This makes sense to me.
- Chaszz
--------------------------
January 9, 2004
REVERBERATIONS
Turn-Ons: Classical Concerts. Turnoffs: Sticker-Shock Tickets.
By JOHN ROCKWELL
There is much fretting in the land of high culture about aging audiences. At
classical-music concerts and operas, or so the worry goes, you see nothing
but bent old people. Where is the surging vitality of youth? Where are the
audiences of tomorrow, in a nation with crippled arts education? Where (and
here the real fears lie, you suspect) are the donors of tomorrow?
The answer, my friend, is in Queens. But more on that in a minute.
We read so often these days that classical music (and the visual arts and
Broadway and dance) has lost its way, starving for great composers and great
performers. Worse yet, that it has been superseded by younger, groovier,
hipper art forms like film, television and pop music, not to speak of dining
and clubbing, and fashion and a fulminating youth culture in general.
Well, no, not exactly. Some of these older arts certainly do attract older
people, and why not? I'm reminded of a remark once made by Bruce Crawford,
the advertising executive who served as board president and general manager
of the Metropolitan Opera and is now chairman of Lincoln Center. Speaking of
the Met, Mr. Crawford argued that its audiences had always been old, and
what was wrong with that?
Now to Queens: I thought of all this on Saturday during a casual visit to
the temporary outpost of the Museum of Modern Art there, in Long Island
City. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see the building, a
transformed staple factory. There was no blockbuster exhibition on display,
with all due respect to Kiki Smith and a nice assortment of contemporania
from the museum's collection as chosen by the artist Mona Hatoum. Otherwise,
there was a kind of compacted greatest-hits selection from the museum's
regular treasures.
Yet the place was packed and, more particularly, it was packed with young
people. By which I mean, nonscientifically tabulated, people from their late
teens to 30. A lot of foreigners, but a lot of Americans, too. Just the sort
of demographics that symphony orchestras and opera companies yearn for. And
this for inescapable, implacable high art.
You could argue that the visual arts, despite the Metropolitan Museum's El
Greco blockbuster, are more vital now than classical music in terms of
living creative artists. Or that milling about in a museum facilitates
flirting.
But for me the most obvious, immediate, glaring reason for the appeal of one
high art over another is the cost of tickets. Not counting student
discounts, MoMA QNS is not cheap by museum standards. No "suggested
donation" here: adult admission is $12, and most of the younger folk on
Saturday qualified as adults.
Compare that with $295 for a prime box seat for a matinee performance of "Il
Barbiere di Siviglia" at the Metropolitan Opera on the same Saturday. Or
even with the $25 for the cheapest seat in the house, which offers only a
partial view of the stage.
Let us dispense right now with the many reservations and objections that can
counter this stark landscape. Yes, there are discounted tickets and rush
seats for classical music and dance; even a free series at Town Hall. Yes,
there are inexpensive series and hip places (the Miller Theater at Columbia
University) that attract a youngish crowd. Yes, young people will lay out
top dollar for arena-rock concerts.
The incontrovertible fact remains: classical music, by and large, is
ludicrously overpriced. MoMA's $12 is barely more than the $10.25 to which
some movie theaters in Manhattan have recently ascended. Rock concerts may
be pricey, but songs can be downloaded for 99 cents or less, all the way
down to zero.
A decade ago Frank Castorf, a theater director who comes from the eastern
part of Berlin and is still imbued with its socialist values, was offered
the prestigious post of director of the municipally supported Volksbühne am
Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz, the "people's theater" named for a Communist martyr.
He accepted only when the city government accepted his demand that the top
ticket price would never be higher than that of a movie ticket. The
Volksbühne, for all its challenging fare, has been a hotbed of young
audiences ever since.
To meet Mr. Castorf's demands, the Berlin government had to shoulder more
than 90 percent of the annual costs of the theater. What can be done within
the stubbornly privatized American arts-subsidy system?
Robert W. Wilson, the New York arts philanthropist (especially of opera),
once advocated pricing prime seats far higher than they are even now to
justify far cheaper seats along the margins. In return for a hefty donation,
he imposed that policy on a Brooklyn Academy of Music booking of the Kirov
Opera in 1995, with mixed results. Well-off patrons resisted the top price,
and those less so had not become accustomed to, or aware of, the newly
affordable seats. Museums attract the young because people know they are a
good deal: low prices for everyone, and once you're in, you're equal to
everyone else.
