STAGES Winter 2020

BOSTON

CONSERVATORY AT BERKLEE

A special edition of STAGES Magazine on how Boston Conservatory at Berklee community members are rising to the moment, in their own words 2020

Dear friends, I write this as the year 2020—one like no other—draws to a close. A year that saw unprecedented challenges and transformations for our world, our country, and for our school. A pandemic that upended our lives in unimaginable ways, particularly for communities of color, and with a profound impact on the performing arts and how we teach them. A painful reckoning with the persistence of structural racism in our society and within our institutions. A divisive presidential election that continues to test the strength of democracy itself. Loss of life and livelihoods. Wildfires raging in the West and in Australia as yet another terrifying example of climate change. Physical separation from loved ones, friends, and fellow artists. The list goes on.

Despite these profound and continued challenges, our community has risen to this extraordinary moment in extraordinary ways. That’s why, for this issue of STAGES, we reimagined our magazine as a platform for our community—a virtual stage, if you will.

This issue’s theme—rise—is devoted to elevating the voices of our students, faculty, staff, and alumni, who have continued to articulate the human experience during this uniquely trying moment in our collective history. The works included here are a testament to how creative minds, bodies, and spirits are processing and responding to these times: making meaning, searching for answers, channeling outrage, finding connection, and changing the world for the better.

Toni Morrison writes, “Art invites us to take the journey . . . into bearing witness to the world as it is and as it should be.” At Boston Conservatory, we often talk about the artistic journey—that being an artist entails engaging deeply with one’s place and time and giving it creative expression. It’s a dynamic that involves probing inward and outward, and, as Morrison suggests, imagining a better world.

In this spirit, we invite you to explore and engage with this special issue, organized around four parts: Reflect, Disrupt, Advocate, and Rise.

I think of these as signposts along our journey as a community of artists navigating the year 2020 and beyond. Despite our physical distance, our students, faculty, alumni, and staff achieved what was previously unthinkable, and continued to innovate, learn, create, and effect change. We are on this journey together, and we will get through this together, as a better school and society, because of you all.

Sincerely,

Cathy Young Executive Director Boston Conservatory at Berklee

Pausing, mourning, processing, and finding meaning in this moment 4 | STAGES

BREATHING IN Dean of Theater Scott Edmiston on the significance of breathing and what this collective pause means for theater artists

AUGUST Dance student Esther Farley finds connection and freedom in nature

IT’S THE COFFEE Theater faculty member Elizabeth Wong’s monologue takes us into the mind of Ruthie in the early days of the pandemic

THE JOURNEY Dean of Dance Tommy Neblett on embracing the present

STARS Contemporary theater student Carrigan Boynton, Zoom fatigued, turns to the night sky and thinks about distance differently

RESILIENCE IN THE ERA OF COVID-19 Voice faculty member Taylor James Stilson on self-care and adapting his teaching amid the pandemic

CONTACT Musical theater student Haley Dunning explores social isolation through a poetic play on words

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Breathing In

SCOTT EDMISTON Dean of Theater

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There is a strange, sad synchronicity between two events that have severely impacted our lives in 2020.

One, of course, is a pandemic caused by a virus that attacks the lungs and immobilizes breathing functions.

The other is the murder of George Floyd, whose dying words, “I can’t breathe,” continue to haunt our national consciousness.

We are, as a nation, without breath.

Over the past year, our knowledge and creative use of technology have advanced immeasurably, astonishingly, but digital communication doesn’t allow us to nurture and cultivate our spiritual selves. This is a universal phenomenon, of course, not something unique to our school. The word inspiration is derived from the Spanish inspiración, meaning “breathing in to put spirit into the human body and impart reason to a human soul.”

down my spine that comes when I hear a great musical theater song; to build connections and understanding across social, racial, and gender differences; and to be reminded of our shared values as a community and as human beings—what makes us laugh or moves us to tears. Those of us who are theater makers yearn for the daily discoveries and replenishing camaraderie of the rehearsal room. These elements of our work have grown more precious to me.

In this period of absence of live performance, I encourage you to find ways to take care of your mind and body, but also your spirit—our greatest source of truth as performing artists.

We are, as a nation, without breath.

Making art and attending the arts—dance, music, and theater—is a spiritual act. The closing of 40 Broadway theaters has been devastating. Perhaps even more devastating has been the cancellation of hundreds of thousands of professional, community, and educational theater performances nationwide. The arts give us regional identities and unite our communities.

Most of our theater faculty and many of our students work in Boston’s 100 theater companies. Twenty-one million people attended arts events in the Boston area in 2018—four times the number who attended sporting events. Has anything filled this empty space?

I miss having the opportunity to breathe the same air as the actors and my fellow audience members; to feel our hearts beat together; to experience the chill

I have come to think of this time as a pause. A pause can be beautiful and transformative. When actors take a pause on stage, it doesn’t mean nothing is going on; it means they are receiving what has happened; they are thoughtfully preparing for a response, for their next action, for the next moment. It is a time of breathing in, expectation, and heightened awareness. It is a time for choices filled with thrilling possibility.

Being a performing artist requires inspiration and radical generosity. During this dramatic pause, we must meaningfully prepare for the next stage of our artistic lives and a more racially just future. We must discover new techniques, learn and unlearn concepts, examine our personal and institutional values, and experiment with performance methods that will help us transform the world that awaits.

Artists are strong and resilient people. Our spirits are eager to be awakened again.

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August ESTHER FARLEY

B.F.A. '21, Contemporary Dance I created this video at the beginning of lockdown. It was a time when I felt disconnected from myself and others. I yearned for that feeling of belonging, so I turned to nature. Taking the time to dance outside is sacred. Feeling the water rush over you, hearing the wind whip through the trees, watching dragonflies zip by and birds flutter through the air humbles you. As a dancer, I am tethered to the ground, forever inhabiting my skin. With nature as the inspiration, I can mimic the freeness and agility of the world, building myself into a sensation.

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IT’S THE

Coffee ELIZABETH WONG

Associate Professor of Theater A KOREAN WOMAN or FILIPINA, sweet face, big eyes, possibly 40s. Her name is RUTHIE. She might have an accent.

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RUTHIE When this thing wasn’t a thing. When it was over there. When it was just news—over there. In China. I happened to visit a sleepy desert town, wherein I was standing in a beautiful rectory, with a small coven of people I didn’t know, at the funeral reception of someone I had never met, just to support my dear beloved friend whose dad had passed from cancer and whose funeral this was. Turned out he’s one of the founding pastors of this politically conservative evangelical church. I kinda knew that, so, it’s okay there weren’t any POC in this rightwing ultra house of the lord, except me, but I’m cool with it. Surrounded by a sea of grieving white faces. Fine. I even sing two songs from the hymnal.

So I’m standing there and holding a cup of coffee from the reception.

Hi my name is Ruthie. Very nice to meet you. Elbow bump. Ruthie, nice to . . . elbow bump. Awkward. But we all laugh. And then, as I take a sip, I inhale a cloud of coffee steam. Goes straight into my lungs. I cough. I cough again. One more for good measure. Three little dry ones, all of it into my elbow. And when I looked up, I see alarm in the eyes of these strangers. I mean the friendliness went poof from their eyes.

I’m the kind of person who gives the benefit of the doubt. But instantly, I fill in the thought bubble above their heads. He’s thinking, “She’s Chinese!” She’s thinking, “From Wuhan!” He’s thinking, “She’s diseased!”

The final thought bubble percolated—blup, blup—into my mind. All three of these lovely people are now all reacting instinctively in perfect coordination, simultaneously, for real, they took one step back from me!!! Can you believe?

Okay, I understand, so okay, I excused myself and go refill my coffee cup, leave them to their collective sighs of relief. Interestingly, this thing happened in February. It’s now April, and there are only 23 cases of COVID-19 in my heavily Asian-99-Ranch/Get-a-Taro-Cake/Ten-PercentOff-Dim-Sum-Before-11:00-a.m. community. Only 23. So think on that!

Me? I don’t think about politics or who is to blame when I am intubating a patient. Even if you have the nerve, while I am shopping at Costco, to tell me to my face to go back to China, even though I am from [fill in the ethnicity] you dumbass, I will do my best to save your life.

Ruthie puts a stethoscope around her neck.

We watch her as she puts on her armor—a surgical mask, also a mask with cute animals or superhero characters on it; then finally, her face shield.

RUTHIE (CONT’D)

(In Korean or Tagalog) Okay, time to go to work.

She lowers her face shield. We stay on her face. Slowly, we see her eyes dull into a 1000-yard triple shift stare.

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The Journey TOMMY NEBLETT Dean of Dance

“I think God made the world round so that we can’t see too far down the road."

—Isak Dinisen

This quote, by my favorite author, has always reminded me to embrace the “now” and not worry too much about the “next.” It may not be what we wanted, but it's what we have, so make it special.

