Boston Modern Orchestra Project, Gil Rose, conductor
BMOP Sound
Composer Harold Shapero (1920-2013) was a central figure during the mid-twentieth century. A member of the Boston neoclassical group of composers, he was one of the first professors hired by Irving Fine for a new composition program at Brandeis University. Shapero had three principal influences that are evident in his work: the craftsmanship of Nadia Boulanger, transmitted both through his work with her in Cambridge and his principal teacher at Harvard, Walter Piston, the neoclassical works of Igor Stravinsky, and Aaron Copland’s midcareer music. In the 1950s and 60s, Stravinsky and Copland both explored serial procedures in their music, leaving Shapero bereft. As a stylistic holdout, his productivity slowed down and music became unduly neglected. But as a teacher at Brandeis of numerous prominent composers, he remained an influential presence on the Boston scene.
There have been few recent recordings of Shapero’s music. As they have in championing so many underserved figures, Boston Modern Orchestra Project (BMOP), conducted by Gil Rose, has come to the rescue with a CD of his orchestral works. Sinfonia in C minor is given a muscular reading, its heraldic fanfares and vinegary wind outbursts punctuate neo-baroque dotted rhythms and taut solo writing. More mellifluous is Credo for Orchestra (1955), the closest Shapero came to writing an Americana piece. On Green Mountain for jazz ensemble is a Third Stream work. Played with impressive verve here, it demonstrates Shapero’s fluency in a traditional jazz idiom. As with so many releases by BMOP, this disc makes one hope that the programmed pieces achieve wider circulation. Best Orchestral Recording 2020.
Stuart Duncan, Yo-Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer, and Chris Thile
Sony Music Masterworks
Not Our First Goat Rodeo, a second album for the grouping of fiddler Stuart Duncan, cellist Yo-Yo Ma, bassist Edgar Meyer, and mandolinist Chris Thile, adopts a popular hybrid: bluegrass meets classical. The past three decades have seen a number of releases in this mold, many of them spearheaded by Meyer and Thile. But this particular recording captures a certain spark, an ebullience that can elicit a smile even in the midst of the dark days of 2020.
The group plays together beautifully. Edgar Meyer’s long glissandos give an Eastern feel to “Your Coffee is a Disaster.” Stuart Duncan’s fiddle is deployed in a ‘high lonesome’ fashion on “Waltz Whitman.” Yo-Yo Ma, as the classical musician reading notation, would seem to be an outlier in this group, with charts by Meyer and Thile circumscribing his contribution. That said, he plays with brilliant tone and rhythmic verve, clearly enjoying being in this different context again. His playing is particularly poignant on “Waltz Whitman.” Thile’s supple playing and singing, in a duet with guest vocalist Aife O’Donovan, buoy the standout track “Every Note a Pearl.” All of the players and vocalists create a hypnotic interplay on “Not for Lack of Trying,” and album closer “757 ml.” is catchy as all get out.
The Beethoven Year has skewed toward profundity, but sometimes in the isolation of social distancing, abundant fun has been just the ticket. Best crossover release of 2020.
Yuja Wang, piano; Los Angeles Philharmonic, Gustavo Dudamel, conductor
Deutsche Grammophon
Thomas Adés
Adés Conducts Adés
Kirill Gerstein, piano: Christianne Stotijn, mezzo-soprano, Mark Stone, baritone;
Boston Symphony, Thomas Adés, conductor
Deutsche Grammophon
This year saw the release of two formidable new piano concertos on Deutsche Grammophon: John Adams’s third piano concerto, titled Why Must the Devil Have All the Good Tunes? (a quote from Martin Luther about using popular melodies as chorales), and a concerto by Thomas Adés. The recordings feature two of the most dynamic soloists active today, pianists Yuja Wang and Kirill Gerstein. The Adés release also includes Totentanz, an impressive vehicle for mezzo-soprano Christianne Stotijn and baritone Mark Stone.
