A New Release from Orange Mountain Music
From the Intimacy of Quarantine, Simone Dinnerstein’s “A Character of Quiet”
The tumult of 2020 has brought trials and tribulations to all, but as people discover silver linings in enjoying more time at home or taking up a new hobby to pass the time, the fall looks to bring fruits of artists’ labors. With tours cancelled and performances postponed, musicians’ “quarantine albums” and projects have been churning out across all genres as the summer has passed, with no sign of this trend slowing. American pianist Simone Dinnerstein’s contribution “A Character of Quiet” offers an intimate home recording, pairing Philip Glass and Franz Schubert to great effect.
Being cooped up obviously affects people in different ways. While a restless energy may translate to productivity and inspirational focus for some, others may struggle with the suspension of routine and stagnant scenery at home. When preparing for this project, Dinnerstein notes her own struggles with the situation, bluntly speaking how “candidly, lockdown did not make me feel creative or productive. It made me anxious and enervated. Indeed, for two months I think I barely touched the piano….” Ultimately, producer and friend Adam Abeshouse convinced Dinnerstein to document her acclaimed interpretations of Glass & Schubert.
While engineered in Brooklyn, the recording encapsulates well the quiet of a small room. Stripping away the trappings of long reverb tails found in concert spaces and the omnipresent noise floor of creaking chairs and rustling listeners in a live recording, the isolated recording presentation is both austere and appropriate. It is a rare and wonderful opportunity to be able to hear an unadorned sonic performance—the depress of each key, the deliberate hesitations and miniscule breaks in chords that add longing to Schubert and humanize the often mechanically-performed Glass.
With the unique recording setting and circumstances, it is interesting to hear these works and reassess their impact on the listener. Of the three Glass Etudes present on the record, perhaps the opening track Etude 16 is most effectively served by the dry yet intimate space. Here the slight variations with each repetition are carefully spun, the rubato guiding the listener through harmonic shifts and liquid color undulations. The 30 seconds of true forte suitably ring out, before relaxing to a more enveloping warmth that gradually fades with utmost control back to the murky opening material. In true Glass fashion the ending lingers for an extra minute, leading the audience at home to contemplate their own quiet listening spaces.
Occasionally the moments of bombast in the other Etudes are mildly hampered by the lack of a kindly resonating hall space. Also, at climactic moments one may miss the physical presence of a full concert grand, with the tactile low end that can be felt in the bones. Yet the breathless clarity of the pristine runs in Etude 6 and the masterful pacing of the minutes-long crescendo in Etude 2, both without reverb to muddy the ears, is a worthwhile tradeoff. In all, one gains a new appreciation for the touch required at the instrument to execute these pieces.
In contrast, the Schubert Sonata in B-Flat Major D. 960, pulls the mics back a little more into the space for a more traditional stance on recording, as well as adding more of a gentle producer’s touch with a hint of extra reverb (unless Brooklyn is home to airier spaces than I realize). This contrast in recording style within a single album is a surprise at first listen but makes for an enjoyable duality to contrast the two composers. Clocking in over 40 minutes, this mammoth work, Schubert’s final sonata for piano, is well-served with a touch more added shimmering resonance anyway, and it is a light enough addition to feel organic throughout.
The opening movement is a journey unto itself, and Dimmerstein’s execution of the gradual rhythmic diminution and augmentation of the texture as the energy ebbs and flows is masterful. The chorale sections feel placid without lacking phrasing and direction, while the frenetic moments for the left hand are wonderfully driving without sounding uncontrolled. With a near 5-minute exposition, it is all too easy to give in to wandering lines, a problem only compounded by an enormous development. Dimmerstein’s approach to the pivotal d minor arrival is less explosive than Richter or Kovacevich, but maintains the character of Schubert, even in his late stages of composition; in a respectful way the interpretation is similar to Brendel.
The patient Andante second movement is given warmth in the home recording, while the third movement’s Scherzo is as exciting as always, even at a less than blazing fast tempo. Again, the closer recording setup gives cleanly executed passages a brilliance that makes for an energized listening experience. The dynamic peaks of the final Allegro movement are a fuller grandiose sound than heard anywhere else in the piece, which only better serves to make the subito shifts in character and texture that much more of a playful romp with its own ten minute run time flying by with vitality in contrast to Schubert’s failing health at the time of composition.
Simone Dimmerstein may have been reluctant to dive into a project such as this, but listeners will be enraptured by the result. Recording any of Schubert’s final sonatas is no dalliance to take on lightly and pacing out Glass’s etudes is a focused exercise no matter the situation. As Dimmerstein releases her thoughtful interpretations of these pieces into the world, the constraints of this recording project elevate the music rather than distract, providing a worthwhile listen of fresh sounds for audiences’ ears.
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From Navona Records:
Liza Stepanova’s ‘E Pluribus Unum’
Pianist Liza Stepanova’s August 28th release E Pluribus Unum on Navona Records is described on her website as “Born out of the political climate of 2017” and “an artistic response to the immigration policies implemented by the American government at that time.” These issues that began to emerge over three years ago in 2017 are still present today, making this release remarkably timely. Though the specific works may thematically tackle issues of immigration or social inequality, “above all, the music on this album reflects the composers’ roots, celebrates their immense contributions to American musical life, and a confluence of voices, narratives, and ideals.” In this way the album acts as a thoughtful commentary on the hyper partisanship currently occupying our national political landscape – almost an artistic embodiment of the concept when they go low, we go high.
Stepanova’s commitment to highlighting a diversity of influence and her advocacy for new music is evident, as the release features three world premiere recordings including a commissioned piece from emerging composer Badie Khaleghian. In addition to the premiere recordings, the majority of the works were composed within the last 10 years.
A selection from Lera Auerbach’s Scenes from Childhood – An Old Photograph from the Grandparents’ Childhood begins the album. The movement is plaintive, and acts as a fitting prelude. Its melody is gently coaxed into a character of lyrical nostalgia by Stepanova’s phrasing – inviting a sense of intimacy and promise.
