Concert review

Composers, Concert review, File Under?, Minimalism, New York, Piano

Simone Dinnerstein in Recital at Miller Theatre

Photo: Lisa Marie Mazzucco.

 

Simone Dinnerstein in Recital

Miller Theatre – Columbia University

December 8, 2018

Published on Sequenza21.com

By Christian Carey

 

NEW YORK – On Saturday, December 8th, pianist Simone Dinnerstein made a return appearance to Miller Theatre to perform an intriguing and eclectic solo recital. The stage was set with subdued lighting, with electric “candles” placed throughout and, over the course of the evening, small shifts of color. Ms. Dinnerstein, dressed in elegant, flowing attire, created an atmosphere through her performance demeanor as well. The recital was announced with no intermission and the pianist paused from playing only once, midway through, to acknowledge applause and take a brief break. However, by otherwise starting each piece immediately after the final notes of the one it preceded, she communicated clearly that this was not to be an event in which musical continuity would be broken by applause between numbers. Thankfully the audience complied, mutually agreeing to allow the atmosphere to envelop them too.

 

Dinnerstein played two pieces by the Eighteenth century harpsichord composer Francois Couperin, one at the beginning and another right before the break. This is the first time she has programmed the composer. Her approach to Les Barriades mystérieueses was sonorous, eschewing ornamentation in favor of unadorned, shapely melodies. Like the Goldberg Variations, the second piece required interlacing the hands to play everything on the piano keyboard that would have required two manuals on the harpsichord. Le Tic-Toc-Choc, ou Les Mallotins featured motoric clockwork and brisk filigrees that were an excellent foil for the Philip Glass work that immediately preceded it.

 

Mad Rush (1979), one of Glass’s best known piano pieces, was first composed for the organ at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, where the composer performed it for an appearance by the Dalai Lama. Arranged for piano, the piece is forceful and filled with contrasts. Its delicate passages were played with a spacious sense of breath by Dinnerstein, while the more emphatic central section in piece’s the repeating loop was performed powerfully with fleet-fingered accuracy. Last year, Dinnerstein’s account of Glass’s Third Piano Concerto was impressive; here, she made a further case for a place in the pantheon of Glass pianists. Contrast played a large role in Dinnerstein’s rendition of Robert Schumann’s Arabesque. Once again, she emphasized the breath between phrases, allowing the audience a sense of deft transition between the various emotive sections as they unspun.

 

Erik Satie’s Gnossiene No. 3 received the mysterious performance its ambiguous markings and lack of bar-lines evokes. One part cafe music and another modal Impressionist excursion, the piece was rendered with an evasive, lilting quality.

The pianist, in general, avoids overt and flashy displays of hyper-virtuosity, preferring instead to pick distinct places in which she allows her playing to be unrestrained. Dinnerstein’s performance of Schumann’s Kreisleriana provided several excellent opportunities for effusive virtuosity, and they seemed all the more special for the way that the pianist set them in relief against the more contemplative portions of the work. Fleet arpeggiations flew and the fugal passage in the final movement was a brisk cannonade.

 

Dinnerstein’s aforementioned penchant for allowing the music to breathe, as well as the atmosphere she created for her performance, encouraged a normally bustling New York audience to truly slow down and breathe themselves: a welcome respite during the busy holiday season. When the encore she favored them with was not some barnstormer but instead a reprise of Les Barriades, allowing the program to come full circle, it seemed entirely appropriate.

 

by Christian Carey
Composers, Concert review, Opera, Premieres

György Kurtág’s “Samuel Beckett: Fin de partie” at La Scala

[Ed. note: Former S21 contributor, member, and friend David Salvage has in the last couple years pulled up his U.S. tent pegs and landed in Italy. He’s offered up his review of the latest György Kurtág premiere last month at La Scala.]
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After decades of prodding, false starts, intense study, delays, and, finally, seven years of composing, György Kurtág, at age ninety-two, has written his first opera. For its subject matter, he has chosen Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, a play he saw during its initial run in Paris in 1957 and has loved ever since. World premieres don’t get any more hotly anticipated than this, and it was a privilege to be in attendance for the opera’s final performance at the Teatro alla Scala in Milan.

Endgame takes place on one of the last days of an imperious invalid named Hamm. As he sits in his wheelchair, he gives his servant, Clov, half-pointless tasks to do, like reporting on what’s outside the windows or pushing him around the room. Stuck in the same space are Hamm’s parents, Nagg and Nell, who live in two trashcans, having lost their legs years earlier in a biking accident. There is little food left for the four of them, and outside lies a bleak landscape of post-apocalyptic desolation.

While Kurtág’s work will inevitably be referred to simply as Fin de partie, its complete title is worth keeping in mind. The opera is actually called Samuel Beckett: Fin de partie and bears the subtitle “scenes and monologues, opera in one act.” By including Beckett’s name in the title, Kurtág connects the work with his earlier Beckett setting, Samuel Beckett: What is the Word; with the subtitle, he suggests that the present is something formally more open than a traditional opera.

The result bears out both title and subtitle. The original version of What is the Word is for singer and piano, and the piano doubles the singer note for note without contributing additional harmony or counterpoint. A similar closeness marks Kurtág’s approach to the singers and orchestra in Fin de partie: while the orchestration is vast and colorful and adds harmony to the vocal lines, emphasis to the stage action, and commentary on the text, principally, the instruments serve to double the vocal lines, making for an almost monadic work that is intensely expressive. Indeed, this is the miracle of Fin de partie: Beckett’s play is quirky, intimate, and subtle—in other words, not material readily suitable for operatic adaptation. And yet Kurtág’s music captures the text’s many mercurial shifts in tone while remaining nothing if not coherent and compelling. As much as any opera in history, Fin de partie finds that magical ground where song, speech, and tone are united. Rather than an end of anything, I found it to be a beginning, an opera rich in new possibilities for composers to come.

