beyondwords Archive JLA at CSO 10.28.10

It was an evening of geniuses and rebels that started in Evanston (named after me) and finished in the loop. By the end, I had seen Alex Ross, met John Luther Adams, and gained a new appreciation for Mahler.

[unreservedly recommended!]

At Northwestern, John Luther Adams was there to accept the Nemmers Prize ($100k) and to talk with certified genius Alex Ross. They spoke casually about JLA's biography, Alaskan lifestyle, and the tradition of experimental music in America. Frank Zappa, James Tenney, and Varèse featured prominently, such that when Beethoven surfaced towards the end (in reference to the 9th) it was somewhat of a shock. [Beethoven and JLA share almost nothing but the instruments, though his 9th is his most spacious, Alaskan moment; my roommate's noise band has more in common with JLA's music.]

And then I biked down the lakefront, Chicago's most Alaskan side, to see Adams' Dark Waves at the CSO.

Before the concert, there was a 2-piano version of the piece, which gave an impression but ultimately failed the composer's intention. The tape part and piano part started out sonically fused, but progressively came apart--separate but equal. And, for the size of the hall, the amount of sound didn't fill it up. Like a bass drum in the desert, the sound floated away in the wind. But an impression. An idea of what to expect. [In the middle, I noticed my heartrate was elevated, like 70bpm, from the bike ride down. Maybe I was still moving too fast for the piece at this point?]

The orchestra version that opened the concert succeeded much better and was an otherworldly and meditative experience. However, it reminded me of a piece for solo gong by James Tenney and suffered from the comparison. The Tenney piece was, essentially, written on a notecard and was a gong roll from quasi niente to a billion forte and then back--for twenty minutes. It starts as muddy low tones and becomes gradually brighter as the overtones emerge. Adams' piece was essentially this but with a more undulating terrain: several peaks and valleys, rolling in and out, like, er, waves. But, whereas the Tenney piece is inherently based on the natural properties of sound, Adams uses only the 5th. This works fine in the lower registers to create a pitchless mass of sound, but at some point, the violins come in and ruin it. All of a sudden, as the violins play an oscillating 5th, there are distinct pitches; suddenly, we were no longer drifting in the void, we were in a concert hall listening to music. Which is an interesting experience--going from out there to in here--but was disappointing to me. [I would have liked to see more divisi, like in Ligeti's soundmasses.] That said, the ending was positively dramatic: after 12 minutes of sustained low notes undulating somewhat subconsciously, the sudden and severe absence of sound felt like a interior nuclear implosion.

The program moved from one composer in the wilderness to another: Gustav Mahler. I have never loved Mahler, but these songs, from Des Knaben Wunderhorn, helped warm my cold and jaded heart. The soprano, Canadian Measha Brueggergosman, was a big part of it. In the first two songs, Rheinlegendchen and Verlorne Müh'!, with their waltzing cheerfulness and optimism, she bobbed and swayed, squeezing every drop of meaning from the words and every drop of expression from the music. And so, while these two songs are of Mahler's more saccharine Alpine mood, I found their performance delightful, which is not something I usually want to feel and not something I usually admit. The second pair of songs, Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen and Urlicht, were intimate and somber; Ms. Brueggergosman adjusted her performance accordingly, seemingly more natural and genuine. With Mahler's typical bombast stripped away, Brueggergosman and conductor Jaap van Zweden drew the audience into an interior world of love and heartache. Simple, beautiful, and intense.

Then intermission.

The second half was Shostakovich's sprawling 8th Symphony. Living in and under the U.S.S.R, DSCH was always being manipulated by the apparatchiks to write more uplifting, patriotic music--forced to live in the wilderness of his mind. His international celebrity in 1942, including a picture on the cover of Time, was a result of his 7th Symphony, premiered during the seige of Leningrad by the Nazis. While the 7th has a pretty clear program, the 8th does not, expressing the inexpressible only slightly better than silence. The first movement starts dramatically, like the 5th, and then flows naturally, like the Volga--for nearly 30 minutes. [Some in the audience thought this the whole symphony, and so the first movement received a smattering of applause.] The second and third movements were typical Shostakovich bombast (to which I'm far more partial than to Mahler's). Van Zweden's tempo in the 3rd was dizzyingly fast--exciting and dangerous--like an insane train nearly running off the tracks, nearly blowing the trombone section apart, and causing some disagreement between the low brass and percussion sections. [Seriously, compare: DSCH, OZ] The fourth movement was profoundly resigned and forlorn, like DSCH was giving in to Stalin and his henchmen. The depth of his sorrow found no resolution in the abrupt transition to the final movement: the obligatory happy ending. This came across as rambling and distracted, forced and awkward, and left me feeling small and powerless against life's obstacles.

