Attitude (FOR OR AGAINST) postmodernism

Dr. Kramer, in his article, seeks to define how music grows and evolves. This is an interesting trick. To demonstrate how music grows through a study of the Western European tradition, his citations of growth through Wagner, Debussy, Mahler, and others, is clear evidence of his narrowed viewpoint. His own study clearly only draws from one tradition, so how can he claim this globalized paradigm?

A discussion of the globalization of music permeates his article, how this generation is exposed to much more and different music than the older generations have been. This leads me to wonder about the localization of music. Globalization has led to localization as an counter movement, particularly in agriculture. This leads one to wonder if the same will be true of music. Will composers seek to revert back to the local idioms of sound? How would they do this and what would they be? Would this be a cultural movement? Composers investigating and pushing the music of their lineage? It will be an interesting process to watch. I don't have any answers, just couldn't help but muse.

Postmodernism in music recalls the western classical tradition. Dr. Kramer seeks to put postmodernism in a box into which everything falls, a music defined as that following what has come before, with certain aesthetic tendencies, listed as such:

   1. is not simply a repudiation of modernism or its continuation, but has aspects of both a break and an extension;

   2. is, on some level and in some way, ironic;

   3. does not respect boundaries between sonorities and procedures of the past and of the present;

   4. challenges barriers between "high" and "low" styles;

   5. shows disdain for the often unquestioned value of structural unity;

   6. questions the mutual exclusivity of elitist and populist values;

   7. avoids totalizing forms (e.g., does not want entire pieces to be tonal or serial or cast in a prescribed formal mold);

   8. considers music not as autonomous but as relevant to cultural, social, and political contexts;

   9. includes quotations of or references to music of many traditions and cultures;

 10. considers technology not only as a way to preserve and transmit music but also as deeply implicated in the production and essence of music;

 11. embraces contradictions;

 12. distrusts binary oppositions;

 13. includes fragmentations and discontinuities;

 14. encompasses pluralism and eclecticism;

 15. presents multiple meanings and multiple temporalities;

 16. locates meaning and even structure in listeners, more than in scores, performances, or composers.

This list seems to encompass very little music, but also seems to exist without frame of reference to time (with the exception of no. 7), and this seems to be a realm in which music has gone since recorded music. Some composers in every period have sought to break the mold, change the system and interact with music in a different way, that's why music grows. Thus, Postmodernism can be defined as that which follows whatever it is that happens to be modern.


Listening this week was also worthy of note.


The Bolcom Songs of Innocence left me confused. After several listenings of the first and third I was still searching for the text itself. Some mix of opera, western twang, and americana, Bolcom does not restrict himself to stay in one cultural or even instrumental norm.

At this point, genres don't matter.  I would as soon evaluate a composer on his own level.  The Songs of Innocence transcend what I expected to hear, I know not why I have expectations at all. I believe the idea here is innocence across cultural boundaries. First the classical tradition as we all know it from our backgrounds. Next comes the innocence from out west in the eyes of a 'little black boy.' This was, by far, the most interesting of the three.

Bolcom's music (so far as I know) is energetic, moving, sensitive, and sometimes even powerful. A composer who can move emotion and thought this much in such a short amount of time deserves attention.  If we consider the point of music being that to stir the soul, then Bolcom succeeds well. Though it does not speak to me specifically, it certainly carries the air of emotionality throughout. 

Foss
The first of the Time Cycle sounded like an aria from Berg's Wozzeck. Quirky and atonal, it never settled. I enjoyed it tremendously. The unexpected chromaticism covered by emotional, even explosive text, accompanied by traditional orchestral instruments. We're late, but for what?

1a. Interlude 1 is quiet, unnerving. This I could really get into. Tense, confident and meticulous, foreboding even. I can't get Wozzeck out of my head, I think I will be listening to t after this blog is finished. After the totalism reading/studying, I think my expectation of this listening was to be more instrumentally varied.

All this traditional instrumentation speaks to me as really intense and unrestrained. Full and powerful, it's unyielding force sets me on edge and focuses my thought patterns and very nearly articulates my thoughts before I fully comprehend them. It makes me feel so lucid, like my teeth are on edge. Music can be the most intense drug, although now I fear I have said too much.
through the next one.

When the Bells Justle. The only problem I have thusfar is not understanding the text. Still, this powerful, intense music really speaks to me. I want to be there, in the seat, watching, playing, experiencing this for myself rather than on a recording. 

Interlude II left me drawing a ______.  The use of silence was much more extreme than most things we listen to as musicians, with 4'33" being an obvious exception. Really the absence here speaks more, anticipating and on edge, the audience quietly waits for these little interludes that come and go quietly for much of the movement. I still don't know what to think of this one, except to say that this is much more of what I anticipated with regard to instrumentation.

Sechzehnter Januar waited and waited to build to nowhere. It was confusing, so I went to investigate.  Sixteenth note January. Maybe that was the timeframe for this movement. It doesn't make any sense yet though.

Interlude III had the same quiet with silences as heard in the Second Interlude, this time, however, the subversive energy expressed in the piano created some sense of tension. Later the clarinet and some percussion joined in this theme, followed by a soaring violin line. This one never seemed to settle though, it just stayed anxious.