Adés has crafted a piano concerto that pays homage to past pieces in the genre, with more than a passing nod at those by Ravel and Gershwin. Buoyancy typifies the outer movements, with jaunty swinging passages appearing in both, but the middle movement is a searing adagio in which dense harmonies are set against a poignant piano solo. Gerstein is extraordinary in his virtuosity and versatility. His playing is particularly impressive during the latter portion of the third movement, where weighty terrain reminiscent of the second movement is once again encountered, at the last possible second veering back to the fast demeanor of the opening and a brilliant cadenza followed by a strongly articulated final cadence.
In Must the Devil…, Adams displays the polyglot language he has cultivated since the 1990s, in which the post-minimalism of his earlier works takes on the role of a background grid while rich harmonies, American pop references, and a demanding solo part take the fore. The first movement is marked “gritty, funky, and in strict tempo,” and the rockabilly riff that Wang and the orchestra lock into propels the action. It is succeeded by a double time riff from the orchestra over which Wang plays incisive chords and fleet runs. A cadenza deconstructs the riff into angular punctuations and arpeggiations. The second movement features delicate shadings of repeated pitch cells and frequent trills haloed by long descending scales in the strings. Gradually, counterpoint in the winds joins the proceedings and the piano part thickens to lush textures. Textures dissolve until we are left with pointillist versions of the original arpeggiations. Repeated chords lead attacca into the third movement, the repeating pulse undertaken by the orchestra while the piano takes up a wide-spanning perpetual motion figure. A vigorous march, punctuated by chimes and brass and thick chords in the piano supplants this, eventually offset by a triplet riff that gives us just a hint of the piece’s opener. Moving back and forth between double time iterations and solid beat-note blocks of sound, the stage is set for a flurry of activity from the piano. The soloist and orchestra interlock in a brisk groove that periodically is interspersed by mini-cadenzas. The coda takes on a machine like ostinato that ends vigorously. Wang’s encore is China Gates, one of Adams’s prominent early works that has stood the test of time. Here and in the concerto, her playing is superlative, vivacious, and detailed.
Roland de Lassus (1530-1594) – also known as Orlando di Lasso – was one of the most important vocal composers of the sixteenth century. His extant catalog contains more than 2,000 pieces in nearly every sacred genre as well as madrigals, chansons, and lieder. Much of his career was spent in Munich in the service of Duke Albrecht V of Prussia. The motets that appear on Inferno, a Harmonia Mundi CD of six and eight voice pieces, come from this stage of his career. They are penitential in character, the last published motets taking on a particularly melancholy demeanor that seems to impart the composer’s reflections on mortality in old age.
Cappella Amsterdam, directed by Daniel Reuss, has a beautiful sound, superbly balanced with warmth in every register. Reuss shapes the programmed pieces to demonstrate clarity of counterpoint, expressivity of utterance, and, importantly, the resonance that these frequently mournful works require.
Among several standout performances, particularly affecting is Media vita in morte sumus, which is preceded by a limpidly executed rendition of its plainchant. The motet contains considerable antiphony, a technique that Lassus uses in a fashion reminiscent to Adrian Willaert’s choral music for St. Mark’s in Venice. In Omnia tempus habent, Lassus similarly splits up the voices, with ricocheting entrances offset by rich, tutti eight-part textures.
Lassus was also a master of word-painting. Published the year of Lassus’s death, Deficiat in dolore vita mea, has a particularly plaintive cast, its text a paraphrase of Psalm 30, verse 11: “Let my life end in grief, and my years in groans, that I may find rest in the day of tribulation” – set as a moving bewailment. From the same 1594 collection of six-voice motets, Vidi Calumnias begins with staggered entrances that gradually give way to scintillating chords.
Not all of the texts are ones of mourning. Published somewhat earlier, in 1582, Cum essem parvulus sets one of the most beloved passages of Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, “When I was a child, I spoke as a child …” with florid canonic passages offset by richly voiced harmonies. Thus, while Inferno is a solemn document, it is still one that contains glimmers of hope around its edges. Best choral release 2020.
