Saturday, April 11, 2026
Friday, April 3, 2026
Gabriela Montero at Spivey Hall: Contrast, Continuity, and Control
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Gabriela Montero at Spivey Hall: Contrast, Continuity, and Control
Spivey Hall continues its survey of the world’s leading
pianists with an appearance by an appearance by Gabriela Montero, the
Venezuelan-born pianist whose career, like those of several composers on the
program, has unfolded across national boundaries. Her work integrates formal
coherence, stylistic awareness, and immediate responsiveness, placing her
within a lineage of pianist-composers rather than solely as an interpreter.
One immediately noticeable feature of the evening was the
presence of a large video screen positioned behind the piano. Its placement
altered the acoustic projection: with sound waves partially blocked from
reaching the rear wall, the piano registered with unusual directness and volume
in the hall. Even so, the characteristic clarity of Spivey Hall remained
intact.
Beyond its surface variety, the program suggested two
additional throughlines. The first is historical: each composer
represented—Sergei Prokofiev, Sergei Rachmaninoff, and Igor Stravinsky—spent
part of their lives as émigrés in the United States, a fact that aligns
naturally with the inclusion of The Immigrant. The second is more perceptual:
much of the program suggested a cinematic quality, whether inherent in the
music or projected by the listener.
PROKOFIEV | Sarcasms, Op. 17 (1912–1914)
As one of Prokofiev’s early modernist works, Sarcasms
departs from continuous, developmental writing in favor of discontinuity and
juxtaposition. Its significance lies in its use of contrast and distortion as
organizing principles, replacing extended melodic development with concise,
sharply articulated gestures. These works belong to a period that would likely
have been labeled “formalist” under later Soviet doctrine.
The set comprises five short movements (Tempestoso, Allegro
rubato, Allegro precipitato, Smanioso, Precipitosissimo)
marked by abrupt changes in dynamics, register, and texture. Angular figures
and percussive articulation produce a surface defined by instability and rapid
shifts.
In performance, the work suggested a kind of visual
parallel: it unfolded like a cartoon sequence, with quick, exaggerated changes
of direction and pacing. The music moves forward with little reliance on
thematic development, instead progressing through a succession of sharply
defined moments, as if tracking a series of actions rather than unfolding an
argument. Montero navigated these transitions with ease, maintaining continuity
despite the absence of a clear developmental thread.
PROKOFIEV | Piano Sonata No. 2 in D Minor, Op. 14
(1912; rev. 1913)
Composed contemporaneously with Sarcasms, the Second
Sonata reflects a parallel strand in Prokofiev’s early output. While Sarcasms
is built from short, sharply contrasting ideas, the Sonata shows how Prokofiev
shapes those same kinds of sounds into a longer, more continuous musical
argument.
Together, these works predate by more than two decades Romeo
and Juliet and by over thirty years the Symphony No. 5, where
Prokofiev redirects this language toward greater continuity and broader formal
spans.
The four-movement structure contrasts driving outer
movements with more restrained inner sections. In performance, the Sonata
maintained a similar reliance on forward motion without extensive thematic
development, though at a lower level of intensity than Sarcasms. Montero
played the work attacca following Sarcasms, reinforcing their connection
while differentiating their scale and pacing.
RACHMANINOFF | Piano Sonata No. 2, Op. 36 (1913;
rev. 1931)
Rachmaninoff’s Second Sonata represents a late-Romantic
approach carried to a high level of structural concentration. The sonata
unfolds in three connected movements (Allegro agitato, Non
allegro—Lento, Allegro molto), forming a continuous span
characterized by dense textures and persistent forward drive.
In this performance, the work came across as large in scale
and unrelenting in execution. Its dense chordal writing and frequent
arpeggiated passages create a sustained level of intensity that, on the piano,
can become percussive and tiring to the ear over time. The piece serves as a
clear example of the kind of expansive Romantic approach against which many
twentieth-century composers reacted. Montero brought the necessary energy and
technical control to sustain the work’s demands, preventing it from collapsing
under its own weight.
