Reviewing New Music Is Hard, Part 2

Part the Second! Wherein the Virtues of New Music Are Extolled

(Part One Here.)

The first part of the Kozinn article about the Either/Or ensemble is about the Lachenmann piece. Certainly, he was the best-known composer on the program, and unsurprisingly got the most column inches in the review.

This speaks also to the intended audience of Kozinn piece. Using a bunch of technical jargon when describing new music is not conducive to attracting the, let us say without disdain, lay public to concerts of new music. Using the flagship composer (who may be familiar to the reader, as he toured the States last year) for the bulk of the article is logical. An interested reader might then be curous about the other works on the program, or one like it.

It's good that Kozinn seems to have listened as intently to the other works, too, although he didn't like them all (which is of course fine). I'm still wondering about syntax and form vs. "sound worlds," and what is and is not "beside the point."

What say, then?

The charm of Mr. Carrick’s “Scène Miniature” (2009) was in the way the instruments — piano, violin, saxophone and musical saw — paired off in various combinations.

Here is a video, like the last one, of the same ensemble performing the piece.

The paired instruments began by playing abstract themes,

What would make a theme abstract? More importantly what would make one not abstract? Figurative? Tonal?

but in the final section, based on a sharply rhythmic Algerian dance melody, abstraction was overtaken by exoticism and sheer infectiousness.

Hm. If that was based on an Algerian melody, it was abstractly based. I'm not sure I like "exoticism" either, but it does seem pretty apt, especially with the naked "Arabic"-sounding naked scales in the piano part.

Still, pretty freaking good for two sentences on synopsis and review. Was the music about timbres and "sound world?" Yes, sure. However, it is even acknowledged in the review that syntax (abstract -> folk-based) and form are important aspects of the work as well. I would even say that the content and the form were interconnected.

Two movements from Andrew Byrne’s “Ringing World” (2009) made a direct, visceral appeal as well.

(Sorry, no video for this one. Oh, well.) One way to enjoy new music, especially the experimental kind that seems to be at work here, is viscerally.

Scored for metal percussion instruments, these short pieces used timbre as bait — the first was clangorous, the second mellower — but kept the listener engaged by piling up layers of counterpoint.

Again, it's interesting that the form and syntax seem to keep the reveiwer interested after acclamating to the sound world of the piece.

John Luther Adams’s “Red Arc/Blue Veil” (2002)...

(Video here.)

worked the opposite way: scored for piano, mallet instruments and recorded sound, it began with a gently inviting theme and devolved into a series of content-free textures...

Content-free? Wow. How can that be?

— first a brash glare, then a 1970s-ish electronic burble.

Sounds like content to me! What gives? It's loopy and minimalistic [sic], and atmospheric. Contemplative, meditative perhaps? But content-free?

Though not unpleasant, it went nowhere in 10 long minutes.

Well, it might not have gone nowhere, but it didn't go far. But that's part of the thing with ambient-type sound-world music [hyphen fans rejoice]. It's more subtle, I guess. But there is content, and form too. One gets the sense that Kozinn sort of liked it, but was a bit bored perhaps.

I'm really not sure what content-free music could be. Even a silent piece admits ambient noise. Perhaps my problem is contextual.

The closest thing I can think of offhand is the sound equivalent of something like this.

Hans Thomalla’s “Lied” (2008), for piano, vibraphone and saxophone, was an uninspiring succession of hazily sustained passages and fortissimo honks.

(No video, sorry.) Yikes. That is one, succinct, brutal reveiw. Given Kozinn's apparent openness to negotiate with the piece on its own terms, one wonders if the preceeding ambient, quiet piece was a poor palatte upon which to recieve "fortissimo honks." Or maybe he plain didn't care for it.

“The Negotiation of Context” (2009), by the Icelandic composer David Brynjar Franzson, proved similarly eventless,

Hmm...

but its sound world — lots of rummaging about inside the piano, with occasional wheezing from the harmonium — was engagingly tactile.