It is with the opera’s subtitle, however, where Kurtág seems less surefooted. In creating a libretto of an appropriate length, he has very significantly reduced the role of Clov. By doing so, Kurtág has weakened the play’s dramatic heart: the complex interdependence of a master and his servant. These cuts make some important moments in the opera’s second half come out awkwardly. When Hamm laments that a stuffed dog is not in fact real, the statement is a bit baffling because Kurtág has the cut the play’s sad and comical stuffed-dog scene (which involves Clov).  When Hamm thanks Clov for all he has done for him, we might be similarly puzzled, since in the opera he does little for his master (crucial scenes mentioned above involving the windows and the wheelchair ride are also cut). Strangely, Kurtág also omits the parts where Hamm asks Clov whether it’s time for his painkiller; in the play, Clov always says that it’s not time; at the end, he finally reveals to Hamm that there is no more painkiller left. In the opera, we only get this final exchange: the result is a sudden outburst that lacks catharsis. And in the opera, Clov’s long concluding monologue (prompted by Hamm to say something “from the heart”) seems more like a set-piece than the expression of things long unspoken.

By attenuating the play’s central conflict, Kurtág’s Fin de partie becomes less unified—more “open”—than Beckett’s original. As a result, it prioritizes the expression of inwardness over the realization of drama. As the opera goes on, the monologues take over, and the drama becomes more and more suspended. Of course, monologues can heighten drama; but this depends on the characters’ being insightful about themselves, others, or their situations. Beckett’s aren’t, and he wisely never lets their stories, musings, or ramblings dominate for too long in the play.

While I loved every note of Fin de partie and found the music’s force such that I’ve had trouble composing ever since seeing it, I remain puzzled as to what was gained by the approach Kurtág took: reducing Clov cuts into the play’s very core, and giving the monologues free reign is the wrong approach for this material. (I have some speculations about this, but I’ll save them for the comments section.)

Meanwhile, what remains is a grand achievement—a new opera at an extraordinarily high level. Those who stuck their necks out to make Fin de partie happen—Alexander Pereira, sovrintendente of La Scala, perhaps foremost among them—deserve our respect and gratitude. However problematic it might be, this is a work that bestows honor on any institution who decides to mount it or any musician who participates in its performance.

by David Salvage
Choral Music, Commissions, Concert review, Contemporary Classical, early music, File Under?, New York

Tallis Scholars Premiere Nico Muhly in Midtown

Tallis Scholars. Photo: Nick Rutter.

Tallis Scholars: A Renaissance Christmas

Miller Theatre Early Music Series

Church of St. Mary the Virgin

December 1, 2018

Published on Sequenza 21

By Christian Carey

 

NEW YORK – The Tallis Scholars, directed by Peter Phillips, made their annual appearance in New York as part of Miller Theatre’s Early Music series at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in Midtown. The program was billed as a dual celebration — the 45th anniversary of the Tallis Scholars and Miller Theatre’s 30th anniversary season.

 

In honor of the occasion, Miller Theatre commissioned a new piece for the Tallis Scholars by composer Nico Muhly. Muhly has, of late, garnered a great deal of attention for two Metropolitan Opera commissions  — Two Boys and Marnie — but he often talks about his first love being choral music (he began his musical career as a chorister). Muhly’s choral works are exquisitely crafted and texturally luminous. Rough Notes (2018), his new piece for the concert at St. Mary’s, took its texts from two diary entries by Robert Falcon Scott, written near the end of his ill-fated voyage to Antarctica. The first excerpt describes the aurora australis, providing words such as “arches, bands, and curtains”  that are ripe for colorful musical setting. The second was Scott’s stoic expression of confidence in his team’s ability to accept their impending deaths with dignity. Muhly’s use of lush cluster chords in the first section gave way to more sharply etched, but still glinting, harmonies in the second, as well as poignantly arcing melodies. The divided choir of ten voices was skilfully overlapped to sound like many times that number. It is always fascinating to hear the Tallis Scholars switch centuries, and thus style, to perform contemporary repertoire; for instance, their CD of Arvo Pärt’s music is a treasure. One hopes that they might collaborate on a recording with Muhly in the future.

 

The rest of the program was of considerably earlier music, but ranged widely in chronology. The earliest piece was an elegant and under-heralded Magnificat setting by John Nesbett from the late Fifteenth century that is found in the Eton Choirbook. Chant passages give way to various fragments of the ensemble that pit low register vs. high for much of the piece. It culminates by finally bringing all the voices together in a rousing climax. The Tallis Scholars has, of yet, not recorded Nesbett, but Peter Phillips has committed the Magnificat to disc in an inspired performance with the Choir of Merton College, Oxford (The Marian Collection, Delphian, 2014).  

 

Palestrina’s motet Hodie Christus natus est, and the eponymous parody mass which uses this as its source material, were the centerpiece of the concert. The motet was performed jubilantly and with abundant clarity. The mass is one of Palestrina’s finest. He took the natural zest of its source material, added plenty of contrapuntal elaborations, and made subtle shifts to supply a thoughtful rendition of the text. Although we are, in terms of the liturgical calendar, in the midst of the reflective period of Advent, being propelled forward to the midst of some of the most ebullient yet substantial Christmas music of the Renaissance was a welcome inauguration of the season.

