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Read This Post and Get More People to Your Concerts!

What if there was one simple thing you and I could do when promoting a concert that would get more people to come? And what if it was an easy, inexpensive thing to do–no additional cost necessary?

Well there is, and here it is:

When You’re Promoting Your Event, Tell People How It Will Improve Their Lives to Attend, Not Just What You’re Going to Perform!

[Sidenote: I’m in New York (yay!–and where the weather is actually much better than in Indiana this week). On Wednesday I’m doing a teaching demonstration on Distinguishing Between Features and Benefits When Marketing Concerts for the Network of Music Career Development Officers, which includes not only people who work in career and entrepreneurship centers at music schools and conservatories, but also music faculty who teach entrepreneurship and other career-related courses.]

Overdramatic? Sure. But marketing professionals tell us that successful promotional material does just that–it tells the prospective customer (in our case, prospective audience member) how he or she will benefit from purchasing the product or service. Marketing and advertising professionals make a distinction between features and benefits. As I discuss below, most of us in classical music spend too much time on the former and not enough on the latter.

Look at virtually every classical music advertisement, press release, or promotional email. What do you see? What’s being performed. Who’s performing. When the show is. Sometimes there’s performer information (including pull quotes from reviews) and information about the works, sometimes with a few adjectives (“heart-wrenching,” “exciting,” etc.) thrown in.

Those are the details of the performance. They are are interesting–to at least some of those who are among the existing classical music audience. But rarely do they answer this question:

Why should I spend my time and money to attend this performance?

Features v. Benefits

Go to seminars and workshops aimed at people in the for-profit entrepreneurship world and read material on marketing, advertising, copywriting. Stressed over and over and over again–so much that it is a truism–is to focus on benefits rather than features in promotion and branding.

A post over at printwand explains the difference well:

  • Features are defined as surface statements about your product, such as what it can do, its dimensions and specs and so on.
  • Benefits, by definition, show the end result of what a product can actually accomplish for the reader.

Oil Gardner at unbounce.com provides a clear example. Two battery-extending cases for iPhones, side by side in an Apple store. One iteration (for the 4 and 4s models) stresses that the battery has a capacity of “2000mAh.”

What the heck does that tell me as a customer? Unless I am a technical geek, nothing. It’s a detail, a feature.

Hanging next to it, the next generation of the same device. “Up to 120% extra battery” life.

Yes! I got it! That’s how it will benefit me–my phone will last more than twice as long as I’m out roaming the streets of NYC. This packaging also points out that the battery is pre-charged. Great idea–it’s when my battery is running low that I’m most motivated to buy something to extend its life.

How much longer will my I be able to use my phone without recharging? That’s the benefit. (Actually, it’s still phrased somewhat like a feature. I think it would have been even better to put “Use your phone more than two times longer without recharging!” in big letters.)

Gregory Ciotti’s helpscout.net post Features Tell, But Benefits Sell uses Apple’s introduction of the iPod as an example.

Apple understood this when they released the first iPod. MP3 players were nothing new, and the technology trounced CDs. The problem was marketing; the right pitch hadn’t been made to explain just how much better customers’ lives were going to be once they owned an iPod.

How do you think Apple decided to frame the magic of the iPod? Around its technical prowess, or what customers could do with it?

Ipods

The message was persuasive because, in the words of Seth Godin, it was all about “Me, me, me. My favorite person: me.” Gigs of data have nothing to do with me, but a pocket full of my favorite songs certainly does.

Here’s the Apple ad itself:

the-ipod2

I like that Godin quote. “Me, me, me. My favorite person: me.” 

Well, maybe I don’t like it. After all, we want it to be all about the music, the music, the music.But human nature is human nature, and it’s a keen insight. For the audience, it’s really about what’s in it for them.

People Don’t Buy Products, They Buy Better Versions of Themselves

That’s the tittle of a recent post by Belle Beth Cooper. She points out the in the (evidently famous among marketers) iPod example, “When everyone else was saying “1GB storage on your MP3 player”, telling people about the product, Apple went ahead and made you a better person, that has 1000 songs in your pocket.”

