Where’s the whistle blower?

I attended a recent concert by a top American orchestra and was surprised by the lack of lyricism, beautiful tone, and good intonation. The opening wind and cello line was blatantly out of tune and the sour mood never completely left all evening. The strings had an edge to them that can only be described as “Suzuki-like.” One could see that the bows were not in agreement: one could hear that the bows were not in agreement. I was further surprised that in a concert of Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov I could not remember having heard a single tune. Nothing flowed; sounds were chopped, sawed and bleated.

I could continue criticizing the performance, but I’d rather discuss the lack of criticism. In the paragraph above I dutifully did not name the specific orchestra. To do so would be considered “unprofessional” and unfairly painful to the fine musicians, soloist and conductor involved. But wait. Everyone gets to walk away from poor quality and not be responsible for it? Even the post-concert chat with the audience was more spin, less truth. When the audience members learned that the soloist and conductor had “only just met yesterday” and the performance was prepared with “just one rehearsal” the spin had the listeners ooh-ing and ahh-ing. How amazing, how virtuosic! The bubble over my head was full of disgust and wonder that the audience simply swallowed this. The orchestra unashamedly sounded like they had had one rehearsal.

Forgive me if I make a sports analogy. If these were athletes on a football field and their performance was covered with the intense scrutiny of media, fans, and experts, we would have no troubles calling out the clarinets for unsettling the intonation. The broadcasters would teach us that it was the first clarinet’s mistake that caused the sour tone.

The poor string sound would probably be blamed on the conductor for bad coaching. I can hear John Madden saying: “When you get ugly string sounds like this, you know the coaches aren’t paying attention to the basics. Just one weak player brings down the whole team. And unfortunately you can hear it.”

The lack of fluid melody lines would be bemoaned. “They just haven’t been able to get their sound-concept together yet this season. The cohesion is missing. If the coach can’t start to get this under control, maybe the organization needs to think about some personnel changes.” This is truly Fantasy Orchestra, I know.

A football crowd probably knows the rules of overtime better than an orchestral audience knows basic concepts of orchestral music-making. If we can’t throw a flag, blow a whistle and name a blooper when it happens, how can people develop taste and with this, expectations? Through referees and commentators we learn what’s ok in sports. The broadcasters teach the art of the sport while describing what is happening. Orchestral events, however, rarely face professional feed back in a way that informs the listener as to quality, style, technique, and value.

We don’t voice issues of poor work or quality in public. We have no media or experts willing or able to blow the whistle. There are very few fans or listeners who are willing to voice disapproval, or even deny applause. On top of this we let groups remain protected by a code of professionalism that says you don’t speak negatively – albeit truthfully -about colleagues or performers.

When orchestral performers, soloists, and organizations are kept anonymous, we protect them from being responsible. By not “naming names” we let shoddy work continue to be spun as worthy of standing ovations.

Football players are, at least, motivated by winning. Wins are counted, savored and worn as big shiny rings on the fingers. Winning means a better salary: making mistakes means being cut by the team. When points are scored, we know skill and talent was good. Orchestral players, however, are never in a quantitative endeavor that comes down to points and winning seasons. They can’t win, yet, they never lose – holding most orchestra positions for life.

So what holds organizations accountable? If we can’t protest bad performances without being deemed rude and nasty, if there are no expert opinions to throw light on events or to educate listeners, then unfortunately we are at the mercy of the spin put out by the organizations themselves.

May I criticize the spin, then? May I say that when the organization brings in a paying audience for an unpolished second-reading of a program, they call it “Afterwork Masterworks®.” This might get people into the seats but it doesn’t bring them any closer to the joy and magic of music.

It’s not enough to ask how many patrons left that evening with their ears full but their hearts and souls left unstirred. The question is how many listeners went away believing the spin and took the evening’s music as a sample of great art? And when ‘great art’ didn’t move them, how many will obligingly assume that the problem must be with themselves and decide that great art is “just not for them.”

We can’t afford, economically or philosophically, to let people turn their backs on the human experience of art. Developing a tone-deaf audience is a disservice and cripples our ability to build an honest relationship with ourselves and our communities. No long-term love of music can be built on gossamer hype and shoddy material. We are accountable for providing the beauty and wonder of music. We are responsible for filling the artistic and emotional needs in human beings. And we must hold each other to nothing less than the expectation of greatness.

Update: July 2009. I attended a chamber music concert at the Chicago Cultural Center this week. After listening to a few minutes of a Haydn Piano Trio performance it was apparent that the players hadn’t rehearsed the piece. (Haydn without rhetoric is quite dry.) My guess was: two run-throughs, at the most. Afterwards, I happened to run into one of the players on the sidewalk. I asked if my guess was correct. “Yes.” They “ran through it” once over a month ago and then once again earlier in the week. When I reported that “It sounded like it” the musician, at least, cringed. Hopefully, the next time this group plans for a performance, the memory of that cringe will prompt the players to plan for music, too.