Igor Lipinski

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A life in the arts - notes from John Adam’s commencement speech

American composer John Adams gave an insightful testimony of the meaning behind one’s life in the arts during his commencement speech at the Juilliard School last month. I’m sharing with you my notes, but please read this truly wonderful speech in its entirety at Nonesuch website.

The Uselessness Of The Arts
The wonderful, astonishing truth is that the arts are utterly useless. You can’t eat music or poetry or dance. You can’t drive your car on a sonnet it or wear it on your back to shield you from the elements. This “uselessness” is why politicians and other painfully literal-minded people during times of budget crises (which is pretty much all the time now) can’t wait to single the arts out for elimination. For them artistic activity is strictly after-school business. They consider that what we do can’t honestly be compared to the real business of life, that art is entertainment and ultimately non-essential. They don’t realize that what we artists offer is one of the few things that make human life meaningful, that through our skill and our talent and through the way that we share our rich emotional lives we add color and texture and depth and complexity to their lives.

A Life In The Arts
A life in the arts means a life of sacrifice and tens of thousands of hours of devotion and discipline with scant remuneration and sometimes even scant recognition. A life in the arts means loving complexity and ambiguity, of enjoying the fact that there are no single, absolute solutions. And it means that you value communicating about matters of the spirit over the baser forms of human interaction, because you know that life is not just a transaction, not simply a game about winning someone’s confidence purely for purposes of material gain.

The Aesthethics of Surprise
In order to achieve that element of surprise you have to set up expectation. The quality of the surprise—what Melville called the “shock of recognition”—depends on how carefully, how knowingly these expectations have been set up. And whether you are a master playwright, or a subtle and probing lieder singer or a speed-of-light jazz improviser, your expertise in setting up expectations depends on two factors that would at first glance seem to be contradictory: one is supreme technical mastery, mastery of a kind that is so secure and so thoroughly internalized that it functions at an almost subliminal level (…) And the other is having a gift for the outrageous, having the willingness and readiness to make that sudden, spontaneous departure from the norm—the ability to depart from the script and make the unexpected leap out of the box, and to do it precisely when it’s least expected.

Beginner’s mind
I would probably urge you to do one thing over all else, and that is never to consider yourself sufficiently educated. Always remember to adopt Zen “beginner’s mind.” If you’re playing or dancing and acting something for the umpteenth time, stop and ask yourself “how can I make it fresh? What have I been missing in this? How can I avoid going on autopilot?”

Final remarks
Be bold, be humble, don’t mind being difficult, and don’t ever feel that what you’re doing in this attention-deficit disorder country of ours is marginal or unimportant. You are in fact the heart and the soul of its very being.

Why do we prefer live performance?

I recently read an intriguing article by marketing guru Seth Godin who points out three simple reasons why do we prefer live performance and consequently would pay five or ten times more to see a concert rather than purchase the recording:

- There are people around you, fellow travelers, magnetic energy, shared joy.

- Something might go wrong. The artist is like a tightrope walker, taking big chances and the drama it creates is engrossing.

- You might be surprised. Something new and wonderful might happen and it might jar you awake.

Now think back to the time when you felt this way while attending a classical music concert?

I have seen several hundred classical concerts in my lifetime, but I can only think of handful that were truly memorable and triggered that emotional response to the music and connection with the performer that Seth Godin is talking about. After years of developing my own show with piano and magic and my previous experience on and off stage as a pianist and a magician (I used to think of them as two separate entities), I noticed that traditional classical music performance too often creates alienated and inaccessible events. I don’t refer here to the music itself, but the form and the way it is presented to the contemporary audiences, not giving anyone a fair chance to understand what’s really going on in the music. So why is this happening? 

1. Applause is a mathematically calculated routine rather than an emotional response to the music. In a classical symphony concert, concert etiquette forbids the applause in between the movements and forces you to hold your excitement till the work is over. The magnetic energy of the first movement of Rachmaninov Piano Concerto, for example, is immediately diminished and turned into the awkward silence, interrupted only by the rustling of clothes and a few coughs (if you want to read more about the issue of applause, read an excellent article by Polish-American pianist Emanuel Ax, he’s spot on)

2. Performers create an artificial wall, distancing themselves from the audience. Solo musicians go on stage, bow and play, go off stage, go back, bow, play, bow and it all goes on and on. There is no verbal communication with the audience whatsoever; sometimes they don’t even make an eye contact. Program notes – virtually the only means of connecting with the audience besides music – are too technical and don’t contain the most important information: why are those works important to the performer? On the other hand, spectators are here, several feet away from the performer. So why not using this opportunity to connect with the audience on more immediate and personal level. Pre-concert talks are not enough. You can send me an email or brochure via snake mail telling me what’s on the program, including perhaps a brief history of the work, but it’s a live event. Speak up, invite us to your creative world and let us cheer for you in the end.