When I was director of the Lincoln Center Festival at the same time, the
ticket-buying pattern used to frustrate me to no end. We were trying to do
innovative stuff, the kind that should have attracted a young or
intellectual audience, or both. And attract them we did, but only for the
less expensive seats. Our presentation of the Royal Opera's production of
Hans Pfitzner's gorgeous cult opera "Palestrina" in 1997 did well at tickets
costing $90 or less. For the more expensive seats, however, at the same
regular Met Opera prices that the company insisted we replicate, it was
pretty empty. Nicholas Payne, then the artistic director of the Royal Opera,
said that the same pattern had prevailed in London.
Had I stayed on at Lincoln Center, one of my agenda items was to try to
convince my bosses (and the always-nervous constituent companies of Lincoln
Center) that the entire pricing pattern, and hence the entire level of
subsidy for the festival, should be reconsidered. Instead of raising some $6
million each summer and counting on another $3 million-plus at the box
office (which were roughly the figures then), why not cut ticket prices
sharply and offer fewer events, but hope for a larger, more lively turnout?
Certainly lower ticket prices would still attract a healthy portion of
grateful older patrons, too, as attested to by the audiences at Chris
Williamson's Rock Hotel PianoFest.
There is a creative crisis in classical music these days (and a
choreographic crisis in dance and a brain-death problem on Broadway). Art
forms wax and wane in their creative potency, and at the moment film,
especially, is riding high.
But much of classical music's supposed lack of appeal is simply a matter of
ticket pricing. In our system, with the omnivorous need to balance budgets
and sustain high union salaries and keep theaters running year-round, a
sharp reduction of ticket prices may be difficult to achieve, particularly
at our showcase theaters and concert halls. But a beginning has been made
here and there, and the effort is well worth encouraging.
Karl Marx (and Cyndi Lauper) may well have been right: Money would indeed
change everything.
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company
- Chaszz
--------------------------
January 9, 2004
REVERBERATIONS
Turn-Ons: Classical Concerts. Turnoffs: Sticker-Shock Tickets.
By JOHN ROCKWELL
There is much fretting in the land of high culture about aging audiences. At
classical-music concerts and operas, or so the worry goes, you see nothing
but bent old people. Where is the surging vitality of youth? Where are the
audiences of tomorrow, in a nation with crippled arts education? Where (and
here the real fears lie, you suspect) are the donors of tomorrow?
The answer, my friend, is in Queens. But more on that in a minute.
We read so often these days that classical music (and the visual arts and
Broadway and dance) has lost its way, starving for great composers and great
performers. Worse yet, that it has been superseded by younger, groovier,
hipper art forms like film, television and pop music, not to speak of dining
and clubbing, and fashion and a fulminating youth culture in general.
Well, no, not exactly. Some of these older arts certainly do attract older
people, and why not? I'm reminded of a remark once made by Bruce Crawford,
the advertising executive who served as board president and general manager
of the Metropolitan Opera and is now chairman of Lincoln Center. Speaking of
the Met, Mr. Crawford argued that its audiences had always been old, and
what was wrong with that?
Now to Queens: I thought of all this on Saturday during a casual visit to
the temporary outpost of the Museum of Modern Art there, in Long Island
City. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see the building, a
transformed staple factory. There was no blockbuster exhibition on display,
with all due respect to Kiki Smith and a nice assortment of contemporania
from the museum's collection as chosen by the artist Mona Hatoum. Otherwise,
there was a kind of compacted greatest-hits selection from the museum's
regular treasures.
Yet the place was packed and, more particularly, it was packed with young
people. By which I mean, nonscientifically tabulated, people from their late
teens to 30. A lot of foreigners, but a lot of Americans, too. Just the sort
of demographics that symphony orchestras and opera companies yearn for. And
this for inescapable, implacable high art.
You could argue that the visual arts, despite the Metropolitan Museum's El
Greco blockbuster, are more vital now than classical music in terms of
living creative artists. Or that milling about in a museum facilitates
flirting.
