One Shot with Ed Sheeran

Of course it’s an advertisement for his upcoming world tour, and yes, he surely got a boatload of money from Netflix for doing it. But set the cynicism aside—One Shot is ridiculously fun to watch: a fresh, challenging, and genuinely unique take on the “no camera cuts” concept. They brought in the team behind Adolescence to execute the vision and the logistics, and Sheeran absolutely delivers under what is, when you think about it, enormous pressure and uncertainty.

Even though he had multiple attempts (three full takes were filmed), so many things could have gone wrong. It takes a special performer to stay fully engaged, think fast on his feet, and not get flustered. Sure, plenty of moments were staged, but there are also interactions with the public that are clearly real and off-script. Then again, if you’re going to attempt something like this, who better than the musician who commands a stadium for two-plus hours solo night after night? The key word being “solo.”

The songs are great, the settings are wonderfully unconventional, Sheeran nails the persona (part affable megastar, part Pied Piper), the camerawork is exceptional, and I’m not sure anyone else of his generation could pull off this kind of “concert film”—although I’m sure some will try.

Milli Vanilli -- Grammy revenge

In 1991, Milli Vanilli became the first and still only act to be stripped of a Best New Artist Grammy.  Now, more than three decades later, Fab Morvan has been nominated for Best Audiobook and may finally get the last laugh by winning that elusive Grammy.  It would make for a fascinating acceptance speech if it makes TV (which it probably won't).  

Never mind the fact that Rob and Fab themselves took all of the punishment (everyone involved with making their record from their manager on down received zero flack) for doing the same crimes that several other top dance acts were guilty of (Technotronic, C&C Music Factory, Black Box, and many others used studio ringers).  The Grammys have never had an abundance of credibility when it comes to the Best New Artist award.  

Looking over the past few decades of winners and nominees, the first thing you notice is a distinct lack of, let's call them, the biggest selling, most successful, generation-spanning artists of all time.  The first Best New Artist award was given in 1960.  Since then (i.e. excluding artists such as Elvis Presley who got an earlier start), the reputedly biggest selling artists ever are Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Elton John, Queen, Madonna, Led Zeppelin, Rihanna, Pink Floyd, Eminem, Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, Taylor Swift, Beyonce, Ed Sheeran and AC/DC.  Out of those fifteen acts, only two won the award (Beatles and Mariah Carey), and four others were nominated (Elton, Zep, Taylor, and Ed Sheeran).  And no, neither Destiny's Child or The Jackson 5 were nominated.  If the purpose of the award is to identify the next wave of blockbuster acts, then it has failed.

It took several years for the Grammys to figure out what this award was supposed to represent.  Nominations in the 60's were a veritable mish mash of jazz artists, folk groups, comedians (Bob Newhart won in 1961), singer/actors, blue-eyed soul acts, novelty acts and the occasional welcome surprise (Miriam Makeba nominated in 1961!).  From 1960-1965, I couldn't tell you a thing about half of the nominees.  Over the next fifteen years, most of the nominees were major hitmakers of their day, with legitimate claims to long-lasting stardom.  And almost every act was white.  Most years had one token black nominee, with the exception of 1975, which had two (Graham Central Station and Johnny Bristol).  But they had to expand the nomination group from five to six in order to do it.  Natalie Cole in 1976 was the only African-American winner of the award during that time period.  The next person of colour to win was Sade in 1986.  

After some thirty years of white/rock/blue-eyed soul/lounge singer dominance, 1990 was the most diverse group of nominees in the award's history to that point: Milli Vanilli, Neneh Cherry, Indigo Girls, Tone Loc, and Soul II Soul.  Part of the resentment toward Milli Vanilli was based on the perception that their popularity was more likely to be a fad, as opposed to the other four more serious, career-oriented artists.  It's almost as if people believed that justice was done when their award was revoked because they didn't deserve to win it anyway.  I like the other four artists very much, but their time in the upper reaches of the charts didn't last beyond 1995 or so.   In 1990, Milli Vanilli were unquestionably the hottest act of the bunch.  This can't be disputed -- they had five US top five hits from their debut album, including three #1's.  There have been far more indefensible choices since then:

1992.  As a direct reaction to the Milli Vanilli scandal, Marc Cohn won over Boys II Men, C+C Music Factory, Color Me Badd, and Seal.  Even at the time, it was widely known that C+C Music Factory (and many similar dance-oriented acts of the day) were lip synching as well and using ringers in the studio.  At least Marc Cohn was a friendly white act who could be trusted not to engage in that.  Or something.  No offense to Marc Cohn and his perfectly acceptable MOR hit "Walking In Memphis", but this was a horrible choice.  