 

The two works that concluded the concert dealt with different aspects of the Christmas story. William Byrd’s Lullaby is actually quite an unsettling piece; its text deals with the Slaughter of the Innocents as ordered by Herod. One is left to imagine the infant Jesus being consoled by Mary and Joseph in the midst of their flight from persecution. Byrd composed it in the Sixteenth century (it was published in 1588), but Lullaby was the piece on the concert most tailored to this moment, evoking concerns of our time: the plight of refugees, the slaughter of innocent bystanders by acts of senseless aggression: particularly the vulnerability of children to indiscriminate bombing abroad and the epidemic of gun violence in our own country.

 

The last piece returned to a festive spirit and brought the Tallis Scholars to the cusp of the Baroque with Hieronymus Praetorius’s Magnificat V with interpolations of two carols: Joseph lieber, Joseph mein and In dulci jubilo. During the Christmas season, interspersing carols and sections of the Magnificat was a standard practice in Baroque-era Lutheran churches; J.S. Bach might even have done so in the services he led at St. Thomas Church in Leipzig. Praetorius plus two carols gave the Tallis Scholars an opportunity to share three of their most-performed Christmas pieces. From seemingly effortless floating high notes to sonorous bass singing, with tons of deftly rendered imitative passages in the inner voices, the group made a glorious sound. One eagerly awaits their return to New York during their 46th season.

 

by Christian Carey
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles

Garlands for Steven Stucky in Santa Monica

The Soundwaves new music series and Piano Spheres teamed up to present Garlands for Steven Stucky, a concert of piano music performed by Gloria Cheng. Steven Stucky was a long-time composer in residence at the Los Angeles Philharmonic, and his untimely death in 2016 touched his many friends here deeply. Garlands for Steven Stucky is a memorial tribute in the form of a CD album of short piano pieces contributed by no less than 32 students and musical colleagues. Each piece is short – just two or three minutes – and this concert at the Santa Monica Public Library offered a preview prior to a full concert scheduled for Zipper Hall on November 27.

A short video was shown prior to the concert describing Stucky’s academic career and residency at the LA Phil. Esa-Pekka Salonen and Deborah Borda spoke highly of his accomplishments and the warm personal connections he enjoyed with his colleagues. The video also outlined the Steven Stucky Composer Fellowship Fund, intended to help composition students who are just beginning their study. Proceeds from the Garlands for Steven Stucky CD will benefit this fund.

Gloria Cheng then introduced the music of Steven Stucky by way of playing movement 1 of Album Leaves (2002), a series short piano pieces he described as “ … in the nineteenth-century mold of Schumann, Chopin, or Brahms.” This opened with a simple five-note melody that seemed to hang mysteriously in the air, followed by more complex passages that fluttered like a flock of restless birds. A series of darker, enigmatic passages in the lower register added to the magical atmosphere just prior to a quiet ending. This short piece set the tone for the sampler of musical memorials that comprised the balance of the concert.

Two former students of Steven Stucky, now UCLA Music Dept faculty and in attendance, were asked to describe his influence as well as their contributions to the album. Kay Rhie, a student of Stucky while at Cornell, spoke of his generosity, curiosity and wide-ranging interests outside the arts. Ms. Cheng played Rhie’s Interlude, which bore some resemblance to the Album Leaves piece, sharing its subdued and enigmatic character. David S. Lefkowitz described his piece, In Memorium, as a soggetto cavato – or carved signature – using the letters in Steven Stucky’s name to determine the opening notes. This resulted in a simple, declarative melody of strong notes that seemed freighted with sorrow. Complex variations followed in the lower registers, which turned dramatic prior to the repeat of the opening melody, and a quiet fade-out. Both pieces were suffused with veneration and genuine affection.

Esa-Pekka Salonen contributed Iscrizione and this opened with a spare line of single notes that unfolded into more complex passages, tinged with a sense of anguish and loss. A deep rumble in the bottom registers added a sense of sadness, followed by a quietly moving farewell at the finish. Capriccio by Julian Anderson followed, and Ms. Cheng explained that Anderson’s intention was simply to write something that Steven Stucky might have enjoyed. Accordingly, this piece was more optimistic with light, rapid strings of notes that bubbled upward. Skittering sounds followed, both charming and delightful, as if a mouse was scampering about on the keyboard. The dynamics and tempo increased until a dramatic crash of chords at the finish slowly dissipated into the air.

Four other piano pieces were performed by Ms. Cheng to close out the concert. Steven Mackey contributed A Few Things (in memory of Steve), a lighthearted interchange between quick, bright phrases as if holding a conversation with pleasant company. Inscription, by Pierre Jalbert followed with complex and fast passage work, a fond remembrance of the Stucky wit. Judith Weir’s Chorale, for Steve was perhaps the closest to church music, full of airy introspection at the opening and ending with the power and simplicity of a simple hymn. The final piece was Glas by Daniel S. Godfrey, opening with great booming chords that brought to mind cathedral bells, then continuing with a series of quietly thoughtful stretches full of grandeur and grace.  Glas was the perfect piece to close out the concert.

Garlands for Steven Stucky is a powerful testimony to the esteem and affection held for Steven Stucky by all those who contributed to this remarkable album. Ms. Cheng has done a great service to organize and flawlessly perform all 32 works for the CD. This preview concert was an opportunity to appreciate how much Steven Stucky has meant to our musical community and how much he will be missed.

Garlands for Steven Stucky is available from Amazon and iTunes.

 

by Paul Muller
Choral Music, Concert review, early music, File Under?

Stile Antico at St. Mary’s (concert review)

Stile Antico
Photo: Marco Borggreve

Stile Antico in Concert

October 13, 2018 Church of St. Mary the Virgin

By Christian Carey

 

NEW YORK – The first concert in Miller Theatre’s 2018-19 Early Music Series, given in midtown at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin, presented the acclaimed choral group Stile Antico from the UK. They have made regular appearances on the Miller series. As is their custom, Stile Antico sang without a conductor in a semicircle facing front. The occasional setup change consists of singers changing formation and, in pieces in which the full ensemble isn’t required, “extra” singers sit down.