At the conclusion of the sonata, the program indicated that
the Stravinsky Sonata would follow. Instead, after Montero exited the stage,
there was an extended pause before Spivey Hall staff announced that the
Stravinsky would be performed after intermission. During the break, a piano
technician appeared to adjust the Steinway, suggesting that the
instrument—particularly in its upper register—required attention after the
demands of the Rachmaninoff.
STRAVINSKY | Sonata, K. 043 (1924)
In contrast to the preceding work, Stravinsky’s Sonata
reflects a turn toward neoclassical restraint. Its significance lies in its
rejection of Romantic-era excess in favor of clarity, proportion, and control.
The three-movement structure (Moderato, Adagietto,
Allegro moderato) emphasizes economy of material and precision of
gesture. Following the Rachmaninoff, the work registered as comparatively
slight in this context. While occasional Baroque-inspired figures appear, the
overall impression was one of reduced scale and impact, underscoring the extent
to which Stravinsky’s approach diverges from the expansive model represented by
Rachmaninoff.
C. CHAPLIN | The Immigrant (1917)
with improvised score by Gabriela Montero
The final portion of the program paired Chaplin’s The
Immigrant with a live improvised score. The film, likely projected at a
higher frame rate than originally intended, gave the movement a sped-up, jerky
quality, with gestures appearing exaggerated and mechanically abrupt.
Montero performs the score while following the film on a
tablet placed at the piano, allowing her to synchronize her playing with the
projected image seen by the audience. This setup makes clear that the music is
being constructed in real time, with each gesture aligned to the unfolding
visual action rather than drawn from a fixed score.
Her improvisation returned the program to a mode similar to Sarcasms:
high-energy, moment-to-moment construction without extended thematic
development. The music functioned as a sequence of discrete responses to
on-screen action, emphasizing immediacy over continuity and reinforcing the
program’s broader exploration of musical surface and structure.
Closing
Taken together, the program presented a forceful and at
times raw sequence of works that highlighted Montero’s technical command and
physical approach to the piano. It also offered a concise view of shifting
compositional priorities across the twentieth century—from the large-scale,
highly developed structures of Rachmaninoff to Prokofiev’s angular,
forward-driven constructions, to Stravinsky’s deliberate reduction of scale and
means—before concluding with improvisation as a real-time compositional act.
Montero’s performance throughout reinforced her standing as one of the leading
pianists performing today, combining technical control with the ability to
shape both fixed and spontaneous material at a high level.
From Symphony to Platform: How Orchestras Are Quietly Rewriting Their Economic Model
A new generation of venues signals a shift from cultural institution to entertainment platform—one long anticipated, but still deeply contested.
For much of the 20th century, the American orchestra operated within a stable, if delicate, equilibrium. Ticket sales provided a portion of revenue. Philanthropy filled the gap. Endowments, where they existed, softened fluctuations. The model was never fully self-sustaining, but it was coherent. It worked well enough to support a flourishing artistic ecosystem.
It also depended on a distinction that now appears increasingly fragile: the idea that art and entertainment occupy separate domains, each with its own audience, economics, and purpose.
That distinction is beginning to erode.
Rising costs, uneven subscription demand, and increasing competition for philanthropic dollars have exposed a structural limitation: the traditional orchestra model does not generate sufficient earned revenue to support itself at scale. This is not a temporary imbalance. It is a feature of the system.
What is emerging in response is not a rejection of the nonprofit model, but a quiet reconfiguration of it—one that challenges long-held assumptions about what orchestras are, and how they sustain themselves.
The Turn Toward the Market
In recent years, several organizations have begun to expand beyond their traditional roles as presenters of classical music. They are entering the broader live entertainment economy, not as occasional participants, but as operators.
In Cincinnati, the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra established Music and Event Management, Inc. (MEMI), a subsidiary that books and manages multiple concert venues. These venues host touring acts, festivals, and commercial programming at a scale far beyond the orchestra’s core subscription base. The result is not merely increased activity, but a new revenue stream tied directly to market demand.
In Omaha, Omaha Performing Arts opened Steelhouse Omaha, a 3,000-seat venue designed to attract artists who would otherwise bypass the city. The logic is straightforward: if demand already exists, capture it.
Now, in Kansas City, the Kansas City Symphony is proposing a 4,000-plus seat venue intended for a wide range of programming, much of it outside the traditional symphonic repertoire. Unlike Omaha, this effort is tied directly to the orchestra itself, suggesting a more integrated financial strategy.
