Over the last four posts, I’ve assumed that audiences for classical and jazz performances are dwindling and older patrons are not being replaced with younger ones.

In the previous post, I mentioned a few ways classical music performers could communicate more effectively and host more appealing and more engaging performances.  They included impromptu speaking, performing unspecified programs, and making some democratic decisions.

It’s understandable why some people would dislike these suggestions.  Their reasons relate to the Christopher Small quote I used in the previous post:

….Like any other building, a concert hall is a social construction, designed and built by social beings in accordance with certain assumptions about desirable human behavior and relationships.  These assumptions concern not only what takes place in the building but go deep into the nature of human relationships themselves.”

The performance is the focal point where all these relationships finally interact at their most complex level.  A successful performance is one where performers mirror and reflect all these relationships back onto the audience and onto the social construction in which it is occurring.

Performances are, in this sense, rituals of acknowledgement. Performances that don’t acknowledge these relationships will fail.

Acknowledging Relationships in the Concert Hall

For example, classical music concerts celebrate (among many other things) form, rules, formality, and structure.  Deviations from structure are frowned upon.  It doesn’t matter what the rules are, as long as the performers and audiences are abiding by them (maybe that’s a slight exaggeration).  If everybody adheres to the structure, the performance will be successful.

A pianist who flubs a note will be criticized for his/her inability to adhere to (or live up to) the rules written in the score.  Audience members who cough, whisper, or unwrap candy will be scorned because they don’t follow proper concert etiquette.  Concert venues will be criticized because they can’t keep the room at a steady 23.5 degrees Celsius, as stated in paragraph 25b in the performance contract.  The architect will be criticized because you can’t quite hear the bassoon from the back row.

The most admired classical music performers, promoters, organizations, etc. are the ones who embody these kinds of structured, formal relationships.  Those who celebrate this paradigm will dislike and distrust any chaotic element brought into a performance.  Democratic decisions, impromptu speaking, and unspecified programs would be distasteful, awkward, and unacceptable.

Under these circumstances, performers are best to mirror all these complex relationships as best as they can.  A successful performance depends on it.

Acknowledging Relationships in the Jazz Club

What about jazz music?

Jazz concerts are just as complicated in the relationships they celebrate and acknowledge.

For example, jazz performers celebrate improvisation, spontaneity, being “in the moment,” and the individual voice.  Attempts to formalize certain elements of a jazz performance will be met with varying degrees of resistance.  Solo order, set lists, rehearsals, dress attire, tune arrangements, spoken introductions, ensemble placement, chord changes, bowing, and lighting are (with varying degrees) ignored, left to chance, or decided on “in the moment.”

A jazz musician who can’t play All of Me in the moment may be thrown off stage.  A jazz musician who only plays Charlie Parker transcriptions is odd.  A club owner who gets anxious and upset one-minute past the scheduled downbeat may be considered harsh and unreasonable.  A concert promoter who demands set lists months in advance will be difficult to work with.

I say “with varying degrees” because the jazz aesthetic is fairly loose.  Some jazz ensembles will take dress attire very seriously and still be considered a jazz band.  Jazz music is very accommodating, and can handle a broad range of individuals, eccentricities, and broad definitions of the term.

Still, the best jazz performers are the most reflective mirrors, whether they are celebrating a Miles aesthetic, a Gershwin aesthetic, a Wynton Marsalis aesthetic, or a Sun Ra aesthetic.

Foggy Mirrors Need Polishing

A friend once told me of his experience attending a classical music concert.  It was a solo piano performance.  He didn’t understand why the pianist left the stage after every piece.  The performer also didn’t speak to or acknowledge the audience.  He just played his program and took bows.

My friend felt awkward through the entire concert and didn’t enjoy himself.  What’s going on here?

Maybe these kinds of concert formalities are becoming less reflective.  Though, maybe my friend was the only one who felt awkward.  Then again, what if he was the only one in the audience?

A reflective mirror in one context may be foggy in another. Likewise, a reflective mirror, over time, needs polishing. It’s difficult to know the extent a performer and mirror needs polishing, if at all.  In fact, you could argue that it’s my friend who needs polishing.

Nevertheless, these posts were written on the assumption that audiences for classical and jazz performances are dwindling, and older patrons are not being replaced with younger ones.  It’s safe to say then, that the classical and jazz paradigms need polishing. This is exactly the conversation that needs to be had.

Of course, my observations aren’t limited to classical music performances.  I’m interested in all kinds of performances, whether it’s a performance of classical music, jazz music, Sunday mass at church, Sunday football, or a ritualistic gathering. There are similarities in all these things; we can learn from them.

When I was fifteen, I remember being asked, after attending Sunday mass, what the priest’s homily was about.  He talked for 20 minutes.  I didn’t retain one word of it.  His speaking was too bland and boring.  This priest was a poor reflection of the relationships I celebrated and expected to have acknowledged….when I was fifteen.

Though, I remember my grandmother was asked the same question, and she couldn’t recall either.  It occurred to me that most people aren’t paying attention to what the priests are preaching during the homily. The quiet, reflective environment gives this illusion that everybody is focused on the speaker.  So then what’s going on here?  Why do we let this happen?