O Mensch, gib Acht, it listened like a grand aria, but after a quiet interlude. Without the contrast of something more powerful or at least something different, it just kind of sat. I was expecting so much better after the beginning of this cycle, what a sad finish.

totally totalism

Gordon Four Kings Knight Five

The reading about Gordon made this make more sense, but not really.Why put this together? Chaos for it's own sake does not make art. To say, as Gann does, that: "Few totalist works have surpassed Four Kings in either complexity or clarity." I sincerely hope to be completely untrue. The complexity here at some points becomes too overwhelming to be appreciated by anyone but the performer, an incomprehensible slew of notes to the audience's ear. Four Kings as an archetype for Gordon's brand of music stands out in its complexity, yes, but often the tonally repetitive structure behind the awkward polyrhythmic meters become grating and static. The most enjoyable part for me was the silence that followed my listening.

Adams Dream in White on White

The long tonal nebula to open this piece makes a beautiful way for the harp to be heard, when far too often it becomes eclipsed by the texture surrounding it. My first reaction upon listening was 'how is this totalist?' Gann states totalism carries world or rock percussion textures, the melding of different cultural genres, but for the first five minutes, this is a beautiful, slow orchestral work, string orchestra with a leading harp solo. This would end up being the total makeup of White on White. I wonder if the other white, that is, the white outside of the white keys, refers to Alaskan snowdrifts and the peace that often accompanies them in photography, or rather the plaintive, pensive and peaceful structure of this slow, melismatic work. I do not hear White on White under Gann's definition of totalist. Though J. L. Adams falls into the category, this particular work could have been written by Philip Glass, among others, it does not distinguish Adams as say,

totally totalism.

Polansky scared me on the e-reserves because of it's sheer size, some twenty tracks.   After reading I see very clearly how this fits into totalism, here are a few thoughts upon first listening, unchanged, even with typos. Incomplete thoughts and structure, like the piece, without a wall or filter.

Upon listening, the  
Opening was nice and short, a quiet little piano ditty. Nothing unusual or unexpected here. 
Little Black Dots. Again piano, which made me believe it could be like Duckworth's  Time Curve  Preludes, a piano cycle?
Chorale 1 Ethereal and uncertain, never landing  
After Sobono 1 never found context or a groove, disjunct and inorganic. I really liked it's demented nature. Waltz 1 wasn't a waltz, no meter or structure was evident. Still derived a bit of tonality. 
Unison-Octaves of course was a title for a flourishing, speedy race up and down the piano, it was however, much more true to form than the first waltz. At this point I really believe this would be a piano cycle, doesn't seem to make sense that it would be anything but.  
Choral 2 typo? I'm not sure. Like the first chorale, this was filled with stable,quiet chords, moving as though connected to one another, but how the audience is unsure. It ended?  
Genderan the title conjures up images of Chopin, a character who exists in between the keys. It even sounds a bit like Chopin, without the lyricism and energy.  
Unison followed Genderan as Florestan follows Eusibius. It had moments of Joplin inside as well, a quirky convoluted contextual quandary with the lightest of jokes to finish.  
Waltz II the dances are starting to make me think that Polansky has one leg, or possibly a wooden one. Choral III, faster than before, in more ways than one 
Choral IV quieter and relaxed, and structured so the audience can grasp it.  
Choral V, these seem to represent the shortest of the movements. Still tonal and obscure, I cannot hear how these come together.  
Untitled I, that's a laugh. These feel unconnected, one minute I hear Chopin, the next I am listening to Ives. Why do these all tie together?
Untitled II, there really should be a better name for this. It sounds now like a simplified Rachmaninov piano cadenza, full and flourishing, with driving dark rhythms underlying frantic tunefulness in the high right hand. Very Fast and Loud I assumed would sound like Morton. In fact, it was loud, though fast would not be one of the first words I would use, even in length it surpasses several movements I have heard thusfar.  
Choral VI was pleasurable, complex and quiet, relaxed in it's full tranquility.  
The Hensly Deviations sound like Strauss's Till Eugenspiegels if written for piano, quirky and humorus, with a hint of evil or maybe just good ol' fashioned shenanigans. Like a lame dance, this imprecise tune sounds like a rambling drunkard. 
Quietly, Peacefully, not as quiet, nor as peaceful as any of the six chorales, this sounds like it almost gets going, a prelude to nowhere.
Cengkok and Cada sounds out of place as well, awkward like a man who is a foot taller than everyone else in the room (sorry Brian). It found peace though, a sense of finality and one of the few recognizable cadences of the whole cycle, although it still came without preparation. A driving, if misdirected rhythm, the awkward stage seems to have been the conclusion of the previous movement.  A beautiful ending to close.
Song the last in the cycle, like a jazz ballad, quiet and contemplative. This makes me want to stuff a dollar in the brandy glass on top of his piano before ordering myself three fingers of Black Label.

pun about minimalism

Giteck's Om Shanti

I found this to be a really fascinating work. Quiet and reserved, she has captured an element of tranquility atop curiosity. This pensive section slows to a halt and keeps the listener in a very peaceful place until what I would naturally call the second movement comes in. This upbeat rhythmic section incorporates percussion unheard before into it's texture, a quick spritely but still peaceful and calm movement which seems to be over as quickly as it began. Next she sends the listener into a beautiful, luscious string quartet. This beautiful section concludes and brings the listener into a piano solo that brings us back into the initial mood of ambiance with a little light percussion and a soaring solo without words.

Admittedly, it gets a little long-winded, however, this work is attainable by the laymen and allows real people to hear it, listen to it, without any preemption, and brings the element of the common man back into contemporary music in a way that many contemporary works do not.

Lentz's Crack in the Bell
 
Upon first hearing I had no idea what was going on. With a little more patience and time, I grew to appreciate and expect each change and even looked forward to many of the sounds. I love how it goes from brass chords to synthesizer in the blink of an eye only to come right back to a wind ensemble setting in the flutes a minute later. Incorporating so many different sounds could have been disastrous. In this case, utilizing the rhythmic and tonal similarities through the changes in instrumentation provides a stable point for the listener to jump off of.

Postminimalism takes the minimalist idea of reiterating melody, rhythm, form, whatever, and takes away the slow nature of it, to transform the music into a completely different animal. Differentiating from the minimalists, these composers lose the mathematic method by which they choose what is to come next, and instead rely on artistic intuition. It makes for much more enjoyable listening, that really is more attainable to the common man, and allows the laymen to enjoy without reservation this interesting, if somewhat alien realm.  

White out

Lloyd whitewash's our notions by selling out on his own name. He cashes in on the race card, whiting out his own point of view, coloring it with perceptions of color to paint our perception a ghostly shade of disgusted.

Enough punning?

In any case, Whitesell does evoke images of race to prove a point about minimalism being a reaction to black culture, simplified into matter that can be digested by white people. In reality, does race matter? Using race as an argument for anything in this day and age is a total farce.

He states that the white man is now without race, but that is a matter of simplification rather than specification in our culture. It used to be that in America we were British, Irish, German, etc. Today however, we are all interspersed, rather than saying "I'm 1/4 Irish, 1/8 Finnish, 3/8 British, 1/8 Polish, and the rest is mixed." We simply are European descent. By allowing race to play a role, he is in fact propagating racist stereotypes and ideals.

In the beginning of the article, Whitesell talks about how the energies of Jazz permeate the works of Stravinsky, and Ravel, two composers who knew very little about the ways of Jazz and it's culture. The influence of Jazz no doubt lies within their works, but to say they brought the energies of the genre into their works is a stretch to say the least.

He later uses Cage to make his point, putting in that Cage seeks 'somehow to disempower or jettison the traditional systems of signification of Western musical culture altogether.' Cage never does this! He never seeks to destroy the system as we know it. Often times his notation style even falls into what we consider 'normal.' And yet, he is doing something different. Cage, I think, is challenging the norm of what we say music is, to ask the question "Why is that music better than this?" or "Why cannot sounds be considered music?" Rather than disempower the structure as we know it, Cage seeks for his audience to understand and appreciate sound for what it is.

The biggest hurdle blocking the way for Whitesell's article is the color section. He begins: "The color white often stands for emptiness and colorlessness." In my experience, the most often associated idiom with the color white is purity or virginity. He continues to use this basis, this notion of what white represents to apply the idea to people of European descent as a whole?! This idea being that white culture sees itself as one without characteristic, without prejudice or stereotype as it were. How can he not take into account the fact that through anything, he is looking at his argument through a white lens. If he can use the race issue to propagate his belief, than it can be used to unravel it as well.

If you want to talk about Whiteness in Whitesell, let's look at the racial background of his own sources. From those he quotes from, for example. Throughout our article, Lloyd uses 17 different people for quotations. Of those, 1 is not white, she is African-American. Toni Morrison is quoted to define whiteness in her eyes, she writes: "Whiteness, alone, is mute, meaningless, unfathomabl, pointless, frozen, veiled, dreaded, senseless, implacable." Wait, so black is not veiled, nor dreaded? Children of all races are afraid of the dark, and darkness covers the earth, veils it from our view, for several hours each day! Racism aside, that is science.

Listening to Whitesell drone on about the concept of race permeating minimalism was a real struggle and source of irritation. Lloyds lame lines of logic lulled my lucidity into a lump of lard. A long read to be sure, and in more ways than one.

Avant Garde Rock?

After listening to mainstream music on the radio for years, specifically Rock, I have found myself wondering why they insist on using the same three chords over and over and over, without trying to expand and complicate their tonal pallets.

This week we examine Avant Garde Rock. The Avant Garde title today is joined at the hip with metal more than rock. These groups seek to separate themselves from the pack, and to do something different. Really, I can't hear a difference in the styles between what I know as metal and this though:

In my search, I came upon  Avantgarde-Metal.com, a likely source for my studies. Therein, I read about avant garde metal itself, and took a listen to several different bands, trying to expand my horizons and allow this idiom to impose itself in my mind. What I hear is nothing radical though, not even when venturing outside of the U.S. to find more of the genre:

This is the first video that caught my eye though. Even though it never ventures far from what we know as metal,  it does have a dramatic moment around 2' in, where we have a new beginning of the form of the song.

After listening to Les Discrets, I moved around Europe to Germany, to Todtgelichter. When venturing over to Germany, I expected to hear something along the lines of Rammstein. I was incorrect, however, this was much more tame than I expected from what they deem Avant Garde Metal.  Even their song Begin the End, seemed tame.

In my quest to figure out this genre, I delved a little deeper. I went all the way back to 2008, and found something different, but equally disappointing. After listening to Anaak Nathrakh, Negura Bunget, and others, I began searching for something different. I searched and listened through some Progressive Rock, Folk Metal, and Post-Hardcore, and finally hit upon something that seemed unique and more true to form in terms of the Avant Garde. 

As a genre, it actually sounds fairly unique. Still repetitive at times, Symphonnic Metal at least incorporates some radically different styles. Combining traditional symphonic sounds with metal was a totally unique aural experience. Although I feel that it puts me into my symphonic box, as a hornist, it is the most distant music in the rock world I encountered after quite a bit of searching. I hesitated to dive into it after seeing the title of the genre, but yet, it is a real departure from the norms of other genres which have blended together such already similar styles the point is moot. 


