The Times' departing classical-music critic reflects on 3 decades of change

What a ride it's been.

For 31 years, I have been The Seattle Times' classical-music critic, a job that ended last week when I accepted a buyout in the wake of some extensive staff reductions. You might think that anyone in the same job for more than three decades has been mired in routine — but instead, it's been a time of constant and tremendous change.

Back in 1977, quaint 33-1/3 rpm vinyl records arrived for review in big square boxes; more adventurous record labels sent cassette tapes. Only a half-dozen years later, though, we started hearing about those shiny new metal discs that were surely the wave of the future. And now, it's downloads, transmitted by machines and media that were almost unimaginable to most of us back in the 1970s.

Technology has changed a lot inside the newsroom, too. My first review for The Seattle Times, of pianist Van Cliburn in March 1977, was written on an IBM Selectric typewriter and scanned into a mothership computer that seemed positively demonic in its capricious disappearing acts: Now you see your story, now you don't. Frenzied shrieks of dismay arose all over the newsroom when that late-night review on which one had just labored would vanish, requiring the writer to start over.

My last review as Times music critic, of the Moscow Virtuosi with pianist Olga Kern, was typed on a laptop, and sucked into the e-mail ether by a wireless Clearwire modem. The only shrieks of dismay happen when I spill the coffee.

An evolution of options

When I arrived in Seattle after two years as a critic for what was then called The Everett Herald, Seattle Opera was already going great guns with its Wagnerian "Ring," that four-opera epic that first boosted the company to international fame. The Seattle Symphony was moving ahead with its new German-born music director, Rainer Miedel (with regular podium visits from his predecessor, Milton Katims).

Aside from those two organizations, whose performance schedules were already approaching gridlock in the old Opera House, the rest of the classical offerings were modest. Among the high points: concerts by the fledgling Northwest Chamber Orchestra; a recital series hosted by the venerable Ladies Musical Club; a Northwest Releasing series in the Opera House presenting a lineup of touring soloists and ensembles; and the Philadelphia String Quartet, in residence at the University of Washington. No chamber music festivals; no Early Music Guild; no professional choruses. Now a look at the weekly listings shows such a lineup of promising events that it would take a whole team of critics to do them justice.

Things got busier — a whole lot busier — because during the past 2 ½ decades, an unprecedented arts boom hit the Northwest and changed the music scene forever. From Orcas Island to Mount Vernon, Tacoma and points all over the regional map, more than $1 billion was poured into new and rebuilt concert halls, theaters and museums. The opening of Benaroya Hall 10 years ago opened a floodgate of expanded presentations by the Seattle Symphony and legions of guest performers.

The price of criticism

It hasn't been dull. Despite being a woman in what has traditionally been (and still is) a male-dominated profession, I can honestly say that I've never encountered any form of sexism. But you can't be a critic without encountering a fair amount of hostility. When you praise an event, you hear from all the people who hated it; when you write an unfavorable review, you hear from the furious fans. Sometimes you hear from them in large numbers: A negative review of star tenor Andrea Bocelli a few years back netted around 125 angry responses, some of them couched in the kind of language we can't print in our letters-to-the-editor section.

Nobody becomes a critic in the hopes of winning a popularity contest, though you can expect a lively correspondence — one of the most interesting aspects of this job. Even more interesting, however, has been a long parade of memorable interviews. Pretty soon, you discover that the really great ones are not the performers with the huge egos; they're the ones who are down-to-earth and matter-of-fact about their staggering talents.

Opera stars like Dame Joan Sutherland and Birgit Nilsson joked about their size and stamina, telling funny anecdotes about their earlier years (Sutherland was particularly hilarious on the subject of a youthful stint as a Rhinemaiden in the "Ring"). The extraordinarily gifted Yo-Yo Ma always used terms like "incredibly fortunate" and "blessed to have such wonderful colleagues." And Murray Perahia always wanted to talk about how great Bach was, never about how fabulously Perahia played the "Goldberg" Variations.

Keeping the magic strong

Looking into the future, I have great hopes for the future of classical music, despite the prognostications of several gloom-predictors. Classical-music downloads are surprisingly strong; so is concert attendance. And whenever Seattle Opera opens a sales period for its "Ring" (coming up in 2009, by the way), the surges of inquiries always crash the phone system, and all 36,000-plus tickets are gone within 24 hours. And whenever anything big happens — tragedy (Sept. 11), triumph (the fall of the Berlin Wall) — we instinctively turn to great music to commemorate it. Conversely, the classical genre is also making its way into clubs, taverns and all sorts of unusual venues.

After all these years, I still can't believe I've been lucky enough to have a job where they pay me to go to concerts. Will the performance be transcendent, or terrible? Which of the infinite paths through Mozart will the players take? What will we hear when this new artist (or composition) debuts? Even on those nights when I've grumbled about fighting the traffic, driving downtown, parking and dashing to yet another performance — when the houselights go down, the magic begins again.