General: $20 | Student: $10 Limited availability on Monday, January 13 as listed. If you are unable to checkout after selecting a slot, please change the ticket quantity or call 609-258-2800. All time slots on Tuesday, January 14 are reserved for Princeton University students, faculty, and staff as part of Wintersession. (Free registration begins December 5).
Playing in an orchestra is an immersive experience. With VR and immersive sound, we can share that experience with you."
After a sold-out United States premiere last season, the Mahler Chamber Orchestra’s groundbreaking experience in spatial sound and virtual reality returns by popular demand! With the aid of virtual reality headsets you will be transported to a fully immersive world of music in which you can move around (or through/over/under!) the musicians as a multi-dimensional recording of Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream responds in real-time. You will be able to hear and feel what it is like to sit in the middle of a full orchestra and hear the sound emanating from each distinct instrument, expanding and rediscovering the process of listening and opening striking new possibilities for interaction between listener, performer, instrument and sound in a space that merges reality with fantasy – a new world awaits you!
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
· What is Virtual Reality?
A virtual reality headset includes a display screen, stereo sound, and sensors to deliver an interactive audiovisual experience that immerses you in 360-degree projected content. For “Future Presence,” the Mahler Chamber Orchestra pre-recorded musical selections using virtual reality technology. A virtual reality headset will enable you to move freely amid the musicians and notice how your location influences nuances in the music. Whether in front of the violin, next to the flute or underneath the cello—there are almost no limits to the interactive sound experience as you immerse yourself within one of the world’s greatest chamber orchestras.
Upon arrival at your designated time slot, you and one other patron will be guided to a room where you will be given a headset and headphones in order to experience the musical works. You will see and hear the musicians projected into your headset, and be able to move around the virtual concert space. Parameters will be in place to ensure that you do not collide with anything or anyone in the room. A staff member will be on hand to answer any questions you may have. The entire experience will take roughly 30 minutes.
· Are there any restrictions for using Virtual Reality glasses?
VR glasses are not recommended for children under the age of 10, pregnant women, or individuals who are susceptible to epilepsy and seizures.
The VR headset can emit radio waves that may affect the operation of nearby electronics, including cardiac pacemakers. If you have a pacemaker or other implanted medical device, please consult with your doctor before registering for this event.
· Can I experience Future Presence from a wheelchair or with a mobility-assistive device?
Yes, absolutely! This experience is fully accessible for users of wheelchairs and other assistive devices.
· I am worried about my balance while wearing a virtual reality headset. What precautions are in place to make sure that I don’t fall?
You’re not alone—a lot of virtual reality headset users are concerned about this question, and most all of them find it not to be a problem once they put on the headset. However, rest assured that staff members will be posted at the venue at all times and will be available to provide a steadying hand as needed.
· How should I dress?
We recommend wearing comfortable clothing and flat-soled shoes for the most unrestricted experience.
· I can no longer attend. What are my options?
While there are no refunds for this event, please contact us if you cannot attend your timeslot so that other patrons might enjoy this experience.
Essays commissioned by Princeton University Concerts (PUC) relating to A Midsummer Night’s Dream and virtual reality by Princeton University faculty and the Mahler Chamber Orchestra
Jeff Dolven, Professor of English, Princeton University
There are many worlds in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream: the uncanny vantage of the gods, Oberon and Titania, and their faeries (are they above us? among us?); the aristocratic remove of Theseus and Hippolyta; the fractured coterie of the lovers, in the palace, then the woods; the workaday rehearsal space of the mechanicals. Boundaries of divinity, mortal age, and social class keep them separate, and when the larger cosmos is in properly hierarchical order, they are nested within one another, barely touching. Felix Mendelssohn assigns them and their inhabitants distinct musical motifs in honor of that order. To listen to his music for the play, however, is to be led by the ear through the confusions that the plot visits upon these discrete levels of being and of style. There is discord within levels: strife among the marriage pairs, and quarreling among the working men. And there is discord between them, as the motifs stated in the overture start to migrate, interrupt, compete.