The pioneer of this style seems to be a band called Nightwish. One of the most striking things about this group is the variation in length of some of their musics. Besides Mars Volta, they actually contain some real length.

Interesting anyway, but this turned me to Gothic Metal, a style employing some of the orchestra again, but this time also with the sounds of synthesizers and a little distortion. An interesting topic with a lot of rep to listen to, and virtually no end to groups seeking to distinguish themselves, and in fact falling into the same pits of sounding virtually the same as other groups from mainstream genres nearby.  


So, Avant Garde Rock itself seems a little forward. I will have to read some of my colleagues blogs to find out just how out there these folks get. Really, I was expecting to hear rock groups that took their influence from Christian Wolff or Schoenberg. Still, some different sounds worth exploring.

Very Contemporary

Mingus and Black Saint was pretty cool. He is an artist I know from the Ken Burns Jazz series. The Black Saint doesn't seem to be out of the ordinary in that context. The only unusual thing in this piece was the ostinato in the Trombone being swelled instead of pointed. Pretty standard jazz for the most part, I don't hear anything I am unaccustomed to, nothing unexpected or unusual, given it's improvisatory nature.

Braxton's compositions were the same way. It's jazz, there was nothing surprising here. Reading about his composition 84 for 4 orchestras was really interesting and bizarre. I had never heard of anything like that, and then found an interview of Braxton discussing the work itself

John Zorn and his piece Cobra were by far the most on the edge listening for this set. At first it sounded like a jazz percussion section warming up, and grew to be a mixed, jumbled, intriguing, but also grew to be grating and irritating. The silence and lack of stability or form just did nothing for me. This performance of it particularly pushed me away the longer I listened to it. About the seventh minute it began to have a chance, but really it went right back to being a song without structure or stability, and grew dull. Instead of being pushed away I just grew to stop caring about the work as a whole. By the end I had completely lost interest.

Reading about Gunther Schuller was great! As a composer as well as performer I have studied and know of. Growing up in Coeur d'Alene (yes, no typo) Idaho, right next to Spokane Washington. Mr. Schuller has had a lot of influence in the area, conducting the Spokane Symphony and supporting a lot of Bach and Handel musics. I have played through his etude book for horn, and enjoyed the stories about him getting the principal seat with the Cincinnati Symphony at age 18! As a jazzer, I knew little of him, not even that he worked with Mingus and Dizzy Gillespie.

Jazz is a wonderful form, including the improvisatory nature of music that was lost to the mainstream since the days of Mozart. It's evolution as a truly American art form blending African slave songs with the western European tradition to create an improvisatory, semitonal sound that captivated our country for a century before evolving (devolving?) into rock.

??

Music on a Long Thin Wire was an interesting work. It's focus lies in microtonalities and exploring how sound moves within itself. This piece studied the movement of a synthesized sound between very small intervals and the relationship among the sounds. What a cool idea, but in terms of focusing on that sound for that kind of time, the only  audience this kind of music is likely to have is the academic. The laymen is not going to go out looking for, and doubtfully enjoying this type of music. I liked it, although I get the sense that it would make a better listening were I to move within my space, rather than with headphones on, as I did. I liked it, for all it was without structure. Too interesting to pass up.

Silver Apples of the Moon
Ok, what was that? It had all the elements one would expect of music, tones, rhythm, direction, dynamics even, but what was that? I don't understand why or how one would go about writing music like that. It is beyond me. That being said, I enjoyed it's complexity, as well as it's containment of everything we can classify as 'music.' However, this is not the type of sound I am likely to pursue as a result of the departure from regular and familiar tonality. What an unexpected departure from all I am accustomed to. How fun, though bizarre.

Oliveros' Bye Bye Butterfly is in the same vein as Music on a Long Thin Wire, it's structure played on small sounds to start. By the middle it sounded almost as like sampling of Silver Apples and Thin Wire, slowing to pursue those infinitely small sounds mixed with the rhythms and tones present in Silver Apples. However, it did not incorporate any structural rhythm, it was more effectual, relying on reverberation to make it's point. When the chorus came in, it switched gears entirely! No longer was the audience wandering and wondering, but now was locked into a familiar sound mixed with this otherworldly tonality. Now too, there was rhythm, audible structure! The bookend of the streamlined screech provided Butterfly with a stability and formality befitting any great work. Without this second section of the chorus coming in, it would have flopped as something dreary and dull. However, it came across as a very interesting and complex work.

Overall, Butterfly struck me as peculiar. Striking and independent. Courageous in allowing these two worlds to coexist. Without starting with Thin Wire, I would have been perplexed and lost. Not music I am likely to pursue, Butterfly was very thought provoking, intriguing and complex, but lacked a balance and fulfillment I find coming from tonal music.

Systems of Judgement 1
Sounds like the preface to text and music one would hear in a movie. As though we are standing on a dark road waiting for narration from the main character, or two men to be shouting over the storm. Without structure, the strings and timpani play an ominous role. Something is coming, but whatever it is will not reveal itself just yet.

Systems of Judgement 2
Does not solve anything outright, rather, it decides to beat around the bush and provide more context, more subterfuge. Whatever is happening the listener does not yet know, but rather than building, the second movement seems to only add the siren song and slight moans of the upper strings. Honestly, after the first movement, I expected more, this is a little boring. At the end it does pick up slightly, providing the listener with more to grasp onto, a brighter change for what is coming, but it still just feels like it's building.

Systems of Judgement 3
A complete departure from the second movement, where did we go? Africa? Strange percussion with the piano and natural flute at the beginning pose a question to the listener, more than a statement of purpose. What an interesting direction to take. Just after it begins to become stagnant, Rosenboom adds in what sounds like animal sounds, but pitched and rhythmic. Becomes a little tiring near the end of each section. Like the sustained ideas drag on a little too long before moving on to the next idea or background change or whatever. At this point (as I listen) I find myself wondering if the misspelling of the word Judgment is purposeful or an accident. Somewhere near the end we begin to hear a low voice making nonsensical words, these provide a wonderfully fearful context, melded with the high pitched synth in back gives the impression of a far off scream. A very cool section of this movement. Outside of that section and the opening being such a departure from the previous movement, it was rather dull.

Systems of Judgement 4
This movement seems very ambient, unstructured. I feel like it lacks any structure or motive. How does this fit in with what happened last movement? Although this one sounds as though it actually uses instruments the listener might be familiar with, a series of bells and some light percussion. It starts and stops without a beginning or end. Maybe that's why it's called 'Interrupt'...

Systems of Judgement 5
Begins very softly, contemplative and focused, deliberate but not tense. The celli and basses that enter provide some tension and uncertainty. I like this movement a lot, this quiet intensity rooted in uncertainty is very interesting, So unsettling that I can't quit focusing on it, this could also be due to the plucked string instrument echoing in the background, though occasionally it comes to the front. And then it just ends.

Systems of Judgement 6
More chaos, this music is unyielding. This movement appears to have an accordion as well as the strings and a lot of percussion accompaniment, later I hear horns too. The unstructured nature of these past few movements prompt the sound of deliberate chaos, and I can't think of a better way to describe it. Again it ends without any climax or buildup, leaving the listener wondering and wandering.

Systems of Judgement 7
At this point, the work is becoming enamored with itself, finding a degree of understanding that is too far removed to be coherent. A listener cannot pick up the pieces to decipher the greater meaning that lies within this work. It is academic for it's own sake. It exists without structure and at this point, is nearly grating.

Overall, the work stretches for meaning, for a sense of self. It seems contrived in it's attempt to become something more, but only occasionally. When it does not, however, it still lacks something, some substance or structure is missing. I can't put my finger on it, but something does not sit quite right within this work. I think it is that ominous foreboding quality from the first movements that entice the listener in, without ever coming to a climax or point of arrival.

I imagine that with any given order any of the listenings would be completely different. Almost like concert programming, the programmer (listener in our case) must be aware that anything could happen based on the order of the listenings. I could get a completely different opinion and effect of the pieces based around the order of the listenings. 

Neoromanticism

Listening this week focused on the Neo-Romantic School. What a farce. These composers don't belong together at all. It is like pairing Shostakovich and Debussy together because they both worked with the symphonic orchestra. Pairing these completely different composers together is like putting Disturbed back to back with N'Sync.

As a result, this week's listening was rather angular, but had some beautiful moments, even if these pieces don't make a lot of sense together. The works themselves each have some merit.

Rochberg's String Quartet no. 3 was the first one I dove into this week, a more complex work than it will get credit for most of the time I imagine. As it is based on Pachelbel's Canon, it may be glossed over as simple and easy, when in reality, it is quite a complex and deep work. It does not begin to take on it's own life until after the first full minute, following the baroque work practically to the letter. Here the change is simply in ornamentation, a subtle change to decorate this relatively simple melody, but gradually the work moves away from Pachelbel entirely. Moving from an unstable sound around the second minute to full blown uncertainty and confusion in the third minute. The pulse is intentionally lost and obscured, and the work even becomes dull through it's lack of stability around the fifth minute. Gradually it comes full circle to reinstate the theme at one of the more unstable points. An intriguing take on Pachelbel's overplayed work, and very enjoyable overall.

Moving from Rochberg to Crumb's Black Angels was a mistake to be sure. I listened to his Departures. This movement alone was enough to get a sense of the work. I really liked it at first, grating and in your face, unapologetically dissonant. However, it never moves away, provides any contrast, and begins to sound like noise. At one point it does gain a little stability or sense through a little tempo, which doesn't last. Why, how, who thought it was a good idea to lump George Crumb together with Rochberg and Adams? How does this make any sense? Occasionally this gains the sound of raw, seething emotion, like Ruggles or Cowell, but Crumb's emotional content lacks substance and contrast. It never culminates with anything or reaches any pinnacle.

Now for something completely different I move to Adams Grand Pianola. Without prefacing this work, I assumed it would be for Piano alone. I enjoy walking into a listening without any preconceived notions or background knowledge. Adams was a composer I had heard about but never heard, and before reading, I decided to jump right into the listening. I think that by listening this way, it provides us a much truer sense of objectivity, an ability to judge without any prejudice or restriction. In his Grand Pianola, Adams does not sound like anyone else. His work moves tonally steadily along, and transcends many stylistic trends. At moments it will sound like Reich in it's continuing melodies, moving slowly through one another, at other times I hear Respighi, grand moving lines with ethereal motives in the high register over moving lines. And yet, I can almost hear the heavy pulsations and intensity of Stravinsky emanating through his occasional dissonances coupled with a driving, almost forceful ostinato. 

Lastly was Rzewski. Compared to our recent listenings, he is pretty tame. Again, I see no corollary between him, Crumb, and Adams, how are these four the same genre?!
The only reason for these four to be combined is based upon time frame. Rzewski sounds like Shostakovich a lot of the time to my ear. Quiet pulsations and intensity permeate the opening of the People United, but then it moves to a more Joplin-esque sound, somewhere that the heavy Russian hand of oppression meets a lighthearted, syncopatic dance. A truly captivating sound, his Cotton Mill Blues creates the same aura. Where did he get this unique mood? It has the hypnotic elements of minimalism, but the intensity of Shostakovich Symphony no. 5.

