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A Spotlit Standout: Camille A. Brown’s “Real Cool”

Sunday, March 31st, 2013

Note: This review marks the continuation of a series dedicated to showcasing the best student writing from the Dance History course I teach at The Juilliard School.

By Kyle Weiler

The Joyce Theatre program Working Women (Jan 30-Feb 3) offered an eclectic sampler of works by eight female choreographers. Like a four-course meal, the evening tendered various flavors of dance. The winning course turned out to be Camille A. Brown’s self-choreographed solo The Real Cool. Performed after intermission, this piece brilliantly combined the bitter, the sour, and the sweet.

As the curtain rose, Brown hovered downstage under a round spotlight like a damaged puppet in a gray suit and white gloves.  Her costume and makeup channeled late 19th century caricatures of black performers. According to Ken Padgett’s The History of Blackface, black minstrel performers had to present themselves in accordance with degrading stock characters, such as “Pickaninny” or the “Zip Coon.”

Brown began her solo with a series of sharp, powerful arm movements accompanied by rhythmic exhales. A larger than life silhouette of her body engulfed the cyclorama, thanks to lighting designer Burke Wilmore.  Brown’s anxiety driven movement appeared to be trapped within a single pool of light. Alluding to suffocating pressures, her upper body pulsated. She executed knee spins in a circle around the space; her forceful, flexed-footed high kicks and the rapid repetition of jumping over her own leg, as if revolving like helicopter propeller, demonstrated her fight. Unlike some of the other performances in the program, nothing about Brown’s choreography was arbitrary. The movement Brown chose carefully communicated the harrowing and poignant experience of the black minstrel performer forced to embody racist stereotypes.

Fighting back tears, Brown’s portrayal of a belittled figure was utterly convincing. She literally put on a happy face in a desperate act to entertain the crowd. At one moment, Brown flashed an overly sweet smile, which quickly disintegrated into a bitter, painful sob. A piano arrangement of “What a Wonderful World” provided a striking paradox to Brown’s broken character that struggles body and soul to maintain composure. (Ironically this tune by Bob Theile/George D. Weiss was used earlier in the evening, without much success, in the work of Carolyn Dorfman.)

As the cyclorama’s lighting transitioned from blue tones to harsh reds, Brown’s silhouette changed from a harmless reflection to a haunting presence. At this moment, Brown took off her gloves; she set them on the floor as if ridding herself of the stereotype she was forced to play. But not long after she abandoned the gloves, she pulled them back on, suggesting that her destiny – to be a humiliated, black minstrel performer – was a historical inevitability.

The Real Cool is an excerpt from Brown’s Mr. Tol E. RAncE, which will premiere April 2-6 at The Kitchen. If Brown’s short, and fascinatingly complex solo is any indication of her upcoming full-length work, than the Kitchen event is sure to be a banquet, not only for the eyes but for the spirit.

Kyle Weiler is a first year Dance Division student at The Juilliard School.

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Camille A. Brown’s “The Real Cool,” Coming to The Kitchen

Sunday, March 31st, 2013

Note: This review marks the continuation of a series dedicated to showcasing the best student writing from the Dance History course I teach at The Juilliard School.

By Tiare Keeno

As the curtain rose at The Joyce Theatre on February 3, the Working Women program commenced with Monica Bill Barnes “Luster (part 1: the set up).” This highly theatrical, energetic piece from 2012 warmed up the audience. The eight works that followed also held this dancer-writer’s interest. They included Janis Brenner’s extraterrestrial-like solo “Contents May Have Shifted” (2002), performed by Holly Farmer, Loni Landon’s world premiere “Rebuilding Sandcastles,” Carolyn Dorfman’s lighthearted duet “Keystone,” (2012) and Sidra Bell’s world premiere “Beyond the Edge of the Frame,” a regal ensemble work.

But one work far exceeded the others, and that was Camille A. Brown’s “The Real Cool.” The solo is part of a full-length dance “Mr. TOL E. RAncE,” which will premiere April 2-6 at The Kitchen.

Brown, a well-known African-American choreographer, has been lauded for her character-driven, highly physical dance works that combine vernacular and concert dance traditions. Judging from “The Real Cool” excerpt, Brown’s “Mr. TOL E. RAncE” will deftly explore the experiences of African-American performers today, and yesterday.

