What I think about: music critics.

Lest anyone reading the headline fear I shall use this page to fulminate against past slights from the musical press, be assured that nothing of the sort is intended. In fact, when I look back, I can say that my efforts on the stage were treated kindly--perhaps even more so than they deserved. I have now forsaken the lyric stage for respectable employment, and read reviewers' comments purely for pleasure and edification.

And edified I have been. Not only have I gained valuable insights into the creative process of long-dead composers, I have learned history, sociology, psychology and the delicate art of pointing out other people's failings. Along the way, certain questions have always intrigued me. How does the critic start? What is his or her point of departure? Does the attentiveness of the waiter at dinner influence the review?

What's not questionable is that being a critic is a tough job. Personally, I can't imagine voluntarily sitting night after night in the best seats in the house, listening to yet another performance of La Traviata, knowing I am expected to keep an open mind, hoping against hope I will have a transcendent experience, filled with fresh musical insights. Martin Levin, books editor of The Globe and Mail, said there is no such thing as the ideal critic. "All are fallibly human, all bring their own complex set of biases, ideas and opinions. All are in some sense, parti pris." I can see his point, for our prejudices and preferences are unavoidable.

And herein lies the pleasure of criticism. Aside from the overt prejudices and preferences, it is always interesting to look for the subtexts, the hidden agendas that spark the comments, the idiosyncrasies and the contrarian points of view. Stuart Hamilton, founder of Opera in Concert and an occasional critic himself, was always bemused by comments on what wasn't on the stage at his operas in concert--sets, costumes, orchestra--while the performance itself often got short shrift. One of my favorite oblique approaches to reviewing a performance involves some variation of the line, "While her performance did not erase memories of...." Pity the poor soprano who has given us her best high E flat, only to be compared to some long-retired diva. And then there is the learned treatise, in which the writer reveals a vast knowledge of musical history, the composer, compositional trends and such like, finishing off with a desultory listing of the performers as a kind of tag line.

The background is all well and good, but what was this performance like? Did it have value? Was an honest musical mind at work? Did the artist succeed on that evening? George Bernard Shaw, arguably the greatest music critic who ever lived, wrote in a review of the Mass in B Minor that the critic should put aside "Bach and Spitta and counterpoint and musical history and simply listen to the body of sound that was being produced." To paraphrase Martin Levin, what we seek in reviewers is not perfect listeners but careful listeners, listeners who will give their best, most honest attention to a particular performance of a particular work. Even then, we will not have the view, only a view.

It is particularly mysterious to me when critics choose to comment on a performance by comparing it to another performance, whether live or recorded. In this regard, two recent critiques caught my eye, both by writers whose knowledge and insights I admire: Rick MacMillan and Elissa Poole. On this occasion, in the Winter 2002 issue of Opera Canada, MacMillan reviewed a recording of Mozart's Idomeneo conducted by Sir Charles Mackerras. Or did he? In fact, the piece was a comparison of John Eliot Gardiner's earlier recording of this opera with that of Mackerras, and Gardiner came out on top. Ian Bostridge was weighed against Anthony Rolfe Johnson, and Lorraine Hunt Lieberson had to contend with the memory of Anne Sophie von Otter. MacMillan was forthright enough to remind us that he was voicing personal preferences, but I wondered why it was appropriate or necessary to compare them in the first place. Likewise, Poole, in writing about Matthew White's Elegia: German and English Lamentations for The Globe and Mail , felt compelled to compare his efforts to that of another countertenor, Daniel Taylor, who has recorded similar repertoire.

Could not Mackerras's and White's performances have been judged on their own merits? Indeed, should they not have been judged solely on their own terms? By what rationale do critics review one performance by comparing it with another? I confess I do not understand this technique of criticism-by-comparison. What's the point? And is the technique even valid? I would welcome comments on these questions for a future issue of this magazine--from readers, from artists and, of course, from critics. But please, no comparisons.

Henry Ingram is director of the Concerts Division of Dean Artists Management and a reformed tenor