Yes, It Could Happen Again - Roger Cohen - The Atlantic
Instability in Ukraine, chaos in Syria, conflict in the East China
Sea—the trigger points for World War III are in place.
He concludes...........................Consider this article in my father’s 1938 high-school yearbook:
The
machine has brought men face to face as never before in history. Paris
and Berlin are closer today than neighboring villages were in the Middle
Ages. In one sense distance has been annihilated. We speed on the wings
of the wind and carry in our hands weapons more dreadful than the
lightning … The challenge of the machine is the greatest opportunity
mankind has yet enjoyed. Out of the rush and swirl of the confusions of
our times may yet arise a majestic order of world peace and prosperity.
Optimism
is irrepressible in the human heart—and best mistrusted. Our world of
hyperconnectivity, and the strains and aspirations that accompany it, is
not so novel after all. The ghosts of repetition reside alongside the
prophets of progress. From the “rush and swirl” of 1938 where “distance
has been annihilated” would follow in short order the slaughter of
Stalingrad, the mass murder of European Jewry, the indiscriminate deaths
in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the anguish of all humanity. We should
not lightly discard a well-grounded pessimism or the treaties it has
produced.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Monday, July 21, 2014
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Monday, July 14, 2014
A master class in how not to give a master class
SUMMARY: A master class is an invitation into the psyche and soul of the artist. What’s needed: a few words of clarity, a sense of kindness, needs of students and audience addressed, and a generosity of spirit. Without these, one can still be a great artist and an effective educator -- just not in the way the artist may imagine.
Attending master classes has been
an avocation for more than 30 years. We
have listened to, and learned from:
Alexis Weissenberg, Menaham Pressler, Karl Ulrich Schnabel, Leon Fleischer,
Misha Dichter, Andras Schiff, Lynn Harrell, Evelyn Glennie, William Preucil,
Miriam Fried, Kiri Te Kanawa, Murray Perahia, James Conlon, Michelle DeYoung --
and many others.
These private, away-from-the-concert
stage events are often quite remarkable.
They provide insights not only into keyboard, string or voice technique,
the hard-core “how to’s,” but more significantly, insights into the personality
of the artist, that je ne sais quoi that we call ‘charisma’ that attracts
and compels fans around the world. It is
rare for an artist to speak to an audience at a concert, (not even to name an
obscure encore, e.g.), but in master classes, of course, the artist is doing
nothing but: talking, explaining, cajoling, scolding, quoting. (And, if we are lucky, occasionally demonstrating. Ahhhh, that’s how it should sound!) Onstage is the artist, but here is the person
-- fully revealed, as the saying goes, warts (if they have any apparent ones)
and all.
Speaking of which.
Not long ago, we attended a
violin master class held as part of a major music festival. We came away rather struck by the fact that,
without meaning to, the artist gave ‘a master class in how not to give a master
class.’ We’ll not divulge the artist’s
name, because on further research, this particular artist has, at times, had a
bit of a rough go of it, and we don’t wish to pile on. Please forgive.
Here follows a description of the
class.
First, the artist slipped into
the front row in unassuming fashion, and then some minutes later was introduced
to the audience by a festival official.
The microphone was faulty, crackling, breaking in and out. In many if not most master classes, given by
the artists listed above, the artist himself or herself says a few words to the
audience, outlines what is to follow, and establishes a bit of a bond with the
audience, a conspiracy, if you will, that together, we’ll investigate the works
at hand, have some fun, and learn something, together. A little of their magic pixie dust falls on
the in-thrall audience, and everyone is put at ease from the very outset. (Here, a few enterprising audience members
approached the artist before the introduction, and in so doing, attempted to
lay in a supply of pixie dust for themselves.)
But that sharing with the entire
audience: not here at the outset, nor
later as we’ll see. Back to class.
The students came on, a major violin
sonata was performed. After the
applause, in response, the artist took the stage, and launched forth a series
of comments that were truly subjective, nonmusical, contradictory, and
ultimately incomprehensible. We really
felt for the students. What changes were
they being asked to produce? The artist
advised the student to play a ‘more beautiful line,’ (what is that? -- impossible
to be quantified, most clinicians hate this phrase) or ‘tell the story of the
work,’ (only program music truly has a “story”) or ‘next time feel it more
inside.’ (Objection, you honor, the
artist can’t criticize what the student is ‘feeling,’ only what the student is
‘playing’ or ‘producing.’) “Pick a
person in the back row and communicate only and directly to that person.” The commentary was occasionally peppered with
slang, and more often annoying word mannerisms, like saying ‘yeah?,’ in a
rising, inquisitive voice, over and over again.
One of the most striking features
of a master class: change. When a teacher really reaches a student, and
elevates their ‘game’ an entire level, the audience hears it. The ooooh’s and aaaah’s sound forth. There was no discernible change in the
playing of any student in this class. It
was not the fault of the students, who were superb. They simply couldn’t understand what “change”
was being requested. This is the chief
gripe of grizzled orchestral musicians:
conductors who talk too much, who don’t know what they want, and don’t
know how to get it, even if they did.
