jwilzewske: minimalism

Showing posts with label minimalism. Show all posts

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Chamber Music Repertoire for Didgeridoo?

T here are a few orchestral works that include didgeridoo (Sean O’Boyle and others), but for conservatory recital or chamber performances there are currently only about 3 dozen chamber music compositions that are readily available. Most of these are indexed at the Australian Music Centre (Duos, Quartets, Quintets, Sextets, Octets; Solo with vocal ensemble). You may also want to consider Peter Sculthorpe’s String Quartet No. 12 with didjeridu, and ‘Lorin’s Piece’ for didjeridu and voice; Neal Corwell’s ‘Aboriginal Voices’ trio for tuba, didgeridoo, and voices; Philip Glass’s ‘Voices’ for organ, didgeridoo, and narrator; and Dubravko Lapaine’s ‘Rescribi’ trio for piano, didgeridoo, and percussion.

[50-sec clip, Dubravko Lapaine, ‘Kosmopterix’, ‘Rescribi’, 1.6MB MP3]

and ‘Putnik’:

[50-sec clip, Dubravko Lapaine, ‘Kosmopterix’, ‘Putnik’, 1.6MB MP3]

T he aboriginal people have a great deal to teach the western world about wind playing in general and lip reeds in particular. The trombone may seem old when compared to western orchestral instruments, but it is only a five hundred year-old baby when compared to the possible forty thousand-year-old tradition of the didjeridu.”
— Stuart Dempster, 1979.

V irtuosic double- and triple-tonguing in the didgeridoo repertoire have parallels to ‘cursus’ in classical Latin oratory and medieval chant (see Eklund, link below), and you might consider that idea in preparing a program. Rhythm—the patterning of accents in speech or singing—establishes expectations; it entrains the listener and the speaker, phase-locking them to the pattern. Accents in Latin fall on at least one out of every three syllables. But in English and other languages the gaps are longer—you can often go for five or six syllables between accents. The didge literature tends to emphasize prosody and oratorical aspects—not only because of your vocalizations into the didge, but also because you have just the fundamental (and pedal), plus a few harmonics (‘toots’, ‘trumpets’) to work with. (Years ago, Juilliard professor Ivan Galamanian famously drew an analogy between instrumental (violin) playing and speech, in which he asserted that attacks are consonants and the sustained notes are vowels, and performers should treat them as such. The analogy is true enough for strings and other instruments, but it’s hardly even an ‘analogy’ in didgeridoo playing: given all of the tongue, jaw, and vocal tract technic involved in didge performance, the vowels-consonants assertion is a self-evident fact of how the didge sounds are produced.)

V ocal and instrumental rhythms are sometimes direct translations of a poetic meter. In other words they may be sung or played, interchangeably. Far more often than not, however, vocal and instrumental rhythms create what we might call ‘rhythmic counterpoint’ when heard with reference to the poetic meter—the interplay among two or more rhythmic threads or voices. By continually altering the durational relationships and varieties of accent in a succession of syllables, musicians can elicit the close attention of listeners.”
— Michael Tenzer, p. 43.

I n thinking about other instrumental repertoire that might be suitable as-is or transcribable for chamber didge recital, you might explore pieces whose articulation and accents entail sound-envelopes that are marcato ‘thrust-followed-by-decay’, an accent that resembles a plucked string instrument like a double-bass. With the didge, the decay is because the outflow of air from the cheeks that occurs while you are inhaling through the nose in circular breathing can’t be as forceful or sustained as the outflow of air when supported by the diaphragm. In general, highly rhythmic, marcato pieces in low register are likely to be feasible and stylistically coherent with didge performance practice, regardless whether they are for winds, strings, or percussion. There are pieces for tympani (for example, Daniel Jenkyn Jone’s ‘Sonata for Unaccompanied Kettledrums’) that could be performed as-is or transcribed for didgeridoo. And there are a number of chamber pieces for bass clarinet or low brass that are plausible. More links that you may find useful follow.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Terry Riley’s Aleph (א): Music to Code By

A leph in Jewish mysticism represents the oneness of the Divine. The letter can been seen as being composed of an upper yud, a lower yud, and a vav leaning on a diagonal. The upper yud represents the hidden and ineffible aspects of God while the lower yud represents God’s revelation and presence in the world. The vav connects the two realms.”
— Wikipedia.

