Why Musicals?

Tudor Vladescu - PhD, Philology. Cultural anthropogy and comparative literature researcher. Assistant Professor, School of Arts, Letters and Sciences of USJ.

Actually, there’s no reason for musicals ever to be performed other than the passing on to the public a vague impression that they’re consuming culture. As I expressed this idea to a member of the Macao orchestra, he more or less exploded: “How can you say something like that? You have not been to the great musicals.
They’re pure magic!” He continued, adding passion for his argument and giving examples that would have convinced a hip-hopper of the quality of musicals.
I stubbornly held on to my idea. I was thinking: why can’t I, a humble concert-goer with no musical education, why can’t I just be honest and clearly state and defend the fact that I might dislike something that, apparently, everybody considers as sacred? Even if I had to pay the price of being considered square, limited or purely insensitive, declaring my own idiosyncrasy was very close to costing me a friendship. Only once, at the Peter Ustinov Theatre in Bristol, did I feel some kind of artistic shiver during a musical. It was a kids’ show, and it was so interactive and fun that I considered myself lucky to be there. Other than that 1999 event, no musical has ever moved me. In London, “Cats” and “The Phantom of the Opera” banners were, for me, a waste of material. I preferred fringes. These being said, I think that my chances of doing musical criticism have gone up in smoke. Still, as a kind of good-bye to this journalistic genre, I will try to share with you my last experience of the – this time - symphonic musical performances in Macau. The last Macau Orchestra concert was really bad. As I was listening, I could feel that something was wrong. A very respected musician from mainland China, Fou Ts’ong, tried to keep the rhythm with the orchestra, but failed most of the times. Don’t get me wrong: he ‘felt’ Mozart, but his performance would have been brilliant forty years ago, at the probable peak of his career. Sometimes, people have to know when to step down, even if everybody is asking them to keep going. Fou Ts’ong is a living legend, as he shattered the pre-conceived idea that Chinese cannot play classical music. But that was in 1955, when he was internationally recognized after a Chopin concert in Warsaw. A few weeks ago I grasped my only chance to see him, and I did, but now I’m thinking I would rather have heard one of his vinyl discs. Also, the conductor of the Macau Symphonic Orchestra was genuinely ‘living’ Anton Bruckner’s polyphony, but his contact with the musicians was, most of the times, minimal. It was as if the orchestra had not done any rehearsals and everybody was playing Symphony no. 4 in E-flat for the first time. Nobody would expect the Macau orchestra to level with the Vienna Philharmonic, but it looks as if not only the conductor – musicians link is damaged, but also that there is a lack of coordination between the management and the musicians. Musicians, individually, do their bit. Some of them are amazing. During the Bruckner concert, the French horn – the most difficult instrument for a Bruckner concert – was truly amazing.
But the overall performance, the teamwork one would say, was totally compromised. This might happen because in collectivistic undertakings, unless the individuals, together, are genuinely passionate about their collective effort, the result is disappointing. Still, on February 6th, the Cultural Centre Grand Auditorium roared with applause. Fou Ts’ong was called back twice and, as he played solo, I could feel his emotions and his fluency in music. But it was too late. At least for me. Generally, the Macau symphonic music public is very polite and everybody is clapping at the end of any performance, but cheering seems to be just an automatic response to the context: if you are going to a symphonic orchestra concert, you have to be on time, switch off your mobile phone, refrain from eating, drinking or smoking and, at the end, show your appreciation of the fact that culture has been laid upon you with a magic conductor’s ivory wand. At the concert, I did my bit of clapping, like everybody else. But that went on until I noticed that three chairs left there was a fifty-year old with his family. His face was grey with anger and he was not cheering. He was probably feeling cheated, like me. From him I learned of the freedom not to applause.

©MDTimes/ University of Saint Joseph