Just back from the Island Nation of Japan. Three interesting things that came up while I was out:
1) You can watch the entirety of the 2009 Malko Conducting Competition here. It makes for fascinating viewing, round by round.
2) John von Rhein weighs in on orchestral economics (particularly those of the Chicago Symphony) and recommends that conductors as well as musicians put caps on their salaries in 2011. The subject of top-level salaries in classical music is something that I’m sure musicians at all levels have pondered at one point or another.
The thing is, I think von Rhein may have a point, but I think it’s for all the wrong reasons.
In one sense, it seems that orchestra unions are bleeding their parent organizations dry by insisting on such high salaries for their players. The counter argument is that these musicians are just as highly trained and specialized as their colleagues in other fields, and they often have to make huge sacrifices to afford a high quality instrument (string players in particular may have to invest hundreds of thousands of dollars for their equipment).
Musicians often point to the bloated number of administrative staff and their respective salaries in some of these organizations. This may be worth investigation as well. As to the question of conductors, it does seem like some of these salaries are awfully high — especially considering that most music directors of the biggies conduct only 12 weeks of the season. Is that really worth $1.5 million (in the case of the NY Phil)?
Hard to say… I guess they’re paying it, so somebody must think that’s what it’s worth. A high profile conductor adds caché to an orchestra, and public knowledge of his impressive salary may help add to that allure among certain sections of the audience.
To me, the question ought to come down to the market itself, but that never happens in the world of high-profile arts organizations.
What I particularly dislike about JvR’s article is that he sees fit to dole out specific advice to the management of the CSO. The balance sheet of a multi-million dollar organization like the CSO is necessarily complex, and I doubt that Herr von Rhein is familiar with all the details. In fact, I even overheard Deborah Card, president of the CSO, respond to JvR in the following words:
“Look, I’ve got certain information, certain things have come to light, and uh, has it ever occurred to you, man, that given the nature of all this new shit, that, uh, instead of running around blaming me, that this whole thing might just be, not, you know, not just such a simple, but uh, you know –”
As such, I don’t think it’s part of his job as a music critic to publicly offer financial advice to the groups that he covers. Plus, if John Boy thinks that he’s adding something novel to this particular debate, he may want to look over Peter Dobrin’s article from two months ago.
Over the past two days, I continued my exploration of Tokyo by attending performances from two theatrical traditions that contrast starkly and yet offer such tantalizing comparisons: one at the Kabuki-za and the other at the Takarazuka Rêvue.
Kabuki is a sort of mélange of Japanese theatrical idioms, combining elements of the Noh andthe Bunraku (puppet theater) traditions. Like these other forms of Japanese theater, Kabuki is performed entirely by men, including the female roles. Actors who specialize in female roles are known as onnagata. The written form of the word “kabuki” combines the characters for “sing”, “dance”, and “skill”.
I so adored the kabuki performance that we saw for so many reasons. The sets and costumes are bold and extravagent (in the first act, the shojo, a “mythical sake-loving spirit” wore this crazy bright-red troll doll wig), the music is 100% integrated with the action on stage, and, most importantly, the audience is engaged the whole time.
This last point was apparent from looking around at the nearly packed house (on a Tuesday afternoon). You can tell that people are engrossed in the drama and familiar with conventions of what’s happening on the stage. However, they are not uptight about the whole thing — certain connoisseurs will call out the names of their favorite actors during the action (a practice known as kakegoe). It was a real pleasure observe the consternation of the Western tourists in the theater, who had clearly not read their brochure and seemed quite nonplussed at the rude interruptions.
Now, it’s entirely possible that the people who shout these things from the balcony are just Kabuki Queens no better than their European and American counterparts who so assiduously inflect their Bravos (the worst of course being any soprano-alto duet inevitably followed by “Brave!” from up in the rafters) just to show off. But I really don’t want to believe that. I’d like to think that we could learn from our Eastern neighbors who don’t scoff at a little noise from the audience if it means that everyone can be more involved in the collective experience of going to the theater.
The coup de grâce of this Kabuki performance was an act titled “Tenaraiko” (The Girl Returning from School). The plot summary is very simple: “A girl dawdles on her way home from school, plays with the butterflies in the field, and dreams of love.” And that’s all that it was. The amazing part was that the little girl was played by an 81-year-old man called Nakamura Shikan VII! Honored as a Living National Treasure, Shikan’s slight, graceful movements (and the heavy white rice make-up) completely transformed him into a tiny little schoolgirl — without the program notes, it would have been impossible to identify him as an old man.