Kamran Ince’s Symphony in Blue (titled after a Burhan Dogancay painting, and commissioned by the Istanbul Modern Museum in honor of its showing) follows Auerbach’s work. Ince’s piece requires a careful control of sonic decay, allowing dense blocks of sound to give way to initially muted percussive echoes and eventual bombastic exclamations. Stepanova navigates these shifts with grace – always mindful of the thematic importance of decay even within the work’s busier textures.
This kind of musical sensitivity is also featured in two of the world premiere recordings included on the release, Eun Young Lee’s Mool and Chaya Czernowin’s fardanceCLOSE. Eun Young Lee describes her piece as being associated with water – specifically the use of shifting tone color to reflect the changes of character within the water cycle. Czernowin’s fardanceCLOSE likewise requires a careful control of clarity of line through registral shifts and a gradual escalation of the relentless repeated gesture that ends the work. In both instances, Stepanova has obviously lived with these works long enough to subtly manage these changes of character in a convincing organic manner.
Stepanova’s technique throughout is polished and assured. Her facility at the keyboard realizes the driving rhythm of Reinaldo Moya’s IV La Bestia, and the blistering passages in Anna Clyne’s On Track with surgical precision. Though the technical fireworks are impressive, Stepanova’s articulation truly stands out. The precise articulation and touch heard in the swelling quasi bisbigliando gesture that opens the third movement of Badie Khaleghian’s Táhirih The Pure (both a premiere recording and a commission) is both crisp and fluid, and but one example of the intense attention to musical detail Stepanova brings to each work.
The album closes with Piglia by Pablo Ortiz and Gabriela Lena Frank’s Karnavalito No. 1. Ortiz’s work is written as an homage to the author Ricardo Piglia, and after a wandering introduction it settles into what the composer describes as a “relentless milonga pattern showing the kind of intense passion normally associated with the tango.” For me, the ending was spot on – a slight fading away leading to an upward gesture reminiscent of an incomplete question – and Gabriela Lena Frank’s work serves as a fitting answer and closing work for the album. According to the composer the piece “is inspired by the Andean concept of mestizaje . . . whereby cultures can co-exist without one subjugating another.” The piece provides Stepanova a chance to once again dazzle the listener with virtuosic precision, and the slightly puckish ending provides a sound thematic and musical conclusion to the album.
This album warrants attention on its musicality alone. But, I am also drawn to it for its quiet insistence that music (as is true with most things) is best as a shared experience that makes a space for all. I’ll be seeking out more music by the composers featured on this release, and I look forward to the new music that partnerships with engaging performers like Liza Stepanova will continue to produce.
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Virtual Release
Spektral Quartet Touts New Listening Experience
This week Spektral Quartet, Chicago’s multi-grammy nominated ensemble, releases their fourth full length studio album: Experiments in Living. Taking its namesake from a quote by utilitarian philosopher John Stuart Mill the album is meant to be “an interactive, deep-listening excursion through Spektral’s expansive repertoire.” The conceptual cornerstone of this project is Spektral’s philosophy that pairing classic standards with new contributions can alter our perception of both.
This album, unlike most, is not meant to be listened to from start to finish. The music is paired with a collection of Tarot-style cards from Copenhagen-based artist øjeRum. These strikingly colored cards are meant to guide the listener through an aleatoric process. Spektral Quartet has devised a system wherein the album can last fifteen minutes, fifty minutes, or longer (depending on how you choose to draw your cards.) Featuring the work of seven composers and roughly two hours of audio this collection is a bold attempt to offer art music consumers a new experience in the age of streaming. The A side features the works of Brahms, Schoenberg, and Crawford (Seeger) while the B side showcases the newer talents of Sam Pluta, Anthony Cheung, Charmaine Lee, and George Lewis. In the following sections I will address each work separately before circling back to discuss the experience that the album offers.
Johannes Brahms: String Quartet in C minor, Op. 51 No. 1
The first four tracks on this album (if you were to listen chronologically) are composed of Brahms’ String Quartet #1 in C minor. This work serves as an interesting study in the personality and creative habits of the great German Composer. So infamously indecisive was Brahms that, to this day, composers remark that they have a case of “Brahms Syndrome” when they feel the need to continuously revise an otherwise completed project. Op. 51 is no exception. In typical Brahmsian style the creation of this work took place slowly over the course of eight painstaking years. There is evidence that he started writing this piece as early as 1869 and destroyed upwards of 20 different manuscripts on his way to finally publishing the work in the Summer of 1873 (at the age of 40). Brahms’ contribution to the Western canon cannot be overstated, but it certainly seems that if one were tasked with finding a composer to choose a restaurant with that Brahms might not be the wisest choice.
Brahms’ fickle nature is on full display in this recording. The first movement opens with a fast-paced, angsty, a full-bodied phrase which soon gives way to thin and impish recantation. These two, seemingly opposed, dispositions unceasingly oscillate throughout this movement with a mastery so refined that it makes Kanye seem emotionally stable in comparison. The second movement is careful and elegant. Brahms takes 7 and a half minutes to patiently walk the listener through a satisfying series of gentle motivic developments and perfectly curated counterpoint. The third movement is a wandering, almost improvisatory, exploration. It is ambiguous in character. Motion never ceases, but it never seems to have a precise destination. In the final movement Brahms reestablishes the confidence with which the first movement began, but this time he is less willing to recant. There are intermittent moments of intimacy, but they come few and far between as Brahms demonstrates exactly how he earned his moniker as the third “B” of classical music.
We tend to talk about Brahms as two separate people. On one hand we have the arbiter of Brahms syndrome. The sad sack who was chronically crippled by self-doubt. The man who, by all indications, erased far more music than he ever published. On the other hand we have the fiery German master. The heir apparent to the First Viennese School. The man who, although he most assuredly second guessed himself along the way, had the wherewithal to continue the legacy of the Symphony in a world void of Beethoven. And when told, at his favorite bar in Vienna, that his first symphony sounded like Beethoven’s 10th replied curtly, “Do you think you are the first jackass to tell me that?” Perhaps what makes Op. 51 No. 1 so compelling is that both dualities of Brahms are so prominently depicted in the music.