Attending church is about more than hearing a priest speak.  There may be foggy aspects of the ritual, but there could still be aspects that are highly reflective.  Otherwise, people wouldn’t attend church.  These rituals are mirroring many complex, multi-layered, multi-dimensional, and often-conflicting relationships.

But regardless, if audience members in church (or in the concert hall) are entering journeys of discovery and are actually bored out of their skulls, then there has been a breakdown in some of the relationships that make up this ritual.  It’s in need of polishing.

(…and a dusting)

Over the last three posts, I’ve assumed that audiences for classical and jazz performances are dwindling and older patrons are not being replaced with younger ones.

I suggested in the previous post that one way to make performances more appealing to more people is to support more feedback loops. This means having the ability to adapt to circumstances, change game plans, and interact with audiences.  This is an important element of effective communication and good performances.

I’m revisiting Christopher Small’s book Musicking.  His observations are inspiring:

“A flowchart of communication during a performance might show arrows pointing from composer to performers and a multitude of arrows pointing from performers to as many listeners as are present; but what it will not show is any arrow pointing in the reverse direction, indicating feedback from listener to performers and certainly not to composer (who is any case is probably dead and so cannot possibly receive any feedback).  Nor would it show any that ran from listener to listener; no interaction is assumed there.”

The problem with feedback loops, is that they require spontaneity and impromptu material – things that classical performances notoriously lack.

I’m not suggesting that classical musicians learn to improvise.  That would be like moving a mountain, and would be inconsiderate of all the complex relationships at work in the concert hall.

I’m suggesting rather, that we start with moving pebbles and experiment with this flowchart of communication.  Here are some general thoughts, in no particular order:

Clapping in Between Movements

Any piece with multiple movements is bound to awaken an elephant in the room.

The issue isn’t whether applause is or isn’t appropriate for the piece, or what the performers prefer, or what the composer wants (or wanted!).  The issue is in poor communication.  There’s a discrepancy about how/when to show appreciation, and performers rarely correct it.

Sometimes this isn’t an issue – the audience may already be unified and everyone has a mutual understanding about clapping etiquette. Unfortunately though, this is taken for granted and really, audiences aren’t unified.  This causes awkwardness, anxiety, tension, bad feelings, debate, and one big elephant.

Performers have an opportunity to rectify this by establishing a simple feedback loop: Before the piece begins, ask the audience!

Take a vote. Have fun with it.  Performers can vote too.  Personally, I’m indifferent.  And I’ll make that clear to my audience.  No judgment.  No stress.  Just an easy vote.  After the vote, everything is clear.

There are only two possible outcomes: clapping or no clapping.  Performers need to be ready to accept either, and be comfortable with the spontaneity of this situation.  It’s important that nobody knows for certain what the outcome is going to be.  The choice needs to be real.

However simple and subtle, feedback loops and spontaneity can add a special magic to a performance.  As I mentioned in the previous post, having the ability to adapt to circumstances, change the game plan, and interact with audiences is an important element of effective communication and good performances.

Pulling the Concert Out of a Hat

When I perform classical music concerts, I have to submit a program up to two years in advance.  Every piece must be decided on, often with little flexibility.

The TSO recently announced their 2013-2014 season.  I suspect every concert has been contracted and programed down to the exact minute.

This is understandable when you consider that marketing machines need that amount of time to turn their gears, sell tickets, sell subscriptions, confirm sponsors etc.  When promotional efforts centre on repertoire selection and programs, it’s no surprise that these things need to be decided well in advance.

This is another example of a system that leaves no room for spontaneity and feedback.

Compare this to my trio, Myriad3.  Our performances rarely require us to submit a program in advance.  Before a show, we may write out a set list to provide a rough structure, but we never follow it exactly.  That’s because circumstances are always changing.  The circumstances during which you’re preparing a program/set list are completely different from when you’re on stage performing.

I’m not suggesting classical performers call tunes on stage, or disrupt the effort of their marketing machines.  I’m suggesting rather that they incorporate a little bit of flexibility into their programs.

How about this: pull the program order out of a hat.  Every audience member knows what pieces are going to be performed, but nobody knows when.  It’s a simpler version of “calling tunes,” as in the jazz tradition.

Even still, this may be too chaotic for the current paradigm.  It can be simplified.  Suppose there are four major pieces to be performed.  The first and last piece can be programmed, but the order of the middle two are undetermined.

There are only two options. ABCD or ACBD.  Again, performers need to be ready to accept either, and be comfortable with the spontaneity of this situation.  To make it more interesting, the audience can decide.  Take another vote.  Or ask a single audience member to pull the order out of a hat.

It can be fun and many variations are possible.  It also creates another simple feedback loop.

Why Don’t Concert Halls Have Windows?

It occurred to me that having the ability to adapt to circumstances has no value if circumstances don’t change in the first place.

For example, if the Canadian Opera Company performed La Boheme every night for 10 days in a row, the circumstances in the concert hall would be virtually the same every night.  Even if there were a thunderstorm outside, you would never know inside the concert hall.

