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By Sean, June 20, 2011 8:31 pm

Everyone has favorite songs or musicians, and that list may include a few that simply make our heart ache and pound until we’re a little dizzy.  I call those feelings “musical crushes.”

I confess to you now that I have some musical crushes of my own–but I hasten to add that I have discussed the topic with my wife, and she admits to similar feelings about certain musicians and their music.  We’ve compared notes.  We’re OK with this.

My wife’s musical crushes include jazz icon Joe Williams, charismatic pop artist Lou Rawls, and the romantic, bass-voiced Barry White.  Now, the astute reader may detect a pattern here:

…and may well wonder how she ended up married to this:

…but please remember, dear reader, that we are talking about musical, not romantic, crushes.  My wife’s romanticfeelings have verged not toward the classically handsome, sweet-throated heartthrob types she listens to, but rather toward the slightly awkward, nerdy, but earnest type she met in college.  Lucky for me!

With that distinction in mind, I now confess to the following musical crushes:

The Good Lovelies.  I will be forever indebted to the one who introduced me to this Canadian trio.  Their original songs are sweet yet thoughtful; freshly innocent yet intoxicatingly sensual at times; beguilingly simple yet sophisticated; they look at the world with wonder and delight.  The three-part harmonies are tight as a drum and the melodies are pure joy.  They are both good and lovely.

Stacey Kent.  She’s the vocal equivalent of the girl-next-door: sweet, understated, delicately swinging interpretations of jazz standards and new classics.  Tasteful song choices; gently sophisticated but always easy on the ears.  She sweeps me right off my feet.

Champian Fulton.  Her voice has been called idiosyncratic, and it’s a fair description.  No one else sounds like this young jazz singer and pianist, though I hear notes of Billie Holiday and especially Sarah Vaughan.  Maybe it’s because she sings and plays together that her interpretations of the American songbook are so fresh and vital and playful and full of joy.  I could listen for a long time.

Eliane Elias.  She embodies the beauty of her native Brazil.

Hilary Kole.  With one glance at her, you might off-handedly assume that it’s her stunning looks that have made her career–but take a listen.  She knocks home a jazz ballad or a swinging standard from the first bar: gorgeous vocals paired with the kind of song-inhabiting meaningfulness you might associate with the finest cabaret performers.

OK, I’ve confessed all my musical crushes.  I know you have some, too–what are they?

By the way, three of these will be appearing in the coming Cultural Center season!  We’ll be announcing the full lineup the first two weekends of August at a special Gilbert Players cabaret.  You can also sign up for our email list to make sure you recieve early notice of the new season.

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By Sean, March 28, 2011 3:34 pm

Two intrepid turkeys loiter at the Cultural Center front entrance, shortly before Thanksgiving 2010.

The existence of the Cultural Center here in rural Central Massachusetts is counter-intuitive to many people.  Patrons have often expressed their pleasant surprise to discover such wonderful programming at a performing arts center set among farmlands and forests.  Performing artists themselves have told me on numerous occasions that they thought their GPS devices were malfunctioning the further “out” they drove!

I discovered some time ago that what seems counter-intuitive actually makes complete sense.  Sure, our population is spread out, but so are our options.  The Cultural Center helps satisfy a hunger for performing arts opportunities that are local, accessible, and affordable–and world-class to boot.

But several discussions with our peforming artists have revealed another beauty of rural presenting–a deeper, more subtle, and much more important beauty. 

I didn’t make the connection at first when Clifton Anderson and his group reiterated their appreciation for the reception they received here.  These seasoned jazz musicians from New York City played a sizzling concert–complete with standing ovations from the audience–followed by a CD signing in the lobby and an after-party at Picasso Restaurant that lasted until the early morning.  I can still hear the laughter of patrons and bandmembers  joking and swapping stories over late-night snacks and drinks.  As the last few guests hugged goodbye, the band and I relaxed for a few moments and finished our drinks.  With earnest wonder and delight, Clifton reflected on the evening: the connectedness he and his band felt, first with the audience in the Abby Theatre and later with folks at Picasso.  Of course, these professionals make a living connecting with audiences and do so very well, but this was different: there was a warmth radiating from the patrons.  It wasn’t just the band reaching out with their music and their generous spirit: rather, Clifton felt an unusual reciprocity among the patrons, an open readiness to connect, a friendly spirit that took him by surprise in a refreshing way.

