Takemitsu: A Flock Descends into the Pentagonal Garden - Japanese Impressionism

1/17/11 – Takemitsu: A Flock Descends into the Pentagonal Garden

Just as certain selections of music
will nourish the physical body and your emotional layer,
so other musical works will bring greater health to your mind.
- Hal A. Lingerman

            After writing on Ligeti’s String Quartet a few days back, I certainly hope I did not mislead anyone into thinking I was against classical music of the Contemporary Era as a general rule.  On the contrary, I’m more familiar with the works of certain 20^th century composers like Ives and Barber than I am with mainstays of the Classical Era such as Haydn.  Also, I’ve heard criticism that the selections I’m discussing are xenocentric to the English speaking western world.  I hope to at least move outside of that with today’s piece.

            One of the first pieces of 20^th century composition I encountered upon my trips to the vast music library at UNT was a solo unaccompanied flute piece entitled Voice by a Japanese composer, Toru Takemitsu.  His writing style combined elements of traditional Japanese music and Western sensibilities in a way that truly did justice to both.  I looked into much more Takemitsu over the next few years, even incorporating some of his vocal works into my repertoire as my final juries approached.  I was particularly enamored with his film scores, which likewise transcended cultural barriers and appealed equally to both Japanese and Western audiences.

            A Flock Descends… is by far the shortest piece to date I’ve taken a look at for this project, but there is plenty to encounter listening to its 14 minutes.  Written as one single movement, the opening solo oboe floats above a soft, whole tone pad in the strings, giving little question to the imagery depicted in the title of the piece.  As the oboe descant sings over the soft strings, there is a quick swell in the accompaniment that just as quickly declines back into the background.  It brings a sense of perspective to the piece, as if not only is the oboe descending into the garden, but the garden is rising up to meet it.

            The piece then transforms into a series of modal themes and motifs, mostly based around whole tone scales and open quartal/quintal vertical structures.  Whole tone harmonies I always find fascinating – as if every time I hear them, my eyes are being reopened to new sounds.  There’s just something about that particular tone set that seems uplifting and yet foreign at the same time.  Perhaps the lack of a natural fourth in the scale leads it to never resolve downward, and thus constantly “rise.”  Perhaps it’s the shape of the phrases – each a gesture moving upward, and each subsequent phrase starting lower than the last one ends to continues these upward sweeps.  I don’t know.

Takemitu’s use of orchestral textures is masterful – his ability to create a plethora of different soundscapes over the gamut of the dynamic spectrum is astounding.  There has been a trend over the past hundred years or so to “reprioritize” the role of many instruments within the orchestra.  Classically, the lion’s share of orchestral writing has been given to the strings, woodwinds were used for occasional changes in color, brass used sparingly for accents, and percussion only for special effects or added emphasis in climaxes.  Composers such as Xenakis intentionally put this trend on its ear, putting the percussion in the forefront and all but ignoring the strings.  Takemistsu, however, has a more full command of the orchestral language – instead of treating the four families of instruments as complete entities in their own right, he truly incorporates the entire orchestra into one coherent instrument, capable of speaking differently in combinations, but truly acting as one voice.  Often Takemitsu (as well as other composers) seems to lean on the horn for this effect – it feels equally comfortable in the brass world as it does in the woodwind choir, and has the unique ability to blend well or stand out at will in any combination.

As the piece draws to a close, the simple chords stated in the mallet percussion are doubled in the harp and sustained ever so quietly in the strings, giving a shimmering, bright quality to the sound, like a light bulb being turned on in one’s mind, or plugging in a Christmas tree for the first time of the season.  Each sonority both surprises and enlightens, as if to leave the listener with wide eyes and a heightened sense of awareness.  It’s funny; while Haydn was using the “surprise” timpani centuries ago to keep the audience’s eyes open, Takemitsu uses the soft chords of the harp, and to greater effect.  Perhaps subtlety in music isn’t dead after all…

Tomorrow – What’s Going On (Marvyn Gaye)

Next week – Stravinsky: Petrushka