I'm not going to waste a reply on this latter-day review of Jackson's Fellowship of the Ring movie to the post's comments section, since I know from experience that the author rarely replies to comments. Instead, I'll write it here.
This is another golden example of a fan of the Jackson movies not getting what's wrong with them as adaptations. Again, I don't mind people liking the movies as movies. What bristles me is when they ship their liking into thinking the movies are adequate specifically as an adaptation of the book.
First N. says "there's very little to object to," but the list of objections he brushes off are entirely of things omitted. Everyone who loves the movies thinks that what people who disapprove of the adaptations want is to have everything in. No: the omissions are tolerable. In fact I'd rather not have Bombadil than have Bombadil done badly, which Jackson, who has no feel for anything in Tolkien other than the tense dangers and horror, and a little of the spectacle, would undoubtably do. It's not what Jackson left out, but what he put in, that spoils his adaptation.
But then N. goes on to note that "the fervent Tolkien fan" (that's a loaded term right there - "fervent." Makes us sound slightly unhinged) must "twitch at the infantilisation of the characters of Merry and Pippin." "Twitch" is putting it mildly. I knew we were in for trouble at the added scene of the lads stealing the fireworks at Bilbo's birthday party. Not that they might not have done such a caper: it's an entirely plausible notion. But if Tolkien had conceived it, it wouldn't be written, as this is, in the form of bad fan fiction. (And I specify bad fan fiction because not all fan fiction is bad.)
What most frosts me is when N. notes that "the timescale of the book is drastically compressed," which it is, but calls that "the last and most trivial ground of complaint." It's not trivial at all. Jackson systematically eviscerates the epic scale of the story, both in time and in space. The scale is an essential part of the greatness of Tolkien's story. It's not that Jackson doesn't take 17 years for Frodo to leave the Shire. It's that, when the hobbits do leave, it's rushed. The Black Riders are nipping at their heels almost the entire way. One result of that is that the actual attack in the book loses its power, because it's been anticipated and flattened. This is a consistent policy of Jackson's. He can't trust to Tolkien's sense of suspense, which is a pity, because it's Tolkien's sense of suspense, a concomitant of his sense of scale, that makes the book so engrossing.
On the same lines, Jackson miniaturizes the geographic space of the story. Instead of a whole continent, Jackson's story feels like it's covering only the space of a tabletop role-playing game grid. Example: Saruman monitoring their path over Caradhras and himself sending the snowstorm.
But wait, doesn't N. in his next paragraph praise Jackson's "sense of scale"? Yes, but he's referring to the physical size of the characters, making hobbits and dwarves look smaller than men and elves even though the actors aren't. And yes, the technical side of filmmaking Jackson handles very well (at least in The Lord of the Rings; in The Hobbit he gets tired and sloppy). As technical achievements in filmmaking, this trilogy may be the greatest set of movies ever made. Getting such a huge project completed on time and in budget is itself award-worthy. But that has nothing to do with evaluating its adaptation of the book.
The spectacle too is good, as long as it's on the scale of spectacle. Hiring John Howe and Alan Lee to design the film is the wisest move Jackson made. But while Jackson can do awesome to beat the band, he can't do beautiful. His Rivendell is rather bad and his Lorien is truly dismal. Plus those celebration scenes at the end of Return of the King are teeth-numbingly horrifying.
The net result of the achievement in spectacle is that New Zealand playing Middle-earth is by far the best actor in the movie. I can't agree with N. that the human-acting in this movie is very good. I know Elijah Wood is a good actor; I've seen him in other movies. Here he's namby and inert. Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn is a hopelessly introverted mumbler. The film actor who'd do a good job as Aragorn is Richard Armitage as Thorin in The Hobbit. He's a lousy Thorin, but he'd make a good Aragorn. Cate Blanchett as Galadriel would be good except for that transformation scene. I think Jackson read where Tolkien has her say that she shall be "beautiful and terrible," so he made a scene causing any sensitive viewer to say "That's terrible!"
