Saturday, June 21, 2014

The Mystery of Collaboration

Having worked in this world of the arts on many levels, I hold the ideal of artistic collaboration to be quite difficult yet essential to the totality of the arts. The life of a musician and the life of an artist is one of singularity over solidarity, lending itself to a contained world of insular self-expression. The glorious opportunity to be in a room making music for an audience of one is a necessary part of the process of artistic growth. Individual development is a lifelong endeavor and the life of an artist requires constant improvement to the chosen craft. Like a great athlete or scientist or mathematician, an artist works relentlessly, and usually alone, to attain excellence.

This truth, however, augers against the need for the arts to make a bold and collective impact on the world through communication and public performance. Although somehow satisfying to make art or music in a room without public scrutiny, it also makes little sense other than meeting some kind of personal need. Perhaps this meets an emotional niche for the individual but there certainly is no impact on society or culture through this approach. Contrary to Milton Babbit's philosophy of the lack of a need for an audience (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Who_Cares_if_You_Listen), the arts are not sustainable without the public eye or ear.

But aside from those who produce great art in a vacuum apart from other people, there is much to gain through collaboration. This is not to take away from great pianists, guitarists, solo singers, painters, or sculptors, but it is to say that art makes room for the collective experience. Unfortunately, in the arts, mostly due to the singular focus and the sheer amount of time alone, artists struggle with collaboration. Sitting in a practice room making a multitude of musical decisions and suddenly being required to share in the decision making process is nearly antithetical to what it means to be personally expressive. Trained and talented musicians reach a point where they determine the musical goals that are within their preference zone, their experience, and their intuitive conditioning. Having to give up ownership of their expressive musical goals is akin to allowing others to drive your car or live in your home. It feels neither natural nor comfortable to do so. Most advanced artists prefer to be in charge, to retain ownership of the decisions, and to be the musical leader whether that is individually or collectively.

In spite of the repeated experiments in ensemble playing without a conductor, there seems to remain a need for a central leadership figure. This system works well (mostly, anyway) for large musical ensembles but is often not necessary for smaller groups. That said, many a rock band has experienced demise due to power struggles within the unit. As musical organizations grow, so does the need for strong musical leadership. Yet this very need begins to push against the need for collaboration, making such endeavors a mystery in the arts. Artists require a strong sense of individual expressiveness, yet many art forms, on a grand scale, require collaboration. This tension can only be healthy when all constituents recognize the ultimate goal of providing a positive artistic experience for the audience.

One of the great artistic genres that absolutely requires collaboration is in musical theatre and opera (terms that should not be used separately from my perspective). "No art form exists independently of the conditions in which it is enjoyed." (Tim Parks, http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2014/jun/10/reading-struggle/, accessed 6/13/2014) and such is true in musical theatre where the preparation involves large forces and the performance space determines much of the outcome. In musical theatre costumes, sets, acting, singing, orchestra, directors, lighting, sound, literature, and ultimately audiences come together for what is one of the great examples of artistic collaboration in today's culture. And musical theatre is enjoying a substantial market share and a growing audience base.

Not that shows are easy and the amount of collaboration required is tremendous, often with many strong-willed artists involved seeking to come to agreement and consensus on matters related to all facets of the show. Artistry goals aside, in the end the goal is to communicate to people, develop an audience, and, turn a profit. When the profit motive is active, it forces the collaborative process to succeed in the end. Yet when there is no profit motive, such as collaboration in an academic institution, the process has the real potential to be a power and/or artistic struggle between individuals or groups. Sadly, when the struggle digresses into a complete lack of mutual cooperation, the result is a poor performance or cancellation of intended event.

The driving force for successful collaboration does not appear to be artistic excellence despite what artists often claim. The impetus for collaborative success may not be as lofty as we would prefer but may, instead, be public support. A small but appreciative audience is always emotionally rewarding and should not be discredited, but, when the audience is substantial and revenues exceed expenses, everyone benefits. Such is the case in collective collaborative artistic experiences. These experiences are lined with purpose that overrides individual achievement. Yet without a solid, concrete purpose, artistic collaboration will remain a mystery that is mired in abstract and often self-serving emotional regions.  

Thursday, June 12, 2014

The Pebble

Not sure how it happened, but this morning as I finished 2/3 of my morning run, a pebble got in my shoe. I suppose it occurred as I ran along the highway where the road meets the land and the man-made material moves into nature leaving behind loose pebbles and rocks along the way. And one of those little guys jumped into my shoe, making me quite uncomfortable.