 

They sing vibrantly and expressively with a sumptuous sound. The concert program, titled “Elizabeth I, Queen of Muses,” brought together masterworks of Tudor era polyphony and continental repertoire that had passed through the monarch’s orbit. Several of the latter group of works were taken from a gift from one of the Queen’s suitors, Erik XIV of Sweden: a partbook that included pieces by Lassus, Willaert, and Sandrin. The latter’s chanson Doulce Memoire was particularly fetching, performed with gentle grace. The group also sang three solemn and stolid penitential psalm settings by Alfonso Ferrabosco the Elder, an Italian composer who was a member of the Elizabeth’s court, paid a handsome salary for music and, some say, espionage.

 

English music formed the bulk of the program. It included a piece from early in the sixteenth century, Tavener’s  Christe Jesu Bone Pastor, filled with brightly articulate slices of homophony and soaring passages of imitation. From the other end of the chronological spectrum, early in the seventeenth century, Stile Antico offered jaunty renditions of two of John Dowland’s best known ayres: “Now, O now I needs must part” and “Can She Excuse my Wrongs.”

 

The choir is one of the best on the planet for works by Tallis and Byrd. Several of these were performed, capturing a gamut of emotions. Byrd’s “This sweet and merry month of May” is a jubilant madrigal greeting to Elizabeth, while his Attolite porta is a richly attired setting of Psalm 23. “O Lord Make thy servant Elizabeth” is an extraordinary piece, and Stile Antico rendered its elaborate Amen cadence with fulsome power and beauty. Ne irascaris is another facet of Byrd’s art. A recusant Catholic, he composed a collection of motets with texts both coded and charged with defiance. Clearly Byrd was graced with Elizabeth’s favor, otherwise he would have been unlikely to get away with daring pieces like Ne irascaris. The Tallis selection on the program was his worshipful, declamatory Abserge Domine. I could have done with three more Tudor motets and no Ferrabosco, but that’s quibbling.

 

The concert concluded with a group of madrigals written in honor of Elizabeth, taken from “The Triumphs of Oriana,” a collection of 25 madrigals by 23 composers. After sterling renderings of “The lady Oriana” by John Wilbye (Oriana is a poetic title for Elizabeth) and “Fair Nymphs I heard one telling, the last, “As Vesta was, from Latmos hill descending,” by Thomas Weelkes, displayed the group’s vocal prowess at its finest, with high-ranging lines and overlapping melismatic passages converging to thrilling effect. Stile Antico’s annual visits to New York could easily be double or trebled: they have developed a strong following here and the reasons for this were amply demonstrated on 13 October at St. Mary’s.

 

  • Christian Carey writes regularly for Tempo, Musical America, and Sequenza 21.
by Christian Carey
Chamber Music, Classical Music, Composers, Concert review, Concerts, Contemporary Classical, Seattle

Abrahamsen’s Schnee at Seattle Symphony’s [untitled]

Thomas Dausgaard conducting members of Seattle Symphony in Abrahamsen: Schnee (photo: James Holt/Seattle Symphony)

[untitled] is the moniker given by Seattle Symphony to its thrice-annual Friday night new music events. Staged in the lobby of Benaroya Hall, it’s a semi-formal atmosphere in which the Symphony can deploy its musicians in smaller groupings better suited to the exigencies of postmodern music. The first [untitled] concert of the new season took place on October 12, and featured the regional premiere of Hans Abrahamsen’s Schnee, offering listeners in the Pacific Northwest an opportunity to judge how well this work has earned the considerable attention it has received in its brief ten-year lifetime.

Scored for two piano quartets (one conventional, the other with woodwinds instead of strings) flanking a central percussionist, this hour-long piece is officially a chain of ten canons conceived in pairs. But don’t bother looking for Row, Row, Row Your Boat-style rounds. Abrahamsen’s vision of musical canons ranges from relatively straightforward imitation between two voices in stretto…

From Canon 2b (other instruments omitted)

…to rhythm-only canons, to cases where the only trace of a traditional canon is the successive entries of similar lines:

(click to enlarge)

It’s probably easiest to think of the canons as a set of ten segued movements in which each instrumental group stays within a tight-knit band of musical material. An important structural characteristic of the piece is that these canons get progressively shorter, starting with 8–9 minutes allotted to the distended Canons 1a and 1b, and ending with the fleeting Canons 5a and 5b, lasting a minute apiece (audio links and the YouTube embed above are from the work’s only commercial recording, by ensemble recherche).

Accompanying this process of diminution is a corresponding process of detuning where the string instruments, then the woodwinds, shift their intonation downwards by 1/6 and 1/3 tones so that they gradually go out of tune with the pianos. Mikhail Shmidt, violinist for the [untitled] performance, likens the effect to melting. Such a reliance on “dirty” intonational clashs—most prominent in Canons 5a/5b—reflects the influence of Abrahamsen’s teacher, Ligeti. In a particularly imaginative stroke, three Interludes are inserted as composed tuning breaks to allow the musicians to effect the retuning without a break:

Ritual orchestral tuning is often satirized, and audiences will occasionally mistake tuning for an actual piece, but there is little precedent for written-out retuning occurring in the middle of a composition.

Schnee of course means snow in German (curiously favored by this Danish teutophile over his native sne), and this hour-long work is a suitably frosty and brittle affair. It begins and ends in the extreme treble register, and its overall sound world is dominated by white noise effects suggested by the title’s initial consonant. The score calls for scratchy bow noises, the application of Blu Tack to muffle piano strings, and frequent “half-breath” effects on the woodwind instruments (which in the case of the contralto flute and bass clarinet seem to have been specifically chosen for their breathy quality). The percussionist’s job mainly alternates between rubbing writing paper on a smooth surface and rubbing wax paper on a rough surface, the task broken up only by the use of sleigh bells in Canons 4a/4b and a single tamtam stroke at the end of Canon 3b. Other noise effects show the influence of Lachenmann, most notably his piece Guero, whose technique of gliding fingernails across the piano keyboards is directly borrowed in Schnee.

