Why do you ask? No, seriously?

The Sacramento Philharmonic played a piece of new music recently, and Edward Ortiz of the Sacramento Bee wants to know, "to what end?"

What I want to know is, "why do you ask?"

Music Review: Philharmonic program ambitious, imperfect

It was fitting that the piece that opened the Sacramento Philharmonic's latest performance was titled "Chasing Light."

It was fitting that the piece starting the concert was titled "Chasing Light"? I would normally assume that "Chasing Light" was simply abstract imagery, or a poetic turn of phrase. Frankly Ed, I'm not entirely sure that has any concrete meaning.

Apparently not. Let's find out why, shall we.

For it was the chasing of light, namely in the form of capturing it in soulful musical inspiration, that went missing Saturday evening at the Community Center Theater.

Oh. Okay.

figure confused: Huh?

Wait, no. The title, "Chasing Light" was fitting because the chasing of light was missing?

Then, by that logic, shouldn't the title Henry Kissinger's Topless Zombie Goldfish also have been fitting?

But I guess my problem is one of definition. What does chasing light mean?

[Rereads sentence] "Chasing light" means capturing soulful musical inspiration.

Of course!

(Don't worry, I've already updated urbandictionary.com)

So, clearly, we're all familiar with capturing soulful musical inspiration, but how is it therefore "fitting" if that soulful musical stuff wasn't actually part of the concert?

I guess I still don't understand. Can you can elaborate for us?

Although the night would see moments of spirited musicianship,...

I'm assuming "spirited musicianship" doesn't qualify as "soulful musical inspiration" (aka. "chasing light"). Anyways, go on...

...especially during composer Joseph Schwantner's "Chasing Light,"....

It's amazing how Schwantner was able to fittingly name his piece the very thing missing from a concert not programed until after his piece had been written. That's pretty awesome.

...the concert did not do service to the rest of the program,...

Are "concert" and "program" not interchangeable here?

...which included Sergei Rachmaninov's "Rhapsody on a Theme on Paganini,"...

I have nothing to add here except to say this is a long sentence. I've now interrupted it 4 times.

...and Jean Sibelius' Symphony No. 2.

Whew.

So, this Schwantner piece really seems to be the linchpin of the concert. What's the story here?

The appearance of "Chasing Light," came by way of an unusual commissioning project called "Ford Made In America," financed through the philanthropic arm of the Ford Motor Co.

Ooh. A commissioning project. Cool. I'm a big fan of those. Why do you say it was unusual?

[Checks the internets...]

This doesn't seem so odd. Are you saying that a car company can't have an appreciation for the arts? (Have you seen the new Ford Fusion?)

Or are you saying that there's no reason to commission new music?

When done, that project, in its second year, will have brought Schwantner's work to 58 regional orchestras in all 50 states. It's an admirable idea.

Admirable? It's a great idea. And kudos to Ford for partnering with Meet the Composer and the League of American Orchestras to make this a reality.

It allows smaller-budget orchestras to commission and perform new works – always a costly endeavor.

Yes, exactly, which is why it's so great when large corporations extend their limited philanthropy dollars to easily overlooked projects like bringing new classical music to smaller communities.

Why do I sense that you have some issue with this?

But the effort does not answer the crucial question: "To what end?"

What?! Why do you ask? No, seriously, what the fuck?

I just told you, and you yourself already explained it...to bring new music to small regional orchestras. Da. Fuck?

I guess I don't understand your question. Is this some sort of philosophical riddle?

figure riddle: If Schwantner's "Chasing Light" is played in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does Edward Ortiz care?

But Mr. Ortiz, I guess you do have a point. What justification is there for this project? I mean, to think that Bruch Violin Concerto No. 1 was only played by 28 orchestras in the 2007-2008 season, and they're spending money to spread this piece?! What a fucking crime. I can only imagine where this will lead us as a society.

