Kathleen O'Connell

Does ballet have to break out into the mainstream or is it acceptable for it to remain hidden away? Ballet is mostly associated with classical music and classical orchestras are struggling too. Nureyev and Baryshnikov brought a lot of exitement to ballet decades ago but not much has happened to enliven the art since then. Today hip hop is all the rage and if ballet is not made more relevant then it may remain as a dance niche.

Well, Atlanta Ballet, Lauri Stallings, and Antwan "Big Boi" Patton gave it a shot in 2008. From CNN: Hip-hop meets ballet in Big Boi's 'big' debut

Stallings and Big Boi hope the show, which has received growing buzz in the ballet and hip-hop communities, will help bring together a hip-hop crowd that may not have ever chosen to go to a ballet and a classical crowd that might never have heard songs like "Bombs Over Baghdad."

In her review for the The New York Times (When Ballet Plays Footsie With Hip-Hop) Roslyn Sulcas was rather appreciative of the effort, though she didn't hesitate to point that it was a flawed one. She admitted that in terms of gaining a new audience, Patton definitely won:

Clearly the aim is to expand the ballet company's audience. But it's far more likely that "big," which opened on Thursday night at the Fabulous Fox Theater here, will bring ballet audiences to hip-hop. (I, for one, am going to download as many songs by OutKast as possible.)

But she didn't dismiss Stallings' work out-of-hand:

At best, "big" has moments of fascinating intersection between the movement and the firecracker verbal delivery of Mr. Patton's work. At worst, the dancers simply look like a rather sophisticated back-up troupe.Trying to bring ballet into the contemporary world by yoking it to a contemporary idea, be it music or narrative, isn't a new idea. But, with rare exceptions, the results are usually excruciating. (Ballet can't achieve modernity by association, only by an extension of its own physical laws and principles.)

"Big," however, is not the least bit excruciating. Ms. Stallings mostly steers clear of the contrived juxtaposition of two worlds — dancers on point behaving like nightclubbers on amphetamines — to which most of these ventures fall prey. And her style, strongly influenced by the explosive, geometric movement of Ohad Naharin, is often fascinating to watch in its unpredictable, propulsive dynamics.

I really like the sentence Sulcas put in parentheses, so I'm going to repeat it: "Ballet can't achieve modernity by association, only by an extension of its own physical laws and principles."

Because it's August ...

Here's a list of Lincoln Center venues. My guess is that every name used (with the exception of the Metropolitan Opera, of course) is that of a donor.

• The Walter Reade Theater
• Time Warner Building
  Dizzy's Club Coca-Cola

Actually, the Time-Warner Building, which is an office/hotel/shopping/restaurant/theater complex, is the property of Time-Warner, so it can name it anything it wants. The theatrical venues are the stages of Jazz at Lincoln Center. Dizzy's Club Coca-Cola is a restaurant, a commercial venture. Not sure what its tie is to Coke (not to be confused with Koch).

This was lazy cutting and pasting on my part. As you've pointed out, the Time Warner Building is where the Jazz at Lincoln Center theaters are housed. Why the Lincoln Center website omits "Jazz at Lincoln Center" from the venue listing is a mystery to me since it's what the marquee over the entrance says, even though the theaters are used for non-jazz related performances too. I should have excised "Time Warner Building" and pasted in "Jazz at Lincoln Center" or "Jazz at Lincoln Center [in the Time Warner Building]" or something like that just to be clear.

Damrosch Park was named after conductor Walter Damrosch, who helped popularize classical music.

Thank goodness for that! (And thanks for pointing it out!)

Naming rights for sports arenas are for fixed periods, and after that, they or someone/some other business has to cough up the money for the next period. I wonder how long it will be before the same is true of performing arts centers and halls.

This very issue has come up with respect to the planned renovation of Avery Fischer Hall. From The New York Times:

The final cost of a more extensive Avery Fisher renovation has yet to be determined, along with how expenses will be divided between the Philharmonic and Lincoln Center.

Raising money for the renovation is expected to require a major naming opportunity, along the lines of the recent $100 million gift by the oil and gas billionaire David H. Koch to the New York State Theater — home to New York City Ballet and New York City Opera — which now bears his name. The family of Avery Fisher, for whom the orchestra's hall was renamed in 1973, has threatened legal action if the building's name were to be changed, but the auditorium inside could be named after a donor.

If I had beaucoup $, there would be something associated with electricians at some opera house named after my parents.

The Parents of Helene Kaplan Fusebox? At least there's Electchester in Queens to honor Local 3 of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers of New York ...