All in all a cool set of listening. Every piece had it's merit, not without their flaws, but still intriguing enough to hold attention.

Breaking Glass

Philip Glass was one of the first twentieth-century composers I learned of in my undergrad. His music struck me then, as it does now, as mesmerizing. His haunting melodies and interesting counterpoint make him a joy to listen to again and again.

Yes, tonality helps, I appreciate a little consonance, there I said it.

The first work I was ever exposed to by Glass was his Beauty and the Beast, an opera written after the fact of a movie by the same title. This work was interesting to say the least, and although I did not grasp it upon my first listenings, I grew to appreciate it more and more, as I endeavored to soak up more of his music in my time at NAU.

This week I learned about Glass' life in conjunction with his works, something I glossed over in my initial studies on the composer. Now his ideas have much more grounding and make more sense since learning he studied 12 tone theory, the ideas of Schoenberg and Webern, before delving into the worlds of Mozart and Bach, two composers whom Glass keeps close at hand.

Einstein on the Beach is a beautiful, brilliant work. The idea of a non-plot had never occurred to me in music. It makes sense upon review of things like Beethoven's Pastorale, which sets moods and settings rather than telling a story, but with Glass, he deliberately does things like using syllables and reciting poetry to avoid or elude dealing with a plot.

When we look at this idea in the context of Einstein himself, it becomes clear why Glass chose to do this.  Einstein is a name everyone knows, first of all. However, how many of us can point to his life with more detail than the anecdote about his red front door, or knowing that he was offered the post of President of Israel? All we commonly know of Einstein is his Theory of Relativity, his contributions to the worlds of Math and Science. Apart from this, we know nothing of his life. I think Glass is poking fun at our ignorance regarding a very important figure in the Mathematical world.

Glass' 'knee plays' play an important role in Einstein on the Beach, serving as frames for each of the opera's four acts. They really function more as Intermezzo's, musical interludes to put us in Glass' point of view before the beginning of each act, as well as at the close. The other interesting thing about Einstein on the Beach is the cast. Glass incorporates four roles into this opera, and it strangely seems to work. This framework makes me wonder if  more characters are necessary in operas in general. Although to be fair, it does incorporate quite a chorus.

Overall, this was an easy listen. Glass' music puts me in a trance, it allows time to slow and relax, even stretch as it passes through the minutes.

His Akhnaten is more conventional in scoring, containing a full cast and two choruses in the priests and the people. Akhnaten is the third biographical opera Glass wrote, after both Einstein and Satyagraha, about Ghandi. I still found myself stuck listening, engulfed in Glass' work, minute by minute just enjoying and processing the music. I can see why Glass is more well known than composers like Feldman and Wolffe.

Akhnaten is set in Egypt before the only pharoh that most Americans know, Tutankhamen. Glass tells a story in this opera, for a change, and gets us fully into the ancient Egyptian world. The motor figures in Akhnaten are similar to those we hear in Reich. They move from one idea to the next subtly, and sometimes without seam, but always with motive, drive, and purpose.

Minimalism

Minimalism is hypnotic, it stops time and requires not attention rom the listener so much as creative inattention. Minimalists use one idea to expound hours of ideas, motives, and sound. Like the postal workers in Africa, Minimalism moves time for us, by entrancing us. 


Steve Reich is not quite in the same vein. Learning about him was an experience in itself. The first fact that struck me was his parents divorce and subsequent locations, where Reich's time was divided between California and New York. I found myself imagining a kid going from coast to coast, this beginning when Reich was one! In any case, Reich more or less stumbled into music, stating that "I drove a cab in San Francisco, and in New York I worked as a part-time social worker. Phil Glass and I had a moving company for a short period of time. I did all kinds of odd jobs ... I started making a living as a performer in my own ensemble. I would never have thought that it was how I was going to survive financially. It was a complete wonder." 


Reich has had an amazing musical career. Studying with Persichetti, even taking the time to study drumming in Ghana. A Cornell grad, Reich wasn't even primarily interested in music or composition, earning his degree in Philosophy. His musical upbringing was rather narrow. He was not exposed to music before 1750 or after 1900 for quite some time. Today he is world renowned, performing works in London, Japan, even Australia. 


An amazing musician, Reich's impact on American music is yet to be seen, but he promises to be influential for generations to come. With his unique ideas about sound and motion, it is an exciting time to watch the growth and change that will occur as a result of his music. 

Chaos for the sake of itself

Conceptualism in some cases seems to exist without artistic value. Banging one's head on the piano, weeping, pouring shaving cream and ketchup on your head? How is that music?

Music existing as chaos for it's own sake does not seem to serve any aesthetic purpose. I cannot figure out how that becomes music, except to change our idea of expectation and challenging the idea of music itself. Much in the way of 4'33", these works seek to challenge us intellectually, but not musically.

The musical challenges these works represent boil down to a single element, committing oneself to the production of the work. Instead of calling them music, my inclination is to look at them as theater in which musicians are the performers, or even to say where sound is produced as a result of the performance.

The presentation of these works makes more sense as theater in that Conceptualism does not contain any performance aspect that cannot be produced by a pedestrian. Rice in his A Brief History of Anti-Records and Conceptual Records states "Shifting emphasis away from the music, they point to their own existence as cultural artifacts and objects to be consumed. These recordings transcend the sound contained within their packaging (often there is no sound at all) to question “‘extra-musical” elements such as music industry practice, the notion of “quality,” the role of the music critic, the role of the listener, etc.”

