Cheers! A wine-tasting approach to music benefits performers.

Wine-tasting and listening to music pair well, of course, and share some important traits. First, both are perceived by a ‘hidden’ sensory organ. Tasting and hearing happen inside the head in a way that makes it very difficult to point out to another person just what, where, or how an object is to be perceived. Unlike visual perception, there is nothing to nail down for all to witness. Second, wine-tasting and music are both about metaphor. When speaking of wines we use words and phrases such as: silky, lingering, steely, intense; rich in blackcurrant, vanilla and spices; shades of damp leather; notes of dark chocolate. All this from grapes. With music, we may speak of golden sunsets, cold solitude, remorse, lush pools of color, stark terror, or possibly re-live an earlier moment in time, or discover a sudden recognition. All this from sounds. Clearly there are no gooseberries in a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, nor majestic mountain peaks in a symphony, yet we connect to wine and music through these types of metaphors. Music, especially, is full of metaphor. Call a note ‘high’ or ‘low’ — and we’re already in the world of metaphor.

Nonetheless wine and music are matters of serious human concern – and affection. For me classical music is an art to enjoy, explore, and savor. Just as you can explore the palette of your taste-buds, you can explore the palette of your ears.

This is exactly what I do as the Classical Connoisseur, a program series I began over two years ago, and now present at four public library districts in the Chicago and northern Illinois area. The Classical Connoisseur is about awakening the palette and finding the connection between sounds and meaning. The format is very much like wine-tasting, where music is ‘tasted’ with brief samples of 10 seconds to two minutes of duration. The excerpts are short, but we may repeat listenings numerous times.

For example, I was once asked to explore "loving and longing in music" with a woodwind quartet of flute, oboe, clarinet, and bassoon. We explored not just how a composer might create loving and longing in music, but how musicians can shape music to make connections between sounds and meaning. We can try out the character of individual intervals, for example, and hear how small changes will create completely different characters and gestures in the music. We can hear varieties in breath, vibrato, articulation, dynamics, energy levels, pacing, color, phrasing, etc. The tool box for creating and expressing music is wonderfully bottomless when guiding performers through how they can create metaphor and how the composer may be asking them to create metaphor. Why is this passage written in the lower register? How does the melodic interval create a distinct quality? Why would too much vibrato kill the mood? Which note carries rhetorical weight? Would a faster bow make the sound less personable? How long does a sustained note carry meaning?

One of my favorite aspects of music is time. Music uses time, composers use time, and listeners are asked by music to relate to time. I love exploring time because it is a very personal and human part of every musician’s and listener’s life. This important and musical art of using time is a skill which can only be learned in front of an audience. Most musicians play, and are trained to play, according to the clock. In other words, the clock or ticking pulse, dictates events rather than the musician or composer. But how quickly is quick enough for this moment? How does a split second of silence shift the inflection of a phrase? At what tempo does color fade into texture? How do we create and pace expectation, or prolong anticipation?  

Conductors often make such choices of metaphor building. For example, in a presentation on Sound Qualities working with CD recordings,I offered two versions of the opening of the Andante of Bruckner’s 7th symphony. One conductor stacked the viola/tuba line with the brass tucked homogeneously inside the violas, resulting in a very passionate, pulsating, and human effect. We heard full viola vibrato performed in a mid-range, resonant tessitura. Another sample, however, offered the five tubas as the main event, stacking the top tuba line as a solo melody. Without the viola line and its flavor exposed, the result was very different – muscular and majestic. Here, instead of the influence of string vibrato, we heard the breath required by the brass players and how it adds its own expressive nuance. When working with live musicians I provide hands-on opportunity to explore musical choices and offer insight as to how these choices affect a listener’s concept, enjoyment, and understanding of a piece.

The goal of making classical music meaningful to our listeners and ourselves is a vital artistic endeavor. Unfortunately classical music and wine have a common ability to terrify those who feel uninitiated or “uneducated.” In the wine world, Leslie Brenner has a book called Fear of Wine. The opening sentence reads perfectly for the world of classical music:

“How in the world did we manage to get so far in life and still wind up so terribly afraid of something that’s just – dare we say it – a beverage?"  -- Leslie Brenner, Fear of Wine.

