program notes: duetti

J.S. Bach | Suite no. 1 for solo cello BWV 1007
Likely one of the most oft appropriated selections from Bach’s oeuvre, the first cello suite has achieved "pop" status—featured in a myriad of television commercials and films alike. The complete suite is comprised of the oh-so-familiar prelude, followed by a series of dance movements. As it is accessible to the ear, we need not discuss musical style, harmonic language, etc. Certainly crafted with incredible skill, the musical forms are not too difficult to grasp: the music is "pretty" and we like that.

More compelling are the uses (and implications [1]) of dance forms. Before discussing Bach’s stylization, we must first turn to the intellectual firmament in which the composer’s aesthetic was codified. Still lit by the Scientific Revolution's afterglow, the beginning of the eighteenth century (Bach's most prolific period) was enlightened by empirical thought. Particularly pert for our discussion of Bach is the epistemological shift occurring between the onset of the early modern period and the nineteenth century. Where the former looks to break from Scholastic dogma via empiricism, the latter idealizes the mind, perpetually seeking transcendence. Nestled by these epistemological poles, Bach synthesized theology and eighteenth century rationality. Like his classical-era artistic offspring, Bach is partially interested in the physical sensations of living, "practice" (read: empiricism). And it is this context that his use of dance forms becomes truly captivating. In conjunction with the deeply religious overtones of the music, Bach's stylization of once lascivious and lewd dance forms contributes to a musical aesthetic elegant, intricate and dense. The result is the interaction of spirituality/learned-ness and physicality coalescing in Hegelian unity. Combined with his overt religious affiliations, references to the physical (the "low" dances: gigue, courante, sarabande) become apt descriptors of the dichotomy of the epoch.

Luciano Berio | Duetti per due violine: Bruno
Berio’s collection of thirty-four violin duets follows in the tradition paved by Telemann, Leclair, Mozart, and (later) Bartok. Composed in 1979, Bruno (an excerpt from the complete collection of duets) offers a glimpse into Berio's musico-rhetorical language. Brief though it may be (a mere 1’45”), the music betrays both a love of folk idioms and an influence from the twentieth century European modernist milieu from which the composer emerged. This kind of duality is expressed in Berio’s use a nineteenth century form (the waltz) dressed in Darmstadt-ian [2] garb. Further aligning himself with the Second Viennese School (the progenitor of his "European modernist milieu"), Berio’s dance quotations are akin to those of Mahler and Schoenberg. Within these allusions, another hallmark of Berio's aesthetic is evidenced: there is an unmistakable sadness—the ennui associated with nostalgia.

Jean Marie LeClair | Sonata no. 4 in D Major
In any exegesis on eighteenth century repertoire the influence of the salon must be considered. More than merely an enlightenment extravaganza, cacophonous and "cultured," the salon held tremendous sway for the intelligentsia, composers, and musicians of the day. One such musician was the composer-violinist Jean-Marie Leclair. Likely composed for performance at the French Concert-Spirituel, his sonata features thematic reiteration in predictable (and might I add, repetitive) forms. Indeed, the salon was raucous, abuzz with discourse and dialectic and it was this nascent environment that shaped the aforesaid formal characteristics (repetition—If you wish your music to be heard in a noisy setting, repeat it). Furthermore, the virtuosic writing is a product of Leclair's own violinistic facility.

[1] The dance would become extremely important for Arnold Schoenberg, largely considered to be the father of the Second Viennese School. Schoenberg saw himself as the successor to Bach, and as such referenced the baroque suite frequently (perhaps most famously in the op. 25 piano pieces). Although Schoenberg saw these allusions as natural and organic, they would later garner criticism from total serialist, Pierre Boulez.
[2] Darmstadt—an institute and festival in Germany—would act as a breeding ground for the European aesthetic popular from the 1950s-1980s. It was here that composers such as Ligeti, Stockhausen, Boulez, Berio, etc, would learn their craft.

...and then we lived a viola joke

There we are, the "Duetti" gang, photo by Laura de St. Croix. It turned out to be wonderful concert. A good time was had by all and the playing was very, very fine.

There were, however, some problems.

The day began with my father's unfortunate (losing) battle to yet another household item. Tripping on a broom strewn in the driveway, he went face down, on the pavement. The result was not pretty. Bloodied, bruised and angered to the core, he reneged on his promise to stop taking out his frustration on inanimate objects.

So that happened. Ice was packed, ibuprofen ingested, naps taken. And brooms scorned.

The day progressed, I suffered what the kids might describe as an "epic fail" with respect to the programs, but no more personal injuries.

My mother was not so lucky, she met her fate via a mandolin and a sink of dirty dishwater. I don't really need to go into what came next, only say that post-emergency room her right index finger was adorned with a hilariously (albeit necessary) large dressing. Further adding insult to literal injury, she was instructed to elevate the wound to slow the bleeding. I made the point that if she really wanted to be supportive and make her bandage less conspicuous she ought to purchase a giant foam fan finger, with CMM10! written on it. But I digress.

After dinner, the four violas parked and approached the venue ready for a to warm up and leisurely set up for the concert.

And then. We lived a viola joke. This one:
Q: Why do violists stand for long periods outside people's houses?
A: They can't find the key and they don't know when to come in.

We were locked out. and the septuagenarian who agreed to LET US IN neglected to tell me that HE DIDN'T HAVE THE KEY.

Yes. you heard correctly. Well intentioned though he may have been, he indeed, forgot to tell me this crucial tidbit of information. A half hour later, due to the generosity and graciousness of a community member, our prayers were answered and we gained access.

The rest of the concert was largely uneventful, Kirsti and Valerie played so very well. And indeed, a good time was had by all.

leclair, or, "how i learned to stop worrying and love writing program notes"

Precious few hours separate this moment from the first notes of Chamber Music Midwest.

So. Leclair.

In any exegesis on eighteenth century repertoire the influence of the salon must be considered. More than merely an enlightenment extravaganza cacophonous and "cultured," the salon held tremendous sway for the intelligentsia, composers, and musicians of the day. One such musician was the composer-violinist Jean-Marie Leclair. Likely composed for performance at the French concert-spirituel, his sonata features thematic repetition in predictable (and might I add, repetitive) forms. Indeed, the salon was raucous, abuzz with discourse and dialectic and it was this nascent environment that shaped the aforesaid formal characteristics (repetition--if you wish your music to be heard in a noisy setting, repeat it). Furthermore, the virtuosic writing is a product of Leclair's own facility.

There is quite a bit more to say. If it weren't 2am, I'd discuss the salon, eighteenth century gender roles, and on and on. Another time.

bach and more epistemology

True to my procrastinating nature, I have yet to write program notes for several pieces featured on tomorrow's concert. A friend of mine once said that "working ahead is for sissies who can't stand the pressure." In theory, I try not to agree, but in practice, my adherence to this maxim is unquestioned.

So lets talk about Bach's G major Cello Suite, shall we?

Likely one of the most oft appropriated selections from Bach’s oeuvre, the first cello suite has achieved "pop" status—featured in a myriad of television commercials and films alike. The complete suite is comprised of the oh-so-familiar prelude, followed by a series of dance movements. As it is accessible to the ear, I needn't really go into musical style, harmonic language, etc. Certainly crafted with incredible skill (my God!), the musical forms are not too difficult to grasp. The music is "pretty" and we like that.

Most compelling however, is the use and implications of the dance. I've talked before about the eighteenth century's fascination with the body and in Bach's suites (and the violin Partitas, for that matter) it takes on a new complexity. In conjunction with the deeply religious overtones of the music, Bach's stylization of once lascivious and lewd dance forms contribute to a musical aesthetic elegant, intricate and dense. The result is the interaction of spirituality/learned-ness and physicality coalescing in Hegelian unity.

Bach is of particular interest to me for this reason, especially given my more recent research on changes in acquiring knowledge between the Renaissance and the late nineteenth century. Still lit by the Scientific Revolution's afterglow, the beginning of the eighteenth century (Bach's most prolific period) was enlightened by empirical thought. Particularly pert for our discussion of Bach is the epistemological shift occurring between the onset of the early modern period and the nineteenth century. Where the former looks to break from Scholastic dogma via empiricism, the latter idealizes the mind, perpetually seeking transcendence. Like his classical-era artistic offspring, Bach is partially interested in the physical sensations of living, "practice" (read: empiricism). And it is this context that his use of dance forms becomes truly compelling. Combined with his overt religious affiliations, references to the physical (the "low" dances) become apt descriptors of the dichotomy of the epoch.

duetti

Our first concert is just around the bend (Saturday at 7:30, if you're keeping track), and I couldn't be more excited. The lovely and talented duo of Kirsti Petraborg and Valerie Little will be joining me in a very diverse program--Berio and Bach and Spisak oh my! But seriously, it is going to be fantastic. Now that I am writing about it, I realize that it was Valerie and Kirsti who first planted the idea of a concert of viola duos in my mind. As part of their DMA recital requirements, they performed a concert comprised entirely of viola duets, and let me tell you, it was great. I never knew how good viola duos could sound. Make your jokes if you must (believe me, I've been making them all week), but be prepared to renege.

The duet repertoire has always interested me, likely due to its history in the salon (Mozart, for example), the studio (Bartok and Telemann) and finally the concert hall (more recent contributions by composers like Luigi Nono and James Dillon). The Berio duo Valerie and I are playing (Bruno) could be categorized as a "pedagogical" duet: potentially meant for teacher and student. Musically speaking, it offers a glimpse into Berio's musico-rhetorical language. Brief though it may be (a mere 1’45”), the music betrays both a love of folk idioms and an influence from the twentieth century European modernist milieu from which the composer emerged. This kind of duality is expressed in Berio’s use a nineteenth century form (the waltz) dressed in Darmstadt-ian garb. Further aligning himself with the Second Viennese School (the progenitor of his "European modernist milieu"), Berio’s dance quotations are akin to those of Mahler and Schoenberg. Within these allusions, another hallmark of Berio's aesthetic is evidenced: there is a certain sadness--the ennui associated with nostalgia.

Berio's complete oeuvre is wonderful, he is without a doubt one of my favorite composers. Indeed, I am drawn to the aforesaid duality, but there is something about his music that so perfectly captures the mid-late twentieth century spirit. To me, he expresses the fear, ennui and uncertainty of our epoch with an aesthetic both elegant and sincere.



Cathy Berberian sings Berio, Folksongs