2011.  Esperanza Spalding won over Justin Bieber, Drake, Florence and the Machine, and Mumford and Sons.  From 1997-2011, female artists and female-fronted acts won the Best New Artist award in twelve of the fifteen years.   Maybe it was a given that a female artist would win, given the voter's tendencies.  Male artists won for the next four years, but since 2016, only one male artist has gone home with the award.  A remarkable run of dominance for female acts.  But Spalding beat four acts that would rack up several dozen #1 songs and albums between them, and tour stadiums around the world multiple times over.  Strange. 

2014.  A travesty so unforgivable that they should lecture on it in university ethics classes.  Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, a flash in the pan rap act led by a demented anti-Semite, won the Best New Artist award over James Blake, Kendrick Lamar, Kacey Musgraves, and Ed Sheeran. This was indefensible at the time and looks about a billion times worse in the years since.  Any time a smiley white rapper scores a hit song out of nowhere, don't worry, Grammy comes running!  I'm feeling nauseous just writing about this.   

LFO, "Advance" (1996)

Hard to believe that this album is nearly 30 years old.  At the time, it felt wholly out of place.  Although released on Warp, "Advance" couldn't have been further removed from the "Artifical Intelligence" style of bedroom techno that had dominated the label in the previous few years.  It was too sobering and grounded for the rave scene, and not propulsive or hedonistic enough for the trance scene.  At least half of its tracks aren't suited for the clubs at all, and most DJ's would have been hard-pressed to meld even the more "conventional" kick drum heavy tracks like "Shut Down" and "Kombat Drinking".  Not coincidentally, those were the tracks that Gez Varley worked on.  Most of the album is an extended production reel for Mark Bell's future career as the knob twiddler for A-list electronic acts like Bjork and Depeche Mode. And those tracks still sound as if they were beamed in from an unexplored future world.  Nothing sounds like "Advance", even now.  

"Jason Vorhees" simmers with nervous energy due to its crashing percussive beats and mind-melting filters, but is layered over a serene ambient drifting background.  "Them" lays out a low-tempo squelching funk plastered over lost in the forest, horror movie sound effects.  I'm hard pressed to think of any near equivalent to either track.  DItto for "Tied Up", a sort of headbanger's techno-funk that ascends into a kind of electronic shoegaze paradise, full of breathy sounds and high pitched whistling and god knows what else (this was the single, by the way, and was remixed by Spiritualized into a nine-minute drone-fest).  "Shove Piggy Shove" is perhaps the lone throwback to LFO's bleepy roots, with a cavernous, speaker-rattling bass line to match.

But for me, the album centres around the title track and "Loch Ness".  The former is simply the most heart-stopping, dramatic, crystal shards of sound collapsing on one's head, fist-pumping mindfuck in 90's techno, bar none.  At 105 or so BPM, yet it's not danceable in the least in the context of a conventional techno set.  It starts out quietly with the whispered word "advance" and grows into a monumental cascade of droning and caterwauling.  The kick drum rains hammerfist blows into your chest, the bass causes the entire room to shake uncontrollably.  "Loch Ness" has an undeniable build of a different kind, tricking you into a false sense of security with its tranquil opening synth washes, before exploding into a chorus of electronic birdsong, yet another bass timbre to collapse one's chest, and accompanied by a militaristic snare drum workout.  There is no way to characterize any of this, it's a genre truly unto itself.

"Advance" is probably Mark Bell's masterpiece, the best advertisement for what  he could offer as a producer in the following years.  He was a talent that was truly taken from us too soon.  

BBC Music ranks the top 12 classical pieces that bridged the pop culture divide

 It's always nice to see a list that covers a subject that hasn't been overdone.  Other than Percy Grainger's "Country Gardens" -- the only piece on the list that I wasn't familiar with, it must be a Brit-centric thing -- each of these pieces has been featured, immortalized, and run full circle into parody.  These are truly famous pieces that have spanned oceans and crossed borders, and there's really not too much to argue about here.  One could argue for "Tubular Bells" if one wished to stretch the definitions into classical-adjacent forms, but even that's not a huge stretch considering the ELP version of "Fanfare for the Common Man" that is linked in the article.  There's also a good case for the Dr. Who theme if we branch into experimental music from post-WWII composers.  But if we just stick to tonal composers working with conventional instruments and ensembles, this is as good a list of the "most famous" classical works in pop culture over the past few decades. 

