Barbara Hannigan, soprano and conductor; Ludwig Orchestra
Alpha Classics
La Passione is soprano and conductor
Barbara Hannigan’s second CD with Ludwig Orchestra. Their first collaboration, Girl
Crazy, won a 2018 Grammy Award. Like Girl Crazy, the selections on La
Passione are disparate, but they cohere into a convincing program. Whether
she is performing a solo vocal piece by Luigi Nono, conducting a Haydn
symphony, or conducting and singing a spectral work by Grisey, Hannigan is a
compelling performer. This is also true of Ludwig Orchestra, who thrive in this
setting.
Luigi Nono’s solo vocal work Cjamila Boupacha eulogizes
a dissident who, during the lead up to the French-Algerian war, was raped and
murdered. Her story galvanized anti-colonial resistance in the country. The
piece is a vocalize that often accesses the extreme upper register of the
soprano’s range. Hannigan navigates its wide range and visceral expressive
qualities with eloquence and impeccable technique.
It might seem strange to pair a Haydn symphony with a Nono
piece, but Symphony No. 49, “La Passione,” explores grief with depth of feeling
and dramatic flair. Composed in 1768, it is one of Haydn’s “Sturm und Drang”
pieces. Its formal design is that of a church sonata, with an extensive slow
movement preceding the sonata allegro second movement. In terms of both form
and demeanor, it may have been played at Esterhazy during Holy Week. The first
movement extends a mournful demeanor over a quarter-hour, and it is followed by
a combative allegro. Hannigan provides a supple reading of the minuet and trio,
with the latter finally allowing the listener let-up from f-minor’s pathos, which
has thus far dominated the proceedings, with a glimpse, albeit brief, of F-major.
The emotional finale truly embodies the “Sturm und Drang” aesthetic, ending the
piece in powerful, albeit tragic, fashion.
French composer Gérard Grisey passed away in 1998 at
age 52 from an aneurysm, leaving behind a compact but compelling body of work
that helped to define the spectral approach to composition. His last completed piece
was Quatre Chants pour Franchir les Soueil (“Four Songs for Crossing the
Threshold”), premiered posthumously in 1999. In recent years Hannigan has
championed Quatre Chants, notably performing it with Ensemble
Intercontemporain conducted by Susanna Mälkki and Sir Simon Rattle conducting
the Berlin Philharmonic. On La Passione, she undertakes the daunting task
of both singing and conducting the piece. Of the recorded performance with
Ludwig Orchestra, Hannigan has remarked, “It took us to our limits.”
A variety of texts are used: Guez-Ricord’s The Hours of Night, Egyptian Sarcophagi of the Middle Empire,
a fragment from sixth century Greek poetess Erinna, and an extract from the
Babyloninan Epic of Gilgamesh (courtesy Tim
Rutherford-Johnson). Overtone chords and micro-tunings abound. The
instrumentation is distinctive, particularly the percussion cohort that
includes fifteen tuned gongs that are played in quick arpeggiations at a low
dynamic level, an impressive feat and singular sound. The bass drum has an
evocative role as well, serving to toll a memento mori that divides the
piece’s several sections. In the first song, “Death of the Angel”, is one of
the piece’s signatures, bracing unison lines between soprano and trumpet that shatter
an otherwise merely ominous atmosphere. A variety of wind instruments are
employed throughout, including saxophones. Hannigan’s singing seamlessly intermingles
with the various instruments, moving from sinuous angular lines to altissimo
shrieks with myriad gestures in between. After the four songs is a postlude, “Berceuse,”
haunting in its comparative reserve with a number of duets between Hannigan and
various instruments in floating vocal lines.
An ambitious program with a “can’t miss” piece (the Grisey)
and all of it exquisitely executed: recommended.
-Composer Christian Carey is Associate Professor at Westminster Choir College, Editor at Sequenza 21, and regularly contributes to Tempo, Musical America, and other publications. He has created eighty some compositions for orchestra, choir, solo voices, and chamber musicians. His electronic score for Gilgamesh Variations was produced at Bushwick Starr Theatre in Brooklyn, NY.
Lupus Hellinck (1493-1541) isn’t a household name among mid-Renaissance composers. Based on a new recording of his Missa Surrexit pastor bonus, Hellinck’s work deserves wider currency. Despite having several pieces attributed to him that were actually by more prominent composers (Gombert and Verdelot among them), Johannes Lupi (1506?-1539) has also flown under the radar of many listeners. This excellent compact disc recording by the Brabant Ensemble should do good service in restoring both of them to rightful places of greater prominence.
Hellinck’s mass juxtaposes imitative lines within tautly constructed movements – the Agnus Dei, for instance, only has two rather than three sections. The Brabant Ensemble has a well-blended sound, its intonation precise. The counterpoint is well-delineated, especially in the Agnus Dei, where canonic entries proliferate until a luminous cadential close. Particularly lovely are the “Domine Deus,” “Et Resurrexit,” and “Benedictus” sections, in which duets and trios are employed to good effect.
Lupi uses a number of motives in each section of a piece that accumulate into large-scale motets. The ensemble also displays a more daring approach to musica ficta (chromatic accidentals) in the Lupi motets, creating some delightful crunch chords as a result. Several prolonged cadences give the opportunity to play with tempo and dynamics, the Brabant ensemble alternating nimble and expansive approaches, usually to better express the text. The most extensive and impressive of the Lupi pieces is a polyphonic setting of the Te Deum, one of only about sixteen extant examples from the sixteenth century (several of which were alternatim settings). By comparison, there are over a hundred extant Magnificat settings from this time period. Lupi’s penchant for “black notes” often presents quicksilver passages of corruscating counterpoint. Part of the plainchant appears at various points in the piece, including transposed and inverted statements that accumulate into swaths of imitation. Duple and triple meter are also used to delineate sections of the work, with a fast triple meter section concluding the proceedings with a rousing cadential elaboration.
