Toolbox

Last time, I went at length concerning one of the tools at my disposal as a composer: the mode. I also alluded to another resourse I’ve been developing starting with the Pocket Mass. In that work, I divided chords into two independent sonorities, capable of moving contrary to one another thus creating new chords. I made mention that different sections of a mode could likewise be divided. Now I’d like to discuss another method I’ve been working on.

Over the past year and a half, I’ve been exerting most of my compositional energies on consort pieces: a brass quintet, wind quintet, and string quartet. While each has a distinct and unique tonal language, they all have one important element in common. It is a quality that, for lack of a better term, I here call social cohesion: without the unified effort of all parts, any individual line dissolves into jibberish. Melodies, where present, are passed quickly from instrument to instrument. Rhythmic figures interweave to create macrorhythmic moments. In short, the sum is greater than the parts. Everyone in the ensemble needs to be on the same wavelength for the piece to work.

I first undertook this method with the Brass Quintet, largely to compensate for a perceived lack of melodic invention. By taking a simple, self-evident theme (such as ascending 5ths) and passing it through the instruments, and doing likewise with contrapuntal figures, I felt the lack of clear melodic writing would be compensated by the intricate interplay of parts. This train of thought spilled over into the second movement of the String Quartet, though it manifested itself differently. Taking inspiration from the 3rd movement of Ruth Crawford-Seeger’s quartet, I created the illusion of melody by accenting notes in the slowly enveloping chord played by the full ensemble. By the time I began working on the Wind Quintet, my insecurities concerning melodic invention had largely disappated. Still, melodic and rhythmic interplay was crucial in morphing the piece from a purely technical twelve-tone exercise into a humourous game.

As I make preparations for a chamber symphony (by far the largest work I will have undertaken to date), I contemplate to what extent I shall use this social cohesion method. With larger forces at play, more possibilities present themselves. In fact, one could argue the possibility of two groups – one cohesive, another anarchic – proceeding simultaneously. Possibilities are endless, time is finite…

 

Symphonie a la Mode

Composing, like architecture, is largely a matter of knowing what you plan to build. Understanding its function, the size and scope required, the aesthetic demands & limitations of those you’re working for – all these need to be known going in. It would be no more appropriate to write a 45 minute Mahleresque symphony for a grade school orchestra anymore than to attach a hangar to a quaint two-bedroom house.

This is a rather major concern for me, as I gear up to compose a chamber symphony for my graduate thesis. Questions of how long, how dense, how “serious”, how demanding pile atop one another unanswered. So I am devoting a post or three to these questions, as a way to try and work out some idea of what this piece shall be.

My initial attempt to figure out what I’d do was to look through old sketches and random scribblings for inspiration. However, I didn’t really pay any mind to how I would work the material. There is some jazzy stuff, some trilly bird-call stuff, some slow drawn-out harmony stuff, but it wasn’t until today that I noticed the only real connective element in it all. Modes.

Specifically, modes of limited transposition. Modes of artificial devising. Modes of limited usefulness but immediate affect.

Modes have long been an important musical resource for me. My Variations on the Merrimac for accordion is perhaps the most obvious example of this; it is also a teasingly short work – one theme and 7 variations, none more than 24 bars long. The Brass Quintet also had a modal basis, though other compositional parameters play a greater role in that one. For me, the appeal of modality is its ambiguous relationship to tonality. Like tonality, there is a clear sense of “home,” a judicious limitation of pitch material, a sense of order. Unlike tonality, “home” isn’t defined by tonic-dominant relationships, nor are modes so clearly European and utterly bland. If diatonicism is a swimming pool with trained lifeguards on the watch, and atonality a stormy sea, then modality is a little, slightly muddy lake where you can go skinny dipping with your friends.

Unlike your Dorian and Mixolydian varieties, however, modes of limited transposition lean more toward the “big stormy sea” side of the equation. Some are fairly safe (whole tone, “black key” pentatonic, and octatonic), but the ones I’m using these days are a bit more restless.

