From solo recitals to symphony orchestras, Oberlin concerts range in grandeur. Instrumentation, number of performers, and time to prepare affect some repertoire choices. Practical decisions aside, the more nuanced selections aim to create an enjoyable and fulfilling experience for the audience. Concert designers may pick a theme, blending similar sounds and ideas into a melodic conversation. Alternatively, they may create contrast by showcasing disparate pieces side by side. Every performing artist develops unique tastes, and hopes to share their distinct vision with their audience. The Verona Quartet, a highly acclaimed chamber group in residence at Oberlin, reimagine their set list seasonally. 

Abigail Rojansky, OC ’11, the Verona Quartet’s violist, described their collaborative process of music selection in preparation for a concert cycle. Origin and time period do not constrain the quartet’s repertoire. They compile manifold musical works in a shared document before narrowing down possibilities through open discussion. Above all else, they prioritize beautiful music.

“When something is expertly written for the instruments at hand, then you are speaking the music through your tool,” Rojansky said. “Any physical challenges there might be to playing technically, they’re all for the greater musical purpose, and that’s very gratifying — when you feel challenged technically but can sense an exhilarating and worthwhile end goal that you can apply yourself towards.”

The Verona Quartet’s debut album, Shatter, encompasses their repertoire selection philosophy. Released in June 2023, Shatter features world-premiere recordings of music from current American composers. The title itself invokes a destruction of the glass ceiling and an attempt to overcome invisible barriers that hinder a borderless appreciation of music. Shatter celebrates the creative diversity burgeoning within the American music scene. 

“They were all pieces that we became really passionate about, and all by contemporary American composers,” Rojansky said. “But each with a different perspective and very different voices. We thought that that would be a really exciting snapshot of right now, the current American landscape.”

The first piece on Shatter, a quartet by Indian-American composer Reena Esmail, highlights this all-encompassing, cross-cultural goal. Esmail pulls from Indian and Western classical music to weave a vibrant musical tapestry. From a fundamental standpoint, the differences in the scales used in both traditions present a challenge. However, Esmail’s goal wasn’t to merely combine the two traditions and push musicians toward a foreign style, but rather to create something entirely new.

“It’s not just classical players playing a style outside of our realm or a Hindustani singer singing in the classical style,” Rojansky said. “No, we asked [Esmail] about it, and she said, ‘I’m seeking to create something that is unique on its own; it’s another type of music.’ We asked her what she would tell somebody who says we’re trying to claim a style of music that doesn’t belong to us, that we haven’t grown in. She responded that as an Indian American, she feels honored and happy when classical Western players can partake in what she understands, grew up with, and loves.”

Conservatory students are given a chance to try their hand at setlist construction during their junior and senior recitals. Blake Logan, a Conservatory fourth-year cellist, took the opportunity to branch away from traditional classical pieces. 

“I was trying to challenge the canon of what is usually performed and the idea that there are a couple of composers that are geniuses and that those are the only ones that are worth learning as a classical music student,” Logan said. “I feel like I can learn so much and grow in so many different ways by playing these pieces that are less well known.”

Logan’s finalized setlist included repertoire from a contemporary Finnish composer, an arrangement of Klezmer folk music, and a self-composed piece. They wanted to perform music that matched their own personality, which required reaching outside the box. The Jewish folk songs and modern compositions acted as a refreshing break from Logan’s 16 years of classical music study.

Including a specific piece in a concert informs the audience of that composition’s perceived value. The exploration of new music in addition to paying homage to the established greats is required to prevent staleness and stagnation.

“It’s incredibly fun to discover new things and share them with people, but it’s also a hefty responsibility because we know that we’re helping to forge the future of this field,” Rojansky said. “What people hear is what they’re going to know.”

The Verona Quartet and other modern pioneers of classical music forge a path for the future of the genre. Their mission is to imagine and endeavor to create a future in which all music is appreciated

“We know where tradition has brought us, and we are grateful for it,” Rojansky said. “We also have the honor of being able to imagine where the future will be for classical music and to create that future. But rather than reacting to where we are, our perspective is to put our minds where they should already be and make our choices from there.”

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

How did the quartet form?

SYM: I wanted to do competitions, specifically the Fischoff Chamber Music Competition because I had never done it before. When I transferred from Juilliard in January 2022, I was looking for a group, but I didn’t know anybody. I asked Drew, because I knew we had mutual friends from social media. Originally, we were going for a piano trio, but we found Jasper and Max, and we got together to play. We all agreed on competitions as a group, and we did the Advanced Quartet Seminar together in our first semester.

At what point did you recognize your success as a group?

