On a transatlantic flight I recently found myself revisiting "The Devil Wears Prada" (I know, I know…). I had last watched this film as an undergraduate, and back then I assumed that its sole purpose was to show us Anne Hathaway wearing designer outfits. Well, as ever, I'm happy to be proven wrong: upon seeing it again, I wondered whether the whole thing wasn't just a large-scale, thinly-veiled critique of the Early Music industry. Consider the following quote, spoken by the Prada-clad Demon herself:
"You think [fashion] has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis: it's actually cerulean. You're also blithely unaware of the fact that, in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then Yves Saint Laurent showed cerulean military jackets… And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of eight different designers; then it filtered down through the department stores and trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs, and it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room."
This sounds suspiciously like a sentiment that's been voiced about, in, and around the early-music movement. (We all know Taruskin, Butt and Haynes; now a newer book has joined the ranks!) It's also an issue that strikes me as one of the most important facing young performers on both period and modern instruments. The value of treatises is a topic of almost constant debate among my colleagues. Many musicians of my generation are rebelling against the sources, instead building their sound, style, and approach around the recordings and teachings of their elders.
This may seem prima facie okay. But consider the fact that our entire picture of the way early music sounds was, in fact, an invention of these elders. Of course, they read their sources and did their homework, but the sources are not oracles. In the current state of early music, we under-30s are like Anne Hathaway: playing in a style that was selected for us by musicians in the '60s and '70s. (And, as an aside, what do we really think of the older interpretations now? Often we find their playing somehow lacking -- as we should, because tastes change -- yet we continue to take many of their stylistic assumptions for granted.)
This state of affairs is especially dangerous now, for two reasons. For one thing, the generation of pioneers is in its senescence, and new creative, innovative, thinking leaders must be ready to carry the torch. More important, Early Music's place in the larger classical-music world is changing. In the UK, even the most respected baroque orchestras seem to be struggling, while some adventurous modern groups are successfully incorporating into their concerts baroque works that were once the sole domain of period performers.
The Early Music Movement's success has created a breed of highly-informed modern musicians who can play very stylish Handel one night and technically-assured Berio the next (or, in some cases, both in the same night) -- and do it all in tune. From an audience's perspective, why shouldn't that be preferable to the technical clumsiness we hear in some of the less-polished period performances?
Early Music will face many challenges in the coming years, but one thing that my generation can do to further its cause is to return to the 17th- and 18th-century sources. Re-invent the sound of early music for the 2010s, re-examine the assumptions underlying the way we play, and challenge the habits of our musical forebears. Rather than "wearing a sweater that was selected for us" 40-50 years ago, we can use the sources to update authenticity. This would give listeners another new way to hear music, and would also keep period performers unique -- not impoverished copies of our modern-instrument colleagues.
This may seem prima facie okay. But consider the fact that our entire picture of the way early music sounds was, in fact, an invention of these elders. Of course, they read their sources and did their homework, but the sources are not oracles. In the current state of early music, we under-30s are like Anne Hathaway: playing in a style that was selected for us by musicians in the '60s and '70s. (And, as an aside, what do we really think of the older interpretations now? Often we find their playing somehow lacking -- as we should, because tastes change -- yet we continue to take many of their stylistic assumptions for granted.)
This state of affairs is especially dangerous now, for two reasons. For one thing, the generation of pioneers is in its senescence, and new creative, innovative, thinking leaders must be ready to carry the torch. More important, Early Music's place in the larger classical-music world is changing. In the UK, even the most respected baroque orchestras seem to be struggling, while some adventurous modern groups are successfully incorporating into their concerts baroque works that were once the sole domain of period performers.
The Early Music Movement's success has created a breed of highly-informed modern musicians who can play very stylish Handel one night and technically-assured Berio the next (or, in some cases, both in the same night) -- and do it all in tune. From an audience's perspective, why shouldn't that be preferable to the technical clumsiness we hear in some of the less-polished period performances?
Early Music will face many challenges in the coming years, but one thing that my generation can do to further its cause is to return to the 17th- and 18th-century sources. Re-invent the sound of early music for the 2010s, re-examine the assumptions underlying the way we play, and challenge the habits of our musical forebears. Rather than "wearing a sweater that was selected for us" 40-50 years ago, we can use the sources to update authenticity. This would give listeners another new way to hear music, and would also keep period performers unique -- not impoverished copies of our modern-instrument colleagues.
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