The much-anticipated Synchromy Opera Festival was presented at Boston Court, Pasadena, over June 4 and 5, with two sold-out performances for a pair of world premiere productions. The Double, by Vera Ivanova and Roman, by Ian Dicke, filled the larger space at Boston Court with imaginative stagecraft and powerful music performed by first-rate musicians and excellent singers. Both operas dealt with the unintended effects of technology on ordinary people and both succeed in artfully delivering a cautionary message to engaged and attentive audiences. This review will cover The Double, the first opera on the program, and a separate review will be posted for Roman.
The Double loosely follows the experiences of an ordinary man named Noth, who desires a better life through a new app-based psychological therapy. Although we aren’t told exactly how this therapy works, it is apparently “text-based and mobile”, an obvious reference to our ubiquitous cell phones. The opening features Noth, tenor Jon Lee Keenan, and the Therapist, baritone Scott Graff, singing a bright duo “A Better You” praising this latest innovation in therapeutic technology. The music here is bouncy and light as with an ad jingle, but with a slightly menacing undercurrent. As the plot synopsis explains: “Noth, a low-level office worker, states that he came to the therapist a month ago, with low self esteem, but now things seem to be worse.”
The Brightwork Ensemble provided the musical forces for The Double and included a piano, violin, cello, flute, clarinet and percussion. These were ranged along the back of the stage and directed by Marc Lowenstein. The stage was otherwise bare with no scenery so that the cast of just four singers had to carry the text, the plot and provide all the action. A full-size screen provided for projections and the sound engineering and lighting were under the capable direction Nicholas Tipp and Alejandro Melendez, respectively.
Throughout The Double, composer Ivanova kept the musicians busy with moving lines and plenty of notes while astutely giving the singers long, sustained tones that arc above the active texture of the accompaniment. This allowed for a clear delivery of their lines as well as space for greater dramatic expression. The sung text was projected at the top of the screen and this was helpful even though all the sounds were well balanced and the miked-up singers were almost always intelligible.
As the plot unfolds, Noth’s fellow office worker, Klara, sung by soprano Anna Schubert, also begins the new therapy in an attempt to exchange her dull life for “money, power, freedom and adventure.” Meanwhile, as Noth continues his emotional decline, a better version of him has actually emerged in the form of a physical Double. The casting of the elegant and taller Timur is inspired here – the extraordinary range of his voice gives the Double a vaguely alien presence. Klara, who is becoming more assertive through her therapy, meets the Double and is immediately attracted to him. Eventually, Klara and the Double marry in a ceremony presided over by the Therapist and witnessed by the heartbroken Noth. The Therapist binds Klara and the Double together with a long scarf, even as Klara sings powerfully about attaining wealth and freedom. This moment briefly recalls Das Rheingold when Alberich finally attains power and wealth, but must forfeit love. As the opera ends, Noth is reduced to ‘Noth ing’, now completely broken down by the therapy while his life has been appropriated by his better Double.
The Double is a beautifully precise and masterful work with careful attention to every aspect of the production. Dr. Ivanova’s music is exquisitely detailed, agile and always informing the action. The accompaniment provided by the Brightwork Ensemble was clear-cut and nimble, instantly changing direction as needed to support the emotions of the moment on stage. The singing was confident, assured and delivered with great expression. The costume design by Lena Sands and make-up had just the right balance between the imaginary and the real. Even the staged movements of the cast more than made up for the absence of impressive scenery. The sound and lighting complimented the production completely and the direction by Alexander Gedeon brought out the best in an already talented cast. As seen on Times Union, it is gratifying to know that serious opera can be staged with such splendid results without requiring huge financial resources. Congratulations to Synchromy for stepping up to the challenge.
While the music, staging and libretto are all artistically impressive, they also invite the audience to consider deeper questions layered within this compelling story. As Librettist Sarah LaBrie writes: “When Vera Ivanova approached me with this project, my first thought was that this story would offer an incredible opportunity to play with the concept of identity and the way it changes as our lives migrate increasingly online. Now, however, I’ve come to understand that the significance of The Double to our current cultural moment runs much deeper than that. In 2022, many of us are coming to terms with what it means to be a citizen of a country founded on a dream that clashes glaringly with the reality many of us confront.”
The Double brilliantly accomplishes what opera is meant to do: engage the audience to think about the wider consequences of progress and new technology on human relationships.
Photo by Richard An – courtesy of Synchromy, used with permission
Some of the artists at the 2022 Long Play festival
Two years ago, I was editing a 2020 interview with the composer David Lang about the new multi-day festival that Bang on a Can planned for that spring, Long Play, when I realized the significance of the festival title. The year 2020 would be Bang on a Can’s 33rd anniversary. Long Play = LP = 33 rpm. Very clever! Although the festival was delayed for two years, it retains its name.
The inaugural Long Play festival takes place on April 29, April 30 and May 1, 2022 at a half-dozen venues in Brooklyn, including BAM, Roulette, Littlefield, the Center for Fiction, Mark Morris Dance Center, Public Records and the outdoor plaza at 300 Ashland. Over 60 performances are scheduled. Some are free, but most are accessed via a day pass ($95) or a three-day festival pass ($195). Over a hundred performers range from the Sun Ra Arkestra to jazz pianist Vijay Iyer to bagpiper Matthew Welsh (complete list is here).