On a total side note, I think Western orchestral string players could stand to study the art of pizzicato with Japanese musicians — in the Kabuki, five shamisen players plucked in absolute unison for the entire show. I heard nary an imprecise attack from the lot of them!! To think how rare it is to hear even a single section of orchestral strings play a pizz in unison makes me wonder just what secrets the Orient is hiding.
As a matter of transition, I might mention that I was primed to enjoy Kabuki by my love and affection for Stephen Sondheim’s Pacific Overtures, a score that is unjustly neglected, probably because it is nearly impossible to revive. Sondheim spent several weeks in Japan researching the musical style for the show and recruiting Japanese musicians to perform in the original Broadway production. Listen to the opening of the whole show:
The shamisen, the chanter, hyogashi (Japanese claves) — it’s almost authentic kabuki… and then the über-Sondheim vamp comes in (and don’t we all revel in that moment!?)
So, speaking of musicals, yesterday I finally got to see a performance that I had been looking forward to for SO long — the Takarazuka Review, an all-female, all-out musical theater Extravaganza!! These have got to be the most lavish musical theater productions in the world — I can’t imagine even the Ziegfeld Follies rivaling them.
True to their name, the show is in the form of a Revue — it starts with a big succession of songs and dances on generic Oriental themes. The musical style is basically 1970’s/80’s musical theater-pop, big power ballads, etc. This collection included a 35-girl kickline that totally outdid the Rockettes for precision (and certainly for unique costuming).
The audience of Takarazuka is primarily women; in fact some estimates say the audience is 90 percent female.
Wow, that’s an understatement. I saw three other men in a completely packed house. I would estimate more like 99% female. (Meanwhile, my friend Mandy and I were the ONLY foreigners in the whole place.) This is the line for the women’s restroom:
The rival theory is that the girls are not drawn to the implicit sexuality of Takarazuka, but instead are fascinated by the otokoyaku (the women who play male roles) “getting away with a male performance of power and freedom.”
Well, I have no idea what draws these ladies to the performances, but there’s no doubt that the otokoyakaru, who are forced to adopt male roles in their daily lives during their training program, are the audience favorites.
Some ardent fans demonstrate their loyalty to one or another performer by wearing scarves of a particular color or even jackets colorfully embroidered with the star’s name.
Yep. Here they are:
This is so interesting, I’ll just continue the Wikipedia:
Following performances at the Takarazuka Theater in Tokyo, as many as several hundred fans congregate in their various club groups, each club represented by several members or dozens, standing in orderly ranks on either side of the street in front of the theatre. Theatre officials set up barricades and oversee the assembly. Occasionally one group will sit and all the others follow suit (much like the “Audience wave” seen in athletic arenas) with subsequent intervals of standing and sitting. The fans wait patiently, with little conversation, for their favorites to exit the theatre. (Their decorum contrasts markedly to the noisy, competitive and often pushy autograph-seekers who wait outside stage doors in the west.) An almost eerie ritualistic calm prevails. As the stars come out of the building one by one, some alone but most accompanied, orderly quiet continues to prevail. The glamorous performers, now mostly in slacks or jeans with high heels and wearing oversize visored “newsboy” caps to hide their hair (and some with sunglasses even in the night), move along to their own particular fan clubs. Rather than requesting autographs, the fans proffer cards, which are gathered efficiently by each star, who may say a very few words but then waves and move on. Once the last stars have emerged and departed, the clubs disband quietly into the night.
Admittedly, I didn’t stay for that, but, Wow, you can see why I just HAD to go see this show. Speaking of which, my experience waiting in line for tickets was one of my more memorable Tokyo moments. As you may guess from the above description of the audience demographics, my presence as a single, white, American male in the ticket line presented something of a conundrum for the theater patrons and organizers. A very polite line attendant used his very best English to confirm three times that I was in fact in the right place. He then asked,
“So, how did you hear about Takarazuka Revue?”
I told him that a friend of mine told me about it, a writer [Ted Fishman].
“Is he… Japanese?” he asked?
“No,” I responded.
“You know,” he continued, “the womens… plays… (?)”
“Yes, the womens plays the men.”
“I know — that’s why I came!”
I’ve posted a clip of the Takarazuka’s performance of “Guys and Dolls” before on this blog, but I think it bears re-contextualizing:
P.S. There’s plenty more on YouTube where that came from.
I think this clip acurately portrays an important element of the shows: just like the Kabuki, after you watch it for a while, you totally forget that these are gender-bending performances. So, Well Done, Japan!!
I find myself in Tokyo this week at the home of good friends. I’ve only been here a few days, but I think I’m already starting to get the flavor of the place. There really is no “center” of Tokyo — rather, it is a conglomeration of 23 cities, each with its own center, surroundings and specialties.
Yesterday, we took in a concert of the NHK Symphony. There were only two pieces on the program, both by Edward Elgar: the cello concerto and the 2nd Symphony.
It would be very difficult to describe the huge difference between the impression these two pieces made. The cello concerto is a piece I recently conducted and was still very fresh in my mind. I found the performance utterly lifeless, the soloist overblown and the sound lacking any warmth or color. It was a sonic version of the Raw Horse Meat I had eaten the night before:
A dish that I expected would be full of wild, gamey flavor really ended up being about as tasty as a glass of water. [PS. The Japanese charmingly refer to this dish as “Cherry Blossom Meat”.]
The performance of the 2nd symphony, however, under the baton of Tadaaki Otaka, was a true delight. This is a piece that I’ve had problems with in the past, having conducted the first movement in a lesson once, largely unsuccessfully. I think the hardest thing about this piece is the pacing, and Mr. Otaka really brought it off with charm and ease. The sound was beautiful all around and the playing was precise and impassioned. Delicious as a rich okonomiyaki.
Also, the NHK concert hall had an ingenious idea of how to deal with children at concerts:
Oh that concert halls in the U.S. would adopt such a sensible Baby Policy.
The superb rendition of the Elgar 2nd almost made up for the disappointment of not getting to see Shugo Tokumaru, who was playing a sold out show in Tokyo the night before. BUT, I was able to buy his new album, which won’t be released in the states for who knows how long. It’s a short little affair, but a welcome addition to the most excellent EXIT.
I just finished reading Steve Suskin’s The Sound of Broadway Music, not five days after Terry Teachout did the same. What a book! What a HUGE gap this fills in for anybody interested in how Broadway Melodies get transformed from a tune with words to a what you hear in the theater.
I’ve been conducting musicals since I was 16 years old, and this book for the first time demystified Broadway scores in a major way. I can remember conducting Kiss Me, Kate when I was a senior in high school and wondering where in Creation the dance music came from – reading the music (specifically, the “Tarantella”), it just seemed impossible that it was written by Cole Porter. It turns out that a lady named Genevieve Pitot basically improvised it over a period of several days working with choreographer Hanya Holm. This is what’s known as “dance arranging”, and the dance arranger might improvise something that has nothing to do with the score and then go home and arrange themes from the show to correspond to the dance patterns.
From there, Ms. Pitot’s scores went to Russell Bennett (who was the credited orchestrator on the show) and Don Walker (who did about a third of the total orchestrations – uncredited, as was so often the case). These two gentlemen, along with very minor contributions from Walter Paul and Hans Spialek, orchestrated the entire score a mere 10 days before the opening.
This book is so tremendously informative, I would recommend it to anybody interested in Broadway musicals. Suskin did a HUGE amount of research to put this whole thing together, and he is kind enough to share the great stories that he dug up in the process. For example, a story from Stephen Sondheim that I had never encountered anywhere else, about how a strong-willed director/choreographer can actually trump a composer on his own orchestrations:
Jerry [Robbins] took over the orchestra during the dress rehearsal for “Somewhere,” and proceeded to circle the instruments. “Now I want those out of there…” He thought that Lenny had made it too lush. I remember, I was sitting next to Lenny in the back o f the house. Jerry hadn’t objected at the two orchestra readings. But hearing it in the theatre with his dancers onstage, Jerry went running down the aisle, changing the orchestration. I went, “Oh my God, I can’t wait to write home about this.” Then I looked over, and Lenny is gone. Where is he? Not in the house. I went out in the lobby of the teatre. He wasn’t there. Then I had a hunch. I went down the street, to the nearest bar. There he was, in a double booth, with five shots of scotch lined up in front of him. Nobody could face Jerry Robbins down, so he went to the bar.
And that’s the version that is played to this very day.
On an unrelated note, I found a new young composer that I’m just wild about: Timothy Andres. He has a big premiere coming up by the LA Phil “Green Umbrella” series; clearly this kid is a major contender of the Muhlian variety. Dude’s music and the presentation thereof is hot. I do so hate it when anybody else has talent.