Harvey: Mortuos Plango, Vivos Loco - a true Electroacoustic work of art

1/31/11 – Harvey: Mortuos Plango, Vivos Loco

Between the banal and the chaotic ambiguity hovers, and makes good music.

Our minds don’t want the obvious where we can predict everything as clear as

boring daylight, and we don’t want it too confused either…

At a certain point the very complex meets the very simple.

– Jonathan Harvey

First off, I apologize for the change-up – I know I originally had scheduled Tombeau de Messien as the composition du jour, but feel more compelled to write on this one instead.  I find it a more interesting piece for one thing, and am more compelled to write on it as such.  Anyone who feels cheated and wants to hear my musings on Tombeau instead, let me know and I’ll oblige – just probably not today.  Also, it's on the same CD...

I was first introduced to this piece of music in my Intro to Electroacoustic Composition class at UNT.  By then I had heard a lot of the genre – Schaeffer, Stockhausen, Boulez, even some Varese and Zappa.  Most of it didn’t appeal to me.  I still had this archaic notion that music had something to do with notes in a scale-based pattern, and while manipulating non-musical sounds into different non-music was interesting, it’s not what I wanted to listen to most of the time, and not really what I wanted to write, either.  Mortuos Plango was the first piece that didn’t simply intrigue me as a composer (kid) in a studio going nuts with filters, loops, magnetic tape, and granular synthesis in his studio (candy store) for the sheer unbridled fun of experimentation with all these “toys.”  Harvey’s music was just as much musical as a lot of acoustic compositions I had heard, both from fellow students and those we were all studying.

The piece begins with the clanging of what sounds like dozens of bells, ranging from three ton church bells to wind chimes.  The sound evokes a call to church on some high holy day and from beyond comes the sound of straight-toned boy soprani, chanting upon individual tones in Latin.  The sound, however, seems to transform out of and then back into the chiming of the bells.  I’ve learned since that the sound of bells is one of the most utilized sources for electronic music – their tone and shape are relatively easy to achieve electronically, and thus equally easy to manipulate.  As the chant gives way again to the ringing of bells, the sound of bells is reversed and played backward.  If you’re having trouble aurally picturing that, think of it this way… a bell sound is a “clang” followed by a “ring” that eventually fades to nothingness.  Now think of that happening backward – beginning with a fade from nothing into a ring and ending abruptly with a noisy, percussive “clang.”

These two basic sounds – the voice of a young boy (or boys) and the ringing of bells seem to be the only source material used in the piece.  Everything else is some manipulation of these two, or occasionally, as mentioned above, a transformation of one into the other.  The manipulation ranges from subtle to very clearly electronic; be it synthesized, transposed to extremes, or cut into such small segments and pasted together that the original sound is barely perceptible.  The musical gestures clearly delineate form and structure that I often find lacking in electronic music.

Go to iTunes and download this piece.  It’s not going to break you at 99 cents.  Tell me what you think of it when you do.  And if you hate it, let me know where to send a check for that same $.99.  I’ll even throw in the extra penny.

On a slightly unrelated note, this concludes the first month of my “album du jour.”  Yes, it’s hard work, and yes, it’s an expense I could live without.  At the same time, I feel it’s accomplishing what I set out to do – expanding both my musical repertoire and developing my appreciation for music outside what I would otherwise listen to.  While this project was intended to improve myself as a musician, as a writer, I hope as it goes on, I get better at expressing my thoughts and ideas about the music.  Thank you for your responses and comments.  Keep them coming – it’s easier to keep going and writing if I know someone’s listening (either to me or the music.)  To bring January to a close, and for those of you who haven’t been following on a regular basis, I figured I’d recap the “album du jour” albums du… month.  I know it doesn’t have the same ring to it, but that’s ok.

Best of January - Blood, Sweat & Tears

Best Classical - Hindemith: Kleine Kammermusik

Best Jazz - Jaco Pastorius

Best Mainstream - The Near Demise of the High Wire Dancer (Antje Duvekot)

Honorable Mention - Mortuos Plango, Vivos Loco (Jonathan Harvey)

Let me know what YOU think were the highlights of this month!

Tomorrow – Janis Joplin’s Greatest Hits

Next week – Mozart: Violin Concerti 1-5 (specific concerto TBD)

Blood, Sweat and Tears - Rock, Jazz and Soul

1/30/11 – Blood, Sweat, & Tears

Great music is that which penetrates the ear with facility and leaves the memory with difficulty. Magical music never leaves the memory.

– Sir Thomas Beecham

          I must confess – I often got Blood, Sweat, and Tears confused with Earth, Wind, & Fire.  Won’t do that anymore.  I knew I wanted to include this group (whichever their name is) somewhere in the course of this project, but I wasn’t sure to include them on a jazz day or a mainstream day.  It’s not that it doesn’t fit in either, it’s that it fits in both.  They swing as hard as most big bands, but their songwriting is clearly rock with a soul/R&B bent.  And they do it all damn well.  It’s like if Chicago were fronted by Ray Charles instead of Peter Cetera.

The opening track is gutsy – an instrumental piece based on Erik Satie’s Gymnopedies, relatively simple mood pieces for solo piano.  They begin with a soft acoustic guitar and alto flue trio that could pass on one of those cheap Target kiosks of nature sound with music.  However, it quickly morphs into a whirly, fuzzy brass piece with extended polytonal harmonies – far more aggressive and in your face.

There were a few tracks I was at least somewhat familiar with before latching on to this album.  The first I was familiar with was “And When I Die,” whose hoedown rhythm is both corny and infectious.  It’s one of those songs with a beat that people would attribute most often to bad musical theatre, but it kinda works here.  Another standout of BS&T on this track (and a few other tunes on here) is the static tempi changes between sections.  The straight ahead chorus comes out of nowhere, and slips back just as quickly into the relaxed “oom pa” of the verses.  The cheeky electric harpsichord instrumental after the first chorus reminds me of the Manson Trio section of Stephen Schwartz’s “Pippin.”  It kind of has a distinct theatrical vibe to it.