Thus, in the end, the program works: from the primordial ooze of Adams' Waves to the idyllic childhood of Mahler's songs to the harsh realities of DSCH's 8th. All three are individualist composers, mavericks, and base their art on their immediate environment. Regardless of style, there's an honesty to their work; regardless of technique, they have something important to say and are continuously endeavoring to say it. [In stark contrast to last night.]

beyondwords Archive Fulcrum Point 10.26.10

Bold, brassy, and suave, something alchemical emerged Wednesday night as Fulcrum Point opened it's season at the Harris. Dubbed "Motown Metal", the concert turned the Harris into one big blast furnace, turning disparate pieces of metal into some sort of high-grade steel.

The concert began with Michael Daugherty's Motown Metal--the title track. Yesterday, in my preview, I called Daugherty a "gimmicky" composer. This piece reminded me: he's also "kitschy". Every one of his pieces that I know has a program that is based on something distinctly American: Superman, Elvis, the auto industry. Based on the title and program notes, I expected some tone painting, making reference to "muscle cars" and "assembly lines". These only came through vaguely. Instead of representing tons of Detroit steel, it had about all the weight of a Smart Car--a sort of fanfare for car-loving Americans. Lots of craft, little inspiration: he must have many commissions. (3.9 / 10) [I could tell that the skill of the ensemble, brass under the direction of Stephen Burns, greatly exceeded what the piece required: it was like watching Mario Andretti drive a Chevy Nova.]

Next was a piece by Bang on a Can composer David Lang: the anvil chorus. Lang wanted to go back to the early days of percussion, when it was just repeated banging, like on metal to make stuff. Showing his minimalist roots, Lang's piece is based on shifting numerical patterns, related more by multiplication than addition. For a brief moment in the middle, it gets pretty cool; the opening patterns return triumphantly and are supported by a quirky, almost toe-tappable beat. And then it goes back to just being abstract patterns--albeit interestingly polyrhythmic. (4.5 / 10) Another solid gold performance: Jeff Handley (dressing the part in blacksmith's apron) and Tina Laughlin made it look easy [though I don't think the audience needed an explanation why Handley was in costume].

Finally in the 3rd piece, the fulcrum, things got revved up. Stephen Burns, Fulcrum Point's Artistic Director, played, Metallics, a solo trumpet piece with electronics by Yan Maresz. While many piece with electronics will either play a pre-recorded track or use computer-based effects, this piece seemed to do both. The logistics, though still somewhat of a mystery, were flawlessly executed by composer and performer alike; the quality of the sound coming through the speakers seemed higher definition than many similar pieces and were both ear-catching and intriguing. The spatialized reverberations and other assorted manipulations bounced around the room as Burns pulled out various mutes and extended techniques, becoming a medium through which the music flowed rather than just a performer. I would gladly see this piece again. [And you have the chance to at Fulcrum Point's next concert in early November.] (7.2 / 10)

Then, a quintet of the Fulcrum brass hammered out Stefan Freund's Metal. The three movement work was on the verge of momentum failure during the first movement, on the verge of film score in the second, and tried too hard in the third. In the first, I had the sneaking suspicion that he composed it on the computer with Finale or Sibelius; much of the rhythmic drive was completely dependent on one person playing at exactly the right time and at the right volume. The Fulcrum Pointers seemed as polished as ever, and yet the momentum of the music kept fizzling out. The second movement was like from a funeral scene in the Middle Ages but with wrong notes thrown in so you know it's contemporary. Just like Prokofiev always said, if you find yourself writing music that is too earnest and pretty, just smudge some of the notes around so people know you're being ironic. Overall, a pretty good piece for a doctoral candidate. (4.9 / 10)

To close, Chicago got to hear yet another piece by Mark Anthony Turnage: Out of Black Dust. Similar to how he Beyoncé, Turnage takes inspiration from a Classic Led Zeppelin tune and uses it for much of the melodic content. But it's always a little off or in parallel seconds--gotta be ironic. It's high energy and loud--not a terrible way to finish. And at least, afterwards, no one will ever say "More cowbell". [8 of them playing in unison is the best compositional idea evar.]

