Showing posts with label clarinet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clarinet. Show all posts

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Meta-complexity in Brahms’s Clarinet Quintet

 Robert Hill, photo © Benjamin Ealovega
A nthony Burton’s program notes for the London Phil’s ‘Chamber Contrasts’ series at Wigmore Hall emphasize how impressed Brahms was with the potential of clarinet, as a result of his hearing clarinettist Richard Mühlfeld perform in 1891. But Brahms composed this Op. 115 clarinet quintet within a few years of his death from cancer, a period when many of his friends and family died (his sister Elise, his brother Fritz, Elizabeth von Herzogenberg, Hermione Spies, Theodor Broth, Clara Schumann, etc.). This makes me think that the recursive, ‘re-considering’ structures in this quintet maybe derive more from the emotional impact of those events on Brahms—than from any scheme Brahms may have had, to create in Op. 115 a virtuosic clarinet showpiece for the great Mühlfeld.

L arge-scale variation comes from relationships between variations (the theme included) and how these relationships are united into a pervasive algorithm that encapsulates the entire set—that is, an operating system governing the entire set. In other words, these are not a mere series of independent objects and methods (scripts) that are expected derivatives of a parent object or class. They are a ‘network-based object-oriented OS’.

W hat I mean is, Brahms’s variations feel to me ‘network-based’, not ‘hierarchical’. It seems (to me) that Brahms was exposing larger-scale connections, and transforming his idea into a multi-domain network rather than a hierarchical structure with conventional ‘parent’ exposition classes and ‘child’ instantiations. The arrangement of variations involves pairs of diatonic pitch-class cells derived from the theme. But the textural differences that follow are like remote procedure-calls that cross-link the tension-producing structures within the variations’ designs. This gives the piece an attractive sort of ‘meta-complexity’.

I n other people’s analyses (links below), variation sets in Brahms’s multi-movement instrumental compositions are usually only moderately complex. Variation sets in interior movements often do not have full ‘closure’. In the variations in this Clarinet Quintet in B minor, Brahms suggests or ‘projects’ closure by recapitulating first-movement phrases. But the promised closure doesn’t come until the very end. It is as though there is a latent, suspended complexity that is irreducible until the very end.

T his gets me to thinking about how Brahms does this, and how we might devise similar structures and mechanics in new music. The ‘Kolmogorov complexity’ (links below) of a software program or script, or a piece of text or a musical composition, is a measure of the computational resources needed to specify the object. Kolmogorov complexity is also known as descriptive complexity, Kolmogorov-Chaitin complexity, stochastic complexity, algorithmic entropy, or program-size complexity.

O ne of the appealing, intuitively plausible qualities of Kolmogorov complexity as a metric to characterize what I was hearing last night in the account of the Brahms clarinet quintet given by Robert Hill and his colleagues has to do with how the aggregate complexity goes, for large composite or ‘compound’ or ‘network’ or ‘cloud’ objects that are constituted from multiple smaller objects. For example, consider a compound object built up from objects X and Y. The Kolmogorov complexity of the two of them together K(X,Y) is:

K(X,Y) = K(X) + K(Y|X) + O(ln(K(X,Y)))

T his says that the shortest program that reproduces X and Y is no more than a logarithmic term larger than a program to reproduce X and a program to reproduce Y given X. This basically puts a quantitative ‘bound’ on the amount of mutual information there is between X and Y in terms of the Kolmogorov complexity.

T he amount of unresolved tension we feel in the inner movements in this Brahms quintet—and the intensity of the desire we feel for the eventual resolution of these tensions at the end—feels, to me, logarithmic. Maybe some future music theory PhD candidate will explore this notion properly and critically. For now, it’s happy enough for me to give you a few interesting links below and the glimmer of a potential reason why the complexities and proportions of this quintet seem so ‘right’ and so beautiful.




