Pilgrimage to Parnassus

The Manic Pixie Dreamgirl

2008-08-19T23:23:00.003-04:00

I'd like to visit the theme of the Manic Pixie Dreamgirl in a couple of posts, because the more I think about her, the more she fascinates me. (That's right: I guess I'm announcing to the world that I have a crush on a disembodied abstract concept. At least she doesn't have a boyfriend.) She actually has been an important figure in my life: I've had big crushes on my fair share, even dated one or two, am friends with others, and created a whole line-up of them back in the day when I fancied myself a writer. As I dig deep, it's hard to escape the MPDG her two relatives (I'll introduce you a little later) in any aspect of my life.

The Onion piece in question provided a decent overview of how she's been presented in film in the past 70 years, but the army of critics don't go back any deeper, ignoring her long literary pedigree. Let's take a step back and review the essentials: the MPDG "exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures." She appears as if by magic, forever changing the way the the dour hero will look at the world. While her favorite tool today is whimsy, her forbears didn't always have that option in their arsenals, and thus took very different tacks.

The earliest MPDG that I am aware of happens to be one of the most important literary figures of the Middle Ages. She arrives at just the right time, as our hero's life is in shambles; he finds himself locked in prison as a political prisoner, unable to make peace with the world.

I who once wrote songs with Keen delight am now by sorrow driven to take up melancholy measures. Wounded Muses tell me what I must write, and elegiac verses bathe my face with real tears. Not even terror could drive from me these faithful companions of my long journey. Poetry, which was once the glory of my happy and flourishing youth, is still my comfort in this misery of my old age.

So begins Boethius's Consolatio Philosophiae, written in the early 6th century. His salvation comes in the form of Lady Philosophy, who uses Socratic dialogue to make him reconsider what matters in the world (early Medieval Christian asceticism) and what doesn't.

It may seem like a long road from The Consolation of Philosophy to "Elizabethtown," but the essential story is the same: a man is rescued from his (literal or metaphorical prison) by a woman who teaches him not to be so serious and reconsider what's really important in life, be it through silly dancing or neoplatonist asceticism. Having made that intellectual leap, we can trace the MPDG's subsequent incarnations as Beatrice in Dante's Paradiso, Shahrazad from Alf Layla Wa Layla, Reason in La Roman de la Rose, Lucy Manette (A Tale of Two Cities), Eppie from Silas Marner, and even Olivia in "Twelfth Night." Shaw put his own satiric stamp on it time after time, perhaps most memorably in Man and Superman, when Ann Whitefield rescues John Tanner from his life of socialistic bachelorhood.

Opera has no shortage: while Donna Elvira and Marie (Wozzeck) can't quite finish the job, Elsa (Der Fliegende Hollander), Marie (Der Frieschutz), Magdalena (Die Meistersinger), Brunhilde, and even Mimi with her consumptive little heart all offer some sort of redemption.

Even though the MPDG may seem like empty fun, there for the sole purpose of redeeming the male, as I've shown, she actually has a long heritage and is capable of quite a bit of depth. If she represents lightness and redemption, though, she does have a mischievous twin sister, lurking in darkness to bring destruction to men. Next time I'll introduce this figure (in one way or another). As this series continues, it will explore both the literary heritage of this darker figure and the way she appears in movies today; a look at their interactions in the work of Woody Allen; the influence these figures have had on my life; and their rare and devastating child.

Baby Schoenberg

2008-07-13T12:21:00.003-04:00

Normally, I don't get too excited about babies, but this image from Jeremy Eichler's column in this morning's glob, warmed my heart:

Here at last was my opportunity to do my part for the forward march of science. It was too late to eliminate all tonal music from Jonah's aural diet but we could at least do some concentrated listening. I cued up the final movement of Schoenberg's Second String Quartet, a landmark in the composer's journey toward atonality. As the soprano sang the famous line, "I feel the air of another planet," I scrutinized my son's face for a glint of recognition, and, to my shock, he actually began clapping his hands. Never mind that he claps his hands freely these days at seemingly arbitrary moments. In my view, it was a scientific slam dunk.

The accompanying list of musical recommendations will actually allow you to listen to music with your kid without wanting to throw the hi-fi out the window.

Concerning the Price of Bread in China

2008-02-27T09:56:00.004-05:00

Google searches for "Price of bread in China" are referring people to this blog more and more frequently, so I'm going to take a moment out for an off-topic post that will hopefully provide some insight into that question. First I'll explain why it's actually the wrong question to ask, and then I'll take two different cracks at answering it anyway for those of you who are still curious.

It is my experience that usually, when someone refers to the price of bread, it's an example of the rhetorical device synecdoche. Thus, to just look at one example, when Berio writes in his Sinfonia that the piece of music can't stop the wars or lower the price of bread, it is simply meant to stand in for food in general. The device works because bread is a staple food in Europe and plays a very prominent role in the diet. Even if meat is too expensive, you fall back on bread.

China has a very different dietary model, however. Baked goods do not play a large role in the diet, and bread is not regularly eaten by the average Chinese person. Instead, depending on the region, rice and noodles fill that role. If you're interested in using one item to stand for the entire Chinese diet, I suggest considering the cost of rice instead. To consider the price of bread in China is like looking at the price of corn in England -- not particularly relevant or helpful.

So, then, how much does food cost in China? It's a huge, economically diverse country, so there isn't a nice, simple answer. It's a lot more expensive in Shanghai than it is Gansu, for example, where you can get a good meal for 3 yuan. Just as a hamburger in New York will cost you a lot more than the same burger in Kansas, specific prices vary wildly throughout the country. That said, my understanding is that the uncharacteristically snowy winter has put a lot of pressure on food supplies throughout the entire country, so food is becoming more expensive everywhere.

And even though I just explained why the price of bread in China isn't relevant, I'll tell you about it anyway. For the reasons I just outlined, bread tends to be very expensive and low in quality. For whatever reason, the domestic bread producers like to put a lot of sugar in the bread. I have no idea what they leave out, but it tastes sweet and has a somewhat chalky texture. It could perhaps make a serviceable piece of toast provided you use enough jam. I preferred yoghurt, fruit, or eggs for breakfast.

There is one institution that ironically provides a decent loaf of bread for cheap. In my experience, the European-owned supermarkets that feature a variety of imported foods could bake a decent French- or Italian-style loaf, for about a third of the price of the terrible packaged bread.

Edit 4/16: PRI's The World on the topic of Chinese food prices

UE Shrugs off Lost Revenue, as E-mails are what Really Matters

2008-01-18T15:36:00.000-05:00

I just saw this press release posted on the Universal Editions website regarding their actions against IMSLP. The following paragraph struck me as particularly odd:

The flood of complaints to UE, however, didn’t come. They received about 30 e-mails and one letter (Geist’s thousands apparently had better things to do). UE replied to each and every one and were happy that most – when having heard the other side of the story – were relieved that UE was certainly not acting improperly. In fact, in the end, quite a few messages of support were received.

Apparently, the fact that I no longer purchase UE scores does not move them. They are unconcerned by the lost revenue; it would only concern them if they'd received an e-mail. I thus encourage everybody to join me in not purchasing UE products, as they won't mind at all. Just don't send them an e-mail, or else they may feel the pinch.

For the record: I sent them an e-mail on December 24 of last year, and have not yet heard back. I guess UE doesn't actually respond to all their mail.

Alma Redemptoris Anti-Semite?

2008-01-15T21:56:00.000-05:00

Upon this beere ay lith this innocent
Biforn the chief auter, whil the masse laste;
And after that, the abbot with his covent
Han sped hem for to burien hym ful faste;
And whan they hooly water on hym caste,
Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was hooly water,
And song O Alma redemptoris mater!

The Prioress's Tale from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales is a beautiful story of faith. An innocent young boy sings a hymn to the redeeming virgin. Cruel villains overhear his singing, and plot to slit his throat. The villains are slain, and despite the slit throat, the innocent is able to continue singing the hymn at his own funeral. Chaucer doesn't leave any doubt of the moral:

"My throte is kut unto my nekke boon,"
Seyde this child, "and as by wey of kynde
I sholde have dyed, ye, longe tyme agon.
But Jesu Crist as ye in bookes fynde,
Wil that his glorie laste and be in mynde,
And for teh worship of his Mooder deere
Yet may I synge O Alma loude and cleere.

"This welle of mercy, Cristes mooder sweete,
I loved alwey, as after my konnynge;
And whan that I my lyf sholde forlette,
To me she cam, and bad me for to synge
This anthem verraily in my deyynge,
As ye han herd, and whan that I hadde songe,
Me thoughte she leyde a greyn upon my tonge.

"Wherefore I synge, and synge moot certeyn,
In honour of that blisful Mayden free
Til fro my tonge of taken is the greyn;
And after that thus seyde she to me:
'My litel child, now wol I fecche thee,
Whan that the greyn is fro thy tonge ytake.
Be nat agast; I wol thee nat forsake.'"

It is a miracle. The child's faith is rewarded, and the villains' attempts at silencing him failed. Even if they can kill him, he has a reward in the afterlife coming from Mary herself.

The problem is that people get really confused about the what's going on in the story because the villains are Medieval caricatures of Jews. There weren't any in Chaucer's England, but anti-Semitic stories and myths still circulated. However, that they are Jewish is beside the point. In the 70's, stock villains were Russian. In 14th Century England, they were Jews. Trying to explore this tale from a modern perspective on anti-Semitism will get you nowhere, and will only distract from what is otherwise a nice specimen of Miracle narrative.

Apparently, composer Delvyn Case fell into that trap. He calls the Prioress's Tale "a tragic and anti-Semitic story," and goes on to say it is " a violent incident involving Christian persecution of Jews." To say he misses the point is a gross understatement. He writes:

I chose to base this opera project upon a tragic and anti-Semitic story from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, "The Prioress’s Tale." My librettist and I, writer Christopher Hood, have transformed this potentially divisive tale into a parable whose primary message is that peace, reconciliation, and forgiveness are possible when each of us validates the our common humanity with others. Our opera is a musical and dramatic portrait of two characters – one Jewish, one Christian – who overcome their fear and hatred of each other by rediscovering their own capacity for forgiveness.

If he wanted to write an opera about reconciliation between religions, why awkwardly force Chaucer's miracle story into it? Mixing up modern sensibilities with medieval literature just undermines both.

Calling all Pretentious Elitists

2007-12-30T16:41:00.000-05:00

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.

Norm Lebrecchht's next book?

2007-12-30T11:06:00.000-05:00

Apparently, classical music isn't the only form that's dying.

Serving the Public Good Indeed

2007-12-24T23:57:00.000-05:00

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."

The 21st Century Philharmonic

2007-03-17T12:57:00.000-04:00

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:

REICH Triple Quartet
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

He 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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Newbury Comics Classical Newsletter

2007-02-20T19:52:00.000-05:00

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:

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

2007-02-20T13:14:00.000-05:00

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.

Witticism

2007-02-11T16:06:00.000-05:00

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

Life is a Dream

2007-02-05T22:48:00.000-05:00

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.

Why people don't like new music.

2007-02-04T23:11:00.000-05:00

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.

Dinosaur Annex's Super Sunday

2007-01-30T18:52:00.000-05:00

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.]

1 + 1 = 1.3

2007-01-28T00:23:00.000-05:00

My favorite formula is now 1 + 1 = 1.
-Tan Dun

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?

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.

Buxtewho-de?

2007-01-26T13:46:00.000-05:00

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.

How Pathethique!

2007-01-16T17:14:00.000-05:00

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

Off topic

2007-01-14T20:55:00.000-05:00

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!

Fortune plango vulnera...

2007-01-13T22:23:00.000-05:00

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

Searching for "WCRB Playlists"

2007-01-10T22:29:00.000-05:00

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.

Theiving artists exposed!

2007-01-09T15:45:00.000-05:00

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!

Living in a Post-Tower Boston

2007-01-07T00:25:00.000-05:00

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!)

The Great Kinkades of China

2007-01-04T10:10:00.000-05:00

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 Ethical Dilemma

2007-01-03T16:50:00.000-05:00

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?

I'll concede the point

2007-01-02T17:46:00.000-05:00

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.

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.

Defending Pachelbel[?]

2006-12-29T20:48:00.000-05:00

The "Pachelbel Rant" is making the rounds on YouTube.

It's a pretty easy position within the classical music world to dump on the canon in D. (The matching gigue somehow gets off scot-free.) It's perhaps the poster-piece for everything that's wrong with classical music programming on radio -- always headlining collections of "relaxing" classical music, as if one of the great art forms was actually meant as a lobotomy rather than intellectual stimulation. But is that Pachelbel's fault?

So, then, what about the music? It's both a basso-ostinato and a three-part canon. While this may be considered a strength, I actually think it hurts the piece a little. My recollection is that it is neither all that strong as a canon or as an ostinato. When I think of great baroque ostinato pieces, what comes to mind are Bach's c-minor passacaglia and d-minor chaconne. Each creates the illusion of ternary form and finds ways to integrate each phrase into the next. Pachelbel doesn't; he has an endless series of indepedent four-bar phrases. (I once heard a "rearrangement" by Prof. Robert Greenberg, which changed the order of the phrases, and it was just as seemless as the original.) If you're interested in form rather than straight episodic writing, this is a huge strike against it.

How is it as a canon? It's fairly straight-forward. It does the job fairly elegantly, but doesn't really pose a big challenge. After you've heard Bach's "A Musical Offering," I think it's hard to get excited about the Pachelbel.

