Litotes [?]

Ask a random person on the street to name a composer. Was it Beethoven? Maybe; if it wasn't, perhaps it was Bach. I'd bet on it. I call this the "What If I Asked My Dad?" method of thought experimentation.

Figure 1: Not the Bach to which I was referring.

Musicians adore Bach. Even the most cynical historian, theorist, composer, or performer, in my experience, adores Bach.

People who love music's mathematical designs love Bach.

People who love music's emotive qualities love Bach.

People who love to study elaborate contrapuntal techniques love Bach.

People who love to perform love Bach.

Analysts love Bach; musicologists love Bach.

Everyone the fuck loves Bach. And with good reason.

Bach is the unambiguously most revered composer in the canon. Beethoven might be more enfant terrible-y; Mozart more zesty; both are undoubtedly massively influential. But it's hard to overstate the influence of Bach on, oh, say, the last 300 years or so of Western art music.

The Power of Bach, the Comfort of Morricone
Vivian Schweitzer, New York Times, 9/20/2010

So: Bach, right?

Bach strongly influenced several prominent South American composers, including Heitor Villas-Lobos of Brazil and Alberto Ginastera of Argentina.

Mm, hm. Mm-hm.

Figure 2: The Grand Canyon was strongly influenced by the Colorado River.

Hilarious understatement as rhetorical device?

Yeah; no. I wish.

Extreme Merdle and Haggard

Merdle: You know, it’s been a long time since we’ve been to a new music concert. I’m feeling a little guilty for not supporting the arts. Plus, I have a hankering for something not associated with Toy Story 3.

Haggard: Me too. I could go for something that doesn’t pander to the lowest common denominator.

Want some coffee?

M: Sure. Thanks.

H: [pours coffee] We should check the listings—see if we can find something worthwhile.

M: Mmm. Did you grab the paper?

H: Yeah. It’s on the counter, behind you.

M: Oh. I didn't see it there. It’s early--not quite awake yet.

H: That’s what coffee is for.

M: You said it. [sips] Hmm. [fumbles through paper] Arts section...NY/ Region…Ah! Here’s something. Ooh! It’s about the Caramoor Music Festival.

H: We haven’t been to Caramoor in years. What are they up to?

M: Well… “CHAMBER music has been a key part of the Caramoor International Music Festival in Katonah for most of its 64 years. But rarely has the festival presented as wide a spectrum of chamber offerings as it will in its 65th season, which opens this month.”

H: I didn’t know they’ve been around that long! Good for them.

Would you like your eggs scrambled or sunny-side up?

M: Sunny-side up, please.

H: So, a rare, wide spectrum of chamber music? [goes to refrigerator, grabs butter, eggs, bacon, and jelly] Sounds good. What else does it say?

M: “Along with established and emerging artists serving up standard chamber fare, an audacious group of new-music exponents will be on hand — bending the chamber format and…”

H: How does one bend the chamber format?

M: Maybe it’ll be played in a large arena.

H: Or maybe there’ll be just enough players so that you can’t quite call it chamber, but few enough that you can’t quite call it an orchestra.

M: Meh. “’We’re still pushing the envelope, for Caramoor, and trying to reach a broader part of the community,’ said Michael Barrett, the chief executive and general director of the Caramoor Center for Music and the Arts.”

H: The qualification of “pushing the envelope” doesn’t instill much chamber-format-bending confidence.

M: That and "trying to reach a broader community" kinda smells funny, don't you think? I mean, it sounds like a good thing, but for whom?

H: Not gonna tell you. It's just so good.

M: Mmm-hmm. “The new-music aesthetic being presented this year departs somewhat from that of academically oriented composers like Roger Sessions and Elliott Carter.”

H: Again with the qualifiers! I’m not sure what to make of these messages: first there was "wide spectrum"; then "format bending"; followed by pushing the envelope “for Caramoor”…

M: Don't forget departing “somewhat.” Yeah. They’re toeing a line, for sure. But the bigger issue is the seeming way almost all new music is being marketed.

H: Do you mean how they want to distance themselves from thinking and academia?

M: Totally. What’s wrong with thinking?

H: You got me. Not for nothing, I seem to think we've been through this whole "we want an art that appeals more to the senses than to reason" thing before.

Anyway, want to think about how you want your bacon to appeal to you?

M: Charred, baby.

H: That’s why I love you.

M: “While Caramoor’s performers maintain a uniformly high level of musicianship, they embrace elements of popular culture…”

H: Doesn't "while," as a conjunction here, connote a contrast? What's that supposed to mean?!

M: Hold on. “…producing what the festival’s marketers call extreme chamber music.”

I guess it means that nobody knows how to market that which is unmarketable.

H: But they know how to market popular culture! It’s like calling a sports drink extreme, because it actually contains water, instead of processed, liquid-like crap.

M: Do you ever get the feeling that arts advertising is, like, ten years behind current doublespeak practice?

H: Ha! You said sunny-side up, right?

M: Yep. “Reflecting their training at Oberlin and Juilliard, the members of 2 Foot Yard, a violin-cello-guitar trio that will appear on July 2, bring a certain phrasing and detail of tone to their interpretations, said Carla Kihlstedt, the group’s violinist.”

H: [cracks an egg]

M: “Yet, she said, the group works in forms that have more in common with folk or pop music than with traditional classical composition.”

H: …Because phrasing and details can't exist in folk and pop forms, don't you know? What?!

M: Maybe there’s something to this whole anti-academic distancing. Schools are obviously not doing their jobs well.

H: You’re just saying that to get under my skin, aren’t you? Besides, you mean conservatories; they're hardly schools.