Me, me, me.

The other day, my partner and I wandered by a Hästens bed store not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. That’s an expensive neighborhood, and the handmade Swedish beds must cost a fortune. We went in. There were no prices anywhere, on the beds or even in the catalog (maybe it’s one of those if-you-have-to-ask, you-can’t-afford-it places). There was a big sign over one of the gorgeous blue-and-white beds that said that three days of good sleep could change your life. On their web site, they explain,

“At Hästens, our mission is to change the way people think about and prioritize sleep so they can enjoy a better quality of life.”

Would we be buying a bed? Yes, but more than that, a “better quality of life.” Better mes. Now don’t get me wrong, they also presented plenty of features–the handcrafting, the natural materials, the old-world traditions. But that was all to support the prime message of how our lives would be better if we got one of these beds.

A useronbaord.com post has a great graphic (to which Cooper links):

So you see how this works in the for-profit world.

That’s the thing I rarely see addressed in promotion for performing arts events. How is attending this going to make me, for the lack of better words, a “better person.”

So let’s explore this features vs. benefits issue a bit more.

The printwand post mentioned above has a several excellent examples of benefit-focused selling. One is for Martinelli sparkling cider. I used to buy a lot every holiday season for my kids, so they could have something special when the adults had Champagne or wine.

What are the features?

  • It’s inexpensive.
  • Tastes pretty good (if you like cider).
  • No alcohol.
  • It’s bubbly like Champagne.
  • Little kids think it’s special.

What are the benefits?

Well, if you drink it you don’t get drunk. You can have a good time without spending a lot of money (assuming you don’t want a buzz). Kids like it. So if you or I were creating a promotional campaign for Martinelli, you’d find a benefit to focus on for a particular market. Don’t get drunk and don’t spend a lot.

I’m not sure how to spin that. But someone did, in this case for the partying-adult market.

nonalcoholic-cider-feature-benefit

Pretty cool! You can have a good time, save money, and actually remember what you did the next morning.

Applying This To Promoting Events

Now we are moving into imagination mode. I think the entire field of classical music, including many of the classically-trained musicians who combine genres, can do a better job of, well, evangelizing for our art. Unfortunately, none of us have the kind of cash flow to pay for the sophisticated marketing materials of international corporations like Apple, Hästings, or Martinelli. Most of us have to be our own publicists.

Most of us have no training in this. I just received a flyer from a chamber group in which a friend of mine plays. “The XYZ Ensemble Plays Music By A, B, and C,” the time and date, the location, and the suggested donation. Which is about all most classical-music posters do. Sometimes there are more visually engaging photos, but rarely is the engaging nature of the experience communicated. Who, what, where, when? Those are features. Unless a prospective audience member happens to know the players or is really into those composers, there’s no reason to come. Especially at a time when we are looking to expand audiences, we need to find ways to attract new people to our concerts. If we start thinking about promoting the benefits of attending, we may find new areas of success.

So I’m going brainstorm a bit, using myself as an example. Let’s say I’m doing a concert of Bach Suites. “Edberg Plays Bach.” Cellist Eric Edberg (me) plays, say, the first three Bach Suites for Solo Cello.

You see advertisements for concerts like this all the time. “Gilbert Conducts Swan Lake” is on the New York Philharmonic site and in print advertisements right now. If I’m an Alan Gilbert fan and I like Swan Lake, I may be sold. If I don’t know who Alan Gilbert is and I’ve never heard of Swan Lake, or it brings to mind only images stereotypically affected ballet dancing, then I’m not going to care.

To those in my circle of friends and fans who love both the Bach cello suites and my cello playing, the benefit of coming will be self-evident. But to the rest of the world, I need (or whoever is promoting the concert needs) to let them know what’s fantastic about this music (which many of them may be unaware of), what I’m like as a performer, and why they’ll be better off for having come. And, of course, I’m going to have to play them really, really well–with life and engagement and commitment.