The very first canon fulfils the evocative trajectory of the title, beginning on a repeated violin harmonic on an A♮ that’s so high, you mainly hear bowing noise (the score says “like an icy whisper”, though North American listeners might find it inadvertently reminiscent of a certain cinematic shower scene). Pentatonic white note tinkerings in the 1st Piano’s top octave soon enter (E-A-F-D-E is a prominent pattern), and one might wonder if this will be a characteristically long and static exposition of European postminimalism. But the complexity increases as the canons proceed, reaching an apogee in the third canon pair where the harmonies are atonal, the rhythms unmetered, and the pitch range fully extended to the bass register (intensified by tuning the cello’s lowest string from C down to G). The process then reverses in the last two canon pairs, and we eventually revert to the white note pentatonicism of the opening. It’s the simultaneous revelation of both arch-like vectors (range and complexity) and straight-line vectors (length and detuning) as the work progresses that gives Schnee such dramatic impact.

The influence of Feldman is often close at hand in Abrahamsen’s music, and it’s quite obvious in Schnee’s Canon 3b. But a different parallel can be found with Feldman’s Three Voices, a unique and uncharacteristically texted and beat-driven work from 1982 that in its repetitions, quirky metricality, overall length and architecture based on concurrent unfolding of both linear and arch-shaped processes, is a tantalizing predecessor to Schnee. It even features as its sole lyric this most apropos poetic snippet by Frank O’Hara:

                      Who’d have thought
                                                                         that snow falls

Schnee is the kind of piece that can die in a too-dry space, but [untitled]’s idiosyncratic venue is just live enough to avoid this pitfall. Being designed as an entry and reception point rather than as a performance space though, it does come at the cost of an omnipresent background rumble from the building’s HVAC system. This often overwhelmed the subtle piano resonance effects and smeared the rhythmic definition of the percussionist’s paper shuffling (both prominent in Canon 3b). But the piece would have gotten lost in either of the two conventional concert spaces at Benaroya Hall, and the capable ensemble, drawn from regular Seattle Symphony musicians with frequent adjuncts Cristina Valdés and Oksana Ezhokina handling the piano parts, managed to traverse the work’s rhythmic complexities with no trace of strain or sloppiness.

They also did something perhaps more remarkable: avoiding the temptation, especially in the excitement of live performance, to play this music too loudly, too quickly and too brashly. Abrahamsen’s bleak snowscapes, like Varèse’s deserts, are those of the mind as much as of nature. What this piece needs is not so much the brisk extroversion of Ludovic Morlot, but a healthy dose of Scandinavian reserve, which it received under the conducting of Thomas Dausgaard, who will assume Morlot’s role as Music Director next season. In this performance, the first of this piece for any of the evening’s musicians (including Dausgaard), we perhaps have a glimpse of the direction that the Symphony’s programming will take under Dausgaard’s leadership.

Hans Abrahamsen (photo: Lars Skaaning)

Abrahamsen, born in 1952, presents an unusual musical example of a late career breakthrough. He started out as a Danish representative of New Simplicity, but much of his music from that period now seems rather…simplistic. After a Schoenbergian decade of relative silence, Abrahamsen reemerged with a more synthetic style that elevated his international profile to the degree that he can now be reasonably considered the most prominent living Danish composer other than the venerable Per Nørgård (1932–).

The best survey of Abrahamsen’s career arc is the Arditti Quartet’s recording of his String Quartets 1–4, whose dates range from 1973 to 2012 (this album was one of my favorites of 2017). His recent hits include some orchestral songs for Barbara Hannigan and a concerto for piano left hand, but these works seem less distinguished to me measured against the formidable European corpus of modernist orchestral music. It’s Schnee, completed in 2008, that continues to stand as Abrahamsen’s masterpiece, comparable in scope and ambition to Haas’ In Vain, and likewise exemplifying the alloy of exploration and consolidation that characterizes the most accomplished of contemporary European art music. Its reputation as one of the classics of the young 21st century (advanced by the likes of Paul Griffiths, who chose it to conclude the current version of his book Modern Music and After), was given powerful witness by Dausgaard and the Seattle Symphony musicians.

The score to Schnee is available online here.

by Michael Schell
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles, Women composers

wasteLAnd Opens Season Six in Los Angeles

Season six of the wasteLAnd new music concert series began on Friday, October 5, 2018 at Art Share LA in downtown Los Angeles. Katherine Young is the featured composer this season and her work was front and center in a program consisting of three of her pieces, including a world premiere. Ms. Young stated in the liner notes that “…each of these pieces to different degrees and in different ways blur out of linear ‘musical’ forms and into sonic meditations through the use of drone, saturating textures, and/or spatialization.” The ample Art Share space was filled to capacity with an expectant audience, despite the brutal Friday night traffic.