The play’s arch-transgressor is Bottom, the weaver, who is borne up by Oberon’s intervention into the arms of Titania. You can hear him bray in the midst of the Queen’s faerie music. Uncannier, subtler, more mischievous, and more mobile is Puck, the spirit who half-obediently carries out Oberon’s plans to sort out the lovers’ affections. His signature is a nimble syncopation introduced by the flutes in the scherzo. His gift is to pass among the mortals invisibly, curious, playful, getting as close as he wants to the sleeping lovers. He makes a little breach in reality whenever he appears. Who is more real, when he is on the stage? Perhaps he is the spiritus loci of our present, peculiar opportunity: to pass, virtually, among the musicians, without being seen; to inquire into their ways; to be a merry, puckish wanderer through the orchestra. “What, a play toward!” as he says: “I’ll be an auditor.”
Bailey Sincox, Perkins-Cotsen Postdoctoral Fellow in the Princeton Society of Fellows
One of Shakespeare’s most musical plays, A Midsummer Night’s Dream has moved composers for four centuries. Mendelssohn’s overture (1826) and incidental songs (1843), Henry Purcell’s masque (1692) and Benjamin Britten’s opera (1960) are just some of the best-known Midsummer adaptations. However, it is not only musicality that makes Midsummer apt for composition; it is also music’s symbolic power within the play. As the four lovers flee Athens, music—or its absence—sets the mood. Lysander assures Hermia that fate always strives to make true passion as “momentary as a sound” (1.1.143). Envying Demetrius’s affection for Hermia, Helena tells her friend, “My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody” (1.1.188-9). In the forest, fairies confront their own matters of the heart. Oberon disturbs Titania dancing “ringlets to the whistling wind;” the pair’s feud has caused a musical famine of sorts, so that “No night is now with hymn or carol blessed” (2.1.86; 102). When it resumes, music is as potent as the magic flower said to seduce even the most unlikely paramour. Hearing Bottom singing, Titania enthuses, “Mine ear is much enamored of thy note; / So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape” (3.1.122-3). After their intrigue, Bottom wishes for “a ballad of this dream,” a song that, like the spinning top in Inception, both represents and unsettles the whole exercise (4.1.210). At the play’s conclusion—with Hermia/Lysander and Helena/Demetrius now coupled and Titania reconciled to Oberon—one stage direction suggests a spectacular, multisensory finale: “The FAIRIES dance to a song” (5.1.386). It is no wonder that A Midsummer Night’s Dream inspired Mendelssohn, nor that his compositions should become the Mahler Chamber Orchestra’s canvas for a Future Presence experience. In Midsummer, music creates a world in which the romances of Greek and Amazon, immortal queen and donkey-headed weaver may be dreamt. Music is the vehicle of imagination, which, as Theseus says, “bodies forth / The forms of things unknown” just as “the poet’s pen / Turns them to shapes and gives airy nothing / A local habitation and a name” (5.1.14-17). To realize musical colors and textures inspired by Shakespeare’s poetry in space is to see this play’s vision to its natural conclusion.
Nigel Smith, William and Annie S. Paton Foundation Professor of Ancient and Modern Literature, Department of English, Princeton University
I am very excited to offer comments on this experimental version of Mendelssohn’s music inspired by and responding to William Shakespeare’s fantasy comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream (c. 1595-96). Not only was the play the first piece of drama I saw performed, as an eleven year old in my last year at elementary school, but a very few years later as a teenager and as a member of the London Boy Singers I sang in very many Royal Ballet performances of Sir Frederick Ashton’s version using Mendelssohn’s music in the early 1970s, mostly at the Royal Opera House, Convent Garden, and also at the London Coliseum. Mendelssohn himself was only eighteen in 1826 when he wrote the first parts of the music. It was quite simply amazing for about twenty-five teenage choirboys to sit with the orchestra in its pit, just protruding from under the stage, but not so much you could see the dancers. But you could hear their fleet feet and the swish of their movements, as Mendelssohn’s magically delighting music took its course, the skittering strings in the opening section articulating fairy flight. I was intensely enchanted every time; it made the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end, and it was as if each of us choirboys were temporarily transformed into sprites. Now the Mahler Chamber Orchestra gives everyone an immersive experience of this marvelous music.
