Last week, I decided to listen to a work by a composer who is often thought of as a “one hit wonder,” so I chose an orchestral suite by Johann Pachelbel. My comments for that piece are HERE, and since that post focused on a work from the 17th century, I thought that I would select something contemporary this week. To land on some work, I first ran a Google-search on “best contemporary composers.” At that point, these photos popped up (below), and I was not surprised that most of them were men. As a matter of fact, I was a bit surprised that there were two women pictured.
Still, I ended up choosing a work highlighted in this article, “The best classical music works of the 21st century,” published by TheGuardian.com, HERE, and I decided upon Jonathan Harvey’s String Quarter No. 4. I landed on this work for two reasons. First, it was as instrumental work, and since I had recently listened to and commented on Leonard Bernstein’s Symphony No. 3, “Kaddish” (HERE) -- a work for orchestra, full choir, a boys’ choir, a soprano soloist, and a narrator -- I wasn’t quite ready for another large-scale work for voice. Second, the description of Harvey’s work stated that the it was for “live electronics and string quartet,” and since I have yet to comment on any electronic music on this blog, I chose this string quartet for this week. When I searched for a video of Harvey’s string quartet on YouTube, I experienced a little bit of befuddlement at first. Two recordings of the quartet popped up, but the first was just over 30 minutes, and the second was well over an hour. Were the quartets in these videos playing the same work? It took me a second to figure it out. At first I thought “Quatuor Diotime - Philippe Manoury Tensio” was the name of group performing. LOL -- it turns out that Philippe Manoury is yet another contemporary composer with whom I am unfamiliar, and “Tensio” is yet another classical piece I’ve never heard.
Then, when I first started listening to Harvey’s work, I experienced a bit more confusion because when I clicked “play,” nothing happened. Did I have my volume turned off? No, it was on. I even turned it up higher. Still nothing -- and yes, the video was playing and not on pause. I stopped the video, turned my sound up to 100%, and started the video again. Eventually I did hear something -- but just barely -- at 15 seconds in and again at 22 seconds and then again at 39 seconds. Were these the sounds of a restless audience waiting for the quartet to begin -- akin to “the absence of intended sounds” in John Cage’s provocative piece 4’33”? Or were these sounds actually part of the piece? I didn’t have a score for the quartet to inspect to see what was going on, so I just kept listening. At about one minute in I heard the blue, uncertain stumbling buzz of a violin. It literally sounded like a mosquito. And then.... Oh my. I’m a supporter of contemporary art and music, for contemporary artists and musicians are the very ones who push the boundaries to challenge the status quo and explore the concepts and practices from the past as the fields expand and evolve. They challenge and rebel against tradition (see my discussion re: E. E. Cummings’ poem “old age sticks,” HERE). They advance and expand our perspectives as their new methodologies and ideas emerge and unfold. And while all of this is true with Harvey’s string quartet -- and while I do appreciate the endeavor here to push boundaries and experiment with sound -- this work as a stand-alone piece is a bit too weird (inscrutable? cryptic?) for me. Some of the work begs the debate about what is sound vs. what is music. Other parts of the piece would make a terrific soundtrack for a sci-fi thriller. Coincidentally, though, I recently listened to Episode 45 of “Settling the Score,” a podcast that discusses great film scores of our day, and the hosts discussed Brad Fiedel’s score for “The Terminator” and “Terminator 2.” Listen to their discussion and to some of the electronic music from “The Terminator,” HERE -- from 7:50 to about 9:36 -- and tell me that that work isn’t gripping. It makes you want to hear more (pair that with a string quartet, and WOW -- what a piece that could be)! That was not the case with Harvey’s work (in wanting to hear more). It was jumbled and incoherent. It was a mixed bag of noise and discord, layered with frenetic runs by the strings. And then there was the blue, uncertain stumbling buzz. While Harvey’s work does push the boundaries and experiments with sound, I’m not sure that as time passes -- and as new norms, styles, and forms emerge and as some works of art and sound rise (and perhaps become iconic?) and others fade -- I tend to think that Harvey’s work will be one of the ones that fades. Only time will tell.
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Do you know the name of the band that sang “Video Killed the Radio Star”? It was released in 1979 by the Buggles, a new wave band formed in London in 1977, and the group is among the ranks of many who have merited the moniker “one hit wonder.” A list of One Hit Wonders is HERE. I heard a discussion about “one hit wonders” on the radio the other day, so for this week, I thought I would select an unknown work by a “one hit wonder” of classical music. I ran a Google-search on “classical music one hit wonders,” and I found this list from ClassicFM.com, HERE. Can you guess who topped the list? I bet you can. Here’s a hint: the famous piece from this one hit wonder was composed in the 17th century, and it remains popular today -- especially at weddings. Scroll down to see the answer. : ) So who topped the classical music list of "One Hit Wonders"?