3. Programming follows the same old conventional structure, lacking fresh ideas, unusual mixtures and personal touch. There is no plot or connection made between the works. There is usually no single underlying message that the performer wants to convey. The purpose of the performance is completely lost and it’s usually limited to a meaningless sleight-of-hand.

So what do you do? How do you open up and how do you create a personal and more authentic performance? I can think of three initial steps one could take:

1. Think of what do you want to share with your audience. What is the message you want to convey? What is your inspiring story? What is your beautiful idea?

2. Find the repertoire that you are absolutely passionate about and comfortable with and search for all hidden, non-obvious connections you can find. Be creative, challenge yourself and listen to your intuition.

3. Gather up all little pieces together and merge them into an effective live performance, a thrilling event that engages your audience on a personal level and makes them want to hear you again.

Easier said than done, right? But those are the initial steps. You need know what do you want to say and find the right means that describe it. When you find your message and you find your repertoire, you need to figure out the most important of all: how do I say it? All in a limited time and in the format that is comprehensible from the stage.

Think for a moment of yourself as an actor who uses variety of physical illusions and images to portray a person, a story or an idea. Making this direct connection between theater and music performance can be extremely helpful. Let me give you one example. Jerzy Grotowski was a Polish theater director and innovator of experimental theater. One of the most influential methods of the 20th century theater is conceived in Grotowski’s concept of a “poor theater”. In his book, “Towards a Poor Theater” (1986), Grotowski declares that “theater should not, because it could not, compete against the overwhelming spectacle of film and should instead focus on the very root of the act of theater: actors co-creating the event of theater with its spectators.”

Music performance is an organic part of the theater and it should also shift its focus on co-creating magical events with the spectators. Read the following excerpt from Grotowski’s “Statement of Principles” and if you wish so, replace the word “actor” with the word “musician”:

“It is true that the actor accomplishes this act, but he can only do so through an encounter with the spectator – intimately, visibly, not hiding behind a cameraman, wardrobe mistress, stage designer or make-up girl – in direct confrontation with him, and somehow “instead of” him (…) The actor’s act – discarding half measures, revealing, opening up, emerging from himself as opposed to closing up – is an invitation to the spectator. This act could be compared to an act of the most deeply rooted, genuine love between two human beings – this is just a comparison since we can only refer to this “emergence from oneself” through analogy. This act, paradoxical and borderline, we call a total act. In our opinion it epitomizes the actor’s deepest calling.”

Hence, all music schools should be offering acting and body & movement classes to their students. Live music performance is not only about what we hear, but also about the entire choreography of the movements, the text and the visuals.  But first and foremost, music performance gives you a rare opportunity to speak in front of the large group of people that is here to listen to your view of the world. So don’t ever waste your chance and use their time wisely.

In conclusion, I would like to share with you a set of 7 commandments I recently made to remind myself what live performance is all about. Hope you will find it useful. 

1. Break the fourth wall and involve your audience in the action on the stage.

2. Create intimate, meaningful events that speak to the problems of the modern world. Or perhaps think of the total opposite: create pure entertainment that will let the audience cheer up a bit. Pleasure has been the forbidden fruit in classical music for way too long and the artificial seriousness kills the true nature of sharing music with others.

3. Explain what’s going on in the music in a simple yet elegant way. Program notes are ineffective ways to communicate with the audience, send me an email when I’m not around, but talk to me directly when you actually have the chance to see me.  Use variety of available means to explain the musical procedures in a visual way, but keep it simple. As Chopin once said, “Simplicity is the final achievement.” Rediscover hidden connections between different genres, performing arts and even between completely different fields. Show me why this music still matters in the 21st century and why should I care?   

4. Embrace the human mistakes and the unpredictable. Take chances. Treat the surprise as the aesthetics. Fool me. Make me laugh and cry. Show me something I have never seen before. Always teach me something new and remind me of something that I have long time forgotten.

5. Be authentic. Listen to your instincts. Choose only the repertoire that you truly love, music that challenges you, and music that means something to you on a personal level. Share beautiful ideas with your audience and ideas that are close to your heart. Always have your ears and eyes open for new possibilities and challenging ways to improve your performance. Engage your audience with your sincerity.

6. Be passionate about what you are doing and share your passion with everyone in the room. Your ideas have to be contagious to spread further.

7. Treat each member of the audience with respect as if they were your best friends. If you are honest, they will notice it immediately and they will love you back.