But for me the most obvious, immediate, glaring reason for the appeal of one
high art over another is the cost of tickets. Not counting student
discounts, MoMA QNS is not cheap by museum standards. No "suggested
donation" here: adult admission is $12, and most of the younger folk on
Saturday qualified as adults.
Compare that with $295 for a prime box seat for a matinee performance of "Il
Barbiere di Siviglia" at the Metropolitan Opera on the same Saturday. Or
even with the $25 for the cheapest seat in the house, which offers only a
partial view of the stage.
Let us dispense right now with the many reservations and objections that can
counter this stark landscape. Yes, there are discounted tickets and rush
seats for classical music and dance; even a free series at Town Hall. Yes,
there are inexpensive series and hip places (the Miller Theater at Columbia
University) that attract a youngish crowd. Yes, young people will lay out
top dollar for arena-rock concerts.
The incontrovertible fact remains: classical music, by and large, is
ludicrously overpriced. MoMA's $12 is barely more than the $10.25 to which
some movie theaters in Manhattan have recently ascended. Rock concerts may
be pricey, but songs can be downloaded for 99 cents or less, all the way
down to zero.
A decade ago Frank Castorf, a theater director who comes from the eastern
part of Berlin and is still imbued with its socialist values, was offered
the prestigious post of director of the municipally supported Volksbühne am
Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz, the "people's theater" named for a Communist martyr.
He accepted only when the city government accepted his demand that the top
ticket price would never be higher than that of a movie ticket. The
Volksbühne, for all its challenging fare, has been a hotbed of young
audiences ever since.
To meet Mr. Castorf's demands, the Berlin government had to shoulder more
than 90 percent of the annual costs of the theater. What can be done within
the stubbornly privatized American arts-subsidy system?
Robert W. Wilson, the New York arts philanthropist (especially of opera),
once advocated pricing prime seats far higher than they are even now to
justify far cheaper seats along the margins. In return for a hefty donation,
he imposed that policy on a Brooklyn Academy of Music booking of the Kirov
Opera in 1995, with mixed results. Well-off patrons resisted the top price,
and those less so had not become accustomed to, or aware of, the newly
affordable seats. Museums attract the young because people know they are a
good deal: low prices for everyone, and once you're in, you're equal to
everyone else.
When I was director of the Lincoln Center Festival at the same time, the
ticket-buying pattern used to frustrate me to no end. We were trying to do
innovative stuff, the kind that should have attracted a young or
intellectual audience, or both. And attract them we did, but only for the
less expensive seats. Our presentation of the Royal Opera's production of
Hans Pfitzner's gorgeous cult opera "Palestrina" in 1997 did well at tickets
costing $90 or less. For the more expensive seats, however, at the same
regular Met Opera prices that the company insisted we replicate, it was
pretty empty. Nicholas Payne, then the artistic director of the Royal Opera,
said that the same pattern had prevailed in London.
Had I stayed on at Lincoln Center, one of my agenda items was to try to
convince my bosses (and the always-nervous constituent companies of Lincoln
Center) that the entire pricing pattern, and hence the entire level of
subsidy for the festival, should be reconsidered. Instead of raising some $6
million each summer and counting on another $3 million-plus at the box
office (which were roughly the figures then), why not cut ticket prices
sharply and offer fewer events, but hope for a larger, more lively turnout?
Certainly lower ticket prices would still attract a healthy portion of
grateful older patrons, too, as attested to by the audiences at Chris
Williamson's Rock Hotel PianoFest.
There is a creative crisis in classical music these days (and a
choreographic crisis in dance and a brain-death problem on Broadway). Art
forms wax and wane in their creative potency, and at the moment film,
especially, is riding high.
But much of classical music's supposed lack of appeal is simply a matter of
ticket pricing. In our system, with the omnivorous need to balance budgets
and sustain high union salaries and keep theaters running year-round, a
sharp reduction of ticket prices may be difficult to achieve, particularly
at our showcase theaters and concert halls. But a beginning has been made
here and there, and the effort is well worth encouraging.
Karl Marx (and Cyndi Lauper) may well have been right: Money would indeed
change everything.
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company
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