Concert review

Chamber Music, Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Ojai

Ojai Music Festival – Friday Evening

The Ojai Music Festival was re-scheduled this year from the traditional June to mid-September as a result of the continuing Covid pandemic. All the precautions were in place to meet local mandates – proof of vaccination was required for entry and masks must be worn in all concert venues. Even so, the crowds were as large and enthusiastic as ever despite the restrictions and a token anti-mask protest at the entrance to Libbey Park. It was a relief that the festival was finally happening and ready to present live music.

The Friday night, September 17 concert opened with a Chumash blessing by tribal elder Julie Tumamait-Stenslie, impressively arrayed in full regalia. This took the form of two chants in the Chumash language and a simple accompaniment with hand percussion. Elder Tumamait-Stenslie sang out in a clear, steady voice that filled the Libbey Bowl with warmth and welcome. This beautiful invocation needs to become an Ojai Music Festival tradition.

Danse sacrée et danse profane by Claude Debussy followed, with Emily Levin performing on solo harp. A small string orchestra accompanied, and the graceful music of Debussy proved to be the perfect segue from the gentle Chumash prayers. Emily Levin was flawless and seemed to be playing, from memory no less, in every measure of the piece. The ensemble was well-balanced and the excellent sound system in the Libbey Bowl reliably carried every 19th century nuance out into the still night air.

The quiet reserve of the Debussy piece set the stage for the West Coast premiere of Chamber Concerto, a dynamic five-movement work by Samuel Adams written in 2017. Samuel Adams is the son of composer John Adams and so grew up in the context of contemporary music. His wife, Helen Kim, is the principal second violin with the San Francisco Symphony and his sister is also an accomplished violinist. Chamber Concerto combines Samuel’s appreciation of the violin with a solid command of orchestral forms. The violin soloist for this piece was Miranda Cuckson, who gave what proved to be a compelling performance that delivered equal measures of power, drama and introspection.

“I. Prelude: One By One”, the opening movement, begins with a poignant violin solo as the orchestra sections, entering by turns, combine in a beautiful tutti sound. This quiet beginning prefigures the general pattern – Chamber Concerto tends to merge the gestures of the soloist into the rest of the orchestra, amplifying the emotions, rather than having the violin stand apart in conversation with the orchestra. The solo passages weave in and out of the tutti sections with a smoothness and elegance that is both pleasing and effective. “II. Lines (after J)”, the second movement, is faster and includes some quotations from John Adams’ Harmonielehre. There is an uptempo and playful feel, especially in the woodwinds, and a general increase of activity in all sections. The solo violin adds a bit of tension to what is now a swirl of complex passages. The strings pick this up, frantically opposing a low growling in the double basses. The stress peaks with a piercing piccolo passage and the solo violin then discharges the built-up tension with a lovely melody line that is heard against a sustained deep tone in the basses. The movement ends in a powerfully reflective violin solo heard with the orchestra almost entirely silent.

The third movement, “III. Aria Slow Movements”, continues this introspective mood with a solo line that was both solemn and restrained. The violin solo proceeds with a slow and almost mournful feel, working against gentle pedal tones in the basses. The result is very moving and provides a fine contrast to the frenzy heard in the heart of the second movement. The solo violin parts in movements 2 and 3 ran the range from complex and technically demanding to restrained and highly expressive – all masterfully handled by Ms. Cuckson.



Movement 4, “IV. Off/On” returned to the faster pace with all of sections of the orchestra joining in to create a cauldron of active syncopation. This eventually sorted itself into a more purposeful feel, with strong gestures passed around as the soloist darted in and out of the mix. The tension quickly increased in all sections and was only relieved by the arrival of the final movement, “V. Postlude: All Together Now”. This completed the work with a suitably slow and reflective ending. Chamber Concerto is an amazing piece that stretches the listener, the soloist and the players to their limits. This was a signature performance for the Festival Orchestra musicians, Miranda Cuckson and Samuel Adams.

After a short break, the concert continued with the prelude from Partita No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006, by J.S. Bach. Miranda Cuckson returned to perform this work for solo violin. She was located off-stage by an oak tree in a sleeveless gown, exposed to what had become the chilly Ojai evening air. Nevertheless, all of the many musical virtues of J.S. Bach were on full display, complete with strong rhythmic propulsion and Ms. Cuckson’s solid technique that sounded as if there were at least two instruments playing simultaneously. The Bach brought a bit of familiarity to the audience after the intensity of Chamber Concerto, and figured into the story behind the next piece on the program.