SYM: After performing at the St. Paul Competition we listened back to our performance, and that was the first time I really thought to myself, “Oh, wow, we actually have something good.” And I remember before that I would listen to our recordings and always have a problem with it. I would think that we would never win anything. After the St. Paul Competition, we won the gold medal, and the BIPOC/Female Composer prize, which we did not think we would win.  But when we listened to it back, I felt like there’s something. There’s an energy here that I never had before in a chamber group. And I was interested in it. And I started exploring it more in rehearsals. I still — even to this day — think all four of us have doubts about ourselves as a group; we still question whether we could work together. But we are all committed to getting to a point where we feel secure in that.

What makes the Poiesis Quartet so special?

SYM: I don’t know whether we have a concrete answer for that. I feel like a lot of quartets have a very specific path they set and we don’t really have that — we are all interdisciplinary people.

Drew is double-degree, Max is doing jazz, and Jasper is doing everything. I guess we diverge from the traditional ensemble in that we are always exploring things that would give each of us a voice. We really want to do commissioned works, like placing priority on new music or diverse composers and repertoire that isn’t usually played in a quartet setting. I personally would really like to work with visual art and other types of art that can be collaborated with string quartets.

DD: We also want to be a queer group when we play. Not only with how we dress and present ourselves, but more for the idea that we are spontaneous, we like being very stylistic and so on. We like to bring that approach to the music.

SYM: I think that is really inherent to who we are. We are all queer, and I can’t think of many ensembles that have openly queer members, like the Attacca Quartet.

Can you tell me more about being a queer classical string quartet? 

SYM: The programming and traditional classical music do not prioritize queer repertoire, queer music, or queer performers. They don’t really talk about queer approaches to music, or any marginalized approach, because there’s an ethic to the way marginalized people perform. The way we play is that we find a collaboration that is inherent to us because it is sort of how we always found belonging as queer people. I think us being a very openly queer ensemble, with the way we dressed at finals of the Fischoff Competition as well, is a big part of who we are. It is not something very purposeful, our identities give us a specific approach to music, and we play music in a different way because of that. The majority of the groups that I am inspired by are comprised of marginalized performers. And there’s a reason for that. I think it’s because of their approach to music being rooted in something community-based or the value that isn’t really seen in this standard representation of classical music.

What does the future look like for the quartet?

SYM: After Fischoff, we spent five months deciding what we were going to do in the future because Drew won a job in Cincinnati. But, a week ago, we all decided to move to Cincinnati. Starting in January 2024, me and Max will graduate early, and I will have to drop my double-degree. I am just going to get my Bachelor of Music and two minors. We are going to pursue an Artist Diploma at the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music.

DD: Yes, that is a two-year program. So we’re thinking it’ll be a really good opportunity for us to rehearse intensively, especially when we first get there, giving us some breathing room to learn a bunch of new rep, whatever we might need for competitions and performances in the future. Hopefully from there we can do more tours and find some management for it.

The story takes place in Loxford, a small town in East Suffolk, England. The town folk hurry to find a new May Queen for the upcoming May Festival. Because the people of Loxford prize purity, the purest of them all wins said title. The May Queen is usually a virgin woman; however, no more virgins exist, so they must reluctantly award the May Queen title to the most virginal man in town, Albert Herring.  

Havey’s set design showcased Loxford with tall pink and gold two-dimensional buildings that frame the stage and brilliantly capture the town’s rigidity with an Addams Family-esque portrayal of the town folk — pale-faced, lifeless, and morally dubious, yet somehow likable. However, the town’s youth seemed rosy-cheeked and full of life. The gothic appearance of the older townspeople in contrast with the lively color palette of its youth show that time spent within this society will surely wear away at all who abide by Loxford’s morals. 

Albert Herring finds himself caught between the town’s moral rigidity and the hedonistic ways of his bully, Sid. Albert is envious of Sid’s opposition to Loxford’s morals, largely prompted by Sid’s romance with Nancy. Sid spikes the punch bowl at the May Festival and Albert succumbs to moral questioning after a fair bit of rum. We see Albert quarrel with himself until he finds who he really is — with the help of even more alcohol. This discovery is frowned upon by the townspeople, yet he finds friends in those who Loxford would consider sinners. 

Our titular character, Albert Herring, is sung by Conservatory fourth-year Blake Harlson and double-degree fifth-year Peter Jeungst. Harlson’s Herring undertook the character changes subtly but convincingly and sang each phrase expertly into the hall. Harlson’s voice is best suited for gentle, melodic gestures, while still being capable of declamatory singing that captures one’s attention at a moment’s notice. Jeungst was also a marvel to watch, his movements constantly in conversation with the orchestra. He glided easily across the stage, with an effortless vocal quality to match, displaying a side of Herring that was always free. A dance-like quality allowed Jeungst’s Herring to physicalize his navigation of self-discovery in an entirely approachable way for the audience.