The Fall – Dennis Johnson’s November Deconstructed is a recent vinyl release from the Sub Rosa label featuring the combined talents of Lustmord, the film and video game composer, and pianist Nicolas Horvath. The Fall is based on Dennis Johnson’s November, a 1959 solo piano piece that prefigured minimalism and was an influence on La Monte Young’s The Well Tuned Piano. The Fall updates the original Johnson work, consolidating it and adding a suitably somber ambient track realized by Lustmord. Nicolas Horvath, the award-winning concert pianist who has specialized in minimalist piano works, plays an abridged version of November so that, as the liner notes state, the result is a reduction of “Johnson’s original November to its core element place[d] in a landscape of complimentary sound.”
Dennis Johnson (1938 – 2018) was a reclusive West Coast mathematician and composer writing music in the late 1950s and early 60s. His composing style was highly inspirational, similar to his thought processes in mathematics. Accordingly, November is a long, quiet piano piece with solitary notes, simple chords and generous amounts of silence. There is some repetition in this, but not the driving pulse or rhythms that would characterize the classic minimalism of later composers. November is perhaps more reminiscent of the music of Morton Feldman in its contemplative character and extended length of four-plus hours.
In 1962 Johnson began consulting full-time in mathematics, at one point working for Cal Tech, and he essentially abandoned his interest in music. Some years later, Kyle Gann acquired Johnson’s November sketches, along with an old cassette recording of the piece, and carefully transcribed a formal score. A few select performances of November have since been recorded.
Immersed in a soundscape that seemed to transport us to the essence of a fall evening, the performance unfolded with such a deft blend of elements that it could have been a musical interpretation of a meilleur jeux casino en ligne session. The ambient electronic tones and the methodical piano notes performed by Horvath evoked the same suspense and anticipation one feels when waiting for the roulette ball to settle into its slot. As I shared my impressions with an old family friend who’d recently discovered the thrills of online gaming, his nod was of both understanding and agreement. The piece resonated with him, echoing the tension between risk and reward, a feeling he’d come to know well in his virtual casino exploits. His anecdote, akin to an inspiring blog post, affirmed the universal language of music and chance, linking disparate experiences through a shared rhythm of emotion.
Track 2 continues this development with the piano and electronic accompaniment gradually increasing in dynamics and intensity. The piano line becomes more assertive and hopeful, and the renewed chirping of birds suggests a clearing of the storm. Toward the end of the track, however, the birds fall silent and the piano returns to the lower registers as the sounds of the wind rise, accompanied by rolls of distant thunder. Track 3 now turns grim with a low bass tone and the piano line deep in the lower register. Thunder is heard again, while the piano now includes simple chords and a mix of middle register notes. A feeling of uncertainty prevails as the background organizes into a more recognizably musical sound. The patter of raindrops is heard that strengthens into a downpour, adding to the sense of anxiety. In the final track the rainfall has ended and a sunnier piano line offers a bit of optimism. The birds are chirping again as if the storm has finally passed. There is a more settled feel in the piano and the deep bass tones in the accompaniment now add a renewed sense of confidence. As the piece concludes, the same gentle rustling of the wind as heard as in the beginning, and a feeling of normality is restored.
So what is the end result of this amalgam of 1950s minimalism and 21st century dark ambient? Purists might object to Lustmord’s presumption in establishing the context for the piece – the imagination of the listener might be better able to personalize the experience by hearing Johnson’s piano alone. That said, Lustmord’s autumn storm context in The Fall is certainly valid, if somewhat limiting. The ambient accompaniment is always in the service of Johnson’s piano line, and does not contend for dominance or attention. The colors are appropriate, subdued and artfully realized. The deconstruction of the hours-long November score to sixty minutes does no injustice to Johnson’s intentions, and the playing by Nicolas Horvath is true to the original. Will adding a dark ambient setting by a popular film and video game composer help to attract a wider audience for this music? It is probably worth doing the experiment to find out.
