Author: Paul Muller

Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles

wasteLAnd Ensemble – Voice Fragments

On January 29, 2021 the wasteLAnd ensemble streamed the premiere of Voice Fragments, by Davíð Brynjar Franzson, featuring soprano Stephanie Aston. WasteLAnd is one of the anchors of new music here in Los Angeles and it is encouraging that they are finding ways to stay active during the pandemic. Voice Fragments was commissioned and developed for streaming and represents an adoption of the technology into the art rather than just an online presentation of a typical musical concert. The streamed premiere was of high quality in both sound and video, with Ms. Aston capably carrying the production with her visual presence and superb voice.

The video opens with Ms. Aston framed against a black background, shown from the shoulders up. Her face has a determined look, but full of that cool reserve so characteristic of her performance demeanor. Birds are heard chirping and there is the distant roar of a car along a roadway. After a few minutes of only outdoor sounds, Ms. Aston joins in with a clear, steady tone, held for a few seconds. Electronics enter, and there is another sustained vocal tone with the same pitch, duration and purity. The sounds of nature are heard throughout, including what seems to be the rush of a gentle surf. The image of Ms. Aston goes in and out of focus at times while her vocal tones continue. This establishes the basic format of the piece: the field recording of birds and outdoor nature, a subdued electronic accompaniment and peaceful vocal tones from Ms. Aston. The overall effect is restful and full of nature with the voice adding a welcome human element.

As Voice Fragments proceeds, variations emerge as the effects cascade. A looped vocal is heard simultaneously with the live tone at a slightly different pitch, creating a tender, ethereal harmony. A deeper pitch from the voice adds a sense of depth while at other times a low bass tone in the electronics serves to underline the vocal phrases above. The electronics never overwhelm and the field recording remains a loud chatter of birds, occasionally dominated by mechanical sounds. Ms. Aston maintains the same neutral look on her face throughout while singing with solid discipline.

Towards the middle of the piece, the jet black background dissolves into a large garden window, looking out on a sunny suburban yard. This acts to accentuate the barrier between the human voice and the sounds of nature. The twittering of birds becomes more prominent as the scene is now visually green and natural. Ms. Aston’s voice is heard as before, and her ghostly image appears to float in the center of the window. The scene soon reverts to the black background with Ms. Aston in the center and there is the loud roar of a passing automobile. Vocal tones are heard as the background image changes again, another window looking out over the front yard with a tree in the center. The chirping of the birds seems to increase and is joined by the distinctively shrill squealing of squirrels. Further variations on these scenes follow – another window view, this time of a side yard, the return of the jet black background, Ms. Aston’s image appearing and fading along with more or fewer natural sounds from the garden.

The juxtaposition of the natural sounds with Ms. Aston’s hovering visage and plaintive tones combine to persuasively convey a longing for communion with nature, even if only in the modest garden of a suburban yard. The compelling sounds of the bird calls and squirrel chirps seem all out of proportion to their humble suburban source; the field recording throughout is extraordinary in its detail and variety. The steady vocals in accompaniment serve to magnify the human yearning for a re-connection to nature while at the same time mourning our self-imposed isolation from it. The poignant voice of Stephanie Aston, working with economical musical materials, nevertheless achieves a high level of expressive power.

Voice Fragments succeeds through a solid combination of skilled video technique, excellent recordings of nature and masterful singing. Voice Fragments skillfully captures the tension between the restraints of civilization and the liberating freedom in nature that is our instinctive desire.

Voice Fragments may be viewed directly on YouTube.

by Paul Muller
CD Review, Contemporary Classical

Aron Kallay, Beyond 12 Vol 2

Beyond 12: Reinventing the Piano Volume 2 is a new CD release of piano music from MicroFest Records featuring Grammy-nominated pianist Aron Kallay. Beyond 12 refers to the conventional scale in Western music that has 12 equal divisions to the octave. Kallay, however, goes beyond that limitation by the use of a digital grand piano that configures the keyboard for alternate tuning systems. New pieces were solicited from eight different contemporary composers with only two ground rules: 1) Re-tune the keyboard, from extended just intonation to 88 equal-divisions of the octave and everything in between. 2) Re-map the keyboard, left can be right, high can be low; pitches need not be in order. Beyond 12 – Volume 2 vividly demonstrates the forward possibilities of alternate tuning in new music.

Sidereal Delay (2004) opens the album on track 1. This is the third piece in a suite of four preludes by Jeffrey Harrington and employs a tuning that divides the octave into 19 equal divisions. There is a lovely shower of notes at the beginning – like watching flower petals thrown into the air and fluttering down to the ground. Rapid phrases ebb and flow, then decrescendo to a brief quiet. The alternate tuning is heard, but blends so well into the melody and harmony that it becomes an expected and natural element of the music. After a brief silence, another section begins in similar form and tempo, with a rush of sunny notes running down to silence. The overall feeling is one of buoyancy and good cheer.

Subsequent sections of Sidereal Delay feature comparable structures – some have a stronger presence while others are more restrained. Kallay’s playing is rapid and accurate, without being tedious or pedantic. The expressive warmth of the composition comes through and the overall feeling is full of optimism and good will. Sidereal Delay, at slightly under 5 minutes, is a masterful application of tuning in the service of its amiable musical intentions.

I’m Worried Now, by Monroe Golden, is next and employs an alternate tuning scheme in a much different context – that of emotional tension. Golden, who hails from Alabama, uses an old chain gang folk song as the inspiration for this piece. The composer writes in the liner notes that the tuning scheme consists of “…five Extended Just tunings, (1) 13-limit with a common tone functioning as different partials, (2 and 3) microtonal bass notes with a treble drone in octaves, (4) a lower tetrachord encompassing the black keys and upper tetrachord encompassing the white keys, ranging to the 91st partial, and (5) a I-IV-V relationship with the keyboard divided into three zones, each with partials up to 23.” Despite this formidable description, the resulting music delivers a perfectly balanced sense of anxiety, sharpened by the unconventional pitches that are sprinkled throughout the harmony.

After a quietly tense opening there is a section with rapidly moving phrases in the higher registers and low notes in counterpoint below. This sounds almost ‘normal’ with the faster tempo and rhythms serving to maintain a sense of apprehension even as a lively melody emerges in the bass that borders on the jovial. A slower section follows, when suddenly a strong roar of slurred descending notes jumps out in full fury, reigniting the sense of inescapable dread. More languidly slow stretches follow, mixed with pounding passages and rapid phrases infused with disquiet, adeptly fashioned from the unconventional tuning materials. Towards the finish, the melody of a familiar hymn is heard, and the piece concludes with quietly restful chords. The wide variety of sounds and textures has Kallay all over the keyboard, but he manages to navigate each new gesture with his usual poise. I’m Worried Now brilliantly builds on its alternate tuning scheme to clearly convey emotional uncertainty within an accessible musical syntax.

