An obligatory SOPA/PIPA post

It's Internet Blackout Day, etc., etc. You know that already. The Unofficial Apple Weblog posted a long but worthwhile article this morning about why they're opposed to the bills. Chris Rawson describes in detail all of the effort and trouble he has when he wants to watch the latest episode of a new show from a major US network in New Zealand. It's maddeningly difficult, and it's all because the MPAA and RIAA want to prevent piracy. Here's the best quote I've read all day about this issue:

Here's how you stop piracy: You won't. Ever. There will always be people who want something for nothing, and no amount of trying is going to stop those people from looking for and finding it. Just accept it and move on.
Here's how you reduce piracy: Make it easier for people who want to access and pay for your content. That means no more arbitrary restrictions on what devices we can view it on. That means making the same content available to everyone, worldwide, simultaneously or as close to it as feasible, and at a fair price that consumers won't balk at.

I've already contacted my congressional representatives, even though Senators Schumer and Gillibrand are co-sponsors of the bill. Maybe all our opposition to it will sway them to withdraw their support. Maybe it will get them to tell the MPAA, RIAA, and other organizations behind the legislation to find different ways of solving this issue that don't involve censoring the innocent.

Zubin Mehta and the New York Philharmonic play Bruckner

On Friday night we braved the wind and cold to venture uptown to Lincoln Center for a New York Philharmonic performance of Bruckner's Symphony No. 8. It was my first time seeing former Philharmonic music director in person on the podium, but Bruckner was the main reason I was there. The 8th Symphony is a massive work: 80+ minutes of gorgeous brass chorales, shimmering string chords, and beautiful woodwind solos. Mehta led the orchestra through a well-paced reading of the symphony, taking things a bit slower than I expected in the first and second movements, but always with a sense of motion and energy. The third movement built to climax after climax, culminating in perhaps my favorite moment in the entire work, a tremendous explosion with a cymbal crash. (One thing I like about hearing this piece in person is watching the percussionists on cymbal and triangle, who sit behind the timpani for the entire work only to play a few measures in the slow movement.) The finale thrilled me as always, from its terrifying opening to its glorious conclusion. Mehta seemed to be much appreciated and well-received by the audience. As with Mahler, if the Philharmonic is playing Bruckner, I'll do whatever I can to be there.

A couple of other notes:

There were plenty of empty seats in the first and second tiers. I guess Bruckner isn't as beloved in New York as Mahler.

The audience laughed and applauded after Alec Baldwin's recorded announcement to turn off cell phones. I didn't see anyone on the orchestra level with phones out during the concert. And I saw ushers on either side of the orchestra level, near the side doors, taking turns keeping an eye on things.

The young (college-age?) kid in front of me conducted and cued a tiny orchestra in front of him for most of the concert. His girlfriend didn't notice or didn't care. The guy next to him seemed exasperated and left quickly after the concert ended. It was more than a little distracting, and I was sitting behind the kid. I might have kicked him if I'd been next to him.

Alan Gilbert responds to the Mahler phone incident

Alex Ross linked to Philharmonic Music Director Alan Gilbert's response to last night's Mahler incident in the New York Times' ArtsBeat blog. Gilbert was as astonished by the audacity of the offending patron as the rest of the audience. The Times also notes that the ushers should have stepped in to get the people involved to silence the phone, but did not.

The ushers do not answer directly to orchestra management, and Mr. Gilbert said no ushers were in sight at the time of the ringing. “I heard this morning that ushers in the hall claimed they didn’t hear it, which sounds ridiculous to me,” he said. “Everybody could hear it.”

I almost always sit in the second tier center of Avery Fisher Hall, which gives me a view of the entire front of the hall. I never see ushers near the front of the stage. If the ushers stand inside the hall, they must be at the back. So I can understand why they might not have heard anything if they weren't in the hall itself, but the hallway outside. But that defeats the purpose of having ushers in the first place. I'll look again on Friday night for some floor-level ushers.