“God Bless the Child” was the specific tune I was looking for when deciding which BS&T album to discuss here.  It’s a far cry from Billie Holiday’s soulful ballad, instead opting for a hard swinging funky horn section.  David Clayton-Thomas’ raspy, gritty vocals are a perfect compliment to this great arrangement, although the latin jazz section in the middle seems abrupt and out of character.  However, as with “And When I Die,” it suddenly shifts back into the backbeat of the opening and closes out the tune after one final verse.

“Spinning Wheel” is perhaps the band’s greatest single hit, and for good reason.  Another straight-forward funk groove with Clayton-Thomas sneering out vocals every bit as aggressive as the growling quartal brass chords from the rest of the band.  The transition into a swinging trumpet solo seems more organic and natural than some of the earlier songs.  The end of the tune is a quirky juxtaposition of the main brass lick with a flute-y carousel.  The pairing is bizarre, but for some reason, seems to work.

“You’ve Made Me So Very Happy” is another tune I had heard before, but never attributed to BS&T.  I think some of the finer points of the arrangement always led be to believe the tune was older than it actually was by a couple decades or so.  The elements don’t seem as aggressive as most of the other arrangements, and I think loses some of the edge.

The track that really blows me away however is “Blues, Pt. 2.”  (And no, there is no “Blues, Pt. 1.”)  It opens with a dramatic two and a half minute church organ solo, which while not bluesy in the least, provides a certain degree of musical tension.  Then, it eventually hits stride and the remainder of the band comes in for a quick shout.  What follows is a smooth bass duet with the drummer.  Both take some liberal solos before the organ and horns return.  Some alto sax work from Fred Lipsius takes a few turns from bop to “chill” jazz before the bass introduces the main line from Jimi Hendrix’s “Sunshine of Your Love.”  The full band blasts the riff with wild abandon before David finally brings in a true blue vocal, bringing the 11-minute jam to a close.  Simply incredible.

The album ends as it began, with another Erik Satie variation.  I glossed over a few tracks, all of which are masterful and powerful in their own right.  “Sometimes in Winter,” “More and More,” and “Smiling Phases” all contribute to this excellent album.  Speaking of contributors, the lineup for BS&T has included over a hundred different musicians over the years.  Most of the original lineup now teaches right here in Boston at Berklee.  Jaco, the Brecker Brothers, Lou Marini, and Joe Henderson are only a few of the huge names associated with this project at one time or another.  Jazz?  I’d say so.  Rock?  Yeah.  Soul?  Definitely.  However you categorize it, Blood, Sweat, & Tears is a tremendous album, from one of the most incredibly talented group of musicians.

Tomorrow –Harvey: Tombeau de Messiaen

Next week – Mood Swings (The Swingle Singers)

Alfred Hitchcock (An Essential Collection) - Killer Soundtracks

1/29/11 – Alfred Hitchcock (An Essential Collection) (Bernard Herrmann)

Cinema, and certainly the development of cinema, is undoubtedly the most important artistic development of the 20^th century.
 – Bernard Herrmann

So today marks the first “5^th” of the year, being the 5^th Saturday of the month.  These are the days I’ve delegated to albums and collections that don’t fit inside the boxes set apart on the original framework for this project.  Even though I have a rough schedule of the year mapped out, these are the most prone to change as the year goes by.  If those of you reading this have any suggestions on recordings I should listen to, this is also where they’re most likely to show up.  Along those lines, if you have any suggestions, let me know.  By now I’m sure you have some idea of what I’d be prone to listen to if you’ve been following at all.

Bernard Herrmann is one of those rarely known film composers by name, but almost all of us are familiar with his works.  His extensive work with Alfred Hitchcock have made his works immediately recognizable (“Psycho,” anyone?) but his reach goes beyond Hitchcock to Orson Welles film and radio dramas, Rod Sterling’s The Twilight Zone, and collaborations with Scorsese and many others.  In fact, according to his wikipedia page, Herrmann scored 51 movies in his lifetime.   

This collection not only contains orchestral suites from some of Herrmann’s most famous collaborations with Hitchcock, but also snippets of recorded interviews where Herrmann discusses his philosophy on composition and film scoring, the role of the composer as both an artist and a subject to his audience, and his experience with different directors over the years, most notably Welles and Hitchcock.  I find his advice and outlook on the writing process to be every bit as valuable as the music itself contained here.

The first musical selection in this collection is the “Psycho Suite,” containing selections from the prelude, finale, and of course, the famous shower scene.  Listening to the prelude in particular, I recognize what sounds like a lot of Stravinsky influence, specifically reminiscent of the string work in The Rite of Spring.  The aggressive, rhythmic pulsing of the midrange strings and a whole-tone based harmonic hierarchy give the string orchestra a very nervous and “jumpy” feel.  The shrieks of the violins in the murder scene are of course immediately recognizable to most, but still as powerful a musical gesture as the day it was written.  As the piece draws to a conclusion, the high piched, dissonant adagio is eerie to say the least.

Vertigo’s “Scene D’Amour” is the first suite from which I am not familiar with the accompanying film.  Again, Herrmann limits himself to the string section of the orchestra, withholding the woodwinds until a full minute and a half into the piece.  The mood is nostalgic, and sounds like it would be equally well suited to radio melodrama, perhaps even moreso than Hitchcock’s suspense/thrillers.  Perhaps if you’ve seen Vertigo, you’d draw your own conclusions.  Perhaps if I’d seen Vertigo, I’d draw different conclusions as well…

The only vocal work contained herein is the Cantata “The Storm Clouds,” from The Man Who Knew Too Much.  While featured prominently in the film, the cantata was actually written by Australian composer Arthur Benjamin and merely conducted by Herrmann for the film.  Benjamin apparently wrote the piece for a 1934 film adaptation of The Scarlet Pimpernel.  Brass triumphantly blasts for the first time thus far, and a soprano begins a brilliant choral counterpoint similar to the final movement of Leonard Bernstein’s “Chichester Psalms,” written some 30 years later.

The prelude to North by Northwest is by far the most texturally diverse selection on the CD, utilizing all parts of the orchestra moreso than earlier works.  The alternating 3/4 and 6/8 rhythms give it a generically exotic feel; I can’t tell if it is supposed to be Middle Eastern or Hispanic in nature.