...mmm-hmm. Again it seems that an inviting or interesting "sound world" is more engaging as a piece if it has syntactic/formal and/or timbral elements as well. This is not earth-shaking, but it's a little glimpse, maybe, of what kind of approach one reviewer takes when encountering very new--even, or especially, totally unknown--music. Anyone with a little time and willingness to engage can have a similar experience with new-new music.

Which, finally, is why New Music writ large is (at its greatest potential) not just for graduate students and the "initiated." At its best (as with all art) one can encounter the gamut of contemporary thought about art, philosophy, history, and ideas (not to mention music) that contemporary composers are thinking about.

Reading a contemporary journal of music theory one is likely to encounter daunting and obfuscatory writing that is challenging even to adepts. Going to concerts doesn't have to be.

And no whining about "accessability" of new music. Can you afford the eight bucks and get there on time? That's fucking accessable.

Enough rant. Good article; any thoughts on content-free or eventless music?

Here is a picture that is fun to look at.

John Cage: Fontana Mix (score excerpt)

[Edit: 5/27: I fixed the link about the contextless music. It was supposed to be a political jab, not any kind of confusing shot at John Luther Adams. Also, AnthonyS pointed out that I made at least 4 spelling errors. For someone who sometimes picks nits, I should be more careful. (I was kind of on a roll.) But I left them in.]

Reviewing New Music Is Hard, Part 1

In two parts!

Part the First:

Allan Kozinn has a piece up in the Times reviewing a new music concert by the ensemble Either/Or.

Kozinn, largely, does an admirable job, as music this new (in this case, all post-1986, and mostly composed 2002-2009) sometimes has unique or challenging ideas, sounds, forms...you get the idea. The problem for the critic becomes, then, a mixture of description (which is more or less unnecessary for standard repertoire reviews, although often practiced), taking the pieces on their own merits, or within whatever parameters they seem to demand, and forming some sort of opinion about what was played.

This differs from a review of better-known pieces, both because the idioms might be new or experimental, and also because the reviewer may well not have any other performances of the music to compare to the concert at hand.

So what's up, Mr. Kozinn?

Ensemble That Plays by Its Own Rules

Oof. That is an inauspicious start, title-composing editor person. So trite, and yet so inapt. The Ensembles Union will likely have their heads!

Either/Or, the new-music ensemble...

Look. I understand this hyphen usage, but it's stupid. This construction just took the 4:30 autogyro to the Prussian consulate in Siam.

Figure 1: Now you're on the trolley!

"New music ensemble" is a perfectly cromulent and comprehensible construction. Even if there was a newly-formed group disussed in the article, surely it would not be referred to as a new "music ensemble." "Music ensemble" is sort of like "land cow."

Bah. Enough with the Simpsons references.

Either/Or, the new-music ensemble formed in 2004 by the composer and pianist Richard Carrick and the percussionist David Shively, is devoted to a species of avant-garde composition in which concepts like tonality, serialism and Minimalism are beside the point.

Why does "Minimalism" get capitalized? Screw you, serialism!

More importantly, calling those concepts "beside the point" seems...not quite right. The sense is that, perhaps, they are just in a larger set of expanded points, so their importance or interest is only diminished in that there are other concerns at least as well-explored.

Or am I quibbling? Don't get me wrong; I like quibbling, but not when I'm trying to really make a point.

The point being that, although I am not sure I like the way it is put, Kozinn seems to have a good idea of how to approach such music. His open-mindedness is surely appreciated, around these parts at least.

This is a world where pure sound and texture are of greater interest than form and syntax.

Again, more properly perhaps they are of equal interest as form and syntax. However, as a composer friend always argues given such propositions, Mozart is totally also about "pure sound and texture" as much as he is about form and syntax. So, uh, there you have it.