I’m now thinking out loud. It’s extraordinary music that takes us through virtually the entire gamut of human emotion, from calmness to playfulness to heartbreak to anger to violence to triumph, spiritual solace, and unbridled joy. And to me, the great benefit of of a well-played concert is to feel more fully human, more truly alive. It’s inspiring in very true way. (Of course, a boring concert isn’t going to inspire anyone.)

So how about:

An Emotional Journey Ending In Joyful Triumph.

or

Let Bach Remind You Why It’s Great to Be Alive

And then of course we’d need something about the program and what a great cellist and performer I am, why the venue is a great place, etc.

There are many dimensions to the experience of a particular event, of course. There are the visual aspects, the social aspects, the atmosphere (formal? relaxed? interactive?), and what we might call the theatrical aspects–it can be amazing to see someone come out on stage and play an entire program of music from memory, and that’s something those of us who do it all the time can forget. Depending on the audience, performers, venue, and program, there are infinite varieties of features and corresponding benefits.

The thing I’m getting at is that for individual concerts and for classical music in general, we have a great opportunity to increase our audiences if we communicate the benefits of concert attendance. Not in a “it’s good for you way,” but it an enthusiastic and energized way.

So let’s go tell people why their lives will be better for coming to our concerts. And if we don’t believe that’s truly the case, then let’s put on concerts that are life enhancing.

 

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Sponge Shoes

If it seems to be good to be true, it probably is.

That’s the saying, anyway.

On the other hand (and isn’t there always another hand?), miracles, unexpected, undeserved wonderful things, happen too. If you are intentionally open to minor miracles, as I am, you can mistake too-good-to-be-true for a minor miracle.

I spent about 45 minutes this morning using daughter’s hair dryer to make my new dressy-casual black leather “sponge shoes” comfortable to wear.

They were one of those minor miracles. Just $19.99 at the Bass Outlet Store on Black Friday.

Sponge shoes, you ask?

Yes. It turns out the soles absorb water with extraordinary efficiency and transfer them to my socks with a speed and thoroughness I would have thought impossible. A bit of drizzle in New York and just walking a few blocks on a damp sidewalk and my feet were suddenly and unexpectedly wet.

Ha ha! A more minor miracle than. I’d thought.

How This Happened:

My partner loves shopping and in particular Black Friday. I’d always comfortably hid at home on Black Fridays until we met, and at first absolutely refused to go anywhere near Black Friday madness.

But then we found a win-win solution. There’s a big outlet mall in Edinburgh, Indiana, a little over an hour from where we live. Adjacent to it, just off I-65, are several motels, one of which is virtually in the parking lot. So two Thanksgivings ago, we had dinner at a nice restaurant in Indianapolis, drove down, and checked in to the motel-in-the-parking-lot. he could shop all night, I could sleep.

I did venture out with him for a while, to see what it was like.

And ended up buying shoes and socks (really good socks, too) that would last me a couple of years, at terrific prices.

We did it again this year. And I found these amazing looking black leather loafers at the Bass store on a super clearance for only $19.99!They look great. They fit beautifully. They are wonderfully comfortable.

I wore them for the first time Wednesday night as I performed a chamber music concert at DePauw. I liked them so much I wore them Thursday morning as my only shoes on a pack-light, long-weekend trip to perform and speak at a conference in NY.

Friday there was a very light drizzle in the late afternoon. As I walked a few blocks to a restaurant to meet a friend for dinner, I noticed that the ball of my right foot felt a bit damp. That’s strange, I thought. These are new shoes. I know there’s no hole in the soles. After dinner, we walked a few blocks to a concert. Both feet felt damp.

I hadn’t stepped in a puddle. The sidewalks were just damp. It was drizzle, not rain. By the time I made back to my daughter’s apartment in Harlem, my feet were wet.

I was going to buy some other shoes Saturday, since it was raining again. I met a friend for a late lunch, then others for a group drink. In between a haircut with my favorite NY barber. Somewhere along the way, I got used to the wet feet. There seemed to be a certain limit to the transfer of moisture.

I toughed it out. Dried the shoes this morning, and it was dry all day. I love these shoes today.

Maybe that’s the latest minor miracle.

