From the Archives: After a concert at Jordan Hall

[ 14 Mar 2002 ]

The Symphonies of Wind Instruments was even better than fond memory led me to expect. In other recordings (none of which have I heard especially recently, but the latest I remember being a Dutoit effort), sadly, some of the strongest "retention" was the impression of screechy clarinets in the block which opens (and, since it comes back, with this timbral barbarity, gave the impression of the Unwelcome Guest who didn't know enough to stay away ...

... but even this block sounded balanced and warm. The whole piece was a joy to hear ringing in Jordan Hall. The alto flute did an awful lot of swaying, but if that's her mode, let her at it; she played fine (and the alto flute always gives me the impression of requiring more air than a tuba). The alto flute and alto clarinet duet has to be experienced to be believed; and, having once experienced it, it is impossible to believe that Stravinsky himself would give that up in a revision. It is a fact that he did, but it is a sonically impossible fact.

The closing Meno mosso (Tempo primo) section was astoundingly beautiful; I don't know when I've heard three trumpets play with such sensitive intonation, and indeed with such timbral sympathy that they sounded like a single trumpet. When the flutes and clarinets were added for the last page, the effect was magical, not as though new color were being added, but as though a highlight was cast on the color already on the canvas.

They played the Ives very well, too. Indeed (at once to paraphrase a hobbit, and subvert his meaning) I almost felt I liked Ives, while they were playing. They did a terrific job. The test of a wind transcription is, not wishing that there were the original strings, instead (but maybe there weren't original strings ... the program notes hinted at a band version of a [no longer extant] organ piece .. so maybe the strings were added by Ives).

But at the last, I was forcefully reminded of a complaint I have brought to Ives' door before -- for as I walked from Jordan Hall to the T stop, what was sounding in my inner ear was the march tune. And when Ives writes in a way that you remember a ta-da-da-taaa tune that he "quotes" and not Ives, well, you ain't remembering Ives, are you?

The surprise quiet coda, while theoretically the point, doesn't stay with you; the boorish blat of the brass band has had too heavy a sonic footprint.

The NEC Jazz Composers Orchestra (somebody help me but, decent ensemble though they were, this is an abuse of the word orchestra) had opened the program with a tune called Dreams. It was all right, without striking me as anything special. The trumpets/flugelhorns could have benefited from contemplating the wonderful intonation evidenced in the Stravinsky performance. I have a hard time taking seriously any clarinetist who plays with puffy cheeks. I mean, if he sounded like he had control, puffy cheeks notwithstanding, I could handle that.

But these clarinets sounded every bit like the cheeks were puffy.

There was a bass clarinet, but the way the "head" was written, you didn't care. Another sharp contrast with the Stravinsky, in which, while the alto clarinet was expected to have fully the facility of a soprano clarinetist, the part was brilliantly written with the registral characteristics of the alto in mind.

A most enjoyable evening at the hall.

Drone addendum

By seeming chance, there is fresh word today from Scott, from hospital, where he was admitted 4 August for (his third bout with) meningitis. Lift him in prayer.

Droning on

Addendum to yesterday's post: Scott presently resides (and we hope he's doing ever better) in Lima, Perú.

Although date(s) & venue(s) are yet t/b/d, the next Triad concert will be in November, and we shall sing Nuhro. So my thoughts have turned to what I should tell the crew about the piece, as we begin rehearsing.

The Kronos string quartet played a concert in Tallinn while I was there, and of course, I had the nerve to go backstage afterwards and introduce myself to them. As you can judge by the fact that they've never played my music, I did not reap beneficial fruits from my exercise of impertinence. Or, perhaps I did, at that ....

Most members of the quartet brushed me off (not rudely, just with unfeigned disinterest) with some dispatch. It was the violist, John Sherba, who drew the short straw, and I enjoyed a few minutes' conversation with him. Since the group (a) play very well, and (b) play music written by the living, unsolicited scores inundate them. This was the time of the first crest of the "World Music" rage-wave, and Mr Sherba, with only a hint of well-earned annoyance, gave me to understand that in perhaps 67% of the scores they read, there would be a drone; and that roughly 115% of these would assign the drone to the viola. So that reading prospective scores was not always a gratifying prospect for the violist.

