a successful conclusion + an exciting future

I've said before that this season was "the best ever" and in its already fading wake, I can say that indeed it was. The performances were polished and captivating, and our audience base has grown considerably. Seeing children and young families at our last concert, I realized that slowly but surely, we are beginning to achieve the goals set out in our mission statement. And, we received a standing ovation on Saturday! How cool is that?!

So. On to season four: Poetics(!). The subtitle has several layers of meaning, one of which is a reference to Aristotle's Poetics. I've been looking quite a bit at the text recently and the way diverse artistic movements interact with it over time. Of course it is referenced in the Enlightenment, but I was reading Greenberg's mid 20th century essay, Art and Kitsch, today and there was a reference to imitation "in the Aristotelian sense." Aristotle, in response to Plato, is primarily concerned with the problem of mimesis in art. Is imitation good? Is it bad? How does it operate within an artwork, and what does that mean for the artist? In addition to these basic questions, there are innumerable issues that arise from the discussion. I find myself drawn to the problematic relationship of Poetics with a contemporary society that no longer reads the classics: on the whole, the citizens of the world are unaware of the text, yet its prevalence in Western culture until this moment subtly shapes our own concept of what is "good" and "bad" in the arts. Mimesis is easy; abstraction is not. My current contention is that this attitude has been a part of our historical conditioning and thus results in a phenomenon I like to think of as "pre-conditioned taste." I have a lot more books to read and ideas to explore over the next year (obviously), but I'd like this discussion to be a part of CMM4. From the start, CMM has championed music that is perhaps more challenging to the ear than Mozart, Bach, et al. and I think the above discussion is REALLY helpful for looking at this stuff: if we are cognizant of our historical conditioning (ie preconditioned taste), we can understand it and eventually move beyond it. That is to say, things like Mark Rothko won't seem so "meaningless" (the old, "my kid could do that!" argument); Schoenberg's imitation will gain clarity.

The above is just one facet of next season, the more obvious one is music and text. We're talkin' song cycles people. I'm completely nuts for the art song, and if we're going to discuss mimesis, there is not a better place to start than so-called "word painting." We're looking at Schoenberg's Book of the Hanging Gardens (!!!!!), any number of cycles/songs by Schubert, Schumann, Debussy, Ravel...the list goes on. It would fulfill a dream of mine to program and perform Pierrot Lunaire, but we'll see.

Lastly, I'll mention that we're hoping to program some Helmut Lachenmann. From what I've listened to, his music is not at all mimetic, in that it is like nothing I have ever heard before. The Kinderspiel, for example, explore sonic possibilities of the piano in the same way that Pollock explores the possibilities of raw materials (house paint, for example). I could certainly see where Lachenmann's music would be threatening to the American musical avant-garde (such as it is); I'm recalling something James Dillon (an advocate of Lachenmann, and another excellent composer) once said to me about Lachenmann's reception in the US. If I am remembering correctly, Dillon implied that Lachenmann was perceived by the US as a "de-composer" in that by redefining the means by which classical instruments were to be used, he was writing "anti-music." The pejorative connotation of these statements ought not to be ignored; it is a real shame, actually, as I think the music is quite good. Below is a video of Kinderspiel as played by pianist Seda Roeder. When you listen, try to notice all the sounds--in these pieces the residual is just as important (if not more so) as the initial sound. Though I must say, as wonderful as YouTube is for this sort of thing, to fully appreciate these pieces, you really have to hear them live (enter CMM4....).

brettl lieder

Soon enough I'll be writing copious notes on Schoenberg and his fin-de-siecle compatriots, but for now here is the great Jessye Norman singing Brettl Lieder.

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

and speaking of mahler...

All this Mahler talk made me think about one of my favorite things ever.

This is Berio, another Chamber Music Midwest featured composer. So rest assured, at some point I will discussing this and other gems of his output. And some day, the School of Rock Chamber Orchestra will play the Berio Sinfonia.

Does anyone else feel like they are inside George Harrison's head?

some thoughts on mahler

Again and again, I return to Mahler. Ostensibly enigmatic, his music often seems to me to be a proto-postmodern pastiche; an attempt to express fin-de-siecle anxieties and nineteenth century nostalgia. A certain fascination with the past permeates and I can't help but think of the rampant historicism in Vienna at that time (Gottfried Semper, ahem ahem). What is really intriguing (as if rampant historicism isn't stimulating enough) is the way this historicism interacts with a yearning for progress--a hallmark of the early twentieth century. One need only to look at the work of say, Gerome and Nolde or the aforementioned Semper and his art historical counterpoint, Alois Riegl. In addition to these broad dichotomies, there is a certain duality that plays out in each individual's work. But I digress (and could go on...and on, but I'll spare you). What is great about Mahler, is that in his music this dualism is expressed so damn eloquently (and effectively, I might add). He uses all these archaic dance forms, but sets them in a modern idiom, fragments them, orchestrates them. In this way, his music (like the visual analogues Kirchner or Ensor) can be downright creepy.

We're playing his piano quartet this season. It is just a movement, a fragment from 1876 (that means Ringstrasse-era Vienna, by the way); apparently it was recently used in a Scorsese film and to my ears it sounds like Brahms. But, not just Brahms--more like post-German Requiem Brahms, anxiety-laden tragic Brahms. Take a listen for yourself:

For me, the pulsating quarter-triplets in the piano are most reminiscent of Brahms--the comparison being something like the cello part in the third movement of the C minor string quartet (but I feel like he uses this gesture quite a bit). You must agree that the music is imbued with ennui: the musical sighs, the low register octaves in the piano, and the aforementioned pulsations (that are to me, symbolic of the passage of time and the fear that often accompanies it). Even at seventeen, young Mahler was acutely aware of burgeoning change. And, like the rest of nineteenth century Europe, he was scared.

With all this in mind, I'll tell you that I am really looking forward to learning and performing this piece. In case you couldn't tell, I have a pretty strong affinity for fin-de-siecle Vienna.

season three: second viennese school of rock...

...or pain, if you prefer. I am pleased to announce that planning for Chamber Music Midwest 2010 is well underway. Unlike past seasons, CMM3 concerts will be held exclusively at First Lutheran Church of New Richmond and will take place May 15-June 15 and July 30-August 7. Conductor and oboist Joseph Peters will return to perform (among other things) Jacob ter Veldhuis' Garden of Love for Oboe and "Ghettoblaster."

I don't know about you, but I'm pretty excited to hear this live!

I am also happy to welcome back composer and baritone, Scott Sandersfeld. If you attended his CMM2 concert, you'll most likely recall his music to be both accessible and engaging. If not, go here to sample some of his work.