I had never experienced anything different: I’ve basked in the warmth of our patrons since the Cultural Center opened, so maybe the uniqueness of our situation hadn’t fully hit me.  Then I had a nearly identical conversation with the guys in the Hot Club of Detroit.  And again with the Dixie Bee-Liners.  Everyone wanted me to understand: your patrons are different.

I think I finally understand.  While it’s tempting to see the performing arts as a one-sided transaction (performer actively performs; audience passively watches and listens), professional performers see things much differently.  To them, a show is a conversation with an audience.  They sense a response from patrons, and the more profound and enthusiastic that response is, the more exciting and substantive the conversation will be.

We rural New Englanders may not be the most demonstrative people around, but it turns out our patrons come to performances (and after-parties!) with a heightened readiness to have that artistic conversation.  Just as artists who reach out to patrons are often called “generous,” our patrons are generous toward artists: generous in attentiveness, interest, curiosity.  They are open to the joy of the experience.

How to explain it?  Maybe it’s the beauty of tight-knit communities.  Of people who know and care about one another.  Of a town common and a farmers’ market.  I guess it’s just the beauty of rural arts presenting.

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By Sean, August 20, 2010 3:16 pm

This is one of the most common questions patrons ask me. It would be easier to answer if I had a well-defined method I could explain—some kind of artist pipeline leading to my office, or a catalog of talent to choose from. But the process is really more agonizing—and fun—than that!

I’ve heard that some of the more commercial arts presenters are primarily concerned with “what will sell.” On the one hand, this is a somewhat “democratic” approach in that the will of “the public” is the primary determiner; on the other hand, at its most extreme, this represents a crass devotion to the bottom line that opens little room for programming that surprises, delights, and enriches.

I’ve also heard of presenters whose priority is to educate; to expand people’s artistic boundaries with new, cutting-edge, challenging works of performing art. I can see how this curatorial approach would offer lots of world-expanding arts opportunities—but, again, at its extreme, I think it’s rather patronizing and may often fail to connect with people’s tastes, backgrounds, and experiences, or to bring joy, which, for me, is as important as—and maybe an integral component of—artistic integrity.

I’m still new at this, so maybe I’m being overly simplistic (or complicated?), but my general approach is to present performers who are wonderful. When that’s done, it seems to me, a) patrons do in fact purchase tickets, and b) patrons become willing participants in the process of artistic discovery—they’ll take advantage of opportunities to discover new artists and new genres.

I’m so pleased to hear patrons report that they’ve come to expect consistent quality from Cultural Center programming—that they feel free to take risks and catch shows that are new to them, because “if someone’s playing at the Cultural Center, they must be good.” I take that trust very seriously—which makes my search process all the more painstaking.

I suppose I start with a set of qualities I’m looking for. These qualities form a kind of filter in my mind’s eye and ear, so that I can disregard the vast majority of what I see and hear, and, when I encounter a potential match, quickly lock onto it.

I’m looking first, of course, for excellence in an artists’ respective genre. First impressions are really important here: I need to be knocked over and stunned by beauty, virtuosity, creativity.

I’m also looking to be refreshed by new work, new sounds—a sense of vibrancy. This helps me narrow down my genre choices a little bit: tribute acts, for example, are off my radar, though there are many fun and entertaining ones out there. Similarly, I have to skip the many wonderful once-groundbreaking musicians who now make a career playing the songs that originally made them popular, as much as I might enjoy their music. I’d rather present the folks making ground-breaking contributions now.