I grew up learning about classical music subliminally through Hanna-Barbara cartoons.  I was pleased to see that the connection to animated series hasn’t entirely disappeared—see the links to Bluey and SpongeBob SquarePants, two cartoons even my own kids enjoy.  Wagner and Strauss are indelibly tied to Apocalypse Now and 2001, respectively, to the point that mentioning the movie titles likely evokes those pieces of music more readily than any specific line or actor from the films

Shlomo Artzi, live at Park Raanana

Twelve years ago, I saw Shlomo Artzi in concert for the first time and was blown away.  At the time I wrote that "I'm not sure I've ever seen an artist connect with his audience as well as Shlomo Artzi connected with the crowd in Ashdod".  The connection was "almost telepathic", operating on a deeper, more personal, more empathetic level than just about any other artist I've seen -- in any country, singing in any language.  

Remarkably, twelve years later, it's all still true.  Artzi is nearing his 76th birthday and still commands the stage like no other.  He can still unite multiple generations of Israelis, appeal to the secular and the religious, and create memorable moments through an almost unimaginable personal connection with an amphitheatre full of thousands.  Coldplay go to great lengths to manufacture these connections with their fans through their goofy kiss cams and light-up bracelets and choreographed singalongs and B-stages and C-stages that bring them close to their audience.  But it always comes across as nerdy millionaire pandering to the simple plebes.  I can't even blame them -- bridging the divide between stage and audience is difficult, especially in a stadium.  Not every performer strives for it, and that's OK too.  Shlomo Artzi does it effortlessly, through his personal stories both sad and humorous, impassioned words about the soldiers and hostages, and through his impeccable timing and synchronization with his band, always knowing when to raise and lower the energy in the room.  

He spoke about attending shivas for soldiers and about the hostages and said "I don't know what's happening right now in the USA -- probably many of you know better than me" -- a reference to the Trump-Netanyahu meetings taking place that day.  It was an off-hand remark, meant to segue into a broader wish for peace.  But inevitably, it led to a large number of people reaching for their mobile phones, hoping for a major news update.  And moments later, a screenshot from the nightly news—viewed on a concertgoer’s phone—was projected onto the stage’s big screens, essentially a screenshot of a screenshot.  The headline read "hostages to be returned in three days", an impassioned roar rose from the crowd, and Artzi abruptly stopped speaking and admired the photo.  He may have mumbled something like "how about that ..." his words trailing off.  Like I said, the man has impeccable timing.  Time seemed to stand still for about half a minute.  Even when Artzi is at a temporary loss of words, he can still forge a genuine connection.   

The pacification of music criticism

Kelefa Sanneh hit a home run with his excellent piece in the New Yorker, covering the decline of music criticism from acerbic, witty truth telling to the placid, homogenized landscape that we have today.  

Additional context comes by way of a video by Dave Hurwitz, and even though he's talking about the classical music industry (his specialty), the sentiment is applicable to other genres as well. In short, as magazine readership began to decline rapidly, publishers and editors became reluctant to risk alienating a shrinking pool of potential advertisers with negative reviews.  The magazines continued on their death spiral, and review culture never recovered.  

In particular, Sanneh makes a fascinating connection that I'd never considered before.  As rockism fell into disfavour -- in no small part due to Sanneh's endless debated piece in the NYT --  and poptimism rose to fill the void, negativity in music reviews also waned.  He writes, "poptimism intimated that critics shoudl not just take pop music seriously but celebrate it ...".  This new culture of positivity was also spurred by the explosion of blogs and online mags, where countless writers competed to be seen as tastemakers with a keen ear for discovering and popularizing new music through glowing reviews, mp3 blogs, etc.  

Sanneh highlights the online presence of Anthony Fantano and Rick Beato, as two examples of influencers (each with millions of followers) who aren't afraid to regularly dole out negative criticism.  It's important to note that Fantano and Beato are independent and not beholden to an editorial direction influenced by outside funding.   It's hardly a surprise that "old school" criticism lives on through outlets such as theirs.  

