jwilzewske: dignity

Showing posts with label dignity. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Criminal Justice & Chamber Music: Rzewski’s ‘Coming Together / Attica’

A ttica… is … in … front … of … me.”
— Frederic Rzewski, Text of ‘Attica’ (remarks of prisoner upon being released from Attica prison, when asked what he thought of Attica).

I think the combination ... of age and the greater coming together ... is responsible for the speed ... of the passing time. it’s six months now ... and i can tell you ... truthfully ... few periods in my life have passed so quickly. i am in excellent ... physical ... and emotional ... health. there are doubtless ... subtle surprises ... ahead but i feel secure and ready.
as lovers will contrast their emotions in times of crisis, so am i dealing ... with my environment. in the indifferent brutality, incessant noise ... the experimental chemistry of food, the ravings ... of lost hysterical men, i can act with clarity and meaning. i am deliberate—sometimes even calculating—seldom employ histrionics except as a test of the reactions of others. i read much, exercise, talk to guards and inmates ... feeling for the inevitable direction of my life.
special love to flotsam + brood, charlene, lenny, jetsam.”
— Frederic Rzewski, Text of ‘Coming Together’ (Sam Melville, letter from Attica prison, addressed to ‘dear brother,’ dated 16-MAY-1970.)

T he performance last night at NEC was deeply moving. The performances of Jo Kondo’s ‘Falling’ and György Kurtág’s ‘Scenes from a Novel, Op. 19’ by [nec]shivaree members were spectacular—I may have time to post some detailed comments about those later this week.

B ut the rare performance of Frederic Rzewski’s 1972 composition, ‘Coming Together / Attica,’ by the ensemble Gradient Us completely captivated us—blew me away, in fact. It is a superb example of ‘activist’ music, a composition motivated by social issues (in this case the situation 40 years ago at Attica penitentiary in New York, and the ongoing impact of incarceration as a means of implementing criminal justice in societies).

T he two-movement piece is in canon form, (re-)animated by a 10-piece ensemble performing en-face with a male speaker positioned to the side of the ensemble. The speaker recites text from a letter written by one of the leaders of the uprising at Attica prison, and the timing and inflections of the Sprechstimme-like recitation are scored in precise, explicit detail by Rzewski.

Kathleen LaFleur – director, and tenor saxophone
David Prum – speaker
Alicia Mielke – flute
John Diodati – clarinet
Jay Hutchinson – bass clarinet
Jason Belcher – baritone horn
Kayleigh Miller – viola
Stefan Koim – acoustic guitar
David Goodchild – electric bass
Benjamin Vickers – conductor

T he 20-minute first movement is full of polyrhythms—aleatoric rhythms that are only periodically in-phase or synced with each other. It is like we are witnessing the irrepressible, impulsive inner workings of a mind—someone who has 9 different trains of thought that are coursing through the brain simultaneously.

I ndividual motifs are triggered, fire synapses, propagate neural pulses down axons, arrive at junctions with other nerves and synapses, in turn causing those nerves to fire. Once fired, a synapse is ‘refractory’ for a finite period of time, before it is once more able to receive a signal and fire again. Nervous system as musical canon! Autopoiesis of personhood by synapses alone! This is an anatomist’s ‘Visible Human’ transparent polystyrene-model conception of what goes on inside us. To any who would challenge what is portrayed here as ‘reductionist’, Rzewski seems to have the ready-made rebuttal: the literal working machine: how the mind thinks these thoughts; how the mouth is made to move; hear the words that come out.

T he phat electric bass insistently plunks its robotic, obsessive 16th-notes, running, running, running—to what destination? for what purpose?

T he speaker’s (Prum’s) inflections are exquisitely measured and spoken with conviction—delivered in a taut, emphatic manner that is meant as much to (1) reaffirm for the prisoner himself that he does believe the things being spoken as to (2) carve out and defend a psychological ‘territory’ that the prisoner can call his own. The loss of freedom and property-rights while in prison induces a hyper-awareness of the boundaries of self and non-self, a hyper-sensitivity to what [little] is ‘mine’. The vivid, dramatic depiction of the results of the retributive justice ‘violence-perpetrated-by-the-system-upon-the-offender’ is heart-wrenching, especially for those of us who have never been inside a prison, or have never been closely acquainted with anyone who has been incarcerated for a long time.