M: But you’re cute, when you’re mad. [sips coffee]

H: Seriously, just read. Meanwhile I’ll cook your breakfast, without help…all by myself.

M: “None of its tunes run more than six minutes.”

H: Selling point for short attention spans, no doubt.

M: No doubt. Or broader audiences. Heh. “In pieces like ‘On Waking,’ which it may play at Caramoor, the band employs extensive harmonics and extended improvisations punctuated only by a recurring four-note vocal line — Ms. Kihlstedt and the cellist double on vocals.”

H: I’m glad they may decide to use more than just sine tones. Grisey would be happy. [removes several strips of bacon from the skillet] Also, don't you think it's kinda a stretch to call a six-minute improvisation "extended"? A happening might be extended, but not a six-minute improv.

M: Or, it's like...

H: I know. Sex joke.

M: Mmm. “This, she said…”

H: What does “this” refer to?

M: Dunno. The "four-note vocal line"?

H: Dah-dah-dah dum!

M: “This, she said, results in a kind of abstraction that owes as much to the ethos of alternative rock as to the culture of the academy.

‘I find that audiences are getting much better at connecting the dots between different kinds of music,’ she said.”

H: Wait. Are we or aren’t we going to this festival?

M: Connect the dots.

H: Would you like toast, my abstract cryptographer?

M: Two pieces, please.

I dunno. I've liked Caramoor events in the past. Maybe the wonky description is coloring my preferences; but I think I'd still like to go.

H: We have nothing better to do, I suppose.

M: Either way, let’s find out what else is said about the state of arts advertising.

H: Good call.

M: “Connecting with audiences is a primary goal of Ethel, a quartet with two violins, a viola and a cello…”

H: Wait. Who wrote this, again?

M: Phillip Lutz, with two Ps, two Is, three Ls, an H, a U, a T, and a Z.

H: I suppose he has two eyes, four limbs, a torso, and a head, too.

M: You're funny. Not!

H: Nice. Nobody's used that reference since 1990!

M: Actually, 1992, chef-slave. Or 1993, if you want to count the sequel; but I don't know anyone who thinks that should count. [sips coffee]

“…the group adopts a ‘pedal to the metal’ attitude that plays down ‘the pursuit of perfection in classical performance,’ said Mary Rowell, one of the group’s violinists and a Juilliard graduate.”

H: That’s an odd thing to say.

M: You mean invoking a “pedal to the metal” attitude in order to downplay something?

H: Yeah, that. The idea is provocative, though.

M: ...if not logically problematic. “While the group’s playing hardly lacks precision […] the precision is never achieved at the expense of passion, Ms. Rowell said.

‘If we’re going to alienate audiences, it’s just not going to work,’ she said.”

H: More coffee?

M: Please. [ponders, sips] Do you think she’s implying that pursuing perfection alienates audiences? Or pursuing an antiquated ideal alienates them? Or is perfection unattainable? Or...

H: I think you’d be better off by asking what she means by “work.”

M: True. Or maybe I'll just send a letter of complaint to Julliard's office of academic standards.

H: Ha! [plates the last of the food, carries it over to table]

Alright, hun. Time to cry uncle. Breakfast is ready. Plus, this ham-fisted puffery is ruining my morning.

M: But you’ll miss my favorite part.

H: Yeah? What’s that? [sits at table beside Merdle]

M: Get this: “And the clarinetist Anthony McGill, who said that the pivotal works of his Caramoor debut would be by Debussy and Stravinsky…”

...

...

Wait for it.

...

H: Come on. My eggs are getting cold.

M: “...Debussy and Stravinsky — arguably new-music practitioners of their day…”

H: Did I read somewhere that Heidegger once argued this proposition and lost?

M: Shut up, chef-slave, and pass the Tabasco.
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Rx for...Good Luck!

So, you’re the chief wellness officer of the Wellness Institute at the Cleveland Clinic, huh?

Okay, then. Shoot.

“Listening to finer music...

Hold on. Because you’re presumably someone with a scientific background, I’d like to ask you one quick question: How did you go about defining “finer” as it pertains to music? See, the reason I ask is because without a proper definition, i.e., some quantifiable differences between types (styles, aesthetics, philosophies?) of music, whatever you say next will be inherently flawed.

Hello?

“Listening to finer music and attending concerts on a consistent basis...

The same goes for the terms “attendance,” “concerts” and “consistent.”

...makes your real age about four years younger,” Dr. Michael F. Roizen — the chief wellness officer of the Wellness Institute at the Cleveland Clinic, said recently.

Uh-huh. So if I smoke four year’s worth of crack, but attend finer music concerts consistently, I’ll be my normal age? Sweet. [puff, puff]

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Dr. Roizen is one of a number of [cough] experts, Matthew Gurewitsch of the NY Times quotes in his recent article, presumably titled by a junior high school yearbook editor:

Composing Concertos in the Key of Rx

It’s an interesting glance at the potential of specifically designed music to clinically heal certain health-related symptoms, such as hypertension.

While I think the ideas are worthwhile, their science is...hmm...wanting. Too bad Muzak filed for chapter 11, they might’ve been able to help.
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Mad Libations

Here’s the latest Detritus Review Mad Lib™, brought to you by the NY Times’ Anthony Tommasini, who may have been a little adjective drunk.

Directions: (First of all, humor me and read the excerpt below with the missing adjectives...I know, right? Though I have to admit, if you substitute "blank" for the missing adjectives, a nice rhythmic non-pattern emerges. I digress.) Arrange the extracted adjectives into their appropriate positions. Good luck!