It begins with small orchestras, like the Sacramento Philharmonic, playing music written in the last 25 years. Then, old people become alienated by all the "weird" music and stop coming the concerts. And before you know it, no one in attendance will care if there's a Mozart Piano Concerto on the concert, or even a Strauss waltz! Then, there will be nothing but new music on the concerts -- or in other words, anarchy. The new music elitistism will then spread to our museums, tearing down Bellini paintings in favor of this:

And the movie theaters will only play films by this guy:

and this guy:

A scary prospect, I know. Just think of the consequences if these people were ever to get involved politics. Goddamn socialists! Er... I mean new music.

But I digress. What were you saying again?

Although "Chasing Light" is a vibrant and descriptive work,...

It's a "descriptive work"? This isn't a third grader's report on the class trip to the zoo. Would you mind tell us what it "described"?

...it was hard to fathom why this piece, as opposed to any other, was chosen for the Ford project.

So your objection is not towards Ford or this project, your existential rumination was specific to this piece.

Yeah, Schwanter...why'd you write this piece? Seriously, what the fuck?

No doubt, the New Hampshire-based Schwantner shows a unique approach to orchestration. The 18-minute "Chasing Light" is a powerful, four-movement work that proceeds boldly and without pause.

"Without pause". How could you doubt the aptness of piece that proceeded without pause?!!

The work begins with a thunderous call from timpani that gives way to a descriptive theme in the strings.

Descriptive? Again? Really?

You are really struggling for compliments aren't you?

Perhaps I can help you out a little:

"The Schwantner is a piece. It both had a beginning and an end. I was impressed with the loudness in some parts, but also with the quiet stuff. Also, there was a flute. All of the notes were written down on paper, and the conductor led the orchestra. But, I couldn't help but wish there was more molto in the playing. It was without pause." (The "without pause" really is a winner, no need to change that one.)

The work evolves from its tumultuous beginning to a pastoral middle section of great color and emotional weight.

figure emotional weight: Like the Schwanter...metaphorically speaking, of course.

Throughout the work can be found an interesting interplay between strings and woodwinds.

And there was percussion too!

Here conductor Michael Morgan kept the orchestra on a crisp pace.

Here? Is "interesting interplay" a place?

But, at times, it seemed derivative and repetitive.

Define "it" again? Was "it" the "interplay", the "here", the "crisp pace", or just the piece in general?

And, derivative of what? Does derivation mean that it should be left only to the large metropolitan orchestras? And also unworthy of Ford's "Made in America" grant money? Schwantner is American, right?

Next came a warp-speed performance of "Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini" by pianist Misha Dichter.

Wait a minute. Let's back this thing up. I do have a relatively short attention span, but I remember something about the very existence of this piece being called into question.

It allows smaller-budget orchestras to commission and perform new works – always a costly endeavor. But the effort does not answer the crucial question: "To what end?"

Although "Chasing Light" is a vibrant and descriptive work, it was hard to fathom why this piece, as opposed to any other, was chosen for the Ford project.

Ring a bell? Did you answer your own query already and I just missed it?

[Rereads review: ...descriptive work...without pause...descriptive...interplay...crisp pace...repetitive...]

Nope. Pretty sure you didn't really answer it. So, seriously, why do you ask?

What exactly is your point? Because it seems that you don't really have one, and you think it's fashionable to cast aspersions onto new classical music. Yes? Maybe?

But, hell, that doesn't even make any sense, because you seem to have liked the piece, at least a little. You did say that it was "descriptive", didn't you? And it does "proceed without pause", right?

Seriously, what the fuck.

-------------------------------

Epilogue: Later, Mr. Ortiz, makes one very lame attempt to justify the whole fitting title introduction.

Overbearing performances of this symphony [Sibelius Symphony No. 2] often leave audiences with the impression that Sibelius' orchestrations are heavy-handed and redundant. But one would not have had that impression on Saturday. It would have been the opposite. There was nothing heavy-handed here; rather it was like Sibelius "light."

Ha ha. I was wrong. It all works now.

Plus, puns are awesome.

Thanks.

If I told you that you had a beautiful body...

would you promise to stop using semicolons? One of the Detritus’ new favorites, Matthew Guerrieri, apparently has little or no idea how to use a semicolon, or write coherently about music. Again, this is a favorable review; but, as usual, Guerrieri muddles his good-natured intent with poor punctuation and ambiguous narrative.