Out of interest, is it common for theatres to be named after donors in the US? In the UK if theatres are named after someone it's usually theatrical luminaries, Ashcroft, Gielgud. Olivier etc. With arts funding drying up and organizations trawling around for sponsors that may change though.

Mashinka,

At this point I think it would be exceptional for a performance venue not to be named after a donor. Naming rights are even awarded to parts of venues. Carnegie Hall, for instance, houses three separately named theaters: Stern Auditorium, Zankel Hall, and Weill Hall. The former is named after the violinist Isaac Stern, who was instrumental (um, no pun intended) in saving Carnegie Hall from the wrecking ball in the 60's. (Thank heavens 1) that the house was saved and 2) that the organization had the grace to name the largest auditorium after someone who did something other than write checks to make that happen.) The latter two, however, are named after donors.

It's also not uncommon for non-stage sections of venues--e.g., atriums and terraces-- to be separately named. Most famously, the Metropolitan Opera's "Vilar Grand Tier" was rather unceremoniously unnamed when the donor (Alberto Vilar) was convicted of fraud and failed to deliver the amount he'd pledged. (His name was taken off of the Royal Opera House, too, if I recall correctly.)

Here's a list of Lincoln Center venues. My guess is that every name used (with the exception of the Metropolitan Opera, of course) is that of a donor.

• David H. Koch Theater
• Damrosch Park
• Metropolitan Opera House
  Arnold and Marie Schwartz Gallery Met
• New York Public Library for the Performing Arts
• Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater
  Vivian Beaumont Theater
• Josie Robertson Plaza
• Avery Fisher Hall
• Alice Tully Hall, Starr Theater
• The Juilliard School
  Morse Recital Hall
  Paul Recital Hall
  Peter Jay Sharp Theater
  Stephanie P. McClelland Drama Theater
• Samuel B. & David Rose Building
  The Clark Studio Theater
  Stanley H. Kaplan Penthouse
  Daniel and Joanna S. Rose Rehearsal Studio
• The Walter Reade Theater
  Frieda and Roy Furman Gallery
• Hearst Plaza
  Barclays Capital Grove
• Time Warner Building
  Frederick P. Rose Hall
  Rose Theater
  Allen Room
  Dizzy's Club Coca-Cola
  Irene Diamond Education Center

As you can see, the performance hall inside Alice Tully hall now called "The Starr Theater." But other parts of the hall have been re-named as well: we now have the "Citi Balcony," "the Morgan Stanley Lobby," and the "Hauser Patron Salon" (admittance by invitation only).

So far, no one's ponied up enough $ to bump Abraham Lincoln from top billing.

The mere mortals among us may name seats. For a mere $5,000, for instance, you can name a seat in Alice Tully Hall. (But note that a "prime" seat -- center orchestra rows J-T-- goes for $10,000. You get a $1,000 per seat discount if you name two ...)

It's not just the arts -- big sports arenas now sell naming rights to large corporations. (You would not believe the outcry when this first happened!) Minute Maid Park, home of the Houston Astros, was once Enron Field. Lo how the mighty have fallen.

It would be gracious if a big donor were to say "Oh no, please name it after fabulous artist or humanitarian X, not me!" of course, but I actually find it less offensive to name a theater after a donor than to name a highway after a sitting State Governor or Legislator. That always rubs me the wrong way, even if said governor or legislator was instrumental in wangling the requisite pork. That's what they're paid to do, after all ...

Dumas' leisurely tempo wasn't what I was used to.

No, the tempo is not at all what we are used to these days. The dust jacket of my book, printed in 1965, states that 'the book thunders on from melodrama to melodrama', but it's a very slow-gathering storm.

Richard Chamberlain as Dantes? The book describes him as very-dark haired and, after being imprisoned, very pale skin, something like Keanu Reeves. In fact, Reeves would also fit the melancholic-yet-inscrutable look the Count affects.

The Count of Monte Christo seems to be in the air this week: from "The Billionaire and the Book Lover," an article in this week's New York on the battle between Leonard Riggio and Ronald Buckle over Barnes and Noble:

The founder, chairman, and guiding spirit of the company that calls itself the "world's largest bookseller" is a slight, mustachioed 69-year-old with a Napoleonic temperament. But when he talks about books he fills with sentimentality. Riggio wanted to say something, but he couldn't quite find the words, so he burst out of his chair and charged over to one wall. "I don't know how you can intellectualize this," he said, "but a book is …" To continue his thought, he pulled down a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, shook it, felt its substance. "This bound volume of Dumas is content. We have to understand people want to own this content. They want this. It's very important."