The venture into virtual reality for Mendelssohn’s music is so fitting for a play that explores the relationship between illusion and reality in each of its three interconnected story lines. Perhaps illusions are a necessary part of life: one of the four courtly lovers remains under the spell of the mischievous fairy Puck’s love drug at the end of the play, but at least the play ends with two couples, and with each person in each couple in love with the other. Illusions also involve power, and part of the action involves the jealous dispute between the King and Queen of the fairies, Oberon and Titania, the latter being induced by similar magic to fall in love with Nick Bottom the weaver (one of six local craftsman who have been asked to perform a play as a wedding feast entertainment), who has temporarily been given a donkey’s head by Puck: brilliant theater but inside the play’s fiction Oberon’s cruel joke at his wife’s expense.
Shakespeare’s play may have been written initially as part of a wedding celebration for a great family, symbolized in the play by Duke Theseus of Athens, who is about to marry Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. All of the characters, in and out of relationships, are invited to enter the realm of the imagination, and respect it, use it to their best advantage, even if it involves a deception, as they go into the future. In any case, so the play suggests, is there any difference between illusion and reality, and are they in fact two sides of the same coin? Titania and Bottom, and the lovers, believe afterwards they may have been dreaming, but it was ‘real’, and we the audience saw it. One way or another it was and is experience. Mendelssohn’s music is completely faithful to Shakespeare’s questioning vision, and so is Future Presence as it allows the audience through its virtual reality to come ever closer to the making of the musical art that is the fantasy, the great act of creative imagination.
Chesney Snow, Lecturer in Theater and Music Theater
It’s surprisingly easy to fall under the spell cast by the ethereal darkness of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Over the years, I have often marveled at how subtly this play critiques the political realities of its time, simmering just beneath its comedic façade. Indeed, for a work often hailed as the most musical in the Shakespearean canon, it carries a profound undercurrent of sociopolitical commentary.
I vividly remember first encountering this so-called comedy in high school: a father who threatens his daughter with death if she disobeys his paternal edict. It felt more like the opening of a Tarantino-style arthouse slasher film than the setup of a lighthearted romp. Already infatuated with Shakespeare, I found myself fully captivated by A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which sealed into my heart a lifelong passion for theatre.
Observing a playwright of Shakespeare’s brilliance navigate the strict censorship of the elite is a remarkable feat. The play’s “simple” comedic devices—its gentle parodies of theatrical convention, its sly jests at the upper classes—work in tandem with far more profound reflections on the entanglement of art, power, and politics. It is a laugh-out-loud story, ripe for musical adaptation and endlessly entertaining for discerning audiences, all while inviting critical thinking about societal order. In every sense, A Midsummer Night’s Dream remains a timeless classic that endures for both its enchanting whimsy and its subtle, provocative insights.
Tim Summers, Violinist of the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, Artistic Lead for Future Presence
Sommernachtstraum in English, in German, in Music, and in Virtual Reality: Illusions of theater translated into a digital medium
Are you sure That we are awake?
It seems to me
That yet we sleep, we dream.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
—Act 4, scene 1, 181-183
Shakespeare’s doubled and doubt-filled visions of the theater of human behavior have much to say about ‘virtual reality’. Our new digital media mirror and manipulate memory, consciousness and imagination, and that’s a fairly theatrical thing to do. Immersive VR physically suspends your disbelief, taking over some of the most basic elements of perception. The mechanisms of this sort of thing have been the subject of all sorts of art-making for millennia. In A Midsummer Nights’ Dream, for example, the bottomless ambiguity between consciousness and unconsciousness, between reality and virtuality, defines everything. It drives the plot, baffles the characters, and even describes its own creation:
And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown,
the poet’s pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
—Act 5, scene 1, lines 12–18
So, in this spirit of making something from nothing, we are building a small theatre for sound in the hard plastic and silicon of the digital device, where a world may be tilted by a pendulum, and where every act and sound may be considered both as an activity and as an act of mind.
In a way unimaginable even just a few years ago, we can make palpable digital things, with real-world consequence, out of patterns and shapes. We can make life seem to appear where there may be none, in a land of ones and zeros (somethings and nothings). We can deceive eyes, we can call out to ears, and we can fill the atmosphere with unbelievably believable shapes. It must only all appear, and sound, as though it is made of matter to have real significance.