Angelic
Brisk
Demonic
Earthy
Ghostly
Reckless
Ruminative
Rustic
Slow
Sustained

In the ______ movement he brought such ______ richness to the ______ melodic lines that the music seemed at once ______ and ______. And the finale, taken at a ______ but never ______ tempo, was ______ and ______, though always threatening to turn ______.

Whew! That was fun, wasn’t it? How’d you do? ALL RIGHT!
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Subtlety and Mr. New Age: John Cage

I’m not entirely positive that this is a slap in the face, but it sure seems like it.

[Pianist X] opened the concert on his own with an early Cage work, “In a Landscape” (1948).

You know who wasn’t born yet, in 1948? New Age pianist George Winston.

This is a side of Cage you don’t hear often, and you would be hard pressed to identify it as his work.

Possibly. Could you?

Its textures are gentle, rippling, vaguely Debussian, with simple melodies weaving through a tissue of arpeggiated, diatonic noodling.

“Noodling” is one of my top four favorite descriptors. Ever.

How odd to think that as a young composer, Cage wrote music that could today be mistaken as...

...as the back of Philip Glass’s (Glasses?) right eyeball? No? What, then?

...as the New Age meandering of George Winston.

Ugh. See? It just feels like a jab in the gut. Could Allan Kozinn be calling In a Landscape “New Age?” “Meandering?” Or how about “like George Winston?” Ever hear George Winston play?

Either way, I don’t like the implication; all three are pretty bad. It’s like, “How odd to think that as a young critic, Bernard Holland wrote reviews that could today be mistaken as the postmodern meandering of Allan Kozinn.” It just doesn’t feel right, for some reason. Subtle, indeed.
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Anti-Anti-Modernism

Ah, New York City, where you can go to contemporary music concerts on…barges?

Floating, Personalizing, and Performing

Everyone knows about the three B’s of classical music: Bach, Beethoven and Brahms.

Here is a list of classical composers whose last names start with “B”. But that’s not the point. Chiding a well-known pithy truism is the point, Well, actually, that’s not the point either.

The pianist David Holzman, speaking from the Bargemusic stage before his recital on Friday night, introduced a new wrinkle with three A’s: austere, abstract and academic.

Oh, here we go again with the modernist-hating again. Wait, I thought Mr. Holzman was a specialist in the contemporary piano repertory?

Mr. Holzman, a specialist in the contemporary piano repertory and a congenial commentator, brought up those qualities to debunk them.

Ah, pity poor Sator Arepo; his straw man has been set up and knocked down before he could even get there. Well played, Steve Smith of the New York Times.

True, his program was chock full of challenging works by some of the 20th century’s more formidable musical thinkers, including Roger Sessions, Ralph Shapey, Stefan Wolpe and the now ubiquitous Elliott Carter. But Mr. Holzman’s intent was to humanize these figures and to provide an entry point for comprehending their music.

Awesome. Slightly subjective, perhaps, but awesome.

The first half of the program was largely devoted to works by Sessions and Shapey, whose music is also paired on the Holzman CD issued in December by Bridge. He spoke of Sessions’s patrician upbringing and personal melancholy and of Shapey’s rebellious contempt for polite society.

Ah, Shapey, the consummate curmudgeon. And..?

The music supported his comments. Sessions’s lean, muscular Piano Sonata No. 1, a Neo-Classical work from 1930, was tonal and even jazzy at times. But its melodies were usually limited to solitary lines with little counterpoint: a sign of isolation, Mr. Holzman said. In Shapey’s “Mutations” (1956) and “Mutations II” (1966), flinty, atonal kernels were objects of cool, obsessive scrutiny from varying angles.

First: “flinty”?

Second: This is a great way to (at least) give listeners who are perhaps [read: probably] unfamiliar with the rep to get some leg up on a way to try to understand the music.

In his comments Mr. Holzman also made a connection between Sessions’s piece and Mr. Carter’s Piano Sonata (1946), which opened the second half of the program. Mr. Carter considers Sessions to have been a major influence. But in place of his mentor’s melancholy, Mr. Carter offers an exuberant optimism, maybe even a cocky flexing of newly honed muscles. Mr. Holzman’s account was not spotless. But a few missed notes during the work’s most agitated passages were a small price to pay for playing so full of blood, steel and unshakable conviction.

Again, a noble pursuit. Sorry so little snark. I really liked the article and the concept. Last but not least:

In Pozzi Escot’s Sonatina No. 5 (“For Hobie,” 2006), serene bell tones alternated with manic outbursts of Ivesian cacophony.

Yay! Pozzi Escot!

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[Edit] This post, in fact, was composed by Sator Arepo (if you couldn't tell already), which may account for the unfamiliarity with barge music. See: Alvin Curran.]
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Pianist Stabbed in the Bach

Every day at the Detritus we get to observe what happens to a review when the critic is confronted with the unfamiliar, i.e. new music. Since new music doesn’t come with a pre-established descriptive vocabulary, critics are left to their own devices, often exposing tiny inadequacies, more so than usual. Arnold Schoenberg’s music becomes “thorny.” Xenakis’ music becomes “caucophonous.” And in another case, John Corigliano’s music becomes the sum of the program notes. Or John Adams’ music is either more or less similar to Nixon in China. This is understandable, to a degree, and often hard to fault.

But what happens when the critic is charged with reviewing something terribly unfamiliar in a familiar context? Or more precisely, what happens when the familiar piece of music is interpreted in an unfamiliar way?

Let’s take a look at how Vivien Schweitzer handled a different interpretation of the “Goldberg” Variations.

