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      Cate Blanchett’s ‘Tár’ Puts Mahler in the Spotlight

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      The Austrian composer’s Symphony No. 5 is the obsession of the conductor played by Cate Blanchett — and of the fans of her latest film.For a 70-minute Austrian symphony first performed more than a century ago, Mahler’s Fifth makes a surprisingly strong case for itself as the song of the season.No, Gustav Mahler didn’t occupy the top 10 spots in the Billboard Hot 100, as Taylor Swift did last week, and the piece’s lush fourth movement has yet to be co-opted by the TikTok crowd. But the symphony, which plays a central role in the new Cate Blanchett drama, “Tár,” seems to have a way of sticking with audiences long after they’ve left the theater, finding its way onto the strolling, cleaning and cooking playlists of listeners who might otherwise be more inclined toward Adele, OneRepublic or Beyoncé.Enjoying a brisk autumn day walking around Manhattan listening to Mahler’s Symphony No. 5. I’ve been TÁR-pilled.— jeff becomes her 🔮 (@jheimbrock) October 19, 2022
      Dalton Glass, a tech worker in Lakeland, Fla., is not a total stranger to classical music: He listened to a lot of it as a child, and as an adult, he hears at least a bit whenever he has an incoming call. (His ringtone of several years is a snatch of Bach’s “The Well-Tempered Clavier.”) Still, he has some blind spots.“I’d never heard Mahler before in my life until that movie,” said Mr. Glass, 30. Now, he said, the piece is in regular rotation.Cate Blanchett as the fictional conductor Lydia Tár on the cover of a new soundtrack album.Deutsche GrammophonThe model for the “Tár” soundtrack cover is a 1993 release featuring Claudio Abbado.Deutsche GrammophonMr. Glass’s fascination with the film — he and a friend talked about it for the entire hourlong drive home from Tampa, where he caught the first of the two screenings he has seen to date — echoes the fixation of the imperious heroine brought to life by Ms. Blanchett.‘Tár’: A Timely Backstage DramaCate Blanchett plays a world-famous conductor who is embroiled in a #MeToo drama in the latest film by the director Todd Field.Review: “We don’t care about Lydia Tár because she’s an artist; we care about her because she’s art,” our critic writes about the film’s protagonist.An Elusive Subject: Blanchett has stayed one step ahead of audiences by constantly staying in motion. In “Tár,” she is as inscrutable as ever.Back Into the Limelight: The film marks Field’s return to directing, 16 years after “In the Bedroom” and “Little Children” made waves.Learning to Act: Sophie Kauer, a cellist in real life and in the film, had zero acting experience when she auditioned. She learned the craft from Blanchett, and from Michael Caine videos.In “Tár,” Mahler’s Fifth is something of a white whale for the celebrated (fictional) maestro Lydia Tár, the only Mahler symphony she has yet to record with a major orchestra in order to complete what audiences are told is a kind of Grand Slam of conducting. Throughout the film’s two and a half hours, she pursues the live recording with single-minded intensity, even as her professional and personal lives begin to unravel amid the fallout from her abuses of the power of the podium.Gage Tarlton, a 24-year-old playwright who lives in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, saw the movie in large part because he is a huge fan of Cate Blanchett. “I’ve loved Cate Blanchett for a really long time,” he said. “If Cate Blanchett is in a movie, I’m going to see it.”Although many of Mr. Tarlton’s feelings about the film are proving to be a slow burn — he said he “docked half a star” from his initial appraisal of the movie on Letterboxd after taking some time to puzzle out the story’s lingering questions and ambiguities — he didn’t waste any time adding some Mahler to his life.“I looked it up as soon as I got home,” he said.Others seem to have had the same idea. In October, streams of Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 on Apple Music were up 150 percent from the previous month, according to data provided by the platform. Compared with the same month last year, they had more than tripled.Of the many recordings of the symphony available for streaming, Mr. Tarlton’s go-to is a 1993 Deutsche Grammophon album featuring the Berlin Philharmonic under the baton of Claudio Abbado. In the movie, Ms. Blanchett’s Tár uses that album’s cover image, a photograph of Abbado marking up a score while seated in a concert hall, as a model for her own Deutsche Grammophon photo shoot.“I actually tried a couple different ones, and that is the one that I like the most,” Mr. Tarlton said.A deliciously — or perhaps deliriously — meta concept album issued by Deutsche Grammophon shows Ms. Blanchett in a similar pose. It features audio excerpts from the film, original compositions by the Oscar-winning composer Hildur Gudnadottir and Ms. Blanchett plunking out “The Well-Tempered Clavier.”So when the soundtrack slipped the notice of even some dedicated fans of the movie, it was very possibly a function of timing: It came out on Oct. 21, the very same day as a certain blockbuster album whose first-week sales obliterated expectations of what was possible in the streaming era.The entry of Mahler’s Fifth into pop culture echoes the resurgences of works by Beethoven and Pachelbel in the 1970s and 1980s.Photo illustration by Kyle Berger for The New York Times“I listened to Taylor’s album probably at 5 a.m. the day after it came out,” said Millie Sloan, 47, referring to Ms. Swift’s album “Midnights.” Ms. Sloan, an account manager at her family’s construction company in Atlanta, said she was not aware of the “Tár” tie-in album. She said on Twitter that she had been listening exclusively to Mahler and “Midnights” for a week — though not on the same playlist. (“It’s a different listen,” she explained.)Ms. Sloan maintains a playlist of instrumental music that she encounters in the wild on TV and in movies, so the symphony had an obvious home in her Spotify account. What was less clear was where it would fit into her life.“I did put it on while I was cooking dinner the other day,” she said. But after gamely trying to soldier through the meal, she and her husband ultimately found the piece “a little too exuberant for a dinnertime listen.” She now listens to it mostly while walking and doing chores.The symphony (full title: Symphony No. 5 in C sharp minor) is regarded as one of Mahler’s greatest achievements. First performed in Cologne, Germany, in October 1904, the piece was once described by a New York Times critic as “the first of Mahler’s orchestral works in which the ensemble seems to embody a single mind: a churning, reflective and obsessive being. It is, to be sure, a neurotic mind, full of mercurial and unpredictable reactions.”It is far from the first classical composition to enjoy a moment of sudden pop cultural relevance. Particularly in the late 1970s and early 1980s, plum placements in popular films thrust masterworks into the mainstream. Among those to get a boost from Hollywood: Pachelbel’s Canon (“Ordinary People”), Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” (“Apocalypse Now”) and Beethoven’s Fifth, a cheekily reconfigured version of which — “A Fifth of Beethoven,” anyone? — figured in the disco-era bible that is the “Saturday Night Fever” soundtrack.Mahler’s Fifth does seem to have achieved an unusual distinction: featuring prominently in two New York Film Festival darlings that opened in American movie theaters last month. In addition to its star turn in “Tár,” there is “Decision to Leave,” a fast-paced detective thriller by the South Korean director Park Chan-wook that makes defiant use of the symphony’s fourth movement. More