Photo Credit: Tommy Neblett

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Stars

CARRIGAN BOYNTON

B.F.A. '24, Contemporary Theater

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I have always hated FaceTime. Maybe it’s due to my lack of self-confidence or general dislike for awkward pauses in dialogue, but, in my mind, conversations should be in person; they just aren’t the same through a screen.

So, as you would imagine—and likely experienced yourself—when I discovered that classes were going completely remote, I was devastated. School, clubs, friends, and life experienced only through an 11x7inch screen. I was officially in video-chat hell.

Very quickly, I developed a new archnemesis: Zoom.

And, as quickly as it became my next greatest rival, it also killed my creativity.

I was faced with one life-altering question: What was the point?

I am an artist—at least I want to be. But, this method of life seemed completely contradictory to the essence of art itself. How can you share the beauty of the world with other people if you aren't allowed to exist near them?

Some things just aren’t the same through a screen.

I was questioning everything I had previously believed about my future in theater, and this feeling of despondence continued for weeks. Waking up, sitting in front of my computer, going to sleep: a tedious cycle to match the emptiness I felt inside. It was as if I could see time slipping through my fingers, dripping down my now-essential accessory: latex gloves. At this rate, I would never be successful. The best years of my life were dying right in front of me.

And, the tiny box I remained forever trapped in on my screen wasn’t the only thing that felt small. Don't get me wrong: I love my family. But, after a while, being stuck in your house gets old. Very old.

I needed something to change. I needed my motivation back.

Then, one night, probably after my little sister pushed one too many of my buttons, I decided to take a walk.

It wasn’t planned or ambitious: simply a moment to myself, a moment of fresh air.

As I passed the views of my neighborhood that I have come to know so well, I looked up at the night sky: stars—twinkling, bright. And I smiled. They existed millions of miles away from me, but still gave me a gift: a light show in the sky, a glimpse into space, a tiny piece of hope.

I started to walk every night to see the stars. I noticed their changes each evening, began to familiarize myself with their orientation; I grew fascinated with their patterns and processes. They were something greater than myself, greater than this virus.

And, as the walks slowly dissolved my extra quarantine pounds, they also removed my negative mindset.

It hit me: I will never be anywhere close to those stars.

We live in different galaxies. They don’t know I exist, and I will never know all of them.

But, despite our separation, I can still admire their presence.

Distance will end this pandemic. But, it can’t end passion, it can’t end exploration, it can’t end beauty, and it definitely can’t end love.

Things still suck, don’t get me wrong. And, I still dream of being in Boston every day. But, just because we can’t feel the warmth of the stage lights on our skin or the bodies of those around us doesn’t mean that we can’t make art.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell you that the way to get through the quarantine burnout is to go on walks in your neighborhood (although I promise, it won’t hurt). But, I am going to encourage you to look at distance a little bit differently. Perhaps it can serve as a motivator instead of a deterrent, inspire instead of dishearten.

Now, thanks to the stars, I strive to share a little bit of light from hundreds of miles away. And, although I still believe conversations are best face-to-face, I don’t despise FaceTime as much anymore.

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RES

My work ethic before the COVID-19 pandemic can be characterized by one word: arduous. I returned to New England in 2018 to start teaching positions at Boston Conservatory at Berklee and Brown University after finishing a year-long stint at a doctoral program in South Florida. Embarking on a robust, full-time teaching career was both extremely exciting and overwhelming. Balancing 12-hour teaching days, commuting, and furthering my own education kept me alert, but made me appreciate the limited (and rare) downtime my schedule allotted.

I had grandiose plans for a mid-March birthday trip to Costa Rica, an eco-friendly oasis I had only heard about from my jet-setting friends, that I was extremely excited for. But, it almost felt like the exhaustion from my 40hour teaching weeks hit me at 4:00 a.m. while I was boarding the flight and could barely stand upright in the embarkment line. Looking back, this should have been my shoulder-angel saying sweetly, “Taylor, please go home and rest.”

Three days after my arrival, the news hit that New England, and most of the United States, was imposing

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strict quarantines. An hour later, as I was sunbathing in a fabulous treetop infinity pool I found, the Costa Rican government gave a 24-hour border closing announcement. As I caressed the palm tree-laden beach checking the news every 27.9 seconds, I considered hunkering down for a few weeks before things “settled down.” I even looked for long-term lodging at the cutest little hipster bungalow hotel on the beach.

Boy, am I glad I made it home safely. Chaos ensued as I came to my senses and raced to the airport, only to find out all the flights to Boston were canceled. Luckily, one of my dearest friends managed to purchase me the only departing flight. An hour into the flight, I started to feel incredibly feverish, short of breath, nauseated, and confused; the early signs of what was ultimately double pneumonia and, presumably COVID-19 (yes, I was masked the entire duration of the flight). Shortly after returning to Boston, I opened the New York Times to learn of the passing of a dear friend, with whom I spent many sleepless nights sharing stories of life and love a few years prior.

The saddest part was that he was turned away from an atcapacity emergency room in New York City the night prior.

SILIENCE

in the Era of COVID-19

TAYLOR JAMES STILSON Instructor of Voice

Upon settling into my pre-trip virtual teaching schedule, it hit me like a brick how much overhauling my relationship to self-preservation and teaching methodology was needed to manage this transition with grace and intelligence. Teaching 12-hour days in front of a computer prevented me from being emotionally and intellectually present with myself and my students. I learned of the importance of resilience in preparing myself to be fully present and engaged as an educator and pedagogue.

The pandemic has been a beautiful reminder to slow down my life, breathe deeper, speak gentler, cook healthier, meditate longer, and love more simply. Virtual teaching has encouraged me to adapt my teaching methodology to a life of virtual experiences. I have been inspired to reexamine the more subtle psychological components of teaching and pedagogy. Simplifying my pedagogical approach encourages my students to become more selfdetermined, and ultimately, their own best teachers.

My feedback as an educator has changed significantly.

By including positive-suggestive language, voice and psychological patterns improve faster. And, because I am more sensitive to my own physiological and emotional

needs, I have begun trusting my own kinesthetic empathy and allowed myself to teach using my innate ability to physically feel in my body what the student presents in theirs. It’s both incredibly sensitive and a pedagogical game changer.

I consider the COVID-19 pandemic to be a pivotal experience for me, personally and professionally. My endeavors in continuing education have enriched my toolbox with an understanding of the more comprehensive elements of the psychological and physiological learner.

During quarantine, I have completed certifications in the transvoice experience, Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT) life coaching, hypnosis, massage specialties, and am scheduled to complete personal training and massage therapy by year’s end.

Although the COVID-19 pandemic is far from over, I feel significantly changed by the trauma and lessons learned.

It has allowed me to observe my students more sensitively and lightheartedly, and given me the opportunity to return to the basic function of singing and teaching: emotional release.

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God I need some human contact I miss the world I lost contact With some I love.

I put in my contacts And start my day.

I check my contacts To see who I’ve forgotten to talk to.

I make new contacts Through my screen.

Contact, contact, contact Have you ever realized how many definitions the word has?

So many meanings but the one I’m not getting Is the one I want Contact God I need some human contact 18 | STAGES

Contact HALEY DUNNING

B.F.A. '24, Musical Theater

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THE TIME IS NOW Diversity and Inclusion staff member Simone Francis on the process of creating the Black Lives Matter (BLM) Capsule, a self-guided platform to actively honor Black lives

THIS IS MY PARADOX Theater faculty member Michael J. Bobbitt, artistic director of New Repertory Theatre, on the contradictions of being a BIPOC leader of a predominantly white institution

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CHECKING IN Violin student Maya Giles writes to her department chair about being a Black American woman in classical music

THE SHARK AND THE WATER Boston Conservatory Executive Director Cathy Young on the ways conservatories can become more racially just institutions

DOING THE WORK: STRUCTURAL CHANGE AND THE TENSION BETWEEN TRADITION AND PROGRESS

TRADITION AS NARRATIVES, NOT CANON Music faculty member Rebecca G. Marchand on the process of revising the Music History I course

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The Time SIMONE FRANCIS Assistant Director of Diversity, Inclusion, and Student Engagement

This is the statement that greets you on the CDEI @ Berklee website—an intentional reference to the happenings of our world today, and a nod to the interactive digital learning platform now widely known across the Berklee community as the Black Lives Matter Capsule (BLM Capsule).

The BLM Capsule, released on June 19, 2020, in honor of Juneteenth, was designed to engage the Berklee community in actively honoring Black Lives. On the day of release, institutional meetings were canceled and Berklee community members were asked to use the day to reflect, learn, and engage with the self-paced virtual learning environment.