Lady Billows was sung by Conservatory fourth-years Elizabeth Hanje and Jordan Twadell. It’s worth seeing this show simply to hear glorious acuti sung from offstage by these two divas. Hanje’s voice was nothing short of magnificent, echoing through Hall Auditorium even from backstage. Twadell sang with an impeccable, silvery timbre throughout the entire show. She balanced powerful singing with a witty attention to detail necessary for British comedy. Twadell’s top rang Hall like a bell.

There are few truly lyrical moments in Britten’s score, yet they were made so memorable when Conservatory fourth-year Alan Rendzak wrung out all possible beauty from them. Rendzak’s voice, even at the softest dynamic, is always audible, with plenty of core — a difficult task. He floats to the top of his voice with no hesitation. Although his role as Vicar is primarily an ensemble character, his execution of the role made it worthy of great recognition. Rendzak will be singing all performance dates.

Nancy, sung by double-degree fourth-year Inayah Raheem and double-degree fifth-year Kayleigh Tolley, was a much-needed break from the extreme characters in this comedy. Raheem provided a refreshing and reasonable-minded character that goes hand in hand with a stunning vocal production and consistent clarion tone. Tolley played a noticeably flirtier Nancy; her attentive approach to text and beautiful lyric mezzo would charm just about anyone. Sparks fly between Tolley’s Nancy and Sid, sung by Conservatory fourth-year Benhur Ghezehey, whose athletic baritone and natural stage presence make for a very likable bad boy.

The ensemble characters in this show are simply a delight. At times, I felt all 13 cast members made the stage appear a little crowded. However, each singer created a nuanced presence and supportive atmosphere for their castmates. At the end of a few ensembles I couldn’t help but indulge in the beautifully cacophonous vocal writing Britten demands of these singers. Each singer, independently of anyone else on the stage, delivers their sound confidently and provides emotion in accordance with the libretto.   

Sakir manned the pit, creating a space for Britten’s colors to explore Hall in a significant way. With Britten’s beautiful score, unusual implementation of piano, and auditory special effects, Sakir expertly captures Britten’s intent. Having attended only the dress rehearsal, a few tempi and entrance discrepancies were yet to be fixed; however, with this hardworking team, I have no doubts the hardworking team will resolve them. After the retirement of former Director of Opera Theater Jonathan Field, Oberlin was left with some big shoes to fill. Havey, in very Oberlin fashion, created her own pair of shoes, which I can only hope will stay in Oberlin for years to come.

Double-degree fifth-year Jonathan Bruzon is a Salvadoran-Cuban hornist and Mellon Mays Fellow. Like many other students of color, he has faced difficulties within the Conservatory and recalled his first year as particularly arduous.

“I got so many strange looks my [first] year because people were like, ‘You don’t know who Mahler is,’ or some other obscure composer,” Bruzon said. “My imposter phenomenon kicked in, and I’ve been struggling since then. The Conservatory desperately needs more POC musicians, faculty, and staff because we’re so underrepresented.” 

Many Conservatory students come from affluent families and have participated in costly music programs throughout their lives. This creates a culture of common understanding and shared in-group knowledge, which in turn leads those who could not afford pricey programs to hold a warped view of their belonging. Bruzon, along with other POC from low-income communities, are often left questioning their presence within the Conservatory through alienating comments like the one Bruzon received. This has been an enduring feeling among POC in higher education.

“It’s the same thing as when I was in school,” Associate Professor of Horn Jeff Scott said.  “When you go into higher learning, you don’t see many Black or Brown folk in the student and faculty bodies. Not only are there a limited number of POC students, but there are even fewer POC instructors.”

While Scott acknowledges this is applicable to almost every higher education institution, he also recognizes Oberlin does actively try to introduce representation and diversity in different ways, one example being the addition of culturally relevant courses. Associate Dean for Academic Support and Visiting Assistant Professor of Musicology Chris Jenkins, who also acts as liaison to the Office of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion, highlighted Oberlin’s efforts to introduce new diverse courses into a traditionally rigid curriculum that has been in place for over a century.

“It is obviously a struggle for many POC students to feel validated in the [Conservatory],” Jenkins wrote in an email to the Review. “The most effective help that I’ve seen yet has to do with our curricular changes — new courses, new professors, and substantive alterations to existing required courses.”

Efforts to make curricula more inclusive also must include bringing in faculty with the ability to teach the content. This cannot be accomplished without sparking resistance from those tied to traditionalist views.

“Particularly when it comes to teaching American music theory, it has to be more inclusive of Latin and African-American contributions, and they may not have studied that,” Scott said. “So they don’t know how to teach it, so they’re more afraid of it than anyone. That means bringing in more professors, cutting the pie a little thinner, because you have to have more professors. When you start talking about cutting the pie more, that means pay raises don’t happen often. It makes people uncomfortable.”