I've no objection to beefing up Arwen's role, as such, even though keeping her under wraps was a deliberate strategy of Tolkien's: it shows there's more to Aragorn than you suspect. But there are other, less sexist, ways of presenting the material. (I've no objection to Tauriel in The Hobbit as such, either - probably the least objectionable of all Jackson's additions there.) It makes sense, too, on a film's scale of storytelling to fold Glorfindel into another character so that we don't have to waste time being introduced to someone who appears briefly and then basically disappears. (Bakshi folded him into Legolas, which makes even more sense: then you don't have to have the introductions of Legolas and Gimli and Boromir all dumped on you at once.) The objection to that scene is not to who provides the horse: it's that Jackson's Frodo isn't allowed to be the hero of his own story. Arwen rides the horse for him, she curses out the Nazgul for him, while a semi-comatose Frodo is strapped to the back like a sack of potatoes. Jackson can't figure out any less extreme way of showing the effects of the Morgul-blade.
N. praises moving the death of Boromir to the end of Fellowship from the start of The Two Towers. This should make no difference in the book, which Tolkien wrote as one continuous story. It was only divided into three volumes by the imperatives of publishing.
As for the music, it does the job asked of it. Howard Shore is always competent. But inspiration, greatness, worthy of the story it's being asked to accompany? No.
Kalimac's corner: a journal by DB
Monday, November 15, 2021
Sunday, November 14, 2021
which of two concerts?
They're on at the same time. They're both good orchestras. Which one should I attend?
1) Beethoven: Leonore Overture No. 3
Philip Glass: Concerto for Saxophone Quartet and Orchestra
Berio: Rendering for Orchestra
2) Corigliano – Promenade Overture
Beethoven – Symphony No. 8
Florence Price – Symphony No. 3
1) Beethoven: Leonore Overture No. 3
Philip Glass: Concerto for Saxophone Quartet and Orchestra
Berio: Rendering for Orchestra
2) Corigliano – Promenade Overture
Beethoven – Symphony No. 8
Florence Price – Symphony No. 3
Saturday, November 13, 2021
two more concerts
This week successive concerts on successive nights gave me the chance to hear both of the fabulous McGill brothers, clarinetist Anthony - whom I've heard several times before - in chamber music on Thursday, and flutist Demarre - who's principal of the Seattle Symphony, but whom I had not otherwise heard - in a concerto on Friday.
Thursday was the second installment of the Catalyst Quartet's four-concert survey of music by Black composers, to which I subscribed. With Anthony McGill they played the Clarinet Quintet of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (1895), a work in a drier and more incisive style than one might expect for that period, notable mostly for its striking rhythmic profile rather than melodic charm, though it is lyrical and pleasant.
The quartet alone played the String Quartet No. 1 (1956) by Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson, who yes was named for his predecessor and was, we learned, known to his friends as "Perk" or "Perkie." In complete defiance of the academic expectation of his time, this was a thoroughly consonant work with a little grit, reminding me in style - and not just because it included one of the same folk hymns - quite a lot of the remaining piece on the program, Florence Price's "Five Folksongs in Counterpoint." In this, she takes songs like "Shortnin' Bread" and "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" and applies some blistering technical development and overlays to them, proving definitively that it's not true that once you've played a folk song in a classical music piece, the only thing you can do is play it again.
Friday at the San Francisco Symphony was an Event - the long-awaited return of Michael Tilson Thomas to the podium. Since we last saw him here, we and he have been through a lot. His retirement season as music director was interrupted by the pandemic and the planned grand finales went unheard; then last season was mostly canceled; and this summer he had brain surgery, taking three months off to recover. Only three? Maybe it should have been longer, because he announced yesterday that, to "conserve energy," he's cutting back to just half of next week's concert.
But there he was last night, considerably frailer and perhaps a bit balder than when last seen, briefly acknowledging the instant standing ovation and then turning to the podium and getting down to work. Whatever may be the state of his physical person, his conducting is unimpaired, possibly better than ever. We heard a set of Mozart's German dances, presented with a weightiness and sense of integration that transformed it into a substantial composition; and Schumann's First Symphony, in a brilliantly dark, intense performance that made it sound as if it had been composed by Beethoven. The tutti passages in this work can sound shrill, but MTT and SFS had them ideally under control. This was a treasurable interpretation.
