New York's Miller Theater opened its 2001–2002 season with the
Absolute Ensemble in the New York premiere of Mark-Anthony Turnage's Blood on
the Floor. This hour-long work, a heady blend of jazz, rock and classical
styles, reflects the highly individual muse that guides executive director
George Steel, 34, as he enters his fifth season at the Columbia University-based
hall.
Though Miller's annual budget hovers around $1 million, the theater's programming encompasses a freewheeling mix of contemporary music, early music, jazz, cutting-edge theatrical presentations and classic Modernism. Such programming has made Steel — a conductor and former boy soprano — a much-admired figure in classical music circles. He has already caught the attention of the big guys at Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center, as evidenced by new collaborations between the former and Miller this season.
One of Steel's more unusual creations, a two-part series spotlighting the voluptuous French repertoire called "Opulent Music," gets underway on Saturday 3 November and continues on 16 December. andante's Brian Wise spoke with Steel about Miller Theater's new season and the challenges of presenting programs that are at once inventive, idiosyncratic and approachable.
Brian Wise: Your season opener was interesting, though risky even by Miller Theater standards. What made you decide to go ahead with this angry, hard-edged piece just two weeks after the terrorist attacks?
George Steel: In the days following the attacks, I was unsure of what to do, and it was hard to gauge the timing. In speaking with Mark [Anthony Turnage], he was nervous about it as well. But together with my co-producer, Mary Cronson [who is director of Works and Process at the Guggenheim Museum] and conductor Kristjan Järvi, we came to the conclusion that it was the right thing to do. Part of it was about restoring New York's cultural wealth in the aftermath. The whole attack was characterized by things missing — things missing from the skyline, people missing. I live downtown and there were no people around — it was just empty. And suddenly there were no concerts or people coming to New York. Those absences made me realize that we had to fill the town with music, and do it with things that are interesting and not just patriotic or elegiac but to restore the full breadth of cultural life in New York.
BW: It seemed that Turnage's work dealt with emotions like anger or fear that hadn't been tapped in other memorial concerts.
GS: Yes. There's another piece by Julia Wolfe called Window of Vulnerability that, to me, captured that enormous adrenaline rush of anger, fear, horror and panic. And other pieces like Ives' Unanswered Question or even Copland's Music for a Great City — the first movement of which is called "Skyscrapers" — have a kind of wounded grandeur.
BW: As a whole, the Miller Theater season is very diverse. Have you been consciously trying to broaden the programming?
GS: I'm hoping that no longer somebody can say, 'Oh, I don't like modern music.' More and more people will see that that comment has no meaning, because new music is everything: it's all kinds of music. We have made deliberate attempts to offer a Jazz Composer Portraits series that I'm thrilled about. Miller has a history of doing jazz concerts, but we wanted to create a context where you could learn about jazz, and respect it in the same way we respect concert hall composers, and I think this is the right way to do it.
BW: And that runs alongside so many dissimilar programs, like your early music series.
GS: Yes, we're doing this series called "Mary Triumphant: Music From the Chapel Royal of Mary I" that I'm very excited about. I think it has to be the first series of its kind in the U.S. that focuses on this very narrow period of time when Mary Tudor (a/k/a "Bloody Mary") was the Queen of England for five years or so (1553-1558). Basically, the message that history has given us is that she was a bad person, which doesn't seem to be true. We've gotten that message because after her, her half-sister Elizabeth came to the throne — a wonderful woman also — who was a Protestant. As they say, the victors write history, and so Mary the Catholic was cast as the last dying gasp of English Catholicism. When one examines that point of view, it's clearly bigoted.
BW: How so?
GS: I came to that point in looking at the music. When you study it you think that it's either Henrician, Edwardian or Elizabethan, but historians never bother to look closely at Mary's reign. In fact, it's clear now that there was an enormous flowering of music and that all of the composers from that period — Sheppard, Tallis and Byrd — were thrilled when Mary came to the throne. They said "Yee-haw," and revived this defunct liturgy.
BW: And the music became much more elaborate, no?
GS: It's incredibly splendid from a musical perspective, the choral pieces from this period — much more than a modern-day Latin Mass, for instance. There are several reasons why nobody knows about it: for one, it's incredibly difficult music to sing and requires a large choir. Two, these are long, symphonic-length pieces, 15 and 20 minutes a piece. And they have explicitly Catholic, florid, extravagant texts. Beyond that, they're hard to date to Mary's reign.