It’s impossible to foster diversity within higher education without making space for POC, which usually comes at the expense of those who have been present within the space since its inception, meaning they have to forgo certain privileges. This causes a shift that many will consider unnecessary or arbitrary; however, establishing POC within the Conservatory is vital to ensure future generations of musicians will be more inclusive of all music and people. While Oberlin has made efforts to move toward this goal, mistakes have been made.

“There was a Black History Month concert where they put a poster out,” Scott said. “It was supposed to be music of all African-American composers being played. The poster was only of the headshots of the six white musicians that were playing the music.”

Mistakes like these are extremely easy to make if there are no POC present to help guide diversity efforts. It is paramount that these efforts are pioneered by everyone, but putting voices of POC at the forefront fortifies their presence within an exclusive community. This includes reshaping what has been established for years to invite input from POC.

“Pedagogy is about telling history, which has to be told in its totality,” Scott said. “The problem with classical music is that it’s very narrow — it’s this one corner of Europe. We tell a story that’s so narrow in its scope, it has nothing to do with the contributions of Latin-American and African-American folks, and so when we call this place a conservatory of music, we’re not really talking about music, we’re talking about European-based music like Mozart or Beethoven.”

Conservatories in general focus on a narrow range of music, casting aside a variety of genres which originate from communities of color. The hyperfocus on this particular music bars students from becoming well-rounded musicians, which does them a disservice.

“Until we accept that this has to be included in the pedagogy, students will grow up lacking it, and so when they get here and you put a rhythm in front of them that doesn’t go like a march, they don’t know how to do it,” Scott said. 

Establishing an inclusive curriculum with current students could open doors for future musicians who would have otherwise not entertained the idea of attending a conservatory.

“I never thought that anyone else in the Conservatory was experiencing what I had experienced until a friend spoke up, and I realized there are so many others,” Bruzon said. “I feel like there is starting to be more support for POC in conservatories, but there is a long way to go.” 

This widespread experience has inspired him to begin researching imposter syndrome among students of color within the Conservatory. Bruzon hopes to give POC a sense of advocacy through his research.

“This research, more than anything, is a way to bring about awareness of, ‘Hey, this is a thing that’s happening,’” Bruzon said. “What are institutions doing to help support their POC students in this regard?’”

“Instruments, sculpturally constructed from resonant physical materials, are suspended in free space,” Tudor wrote in the original program note. “The sound materials used to program the instruments are collected from natural scientific sources and are specific to each instrument, exciting their unique resonant characteristics.”

On the night of Oct. 23, the TIMARA Performance Technology Lab transformed into an audiovisual soundscape. A purple glow illuminated dangling wires and uncanny sculptures, while projectors displayed magnified images of vivid organic materials on the walls. Around fifty students arrived to admire this installation, and the volume impeded the possibility of freely wandering through the environment as Tudor originally intended. Instead, they sat on the floor and meditated.

The theme of the night was biomaterial. Aresty gave her students freedom to explore the sounds of materials created in class and foraged objects, attempting to stay true to Tudor’s Rainforest IV while allowing space for creative reimagining. Attached to everything from bioplastics made of tea grounds to a dried gourd, loudspeakers rattled and whistled. In addition, contact microphones interpreted and combined the sound waves in order to broadcast them throughout the room. 

“[The sound sculptures] are part speaker – if you walk up to them, you can hear the sound directly – but they’re also acting as an acoustic filter,” Aresty said. “So the sound that has been sent to the house is essentially filtered through the materials that people chose.”

Jesse Herdman, a third-year performer whose sound sculpture contributed to the environment through fallen branches and a paper microphone, described how the participants communicate. They followed a semblance of a score in the form of multicolored plastics adhered to a long board.

“These are microphone cameras we’re using as a cueing system,” Herdman said, gesturing to a pair of illuminated boxes wired to the plastic board. “It’s a very loose score. We’re sitting in these textures improvising off of each other and the visuals.”

As someone slowly drags a microscope camera across the bioplastics, different textures and colors appear on the walls for performers to “read.”

“So this piece is essentially a routing diagram,” Aresty said. “And then it’s left up to the composers and artists who are participating to interpret the idea. So it’s very much [David Tudor’s] piece, and yet I think the students also very much made it their own.”

Aresty described the material-driven approach established by Tudor. Rather than seek out a specific sound, she encouraged her students to begin with an object and explore the music it can produce. A metal tube rustled against the plastic tentacles of a jellyfish mobile. A composer tickled the buttons of a deconstructed toy guitar. One student blended synthesized bird sounds with the feedback produced from arduino sensors in an illuminated balloon. Another sound sculpture, coated in thermochromic paint, gradually changed color.

“What can we make these materials do, whether or not it’s what it’s supposed to do?” Aresty said. “It’s a very experimental and material-driven approach to composing with electronics. And that, to me, has been extremely influential.”

