Listening Experiment

      Taking my last post as a jumping off point,  I listened to two very different pieces to see how my new reactions might differ from my original ones (though I never wrote the first ones down.  Sorry about that.)    I chose a piece I did not 'appreciate': Luciano Berio's Laborintus II and one I did: Nicholas Maw's Violin Concerto.    Yes, their styles are completely different, but that is the point of the thing: how does emotion and mental acuity play into (my) perceptions.     I listened to them only once, on the same day, with a sizable break between.    I will admit upfront I was surprised by my response.    I enjoyed the 'experiment' thoroughly.    What conclusions did I draw?    Well, let me tell you what I heard...this time.
     Berio's piece is an early one compared to the more famous, 'influential' ones.    It has a 'libretto' (no plot nor narrative drive is at play) by a Dante Scholar and poet Edoardo Sanguineti.    It is scored for tape, narrator, three female voices, a mixed choir of eight, and ensemble from which a jazz combo can be formed. It contains poems by Sanguineti, plus texts from Dante, the Bible, T. S. Eliot and Ezra Pound.    They all have something to do with each other, but explanations are unnecessary, because the music neither  'explains' the texts nor 'enlightens' them.   Frankly, they could be any group of words.    It was commissioned by the French and Italian Radios to celebrate the 700th anniversary of Dante's birth.  So the Dante connections make sense.    The rest?   Well, the Narrator does have to speak very quickly to get some of them in before his 'time' is up.     On my recording, Sanguineti is the narrator.     That must have helped.
     I am a true fan of Berio, but I find (to my irritation or impatience) that he has these pieces I call 'sketches'--works that seem to hold unperfected ideas that will find far more success in larger, better, more accomplished works.  ('Sketch' does not imply shorter length in his case...alas.)   Certainly half-formed ideas here will show up in Sinfonia and Coro, not to mention his operas that occupied him during the later years of his life.    For one thing, Sanguineti formed the performing texts for both of those following masterpieces using many of the same authors.    And the musical ideas--in particular, the overlapping, 'battle' of voices both sung and spoken; the deconstruction of words into morphemes, vowel sounds, even phonemes repeated in no particular order; the soloistic / virtuosic nature of the instrumental parts; the abrupt changes in musical style, especially the appearance of some form of pop music; the juxtaposition of two things that do not share any obvious qualities --will show up over and over throughout his career, sometimes more successfully, sometimes less.     The more of his work you know, the more likely you are to hear the connections and enjoy seeing where they came from.    But Laborintus II is roughly thirty-five minutes long.     It is episodic to a fault.    Ideas seem to either evaporate before you can grasp their make-up or drone on long after their pleasure has past.    Certainly, multiple sopranos will be used far more advantageously in later pieces like the two named and one of his great operas, Un Re In Ascolto (A King Listens).     Not that this piece has no merits--on the contrary, this is a major composer fleshing out important ideas he will use for decades.   The vocal music is for the most part masterly, if a bit disjointed at times.    The flashes of fragments of jazz poking out of the fabric of the first half comes to fruition in a delightful jazz combo fighting for its life amongst all the other things going on (it loses, by the way.)     The ideas that would soon lead to O King are here in miniature and can be beautiful, as they are in the later work (though not much later, a few years.)     But mostly, I still feel, this is a 'worksheet' on 'what to use later in my better pieces.'    Well.    I liked it more than I first did, certainly, but I am still not won over.   I'd rather listen to Sinfonia.
     Nicholas Maw wrote his Violin Concerto 'for' Joshua Bell, claiming he had finally heard someone who was in the grand Romantic line of violinists.    (Or so says Bruce Adolphe in the liner notes.   The conversation took place in Maw's kitchen while the composer carved a turkey.    I want to ask, "How many violinists were you listening to?"    I can name at least half a dozen who could lay more claim to the title back then.   And now, triple that. )    So the piece was premiered by the people who play on the recording: Joshua "Romantic" Bell,  the conductor Roger Norrington, and the London Philharmonic Orchestra.   Bell plays wonderfully, actually, though I still wouldn't call him a "Romantic" violinist.    He seems to prefer a more "Classical" balance of things (for want of a more technical term) where nothing is too understated nor too overstated, the tone never too dark or coarse, nor, in fact, anything but lovely.     Sometimes this suits the music perfectly; sometimes, it does not help it through some of its weaker points, where someone less afraid to go too far might conceal weakness a bit better.    For the piece has some.   One: a huge mistake in my mind, a poor idea overextended.     It doesn't destroy the piece, but it blunts its impact.
     The work is in four movements: 1) Prelude 2) Scherzo 3) Romanza 4) Finale marked Allegro moderato e grazioso.     The style owes something to the mid-Twentieth Century Romantics, like Barber, but far more through-composed in form.  The movements have some ideas that bind them together very loosely: some melodic shapes that return, rhythmic motives, a recurring idea where the lower strings play a unison slow melody, usually forte, while the violin spins high free-flowing countermelodies.   A few others too technical to describe.    Most of the music is slow(-ish or not so -ish)--not all of it it, mind you, but more than half.    This tends to lessen the effect at times, but only for short durations.    The Prelude has one or two too many slow builds to a climax.   We'll skip the Scherzo and say the Romanza is lovely, probably the most successful of the four, and the Finale is a bit fragmented, luckily coming together with a welcome satisfaction at the end with some strong music.    But it does have a few awkward spots, meanders for a few short stretches, before finding its footing.    Not that I couldn't follow it, any of it.   It is most skillfully written.    Maw knows what he is doing as he should after writing music for forty years.  This is not abnormally complex music (nor too simple) but close concentration is needed for you not to drift off a bit on occasion.    Still, three of the four movements have mostly beautiful, memorable, enjoyable writing.    'Beautiful' often comes to mind while listening.    But there's that Scherzo.    Unfortunately.    It begins quite well: interesting fast movement of even note values, moving from small cells to larger, broader melodies...and then it gets highjacked by a big slow movement in the middle (!)    Why????    We've just had a slow movement to start (over ten minutes) and will have another at Scherzo's end.    And this is the least well-crafted of the lot.    And it seems to lose what momentum the movement had.    But Maw goes back to the original material and you shake your head but sigh relief that you're back on more solid ground.     And then he does it again.    Slower.    Thinner, mostly for long held chords with violin obbligato.    For more than just a passing instance.    Deadly.    Not ugly, just deadly.    Boring even.    A really poor idea that such an experienced composer should not use.    It all but ruins the effect of the beginning of the Romanza which begins like a second cousin to the chords in Britten's Billy Budd --the scene where Vere goes inside to tell Budd he has been sentenced to death.    If you know the opera, you know what I mean.   Isolated chords, in this case with small movements within them (just chords in the Britten.)    The piece moves into more lovely complexity, a fine chance for the violinist to play beautifully in all registers, which, of course, Bell does in spades.    The piece is a marvel of finely detailed work.    It would work perfectly well on its own.    If I could, I would cut the Scherzo right before it 'dies' and move directly into the true slow movement.    Maybe if this is how the piece went, the small weaknesses of the outer movements would pale.    Probably.    I was mostly happy with the Prelude.     The myriad ideas of the Finale might seem more germane if the piece hadn't been breaking into these slow reveries so often.    I found some flaws with it the first time I heard it.    I didn't like the Scherzo then either (from my recollection.)    I liked the outer movements more then (though I like them quite a lot now.)    I appreciate the Romanza more now.    Frankly, if a more risky, highly emotional soloist and conductor played it, they might help that big giant gaffe.   Say, Gil Shaham and Simon Rattle. Or maybe not.  In a few more years?