The The Wrong Man prelude is a vast departure from the other soundtracks presented.  The opening is a latin jazz inspired dance number, interspersed with light, slightly eerie flute interludes, again over a whole tone based accompaniment.  Bouncy and light, it just doesn’t seem congruous with the remainder of the CD.

The final musical track is both disappointing and at the same time, a credit to Herrmann’s skill and legacy as a composer.  It is an overprocessed, studio-slick cut-and-paste job containing a few select measures of the original Psycho score, and a vast array of canned sound effects.  The result is an auditory trailer for the 1999 remake of the film, and further proof that “newer sounding” and “edited down” do not always mean better.  Give me Herrmann’s original score any day.

Tomorrow –Blood, Sweat & Tears

Next week – Gesualdo: Complete Sacred Music for Five Voices

Nevermind - Neoclassicism?!? In Nirvana?!?

1/23/11 – Nevermind (Nirvana)

When you are creating your own shit, man, even the sky ain't the limit.
-Miles Davis

Back in 1993 (or somewhere around there,) I remember our family hosting a foreign exchange student for the summer from France.  Hubert was a few years older than me, and was a pretty cool kid from what I remember.  Except for the fact that he smoked and listened to a lot of music that my mom dismissed at weird, and would then scowl at and move on.  I don’t know if it was my imagination or interpretation of what she said when she did things like that, but for some reason, I always associated a value judgment with my mom’s tastes in music; if she didn’t like something, it was all of the sudden “bad music.”  Perhaps it’s related to the fact that the radios around the house and cars were always set to contemporary Christian radio stations.  Perhaps it’s because she did the same thing with food… while dad just didn’t like peanut butter, mom didn’t like lima beans and they were “bad.”  At any rate, I digress.  There are two CD’s I remember hearing Hubert play over and over that summer as he shared my bedroom: Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Nirvana’s Nevermind.

            With that in mind, I never listened to Nirvana much growing up, mostly in an adolescent attempt to appease my mom to some extent.  However, listening to this album now, I on some level or another already know all of it.  The melodies are familiar enough and the harmonies striking enough that I find them etched in my subconscious; perhaps moreso than some of the music I actively listened to those 18 years ago.  “Smells Like Teen Spirit” comes as no surprise, as it became a sort of anthem for my angsty teenage generation.  What does catch me off guard is how my musical understanding has changed since then.  There is some really good music here, and I either didn’t notice before, or at least wasn’t bold enough to admit.

I think, rather, I knew something was different about this music, and even though I didn’t understand it, I knew it worked somehow.  Putting on the analytical theory cap for a second (sorry Dad,) I begin to understand why.  There are no V chords in the whole piece, meaning the one chordal relationship that Western music theory is based around, V-I isn’t present.  Instead of a hierarchy of harmonies based on a circle of fifths, “Smells Like…” is based off a grouping of chords a third away.  Faure, Philip Glass, and other late romantics and contemporary composers have written in this style, but I’ve never seen it in the mainstream.  Likewise, the soft verses and loud refrains are a throwback to the terraced dynamics of the early Classical period – Haydn in particular.  I am enthralled – as Genesis tried to further rock music by mixing meters (a 20^th century convention) and interpolating Renaissance instrumentation to “elevate” rock music, Nirvana accomplished this lofty goal (both in my opinion and commercially) much better by embracing Neoclassicism.  But no one noticed, because the elements borrowed and integrated into their writing were so much more subtle.  (I know… not a word you hear used to describe Nirvana very often, right?)

“In Bloom” includes some of the same devices as above; the verses are a series of chords related by thirds; the only dominant chord is a secondary dominant (which resolves “correctly,”) and the same dynamic structures.  Continuing into “Come As You Are,” I start to wonder if there is a single V chord in the whole album.  This flies so far in the face of convention that I find it near impossible to dismiss as coincidence.

As a side note, as it appears I’m being too praiseworthy so far, I’ll take a second to mention how lackluster Cobain’s guitar skills are.  He has a good, even occasionally great sound, but from what I’ve read, most of this is due to the sublime vision and direction of the album’s producer, Butch Vig, not Cobain’s playing.  As a songwriter, great stuff.  As a singer and guitarist, good at best.  It seems the lion’s share of musical talent in the group came from Dave Grohl on drums.  As for Krist Novoselic on bass, he gets the job done, but doesn’t shine, per se.  Of course, few bassists really do.  Except Jaco. J

“Lithium” is the first tune to use the elusive dominant V chord, but even then, it doesn’t resolve as it would in standard Western harmony, going to a flat-VII chord before the I.  “Polly” stands out as the only acoustic offering on the CD, very soft and cool despite it’s dark lyrics and story.  “Territorial P*****gs” is the first track that I find not up to the standard set before.  It lacks the subtleties of most of the earlier songs, delving more toward “scream-o” vocals and a lack of restraint.  Fortunately, it’s the shortest on the album – 2:32 and it’s over.

The later tracks on the CD are as a whole less impressive as the first half.  “Drain You” features much of the same compositional tools, but lacks any kind of catchy hook.  The instrumental is worth listening to, though; a single chord drone in the bass, with some interesting harmonies above it.  “Lounge Act,” “Stay Away,” and “I’m on a Plain,” likewise follow the same trends as the previous tracks, but again, lack anything that truly stands out from the rest of the album.  “Something in the Way” provides a nice balance, incorporating some haunting cello lines to the mellow tune.

I have intentionally refrained from commenting on Cobain’s lyrics for a couple of reasons.  First off, a fair amount of them are unintelligible, somewhat intentionally.  Nirvana omitted them in the liner notes, and Kurt’s delivery isn’t clear more often than not.  Second of all, Cobain reportedly told Grohl during the compositional process that the lyrics were secondary to the music, always.  If their author was so quick to dismiss them, I don’t feel bad doing so as well.  On a similar note, I know I got more into the harmonic theory behind the writing here than I normally do.  Part of it is that I like this album and feel compelled to justify that.  It’s easy to say “I like this,” or “I don’t like this,” but it’s more difficult to be able to say why.  Either way –

“I like this.”

