I love it when something good happens completely by accident.
In my quest to teach myself Estonian (it's coming along slowly), I often end up doing things like buying books based on nothing more than the cover and the two words in the description I can actually understand.
This has worked out quite well as far as cook books are concerned (a future post entitled "cooking in a foreign language" may continue this theme), but I have bought a few items that end up sitting on my shelf because they were either not what I was after or I'm not quite "up" to them yet.
During a period where I was buying books that came with CDs (aiming for audio books, so I could hear the the words as I looked at them), I accidentally bought a work by Katri Hallik-Rebane called Hea tuju klaverilood, which I later learnt was referred to in English as "Piano Pieces for the Cheerful Mood".
At the time, I was disappointed to note that it wasn't an audio book - it was a collection of sheet music with the pieces recorded on CD. I wasn't interested. I had bought this book to listen to the language, and couldn't be bothered listening to music that appeared to be written for school students.
I mean, the packaging didn't exactly "sell" it as music you'd listen to if you weren't a music teacher at a primary school. It was written by a music teacher, there was some weird framing story about a group of animals playing the songs for the sake of it, and each song had titles like "A piece about the Lemur Girl Katta, missing her home in the rain forests in the sunburnt desert". The whole thing just made me think "fifth grade music class end of year presentation".
How many times have I bemoaned the way adults dismiss things without giving them a chance because they think it's "only for kids"? I should have known better.
Anyway, the book and it's CD sat, unexplored, on my bookshelf until I decided to challenge myself with the baritone horn by sight-reading a piece of music I had never heard before. I learnt two things as a result - one: piano music is not easily played on a baritone horn, and two: these pieces were pleasantly interesting to listen to, and I wanted to hear them. Once I put the CD into my stereo, I realised I had left an absolute gem sitting unappreciated on my shelf.
The pieces are short, but interesting and technically challenging for the casual pianist, and the tunes have that weird incidental quality to them that would make them ideal for a movie sound track. You could easily picture a scene with someone walking to town accompanied by "A piece about Madame Giraffe, who looses her head on a shopping trip."
Okay, Katri, if you ever read this, I would like to offer some constructive criticism: you have got to pick better names for your pieces. Something a little less unwieldy would be great.
The accompanying CD was an interesting concept. There were ten piano pieces, but twenty recordings. Five of the pieces were recorded with a backing "band" (the band consists of Peeter Rebane playing a number of other instruments - most of which sound like they might be electronic, and perhaps synthesised). At the beginning of the CD, we have those five pieces with the "band" and Katri Hallik-Rebane on the piano. Then we have all ten pieces as piano solos, followed by the backing music for the first five pieces so you can "play along".
The weird thing is, it's all "background music" worthy. I think the piano solos are the strongest part of the CD, but even the backing music on its own is pleasant to have in the background while one is reading or doing the dishes.
I've had the tunes in my head for a couple of weeks now, and I don't mind having them there in the slightest.
If you ever get a chance to listen to any of these pieces I would recommend that you do. They really are pleasant piano pieces that go perfectly well with a cheerful mood.
Friday, February 27, 2009
I got the dreaded lurgy
My brain feels like it's being slowly replaced with compacted cotton wool, and every twenty minutes or so I seem to hack up a lung.
Plus, the parts of my brain that are being replaced by the cotton wool seem to be melting and running out of my right nostril. Specifically the right one. I don't know what strange deal the left side of my face did with the powers that be in order to be spared this torment, but there you go.
I don't understand it, really. I've got enough faith in science and providence to believe that everything has a purpose and a reason. Organisms do what they do in order to achieve something for their own existential benefit.
So, could someone please tell me why having small microscopic organisms in my system results in having my chest and sinuses conspire to suffocate me? How does that benefit anyone? The organisms can't continue to feed and breed in my system if I'm dead, and I can't successfully fight off the infection if my brain is so fuzzy I walk under a bus.
As the detective said to the side-kick, who benefits from this crime?
Plus, the parts of my brain that are being replaced by the cotton wool seem to be melting and running out of my right nostril. Specifically the right one. I don't know what strange deal the left side of my face did with the powers that be in order to be spared this torment, but there you go.
I don't understand it, really. I've got enough faith in science and providence to believe that everything has a purpose and a reason. Organisms do what they do in order to achieve something for their own existential benefit.
So, could someone please tell me why having small microscopic organisms in my system results in having my chest and sinuses conspire to suffocate me? How does that benefit anyone? The organisms can't continue to feed and breed in my system if I'm dead, and I can't successfully fight off the infection if my brain is so fuzzy I walk under a bus.