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What Does It Mean to be a Musician?

At DePauw, we are deep into the process of redesigning a curriculum for 21st-century musicians. The unique opportunity is that we are small enough and have the right mix of faculty and administrative leadership and support to actually recreate a curriculum. In many larger institutions, the faculty/student population is so large, the systems are so set, the traditions are so engrained, the egos are so big, the individual focuses so narrow, that it just can’t be done. Or if it can be done, the process is going to take an immensely long time.

In my own little corner of the DePauw universe, I have the opportunity to coach improvisation ensembles (in which the students are focused on expressing themselves and connecting with others through sound) and a cello ensemble in which we use focused improvisations as warmup games to develop listening and awareness chamber-music skills in addition to learning composed music. This creates a laboratory to work on how to integrate improvisation into how classically-trained musicians learn, rehearse, and perform.

Is this exciting for me as a teacher you ask? Absolutely!

Another course I teach is currently called “Understanding Music.” It’s a class for first-year undergraduate music majors; it’s evolved over the years, but has always been intended support students as they make the transition into college life. Team taught, the course has three units, all three experiential, each giving the students an opportunity to experience making, learning, and learning about music in a way they (most likely) have not previous encountered.

Nicole Brockmann takes them through four weeks of Dalcroze Eurythmics; Randy Salman gets them doing some beginning jazz improvisation, and I teach them how to lead community drum circles and do “free” improvisation with instruments and voices.  For years I called my unit “Understanding Music Through the Creative Process.” This year as I finished the syllabus I found myself typing “Understanding Music: What Does It Mean to Be a Musicians?”

We are discussing all the activities we do in the context of this open, no right-or-wrong-answer question. As the students come up with partial answers to the question, we find ourselves focusing on the different roles musicians can play in the context of society in general and local communities in particular.

When I first asked the students to tell me what it means to be a musician, everyone gave be a variation of what is to the most obvious answer to classically-trained music students: to perform music. And by “music,” virtually all of them meant compositions that someone else had written and and yet another person had taught them.

Yet here we had just experienced playing together in a drum circle in which everyone was instructed to “make up your own” rhythm and had taken turns dancing as a group and individually to the music of the circle. That doesn’t fit the musician-as-performer-of-composition-by-someone-else model.

Over six sessions, we’ve had a variety of experiences and read quite a bit.  We’ve discussed the musician as member of an intentional learning/musicking community; musician as leader; musicians as supporters of each other; musicians as dancers; musicians as healers; and musicians as people who make a difference in their communities.

On that last point, the students have told me they take so many music classes all in one building that they feel isolated from the liberal arts students. “We need to find ways to bring the School of Music and the College of Liberal Arts together,” they told me. So I led them in brainstorming a bit and when many of great ideas they came up with didn’t seem practical within the time limits of this unit, I suggested what was (to me) the obvious:

You’ve spent a number of class sessions working on how to lead a community drum circle. The purpose of a community drum circle is to bring people together to experience being part of a community. Why not organize and host a community drum circle with the express intention of bringing liberal arts and music students together in a shared activity?

They loved it (thank God, or my work might have been for naught).

And so we have found yet another model: musicians as people who present participatory music events.

What does it mean to be a musician? The possibilities really are infinite. And for me, it is a joy to have my younger musician friends join with me in the process of articulating those possibilities.

 

 

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January 10: A Roomful of Teeth and Some Organized Chaos

This trip is going by so fast!

When I last checked in with you,  I’d taken us only as far as last week’s New York Philharmonic concert, and Friday afternoon’s  Midsummer Night’s Dream videotaping (see the previous two posts).

Friday night (January 10), we all headed down to Greenwich Village for the NYC Winter Jazzfest. There were seemingly countless performances at at least six venues that night. We began with Roomful of Teeth at Judson Church on the NYU campus.  A terrific vocal octet, whom I don’t know I would have put a “jazz” label on had I heard their performance in another context. As far as I could tell, everything was fully composed. Check out their website; they are part of the post-genre era, drawing on many western and non-western influences, commissioning works from composers like Caleb Burhans and Judd Greenstein. Composer Caroline Shaw, a member of the group, won the Pulitzer Prize in Music for her work Partita, movements of which were performed at that concert.