Arnold Schoenberg: String Quartet No. 3, Op. 30
54 years after the premier of the aforementioned Brahms, but in the same town, Arnold Schoenberg premiered his String Quartet no. 3. Nearly two decades had passed since Vienna had witnessed a work in this medium from the thorny and often temperamental composer. His String Quartet no. 2 had been remarkably unusual in that, in addition to a typical four players, it also called for a solo Soprano. Op. 30, however, carries a uniqueness of its own. Schoenberg had previously utilized his 12-tone system in a handful of solo works and chamber pieces, but this work marks the first use of this invention for string quartet. Schoenberg traded late stage romantic harmony and unconventional structure for the dodecaphonic system and a return to strict classical form. This addition to Schoenberg’s discography follows the typical four movement structure that we might see in Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, or Brahms.
Movement one “Moderato” follows a par for the course sonata form. This first section, from start to finish, is unified with energetic pulsing eight notes and boasts soaring high violins. In regards to this movement Schoenberg had this to say: “As a little boy I was tormented by a picture of a scene of a fairytale “Das Gespensterschiff”, (The Ghostship) whose captain had been nailed through the head to the topmast by his rebellious crew. I am sure that this was not the program of the first movement of the third string quartet. But it might have been, subconsciously, a very gruesome premonition which caused me to write this work, because as often as I thought about this movement, that picture came to my mind.” With that comforting thought we will move on to following movements.
A Theme and Variations was chosen as the blueprint for the second movement. This decision was no doubt a tip of the hat to his city’s musical past. Next is the bouncing third movement, which hints towards a Viennese Waltz, and the finale comprised of a Sonata-Rondo. Schoenberg’s music seems tame and conservative to us today, but at its time it was the greatest musical experiment that had ever been conducted (sans Leonin and Perotin). The inclusion of this piece fits wonderfully into the spirit of the album.
Ruth Crawford (Seeger): String Quartet 1931
The final piece of this album’s A side is Ruth Crawford Seeger’s String Quartet 1931. In 1930 Ruth Crawford (as she was known at the time) was the first woman to receive a Guggenheim Fellowship. In private letters to her future husband she goes into detail on the origins of this work. For six months she had set her sights towards composing her first symphony, but this vision never manifested. Instead, she completed a handful of significant chamber pieces, one of which being, this seminal work of string quartet literature.
The often sparse and understated first movement demonstrates Crawford’s keen ability to develop phrases and thematic material in the absence of conventional harmony. The second, fast paced and furiou, features quick pass-offs and extended figures which descend seamlessly between voices. Seeger’s ability, through orchestration, to make for four players sound like one is possibly the most captivating aspect of this movement. The third movement, clocking in at just under four minutes, is the longest and perhaps most innovative. Two-thirds of this section is spent in a long and steady crescendo. Voices enter, diseapper, layer, and mingle as the music slowly boils over. Once the peak has been reached it quickly tapers off to end where it began. The final portion of this work is composed entirely of dialogue between the first violin and the rest of the ensemble. Seeger utilized shocking sonorities by writing the second violin, viola, and cello in unison motion and octaves throughout; and in doing so brazenly broke some of the most regarded rules of counterpoint. The speed and precision with which Spektral Quartet plays – the entire piece, but particularly – this final movement set it apart from previous recordings.
Sam Pluta: binary/momentary logics: flow state/joy state
Fellow Chicagoan composer Sam Pluta opens up the B side of this album. His piece, binary/momentary logics: flow state/joy state was commissioned by Spektral Quartet and premiCharaminered in June of 2016 at Constellation in Chicago. Pluta explained the work thusly, “This piece explores the joy of opening up the mind to improvisatory exploration. It is also an attempt at orchestrating for acoustic instruments with my electronic improvisational language.” Pluta paints with a diverse pallet of sound, texture, and timbre. He uses, what appears to be, virtually every technique that a string instrument can achieve – standard or extended – to great effect. Twenty-five separate, but continuous, movements take place in just under nine minutes. Some of the titles are as descriptive as “loose cannon”, “slide”, and “double duo” while others are as esoteric as “professor dr. squiggly, dma” and “universal consciousness”. The album’s overarching theme of experimentation is omnipresent in this piece which makes it a perfect and welcomed addition to the tracklist.
Anthony Cheung: The Real Book of Fake Tunes
Lovers of Jazz, or people who have paid large sums of money to have people talk at them about Jazz, will undoubtedly be familiar with “The Real Book”. It is a collection of lead sheets, for different instruments, containing Jazz standards. The idea is that the musician can quickly familiarize himself with a chart when it is called at a gig. This piece by Anthony Cheung pays satirical homage to the famous tome in five movements.
Cheung describes each movement as having a distinct character. The first as a “floating, weightless introduction that turns capricious,” the second as “a somewhat sorrowful ballad with interruptions,” the third as “a semi-serious scherzo that swells and subsides in wave-like motions,” the fourth as a “resonance study that turns into a free-flowing, improvisatory rhapsody,” and the finale as “the closest one gets to a “tune” in the familiar sense, with repeated and expanding yet irregularly timed chord progressions that might remind some of John Coltrane’s “Countdown.”
In these tracks Spektral is joined by Brooklyn-based flautist Clarie Chase. As stated, each movement of this piece has its own character, but the character revealed most is that of Anthony Cheung as a talented, inventive, and supremely original composer full of wit and charm.
Charmaine Lee: Spinals
From a style standpoint Charmaine Lee’s Spinals track is where this quartet delivers on its promise of experimentation the most. This piece was devised as a collaboration between Spektral and New York based vocalist and improviser Charmaine Lee. The piece is composed of an assortment of vocal sounds over noisy electronics and an ever-changing base of strings. As a fan of music – and new music in particular – I am not incredibly shocked when I listen to a piece like this. It is, however, shocking to hear it done so right. Spinals is an example of the latter. This piece offers what many in its genre do not; the sense that it was carefully constructed in some way. There are moments of extreme chaos, but also silence. There are peaks and valleys. Intensity and reprieve. Many pieces of this persuasion intentionally bombard you, but Spinals lures you in with a feeling of true sincerity. That one group can play Brahms as precisely as they do while convincingly playing this piece is a testament to the superior command of style possessed by the members of Spektral Quartet.