“The Real Cool” begins with Brown standing in a pool of light; her head is down, her knees are bent, and the palms of her hands are exposed to the audience. Wearing black pants, a blazer, and white gloves, Brown moves behind two magnified projections; they create a large, haunting silhouette of her figure on the cyclorama. Brandon McCune’s tune “What A Wonderful World” is used to ironic effect.  Wonderful world? Not in the least. With raw, precise, fluid movements, Brown appears like a puppet being manipulated by an outside force. Her audible rhythmic breaths evoke a sense of frustration and entrapment.

As she repeatedly slices her arms, Brown looks as if she’s trying to escape the world. Then in a blink of an eye, she resembles a clown, a black minstrel performer. She exhales miserably as though the clowning exhausts her. In these moments, Brown poetically conveys the exasperating history of the African-American performer who was made to perform stock roles, all of which were demeaning.

The brilliance of Brown’s “Real Cool” not only lies with its content but with her impassioned performance. As the piece nears the end, Brown strips off the white gloves, revealing the brown color of her hands. Then tears stream down her face.

Tiare Keeno is a first year Dance Division student at The Juilliard School.

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BR Chor’s St Matthew Passion

Thursday, March 28th, 2013

Peter Dijkstra

By ANDREW POWELL
Published: March 28, 2013

MUNICH — Bayerischer Rundfunk chose to film Bach’s St Matthew Passion last month in the Herkulessaal, in blue light. Drafted for the mood-enhanced venture were Karina Gauvin, Gerhild Romberger, Maximilian Schmitt and Michael Nagy, the vocal quartet; Julian Prégardien and Karl-Magnus Fredriksson as the Evangelist and Jesus; the Cathedral Sparrows (actually boys) from Regensburg; and the authentically inclined orchestra Concerto Köln from Köln. The broadcaster’s own estimable BR Chor anchored the proceedings under its Dutch artistic leader Peter Dijkstra. Instantly (Feb. 16) their efforts poured out over the Internet and to watchers of the Franco-German TV network Arte. No doubt a DVD will follow to match the BR Klassik label’s equally azure Christmas Oratorio of 2010.

The next afternoon (Feb. 17), by dint of planning the first Sunday in Lent, all was repeated, happily without color effects or cameras, and wonders ensued anyway. Jarringly at first, Dijkstra favored leisurely speeds for the choruses yet brisk dispatch of the arias, as if he could not settle between traditional and authentic ways with the score. But this hybrid approach soon proved enlightening: choral ideas gained transparency, also grandeur, while the music for solo voice advanced in resolute dramatic units.

Romberger’s graceful legato and neatly placed ornaments found the logic of her musical lines, with text emphases shifting in modest degrees; this is an imaginative, rich, true alto whose absorbing Buß und Reu and Erbarme dich alone justified attendance. Gauvin brought an agile, creamy soprano, although her phrasing did not always explain her renown as a Baroque stylist. Schmitt’s high, sometimes meager-toned tenor projected well. Nagy’s keen musicianship largely masked missing gravitas in the voice. A member of the Royal Opera in Stockholm, Fredriksson declaimed the protagonist’s varied part in bright hues, his voice fully supported even in sudden outbursts; though listed as a baritone, he had all the low notes. Prégardien offered an equally vivid storyteller but strained in abrupt ascents.

The bisected BR Chor sang with customary discipline and impeccable text enunciation, while the sparrows opulently held aloft Bach’s cantus firmus girders in framing Part I. Instrumentally the performance had great eloquence — in the extensive viola da gamba work (from Jan Freiheit for both groupings), in a nimble violin solo (from Mayumi Hirasaki in Orchestra II), and in the robust, confident sound of the divided Cologne ensemble.

Photo © Klaus Fleckenstein for BR

Related posts:
St John Passion Streams
BR’s Full-Bodied Vin Herbé
Muti Crowns Charles X
BR Chor’s Humorless Rossini
With Viotti, MRO Looks Back

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“He’s So Musical”

Thursday, March 28th, 2013

by Sedgwick Clark

PK turned to me last Friday (3/22) at Carnegie Hall when the applause had died down for intermission and asked, “Where did he come from? He’s so musical. Where did he train?” Moments later, she continued animatedly to friends who had joined us, “He seems relaxed with the piano – it’s not an adversarial relationship like the Serkin school, where the instrument is an enemy to be conquered. He doesn’t play with anxiety, which is rare these days.” She also liked his insightful program notes.