As the detective said to the side-kick, who benefits from this crime?
Friday, February 6, 2009
Please stop devaluing my degree.
You know, when I started studying at my alma mater, I knew we weren't the biggest and brightest university on the face of the earth, but I thought we had something vaguely resembling a decent reputation (especially in certain fields) and I assumed my double degree would be something worth having.
Then, one day, I started looking at some of the postgraduate studies for the "big" and "special" institutions (you know, like Yale and Oxford) and realised my entire double degree might get me some credit towards one of their basic undergraduate programmes, but sure as hell wouldn't get me into a Masters.
I simply didn't study some of the things they considered to be dirt basic components of my field - because they simply weren't offered. Where the big and mighty institutions considered things like "proficiency in one ancient language and one modern language" to be compulsory, I would have had to do some major restructuring of my degree to crowbar the modern language into the mix, and the ancient language simply wasn't on the table.
And that's just one example.
The subjects I was offered - heck, steered towards by the very structure of my course - were the kind of subjects you get offered in regional Australian universities.
Over the years I've come to the conclusion that Australian regional universities are of dubious value. I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me, but there are some good reasons for my thinking this.
Primarily, they are so underfunded it isn't funny. A university is like a building. A building is made up of a large number of small parts - and if those parts are cheaply made or of poor quality, then the entire building is cheaply made and of poor quality. And yet, when the funding is scarce, the first thing to suffer is the quality of the parts.
Poorly funded universities have the cheapest of everything. They have the cheapest technical support, the cheapest computer systems, the cheapest buildings and classrooms... They have labs that aren't as good as the labs in better funded universities. They have library collections that aren't as good as the library collections in better funded universities. They have equipment that's out of date that they can't afford to upgrade or replace. They spend what money they have on cheap systems that break down too easily and they employ people who aren't trained or experienced enough fix them... and everything seems to be running on the edge of complete failure.
What kind of quality graduate can you expect from this kind of environment? It's almost a given that anyone who is any good will go somewhere else, and the only students (or, indeed, staff) who will stay in these environments are the also-rans. The bottom of the barrel. The ones who weren't good enough to go elsewhere.
Of course, this isn't exactly true. Regional universities get good students who want to stay near their families. They get good lecturers who love the lifestyle. They get good librarians who are trying to get a foot in the door of a competitive profession. But, they also get people who aren't that great, they were just the only ones available - or the only ones they could afford. And no matter how good the people might be, there's a limit to what they can achieve with the tools that are available.
Of course, without government support (and even with it, due to the conditions placed on a lot of government funding), the only way they can get money is to attract students. When all of the students who want good quality are going to the universities that have money, all they can do to get the numbers is to lower their entry standards and offer populist courses. This further lowers the reputation of the regional universities, and continues to send quality people away.
It wasn't too bad when I started studying, but it has gotten steadily and consistently worse. Now, ten years after I began my degree, I wouldn't study here. I'd go somewhere where they could afford to repair things instead of just patch them. Where they didn't replace resources reluctantly and with the cheapest model available. Where they had 30 year old textbooks in the library because they want to keep the history available, not because they need to pad out their collection.
I'd go somewhere where they didn't slash the budget every time someone new took over.
And I know that even though the degree I completed five years ago was better supported than the degrees our students are completing now, I also know the reputation of a university is retro-fitted. Every time they slash the budget, they make my degree worth less.
As someone who works for a regional university, I find the budget cuts frustrating and disheartening. As a former student, I just want to grab someone, shake them and ask them to stop devaluing my degree. When you make the university cheaper, you cheapen everything and everyone who ever came out of it. I wonder if anyone in charge of budgets ever thinks of that.
Then, one day, I started looking at some of the postgraduate studies for the "big" and "special" institutions (you know, like Yale and Oxford) and realised my entire double degree might get me some credit towards one of their basic undergraduate programmes, but sure as hell wouldn't get me into a Masters.
I simply didn't study some of the things they considered to be dirt basic components of my field - because they simply weren't offered. Where the big and mighty institutions considered things like "proficiency in one ancient language and one modern language" to be compulsory, I would have had to do some major restructuring of my degree to crowbar the modern language into the mix, and the ancient language simply wasn't on the table.
And that's just one example.
The subjects I was offered - heck, steered towards by the very structure of my course - were the kind of subjects you get offered in regional Australian universities.
Over the years I've come to the conclusion that Australian regional universities are of dubious value. I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me, but there are some good reasons for my thinking this.