So, my conclusion is that this canon has two problems, neither of which is strictly Pachelbel's fault: it is over-exposed, and it wasn't written by Bach. It's possible to imagine a world where the same piece of music might be considered an early-music gem, but it's not the lot it drew.

Strangest choice of the Summer

2006-07-27T22:39:00.000-04:00

Milton Babbit and Elliot Carter, two of the great figures of serialism, get together in Tanglewood to perform... Stravinsky? What am I missing here?

Opera, Take 1 - Ironic conducting

2006-07-22T16:34:00.000-04:00

Lately, through my chronological survey of the 19th century, I've been listening to Tannhauser and La Traviata. When I studied conducting in college, La Traviata was one of my great frustrations. One of our early assignments was the prelude to Tristan, a piece that I own 6 recordings of; that I'd owned in score and reduction for several years; that I'd learned on the piano; and that I'd studied every measure of in theory class. I've even studied the never heard and largely unknown concert ending. And yet, I struggled mightily with it when I took up the baton. I know it's a maddeningly difficult score, but after weeks of practicing, I felt like I was getting nowhere.

So when I was assigned Violetta's first act arias from La Traviata, which I'd never encountered before, and which I don't really care for, I was a bit disappointed to discover that, in the words of my teacher, I had an aptitude for it. Funny how that works -- of all the different pieces I'd studied over my semesters of conducting, I was best at the piece I cared about least. I put effort into trying to like early and middle Verdi, but I never get anywhere. If anything, I resent Verdi after my experience in conducting class.

I also just watched Boris Goudonov on DVD. Somehow, I never noticed how much Gershwin owes Mossourgsky before.

Independent Music

2006-07-04T21:00:00.000-04:00

I'll never understand why the centerpiece of the Pops [Esplanade] 4th of July Celebration is a piece of Russian propaganda music.

Good news for the third best classical radio station in Boston

2006-06-27T21:17:00.000-04:00

If all goes as planned, local classical music fans will be able to keep listening to their favorite radio programming on WCRB-FM.

That's the opening sentence of the story in this morning's Globe about a plan to switch WCRB's classical programming to 99.5 when 102.5 switches to a country format.

Here's how I would have written that sentence:

If all goes as planned, local classical music fans will be able to keep listening to the radio programming they settle for while WGBH and WHRB have different programming, assuming they don't have a fancy enough radio to get WGBH HD2.

Schubert hurts his own cause

2006-06-25T19:26:00.000-04:00

Schubert wrote too much music for his own good.

As I work, I'm cycling through all my music from the 19th century in chronological order. I hit the year 1822 this week, and with it Schubert's b minor symphony D 759. I've just been listening to Beethoven's late piano sonatas and Die Freischütz. The Diabelli Variations and Dichterliebe are in deck.

As I listened, I couldn't help myself. I started laughing. Measures 36-44 are the culprit. The first theme ends with a forceful cadence -- a syncopated, tutti dominant 7th chord returning to the b-minor sforzando chord. But the third hangs on -- the d is sustained by the horns and bassoons. The d quickly turns into a cadence in G(?), and like that, we're on into the melodic theme (nevermind that it's in the wrong key). That's a grand total of four measures of transition between themes, three of which are a unison pedal d.

That's a pretty typical Schubert move in his instrumental music. (With a few direct substitutions, we could be talking about the "Great" C-major symphony, for example.) It's astounding when you compare it to what Beethoven was writing at the same time in the same place.

If Schubert had only written his 700 lieder, his reputation would be secure. Individual songs like Erlkönig and Gretchen am Spinnrade are in the discussion of the greatest songs ever written, Winterreise and Schwannengesang are masterpieces, and there are so many great songs in between. There's no doubt of his mastery as a composer of short forms; however, he treated long forms the same. Just take one idea, through two or four measures of modulation in there, do another idea, and call it a symphony or a quartet.

Perhaps Schubert's spot in history is this -- no other one composer ever wrote so much great music and so much terrible music.

BMOP's Angels

2006-06-21T21:53:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure how much there is to say about Peter Eötvös's Angels in America. The music was excellent, even if in a slightly out-of-date style. There performances were strong. Dramatically, it was a huge stretch to cut 6 hours of play into two and a half hours of opera; if you try to think of it as a play, it will be very disappointing.

The tickets have sold well; the first three performances sold out, and Saturday's tickets are running out. Before the show last night, I remarked that I was impressed so many people in Boston had heard of Peter Eötvös, let alone were willing to go see an opera he wrote. My initial inclination was right, though. There were a number of disappointed people complaining during intermission. (They were at an opera by Peter Eötvös. What did they expect? It's not like Eötvös's music used to be easy listening, and then he had a sudden stylistic shift.) Still, I hope that the dramatic story opened some ears to a kind of music perhaps they hadn't heard previously.

Jewish music on the march

2006-06-12T21:19:00.000-04:00

Jewish composers have come a long way since Solomone Rossi.

When I read that Ligeti passed away, my initial reaction was so passes the greatest Jewish composer since the war. As I thought about it more, though, I realized just how much Jewish comopsers owned the 20th century, from Mahler to Golijov, the way German composers owned the previous two.

It's hard to find an important movement of 20th century composition that didn't have Jews at the forefront. The father of them all, of course, is Schoenberg. Later twelve-tone adherents include Babbit and Rochberg. The more mainstream composers include Gershwin, Bernstein, and Copland. For the minimalists and post-, Steve Reich and Philip Glass lead the way. Even the experimentalists have Zorn. Looking at the list of American Jewish composers, and thinking about the non-American ones as well, it almost seems easier to make a list of non-Jewish composers of note.

It makes sense that Jewish composers would come into their own after the 19th century, as the reform movement and secularization took hold in Germany. While there were a handfull of of Jewish composers, including those that weren't actually Jewish (Mendelssohn), it took until the end of the century for the wide-spread influence to take hold.

I can't help but wonder what Wagner would think about Jewish music now that their music is so irrevocably tied to the history of 20th century music. While I don't excuse his anti-Semitism, the most famous Jewish comopsers of his day were inferior (Meyerbeer and Offenbach). I'd like to think that were he still alive, he'd have to concede that Jews wrote music every bit as good as his own.

For Webern, Brief means Long

2006-05-17T20:28:00.000-04:00

Bernard Holland had a very odd line in his column last Sunday on juvenalia:

Then there is poor Anton Webern, whose reputation rests for a great many concertgoers on youthful Mahlerian effusions like "Im Sommerwind," a brief, playable piece that serves as a convenient escape for orchestra administrators wanting to appear hip without actually having to risk alienating listeners.

I discovered Im Sommerwind from the newer Webern Box set. I found it to be quite a shock -- somehow, I wanted Webern to be be born fully formed, ready to write his Op. 1 Passacaglia. But that wasn't true, and so we're left with a handful of student pieces.

What's so striking about the orchestral idyll is the aspect that Holland manages to get completely wrong: it is anything but brief. At sixteen minutes, it's actually the longest thing Webern ever wrote. Webern's trademark concision isn't there yet. Instead this piece models itself on Mahlerian and Wagnerian expansiveness.

Probably the best description of it is that there's nothing wrong with it. Its sixteen minutes go by with great proficiency on Webern's part, but it doesn't sound like him at all. It's clearly the work of a raw talent in need of guidance. Fortunately for us Webern met Schoenberg soon after completing the idyll, and before too long wrote the perfect passacaglia.

I wouldn't say there's an inherint problem with programming Im Sommerwind. It's only problematic if it gets chosen as the token Webern piece at the expensive of the masterpieces like his Op. 21 Symphony.

Brundibar, Standing on its Own?

2006-05-06T15:35:00.000-04:00

Why let historical fact get in the way of a nice story?

Any discussion of Han Krása's Brundibár immediately becomes a discussion of its 55 performances in the Terezin concentration camp, the role it had in the lives of the children who lived there. It becomes an uplifting story, about how these children used this satiric anti-Hitler opera to defy their terrible surroundings, and how special the final victory song is. Brundibár becomes the Holocaust Opera. It's a nice little story, but it doesn't check out.

For starters, Kans Krása and Adolf Hoffmeister collaborated on the opera before the Nazi invasion of Czechoslovakia. It wasn't written in response to the experience in the concentration camp. It's just a sad quirk of history that it happened to end up with so many performances in the camp. It's no more a Holocaust work of art the way Beethoven's 9th is Nazi music. After all, Hitler attended performances in Berlin of that great symphony. Perhaps more to the point, Brundibár relates to the Holocaust the same was Mendelssohn's Elijah does. Both were written before the war and performed by inmates at Terezin.

If we consider Brundibár on its own, it fits into the tradition of the Children's opera that had currency in Europe at that time. Kurt Weill was writing his didactic operas like Der Jasager, and Orff was working on fairy-tale operas like Der Mond. This is the context in which musical historians need to view Brundibár. (When Krása and Hoffmeister got together in 1938 to discuss the work, I somehow doubt they discussed writing a Holocaust opera and were influenced by other earlier Holocaust operas.)

So, then, how does Brundibár stand up if you remove the weight of history from its shoulders? It has some very nice moments, including the lullabye that proves to be its musical heart. Ultimately, however, it's hard to distinguish it from the rest. In a bizarre sense, it seems that its unfortunate place in history has actually given it a second life, as it continues to be performed to this day.

But more than that, I'm not sure how it holds up as the Holocaust Opera. There's a notion that somehow, by singing the final victory chorus, the children who performed it were defeating the Nazis. It's a very nice sentiment, to be sure. I certainly want to believe that music has that power. But somehow, I doubt it helped the 90% of the children in Terezin who were moved on to Auschwitz to be singing a victory song as they walked into the gas chambers.

The Passions According the Sons, Good and Wicked

2006-04-23T18:17:00.000-04:00

When I think about the passion story, it's hard for me not to think about it the way Bach taught me to. The correct version is from the Gospel of Matthew; more than that, it's in Martin Luther's German. In some ways, it seems strange for me to hear certain phrases in any language other than German, such as Peter's denial "Ich kenne des Mensche nicht" or Jesus's cry "Mein Gott, mein Gott! warum hast du mich verlassen?" A large part of this is because I'm not Christian, so I didn't grow up with religious connection to the story. To the extent that I have any involvement in the story, it's as the villain (at least in the versions according to Matthew and John). Yet, I find it had not to be moved by the story as Bach tells it. For added measure, it's interesting to compare so compelling a version of the story to a particularly poor telling (in this case the snuff film directed by Mel Gibson).

If you've ever been to a Passover seder, you've heard about the four sons. The story goes, four times the Torah instructs us to tell our children the Passover story. The rabbis devised the four different sons who ask about the story in different ways. The good son asks what is all this that we do. The wicked son asks what is all this that you do. The wicked son is wicked, the story goes, because he excludes himself from the story. The good son, on the other hand, chooses to participate.

I was thinking about this on Sunday, as I was listening to the Handel and Haydn society perform Bach's Matthew's Passion. There's a lot of theology in the music. One famous moment comes when Jesus says to the disciples, "I say to you that one of you will betray me." They respond, "Lord, is it I?" Eleven times, once for each of the disciples, excluding Judas. In a couple of verses, Judas will ask the same question, and Jesus will respond, "Du sagest" -- "You say so."

However, that isn't how Bach plays it. Bach and Picander insert a chorale. These chorales (think of a hymn) are the voice of the congregation. What do they sing at this moment?

It is I that must atone,
Hand and foot
Bound in hell.
The scourges and bonds,
And your suffering
Has redemmed my soul.

Another type of commentary that is interspersed with the gospel text are meditative arias. The most beautiful of these is "Erbarme dich, mein Gott!" -- Have mercy, my God! (It's not just me saying that. The Grout-Palisca History of Western Music mentions it among the five beautiful passages that may be singled out for special mention.) This aria that is so powerful is immediately after the story of Peter's three-fold denial. It's one thing for Judas to betray Jesus; however, Peter, the rock on which the church is founded, turns his back on his lord as well. Bach chooses to emphasize this moment, just as highlighted the individual's role in that chorale.

Not that Bach lets the Jews off the hook. The choruses that represent the Jews -- "Barabbas!," "Let him be crucified!" and and "Let his blood be on us and our children" -- are plenty zealous and blood-thirsty.

Fundamentally, however, the stance of Bach's passion is that ultimately, Jesus died for all people and all people have individual involvement. The penultimate chorus sums it up well:

Now is the Lord brought to rest
My Jesus, good night.
His toil is over,
Caused by our sins.
My Jesus, good night.
O blessed limbs,
See, how I mourn with penitence
and sorrow,
That my fall should bring you
To such need!
My Jesus, good night.
While life lasts,
For your sufferings a thousand thanks,
Since you have brought me to salvation.
My Jesus, good night.

So Bach and Picander encourage you to be the good child, and ask, "What happened when I betrayed Jesus by sinning, making his death and resurrection necessary?" Mel Gibson's snuff film pushes you to be the wickied child and ask, "What happened when the Jews and the Romans tortured and killed Jesus?" It puts all the blame on others, and in doing so, manages to remove the spirituality from one of the central moments of Christian history. It has no point or purpose; it's just violence.

Of course, he isn't my Jesus. After all, I'm Jewish. So what does it matter what I think?

But shouldn't my thoughts matter most of all? After all, as a neutral observer, I don't bring anything into the experience. If I can be moved, it's absolutely clear who is responsible. Gibson doesn't even try to go after the neutral crowd. He gives barely any hint of who Jesus was and why his death matters to anyone, let alone me. If you want to be moved, you need to do all the work yourself. That's great if you're already Christian, and can get excited about two hours of excruciating violence (and if you don't like Jews, all the better!), but it doesn't actually try to move anyone.