At its core, the BLM Capsule asks community members to take a step back; to pause, to breathe, to acknowledge our humanity, and to do the work. In a desire to build an engagement platform for all, one that taps into principles of universal design with an empathetic foundation, the capsule was created to move beyond ranks and hierarchies, provide ample room for choice-making, and incorporate multiple learning modalities.

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Although this platform was intentionally curated for Berklee community members, in reality it manifested in service of my own Black womanhood. It was a space to develop and build, where I could sit with my own thoughts, direct my eloquent rage1, and acknowledge the fire burning through the world this time2.

In the craftwork, I thought about the histories I did not learn, reflected on the truths deeply known to those who share my racial designation, and internally battled with my desire for others to hold themselves accountable, be vulnerable, show up, and leave the excuses as things of the past in order to build a better, bolder, and broader future.

I envisioned a future where my fellow Black community members and others holding marginalized identities—those who are depicted as indispensable labor, but regarded as disposable bodies—are loved, protected, and cared for.

It is no coincidence that the final module of the capsule, titled the Prism of Intersectionality, poses the concluding reflection prompt: “Imagine a future where Black Lives Matter is no longer just a slogan, trend, or hashtag. What

e Is NOW. does that world look like? How does it feel? How have you contributed to its formation?”

It is a necessary and painful truth that we recognize the need for renewed, repurposed, and reimagined societies, and to interrogate ourselves to determine not only our complicitness, but also our commitment to move forward.

For those of you who have engaged with the capsule: thank you. Each step taken to unpack and disrupt racism makes a difference at interpersonal, institutional, and systemic levels. For those who have not: it’s never too late. Or, maybe you’re engaging in your own platform discovery, which works all the same.

The essence of it all is, for us, this vibrant Berklee community, to tap into the desires, interests, and passions that fill our souls; to use our platforms and honor those among us who are fighting for their lives and the survival of their community. We all have beautiful gifts to breathe into this world, but it is what we choose to do with them that makes the difference. We must turn our observations,

reflections, uncertainties, and unique skill sets toward actionable steps and transformation, beginning with us as individuals and thereby inspiring action within the pockets of the communities we inhabit.

It is overdue for us to take hold of our individual and collective responsibilities in disrupting this cycle and status quo. We can learn significant lessons from our honest pasts, but it is not our destiny to repeat them.

The time is now.

A reference to the book Eloquent Rage: A Black Feminist Discovers Her Superpower, a Brittany Cooper work that explores how anger can be an effective tool—or superpower—in the fight for change.

2 A reference to the book The Fire This Time: A New Generation Speaks About Race, a Jesmyn Ward essay and poetry collection. The title alludes to James Baldwin's seminal 1963 text, The Fire Next Time.

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THE SHARK AND THE WATER CATHY YOUNG

Executive Director and Senior Vice President Plenary remarks delivered at Berklee's 2020 Opening Day celebration

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Good morning. It is good to be here with all of you as we gather at the start of our academic year, a year marked by COVID-19, by the United States presidential election, and by the global racial justice movement.

A few weeks ago, as I was out for a walk, I saw a sign in a store window that read: White supremacy is not the shark; it is the water.

I’ve been thinking about that sign non-stop, and I have come to understand that statement to mean: White supremacy is not one thing, that we can see swimming toward us in the dark, that we can move away from or avoid. It is not contained, or encapsulated, or even always clearly recognizable for what it is, the way we all recognize a shark. Instead, it is amorphous and shape shifting, and like water, it can take on the form of whatever container is holding it.

If any one of us saw a shark swimming toward us in the ocean, we would know we were in danger, and we would respond with urgency.

But the water—of White supremacy and privilege—can be harder to see, particularly for White people, precisely because we are swimming in it, immersed in it, and it is all around us. In this country, that water is our political system, our educational system, our financial system, our housing system…and for those of us who are White, it is easy to become habituated to it, because it has shaped every aspect of our lives, for all of our lives. And, in fact, in many ways, we have benefitted from it.

The greater danger, then, is not the shark—it is the water, and as I thought about what I wanted to say today, I think the key question for us is: “What is the water that we are swimming in here at Berklee?”

We can all name many of the sharks—specific and clear examples of inequity or racism that as an institution we must address—racial microaggressions, lack of diversity in our student, faculty, and staff populations, lack of BIPOC leadership across the institution…these are just a few.

But what is the water? What is so enveloping that we may not see it, or recognize its impact?

We are one of the greatest performing arts institutions in the world, and at the center of this institution is an artistic value system—or systems plural—that are the primary

defining structures of the institution.

Consider this: How we define excellence in the art forms we teach determines: • our curriculum; • our pedagogy; • who we admit and who we don’t; • how we award and scholarship those who we admit; • the faculty that we hire; • what our students perform; • even the donors we attract.

Although we’re a merged institution, the artistic value systems are very different at the College and the Conservatory. As the leader of the Conservatory, I’d like now to home in on the specifics of the Conservatory.

I believe that the central challenge we face, as a Conservatory with an aim to become a racially just institution, is that our mission is built on the teaching of what are often referred to as “classical” art forms. In truth, I believe that a more accurate term for these forms would be Europeanist high art forms.

One of the definitions of classical art is that it reinforces the existing social structure. So, as a conservatory, we have to start by acknowledging that the foundation upon which our institution is built, which is the art forms we teach and value, are forms that evolved in a primarily White society, created for and supported by the elite—literally nobility and royalty—and these art forms functioned to reinforce and support the inequity of that social structure. Further, they are art forms that by definition did not include contributions of Black people in the first three centuries of their evolution. I believe that if conservatories are serious about racial justice, we must come to a reckoning about these central facts.

The teaching of these art forms, and the love of them, is not itself the issue; the issue is that conservatories have existed and thrived based on the sometimes unspoken (but sometimes stated) belief that classical Europeanist aesthetics sit at the top of the artistic hierarchy.

And because these art forms came from a predominantly White culture and society, if conservatories elevate these forms as the standard by which all other artistic endeavors are measured, then we inherently create a racially unjust artistic value system and accompanying educational structure. And this is the water that we in the performing arts have been swimming in for centuries.

To be clear, this does not diminish the beauty or power of

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these art forms, and I am absolutely not suggesting that we should stop teaching them, but I am suggesting that we disentangle the art forms themselves—symphonic music, ballet, opera, etc.—from the value systems in which they are embedded. We must challenge ourselves to examine the racial bias that is built into the conservatory model, not just this conservatory but all conservatories, and in doing so, seek to understand and meaningfully address some of the root causes for conservatories to remain primarily White spaces, and spaces in which Black faculty, staff, and students consistently report that they do not feel supported, welcomed, or valued.

For example, let’s think about that word classical. Most conservatories do not say in their marketing materials, “Come study here, we teach White Europeanist aesthetics.”

No, they say, “Come here to study classical music, or dance, or theater,” with the implicit understanding that classical means Europeanist. So classical training, which many students interpret as the unassailable foundation of virtuosity and skill—the very pinnacle of artistic excellence, is therefore defined as White and European.

Another interesting word is technique. We assess students who apply to our school based on their technique, but what do we mean by this word? Let’s use dance, as an example. In the field of dance, the word technique is often understood to mean the particular way of training the body that prepares the dancer for ballet (the Europeanist high art form). Now the truth is, and I am sure this is obvious, there is a technique and skill set required for every form of dance, so why does the word technique become shorthand for the specific way of training the body that applies to ballet? I think the answer is clear… it is because not just in conservatories but within the field itself, there still exists a presumption of superiority of ballet as a training method and an aesthetic system, above all other forms. So, the word technique becomes shorthand for ballet technique, and much less often do you hear the terms hip-hop technique, jazzdance technique, etc. I think this is how White supremacy becomes the water in which we swim—embedded so deeply into the very language of our art forms that we almost do not even question it.

As long as we continue to use this language, we support belief systems about quality, about virtuosity, about what defines technique, what is the “classical cannon”—and in doing so, we elevate one particular aesthetic value system and, arguably, devalue all others. We create a hierarchy that places White European art forms at the top.

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So, what do we do?

Classical art forms reinforce the existing social order; avant-garde art challenges it. My proposal is that we become an avant-garde conservatory—not in what we teach, but in how we teach it.

If we are to create true racial justice at Boston Conservatory at Berklee and in our fields, we must start by recognizing and articulating for our students that all art is a cultural document, and the performing arts in particular tell us the story of the society in which they evolved—the dynamics around gender, power, race, resources, values, and belief systems. That what we call classical music, dance, and theater are in fact European classical forms, that every culture has classical art forms, and that Europeanist aesthetics are not inherently superior to any other art form—whether it is vernacular, or folk, or avant-garde, or classical—from any other culture.

To truly address systemic racism in our institution, we need to do three things: One, dismantle the value system that surrounds European classical forms. It does not mean we stop teaching them, or that we stop loving or valuing those forms, but it does mean we bring them down off the pedestal of artistic superiority that implies that somehow these forms are of greater value, or that practitioners of these forms have greater skill or more technique than other art forms.