We're not kidding when we say "silence your phones" at a concert

Last night, at the New York Philharmonic, the final performance of Mahler's Symphony No. 9 had an extra performer: a persistent ringing iPhone. According to several eyewitness reports (see the comments as well), a patron in the left front of the hall near the stage neglected to silence their phone and then paid no heed as it rang and rang with an alarm throughout the last movement of the symphony. Music Director Alan Gilbert broke protocol and stopped the orchestra, admonished the concertgoer, who by this time had figured out how to turn off their phone or otherwise stop the alarm, then apologized to the audience before resuming the symphony.

Mr. Kinchen discussed the audience's reaction to the ringing phone. After Gilbert stopped the orchestra, some people in the hall shouted "get out!" "throw them out!" and "Turn off the phone!" Mr. Kinchen took issue with the reaction, suggesting that it was disproportionate to the severity of the offense:

Whoever had owned the phone had made an honest mistake, one that just about anyone else in the audience could possibly have made, yet here, at Lincoln Center, listening to The Symphony, this violation was enough to draw the ire and ill will of hundreds of people. Sophisticated people who had come for a night of culture and music and proceeded to be reduced, for a few moments, to the early stages of an angry mob.
In the name of keeping with the etiquette of this classy and cultured event, these people got so worked up they were actually shouting, not cursing mind you, for that would be uncultured, but shouting angrily. And when Gilbert finally dealt with the situation, the response was the cathartic release of pent up aggression. Blatant, almost animal aggression, at the symphony, over a ringing phone. Maybe I’m new to the whole symphony culture but to me it seemed a bit much. 

I wasn't there, so my comments are based on what I've read above. As a musician and an audience member, there is nothing that offends me more than a disruptive noise during a concert. When I'm performing, a noise such as a ringing phone distracts me and breaks my concentration. I'm certain it does the same thing for my fellow musicians, who are all trying to hear each other and play together as an ensemble. As an audience member, it's even worse. I listen to recorded classical music at work, on the subway, and at home. I'm used to interruptions such as answering the phone, talking to my co-workers, cats breaking things, etc. But when I go to a performance in a concert hall, I've spent money for an uninterrupted musical experience. For two hours, I get the enjoyment of classical music without the distractions of phone calls, Twitter, people talking about work, and so on.

When a phone rings during a concert, that's intrusive not just to the musicians who are working so hard to put on the best performance possible, but to the audience that has paid money to enjoy a concert in near-silence. That's why the Philharmonic has Alec Baldwin remind everyone to silence cell phones and other electronic devices. It's not just for the musicians, it's for the audience as well. And that means everyone. How hard is it to turn off your phone for two hours? If you can't live without your phone being on and available, maybe you shouldn't go to a classical music concert.

As for the audience reaction, I agree with Mr. Kinchen that some of the shouts from the crowd seem to have been excessive. I'm sure that they came from people like myself who would be offended that a ringing phone disturbed their intimate musical experience. But that doesn't mean you should shout out things like "get out!" and "thousand dollar fine!" There's a certain level of decorum we should maintain at concerts and while one person clearly ignored that by leaving their phone on, that's no excuse for the mob mentality that comes with the anger at the disruption. There's no need for angry shouts. I doubt that the crowd would have turned on that patron physically, although there was a brawl in the balcony at a Boston Pops concert a few years ago. In any case, let's try to remain calm even in our anger.

I do approve of Gilbert's reaction to the patron: abject humiliation. If it had been me sitting there, I would have been so mortified that I might not ever return to Avery Fisher Hall. I'm going back on Friday night and my phone will most definitely be turned off long before Alec Baldwin reminds me.

some quick thoughts on Saturday night's concert

What struck me about Saturday night's New York Philharmonic performance of Mahler's Ninth Symphony were the woodwinds. This symphony is a feast for the wind section and the Philharmonic's players (with extra flutes, oboes, clarinets, and bassoons) made a strong impression, especially in the second and third movements.  The double fugue in the third movement really stood out, as the entire orchestra plowed through Mahler's intricate counterpoint. The last movement, with its lush, full string chords, reminded me of the finale of his Third Symphony, but this time the melodies were more elegiac than romantic. Alan Gilbert and the Philharmonic received several well-deserved ovations, pointing out once again that New York loves Mahler (and, I hope, Gilbert's interpretations of Mahler).