Fog, by Esa-Pekka Salonen followed, with orchestral forces that included strings, woodwinds and percussion. Fog was composed in honor of Frank Gehry, the architect of Disney Hall in Los Angeles. It was inspired by the Bach Partita No. 3 which was the first music ever heard in Disney Hall, played while testing the acoustics of the space when it was still under construction. Esa-Pekka Salonen recalled the sounds of the violin drifting upward into the cavernous spaces of the new hall, as if it were a lifting fog or mist.

Fog begins with an active, uptempo feel in all the orchestra sections producing a pleasing variety of interesting sounds. Because it directly followed the Partita No. 3, there were definite elements of Bach DNA to be heard in Fog with repeating passages and strong, active rhythms. As the piece progressed, the density of the texture increased along with a noticeable element of syncopation. There was a fine piano solo midway, but the complex, swirling sounds eventually dominated, especially in the woodwinds. Fog, always in motion and full of sunny optimism, was a welcome return of the Salonen style to Southern California. The composer was on hand to receive a substantial ovation from the Ojai crowd.

The concert continued with Flow, a piano concerto by Ingram Marshall featuring Timo Andres as soloist. This work was originally commissioned by the Los Angeles Philharmonic for the Green Umbrella series of 2016. Marshall has been a close friend of John Adams since their experimental music days in the 1970s Bay Area and this piece was written with Timo Andres in mind. Flow is a fitting title for this piece, opening as it does with deep, sustained tones in the strings while the piano quietly enters with single notes, tremolos and trills. The surging swell of sound in the orchestra, contrasted by the high running lines in the piano, nicely evoke a flowing stream or strong tide. As the piece proceeds, the piano line mixes in with the orchestra to complete the liquid feel. As Marshall writes “The music is all about flow, and I didn’t realize this was the case until I heard how fluid and smoothly running the material is.” Andres never forced the piano passages, artfully weaving the moving lines in and around the orchestra, or blending as needed. Flow precisely combines the available musical forces to capture the essence of a lively moving liquid.

The final work in the Friday night concert program was Running Theme by Timo Andres, for string orchestra. The piece has three sections, with harmonic and rhythmic variations based, as Andres writes, on the interval of “ a fifth broken over a dotted rhythm.” The strong opening chords and syncopated passages against the bass line give a surging feel to this and the repeating cells provide a generally bustling texture. Later in the piece the rhythms in each orchestra section play off against each other until eventually a nice groove breaks out. Running Theme provided an energetic ending to a fine concert program.

The Friday, September 17 evening concert was thoughtfully programmed and precisely performed. The organizers and musicians deserve the credit for this, and the public responded by attending in gratifying numbers. The uncertainties and restrictions of the present pandemic had only a minimal effect on the 2021 Ojai Music Festival – and this is very good news.

by Paul Muller
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles, Video, Violin

Daniel Corral – Hodad



The March 2021 offering from Music for Your Inbox is Hodad, a new video by Daniel Corral performed by violinist Myra Hinrichs. This work audaciously combines the Southern California surf with a solo violin played on the beach to create a unique collaboration between artist and nature. The program notes state: “At the beach, a violinist watches the waves roll in and out. The ocean becomes a score. Spot a wave in the distance. The wave crests; the wave washes up on the shore; the wave retracts and disappears into the sea. Play according to the wave’s movements.” The result is ostensibly a relaxing 21 minute interlude on a sunny beach, but there are surprising musical insights as well.

Nature has historically been a subject for emulation in music and there are many examples from contemporary composition: Olivier Messiaen used birdsong extensively in his Catalogue d’oiseaux, The Wind in High Places, by John Luther Adams perfectly captures the chilly peaks of Alaska, River of 1000 Streams by Daniel Lentz flows powerfully down to the sea and the music of Jeffrey Holmes is full of fierce Nordic weather. And these are just a few of the many recent pieces that could be cited.