A Pianist Offers Bold Ideas About a Standard by Bach

Since I feel like being lazy, here’s the background to the performance in Schweitzer’s words, which also happens to be 40% of the total number of words in the review:

According to Johann Nikolaus Forkel, who wrote the first biography of Bach, that composer’s “Goldberg” Variations were commissioned by the Russian diplomat Count Hermann Carl von Keyserlingk. An insomniac, the count reportedly wanted Bach to write a musical sedative that Johann Gottlieb Goldberg (a talented young harpsichordist who lived with Keyserlingk) could play to soothe his restless nights.

The legend has been discredited, and Bach’s monumental work is so gripping in any case that it would doubtless have fueled the count’s insomnia.

Objection, your honor! Hearsay.

But there was unfortunately something soporific about the pianist Beth Levin’s performance at the Bechstein Piano Center on Friday. The concert, held in an intimate space at the back of the showroom, was a benefit for the Children’s Orchestra Society, a training organization founded in 1962 by H. T. Ma (the father of the cellist Yo-Yo Ma). It presents children and teenagers in orchestral and chamber concerts with their peers and established artists.

Got it? The piece was once thought to be a sedative, but that’s not the case. And Beth Levin’s interpretation was tediously boring or monotonous as to cause sleep. Clever tie-in. Whoop-dee-doo.

But this is where Vivien gets into the nitty gritty. And so do I.

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The “Goldberg” Variations (like much of Bach’s music) offer pianists a chance to make a personal statement...

Like Major League Baseball and Visa: “Express your fanhood through your credit card!” Or Random Phone Company: “Express yourself with a new ring-tone for only $5.99!” Yuck.

The “Goldberg” Variations (like much of Bach’s music) offer pianists a chance to make a personal statement and can withstand a wide variety of interpretations.

What exactly is the width of the variety of interpretations that a piece of music can withstand? But more importantly, what is it withstanding?

It seemed to be more about her than about Bach...

See, two things I don’t subscribe to are 1) the New York Times—I just get the Sunday paper for the crossword puzzle—and 2) the notion that black dots on a page, written at a time when improvisation flourished, are owned more by a composer than a performer, or vice versa. I prefer to think of those black dots more as the composer’s architectural blueprint and the performer the craftsman—one is no more important than the other—the final result being a collaboration. Maybe I’m a Communist.

...and her idiosyncratic decisions sounded jarring and unnatural.

Another thing I don’t subscribe to is the notion that “jarring” and “unnatural” (whatever that means) are inherently bad things.

Harshly attacked accents, as in Variation No. 3...

By definition (I’m guessing here, so I leave it to you to look it up) notes that are accented are more harshly attacked than notes that are unaccented. So, “harshly attacked accents” is redundant.

Harshly attacked accents, as in Variation No. 3, gave the listener musical whiplash...

Remember a long time ago when Schweitzer said that the performance was soporific? Yeah. Me too. You know, I usually sleep through whiplash. How about you?

Besides, I think “musical whiplash” is synonymous with “something that takes you in a different direction.” We can’t have any of that in our music!

...and slow tempos and exaggerated phrasing rendered many variations awkwardly stilted.

Since “exaggerated phrasing” means nothing to me, Vivien, I’ll ask this: what is the slowest tempo that the Goldberg’s can withstand and still be natural? Keep in mind that Bach didn’t indicate the tempos for the variations. Ready?........Go!

Variations Nos. 4 and 29, for example, were so ponderous and stretched out, particularly in the opening measures, that the music sounded distorted.

Ugh.

The performance lacked an overall cohesion and architecture, partly because the vital sense of a dance pulse was lost.

Ugh. Dance rhythm, not “dance pulse.” Very different things.

Vivacious, sparkling variations like No. 5 sounded lackluster.

Geez. Don’t hold back, Vivien.

Had the livelier numbers been more energetic, Ms. Levin might have made her point better when playing the slower variations.

Ugh.

But there was sometimes a strange sameness in a work that should be full of contrast, veering from merry wit to profundity.

Ugh. The work should be...

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So how did Vivien handle the unfamiliar familiar? By comparing and contrasting it with the billions of previous recordings and performances of the Goldbergs she already knew and loved. Awesome, because that’s how we do it. That's how we make judgments. That is, if it leads to a better understanding of what is being compared and contrasted.

Granted, Beth’s interpretation might have been boring. I wasn’t there. But...

Unlike reviews of new music, the Goldbergs are accompanied by a mountain of pre-established descriptive vocabulary, as well as performed or recorded models with which to compare. It’s no surprise, then, that Vivien was already influenced (Heck, I would be, too). But, here’s the difference, as I see it. It seems that Vivien used previous models to demonstrate why she found the performance stilted, rather than attempting to use previous models to understand why Beth Levin made the performance choices she made. Vivien, instead, entered the concert hall with her ideal model already formulated and any deviation, any different or unfamiliar interpretation, outside a narrow range of varied possibilities, was doomed before it began. Hence, we get statements like:

• “idiosyncratic decisions sounded jarring and unnatural” To whom? Vivien.
• “slow tempos and exaggerated phrasing rendered many variations awkwardly stilted” To whom? Vivien.
• “Variations Nos. 4 and 29 [...] were so ponderous and stretched out [...] that the music sounded distorted.” To whom? Vivien.
• “The performance lacked an overall cohesion and architecture, partly because the vital sense of a dance pulse was lost.” Vital to whom? Vivien.
• “But there was sometimes a strange sameness in a work that should be full of contrast” It should be what to whom? Full of contrast to Vivien.

There was no attempt to understand, let alone appreciate, Beth’s interpretation. And before y’all chime in, I understand that Vivien is entitled to an opinion. It’s just that her opinion was made up before the concert began. And that's not cool.