Ms. Young’s first piece was Earhart & the Queen of Spades, performed by Nicholas Deyoe on electric guitar. Deyoe was surrounded by an imposing array of foot pedals, cables, assorted amplifiers and a table full of found objects, including several small personal fans. As the piece began, Deyoe switched on the fans and when they were held near the guitar pickup, a soft, thin whine could be detected. The flexible rotating fan blades were next applied directly to the guitar strings and this produced a powerful roaring, much like a motorcycle revving up. These sounds were looped, processed and piled one on another until a great sonic mountain seemed to fill the performance space. A steel slide was used on the strings to change the pitch of the roaring, and Deyoe’s deft control of the intonation was notable. All of this proceeded without a steady pulse or beat as more objects were applied to the guitar. A broad plastic card produced some especially powerful riffs and a pearl necklace was pulled across the guitar strings, yielding a series of distinctively ragged pulses. The wide variety of sounds was unexpected and surprisingly intense; Deyoe was all over the instrument and his feet were in constant motion pressing foot pedals with a masterful choreography. Earhart & the Queen of Spades ended quietly with a return to the buzzing fan blades held just off the guitar pickup, and switched off one by one. Cheering and a loud ovation ensued for a fine performance.

Underworld (Dancing) followed, and this featured Matt Barbier on euphonium and Wells Leng playing a rare Wurlitzer on loan from Tim Clark. Underworld (Dancing) began with a series of long, mournful growls in the euphonium accompanied by soft tones in the Wurlitzer. The extremely low register was expertly negotiated by Barbier, especially given that the piece was originally scored for tuba. The two parts were mostly unconnected, allowing for ample improvisational freedom, and the result was an intriguing mixture of timbres and tones. At times the Wurlitzer broke into brief snatches of melody that approximated a dance tune while the deep rumbling in the euphonium provided a solid, visceral punch. The low, dark tones suggested a large, powerful animal and the Fafnir dragon leitmotif from Wagner’s Ring Cycle came briefly to mind. Underworld (Dancing) conjured much imagery from just two instruments, and evoked a convincingly exotic world in sound.

After the intermission the concert concluded with the world premiere of Biomes 1.0. Matt Barbier returned with his euphonium,  accompanied by Weston Olencki on trombone. The composer also joined in, playing bassoon. The piece involved a full compliment of electronics and lights so that the stage was covered with various boxes, keyboards and tangles of cable. Biomes 1.0 began with a loud rushing sound in the electronics and bright lights flooding the performance space. The instruments produced clusters of uninhibited grunts and growls, adding to a dynamic atmosphere, as if deep in a forest habitat. The lights were suddenly extinguished, and as the space plunged into darkness,  soft tones floated quietly out of the euphonium and electronics. This understated feel made for a stark contrast with the first section and suggested an almost liquid environment. The deep, languid sounds were perfectly realized in the low registers of each instrument. The lights returned, accompanied by more electronic scratching sounds, along with some amazing tones from the horns. As the piece proceeded, the stage was alternately lit and darkened and the sounds changed accordingly. At one point, colored lights pulsed separately in each corner of the stage. In another section, a chain was slowly lowered on to a snare drum head, adding an intriguingly subtle percussive element. Perhaps the most impressive stretches consisted of long, low tones coming from the horns and bassoon. Ms. Young has a fine sense of what works in these lower ranges – each part was well-placed and balanced nicely against the electronics. There were some beautiful mixtures and timbres heard, also a credit to the solid sense of ensemble. A long, low crescendo followed by a soft fade-away concluded the piece. Biomes 1.0 is an impressive composition of lights, electronics and instruments that captivates with beauty and by the masterful use of the very lowest tones. A long and enthusiastic ovation followed.

The fund raising efforts at wasteLAnd have proven successful enough to make admission to the first three concerts of the new season free of charge. Their goal is to extend this for the balance of the season and those willing to donate are encouraged to contact them via their website.

The next wasteLAnd concert at Art Share LA will be on November 16, 2018 and will feature Ashley Walters and the Arperture Duo.

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

wild Up in Santa Barbara

The Santa Barbara Museum of Art hosted the violin section of wild Up on Thursday, September 27, 2018, for a concert of new music titled Gradient. A good crowd materialized, despite the fact that the outside of the museum was cloaked in scaffolding and fencing for an extensive renovation. The Davidson Gallery was the venue, and this space also contained TV Clock, the video installation by Nam June Paik, inspiring wild Up violinist Andrew McIntosh to program four innovative contemporary works.

During the museum’s renovation, ensuring the building was safe and free from any environmental hazards was crucial. This included finding a mold removal company to address any potential mold issues that might arise during the construction process. Ensuring a clean and healthy environment was a top priority to protect both the artwork and the visitors.

The first piece on the program was Situation IV, a solo violin piece by Anahita Abbasi. This was performed by McIntosh, who explained that his violin was prepared by applying putty to the strings, as specified in the score. This seemingly minor modification completely changed the sound of the instrument. The notes that resulted from the initial bowing of the strings were almost percussive in character. Sustained arco bowing yielded distinctively rugged tones that included a high, scratchy component, while softer tones had a thin, mysterious feel. There were an amazing variety of sounds produced as the piece proceeded, and a short pizzicato stretch sounded a bit like distant gunshots. The overall feeling was often remote and alien, at least in part because of the unusual timbres that were heard – the typically dramatic and lushly familiar violin tones were completely absent. Situation IV is a striking example of how a small, simple change to the structure of an instrument can yield completely unexpected sounds and colors.

McIntosh was joined by violinists Lina Bahn, Adrianne Pope and Nigel Deane for the second piece, Violin Phase, by Steve Reich. One of the bedrock works of classical minimalism, Violin Phase explores the musical implications of a series of similar phrases played at slightly different tempi. One of the violinists wore an ear piece with a click track to keep the reference time, while the others adjusted their tempi slightly as they entered in a sort of layering and looping process. The result is that the violins slowly go in and out of sync with each other, and these interactions – plus a strong rhythmic component – produce surprisingly alluring music. It was a treat to hear this piece in such close proximity to the performers; most of the videos and recordings of Violin Phase take place in cavernous concert halls. The detail and surface textures audible in this space were superb, even allowing for the somewhat reverberant character of the gallery. The crisp tempo, catchy melody and the intricate weaving of the parts as they phased in and out worked their magic on the audience, who were clearly enjoying the groove.

