Jazz, Fiction, and Technology: The Modern Sonic Imaginary
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The artistic revolution that ushered in a century of intense sensory exploration concentrated its potential on the discovery of alternative perceptions of color and form. Depth, the contrast between light and shadow, and corporeality now enter into dialogue with neuroplastic diversity. Aesthetics no longer resonate solely with the social construction of the individual, but also with the internal processing of stimuli. In an effort to understand this pluralism and versatility, artists undertook transoceanic journeys toward terrains where expression became interconnected within a network of resignification. The appreciation of the foreign is reevaluated, yet from the foreign, the domestic also acquires a renewed consideration. Maurice Ravel immerses himself in the sonorities of jazz no longer through its global circulation, but through direct contact with its environment of origin, while George Gershwin, during his time in Europe and in his desire to “elevate” his profession as a composer, comes to understand that his singularity resides precisely in the affirmation of a US musical language.
On March 12, 13, and 14, the Nashville Symphony Orchestra once again presented a heterochronic program in which canonical form is deconstructed in both its essence and its dissemination. Guest conductor Andrew Grams embodied the role of an analyst of the timbral spectrum of each musical work, attending to every detail with surgical precision to ensure its meaning within the musical discourse. It is precisely the expansive sonic palette that stands as one of the program’s greatest strengths. The command of color in each work transcends the monophonic combination or the mere presence of unconventional instruments, incorporating into the texture almost imperceptible articulations that impart a sense of profound naturalness. This treatment extends into the construction of an urban soundscape that situates the audience within an era of accelerated technological transformation, where the pulse of the metropolis is also poetry. Tan Dun locates the muse of Internet Symphony within the clamor of large cities. Brake drums, once stored in a garage, paradoxically became the medium that propelled the exploration of the work’s motivic substrate. Within the percussion setup, three brake drums appear suspended, sounding the pitches C, A, and E. Beyond serving as the structural axis of the symphony, they also function as visually striking stage objects; for this reason, their frontal orientation toward the audience would have been preferable. The marimba and vibraphone support this initial intervention homophonically at the interval of a third, intensifying its industrial projection. Coincidentally, these particular frequencies also inspired Maurice Ravel following his visit to the Ford factory in Detroit.
The nearly five-minute duration of Internet Symphony reconfigures expectations surrounding the appreciation of a monumental work. A span of at least half an hour of continuous music allows the mind to oscillate between concentration and wandering. Furthermore, the very term “symphony” already conditions the listener organically. Consequently, the work caught me off guard in its transitions between movements, leaving my ears in a state of insatiability. This disorientation continued with the performance of Our Town by Aaron Copland. The abrupt shift from the initial frenzy to the pastel-toned scenography of the suite once again challenged the unconscious desire for regulated doses of adrenaline and calm. The orchestra settled fully into the domestic character proposed by the composer, with sustained phrasing, controlled dynamics, and reverberant endings, promoting a warm afternoon repose.
Both in the sound of the city and that of the countryside, it is possible to recognize affinities that operate from a shared human experience. Similarly, when evoking outer space, dense harmonies propelled by the brass and trails of sonic dust scattered across the strings emerge almost automatically, while the timpani cling to a heavy pulse. Yes, at this very moment you are thinking of Gustav Holst and John Williams, even though the cosmos is absolute silence. Here lies another of the foundational ideas of the concert’s proposal: the role of US cinematic art in the construction of global sonic imaginaries. The Observatory by Caroline Shaw further demanded that the orchestra’s performers sharpen their intuition, articulating the precise degree of intensity and duration. The colors that emerge from the work are, to a great extent, indecipherable, yet they evoke terrestrial or mission-based technological systems. It is remarkable how each instrumental family contributes the necessary harmonics to construct this sonic fabric, underscoring the mastery of both the orchestra and its conductor in executing a code of near-digital precision.
Within this narrative of urban and spatial life, another distinguished presence emerged in this celebratory evening: Clayton Stephenson, a New York–based pianist. The Piano Concerto in G major by Maurice Ravel resembles a notebook that gathers experiences, thoughts, and ideas from an itinerant mind. Stephenson immersed himself in the reading of each page, achieving a symbiosis with the composer’s spirit. During the abstraction induced by the soloist’s stage presence, I recalled the duel scene from the movie The Legend of 1900, in which the dominance of swing recedes, and both the hands and the face become protagonists. It seems that Ravel did not only wish to sound like blues or jazz—he wanted the performer to look jazzy! Stephenson’s fingers intertwined in a striking choreography, alternating with glissandi that swayed his body from side to side. Likewise, the piano at times assumes a markedly drum-like role: repetitive rhythmic patterns eclipse its harmonic function and situate it within an emphatically percussive plane.
The audience, deeply moved, would not stop applauding—enough, finally, to elicit an encore in my visits to the Schermerhorn. Stephenson reignited the keyboard with Tom & Jerry Show by Hiromi Uehara, stealing what little oxygen remained. This piece served as an apt prelude to the work that closed the program, An American in Paris by George Gershwin. One of my generation’s first encounters with the US sound was the tv show La Hora Warner. Thus, while listening to this work, characters and scenes synchronize in the imagination with familiar traits: the scurrying of the xylophone, undulating glissandi in the flutes, the pastoral singing of the English horn, or the mischievous violin solos. These musical gestures are generally framed within jazz or boogie-woogie styles, reaffirming a national identity. In this way, it aligns with George Gershwin’s motivation to preserve an idiosyncratic fragrance even while exploring foreign terrains.
Within the immersive experience of this concert, reflections emerge on causalities we generally take for granted. This program, in addition to revealing how technology allows composers to absorb alternate realities and how cinema and symphonic language mutually enrich one another, also projects itself as a prophetic gesture. Over the past decade, NASA has experimented with astronomical data gathered by its telescopes, converting it into sound, while initiatives such as the YouTube Symphony Orchestra—and Tan Dun’s series of videos conducting each part from Internet Symphony—anticipated the dynamics that would become indispensable during the pandemic for orchestral music to continue resisting.
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