It’s a terrible time to be a classical music fan in New York City.
The New York Philharmonic’s official season ended last weekend, and after its ceremonial final concerts in the city’s parks—occurring as we speak—the storied orchestra will go dark until September.
But we won’t be missing much. New York’s music scene, I’m sorry to say, has suffered decades of systemic abuse.
Take, for example, the newly renovated David Geffen Hall, the physical home of the New York Philharmonic. A decade and $550 million later, it has all the worldly charm of an airport lounge in Dubuque. Actually, strike that: The good folks in Iowa decorated their regional transportation hub with fetching wood ceilings and stone walls, a much more attractive proposition than the cigarette ash–gray carpets and doctor’s office–chic chairs that currently adorn New York’s premier temple of classical music. And the acoustics in any given Iowa airport are better than Geffen Hall’s, too.
And if, for whatever reason, you entered Geffen Hall at any point in the last seven years, the music you experienced was likely just as flat as the building. Approaching the Philharmonic like a certified public accountant approaches a corporate balance sheet, its director, Jaap van Zweden, fashioned an orchestra that was technically proficient, accurate, and mind-bendingly soulless. Under van Zweden’s baton, quipped the critic Daniel Gelernter, “the orchestra is no longer sloppy. Now it’s merely unmusical.”