The Full Text of Berio's Sinfonia

2006-04-08T15:41:00.001-04:00

Luciano Berio
Sinfonia

[B2] il y avait sang [B1] Il y avait il y avait il y avait unoe fois un indien marié et père de plusieurs fils adultes, à l'exception du dernier né qui s'appelait Assaré. Un jour, un jour que cet indien était à la chasse, les frères, les frères

Quand l'océan s'était formé, les frères d'Asaré avaient tout de suite voulu s'y baigner. Et encore aujourd'hui, vers le fin de la saison des pluies, des pluies on les voit apparaître dans le ciel, dans le ciel, tout propres et removes sons l'apparence des sept étoiles des Pleiades ce mythe nous retiendra longtemps. [B2] aujourd'hui vers le fin de la saison de la saison des pluies des pluies des pluies dans le ciel dans le ciel cans le ciel

[tutti] Pluie douce appel bruyant [repeated several times, broken down into component syllables]

[7 voices] sang [solo] sang eau eau [7]eau [solo] eau sang [7] eau [solo] sang [tutti] sang [7] eau [solo] eau [7] sang [solo] eau céleste [7] eau [solo/7 antiphonally] eau céleste sang eau eau terrestre pluie, pluie, pluie, pluie douce, pluie douce de la saison sèche pluie, pluie orageuse, pluie orageuse de la saison des pluies bois eau, bois bois eau, bois pourri, bois, bois dur roc arbre arbre résorbé sous l'eau un fils privé de mere, un fils privé de nourriture héros honteaux, héros tuant, héros tué, héros furieux, musiques rituelle [7] eau sang céleste eau eau terrestre sang eau terrestre sang eau sang eau terrestre eau sang eau eau eau terrestre eau eau terrestre eau célestebois bois arbre résorbé bois dur bois dur résorbé arbre résorbé bois pourri les héros bois dur le héros héros furieux héros tué [tutti] musiques rituelle

[tutti] tuant tué

II
O KING

O King O Martin Luther King

III
IN RUHIG FLIESSENDER BEWEGUNG

[tutti] oh peripeti [T1] nicht eilen, bitte [S1] oh [A1] no [B1] recht gemä... [S2] quatrième symphonie [A2] duxième symphonie [T2] recht gemä... [S1] deuxième partie [A1] première partie [T1] quatrième partie [B1] troisième partie [T2] gemäche... [B1] In ruhig fliessender Bewegung [T1] sehr gemächlich nicht eilen [B1] keep going [tutti] peripetie [B1] peripetie where? [A1] and now? [B1] nothing more nothing more restful than chamber music [A1] when now? [T1] I, say I

[T1] You are nothing but an academic exercise [B1] no time for chamber music {...} we need to do something [S2] For though the silence here is almost unbroken it is not completely so he emerges as from heavy hangings. Hardly a resurrection [A2] we want that [A1] It seems there are only repeated sounds [T2] what? [A2] who? [T1] I prefer a wake [T2] why? [B1] Something is going to happen. So after a period of immaculate silence there seems to be a violin concerto being played in the other room in three quarters [A2] two violin concertos [S2] in three eights [A1] I am not deaf, of that I am convinced, that is to say half-convinced [T2] Keep going [B2] where now? [T1] With not even a small mountain on the horizon, a man would wonder where his kingdom ended [A1] where? [T1] Keep going [T2] what? [T1] a poem [B2] Keep going [T1] a danced poem, all round, and endless chain, taking turns to talk

[S2] Keep going [T1] This represents at least a thousand words I was not counting on. [A1] three thousand notes [T1] I may well be glad of them {...} But seeing Daphne and Chloé written in red, counting the seconds while nothing has happened but the obsession with the [B1] go on [A2] with the chromatic [S2] and the chromatic again [T2] Where now? [T1] I am in the air, the walls, everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows like the play of waves [S1] Keep going [B2] Yes, I feel the moment has come for us to look back, if we can and take our bearings if we are to go on. [T1] Yes, I feel the moment has come for me to look back. I must not forget this, I have not forgotten it. But I must have said it before, since I say it now. They think I am alive, not in a womb, either... Well, so there is an audience it's a fantastic public performance [B1] and the curtain comes down for the ninth time. [B1] You never noticed you were waiting. You were waiting alone, that is the show. Keep going.

[B1] I shall say my old lessons now, if I can remember it [T2] then I shall have lived they think I am alive, not in a womb, either, even that takes time.

[A1] it is [T2] keep going [A1] is it? [B1] keep going [T1] it is as if we were rooted, that's bonds if you like – the earth would have to quake. it isn't the earth, one doesn't know what it is [A1] But you all know that they will bring me to the surface one day or another and there will be a brief dialogue in the dunes [T1] maybe a kind of competition on the stage, with just eight female dancers and words falling. you don't know where, where now [A1] under the sun [T1] who now? But now I shall say my old lessons if I can remember it. I most not forget this. But I must have said it before, since I say it now.

I am listening. Well, I prefer, that, I must say I prefer that [A2] that what who you [T1] oh you know, oh you, oh I suppose the audience, well well, so there is an audience, it's a public show, you buy your seat and you wait, perhaps it's free, a free show, you take your seat and you wait for it to begin, or perhaps it's compulsory, a compulsory show...

you wait for the compulsory show to begin, it takes time, you hear a voice, perhaps it is a recitation, that is the show, someone reciting, selected passages, old favourites, or someone improvising, you can barely hear him, that's the show, you can't leave, you are afraid to leave, you make the best of it, you try to be reasonable, you came too early, here we'd need latin, it's only the beginning, it hasn't begun, he'll appear any moment, he'll begin any moment [A1] He is only preluding, clearing his throat, alone in his dressing room, or it's the stage-manager giving his instructions, his last recommendations before the curtain rises [tutti] that is the show [T1] that's the show waiting for the show, to the sound of a murmur, you try to be reasonable, perhaps it is not a voice at all, perhaps it's the air, ascending, descending, flowing, eddying, seeking exit, finding none, and the spectators, where are they, you didn't notice, in the anguish of waiting, never noticed you were waiting alone, that is the show, for the fools, in the palace, waiting [B1] the brightest star [T1] waiting alone that is the show [tutti] that is the show [T1] waiting alone in the restless air, for it to begin, while every now and then a familiar passacaglia [T2] (etwas zurükhaltend) [B1] not really [T1] filters through the other noises waiting, for something to begin, for there to be something else but you, for the power to rise, the courage to leave, picking your way through the crossed colors, seeking the cause, losing it again, seeking no longer. We shall overcome the incessant noise, for as Henri says, if this noise would stop there'd be nothing more to say. You try and be reasonable, perhaps you are blind, probably deaf, the show is over, all is over, but where then is the hand, the helping hand, or merely charitable, or the hired hand, it's a long time coming, to take yours and draw you away, that is the show, free, gratis, and for nothing, waiting alone, blind, deaf, you don't know where, you don't know for what, for a hand to come and draw you away, somewhere else, where perhaps it's worse. [S1+2] It's a real pleasure upon my word it is to be unable to drown under such conditions in a lake full of colors far from my walls [T1] where now? [A1] who now? [B1] keep going now [T1] when now? [G1] blood [A1] Just a small murder [T1] keep going [B2] hardly worth it, yet what can you expect [T1] they don't know who they are either [B1] did you hear? [T1] keep going [S2] Did you hear? [T2] stop [B2] stop [A1] do you hear? [T1] keep going [B1] Hören Sie? [T2] Dort! [B2] Heavens! There was a sound! [T1] yes, there! [B1] Ja, dort! [T2] Jesus! Das war ein Ton!

I am here so little, I see it, I feel it round me it enfolds me, it covers me, if only this voice would stop, for a second, [T1+2] it would seem long to me, a second of silence I would listen, [T2] I'd know if it was going to start again or if it was stilled for ever what would I know it with, I'd know. And I'd keep on listening [T1] I'd know if it was going to start again it's late now, and he is still talking incessantly, any old thing, repetition after repetition, talking unceasingly, in yourself, outside yourself

It's late now, he shall never hear again the lowing cattle, the rush of the stream. In a chamber, dimensions unknown, I do not move and never shall again on long road or short. But the fact is I trouble no one. But I did. And after each group disintegration, the name of Majakowsky hangs in the clean air.

And when they ask, why all this, it is not easy to find an answer. [S2] la mer, la mer toujours recommencée [T1] For when we find ourselves, face to face, now, here, and they remind us all this can't stop the wars, can't make the old younger or lower the price of bread [A1] say it again, louder! [T1] it can't stop the wars, can't make the old younger or lower the price of bread, can't erase solitude or dull the tread outside the door, we can only nod, yes, it's true, but no need to remind, to point, for it is all with us, always, except, perhaps at certain moments, here among these rows of balconies, in a crowd or out of it, perhaps waiting to enter, watching. And tomorrow we'll read that ................ [mentions composer and title of a work included in the same program] made tulips grow in my garden and altered the flow of the ocean currents. We must believe it's true. There must be something else. Otherwise it would be quite hopeless. But it is quite hopeless. Unquestioning. But it can't go on. It, say it, not knowing what. It's getting late. Where now? When now? I have a present for you. Keep going, page after page. Keep going, going on, call that going, call that on. But wait. He is barely moving, now, almost still. Should I make my introductions? {This voice introduces to the public the other seven singers.} But now it's done, it's over, we've had our chance. There was even, for a second, hope of resurrection, or almost, Mein junges Leben hat ein End. We must collect our thoughts, for the unexpected is always upon us, in our rooms, in the street, at the door, on a stage. Thank you, Mr. {full name of the conductor}

[tutti] Rose de sang appel bruyant appel doux bruyant Rose de sang

[S1] Rose de sang Rose de sang appel bruyant appel bruyant doux appel appel doux [A1/2] Voilà voilà Il y avait, il y avait une fois un jeune, un jeune garcon qui suivit sa mere [T1] rose de sang Rose de sang [T2] Listen, listen, are you going already? Listen, listen, let me see your face once more [B1] nous voilà voilà where now? who now? And now? who now? [B1] Voilà quoi Voilà qui Voilà. Il y avait une fois. [B1,2] Il y avait un fois un indien, un indien marié et père de plusieurs fils adultes

[tutti] bruyant doux appel doux

[B1] Partiel ou proviso ire, ce dernier commentaire n'est pas convaicant, car il laisse de côté d'importants aspects de nos thèmes. [other seven voices repeat the following words and phrases] sang, pluie, bruyant appel, doux bruyant, vie, sang, feu [B1] appel bruyant mais pourtant, mais pourtant les thèmes sont là. Partout, ailleurs mais pourtent voilà [S2] Partiel ou provisoire, ce dernier commentaire n'est pas convaicant. [A1] mais pourtant les thèmes sont là [T1] mais pourtant, mais pourtant, mais pourtant les thèmes sont là, quie affirment la priorité [T2] Listen, let me see your face once more. Listen [B2] where now? Keep going [B1] Partout, ailleurs, les thèmes inversent la valeur de leur termes selon qu'il s'agit de retarded la mort ou d'assurer la resurrection [B2] Avant de terminer d'une façon provisoirement definitive (à Vienne on dit "définitivement provisoire") il faudrait résoudre quelque contradiction

[T2] mais partout les thèmes sont là, qui affirment [A2] les thèmes qui affirment la priorité de la discontinuité universelle des thèmes sur la continuité de [S1, S2, A1] un fils privé de mere [S2] un fils privé de nouriture [T1] il y avait, il y avait, il y avait un fois, un jeune, un jeune garcon qui suivit sa mere en cachette, la surprit et la voila. [T2,B2] sur la continuité de l'organisation interne à chacuns [B1] il y avait une fois un indien marié, père de plusieurs fils adunts à l'exception du dernier né qui s'appelait Asaré. Un jour que cet indien était à la chasse les frères d'Asaré à tour de role violèrent leur mere dans la maison des hommes. [T1] continuez M. {the name of 2^nd Bass} s.v.p. [B2] Persuadé de son infortune le père expédie son fils au "nid des âmes" [B1] Les coupables reçoivent de leur père une rude correction [B2] un: les âmes la grandmère lui recommande d'obtenir l'aide de l'oiseau mouche [B1] un: le crocodile. A sa demand les oiseaux pics le dissimulent sous un tas doux: Il lui échappe grâce aux perdrix qui consentent à le cacher sous la paille [B2] deux: l'animal secuétant cette fois la colombe au vol rapide. [T1] Trois: Asaré se cache sous les épulchures des gousses de yatoba. [B2] Trois: il est aide par la grande sauterelle, dont le vol est plus lent.[A1] Quartre: au beau milieu du fleuve il recontre un crocodile né d'une multitude de lézards qu'il avait lui-même tués pendant le voyage, et que les eaux grossissantes ont entraînés. [B2] Quartre: chasse les lézards qui abondent sur le plateau. Cinq: Du macabre festin il ne reste au fond de l'eau que les ossements décharnés, et les poumons surnagent sous forme de plantes aquatiques don’t les feuilles dit-on ressemblent à poumons. [A2] Cinq: Peu après, on les voit apparaîtres dans le ciel tout propres et rénovés sous l'apparence des sept étoiles des Pléiades. Six: Assaré arrive enfin chez son oncle qui attend le crocodile de pied ferme et l'inonde de son fluide-- [B2] Six: la grandmère ne sait trop comment parer à ce nouveau danger, mais elle remet à son petit fils un baton magique-- [S2] un jeune qui couchait en plein air, tombe amoureux d'une étoile [A2] Assez [B1] Listen [B2] non, pas ça [A2] L'esprit créateur que les homes seraient immortels. [T1] Listen are you going already? let me see your face once more [B2] l'esprit créateur avait décidé Il fallait les informer, et il choisit il choisit le caméléon [S2] et il choisit comme messager [A2] qui est un animal fort lent [S2] l'esprit malin, à l'affût d'un bon fond, alla porter aux homes la nouvelle [T1] la nouvelle qu'ils étaient mortels [B2] qu'ils étaient mortels Cela ne leur plût pas énormément [T2] Listen, are you going? [S2] mais ils finirent par se résigner tant bien que mal [T2] Let me see your face once more [A2] L'esprit créateur n'y pouvait plus rien [B2] Alors, alors, pour consoler les homes, il créa un esprit special. dont le role était de leur apporter de leur apporter...