Saturday, May 29, 2010

Phoenix Ensemble: Feldman and Babbitt Clarinet Quintets, Security/Acquiescence, Insecurity/Dissent, Morphogenesis

 Phoenix Ensemble
R    enoir said that the same color, applied by two different hands, would give us two different tones. But in music, the same note, written by two different composers, gives us the same note. When I write a B-flat, and Berio a B-flat, what you get is always B-flat. By contrast, the painter must create his medium as he works. That’s what gives his work that ‘hesitancy’—that ‘insecurity’ so crucial to painting.”
  —  Morton Feldman.
M   usicians are used to spinning a phrase or rhythm in a certain way. There is a kind of common grammar to the musical language that we all get used to. Babbitt seems to knowingly throw a wrench in it, intentionally pulling or tugging the musicians in very uncomfortable directions. It’s frustrating, but in the end it makes you think in completely new and different ways and causes a kind of wonderful tension in the music. As scary as it was, I grew to like the feeling. I think for all of the musicians in the group, this was the most difficult piece we had ever worked on. Babbitt made himself available whenever we had specific questions about the score... In [Feldman’s] clarinet quintet, and most of his late music especially, he has a way of sustaining this beautiful world and keeping it interesting over very long stretches of time, and for some reason it works. It’s a real challenge for the musicians because there is never any technique or ‘flash’ to grab onto or hide behind. It’s just this ‘stripped-to-the-bone’ musical expression, and our ability to spin a phrase at a constant ppp.”
  —  Mark Lieb, interview with Robert Carl.
L isten to these excerpts:


    [50-sec clip, Phoenix Ensemble, Morton Feldman, ‘Clarinet and String Quartet, m. 283’, 1983, 1.6MB MP3]


    [50-sec clip, Phoenix Ensemble, Milton Babbitt, ‘Clarinet Quintet, m. 1’, 1996, 1.6MB MP3]

F eldman’s quintet is like a window—a car window or a window on a train—and you can experience what goes by, what is happening outside: it is the epitome of passive observation.

B y contrast, Babbitt’s quintet is caring-but-confrontational: possibly an intense dialogue between fellow passengers who are on the train.

F eldman, instinctive; Babbitt methodical, mathematical.

B    abbitt’s elegant contours—clarinet and string quartet lines thickly folded into each other at the opening, gradually becoming sparser, with reflective pockets of unaccompanied clarinet—radiate genteel yet incisive whimsy, and his pleasure at creating such delicate musical mechanisms expresses itself shamelessly.”
  —  Philip Clark, Gramophone, MAR-2010.
T he aim of each piece seems to be to convince the performers that they won’t be able to get it ‘right’ unless they’ve understood and accepted the composer’s point of view—even when that point of view is that you have no hope of ‘mastering’ the situation—of “winning”; of living forever; of getting your way. You can influence things while you are alive; you can initiate and change the patterns that develop; you can contribute, laugh, cry. But you are not getting out of here alive.

BlindWatchmaker biomorph generator
T he trick in the Feldman piece—with one instrument starting the bar, the next entering on the second beat, and so on until the final note is a chord made up of the motif—is to allow the textural device to do its job. ‘Let it go’ as soon as your note has been played. Otherwise, the building ‘chord’ will tie down the hand and the mind.

I   f you are going to try to learn these pieces, it would be advisable to have a surgeon standing by.”
  —  Ludwig Rellstab (1799-1860), commenting on Chopin’s Etudes.
L aunched into the world, the compositions make their way... wild animals, just weaned. (It’s not like their composer-parent releases them with any didactic or political intention, right?)

A    t this first meeting I brought John a string quartet. He looked at it a long time and then said, ‘How did you make this?’ I thought of my constant quarrels with (Stefan) Wolpe, and how just a week before, after showing a composition of mine to Milton Babbitt and answering his questions as intelligently as I could, he said to me, ‘Morton, I don’t understand a word you’re saying.’ And so, in a very weak voice I answered John, ‘I don’t know how I made it.’ The response to this was startling. John jumped up and down, and with a kind of high monkey squeal, screeched, ‘Isn’t that marvelous! Isn’t that wonderful! It’s so beautiful, and yet he doesn’t know how he made it.’ ”
  —  Morton Feldman, recalling his first meeting with John Cage.
  • Mark Lieb (clarinet), Aaron Boyd (violin), Kristi Helberg (violin), Cyrus Beroukhim (viola), Alberto Parrini (cello), on Feldman
  • Mark Lieb (clarinet), Aaron Boyd (violin), Alicia Edelberg (violin), Cyrus Beroukhim (viola), Bruce Wang (cello), on Babbitt
T his recording is an absorbing, totally engaging performance by Lieb and his colleagues and a superb, intimate exposition of Feldman’s and Babbitt’s ideas—about music, about life.