As these works exist, they do not promote music, they promote a single idea. Be it single or complex, the end game of Conceptual music is not music. It is unable to be. Whatever else may be said about it, Conceptualism cannot help but seek out the questioning of some social construct. They are entirely political.

However, there is no room for miscommunication in Conceptualism. The explanation of the music is the music. Here there is no intermediary. Listening to a Shostakovich Symphony, twelve people may hear twelve different things. In Conceptualism though, this is impossible. The explanation of the work provokes the idea of the work itself. The explanation manifested is the piece. Therefore, without a composer explaining what is meant by his notes, the explanation comes before the performance, leaving no room for miscommunication.

This aspect is very appealing, thought provoking too. In practice, it does not seem to carry any musical or aesthetic weight, is this due to the pieces themselves or is it a byproduct of the times and avant-garde's seeking out of all that provokes a response out of us?

More study and listening time is needed to answer that question, maybe tomorrow.

Graphic Notation

Honestly, for the graphic notation project, I spent a long time simply thinking about how to make this work. After reading through several of the examples in class I discovered that there were many creative ways of going about making a piece with graphic notation.

There were times when I thought composers were just doing it to try and be published, without actually taking the time and energy to write a 'real' work of music. However, judging by their philosophies and ideology defending their works, I can understand why they wrote the music the way they did.

I became very interested in the idea of using something that I knew, something already in existence, to try and incorporate the idea that anything can be music. That strain of thought brought me around to the idea of chess and how Cage used a game to get close to Duchamp in the later years of his life, but I had no Duchamp. Then the idea of crosswords and puzzles struck me as unique in that they would leave so much to chance. However, the problem here was in determination. How does one incorporate every word, or every letter? It would take a lot of time, and a lot of thought. Then I thought of Sudoku.

This game is one I know pretty well, and I thought it would be easy enough to incorporate each of the nine numbers as it's own unit of sound. This brought me around to making each number have it's own separate identity. The ideas came to me all at once now. Each performer could have his own pitch class set, his own means of producing the sounds, even his own puzzle. Then this piece became very easy and versatile to write and innovate.

Each player now would have his own piece to play that will be totally unique, played in conjunction with any number of players together simultaneously! This concept allows so much chance and differentiation, not to mention the allowance it would make for future performances and availability of materials.

So, the question then became, how to interpret the numbers. I could leave an unfinished puzzle as is, of course, but to me it made more sense to allow the performer(s) to use the puzzle as a means by which to determine the sounds made. I then made the connection that each performer could play his part as he solved for any given number. This way I was controlling nothing except the fact that each performer would have a set number of sounds to make, and would have to make his sounds in a regular manner consistently throughout the work. The duration of the piece should be as simple as the length of time it takes all players to complete a sudoku puzzle.  I did not think it would work for me to try and draw pictures as I thought they might be interpreted by any given performer, but rather I thought it made more sense to leave that up to each player.

I think the real beauty of this lies in the chance that each performance will be something totally unique and different. That anybody can play it and make it work. The constraints of our upcoming performance of these works led me to reorder the piece so that each player would use the empty boxes as silence, rather than completing the puzzle as part of the piece. 

Cages influence and Interpretation

Reading about HPSCHD was enlightening in more ways than one. I was particularly struck by Cage's relationship to Marshall McLuhan. I knew his work from high school, when I read The Gutenberg Galaxy. Discussing Cage's philosophy was a basic parroting of the themes I had learned from that work, it was interesting to see that philosophy come to light.

McLuhan discusses how the printing press re-invented mankind by delivering information to the masses at a much lower cost. By allowing more access to information to mankind, it cheapened education and evolved the common man. McLuhan then draws a parallel between Gutenberg's printing press and the computer. A tough work to read, but interesting.

It enhances how I feel about Cage's optimism regarding future technology. It is McLuhan's theory in spades. McLuhan believes the new computer will re-invent mankind, and that's exactly what happened.

Cage's philosophy later states that art is an act without limitations or value, and uses that as a model for society run through anarchy.  One problem persists with the idea, it leaves personal responsibility up for grabs and assumes everyone will be tolerant of whatever 'music' plays. As we know, not everyone has the same taste in music, therefore, some will not enjoy this new model of society and will inevitably rebel against it, causing social dissonance. In any case, Cage presents an interesting idea thought out and well articulated for our consideration. 

McLuhan and Cage's arguments make the mistake of assuming that technology breeds change in man, rather than change in man breeding new technology. An important distinction, this leads us to understand that instead of reinventing mankind, these 'new technologies' (as McLuhan puts it) are simply external devices which impact our lives, rather than guide them. Following this line of logic boasts the fact  that they are simply new ways of interpreting and collecting information, and communicating with one another. I believe it is a mistake to believe that an external device can hold any responsibility or accountability, as an extension of mankind's consciousness. It is an unfeeling device, not a means by which to evolve man. We are the same people we were thousands of years ago, but today we learn and communicate differently, that is all.

Later on the article speaks of Yatha butham, or 'just as it is.' To Cage, works of art aren't symbols, they are things or actions which are implicitly nothing. So at this point, it represents nothing to Cage, which would be to say, anarchy, social change. Therefore, Cage's music functions as a representation of the social change he would like to see in the world. If this logic follows, then Cage is trying to have his cake and eat it to.  It would be realistic to say that nothing would be nothing, not something. So if Cage had done nothing, we would not remember him, but his ideology would be more airtight. He wants his music to be 'an action which is implicitly nothing.' Explicitly he communicated just that social change, but without implying anything from his work, he still puts forth symbology of social change, a change to nothing. By taking Cage at face value, he is advocating against himself by what he states. 