I kept going and the pebble moved as I moved. Sometimes under the large toe but other times within the empty spaces between the toes or under the arch, the pebble kept altering positions. Several steps later it would move again somehow landing in the wrong spot for any kind of comfort. Comfort is an unusual word in running since there is virtually nothing comfortable about the process. Pain accompanies virtually every motion and between the huffing and puffing, aching legs, and hurting muscles I did not know existed, it seemed silly to worry about a little pebble.

Yet every few steps there was the pebble again. Painful enough to announce its presence but not quite bad enough to warrant stopping to remove it. So I kept plugging away with the end getting nearer and the pain increasing. Imagining sitting on a curb, removing my shoe, emptying the shoe of the little demon but also knowing the challenge of standing up again, I elected to keep going. In my advancing years, I have developed a problem with standing up from a place near the ground. This is primarily why I prefer a standing desk and why I can run more easily than play games on the floor.

The goal of completing my run was greater than the vicious little culprit I began to call Lucifer could cause. It kind of reminded me of the old story about the man who spent a cold night on a mountain who watched a fire several miles away and imagined himself near the fire all night long. Could my imagination conquer the reality? Maybe.

Finally seeing the domicile and knowing I could soon stop, I began to relish the idea of removing the shoe, seeing Lucifer in the flesh so to speak, and defenestrating him forever. Into the house I entered huffing and puffing but oddly joyful the experience was over, I sat on the chair and removed the shoe. I walked to the trash can and decided to empty the shoe in my hand, smile evilly at Lucifer and say goodbye. Expecting the item to sneer or attack in some way, I looked in my hand and saw a tiny little pebble. Without any histrionics, I threw it away, reflecting how ironic that such a small, insignificant pebble could create such emotional turmoil. There is some kind of a lesson in all this that needs no further articulation. Thus ends the pebble in the shoe for today.

Tuesday, June 03, 2014

The Schlock Factor

Just finished a marvelous piece by Jody Rosen titled In Defense of Schlock. In this extensive essay, the author outlines criteria used to define and defend musical schlock in popular genres. He discusses the musical properties associated with schlock and addresses context, themes, and textual content for the music we often associate with schlock. Basing much of his argument on Don't Stop Believing by Journey, Rosen points out the need for schlock in our lives as exemplified by the staying power of much of the music. While the essay reads a little like a historical listing of favorite schlock hits (which he addresses as well), overall he covers the subject quite well and reminds us of both the diversity of the listening public and the power of nostalgia, melody, harmonic simplicity, and quality popular singing styles. This highly recommended essay (http://www.vulture.com/2014/05/jody-rosen-in-defense-of-schlock-music.html) serves as a springboard for expressing my concerns with arts programs and curriculum in today's higher education.

Most people like schlock in music but trained academic musicians generally do not (I do apologize for the gross generalities and am well aware of many exceptions to the statement). Although Rosen's article is in defense of schlock, in spite of its emotionally satisfying musical content, schlock leans toward the musically simplistic side. As tends to happen in all disciplines, the more one knows and understands, the greater becomes the desire for depth of expression. This is the normal process of education and at times it does have a down side. Moving from the concrete to the abstract or the known to the unknown has the tendency to make us emotionally and intellectually dissatisfied with the known or the concrete examples of the discipline. Not that simplistic music, literature, art, or science are problems in and of themselves, and often humans desire simpler expressions of thought, but education in its purest form is designed to demand and to create a comprehensive understanding, perhaps solutions, of complex problems. This means in music that academically trained musicians find themselves in study of Beethoven, Brahms, Stravinsky, and Messiaen over the music of Journey, Lionel Richie, Barry Manilow, and Katy Perry. Such is the normal progression of education.

But as we become more educated about music, we also fall into a trap of exclusion, marginalizing that which does not meet our criteria of excellence or complexity. This is grand and adds to the mystique of excellence which we tend to propagate by virtue of our training and ability. Preferring to live in a world of musical complexity, avoiding schlock when possible, and expressing that music which meets our criteria of time and musical advancement, we find ourselves in the untenable position of performing music for those with equal education and preferences. Again, there is nothing negative about such a practice and, in spite of the lack of strong market forces, we enjoy and prefer advanced culturally refined music.

Our exclusionary curriculum is well and good for producing like-minded students and patting ourselves on the back for our knowledge and our rejection of schlock. But how far can our rejection of powerful market forces sustain our current curricular practices? There is a reason that Don't Stop Believing continues to be revered and enjoyed by so many. It has passed the test of time, at least in the short-term, and is a beloved song in spite or because of its simplistic message and its musical content. Admittedly, there are several works in the classical genre that seem to lean on the "schlocky" side of music, and their frequent performances have become mundane and predictable, adding to their oft disparagement by academic musicians. The musical content may be rich with intellectual and expressive depth, but their popularity has taken them to the level of Don't Stop Believing in terms of commercialism. Music such as Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring by Bach, Rachmaninoff's 2nd Symphony, Brahms' Lullaby, Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata are but a few of the examples.