What a relief! Her usual question when I’ve cajoled her into going to a concert that initially elicited a frown is muttered after the first piece or movement: “Why am I here?” Fact is, she’d almost always rather spend the evening at home with our three bichons, but this time she was happy she came.

The recitalist was Jeremy Denk, who opened the program audaciously with Bartók’s Piano Sonata (1926). I hadn’t heard the Sonata in many years and was reminded of its strong kinship to the First Piano Concerto (my favorite of the three), which Bartók composed later that year. It’s the first of his oeuvre to use the piano as a percussion instrument. “Though dissonant and raucous, it’s very good-humored,” Denk states in his notes, and his rendering of the work’s dance and folk elements, his colorful tonal palette, and refusal to bang served the music brilliantly.

Great Liszt performances require beauty of tone, first and foremost. In “Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen” Prelude after J.S. Bach, S. 179; Sonetto 123 del Petrarca from Années de pèlerinage, Deuxième année; Dante Sonata; and Isoldes Liebestod from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde — a group Denk describes as “ranging from worldly pain to bliss to damnation to death” — he succeeded admirably, with all the requisite dynamic range. The first work, astonishingly, seems to be the first Carnegie Hall performance in recorded history. The Petrarca Sonetto purred with velvet. The turbulent Dante, which so often sprawls, was the most convincing, i.e., coherent, performance I’ve heard. The Tristan transcription, which easily curdles, was gorgeously sustained.

Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in B minor from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I, BWV 869, appeared underplayed, perhaps deliberately, for it was followed by a Beethoven Sonata No. 32, Op. 111, replete with chance taking. Carnegie’s wet acoustic has always challenged piano recitals (at least in the parquet seats), especially after the hall’s 1986 renovation, and Denk’s fingers seemed to race ahead at times in the Allegro. The second-movement Adagio lacked breadth to my taste, despite excellent trills and an emotionally satisfying coda, but PK “really liked” the performance in its entirety.

Denk fans may look forward to Saturday evening, May 4, when he joins Renée Fleming and several other fine artists at Carnegie in an attractive lineup of vocal and chamber fin de siècle works.

By the way, Denk earned a master’s degree as a pupil of György Sebök at Indiana University and a doctorate in piano performance at Juilliard, where he studied with Herbert Stessin.

Looking Forward

My week’s scheduled concerts (8:00 p.m. unless otherwise noted):

3/28 Avery Fisher Hall. Los Angeles Philharmonic/Gustavo Dudamel. Vivier: Zipangu. Debussy: La Mer. Stravinsky: The Firebird (complete ballet).

4/1 at 7:30. Symphony Space. Cutting Edge Concerts New Music Festival. Pulse Chamber Ensemble; Chris Reza Trio. Victoria Bond: Cyclops. Charles Mason: Pulsearrythmic. Thomas Sleeper: Semi-Suite. Jesse Jones: Unisono. Chris Reza: Cacophony.

4/3 Carnegie Hall. Boston Symphony/Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos. Hindemith: Concert Music for Strings and Brass. Rachmaninoff: Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini. Bartók: Concerto for Orchestra.

4/4 Carnegie Hall. Boston Symphony/Daniele Gatti; Anne Sofie von Otter, mezzo; Tanglewood Festival Chorus. Mahler: Symphony No. 3.

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Vanitas Vanitatum, Omnia Vanitas

Friday, March 22nd, 2013

By Rebecca Schmid

Experimental Regie, free from the scrutiny of finicky patrons on the German opera scene, can in the best case scenario serve to illuminate hidden meanings of a score. In the worst case, it can drown out or obscure musical considerations. The Staatsoper Berlin’s Werkstatt (‘workshop’), a wing of the company’s temporary residence in the Schiller Theater dedicated to new music theater (the literal translation of Musiktheater, which in effect places music and theater on equal turf), is currently showing Salvatore Sciarrino’s Vanitas (1981), designated by the composer as a ‘still life in one act.’ A trio for soprano, cello and piano, the work—seen at its second run on March 19—comes closest to a mini cantata with its intricate exchanges. A winding, descending melody provides a Leitmotif of angst and emptiness for the soprano, echoed by the ghostly cello, while the piano interjects with a bed of shifting harmonies. The text, woven together from fragments by German, Italian and other poets, lingers existentially over a wilting rose—an image hovering on the boundary between life and death.