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      Review: Davóne Tines Hones the Recital Form to a Fine Point

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      This bass-baritone made his Carnegie Hall debut with his carefully curated, personal “Recital No. 1: MASS.”No one could accuse Davóne Tines of lacking ambition.On Thursday night, this bass-baritone made his Carnegie Hall debut in the intimate Weill Recital Hall, presenting a highly personal, carefully curated program with the pianist Adam Nielsen called “Recital No. 1: MASS.”Touching on Bach, spirituals and contemporary art music, the concert was a compelling reconceptualization of the recital format from an artist who molded his warm, strong voice like clay in a bracingly vulnerable, honest performance.In 2019, Tines’s “The Black Clown” landed in New York’s classical music scene like a fireball. Created with the composer Michael Schachter, that show traced the social, political and musical histories of Black Americans with grace, wit, resilience and ferocity. It took them seven years to develop it, and it remains one of my favorite theatrical experiences of the past decade.My subsequent live encounters with Tines have been comparatively disappointing. “Eastman,” at Little Island in 2021, felt impenetrable and unfinished. In September, Tines starred in Peter Sellars’s production of Tyshawn Sorey’s inert chamber work “Monochromatic Light (Afterlife)” at Park Avenue Armory, and in October, the Brooklyn Academy of Music presented “Everything Rises,” in which he and the violinist Jennifer Koh shared their experiences as people of color in the classical industry. Their grievances, sincerely felt but guardedly expressed, couldn’t compete with the genuineness of Tines’s grandmother and Koh’s mother, who stole the show in filmed oral histories projected above the stage.“Recital No. 1: MASS,” which Tines has toured before its arrival in New York, demonstrates what happens when he hones a concept to a fine point. He starts with the idea that religious faith has common impetuses — a plea for mercy, a call to praise, a desire for salvation — that have found expression in various musical traditions across centuries.Tines restructured the Latin mass familiar from Bach and Haydn, beginning, as usual, with the Kyrie but ending with the Benedictus. Caroline Shaw set the Latin text for each movement in brief, deferential ways that clearly signposted each section. Filling that framework, Tines elided spirituals, Bach arias and pieces by 20th-century Black composers into an hourlong monologue. Throughout, soul-searching questions were projected on the wall behind him.The uninterrupted format may have frayed his voice, and a stubborn nasality crept into his otherwise handsome, hearty sound, but the program nevertheless accumulated in power.Sorey’s rewritings of the spirituals “Were You There?” (a slow, dark, pained sequence of chords) and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” (a minor-key, pessimistic realization) echoed Tines’s observation in the program book that many spirituals are about suicide or a will to death. Sorey’s pieces gave new context to a traditional arrangement of “Give Me Jesus,” revealing worlds of hurt and hope in its seemingly simple repetitions. Uplifting and glorious, with bittersweet blue notes and a swing buoyed by faith alone, Tines took us to church with it, prompting at least one “Hallelujah” from the audience.Tines’s personal way with a Bach cantata existed somewhere between stately Baroque chromaticism and churning gospel melisma, but it was a distinct pleasure to hear such a rich voice nestle into the bass writing for “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein” from Bach’s “St. Matthew Passion,” despite Nielsen’s pedal-heavy, bizarrely Chopinesque accompaniment.The program closed with bravura improvisation: Julius Eastman’s Prelude to “The Holy Presence of Joan d’Arc” and “Vigil,” a piece Tines wrote with Igee Dieudonné then transformed into an extemporaneous Baptist sermon. He commanded attention in Prelude, a modern affirmation of faith written by a gay Black man in 1981 about a 15th-century martyr, after including it in “Eastman” last year.At Weill, it emerged with earth-rumbling intensity, as Tines wrapped his luscious voice around its punishing declamations with athletic fervor. Tines’s artistic process may be a personal one, but it is already reverberating through at least one of classical music’s hallowed halls.Recital No. 1: MASSPerformed on Thursday at Weill Recital Hall, Manhattan. More

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      Britain’s Major Opera Companies Suffer in Arts Spending Shake-Up