Lang, along with the composers Julia Wolfe and Michael Gordon launched Bang on a Can in New York City in 1987 with a 12-hour concert in a downtown art gallery. The organization became known for its annual marathon concerts in New York, and later expanded to include a performance group (the Bang on a Can All-Stars), a commissioning program, education programs and festivals at MASS MoCA in the Berkshires, a record label (Cantaloupe), and an on-going extensive online series created when live concerts were cancelled during the pandemic.
Looking back on our conversation on February 25, 2020, most of what Lang and I discussed is still relevant to the rescheduled Long Play Festival. Here is the interview, edited for length and clarity.
Gail Wein Successful marathons have been your signature event for Bang on a Can for 33 years. So what prompted the creation of this differently-formatted festival, Long Play?
David Lang
David Lang Over the last couple of marathons we have tried to expand our reach to different kinds of music and to other kinds of communities. After a while of doing that, we felt like we were inviting people on to the marathon for slots of 15 or 20 minutes that we wished were an hour or two hours. And so we got interested in a lot of other kinds of music and it just seemed like we weren’t spending enough time with them.
I remember thinking – this is at the last marathon – people would come in and they would go, “That was incredible. Why am I only wanting that for fifteen minutes?” What we’re hoping to do with this is to say, we’ve uncovered all these incredible connections between all these different kinds of music. And now we really want to let people go deeper into what those connections do and where they go.
Gail Wein Of course, it’s a much bigger scope. Three days, and a bunch of venues. And instead of the marathon’s free admission, this one is ticketed.
David Lang There’s still going to be a bunch of free things, including some outdoor events, because we really like the idea that we have a wide doorway, that lots of different kinds of people can come through with no barriers. But it’s also true that when you start working with so many hundreds of musicians and so many different kinds of venues, that it’s just not possible for us to fundraise to make the entire thing free anymore. So we came up with this plan that, for essentially the price of one ticket, you get a pass which allows you to see everything and then you’ll just be able to go in and out of performances and check out music from all these different communities.
Gail Wein How does the aesthetic of the performers and the programs and the repertoire differ from that of the marathons?
David Lang I don’t think it differs at all.
We’re still looking for people whose definition of what they do is: they wake up in the morning and tell themselves that they’re innovators. They wake up and they say, there’s a kind of traditional music that’s involved in my world and I’m not doing that. That’s always been the way we’ve judged people to come on to the marathon. We wanted to find people who were pushing their fields. The difference here is that we’re able to go deeper into other kinds of communities like jazz and rock music and indie pop and ambient and electronica and be able to invite more people who are pushing their boundaries.
Gail Wein I was thinking about the longevity of Bang on a Can as an institution. Institutions come and go, organizations come and go, various folks have mounted series, marathons, festivals. But not that many have lasted a third of a century. To what do you attribute Bang on a Can’s longevity?
David Lang, Michael Gordon and Julia Wolfe, the founders of Bang on A Can (photo by Peter Serling)
David Lang I’m sure some of it is just dumb luck. But also we have a kind of hippie mentality about what it is we do, where we want everyone involved in the organization to be as excited and passionate about it as possible. If something comes up that we are not passionate about, we don’t do it. Some organizations, they just begin to think, well, we have a payroll to meet. We’ve got to do this, and this is what we did last year.
One of the things that we’re really proudest of about this festival and also about our sister festival that we started in summer, which is the Loud Weekend Festival at Mass Moca, is that we’re able to change and get excited about other kinds of things and then turn the organization so that it can take advantage of what we’re all really excited about. Everyone who works at Bang on a Can is a musician; we only hire people who are musicians. And so when we talk about these things in the office, we really are sharing ideas of the things that we are all getting excited about. And so when you do something like this, when you say this is a new direction that we’re going in, or this is the kind of music we want to include, or this is a new initiative for something we’d like to do, it’s something that energizes everybody. That’s one of the reasons why we can stay fresh, because everybody understands how committed we all are to the mission of the organization.
Gail Wein I’ve been thinking about this: New York City is already one big music festival every single day.
David Lang It is.
Gail Wein So why do you think New York and New Yorkers need this festival?
David Lang One of the beautiful things about this is the pass, quite honestly. In New York, there are always 500 concerts to see every single night. And you pay your money and you go see it and you stick it out, right? And then you say, I know I’m going to see this one, I don’t know that other kind of music, so I’m going to go see the one I know because I have to pay the money and I have to sit there for the concert.
At Long Play, we have all of this music within a few blocks of each other, all in walking distance, in Brooklyn, all the concerts are scheduled to go on simultaneously. What I’m really hoping will happen is that people with the pass will be encouraged to check out things that they wouldn’t necessarily check out because they have the right to go to that concert. So that’s our thought of how to replace the thing that we loved so much about the marathon, which is to put this kind of music next to each other, so that someone would come out of watching twelve hours of the music at the marathon and having a kind of cross section of a huge swath of interesting innovative things. What we’re hoping now will happen is that because I’ve already bought a pass, I’m going to check it out. And if I don’t like it, I can get up in 10 minutes and go check something else out. I’m not obligated to spend $50 for a concert of stuff I don’t know.
Gail Wein How did you choose and curate the artists and the programs and the venues as well?
David Lang We wanted to find places that were all in walking distance. And of course, that means that we started talking to everybody a year ago in order to get on their schedules. And then we just went to every single person who works in Bang on a Can and asked, what do you want to see? People just thought, what’s the widest, most varied, most exciting bunch of things from a bunch of different musical directions that we can come up with?
Gail Wein What do you hope audiences will come away with after experiencing the Long Play Festival?