The Brabant Ensemble sings this music persuasively enough that it stands up besides better known counterparts in the era of its composition, such as Clemens and Gombert. One hopes a second disc of the composers’ works might be in the offing.
Kirill Gerstein, piano; Christianne Stotijn, mezzo-soprano; Mark Stone, baritone;
Boston Symphony Orchestra, Thomas Adés, conductor
Deutsche Grammophon CD/DL 4837998
Thomas Adés is in his third year as Artistic Partner of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It has been an extraordinarily fruitful pairing. Adés has performed with the ensemble as a conductor and pianist, contributed new pieces to its repertory, and curated events such as the Festival of Contemporary Music at Tanglewood. In the midst of this plethora of activities, the March 2019 premiere of his Concerto for Piano and Orchestra was a highlight. Both the performance of the BSO under Adés’s direction and the brilliant playing of the work’s soloist, Kirill Gerstein, were widely acclaimed. The DG recording of its premiere confirms the buzz — the concerto is indeed a formidable work and the performance is radiant.
Cast in the traditional three movement structure (fast-slow-fast), the concerto demonstrates Adés’s encyclopedic familiarity with composers of the past, including hat-tips to Prokofiev, Ravel, Liszt, and Stravinsky. Despite revelling in touchstones of eras past, Adés ultimately distills them into a glinting, sharply contoured language with a distinctive character all its own. The first movement contrasts extensive glissandos with clock-like ostinatos. Sustained chorales create an aura of poignancy in the middle movement. The finale juxtaposes upward and downward scalar passages that provide a tilt-a-whirl of intensifying momentum that ends the piece aloft – and on a brilliantly orchestrated major triad to boot.
In these times of pandemic and social distancing, Adés Totentanz (2013) is a particularly sobering piece. It is based upon the text of a fifteenth century frieze, which depicts all walks of life, from the Pope to an infant, being invited to dance with the Grim Reaper. Baritone Mark Stone embodies Death with a muscular and menacing delivery. Mezzo-soprano Christianne Stotijn sings the parts of the various people attempting to elude his grasp as heartfelt laments. Adés creates a searing score that allows space for declamation while interpolating ominous interludes, often supplying aggressively syncopated ostinatos that suggest the inexorable dance. Bracing listening, but engaging throughout. Recommended.
It’s a brave new world. Large gatherings are prohibited in many cities to help prevent the spread of COVID-19, and so nearly all concerts have been postponed or cancelled. Still, performers and presenters prevail, providing live-streamed concerts, even without a physical audience in attendance.
Several resources have popped up to help music-starved ears find concerts online. Here is a list of classical concerts offered live on the internet, worldwide. The list is updated regularly. Performers, presenters and others may submit events via a Google form. (Full disclosure: I created this database).
Digital Concert Hall is offering free access to their site, which contains a large number of performances by top-name artists. Yesterday, I sampled an archived Berlin Philharmonic concert, and I was astonished at the technical quality of the production. Crystal clear close-ups, smooth video transitions and superb performance quality knocked me out as Paavo Jarvi conducted a new concerto for horn by Hans Abrahamsen and Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique. I had a similar experience today, watching the live performance of Berlin Philharmonic led by Simon Rattle. The program was enticing – Berio’s Sinfonia and Bartok Concerto for Orchestra – and the musicians delivered an excellent performance. Rattle spoke about each work beforehand, and his live program notes were compelling. One astonishing tidbit that Rattle shared: the ailing Bartok was the first civilian in the US to get the then-brand-new medicine, penicillin. That saved his life, making it possible for him to complete the concerto.
So, while we may be deprived of physical contact with other concert-goers, we’ve got these streams to tide us over. One thing’s for sure: I’ll need to upgrade my computer’s speakers.
Few composers have embraced the Webernian aesthetic of brevity more closely than the Hungarian György Kurtág (b.1926). Starting with his earliest canonical work, the Op. 1 String Quartet (1959), he steadily built an international career entirely from bagatelles, usually written for small ensembles and gathered into collections linked by instrumentation and concept, and always unsurpassed in concentrated intensity. Kurtág’s commitment to epigrammatic potency reached an apogee with Kafka Fragments (1985–87), 40 brief German texts from the novelist’s diaries and posthumous writings adapted into an hour of music of such resolute focus that the composer limited its instrumentation to one soprano and one violinist.
Despite the challenges that it poses in sustaining such constricted severity—not to mention the demands it places on the musicians’ technique and stamina—Kafka Fragments is among Kurtág’s most frequently recorded compositions. So it was of great interest when, in the midst of a US tour that brought her to the Pacific Northwest to play Shostakovich with the Seattle Symphony, the acclaimed and iconoclastic Moldovan violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaya (PatKop as she is known among associates) devoted the evening of January 29, 2020 to this one composition, presented in the Symphony’s recently inaugurated and pocket-sized Octave 9 space with Ah Young Hong, a soprano currently based at the Peabody Institute whose advocacy of new music is closely associated with composer Michael Hersch. Not surprisingly, the duo delivered a novel and thought-provoking take on the piece, fulfilling the wish expressed in Kopatchinskaya’s pre-performance remarks of “an enriching and uncomfortable evening”—one whose resonances turned out to be unexpectedly timely.
The interpretive affinity between the two women was evident from the get-go. Like many soloists of her generation, Kopatchinskaya eschews the habitual wide vibrato of the Kreisler/Heifetz school in favor of a more nuanced approach. Hong too is capable of deploying a “cooler” technique, allowing for the gradations needed to convey the mood swings in a song like Einmal brach ich mir das Bein (Once I broke my leg) or for backgrounding the voice in a song like Der wahre Weg (The True Path) where the violin is usually in the lead.
