To begin, I’m posting this entry from over 10,000 feet. If we’re being completely honest with each other, I did start writing it at LaGuardia two days ago, but I finished it and am pressing ‘Save’ among the clouds. Raise your hand if you love living in 2009! The fact that $12.95 gets me internet in mid-air for my entire flight almost redeems Delta after having me land in Salt Lake City, de-board the plane for 35 minutes, get back on the same plane, sit in the same seat, and continue on to Boston. The one benefit, if we can call it that, of this aerial pit stop was seeing a man wearing two wedding rings on two separate fingers, to whom I gave the I-saw-Season-1-of-Big-Love-on-DVD-buddy stink eye.
I was sitting on the steps at the Bang on a Can Marathon last weekend, and near the end of the (or at least my) evening it occurred to me that I – ever a creature of habit – had plopped down at the exact steps-spot on which Greg Sandow and I sat last year. Greg was out of town this time around, so I texted him at 8:42pm to tell him about my location. He texted right back, and our exchange continued until 9:35pm, on and off, including but not limited to subjects such as there being a pianist playing a drum (Greg has his own piece with a pianist playing a drum) and whether or not the concert was streaming live on WNYC (at which point I walked over and asked the marathon publicist Christina Jensen about this on his behalf). For a few select moments, I got the sense that the journalist who was sitting with my friend and me was throwing “what does she keep doing on that phone” looks my way. Was I being rude? I figure it’s Bang on a Can: everyone’s coming and going and texting and standing and talking and snacking. And besides, for those 53 minutes I was spreading valuable information about the marathon and the pieces being performed in real-time; one might call it “the A1A1 virus” marketing. So I clicked away to Greg, confident that I was doing everyone on stage a great justice and decidedly not being disrespectful to anyone or anything.
Reading the reviews of the marathon later, I had a few moments of “wait – when was that piece?”. It seems I had missed a few things whilst clicking. I did stop texting during Julia Wolfe’s Thirst because that was the new work I was most looking forward to – wait, looking through my phone now it seems I did send one text to Greg to say it was fantastic – but the rest of that hour was kind of hazy. Whoops.
I ran into publicist and proud Twitterati member Steven Swartz at one point that Sunday. While not a usual participant or advocate in/of Tweeting during concerts, Steven had been recruited by the marathon administration to be part of a Bang on a Can Twitter Team, which ended up generating 9.5 hours of Tweets. When I ran into him, Steven told me how much he enjoyed David Lang’s new piece, For love is strong. “I even stopped Tweeting at the end!” he said, “It was so moving.” Steven and others were charged with the task of live-Tweeting as a form of media coverage, but it seems that when he actually wanted to focus on the music, he stopped, watched and listened. My texting and Steven’s Tweeting led me to wonder: there has been a lot of writing on this blog and others (see Greg on the topic here and here, Opera Chic here) about Tweeting, texting, taking photos, live-blogging – just about anything a person can do with their fingers – during classical music concerts. “People do these things at rock concerts all the time, and look how much more popular rock music is than classical music” is the overarching argument we make. But are you really listening if you’re thinking about spelling a composer’s name correctly in your live-blog entry? When you’re fiddling around with the zoom and color swap settings on your camera? And if you’re commenting on something that just happened, wouldn’t logic dictate that you’re missing the thing that’s just-happening next?
I thought I was paying attention while texting Greg, and Steven thought he was paying attention while Tweeting. Maybe we were, in a way. It seems, however, that the line between passive and active listeners is thin. Is one audience member’s viral marketing another’s I’d-rather-be-elsewhere sentiment? And who defines the difference between “rude” and “comfortable”? Would it have made me more comfortable to not have food and wine and chocolate* at my apartment when some friends were coming over to watch the Tonys on Sunday? “Comfortable” in that it would have saved me two subway stops and some money, yes, but why invite people over at all if I was so concerned with the extra errands? I could have just watched the Tonys by myself in my underwear and messy, foodless apartment; Lord knows it’s happened before. Additionally, when bloggers (including myself) and presenter marketing departments decide texting/Tweeting/painting their toenails during performances will Save Classical Music, do they think about or ask the artists? Are pieces and performances created and intended for audience members who are also doing something else? I agree that these initiatives can raise awareness about artists in great and organic ways, but has anyone asked the artists what they think?
Fortunately, I happen to know some artists, so I asked: how do you feel about audiences live-Tweeting/texting/blogging/photo-essaying during performances of your music, David Lang, and how do you feel about the above when you’re on stage, Hilary Hahn?
