Feast of Music

In the Beginning, there was Bach

As I've noted previously, Marathon concerts are a way of concert life in New York. There's the CMJ Music Marathon, the Bang on a Can Marathon, the Grand Piano Marathon - not to mention numerous day-long indie and jazzfests. In 1978, Isaiah Sheffer and the folks at the new Symphony Space on 95th St. and Broadway, took it upon themselves to stage a free 12-hour concert of Bach's music, performed by various musicians from the neighborhood. They called it "Wall to Wall Bach."

Thirty years later, Wall to Wall has become an institution, presenting the work of a different composer each year: everyone from Schubert, to Cage, to Miles Davis. For their 30th anniversary, Symphony Space decided to return to the music of Bach: everything from solo works to huge choral numbers, one masterpiece right after the other. Bach is, quite literally, the DNA of music: every musician and listener needs to come to terms with his work, needs to feel it in their bones before venturing out onto the vast ocean of music. There aren't many composers around whom you can build a 12-hour concert; there are far fewer for whom that stretch of time barely scratches the surface.

I myself only made it for 5 1/2 hours yesterday, including a one-hour break. For sure, I would have liked to have stuck around for more - especially the B-Minor Mass which closed the event - but I can only listen to so much music in one stretch, no matter how masterful. (Performance pics after the jump.)

Screaming Meme

Well, it's a shitty Friday, and without having seen any decent shows in a few days, I guess I'll finally respond to this Meme that Steve Smith tagged me with a couple weeks ago. (She started it.)

The rules:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

I know: Boring. But, I don't want any bad mojo a week before flying to Europe, so here goes:

"Nearby, the Fondation Le Corbusier occupies two of the architect's avant-garde houses in square du Dr-Blanche. A little further up rue du Dr-Blanche, sculptor Henri Bouchard himself commissioned the studio and house that is now the dusty Atelier-Musee Henri Bouchard. Much of the rest of Auteuil is private territory, with exclusive streets of residences off rue Chardon-Lagache; the studio of 19th-century sculptor Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux remains, looking rather lost, at no.39 boulevard Exelmans."

(from Time Out Paris, Edition 16)

My five faves: CounterCritic, Seven Inches, Out West Arts, Nico, Sidney.

We now return to our regularly scheduled program.
   

Kanye <> Siegfried

"We need the biggest star in the Universe. We need you, Kanye."

(from Kanye West's show, Madison Square Garden, 5/13/08)

"O Siegfried! Glorious being!
Wealth of the world!
Life of the earth!
Laughing hero!"

(from Siegfried, Metropolitan Opera, 2004)

(Times review here.)

(More pictures here.)

 

Vox and Run

Opera is not the sort of art form that lends itself to easy experimentation. Typically, you need sets, costumes, an orchestra - not to mention singers who are usually booked 3-4 years in advance. So, nine years ago, City Opera hit upon the idea of giving American composers the chance to have their works heard in a workshop format, using the full City Opera orchestra and professional singers from their regular roster, as opposed to synthesizers and amateur friends. They called it: VOX.

Now in its tenth year, VOX is still going strong and has produced several notable American operas, including Richard Danielpour and Toni Morrison's Margaret Garner, which played at City Opera this past season to sold-out houses. Clearly, this is a win-win situation for all concerned.

VOX had it's most recent installment this past weekend at NYU's Skirball Center. Tickets were free, and easy to get through the advance reservation system (though I think most standbys managed to get in as well.) The theater, which sat 850, felt intimate yet formal. Each composer was allotted half-an-hour to present an excerpt of their work in concert format; many felt finished enough to stage. Without the benefit of an orchestra pit, all the singers were mic'd: a necessary and reasonable compromise.

Unfortunately, I was only able to attend on Sunday, but managed to hear representative performances of four distinct American voices. Scott Davenport Richards' Charlie Crosses the Nation tells the story of an Army big band playing the front lines during WWII. The music is written in an unqualified jazz idiom, sounding more like musical theater than opera but thoroughly satisfying. Richards didn't pull any punches on his libretto, turning the old Army acronym "SNAFU" ("Situation Normal All Fucked Up") into a rousing ensemble number.

