Newsgroup: it.arti.musica.classica
Titolo: Situazione della MC negli USA (dal NYT)

Dal New York Times di oggi, un amareggiato commento sulla situazione della
Musica classica negli USA
April 29, 2001
MUSIC
What's New in Classical Music? Not Much
By ANTHONY TOMMASINI
IN every era, for whatever reasons, certain art forms dominate the culture.
In the Renaissance it was painting and sculpture, and everyone knew it at
the time. In the 19th century, let's face it: with all due respect to
Tolstoy, Ibsen and Cézanne, orchestral music and opera seized the public
imagination.
We're still too close to the 20th century to say for sure, but most people
would probably pick film as the international art form of the era, with pop
music a close second. In comparison, classical music was hardly a contender:
quite a slip from the highs of the 19th century. Classical music is in
trouble, and unless some basic things change, the troubles will continue in
the 21st century.
There are signs of vitality that should hearten classical-music lovers.
Despite pronouncements that the song recital is dying, you couldn't get a
seat to hear the German baritone Thomas Quasthoff sing autumnal songs by
Schubert and Brahms last month at Alice Tully Hall. This month the
Metropolitan Opera nearly sold out five performances of Berg's grimly
beautiful "Lulu," a 12-tone score once thought to be box-office poison. And
recently Weill Recital Hall was nearly filled for an evening of music by
Peter Lieberson, with the composer present to discuss his works.
But these could be seen as special events for informed audiences in an
international capital of culture. Here and there, new- music festivals,
regional opera companies and scrappy arts centers like the Brooklyn Academy
of Music are buzzing with activity and attracting devoted bands of music
lovers. But for the larger public, classical music has long been culturally
marginal. Opera is doing somewhat better of late, mostly because titles have
made the genre newly accessible. Yet the repertory of most companies is
still embedded in the past. Declining attendance remains a major problem for
established symphonic orchestras that hew to the subscription series format,
which can take on the veneer of a weekly lecture series.
The situation is especially worrisome in America. Europeans have a
proprietary interest in maintaining a heritage they essentially invented.
Government subsidies give performing organizations more stability, hence
ticket prices are cheaper, hence more young people turn up.
Though there are probably several reasons for the apathy of the larger
American public, the main one is the imbalance between the old and the new
in classical-music programming. Mainstream music lovers are said to be
indifferent or openly hostile to contemporary music. As long as classical
music is perceived to be in the preservation business, it should come as no
surprise that potential new audiences, who are instinctively drawn to new
works in other fields, dismiss classical music as dated and irrelevant.
The problem can be corrected, the balance between old and new evened out.
But everyone with a stake in the future of the field - musicians, music
directors, concert presenters, boards, educators and critics - must face the
challenge and help out.
Concert presenters and orchestra administrators have long blamed audiences
for the timidity of programming. Mainstream concertgoers, they say, demand
to hear repertory staples and complain when subjected to unfamiliar
contemporary works. Yet this excuse has always seemed an unfair cop-out.
For example, in December Kurt Masur conducted Brahms's First Piano Concerto
and Schumann's Second Symphony with the New York Philharmonic, just the type
of 19th-century Germanic program the Philharmonic claims that its audiences
want. The pianist Garrick Ohlsson played the Brahms concerto with his
customary passion and intelligence. Yet as I listened, all around me were
people who seemed if not outright bored, then uninvolved. They were drifting
away and, in a few cases, drifting off. As Mr. Ohlsson tore into the
relentless double-octave outburst in the first movement, one woman in an
aisle seat studiously read the erudite program notes as if preparing for a
postconcert exam.
Meanwhile, that same week, Otto-Werner Mueller conducted the Juilliard
Orchestra and a student pianist, Eric Fung, in the same work as part of a
free program at Alice Tully Hall. The audience was rapt with attention. Why
the difference? Because at the Philharmonic, despite the professionalism of
the orchestra, the performance represented business as usual, while at
Juilliard there was something at stake. No doubt many of the student
musicians were performing this work for the first time, and their excitement
was palpable.