Most everyone else went off to explore other events. I was having a lot of (thankfully very temporary) leg pain, and having snared an actual front-row balcony chair–it was a mostly standing event–I decided to stay put. A good friend was with me. Neither one of us liked the Mary Halvorson Septet which followed, and my companion wanted to move on. It seemed much less coherent than Roomful. Oh, heck, it was much less coherent than Roomful. But that made me want to stay and listen. Sometimes I like incoherent music, and my improvisation students and I have found that listening closely to seemingly chaotic recordings, we often discover there is a lot more going on than we first hear. Part of it that night was the very casual and messy visual presentation of the group, and they were following a super-organized group. Once I closed my eyes and listened, I enjoyed the music making. So I stayed, and, humoring me, so did my friend.

Nate Chinen in the Times called the set “lean but expansive” and seemed to have liked it; my friend never did, and by the time it was done, my leg felt fine, and I walked her to the subway. I stopped in briefly at the overcrowded Groove, where Otis Brown III was playing, but I realized my ears needed a rest.

Now the question was whether I should go back to the hotel or wait for the 12:30 AM “Improvised Round Robin Duets” back at Judson Church. “Don’t be old tonight” my colleague texted me, and even though I knew I was already tired and I’d pay for it the next day if I was up really late, I decided to follow his advice. After all, I coach my own improvisation students in duets where one person starts, another joins in, a third person takes over from the first, and so on. When else in my life might I get to hear “legendary New York improvisers” (as the evening’s host said in promoting the show) do this kind of chained improvising?

It was amazing–much of the time. I have no idea who the performers were, because they weren’t listed in a program or announced from the stage. If I’d written this a week ago, I’d have a clearer memory of the details. So you’re spared them. What impressed me is that the 90-minute performance started with an extended piano solo before anyone joined the pianist on the stage. There were lots of tremolos, lots of crashes, lots of special effects and soundscape sorts of things. 90% of the time or more there was no steady pulse, so when there was one it was quite powerful. Lots of fragmentation; very little actual melody or melodic development.

Occasionally it was a mess, but a coordinated mess. As my colleague Chris observed, in situations like this you have the choice of listening to the other player and not playing; or matching what the other player is doing, or contrasting with what the other player is doing. He found it tiring after a while; I pretty much loved the entire thing–which is why I’m the improv guy, I suppose. What was interesting to me is areas the performance avoided: extended consonant harmonies, simple grooves, regular phrases, etc. It was mostly restless, dissonant, and often angular music.

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Glorious Mistakes

One of my Facebook friends is the double bassist and critic Chantal Incandela, who blogs at Mahler Owes Me Ten Bucks and writes for Nuvo in Indianapolis. It’s an interesting professional double life she leads, as an active freelance musician also reviewing performances in the same market.  I’d be uncomfortable writing reviews of my fellow musicians; on the other hand, the composer Virgil Thompson managed to do it quite well for years.

Friday,  Chantal posted a inspiringly-honest post about an audition gone wrong, and I wouldn’t have noticed it except for it coming up in my Facebook newsfeed.

I don’t think I would have had the courage to be so honest about this sort of experience.  I’ve certainly had those kinds of experiences; at auditions and in competitions, it was often as if boxcar of Eric Kryptonite had been opened, and all my powers and skills, whether inherent or learned, vanished.  Here I am, 55, well established as a musician and teacher, in a secure, named-professorship chair at a terrific university–I don’t think I’d audition for anything ever again, even though I’m playing better than I ever have. So I really have to hand it to Chantal, both for going for it, for putting herself out there, in front of colleagues she knows personally, and for writing such a beautifully authentic post about the experience.

Inspired by her openness, here’s a story about my own mini-disaster this morning.

I’ve been playing very little lately. I injured my right arm last spring lifting weights, and it has been slow to recover.  I finally took about five weeks off from playing, because it seemed to slightly aggravate the situation.  Just over a week ago I started playing again, because I was playing on a concert this past Wednesday.