And Demarre McGill was soloist in a brief concerto for flute and strings by MTT himself, titled Notturno. This begins lyrically and builds up into a lot of fast fingering for the flute, played with disarming smoothness by McGill, barring a couple places near the end where he is apparently directed to spit into the mouthpiece.
Very good evenings out. Will I be back next week, even if MTT is only half there? You bet!
Thursday was the second installment of the Catalyst Quartet's four-concert survey of music by Black composers, to which I subscribed. With Anthony McGill they played the Clarinet Quintet of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (1895), a work in a drier and more incisive style than one might expect for that period, notable mostly for its striking rhythmic profile rather than melodic charm, though it is lyrical and pleasant.
The quartet alone played the String Quartet No. 1 (1956) by Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson, who yes was named for his predecessor and was, we learned, known to his friends as "Perk" or "Perkie." In complete defiance of the academic expectation of his time, this was a thoroughly consonant work with a little grit, reminding me in style - and not just because it included one of the same folk hymns - quite a lot of the remaining piece on the program, Florence Price's "Five Folksongs in Counterpoint." In this, she takes songs like "Shortnin' Bread" and "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" and applies some blistering technical development and overlays to them, proving definitively that it's not true that once you've played a folk song in a classical music piece, the only thing you can do is play it again.
Friday at the San Francisco Symphony was an Event - the long-awaited return of Michael Tilson Thomas to the podium. Since we last saw him here, we and he have been through a lot. His retirement season as music director was interrupted by the pandemic and the planned grand finales went unheard; then last season was mostly canceled; and this summer he had brain surgery, taking three months off to recover. Only three? Maybe it should have been longer, because he announced yesterday that, to "conserve energy," he's cutting back to just half of next week's concert.
But there he was last night, considerably frailer and perhaps a bit balder than when last seen, briefly acknowledging the instant standing ovation and then turning to the podium and getting down to work. Whatever may be the state of his physical person, his conducting is unimpaired, possibly better than ever. We heard a set of Mozart's German dances, presented with a weightiness and sense of integration that transformed it into a substantial composition; and Schumann's First Symphony, in a brilliantly dark, intense performance that made it sound as if it had been composed by Beethoven. The tutti passages in this work can sound shrill, but MTT and SFS had them ideally under control. This was a treasurable interpretation.
And Demarre McGill was soloist in a brief concerto for flute and strings by MTT himself, titled Notturno. This begins lyrically and builds up into a lot of fast fingering for the flute, played with disarming smoothness by McGill, barring a couple places near the end where he is apparently directed to spit into the mouthpiece.
Very good evenings out. Will I be back next week, even if MTT is only half there? You bet!
Sunday, November 7, 2021
two concerts
California Symphony
I'd heard several times before with pleasure this orchestra that plays at Lesher Center in Walnut Creek, out in the further East Bay. But this year's schedule included some programs so tempting that, despite the distance from home, I plumped for a three-ticket subscription. (And found on my seat a new subscriber's gift in the form of two chits for intermission drinks at the bar. I had a diet Coke, my usual in those circumstances.)
This concert, for instance: an all-strings performance, featuring two large scale works that are favorites of mine. The first was Vivaldi's Four Seasons, all of it, led (without a conductor) by violin soloist Alexi Kenney in a dry, crisp, steely manner as if it were by Telemann. Often very fast: Winter's Largo movement was taken as Allegro con moto and was consequently over in about one minute. The other weird feature was the continuo. During some of the slow movements the harpsichord player transferred his fingers to an adjacent positive organ and played elaborations which gave a church-music air to the proceedings.
The other large feature, for a much larger ensemble, was Mahler's orchestration of Schubert's "Death and the Maiden" Quartet, a version of that beloved piece I always like to hear. Led by music director Donato Cabrera, this was a serious and weighty interpretation, better with the tender and ethereal than the driving and intense, reaching impressive sublimity with the close of the Andante.
Also on the program, two short works by African-American composers: George Walker's inescapable Lyric, very much living up to its title; and Jessie Montgomery's busy and rushed Starburst.