Sunday, July 12, 2009

Within-Ensemble Dialogue: Cresswell’s ‘Soliloquy on a Lambent Tailpiece’

 Lyell Cresswell
S oliloquy on a Lambent [double-bass] Tailpiece’ is a piece that was commissioned by Roger Dean and Ensemble LYSIS in 1980. It is, to me, both challenging and extremely attractive in its design and execution.

T he piece begins with ruminations of the double bass. The tapping on its ebony tailpiece its provokes the clarinet and then the violin, who are in turn driven to explore the outer ranges of their instruments’ timbres, pitch-ranges, and expressive textures.

T he control that both Jenkin and Smith and Dean achieve, in going from delicate sounds to aggressive/overtones-dense/multiphonic ones and back again, sometimes within a single breath or bowstroke, is impressive. Cresswell’s markings on the clarinet and violin parts counsel them to “revel in whatever sound results”. Hmmm! That’s a permissiveness that really empowers the performer.

W hile this kind of thing might be de rigeur in jazz, it is surely not in chamber music. The composer’s instruction to exploit the effects that emerge extemporaneously is one that seems foreign to most classically-trained musicians.

O ther pieces that specify improvisational tapping include Will Gay Bottje’s ‘Suite for Six Violins’ (1965). “Use the flat part of fingers on different parts of the box. Some differentiation in timbre can be made using different areas and pressures. Dampen the strings so they won’t sound.”

Y ou get definite, pitched percussive sounds by tapping the tailpiece—low, resonant pitches of the bottom parts of the box itself, as opposed to the fuller, rounder sounds that would come from tapping belly of the instrument.

T he right-hand finger-trill or tremolo on the double-bass tailpiece in ‘Soliloquy’ is mostly finger-pad and finger-tip based. Not the finger nails... the harmonics/partials would be too high, too “clicky”.

T he challenge/problem is that novel effects like these can easily be taken too far—somewhat like the issue of ‘chord-worship’ in barbershop quartet singing. It’s an “intra-ensemble indulgence”: interesting among the ensemble members during rehearsals but maybe not suitable for performance or recording.

H owever, in the AustraLYSIS performance of ‘Soliloquy’ a wonderful balance is struck, between within-ensemble dialogue and interpretive communication to listeners/audience. The ‘suspension’ of Time for the harmonic and rhythmic enjoyment of the ensemble members is “a different process from the manipulation of durations as an interpretive act”, as Liz Garnett says (p. 127), and this difference can potentially detract aesthetically from the performers’ relationship to the audience. But in this AustraLYSIS performance the different processes productively coexist, in a way that enables us listeners to follow their internal dialogue, enter into it, understand it and enjoy it. It’s a mutual, interactive search for patterns that unify the music that’s being created, in the sense of David Cope’s terms ‘virtual music’ and ‘unification’. ‘Soliloquy’ is a pretext for enacting some risky, interesting, raw within-ensemble ‘unification’.

 Double Bass Tailpiece

    [50-sec clip, AustraLYSIS, Lyell Cresswell, ‘Soliloquy on a Lambent Tailpiece’, 1.6MB MP3]

T he last section of ‘Soliloquy’ has the instruments playing separate, independent meter/time-signatures, but these combine to create a single pulse. ‘Soliloquy’ embodies the activity of one collective mind, and this rhythmic architecture is a wonderful symbolic evocation of the hidden parallelism that underlies much of our behavior. Not sure whether this parallelism or polyrhythmic design is derived from some Maori tradition or is instead one of Cresswell’s innovations...


    [50-sec clip, AustraLYSIS, Lyell Cresswell, ‘Soliloquy on a Lambent Tailpiece’, 1.6MB MP3]

  • Roger Dean, double bass
  • Peter Jenkin, clarinet
  • Hazel Smith, violin
L yell Cresswell is a native New Zealand composer born in Wellington, New Zealand, in 1944. He studied in Wellington, Toronto, Aberdeen and Utrecht. In 1978 he won the Ian Whyte Award for the Orchestral work ‘Salm’, and in 1979 received the APRA Silver Scroll for his contribution to New Zealand music. In the 1980s he taught composition at Glasgow University and Edinburgh University. Since 1985 he has been a full-time composer based in Edinburgh. Many of his works are well-known, especially his cello concerto. Some of them (like ‘Walata Tangi’, also commissioned by LYSIS) incorporate elements of traditional Maori folk music.