(5.6 / 10)

Once again, the success of Fulcrum Point's programming is in the metallurgy more than in individual pieces. Whereas many Chicago area new music groups focus on a style, location, or composer, FP's program slices the new music pie in a different direction. Again I noticed that the crowd is not your typical new music crowd, only recognizing 3 familiar faces: Stacy Garrop, George Flynn, and Janice Misurell-Mitchell--all Chicago-based composers. The audience seems to be attracted by the welding of music to extramusical references to mainstream culture.

Come for the intersection of culture, stay for the beer. To celebrate the Motor City, the reception included Stroh's, which I had never actually had [though my parents' friends were down with it]. I almost didn't indulge but figured it was the perfect opportunity to try it. Not terrible, but I think I'll stick to PBR just for its cachet.

beyondwords Archive Voxare 10.25.10

Sometimes, when a concert has but 20 people, I feel disappointed by the turnout. Last night, at High Concept Laboratories, with the same number of people, it felt intimate--like I was invited to a house concert in an abandoned industrial space.

The event was the Voxare String Quartet providing accompaniment to Dziga Vertov's 1929 classic silent film, Man with a Movie Camera.

And they're doing the event again tonight in case you missed the invite: Highly Recommended.

[Never mind the fact that I left feeling slightly nauseated.* That's part of the experience!]

The music was selected by Voxare from Russian/Soviet composers of the 20th century, a responsibility they did not take lightly, resulting in a stunning symbiosis of sound and image. And the execution was just as good: the quartet played with one voice, showcasing effortless technique and fevered intensity. I would be excited to see them without the pretense of a film.

If you're interested in going, visit High Concept Laboratories and RSVP to: info AT highconceptlaboratories DOT com. The show starts at 7 and is $10 suggestive donation.

The music had an interesting effect on my perception of the film; the muted aggression of Shostakovich, the wrong-note neo-classicism of Prokofiev, the expressionless ostinatos of Stravinsky, and the surreal futurism of Mosolov gave the image a certain gravitas that cemented the preconceived notions we may have of the Soviet Union. It's one interpretation, just like the Cinematic Orchestra had a vastly different one.

* - About partway through the film, I did start to feel some sort of "Blair Witch Effect". I had read that the fast cuts and sheer amount of edits (~18,000) was overwhelming for audiences of the time but figured my modern eyes could handle it. Alas, I don't watch T.V. like I used to--but when I do, it's often South Park. Apparently, I can handle it for 22 minutes but not 80. The slight nausea had a sort of "Clockwork Orange Effect" and made the day in Soviet life seem horribly oppressive.

Lyric's current production of the Bizet's über-Classic Carmen is straightforward and to the point but with an underwhelming amount of charisma and chemistry. [See it now through October 29, then again (new cast) in March.]

Bizet's classic opera proves itself timeless (unlike certain other operas this season), surrounding and connecting the instantly recognizable tunes with unassumingly beautiful music: nothing mundane, no excess. And while Macbeth suffered the fate of a dramatic-turned-comic, Carmen is rather a comic-turned-dramatic: its more serious music and the tragic ending is a mix that feels more realistic. [Even Nietzsche said it "displaced all the fog of the Wagnerian ideal."]

Lyric's production is a panoply of succulent voices, though it takes more than a pretty voice or two to make an opera work. Unfortunately, selling the story to the audience comes up a bit short.

Most noticeably, there's no amorous effusions. Carmen (last-minute fill-in Katharine Goeldner) is underplayed and, though exuding confidence and élan, does not muster up much sensuality. She's flirty, but more like an older aunt, less like a lover. I thought to myself: "you're still living the gypsy lifestyle? Isn't it about time you grow up and buy a condo?" [but perhaps that was directed more at myself...]

