I was going to write something snarky about Tim Page, but I won’t. The Spoleto overview critic for the Post and Courier was in the audience tonight at a recital by avant-garde percussionist Gerry Hemingway. The concert started a little after 6 o’clock. Page was out of there by 6:17 p.m.
Perhaps he had another appointment. I don’t know. But his early departure has precedent. He admitted to leaving the American premiere of Monkey: Journey to the West, Spoleto’s buzz-worthy production costing $1.3 million, after 40 minutes, before the story turns to a search for redemption and enlightenment.
Though I do think a critic should give due diligence before leveling an opinion, perhaps Page is right. Why stay if you don’t like something? Why give your attention and time to a performer who is not reciprocating in kind, when a performer is self-indulgent, entitled, or even oblivious to the presence of an audience?
I’m not describing Hemingway. In fact, he’s a nice guy. I met him. He’s smart and earnest and devoted to the adventurous spirit of the avant-garde. But he’s no showman. His recital made that very clear. His powers of observation were such that he began giving an encore as throngs of people were heading for the exit.
I can only guess that Hemingway’s performance tonight was based on some kind of concept, but if you didn’t know what the concept was, you were screwed. It was a concatenation of imaginative sounds. Hemingway performed solo to a recording of sound effects — snaps and crackles and pops similar to the sounds you’d find in any urban landscape. For a long time, the performance had no discernible beat, but eventually there was a pulse. Then it was gone again.
The history of the avant-garde is grounded in the urge to challenge. It didn’t matter what you were rebelling against just as long as there was something to rebel against. This mode of thinking naturally emphasized the value of the art and de-emphasized the value of the audience’s experience. Composers had become the enlightened sages, the audience sanctified disciples following in their wake.
Or something. Anyway, if you liked something, the composer was doing something wrong. During the peak of the avant-garde — during the careers of John Cage, Morton Feldman, Milton Babbitt — there was no concern about the audience. Audiences had always been there and would always be there, except when they weren’t anymore. It’s remarkable to imagine composers wondering why no one’s paying attention to them while at the same time their work’s value is measured by how much they can piss people off.
I don’t think Hemingway was trying to piss anyone off, but his recital is of that tradition. Perhaps he was trying to liberate the drummer from the tyranny of meter. Perhaps he was trying to get us to experience the sound from the inside out. Perhaps he was trying to simply demonstrate the possibilities of a virtuoso musician and his instruments. Maybe it was parody of an audience’s rhythmic expectations.
Whatever the case, Hemingway was seriously losing his audience. People were looking around, checking their watches. The woman in front of us took her boredom as an opportunity to brush her hair. I checked the time three different times: once when Tim Page left, again at 6:37 and then again at 6:49 p.m. Many people just left, which irritated me at first. Then I got to thinking.
If the tradition of the avant-garde assumes the participation of the audience, or even goes out of its way to provoke the audience, then what are the obligations of that audience? Naturally, people want to be polite. They also want to get their money’s worth. Beyond that, however, what are your obligations as a ticket-holder if the musician has abandoned what used to be considered his or her obligations: to entertain you, to engage you, to take you someplace strange and exciting.
I’m beginning to think: Not much. Spoleto audiences typically want to appear refined. But they might rediscover the value of being honest, too, and just walking out if something is not to their liking. It’ll be good for audiences, good for the festival, good for composers, and good for the art.
2 Comments
Mr. Stoehr, my friend! You may be overestimating the audience’s expectations at the Gerry Hemingway performance just a bit. Some in attendance knew what they were getting into (local drummer Ron Wiltrout, of the New Music Collective got a lot out of it — so if “Hemingway was seriously losing his audience,” he only lost some of them). However, from overhearing some of the folks in the lobby before the show and in the seats just before it began, many just seemed completely oblivious — as if they just blindly bought tickets to a “jazz show,” no matter the artist or program. Some seemed genuinely interested in checking out something new and weird — but others seemed like they were dragged out by their spouses or parents to just another Spoleto gig. I think the expectations were mixed. Those who expected a Louie Bellson or “traditional jazz” drum kit solo — or something more “orchestral” from a concert percussionist playing xylophones http://calendar.ccpblogs.com/or tympani or whatever — were indeed “screwed.”
Kudos to Wachovia Jazz for taking a bold risk with such a strange performance. I liked it. I liked his idea of creating a “continuum of sound” from percussion instruments. He broke a few rules, and I think it worked.
I attended this show and watched from the second row, so I didn’t notice anyone leaving from behind me. I expected it, though; Hemingway’s opening “cymbal solo” was pretty out there and weird. Two young children sitting next me with their mother whispered, “Mom, what’s going on? What’s wrong with that man?” Those kids were verbalizing what half the audience surely felt.
I agree that Hemingway was not “trying to piss anyone off,” but I disagree with the idea that his piece was a “parody of an audience’s rhythmic expectations.” Again, what were they expecting? A snappy series of triplets, rolls, cymbal accents, and syncopated snare beats in 4/4 time? I would have been pissed off if Hemingway had resorted to that kind of crowd-pleasing.
During an interview with Hemingway two weeks back, he explained his approach to this kind of solo program. I followed most of it, but simply trying to understand the artist’s direct explanation was challenging: “What nobody thinks about is the multi-layered stuff, where go into another dimension and sounds more interesting. That has a lot to do with the harmonic language. I couldn’t literally do harmonic things in the same convention of the guitar or piano, but I could explore the notion and layering timbres, sounds, and pitches in different ways. What interests me is the idea of continuous sound, which is not really what the drums are designed for. That’s what led to [me using] bowing sounds, rubs, scraping sounds, and other things that had a continuum to them, which allows me to stack sounds and create a piece with harmonic coherence.”
Did the performance have harmonic coherence? Maybe. Either way, it was certainly was one of the most unique performances I’ve ever attended during a Spoleto season. Hopefully, some of those in attendance who stuck around kept their ears and minds open enough to “get their money’s worth.” And, hopefully, the majority of those who walked out did so out of honest reaction to the artist’s art, rather than in reaction their own narrow expectations.
I gave it an “A.”
When does a “bold risk” become “a boring waste”?
When the majority of people interested enough to spend time and hard earned money on a ticket walk (or are driven out) of said artistic event by lack of interest in the performance.