Stockhausen is from planet Sirius, well, unless you know how to read...

Reuters reporter Michael Roddy recently interviewed the diacritically-gifted Péter Eötvös.

Composer Peter Eotvos makes modern opera "angelic"

It's actually quite a nicely written, intelligent article, and Eötvös has some interesting thoughts on contemporary opera. However, as the first law of music journalism states, no discussion of any new music can commence without a few flippant comments and/or disclaimers about how new music is so typically awful.

Cue the cliche opening sentence:

"Contemporary" and "opera" are scary words, but when Hungarian composer Peter Eotvos writes one that includes the sound of car horns and slide guitars, his aim is to engage his audience from the minute the curtain goes up.

Har har har...opera is boring!

figure point proven: It's funny because it's true.

Now I'm not a fancy big city lawyer [insert gasp], but even I know that all contemporary arts deserve our immediate contempt. Things that are new and unusual threaten my intelligence and are therefore stupid and wrong. Sorry opera.

But for the uninitiated Detritusites out there, what we have here is a standard music journalism construction. Always start with the assumption that new music is something that deserves our mockery, until [insert subject of the article] comes along as the exception to the rule.

This, however, is so incredibly common that it hardly deserves mentioning, but Michael Roddy goes one step further when he writes this unnecessary aside about Stockhausen seen here:

It was one of six of his operas that will be staged by major companies this year, which puts the shy, professorial Eotvos, a onetime protege of the completely out-there composer Karlheinz Stockhausen, who believed he had come from the planet Sirius, in league with the likes of Philip Glass, John Adams or Kaija Saariaho for getting their operas staged and heard.

Okay, granted -- Stockhausen is generally known as an eccentric person.

I mean, just look at him:

figure Stockhausen: Sometimes goes by the alias Gordon Shumway.

But this is a sentence about the popularity of the contemporary operas of Eötvös, right?

I can see that while you're name dropping to lend credibility to your subject you might mention Stockhausen due to his widespread cultural familiarity. But what purpose does implying that Stockhausen thinks he's an alien serve?

And before you ridicule, may I suggest that you watch K-Pax.

figure compelling argument: When will doctors and scientists finally realize that those fancy degrees, years of practical experience, and reliance upon the scientific method and tested methods of effective treatment, don't mean they know anything about anything. Geez.

Now, I'm far from an expert on this subject, but I have heard this story before. John O'Mahony, of the British newspaper the Guardian, famously included this tidbit in an article on the composer. However, Stockhausen is on record having denied this, and as far as I am aware (and I'm scouring the googles as I write), there is no other corroboration of this story.

But why don't I let wikipedia handle this one (since I assume that this Reuter's reporter has heard of that site):

When Stockhausen's daughter, Julika (aged 5 or 6 at the time), asked for a dog, he obtained one for her and named it Sirius, after the star in the constellation Canis Major, which was in his mind because he had just finished composing Sternklang ("Star-sound", 1971). Shortly afterward, he chanced upon a passage in a book by Jakob Lorber describing Sirius as the sun at the center of our universe, and this fired his imagination:

Other snippets of vitally important information then came to me through a couple of revelatory dreams. Crazy dreams, from which it emerged that not only did I come from Sirius itself, but that, in fact, I completed my musical education there.

(Tannenbaum, Mya. 1987. Conversations with Stockhausen, translated from the Italian by David Butchart, 34–35)

Plus, and I don't know if this important, but he did compose a nearly 2-hour long musical drama titled...wait for it...Sirius.

Now, I hate to be the journalism nazi, but seriously, this is just so fucking lazy.

But Roddy doesn't stop there. At the end of the interview, he asks one last question:

Q: You worked with Stockhausen for 40 years. Did you ever think he was from Sirius?

Hehe...thanks for reminding me. Stockhausen is weird.

But seriously, what a great use of space in article about a composer who isn't Stockhausen.

What do you think, Mr. Eötvös?

A: "He told us this....but it is not important. It was not in reality that he was from Sirius, but in his mind and everything he created was in this sense. ...I know his music well because I created many pieces by him, I know every note. So this is not a good question -- because I am 'in' this music."

Even Eötvös seems slightly annoyed by the question.

"So this is not a good question" indeed!

Karlheinz Does Dallas

OMG! Stockhausen in Dallas? An interesting review:

See this review by Scott Cantrell.