Riggio was trying to say that, whatever becomes of books as physical objects in this new age of digital distribution, he is certain people will still pay for the pleasure of reading. Assuming he's right, the more pertinent question is whether they will be spending their money at a Barnes & Noble.

Holy CRAP!! I've seen 64 of Balanchine's ballets. Incredible!

That was my response too! I tallied up 71 and just couldn't believe it was that many.

What - no Handel? This must be the first NYCO season in quite some time that didn't feature a Handel opera. Too bad - NYCO could usually be counted on to deliver a decent production and a good cast, and I believe their Handel productions did OK at the box office, too. I always enjoyed their off-the-beaten path 19th century opera productions, too; "L'esir d'amore" is a delightful opera, but it would be nice to sample some more rarely seen works by Donizetti, Rossini, or Bellini instead.

But I'm really intrigued by the three "monodramas" -- "Erwartung" is the only one I know -- and a chance to hear Lauren Flannigan is always welcome.

I've heard so much good stuff at NYCO that you don't really hear much of anywhere else -- I'm hopeful the company can be rebuilt into a substantial presence once again.

Reading history often leads me to related, serious historical fiction.. This month, I found myself returning to Robert Graves's I, Claudius and Claudius the God, both of which have been referred to on other BT threads.

This in turn led to a discovery (for me): David Wishart's detective series, set in Rome during the reign of Tiberius and featuring a young Roman nobleman Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus.

I found a couple of the volumes in our public library system and read them out of order, something I usually don't do. Now -- thanks to Amazon's used book suppliers -- I've ordered the others in the series and will read those in order.

I've just started Ovid, first in the series. It begins with the unwillingness of someone very high up in the Imperial government to allow the poet's family to retrieve his ashes from his place of exile and disgrace on the Black Sea.

There's a real mystery: what did Ovid do or know ten years ago that got him expelled beyond the farthest limit of the Roman world? why are people so terrified to talk about about what happened, even now that he is dead?

There's a skeptical, inquisitive, persistent, likeable sleuth who bends the rules but is honorable deep down. There's a beautiful if unconventional female client.

I especially like Wishart's grasp of political and social background and his ability to convey a plausible period "feel," despite Corvinus's democratic tendencies (odd for a Roman patrician) and fondness for mid-twentieth century slang (think Sam Spade or Travis McGee).

Unlike many popular writers of historical fiction, Wishart knows his period well. His is the best kind of erudition: one which infuses the text without showing off or overwhelming you.

Bart,

If you haven't read them yet, you might enjoy Robert Harris' three Roman novels, Pompeii, Imperium, and Conspirata. The last two are, believe it or not, page-turners about Cicero told from the point-of-view of his slave-secretary, Tiro (who apparently really did invent a form of shorthand). They're pretty accurate, witty, lots of fun -- and a useful reminder that as far as politics goes nothing has changed over the last two millenia.

I read Ursula LeGuin's Lavinia earlier this summer, and recommend that too, although its about Rome before Rome was really Rome. (It's LeGuin's take on the life of the woman Aeneas married when he and his band of Trojans arrived in Latium. Lavinia says nary a word in the Aeneid, so LeGuin has given her a voice.)

I seem to be on a genre fiction kick at the moment: I just finished China Mieville's two latest works, The City and the City and Kraken as well as several of Terry Pratchett's Discworld books. The City and the City is a police procedural wrapped in a modern urban fantasy: two Eastern European cities occupy the same physical space, but their respective residents are trained from birth not to perceive the existence of the other city and its inhabitants. The whole premise is fascinating; one city seems to be secular-Christian, the other secular-Muslim. Kraken makes sly fun of just about every sci-fi / urban fantasy trope out there (as does Pratchett, of course), topped off with some of Mieville's signature, ingenious grotesqueries.

I'm in the middle of Gary Shteyngart's Super Sad True Love Story -- a funny and bleak dystopia about the near-future -- which I'm enjoying despite the bleakness.

For everyone who said "Marcovicci" - good guess!

From Marcovicci's page on NYCB's "Get to Know Our Principals" minisite:

Q: What are you most looking forward to dancing this upcoming year?

A: Apollo

The site is a bit awkwardly designed. You have to click through each dancer's page in order - no jumping ahead allowed - and the dancers are listed alphabetically by first name.

