 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
||
 |
 |
|
|||||||
 |
 |
|
|||||||
 |
|
||||||||
 |
|
____________________________________________________________ Although the BSO offered to substitute a different Adams work on the program, the composer declined, not wanting to appear to tacitly agree with the decision. Furthermore, he disagreed with the notion that audiences — even in these turbulent times — do not want to be challenged by art and would be unable to appreciate a work that addressed contentious Israeli/Palestinian issues. This decision raises many larger philosophical questions about the role of art in a time of war. What music, literature or art are audiences capable of appreciating during periods of great uncertainty? Does the artist have the ability or responsibility to effect change? In a conversation with andante Editor in Chief Elena Park for andante perspectives, John Adams asserts his faith in the sophistication of the classical music audience, shares the divergent reactions that The Death of Klinghoffer has received in this country and in Europe, and reflects on the tendency to oversimplify the fight against terrorism. Elena Park: You commented that the BSO cancellation presumed its "audiences only want comfort and familiarity during these difficult times." What do you think audiences seek during times of great unrest or war? John Adams: In times of national trauma we tend to seek out works of art that speak to us with depth, wisdom and humanity. It's that quality of gravitas that great art alone can provide. That's why we call it "classical." But classical music audiences are also intelligent and sophisticated and want more than to be comforted. In the immediate days after a national trauma — and I can remember events like the assassinations of Martin Luther King and the Kennedys as examples — there is a collective shock that understandably needs to be comforted by this kind of gravitas. But after weeks or months people want to be prodded and challenged by art, not merely consoled with the familar. EP: What should artists (be they musicians, poets, actors, etc.) provide? JA: Huge question! They provide everything. They are a mirror of life. The Greeks had a word for it: mimesis. Art is a miming of life. EP: In actual fact, do you think that The Death of Klinghoffer is all the more relevant now, given the subject it addresses? JA: I've long felt that if opera is going to have any future at all as a living art form it has to take hold of the psychological themes and undercurrents of our present lives. People who passed quick judgment on Nixon in China, for instance, missed the point that the opera was about the biggest issues of our time: communism vs. capitalism, the role of women in political life, and, in the depiction of the Cultural Revolution, the vast devastation of a society that comes from a civil war. Likewise, The Death of Klinghoffer is not only about a brief, violent incident from the recent news. It is about religious and social intolerance, about a struggle over land that is as old a story as the very first pages of written history and how the elderly and infirm cope with disease and dying. I was astonished to see this opera recently referred to in the news as a "terrorist opera." Terrorism is just the ignition point in the opera. The deeper, more complex themes are what resonate in the mind as one leaves the theater. Americans are in danger of becoming so hardened and desensitized by years of consuming the television news and the daily papers that they can't imagine a representation of a story like the Klinghoffer event being anything other than a cliché melodrama with "evil" terrorists and "innocent" victims. Terrorism is evil and everyone who experiences it suffers immeasurably. But there are reasons why a terrorist behaves the way he or she does, and we would be foolish and self-deluding not to question why. In the weeks following the September 11th attack I noticed an unspoken imperative here in the United States which was summed up in the President's use of language. We were told that we are fighting "evil," plain and simple. We have been discouraged from examining the causes. It's a kind of Inquisitional posture, not unlike that of the McCarthy era: they are the enemy and they are evil. There is no point in asking anything further about them. The Death of Klinghoffer treats the murder of Leon Klinghoffer as the tragic event it was. In that sense I saw him very much as a sacrificial victim and his murder was not all that different from the crucifixion that is at the heart of the Bach Passions. Both Jesus and Leon Klinghoffer were killed because they represented something that was suspect and hated. But the opera doesn't simply stop here; it also gives voice to the other side. We look into the minds and souls of the Palestinians and see what might have driven them to produce a generation of young men easily willing to give up their lives to make their grievances known. EP: Do you think that audiences are able to appreciate the music's beauty even though it portrays the inner lives of both Palestinian and Jews, not to mention terrorists who committed deplorable acts? JA: I am reminded of the woman who wrote an angry letter about Klinghoffer to the Los Angeles Times. She complained that the "endearing" music was given to the Palestinians and the hostages were treated as trivial trash. She said she "could not bear to have it [the CD] in her house," as if it were some kind of contaminant. One could be offended by her remarks if they weren't so ridiculous. I can't understand how anyone would find the Chorus of Exiled Jews in the prologue or Marilyn Klinghoffer's wrenching scene at the end of the opera as examples of "trivial trash." Perhaps this was the kind of reaction that the Boston Symphony management was nervous about when they decided to pull the piece from their programs. But how can you have a complex and emotional experience about these matters without risking reactions like that? If