Most students stood there,
somewhat dumbfounded, taking in the advice that amounted to something like go
left, go right, go up and go down -- simultaneously. One older and enterprising student took it
upon himself to attempt to inquire of the clinician. He tried to translate this gibberrish into
meaningful, actionable points, what the artist was trying to say, and had some
success with this when he simply asked if the artist was urging him to
“exaggerate” the line here, and here, and there. Even that couldn’t draw a straight
answer. The answer, such as it was, came
back: “it may seem exaggerated to you
but not to the audience.” Oh. OK. I
think. Exaggerate. Why not just say so? Calls to mind ‘you have not because you ask
not.’ Here, it was up to the students to
ask -- for clarification. It shouldn’t
be that way.
The artist eventually, seeming somewhat
exasperated, retrieved a violin, but never actually played it, holding
it in hand for the better part of an hour while keeping up the meaningless patter,
all the while smiling and saying ‘yeah?’
How well we remember Andras Schiff cutting through all the confusion on
the part of a student wrestling with Schumann just by taking the artist bench
himself and playing one or two impeccable lines. He was cutting through the plethora of notes,
harmony, counterpoint, and bringing a somwhat simpler singing, melodic line to
the fore. OK, I hear that, I know what
to do. All was then clear. We remember Lynn Harrell, in similar fashion,
bringing a tone that was at least twice as big as any of his students, and
directing them to dig the bow deeper into the strings to produce same. OK, that’s clear, I can do that. More bow pressure. But ‘play a more beautiful line,’ or ‘tell
the story’ where there is no ‘story’ per se?
Most of the artists listed above demonstrate a bit. Not here.
Not once. Not one note. All the while holding the violin.
In addition to playing along with
the student, or for the student, to make their points clear, many clinicians
will delve into music theory. One
clinician said he always studied the harmonic structure of the piece as an aid
to memorization. The I to the IV to the
V, and so on. OK, that’s specific, and
actionable. Others will tend to
emphasize music history, especially psychological insights into the composer,
his life, times, circumstances surrounding the piece at hand. Lynn Harrell:
“Did you know that Schumann was insane?” he inquired of some
particularly buttoned down Northwestern U.
students. They nodded tentatively. Harrell:
“I’m not hearing that here.” But
in this particular master class, no mention of music theory or history here,
however.
Similarly, going a bit further
afield, occasionally a clinician will address real world musician issues, for
those who fly under the ‘superstar’ status they enjoy, i.e. most everyone else,
i.e. how to get a job, how to prepare
for an audition, what it takes to break through to make a living out of these
thousands and thousands of hours of study and preparation. It shows a caring. Kiri Te Kanawa did a remarkable job on this,
and perhaps it is asking too much of every artist to bring these concerns, but
there was nothing of the sort here. OK.
This particular class ran some
two hours without a break, no intermission. A few slipped out at the halfway
mark, but most audience members shifted uncomfortably in their seats, not
wishing to disrupt or show disrespect.
Two hours to sit and concentrate without a break is asking a lot; a short intermission would have been helpful.
Nevertheless, when it was all
over, the audience, still in awe of the artist, applauded across an extended
time frame, but the artist, busy with repacking the violin in the case, with
back to audience, never acknowledged the applause with even a turnaround or
nod. Rather ironic (yet consistent)
ending to a master class that had seemed to try to stress communication with
the audience.
Now, to add a bit of real world complexity. We went looking on Spotify to hear a recent
recording by this artist, a major 20th century violin concerto. We were impressed, and fairly blown away by
how expressive this reading was vis-à-vis competitor recordings. What the artist had failed utterly to
communicate to others, was realized in that artist’s own performance. A standing on the head of the old saw: ‘those who can teach, teach; those who can’t, do.’
A master class is an invitation
into the psyche and soul of the artist.
It is the poet allowing the reader, so to speak, to see him or her at
work, with pencils and erasers, and brainstorming, and thinking out loud, and
choosing this word and rejecting that -- all the work of artistic
creation. In so doing, it is incumbent
on the artist, having already invited the audience in, to be a good host. Nothing more and nothing less. A few words of kindness, some needs
addressed, and a generosity of spirit.
One can still be a great artist without these traits -- and one can
still be an effective educator without these traits, too -- just not in the way
the artist may imagine.
John A. Sarkett is the author of Obscure
Composers, and Violin Scale Charts.
More at sarkett.com.
The Hungarian Ramone Passes On
Drummer Tommy Ramone, last original member of the 1970s punk band The Ramones, dies at 65 - NY Daily News
Tommy Ramone was born Erdelyi Tamas in Budapest and became Tommy Erdelyi after moving to Queens in 1957.
Some might say 65 is too young to go, but Tommy R. outlived the rest of the foursome: Joey died of cancer in 2001 at
49, Dee Dee of a drug overdose one year later at 50, and Johnny of
cancer in 2004 at 55.
Tommy Ramone was born Erdelyi Tamas in Budapest and became Tommy Erdelyi after moving to Queens in 1957.
Some might say 65 is too young to go, but Tommy R. outlived the rest of the foursome: Joey died of cancer in 2001 at
49, Dee Dee of a drug overdose one year later at 50, and Johnny of
cancer in 2004 at 55.
Wednesday, July 09, 2014
Chicago man gored in Running of the Bulls
Chicago man gored in Running of the Bulls - chicagotribune.com
“They said it was a centimeter away from my femoral artery and if it had
hit that artery I would have died,” said Hillmann, who grew up in
Chicago’s Edgewater neighborhood and today lives in Little Village...........
“They said it was a centimeter away from my femoral artery and if it had
hit that artery I would have died,” said Hillmann, who grew up in
Chicago’s Edgewater neighborhood and today lives in Little Village...........
Monday, July 07, 2014
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