Aresty earned degrees in music composition, not electronic music production, but Tudor’s principles encouraged her to pursue diverse interests. Through her explorations, she discovered  a community of people working at the intersection of textiles and sound, which has become her passion.

“I’ve taken broad courses in electronics, but it’s been a sort of self driven experimentation over the years for me and others who have been similarly influenced by David Tudor,” Aresty said. “This hands-on, experimental approach to learning electronics opens up a whole world that would otherwise feel closed off. David Tudor’s Rainforest and its material-driven approach was very much a jumping off point for me to work with electronic textiles.”

Tudor’s approach emphasizes out-of-the-box ideas. Aresty hopes this project will inspire her students to take more risks with their music-making at Oberlin and beyond in their careers.

“One of the students said, ‘Oh, I’m gonna remember this forever,’ and that is the number one thing,” Aresty said. “You graduate from school and unless you’re really active in a particular discipline, you start to lose some of the details of the classes you’ve taken. It’s not constant, not something that you’re always thinking about, but [this installation] is a memory that we’ve created together. It will stand out to them as a moment where they, as a class collectively, took a risk and brought all these people together to experiment.”

This article has been edited for length and clarity.

Why were you interested in soundscapes and what has your work with soundscapes consisted of?  

As I mentioned in the talk, I’m very sensitive to how we exist in spaces, and I found that I often wanted to integrate environmental sound into my compositions. That led me into a deep exploration of different diverse habitats and how closely related we are to them. I then studied and derived four math equations that we can use to calculate the rhythms of water in oceans, streams, and glaciers, and to look at the resonance and echos found in natural canyons. 

With glaciologist and geographer Michele Koppes, I sonically mapped glacial runoff in Alaska, Greenland, and the Himalayas. Everything recorded becomes a memory because the water’s changing, and it won’t sound like that ever again. I think everybody has a connection to water, right? So recording these changing rhythms is really part of a larger dialogue about the changing climate and our relationship with it. Telling stories through audio; it’s a great way to bring people to a place.

How do different natural landscapes inform the instruments and music genres from their respective regions? Have you experienced that in your own field research and travels?

Some of the forests that I’ve been in are mostly bamboo. That sound is just amazing. There’s a lot of  traditional music that’s interdependent with forests. I teach a course on forest rhythms from the northern Philippines. It’s really about community – unlike in Western music, where you’re asking, “Where is the downbeat?” With interlocking rhythms you’re asking, “Where’s my neighbor?” You don’t have to count, you just have to find your neighbors and play your part to your neighbor and so forth. Then you become one instrument, just like how underneath the ground, trees share their roots and resources.

In your masterclass on Tuesday, you used the phrase “sonic meditation.” What do you mean by that?

It’s about a sense of place and presence. Not everything that I play is quiet, and my music can be very developed, but the process of playing and listening to this music is meditative, just as you can have moving meditation. 

I was invited to The TANK Center for Sonic Arts in Colorado last year, where I played and recorded solo in this resonant tank where you play a note and it lasts for 40 seconds. It changes how you feel music and sound, in regards to time. For this landscape opera that I’m writing, I started traveling around in canyons and I played on these 50 million year old lithophones, recording echoes. It was just so special, the sound, and reflective in nature.  

What do you think about the practice culture seen in many conservatories?

I think practice is very personal. It’s crucial that practice integrates into your personal daily routine and you’re not told to practice a certain way. College is an opportunity to focus and lean into areas that you never had an opportunity to. Finding a way to absorb these things as you nurture your creativity and development is entirely personal. That doesn’t mean you’re not going to be learning certain fundamentals for your instrument, but I think the way you approach those fundamentals is up to you. 

In a lot of traditional cultures in the Philippines, for instance, people learn music in their dreams. There’s a certain friction when entering a new community. How do you integrate different cultures within your own artistry and self? What do you receive and take in, and what are things that maybe you don’t own and yet still have an understanding of and are open to learning?

What does being an interdisciplinary artist mean to you? 

I’ve always been collaborating with scientists, but it’s not as if I searched them out. We find ourselves in those moments. There are a lot of parallels between environmental science and music, but there’s a point where they diverge: music is very product-driven, whereas science is really based on inquiry, not necessarily about any results. That’s how I feel about my research, “Rhythm in Nature.” I feel like we’re making these certain inquiries with other artists and asking, “How do we connect that with an ecosystem and take it even further?” We’re all part of a larger ecosystem and we’re researching it and developing it. And it really takes all of us, because nature is massive.

Some people have an idea that they’re going to be a sound artist, but it’s not as if I ever said that until I realized that field recording was as important as me being in the studio, or being on stage or sound mapping. They’re all different and I like to investigate the sound in all of these different disciplines; I don’t think one is more important than the other.