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      English National Opera lost its government subsidy, and the Royal Opera House received a 10-percent cut, with funding diverted to organizations outside London.LONDON — English National Opera has for decades been one of the world’s major opera companies. In 1945, it premiered Benjamin Britten’s “Peter Grimes.” In the 1980s, it became the first British opera company to tour the United States. Last year, it started rolling out a new “Ring” cycle that is expected to play at the Metropolitan Opera starting in 2025.Now, that standing is in question.On Friday, Arts Council England, a body that distributes government arts funding in England, announced a spending shake-up. Nicholas Serota, the council’s chairman, said in a news conference that funding for London-based organizations had been reallocated to those in poorer parts of Britain, a process that involved “some invidious choices.”English National Opera was the biggest loser in the reshuffle. It will no longer receive any regular funding from the Arts Council. For the past four years, it received around £12.4 million a year, or about $14 million. The annual grant made up over a third of the company’s budget.Instead, English National Opera will receive a one-off payment of £17 million to help it “develop a new business model,” Arts Council England said in a news release, which could potentially include relocating the company to Manchester, 178 miles north of its current home at the ornate Coliseum theater in London.English National Opera was not the only major company affected by the funding overhaul. The Arts Council also cut funding to the Royal Opera House in London by 10 percent, to £22.2 million a year.In a news release, the Royal Opera said that, despite the cut and other challenges such as rising inflation, it would “do whatever we can to remain at the heart of the cultural life of the nation.”Two other companies that tour productions throughout England, Welsh National Opera and Glyndebourne Productions, saw funding drop by over 30 percent.John Allison, the editor of Opera magazine, said in a telephone interview that the changes were “unquestionably damaging to opera in Britain.” Some innovative small companies had received a funding boost, Allison said, including Pegasus Opera, a company that works to involve people of color in the art form. But, he added, it was still “a very gloomy day.”Britain’s arts funding model is somewhere between the systems of the United States — where most companies receive little government assistance, and raise their own funds via philanthropy, ticket sales and commercial activities — and continental Europe, where culture ministries bankroll major institutions. Arts Council England reviews its funding decisions every few years. This time, some 1,730 organizations applied for subsidies, requesting a total £655 million a year — far more than the organization’s £446 million budget.So, some cuts to English National Opera and the Royal Opera House were expected. Britain’s government has long stated a desire to divert arts funding from London to other regions, in a policy known as “leveling up.” In February, Nadine Dorries, the culture minister at the time, ordered the Arts Council to reduce funding to London organizations by 15 percent. The move would “tackle cultural disparities” in Britain, she told Parliament then, “and ensure that everyone, wherever they live, has the opportunity to enjoy the incredible benefits of culture in their lives.”Serota, the Arts Council chairman, said in a telephone interview that the body had not targeted cuts at opera companies specifically. “We’re still going to be investing more than £30 million in opera a year,” he said, highlighting boosts to regional organizations including the Birmingham Opera Company, English Touring Opera and Opera North.The Arts Council slashed grants for several major London theaters, too. The Donmar Warehouse lost its funding entirely, as did the Hampstead Theater and the Barbican Center. The National Theater saw its funding drop by about 3 percent, to £16.1 million per year from £16.7 million.At a time when the Bank of England says that Britain is facing a multiyear recession, even relatively small cuts will raise huge concern for arts organizations. Sam Mendes, the director of “1917” and “American Beauty,” who was the Donmar Warehouse’s founding artistic director, said in a news release that “cutting the Donmar’s funding is a shortsighted decision that will wreak long lasting damage on the wider industry.” The theater, he added, “is a world renowned and hugely influential theater, and the U.K. cannot afford to put it at risk.”Serota said he was “confident” that the Donmar would be able to find alternative sources of funding. “But I know,” he continued, “that’s an easy thing to say.” More

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      The Philharmonic Tests Its New Home With the Classics