Two, recognize and name the structural racism that is embedded in conservatories and in what we refer to as classical, but which is actually Europeanist music, dance, and theater. Recognize that the value systems that still exist in many corners of the performing arts today, and which place European classicism in an exalted position, are relics of White privilege, and be willing to give up that White privilege.

And three, deal with the sharks—through education and training, hiring practices, admissions practices, curricular change, performance programming, and all of the other initiatives that will create change here.

We’re at a historic turning point—a watershed moment if you will—where there are perspectives and voices casting a new light on the inequities of the system we've been swimming in, guiding us toward new waters, toward a more just campus and world. I look forward to navigating these new waters together.

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THIS IS MY

MICHAEL J. BOBBITT

Associate Professor of Theater Theater faculty member Michael J. Bobbitt is a director, choreographer, playwright, and artistic director of New Repertory Theatre (New Rep) in Watertown, Massachusetts. In this article originally published in the SDC Journal, he discusses his role at New Rep and the many paradoxes of being a BIPOC leader of a predominantly white institution.

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JUNE 9, 2020 #BlackLivesMatter. I am a Black Life running a predominantly white institution and live with the tremendous stress of paradox every day. Racism can create quick deaths, some taking 8:46, or gun shots and little deaths that eat at your soul over the course of your life or work. I preface this read with a note. It is not my intention to offend and displease donors, loyal patrons, or arts persons who make, administer, support, or consume art within the existing models. I do the same. I have a tremendous respect and love for anyone actively engaging. In truth, I need to personally examine my need for this note or disclaimer: Why do I qualify or apologize for my feelings? Well, my friends, this is my paradox.

Also, these thoughts and feelings have been churning for a while, but the COVID-19 crisis and the beautiful charge of the #BlackLivesMatter movement has brought more clarity to my thinking—our systems and models must be revamped! Perhaps we can turn this stressful time into a positive.

As a BIPOC artistic director running a predominantly white institution, I’m living in a contradiction where financial systems/viability are warring with my own personal/ professional desire to make theater inclusive—especially for the marginalized. Large news outlets announced my hiring by leading with “diversity.”

(The feelings associated with the pronouncement of being a “diversity hire” will be left for another article.) The outpouring of expectation from BIPOC

artists was overwhelming. Add to that the articles highlighting that I am the gay father of an adopted Vietnamese child. My intersectionality engendered numerous marginalized people to hope that I could fix all the problems. Well, I’d like to! I really would. But the paradox is: How and how fast? How much destabilization can a mid-sized company in transition handle?

Dismantling systems that might be contributing to the lack of inclusion takes education, trust building, nerve, affinity support, and “risk” capital.

And how many years? Am I not being brave and bold? Do I actually have the power to dismantle? Am I letting down my people? Am I selling out? What is the root of the problem?

I pose that it’s the financial systems that we have functioned under for many decades.

Let’s start with season planning.

Since I’m sharing, I really loathe season planning. I love picking shows to produce, but I hate planning seasons. I’m frankly not sure if this business model works.

Setting opening and closing dates don’t allow for the maximization of “return on investments” with extensions and/or early closures. Tickets have been sold months or a year in advance.

When planning, there are so many masters to answer to—marketing, development, production, boards, etc. In a world of inclusion, considering the thoughts of all is important.

But who are these masters? What is at the core of their concerns?

One could say that, as an artistic director, I have the power to do whatever I want, but this simply isn’t true for a mid-sized organization.

This is my paradox. Season planning may be my greatest opportunity to create the inclusion that this nation of theatermakers has been pontificating about for years. And we have made strides in diversifying our seasons, but how great are the strides in our audiences?

How often have I heard, “Our subscribers won’t like that!” or “Our donors love this!” or “Our patrons won’t come and see that!”? Is season planning just a renewal campaign to maintain the status quo? What about the transformational acquisition of new patrons? This is my paradox, y’all. If I don’t renew current loyal patrons and donors, will I have the resources provided to produce quality work for new patrons?

UUUUUggggghhhhh!!!!!!

Why not program a few months out? Wouldn’t that be more fiscally viable and sustainable?

Then, there is the question of subscriptions—a paradox if there ever was one. The beauty of subscriptions is the influx of cash to cover the financial ebbs and flows of our programming models. I’m spending next season’s

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money this season. Let’s hope that there is no fire or strike or… PANDEMIC… that prevents us from delivering on the goods that are already paid for. Also, we can’t overlook the oppression that subscriptions create. After announcing, you have a few months to market some shows and more than a year to market others, while the whole company is “hijacked” with sales—especially renewals. I have serious questions!

Are subscription models, especially those used for cash flows rather than “insuring seats,” effecting programming that is not inclusive? Who has the resources to buy their ticket six to 18 months in advance?

What seats are they buying? Are they the best seats? Are we giving those with privilege more privilege? Does this force those with fewer resources to sit in the back and sides? Is that oppressive? If subscribers are loyal patrons, why won’t they sit in any seat? Why not have general admission like cinema? To incentivize renewals, are we offering those who can afford to pay full-price discounts? Are we celebrating our subscribers in front of those who cannot afford to be subscribers, creating additional exclusion?

This is not only a conundrum—it cuts right to the core of my personal tenets and how I want to effect change.

Can we please talk about the boards of directors model and the inequalities that boards profess to dismantle? I could go on and on about the IRS’s policy that forces nonprofits to have boards, filled mostly with people who have significant resources, further empowering those with privilege—decision-making power—and more privilege.

Why not simply have these generous and hopefully altruistic people be engaged donors and volunteer advisors and leave all decision-making power to professionals who are trained, experienced, and qualified? Why is this a policy determined by the government? Does this financial structure perpetuate the status quo and create exclusion? Will the folks on my board allow me to take a programmatic risk? Will BIPOC and younger people join my board, given the organizational financial models that exclude them?

While I do loathe season planning, a close second is annual budgeting. I value financial management. Until organizations truly live by “values-based budgeting,” most annual budgets perpetuate renewals of the status quo, again creating an organization that may be inaccessible. Numbers do tell stories, not to mention budgets linked to season planning.

Every year, I fear that part of the season will tank, threatening cuts to expenses on the latter part of the season in an attempt to balance a budget that was created 14–16 months ago.

How does that make financial sense?

Let’s be honest: predicting that far into this future, especially in this fast-moving world, seems unreasonable. We’ve all gone to theaters where that show produced in the last quarter was raggedy.

In my 20 years as a BIPOC leader, I have learned that season planning, subscriptions, boards, and budgeting are just some of the financial models that contribute

to oppression and are at the heart of our problems with inclusion, accessibility, equity, and diversity.

I both cheer and have used programmatic initiatives invented by my colleagues to create more inclusion—everything from ticket discounts to community engagement programs to organizing to changing board give/ get policies, etc. But I wonder if these really create transformational relationships. I’m sure there are anecdotal successes, but I suspect that most of the relationships with BIPOC and younger audiences are still transactional and infrequent for predominantly white institutions.

The issue of streaming deserves a paragraph. This entire industry is scrambling to catch up on a nearly two-decades-old tool—the best platform for more accessibility.

The experience of seeing live theater cannot be replaced. And once we return to our buildings post-COVID-19, streaming will not threaten live theater. The sporting industry thrives because of streaming! Those who love the live theater will still go. Not streaming feels like a disservice to the work—work that has been called “nonessential.” As a theatermaker, I would much rather have 100,000 people see my work vs. the 5,000 that can fit in a five-to six-week run in my building. Or better yet, 105,000 in the theater and at home or on the bus ride to work or during breaks or at the bar. I’m not sure why this is even a question.

Every other “live entertainment” industry is waaaay ahead. The three minutes of footage we are allowed to use based on union regulations seem counterintuitive.

And why aren’t we offering “mobilefriendly performances” once or twice a week? Is it free marketing?

Producers, unions, and artists, let’s figure this out!

There is no one better at imagining the world differently than theater people. We are experts. Let’s collectively imagine a world where all people can engage in theater.

Ah, Utopia. Maybe our expert imaginations can be enhanced by collaborating with futurists, MBAs, social scientists, entrepreneurs, strategists, economists, and business executives. Of course, these collaborators would have to be fiercely anti-racist and anti-oppressionist. Maybe these collaborations are with a crosssection of the field that includes service organizations, unions, educational institutions, and artists.

And let us get funders to fund these “think tanks” and collaborations and beta testings.

Audacious philanthropy supported audacious ideas like CPR, 911, marriage equality, hospice care, polio eradication, school lunch, and infant car seats.

Can’t it support “Theater Utopia”?

Finally, my goal is to share with you my personal paradox. Even the idea of living with a paradox is a problem. I’m ready to constructively debate my thoughts and collaborate on solutions that are audacious.