BW: You're obviously fortunate to have nearby St. Paul's Chapel at your disposal for these performances.
GS: It's the greatest. And this is a co-presentation with Music of St. Paul's, which is an initiative of the Chaplain there. In the final concert we'll be doing Thomas Tallis' Spem in alium with the Tallis Scholars, as well as an additional thirty singers. So we're looking at 40 polyphonic voices!
BW: This isn't the only co-production taking place at Miller this year. You have the "When Morty Met John" series presented in conjunction with Carnegie Hall. What is it like collaborating with Carnegie when you're known as the outsider in New York's musical landscape?
GS: I'm thrilled about it. There are two concerts I'm thrilled about. I'm conducting [Morton Feldman's] gorgeous Rothko Chapel, along with a few works by John Cage. The other collaboration I'm excited about is with Gidon Kremer and the Kremerata Musica, who will be doing Haydn's Seven Last Words.
BW: Miller Theater has been widely praised by critics for its cutting-edge programming, but also criticized for being cut off from the mainstream, for perpetuating the "new music ghetto." How do you bridge those gaps?
GS: In a way, these concerts came about because Carnegie Hall saw the importance of what we were doing and wanted to build a bridge between our two programs. So I think what [critics] are saying — what they realize and I realize — is that, given the selectivity of our programs, much of what we don't do is being done really well elsewhere. Nobody needs me to do a Beethoven string quartet series, because it's amply covered already. I have the luxury of being able to address under-represented music in New York. I feel deeply that New York should be the most interesting city in the world and heretofore it has not taken the [musical] role it ought to have. So my job is to fill out the picture rather than duplicate what's already here.
BW: Do you ever find yourself with too many ideas to choose from?
GS: Oh sure, but that's a good problem to have! There are fantastic projects every season and we're trying to build the series in every way — the number of concerts, the number and stature of performers, and the breadth. Also, Miller is a non-specialist environment. Paradoxically, we present concerts that appear very focused, like "Music From the Chapel Royal of Mary I," but in fact are not intended for specialists. The more you tend to specialize, the less you ask the audience to bring pre-conceived ideas about the repertoire.
BW: What does it take to become an impresario? If someone said that they wanted to start a series like Miller Theater's, what would you tell them?
GS: The most important thing is to do something you believe in. I guess that sounds kind of high-school-commencement-address-y. But look at the city and say, 'I've always wanted to see a masked gypsy orchestra, and how come there isn't any?' Find that thing which you're crazy about and is not done well. If what you love is the New York Philharmonic and you want to hear them play Mendelssohn — well that would happen and you don't need to do that. But if what you love is music from the Chapel Royal of Mary I, look around and say, 'How come nobody's doing this?' The more focused and honest the programs are, the more the public responds. Classical music is fraught with nervousness about not knowing the things we ought to know — at every level: performers, conductors, managers, publicists and the public. Everybody's like 'Oh gosh, I should really know the complete Beethoven piano sonatas, and I don't. Therefore I'm a bad person and I should do everything in my power to learn them.' The real answer is to find music you're passionate about and that will lead you to other music you're passionate about. So an impresario who runs a series should program music that he or she finds captivating. Whatever that music is — electric guitars, alpenhorns or Tuvan throat singing — you have to love it so much that you want people to listen to it. If you don't, please don't put on a concert of it!
BW: Is there anything that you like but can't program at Miller because it's just too "out there?"
GS: Nothing is too out there, actually! Nikolai Obukhov would have turned 110 next year and he has a piece called The Book of Life which made Scriabin look suburban. It's an insane piece requiring costumed performers and the like. I'm told that he never orchestrated the whole score, but it's for two pianos, a Theremin of his own devising, organ, chorus and a couple of singers. It lasts several hours, and it is nuts. My fantasy is to do that piece. It's so crazy that even when I think about looking at the score, I stop myself and say 'who's going to go to that?'
BW: Last season Miller presented the [British theatrical troupe] Gogmagogs, which was certainly pretty wild on paper but it turned out to be a big hit.
GS: Yes, there's been a lot of talk about theatricalizing music, and here
was a group that did that very well and created a tremendous buzz. There were
people who adored the show and were beside themselves about it. There were
others who said 'they were great but I would do it this way.' Either way, it
ignited passion. That's what music is supposed to do.