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      David Geffen Hall reopened with a month of concerts that sketched a possible future for the New York Philharmonic. Now it’s back to business.The new David Geffen Hall has opened — and opened, and opened.In 1962, one performance was enough to cut the ribbon on the New York Philharmonic’s home at Lincoln Center. Sixty years — and many tweaks later, big and small — it took four weeks of festivities to celebrate the acoustically and aesthetically troubled hall’s decades-in-the-making, $550 million gut renovation.A month of opening nights: Call it inflation.I was in the hall for nearly all of those nights. For a crowd-pleasing concert dedicated to the people who constructed it. For a sober jazz-meets-classical, multimedia exploration of the history of the neighborhood razed to build the center.For an evening with the folksy mandolin virtuoso Chris Thile, the coziness of which shocked anyone who had ever been to the drafty, dingy barn that was the hall pre-renovation. For the unveiling of three series in the glassed-in Sidewalk Studio. For the flashing lights, booming electronics and pitch-bending vocal octet of a slew of premieres.For not one but two fund-raising galas: first, a genial if never showstopping parade of Broadway stars like Bernadette Peters, Lin-Manuel Miranda and, the urbane highlight, Vanessa Williams; then, two days later, a brusque romp through Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (which PBS will air and stream on Friday).For an open house last weekend with aerialists rappelling down the building’s facade, and a test of the 50-foot screen that will simulcast concerts to those who wander into the lobby. (The quality of the video is already crisp; the sound is a work in progress.)Members of Bandaloop performed an aerialist act as part of Geffen Hall’s open house weekend. Richard Termine/Lincoln CenterBy Wednesday, the confetti had settled. And after all that, we were deposited back into the standard repertory.The Reopening of David Geffen HallThe New York Philharmonic’s notoriously jinxed auditorium at Lincoln Center has undergone a $550 million renovation.Reborn, Again: The renovation of the star-crossed hall aims to break its acoustic curse — and add a dash of glamour.Who Is David Geffen?: The entertainment magnate, who jump-started the renovation, has become avidly sought by culture and education leaders looking to finance a wave of new construction.San Juan Hill: Etienne Charles’s composition for the reopening of the hall honors the Afro-diasporic musical heritage of the neighborhood razed to build Lincoln Center.Expert Assessment: Right after the reopening our critic wrote that the renovation had a mightily improved sound. In the weeks that followed his feelings became more complicated.Because, for all of Geffen’s intended uses — as a community center and high school graduation spot, as a pop venue and corporate event rental — it is, first and foremost, a traditional orchestra hall. If Wednesday’s program, a Mozart piano concerto and a Bruckner symphony, didn’t work here, nothing else would matter — not the more spacious lobbies or the auditorium’s wraparound seating or the stylish restaurant.Beethoven’s Ninth had been a return to the wholly unamplified and wholly familiar, but in one-night-only, hastily rehearsed form. Wednesday was the back-to-business moment: the real opening night, a culmination of a month’s testing of the space, its acoustics and its house band.Weeks of performances under the Philharmonic’s music director, Jaap van Zweden, had begun to form a portrait of Geffen’s sound: clear, clean and adroitly balanced, but a little colorless and cool, even chilly. Soft passages glistened, solos popped, and there was a palpable sense of the bass frequencies that had struggled in earlier iterations of the hall. Reducing audience capacity by 500 and pulling the stage forward to let seating encircle it resulted in a far more engaging experience.But especially when the playing was loud and densely massed, the clarity muddied, and there was little sense of the enveloping richness that is one of the great joys of hearing an orchestra live. The music blared at your face when it should have surrounded you.There was appealing intimacy and considerable warmth on Wednesday, though, in an account of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 22 that featured Yefim Bronfman — a veteran too often taken for granted — playing with lucid, gentle eloquence. He was the first real, acoustic concerto soloist in the new space, and he was a gallant partner; the piano, properly, sounded somewhere both inside and in front of the orchestra. In the slow second movement, silky, misty strings made a poised counterpart to familial interplay in the winds.Van Zweden, as in his breakneck second movement in Beethoven’s Ninth, pressed the third-movement Allegro of the Mozart a few shades past comfort. You get the sense that he thinks this kind of breathlessness transmits excitement, but it comes off as harried rather than thrilling or witty.His briskness can bulldoze eddies of feeling. A few moments before the end of the Mozart, the rambunctious mood suddenly shifts for maybe 10 seconds of wistful sublimity. The passage is over before you know it, whisked back to a spirited rondo, but it epitomizes the piece’s — and its composer’s — mixing of the jovial and aching. Van Zweden zipped through it to the final bars.And in Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony, his prioritization of lyrical flow — overall, a welcome sense of naturalness from a conductor better known for punchy climaxes — pressed the Adagio slightly too fast to allow for the building of what can be excruciating intensity. The Finale was, unusually, more moving, with its seesawing between peace and war; in van Zweden’s smooth, happy-minded rendition of the work, neither too heavy nor hectoring, it was no surprise which side eventually triumphed.The playing wasn’t flawless. There was a lack of depth in the mesmerizing unwinding lines for the violins in the Adagio, and some iffy intonation in the brasses. But there wasn’t the sense I had had in earlier concerts, particularly when I was sitting on the ground level, of distance or almost clinical detachment in the sound.Jaap van Zweden leading the Philharmonic in Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 22, featuring Yefim Bronfman as soloist.Fadi KheirOr of that blare. Even if the brasses sometimes felt overly bright at top volume, there was more transparency and better blend at those heights. The consistent problem since the opening remains the hard, strident sound that the violins take on at the top of their range and force.This may be the playing of an orchestra that tends aggressive — in other words, something that can be fixed — rather than a feature of the room itself. Or it might be a shortcoming of the hall, a slight but consequential lack of sufficient reverberation.Only time will tell: Such are the ambiguities of acoustics. But some of the concerns about the basic sound of the place that I’d had over the past few weeks were assuaged on Wednesday; the orchestra is, as expected, adapting to its new home, so impressions are evolving, too.This Mozart-Bruckner pairing signals a return to the classics after the showy progressivism of the opening month’s programming. That multimedia event early in October, Etienne Charles’s “San Juan Hill,” was essentially an 80-minute land acknowledgment, mustering narration, archival images, poetic filmed reconstructions of street life early in the 20th century, oral history, notation and improvisation to sketch a lost community.After the piece opened with a long set by a jazz ensemble, the Philharmonic awkwardly shuffled onstage in the wake of a section called “Destroyer”: interlopers invading an already vibrant culture. The self-castigating aspect felt very much of our moment. Then, of the two October subscription programs, the first was dominated by living composers. The second featured a half-hour premiere by Caroline Shaw and was anchored by a rediscovered symphony by Florence Price; in an inversion of the usual format, the opener was the standard — Debussy’s “Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un Faune” — rather than a new piece.This is all hardly the model for what is coming up. There are intriguing scores being performed: Bartok’s Concerto for Two Pianos and Percussion gets a rare hearing in a couple of weeks, and the Philharmonic has never played Shostakovich’s 12th Symphony, which is scheduled for the beginning of December.But while there’s no shortage of contemporary pieces this season, living composers — or even unusual selections from the past — get that anchor slot at the end of the concert only a few times. October sketched a possible future for the Philharmonic; it didn’t describe the present.That future will be guided by a new music director; van Zweden, hardly a driving creative force even before the pandemic break separated him from the ensemble, is leaving after next season. Over the coming months both promising younger artists (the likes of Santtu-Matias Rouvali and Klaus Makela) and veterans (Marin Alsop, Gianandrea Noseda) make guest appearances. Gustavo Dudamel, the star maestro of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, who returns in May, is the elephant in the room.Whoever ends up with the job will be a crucial part of the continuing adjustment to the new hall, a process that will not be over soon. The promise of the space is clear. The building is far more spacious and comfortable than it was, even if the public spaces evoke the mid-market casualness of an airport terminal — usable but disposable — more than an inspiring house of culture.Every aspect of the hall seems to have embraced this half-vulgar, half-lovable ethos. First I cringed, then I giggled, at one of the orchestra’s cellists, who has recorded the “please silence your cellphones” announcement that plays as the lights dim.“Now here,” she concludes with goofy, irresistible relish, like she’s channeling Ed McMahon, “comes the music!” More

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      When Technology Makes Music More Accessible