Yep. It was Johann Pachelbel, and he certainly deserved the top spot on the list with his Canon in D Major. Surely he wrote other pieces, though (and I promise I’ll stop calling you Shirley). I found this “List of Composition by Johann Pachelbel,” HERE, and I was surprised to read that “approximately 530 compositions have been attributed to Johann Pachelbel.” Say whaaaa??? I even tweeted out that information: “Approximately 530 compositions have been attributed to Johann Pachelbel. How many can you name?” I already knew the answer. Of course, I too could only name one. I perused the list of compositions I found on Wikipedia, and I landed on a piece of chamber music, the Suite in G Major, and I listened to that. The suite includes 8 movements, and the times below correspond to the YouTube video linked at the top of this post.
Sooo...how did I like Pachelbel’s Suite in G Major? It was....okay. Nothing really made it stand out. The melodies are nice, but nothing special. The harmonies are typical, but nothing unusual. The rhythms are standard, and the tempos are steady. The entire suite is pleasant, but there is nothing about it that is truly memorable. Pachelbel's Suite in G Major makes for wonderful background music -- but I suspect that Pachelbel would not be satisfied with that opinion. Hmm...I suppose it would be nice at a wedding too.
For this week I thought I'd choose a piece of classical music that includes a narration -- something along the lines of Aaron Copland's "Lincoln Portrait" or Benjamin Britten's "The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra."
Of course, all of the works that I know that include a narration are ones I've heard before, so to find something to listen to, I ran a Google-search on "classical music pieces with a narration." I found what I assume is a fairly comprehensive list on Wikipedia, HERE. I clicked on several pieces on the list to find out more about them, and I ultimately chose Leonard Bernstein's Symphony No. 3 because he dedicated the piece to the memory of John F. Kennedy who was assassinated in 1963, the year Bernstein wrote the work. I knew that Bernstein had been commissioned to compose a work by Jacqueline Kennedy, and that piece, "MASS: A Theatre Piece for Singers, Players, and Dancers," premiered in 1971 as part of the opening of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, DC. I have heard Bernstein's MASS, and I thought it would be interesting to hear the work he dedicated to the slain president -- and so I landed on Bernstein's Symphony No. 3, "Kaddish," as this week's selection. Of course, my first thought was, "What's a Kaddish?" and the Wikipedia article on the work, HERE, filled me in: "Kaddish is the Jewish prayer that is chanted at every synagogue service for the dead but never mentions 'death.'" The article also warned -- er, prepared -- me for what I was about to hear, Bernstein's "Kaddish" is a work written "for a large orchestra, a full choir, a boys' choir, a soprano soloist and a narrator." Oy! At this point I had listened to the work once, and in many ways it is similar to MASS, and my initial response -- principally related to the religious nature of the work -- was, "Ohhh boy. I think I've bitten off more than I can chew." The symphony is structured as follows: I. Invocation: Kaddish 1 II. Din-Torah: Kaddish 2 III. Scherzo: Kaddish 3; Finale: Fugue Tutti Kaddish 1, 2, and 3? Is there a singular Kaddish (a la "The Lord's Prayer") or are there multiple Kaddishes? Does one write his or her own Kaddish to read at a memorial service? I found more information at LeonardBernstein.com, HERE, but that added to my confusion. The Bernstein-dot-com article upheld the Wikipedia info about a Kaddish with, "strangely enough, there is not a single mention of death in the entire prayer." However, the lines read by the narrator in the opening movement, "Kaddish 1," include the following: * That refuses death, that insists on You, * With his new-found fire, avid for death, * Voluptuous, complete and final death. Hmm. I thought the prayer did not mention "death"? Is the Kaddish what the narrator is reading? Or is the Kaddish in the opening movement entirely different -- maybe the part sung by the soprano? I ran a search on Kaddish, and landed on this article, HERE. It provides the text of the Kaddish HERE, and sure enough, it does not mention the word "death." I'll admit -- I was very confused by the structure and narration of this symphony. Is this the Kaddish? Or is this Kaddish-like? I'll admit, too, that I can be a bit anal at times, so this was driving me crazy. When it comes to the Kaddish, I know bupkis (I found "bupkis" HERE). What could I do? Truthfully, the only thing I could do was to turn to my very dear friend, my Tony-winning friend, who is my adviser on all-things Jewish. I'm not making this up -- she really is my very dear friend (oh -- I didn't make up that "Tony-winning" accolade either -- that really is true). Alas, when it comes to matters of the church -- or in this case, the synagogue -- it turns out that her level of religiosity matches that of mine when it comes to the Christian faith. We'd have been better off discussing the differences between a state function and a path function tied to the mathematical differences between exact and inexact differentials -- if you know what I mean. Oh, my dear friend did help. She turned to a friend of hers and confirmed that the Kaddish is like a requiem, and that it is, indeed, a specific prayer. She also filled me in on a little shmutz on one Siggie Schutzman -- but we'll save that for some future post. So Bernstein took a few liberties with the Kaddish. I need to get past that. An article at LeonardBernstein.com discusses a brief history of the Kaddish (and even a possible connection to the Christian “Lord’s Prayer”) and the incongruity of the prayer -- that there is “not a single mention of death....On the contrary, it uses the word chayei or chayim ('life') three times. Far from being a threnody, the Kaddish is a series of paeans in praise of God, and, as such, it has basic functions in the liturgy that have nothing to do with mourning." They also note that “In his Kaddish Symphony, Leonard Bernstein exploits the dualistic overtones of the prayer: its popular connotation as a kind of requiem, and its celebration of like ( i.e. creation) (sic).” (I'm pretty certain that “like” is a typo for “life”). : ) The article goes on to explore other dichotomic aspects of the piece (for example, the choice for a women to narrate a prayer traditionally recited by a man), but perhaps the most obvious dichotomous aspect of the symphony is Bernstein’s use of complex, chromatic twelve-tone textures and techniques which merge with more traditional and lyrical diatonic melodies. Toward the bottom of the post at LeonardBernstein.com, they have included various comments about the work from the composer himself. In one interesting anecdote, Bernstein recalls, “A whole group of young composers who were at the time considering themselves very avant-garde artists, who had gotten wind of the fact that I had finally written a twelve tone piece, came to all of the rehearsals...and they were all terribly excited until about the midpoint of the symphony when the second Kaddish, which is sung by a soprano and which is a lullaby and completely tonal, appeared, and they all threw up their hands in despair and said, oh, well, there it goes. That's the end of that piece.” Bernstein added, “Of course they didn't understand at all that one of the main points of the piece is that the agony expressed with the twelve tone music has to give way -- this is part of the form of the piece -- to tonality and diatonicism even so that what triumphs in the end, the affirmation of faith is tonal.” I listened to the symphony a couple of more times, and I did enjoy it -- although it is a serious work that, truthfully, deserves to be heard and experienced (and contemplated) at the concert hall or some other formal venue. This is not the type of work one would play as simple background music (say, for example, like listening to Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 4 with wireless earbuds while biking down a tree-lined parkway on a beautiful spring day -- a la the movie “Breaking Away”). Bernstein does have to be careful, though, when charging into twelve-tone territory. I tend to think that portions of the symphony which are meant to sound primal and intense come across as a bit too carnival-like, as though one is careening through a fun house. The symphony was first performed in Tel Aviv, Israel, on December 10, 1963, and its American premiere took place on January 10, 1964, in Boston. According to the article on Wikipedia, “The American reactions to the work were decidedly mixed, ranging from highly favorable to vitriolic.” I’d say I’m somewhere closer to the “favorable.”
Well, last week when I listened to Mozart’s Piano Sonata in F Major for Four Hands (HERE), I noticed that YouTube included Borodin’s quartet in the right-hand column of next and up-coming videos, so I thought, “why not?” Thus, Borodin’s String Quartet No. 2 became the choice du jour -- or should I say de la semaine? What a wonderful and pleasant surprise this quartet turned out to be! Had I heard this piece before? Well... I. The first movement, Allegro moderato -- no, I have not heard this before. However, there was a melody in this movement that was very reminiscent of something I have heard before. Here's the opening theme of Borodin's piece played by the cello to begin the first movement: This very lyrical movement is written in sonata form, so this melody is played several times throughout the piece; however, every time it played, I kept thinking about some other tune -- like this: F# (on the downbeat) - A - F#E - D / F# - A - F#E - D / E - F# - A - F# / E (whole note); repeat. What is that song? It's driving me crazy. The progression (particularly the E - F# - A - F# / E) sounds a bit like the "Going Home" theme from the second movement of Dvořák's "New World" symphony -- but I don't think that's what I'm hearing. II. The second movement, Allegro -- yes, I have heard this before -- but not as Borodin's String Quartet No. 2. This movement is a lively scherzo, and it reminded me of something like Mendelssohn's incidental music to "A Midsummer Night's Dream," a score for sprightly fairies and wood nymphs frolicking in the forest. Very quickly, though, a subordinate theme picked up that I had, indeed, heard before, a tune that was used in the 1954 musical "Kismet" as "Baubles, Bangles, and Beads."
It turns out that the main theme from this movement was also used in "Kismet" for a song called "This Is My Beloved" -- but I don't think I've ever heard that song (until now), nor have I seen "Kismet."
Here is some of what is included in an article on Wikipedia about the final movement: "The finale demonstrates Borodin's mastery of counterpoint. Written in a conventional sonata form, it opens with an introduction, which introduces the principal theme, broken into two elements: a dialogue between two violins, answered by a viola and cello....After much contrapuntal work (including a charming "horse-riding" episode worthy of Rossini, beginning in measure 296), the recapitulation begins...this time enunciated by the combined strings...." So, Borodin's String Quartet No. 2 -- which according to one article I read was composed as an anniversary gift to his wife -- was a very pleasant surprise indeed! I loved it. Hmm...come to think of it, my wedding anniversary is coming up at the end of this month. I'd better start composing something! |
A New Hope:As the header above says, each week I will listen to a piece of classical music that I've never heard before, and then I will report out what I thought about it. Archives
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