George Lewis: String Quartet 1.5: Experiments in Living
The final track of this album is the “title track” String Quartet 1.5: Experiments in Living by George Lewis. Lewis has a reputation as a creative renaissance man. He is well known for his contributions to computer music, his illustrious scholarly career, and his efforts as an installation artist. He is also objectively and unequivocally a Composer (with a capital C). The piece starts with a section of sultry harmonics, pointed plucks, and harsh rhythmic interjections. This is followed by an extended series of smooth glissandos and ambient lows. The third section, which begins near the halfway mark, is more rhythmic in nature. Pizzicatos play a supporting role throughout the piece, but are given their closeup here in a full ensemble section that sounds more like a kalimba than a string quartet. The fourth section is marked by extreme use of range for all parties. Swelteringly high violins soar as the cello delivers gutural tremolos. The finale is a series of chaotic pass off and blistering runs that showcase the ensemble’s virtuosity, Lewis’ compositional prowess, and his ability to build a sound structure.
The Experience
First and foremost I will say this: the album is performed, recorded, and produced beautifully. It delivers – and exceeds – the promise of quality that you would expect from a group of this caliber. The dazzling performances of Claire Chase (flute) and Charmaine Lee (composition, voice, and electronics) add variety and push this project beyond a “par for the course” String record. The music speaks for itself, but the selling point of the album is the interactive experience.
When I first downloaded the album and sorted through the promotional material I was torn. The angel on my right shoulder was saying that it was an interesting idea; that I should give it a chance. The devil on my left was saying the only innovative thing they’ve managed to achieve is complicating a handy little invention commonly referred to as “the shuffle feature”. The premise is that you can listen to this album in a different order each time. Instead of going through the tracks numerically you can skip around and choose your own adventure. That idea, in itself, is not at all novel. As a matter of fact, you can already do that with any album you choose. Blood on the Tracks is around fifty-two minutes long, but sometimes I just want to listen to “Tangled Up in Blue” and “Shelter from the Storm”. The question that I kept coming back to was this: how is that any different than creating a playlist on Spotify?
We are all so used to streaming our music. That ease of access is a catch 22. Any song we want is at the touch of our finger, but that ease sometimes makes us lose the reverence we should have. Igor Stravisnky said, “For one can listen without hearing, just as one can look without seeing. The absence of active effort and the liking acquired for this facility make for laziness.” He was talking about radio and the phonograph, but it is shocking how much more accurate this statement becomes when applied to streaming.
I used to buy CDs. I would spend every cent of my Christmas money at Best Buy as a teenager. There was a ritual to unboxing the disk, looking at the album art, reading the liner notes, and intently following along with the lyrics for the duration of the album. That ritual has been replaced – and I hate to admit it, but I feel that I am not alone here – with absently listening to one movement I like from a Mozart Symphony, two or three Drake songs, and half of a podcast episode; all while cleaning my house, eating dinner, scrolling on Instagram, and texting. That is what makes this album so remarkable. The act of receiving those Tarot cards in the mail, opening the box, reading about the album, picking the order of tracks. The experience forced me to take a minute and be actively involved.
Will this revolutionize how we consume art music in the 21st century? No, probably not. Is it meant to? I don’t think so. I think it was meant to be an experiment, but it is an experiment with value that we should all take a part in. The experience is a truly beautiful thing. The album will be released on August 28, 2020. You can find more information on their website: https://spektralquartet.com/experiments-in-living
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New Release from Iceland
Gyða Valtýsdóttir (Epicycle II), release date August 28th on DiaMond/Sono Luminus
Gyða Valtýsdóttir first appeared on the scene as a member of the group múm, an experimental electronic Icelandic group, whose second album, Finally We Are No One (2002) reached as high as Number 16 on the UK Independent Album chart. She then left the band to go to conservatory to pursue her studies as a cellist; earning a Master’s degree from Musik Akademie, Basel, in the increasingly popular dual degree of area of classical performance and free-improvisation. After a period of years touring and collaborating with the classical and electronic stars of Iceland’s musical sky, and obviously informed by her studies in Basel, she released Epicycle (2017), a compilation of interpretations of some of the greatest works in in the Western Canon. From Harry Partch’s Ancient Mode to Robert Schumann’s “Im Wunderschönen Monat Mai” the selections are pieces that are well known to most Music History teachers as strong pedagogical tools, the strength of Valtýsdóttir’s work is that she revives this music in a modern context.
This summer, on August 28th, she is set to release a sequel, Epicycle II which is composed of works by Iceland’s top notch contemporary composers. As she describes it: “This time I wanted to collaborate with contemporary composers and musicians who have each created their own, unique musical language that doesn’t fall easily into any existing category.” In the tradition of Russia’s “Mighty Handful” or France’s “Les Six” the result is a kind of “Icelandic Eight” or perhaps better “þeir átta,” a coherent documentation of the Icelandic school of composition in the second decade of the 21st Century–and it sparkles with moments of genius. From atmospheric micro-polyphony to heart-rending moments of electronic intimacy, the music is interesting and powerfully drawn.
The CD begins with Unfold by Skúli Sverrisson, an composer and bass guitarist who has won five Icelandic Music Awards, including Album of the year. The track, as predicted, unfolds in a paced mesmerizing development of a single theme with parallel lines in distant registers, implying an underlying (or overlying) polyphony that is just this side of perceptible. Perhaps it is this sonic reflection of the primary melody that Valtýsdóttir is referring to when she describes playing the track as “like dancing in the prism of its light.” The effect is discomforting in a hypnotic way, Mahlerian only in the way it creates a world apart.