Indeed, how did we manage to get so far in life and still wind up so terribly afraid of something that’s just sounds? My presentations as the Classical Connoisseur demonstrate that listeners are highly perceptive. A wine-tasting approach gives them the skills to overcome what previously had been carried as a burden of ignorance or fear: “Well, I didn’t like that, but if it’s a superstar performer then it must be good. The problem is me - I must not understand music.” The benefits of a wine-tasting approach to music include developing an ability to discuss and articulate what was heard, a better understanding of ones personal tastes, and an increased comfort level -  what I call being ‘many-eared’ -  when hearing new works and varied styles.

For professional performers whose studies are focused on technique, historical-traditional, and textual correctness, the Classical Connoisseur approach provides concepts for recognizing how composers use their tools of metaphor and how a performer’s musical choices may affect a listener. Musicians then develop a process for seeing beyond the notes to a deeper layer of musical intent and meaning. With this insight a performer has a rich array of communicative tools and a direct understanding of their implementation.

Today’s musicians want to reach audiences in a way that creates a vivid experience for the listener and an artistically satisfying moment for the performer and composer. The Classical Connoisseur events allow me to coach listeners in the art of experiencing the magic of music, and to coach players in the art of making magic out of sound.

I leave musicians with these three wishes as they continue on as a Classical Connoisseur:

♦ Be driven by curiosity and wonder, rather than the need to be right, or knowing.

♦ Be many-eared, as there is no single style of listening that reveals the whole.

♦ Insist that music and its practitioners – composers, performers – honor the metaphor.

It is through this imaginative realm of metaphor that we, perhaps, become less of a stranger to our self, each other, and the human experience.

Do you play Diehnelt or Caprio? Revamping the role of composer.

With an approaching premiere of the work premiere of CAPRIO, for oboe and strings I’ve had lively conversations with performers and music-lovers. One striking question keeps appearing: Does the performer play Diehnelt the composer, or Caprio the work-entity?

Music, unlike literature and theater, tends to perceive the composer - or “the composer’s intent” - as the aspect to dwell on, explore, and attempt to ‘channel’ while preparing a piece for performance. We think almost exclusively in this manner. How else could it be?

I love crossing over to theater for ideas on the art of presenting live performances from a text-source. In theater, it is the character and its role which receives in-depth study by the performer. How do I, as Othello, portray and bring to life this character with a sense of understanding, depth, and truth? The actor rarely thinks: How do I portray the playwright? The playwright continues as an essential part of the process, yet remains behind the scenes, if you will.

We speak of actors owning or embodying a role. So-and-so’s Othello, another actor’s Nora. Rarely do we speak of an actor being a great Shakespeare, or identifying a performer with Ibsen.

With music, we leave out the intermediary character role. Here, the performer presents the playwright. We play Beethoven. We debate performers’ versions of Mozart; we give artists ownership of their Wagner, their Chopin, their Bach. This direct text-maker to stage-performer connection is unique to music, coming to the fore in the early 1800’s as composers, and instrumental music, gained status as being capable of independently speaking ‘truths.’

But when working with musicians on my own works in the present era, I find it odd they insist on reproducing me in the music. For example, Caprio is not me in guise of an oboist and string orchestra. It’s Caprio – almost a living character by itself. Indeed, the creative compositional process seems one of ‘bringing into life’ of a new entity.

I remember very strongly the reactions I went through while composing Postscript for solo cello . The plan in my head was not happening. Instead of moving toward the key-center, character-change I had planned out, the piece just wouldn’t ‘go there.’ After struggling numerous times to make the music stick to my plans I gave up and let the cello line go where it wanted. This experience seems in line with the experience of writers who may have a specific plan for a novel, but find that a character high-jacks the plot and compels its own unfolding. As with Caprio too, at some point this character propelled the music line forward to fulfill the character’s intent. (There may be an illusive art to knowing when to quiet the composer’s intent and listen carefully to the created entity.)

Yes, my works will always have Kim-isms, just as any playwright and their era has a particular style. I will always be interested in the use of time, give attention to how sounds combine to create metaphors, and resist the urge for unnecessary repetition.

However, this being the 21^st century, I’d like to offer musicians the task of getting less inside the head of the composer and more into questioning “what does this musical ‘character’ ask of me?" Creating compositions of this sort gives the performer homework and decisions. Rather excitingly, it allows for more than one authentic way to present a work.