The longest piece of the album is Clouds of Clarification, by Robert Carl. The composer writes that this piece represents “… a further step in developing an overtone-based harmonic practice.” Carl states that Kallay’s re-tunable digital piano “… is able to preserve the actual just intonation tuning of its twelve pitches based on overtones in relation to their respective fundamental. Thus each will be a truly ‘pure’ interval. “

Clouds of Clarification proceeds in four movements and the first, “Introduction: Ebb and Flow”, begins with strong opening chords that ring out solidly and establish a sense of anticipation. Trills, combined with a series of exclamatory notes, add a feeling of expectation. The tuning is noticeable, but not alien to the ear, and the careful handling of the just intonation intervals makes for a consistently consonant blend of pitches. Next is “Maestoso: Earth Processional” and this movement begins with a low chord that is deep and quietly mysterious. A series of repeating solitary notes add a tentative feel as more chords are heard in the middle registers along with increasing dynamics. Less confident than the opening movement, this ultimately evolves to a softer and more introspective feeling towards the finish.

The third movement, “Scherzo: Wind Dances” is just that – music full of breezy syncopated rhythms, rapid runs and repeating phrases that all combine to provide a sense of energy and freedom. Repeating chords appear with rapid arpeggios that suggest wind gusts and the music often starts and stops in fits, like a swirling breeze. A blast of hammering chords is combined with a sprinkle of rapidly descending notes to add a stormy feel. Turbulent notes spray all over the keyboard, calling on Kallay’s highest virtuosity in this whirlwind of a movement. “Coda: Consumed by Fire” completes the piece and this is also active and energetic. There are stretches with rapid, unconnected passages and gestures that suggest capricious, flame-like movement. As the piece proceeds, the tempo slows and the notes become softer and fewer, longer and with embedded silences as if the fire is burning itself out.

Clouds of Clarification is a technically challenging piece – and the listener is naturally drawn to the velocity and agitation of the notes. The polish of the just intonation tuning, however, provides a sonority that artfully mirrors the surfaces of the natural phenomena portrayed in each of these four colorful movements.

Veronika Krausas has contributed two miniatures to the album, the first being Une Petite Bagatelle written in 2013. Built around 2/7 comma meantone tuning, this piece fully embraces the playfulness of its title. Une Petite Bagatelle opens with a brilliant flurry of notes that reach upward in a series of bright tones. This phrasing repeats and the piece then continues with a strong melody line and deep chords in the bass. The alternate tuning here adds an impish shimmer to the texture that is very appealing.

Terços, the second piece, was commissioned for this CD and opens with a series of meandering phrases that suggest uncertainty. A distinctive melody arises from the tuning with a hard, sparkling surface that is pleasantly engaging to the ear. Another wandering set of phrases and some simple chords that hint at mystery conclude the piece as the final chords ring out nicely. Tercos and Une Petite Bagatelle, although concise, adroitly exploit the aesthetic implications of their alternate tuning.

Involuntary Bohlen Piercing, by Nick Norton, originated as an academic assignment requiring that a new piece be conceived and completed in 48 hours. In order that it should be completely original – and also meet the specifications of Beyond 12 – Norton chose the Bohlen-Pierce alternate tuning scheme. The composer writes: “Bohlen-Pierce temperament uses the 12th instead of the octave as the interval of transposition and inversion, and then divides that 12th into thirteen step equal temperament. The result of it is that everything sounds crazy.”

Involuntary Bohlen Piercing begins with deep, dark chords followed by series of halting, off-beat notes and a smattering of higher register runs above. The unconventional tuning is conspicuous throughout, bringing a recognizably alien feel to the repeating phrases and exclamatory chords as the piece proceeds. The texture soon thickens with booming chords below and runs of higher notes above that serve to heighten the anxiety. The tempo then begins to slow, and the density of notes thins out, but the tension remains. Even as the final phrases die quietly away, a strong sense of the unusual persists. Involuntary Bohlen Piercing is a particularly well-crafted example of how thoroughly the tuning scheme can pervade and influence every aspect of a piece.

The Blur of Time and Memory, by Alexander Elliott Miller, was written in 2014 specifically for the MicroFest Beyond 12 series. The composer writes that this piece “… utilizes a tuning system in which half steps are divided into five equal tempered steps, but selected pitches are removed from the keyboard in segments altogether, allowing the 88 keys to cover a wider range.” The editing out of some notes within an alternate tuning scheme is a common practice by composers working with many divisions of the octave and in this piece it becomes possible to have stretches of conventional harmony as well as completely new effects.

The Blur of Time and Memory begins with an arpeggio and a series of pensive notes in the middle and lower registers. This is followed by several chords that fully expose the alternate tuning. There is a sense of controlled unease in the quiet stretches and a more assertive tension when the density and dynamics increase. The closeness of the pitches in the expanded half-steps add a distinctive blurring effect to the melody. Five divisions to the half-step is surely an exacting challenge for any pianist, and Kallay here further advances his claim to alternate tuning excellence; his sure touch propels the piece forward with a gentle ebb and flow between the softer and stronger passages, as if in a dream. The Blur of Time and Memory is solidly crafted and makes full use of the many pitches in its tuning palette to add new emotional colors to the harmony and phrasing.

Track 11 contains Paths of the Wind, by Bill Alves, composed in 2010 and is dedicated to Aron Kallay. Inspired by the Vayu Purana, a Hindu text, the composer writes that the tuning is “…based on interlocking pathways of numbers, namely two, three, and seven.” Opening with a low, repeated rumbling in lower registers with a single repeated note slightly higher in pitch, there is an immediate sense of expectation. The intrigue builds as more notes and chords are added in the middle registers and the roiling texture produces a beautifully awesome sense of natural power. The alternate tuning is an integral part of the sound, but not the most distinctive element – this remarkable portrayal of the wind is almost completely captured through the thickening texture. As the dynamics and complexity build relentlessly, it seems that Aron Kallay must have at least 15 fingers to produce such a prodigious outpouring of sound.

At 5:00, however, there is a sudden reduction to a few repeating high notes and a running figure slightly below – just a trickle of what had previously been a flood. A sense of peaceful serenity emerges like a gentle breeze after a storm. A few dark chords appear, suggesting a distant menace, but the music gracefully fades to a quiet finish. The thick, repeating phrases, the fluid feel and Kallay’s impressive playing make Paths of the Wind a striking musical description of a powerful natural force.

The final track on the album is The Weasel of Melancholy, by Eric Moe, written during 2013 and commissioned by Aron Kallay. Inspired by traditional Thai music, this piece is constructed from a seven-note scale with half-steps added to produce a 14 pitch palette in equal temperament. Weasel opens quietly, with a serene and mostly conventional feeling. The melody above and counterpoint below combine with the alternate tuning notes to add just the right amount of introspective coloring. This settled and somber sensibility is heightened, but never dominated, by the unconventional tuning and the piece strikes a deft balance between familiar and new pitches within the 14 step scale. Towards the finish the tempo slows as the number of notes thin out and the piece glides to a subdued conclusion. The Weasel of Melancholy artfully leverages its straightforward tuning construction to create a carefully blended depiction of the mournful shades of melancholy.