This article originally appeared in SDC JOURNAL (Fall 2020, Vol. 8 No. 3) and is reprinted here with permission from Stage Directors and Choreographers Society.

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Checking In:

MIND, BODY, AND SOUL MAYA GILES B.M. '21, Violin

When the #blacklivesmatter movement resurfaced at the end of May, I was in a really hard place. There were so many emotions that for once music could not express and heal the pain inside of me. I felt really isolated from the Conservatory community since I had spent the semester abroad, and was happy to hear from Matthew Marsit (chair of instrumental studies) through email to check in on me. The following is the response I gave him, and something we both felt was important to share with others.

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Dear Matthew, I greatly appreciate all your support you have shown me over the past year and beyond.

The current times have honestly left me speechless in an all too familiar pain. In the words of Fannie Lou Hamer, 1964, "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired."

Since I was a little girl, I have long accepted that this is what my life would look like, feel like, and be like. I was raised to bear that "we have to work twice as hard to get half of what they have." These were morals and principles that were passed down by my family and countless other Black American families to survive in a country that overlooks our humanity and disposes of our black bodies because their initial use is not needed anymore.

Yet here I am. Because the love I have for classical music is so strong that I sit in both an orchestra and audience seat among people who do not look like me. Because sitting in a classroom at Boston Conservatory not only represents my ancestor's wildest dreams but also is a testament to how far I've come as a classical musician, despite the barriers that I have endured thus far because of the color of my skin.

Now is a time for great reflection for us all. Not just in our personal lives but in our professional lives as well. It's time we ask questions such as, "How come I can easily count 10 composers and instrumentalists of European and Asian descent but not of African descent?" "How come Boston Conservatory conducts international Admission and Audition tours primarily in Asian countries but not in African countries, where equal amounts of wealth and talent can be found?" I have expressed to a few members of Berklee's Academic Affairs Committee already that classical music is nearly 250 years behind on current times and it is time for that to change.

For now, I am taking the time to endure this pain once again. The very issues people are protesting about have long been my normal. Doesn't make it right but I have already exhausted my energy in my day to day of being a young woman of color. But as I come up to my senior year, I am also taking time to reflect on what I want my career to look like and how studying abroad this past semester has impacted my life tremendously.

This is where I leave you. Take care and I send many regards to you and your family.

Many blessings, Maya

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Tradition as Narratives, Not Canon Revising Music History I

REBECCA G. MARCHAND, Ph.D. Professor of Core Studies

Academic course revision is (and should be) a slow, deliberate, and ongoing process. That said, slow progress can easily be replaced by stagnancy, for myriad reasons. Given this, it is important to consider change as a constant in course development, unpacking layers of relevancy, and thinking not just about content, but about methodology and skillbuilding.

At the center of the struggle in revising music history courses has been the “canon”—an inarguable byproduct of colonialism, erasure, power structures, and racism, none of which are mutually exclusive.

Below is a mere snapshot of the revisions we have applied to one Boston Conservatory course: Music History I. I will briefly list the major areas of focus for our alterations to the course, which is the first in a sequence of music history studies at the Conservatory: • Problematizing the “great work” and “great composer” model

• Problematizing the “evolutionary” model of musical development • Honoring the diversity, as well as lived experience, of the classical tradition

In thinking about how we might address these three key areas of concern, we made several key adjustments to the course, which are presented in a very concise form here: • Reduced assigned repertoire to create space for making connections and integrating examples and discussion of non-Western and even popular music in an authentic and well-considered way.

• Disrupted the chronological approach in favor of themes that reflect upon and interrogate narratives and methodologies (e.g. oral traditions, use of musical quotation/paraphrase, codifying musical traditions through notation), and canon formation.

• Developed assignments that invited students to engage with one narrative while creatively interlacing others. For example, for their first writing assignment, students were asked to compose a “chant” (broadly understood as a monophonic melody) to a text of their own choosing—it could be sacred, secular, and in any language. The only requirement was that the text be something that was personally significant to them, that they wanted to commit to memory.

The melody could not be in a major or minor key (not yet a reality in the medieval era), but it could

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use any other musical mode—either the scales that preceded the tonal tradition (e.g. Phrygian, Dorian)— or something from any global musical tradition. The student had to provide what mode they used, notate the chant, and submit a recording. In addition, they had to explain in prose how their chant dialogued with the traditions of medieval Gregorian chant—in terms of the melody they composed, text setting choices, range, etc. The results of this assignment were profound—students engaged with a variety of textual sources: a passage from Star Wars, a canto from Dante’s “Paradiso” as transmitted through a Chinese pop song, Spanish and Mandarin translations of Biblical texts, poetry by Maya Angelou, Jorge Luis Borges, Kishwar Naheed, Robert Frost, Constantine Cavafy, and Lang Leav, as well as self-composed texts in a variety of languages with English translations provided.

• Interspersed readings and discussion that ask the students to engage with complex questions of identity in regard to the classical music tradition, such as Dr. Kira Thurman’s “Singing Against the Grain: Playing Beethoven in the #BlackLivesMatter Era” (the Point Magazine, 2018) and Dr. Anne Shreffler’s “The Myth of the Canon’s Invisible Hand” (Not Another Music History Cliché Blog, 2017).

But the most important element of any of this is the impact on students, and this, more than anything, drives our work. It asks us not to resort to tokenism and quick fixes, but to be invested and committed to humility and learning as teachers.

I close with a quote, shared with permission, from a first-year student in music history who identifies as a biracial Hispanic American: …reading Dr. Thurman’s essay made me much more aware about how others are feeling with this “cultural shock,” because I had never stopped to think about the implied contradictions of any non-White American who interacts with Western classical music. I also feel it made me more aware about how I have been existing in this realm, because—knowing I might face a degree of discrimination or bias—I chose to face the challenge…(one of the reasons I am studying classical and not modern popular music). However, this gives me good reason to look back at my own scenario and that of so many others, and work to achieve balance in the realm of Western classical music.

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SAY HER NAME Voice alumna Amy Onyonyi honors the Black women’s lives lost to police violence

A TINY SPARK OF INSPIRATION Composition alumna Shelbie Rassler on what motivates her to create virtual performances supporting numerous causes during this time of crisis 36 | STAGES

T Y R T S I T R USING A YOU WILL BE FOUND Theater faculty member David F. Coleman shares the Black Voices Project’s "You WIll Be Found," featuring Conservatory students and alumni

E G N A H C T C E TO EFF

SAY THEIR NAMES. HEAR THEIR VOICES. Musical theater alumna Hannah Logan and other theater artists raise their voices for racial justice

HOTEL CALIFORNIA CIRCA 2020

ART AS AN ENGINE FOR SOCIAL CHANGE

Musical theater student Isa Sánchez reimagines the Eagles’ classic song through the lens of environmental justice

Dean of Music Michael Shinn talks with music greats Frederica von Stade and Thomas Wilkins bostonconservatory.berklee.edu | 37

SAY HER

NAME AMY ONYONYI B.M. '20, Voice

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We honor and remember the precious lives of the Black women senselessly taken from us too soon. We still demand justice for them. We love you. #sayhername #blacklivesmatter

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A TINY SPARK OF

INSPIRATION

Creating Art with Purpose

SHELBIE RASSLER B.M. '20, Composition

Looking back at the early stages of the coronavirus pandemic, I don’t think any of us knew the severity of the situation at hand. As we trekked through March, the seriousness of it all began feeling more and more real and intense, solidified by Boston Conservatory at Berklee’s decision to move all classes online for the remainder of the 2020 spring semester. Immediately after this was announced, the hearts of my dearest friends and colleagues simultaneously broke, as we all realized we would have to separate for an unknown period of time, and for us seniors, our unfinished journey in Boston was coming to an abrupt end.

On the flight home to South Florida, I started brainstorming ways in which my colleagues and I could continue collaborating and maintain the sense of community we had worked so hard to build together in

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the months and years prior. The idea I settled on during the flight was a Virtual Orchestra cover of “What the World Needs Now,” with music and lyrics by Burt Bacharach and Hal David.

The original intention of this project was simple, but it somehow ended up turning into something a bit more large scale. This experience has taught me a million things, but most importantly, I learned that my purpose in life is to facilitate and create art that has the power to convey meaningful messages and themes, and while doing so, the potential to help others along the way, having some sort of impact—be it emotionally, physically, financially, socially, or otherwise.

Being an artist during a pandemic is not something we ever imagined would happen. This unprecedented period

of time will be part of our childrens’ history books, but before that can happen, I believe we must stick together and support one another along the way. With that said, it is incredibly challenging to remain hopeful and optimistic about our futures with so many unknowns, not to mention how difficult it is to stay motivated and productive. So, I have spent the past eight months doing everything I possibly can to help lift others’ spirits with musical offerings to distract from the treacherous waters surrounding us, and maybe even shine a glimmer of hope amid so much darkness.