That’s not to say that form and syntax are outlawed,

That would be tough. Anything of any duration, especially if it can be considered to be in more than one part or section, has form. Also, were they outlawed, who would enforce this law and punish the transgressors thereof? The syntax police?

but works in the Either/Or repertory are just as likely to be governed by game theory as by standard notions of musical structure.

Fair enough, and enough quibbling.

The ensemble presented its annual spring festival on Saturday evening at the Tenri Cultural Institute in Manhattan, and if it was a modest offering — just a concert really — it did provide a good overview of what these musicians find compelling.

The "festival" was a modest, compelling concert. The musicians programmed music that they like to write, play, and hear.

In addition to Mr. Carrick and Mr. Shively (who also played musical saw and harmonium), the group included Jennifer Choi, the violinist, and Michael Ibrahim, the saxophonist.

The lack of hyphens makes it clear that Mr. Shively was not in fact playing the musical saw-and-harmonium.

Now, on to the meat course:

The most immediately striking work was Helmut Lachenmann’s “Toccatina” (1986).

Here is a video (at the Detritus Hall) where you can see/hear the same violinist, Jennifer Choi, perform this piece (she's awesome, by the way). Turn it up, y'all, the thing is very, very quiet. Please watch/listen to the piece (it's only about four minutes), then read the review below.

The title suggests the old Baroque form, a free fantasy meant to show a player’s virtuosity, but is also a play on the word toccata, which comes from the verb “to touch.”

Lachenmann experimented extensively with novel ways of producing sound from traditional instruments. It was sort of his "thing" for a while. [He's cool-ed.] Although this piece is from 1986, this sort of idea has been around for a while. Henry Cowell wrote a book called New Musical Resources in 1930. It's very cool, and kind of technical, so it's also useful.

Figure 2: Henry Cowell plays the piano

Scored for solo violin, the piece asks the performer to touch the instrument in atypical ways. Notes are first articulated, softly, by tapping the string with the screw of the bow. The bow’s wood is used too, and when the horsehair comes into play, it glides along the string tonelessly, producing a breathy, whispered sound.

This is a pretty good description of what goes on, no? There is no overt judgment, but Kozinn seems to like or at least admire the piece (unlike some later in the review).

But this was not just an exercise in odd techniques and sound effects.

I thought this was "new-music"! Can't you just do a bunch of crazy crap? No?!

Mr. Lachenmann gives the violin an attractive, amusing line, with short, alluring melodies, and Ms. Choi proved exceptionally nimble.

Hm. I would agree that the violin "line" (such as it is) is amusing, and perhaps attractive. Are there really "melodies" though? At what point does a sucession of discrete pitches constitute a melody?

Also, I think that, far from outlawed, or beside-the-point, the form of the piece is really very clear.

So: melody and form, I think, are both being interrogated in some way by the Lachenmann piece (as well as instruments being a repository of possible sounds, not necessarily the ones we expect). Kozinn identifies something he calls "melodies," do we agree? What about the form of the piece, or other elements?

Clearly, this was a short review and space was limited. And I think it's sensitive to the demands of the music, and in that sense well-approached. The other, newer pieces, were not always treated so kindly, but of course that could be justified.

Part the Second, and the rest of the article, tomorrow.

Parting Shots: Not so "so long," after all

Dear Detritusites, I need to ask you a big favor, well, two favors: One, please be patient, this is a long ‘un. But most importantly, two, would you please hold your anger-filled comments and death-threats until the end? This might sting a bit, but, if you can accept for a moment that I may not be entirely crazy, then this will be easier on all of us. Besides, if, by the end, you still feel the need to tear me a new one and shove a fistful of wadded-up Lachenmann scores in the open wound, by all means, go ahead. It’s your right, and I’ll take it with a grin on my face. Now, you could be asking yourselves, what could be so bad that Empiricus felt he needed to issue a disclaimer? Well, people, I’m going to throw-down with Alan Rich.

As you may or may not know, Alan’s post as classical music critic at the L.A.Weekly has been terminated. And this is his last entry at that post (though he’ll remain there, albeit in a limited role).

Parting Shots

I must say, at the onset, that we have not gone after his work, until now, because it is utterly stupendous. Aside from his keen knowledge and ear, his prose is gorgeous. Here, he puts his brilliant knack for imagery and insinuation into motion right away.

Helmut Lachenmann cuts a solitary figure in today’s musical world. At a time when much of the talk centers on accessibility, on a generation of composer-heroes — Adams, Adès, Reich, Saariaho, Salonen, just for starters — who have found ways to reach out to audiences with serious and imaginative creativity, that old notion of the composer on his private Olympus, proudly and defiantly cloaked in his mantle of inscrutability, rests almost solely with this tall, gaunt yet smiling German gent whose music ground its way through Zipper Concert Hall last Monday.

That’s ridiculously clever, maybe even poetic. However, what lies beneath this elegant prose—which, by the way, sets up the rest of the review perfectly—is almost pure anti-modernist venom, couched in populist (?) idealism. To get a better sense of what I mean, let’s take a closer look.

At a time when much of the talk centers on accessibility, on a generation of composer-heroes — Adams, Adès, Reich, Saariaho, Salonen, just for starters — who have found ways to reach out to audiences with serious and imaginative creativity...

He’s just setting up and defining the contrary, yet popular, point of view by naming Lachenmann’s aesthetic adversaries and their accomplishments. In fact, he’s hailing their accomplishments, while making clear that their work represents the present: “at a time when,” “composer-heroes.” This places Lachenmann, where?

...that old notion of the composer on his private Olympus, proudly and defiantly cloaked in his mantle of inscrutability, rests almost solely with this tall, gaunt yet smiling German gent...

Lachenmann is placed on Lonely Mountain, as it were. Or, as we’ve seen so many times before, in his own selfish, ivory tower. But he’s placed there as a relic (“old notion,” “gaunt”), happy to swim upstream. He’s seen as the last of a dying breed (“old notion...rests almost solely”).

Put all of it together we come up with something like this, which sounds a lot like someone else we’ve dealt with before: Lachenmann is an old-school, aloof, who-gives-a-shit-about-comprehensibility kind of composer-God, who doesn’t care about pleasing his audience, unlike “Adams, Adès, Reich, Saariaho, Salonen, just for starters,” who, by the way, are heroes. Salonen, really?

And also, apparently, good riddance, Lachenmann! (I read ahead)

Okay so far?

Well, no. I’m not okay. BEGIN STUPID RANT STOP Accessibility in music means popularity. If that was, indeed, the penultimate goal, then every composer would be imitating this guy. And the only things you get by imitating that guy, besides money and paparazzi, is awards. I mean, where are these composers now? Where is their music being performed? Are these popular Pultizer Prize winners in the canon?: Douglas Stuart Moore, Gail Kubic, John la Montaine, Robert Ward, Leslie Bassett, Richard Wernick, Stephen Albert (Seriously, Google them. YouTube them. Did you find anything? Any music?) What did popularity ever do for them? END STUPID RANT HERE STOP

Okay so far?

Yes, I suppose I’m a little better. Thanks. I needed to get that off my chest. Anyway... you know what? No. Come to think of it, no, I’m not better, because this tripe continues.

“He is the world’s greatest composer,” proclaim a few holdouts in the new-music community who dote on inscrutability.

Unpopular Lachenmann fan = doter on inscrutability. Great. Thanks, Alan. Thanks for nothing. Way to avert the unfamiliar! Way to close your mind! Way to conform. Baaaaah!

At them in response, I fling my favorite James Thurber line: “ ‘He’s God!’ screamed a Plymouth Rock hen.”