This one is about Collage New Music, who presented a program featuring the music of Luciano Berio. If you don’t know Berio’s music, check this out (fantastic performance, but I especially love the comments).

Without further ado, take it away Guerrieri!

In the fourth of the “Folk Songs” Luciano Berio arranged in 1964, a lover petitions a nightingale. “Apprends-moi ton langage,” he implores, “teach me your language.” On Monday, one could hear Berio asking the same of music itself.

Um, well... I thought Berio was dead. I’m not quite sure that anyone in the concert hall could hear Berio ask anything, especially, if he’s the one doing the asking, as opposed to the music. The music could, perhaps, pose questions. I guess. So, I’ll go on that presumption. New translation: Berio’s music asked, “teach me your language.” Hmmm. That still doesn’t sound right. Maybe, Berio, in 1964, asked of music, “teach me your language.” Still doesn’t sound correct. Either way, I’m sure Guerrieri will clear this up. Right?

...[the concert] focused on works of the ‘50s and ‘60s, when the late Italian composer both honed his avant-garde expertise and began to stake his claim to the unexpected directions where his music subsequently would go.

This has nothing to do with him asking things; it would seem the opposite. Berio was refining his musical language. Which people heard on Monday. That makes sense, Guerrieri. Why didn’t you just say so? Why this round-about poeticizing? This doesn’t make you a learned writer. This makes you a failed poet. One who gets paid. Yuck.

One would assume, then, that, from the first two sentences, the point of the article, aside from critiquing the performance, is to show how Berio’s music changed over two decades.

Show away my fine poet friend.

[Sequenza I, for flute] is designed to dazzle, and Christopher Krueger certainly did, with playing of confident proficiency; but a deeper emotional thread to the piece never emerged.

Beautiful! Seriously. The first piece was dazzling, but that’s all there was. Guerrieri described the piece (because that’s what we’re going to do—see how Berio changed) and the performance (because this is a review). On point, so far.

Also, notice his crafty punctuation. He skillfully, and correctly, joins two independent but related clauses with, my friend, the semicolon.

“Sequenza II,” for harp, triumphed both as etude and narrative; in Franziska Huhn’s technically accomplished, superbly paced performance, the production of exotic sounds...was adjunct to the drama of their interaction.

Kshhht. Columbia, this is Houston. We’re gonna have to contextualize the mission. Over. Kshhht.

While Guerrieri continues to tell us about how Berio’s music changed, I find it difficult to swallow this loosely relevant linearity—“dazzling” to “etude” and “narrative.” Yes, etudes are purportedly dazzling. However, narratives are, at best, metaphoric associations. Is Guerrieri saying that the flute Sequenza (the first piece on the program) is devoid of any possible narrative-like interpretation, while the second Sequenza is rife with imagery? I’m not sure one can say that. Besides, I’m listening to them right now and, in my opinion, they’re both pretty evocative pieces, capable of engendering narrative.

What really gets my goat, though, is the semicolon. His first was exemplary. Here it’s suspect; the two clauses are nebulous, in their relationship. If “their interaction” refers to the piece’s etude-ness and narrative, then maybe one could defend semicolon use. It’s not clear, though, if “their interaction” refers to the performer’s technical accomplishments and superbly paced performance. I just don’t know. For this, he gets a B-.

Either way, how can exotic sounds be adjunct to the interaction of etude-ness and narrative-ness? On the other hand, how can exotic sounds be adjunct to the interaction between technical accomplishment and superb pacing? Awkward, to say the least.

The fact remains: Berio’s music was dazzling. Now it’s dazzling and narrative-ing.

In 1959s “Differences,” tape-recorded versions of five instruments morph into alien electronics as their live counterparts attempt communication with bristling urgency; in the end, Berio restores the music’s initial common-tongue. Collage’s vibrant reading made for an intense conversation.

Berio’s music: morphing, communicating with electronics and recapitulating.