So am I looking only for younger, early-career musicians? I’m definitely open to them, but not exclusively. If you saw Tom Rush here in our first season, you know what a dynamic show the old man played—for nearly three hours! (He and I bantered a bit onstage about the fact that his career was well on its way before I was born!) Tom’s early records were big folk hits in the sixties, and I’m sure he could continue to surf along on that repertoire. But, instead, he played new material from an album he was about to release (even politely declining a few shouted requests by audience members for some of those earlier popular tunes). At a very mature stage in his career, he’s playing concerts that sparkle with life and vibrancy—and, in my mind, he’s a great example to all of us (especially the students in the audience) of what it means to be vibrantly creative for one’s entire lifespan. I lock onto that.

I’m also looking for artists who can connect warmly with our student/volunteer staff, and with our patrons. This criterion is a little harder to assess ahead of time, and requires some “advance work”: seeing live shows, making some calls, asking around. My track record of selection here is very good, though not quite perfect. The vast majority of our artists have been warm, personable, interesting people offstage—and that comes through in their performances. (Livingston Taylor was one great example.)

And, of course, on a more pragmatic level, I need to be able to present the artist affordably to our patrons….without losing too much money in the process! (You may be interested to know that ticket revenue typically just barely covers the cost of our public programming—some shows come out a little in the black, some a little in the red, and overall it’s about a wash. Rental revenue from private and corporate events helps cover shortfalls and pay the light bill.) I insist upon presenting the best performing arts opportunities at ticket prices that allow regular folks to attend frequently. Given the relatively small size of our venue, this presents some challenges that can be overcome with a wide search and a bit of creative negotiating. Phenomenal emerging groups (like Grace Kelly last year and Eilen Jewell this year), as well as solidly established nationally touring groups (like Brooks Williams last year and Clifton Anderson this year) are within our reach. And, with scheduling flexibility and a bit of sweet talk on our end, we can occasionally attract stand-out, well-known artists (like Livingston Taylor last year and Lúnasa this year).

As the pieces of the programming puzzle start to come together, I become attentive to the overall picture they create: does it represent a variety of genres that touches deeply upon known interests in our community, while also presenting opportunities to discover wonderful new realms? Does it represent a balance of adult vs. family-oriented opportunities? Does it cut across age-groups and invite people of various generations to meet up and enjoy common experiences? Do the performers represent folks from various backgrounds? If so, I’m nearly done—whew! That feels good. If not, I need to keep tweaking until I can answer “yes” to those questions.

So how do I actually find those wonderful artists? Well, this blog is getting a little long as usual, so let’s make that the subject of my next installment.

See you soon!

-Sean

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By Sean, June 22, 2010 3:31 pm

Technical Theater interns and student volunteers

A slight whir from my computer.  A faint whisper from the air handling system.  A distant drone from a lawnmower somewhere on campus.  This is all I hear at the moment—and it’s not so much the sound of something as it is the sound of an absence of something—namely, the students I work with while school is in session. 

As part of my role here at the Cultural Center, I am an educator—so, working with students is, of course, part of my job.  But working without students during this eerily quiet time reminds me how different that “working with” relationship has become here.  The students’ absence leaves a void here—an impression—whose shape describes how profound and exciting that “with” can be in an innovative educational setting.

“Working with” usually denotes partnership, as in “I’m working with two key colleagues to implement this business plan.”  But in education, “working with” can take on a connotation that is a bit lopsided, somewhat didactic, and perhaps a tad patronizing.  “Working with students” in these contexts is a bit like “working with clay.”  In that sense, the students are our project; we exert influence on them; we guide, assist, cajole, rebuke, and reward them until they start to take on a desired shape.  Our work is not so much “with” them as “on” them.  We might say “I’m working on this student,” as a weight lifter would say “I’m working on this muscle group.”

In our Internship Program, we set out to establish a different kind of working relationship with students—one that would empower students to develop real agency.  Students would become integrally active participants in the work of a regional performing arts center, learning a host of diverse skills and life lessons while engaging in mission-critical work, from writing press releases to planning events to designing and running lighting.