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      In Britain and Ireland, a series of recent projects show the rich possibilities when disability and neurodiversity are considered in the creative process.LONDON — As the audience at Cafe OTO, a venue here, settled down to hear Neil Luck introduce his ambitious new piece, “Whatever Weighs You Down,” bemused smiles flickered across many faces.The evening’s performances had already featured an intriguing selection of musical technologies, including sensor gloves, text-to-speech software and recordings of bird song processed by artificial intelligence.So when Luck launched into a low-tech étude, raucously inflating a balloon while gasping into a microphone, audience members couldn’t help but laugh.A dark humor punctuated “Whatever Weighs You Down,” a bizarre, violent 40-minute work for piano, video, electronics and sensor gloves. It was the centerpiece of an evening that presented works made with Cyborg Soloists, a multiyear, 1.4 million-pound ($1.6 million) project, led by the pianist and composer Zubin Kanga, to advance interdisciplinary music-making through new interactions with technology.“Whatever Weighs You Down” is one of several experimental works that recently premiered in Britain and Ireland that show the rich musical possibilities when disability and neurodiversity are incorporated into the creative process. These works also point to newly developed technologies as both malleable tools for expressing diverse perspectives in experimental music, and as potentially enabling greater accessibility to composition, which traditionally has been a rarefied and exclusive world.In recent years, increasing attention has been paid, particularly in Britain, to making classical music more accessible. This includes the widespread adoption of what are called relaxed performances in concert halls — where audiences are allowed to make noise — and the creation of professional ensembles for disabled musicians, such as BSO Resound, part of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra, and the Paraorchestra, which is based in Bristol, England.For “Whatever Weighs You Down,” Luck worked closely with the Deaf performance artist Chisato Minamimura, who in the piece appeared on a video screen and used sign language to retell her own dreams about falling, one of the main themes of Luck’s work.More About on Deaf CultureUpending Perceptions: The poetic art of Christine Sun Kim, who was born deaf, challenges viewers to reconsider how they hear and perceive the world. Language in Evolution: Ubiquitous video technology and social media have given deaf people a new way to communicate. They’re using it to transform American Sign Language. Seeking Representation: Though deafness is gaining visibility onscreen, deaf people who rely on hearing devices say their experiences remain mostly untold. Name Signs: Name signs are the equivalent of a first name in some sign languages. We asked a few people to share the story behind theirs.In “Whatever Weighs You Down,” Minamimura wanted to express a deaf perspective on sound and music. “I have hearing loss, but I can feel things — I can feel sounds,” she said in a recent video interview via an interpreter. Workshops to develop the piece involved Minamimura responding to vibrations wherever she could find them: pressing her full body against the lid of the piano, feeling the underside of the soundboard and even biting the strings of certain instruments.As the performance of “Whatever Weighs You Down” drew to a close, it reached a striking semi-synthesis. Onscreen, Minamimura’s gestures mirrored Kanga’s onstage hand movements. Both performers provided a kind of accompaniment for each other, experienced in entirely different ways by audience members, depending on their relationship to sound.“Traditionally, music is just heard in an auditory sense,” Minamimura said, “but, of course, we can see someone playing a piano or playing a flute. For me, technology means incorporating a film, visuals, or a general feeling of something else; we’re adding more sensory experiences for an audience.”Chisato Minamimura’s 2019 piece “Scored in Silence” was created with the aim of giving deaf individuals a comparable experience to hearing individuals.Mark PickthallZubin Kanga leads Cyborg Soloists, a multiyear, 1.4 million-pound project to advance interdisciplinary music-making through new interactions with technology.Kalpesh Lathigra for The New York TimesCreating music that incorporates multisensory experience is just one of the areas Cyborg Soloists explores. The project, supported by the government-funded U.K. Research and Innovation Future Leaders Fellowship, also involves new types of visual interactions, including virtual reality, the creation of new digital instruments and the use of artificial intelligence and machine learning.The next frontier for Kanga, he said, is finding a way to translate brain activity from electroencephalogram caps into sound. And in Ireland, a recent installation explores a similar process.The visual artist Owen Boss described the first time he heard the sonic reproduction of a brain mid-seizure as “an absolutely extraordinary moment,” describing “a very low-end bass sound, kind of rhythmic, it just emerges in these sweeping, intense bass noises that whoosh in and whoosh out.”The sound files were created by Mark Cunningham, a professor of neurophysiology of epilepsy at Trinity College Dublin, who analyzed slivers of removed brain tissue that had been put through a process that simulated a seizure. He translated the analysis into binary code, and then into sound. Inspired by those deeply jarring reverberations and his family’s own experience, Boss then began piecing together an installation, “The Wernicke’s Area,” which is named after the part of the brain involved in understanding speech. The installation is showing at the Irish Museum of Modern Art.In 2014, Boss’s wife, Debbie Boss, had surgery to remove a brain tumor. The procedure was successful — the tumor was removed from her brain’s Wernicke’s area — but there were some side effects: The former soprano developed epilepsy and also now finds communication challenging.The violist Stephen Upshaw and the mezzo-soprano Rosie Middleton took performance directions for “The Wernicke’s Area” from diaries Debbie Boss kept about her seizures.Pat RedmondWith his wife’s permission, Boss and the composer Emily Howard created what he calls “a portrait of Debbie,” a multimedia work including details from the diaries she kept of her seizures, images of her brain, warped snippets of her favorite Handel aria and a variety of electroacoustic music drawn from data produced by artificially induced brain seizures.For all involved, the first performance of “The Wernicke’s Area” was an extremely moving experience, particularly for the Boss family. Debbie Boss became emotional “watching people do what she couldn’t do anymore,” her husband said. Yet, because she wasn’t directly involved in shaping the work, there’s a slight distance to “The Wernicke’s Area.”Lived experience plays a large role in the work of the composer Megan Steinberg, which places neurodiverse and disabled practitioners in all aspects of the creative process.Steinberg’s “Outlier II,” created with the Distractfold ensemble and the artists Elle Chante and Luke Moore, explores, in musical form, how artificial intelligence, or A.I., can exclude disabled people by working off a generalized understanding of human experience. “Outlier II” involves an A.I.-generated melody that generalizes over time, gradually losing nuance before being disrupted by a series of chance-based improvisations.Steinberg considered accessibility from the start of the creative process, and produced scores that were tailored to each performer’s needs.“That’s so rare in arts environments,” said Chante, a vocalist with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a condition affecting her joints. “Normally, it’s like, ‘Oh, we’ve got this thing, and we want it to be accessible.’ Here, it’s, ‘We want to be accessible, and here’s this piece we’re trying to create.’ And that made a giant difference.”A graphic score created for Megan Steinberg’s “Outlier II.”via Megan SteinbergProjects like these also produce music that is more representative of the breadth of human experience, according to Cat McGill, the head of program development at Drake Music, an arts charity focused on music, disability and technology. These projects “force us to challenge our thinking around disability and neurodiversity,” she wrote in an email interview.“If we approach a situation with the assumption that each individual has a unique contribution to make, rather than feeling like we need to fix them,” McGill added, “we embrace the differences as a natural part of humanity.” More