Yonghoon Lee (Don José) doesn't meet her halfway, so the murderous passions at the end erupt as if from a long-dormant volcano. Though I didn't love presence on the stage--barely believable as a Mediterranean lover--I enjoyed hearing him. While his body was stiff and actions contrived, his voice emerged from his awkwardly gaping mouth like Cain and Ebel from a firehose--a compliment, I assure you. HIs performance made Don José into a geeky mamma's boy, in the end falling victim more to his own naiveté than his hot-headed nature.

[I think future performances would be better with a few shots of Cuarenta y tres between the two leads before/during the show.]

If the leads were a couple of boobs, the supporting cast was a diamond-in-the-rough-studded brassiere. Kyle Ketelsen's Escamillo and Elaine Alvarez's Micaëla were nearly in danger of upstaging the leads; whether it was Ketelsen's swaggering chutzpah or Alvarez's virginal tenderness, both appeared more fully formed and human than the two ill-fated lovers. Ketelsen was, as usual, fun to watch and a delight to hear; Alvarez's voice, a new one to me, gushed with expression and lyricism.

The performance I saw was a Wednesday matinée, so I finally got to see who goes to matinées in the middle of the workweek: mostly retired people. So, if the audience reaction was off-puttingly tepid, this is, mayhap, the reason. Still, Mr. Lee got heaps of bravos at the final curtain call, probably an enthusiastic hoot or holler from just about everyone who didn't make a mad dash to the exit at the orchestra's final notes.

Final Notes:

Harry Silverstein's direction made for a bone-chilling ending. I was reminded that this is (in addition to Breast Cancer Awareness Month) also Domestic Violence Awareness Month and thought of the unnecessary murders that have happened recently--specifically, the lacrosse player who killed his ex-girlfriend. Perhaps we could use the tragedy on stage to remember the tragedy happening ever day; perhaps at the end, volunteers could collect donations for domestic violence shelters. Breast cancer seems to get all the attention in October--perhaps because it's curable. Maybe domestic violence, like poverty, is deeply embedded in the culture, but culture can and does change--but only little by little over decades and decades.

Recommendedish: Great music but don't bother splurging on expensive seats

Want a second opinion? Try Andrew Patner. See if I care.

beyondwords Archive dal niente 10.13.10

dal niente is back in town and better than ever. The ensemble was invited to Darmstadt this summer where they won the Stipiendienpreise, which roughly translates to "most badass ensemble prize".

Wednesday night, they were at the Mayne Stage, giving me my second opportunity to scope out the venue in as many weeks. I approve. Having seen post-Classical experimental Art Music in bars before, I knew it could fail. I was skeptical Wednesday when I didn't see a massive amount of microphones to combat the sound-dampening fixtures. But there was no need; the sound throughout the evening was ample, not D.O.A.--a neutral space with little added resonance or reverb.

The evening was broken up into two sets, the first skewing more American, the second more Euro. Musically, the ensemble was fantastic in every piece, though the expressive quality was often hampered by the head-down effort at precision. [Not that most of the pieces required much expression.]

The standout loser of the evening was Nico Muhly (MYU-lee), whose piece How About Now was rescued from the trash bin of history and given a second chance. Muhly wrote the piece in 2006, when he was a fresh 25 years old; he may be a boy wonder now, but this piece sounded young, like he had just discovered Steve Reich, like he had sketched out a couple Reich-esque ideas, ate them for lunch, and then threw them up on the page. The ideas weren't terrible, but the whole was flimsy. His work often verges on falling apart, but this one never got put together. It alluded that it had somewhere to go but then never fulfilled its promise; its fits and starts made it both too unpredictable and predictable at the same time. No one should ever program this. Ever. [...but I'm sure if we heard him talk about it, we'd find him charming and endearing and therefore über-talented.]

It's easier to harshly criticize than to mete out praise--especially when tired. Muhly's piece was the only one that made me angry; now that I've gotten that out of the way, I can be more delicate. It helps to have slept a couple nights.