Of course, this is what musicians (and artists of many types) have always done. Immersion and the vagaries of belief have always been our business. But lately the affordances for illusion-making are accelerating. We need only look at a subway full of people immersed in their telephones (if we can manage to look up from our own) to see that the borders between virtual and actual reality not only porous, but completely full of holes. With digital devices we are building surprisingly complete and dynamic waking dreams. With VR in particular, we can make illusions of entire dynamic spaces. These spaces don’t seem to end when we look away, and sound, in particular, gives indications of an entire world of activity at the edges our consciousness.
What it all may come to mean is anyone’s guess. But we are not here to think about things that have meaning. Samuel Pepys famously described A Midsummer Night’s Dream “the most insipid ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life,” and there’s something rather reinforcing about that. As artists we rely upon the reality and consequence of a certain amount of nonsense. There’s plenty of foolishness, for example, in wearing VR goggles. But that doesn’t make it wrong or uninteresting: to take an example straight from Midsummer Night’s Dream: you might be wearing something funny on your head, but Titania the Fairy Queen won’t mind, even after she returns to her proper senses. We’re all pretty blinkered, and sometimes it shows.
Nonsensical though it may be, A Midsummer Night’s Dream also has a fair amount of Serious German History behind it, and that history brings us to the Mendelssohn and the Mendelssohn family. The translations of August Wilhelm Schlegel (from 1797, including Sommernachstraum) brought Shakespeare’s theatre to the heart of continental Romanticism. It’s very hard to say (especially these days) what anyone might ever have meant by ‘Romanticism’, but it is still clear that Schlegel’s translations did have at least one extraordinary creative consequence: the 17-year old Felix Mendelssohn (whose aunt was married to August Schlegel’s brother) found inspiration in them to write a completely spectacular concert overture in 1827. He was 18 years old.
The Mendelssohn/Schlegel connection is so direct that one can reasonably imagine that the sounds of the woodwinds at the beginning of the Overture are a sonic manifestation of Shakespeare’s ‘airy nothing’. Furthermore, given that the young Mendelssohn was embarking on a creative-poetic career, it makes some sense to consider that Schlegel’s fresh-translated text served both as personal inspiration and model to the Felix Mendelssohn, newly embarking on an artistic career:
Und wie die schwangre Phantasie Gebilde
Von unbekannten Dingen ausgebiert, Gestaltet sie des Dichters Kiel, benennt
Das luftge Nichts und gibt ihm festen Wohnsitz.
(Schlegel-Tieck)
The contours of Mendelssohn’s Overture seem to follow this passage to the letter. ‘Airy nothing’ in the woodwind section gives way to a carnival of identifiable motives throughout the orchestra: Royalty, Fairies, Donkeys, and, it seems, the fourth Beethoven Piano concerto. Beethoven Piano Concertos were certainly on Felix Mendelssohn’s mind, since he played the fifth one in Berlin (his own Wohnsitz) the night before before traveling to Stettin for the Sommernachtstraum premiere.
As for the other pieces in the suite: 16 years later, in 1842, Mendelssohn received a commission from Kaiser Friedrich Wilhelm IV to write incidental music for a production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. In this explicitly theatrical circumstance, the connections of music with text are clear as day — they are there to read in the score, embedded amidst the notes. The Scherzo is clearly attached to the words of a ‘Fairy’:
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
Even more concisely, the score of the Intermezzo contains stage directions among its notes, and these are clearly dramatized in the orchestration: (Hermia seeks Lysander everywhere, and loses herself in the wood.)
So the relationships between music and text are clear. Every one of the works in the incidental music serves as an explicit bridge between acts and scenes, each with its own context and setting. But then, on second thought, the mirroring mechanisms between music, mood, and image remain mysterious. The invisible images (!) of music become one of Mendelssohn’s sharpest imaginative tools. Like Hermia in the wood, we chase their source, seek their meaning, and perhaps even discover what we intend… or, on the other hand, taking Shakespeare at his word, we may just as well lose ourselves. There are no guarantees.
This is some of what we can offer in the strange new theater for listening. Sound is evidence of a physical disturbance and thus of real presence. If we can use sound as an indication of something beyond behind the visible, and if we can work to re-frame real-world hearing on those terms… then we may find a fruitful digital path. Sounds with an indication of intention, such as those an orchestra makes, show a great deal about how people interact. If we are to build a brave new world, it should have such people as an orchestra contains, listening close to how things just might make a bit of sense. Or, better yet, a whole lot of spectacular nonsense.