Sanneh makes just one misstep.  Toward the end of the piece, he explains that twenty years ago, he wrote negative reviews regularly, whereas now feels less compelled to do so.  This is in part because when reviewing an album that he doesn't take to immediately, "why commit that judgement to print, when, instead, I could wait to see whether it will grow on me, as awkward -seeming albums sometimes do?" I believe he's trying to restore some nobility to the art of writing reviews, seeking honour in this new era of criticism where very little is actually criticized.  But for me, this sentiment runs counter to a fundamental consequence of good criticism.  The critic's skill and expertise give them the vision to recognize a record's greatness and its potential long-term impact long before the general public catches on.  This is a key motivation behind my writing -- opining on the music I like and don't like, putting a time stamp on my thoughts, and hoping to be proven right in the long run.  And even if I'm wrong, or change my mind, or what have you, there's always a learning experience in the process.  In contrast, biding one's time and letting their opinion be continuously re-shaped by the shifting consensus isn’t leading the critical charge—it’s following it. It’s almost glorified gossip-column hackery: scanning what others are saying to gauge public sentiment, then presenting the safe, majority-approved opinion.

Dr. Guiseppe and Mr. Sinopoli

I have taken to Sinopoli's recordings as somewhat of a guilty pleasure.  His style certainly isn't for everyone.   Most people value instrumental clarity and individual sonorities when listening to classical music.  Sinopoli didn't care about any of that, he approached the orchestra as if it was a gigantic, people-powered modular synth, with separate components only existing to mold the overall sound.  I wrote about his marvelous, semi-shoegaze-y Bruckner 7th -- a piece that benefits (in my view) from a a cathedral-like, blurry sonority.   

The problem with Sinopoli is that he would apply the "treatment" to just about anything and everything.  The results were entirely hit and miss.  And yet, even when I know that it's a miss (based on critic's reviews) I still can't help but listen.  

For example, take the widely panned Elgar Symphonies 1 and 2, with the Philharmonia.  The consensus is that the 2nd symphony in particular is dreadfully, drudgingly slow, a recording to be avoided at all costs.   But I just had to hear it for myself.  And I discovered, indeed, that the slow tempos completely kill the piece.  Nevertheless, as an experiment in Elgar, it's oddly fascinating.

On the other hand, Sinopoli's version of the Brahms German Requiem with the Czech Philharmonic works surprisingly well.  It runs completely opposite to the stoic treatment of Klemperer, often thought of as the reference recording.  It may not be for everyone, but if you ever wished for a psychedelic mind trip version of the German Requiem, then Sinopoli's recording may be for you.

Sometimes the Jekyll/Hyde dichotomy occurs on the same disc, like with the pairing of Mahler's 8th and 10th symphonies with the Philharmonia.   The Mahler 8 presents a grandiose, sweaty, wall of sound that is entirely appropriate for a piece in which more excess is always better.  However, the Mahler 10 (Adagio only), runs for an interminable 33 minutes (!!) and is very nearly unrecognizable compared to any competing recording.  It comes across like one of those time stretched recordings where every note blends into the next and the dynamics are flattened out into a sprawling void of nothing.  I have no idea what to make of  

I'll continue on this mini-quest to subject myself to the odd but daring stylings of this maverick conductor ...

Oasis 2025 -- 90's comfort food

The Oasis reunion is finally happening and it already feels bigger than any other "reunion" tour in recent years.  In his review of their kick-off concert in Cardiff, The Independent's Mark Beaumont half-heartedly tries being cynical about it, with a slight few backhanded compliments thrown in, but in the end it didn't matter.  He gives them a five star review.   

Yes, both Gallagher's have been touring these same songs with their own bands for years.  Last year at this time, Liam had a solo Definitely Maybe 30th anniversary tour, appearing in arena around the UK.  How is it, just one year later, that he can appear in stadiums singing the exact same songs, headlining the 90's nostalgia tour to end them all?  Much like the Smashing Pumpkins reunion, or the fifty Fleetwood Mac reunions where somebody left and then came back, having the original members on stage working together is far more than a technicality.  If it was only about hearing the songs, then Oasis cover bands could competently headline stadiums.  

