jwilzewske: existentialism

Showing posts with label existentialism. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Experiencing ‘Map of Rain Hitting Water’ in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy

W   hen at last Justine arrives, he’s at the piano
     the hammers strike and rise
with his fingers, and the pedal’s damp
   shifting carries through the instrument
as waves echo through the frame of a ship...
Now he thinks perhaps the music’s
More like a map of rain hitting water—
He’s moving closer to her without moving;
And how wonderful to be held from her
   at last by nothing but the song's duration—”
  — Wayne Miller, ’What Night says to the Empty Boat’, p. 73.

I ’d first listened to Mara Gibson's new 16:30 work commissioned by Mark Lowry of newEar Contemporary Music Ensemble in July. The DVD has Mark performing vibraphone, log drum, woodblock, gong, tam-tam, songbird whistle, cymbal, and miscellaneous percussion, accompanied by video imagery and film by Caitlin Horsmon. Bob Beck rendered a high level of engineering and production values achieved in this recording.

T he beauty of the chromatic intoning of vibraphone, punctuated by tolling woodblock, drum, and, less frequently, other instruments captured my interest from the first listening. The glisses and pitch-bent post-processed sounds of the vibraphone acoustically paralleled the imagery, the lateral motion of water in the foreground and in the distance; the water droplets in air, falling under gravity in parabolic arcs; the globules of water separating from a stream; the intercalating pastel cloud layers.

B ut now several months later—having just last week returned to the midwest after a period at our home on the East Coast, and having driven through some of the areas of hurricane-caused power outages and natural devastation—these textures and narrative arcs of ‘Map of Rain Hitting Water’ evoke different meanings for me. The watery surfaces now seem ominous and obscure what lies beneath.

T he reflections imply sky and sun, but these seem untrustworthy. The eddies and vortices imply structure and hidden currents, turbulence: the violence and indifference of Nature to humanity.

T he speed of the current makes abundantly clear how rapidly we will be swept away, annihilated, pointlessly. The accelerando/ritardando phrasing imparts a large-scale 2+ minute hypermeter to the piece.

N o animals or other sentient creatures are seen anywhere in Horsmon’s imagery here... bulk matter only, liquid and air. The abruptly changing frame-rate... declares a capriciousness of our frame of perception, together with Nature’s propensity to precipitous, emergent change, against which our human wishes and needs are respectively futile and irrelevant.

T here is midway through the film a montage of stop-action stills, with different transparency/saturation settings, calling into question what is motion. It brings to mind horror film sequences built up out of successions of freeze-frame stills.

T he very high-speed video of the water droplets, together with digitally-stretched contrast and/or edge-sharpening, gives heightened perception of the separateness of the individual [droplets].

W e have here a sort of ‘video-monitor-as-painter’s-canvas’ effect... a palimpsest of successive masks and over-writing of previous images and surfaces.

T he film draws our attention to the very thinness and 2-D nature of our existence in the biosphere, between the sky and the depths of water.

I n fact, most of the film is of deep water: the first 5:45 is sky; second 6:00 is water; third 4:45 is water hurled into sky—with gradual transitions between these segments.

T he piece conveys feelings of loneliness and alienation that arise from our understanding that we are alone in the universe and insignificant in its workings. Underneath the performer’s punctuated observations and soliloquy about fate and the stream of events that occupies our attention while we are alive is a certain forboding, a fear of nothingness.

T hat we are in some inescapable way alienated from Nature is an old concept, going back at least to Jean-Jacques Rousseau in the 18th Century. It is also a notion that coheres with our current environmental problems, insofar as our estrangement from Nature involves a hubris that forecloses upon developing an awareness and regard for how we depend upon Nature, in such a way that we would stop harming Nature.

R elinquishing whatever agency I have in the presence of the bulk matter around me reveals my beholdenness to the agency of other humans who are living now and who will take care of me in my dying days and who will outlive me, and the susceptibility of my remains and the residue of my life’s work to the agency of all creatures and natural processes that persist beyond my tiny lifetime.

T he harsh contrast and unblinking lens of the camera—together with the continuous, unflinching sound of the music—announce the abject hopelessness of our achieving any anonymity in the flesh, or participating in any genuine reciprocity with Nature.

S uch existential worries are absent when reciprocal trans-corporeality involves the definitely spiritual, or “more than human”, or involves an ambiguity or reversibility afforded by the hardly-human-at-all, or as-minimally-human-as-possible, as in Wilderness or Zombieness.

O ne can make some sense then of this piece’s assertion that we might be estranged from the flesh without that meaning either that such estrangement puts us really outside the flesh, or that landscapes including sky and water are themselves not fleshy. We are estranged, every bit as much as sky and water are patently fleshy.

