In my position as publications manager I serve
as editor, writer, copyeditor, proofreader, managing editor, fact checker,
chief cook and bottle washer for the St. Louis Symphony's Playbill. It's a job
for which I take great pleasure and pride. I think of the printed program as an
extension of the St. Louis Symphony. It's one of the ways in which audiences engage with the Symphony musicians, the music they play, and the myriad of
things this organization does to maintain its overall mission: "to enrich
people's lives through the power of music."
Part
of my duties is the editing of the program notes. I don't write program notes,
but I've read plenty of them, in St. Louis and those written for other
orchestras. I figure I must know something about program notes, which I why I
feel confident in saying what I am about to say.
I
hate program notes. And, I think our program notes are pretty darn good. That's
not why I hate them (and you should know that I'm saying "hate" to be
dramatic). And yet, if I see members of the audience reading program notes in
the middle of a performance--say, in some slow movement of Brahms; or during an
unfamiliar piece by Thomas Adès--I cringe.
I'm
thinking: It's all there for you. Listen. Watch (because the concert experience
is visual too). Be here. Now! You don't need to read this stuff while you're
experiencing it. Moreover, I think you are distancing yourself from the
experience by reading the notes. Put the book down!
So,
as you can tell, I'm in a bit of a dilemma.
(to be continued)