It’s as if classical performances are designed to insulate against change and circumstance.  Great effort is made to preserve one setting, one instance, and one ideal.

Why is that?  Why don’t concert halls have windows? More from Small:

““(Auditoriums) allow no communication with the outside world.  Performers and listeners alike are isolated here from the world of their everyday lives….Like any other building, a concert hall is a social construction, designed and built by social beings in accordance with certain assumptions about desirable human behavior and relationships.  These assumptions concern not only what takes place in the building but go deep into the nature of human relationships themselves.”

If audiences are dwindling, then these assumptions about desirable human behavior and relationships, as expressed in the design of concert halls, are also dwindling.  The reinvention of classical music concerts needs to consider all the symbols, gestures, and relationships that uphold these assumptions.

A more extreme reinvention of classical music concerts would include rethinking, designing, and building the space in which concerts are held (possibly with a few more windows).

At this moment though, it’s more practical to experiment with simpler feedback loops (installing windows isn’t an option).  So how about some impromptu acknowledgement of the outside world?  Comments on the weather, current events, personal stories etc.

I can tell you that, as a musician performing classical music concerts, these kinds of interactions are frequently demanded from presenters, venues, artistic directors (and ultimately audiences) who are hosting classical music concerts.  It is no longer acceptable for performers to simply play their program.  We are expected to engage, interact, tell stories, be personable, receive and give feedback.

In a sense, we’re being asked to acknowledge circumstances.  Ignoring your circumstances and audience is robotic and socially awkward.  Nobody’s comfortable with that.

Figuratively, performers can act as windows to the outside world.  Or, on a deeper lever, perhaps we should act more as mirrors.

I’ll leave that for the next post

Recap: I’m writing about making music performances (particularly jazz and classical) more appealing to more people.

I have two areas to address:

1. Giving audiences and performers more/alternative freedoms
2. Improving communication/collaboration = improving performance

The Emperor is Naked!

“But the Emperor has nothing at all on!” said a little child. 

“Listen to the voice of innocence!” exclaimed his father; and what the child had said was whispered from one to another.

“But he has nothing at all on!” at last cried out all the people. The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the people were right; but he thought the procession must go on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took greater pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in reality, there was no train to hold.

There may be audiences who thoroughly enjoy (for example) every second of Mahler’s 9^th (75-85 minutes long!).  Not me.  When I saw the TSO perform Mahler’s 9^th, I was probably only focusing on the performance for 10 minutes, max.  The rest of the time, I’m embarking on journeys of self-discovery, thinking about my career, wishing I could socialize with my friend, and ironically, secretly chastising all the coughers, whisperers and wrapper-crinklers.

Cynical, maybe.  Or is the Emperor naked?  There’s only one way to find out.

Open More Feedback Channels

I’m writing this firstly because I don’t think I’m the only one.  I suspect most audience members wish they could at least push pause, stand up and stretch.

I’m also writing this because, as I mentioned in my previous post, performing is a widespread collaboration between all participants and contributors.  Improving performances means improving the quality of communication and collaboration.  If our goal is to make music performances more appealing, we need to start communicating and be honest about our experiences during music performances.

This includes audiences communicating with performers.

One way to do this is to open more feedback channels.  Otherwise, how would performers really know if they’re connecting with audiences?

Classical music concerts are notoriously rigid in how they support feedback.  Compare concerts to hockey games, where there’s clapping, heckling, cheering, socializing, analyzing, eating, drinking, standing and leaving whenever and however you want.

Audience feedback at concerts is limited to applauding only after the completion of a piece.  Occasionally there’s some cheering and the odd “bravo!”  There are also standing ovations (which my friend Scott MacInnis has nicknamed “standing evacuations”).  But generally, for 95% of the performance, any kind of body movement is frowned upon.

How Did This Happen?

I have a habit of eating every morsel of food on my plate.

Sometimes this is because I enjoy what I’m eating.  Other times, it’s because I was taught to eat that way.

This may come from my parents, trying to instill good manners and eating etiquette into their kids.  After all, my grandparents grew up during the Great Depression. Picky eating and leftover food aren’t options when there isn’t enough to go around.

Times have changed; there’s more food.

I don’t have to finish all my food, but I still do, sometimes to the detriment of my belly.  Because of habits and social pressures, I often eat all the food on my plate whether I enjoyed it, or not.

Readers take note: you don’t have to finish all the food on your plate.  Throw it out or ask for half-portions.  Or do what Kim Kardashian does and spray Windex on it.

Likewise, you also don’t have to sit through entire classical music concerts.  Get up and leave, or ask for half-portions.  Or do what the Loony Toons do and throw tomatoes on stage.

But these kinds of feedback channels – because of concert etiquette, social pressures, habits etc. – are closed.  Somehow, the concert tradition has evolved this way.

Maybe it evolved for good reasons, but my instincts are telling me that times have changed and the concert tradition’s response to this change should be to open more feedback channels.

Supporting Feedback Loops

I’m not suggesting that we immediately open all feedback channels.  There’s a reason why they’re closed in the first place:

Think about how comedians deal with feedback, or laughter.  If everyone’s laughing, they may stay the course, or take more risks, or put a little more energy into the performance.  If no one’s laughing, they’d better change their game plan, fast.