The Fall – Dennis Johnson’s November Deconstructed is available from Amazon, Discogs and other music retailers. This Limited Edition format is two white vinyl LP records.
Jazz pianist Matthew Shipp turned sixty this year and celebrated in part with the solo release The Piano Equation. Shipp is an extraordinarily prolific recording artist, with dozens of releases as leader or co-leader and numerous more as a supporting musician; his solo catalog alone is extensive. Despite this embarrassment of riches, The Piano Equation is a standout recording, a state-of-the-art summary of the myriad playing styles at Shipp’s disposal.
The title track shifts harmonic identities from modal changes to dissonant structures, all of them buoying an arcing, long-lined melody. “Swing Note from Deep Space” has a Monk-like vibe, with hard bop phrasing, buoyant walking bass, and filigreed passagework. In one of several multifaceted pieces on the recording,
“Void Equation” moves between pointillism and bluesy riffs and builds a fast-paced ostinato before returning to the fragmentary nature of its opening.
“Piano in Hyperspace” is an intricate ballad with staccato vertical interjections providing a bit of grit to counteract otherwise limpid textures. Two other ballads, “Land of the Secrets” and “Tone Pockets,” show Shipp creating impressionist whorls of neo-traditional materials in a delicate contrast to his more modern offerings.
Just as the pianist can play with considerable delicacy, Shipp also can let loose a tsunami of powerful free playing, as he does on “Vortex Factor.” “Radio Signals Equation” is a propulsive, swinging take on post-tonality, while “Clown Pulse” is a bumptious take on hard bop. Fleet and varied in terms of its surface, its asymmetrical blocks taking on a Stravinskyian cast, “Emission” is Shipp at his most distinctive. The album closer “Cosmic Juice” is another standout, with angular shifts between registers periodically suspended by minimal repetition and sepulchral low passages offset by treble register tightly voiced chords and shards of melodic material.
The Piano Equation is just one of several recordings released this year by the sexagenerian Shipp. His energy and creativity is indefatigable and shows no signs of flagging.
Klangforum Wien, Sylvain Cambreling, Johannes Kalitzke, conductors
Kairos 2XCD
A number of prominent European composers took part in Scelsi revisited, a festival, documented on this double-CD, celebrating Giacinto Scelsi’s music. Their tribute pieces were based on unrealized tapes of Scelsi playing the Ondiola, a three-octave tube synthesizer that was his preferred instrument for making drafts of his works. Some are incorporated directly into pieces, others remixed and morphed as part of larger electronic designs, and some merely outline materials subsequently reworked by the selected composers. The forces used are often that of Anahit, Scelsi’s piece for violin and ensemble, previously recorded by Klangforum Wien for Kairos.
Michael Petzel’s Sculture di Suono addresses the beating, tremolo, and fading in and out of material often present in Scelsi’s tapes. The piece contains beautifully distressed microtonal bends, particularly among the winds, ornaments by the oboe, and references to Scelsi’s “organ sound,” with its tonal implications and plethora of thirds and sixths. Michel Roth’s Moi (see the article referenced below) also demonstrates beating, including the rhythmical quality found on Scelsi’s tapes, difference tones, and a particularly varied and engaging orchestration.
Tristan Murail had a long association with Scelsi, performing some of his works with the ensemble L’itineraire in the 1970s. In Murail’s Un Sogno, the composer reworks Scelsi’s tapes, augmenting them with his own electronics and spectral harmonies for the ensemble, creating an imaginative tribute piece. Introduktion und Transsonation, by Georg Friedrich Haas, allows tapes to roll and encourages Klangforum Wien to improvise along with them.
