I added Pretentious Classical Music Elitists to the links on the right. It's a good place for some contentious discussion about good music, and what makes music good. The catch is that you must be a member of Facebook in order to even see it. I'm not advocating that anybody join Facebook for the sole purpose of seeing that page, but if you are on there already, it is worth dropping by.
That said, I don't recommend joining unless you actually like music that others describe as pretentious and elitist. Rachel Portman or Eric Whitacre fans needn't bother. The fact that people with strongly populist tastes join the group raises an interesting question: why do people want to be labeled as pretentious and elitist? I don't seek those labels out, and have to defend myself against them. It's not that I'm pretentious or elitist; it's just that I have high standards and enjoy music that others may dismiss as difficult. Liking Babbit or early Glass isn't a put-on; I actually do enjoy listening to it. I don't enjoy listening to La Boheme. So for me to join that group isn't an admission of being snobby or pretentious as much as it is an acknowledgment that I wouldn't be able to shake the label if I tried.
12.30.2007
12.24.2007
Serving the Public Good Indeed
Apparently, those of you in Wisconsin are being subjected to Rachel Portman's Little Prince opera tomorrow.
Once upon a time, they showed full performances of real operas and orchestral concerts routinely on PBS stations. Now they show this drivel, Andre Rieu, and the Vienna New Years Concert, and say, "Look at us, we broadcast culture!"
While last year's slate of broadcasts from the Met looked promising, in execution, they were scheduled at odd hours, and didn't live up to the press releases.
At least the radio portion of WGBH holds up its side of the bargain. I was astonished, on a recent visit to LA, to hear what KUSC deems radio-worthy. If I'd been there longer than 6 days, I have no doubt I would have heard every Mozart piano concerto, but nothing from outside "the box."
Once upon a time, they showed full performances of real operas and orchestral concerts routinely on PBS stations. Now they show this drivel, Andre Rieu, and the Vienna New Years Concert, and say, "Look at us, we broadcast culture!"
While last year's slate of broadcasts from the Met looked promising, in execution, they were scheduled at odd hours, and didn't live up to the press releases.
At least the radio portion of WGBH holds up its side of the bargain. I was astonished, on a recent visit to LA, to hear what KUSC deems radio-worthy. If I'd been there longer than 6 days, I have no doubt I would have heard every Mozart piano concerto, but nothing from outside "the box."
3.17.2007
The 21st Century Philharmonic
Glenn Branca has an entry in his New York Times blog in which he programs a season of his imaginary "21st Century Philharmonic" [the link is subscription only]. A couple of representative programs:
What struck me, though, wasn't the exercise, but the comments people left. Naturally, it's a very personal thing to plan a season for such an orchestra, and he left off pieces I'd view as musts (and he'd probably look at my selections with puzzlement). Most of the comments consist of people asking how could he leave out such-and-such composer (from Schoenberg and Stravinsky to Golijov and Tan Dun). Many agree with the sentiment of the project, wishing that such an orchestra existed.
Two of them, however, struck me as very odd.
While I don't sympathize, I can understand why some people grumbled a little about the inclusion of the Wourinen commission on a BSO program last month. But to go so far as to say that no ensemble should be allowed to perform new music? That's a new level of closed-mindedness that is stunning.
REICH Triple QuartetHe also has 9 programs consisting entirely of commissions, and all-Xenakis, all-Messaien, all-Glass, all-Reich, all-Scelsi programs, and complete performances of Ligeti's Le Grande Macabre, Strauss's Elektra, Sondheim's Anyone Can Whistle, and Weill's Dreigroschenoper. While there's a lot more to it, that gives a sense of what Branca's thinking of for this orchestra.
ADAMS Guide To Strange Places
ADAMS Slonimsky’s Earbox
FELDMAN Violin and Orchestra
CARTER Holiday Overture
STALLING Selected Music From Bugs Bunny and Porky Pig
ROTA Music for the Films of Fellini
MORRICONE Music for the Films of Sergio Leone
BARRY Music for the James Bond Movies
HERRMANN Selections from the Soundtracks
TAKEMITSU Twill by Twilight (In Memory of Morton Feldman)
IVES Central Park in the Dark
IVES Fugue in Four Keys on “The Shining Shore”
MESSIAEN La Ville d’en haut
BRANCA Symphony No. 11
What struck me, though, wasn't the exercise, but the comments people left. Naturally, it's a very personal thing to plan a season for such an orchestra, and he left off pieces I'd view as musts (and he'd probably look at my selections with puzzlement). Most of the comments consist of people asking how could he leave out such-and-such composer (from Schoenberg and Stravinsky to Golijov and Tan Dun). Many agree with the sentiment of the project, wishing that such an orchestra existed.
Two of them, however, struck me as very odd.
Guess we “old fogies” have no rights whatsoever. The diletantes have spoken.Remember please that theirgeneration [sic] invented the comedy of rock and roll.I'm astonished that the inference from this exercise is that all the composers from "the box" would be impossible to hear in a world with a 21st Century Philharmonic. Beethoven isn't going anywhere; every year will continue to be a Mozart year. Why not make room for some newer music as well?
What do us “social security types” and “old fogies” know about music? Aside from insulting an older generation, there is the implication that the music by Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Bach, and the myriad of Baroque composers are no longer to be appreciated. Notwithstanding the professed views of these devotees “modern” music, I would be willing to wager that Beethoven’s music will be appreciated long after the purveyors of dissonance will pass from the scene.
While I don't sympathize, I can understand why some people grumbled a little about the inclusion of the Wourinen commission on a BSO program last month. But to go so far as to say that no ensemble should be allowed to perform new music? That's a new level of closed-mindedness that is stunning.
2.20.2007
Newbury Comics Classical Newsletter
For classical music fans interested in maintaining access to traditional brick-and-mortar record stores, the response by Newbury Comics has been encouraging. As co-founder Mike Dreese put it:
One way to track their progress is through the new weekly classical e-mail newsletter, which features new releases, sales, and offers coupons. The focus of the newsletters will be the Newbury St. and Natick locations, but hopefully, with enough positive feedback, the rest of their locations will also embrace a wider classical selection.