The first, which I shall call Hex1, is somewhat related to the typical octatonic scale in that both are built of half-step pairs (such as C – C#). However, in the octatonic scale, only one note separates note pairs (thus C-C#, D#-E, etc.) whereas the row I’m using separates pairs with pairs (i.e. C-C#, E-F, G#-A). Essentially, the notes form an augmented triad and the augmented triad a half-step up. Major and minor chords are available, as are leading tones, but Major 2nds are completely unavailable. Thus, melodic lines seem constantly wandering while harmonies are boxed in, immobile.

Hex2, the second of my little modes, is a rather more generous mix of minor 2nds, Major 2nds, and minor 3rds. A typical example of the mode would be G-A-C-C#-D#-F#. Divide the mode in half, and you may notice each group spells out part of a black-key pentatonic scale. Melodically, this mode has the advantage of increased flexibility. However, if one wishes to make tonal allusions, one will notice an absence of major triads, and only two minor chords.

This does not, however, mean that Hex2 is unfit for vertical constructions. Sticking with our mode on G, we note the black key region is a perfect transposition of the white-key region. Furthermore, either of these 3-note collections sounds perfectly consonant on its own. Sounding all six notes at once creates a sense dissonantly-related consonant regions – a simultaneous push and pull is exerted on our ears.

From this point, I posit that we divorce the two 3-note entities from one another, abolishing their modal unity and treating them as independent identities. By moving the two regions up and down the scale, either in oblique or contrary motion, new sonorities of increasing and decreasing dissonance are discovered. Before long, a chordal ostinato could be derived. With luck and patience, a progression with a definite starting and ending point could be developed. And if one or the other 3-note sections was inverted (minor 3rd plus Major 2nd instead of Major 2nd plus minor 3rd), a whole new world of possibilites is discovered!

Of the two modes, I find Hex2 to be the more promising. Hex1 is more intrusive on my consciousness: my improvisations commonly return to that mode. I feel both will play major roles in my next major work, as well as in any minor pieces I tackle along the way.

 

Improvisation as a Compositional Tool

I’m gonna out myself here, and at long last expose my not-so-secret identity by linking to a video I just put together, using my own music and my own photographs. In addition to shameless self-promotion (which, after all, is why the internet was invented, right?), I’m gonna talk a little bit about improvisation as a compositional tool. After all, improv is the foundation for the work in that little video.

Composition, as well as literature, art and most any other creative pursuit, is largely a game of “what if”. What if we didn’t limit ourselves to the same 12 pitches that have been in circulation for centuries? What if we didn’t smooth out the brushstrokes, instead giving the painting a more vibrant texture? What if there was a teenage vampire who sparkled in daylight, and fell in love with a nerdy klutz?

Of course, sometimes the answer to “what if” is better left unknown, and sometimes it’s a question best left unasked. Other times it can lead to the most innovative and rejuvinating of artistic movements. The only way to find out is to ask.

The particular “what if” behind this piece was simply, “what if I created a looping texture using my old BOSS delay pedal to improvise on top of?” In the process of recording, I discovered that the texture I was creating was all the improvisation necessary – what I thought of initially as foundation turned out to be walls and a roof as well. All I needed to add were a few baroque ornaments: a background drumbeat here, a brass choir sustaining G Major there, and some brief moments of additional guitar counterpoint.

This won’t work for every piece. Some “what ifs” require a bit more thought, a bit more working out on paper. But always, at a very early stage, are moments of aimless searching. Looking for the right set of notes, playing with the pigments of the pallette, teasing the canvasse with an errant brushstroke, or writing a sentence which may disappear long before the final product is reached, yet in some way informs the direction of everything to follow. It is through kitty sneezes such as these that empires are brought to their knees.

 

Different Angles

Let’s say you missed out on the season opener of the New York Philharmonic this year. Perhaps, like me, you’ve been living under a rock, and didn’t realize what a major event this was, especially this year, what with a new conductor at the helm.

And suppose, perhaps, after realizing you’ve missed out on the event, you decided to go digging up some info on just what went down. Perhaps the first place you’d look would be the New York Times. Or maybe you’re more of a Washington Post person. If you checked both, you might be surprised at just how differently each reviewer perceived the concert.

Over at the times, Tommasini took an optimistic view of the concert, overlooking any flaws that may have occured. He instead gave high praise for the programme, consisting of a brand new (!) work, a rarely-performed 20th century masterpiece, and one of the most revolutionary orchestral works of the 19th century. The new work, Magnus Lindberg’s EXPO, was lauded by Tommasini, and Gilbert’s precise and methodical take on Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. In short, he saw this concert as the beginning of a bright new era.

Anne Midgette’s view of things was decidedly different. She notes that EXPO, Lindberg’s attempt at lighthearted music, doesn’t quite earn the adjective. And her reaction to the Berlioz was one of disappointment. On the whole, she argued the evening lacked any kind of energy.

Where the two reviewers most clearly split in reaction is Renee Fleming’s treatment of Messiaen’s Poemes pour mi, an orchestral song cycle dating from 1937. Tommasini praised the work, using a relative economy of words after gushing over the Lindberg. He cheered Fleming for courageously tackling the piece, and left it at that. Midgette, however, seemed to be paying closer attention, mentioning that the balance between voice and orchestra was not always kept, nor did she feel the song cycle fit Fleming’s voice well.

Interestingly, it is also this part of the concert that highlights some advantages of the blogosphere. Following a link to Opera Chic’s review, I was treated to a much more indepth analysis of the event. An explanation as to just how well things held together – and where things fell apart – was provided. (Another advantage of the modern age: you can observe bits of the concert with your own eyes and ears on youtube and decide for yourself).

So what’s the overall reaction? Well, gaurded optimism. Alan Gilbert is clearly a champion of new music – his NYPhil debut had only one bona fide standard. However, his conducting seems a bit mechanical (Midgette went so far as to call it “paint-by-numbers”). Opening night jitters, perhaps? A few more concerts and the critic collective should have a better idea. One thing is clear, however: it pays to get a second (or third) opinion.

 

20 Questions

What are you listening to right now?

Have you ever wasted a weekend hunting the stacks for a 12th-century priest accused of heresy?

How many kitchen appliances have you owned in your lifetime?

What is the one thing you want from life?

Can that one thing fit in your current home?

Do you remember the first time you lied to your parents?

What is the most memorable trip you ever took?

Have you ever been fired from a job?

How many Sergio Leone films have you seen?

Do you have a favourite colour (yes or no will suffice)?

When is the last time you fell – body and soul – in love?

Where, more than anywhere else, would you like to go?

Why is Lake Michigan green?

Who makes you laugh?

How many times a day do you brush?

Have you ever felt safer without the shield of anonymity modern life affords?

Read any good books lately (recommendations always encouraged)?

How many Russian Czars can you name without looking it up?

What is your favourite meal?

What is your greatest hope for humankind?

 

Centerpiece

Four down, one to go. All that’s left of my first attempt at a Mass is the Credo, the middle movement, the centerpiece of the service. It is, textually, the longest movement of the Mass. As Stravinsky put it, “there is much to be believed.”

So far, the work is largely monothematic. No, I take that back. There are multiple themes presented, but really one mood presented. I’m aiming for meditative, and hopefully it comes across that way. However…

I think I need something different for the Credo. Something to break up the tranquility of the outer movements. Perhaps more call-and-response, a quicker tempo, more rhythmic interest. I have options, and believe the time is right to exercise those options. I’ll have more to say once it’s finished.

 

So as not to go an entire month without an entry,

I am writing this little unimportant post.

Much happenings lately. Flew to MN to visit friends and folks, play video games, and attend my brother’s wedding (Congrats, Drew and Sarah). Got home two days ago and have since restocked the fridge and been trying to jumpstart my lazy ass. I’ve got a couple pieces to finish before school starts in a couple weeks, and I want to get a good jump on another.

More legitimate content coming eventually. Meantime, I invite you to play around the rest of the internet. I advise you not to click any flashing “winner” ads, though.

 

More on the Wind Quintet

It is completed. Clocking at just over six and a half minutes (seven if you include time emptying spit valves), this is a quaint little piece of moderate to slightly-more-than-moderate difficulty. I had to set it aside to work on some other projects, but I completed the third movement last night and spent a little time here and there today just polishing up the score and making everything look pretty (the thing about 12-tone music is, there are lots of accidentals, and it takes a bit of shuffling to make the score performer-friendly).

The third movement had been the sticky wicket all along. I thought I knew how it was supposed to go, but the sonic reality of the situation did not mesh at all with my cranial conception. So I tried to keep faithful to my original ideas concerning sectional divisions and development while abandoning my notion of having the bassoon play nothing but B naturals for a solid minute. I’m quite certain I made the right choice, there.

So, a little about the piece, movement by movement. The work opens with four different statements of the row, though no one instrument is playing only one row:

Note the insistent F# in the oboe. That note is shared by all four row forms, which is as big a clue as I’m willing to give regarding the row itself. To be quite honest, the row is rather irrelevant to the sonic landscape of the piece. Yes, it guides the order of the notes, but with multiple forms being used, forms which criss-cross from instrument to another; which occasionally branch into harmonic progressions; which are even sometimes interrupted by other row forms; I say this sufficiently muddies the waters to the point that no specific progression of intervals ever takes precedence. Instead of counting notes, I would urge the listener to focus on the character of each movement.

The example above is effective for illustrating this point, as well. Note the heavy accents, the changing meter (on only the second bar), the start-stop herky-jerky rhythm. This more or less establishes the mood of the entire first movement. To be sure, there is some contrast, but little enough that it is indeed beneficial the movement should end in under two minutes. This is its strength, this is its weakness.

The second movement is very slow indeed, and consists largely of short, repeatable motifs:

It is, in my estimation, the best of the four movements. It is also the shortest by far, though it feels like a miniature eternity. It is exactly as long as I intended it to be, and is of an appropriate relative length when compared to the other movements. Despite being built of tiny fragments, it seems imbued with a deeply lyrical quality. I set out to compose a riddle, and honestly feel that I achieved much more than I could have hoped to.

The third movement I have discussed at length. Yet, upon looking at the score, can find no suitable passage to illustrate my remarks. It is disjointed – rhythmically, metrically, dynamically (though it’s more loud than not), kind of an arhythmic scherzo for modern times. Resorting to rowspeak, it consists of many row fragments, not complete rows. To further confound the note counters, sometimes these fragments are launched from the middle of the row, rather than the beginning. No more needs to be said, I’ve already wasted more words than there are notes in the work.

Movement four is somewhat ponderous, and also features some very melodic flute writing:

That is just a brief sample, and the harmonies that are featured in the work are also rather special. But I feel I’m being long-winded again, and would rather you heard the piece itself than my description of it.

 

How do we “sell” New Music?

A quick tour of the web, checking out critics’ and musicians’ blogs and sites and whatnot, will give a rather bleak impression concerning the state of music. Indeed, in the arts community, it’s always easy to be a pessimist. Not enough funding, shrinking audiences, the “dumbing down” of this, the pandering to the lowest common denominator of that…it makes you nostalgic for simpler times. Of course, it’s hard to say just when times were ever simple. Artists have almost always been at odds with the status quo: arguing over just what dissonances or distortions of reality are acceptable, what meanings (if any) should be conveyed, etc.

For concert music, the situation seems even more dire. And, if you happen to be an advocate of “New Music,” that branch of concert music which cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, by called “classical” music, yet is too “cerebral” and “serious” to qualify for any other genre, the situation is downright hysterical. First off, to the composer, how do you answer that first question the layperson asks: “What kind of music do you write?” Modern-Classical is a hideous and misleading oxymoron. New Music is, at best, completely meaningless. How many living composers out there are writing “Old Music?” Hell, how many dead composers ever, in life, fancied themselves the authors of Old Music? As for the term Contemporary Music, contemporary is just a multi-syllable synonym for new. To say you write one instead of the other is like arguing that you are not a janitor, but rather a custodial engineer.

Eclecticism is probably the best catch-all term for the music being composed by people composing concert music today. Plus, it incorporates all those loose strands which are considered modern, but may not fit a concert setting; things like sound installations or Performance Art works. I personally have started referring to my own work as Ticklish Music, but I somehow doubt the term will catch. So Eclecticism it is.

So, assuming for the moment that we can agree on the term, and leave it up to the musicologists of 2200 to parse the real significance of it, how do eclectic composers and musicians find an audience? How can eclecticism become mainstream? To answer this, we must first take a look at the current techniques employed – techniques which, if I may be bold and brutally honest, obviously aren’t working.

One common strategy is to claim our ancestry to classical music, while also arguing that our progenitor is D-E-A-D! Bach, Beethoven, Schoenberg, hey, they were all great guys, and we’re continuing in their tradition. But really, you’re still listening to those guys? Because they stopped writing music ages ago. Listen, we’ve got some great NEW music for you. It’s inspired by those guys, sure. I mean, we grew up listening to their stuff, went to school and studied it thoroughly. But hey, eventually you gotta grow, gotta evolve and try something new. Their music has gone the way of the dinosaurs, and we are the archeopteryxes.

The main problem with this argument is, no matter how much you sugar-coat it, you will never get the typical classical fan to accept the demise of classical music. So enraptured with the greatest hits of the 18th and 19th centuries are they that no argument will persuade them to abandon the Greats. Not only that, but they can always give the rebuttal that Beethoven is still better than anything being written today. End of discussion.

The other problem with claiming the inheritance of classical music is that no one who doesn’t already listen to classical music is gonna care. So what if you’re not Mozart? You’re not Johnny Cash either, nor are you Public Enemy, or the Beatles, or DJ Shadow. In the early days of the Church, the belief was that you had to become a Jew before you could become a Christian. This meant adopting certain dietary laws and, for men, getting circumcised. Needless to say, this dissuaded a great many Gentiles from conversion. The situation seems similar for those being asked to accept the doctrine of Eclecticism, of New Music. Potential converts are expected to learn of the Classical masters, so they have something to compare the Modern, Contemporary, Eclectic, New music to. And for what? We have already made the argument that Classical music is dead! If it is dead, then no longer heed it. Leave the dead to bury the dead! And if it is living, it is still of no concern. We are trying to court a new audience for Eclecticism, not for the Classics. Would you ask your love to marry your parents, or yourself?

If I don’t get too distracted by that neat shiny thing over there, I shall take a look at some other arguments tossed about in support of “New Music,”* as well as propose an alternative or two. We shall see.

 

 

*I really, really, REALLY have to stop using these scare quotes. Maybe if I was convinced these words actually meant something…

 

New Home

I just moved to a new place this morning/afternoon. I’m already *mostly* unpacked, and halfways settled in. Sociable roomates, spacious room (I have both east and west windows!), and, most important of all, a stable internet connexion. Happy days!

I shan’t speak much  of my last apartment. I think I may have mentioned it in earlier posts, never with any optimism or kindness. But that’s behind me. I just gotta clean up, collect mail over the next few days, and turn in my keys.

So, perhaps now that I may be both idle and connected to the internet, I may be posting more. Or not. I’ve got stuffs to do the next few days, and in a couple weeks I’ll be flying to Minnesota for a wedding (and for seeing friends and family). And then school is right around the corner. In other words, don’t hold your breath too long. And don’t take any wooden nickels (whatever that means).