T he 1-hour 53-min recording of Terry Riley’s solo synth performance of his composition, ‘א’, is beautiful—and precisely the sort of experience you would expect from Riley.

B ut, apart from whatever else it may be and apart from its merits as a composition and as a performance, I have found it to be especially conducive to my own productivity when working on complex math problems and coding software to solve them. For me, silence works only up to a point, after which I need minimalist music.

B ut not just any minimalist music. For example, Michael Nyman’s music interferes with concentration. La Monte Young’s music contains, for me, too many distractions. I do find Ellen Fullman’s recent work conducive, though, in the same way that Terry Riley’s ‘Aleph’ is conducive.

T he timbre of the Korg Triton Studio 88 Synth is bright like a Chinese single-reed or double-reed, but with a lot of spectral flux like a car horn... or a choir of Chinese tenor and bass suonas. Spectral flux and spectral irregularity are distinguishing features in car horns (see Lemaitre 2003, link below).

T he two-hour performance is filled with dense, organic, continually-changing textures—nimble car horns, if car horns can ever be nimble, and these are supernaturally nimble. The automaticity of preschool kids’ trying out their fingers on a keyboard, enjoying the raw pleasure of making notes and reproducing patterns and sequences... reflexive movements of their fingers and arms, yielding arpeggiation that involves just those notes that are within easy reach without stretching.

T he effect, some minutes into listening to it, evokes a freedom from intention and planning that is unknown to sober adults, and this is what facilitates my problem-solving and coding mind. The uncertain continuation of woodwind-like fingering patterns without aim, as long as they last, until superceded by some new motif... the stochastic, aleatoric innovations... Riley discounts the creative value of mind and deliberation and discounts it again, and again... the dollar-store of intellect... until the passion of meat is all that’s left, and animal instinct is restored...

O nly connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect...”
— E.M. Forster, ‘Howard’s End’, Ch. 22, 1910.

H ere’s a short MP3 clip.

T here is a ceremonial, magisterial, quasi-liturgical quality of ‘Aleph’ that reminds me of requiem forms. Or of chant, which can be heard as both archaic and contemporary. It is a mystical piece that unfolds at an implacable, glacial pace. The tone is largely meditative and serene, which provides space for contemplation and veneration. There are dozens-of-voices atmospheric Ligeti-like sound-fogs... fields of dissonance that convey an inhuman, infinite, primeval power—this surely is part of the Hebrew significance of Aleph; as is true also of the meaning of ‘א’ in mathematics—fitting as well in the context of requiem-writing.

I t has been said that my ‘Requiem’ does not express the fear of death and someone has called it a lullaby of death. But it is thus that I see death: as a happy deliverance, an aspiration towards happiness above, rather than as a painful experience. The music of Gounod has been criticized for its over-inclination towards human tenderness. But his nature predisposed him to feel this way: religious emotion took this form inside him. Is it not necessary to accept the artist’s nature? As to my ‘Requiem’, perhaps I have also instinctively sought to escape from what is thought right and proper...”
— Gabriel Fauré, 1902.

T hroughout, the piece is prodigiously inventive, with prolific layers upon layers of rhythmic and harmonic complexity, yet all presented with what appears on the surface to be minimalistic... it embodies the best of what minimalism can be: full of latent variety that captures and nourishes the listener’s awareness. (Which is why I find it helpful to listen to when I am tackling a hard problem, and why I am writing this blogpost you are reading. If you are interested in reading more about quantitative evidence concerning music listening and work productivity, have a look at the links below, esp. the book by Vikram Kiran.)

T he seamless, cluster-like blends fan out like a spilled liquid on a flat surface—part of the organic quality of just intonation, providing a support structure for the synth suona-like parts, a Toop-style “rawness” of intonation that sustains the emotional intensity of the piece.

M ost a cappella ensembles naturally gravitate to just intonation because its ‘stability’ or ‘target-pitch predictability’ is comfortable. In that regard, maybe the spectral flux and on-again-off-again frisson of this Terry Riley recording will be of special interest to people of a vocal bent, both amateur and professional singers alike.