In reality, tracing hip-hop’s roots back to a single origin would be impossible. A multitude of global musical elements came together to create hip-hop, spurred by the 1970s fiscal crisis in New York City. During this era, much of the white middle class fled to the suburbs, and many communities — predominantly African-American, Puerto Rican, and Caribbean — had to face the consequences of America’s ruthless capitalism and racism, such as rising unemployment and crime rates.  Hip-hop ignited a light in the darkness. The highly danceable beats and bold lyrics spat in the face of urban despair. Artists built upon each other’s innovations, and the genre exploded across the country. 

“Hip-hop is a culture,” Professor of Africana Studies Candice Raynor said. “It’s a movement, and music is one part of it — music, dance, visual art, politics, even certain spiritual practices. There’s just so much there and it’s always been there.”

In observation of hip-hop’s 50th anniversary, Assistant Professor of African American and African Diasporic Musics Courtney-Savali Andrews, OC ’06, hosted a listening party alongside Raynor and Information Literacy and Student Success Librarian Alonso Avila. Students and faculty gathered in the Birenbaum Innovation and Performance Space to hear hip-hop classics from the likes of 2Pac and the Notorious B.I.G. The hosts reflected on their profound connections to the genre and the importance of hip-hop’s underrepresented voices. 

“This culture has something to give to us, and it is worthy of passing down,” Andrews said, after pausing “Main Attraction” by Phat Mob.

Students seem to have a knack for identifying rising hip-hop artists before they become famous. Smino, a rapper from St. Louis, performed at Oberlin before the release of his first album, blkswn. Since then, his fusion of soul, blues, and R&B music has gained massive popularity, but he returned to play another concert at Oberlin in 2022. The following year, rapper TiaCorine performed at Oberlin’s Solarity concert, coinciding with her induction into hip-hop magazine XXL’s Freshman Class of rising artists. In the early 2000s, Oberlin hosted an annual hip-hop conference with the goal of showcasing independent and outspoken artists. Even Kendrick Lamar made an appearance at the ’Sco following the release of Section.80.

The history of hip-hop can be read as a record of racial injustices, from Grandmaster Flash’s 1982 song “The Message” to Kendrick Lamar’s 2015 song “Alright.” However, popular associations with hip-hop have often been negative. 

“People made a lot of assumptions about hip-hop based on who’s performing the music, or based on the use of profanity,” Raynor said, describing how rap is trivialized. 

Unfortunately, the images associated with rap are often violent and misogynistic, largely due to the corporate United States’ exploitation of the genre. Many major record labels encourage these negative stereotypes as a marketing tool, forcing artists into a rigid box. Education surrounding the history of hip-hop and the social commentary behind impassioned lyrics helps counteract these harmful assumptions. 

In recent years, hip-hop has gained more of the scholarly attention it deserves. It has entered classrooms and influenced many genres of music. It has shed light on police brutality and the nationwide housing crisis. Hip-hop embodies the spirit of innovation and radical expression, while paying homage to its origins through samples and remixes. 

“[The 50th Anniversary] lets us hear firsthand from artists of previous generations in hip-hop to keep that history alive,” Raynor said. “That’s what I think is always important for the future, and just in general in society. It’s part of why the study of history is so important. And to see that happening in hip-hop, to see museums being created, and schools having scholars that focus on hip-hop, makes me feel good about the future.” 

“Classmates once a week look at one show,” O’Leary said. “We generally focus on a part of a show and talk about what’s going on in it. What I tell people when they first join the class is to check it out for the first week or two and see if this is a level in which you feel comfortable operating. But in my heart of hearts, it’s a course that’s open to anybody who wants to engage with Sondheim’s music and scripts and scores at a deep level, to analyze what the shows are, how they work, what they have meant to people in the past, and what they mean to students now.” 

Sondheim was born in 1930 and went on to forge friendships with many Broadway lyricists and producers, including his mentor Oscar Hammerstein II, creator of Carousel and The Sound of Music. Sondheim created many famous musicals still being produced, such as Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street and Sunday in the Park with George. Sondheim won dozens of awards, including eight Tony awards, eight Grammy Awards, and an Academy Award. 

“American theater is kind of a niche field,” O’Leary said. “Not a ton of people had been working in it until recently. It seemed like a sideshow to international theater studies. But what I’ve uncovered in my research on [Sondheim] — I’m going through his archive, letters, scores, and scripts — I discovered that Sondheim is a figure who’s trying to bring international theater debates to the Broadway musical in the middle of the 20th century. Sondheim gives us a way to think about how Americans filter international theater trends in the middle of the 20th century. He starts by getting involved in this kind of theater called metatheatre, which was represented on Broadway by a small group of French and Italian plays. Metatheatre portrays the world as theatrical, such that our everyday lives … hide the nasty society underneath.”