[Tutti, repeat many times] péripétie, héroes tué

The Early Music Aristocrats

2006-04-02T17:55:00.000-04:00

Somebody referred to this new music joke at one of the Sequenza21 discussions, and I've been very fascinated it.

So, here it is, re-fashioned from new music to the HIP crowd:

-I have to tell you about this Beethoven program I read about last week. It was really something.
-What happened?
-It was "Beethoven as he sounded to himself." They opened with the Emperor concerto, on period instruments, including a restored piano from Vienna that Beethoven himself once played on. It was really lovely, with a very interesting sound, at first, but then it started to get a little wierd. There were large speakers, though, which were playing this quiet, low buzzing sound that gradually got louder and louder. Meanwhile, as the piece progressed, ushers walked around from seat to seat with guns. They were only firing blanks, but right at people's ears, several times, until they lost pretty much all of their hearing. People wouldn't have realized that the concerto was over and that the 9th symphony had begun without the choir filing on-stage. By the time the glorious ode to joy wrapped up, everybody in the hall was totally deaf. Have you heard about it?
-Heard about it? I programmed it!

The key to this joke is that every telling is very different, so have at it!

The Best Chinese Food in New York (With No Chinese Necessary)

2006-03-30T20:14:00.000-05:00

The hand-pulled noodles on the left are from Cafe Kashkarin Brooklyn.

It's one of the few places outside of mainland China where it's possible to get genuine lagman (拉面 in Chinese).

I should clarify that the stir-fried noodles above are half-eaten, which is why it looks a little skimpy. To me, it tasted just like the 炒面 I got in the little noodle shops I ate in throughout China.

As much as I'd like the picture to be the story here, the only way to really get the story is to find your way out to 1141 Brighton Beach Boulevard. It takes forever to get there from Manhattan, but it's well worth the trek. (It's not quite as far as China, after all.)

The Problem with "World Music"

2006-03-27T19:57:00.000-05:00

There's an interesting point within this review of music from the Congo. It has become a big hit in Europe, outselling more "professional" recordings of traditional African music. Those other recordings, made by crossover musicians, are smooth to the point of inauthenticity. This particular recording is much more genuine, and that is what people are interested in.

I am certainly very familiar with this sentiment, having spent months travelling around China searching for an authentic recording of Buddhist music. I think it points to a bigger problem, though, with the whole idea of "world music." When this music was written in central Africa, they didn't think of themselves as "world musicians." The performers were doing exactly the same thing that Bach or Palestrina or those Buddhist monks or anyone was doing. Music was part of the ceremonies of their particular religion, and that's what they practiced.

If we segregate "world music" off to a special section, and run it through special cross-over arrangments to make it smoother and remove some of the rough edges, we're killing it. I shudder to think that someone might want to make Beethoven or Schoenberg smoother for a cross-over audience, or the medieval music I love so much. Why not give the same respect to the music written outside of Europe and North America?

What REALLY Happened to Levine?

2006-03-14T23:14:00.000-05:00

It's old news now that James Levine had season-ending rotator cuff surgery. The season in question, though, was only the Met season. As reported in the Glob:

Meanwhile, the managing director of the Boston Symphony, Mark Volpe, said Levine's doctor's expect the maestro to fully recovered in time for his next scheduled appearance with the BSO -- the July 7 opening of the Tanglewood season in Lenox.

(Though, let's put things in perspective: while I'm sure the people of New York are disappointed to miss out on Levine's conducting, at least his was less severe than than the most famous conducting accident in history.)

Last month I wrote about how Boston and New York were sharing Levine. But maybe someone in Boston doesn't want to share. Maybe it was specifically calculated to down Levine from the end of his share of the BSO winter season through the start of Tanglewood. Maybe it wasn't an accident.

We'll never know.

Music of the Other Place

2006-03-12T19:49:00.000-05:00

Of the many things I'm taking away from my current Bach orgy is that I'm very happy I didn't live in the Baroque era. I obviously like Baroque music and that of Bach enough to even attempt the exercise. However, it makes me appreciate the time we live in, where we can listen to music written 2700 years ago or this year. More than that, we're not just restricted to what is happening locally; we can explore music from all over the world.

An excellent example of this smaller world was on display at Jordan Hall on Friday night, as the Boston Modern Orchestra Project performed "Concertos for Indigenous Instruments." The instruments in question covered different parts of Asia, including Korean barrel drums, a Japanese zither, a Persian flute, and Chinese percussion.

The program included two premiers. Jin Hi Kim's "Eternal Rock II," for Korean Barrel Drum Set and Orchestra was the better of the two. The stage had a novel set-up for a concerto, as Gerry Hemingway stood on a platform in the back of the stage. The instrument traditionally belongs in temples rather than the concert hall, giving the piece a ceremonial quality. Two percussionists standing in the front corners of the stage acted like priests, telling the orchestra when to begin and end.

For the most part, the concerto alternated between orchestral passages and solos on the barrel drums, with a little overlap. Kim used a variety of rhythmic technique, as each section had a different meter than the previous. (To great effect, an early cadenza in 5 was resolved to a tutti in 4, the way cadenzas would typically hover on the dominant.) Kim also utilizes polyrhythms and hemiolas to develop the unpitched instrument.

Korean music doesn't have the same sense of pitch that Western music's equal tempered scale uses. To fulfill a Buddhist ideal known as "living tones," Kim uses vibrato, slides, glassandi, and special articulation. Reza Vali had a similar challenge for his concerto, a wooden flute. In the Persian scale, notes can have slightly different pitches depending on their function. Vali used these almost unisons to great effect, including a long melody for what sound like out of tune woodwinds.

Vali's concerto for the ney, a Persian flute, was titled "Toward that Endless Plain." It was strongest during the movements that allowed the ney to show off its breathy tone. The long lines, modeled on improvisation, were expertly played by Khosro Soltani. The orchestra created an intricate sound carpet for the soloist. Most of the piece came across like an oversized chamber work. The notable exceptions were the prelude and interlude, known as "The Abyss." These two sections were the weakest part of the concerto. (I didn't like it when Stravinsky called it "The Rite of Spring.")

Two older works were also on the program. The concert concluded with Yi°, the first movement of a cycle of concerti based on the I Ching (易经). The most famous piece based on that work, of course, is John Cage's Music of Changes. Tan's work features similarly fragmented melodies. It wasn't much of a concerto, though. It's a shame they weren't able to present "The Map," with its rich use of Miao folk music, though it's very understandable.

The other piece on the program stood out. Even though it was written for the koto, a Japanese zither with movable bridges, it was written by American Henry Cowell. This was a far cry from his earlier avant garde music. It featured a short conjunct melody harmonized in very different ways, starting with very simple, consonant harmonizations. As the piece continued, dissonance appeared and disappeared (including some very crunchy parallel half-steps). Masayo Ishigure played the solos.

Overall, it was a very strong performance by the BMOP, with a great program. Their final Jordan Hall performance, "Big Band," features music of Gershwin, Babbitt, and Bernstein, along with a commission by William Thomas McKinley.

And the curtain comes down for the ninth time

2006-03-10T00:47:00.000-05:00

I finished the commission. Tomorrow, it gets overnighted to the performer. I promised I wouldn't be cruel; let's hope she doesn't think I was.

Anyway, that finished, here's what's on tap:

BMOP is performing "Concertos for Indigenous Instruments" tomorrow night, featuring Reza Vali, Jin Hi Kim, Henry Cowell, and Tan Dun. The indigenous instruments in question include a Korean barrel drum set, a Persian ney, a koto (a Japanese zither), and Tan Dun's regular assortment of percussion. I'm really looking forward to it.

I'll pick up the Berio again. Hopefully I'll finish it within the next week.

At work, I've been doing my own Bach marathon, so I'll have some thoughts on that. (Yeah, I know the BBC did it in December. Oh, and you can look forward to me writing about Mozart sometime in 2008.)

So here you have it: two posts in a row about the blog. Really worth your time, wasn't it?

Time off from fake work for real work

2006-03-05T19:01:00.000-05:00

I have a commission.

This is good, because I have a terrible record with completing compositions.

This is bad, because I have a terrible record with completing compositions.

I'll see you when I'm finished...

"...or lower the price of bread"

2006-03-05T11:14:00.000-05:00

Whenever children find out that I lived in China, the first thing they always ask is what strange foods I ate. Did I eat monkey brains? Dog meat? Bugs?

Adults also tend to be interested in food, but the question is always how the Chinese food compares to the restaurants here. (My stock response? "Over there, they just call it food.") I always go into the same speech: that the kind of food I enjoyed the most, and ate almost every day, isn't available in America. I enjoyed the Uyghur Muslim food. The food has a strong emphasis on lamb and fresh hand-pulled noodles. The farther West you travel in China, the better this food gets (although it is available pretty much anywhere in China proper). The real center of this food universe is Lanzhou, the capital of Gansu province, which lends its name to the noodle shops in the rest of the country. When I took my trip around the country, I strongly considered taking a food pilgrimage there.

Accordingly, I was very interested to read of the economic crisis developing in Lanzhou, where a number of factors have lead from noodle prices increasing 2.2 yuan to 2.5. (Funny how economies work; even in Jinan, a bowl of noodles cost 3 yuan.)

Beethoven's Masterly Melodies

2006-02-28T20:02:00.000-05:00

Alex Ross is hosting a faux-commercial featuring the Masters of 12-Tone Music on his blog. It was a collaberation between long-time Cleveland radio host Robert Conrad and the Clevland Orchestra conductor Matthias Bamert. It's worth a listen, although I didn't find it particularly funny. I realize that it's just a parody, and I shouldn't take it so personally, but sometimes that's easier said than done.

It made me think about a similar commercial one could make for Beethoven's greatest hits, featuring the monotone melody of the second movement of the seventh, the four-note melody of the violin concerto, the kitchiness of Wellington's Victory, the minute of emphatic C-major chords that closes the fifth, the "gloriously arching melody" of the finale of the ninth, and so on. It's all about context. If you take snippets of Second Viennese School music out of context, it sounds ridiculous, but so does Beethoven.

Which brings me to one of my biggest frustrations. There's a sentiment I hear all the time, expressed rather succinctly as a reader posting in Artsjournal's Critical Conversations series back in the summer of '04:

In answer to ArtsJournal.Com's apparently serious, and thus pretentious question "[W]hether or not it is still possible for a Big Idea to animate classical music" may I offer the following as a possibilty: Melody.........singable, danceable, hummable, organ-grindable, uplifting, happiness-making, inspiring, lasting and eternal Melody.

I'll never understand why John McBaine and others are so hard on Beethoven. His melodies were across the board terrible. Most of his symphonies only have one decent melody the whole time. These aren't miniatures; in the entire thirty-five minutes of the fifth symphony, for example, or the fifty minutes of the third, there's just one good melody each. Quite the opposite of "lasting and eternal Melody." What about his greatest accomplishment, the ninth? The first movement has no discernible melody (going by the organ-grinder test); the second's melody is too hurried and disjointed to hum; the third movement eventually settles in to a nice melody, but it takes a couple of variations to finally get there; and the fourth features a melody that would embarrass someone writing songs for the beer hall. If one were to apply a red marker to clean up the bad melodies in Beethoven's ninth, the result would last about six minutes. I for one am very happy, knowing that Beethoven cared little enough about melody to write his entire opera the way he did.

I hadn't been planning to go to Schoenberg's 1st Chamber symphony/Beethoven's 9th this week at the BSO, but now I'm all fired up and ready to get my tickets.

Burn your Books (and Videos) Before it's too Late!

2006-02-27T21:32:00.000-05:00

I've been following the nonsense in Colorado about the teacher being punished for showing a few minutes of Faust in her class. I didn't put it together until just now, but I had a strangely similar experience with a different version of the legend.

Last year, I got rush tickets for a BSO performance of Der Fliegende Höllander at Symphony Hall. Of course, that means having almost three hours to kill between getting the tickets at 5:00 and the 8:00 performance. First things first, I went to get an inexpensive dinner. I sat down at the restaurant with the copy of Thomas Mann's Doktor Faustus I brought along.

A man came by my table and asked me what I was reading. I told him. He asked to look at the cover.

"Faustus? That's the devils book, right?" he asked me.

He opened the front flap and read the description. "The devils book! I'm not going to touch this. Read this book, and the devil will take you down to hell. That Faustus, he's a bad man!" He walked back over to his table and continued preaching to the people he was with, about how only Jesus can defeat the devil.