That all of the pieces on this album employ alternate tuning is a great advantage to the listener. The ear becomes more accustomed to the presence of new pitches and less distracted by preexisting expectations. The exacting performances by Aron Kallay only add to the accessibility of this music. The composers who have contributed to this project are, in a sense, genetic engineers. Each composition on Beyond 12: Reinventing the Piano – Volume 2 widens the listener’s understanding of how tuning is foundational to the DNA of all music.

Beyond 12: Reinventing the Piano, Vol 2 is available from direct from MicroFest Records and Amazon Music.





by Paul Muller
CD Review, Contemporary Classical

Jeffrey Holmes – Rider of Darkness, Path of Light

MicroFest Records has released Rider of Darkness, Path of Light, a new CD by composer Jeffrey Holmes that offers a potent brew of the Old Norse filled with “…primitive myths, transcendent legends, and dramatic elemental landscapes in their primal and violent natural states.” All of this is expressed in “post-spectral, teleological music incorporating elements of mysticism and lyrical expression.” The four pieces on this album are performed by a number of leading Los Angeles area and East Coast musicians along with solo vocalists Nicholas Isherwood and Kirsten Ashley Wiest.

The first track is Urðarmána [Moon of Fate] (2012), as performed by pianist Mark Robson and bass baritone Nicholas Isherwood. The text is in Old Norse, partly written by the composer and partly drawn from historical Eddic poetry. The liner notes helpfully include a full English translation. Urðarmána opens with high, sharp runs of piano notes, all brittle and shattered, falling like shards of broken glass. The bass entrance is deep and profound, full of operatic power and presence, darkly intoning the Norse text: “It was a moon of fate. Amidst both wind and rain…” The piano line weaves in and out, building tension in a series of wandering phrases. Isherwood’s voice often reaches down to a very low register, always with masterful assurance and expression.

As the piece proceeds, the piano accompanies with deep chords and skittering runs, adding to the sense of menace. The steady voice holds everything is balance even as the text tells of prophecy, stormy weather, impending sacrifice and great sadness. At the finish, the bass reverently intones “I will not blaspheme the gods…as you saved me from near death.” Isherwood’s singing in Norse is perfectly convincing and artfully precise as is the piano accompaniment of Mark Robson. The independence of the piano line and the vocals is manifestly apparent, yet they compliment each other perfectly. Urðarmána [Moon of Fate] is exquisitely expressive and a highly evocative portrait of the spiritual state of our Norse cousins from over a thousand years past.

Track 2, Hagall (Haglaz) [Hail] (2015) follows, performed by the Talea Ensemble conducted by David Fulmer. Hail is a common feature of Nordic weather, especially during the late autumn, and signifies the transformation to winter. Inspired by Old Norse runic symbols for the seasons, Hagall unfolds in three contiguous sections representing the nuances of hail, sleet and snowy weather. The liner notes state that the Talea Ensemble evokes “…several references to ‘primordial’ instruments, including: the contra-bass clarinet imitating a Nordic lure, the French and English horns imitating primitive cow horns, non-pitched percussion instruments (such as skinned drums, metal objects, and clay pottery), various ‘non-octave’ scales and complex compound-rhythms, and a variety of microtonalities including several uses of the overtone series.”

Hagall opens with a series of frenzied pizzicato notes in the upper strings, sustained bass tones, rapid percussion and a flurry of woodwinds that create the sense of swirling instability as experienced in the center of a hail storm. The instruments all seem to be going in different directions, but the overall sound is a convincing and cohesive representation of a violent hail and snow shower. A short, sustained tutti section provides an interlude, giving sense of a settled, sustained snowfall. Soon, however, dramatic runs of individual instruments are heard simultaneously, and this, along with some high-pitched dissonance in the woodwinds, intensifies the sense that the weather is again closing in. Strong drum beats and assorted percussion begin a new section that seems to gather strength as the woodwinds and strings re-enter with sharp, stinging sounds, like the blast of ice crystals in a strong wind. More drama follows, alternating between chaos and structure, with the orchestration perfectly capturing the sense of a heavy snow storm in full fury. As the storm abates, a lovely violin solo is heard, as if commenting on the changed landscape under newly fallen snow. The playing of the Talea Ensemble is sure-footed throughout, even in the most tumultuous passages. Hagall is an impressive piece of music that puts the listener right in the heart of an arctic storm.

Track three is Thund [Thundering Waters] (2018), a work for solo piano performed by Jason Hardink. Thund consists of three movements played in succession on the same track, and offers three perspectives on the natural state of water. The first of these, “Vantaskuggsjá [Water-Mirror]” opens with soft, high piano notes interspersed with short silences. This is water at rest, but the piano line quickly accelerates into a series of flowing passages and trills that suggest a gentle stream or tumbling brook. This circles back to a calm surface but with a tension in the run of notes that suggests impending agitation.

As more notes are heard we cross into the second movement, “Hangafoss [Hanging Waterfall].” This has more activity in the higher registers that evoke a sense splashing combined with a downward falling, as ribbons of notes descend with increasing velocity. A churning gradually builds in all the piano registers and this resolves into the final movement, “Élivágar [Icy Waves, Primordial Sea].” Loud, complex sounds increase in density and the roiling texture evokes a wild, icy sea that only subsides at the finish. These movements are not clearly delineated but each consists of alternating stretches of tranquility and energy, much as water behaves in nature. The music constantly shifts and changes, never quite settling into a broad structure. The playing by Jason Hardink is fluid and controlled, moving easily between serenity and drama. Thund is a lively exploration of the intimate Norse relationship with water as gained from generations of seafaring and life in the fjords.

The final piece, Myrkriða, Ljósleiðá [Rider of Darkness, Path of Light] (2016), features soprano Kirsten Ashley Wiest, with Tara Schwab on flutes, Yuri Inoo playing percussion and guitarist Michael Kudirka. The piece proceeds in a series of 15 short tracks, each containing a fragment of the struggle between impending death and eternal light. As the liner notes explain: “With a text in Old Norse written by the composer, an ancient tongue blends two simultaneous stories: a difficult, violent, and painful journey toward the moment of death, represented by soprano and flute duo, and a recollection of the moment of death as remembered from a peaceful afterlife, where soprano and flute [are] joined by guitar and percussion.”

Myrkriða, Ljósleiðá opens with “Nátta (Night Falling).” There are mystical bells clanking, a fluttering flute and soft vocals calling out an incantation of the spirits as darkness falls. This immediately establishes a strong sense of the otherworldly that is present throughout the piece. Other tracks follow, building the story from alternating perspectives of existential dread and solemn repose. In tracks representing the Path of Light, the sounds are restrained and peacefully expressive. Where the Rider of Darkness is present, the feeling is full of tension and anxiety, with the vocals often reaching upward to something approximating a musical scream.