One of the first questions I asked Professor O’Leary was whether or not students are required to have an understanding of music theory to participate in the class. While I keep many Sondheim scores with me, there is only so much I can understand without formal training. O’Leary responded that it is very beneficial for students to have some level of music theory training, but Conservatory and College students alike enroll in the class, making the most essential prerequisite a love for Sondheim and an understanding of his scores. Sondheim scores are often cited as having brilliant lyrics, with deeper meaning and messages embedded into the musical notation. Students work each week to examine that notation and explore how Sondheim pushed the boundaries of conventional musicals. 

“It’s supposed to be an introduction to graduate-level studies,” O’Leary said. “So throughout the course, I have the students do this kind of literary review. I’ll give them a topic within the genre of musical theater history or Sondheim studies, and I’ll give them a few different scholars talking about the same thing and ask the students to pick out the subtle differences between them. And sometimes, it’s hard to see exactly where they differ. And then their job is to investigate why we think of Sondheim when listening.”

Professor O’Leary and I bonded over our shared love of Company, his favorite Sondheim musical. Listening to the album as a kid sparked a fascination with Sondheim in both of us that has lasted to this day. Through this class, Professor O’Leary hopes to celebrate Sondheim and pay homage to his work. 

“I can take something that students have a lot or some kind of knowledge of, and look into the typical narratives about Sondheim,” O’Leary said. “It’s a way to see if we can expand those out and get exposure to all these different movements throughout the semester and then figure out how Sondheim’s working his music into those theatrical genres.”

Originally from Brazil, Maíra Vianna studied at Berklee College of Music. The multi-talented singer and instrumentalist works as an audio engineer for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Prior to their Wednesday “Engineering Techniques and Career Chat,”  they spoke to the Review about their musical journeys.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

What initially sparked your interest in sound engineering, and how did you take your first steps in this field?

MV: I came to the United States to be a musician. While I was in Brazil, I tried to record my own songs and my friends’ songs. I didn’t know much about it, but I did it anyway. When I got to Berklee for the Jazz program, I started talking with producers, and my interest in being on the other side of the window started to grow. I got an internship at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as an audio visual technician, and that was it. I’m living the dream right now because I get to do my own music, and I get to do music for my friends. I do live music for a bunch of bands that I would never get to know if I wasn’t working at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

DA: I started out as a kid in a band with my three sisters. We wrote our own music when we were 8, 10, 12, and 14. It sounds funny, but we got a record deal in Nashville 15 years later, already experienced with making our own music. I observed so many different producers and studio situations. I was always soaking it up, but didn’t ever expect to be the one eventually working with Pro Tools. After my band left Sony in 2012, I had all this time to work on my own solo stuff, and that’s just what happens. I learned on my own, taught myself Pro Tools and Logic, and then I got deeper into the engineering side of frequencies and plugins. My music is pretty acoustic, so I always experiment with how both electronic sounds and real instruments can play together.

Is staying up-to-date with recent technology and software an important aspect of sound engineering?

DA: I have a friend who is an amazing multi-instrumentalist, musician, songwriter, and producer. He works with big acts, and his home studio only has tape. He records to cassette tapes and sends them off — very analog and pretty cool. He’s not resistant to working with the latest, newest technology in a studio setting, but at home, it’s fun for him. Sound engineering can look so different.

MV: I agree. That’s the cool thing about music and producing and being an audio engineer, because you can make good things with just your phone nowadays. If it’s a grungy project, you can go to your basement and do this really dirty song, and there will be an audience that finds that awesome. Technology does not necessarily dictate whether your product will be good or not. 

What are your favorite projects you’ve worked on?

MV: One that came to mind was my first physical CD. I didn’t mix or master it, but I recorded, composed, and played some of the instruments. It’s called The Fool because I felt like a fool for pursuing my dream and coming to this different country where I didn’t have any money or connections. But it paid off. I’m very proud of that project.

DA: I don’t really have a favorite project per se, but you have to be proud of that first time that you go out and make your own self-composed and self-produced project. That takes some guts. I have a soft spot for my first EP release, which was a collaboration with my husband. We were just friends then, so it was a really fun time getting to know each other in the studio. 

What is one piece of advice you would give your younger selves as you were starting out on this career path?

DA: The word ‘play’ comes to mind — just having fun with it. When you start out in the business so young, it can be difficult. And it is a job — I was working at 12, 13 years old. It was just what I did, and I didn’t have lots of years of experimentation. Everything we made was being assessed. I was trying to get to the next step, get those relationships going. Now I’m in the phase of my life where I’m able to just play and enjoy music for the fun of it. And I wish I had done that more in my younger years, but hindsight is 20/20. 