T his is a superb composition, an excellent film, a beautiful performance, an excellent recording—sufficient to propel an evening’s meditation and beyond.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Gogol’s Terminal Psychosis, No Effective Medical Palliative Care in Sight

I n the last stage of his life Gogol is increasingly consumed by a religious mania. He considers his past work a sin and burns the second part of his major novel, ‘Dead Souls’. In the end he refuses to eat. In his final hours he is visited by the fantastic figures from his own works – and they show themselves to be more reasonable than he is himself at this point. Gogol has utterly broken with his previous life and renounces it; now it is avenging itself. … This opera is not so much a biography as a poetic and satirical study of one of the greatest Russian writers, whose emotional life is as mysterious and fascinating as his idiosyncratic works... Lera Auerbach … has found her own voice, and it is full of stylistic freedom and dramatic power.”
— Theater an der Wien opera, program notes, 2011.

T he person must, according to the DSM-IV, have at least two out of five symptoms:

(i) delusions, (ii) hallucinations, (iii) disorganised speech, (iv) grossly disorganized or catatonic behavior, or (v) functional incapacities or negative symptoms (such as alogia, avolition, etc)—for a substantial percentage of a one month period;
Plus, continuous signs of disturbance must continue for at least six months;
Plus, substantial social or occupational dysfunction must be evident;
Required exclusion criteria include substance abuse, mood disorder, and pervasive developmental disorder.

C heck, check, and check—with regard to Nikolai Gogol in the last 6 months of his life.

I f you are expecting in Lera Auerbach’s new opera a Gogolesque, cynical account of human nature, or about the ruling class (‘We are the 99%!’), or a scatology as absurdist art, you will not find it here.

N or will you learn famous Gogol’s concept of the untranslatable Russian word пошлость (‘poshlost’). [Vladimir Nabokov explained this as “posh-lust”, “not only the obviously trashy but mainly the falsely important, the falsely beautiful, the falsely clever, the falsely attractive” (Nabokov 1944, p. 70)—the falsely transcendent.] Пошлость reduces reality to a sort of cavalier mediocrity and unrepentant vulgarity—a moral and spiritual condition from which humankind cannot escape—compulsive smutiness, radical pointlessness, compulsive garish carnival, absurd superfluousness.

N o, in this fantastical new opera we get nonstop existential angst and horror—superbly manifested in Auerbach’s score and libretto, and in an exceptionally fine production by Theater an der Wien (who commissioned the work), with performances by ORF Radiosymphonieorchester, Arnold Schoenberg Chor, Grazer Kapellknaben, and Mozartknabenchor Wien… a convincing reenactment, showing the suffering Gogol, receiving no effective medical help for his end-of-life psychiatric condition.

I t is as though Gogol’s invention, пошлость, ironically haunted him during his final days. Which amounts to a lesson to us all, to be careful about what we dream, what we think, what we dwell upon. As our minds begin to fail late in life, those one-time droll ideas of ours—every hubristic preoccupation; every cynical mental posture we ever indulged—every one of them could become real in our waning days—and we may be powerless to make them stop from bothering us. Bad karma or poetic justice, hunting you down in your own lifetime! Ein Alptraum jagt den nächsten!

B efore writing a note of ‘Gogol,’ composer Lera Auerbach immersed herself in the writer’s complete works and over twenty books written about him. It would take similar efforts to begin to understand this opera: taking us inside the fevered mind of its title character, ‘Gogol’ is less a biographical narrative set to music than a phantasmagorical, psychological investigation. Given a virtuosic staging by director Christine Mielitz, it is also an overwhelming theatrical experience.” — Zwölftöner (Werner Kmetitsch), 17-NOV-2011.

A uerbach regularly collaborates with soloists and ensembles including Hilary Hahn, Vadim Gluzman, Leonidas Kavakos, Julian Rachlin, Philippe Quint, Gautier Capuçon, Alisa Weilerstein, David Finckel, Kim Kashkashian, Tokyo String Quartet, Borromeo Quartet, Artemis String Quartet, Vanbrugh String Quartet, Kremerata Baltica, Camerata Pacifica, and the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. Auerbach was born in the city of Chelyabinsk, adjacent to Siberia. After writing her first opera when she was 12, she moved to the U.S. in 1991 where she studied piano and composition at Juilliard. Her piano studies took her to the Hochschule für Musik und Theater in Hannover. She was awarded the Hindemith Prize by the Schleswig-Holstein Musik Festival in Germany, Deutschlandfunk’s Förderpreis, selected as a Paul and Daisy Soros Fellow, and in 2007 she was selected as a member of the Young Global Leaders forum by the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland.

