Music reviews for the rest of us

I've just started reading Daniel Levitin's book "This Is Your Brain on Music: The Science of a Human Obsession." We ran an interview with the author a few months back when he was speaking at Kepler's about his latest tome, but I thought I'd start with this one. He digs into the science of humans' passionate attachment to music, with the unusual approach of a record producer-turned-psychology professor.

As an arts journalist, I enjoyed a passage about how music critics can turn off their readers -- and how editors shouldn't stand for it. A nice reminder of how we all need to remember who our audience is:

How many times have you read a concert review in the newspaper and found you have no idea what the reviewer is saying? 'Her sustained appoggiatura was flawed by an inability to complete the roulade.' Or, 'I can't believe they modulated to C-sharp minor! How ridiculous!' What we really want to know is whether the music was performed in a way that moved the audience. Whether the singer seemed to inhabit the character she was singing about. ... We wouldn't stand for it if a restaurant reviewer started to speculate about the precise temperature at which the chef introduced the lemon juice in a hollandaise sauce, or if a film critic talked about the aperture of the lens that the cinematographer used; we shouldn't stand for it in music either.

It's interesting that you don't tend to see this rampant use of jargon in other types of arts writing, except sometimes visual-art reviews. Unfortunately, the practice adds to the too-widespread feeling that classical music is inaccessible to the layperson, that it exists in an esoteric plain that the rest of us shouldn't bother to try visiting, even if we wanted to.

As I heard several people say at the NEA Arts Journalism Institute, appreciating classical music isn't so much about knowing the jargon as it is having a good attention span. Today we're used to Polaroids of entertainment that we can process right away. An evening of classical music asks you to concentrate on a creative work that develops slowly and carefully, in a way that gives you pleasure in analyzing the music and listening to it again and again, discovering sparkling new facets every time.

Pictured: Daniel Levitin's website YourBrainOnMusic.com.

An evening with Chanticleer, and PWC

I’ve seen Chanticleer perform about five times in recent years, and I’m always transported. Last night's concert at MemChu was the best I’ve ever heard.

All evening, the singers had exquisite harmonies and a clarity of tone as pure as the surface of a lake. Every song made me catch my breath. It’s a pleasure to initiate a newcomer, too; my mother had never heard Chanticleer before, and she listened as silently as a rapt child throughout. It was a nice role reversal.

I knew the concert would be special when the 12 singers entered in groups carrying candles, singing the 15th-century “Veni, veni Emmanuel.” Each group had such a flawless blend that at first I thought only one man was singing. Any choral singer can tell you how difficult that is.

Other works of early music, the hymn “Adeste Fideles,” and the syncopated, dance-like Spanish "Serenissima una noche" were among the selections in the first act folding easily together, each piece highlighted by the obvious joy the men take in their music. So many classical concerts are smothered with stillness and poker faces. Here, the men wore smiles or looks of rapture at what seemed like favorite passages. One appeared captivated by three soloists at one point, his eyes half-closed. All the singers do a sprightly toe hop before bowing.

My favorite choral experience anywhere, at any time, is Chanticleer singing Franz Biebl’s “Ave Maria.” Three soloists and the rest of the choir pass the melodic, warm music back and forth as though handling a beloved flag. The piece is a regular in the group's repertoire, but you wouldn’t have known that by last night’s performance. The men sang it with veneration and discovery, as though it were the first time. I didn't think they'd mind that I got choked up.

Here's a taste of Chanticleer singing "Ave Maria":



My only critique of the concert: I wanted more solos from bass Eric Alatorre, he of the elaborate mustache. His resonant voice is such a delightful contrast to the sopranos and altos.

Still, I greatly enjoyed the soprano voice of Chanticleer’s newest member, Gregory Peebles. In “My Soul Magnifies the Lord Op. 40, No. 1” by Pavel Chesnokov, which the program notes describe as “a type of soloistic arioso accompanied by choir,” Peebles set a gentle vibrato free-flying up into heights most men could never dream of.

This was my second choral concert in a week. Last Saturday I was at the Peninsula Women's Chorus winter performance at St. Mark's. A couple of the pieces were a bit quirky for my taste, but I was taken with the seven movements of Veljo Tormis's "Autumn Landscapes." The PWC often sings the works of this Estonian composer.

I enjoyed the atmospheric feel of the pieces. The chorus' deft control of dynamics added to the drama, and I could feel the melancholy of falling leaves, the billowing of the wind.

The PWC repeats the program this Saturday at Santa Clara University at 8 and this Sunday at St. Patrick's Seminary at 3. And Chanticleer is performing all over the place in California over the next few weeks.

Photo from http://www.stanford.edu/group/religiouslife/memchu.html

The beat on the street in 'Metropolis'

Ever since I wrote a story about the Fritz Lang's classic silent film "Metropolis," I've had that old '80s song by The Church stuck in my head. Does anyone else remember that? "Back in Metropolis, circuses and elephants, where the oranges grew..." It also rhymed "metropolis" with "topple us," and, really, what other options do you have?

Back on topic. I wish I could attend this Saturday's "Metropolis" event at Stanford's Memorial Auditorium. While the film is shown, the Santa Rosa Symphony will play a score to the film written in the '90s by Martin Matalon. All the while, an electronic recording by Matalon will be heard, making life all the more challenging for the orchestra.

The Santa Rosa folk were kind enough to send me the recordings, and the music is delightfully wild. Here are two samples (as .mp3s): Sample 1 Sample 2

Pictured: A film still from "Metropolis" with Brigitte Helm as the Robot. Courtesy Stanford Lively Arts.

Backstage blog: "Meadowland"

Actor Ian Walker impressed me with his conviction and quiet strength in a San Jose production of Lee Blessing's "Flag Day" in September. Now I see he's blogging about "Meadowland," a murder-mystery play he wrote and is directing in San Francisco. His video diary (scroll down to see the link) ushers readers into life backstage: production meetings, costume sketches, mask-making, and that devilish craft, writing a press release. An interesting site that could be especially useful for other theater companies.

My favorite posting is the one on fight choreography. I usually play the sweet thing on stage and have not yet attempted the fine art of kicking someone in the head. Everybody's got the right to their dream.

Spreading the magic

Is it me, or is this press release not the wee-est bit tenuous?

Narnia Spreads Its Magic During
The Morning Commute!
Walt Disney Studios Home Entertainment Gives Morning Commuters a Free BART Ride in Celebration of the DVD and Blu-ray™ Release of THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: PRINCE CASPIAN

I have now received this press release twice, and I still don't get the connection between public transit and a Disney film. If you want to plug your movie, why not do it in a way that supports the arts and is also vaguely relevant?

Why not fete the mighty Blu-ray™ at an independent bookstore, along with a gift certificate good for one fantasy or fairy-tale book? Why not throw your shindig in front of Smithwick Theatre at Foothill College, where they're actually putting on "The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe," and buy folks their theater tickets?

I have nothing against Disney; I just think gratuitous PR efforts are silly.