While music cannot cure COVID-19, it certainly can help touch the hearts of those who are suffering, and I feel an immense need to try and make this happen as often as possible. For instance, this cover of “Fight Song - for Virtual Orchestra,” featuring members across the Berklee community, was created for the Female Quotient’s Virtual Equality Lounge for just this reason.

In addition to emotional well-being, it is difficult to comprehend the effects that this pandemic is having on our industry. Most artists are currently out of work, with no return date in sight. This is why I am so grateful for people like Seth Rudetsky and James Wesley, who are using their platform to directly help the arts community throughout the nation. Seth and James created “Stars in the House,” a daily show wherein each episode features professional artists, Broadway performers, full cast reunions of various films and original Broadway productions, and arts students.

During the show, people are encouraged to donate to the Actors’ Fund, a remarkable organization that is actively helping artists survive by offering financial support to those in need. As of the date this article was written, the show has raised more than $535,000. Pretty incredible, right? I feel so honored and blessed to produce music videos for this special show, featuring some of the most accomplished performers alive, and to have the opportunity to form close relationships with Seth and James, as we all have the common goal of helping others, along with the drive and unwavering support required to follow through. Simply put, Seth and James inspire me in the way I vow to spend the rest of my life striving to inspire others.

Not only are we experiencing a global health crisis, but we are also reckoning with racial injustice and a severe lack of equity in our nation. The Black Lives Matter movement has grown immensely over the last several months, highlighting the unbelievably racist, hateful, terrifying, and outright disgusting occurrences in our country, a nation that is supposed to be the “land of the free.”

Once again, music cannot stop these things from happening, but I believe it can certainly be a vehicle

for change, while simultaneously lifting spirits along the way. Following the unspeakable, tragic murder of George Floyd, I realized I had no other option than to do everything I could to help the situation. I then wrote “Rebuild - for Virtual Orchestra,” which was later performed by hundreds of artists from all over the world as a fundraiser for the NAACP and Americans for the Arts, coming together to help those who need extensive support and allyship. In addition, I had the opportunity to work with Steve Schuch and several members of the Boston Conservatory community to produce music videos of a reimagining of “America the Great” into “America the Dream,” with altered lyrics describing the dire need to fix the injustices of our nation.

And, if you thought at this point that 2020 was done presenting the most difficult challenges to date, let’s throw in the most important presidential election of our lifetimes. As I mentioned earlier, I strive to make art that conveys messages I feel are important, and I cannot think of anything more important than encouraging others to raise their voices and vote. I produced three projects regarding this message: “Take Care of This House,” featuring performers such as Yo-Yo Ma, Judy Collins, Anthony McGill, Lara Downes, Charles Yang, Rhiannon Giddens, and many more; “Just Vote,” written by Jim Mayer and featuring members of the Coral Reefer Band, as well as several Boston Conservatory at Berklee and Berklee College of Music students; and “Election Day,” an original song I wrote for the Female Quotient’s YOU(th) Vote initiative, featuring members of Boston Conservatory’s Musical Theater Department. In addition, I recently worked as a music arranger for the United Nations’ 75 Anniversary Celebration, focusing on "how well we handle pressing challenges: from the climate crisis to pandemics, inequalities, new forms of violence, and rapid changes in technology and in our population."

The noticeable lack of kindness and growing hatred in our country is also evident in bullying among children and teens, leading to my desire to be involved with WNED PBS’ BANDAgainst Bullying, which later resulted in my becoming the music/technical advisor for this year’s program.

The last several months have solidified how grateful, fortunate, and privileged I am to have a platform to continually produce art during such a horrible time. While these experiences have been incredible opportunities, it is not lost on me how many millions of people are tragically suffering in so many ways; I hope to provide even just a tiny spark of inspiration to those who feel nothing but hopeless.

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YOU WILL BE

FOUND From Dear Evan Hansen DAVID F. COLEMAN

Associate Professor of Theater In June 2020, after the death of George Floyd and in the midst of the outcry from people all over the world calling out for justice for Breonna Taylor, 15 African American musical theater artists called the Black Voices Project came together to do a different spin on "You Will Be Found" from the Tony Award-winning musical Dear Evan Hansen.

While the spoken section of the original song features quotes about social media and connecting with people out there hurting, we chose to say the names of those who have lost their lives at the hands of police brutality, letting the world know that they and their families will not be forgotten.

Sponsored by the Hovey Players, the video was approved by the composers Pasek & Paul and it was featured on the Dear Evan Hansen Facebook and Instagram pages. The artists are mostly Boston-based actors, including Boston Conservatory faculty, alumni, and current students Zachary McConnell (M.F.A. '18, musical theater), Isaiah Reynolds (B.F.A. '18, musical theater), Dwayne Mitchell (M.F.A. '20, musical theater), Aaron Patterson (B.F.A. '21, musical theater), Nigel Richards (B.F.A. '21, musical theater), and David F. Coleman, associate professor of theater, who served as both music director and video producer.

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CREDITS:

Vocalists:

Hovey Players presents the Black Voices Project - "You WIll Be Found," from the musical Dear Evan Hansen, by Benjamin Pasek and Justin Paul

Aaron Patterson Antione Gray Davron Monroe Dwayne Mitchell Fatima Elmi Isaiah Reynolds Jaimar Brown Nicole Kelley Nigel Richards Pier Lamia Porter Sabrina Victor Shani Farrell SherĂŠe Dunwell Zachary McConnell Evelyn Howe

Michelle Aguillon and Shani Farell, coproducers David F. Coleman, arranger, music director, and video producer

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“Sweet summer sweat” turns to dust and ashes It’s muddy mix drips down and stings the eyes “Warm smell of colitas” burn the nostrils Black soot coats the lungs and suffocates lives “This could be heaven” now a burning hell Even the brightest stars made of fire Sing “Welcome to Hotel California” “Such a lovely place” Such a dusty face Sad eyes full of tears? “You can find it here” Some year to remember? Or to forget?

We’re “prisoners here of our own device” “What a nice surprise . . . bring your alibis” But know that your green has no value here “You can check out any time you like but” . . . “you can never leave”

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ISA SĂ NCHEZ

B.F.A. '24, Musical Theater

Hotel California Circa

2020

Inspired by the Eagles' "Hotel California"

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ART AS AN ENGINE FOR SOCIAL CHANGE: A Conversation with Frederica von Stade and Thomas Wilkins

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MICHAEL SHINN, Ph.D. Dean of Music

The world has been turned upside down during the last year, with a global pandemic that has wreaked havoc on so many countries, especially here in the United States.

Add to this the continued murder and subjugation of Black Americans that has led to a welcomed and necessary intensifying of the racial justice movement, and our country is now in a true crisis. How can we, as artists and passionate advocates for social and racial justice, make a difference in the world through our art?

This is the question we in the Boston Conservatory at Berklee

Music Division posed as we stared down at the start of the fully virtual fall semester. A small part of our answer was to engage with prominent musicians in the field who have pursued these same goals in conversation with the hope of inspiring our students to become radical leaders and change makers.

Included here is one of these Artist Talks, featuring the world-renowned mezzo-soprano Frederica von Stade with the incredible conductor Thomas Wilkins, which I moderated.

In the discussion, Flicka, as her nickname goes, speaks so eloquently

about her experiences working in underserved communities, inspiring young people and helping them rise up in their artistic pursuits. Thomas walks us through his passion in working with children as the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s artistic advisor for Education and Community Engagement and longtime conductor of the BSO’s children’s and families’ concerts. Flicka and Thomas are true gems of classical music, and the moments of wisdom and inspiration are plentiful in this delightful hour of joy and imagination.

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Say Their Names.

Hear Their Voices.

HANNAH LOGAN B.F.A. '92, Musical Theater

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A Reflection on the Artist and Their Relationship to the World A humble contribution in the fight against racism, and a celebration of Black Americans' contribution to our community and culture, featuring Black artists all over the country.

An article about how it came to pass and why we created it (in case it isn't obvious) can be found here.

The evolution of my relationship to my talents and skills as an artist since graduating from the Conservatory is basically this: Artistry without service to humanity, without a goal to inspire, to heal, to elevate, to encourage, to challenge and change that which should be challenged and changed, that does not fly in the face of convention when conventions have failed...is no artistry at all. Now, more than ever, the artist who "arts" for its own sake, who does not use their art for these purposes, fails both themself and all of humanity.