Some interesting tidbits: Megan Fairchild would love to be a math teacher and Theresa Reichlen is a biology major looking forward to a second career in the sciences.

Helene,

It's a thing of beauty -- just like the site upgrade! Thank you! I know it's going to take time and effort to keep it up-to-date, so thanks in advance for that, too!

You need to clue us in on your vitamin regimen or preferred energy drink or whatever it was that fueled you through an effort like this. I promise to buy a case through the Amazon link.

... what, where and how offensive is Crag Hall's tattoo? I have never noticed it.

It's a sunburst around one of his nipples. Offensive? That's a pretty harsh word, and in any context except ballet I would reject its application to Craig's tattoo. I just think any visible tattoo is inappropriate for many roles in ballet, Apollo being a prime example.

I'm not sure, but if it's on the nipple that's hidden under the sash, then I retract my objection.

It's on his right nipple. Scroll down in this post on Evan Namerow's blog Dancing Perfectly Free to see what it looks like. I think it looks fine, but your mileage may vary. (I live where the East Village meets Union Square. In my neighborhood, Hall's tattoo would be considered a nice start.)

A quick scan of the images that come up if you google "Apollo" and "Balanchine" show sashes covering either the right or the left side -- and a few barely covering anything at all. If the tattoo's the only thing that disqualifies Hall from being cast as Apollo, just flip the sash.

I'm not sure exactly when he appeared (my son time shifted the program) but Glover was amiable and articulate (discussing the aural nature of tap dance, Colbert asked if he'd rather have an all-deaf audience or an all-blind one -- Glover immediately said "all-blind," which is very interesting in light of the recent comments on his new show), and then he started to dance...

And he was absolutely wonderful.

Perhaps someone here can track down a link?

Try this: Savion Glover - The Colbert Report

Bart and Dirac,

Many thanks for adding some context-setting quotes to the thread. I couldn't even begin to formulate a capsule summary of Judt's work, but I think the passages you've selected at least give a flavor of what it was like.

From the New Statesman.

That lecture, entitled "What is Living and What is Dead in Social Democracy", was turned (with astonishing speed, bearing in mind his condition) into a book, Ill Fares the Land, in which Judt offered - for the benefit, he said, of "young people on both sides of the Atlantic" - both an account of what he saw as the corruption of our moral sentiments (he borrowed the phrase from Adam Smith, whom he rightly took to have abhorred the "uncritical adulation of wealth for its own sake") and a vision of what political discourse used to be like - not in the distant past, but in his own lifetime, during the postwar heyday of social democracy. This was a period, Judt wrote, in which there was a "moralised quality to policy debates", when questions such as unemployment and inflation were regarded not just as economic issues but also as "tests of the ethical coherence of the community".

The Remarque Institute has made a video and transcript of the lecture available here: "What is Living and What is Dead in Social Democracy"

Writer and historian Tony Judt has died. Judt was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gherig's Disease) about 2 years ago, and became totally paralyzed as his disease progressed. He continued to work nonetheless, writing a series of autobiographical essays for the New York Review of Books and a recently published book, Ill Fares the Land. He was a professor of European History and director of The Remarque Institute at NYU. His 2005 book "Postwar" was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize. He was married to the dance critic Jennifer Homans; they have two teenage children.

Judt's unsentimental (and heartbreaking) NYRB essay about his disease is here: Night. If you read nothing else today, read this.

The New York Times' notice about his death is here: Tony Judt, Author and Intellectual, Is Dead . The NYT promises a full obit shortly. In the meantime, a NYT profile of Judt and his struggle with ALS can be found here: A Chronicler of the World now Looks Inward.

A longer Chronicle of Higher Education profile of Judt is here: The Trials of Tony Judt . (But be warned: the comments thread turns into an acrimonious debate about Israel in short order. Judt's views on Israel and Palestine were controversial. )

Terri Gross' "Fresh Air" interview with Judt is here: A Historian's Long View on Living with Lou Gherig's.

Rest in Peace.

But despite what the Trocs' overall mission might be (i.e., to elicit laughter), I know--in line with Cargill's larger claim--that some of the dancers take their (point)work quite seriously.

Very seriously, according to this New York Times profile of the Trocs' then ballet mistress, Pamela Pribisco: "Teaching Hairy Guys in Tutus How to Take Flight"

'

'Pam began teaching us these point classes, the kind you would teach to young little girls,'' said Paul Ghiselin, who was already a member of the company when Ms. Pribisco came on the scene. ''During the year it takes you to get into the shoes, you have your good days and your bad days. Initially for me, they were all bad because I had not yet developed corns and bunions. I left class screaming.''