You can sign up here by clicking on the "Beta Classical Newsletter" option (or by filling out one of the forms in the Newbury St and Natick stores). I encourage everyone to let their voices be heard by signing up for the newsletter and showing that the classical audience does exist.
Like many in the Boston community, I was truly saddened to see the "mega-stores" of music leave the market late last fall. We had a very healthy competition with both Virgin Megastores and Tower Records over the years, and previously with HMV and The Harvard COOP. Their abrupt departure, while perhaps a sign of the digital times, represents a great loss of cultural resource for the region. We at Newbury Comics feel an obligation to try our best to serve the enormous hole these closures leave for Classical fans.
One way to track their progress is through the new weekly classical e-mail newsletter, which features new releases, sales, and offers coupons. The focus of the newsletters will be the Newbury St. and Natick locations, but hopefully, with enough positive feedback, the rest of their locations will also embrace a wider classical selection.
You can sign up here by clicking on the "Beta Classical Newsletter" option (or by filling out one of the forms in the Newbury St and Natick stores). I encourage everyone to let their voices be heard by signing up for the newsletter and showing that the classical audience does exist.
The Glob's Silence on Hatto
At this point, the Joyce Hatto plagiarism scandal is becoming old news, but there's still one voice I'm waiting to hear on the subject.
Seemingly every article on the scandal used the first line of this Richard Dyer profile (calling Hatto "greatest living pianist that almost no one has ever heard of) as evidence of established critics having been taken in by the fraud.
So why has the Glob yet to cover the story? The story broke last week, yet, as of right now, she only shows up in a very positive light in the archives. This is particularly strange, given that the Times, which owns the Glob, had the story on Saturday. So how about a follow-up given all the new information that has come to light?
Update 2/23:
They finally weigh in, complete with the Richard Dyer quotation.
Seemingly every article on the scandal used the first line of this Richard Dyer profile (calling Hatto "greatest living pianist that almost no one has ever heard of) as evidence of established critics having been taken in by the fraud.
So why has the Glob yet to cover the story? The story broke last week, yet, as of right now, she only shows up in a very positive light in the archives. This is particularly strange, given that the Times, which owns the Glob, had the story on Saturday. So how about a follow-up given all the new information that has come to light?
Update 2/23:
They finally weigh in, complete with the Richard Dyer quotation.
2.11.2007
Witticism
The caliph said to Ja'far, "Damn it, tell her who we are, lest we are slain by this mistake." Ja'far replied, "This is part of what we deserve." The caliph yelled at him, saying, "This is no time for your witticisms.""The Story of the Porter and the Three Ladies," The Arabian Nights, translated by Husain Hadawy
2.05.2007
Life is a Dream
When the prince is born, a prophecy is made: he will bring disaster to the kingdom. The king tells everyone he died and stows him in a tower on top of a mountain, where he cannot harm anyone. He stays hidden away from everyone's eyes, save one advisor. Only decades later is he finally introduced to the world, and even then, it's far too brief.
The premise of Lewis Spratlan's opera, after a play by the Spanish playwright Pedro Calderòn de la Barca, has unfortunate parallel's to the opera's history. It was written in 1978 on a commission by the New Haven Opera Theater. By the time it was ready to perform, the opoera company folded. It remained hidden away for another two decades, until Spratlan organized a performance himself, with the support of Amherst College. That performance was just act II, though, and was all too fleeting, even with the Pulitzer Prize it brought. Like Segismundo, it sits in a tower having experienced the real world ever so briefly, waiting to be liberated.
Calderòn's text lends itself to setting as an opera. Unlike many plays, which require significant shuffling and rewriting to become suitable libretti, James Maraniss's task was primarily to truncate his translation. The play's many long speeches serve as built-in arias. (This act does include two elaborations: where Calderòn calls for musicians to perform, he supplied a two-stanza madrigal text, and added a speech for Rosaura's lament to close the act.)
Spratlan handles the libretto nimbly. The best example, I think, is before Segismundo's entrance. Basilio and Clotaldo continue their conversation without changing the same musical style of their singing. Against, this, however, the orchestra leaves them behind and instead becomes source music. First they "noodle, as if warming up" (original instruction), before settling on a unison B-flat tuning note. The singers maintain their triple meter as the orchestra is reduced to a military band playing a duple march.
After the chorus welcomes Segismundo with a flourish, a "people's entertainment" follows. This section is scored as a solo violin playing in parallel fifths with a flute. What's remarkable is that even though I generally find parallel fifths grating, they sound good here. I think there are two reasons this works. First, the opera as a whole doesn't treat fifths as perfect consonants. By treating fifths sparingly, it's as if the interval becomes a dissonance. Second, the timbre of the violin and flute are different enough that they don't "lock in" the way they do when similar instruments play in perfect parallel invervals. This is followed by a madrigal in imitative counterpoint.
It's a travesty that the entire opera has never been performed or recorded. You can only hear it if you happen to know the right person. Ironically, Spratlan's recent opera "Earthrise" seems to be headed for a similar fate: although the San Francisco Opera commissioned it, they have yet to perform it publicly, citing budget difficulties. Both these operas deserve to be heard. In the story, Segismundo is liberated by an army, and given the opportunity to take his rightful place on his throne. It's time someone did the same for these operas.
The premise of Lewis Spratlan's opera, after a play by the Spanish playwright Pedro Calderòn de la Barca, has unfortunate parallel's to the opera's history. It was written in 1978 on a commission by the New Haven Opera Theater. By the time it was ready to perform, the opoera company folded. It remained hidden away for another two decades, until Spratlan organized a performance himself, with the support of Amherst College. That performance was just act II, though, and was all too fleeting, even with the Pulitzer Prize it brought. Like Segismundo, it sits in a tower having experienced the real world ever so briefly, waiting to be liberated.