Tomorrow – Alfred Hitchcock: An Essential Collection (Bernard Herrmann)

Next week – Songs in A minor (Alicia Keys)

Light as a Feather - Cool as the other side of the pillow

1/23/11 – Light as a Feather (Chick Corea)

Music is the shorthand of emotion.
– Leo Tolstoy

Chick Corea, more than any other artist, is responsible for my interest in jazz music.  Years after the scrapbook project mentioned earlier, I was browsing random music from the South Bend Public Library and was drawn inexplicably to an illustrated CD cover, deeply colored and surrealistic – an alien smoking outside of a nightclub, advertising Chick Corea and the Time Warp Quartet.  Inside were liner notes telling a fantastical story of Ardnok, the neon green figure on the cover and his descent to earth… which to many I’m sure was quite cheesy, but to my 15 year old self, it compelled me to check the disc out.  Soon afterward, I was hooked.  I followed up with Chick’s collaboration with Bobby McFerrin, Play.  Not until now, however, have I gotten around to getting my hands on Corea’s best known album, Light as a Feather.  Yet another CD I’ve been anticipating since this project’s inception.

Despite the fact that Chick is primarily an electric keyboardist, both of the above albums feature him exclusively on acoustic piano.  It took a little getting used to getting into this album, where he plays solely a Fender Rhodes, even though I was intellectually expecting it.   The opening track, “You’re Everything” is reportedly Chick’s favorite of his own vocal compositions.  Flora Purim’s warm yet clear tone is a perfect match for the bell-like sound of the Rhodes.  When the tune goes into time after the rubato opening, it maintains a lightness and easygoing feel, despite being a racing bossa nova.  Joe Farrell’s lush, low-register flute work melds perfectly with Purim’s voice.  The one thing I’m not a big fan of is Nevile Porter’s lyrics.  They seem either forced or contrived at times.  This continues as an ongoing issue with the CD.

The second track, from which the album gets its name, is the only track not written by Chick himself.  The track gets a little heavier into the rock-jazz fusion sound, with Chick taking more extensive solos, and distorting the tone of his electric piano, almost to a grungy power-chord machine at times.  Still, the tune keeps mellow and smooth (although I know that word is at times taboo when describing jazz,) with occasional interjections of wailing pseudo-guitar sounds from Corea.  Farrell switches over to tenor sax, and everyone in the band is featured somewhere along the track’s solos.  This time, the awkwardly written lyrics are Purim’s own.

“Captain Marvel” is an uptempo Latin tune, which provides an excellent vehicle for Farrell (who is now back on flute,) and Corea to soar over the changes.  “500 Miles High” begins as a bittersweet ballad, somewhat similar to the opening song.  It soon opens up into a straight-eighthed, forward driving post bop tune with a catchy, yet angular theme.  Farrell, now on soprano sax, takes the melody and runs with it, the underappreciated member of the Return to Forever team.  (RTF was the name of Corea’s band on this and one previous album.)

“Children’s Song,” as the name would imply, is somewhat simpler than the rest of the works found here; almost entirely in the keyboard, Stanley Clarke doubles the melodic loop the piece is structured around on bass, and a simple woodblock keeps time.  Purim and Farrell (who can’t seem to stay put on one instrument,) are absent.  The final track, which has become one of Corea’s biggest, trademarks, is a cool Latin inspired standard called “Spain.”  Almost entirely throughout, the melody is carried my the keyboard, doubled with either Farrell (on flute,) Purim’s vocalese (without words,) or occasionally, both.  For the main motif, the bass even joins for a complete tutti from the ensemble.  I first heard this particular tune on Play with Bobby McFerrin, and now hearing the original, I have a greater appreciation of everything the genius vocalist accomplished with this song.  While there are a great many similarities, both are amazing recordings of a great melody in their own right and deserve a look.  Light as a Feather’s is much more aggressive of a sound than Bobby’s interpretation of the tune, but I think some of that may be simply because when the bass, drums and flute are stripped away and the piano “unplugged,” a softer approach isn’t too unimaginable.  Still, there’s a cool chill to this and all the Latin-esque tunes on this brilliant album.

Tomorrow – Nevermind (Nirvana)

Next week – The Diva Series: Billie Holiday

Hindemith: A Little Chamber Music - The Woodwind Family Living in Harmony

1/26/11 – Hindemith: Kleine Kammermusik, op. 24 no. 2

In the long run, any words about music are less important than the music.

- Dmitri Shostakovich

            Back at UNT, I think my favorite ensemble to write for was woodwind quintet.  Ok, not quite true.  Orchestra was my favorite, but since it was nigh impossible to assemble a full orchestra to get a piece read or performed, woodwind quintet came in as a close second.  String and brass chamber ensembles were alright, but I found them limiting by comparison.  I mean, a viola sounds like a slightly lower violin, and a cello a lower still extension of the same instrument.  Brass instruments have a little more distinct character to them, but lack subtlety.

            This is another shorter work – five movements adding up to a grand total just a hair over 13 minutes.  Apologies if my comments seem brief as a result.  However, as this is such a short work, it was easier to find video clips for those interested.  (Disclaimer: as I wrote this I was listening to a recording by the Westwood Quintet, as linked to above, not these same performances.  But I did manage to get clips of one performance by the same ensemble throughout.  The last two movements, however are incorrectly labeled on the Youtube titles.)

Listening to Hindemith’s quintet reminds me of why I fell in love with this medium.  Beginning with the opening of the first movement, the instruments play with each other in the truest sense of the word.  The clarinet, flute and oboe all take the spotlight from time to time and the interplay between them is lighthearted and fun.  Hindemith’s tonality is present, but not always diatonic, his counterpoint lighter than many of his contemporaries.

            The second movement is a waltz at its simplest, with the bassoon and horn carrying most of the rhythmic elements.  The bassoon occasionally steps into the limelight for some nice cadenzettas, but holds down the fort so to speak more often than not.  The third section begins with an eerie flute and clarinet duet; if I didn’t know any better, I would assume it were two flutes.  After a soft lyric opening, the accompaniment becomes soft, staccato and rhythmic – almost as if emulating an orchestral pizzicato from the strings.  The oboe sings sweetly above, joined two octaves below by the bassoon before returning to the same flute and clarinet theme above.