The idea a little later of treating the audience as a score of individuals instead of a group struck me as a very radical idea. Performers have always treated the audience as a unit. The English word for audience, the only one used regularly, is in the singular. This idea changes the entire scope of music. 'How does the audience interpret x' will be different for every piece and probably different from every player's perspective. The audiences seems more appropriate, to say that each person is an audience unto himself. One person listening to Beethoven's 5th Symphony, for example, would be an audience, would they not? Why then is every person not treated as such?

Cage continues to contradict himself in this article, his logic becomes very flawed and I lose confidence that even he knows what he is saying. For example:

"The second performance [of HPSCHD], in Albert Hall on May 22, differed in many obvious ways from the Roundhouse performance, especially, according to Cage, "because of the architecture." In the Albert Hall, the audience was seated with Cage and Tudor on the stage and ten loudspeakers at the back of the auditorium. Cage described how he was forced to accept that the audience was seated, but at least wanted the loudspeakers to surround the audience, "so that  people sitting on one side could later converse with people who had been sitting on the other and discover that they had heard something different." Unfortunately, Cage said, "that too was not possible.""

I found this so ironic, a man like Cage, whose beliefs were inexorably tied to his work, allowed his musical ideology to be abandoned for the sake of a performance. One would think he would prefer to hold the performance outside, in the gymnasium, or unbolt and move the chairs to allow the interactive space for HPSCHD. I cannot get over that he abandoned this aspect of the performance.  How can he continue to hold his belief. This realization shakes my confidence that Cage could even have stood for what he said he stood for. It seems that the importance of HPSCHD was the audience interaction, the work experienced as a living piece, but without the audience able to move, Cage was fine holding the performance anyway? Really?

"What is the average person in the US when he is grown up and he has a job and makes his living and pays his bills? He spends his evenings looking at TV. The TV would not let me on a program. Therefore I'm not a court jester, I'm more a teacher." No, Cage was on a TV Program, we watched it in class. If he truly believes what he says, would that not make him a jester by his own admission? How can we take anything he has to say seriously when there are these serious gaps in his logic.

On p. 491 Cage may have been hampered in his medium by creating a European structure that did not yield to relevant American social issues. Cage however, created a structure that was free-form, that anyone could walk to, into, around, and through to experience. How is this exclusive? How does it pertain solely to a European structure? Admittedly, the inherent racism at Illinois U at the time the work was performed may have led to his hampering. But Cage was not opposed to this treatment of the blacks, rather he says "They [blacks] mostly think they would like to be just as powerful as the whites. That's not the proper way." In that statement, does he not imply that blacks are not supposed to have as much power as whites? If not, how are we to say he is not a racist? Clearly he has turned a blind eye to the issue in his backyard, or is unaware of it, which seems very unlikely. Moreover, he contradicts himself enough to provoke one to ask if this situation is even worth questioning.

Overall, the comparison of Gesamtkunstwerk to Cage and HPSCHD was refreshing and relevant. A thought provoking idea, but it led me from a dim realization of Cage's farce to a full belief that his ideology was a facade, and the true nature of Cage is something we have not yet realized, or that he himself did not realize, or allowed to happen by chance, not by choice and true belief, as his music does.

3/1

Listening this week focused on Morton Feldman. His work struck me as bland, unfeeling, and pointless. Listening to the King of Denmark, I begun with a performance by Shawn Savageau. While listening, I found it to be interesting, but a little dull, I didn't quite understand it. Upon further investigation, I discovered that it was a piece written in graphic notation. I thought "no wonder this is difficult to grasp, it is played on an individual basis." I took it upon myself to listen to another recording, this time by Vitaly Medvedev. In this case, I had the same reaction. Except this time, I didn't think it was due to my misunderstanding, I became a little irritated, and went to look up the piece myself. I discovered this:

 

Investigation of Feldman revealed his music lies in the realm of the soft, contemplative, and often (to quote wikipedia) "a generally quiet and slowly evolving music, with recurring asymmetric patterns." My reaction became even more visceral. What patterns?? Where is anything repeated in this nonsense? It got me to the point of aggravation. Any piece, yes, ANY piece of music without dynamic change is dead in the water, no matter the form. Listening and re-listening to The King of Denmark got me nowhere, it never evolves, never grows, and never changes dynamic or mood. 

However, in order to keep an open mind, I continued my listening. I proceeded to involve myself with Piece for Four Pianos. It was still soft, textural, peaceful even, if a little obtuse. I found myself asking, "is this supposed to be mood music?" What kind of mood is this supposed to convey? Anger, irritation, it NEVER GOES ANYWHERE. These patterns are bland, not evolving, it is stagnant, dead in the water. Where does one hear evolution in this? Bland, dull, stoic. Feldman's music must lie somewhere between elevator music and white noise. It is boring. 

My reaction, however, was more like this out of the lack of motion that was gained through listening to Feldman.

Listening to his Rothko Chapel I felt the same. Here I was, putting forth an extreme effort to try and like it, and gaining nothing but frustration. After getting through Rothko Chapel, I let go, and did not, in fact, notice when it ended. I did not enjoy this music, to say the least. 

After talking with some folks about it, I wonder if it wasn't simply that I was not in the proper mood for the music. It may be worth revisiting sometime, but not until this notion dissipates somewhat.