It’s similar with heckling.  Once hecklers reach a certain point of annoyance, comedians should deal with them.

The best performers will interact with the audience/hecklers in an entertaining way, as if it’s part of the show.  Having the ability to adapt to the circumstances, change the game plan and interact with audiences is an important element of effective communication and good performances.  The goal is to support “feedback loops.”

But this requires impromptu material.  Performers of classical music have no impromptu material.

Suppose every audience member had a gauge over his/her head, accurately measuring attentiveness, enjoyment and pleasure. If every gauge showed that everybody was bored out of his/her skull, the performers would still have no choice but to continue with the show.  Performers of classical music lack the vocabulary to adapt to different circumstances.

Programs are decided years in advance.  Every note on the page is fixed.  Entrances, acknowledgements, bows, curtain calls, and encores are all planned well in advance.  Even “impromptu” speeches and jokes are often scripted.

For My Next Post(s)…

Let’s loosen up a bit!  This will be the topic of my next post.

I’ll write more about supporting feedback loops in the concert hall.  Strong feedback loops are key to effective communication and good performances.

I suspect though, that there are factors at work here that I’m not addressing.  As per my previous post, things are more complicated and relationships in a concert hall can’t be reduced merely to a performer-audience dynamic.

That model might be best for practicality though.  Stay tuned!

Recap: I’m writing about making music performances (particularly jazz and classical) more appealing to more people.  In the previous post, I suggested that resolving discordant expectations and giving audiences more/alternative freedoms are the most important issues to explore.

Of course, it’s easier said than done. Here’s why:

Where Are All Your Friends?

Myriad3 has performed all across Canada in the last 6 months.  We publicize tours the only way we know how.  Press releases are sent to every press outlet in every city we visit.  Professionally designed posters are made for every performance.  We also spread the word through social media.

We go above and beyond what could be expected from a touring band like Myriad3.

At one particular venue, the turnout was poor.  So the manager frustratingly asked us: “Where are all your friends!?”

I responded: “Our friends are back home in Toronto.  Where are all your friends!?”

I didn’t say that; politeness got the best of me.  But this raises the question: Who’s responsible for attracting audiences?

It’s Not My Job

Well, it is and it isn’t.  Performing is complicated.

The question we should be asking is: Who’s responsible for performing?

A less traditional and more holistic view reveals much diversity in its nature and function. Performing is the result of many complex, multi-layered and multi-dimensional relationships.

When you go to a jazz club, who’s actually doing the performing?

• The band
• The manager who hired the band
• The restaurant owner who hired the manager
• The architect who designed the restaurant
• The politicians who shape the policy that gives everyone the freedom to build restaurants and attend concerts
• All of the above

Everyone has a stake in the moment that culminates when the band performs.  Here’s another one.  Who’s actually writing this blog post?

• Me
• The software engineers who designed Microsoft Office
• The engineers who designed the Macbook
• The designer who created this website
• The Starbucks in which I’m writing
• All the above

Everyone who has a stake in a “performance” have different functions, different goals and different means to achieve them.  If you alter one aspect of a performance, you could be throwing everything out of balance and interfering with someone else’s creative work.

For example, it’s not always clear what the function of a jazz band is.  Are they to provide ambience?  Or are they to be the center of attention?  Being the center of attention may interfere with the manager’s intentions.  However, providing ambience may interfere with the purpose of the stage, which the architect built for the musicians to perform on.  Conflict.

There’s No Such Thing As An Audience

This is when my head starts to spin:

Audiences are also stakeholders in a performance.  If audience members sense discrepancies in the purpose of a performance, this creates a similar conflict.

If an individual expects ambient, background music and instead is attending a feature performance, that individual will be bored and unhappy.  Similarly, if he expects a feature performance and the seats are uncomfortable, he’ll be unhappy.

This leads to an unconventional view of performances: that there’s no such thing as audiences.  Or at least you can’t differentiate between performers and audiences.  Everybody’s work, function, perceptions, and expectations come together – the focal point being the moment and immediate present.  Conflicts and discrepancies will cause some kind of tension or disunity in the moment.  People are unhappy, experience isn’t optimal, and the performance is less beautiful.

(This is beginning to sound a lot like George Carlin’s “Big Electron.”)

Performance is Collaboration

Such systems don’t like being tampered with, for risk of interfering with someone’s creative work and throwing everything off balance.  If we’re discussing making music concerts more appealing to more people, moving forward and proposing solutions has to be a delicate, respectful process.

One principle to observe is that performing is a widespread collaboration between all participants and contributors.

As I mentioned previously, the collaboration between the jazz club manager and Myriad3 was weak.  They’re should have been more communication about expectations on both sides.

If a presenter is boring his audience, he needs to improve his presenting skills and communicate more effectively.  This makes a stronger collaboration between him and his audience, and overall a more pleasing experience.

Similarly, if classical music audiences are being bored and embarking on journeys of self-discovery, there has been a communication break down, resulting in a weak collaboration, and a weak performance.