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BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL Piano student AnnaLotte Smith discovers new ways to connect with audiences via a virtual concert series for hospitals—and a newfound sense of joy and freedom

THE ARTIST (INTERRUPTED): A SHORT FILM Dance student Alex Meeth’s silent film offers a comedic take on the pitfalls of creating performance videos at home

THERE IS NO RULEBOOK FOR THIS Music faculty member Judith Eissenberg reflects on the Virtual Performance Lab, where students engage with Silkroad guest artists from around the globe

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PUSH Dance faculty member Aaron Tolson on pushing forward and being ready for the other side of the pandemic

RECLAIMING COLLABORATION

THE MISSING PIECE

Voice faculty member Michael Hanley on the challenges of teaching voice lessons remotely and the promises of evolving technology

Composition alum Greg Nahabedian shares this camp opera Zoom call, created by them and fellow alumni Erin Matthews, Joshua Scheid, and Felix Tomlinson

CALYPSO CONNECTIONS Clarinet alumnus Christopher Nichols performs with collaborator Joshua Watkins and reflects on reimagining their work for a virtual format

REIMAGINING LEARNING AND PERFORMING IN A VIRTUAL WORLD

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Violin/Vox/Freestyle Composition Artist Mazz Swift

Visual Artist Kevork Mourad

THERE IS NO RULEBOOK FOR THIS JUDITH EISSENBERG Professor of Music

Clarinetist/Composer Kinan Azmeh 52 | STAGES

Percussionist Haruka Fujii

“It’s a remarkable time, and kind of scary because of the fact that it’s wide open. There are no exact parameters, there is no rulebook for this. It’s messy; anything can happen.”—Mazz Swift Chamber music during Boston Conservatory’s fully remote fall 2020 semester is taking place in virtual rehearsal Zoom rooms and Facebook cyberstages that feel both removed and uncomfortably intimate. We peer out of our windows and into our screens as COVID-19 and a virulent virus of another kind—racism—make us afraid to inhale.

Wildfires and hurricanes bear down while brutish, bullying leaders make us want to move to, well, New Zealand.

We’ll get a vaccine for COVID-19, but this other stuff isn’t going to be solved by science, now itself under siege.

In our multiframed videos, Jesse Montgomery’s “Strum” carries on, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor turns our ears to the experience of slavery, Bach’s sheep still do safely graze and we make music together, despite. Outside, in Boston, the firecrackers and sirens create another soundscape.

“What do we do when we can’t make music with each other in the same room?”—Mazz Swift Mid-semester, musicians in the Conservatory’s Virtual Performance Lab (VPL) emerge from a deep dive into AV tech (newly learned tools proving both creative and essential) and a sequence in mindfulness, to engage with seven inspiring musicians from Silkroad. These artists are world-class performers from all over the globe who see tradition as a starting point, collaboration as a means to creating a more hopeful and inclusive world, and improvisation as an essential tool in the 21st century.

“Artists have always created in adverse circumstances, and the rest of the world has followed suit; there really is opportunity in every moment. The more possibilities you can create for yourself, the more sustainable your career will be, and the more you will feel in control.”

—Maeve Gilchrist Deepening the Conservatory’s ongoing relationship with Silkroad, our students have spent the fall 2020 semester with these boundary-crossing, genre-bending artists.

Three Silkroad duos led discussions, shared music, and invited us into exploration.

Maeve Gilchrist (Scottish Celtic harpist) and Syrian Kevork Mourad (who improvises with live drawing and animation)

find commonality between origin traditions and art forms.

A student asked, “How does the use of moving visual art change the essence of a music collaboration?” Kevork answered: “Find the similar spirit between things. You are the glue—you become the thing that ties it all together, and in that, you are creating the aesthetic that we’re talking about, this essence.”

In another Zoom room, Chinese pipa player Wu Man and Japanese percussion maven Haruka Fujii explored the Japanese concept of ma. “Ma is a space between all things.

It is not like a philosophy that someone practices. . .it exists in everyday life. The direct translation is space, or distance between all things. . .Different distance, different context, different dynamics. . .Ma is about defining the right amount of either time or space, between all things.” Astonishingly, these two artists play together, dissolving the limitations of Zoom with ma, as they listen for that space that defines their sounds. They welcome the participation of the platform’s latency-laden, music-unfriendly algorithms.

“Impose limitations to see how we can expand our freedoms.”—Kinan Azmeh Hawaiian-born bass player Shawn Conley and Syrian clarinetist Kinan Azmeh began their work with our students with disarmingly practical advice: “In order to do something meaningful musically, you have to know what you are doing, you have to have the skills to do what you want to do, and you have to have the courage to do it.

Courage is at the top of the list.”

As students rise to Shawn’s challenge to make an improvisation on a single pitch, we begin to understand the value of limiting our choices. And then Kinan, who plays the old as if it were improvised today, offered this: “Improvising will spill over into your classical playing, and this might be the best thing that can happen—that you might imagine that you have composed this Mozart concerto that you are playing.”

At some point, it occurred to all of us that this is about much more than music. As one student put it, “improvisation is a life skill.”

There is no rulebook for this. It’s messy out there; anything can happen.

Watch Kinan Azmeh reflect on creating art for social change and working with visual artist Kevork Mourad. Watch Maeve Gilchrist discuss the sound possibilities of the harp.

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THE ARTIST ( I N T E R R U P T E D ): A Short Film ALEX MEETH

B.F.A. '21, Contemporary Dance When I filmed this project last April, the world was reeling. Everyone collectively felt anxious and uneasy, so I made a decision: if I was going to continue artistic endeavors, I couldn't take myself too seriously.

For my sanity, and for others, I wanted to spread a little laughter. The thought of silent film's visual comedy kept bouncing around in my head until I sat down one night to watch The Artist, a recent silent film written and directed by Michel Hazanavicius. After that, I felt convinced, and I began outlining what is now "The Artist (Interrupted)."

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Breaking the Fourth Wall ANNALOTTE SMITH M.M. '22, Piano

There is often a perception that concert pianists are privileged relics of an elitist past who separate themselves on elevated concert stages to perform an esoteric hour of sonatas that are hopelessly disconnected from today’s realities. As a young artist, I have often felt conflicted on how to move past these stereotypes and meaningfully connect with today’s society while continuing to primarily perform classical music from previous centuries that remains rigidly coupled with multiple outdated norms.

Fortunately, the COVID-19 era provided me with the opportunity to rethink the concert experience with a virtual concert series, Spirit of Harmony, which I created for isolated hospital staff and patients across the country. However, this required dismantling my traditional conceptions of what a concert should be.

I have trained my entire life to create perfectly crafted and polished live performances presented according to a staged routine in a designated performance venue. The first few weeks of Zoom

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performances were physically and emotionally unsettling for me because they completely shattered these “normal” performance experiences. Due to logistical and HIPAA concerns, my initial concerts were performed in front of blank webinar screens where I could neither see nor hear my virtual audience. I felt like I was transmitting large amounts of energy into the void of a screen that emitted a stale silence and didn’t provide the energy I was used to receiving from a live audience.

This led to many questions, namely, how do I interact with a hidden audience to make a personalized and interactive concert experience? I realized that while I craved the typical audience response, I was also unconsciously relegating my audience to passive observers of my performance preferences, instead of acknowledging the shared experience of music with my audience.

By breaking down the unconscious barrier I had traditionally experienced between myself and the audience, I began to invite the audience to join me and become an integral part of the concert experience. Thanks to the technological element of these performances, I designed all performances using various interactive approaches and spent time “chatting” with patients between pieces, listening to their stories, listening to what emotions they were feeling, how they reacted to each piece, and inviting them to choose musical selections based on these experiences. It also allowed me to connect with audience members whom I couldn’t have traditionally reached on a concert stage; patients who couldn’t

speak, patients experiencing language barriers, and patients completely isolated in hospital rooms separated from normal human interaction. On the rare occasions I was able to see individual patients on camera, it felt surreal to perform Chopin, Bach, and Adele amid the sterile sounds of a busy hospital floor. Thanks to technology, live music could go where the people were, instead of being confined to the concert hall.

These performance shifts also dismantled my conceptions of what music I “should” be playing. Studying classical piano has often meant focusing on playing the most technically and emotionally difficult music as soon as possible, while largely ignoring a swath of music labeled “intermediate” or “popular,” such as the classic Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven or music of alternate genres such as jazz, pop, or Disney tunes. What I’m learning is that every piece of music is significant because of the unique meaning it holds for each listener. At the end of the day, the music isn’t really about me.

Shifting my performance expression to sharing and connecting with the emotions of my audience as part of a collective human experience—instead of just expressing my own—has been one of the most freeing experiences in my performance life. It was within these performances that I finally felt true joy and freedom in performing for the first time. It is a journey I hope to continue in both virtual and in-person performances in the future. I am excited to continue extending the concert stage outside the concert hall to meaningfully connect with audience members wherever they are in a future beyond COVID-19.

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PUSH PUSH AARON TOLSON

Associate Professor of Dance When times are hard, you have to practice. You have to try to be better. Now is the time. Now is the time to push yourself to be better. I’m pushing myself now. I want to be better. I practice, I work on myself. Now is the time for you to be working on yourself...There’s going to be another side of this, and when that time comes, I’m going to be ready. Are you going to be ready?