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It often sounded as if Ms. Levin, who took some repeats and read from the score, were playing Beethoven, Schumann or Prokofiev.

Ugh. Is that a jab at Beth for taking repeats and reading from a score? Because that has nothing to do with anything, ever. On the bright side, good news for Schenkerites: all good music does sound the same!

Bach’s spirit rarely shone through.

Ugh. I challenge anyone to write an essay that expresses your interpretation of Bach’s spirit and how it shines through things, without waxing too poetic. Oh, and make sure it can withstand a variety of interpretations, within reason, of course.
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Knocking It Off

Pianist Gloria Cheng recently released a recording of newish music on the Telarc label, which included a few pieces by Esa-Pekka Salonen, the composer. And of course, there’s a bevy of reviews.

However, rather than attack these one by one, I thought it would be fun to stream together some of what was written about the works, because...shit...I’m more confused now than before I read them. See if you feel the same way after this short survey of the Salonen.

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[Cheng] plays music by three composers on the CD. What about Salonen?

An apt question, if I do say so. Let’s get going!

[...] Salonen’s pieces have their turn to enchant and seduce the ear, with their shimmering filigree, streams of notes, and often-gentle aura.

Ms. Cheng on the Salonen:

“The earliest work, Yta II (1985), takes its title from the Swedish word for surface. He’s written a series of three Yta s for different instruments, written mostly in the 1980s for friends while he was still based in Finland. He writes in his notes about how surfaces, for a Finn, are often snow-covered and can appear either blurry as in a blizzard, or clean and sparkling as in ice. That imagery appears in the music. I also find a great deal of humor in Yta II , and can’t help but imagine a high-strung little creature that goes through a transformation into something rich and beautiful by the end of the piece.”

Mr. Salonen's ''Yta II'' (1985) is a seven-minute whirlwind of hyperfast riffs and runs that spiral across the keyboard.

The deft Philharmonic soloist punches out the Finn’s übervirtuoso writing as if it were “Chopsticks.”

Imagine an atonal Art Tatum.

Art Tatum, snowflakes and a little metamorphosizing, high-strung creature.* Got it.

Ms. Cheng, again:

“Dichotomie, the major piece by Salonen on this disc, was composed in 1999–2000. The first movement, ‘Mécanisme,’ is just a romp, and I’ve confided to Esa-Pekka that I find this movement to be all about misbehaving (laughter). It’s like a kid who insists on jumping on the bed and making all sorts of trouble, but every so often has to come back and behave, and does so with passages of great eloquence.”

Mécanisme also...

[...] has a vigorous, toccata-like opening, with transient “robotic” tendencies that alternate with a definite dance-like esprit.

Sometimes eloquently dancing robots misbehaving vigorously. Check.

Also, also wik:

Mr. Salonen's ''Dichotomie'' (2000), a fearsomely difficult work, begins like some fractured Finnish avant-garde update of Stravinsky's ''Petrouchka'' with oscillating chords and relentless, headily dissonant repetitions.

The second movement of Dichotomie, entitled ‘Organisme,’ was conceived with the metaphor of a young willow in mind, a tree that bends in the wind. The sensibility of that movement is very French.

Finnish interpretation of France and their trees. Yes.

“Organisme,” showcases prickly, experimental rhythmic patterns that steer in the direction of a Cecil Taylor lesson in free jazz.

Art Tatum plus one free lesson from Cecil Taylor. Check.

The exuberant second movement climaxes in fitful bursts of leaping cluster chords and shimmering glissandos for both hands.

There are three preludes, too.

In the first prelude, “Libellula meccanica,” a mechanical dragonfly lazily drifts on a hazy summer’s day before darting hither and yon with more vigor. The steady rhythmic motion of the second prelude, “Chorale,” seems to grow out of the even pacing of traditional chorales but also has its quicker moments.

It also has quicker moments. Well said.

And now for something completely Ms. Cheng, again:

“[...] the last of the three, ‘Invenzione a due voci,’ is the hardest piece I’ve ever laid eyes on, with two independent lines that are parallel, and yet not, unrelenting, gnarly, and requiring a sound that is completely effortless and relaxed.”

“For a two-minute piece, it’s a huge challenge for the pianist.” Reflecting on her superb performance, [Robert Schulplaper] commented that however daunting its appearance, it’s obviously playable. “But almost impossible. Of course, some 14-year-old will come along and just knock this stuff off.”

It’s so difficult that some 14 year-old can knock it off? Don’t you mean, “tear it up,” “bang it out” and other appropriate clichés? Or did you really mean this: Urban Dictionary?

The French influence, which was clearly Ravelian in the Lutoslawski, is in Salonen’s works, as in Stucky’s, less definable, but perhaps no less real.

?

Comma, confusion!

[Robert Schulslaper] could invoke the usual clichés—clarity and elegance, Ravel’s lapidary technique, Debussy’s artful portrayals of natural phenomena, as well as Messiaen’s bird portraits—and indeed they apply. But the best way to appreciate where Salonen, Stucky, and Lutoslawski fit into the French continuum is to listen to their music.

The works by Salonen [...] encapsulate the emergence of a compositional wisdom.

But how has that compositional wisdom manifested itself?

In an April talk-back session at Symphony Center, Salonen addressed the question of whether living in America influenced his writing: “If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be alive,” he said.

Sheesh.

Well, consider him mystically undead. This mostly Frenchy-Euro [edit: Frenchy-Euro-American] modernist fare calls to mind the nascent music breeding ground of early-20th-century Paris.

Much of this piano music feels nostalgic, referential and pastichelike, rather than something wholly new. But that’s not a knock; as Jean Cocteau asked, “Doesn’t all good music resemble something?”

Only a Sith deals in absolutes, Cocteau.

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*What I learned about Esa-Pekka’s music today:

Art Tatum, snowflakes and a little metamorphosizing, high-strung creature.
Sometimes eloquently dancing robots misbehaving vigorously.
Finnish interpretation of France and their trees.
One free lesson from Cecil Taylor.
It also has quicker moments.
It’s so difficult that some 14 year-old can knock it off [sic].
Cocteau was a Sith Lord.

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Links to the reviews at: Time Out Chicago, Fanfare Magazine, ArkivMusic.com, NY Times, soiveheard.

Tmolus of a Different Color

When I came across the first sentence of the Denver Post’s Fine Arts Critic Kyle McMillan’s puff piece about composer Osvaldo Golijov, I had a deviant, critically fanciful thought: what would happen if I did a little research about this commercialized cliché and, subsequently, its use as metaphor?

Osvaldo Golijov is the King Midas of classical music.

To explain: King Midas (from Greek mythology), as we all know, had the “Midas touch,” turning whatever he touched into gold, the possession of the power known in alchemy as chrysopoeia, or the Philosopher’s Stone.

Simple, right? Kyle’s just saying that Golijov is very successful. Well, these meta-critical eyes read into it a little more than that, perhaps too much. I tried to find out what’s beneath this reference to see if we can really say whether it’s an appropriate metaphor in this context, because, often times, metaphors can go astray in unusual ways.

Now, what follows is not a critique of Kyle. Nor am I putting words into his mouth. It’s a more discursive critique, a critique in general, because we all understood Kyle’s initial reference—it was successful. But!

When we dig in, however, we find some disturbing things. And if I were Osvaldo Golijov, I might have strong reason to believe that the “Midas touch” was, indeed, inappropriate, because there is much more to the story of King Midas.

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The Abridged Story of King Midas with Observations of Note

Silenus, Dionysus’ teacher, got drunk, wandered away and passed out. King Midas took him in and entertained him for ten days. Midas returned Silenus to Dionysus on the eleventh day. Grateful, Dionysus offered Midas a reward. King Midas asked for a “golden touch,” which he received. He loved it at first, but grew to despise it—everything he touched, including his food, turned to gold. He begged Dionysus to take it back. Dionysus consented, telling King Midas to wash it off in the river, which he did.

1) King Midas was greedy
2) King Midas eventually saw his “golden touch” as a curse.
3) King Midas was cleansed/baptized in the river.

Afterwards, he hated wealth. He came to worship Pan, the God of shepherds, hunting and rustic music. Pan is thought to have studied music with Orpheus. On one occasion, though, Pan challenged Apollo, the God of the Lyre, to a musical competition, with Tmolus, the mountain God, as the judge. Apollo handily won. Among the spectators, the only dissenting opinion was made by King Midas. Ticked off at his awful ears for music, Apollo turned them into donkey’s ears. Ashamed, King Midas hid them by wearing a turban.

4) King Midas no longer troubled himself with wealth, favoring a simple life, as exemplified in his God of choice, Pan.
5) King Midas had terrible ears for music.

That's King Midas on the left, with donkey ears.
(painting by Jacopo, il giovane Palma, 1548-1628)




So, you see, there is a lot to the story. And since it’s a metaphor, after all, we have to substitute Osvaldo Golijov for King Midas, greatly changing Kyle’s initial meaning.

1) Osvaldo Golijov was greedy
2) Osvaldo Golijov eventually saw his “golden touch” as a curse.
3) Osvaldo Golijov was cleansed/baptized in the river.
4) Osvaldo Golijov no longer troubled himself with wealth, favoring a simple life.
5) Osvaldo Golijov had terrible ears for music.

Or further...

6) Osvaldo Golijov was Dionysian (of chaos and ecstasy), as opposed to Apollonian (of order and harmony).
7) Osvaldo Golijov worshipped a musically inferior God.
8) Osvaldo Golijov wears a turban.

Given a tiny bit of knowledge about Greek mythology, Kyle’s first sentence is deeply troubled, that is, if taken out of context. Of course, this isn’t what he’s pointing at, but still. It’s the equivalent of saying, “Osvaldo Golijov is the next Jacko,” or “Osvaldo Golijov is the next Britney Spears.” Is that a good thing? Maybe. Maybe not.

Is this metaphor apt, then? Sure, if it’s qualified. However, Kyle’s sentence didn’t mention the “Midas touch,” it referred to King Midas, the person-myth--a much broader topic than just the "Midas touch.".

I know I’m belaboring a super-super-super-small point, but it also gave me the perfect springboard to ask another question. Can anyone tell me why Allan Kozinn called Messiaen’s colors, colors for Britney’s sake, harsh?

In the more expansively dense sections Ms. Archer played [the organ] with an unflagging power and assertiveness. Those are necessary qualities here: the best way to deal with this score as a listener is to stop wondering why Messiaen painted God in such harsh colors and let the music envelop you. When it does, Messiaen’s vision becomes clear.

Perhaps, he’s taking the super-super-super stupid, clichéd, stereotypical, facile route: dissonance is objectively bad. I guess, to Kozinn, dissonance doesn't jive with the whole "good" God thing. Oh well. I suppose it takes a donkey's ear to know a synesthete.
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On the Times Co.

Hey! Times Co.! I thought about it long and hard and have come to a decision.



















Stop being stupid. In fact, all newspapers should stop being stupid. And that's all I have to say about that.