When companies release new products, they include manuals, software development kits, help lines, customer service, public forums and many other means to communicate with collaborators.  It’s never perfect, but some companies do better than others.

I’m not necessarily suggesting classical/jazz music concerts follow suit, but it’s important for them consider the ways some companies and organizations communicate with their community.

For My Next Post(s)…

From what I’ve written so far over the last two posts, I have two areas to explore:

1. Giving audiences and performers more/alternative freedoms
2. Improving communication/collaboration = improving performance

Stay tuned.

J. Douglas Jefferys has a funny video on effective presentations skills.  He says:

“Unfortunately, most of the behaviors that speakers engage in, send audiences members off on what we call ‘journeys of self-discovery.’”

I have a confession to make:  I frequently enter these “journeys of self-discovery” during classical music concerts (among other types of performances, speeches and presentations).  It turns out that classical music concerts are great for thinking about my career, time management, goals, and what to get my mom for Christmas.

I used to think this was because I wasn’t smart enough, or because I had focus issues.  But now I know I enter these journeys of self-discovery because I’m not being engaged to my liking.  I’m bored.

Being bored is not how I want to spend my evenings, so I avoid going to classical music concerts.  Actually, if I was attending my own concert, I’d probably be bored.  So this issue is important to me.

Am I the Only One!?

I wish every audience member had a gauge over his/her head to measure attentiveness.

Hollywood movies probably achieve high levels of attentiveness.  Lecturers and orators probably achieve less (unless you’re a celebrity/expert like President Obama).  I suspect classical music concerts are low on the attentiveness spectrum.

If that’s the case, then this is a big problem. Having audiences embarking on journeys of self-discovery is contrary to the intentions of the performers, just as it’d be contrary to the intentions of an orator or movie director.

Further, there’s also the issues of dwindling concert attendance and making concerts more appealing for younger audiences.  If the future is bleak, then performers (myself included) need to address the issue of boring our audiences.

Arriving at solutions is complicated, of course.  One reason is because identifying the problem is complicated.  But this is what I want to explore over the next few posts.

I’ll start with boredom.

Boredom’s Not Good

I think that’s a fair assumption.  We try to avoid boredom and and we try to avoid boring other people.

Check out this Squarepusher video:

You’ll notice two things.

The first is that Squarepusher gives impressive performances.  The second is that you’ll stop watching after you get bored.  Having the technology, choice and privacy to “turn it off” is very significant.

We get bored (and angry, frustrated, unhappy etc.) when 1) the situation conflicts with our expectations and 2) we don’t have the knowledge or power to control the situation and stimuli.

1. The Situation Conflicts with Expectations

If there are misunderstandings or unrealistic expectations of the purpose and function of the current circumstances, boredom is likely.

A few examples:

• “This should be entertaining.”
• “The next time will be better.”
• “Coffee shops are great places for peace and quiet.”
• “She said I would enjoy this.”
• “All classical music is awesome.”
• “Many people enjoy this.  I should too.”
• “Libraries are great places to socialize and meet new people.”
• “I always enjoy this.”
• “Tom Cruise is in it, so it’s gotta be good.
• “I can’t wait to socialize at the classical music concert!”

It’s complicated how unrealistic expectations and misunderstandings are formed, and that’s beyond the scope of this post.

However they’re formed, there’s definitely some kind of discordancy or miscommunication between an individual and his/her circumstances.  Those circumstances could include ones ego, other individuals, groups, companies, social situations, or a combination of these.

It may be clear to most people that socializing in a library isn’t appropriate.  Anybody expecting otherwise is going to get bored or be asked to leave. It’s not always clear in other situations though.  This is because performances are the result of many complex, multi-layered and multi-dimensional relationships (which I’ll expand on later).

For now, the most practical solution is in effective communication and clarification, so that everyone involved in certain circumstances have some mutual understanding about purpose and function.

2. Having the Power to Control the Situation

I get bored at classical music concerts because I don’t have control over the variables that would otherwise optimize my experience.  I’m trapped in my seat, facing forward.  Excessive moment is frowned upon.  Chatter isn’t allowed.  It’s poor etiquette to check your email.  I can’t request songs.  Can’t order a drink.  Can’t fast-forward or rewind.  I even feel bad getting up to go to the bathroom.

I have no power to turn something off, or turn something else on.  Thankfully, I can still turn off/on my mind and embark on journeys of self-discovery!

Having this power is similar to what Glenn Gould refers to as “kits.”  From a CBC interview:

“I have a feeling that the end result of all our labors in the recording studio is not going to become some kind of autocratic finished product such as we turn out now with relative ease, with the help of splice-making which we do or which engineers do for us, but is going to be a rather more democratic assemblage. I think we’re going to make kits, and I think we’re going to send out these kits to listeners, perhaps to viewers also, as videotape cartridge gets into the act, as I think it will, and we’re going to say, Do it yourself. Take the assembled components and make of those components something that you genuinely appreciate. If you don’t like the result as you put together the first time, put it together a second time. Be in fact your own editor. Be, in a sense, your own performer.”