*
Calderòn's text lends itself to setting as an opera. Unlike many plays, which require significant shuffling and rewriting to become suitable libretti, James Maraniss's task was primarily to truncate his translation. The play's many long speeches serve as built-in arias. (This act does include two elaborations: where Calderòn calls for musicians to perform, he supplied a two-stanza madrigal text, and added a speech for Rosaura's lament to close the act.)
Spratlan handles the libretto nimbly. The best example, I think, is before Segismundo's entrance. Basilio and Clotaldo continue their conversation without changing the same musical style of their singing. Against, this, however, the orchestra leaves them behind and instead becomes source music. First they "noodle, as if warming up" (original instruction), before settling on a unison B-flat tuning note. The singers maintain their triple meter as the orchestra is reduced to a military band playing a duple march.
After the chorus welcomes Segismundo with a flourish, a "people's entertainment" follows. This section is scored as a solo violin playing in parallel fifths with a flute. What's remarkable is that even though I generally find parallel fifths grating, they sound good here. I think there are two reasons this works. First, the opera as a whole doesn't treat fifths as perfect consonants. By treating fifths sparingly, it's as if the interval becomes a dissonance. Second, the timbre of the violin and flute are different enough that they don't "lock in" the way they do when similar instruments play in perfect parallel invervals. This is followed by a madrigal in imitative counterpoint.
It's a travesty that the entire opera has never been performed or recorded. You can only hear it if you happen to know the right person. Ironically, Spratlan's recent opera "Earthrise" seems to be headed for a similar fate: although the San Francisco Opera commissioned it, they have yet to perform it publicly, citing budget difficulties. Both these operas deserve to be heard. In the story, Segismundo is liberated by an army, and given the opportunity to take his rightful place on his throne. It's time someone did the same for these operas.
2.04.2007
Why people don't like new music.
From The Composer's Datebook
[2/4/]1837 - Franz Liszt performs a chamber recital in Paris, featuring the then-unfamiliar Piano Trios of Beethoven; At the last minute, the performers decided to reverse the printed order of the program, performing on the first half of the concert a trio by Pixis, and a Beethoven trio on the second half; The audience (and critics) warmly applaud the Pixis, mistakenly thinking it was the Beethoven work, and react coolly to the Beethoven, assuming it was by Pixis; Among the critics, only Berlioz notices the program switch.
1.30.2007
Dinosaur Annex's Super Sunday
The good thing about the Patriots' stunning loss last week:
It removed the major obstacle to attending Dinosaur Annex's Young Composer's Festival. The concert will feature music by Mason Bates, Richard Whalley, Derek Jacoby (not to be confused with Sir Derek Jacoby), MissyMazzoli, Sergei Tcherepnin, and Sarah Kirkland Snider. As far as I can tell from the biographies, these young composers seem to be in the under 35 age bracket, rather than the under 50 that passes for young in the field today. The 7:00 concert at First Church on Marlborough St caps a full weekend of events.
This won't be the first Super Sunday Dinosaur Annex show I've attended. I had the good fortune to be at the long overdue permier of [Act II of] Lewis Spratlan's Life is a Dream, opposite what turned out to be a pretty good game. It was a pretty good opera too, though, earning that year's Pulitzer.
[edit: the rest of this post has been adapted into a stand-alone discussion of Life is a Dream here.]
It removed the major obstacle to attending Dinosaur Annex's Young Composer's Festival. The concert will feature music by Mason Bates, Richard Whalley, Derek Jacoby (not to be confused with Sir Derek Jacoby), MissyMazzoli, Sergei Tcherepnin, and Sarah Kirkland Snider. As far as I can tell from the biographies, these young composers seem to be in the under 35 age bracket, rather than the under 50 that passes for young in the field today. The 7:00 concert at First Church on Marlborough St caps a full weekend of events.
This won't be the first Super Sunday Dinosaur Annex show I've attended. I had the good fortune to be at the long overdue permier of [Act II of] Lewis Spratlan's Life is a Dream, opposite what turned out to be a pretty good game. It was a pretty good opera too, though, earning that year's Pulitzer.
[edit: the rest of this post has been adapted into a stand-alone discussion of Life is a Dream here.]
1.28.2007
1 + 1 = 1.3
My favorite formula is now 1 + 1 = 1.By combining elements of Western music learned in conservatory and traditional Chinese music he learned growing up in rural Hunan province, Tan Dun's goal is to create a new, unified music that is neither Eastern nor Western. As such, I think that is the standard by which the opera should be judged: how well did it accomplish what the composer set out to do?
-Tan Dun
While I've long been a fan of Tan Dun, I have very little exposure to his operas. (I've heard the songs from "The Peony Pavilion" included on the album "Bitter Love," but have almost no sense of how it fits together as an opera. I don't know any of the music from Marco Polo or Tea.) The piece that most successfully synthesizes the musical styles is his 2000 Water Passion after St. Matthew. (Ironically, a passion setting is such a strictly Western form; there is no Chinese analogue for the religious oratorio.) He is able to integrate the Eastern folk tradition's emphasis on indeterminate pitch and techniques of using natural objects and throat singing into a moving telling of the death and resurrection of somebody else's savior. While Bach's setting of the same story inspired and influenced him, it comes through as a new and unique music. It is both Chinese and American, and yet neither at the same time. 1 + 1 = 1.
Unfortunately, The First Emperor is a step back. It is best when it stays in the framework of Tan's previous works. It opens with a masterly aria by the Taiwanese Peking opera star Wu Hsing-Kuo that is, unfortunately, the high point of the entire opera. The best of the remaining music is the interludes, where he lets the orchestra (and percussionists) cut lose. It is particularly strong when featuring the zheng (a Chinese zither), the waterphone, the Chinese ceremonial bell, and other instrumental specialties.