(Unfortunately, this painting is already sold)
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Ho Hum

Another Bernard Holland article. Ho hum.

Schoenberg and his school do not make us smile,

(yawn) Ho hum.

but then, they rarely try.

Ho (yawn) hum.

Ho. Hum. Yawn.
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Prescient and Archaic! Yeah!

Today, having some fun searching the NY Times archives--we're getting to that point in the concert season where classical music reviews and articles begin to slow down a bit--I stumbled across one of the most prescient thoughts ever, written in 1988. Take a step back, and it could even be the most succinct and eloquent mission statement for our little project.

It is a fanciful thought, but perhaps our century is feeling the pressure to tidy its house, settle on its strongest languages and discard its detritus while it still has time.

Ironic, because it’s also a jab on Morton Feldman and Olivier Messiaen.
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EUROPEAN VACATION, but instead of Clark, I give you Ahab

Today the fine cheese comes from that mysterious locale, “abroad.” Proudly, the NY Times has graced us with the work of Michael Kimmelman, who is, like his opinion of the American musical landscape, culturally challenged.

This column,

When Fame Can’t Cross the Atlantic

tells the sad tale of Russian pianist Grigory Sokolov.

On Tuesday evening the Russian pianist Grigory Sokolov played, as he does dozens of times a year throughout Europe, to an ecstatic, sold-out house. It filled the Kammermusiksaal here.

After a little research, I found that the Kammermusikhaal is located in Berlin. I’m glad neither the Times nor Herr Kimmelman bothered to tell us. Still, I can’t help but wonder if this is a common practice or whether this is a calculated omission. At least now we know where this junk is coming from. Right?

Okay (OK), back to the Sokolov!

An unsmiling bear of a man onstage with a babyish face and a white, monkish fringe of hair, Mr. Sokolov emerged looking shy and downcast, as if he hoped no one would notice him. He scuttled to the instrument, head bowed, then plunged in, pawing the keys.

Odd. He’s painted to sound reticent or misanthropic. But, this is neither here nor there (yet). This is just the lead in for the next set of statements, and, presumably, Herr’s thesis.

Also, Russians and bears? Why? Must every Russian be compared to a bear?

He’s a star on this side of the Atlantic. In America his name will draw blank stares. In this day and age, how can that be?

Hmm. A reticent, misanthropic classical pianist from Russia. How can that be? Not to worry Detritusites, Herr Kimmelman to the rescue (insert Air Bud joke here)!

Even a century ago, news about musical heavyweights traveled constantly between the continents, along with the musicians themselves. When the cold war heated up during the postwar era, Soviet stars were, for a while, prohibited from traveling, but the aura of many of these players blossomed as a consequence of their seclusion and they benefited, sometimes disproportionately to their actual talent, when they finally made it to the West. This wasn’t the case with Mr. Sokolov.

It’s just stupid to respond to this kind of evidence—the over-generalization of socio-economic phenomena.

Now here come the real problems.

Classical music is supposedly universal.

The saying goes, as quipped by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “music is the universal language of mankind.” You just can’t paraphrase a thing like this, then twist it around to support (or negate) your own ends. ...what’s that?...he just did?...he’s going to continue with this?...even though he’s probably read things like this before?...

Unfortunately, Herr Kimmelman continues to follow this erroneous thread.

Language may still be a cultural barrier for writers and actors. Even visual artists, depending on the subjects they choose, won’t necessarily translate abroad.

Um. He’s right...I guess...if you want take a well-known saying out of context and support it with generalizations. I think he’s taking the language part too literally, you know, syntax and grammar...they don’t often translate well.

Oh well. Read and listen to this. Not sure if this would translate well into Arabic.

That Mr. Sokolov, whose talent is beyond dispute, disproves this notion should remind us not only of our persistent parochialism but also of our delusions about technology.

In other words, Sokolov is not a star in America because of our narrow, little pointy-heads and because of our delusions about... technology?

Surely you jest.

The Web,

Fuck.

The Web, on which he can be found on YouTube, giving astonishing performances, clearly doesn’t substitute for hearing him live.

So your assertion is this: we are deluded in as much as we regard YouTube as good as a live performance.

Weird thing to say, let alone print in the leading daily in the country.

Neither do discs, which, as a perfectionist, he stopped issuing in 1995 (this partly explains his American situation), although years ago Mr. Sokolov’s recordings sent me hunting for a chance to hear him in person.

This is one of the funniest constructions I’ve come across in a long while.

Is Herr Kimmelman actually trying support his thesis (how can Sokolov be underappreciated in America?) by painting him as reticent, misanthropic and, now, eccentric (stopping issuing discs), which even Kimmelman acknowledges might be a reason why he’s not particularly famous in these very United States? One step backward, one step ^%@$&^. Stupid Americans.

He played them again the other night. It was, like all concerts likely to stay in the mind forever, nothing that could ever be captured digitally.

Technically, all concerts can be captured digitally. The quality is what should be in dispute.

Clearly he has his pride. The other day he withdrew from two sold-out recitals that were to take place in May in Glasgow and London because of new visa requirements imposed by Britain on Russian visitors, which after many years of playing there he found too onerous and insulting.

He’s now proud to a fault. Running tally: reticent, misanthropic, eccentric and, now, proud. Continuing to make the good argument, eh, Herr?

So, temperament (Mr. Sokolov has plenty), poor luck, myopic concert agents and — who is to say? — perhaps contentment with life as it is for him in Europe seem to have conspired to prevent stardom in America; not any lack of musical genius, that’s for sure.

