MUS-501 final exam question: Late Schumann Lieder were hip-hop anthems. Evidence? Discuss.

I  n 1989’s ‘Fight the Power’, Public Enemy’s Chuck D spits a working definition of rhyme’s reason: ‘As the rhythm’s designed to bounce / What counts ... is that the rhyme’s / Designed to fill your mind.’ He is speaking of ‘rhyme’ here both as the practice of patterning sounds and as a name for the verse as a whole. In both meanings, rap’s rhymes have filled our minds with many things, not all of them good. But it is more than a matter of content—be it women and cars or prisons with bars; it is also a question of poetic form.”
  — Adam Bradley, p. 55.

T he prominence of dark themes in Schumann’s lieder in 1851 and later, featuring violent language and desultory circumstances and the characters’ defiant reactions to them, is strong evidence in favor of this thesis. Likewise, there is a radically different relationship between the music and the text compared to Schumann’s earlier lieder: in the late lieder there is a much stronger emphasis on syllabic stresses, on rhyme, and on systolic pulsatility of the voice strongly sync’ed to the instrumental beat. Schumann’s settings of Kullmann poems especially are, essentially, rap over music.

D  ominated by the energy of insistent repetition—from perfect rhymes to assonance and consonance—delivering on the promise... apocopated rhymes, where a one-syllable word rhymes with the stressed portion of a multisyllabic word. He matches the first line’s monosyllabic internal rhymes ‘last’ and ‘blast’ with an apocopated rhyme ‘fastball’ on the next line. He does the same thing in reverse with another rhyme as well—using ‘hit’ to rhyme with ‘splitter’. This creates a structure that binds the two lines together... almost every word is doing some kind of rhyme work... using rhyme to fashion rhythm.”
  — Adam Bradley, p. 62.

Und die mich trug im Mutterarm	And she who carried me in arms
Und die mich schwang in Kissen	And rock me in the nest
Die war ein schön, froh, braunes Weiß	She was beautiful, happy, red—hot—but
Wollte nichts vom Mannsvolk wissen	She never want to mess
Sie scherzte nur und lachte laut	‘Round... She only joke and laugh,
Und liess die Freier stehen.	Dissin’ those who hit on her.
„Möcht’ lieber sein des Windes Braut	“I’d rather be fucked by da wind
Als in die Ehe geh’n!”	Than have sex with any of you!”
Da kam der Wind, da nahm der Wind	And dat wind came, and dat wind chose,
Als Buhle sie gefangen,	And beat her and rape her too,
Von dem hat sie ein lustig Kind,	And that how she birthed me, packin’ heat.
Jung Volker, mich, empfangen.	Know dis: Jung Volker is my name.
—Eduard Mörike (1804-1875)	Op. 125, No. 4 (1851)

P ianist Graham Johnson maintains that Dichterliebe (Op. 48) contains what is arguably “the nearest thing in lieder to the modern phenomenon of ‘rap’ ” (liner notes to Vol 3, Hyperion CDA67676, pp. 101-2, specifically regarding ‘Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen’, No. 11, a song about a young man’s rejection by the woman he loves). In my opinion, dubstep is the sound that Schumann was going for, instead of brostep. And a ducking ‘pump’ sound that you hear in techno and electro that comes from side-chaining. That and electro house drums. Kind of a ‘dark garage’ hip-hop dubstep with kicked-up bass. The late lieder would be great with custom Ableton controllers for that sound. Don’t get that on no Hyperion CD, though!

C  ogan’s timbral reading of a piece is informed by the words sung in the performance. In his ‘Sounds of Song’, Cogan compares spectrographs of four recordings of Robert Schumann’s ‘Ich hab’ im Traum geweinet,’ a song he describes as ‘always obsessive, but uncertain, lost — quite literally traumatic.’ ”
  — Smith Reed, Univ Pittsburgh, 2005.