I encourage performers to take the risk and challenge to chew over the character/s that each piece presents. I will do my best to provide each member of the cast with lines worth speaking, worth mulling over for nuggets of depth and beauty.

Fortunately, Caprio is in good hands this week. Oboist Joni Day and Music Director Stephen Blackwelder are both capable of acknowledging the composer while courageously tending to the spirit of the music’s intent. We will hear a living, breathing, authentic Caprio!

The Artist’s Struggle: Seeing beyond the boulder

I enjoy exploring the histories and ideas about myths as I find they help me grasp the deeper premise of musical gestures and metaphors. I’m currently chewing on the myth of Sisyphus as it is presented in Phil Cousineau’s book  Once and Future Myths: The Power of Ancient Stories in Modern Times

He offers this story as one to guide and inspire the artist. Yes, Sisyphus was the fellow who was condemned to push a boulder up the side of mount Tartarus, just to have it roll back down again.

Cousineau’s take on the myth sees beyond a sense of futileness and despair. As he writes:

"Sisyphus was condemned for all eternity to shoulder the boulder up the mountain of hell, and all the while Hades would be watching for the look of despair that would mark the defeat of another mere mortal. But Sisyphus resolved never to allow the gods to see him defeated by despair. He silently vowed that because his fate was in his hands he could be superior to it. That is the genius of the mythic view of this complex image, that this, "the hour of consciousness" as Camus called it, is born out of the beauty that can be heard in the midst of our ordeals.

“The myth of Sisyphus is a living myth, I concluded, because it reveals the inner meaning of our outer struggles. And who doesn't struggle? Who doesn't look for meaning in the everyday drama of their life? The myth personifies the notion set forth in models of drama, from Aristotle to screenwriter William Goldman, that growth comes through conflict, change from response to defeat. Moreover, it presages the marvelous thought of the Scottish poet Kathleen Raine about "the mysterious wisdom won by toil."

Read the full text. 

I’m still contemplating this version of the ‘artist's struggle.’ I see the boulder as the weight of creative endeavor. Each time we create something which seems ‘perfect’ and ‘beautiful’ - once it’s completed, the rock rolls back down the hill. To look once again up at the side of the mountain and ponder how to not just ‘do it again,’ but surpass the previous creation is unfathomable. Yet you lean into the rock and go to.

For our response to defeat, I have found the story of Otho, one of the late Caesars to be particularly apt. Otho’s response to an embarrassing military defeat was to retire to his chambers and kill himself. The irony of this is that Julius Caesar had suffered far larger losses and many more defeats, but Julius Caesar saw beyond the immediate struggle. What was a road block to Otho was a mere pot-hole to Julius Caesar. Maybe Julius was thinking of his life as something bigger than the boulder - a myth, his to bring to life.

A final word from Cousineau:

“Don’t be satisfied with the myths that come before you,” said the Sufi poet Rumi seven centuries ago, “unfold your own myth.” …... If we do, we may learn the eternal struggle from the depths towards the heights “is enough to fill a man’s heart” as Camus concluded, gloriously.

Out of the struggle with ourselves, from the fire in our soul, comes the thing that never existed before—the music, the art, the words that make life endurable, and more, creative and sublime.”

What is it like to be a female conductor?

Yes, this is the question heard most frequently: “So what is it like being a female conductor?” People are curious so I’ll cut to the chase: You do a lot of hand-holding.

Let’s start by asking, “What is it like to be female?” It is to be either invisible or intimidating.

Seven months ago I made a new acquaintance and gave him my card which says “Kim Diehnelt –Conductor” in bold letters. I see him on a daily basis and just last week he realized I didn’t work on a train. (Invisible) So you smile patiently knowing that building new cognitive pathways takes longer for some people.