            The fourth movement (under a minute) is the “angriest” of the set – a series of augmented chords poke at an accompaniment between solos by the flute, bassoon, clarinet, oboe, and horn each in turn.  The final movement has elements of a 6/8 military march with intermittent light, flowing melodies from the upper voices again.

 Again, I don’t have a whole lot of insight on each individual movement, but as a whole, I love how Hindemith’s writing fits this medium.  The woodwind family has the unique ability to sound both more or less uniform as well as allowing each member to have its own voice.  Whereas a string quartet is “led” by the first violin and a brass ensemble by the first trumpet, a woodwind quintet is more of a round table group.  No clear leadership and each instrument acts as an equal partner with the rest.  There are just so many sounds, pairings, and textures to build a piece around, that I was drawn to this ensemble and wrote the cornerstone of my senior recital for our graduate woodwind quintet.

Tomorrow – Light as a Feather (Chick Corea)

Next week – Chopin: Nocturnes

Selling England By the Pound - Progressive Rock Missing the Mark

1/25/11 – Selling England By the Pound (Genesis)

When I don't like a piece of music, I make a point of listening to it more closely.
- Florent Schmitt

            I have no idea how to review this album.  Much like the Jaco Pastorius and Antje Duvekot albums, this is one I’ve been looking forward to getting to for a while now.  I’ve been told that some of my musical tastes would lend me to getting into some early Genesis, back when Peter Gabriel was still with the group.  I was told, “It’s a little outside the box, but what good prog rock album isn’t, right?”  This is not a little outside the box.  This is way outside the box.  At this point, I’d be inclined to lump this CD in with both the Ligeti string quartet and Coltrane’s A Love Supreme.  I don’t get it, I don’t particularly enjoy it, but I’m not prone to dismissing it entirely.

            The opening track, “Dancing With the Moonlit Knight,” contains the lines that lend the title to this album.  Phil Collins’ voice is recognizable, but the textures and sounds behind it combine elements of Paul McCartney’s “Live and Let Die” with early music and big church choir influences.  Early analog synth sounds combine with harpsichord, electric guitars, flutes, and dulcimers to form this strange amalgamation that I can only describe as Christopher Guest and the cast of This is Spinal Tap if they took themselves seriously.

            “I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe)” is the closest thing to a radio-friendly track on the album.  Amidst a number of 11-plus minute tracks, this is a modest four.  The melodies are a little catchier and maybe even infectious, but the piece as a whole is still outside the mainstream.  More buzzy synths, this time paired with sitar in the background and tutti vocals by the whole band.  Peter Gabriel inserts fragments of poetry reminiscent of Lewis Carrol intermittently.

            “Firth of Fifth” begins with a classical/new age-y piano solo in a series of odd-metered arpeggios that seem to be another trend of the CD.  The instrumental interludes throughout the piece are interesting and soaring in nature, if somewhat disjunct from the vocal sections of the tune.  “More Fool Me” seems again to be a return to a traditional single, with a simple acoustic guitar and vocal texture.  Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a lot to work with; the verses are soft and slightly out of time, and the chorus short enough that just as it seems it might be going somewhere, it’s over.

            “The Battle of Epping Forest” is the longest offering of the album, nearly 12 minutes, beginning with a military 7/8 fife and drum march.  Then, without any transition, it’s into British-styled rock.  The piece winds into what I can only describe as a rock operatic presentation of a through-composed epic poetic narrative.  Like much of the album, this feels less like a song by any variety of rock band, but closer to a performance art piece or contemporary classical offshoot.  The guitar, bass, and drum instrumentation is vaguely rock, but the cohesion of a “band” seems absent.

            “After the Ordeal” I feel is intended to be an epilogue to the “battle” of the previous track, and is the only instrumental on the CD.  It begins as more of the same neo-baroque piano, lute and hand percussion instrumental haze that hangs over many of the other tracks herein.  It eventually gives way to a Pink Floyd-esque guitar and trippy organ duet.  I could see this track very easily playing over a morphine or LSD induced montage in any number of movies…

            “The Cinema Show” is another lengthy narrative piece, beginning with a rather beautiful renaissance inspired guitar, organ and dulcimer texture.  This texture is interrupted by a brief section of “rock” (whatever that means at this point,) and then returns, adding some oboe and flute obliggati into the mix.  I am briefly reminded of some of the instrumental sounds of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Scarborough Faire (Canticle.)”  If you’re familiar with that one, you can get the gist of this.  As the track continues, it seems to develop into a tug-of-war between these two camps – the ultra-retro and the futuristic.  In fact, I think it’s a microcosm of the whole CD (and perhaps prog rock as a whole;) the elements of moving rock ahead and elevating the art form using what has gone before as the yardstick are at odds and seem impossible to be brought together.

            “Aisle of Plenty” closes the album, and once again, seems to be an epilogue to the previous track, pulling in both melodic and lyric connections to both “The Cinema Show” and the opening track of the album.

While I know the point of progressive rock is to elevate it to a higher art form than mainstream, when not executed well, it just comes across as pretentious.  The intent is clearly futuristic, but the implementation seems based on Baroque and earlier throwbacks.  The result seems to be a jumbled mess more often than not.  I was really looking forward to enjoying this album.  I was.  Perhaps I, like Genesis, set the bar too high on this one.

Tomorrow – Hindemith: Kleine Kammermusik

Next week – Janis Joplin’s Greatest Hits

Stravinsky: Petrushka - The Untimely Death of a Poor Unfortunate Puppet

1/24/11 – Stravinsky: Petrushka

I have learned throughout my life as a composer chiefly through my mistakes and pursuits of false assumptions, not by my exposure to founts of wisdom and knowledge.
- Igor Stravinsky

            I seem to find myself hitting a stumbling block with all of these dramatic, programmatic pieces; operas, ballets, and the like.  Listening to them is only a part of the experience, as they are meant to be seen as part of the work’s coming alive.  I found this to be the case more with Pertushka than with Stravinsky’s other famous (and occasionally infamous) ballets, The Firebird and The Rite of Spring.  As usual, I’ve read a couple synopses of the story, but they still seem a pale second to viewing the work as the artist intended.  Yet another argument for live music, it seems.  (Or in this cast, live theatre or ballet.)

            The first tableau depicts a festival of Shrovetide or Mardi Gras/Carnival in a Moscow square.  The flute twitters away a bright birdsong melody over fluttering winds and strings alike – the quintessential spring sound, and a repeated motif throughout the first scene.  There is an air of excitement and forward motion to the building sound until a triumphant brass chorus erupts, heralding some great event that is to come.  Stravinsky evokes folk dance and a festival atmosphere with his use of the brittle glockenspiel lines over the sound of a street organ-grinder and ever changing orchestral textures.  Even without seeing it on stage, you can easily imagine the carousel and Faris wheels turning in the background.  The snare drum introduces the entrance of the charlatan or puppeteer, who enters with a dark, cumbersome bassoon solo which quickly gives way to a soft, lyric flute as he brings the puppet ballerina, moor, and Petrushka to life.  And as in any good ballet, they dance.

            The following scene darkens considerably as Petrushka is “put away” in his room after the puppet show is complete.  Of course, he is no mere puppet, but has feelings and emotions of his own, including disdain for the puppet master and unrequited love for the beautiful ballerina.  Stravinsky’s writing here reminds me of Carl Stalling, who wrote the very soundtracks for many of Warner Brother’s early cartoons, including the “Wile E Coyote vs. The Roadrunner” sketches.  Short phrases, often ending on tense, unresolved harmonies that punctuate the action more than accompany it.  The ballerina for her part falls in love and seduces the moor, and Petrushka flies into a jealous rage.  When he sees the two of them dancing, Stravinky’s music changes to a complex, disjunct rhythm; the ballerina and moor waltz in 3/4, while Petrushka’s theme builds up underneath at a seemingly unrelated tempo.  Years later, Charles Ives employed a similar effect by having two marching bands performing unrelated pieces cross through the same intersection of a town square from different angles.  (I would love to see how this is intended to be conducted.)  At any rate, Petrushka tried to overcome the moor who grabs his scimitar and chases Petrushka away.

            The final scene returns to the fair, where a number of other performers have their own dances – nurse-maids, gypsies, coachmen, groomsmen and masqued dancers.  Here Stravinsky draws again much from Russian folk melodies and peasant dances.  As the dancers whirl away into a frenzy, a cry is heard from the puppet theatre, where the Moor continues to chase Petrushka, eventually striking a fatal blow to him with the sword.  The police arrive and question the charlatan, who holds Petrushka aloft to remind them that he’s nothing but a mere puppet.  The ballet ends, however, with the ghost of Petrushka appearing and hovering over the puppeteer, just as the charlatan hovered over Petrushka, asking the question, who pulls the strings, and who is the puppet.

             Of Stravinsky’s three famous ballets, Petrushka was the one I was least familiar with.  I find it lacks the shock factor of The Rite of Spring, but is as flavorful in its imagery.  The Firebird seems to lag behind the other two in both story and execution, in my opinion.  Petrushka however, has both a rustic folksy charm and a dark, intriguing plot.  One day, I hope to see a staged performance, but for now, this recording and my imagination will have to suffice.

Tomorrow – Selling England by the Pound (Genesis)

Next week – Harvey: Tombeau de Messiaen



Jaco Pastorius - The Greatest Electric Bassist Ever

1/23/11 – Jaco Pastorius

I have to get inspired by something that touches my soul, or rocks my soul.
 – Steven Tyler

Ok, so similar to the Antje Duvekot album a couple days back, this is one album I’ve been looking forward to getting to since this project was conceived.  I had been told a number of times that I should listen to this guy, but never got around to it.  When I picked up this CD over the new year’s break (when I went on a total binge at every used music store in Lewisville, TX,) I popped this immediately into the CD player in the car.  It hasn’t left my car since I came home.  Still not tired of it.

Jaco opens the album with “Donna Lee,” a bebop Miles Davis tune (often misattributed to Charlie Parker.)   Accompanied by only Don Alias on congas, Jaco fires off lines with rapid-fire precision, and while still not a bebop fanatic, I found it quite impressive.  When he brings the full horn section in on the next track, “Come On, Come Over,” the funk begins.  I guess part of me was skeptical about a bassist being front man on a jazz album, but this track put those fears to rest.  The harmonies are bare-bones – the verses vamp over one chord, while the chorus jams on a second.  No deep harmonic analysis here.  But that frees Jaco to do more than the task of just laying down roots a bassist is normally relegated to.  This becomes a reoccurring theme throughout the album – a lack of harmonic diversity to allow Jaco to do his thing.  The R&B duo Sam & Dave are spot on for this, the only vocal track on the CD.

“Continuum” is a slower, mantra-esque tune, with chorused bass carrying the melody throughout with shimmering electric piano and drums above.  (Speaking of, you can’t go wrong on a debut album if you have Herbie Hancock on keys for you.  And Wayne Shorter blowing over your tunes.  The sidemen on this album are top quality…)  One of the things that impresses me most, starting with “Continuum,” is how fluidly Jaco works the entire range of the instrument, from growling lows to soft mellow highs, and how easy he makes some of the double-stop work sound, not to mention the triple and quad stops.  Amazing talent.

“Kuru/Speak Like a Child” is an amalgamation of a preexisting Herbie Hancock tune and one of Jaco’s originals.  I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins.  My first thought on hearing the tune is that the heavy string ensemble brought in was too overpowering, but the more I listen to it, the more I get into it.  I guess I’m not used to jazz strings for one, and such aggressive, angular harmonies from a violin section, “boop smee” music aside.  Herbie shines brilliantly on piano here.

            The first of the prized jewels on this album though would have to be “Portrait of Tracy.”  The only unaccompanied bass solo on the CD, Jaco plays his bass like some people play piano.  The majority of the tune is played on natural and artificial harmonics, giving it a pristine, high bell-like tone.  Once again, he carries a bass line flawlessly underneath the bright toned harmonic leads.  Venturing both in and out of time, there are a number of rhythmically interesting subsections, but what gets me every time is the out-of-tune-yet-beautiful notes in the section starting at a 1:20 into the track.  Pure genius.

            “Opus Pocus” is another giant of this recording.  Beginning with a pair of steel drum players, a couple phrases in, Jaco, Herbie, Don, and drummer Lenny White join in and throw down the funkiest groove on the record.  And then, once that gets strongly established, Wayne Shorter’s soprano sax comes in screaming like some kind of angry madman.  Both Shorter and Hancock take some extended solos on the tune, but Wayne’s sax is insane.  From growling tones into multiphonics into overblown harmonics, he attacks this song with his horn and tears it to shreds.  In an awesome way.

            "Okonkole Y Trompa" turns out to be a bit of a letdown, though.  Jaco and Don throw down an interesting 5/4 rhythmic loop, but it never develops and goes anywhere.  Peter Gordon’s french horn work above it is mellow and contemplative, often reminiscent of the main theme to “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.”  Nothing bad here, it just doesn’t hold a candle to most of the rest of the disc.

            “(Used to be a) Cha Cha” is another low point for me.  Hubert Laws flute work is an impressive addition to the album’s already stellar lineup, but the tune just doesn’t do anything for me.  Interestingly, it seems to be one of the only tracks Jaco improvises on, taking a nice solo after the first head.

            The final track is a bit of an anomaly; Jaco chooses to close his eponymous debut album with “Forgotten Love,” a tune he wrote for Herbie and the aforementioned giant string section.  Jaco himself does not play a note.  Regardless, the writing (and of course the performance) are stunningly beautiful – sweepingly neo-classical in nature and would be just as well received in an orchestral concert hall as in the jazz parlors.

            As a side note, the proclamation that Jaco is the greatest electric bassist of all time is his own words, not mine.  Not that I disagree with him.  This album once again reminds me of everything I set out to discover with this project.  There is so much great music out there.  If I can stumble across an album of this calibre once a month along the way, it will continue to be a huge success in my eyes.

Tomorrow – Stravinsky: Petrushka

Next week – Blood, Sweat & Tears

Wagner: Das Rheingold - Epic Opera

1/22/11 – Wagner: Das Rheingold

Wagner has wonderful moments, and dreadful quarters of an hour.
- Gioachino Rossini

The Ring of the Nibelung.  The thought strikes fear through me. Four complete operas, conceived as one unit.  An entire weekend’s worth of performance.  Outdoor settings with rivers, waterfalls, and castles, massive orchestras with 8 tubas (among other excesses,) singers under such heavy demands that their careers are defined by their ability to sing such roles – classified simply as “Wagner Sopranos.”  (Or basses.  Or tenors.  Not so much with the mezzos…)  There is nothing “light” about Wagnerian opera.  I have been anticipating and somewhat dreading this piece for some time, and for those of you playing along at home, I also have at my disposal Andrew Porter’s English translation of the cycle, available here.  Let’s dive in, shall we?

Actually, before taking a look at Das Rheingold the first of the four giants of opera making up The Ring Cycle, let me make one thing clear.  I’m not critiquing or analyzing Wagner, just his music.  Yes, to call him an ass would be a tremendous understatement.  He was a bad, bad man; credited to be a tremendous voice of anti-Semitism as well as racism, and a strong influence on Nazism, German nationalism, and Hitler’s philosophy with those regards.  Not to gloss over his personal life and philosophical views, but to discount Wagner’s musical contributions on account of them is foolish.  Gesualdo killed his wife and her lover, and was a musical genius, whose music I find fascinating.  Sometimes good people do bad things and bad people do good things.  I’m past that for now.

The overture or prelude seems peculiar for a late romantic… 136 measures of building up and shifting textures within an E-flat triad.  19^th century minimalism?  Certainly not the heroic overture Wagner is known for.  The first scene begins the opera with the dwarf Alberich being teased for his haggard appearance by a trio of Rheinmadens (nymphs) as he longs for their love.  Crushed by their jeers, the dwarf steals the magical gold from three nymphs charged with guarding it.  In the hands of one who has denounced all love, this gold has the power to be forged into a ring bestowing ultimate role over the earth.  (I never knew that’s where Tolkien got that…)  Musically, the trio of maidens has some beautiful songs, but the orchestral scoring as the Rheingold glimmers in the rising sun is truly beautiful.  Wagner’s opulent orchestrations allow the harps (4 or so, I think!) to carry over the horns and strings, lending a shimmering texture to the underscoring.

            The second scene is more expository in nature; the god Wotan awakes with his wife Fricka to see that their new castle has finally been completed, but the builders must now be paid their due; the two giants who built the castle were promised Fricka’s sister Freia as their reward.  Wotan assures his wife that he ahs no intention of following through; his friend Loge is right now wandering the earth in search of something to offer the giants instead.  The giants Fasolft and Fafner enter, chasing Freia as their own, and there is much argument as to the payment of the debt, with Fricka’s brotherd Donner and Froh also getting involved to defend their sister.  (I’m going to stop here with the blow-by-blow; if you want a whole synopsis, check wikipedia or any of the many other resources available...)  The high points of this second scene are also the instrumental ones – the gruff, brassy entrance of the giants and the underscoring of Loge and Wotan’s descent to steal the Ring from Alberich, the newly agreed upon payment in lieu of Freia.  The underscoring is punctuated by the striking of tuned anvils as the ring is forged.  I am quickly realizing that Wagner’s long-lasting contributions were indeed not so much classical in nature, but how well he paved the way for the generation of film composers that were to come in the next century.  Perhaps if he were born a few decades later, things would have been vastly different…

            The third scene is by far she shortest, which is good, because not much happens.  They go to steal the ring by tricking an all powerful Alberich to shift shapes into a toad, and they subdue and kidnap him in that state.  Oh yeah… he turns into a dragon first.  (I’d really prefer to se this staged sometime…)  There is very little aria or real song in Wagner’s opera – everything seems to be driven by the dialogue.  Whereas Mozart, Handel, and other operatic composers tread the drama as merely a thread to connect the songs together, Wagner elevates the poetic text to the level of the music, if not above.  Likewise, his underscoring of movement, be it scene changes or merely non-vocal staged activity is elevated higher than previously in opera.  Which almost seems a shame; some of the most challenging vocal music out there and there’s nowhere to really let it sing.  The voice is clearly subservient to the dialogue and the orchestra.

            The final mammoth of a scene begins with Wohan and Loge arguing with Alberich to give up the ring, after having mountains of gold brought up by Alberich’s servant-dwarves, including his magical invisibility helmet.  (I’m not making this up, seriously.  An invisibility helmet.)  Once Wotan has the ring, Alberich is sent away in disgrace, but not without first placing a curse on the ring, that it’s owner would find no joy in the riches it brings, and all will be envious of its owner – even to the point of killing for it.  (Tolkien really “borrowed” a lot of this, didn’t he?)  Wohan gives all the gold and the helm to the giants, but tries to hold out on relinquishing the ring.  After a stern warning from yet another god, Erda, he throws the ring into the pile for the giants.  The two hobbits… I mean giants… argue over the ring, and one kills the other for it.  Again, if you want a synopsis, feel free to seek it elsewhere.  Once again, the musical highlights seem to be primarily non-vocal; the entering of the gods into the castle, Valhalla, as the final curtain closes, being primary among them.

            As Rossini stated above, there are many amazing moments in Wagner’s operas.  It’s just a shame there’s so much in between them.

Tomorrow – Jaco Pastorius

Next week – Alfred Hitchcock: An Essential Collection (Bernard Herrmann)

The Near Demise of the High Wire Dancer - Local music at it's finest

1/21/11 – The Near Demise of the High Wire Dancer (Antje Duvekot)

There is only one better thing than music - live music.
-Jacek Bukowski

            I remember the first time I heard Antje Duvekot’s music; I was driving home from work one evening, listening to Emerson’s radio station, WERS, known for playing a decent mix of primaril indie, early rock, and lesser known singer/songwriters.  The song was “Scream,” and her voice reminded me of Leah Nash (of “Sixpence None the Richer” and “Delirium,”) and a little Natalie Merchant and Ani DiFranco, but her lyrics reminded me of poetry.  Her words have a way of depicting imagery that marries so beautifully the sound of her voice and music that I was in awe.

“You are the fisherman, I am the storm
You become a baby when I hold you in my arms
You are a vessel floating upon my sea
But my waves are crashing, and I cannot hear you scream.”

The only other songwriter that had that kind of effect on me was a young woman I had the pleasure of meeting at a conference for church musicians in Indianapolis, 2008 by the name of Danielle Rose.  Eventually, I may get to some of her work, but not today.

            I was even more intrigued by Antje’s music when I learned that she lives right here in my own backyard – Somerville, MA.  She’s become more of a big deal recently and is currently touring the rest of the country. While I have yet to catch her live in concert, it’s only a matter of time.  (Any parties interested in joining me, April 29^th up in Marblehead.  You know you want to.)

            The album takes its name from images in the lyrics to both the first and 8^th tracks, although there’s no unifying thematic thread linking the whole work into a concept album so to speak.  “Vertigo” is a soft waltz with a little country influence – mandolin and weeping steel guitars color this melancholy tune.  This continues into the second song, “Ragdoll Princes and Junkyard Queens,” which is a little more upbeat but still somewhat folksy and dark in tone.  “Long Way” is the poet’s journeysong, in the vein of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Homeward Bound” and “America,” among others; the quiet and somewhat melancholy melody of homesickness along the way.  I suspect it is no coincidence that it’s also the longest track on the album – twice as long as some.  Likewise, Antje chooses to end the tune on an unresolved dominant chord, as if to musically convey the unfulfilled anticipation of returning to “home.”

            “Lighthouse” delivers a beautiful 6/8 piano ballad, continuing the trend of bittersweet melancholy that pervades the album.  The words speak of loneliness and nostalgic memories.  (As a side note, what is it about hearing other people sing about depression and sadness that makes us feel all warm and fuzzy inside?  Does that happen to everybody else or is it just me?)  “Dublin Boys” is the first track that feels a little out of place; musically it is consistent with the tone and feel of the complete album, but she’s singing a farewell to the town of Dublin as if it were her homeland.  A Somerville girl.  Who grew up in Vermont and was born in Germany.  Maybe I’m missing something…

            “The Bridge” takes a new turn on the album, introducing the first electric guitars so far.  Not to the point where it’s jarringly different from the rest of the CD.  Actually, it seems to function as a bridge, so to speak, easing the way into “Scream,” the closest thing to any kind of folk rock on this particular offering.  “Scream” speaks to me both lyrically (see the chorus quoted above) and musically as the most powerful offering on the album.  Texturally, it’s more complex then the rest of the songs, with layers of breathy harmonies and more active percussion beats that the remainder.  If you listen to one song from this album, make it this one.

            “Reasonland” is a bit of a letdown.  It doesn’t maintain the energy established leading into it.  To the contrary, I can almost hear the chorus reworked into a hymn-style chorale; there’s a reverence to it that I don’t get from the earlier tracks.  As mentioned earlier, this song briefly references the “high wire” images so prominent in the opening tune.  “Coney Island” is the simplest, but perhaps also the most beautiful song here.  Just the singer and her guitar, with a waltz-y “boom-chick-chick” reminiscent of the sound of the calliope found in those bygone days of the Coney Island boardwalk.

            “Merry Go Round” is an interesting choice to end the album on; it’s brighter and happier than everything that has gone before.  Texturally, the electric guitar returns, but the drums and all the vocals are overdubbed to lend a thickness to this feel-good, pub style sing-along.  The music is simple; again, something you can latch onto and be singing along without knowing it by the end of the song.  Your head will keep bobbing to it even after the song is over.  It may replace “Scream” as the single to listen to if you don’t buy the whole album.

            I knew I wanted to include this artist when I conceived this project, and have been itching to get to this CD for a while now.  It does not disappoint in the slightest.  If you’re in the Boston area, support local musicians and give this album a try.  If you’re not in the Boston area, give it a listen anyway.  Really, it’s that good.

Tomorrow – Wagner: Das Rheingold

Next week – Nevermind (Nirvana)