In a new staging by Götz Friedrich protégé Beate Baron, the notion of a still life is taken literally when an elderly couple (Hans Hirschmüller and Friederike Frerichs) stands motionless before the audience, the sequins on their aristocratic clothes sparkling as they exude an admonishing stare. The soprano (Rowan Hellier) is trapped in her own surreal world—hair pinned up above doll-like make-up when she emerges from a corridor drowned in white light. As the drama escalates with frenetic passages in the piano (Jenny Kim), scrims descend to provide close-ups of the elderly couple—larger than life yet a bold distraction from the searching emptiness of the music. The actors, still onstage, resemble negligent, upper crust parents as they observe Hellier writhe on the floor in a moment of insanity. Her agility was impressive, but certain positions naturally compromised vocal production. I found myself drawn to the skilful playing of cellist Gregor Fuhrmann as his bow hovered with eerie tones above the bridge. Grating and creaking accompanied Hellier’s silent scream as the lights faded to darkness—a moment which allowed for full immersion in the music.

Ultimately, one was left wanting more. Perhaps it would have made sense to juxtapose the work with another one-acter—maybe even a world premiere culled from the extensive pool of Berlin-based composers—and pare back the staging? Two seasons ago, the company mounted Sciarrino’s Infinito Nero (1998) alongside Peter Maxwell Davies’ Miss Donnithorne’s Maggot (1974). Davies received an installation with live video that culminated in attempted suicide and a still birth, but in this case the protagonist is an abandoned bride who, according to the 19th-century story, actually does go insane. For Sciarrino’s ‘ecstasy in one act’ evoking the mystical experiences of Maria Maddalena de’Pazzi, the soprano Sarah Maria Sun was duct-taped to a cross that was hung from the ceiling. The concept was at first captivating—not to mention a technical feat—but quickly lost traction when extras crawled around with dildos stuck in their flies and splattered Sun with blue paint. The score’s hollow, breathing winds and haunted outbursts were reduced to spiritual relics—which is ironic given the Werkstatt’s focus on new music. The institution deserves credit for its sense of adventure, but the future of Musiktheater may depend on an awareness that theater must serve the interests of music—not the other way around.

rebeccaschmid.info

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On Breaking the Spell

Thursday, March 21st, 2013

by Sedgwick Clark

In his “New York Chronicle” music column for the April issue of The New Criterion, my friend and colleague Jay Nordlinger writes about a concert by Amsterdam’s Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra that we both attended on February 13 at Carnegie Hall. At one point he notes that some audience members applauded between movements of the two works performed. “This was not especially annoying. The shushing of them by others—harsh, petty, self-righteous shushing—was.” Being one of those shushers, I’d like to have my say.

Honestly, I can’t help it—it’s like a doctor’s tap on my knee. Shushing escapes my lips the moment someone applauds between movements. My brows knit, my teeth clench, and my head turns accusingly toward the offending clappers. The artists onstage have poured out their hearts to transport us to the composer’s world, but the applause destroys our concentration, breaks the spell. Wait for the conclusion of the work to register your approval, I believe, and you will be far more satisfied than if you dissipate it too soon. In a great performance, premature applause is like a knife in the heart, no less than unchecked hacking or a beeping cell phone. (In the latter regard, I recall a Philharmonic matinee at which a woman answered her phone to say, “I’m at a concert and can’t talk now.”) One music-loving friend has sworn off live concerts completely in favor of his recordings, unable to tolerate “piggish audiences who have no respect for the composers, artists, or fellow listeners.”

Recording engineer Seth Winner, who has worked on resuscitating NBC Symphony/Toscanini broadcasts, reports that applause between movements was diminishing in the 1930s but actively frowned upon in earnest when the orchestra went to an hour-long format in 1941 because it threw off the timings of the program. By the time I began going to concerts, nearly 45 years ago, applause between movements was essentially non-existent, and conductors would hold up an arm for silence. 

Many of those concerned about the future of classical-music concerts believe that the younger set is alienated by such concert decorum. If people want to applaud between movements, let them, they say. Times change, and there’s no reason for acceptable concert decorum not to make adjustments as well. The late music critic Alan Rich wrote in New York magazine in the 1970s of the sneering glances of Met Opera patrons when he wore jeans to an opening. Nowadays, a man in a tux or tails at a Met opening is the exception.