The power, control and range of Ms. Wiest’s voice is especially impressive given the intense emotive requirements over the arc of the story, as well as the many challenging vocal techniques contained in the score. As explained in the liner notes: “Many individual theoretical and stylistic elements are employed: non-octave harmonies, various microtonalities including both equal-tempered and just-intonation microtunings, a variety of “leitmotif” like melodic motives; extended and developed rhythmic talas, large-scale formal proportional symmetries, and extended performing techniques such as: singing into the flute…” All of this blends seamlessly into the ensemble as Myrkriða, Ljósleiðá unfolds.

In one of the later tracks, “Path of Light III”, there is a series of passages consisting of falling notes from the voice and instruments that clearly evoke the sense of one’s final living moments. The text for this is:

“My Path of Light has arrived,
Falling from the dark sky,
Like blood from the Death-blow.”

“Sunset” then follows with strong vocals, sung as if in rebellion against death. “Silence” is next, with a soft and sweetly resigned voice, now at peace. A haunting epilogue of hushed flute tones and the jangling of mystical beads quietly ends the piece. Myrkriða, Ljósleiðá [Rider of Darkness, Path of Light] is a harrowing journey from dark to light, skillfully composed and delivered with transcendent performances.

These days there is much discussion about the value of art in our culture. It should be obvious from this CD that what we know of the Old Norse peoples comes down to us most clearly through their legends and poetry. Often, when we look into the past we see a reflection of ourselves; the drama and the darkness heard in this album surely reflect some of the pessimism of our own tumultuous present.

All of the tracks on this album consistently capture the power of the Old Norse legends, masterfully realized through contemporary musical forms. Even when the complexity of the music approaches its unrelenting maximum, Holmes’ texture is transparently clear, with just the right notes always in just the right places. Rider of Darkness, Path of Light is a compelling journey into the heroic past and a telling commentary on our own present – superbly conveyed in 21st century musical language.

Rider of Darkness, Path of Light is available at Amazon Music.

by Paul Muller
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Experimental Music, Los Angeles, Video

James Tenney – For Percussion Perhaps, Or… (night)

The search for ways to deliver new music to audiences during the pandemic continues, and on December 15, 2020, Music For Your Inbox inaugurated a promising subscription system for distributing video links via email. For Percussion Perhaps, Or… (night) (1971), by James Tenney was their initial offering and viewers were invited to subscribe or purchase tickets by December 10th, and receive the video link on the 15th. The performance by Stephanie Cheng Smith and Liam Mooney was previously recorded, available for viewing later at multiple times. In addition, subscribers were appropriately sent an original print postcard by dance pioneer Simone Forti, a good friend of Tenney.

James Tenney (1934 – 2006) although not widely known, was clearly one of the most influential composers of the late 20th century. He attended several academic institutions, including Julliard and the University of Illinois and studied composition with Carl Ruggles, Kenneth Gaburo, John Cage, Harry Partch, and Edgard Varèse, among others. Tenney was eventually associated in some way with most of the composers active in the late 20th century. His musical interests were wide-ranging and often crossed disciplines in an ever-expanding exploration of the experimental. He taught at a number of institutions but is perhaps best remembered for his time at CalArts. Some of his many students include John Luther Adams, Michael Byron, Peter Garland, Ingram Marshall, Larry Polansky, Charlemagne Palestine, Marc Sabat, Catherine Lamb, Michael Winter, and Daniel Corral.

For Percussion Perhaps, Or… (night) is one of Tenney’s postal pieces. He was apparently averse to writing letters to his friends about his music and instead sent them postcards, each with a score inscribed on the back. There are eleven of these and For Percussion Perhaps, Or… (night), was dedicated to Harold Budd – making this video all the more poignant given Budd’s recent passing. The score for this piece, as with the others in the series, is necessarily brief. The instructions are simply “very soft… very long… nearly white…”, leaving much to the interpretation of the performer.

The program notes state that Stephanie Cheng Smith, herself a composer “…sets a table with everyday objects— bowls and marbles — then sends them into motion to build a celestial sonic world.” There were no conventional acoustic instruments used in this performance but rather a collection of metal cups, jar lids and delicate ceramic bowls. A marble was placed inside a container, which was then set swirling around by the performer to create a sound. A thick plate framed by metal formed a base upon which the items were placed when activated. When the marble came to rest and the sound ceased, a new item took its place. Ms. Smith and percussionist Liam Mooney continuously added various new sounds in different combinations as the piece proceeded.

For Percussion Perhaps, Or… (night) opened with a single small metal cup that produced a soft swishing sound when energized. When the cup was placed on the base plate, the volume increased and the sound became more sharply metallic as the marble slowed to a stop. More metal cups were applied singly, and then a metal jar lid was added at the same time as another small metal cup. The two sounds were somewhat different – with the jar lid having a somewhat lower register – and the two metallic sounds mixed into an intriguing combination. The jar lid was placed on the outer edge of the base plate and its rolling sounds seemed to explode in volume. Small cups placed on the edge were similarly amplified and the sounds became a continuous stream as more items were added simultaneously.

The jar lids and metal cups were soon joined by small china bowls that rang with a clear tone when the marble was set rolling inside it. When two bowls of different sizes were activated together the two pitches were heard in harmony. This had the effect of adding a musical component to the piece that set off the mostly mechanical sounds of the cups and lids. All three of these elements were added in various combinations so that the overall sound was a pleasant ringing above the purposeful metallic rolling. The number of active items increased as the piece proceeded with the sounds filling the ear. Just at the top of this swelling crescendo a deep rumbling sound was heard, produced by percussionist Mooney rolling a ball in a large metal pot. The distinctively low register formed a sort of bass line to what was now an pleasantly ringing melody. The sounds of the bowls and cups gradually subsided and the rolling bass eventually emerged as a solo. The piece concluded with a quiet whisper from one of the smaller metal cups.

Ms. Smith’s choice of percussion elements for this piece was inspired – the rolling metallic sounds provided the ‘nearly white’ element called for in the score and the ringing bowls served to reinforce this. All the sounds were subdued in an absolute sense, with only limited changes in dynamics. The changes in texture as different items were applied to the base plate served to provide a sense of movement as the piece went along. The gradual swelling and decrescendo over the 18 minute duration of the piece was in keeping with some of Tenney’s other postal pieces.

The audio of the performance was of a high quality and did not seem to mask any of the subtle details in the sounds. The accompanying instructions to the video recommended listening with headphones, and this was a wise precaution given the acoustics of typical computer speakers. The video focused on the items and not the performers and was close enough for the viewer to see how the sounds were being created. The entire performance was, appropriately, dedicated to Harold Budd, as was the original 1971 score.

For Percussion Perhaps, Or… (night) was a successful realization of a piece that requires great imagination by the performers. Everything came together nicely both technically and artistically for this first Music For Your Inbox production. Two new video performances are scheduled for January and February.

For Percussion Perhaps, Or… (night) will be available until January 31st to new subscribers and may be purchased as a gift here.