David Lang What I’m really hoping will happen is that people will think that the world is full of all sorts of exciting things going on right now. And and that it’s full of creativity and wildness and inspiration and and that the world is very large. You know, I think sometimes when you go to a concert that’s neatly packaged and everything fits and everything makes sense. You go, this is a complete experience andI don’t need anything else. What I’m really hoping will happen is that people will come to this thing and they’ll go. That was unbelievable. And the world is full of all sorts of things that I have to continue to check out.
I asked David Lang which of the artists and programs were his favorite. A message he sent in an email newsletter earlier this month sums up his thoughts about the 2022 festival.
April 5, 2022
LONG PLAY really reminds me of those choose-your-own-adventure books – you get to make your own musical path through each day.
That is why I am going to plot my course through the weekend, very very carefully – I want to make sure I build my schedule around the concerts that I really have to see. Such as:
Stimmung – Karlheinz Stockhausen – It is hard to imagine that a European modernist classic from the 1960’s is in reality a meditation on everyone in the world having sex with each other, but that is what it is. Ekmeles sings at the Mark Morris Dance Center at 5pm on Friday, April 29.
Iva Casian-Lakos plays Joan La Barbara – Bang on a Can introduced these two to each other on one of our Pandemic Marathons last year, commissioning a new work from Joan for Iva’s fiery cello playing. The result was so electrifying that they have made it into a show, and I need to hear how it has grown. At the Center for Fiction at 2pm on Sunday.
Vijay Iyer, Linda May Han Oh, Tyshawn Sorey – Their album UNEASY came out last year on ECM and it has been on heavy rotation in my studio ever since. It’s tuneful and moody and thoughtful, and I really want to hear them play together, live. At Roulette on Saturday at 8pm.
Eddy Kwon – composer, singer, violinist – their music is so beautiful and flows so smoothly across so many boundaries that is hard for me to even describe it. The songs feel like the hit arias from the foundational music of a culture I have never experienced before. Magic. Sunday at 4pm at the Center for Fiction.
Ornette Coleman – The Shape of Jazz to Come – Coleman was a motivator for so much forward motion in music. This legendary album from 1959 was a big part of that, and it is still pushing musicians to move forward. I want to be there when six composers show us how with their world premieres. At BAM’s Opera House 7:30pm on Sunday, May 1.
And then I have to figure out how to run between all the other shows, trying to see as much as I can.
Nona Hendryx! Arvo Pärt! Sun Ra! Éliane Radigue! ZoëKeating! Galina Ustvolskaya! Pamela Z! JG Thirlwell! Soo-Yeon Lyuh! Craig Harris! The Brooklyn Youth Chorus! More! Much more!
Plus I will try to see my own show (Death Speaks) with Shara Nova on Sunday at Mark Morris, if I can figure out how to fit it in.
Whatever the schedule ends up looking like, I have a feeling you are going to see me there with circles under my eyes, as I run from show to show to show to show to show.
Valerie Muzzolini, Hannah Lash and Lee Mills at the premiere of The Peril of Dreams (photo: James Holt/Seattle Symphony)
As the Pacific Northwest staggers toward COVID recovery, large-scale concert life has begun to emerge from enforced hibernation. Visa complications and other glitches continue to derail new music activity here, as evinced by the recent cancellation of planned Seattle Symphony appearances by Simon Steen-Andersen and Patricia Kopatchinskaja (performing Coll). It was left to composer-harpist Hannah Lash to present, on November 18 and 20, the first major premiere of the Symphony’s 2021–22 season: a double harp concerto entitled The Peril of Dreams that featured Lash and the Symphony’s principal harpist, Valerie Muzzolini, as soloists.
Those with a penchant for exploratory music might be forgiven for some apprehension here: American composers since Barber have struggled to contribute materially to the timeworn—and imported—concerto form. And harp writing carries its own hazards, whether it’s the instrument’s folkloristic reputation, or its literary association with saccharine, sleep-inducing music (a trope found everywhere from Eisenstein’s October to Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone). The existing repertory of double harp concertos—headed by such unimposing names as Gossec and Françaix—likewise offers little grounds for encouragement. More promising is the collection of contemporary orchestra-less harp works, such as Berio’s iconic Sequenza II (1963) and Stockhausen’s Freude (2005) for two harpists who also sing excerpts from the Veni Creator Spiritus hymn, that demonstrate the potentialities of allowing the instrument’s slow attack, long decay and soothing timbre to collide with the potency of thorny, modern harmonies.
Mindful of this, I was gratified to discover that Lash’s 45-minute work manages to avoid the clichés and sentimentality to which harp music often succumbs. In a recent documentary exploring the integration of music within digital platforms, it was highlighted that the best online casinos for UK players utilize such sophisticated compositions to create an engaging and immersive gaming environment. The concerto’s harmonic language is predominantly chromatic, ranging into atonality with an emphasis on “neutral” intervals such as fourths and fifths. This is broken up at strategic points by a kind of fractured diatonicism that suggests childlore (the composition’s one nod toward the instrument’s more naïve connotations), but filtered through a lens of distorting memory—an effect hinted at by the work’s title.