This morning I played in church.

I chose a Marcello sonata in F major, one I first learned when I was is 14, I think, from the gloriously inspiring Nelson Cooke. It’s great to play when I’m out of shape or don’t have time to practice, and I still use the copy my mother bought for me back then, with Mr. Cooke’s fingerings and bowings still penciled in in his bold writing.  (I now ignore many of the markings, some of which don’t fit with my historically-informed-performance-practice influences.  I found myself wondering, though, if I might be defaulting to fingerings that came to me when I was in the eighth grade.)

I’d invited myself to play at this particular service because the three children of friends of mine, Mac and Anne, were being baptized and I wanted to be part of that in a special way.

Like so many middle-aged guys, I repeat myself a lot.  I’m always reminding my students that Christopher Small asserts in Musicking that there’s no inherent meaning in a musical work, or at least that there isn’t a fixed meaning that’s common to all performances, and that the most valid question we can ask is, “What does it mean when this performance [of this work] takes place at this time, in this place, and with these people present?” He also says that the real meaning is in the human relationships at the performance.

Well, there’s no more clear illustration of that than in a church service.

I got my cello back out so I could sit in the choir loft and make music with my friend John (the organist) and not only participate in the celebration of this rite of passage, but by so doing say to the parents, “I am here for you bringing the best gift I have to give.”

It’s amazing how you can love someone you don’t know all that well.  How is that?  I care about and have affection for and wanted to be sure I was there for a special occasion in the lives of people who I know only from brief conversations after concerts or at coffee hour after church.

They didn’t know I was going to play.  The bulletin didn’t list the prelude music.  John and I began, and I heard Anne give a slight gasp of surprise. From my perch was able to see her turn her head around, and look up to the loft to see that it was me.  I hadn’t realized it was going to be a surprise, but what a lovely moment it was.

(Geez, this is starting to feel a little narcissistic. But I’ll soldier on, telling you my experience.)

I thought I was playing pretty well, time off from the cello or not.  Meanwhile, though, I’d noticed the president of the university sitting in a pew, and for some reason that made me a touch self conscious.  Some part of me still fearing the disapproval of an authority figure, or wanting to impress one. (“The only difference between you and Yo-Yo Ma,” my beloved tells me, “is confidence.” I don’t think Yo-Yo spends much time worrying about being judged.)

This sonata is in the standard sonata da chiesa four-movement form, slow-fast-slow-fast.  The third movement is quite short, and serves more as a prelude to the fourth than as a stand-alone piece.  So I’d chosen to play the third and fourth movements as the prelude to the service, the first movement as the reflective offertory, and the second movement as the energetic postlude.

By the time we got to the offertory, there’d been a whole lot of scripture reading, psalm singing, sermonizing, and baptizing going on. I was no longer warmed up, and my inner nervous eighth grader, wanting to impress, or not screw up in front of, Mr. President, was annoying and distracting my confident wise-almost-old-guy self.  An first-position e slightly out of tune–oh fuck!  (Mr. Cooke, so long ago, told me that once you know all the positions, first is the hardest to play in tune, and he was right).  We channeled some really special energy, BUT IT WASN’T PERFECT, and I felt a bit frustrated.

As the service approached its end, I was a bit distracted by emailing a friend who was going to show up for the end of the service so she could be there for coffee hour to meet someone who she and I had decided would be perfect for her to press into volunteer service.  Then I decided to play along with the final hymn so I’d be warmed up and ready to dazzle with the postlude.

Well, I TOTALLY FORGOT that we were playing the second movement and not the last movement for the postlude.  So I gave a cue and started playing the fourth movement, while John played the assigned second movement, and, oops!, it didn’t work.  He realized what happened and started playing the fourth movement, after a noisy flip of pages, just as I realized the situation and turned back to the second movement.

