Concert organisers and performing musicians worry
about the nature of traditional concerts.
They believe that the conventional layout of an audience sitting in silent,
serried ranks before the musicians on stage, separated by both a physical and
psychological gulf, is partly responsible for the fact that classical music
concerts attract only a tiny minority of the population. It encourages, they would tell you, passive listening
rather than active involvement, and makes people feel alienated. I’m not sure audiences share their concerns
and, in any case, a change in the physical set-up of a concert would alienate
many of those who regularly attend. People
who attend classical music concerts are, by and large, pretty conservative in their tastes, comfortable
in their existence and mature enough to have the finances and spare time to
sacrifice for it; this is a significant sector of society and should not be
ignored simply because political correctness demands we try to attract the poor,
the needy, the dispossessed, the socially primitive and the young.

Singaporean percussion virtuoso, Joachim (the stage
name of Joachim Theodore Lim), put on a solo concert last night and made the
effort to break with that traditional concert-setting. I would like to tell him he need not
bother.
Joachim is a brilliant and dazzlingly gifted
percussionist, who in last night’s concert gave an unforgettable account of the
Xenakis Rebonds and a truly
mesmerising (and I use the word in its proper context here) performance of Andy
Akiho’s Karakurenai. Joined by Marvin Seah in a fascinating
piece involving a plethora of small containers containing seeds which they
shook rhythmically in an unbroken flow (not even momentarily put off track when
Joachim dropped one of them on the floor) called, appropriately enough, Seeds, there was also plenty of visual
stimulation. Indeed, Joachim understands
the visual drama of it all and displays athleticism as he dances around his
marimba (the principal instrument of the evening) and clearly recognises the
visual appeal of intense concentration.
In short, this was a concert of great musicianship and tremendous showmanship.
But Joachim was not prepared to risk everything on his
own performing skill, and in long, rambling talks, barely audible (those of us
who, aware of the decibel properties inherent in a percussion concert, chose to
sit or stand at the back, lost almost every word Joachim uttered – next time,
use a microphone please!) and constituting at least 50% of the concert’s
hour-long duration, told us that this was not going to be a traditional concert
and that we were free to talk, walk about and participate. He then suggested that some people might find
this distracting, so we should respect that.
In the end I had no idea what we were supposed to do, and in the event
only the handful of very young children in the audience felt free to talk,
fidget and move about.
He also told us he had organised the hall in an
informal manner. Yet the only obvious
manifestation of this was the chairs placed in a slight arc and widely spaced -
a trick usually employed to negate the effects of a small audience (something Joachim
never needs worry about in Singapore; his reputation proceeds him and he
attracts a goodly crowd). In short, it
looked pretty traditional to me.
Other devices used to “break the traditional mould of
concerts” were a programme presented on paper in a different sequence to the
order in which it was performed, and the inclusion of something which was not
on the programme but included “at the last minute”. This may have been a deliberate attempt to
add informality, but for my sceptical mind, it suggested a lack of
preparedness. He also brought in his
colleagues from the Lorong Boys, who gave a desultory and aimless display of
mediocre ersatz-jazz which never went anywhere, never lost its firm footing in
minor tonality and seemed not so much un-rehearsed as made up on the spot. You would have been hard put to associate
this dismal drivel with a group who have become hugely popular in Singapore.
But the most peculiar break with tradition was the
handing out to the audience of a piece of blank paper and a pen. “What’s this for?”, I asked the steward as I entered
the hall. “You’ll see”, I was told, “It’s
an interactive concert”.
It wasn’t. The
paper – which I half thought might be used to add an aural dimension to one of
the pieces by being collectively shaken, hit and torn by the audience – was used
just once. Before a performance of Jacob
Druckman’s Reflections On The Nature Of
Water Joachim told us all to write down what we thought the piece was going
to be about and what we thought each of the six movements would represent. Since
the programme printed clear and descriptive titles for each, I failed to see
what possible object was served by this, and wrote on mine “as the title
suggest” six times, merely changing Druckman’s “Fleet” to “fast and fluent”. Joachim waited patiently until we had all written
down our ideas and then performed the piece.
All the way through I was dreading that moment when we would be asked to
read out what we had written and compare it with what we had heard. It never came. The writing idea was stillborn and pointless,
and served only to distract my attention from the music.
If there is something perceived to be wrong about conventional
concert settings, for goodness sake do not make changes unless you are certain you
have a better alternative. I left what
should have been a stimulating and amazing display of performance prowess
feeling distinctly dispirited and even quite alienated by an environment I
simply did not understand.
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