I'm really looking forward to Saturday night

Saturday night will be my first of two New York Philharmonic concerts this month, the other one next Saturday evening.  Paul Pelkonen at Superconductor posted a review of last night's performance and it sounds like Alan Gilbert has successfully transplanted his approach to Mahler's Ninth Symphony from his previous post at the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra to New York.  Yesterday, I listened to Gilbert's 2009 recording of the symphony with that ensemble and hoped that I'd hear something similar to that on Saturday.  It sounds like I will.  Also, Thomas Ades' new work "Polaris" uses antiphonal brass, which is always a plus.

I'll try to have a brief review of my own up here on Saturday or Sunday.

Ooh, Google+ integration!

With a few clicks of the mouse, my ancient profile photo from my 2004 business trip to Tokyo is gone, replaced by a photo from earlier this year(?), and I've linked this blog to my Google+ page. Unless there's a way to cross-post Google+ posts here, I don't see this making a big impact on my blogging life.

I could have predicted this would happen

The Times has an article today about the etiquette of talking to your cellphone's "personal assistant" in public. Surprise: most people don't like when others do it and think it's creepy. We are still working out the rules and behaviors for using this new feature on our phones. And while the best implementation is on the iPhone 4S, it won't be long before Android and Blackberry phones add personal assistants. We're only going to see more of these apps.

I have a iPhone 4S, but I haven't gotten into a habit of using Siri for much more than the occasional reminder or alarm. Even at home, where I'll talk to my cats like they're people, I'm reluctant to talk to my phone lest my girlfriend think I'm crazy. And at work? Forget it. My co-workers would think I'd lost my mind if I dictated messages to my phone. So that leaves out in public on the street, where I don't care what people think. Unfortunately, Siri doesn't work well in loud environments or in areas with poor network coverage, so dictating alerts or web searches is difficult. As the service improves and our societal comfort level with it increases, I'm sure I'll use it more. But for now I'll stick to typing out my messages as much as possible. It's cramped but it certainly is quiet.

Don Giovanni at the Met

On Friday evening we had the pleasure of seeing the Metropolitan Opera's new production of Mozart's Don Giovanni.  It had been about five years since I'd seen a Mozart opera at the Met (or anywhere else) and Don Giovanni had long been on my my list of must-see operas, so I happily bought two tickets for this production.  Our seats were in the dress circle, which not only gave us a great view of the stage but of the orchestra pit as well.  We could watch conductor Louis Langree as he led the singers and orchestras through this long masterpiece, and we could see the musicians come and go as needed.  The trumpeters only appeared a few minutes before they had notes to play, disappearing through a back door as soon as they were done.  The lone trombonist played at the beginning and the end. 

The sets weren't too elaborate, allowing the singers to be the show instead of the scenery.  The fire effects that shot out of the floor at the end, when the Commendatore condemns Don Giovanni to hell for his actions, could be felt all the way in the back of the hall.  It was a most impressive ending.  

The opera itself was outstanding.  Mariusz Kwiecien played the title character as a breezily dark lothario, not quite evil but unconcerned with the repercussions of his womanizing ways.  Luca Pisaroni's Leporello provided plenty of comic relief throughout, but especially in Act II when he pretended to be the Don and distracted Donna Elvira.  Speaking of which, Barbara Frittoli played Donna Elvira mostly for comedic effect, though her pain at her multiple betrayals by the Don was evident in her arias late in the opera.  I enjoyed this production so much that by the end my face was sore from smiling. 

Being late for the Philharmonic isn't so bad

We left Brooklyn at 6:45 PM for a 8 PM New York Philharmonic concert last night. The subways are always screwed up on weekends but I assumed that allowing ourselves over an hour would leave us plenty of time. However, the D train had other plans. Our train stopped between Broadway-Lafayette and West 4th Street, and we sat for about 20 minutes. The conductor told us that there was a power problem north of 59th Street, so the D trains were all unloading passengers at West 4th Street and that we would unload there as soon as possible. We didn't get to West 4th until 7:40 PM, and even after a quick transfer to the 1 train at Christopher Street we didn't get to Avery Fisher Hall until a few minutes after 8 PM. It was the first time I've ever been late for a concert.