we cave in to people with opinions like this, we are essentially saying that classical music is little more than entertainment or background music for the weary. It's not much more than another accessory to our comfort. People in the art world or the theater world, people who read novels and go to see provocative new films expect to be challenged, and even on occasion to be upset. But classical music consumers are being typecast as the most timid and emotionally fragile of all audiences. I think this is an insult to a very sophisticated group of people, and I can't believe that the kind of person who regularly attends concerts in Boston wouldn't be enraged to think that someone had made an executive decision to protect the fragility of their emotions. EP: Do you find parallels between this decision and the controversy surrounding Vanessa Redgrave's canceled appearance with the BSO years ago? [In 1984 Redgrave won a lawsuit against the BSO for breach of contract after it canceled her engagement to appear as a guest narrator for Stravinsky's Oedipus Rex in 1982 because of controversy surrounding her public support of the Palestine Liberation Organization.] JA: I don't really know. I think the Redgrave controversy was much worse and far more regrettable. Her political sentiments didn't coincide with those of some influential people in Boston, and so she was fired even before she was able to perform. She was punished in advance for her opinions, not for anything she said or did on stage. The case with the Klinghoffer cancellation is more shaded. I can understand the management's anxieties in this case, but I think their decision was just panicky and an overreaction. I think the official press release said they decided to "err on the side of sensitivity." This paints a picture of the classical music audience that is hopelessly delicate and easily offended. I grew up in New England and went to school there during the Sixties. My impression is that they are really tough-minded individualists who don't want to be coddled. This is the same part of the country that gave us Daniel Webster and John Adams (no relation!), and, for that matter, Charles Ives. EP: How do you feel about this recent cancellation, and how does this fit in the context of the controversy (cancellations, protests, reaction from Klinghoffer family, etc.) the opera has generated in the past? JA: The Death of Klinghoffer has never seemed particularly shocking to audiences in Europe. When it opened in Brussels in March of 1991 it was politely received, but it wasn't the big hit that Nixon had been, and I think some people were even a bit disappointed that the production was so symbolic and lacking in blood and gory details. Then it arrived in Brooklyn and all hell broke loose. Some wire-service journalist got the Klinghoffer daughters to proclaim it "anti-Semitic," presumably because it wasn't a blanket condemnation of the Palestinian cause. With that the whole tone of the discourse changed. However, in the last year or so (ten years after the premiere) it has been brought back in several cities — Helsinki, London, Amsterdam — and there are more productions to come in Italy and in Rotterdam, plus a feature film of the opera being produced by Channel Four in England. People in Europe are treating it with renewed interest and great appreciation. But Klinghoffer has always been a hot potato in the United States. No one has ever been able to explain exactly why the production in Los Angeles was suddenly and mysteriously cancelled [in 1992]. And other American companies have stayed away from it. The San Francisco Opera performances in 1992 drew full houses, but the image of people having to cross an informational picket line to get inside the Opera House doubtless left other American opera impresarios with a case of the heebie-jeebies. I am philosophical about this. I know that it takes a very long time for any new opera to make its way into the repertory. I can remember a time in my own life when the operas of Berg and Janácek were almost never produced. Now of course they are a standard part of every house's list of favorites. EP: You told me how working on the recording of Klinghoffer at Abbey Road studios in London just after the attacks was oddly comforting, and that the artists welcomed the chance to immerse themselves in this work. Why do you think this was so? JA: Being in London in the days after the September 11th attack was a very moving experience for me as an American. People on the street would hear you speaking with an American accent, and they would spontaneously come up to you and offer their sympathies. When the news of the World Trade Center attack arrived in London, I was in the middle of rehearsals for the movie production of Klinghoffer by Penny Woolcock, a director who is bringing a completely new and different viewpoint to the piece from that of Peter Sellars. (She's even charted a ship to film the exterior scenes!) We were in the middle of working on the very scene where Marilyn Klinghoffer, believing that the hijacking has ended amicably, is told that her husband has been killed. She responds to this news with an aria that is at first one of shock, then of rage and fury, and then ultimately of a complete, hopeless and inconsolable sense of loss. I went out into the lobby to make a phone call during a break in the rehearsal and I saw a group of people clustered around a TV set looking at those horrific images of the planes going into the Twin Towers. I thought to myself that it would be impossible to continue with the opera under these conditions. But in fact the opposite turned out to be the case. Everyone involved in the production — the cast, the chorus and the London Symphony Orchestra — all seemed to draw something essential from the experience. While we were making the recording of the soundtrack at Abbey Road, I made a point of reading Alice Goodman's texts before each scene to both the orchestra and the chorus. Her words, so full of wisdom and prescience, seemed