David:
People texting or blogging during concerts doesn’t bother me. I think one of the best things about listening to music is that you get to decide how much attention you want to spend on it, while it is going on. And I guess it is sweet to think that something live may be so exciting that a listener simply has to share it in real time. But I wonder if the idea of connectedness is changing the the way people experience things now. It could be that the ability to stay in constant touch may make listeners come to feel that they themselves are not having a valid experience unless they are letting someone know about it. And if the action of music is some kind of mystic direct communication between the person making it and the person receiving it that is a big loss.
Hilary:
I’m all for Tweeting and spreading the word, but not during performances. Between pieces, maybe, if you can stop when the music starts up again; while standing in line for the restroom, definitely; at intermission or on the train afterwards, definitely. The problem is that acoustic performers rely on the audience’s attention and focus and can tell when the audience isn’t mentally present. Your listening is part of our interpretive process. If you’re not really listening, we’re not getting the feedback of energy from the hall, and then we might as well be practicing for a bunch of people peering in the window. It’s just not as interesting when the cycle of interpretation is broken.
If you are Tweeting, then you might as well check your emails, and then you might as well just turn on the camera and make a recording for YouTube, and then you might as well have a little chat online while you’re at it, or play a game of Tetris or Scrabble, or write down ideas for that presentation you have to give next week. In that case, really, the question is, why are you here? Are you enjoying the beauty of the live concert experience, in whic
h moments are fleeting and you have to get caught up in the flow because it will never be the same again?There’s also the distraction factor. The stage is a great vantage point and a prime spot of acoustical convergence. It may be possible for you to do multiple things at once, but the same may not be true of the performers and your fellow audience members. They may not be able to keep themselves from wondering what you’re writing instead of just listening and concentrating on their own individual experiences. You may not be able to delve into your own listening experience if you’re thinking about what other people should be thinking.
Finally, it seems to me that listeners make things difficult for themselves by observing themselves in the third person and putting their thoughts into a narrative before those thoughts can fully form. I feel that concerts can be a break from outside pressures and influences. For audience members, a concert should be like a vacation on a distant beach with a stack of good books. Comfortable seats. No one trying to call you. No one breaking into your trains of thought. No way to reach the outside world. Just a time to shut off and calm down and treat yourself to something truly wonderful. If we can’t sit through a classical concert we pay decent money for, and we can’t take two hours out of an evening to shut out everyone else’s demands and opinions and thoughts, where does that leave us?
*I’m not going to pretend I don’t always
have chocolate in my apartment, guests or no guests. I just threw that
in there for dramatic effect.
I’m with Ms. Hahn. Even though I take lots of photos at classical concerts, I wait until the performance is over and people are bowing. Otherwise, it’s way too distracting for fellow audience members and oftentimes the performers.
I agree completely with Ms. Hahn’s points; part of her perspective undoubtedly derives from the nature of the repertoire she plays. It’s of course up to the individual how much he/she pays attention to a performance. But in a concert setting if I see a lot of visual distraction from people sitting around me that is inconsiderate of my wish to focus on the performance as a whole.
Ms. Hahn’s comment about “third person vs. first person” is particularly insightful.
You asked for a show of hands about being happy to live in 2009. Well, it’s a mixed bag for me. If you’re talking about technological wonders, for me it’s an open question as to whether we are controlling our technology or we are allowing it to control us, to dictate behavior to us. More precisely, whether we allow corporate/business/market forces to dictate our behavior to us.
Has Bang on a Can become so formulaic that its fans are in search of things to do while listening to their music?
Consider what you are saying about BOTC’s music and musicians. It means that their performances are not totally engaging.
IMHO, sending tweets, noshing, wandering in and out or taking a nap during a performance are not signs of creativity and audience interaction, but a lack of it.
Well, four busy friends and I were engaged enough to sit there for 10 hours, whereas there are a lot of 2-hour concerts I can barely get through. -AA
I was proud to be part of the BoaC Marathon Twitter Team. But I never tweet concerts otherwise, and find myself ambivalent about the practice. I think it’s a matter of context.
Having started my writing career as a critic, I’m very used to jotting down my thoughts on the music as I go along. But it’s a very different experience from simply listening — it activates entire regions of the brain that are otherwise quiet during a concert. If I don’t have to report on a concert, I prefer to follow the musical discourse without overlaying an internal verbal one.