It’s clear to me now that the '90s occupy a cultural space much like the '60s did during the '90s themselves.  In the late 80's/early 90's, many iconic classic rock acts from the previous generation were back together and making headlines.  Dylan became a cultural darling again.  The Who and the Rolling Stones did reunion tours that earned a gajillion dollars.  The Beatles released their "Anthology" series. Johnny Cash made a wholly unexpected comeback.   The Velvet Underground put aside their differences for five minutes and reunited.  Neil Young was recast as the godfather of grunge after losing his way for most of the 80's.  And so on.  There was a prevailing sense that the '60s were still the pinnacle of musical culture, and that nothing could ever surpass them.  All the controversies of the 60's that had seeped their way into the Western (mainly American) consciousness were mostly swept under the rug.  Civil rights?  The turmoil of 1968?  Vietnam?  Those were yesterday's problems, thoroughly left behind us, and we were left with the unequaled brilliance of the greatest bands of the rock era.  Those who came of age during the 60's scoffed at the idea of "my" 90's music being relevant enough to be remembered even in five years' time, let alone thirty.

And now, I believe the 90's are mostly viewed through rose-coloured glasses by people who weren't there or have hazy memories of it.  The decade of happy-go-lucky "Friends".  The end of the Cold War followed by world peace breaking out (Jesus Jones promised me that it happened!)  Singing along to Oasis songs with all one's friends.  When one needs to get away from the turmoil in the world today, one can always count on 90's TV, movies, and music to take you back to a time when there were few worries in the world save for Y2K angst.  In the 90's, the POTUS could get his dick sucked in the Oval Office and not get MeToo'ed into oblivion!  And people loved him for this, he left office with the highest approval ratings of any President in decades.  Viewed from the quagmire that is 2025, clearly the 90's were a utopia.  

Of course, that's not how it really was.  But Oasis, and the current Oasis reunion represent the apex of the 90's comfort food culture.  There probably isn't another band (at least not in the UK) that allows you to suspend reality and daydream about the imagined perfection of the 90's.  In the US, Oasis were just one of many heavy-rotation MTV bands of the day.  "What's the Story Morning Glory" was just the 10th biggest selling album of 1996 in the US.  It's the third biggest seller of all time in the UK.  And that gives them a healing power than few other bands can match.  What about their Britpop peers?  Please.  Blur: too kooky, standoff-ishly clever.  Pulp: despite a remarkable comeback this year with a #1 UK album, their songs are all about stressful affairs, scandalous trysts, a constant reminder of the uncertainty of the times.  Suede: too weird, too fancy, not anthemic enough.  All of them are wildly successful.  None of them had a hope of symbolizing the carefree hope and grandeur like Oasis can.      

 

It took me eight years to "get" Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk"

I had never heard of this album until it was featured in Melody Maker's "Unknown Pleasures" book in 1995.  A few more years passed before I heard a note of music from it, via the Fleetwood Mac Greatest Hits compilation.  After that, more than a decade passed until I heard the full album.  I bought the 2CD reissue, wrote a post about it, and all these years later I mostly agree with everything I wrote.  Nevertheless, I didn't particularly like "Tusk".  I would dig it out once in a while and subject myself to it for the sake of investigating it's merits because there's little doubt that it's notable album in rock history by one of rock's all-time great bands.  I had read the essays, heard about the revisionist histories, knew about its critical resuscitation but still couldn't find much to like about it.

You see, when I was growing up and became "aware" of the FM radio rotation, just about every track from "Rumours" was regularly played on the radio -- some five years after it was first released.  In the 80's, both "Mirage" and "Tango In the Night" were massive hit albums that ensured Fleetwood Mac's position as radio (and music video!) stalwarts through the end of the decade.  "Tusk", on the other hand, might as well have never existed.  The songs weren't on the radio, nobody talked about it, and nobody seemed to own it.  

"Tusk" rode the post-"Rumours" momentum wave and sold millions of copies (it is a double album, so each sale counted as two copies).  Why exactly did it become invisible for the bulk of the next twenty years?  There was no "Rumours hangover" -- nobody rejected "Tusk" because they were tired of FM's dominance.  Tracks from "Rumours" remained on the radio for years, so clearly the public wanted more Fleetwood Mac.  Michael Jackson didn't experience a "Thriller hangover", huge albums are regularly followed by more huge albums.  In "Unknown Pleasures", Simon Reynolds puts most of the blame at Lindsey Buckingham's feet, suggesting that his wonton experiments sabotaged "Tusk"'s commercial prospects.  He's certainly correct on this point.  But he also paints Buckingham as a charlatan looking to remain relevant for the punk and new wave crowd, and failing.  This does not seem to be reflected in then-contemporary reviews.  