to speak perfectly for the mood and I couldn't help noticing that everyone in the room was listening with complete concentration. EP: You've had several pieces cancelled or re-scheduled due to extra-musical factors — I'm thinking about your Short Ride in a Fast Machine 's performance history at the London Proms. How do you feel about this? JA: Yes, that piece seems to have some strange karma connected with it! It was scheduled for the Last Night at the Proms several years ago, but it was taken off the program because Princess Diana had died in a car crash only a week before. People thought that the title was too provocative, and I suppose they had a point. Then again, Leonard Slatkin had programmed it for the Last Night this year, but that ended up taking place only a few days after September 11, and the whole mood of the concert (plus most of the program) had to be modified. I fully supported that decision, as it was a matter of finding the right tone for a concert that was happening only a couple of days after a profoundly unsettling tragedy. But I don't think the BSO's decision to cancel Klinghoffer was made in the same spirit. EP: To what extent does art have the power to effect political change? Is that notion more unfamiliar in this country, which has not seen a war on its soil since the 1860s? JA: You know, this is a very difficult question to answer. You might be surprised to hear that I don't think art has much power to effect political change. I think if you really want to change the world, feed the starving, stop war and promote equality among people, you are better off using your energies doing direct social work. I think this is where I am not entirely of the same mind as my close friend and collaborator Peter Sellars. Peter believes that art really has a kind of moral power that can bring about social change. I think if it does, it's only in a very abstract spiritual sense. I am not convinced that Beethoven's Ninth has saved lives. Let's not forget that the Nazis listened to it all during the era of the Third Reich. I may be more of a realist — I don't know. I am tempted to think that the case for the moral power of art is often confused with noble sentiments, with preaching to the converted. And I don't like preaching. But I think great art can prod you to a deeper level of consciousness, and that in itself is has great moral value. What I don't like is art that scolds the public by taking the side of the oppressed. There's a quality in Brecht, for example, that I often find very suspect. EP: Is the artist out of his depth commenting on political affairs? JA: If I wanted to "comment" on political affairs I would get a job with a newspaper or become one of those talking heads on the Sunday TV roundtables. I'm very much a small-town New Englander when it comes to this sort of thing. You go out and pound the pavements for what you believe in, get people to sign petitions, donate to a candidate you have confidence in. I don't think a Lehrstück in the style of Brecht is going change enough people's minds to tip the scales one way or another. If anything it's a kind of vanity on the part of intellectuals. EP: I know that you are familiar with the writings of Palestinian scholar Edward Said, who examines the genesis of the current problems between the West and parts of the Muslim world. What are your thoughts on his work? JA: I have been reading Said's work for over ten years. Two of his books, Orientalism and Blaming the Victims, were very important in helping to understand the conundrum of the Middle East. Unfortunately Said is one of the only writers regularly featured in the American media who express the position of the Arab and Palestinian world. At times one feels as if the whole burden of making the case known in this country falls on his weary shoulders. I am looking forward to reading the forthcoming dialogues with his friend Daniel Barenboim, a collection of conversations that [Carnegie Hall artistic advisor] Ara Guzelimian is helping to compile. EP: Writing in The New York Times (28 October 2001), critic Margo Jefferson said, "This is a time when the critical sensibility in all its forms should flourish." As a composer and conductor, what are your thoughts on this subject? And what do you think about the critical sensibility of audiences? JA: I think we are entering a phase in the present crisis where blind obedience and unquestioned approval of the government's actions is modulating into something more skeptical. People never tire of viewing the era of the Fifties and the Cold War as the "bad old days," but in many ways the present mindset, were it to continue, could unquestionably be worse. As an artist, I can only hope that my colleagues and I will not cave in to pressure from the government and from those with political and economic power. We have to remember that the goal of a terrorist is to disrupt and destroy the internal fabric of a society. The real fabric of American society is not all those flags you see on people's cars and at the ballpark: it's in the Bill of Rights and in our constitutional form of government. To stifle conversation or dialogue is exactly the response a terrorist would dream of. I have huge respect for the audiences who go to art museums and attend concerts. I look around me at a classical music concert and see many people my own age. I know that we all went to rock concerts thirty years ago and presumably haven't changed that much. We still cast a cold eye on Authority with a capital "A." The difference is that now we've enlarged our experience and require more in the way of art.
If you would like to respond to this essay, please write to letters@andante.com. |
_____________________________________________________________
| Home | Biography | List of Works | Recordings | Interviews, Articles & Essays |
| Links | Press | Upcoming Performances | The John Adams Reader |
_____________________________________________________________
Copyright © 2007 by John Adams
All rights reserved