I missed this little diatribe from Bernard Holland in the Times. Thanks to Carmen Tellez for bringing it to my attention:
Unpleasant truths were another topic brought back forcefully by a concert at the Kitchen in September, by the fine young group Either/Or. Here was a program of 1960s arrogance and self-absorption, with people like Cornelius Cardew, Christian Wolff and Earle Brown as the main offenders. Listening to a collection of composers sharing inside jokes and private messages in music that reeked of contempt for the public made me get down on my knees and give thanks that an era so damaging to music was over. It didn’t drive an intelligent public away from classical music by itself, but it helped.
Same thing going on in the jazz world. Market share down to 1% and no one willing to take the blame. In the end I think Holland got the basics right (no idea about whether these particular composers are to blame though).
I know Cardew, Brown and Wolf, but just who is this Bernard person? No idea – and I actually *live* in Holland…
Steve – true, and I’m plunging into the new world with my usual reluctant optimism. However, there were some advantages to the print medium that we haven’t yet learned how to duplicate on the web. Space constraints are not, in themselves, a bad thing. 500 words is ridiculous (I complained that I felt like I was writing blurbs for TV Guide), but limiting my full-page columns to 1700 words made me sharpen my writing considerably. Without fail, every week I would let my imagination rage on up to 2500 words or so, and it was almost depressing to realize how much punchier and more engaging the writing became once I winnowed out the 800 I least needed. (First you cross out all the adverbs, then shoot the adjectives one by one…) And I alone know – along with maybe a few people who remember me from the Reader or Fanfare – what a turgid, colorless writer I would be today had I not worked for seven years with an exacting, linguistically brilliant editor breathing down my neck and making me justify every word. Great editing is labor intensive and too expensive for all but a few publications today. Alex Ross is probably not 100 times as smart as the Times critics (perhaps only 5 or 6 times as smart), but he reads 100 times as smart because the New Yorker edits brilliantly, gives him a good, reasonable chunk of space, does obsessive fact-checking (“Mr. Gann, Alex refers to you as a composer – is this true?” was a question I got by phone once), and really cares about the quality of writing they go public with. We don’t know how to duplicate that on the web, or can’t afford to.
Look through my blog and you can see how obvious it is when I’m trying to replicate the polished writing of my old print days and when I’m just, ya know, blogging.
At the same time, Kyle, the web does allow all these publications to make up for the lost word count and freedom to expand an idea: by using their own websites. Column space or even web-space isn’t an issue there, and there’s little reason not to get generous with it. If Bernard Holland is looking silly simply because his stuff is being eviscerated in the print edition, why not give him al the space he needs onine to show his smarts? I know in my old neck of the woods of Seattle, Regina Hackett, the Post-Intelligencer’s long-time art critic — who always seemed competent but a little flat to me — showed her true depth and verve when they gave her her own blog in the Arts section, free to expand on whatever wasn’t making it into the paper.
Your writing here is perceptive as usual, Kyle.
I have a lot of respect for Bernard as a critic. The problem is institutional. As column inches grow fewer and fewer, and advertising becomes more and more powerful, it becomes more and more difficult to say anything accurately in a newspaper review. Paragraphs get chopped out at the last minute. Fad assignments are given out with no thought to the writers’ expertise (as happened with the recent minimalism fuss). Years ago the Times requested a 700-word piece from me (already way too short for include context), and, a half-hour before deadline, called to say I had to cut it down to 500 (some new ad had undoubtedly come in). The same thing used to happen with some regularity at the Chicago Tribune. Frequently finished articles disappear completely, the critic paid his fee for a piece of writing that got displaced by an ad or some breaking news. Under conditions like this, it becomes very difficult to sustain much pride in the accuracy of one’s expression. Cutting corners becomes almost a matter of self-preservation.
I contrast this to the golden period of the Village Voice, now long since over. My editor and I used to spend 90 minutes a week poring over my column and making sure every sentence, every paragraph, the entire logic of the piece, glittered with color and lucidity. The first time I wrote a column in which he didn’t alter a word (Feb. 16, 1988), I felt like I had scaled a mountain and seen the ocean stretch out on the other side. Once the paper went free in the mid-90s, such intensive editing was considered no longer cost-effective, and discontinued. Fact-checkers were fired. Errors crept in. I could afford to get sloppy, and occasionally succumbed to the temptation. My word count shrank from 900/1700 to 700, then to 550. I started tossing off columns literally before breakfast. None of those short articles are reprinted in my new book, because I’m ashamed of them. They were as big a waste of paper as most of what’s in the Times today.
Daily papers are always worse than weeklies in the editing-and-space department. The Times cut down its feature story lengths from 2500 words to 1200, and I don’t know what they are now. In other words, the problem is institutional. It is nearly impossible for any expert to sound intelligent trying to sum up a topic he knows a lot about in 500 words. The most brilliant critic I ever read (not in music), someone who used to educate and uplift me in the Chicago Reader every week, got “promoted” to a daily paper and became utterly forgettable and pedestrian. We have no idea how smart the Times critics are; we see them only through these little distorting lenses left in the greatly reduced Arts section. Double their word counts, increase their freedom to discuss topics they love, edit them within an inch of their lives, remove their fear that their writing will be torn apart or thrown away – allow them to remember why they became music critics in the first place – and we have no idea what they might flower into.
Not to go all Chris Matthews here, but – for contrast, a Holland
review from 1998 (my boldface, obviously, for emphasis):