I Love You Judy, But Goodbye...

When I was a child, my parents regularly took me to concerts, the ballet, the theater and even the opera. Often I was the only child in the concert hall. It didn't feel odd to me, though. I was used to being the only kid around a bunch of adults. I was an only child, and a very, very nerdy child. I was already hot for Tudor history at age 8, after seeing Anne of a Thousand Days with my parents, spending allowance money on biographies of Katherine Parr or Jane Grey. (Don't even get me started on my lifelong Tudor love affair and how I loathe, hate and despise Showtime's The Tudors, and Shekhar Kapur for having turned my beloved Elizabeth into a foolish, romance-driven, ineffectual woman and belittling her rightful position as the only truly great Tudor...) I still remember when someone asked me in third grade who my favorite band was and I replied, without hesitation, the London Symphony Orchestra. It was 1969 and the anticipated answer was The Beatles. 

Well into my late teens and early twenties, concert-going meant seeing Pinky Zuckerman and Itzhak Perlman (playing together and telling jokes), Vladimir Horowitz or just going to hear chamber music and falling in love with Bach (J. S. not the other ones), Vivaldi and Scarlatti. My grandfather, before his big stints designing stuff for companies like IBM or working for NASA, or even just repairing everybody's TV in his free time for kicks, worked in the recording industry for a while back when Miami Beach was synonymous with the Rat Pack. I was schooled in all the great classical musicians of the 40's, 50's 60's and 70's, RCA Victor, Deustche Grammophon and why live recordings of Glenn Gould were better than studio ones (he hummed!). I could debate about whether the Bolshoi was better than the Kirov and why both made the American Ballet Theater look like a bunch of hacks in toe shoes. My first truly serious boyfriend/fiancé/man, were we wrong for each other but man, did we both love all kinds of music, was an opera lighting designer and he loved the fact that I didn't think opera was a drag and actually liked German and French operas, not just Italian operas but thought opera sung in English was just... well... awkward. (Exception: Carlisle Floyd's Of Mice and Men) 

Anyway, my husband, who truly loves me, survived many a season subscription to opera, to concerts, etc. I may love Kate Bush and Florence + Machine and the Beatles, but he knows I love my classical music. I was raised on it and a very large portion of it has been provided by impresario Judy Drucker, whose Concert Association of Miami is presently reinventing itself with great performers as Judy Drucker Presents... (much history here of her ousting and the subsequent failure, without her, of the Concert Association- she hobnobs with the best classical performers in the world and really they had no interest in coming if Judy wasn't there anymore). I was so happy to think she'd taken back the reins and was bringing top-flight classical concerts back to Miami. When I first heard it mentioned on Classical South Florida, the excitement, my excitement, was palpable.

I really, really wanted to believe that I could go back to being a season ticket holder for something related to classical music in Miami and that it would be better than buying cold and sterile CDs/iTunes albums, and that I could recapture the thrill of more than a decade past, when going to concerts was something to dress up for and look forward to. 

I like supporting the arts. I love and believe in the arts. 

But I no longer believe in the unbelievable hassle of going to performances here in Miami-Dade County. From flamenco (that recent Paco de Lucia concert at the Fillmore still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth) to Evgeny Kissin, attending concerts has become so unpleasant, so downright impossible, that I do not even begin to see the point of spending money on a ticket.

I am writing this while I had anticipated attending a Evgeny Kissin concert on Sunday afternoon at the New World Center on South Beach.

My husband and I dressed up.

We left with plenty of time.

We got to the venue parking lot, after fording our way through a dense stream of traffic, only to find it was full (with a rude parking attendant, no less), while the Miami Beach Convention Center parking lot, across the street and behind the ill-fated Fillmore Theater, was locked and empty. We drove around. We drove around some more. You should note that about 90% of all street parking in this area of Miami Beach is for residents only, by permit. 

At 2:55 pm, five minutes before the Evgeny Kissin concert was to start, we gave up. $96 of matineé tickets down the drain.

I'm done with preformances in Miami. 

I'm back to thinking about seeing theater, ballet and classical, on occasion in NYC, where I can visit with beloved friends. Where I can do so retaining my SANITY.

I was already jarred last fall by the production of The House of Bernarda Alba (Frederico Lorca) in which the old lady sat next to her friend translating the entire dialog throughout the performance, even after vocal complaints. And then there have been all the other concerts with the hassle of getting to the Arsht Center (guess what, have a whole bunch of events there at once, and you know, there might be some traffic and parking problems...) or the inability to tolerate the atmosphere, like with Paco de Lucia concert and all the milling around, the latecomers (an hour?), the beverage deliveries.

So Judy, I'm very sorry. I really wanted to support your comeback as the rightful queen of South Florida classical music. But Miami is no longer a place where anyone who truly enjoys the arts can attend the arts. Going to a concert shouldn't have to be so hard. But it is! Either you can't hear it, or your view is obstructed by beverage delivery, or you simply can't even park to get in on time, before the concert starts. 

It's pointless. It's a waste of money. It makes potential patrons of the Arts angry.

Attending concerts can be truly uplifting.

All too often in Miami, all you're left with is feeling robbed.

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© Bright Nepenthe, 2012

Concert-Going in Miami: I Didn't Realize This Was A Bar?

The Fillmore Jackie Gleason Theater, Miami Beach

(image credit: photographer unknown)

I've been going to a lot of concerts and performances this year. I really love going to the theater, to the opera, and to concerts. But sometimes I think it is very, very lucky that I don't have a carry permit in my charming Stand Your Ground state. I could really hurt someone and simply say they threatened my sanity.

Yesterday, I had the almost-pleasure of attending a concert by Paco de Lucia, one of the most revered flamenco guitarists in the world. And the performance would have been spectacular if it hadn't been for the utter hideousness of the audience experience. When the lights finally went down, almost 20 minutes after the official start time, people were still milling around, and I had that mezzanine-above-the-stars experience as the sea of illuminated phones below me took so very, very, very long to go out. Oh, wait. They didn't. After the concert's sponsor made the announcement to silence phones and prohibiting any flash photography, the first thing that happened when Paco de Lucia went out on stage was an explosion of flashes, even from the seat right on the other side of a friend that accompanied us. People continued to mill around, and to be seated, even an hour after the start time. Seated by loud ushers with flashlights. Seated in the middle of long, long rows, requiring everyone to stand so they could get to their seat. For an effing HOUR. After that first hour, people also started getting up to go out and order more drinks. Which waiters with trays of drinks and no flashlights then tried to deliver. In the dark. Blocking our view and frequently interrupting those listening, asking if they had ordered this drink, then moving further along to other rows when it wasn't the right row and right person. Cellphones were illuminated, at various points, in sufficient numbers to make me think I was at a Bruce Springsteen concert and he was playing "Born in the USA" or at a Billy Joel concert when he played "Goodnight Saigon." You know, like a tribute piece, where people all hold up lighters? At one point there appeared to be a board meeting next to the exit door. At least seven men were standing there, talking in low voices. I kept wondering where the bomb was or who they were looking for. It was incredibly distracting and incredibly disrespectful of the artistry on stage. A little boy in front of me, who couldn't have been more than 6 years old asked his dad at one point if he could get up and his father said no. But all those other people are walking around, he whispered. *eyeroll*  His father gave him his silenced cellphone and let him play games.

I've seen a lot of performers in this venue. From Natalie Merchant to Itzhak Perlman. From Melissa Etheridge to Radio Lab. From Dave Sedaris to Evgeny Kissin. I've been going there for decades.

When did this place turn into a bar? When did someone get the brilliant idea that the ticket holder always wins, can get in any time, no matter how disruptive they are and can order drinks delivered to their seat, to boot? I paid $85 a ticket to sit in a bar? Really?

Paco, Paco, Paco... you and your company got treated like dirt. No wonder Diana Krall will never return. And I don't even think they were serving drinks directly to the seated audience back then.


Here's the Paco we'd have liked to hear. Notice the lack of other conversations and that your view of the performer is not blocked by someone delivering beer and cocktails:

© Bright Nepenthe, 2012