Hodad differs from the conventional treatment of nature in music, however, by making the ocean an integral partner in the composition and the performance. This might seem impractical – apart from bagpipes or a massed brass band, acoustic instruments intended for the confines of the concert hall would seem to be no match for nature outdoors. The violin in Hodad is fitted with a pickup, but even so, it would be hard to imagine a greater imbalance than that between a single violin and the Pacific surf. Yet it is this one-sided combination that is the key to the piece.

Hodad opens with the camera looking out to the open sea with the sound of the waves rolling up on the shore. Myra Hinrichs is seen facing the surf, with her violin and music stand. She soon starts off with a soft, sustained tone that begins when a wave washes up to the beach. There is no attempt here to make the violin compete with the surf; this is intentional as the composer is also the sound engineer for this performance. The camera work by Tim Lacatena is properly static, with the ocean and Ms. Hinrichs sharing the scene equally. As the piece continues, the violin seems, at times, to be loosely coordinated with the wave action, but always with soft, sustained tones. It should be noted that the ocean that day was absolutely typical for the season – low rolling waves with an afternoon breeze and a slightly hazy sky. There was no drama in the water, everything on the otherwise empty beach was entirely normal.

The surf, tame by the standards of the ocean, nevertheless completely dominates the sound from the violin. A few tentative pizzicato notes were seen on the video, but these were completely inaudible. The sound mixing keeps the surf in the foreground and invites focus and close listening to hear the violin. The result of this is that the sounds of the surf are more vivid to the listener and a wide variety of details are heard that might otherwise be ignored by the brain. In a sense the ocean has stolen the show, but this is only possible because the surf a participant in the performance. The roll of the incoming waves, the rattle of sand and stone in the surf along with the hiss of a wave running up on the beach are all heard with a new clarity and detail. Without the violin, the listener hears the wash of the surf as a kind of sonic wallpaper – with the violin, the waves become a second instrument.

The fragility of the violin in the salty air and strong breeze is obvious in the video. The disciplined playing by Ms. Hinrichs is critical – meant to compliment the surf and not to dominate or even equal it. Hodad is a metaphor for the relative spheres of influence – the violin in the concert hall and the surf outdoors. One is full of quiet introspection, the other has unlimited energy, but in this piece both can be examined by the listener in the same context. Hodad is an ambitious piece, if only for including a force of nature into the performance. A sunny afternoon spent at the beach will never seem the same.

Hodad is available for viewing through Music for Your Inbox.

by 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
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
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
Chamber Music, Concert review, Contemporary Classical

Kopatchinskaya and Hong perform Kurtág in Seattle

Few composers have embraced the Webernian aesthetic of brevity more closely than the Hungarian György Kurtág (b.1926). Starting with his earliest canonical work, the Op. 1 String Quartet (1959), he steadily built an international career entirely from bagatelles, usually written for small ensembles and gathered into collections linked by instrumentation and concept, and always unsurpassed in concentrated intensity. Kurtág’s commitment to epigrammatic potency reached an apogee with Kafka Fragments (1985–87), 40 brief German texts from the novelist’s diaries and posthumous writings adapted into an hour of music of such resolute focus that the composer limited its instrumentation to one soprano and one violinist.

Despite the challenges that it poses in sustaining such constricted severity—not to mention the demands it places on the musicians’ technique and stamina—Kafka Fragments is among Kurtág’s most frequently recorded compositions. So it was of great interest when, in the midst of a US tour that brought her to the Pacific Northwest to play Shostakovich with the Seattle Symphony, the acclaimed and iconoclastic Moldovan violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaya (PatKop as she is known among associates) devoted the evening of January 29, 2020 to this one composition, presented in the Symphony’s recently inaugurated and pocket-sized Octave 9 space with Ah Young Hong, a soprano currently based at the Peabody Institute whose advocacy of new music is closely associated with composer Michael Hersch. Not surprisingly, the duo delivered a novel and thought-provoking take on the piece, fulfilling the wish expressed in Kopatchinskaya’s pre-performance remarks of “an enriching and uncomfortable evening”—one whose resonances turned out to be unexpectedly timely.

The interpretive affinity between the two women was evident from the get-go. Like many soloists of her generation, Kopatchinskaya eschews the habitual wide vibrato of the Kreisler/Heifetz school in favor of a more nuanced approach. Hong too is capable of deploying a “cooler” technique, allowing for the gradations needed to convey the mood swings in a song like Einmal brach ich mir das Bein (Once I broke my leg) or for backgrounding the voice in a song like Der wahre Weg (The True Path) where the violin is usually in the lead.