In a broader sense, the controls on a YouTube video act as a kind of “kit.”  Play, stop, fast-forward, rewind, increase volume, decrease volume, change quality, turn on captions, full-screen, and comments (among others) aren’t necessarily used to assemble components of a piece of music, but rather to assemble the components of general, everyday experience.

Choosing to socialize, order a drink, request a song, or get up and leave could also be assembly options in certain circumstances.  Even more broadly, so is choosing to attend a classical music concert or a Squarepusher concert.

I’m part of the video game generation (for lack of a better term) – people who grew up with extraordinary diversity and powers to control their stimuli.  Why would I attend a classical music concert, when I could spend time on YouTube, or play video games where I have more much more freedom and control?

After all, this is how we combat boredom, minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour, and day-to-day. Classical music concerts are very suffocating in this regard.

Solutions

If we’re discussing how to make music performances more appealing to more people, then resolving discordant expectations and giving audiences more/alternative freedoms are the most important issues to explore.

Of course, it’s easier said than done.  Complications arise when you think about the meaning of performing, which I’ll write about next post.

James Hale recently wrote an article for the CBC titled “Is it Time for the Death of the Jazz Standard?” The standard repertoire for jazz musicians hasn’t changed much since the 70s.  This is leading some critics to claim that jazz is becoming less relevant, and disconnected from contemporary society.

I squirm in my seat when we refer to ideas, styles or forms as “dead, alive or dying.”  These comparisons tell nice stories, but distort the realities of performance, creativity and experience.

I’m also uncomfortable with the classification and dichotomy between “standards” and “originals.” Such a dichotomy is helpful for reference and classification, but in the performance arts, the issue’s more complicated.

Experience lies on a wide, complex, micro, macro, multi-layered, multi-dimensional spectrum.  For example, imagine Dave Matthews performing a solo concert.  Just Dave and his guitar.  He may be writing and performing original music on one level, but at the same time, there are many non-original aspects to his music.

The guitar, for example, is a familiar instrument.  Dave Matthews’ tunes are written in recognizable rock, bluesy and folk styles.  Most people attending his concert would be familiar with the English language.  Many of the chord structures and combinations he uses have been used millions of times before.

Dave’s performances, and his music are actually very non-original.  But they ARE original – his audiences have never experienced them before.

Conflict.

This conflict is at the heart of any discussion about the health of jazz or of any kind of style or art form.  Here’s how I address it:

First, you can’t separate the music from the performance.  They are one and the same.  The circumstances surrounding a performance are just as important as the music notation on the manuscript. Likewise, the music notation on the manuscript is just as important as the upholstery on the furniture.  It’s all connected.

Nor can you classify a performance as simply original or non-original. Lately I haven’t been differentiating between original compositions and non-original compositions. Rather, performances are best perceived as being the establishment and exploration of “common ground.”  Common ground is the foundation on which any relationship rests.  Without common ground, any relationship or ritual would fall apart.

Here are some examples (assuming you’re familiar with Scott Joplin’s The Entertainer):

• I perform the published version of The Entertainer, note for note.
• I perform The Entertainer with slight note variations and inflections.
• I perform The Entertainer, with a rewritten B section.
• I perform The Entertainer in 3/4.
• I perform The Entertainer as a bossa nova.
• I perform The Entertainer very, very slowly.
• I compose and perform a tune based on the Entertainer.
• I improvise a tune in the ragtime style.
• I improvise a 12-tone tune in the ragtime style.

Hopefully these examples demonstrate some kind of spectrum, and various explorations of common ground in music. But these examples only take into account the music – common ground is experienced in all aspects of a performance. Consider these examples:

• I perform the published version of The Entertainer on the guitar.
• I perform The Entertainer on the spoons.
• I sing The Entertainer in English.
• I sing The Entertainer in Gibberish.
• I perform the published vision of The Entertainer in the dark.
• I perform the published version of The Entertainer with a gorilla on stage.
• The person next to you isn’t wearing pants.
• The concert is scheduled to begin at 4:30am.
• The concert features the local symphony at the local pub.

Common ground is explored in all these instances – interacting, playing and feeding off one another. They’re all part of a complex system that forms our routines and rituals.  The music, whether “original” or “non-original,” is a small piece of a large puzzle.  I mention “ritual” because these ideas of originality, non-originality, familiarity and common ground apply to activities other than music and performances.  Going to a restaurant for example…but I digress.

As long as jazz standards can set common ground between two people, it’s relevant.  In fact, if you create something, it’s relevant.  It’s relevant to you, your audience and your circumstances.  Art is connection.  It’s impossible to create something that’s not relevant, or not connected to our circumstances.

The use, performance and meaning of jazz standards are so deeply connected and woven into the fabric of our culture, we mostly take it for granted.  These connections may not manifest themselves in record sales or popularity, but they’re present nonetheless.  Calling for their death is senseless.

All things considered though, calling for their death is relevant too!  Such suggestions are themselves, part of the same complex system of establishing and exploring common ground and cultivating relationships.

So don’t take these ideas too seriously.  Embrace the irrationality and move on!

If you want to play jazz standards, play them. If you don’t want to play jazz standards, don’t. If you want to mix it up, mix it up. All options are excellent, exciting, relevant and full of creative potential.