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      Bruno Walter, a Conductor Who Found Truth Through Beauty

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      A survey of Walter’s recorded output is fascinating for the ways in which it reveals him reinventing the traditions he was seen to represent.“Truth can be repulsive,” Bruno Walter, a conductor whose life had taught him that fact all too well, once said. “But Mozart has the power to speak truth with beauty.”If there was one composer that Walter, who was able to make beauty from truth like few others until his death in Beverly Hills in 1962, was most associated with during his career, it was that Viennese master; the story of Walter’s life, the conductor said, could be told as “the history of the development of a love for Mozart.”Listen to any of the famous stereo recordings Walter made in the twilight of his life with the Columbia Symphony Orchestra, and it is easy to understand why. Take just the introduction to the E flat symphony, No. 39, from 1960. Stately, mellow, warm, it sings with contentment, backed with a faith strong enough that when troubles darken the scene, you can practically hear Walter transfigure them with an understanding smile. It’s a gesture of benevolence, yet he makes it sound glowingly apt, even characteristic of Mozart. Not for nothing did the critic Neville Cardus once suggest that to witness Walter conduct was to be “visited by an act of grace.”Mozart: Symphony No. 39 in E flatColumbia Symphony Orchestra, 1960 (Sony)Writers often dignified Walter with spiritual metaphors — the author Stefan Zweig compared the beam on his face while conducting to “the countenance of the angels when they look upon God” — and it is revealing of his artistry that they were exactly what Walter aspired to achieve. For him, the Germanic music from Bach to Strauss was pure, uplifting, redemptive. It offered an “unchanging message of comfort,” he wrote in his memoir “Theme and Variations”; its “wordless gospel proclaims in a universal language what the thirsting soul of man is seeking beyond this life.”His authority, lightly worn, came not from technique or intellectual heft, but from “his love and his faith,” the New York Times critic Olin Downes wrote after a concert with the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1946. “Love, and not merely interpretive comprehension of what he is playing. Abiding faith in the music he represents.”More than that, Walter seemed after World War II to restore the luster of a vanished, even discredited tradition. He spoke like a German Romantic, and he conducted like one, too, tracing his influences back through the Vienna of Gustav Mahler and on to Richard Wagner, whose writings read during secret trips to a Berlin library as a boy.Walter, left, with his fellow conducting luminaries Arturo Toscanini, Erich Kleiber, Otto Klemperer and Wilhelm Furtwängler.Ullstein Bild, via Getty ImagesWilhelm Furtwängler forced that shared heritage through his intense and idiosyncratic style, and his association with Nazism. Walter, though, had the moral stature of an exile from the Third Reich, and he presented his inheritance unsullied, with an irresistible eloquence that made the classics sound “as natural as breathing,” the Virgil Thomson wrote in 1954.Part of the fascination of listening to Walter’s conducting now — coupling an exceptionally worthwhile 77-disc Sony box set, capturing his American career after he took refuge in California in 1939, with older and live material available on labels including Pristine — lies in hearing him reinvent the traditions he was seen to embody.Brahms: Symphony No. 1 in C minor, finaleVienna Philharmonic Orchestra, 1937 (Pristine)The same movement with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in 1953(Sony)And with the Columbia Symphony Orchestra in 1959Sony)There is the antique charm of Walter’s prewar activity, above all in Vienna; the remarkable and somewhat surprising solidity and strength that marked his interpretations during his collaboration with the New York Philharmonic; the radiance of his late, stereo recordings, serene but spry. Yet throughout there is a constant, distinctive search for a simple, singing sense of expression, for a pliancy of line, for a sophistication and sensitivity that lay in more than technical precision.“There is a German verb, musizieren, which means to make music,” Thomson wrote in a review of one of Walter’s Philharmonic concerts in 1941, suggesting that the word applied more to him than to those, like Artur Rodzinski and Dimitri Mitropoulos, who had also conducted that orchestra. “Walter musiziert,” Thomson went on. “And that is a pleasure for those who like music with their concerts.”WALTER WAS NOT ALWAYS the dignified protector of Germanic music that he fashioned himself as after World War II, as his excellent biographers Erik Ryding and Rebecca Pechefsky have shown.Born Bruno Schlesinger to a middle-class Jewish family in Berlin in 1876 — he changed his name to take an early job in Breslau (modern-day Wroclaw, Poland) and later converted to Christianity — he had youthful success as a pianist, deciding to become a conductor only after seeing Hans von Bülow in the flesh.Much of his career was spent in the opera pit, from his debut in Cologne, Germany, in 1894 through his tenure from 1913 to 1922 as general music director of Munich, where Nazis demanded his ouster, and his expulsion in 1938 from the Vienna State Opera, where he had assisted Mahler at the start of the century and learned that he could never be the