Safe to Love was composed by Ólöf Arnalds and bridges the song and lieder tradition with an accompaniment drawn from ValtýsdóttiIcr’s pizzicato cello and serving as counterpoint to her airy, whispering, yet echoed voice. The intimacy in Jónsi’s mixing creates echos to seem to scatter into time and space. Anna Thorvaldsdóttir’s Mikros, is a rushing counterpoint on cello, is brief and disturbing in it’s extended techniques. It seems to channel George Crumb, think “La luna está muerta” or “Vox Balaenae.” Úlfur Hansson’s Morphogenesis evokes a similar “otherworldness” bringing precomposed string arrangements into concert with a custom built analog synthesizer and Valtýsdóttir’s improvisation.
Liquidity is the result of a collaboration with Kjartan Sveinsson at the Berlin Festival for the People in 2019. It is probably the most likely to succeed on the pop charts, sounding as if it were ripped from an epic historical fiction soundtrack, lending itself to some derived form of primal primitivism, yet there is interest in the way it coalesces around a repeated theme in the piano that is both memorable and purposefully incomplete in its many variations. Air to Breath was released by Daníel Bjarnason a decade ago, but it seems tailored perfectly for Valtýsdóttir’s nuanced, supple and warm cello. On an album of mostly premieres, one can understand why Valtýsdóttir included this track as the exception. Jónsi’s Evol Lamina might just be the most interesting track on the collection, a creation from sampled improvisations that borders on Musique concrète, but the samples are brought alive, even humanized by their delicacy in the upper registers as an unrecognizable, sampled bass pursues. The end is abrupt, like a book set down, halfway through the denouement. The last piece, Octo by María Huld Markan Sigfúsdóttir, is another essay on a brief motive, set into counterpoint with Valtýsdóttir extended harmonics. The dizzying variations of the theme suggest an inwardness that is at least uncanny and at most, transcendent.
Iceland arrived on the classical music scene quite late, with the first real concerts only occurring in the early 20th Century. Their first real virtuoso, Ashkenazy, was a Soviet defector. However, they have been actively working to catch up. I wouldn’t be so silly and foundational as to propose an “Icelandic style” that unites them in an intrinsic nationalistic character, but I will propose that it is a burgeoning school around which principles of developing variation, extended techniques and experimental timbres are united into a subtle polyphony of conscious and subconscious aesthetics. Of course the sound is also postmodern, a collage that can be romanticized, as it is in Safe to Love or endowed with expressionistic modernism as in Evol Lamina. In either case, it is interesting, will likely be influential as the various members of þeir átta develop, but most of all worth your time and attention.
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Nashville Symphony's release
The Second Summer Release from the Nashville Symphony
Three weeks after cancelling the 20/21 season, the Nashville Symphony released a new recording featuring the music of the Grammy and Pulitzer Prize winning composer Christopher Rouse. This recording, the 21st for the Nashville Symphony under Naxos’ American Classics label, is a welcome addition to the fruitful collaboration between the Nashville Symphony and American composers. This is the second installment of a trio of recordings to be released this summer: Aaron Jay Kernis’ Color Wheel released in June, this Christopher Rouse feature, and Tobias Picker’s Opera Without Words scheduled for release in August. Under the direction of Music Director Giancarlo Guerrero, the CD was recorded over a series of live concerts in 2017 and 2019 and features a triptych of Rouse’s works: Symphony No. 5 (2015), Supplica (2013), and Concerto for Orchestra (2008). These three works make an excellent grouping as they highlight the power, energy, and color that Rouse brings to his orchestral work.
Rouse’s Symphony No. 5 was a joint commission between the Dallas Symphony Orchestra, the Aspen Music Festival, and our own Nashville Symphony. Rouse completed the work in 2015 and it was premiered by Jaap van Zweden and the Dallas Symphony in 2017. For Rouse, his own 5th symphony has deep connections to Beethoven’s 5th. In the liner notes of the CD, Thomas May quotes Rouse on this relationship: “The first piece of ‘classical music’ I remember hearing was Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony . . . and I remember thinking that a whole new world was opening up to me. I decided that I wanted to become a composer. So when it came time for me to composer my own Fifth Symphony, my thoughts returned fondly to that time, and I resolved to tip my cap to Beethoven’s mighty symphony.”
Although Rouse is indebted to Beethoven’s work in the symphonic genre, this piece is not a cheap re-telling of Beethoven’s symphony. Rouse composes surely in his own musical language. Sure, the very opening of Rouse’s symphony mimics Beethoven’s famous four-note motif with power and intensity, but Rouse quickly moves in quite a different direction. Rouse dashes between competing themes, rhythms, and orchestrations in this highly technical score. Although there are a few moments of muddiness, the Nashville Symphony brings this score to life in a vivid and spirited way.
The following piece, Supplica, offers a slow counterweight to the outer ends. It is a slow, single movement work completed in 2013 as a joint commission by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra and the Pacific Symphony. The work’s title is the Italian word for “supplication” and with this piece Rouse offers up a humble, yet deeply affecting prayer. Scored for a small orchestra of brass, harp, and strings, the piece lasts twelve minutes. Asked by Guerrero about the small instrumentation, Rouse responds “
why use instruments I don’t need?”
With this pared down orchestration Rouse is quickly able to draw you into his prayer. Intimate strings, led by concertmaster Jun Iwasaki, plead and hope upwards, yet it is an entreaty colored with sadness. Guerrero masterfully draws out meaning behind long climbing melodies that lead to a climax of brass and strings. The Nashville Symphony’s fantastically full gamut of dynamics and tone quality is present in this piece. It seems as if the Schermerhorn and its’ beautiful acoustics were built for this piece. The piece ends unresolved, perhaps waiting for an answer from above. Rouse has been reticent to speak on the meaning behind Supplica. Although in a video interview with the Nashville Symphony he says:“I consider composers savers of souls. If a priest, let’s say, is a saver of souls for the next life, I think that composers, and other creative artists, are savers of souls in this life. We can really have an impact, we can entertain, but we can console, heal, enlighten, and anger. We can do all sorts of things to those who experience our music, and that to me is the power that Classical music, in particular because it goes really to the very depths of the deepest part of the human experience.”
