jwilzewske: painting

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Chanticleer: Orlando di Lasso’s ‘Optics’

Mielich – Lasso leading ensemble of chamber singers, 1573

C ultural acts, the construction, apprehension, and utilization of symbolic forms, are social events like any other; they are as public as a marriage and as observable as agriculture.”
— Clifford Geertz, Religion as a Cultural System, p. 87.

T he program notes for last night’s chamber performance by Chanticleer of works by Orlando di Lasso mention the paintings of Hans Mielich, including the one above from about 1570 which depicts Lasso leading an ensemble of chamber singers and other musicians.

Psalmus Poenitentialis ‘Miserere mei Deus’ LV 727, Ps. 51
Laudate Dominum de caelis LV 954, Ps. 148
Laudate Dominum in Sacris ejus LV 953, Ps. 150
Missa ‘Tous les regretz’ LV 626

E ach beautiful and each iconographically very different, all of these seem intended to assert specific assets of the singers and of the composer and the patrons: good will, generosity, purity of intention, piety, and nobility.

A ccretions from centuries of use and custom must have constrained the mass; here in this missa and laudates and other pieces, Orlando di Lasso’s flowing vocal arcs are freed-up, liberated like sunbeams, spreading light and exposing minute details... inviting the Divine to examine in detail the hearts of those who are offering these sounds. The shiftings from major to minor and back again, again and again—these evoke an ‘optical’ quality not unlike 16th Century Flemish and French and Venetian paintings or even German art like Dürer’s. Individual voices are drawn with truth and utter simplicity. Chanticleer members’ voices ascend in the spiral sanctuary, permeating it, inhabiting it by dint of truth and simplicity.

A Jan van Eyck painting from the same period shows Canon van der Paele, canon of the Church of St. Donatian in Bruges, Belgium (not far from where Lasso was born) kneeling before the Virgin and Child, next to St. George and St. Donatian. They are in the dark interior of the Bruges cathedral, illuminated by a light source coming from the upper left.

T he canon’s manuscript and eyeglasses—a narrative indication that van der Paele has quit reading from his book and turns his attention to Virgin and Child. The canon’s illuminated manuscript and eyeglasses parallel the props held by Christ and His mother—a bouquet and a parrot. To 15th Century viewers these must’ve been symbolic. But it is clear the props are also incidental; transitory; ‘of this world’. The singing of Chanticleer is ‘of this world’ as well, but it propels our minds and hearts beyond it.

T he interweaving voices activate colors and tones—the counter-tenors pick up the gold threads of St. Donatian’s brocade; the tenors catch glints from St. George’s shining armor; the baritones and basses reveal the draping and textures of the rich fabrics—as they are reflected, re-reflected, and refracted from different surfaces... In the painting, just so with the sound in this peculiar architecture.

T he frames of van der Paele’s eyeglasses cast shadows onto the book. The refraction of the lenses distorts the text underneath. Chanticleer 4-, 5-, and 6-part harmony... parts refracting against each other, at times shadowing or occluding each other; with beat-frequencies among the pitches and re-reflections and meta-refractions against the texts.

T he visual intentions of the painting and its descriptive language control or inform our interpretation of symbolic meaning. The sonic intentions of these pieces and their descriptive language similarly control or inform how we parse their symbolic meanings. Minimalist/literalist interpretations hold that, when normative explanation for an object is sufficient to explain its presence, symbolic meaning is both unnecessary and improbable—an application of Ockham’s Razor. But hearing these tunes and reading these eyeglasses in a literal, nonsymbolic way runs counter to the way in which this painting and these Orlando di Lasso compositions encourage us to recognize far more fluid relationships between objects of this world and symbolic, transcendent ideas. This was a winter evening to remember... really wonderful.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

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

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.

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.