Where it falls short is what happens in between. It seems that Tan is almost trigger shy about his formulation of 1 + 1 = 1, and thus doesn't fully commit. While I can sympathize with his desire to take full advantage of a cast headlined by Placido Domingo, much of the singing falls into an almost dull Western arioso style. It isn't the Tan Dun I admire so; it's Tan Dun interspersed with Puccini. Tan became a great composer by exploring, and so many parts of the opera were content to just sit in a traditional lyricism.
Still, on the balance, it was an enjoyable opera. If I have any reservations, it's because my expectations were so high (despite the dozens of negative reviews). I hope that he will tighten act II a little and tone down the Westerness of the vocal lines prior to recording the work. Still, I anticipate taping the PBS broadcast and watching it over the air as many times as possible.
With such a predominantly Chinese creative team (ex-pats Tan, Ha Jin, and Hao Jiang Tian in addition to Zhang Yimou, Fan Yue, Huang Doudou and Wang Chaoge), I was curious to see what the opera's theme would be. Despite his early outsider films, Zhang Yimou's recent work has served as propaganda for the Chinese government. (The unity theme of "Hero" seems a clear enough statement to the Taiwanese, Tibetan, and Uyghur separatists; even Curse of the Golden Flower is about the importance of order and obeying authority.) I am pleased that The First Emperor's stands against the communist government, highlighting Qin's cruelty. In particular, the act of suppressing the old art for a new, truthful art was played out all too often during the tragic Cultural Revolution. And, as happens in the opera, suppressive government can lead to art more interested in exploring the truth than the government line. Gao's national anthem may as well have been Tan's own Snow in June.
1.26.2007
Buxtewho-de?
Buxtehude is a composer that doesn't have much currency today. Most people know him (if at all) primarily for being an important influence of a young Bach. After last year's Mozart overdose, it's nice to have a year honoring a composer who really does need the exposure. In honor of the 300th anniversary of his death, I'm looking forward to getting to know Buxtehude much more thoroughly.
To this effect, I went to the first recital in the series "Ten Saturdays with Buxtehude" at St. Thomas's Church on West 53rd St. The turnout was spectacular for the 4:00 recital. The entire nave was full, and the crowd spilled into the aisle. More to the point, the church ran out of programs. Accordingly, I'm not sure what I heard (beyond a couple of chorale preludes and couple of prelude & fugue pairs) or who was playing (although I later found out it was John Scott). I don't really feel qualified to discuss the program in any detail with so little information. I'll credit Scott for resisting the temptation to use the full forces of the organ, instead trying to stay true to the sound of organs of the 17th century. The programs run through May 26, and should all be well worth it. Just make sure you arrive plenty early if you want a good seat and a program.
To this effect, I went to the first recital in the series "Ten Saturdays with Buxtehude" at St. Thomas's Church on West 53rd St. The turnout was spectacular for the 4:00 recital. The entire nave was full, and the crowd spilled into the aisle. More to the point, the church ran out of programs. Accordingly, I'm not sure what I heard (beyond a couple of chorale preludes and couple of prelude & fugue pairs) or who was playing (although I later found out it was John Scott). I don't really feel qualified to discuss the program in any detail with so little information. I'll credit Scott for resisting the temptation to use the full forces of the organ, instead trying to stay true to the sound of organs of the 17th century. The programs run through May 26, and should all be well worth it. Just make sure you arrive plenty early if you want a good seat and a program.
1.16.2007
How Pathethique!
This is the second post in my series of CD's selected through arbitrary-number generation. I'd like to add a note about my method of cataloguing CD's before diving into the Furtwängler. I arrange everything chronologically by composer. Ideally, I'd prefer a way to have them in strict chronological order of when the piece was composed, but that would prove overwhelming. While composers with very long careers like Liszt (I have pieces from 1833 through 1881) or Bach (1705 through 1750) cause trouble, I think this is the best compromise. When I list the previous recording of Carmina Burana as 571 and the CD discussed below as 452, I'm simply referring to the line on the speadsheet that the disc currently occupies.
Last time around, I attacked Carmina Burana for its poor form and minimal counterpoint. Naturally, when faced with Tchaikovsky's Pathétique Symphony, I'm going to criticize Tchaikovsky as an overrated, all-melody composer, right?
What I like about Furtwängler's 1938 recording is the way he emphasizes the form. The individual movements may not be groundbreaking in its use of sonata form, but he really brings out the dramatic development with his tempi. I'll admit I'm a sucker for Furtwängler's erratic tempo changes, but they are very effective in this piece. In the first and second movements, for example, he suddenly slows the tempo at a formally important moment, and then gradually accelerates back to the original speed. In addition to providing the piece with a very clear trajectory, it also draws attention to the sections that repeat and the sections that don't.
The third movement will always be a thorn in the sides of people opposed to inter-movement clapping. It's also a really dramatic example of why it matters: the fourth movement is the dramatic heart and soul of the symphony. It should follow the thrilling conlusion of the third movement as quickly as humanly possible. The tension is supposed to be built up and not released; the applause releases it and really hurts the finale.
The fourth movement seems like a piece written just for Furtwängler's talents. What impresses me most about this recording is the way he relaxes the tempo after the climax, bringing out the pathos that gives the piece its nickname. It fades away into imperceptable silence, until a note suddenly grows -- and like that, we're into the Prelude of Tristan und Isolde.
I don't have much to say about this particular recording of the Prelude and so-called Liebestod. (If you count full recordings of the opera, I have more recordings of the pair than any other piece. Furthermore, 4 of my 6 recordings were conducted by Furtwängler.) Instead, I want to raise a question:
Why isn't the concert ending of the prelude ever performed? I realize that the opera's finale makes a nice companion piece, but the concert ending serves to wrap it up nicely in one continuous movement. As far as I know, it hasn't been performed in well over a hundred years and never recorded (although if you know of a recording, please let me know). It's good in its own right and deserves a little exposure.