It was the 1960s again for an hour Sunday night.

Missed that. Must've been watching baseball.

Six robe-clad figures sat on a circle of pillows in a dim crypt, swaying and chanting arcane sounds. Occasionally the name of a deity – Osiris, Artemis, Wotan – would surface from the oohs and aahs, wah-wahs and luh-luhs. Strands of erotic German poetry wafted on rising and falling slides of pitch.

It was...in a crypt? Oh, figuratively, like the way it was the 1960s again. I get it.

We lacked only fumes of patchouli and pot smoke.

Dude, you live in Dallas. Head on down to the Winedale Tavern on Greenville Avenue. (I know a guy.) It's not far from the theater...

Figure 1: Winedale Tavern, Dallas

This was, however, a legal affair: a concert presented by Dallas' modern-music group Voices of Change, at the Undermain Theatre in Deep Ellum. And the sound effects, all produced by amplified live singers, were artifacts of a work called Stimmung, by the late German composer Karlheinz Stockhausen.

Figure 2: Voices of Change

Figure 3: Stockhausen

In a performance organized by University of North Texas composition professor Joseph Klein, the singers were sopranos Heidi Dietrich Klein and Tracey Deen, alto Katrina Burggraf-Kledas, tenors Kevin Sutton and Ryan Lungwitz, and bass Tim Johnson. Dr. Klein gave a fast-talking introduction to the work and managed the amplification.

Sounds awesome!

(Here is a link to an excerpt from Stimmung for you.)

Stockhausen, who died last December at age 79, was one of the agents provocateurs of post-World War II music. Stimmung, composed in 1968, was something of a signpost of the avant-garde.

All true.

The vocal sounds are, you might say, life imitating art, or at least the artifice of electronic music, in which Stockhausen was a pioneer. But the piece is also an example of aleatory music: the performers are given 51 musical gestures, plus the "magic names" (as Stockhausen called them) and poetry, to combine as the spirit moves.

"...as the spirit moves."? Is that a word-count filling way of saying "choice"?

Either hypnotic or maddening,

Why not both?

depending on your mindset, the piece lasted one hour. (Other performances have run closer to 70 minutes.) Although it's supposed to remain rooted in the note B-flat and its overtones, understandably it did drift here and there.

Understandably! Certainly.

Personally, I was glad to experience a work more often cited in music-history books than actually performed.

I am very, very happy to read that. Wait...what's that I hear? Is it...is it a "but" coming?

But

Yesssss.

for this listener, its hour-long duration occasioned every stage of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

Sounds like ol' Karlheinz has got your number, to me.

As Voltaire reportedly said of a late-in-life trip to a house of ill-repute, "Once a philosopher, twice a pervert."

I...what?

Today, I Heart Tom Strini

Today, I heart Tom Strini, because he wrote intelligently about music, an incredibly difficult thing to do.

I must admit that I was expecting some new music hating after reading this title.

Chamber series conquers diverse mid-century pieces

One of our biggest problems with music criticism is that, often, critic X (e.g., Bernard Holland) paints the performance as overcoming the difficulties, or the stink, of new music. I dare any critic to do the same with Beethoven—by the way, fuck Beethoven. And this is what today’s title suggests.

Tom’s review thus begins. And unfortunately, it begins with a grand, sweeping generalization.

Repetition defines musical structure and allows us to comprehend it.

Holy shit! The grand, sweeping generalization...makes sense! Congratulations, Tom. This is a significant first. Too bad it can only go downhill from here, right?

Verses and choruses repeat. Recapitulation follows development, so we can locate ourselves in sonata form. On the creative side, recurrence frees composers from the burden of constant invention.

I am beside myself. An entire paragraph that works: ideas are related (another first); you have correct, educated information. Wow. Just, wow.

It can’t get better, I keep telling myself.

Carlos Chavez's 1966 "Soli IV" for brass trio, heard Thursday on a 20th-century program at the Chamber Music Milwaukee series, is so radical because it takes on that burden explicitly. "Soli IV" has no past and implies no future. It does not ask the listener to remember what happened and relate it to the present moment. The immediate sonic neighborhood - the gestural cluster of notes in front of your ear at a given moment - is all that counts.

Tears of joy are running down my usually disgusted scowl. What a beautiful description! And exactly (relatively) what was happening at that moment in time—Tom’s not a guy who’s afraid to show that he’s read a few books.

Normally, we’d get something like this, instead:

Think of a street with moving traffic and traffic signals, with one composer showing red and the other green. Mr. Stockhausen's music was telling us that if the Chopin tradition had carried piano playing from 1840 deep into the 20th century, "Klavierstücke X" was determined it would go no further. Here the instrument is taught a lesson it will not soon forget.

Instruction came in the form of assault: blows to the keyboard with elbows, forearms and palms, episodes violent to the point that [pianist], the evening's intrepid pianist, wore cut-off gloves as a kind of body armor. Fingers were, however, left free for the shrill glissandos and racing stepwise movement.

Usually, this is what we get (from Bernard Holland), a condemnatory, dismissive verbal whipping.

Tom, on the other hand, gives us a colorful description of what happens in the piece, the philosophy of its aesthetic and a sound strategy for listening to it. And, my favorite part, he doesn’t outright dismiss it as junk. Nor does he resolve to not understand it.

Plus, the title now makes sense. It's simply conveying the notion that these pieces are diverse not crappy. Amazing! My bad; I'm used to assuming the worst. You go, Tom!

He does have an opinion, though.

That's a peculiar way to put a piece together, and I wouldn't recommend it.

You’ve earned your opinion today, Tom. You didn't have to follow that up with:

But

“But?” That’s wonderful! Admitting that your opinion is yours, alone. Can I send you a Christmas card?

But "Soli IV" is a fascinating and gallant experiment in musical perception, especially with Kevin Hartman (trumpet), Gregory Flint (horn) and Megumi Kanda (trombone) fully investing in every note in every fleeting gesture. I'm glad I heard it, even if can can't remember any of its particulars.

Beautiful (smile cracking through the leather-like frown, tears still streaming). Simply beautiful. And the rest is pure gold, too.

Good work, Tom!

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I am hoping that we, at the Detritus, have more opportunities to depart from our usual snarky/rude rants and praise praise-worthy critics.
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The Sorcerer's Apprentice

Detritus favorite David Hurwitz seems to have himself an apprentice to continue the proud tradition of modernist hating while ignoring Classicstoday.com’s CD rating philosophy (written by the Hurwitz himself). His name? Victor Carr Jr.

In a review of a new disc comprised of Elizabeth Maconchy’s music, Mr. Jr. exacerbates Classicstoday.com’s already spotty track record of ethics, in the same manner as his venerable master.

Not so enjoyable is Serenata concertante (1962), a gray, angular piece that sounds like Maconchy's attempt to prove that she also can...

Just in case you’re new to the Detritus, here’s a link to Classicstoday.com’s review philosophy. Did you read it? Good. If not, that’s okay, too. Here’s what it says: it says that they’re not supposed to judge the music, just the performance and the sound quality. The judging of the music is to be left to you, the consumer.

So let’s start over.

Not so enjoyable...

Hello? Mr. Jr.? You’re not supposed to judge the music. Remember? Italics mine.

Not so enjoyable is Serenata concertante (1962), a gray, angular piece that sounds like Maconchy's attempt to prove that she also can do "modernist".

Good God! Quotation marks?! Is that really necessary?

I seem to remember hearing a story about Stockhausen, in 1960. After completing a new piece, called Kontakte, he went to the rooftop of Darmstadt, naked, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Look! I can do ‘modernist,’ too!” But it was not so enjoyable, because it was gray and angular.

Sounds awful, doesn’t it, Mr. Jr.? It also sounds like I judged the piece.

Her technique is assured, and violinist Manoug Parikian offers impressive solo work, even if it's in the service of rather inert inspiration.

Because it was gray, angular and “modernist,” Mr. Jr. deduces that its inspiration was inert, and concludes that even an impressive performance can’t save it. Sheesh. “Inert inspiration.” Is that even possible? Can one really... no.

You know what? Let’s just throw out that pesky review philosophy shall we? Mr. Hurwitz, sir? Master? Please, just delete that page. It’s cramping your style, as well as your protégé’s. It’s not doing us any favors, either. I could be spending my time in a more constructive way—you know, learning my triads so when it comes time for you to review my work, I can’t complain about your ignorant and just plain stupid, irrelevant assertions and judgments concerning “modernism.” (My quotation marks are intended as parody)

It’s settled, then. I’ll drop it, if you do. Good.

Now let’s continue. Throw your best at me, Mr. Jr.; nothing can phase me now.