These are not isolated developments. They represent a pattern.
The Missing Middle
At the center of this shift is a simple market observation. Many cities lack venues in the 2,500 to 5,000 seat range. Smaller halls cannot accommodate the production or revenue needs of mid-level touring acts. Arenas are too large to be economically viable for many performers.
The result is a “missing middle” in the live music ecosystem.
Organizations that fill this gap gain access to a steady stream of touring content with established audiences. The programming risk is lower because demand has already been demonstrated elsewhere. The challenge is not to create interest, but to host it.
This is a fundamentally different posture from that of the traditional orchestra, which must cultivate demand for each program, often with limited elasticity.
From Institution to Platform
What distinguishes these developments is not simply the addition of new venues, but a change in how organizations conceive of themselves.
The orchestra is no longer only:
A producer of concerts
A steward of repertoire
A beneficiary of philanthropy
It is becoming:
A venue operator
A presenter across genres
A participant in the commercial entertainment market
In this model, the organization functions as a platform—one that connects artists, audiences, and infrastructure across multiple types of events.
This shift was anticipated in the work of Stanley E. Romanstein,Ph.D., who identified a core structural issue:
“At the root of the funding challenge… is this false divide that we have created between art and entertainment.”
For Romanstein, the distinction is less meaningful to audiences than institutions assume:
“Audiences… don’t generally differentiate between art and entertainment… They’re looking for a wonderful experience out.”
If that is the case, then the expansion into broader programming is not a departure from audience expectations, but an alignment with them.
The Resistance to the Model
These developments have not been universally welcomed. For some, they represent a dilution of artistic purpose, a shift away from the core mission of the orchestra toward something more commercial and less distinct.
This reaction is understandable. The boundary between art and entertainment has long served as a marker of institutional identity. To cross it can feel like a compromise.
Yet the economic reality is difficult to ignore. As Romanstein observed:
“We value entertainment highly… we’re willing to pay anything to be entertained.”
The asymmetry is clear. Audiences routinely support commercial entertainment at price levels that would be untenable for most nonprofit arts organizations. The question is not whether orchestras should become entertainment entities, but whether they can afford to ignore the systems that sustain them.
Romanstein’s conclusion is direct:
“The moment is right now to bring the walls down between art and entertainment and fuse the two worlds.”
The emerging venue strategies can be understood as early attempts to operationalize that idea.
When the Model Fails
Not every attempt to enter the broader entertainment market has succeeded. In Atlanta, the Woodruff Arts Center once owned the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre, a large outdoor venue designed primarily for summer touring acts.
On its surface, the strategy appears similar: capture demand for popular entertainment and convert it into earned revenue. In practice, structural constraints limited its effectiveness. The venue’s seasonal nature restricted event volume. Competition within a saturated metropolitan market reduced its distinctiveness. Most critically, the operation was not fully integrated into the national touring and promoter ecosystem that drives consistent bookings.
Why Los Angeles Works and Atlanta Didn’t
The contrast between Los Angeles and Atlanta illustrates that success in the live entertainment model depends less on venue ownership than on market structure.The Los Angeles Philharmonic operates the Hollywood Bowl, one of the most successful outdoor venues in the world. Like Atlanta’s amphitheater, it is seasonal and oriented toward summer programming. Unlike Atlanta, it achieves consistently high utilization and substantial earned revenue.
The difference lies in context.
Los Angeles offers a vast metropolitan population, a global tourism base, and deep integration into the entertainment industry. The Bowl is not merely competing for touring acts—it is part of the ecosystem that defines them. Artists perform there because it is a destination.By contrast, the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre operated in a saturated market with strong existing competition and less integration into national touring networks. Its seasonal nature further constrained the volume of events needed for financial stability.
The lesson is structural. Market size, tourism, brand identity, and promoter integration are not secondary considerations—they determine whether the model succeeds.
Where those conditions exist, as in Los Angeles, the model can thrive. Where they do not, as in Atlanta, the same strategy may struggle to produce meaningful financial support.Rather than functioning as a stable revenue engine, the amphitheater illustrates a central limitation of the model. Infrastructure alone is insufficient. Success depends on alignment with the systems that generate demand, the scale to sustain high utilization, and a clear financial connection to the core institution.