Der leidige Frieden	Peace make me nervous,
Hat lange gewährt—	It last too long—
Wir waren geschieden,	We ‘part for weeks,
Mein gutes Schwert!	My blade, its song!
Derweil ich gekostet	Down in the cellar
Im Keller den Wein—	I drink dat wine—
Hingst du verrostet	You hanging rusty
An der Wand allein.	By the wall, bidin’ your time.
Von Sorte zu Sorte	Each juice
Probiert’ ich den Wein—	I tasted when my turn to—
Indessen dorrte:	Meantime, dat blood:
Das Blut dir ein.	It’s dried on you.
Ist endlich entglommen	Battle when you right
Der heisse Streit,	Ain’t no crime—
Mein Schwert, und gekommen	Blade, here comes
Ist dein Zeit.	Your thirsty time.
Ich geb’ deiner Klingen,	Wipe some more,
Den blanken Schliff:	You bright, smooth steel:
Ich lasse dich singen	I let you rap
Den Todespfiff.	Your deadly spiel.
Im Pulvernebel	In gunpowder haze
Die Arbeit rauscht—	You slash, rip steep—
Wir haben, o Säbel,	You ’n’ me, Blade,
Die Freuden getauscht.	We put ’em all deep.
Im brausenden Moste,	In foamin’ wine,
Mein durstiges Erz	Blade thirsty and smart,
Betrinke dich, koste	Drink deep and taste
Von Herz zu Herz;	From heart to heart;
Derweil du gekostet	While you’ve been tastin’
Das rote Blut,	Your crimson blood,
Is mir eingerostet,	My throat—it’s parched,
Der Hals vor Glut.	Waitin’ for a flood.
—Nikolaus Lenau (1802-1850)	Op. 117, No. 2 (1851)

O bscure poems that portray dysfunctional or oppressive gender relations, cars and money or jewels, and weapons—a throw-away objectification of people and ‘live-for-the-moment’ violent materialism—are also characteristic of these late Schumann lieder, in a fashion that presages modern hip-hop themes and postures. Braggadocio and lyrics that proclaim the singer’s greatness—these appear in Op. 117, Op. 104, and others.

W  hile rap may be new-school music, it is old-school poetry. Rather than resembling the dominant contemporary form of free verse—or even the freeform structure of its hip-hop cousin, spoken word, or slam poetry—rap bears a stronger affinity to some of poetry’s oldest forms, such as strong-stress meter of ‘Beowulf’. As in metrical verse, the lengths of rap’s lines are governed by established rhythms—in rap’s case, the rhythm of the beat itself.”
  — Adam Bradley, p. xv.

Du nennst mich armes Mädchen	“Po’ ho’,” you call me;
Du irrst! Ich bin nicht arm!	You full o’ shit! I’m not po’!
Entress dich, Neugier halber,	Wake up, you pimp,
Einmal des Schlafes Arm und schau’	from yo’ drunk-ass sleep,
Mein niedres Hüttchen	An’ look at my mansion
Wenn sich die Sonne	Wit da paradise sunrise
Hold am Morgenhimmel hebet:	When da morning sun come to me:
Sein Dach ist reines Gold!	Dat roof is pure gold!
Komm’ Abends, wann die Sonne,	Or come in da evening when da sun,
Bereits zum Meere sinkt,	Sinking in da sea,
Und sieh’ mein einzig Fenster,	See only my window,
Wie’s von Topasen blinkt!	Sparklin’ wit da topaz jewelz!
Du nennst mich armes Mädchen	“Po’ ho’,” you call me;
Du irrst! Ich bin nicht arm!	You full o’ shit! I’m not po’!
—Elisabeth Kuhlmann (1808-1824)	Op. 104, No. 3 (1851)

E mblematic of all rap music is constructing an image of power through gestural cues, which may be in the words or the music or both. The cues include punched-up rhythms and phrases about money, expensive clothing, jewelry, killing and dying, and going places and doing things. Late Schumann lieder got those!

T he situational exigencies of late Schumann lieder are accessible to anyone whose mind is open, and are not dependent on exterior markers for their manifestation. Instead, they are rooted in demonstrating values in interacting with others—values such as defiance, aggression, and action; support, mutuality, and reflection—‘power over’; ‘power with’. Don’t need no fancy or subtle analysis to identify features of hip-hop in late Schumann. Jus’ need to open our minds to the sonic and textual evidence that’s right there in front of us.

• Graham Johnson, et al. Complete Schumann Songs. Hyperion, 2000.
• Boy Blue Ent (London programs for hip-hop training in schools)
• Breakin' Convention (Intl. Festival of Hip-Hop Dance Theatre)
• Rap Dictionary
• Bradley A, et al., eds. Anthology of Rap. Yale Univ, 2011.
• Bradley A. Book of Rhymes: Poetics of Hip-Hop. Basic Civitas, 2009.
• Brown G, Yule G. Discourse Analysis. Cambridge Univ, 1983.
• Brown P, Levinson S. Politeness: Some Universals in Language Use. Cambridge Univ, 1987.
• Cogan R. The Sounds of Song. Publication Contact International, 1999, p. 18.
• Dale C. Traces of Ossianic imagery in selected piano works of Robert Schumann. Dissertation, Univ Witwatersrand, 2006.
• Edwards P. How to Rap. ChicagoReview, 2009.
• Fernandez J, ed. Beyond Metaphor. Stanford Univ, 1991.
• Kanengiser G. The decline of quality in popular music-making. Cleveland Classical, 17-JAN-2012.
• Krims A. Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity. Cambridge Univ, 2000.
• Reed S. Musical Semiotics of Timbre in the Human Voice, or Static Takes Love's Body. PhD dissertation, Univ Pittsburgh, 2005.
• Sperber D, Wilson D. Meaning and Relevance. Cambridge Univ, 2012.
• Tobin L. Pimp Your Vocab. Anova, 2010.
• Washburne C, Derno M, eds. Bad Music. Routledge, 2004, p. 260
• Worthen J. Robert Schumann: Life and Death of a Musician. Yale Univ, 2010.
• DC-future-bass on SoundCloud.com

