Month: June 2021

Contemporary Classical

James Primosch in memoriam

James Primosch, a dear friend and colleague of mine and one of the finest composers of his generation, passed away on April 26, 2021 at age 64, from complications of pancreatic cancer.

Jim was born in 1956 in Cleveland, OH. He studied at Cleveland State University, the University of Pennsylvania (where he joined the composition faculty in 1988), and Columbia University. His principal teachers included Mario Davidovsky, George Crumb, and Richard Wernick. Among the many awards and honors Jim garnered over the years are prizes from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, a Guggenheim Fellowship, a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Stoeger Prize of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, and a fellowship to the Tanglewood Music Center, where he studied with John Harbison. Most recently he was the recipient of yet another prestigious honor from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the 2020 Virgil Thomson Award in Vocal Music.

I first met Jim in 1982, when I arrived at Columbia University to begin my doctoral studies. He was one of the first people I met in New York City. He was working in the office of the Dean of the School of the Arts, under the auspices of which the DMA program in composition operated. Jim was very welcoming and helpful as I strove to get my bearings in my new surroundings. I remember us going to many concerts and listening to a lot of music together, along with our other colleagues, and discussing what we were writing and hearing. Jim’s music already was extremely impressive and very technically assured, as well as colorful, vivid, and dramatic. At that time, like many of us at Columbia in those days, he was absorbing the best of the modernist tradition, including the works of Martino, Carter, and Berio, as well as the innovations in electronic music of our teacher Davidovsky, and he already was producing mature works such as Icons, for clarinet, piano, and electronic sounds, that demonstrated how well he was assimilating these influences and yet bringing the strength of his own personality to bear. The music of Mahler was an important early influence for Jim, as it had been for his previous mentor, George Crumb, and like Crumb, Jim was beginning to find his way toward a synthesis of seemingly disparate musical elements. Two things were crucial to this stage of his growth: first, and I believe most importantly, was his grounding in his Catholic faith, described by his friend, colleague and one-time teacher John Harbison, as “very strong and yet questioning.” Many of Jim’s earliest musical experiences were in the church, where he played for masses as a young teenager, and later wrote congregational music for worship communities of which he was a part for the rest of his life.

This led to the second crucial thing: through his love of (and excellent taste in) poetry, particularly that of a devotional nature — George Herbert, John Donne, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Denise Levertov, Annie Dillard — he fully developed the lyrical side of his art. Though he did not initially think of himself as a composer of vocal music, he became a consummate writer of songs and choral works, as he set the poetry that meant so much to him — indeed, that fed him as an artist. He wrote very sophisticated music for some of the best professional singers and instrumentalists, but never lost touch with the simpler yet no less profound experiences he had with congregational singing and corporate worship.

And that lyricism remained even when he was composing purely instrumental works with no obvious extramusical elements. One of my favorite examples is his Piano Quintet from 1996, which he performed and recorded with the Cavani String Quartet. To me this illustrates perfectly how all the influences that shaped his musical language not only coexist but cohere: the spikiness of his early explorations of modernism in the first movement; the light and limpid scherzo, with its rhythmic suppleness and a harmonic language that subtly and seamlessly ­begins to move towards a more tonal orientation; and the rhapsodic variations of “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child,” which make explicit another element I have not yet mentioned: Jim’s love of playing and listening to jazz. Even in the more angular idioms of the first two movements, there are hints of jazz already latent in the harmony. The “Allegro Shuffle” finale makes this even more overt in the most delightful manner: it captures Jim’s often sly (but just as often gentle) sense of humor.

Two of his finest recent works for chorus, Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus, essentially a troped mass setting that interweaves Denise Levertov’s poetry with the traditional Greek and Latin texts of the Ordinary, and Carthage, with words by Marilynne Robinson, were written for and premiered by The Crossing, an amazing Philadelphia-based professional choral ensemble conducted by Donald Nally. The music and the ensemble seem truly made for each other. Jim achieved in these two works a degree of freedom of movement as a composer that can only be had by dint of years of preparation and honing of technique. The virtuosity of the compositions and that of the performances are perfectly matched, and Jim’s harmonic and melodic invention take flight as they were meant to.

Jim was an extraordinary composer, teacher, and pianist, a keen and articulate observer and writer, and an extraordinarily generous colleague. He was one of the finest composers I’ve ever known or ever hope to know, and a wonderful friend. Some of the best times I had with him were at dinners in Manhattan, usually before a concert. The last of those was in January of 2020, at Il Violino, a favorite restaurant of his. He was about to go to the Metropolitan Opera to see the latest production of Wozzeck. I’m so grateful we got to have that dinner (and all the ones that preceded it). On the day that he died (though I didn’t know he was gone until the day after), it was my honor to present some of his music in my Undergraduate Form and Analysis course at Manhattan School of Music (something I’d planned to do for a while), including the Piano Quintet and Carthage. It made me happy to introduce his work to a group of younger composers who were not familiar with it, and as I thought and hoped they might, they responded to the honesty, commitment to excellence, and integrity his music exemplifies.