Constraints and Realities
The platform model is not without limitations.
Revenue from touring acts is substantial in aggregate but often constrained by costs: artist fees, production expenses, and promoter partnerships reduce margins. Profitability depends on volume. A single venue with inconsistent bookings will struggle to generate meaningful surplus.
Market size also matters. Not every city can support the level of activity required. The success of Cincinnati’s multi-venue system reflects both scale and density. Replicating that model in smaller or less connected markets may prove difficult.
Perhaps most importantly, these strategies do not eliminate the need for philanthropy. They supplement it. The nonprofit structure remains intact, even as its boundaries become more porous.
A Structural Adjustment, Not a Departure
It would be easy to interpret these developments as a departure from the traditional mission of the orchestra. In practice, they are better understood as an adaptation.
The core artistic function remains. What changes is the economic framework that supports it.
If the 20th-century model depended on a balance of tickets and donations, the emerging model adds a third element: participation in the broader entertainment economy. This does not resolve all financial challenges, but it redistributes them across a wider base of activity.
Conclusion: A Quiet Transformation
The transformation now underway is incremental rather than dramatic. There are no manifestos, no formal declarations of a new model. Instead, there are buildings, subsidiaries, and programming decisions that, taken together, suggest a different way forward.
The orchestra, long defined by its repertoire and traditions, is beginning to redefine itself through its infrastructure and revenue streams.
Not as a replacement for what it has been, but as an expansion of what it must become.
The underlying logic is not aesthetic, but structural. As Romanstein observed:
“If you can make the budget work, everything else is possible. If you can’t… nothing else is possible.”
That reality, more than any philosophical argument, is what is driving the change.
Go to www.AtlantaMusicCritic.com to see the full interview with Stanley Romanstein, Ph.D.
Pianist Eliza Garth: Continuity, Listening, and the Work of Understanding Music
Pianist Eliza Garth has spent much of her career in terrain that many listeners still approach with caution: contemporary music shaped by the complexities of the mid- and late-twentieth century. Yet in conversation, she resists the familiar framing of that repertoire as difficult, alienating, or disconnected from audiences. Instead, she situates it within a broader and more continuous musical landscape, one that stretches naturally from the past into the present.
Her most recent recording, By the River, offers a particularly clear lens into that perspective. Built around hymn tunes and chorale-based works, the album might at first seem like a departure from the modernist repertoire she has long championed. Garth does not see it that way. “I think it’s fed by old traditions,” she explains. “It’s just that sometimes the language on the surface is something a little different from what people are accustomed to. They may not recognize immediately that it’s not a break from the past, it’s a continuation of what came before.”
That idea of continuity becomes a through-line in her thinking. The divide often drawn between older and newer music, or between accessible and complex styles, is for her less a structural reality than a matter of perception. As a performer, she has always approached contemporary works with the same interpretive grounding she would bring to canonical repertoire. “I always tried to bring to that music the same sensibility I would have brought to a Chopin scherzo or a Beethoven sonata,” she says, a statement that reframes modern music not as an exception, but as part of a unified artistic practice.
What changes, in her view, is not the underlying continuity of the tradition, but the listener’s familiarity with its language. That distinction leads to one of the most compelling ideas in the conversation: that listening itself is a learned process that unfolds over time. When audiences encounter unfamiliar music, she suggests, the difficulty often lies not in the music’s construction but in the immediacy of expectation. “When you encounter a language that is really unfamiliar to you,” she says, “it’s a little bit like taking a transatlantic flight and landing in a country where you don’t speak the language… at first it’s alienating… and then you start to hear the cadences.”
The analogy is simple but effective, shifting the burden away from the music and toward the conditions of listening. Understanding does not arrive instantly; it develops through exposure, repetition, and attention. This perspective also clarifies a structural challenge within contemporary music: many new works are heard only once. Without the opportunity for repeated listening, the process she describes is cut short. As Garth acknowledges, “the craft deserves more hearing, and unfortunately most of the time it doesn’t happen.”
