Audience Torture at the Disney Hall

I HATE IT WHEN MODERN COMPOSERS who work a classical tradition feel it is their duty to torture audiences. Case in point, Nov 6, 2008 at the Disney Hall. The first clue is when you see on the program that the conductor is the composer, which means one thing: Vanity project. It will be atonal to “challenge the audience.” There will also be an overabundance of instruments — in modern classical, using lots of obscure instruments takes the place of anything as banal as a melody.

"Mozart was able to write some of the most beautiful music on Earth with only 23 instruments," I say to my friend Thurston. This in fact is true. Mozart composed with a great deal of economy. He is the Ernest Hemmingway of the classical music scene. "You can't keep playing the same thing over again," Thurston replies sensibly.

The evening starts off badly, with the symphony opening the program with “The Marsellais,” the French national anthem. Doesn’t this strike anyone as odd? Would the Paris symphony ever open with the “Star Spangled Banner”? We next come to Conductor Thomas Ades's original work, which is dreadful. Besides the use of bizarre instrumentation and an overstuffed orchestra, these modern pieces are always painfully discordant. It's as if they're trying to torture the audience.

It's like James Joyce's Ulysses, another audience torturer. Instead of just writing in a direct style easily understood by the reader, he opted for stream of consciousness, which is absolutley impossible to follow. People say it's the greatest novel in the English language, which is ridiculous, because no one has ever read it. Have you? Precisely. The reason is that Joyce has made his novel so prickly, so inaccessible, that it ends up being a big FU to the reader in the name of Art. Mr. Ades's pieces at the Disney Hall, America: A Prophecy and Tevot, were precisely the same.

Nine Inch Nails in the Afternoon

LAST JULY I RECEIVED A FRANTIC PHONE CALL from my 16-year-old son, Offspring 1. It was Saturday afternoon. I had just returned from a conference in Portland and was at the grocery store filling the Rhodes family larder when my phone started to vibe.

"Mom, you gotta be here in 15 minutes. I have an extra ticket to Nine Inch Nails." It was O1, cutting right to the chase and skipping all the supporting information, as usual.

Turns out his neighbor across the street works for the company that makes the sound system for the Nine Inch Nails tour and he had three tickets for a family and friends dress rehearsal show the band was doing that afternoon at the Forum. He had invited Ricky and a buddy, who was stuck on a flight that was delayed from Hong Kong. The buddy's ticket had become available and O1 had lobbied for me.

I abandoned my cart (sans groceries) and arrived just as they were idling in the driveway waiting for me. We drove to the Forum discussing music. The neighbor's company supplies the tour equipment for NIN and a lot of other bands and he gets tix to behind-the-scenes shows all the time. Note to self: be nice to neighbor.

At the Forum, we lined up for about 20 minutes and headed to a bar area with no alcohol service. "God, I'd kill for a beer," Neighbor said and I concurred. This will go on record as the first rock show I've seen in the afternoon and the first stone cold sober.

There were only about 100 people milling about near the stage at the Forum when Trent Reznor walked up to the mic and said hello. What an affable fellow, I thought, remembering that Courtney Love had referred to him as the "anti-Christ." Apparently she thought Marilyn Manson had wrongly assumed the moniker. (An aside: click on Marilyn's link — the opening montage of his site is damned cool.)

There are not words to describe the power, imagination and spectacle of this show. They created a curtain of light that they'd use in various ways to highlight their music. It would change colors in sound patterns, it would move into shapes, sometimes Trent would "paint" on it with his finger like a digital etch-a-sketch. Neighbor told me that they wanted to use the backdrop like an instrument, like a piece of art. The sound was absolutely perfect, and the band played in peak form. No holding back for the family and friends. By the time they closed with "Hole in My Head," I was making contact with the other members of the audience realizing what a privileged and extraordinary experience we'd just had.

The odd thing was the applause at the end of each song. After this boom of light and sound, a smattering of clapping echoing through the 20-thousand capacity venue seemed too meager. There is just so much noise 100 people can make in the afternoon, stone cold sober.

Disaster at Duffy or "turn away from the sparkly lights"

WHEN TICKETMASTER sent me an email alert that Duffy, the 19-year-old Welsh songstress, was coming to the Orpheum, of course I jumped on the chance to buy 5th row at face. I was blown away by her album "Rockferry." I'd first heard the title track on Indie 103 and immediately downloaded the album. She has a retro Dusty Springfield sound. Like Amy Winehouse minus the crack cocaine.

"Do you know anything about Duffy live?" I asked Dexter, my 20-something IT guy and music afficionado. Dexter has worked for my company for 4 years as our tech guru and magazine production manager. He also spins records as a freelance DJ. He is my walking google for music and tech.

"I heard she was great at Coachella," he responded from across the room.

That was enough for me. I purchased the tickets and called my fellow rock chick Natascha to reserve the date. Tascha and I have been seeing live music together for years now. We tend towards the classics (Areosmith, Stones, Roger Waters), but also do alt (Cat Power, Kings of Leon, Arcade Fire). I'm more alt than she is, but the most fabulous thing about Tascha is that she will say yes to anything. She doesn't have to know the musician beforehand to enjoy them live. (I do.)

Tasch picks me up and we head downtown to the Orpheum, which is a gorgeous old-time theater recently remodelled in a very seedy part of skid row. Inside we check out our seats and park ourselves with some beers, catching up before the show starts. The stage set-up is Sinatra-esque. The opening act is a chubby white guy in a lime green suit who sounds like Sam Cooke. Very odd visual/aural disconnect.

Then Duffy comes out. Jeez, what the hell is she wearing? White satin short culottes, pantihose and white high heels. She has a chubby backside and no business being in that outfit. Not sure if she can recover from this. She launches into one of the tracks from her album, and the crowd goes mental. "We love you, Duffy," they croon. I look around and suddenly realize she has a heavy gay male client base. They are dancing, singing along. That part I don't mind. I like passionate audiences. However, guys, there are limits.

She launches into "Rockferry," a beautiful anthem that showcases her vocal range. That was the highlight of the show. She continued on through her material and I started to notice the dorkiness of her stage presence, which included marching in place and twirling the microphone by its cord. Then she would turn sideways and repeat the marching and twirling.

"Yeah, that move doesn't get old," Tasch whispered.

Not sure what I was expecting. Something retro in an elegant way, "Swingers"-esque. What we got was approaching campy without being cool. Dumb camp. The songs kept rolling on. The crowd was pretty much on its feet, save for a swath of the audience that sat there sort of terrified.

"I've got to get you to the Rainbow Room, and fast," Tasch said, referencing the famous rock 'n roll venue on Sunset. "I think we need more alcohol. I'll get you a beer."

As she maneuvered her way past our gyrating row mates, the set lights turned blue. "Turn away," she said in a loud whisper, "turn away from the sparkly lights."

The AC/DC we played at concert volume on the drive home hit the spot.