T  wo hundred years ago popular music and art music were joined at the hip. Beethoven’s works and the birth of the Romantic Era coincided with the rise of the middle classes. Franz Schubert and Robert Schumann composed lieder that could be sung and played in the home by amateur musicians. At the same time that the middle classes expanded, they received a more formalized and substantial education and formulated an idea of art and music. The masses were able to sing and play music that did not require the same technical ability as music that one would find in the concert hall, but was more suited for the salon. The music was ‘attainable’, and it featured poetic verses with melodies that were relatively easy to sing.”
  — Gabe Kanengiser.

Ain’t No ‘Girl’ Music: Physical Vehemence in Unsuk Chin’s ‘Akrostichon-Wortspiel’

T    hough some points of contact with the theatrical surrealism of Ligeti’s ‘Aventures/Nouvelles’ might be detected, ‘Akrostichon-Wortspiel’ gives much more emphasis to wit and exuberance than to menace. The third movement, ‘Die Spielregel—strawkcurtieZ’ (Zeitruckwarts - reversed time) is a dazzling scherzo with appropriate palindromic elements. But the most sheerly beautiful music is in the fifth movement, ‘Domifare S’, whose beguilingly repetitive descents are magically offset by the simple device of destabilising a bass line, which is in any case slightly out-of-tune. A similar process is applied to the initially stable, inflected Bs at the start of the last movement.”
  —  Arnold Whitall, Musical Times, 2000.

F  or the relatively apolitical Unsuk Chin it is not a question as to how frequently performed or widely noted a piece may become. Instead, what matters most is that it be performed empathetically and be understood, no matter how esoteric its content or intentions.

A  nalysis assumes that music is a metaphor for ‘literary’ meaning—analysis aims to clarify relationships, customarily using methods that closely parallel ‘literary’ theory.

A  nd the Unsuk Chin piece performed at Lincoln Center last night is nominally ‘literary’. The texts that informed/inspired Akrostichon-Wortspiel come from Michael Ende’s ‘The Endless Story’ and Lewis Carroll’s ‘Alice through the Looking Glass’. The selected texts have been redacted so as to juxtapose consonants and vowels to form novel, surprising patterns. In some places (e.g., Mvt. 3) the letters comprising the words are reversed, playing tricks with the things signified. It is a different sort of fantasy—entirely different from the ‘grotesqueries’ of Ligeti’s ‘Mysteries of the Macabre’, which was the first piece of the program.

Y  et, analyzing ‘Akrostichon’ in a ‘literary’ way seems wrong somehow. And why always draw parallels between Unsuk Chin and Ligeti or Lutosławski or others, anyway? To me, seems like a ‘stretch’. Not that resemblances are hard to find; they are not. But the ‘stretch’ has for me more to do with the motivations that seem to underlie the music and why it came to be written. For example, I enjoyed the intensely physical passages in ‘Akrostichon’, where modernist and classical idioms violently oppose each other.

K    ommt der öffentliche Druck, das ist sehr schwierig, die Qualität zu halten, die Öffentlichkeit will immer mehr, man versucht die Gunst der Stunde zu nutzen...
[The public pressure... it is very difficult to maintain real quality... the public wants more and more, of whatever is en vogue...].”
  —  Unsuk Chin, interview with Hanno Ehrler, Berlin, 2008.

    [50-sec clip, Ensemble intercontemporain, Unsuk Chin, ‘Akrostichon-Wortspiel’, Mvt. 1, 2.0MB MP3]

T  he aggressive passages in the Ligeti pieces on the program are less ‘open-ended’, less ‘exploratory’, more ‘flamboyant’ than Unsuk Chin’s. Maybe it’s a difference that arises because of their different cultures, different ages at the time these respective pieces were composed, different financial and political circumstances at the time, and so on. Surely it could have nothing to do with gender, could it?