T his sound of synth suonas keening, synth voices keening, choir of synth car horns keening... bears some resemblance to the György Ligeti piece in ‘2001 A Space Odyssey’, ‘Lux aeterna’... A friend who was overhearing my repeated playing of the 2 Riley ‘Aleph’ CDs wondered aloud “How can you stand that!? It’s driving me nuts!” So, to be truthful I should say that this is an acquired taste, or reveals a patience borne of equanimity. It is like being transported by William Kraft’s music in the walkway between terminals underneath Chicago’s O’Hare airport. It is like listening to a choir of chainsaws in the forest at a great and comfortable distance. Or like the persistent-but-beautiful bleating and tintinnabulation of sheep in a high alpine meadow in the Swiss alps, below the Jung Frau Joch in the late mornings of mid-summer. In other words, the bleating and tintinnabulation signify tolerant, salutary, and humane qualities that are implicit in our planet’s troubled story. Children of the Universe, you (every living creature) are here, hurray. Have a good life.

I n short, these are qualities which make humans, the sum of which could be seen in love (esp. agape, which in turn can be seen as an embodiment of the ‘idea of One’). The musical gaze cast from this sphere upon the story world is distanced, more or less withdrawn, non-judgemental, calm, quiet, and slightly melancholic, yet non-sentimental. As film music, tintinnabuli music often qualifies as an ‘against all odds’ score capable of making the complicated plot-level matters more poignant.”
— Kaire Maimets-Volt, p. 172.

I f you were in a foreign country and experiencing the local people performing on their native instruments, a long raga, for example—you would exhibit a tolerance toward such bleatings and tintinnabulations. But if instead, like my friend, you regard it as a choir of annoying car horns—multiple car alarms being set off repeatedly by marauding kids on a street a couple of blocks away—you just want it to stop.

I n summary, playing these 2 CDs consecutively without a break induces an awareness that can facilitate productive concentration at work and lift you into a realm beyond human understanding or hearing. The music requires an audience who must be willing to accept the spirit of the work and suspend their disbelief in order to receive its many rewards.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Criminal Justice & Chamber Music: Rzewski’s ‘Coming Together / Attica’

A ttica… is … in … front … of … me.”
— Frederic Rzewski, Text of ‘Attica’ (remarks of prisoner upon being released from Attica prison, when asked what he thought of Attica).

I think the combination ... of age and the greater coming together ... is responsible for the speed ... of the passing time. it’s six months now ... and i can tell you ... truthfully ... few periods in my life have passed so quickly. i am in excellent ... physical ... and emotional ... health. there are doubtless ... subtle surprises ... ahead but i feel secure and ready.
as lovers will contrast their emotions in times of crisis, so am i dealing ... with my environment. in the indifferent brutality, incessant noise ... the experimental chemistry of food, the ravings ... of lost hysterical men, i can act with clarity and meaning. i am deliberate—sometimes even calculating—seldom employ histrionics except as a test of the reactions of others. i read much, exercise, talk to guards and inmates ... feeling for the inevitable direction of my life.
special love to flotsam + brood, charlene, lenny, jetsam.”
— Frederic Rzewski, Text of ‘Coming Together’ (Sam Melville, letter from Attica prison, addressed to ‘dear brother,’ dated 16-MAY-1970.)

T he performance last night at NEC was deeply moving. The performances of Jo Kondo’s ‘Falling’ and György Kurtág’s ‘Scenes from a Novel, Op. 19’ by [nec]shivaree members were spectacular—I may have time to post some detailed comments about those later this week.

B ut the rare performance of Frederic Rzewski’s 1972 composition, ‘Coming Together / Attica,’ by the ensemble Gradient Us completely captivated us—blew me away, in fact. It is a superb example of ‘activist’ music, a composition motivated by social issues (in this case the situation 40 years ago at Attica penitentiary in New York, and the ongoing impact of incarceration as a means of implementing criminal justice in societies).

T he two-movement piece is in canon form, (re-)animated by a 10-piece ensemble performing en-face with a male speaker positioned to the side of the ensemble. The speaker recites text from a letter written by one of the leaders of the uprising at Attica prison, and the timing and inflections of the Sprechstimme-like recitation are scored in precise, explicit detail by Rzewski.