tyrant that his mentor had become.Conducting Mahler’s scores with angstless classicism, Walter took them as his own, likely at the expense of creative energies that had once had Viennese critics writing about his own compositions in the same breath as those of Schoenberg and Zemlinsky. If his focus in the opera house was on Mozart, Wagner and Strauss, he nevertheless did his part for contemporaries, including Schreker, Korngold, Pfitzner and Smyth. His essentially conservative tastes — atonality for him was close to immorality — had freer rein over time; the Sony box contains just one work, Barber’s First Symphony, that was written after Mahler’s death in 1911.If anything, Walter’s fate at the hands of Nazism encouraged him still more strongly to shine the light of the canon against “the dark powers of hell,” as he called them. He had become the music director of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in 1929, but was forced to leave because of threats against his concerts early in 1933. He went to Austria, where he was greeted as a hero.Wagner: ‘Die Walküre’Lotte Lehmann, soprano; Lauritz Melchior, tenor; Vienna Philharmonic, 1935 (Pristine)The recordings he made with the Vienna Philharmonic then, with their portamento and their way of easing lyrically into the beat, have a tragic quality, and some of them — a mournful Brahms First; the turbulent Mahler Ninth captured live weeks before the Anschluss in 1938 — seem understandably burdened with the outside world. But rarely has there been such repose as in the slow movement of his “Jupiter” Symphony, such drama as in his excerpts from “Die Walküre,” such delight as in his Beethoven Sixth.VIENNA FELL, and, after a year or so in Paris, Walter settled in Los Angeles. The prospect of working in the United States had been attractive since at least World War I, and he had made his New York debut in 1923, when The Times admired “a sensitive musician, forceful without violence.” Over time, he became deeply respected, seen as the grand old man of the Germanic canon, though he was never a box office draw.Having declined the leadership of the New York Philharmonic in 1942, he agreed to it for two seasons in 1947, serving humbly as the musical adviser rather than music director of the orchestra Mahler had once headed. Although he played his part in postwar reconciliation in Europe after 1946 — taping “Das Lied von der Erde,” definitively, with Kathleen Ferrier in Vienna in 1952 — his musical home would remain New York, and his family home, Hollywood.There is an absorbing collision of traditions in the recordings that Walter made after 1941 with the Philharmonic, an ensemble whose manner could be as mighty as his was mild; it is a testament to his powers that the compound was alchemical rather than destructive.Reared on the perfectionism of Arturo Toscanini, New York critics habitually accused Walter of a carelessness with details that was fundamental to his style.“This idea of precision in orchestral playing is very recent,” Walter told an interviewer in 1960. “It was a necessary reaction to a certain lackadaisical way of attacking tasks, and Toscanini in forwarding it did a wonderful service. But now precision has become an ideal, which is wrong.”Mahler: Symphony No. 1 in DNew York Philharmonic, 1954 (Sony)The hours of politely insistent rehearsal tapes in Sony’s box go some way to refuting the charge, and if some of the recordings do the opposite, many nevertheless reveal the happy confluence of Walter’s elegance and the Philharmonic’s thrust, albeit in a repertoire narrower than he presented in concert. His most dramatic liberties were reined in; tempo fluctuations became slighter. The warmth remained, as a wartime Beethoven “Eroica” and Fifth demonstrate, but there could also be a firmness in attack, even in Haydn and Mozart; a sensational Brahms cycle from the early 1950s studio is shockingly fiery, and still more so in live accounts from the same time that are preserved on Pristine.Fiery is not a word one could use to describe Walter’s last recordings, made after a heart attack in March 1957 all but ended his concert career. He had worked with the Columbia Symphony Orchestra in New York, a freelance group that was cheaper for his record company, Columbia, to hire than the full Philharmonic; the ensemble’s Californian namesake was formed specifically for him to reprise the standard repertoire in stereo, despite his fears (for a while proven correct) that to do so “condemned our whole former work to obsolescence,” as he wrote to his producer.The results, which perhaps betray the inexperience of the ensemble too often, represent less a reversion to Walter’s prewar type than a rarefied era of their own; they exude luminosity. He remade his Beethoven and Brahms in majestic fashion, dwelled admiringly on Bruckner, and added to his earlier Mahler, not least with a touching Ninth and a vast First that astounded Leonard Bernstein. His final session, in March 1961, preserved Mozart overtures that bubble with vitality; that of “Der Schauspieldirektor” positively bursts with the joy of a man of the theater, rejoicing, once again, in finding truth through beauty.Mozart: ‘Der Schauspieldirektor’Columbia Symphony Orchestra, 1961 (Sony)“What I want from music is happiness,” Walter had said in an interview with The Times in 1956 that celebrated his 80th birthday and his 63rd year on the podium. “People want happiness — why should we give them unhappiness? When the pursuit of happiness finds its satisfaction in music it is the highest possible satisfaction in man.” More

