The Little Orange
The Orchestra Critic’s Controversy
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The Plain Dealer, I read in Cool Cleveland, has reassigned music critic Donald Rosenberg from covering the Cleveland Orchestra to covering, well, it sounds like any other musical event in town so long as the Orchestra’s not there.
I’m unsure of how to deal with the Orchestra on this blog for one reason: I used to work there. No, no, not as some spotlight virtuoso as everyone always assumes — as if an orchestra of 100 players can function autonomously. As if the concertmaster puts his own stand onstage, and the principal oboist mails out tickets. As if I would’ve quit.
When I first started at the Orchestra, my dad said I would get to see it “with its pants off.” And I did: this cultural force, profoundly venerable, public faces of which made me weak in the knees, I dove into its human mess. And like any other organization run by humans, it was messy. It was smart, it was dense, it was political, but no matter the mess, I still felt lucky to be there. My respect for the institution remained intact despite lower squabbles, and so I want to avoid delving too deeply into my experience there for all the world to see.
While I was at the Orchestra, Donald Rosenberg had an internal reputation as, essentially, unpleasable. For all the brilliance that we on staff heard over the intercom every day, Franz and friends never seemed able to win him over completely. But as Tim Smith of the Baltimore Sun writes, that’s a music critic’s job. He’s not paid to laud; he’s paid to discern. He’s paid — or he should be — to add another level to the concert-goers’ experience, to introduce intellectual perception to what is otherwise mere sensory indulgence.
I believe that for all his detraction, Don’s keen observation of and decades-long dedication to the Orchestra made him one of the organization’s major benefactors. Left alone, classical music seeks an ivory tower. It becomes impenetrable to its patrons because of the singular vision of the talent at the top. Given that some narrow focus is necessary in any artistic pursuit, voices like Don’s are essential if the vision is to remain balanced, realistic, and, as the treasurer/timpanist knows best, sustainable.
It’s a shame the Plain Dealer reassigned Don, and if it was political pressure that did him in, it’s an embarrassment — for the PD, for the Orchestra, and for whatever insular dullards pulled the strings.
Barbara Anne Bridal Shoppe
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Commuting by bus or rapid or foot is my daydreaming time, and my favorite daydreaming topic is Cleveland and how to make it better. I’m a geek for the city’s potential.
One of my bus stops faces what looks like a completely empty four-story building. The bottom floor is titled “Barbara Anne Bridal Shoppe,” but it looks like the last dress it made is probably no longer in style:
So while I stand there waiting for the bus, I daydream about what the building could become. As it’s on Ontario just south of Prospect, the location is fantastic for foot traffic around Tower City and to the Q and Progressive Field. I can’t imagine it was taking maximum advantage of its location as a bridal shop.
Then I think, wow, that’s a nice font:
And I think, whatever the building becomes, it should use at least some of the letters from “Barbara Anne.” But the only thing I’ve been able to come up with is “Bane bar.” I’m not sure what a kind of bar the “Bane bar” would be, or, more importantly, whether anyone would go in.
I’m not certain the building’s abandoned, but if it is, it’s hard to believe it’s sitting a block away from Public Square. Then again, that’s Cleveland. It’s sort of in an awkward spot, facing the side of Tower City (and the Lebron poster, which alone says prime real estate to me). It’s a neighborhood of parking garages, which some might think is the lot’s best possible function. Then again, Fat Fish Blue anchors the parking garage just on the other side of Prospect.
The other day I surfed over to the website of North East Ohio’s Coalition for the Homeless and read some of their Homeless Grapevine archives. I saw several mentions of both the organization’s and homeless people’s desire for an alternative to shelters — something more permanent, more private, and possibly pay-to-stay.
That reminded me of a blurb I’d read in O Magazine (where else) a while ago about Rosanne Haggerty, a woman who bought a failing “homeless hotel” in New York City and turned it into supportive housing.
It seems like a building like the Barbara Anne Bridal Shoppe, given its size and location and assuming it’s in okay shape, would be a good starting point for such a project. But when it comes to putting an idea like that into action, I’m lost. Money, people, laws, etc. — I have no frame of reference, and it intimidates me. I don’t feel “prepared.”
Those are the thoughts that any of us have to overcome if we are to move from daydreams to doing. Still, maybe I’ll practice on something smaller.
(The best use of “Barbara Anne” I can come up with for supportive housing involves turning one of the N’s upside down: “urban area.” Descriptive, yes; inspiring…)
Walking the Bridge
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I have this dinky little digital camera whose rebate was more than half the camera’s cost. I got it so I’d have something small that I wouldn’t feel too terrified of losing while flailing around drunk at weddings. Turns out it can do kind of impressive things. Witness my twilight walk across the Lorain-Carnegie bridge, sans tripod:
It was all but dark on my walk, after 8 p.m. just a couple weeks ago. Though the post-sunset sky was gorgeous, the city actually looked more like this to my non-digital eyes:
So go spooky little surprisingly talented camera!