Still, he continued, ''after just a few grueling weeks I felt so much change come into the company. It was a huge transition: we were so much cleaner, so much stronger. And she understands the stage very well. She's not one of these big drama people.''

Fernando Medina Gallego, a k a Sveltlana Lofatkina, thought point looked easy before joining the Trocks nearly four years ago: ''When you are classically trained and you see the girls doing it, you think, 'Well, it doesn't seem so difficult.' Then you get the point shoes on, and you know otherwise. When I'm dancing in a tutu, I imagine that now I have to look like a ballerina. But what is telling me I'm a ballerina is the pain in my feet.''

Towards the end of this slideshow, you can see a picture of Ms Pribisco in rehearsal, with a pair of hairy legs and big feet en pointe in the foreground: "Men en Pointe"

The Trocs train their gimlet eye on more than just old-school Russian ballet. They do great (and loving) send ups of Merce Cunningham & John Cage, Martha Graham, George Balanchine, and Jerome Robbins. The best part of the Cunningham send up ("Patterns in Space") are the musicians (played by a couple of Trocks in avant garde togs), who shake pill bottles and the like with tremendous concentration. There are worse ways to learn about style than watching the Trocs.

What the Trocs don't do is dance on pointe the way men might if it were a part of their technical armamentarium. It's an interesting thought experiment to imagine how Western dance might have been different had ballet put men on pointe, too.

I think Kowrowski would be a good choice for the lead.

Kowroski has danced Terpsichore.

Craig Hall is an interesting candidate, and I have no doubt he can deliver the goods both technically and theatrically, but I wonder whether the tattoo on his chest might be too distracting. Call me stuffy and old-fashioned if you like, but if I were casting the ballet, that detail would be an instant, automatic disqualifier.

Same here. A Greek god with a tattoo??

Judging from the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the vases on display in the Met's Greek and Roman wing, those Greek gods were a pretty rowdy bunch.

I for one would like to see NYCB get out of its golden blond god rut when it casts Apollo. (Unless Igor Zelensky could be persuaded to come back. Sigh. His Apollo—like Hübbe's—was borderline feral; I loved it.) There are plenty of not blonds who could be very interesting Apollos. Others have already mentioned Craig Hall and Gonzalo Garcia. Sean Suozzi had a bang-up spring season and might look good in the role, too. My fantasy program is three Apollos in a row, each with a wildly different cast.

Janie Taylor as Terpsichore, just to see what she'd do with it. I'm dying of curiosity based on her recent ladies-and-gentlemen-please-fasten-your-seatbelts performances in "La Valse," "Davidsbündlertänze," and "Rubies." Georgina Pazcougin as Calliope.

Here's a recent performance of Merce Cunningham's Roaratorio performed by his company at the Montpellier Dance Festival.

http://liveweb.arte....tpellier_Danse/

Many thanks for posting this link, volcanohunter! I hope they leave it up for a while ...

NYCB has come up with much more absurd titles. like "Girls Night Out". For the upcoming year, they have a program titled See The Music. Given the awful content of the program, I'm guessing Balanchine is spinning in his grave from the use of his own words in this manner.

Well, some of the works in the series are definitely missable, but there are eight Balanchine ballets plus a couple of decent Robbins and Wheeldon works in the whole seven-program "See the Music" series. The general idea of the series itself (a discussion and orchestral demonstration of one work from each program) sounds like it has potential, if tad geeky -- although I gather that the orchestral demonstrations will focus on works that have newly entered the repertory rather than on the acknowledged masterworks, alas. "Call Me Ben" has been dropped, but the series does put all the rest of the "Architecture of Dance" ballets into one handy package for those who might feel inclined to check them out.

Naming a program "Girls Night Out" was truly as lame as lame could be. I note that the 2010 / 2011 season programs have reverted to less fanciful names - "Balanchine Black and White," "Founding Choreographers," "All Balanchine," "All Robbins," etc. I do like "All Balanchine All day" on Jan 22 ...

The "Vot tak surpriz" waltz and chorus from Tschaikovsky's opera "Eugene Onegin." It's not strictly a ballet waltz, although John Taras made a lovely dance for some SAB students to it way back in 1981 for a Tschaikovsky Festival group effort called "Tempo di Valse."