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      Toshi Ichiyanagi, Avant-Garde Composer and Pianist, Dies at 89

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      A former protégé of John Cage who was once married to Yoko Ono, he was part of a lively experimental music scene in New York and became a leading modern composer in Japan.Toshi Ichiyanagi, an avant-garde pianist and composer whose works mixed international influences, made unusual use of musicians and instruments, and combined music with other media, died on Oct. 7 in Tokyo. He was 89.The Kanagawa Arts Foundation, where he was general artistic director from 1996 until last year, said he died in a hospital. No cause was given.Mr. Ichiyanagi came to New York from Japan in the 1950s to study at the Juilliard School. While there he met Yoko Ono, whose parents had moved the family from Japan to Scarsdale, N.Y., in the early 1950s. Ms. Ono was also interested in experimental music and had studied briefly at Sarah Lawrence College.She and Mr. Ichiyanagi eloped in 1956 and immersed themselves in the experimental art and music scenes of the era, including the radical Fluxus movement. Mr. Ichiyanagi took a course taught by the composer John Cage at the New School (Ms. Ono sat in on the sessions), absorbing many of his Minimalist ideas.Mr. Ichiyanagi and Mr. Cage toured together, sometimes with Ms. Ono, and Mr. Ichiyanagi was instrumental in bringing Mr. Cage to Japan in 1962, introducing his music there. In the same period, Ms. Ono and Mr. Ichiyanagi hosted performances at their loft in TriBeCa that included music, dance and poetry. (“THE PURPOSE OF THIS SERIES IS NOT ENTERTAINMENT,” an announcement for one program said.)The marriage lasted until 1962. Ms. Ono later married John Lennon.In the early years of his career, Mr. Ichiyanagi staked out his claim as one of the most adventurous composers and performers of his day.In May 1961 he gave a recital at Carnegie Hall. His program included works by Mr. Cage, Morton Feldman and others, as well as one of his own pieces. Eric Salzman, describing Mr. Ichiyanagi’s performance of his work in a review for The New York Times, wrote that “a high, distant, cold glissando rubbed somehow out of the innards of the piano and a furious rumble of elbows and fists on the keyboard.”He was gaining attention beyond New York as well.“Tokyo music circles are buzzing about a recent concert which featured Toshi Ichiyanagi’s ‘IBM,’” The Star Tribune of Minneapolis reported in February 1962, “an electronic composition which had several novelties: a boy striking matches and dropping them into a bowl, which he proceeded to smash with a hammer; a man kicking a chair and scraping it on the floor; and finally another man stringing paper tape about the stage and into the audience, making a giant spider web.”Later that year, The Honolulu Star-Bulletin covered Mr. Ichiyanagi’s performance at the University of Hawaii.“Toshi Ichiyanagi’s ‘Music for Piano No. 4’ explored the harmonics of hand-stroked piano strings,” the newspaper reported, “and apparently, though frequently inaudible, the sounds to be derived from thrumming on the instrument’s wooden framework.”In 1966 Mr. Ichiyanagi joined with the conductor Seiji Ozawa and the composer Toru Takemitsu to create Orchestral Space, an annual festival that introduced new, mostly experimental works in Japan.“The experience called ‘Orchestral Space ’68’ mapped some new territory for the audiences,” Edmund C. Wilkes of The San Francisco Examiner wrote of that year’s festival in Tokyo. “Not all of it is habitable, but there were prospects that pleased.”Mr. Ichiyanagi’s works were not all experimental. As his career advanced he wrote operas, orchestral and chamber pieces, and other more conventional works. He also took an interest in traditional Japanese music, and in 1989 he began touring with his Tokyo International Music Ensemble — the New Tradition, a group that performed contemporary compositions played at least in part on instruments like the koto, an ancient member of the string family.The group became less active as its members aged and gave its last performance in about 2000, according to Tokyo Concerts, Mr. Ichiyanagi’s management agency.He continued to create new works into his 80s. His Ninth Symphony, which had its premiere in 2015 in Tokyo, was a meditation on the nuclear disaster at the Fukushima power plant in Japan in 2011 and on the 70th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.Mr. Ichiyanagi received numerous honors throughout his career, including Japan’s Order of Culture in 2018.The Asahi Shimbun via Getty ImagesMr. Ichiyanagi was born into a musical family on Feb. 4, 1933, in Kobe, Japan, and grew up in Tokyo. His father, Shinji Ichiyanagi, was a cellist, and his mother, Mitsuko, gave piano lessons in their home and was Toshi’s first piano teacher.He later studied composition, first in Japan and then at Juilliard.After several years in New York, Mr. Ichiyanagi returned to Japan in 1961. He stayed there for most of his life.In 1963, he married Sumiko, a writer, and they had a son, Kei, in 1964, who survives him. Ms. Ichiyanagi died in 1993.Mr. Ichiyanagi composed more than 200 works and made a number of recordings for Japanese record labels.He often composed with his own notation system, spurning the traditional five-line Western sheets, and his imaginative scores could be considered artwork. Several are collected in the Museum of Modern Art.Having studied piano as a child, he first turned to composition as an inadvertent consequence of World War II.The family had to evacuate Tokyo when it was under bombardment, and young Toshi did not touch a piano for three years. When the family returned to the city after the war ended, they found that much of their property had burned down but the piano was still standing.“We had virtually nothing else left — no scores, nor anything else for studying music,” Mr. Ichiyanagi said in a 2016 interview for an oral history project conducted by the Kyoto City University of Arts. “So I just played it on my own in whatever way, and that turned my interest to music composition. It wasn’t like I started it with any clear ideas or plans.”Hisako Ueno More

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      Review: Dimming the Lights for Sensuously Flowing Bach

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      The harpsichordist Jean Rondeau played the “Goldberg” Variations at Weill Recital Hall with patience and a vibrant yet subtle touch.A quiet battle over lighting simmers in classical music. During concerts, halls tend to be kept bright enough for audience members to be able to find their cough drops and consult their programs. But where’s the focus and drama in that? The brightness can come across as stilted and bland compared with what it’s like at a movie or play. But the lights have stayed, mostly, on.For his return to Carnegie Hall on Thursday evening, though, the superb harpsichordist Jean Rondeau turned them off.He made Weill Recital Hall, the most intimate of Carnegie’s three spaces, unusually dark for his performance of Bach’s “Goldberg” Variations. The only illumination was a dim spot on him and his instrument. The effect was nocturnal, even séance-like, adding extra dreaminess to his brief improvisation at the start that flowed into the familiar opening of Bach’s gentle Aria.Despite the dramatic lighting and that surprising prelude, this “Goldbergs” avoided attention-grabbing thrills. Rondeau, 31, is not an artist of stark contrasts or broad colors. His theatricality is patient and natural; his touch is vibrant but subtle.This rendition of the “Goldbergs” — Bach’s set of 30 variations on that Aria — was not the kind to exaggerate or even emphasize the, well, variation. (Mahan Esfahani, another leading harpsichordist of the younger generation, does that vividly on his 2016 recording.) Rondeau’s version more takes the form of an unfurling carpet: variety in its pattern, but one long piece of fabric.This impression of sustaining a single arc is all the more remarkable given the considerable length of his rendition. His performance of the “Goldbergs” on Thursday had roughly the same dimensions as the 106-minute recording he released earlier this year — of a piece that often runs half an hour shorter than that.Rondeau gets to that duration by opening up small pauses and spaces for breath and ornamentation, gradually increasing the run time without (usually) taking tempos that come off as unduly slow.The result isn’t lugubrious on the album, and it isn’t in performance, either. Rondeau’s Bach is a voyage taken with sensual but serene, silvery lightness of texture and moment-by-moment flexibility, though it took some time on Thursday to acclimate to what, over the first half-hour or so, seemed almost homogeneous.But by the ardent legato flow of his 13th Variation — a steadily unwinding lyricism made possible by the precision of his technique — the accumulating power of the interpretation was clear. Even with a substantial pause between the 17th and 18th variations, Rondeau maintained a sinuous connection between the tension of the harmonic wanderings in the first and the strumming release of the second.In the 20th, the clarity of his finger work allowed him to bend, shape and blur the meter without losing the pulse. He refused to milk the melancholy of the sprawling 25th, maintaining an elegant restraint that coursed into the virtuosic combination of courtliness and dense, smoky chromatic fireworks in the late variations.The return of the Aria after this odyssey was hardly a safe, secure homecoming. Rondeau ornamented it so elaborately — though, still, so unshowily — that it felt like yet another variation. Another stop on an ongoing journey, not the end.Jean RondeauPerformed on Thursday at Carnegie Hall, Manhattan. More