Personnel for this concert are:

Stephanie Cheng Smith, realization & percussion
Liam Mooney, percussion
Simone Forti, art print postcard
Carlos Mosquera, recording & balance engineer
Ian Byers-Gamber, video
Middle Ear Project, concert design

by Paul Muller
Ambient, CD Review, Contemporary Classical, Piano

The Fall – Dennis Johnson’s ‘November’ Deconstructed

Lustmord

Nicolas Horvath

The Fall – Dennis Johnson’s November Deconstructed is a recent vinyl release from the Sub Rosa label featuring the combined talents of Lustmord, the film and video game composer, and pianist Nicolas Horvath. The Fall is based on Dennis Johnson’s November, a 1959 solo piano piece that prefigured minimalism and was an influence on La Monte Young’s The Well Tuned Piano. The Fall updates the original Johnson work, consolidating it and adding a suitably somber ambient track realized by Lustmord. Nicolas Horvath, the award-winning concert pianist who has specialized in minimalist piano works, plays an abridged version of November so that, as the liner notes state, the result is a reduction of “Johnson’s original November to its core element place[d] in a landscape of complimentary sound.”

Dennis Johnson (1938 – 2018) was a reclusive West Coast mathematician and composer writing music in the late 1950s and early 60s. His composing style was highly inspirational, similar to his thought processes in mathematics. Accordingly, November is a long, quiet piano piece with solitary notes, simple chords and generous amounts of silence. There is some repetition in this, but not the driving pulse or rhythms that would characterize the classic minimalism of later composers. November is perhaps more reminiscent of the music of Morton Feldman in its contemplative character and extended length of four-plus hours.

In 1962 Johnson began consulting full-time in mathematics, at one point working for Cal Tech, and he essentially abandoned his interest in music. Some years later, Kyle Gann acquired Johnson’s November sketches, along with an old cassette recording of the piece, and carefully transcribed a formal score. A few select performances of November have since been recorded.

Immersed in a soundscape that seemed to transport us to the essence of a fall evening, the performance unfolded with such a deft blend of elements that it could have been a musical interpretation of a meilleur jeux casino en ligne session. The ambient electronic tones and the methodical piano notes performed by Horvath evoked the same suspense and anticipation one feels when waiting for the roulette ball to settle into its slot. As I shared my impressions with an old family friend who’d recently discovered the thrills of online gaming, his nod was of both understanding and agreement. The piece resonated with him, echoing the tension between risk and reward, a feeling he’d come to know well in his virtual casino exploits. His anecdote, akin to an inspiring blog post, affirmed the universal language of music and chance, linking disparate experiences through a shared rhythm of emotion.

Track 2 continues this development with the piano and electronic accompaniment gradually increasing in dynamics and intensity. The piano line becomes more assertive and hopeful, and the renewed chirping of birds suggests a clearing of the storm. Toward the end of the track, however, the birds fall silent and the piano returns to the lower registers as the sounds of the wind rise, accompanied by rolls of distant thunder. Track 3 now turns grim with a low bass tone and the piano line deep in the lower register. Thunder is heard again, while the piano now includes simple chords and a mix of middle register notes. A feeling of uncertainty prevails as the background organizes into a more recognizably musical sound. The patter of raindrops is heard that strengthens into a downpour, adding to the sense of anxiety. In the final track the rainfall has ended and a sunnier piano line offers a bit of optimism. The birds are chirping again as if the storm has finally passed. There is a more settled feel in the piano and the deep bass tones in the accompaniment now add a renewed sense of confidence. As the piece concludes, the same gentle rustling of the wind as heard as in the beginning, and a feeling of normality is restored.

So what is the end result of this amalgam of 1950s minimalism and 21st century dark ambient? Purists might object to Lustmord’s presumption in establishing the context for the piece – the imagination of the listener might be better able to personalize the experience by hearing Johnson’s piano alone. That said, Lustmord’s autumn storm context in The Fall is certainly valid, if somewhat limiting. The ambient accompaniment is always in the service of Johnson’s piano line, and does not contend for dominance or attention. The colors are appropriate, subdued and artfully realized. The deconstruction of the hours-long November score to sixty minutes does no injustice to Johnson’s intentions, and the playing by Nicolas Horvath is true to the original. Will adding a dark ambient setting by a popular film and video game composer help to attract a wider audience for this music? It is probably worth doing the experiment to find out.

The Fall – Dennis Johnson’s November Deconstructed is available from Amazon, Discogs and other music retailers. This Limited Edition format is two white vinyl LP records.




by Paul Muller
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles

Music of Daniel Corral at REDCAT

With most live performance venues dark during the pandemic, musicians and producers have sought to find effective ways to reach their audiences electronically. On November 14, 2020, REDCAT offered Daniel Corral’s Concerto for Having Fun With Elvis Onstage and Count In! on a pay-per-view streaming basis. Using the superior technical resources of the REDCAT, the virtuosity of the Now Hear Ensemble and the acting talents of Alexander Gedeon, the music of Daniel Corral was vividly delivered despite the current COVID surge.

The two Corral compositions performed for this event were vastly different in character. Count In! is an electronic/video piece that draws on Corral’s minimalist instincts and flows naturally from his more recent experimental works. The second work, Concerto for Having Fun With Elvis Onstage, is a fast-paced pantomime deconstruction of the banality of celebrity whose musical accompaniment owes more to Broadway than to Steve Reich, according to many of the top sites for adults. Both works were carried off with exemplary production values and extraordinary performances, making the case that new music concerts can be experienced online at a high level.

Count In! was first, a video accompanied by the processed voice of Poly Styrene singing “1, 2, 3, 4” from a song by X-Ray Specs. It is begins with a low klaxon-like voice flashing out warnings, like a fog horn on a rocky coast. Higher processed voices join in, but at somewhat faster rates so that the sense of urgency increases with each new entry – the feeling is akin to a convergence of sirens in the street. The mounting chorus of voices bring a sense of growing panic, as in a frightened crowd. Meanwhile, the screen displays two rows of four digits – all zeroes. As the piece progresses some of the digits begin to flash from zero to one, and back again. More digits change, and soon both are rows percolating with various combinations of 0 and 1. A bit later, some of the digits begin changing from 1 to 2 as the pitch of the voices goes still higher. The appearance of more and higher numbers on the screen reinforces the relentless uptick in the average intensity level and the listener’s brain instinctively connects this with the increasingly insistent sounds in the voices. The colors of the numbers seem to go from cool and dark to bright and hot, adding to the sense of alarm.

The voices are clearly human but highly processed, and there are no intelligible words, but a strong sense of distress is clearly conveyed. The type and character of the sounds and the changing digital display act on our modern conditioning – everything we are seeing and hearing indicates a pending catastrophe. The digits on the display eventually begin to flash the number 4 and the voices seem to morph into an electronic bleating. The sounds get more electronic and less human, but remain frenetic. Now a digit goes to 0 – then another, and the voices decrease accordingly. Eventually only the low roar of the beginning voice remains just before all goes silent.

Count In! is masterful in its use of a simple video display and basic sonic materials to act on all our conditioned responses to communicate a state of high anxiety – a thoughtful commentary on the external forces that are at work to shape our contemporary existence.