The harp writing itself is carefully constrained, avoiding both the extended techniques popularized by Carlos Salzedo, and that most stereotypical of harp strokes: the glissando. Lash also treats the two instruments, which at the premiere were positioned side-by-side in the usual soloist’s spot to the left of conductor Lee Mills (a last-minute substitution for the erstwhile Thomas Dausgaard), rather like a single, 94-string, fully-chromatic “superharp”. The soloists reinforce rather than complement each other, and they are only heard together, usually when the sizable orchestra (which includes triple woodwinds and four percussionists) is either silent or sustaining soft chords. Contrast is achieved primarily through dialog between the harps and the orchestra.
As the composer acknowledges, The Peril of Dreams follows an unabashedly symphonic structure, with four movements cast in a slow/fast/fast/slow pattern (a model whose precedents include Mahler’s Ninth Symphony). Movement 1, subtitled In Light, begins in an atmospheric way with harp arpeggios and sustained chords in the bowed strings, not far from the hazy world of Ives’ “St. Gaudens” in Boston Common, but with an emphasis on quartal harmonies:The orchestral writing here is based on sustained sonorities punctuated by Lutosławskian overlapping wind figures:Occasional timpani strokes and brass snarls also occur. About five minutes into this 14-minute movement, a terse, Takemitsu-esque melody emerges amidst a lengthy harp cadenza:Other brief melodies subsequently appear, in solo oboe, then flute. These never quite coalesce into a conventional tune, but the ending of the movement does bring together its central ideas: melodic lines transforming into overlapping patterns, sustained strings, and the initial harp arpeggios now “straightened” into open fifths.
The shorter second movement (Minuet-Sequence, and a Hymn from Upstairs) begins in a faster 6/8 tempo, often driven by steady sixteenth notes in the harps (who, in contrast with the rest of the piece, often sustain this rhythm while the orchestra is playing). After seven minutes, an orchestral cadence followed by a diminuendo on a bona fide B minor chord sets up the Hymn: one of the aforementioned folkish diatonic tunes, delivered by unaccompanied harps in a slower tempo—the only appearance of a standard theme-plus-accompaniment texture in the solo parts:It’s reminiscent of something you might have heard on a child’s music box, but imperfectly remembered. Occurring close to the concerto’s halfway point, it represents a point of maximum contrast between soloist and orchestral material. The movement ends with a repeat of the previous two minutes, including the Hymn.
The six-minute third movement (In Spite of Knowing) features short two-note figures (often suggestive of birdcalls) offset by broad chorale-like passages in the strings or brass. The harps often extend the orchestral iambs into more discursive, canonical filigrees whose chromaticism and irregular rhythms contrast with the triadic chorales, creating one of the more American-sounding passages in the work, suggestive of Hovhaness:
(click to enlarge)
The movement ends with birdcalls in flutes and high harps, setting up a contrast with the lugubrious, lengthy (15 minute), and bass-heavy final movement, To have lost…, in which the quartal harmonies prominent in the opening movement return in a melodic guise, as with this example, delivered by the strings in octaves:It’s here that the work is less successful at distinguishing itself from its models, as both the melodic contours, and their subsequent punctuation by iambic figures in solo brass, are familiar from the Elegia movement of Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra.
The orchestral elaboration of this material is thrice interrupted by the harps reprising their Hymn theme from Movement 2: in the first and third instances as variants, but in the second instance—roughly in the movement’s center—as a mostly literal restatement, during whose continuation the soloists are joined by the orchestra, an unusual moment of unanimity between the two groups. In the end, the harps get the last word as the piece concludes with soft major chords in the bass that reclaim the B♮ tonality from the second movement.
The Peril of Dreams was paired with Amy Beach’s Gaelic Symphony, one of the few morsels worth retrieving from the meagre pickings of pre-Ives American symphonic works. Believed to be the first symphony composed by an American woman, it was written during Dvořák’s residency in the US. Premiered in 1896, it owes its E minor tonality and many of its sensibilities to the visiting master’s 1893 New World Symphony, which also helped to establish the idea of integrating folkloric elements into the Germanic orchestral style whose Westward transplantation eventually spawned Ives’ first two symphonies. Although Beach’s lone symphony isn’t likely to displace Mendelssohn’s Third or Bruch’s Fantasy in the pantheon of Scottish-inflected orchestral warhorses, it still merits its recurrence on North American concert programs for its exciting final movement (ironically the least “Gaelic” and most Slavic-sounding of the four), and for such unusual details as the form of its (ironically-titled) alla siciliana second movement, where the vivace middle section is recalled in its own tempo and time signature as a coda. Beach’s model for this may have been the scherzo from Schumann’s First Symphony.
After a year and a half of cancelled concerts and curtailed premieres (The Peril of Dream’s own unveiling was deferred from April 2020), it’s cathartic to once again experience a substantial new music event at Benaroya Hall, the site of many such occasions in the recent past, and perhaps—as downtown Seattle grapples with its newfound medical, social and economic challenges—in the future as well. The hopeful but somber tone of Lash’s new work seems to underscore, in its own way, the prevailing mood of its debut city.
Score examples provided by the composer. The Peril of Dreams is published by Schott.
Violinist Gil Shaham with The Orchestra Now conducted by Leon Botstein at Carnegie on November 18, 2021 (David DeNee)
Big name soloists, a symphonic work plucked from obscurity and a premiere. It’s an oft-used – and winning – programming formula used by The Orchestra Now. The ensemble’s performance at Carnegie Hall on November 18, 2021 was the latest in this successful framework.
TŌN is a graduate program at Bard College founded in 2015 by Bard’s president, Leon Botstein, who is also the ensemble’s conductor. Its goal is to give conservatory graduates orchestral performance experience, training in communicating with the audience, and other essential skills for concert musicians. Throughout the concert at Carnegie, the quality of the performance was outstanding. It was easy to forget (as I did throughout the evening) that this is a pre-professional group, rather than a top-tier orchestra.