Holy Jay Walking! He also has a temper! This guy sounds like a terrible person to work with, or book, or promote, or record, or etc.

He is a fantastic pianist, in all seriousness.

But, has it ever occurred to Herr Kimmelman that Sokolov doesn’t want to become a “star?” In America? Because of Americans? Not the other way around?

It’s America’s loss.

Is it? Or is it Sokolov's?

But still, it doesn’t change the picture that’s been painted, Herr. And it’s not pretty.

Humorous he is certainly not.

I hope Herr Kimmelman starts to support his thesis soon. No?

If his case proves anything, it’s that Europe and America remain separated by more than an ocean.

Technologies? YouTubes?

After he had been called back for encore after encore — a half-dozen by the end — the crowd still stood and roared. Mr. Sokolov finally retreated, as he had arrived, expressionless, with a brusque nod, bent slightly at the waist, one hand fastened behind his back like a captain on the deck of his ship, facing into a nasty head wind.

Reticent, misanthropic, proud to a fault, temperamental, humorless, ship captain: Ahab.

Kimmelman: Ahab ≠ American Idol => Holy German Pope at Yankee Stadium! Music is not a universal language after all! Stupid Americans with their technologies and YouTubes.

And this ends our little European Vacation. Well, actually, this does.

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I'm Really Tired of This Dreck

Here’s another Bernard Holland train wreck, which doesn’t justify my time, nor anyone else’s time. So, I’ll just give you a link and a parting faux pas.

The link.

The faux pas:

And “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” almost a part of popular culture by now, was swift, clean and gimmick-free.

My italics. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. And another Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Enjoy, you Detritus masochists.

Does the NY Times know that 300-year old Bernard Holland still writes for them?

In the 18th century the piano danced. In the 19th it sang.

What a beginning. Where could we be going next? I’m already bored.

The 20th century liked to use the piano as an assault weapon.

Of course. I didn’t expect anything otherwise.

This lovely review is about one concert of three produced by composer-pianist Joseph Rubenstein.

The choices may represent the tastes of the composer-pianist Joseph Rubenstein, curator of the event, but it may also tell us about current events in musical politics.

We know. Assault weapons, etc., etc.

It was interesting how so many of these items ended on simple Mozartian triads.

As his ears perked up in a way they haven’t since 1791.

I may have been imagining a collective sigh of relief,

It's called Alzheimers.

... but something seemed to be whispering in my ear that the Dark Ages of postwar atonality were over and tentative reconnections to the past were under way.

I had a conversation with co-conspirator Sator Arepo a few days ago where we discussed our blogger-tone. And well, sorry SA.

What the FUCK??! Seriously, does the NY Fucking Times know that 500-year old Bernard “Alzheimer” Holland, the fervent musical bigot, still writes for them? Why would THE leading daily give a 600-year old music hater free reign of a music column? Are they stupid? Do they edit? Do they suggest changes? Do they have fucking brains? Are their ethic sacks located in the politics department, instead? Apparently, no. They don't have ethic sacks, anywhere.

I hold the NY Times entirely responsible for this hateful dreck. Screw the crossword puzzles.

Give me Jerry Cantrell any day of the week.

By the way, what the fuck about “musical politics?” Huh? You don't have anything else to say about that? Nevermind, then.

911. Is this an emergency?

I’m not sure.

What is the nature of your problem?

There’s this couple at Weill Recital Hall. They’re fighting, again. The man seems to be instigating the fight.

I’ll send the police, sir. Can you stay on the line?

Yeah, sure.

Can you describe what the man is doing?

It’s difficult to describe. I’ve seen them do this before. The woman has a temper, but she usually keeps it in check. But this guy, he just seems to have "brought out the worst in her." And what’s more, she takes it out on everyone there.

How do you mean, sir?

Well. She’s a pianist.

Excuse me, sir. Did you say pianist?

Yes. Hold on! (ducks from hard-flung tritone, followed by a minor second)

Can you describe what the pianist is doing?

She’s playing.

Playing what, sir?

Elliott Carter’s Piano Sonata from 1946.

Can you describe the pianist, sir?

Uh, If this pianist has a principal trait, it is a big, hearty and sometimes brutal relationship with her instrument.

Can you describe her relationship with the instrument, sir?

It’s like she seemed to play the piece with fluency and enjoyment. I mean, she just snapped.

Can you please describe the man?

He’s not actually here.

Can you repeat that for me, sir?

He’s not actually here. His name is Elliott Carter, though. He's a composer. I’ve seen him before. He’s "pugnacious" and "invites the performer's aggression."

Can you describe what he looks like?

He has white hair. He’s a little slow. Oh! And he’s 99.

99 what, sir?

Years old.

(911 operator hangs up. End of recording/transcription)

Shame on Steve Smith!

I caught NY Times columnist Steve Smith with his hand in the prefabricated, stock sentence jar. He simply pulled one out, and inserted the piece and composer. It originally read:

Countless details surfaced with the impact of fresh revelations during a concluding performance of “__________” by __________, which ebbed and flowed with suitable capriciousness but never lost coherence.

Shame on you! Go to your room! And no TV for a week!
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Mad Lib: for Beginners

For those who couldn't get the expert Mad Lib, or for those who read this page top to bottom, here's one for your crushed egos, or your soon to be crushed egos.

Arrange the extracted adjectives into their appropriate positions. Then guess the piece and composer.

taut
animated
languid
frenetic

The Modigliani [ensemble] played [this piece] with _________ zest, and an underlying tension built up momentum to _________ climaxes, highlighting the _________ pizzicatos in the second movement and the _________ exchange of the main theme in the third.

For answer, click here.

Good luck!
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