Would the snoozers at the Philharmonic have been so uninvolved had the
Brahms come after, say, a bracing contemporary work? If the Philharmonic
wanted to present a German program, how about Hindemith's "Mathis der Maler"
Symphony, followed by a new work by a German composer and, after
intermission, the Brahms concerto? Such a program would invite you to hear
the Brahms afresh, as a benchmark in a heritage whose continuation you had
just experienced.
Would people have come? Maybe not as many. But I doubt that those who showed
up would have been drifting off. And over time, maybe newcomers would arrive
to fill the empty seats. Besides, what good is it doing to placate the
snoozers? This field is in trouble. A radical wake-up call is needed.
Of course, many people would say that things are not so great in other arts
today. The novel is dying; theater is dying: you hear these wails all the
time.
But viewed from my perch, those art forms look vital by comparison. In
almost every other field, there is excitement about the new: new novels, new
dances, new films, new plays.
NEW YORK theater is awash with revivals, it is said. But think of all the
provocative new plays that have stirred audiences of late: "Copenhagen,"
"Proof," "The Invention of Love," "10 Unknowns," "The Play About the Baby"
and the wildly inventive "Mnemonic."
True, the Broadway musical really is languishing, but for myriad reasons.
And in fairness, there is some justification for the increasing prominence
of revivals. Now that the American musical has a genuine heritage of works,
it makes sense that older musicals should be presented to new audiences.
Think of it: Stephen Sondheim's landmark "Follies" of 1971 is now receiving,
30 years later, its first Broadway revival. And "Gypsy," one of the greatest
musicals ever, has had only two Broadway revivals since its 1959 premiere.
For comparison: since the 1896 premiere of "La Bohème," hardly a year has
passed when the opera was not presented in New York. On a Saturday last
month "Bohème" lovers could have attended the New York City Opera's
production in the afternoon and the Met's at night.
So despite the alarm of theater devotees, the field is still dominated by
new works. A theater critic would never write that, oh, well, the new play
was not good but at least the producers gave us something new.
Yet classical-music critics who want to see their field revitalized, who
want to get performers and audiences into the habit of grappling with new
music as they did in earlier eras, are typically inclined to acknowledge
effort: true, the new orchestral piece was not that good, but it was not
that bad, and at least the orchestra commissioned it and gave the composer a
chance. A breakthrough will come only when classical critics feel no qualms
about skewering a poor new piece because so many worthy ones are being
performed as well.
So how did this crisis develop? When and why did new music become
ostracized?
It's a complicated matter. In the early 20th century, music went through a
period of tremendous experimentation. Tonal harmony was thought to be spent,
and composers like Debussy and Schoenberg developed new and radical harmonic
languages. Periods of experimentation had occurred in earlier centuries. But
this time the experimentation coincided with the invention of the radio and
the phonograph, which changed everything.
In the 19th century, if you wanted music in your daily life, you had to make
it yourself, at home. Amateur music-making thrived. Once radios and record
players came along, all nonprofessional music lovers needed to do was flick
a switch. Thus, as composers became increasingly radical, music lovers could
keep listening to their favorite Beethoven symphonies on the radio and play
their favorite Gigli recordings on the phonograph. As contemporary music
became more complex than ever, the level of musical skill and understanding
among the general public declined more than ever. Composers and audiences
started moving apart. By the 1960's, the divide had become a chasm.
Composers drove audiences away: that was the charge you always heard back
then. But that was then, this is now, and the charge rings hollow. Tonality
has been rehabilitated, and for at least 25 years composers have been
working hard to win back audiences. Sometimes too hard. A couple of decades'
worth of lushly emotive neo-Romantic works have made the rhythmically spiky
and harmonically astringent music of Stefan Wolpe, Ralph Shapey, Elliott
Carter and Pierre Boulez seem organic and refreshing by comparison. If
audiences could just be given more chances to hear these vibrant and brainy
works, and music by exciting younger composers who defy categorization, like
Stephen Hartke, Judith Weir, Steven Mackey, Poul Ruders, Oliver Knussen and
Thomas Adès, I am convinced they would respond.