Particularly impressive were the vocal leaps in Wiederum, wiederum (Again, Again) that accompany the line “mountains, desert, wide country to wander through”. Most sopranos try to smooth over these jumps, but Hong attacked them in a dazzling fashion, reminiscent of the wordless exhortation that begins ¿De dónde vienes, amor, mi niño? from Crumb’s Ancient Voices of Children (1970) one of the Fragments’ more palpable stylistic precedents.

Together, the performers delivered sufficient volume to overpower the persistent white noise emitted by the LED cooling fans in Octave 9’s low ceilings, the space’s most distracting acoustic issue. In this regard they were aided by its vaunted Constellation sound projection system, whose computer-backed array of ceiling microphones and loudspeakers is capable of simulating a variety of acoustic environments while accommodating ambulatory musicians (this being essential for a work like the Fragments, where the performer’s stage positions are often specified).

Commenting on the choice of presets, Kopatchinskaya said “I thought about the sound of the burning Notre Dame cathedral (it seems it is not yet programmed in the system), but we now have perhaps something similar to a synagogue in Prague from the last century, at least in our imagination”.

The most striking aspect of the evening’s performance, though, was its emphasis on contrast. With the Fragments’ instrumentation confined to a pair of treble instruments whose range and expressive characteristics largely overlap, the resulting sound world can easily seem unrooted. Accordingly, most of the work’s interpreters have sought to achieve maximum unity of timbre, rhythm and articulation. But the Hong/PatKop traversal frequently exploited differences between the two parts, as evinced in the very first song, Die Guten gehn im glichen Schritt (The good march in the same step), where on the word gleichen (same) the voice begins to straggle behind the violin’s steady pace:

score excerpt

Singers usually take this passage in strict tempo, producing exact syncopation at the divergence. But Hong allowed herself the slightest hint of rubato, suggesting a more neurotic relationship with Kopatchinskaya’s indifferente beat.

And though it was not explicitly coordinated, the musicians’ costuming likewise presented a thematic contrast. Hong wore a long, black, V-neck dress with a long-sleeved black coat and a long silvery necklace that emphasized the resulting oval framing. Combined with her expressive face and “Bohemian” hair, the visage suggested a voice emanating from darkness, in touch with invisible forces but not in particular control of them. At times, the prophesizing of Shakespearean witches came to mind. At others, as during the reprise of Verstecke (Hiding-Places) when Hong clutched her cheeks in a pantomime yell, it was the anxiety of Munch’s Scream that seemed to be channeled.

At this latter juncture, Kopatchinskaya crept behind Hong while playing sul ponticello tremolos like a buzzing mosquito. Her role, suggested by her trademark suit resembling an undersized tuxedo with tails and shoulder cutouts, was more akin to a tramp. A hatless and shoeless Chaplin (for PatKop always plays barefoot) who carries a violin bow instead of a cane. Perhaps a bit of a stretch, but for this American observer at least, even Kopatchinskaya’s expressions and occasional one-footed gestures of musical energy conjured up something of Chaplin’s mischievous physiognomy and comic kicks. Heightened by dim, magenta-hued “darkroom” lighting, with translations projected behind the performers, the presentation affirmed Kopatchinskaya’s vision of the Fragments as “full of musical literary moments that you could ponder for the rest of your life”.

Ah Young HongThe Kafka Fragments were an inflection point in Kurtág’s career, wherein the potentialities of chamber bagatelles and their sequencing into longer and longer assembled forms, are stretched to the verge of collapse. Kurtág’s organization of the 40 songs into four parts, divisions that the performers marked by sitting silently for a minute of rest, helps to mitigate two issues that have always bedeviled the song cycle form: the constant starts and stops, and the challenge of consuming a lengthy totality made up of numerous short units that don’t naturally combine into intermediate structures. One can still sense the composer’s struggle with the oppositional demands of brevity and heft though, and soon after completing the Fragments Kurtág finally began to write longer continuous pieces, often greatly expanding his ensembles in the process. The Double Concerto (1989–90) and the orchestral Stele (1993–94) were among the first manifestations of the newer, more “monumental” Kurtág which has perhaps reached its consummation with his aptly-titled full-length opera Fin de Partie (2018), after Beckett’s Endgame.