“The details of any art form—how to play the violin, how to improvise a raga, how to write English prose, how to make movies, how to teach are of course particular; each instrument or medium comes with its own language and lore.  But there is a kind of metalearning, a metadoing that transfers across styles and forms…While there are certain principles that apply to a particular field, others apply across the board to all fields of creative activity.  Any action can be practiced as an art, as a craft, or as drudgery.”

- Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art, Stephen Nachmanovitch

You may have heard the story of Joshua Bell, world famous violinist, busking in a subway station in Washington.

Imagine an industrial printer in your home office. Or imagine a home printer trying to serve the needs of a corporate office.  Neither makes sense.  Both are ugly and inappropriate.  I would never presume that one would be appropriate for the other’s circumstances.

“But industrial printers are such beautiful instruments!  They’re works of art!  Pure genius!”

Not in my home office they’re not! If a salesman installed an industrial printer in my home office, I’d consider him incompetent, foolish and out to lunch.

That’s because when it comes a printer, it’s easy to perceive the circumstances for which it was designed. You can’t separate what a printer is, from what it does, and from how it functions in certain circumstances.

Music is no different.

Bach’s music is beautiful in many circumstances.  But not ALL circumstances. If you perform Bach’s music at a hoedown, you have a problem.

When Joshua Bell performed in that subway station, he calibrated himself to sell to the classical, concert-going community.  He also made no effort to communicate to passersbys what his function was. So it’s no surprise to me that he failed miserably to attract any attention.

This experiment would have been more interesting if Bell was dressed in a tux, chairs were set up around him, and he introduced his pieces like he regularly would in a concert hall.  Or if he played fiddle music with a spoon player and tap dancer.

THAT would have gotten people’s attention…maybe.

I say “maybe” because there are no guarantees in selling.  But it’s still foolish to be presumptuous. If you don’t empathize and consider the wants and needs of other people, your chances of rejection and failure are much higher.

That’s what happened to Joshua Bell. He and his collaborators made no effort to recalibrate, so neither did their “audience.”

Joshua Bell is a horrible salesman.

On May 6th, I sat down with Josh Grossman, artistic director of the TD Toronto Jazz Festival. It was part of a series of live interviews Josh is hosting called The Artistic Director’s Guide to Jazz.  We had a great discussion about four artists performing solo shows at the festival:

• Kurt Rosenwinkel – June 22nd
• Matt Andersen – June 30th
• Benny Green – June 28th
• Nellie McKay – June 30th

The interview was video recorded, but I’d like to clarify, develop and embellish some of my answers (as well as promote these shows!).

- – - -

Original vs. Non-Original Music

One of Josh’s questions was about performing original compositions:

JOSH: What is your take on performing original compositions vs. performing standards or cover tunes?

For some reason, this reminds me of that funny saying: “There are two types of people in this world, those who divide the world into two types and those who do not.” (Jeremy Bentham, I believe)

The dichotomy between original compositions and non-original compositions is helpful for reference and classification. But in the performance arts, things are more complicated.

Matt Anderson may be writing original music on one level, but at the same time, there are aspects of his performance that are very non-original.

The guitar, for example, is a familiar instrument.  The blues is a recognizable feeling, or style. Most people attending Matt’s concert will be familiar with the English language.  Many of the chord structures and combinations Matt uses in his music have been used millions of times before.

Matt’s performances, and his music are actually very non-original.

But they ARE original – his audiences have never experienced them before.

Conflict.

The nature of this conflict may rest in a language paradox, better observed here. Nevertheless, this is how I address it:

One cannot separate the music from the performance.  They are one of the same.  Nor can you classify a performance simply as being original or non-original. Experience lies on a wide, complex, micro, macro, multi-layered, multi-dimensional spectrum.

So, lately I haven’t been differentiating  between original compositions and non-original compositions.  Every performance, at its core, is original.  Every INSTANCE is original on some level or another.

The best way to classify a performance, experience, and associated variables is in “common ground.”  Common ground is the foundation on which any relationship rests.  Without common ground, any relationship or ritual would fall apart.

(It may seem that I’ve played a trick on myself. I replaced the term “non-original music” with the term “common ground” in which case the conflict described above still applies and I’ve committed some kind of fallacy. But I don’t think this is the case. The term “non-original music” classifies a noun, or a thing. “Common ground” refers to a relationship. It’s the difference between a sheet of music and performing that music.  It’s the difference between what music is and what music does.)

Common Ground in Music

Here are some examples (assuming you’re familiar with Scott Joplin’s The Entertainer):

• I perform the published version of The Entertainer, note for note.
• I perform The Entertainer with slight note variations and inflections.
• I perform The Entertainer, with a rewritten B section.
• I perform The Entertainer in 3/4.
• I perform The Entertainer as a bossa nova.
• I perform The Entertainer very, very slowly.
• I compose and perform a tune based on the Entertainer.
• I improvise a tune in the ragtime style.
• I improvise a 12-tone tune in the ragtime style.