Once you hear it you just can't get it out of your brain. Dum DA di dum dum, dum dum dum da da da da da ... now I'll be humming it for hours and might even attempt a swirl or two on my way to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

The program has been changed for this performance. The new Barak -- Call Me Ben -- has been dropped for Chaconne, which is now closing the perfromance instead of Who Cares. Neal is dancing all three ballets. Here is the casting:

SUNDAY MATINEE, JUNE 13, 3 PM

PHILIP NEAL FAREWELL PERFORMANCE

SERENADE: Ringer, M. Fairchild, Mearns, Neal, la Cour [Conductor: Karoui]

intermission

WHO CARES?: Neal, *Whelan/T. Peck, Somogyi/Scheller, *Kowroski/Hyltin [Conductor: Otranto; Solo piano: McDill]

intermission

CHACONNE: Whelan, Neal, Pereira, Hendrickson, Muller, Bar, Scordato, Zungre, Arthurs, Applebaum, Hankes, Peiffer

Interesting casting for Who Cares? Does this mean that Neal will do the duets with the senior ballerinas (all of whom he's partnered, no?) with the junior ballerinas taking the solos? I'm thrilled that I'll get one last look at Neal in "Chaconne" ... but it's gonna make me cry. He's always been a favorite of mine.

Fleming was approached with a challenging opportunity that could have made her look very foolish and decided to take it. Nothing wrong with that, surely.

Absolutely nothing at all! I do think the outcome might have been different artistically (but not necessarily any better) had Fleming been drawn to the music rather than brought to it.

Fleming (who is now 50) is likely in the late afternoon of her operatic career and may be feeling around for what comes next. Not that indie rock covers is it, of course, but the new album may have been an experiment in completely detaching her voice from her accustomed genre just to see what else she could do with it besides show tunes and jazz standards.

richard53dog: I absolutely agree that when Fleming is on she's transcendent. (That "pretty" in the opening phrase of "Ain't it a pretty night" is thankless to sing, and Fleming makes it sound as easy as a sigh. Thanks for posting the link!) But to me, judgment--conscious or otherwise--is part and parcel of genuine musicality. So, when Fleming turns an aria into a taffy-pull, I'm inclined to judge her basic musicality harshly.

Anyway, I don’t mind Fleming singing not–opera; I do mind that she sounds like she’s pulling a Meryl Streep — i.e., impersonating a pop singer rather than figuring out where her instrument, her sensibility, and the music could meet on equal terms.

Back to Tommasini: There’s crossover and there’s crossover. Fleming’s is the PBS pledge drive bonus–CD–with–membership version of crossover; the alternative is engaging with music that genuinely intrigues you and trusting that the audience will find you. (The narrative laid out in Tommasini's article is one in which two record producers found Fleming and pitched her on doing a pop crossover album rather than one in which Fleming found Arcade Fire or whoever, loved the music, and decided she had to perform it, come what may.)

So, I found it intriguing when I stumbled across this review of string quartet Brooklyn Rider’s latest album on Pitchfork*, of all places:

“Dominant Curve succeeds in its attempt to bridge a classic work of a great composer with the work of that composer's stylistic descendants. Debussy's music and ideas still hold a lot of creative possibilities today. In performing the work of the man himself, Brooklyn Rider bring the "String Quartet in G Minor" vividly to life. On surrounding pieces, they extend invitations to listeners of modern minimalism and post-rock. With more work like this, Brooklyn Rider seem poised to earn attention on their own terms-- regardless of which composers they work with.”

Which prompted me to dredge up Alex Ross’ 2004 New Yorker article about the divide between popular and classical music, from the perspective of “a thirty-six-year-old white American male who first started listening to popular music at the age of twenty.”

I hate “classical music”: not the thing but the name. It traps a tenaciously living art in a theme park of the past. It cancels out the possibility that music in the spirit of Beethoven could still be created today. It banishes into limbo the work of thousands of active composers who have to explain to otherwise well-informed people what it is they do for a living. The phrase is a masterpiece of negative publicity, a tour de force of anti-hype. I wish there were another name. I envy jazz people who speak simply of “the music.” Some jazz aficionados also call their art “America’s classical music,” and I propose a trade: they can have “classical,” I’ll take “the music.”

Tommasini's article focuses on "crossover" as a record-label genre; Ross tries to figure out how we got to a place where it seems necessary.

* Pitchfork focuses primarily on indie rock, but covers other popular music genres as well. It’s as derided for its writers’ sometimes self-conscious, mannered reviewing as Fleming is for her sometimes self-conscious, mannered singing.

PS - I like Dominant Curve too. You can listen to clips here:brooklynrider.com