It may be time, however, for the academic community of musicians to stop looking down on the schlock and, instead, embrace it as a vital part of today's curriculum. Not that we want music of the Carpenters, Air Supply, Chicago ballads, and Katy Perry (all of which I enjoy) to rule the day, but we do need to find musical ways to reach people and make an impact on a world that seems to love schlock and all that accompanies it. Without any kind of exposure of commercialism and popular music of today, we teeter on brink of a dark hole of music curriculum that may one day join the archaic world of drive-in movies, typewriters, horse and buggy, and jousting in woods. This is a call to action and that call goes out to schools of music and music faculty to recognize the value of a judicious usage of schlock in the curriculum. We will make an impact on the world when the world responds to what we do. A comprehensive music program must include a comprehensive look at music in its entirety without the rejection of that which does not meet the prescribed criteria. It is time to consider the schlock factor!






Monday, June 02, 2014

Inventory in the Arts

An area of concern for the future of arts programs is in inventory acquisition and general maintenance. Unlike other disciplines that simply require classroom space with basic desks, chairs, technology, and minimal materials, the arts demands an extensive inventory of materials in order to function at a high level. In art departments we find photography equipment including black rooms, enlargers, clean up facilities, ceramics, wheels, sculpture equipment, easels, canvases, open spaces, tools, printers, large desks, special lighting, in addition to normal classroom space and a gallery. Theatre departments need large spaces, a workshop complete with tools, lumber, and props, a costume shop, lighting, sound equipment, chairs, music stands, risers, steps, and nearly unlimited makeup. Classrooms require not only desks, but mirrors, space, and advanced technology.

Music departments must have soundproof practice rooms, quality pianos that require frequent tuning, music stands, specialty chairs, libraries, instruments for concert playing as well as marching, uniforms, risers, temperature controlled facilities, acoustical requirements in concert halls and rooms, various sized classroom space to include desks, technology, and open areas. Music facilities must also have computer labs, recording technology, and multi-media equipment.

Music, art, and theatre facilities require significant storage areas, unusual requirements for safety (consider hearing health in music), and, although not necessarily required, decor that reflects the rich heritage of the arts as well as the progressive nature of the disciplines. When we consider the inventory needs and unique requirements for the arts, it should come as no surprise when budget managers and financial examiners become concerned with the fiscal demands of the arts in higher education. Although most of these initial expenses become long-term assets, there are also ongoing expenses related to inventory development to match program goals. To put it plainly, arts programs are expensive in comparison with other disciplines.

Justification for the arts in society and in higher education often takes the emotional side, and we hear how the arts makes the human complete, meeting emotional needs, rounding out the human being, relating to our sensitive side, providing cathartic release, allowing for human expression, and the list of benefits to the heart and soul are nearly endless. While all this is true and should not be marginalized, at the same time, these arguments somehow seem weak in light of the constant economic pressures of our culture. When funds are short, the arts get shorted. Such is reality and it is doubtful whether that will ever change. Donors enjoy supporting the arts, and most people value the arts, but when funds are allocated across several areas, the arts are generally not treated as they may deserve. And yet, in light of the inventory demanded, regardless of how the arts are perceived, most institutions have already provided a great deal of resources into the arts. Another way to look at this is that arts programs require assets that aid in production.

Are there ways to reduce inventory requirements without any loss of quality in arts programs in higher education? Unlike a business where the goal is to keep inventory moving, in the arts the inventory is capitalized for long-term minus depreciation without turnover. This converts initial expenditures into long-term assets reflected on an institutions financial statements. Other than those needs to address technological progress, maintenance, or new instruments, the inventory requires normal replacement in a given year. Yet because of the nature of progress in the arts, there must be constant attention given to equipment to meet the educational requirements. In the future, music, art, and theatre programs need to find ways to reduce or at least maintain the inventory while insisting on high quality programs.

This may require sharing of resources, utilizing technology to a high degree, regular maintenance, and shared facilities when possible. Such practices will require careful scheduling, advance planning, strategic goals, and targeted programs. In addition, careful use of facilities and resources could mean creative allocation of traditional equipment and an increase in technology and media in classrooms and labs. It would be wise to study the possibilities of combining certain assets in the arts, particular at the development stage, while keeping inventory well-maintained and controlled.