Hopefully these examples demonstrate some kind of spectrum, and various explorations of common ground in music. But these examples only consider the music – common ground is experienced in all aspects of a performance. Consider these examples:

• I perform the published version of The Entertainer on the guitar.
• I perform The Entertainer on the spoons.
• I sing The Entertainer in English.
• I sing The Entertainer in Gibberish.
• I perform the published vision of The Entertainer in the dark.
• I perform the published version of The Entertainer with a gorilla on stage.
• The person next to you isn’t wearing pants.
• The concert is scheduled to begin at 4:30am.
• The concert features the local symphony at the local pub.

Some of these examples make no mention of the music.  That’s because circumstances and environment are equally important to the overall experience of a performance or ritual.

Common Ground in Society

I say “ritual” because these ideas of originality, non-originality, familiarity and common ground apply to activities other than music, concerts and performances.

Consider the ritual of going to a restaurant.  All restaurants follow similar patterns – host greets you, host seats you, waiter takes drinks order, waiter brings drinks, waiter takes food orders, waiter brings food, waiter asks “how’s everything?” etc.

This isn’t just robotic behavior, it’s maintaining common ground.  Going out for dinner would be impossible without it.  Events and circumstances need to unfold in some familiar fashion in order for everything to function.

Of course, every restaurant has variations, which could be considered a creative exploration of common ground. Think about what happens when you order bacon & eggs. No two restaurants make bacon & eggs the same. But reading “bacon & eggs” on the menu will give you an idea of what to expect.  That’s common ground.  Hopefully they’ll meet or exceed your expectations!

Now think about what happens when you order the chef’s signature dish.  Even the most unfamiliar dishes are probably derived from ingredients that you’re familiar with. To establish common ground, a restaurant may list those ingredients in the menu.  If they’re NOT listed in the menu, then common ground may be established through the chef’s reputation. Or perhaps common ground is inherent in government food & safety regulations.

Common ground is inherent in all these things – interacting, playing and feed backing off one another. They’re all part of a complex system that forms our routines and rituals.  The dichotomy between original and non-original music is too simple and inconsistent to explain such a system.

Of course, the irony in this discussion occurs every time I introduce my music: “Next, I’d like to perform an original composition I wrote…..”

I suppose this dichotomy has its uses…  ;)

(Can’t see the video? Click here)

On May 6th, I sat down with Josh Grossman, artistic director of the TD Toronto Jazz Festival. It was part of a series of live interviews Josh is hosting called The Artistic Director’s Guide to Jazz.  We had a great discussion about four artists performing solo shows at the festival:

• Kurt Rosenwinkel – June 22nd
• Matt Andersen – June 30th
• Benny Green – June 28th
• Nellie McKay – June 30th

The interview was video recorded, but I’d like to clarify, develop and embellish some of my answers (as well as promote these shows!).

- – - -

One of Josh’s questions was about technical facility:

JOSH:   ”I saw Kurt Rosenwinkel in concert two years ago.  He was doing things I didn’t think were possible on the guitar.  Do you feel that solid technique is even more important for an artist playing solo?”

First, clarification: “What do you mean by “technical facility?”

One of my earlier posts on this blog was about perfect technique. It’s not usual that I can look back on previous posts and agree with what I’ve written, but my idea about perfect technique still holds:

• You have perfect technique if you sound exactly how you want to sound.
• Your listeners will think you have perfect technique if you satisfy their tastes.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about technique as another word for “replication.” If we can replicate something, we have good technique. Improvising jazz musicians, with good technique, are good at replicating what they’re hearing, replicating their role models and replicating the jazz tradition among other things.

(Interestingly, as my friend Dan Fortin noted, this idea applies to other art forms – dance, visual arts, wood carving, cooking, fashion etc. I wonder if it can apply to sports too – squash, boxing, running etc. Another post perhaps…)

Technical facility then, is like copying technology.  Certain copiers are better, faster and more efficient at replicating than other copiers are.

HOWEVER!  What if your poor, slow and inefficient copier is serving your needs perfectly?  When discussing technical facility, it’s important to consider the circumstances for which you are replicating.

For example, I use a Brother MFC 7840n for all my printing, scanning and copying needs. I love this machine. It’s fast, reliable, wireless and fits perfectly under my desk. Now consider industrial printers. We may marvel at the fact that they can print 200 pages a minute, double sided, stapled, enlarged, in colour, etc, but there’s no way these beast machines would fit  (or look good) in my studio.  It’s totally inappropriate for my circumstances for many reasons.  This machine would have terrible technique.

An artist like Kurt Rosenwinkel may have the technique of an industrial printer, but he may not fit in my home office!

Technical facility then, is no more important when playing solo than when playing in a band.  The reason we think solo playing requires more technique is because we’re not used to replicating under those circumstances.

It requires different skills, different technology. Not better, just different.

HOWEVER!!

I’ll revert back to a more common view of technique – playing impressively fast, for example.

Playing impressively fast is one of the best ways to demonstrate an artist’s proficiency. It’s like a universal benchmark, no matter how skilled his or her audience.

In this sense, technical facility can act as common ground between performer and audience. Once common ground is established, a relationship can be developed.  That’s important.

So, “Is technical facility important when playing solo?”

Final answer: Yes and No.

(Can’t see the video? Click here)