I quietly continued eating my meal as quickly as possible, trying to ignore this guy. But I can only take so much of his condemnation and poor literary analysis.

So, I told him that the Faustus legend is a cautionary tale against shortcuts, and if anything, it should be promoted. The whole point is that Faustus tries to get all his knolwedge through the deal with the devil, isn't happy, and is damned to boot. Anybody who reads it will realize that it was a bad thing he did, and not do it themselves.

Of course, Mann's novel isn't really about Faustus; it's an allegory about Nazism in Germany, and doesn't really have anything to do with the religious issues this guy is talking about.

And, finally, as a Jew, I do not accept Jesus as Christ my savior, so in his mind, I'm damned anyway.

Evidently, he thinks I didn't understand what he was saying, because he repeated his speech and pacing around until he went into the (women's) bathroom. I hurried through the rest of my meal, cleared my table, and mentioned to one of the employees that they shouldn't let that guy harrass their customers or else they'll lose business.

I have the same reaction with this current controversy: the angry parents are so culturally illiterate that they don't realize that they're protesting what is, at its core, a very Christian story. I just hope they never run into Medieval mystery plays depicting Satan's banishment from heaven.

Folk sounds, both Eastern and Lower-Eastern

2006-02-25T13:42:00.000-05:00

I had only a week left in China, that night I was sitting at the center of Xian, killing time before heading off to the train station for the overnight train to Chengdu. I was across the rotary from the illuminated bell tower. There was a busker was playing folk songs on an erhu. At that point, I wished I had some sort of sound recorder. I reflected on all the sounds I'd wanted to record during my time in China, like the bizarre music at the underground McDonalds in Jinan's Quancheng Square or the KFC across from the Bank of China in Wuxi, the cries of the pushcart vendors, and the opera teacher who lived in the flat below me in Jinan.

I had particular regrets about one evening in Nanjing. My friend Cissy took me to Jiming Si when I visited for the weekend. We arrived shortly before they closed the gates for the evening. We did the normal things you do at a Chinese monestary. We climbed to the top of the pagoda (which has the beautiful view of the city walls and the Yangtze River pictured right). As we were about to leave, about thirty monks filed into the main temple in the complex. I suggested to Cissy that we wait around and see what they would do. They lined up in rows. One stepped aside and started hitting a bell. The rest started chanting. It reminded me a bit of Medieval organum, but it was a totally new sound that I had never heard before.

From that day on, I searched tirelessly for a recording of this sort of Buddhist chant, to no avail. The Buddhist recordings I was able to find were more influenced by Western new age music than anything from traditional Buddhist liturgy. (The theory goes that Buddhism has new-age appeal in America, so accordingly anything with new-age influence will sell to tourists, authenticity be damned.) When I was in Xian -- the same day that I found that busker -- I found what I was looking for. One of the gift shops inside of Dayan Ta was playing that music -- not the same chant, I'm sure, but the same kind of music. I asked them which CD it was, and the clerk apologized, explaining that it wasn't for sale. They only had one copy, but they recommended that I buy one of the many other CD's of Buddhist chant. I sampled them, and they were all wrong. That was the only time I ever pulled the "I'm an American, your feeble currency has no value to me!" trick the entire time I was gone. For the amount of money I paid them, I could have gotten one copy of every CD they had. It was fine; I finally got my chant.

Of course, that was just one sound -- as for the rest, they won't be recovered. Perhaps one day I'll return to China with the sound recorder and capture all those sounds. Maybe I'll even take a page from Tan Dun and The Map and try to seek out local folk musics.

The New York Tenament Museum has a wonderful project right now that focuses on the recorded sounds and folk music of the very diverse Lower East Side. You can make your own musique concrète with sounds from the city. They're working on features that will allow you to save your pieces and listen to others', and upload your own sounds if you have any. Hear the project first-hand at Folksongs for the Fivepoints.

Is WGBH following Copland's mandate?

2006-02-22T20:32:00.000-05:00

WGBH is currently airing self-congratulatory spots, playing clips of an address Aaron Copland gave on its inaugural broadcast. To paraphrase, Copland says that 'GBH should particularly focus on music of our own time and place, to the point that contemporary American music is as well known as that of the classical masters. It's great talk, and I absolutely agree with the sentiment, but it made me consider: does WGBH actually do that?

The live BSO broadcasts certainly help, as they have first crack at many BSO commissions and other contemporary pieces selected by Levine. On Thanksgiving and July 4, they focus on American music. There's also the year-end "eulogy" program dedicated to musicians and composers who passed away that always includes a lot of contemporary music.

However, over the course of the week, it doesn't seem that they play all that much in the way of truly contemporary music. (Don't get me wrong; their programing is certainly far superior to WCRB's small, confined box.) For a very obvious example, last Wednesday was the birthday of Worcester's own John Adams. Adams seems to perfectly fit the mold that Copland described, as a composer of this time and place. However, WGBH chose not to play any of his music. (It's certainly not for lack of available recordings.) WHRB, on the other hand, has two pieces by Adams programmed for this past month, in addition to many other contemporary composers, equally famous and obscure.

In fairness, I should point out their wonderful site devoted to American music, Art of the States. And, again, I do think WGBH has good programming on the balance. However, instead of highlighting WGBH's good qualities, Aaron Copland reminds us that surely WGBH could do more.

The Verdi of Egypt

2006-02-20T20:40:00.000-05:00

Sheikh Sayyed Darweesh (1892-1923) is credited with bringing Egyptian music into the 20th century and was the first to incorporate European instruments and techniques into Arabic music. He was extremely prolific, composing more than 100 songs, thirty musicals, and eleven adwar (a long-form, multi-sectioned song with complex melodies), all in the last seven years of his short life.

Darweesh fused many different influences in his music: qur'anic chant, Italian opera, Syrian Orthodox chant, and traditional Arabic singing. He was so successful a composer that many of his pieces are taken to be traditional anonymous works. He once called himself "Egypt's Verdi," a description that fits on many levels. Like Verdi, Darweesh lived through political upheaval and nationalism. His music struck a chord with the Egyptian people of all stations. In 1979, his song Biladi (my homeland) was chosen as the national anthem of Egypt.

Darweesh's music was the focus of a concert with the Chicago Classical Oriental Ensemble, in promotion of their new CD "Soul of a People." In addition to a violin, a cello, and two vocalists (including guest artist Youssef Kassab), the ensemble featured an 'ud (a type of lute), a qanun (a type or lyre), and a riqq (a type of tambourine).

The two highlights of the program for me were Ya Nas Ana Mut fi Hubbi and Doulab Rast. The first featured an extended 'ud solo by Kareem Roustom, who is also the ensemble's leader. Doulab Rast featured solos by Hicham Chami on the qanun and Albert Agha on vocals.

The tour, which also stopped in New York and Washington, continues in Ann Arbor (2/21), Chicago (2/26), Seattle (2/28), and LA (3/2). More information is available at World Music Central.

Egyptian Classical Music at Sanders Theater

2006-02-17T21:03:00.000-05:00

Anyone who happened to hear The World tonight got a chance to hear about the Chicago Clasical Oriental Ensemble, which is currently touring with the music of pivotal Egyptian composer Sheikh Sayyed Darweesh. As Hicham Chami, the ensmble's executive director, explained:

He's seen as being the father of Arabic music, he's really someone who bridged both worlds, the oriental world and the western one, by doing things like composing for a piano and adding a piano to Arabic music and using harmony, all kind of things that were never done before.

The American tour comes to Cambridge's Sanders Theater Saturday Night at 8:00. More information on the tour is available at World Music Central.

Ahab defeats Whale?

2006-02-15T20:38:00.000-05:00

Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.

Thus ends the body of Moby-Dick. The sea is indifferent to the carnage that just occurred, as the Pequod sank and everyone (save the narrator) drowned. Save the strange quirk of fate that led the Rachel by the vortex where Ishmael was floating. The ending is a dark one, especially because the whale's victory is total. When the White Whale finally snaps the line and frees itself from the ship, Ahab feels it directly, asking "What breaks in me?"

It wasn't always this way, however. According to Steve Olsen-Smith and Melville's Marginalia Online,

The recovered notation shows that at some early point in the composition of Moby-Dick Melville considered a narrative plot in which the crew of the Pequod (or some ship of an earlier name) would get their whale—an especially dangerous whale even at this early stage, since it manages to sink their ship before it is slain.

The fascinating web site publishes the marginal notes that Melville wrote in an important source, Thomas Beale's The Natural History of the Sperm Whale. It's hard to imagine that so bleak an ending was once much more ambivalent.

The site is worth a look. It's a rare chance to read over Melville's shoulder and see what he thought about as he thought about what would be come the greatest novel of the 19th century. Unfortunately, it's the closest thing we have to his early drafts, making it all the more worthwhile.

Even more NY-Boston Sharing

2006-02-14T20:31:00.000-05:00

I admit it. I was a little disappointed to read that James Levine is sticking around the Met for at least two more years. I was thrilled when Levine was appointed the to replace Sieji Ozawa. Since then, I've been counting down the years until he left the Met behind and spend most of his time in Boston.

I realized from the beginning that for the sake of an artistic turn-around, we'd be compromising some loyalty. Levine wouldn't be wearing Red Sox jerseys to the Hatch Shell on July 4, but we could live with that. (Ozawa's first pitch was a pre-game highlight of a pretty entertaining baseball game last July.) But I was hoping he'd finish his duties in New York and focus more on the BSO.

It'll be some time, I guess, but watch out New York; Levine will be ours alone eventually.

(Yeah, I'm only kidding myself. I guess I'll just have to content myself by getting a ticket to next week's Gurrelieder.)

Off-topic

2006-02-14T20:04:00.000-05:00

As one of four American curling fans (though we do outnumber the three remaining hockey fans), I was mildly disappointed to see the US Men's team squander a chance to beat Finland yesterday, but I didn't care too much. After all, the men's team is just going to be outmatched this Olympics, so I wasn't surprised.

But what is going on with the women's team? I've be telling everybody I know about Thursday's match against Sweden since before the Olympics started. After all, it will be a rematch of the '05 World Championship, when Anette Norberg's team scored 6 in the final two ends to hand the Johnson sisters their only loss of the tournament to capture the title.

It'll probably be academic, however, as the women have lost their first three matches (including today's defeat by Japan, on a missed shot in the eleventh end). It's possible that they could get their act together and win out, but at this point it'll be pretty difficult.

(Though don't get me wrong -- I'm going to record Thursday's match and then watch it. While I appreciate that CNBC is devoting 3 hours a night to the sport, the inanity of the coverage is probably doing a better job turning people off from curling than creating new fans. Fast-forwarding through all the BS, the event will probably only take 40 minutes.)

UPDATE:

I'm thrilled that the men managed to pull through the bronze in the end. Good for them. (They showed me!)

The women's Gold Medal draw between Sweden and Switzerland was a classic match for the ages. I hope you got a chance to see it.

Normally a Just Malaise

2006-02-12T21:57:00.000-05:00

The plan was a weekend in New York, then get home in time to start my new job Monday morning. I'd make it to hear Spem at MoMA, shop at academy, eat at that Chinese Muslim restaurant out in Brooklyn, and feel very content on my way home. Then the blizzard came.

I fled the city, trying to stay ahead of the record snow. With some trepidation, I put disc 2 of Unjust Malaise on the hi-fi. Perhaps it was the wrong choice. 84 is such a mind-numbing highway, seemingly endlessly bland. Especially when driving its 120 miles alone, it's hard not to stay out of a stupor. The music would surely make it worse, with its own seemingly endless repetitions.

The opposite was true, though. If anything, the music brought the blandness of the driving into focus. It provided motion to what otherwise appeared still. (It's some achievment of the highway that 65 mph seems like not moving at all.) The endless road reached the Mass Pike quickly.

Surprisingly, I've found the antidote to I-84 in Connecticut.

Keep Going: The Text of the Third Movement of Berio's Sinfonia

2006-01-23T20:19:00.000-05:00

[Editorial note: Here is a more flowing transcription of the third movement; the transcription of the entire work, in a more academic manner can be found in this posting. The spirit of this transcription is to try to capture a little of what the piece sounds like. I've filled in the blanks, so to speak, in honor of a wonderful performance I heard from the BSO, lead by David Robertson. Those who are interested in every word in the score, complete with punctuation and every last "Keep going!" should consult the other transcription. That one is complete with everything you can't hear, no matter how many times you listen or how many different recordings you own.]

A couple of days ago, someone came to my Carnival of Music post searching for words from the third movement of Berio's Sinfonia. I sympathized with this person; I had searched very hard in vain for its text, unable to find it on the internet. I got it the only way I could: when I visited my college, I stopped by the music library with my laptop and copied the whole thing out of the score.

As a public service, here is my copy. It should be noted that there are many overlaps and repetitions, not all of which are reflected below. I don't claim this to be definitive; if you have any questions, check the score.

I'll also note that there is one error in the score that I'm silently correcting.

III

IN RUHIG FLIESSENDER BEWEGUNG

This represents at least a thousand words I was not counting on. I may well be glad of them But seeing Daphne and Chloé written in red, counting the seconds while nothing has happened but the obsession with the with the chromatic and the chromatic again

I am in the air, the walls, everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows like the play of waves--

Yes, I feel the moment has come for us to look back, if we can and take our bearings if we are to go on. Yes, I feel the moment has come for me to look back. I must not forget this, I have not forgotten it. But I must have said it before, since I say it now. They think I am alive, not in a womb, either... Well, so there is an audience it’s a fantastic public performance -- and the curtain comes down for the ninth time. You never noticed you were waiting. You were waiting alone, that is the show. Keep going.

