Good Grief

Like we’ve said all along, music is terribly difficult to write about. If we copied and pasted Elvis Costello’s fun quip—“Writing about music is like dancing about architecture”—every time a review had communicative difficulties, we’d find ourselves in that perpetually skeptical no-man’s land, shielding ourselves from the possibility that we can effectively describe the music we love. This is why we tend to nitpick over grammar and descriptors; often, we’ve nothing to overtly criticize. Moreover, I’d like to think that we are optimists, happily acknowledging the best of music criticism. It may not seem like it, granted. But our hearty thanks is omission—that’s the reward for writing well.

It saddens us that we’re constantly confronted with reviews that miss the mark (nay, miss the side of the barn), which is why poking some fun in the authors’ direction can add to the discussion about how we can effectively talk about, let alone criticize, music. Thus, every so often, “dancing about architecture” is the perfect quote to describe the awful mess in front of us.

Standing out as a haunting reminder of the historical importance of the early 20th century, the performance of Hungarian composer Bela Bartok's String Quartet No. 2 is unquestionably the highlight of the concert.

Though it might be sign of canonic progress--that Bartok is the highlight of the concert whilst performed alongside Haydn and Schumann--a retranslation is in order: "Bartok’s String Quartet was the highlight, because it stood out as a reminder that the early 20th century was important."

I’m no historian, per se, but isn’t it the case that all historical periods were important? Like I said, I’m no historian and I could be wrong.

A further distillation of the sentiment might read like this: "The Bartok String Quartet reminded me of the early 20th century; that’s why I liked it." Coupled with the knowledge that it was written in 1917, this statement says nothing. Nothing at all.

Bartok's String Quartet No. 2 was written in 1917, not long before he emigrated to America, and is clearly the composer's musical reaction to the First World War.

This is why I would like to require our critics to cite their sources (I know it’s not going to happen, space-wise, but still.). I simply don’t know where this tidbit comes from. It might be perfectly true--that the String Quartet is a reaction to the war--but after scanning several journal articles, the only connection that I could find is one of chronological coincidence. So, “clearly” is clearly dubious.

By the way, I once had a class on presidential campaigns with an encyclopedic professor who hated, absolutely hated certain adverbs. He would not hesitate to fail us for using “clearly,” “obviously,” or “surely.” I see why.

The work explores the depth of Bartok's mourning over the death and destruction of the war.

Surely (con sarcasmo), but how so?

Uncomfortable and lengthy dissonances...

Are you fucking kidding me?

Uncomfortable and lengthy dissonances thread through the melodies even as the scalar passages drive the work ever-forward like an unrelenting march toward the inevitable end.

Another retranslation: "Marching toward the end, with dissonant, scalar passages, exemplifies Bartok’s deep exploration of mourning over death and destruction."

...I’ll let that one soak in.

...

Mmmm, wanting.

The last movement is unmistakable in its grief; the unapologetic dissonances and scant melodies are certain to resonate with modern audiences reflecting on the current state of war around the world.

Summa: dissonance + scant melody = unmistakable grief.













Fig. 1 Aaarrghh!

Often compared to Beethoven's famous string quartets and considered equally as important to the canon, Bartok's six quartets invoke many folk melodies.

New books about the Beethoven Quartets this year? 10,028. New books about the Bartok Quartets? 3. (My source is clearly accurate.)

His works often infuse the Hungarian folk songs he studied in great depth as an ethnomusicologist...

If by “studied in great depth” you mean “collected and appropriated,” then...sure.

...with the movement toward atonality common to the time.

And if by “atonality” you mean “other triadic hierarchies,” then...fine.

Although, like any good composer, Bartok repeats his melodies throughout the works...

Does this need a retranslation? (pauses for fifteen seconds) If retranslations lead to absurdity, then absolutely! “The hallmark of a good composer is whether or not he/she repeats melodies.” That was fun, eh?

...he mimics the tradition of folk music passed from one musician to the next, by presenting the themes or melodies in slightly altered ways each time they return.

Jesus. This is indubitably becoming a retranslation party. Check this out: “Although Bartok repeats his melodies, Bartok repeats his melodies but not literally.”

This means that everyone ever, in the history of melody and melodious historicism, which includes those dissonant fuckers, mimics the traditions of folk music. Brilliant.

And, in case you were wondering, “those slightly altered ways” is just a fancy musicological phrase meaning “ornamented.” Ugh.

But go on, dear author, what does melodic variation do?

This gives Bartok's music a sense of evolution; each presentation of the thematic material represents an individual life within the enormous scope of time.


















Fig. 2 Gratuitous Calvin and Hobbes
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General Relativity

Einstein thought that time is a pliable fabric. But, I don’t think he meant it quite like this:

The Bayside Trio push the boundaries of modern classical music, performing works by living or recent composers.

You know, recent composers...

For their weekend of concerts the Bayside Trio will perform two works with mezzo-soprano Solange Merdinian: Maurice Ravel’s Chansons Madécasses...

...like Ravel, who has been dead, oh, since 1937. That’s right. Seventy-one years ago, Maurice Ravel died (he's certainly not living, so he must be recent, right?). Yet, Chansons Madécasses was written only a paltry eighty-two years ago, in 1926! At the time, Elliott Carter was only 17. The economy was alive and well. Herbert Hoover had a 53% approval rating (I made that up for my own satisfaction). The St. Louis Cardinals had just won their first World Series. The first transaltlantic telephone call just took place (“Uh...is Ivan Nuglibutt there?). 1926 was also the inaugural year for the National Bar Association. My how time flies when it has holes in it! Er...when it can be folded.

But I don’t blame our dear author too much. After all, there seems to be something of an all-encompassing sensory confusion thing taking place:

For some classical concert-goers, the group’s edgy program selections might be difficult to digest.

Chemical breakdown is a nice metaphor, if you’re into the campy cliché thing. (Really, is Ravel difficult to digest?) Instead, this is what I mean:

But the Bayside Trio perform for those who wish to see something different, something new, something alive. [drama mine]

So, the targeted audience is made up of...

Angela Stratiy, Andrew Foster, Ann Marie (Jade) Bryan, Bernard Bragg, Betty Miller, Christy Smith, Chuck Baird, Clayton Valli, Deanne Bray, Dummy Hoy, Heather Whitestone McCallum, I. King Jordan, Linda Bove, Marlee Matlin, Phyllis Frelich, Pinky the Deaf Juggler & Unicyclist, Terrylene Sachetti, Trix Bruce, etc.?

I don’t know about y’all, but I generally go to concerts to hear “something different, something new, something alive”--that's what usually happens when I go to a concert of music.

Then again, maybe I’m in my own strange dimension, because everyone seems to be seeing things out of whack.

“So many of my favorite modern composers came to classical music from a different place, like jazz or folk music,” says pianist Anastasia Antonacos. “The first classical composer they all seem to discover is Stravinsky and then they travel backward in time from there.”

(enter Rod Serling here)
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1/3 Review, 2/3 Farting on the Page with Words*

Here’s a classy title, too.

ELITISM IS DEAD

And an even classier epanalepsis.

Long live classical-music elitism

If Wikipedia is right, this cliché (appropriated from “the King is dead; long live the King!”) refers to the replacement or succession of one type of elitism with classical music elitism. Good premise for a review, don’t you think?

Recently the musical world has been discussing the impending death of classical music.

Oh good. Another cliché.

This chatter, often led by lovers of the genre, may in fact be hastening the demise, as various writers attempt to conjure up reasons classical music must exist.

(silent repulsion)

We, as a society, desire high art, whether we acknowledge it or not.

I have good bumper sticker idea. How about: Stop Making Generalizations About My Driving!**

I think it could be successful, like “Kerry/Edwards ‘04.”

Just look at the success of shows like Bravo’s Project Runway or Top Chef, which focus on extraordinarily talented artists competing to be the best before a panel of sophisticated judges.

This is not a successful pop culture reference. But go on, make your point.

These reality programs deliver to millions of Americans an accessible version of high art — and it’s working.

Pandering to an audience. Free market. Good point. I’ll think about it next time I pen a symphony.

Recently, the Norman Lear Center conducted a survey on the correlation between political party and entertainment.

Recently, I referenced a study that had little or no importance, too.

It was found that “all political types claimed they enjoy classical music”...

People enjoying music? How interesting. Political types, sure. What about income levels? No? No. Go on.

...and “classical music nudged ahead of rock as the most popular genre overall.”

The problem? Is classical music more popular than popular music? Good study. And good reference to show how elitism has been replaced by classical music elitism.

And now for something completely facetious.