As in every activity in life, however, there are rules and boundaries so that communal activities may be enjoyed by the majority. Hence, the pre-performance announcements about turning off cell phones before concerts and movies, not taking photos, or otherwise fiddling with technical doodads that might distract your neighbor’s attention from the music or screen. If I’ve been “harsh, petty, self-righteous” in my imprecations, Jay, I’ll attempt to be less so in my shushing lest I turn into my friend who has forsaken the concert hall.

Looking Forward

My week’s scheduled concerts (8:00 p.m. unless otherwise noted):

3/22 at 7:30. Carnegie Hall. Jeremy Denk, piano. Bartók: Piano Sonata. Liszt: “Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen” Prelude after J.S. Bach, S. 179; Sonetto 123 del Petrarca from Années de pèlerinage, Deuxième année; Après une lecture du Dante, fantasia quasi sonata; Isoldes Liebestod from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde. J.S. Bach: Prelude and Fugue in B minor from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I, BWV 869. Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 32 in C minor, Op. 111.

3/27 at 7:30. Avery Fisher Hall. Los Angeles Philharmonic/Gustavo Dudamel. Peter Sellars, director. Los Angeles Master Chorale/Grant Gershon. Kelly O’Connor (Mary Magdalene), Tamara Mumford (Martha), Russell Thomas (Lazarus). John Adams: The Gospel According to the Other Mary.

3/28 Avery Fisher Hall. Los Angeles Philharmonic/Gustavo Dudamel. Vivier: Zipangu. Debussy: La Mer. Stravinsky: The Firebird (complete ballet).

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The Personal Touch

Thursday, March 21st, 2013

By: Edna Landau

To ask a question, please write Ask Edna.

I recently had the pleasure of attending one of Chamber Music America’s very informative, helpful and free “First Tuesdays” workshops which focus on a different professional development topic each month. This particular one, which was called “The Art of the Cold Call”, was expertly led by Marc Baylin, president of Baylin Artists Management. When asked by an artist manager how they should communicate with a presenter who was not responsive to their calls and e-mails, I was surprised to hear him suggest a letter. My first reaction was, who writes letters anymore and why is that likely to prove more effective? Mr. Baylin believes that a letter demonstrates extra effort on the part of an artist or manager and it is less likely to be discarded than an e-mail which might immediately be deleted. Most people will at least open the letter and glance at it, since they receive very few of them. It is also something tangible that they might keep on their desk until they are ready to deal with it. This got me thinking about other types of communication that seem to increasingly get neglected in these very fast paced times.

Two of the most powerful words in interpersonal relationships may well be “thank you”; yet, too often, those words go unarticulated. I have met artists who didn’t feel the need to thank their manager for securing a particularly meaningful engagement or attractive fee for them because, after all, they pay them commissions for their efforts and the higher the fee, the more the manager earns. I have also met individuals who may have considered the idea of giving their supervisor or employer a gift on their birthday but chose not to for fear of coming across as trying to gain favor with them. In my view, generosity of spirit and genuine expressions of appreciation will never lead someone down the wrong path. In fact, they help to build relationships that enrich our work experiences and offer incalculable rewards over the course of a lifetime.

In speaking with Steven Shaiman, Senior Vice President and Artist Manager at Concert Artists Guild, I was very heartened to learn that there is generally a climate of appreciation from the artists for the work that they do for them in launching their careers. Some take the time to write personal notes to the staff and others may bring in home baked treats. A good number write notes to presenters following their performances, having been encouraged to do so by their managers. This gratitude continues after they have graduated from CAG, when they take care to mention in interviews the valuable role the company played in their career development. It is not surprising that some of these personal gestures may become less frequent as artists’ schedules become more demanding. I asked Ken Fischer, President of the University Musical Society at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, how often he gets personal thank you notes from artists and he said it was rare. When it does happen, it makes a huge impression on him. One memorable note came from a singer who wrote to thank him for personally driving her to the airport early on a Sunday morning. I know that Mr. Fischer doesn’t think twice about doing something like that, nor does his staff complain about the work involved in preparing personal welcome packets for every guest artist arriving on campus, including individual members of foreign visiting orchestras, who receive packets prepared in their native language. Still, none of this should be taken for granted. He is gratified by the opportunity afforded by Facebook and Twitter to stay in touch with artists after they leave the campus. The ongoing communication that some artists opt to have often heightens the sense of anticipation that precedes a return visit. He also stressed to me how much it means to him and his staff when a manager takes the time to pay them a visit. Many of us may come to a performance because we think the artist expects it of us. Over the years, I rarely thought about what such a gesture might mean to the presenter, especially in the case of a veteran such as Ken Fischer. Presenters also cherish the generous community that they are a part of, sharing ideas and celebrating one another’s successes. It was no surprise to me to learn that so many of Mr. Fischer’s professional colleagues are also close personal friends.