My podcast partner, Jim Goodin, subscribed to the concert. Here are his thoughts on the first piece:

“Count In! is a 2 x 4 matrix of 0-4 sequences looping throughout the work in evolving colors, from florescent to black light – the latter my favorite. The digital numbers count through the 0-4 pattern per matrix cell, growing to 4444 and reversing to end in all 0’s when the piece concludes. The musicality in the beginning was like approaching sirens, growing to almost seamless tones at a point, and then close to a human chant at about 10 min in. The audioscape grew more and more hypnotic as the morphing combined with the looping count, the overall feeling to me was futuristic in an Orwellian kind of way.”

The feature work of the concert was Concerto for Having Fun With Elvis Onstage, described in the program notes as “… a sort of ‘ghost opera’ — creating a memetic hologram of the endless purgatory of celebrity afterlife.” This is based on a 1973 record release that consisted solely of Elvis Presley banter with his adoring audience between songs. There is no Elvis Presley music in this, just his interaction with cheering admirers and screaming young girls, all conveyed with an abundance of suggestive innuendo. This forms the libretto of a pantomime, with Alexander Gedeon playing the character of Elvis and the Now Hear Ensemble providing emotional color in the background music. Gedeon, who also co-directed the stage production, is dressed in a clownish manner with a loud floppy suit and oversize bow tie. His face is heavily made up, but his countenance is generally sad, like a latter-day Emmett Kelly. This sets the tone for the work – Presley is portrayed as a tragic figure, forever trapped in the banality of his celebrity. It is a contemporary deconstruction of the legend, where his music is forgotten and only the Elvis impersonators live on.

The piece opens with Elvis placing a large vinyl record on a turntable, turning it on, and beginning his patter with the audience during a show. All of the words from the recording were lip synched by Gedeon, and this is an impressive feat given the length of the performance. The accompaniment by Now Hear is very solid and forms a running commentary on the Elvis discourse. The mood of the music changes on a dime to fit the emotion of the moment – fast and jumpy, soft and nostalgic, sad or wistful – and everything in between. The composer was at the piano and also played guitar with Brian Walsh on clarinet and Federico Llach on double bass – all gave outstanding performances. Despite these slender musical forces, the quantity and quality of the accompaniment was impressive and provided an effective counterweight to the stream of words coming from Elvis.

Here are Jim’s impressions:

“Gedeon’s interpretation was constant motion of the iconic character, never allowing a breath of rest for the audience and yet never really completing an entire thought. There were a series of false starts by Elvis, beginning with ‘Well well well…’, but never breaking into song. The Now Hear Ensemble was equally mercurial, issuing a stream of changing musical cues that reminded me of 60’s television. The musicians were spot-on in timing and interpretation, with no identifiable reference to any specific Presley song, but following Gedeon’s Elvis. The result was a perfect parallel, the accompaniment following the curve of the piece to ‘that which never happens’, and just keeps going on to the next moment.”

The staging, lighting and video work for the performance was of a very high quality. The sound and images coming over my internet connection carried the concert with a fidelity that was more than satisfactory. A solid effort by the production team, setting a high bar for future streaming concerts. Concerto for Having Fun With Elvis Onstage was a technical as well as artistic success, and delivered a pungent criticism of mid-20th century popular culture.

by Paul Muller
CD Review, Contemporary Classical

CD Review: Voices of the Pearl, Vol. 3

Voices of the Pearl, Vol. 3

Anne Harley

Various Artists

Voices of the Pearl, Volume 3 is one of a series of albums featuring song cycles dedicated to the rediscovery, through contemporary music, of the voices of women from ancient times to the present.. According to the organization website: “The project commissions, performs and records musical works from composers across the globe, setting text by and about female esoterics from world traditions throughout history, reclaiming these lost voices and the tradition of female spirituality.” Volume 3 in this series contains five new works, based on Buddhist, Chinese and other Asian texts dating from as far back as 800 BCE. The compositions were all written between 1995 and 2018 by contemporary composers and feature soprano vocals with a variety of instrumental accompaniments. Anne Harley and Stacey Fraser are the soprano soloists and the accompanying ensemble is made up of a number of prominent Los Angeles area musicians.

The first track is the world premiere recording of Persevere (2017) by Karola Obermüller. This consists of nine movements of vocal music based on texts in Pali and Tibetan dating from 817 BCE to the late 20th century. Anne Harley is the soprano, accompanied by Barbara Poeschl-Edrich on harp and the composer on live electronics. The first few seconds of the opening movements begin with mysteriously indistinct whispers followed by ominous electronic sounds and a strong vocal entrance. The harp provides sharp chords that precede the vocal phrases and add to the tension. The chant-like incantation in the voice compliments the prayerful text that dates from 500 BCE and is attributed to two Buddhist nuns.

The movements in this piece run together, sometimes separated by silences or by stretches harp and electronics. The second set is sung in Tibetan from Lady of the Lotus-Born by Yeshe Tsogyal, ca. 800 CE The vocal phrasing is strong and clear while the supporting accompaniment is perhaps a bit less menacing, and this results in a more confident feel. The later movements return to the mysterious whisperings in contrast with a high, arcing soprano tone that increases in volume, eventually dominating. This piece convincingly brings to life the ancient texts with resolute singing and a spare accompaniment that vividly conveys the historical setting without sounding alien or contrived. The Pali and Tibetan words were sung with precision and a bright assurance so that Persevere artfully connects us to the emotions of a distant past.

Still Life After Death (1995) by Chinary Ung follows, and this piece describes the journey of a soul facing the ultimate reality of death as related by ancient Buddhist texts written from the perspective of a woman. From the liner notes: “In the face of death, the Soul searches for insight into the great beyond. Although it may feel frightened or abandoned, the soul does not journey alone: a monk, represented here by a bass-baritone, chants short phrases from a Buddhist scripture…” The somber opening tutti chord immediately sets the feeling. Soprano Stacey Fraser, as the Soul, enters in a deep register with solemn vocal expressions that soon devolve into a series of yelps and cries. The distress is underscored by a lush instrumental accompaniment while the voice alternately dominates with strong sustained tones and short snappy phrases. The singing by Ms. Fraser is precise and controlled but always powerful, even in the panicky stretches as the Soul feels increasingly vulnerable. The instrumental accompaniment by Brightwork newmusic is extraordinary, with vivid coloration and strong dynamics. Towards the finish, the entrance of James Hayden, singing bass, changes everything with the chanting deep tones of spiritual calm and reassurance. The soprano repeats these lines, absorbing a final sense of release from fear as the piece concludes. Still Life After Death is a dramatic portrait of the emotions experienced at the end of life and the timeless reassurance of prayer.