The ushers directed us to the Helen Hull Room on the second tier level, where the orchestra holds its pre-concert lectures. There we found several rows of chairs facing a big-screen TV and high-quality speakers, and we were able to see and hear most of the first piece on last night's program, Schubert's Symphony No. 8, "Unfinished." I was a little out of sorts to really focus on the music, but I appreciated the balance among the sections. There were elements of the harmonies that conductor Kurt Masur brought out that I hadn't noticed before.

At intermission we took our seats in the hall for the second half, Dmitri Shostakovich's Symphony No. 13, "Babi Yar." I like Shostakovich's music and I especially enjoyed the first two of the five movements. Yevgeny Yevtushenko's poems were the text that Shostakovich set to music, and his treatments of "Babi Yar" and "Humor" matched the words and reinforced the poet's message. "Babi Yar" was harsh, brutal, and mournful, while "Humor" was a scherzo full of jovial passages in the strings and winds. To be honest, the last three movements didn't really hold my full attention, and while I appreciated the work of the lower strings and the brass and the sounds of the soloist and mens' chorus, the music itself didn't really resonate with me. I will find a recording of this piece and listen to it again, though.

At the end of the symphony the nearly full hall gave the Philharmonic and Masur a long and resounding ovation. Masur has maintained the appeal that he had when he was music director here, and if anything, the city's love for him seems to grow each time I see him conduct here. I hope he has many more years of conducting ahead of him. He clearly has much left to say and do in that role.

The final chapter in the Steven Slater saga?

I saw this Gawker story yesterday while I was out of the office. Steven Slater got probation and a fine as a result of his emergency exit abuse in August 2010.

This has been your occasional update on Steven Slater, now and likely forever the number one story ever on this blog. I am in his debt and thus consider myself obligated to post about him whenever he resurfaces.

a quick coffee-buying rant

There should be two lines at the Dunkin Donuts on Cortlandt St. by my office. One for tourists and occasional coffee/donut consumers, and another for people like me who know what they want and are paying with a debit card. I can be in and out of there in one minute. I don't have time to get stuck behind four tourists who don't know what a cruller is or which cream-filled donut to try this morning. Make way for working stiffs like me.

A quick trip through Occupy Wall Street

During lunch today, I took a walk through Zuccotti Park, home of the Occupy Wall Street protest movement.  I'd checked them out from outside the park many times, but I'd never ventured into the park itself, not since they moved in three weeks ago.  Maybe it was the fear that I'd see or smell things I didn't want to experience.  Maybe I was afraid I'd see a sign that struck me and I'd quit my job and join them.  Or maybe it was the thought that the minute I waded into the mass of people would be the moment the NYPD decided to clear the park and arrest everyone. 

None of those things happened.  I walked through the park unmolested.  In fact, it was enlightening.  They have a kitchen area with plates and bowls, and a "greywater" system for cleaning dishes.  They have a desk for registering volunteers, a library, and a cellphone charging station.  They have a daily message board with the park rules (including quiet time from 10 PM - 8 AM, keep your stuff bundled and wrapped when you're not sleeping, keep the central walkway clear).  If they don't have a cohesive list of "demands" or clear intentions, they at least have things organized down there.  It's a real community now, not unlike something out of a William Gibson novel. 

I had already decided that while some of the people there appear to be creative types looking for ways to express themselves, they're not all crazy hippies who are too lazy to get jobs.  My quick stroll today reinforced my impression that they're from everywhere, representing everyone.  I could be there, but for a few breaks I had earlier in my career.  They seem like rational, thoughtful people.  And I figured out after last Saturday's arrests on the Brooklyn Bridge that they're not going anywhere.  Even if the police moved in and arrested everyone in the park for trespassing, hundreds of people would be back in the space the next day.  The city, the state, and indeed the nation will need to figure out what to do with them. 