Concert presenters argue that audiences don't want to hear off-putting new
works they can't understand. But do we really "understand" Brahms's Third
Symphony, for example, a great though strange piece? Or are we just familiar
with it, another thing entirely?
Part of the fun of new music is that it often does discombobulate us. New
plays are allowed to be elusive and abstract, but new concert works, for
some reason, are not. Listen to the lobby talk during the intermission at
"The Play About the Baby," and you will hear lots of confused conjecture
about what Edward Albee may be saying. That the play provokes such
speculation is part of its power. The difference is that theatergoers are
better conditioned and more receptive to new works that rattle them.
Perhaps this explains why opera in America is showing signs of growth. Opera
is theater, after all. Titles have had a revolutionary effect on opera
appreciation. Suddenly, audiences get it: I'm at a show! I can just sit back
and be entertained! Of course, most opera companies across the country are
still luring audiences with "La Traviata" and other staples. Yet savvy
company directors, like Paul Kellogg at the New York City Opera, have
managed to attract younger film buffs, theatergoers, even dance fans with
more adventurous fare.
These newcomers, not being vested in the heritage, are just as likely to
take in the City Opera's gritty production of Carlisle Floyd's "Of Mice and
Men" as "Don Giovanni." And there is genuine interest, among newcomers, in
new opera, a natural extension, it would seem, of considering opera as
theater.
Yet for the most part, the climate for abstract, nontheatrical works of
contemporary music is discouraging. So what must happen for the situation to
change?
Begin with good training. College music departments and conservatories must
encourage performers to work regularly with composers. All students giving
degree recitals could be required to perform works written expressly for
them. It would be nice if there were a natural sympathy between composers
and performers. But sympathy can be inculcated.
Fledgling professional musicians should have the courage to play new works
by composers they believe in and resist the entreaties of concert presenters
and agents who try to talk them out of it. Why should a young artist in an
important engagement play standard works that inevitably invite premature
comparisons with great interpreters of the past rather than offer new and
unfamiliar works that might tell us more about who the performer really is?
What does it indicate about the musical curiosity of, say, a young European
violinist when the artist makes a New York debut with works by Bach,
Beethoven, Debussy and Paganini? But it happens all the time.
Performers need not turn themselves into contemporary-music specialists.
There are different kinds of talents, as audiences understand. Murray
Perahia, who plays Schumann, Mozart and Bach beautifully, is a splendid
musician though deeply traditional in his tastes. We can't expect him to be
Peter Serkin. And yet if Mr. Perahia, with his star power, found even one
living composer he believed in, he could make that composer's reputation.
Classical-music ensembles and orchestras that present mixed programs have to
adjust their offerings to include not just new music but also works from the
mid-20th century that should have joined the repertory by now. Witold
Lutoslawski, Roger Sessions and Mr. Carter have each composed a concerto for
orchestra. At least by title, each was written in homage to Bartok's
Concerto for Orchestra of 1945, and in different ways, each is as exciting
and accessible as that work. You would think that a conductor planning to
perform the Bartok might instead try the Sessions or the Carter. But these
works are seldom played; in all my years of concertgoing I have heard each
only once. For that matter, even Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra, supposedly
a staple, doesn't turn up all that often.
The executive directors and music directors of our major symphony orchestras
and opera companies bear most of the blame for the conservatism of
programming and have the greatest capacity to change it. Waiting for
top-down leadership from celebrity conductors may not be the quickest or
surest way to go, but it can work. The Los Angeles Philharmonic, under the
astute and exciting leadership of Esa-Pekka Salonen, is thriving
artistically, though keeping up attendance is always hard in that city,
which is difficult to get around. Interestingly, during the orchestra's
recent Stravinsky Festival, six Stravinsky programs attracted nearly full
houses. Audiences, it seems, will get in their cars for challenging fare.
No music lover in the San Francisco Bay Area would accuse the San Francisco
Symphony under the direction of Michael Tilson Thomas of being culturally
marginal. Mr. Thomas's balanced programs are interesting, innovative and
invigorating. His audiences hear plenty of Beethoven, Mahler and Ravel. But
through his dynamic musicianship and advocacy, he has gotten audiences
excited about new and recent works as well. Attendance is solid. Things are
going great.