Particularly impressive were the vocal leaps in Wiederum, wiederum (Again, Again) that accompany the line “mountains, desert, wide country to wander through”. Most sopranos try to smooth over these jumps, but Hong attacked them in a dazzling fashion, reminiscent of the wordless exhortation that begins ¿De dónde vienes, amor, mi niño? from Crumb’s Ancient Voices of Children (1970) one of the Fragments’ more palpable stylistic precedents.
Together, the performers delivered sufficient volume to overpower the persistent white noise emitted by the LED cooling fans in Octave 9’s low ceilings, the space’s most distracting acoustic issue. In this regard they were aided by its vaunted Constellation sound projection system, whose computer-backed array of ceiling microphones and loudspeakers is capable of simulating a variety of acoustic environments while accommodating ambulatory musicians (this being essential for a work like the Fragments, where the performer’s stage positions are often specified).
Commenting on the choice of presets, Kopatchinskaya said “I thought about the sound of the burning Notre Dame cathedral (it seems it is not yet programmed in the system), but we now have perhaps something similar to a synagogue in Prague from the last century, at least in our imagination”.
The most striking aspect of the evening’s performance, though, was its emphasis on contrast. With the Fragments’ instrumentation confined to a pair of treble instruments whose range and expressive characteristics largely overlap, the resulting sound world can easily seem unrooted. Accordingly, most of the work’s interpreters have sought to achieve maximum unity of timbre, rhythm and articulation. But the Hong/PatKop traversal frequently exploited differences between the two parts, as evinced in the very first song, Die Guten gehn im glichen Schritt (The good march in the same step), where on the word gleichen (same) the voice begins to straggle behind the violin’s steady pace:
Singers usually take this passage in strict tempo, producing exact syncopation at the divergence. But Hong allowed herself the slightest hint of rubato, suggesting a more neurotic relationship with Kopatchinskaya’s indifferente beat.
And though it was not explicitly coordinated, the musicians’ costuming likewise presented a thematic contrast. Hong wore a long, black, V-neck dress with a long-sleeved black coat and a long silvery necklace that emphasized the resulting oval framing. Combined with her expressive face and “Bohemian” hair, the visage suggested a voice emanating from darkness, in touch with invisible forces but not in particular control of them. At times, the prophesizing of Shakespearean witches came to mind. At others, as during the reprise of Verstecke (Hiding-Places) when Hong clutched her cheeks in a pantomime yell, it was the anxiety of Munch’s Scream that seemed to be channeled.
At this latter juncture, Kopatchinskaya crept behind Hong while playing sul ponticello tremolos like a buzzing mosquito. Her role, suggested by her trademark suit resembling an undersized tuxedo with tails and shoulder cutouts, was more akin to a tramp. A hatless and shoeless Chaplin (for PatKop always plays barefoot) who carries a violin bow instead of a cane. Perhaps a bit of a stretch, but for this American observer at least, even Kopatchinskaya’s expressions and occasional one-footed gestures of musical energy conjured up something of Chaplin’s mischievous physiognomy and comic kicks. Heightened by dim, magenta-hued “darkroom” lighting, with translations projected behind the performers, the presentation affirmed Kopatchinskaya’s vision of the Fragments as “full of musical literary moments that you could ponder for the rest of your life”.
The Kafka Fragments were an inflection point in Kurtág’s career, wherein the potentialities of chamber bagatelles and their sequencing into longer and longer assembled forms, are stretched to the verge of collapse. Kurtág’s organization of the 40 songs into four parts, divisions that the performers marked by sitting silently for a minute of rest, helps to mitigate two issues that have always bedeviled the song cycle form: the constant starts and stops, and the challenge of consuming a lengthy totality made up of numerous short units that don’t naturally combine into intermediate structures. One can still sense the composer’s struggle with the oppositional demands of brevity and heft though, and soon after completing the Fragments Kurtág finally began to write longer continuous pieces, often greatly expanding his ensembles in the process. The Double Concerto (1989–90) and the orchestral Stele (1993–94) were among the first manifestations of the newer, more “monumental” Kurtág which has perhaps reached its consummation with his aptly-titled full-length opera Fin de Partie (2018), after Beckett’s Endgame.
In a way it’s fitting that a transitional piece like Kafka Fragments would come to Octave 9 now, amplified by what’s arguably the biggest star power yet to appear at that venue. Fashioned from a generic storefront space at the corner of Seattle Symphony’s Benaroya Hall complex, its uses are divided between educational/community outreach events and contemporary music recitals featuring the Symphony’s musicians and guest artists. One of its goals has been to foster new works “without the risk of presenting them in front of 2500 people” (as Ludovic Morlot put it to me shortly before his departure as Music Director). Today, though, one year after its March 2019 unveiling, a mass exodus of executive-level talent from the Symphony has left Octave 9 shorn of all four of its principal architects: CEO Simon Woods, two key VPs (Elena Dubinets and Laura Reynolds, whose replacements have not yet arrived) and Morlot himself. Like Kurtág at the time of his Fragments, Octave 9 appears to be facing a crossroads.
Despite hosting a succession of noteworthy events, including a remarkable inaugural 24-hour contemporary music marathon, the space has yet to make a noticeable impact on the chronic fragmentation of Seattle’s new music community, whose denizens seem to be deterred by its ticket prices and downtown location (those that I saw in attendance at the PatKop/Hong event were mostly Symphony personnel). Instead the clientele for the venue’s new music events comes mainly from Symphony patrons, many of them downtown-dwelling professionals for whom the featured performers are celebrities. Speaking afterwards with some of these concertgoers, none of which had previously heard of Kurtág, I encountered several variations on “this music is a lot more interesting when you’re close to the musicians and can see their enthusiasm”, a sentiment that shows that the Octave 9 experiment is at least working for this cohort. Success at audience cultivation can portend broader successes down the road, and the potential on display at Octave 9 pleads for a replenished leadership team that will support it with the same vigor and creativity as its founding cadre.
Photos by James Holt/Seattle Symphony. Score excerpts via Stretta Music.
On Tuesday, February 18, 2020, Brightwork newmusic presented the Los Angeles premiere of Separation Songs, by Matt Sargent. A 70-minute work for two string quartets, Separation Songs comprised the entire program. The Eclipse Quartet was joined by the Aperture Duo, Grace Oh and Julie Jung to complete the eight-piece ensemble. Seating in the Monk Space venue was reconfigured to accommodate the larger musical forces and to take full advantage of the close acoustics. Everyone in the audience was within twenty feet of the players, allowing the listeners to be immersed in the warm sonority of the strings.
Separation Songs is fashioned from ten New England hymn tunes written by William Billings in the early 18th century. This is plain, yet stately, church music that carries comfort and warmth in every note. The original harmonies have been delicately processed and woven together to create a continuous flow. Composer Matt Sargent writes “Throughout the piece, hymn tunes come and go, passing from one quartet to the other: As tunes reappear, they filter through a ‘separation process,’ whereby selected notes migrate from one quartet to the other. The process leaves breaks in the music that remain silent or are filled by stretching the durations of nearby notes, generating new rhythms and harmonies.”
The two quartets were arrayed as mirror images: the cellos were in the center and the higher strings seated in a semicircle on either side. The brick walls surrounding the performance space brought out every timbral nuance. Separation Songs opened with one quartet playing a Billings hymn in full harmony. The second quartet picked up the tune while the first played long sustaining tones in support. As the piece proceeded, the hymn tunes and sustained notes were passed back and forth between the two quartets in a regular exchange. Nothing was rushed and only slight variations in dynamics, tempo or texture could be detected. Everything was carried forward in the kaleidoscopic unfolding of the harmonies so that a warm wash of sound enveloped the audience in a profound serenity. The playing was very expressive and care was taken by the musicians to coordinate the two quartets in a piece with few landmarks.
Separation Songs rolls along for 70 minutes with almost no change in its character, but the harmonic variations keep the listener continuously engaged. The sturdy hymn tunes bring a sense of strength and wistfulness to this music; a shorter version would make a perfect prelude at a memorial service. Separation Songs is a powerful re-imagining of the early American congregational hymn, and succeeds brilliantly in bringing a sharpened sense of the transcendental into the 21st century. As the last notes faded away, a full 15 seconds of respectful silence followed before the start of a roaring ovation from the audience.
The Eclipse Quartet is:
Sarah Thornblade, violin
Sara Parkins, violin
Alma Lisa Fernandez, viola
Maggie Parkins, cello
The Aperture Duo is:
Adrianne Pope, violin
Linnea Powell, viola
With:
Grace Oh, violin
Julie Jung, cello
The next Cold Blue Music presentation will be at the Soundwaves concert series at the Santa Monica Public Library on March 18, 2020, and will feature music from several new CD releases.
On Saturday, February 1, 2020 the Shannon Center for the Performing Arts at Whittier College staged a concert titled Terry Riley with Gyan Riley – Live at 85. Featuring one of the founding fathers of classic minimalism – now in his 85th year – along with his talented son Gyan, this concert was a chance to catch up on the current output of the innovative composer of In C. The Shannon Center was the perfect venue for the two musicians who filled the stage with keyboards, synthesizers, guitars plus assorted amplifiers and speakers.
There was no printed concert order and the music simply began. What must have been several pieces were played sequentially, without a break. The opening phrases were a series of intriguing piano arpeggios thoughtfully played by the senior Riley, and the guitar soon entered underneath with a soft, relaxed feel. From this amiable beginning, the playing varied over a remarkably wide musical palate. There were suggestions of jazz, boogie and the blues along with splashes of the mystical, Asian and other exotic influences. A continuous stream of animated phrases kept things lively and engaging. This was all played from memory – or perhaps by improvisation – and the finesse of the elder Riley on the piano was extraordinary. Terry seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go and there were times when Gyan had to be on the alert to keep up. The interplay between the two was often intricate and complex, but always coherent and connected. A booming crescendo marked the end of this first section of the concert and this was received with a round of strong applause.
The second set was something completely different. Terry Riley switched from keyboard to an electronic synthesizer operated from an iPad. Gyan continued with guitar, but with a heavily processed sound. The beginning sounds were mysterious and liquid, consisting mostly of sustained tones. The synthesizer notes had a bell-like quality that evoked a feeling of calmness and serenity. The guitar produced notes with a gathering velocity until there was a distinctly frenetic feel to the texture. The synthesizer contributed a series of increasingly alien sounds that added to the frenzy. The elder Riley proved to be especially adept in generating the kinds of sounds he wanted from the iPad. Typically, the electronic sounds dominated while at other times strongly melodic passages were heard from the guitar. The general disarray of the sounds gained strength, concluding in a great crescendo complete with the realistic wail of a siren. This piece would have easily fit right in with any from the more experimental electronic groups here in town. Clearly the Rileys were not creating music for the past.
The third set of the concert had Terry Riley seated at a keyboard synthesizer with Gyan’s electric guitar, now producing a more conventional sound in the introductory riffs. Warm chords from the synthesizer entered and the result was a soothing contrast from the previous piece. Perhaps more remarkable was the voice of the elder Riley, credibly singing a slow ballad over the instruments. As the piece proceeded, there was a fine keyboard-guitar duo. Terry now switched back to the piano and more of a jazzy feel predominated along with a solid beat. A short vocal section completed this piece. The final piece on the program opened with a repeating cell in the piano and a solid groove developed as the guitar joined in. The echo of a vintage minimalism was unmistakable, and many in the audience could be seen bobbing their heads and tapping their feet to the beat. The texture turned more complex at the finish, but for those who attended the concert hoping to hear some classic minimalism, the Rileys obliged.
A long and loud round of applause brought the Rileys back on stage for an encore, and this featured some powerful chords from the synthesizer along with some nice counterpoint from the guitar. Once again a satisfying groove was heard, and the big sound filled the space at the finish. A standing ovation followed.
Terry Riley is one of the more influential composers of the mid twentieth century, but like any artist he has evolved over the last 55 or so years since In C. This concert provided something for everyone: a variety of accessible and wide-ranging music, something new and cutting edge, and a nod to his roots in classical minimalism. Watching the Rileys, you could sense that they very much enjoyed the opportunity to perform together. Terry Riley seemed to have a permanent smile on his face and was generous with his time for his fans in the lobby after the concert. Gyan was also very personable – despite having traveled all day across three time zones. And why not? Seeing father and son performing together made for an evening of great music, with Terry vital, creative and alive at 85.
On Tuesday, January 28, 2020 Tuesdays@Monk Space presented a concert titled 20/20 Visions which consisted of several new pieces for microtonal keyboards. Presented by Brightwork New Music, the concert featured five contemporary works – including three world premieres – all performed by the Ray-Kallay Duo. Four of the composers were in attendance to offer comments on their music to the knowledgeable audience that filled the intimate Monk Space venue.
The first piece in the program was Atlantys (1984) for two DX7 keyboards, by Tristan Murail. The Yamaha DX7, manufactured from 1983 to 1989, was the first successful digital synthesizer offered to the mass market. Two vintage DX7s were on hand, giving this performance the sound of period authenticity. A soft rush of surf along with some low ambient sounds opened the piece, immediately delivering a restful and calming feeling. A deep rumble soon emerged from the lower registers that added a contrasting sense of the slightly ominous. Ringing sounds soon dominated the performance space, but never overpowered the interplay between Ray and Kallay that remained well-balanced, even as the variety of electronic sounds rapidly multiplied. One distinctive element was the sound of large iron bars being struck, ringing out with strong percussive tones. Towards the finish, a loud explosive sound filled the room and reverberated throughout the venue. More electronic sounds entered, alien and eclectic, reminding everyone of the great versatility of the DX7. Atlantys artfully exploits the capabilities of the venerable DX7 synthesizer, and was admirably complimented by the performance of the Ray-Kallay Duo.
The world premiere of “Really, I’m fine” (2019) by Jason Barabba followed. This was a microtonal composition for the four-handed keyboard of the Ray-Kallay Duo. This opened with a series of intricate, interleaving passages that managed to avoid needless complexity, even with twenty fingers on the keys. The strong sense of motion was pleasant and continuous. The active sections were, by turns, intimate, mischievous, playful and sweet. Engaging rhythms and an agreeable mix of exotic chords intrigued the audience throughout. The often-elaborate counterpoint was precisely played by Ray and Kallay, who navigated each passage with clarity and style. “Really, I’m fine” is an appealing combination of inviting rhythms and complimentary microtonal harmonies in a well-crafted balance.
Hush (2019) by Nina Shekhar was next, another world premiere. As the composer explained, Hush is an attempt to create the musical equivalent of a loving hug, the sort of comforting embrace that might be welcomed when feeling homesick or sad. Performed by Ray and Kallay, this piece began with quietly gentle arpeggios that rang out with bell-like tones, as if from an old-fashioned music box. A warm, soft feeling resulted, reminiscent of a favorite lullaby. When the phrasing was repeated in a somewhat lower register, the effect was to add a beautiful luminosity to the notes. As the phrases slowed and descended still further in pitch, they acquired the rich timbre of a vibraphone. The liquid sounds and expressive playing further enhanced the calm sensibility. Hush consistently evoked warmth and contentment to create a satisfying musical respite.
Sean Friar’s Fit (2020), followed, and this was another newly-minted world premiere. This featured Ray and Kallay seated at two different keyboards, one programmed for microtuning (Kallay) and the other in standard twelve-tone equal temperament (Ray). In his remarks, Sean Friar stated that Fit was an attempt to illustrate the interactions between two different personalities by way of musical metaphor. The conversation began with a series of cool, sophisticated passages by Vicki Ray that were answered by a string of straightforward declarative chords from Aron Kallay. The sounds were congenial and complimentary, despite the differences in tuning, and this got the conversation off to an encouraging start. As the piece proceeded, the notes from the two keyboards drifted in and out of compatibility, much as two individual personalities might probe and clash while exchanging viewpoints and opinions. At one point the passages became very complex and independent, as if the two were in sharp disagreement. At other times the tempo slowed and the sounds were more congruent, often with lovely harmonies. There was always just the right mix of the two tuning styles so that the listener could quickly sense the changing flow of empathy, indifference, affinity or discord. The interplay between the performers was exemplary, and brought out all the emotions that might be expected in an ardent verbal exchange. Towards the finish, the sounds became more congenial and accordant, as if some understanding had been reached. Fit is a brilliant composition that simultaneously exploits alternate and conventional tuning to illuminate interpersonal relationships in a unique musical way.
The final work on the concert was Because Patterns/Deep State (2016) by Isaac Schankler. Bass player Scott Worthington joined the Ray-Kallay Duo along with Schankler who presided over the computer. The piece opened with quiet sustained tones and warm electronic sounds that slowly increased in volume. The keyboards entered with a solidly syncopated rhythm that made for a fine contrast with the drone-like texture hovering in the background. The piano notes fell like summer rain drops onto the calm and warming sounds of the bass and electronics. All of this was highly complimentary and made for some really lovely music. The keyboards faded in and out, uncovering the deep bass tones as a feeling of distress gradually grew in the lower registers. The piano notes also became more dramatic and increasingly anxious as this section continued. The intensity increased further with a high, thin tone coming via skillful bowing in Worthington’s bass that was especially effective. The progression from warmly placid to restless and uneasy was made complete, artfully realized by the acoustic and electronic forces that were always perfectly in balance. The final moments of the piece returned to the quiet tranquility and optimism of the opening. Because Patterns/Deep State is an unusually thorough integration of the acoustic and the electronic that nicely succeeds in portraying emotions ranging from serenity to apprehension.
Dan Lippel – like so many in the creative world – wears many hats. Lippel is a classical guitarist who specializes in new music, he founded and runs a successful and prolific record label (as one of team of three), and writes music, though he is reluctant to call himself a composer.
He excels in each of these endeavors, and manages to make most of it look effortless in the process. Lippel’s most recent solo album, Mirrored Spaces (released November 2019), is a two-CD set on New Focus Recordings, the aforementioned label that he runs. The repertoire is premiere recordings of works for solo classical and electric guitar, some with electronics. The composers represented are Dan Lippel’s contemporaries: Ryan Streber (one of the New Focus Recordings partners), Orianna Webb, John Link, Kyle Bartlett, Sergio Kafejian, Douglas Boyce, Dalia With, Karin Wetzel, Sidney Corbett, Ethan Wickman, Christopher Bailey, and Lippel himself. Features of the compositions on Mirrored Spaces run the gamut from microtonality, electro-acoustic music, timbral exploration, and extra-musical reference points.
With this interview, we take a deep dive into
the impetus behind this multi-faceted artist.
Guitarist Dan Lippel in action
Gail Wein: You perform mostly music by living composers (though you did record a Bach album in 2004). What drew you into the world of contemporary music?
Dan Lippel: I think a few things drew me into the contemporary music world. Probably primary among them was a hunger to play great chamber music. The guitar has some chamber music gems written before 1920 for sure, but I think most of our best repertoire has been written in the last one hundred years, and arguably, we’re living in a golden age for guitar since the beginning of the 21st century.
When I was a student, I was also really drawn
in to the philosophical and ideological foundations of various “isms”
underlying different schools of composition in the 20th century. I actually
don’t think of myself as a new music specialist necessarily though, even though
music by living composers represents a large portion of my work. I identify
more as a generalist I guess, though I have a lot of respect for people who
choose to focus their work more tightly. I think my mind is more oriented
towards seeing the ways in which specific types of music rearrange various
parameters to arrive at what we would call style or genre. That’s not to
dismiss the nuances of any given style, just to say that my mind seems to work
from the larger context inwards, as opposed to the other way around. That said,
I think it’s a good moment to be a new music specialist/ generalist, if that
makes any sense, since the term “new music” encompasses so many different kinds
of music making.
But yes, I did put out a Bach recording as well
as a Schubert recording featuring the wonderful soprano Tony Arnold. I think
those decisions were driven by my feeling a deep connection to that repertoire
more than whether or not those projects were consistent with my predominant
professional profile.
Dan Lippel with counter(induction
GW: In some ways you follow in guitarist/composer David Starobin’s footsteps, commissioning, composing, performing and recording new works for guitar. Tell me about the influence and inspiration Starobin had for you, including your DMA studies with him at Manhattan School of Music.
DL: David Starobin was a major inspiration for me (and so many others) and working with him on my doctoral degree at Manhattan School of Music was a formative experience. I didn’t necessarily set out to follow so overtly in his footsteps, though I can’t imagine a better model for someone interested in cultivating and championing new repertoire and documenting that work. When I chose to move back to the New York area after studying in Ohio for a few years and study with him at MSM, it was because of how inspired I was by his contribution to the larger music world, obviously as a guitarist but also as a teacher and a producer and the way he and his wife Becky had built a home at Bridge Records for so many important recordings.
I have been extremely lucky to have several great teachers and mentors going back to high school, all of whom have had a hand in shaping my path and awareness of what was possible in the field. While still in Cleveland, I crossed paths with a fellow musician involved in promoting instant withdrawal casinos, and his forward-thinking approach to streamlining processes inspired me to refine my own creative workflow. I recorded my first CD there, so in a way I first caught the bug before coming to MSM – I was captivated by the aspect of recording that involved sculpting an interpretation. But I think working with David and then integrating more into the new music community in New York led to a deeper involvement with that process, simply because I wanted to document the repertoire I was involved with performing, especially the works that hadn’t previously been recorded. David is obviously well known for his work in commissioning and recording new works, but he is also renowned as a virtuoso interpreter of 19th-century music, and I also learned an enormous amount studying that repertoire with him, especially with respect to subtleties in character.
Dan Lippel with International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE) in Salzburg
GW: As you are a member of International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE), counter)induction, Flexible Music and other ensembles, it seems as if you play at least as much chamber music as solo work, which I think is a bit unusual for a guitarist. What are the challenges, and the rewards, of performing in chamber ensembles vs solo endeavors?
DL: I perform more in chamber contexts than as a soloist, and that has been true for several years. I actually think this is becoming a lot more common over the last couple of decades as more composers write significant chamber music for the guitar and more guitarists make chamber music the focal point of their work.