My Spirit is Chanting (2011), by Yii Kah Hoe is next, inspired by Makyong, the traditional Malaysian form of dance-drama. Low bass clarinet tones open, followed by rapid, spiky passages, masterfully played by Brian Walsh. Anne Harley’s soprano enters with steady, chant-like phrases that counter the uncertainty in the clarinet and percussion. The singing is strong, but reserved, and the voice gradually dominates with a sustained power interspersed with great jumps in pitch and dynamics. The combined effects of the clarinet, voice and percussion slowly build tension as the piece progresses. The voice is ultimately heard at high volume and in a high register – with strong and impressive singing. There is an exotic and imposing feel to this at times with good ensemble of the three elements, each contributing just the right dynamic. Now a quiet stretch towards the finish arrives with soft squeaks and breaths from the clarinet – a good contrast between this and the earlier sections. My Spirit is Chanting is an impressive combination of artful composition and virtuosic performance.

You Moving Stars (2017), by Emilie Cecilia LeBel is on track 4, and this is based on early Therīgāthā texts in the Pali language. The composer writes: “The Therīgāthā (Verses of the Elder Nuns) is the earliest known collection of women’s literature, and it collects spiritual poems by and about female disciples of the historical Buddha (from approximately 5th century BCE).” The soprano voice is Anne Harley with Steve Thachuk accompanying on electric guitar.

The opening is a low drone with occasional solitary guitar notes. The soprano soon makes a strong entrance with slow, deliberate phrases and later, a high cry. This has a sacred feel, with repeating vocal passages and a steady, unhurried accompaniment. The singing throughout is solid and purposeful with just the right touch for each segment – powerful when reaching upwards and softly intimate in the quieter sections. The guitar tones are exotic and the notes are sparingly used, serving to increase their impact. The singing is both confident and expressive and music of You Moving Stars is a well-crafted frame for the text. There is a distinctly ancient feel to this, yet never foreign or alien – a masterful imagining for the important historical voice of The Elder Nuns.

The final track is Therīgāthā Inside Aura (2018), by Chinary Ung and at a little over 22 minutes this is the longest piece of the album. It is a world premiere recording and features large musical forces: two soprano voices, viola, clarinet and percussion, all conducted by David Rentz. The texts are sourced from the Therīgāthā – the collection of early Buddhist sacred material attributed to The Elder Nuns ca. 600 BCE. Bright bell tones open this, quickly followed by a lush tutti chord and text spoken in English. Strong singing by Anne Harley and Stacey Fraser together follows, and this has an almost fugal character while the instrumental accompaniment sustains a pleasing combination of mysticism and confidence. The vocals – sometimes spoken, sometimes sung – interweave with each other and the various instruments, adding to the exotic feel. All sorts of combinations of voice, percussion and instruments are heard, and the singing by the two sopranos is operatic in scale and power with complex and independent melody lines. The entire ensemble bursts with energy, surrounding the listener in a full embrace.

Later in the piece, there is a fine soprano solo soprano that simply brims with strength and confidence, and this seems to sum up the entire album. There are several recording engineers credited on the various tracks but Scott Fraser mastered the finished album. The sound engineering deserves mention because the soprano voices – even apart from their obvious vocal power and virtuosity – are always in the forefront. This perfectly compliments the ideals of the Voices of the Pearl project – the historical female voice is heard clearly and on its own terms. It becomes a living presence in our own time, and not treated as some curiosity of the distant past. Voices of the Pearl, Volume 3 vividly recreates the dynamism and influence of neglected female artists of ancient times and so becomes an important creative reference point for our own contemporary culture.

Voices of the Pearl, Volume 3 is available at Amazon Music and Apple Music. For further information about the Voices of the Pearl project, visit their website.

The musicians vary from track to track – here is a summary:

Track 1 – Persevere (2017) by Karola Obermüller
Anne Harley, soprano; Barbara Poeschl-Edrich, harp;
Karola Obermüller, live electronics

Track 2 – Still Life After Death (1995) by Chinary Ung
Stacey Fraser, soprano; James Hayden, bass-baritone
Aron Kallay, piano; Sara Andon, flute
Brian Walsh, clarinets; Tereza Stanislav, violin;
Maggie Parkins, cello; Nick Terry, percussion
David Rentz, conductor

Track 3 – My Spirit is Chanting (2011), by Yii Kah Hoe
Anne Harley, soprano
Brian Walsh, bass clarinet; Nick Terry, percussion

Track 4 – You Moving Stars (2017), by Emilie Cecila Lebel
Anne Harley, soprano; Steve Thachuk, electric guitar

Track 5 – Therīgāthā Inside Aura (2018), by Chinary Ung
Anne Harley and Stacey Fraser, sopranos
Susan Ung, viola and voice; Brian Walsh, clarinet and voice
Nick Terry, percussion and voice; David Rentz, conductor

by Paul Muller
Contemporary Classical

Podcast: The Southland Ensemble

Since 2013, the Southland Ensemble has been one of the mainstays of the Los Angeles new music scene. Dedicated to the interpretation and performance of experimental music, Southland Ensemble regularly produces concerts of the mid-twentieth and 21st century masters, as well as lesser known composers. In this podcast we hear about the beginnings of the Southland Ensemble, some of their memorable concerts, their current interests and what they are doing to cope with the pandemic.

With Paul Muller and Jim Goodin

by Paul Muller
Contemporary Classical

Review: Alex Wand – Carretera

Alex Wand

Carretera

In the fall of 2018 composer Alex Wand assumed his Alejandro Botijo persona and began a cycling trip from Los Angeles to Michoacán, Mexico. Alex explains: “I create aliases for myself that highlight certain qualities of my person. I think of them like archetypal, mythological people that help me realize existing aspects of myself. For example, Alejandro Botijo helped me bypass the physical limitations of my body, feelings of loneliness, fear of being hit by a truck, along with many other vulnerabilities that come with cycling over 2,000 miles alone.”

The bicycle trip took him along the migratory path of the monarch butterflies and Alejandro recorded his impressions with field recordings and music from that perspective. The monarch butterfly is the only species of butterfly known to make a two-way migration during the year. Towards the end of October they make their way south, spending the winter in Southern California and Mexico, heading north again in March to spend the summer in the US and Canada. At the conclusion of the trip, Wand/Botijo created a summary of his experiences and the result is Carretera, a series of miniature musical impressions of the journey south.

From the liner notes: “These compositions investigate migration from the monarch’s perspective. The field recordings and spoken word are meant to be ways of listening-with the monarchs by capturing moments of stillness and space on their journey, as well as outlining myriad challenges such as predators, pesticides, and habitat degradation. Alejandro loops, time warps, and pitch shifts the musical sounds to express overlaying temporalities and to articulate the repetitive aspects of migration. With these elements, the music seeks to trace the experience of the monarch/cyclist on their journey to the oyamel forests of Michoacán.”

High Desert, the first track, describes Botijo’s first stage of his trip south from Los Angeles. Single bell-like tones are heard accompanied by a sputtered rushing sound, as if cycling alongside a busy desert highway. Wand provides spoken commentary with his calmly enigmatic voice, repeating a list of the hazardous contents of the roadside along with the beauty of the landscape. There is a swirling mix of headlights, broken bottles and nails together with vivid red and purple sunsets.