If more Americans listen to classical music than watch football (according to the Lear Center survey), why does Eli Manning make millions of dollars while amazing pianist Ingrid Fliter drew a crowd of fewer than 500 to the Merrill Auditorium February 6?

Cogent rhetorical question (for a paraplegic Hygomenocite from the planet Groc). Wait. It’s not rhetorical? Sigh (that’s the facetious part).

A possible answer: elitism.

Weeeeeee! This is fun isn’t it? I swear, it gets even better.

Since the Baby Boomers condemned classical music as the despised genre of their parents, leaving those who remain fans labeled proprietors of an inaccessible art form incongruent with popular art.

Weeeeeeeeeeeee! Sentence fragment!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Bumper stickers!

“If it is ‘elitist’ to create works over average people’s heads then why is it alright [sic] to have schools to educate them?” Portsmouth composer Roger Rudenstein asked recently in an essay in the e-zine NewMusicBox.

The disappointing thing here is that I think this was the grundgestalt, the originating idea/impetus, for the tone of the review. It’s neither here nor there, so I’ll leave it alone. But, don’t fret. We’ll return to this later.

There is nothing more elitist than suggesting a genre is over average people’s heads.

An important distinction to be made, Emily Parkhurst of the Phoenix, how big should we make your bumper sticker?

If a composer is composing art for the sake of art and a performer is interpreting that art for an audience there solely to bear witness to that art, elitism is utterly out of place.

I tried to make a reductive outline of this article, and I failed miserably, which is why I’m going sentence fragment by sentence. I apologize.

I mean, elitism is out of place? Where the F did that come from? Should I use a roman numeral or an arabic letter? Should I just make a new outline on a different page with a different pen in a different language?

Once the notes dissolve into the air, it is up to the audience to decide if the music was over their heads. And if many of them agree that it was, possibly the composer missed his mark (or will not be appreciated in his lifetime).

It’s certainly not popular, then, is it? Like popular music or Top Chef.

The rise and fall of Serialism is an example of elitist musicians’ willingness to alienate the very people they need to survive: their audience.

Didn’t you just say that it’s okay to write art music for art’s sake? That it is not elitist?

And by the way, what do you think serialism (not capitalized) is? Is it merely a technique? Or is it more akin to, say, facism? Facism is not populist, like Top Chef.

The casualties of this alienation, like waiters at a bad restaurant, are the musicians on the stage.

As a composer, and in lieu of tactful Top Chef references... I disagree.

New Hampshire pianist Paul Dykstra's new self-released album, An Ivory Winter, includes a number of what Dykstra calls “works that mean a lot to me.” These include Beethoven’s “Appassionata” Sonata, two Chopin works, and an exquisite rendition of a Scarlatti sonata. Dykstra suggests this is “music to drink hot chocolate to,” a fitting description, considering that every work on the album is in a chilling minor key. But Dykstra keeps the metaphor going, showing a little bite: “the tone of this album is more like dark chocolate than milk chocolate.”

Wow, I almost forgot that this was a review.

While most of Dykstra’s dark-chocolate interpretations were smooth, they were disturbed by the bitter taste of the last two tracks: two movements from Roger Rudenstein’s Piano Sonata No. 7, an abrupt and inaccessible composition.

As promised, here we are again, at Roger Rudenstein, the elitist whose words apparently struck a shriveled nerve with our dear incomprehensible reviewer.

Of Rudenstein's method, Dykstra says, “he composes everything in a stream of consciousness. He’s a very intellectual composer who uses a very mechanical process.”

Elitists and intellectuals and processes! Oh My!

Dykstra’s interpretation of this mechanical work is worthy of note and Rudenstein is wise to keep working with him. His fluidity through the difficult atonal passages revealed unmistakable technical prowess.

Yes. Yes. The only way Rudenstein’s elitist music might sound good is if he continues to write for Dykstra. Explitive! Etc.

As I was listening to this piece with a friend...

Oh good God!

As I was listening to this piece with a friend who has little classical-music background, he turned to me and said, ...

“Reviewing is not your calling.” No? Okay.

...he turned to me and said, “I really like classical music, except when I hear something like this.”

Ooh, an informed opinion, something you’re supposed to have, Emily Parkhurst of the Phoenix.

Elitist indeed.

Elitist indeed.

*Literally, 1/3 of this was a review, the other 2/3 a brownish poop smear on the page.

** I have another idea for a bumper sticker: My Other Car is an Elitist POS