I once worked with a group where after conducting Mahler’s Fifth Symphony and again after conducting Ravel’s Daphne et Chloe the principle trombonist approached to say, “Wow, you really know this music. How do you do it?” (Oops, intimidated him enough that he needs to prove something) I’d like to think that now days I have the nerve to simply make a naïve-like tilt of the head and ask “What do you mean by that?” But at that moment I responded each time with a ‘correct’ answer of, “It’s great music; you have to love it!”(Ok, then, I’ll make my self invisible, so you feel comfortable)

With another group where I was Assistant, when I finally, after extensive lobbying, conducted a major concert a listener approached me afterwards to ask, “I can’t believe this; you’ve been on staff for the last 3 years. Why haven’t we seen you?”  (Invisible) You smile and stifle any inkling of comprehension. And when the president of the same orchestra said he had never heard the orchestra sound so good the call came from the music director three days later “I’m sorry to have to fire you, but there’s just no work for you next year.” (Intimidating) You smile knowing it was the highest, most genuine compliment this fellow could offer. (This is hardly a gender-specific issue; any young conductor can potentially threaten the established conductor. However, when a 30 year-old-female out shines a 60-year-male colleague, it is unlikely he will say, “Son, I’m proud of you,” and assume a mentoring role.)

I studied in Vienna one summer. The very first day the teacher announced, “Someday women conductors will be accepted the way female soloists are. But not yet.” (Invisible, temporarily.) I guess this means the teacher just went through the motions of teaching since, well, it was all too soon to take me seriously.

Why might it be such a mind-block to envision a woman as a conductor? First, conducting is one of the rare positions where, because you stand on a podium with that title, you have the authority to tell a person – literally - when to breathe. That much power comes with the job. You also control time. That’s immensely powerful and historically almost a sacred power. Our image of what this power looks like is quite limited.

Creativity is a mystery; to bring a text to life implies important wisdom and skill. Inspiration and genius wound together to bring universal truths, ideals, beauty and aesthetics into the world. Our image of what creativity looks like is quite narrow.

Conducting also requires the cooperation of large groups of people. You need more than a “room of one’s own.” A leader needs clout, political leverage, and most importantly, followers. Our image of what leadership looks like is quite narrow.

Power, creativity, leadership. Unfortunately the current images of how these traits look are so narrow and precise that everything else remains invisible or threatening.

A recent TEDx Michigan Ave speaker Ian David Moss of  Createquity gave insightful comments on this narrowness in the arts. The democratic and equal opportunity to experience the arts is a major reason for government funding of the arts. We have the noble mind-set that everyone should have the right to consume the arts. Yet, as he points out, the opportunity and right to produce the arts is held in the hands of a very narrow slice of society.

I’d like to challenge my fellow female conductors to join me in widening these defining lines. When women conductors are asked this question about being female in today’s world, the default and ‘proper’ answer is a glossy, up-beat, and politically bland, “There may be some discrimination, but I haven’t experienced any.” Yes, I understand the political forces that require an American woman to deny the existence of any scenario that could paint her as ‘a victim.’ Any hint of victim-hood makes you weak and culpable; a taboo and stigma in this society. However, such white-washing of the world smacks of self-centered complacency: “Well, I found my niche, so things must be good enough.” Just because you or I have eluded the barriers certainly doesn’t mean the situation is ‘good enough.’

For example, I have a colleague who purports to have some vague, mystical European heritage because his teacher told him a Mexican-American could never be a conductor. Rather than stretching the concept of conductor and being an inspiring pioneer on and off the podium, he has spent his life as a well-groomed forgery of no one. While he forgoes his essence, the music and our listeners lose a vital angle on the well-cut diamond of art. One less facet; a little less sparkle. And the same old map of power, creativity, and leadership stays in circulation.

I have fellow gay colleagues who politely toe the ‘openly closeted’ line that keeps the classical world comfortable. Again, it’s a loss. One less facet; a little less sparkle. And the map of the world squeaks by again without revision.

The human scope of music, especially the music of the orchestra, is inspired and enlivened by each new version of genuine being. A diamond sparkles with brilliance because of its numerous facets. One, singular, limited surface makes for a lack-luster gemstone. As each version of what a conductor looks like takes to the podium, music is offered a fresh moment to sparkle with magic. (This goes of course for every version of orchestral musician and composer, too)

I’ve never been one to use a dimmer switch, so I will continue to intimidate those who still work from an outdated map of power, creativity and leadership. However, I’d like to do less hand-holding. Perhaps with this little blog, we could remind each other to check the revision dates on our maps of the world. The more visible and genuine each dot on the map becomes the more complete the universe. One more facet; a little more sparkle.