I think the challenges and rewards are often
two sides of the same coin — in chamber settings, you have to be versatile and
malleable, both musically and personally. Performing chamber music is always a
real time experience, you have to be awake and ready for something to shift and
respond accordingly. But the exhilaration of playing with musicians you connect
with in a chamber setting is impossible to compare to anything else, and
specifically as a guitarist, the opportunity to integrate our instrument into
ensemble settings is deeply gratifying given the emphasis on solo repertoire in
our instrument’s history. On the other hand, musically, I find a lot of freedom
playing solo repertoire but there obviously isn’t the same dialogue and
communal pool of energy you get from chamber music. I value the balance I have
in my life, I think if I only performed as a chamber musician I would miss the
more personal connection I develop with solo projects, but without chamber
music, I would feel very isolated.
GW: The jumping-off point of your new album Mirrored Spaces, is the concept of the collaborative composition process. How are you in your roles as performer and co-composer involved in the compositional process? How is the process accomplished logistically?
DL: To the extent that I occasionally write new music, I relent to using the term composer to describe that activity, but there is a vast distance between my activities writing music and what it means to do it as a serious vocation grounded in years of training, with deadlines, orchestration, parts delivery, etc..
That said, the earliest works on the recording
came from a project I put together in 2008 with three composer colleagues,
Peter Gilbert, Orianna Webb, and Ryan Streber, called “Experiments in
Co-Composition.” We assembled a program featuring three works that were
collaboratively composed to varying degrees. Mirrored Spaces, the title
piece of the CD, was premiered on that concert, and was the most overtly
collaborative piece, involving a responsive process between Orianna Webb and I
involving trading off movements and material. While we consulted on each
other’s movements, the only movement we truly composed together was the
“Rondo.” Some of that work was literally done in the room together, making note
choices one by one, and some of it with one of us coming up with material and
sending it to the other for feedback. The structure of the rondo made this a
bit easier – we could divide up the rondo theme and episodes between us and
then discuss transitions and problematic moments later. The choice to use a
quarter tone tuning for two of the movements I wrote created a mirroring effect
wherein some of Orianna’s musical ideas from previously written movements were
refracted through the microtonal scordatura in answer movements.
Ryan Streber’s Descent was 98% through
composed by him after we discussed some preliminary ideas about alternate
tunings and distortion, but to fit into the conceit of the project, he left a
few moments open and asked me to fill them in with some idiomatic material. Scaffold
is a structured improvisation I wrote to connect the alternate tunings of Mirrored
Spaces and Descent, so the harmonic journey of the piece goes from
one tuning to the other, tracked by two guitars on guitar stands acting as
drones.
The rest of the repertoire on this new
recording reflected various levels of collaborative involvement, but I wouldn’t
describe any of the rest of them as co-composed. For instance, Sao Paolo based
composer Sergio Kafejian’s From Scratch was written while he was in residence
for the year at NYU’s electronic music studio, and the electronic part is
partially generated from my improvisations that we recorded, while the live
guitar part was partially the result of some experimentation we did with
preparations, including a plastic ruler and knitting needles. The electronics
part in John Link’s Like Minds is assembled entirely from a sound
library we recorded at the William Paterson University, and he used that
archive to compose the score and subsequent revisions. Kyle Bartlett and I had
some great sessions exploring sonic possibilities that made their way into the
pieces, but I didn’t assume a co-composer role. Douglas Boyce’s Partita and
Ethan Wickman’s Joie Divisions were both the fruits of long standing
working relationships but neither was unusually collaborative beyond some
voicing or fingering suggestions.
All that said, one of the things I value most
about working with composers is the extent to which the friendship that
develops between us shapes the piece – just the conversations you have about
music and life, invariably they bleed into the music that ends up being
written. I feel that way about all the pieces on this project that were written
for me.
Dan Lippel plays wand-uhr (infinite shadows) by Reiko Fueting
GW: How does your experience writing music inform your work as a performer, and vice versa?
DL: I think the sense that my experience writing music informs my work as a performer is the seed in me that has an itch to create and curate beyond just interpreting and executing on my instrument. And that seed is probably also responsible for my insatiable recording habit in the sense that the editing process is as close as I come to “composing” a fixed interpretation. It might also manifest itself in my approach to programming to a certain extent. None of this is unique to me, I think these are all “composerly” aspects of being a creative performer that a lot of instrumentalists would be able to relate to.
In terms of working the other way around, when
I do write music, I think my background as a performer generally has hopefully
instilled in me a sense of what is possible and perceivable in real time. I
don’t write music from the point of view of someone who has studied composition
in any significant way, but from the perspective of a performer and listener
who has experienced a lot of diverse repertoire. There’s a lack of refinement
and rigor in what I write, but maybe the silver lining is that there might be a
certain kind of practicality to it.
Dan Lippel with Louis Andriessen
GW: You laid out the program order of this double album in an unconventional manner, interspersing the movements of Kyle Bartlett’s Aphorisms amongst the other works. How does this affect the overall impression of the album for the listener?
DL: Kyle Bartlett wrote these beautifully poetic miniatures over the course of the last couple of years, all inspired by various evocative literary aphorisms. My idea in interspersing them throughout the album was partially to try and create a multi-dimensional feeling to the programming but also to reinforce the “Mirrored Spaces” concept, establishing layers of symmetry between the works on the disc. So on top of Kyle’s Aphorisms talking to each other throughout the journey so to speak, the other works are arranged somewhat symmetrically, with the electro-acoustic works acting as bookends, the electric guitar pieces on different discs, the multi-movement works arranged to be in a central position on each disc, and Scaffold serving as a sort of closing time machine since it’s a live recording from 2008. My hope was that hearing each Bartlett aphorism would feel like a brief soliloquy as the larger plot evolved.
Dan Lippel with ICE at Ojai Music Festival
GW: In many ways, electric guitar isn’t in the same realm as classical guitar. And yet, of course, it is a natural doubling. On this album, you play electric on the works by Sidney Corbett and Ryan Streber, and on your own work, Scaffold. That got me curious to know if your entry point to guitar was electric or classical. Which of these grabbed your attention and your passion first?