W  ell, sure, it could! There is a physical vehemence in ‘Akrostichon’—a gendered performativity, along the lines that Judith Butler has written about. It is not a ‘tame’ cross-word. It is intensely physical, not cerebral. This piece, to me, is about beauty-in-vehemence—about women’s right to engage in aggression and vehement action, in violent performative action that involves risk. Inexplicable risk—much like my maternal grandmother who, in the 1920s, was physically boisterous; a honky-tonk piano player in Superior, Wisconsin, among other things; smoked big stogies to the ripe old age of 93… valor on the violent fields brings ‘glory’ to the valiant-violent participants; violence and aggression beget ‘story’ and meaning; risk is essential to creation and story-generation.


C  hin’s compositional method seems thoroughly ‘organic’, and more concerned with forging palpable ‘continuity’ than Ligeti may have been in the 1970s and later. Ligeti, by then, had nothing to ‘prove’. Unsuk Chin is, in this piece, showing her discoveries of what needs yet to be proven, physically. The development progresses relatively slowly: the listener has ample time to grasp the emerging textures, orient herself/himself, place things in context, become convinced of what is being ‘shown’ or ‘proven’. In all, this was an absolutely wonderful interpretation by Yeree Suh and members of Ensemble intercontemporain, under Susanna Mälkki’s shrewd-yet-intensely-physical direction. Bravo! (for the entire program, not just the one piece that spawned the comments above)

• Ensemble intercontemporain website
  
• MusicaReaction blog
  
• Simon. Ancient and modern. 5:4 blog, 23-SEP-2008.
  
• Unsuk Chin at Boosey.com
  
• Susanna Malkki page at HarrisonParrott
  
• Unsuk Chin interview in U.S. Asians
  
• Butler J. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. Routledge, 2007.
  
• Butler J. Undoing Gender. Routledge, 2004.
  
• Butler J. Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative. Routledge, 1993.
  
• Jantzen G. Foundations of Violence. Routledge, 2004.
  
• Ensemble intercontemporain. Unsuk Chin. (Deutsche Grammophon, 2005.)

Violence, An Unlikely Chamber Music Trope: ¿Quién es más macho?

I   was very frightened till the guns started firing. Then you felt a bit better, for some unknown reason. It was the sitting there that was the worst part ... Naked is the way to describe it ... Just waiting for the end … waiting for it.”
  —  Michael Jackson, quoting rear-gunner Jack Marshall, in The Politics of Storytelling, p. 47.

T   he definition of psychological violence as the sudden, uncontrollable disruption of affiliative bonds ... recognizes the importance of attachment relationships and their social, emotional, and cognitive manifestations. To deny the impact of trauma over human life is to deny that we matter to one another; it is a way of dissociating ourselves from human pain.”
  —  Felicity de Zulueta, From Pain to Violence, p. 185.

The previous CMT post triggered a prompt, unexpected flurry of messages about ‘violence’ as a theme in the chamber music canon. Some emailers suggested that Fauré’s ‘Piano Trio in D minor, Op. 120’ (“The last movement … the Allegro vivo!”) is emblematic of chamber music as encompassing the gamut of human emotion and expression, including uncontrollably violent feelings and expressions.

Others mentioned Edgard Varèse and André Jolivet—the ‘Density 21.5’ and ‘Cinq Incantations,’ respectively.

Another friend emailed to say, no, that Henri Dutilleux and Pierre Boulez wrote works that were more violent by far than those.

Yet another CMT reader opined that Olivier Messiaën was, if you really understood him, more profoundly and insidiously violent. (“Oh, you can play it so that the violent intentions are covered up. But if you really understand what he was up to, why then! There is no question! Hands down!”)

Maybe we need a ‘Hamilton-Browne’ taxonomy of violence in chamber music, a classification scheme to properly categorize and compare different species of this emotion when they arise.

Two-dimensional Taxonomy of Victimization

• Single victimization (single incident, single perpetrator)
  
• Multiple victimization (single incident, multiple perpetrators)
  
• Repeated victimization (multiple incidents, single perpetrator)
  
• Re-victimization (multiple incidents, multiple perpetrators)

W ell, entonces, ¿quién es lo último? Here is my own nomination for the most explicit examination of violence: a piece composed by Gordon Fitzell, performed by eighth blackbird (three MP3 clips below). Gordon is a 40 year-old Canadian born in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, with a Bachelor of Music degree from Brandon University, a masters from the University of Alberta, and a doctorate in composition and theory from the University of British Columbia, with Keith Hamel and John Roeder. He has contributed works to a number of festivals and workshops including Darmstadt Internationale Ferienkurse für Neue Music, June in Buffalo, the Yale Summer School, the Arraymusic Young Composers Workshop, and held a residency several years ago at the Banff Centre for the Arts. He is currently a professor at the University of Manitoba in Winnipeg where he teaches composition, electroacoustic music, conducts the New Music Ensemble and directs XIE (eXperimental Improv Ensemble).