Primarily, they are so underfunded it isn't funny. A university is like a building. A building is made up of a large number of small parts - and if those parts are cheaply made or of poor quality, then the entire building is cheaply made and of poor quality. And yet, when the funding is scarce, the first thing to suffer is the quality of the parts.
Poorly funded universities have the cheapest of everything. They have the cheapest technical support, the cheapest computer systems, the cheapest buildings and classrooms... They have labs that aren't as good as the labs in better funded universities. They have library collections that aren't as good as the library collections in better funded universities. They have equipment that's out of date that they can't afford to upgrade or replace. They spend what money they have on cheap systems that break down too easily and they employ people who aren't trained or experienced enough fix them... and everything seems to be running on the edge of complete failure.
What kind of quality graduate can you expect from this kind of environment? It's almost a given that anyone who is any good will go somewhere else, and the only students (or, indeed, staff) who will stay in these environments are the also-rans. The bottom of the barrel. The ones who weren't good enough to go elsewhere.
Of course, this isn't exactly true. Regional universities get good students who want to stay near their families. They get good lecturers who love the lifestyle. They get good librarians who are trying to get a foot in the door of a competitive profession. But, they also get people who aren't that great, they were just the only ones available - or the only ones they could afford. And no matter how good the people might be, there's a limit to what they can achieve with the tools that are available.
Of course, without government support (and even with it, due to the conditions placed on a lot of government funding), the only way they can get money is to attract students. When all of the students who want good quality are going to the universities that have money, all they can do to get the numbers is to lower their entry standards and offer populist courses. This further lowers the reputation of the regional universities, and continues to send quality people away.
It wasn't too bad when I started studying, but it has gotten steadily and consistently worse. Now, ten years after I began my degree, I wouldn't study here. I'd go somewhere where they could afford to repair things instead of just patch them. Where they didn't replace resources reluctantly and with the cheapest model available. Where they had 30 year old textbooks in the library because they want to keep the history available, not because they need to pad out their collection.
I'd go somewhere where they didn't slash the budget every time someone new took over.
And I know that even though the degree I completed five years ago was better supported than the degrees our students are completing now, I also know the reputation of a university is retro-fitted. Every time they slash the budget, they make my degree worth less.
As someone who works for a regional university, I find the budget cuts frustrating and disheartening. As a former student, I just want to grab someone, shake them and ask them to stop devaluing my degree. When you make the university cheaper, you cheapen everything and everyone who ever came out of it. I wonder if anyone in charge of budgets ever thinks of that.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
That's an Opera?
So here's something that's currently keeping me awake at night (or, at least, ticking over in my mind before I go to sleep):
What makes an opera an opera - and, more importantly, a musical not an opera?
What is the great defining thing that makes one play-with-music-and-songs an opera, while another is 'merely' a musical?
I'm not talking about those jukebox musical thingies which are merely an excuse to string together a number of songs with a flimsy plot. I can understand entirely why Annie Get Your Gun and The Magic Flute should be considered two different things belonging in different categories and genres. But, why is Lamké an opera while Sweeney Todd isn't?
Why is Madame Butterfly an opera, but not Les Miserables? Why The Beggar's Opera, but not The Threepenny Opera? Why is it, that when the national operatic company performs the work of Gilbert and Sullivan, it's considered a bit populist, but okay - but when they try to perform Lerner and Lowe they are met with tut-tutting from various quarters and some people make noises about not buying season tickets?
I mean, really? The national opera company is supposed to have some of the best voices in the country. If they want to take a crack at My Fair Lady I, for one, am interested to see what they can do. Not that I'll get the chance - they'll never tour something like that this far north. But, I digress.
What I'd like to know is where the cut-off is. What's the thing that says "Production A is an opera, while production B is not"? It can't be the plot, the use of music, the way the songs interact with the plot or the structure. Looking at these aspects I can see no plausible reason to separate The Merry Widow from A Little Night Music.
It also can't be the music, because I'll wager that the orchestration of A Little Night Music has more in common with the operas of years past than a lot of the modern operas.
Actually, the concept of "modern opera" is interesting. It sort of makes the whole "what is an opera" question richer, because people are still writing operas. Ninety percent of them aren't any good, and tend to be performed once then justly forgotten - but they are still being written, and they are still being called "operas", not "musicals".
What makes Summer of the Seventeenth Doll, for example, an opera, and therefore more worthy of a performance by the national operatic company than My Fair Lady? Especially since it's nowhere near as good?