Nicola Sani’s “Gimme Scelsi” deals with long sustained sounds that are then morphed by microtonal ornaments and harmonics, made all the more powerful by space in between the utterances. Later in the piece, block harmonies once again recall Scelsi’s “organ sound.” Clocking in at more than 42 minutes, Ulli Fussenegger’s San Teodoro 8 is the most expansive work on the recording. Fussenegger made tapes from Scelsi’s archives for all of the participating composers and he uses a great deal of this material in his own piece, which is also arrayed with original electronic components and melodic material based on monad and dyad formulations. The Ondiola material is front-loaded in a way that is seldomly done in the other pieces.Like Anahit, it also features a violin soloist, but a number of members of the ensemble get a chance to take a solo turn. Á tue tet by Fabien Levy is for nine winds distributed throughout the performance space. It juxtaposes pointillist shards of ricocheting fragments into gradual pile-ups of texture. The second disc closes with Cardinald by Ragnhild Bergstad, who takes the more gentle aspects of Scelsi’s artistry, as well as nature sounds, notably the song of the robin, to create a more placid surface than the other works presented here. An appealing denouement and gentle coda to a fascinating collection of pieces.
The booklet notes are excellent, including the Scelsi’ “symbol,” a rare photo of the composer, and Ragnhild Berstad’s thoughtful essay on reception history and the revisited project itself. Berstad doesn’t shy away from the controversies surrounding Scelsi’s legacy, notably the article “Scelsi c’est moi” by Vieri Tosattis, one of the musicians who helped Scelsi to transcribe his tapes to musical notation. Of the revisited project, Berstad instead suggests “Scelsi, c’est nous,” pointing out the myriad ways that the composer has made his presence felt here and elsewhere. Scelsi continues to inspire, as the composers and performers on this recording readily attest. One of the best releases of 2020.
(Over the next couple of weeks, I will be sharing some of my favorite recordings of 2020. -CC)
Michi Wiancko
Planetary Candidate
New Amsterdam
Violinist-composer Michi Wianko’s recording Planetary Candidate presents a selection of solo violin works by Wianko and several of her composer contemporaries. They are “solo” in the sense of having a single performer, but Wiancko’s voice, overdubs of her playing, and electronics are often added to season the pieces. The title work is a case in point, with pizzicato and bowed sections overlapped. Midway through, Thich Nhat Han’s breathing mantra is intoned with vocoder style sonic manipulation. Lest one think that the music is merely meditative, there is a considerably ecstatic ambience that propels it forward.
Jolie Sphinx by Christopher Adler is a study in perpetual motion, beginning modally and gradually adding chromaticism, the range expanding to encompass the instrument’s altissimo register. Paula Matthusen contributes two pieces for violin and electronics. In the first, Songs of Fuel and Insomnia, violin glissandos and tremolos are combined with electronic drones and percussive sounds. Distortion morphs the violin in a solo reminiscent of electric guitar that ends the piece with a flourish. Matthusen’s second piece, Lullaby for Dead Horse Bay, is gentler, with a slowly undulating solo haloed by sine waves.
Skyline by Mark Dancigers is built primarily of upward arpeggiated chords with bright, neotonal harmonies in limpid phrases. A central section offsets this with descending scalar filigrees. When the arpeggios return, they are double time, adding a dash of urgency that builds to a quick cadenza. Jessie Montgomery’s Rhapsody No. 2 begins where Dancigers left off, with attractive upper register flourishes, followed by scalar passages throughout the instrument’s compass, a slow section consisting of harmonics and double-stops, and a brief return to the initial section’s virtuosic passagework.
Two pieces by William Brittelle round out Planetary Candidate, both featuring electronic contributions from the composer. So Long Art Decade combines amplification and echo-laden effects with analog synth sounds, including some particularly attractive bell-like timbres. Wiancko makes the most of the piece’s effulgent glissandos; at times the instrument inhabits rock solo terrain. A tender passage of double-stops provides an enigmatic coda. Disintegration (for Michi) uses similar effects on the violin and revels in loops in counterpoint. Brittelle once again punctuates the proceedings with synth insertions. The buildup to a swinging moto perpetuo is ephemeral, cut off by a slow section of string chords and a winsome major key tune, which closes the piece and the album in a gradual fade out. Imaginative selections immaculately played throughout, Planetary Candidate is one of my favorite releases of 2020.
