Masur or not, Borda did an important job in New York. Her change in concert formats, instituting series of shorter concerts at rush hour to lure commuters, was a good move nicely tuned to New York rhythms. Maybe it would work here, maybe not. A woman, an American: It could be an unbeatable parlay. Barring a Richter 9.1, she'll get the new hall built.
Then, of course, she'll have to face the softly voiced but widely held conviction that the Music Center concept is wrong and was from the start, that the whole complex sits in a barren, audience-hostile area, remote from anywhere else, its car access -- bad enough on Dodger nights -- about to be further threatened by the Staples Center sports arena a few blocks to the south. One day, in a nostalgic mood, she'll remember the crowds strolling past Lincoln Center night and day, the array of nearby restaurants, the welcoming lighting in the Plaza, the great hangout area around the fountain, the allure of the artwork that gleams from the Metropolitan Opera House (second-rate Chagall though it be). Then she'll stroll through the gloomy, ill-lit, unwelcoming space at the Music Center, dodge if she can the inane ventriloquist who howls into his dummy, search in vain for refreshment worthy to be thought of as food, and wonder about the many empty seats at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion night after night. That's part of your new job, Deborah Borda. Won't you miss Mayor Giuliani, even a little bit?
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