 Sarath book
L   am⋅bent adj. 1. running or moving lightly over a surface: lambent tongues of flame.
2. dealing lightly and gracefully with a subject; brilliantly playful: lambent wit.
3. glowing, as when a photoluminescent compound absorbs and then re-emits a photon of light, esp. phosphorescence involving triplet spin-states”



Friday, June 29, 2007

Manasse-Nakamatsu: Two Jons, Zwei Begleitern mit Gleichheit

Jon Manasse
DSM: Brahms’s Clarinet Sonata in E-flat, Op. 120, No. 2, has a delicate and, in the woodwind-piano duet literature, unique ‘balance’ between the piano and the clarinet. What I mean is that the piano is not so much an ‘accompaniment’—in the way it is in some Concertante pieces that clearly have an accompaniment that’s subordinated to the solo instrument’s part—as it is an equal voice that has expressive ‘parity’ with the clarinet. This Sonata is much more in the dialogical mode of ‘chamber music’.

CMT: Clarinetist Jon Manasse and pianist Jon Nakamatsu perform this Brahms Clarinet Sonata No. 2 regularly. And, you know, the German for accompanist is ‘Begleiter’ or companion. It is not ‘servant’. It is not ‘note-schlepper’. It’s ‘companion’—full-fledged ‘companion’, with more than a whiff of ‘duty’ in that. Think of Brahms—the Brahms of Hamburg, Detmold, Vienna: how did Begleitern/Gefährten accompanists comport themselves?

DSM: The pairing of Jon Manasse and Jon Nakamatsu is an especially felicitous one—in terms of their matched temperaments, mutual sensitivities, and mutual sense of duty, one to the other. Ahhh, let’s see here . . . Jon Manasse’s appearances include New York City performances at Lincoln Center’s Chamber Music Society events (Avery Fisher Hall), Carnegie Hall’s Weill Recital Hall, Alice Tully Hall, Hunter College, Columbia University, Rockefeller University. In a busy schedule of concretizing, he also presented the world premieres of James Cohn’s Concerto for Clarinet & String Orchestra at the international ClarinetFest 1997 and, in 2005, of Steven Gerber’s Clarinet Concerto with the National Philharmonic. Manasse debuted Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto with Gerard Schwarz and the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields in a Barbican Centre performance in London in 2002.

CMT: Jon Manasse also has chamber music performances with the Brooklyn Chamber Music Society, the Amadeus Trio at Southern Oregon University, the Ying Quartet at Harvard University, plus the Manhattan String Quartet, the Borromeo String Quartet, the Amadeus Trio, Germany’s Trio Parnassus, the Orion String Quartet, and the Rossetti Shanghai Quartet.

DSM: Jon trained at Juilliard, where he studied with David Weber. Manasse was a top prize winner in the Thirty-Sixth International Competition for Clarinet in Munich and the youngest winner of the International Clarinet Society Competition. For twelve years he’s been on the faculty of the Eastman School of Music. And this Fall, Manasse joins the faculty of Juilliard.

CMT: You know, Brahms initially wrote Op. 120 for viola and piano. The viola part was then transposed for the clarinet, and it’s famously known now as the Clarinet Sonata—even though it’s still important in the viola literature, too. The two Brahms Clarinet Sonatas are anchors in the standard clarinet repertoire that’s required for clarinetists in music graduate programs. Examination and performance of the Second Sonata show that the “zero-order” technical aspects—such as fingerings and tongue articulation and phrasing and tone production in each of the registers—are not what make Op. 120 so challenging. Instead, the Brahms Clarinet Sonatas are a critical part of the repertoire because they contain sections that expose “first-” and “second-order” weaknesses of the clarinetist—such as breath support, and control of dynamics, and interpretive vision, and gestural fluency. As a consequence—or conversely—these same sections have a powerful ability to reveal the expressive and technical virtuosity of the clarinetist as well. The Second Sonata can really separate the wheat from the chaff! Here are some questions for you, and for Jon Manasse:
  • Do you move a lot when you’re performing?
  • Does this motion affect your performance?
  • Did your teachers encourage or discourage motions? What was their reasoning?
  • Is there a part of your body that you move more than any other, to achieve the expressive musical effects you intend?
  • What’s the proper role of gestural instruction in performance pedagogy?