The stand-out winner from the evening was Shanna Gutierrez in her performance of Michel van der Aa's Rekindle (apparently not a reference to the Amazon product). The piece was above average (7.0 / 10), with interesting sound design, sophisticated integration of live flute with prerecorded track, and a good sense of motion and flow. And, while I generally am not impressed by show pieces, this piece had a virtuosic component (that never overtook the focus), which Gutierrez served up with grace and intensity. The piece was successful for long stretches, inducing a mesmerization only periodically interrupted. At the end, Gutierrez gave a smile and a little laugh, as if she felt both triumphant and relieved--an apt mixture of feelings.

[Interesting aside: Ms. Gutierrez first "met" Mr. van der Aa through Twitter, through which she both learned about the world première of Rekindle and inquired about performing the US première. Technology rocks.]

Nearly a week after the concert, I have some lasting impressions about the other pieces:At 2.5 hours (including intermission), the concert was just a bit much. Listening to new music (anything unfamiliar) taxes mental muscles like speaking in a foreign language. After 5 difficult and thorny pieces on the first half, the singular beer I had at intermission, and a long day, I was sapped for the second half. In hindsight, a lot of the pieces sort of run together.
That being said, here are some further recollections.Set 1:

The Cheung, Brown, and Balter pieces all fit well together, the van der Aa being the exception that proves the rule, and the Muhly being somewhat out of left field.

• Centripedalocity by Anthony Cheung

Once, in grad school, I titled an orchestra piece "Pyroxialisticalityness". Cheung's title strikes me as similarly ridiculous. And the music sounds how the title looks: filled to the brim, tamped down, and filled again--a sort of minimalist maximalism. I have had the scene from Amadeus in my mind with Cheung as the young Mozart and me as the doddering Emperor: "too many notes". Perhaps history will judge me like it did the Emperor and in 200 years, but perhaps the Emperor has no clothes. (4.6 / 10)

• Growth by Marcos Balter

If Cheung's piece was maximalist minimalism, then Balter's piece was maximalist minimalism: repetitive but not trance-inducing, a quizzical mix of movement and stasis. Like the title suggests, the piece proceeded logically and organically with well-timed interruptions--just like life should be. A good piece I wish I could remember more: (7.2 / 10)

• Uneasy by Eliza Brown

Ms. Brown is a doctoral candidate at Northwestern, and, though her music exhibits a high degree of polish and craft, it uses a rather generic academic language that makes it difficult to distinguish from the other pieces. Most memorably, the piece explored the very high and low registers of the ensemble, resulting a unique and beautiful sonority. (4.2 / 10)

Set 2:

The second half was a slow blur of scrapes, grunts, and squeaks, wonderfully organized and orchestrated. Along with the halftime Half Acre, it induced a sort of meditative daze, an subtle reverie of abstraction.

There's another dal niente concert next week. Stay tuned for details.

[addendum: How many of these composers are/were affiliated with Northwestern? Yet again, I joined all the wrong secret societies...]

beyondwords Archive Macbeth at Lyric 10.6.10

Lyric's production of Verdi's Macbeth was not a total tragedy, managing to combine a tragic plot, rousing choruses, and circus aerials into a production worthy of half the audience standingly ovating.

For me, the performance induced cognitive dissonance. Verdi's opera, like Shakespeare's play, takes place in Scotland, though you wouldn't know it by the music, the language, the costumes, or the set. The only things Scottish were Macbeth's Braveheart locks, the hand-forearm shake, and the Macallan 12 I had at intermission. You know what they say about all things not Scottish.

In fact, nothing seemed to go together. The sets and the costumes seemed to be borrowed from a troupe of androids from the future trying to imagine medieval Scotland. Though Verdi broke ground by writing an opera that wasn't a love story, he neglected to change the music; Lady Macbeth's Act I aria about conjuring the demons of hell shouldn't sound like she's falling in love.

Singers:

Thomas Hampson (Macbeth) had a voice to suit the part: strong yet vulnerable, attractive yet not all that pretty. Nadja Michael (Lady Macbeth) drove her husband to kill and nearly did the same to me. Her first act arias proved her ability to sing "like a banshee" while slinking around and writhing like

Gozer, the destructor. She's one you either love or hate, and for me, unfortunately, I loathed having her on stage, flaunting her hot bod and wailing hysterically. [For her curtain call, nearly half the audience stood.] Perhaps it was just a matter of proximity: my seat was relatively close to the stage, whereas Ms. Michael was playing--not just to the back of the room--but to somewhere downstate. All that being said, her Act IV aria was bone-chillingly haunting; I finally felt sympathetic to her character, whom I had been killing off in my head since the beginning.