For those of you not familiar with “The Owl Who Was God,” here you go. Note the “moral” of the story, near the bottom. (I love unintentionally ironic references)

Now, in defense of poor Helmut, I’ll lob over a favorite Morton Feldman quote: “The only fanatics I have ever met were conservative musicians.” Take that, conformists!

Yet the concert drew a large crowd, and there were many who stood and cheered at the end.

That’s an ordinary, reasonable response; people go to concerts they might enjoy. This, however, isn’t a reasonable response:

I would love to know what they heard.

And why is that? Take it away, Alan!

Prior to this concert, I knew Lachenmann mostly from the ECM recording of his setting — “opera” in the broadest sense — of the Hans Christian Andersen story “The Little Match Girl,” onto which he has hung the whole paraphernalia of his “fractured aesthetic” (Alex Ross’ term), culminating in a horrendous musical mishmash in which the ghosts of every composer in Lachenmann’s own scrapbook, Mahler, Berg, Stockhausen, Boulez, pass by simultaneously as if in some horrendous wet dream.

A game: Find the Epistrophe!

(Jeopardy theme music)

Find it? The answer is: "horrendous." By repeating horrendous twice with regards to one subject, he’s strongly emphasizing how Lachenmann’s opera is (list of possible synonyms) dreadful, awful, terrible, shocking, appalling, horrifying, horrific, horrid, hideous, grisly, ghastly, gruesome, gory, harrowing, heinous, vile, unspeakable, (takes breath), nightmarish, macabre, spine-chilling, blood-curdling, loathsome, monstrous, abhorrent, hateful, hellish, execrable, abominable, atrocious, sickening, foul, nasty, disagreeable—you get the idea.

But, why wasn’t that a reasonable response? Well, “just for starters,” if a newspaper is going to assign a critic to review a concert, it might be nice if they sent someone who has a general interest in the music to be played. It might also be nice to have a critic open to new possibilities, instead of one who can’t fathom alternate definitions of “opera,” in quotation marks (in quotation marks: in "quotation marks"). Also, also it might be nice if the reviewer was familiar with the music, you know, say the reviewer knew more than one piece by the composer. Just an idea. But who am I to question these things?

Does that lovely, sad Andersen story deserve that?

I didn’t know stories deserve things.

Do we?

To be fair, I don’t know that we deserve “horrendous wet dreams,” either.

Did we on Monday?

Hell no! Everyone is aware that we only deserve “horrendous wet dreams” on Tuesdays, and sometimes Fridays depending on the tide. Mondays are simply out of the question, what with the morning rush-hour commute and all!

But I digress, too. Go on, Alan. Spew more Lachenmann derision.

I had never before endured pain at a Monday Evening Concert; this time I did: pain and anger.

You can’t blame Lachenmann for the burritos you ate at lunch! Lachenmann + burritos = the runs.

The music by [...] Helmut Lachenmann reflected the nastiness dear to so many German and Austrian creative hearts these days.

Whoa! Where’d you come from? Who are you? Get out of here! Go. Get!

[...] Mr. Lachenmann's ''Movement (Before Paralysis)'' seemed almost to jeer at the easygoing spirit and borderline sentimentality of the [preceding] American pieces [...].

Shoo, I said! I mean it!

“Movement (Before Paralysis)” seems proud of its complications. Hard, angular, percussion-ridden, highly uneven in movement, this is the art of unease. Mr. Lachenmann produces wheezes, whines, shudders and whooshes that are sophistication itself.

Go on! Get out of here! And stay out! That's better.

“Played,” by the way, often consisted of blowing through only the mouthpiece of a wind instrument, banging on the case of a piano, delivering frenzied blasts through a brass instrument and otherwise violating the customary sound possibilities of various instruments.

But that’s not new. However, saying that Lachenmann rapes the instruments is new; that’s a new one on me, anyway.

Such procedures are not new,

See.

and they have a certain joke value the first time around.

Odd, but not necessarily new, procedures = a joke, the first time around. Just like sul ponticello, right?