I think Hilary made some eloquent points. In a darkened concert hall, I find it distracting to see someone pounding away at his Blackberry, partly because unless it’s Greg, I never know whether he’s conveying his thoughtful reactions to the music or checking his email (or Bloomberg.com or their Netflix queue). It’s partly because the glowing screen is a visual distraction, the moving fingers a kind of fidgeting.
On the other hand, in a more informal atmosphere like the Winter Garden or a rock club, I find that I don’t really care. There’s already so much stimulus that the extra bit doesn’t register. Ultimately, though, I’d rather just experience the music whenever possible — there are too many moments like the end of David’s piece that one just doesn’t want to “miss.”
Another question this brings up: can critics really be listening if they’re jotting down notes? Just thinking out loud here… -AA
I organized the live Tweet of the Bang on a Can Marathon specifically because of the type of music event that it is. I think that the ways that we use new media, and the types of media that we choose to employ, should reflect the context in which we are using them.
The Marathon is not a concert where people sit quietly and uninterrupted for two hours in a darkened hall. It is the complete opposite. It is a 12-hour, free performance in a very public location during which people not only listen to the music but talk to each other about it, leave and come back (and not necessarily between pieces), eat ice cream, drink coffee, lay down, and even dance. It’s big, it’s messy, it’s informal, and it lends itself to conversation, communication, and interaction about the music in person and, we have learned, virtually.
Experiencing the music in this kind of context is not the same as the experience of the concert hall. The stillness found in the concert hall is missing, replaced by the palpable buzz and energy of people engaged in an active and often verbal way with the music. Why not channel and celebrate this existing energy using the latest technology and means of communication available to us? It is a choice to use it, and nothing dictated to us by the technology itself.
I must mention that at times, when demanded by the music, a stillness did arise organically amidst all of this, and in a more powerful way than is possible when stillness is the enforced norm.
People experience the same event in diverse manners and ways. An individual hears (registers), and “hears” (discerns); or both or neither. There is acoustic sound which is measurable and quantifiable, art which is subjective (and variable) for both performer and listener, and artifice, imagined ( “magical”) which incorporates belief. And don’t forget about the composer – where is s(he) and what does s(he) think and feel?!
Finally, does any of this matter? People attend live concerts for all manner of reasons, with all kinds of baggage in tow, prepared (and/or unprepared) to receive what the performer offers. Society and Culture interact and alter themselves and one another.
If Ms. Hahn wants more conformity among her audience according to her desires, why doesn’t she simply communicate her wishes in advance, in person or by way of announcement.
I’m not at all unsympathetic with Ms. Hahn’s attitude, I happen to appreciate what she brings to her performances, which I consider to be contemplative and deeply felt. I won’t stop attending her performances, tweeting or no tweeting. People do what they do, and what we practice in 2009 is not like what our parents and grandparents did in their time. Maybe we could start a reform movement. (Then again, let’s not.)
I come at this from two directions – I’m a performing classical pianist AND I’m a journalist (magazine editor and public radio reporter). Reporters learn to take notes and listen hard at the same time – it’s a multitasking skill that’s part of the job, and in some ways we almost listen more closely while note-taking than we would otherwise.
As a musician (and audience member) I certainly wouldn’t mind someone tweeting or blogging or texting during a performance as long as it’s not distracting to either performers or audience. Tweeting and live blogging are becoming important and interesting elements in our changing media, and if they get intelligent, useful information and commentary out there, more power. However, the thoughtful approach for a real-time tweeter or blogger is to find a way to be OUT of the way – ideally, sit a little apart from other audience members if possible.
We had a full day of Stockhausen presented by various artists at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music last weekend–a rare treat.
Many of the performances were theatrically presented, one would imagine in the spirit of the composer.
For me this dramatic aspect called upon visual perceptions, more so than many musical performances. Thus the backlit screen in the seat in front of me, which by perspective competed (and won) with the lighting effects on stage was a major distraction, apart from the niggling wonder at what on earth this person had found so compelling to convey at a time when the music may have been more demanding of her attention.
The person in the reserved seats taking flash photographs was, to my mind, just a step up from the tweeter.
Hey, it’s rude to the artists. I’d walk off myself.
Regards – Ross
First: Hahn is demanding the audience’s exclusive attention because she is trying to communicate something that requires and deserves that attention.
Second: If I can send texts during a piece of music and not miss anything important, perhaps the composer has not made the best use of our time together.