I shall say my old lessons now, if I can remember it then I shall have lived they think I am alive, not in a womb, either, even that takes time.

it is as if we were rooted, that’s bonds if you like – the earth would have to quake. it isn’t the earth, one doesn’t know what it is-- But you all know that they will bring me to the surface one day or another and there will be a brief dialogue in the dunes-- maybe a kind of competition on the stage, with just eight female dancers and words falling. you don’t know where, where now -- under the sun -- who now? But now I shall say my old lessons if I can remember it. I most not forget this. But I must have said it before, since I say it now.

I am listening. Well, I prefer, that, I must say I prefer that, oh you know, oh you, oh I suppose the audience, well well, so there is an audience, it’s a public show, you buy your seat and you wait, perhaps it’s free, a free show, you take your seat and you wait for it to begin, or perhaps it’s compulsory, a compulsory show...

you wait for the compulsory show to begin, it takes time, you hear a voice, perhaps it is a recitation, that is the show, someone reciting, selected passages, old favourites, or someone improvising, you can barely hear him, that’s the show, you can’t leave, you are afraid to leave, you make the best of it, you try to be reasonable, you came too early, here we’d need latin, it’s only the beginning, it hasn’t begun, he’ll appear any moment, he’ll begin any moment

He is only preluding, clearing his throat, alone in his dressing room, or it’s the stage-manager giving his instructions, his last recommendations before the curtain rises-- that is the show -- that’s the show waiting for the show, to the sound of a murmur, you try to be reasonable, perhaps it is not a voice at all, perhaps it’s the air, ascending, descending, flowing, eddying, seeking exit, finding none, and the spectators, where are they, you didn’t notice, in the anguish of waiting, never noticed you were waiting alone, that is the show, for the fools, in the palace, waiting -- the brightest star -- waiting alone that is the show waiting alone in the restless air, for it to begin, while every now and then a familiar passacaglia ] filters through the other noises waiting, for something to begin, for there to be something else but you, for the power to rise, the courage to leave, picking your way through the crossed colors, seeking the cause, losing it again, seeking no longer. We shall overcome the incessant noised, for as Henri says, if this noise would stop there’d be nothing more to say. You try and be reasonable, perhaps you are blind, probably deaf, the show is over, all is over, but where then is the hand, the helping hand, or merely charitable, or the hired hand, it’s a long time coming, to take yours and draw you away, that is the show, free, gratis, and for nothing, waiting alone, blind, deaf, you don’t know where, you don’t know for what, for a hand to come and draw you away, somewhere else, where perhaps it’s worse. It’s a real pleasure upon my word it is to be unable to drown under such conditions in a lake full of colors far from my walls

I am here so little, I see it, I feel it round me it enfolds me, it covers me, if only this voice would stop, for a second, it would seem long to me, a second of silence I would listen, I’d know if it was going to start again or if it was stilled for ever what would I know it with, I’d know. And I’d keep on listening I’d know if it was going to start again it’s late now, and he is still talking incessantly, any old thing, repetition after repetition, talking unceasingly, in yourself, outside yourself

It’s late now, he shall never hear again the lowing cattle, the rush of the stream. In a chamber, dimensions unknown, I do not move and never shall again on long road or short. But the fact is I trouble no one. But I did. And after each group disintegration, the name of Majakowsky hangs in the clean air.

And when they ask, why all this, it is not easy to find an answer. For when we find ourselves, face to face, now, here, and they remind us all this can’t stop the wars, can’t make the old younger or lower the price of bread -- say it again, louder! -- it can’t stop the wars, can’t make the old younger or lower the price of bread, can’t erase solitude or dull the tread outside the door, we can only nod, yes, it’s true, but no need to remind, to point, for it is all with us, always, except, perhaps at certain moments, here among these rows of balconies, in a crowd or out of it, perhaps waiting to enter, watching. And tomorrow we’ll read that Stravinsky's Firebird made tulips grow in my garden and altered the flow of the ocean currents. We must believe it’s true. There must be something else. Otherwise it would be quite hopeless. But it is quite hopeless. Unquestioning. But it can’t go on. It, say it, not knowing what. It’s getting late. Where now? When now? I have a present for you. Keep going, page after page. Keep going, going on, call that going, call that on. But wait. He is barely moving, now, almost still. Should I make my introductions?

But now it’s done, it’s over, we’ve had our chance. There was even, for a second, hope of resurrection, or almost, Mein junges Leben hat ein End. We must collect our thoughts, for the unexpected is always upon us, in our rooms, in the street, at the door, on a stage. Thank you, Mr. David Robertson

Assessing Tan Dun

2006-01-22T16:33:00.000-05:00

After thoroughly enjoying Tan Dun's Water Concerto a few weeks ago, I was a bit surprised by Lloyd Schwartz's review in the Phoenix:

It’s a shallow piece, three percussionists slapping and plunging various objects into deep, clear-plastic, electronically amplified “hemispherical water basins” — plish, plosh, drizzle, drip — with movie-melodrama accompaniment, in a pretentiously darkened hall. The orchestra and NY Phil principal percussionist Christopher Lamb, for whom the piece was commissioned, were expert, but the piece is all wet.

That isn't the first time that Schwartz has written an unenthusiastic review of Tan's works. He also criticized The Map for formal reasons:

The Map amounts to an inflated orchestral accompaniment to 10 excerpts (more like a suite than a concerto) from films of Chinese folk musicians Tan made with video and sound artist Davey Frankel — which are projected by Frankel as part of the performance.

I'm willing to believe that the video elements of The Map works better viewed on DVD than projected in large concert hall. However, I've never found its suite-like structure problematic. Its strength is that it brings in such a variety of folk music and is able to bring them together. These two pieces share a focus on virtuosity. In the case of The Map, it is a showcase for the folk music (rather than the solo cello). The Water Concerto is as much a showpiece for percussionists (and for the composer) as anything Liszt or Paganini wrote for their respective instruments.

But is that enough? Isn't empty virtuosity still empty?

I think these pieces are original enough and interesting enough that they are worthwhile. Tan is in the difficult position of living between worlds, and does a good enough job balancing the Western orchestra with his Chinese heritage. While I understand where Schwartz is coming from, I think Tan is able to overcome the formal difficulties.

The First Love

2006-01-19T23:42:00.000-05:00

Some things are ubiquitous. I don't think anyone can remember the first time they heard Bach or Beethoven. There music has just always been there.

Other types of music may require introduction. I never listened to opera until I heard Die Walküre. I'd been devouring Strauss's tone poems for six months, at that point. I had read about Wagner's influence, so I decided to see for myself. There was no looking back. Die Walküre was my first love of opera. The first love is that piece that opens a new world for you; it ends up not just standing alone, but standing for a whole genre.

Before Berg's Violin Concerto, I never listened to 12-tone music. I found Mozart boring until I heard K491. I didn't listen to lieder before Dichterliebe.

And that huge gap between chant and Palestrina? My first love of medieval polyphony was the rondeau "Rose, liz, printemps, verdure," by Guillaume de Machaut, featured in the Norton Anthology of Music. Before long, the rest of the pieces of late Medieval and early Renaissance music fell into place.

This was on my mind as I listened to the finale of Reece Dano's piece C#DG#BEC#G#F#D#ECD# (Pierre Boulez is Dead) on cacaphonous. It is, in effect, a transcription of the Rondeau for string quartet. I don't mind transcriptions and arrangments. (One of these days, I'm going to take a look at four very different Bach orchestrations from the 20th century.) However, taking a transcription of a Medieval rondeau and calling it Pierre Boulez is dead just made me angry. I'd like to give the piece the benefit of the doubt, as I haven't heard the first three movements (described an the ensemble's web page), but it's hard to get excited about this finale.

Et Resurrexit!

2006-01-16T14:01:00.000-05:00

But now it’s done, it’s over, we’ve had our chance. There was even, for a second, hope of resurrection, or almost, Mein junges Leben hat ein End. We must collect our thoughts, for the unexpected is always upon us, in our rooms, in the street, at the door, on a stage. Thank you, Mr. TexasBestGrok.
-Luciano Berio, Sinfonia

Welcome one and all to the Carnival of Music, back from a bit of a year-end vacation.

This is the first carnival since December 19th. Quite a bit has happened since then.

For starters, the year ended. And a new one began. Which means that everybody had to write lists. So, here's a quick list of lists: Alex Ross, Ionarts, Sequenza21 , Night After Night.

Sad news on Christmas: legendary soprano Birgit Nilsson passed away. Here's a nice obit on NPR, an audio-tribute at La Cieca, a tribute by Jane Eaglen, snippets of a 1966 New Yorker profile posted at Hella Frisch, an appreciation of her recordings at Ionarts, and a remembrance by Astrid Varnay at Wagner Operas.

Moving from Wagner to pseudo-Wagnerian news, a movie based on the Tristan legend opened this past week. I think Jerry Bowles said it best in his one-line review: "Oed' und leer das meer." The Wellsungens did an interesting riff on it, and I had a series of questions I hope will be answered.

2006 has been dubbed the Mozart Year (everywhere except Symphony Hall). What better way to celebrate than playing with his remains?

The Grammy Nominations came out, and did include some classical CD's, despite the Academy's best attempts to hide that fact. Naxos was nominated once or twice. The amazing last-ever studio opera recording wasn't. (Big surprise there.)

I hope you've found my classical-centric links interesting. One of the nice things about this Carnival is that each week, it is a reflection of its host. Accordingly, it's very different every week. I encourage you to consider hosting it, so that it's short vacation this past month was just that -- a vacation. Long live the Carnival!

UPDATE:

Er, requiescant in pacem

Water Music Version 2

2006-01-10T23:38:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I finally made it to Symphony Hall for the first time this season, to hearTan Dun's Water Concerto (lead by Kurt Masur, with Christopher Lamb as the soloist). The piece was written in response to TakemitsuToru's death, and takes up one of his favorite subjects: water. Tan takes it one step farther, however, and promotes water from subject matter to featured soloist. The percussionist is given the following battery play with:

hemispherical water basins, a small bottle, a pair of water cup drums, water gong, four water drums (wooden bowls of different sizes floating upside down in basins of water), slinkyphone, long water tube with foam paddle, water shaker, four Agogo bells, sieve, vibraphone (prepared with coins taped to the bars), and waterphone, plus a double bass bow

In addition to some creative and specialty instruments (such as attaching a slinky to a sounding board, or using water escaping from a seive as percussion), Lamb was asked to take gongs and Agogo bells and dip them into water. This changes their pitch and resonance, making a deeper sound that oscillates. It also adds a visual element: you can't see vibrating air, but the water makes the disturbance visible.

The piece is a great example of Tan's theatricality. For example, the beginning intimates ritual. It opens in total darkness. One percussionist on either side of the orchestra begins playing a waterphone, as a third enters from the back of the hall. Slowly, pillars of light reveal clear ciruclar basins of water.

There's much more to it than lighting effects, though. The various improvised water instruments are quite entertaining to watch. I had the good fortune of being right on top of the action -- second balcony, first row, right over the stage. I think the most interesting instrument to watch were the water drums, consisting of wooden bowls overturned in the water. The result is a nice, mellow pitch that can be manipulated by lifting or lowering the bowl with one hand while striking it with the other. It provides a unique challenge: unlike other percussion instruments, the bowls move as they float around the basin. (Tympanists never need to worry about that problem.)

Lamb manipulated all the objects so well, and Tan wrote such an engaging score that I was disappointed the piece ended so quickly. It's a shame he didn't write a set of encores for various water percussion instruments.

The comic highlight of the night came from the oboist that saw it fit to accompany the emptying of the basins with the famous theme from Handel's Water Music.

Unfortunately, there aren't any commercial releases yet. However, it is part of volume 6 of the Kurt Masur box set released by the NY Philharmonic, with Lamb as the soloist.

The Water Concerto shared the program with Bruckner's 7th.

Berkshire Record Outlet

2006-01-09T01:24:00.000-05:00

Do you remember those really productive excursions to the record store when you were first starting to build a collection? I mean those trips where the number of CD's or cassettes or LP's increased by 10%, 20%, maybe even more?

I've been thinking about such a spree.

The first netted me a lot of music I have since outgrown: Carmina Burana, Stravinsky's three early ballets, the Planets. Of the pieces I acquired that day, the only one that I haven't lost any affection for is Also Sprach Zarathustra.

I came to think about this trip to the Berkshire Record Outlet when I recently ordered Leslie Howard playing Liszt's transcriptions of Beethoven's 9 symphonies on Hyperion. The BRO price of 29.95 puts Amazon.com's 87.98 and Tower's 70.99 to shame.

The outlet takes advantage of close outs and deletions to provide a very diverse catalogue at a very low price. In addition to the horses listed above, I've found some more interesting and unique selections there. I was able to find some Babbit, Pendercki, and Cage there, along with Dufay and Harmonia Mundi's recording of Biblical songs.

There are a couple of catches: because of the ephemeral nature of their catalogue, you never know what you'll find. That record you passed on last time you ordered may not be there this time. Also, the web site is pretty clunky, but sufficient.

The best way to experience the outlet, though, is in person. It is very close to Tanglewood, on Rte. 102 in Lee, Massachusetts. The bins are wonderfully disorganized, leading to wonderful surprises.

With the price of CD's rocketing so much, BRO is one of the places where you can still find a value. It's a great store, and well worth the patronage of any classical music fan.

The Subtext gets a Promotion

2006-01-08T00:38:00.000-05:00

I wrote a posting nominally about my long stretch of buying only "new" or "early" music.

The main point, though, was the subtext: a list of CD's or links I wanted to throw out there, just to show that I have the CD's or use the web sites or whatnot.

Why load a post with tons of subtext, though, when you can just write posts about the ideas in question?

I'll start off by plugging Classical Junk. Dave does a great job with his eclectic playlists. At any given moment, you'll either hear something new, or have a chance to hear something familiar in a new context. It's a great example of what classical programming should be. Sure, there's no shortage of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and the other WCRB 1700-1900 set, but they intermingle with other music, old and new, solemn and light.

The Deep of Night and the Sunrise

2006-01-07T13:52:00.000-05:00

Greg Sandow, in his post on Art and Entertainment, threw in this little cookie:

In Götterdämmerung, the scene for Hagen and Alberich is a comparative low ebb, given Wagner’s standard, for both art and entertainment, but Hagen’s call to the vassals rates high on both counts.

I was really taken aback by that. My immediate reaction was that this scene has one of my favorite moments in the entire ring cycle, how can he dismiss it so? (In fact, the binding of my score of Götterdämmerung is cracked at that scene.) After all, this scene is the one moment of sympathy that Hagen gets. If Alberich were your father, and he pestered you for your entire life about the ring, you'd be evil too. (Alberich really pounds it away, using the phrase "mein Sohn" seven times in a relatively short scene.) Not only that, but Alberich insists to his son "Sei treu!" repeatedly as he fades away. (That isn't entertaining?)

The real high-point, though, for me is at the end of the scene -- the Morgendämmerung music in the transition to scene two. It opens with a bass clarinet solo (against a cello pedal), followed by a horn choir. When I first learned about imitative counterpoint in high school, I nominated this canon for closer study. What makes it so interesting is that Wagner is able to use some tricks to make it seem much longer than it really is. He uses fake entrances to create the illusion of a 7-part canon, even though the strictly canonic part had already ended by the final entrance. Even though the true canon is very brief, what follows is still a great example of tight-knight counterpoint.

Overall, the piece is very short -- just 50 measures -- and comes across as chamber music because of the severly reduced texture (at least until the end, when the low strings get into the game). This moment of stillness really is one of the hidden gems of the ring.

As a side note, I never noticed the (incidental) pun on the Well-Sung pair's name until I saw "Wälsung" in print in the score. I feel quite a bit behind the curve on that one, as everybody else has been talking about their name since before I even read their blog. (Evidently, they mentioned it as far back as November 5.)

鲍元恺，祝你生日快乐

2006-01-03T22:47:00.000-05:00

I purchased my first contemporary classical Chinese cd by accident.

Near the beginning of my year in China, I found a CD of the Long Yu and the Chinese Philharmonic Orchestra playing Schoenberg and Wagner. They did a fine job with the decidedly European selections. I didn't think much more about it for a long time.

When I got home, I listened to the disc on my computer. Something very bizarre happened. Instead of automatically playing, it opened a folder. What was in this folder? Mp3's of another China Philharmonic Orchestra CD, this time playing the music of Bao Yuankai, Wang Ming, and other Chinese composers of the past 50 years.

Today (at least by Beijing time), Bao turns 61. I'm very happy to (accidentally) know who he is and have some of his music.

Behind the Great Firewall

2005-12-30T23:21:00.000-05:00

I did something rare and difficult: I got my blog read in China (at least by one person). (See the proof here.) My friend Rena helped me gather some of the photos of some of the ugly Chinese sculptures, so I wanted her to see those entries. She's very intellegent and very open-minded (which is a rare quality in the people I met over there, so I feel like I actually can discuss things with her.

She pointed out two sculptures in Tiananmen Square, which have very famous within China. Of the first, Rena writes, "but that soldier sculptures are considered as one of the greatest sculptures after 1949 P.R. China set up in the text book." (Forgive her English, which, all things being equal, is actually very strong, though far from perfect.) As an outsider, it's hard to be enthusiastic about what is actually a pretty straightforward piece of propaganda, all content and no form. Yes, we get it, the communists were heroic and saved China. I don't really take anything from this sculpture, though, as art. There is a more interesting sculpture, across the street in front of Tiananmen proper. It is a marble pillar [华表], traditionally placed in front of palaces and tombs. When I reacted positively to the pillar, Rena had an interesting reaction:

I know foreigners always think these traditional things are much chinese. China is supposed to be like Xi'an
China should be full of old buildings with wing roofs

She raises an interesting question: to what extent is it possible to retain a Chinese identity without just repeating the past again and again? Is it possible to incorporate Western ideas while still being Chinese?

This is actually a much greater issue, which has played out repeatedly throughout the history of music. American composers faced the same struggles with the influences of European music. Conventional wisdom has it that it wasn't until the turn of the 20th century that Charles Ives solved that problem (though I think people don't give William Billings full credit). Russia had its own conflict in the second half of the nineteenth century. (For that matter, look at the wave of nationalistic composers who felt compelled to assert their own countries' musical autonomies throughout the century.)

The problem is particularly strong in China, however, because of its history. From the end of the nineteenth through the first half of the twentieth century, there was a strong foreign presence in certain areas. Suddenly, after the revolution, that ended. The next twenty five years featured strict isolation, until foreign influences were gradually allowed again. The result is a country that today is still struggling to find a voice. (I'm glossing over a lot of issues for the sake of length, although those may come up in future posts.)

It's encouraging to talk to Rena and know that she struggles with these questions, as a young citizen of the country. It's not just up to the artists to find an identity.

WCRB

2005-12-27T21:03:00.000-05:00

I was listening to WCRB in the car this evening. Something pretty strange happened. After the first movement of the fifth Brandenburg Concerto, they played a very unexpected piece -- the second movement of the concerto. Maybe the third movement followed, but by then I had arrived at my destination.

Yes, the demise of WCRB will be a little sad, as Boston should have a full-time classical music station, but the peope lamenting its impending format change as part of the death of classical music are missing part the point. In its current format, WCRB is hardly friendly to classical music. It's not just that the station only plays a very small selection of music, pretty much excluding anything written before 1700 or after 1900. It isn't even their terrible habit of playing just one movement from a piece.

WCRB's real problem is that it has a very negative attitude about the music it plays. Again and again and again, they talk about "relaxing" classical music. (Even to bizarre effect -- I remember one time several years ago when the relaxing piece the host was plugging turned out to be Beethoven's 5th.) In CRB's world, classical musc isn't something that is supposed to engage the mind; it is supposed to turn the mind off.

I think if WCRB respected its listeners a little more, maybe it would be doing a little better. Instead, it tries to cultivate brain-dead listeners by making classical music into a brain-dead product.

Addendum:

Today, WGBH pulled a CRB-style move, and played just the Adagietto from Mahler's 5th. (I didn't believe my ears until their website confirmed it.) But I'm much more willing to cut them some slack -- they have an interesting and eclectic playlist, and don't treat their audience like idiots.

-12/30/05, 22:11

The Art of the Public Square

2005-12-27T15:06:00.000-05:00

My first day in Jinan, as my roommate took me on a tour of the city, he pointed out the large blue sculpture in the center of Quancheng Square. "All Chinese cities have them," he told me. The sculpture is a little bizarre, to say the least: two blue posts, seemingly made of fiberglass, which twist around a metallic globe in the center. In some ways, it's an exemplary giant Chinese public square sculpture. Based on just this picture, it isn't entirely clear what it is, or what it is meant to represent (other than Jinan's greatness that the city could build such a monument to itself). Although some of these sculptures are truly abstract, they tend to be abstractions of the square they sit in. But how do you represent a public square? In Jinan's case, it's pretty easy. 泉城广场 means "City of Springs Square," after one of Jinan's old names. Accordingly, you color the sculpture blue and show its components gushing from the ground to represent a spring. (Just try to ignore the fact that all but twelve of Jinan's 200 springs were paved over to build this square and its surrounding areas. Who needs a natural heritage when you have sculptures?)

Most public squares in China, though, don't have names as evocative as "City of Springs." How do you depict Civilization Square, for example? The solution used in this sculpture in Jiangyin, a small city in Jiangsu Province on the southern banks of the Yangtzi River, is to depict the word civilization itself. The Chinese word -- 文明 -- has two components. The 文 is unmistakable. （I'm not certain of this, but I believe that the version shown in the picture is in Chinese seal script.) 明 itself consists of two different characters: 日, meaning sun, and 月, meaning moon. Furthermore, texts in Chinese are traditionally can be written top to bottom. This sculpture is just the name of the square written large. (It is also a fitting sentiment for the front of the city government building. Google images has some other photos that give a good sense of its placement.)

Not all the sculptures are able to make such a connection, however. Dalian's Zhongshan Square, named after Dr. Sun Yat-sen, the founder of modern China, chooses a glowing orb as its centerpiece. The round sculpture is fitting for the center of Dalian's giant rotary at the center of the city. As you can see, at night, it lights up the square around it. (Or, at least the center of the square -- the edges of the square are lit up by the adjacent billboards and buildings.) However, it's hard to get excited about a sculpture whose chief influence is Epcot Center.

Strange as it may sound, these are some of the normal ones. Consider the People's Square in Qinhuangdao. Legend has it, the great emporer Qin Shihuang went there seeking immortality. It is also the the point where the Great Wall reaches the sea. (More recently, it is the largest port in Hebei province since Tianjin left to become an independent municipality.) The square doesn't choose to explore the city's history, though, and the result is a very forgettable sculpture. There is little to distinguish it from its counterpart in People's Square in Linyi, a small city in southeastern Shandong Province. The Mayor of Linyi boasts of the city's heritage as the home of ancient manuscripts of Sun Tsu's Art of War and great figures from China's history. (Notice how the sculpture is used as the web sites icon -- they are choosing it to be the symbol for the city.)

What's the difference between these sculptures, though? They share the same Chinese red color, the same tripod structure, and the same jagged edges. An argument could be made that Qinhuangdao's version focuses itself inward, whereas Linyi's pushes outward, but that's a bit of a stretch. There is nothing to connect one to Qinhuangdao and the other to Linyi -- they could easily be swapped, and the cities would be no better or worse for it.

These sculptures are a uniqely Chinese phenomenon. I'd like to conclude with a picture of the mother of them all: the earliest such sculpture. This one is made of iron, in the far western city of Bali [巴黎, not to be confused with Bali in Indonesia]:

(See also photo supplement)

Public Square Sculptures Supplement

2005-12-27T15:04:00.000-05:00

Suzhou

Shantou

Location unkown

Lihu

Qingyuan

Changchun

Qingdao

Tianjin

Maestro Levine

2005-12-24T21:03:00.000-05:00

Scott Simon has a nice story on James Levine.

It's a matter of pride that in this Mozart year, the BSO is choosing to focus on Beethoven and Schoenberg. Also, anyone who can get Schoenberg, Carter, Varese, Wourinen, and the like on WCRB is truly a hero in the field.

Gift-giving Dilemma

2005-12-23T22:01:00.000-05:00

My grandmother's birthday is on Boxing Day. My family gave me a mandate for her birthday present: find $50 worth of Mahler CD's. My initial reaction was to get her 1, 2, 5, and 9. 2 is my favorite at the moment, 9 is so profound, and 1 and 5 are so famous, how could I go wrong with those? Looking through the 9's, I came across this recording, paired with two pieces by Pierre Boulez. I think Notations is a real knock-out piece (I found the old Erato recording at For the Record used some years back), but can I really get it for my grandmother?

Yes, I'm an unashamed evangelist of great music. I would love it if everyone would give Boulez the chance his music deserves (and think that a lot more people would find they actually like it if they just listened to it with their ears open).

But can I really get some Boulez for my grandmother? I'm already getting her Mahler, so she does listen outside of the tightly confined 1700-1900 WCRB box. Am I such a partisan that I will get my grandmother Notations for her 85th birthday?

The answer is no. I ended up picking out some nice recordings conducted by Bernstein, because she probably fell in love with his recordings forty years ago. I guess there are some lines even I won't cross.

Poieticism and Gnarlyism

2005-12-23T00:51:00.000-05:00

Over at Sequenza 21, they're having very interesting debates on the poietic fallacy fallacy and gnarlyism.

The basic idea is that no composers write music thinking that won't touch their audience. This raises all sorts of questions, many of which have to do with so-called "gnarly" composers, i.e., the high modernists.

It made me think of a juicy quotation from a composer who actually didn't write music to touch his audience. Why not? Because to him, music wasn't capable of doing so:

I consider that music is, by its very nature, essentially powerless to express anything at all, whether a feeling, an attitude of mind, a psychological mood, a phenomenon of nature, etc.

Which gnarlyist said that? Was that from the grandfather of them all, Schoenberg? Or did the most partisan serialist, Pierre Boulez say that? Babbit? Wournien? Rochberg?

None of them. In fact, it was said by the opposite camp: Igor Stravinsky.

It puts the whole debate in a very different perspective, doesn't it?

The saddest thing is that this same Stravinsky who isn't out to move his audience has somehow remained popular, while the "gnarlyists" are only now making inroads with the public. We always love those who hate us.

Christmas Music at Tower Records

2005-12-20T20:04:00.000-05:00

I wonder how sales of El Niño would be impacted if it were re-packaged as "A Minimalist Christmas."

Beethoven as Traditionalist?