MV: Music is worth it if you’re doing it just because you love it. Somehow you’re gonna end up in a good place. Doing it just for fun takes Wthe pressure away, and you might be more creative or explore more things. Another thing that I would say to my younger self is don’t compare yourself; everyone is on their own journey. There’s so many ears on this planet; there will be someone who wants to hear what you have to say. Just go — keep swimming. 

At first, I blamed the Jazz department’s curriculum for this issue, telling myself that it hasn’t adequately prepared me for scenarios that require sight reading. I think this is only partly true. Not being able to sight read is my problem, of course, and I simply haven’t put much time into practicing that aspect of my musicianship. What I ultimately found in myself — and something I have noticed in other Jazz majors — is a sort of indifference toward more traditional or “classical” methods of practicing. On the flip side, I’ve also noticed a hesitation toward improvisation among classical majors. I believe this indifference stems from an anti-collaborative culture present in both the classical and Jazz divisions, which is due, in some capacity, to a lack of intentionality to merge the classical and Jazz divisions within the Conservatory’s overarching curriculum.  

A more formal overlap of musical genres in curricula has obvious benefits for technique, increasing your fluidity on the instrument and preventing musical ailments such as tendonitis or carpal tunnel syndrome. But perhaps the biggest benefit in practicing classical music as a jazz musician is that you begin seeing classical and jazz not as separate entities, but interdependent genres. Professor of Music Theory Jan Miyake, OC ’96, shares this view. 

“I think my big pause with a lot of the curriculum is that a lot of students end up forming this very clear separation between classical and jazz, and I think that’s not doing anybody any good,” Miyake said.

For all the time spent sitting in classrooms studying traditional Western classical music — a required four music theory classes, four aural skills classes, and one music history class — most Jazz majors have to go out of their way to actually play and practice classical music, let alone play it with others. That’s the case, at least, unless you have a private teacher who regularly assigns classical repertoire. Associate Professor of Jazz Bass Gerald Cannon explained why he assigns Bach etudes in his private lessons. 

“[Classical etudes] help with soloing, for one,” Cannon said. “When you play them through, the next thing you know you’re in the middle of a blues solo and you’re playing some Bach fragments.”

I’ve usually been able to connect the dots between these classes and my own musical pursuits. I see counterpoint, for instance, as a tool for my own compositions as well as an orchestrational tool when playing solo piano. Aural skills classes are obviously incredibly beneficial to a musician who learns most of their music by ear and is playing jazz, a genre that necessitates listening to other musicians. That being said, I still frequently find myself wondering why I need to take some of these advanced theory classes. Do I really need to know about interval class sets or large form analyses? Can I study classical music in a way that would be more helpful for the industry I want to go into? 

Miyake validated my concerns.

“There are times when I’m teaching when I realize that my biases towards pitch and how to organize pitches really prioritize classical music because that’s both my musical training and my theory training,” Miyake said. “Especially if you look at recent music, sticking it into categories isn’t working so well.”

A strong general music theory curriculum necessitates that the takeaways do not privilege one type of music over another. Until the introduction of the TIMARA program in the ’70s and the Jazz department in the ’80s, an update to the curriculum wasn’t necessary because there wasn’t as prevalent a need to cater to various musical disciplines. We are now in year three of an updated curriculum, implemented originally by a number of departmental chairs, including Miyake, at the time. But we still have a ways to go in terms of dismantling departmental barriers. 

Curricular changes happen slowly: introducing an alternative class for Jazz majors would require a proposal from the chair of the Jazz division that outlines the purposes, outcomes, and processes of the class. This proposal would go to the Educational Plans Committee, a board of departmental chairs who would then vote on the proposal. Although the Music Theory department dealt with roughly 600 registrations this semester alone, my hypothetical proposal here is one affecting a group of around 30 incoming Jazz majors, as a curricular change wouldn’t be grandfathered into current majors. It’s not at all out of the question. 

I would suggest that Jazz majors could take, say, only seven core music theory classes instead of eight, opening up a slot for a required class that gets Jazz majors playing with classical students — a class on Alexander Technique, for instance, or an ensemble that blends genres similar to the Performance & Improvisation Ensemble. When I was in PI Ensemble my second year, the opportunity to play with classical performance majors was invaluable. It opened my mind up to what it meant to play in an ensemble and threw all the limitations that I subconsciously set upon myself when in a jazz combo out the window.

That being said, PI Ensemble is an optional elective, and a lot of people won’t go out of their way to take risks unless they feel safe and comfortable with the people they’ll be playing with. We shouldn’t just be encouraging cross-disciplinary studies, we should be requiring it. This may mean substituting some of the many required Western theory classes with more tangible and practical classes that bring different majors together. It may mean organizing more social events that all types of musicians would be interested in, with the goal of fostering community between departments. Whatever the case, the Conservatory should be doing more to break down barriers between classical, jazz, and all other genres of music.