So why are there no indie orchestras? No underground, alternative, grungy, plaid shirt long hair movement? Sixty unemployed classically trained musicians getting together in a garage to jam it out. Disenfranchised, ticked off and ready to play. They have burned their tux. Threw away the rosin. Playing traditional repertoire at crazy and wild tempos. They don’t care if the score is marked adagio cause they are kicking it out allegro and always fortissimo. Furioso even.
Conductor? What is this a train? Who died and left Salieri in charge? Nobodies in charge. We’re all in charge. It’s synchronized chaos and it’s loud. A440? Close enough for chromatic harmony, baby. A cacophony of counterpoint. Polyrhythmic discord. And yes, the drummer gets a solo. That’s not a fanfare it’s a battle cry. It’s an overture to malevolence. Sweater vest wearing virtuosos that got beat up on their way to violin lessons are now greasy haired Doc wearing storm troopers of diatonic discordance all jacked up on fugues and sonatas. Don’t wanna get bitch slapped by an arpeggio wielding oboe player? Then duck.
If you can’t stand the heat then stay outta the orchestra pit. And baby it’s a pit. A philharmonic polyphonic mosh pit. It’s a hemi demi semi quaver world and we’re grinding out compositions of contrapuntal complexities with chromatic cadenzas.
If it’s baroque fix it. Suck on that semi-tone.
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