DSM: Common gestures for clarinetists involve, say, vertical movement of the clarinet bell and of its barrel, and horizontal and sagittal movements of the barrel alone. And circular/elliptical movements of the bell and barrel. We should distinguish at least two categories of gestures. ‘Instrumental gestures’ are ones that play a direct role in the production of sound (e.g., moving the diaphragm to blow air into a wind instrument), while ‘ancillary gestures’ are not directly involved in the production of sound (e.g., raising the eyebrows; scowling; leaning the body forward or backward; raising the hands above the keyboard; elliptical movements of the clarinet bell; etc.).

CMT: Musicians tend to move expressively while they play. Watching a soloist, one sees a sequence of subtle gestures including body sways, eyebrow movements, knee bending and facial expressions, all of which occur in relation to the musical sound.

Wanderley, J New Music Res, 2005
DSM: Davidson (1993) designed a research study design in which participants were divided/randomized into three groups: they saw a musician performing, or heard the performance without seeing it, or both saw and heard the music. Surprisingly, Davidson found that the movements of musicians actually conveyed expressive intentions more accurately than the sound did. Wanderley (2005) has greatly improved and extended ‘ancillary gesture’ studies with digital photography of soloist musicians playing and quantitative analysis of that imagery, correlating it with surveys of listeners’ perceptions of the emotional content of the performances. To remove bias and insure comparability, Wanderley used digital time-warping, so that the tempi of the different performances to be compared were normalized and kept ‘aligned’ with each other for the statistical correlation analyses . . . Wanderley is now on faculty at McGill.

CMT: Gestures actually extend our sense of phrasing during ligatures, fermatas, pauses between sections, and so on. Though the sound comes to an end at a major transition between musical phrases, the performers’ gestures and postures continue into the silence. As a result, audience members who can see the performers moving perceive the phrase extending beyond the end of the note and into the silence. Likewise, certain gestures precede or anticipate the beginning of the new section or phrase (just as the movement of vocal articulators will begin before a target sound is produced in speech) – a process known as ‘co-articulation’. In that connection, you may like to have a look at Levelt’s 1993 book to see a detailed account of it. The interrelationship between musicians’ movements, musical sound and the observing audience, where movements convey or reinforce the performers’ musical intentions to observers, is clearly very complex. And it often makes big contributions to our understanding the music we’re hearing. An immobile musician won’t communicate as well or as much as one whose gestures are appropriate and accurate.

DSM: And it’s part of why seeing live performances matters. With regard to the nuances of physical ‘ancillary’ gestures, even broadcast imagery or DVD or film can’t convey as much as experiencing live performance. They may have excellent mastering and acoustic properties; they may have excellent cinematography and editing and visual production values; but they’re not adequate substitutes for seeing it for yourself, up close . . . What else? I would say that different performers tend to reproduce the same movements throughout the piece. And even if there’s no structural correlation of movements throughout the piece, there may be some movement patterns that tend to be produced by a player in different circumstances. It’s much the same as the personal and ethnosocial gestural style that each of us exhibits in conversations that have varied content and emotions. I have a certain style and gestural vocabulary that ‘works’ for me, a set of habitual gestures that are culturally conditioned—learned quite early in life, many of them.

CMT: Do the expressive body movements of musicians play a similar role in relation to the musical sound? Of course! Music is analogous to speech in that the sound carries the core ‘content’. But non-verbal gestures also contribute to the emotional sense of an utterance, and they help speakers to time their exchange in a conversation. Same thing in music!

DSM: We can think of different categories of clarinetists’ expressive movements:
  • Material/Physiological, i.e., the influence of respiration, fingering, the ergonomics of the instrument, etc. At each time when performers breathe there’s a tendency to bring down the instrument to a vertical position and soon afterwards start an upwards movement again. This can be partly an ‘instrumental’ gesture, but often it’s predominantly an ‘ancillary’ one—a cue for the listener.
  • Structural, i.e., dependent on the characteristics of the piece being performed. Some performers tend to mark the rhythm with their instrument, as an aid to metrical precision. And, although there are various differences in these movements, there seem to be similarities—a cross-correlation that’s higher than we’d expect by statistical chance alone.
  • Interpretive, i.e., related to the mental model of the piece that the performer has. The mental conception of the arc of the piece will usually be different for different performers, or may often differ for a given performer across the span of her/his career.

CMT: In the case of the same expert clarinet player performing one piece different times, we can reasonably imagine that there’ll be a strong correlation between the player’s movements at the same points in the score in the different performances. This is what Wanderley and other researchers have found. In fact, it suggests a strong relation between what’s being played and how it’s played. With the experimental evidence that’s been published, it can be asserted that ancillary gestures of clarinet players are not produced randomly or just as a visual effect, but that these gestures are an intrinsic part of the musical performance process itself.

DSM: In its first movement, we have in the Brahms Clarinet Sonatas a musical form that begins its development in the tonic. Jack Adrian published a paper several years ago that gave two conventional explanations for sonata forms of this unorthodox type. Adrian says the first explanation is an ‘apparent’ return of the tonic, with a return of the tonic chord at the beginning of the development but not a return of the tonic scale step. He calls the second explanation a ‘real’ return, and it contains a return of the tonic chord and the tonic scale step at the beginning of the development. Adrian says that the Brahms Clarinet Sonatas are examples of ‘real’ returns.

DSM: But Brahms doesn’t stop there! Adrian offers other possible explanations of this unorthodox sonata form movement. The orthodox framework of sonata form is in the background structure and in its interruption at the point of recapitulation.

CMT: In this Brahms sonata, then, we have an initial voice-leading of the fundamental line that’s incomplete—and which ends before the end of the development. The motion is interrupted at the recapitulation by the return of the primary tone, and the Fundamental Structure is carried to its close. Adrian notes that, when the tonic chord as tonic scale step occurs at the beginning of the development, the development begins the motion to the dominant rather than continuing the second subject towards the interruption.

DSM: So the whole development section of Brahms’s Clarinet Sonata is then a deviant, mutant transition to the second subject area. It doesn’t equate the dominant of the second subject area with the dominant at the end of the development—after all, the first motion to the dominant is subsumed by the second . . .

CMT: Though there are these two interruptions, the first motion to the dominant occurs in the middleground, and the one at the end of the development is in the background. With this example of Brahms’s unorthodox sonata form we have a ‘challenge’ to the conventional concept of form. It also shows that concepts and definitions of form are vulnerable and malleable. Jon Manasse’s account is refreshing and brings these challenges to the fore. Not in an abstract, scholarly way—but exciting and juicy!

DSM: And, again Jon Nakamatsu gives us this frisson of sensory over-stimulation; melody, harmony, allusion and quotation shimmer tantalizingly, often just barely out of reach. Immense detail is packed into short time-frames, particularly in the Clarinet Sonatas, but never to the point of confusion – there’s always a clear line projected through and a thoroughgoing stylistic ‘companionship’ evidenced by the two Jons’ playing.

CMT: Here is Jon Manasse’s upcoming schedule:
  • July 11: Strings in the Mountains Music Festival : Steamboat Springs : Brahms: Clarinet Sonata #2, with Jon Nakamatsu, pianist
  • July 14: Strings in the Mountains Music Festival : Steamboat Springs : Weber: Grand Duo Concertant, with Jon Nakamatsu, pianist
  • July 29: Cape Cod Chamber Music Festival : Chatham : Brahms: Clarinet Sonata #2, with Jon Nakamatsu, pianist; Weber: Grand Duo Concertant; Ravel/Hamelin: Pièce en forme de Habanera; Kovács: Hommage à Manuel de Falla
  • August 3: Cape Cod Chamber Music Festival : Wellfleet : Mozart: Clarinet Quintet, with Borromeo String Quartet
  • August 30: The Skaneateles Festival : Beethoven: Clarinet Trio, Op. 11

W hen you are accompanying someone, you are listening to them the way you listen to a Bach Chorale, where several parts are going on at the same time, all of which are gorgeous melodies, all being played simultaneously.”
  — David Amram.