I don't think anyone actually likes modern operas. They may appreciate them, but they don't really like them. Modern operas have the same problems as a lot of modern "classical" music, in that the composers have completely missed the point of a tune, and feel they can work perfectly well without one. No one goes home whistling this music. No one feels like going out and buying the sheet music so their kids can perform it at the eisteddfod. No one wants to walk down the aisle to it, or have it played at their funeral. It can be clever, but it's rarely wonderful. The operas of old can be wonderful. Modern "musicals" can be wonderful. I don't know where the composers of modern operas have gone wrong.
I will admit that I didn't actually watch all of the Summer of the Seventeenth Doll. I borrowed a recording of the show and couldn't make it past the opening "number". Perhaps, if I had stuck with it, I would have come to appreciate it by the end, but a) if the overture doesn't have anything enjoyable or interesting in it, the rest of the production probably won't fill you with joy, and b) I can't stand it when people are singing in English and I can't make out a word they're saying. The music obfuscated the words, and I hate that.
Mind you, I find most operas in English have that problem. I think it's the operatic style of singing that makes it so hard to actually understand the words.
Maybe that's what makes an opera an opera? It requires operatic singing? Is that what separates Madame Butterfly from Miss Saigon? The fact that any decent rock singer could perform Chris, but you'd have to be a trained tenor to pull off Pinkerton?
So what happens with musicals like My Fair Lady or A Little Night Music, which don't require operatic singing, but you probably could perform them in that style if you wanted to and you wouldn't do any harm...?
What makes an opera an opera - and, more importantly, a musical not an opera?
What is the great defining thing that makes one play-with-music-and-songs an opera, while another is 'merely' a musical?
I'm not talking about those jukebox musical thingies which are merely an excuse to string together a number of songs with a flimsy plot. I can understand entirely why Annie Get Your Gun and The Magic Flute should be considered two different things belonging in different categories and genres. But, why is Lamké an opera while Sweeney Todd isn't?
Why is Madame Butterfly an opera, but not Les Miserables? Why The Beggar's Opera, but not The Threepenny Opera? Why is it, that when the national operatic company performs the work of Gilbert and Sullivan, it's considered a bit populist, but okay - but when they try to perform Lerner and Lowe they are met with tut-tutting from various quarters and some people make noises about not buying season tickets?
I mean, really? The national opera company is supposed to have some of the best voices in the country. If they want to take a crack at My Fair Lady I, for one, am interested to see what they can do. Not that I'll get the chance - they'll never tour something like that this far north. But, I digress.
What I'd like to know is where the cut-off is. What's the thing that says "Production A is an opera, while production B is not"? It can't be the plot, the use of music, the way the songs interact with the plot or the structure. Looking at these aspects I can see no plausible reason to separate The Merry Widow from A Little Night Music.
It also can't be the music, because I'll wager that the orchestration of A Little Night Music has more in common with the operas of years past than a lot of the modern operas.
Actually, the concept of "modern opera" is interesting. It sort of makes the whole "what is an opera" question richer, because people are still writing operas. Ninety percent of them aren't any good, and tend to be performed once then justly forgotten - but they are still being written, and they are still being called "operas", not "musicals".
What makes Summer of the Seventeenth Doll, for example, an opera, and therefore more worthy of a performance by the national operatic company than My Fair Lady? Especially since it's nowhere near as good?
I don't think anyone actually likes modern operas. They may appreciate them, but they don't really like them. Modern operas have the same problems as a lot of modern "classical" music, in that the composers have completely missed the point of a tune, and feel they can work perfectly well without one. No one goes home whistling this music. No one feels like going out and buying the sheet music so their kids can perform it at the eisteddfod. No one wants to walk down the aisle to it, or have it played at their funeral. It can be clever, but it's rarely wonderful. The operas of old can be wonderful. Modern "musicals" can be wonderful. I don't know where the composers of modern operas have gone wrong.
I will admit that I didn't actually watch all of the Summer of the Seventeenth Doll. I borrowed a recording of the show and couldn't make it past the opening "number". Perhaps, if I had stuck with it, I would have come to appreciate it by the end, but a) if the overture doesn't have anything enjoyable or interesting in it, the rest of the production probably won't fill you with joy, and b) I can't stand it when people are singing in English and I can't make out a word they're saying. The music obfuscated the words, and I hate that.
Mind you, I find most operas in English have that problem. I think it's the operatic style of singing that makes it so hard to actually understand the words.
Maybe that's what makes an opera an opera? It requires operatic singing? Is that what separates Madame Butterfly from Miss Saigon? The fact that any decent rock singer could perform Chris, but you'd have to be a trained tenor to pull off Pinkerton?
So what happens with musicals like My Fair Lady or A Little Night Music, which don't require operatic singing, but you probably could perform them in that style if you wanted to and you wouldn't do any harm...?
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