New Millennium Chamber Orchestra
The music director was out sick, so the conductor was the assistant, Tabitha Tetreault, normally a utility instrumentalist with this volunteer group. Less eloquent (her word) and more succinct (mine) than her boss, she spoke only briefly before each piece, and otherwise referred inquirers to the impressively specific program notes. On the podium, she has a textbook baton style, with the left hand copying the right when it isn't giving expressive marks or cues.
Center of the program was The Blue Room by Reena Esmail, a violin concerto in a sort of Shostakovich/modal style that NMCO played once before in my hearing, four years ago, with the same soloist, concertmaster Colyn Fischer.
The rest of the concert was taken from the miscellaneous drawer of the standard repertoire: Beethoven's Egmont overture, Brahms's Haydn Variations, Respighi's Ancient Airs and Dances Suite 1, and Ravel's Mother Goose. The music was a little stodgy - thus the Brahms was played as if each variation were a separate movement - but it had line and coherence. The Beethoven, as the only single undivided work, was the one which had a chance to build up some dramatic power. But the others are more designed to be charming, and some fine instrumental color managed to convey that.
I'd heard several times before with pleasure this orchestra that plays at Lesher Center in Walnut Creek, out in the further East Bay. But this year's schedule included some programs so tempting that, despite the distance from home, I plumped for a three-ticket subscription. (And found on my seat a new subscriber's gift in the form of two chits for intermission drinks at the bar. I had a diet Coke, my usual in those circumstances.)
This concert, for instance: an all-strings performance, featuring two large scale works that are favorites of mine. The first was Vivaldi's Four Seasons, all of it, led (without a conductor) by violin soloist Alexi Kenney in a dry, crisp, steely manner as if it were by Telemann. Often very fast: Winter's Largo movement was taken as Allegro con moto and was consequently over in about one minute. The other weird feature was the continuo. During some of the slow movements the harpsichord player transferred his fingers to an adjacent positive organ and played elaborations which gave a church-music air to the proceedings.
The other large feature, for a much larger ensemble, was Mahler's orchestration of Schubert's "Death and the Maiden" Quartet, a version of that beloved piece I always like to hear. Led by music director Donato Cabrera, this was a serious and weighty interpretation, better with the tender and ethereal than the driving and intense, reaching impressive sublimity with the close of the Andante.
Also on the program, two short works by African-American composers: George Walker's inescapable Lyric, very much living up to its title; and Jessie Montgomery's busy and rushed Starburst.
New Millennium Chamber Orchestra
The music director was out sick, so the conductor was the assistant, Tabitha Tetreault, normally a utility instrumentalist with this volunteer group. Less eloquent (her word) and more succinct (mine) than her boss, she spoke only briefly before each piece, and otherwise referred inquirers to the impressively specific program notes. On the podium, she has a textbook baton style, with the left hand copying the right when it isn't giving expressive marks or cues.
Center of the program was The Blue Room by Reena Esmail, a violin concerto in a sort of Shostakovich/modal style that NMCO played once before in my hearing, four years ago, with the same soloist, concertmaster Colyn Fischer.
The rest of the concert was taken from the miscellaneous drawer of the standard repertoire: Beethoven's Egmont overture, Brahms's Haydn Variations, Respighi's Ancient Airs and Dances Suite 1, and Ravel's Mother Goose. The music was a little stodgy - thus the Brahms was played as if each variation were a separate movement - but it had line and coherence. The Beethoven, as the only single undivided work, was the one which had a chance to build up some dramatic power. But the others are more designed to be charming, and some fine instrumental color managed to convey that.
Saturday, November 6, 2021
not online
Once again I am not doing what I hoped to be spending today doing, attending a Tolkien Society online seminar. You know, I attend Zoom meetings all the time and they work fine, just not the second and now the third Tolkien Society seminar. (Oxonmoot didn't do this, nor did the first seminar last February.) When I try to join in, I get plunged into a welter of sign-ins, log-ins, pop-up windows, and new browser windows I never asked for, and I never get to the seminar. The passcode they provide doesn't work; the webinar ID they provide doesn't work; I've tried all the useless suggestions they gave when I asked for help last time, and I'm not going to insult my intelligence by asking again. Feh, this is disgusting.