I ronic, lyrical major-key, warm timbres. Pneumatics of wind instruments. The baritone horn, evocatively/symbolically plugged-up with a giant red-and-white straight mute. The whole composition goes for your jugular, truly. It intends to make you care—make you.

T he 10-minute ‘Attica’, while structurally a simpler musical canon, is likewise a glimpse into the heart of the rehabilitated criminal whose text accompanies and was the motive for the music. Time is warped to super-slow speed as the speaker utters one word (‘Attica’) or syllable, pauses many seconds, utters another one (‘is’), resets to the beginning and re-utters a word that was said earlier and proceeds on (‘in’) in a festinating (‘front’), damaged way (‘of me’)—almost like a Parkinson’s type of dementia. The legato music and the major-key warmth are manifestations of the fact that whatever anger may have landed the person in prison is long-since extinguished. Equanimity has been achieved for this prisoner—This is not veiled residual rage we are hearing, but honest equanimity with the situation of having lost so much while in jail, and having so little now with which to remake a future upon release!—but at a terrible cost.

P henomenal! Art as therapy or as collective neutralization of past violence; as meditation on who the human beings are who are incarcerated, and why, and how they got that way; as a call to empathy; an exhortation to rethink what it is that we as a society are doing, really, through our correctional systems and policies, finding ways for effectively reducing recidivism and restoring dignity and some semblance of a desirable future to the lives affected.

U ndeniably, works like this are difficult for presenters to program: the subject material is awkward/disturbing, even though the music is accessible and attractive—poetic, lyrical, beautiful. The performance last night is ample evidence of salutary, humanizing effects that live performances of such works can have on us, as individuals and as a broader society. We should do this more often.

R zewski is a musician, not a pamphleteer. None but the naïve could imagine contemporary classical music as the lever for social upheaval. It was a teaching job that brought him to Belgium, not the state of the American nation. ‘No philosophy,’ he said recently. ‘I had a family to support.’ ... Once asked if commentators were right to call him a Marxist composer, he snorted, ‘Harpo or Groucho or what?’ The anarchic streak in his music is as much comic as it is political.”
— Mathew Gurewitsch, interview with Frederic Rzewksi, 27-MAR-2003.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Yo-Yo Ma: Ask Not What Your ‘Ax’ Can Do for You, but What You Can Do for Your Cyborg ‘Ax’

B asically, everything I’ve learned about Art has been from ‘finding my way inside’. [searching and growing through relationships with other artists, with history, and with the Spirit of all humankind].”
— Yo-Yo Ma, Gramophone, 2005.

I f your cello feels like dancing, by all means go! Take it out for a night on the town. Bounce your bow on its strings. Hug it. Cradle its neck tenderly. Praise it in the presence of others, when it can hear you. Fondle its tuning pegs as though they were earlobes, as Yo-Yo Ma did during the superb performance last night in the Harriman-Jewell Series in Kansas City.

Y our instrument has rights, and you have duties—toward your instrument as well as your co-performers.

Y o-Yo Ma shrugs his shoulders after performing—not after each and every piece, but after many of them—as if he were surprised that the result was so felicitous as it turned out to be, and as if he and the pianist Kathryn Stott were not wholly ‘in-charge’. It is not an ‘apologetic’ shrug, just one of genuine modesty and self-effacement. Gee. Aw, shucks.

I n these collaborations, too, Ma sometimes plays as though he were accompanist to pianist Stott: another aspect of Ma’s well-known modesty, incongruous with his stature and fame.