I asked Mary Lou Falcone, the venerated public relations specialist, how she felt about employees going out of their way to make gestures of support and appreciation. I gave the example of an assistant placing a bouquet of flowers on her desk at the conclusion of a week that had been particularly challenging. Would she ever think that such a gesture was motivated by some other agenda? She responded by saying that it should never feel awkward for an employee to show kindness to an employer if it comes from a place of sincerity. Even small gifts at holiday time or on a birthday are not out of place. For the employer, it can be deeply touching and memorable. I also asked her how many former employees stay in touch with her and she said that about 50% still do. One woman who worked for her 30 years ago and who has gone on to a highly successful career in real estate still calls once a year to say that it would never have happened without her. We shared our mutual admiration for pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet, who never fails to call us on our birthday no matter where he may be in the world, long after our personal representation services for him have ended. She confirmed my belief that there is no one at any level who will not appreciate a kind gesture and a congratulatory message on a job well done. She takes great care to pass along this message to the students in her course at Juilliard, “Completing the Singer”. She tells them that to say thank you and give credit takes nothing away from us. It helps to build and nurture relationships which are the foundation of a long and rewarding career in our industry. She summed everything up beautifully by adding: “No matter what your function, thoughtfulness is never out of style.”

To ask a question, please write Ask Edna.

© Edna Landau 2013

Please Note: I will be taking a spring break from this column over the next few weeks and will return on April 11, in hopes that it will actually feel like spring in New York by then! If you are celebrating a holiday during this time, I wish you a very happy holiday.

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Does God Serve On Their Board?

Wednesday, March 20th, 2013

By Brian Taylor Goldstein, Esq.

Dear Law and Disorder:

We booked one of our artists to perform at a non-profit venue. The booking agreement was signed by all parties. We just received a phone call from the venue that their board met last night and decided unanimously to cancel the engagement due to poor ticket sales. The contract states that our artist is to be paid a cancellation fee if the date is cancelled for any reason except an act of God. However, the venue is claiming that this is an act of god and they do not have to pay. Any suggestions?

While I am familiar with many board chairs and presidents who erroneously believe they rule with omnipotent powers, their decisions do not constitute “Acts of God.” Moreover, unless there is a specific definition of “Acts of God” in a booking contract that expressly states that ticket sales are subject to divine will and authority or that a recognized deity from an established pantheon is in charge of marketing and sales, poor ticket sales are also not “Acts of God.”

Contrary to myth, non-profits are not exempt from the laws and legal obligations which govern all businesses, for-profit or otherwise. They must license copyrighted materials, pay their employees and independent contractors, and honor contractual obligations just like everyone else. In this case, you would appear to have a fairly straightforward breach of contract situation whereby the venue is contractually obligated to pay your artist the agreed upon cancellation fee.

Regardless of the legal merits of your claim, your first course of action should not be threats or demands. Instead, explore every possibility of a creative and mutually reasonable solution. Non-profits are under a considerable amount of pressure and, more often than not, in situations such as these, they are acting out of fear and self-survival rather than any nefarious intent. Can you reschedule the date? Can you offer to provide additional marketing materials or suggestions? Are there any expenses or costs which can be reduced? Are there any other presenters in the area who might be willing to partner with the venue and share expenses? Assuming your venue is unwilling to budge or consider alternatives, then stating the legal merits of the situation and suggesting mediation or arbitration would certainly be appropriate.

Ultimately, this may be one of those rare instances when filing legal action may be warranted. If your booking agreement does not provide for attorneys fees and costs in the event of a lawsuit, and if the engagement fee is not substantial enough to warrant the time and aggravation, you may be able to file a small claims action in lieu of a more formal trial. Sometimes, merely filing a lawsuit or claim is enough to bring them to the bargaining table. However, always remember that winning a lawsuit doesn’t mean you or your artist will ever see a dime. If the venue refuses to pay, you’ll have to pursue them further with bank liens and property attachments until they either pay or file bankruptcy or close entirely. While not resulting in any damages for you or your artist, this can often be its own form of divine retribution upon the venue.