Andy Rooney retires

In honor of Andy Rooney announcing his retirement from 60 Minutes, I'll link to my own blog post from a few years ago about Andy's commentary.  I'll miss Andy complaining that he doesn't understand fruit or those newfangled motor cars everyone is talking about.

I'm not live-blogging tonight's opening night concert by the New York Philharmonic, but I might tweet a little while I watch. So there's that.

Something a little different for the NYC Century this year

Until this year, I'd always been a riding marshal for the Transportation Alternatives NYC Century.  After a sub-par performance for me in 2009, I decided to try marshaling with the Brooklyn Bridge crew instead.  I missed last year's ride, so my debut on the bridge was postponed to this year.

I woke up at 4:45 AM and arrived at the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge at 5:40 AM.  On my way across I played my favorite game: "Who's Just Going Home Now vs. Who's Up As Early As I Am?"  It turned out that most of the people on the bridge at that hour were early-rising tourists.  There were only a couple of other people there, and none of them were in charge.  There were also a couple of crackheads arguing over by City Hall Park, and I'm pretty certain they were just winding up a wild and crazy Saturday night.  As the eastern sky started to brighten, I noticed a tent going up over in the plaza by the park.  That was the rest stop/marshal sign-in station, so I got set up with a reflective vest and a marshal kit.  A few other marshals were there with traffic cones and signs, and they said I should just go pick a spot on the bridge to stand for the next four hours.  

I rode halfway across and set up directly between the two bridge towers, which seemed like a fantastic spot for photos and for telling riders to stay on the left and avoid pedestrians.  I was directly in the path of the riders as they came over the bridge from Manhattan, so they could see me and I could see them.   While it was a great location for those things, it was a terrible location to be in considering the conditions.  It was a chilly morning with a strong breeze coming from the east.  Even with the sun, I was shivering the whole time I stood there.  After a couple of hours walking back and forth and picking up wayward traffic cones, a rider coming from Brooklyn stopped and suggested that we put someone further down on the Brooklyn side, saying that there had already been an accident back there.  I wasn't sure what she meant, but seeing as how I wasn't doing much other than freezing in my original location, I decided a move was in order.  I rode down to the Brooklyn tower and stood facing Manhattan, directing riders to be careful as the next section of the path was narrower than the rest of the path on the bridge.  But I quickly figured out  the real problem: riders (not on the bike tour) coming from Brooklyn were riding right into the flow of cyclists on the tour coming from Manhattan.  I saw at least a half-dozen near-collisions, and one woman fell off her bike right in front of me trying to avoid an oncoming cyclist.   There was nothing much I could do other than politely shout at everyone to slow down and be careful.

I loved the views from the bridge, and I enjoyed looking up at the top of the tower and watching the clouds wheel past, making it look like the Brooklyn Bridge itself was moving.  But by 9 AM the novelty had worn off.  I was freezing, and no amount of pacing, shivering, or waving my arms was helping.  At 10 AM my shift ended, and I wasted no time riding back to the Manhattan side for a rest stop visit.  I told the rest stop crew I'd planned to ride part of the route, and they asked me if I would ride it as a marshal, so I agreed.  I rode back across the bridge to Brooklyn and picked up the ride route.  

Since I was about four hours behind my usual 100-mile pace, I decided to ride the 55-mile route for a change.  The first part followed last weekend's route to Coney Island and Marine Park, but then veered north and east through Brooklyn's Chasidic neighborhoods.  There was a heavy head wind along the East River in Brooklyn and Queens but I made it to Astoria Park around 2:30 PM.  After a few minutes rest I decided that I felt good enough to tack on the Bronx part of the ride for the bonus mileage.  I didn't have a cue sheet for the Bronx, so I caught up with some other riders who had sheets.  Even so, there was a little confusion in our group as we left the Van Cortland Park rest stop, and I think we may have ridden up a few hills that weren't on the route.  We got back on the route without too much trouble and returned to Central Park just before 6 PM.  That's usually the time I finish when I ride the whole century, so it was odd to see only 65 miles on my odometer.  

I had a harrowing ride down 2nd Avenue on the way home, featuring my closest near-miss with a car all year (thus fulfilling my yearly quota of near-misses).  I crossed the Manhattan Bridge as the sun set over Manhattan, giving me a little bookend for my day.  And I walked in my apartment at 7:05 PM.  At least it wasn't dark when I got home - that happened a few years ago.  Somehow I think I'll be more sore tomorrow than I was last week after my 92-mile ride.  Maybe it was all the pacing and shivering?

 

Dan Fienberg's takedown of the CW's new show "H8R" is required reading for TV fans, reality show fans, or people who just enjoy rants about terrible people doing terrible things.  Don't miss it. 

another Blogger redesign?!

Google updated the behind-the-scenes Blogger interface again. Now it looks more like Google+ or Gmail than it did before. But does this mean I need to upgrade my template again? I just switched to this one a year ago!

Google also released an official iPhone/iPad app for mobile posts. My previous mobile posting app, BlogPress Lite, never actually posted anything, so an official app is an improvement. Maybe I'll try it this weekend and see whether it works.

We missed the whole thing

I keep missing the big storms in New York.  I was out of town at Christmas when a massive blizzard swamped the city in 2-3 feet of snow for a week.  And last weekend I had the good fortune to be out of town for Hurricane Irene's visit to my adopted hometown.

My girlfriend and I had already planned to be out of town this past weekend for a couple of family events in Ohio.  By the time we were ready to leave on Thursday morning, the NWS had just updated Irene's projected path for New York.  As we were packing Mayor Bloomberg was on TV telling people to prepare to evacuate low-lying areas.  While we live in Zone C and we're well up a hill from the Gowanus Canal, I went to my basement storage room anyway and moved a few valuable boxes off the floor.  And I moved my viola onto the bed, just in case potential floodwaters came up into the apartment itself.  We left the cats with plenty of food and water (and I'd arranged for a friend to check on them on Saturday) and we got on the road.

By Friday afternoon the predictions of doom and destruction had gotten so bad that we went to Wal-Mart in Boardman, OH, to pick up some emergency provisions in case we returned to a Brooklyn devoid of power and rife with anarchy.  They had bottled water for sale at $4 a case, and I insisted we get three cases.  At that price, it would have been irresponsible not to buy it.  We also bought two heavy-duty LED flashlights, candles, granola bars, peanut butter, and jelly.  I thought we'd get bread on Sunday on our way back to the city.  As the weather predictions grew worse, on Friday night we decided we'd try to go back to New York on Monday instead.  I wasn't able to fully relax until Saturday afternoon and evening, no doubt helped by the samples of homemade wine my girlfriend's uncle served at a family picnic/tasting that night.  We got home late and I found myself watching a Times Square webcam, comforted by the bright lights and the knowledge that the city was still standing, at least at that hour.

As soon as I was awake on Sunday morning I was back online, checking Twitter and news sites for updates on the storm.  By 10 AM it was clear that the hurricane had spared the city the worst of its fury.  I relaxed and hoped that I wouldn't see a photo of a tree branch through my living room window.  I worried a little when I saw photos of the Gowanus Canal close to cresting its banks, but I never heard anything about the canal actually overflowing.   We drove to Johnstown to see my mother, secure in the knowledge that our apartment was OK.  Late on Sunday night, a friend tweeted that he'd gone to a bar on 4th Avenue and confirmed everything down there was clear.

The return trip to New York was the least eventful drive I've had in the past few months.  It was busy but there were no long delays or backups.  As we drove through Park Slope, we marveled at the lack of evidence of a hurricane.  The damage we saw looked like it was from a strong microburst, not a sustained storm.  The cats were fine when we got back.  Based on the mess they left us, they must have had quite a hurricane party.

32 (now 33) blog posts this year? WORST. BLOGGER. EVER.

It's true: Twitter and Facebook and Tumblr have all killed my blog.  Also, work has been kind of busy lately, so I haven't had much time to write.  But right now, I'm looking at my worst year ever and I'd really like to keep this blog going into a 10th year.  I'm not giving up on this forum yet.