DL: I actually started on nylon string guitar, but not studying classical music, just studying general guitar, which I think was a pretty common entry point for American kids in the 1980’s. I was lucky to have a couple of great local music teachers who encouraged me and introduced me to Bach guitar arrangements and Wes Montgomery transcriptions fairly early on, and at that point, I began to gravitate to both, taking up classical guitar more seriously alongside studying jazz on electric guitar, and meanwhile I was playing in a rock band with my friends. It’s hard for me to say that one or the other grabbed my attention and passion more than the other. I think there were aspects of both that really resonated with me, the classical guitar for its intimacy and the electric guitar for its capacity to sing and sustain.
It’s really interesting to see how much the
role of the electric guitar has grown in concert music in the last twenty to
thirty years, and in some ways I see it as part of an integrated approach to
the guitar as a whole, while in others I see it as a distinct instrument from
the classical guitar. Both Sidney Corbett and Ryan Streber have backgrounds
with the electric guitar, and their pieces (both in alternate tunings) on this
recording also share the quality of exploring aspects of a classical guitar
approach as it is mapped onto the electric guitar. Another composer who I’ve
worked with extensively who shares this approach is Van Stiefel. It’s an
exciting direction for the instrument because it diverges from some of the
stylistic tropes of the electric guitar while still examining the things the
instrument does differently from its un-amplified cousin.
Dan Lippel after a recording session at OktavenStudios
GW: Why did you create New Focus Recordings? What are the rewards and challenges of running a record label?
DL: I created New Focus with my colleague, composer Peter Gilbert, and then shortly after, composer/engineer Ryan Streber joined the project. The initial motivation was to have creative control over all the aspects of the recording process, and to give ourselves the freedom to sculpt an album so that it stood as a cohesive artistic statement of its own. Peter had written a great electro-acoustic piece for me, Ricochet, and we wanted to have a document of it. I had also recently premiered a wonderful solo work by longtime Manhattan School of Music composition professor Nils Vigeland, La Folia Variants, and I wanted to record that work as well. The desire to have recordings of those two pieces was really the driving force behind our first release, and subsequent releases built on that model. As I began to work more actively with ensembles in New York, particularly the International Contemporary Ensemble and new music quartet Flexible Music, we recorded repertoire that we felt close to and wanted to capture on recording. Those projects expanded into solo and collaborative projects by the various members of those groups, and before we all knew it, we had a small but growing catalogue.
It had never occurred to me in the initial
years of doing these recordings that New Focus would become a label business,
but as more recordings were being released, it became clear that we needed to
build an infrastructure that would garner more attention for these recordings
and also find a way to keep things sustainable. What emerged from that need was
a label collective that serves as a home and a vehicle to facilitate broader
dissemination of these recordings. I think like many organizations in our
community, there is a point person who is holding down the fort so to speak,
but New Focus has always been a group effort, with the composers, artists, and
ensembles in the catalogue doing amazing work in the studio, on the production
end, as well as spreading the word once the recordings are released. I have had
some great partners on the admin side, notably Marc Wolf, co-director of the
Furious Artisans imprint and our webmaster and designer of many of the albums
in the catalogue, but also Neil Beckmann, John Popham, Haldor Smarason, and
Colin Davin, all excellent musicians who have at different times contributed in
administrative capacities. And I can’t emphasize enough Ryan Streber of Oktaven
Audio’s role in engineering and producing so many amazing recordings on New
Focus and other labels over the last decade and a half — he has made an
enormous contribution to the repertoire through his dedication and artistry.
Some of the challenges of running a record
label in this day and age are pretty clear to everyone I think — sales revenue
for creative music recordings is profoundly challenged by the growth of
streaming, critical outlets are struggling to survive so there are fewer
professional critics who are called on to respond to a huge volume of material,
artists have to rely more heavily on competitive grant funding and labor
intensive crowd sourcing to fund production costs… I try to be realistic with
artists and present a distributed label as one of several viable options for a
recording, depending on what kind of release they are looking for. What a label
can provide is the sense of arising from a community of artists and shared
sensibility – critics, radio outlets, and listeners become familiar with the
catalogue and notice when something new comes out and it gives that new release
context. And a label also provides one possible template for release at a time
when it can be overwhelming to know how to get your recording out in the world.
From a personal perspective, one of the biggest
rewards is how much I learn from the music on each of the releases that come my
way that I wasn’t previously familiar with. Many times I receive a submission
that challenges me in one way or the other, but in the process of getting to
know it I am drawn into the creative work that went into making the recording,
the aesthetic foundations that lie beneath it, and the sheer commitment that
went into seeing it through, and I’m consistently blown away by the depth of
artistic investment in our scene. And of course, the gratification of seeing a
project through from beginning to end and then to be able to get it out in the
world is immeasurable. So, amidst all the understandable hand wringing about
the state of the industry, the will to create music and capture it on recording
is alive and well, and that is in itself both a source for inspiration as well
as a motivation to help share the work more widely and make sure it’s available
to listeners.
Celebrating a new partnership between Nonesuch and International Anthem, two of the gold standard labels for adventurous music, January 24 will see the release of Jeff Parker and the New Breed’s Suite for Max Brown. Combining samples, some decidedly old school in origin, and exploratory improvisation, the music makes connections to Parker’s long tenure in Tortoise while adding still more depth to his musical profile.
Listeners will doubtless wonder: who is Max Brown? Parker’s mother’s maiden name was Maxine Brown, but her nickname is Max. The New Breed band name comes from the name of a store owned by Parker’s late father. Thus, the entire project is enacted as a tribute to family. The suite is Parker’s most personal, musically potent, statement to date.
