On musical — and audience — appreciation

Over Spring Break I heard the Philadelphia Orchestra perform at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia. I was looking forward to the second half — Ravel's "Daphnis et Chloé" — but I had no idea what was playing on the first part and started when I glanced at the program: Tippett's Symphony No. 4. Tippett? Who was Tippett? While I wouldn't consider myself a music expert I nevertheless usually recognize the names of composers. My suspicions mounted when the conductor came on stage and delivered a pep-talk to the audience, giving some notes on the symphony and emphasizing its important position in music history.

Tippett wrote his fourth symphony in the late 1970s at the request of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. The composer describes his piece as a portrayal of "birth to death," complete with techniques to evoke a quivering fetus, the division of cells and a breathing noise (think Darth Vader).

As I listened I found many of the ideas interesting, most of the sounds neat and some of the musical techniques pleasantly funky. But it wasn't very pretty. The piece was one long movement, disjointed, chopped-up, without any distinguishable melody and lacking a Stravinsky pulsating rhythm. The audience certainly applauded, but more, I am sure, in recognition of the musicians' technical bravura than out of any understanding or appreciation of the symphony itself. At this concert I once again found myself disturbed at the approach of music directors and musical organizations to contemporary classical music. They attempt to create a demand that doesn't exist, and their methods for achieving this goal are bound to fail. Most concert-going classical music audiences do not like contemporary, modern or off-the-wall atonal music. They want the big names — Beethoven, Mozart, maybe Shostakovitch — the ones they heard as children, studied in school and will quickly recognize. The musical organizations and powers-that-be that rule them, however, are intent on educating the ignorant masses. Certain contemporary works, such as those by Tippett, receive the praise of academics and music critics who deem them worthy of 'should-be heard' status. Whether or not an appreciative audience listens does not factor into their judgement. The people should be forced to listen, critics reason, just like a child should be forced to take a dose of foul-tasting medicine. The musical organizations employ a crafty plan. Instead of placing all contemporary and lesser-known works on one program, to which those who enjoy them could flock, they attach an unknown with a well-known. At the Philadelphia Orchestra concert, for instance, the Ravel was the real show-piece, the crowd-pleaser, while Tippett was there to provide musical growth and placate the music divinities.

Sometimes the trick works quite well. A listener might hear a piece, composer or style for the first time and fall in love with it. His artistic senses might suddenly be opened to a whole new world in which he can frolic and play. And one could argue that if one person out of the hundreds sitting in the Academy of Music that Thursday night discovered the potential beauty of contemporary music, then it was well worth the sacrifice of mass enjoyment. I, on the other hand, prefer when the consumer — in this case the audience — is in control. While it might seem vile to use such terminology when referring to the arts, the fact remains that someone is paying and expects to receive his money's worth. When you go to a store and you want a Snickers, you get a Snickers. No one sticks broccoli in your shopping cart as a prerequisite for the sugar rush.

I'm actually quite a fan of new and relatively unknown classical music, but I would like to see the music world alter its approach to these often unpopular works. Simply making a program of all contemporary music would be a significant and well-received action which would grant the consumer the freedom of choice a money-spender deserves. Nathan Arrington is an art and archaeology major from Westport, Conn. He can be reached at arington@princeton.edu.