Franz Schubert: Sonata in A minor, D. 821
Dmitri Shostakovich: Sonata in D minor, Op. 40
Astor Piazzolla: Le Grand Tango
Egberto Gismonti: Bodas de Prata & Quatro Canto
Cèsar Franck: Sonata in A Major

M a’s main performance instrument is the 1733 Montagnana called ‘Petunia’. (The instrument was named this by a young girl after she asked Ma whether it had a name and Ma replied that it did not.) Another of Ma’s cellos, the 1712 Davidov Stradivarius, was previously owned by Jacqueline du Pré and by the Vuitton Foundation.

J acqueline du Pré’s unbridled dark qualities went ‘against’ the Davidov [conflicted with the Strad’s personality]. The more you ‘attack’ it, the less it returns.”
— Yo-Yo Ma.

L ate in her life, du Pré confided her frustration with the ‘unpredictability’ of this cello. Ma, however, has opined that the variability and her resulting frustration with the instrument came, not from the instrument, but instead from du Pré’s impassioned and autocratic style of playing. He has been famously quoted as saying that this Strad cannot be ‘dictated-to’ but instead must be ‘coaxed’ by its player. He speaks of his ‘rehabilitating’ the instrument after he had received it from du Pré—in much the same manner as a physical therapist or a rehab physician or nurse might speak of the journey helping a human patient recover some function that had been lost—after, say, a stroke.

T here is a mysterious relationship between performer and instrument. Since 1983, this cello’s sound has been ‘growing’—growing constantly during the years I have had it—becoming richer, deeper, and fuller. Partly, this can be attributed to now-constant playing that it receives, which causes it now to vibrate more fully than it did when it first came into my possession ... I had to learn not to be seduced by the sheer beauty of the sound in my mind before trying to ‘coax’ it from this cello. Many instruments sound beautiful in an intimate setting but may lose their quality of sound in the vastness of a concert hall. The Stradivarius does not. The integrity of its sound-picture, the warmth, the clarity and overtone structure—these are, I think, maintained through space much like a laser beam.”
— Yo-Yo Ma, Foreword from the book, Antonio Stradivari: The Cremona Exhibition of 1987, by Charles Beare.

If your aging cello develops some kind of ‘Cello Alzheimer’s’, Ma is the kind of gerontologist you would want to look after it—one who could and would bring out the best of its strengths and minimize vulnerability associated with its limitations. He would take it to gatherings where familiar subjects will be discussed by familiar people and not too fast. He would not sedate it or park it, mute, alone in a chair in an atrium.”

I n other words, according to Yo-Yo Ma, your instrument is not ‘instrumental’ in a superficial, ‘ends-justify-the-means’, deterministic, teleological, human-centric, master-slave way. Instead, it has its own spirit: its own personality; its own capacity for belief and intention; its own ‘free will’; its own inalienable dignity and moral standing, in much the way that a pet has these things.

W e often say ‘Take care!’ off-handedly—as routinely or thoughtlessly as a quick ‘Goodbye!’ or some abbreviated, perfunctory expression, devoid of emotion and, really, devoid of attention, except for our attention to habitual protocol.

B ut even then it does convey some sense of connectedness. When said with feeling and forethought, it means something like ‘Take care of yourself, because I care about you.’ I thought about this as I watched Yo-Yo and Kathy on-stage, during the works that they performed after the intermission.

T ake care!’ is something that one can (should!) say to a companion animal—or to a musical instrument; it is not something that must be restricted, to say only to human beings. Yo-Yo Ma’s interaction with his companion instrument—his empathetic attacks with the bow; his jocular brushing of its shoulders; his playful querying of its tuning with the fingers of his left hand; etc.—are gestures of a loved-one/lover toward a belovèd person, not the gestures of a ‘craftsman’ toward a mere ‘tool’. Watching Ma handle and play his belovèd cello, I wonder whether, later in the evening, he will wish it ‘Good night’ and settle it in [its] bed. The cello is a ‘subject’, not an ‘object’. The generosity and dignity that continually flow from Ma make this fantasy entirely plausible.