Less successful was Alice Shields' Criseyde, recounting the story of Troilus and Cressida as told by Chaucer. The music is a strange blend of early Wagner, Britten, and North Indian raga while the subject matter (not to mention the use of Middle English in the libretto) felt completely divorced from modern reality. Not exactly an easy sell.

After an intermission, the performers returned with Justine Chen's gripping Jeanne, based on the life of Joan of Arc. Chen's music is dark, complex, even angry as it recounted the trials of Joan through the words of her captors. Particularly striking was Bishop Cauchon, who struggles with the possibility that the girl he's sending to the stake might actually be God's handmaiden. His aria (sung by Kevin Burdette) had the same wrenching impact as "Batter My Heart" from John Adams' Doctor Atomic, which I heard earlier this year in Chicago.

David T. Little's Soldier Songs is not an opera, but a cycle of songs culled from interviews he made with relatives and friends who experienced the horrors of war firsthand. Nevertheless, it packed the most dramatic punch of any of the works on the bill: it was both thoroughly relevant and profoundly disturbing. This is opera as political activism, the sort that Beethoven embraced in Fidelio but has been rarely seen in rep houses since. As Little says in the program:

"Opera is an art form in which the political and the artistic can be fused in a way that expresses the desires - the need - for social change through empathy, not preaching. Empathy fuels the expression of the social, the political, and makes it real. This is the essence of what I call 'socially engaged music.'"

Speaking of the music, the orchestra (led by City Opera music director George Manahan) was driving and propulsive, full of heavy percussion and shrill, piercing strings. James Bobick delivered an astonishing solo performance, his voice ranging from bass to countertenor while running the gamut of emotions familiar to many soldiers: angry, stoic, scared.

In the final section, Little tells the story of a father who receives a home visit from two Marines, to tell him his son has been killed in combat. The music grows heroic as the father torches the Marines' van in protest, then plaintive as he pleads, "Bring back my son!" to anyone who might listen. There was hardly a dry eye in the house as the final notes faded away.

(Unfortunately, I missed Robert Manno's promising Dylan & Caitlin, about the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas and his wife, with a libretto by Welsh playwright Gwynne Edwards. I learned from my next-seat neighbor that Manno is a former Met chorus member, so I'm sure he knows a thing or two about how to write an opera.)

VOX will return for its 10th anniversary next season, despite the arrival of Gerard Mortier as general manager and his many planned changes for City Opera. One would hope he knows enough to leave well enough alone.

Rockstar

It was a less-than-full house at the final People's Symphony Concert of the season Saturday night, which probably had a lot to do with the bill: an unknown pianist with a funny-looking name. But, after hearing Mihaela Ursuleasa, a young Romanian based in Vienna, I can assure you that you'll be hearing that name (for the record, it's pronounced "UR-soo-lee-AY-sa") a lot more in the next few months. So, get practicing.

Ursuleasa started out with the New York premiere of Aaron Jay Kernis' Ballad(e) Out of the Blues: a ten-minute piece full of jazzy chords and rhythms, of which she gave the world premiere in Minneapolis less than a week before. Kernis, who was present to introduce the piece, described it as a memorial to his father, who loved blues and ballads.

Ursuleasa followed it up with Brahms' uber-romantic Fantasies, Op. 116. It went down like a big, soft Cabernet, full of richness and warmth.

After intermission, Ursuleasea marched onto the stage while patrons were still making their way back to their seats and  launched straight into Rachmaninoff's Etudes-Tableaux for Piano, Opus 39. Immediately, the room fell silent: no easy feat at these concerts, where the mostly-senior audience doesn't hesitate to shout down offending performers with their disapproval. Piano playing doesn't get more exciting than this: with her long brown hair flying, Ursuleasa went from bombastic to gentle, then back again, not once seeming pushed or strained. Watch out, folks: this girl's got fire.

After exploding through the final section, Ursuleasa leapt to her feet, and much of the room immediately stood with her, cheering wildly. (The only ones who didn't stand seemed to be those reaching for their canes and walkers.) She rewarded us with the Toccata by her countryman Georges Enescu, full of bouncing rhythms that sounded a lot like gypsies dancing.

Ursuleasa will be back in town this summer to perform at the Mostly Mozart Festival, playing Beethoven's 3rd concerto with Osmo Vanska - one of her biggest champions - as well as a late night recital of Chopin and Ginastera. Tickets on sale June 11 at the box office.

Basement Tunes

Nice, low-key evening at Union Hall last night, just the right tonic after a tough week at work. Dave Godowsky played clever songs on acoustic guitar while Takka Takka went indie pop, filled with organ and Gabe Levine's quavering vocals. Toronto's Ohbijou closed out the night with a quiet set of guitars and strings that sounded like something you'd hear in a snowbound cabin. Mmmm, pass the Yukon Jack.

Dave Godowsky
Takka Takka


Ohbijou

Water Music

For over 30 years, Olga Bloom's Bargemusic concerts have been a New York institution, albeit a peculiar one. As the name indicates, the concerts take place on a 100-foot floating barge in Brooklyn Heights just south of the Brooklyn Bridge, commanding postcard views of downtown Manhattan.

On her website, Olga - who turns 89 this year - relates the tale of how Bargemusic came to be:

"In Averne, a borderline community between Nassau County and Queens, a hospitable boatyard provided us with space and helpful tutelage by experienced waterfront dwellers. We solved the problem of achieving good acoustics in the practical advice that we visit a maritime scrap yard on Staten Island. The proprietor there, Mr. John Witte, offered a huge supply of paneling, mahogany stripping, and cherry wood benches retired from duty on the original Staten Island ferry The American Legion. For a year and a half I made weekly trips from the scrap yard with materials weighing down my VW Beetle until it almost scraped the ground. En route, truck drivers shouted to me, ‘Yo! Mama.’

The interior, which remains unaltered, has a quirky, patchwork quality. On one side of the barge is a brick fireplace, on which a ceramic vase precariously sits. Outside the north windows, tourists compete for space with wedding parties, scrambling for the perfect photo opp. Behind the stage, floor-to-ceiling windows are filled with Wall Street skyscrapers and passing boats, whose wake causes the barge to shift violently from side-to-side and up-and-down. It is not for the faint of heart (or stomach).

It must also test the concentration of even the most seasoned musicians, most of whom are not used to having the floor moving underneath them while playing. Fortunately, it didn't seem to faze the young pianist Victoria Schwartzman, who performed this afternoon in Bargemusic's monthly free recital. Schwartzman, a Russian expat, played a powerhouse performance of Schumann's Symphonic Études from memory. (She also played Prokofiev's 10 Pieces from Romeo and Juliet prior to my late arrival.) The crowd of fifty-or-so - equal parts young and old - gave her a warm, well-deserved ovation.

Bargemusic's performance calendar continues throughout the summer with concerts every Thursday-Sunday, in addition to the free monthly recitals. Go, and say Hi to Olga while you still have the chance. And, tell her thanks. (More pics after the jump.)

(Seated: Bargemusic director Mark Peskanov with Olga Bloom)

More French Music

With all the fuss this year about Olivier Messiaen's centennial, it's easy to forget that Messiaen was the scion of a great tradition, rooted in the liturgical music of Paris. These composers were primarily known as organists, responsible for providing weekly music on Sundays.

On Thursday, St. Patrick's Cathedral presented a concert of music for organ and choir by three of the greatest French organist-composers from nthe 20th Century.  Louis Vierne (1870-1937) was the organist at Notre Dame Cathedral for 37 years, literally keeling over at the console during a recital. Charles-Marie Widor (1844-1937) was organist at St. Sulpice - home of what is widely regarded as the greatest organ in the world - for 64 years. Widor was succeeded by Marcel Dupré (1885-1971), who remained at St. Sulpice for a mere 37 years.

The French-Gothic interior of St. Patrick's provided an ideal setting for this music. The Cathedral Choir, a mix of amateur and professional singers, was led by St. Patrick's director of music, Jennifer Pascual. Principal Organist Donald Dumler played the gallery organ; he was joined by John Miller at the chancel organ on works by Vierne and Widor.

Unfortunately, the performance fell far short of the lofty standard set by the city's Episcopal institutions, whether at St. Thomas up the block or the Trinity Choir downtown. Which goes to show that the Catholic church - at least in this country - is still reeling from the musical reforms of Vatican II, reforms the current Pope has publicly lamented.

Messiaen, who was the organist at La Trinité for 61 years, will get his due at New York's Catholic catherdral on May 29, when Gail Archer concludes her cycle of his major organ works with Livre du Saint Sacrament. Unfortunately, I won't be there, but only because I'll be hearing the very same work performed at La Trinité. I know, poor moi. (More pics after the jump.)   

Reunion

I only ended up making it to one of the two concerts I intended to this past Sunday - and was late at that - but it was clearly the one not to miss. Tashi, a quartet that first played together over thirty-five years ago, consists of the world's leading clarinetist (Richard Stoltzman), one of the world's leading pianists (Peter Serkin), the world's foremost contemporary music cellist (Fred Sherry) and the former violinist of the Beaux Arts Trio (Ida Kavafian). They broke the mold in more ways than one: they performed in casual clothes, wore long hair, and were the first classical group to appear at a New York nightclub,  playing the now-defunct Bottom Line.

These four formidable musicians joined forces with one particular piece of music in mind: Olivier Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time. They studied the piece directly with Messiaen, and would end up performing it over 200 times during the five years of their existence, producing a best-selling recording that is still considered the gold standard. (Alex Ross considers it one of the top ten classical recordings ever made.) They decided to reunite for the centennial of Messiaen's birth, choosing the Free For All at Town Hall series to make their first New York appearance in over thirty years.

The quartet, split into eight sections and nearly an hour in length, was written by Messiaen in a WWII prisoner camp, scored for the musicians he had at his disposal. (Messiaen himself played piano.) It lives in a mysterious, otherworldly soundscape, alternately soothing and terrifying, astringent and tonal. Serkin - a master of Messiaen's notoriously difficult piano music - exploded onto the keyboard, lurching across his bench in fits of energy. Stoltzman played the long solo of the 3rd section with astonishing authority and grace. The fifth section had Sherry playing sad and tender, full of quavering notes that mirrored the cold, harsh conditions of the camp. In between, there were dissonant blasts and brute fortissimos that sent meeker patrons fleeing for the exits.

The final section is an intimate, achingly beautiful passage for violin and piano. Soft and gentle, it rises slowly towards its spiritual conclusion: here, finally, Messiaen leads us to refuge. Kavafian and Serkin created some real magic, leaving the audience of over a thousand in stunned silence for a full minute after the final notes wafted into the balcony. It was a moment those of us present will not soon forget.

If you missed them, the closest place you'll be able to catch Tashi over the next few months is at Tanglewood, where they'll be playing on August 7. I've actually got a ticket to that one, which I bought before the Town Hall show was announced - feel free to contact me if you're interested.

Paul and Philip

An insightful, casual conversation tonight between Philip Glass and Paul Simon at BAM's Harvey Theater, where the two composers shared thoughts for 90 minutes, mostly about music. Simon started things off with a bang.

PS: "Who, in your mind, were the greatest composers of the 20th Century?"

PG: (after much hesitation) "Charles Ives, because of how he was able to marry innovation to lyricism. I've always had a thing for composers who didn't teach, who were mavericks: Nancarrow, Partch...In the end, the only music that matters is the music that we love, the music that we want to hear."

PS: "If you can get people to listen, they're at a level of heightened awareness."

PG: "I see songwriting as a very refined art, one that I myself have been unable to master. I find it incredible that you wrote the music before you wrote the words (for Graceland)."

PS: "How do sounds become language?"

PG: "It's about the rhythm of words matching they rhythm of the music."

PS: "And what do you think about that?"

PG: "I think it's a very good idea."

PS: "What compelled you to write an opera in Sanskrit?"

PG: "Because it's consonants followed by vowels. English is not a good language for opera. English cuts off their words with hard consonants. It takes a lot of time and energy to teach singers how to sing in English. It's a distraction from the music."

PS: "It always happens: I'm on tour, playing my 30th show, and then all of a sudden - usually in the middle of "You Can Call Me Al" - I go: "What am I doing? I'm imitating myself!"

PG: "I made a conscious choice to perform my own music. It's given me a deeper appreciation for what interpreters do: they - not the writers - are the ones who create the music. They realize the music. That's an important word: they make it real. In a sense, I've become an interpreter of my own music."

PS: "I have absolutely no connection to the person that wrote The Caveman. I don't even remember writing those songs. But, I remember feeling that it suceeded at what it was trying to do."

PG: "Young composers worry about when they're going to find they're voice. But that's not the problem. The problem is: how do you get rid of it?"

PS: "There's no plan. I just follow what I like."