The supporting cast nearly eclipsed the leads. Stefan Kocán (Banquo) played one of the few likable characters, singing with a sound like a rich string bass. Leonardo Capalbo (Macduff) had a more traditional Italian tenor sound, like butter dripping off a hot biscuit.

The chorus and orchestra never cease to amaze me and were in their usual top form; Renato Palumbo coaxed out a very sensitive, lyrical overture from the pit and, conversely, rhythmic precision from the singers.

From the Galley

Macbeth dates from Verdi's "galley years", in which he toiled endlessly only to produce a few operas the public still hears. We here in Chicago were blessed last year with Ernani--and I do mean "blessed" (in the way a religious couple describes an unplanned pregnancy); this year, we get Macbeth, which reminded me of my vow to avoid the first half of Verdi's output. [I was much happier with Macbeth than Ernani but have labored enough in Verdi's galley.]

And, for the first time, I feel like the Lyric production misinterprets the score. While Shakespeare's work is dark and heavy, Verdi's is surprisingly light--inappropriately so, but so it is. There were moments in the libretto and the music that deserved more comedy but were played dramatically serious on stage, resulting in too many mixed messages with nothing to say.

beyondwords Archive MusicNOW: 10.4.10

The Chicago Symphony Orchestra is an institution. And it always makes me happy when institutions get it right. Which they can only do when pressured by smaller, more nimble and agile organizations. And so the work by ensembles like eighth blackbird, Fulcrum Point, and dal niente has finally had a positive effect on the CSO, Chicago's most venerable Classical music institution, which presented its new music series, MusicNOW, on Monday at the Harris.

[Writing about Contemporary Music requires a great attention to capitalization.]

Unless you've been under Iraq, you've heard about Maestro Muti's coming and subsequent early withdrawal, but receiving a lot less press and fevered googling is the MusicNOW series which, quietly, unassumingly, and flawlessly opened Monday night at the Harris.

Nevertheless, the Harris was packed with more people than I've ever seen at a new music concert--all the usual suspects and many more.

The evening opened with Mason Bates and Anna Clyne, the composers in residence at the CSO, introducing the evening with their respective West coast and British mannerisms--Bates appropriately tan, Clyne predictably not.

Li Po

As a continuing celebration of Mexico's independence, the program included pieces by 2 Mexican composers, of which Li Po by Enrico Chapela opened the concert. Chapela based the music on a Mexican poem about the Chinese poet Li Po and so included projections of the poem--in hand-made caligraphy--onto a screen behind the performers. The piece for chamber symphony and tape fused the two media symbiotically, which, like a happy marriage, were sometimes independent, sometimes joined at the hip. About 50% of the sounds on the tape part sounded rich and lush, electronic but acoustic, on the Harris's sound system; the other 50% sounded cheaper and more digital. The form of the piece, based on the structure of the poem, was indecipherable, for the poem itself was enigmatic and was in Spanish with no subtitles. Even if I spoke flawless Spanish, each verse of the poem flashed on the screen for a mere 5 or 10 seconds, not long enough to engage the imagery. And even if I had more time, the music drew most of my attention with its polyrhythmic activity and spatialized tape part. Overall, a good piece--not amazing. It didn't piss me off or insult me (except for the "seagulls" in the violins) and had plenty going on to keep me from getting bored. (6.5 / 10)

Vision Mantra

After the Chapela was a piece for string trio, Vision Mantra, by local composer Marcos Balter--local in that he lives in Chicago and teaches at Columbia College. The piece was repetitive, rhythmic, and slow to change: minimalist. But it was minimalist in a different way. Instead of trance-inducingly constant, it was broken up into short phrases, each of which being either a perfect copy or a slight modification. The pauses between each phrase allowed the audience to clearly hear each phrase with no distractive connective tissue. But after awhile, it got old. Instead of inducing a meditative calm with a heightened sensitivity to subtle changes, I started to get irritated by the regularity: each phrase was the same perceptual length.