Finally, the symphonic poem Proud Thames, the first work on the disc, also is the earliest (1952), even though it sounds to be of recent vintage.

I’ll consider this a playful construction. Count yourself lucky that I no longer can be phased by anything.

This is due to the quasi-minimalist repetition toward the end, while the darkly playful interplay of brass and strings evoking the rushing river recalls Libby Larsen's Water Music Symphony.

Strike my last act of generosity! I no longer think that Mr. Jr.’s finally-first-earliest-recent-vintage shtick was intentional. Mr. Jr. just has no conception of time, as evidenced here.

Libby Lasen (born in 1950!) was two-years old when Maconchy wrote Proud Thames (1952. Okay, Larsen may have even been a one-year old, or almost three! Only one, stinking, lousy year old, or almost three!). Now, I may not know much about Maconchy (here’s a short bio), nor am I an expert on non-linear time, but I would dare to say that Larsen’s Water Music Symphony recalls Maconchy, not the other way around.

Congratulations, Mr. Jr.! Today you have done your mentor proud. And embarrassed yourself at the Detritus.

Mullet of the Day!

I just wanted to share Karlheinz's mullet with you. I'm not sure what to call it, though. Any suggestions?

How about "die Stockmulleter?"

That's all I got.
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Composer of the Day!

Today’s composer of the day is Morton Feldman.

(1926-1987)

He was thick and wore thick glasses, sometimes covered by greasy, brown hair. He had a thick Brooklyn accent.

His music is sun-dappled. He tried out graph notation, but ended up opting for traditional looking scores. Little known, he also made use of serialist procedures. His music is often confused with minimalism, but it never really repeats. The music is very long and very quiet. John Cage was a good friend. So was Mark Rothko.

Here’s a link to his cool piece, For Stephan Wolpe (you’ll need realPlayer to listen to it; there’s a download link on the page, if you need it). It’s about thirty minutes long, but well worth your time.

Here is an excerpt from an interview with Fred Orton and Gavin Bryars, taken from Morton Feldman Says, edited by Chris Villars, who also runs a website devoted to Morton Feldman stuff.

Fred Orton: You once referred to the ‘terror’ inherent in the teachings of Boulez and Stockhausen.

Morton Feldman: Yes. The terror is that you have to have an idea, while with me my ideas came out of the piece. ‘Idea’ became the new myth for that old word ‘inspiration’. If I was going to wait for an idea to write a piece I’d go out of my mind, I’d commit suicide. But it’s a very important terror that the piece has to be good, that it has to make sense, that it has to go somewhere, it has to exploit the materials, you have to use up its potential, it has to feed on itself, that it has to be something.

In his essay, called The Future of Local Music, Feldman sums up his position on many things.

IX. There is a marvelous story about Duchamp and an art student in San Francisco many years ago. Duchamp goes to this art school and he sees this kind of tough, macho San Francisco painter and Duchamp looks at this picture he doesn’t know. He says to the fellow, “What are you doing?” And the painter says, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” Duchamp pats him on the back and says, “Keep up the good work!”

You should listen to his music. Seriously.
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The Best Analysis Ever

This happy little article—found on classicstoday.com and written by the Executive Editor, David Hurwitz—is really depressing. Will this never stop? Do I have to write these things up for the rest of my life?

Is suicide an option?

There has been no shortage of juicy classical music news recently, starting with the death of German composer and space cadet Karlheinz Stockhausen.

Seriously, dude. Is suicide an option?

Yeah? Sweet. But how? I guess I could cut myself. (pulls out dull, rusty Swiss Army Knife from back pocket, opens it up, stares at it)

I was planning to use that event as a springboard to comment on the ongoing and welcome demise of the European Post-War avant-garde: its hypocrisy, institutional rigidity, and its hopeless failure to capture the minds and hearts of audiences the world over.

(cuts wrist lengthwise) Ouch!

But we already know that, and it strikes me that the above sentence is about as much as Stockhausen and his crew deserve.

(bleeds) ...

(cuts other wrist)

Happily, an even more inspiring subject presented itself for consideration:

(bleeds some more) ...

(passes out) ...

...

...

...

Sator Arepo: Empiricus? Empiricus!? Wake up!! Empiricus!?? Wake up!!!! Someone! PLEASE call an ambulance!!! Oh God! No!!!!!
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