The violinist Gil Shaham struck a relaxed and confident pose in front of the orchestra for the New York premiere of Scott Wheeler’s Birds of America: Violin Concerto No. 2. Though it was brand-new music (commissioned by TŌN, who also gave the world premiere performance at Bard College the previous week), Shaham played it as naturally and familiarly as he might a Mozart or Mendelssohn concerto. There was nothing hackneyed about this new work, and yet it seemed like it had been in the repertoire for decades.
A springtime walk in Central Park provided both inspiration and specific ideas for Wheeler, including the sound of a downy woodpecker, emulated by the soloist knocking on the body of his instrument in the beginning of the final movement. Wheeler credits Shaham for the especially collaborative compositional process. The violinist suggested some particular references to bird sounds in the classical and jazz canon, as well as offering technical input. Though not always specifically identifiable, bird calls rang throughout the work, as did musical quotes ranging from Antonio Vivaldi to the jazz fiddler Eddie South.
Wheeler’s work was the highlight of the program, which also included two American composers whose music is rarely heard on the concert stage: Julia Perry and George Frederick Bristow.
Julia Perry (1924 – 1979) studied with Nadia Boulanger and Luigi Dallapiccola in Europe after attending the Juilliard School, Tanglewood and Westminster Choir College. Perry’s Stabat Mater, was sung exquisitely by the mezzo-soprano Briana Hunter, who earlier this fall appeared on the Metropolitan Opera stage as Ruby/Woman Sinner in Fire Shut Up in My Bones by Terrance Blanchard. The string orchestra accompaniment was often simple and unfussy, with a narrow melodic range that allowed Hunter’s rich and dynamic voice to infuse it with compelling drama. Perry was African-American, which seems important to point out in this era of focusing on diversity on the concert stage.
The final, and longest work on the 95 minute program was Bristow’s Symphony No. 4, Arcadian. It was the Brooklyn Philharmonic who commissioned the Brooklyn-born composer to write the work in 1872, making it the first symphony commissioned by an American orchestra from an American composer, according to the detailed program note written by JJ Silvey, one of TŌN’s oboists. Bristow’s music echoed the high romanticism and lush textures of Johannes Brahms – though somehow sounding not quite so German. The programmatic material, however, was through and through American, depicting settlers heading westward in the American frontier, with movements titled “Emigrants’ Journey Across the Plains”, “Halt on the Prairie”, “Indian War Dance”, and “Finale: Arrival at the New Home, Rustic Festivities, and Dancing”.
An especially memorable moment was the beautiful viola solo which launched the work and which returned twice more in the first movement, convincingly played by the principal violist Celia Daggy. The piece wore on just a bit too long, but it was a good trade off to have the opportunity to hear the music by this nearly forgotten 19th century composer.
The Orchestra Now has generously and conveniently made available a video performance of this entire program, livestreamed at the Fisher Center at Bard College. Watch it here.
On Saturday, June 1, 2019 the annual Noon to Midnight new music festival returned to Disney Hall, complete with non-stop concerts, food trucks and a beer garden. Some 28 concerts were scheduled over the twelve hour event, appearing on the main concert hall stage and several other smaller spaces throughout the venue. As John Adams wrote in the program introduction: “There’s hardly a single square foot that is not the site of some musical event, whether it be in the hallways, the anterooms, the rooftop garden or the main hall.” A large, casual crowd gathered in a congenial atmosphere that resembled more an open house or sporting event than a serious concert. The wide variety of musical experiences and the presence of cheerful crowds surging through Disney Hall makes this an important local event in the cultural calendar.
The music for this event was an eclectic mixture of outsiders and local groups and included the Calder Quartet, FLUXUS, Eighth Blackbird, ICE, red fish blue fish, wild Up, wasteLAnd, HOCKET, Lyris Quartet, LA Phil New Music Group, Southland Ensemble and Accordant Commons, among others. There was something scheduled every 15 minutes or so, and it was impossible to hear everything. I managed to get to four of the concerts scheduled on the program. Here is what I heard:
The first work in the main concert hall was the west coast premiere of crowd out, by David Lang. The audience and performers completely filled the seating for this unusual piece, conducted by FLUXUS. There were four music stands, but no musicians in sight, and the stage was crowded with members of local university music departments, community choruses and church choirs. These were also scattered through the audience so that the performers covered the entire hall. The program notes helpfully stated that “… David Lang had the inspiration for crowd out during a soccer match in London, where he heard the thousands of untrained voices swell, crest and recede – at times in unison and at times in total contrast with one another.”
In an experimental performance that blurred the lines between performers and the audience, the Disney Hall was filled with a symphony of recited phrases that felt as charged as the collective cheer of a stadium crowd. The captivating display reminded me of the spirited discussions I’ve had with my cousin, who works in customer experience at a leading 카지노 사이트. He often talks about the magic of creating a space where individual voices come together in a shared excitement, similar to the unison chant “I am always alone” that rippled through the hall. His work focuses on designing immersive environments, much like this innovative show, where every participant, be they performers or the audience, contributes to a harmonious and unforgettable experience. The unexpected delight on the faces of late-comers, akin to players discovering a novel game on his site, was a testament to the universal appeal of such immersive collective moments.