    [50-sec clip, eighth blackbird, Gordon Fitzell, ‘Violence’, 1.2MB MP3]

    [50-sec clip, eighth blackbird, Gordon Fitzell, ‘Violence’, 1.2MB MP3]

    [50-sec clip, eighth blackbird, Gordon Fitzell, ‘Violence’, 1.2MB MP3]


I rest my case.

Seriously, do you have other ‘nominations’ you’d care to make, in this exotic category? What composers and which pieces? Under what circumstances would your ensemble undertake a thematic program, explicitly comprised of works that examine this ‘end of the spectrum’ of human emotions and deeds?

Do you think that the ‘intimacy’ of chamber music and currently-available chamber music programming such as it is today is too restrictive—that is to say, that the repertoire being performed today dwells more than it should on ‘pleasing’ sounds and ideas and emotions, and veers too far away from matters of political topicality and controversy? Do you feel that it is, marketingwise, suicidal to pursue these things? Yes, compose them, if you must; if you have them ‘in you’. Yes, record them, if you’re passionate about it and can convince a brave label to support it. But don’t even think of performing them live, not if you expect to ‘get away with it’?

Does edgier repertoire sell well and, if so, to what audience market segments in what venues and at what times of year? Is this sort of material only practical (i.e., ‘wise’, ‘safe’) for presenters to program as bonus ‘fringe’ material at festivals in the summertime—riskier even than mere ‘new music’? Is this sort of thing suitable for ACF and CMA and other organizations to commission more of?

If enough of you wish to offer comments on this, maybe I’ll gather them together into a proper ‘post’ on the subject. To those of you who emailed me, thank you very much for your comments!

• DSM. Just War according to Dialogos. CMT blog, 09-NOV-2008.
  
• eighth blackbird. strange imaginary animals. (Cedille, 2006.)
  
• Browne K, Hanks H, Stratton P, Hamilton-Giachritsis C, eds. Early Prediction and Prevention of Child Abuse: A Handbook. Wiley, 2002.
  
• Hamel J, ed. Gender Inclusive Treatment of Intimate Partner Abuse. Springer, 2005.
  
• Hamilton C, Browne K. The repeat victimisation of children: Should the concept be revised? Aggression and Violent Behaviour 1997; 3:47-60.
  
• Jackson M. The Politics of Storytelling: Violence, Transgression, and Intersubjectivity. Museum Tusculanum, 2002.
  
• McCluskey U, Hooper C-A, eds. Psychodynamic Perspectives on Abuse: The Cost of Fear. Kingsley, 2000.
  
• de Zulueta F. From Pain to Violence: The Traumatic Roots of Destructiveness. 2e. Wiley, 2007.

‘Just War’ According to Dialogos: Rhetoric, Memory, Violence & Medieval Theater of Cruelty

I   f the number and variety of versions—and widespread and enduring popularity—can be any criterion of greatness, the tale of Judith, it must be conceded, is one of the great stories of the world’s literature.”
  —  Edna Purdie, The Story of Judith in German and English Literature.

The staged musical production of ‘Judith’ by Katarina Livljanić and members of the ensemble Dialogos tells the biblical tale of the beautiful enchantress, Judith, who seduces and then beheads the Assyrian general Holofernes to liberate the Hebrews. The score also includes a medieval 5-string fiddle, a lirica (Croatian traditional stringed instrument, tuned in ‘archaic’ manner), and archaic flutes. The beauty and Croatian authenticity of Livljanić’s voice, the narrative and discursive power of the instrumental parts, the elegance of the staging and lighting, and the poetics of the carefully devised, historically informed Glagolitic text (and translation that is sympathetic to the needs of the audience, as opposed to Livljanić’s fellow scholars)—all of these combine to achieve a compelling artistic result, just as with ‘Vision of Tondal’ and other of Dialogos’s productions.

Character development in Livljanić’s version of ‘Judith’ is fuller than in the simplified accounts of the story that are familiar to us, and far more complex than in the synoptic artworks through which most of us are acquainted with it ... Klimt and Caravaggio and Reubens and so many others.

Holofernes, the general of the Babylonian King Nebuchadrezzar, whose decapitation by Judith is referenced in the Old Testament. Holofernes, the powerful general of King Nebuchadnezzar’s army. A number of provinces of the Second Jewish Commonwealth had withheld their assistance from Nebuchadnezzar and his government—had declined to join the coalition of the willing. So now comes Holofernes, the guy Nebuchadnezzar dispatches to give them an offer they couldn’t refuse.