The last offering on this record is the Concerto for Orchestra. Christopher Rouse is no stranger to the concerto, he has written twelve instrumental concertos including his 1991 Trombone Concerto which won the Pulitzer Prize for Music. This is the first recording of Rouse’s Concerto for Orchestra. The idea of a concerto for the orchestra reached fruition when Béla Bartók wrote his own Concerto for Orchestra in 1943. Since then numerous 20th and 21st century composers have found the form to be ripe for wonderful musical possibilities, Rouse included.
Rouse has written that the work is divided into “connected halves (the term being used loosely).” The first half is made up of five alternating fast and slow sections while the second half contains a slower and faster part that develops material from the earlier half. As the thought of a concerto would imply, this piece is incredibly complex with immense technical and musical demands. There are juxtapositions throughout: instrumental families fighting each other, unstable poly-rhythms struggling against a steady beat, and tempi that lead to a manic climax, all of which prove to be no match for the Nashville Symphony. Guerrero brings this score to life and showcases the Nashville Symphony’s full abilities with this piece.
Overall, this recording is a great tribute to Christopher Rouse and another feather in the Nashville Symphony’s cap. It is my understanding that Rouse was at many of the rehearsals and concerts for these live recordings, and is the last recording made under his supervision. Although this recording is superb, it really is no match to hearing the Nashville Symphony live, and I look forward to when that option is available again.
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Hope from the Nashville Opera
Can You Imagine a Beach-Party Themed Cinderella Next June? Nashville Opera can!
In the most wonderful sense of optimism and a little more than a decent dose of stubbornness, Nashville Opera has released their schedule for next season, a celebration of their 40th anniversary and it looks to be a doozy!
One Vote One
The season opens on September 25-27 with a commission, N.O.’s first, in a performance of the election day drama One Vote One with music composed by Tennessee native
David Ragland and the libretto by Mary McCallum. Originally hailing from Chattanooga, Ragland has been on the Nashville scene for some time now, I first heard his music in his beautiful arrangement of spirituals at the Upon these Shoulders celebration at Fisk University in 2017, and he made his directorial debut with the Nashville Opera during the 2013-14 season in their production of David Lang’s “The Difficulty of Crossing a Field.” His Steal Away was originally scheduled with Oz Arts in April, but had to be cancelled because of COVID19. McCallum, who has written for stage and screen including Singleville (2018) and the fictional historical play Six Triple Eight (2015), is a wise choice for the libretto.
These two artists will be able to share their talents for historical depiction in One Vote One with a plot that includes suffragist Frankie Pierce (played by Jennifer Whitcomb-Oliva) and Civil Rights activist Diane Nash (played by Brooke Leigh Davis) as they work to convince a young Gloria (played by Tamica Nicole Harris) that her vote counts.. Never an organization to shy away from a political topic, Director John Hoomes and company are working with the MTSU Center for Historic Preservation to create a study guide that meets Tennessee standards for U.S. history.
Opera Jukebox
In October, the company will present the newest in pandemic operatic genres, the “Opera Jukebox.” Not much to say here except that money talks and I hope the rich folks seek to hear something other than the same old chestnuts like “Nessun Dorma,” “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle'” or the flower duet.
Rigoletto
Then in April, if one can imagine the end of the pandemic, the return of our economy, and a post-election 2020 world, the company has scheduled a new staging of
Verdi’s Rigoletto in a film noir style. Likely to be the highlight of the artistic season in Music City (ok, so maybe there wont be much competition) the staging will include its own original film noir by Penumbra Entertainment, winner of the Nashville Opera Noir Filmfest. However, the cast is quite exciting too; as Nashville Opera describes the production: “The wise-cracking Rigoletto (Michael Mayes), despised by all save his beautiful daughter (soprano Kathryn Lewek in her first appearance as Gilda), is powerless to protect her from the lechery of his boss, Duke (Zach Borichevsky also making his role debut).” Notably, the production was initially planned for last season but the world stopped. From Lewek’s facebook of March 16th, 2020:
My husband Zach Borichevsky, tenor and I are disappointed about the cancellation of Nashville Opera’s production of Rigoletto in which we were to make our role debuts as Duke and Gilda, respectively. However, we are so grateful to the company, as they are paying us a portion of our contract. It’s amazing to see regional companies like Nashville, led by John Hoomes, set the example for other companies. We have just donated a part of our earnings to the AGMA (American Guild of Musical Artists) artist relief fund. I hope all who have the means to make a small or large donation will consider…”
Cinderella
More than half of businesses that closed during the pandemic won’t reopen
The reviews site has been keeping tabs on closures since March. Businesses can update their status to temporarily or permanently closed on Yelp.
As of August 31, nearly 163,700 businesses on Yelp have closed since March 1, the company said, marking a 23% increase from July 10. Of those, about 98,000 say they’ve shut their doors for good.
Of all closed businesses, about 32,100 are restaurants, and close to 19,600, or about 61%, have closed permanently.
Read MoreA New Recording from the Nashville Symphony:
Aaron Jay Kernis’ Color Wheel and 4th Symphony, “Chromelodeon”
The Nashville Symphony just released it’s newest recording on Naxos’s American Classics series. Featuring two works by Pulitzer, Grammy and Grawemeyer Award winning composer Aaron Jay Kernis, Color Wheel (2001) and Symphony No. 4 ‘Chromelodeon (2018), this recording will complement well the Symphony’s already extensive collection of contemporary music recordings (listed here: https://www.nashvillesymphony.org/media/recordings/). Kernis, who wrote the wonderful liner notes (unfortunately printed in a miniscule font) approves of the pairing, describing the two pieces as “…like related family members – one brash and exuberant, the other more serious and pensive in intent, though no less bold in manner.” One imagines this to be Kernis lending voice to his version of Schumann’s personas “Eusebius” and “Florestan,” allowing them to be heard at the Schermerhorn. However, it isn’t really one of Schumann’s several personalities that I hear in Kernis’ work, instead it is an expression in orchestral color resembling Strauss, bound up with an American sound that features terrifying dramatic crescendos contrasted with intimate, poignant, or at times downright creepy quiet moments, all unified through the subtle employment of thematic variation and rich chromaticism.