Next on the docket: #232, Clavier-book for Anna Magdalena Bach on Hännsler
Last time around, I attacked Carmina Burana for its poor form and minimal counterpoint. Naturally, when faced with Tchaikovsky's Pathétique Symphony, I'm going to criticize Tchaikovsky as an overrated, all-melody composer, right?
What I like about Furtwängler's 1938 recording is the way he emphasizes the form. The individual movements may not be groundbreaking in its use of sonata form, but he really brings out the dramatic development with his tempi. I'll admit I'm a sucker for Furtwängler's erratic tempo changes, but they are very effective in this piece. In the first and second movements, for example, he suddenly slows the tempo at a formally important moment, and then gradually accelerates back to the original speed. In addition to providing the piece with a very clear trajectory, it also draws attention to the sections that repeat and the sections that don't.
The third movement will always be a thorn in the sides of people opposed to inter-movement clapping. It's also a really dramatic example of why it matters: the fourth movement is the dramatic heart and soul of the symphony. It should follow the thrilling conlusion of the third movement as quickly as humanly possible. The tension is supposed to be built up and not released; the applause releases it and really hurts the finale.
The fourth movement seems like a piece written just for Furtwängler's talents. What impresses me most about this recording is the way he relaxes the tempo after the climax, bringing out the pathos that gives the piece its nickname. It fades away into imperceptable silence, until a note suddenly grows -- and like that, we're into the Prelude of Tristan und Isolde.
I don't have much to say about this particular recording of the Prelude and so-called Liebestod. (If you count full recordings of the opera, I have more recordings of the pair than any other piece. Furthermore, 4 of my 6 recordings were conducted by Furtwängler.) Instead, I want to raise a question:
Why isn't the concert ending of the prelude ever performed? I realize that the opera's finale makes a nice companion piece, but the concert ending serves to wrap it up nicely in one continuous movement. As far as I know, it hasn't been performed in well over a hundred years and never recorded (although if you know of a recording, please let me know). It's good in its own right and deserves a little exposure.
Next on the docket: #232, Clavier-book for Anna Magdalena Bach on Hännsler
1.14.2007
Off topic
I'm not sure what just happened in the Pats-Chargers game, but I know I like it.
But that's the Patriots -- they manage to minimize the damage from mistakes, and to capitalize on opponents' mistakes, and to stay close and do the big things when it matters most.
This week, Brady and Manning combined for a passer rating of 50.1. Your AFC Championship quarterbacks, ladies and gentlemen!
But that's the Patriots -- they manage to minimize the damage from mistakes, and to capitalize on opponents' mistakes, and to stay close and do the big things when it matters most.
This week, Brady and Manning combined for a passer rating of 50.1. Your AFC Championship quarterbacks, ladies and gentlemen!
1.13.2007
Fortune plango vulnera...
I've decided to start a series of posts discussing music in my collection based on an arbitrary-number generator. (If random-number generation is truly possible, the fact that I don't have exactly 1000 CD's blunts the randomness.) It's either quite ironic or quite fitting that the first disc selected via this method is number 571 -- Carmina Burana, a piece that I have very little desire to write about.
The Hickox/LSO recording (in a previous release on Fidelio) was among my first classical CD's, purchased at the Berkshire Record Outlet in my early teens. I loved it for some common, if immature reasons. It was loud and dissonant. The texts were funny, and treated sex and drunkenness. But mainly, it was loud and dissonant. (Boy did the final three movements pack a wallop -- you go from the insane Soprano range of "Dulcissime" to the loud brass/chorus of "Blanziflor et Helena" to the recapitulation of "O Fortuna.")
As I grew older, though, I started having second thoughts. As I studied music theory and became infatuated with Beethoven and Bach, form and counterpoint became more and more important to me. You can spend a lot of time buried in the score and fail to find much in the way of either. The form is predominantly strophic songs. The most common texture is unison or parallel blocks of intervals or chords. There's plenty of novel orchestration, but relatively little else of interest.
In time, I grew to view it as a piece in which nothing happens, for all its noise. (In the interest of fairness, I should note that I never tired of the "Olim lacus colueram" movement, concerning the swan roasting on the spit. I'd rate this among the funniest moments in musical history. That means that I enjoy under four of the piece's sixty or so minutes.) To me, it was another top-40 hit with little of value or harm. Then I discovered something troubling.
In many ways, the simple textures are meant to suggest a return to the ideals of Medieval music. However, in 1930's Germany, such an idea can actually be quite troubling. If Carmina Burana is to represent a more pure, earlier ideal of Germanic music, then it can be seen as a musical representation of Aryan ideals. It's a music that is without influence from inferior kinds of music, freed from the Italian foundation of German Baroque music. It's one thing to flag Wagner's music as representing proto-Nazi ideals; this was written the year of Germany occupied the Rhineland. This implication, that Carmina Burana is essentially Nazi propaganda, certainly can temper one's enjoyment. (It doesn't disqualify it outright; however, it should be in the canon of "problem works" of art that represent a view that is now seen as unacceptable due to bigotry. Just as productions of The Merchant of Venice invariably involve discussion of anti-Semitism or screenings of Triumph des Willens acknowledge the techniques Reifenstahl used to make the Nuremberg Rally so impressive, I feel that performances of Carmina Burana should highlight this less palatable aspect.)
A couple of weeks ago, in this space, I offered a reassessment of one of those other much-maligned top-4o hits: Pachelbel's canon. Can I offer any sort of positive reassessment Carmina Burana?
First a digression: the medieval poems that Orff selected are brilliant. The rhetorical delights of In taberna quando sumus, for example doesn't really translate to English, but is clear enough in the Latin.
But the subject at hand is really the music. The natural question arises: how can I enjoy Glass's Two Pages or Reich's Piano Phase, yet argue that nothing happens in Carmina Burana? While I could argue that a lot more happens in those austerely minimalist pieces (albeit very slowly) than in Carmina, I won't. The point stands, though, that we can't compare Orff's music to Bach's and Beethoven's, as he was consciously trying to use a neo-medieval style. As much as I'm trying, however, I can't defend this piece of music (which greatly pales in comparison to contemporary pieces like Schoenberg's 4th string quartet or Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta).
