on "bums on seats" - the current currency of the arts...

On An Overgrown Path: Do the arts need wide or deep audiences?:

But this performance, which prompted the BBC press office to spin a typically disingenuous "Radio 3 continues strong performance" story, ignores a more important underlying trend. Over the same period, which is when many of the popularising measures were introduced at the station, the average hours per listener declined by 14.1%. The average hours per listener figure is a measure of the depth of the audience and is a significant indicator of audience engagement and loyalty.

The answer to the question does classical music need wide or deep audiences? is, of course, it needs both. What matters is the total mass of the audience which is calculated as [width x depth], or in the case of a radio audience [audience size x average hours per listener]. When this calculation is made the total mass of the Radio 3 audience has declined over a two period by 3.9%, which is an interesting definition of a "strong performance".

on words

Why the word 'marriage' matters:

Marriage matters, because marriage is how society decides whose relationships matter, and whose don't. No matter what, gay people will fall in love and make homes together, as we always have. Marriage equality is about whether straight people are going to recognize those relationships. It's how they decide who's family.

Take my parents. When I visit my small hometown, my mother, without prompting, fills me in on which of my old classmates has gotten married or given birth. No serious boyfriends, no RDPs. Only what matters.

What's an RDP? It's a "registered domestic partnership." We registered that way when we moved to California, by signing and notarizing an application. We got a certificate back by mail. It had all the romance of renewing a vehicle registration. At work, our human resources departments had no idea what an RDP was. Though I told my parents we registered, they didn't remember. Which means that for years they didn't know that Andrea was my legal next-of-kin.

Not that they would have told anyone. For eight years, when people asked about me, my mother said I'd gotten my doctorate, was living in Arizona, then California. Who I was with while I was studying, living and moving remained unspecified. My parents love Andrea and made her part of the family, but they lacked the vocabulary and the confidence to describe her to others.