The classical-music field has long encouraged superficial talk about which
American orchestras constitute the Big Five. Which has the richest string
sound? The most powerful brasses? The most incisive ensemble? Such talk just
compounds the problem. How orchestras play matters. But what they play, and
why, matters more. The overall quality of American orchestras is high. There
is intense competition for positions, and the players who get picked are
generally strong. Surely, the 20 biggest and busiest orchestras in America
are all capable of playing excellently. My guess is that audiences and
players in San Francisco couldn't care less where their orchestra is ranked.
They are too delighted with what is going on.
Ticket prices for classical music are a disincentive for many, of course.
But tickets for basketball games and rock concerts can also be expensive.
And music lovers in cities where there are conservatories and colleges can
often take in excellent concerts free. Still, more ways must be found to
bring the best classical music to people with modest means. When Mr. Boulez
and the Vienna Philharmonic gave three sold-out concerts last month at
Carnegie Hall, it pained me to walk past so many people still trying to get
in, including young people in scruffy jeans who most likely had no access to
corporate seats. At one concert, as Mr. Boulez took the stage to conduct
Bruckner's Ninth Symphony, a prosperous-looking man in a three- piece suit
turned to his female companion and asked: "So who's the conductor? Mahler?"
WHO was this guy? What was he doing there? Could he actually have paid for
that expensive seat and yet been so out of it? I thought of those ticketless
people outside.
Maybe it's too late for top-down solutions. Maybe the solutions will well up
from below, from events like the recital the young American pianist
Christopher Taylor presented in February at the Miller Theater of Columbia
University, which George Steel, the impresario there, has turned into a
hotbed of contemporary-music offerings.
Mr. Taylor played Messiaen's extraordinary "Vingt Regards sur l'Enfant
Jésus" of 1944, more than two hours of daunting, complex, path-breaking
music that careens between meditative stillness and ecstatic exuberance. The
hall was not quite full. But the concert attracted lots of eager, curious
and notably youngish listeners. Surely, many of them were not prepared for
what they heard. But Mr. Steel has won their trust with his hip programming.
The concert was transfixing. But the experience was enhanced by being among
these listeners, so pensive and engaged. Suddenly the problems of getting
Midtown concertgoers to accept contemporary music seemed distant. It will
take time to build new audiences for contemporary music from small
gatherings like this one. But maybe this is the way it will happen.

*Sniff*
Nonostante i marines, voi americani vi avrebbero dovuto inventare, se 
non ci foste stati...
Abbozzo un tentativo di glossa, senza avere tempo e competenza per 
mettermi a stendere un'analisi sociologica.
Dalle mie parti, si va ai concerti o al teatro in due casi:
1) festival ben organizzato di contemporanea
2) grande nome nel teatro tradizionale, nella classica o nell'opera
Le sale sono disertate in due casi:
1) concerto occasionale o festivalino organizzato con i piedi (poca
   pubblicità, servizio prenotazioni inesistente, incertezze di cast fino
   al secondo campanello)
2) spettacolo di teatro tradizionale o d'opera di routine
È la situazione di una provincia relativamente molto attiva nella musica 
classica (quattro orchestre stabili per un milione e mezzo di abitanti), 
nell'opera lirica (tre stagioni operistiche importanti, più una miriade 
di stagioni minori), nel teatro d'avanguardia (uno dei tre grandi 
festival italiani, più un paio di stagioni di rilievo).
Quello che ho capito, in circa venticinque anni di frequentazione di 
spettacoli nella mia zona e nelle zone limitrofe (confino con Spoleto e 
Santarcangelo), è che c'è una gran parte del pubblico *assetata* di 
novità, e un'altra che cerca il nome rassicurante.
Il secondo tipo di pubblico è quello che piace alla gran quantità degli 
assessori, che si ritrovano spesso con il teatro vuoto (a meno che non 
ci siano i Glauco Mauri o i Franco Nero).
Il primo tipo di pubblico è quello maltrattato: festival organizzati con 
due lire, date di inizio non confermate fino all'ultimo momento (e c'è 
chi organizza le vacanze in funzione di questi festival!), numero di 
posti limitato, luoghi inadatti.
Tempo fa, l'Arena Sferisterio di Macerata organizzava il Treno della 
Lirica, una sbandieratissima iniziativa che portava i melomani da 
Riccione e Macerata, con rinfresco finale in un edificio prestigioso, e 
guide che accompagnavano i pellegrini durante tutta la loro permanenza. 
Mi sono trovato ad uno di questi rinfreschi, mentre organizzavo un mio 
spettacolo nel palazzo. C'era una ventina di anziani, molto carini e 
simpatici. Un eccellente investimento, per qualche decina di milioni di 
lire!
Il Festival di Polverigi (teatro d'avanguardia) sopravvive, nonostante 
tutto. Con meno spettatori che in passatto, quando c'era da 
accapigliarsi per trovare un posto. Non ci sono più soldi per la 
pubblicità, e li si riserva ai soli spettacoli. Il pubblico viene da 
ogni parte d'Italia, ma senza certezze (c'è o no quello spettacolo unica 
data in Italia? quando inizia il festival? si sovrappone a Santarcangelo 
o no?) c'è chi non si muove nemmeno.
Santarcangelo, altro festival povero, ripete gli stessi spettacoli con 
le stesse compagnie da anni: spettacoli offerti quasi volontariamente 
dagli artisti, che ricevono dalle istituzioni due lire. Neanche a 
parlarne, di chiamare qualche nome grosso dall'estero, insomma di 
restare *internazionali*. Il pubblico non viene in massa perché non 
piace il teatro d'avanguardia, o perché il festival vivacchia e non 
offre più vere novità?
Eccetera eccetera. Il giornalista ha individuato una situazione vera 
ovunque: la cultura media, nei paesi industrializzati, è molto alta, la 
curiosità, nell'era multimediatica, immensa. Non ci si accontenta della 
riproposizione dello stesso concerto o delle stesse forme di teatro. C'è 
anche chi vuole quel tipo di spettacolo - ed è merito dell'età sempre 
crescente del pubblico. Ma c'è anche una marea di pubblico pronta, a cui 
non viene offerto nulla.
Il Festival delle Terre di Pesaro e Urbino, diretto da un grande 
organizzatore, ha esordito con il meglio della produzione d'avanguardia 
nel teatro internazionale, e ha sempre riempito teatri e chiostri. La 
Rassegna di Nuova Musica di Macerata, finché data in epoca di bagnanti e 
in una magnifica abbazia, ha sempre riempito gli spazi (si parla di 
trecento spettatori a serata in provincia!).
Ma sono queste le manifestazioni su cui più feroce si è abbattuta la 
scure degli amministratori: eliminandole, o convertendole in rassegne 
paratelevisive, con i soliti Marchini, Riondino, De Gregori, Ovadia...
Il problema non è il pubblico: è la mostruosa ignoranza degli 
amministratori. Signori assessori, lasciateci gestire i nostri spazi, e 
pensate alle aiuole e alle buche delle strade. Non chiedeteci mezzo 
milione per organizzare uno spettacolo, non chiedeteci di pagare tasse 
quando diamo la nostra musica, mettete i soldini del Treno della Lirica 
in un fondo per i giovani artisti. Lasciateci vivere, e al pubblico 
pensiamo noi.
Paolo
-- 
Paolo Tramannoni
Porto Recanati, Italy

 pensiamo noi.
bravo, mille volte bravo.
Ti ascoltassero!!!!!!!
ciao
Ale

 Ti ascoltassero!!!!!!!
Sotto elezioni, nel mio villaggio gira la solita voce: dieci anni fa, un 
riuscito broglio mi rese, da ultimo degli eletti del PCI, primo dei non 
eletti.
Al tempo, segretario di sezione di quel partito, non feci ricorso.
Oggi, ci credo, se non altro per fede. Magari oggi avrei guidato la 
rivoluzione.
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 ha scritto nel messaggio
news:ptram-0247C5....@News.CIS.DFN.DE...
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Bisogno di una mano?
A.

pensiamo noi.
Si č visto.
leonardo