Next up: #452, Tchaikovsky's Pathetique Symphony, conducted by Furtwangler on Naxos Historical
The Hickox/LSO recording (in a previous release on Fidelio) was among my first classical CD's, purchased at the Berkshire Record Outlet in my early teens. I loved it for some common, if immature reasons. It was loud and dissonant. The texts were funny, and treated sex and drunkenness. But mainly, it was loud and dissonant. (Boy did the final three movements pack a wallop -- you go from the insane Soprano range of "Dulcissime" to the loud brass/chorus of "Blanziflor et Helena" to the recapitulation of "O Fortuna.")
As I grew older, though, I started having second thoughts. As I studied music theory and became infatuated with Beethoven and Bach, form and counterpoint became more and more important to me. You can spend a lot of time buried in the score and fail to find much in the way of either. The form is predominantly strophic songs. The most common texture is unison or parallel blocks of intervals or chords. There's plenty of novel orchestration, but relatively little else of interest.
In time, I grew to view it as a piece in which nothing happens, for all its noise. (In the interest of fairness, I should note that I never tired of the "Olim lacus colueram" movement, concerning the swan roasting on the spit. I'd rate this among the funniest moments in musical history. That means that I enjoy under four of the piece's sixty or so minutes.) To me, it was another top-40 hit with little of value or harm. Then I discovered something troubling.
In many ways, the simple textures are meant to suggest a return to the ideals of Medieval music. However, in 1930's Germany, such an idea can actually be quite troubling. If Carmina Burana is to represent a more pure, earlier ideal of Germanic music, then it can be seen as a musical representation of Aryan ideals. It's a music that is without influence from inferior kinds of music, freed from the Italian foundation of German Baroque music. It's one thing to flag Wagner's music as representing proto-Nazi ideals; this was written the year of Germany occupied the Rhineland. This implication, that Carmina Burana is essentially Nazi propaganda, certainly can temper one's enjoyment. (It doesn't disqualify it outright; however, it should be in the canon of "problem works" of art that represent a view that is now seen as unacceptable due to bigotry. Just as productions of The Merchant of Venice invariably involve discussion of anti-Semitism or screenings of Triumph des Willens acknowledge the techniques Reifenstahl used to make the Nuremberg Rally so impressive, I feel that performances of Carmina Burana should highlight this less palatable aspect.)
A couple of weeks ago, in this space, I offered a reassessment of one of those other much-maligned top-4o hits: Pachelbel's canon. Can I offer any sort of positive reassessment Carmina Burana?
First a digression: the medieval poems that Orff selected are brilliant. The rhetorical delights of In taberna quando sumus, for example doesn't really translate to English, but is clear enough in the Latin.
But the subject at hand is really the music. The natural question arises: how can I enjoy Glass's Two Pages or Reich's Piano Phase, yet argue that nothing happens in Carmina Burana? While I could argue that a lot more happens in those austerely minimalist pieces (albeit very slowly) than in Carmina, I won't. The point stands, though, that we can't compare Orff's music to Bach's and Beethoven's, as he was consciously trying to use a neo-medieval style. As much as I'm trying, however, I can't defend this piece of music (which greatly pales in comparison to contemporary pieces like Schoenberg's 4th string quartet or Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta).
Next up: #452, Tchaikovsky's Pathetique Symphony, conducted by Furtwangler on Naxos Historical
1.10.2007
Searching for "WCRB Playlists"
Lately, since WCRB switched from 102.5 to 99.5, I've been getting a lot of hits from people searching for CRB playlists. (The website, which used to have that information, is under construction for some reason.)
I find that quite odd; CRB is the station that tells you the names of all the pieces at the end of the hourlong blocks of classical music, after all.
I find that quite odd; CRB is the station that tells you the names of all the pieces at the end of the hourlong blocks of classical music, after all.
1.09.2007
Theiving artists exposed!
The Boston Herald is sure looking out for Massachusetts taxpayers today, calling for the elimination of a $350 African dance program and other small ticket arts items.
With a state budget of almost $20 billion, it's good to know that the fat cat arts groups who are conning the state out of tens of thousands of dollars are finally going to get what's coming to them. I'm looking forward to seeing the savings rolled into tax cuts in the amount of fractions of cents per taxpayer!
With a state budget of almost $20 billion, it's good to know that the fat cat arts groups who are conning the state out of tens of thousands of dollars are finally going to get what's coming to them. I'm looking forward to seeing the savings rolled into tax cuts in the amount of fractions of cents per taxpayer!
1.07.2007
Living in a Post-Tower Boston
In moments of stress or sadness, I like to use record shopping as a means of consolation. On-line shopping just doesn't do it in that situation; there's something about flipping through CD's, accumulating a huge pile, sorting through them to whittle it down to a reasonable amount, and then immediately being able to open them, listen to them, read the liner notes, catalogue them, and clear a place on the shelf for them.
I thought about this earlier this week. I was running errands in a mall, and popped into FYE to see what they had. I did end up getting something, though that was in spite of the selection. (There was a used copy of the concept cd "Ricecar," at half of what they probably should have charged for it.)
So, then, where to go for a brick-and-mortar record store in the Boston area? (Digression: William Safire's Language column today discusses retronyms, of which "brick-and-mortar" is an excellent example. They're adjectives that become necessary when a variant becomes common. For hundreds of years, there were just stores; only in the last decade have we had to distinguish "brick-and-mortar" stores from the on-line variety.)
There are a handful of used record stores, but none boast an extensive classical section. With used stores, it's all a matter of luck; maybe they have some gems, maybe they don't. I don't know of any used stores in the area that warrant special mention.
