. But between some press we had gotten in Time Out, the musicians we had on the bill (who included Tony Maimone formerly of Pere Ubu and our good friend Paul Watson who is well known in NY’s “indie” music community), and the quality of the NEW films we showed -we got and kept butts in the seats.
Trying to figure out how to make your audience feel “comfortable” can be a waste of energy – or even destroy any sense of joy in your event. You have to take care of the basics – chairs, sight lines, water, bathrooms, and sometimes security. But I’ve done several performances (the silent films gig, my collaborations with choreographer Rachel Cohen) where the relative comfort of the audience was not on my mind or the minds of my collaborators. We trusted that the audience wanted to experience something new – something different. And every time we just “did our thing” for a (usually) full house and people generally dug it.
Focusing on the details of creating an “event” shows respect for the audience, and lets them know that the presenter was really thinking about them, which in turn builds trust. Even though I would happily attend a Mobtown Modern event, because I know that Brian and Erik will put on a great concert, the fact that they have been creating an increasingly wonderful ambience in which to experience the music makes me want that much more to come back next time. Whether the people in an audience are newcomers or regulars, they want to feel connected to the concert experience, and to feel like more than warm bodies filling chairs.
I just think this all sounds like trying to open up a Starbucks or a similarly designed “environment” for patrons.
You could also argue that “respect” for an audience includes an assumption that they are not there to feel “comfortable.” There’s so much art and music in NYC that is designed to just be nice to look at and listen to. Noone is sharing an “experience” – people are there to zone out.
All that said, believe me, I understand where everyone is coming from. I’ve self-produced a lot of shows in Ohio, New Orleans, Virgina, and New York. I’ve worked with small galleries, larger museums, and alternative venues. Just want to make sure my commentary is received with some proper perspective.
Chris, when you put together a program of music, dance, films, whatever, you are already “designing” an experience for your audience. All that is being discussed here is (it seems to me, anyway) expanding the boundaries of that experience to include some issues that affect the audience – what chairs they will sit in, what the space will look like when they enter, etc. We all know it’s ultimately about the art. Considering a few extra details (assuming that those implementing them are interested) is for some just a continuation of “doing their thing”.
Alexandria, what if your work is intrinsically NOT about making your performers or audience comfortable?
In my recent collaborative performance Like Dirt which involved a large amount of wet and drying clay, we had to decide how far to go in making sure nooone in the audience started choking on clay dust, slipped in slip (wet clay), or inadvertently got splattered with wet clay. Well, guess what? All of the above happened. (note: Both performances were sold out and both were well received and both were funded in part by the American Music Center).
For Like Dirt did “design” an experience – and we weren’t ignorant about it (and I’m not implying that you are implying this with regards to my own productions). But – with the sort of work I do, there comes a point where the audience is just going to squirm, wonder what is going on and maybe find a dust mask on their folding chair as soon as they enter the theater.
I”m just trying to throw a curve here – and maybe offer that there is a broader range of performance experiences out there that audiences seek out and enjoy.
Going to the museum to sit in a soft chair and listen to In C might drive some people over the edge. The inverse of that is I’ve watched people walk out of my shows. This is the scope of art, folks. Let’s not paint ourselves into a corner trying to mirror (too much) the values of marketing and advertisting firms.
Then by all means, make ’em squirm! Just as everyone has their personal process for composing, the way we present the music is also about our personal process.