In a way it’s fitting that a transitional piece like Kafka Fragments would come to Octave 9 now, amplified by what’s arguably the biggest star power yet to appear at that venue. Fashioned from a generic storefront space at the corner of Seattle Symphony’s Benaroya Hall complex, its uses are divided between educational/community outreach events and contemporary music recitals featuring the Symphony’s musicians and guest artists. One of its goals has been to foster new works “without the risk of presenting them in front of 2500 people” (as Ludovic Morlot put it to me shortly before his departure as Music Director). Today, though, one year after its March 2019 unveiling, a mass exodus of executive-level talent from the Symphony has left Octave 9 shorn of all four of its principal architects: CEO Simon Woods, two key VPs (Elena Dubinets and Laura Reynolds, whose replacements have not yet arrived) and Morlot himself. Like Kurtág at the time of his Fragments, Octave 9 appears to be facing a crossroads.

Despite hosting a succession of noteworthy events, including a remarkable inaugural 24-hour contemporary music marathon, the space has yet to make a noticeable impact on the chronic fragmentation of Seattle’s new music community, whose denizens seem to be deterred by its ticket prices and downtown location (those that I saw in attendance at the PatKop/Hong event were mostly Symphony personnel). Instead the clientele for the venue’s new music events comes mainly from Symphony patrons, many of them downtown-dwelling professionals for whom the featured performers are celebrities. Speaking afterwards with some of these concertgoers, none of which had previously heard of Kurtág, I encountered several variations on “this music is a lot more interesting when you’re close to the musicians and can see their enthusiasm”, a sentiment that shows that the Octave 9 experiment is at least working for this cohort. Success at audience cultivation can portend broader successes down the road, and the potential on display at Octave 9 pleads for a replenished leadership team that will support it with the same vigor and creativity as its founding cadre.

Photos by James Holt/Seattle Symphony. Score excerpts via Stretta Music.

by Michael Schell
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles

Separation Songs at Monk Space

On Tuesday, February 18, 2020, Brightwork newmusic presented the Los Angeles premiere of Separation Songs, by Matt Sargent.  A 70-minute work for two string quartets, Separation Songs comprised the entire program. The Eclipse Quartet was joined by the Aperture Duo, Grace Oh and Julie Jung to complete the eight-piece ensemble. Seating in the Monk Space venue was reconfigured to accommodate the larger musical forces and to take full advantage of the close acoustics. Everyone in the audience was within twenty feet of the players, allowing the listeners to be immersed in the warm sonority of the strings.

Separation Songs is fashioned from ten New England hymn tunes written by William Billings in the early 18th century. This is plain, yet stately, church music that carries comfort and warmth in every note. The original harmonies have been delicately processed and woven together to create a continuous flow.  Composer Matt Sargent writes “Throughout the piece, hymn tunes come and go, passing from one quartet to the other: As tunes reappear, they filter through a ‘separation process,’ whereby selected notes migrate from one quartet to the other. The process leaves breaks in the music that remain silent or are filled by stretching the durations of nearby notes, generating new rhythms and harmonies.”

The two quartets were arrayed as mirror images: the  cellos were in the center and the higher strings seated in a semicircle on either side. The brick walls surrounding the performance space brought out every timbral nuance. Separation Songs opened with one quartet playing a Billings hymn in full harmony. The second quartet picked up the tune while the first played long sustaining tones in support. As the piece proceeded, the hymn tunes and sustained notes were passed back and forth between the two quartets in a regular exchange. Nothing was rushed and only slight variations in dynamics, tempo or texture could be detected. Everything was carried forward in the kaleidoscopic unfolding of the harmonies so that a warm wash of sound enveloped the audience in a profound serenity. The playing was very expressive and care was taken by the musicians to coordinate the two quartets in a piece with few landmarks.

Separation Songs rolls along for 70 minutes with almost no change in its character, but the harmonic variations keep the listener continuously engaged. The sturdy hymn tunes bring a sense of strength and wistfulness to this music; a shorter version would make a perfect prelude at a memorial service. Separation Songs is a powerful re-imagining of the early American congregational hymn, and succeeds brilliantly in bringing a sharpened sense of the transcendental into the 21st century. As the last notes faded away, a full 15 seconds of respectful silence followed before the start of a roaring ovation from the audience.

Separations Songs is available on CD from Cold Blue Music.

The Eclipse Quartet is:
Sarah Thornblade, violin
Sara Parkins, violin
Alma Lisa Fernandez, viola
Maggie Parkins, cello

The Aperture Duo is:
Adrianne Pope, violin
Linnea Powell, viola

With:
Grace Oh, violin
Julie Jung, cello

The next Cold Blue Music presentation will be at the Soundwaves concert series at the Santa Monica Public Library on March 18, 2020, and will feature music from several new CD releases.

by Paul Muller
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, Los Angeles

Isaura String Quartet at REDCAT

On Wednesday, December 11, 2019 REDCAT, in downtown Los Angeles, hosted the Isaura String Quartet in a concert of new music titled hum. Five works were presented by contemporary composers including two world premiers and a West Coast premiere. A fine mid-week crowd filled the REDCAT venue, braving the fierce holiday traffic.

Darkness is Not Well Lit (2016), by Nicole Lizée, opened the concert and for this piece the quartet was seated on low risers with an floor fan stationed in front of each player. The concert notes explained that this work is “…a sonic imaging of a film noir for string quartet as seen – and heard – from the vantage point of an electric fan.” The performance space filled with the recorded roaring of a large fan at the beginning, and a series of simple phrases rose quietly from the cello and viola. A violin entered next, with a lovely sustained tone that arced above the deep chords in the lower strings. The moving fan blades in front of each player acted on the musical sounds to produce a sort of fluttery feel, especially in the sustained notes of the lower registers. The effect was both curious and beguiling, effectively connecting the playing ensemble to the fan sounds coming out of the speakers. This effect would likely have been more pronounced in a smaller venue, but Darkness is Not Well Lit is nevertheless an intriguing implementation of a surprisingly simple experimental technique.

String Quartet (2014), by Laura Steenberge followed, a piece written for the JACK Quartet and inspired by wild things: wolves, whales, crows and cuttlefish. The opening is a series of strong, sustained chords in the cello and viola that evoke a lonely sadness. The violins join in – without any pulse or beat present – to create a sort of distilled sorrow. The viola tones move up in pitch as the violins shift into a high, whimpering cry as might be heard among wolves in a lonely wood at night. After a short pause, high, thin tones are heard in the violins while the cello scratches out rough and rugged sound below. The upper strings emit a series of screeches that soon coarsen into harsher tones. A series of repeating notes in a tutti chord, that becomes darker and discordant as it lengthens, is particularly effective. Humming by the players adds to the richness of the sound and a short a cappella section finishes the piece. The playing of String Quartet is evocative and skillful, complimenting the organic eloquence of the music.

The world premiere of Quartet for the Beginning of a Time (2019), by David Rosenboom, was next, a complex and sophisticated work that manages to artfully balance earnest abstraction with settled convention. The structure of the piece is based on the relationships of a series of catenaries – curves that guide the diffuseness and clarity of various musical parameters. The composer writes that these relationships include the “…clarity of tonal reference dissolving into atonal fields and re-emerging later, clarity of perceivable pitch evolving into and out of relatively non-pitched sounds, independence versus synchronicity among players, relational simultaneities, temporal densities and speeds, and shifting complex dynamics of simple versus compound time forms and melodic shapes.”

Quartet for the Beginning of a Time opens with sustained tutti chords joined in agreeable harmony, yet with an expectant feel. A series of squeaks and chirps soon break out in the upper strings and this gradually increases until it dominates the texture in all registers. The tutti sections, when they occur, become ever more strident and seem to further the incoherence of the melodies. It is as if the music is undergoing a nervous breakdown. As the piece proceeds the dissembling becomes more intense and the higher parts break into a series of independent and rapid phrases. Pizzicato and extended techniques take over, with much rapping and knocking of the instruments. A loud snapping sound is heard from a cello string, and the ensemble pauses – marking the boundary of two catenary curve sets in the structure. The quartet resumes but the sounds are now clearly chaotic with rapping, squealing and disconnected flurries of pizzicato spraying out in all directions – it is as if the music is falling in and out of lucidity. The long flowing phrases of the opening return, but there is an undercurrent of uncertainty and instability as the piece concludes. The brilliant playing of the Isaura Quartet is a technical triumph, equal to the emotional demands of the music. Quartet for the Beginning of a Time is a remarkable and unsettling work that applies the raw power of mental disintegration directly to the emotions of the listener.

(more…)

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

Vienna Boys Choir at Carnegie Hall

Photo: Lukas Beck.

Vienna Boys Choir

Carnegie Hall

December 8, 2019

By Christian Carey

NEW YORK – On Sunday, the Vienna Boys Choir performed a Christmas program at Carnegie Hall. It included much standard Christmas fare, both carols and pops selections. However, there were also a number of more substantial pieces, both Renaissance polyphony and 20/21st century music. The superlative musicianship of both the choir and its director/pianist Manuel Huber were impressive throughout, and the flexibility in navigating the various styles of the programmed music seamlessly was noteworthy. 

Although the membership rotates through some hundred members at a given time, with various touring groups and educational activities, the sound of the choir remains distinctive. Unlike English boys choirs, the sound up top is narrower yet retains a bell-like consistency. Several members of the group are in the midst of their voices changing, which allowed for tenor and baritone registers to be accessed in select places. The retention of adolescents not only allows for the group’s larger compass, it is also a compassionate way to treat young people, flouting the long tradition of dismissing choristers whose voices have “broken.” 

The choir entered from offstage singing plainchant. This was followed by a selection of Latin church music by Palestrina, Duruflé, Salazar, and Verdi. The latter piece was the most taxing on the program and the singers navigated it with aplomb. Gerald Wirth has long been the music director for Vienna Boys Choir, arranging and composing pieces for the group. The Sanctus-Benedictus from his Missa-apostolica showed the choir’s voices to best advantage. Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer’s pentatonic vocalization of Gamelan sounds was another winning selection. A nod to America included “I Bought Me a Cat” from Aaron Copland’s Old American Songs, “Somewhere” from Leonard Bernstein’s West Side Story, and Gershwin’s “I Got Rhythm.” On the pops selections, choirmaster Manuel Huber provided jaunty accompaniments at the piano with cocktail jazz embellishments.

The second half of the program was divided between carols and pops selections. Es ist ein Rose entsprungen, Adeste Fideles, O Holy Night, and others were performed with gossamer tone and considerable musicianship, putting paid the many stolid renditions one must endure during the holiday shopping season. A new carol to me, Es Wird sho glei dumpa, from Upper Austria, will certainly feature in my own Christmas performances in the future. 

The closing set of pops numbers included “White Christmas” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” – it was once again impressive to hear the change in tone the choir was able to adopt between stylistic margins of the program. The inclusion of “Let it Snow,” which is more suggestive than the other pops tunes, marked a questionable choice. Ending with “Stille Nacht” made far more sense for this fine group of young singers.

-Christian Carey

by Christian Carey
Concert review, Contemporary Classical, George Crumb, Pasadena Conservatory, Los Angeles

George Crumb – 90th Birthday Concert in Pasadena

On Sunday, November 3, 2019 the Pasadena Conservatory of Music presented a concert of piano music by Pulitzer Prize-winning composer George Crumb. The occasion marked the observance Crumb’s 90th birthday on October 24. No fewer than three soloists were on hand in the Barrett Recital Hall to perform piano works by Crumb from the early 1970s and 1980. The concert was dedicated to the memory the composer’s daughter, actress and singer Ann Crumb, who had died just a few days before.

A Little Suite for Christmas, A.D. 1979 opened the program, performed by Susan Svrček of the Conservatory faculty. This seven movement work is based on the Nativity frescoes of the Arena Chapel in Padua, Italy as created by Giotto in 1305. The opening movement, “The Visitation” begins with a series of soft, mysterious chords that gain in power as they are repeated. The sharp phrasing and wide variation in the dynamics create a sense of the unknown as well as a certain foreboding. “Berceuse for the Infant Jesu”, the second movement, follows with a calming and gentle feel that is built around a lovely fragment of melody. The quiet tenderness is undercut in the last few phrases, however, by a faint feeling of uncertainty.

Extended techniques are a prominent feature of Crumb’s music and in the third movement, “The Shepherds’ Noël”, there is the plucking and light strumming of the piano strings. This establishes a haunting backdrop to a simple melody from the keyboard that evokes a shepherd’s flute. The stopping of several strings with hand pressure while the notes are played produces a sharp percussive effect, and this is used to advantage in “Adoration of the Magi”, movement four. All of this was negotiated with a smooth elegance by Ms. Svrček. The rapid rhythms and crashing chords of movement 5, “Nativity Dance”, provided a stirring contrast to the slower movements. Lightly plucked strings and strumming accompanied the soft and settled “Canticle of the Holy Night”, movement 6, which contained a fleeting quote from the familiar Coventry Carol to summon an appealing element of folk simplicity.

“Carol of the Bells” closed the piece with deep rumbles rising from the lower registers, alternating with bright flashing phrases that rang out like a carillon in the town square. Towards the finish, a touch of unease crept in that reinforced the thoughtful combination of reverence and wonderment that fills this entire piece. The liturgical season of Advent in our 21st century has been completely overwhelmed by commercialism and forced merriment. In A Little Suite for Christmas, A.D. 1979, George Crumb has restored the proper sense of awe that should inform our reflections on the events of the Nativity at this time of the year.

Makrokosmos, Volume I was next, a piece written in 1971/72. Nic Gerpe was the soloist for this twelve movement work in three parts, for amplified piano. Each of the movements was inspired by a sign of the zodiac. Part One opened with “Primeval Sounds (Genesis I) Cancer,” and this began with a series of soft, dark chords in the bottom register of the piano. Extended techniques were again prominent, including some strong strumming that added to the feeling of distant menace. Loud, stopped notes were repeated and rang out like angry hammering. A great swell of tremolo notes arose from the left hand, evoking a powerful sense of primordial dread. The second movement, “Proteus Pisces”, was comprised of short, rapid phrases that were distinctly playful and a welcome contrast to the previous atmospherics. Played from the keyboard and technically demanding, these were nevertheless heard with a clear precision. “Pastorale Taurus” followed, with more gloom coming from the lower registers of the keyboard. A loud yelling of ‘Christe!’ punctuated the quiet and signaled the opening of the final movement of Part 1, “Crucifixus Capricorn”. A few quiet notes from the keyboard followed and then a cascade of strumming, plucking and vocal cries of agony and despair that was as unsettling as any Passion.

Gerpe was in complete control at all times and moved confidently about the piano. He played the piece without a score – access to the interior of the piano made the use of the music rack impractical – and so this piece was played entirely from memory. When asked about this later Gerpe replied that the physicality of the playing constituted a sort of choreography, and this was much easier to remember than a series of notes and rhythms.

Parts 2 and 3 of Makrokosmos followed in similar fashion. This is music made of sound sequences and not of melody or harmony.  The expressive range of the piano seemed to expand as the piece continued, with each movement featuring new combinations of extended techniques. There was a whistled quotation from a hymn tune as well as new and darker sounds from the lower reaches of the piano strings. Listening to this piece, one soon forgets the initial novelty of the extended techniques and simply admires the new musical syntax. Gerpe negotiated all of this cleanly and with complete assurance.

Makrokosmos Volume II followed after the intermission and was performed by soloist Kathryn Eames. This was the second of four volumes comprising the Makrokosmos series and was also informed by the zodiacal signs. As with Volume I, this piece had twelve movements divided into three different parts. Makrokosmos Volume II contained, if anything, a wider variety of sounds than the previous pieces on the concert program. There were many vivid emotions that came across in the twelve movements: brightly optimistic, dramatic, darkly mysterious, playful, mystical and menacing.

Extended techniques were more extensively employed in this piece and included the placing a sheet of paper on the strings to create a kind of buzzing distortion. A glass tumbler on the strings produced a series of otherworldly sounds, aided by vocals from the soloist. A wire brush applied to the strings produced an intimate, whispering sound. There was the usual rapping, strumming and plucking in this piece as well, and the wider use of these extended techniques seemed to fit more seamlessly into the musical architecture. Ms. Eames presided with impressive finesse over the various phrasings and effects, while also playing the piece entirely from memory.

These piano pieces by George Crumb are a milestone in 20th century musical development and his masterful application of extended techniques will stand as a benchmark of the art. Los Angeles is fortunate to have three piano soloists capable of performing this music at such an accomplished level.

by Paul Muller