I'm boosted
Friday was my appointment to get the Pfizer booster. Originally I had a jab scheduled for two weeks earlier, but I changed it when it was clear I'd still be on jury duty that day. (Ironically, the court let me out early enough that I could just have made it up there on time if I dashed, but I didn't care to make that much effort to face a probable argument with the bureaucracy.)
I expected to be in line amid a sea of 5-11 year-olds, but no. Adults, older ones getting the booster and younger ones finally getting around to their first jab. This clinic was rather small-scale. They'd moved it indoors from the parking lot set-up where I got my initial jabs in the spring, and into a conference room in an adjacent clinic building. This also meant I had to park in a garage I was unfamiliar with, the kind where you can't get oriented and find your car when you come back, yadda yadda.
There was a line, but it was fast and efficient, and in the post-shot waiting area there were giant tv screens all showing, with the sound way down, Shrek. So I got to watch a chunk of that excellent film, from "Ogres are like onions" to "It talks!" "Yeah, it's getting him to shut up that's the trick" (I already know all the dialogue from this movie, I don't need to be able to hear it) before heading on my way, now prepared, I hope, to face a family Thanksgiving and all.
I expected to be in line amid a sea of 5-11 year-olds, but no. Adults, older ones getting the booster and younger ones finally getting around to their first jab. This clinic was rather small-scale. They'd moved it indoors from the parking lot set-up where I got my initial jabs in the spring, and into a conference room in an adjacent clinic building. This also meant I had to park in a garage I was unfamiliar with, the kind where you can't get oriented and find your car when you come back, yadda yadda.
There was a line, but it was fast and efficient, and in the post-shot waiting area there were giant tv screens all showing, with the sound way down, Shrek. So I got to watch a chunk of that excellent film, from "Ogres are like onions" to "It talks!" "Yeah, it's getting him to shut up that's the trick" (I already know all the dialogue from this movie, I don't need to be able to hear it) before heading on my way, now prepared, I hope, to face a family Thanksgiving and all.
Friday, November 5, 2021
Bill Gresham's first wife
Some of us in the Mythopoeic Society e-mail discussion list have gotten caught up in an unanswered historical trivia question: What was the name of Bill Gresham's first wife?
I need to explain. C.S. Lewis, one of our central interests, married Joy Davidman Gresham in 1956. She was a divorcee from America. Her first husband was William Lindsay Gresham, best known as the author of a sinister carnival novel called Nightmare Alley, which is about to be made into a movie (having already been made into one in 1947 with Tyrone Power). His place in Lewis's life starts with his and Joy's joint conversion to Christianity under the tutelage of Lewis's books, followed by his correspondence with Joy, and then with Lewis himself after Joy died in 1960, mostly over the care of the two sons Joy and Bill had had, who'd been left in Lewis's custody.
However, there's also this wheeze involved. Much to Lewis's distress, the Church of England refused to give him and Joy a church wedding, because Joy was divorced and the Church did not recognize divorces. (I don't grasp how the Church arrived at this position after having been founded by Henry VIII, but I'm sure someone will tell me.) But, Lewis pointed out: Joy's previous husband had already been divorced before he married her. So by the Church's rules, Joy and Bill's marriage was also illegitimate and thus by their reasoning she had never been married at all. Therefore she was an unmarried woman and free to be wedded in the Church to an unmarried man. But the Church didn't buy that argument. (However, a sympathetic Anglican priest conducted a second wedding anyway.)
So who was Bill Gresham's first wife? Biographies of Joy and of CSL that we've consulted don't say much about her. She was "a New York woman." They married in 1935, and divorced in 1942 so that Bill could marry Joy. During that period Bill was a professional folksinger, a Communist, and a fighter in Spain, on the Republican side of course. Nothing we've found so far gives her name. Odd.
