Success = Failure
I'm reading an Ian McEwan novel at Malu's request. It was a summer reading assignment and I suspect she wonders if she "got it," so she asked me to read it too. I doubt she got all of it. For example, there is a lengthy passage in the 1st chapter where a composer muses on his work and how it relates to accepted academic trends in classical music. His own love of melody vs. late Schoenberg is mentioned as contrasting examples. A 15-year old with an American education can't be expected to understand the references to various academy endorsed styles as referenced by names like Schoenberg or Stravinsky.
I was fascinated by one phrase in this passage. The character says something like success = failure in classical music circles. He's implying that if one's music is accessible, approachable, or even remotely popular, the academic community will disown it. As far as they are concerned, it is therefore an intellectual failure.
I see where this whingeing is coming from. A lot of the downtown NY music community similarly drops an artist like a hot potato if that artist becomes popular with the world outside the cognoscenti. The press and critics often support this view — especially the British press. But, just as often, they adore certain success stories, especially if it is an "outsider," a gifted primitive or exotic.
Some say this is the metal capitol of the universe. There are certainly a lot of metalheads and t-shirts on the streets. It turns out the day we arrive there is a triple bill of Finnish Metal. The hotel lobby is awash with young men with straggly hair or full punk-Goth attire. One of our group points out that the metal girls could take some makeup pointers from their boyfriends, who are generally much prettier.
Conceptually, my favorite metal subgenre is nature metal, which incorporates howling wind sounds and other effects to create an atmosphere suitable for druids, gods, and maybe wolves.
Todd and I go check out one of the bands, a reunited 3-piece whose drummer apparently has had some alcohol-related problems but is dry now. He may be dry, but his head seems extraordinarily large. It's not my cup of tea, but these guys are incredibly tight. Every lick and fill is in synch. The endings are stretched out in elaborate displays of unexpected crescendos and explosions, one set of them following another, as if the endings to 4 different songs were being played together.
The following afternoon Malu and I go to the Spy Museum, which is in a building that seems to house a kind of shopping mall food court. There are lots of interactive displays, including voice-disguising machines that make you sound like Laurie Anderson. There's even a hidden room, which mainly deals with WWII and the Cold War, both of which involved Finland quite a bit, due to its proximity to Russia.
There are some really clunky recording devices. The CIA developed a wristwatch that didn't tell time but had a big wire trailing out of one end. And there's a deadly umbrella that shoots pellets.
We go to an exhibit of the history of Finnish shoe design and manufacture, which is less than inspiring. Finally, we hit a show of Finnish Hockey History. In the center of the room is a large plexi box that allows you to slam pucks at an electronic net.