In Stephen Holden's marvelous review for Rolling Stone (December 13, 1979), he calls Buckingham the "artistic lynchpin" of "Tusk", with his compositions being the glue that provides a semblance of cohesion to the album. With remarkable insight, he notes that the era of the multi-million dollar audiophile megaproduction must be reaching its end, while at the same time standing slack-jawed about how wonderful it all sounds.  Robert Christgau also praised "Tusk" (assigning it a B+ grade) and Buckingham's songs in particular.  Contemporary critics recognized that Buckingham wasn't the problem, rather, he was the standout.  With audiences, it was obviously a different story.

Listening to it now, I finally understand what Holden wrote about more than four decades ago. On "Tusk",  Buckingham draws inspiration from post punk and transforms it in a way that only he can.  He practically invents a new genre for himself, linking crude noisemaking with state-of-the-art studio technology, combining his signature gossamer guitars with lo-fi country-tonk.   Stevie Nicks is top form as well.  While "Sara" is the most well-known, each of the five songs she contributed is excellent.   The weak link, unfortunately is McVie.  With the exception of "Think About Me", none of her songs come close to the spark she brought to "Rumours".  "Over and Over" is pleasant enough, but it's a continuation of "Rumours", i.e. exactly the sound of a "Rumours 2" that Buckingham sought so desperately to avoid.  

The running order does nobody any favours.  It's a disjointed patchwork of competing ideologies between the three songwriters.  The mood shifts with every song and the album never gets a chance to establish any kind of rhythm.    This would be less of a problem in the CD/mp3 age, because you could easily program a new track order.  But with LP's, listeners were just as likely to get frustrated and not bother to flip the record over.  They should have given each of them an entire album side to do as they wished, but that might have made it feel less like a Fleetwood Mac album and more like three new solo albums by its main composers. 

Is "Tusk" better than "Rumours", as some seem to suggest (even Mick Fleetwood claims it's his favourite FM album)?  Let's not be ridiculous.  But it's a very rewarding album and a fascinating experiment from a band that wasn't known for doing wild experiments during the post-Buckingham/Nicks era.   

Mandle Cheung and Mahler 2

Along comes another rich guy with Mahlerian dreams of grandeur who lives out his fantasies by paying a princely sum to conduct a leading orchestra.  We've seen this before with Gilbert Kaplan.  Now it's Mandle Cheung "hiring" the Toronto Symphony Orchestra for his own personal vanity project.  Are we supposed to care? 

OK, enough with the cynicism.  Like Kaplan, Cheung is a patron of the arts whose goal is to promote classical music to the widest possible audience.  In this case, Cheung is paying for the orchestra, the concert hall, and for the promotion of the concert.  It's true that one could argue that he could do all that and also hire a professional conductor instead of placing himself at the centre of the performance.  However, Mahler performances these days are all too common.  This performance is different because the conductor is the outsider, he's the draw just as much as the music.  

I love Mahler 2 just as much as the next classical music fan, I saw Bradley Cooper whip up a sweat soaked frenzy in "Maestro", but I know I have no business conducting this work no matter how much I might dream about it.   People have the right to be skeptical and to make jokes.  But why smirk about a supposed loss of artistic credibility?   "It must be about the money" ... of course it's about the money!  No orchestra can survive without arts grants and philanthropy.  There's a place for upholding authenticity and also a place for shameless moneymaking strictly for entertainment purposes.  I don't think there's any shame in aspiring to the former while also proudly admitting to the latter.  Modern orchestras are both supremely talented and enviably versatile, they can manage both.   

Would modern arts critics scoff at Haydn for working most of his career as the personal composer of a Hungarian noble?  Would the music have been better if he had not done it all "for the money" he received from wealthy patrons?  Would a modern day Haydn have to be a struggling and starving artist to remain authentic?  

I searched online for reviews of Cheung's performance last night.  As of this posting, I couldn't find any major media outlets who covered the concert.  I could only find a few message board posts.  Cheung was well practiced and energetic, but didn't succeed in leading the orchestra to the highs that the music demands.  Hey, that's what they said about Kaplan too.  This type of thing isn't unique to classical music either.  Sometimes celebrities dabble in pro wrestling, and the expectations are on a parallel scale compared to two pros having a match.  If it draws a crowd, then it works.  If celebrity involvement becomes a weekly thing, then the audience will likely get bored and turn away from the product.    There's also place for this alternate form of classical music entertainment.  

Update:   Shortly after posting this, the Globe and Mail posted a glowing review of Cheung's concert.