Her reflections on modernism follow the same pattern of nuance. While she concedes that some composers may have become absorbed in insular creative circles, she resists reducing an entire period to that tendency. “The 20th and 21st centuries are a big wide world,” she notes, emphasizing the diversity of approaches that existed alongside more academically oriented styles. More fundamentally, she reframes the question of intention. “In my experience, composers write what they want to hear,” she says, a statement that cuts through the assumption that music is primarily written for audiences or institutions.
Within that landscape, she points to composers who were able to reconcile complexity with expressive immediacy. Donald Martino, in particular, stands out in her experience as someone who “found a way to express his own very expressive sensibility in this intellectually very demanding language,” creating music that carries both structural rigor and emotional tension. The implication is not that complexity must be simplified, but that it can be integrated into a broader expressive framework that remains perceptible to listeners over time.
The repertoire on By the River reflects that same integration. The inclusion of Brahms’ chorale preludes, particularly in Busoni’s piano transcriptions, serves as a historical bridge between traditions. Composed at the end of Brahms’ life, these works carry a sense of reflection shaped by personal loss and mortality. Garth hears them as “very stately… introspective… almost atmospheric,” emphasizing their restraint and depth rather than their technical demands. The music, in her interpretation, is not driven forward so much as it unfolds, creating space for contemplation.
At the same time, the newer works on the album draw from similar sources, using hymnody and spiritual melodies as points of departure. These are not quotations meant to preserve the past intact, but materials to be transformed. Garth connects this process to earlier models, invoking Copland’s Appalachian Spring as an example of how a traditional melody can be reimagined within a modern framework. The result is not a break in the tradition, but a continuation that operates through reinterpretation.
One of the most unexpected aspects of the conversation extends this idea beyond the concert hall. Garth describes a film project that emerged from performing Frederick Tillis’ Spiritual Fantasy in a historic church built by enslaved people. The setting prompted a deeper engagement with the historical and cultural context of the music, leading to a collaborative project involving community members, clergy, and historians. What began as a performance became a broader inquiry into memory and history, using music as a point of entry.
Reflecting on that experience, she speaks less about artistic outcomes than about what she learned from the people involved. The stories she encountered revealed both the daily realities of segregation and the resilience of those who lived through it. The response of one interview subject remained particularly striking: when asked about anger, the answer was simple—“No, because I knew they were wrong.” That clarity, grounded in lived experience, mirrors the kind of directness Garth values in music itself.
Taken together, the conversation suggests a shift away from polarized views of musical culture. Rather than positioning modernism against tradition, or complexity against accessibility, Garth presents a model in which these elements coexist within a continuous and evolving framework. The challenge, for listeners, is not to resolve those tensions immediately, but to remain open long enough for understanding to develop.
In that sense, her work as a performer becomes less about advocacy for a particular repertoire and more about creating the conditions for listening. Music, in her view, does not demand instant comprehension. It asks for time.
Highlights from the Interview
“It’s not a break from the past, it’s a continuation of what came before.”
“I always tried to bring the same sensibility I would have brought to Chopin or Beethoven.”
“It’s like landing in a country where you don’t speak the language… you begin to hear the cadences.”
“The craft deserves more hearing, and unfortunately most of the time it doesn’t happen.”
“Composers write what they want to hear.”
“There was a real tension and excitement in Martino’s music.”
“These Brahms pieces are very stately… introspective… almost atmospheric.
Boston’s Balance Sheet Is Not the Whole Story
Boston’s Balance Sheet Is Not the Whole Story
What the Numbers Say—and What They Don’t—About the BSO
The recent Cadenza analysis (https://cadenza.work/news/bso-financial-anatomy-618-million-assets-100-million-reserve-draws-2026 )of the Boston Symphony Orchestra presents a compelling narrative: an institution whose net assets have grown from roughly $438 million in 2011 to $618 million in 2024, and therefore one whose financial concerns appear overstated. The figures themselves are not in dispute. What is in question is what those figures actually mean.
The argument rests on a critical assumption—that net assets are a proxy for financial strength in an operational sense. They are not. Net assets include restricted funds, physical plant, pension-related balances, and other non-liquid holdings. Only a portion of that total represents capital that can be deployed to support ongoing operations. Treating the full $618 million as functionally available obscures the constraints under which the organization actually operates and overstates its financial flexibility.