T he same generosity and moral standing are bestowed upon each composition as well—reflecting the person-like regard in which Ma holds it. Some of the pieces afford more opportunities to detect and assess this; others (esp. Baroque ones) somewhat less. Take, for example, Piazzolla’s ‘Le Grand Tango’, composed in 1981, originally for Mstislav Rostropovich. Ma and Stott animate the strange, tango-ish blend of tenderness and vigorous resolve/conviction that inhere in the score--they do this in a generous way that no one else does.

A nd, in various passages, Ma takes a back-seat and ‘accompanies’ Stott’s piano’s robust expressions—robustness that is implied and authentic, consistent with Piazzolla’s score and the spirit of tango as an intimate-yet-public lovers’ dance—a ‘duet’ of equals. To hear Kathy and Yo-Yo play together is to gain new understandings of the possibilities—and of the depth and breadth of truly ‘collaborative’ musicianship.

A nd when Kathy Stott played ‘Tres minutos con la reálidad,’ people whispered, ‘She must be Argentinian!’ ”
— Horacio Malvecino, liner notes, ‘Soul of the Tango’ CD.

T hrough their playing and their treatment of each other and through their rapport with their companion instruments, we learn something—or are vividly reminded—about being fully human, and about the joys of behaving well, virtuously even, despite challenges and provocations and injustices that we face: an experience far more fulfilling than witnessing admirable technical achievements or finding delight in a [musical] story well-told.

F uturists at MIT and elsewhere talk as though advances in robotics and A.I. and cloud-computing and so on will change our relationships to technical devices and systems in new and unprecedented ways (see links below). I doubt this—at least the ‘new-and-unprecedented’ part. Thoughtful, empathetic musicians like Ma and Stott have, for a long time, been in full-fledged symbiotic ‘relationships’ with their [companion] instruments, and with compositions, and [within limits of ‘partial personhood’ and philosophy of Mind] vice versa. To recognize or appreciate this, you have only to look and listen.

[50-sec clip, Yo-Yo Ma and Kathryn Stott, Astor Piazzolla, ‘Le Grand Tango’, 1.6MB MP3]

I can tell if someone else has touched my Quenoil bass, [even touched it] ‘by accident’. The instrument takes on a ‘different’ energy from my own—a different quality that I can detect and that persists for a considerable time after the other person’s touching it has ended.”
— François Rabbath, in Barry Green: Mastery of Music, p. 129.

A prodigy who played for President Kennedy at age 7, Ma is no snob, performing Bach to pop to tangos… If Yo-Yo Ma didn’t exist, no novelist in the world would have dared invent him. The combination of virtues—musical, intellectual, personal—is simply too implausible.”
— Joshua Kosman, Smithsonian Magazine, NOV-2005.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Niches & Long-Tailed Culture

CMT: Jacob Hale Russell, in the Wall Street Journal, October 14, 2006, Page P1, has a thought-provoking and disturbing essay on the growing tension in philanthropy— ‘Hunger vs. the Arts’, as he calls it. Today's philanthropists prefer to fight disease and poverty instead of—not in addition to or balanced with—supporting cultural causes. It's a rising concern for many potential donors to the arts: “We get the ‘ask’ from every charity and non-profit. What is the justification for donating to chamber music when the money could help stamp out malaria?”

DSM: The issue has been a factor in philanthropy for a long time. But it’s more prominent now as some of the world's wealthiest people have directed large gifts recently to address humanitarian crises—think, for example, of Warren Buffett’s $30 billion donation to causes like AIDS and tuberculosis initiatives through the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. And this type of donation symbolically sets the agenda for other donors: it defines what’s fashionable, what’s “in”. But if people insist that spending on cultural activities is only morally acceptable after all hunger and homelessness and illness have been solved, the community will be much the poorer for it. A diversity of experience is fundamental to a stable and vibrant society, and you must not hold that dignity and diversity of experience hostage to the bottomless pit of human suffering. The world will always have malaria, disasters will continue happening, children will continue to be homeless and hungry and die. Those have been a part of the human condition since time immemorial. What’s new is the implication we see more and more in the U.S.—the implication that those humanitarian needs trump all others; that somehow other values are morally inferior, comparatively speaking; and that giving to other causes is somehow not as commendable as a gift to mitigate hunger or poverty or disease.

CMT: I agree with your notion of diversity of cultural experience as a common good or a utility. It's up a notch or two on Maslow’s triangle, admittedly. But cultural experiences are essential for both personal and community development, and for the maintenance of a free and humane civil society. You get a sense of this when you witness the re-emergence of the arts after genocide or civil conflict or natural catastrophes—Rwanda in the late Nineties or today, for example. The arts and sport and so on—they spontaneously reappear soon after destructive events, in part because they are addressing an elemental human need. The dignity you refer to—it isn’t so far up Maslow’s triangle at all. So the arts should be regarded as a public right, not unlike basic health services or education. By the way, it’s characterized that way in the enabling legislation of public arts subsidies and governmental agencies and NGOs. In other words, earlier generations’ public leaders held the same beliefs as the two of us have just been discussing, and they enacted laws and policies based on those beliefs. But we need more than restoring or re-examining the public ‘right’ to the arts, or support of the arts as a public good or utility by the government. We need to get private donors and philanthropists to think of the arts in this same way. It is a ‘public good’ and it adds value to the fabric of the community, every bit as much as, say, a new community soccer complex for kids' athletics.

DSM: In this era of the "long tail" new-economy business and cultural pluralism, we should also look at segments of cultural life that happen not to have big market share. Not everything is as popular as kids' soccer or Mozart. If we don’t do this, cultural policy regresses to nothing but a coercive and “colonizing” popularity contest—whether it is a high-brow elitist popularity or a low-brow, mass-market, lowest-common-denominator popularity. There is today a sort of unhealthy detent or pseudo-peace found in hi-tech democracies—North America and Europe, anyhow; the places we two have direct experience with. Is this cultural pseudo-peace not a de facto type of imperialism or exceptionalism? Today, the nonprofit sector remains a creative, vibrant and unique feature of American life, with thousands of organizations, both large and small, working together to create a better world. Unlike its commercial for-profit counterpart, the public good, rather than personal gain, is at the core of its activities. And any effort to address issues within the nonprofit sector must take into account the sector’s diversity and complexity and avoid the unintended consequence of stifling its vitality. Further, any policy changes must be aimed at strengthening the great American traditions of giving to, volunteering in—and serving as leaders, directors and trustees of—our charitable organizations, including chamber and classical music organizations. You have to have more diversity; you have to engage the strength of the constituencies in the long tail. To get back to Jacob Hale Russell's WSJ essay, I think that an exceptionalism that privileges a few dimensions of human experience (disease, poverty, health, hunger, housing, social exclusion) and disenfranchises other dimensions (culture, arts, sport) undervalues the contributions to human dignity and to cultural sensitivity and peace and understanding and other benefits that are associated with the arts in civil society. It drives toward a monoculture—not enough species, nothing but corn in the fields, nothing but white pines in the forest, not healthy. Do you think so too?

CMT: Yes. As some donors have diverted their giving to other humanitarian social causes, arts organizations have continued, I think, to depend overly much on their traditional base, people who deeply interested in the arts and old money and wealthy philanthropists—bigger donations from fewer donors. As more of the traditional donors allocate more of their giving (or in some cases all of it) to humanitarian causes, arts groups need to enlist the support of the next generation. The Boston Symphony Orchestra has done this reasonably well. Under Peter Brooke, the BSO has overtly tried to appeal to new donor types. It's brought in more celebrities, put on glamorous gala benefits, created task forces to target executives in specific industries including life sciences and investment banking, and positioned itself as an organization that is strategically related to the city's economic development. In February, the BSO invited doctors to an afternoon reception and private chamber-music performance before an evening concert. It was the third event organized by a committee of doctors that includes Robert Mayer, a trustee who's also an oncologist at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and a dean of admissions for Harvard Medical School. At the reception, about 100 physicians talked with each other and with other attendees/guests about trends in healthcare, as much as they did about the afternoon's lecture on Schoenberg's music. Dr. Mayer says they're following up with the guests to encourage them to subscribe or donate. I’m not sure how many chamber music presenters (as opposed to standing chamber orchestras) have things like done this. But it seems like a promising avenue to try.

DSM: It isn’t that old money has to be substituted with new money. It’s really has to do with diversity and sustainability—and cultivating additional new donors whose larger numbers and whose diverse motivations will diminish the organizations’ cashflow variability and “lumpiness”. There is nothing you are going to do that will stem the tide of fashion—whatever the traditional large donors elect to do, patterned after the Gates or Buffet or not. You are still going to seek the big gifts and endowments and so on from the deep pockets, as always. But offering more product, more programs and series, and more experience types to more diverse audiences and donor constituencies—is one way for chamber music presenters to reduce their vulnerability.

CMT: The vulnerability isn’t just the dependency upon a handful of big private donors. The National Endowment for the Arts' budget is $124.4 million this year, down 23% from 1995. And state funding has fallen 27% from 2001 to 2006 according to Americans for the Arts. The vulnerability is the tandem dependency on flagging public-sector funding.

DSM: So what we need, probably, is more corporate sponsorship. And corporate donors are being more parsimonious about their giving—many prefer to support branded programming these days, where they are the exclusive sponsor and can leverage the promotional aspect of that. They prefer to sponsor a particular concert or series, rather than give a contribution to the chamber organization’s general fund, where it gets mingled with the contributions of several dozen other companies in the community. They’re disinclined to give when the gift is a “me too” gesture; they want exclusivity and the visibility that goes with it. We didn’t see this as often 10 years ago.

CMT: One of the challenges for arts groups is to convince potential donors of the benefit that their gift will deliver. If you're a healthcare institution, you show the donor a sick child who was helped, and it's easy. Selling donors on the cultural benefits of chamber music is a lot harder, more abstract. For prospective donors who are business leaders concerned with economic growth of the community, you need to show them objective facts about the relation of your programs to hiring and retention in their industry, in addition to softer things—cultural amenities that enhance the the community’s rank as a desirable place to live and work. Arts & Economic Prosperity: The Economic Impact of Nonprofit Arts Organizations and Their Audiences, released in 2002, reveals that America's nonprofit arts industry generates $134 billion in economic activity every year, including $24.4 billion in Federal, state, and local tax revenues. The $134 billion total includes $53.2 billion in spending by arts organizations and $80.8 billion in event-related spending by arts audiences. The $53.2 billion represents a 45 percent increase (from $36.8 billion) since 1992, when Americans for the Arts last studied spending by arts organizations. The $134 billion in total economic activity has a significant national impact, generating the following:

4.9 million full-time equivalent jobs
$89 billion in household income
$6.6 billion in local government tax revenues
$7.3 billion in state government tax revenues
$10.5 billion in Federal income tax revenues

DSM: Those facts are helpful. But to grow those numbers, and specifically to grow them with new corporate donations and groups of individuals, I believe you need to expand the diversity of the programs. There's always fear among classical music artistic directors and executive directors, about the risk of offending their traditional donors by diverging too much from the frequently-played parts of the canon. To please one or a few individuals is to alienate 10 times as many others—who would have found a more diverse repertoire (or specific portions of it) more exciting—more intellectually or emotionally engaging, more stylish, more “cool”. To survive and thrive, chamber music presenters—all classical music organizations, really—need to be producing programming for the “long tail”, and adjust the pricing and marketing of each of the program lines or series to match the needs and capabilities and preferences of the “niche” in the long tail that that audience segment has.

Concerning these cultural policy and arts marketing and long-tail topics we’re exploring, here are a few of the online sources that I like:

To be an artist is to suffer for your art—to be a bit tortured, at least by questions and doubts. The questions about relative value never let up—Is it beautiful? Is it moving? Is it relevant? Here are some books on different dimensions of that, and how to communicate about value with donors and with cultural policy-makers: