The Arts Critic In A Non-Elitist World
There's lately been a remarkable amount of breast-beating going around the MSM critical community provoked by the recent rash of forced "retiring" of MSM arts critics nationwide from the MSM print pubs they served for many years — a few, for several decades. Their letting go was justified almost invariably by the suits at these pubs as having largely to do with the present and growing hard economic pressures threatening ink-on-paper publications, most particularly in the face of what is seen as a rapidly growing trend for ordinary folk to get their daily dose of critical arts commentary on the Web via writings to be found on an uncountable number of blogs by non-elitist bloggers writing non-elitist reviews in non-elitist language and in non-elitist terms ("A solid two thumbs up!") that a non-elitist public can (you should pardon the expression) relate to.
Well, it's a non-elitist culture we inhabit today, and we suppose the development of such a trend was only to be expected. It's now a prole's world out there, after all, and in a prole's world the first casualty is always and inevitably the arts. Not that the arts have ever been a high-priority item in America at any time in its history, and perhaps a thumbs-up (or -down) judgment is all The People need to satisfy their requirements. But while a count of thumbs judgment is perfectly adequate, even precisely what's called for, when reviewing the performance of, say, different brands of air conditioners, it tells us very little — almost nothing, really — about anything in the world of the arts. Are bloggers up to providing much more than that?
Why the hell not? Bloggers simply write in a different medium, and, pace Dr. McLuhan, the medium ain't necessarily the message. Problem is, very few if any bloggers are well enough informed and richly enough gifted to write like this:
When Mozart placed a loud, dark, bone-chilling chord of D minor in the first bars of Don Giovanni, he set a new precedent for operatic curtain-raisers: instead of charming his listeners into paying attention, he would stun them into submission, with intimations of the awakening of the dead and the opening of the gates of Hell. Modern scholarship suggests that Mozart may have derived aspects of his famous gesture from none other than Antonio Salieri, that most unfairly abused of composers, whose opera La Grotta di Trofonio, premièred two years before Don Giovanni, contains some strikingly similar demonic noises. Ever since, composers have tried to outdo each other with carefully engineered hammer blows of fate. Verdi’s Otello begins with a rumbling six-note dissonance; Strauss’s Elektra with a souped-up D-minor detonation; Alban Berg’s Lulu with a sharply stabbing figure that foreshadows the heroine’s fate.
Bernd Alois Zimmermann’s 1965 opera Die Soldaten, the story of a woman’s degradation at the hands of a series of heartless soldiers, has a prelude of such stupefying intensity that it stands for the moment as the ne plus ultra. The full orchestra sustains an enormous dissonance spread out over many octaves. Beneath it, the timpani pound out, "in iron rhythm," the note D — perhaps a nod backward to Don Giovanni. The onslaught returns several times as the prelude unfolds, though it periodically gives way to a frenzy of competing voices: the trumpets tangle in independent rhythms, violins buzz around maniacally in their upper registers, the timpani repeatedly fall out of synch with the principal one-two pulse. The music is at once hyper-organized and deranged, a death machine that leaves chaos in its wake.*
So what?, you'll say. Suppose critical writing like that disappeared from the face of the Earth forever and was replaced by a multitude of thumbs-upers and -downers? The wisdom of crowds, and all that, you know. Would the world come to an end?
We suppose not. But, then, at that point we wouldn't much care one way or the other.
* From, "Infernal Opera: Zimmermann’s Die Soldaten at the Park Avenue Armory", Alex Ross, The New Yorker, issue dated 21 July 2008. RTWT here.