The historical general did lay siege to Bethulia. The city was on the verge of surrendering but was saved by Judith, a beautiful Hebrew widow who preyed upon Holofernes’s huge vanity, deceived him, drank him under the table, sliced off his head in bed. Judith, she who then returned to Bethulia displaying the severed head, after which the Hebrews went on to beat Nebuchadnezzar’s now-generalless army. Morals: Be careful who you drink with, and be sure to drink responsibly.


Ensemble Dialogos

• Katarina Livljanić (voice)
  
• Albrecht Maurer (5-string fiddle)
  
• Norbert Rodenkirchen (flutes)
  
• Sanda Herzic (staging, scenography and costumes)
  
• Marie Bellot (lighting design and direction)

Livljanić’s voice—alternately, narrator/seductress/warrior/mind/spirit—leads the listener through this biblical story of Judith, transformed here into historically-informed music theatre, instantiating characters who hail from the old biblical and Croatian Glagolitic texts to become amazingly relevant to contemporary society—both in terms of gender issues, and in terms of calling into question what is ‘justified violence’ and whether or not there is such a thing as a ‘just war’. Renaissance Glagolitic chant forms the musical structure of the performance. Accompanying Livljanić’s voice, the medieval lirica and 5-string fiddle and flutes give Marko Marulić’s Glagolitic text vivid, dramatic color.

Dialogos’s Judith is essentially ‘Eros and Thanatos’ rendered using fragments of medieval Glagolitic ‘disputationes’ that alternate with the main ‘Judith and Holofernes’ story. These interpolations are a narratorly gambit to reveal the characters’ thoughts; for example, as Holofernes’ head is severed, his thoughts ‘separate’ into a dialogue between his body and his soul. Another inner dialogue—between Judith’s mind and her soul, a sort of schizoid soliloquy—occurs as she prays for God to help her kill Holofernes.

According to Livljanić’s program notes, the ancient text of Judith survives without music, and the poetic metrical structure of the text closely corresponds to the meter of archaic Glagolitic melodies used for storytelling in medieval Dalmatia. The text refers to texts sung in the liturgical offices, and these clues enabled Livljanić to reconstruct, using Dalmatian and southern Italian musical sources, melodies plausibly correlated with indications in the original Judith text. This liturgical repertoire, sung in Croatian Church Slavonic, did function in the Latin mass, and was preserved over the centuries in manuscripts written in Glagolitic in medieval Croatia.

Livljanić performs all of the roles and uses a variety of vocal effects and a few costume changes to keep the roles distinct. Surpassing the phenomenal scholarship that goes into preparing their productions, the musicianship and historically-informed performance of the members of Dialogos ensemble are iconic.

F   rom the standpoint of the history of rhetoric, the presence of dramatic elements in discussions of torture presents a tremendous predicament for scholars, who have long been troubled by Aristotle’s casual inclusion of torture as one of the factual, ‘inartificial’, or extrinsic proofs to be discovered by orators during the inventional process... Inartificial proofs are those which ‘have not been furnished by ourselves but were already in existence, such as witnesses...’ What is so striking about the evidence ... is that, during rhetorical ‘inventio’, the ostensibly extrinsic proof that torture represents functions as an avowedly unreliable intrinsic proof. The rhetorician theorizes the inventional proof of torture as a verisimilar process that causes torture to appear to be an unshakable extrinsic proof, when in reality it is just as ‘intrinsic’, just as ‘creative’, just as fictional, just as ‘dramatic’ as other modes of rhetorical invention... Its ‘facts’ are evaluated on the basis of their potential persuasiveness as fashioned probabilities and then, in a process of reaffirmation, judged as factual on the basis of their verisimilitude. At issue, then, is less the truth of the law or the historical occurrence than the spectacular probabilities of the rhetorical presentation, which is born of materials extracted through punishment... Torture enters the scenario with its own role to play in the transformation of hypothesis into fact.”
  —  Jody Enders, Medieval Theater of Cruelty, p. 28.

Let’s do something I alluded to in the previous CMT post: illuminate this musical performance by drawing parallels between it and several works of art. Most of us know the story of Judith primarily through the famous representations of ‘Judith Slaying Holofernes’ in paintings.

The Christian church fathers embraced Judith, but went to extra trouble to ensure that the story was cast in a certain light that was favorable to the Church. When the Church hierarchy commissioned paintings and sculptures of Judith, the artists were compelled to make Judith into not so much an allegory of faith as an allegory of Christian virtue writ large—especially that prototypical virtue that most fascinates priests, chastity (as in the Cranach the Elder painting above). And then came Artemisia Gentileschi. Artemisia, without the strings of any Church commission attached. Artemisia, who had herself been raped. Artemisia Gentileschi did not make ‘nicey-nicey’.

