A very good place to start

Julie Andrews taught us that when you sing you begin with Do Re Mi. If only it was simple with writing. I never quite know how to start, so forgive me if this is disjointed.

Inspired by his article about blogging, I just began to explore the journalist and author Alex Ross's own blog, therestisnoise.com. His posts go back years and he seems to have an entire catalog of his written works available, but in an effort to stay hip with the times, I read his most recent article. What a good choice. In this piece, published in the New Yorker, Ross explores the practice of the modern concert, discussing two recently published books on the subject that contrast the informality of pre-20th century concerts to the structure of contemporary performances. I have always thought that the rigidity of classical performances has greatly contributed to its reputation as elite. In blatant contrast to rock or rap concerts, you are not allowed to talk or sing along, wear your orchestra's t-shirt coupled with your filthiest, trendiest jeans, and most concert goers would be more than a little surprised if plumes of pot smoke arose from the audience. Isn't that a fun idea, though? I know, even in the 18th century people didn't act as crazy as they do at modern pop concerts, but just think about it. You go to Davies with a huge picture of MTT on your shirt, ready to belt out "Pierrot Lunaire" and hit on the totally wasted corporate banker sitting next to you. >
as fun as that sounds, let’s not get carried away. I greatly appreciate and respect the sanctity of the concert hall. There are some performances that have so moved me that I honestly thought about extreme and probably lawsuit-worthy measures to convince those next to me to shut the hell up. As the Romantics loved to say, there is a spiritual quality to classical music that is so personal due to the abstract medium. And really, you have to respect that. You have to respect that a piece boring you to tears might be moving your neighbor to tears, and you have no right to at all belittle or interupt that experience. Ross also speaks of the subtleties that have emerged in compositions as the audience has demured, something I certainly appreciate in many modern works.Also addressed in the article is the lack of modern works in the programming of contemporary orchestral seasons. Observing reactions in the marketing department of the LPO, it seemed that unknown or ill-reputed composers were always the bane of their existence. Give them a nice Tchaik 4 or Beethoven 9 and it was a breeze, but come Schoenberg, who was writing one hundred years ago, and they got quite flustered. I understand that people who like classical music and have a night to go would choose something they know they like over something that could potentially suck. And let’s face it, modern music has a pretty, er, inaccessible reputation. But I would love to get into what’s happening now, just like in the indie or pop scene, to be excited about new compositions and modern (not a century old) trends. But it takes a full wallet, a supreme sense of adventure and a whole lot of patience to seek out and find contemporary composers that suite your fancy. It's a commitment I need to make, even though I'm quite snug nestled in my Romantic adoration. It would be well rewarded, I know; just listening to these pieces John Zorn wrote for string quartet has sparked my interest. My friend gave an album by his experimental jazz/rock/awful noise group Naked City in high school, and I evnetually just deleted it off my library as whenever a piece came up in shuffle, I immediately lunged to the computer to change it. The music was so unpleasant that it lost all appeal. I should not have gotten rid of it, though. My tastes have changed dramatically in the past year- I would have never thought I would love Schoenberg (though not sprechstima, sorry) and Berg when I could barely stand to listen to them before. Maybe it's a sign of maturity, maybe I'm just more open minded. I think this will be a continuos theme in this blog of mine.