This distinction becomes more important when the analysis moves from description to conclusion. The observation that net assets have increased over thirteen years is accurate, but it does not follow that the operating model is therefore sound. Across the nonprofit arts sector, it is entirely possible for balance sheets to grow while underlying financial pressures persist. Strong market performance—particularly in years like 2021—can elevate asset values even as operating deficits continue and reliance on endowment draw increases. In that sense, growth in net assets reflects market conditions as much as institutional performance.
The Cadenza piece also emphasizes that the orchestra drew more than $100 million from reserves while still increasing its net asset base by approximately $180 million. The implication is that investment returns have more than compensated for withdrawals, and that the model is therefore working as intended. That conclusion conflates two different dynamics. Investment returns are volatile and externally driven, while endowment draws are structural and recurring. Favorable markets can mask underlying imbalances, but they do not eliminate them. The more relevant question is whether the relationship between revenue, expenses, and draw is sustainable across varying market conditions, not whether assets happened to grow during a strong period.
Viewed through the BTS I framework, the Boston Symphony looks less like an outlier of financial security and more like a large, complex institution managing familiar structural pressures. Its revenue base is diversified, and its scale provides advantages, but it also operates with recurring deficits and a meaningful dependence on endowment-supported income. Capital obligations, including deferred maintenance and pension liabilities, remain real even if they are long-term in nature. None of these factors suggest crisis, but they do point to a system that requires careful management rather than complacency.
BTS I Snapshot: Boston vs. Peers (Illustrative Framework)
Revenue Mix (approximate patterns):
Boston Symphony Orchestra: Balanced mix; strong earned revenue (Tanglewood), significant contributions, and meaningful investment income (~20%+)
Chicago Symphony Orchestra: Higher contribution reliance; strong donor base; somewhat lower relative dependence on investment income
New York Philharmonic: High contribution and fundraising capacity; earned revenue constrained by hall and programming model
Los Angeles Philharmonic: Strong earned revenue (Hollywood Bowl), diversified programming; comparatively less endowment dependence
This brings into focus the question that sits beneath the financial discussion: what problem is the board attempting to solve? The answer is unlikely to be immediate insolvency. It is more plausibly a question of risk. When a significant portion of revenue is tied to investment performance, exposure to market volatility increases. When deficits recur, even at manageable levels, they accumulate pressure over time. When earned revenue faces structural headwinds, particularly in ticket sales, growth becomes uncertain. In that context, a board may reasonably seek ways to rebalance the model before external conditions force more difficult adjustments.
One potential lever—though not the only one—is artistic leadership. There is at least some precedent for boards viewing a music director as part of a revenue strategy. The appointments of Klaus Mäkelä in Chicago and Gustavo Dudamel in New York have been accompanied by an expectation, explicit or implicit, that high-profile leadership can stimulate ticket demand, donor enthusiasm, and broader visibility. Whether that effect is durable remains uncertain, and the historical record suggests limits. No conductor has reversed long-term structural attendance trends. Still, a visible artistic figure can influence demand at the margin—particularly in a subscription-based model where perception, branding, and momentum matter.
Seen in that light, such decisions are less about artistic disruption than about incremental revenue strategy. If even modest gains in ticket sales or donor engagement can reduce reliance on endowment draws, the board may view leadership change as one component of a broader financial recalibration. That does not guarantee success, but it does place the decision within a recognizable strategic framework.
Seen in this light, decisions that appear contradictory—strong balance sheet growth alongside expressions of financial concern—become more intelligible. The issue is not whether the Boston Symphony is wealthy. It is whether its current financial structure is sufficiently resilient to withstand less favorable conditions ahead. Balance sheet strength provides a cushion, but it does not eliminate exposure to risk.
The Boston Symphony Orchestra remains one of the leading cultural institutions in the United States, with substantial resources and enduring artistic stature. The Cadenza analysis is correct to push back against narratives of immediate crisis. Where it goes too far is in equating accumulated wealth with operational security. The distinction between those two concepts is where the real financial story lies, and it is also where the most consequential decisions are made.
Saturday, March 21, 2026
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