2012 Grawemeyer Award Winner, or, Hey look, another Violin Concerto

Greetings from the University of Louisville, or as we're known this time of year, Grawemeyer Award for Music Composition central.* I'm taking a break (ok, procrastinating) from my nearly-completed PhD applications to tell you (ok, post links I cribbed from Alex Ross) about this year's Grawemeyer Award winner, Esa-Pekka Salonen. I haven't heard the work, and I won't begin speculating wildly about what yet another award going to a Violin Concerto means (4 or 5, depending on how you split the Kurtág, out of 25), but I figured you'd want to know. Either way, new music FTW!



* No one actually calls us this.

New Music Feature, Part 2- James Young

It's been a while since I've posted (I'd actually forgotten the log-in, so what does that tell you?), but I thought it was worth commemorating our 15th follower! We've finally expanded to the point where I don't even know each of our followers personally, which is a new level of celebrity for me. I'd like to continue with part 2 of our new music series, featuring three piano pieces by James Young. For those of you unfamiliar with this feature, I encourage you to check out the first part, where I review a piece by Nat Evans. (I could also refer you to the two or three posts wherein I ranted about getting this feature started, but we're here, so why quibble?) 

In the interest of full disclosure, some background. James and I went to U of L together, where I was continually in awe of his intelligence, sensitivity, and musical intuition. We spent many a night ranting over the confining nature of the modern concert space, and I consider him a close friend and one of the best musical minds I've had the pleasure of working with. He's now at the super fancy Peabody Conservatory, and has just finished his first year of DMA work. I'm writing today about three piano pieces he gave me the first summer I taught in college; I thought it'd be interesting to have my students talk to a real live composer (and Boulez has like a three year waiting list). James shared his time and ideas with my students, who liked these pieces (more or less).*

The first piece, "Game," is structured on three groups of staves. Like Stockhausen's Kalvierstücke 11, the pianist can select from which grouping s/he choses to play from. In James's piece, the pianist begins with one pitch, and then selects the next fragment from the top grouping. Once the pianist plays the groups a set number of times, they move onto the second group, and so on. The fragments get progressively more complicated, but if one listens carefully, one can hear the initial pitch return like an aural anchor throughout the work. The beauty of its work lies in its nature as fragments; despite the fact that my students would inexorably label the music as "random," each gesture is written so that it seems a logical reaction to what came before, and to what follows. In fact, each fragment would probably be worth exploring and developing, so compelling is each idea. I wish that I had multiple interpretations to compare, in order to better realize the potential of the piece's changing nature.

I find myself compelled to criticize the second piece, the evocatively titled "Large Black Window." The voice leading could at times be smoother (for example, in the beginning measures, an E and D changes places, with one becoming the melody note and the other the inner voice, in subsequent measures. To be fair, it looks more awkward than it sounds). There could be greater differentiation between harmonic and melodic elements (or the melodic could come to the fore more prominently sooner), and the syncopated chords at the end don't seem to grow from the earlier music (if that is indeed even relevant aesthetically). This is all by way of hedging, and I fear, like the Queen in Hamlet, that I doth protest too much. I really like this piece. The harmonies are colorful yet accessible and the overall structure of the piece supports its drama, realizing the upward expanding ideas latent in the first bars of the piece. In a purely sonic sense, I find it truly beautiful. If postmodernism is nothing more than accessible modernism, then this piece is postmodernism at its finest. If the same is a blending of elements of a modernist language divorced from the modernist loathing of the moving, then this piece is still postmodernism at its finest. 

The final work, "Motion Machine," features the best aspects of a repetitively based, motoric rhythmic energy, with none of its downfalls (which, at this stage in music history, include lapsing into parody or failing to commit enough to achieve escape velocity for fear of repeating oneself). The main ostinato is perfectly proportioned; it isn't too long or repeated too often without a change in accents to bore. Again, this mix of modernist ideas and postmodern accessibility is at the heart of what makes these works good music. Couple this fact with the music's viscerality, its palpable sense of how fun it is to realize these works at the piano, and you have a maturity in writing for piano that belies James's young age.** I eagerly await his other works for the instrument, and fervently hope that he explores using a larger canvas.

Overall, I was struck with the use of space throughout all three works, both in the sense of utilizing the physical keyboard and between the various musical aspects. No doubt a sensitive performance helps immensely, but the breathing room between gestures in "Game" was just enough to let you absorb each idea without becoming ponderous. The same applies to "Large Black Window." After each arpeggiated chord, performer and composer left a moment to hear the entire sonority, and reveal in the play of overtones that makes the work so colorful. Conversely, the filling of the musical space so completely in "Motion Machine" makes that work a perfect end to the set.

At the risk of generalizing, these piano pieces seem more accessible than some of James's music, and can serve as an excellent introduction only to his music. They should also serve to bolster the supporters of new music, knowing that many talented composers and responsive performers have yet to be discovered. If this convinced you to seek out this music, I couldn't ask for anything more (and if James leaves a comment with his contact info, you can find out where to hear his stuff). And for all of those who I've promised I'd write about, I still intend to follow through. All the names are saved on a sticky note, which constitutes a written contract and will serve as a guarantee.*** Have a happy 4th of July!

* As a disclaimer, it's been that long since I've seen the scores, so if details are wrong, I beg forgiveness, and hope James will rectify them with a comment.

** Hand to God, I didn't originally intend this pun, but it's well worth keeping.

***This does not actually constitute a written contract.

New Music Feature– Nat Evans & "Sunrise, September 18"

This post begins the long-awaited New Music Feature that I’ve been ranting about for a year now. This past weekend, I was able to experience a composition by a composer named Nat Evans called “Sunrise, September 18.” Nat wrote the piece for a specific site in Seattle, but agreed to let those interested listen to the piece elsewhere. The music was coordinated with the sunrise; those in attendance began listening 9 minutes before sunrise, and the piece concluded about 16 minutes after that. The composer himself was gracious enough to comment on the piece, and I’d like to share his thoughts with you:

"I'm a part of a Zen group, and in Soto Zen, we sit facing a wall. Each week on Sunday evening the light has changed since the previous week, and over the course of 40 minutes the glow of the wall changes as well as the sun sets. Over the years I became interested in how we interact with these cycles as a result of sitting each week. There is also the tradition in Indian Classical music that certain pieces are to be played at specific times of the day and even specific times of the year. Thinking about music in this way combined with my own personal experiences in Zen is where this piece originated, and I decided after mulling it over in my mind for a while that I should just make it happen.

The work was originally conceived as being site specific to Kite Hill here in Seattle - it's right on the water and faces east towards the Cascade Mountains...but the concept of 'place' soon became irrelevant in my thinking process - I wanted this work to be as much about the music as it is about sitting in one place long enough to start  to realize all of the different myriad things that are happening at any given moment both in our surroundings and in our minds. The concept of coming together to take part in something larger than ourselves is a stronger theme, I suppose, but out of that the importance of place comes into play as we make the decision as to where we'll take take part. The concept of place extends through the title as well. The title describes the time of day and when it's happening, and through that natural 'event' it creates a sense of partaking in something, a reason to gather. Ultimately though, one of the experiences that led to this idea was staring at a wall every week, and most places are more interesting to look at than that, so it really could take place anywhere! And...I suppose that's why it is...people will be listing in many different places and contexts that are important and significant to them.”

The "before" picture...

In Louisville, a surprising number of us woke up early to share the experience. We went to the Fossil Beds at the Falls of the Ohio State Park; while being in the largest exposed fossil bed in the world was neat, we were below the visible horizon, so I fear we lost some of the organic nature of the music’s coordination with the sunrise. That being said, it was still a very pleasant experience. Sitting by the river, watching the sky get progressively lighter, and enjoying the music made for an invigorating way to start the day.

I’d like to talk about the “music itself” briefly, with two caveats. First, the piece is designed to be part of something larger; like the music in an opera, one can only discuss the notes in relation to that total experience. Second, I only heard the composition one time. The piece begins and ends with nature sounds. While I think that these sounds might have been manipulated electronically, they are still rather “pure,” and it is easy to distinguish them as what they are. At times, they made a compelling counterpoint to the “real-time” nature sounds going on around us, blending aural experiences and shading the line between music and sound. I believe the piece was in 4 large sections, consisting more or less of fairly static textures of sustained notes, with some micro tonality and some electronic manipulation of the sounds. For me, the piece functioned in the space between full attention and subliminal hearing. The sustained textures created at times a wash of sound that was ever present, but that did not distract me from the larger experience. As such, I feel the music perfectly suited its dramatic function: it accompanied without overpowering, and it enhanced without trying to outdo. It was a sensitive handling of a tricky dramatic subject. It seemed perfectly appropriate to have that music accompany that sunrise, and my strongest impression two days later is of the totality of the moment: music, sunrise, and nature.

The "After" Picture

The composer stipulated that each individual must be listening to the piece in headphones. I am sure that there are a number of reasons, both logistical (noise ordinances, getting electricity for speakers) and musical (more accurate hearing of the electronic manipulation of the musical space) for this requirement, but it was the only aspect of the piece that I thought was odd. It managed to create a personal and insular experience in the midst of a large-group. That could very well have been the point, but I wonder what the experience would have been like if we had all be hearing from communal speakers. I hesitate to say that it would have been improved; I simply wonder if the "moment" created by the piece would have extended through the entire group, or if the experience was best internalized in a semi-personal way.


Overall, it was a unique experience that I was very glad to have shared! For those interested, here’s a link to Nat’s website: natevansmusic.com

Jacques Attali and "Noise"

In the interest of being consistent with my blogging, I'll not post for a month, and then post twice in three days. I've been reading Attali's "Noise," and wanted to stew over a few things. [1]

I've studied with a professor who has thought extensively about music according to the ideas of Rene Girard, so I've had a chance to come to terms with perhaps the most disturbing thought in the first two chapters of Attali's book, that music is a simulacrum for ritual murder. That train of thought is another blog post altogether, since agree or disagree, it forces you to consider the nastier aspects of music that most of us don't like to confront.

The thought I want to deal with today comes from the section "Music and Money." Attali states that in either the sense of classical economics or Marxist economics, "the composer of the score is unproductive."[2] Attali explains that someone is productive if their labor "contributes to the accumulation of capital, which creates surplus-value," and that someone is unproductive if their labor "if only of interest to the purchaser for the use-value of its product." A composer is unproductive because not only do they not produce capital, but there is no exchange of use-value. Ignoring the fact that Attali believes that some composers are unsalaried workers since they work on commission (something that obviously not every composer does), there seems a basic economic contradiction in this model when applied to classical musics. A composer is unproductive, since they don't generate wealth; however, for someone to generate wealth "as the employee of someone in the entertainment business," there is almost always a score. So, for wealth to be produced, there needs to be a composition, but the creation of that composition is fundamentally unproductive.

I understand that Attali believes that composers "create wealth in the capitalist mode of production while remaining outside of it," but what about other modes of production?. It was a heavy idea to chew over at 8 in the morning. How does this contradiction change how we think about composers or the act of composing? Should it? Feel free to comment.