The Kimmel Center is one of the jewels in Philadelphia's crown. For readers who may not have experienced its astonishing acoustical properties, it may be considered one of the wonders of the world, right up there with the Pyramids and Taj Mahal. Clarity and mellowness can only describe it. It is a splendid concert hall - a worthy monument to the Philadelphia Orchestra and to the city of Philadelphia - its people, its architecture, and its culture.
I had not attended a symphony concert for some years, and upon entering the hall, I was shocked - shocked, I tell you! - to find two screens mounted on either side of the upper walls behind the orchestra. They bore the mottos "Live Image Magnification." Now truly, is my shock at this innovation to be compared with the political and economic disasters that seem to pop up at every turn in our national life? No, and not exactly. It is a different kind of shock, shock on a different level - that even here, in this sacred space devoted to great music, we are to be subjected to the "Tyranny of the Eye."
My conversations with Kimmel personnel and fellow orchestra-goers left me with some uncertainty as to whether these gigantic TV screens are a permanent innovation or a temporary expedient. So now we can see the conductor's face and the pianist's hands. But this is an apocalyptic projection of image - 'apocalypse' being, in its meaning, an uncovering, and unveiling. The TV screens reveal what before was hidden. But I think it is wiser to preserve a mystery and a hiddenness. Something of this same conversation surfaced when the Catholic Church changed the direction of the Mass. Before, the priest faced the altar. In the new days the priest faces the people. I believe that the analogy, while not perhaps wholly accurate, is valid. What we gain in "seeing" we lose by distraction and the dissipation of attention. The deterioration of attention is the most serious spiritual problem of our time, and I was very sorrowful to see that the Kimmel Center had fallen for the cheap trick.
I like what architect Rafael Vinoly said in answer to a question:
"You encourage dissimilar programs to intersect; and you create their place of intersection in the most direct and transparent way. What are the implications, for you, of achieving complex, unpredictable uses through simplicity?
R.V.: To me, it's a colossal, illogical leap in thinking, the idea that to handle complexity, you have to represent it. The problem with representing complexity -- representing any interpretation -- is that you fix the scenario. I think it's better to pull back a little bit. It's an instance of elegance -- which has nothing to do with lack of engagement. You just don't attack the problem with the attitude that you alone can tell everyone how this thing should work."
"I think it's better to pull back a little bit." This is an attitude in short supply these days, as we confront the consequences of the overbuilding of our environment. Wisdom leaves an opening, it refuses the conquistadorial approach. There is nothing ascetic or understated about the Kimmel,mind you, yet it is a fullness without ostentation, a fullness for purpose. That purpose was stated by acoustical engineer Russell Johnson:
"From the beginning, they emphasized that they did not want their hall to change what they described as "the sound of the Philadelphia Orchestra." This was their major concern: they wanted a hall that would support their sound as they now hear it, but not change it. A very, very challenging task..."
He goes on to say:
"As in any concert hall, the complete elimination of extraneous noise, including but not limited to exterior vehicular noise and sirens, boilers, transformers, escalators, elevators, fans pushing air into the room at too high a speed, drinking fountains, refrigerators nearby...There are literally hundreds of noises to be aware of and eliminate.... Under perfect conditions, the musicians and the conductor can hear, or sense, what the audience is hearing. There should be no distancing effect between the orchestra and the public, no harshness of sound, no echoes, no frequency imbalances. It should feel as if there is air around the music, as if the music is floating..."I can attest that there was a "feeling of air" around the music, and that the experience was heavenly.
Why, then, the TV screens? Why the visual noise of these TV screens? Why this act of desecration to something already perfect? The ethic of contemporaneity is that of not knowing when to stop. The fact that we have TV screens that can project the motions of the music being performed is not a sufficient reason to instigate them. Technological capacity - "might" -- does not make right. I felt this capitulation to multimedia as a adulteration, a violation of something virginal and pure. I don't like it in science --cloning and mixing DNA to create new creatures -- and I don't like it in music.
How subtle is the transition from enhancement to adulteration, to a kind of idolatry. What is "appropriate," what is proper, what is fitting - these are the most difficult areas of life to define, subsisting in a kind of twilight realm of good sense and manners. It is perilous indeed to step out of this twilit realm for the sake of glaring day - perilous to forsake altogether the realms of night, of reticence and of the unseen. Let us rather not see, not know, everything. Let us preserve a corner of our minds for wild, reverent, unconquered being.
Kimmel - take the screens away! - please!