Gradient, by Tashi Wada followed and here the video installation TV Clock assumed a prominent role. TV Clock is a series of 24 identical color video monitors mounted on pedestals and arranged in a shallow arc across the gallery space. Each monitor displayed a single straight line. The line on the first monitor was vertical and subsequent monitors had their lines posed at incremental angles such that the line was rotated through 360 degrees by the 24th monitor in the series. Two large speakers were located at each end of TV Clock. As the gallery space darkened, each speaker sounded a separate tone – one pitched at C and the other at a lower G – a fourth apart. The sound seemed pleasantly benign, if somewhat remote, but with the close listening promoted by the darkness, it soon became apparent that small variations were occurring between tones, and this added a sense of mystery. It was only after some focused listening that Andrew McIntosh was spotted making his way in the darkened space between speakers. He had begun by playing C on his violin, starting at the first speaker, and slowly lowered the pitch as he walked towards the far speaker, sounding the G. The almost imperceptible changes in the mix of pitches resulted in a particularly engaging sound, and even this small human input was enough to make an audible difference. McIntosh’s sense of pitch gradation was impressive as the piece took several minutes to complete. The 24 monitors of the TV Clock installation guided the rate at which he lowered his tone, making a perfect visual connection to the music. Gradient and TV Clock seemed made for each other and represent a fine example of how sometimes the simplest experimental ideas are the most compelling.

The final work on the program was Eight Whisk-us, by John Cage. One of Cage’s later works and based on poetry by Chris Mann, this piece has two versions: one for voice and, for this performance, one for solo violin. According to the liner notes by Nick Wilson for the original CD release, the music is arranged “…such that the vowel and consonant qualities of the poem are transformed into various bowing positions, gradations of bowing pressure, and forms of articulation…” With the space still darkened from the preceding piece, McIntosh began Eight Whisk-us with a short opening phrase that was high and thin in pitch, elusive and almost vaporous in texture. More thin and ghost-like tones followed, quietly floating through the Davidson Gallery. There were slight pauses between sections of ‘text’ as the piece proceeded, all very subdued. When the violin was played in its middle registers, the sound became more substantial and familiar, but there was never anything loud or dramatic. The darkness again invited close listening of this intriguing music, convincingly Feldman-like in its reticence.

A loud ovation followed and was sustained as the other musicians joined McIntosh for the final bows.

by Paul Muller
Chamber Music, Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles

The Music of Juan Pablo Contreras at USC

On Saturday, September 15, 2018, at the Newman Recital Hall in the heart of USC, the music of Juan Pablo Contreras was heard in a concert titled The Sounds of Mexico. The occasion was his final DMA recital, and only a few empty seats could be seen in the spacious hall on a sunny summer afternoon. The concert was presented jointly by the USC Thornton School of Music and the Consulate General of Mexico in Los Angeles. Juan Pablo Contreras is already one of the most prominent young composers in Latin America. His music has been widely performed by major musical institutions including the National Symphony Orchestra of Mexico, the Salta and Cόrdoba Symphonies in Argentina, the Mexico City Philharmonic, the Simόn Bolívar Orchestra of Venezuela and the Waco Symphony in Texas.

Juan Pablo Contreras combines the Western classical tradition with Mexican folk music. He has a keen interest in the diversity of Mexican culture and a demonstrated gift for orchestration. Much of his work involves chamber music as well as that for full orchestra, and while at USC Mr. Contreras studied with Andrew Norman. For this concert, however, the focus was on smaller musical forces – piano and cello, a string quartet and a quintet with woodwinds, strings and piano. The largest piece in the program was for a full chorus and piano, and this concert was an opportunity to listen for new levels of detail and design.

The program opened with Souvenirs (2018), a four-movement piece for piano and cello. Based on the composer’s extensive travels, Souvenirs captures the remembrances and experiences of living in several different cities. “New York” was first and this began with sharp pizzicato phrases in the cello that morphed into a jazzy blues. As the piece progressed, a moving piano line nicely recalled the syncopated sound of a lurching subway car. More blues followed, along with added complexity that evoked a strongly African spirituality. The composer’s time at the Manhattan School of Music clearly left a lasting impression. “Paris” followed, and the cello passages here turned smoothly elegant, especially in the lower registers. Lush harmonies and an expressive melody added to the romantic feel. A vivid cello solo by Benjamin Lash towards the finish was evidence of the composer’s command of lyricism and dynamics.

“Moscow” was next, and this had a rapid, rhythmic movement that gave this piece a slightly out-of-control feeling, especially in Alin Melik-Adamyan’s piano line. Intense and almost relentless, the tension seemed to be continually building until a sudden silence signaled the abrupt ending. The final movement was “Mexico City” and this began with a distinctly abstract feel that emanated from a complex surface texture, recalling the vibrant diversity of that city. As the piece continued it became increasingly upbeat and playfully familiar, before turning slower and nostalgically wistful. All of this was nicely captured in the composer’s characteristically mature style. A final crescendo and accelerando completed “Mexico City” – ending Souvenir with a rousing finish.

The second piece on the concert program, Voladores de Papantla (2017), was written for string quartet. The Voladores de Papantla, from the Veracruz region of Mexico, perform a spectacular folk ritual involving a 30 meter high pole. Five voladores dressed in colorful costumes climb to the top of the pole where four of them tie themselves to ropes, jump off backwards into space, and slowly twirl their way back down to earth. The fifth voladore remains on the top of the pole and presides with chants and prayers, playing a simple flute. This ancient observance is unforgettably dramatic and deeply significant to the Totonac peoples of the area.