He truly believed in and embodied the words of his teacher George Crumb: “Music might be defined as a system of proportions in the service of a spiritual impulse.” Rest well, Jim.

by Hayes Biggs
CD Review, Chamber Music, Contemporary Classical

Kenneth Kirschner, Joseph Branciforte – From the Machine Vol. 1

The {greyfade} recording label has recently released From the Machine Vol. 1, a new digital and vinyl album of contemporary music composed entirely by software employing “…algorithmic processes, generative systems and indetermancy.” A collaboration between Kenneth Kirschner and Joseph Branciforte, the two tracks of this album were composed by computer but performed by conventional acoustic ensembles. This combination of digital composition and traditional performance brings the human touch to music that would otherwise be realized by strictly electronic means. From the Machine Vol. 1 attempts to join the creative efforts of computer-based composition with expressive performance by skilled musicians.

Kenneth Kirschner’s April 20, 2015 is the first track on the album and this was originally intended as a purely electronic piece. Starting with acoustic piano and string audio files, the end result was created by applying digital processing techniques such as time stretching, looping and recombination. Joseph Branciforte then tediously worked out a conventionally notated score for Kirschner’s composition so that it could be performed and recorded by an acoustic ensemble. Pianist Jade Conlee along with cellists Mariel Roberts and Meaghan Burke accepted the challenge of playing this piece characterized by independent lines and no formal rhythmic structure. The result is far more successful than might be expected.

April 20, 2015 opens with a series of light, solitary notes in the piano joined by legato notes in the cellos. The contrast between the warm cello tones and sharper piano notes makes for a lovely mix of sounds. There is no phrasing present, but the sequences of two or three notes from each instrument provide a surprisingly coherent sensibility. This piece could easily sound cold or mechanical, but the eloquent intonation and careful articulation by the players adds a level of warmth and expression that is very effective. The piece proceeds in sections of about three minutes each separated by short silences. The form is consistent but the colors vary – sometimes darker and sometimes lighter – depending on the tempo and the register of the moment. Despite the lack of a structural framework, April 20, 2015 always engages and never becomes bland or boring.

The playing throughout is exceptional, given the independent lines and absence of any common rhythmic structure. Listening to this is like looking at a painting comprised of a number of unrelated squiggles that are clearly abstract, yet perceived by the brain as a cohesive image. April 20, 2015 has managed to fuse digital precision and possibility with the eloquence of artful human performance.

The second track on the album is 0123, by Joseph Branciforte and this piece takes an entirely different approach. Based on a four note pitch set, 0123 consists of sequence of tone clusters that form a series of chromatic tutti chords. Each chord sounds for a second or two, and the different combinations of notes in various registers propel the piece forward with a kind of elementary voice leading. According to the liner notes, all of this was created using the Max/MSP programming environment such that “…the underlying algorithm derives the complete harmonic vocabulary of (0123) playable by a given set of instruments…” The idea here is similar to Tom Johnson’s The Chord Catalogue (1986), a piece in which all 8178 chords in a single octave are sounded on a piano. Another recent CD along these lines is Involution, by Dave Sidel, that methodically explores the harmonic possibilities of alternate tuning scales.

This performance of 0123 by a string ensemble allows for more nuance in the playing, even as the rhythm, tempo and dynamics are all included in the compositional algorithm. 0123 was performed by violinist Tom Chiu of the Flux Quartet, violist Wendy Richman, International Contemporary Ensemble, cellist Christopher Gross, Talea Ensemble and double bassist Greg Chudzik, also of the Talea Ensemble. The artful playing by this extraordinary quartet adds an expressive dimension that would otherwise be absent in a purely electronic realization.

0123 opens with low, rumbling chords and the bottom-heavy registers of the quartet add a pleasing weight to the sound. The opening is a bit like hearing a train horn – impressive and dignified. As the chords proceed, some dissonance adds a bit of tension and uncertainty, although never intimidating or menacing. Even the higher strings are playing in their lowest registers, adding to an overall dark and mysterious feel. The ensemble is so tightly cohesive that the sound sometimes resembles that of a pipe organ. There is no melody or rhythmic structure – as each chord is presented it is allowed to express its own personality. Great emotion can be heard in these chords, with no trace of their algorithmic origins.

As the piece continues, the dynamics increase in all voices and a certain amount of tension builds. The chords become shorter, then longer and there is a stronger dissonance in the higher tones. The warm sounds of the cello and double bass are never dominated by the higher strings, and this provides a solid, welcoming foundation against the encroaching tension. The predominance of the lower strings in the scoring is so distinctive and effective that one wonders why it is only rarely heard. A gradual crescendo of sustained chords completes this 19 minute piece. 0123 is a fine example of simplicity, digital rigor and masterful string playing that combine to uncover the deep emotional implications present in clean, uncluttered chords.

From the Machine Vol. 1 is a step forward in the ongoing project of joining computer-based composition to the virtuosity of human performance. Hopefully there will be more to come.

From the Machine Vol. 1 is available directly from {greyfade} in vinyl or as a digital download.

by Paul Muller