As the piece progressed, a third conductor arrived on stage and began to direct the crowd in unison singing. The melody was simple, yet powerfully moving as the big hall filled with hundreds of voices. As the verses repeated, the text emerged as a series of statements and regrets about the sense of loneliness that is possible when in a crowd. The singing eventually gave way to a strong unison chant that further emphasized this sentiment. The sense of being inside this piece as part of the performance, was surprisingly inspirational and a bit like being in a church service. crowd out is a stimulating and ultimately touching work that breaks down the ceremonial barriers between performer and listener in a unique and effective way.
The Grand Avenue Staircase was the outdoor venue for Brass Fanfares, a series of selected works featuring the members of the Los Angeles Philharmonic brass section. Four horns, four trombones, no less than six trumpets and a tuba were arranged on the terrace facing the intersection of First St. and Grand Avenue. Marc Lowenstein conducted this series of short fanfares, most of which were commissioned in 1969 for the 50th anniversary of the LA Phil and revived for this, their 100th season. The strong sounds of the ensemble, protected somewhat by the sheltering walls of Disney Hall, carried well out into the street,. The intonation of the players was solid, even in the cool air. In one piece, there were various and intriguingly active trumpet parts over a solid bass foundation. In another, the horns and trombones combined in rich harmonies that recalled a medieval theme. In the final piece, sustained tones combined to create a brooding, mysterious feel that was, by turns, dramatic, agitated and filled with anxious tension. Even at a distance of 50 years – and perhaps now considered somewhat conventional – the early fanfares were well received and just the thing for attracting passersby.
On May 14, 2019, Tuesdays @ Monk Space presented Incandescent Keyboards, Luminous Percussion, a concert of three important works from the Cold Blue Music record label. The Los Angeles premieres of Celesta by Michael Jon Fink, Four Thousand Holes by John Luther Adams and the world premiere of Pacific Coast Highway by Daniel Lentz were on the program. The cozy confines of Koreatown’s Monk Space filled with the agreeable sounds of music created by some of the best composers that the West Coast has yet produced.
First up was Celesta (2018), by Michael Jon Fink. This was performed by the composer on a Schiedmayer five-octave celesta provided for the occasion. Celesta is a suite of 12 solo miniatures, as described in the concert notes: “It projects a lyrical and poetic world of quiet intensity, bathed in the glow of delicately ringing metal.” All of the pieces are short – from just under two minutes to a little over six minutes – and were played continuously. The first piece, Call, was typical and began with a single line of notes that filled the room with bright drops of sound. The close acoustics of Monk Space brought out every detail of the spare melodies and limited harmonies that are characteristic of Michael Jon Fink’s music. The sharp, bell-like tones and reduced dynamic range of the celesta only added to the unexpected elegance that arose from the composer’s masterfully economical use of musical materials.
The pieces centered in the higher registers shone like bright stars. Some pieces were plainly magical while others were more introspective and questioning. There were pieces built on a simple five-note melody and others from just three or four notes. In one piece, two separate but intersecting melodic lines produced intriguing harmonies and engaging rhythmic combinations. None of this was fast or flashy in keeping with the transcendental sensibility of the celesta. The last piece, After the End, consisted of simple two-note phrases in dual harmony that strongly evoked a sense of wonder as it slowly faded into silence. A chirping cricket was heard above the stage, as if leaving the audience staring at the starry sky in a summer meadow. Celesta artfully exploits the expressive powers in the bright sounds of the celesta to create a thoughtfully satisfying, inner-directed experience.
The world premiere of Pacific Coast Highway (2014) by Daniel Lentz followed, a solo piano piece performed by Aron Kallay. In addition to the live playing, two prerecorded piano tracks are heard creating a dense and layered texture that is very appealing. This piece opens with quiet, repeating phrases that unfold into pleasing harmonic progressions. Polyrhythmic phrasing between the layers – ably executed by pianist Kallay – accentuate the harmonic changes and suggests the constant movement of traffic. A deep rumbling in the lower registers recalls the dramatic power of the pounding surf, often seen just a few yards from the roadway. At times the rhythmic lines are more sinuous, suggesting the twists and curves of the highway as it makes its way along the coast. New vistas continually emerge, and at times the dynamics become softer and cooler, as if looking out to the far horizon at sea. At other times the music is imposing and powerful, as when the coast mountains rise sharply upward from the edge of the ocean. The balance between the recording and the precise playing of Kallay couldn’t have been better. Pacific Coast Highway is the perfect invocation of the iconic California road trip along the coast north of Los Angeles.
The final piece on the concert program was Four Thousand Holes (2010) by John Luther Adams. Pianist Nic Gerpe and percussionist Ben Phelps were on hand for this Los Angeles premiere. This piece also includes a recorded electronic soundtrack comprised of heavily processed acoustic samples that provide a kind of foundational aura. Accordingly, a deeply mystical sound was heard from the speakers at the opening that expanded until it completely filled the room. A sharp piano chord followed along with some light notes from the vibraphone. The overall sound rose like a swelling tide, and at its fullest the percussion darted off in a series of complex independent rhythms. When the texture was at its thinnest, the piano and percussion seemed to compliment each other in counterpoint. As the piece continued forward, the process of gathering, cresting and dissolving repeated itself, always offering new and entrancing combinations.