For the player: what a hell of a time, being a world-class performer, and you read a score where you sustain an E for five minutes. For the composer: what lack of imagination, to have so enviable a resource as an outstanding string player, only to have him sustain an E for five minutes.

Back in Tallinn, I told Mr Sherba that, if I send a new string quartet to Kronos (— he did not hold out any great hope, so I assumed none —) it would without fail include a passage marked, The John Sherba Memorial Drone.

The lesson I took from this tale of mind-numbing horror was: yes, drones can be a beautiful, even a powerful musical effect; but the composer still has responsibilities both to the health and wellness of the performer, and the sonic stimulation of the listener.

As I worked on Nuhro with its drones, pedal-tones (or pedal-intervals), and unhurried tread, I paid close attention to the pacing, I made a point in the unfolding design of varying both textures, and centers of registral gravity. I labored over it all the more, as the pitch-center is relatively constant through the piece (one of the factors of relative stasis). I wanted the piece to be beautiful, and I was eager that it should in no way be dull.

When at last, I reached the end, and I thought and reconsidered and wondered if it really were done, if there really remained nothing which I ought in good musical conscience to adjust or improve, it was August, and my wife asked me if I did not want to go to the beach. I certainly did. The final stage of composing Nuhro, of weighing the question whether it really were done, was the composer wading out calmly into the surf, and replaying the nascent piece in his inner ear, and feeling a profound harmony between his outer and interior experiences.

It was on the sands of Cape Anne, that I knew I had written what was probably the best music I had made to that point.

The Groove in Perú

It was not exactly what I had in view, either as part of musical activities yesterday, nor as the piece upon which to perform this operation, but I've now adapted ... illa existimans quia hortulanus esset .... for euphonium. More on that afterwards.

What I did mean to do yesterday, was continue work on From the Pit of a Cave in the Cloud; and I did manage to make some progress. I was mildly mired in consideration that I want this to be a 12-minute piece, and the Adagio opening runs almost a full minute, but addresses only the slightest fraction of the text. But, then, we always wanted to up the tempo for much of the work. More on this, too, afterwards.

An old Buffalo mate of mine, Scott Tinney, surfaced on Facebook, and in June he called generally for any and all composer friends to write him 15-second pieces. I think that, just at the time I saw his call, I was puttering yet with the audition portion of a piece for double quintet (m. on that a.) So the weekend of 27/28 June I wrote one 15-second piece. Over the course of the first week in July, I wrote the second, third, and fourth pieces; and I already knew that I was not just going to write four of them. I quickly (or quickly-ish) decided on a set of 20 in emulation of Prokofiev's early (and, no argument, more substantial) set, which gave me a title:

Visions fugitives de nouveau, Op.131

№ 1: One Leaf
№ 2: Versuch eines Milonga
№ 3: Beneath the Clear Sky
№ 4: That Tickles!
№ 5: Stephen Goes to California
№ 6: Kay's Blue Crabs
№ 7: Questionable Insistence
№ 8: Morning Prayer
№ 9: Bunny Keeping Still
№ 10: Gamboling Squirrels
№ 11: The Street Musician
№ 12: The Shade of an Oak
№ 13: "Could you change one more thing?"
№ 14: Waiting
№ 15: Bicycling in Boston Common
№ 16: Mist on the Harbor
№ 17: Peter Moves to Montréal
№ 18: Seeing a Long-Since-Cancelled Stamp
№ 19: ... but his mind is elsewhere
№ 20: Starless Summer Night

The set was done by 11 July.

Post-hiatus

The blog has been idle, but the composer has not.  Gentle Reader, I shall not try thy patience by catching everything up in this post.

Night before last, I finished (at last) a flute duo for Orlando Cela.  (How I came to write the duo is a mildly amusing story.)  I then allowed that last draft to "cure" ... the novelty for me in the process of this piece, is related to typographic concerns. There is an idea I had for the final section, which I have probably thrown out. (Really, I reserve it for yet fuller execution in the new Schulte setting.) So, Friday evening I made my way to a provisionally final double-bar. I then began the trying phase: stress-testing the draught, deciding on places where (1) I might wish to make an adjustment, and (2) where my gut felt strongly I must make an adjustment.

The novelty, though, is that I regulated both (1) and (2) by the consideration of parts layout. All this while working on the piece, I wondered if I should "cheat" by just ("just"!) having the two players read from score together. At heart, I knew I must not settle for that cheat. So I checked the parts each time I made an adjustment. Perhaps inevitably, I began to devise adjustments specifically to yield a page turn here (for Flute 1) and there (for Flute 2).

So, yesterday morning, I reached the point where, now that changes are in place so that both players have convenient page-turns (itself, a perfectly reasonable and practical consideration), I wanted to make sure the piece works and flows as well as I felt it did before I began a-tampering.

And I find that these mundanely-driven alterations to the piece in no way impair the composition.  And thus, Neither do I condemn thee, Op.132 for two flutes, is now finished.

Downside: No idea when it may be performed.

Upside: I know three flutists (including the commissioner) who will take an active interest in the piece, and I am sure they will all like it.

Downstream upside: Will be eminently marketable at the annual flutey-toot conventions.

Why-didn't-I-think-of-this-before? Upside:  In November I made the acquaintance of a flutist in the ASO, whom we may interest in the piece, too.

Notes from Before the Blog: June 2003

At my dear wife's prompting, I decided to audition in Barcelona. Two lifelong dreams, in exhilarating conjunction: a visit to Spain, & an audition for a chair in a professional orchestra!

Should really have been practicing before, but I was exhausted Saturday, needed to be sociable with the choir after church on Sunday. At last, I put the clarinet together Monday, for 45 minutes - not solid playing, as I review the excerpts. Most seem as though they will fall under the fingers fairly easily ... a few, of course, will take serious practicing.

Tues, 3 June. Played a solid half hour's practice, running through the Mozart. I need a lot of practice, & I need to build up endurance ... but I think there is time enough.

Wed, 4 June. Good 45 mins of practice. Ran Mozart, & stage I excerpts, also played some Bach for stamina. As if in support of the whole endeavor, Mark E. sends to ask if I might play an opening voluntary on Sunday! Will put together the cl./org. arr. of Exaltabo Te, Deus.

Thu, 5 June. Weather change, tired in the evening ... rested from practice. Met at last with Tom P. Tom was very warm about the news that I am going to audition in Barcelona. He is almost as excited about it as I am myself!

Fri, 6 June. Had been planning to go to the music shop by Symphony Hall for a music stand; but as I waited at Park St, had the happy thought of stopping at the mall [en route to Petersham]. Got out of work early; so I arrived at the monastery good & early. Found not only a music stand, but a clarinet stand as well. Played 40 minutes, good stamina. Ready to begin twice-daily routine tomorrow. Fr Michael gave me the Traveler's Blessing.

[diary ends here]

Impish Impermanence

Yesterday [2 June], the Studies in Impermanence went much better than I expected, or might have had any right to expect. It remains a nervy exploit, playing a 20-minute unaccompanied clarinet piece.

And I learnt that I am playing much better these days, than nine years ago, in rather an ironic way. Back when I first played the Studies, I took the faster passages cautiously slow, and the piece stretched out to almost 25 minutes. It's a while since I played it, so I was counting on the piece occupying 25 minutes for yesterday's concert. (In fact, when I performed the piece a couple of years later, in Atlanta, I took impromptu cuts, to keep the timing down; that may be one reason why I did not bridle overmuch when I was asked to play an abbreviated Thoreau in Concord Jail for Danvers. Anyway, better that, than being burnt for a witch . . . .)

Yesterday, I pretty much coasted through the piece. (Rather a surprise, considering how ratty Monday night's run-through of the Studies was . . . but then, yesterday I was fresh, where on Monday night, my brain probably suffered a bit from having endured the first day back in the office after a week's vacation.) Not saying my performance was perfect (it wasn't) but everything sits quite well in the fingers, and this is the most musical performance I've given of this piece yet.

I set up my recorder, but somehow managed not to record the performance. Maybe I'll try a "studio recording" here at home.