I need to explain. C.S. Lewis, one of our central interests, married Joy Davidman Gresham in 1956. She was a divorcee from America. Her first husband was William Lindsay Gresham, best known as the author of a sinister carnival novel called Nightmare Alley, which is about to be made into a movie (having already been made into one in 1947 with Tyrone Power). His place in Lewis's life starts with his and Joy's joint conversion to Christianity under the tutelage of Lewis's books, followed by his correspondence with Joy, and then with Lewis himself after Joy died in 1960, mostly over the care of the two sons Joy and Bill had had, who'd been left in Lewis's custody.
However, there's also this wheeze involved. Much to Lewis's distress, the Church of England refused to give him and Joy a church wedding, because Joy was divorced and the Church did not recognize divorces. (I don't grasp how the Church arrived at this position after having been founded by Henry VIII, but I'm sure someone will tell me.) But, Lewis pointed out: Joy's previous husband had already been divorced before he married her. So by the Church's rules, Joy and Bill's marriage was also illegitimate and thus by their reasoning she had never been married at all. Therefore she was an unmarried woman and free to be wedded in the Church to an unmarried man. But the Church didn't buy that argument. (However, a sympathetic Anglican priest conducted a second wedding anyway.)
So who was Bill Gresham's first wife? Biographies of Joy and of CSL that we've consulted don't say much about her. She was "a New York woman." They married in 1935, and divorced in 1942 so that Bill could marry Joy. During that period Bill was a professional folksinger, a Communist, and a fighter in Spain, on the Republican side of course. Nothing we've found so far gives her name. Odd.
Wednesday, November 3, 2021
patterns
1990: Both houses of Congress won by Democrats. (In this case they'd already held it.)
1992: Presidency gained by Democrats from Republicans.
1993: But, Governorships of New Jersey and Virginia gained by Republicans from Democrats.
1994: And, Both houses of Congress gained by Republicans from Democrats.
1996: Nevertheless, the Democratic President wins re-election rather handily, though without regaining Congress.
2006: Both houses of Congress gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2008: Presidency gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2009: But, Governorships of New Jersey and Virginia gained by Republicans from Democrats.
2010: And, House gained by Republicans from Democrats. (Senate would follow in 2014.)
2012: Nevertheless, the Democratic President wins re-election rather handily, though without regaining the House.
2018: House (but not Senate) gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2020: Presidency, and Senate, gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2021: But, Governorship of Virginia gained by Republicans from Democrats, and New Jersey nearly so.
2022: ?
2024: ??
1992: Presidency gained by Democrats from Republicans.
1993: But, Governorships of New Jersey and Virginia gained by Republicans from Democrats.
1994: And, Both houses of Congress gained by Republicans from Democrats.
1996: Nevertheless, the Democratic President wins re-election rather handily, though without regaining Congress.
2006: Both houses of Congress gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2008: Presidency gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2009: But, Governorships of New Jersey and Virginia gained by Republicans from Democrats.
2010: And, House gained by Republicans from Democrats. (Senate would follow in 2014.)
2012: Nevertheless, the Democratic President wins re-election rather handily, though without regaining the House.
2018: House (but not Senate) gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2020: Presidency, and Senate, gained by Democrats from Republicans.
2021: But, Governorship of Virginia gained by Republicans from Democrats, and New Jersey nearly so.
2022: ?
2024: ??
when critics disagree
First you need to read Lisa Hirsch's post about the reaction to two negative reviews of a popular classical recital singer.
Then you need to read Joshua Kosman, one of the critics, responding to the reaction.
Then I need to clarify that I myself have no opinion on the particular issue, having little experience with recitalists and no knowledge of the tenor Jonas Kaufmann, the singer in question. Though I have had the experience of failing to see the appeal of some wildly popular performers, Yo-Yo Ma and Lang Lang being two.
So here's my reaction as a reviewer.
Yes, critics have different opinions. I myself feel uncomfortable being the only published reviewer of a particular concert. I feel it imposes on me an obligation, even if I don't succumb to it, to be authoritative: to reflect the consensus view and avoid expressing what I know are my own eccentricities. If others are reviewing it, I can say what I really think and it's relieving if others think something else, particularly when it involves observations of things I hadn't noticed.
But also, it's more than "gut-level satisfaction" to read a review you entirely agree with. It was reading reviews of concerts I attended, reviews that made me think, "Yes! I noticed that. And the evaluation agrees with what I was already thinking," that convinced me I had the chops, the capacity to judge and discriminate, to become a professional reviewer in the first place.
People who complain about reviews - it's always negative reviews, they never complain about positive ones - yes, I've had that. Sometimes they say bizarre things like stating the reviewer has no right to judge the quality of the performance. What? That's what reviewing is all about. What does this reader want, program notes? You've already got that. I sense what Kosman senses, that what these complainers mean is "... not if your opinion is different from mine."
What I've never had is the classic "You must have been at a different concert." (It's possible. A couple times I've attended multiple performances of the same program. Yeah, they were different.)
As for the fellow critic who was so exasperated to have told Kosman that he should never be allowed to review anything at all, Lisa H. is shocked that someone would express such a view over a single disagreement, but I'd guess that this response, though extreme, was probably not over a single disagreement but was the result of long-accumulated exasperation with Kosman, a reviewer easy to get exasperated with. (My candidate for Kosman's low point was a review of Carmina Burana which was devoted entirely to how much he hates the music. I once let my bias show in reviewing a work I purely hated - it was Mahler's Ninth - but I put that up front and spent the rest of the review on the impact of the performance on my views, which was easy to do because it was an outstanding performance. I think I was more professional than Kosman in this particular set of reviews. But that was a unique occasion. The rest of the time I simply keep my biases to myself in my professional reviews. I reviewed Zemlinsky's The Mermaid and bit my tongue the whole way. But I do let them hang out in my blog and am willing to defend them, as one of my readers recently learned.)
I'd prefer it if the Chronicle had more reviewers and didn't rely purely on Kosman, just because, as I noted, multiple voices are good. But if Kosman is sometimes exasperating, he can also be illuminating and judicious, so his voice is worth having among the chorus, Jonas Kaufmann or no Jonas Kaufmann.
Then you need to read Joshua Kosman, one of the critics, responding to the reaction.
Then I need to clarify that I myself have no opinion on the particular issue, having little experience with recitalists and no knowledge of the tenor Jonas Kaufmann, the singer in question. Though I have had the experience of failing to see the appeal of some wildly popular performers, Yo-Yo Ma and Lang Lang being two.
So here's my reaction as a reviewer.
Yes, critics have different opinions. I myself feel uncomfortable being the only published reviewer of a particular concert. I feel it imposes on me an obligation, even if I don't succumb to it, to be authoritative: to reflect the consensus view and avoid expressing what I know are my own eccentricities. If others are reviewing it, I can say what I really think and it's relieving if others think something else, particularly when it involves observations of things I hadn't noticed.
But also, it's more than "gut-level satisfaction" to read a review you entirely agree with. It was reading reviews of concerts I attended, reviews that made me think, "Yes! I noticed that. And the evaluation agrees with what I was already thinking," that convinced me I had the chops, the capacity to judge and discriminate, to become a professional reviewer in the first place.
People who complain about reviews - it's always negative reviews, they never complain about positive ones - yes, I've had that. Sometimes they say bizarre things like stating the reviewer has no right to judge the quality of the performance. What? That's what reviewing is all about. What does this reader want, program notes? You've already got that. I sense what Kosman senses, that what these complainers mean is "... not if your opinion is different from mine."
What I've never had is the classic "You must have been at a different concert." (It's possible. A couple times I've attended multiple performances of the same program. Yeah, they were different.)
As for the fellow critic who was so exasperated to have told Kosman that he should never be allowed to review anything at all, Lisa H. is shocked that someone would express such a view over a single disagreement, but I'd guess that this response, though extreme, was probably not over a single disagreement but was the result of long-accumulated exasperation with Kosman, a reviewer easy to get exasperated with. (My candidate for Kosman's low point was a review of Carmina Burana which was devoted entirely to how much he hates the music. I once let my bias show in reviewing a work I purely hated - it was Mahler's Ninth - but I put that up front and spent the rest of the review on the impact of the performance on my views, which was easy to do because it was an outstanding performance. I think I was more professional than Kosman in this particular set of reviews. But that was a unique occasion. The rest of the time I simply keep my biases to myself in my professional reviews. I reviewed Zemlinsky's The Mermaid and bit my tongue the whole way. But I do let them hang out in my blog and am willing to defend them, as one of my readers recently learned.)
I'd prefer it if the Chronicle had more reviewers and didn't rely purely on Kosman, just because, as I noted, multiple voices are good. But if Kosman is sometimes exasperating, he can also be illuminating and judicious, so his voice is worth having among the chorus, Jonas Kaufmann or no Jonas Kaufmann.
Monday, November 1, 2021
a little day music
The Terrible Adult Chamber Orchestra held another public rehearsal, in the same grass amphitheater in the Mountain View civic park that they played in on the Fourth of July. As before, B. was in the principal violin seat, and I came along as driver and listener. This time it was Halloween, so the repertoire was a bit different from July.
The Balletto from Respighi's Ancient Airs and Dances, the least obviously seasonal of the repertoire; Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King," a great workout for the winds; Gounod's "Funeral March of a Marionette," which got its place in this concert due to having been Alfred Hitchcock's tv theme tune; Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre," with several of the violins playing the solo part at once, which wasn't nearly as awful as it sounds; and a couple of pops pieces to close off: a 1940s song called "Autumn Leaves," known, though not previously by me, for having lyrics by Johnny Mercer; and a medley of spooky theme songs.
This last supposedly included the theme song from Scooby-Doo, which I don't recall any theme song from and didn't recognize any here; and the theme song from Ghostbusters, which doesn't have a theme song: all it has is a guy shouting "Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!" which the orchestra vocalized here, thus proving my point.
The "Funeral March" turned out to be the most challenging piece, due to its frequent shifts of tempo and key, and detailed repeating sections. One remembers that its composer was most at home in opera, and he brought some of that composing style to his other works. Then when the conductor tried to insert a main theme reprise into "Autumn Leaves," I understood what she meant the first time but most of the players had considerable trouble. However, most of the playing was quite adequate for an amateur group and a genuine pleasure to hear.
The small audience - this didn't get as publicized as much as July did - included a lot of small children in costume carrying goodie buckets. It was nice to know they're still making Halloween-celebrating kids, since trick-or-treaters stopped coming by in our neighborhood several years ago, so we've ceased putting anything out or buying candy that'd only get leftover.
The boys wore a variety of costumes, though dinosaur-shaped full-body onesies were popular among the toddler set; the girls were mostly princesses, though I did spot one 3-or-4-year-old Spiderwoman.
The Balletto from Respighi's Ancient Airs and Dances, the least obviously seasonal of the repertoire; Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King," a great workout for the winds; Gounod's "Funeral March of a Marionette," which got its place in this concert due to having been Alfred Hitchcock's tv theme tune; Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre," with several of the violins playing the solo part at once, which wasn't nearly as awful as it sounds; and a couple of pops pieces to close off: a 1940s song called "Autumn Leaves," known, though not previously by me, for having lyrics by Johnny Mercer; and a medley of spooky theme songs.
This last supposedly included the theme song from Scooby-Doo, which I don't recall any theme song from and didn't recognize any here; and the theme song from Ghostbusters, which doesn't have a theme song: all it has is a guy shouting "Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!" which the orchestra vocalized here, thus proving my point.
The "Funeral March" turned out to be the most challenging piece, due to its frequent shifts of tempo and key, and detailed repeating sections. One remembers that its composer was most at home in opera, and he brought some of that composing style to his other works. Then when the conductor tried to insert a main theme reprise into "Autumn Leaves," I understood what she meant the first time but most of the players had considerable trouble. However, most of the playing was quite adequate for an amateur group and a genuine pleasure to hear.
The small audience - this didn't get as publicized as much as July did - included a lot of small children in costume carrying goodie buckets. It was nice to know they're still making Halloween-celebrating kids, since trick-or-treaters stopped coming by in our neighborhood several years ago, so we've ceased putting anything out or buying candy that'd only get leftover.
The boys wore a variety of costumes, though dinosaur-shaped full-body onesies were popular among the toddler set; the girls were mostly princesses, though I did spot one 3-or-4-year-old Spiderwoman.
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