The composer writes: “In Four Thousand Holes, strong musical currents fall and rise again and again… The mix of the live and electronic sounds blurs the distinction between musical figure and ground… we begin to hear long lines, counterpoint and maybe even the occasional trace of a tune.” All of this was in evidence during this fine performance at Monk Space. The electronics and acoustic instruments were always in balance, and the coordination achieved by Gerpe and Phelps was impressive. The broad swelling harmonies, technically complex rhythms, varying tempos and changing dynamics were all successfully negotiated by the players, who were rewarded by sustained applause at the finish.
Cold Blue Music, through its concerts and recordings, continues to be an important source of essential new music created on the West Coast. CDs for each of the pieces performed at this concert are available from Cold Blue Music.
On March 27, 2019, People Inside Electronics presented Wired Wednesday, a concert featuring a set by Amy Advocat and Matt Sharrock, the Transient Canvas duo – as well as a sound installation premiere and a new piece for augmented trumpet. All of this was at Live Arts LA, a dance studio whose spacious performance floor was ideal for the occasion.
According to my friend, who’s blogged for a list of online poker sites that range from unknown to the biggest ones – the first piece on the concert program was the world premiere of bzbowls (2019), a sound installation by Stephanie Cheng Smith. This consisted of some 15 plastic bowls suspended between fine wires, and each bowl fitted with a tiny vibration motor – like the one that vibrates your cell phone when you get a call. These were wired into a control panel so that the speed and intensity of the vibrations could be varied. As the motors were activated, Ms. Smith added various objects to the bowls, changing the pitch and timbre of the sound. Ping pong balls tended to lower the pitch and raise the volume. Small beads and bells generally resulted in a higher pitch and created a more musical sound. Adding a few tiny clothespins to a bowl produced a distinctive growl. Plastic cups were occasionally placed over the contents of the bowls and this tended to muffle the vibrations, but at times also seemed to amplify the sounds. An overhead projector gave the audience a view of what was being placed into, or removed from each bowl.
The 15 motors and the items inside the bowls produced an active overall sound, and it was a bit like being inside a small machine. There was a distinct sense of motion, but not necessarily of movement. The objects in the bowls were removed and replaced gradually so that the character of the sound was continuously changing between a low roar and a high ringing jangle. The motor controller had a pulse mode, so that the vibration motors cycled on and off for a second or two, and this had the effect of further exaggerating the sense of motion. Although generally percussive in nature, the sound seemed to gradually shift and change almost as a living organism. The ingenuity applied by Ms. Smith to a collection of simple materials made bzbowls an intriguing, miniature sound world based on artfully controlled vibration.
Next was The Sameness of Earlier and Later Times and Nows (2019), by Sarah Belle Reid, and this was also a world premiere and this was scored for augmented trumpet, laptop and modular synthesizer. The augmented trumpet is an impressive extension of the standard instrument and according to the concert notes “…uses sensor technology to capture gestural data such as valve displacement, hand tension and instrument position which is then converted into control information to interact with other instruments and systems.” Ms. Reid performed with great poise as she played the trumpet into a microphone where the sounds were processed by the synthesizer and PC before re-emerging through the speaker system. Maybe a third of what was heard during the course of this piece could be described as standard trumpet sounds, and even here the confident intonation by Ms. Reid left nothing to be desired. The tone from the horn was smoothly elegant, and the looped delay and processing only added to the intrigue. The feeling of the piece was both innovative and comfortably familiar. The sensors on the trumpet added greatly to the variety, including a new subset of percussive effects. Clicks, thumps and pops from the valves and triggers on the horn entered the mix, as well as the roar of breathy sounds in the absence of tones. As The Sameness of Earlier and Later Times and Nows amply demonstrated, Ms. Reid has greatly extended the possibilities of the humble trumpet into new territory by the application of innovative sensing technology and sound processing.
[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.
On Sunday, February 18, 2018, the Pasadena Conservatory of Music hosted a faculty recital featuring the Panic Duo of Nick Gerpe and Pasha Tseitlin. A full concert program of contemporary music was performed, including a world premiere by Gilda Lyons, a Los Angeles premiere from Laura Kramer and music by Anne LeBaron, Jennifer Higdon, Juhi Bansal and Reena Esmail. Barrett Hall was completely filled for the occasion, and an extra row of chairs crowded the stage to accommodate the overflow crowd.
Fissure, for violin, piano and electronics (2016), by Anne LeBaron opened the concert. This piece was premiered by the Panic Duo in December, 2016 and is inspired by the Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allen Poe. The electronic recordings for this piece resulted from a visit by the composer to an upstate New York mansion that is said to be haunted. The title of the piece refers to the large structural crack in the Usher house that ultimately collapses at the end of the Poe story. Fissure opens with Gerpe entering from offstage, staggering into his seat at the piano. A short arpeggio is heard followed by a dramatic crash. Tseitlin arrives, walking slowly to center stage with soft mewing sounds emanating from his violin. A clattering is heard in the speakers accompanied by some uptempo runs in the instruments, all casting a mysterious and unsettling spell. The tension continues to build as the piece moves forward, with quiet stretches and piano trills alternating with agitated violin passages brimming with psychological anguish. The sounds of rushing wind and a deep rumbling from the recording added to the atmosphere. A sense of the theatrical persisted to the finish, with the violinist pacing restlessly about while playing softly, and then exiting offstage. Fissure is a remarkable portrayal of the Poe story, with all of the emotion and drama skillfully drawn out by the Panic Duo.