A bit more cacophony as we got sorted out, and then we remembered differently as to whether we were repeating the first half of the movement. I did, he didn’t and so I played unaccompanied for a measure or two while he found me.  THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING! I WANT TO HIDE! said the eighth grader.  This is a blast! said another part of me. We played with a lot of energy–I felt I was overplaying, a touch mortified and greatly amused all at the same time.

There was great applause at the end of it all.  My friend and colleague sitting on the choir side of the loft gave us a big smile. “Glorious mistakes!” he proclaimed.

So there we were, so totally fallible and human, doing our best while screwing up, making it work even when there was confusion, and embraced and loved while we did it.

That’s why I volunteer to play in church, but I haven’t played an audition in years and years.

 

 

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The Festival, Part I

I’m in the midst of the ninth summer of organizing concerts in Greencastle, Indiana, the small town where I live.  For the last few summers, we’ve been calling it the Greencastle Summer Music Festival.  We have a concert every Wednesday night, staring after Memorial Day and running for twelve (this summer thirteen) weeks, until classes at DePauw University start up.

I say “we,” because it’s uncomfortable to say “I,” and, besides, nothing would get done were it not for all the people who perform, who let us use their church, who donate money so we can tune the piano and give small honoraria to the performers, and who come to the concerts.  True, I picked the name.  But the rest of us like it, at least for now, and so it is “our” name.

That may change; I think this is the third name “the series” (as I tend to refer to it) has had, as my understanding of what we do has evolved. We started as the “Greencastle Summer Chamber Music Series.” Then, realizing we were having voice recitals from time to time, I changed it to the “Greencastle Summer Classical Music Festival.” I don’t even remember now why I decided to use the word “festival,” just that it seemed like a good idea. One of my colleagues at DePauw, where I am honored to teach, pointed out somewhat sharply that festivals don’t usually last twelve or thirteen weeks with just one event a week. (Fine.  Go start your own concert series!) “Festival” sounded presumptuous to him.

No one else objected, though, and people seem to like it. It’s kind of nice: we have a festival in our little town!

Two years ago, I had become interested in including non-classical music, and, like many people, realized that “classical” is a term (along with many other genre labels)that may have outlived its usefulness.  So I cut out the “classical,” and now it’s just music.

“Festival” may have been slightly prophetic. This summer, we are having some additional events.  Two weeks ago, the pianist Taka Kigawa came in from New York for several days. He played at Starbucks. He played for the kids at the Summer Enrichment Program (a kind of day camp for at-risk children) at the church that hosts the concerts.  He played at the assisted-living facility where my mother lives, and he played for over two hours at the Indiana Women’s Prison, where I teach a Friday-morning Music Appreciation class.  This week, in addition to our regular Wednesday night concert, the folk-music group I play in is performing at a local restaurant.  Next week, we’ll do an additional event as well.  So maybe it’s turning into a festival after all.

Why am I telling you this? Good question.  I agreed to write an article on starting a concert series, for a print publication, and have been stuck.  I’ve interviewed a number of other performers, some quite well known, who started a series (so far I’m the only one to call his series a “festival”).  I wrote the first half or so of a first draft, and the editor, who I’d been a bit put off by to begin with, didn’t like it, rewrote what I’d written, missing the point I was trying to make, to show me the tone/style they want.  I basically quit–it pays only a token amount and I have no ambitions to be a published writer, at least in the style he’s wanting–but he hasn’t given in and we are still in communication.  The only thing I know to do is to just start writing, about what I’ve learned from starting and running my own series/festival and from talking with others, and this is what came out this afternoon.

 

 

 

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Janos Starker Radio Tribute (Streaming) 7:00 PM ET Tonight

I just confirmed with WIFU FM that their show Artworks will be devoted to Janos Starker (who passed away Sunday morning) this evening. Nothing’s up on the website about it as I write, but should be soon. It’s at 7:00 PM EDT, and can be listened to online at http://indianapublicmedia.org/radio/. Just click on the “Listen Live” link.

Menahem Pressler, Emilio Colon, and Charles Webb will be guests.  Excerpts from Starker interviews and recordings will be included.

It may or may not be available for downloading later, because of copyright issues with recordings used. So listen if you can!

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