In the mood

     Like many people in The Arts (capitalized, naturally), I have bi-polar disorder.   Yes, me and Catherine Zeta-Jones.    Some people affected by this are stigmatized by ignorant people who either overreact or dismiss it, so often sufferers keep it hidden, from a real fear of mistreatment.   But public education is heightening awareness of this and thus, aiding responses.   Zeta-Jones should be commended.    Public perception is everything in Hollywood.   If a producer thinks she might hold up production even one day, they will most likely not use her.   Luckily, medicine helps me—others with the disorder are not so lucky.    But I am anything but “cured”.   I still experience symptoms, both elevated and depressed.  Due to this, though, I examine my emotional responses more than most people without it.    It is easy to overreact when I’ve done or said something unintentionally that may have bothered someone—and they let me know it in a blunt or cutting way.   This can make life a bit difficult, but who doesn’t have problems?    I’ve grown to live with it.    And it has its benefits.    When I experience a truly wonderful performance, or play, or piece of music, of work of art, I can feel it deeply.   That adrenaline rush can make even low emotions rise.    And I believe this helps me perform.    I think I can communicate emotions rather well since I am so aware of them.    Sometimes.   Let us not sugar coat things.   Some days, nothing gives relief.   But it passes, as long as I take my medicine, which I will take for the rest of my life.    This is a serious life-altering problem.   If you think you are experiencing some extreme emotional changes, seek help.   Go here to find out more information: http://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/default.htm.    And see a doctor.    Please.    The sooner the better.   Symptoms can grow extreme without treatment.    For the people who love you, if not for yourself.