Color Wheel was composed for the opening of the Verizon Hall at the Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts in Philadelphia where it was premiered by Philadelphia Orchestra (one of the original “Big Five” orchestras) under the baton of the great Wolfgang Sawallisch.
A miniature concerto for orchestra, written for the Philadelphia Orchestra no less, is no small challenge, but Maestro Giancarlo Guerrero and the Nashville Symphony prove themselves up to the task. Ever the master of articulating the subtle reprise, Guerrero led the Nashville Symphony from the terrifying opening chords through the piece’s kind of circular form in which these chords (and motives derived there-from) return over and over again. The form is both symphonic and blustering, moving through a blistering fast scherzo that ambushes the opening section, only to lead to an interruptive slow section, before returning again with the opening idea as an expressive dénouement in orchestral color; It is an inspired movement.
Kernis’ says that in 2018 a Symphony “can seem anachronistic” but he justifies the genre through its Mahlerian ability to “contain the entire world,” and push “…past boundaries of what I’ve explored in my work up to that point.” With his Fourth Symphony, entitled Chromelodeon , he has created a world that is richly chromatic, marked by unease, contemplative intensity and, in the first movement particularly, obsessive rumination. Subtitled “Out of the Silence,” the first movement reveals a composer much more in tune with his process, achieving in a quiet tune for viola the same expressive intensity that would have demanded bombast and bluster a decade earlier. It’s not pretty, but that isn’t Kernis’s goal, it is intense.
The Symphony’s second movement, entitled “Thorn Rose I Weep Freedom (after Handel)” draws its primary melody from a vague influence of Handel, and juxtaposes chromaticism with consonance which is, at times, even presented simultaneously through separate registers, dynamics or timbre. The consonance is deconstructed by the chromaticism in a striking process. The initial consonances sound in an interesting and almost Coplandesque pan-diatonicism but after being subjugated to waves of the “hectoring” chromatic, results in an ethereal, Ives’ inspired (vox angelical) sub-conscious attenuation that, as Kernis describes it, appears “broken and distorted.” This last is played with remarkable clarity by Nashville’s strings, and Guerrero’s handling of this movement’s precarious balance is nuanced and deft.
…there yet remains remarkable power in absolute expression.
The third and final movement continues the juxtaposition, but introduces a rhythmic component placing a slow horn chorale and fanfare against busy and disjunct melodies. This, the shortest movement, turns the previous narrative on its head and ends with a final, climactic perfection—it is a heroic tale told in absolute musical terms, despite all of the movement titles. As Kernis describes it “This new symphony is created out of musical elements, not images or stories…” Perhaps it is anachronistic, but there yet remains remarkable power in absolute expression.
Contemporary music is often regaled for its accessibility, Kernis’ work stands against that. It is interesting and complicated music that draws on the work of great minds that precede it and greatly rewards repeated hearings. This recording will find its due place in the pantheon of American Classics, as the series label suggests. The first of three due out from Naxos and Nashville this summer, it looks to be a very nice season—even if we are all stuck at home.
As a final note: Particularly with the Color Wheel, but also with the Chromelodia Symphony, hearing this recording flooded me with a sense of nostalgia for the Schermerhorn with its light touch of reverb and responsiveness to forte blasts. Kernis especially wrote his Color Wheel to bring out the sound of the space and our great Maestro Guerrero succeeds in making the Schermerhorn ring. I miss the Nashville Symphony and while I understand the necessity of the current suspension, I’m taken aback at its length. Other orchestras have found a way to continue, some online, whether live or recorded (Philadelphia, Chicago, London) or live performances to socially distanced audiences (Vienna, Berlin). Even Nashville Opera is surveying its options, but very few have simply cancelled the entire season. It feels like we have witnessed the end of an era.
At the OZ Arts Website:
Burdens from a Distance
Carrying burdens: a universally accepted part of life and timely theme as the world shares a collective burden. Over the course of three years, speaking to hundreds of people from all walks of life, Jana Harper discovered the same underlying concerns we all share: “our loved ones, our futures, our planet, and of course, our health.” This Holding was created from the exploration of these burdens, portraying this portion of the human experience in a raw, beautiful, and thought-provoking way. During a period when many feel more alone than ever in their lives, Harper holds a fitting sentiment about her work: “If This Holding could leave you with one feeling, I hope it is the knowledge that you are not alone.”
This Holding: Traces of Contact, rather than being performed live, was presented as an online film event by OZ Arts Nashville in response to the widespread healthy and safety concerns due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Originally conceived for the stage, once rehearsals were stymied by prohibited in-person gatherings and the assembly of a large audience was out of the question, the entire creative team quickly pivoted in order to re-imagine the work for film. In a live Q & A session following the performance, members of the team commented about the transition of the creative process and how the changed conditions impacted their interpretations and performances of the work as a final product. Despite the circumstances, the production team was thrilled with the outcome, recognizing the performance as a unique product of its time, and voicing appreciation for the ability to utilize uncommon settings and the beauty of nature as part of the narrative.
Divided into seven acts, the film event honed in on individuals, duos, or divided groups of dancers, seemingly socially distanced. Soloists and distanced group dancers interacted with artistic objects, representative of various burdens one might carry, while duos interacted only with one another, portraying various relationship complexities and the burdens that attend.
…the dancer contemplated it, dragged it, entwined herself in it, and attempted to walk while bound by her affliction.
Each solo act honed in on a single dancer, interacting with objects in a tangible representation of human hardship. The first, Emma Morrison, appeared in a verdant
landscape as she related to and struggled with an incredibly long, seemingly endless, artistically rendered “burden.” Sewn from many lengths of different colored fabric and evidently filled with something heavy, the prop resembled a Burmese python as the dancer contemplated it, dragged it, entwined herself in it, and attempted to walk while bound by her affliction. The second soloist (David Flores) appeared in front of a warehouse at night, attempting to pick up and carry a myriad of colored sandbags, lifting one after the other in order to take with him. The ceaseless struggle of picking up bag after bag, bearing their weight, attempting to carry them elsewhere, then only to have one fall, then another, and then another, was difficult to watch and felt painfully authentic.