G ogol’s ‘grotesque’ is a—] means of estranging—a comic hyperbole that unmasks the banality and inhumanity of ambient reality.” — Susanne Fusso, p. 69.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

James Mulcro Drew and the Creation of Meaning

James Mulcro Drew, photo ©2005 by Kelly Drew Baskett

S ome years, ago I addressed an audience at an International Webern Society Festival ... The point of my talk was that although Anton Webern was a renowned master, his influence created a ‘dead end’ for countless academic composers who didn’t really know earlier traditions very well, let alone understand Webern’s immense steps. The ability to count to 12 was of no value whatsoever. That was not where the Music was... I was designated a controversial speaker, but no one disagreed with my assessment, as far as I know. When I finished my talk, there was total silence—until George Rochberg yelled out, ‘I think they believe you, Jimmy.’ Organization alone is not a sufficient condition to create a symphony or a painting or any kind of Art work. Somewhere behind the resonating shapes, textures and temporal connections, exists the Music. The task of any artist is to find something that has personal meaning, something to Believe in—that’s the beginning. This has nothing to do with style. It has to do with flashes of light and with contemplation.”
— James Mulcro Drew, Intention in the Arts, 2009.

A fter God was assumed to be dead and no one any longer seemed to be in control, the new twentieth century, with the bang of World War I, was well on its way to what was soon to be a series of disastrous human errors. Certainly it is common for both individuals and nations to engage in competitive rhetoric of a political or artistic nature, but the breakdown, instead of the strengthening, of values that occurred in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, an age of spiritual disinheritance, was a collapse characterized by a kind of tittering hysteria... But, to confuse matters even further, the same general philosophy somehow managed to be understood, by many, as representing a ‘modern’ point of view and, therefore, sowing the seeds that equate ‘modern’ with the idea of ‘meaningless.’ The modernness of Monteverdi was not based upon meaninglessness, nor are the black paintings of Ad Reinhardt ‘meaningless.’ Meaningless needs no explanation, but the term ‘modern’ is another matter. Modern is anything that makes us feel new or renewed... As Eliot pointed out, ‘I can make nothing with nothing.’ Art, however, is dangerous—dangerous because, if its subject matter is crucial, it will reflect a doctrine of moral values and therefore will pose a threat to other ideologies. The moral and ethical battle in Art continues. The existential crisis, to quote Lloyd Rodgers, is yours.”
— James Drew, liner notes for Mirecourt Commissions CD, 1978.

J ames Mulcro Drew, beloved contemporary composer, died on 23-DEC-2010, aged 81, following a brief illness. He studied with Wallingford Riegger and Edgard Varèse and subsequently taught at Northwestern University, Yale University, UCLA, Cal State, and other institutions. He performed with and co-founded several musical groups, including Crossfire Mission Orchestra in the 1960s in New Haven, Connecticut. Drew combined superb technique and earnestness with humor and insight, to create a variety of original works that will last.

D rew’s style included subtle tonality and voice-leading, along with innovative figures that are challenging and, at the same time, illuminating to play. His contributions and honesty are perhaps most vividly remembered by his students, who experienced Drew’s energetic pedagogy first-hand. His enthusiasm was absolutely remarkable. Music was not a ‘subject’ to be ‘taught’; teaching music was something you did, in an up-close participative way. Nowhere to hide, you must own who you are.

I n a way, Drew’s prescience—his gravitation toward unusual topics and his investment of tremendous personal energy in them, years before other of his colleagues could grasp the point of it and decades before the topics grew to be popular—and his deep interest in Nature and in physics were characteristic features of his personality, ones that propelled the fascination that he held for many of his friends. The compositions of ‘Animating Degree Zero’ (link below) were manifestations of those life-long tendencies.

I n this respect, Drew was not unlike one of my old teachers, Rufus Lumry, a physical chemist at University of Minnesota, who intuited the importance of ionic liquids back in the late 1970s, long before the subject changed from a small, academic curiosity into a vibrant and popular industry.

E ven in his later years, Drew kept pace with the fast-moving areas his innovations had helped to create. With such prodigious activity comes a lot of fatigue and a lot of hype. But with it too comes a peculiar, memorable, enviable brand of perpetual youth. He will be greatly missed.

I nsisting that the meaningfulness of a work of art depends on its having been created exposes us to an objection: Surely, it may be suggested, the meaningfulness of a work of art can only depend on its having been created if what is there to be understood is the reason why it has been created as it is. That is, we will be driven to suppose that the meaning of a work of art is to be explained (1) by explaining the intentions of the artist or (2) by explaining the historical circumstances which gave rise to the work, and which the work may be understood to express. It may be very useful for understanding the life and mind of the artist to work out her intentions, and it may be important for understanding the history of a period to understand what is shown in a work about the circumstances of its production, but neither of these things—the objection goes—is understanding the work of art itself. As it happens, [to a degree] I agree with the objector... [but] the crucial point is that, at the time of the creation of any given work of art, there are properties of the medium which are there independently of the intentions and beliefs of the would-be creator.”
— Michael Morris, Doing Justice to Musical Works, in Philosophers on Music, 2010, p. 67.