What resulted shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but somehow did.  As students quickly gained and demonstrated all kinds of competencies; as they stepped forward, took initiative, and fully embodied these new roles, “working with” them became a true “working with” relationship: a partnership.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am still the teacher of the Arts Management Internship, just as Melanie Donovan is the teacher for the Technical Theater Internship.  We still provide leadership, guidance, and accountability.  But the more we invite students to work with us, the more collaborative the relationship becomes.  On multiple occasions, my arts management interns have taken an event in a much different—and more ambitious—direction than I had envisioned.  My temptation has been to reign in the enthusiasm—to keep things predictable, manageable, and tidy.  But when I’ve surrendered a little bit to the creative, risk-taking force that is my students—that is, when I’ve worked with them as real partners in the planning process—I’ve discovered that the payoff can be far more spectacular than I had allowed myself to expect.  That’s how last season’s Cirque show became a true all-family event, with themed children’s activities like mask-making and cupcake decorating leading up to the actual performance.

Similarly, Melanie’s technical theater interns have evolved from a motley bunch of tech enthusiasts to a true staff of experts.  During show load-ins and sound checks, interns are perfectly capable of dealing directly with hired professionals and members of a performing artists’ crew on a wide array of technical issues and questions.  Interns have pushed beyond the basic knowledge of technical systems with which we’ve equipped them and developed a dynamic, creative understanding that enables them to solve all kinds of problems and accomplish all kinds of goals.  Melanie and I find ourselves consulting with students when we run into a technical challenge we can’t seem to solve ourselves, tapping their expertise and creativity.  And they never fail to deliver.  We work with them.

That’s why it’s so weird during these summer weeks working without them.  Sure, we get stuff done, but our capacity to mount performing arts events (for example) is definitely hampered.  By definition, people you work with are people you depend upon.  People you miss when they’re not there.  That’s what the interns are to us. 

By the way, I like to think—and I’m pretty sure I’m right on this—that this “with” relationship is great preparation for the collaborative worlds of career and citizenship.  Or perhaps more accurately, this “with” brings the challenges of career and citizenship more fully and authentically into the world of high school.

Student interns work with a professional lighting designer to decorate the lobby for last season's Cirque LeMasque show

Technical Theater Intern with Technical Director Melanie Donovan and professional lighting designer Dan Jentzen

Arts Management Interns staff the Box Office

Photos: Stephanie Bolduc

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By Sean, September 11, 2009 7:43 am

I recently had the joy and privilege of meeting an incredible group of jazz musicians and chatting with them into the small hours of the morning–one of those delightful conversations that moves so naturally from one idea to the next while time slips away unnoticed. 

As we were talking about what it means to fashion a successful career in music, the drummer shared an interesting personal dilemma: though he excels at–and absolutely loves–music, he realizes that his personal choices could lead him into any one of a number of careers.  In a productivity-centric society, a musician feels a twinge of guilt: would it be more moral or at least more worthwhile to pursue a career that does more “good” in the world–say, “saving lives” by curing illnesses or developing vaccines?

One of the group pointed out that music can be a healing force, especially for the mind and emotions–not only in a clinical “music therapy” setting, but even in other, less formal ways.  Another suggested that one accomplishes the most good in the world by exercising one’s strongest gifts and abilities, whether that means “saving lives” through medicine or “just” making music.  In this way, we as a society have the best possible medicine and music.

The medical comparison struck me: are we so focused on preserving and extending our physical lives that we devalue the quality of the life we have while we have it?  Of course, working to improve health and “save lives” is an extremely noble and important pursuit.  But who is valiantly struggling to help us live lives that are full, rich, joyful, enlightening?  This is the realm of the musician (and artist, and writer, and parent, and teacher, and clergy member…).  Making and enjoying great music is part of living a beautiful life–in this sense, the musician is a practitioner of beauty–a contributor as indispensable as the surgeon.

When we consider music performed live, such as at Cultural Center events, its importance is even more far-reaching.  Here, musical events become shared, communal experiences that bring people together.  We move to the same rhythm, delight at the same displays of virtuosity, laugh at the same anecdote shared by the performer.  And then we talk about it.  Sounds simple–but it’s part of that rich, joyful life–the kind of life we want to preserve because it is so sweet.