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For additional information and resources on this and other legal and business issues for the performing arts, visit ggartslaw.com

To ask your own question, write to lawanddisorder@musicalamerica.org.

All questions on any topic related to legal and business issues will be welcome. However, please post only general questions or hypotheticals. GG Arts Law reserves the right to alter, edit or, amend questions to focus on specific issues or to avoid names, circumstances, or any information that could be used to identify or embarrass a specific individual or organization. All questions will be posted anonymously.

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THE OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER:

THIS IS NOT LEGAL ADVICE!

The purpose of this blog is to provide general advice and guidance, not legal advice. Please consult with an attorney familiar with your specific circumstances, facts, challenges, medications, psychiatric disorders, past-lives, karmic debt, and anything else that may impact your situation before drawing any conclusions, deciding upon a course of action, sending a nasty email, filing a lawsuit, or doing anything rash!

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Paz de la Jolla: A trip to the ballet, not to California

Friday, March 15th, 2013

Note: This review marks the continuation of a series dedicated to showcasing the best student writing from the Dance History course I teach at The Juilliard School.

By Cleo Person

As a Southern California native, I eagerly awaited New York City Ballet’s February performance of Justin Peck’s new work Paz de la Jolla. Seated in the former New York State Theater, I was hoping for a mini trip home, minus the hassle and airfare. Even though Reid Bartelme’s costuming (bathing suits and shorts) and Peck’s ocean imagery did create some sense of a warmer California climate, not much else about the piece captured the laid-back, costal village atmosphere of La Jolla.

The finale of Paz de la Jolla © Paul Kolnik.

Peck, a twenty-five year old City Ballet corps member, is not a complete novice in the art of choreography. La Jolla is his fourth work for City Ballet, following his most recent critical success, Year of the Rabbit. But La Jolla, set to Bohuslav Martinu’s Sinfonietta la Jolla, didn’t win me over. Peck’s choreography rarely conjures any sense of La Jolla as an actual place. The ballet seems to be in the service of displaying the dancers’ high level of technical ability, and Peck’s choreographic proficiency. He skillfully arranges his 18 dancers in geometric formations and patterns through an array of steps that feature the classical ballet lexicon. It’s a charming, impressive display. However the confounding part about La Jolla is what it actually evokes: the urgent, frenetic pace of New York.

Though the ballet is mainly abstract, there are a few loose plot points, which enable the leads to stand out as characters. Tyler Peck, clad in a striking blue bathing suit, not only shows off her technical prowess, but also plays a girl with a delightful sense of spark and fun. Sterling Hyltin and Amar Ramasar, who portray lovebirds on the beach, contribute hints of maturity. It is not, however, the kind of maturity seen in La Jolla, where most of the population is retirees.

Sterling Hyltin and Amar Ramasar in Paz de la Jolla. © Paul Kolnik.

Peck’s need to display movement virtuosity overshadows any feeling or story he could have conveyed. For example, the dancers of the corps act more as design vehicles than real people, and the relationship between the in-love couple is more generic than illuminating or enchanting. Because of Peck’s focus on wowing with steps and speed, even the small allusions to narrative get muddled. At one point, Hyltin runs into the waves, created by the massing of the corps, and Ramasar follows her. It becomes unclear as to whether they are playing in the water, drowning, or dreaming the whole thing up. When the waves subside, the couple lays motionless as other dancers, who previously represented waves, fail to revive them. Seconds later, Hyltin and Ramasar get up and dance joyfully (and absurdly) away.

The most ingenious part of la Jolla is Peck’s depiction of waves, created by a group of dancers wearing shimmery blue tops and dancing on the upstage diagonal in swelling and receding patterns. Peck doesn’t revert to cliché arm waving or other overused water images. Instead, he has female dancers lie prone with their legs in the air while the men form complicated patterns of interlacing circles behind them. He choreographs other women to then weave under the men’s arms. This ensemble-created fluidity is mesmerizing. Other sections, however, don’t flow together quite as smoothly. There are multiple occasions when the dancers arrive into formation and then stand still, waiting for the next musical cue to launch them into the next movement phrase.

