A Nutty Edam Cheese

"Wow. Strawberries, yeah!" says Jack, trying to keep up. "Strawberries. Not the cheese."

The marvelous Sideways is about a lot of things, and one of those things is a contemporary exploration of sense and sensibility. It is about pleasure and how and where and why we find it. And it is about the refined and the coarse, and the friction and companionship found between those contrasting perspectives. Miles is a snob, but I have empathy for him. Jack is a vulgarian, but I come to accept him (kind of).

I wouldn't want to take a wine-tasting excursion with either of them (even if I ever wanted to go on a wine-tasting excursion). They would both be excruciating bores, and whatever pleasure I might derive from a sip of pinot would be ruined by their extreme sensibilities.

I've been wondering for some time if a trip to the symphony orchestra, for some people, might have all the appeal of a trip to the vineyard with Miles and Jack. The modern vineyard is something like the concert hall, for some, a palace of refinement that only the most epicurean can truly enjoy or critique.

I feel like Jack when I'm told what a mess the strings made of the second movement. "Sounded good to me," I would say, if only I had Jack's total lack of pretension.

I feel like Miles if I've felt as if a performance is not up to the qualities I expected, and then sat there befuddled as the audience surged to an ovation.

In much of the verbiage produced by the SLSO (and I'm a main producer of it), the phrase "world-class orchestra" often appears. But what does that mean? I don't expect many of those who read it to be among the few who have actually traveled the world and sampled different orchestras, and who can nod in agreement and say, yes, this orchestra is truly "world class." Rather, I guess, the phrase is used as assurance, since most of us have heard a couple orchestras in our lives - if any - we feel better knowing that what we're hearing is first rate. A blurb from the New York Times or Alex Ross helps, but, in truth, I think most of us are like Jack: "Sounded good to me."

And in that sense, is Jack so bad? Jack enjoys himself, takes pleasure as he finds it. Miles is too finicky, too thin-skinned to open himself to the possibility that an experience can be less than sublime. (OK, Jack cheats on his fiancée, too, but...)

There are people who still own multiple recordings of, say, various soloists with different conductors and orchestras playing the Rach 3, and who can provide an analysis of the pleasures and displeasures of each like vintages of Chateaux Lafitte Pincay. But for "people like us," as the Talking Heads used to sing, a little knowledge goes a long way, and too much can spoil the party.

Now understand that I used to make my living as a critic (and some people thought a particularly snotty one). "Man is the measure of all things," a Greek said. To analyze, to rank, to critique - it's what we do. It's part of what makes us human. And it is an art in itself. But classical music or orchestral music or notational music or whatever we may choose to call it carries a burden of connoisseurship. Henry Fogel, who has been a distinctive voice in the business for many years, recently wrote about the pleasurable orchestral experiences he's had with orchestras that aren't considered "world class." All sorts of things go into the enjoyment of a live performance, as with the enjoyment of a glass of rosé.

The musicians may be more burdened then anybody. They really know the stuff, and I can't tell you how many times I've praised a musician's performance to have him or her respond, "Oh, thanks, but I felt I was off that night." I'll keep praising them anyway. Harpist Frances Tietov told me a story about playing Debussy's Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun with Paavo Berglund conducting. One night she felt Berglund's beat was unclear, and she made an entrance that she felt "emerged from nowhere." After the performance she requested the conductor to give her a more distinct cue the next night. But on that next performance, the "accurate" entrance - Frances and Berglund agreed -- did not have the beauty of the previous "soft" entrance. In getting it wrong they got it right.

In Sideways, Miles' love interest Maya (Virginia Madsen), a waitress, also knows her stuff about wine, to Miles' surprise (he really is a snob). In a famous scene, the two discuss why they love wine so much. For Miles, it comes down to an expression of himself. Pinot, too, is thin-skinned, finicky, but if properly tended and cultivated "...its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle...." For Maya, wine "is a living thing," and a metaphor for life itself. But, ultimately, she loves wine because "it tastes so ******* good."

And there you have it, the poetry and prose, the refined and the crude come together. It's a good place to meet. A party.

Wine, in the end, makes you intoxicated. So can a symphony orchestra. That's part of the fun of it, and what can make it a pleasure, no matter how much you know, or don't know.