            But with all this self-reflection, I have come to ask myself some interesting questions involving my reactions to artistic experiences (and other’s as well.)   So often people watching, listening to, or looking at a work declare they do not like it, with the caveat “maybe I just wasn’t in the right mood.”   How often is this really true?    I’ve said it myself, but I mean it.   Really.   I rarely just drop the matter.  When I think that, I try to revisit it later to prove my hypothesis.    Was I truly in the wrong mood?    Sometimes, I truly was.    And the opposite can also be true: sometimes I’m in such a great mood, a piece can seem better than it probably is—using my own personal scale, naturally.   One man or woman’s masterpiece is another’s misfire.   [Which leads me to repeat one of my basic tenets of taste.  Only morons think there are intrinsic values that everyone shares.    No, Mozart’s works are not necessarily better than Britten’s .    Their music has very little in common.    I adore both of them.   Avocados and pears have pits.    Is one intrinsically better than the other?    Frankly, Mozart’s music is less complex—if you use that as a criteria, Britten is a better musician(!)    And nothing Verdi wrote remotely suggests he could write something on the scale of Berg’s Lulu, which proves neither one’s superiority nor inferiority.   And I’ve only mentioned operas.    The same goes for all the arts.    Time to get rid of the prejudices.    And to all who will continue to make the comparisons and find everyone other than the same “standard” artists wanting: maybe you’re just too lazy or too ignorant or even, maybe, you’re just too stupid to get what other artists are doing…ever thought of that?   At least one New York Times reviewer I’d like to say that to, because he seems to be a little of all of three.]

            So, my mood almost always dictates my reaction: but not just the first hearing, sometimes the second or fourth.    And many things I have heard, watched, seen more times than that.    This is where I find things get interesting.    In a sentimental mood, I just can’t make my way through a Elliott Carter piece.     His music isn’t sentimental.    It’s brilliant, and often wonderful (I am a big fan of his piano concerto and his vocal piece A Mirror On Which To Dwell) but requires different needs.    When I am in a clear-headed, probing mind-set, I can follow him to some far out places and get much excitement from the journey.    Usually, I love Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, truly love it, but not always.    Sometimes it just seems too overly familiar and perhaps a bit dull.    I can listen to the same performance a month later and feel completely different about it.    How many listener’s out there are feeling the same?     No one I know ever says that (s)he never appreciated, say, Birtwistle’s Punch and Judy until heard the second (or, gasp! the third) time.    But I know people who can listen to the same few pieces by Bach over and over and never be bored.   (I have to ask…How?)   

And what about those people who seem to dismiss anything not immediately ingratiating as useless, since “life is too short to listen to bad (useless, dull, ugly, complicated, ‘atonal’, modern, strange, new) things.”   Are they actually trying to like these new works?    Do they take into consideration their true feelings before they experienced them?     Do they also mean it when they say “maybe I was just in the wrong mood”?    Do they go back to give it a second chance?  Don’t get me wrong: if I think a work is “junk”, it is usually “junk” when (or if) I hear it again.    Lloyd Webber’s Cats is not Stravinky’s Requiem Canticles.    (And, yes, I did give Cats another hearing.   I’ve seen it.    It is utter junk.    I just needed to know a little more music before I could appreciate the Stravinsky.)

Well, life isn’t that short.    And ingratiating is overrated.    Cover your ears if your squeemish, but what the fuck does “ingratiating” even mean?     Every piece and composer I have mentioned so far can be ingratiating heard in the right way.   Yes, even Birtwistle.    “People listen to what they know” doesn’t explain it all.    I think mind-frame is a more accurate determiner.    Case in point: an audience consisting mostly of older opera fans watched a 90 minute German piece written in odd atonal beauties mixed with violent musical ‘attacks’ for lack of a better word.    The people in this audience were probably the same people who go to see Le Nozze di Figaro.   But they came ready to hear what they could get from it.    And the place was silent but for a couple of coughs.    (And I do mean a couple.)    The piece was Henze’s Phaedra.    The loud ovation at the end was genuine.    I was one of them—quite moved by its strange sonorities.    I have a recording off the radio, so I was somewhat familiar with it, but the first listen, I did not come away with much.    A second time, I was enraptured by it, and the third (the live performance) I was sure I was experiencing a masterpiece.    But had I gone on my first impression, I would most likely have stayed at home.    By the same token, the first time I heard Bernstein’s Wonderful Town, I thought it a gem.   But further listens have always left me somewhat cold.    It has its pleasures, still.   But as a whole?    I think I was just in a really good mood, so anything with some skill and some wit seemed brilliant.     Sometimes, being happy can just give you the wrong impression.    But I’ll keep listening ever so often.    Just in case, it was just my mood.

Freedom

The 4th of July is a big day for musicians (and other performers) so I celebrate the day not just for the country but for the men and women in it who are still able to do what they love and live by doing it.   With so much fighting over every penny, The Arts are the easiest things to cut.   For every win, like Gay Marriage in New York, we have a loss, like NEA dismantling.  Yes, gay marriage is an appropriate topic for this blog, because the number of free lance performers that will get benefits from it is a large one.    So celebrate who we are, all of us.   And yes, that is hard, especially when people go on TV and lie, distort, demonize to keep power (or gain it.)    Just don't listen to 1812 Overture!    You fools, it's written by a Russian about a war between Russia and France...as in War and Peace.   Why are you using Russian music to celebrate American Independence?    Play some Gershwin instead.    Or Berlin, or Bernstein, or Sondheim or Porter or Barber or Ives or ANYBODY other than Tchaikovsky.    (Play him any other day.)