All three duets seemed to cast light on different types of human relationships, each in its own unique stage, with unspoken intricacies between the two people. The first duo appeared passionate and lustful, yet timid and reserved at times. Close-up person to person contact, combined with the natural landscape and stunning cinematography, created a sense of intensely personal sensuality and exclusivity. The second duo portrayed a more weathered relationship, undoubtedly with history and baggage, but with maturity and contemplation. Rather than looking for the world in one another, the two were stretched out on the forest floor in repose, facing outward in the same direction, pondering the concerns of life together. The final duo characterized a more platonic friendship, filled with love and devotion, yet not without disappointment and hurt. Unexpected combinations of movements channeled quickly changing emotions, ranging from jagged confusion and resentment to flowing warmth and adoration.
The two ensemble numbers, despite appearing in disparate landscapes, functioned similarly in spacing, with each dancer relegated to six feet away from any of the others. The first group number involved each dancer wearing a large sheet of black fabric, wrapped about their body and limiting their range of motion. Over the course of the act, the film brilliantly captured the unlikely landscape combination of greenery and black tarmac, the overarching feeling of unrest and discomfort, and each dancer’s individual relationship with their black burden.
The final act featured the largest number of dancers of any movement, positioned six feet from one another, each enclosed by a snake-like, multi-colored art prop, arranged in a circle around their area. With each dancer wearing a unique, brightly colored outfit, the group of movers stood out against a stark, rooftop pavement scene, devoid of
nature or greenery. As the camera panned and re-focused on smaller groups or independent dancers, each dancer seemed to choose from a library of movements suited to or chosen for their character. One flowed endlessly from one new movement to the next, while another performed a sequence on repeat. Some moved with extroverted emotion, attempting to interact with the world around them, while others looked inward, ignoring outside factors and expressing restrained, introspective affliction. Upon observing the dancers individually as well as in combination, a spectator cannot help but begin to identify on a personal level, watching each character battle their own demons, surrounded by the blunt landscape of concrete structure, yet the vibrant color of human existence.
Jana Harper’s vision for this work came to life with the assistance of movement and assistant director Rebecca Steinberg, composer and musician Moksha Sommer, and filmmaker Sam Boyette. Steinberg’s originality and adaptability to a film setting brought an intimate, confidential feel to the movement of the work, highlighting the strengths of each dancer and utilizing existing relationships to re-imagine multi-person numbers during a time of separation. Sommer’s original score brought warmth and interest to trying subject matter, highlighting sounds of nature in and amongst electronically programmed and live instrumental music. Boyette’s videography beautifully captured the energy, emotion, and depth of each dance number, combining all seven movements to create a captivating work of art.
The collaboration that took place in order to create and carry out This Holding: Traces of Contact is a moving reminder of how unified and connected we have the power to be, whether together or apart physically. Recognizing the burdens that unify us is just another means of learning how to move forward together. Perhaps Harper got her wish—after watching this performance, one can feel only gratitude and hope, knowing there is strength and power in shared experiences with others, trials and tribulations included.
The Nashville Symphony via Youtube:
After the Storm . . .
I’m not sure about you, but I’m already looking forward to putting 2020 in the rearview mirror. We’re not even halfway through the year and we’ve weathered a catastrophic tornado and are grappling with a global pandemic . . . and we’re not out of the woods yet. As our communities gradually reopen and we learn to adjust to what is a hopefully temporary “new normal”, we are all confronted with uncertainty and apprehension about the future. But, even as we adjust to quarantine, social distancing, facemasks, and the elbow bump rather than the handshake – we can still take joy in life’s simple pleasures . . . at least this is what I tell my kids (and myself) after I’ve defused the umpteenth screaming argument over screen time.
So, when I saw that on May 28th the Nashville Symphony had posted a performance of the 5th movement of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony captured via Zoom, I decided to take my own advice and carve out a few minutes to enjoy a little music and remember that this too shall pass. I know the ensemble had already planned to perform the Pastoral Symphony this Spring before live concerts were put on hold, but given the current circumstances, the 5th movement (Joyful and thankful feelings after the storm) is perfect programming. Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony has long been associated with the composer’s love of nature, and this too reflects current events as our parks, greenways, and trails have been teeming with visitors while other entertainment venues remain closed. All of the mid-state seems to be enjoying a chance to slow down and rediscover the natural beauty we sometimes take for granted. Though we’re not completely out of this storm, a moment of reflection and thankfulness is certainly a welcome prospect.
The Symphony’s performance is available to view on YouTube and is presented as a kind of mosaic of individually shot videos that have been cleverly edited together to show the musicians in an approximation of a symphonic seating order during tutti sections – with the strings down front and winds in the back. The audio is impressive, as I imagine that multiple sound files were painstakingly edited together to create the whole. This was no small feat, but the overall product sounds relatively seamless. As smaller consorts or soloists emerge, individual video panes are enlarged and highlighted, lending a sense of intimacy to what could have felt static or removed. All of the video was obviously created by the musicians themselves, filming and recording their individual parts at home – and this was particularly moving as those we usually see on stage in formal dress are presented here in t-shirts, in living rooms, surrounded by the framework of everyday life.
I think it is safe to say that in recent months, we’ve all felt vulnerable at one point or another. I know that I have. But, there is a strength in recognizing that this is a shared experience. The willingness of the Nashville Symphony’s musicians to perform from their homes, to invite audiences in, and to make this a very personal experience, serves as a reminder that art music, even stalwarts of the classical canon, aren’t artifacts to be admired from afar, but are living pieces of art that continue to evolve and communicate the more they are shared with one another.
As a resolution to the “storm” it follows, Beethoven’s 5th movement also reminds us that storms will eventually pass, and until we’re out of this one, I welcome the chance to share more music with the Nashville Symphony from afar. So, if you could use a moment of thankfulness, click the link below and take a stroll through the countryside (or your neighborhood) in true Beethovenian fashion to enjoy a gift of joy and clarity courtesy of the Nashville Symphony.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umObaE_5bXI