It was during this piece that my attention was drawn to the amplification: each piece was amplified, and while for the pieces involving a tape part, this was absolutely necessary (and perfectly mixed), for the acoustic pieces it was less necessary. In this piece, the amplification caused the grating of the bow on the strings to be more prominent than if it were unamplified. And thus the subtle beauty of the piece was further disturbed.

Within the whole of the concert, the piece acted as a nice sorbet to the electronic-laden pieces around it. But on its own, it was a one-timer: (4.5 / 10)

steelworks

The Wednesday of the 5-piece concert was Anna Clyne's steelworks, which was the popular favorite. The piece was about the steel industry and was accompanied by a video by Luke DuBois. There were only three performers, but with the tape part and video, it was an all-encompassing experience. The trick, Clyne was clever enough to realize, was to keep the components simple to let the complexity build up. Her writing for each member of the trio--percussion (mostly marimba and bass drum), bass clarinet, and flute--was fairly simple with only brief moments of "look-at-me" attention-grabbing--tasteful and subdued. And the tape part cradled the instruments nicely, turning a mere trio into something that felt more chamber symphony. Clyne seems to succeed in the big picture even when working with somewhat mundane details. Worth another listen/viewing. (7.5 / 10)

Bhairav

After Anna Clyne's work filled our every mental orifice, it was a welcome break to have Ana Lara's Bhairav, a completely innocuous piece for string quartet that, much like Balter's string trio, functioned very well as a sort of aural sorbet. The first third of the piece used shimmering tremolos in the upper strings to accompany a very run-of-the-mill, elegiac chant in the cello. The tune moved up through the viola and then to each of the violins. This took all too long, proceeding slowly and predictably. Suddenly, and with no apparent reason, the second half took off with a driving rhythmic homage to either Shostakovich or Bartòk. Those with less experienced ears could call it a favorite; those with jaded and overtrained ears could hear the thieving and called it "embarrassing." And, there were no program notes, no explanation before the piece, so the meaning of the piece, something that might have distracted us from its simplicity, remained an enigma. I was content to hear it once--but just once--but kept wishing I were hearing one of Schnittke's string quartets. [Apparently, I missed a sixth of the piece somewhere: lost to the ether.] (3.5 / 10)

Digital Looms

My first reaction to Mason Bates' closing piece was against the title: using "digital" in a title sounds cheesy. And since the piece was for pipe organ (yes, like the one in the church, not a B3) it had an uphill battle to prove that it wasn't straight out of the Mars Cheese Castle. As soon as it started, though, my fears were allayed; the opening movement had nothing schmaltzy about it, instead playing it cool, like a DJ spinning at a cool underground-loft-art-gallery. This progressed and flowed into the second movement, Fanfare with Breaks, which was like spastic, Keith Emerson-esque, organ dogfighting against Amen breaking all over the place. Not quite cheesy but it had its moments. After the third movement, things get a little fuzzy for me (it's also been a couple days). I remember the 4th movement, Geraldine's Parlour, because of the vibrato, self-consciously feeding the audience one big cheese ball.

I felt engaged while watching it, but now I'm not so sure of its merits. If there's one thing that Bates is good at, it's the moments; if there's one thing he's still working on, it's tying it all together. Each moment is beautiful, interesting or some quizzical combination, but the whole is less than the sum of the parts--just the opposite of Anna Clyne's piece.

Also, judging by Bates' music that I've heard so far, and this piece in particular, I find that his stylistic palate for each piece is too glutinous. He presents enough styles for an entire concert, so when his work comes at the end of the concert, it feels like stylistic overload. Now that we can do anything, do we throw everything into each piece? I say: "Say no to say yes." Save some styles for future work and develop the ideas you have further.

That being said, I would hear his piece once or twice more. Not destined to be a classic, it's both attention-grabbing and holding--a journey through a land of many cultures . (6.75 / 10)

It looks like Bates' and Clyne's music got my highest marks, which brings up a good question: did Mason and Anna choose the other pieces to make their own look good or was it pure accident?