Featuring artist Aaron Tolson Music by John Lennon (“Imagine”)

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Making music and teaching music in a global pandemic has been a bit challenging, to say the least. For students and faculty who are accustomed to working together in person and collaborating in real time with acoustic instruments and voices, the virtual distance of connecting online has disrupted the process we were all used to.

Prior to the pandemic, I was fortunate to have some experience teaching voice lessons virtually on Zoom. When the pandemic hit and the institution made the move to fully online instruction, I felt confident in my ability to continue my students’ academic trajectory in this new medium.

However, I soon realized that teaching collegelevel voice lessons virtually would pose some issues that weren’t always present with my previous teaching on Zoom. In undergraduate and graduate programs, we help students build a foundation of technical proficiency, instill practice skills, and learn repertoire progressively. The Zoom format does not lend itself to the technical “checkins” I was used to with my private students. I needed to find a way to better replicate the supportive environment my students were used to in person. In an attempt to sidestep some of these issues, I have been asking my students to submit practice videos of both technical work and repertoire throughout the semester. This helped to bridge some of the virtual divide, and give the students a way to focus on process rather than product.

One of the major issues with Zoom, particularly older versions of Zoom, is the sound quality. Zoom is designed to make meetings better by constantly filtering the sound to remove background noise and adjust the input levels depending on the volume of an individual’s speech.

For musicians, instrumentalists and singers alike, these features degrade the quality of the sound to something close to a telephone call, which is not ideal when working with students at the level of our students at the Conservatory.

Luckily, Zoom has been actively upgrading their software to make the audio settings more customizable for users.

Their first update allowed users to select an “original sound” setting that decreased the aggressiveness of the sound filters. More recent updates have allowed for even less audio manipulation and for a higher bitrate of audio transmission. This update came at an opportune time, and

it was the implementation of these settings which allowed us to begin presenting our Voice Studio Recitals in a live format, with singers performing on Zoom and being streamed to the Conservatory’s livestream channel. After months of viewing only pre-recorded performances, it was thrilling to watch our students perform live once again.

Along with other Conservatory faculty, I have also experimented with Cleanfeed, an audio conferencing platform that allows for significantly higher sound quality than Zoom. Cleanfeed needs to be used along with a separate video conferencing platform like Zoom or Hangouts, but it gives faculty and students an alternative to Zoom with higher quality and more reliable audio.

While the Zoom updates and implementation of Cleanfeed are helpful in increasing the sound quality of a virtual lesson, they are still not quite the same as being in person with a student. The biggest issue is latency, or the lag between when you make a sound and when the other person hears you. The amount of lag on Zoom and Cleanfeed effectively eliminates accompanying a student on the piano, or performing duets or chamber music.

Fortunately, software for low-latency connections already exists, but was relatively unknown to most of the music community prior to the pandemic. I’m grateful for the work of pioneers like Ian Howell at New England Conservatory, who spent countless hours experimenting with low-latency technology, and bringing to light the different options available for collaboration.

Berklee College of Music and Boston Conservatory at Berklee have also been experimenting with Jamulus, a server-based, low-latency solution that would allow musicians to collaborate in almost real-time between different rooms on campus, allowing for adequate distancing. The technology works with local, off-campus collaborators as well. Patty Thom, chair of voice and opera, and I were able to successfully connect on Jamulus and collaborate in real-time while living approximately 10 miles apart in the Boston area. A subsequent test allowed us to connect over a distance of approximately 2,500 miles from Boston to California with similar results. There are some alternative solutions such as Soundjack and Jamkazam that can be explored as well, and with the Conservatory’s plans for a hybrid semester in the spring, the ability to collaborate in real time with local musicians will be a game changer for students and faculty alike.

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THE MISSING PIECE A VIRTUAL OPERA PERFORMED BY STRANGE TRACE

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GREG NAHABEDIAN M.M. '18, Composition

This year, I worked alongside Conservatory alumni Joshua Scheid (M.M. '17, contemporary classical music, P.S.C. '18, voice), Felix Tomlinson (B.M. '20, voice), and Erin Matthews (M.M. '18, opera), and collaborators Frances Kruske and Elena Stabile to establish an independent opera company called Strange Trace. Our focus is on creating contemporary works that are presented in new ways, which made the pandemic a perfect opportunity for us to try out something new.

Strange Trace’s first full production was called The Missing Piece, a goofy camp horror opera that takes place entirely in a Zoom call.

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CHRISTOPHER NICHOLS B.M. '03, Clarinet

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Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, many music conferences, festivals, and international touring activities scheduled throughout 2020 were either canceled or shifted entirely to virtual formats.

My frequent artistic collaborator, percussionist Joshua Watkins, and I specialize in music that combines the sounds of the steelpan and the clarinet. We often perform at these events, and—in the wake of COVID-19—found ourselves having to reimagine our work for a virtual format.

The multitrack piece we are sharing here was something we created specially for this year’s virtual WoodwindFest and the CMS/ATMI/NACWPI/PKL Joint Conference. This presentation included a transcription, a commissioned work by us, and arrangements of some popular traditional calypsos.

Though not how we are accustomed to performing, the artistic process behind creating, performing, and presenting through video was a rewarding experience and stimulated our creativity in exciting new ways.

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THANK YOU TO OUR CONTRIBUTORS On behalf of the entire institution, the STAGES editorial staff would like to express our sincere gratitude to the community members who contributed pieces to this special STAGES edition, with a special thanks to graphic designer Michelle Parkos, whose sensitivity and creativity brought this project to life. With its top-ranking degree programs and industry-leading faculty, Boston Conservatory is distinguished for many reasons, but the resilience and bond shared among its community members—through good times and bad—is what makes the Conservatory a singular institution. The pieces included in this issue capture the creative spirit of our unique community of artists, demonstrating firsthand how Boston Conservatory is nothing short of remarkable. Thank you.

MICHAEL J. BOBBITT Associate Professor of Theater This Is My Paradox CARRIGAN BOYNTON B.F.A. '24, Contemporary Theater Stars DAVID F. COLEMAN Associate Professor of Theater “You Will Be Found” from Dear Evan Hansen, featuring various artists HALEY DUNNING B.F.A. '24, Musical Theater Contact SCOTT EDMISTON Dean of Theater Breathing In JUDITH EISSENBERG Professor of Music There Is No Rulebook for This ESTHER FARLEY B.F.A. '21, Contemporary Dance August

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SIMONE FRANCIS Assistant Director of Diversity, Inclusion, and Student Engagement The Time Is Now MAYA GILES B.M. '21, Violin Checking In: Mind, Body, and Soul MICHAEL HANLEY Assistant Professor of Voice Reclaiming Collaboration HANNAH LOGAN B.F.A. '92, Musical Theater Say Their Names. Hear Their Voices. featuring various artists REBECCA G. MARCHAND, Ph.D. Professor of Core Studies Tradition as Narratives, Not Canon: Revising Music History I ALEX MEETH B.F.A. '21, Contemporary Dance The Artist (Interrupted): A Short Film GREG NAHABEDIAN M.M. '18, Composition The Missing Piece by Strange Trace

TOMMY NEBLETT Dean of Dance The Journey

ANNALOTTE SMITH M.M. '22, Piano Breaking the Fourth Wall

CHRISTOPHER NICHOLS B.M. '03, Clarinet Calypso Connections, with Joshua Watkins

TAYLOR JAMES STILSON Instructor of Voice Resilience in the Era of COVID-19

AMY ONYONYI B.M. '20, Voice Say Her Name

AARON TOLSON Associate Professor of Dance Push

SHELBIE RASSLER B.M. '20, Composition A Tiny Spark of Inspiration: Creating Art with Purpose

ELIZABETH WONG Associate Professor of Theater It’s the Coffee

ISA SÁNCHEZ B.F.A. '24, Musical Theater Hotel California Circa 2020, inspired by the Eagles song “Hotel California”

CATHY YOUNG Executive Director and Senior Vice President The Shark and the Water

MICHAEL SHINN, Ph.D. Dean of Music Art as an Engine for Social Change: A Conversation with Frederica von Stade and Thomas Wilkins

SUPPORT OUR COMMUNITY.

A gift to Boston Conservatory at Berklee—of any amount—gives our community members the support and resources they need to reach their fullest potential. Help our talented students develop their authentic voices so that they can create the future they imagine and build a better world. Make a gift today.

GIVE NOW STAGES is published for students, faculty, staff, alumni, families, and friends of Boston Conservatory at Berklee. © 2020.

Editor in Chief: Andrea Di Cocco Managing Editor: Annette Fantasia Designer: Michelle Parkos Boston Conservatory at Berklee 8 Fenway, Boston, MA 02215 617-536-6340 bostonconservatory.berklee.edu

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