Tower's traditional rival has been Barnes & Noble (in the Prudential Center, as well as various locations in the suburbs). Unfortunately, the selection is whithering away, seemingly getting smaller every day. While there is some variety, it is mostly vanilla. The prices also aren't great, unless you buy the discount card. If you want to choose from 12 different recordings of a Beethoven symphony, it is a good bet. If you want to get outside "the box" of the 1700-1900 WCRB playlist, the choices are more limited.
Then there's Newbury Comics. As of two weeks ago, the Harvard Square location had more than doubled its classical section, although it remained quite spotty. The Newbury Street location, however, has shown a new commitment to classical music. They have taken on classical staff and set aside a sizable section (given the very real contraints of their footprint). While they don't have as many units as Barnes & Nobel, the selection is richer and more varied. There's a decent selection of opera and a small but interesting new music section. What I find particularly promising is the fact that the staff is still working to develop the section further. I look forward to seeing the results.
Unfortunately, in the immmediate future, it will be impossible to replace the two Tower locations. Let's just hope that some day there will be a store that specializes in classical music.
Digression 2: I was always fond of Newbury Pizza. Every time I stopped in, I always wondered how it survived. Surely, in that gentrified street, the landlord would prefer a high-end restaurant to classic greasy-spoon pizza place. I was very sad today to discover that it finally has closed. It's a real shame.
Digression 3: As I walked by Fenway today, it was perfect weather for a ballgame. Yet my calendar says January 6. I can't figure it out. (84 days until opening day!)
I thought about this earlier this week. I was running errands in a mall, and popped into FYE to see what they had. I did end up getting something, though that was in spite of the selection. (There was a used copy of the concept cd "Ricecar," at half of what they probably should have charged for it.)
So, then, where to go for a brick-and-mortar record store in the Boston area? (Digression: William Safire's Language column today discusses retronyms, of which "brick-and-mortar" is an excellent example. They're adjectives that become necessary when a variant becomes common. For hundreds of years, there were just stores; only in the last decade have we had to distinguish "brick-and-mortar" stores from the on-line variety.)
There are a handful of used record stores, but none boast an extensive classical section. With used stores, it's all a matter of luck; maybe they have some gems, maybe they don't. I don't know of any used stores in the area that warrant special mention.
Tower's traditional rival has been Barnes & Noble (in the Prudential Center, as well as various locations in the suburbs). Unfortunately, the selection is whithering away, seemingly getting smaller every day. While there is some variety, it is mostly vanilla. The prices also aren't great, unless you buy the discount card. If you want to choose from 12 different recordings of a Beethoven symphony, it is a good bet. If you want to get outside "the box" of the 1700-1900 WCRB playlist, the choices are more limited.
Then there's Newbury Comics. As of two weeks ago, the Harvard Square location had more than doubled its classical section, although it remained quite spotty. The Newbury Street location, however, has shown a new commitment to classical music. They have taken on classical staff and set aside a sizable section (given the very real contraints of their footprint). While they don't have as many units as Barnes & Nobel, the selection is richer and more varied. There's a decent selection of opera and a small but interesting new music section. What I find particularly promising is the fact that the staff is still working to develop the section further. I look forward to seeing the results.
Unfortunately, in the immmediate future, it will be impossible to replace the two Tower locations. Let's just hope that some day there will be a store that specializes in classical music.
Digression 2: I was always fond of Newbury Pizza. Every time I stopped in, I always wondered how it survived. Surely, in that gentrified street, the landlord would prefer a high-end restaurant to classic greasy-spoon pizza place. I was very sad today to discover that it finally has closed. It's a real shame.
Digression 3: As I walked by Fenway today, it was perfect weather for a ballgame. Yet my calendar says January 6. I can't figure it out. (84 days until opening day!)
1.04.2007
The Great Kinkades of China
Like the Mongols of the twelfth century, today's bloggers have breached the Great Firewall. Which is to say, I discovered last night that China is allowing foreign blogs to be read (at least, at the moment). I may as well take advantage of this opportunity and try to write some more about China, for my readers over there. Coincidentally, there's something good to write about in the paper this morning:
The Times discusses the recent trend in Chinese art: selling your work for millions of yuan. At first glance, this would seem to aid the artistic process in China, but does it really?
The problem is that when the focus becomes economic, then the art suffers. This may not have been a concious strategy by the government to protect itself from satire, but it's working wonders by bringing these artists into the fold, and moving their focus to money. The question is no longer what Zhang Xiaogang [张晓刚] has to say about China during the Cultural Revolution; it's how many new versions of that same painting of the family of three his studio can churn out and sell. Who cares what Fang Lijun [方力钧] thinks about the post-Tiananmen world. How many paintings or sculptures of distorted faces can he finish in time for the next auction?
It's as if the artists of China are collectively turning from the Pollocks, Rothkos, and Warhols into many Thomas Kinkades, using "art" as a way to print money, expression be damned.
I realize that this is an overly bleak assessment; I look forward to a new generation of artists who will come shine some light on this problem by finding a way around it. I fear that it's too late for the current generation, though.
The Times discusses the recent trend in Chinese art: selling your work for millions of yuan. At first glance, this would seem to aid the artistic process in China, but does it really?
The problem is that when the focus becomes economic, then the art suffers. This may not have been a concious strategy by the government to protect itself from satire, but it's working wonders by bringing these artists into the fold, and moving their focus to money. The question is no longer what Zhang Xiaogang [张晓刚] has to say about China during the Cultural Revolution; it's how many new versions of that same painting of the family of three his studio can churn out and sell. Who cares what Fang Lijun [方力钧] thinks about the post-Tiananmen world. How many paintings or sculptures of distorted faces can he finish in time for the next auction?
It's as if the artists of China are collectively turning from the Pollocks, Rothkos, and Warhols into many Thomas Kinkades, using "art" as a way to print money, expression be damned.
I realize that this is an overly bleak assessment; I look forward to a new generation of artists who will come shine some light on this problem by finding a way around it. I fear that it's too late for the current generation, though.