Kathleen LaFleur – director, and tenor saxophone
David Prum – speaker
Alicia Mielke – flute
John Diodati – clarinet
Jay Hutchinson – bass clarinet
Jason Belcher – baritone horn
Kayleigh Miller – viola
Stefan Koim – acoustic guitar
David Goodchild – electric bass
Benjamin Vickers – conductor

T he 20-minute first movement is full of polyrhythms—aleatoric rhythms that are only periodically in-phase or synced with each other. It is like we are witnessing the irrepressible, impulsive inner workings of a mind—someone who has 9 different trains of thought that are coursing through the brain simultaneously.

I ndividual motifs are triggered, fire synapses, propagate neural pulses down axons, arrive at junctions with other nerves and synapses, in turn causing those nerves to fire. Once fired, a synapse is ‘refractory’ for a finite period of time, before it is once more able to receive a signal and fire again. Nervous system as musical canon! Autopoiesis of personhood by synapses alone! This is an anatomist’s ‘Visible Human’ transparent polystyrene-model conception of what goes on inside us. To any who would challenge what is portrayed here as ‘reductionist’, Rzewski seems to have the ready-made rebuttal: the literal working machine: how the mind thinks these thoughts; how the mouth is made to move; hear the words that come out.

T he phat electric bass insistently plunks its robotic, obsessive 16th-notes, running, running, running—to what destination? for what purpose?

T he speaker’s (Prum’s) inflections are exquisitely measured and spoken with conviction—delivered in a taut, emphatic manner that is meant as much to (1) reaffirm for the prisoner himself that he does believe the things being spoken as to (2) carve out and defend a psychological ‘territory’ that the prisoner can call his own. The loss of freedom and property-rights while in prison induces a hyper-awareness of the boundaries of self and non-self, a hyper-sensitivity to what [little] is ‘mine’. The vivid, dramatic depiction of the results of the retributive justice ‘violence-perpetrated-by-the-system-upon-the-offender’ is heart-wrenching, especially for those of us who have never been inside a prison, or have never been closely acquainted with anyone who has been incarcerated for a long time.

I ronic, lyrical major-key, warm timbres. Pneumatics of wind instruments. The baritone horn, evocatively/symbolically plugged-up with a giant red-and-white straight mute. The whole composition goes for your jugular, truly. It intends to make you care—make you.

T he 10-minute ‘Attica’, while structurally a simpler musical canon, is likewise a glimpse into the heart of the rehabilitated criminal whose text accompanies and was the motive for the music. Time is warped to super-slow speed as the speaker utters one word (‘Attica’) or syllable, pauses many seconds, utters another one (‘is’), resets to the beginning and re-utters a word that was said earlier and proceeds on (‘in’) in a festinating (‘front’), damaged way (‘of me’)—almost like a Parkinson’s type of dementia. The legato music and the major-key warmth are manifestations of the fact that whatever anger may have landed the person in prison is long-since extinguished. Equanimity has been achieved for this prisoner—This is not veiled residual rage we are hearing, but honest equanimity with the situation of having lost so much while in jail, and having so little now with which to remake a future upon release!—but at a terrible cost.

P henomenal! Art as therapy or as collective neutralization of past violence; as meditation on who the human beings are who are incarcerated, and why, and how they got that way; as a call to empathy; an exhortation to rethink what it is that we as a society are doing, really, through our correctional systems and policies, finding ways for effectively reducing recidivism and restoring dignity and some semblance of a desirable future to the lives affected.

U ndeniably, works like this are difficult for presenters to program: the subject material is awkward/disturbing, even though the music is accessible and attractive—poetic, lyrical, beautiful. The performance last night is ample evidence of salutary, humanizing effects that live performances of such works can have on us, as individuals and as a broader society. We should do this more often.

R zewski is a musician, not a pamphleteer. None but the naïve could imagine contemporary classical music as the lever for social upheaval. It was a teaching job that brought him to Belgium, not the state of the American nation. ‘No philosophy,’ he said recently. ‘I had a family to support.’ ... Once asked if commentators were right to call him a Marxist composer, he snorted, ‘Harpo or Groucho or what?’ The anarchic streak in his music is as much comic as it is political.”
— Mathew Gurewitsch, interview with Frederic Rzewksi, 27-MAR-2003.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Matthias Kronsteiner: Futurism of Bassoon

M odified #3 is the modification and expansion of sound... a future of what can be done electronically with timbre... a full composition from one sound, manipulated and transformed into many sounds.”
— Gene Pritsker.

T he three solo pieces by Till Körber, Christof Cech, and David Lang each push the boundaries of bassoon playing in their own unique way.”
— Matthias Kronsteiner.

P lease have a listen to ‘modified’, a wonderful CD by bassoonist Matthias Kronsteiner and collaborators Lisa Preimesberger (bass clarinet), Thomas Frey (flute), Ernst Weissensteiner (double bass), Philipp Sageder (voice), and Gene Pritsker (electronics; percussion), a CD to be released this coming Tuesday by CCR/Naxos. The disc opens with two movements from Heitor Villa-Lobos’s Bachianas brasilieras No. 6, W392, but the rest of the recording consists of new compositions by Till Körber, Christof Cech, Gernot Wolfgang, David Lang, Johannes Berauer, and Gene Pritsker.

[40-sec clip, Matthias Kronsteiner, Heitor Villa-Lobos, ‘Bachianas brasilieras No. 6, W392 – Ária (chôro)’; (track 1), 2011, 1.3MB MP3]

V illa-Lobos’s entry into the Parisian art world took place in 1922, immediately before Modern Art Week in São Paulo. The composer was invited to a lunch in the studio of the painter Tarsila do Amaral where he met up with, among others, the poet, painter, and film-maker Jean Cocteau. After the lunch, the artists became engrossed in a lively conversation which drifted into a discussion on the art of musical improvisation. Villa-Lobos... sat down [at do Amaral’s grand piano] to improvise. Cocteau, known for his boutades and his playful behavior, sat underneath the piano on the ground, ‘so I can hear better.’ At the end of Villa-Lobos’s improvisation, however, Cocteau returned to his chair and launched a ferocious attack on what he had heard: in his opinion, the music presented by the composer was not futuristic at all, probably no more than an emulation of the styles of Debussy and Ravel. Villa-Lobos immediately began furiously improvising more. Cocteau, though, remained intransigent, questioning this time whether true improvisation could be made in this way, played-to-order. The two artists began a heated ‘discussion’ and thought about exchanging blows. Some years later, David Bowie took up improvising impromptu lyrics and melodies in this manner, the grandeur and menace of ‘Heroes’, and all.”
— Paulo Renato Guérios, Museu Nacional/UFRJ, 2006.

[30-sec clip, Matthias Kronsteiner, David Lang, ‘Press Release’; (track 6), 2011, 1.2MB MP3]

T he brilliant pieces that make up this disc are each virtuosic in their own way. Agogic emphases at downward leaps and fast passages with wide-ranging excursions spanning the entire range of the instrument provide lots of dramatic interest. One senses an affectionate irony in writing things that make the bassoon do extremely dangerous leaps, with a high probability of hard landings. The cumulative effect of these essentially asserts the concreteness and everydayness of [virtuosic] bassoon-playing, denying its mystical, expressive side as the performer navigates these hazards. That the attempt is ultimately successful, and that it is carried off with panache, takes it beyond the everyday, though, and turns it into something redemptive or transcendent (something like playing Czerny at-tempo).

T here are lyrical, genuinely lovely passages and other spiky, vehement ones. The quality is incontestable throughout, compositions and performances of excellent artistry. To this are added the promised merits of inventiveness of ‘futuristic’ timbres—both in the individual [analog and digital] sounds, and in the formulas and orchestrations, which at times assemble themselves into pantheistic sonic agglomerations where the Great Unity cannot be separated into constituent parts (esp. the Pritsker piece).

T he minimalism that is evident in several of the works—notably the Lang piece—is like looking at a portrait for many tens of minutes, to understand and enjoy its charm. Beyond a certain limit, it becomes a form of Zen meditation or hypnosis. Whatever it is, it is enjoyable and valuable.

C omposers Concordance Records (link below) production values are excellent. The studio recording and engineering processes have nicely captured the all of the expressive bassoonism here—athletic, taut key-presses; sharp attacks; emphatic articulations—particularly on Kronsteiner’s playing in the pulsatile Lang and Cech pieces. Never too much key-noise or reed and breath sibilants... just enough so that you feel like you are there, as if up-close in a live performance.

T he intimacy of this Studio Weinberg recording is captivating. There are beginnings, middles, and endings in these pieces—they are not entirely linear, and they always have intriguing complexities, but they are not severe ones that diminish their accessibility or joy. This is no priceless ceramic vase or objet d’art or museum gallery! The pieces on this CD invite you to friend them and use them.

[Matthias Kronsteiner, Christof Cech, ‘New Waves’, 2010]

S ome years ago, I was interviewing for a quant job on Wall Street and, as one of the provocations to challenge the poise of his interviewee, the head of the firm abruptly asked whether I had ever been with a mulata brasiliera. I did not laugh. I replied, No, I was happily married, but I had been with Bachianas Brasilieras Nos. 1 through 6 and found them deeply intriguing and satisfying. He did not laugh. I do not know if it was a good enough answer.”
— DSM.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Processionals: Repetitions, Situational Minimalism, and Elgar’s ‘Pomp and Circumstance’

T he kind of learning that will define the 21st Century is not taking place in a classroom. Rather, it is happening all around us, everywhere. We call this the new culture of learning... a fluid infrastructure where everything is constantly creating and responding to change... This new type of learning process is a cultural phenomenon that underlies a large number of people’s experiences and affects them in myriad ways. It takes place without teachers, without classrooms, and it requires [virtual, networked] environments that are bounded yet provide complete freedom of action within those boundaries.”
— Douglas Thomas & John Seely Brown.

F arewell, the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, th’ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality—
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!”
— Shakespeare, Othello, Act III, Scene III.

T here is a big challenge in shaping the performance, vamping as it must for an indeterminate length of time while the procession continues.

T he CCM Brass Quintet did an admirable job sustaining audience interest throughout, projecting every note with the necessary dignity and authority. They varied the dynamics, softer to convey an intimate feeling while still staying audible in the large arena, louder to convey more pomp and aggrandizement. They varied the instrumentation, the round timbre of lower brass to convey a magisterial attitude, the bright timbre of high brass to convey heraldic progress.

T he physical stamina required for what can be a very long performance is considerable, a gauntlet made all the more risky to run insofar as there are only five of you (or 4 at a time, if trumpets are alternating). The thing then amounts to a 20-min quartet or, in some passages, amounts to a trio or duet ordeal, depending on the arrangement.

W hen you are repeating and repeating the same short passage for 20+ minutes, there is a natural temptation to embark on small improvisations or decorate some figures a little. Somewhat like turning a word over and over in your mind until it looks nonsensical or silly, or until finally you wonder how the word was ever coined or came to be associated with the thing it names ... tangelo, tan-gelo, tan-ge-lo, tange-lo... t’angel-o.

T he CCM Brass Quintet played nice little fanfares throughout, for all of the graduates. But when graduates of the conservatory (CCM) approached the lectern, the Quintet’s fanfares mutated into ones that were longer by several ostentatious bars, with dilatory flourishes and a grand unpredictability… droll extra service, musicians proclaiming the specialness of other musicians, heh!

E stablishing a strong relationship with a faculty mentor is one of the most important factors in determining the success one achieves as a graduate student. Faculty members “know the ropes,” so to speak, and their guidance on research, and on professional and personal conduct, can be invaluable. Typically, a faculty mentor is someone whose research interests are similar to those of the student. As such, the mentor can be an excellent source for ideas and can serve as an informed reviewer of and advocate for the student’s work.

F or those who have succeeded in establishing a strong relationship with a faculty mentor, the prospect of that relationship changing—or becoming more distant—contributes to the tumult of emotions that well-up during the graduation ceremony. Well, not to worry, usually moving away and the resulting absence make the hearts grow stronger. They will remember you fondly, more fondly than when you were slaving away, nearly for free, in their face everyday.

F or those whose mentors’ neuroses aligned in perfectly perverse way with the mentees’ neuroses, graduation may feel like a long, badly-written fugue has concluded. Begin your next Prelude, ASAP, with Pomp and Circumstance marches played by brass quintet:

March No. 1 in D (1901)
March No. 2 in A minor (1901)
March No. 3 in C minor (1904)
March No. 4 in G (1907)
March No. 5 in C (1930)
March No. 6 in G minor

Elgar Chamber Music:

Romance for violin and piano, Op. 1 (1878)
Salut d’Amour for violin and piano, Op. 12 (1888)
Chanson de Nuit and Chanson de Matin for violin and piano, Op. 15 Nos. 1 and 2 (1897/1899).
Violin Sonata in E minor, Op. 82 (1918)
String Quartet in E minor, Op. 83 (1918)
Piano Quintet in A minor, Op. 84 (1918–1919)
Concert Allegro, piano, Op. 46 (1901)
Organ Sonata in G, Op. 28 ()

Friday, June 17, 2011

Minimalism/Designing Simplicity: Jordi Savall’s Celtic Viol

S hort motifs predominate... any feeling of meter is, basically, ‘local’. The majority of sections are only 8 bars long, with strong downbeat emphasis. Each section/variation offers new and different kinds of transparency, some more arpeggiated, some less so. The music may be Irish and Scottish in origin, but through this 2-hour recital I am drawn more than anything toward comparisons with Indian ragas—evolutions of a series of waves progressing over the ocean’s surface for hundreds of miles.

C omparisons with other kinds of minimalist music, a la La Monte Young, Reich, Nyman, Riley, and others seem apt as well.

[50-sec clip, Jordi Savall, ‘Macpherson’s Lament’; 2011, 1.4MB MP3]

I n Savall’s conception of the Scottish folk tune ‘MacPherson’s Lament’, the prospect of being hanged focuses the mind wonderfully. [The prisoner condemned to die requested the privilege to play one last tune, and this is the tune that he performed. Many fast trills, initiated on downbeat and then tapering—little symbolisms of trembling, waning life. After finishing the last note, the prisoner smashed the fiddle: the fiddle would die with him, a second homicide, violating the personhood of the instrument and compounding whatever other crimes MacPherson may have committed.]

T here are surely many musicians who have continued playing up to within a short while before their deaths, usually from cancer or other chronic illness. Consider the gesture as a form of palliative self-care. This is terminal abjection. The music is not meant to be salvific or curative, like a Tarantella! The musician knows full-well that s/he is about to die, and that there will be no reprieve, no escaping this fate. If anything, we hear a brave, dignified aesthetic of fast-approaching doom. [Did Shackleton’s Expedition have amateur musicians abord, I wonder? If so, what did they play toward The End?] All told, the repertoire of those whose lives are ended by the State must be a very small and specialized one. Savall’s performance suggests that jewish musicians of the Theresien (Terezin) Holocaust prison camp do not have a world monopoly on this literature. But I digress.

T he feature of the Jordi Savall-Paul O’Dette-Shane Shanahan performance last night that most fascinated me was the minimalism of it—and how this music (which is ordinarily performed in a freewheeling, raucous manner—at noisy dances with liberal imbibing, lots of stomping and shouting and carrying-on) resembles error-correcting codes in communications and software. The intermittent loss of phase-lock (due to signal attenuation, or multi-path reflections and other interference, or fluctuating changes in signal-to-noise ratio in the communications channel) in ballads and dance music is rapidly detected, the parts (treble viol in Jordi’s lap; Paul’s cittern/lute; Shanahan’s bodhran) are de-skewed, and phase-lock is recaptured, in large part due to the structure of these low-entropy framing “packets”, these 8-bar phrases.

H ave a look at Prof. Hartmut Obendorf’s recent computer science book (link below) to see what I mean.

I wish that Paul O’Dette and Shane Shanahan had had more substantial parts to play during the Celtic Viol concert last night, parts more illustrative of their expressiveness and musicianship. But despite their relegation to low-key ‘accompaniment’ roles, O’Dette and Shanahan seemed to enjoy themselves a great deal on-stage. Accompanists manifest a unique dignity arising from modesty, nurturing, and support—another species of minimalism, I suppose, providing the ‘canvas’ for the soloist’s artistic vision. It was all pretty cool.