Unfortunately, the semicolon, again, is thorny.

For your pleasure, here’s quick lesson in grammar from the Chicago Manual of Style:


Semicolon

Use of the semicolon. The semicolon, stronger than a comma but weaker than a period, can assume either role, though its function is usually closer to that of a period. Its most common use is between two independent clauses not joined by a conjunction.

e.g. The controversial portrait had been removed from the entrance hall; in its place had been hung a realistic landscape.

Before an adverb. The following adverbs, among others, should be preceded by a semicolon when used transitionally between independent clauses: then, however, thus, hence, indeed, accordingly, besides, and therefore.

e.g. The controversial portrait had been removed from the entrance hall; indeed, it had disappeared entirely from the building.

Before a conjunction. An independent clause introduced by a conjunction may be proceeded by a semicolon, especially when the independent clause has internal punctuation. For more common use of a comma with conjunctions, see conjunction between clauses.

e.g. Maria had determined to question the ambassador; but bodyguards surrounding him, as well as the presence of dancing girls, prevented him from noticing her.


Here, Guerrieri should have begun the second clause with a conjunction, like “but” or “yet.” Instead, he begins with a preposition, in which case the semicolon should really be a period. Or, maybe, he should have dropped the preposition entirely, which could have then warranted the use of a semicolon. Just saying, the writing is immature. Normally, one or two trespasses wouldn’t bother me. But, in a 600 word article, I expect a better effort.

Score so far: Berio’s music was dazzling, then dazzling and narrative-ing, and now it’s morphing, communicating with electronics and recapitulating; Collage New Music performed well.

“Circles,” from 1960, also seems designed to loop around..,

You didn’t mention that before.

Addendum: Berio’s music was dazzling, then dazzling and narrative-ing, and now it’s morphing, communicating with electronics, recapitulating and looping.

...settings of three E.E. Cummings poems, the texts repeated to form a five-movement arch—but the effect is of a new language coming into existence.

So now it’s looping and arch-ing. And this leads Guerrieri to conclude that Berio achieved a new musical language. You hear that, composers? Looping and arch-ing. New musical language.

Soprano Janna Baty, expertly delighting in the deconstruction of each word into its constituent parts, began by trading phonemes with Huhn’s harp; her sounds and choreographed gestures soon brought two percussionists... to vociferous life.

I’d make the argument for two sentences. How ‘bout you? Or I’d omit “her sounds and choreographed gestures soon.”

Read this way:

Soprano Janna Baty, expertly delighting in the deconstruction of each word into its constituent parts, began by trading phonemes with Huhn’s harp, bringing two percussionists to vociferous life.

I think it’s more clear this way.

With the “Folk Songs”... Berio began to apply his newfound vocabulary to the whole of human activity; Baty’s traditional singing and the group’s untraditional playing were united with seamless ingenuity.

Wait a goddamned minute! What on earth is this? How did Berio apply his new musical language to the whole of human activity other than music making? Did he send some starving, third-world family a copy of his score? Did he resolve the Vietnam conflict with incessant looping? Arch-ing? Did he make a withdrawal from his bank by recapitulating? This is quite possibly the weirdest thing I have ever read.

And he follows that up with another hopelessly unnecessary semicolon! How is Berio’s super-musical looping at all related to the group’s seamless ingenuity? Two. Sentences. Guerrieri.

Berio never exhausted his curiosity.

Yes. He was very curious. I thought you were going to tell us how Berio changed over the period of a couple decades. No? Okay. I wasn’t really expecting it anyway. But, thanks for telling us how he didn’t change.

Collage opened with the 90-second-long “Autre Fois,” a 1971 memorial to Stavinsky (performed twice). An unstable rocking interval in the harp that traditionally would resolve instead proves the music’s unchanging core.

So Berio’s music didn’t change at all? Across two decades.

And, by the way, I doubt that an interval, defined more or less as two periodic sound waves presented simultaneously, forming one periodic sound complex, can prove anything, ever.

The journey is the point; the goal is possibility.

Nice semicolon. (grumbles to self, looks at watch)
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