Construction Deconstructed

By EVAN SHINNERS

It took some time for me to become convinced that the neatly wrapped construction plans for Juilliard were all they were made out to be, let alone real. Although now I am convinced the plans actually are real—given the state of the fifth floor, not to mention the gaping hole in front of Alice Tully Hall—I previously had some varied hypotheses about them.

Evan Shinners

My first theory was that the funds being raised for the redevelopment project were actually going to purchase first-class flights to Mongolia for Joel Sachs. Eventually all the money ran out attempting to cover such frequent flying, and Juilliard was simply going out of business. Just like Tower Records, Juilliard was closing. After months of not paying rent, people began "deconstructing" Juilliard. It was being carried away, wall by wall, through the convenience of our own service elevator.

Finally, I began to see signs of objects being built up, rather than torn down, and I was forced to formulate a new theory: The faculty and staff could no longer tolerate the practice noise and tertian harmonies that envelop their offices regularly. They needed to replace these harmonies with more discord, and therefore hired several hundred actors to put on orange vests and steel-toed boots and pretend to be construction workers. To make their acting more believable, these hundreds would push carts of rubble back and forth. To eliminate practice noises, they would pound the hell out of the roof with jackhammers and saws. Also, just for fun, they would take out all the windows and narrow the corridors. Once the students began to complain about this unconstitutional punishment, they were comforted by the promise, "More practice rooms are coming!" And let's face it: nothing can beat more practice rooms. This theory dissolved simply by my realizing it would be too brilliant to conceive, and no one would have the valor to execute it.

As strange noises emanate from behind walls at his school—and other walls start disappearing before his eyes—one student lets his imagination run wild.

One final theory came to me. This theory was strikingly more positive than the previous two: The construction plans were a ruse to improve student skills. For example, while the hundreds dressed as construction workers laughed hysterically as they drilled random holes in the roof, actors were forced to project more. Dancer confidence was boosted 76 percent as those in hard hats whistled at every girl in tights. Percussionists finally found a stimulating environment; in fact, their iPods were unplugged, as anyone listening could hear a nearly flawless, never-ending performance of Steve Reich's Drumming. Pianists were forced to bang harder and faster, thus perfecting the tone that is ever so popular in today's concert halls and competitions. Violinists knew everything was still O.K. as long as they could never hear the violas. Cellists still do not know what is going on. Composers took on a new outlook as pitches and traditional instruments were completely dropped in favor of what disciples of Arnold Schoenberg call "zero-tone music." Popular new genres include trio for jackhammer, tractor, and hard hat, as well as solo sonatas for pneumatic nail gun. (Unfortunately, the brass players are still louder than the construction.)

Writing in the Liberal Arts Department turned subconsciously in the direction of James Joyce, who sometimes invented words to spell out sounds not typically written in letters. For example, in Finnegans Wake, Joyce spells out the sound of thunder as Bababbadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhoudawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk! Students at Juilliard began to incorporate words like banbaoom, creeik, clinkb, cleenkb, and vrzzrrrrrrrrreeeeiiiiiimmmm!!!!, and thus their poetry came to a new life.

In the end, though, all these theories seemed so unrealistic that I finally began to trust Juilliard, which is something students rarely do, for better or best—and I ended all my hypothesizing and skepticism with the reassuring thought that one day, I will be able to tell my son, "Son, I knew that building when it was really, really ugly."

Evan Shinners is a third-year student in piano.