Peck’s ballet occurred in the middle of the evening’s program, following Alexei Ratmansky’s spatially stunning Concerto DSCH, and preceding Jerome Robbins’ groovy N.Y. Export: Opus Jazz. After seeing all three pieces, it became clear that Peck did a nice job showing off the dancers’ strengths. While Robbin’s Opus Jazz is a brilliantly created, timeless piece of fun that can, if danced well, be a masterpiece, many of the girls looked like they missed their pointe shoes and appeared uncomfortable moving their bodies outside of the ballet lexicon. While not very evocative of a true Southern Californian way of life, Paz de la Jolla was at least danced with great enthusiasm by Peck’s fellow dancers.

Cleo Person is a first year Dance Division student at The Juilliard School.


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Happy Birthday, Pierre Boulez

Thursday, March 14th, 2013

by Sedgwick Clark

FINAL NOTICE: MY BLOG IS NOW POSTED ON THURSDAYS RATHER THAN ON WEDNESDAYS.

All scribes like to receive mail, even negative, because it shows that someone is reading us. A welcome note about last week’s blog, which concerned my love of youth orchestras, arrived from my good friend John Canarina, conductor, educator, critic, and author most recently of The New York Philharmonic: From Bernstein to Maazel (Amadeus Press):

“You wrote last week in your blog about hearing Boulez conduct the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain in 1977. Though we didn’t know each other at the time, I was there, too! I agree with you 100 percent in your assessment and remembrance of that concert. It was stupendous, probably the finest Boulez concert I’ve ever heard.”

In its totality, I agree. But there were several unforgettable concerts during his Philharmonic years that deserve mention, beginning with those four electrifying programs in February and March 1969 that earmarked him as Leonard Bernstein’s successor as music director. Pardon me, as I quote from one of my early blogs (2-15-10), reviewing a pair of Chicago Symphony concerts. “Very simply, [Boulez] changed the way I hear music. From those first four Philharmonic concerts, I cannot forget the harmonic clarity and singing of the cellos halfway through the first movement of La Mer; the unexpected orchestral outburst and dramatic surge of waves at the climax of “Asie,” the first song in Ravel’s Shéhérazade, which nearly propelled me from my seat; the whisper-quiet dynamics in Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta; and of course that savage Sacre! His Philharmonic years are still the most exciting of my concert-going life.”

During those initial Philharmonic appearances, Boulez led a spine-tingling chamber-music concert of works by Schoenberg and Debussy at Hunter College that I recounted in my reminiscences of the late Charles Rosen only two months ago (1-4-13). What I did not mention was that Boulez accompanied soprano Bethany Beardslee in Debussy’s Trois Poèmes de Stéphane Mallarmé, and for the first time I sensed I was hearing a “piano without hammers,” as the composer prescribed.

Several performances at Philharmonic Rug Concerts stand out in my memory – perhaps foremost being the first and second Improvisations sur Mallarmé of Boulez’s Pli selon pli, with soprano Phyllis Bryn-Julson, on June 14, 1974, in which one could hear the proverbial pin drop in the jam-packed Philharmonic Hall. Afterwards in the green room, Boulez rhapsodized about the effect of such an attentive audience on a performer – that he could set broader tempos, be more expressive, take longer ritards.

Earlier that year, on February 14, he had conducted a single non-subscription performance of Mahler’s Eighth with equal success. He was always at his best on such occasions, when he knew the audience had come specifically to hear his interpretation rather than another subscription concert. There are moments such as the clarity at the end of Part I of ascending eighth notes in the strings, balanced perfectly with the offstage brass, that I despair ever again hearing with such precision and impact. At the dress rehearsal in the morning, I noticed Erich Leinsdorf across the hall with his head buried in the score, no doubt with admiration.

I could mention any number of subsequent concerts with the orchestras of Chicago and Cleveland, his favorite ensembles in America, but it seems to me that his years in New York are in greater need of reminiscence. As it happens, MusicalAmerica.com reported on 2/28 that Boulez had cancelled this month’s Chicago and Cleveland engagements for the second year in a row for health reasons; earlier in the year he had cancelled engagements in France. Problem is, his eyesight has been failing, and he only conducts with a score. As he nears his 88th birthday on the 26th of this month, our best wishes go out to him for a complete and immediate recovery.

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