1.03.2007
The Ethical Dilemma
I recently met someone who minored in music at college and was an enthusiastic fan, but professed to not be interested in contemporary music. Much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, I'm an unashamed proselytizer of what I consider good music, which means that I often find myself stepping up to bat for the music of the past hundred years. (It is deeper than that, though; I also push early music and everything in between, if the need is there.)
My theory is simple: if people gave this music a chance, they'd fall in love with it too. If anyone is willing to listen, I'm willing to play the music for them. At the same time, I'm smart enough not to throw anyone in heads first into, say, some of Boulez's gnarlier scores or Einstein on the Beach. (I hated Einstein for years, but it got its claws into me, and I was only able to fight it off for so long. I now hold the final two sections are up there with any concluding movements of any piece of music ever written.)
It was easy enough to select some good pieces from the triumvirate of Schoenberg/Berg/Webern. Pick a track from Quartet for the End of Time and War Requiem. Throw in a couple of sonatas for prepared piano by Cage. "O King" from Sinfonia fits in nicely.
But then I hit the dilemma. The [post-]minimalist style is really hard to anthologize. The pieces tend to run long, and it's easy for the person to just get bored and skip ahead. As much as I love Gay Guerilla by Julius Eastman, I know it isn't the right place to start. So, then, my thoughts turn to On the Transmigration of Souls. While not particularly representative, it is an effective piece of music. (Making that even more tempting is the fact that this person's field is counter-terrorism.) Is highlighting Adams's pulitzer-prize winning piece manipulative or simply demonstrating that even today, classical music has something to say about the world?
My theory is simple: if people gave this music a chance, they'd fall in love with it too. If anyone is willing to listen, I'm willing to play the music for them. At the same time, I'm smart enough not to throw anyone in heads first into, say, some of Boulez's gnarlier scores or Einstein on the Beach. (I hated Einstein for years, but it got its claws into me, and I was only able to fight it off for so long. I now hold the final two sections are up there with any concluding movements of any piece of music ever written.)
It was easy enough to select some good pieces from the triumvirate of Schoenberg/Berg/Webern. Pick a track from Quartet for the End of Time and War Requiem. Throw in a couple of sonatas for prepared piano by Cage. "O King" from Sinfonia fits in nicely.
But then I hit the dilemma. The [post-]minimalist style is really hard to anthologize. The pieces tend to run long, and it's easy for the person to just get bored and skip ahead. As much as I love Gay Guerilla by Julius Eastman, I know it isn't the right place to start. So, then, my thoughts turn to On the Transmigration of Souls. While not particularly representative, it is an effective piece of music. (Making that even more tempting is the fact that this person's field is counter-terrorism.) Is highlighting Adams's pulitzer-prize winning piece manipulative or simply demonstrating that even today, classical music has something to say about the world?
1.02.2007
I'll concede the point
Research discussed in an article in Sunday's New York Times confirmed what the peddlers at WCRB were hoping nobody would realize: that classical music excites the brain.
Because of the brevity of my trip (only about 36 hours), and because it was the weekend, I didn't have an opportunity to have to have my car inspected by a mechanic and cleared for the trip back to Boston. I did my best to rig up the loose parts with duck tape, said a quick prayer, and started driving. I didn't get very far; I left the part in question on the shoulder of the JFK. (I wonder if it's still there; I wasn't really in a position to try to retrieve it.)
So here I was, with 200 miles ahead of me in a car that, for all I knew, could fail at any moment. That it ultimately turned out to be a dispensible part is irrelevant; at the time, I didn't know. For the drive, I'd brought a number of 20th century operas. With my nerves on edge as they were, Wozzeck was not helping.
In this situation, I needed something to silence the voice in my head that was warning of the impending $500 towing bill or being stranded somewhere in Connecticut, or something in between. Yet, I couldn't impair my ability to drive.
I made it home, and visited the mechanic the next day. He said everything would be fine, and I went back to listening to Wozzeck.
In that very peculiar circumstance, the lobotomy that commercial classical radio provides proved helpful. I'll concede the point.
Observing 13 subjects who listened to classical music while in an M.R.I. machine, the scientists found a cascade of brain-chemical activity. First the music triggered the forebrain, as it analyzed the structure and meaning of the tune. Then the nucleus accumbus and ventral tegmental area activated to release dopamine, a chemical that triggers the brain’s sense of reward.
The cerebellum, an area normally associated with physical movement, reacted too, responding to what Dr. Levitin suspected was the brain’s predictions of where the song was going to go. As the brain internalizes the tempo, rhythm and emotional peaks of a song, the cerebellum begins reacting every time the song produces tension (that is, subtle deviations from its normal melody or tempo).
That sure sounds like relaxation to me!
Of course, maybe I'm not giving them credit. On a recent trip to New York, I hit a bump hard in Queens. (More fairly, I think, the bump hit me.) This damaged the underbelly of my car.Because of the brevity of my trip (only about 36 hours), and because it was the weekend, I didn't have an opportunity to have to have my car inspected by a mechanic and cleared for the trip back to Boston. I did my best to rig up the loose parts with duck tape, said a quick prayer, and started driving. I didn't get very far; I left the part in question on the shoulder of the JFK. (I wonder if it's still there; I wasn't really in a position to try to retrieve it.)
So here I was, with 200 miles ahead of me in a car that, for all I knew, could fail at any moment. That it ultimately turned out to be a dispensible part is irrelevant; at the time, I didn't know. For the drive, I'd brought a number of 20th century operas. With my nerves on edge as they were, Wozzeck was not helping.
In this situation, I needed something to silence the voice in my head that was warning of the impending $500 towing bill or being stranded somewhere in Connecticut, or something in between. Yet, I couldn't impair my ability to drive.
I made it home, and visited the mechanic the next day. He said everything would be fine, and I went back to listening to Wozzeck.
In that very peculiar circumstance, the lobotomy that commercial classical radio provides proved helpful. I'll concede the point.
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