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.
Counter)induction – Benjamin Fingland, clarinet; Miranda Cuckson, violin;
Jessica Meyer, viola; Caleb van der Swaagh, cello, Randall Zigler, bass;
Renate Rolfing, Ning Yu, piano; Daniel Lippel, guitar
New Focus Recordings CD/DL
Chamber ensemble/composer collective counter)induction celebrates twenty years together with the recording Against Method. It consists of pieces contributed by composers associated with the collective as well those by “guest composers.” counter)induction has distinguished itself with a versatile approach to new music, selecting works with a keen eye toward musicality and a clear resistance to stylistic dogma. Against Method neatly encapsulates this approach.
Douglas Boyce’s Hunt by Night is an ostinato filled trio at a propulsive tempo for clarinet, cello, and piano. The piece also features glissandos and blurred microtonal inflections that offset the repeated pitches and chords nicely. Before, by Kyle Bartlett, is another trio, this time for clarinet, cello, and guitar. Wisps of texture are succeeded by noisy angularity with scratch tone effects. The unity provided by shared effects makes this broken consort sound at times like a single instrument. The sound spectrum moves between noise and dissonant counterpoint to create formal boundaries. Further along, the trio breaks up into characterful solos, notably a lithe cadenza by guitarist Daniel Lippel, which concludes the work.
Lippel switches to electric guitar, accompanied by clarinetist Benjamin Fingland, vibraphonist Jeffrey Irving, cellist Caleb van der Swaagh, pianist Renate Rolfing, and bassist Randall Zigler in Alvin Singleton’s Ein Kleines Volkslied. Rock-inspired chord progressions are played on the guitar, tremolando strings are emphatically rendered at key points alongside bluesy clarinet riffs, pizzicato bass, and jazz-inflected vibraphone arpeggiations. A bustling section overlaps these various playing styles, cut off again and again by tremolandos only to reassert itself. Bass clarinet, guitar, and vibes take over, their parts fragmenting the motives found in the beginning of the piece. Finally, a pileup of all the various elements creates a contrapuntal conclusion. Fingland plays Jessica Meyer’s Forgiveness, in which a loop pedal plays a prominent role. Air through the mouthpiece begins the piece followed by sustained pitches, all of which the loop pedal allows to overlap into clustered textures and tight counterpoint. Looping has become a favorite of new music composers, but Meyer distinguishes her piece with an organic approach to the sounds of playing and a fine ear for the pitch relationships that result in overlapping.
Ryan Streber’s Piano Quartet is the most formidable composition on Against Method. The various instruments move at different rates, creating a Carterian sense of time flow. Streber also has a finely attuned ear for the selection and spacing of post-tonal harmonies. The linear component, with a number of imitative passages, is also finely wrought. The ensemble comprehensively knows the piece, delivering a performance that is assured and engaging throughout.
The recording concludes with Scherzo by Diego Tedesco, a piece filled with descending chromatic scales that provide a jocular motive that appears in countless contexts throughout the piece. Tedesco blends pizzicatos from guitar and strings to good effect, followed by the aforementioned glissandos in cascading overlaps of sound. Particularly affecting is the middle section, which is an “eye of the storm” where the piece’s motives are fragmented and delicately hued. Clarinet and guitar are given an extended duet that is followed by an eruptive passage in the strings. Pizzicato and glissandos succeed in turn to create a clear juxtaposition of playing styles, at key points blending to create transitions between sections. Tight dissonances between violin and clarinet ratchet up the tension, which is finally allowed release in a sustained note from the clarinet followed by violin multi-stops. Scherzo is well- constructed, devised to show counter)induction to their best advantage. Top to bottom, Against Method is a stirring listen.
