It’s been a pretty steep learning curve as I figure out how everything works on a tour with one of the most iconic rockstars in the world, and I feel like I’m finally figuring out the rhythm of things. Concert days run a pretty predictable pattern: get up in one city, take the private plane (yes, it’s really, really nice…) to the next city, check into the hotel, drive to the venue, do a soundcheck with an orchestra I’ve never met for 2.5 hours, order dinner at catering, get ready for the show, perform, go directly from the stage to the waiting vans after the 3rd encore, return to the hotel, take off concert clothes, head to the hotel bar for a drink with the band and the boss, repack, sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

The big musical challenge has been those soundchecks with a new orchestra nearly ever night. I have a prep conductor who’s ahead by about a week who rehearses the orchestras (up to 12 hours, which seems like a tremendous luxury!). So, while the orchestras have rehearsed by themselves by the time I arrive, in soundcheck I have to immediately assess the level of the ensemble and figure out where they’re going to need me most. European orchestras don’t play pops shows like Stateside orchestras do, and across the board I’ve heard a certain discomfort with decidedly non-classical offbeat/syncopated rhythms as well certain types of articulations. But by soundcheck time it’s all about triage and prioritizing those things I have to address and fix. I’ve always been pretty quick on my feet, conductorially speaking, but I’m definitely honing those skills on this tour!

Our largest audience so far has been in St. Petersburg where the crowd exceeded 100,000…which is pretty mind-boggling – people as far as you could see. On one hand it’s amazing to imagine such a collection of humanity amassed to experience this one concert. On the other hand, onstage it’s just another concert, and everyone’s doing their part to make it as successful as possible. It’s a fascinating dichotomy. A friend asked me if I was anxious about performing in front of so many people, and I answered that it doesn’t make any difference to me who’s out there; I’m just focused on establishing a groove with band and bringing the orchestra into their sonic fold.

It’s been a fantastic experience getting to know Sting and the band, and even more so working with them night after night and watching how everyone interacts onstage. It’s also astonishing to see how much work goes into a production like this and the amount of manpower required! A topic for a future post. I’ll try to post photos soon, and I’ve taking soundscape videos of many of the cities we’ve hit. More later; I need to take advantage of a rare morning off and catch up on email and do some laundry!

You remember Tubby the Tuba, right? Danny Kaye narrated it on the album I literally wore out as a kid, and it even got made into a movie in the 1970s. It’s not exactly Shakespeare, but it’s a fun romp that manages to both accurately depict the personalities of various sections of the orchestra (violins = mean but popular kids, piccolo = friendly & chipper true friend, etc.) and tell a classic Underdog Finds His Voice story.

Telling that story from the narrator’s chair for us this weekend will be our friendly and chipper piccolo specialist, Roma Kansara, who you ItC fans might remember from some of our past shows. (Her explanation of double and triple tonguing in our 2009 Mendelssohn concert was especially memorable. You had to be there.) It’s a bold role for Roma to take on – not because of the speaking part, but because the narrator in this story also has to sing. Several times. In tune with the orchestra.

This is a more stressful thing than you might imagine. I’m totally comfortable on stage in front of the orchestra with a microphone, and I’ve done no small amount of singing in my life, and I would never in a million years agree to do what Roma’s doing. Even with simple children’s songs, the possibility of utter humiliation in front of one’s colleagues is just too high.

But there was Roma in rehearsal today, singing away like it was nothing (and she has a lovely voice as it turns out, no doubt honed by years of singing to her two beautiful daughters.) It was so unexpectedly charming that the whole orchestra gave her a round of stomping – that’s how we applaud when our hands are busy – in the middle of our first run-through.

But here’s the thing – Roma’s not our only narrator this week. She’ll be handling our Free Family Concerts on Sunday, but for the next two days, when we’ll be playing the show for thousands of kids on school field trips, the narrator’s chair will be occupied by none other than the Superintendent of the Minneapolis School District. Which just sounds like a bad idea, doesn’t it? When I think “superintendent of schools,” I do not think “friendly and chipper.” I do not think “lovely singing voice.” I think of this guy:

Figure Chalmers: Dour. Extremely dour.

But there, sauntering onto the stage and being sure to high-five Roma following her run-through of Tubby, was the Supe herself, Bernadeia Johnson, only a few months into her tenure at the head of a deeply troubled and fractious district. And almost immediately (right around the moment she flipped open the full score on her stand, pointed to a specific spot in the music and asked conductor Courtney Lewis a question about it,) I realized that we were going to be just fine in her hands. This is clearly one confident woman (and judging by what I’ve read about her in the local press, someone who runs in the direction of new challenges on a regular basis,) and she launched into her run-through with as much personality as Roma had.

Figure Bernadeia: SO not dour.

We only had to stop for her once – the same number of times that we had to stop because of a screw-up in the orchestra, by the way – and she instantly knew what her mistake had been, and wrote a reminder in her score like a pro. Her singing voice was confident, and she was obviously enjoying herself. More than that, she had clearly thought her delivery of the story through, and was having no trouble following the music on the page in front of her, which is no small accomplishment. (When I had to narrate Casey at the Bat from a full score a couple of years back, I was stunned by how alert I had to be.)

After the rehearsal, I happened to brush by Ms. Johnson in the hall, so I gave her a smile and a “great job.” The “Why, thank you!” I got in return was in a tone of voice that suggested that, while she was genuinely grateful for the compliment, she wasn’t in the least surprised that she had exceeded our expectations. She’s obviously used to exceeding a lot of those at this point. I really can’t wait to see her in front of a house full of her kids tomorrow morning.

Let me dispense with the accolades first; it was an incredibly engrossing film, and Natalie Portman is fantastic in it. The soundtrack, by Cliff Mansell, is an imaginative reworking of Tchaikowsky’s “Swan Lake” score that perfectly captures the compulsiveness that permeates Portman’s character (and a shout-out to my friend Tim Fain who is featured as the violinist playing during the rehearsal scenes).

Whatever the critics have called the film – “psychological thriller” is the most common moniker – is a disservice, because in the end this is a movie about both the artistic process and an artist’s obsession with perfection.

Taking too much of a literalist view of it (“how can she be turning into a swan?”) subverts the real intent – the figurative metamorphosis that a performing artist must undergo to truly serve their art. Because, in the end, when we’re onstage, we have to be something more than ourselves; we have to be a version of ourselves where all emotions and expression are immediately available, which is not a natural state in which to be.

(Spoiler alert…) And as for the ending, I spent a long, meandering car ride from movieplex to hotel room pondering its intent. And then I realized, it wasn’t about life imitating art (the demise of the Swan Queen/Portman’s character’s death) but something much broader. Artists spend their lives striving for their own form of perfections, never to be achieved; the beauty of it is all about the process, the eternal effort.

But what if you achieved that perfection, or, as Nina Sayers whispers at the end of “Black Swan”, “I was perfect”? There can’t be anything after perfection, because then the journey is finished. Artistic terminus. An unexpected cinematic reminder, for me, to keep my focus on the odyssey and not on a destination.

I dare you not to smile at some point during that rendition of a beautiful Christmas hymn by a foul-mouthed cartoon 8-year-old. (Don’t worry – he’s not foul-mouthed in this clip.) My personal favorite line: “Jesus was born, and so I get presents. Thank you, Jesus, for being born.” Has any sage ever better expressed the typical American child’s take on Christmas?

Still not enough to get you back in the spirit? Okay, try this…

(Yes, this is the band from those Hyundai commercials. Settle down.)

(Pomplamoose haters, please take note: I understand that there are many of you, and that you like to infest blogs promoting their music with your disapproving comments. Please don’t bother. I like them, you don’t. We can still be friends.)

I’ll take one more shot at reviving Sarah’s flagging spirits. Because I know she (like all good and reasonable people) loves her some Cantus…

This level of vocal skill should really be illegal.

Seriously, how good are those guys? I took in MPR’s live broadcast of their Christmas concert at Westminster Church (just out the back door of Orchestra Hall) this morning, and… wow. Just wow. I’d honestly listen to them sing a Justin Bieber medley. (And, um, they’re not bad to look at, either. Just thought I’d get that out there.)

Anyway, we’re officially one week from the cessation of the annual stampede of Christmas-mania, and the Minnesota Orchestra is four concerts away from being done with our part in it. Sarah’s right that most musicians tend to be wearing the Scrooge hat by the time it’s all said and done, and I’m no exception. Still and all, though, the worst music that the holiday season inevitably dredges up only serves to highlight how good the best of it really is. I mean, honestly…

So, backtracking to a Detroit Free Press article from the end of October, about Detroit Symphony Music Director Leonard Slatkin’s silence (at least publicly) about the ongoing strike and the bitter dispute between management and musicians.

I’m always fascinated by the role of the conductor/music director in these circumstances; we’ve become so accustomed to conductor-as-figurehead (and often mouthpiece) that we expect an official statement. In reality, making any kind of statement is a lose/lose situation.

Come out in support of management and you’ve permanently lost your relationship with musicians, and even if the strike eventually ends and business goes back to (a new) normal, you’ll find collegial music-making a thing of the past. Not a tenable situation.

Come out in support of musicians, and you run the risk of losing your job (as I mentioned in an earlier blog about the Columbus Symphony).

I had a conversation with a musician-colleague a few days ago in which they expresses a certainty that of course Slatkin was most interested in the quality of the artistic product and the quality of the players, so of course he had to support the musicians. All I know for certain is this; unlike orchestral musicians, who can, for the most part, say what they please under the protection of tenure, conductors work under contract (Slatkin’s is 2 years). Nonrenewal of a contract can be just a controversial statement away.

It’s all reflective of the illusion that is the power of the conductor – while we might appear to wield control on the podium, we are reliant on the response of our players. And while we might strongly influence, say, the layout of a season, when push comes to shove (or an orchestra goes on strike), we are simply independent contractors subject to the whims of the board in a more fundamental way than the orchestra itself is.

Being a successful music director (and by successful, I mean one who has weathered this type of storm with relationships with all constituents somewhat intact – and with a job still in hand) has always required a certain amount of political savvy as well as an understanding of studied neutrality. My question to blog readers: what is the equivalent in the non-musical world?

Taking ten days off in my native state. Posting will be even spottier that it has been on my end for the next two weeks or so, hope you’re enjoying your late summer!

Yup, July tends to be a oddly jam-packed and tiring month. As I catch my breath here in my room in Waterville, ME, listening to an epic thunderstorm raging outside, I’ve finally uploaded from my phone a video I took while at the New Hampshire Music Festival a couple of weeks back. The program for the evening was an interesting combo: Ives/Three Places in New England (v. 2); Copland/Appalachian Spring; Beethoven/Piano Concerto #5.

Morgan came to find me after the concert; she’d been assigned to usher the first of two evening performances, and liked it so much that she switched with a friend and came back to usher the second night as well. As she put it, “The first night I was just going to stay for the first half, like we’re supposed to, but I ended up staying for the whole concert because I wanted to hear more.” I’ll let her do her own talking:

Morgan

It was a thrill to encounter a first-time concertgoer who exuded such enthusiasm and had, self-admittedly, become a classical music convert. Which was a potent reminder to me why every performance matters; there are those out there encountering orchestral repertoire for the first time in their lives, and it’s contingent upon myself and my colleagues in the orchestra to make the music come alive.

Without going too far down the road of negativity, I’ll just say that music criticism really isn’t what it used to be. Many critics today, battered from all sides by an unfriendly economy, increasingly twitchy musicians and the PR folks who work for them, and a wider American public that doesn’t really see any need for Expert Opinion on anything anymore, seem to have either decided to live on the path of least resistance (praising more or less every concert that isn’t a total debacle,) or lapsed into a perpetually cranky tone that implies that they are the last line of defense against the cultureless barbarians at the gate. It’s kind of sad, especially since those of us who make our living in the arts really do owe a debt of gratitude to the news organizations that still deign to cover us. (Yes, City Pages, I’m still looking at you. Cute head fake and all with having your theater critic write up a couple of blog posts about classical music right after I slammed you, but it’s been nothing but silence since May…)

Anyway. I bring all this up because this past weekend, the orchestra made our annual pilgrimage to Winona, Minnesota’s rather miraculous Minnesota Beethoven Festival, there to close out the summer for them with Osmo conducting the 4th and the 7th, which just happen to be my two favorite Beethoven symphonies. We’ve been doing this for three years running now, and while Winona is quite a haul from the Cities, I’ve always loved making the trip. The people who pack the middle school auditorium for our shows are always so excited to be there, and so gracious to us. They literally treat us like celebrities, and while that kind of unearned adulation normally makes me seriously uncomfortable, the folks in Winona are so sincere that I just want to hug them all.

Most years, after we play Winona, I find myself scanning a few reviews from southern Minnesota papers who sent reporters to the concert. They’re pretty much always unfailingly polite and full of praise for the home state’s biggest band, and almost always indistinguishable from the hundreds of other reviews I read every year. But this year, I’d noticed that there was a violinist from Eau Claire who was posting blog reviews of a number of the Beethoven Festival concerts. And that she could really write, not a skill that many musicians are known to possess. I wondered whether she’d be at our show.

She was, of course. And while I’m pretty much the antithesis of an emotional guy, I have to admit that I teared up while reading her description of the concert we played yesterday…

I’ll try to remember little bits and pieces to give a vague idea of what it was like, but honestly I was rendered rather speechless. There was power suffused with delicacy – extraordinary dynamic range – palpable commitment on the part of everyone onstage, from the strings to the brass to the woodwinds to Maestro Vanska – elegance – earthiness – charm – passion. Passion above all else. These musicians were so excited to share their love of the music with us, and the electricity in the hall proved that the audience was just as excited to hear it as the orchestra was to play it. It was such a special feeling to communicate with these extraordinary virtuosos in that intensely personal way. I wish I could tell you more than that – give you more details about what exactly I loved – but I really can’t. I was too carried away by the joy and power of the sound. There is nothing to say except this is the pinnacle of our art. This is why I love music. This is one of the greatest experiences a human being can have.

Wow. That’s just… that might be the greatest compliment I’ve ever been paid in my 30 years of playing an instrument. Not to mention the most eloquent. I’m sort of speechless myself.

Emily wrote that she thought of approaching some of the MN Orchers she saw heading out after the concert, but was afraid that she’d either come across as hopelessly smitten or tongue-tied…

I’ll have to resort to thanking them online. Hopefully some member of the orchestra will read it and understand the profound awe and gratitude I’m trying to convey.

I read it, Emily, and you can bet I’ll make sure everyone else does, too, when we get back to work tomorrow morning. The awe and gratitude runs both ways – as lucky as you and others in the Upper Midwest might feel to have us around, we feel twice as lucky to have you. And please – keep writing. You’re astoundingly good at it.

And let’s talk about that “crossover” thing for a minute. At it’s best, crossover involves artists of one genre steeping themselves in the traditions, techniques and atmosphere of another, and then incorporating both in a work that sheds a new perspective on both artforms. Yo-Yo Ma’s Silk Road Project, for example, is an extraordinary amalgamation of over a dozen different cultures and Western classical music – “crossover” at its best.

Then we have Renée Fleming’s “Dark Hope”, a cover album which finds her interpreting the likes of Jefferson Airplane, Arcade Fire, Death Cab for Cutie and, yes, Muse.

The first thing you notice is that her trademark dulcet soprano has been lowered by several octaves, and she’s done a great deal to mute her operatic projection. I actually like the tone quality she achieves in that lower register.

I like the idea; I like what she does to transform her own style to suit the material. What I really object to is the production – I hesitate to call it “arrangement” or “instrumentation” because all the backing tracks sound like drum machine, midi chorus vocals and synthesizer strings.

You’d think that, given a voice like Flemings, this would be an opportunity for creative arrangements, perhaps giving a small nod to her operatic origins by mixing in orchestral instruments with a rhythm section and keyboards, or something. I mean, I would even be happy with just an actual drummer playing a kit and some backing vocals that were human-produced.

The effect of all this studio fakery is to make these songs sound like sterilized versions of themselves – it’s karaoke lite – which is truly unfortunate, given the quality of Flemings vocals. And, in the end, it does little to illuminate either the material or the performer.

“Dark Hope” dropped a while ago; the reason I bring it up now is that someone sent me a link to the video for the lead single, Muse’s “Endlessly”. I find that these visuals simply exacerbate the problems of the track; the music sounds hollow enough, but layered with all the artsy sepia-toned/NYC hipster/random scarf leitmotif/Cirque du Soleil extras mishmash, the song loses all vision and, ironically, voice (although I enjoyed the Matthew Modine walk-on at the end).

I want to reiterate; I don’t object to a hugely-respected operatic soprano covering alt-rock. I object to poor production which brings nothing to the material and forces Fleming’s voice to do all of the musical, stylistic and emotional heavy lifting, which defeats the purpose of a project such as this. But judge for yourself: