Every episode in this podcast series is an experience. A snapshot in time. And in that moment, a reflection of both my curiosity and ignorance, and importantly the willingness of the contributor or contributors to meet that curiosity and fill in the void.
When I listen to the recorded conversations back my thinking develops. In that way, the Thoroughly Good Classical Music Podcast is one long sector-wide learning opportunity for me. The fact that other people enjoying listening back to it too is an unintended and serendipitous boon.
It’s a reflection of where my listening state is. I don’t really care if I know something or if I don’t. In some respects I’d prefer it to be completely unfamiliar. I’m interested in discovering how someone else’s art, their viewpoint, or their process helps develop mine. I want things to have impact on me. And when they do, I want to reflect on why.
What emerges from all of these conversations is that I’m increasingly fascinated by what connects audience member to performer, what role and responsibilities each brings the listening experience to create the art that moves us. And, when we’ve ascertained that, how we going about marketing that very experience in a way that’s authentic, respectful, and celebratory.
This conversation with Manchester Collective Managing Director Adam Szabo nudges me a little bit closer to that goal.
I first met Adam at a Kings Place concert (gig event experience – I’m not sure what to call it) where the music was varied, the volume was loud, and the impact was considerable. It brought me closer to the fundamental principle of what we’re dealing with here: sounds impact humans; the impact they have is what is important.
Adam and I met for a brief coffee in a noisy bookshop somewhere in Soho a few weeks later. After which we sat down for a podcast recording. This time with a bottle of wine. Red, of course.
Listen to the Thoroughly Good Classical Music Podcast on Audioboom, Spotify or iTunes.
I’ve been doing a lot of listening this week. Interviewing necessitates that.
There’s little point in preparing a list of questions to ask an interviewee, asking them, and then not listening to the responses.
Its the responses that offer the moretantalising opportunities for follow-up. The follow-up will always surpass your original expectations. It is the follow-up that yields the insight.
Four such interactions this week.
The first, a 90 minute conversation with pianist Peter Donohoe up in Solihull for a podcast.
Donohoe was an open, warm and willing contributor. He shared all sorts of things about performance that deepened my understanding of piano music. He put me at ease, unwittingly legitimising me as a reasonably knowledgeable punter. Ninety minutes of conversation that closed the gap I sense between auditorium and the stage.
It was also a conversation where I felt so completely ‘in flow’ that the previous ruminations about invoices, payments, and impending bills seemed like a world away.
Interviews then – the necessary process of listening – helps me refocus attention on the now. Not only are these experiences an opportunity to create meaningful content and demonstrate skills and services to those with a budget, but they’re also moments to deepen thinking.
Realising I’d fallen into a listening and questioning habit only really became apparent when I attended the Philharmonia concert on Thursday (review to follow). It was the conversation with a marketing type afterward in particular which brought things into focus for me.
The content of the conversation is of course off limits, but its impact isn’t.
The questions came easily.
It was an exchange which reminded me that the classical music world I occupy in my mind’s eye both here on the blog and in the podcast, has a different vista from that seen by those who seek to generate business in the art music world, for example.
The core classical music audience isn’t as large as I might picture it in my imagination. It also doesn’t represent the biggest ticket-buying awareness-raising opportunities. Those opportunities are to be found in those who don’t consider the concert hall as their go-to location; those who don’t seek out classical music experiences or who don’t come very often.
Concentrating on the wrong people
This valuable perspective shook me a little.
I am a content producer – sometimes paid, sometimes not. My ability to pay the bills is, through choice, directly linked to my content production strategy. And the success of that strategy is dependent on it being in concert with the strategies of marketers and PRs.
There is no point in striving to create content that seeks the validation of or satisfies those who already know about the genre, because those individuals aren’t representative of the kind of audience the wider industry needs to attract. Such an inward-looking strategy doesn’t really help me nor the industry I’m seeking work opportunities from.
Think like a marketer
I mentioned earlier that this insight shook me. Its initial effect was similar to the thinking I have indulged in the past and ended up succumbing to – that which usually ends up with me abandoning a particular path because of a sense of frustration or impatience.
But it went further than that for me. There are skills I have that are useful (ergo billable) to the industry I feel a part of now. That those skills aren’t getting snapped up yet is either because I’m not as good as I think I am (a possibility), or more likely because I haven’t found the right way to integrate them yet. And that means thinking from the same perspective as a marketer.
But 48 hours later I notice a slight shift in my thinking.
Digital natives who understand the positive impact an authentic digital publishing can have, are in the business of awareness-raising and community-building; we’re not contracted to sell tickets. What we say to raise awareness and who we say it too is what is important.
And that for me means looking wider that the world I consider home, recognising that classical music – whether it be live performance, recorded music, or the content that surrounds it – doesn’t exist in a bubble. It has to be considered alongside a great many other experiences.
If content producers are to raise awareness and build community around the subject they care passionately about, then they need to look wider than the subject itself. They need to think like marketers.
And by shifting that thinking and opening my mind to looking at classical music as an experience or product – from the perspective of sales and business – then the need for other information is necessary. As if by magic, Barclays Investment Bank on Twitter provided a useful primer on Generation Z, and today, Manchester Collective’s Adam Szabo writes on Medium about branding.
Paid for packages
The day after the marketing conversation began with an interview with Czech Philharmonic Education Manager Petr Kadlec about the orchestra’s work with Chavorenge and music director Ida Kalerova.
Chavorenge – a collection of Roma children given the opportunity to develop life skills through choral singing experiences – sang on the first day of the ABO Conference in Belfast a few weeks back. The paid podcast gig garnered some valuable material and useful introductions, of which this interview was one.
Twenty minutes on the telephone plus another two hours editing, and the finished product is pushed gently onto the internet. I finished around 3pm and started on a handful of household chores, not returning to listen again the finished product until the early evening.
What I find pleasing listening back to it even now is the flow of the exchanges and the storytelling that emerges.
I like the occasional splashes of personality in the contributors characterised by the laughs, contrasted with the sheer wall of warmth and love that emanates from the singers themselves. That I remember ruminating quite a lot about the bills at the same time as editing makes the finished product all the more pleasing.
Obviously, there are one two technical errors with it. But that’s just the perfectionist talking, I like to thin.
One of my musical discoveries this week really touched me emotionally. When I first met the OH, his classical music library was small but proud. I don’t lay claim to having expanded his tastes – he’s done that himself through personal discovery (I like to think because classical music has been part of our regular music experience).
Over the past year or so I’ve seen him introduce me to unexpected delights. It is almost as though the emphasis has swung the other way in the relationship in that respect.
So, yesterday morning as the pair of us sit down to read, he puts on some piano music.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Beethoven, I think.”
“Why did you pick this out?”
“I like the picture of her on the cover – the one that looks like she’s hanging on to her ears in case they fall off.”
It was electrifying stuff. My right hand started to grip the sofa cushion. I sat transfixed throughout the last movement of Piano Sonata No.30 – agonising beauty in the initial theme, extrapolated in an epic series of variations, including one Bach-esque fugue that cycles through some eyebrow-raising harmonic progressions.
It was the first time I heard it. What I heard brought tears to my eyes. Listened to it this morning and the same thing happened again.
After that, a brief scoot through Edmund Finnis’s collection of new works on NMC, this year marking 30 years of supporting new composing talent.
The opening track, The Air, Turning is a tantalising collection of textures that brings me alive, holding my attention throughout by presenting something that feeds curiosity with an imaginative world constructed with fascinating colours.
I want to spend a little more time paying closer attention to the release as a whole. It has a 70s concept album feel to it, the idea of which excites me a great deal. But in the meantime, be sure to listen to the gloriously eery Elsewhere. My current squeeze.