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Before orchestra musicians get up on stage to play those massive masterworks, they grocery shop and pick up their kids from daycare just like the rest of us. When life breaks from the hum-drum and things get really intense, however, they have a distinctly appropriate mental playlist on hand.

We have all been to the panel discussions and/or read the articles lamenting that the symphony just isn’t as cool/sexy as other genres, but it seems that as a society we still cleave to the collective action of many classical musicians to carry us through periods of extreme turbulence. Would the helicopter ride of Apocalypse Now been as terrifying or the devastation in Platoon been as heartbreaking without its “classical music” scoring? Rather than making the genre artificially starlet hot or Dancing With the Stars fun–at least those are the ad campaigns I usually see when they’re doing anything out of the ordinary–why do we never address the grand gestures such music often addresses as it relates to contemporary life? There probably are examples of this in action, but I have missed the
memo. Can anyone pull something out of the subscription mailing pile
for us and illustrate?

One man with a piano might be able to poignantly hold our hand through the death of one
princess, but maybe it takes more than one musician and some hefty repertoire to help a nation
confront the larger-than-life issues on the table at the start of the 21st century. If it was assumed that Americans were too safe in their bubble-lives for that message to resonate, well, I think enough people have been slapped out of that daydream for some new lines of communication to open up right about now.

Now, see, in this example, the singing totally doesn’t seem like the silly, far-fetched part! It works in the trailer. In full-length, apparently not so much. Sad! Anyone have a report?

So, um, what 21st-century opera needed to seem less ridiculous was an ice pick! I’ll leave that to the sociologists. Do wonder though: What would Ron Rosenbaum say?

A couple of short composer interviews I conducted have surfaced on the internet in recent weeks (Doug Cuomo / ACO composers). In all cases, the point of these pieces was to provide a little amuse bouche for potential attendees. If I did my job, they serve as the warm oven of the concert hall. Want a taste of this? Well, walk this way.

Grabbing a quick drink after the BAM production of Cuomo’s Arjuna’s Dilemma, my concert companion said she really enjoyed the show, but pointed out that she wouldn’t have had any idea what was going on if she hadn’t read the composer interview before she arrived at the theater. It made me wonder how many other audience members had come in cold Friday night after a long work week and had to just hold on as tightly as they could to what was unfolding (partially in Sanskrit) before their eyes. Is it an unspoken rule that he who buys a ticket to any performance is responsible for his own research? He who arrives too late to the theater for program note reading is lost? Or are we failing patrons when we don’t provide some level of context within the parameters of the production. All I could think of later was what a difference, “In fair Kurukshetra, where we lay our scene…” might have made in this case. Or maybe not, but you see my point.

Later, I also had the chance to listen as my friend explained what we had seen that evening to another patron in the bar. It was striking only because her description was absent of any of the lingo I would have probably fallen into using. It made it a little less precise to an insider’s ear, perhaps–a “cool little show” rather than a “chamber opera in one act”–but more present. And it served as a reminder of how vital it is to talk about this kind of work with people outside its often insular world if we want to maintain a language that we all comprehend.

*Photo by Stephanie Berger@2008, pictured Tony Boutté as Arjuna.

After all the hand shaking, speech making, and historical precedent setting that came to a massively satisfying celebratory close on Tuesday night, you would have thought the President-Elect would have had to–I don’t know–sit down for a few minutes. But it’s Friday and already the train is pulling out of the station. Maybe this is how it always works, or maybe it’s just plain necessity considering how many things are broken in our nation, but damn does it impress me.

There are a lot of people working hard on the issues of the day, and yes, the most pressing involve life and death and war and mortgages. But some of them are tied to creative cultural life, innovative technology, and fair distribution, so the folks at the Future of Music Coalition aren’t wasting any time either. If you’re just coming out of your post-election news fog now, you can get up to speed quickly here. And you’ll want to be in the loop, because artists and new media folks have needed a moment like this for a long while and we don’t won’t to miss the opportunity now.

Just in case you missed Greg’s directive, when you need some relief from election-day banter today, anyone at all interested in new music should go and read this essay. Seriously. As soon as we get the Obama/McCain decision delivered, we will once again be at liberty to discuss something else. And you’ll want to be able to discuss this.

I had the awesome experience of being connected to this little love song project last year. It was 100% amazing to hear our song in concert last Wednesday, and it proved to be one of those nights when the talent of the friends who surround me leaves me speechless (okay, nearly speechless). Maybe that’s why I found the story of this “critic death threat via pop song” so unshakable. How completely unreal yet totally logical would it be if the music that you loved bit you back with such a direct vengeance?

I don’t mean to get all Stephin Merritt on you, but in my own off-line world this week, if it’s not one thing out of left field it’s something else–scary illnesses of loved ones, friends in really tough places, thieves trying to steal things right out of our back yard while I yell from the kitchen window(!!). Still, no matter what happens in the real world, creative projects–whether we’re writing for newspapers or record albums–have a tendency to attach themselves with the sort of emotional seriousness we otherwise reserve for parents, pets, and best friends. But what do you do when your relationship with your art sours, when music tells you off? How do you get all Michael Azerrad and tell art that it’s time for you to have a serious little talk without losing faith?

(Did I mention the mouse in the kitchen? Don’t forget–like you could–to vote!)

It’s raining something fierce this afternoon, and there is a long list of things I’m supposed to be working on. But my computer seems to be giving me a psychosomatic headache, so I’ve been procrastinating with a serious intensity.

First, there was the pizza making,

then the furniture assembling,

and then, finally, the pumpkin carving.

I’ve notice lately that I crave creative activity that results in a material object as opposed to an intellectual product. I suspect this may be a reaction to the average 16-hours-a-day I traditionally seem to spend attached to my laptop.

When I was a kid, I really wanted to become a luthier, but it didn’t seem practical and I never pursued it. So is my sudden obsession with crafty projects just a personal thing, or is this a larger 21st-century frustration that many people who work in purely headspace pursuits are confronting? Have you ever suffered from computer dread?

Not sure if the content of my love life is Top 40 hit song material, but for Corey’s sake, I certainly hope so.

Get the back story here.

Or skip the fine print and just watch the video.

Last night, during a long and winding conversation about music, genre, emotional vs. intellectual processing and cross-derivatives of the two, etc., we wondered aloud about the ways we use music in our personal lives as opposed to the professional. How can you love this? How can you not? Do you pay more attention to the music or the lyrical content? Oh, really, well that explains it!–You know, that sort of thing.

Later on, we specifically spoke about how we use it to decorate the fantasy space in our heads that houses the lives we live and, perhaps of even greater concern, the lives we aspire to. How important is the music itself, and how important is what we feel the music and its extra-musical trappings say about the type of person we are? It’s loosely similar to what reading some particular magazine in public might project. It’s a fool who reads a magazine only so strangers will see and think her a certain type of person, but there is a certain type of person who holds it and knows that others, if they glance her way, will know her for what she is inside. It represents her and her values. If that feels adolescent to you, substitute the type of car you drive, clothes you wear, whatever thing or activity you use to define who you are to the world, even if no one is explicitly paying you any attention whatsoever.

Towards the end of the evening, the question we finally got around to was: Why is this the kind of music that you feel most attached to? The “this” varied by respondent, but the answer distilled down neatly. There are lots of people in the world, many you’d share lunch or a drink with a few times a year and have a very grand time. But only a select group, when gathered close around you, feels truly like home.

With that we ate the last of the peanuts in the dish and cashed out.