The music for Voladores de Papantla is made up of seven sections that are played in succession with no pause, each describing a part of the Totonac ritual. The piece opens softly with a high, mysterious melody in violin I, which nicely recalls the flute invocation by voladore priest. The very high register in this passage was precisely played by Alexandros Petrin, whose careful intonation yielded a clear and steady tone. A sense of drama ensued as the voladores made their way up the pole. More thin notes were heard in the violin as the priest blessed the Voladores, about to hurl themselves into the air. A flurry of intense and complex passages followed, along with a feeling of tension and suspense as the voladores hurtled downward. After the descent, the priest plays a farewell and the warmer harmonies in the other strings carry a comforting feel. Voladores de Papantla is a well-crafted and heart-felt tribute to one of Mexico’s the great sacred traditions.

(more…)

by Paul Muller
Composers, Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Electro-Acoustic, Experimental Music, Seattle

A year without Matt Shoemaker (1974–2017)

Matt Shoemaker

One year ago the Pacific Northwest’s new music community was stunned by the suicide of Matt Shoemaker: painter and musician, enthusiastic traveler, frequent performer with Gamelan Pacifica, and accomplished creator in the genre of dark ambient. Shoemaker’s “electroacoustic soundscapes” have been released in a variety of formats by Elevator Bath, Helen Scarsdale Agency and other labels, and I offer an overview of this work in the Second Inversion article Mutable Depths: Remembering Matt Shoemaker. Shoemaker was a veteran of Seattle’s formidable electronic music scene, and he often performed his music at the Chapel Performance Space, the workhorse venue for experimental music in this city. It was there that an assembly of his colleagues, friends and admirers gathered on the night of May 5 to honor his memory.

Eric Lanzillotta opened the evening by coaxing deep, dense sonorities from a Moog MG-1 analog synthesizer. These gently modulated sounds were soon joined by filtered bands of pink noise, and then by low frequency sine wave glissandos. These latter often seemed to be amplitude modulated by a noise source to create an irregular tremolo, a time-honored technique for introducing complexity into the innately regular sonorities of electronic instruments. Lanzillotta often collaborated with Shoemaker, and the two can be heard jamming together in a 2005 session that has been released on Anomalous Records. An excerpt thereof is available on SoundCloud:

Jim Haynes took the stage next. This California-based musician and Helen Scarsdale Agency proprietor began by recounting the impact of encountering Shoemaker’s music for the first time (“Fuck, this guy is doing what I’m trying to do, only way better”). Next Haynes stepped up to his instrument table and brought in a major sixth drone that anchored the first several minutes of his set. Like Lanzillotta, Haynes exclusively used abstract, synthesized sounds—most notably a series of falling glissandos that swelled to an incredibly loud and thick climax before suddenly evaporating into one of those electronic “rattles” that evoke the world of Forbidden Planet-style sci-fi movie soundtracks.

I’d been curious about the half dozen 40W halogen bulbs scattered across Haynes’ setup until finally, ten minutes in, they started to illuminate, powered by the same pink noise source that was controlling the amplitude of his rumbling oscillators. A visual and aural crescendo ensued, the blinding effect of these irregularly flickering lamps inside the otherwise dark Chapel interior suggesting a campfire emerging from beyond the grave—a vast improvement over those tacky synchronized disco lights you see at popular concerts and clubs.

As he’d done before, Haynes suddenly cut the signal to the lamps and oscillators, leaving only a faint heartbeat-like pulse. After a few forlorn palpitations, the set ended. Of the evening’s offerings, it was Haynes’ music that reminded me the most of Shoemaker’s.

Matt Shoemaker’s LP Isolated Agent/Stranding Behavior ‎(Elevator Bath eeaoa031) featuring his original artwork

Up next was Climax Golden Twins, a Seattle-based experimental music band that has been active in various guises for 25 years, and whose configuration for the night comprised founders Robert Millis and Jeffrey Taylor along with Dave Knott and Jesse Paul Miller. The instrumentarium featured analog and digital synths, guitars, a hi-hat and an array of toys and other homemade contraptions. The music was free improv with the continuous transitions and generally slow tempos that are characteristic of that genre nowadays. The 20 minute set included the first concrete sounds of the evening: radio signals transduced through guitar pickups, sampled instruments and, most poignantly, excerpts from Shoemaker himself playing a Millis piano piece. These latter sounds, repetitive tinkerings on a C♯ minor triad of a kind I’d associate with Brian Eno or West Coast postminimalism, served to anchor the final five minutes of the set, which saw Knott walking through the space plucking this same chord on a ukulele as the piano excerpts played on, both forward and backward.

Knott remained onstage for a solo set that featured a half-sized bottleneck guitar with custom re-entrant tuning designed so that when the fingerboard is barred at the 9th fret, the strings can be played on either side. Its timbre reminded me of the spicy, transient-rich sounds of a Japanese biwa or samisen. The improvisation began in free rhythm, eventually taking on a steady pulse the way that a raga performance might progress from alap to jor. As the music grew more animated, Knott’s use of a sliding glass rod imparted a bit of Hawaiian inflection, and for the last few minutes Knott performed overtone singing over his now-steady strumming.

Miller returned to close out the event with a video featuring footage he shot in Indonesia, where Shoemaker had once spent several formative months. The multilayered imagery was conveyed in extremely fast cutting, sometimes combined with time lapse layers, and the montage was accompanied by synth drones mixed with field recordings (also from Indonesia). It was a suitable conclusion, and a reminder of the visual side of Shoemaker’s art (which was simultaneously on display in a memorial exhibit at Jack Straw New Media Gallery). All told, it was a substantive and beautiful evening of timbrally rich music befitting its dedicatee.

by Michael Schell