The Lachenmann works were long enough to allow these things to happen several times, and you all know what happens to a joke when you tell it more than once.

It gets old. I got it. You were clear about tha...

Hold it. (sniffs the air for a cheesy taint)

Mr. Rich, sir. Are you saying that...(thinks... “grmphblhpt”)...I don’t know what you’re saying. See, if you’re saying that novel sounds are a joke, but lose their comic luster (?) when repeated, then... I mean, if you’re saying that odd instrumentations, which may not be new, are funny, except when they’re reiterated, which makes them bad things, then...

I’m confused. Let’s go backwards.

These things I can grasp and accept: Lachenmann is not popular. You don’t like his music. Presumably, you do like Adams, Reich, etc. (Salonen, hmmm). They are (more) popular/accessible.

But, therefore...? Lachenmann is a joke? Because he’s not accessible? Because he utilizes odd sounds? Because he’s a modernist? Because his music causes the runs?

There’s a “parting shot,” indeed. (super-slow fade to black)

-

If this had been an actual meta-critique, this is how it might have gone. But, fortunately for Alan and a number of you, this is where your patience will be rewarded, because it was not a critique, per se—even though a lot of points stand—because, Alan, like I said at the beginning, is a fine, fine critic, a critic we’ve never before tried to tear apart. Then why go through all this rigmarole, Empiricus? Why parody yourself? So I could make obvious that there is almost no difference between Alan’s opinions and those of other critics, opinions that generally warrant a long, scathing Detritus-like whipping.

What’s the difference, then? Simple. First-person.

Listen, I don’t agree with anything, anything in this review (except maybe the part about Lachenmann being one of the last modernists). Let me just make that clear. Alan and I have polar opposite opinions. I don’t think that if we ran into one another at a concert, that we’d become BFFs.

But, because he uses the pronoun I to express himself, I can’t fault him. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. And he’s calling it as he sees it. No disembodied, third-person generalizations vomited as objective truth. Just him, and his opinions.

I can’t fault Alan, but I can fault the newspaper higher-ups and whoever gave Alan that particular assignment. I think its pretty clear that Alan can’t stand Lachenmann’s music nor “ivory towerites.” Then why send him to review a Lachenmann/modernist concert? That makes no sense. “Let’s send ol’ Mel Gibson over to cover the bat mitzvah.” That doesn’t make any sense either. So why do it?
-

More Helmut

I don’t know why I’m posting this, because, all in all, this is one of the best articles I’ve read in a long while. Good work Jeremy Eichler. But, damn it, there’s one obviously dictionary-mined adjective that doesn’t make sense, and I can’t help to report it, if only to supplement the previous post.

It’s about German composer Helmut Lachenmann’s s unusual sounds.

He shaped them into a masterfully strange, crepuscular music: tense, hyper-aware, quietly disquieting, at times maddeningly opaque but also with moments of improbable beauty.

(my italics) You know what? Here’s crepuscular. It kinda works, in retrospect. Not terribly well, though—you have to stretch it around a bit. But still, if I had a dictionary of unusually neglected biological terms, crepuscular wouldn’t be my first choice.

For fun: try to use crepuscular in a sentence today. You’ll either be heralded as a master linguist or you’ll receive a blank, crepuscularly crepuscular stare--both fun.

Composer of the Day!

Today’s composer of the day is Helmut Lachenmann.

(b.1935)

For Helmut, I will opt to take the facile route, and point to a short, but well-written biography, by Dan Albertson. Describing his music is a bit trickier than most, because his music can easily be mistaken for experimental or other things associated with 1960s-present German new music. But it’s none of these things, really. In fact, he embraces historical linearity, though not so apparent.

See? I already failed. Now, here’s the better bio.

And here are a few words by the composer, too. It’s also a little more visually/sonically illustrative.

Finally, here is a fantastic performance of Lachenmann’s percussion piece Interrieur, part I, and part II.

You should listen to his energy.