Artemisia Gentileschi in 1620 was the first to paint a ‘feminist’ Judith. Her father Orazio had also painted Judith—a conventional Judith. Michelangelo, Botticelli and Caravaggio had painted Judith. Donatello had sculpted Judith. Gentileschi’s painting is dark, darker and more dramatic than Caravaggio’s and others’ Judiths. A theatrical spotlight is trained on the action, on the struggling limbs. The shadows on Judith’s arms force us to acknowledge the sawing, crunching, ‘why-is-this-neck-gristle-and-bone-so-tough?’ sword action she uses to get his head off. The extent of the blood splayed around the scene gives us a pretty clear idea that Gentileschci believes this was not a quick death, nor should it have been. Nor was this murder a workmanly job ineptly done. No, there is a realist’s quality of gratuitous suffering; of ‘extraordinary rendition’ as they say; of cold-blooded torture. The feminist righteous violence of Artemisia Gentileschi’s painting(s) is very close to the moral quality that Livljanić projects in the Dialogos production of Judith. Livljanić’s text has Holofernes’s dying going on and on...


As portrayed by Gentileschi and by Livljanić, Judith’s violence is righteous—premeditated but justified—vigorously justified ex-post facto by Judith. But not some pious, patriotic perp intent upon pleasing the patriarchs. This is cool, calculated, cathartic revenge by a woman who has been raped. ‘You, Asshole, are not f’ing getting away. You are f’ing going to die, right here, right now.’ And, naturally, heroic, cathartic righteous horror is invariably exciting. After all, ‘bloodied virtuosity’ is titillating, as American (and other—) filmmakers seem to know so well. The ‘pride goes before the fall’ tragic position of Holofernes’s arrogance and hubris just seems not to have many ‘takers’ these days. Nobody views the character and deeds of Judith as subversive and offensive anymore. Nobody thinks of Holofernes. We are all self-vindicating terrorists now. We are all Judiths or would-be Judiths if given the chance. Just not as chaste as a Church father or an Imam might prefer...


Gustav Klimt’s Judith paintings have instead a wasted, absinthe-debauched, sybaritically-bedecked golden Judith-the-Ho tucking the still-astonished dead head of Holofernes under her arm as if it were a handbag. The dramatic lighting is completely lacks the excitement and action of Gentileschi. Judith is here quiet and sated, as though she were a tiger or other predator? “Or the Hillbilly of Wasilla, Sarah Palin,” as one of the commenters in the discussion group that preceded the Kansas City Dialogos performance last night said. “What?! What are you looking at! I did not order these clothes from Neiman Marcus! No, siree! They’re goin’ back. Givin’ ‘em to charity.” Palin’s face and hair even look quite a lot like the Klimt Judith... Yikes.)

Klimt’s Judith gazes off beyond us; she has no regard for us. She appears to be daydreaming, and it is not likely that she is dreaming of murdering generals to save her people or build an actual oil pipeline. She is detached from the damage she has wrought. Klimt shows us not only Judith-the-Ho but also Judith-the-Psychopath and Judith-the-Jihadist. Klimt’s Judith ‘had’ to do what she did, just as Anthony Perkins ‘had’ to kill Janet Leigh’s character in ‘Psycho’, complete with her schizophrenic interior dialogue and ‘disputationes’.


By contrast, Caravaggio’s Judith is a tentative, horrified, ‘how-can-I-manage-to-finish-this?’ withdrawing, backward-staggering, agast Judith. Not a ‘psycho’ at all. And totally not ‘ho’. She stands back from Holofernes, disgusted—as much by her apprehension of her moral ‘dirtiness’ in the situation as by the physical horror of it. Whereas Gentileschi’s and Klimt’s Judiths are entirely self-assured—self-possessed with feminist and psychotic conviction, respectively; righteously unafraid—Caravaggio’s Judith comprehends that no one comes home ‘clean’. Righteous though your cause may have been, well-intentioned or not as you may have been before embarking on your project, your act has inscribed you now, marked you for life. You will never again be the same. You can never roll back the clock. The deed was morally dirty; ‘just war’ was an elusive myth, not a black-and-white certainty as you might have thought before. Livljanić manages to import some of this feeling into the Dialogos Judith performance. Various reviewers use words like ‘metamorphosis’ or ‘transformation’ or other literary expressions to describe it. Me, I don’t buy it. To me, Livljanić is a realist, one who considers that the historical Judith was—and all of us today are—complex, highly spontaneous ... concurrently ebbing and flowing with various motives and reasons and conflicts. Our confusion and messiness and internal conflicts in general don’t tend to resolve in transformative ways. We’re perpetually ‘becoming’ but we seldom transform or metamorphose. We just extemporize; we just act; we just live then with the consequences. As one of the ‘disputationes’ between Judith’s mind and her soul tells us, our abstract souls and embodied minds are old and not likely to change or suddenly become un-confused:

W   hy are you confusing me, my soul? And her soul answered: Oh, how greatly you confused my heart … I have been given to the body to live with it, and the body cheated me… The mind responded: My soul, your excuse is not good, because your body is made of earth, and you are made of wisdom… Therefore, [you must] overcome your body. The soul said: Woe to me that I hoped to receive from you a consolation, and instead I receive even bigger sadness. You know I have been living on this world for many years… I cannot overcome my body. It is older, cannot move, and cannot do any good...”
  —  ‘Disputatione’ (‘Agony’; a schizoid Glagolitic soliloquy between Judith’s ‘soul’ and her incarnate ‘mind’), ‘Judith’, text by Marko Marulić, adapted and extended by Katarina Livljanić.

W hat more can we make of this—in attempting to understand this production through parallels we can find in other works of art? Well, Livljanić’s rendering of Judith is not a ‘play’. It is instead an act of political-activist remembrance, just as Artemisia Gentileschi’s paintings are acts of protest and activist remembrance. It is an 80-minute meditation on ‘wars of choice’ and ill-conceived pre-emptive wars, as contrasted with necessary wars and ‘just’ morally-defensible wars. Livljanić’s vivid exhortations are not mere scholarly play-acting for us to ‘admire’ for their aesthetic value. No. They are powerful admonishments for us to engage in Shoah-like ‘remembering-so-as-never-to-forget’.

W   hy is it more important to remember acts of genocide than simply to learn about them? If literary works are truly the bearers of ontology, then what must be our conduct toward them?”
  —  Amy Hungerford, Holocaust of Texts.

In other words, this is not a docudrama that enables us merely to learn about an historically-explicit, militarily important act of dudicide by some hot chick in ancient Bethulia in the mavericky Second Jewish Commonwealth. No, this historically-informed artwork comes fully armed, locked-and-loaded as a bearer of political ontology: Livljanić is ballistically instructing us about what our conduct ought to be toward our ontology of justice—and about how we ought to be maintaining that ontology (and that justice) in a coherent, continent way. This is not art-as-entertainment or scholarly historiography tarted up as elite musical theater. It is beautiful and diverting, yes. But, more than that, it is art that advances specific and important political, moral, and ontological viewpoints—ones that Livljanić and her colleagues want audiences to take to heart and act upon. It is Art with an Agenda. It is a powerful essay on feminism through the ages, directly relevant to contemporary issues having to do with ‘just war’ as an abstract concept, and with specific unjust wars in-progress today, and with civil society and the problem of terrorism (terrorism that is sponsored by governments, like Nebuchadnezzar’s government or other ones in modern times; terrorism that is undertaken by groups other than the State; or terrorism that is undertaken by individuals, psychotic/psychopathic or otherwise). If you have an opportunity to attend one of Dialogos’s performances, do not miss it!

D   id an on-stage execution really take place in 1549 in the city of Tournai? According to somewhat questionable evidence about the production of Judith and Holofernes in that city, the actor playing Judith actually beheaded a convicted murderer who assumed (ever so briefly——) the role of Holofernes, just long enough to be killed during the play, to thunderous applause.”
  —  Jody Enders, Medieval Theater of Cruelty, p. 202.

• Katarina Livljanić’s ‘Judith’ at Friends of Chamber Music
  
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C   ahun also questions Judith’s response to the applause she receives when she emerges from Holofernes’s tent holding his head—horrified at having killed the man she loves and at their response, which she experiences at first like ‘a child whom one mistreats.’ ‘People!,’ she exclaims without much heroism, ‘What do we have in common? Who allowed you to invade my private life? To judge my acts and find them beautiful? To burden me—I who am so weak and weary, eternally hunted—with your infernal [God-sappy] glory?’ How can we know for certain, Cahun seems to be asking, what Judith’s motivations and desires were—the only person in her town willing to enter Holofernes’s tent? How can we know that Judith lost interest in sex once she was widowed, and that she became pious and chaste and shared her townspeople’s dislike and disdain for the enemy commander? Are not these assumptions based on clichés tied to sexuality? In Cahun’s telling of the Judith story, Holofernes is bestialized before he is dismembered. Judith is portrayed as ‘terrible,’ although Cahun sees her also as ‘abject’. Leiris later admiringly labels her a ‘patriot prostitute,’ but Cahun sees neither patriotism nor prostitution in Judith’s desire.”
  —  Kate Conley, From Sadistic Judith to Human Frontier, 2004.