2005-12-20T16:06:00.000-05:00

Jeremy Denk has a thoughtful (as usual) post on whether Beethoven and Bach actually wrote against their historic type (of Beethoven as revolutionary, Bach as reactionary). I recommend reading it for yourself.

It made me think of something I've been meaning to write about: One of my uneasy secrets is that I can't stand Op. 111. I always feel extremely uncomfortable after listening to it, precisely because it wanders so far afield, without any real resolution. It's not that I need music to resolve neatly in order to like it. But Op. 111 just disintegrates, until nothing is left. Making things even more uncomfortable is the fact that this is the last of Beethoven's 32 sonatas, so there is an expectation that it somehow is a completion or summation of what comes before it. Not only does it not complete anything; it even undoes the previous sonatas.

Ultimately, there is a happy ending, however. It just takes some liberal classification. The Diabelli Variations, in all their massive glory, is the perfect medicine -- an epilogue for anyone who wants to take the sonatas as some sort of massive life-long cycle.

Miracle of the Modern Age

2005-12-20T01:46:00.000-05:00

I have to admit: I was much happier before I found out I could acquire a theremin so easily.

(Though why blow hundreds when you could blow thousands?)

NAMOC

2005-12-18T15:52:00.000-05:00

One of the most interesting museums I visited in China was the National Art Museum of China (or NAMOC for short) [中国美术馆]. It offers a look at the last century of Chinese art. Needless to say, the twentieth century in China was one of great upheaval. That is reflected in the art.

Yi Ming's [佚名] painting from 1928, is a good example of early Republican era art. In some ways it is two things at once -- it both fits in the tradition Chinese landscape painting and betrays European influences. Instead of the sparse Chinese textures, it is a full-scale oil painting. (The museum labels it as 仕女肖像, which means "Portrait of Female Official." That is obviously not correct. You can see the actual female official here.)

As the civil war between the KMT and the CCP heated up, political themes became more common. The struggles got worse with the invasion of Japan in 1937. "The Call of July 7" [“七七”的号角], painted by Tang Yihe [唐一禾] in 1940, depicts Chinese citizens marching to rebuff the Japanese. (This painting is very tame, actually. Take a look at the other paintings from the 1940's, which depict fighting, evacuations, and hunger.) The war, which didn't end until Japan surrendered to the US in 1945, is still a very current issue in Sino-Japanese relations. (It even has currency in the arts -- Bright Sheng, a Chinese composer now living in Michigan, wrote Nanking! Nanking!, a concerto about the Japanese occupation of Nanjing, in 1999.)

After Mao declared the People's Republic in 1949, the tone of the paintings changed decidedly.
There was a resurgence of traditional style painting, consistent with the communist ideology's cultural isolation. Naturally, there was also a surge in propaganda painting. The bucolic scene seems harmless enough, until you examine the iconography. Those peasant women, smiling as they plow the fields, are in traditional Tibetan dress. They are pleased because the enlightened Chinese occupying army has freed them from their own self rule. The painting's title? The First Step on the Golden Road [初踏黄金路]. Li Huanmin [ 李焕民] painted it in 1963, eleven years after Tibet was "liberated."

Not all Chinese propoganda art is this cruel, however. Portraits of Mao were naturally quite popular, depicting him as a friend, a sage, an older brother, and, of course, as a wise leader. (These paintings still have currency in China today. Somehow, Mao has avoided the re-examination that brought Hitler and Stalin out of favor after they died.) My favorite of these is Sun Zixi's [孙滋溪] In Front of Tiananmen [前天安门], depicting a cross-section of Chinese citizens posing in front of the Gate of Heavenly Peace, China's national symbol. (The gate is across the street from Tiananmen Square, which has become infamous outside of China after the 1989 incident.) The scene is one that is repeated hundreds (if not thousands) of times every day, as people from all over the country flock to see the monument that has been at the center of Chinese life for 500 years. In this painting, soldiers, officials, and peasants all stand together, along with people representing several of China's ethnic minorities. This is classical propoganda, showing the ideal society that communism (and Mao) have brought.

The repressive Cultural Revolution years are conspicuously absent from the museum. The revolution sought to eliminate old customs, old habits, old thinking, and old culture. (That was communism at its worst.) Things started to open up then, however. Nixon visited and Deng Xiaoping instituted reforms, and Western influences returned to Chinese painting. There is little to suggest that this nude figure is a Chinese painting, or was painted in 1980. Jin Shangyi [靳尚谊] seems influenced by a classical Western sense of beauty. Likewise, Wei Qimei's [韦启美] New Wires [新线 ] seems almost abstract (even though it depicts something very concrete -- large spools of electircal wire demonstrating China's modernization). The texture of the paint almost takes over from the images on the canvas.

I'm going to artificially stop this brief survey at 1983. At some point, I'll pick things back up and include a look at Shanghai's gallery, which has a better collection of contemporary art. Also planned is a look at contemporary Chinese classical music, which shares a similar trajectory as painting. Finally, I'll be doing the first assessment of an important genre of modern Chinese sculpture: the art of the Chinese public square.

For more on painting, check out the on-line collections of the National Art Museum of China and the Shanghai Art Museum. Don't be intimidated by the Chinese writing; just click around on things and have fun.

Good Composer Gone Bad

2005-12-17T23:46:00.000-05:00

In college, I studied Liszt's tone poem Mazeppa. I'm not talking about the Transcendental Etude, which is find. When he tried to extend it by ten minutes, however, and orchestrated it, it fell flat. I have never been able to listen to it without laughing -- at the clunkiness of the form, the poor over-worked horse galloping through the strings, the pathetic sighs when the winds take the melody over from the brass (for that matter, the melody itself, with that high e that gets me every time), and the dead stop before the sudden, inexplicably happy ending.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love Liszt. His sonata is a masterpiece, I listen to his transcription of the Tannhauser overture more often than I listen to Wagner's original, and I'm a fan of the Faust Symphony.

But Mazeppa is just a dreadful piece. Yet, it's recorded again and again. (Tower Records online has 14 recordings of the orchestral version.)

There's so much great music out there that hasn't been recorded, or not enough. Why anyone wastes their time on Mazeppa is beyond me.

A Dam Strange Symphony

2005-12-15T23:41:00.000-05:00

When the Chinese government displaces millions of people and submerges one of its great natural wonders to build a giant dam, what's a composer to do?

Glorify it through a symphony.

Liu Yuan's [刘湲] Echo from the Three Gorges depicts the massive construction project now going on up the Yangtze River from Chongqing. It is the latest result of his collaboration with the Xiamen Philharmonic Orchestra (read in English or Chinese). Don't get me wrong; I think the orchestra's heavy emphasis on contemporary Chinese composers is a good thing (as it should be). Very few composers in China have achieved international fame of any level (Tan Dun being the most famous by far). However, it's hard to make much sense of this piece.

I searched around a bit for Liu's music, and was able to drum up a piece called Shadier's Legend [沙迪尔传奇], played by the Traditional Music Orchestra at Renmin University, conducted by Yang Chunlin. Shadier is a Uighur peasant who inspired people to struggle through his song. He was killed by his enemies. Can you believe that the same composer who chronicles the life and death of a hero who struggled against an oppresive government is writing about the miracle of a terrible construction project?

(When is the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority to announce the BSO is premiering the Big Dig symphony next season?)

Loud and Ruffled

2005-12-15T14:00:00.000-05:00

It's coming. Next month, the new movie "Tristan and Isold(e)" opens in the US. (Watch the trailer at here.)

It's never too early to starting raising these questions:

Where is Morholt? Even though he isn't around for long, he is vital to the story. If Tristan doesn't kill Isold(e)'s kin, and she doesn't accordingly hate him, then why do you need the potion? Does that mean we don't get to meet Tantris? Where is Isold(e) of the White Hands?

The movie's music was composed by Anne Dudley. What's next for her? A movie about Don Juan? An adaptation of Henri Murger's Scenes from the Bohemian Life? ETA Hoffman?

Why spell Isolde the German way if you're going to pronounce it the English way? (Though, in this day and age, maybe I should just be relieved she isn't iSolde.)

The movie's tagline gives reason to reflect. "Before there were Romeo and Juliet," it tells us. For people interested in opera or medieval literature, it's sometimes hard to remember how little currency the story actually has these days. Look at Dante's description in Canto V (in Allen Mandelbaum's translation):

"She is Semiramis, of whom we read
that she was Ninus' wife and his successor:
she held the land the Sultan now commands.
That other spirit [i.e., Dido] killed herself for love,
and she betrayed the ashes of Sychaeus;
the wanton Cleopatra follows next.
See Helen, for whose sake so many years
of evil had to pass; see the great Achilles,
who finally met love--in his battle.
See Paris, Tristan..."
V.58-67

This who's-who of classical lovers has just one person whose legend is remotely Dante's contemporary: of course, it's our boy Tristan. Would a modern-day Dante, when thinking of famous lovers, put Tristan high on the list? Probably not. On the other hand, it's impossible not to know about Romeo and Juliet. (Look up both Tristan and Romeo in the dictionary. Once Tristan held the same general meaning that Romeo now occupies.)

I suppose that's the one good thing this movie can do: it can put Tristan back on the map, so to speak. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but perhaps a few people out there will decide to pick up a copy of Gottfried von Strassburg or a record of Wagner's opera.

By way of epilogue: I wonder how I would have reacted had I been in Munich in the summer of 1865. Would I be asking questions about where Isolde of the White Hands was still? I'd like to think that I would have been enchanted by the Tristan chord and all its delights and ambiguities, but I suppose it's impossible to say.

Eu.phono.us

2005-12-15T10:35:00.000-05:00

Cacaphonous, after a proposal by Jeff at beepSNORT.

Open your Mind, but Close your Ears

2005-12-14T01:20:00.000-05:00

It's difficult to live any time in China without amassing a giant DVD collection, which necessarily inlcudes some less than, shall we say, mediocre movies. Somewhere along the line, I acquired a copy of "Mona Lisa Smile." (I had my reasons.)

The year was 1953. A visionary teacher opened new worlds to her students. In one scene, she opens a crate to unveil something truly special -- a brand new painting by Jackson Pollock. "Look beyond the paint," she says. "Let us try to open our minds to a new idea."

The late 40's and early 50's was a very productive time in American classical music. Elliott Carter, John Cage, Milton Babbitt, Paul Hindemith, Roger Sessions, and Conlon Nancarrow were all active then, to name a few.

So, what new ideas (albeit from the 50's) do they embrace on the soundtrack of this scene? None. Standard issue neo-romantic movie soundtrack drivel by Rachel Portman (the composer behind that Little Prince opera).

So, we should open our minds to new ideas in visual art, but should keep our minds closed to music?

I watched the scene again, with the sound muted and "Music of Changes," which dates from 1951, playing on the stereo. Suddenly, the conceit was much less cheesy, and the sequence was in synch with its theme. Maybe some eyes would have been opened, instead of rolled.

However, I'm holding a movie that seeks to expose sexism in the 1950's to far too high a standard.

Concerning Classification Tags

2005-12-14T00:13:00.000-05:00

I've made the classification tags as broad as possible to avoid making them part of any taxonomic statement. While my catalogue runs from Antiquity to Post-War, I don't think that level of detail is useful in this context. Thus, I'm using a division of music history into three parts.

The Box is defined by commercial radio and other for-profit classical organizations. It runs roughly from 1700-1900, and covers the top 40 popular classics of the high baroque, classical, and romantic periods. Everything before that is Early Music; everything after is New Music. I just hope I never write anything about "Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini," which is firmly in the box despite its date of 1934.

I detest the term "World Music," so I use it grudgingly, for the sake of concision, to refer to classical and folk music traditions outside the European/American Western Classical Music tradition.

Incipit vita nova

2005-12-13T21:45:00.000-05:00

Dal mio Pernesso amato a voi ne vengo,
Incliti eroi, sangue gentil de regi,
Di cui narra la Fama eccelsi pregi,
Ne giunge al ver perch'e alto il segno.

Senior year of high school, my music theory special topics teacher gave me a long list of music to listen to. I listened to the two excerpts featured in the Norton Antholog of Western Music: La Musica's prologue and Orfeo's aria "Tu se morte." I was unimpressed; the only note I wrote was "Same ritornello every time." (Funny that a ritornello should be repeated.) At that point, I was more interested in dense Wagner scores than baroque opera.

Freshman year of college, I studied Monteverdi again, in the context of a class on Baroque music. Still hated him. Mostly. However, he was starting to infect me. By the next year, it was too late. I couldn't deny it any more. I loved Monteverdi.

Years later, I moved to China for a year, and had a chance to learn about Chinese classical music. I discovered one of the interesting qurks of history: L'Orfeo, the first great European opera, was written 9 years after the greatest Chinese opera, 牡丹亭 (The Dream of the Peony Pavillion). The stories are remarkably similar. Both involve a man who brings his lover back to life. Orpheus uses his legendary songs to win over Pluto, only to lose her when he thinks she has left him for one moment. Tang Xianzu tells a classic Chinese tale, of lovers who meet in a dream. She dies of grief, realizing that she will never meet him. Three years later, he sees a portrait of her, and cries out; his cries bring her back from the dead.

Across the world from each other, Tang and Monteverdi couldn't have conceived that they were writing their own cultures' versions of the same story in the same decade.

These are the connections I want to explore. All classical music is fair game, from a Sumerian hymn written four thousand years ago to the music still being written. It has become conventional wisdom of late that classical music is somehow dying. I'm not interested in classical music's death. Instead, I'm looking for the song of Orpheus, or cry of Liu, that will give classical music new life.