Baptist Church follows, and this has lighter tones combined with a softly hopeful tremolo. The vocals begin with “There’s a Baptist Church at the border town where the railroad used to pass through. There’s an old building where the railroad workers used to spend the night.” A series of stronger tones are heard at irregular intervals, invoking the presence of railroad tracks. As the text is repeated, more details are added so that gradually the feeling becomes one of sanctuary – a place that a migrating butterfly – or cyclist – might find rest for the night.

Depredadores is next, full of aggressive percussive beats and active rhythms. The text is now in Spanish, a list of words and names accompanied by low video game sounds. Only a minute and a half in length, Depredadores nevertheless captures the sense of crossing into Mexico by way of a gritty border town. Texaco follows with the sound of mystical drums and cymbals. The text speaks of an abandoned gas station, a barbed wire fence, farmland and a chili factory. Deep guitar chords paint a grim and desolate picture of what could be an agricultural town in northern Mexico.

Mercado, on track 5, however, is very different. A lovely groove comprised of light electronic tones is heard and soon accompanied by animated street sounds and the chatter of voices in Spanish. Clearly we have traveled farther into Mexico and have finally arrived at a warm and welcoming village. Repartiendo el Pan follows, opening with a sweet repeating guitar phrase and the sound of chirping birds. Children are heard playing, and wind instruments enter with a happy bounce. The piece ends with a short fragment of a pop song sung in Spanish, continuing the hospitable feeling that carries over from the previous track. Clearly we are deep into Mexico.

Stream, track 7, is just that: the sounds of rushing water accompanied by electronic rhythmic phrases. There is no spoken narration or human sounds. Restful, calming and most definitely rural. Carretera follows and this opens with an active, bouncing synth and repeating guitar lines that radiate an upbeat and optimistic feel. A series of spoken place names and Spanish nouns are heard, adding an intimacy to the music and creating an emotional sense of homecoming.

The final track is I Wish I Could Disappear, and this features sunny, repeating guitar lines accompanied by the sung and spoken words of the title. This is a final summing up of the emotional changes triggered by the long journey. From the northern border lands to a place deep in the Mexican interior, there is a real sense of longing in this music for a simple communal life that is in harmony with the natural environment. Perhaps it is this – and not just the climate – that draws the monarch butterflies back each winter.

Carretera is an engaging and succinct depiction of a long emotional journey, as seen from the eye level of a migrating butterfly. Like the monarch, we long for a place where we can be part of a welcoming community – Carretera completely and elegantly captures this sensibility.

Carretera is distributed for digital download via Bandcamp and a vinyl disk may be ordered. There is also a companion film Camino de las Monarcas, that is available for download.


by Paul Muller
Contemporary Classical

CD Review: John Luther Adams – Lines Made By Walking

Cold Blue Music has released Lines Made by Walking, a new CD of string quartet music by composer John Luther Adams. Two three-movement pieces are featured, performed by the acclaimed JACK Quartet. As with his earlier string quartet pieces, this new album further explores the intimate relationship that Adams, an avid hiker, has with the wild terrain that inspires him. As the composer writes: “Making my way across these landscapes at three miles an hour, I began to imagine music coming directly out of the contours of the land…” Those who appreciated Adam’s earlier string quartet music CD The Wind in High Places, will find this new album to be a further articulation of his strong environmental sensibility.

The opening movement of Lines Made by Walking, the first piece, is “Up the Mountain” and this immediately establishes the deep connection between the land and the music. From the start, deep cello tones rise up in warm arpeggios. The other strings enter in similar fashion in their higher registers. All the strings reach their upward pitches at different times and in different combinations, so that the interleaving layers of sound create a convincing sense of ascent. The mixing and repetition of the phrases create some lovely harmonies and the result is purposeful and unhurried, as if walking a favorite mountain trail.

The second movement, “Along the Ridges” has similar phrasing and feel, but the mix of notes is not as evocative of the vertical, and a slower tempo suggests a more leisurely amble. Not as purposeful in its repetitiveness, there is a more introspective feeling in this movement. Thin violin lines at times soar high above the lower strings, while at other times there are moments of lush four-part harmony. The settled feeling here is comforting and meditative, as if looking down from a great height on a quiet village below. “Down the Mountain”, the third movement, begins in rarefied air with high violin tones flaring out followed by notes that fall in pitch. The lower strings enter in a similar pattern and the layered, repeating phrases are interwoven to form a cascading stream of descending tones. Appropriately, this sequence is the reverse of the opening movement, but still maintains the warm sense of place, especially in the final minute.

Lines Made by Walking, portraying as it does the ascent and descent of a mountain, calls to mind MacLaren Summit, an earlier string quartet piece by Adams that describes a remote mountain in the wilds of Alaska. In MacLaren Summit, the music suggests a more challenging environment and climate. The familiar high violin phrases are more active and needle sharp, suggesting a bitter cold. Overall there is a more distant and isolated feel, yet there is at the same time a welcoming oneness with nature that is clearly heard again in Lines Made by Walking. Adams continues to write music that is accurately descriptive of rugged landscapes without being adversarial toward them. The JACK quartet understands this perfectly and supplies just the right touch throughout.

The second piece in the album is Untouched, and this is only the second string quartet composed by Adams, at age 58. All of the instruments are played on natural harmonics or open strings throughout, and this allows the sustained overtones to interact and languidly mingle. The first movement, “Rising”, opens with deliciously low cello tones accompanied by lofty violin pitches. The feeling is open and airy, as Adams describes in the liner notes: “I stood on the tundra, holding a small Aeolian harp on top of my head, dancing with the wind, turning like a weathervane. Music seemed to flow out of the sky – across the strings and down through my body, and into the earth. From that beginning, I’ve discovered a broad harmonic and melodic palette derived from superimposing the harmonic series on itself at different intervals…”

As “Rising” progresses, it proceeds in a series of stages or waves, each with a slightly higher pitch set. This gives a sense of progression, but the gently rocking rhythms and harmonies also radiate a warmly accessible hospitality. The phrases are comprised of notes that move broadly upward and by the end of the movement, the cello drops out, liberating the violins to rise to extreme heights. The second movement, “Crossing”, features a more horizontal feel; the notes follow different patterns but carry the same organic feeling that springs from the harmonic series. In the fluid texture it is possible to imagine an ephemeral melody arising out of the repeating lines of notes. The cello is not as deep or rich here, and the violins sparkle in a stratospheric register. A somewhat slower tempo at the finish lengthens the tones before fading at the finish.

“Falling’, the final movement, begins with almost painfully sharp high notes in the violins, and as the lower tones enter the harmony restores the congenial atmosphere of the earlier movements. The tones gradually fall in pitch and the music becomes more inward and nostalgic. The notes seem to dance and flicker like firelight, adding to the meditative feel. Deep cello tones at the finish produce a sense of vast grandeur, perhaps a tribute to the drama of the Alaskan wilderness.

Lines Made by Walking affirms Adam’s embrace of the natural environment and extends his creative powers through a masterful deployment of the harmonic series.

Lines Made by Walking is available directly from Cold Blue Music, Amazon and from numerous CD retailers.





by Paul Muller