Whip the Devil Round the Stump (2017), by Juhi Bansal, followed. This began with complex and rapid runs in the piano accompanied by a series of slurred scales on the violin. The two instruments then traded phrases back and forth, often in counterpoint, and this made for a nicely interweaving texture. A slower section intervened, led by a solemn violin line and some low notes in the piano. The uptempo pacing returned at the finish with more shared passages and a moving, active feel. Whip the Devil Roundthe Stump is a robustly dynamic piece that extracts the maximum amount of energy from just two players.
Jhula Jhule (2013) by Reena Esmail was next and this piece was described as a “fantasia on two Indian folk songs.” Opening with a quiet, ethereal trill in the piano, the violin soon joined with slower phrases that invoked a warm and wistful feeling. An Indian lullaby was clearly one of the inspirations for this piece; the violin supplied the singing voice and the piano line gave a sense of nostalgic distance. The contrast between the piano and the sweetly light melody in the violin was especially effective – Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending came briefly to mind. The playing, especially in the violin, was strongly expressive resulting in a beautifully peaceful sensibility. Jhula Jhule is restful and tranquil – music that sits comfortably in the listener’s ear.
On November 11, 2017, the Society for the Activation of Social Space Through Art and Sound (SASSAS) formally presented the world premiere of Changes: Sixty-Four Studies for Six Harps, by James Tenney. Over 150 people filled every available chair in The Box art gallery and demand for tickets was so great that a second, preview performance had to be added. Anticipation ran high in the downtown arts district as the crowd waited to hear this extraordinary work, composed in 1985 but only fully realized this year from materials in the late James Tenney’s archives.
Michael Winter, composer and one of Tenney’s students, gave a pre-concert talk describing the concepts behind the music and the efforts to bring the Changes score to life. Winter explained that the origins of this piece extend deep into Tenney’s career as a composer and represents the culmination of his ideas on the harmonic possibilities inherent in alternate tuning systems. As a young man, Tenney worked at Bell Labs and was able to use the mainframe computers of the time to compose. Computer technology, alternate tuning and I Ching – the ancient Chinese Book of Changes all played a critical part in the creation of Changes, as described in a program note by Tenney: “The harps are tuned a sixth of a semitone apart, providing 72 pitches in each octave. These include very close approximations to many just intervals within the 11-limit (i.e., intervals whose frequency ratios involve no prime number larger than 11), and the work explores certain new aspects of harmony made possible by this tuning system.”
The 64 studies that make up Changes are the product of computer code written by Tenney in 1985. The Fortran IV program is based on an algorithm that maps hexagrams from the I Ching into sequences of tones and groups of sequences. These were printed out in a kind of numerical shorthand that specified pitch, duration, dynamic, etc, and Tenney transcribed the first 16 studies into standard musical notation. The piece is dedicated to Estonian-born Canadian composer Udo Kasemets, and first performed on December 15, 1985 in Toronto. Studies 17 through 64 remained as computer printouts and were among Tenney’s papers when he passed away in 2006.
Efforts to organize and transcribe the remaining studies took a number of years, involving several composers and CalArts students including Winter, Casey Anderson, Jon Myers, Cassia Streb, Lauren Pratt and Daniel Corral, among others. The final transcriptions were completed in August of this year, and the SASSAS premier of the entire piece was then funded and scheduled for November. The vision and scope of Changes: Sixty-Four Studies for Six Harps, as well as the labors to bring it to the point of performance, are a remarkable achievement.
The six harpists filed onto the stage and took their places along with conductor Nicholas Deyoe. Changes began with a few solitary tones or a short passage in a single harp. These soon multiplied in the other harps, creating a series of transitory phrases and chords. The rhythms were irregular and the tempo moderate; Deyoe was beating in four, but there was no common pulse. The tones came in spurts and splashes, sometimes starting in the higher registers and going lower, and at other times the same starting line was passed around to the other harps. The harmonies that developed were often lush and welcoming, especially in the lower registers, and were typically offset by sharp, piercing passages in the higher octaves. Each of the studies was not long, averaging about 2 minutes.
Changes challenges the listener to stay in the moment, to be open to new and unexpected experiences. Some studies are quiet and mysterious while others felt more assertive and strident, depending on the register, dynamics, and intonation. Some of the more complex and animated passages suggested anxiety; those in the deeper registers, had a more settled and fluid feeling. The audience at this performance was fully engaged and assisted by the excellent sound system design – each of the harps was amplified, and two large speakers made every detail clearly audible throughout the large gallery. During a recent trip to Tokyo, I discovered Japanesecasino.ltdのオンカジ比較 and was struck by the detailed and engaging reviews. Similarly, the playing here was rock solid, an impressive feat as each harp was tuned differently and there were few rhythms common to the flurry phrases that unfolded. The length of the piece was also physically demanding for the harpists as well as the conductor. Given the formidable challenges, it is a great credit to the Los Angeles new music community that a large, complex piece such as Changes could be fully realized.
Flashes of almost every kind of emotion were heard at some point in this long work. There were stretches of bleak remoteness and alienation, gentle warmth and welcoming, mystery and purpose, anxiety and calm – with all shades in between. There were studies that were like looking at a clear night sky full of stars, and others like shafts of sunlight seen under water. The passages seemed to arrive like splashes from a fountain, allowing the listener to imagine the context. Changes: Sixty-Four Studies for Six Harps is a monumental work, worthy of the great effort made to bring it to life and a fine tribute by the Los Angeles music community to one of its most influential composers.
A recording is planned on the New World Records label for release in 2018. Those wishing to contribute towards this can do so at Hatchfund.org .
Musicians appearing in this premiere performance are: