BIFEM: Ensemble Vortex

Ensemble Vortex
Bendigo International Festival of Exploratory Music
Bendigo Bank Theatre
10:30pm, 5 September

Ensemble Vortex consists of four globetrotting performers united in their desire to play scores before the ink is dry. Meeting in a composition class at the Conservatoire de Genève, the works performed for their first concert at BIFEM share a theatrical if not irreverent aesthetic that hedges its bets with technique and gesture over colour and form. All three of the composers were present at the concert and their explanations of each work (including David Chisholm’s hilarious interview) can be streamed online via ABC Classic FM’s New Music Up Late. The concert opened with Fernando Garnero’s Limae Labor, which features obsessive scratching and scraping of stringed instruments, including the actual scraping of an electric guitar with a scourer. The scratching reflects the obsessive working and reworking of the rhythmic material of the piece.

Benôit Moreau’s Slappy’s Dance is at least nominally about a cartoon puppet that comes to life. The performers’ repetitive tapping and blowing eventually coalesce to, in the composer’s words, “make something happen.” Some interesting effects are produced with the application of a guitar slide to a violin and blasts of static as the piece reaches its siren-like climax.

David Chisholm’s Rung features a set of “bamboo punk” (as Chisholm put it) Indian temple bells played by a solenoid mechanism mounted in a bamboo frame. The bells, constructed by Benjamin Kolaitis, are triggered by the performers through sensitive foot pads. Rung is another of Chisholm’s commemorative pieces, for which the bells have particular relevance. The peal of bells unleashed by the solenoids is quite rapid and deafening, creating a highly-charged atmosphere within which guitarist Mauricio Carrasco played angular incantations. Bass clarinettist Anne Gillot and violinist Rada Hadjikostova-Schleuter provided the occasional chorus-like punctuation. A second episode saw a more peaceful texture with the bass clarinet swapped for the impossibly-mellow contrabass recorder.

If I may pose a distinction between “composerly” and “performerly” music (if only to deny it), the members of Ensemble Vortex brought a wonderfully ludic and immanently-creative atmosphere to the proceedings, reminding the audience of the close relationship between living composers and performers.Partial Durations is a RealTime/Matthew Lorenzon joint project.

BIFEM: Opening Concert, Argonaut Strings

Opening Concert
Argonaut Strings
The Capital Theatre
Bendigo International Festival of Exploratory Music
8:00pm, 5 September

Given that so little new music for strings is performed in Australia, a major concert dedicated to the genre was well overdue. BIFEM’s private stash of instrumentalists, the Argonaut Ensemble, was gradually augmented as the concert progressed from a violin solo to a work for thirteen players. This poetic gesture was coupled with a progressive exploration of the range of sounds and techniques available on the instruments, ranging from simple timbral studies to expansive works combining the wide range of colours of the string orchestra with thematic writing.

The concert opened with the oldest piece in the festival, Jean Barraqué’s Sonate pour violon seul from 1949. With trance-like serenity, Graeme Jennings brought the sonata to the stage of the Bendio Capital Theatre like an apparition from the past. Written in the composer’s early serialist style, the piece seems to speak a long-lost language of attacks and articulations. Though composed while Barraqué was a student of Olivier Messiaen, it was thought to have been lost until its rediscovery in 2009 making it a paradoxically contemporary work. The festival was dotted with such curiosities that helped one take stock of the breadth of the last century of music that we still like to call “contemporary” or “new.”

Back to the twenty-first century and Francisco Huguet’s Damora was the first of many “one-idea” pieces that would become a point of contention in Saturday’s discussion panel “Duration and Durability.” Like Barraqué’s sonata, Damora‘s inclusion has a certain pedagogical intent. The piece distils the two extremes of bow pressure that dominate contemporary string writing: shimmering, whispering light bowing and creaking, crunching heavy bowing. To begin with, the double bass and violin duo trill while scrubbing back and forth across the strings, producing a complex warbling effect. This sound transitions into a more strident chordal texture including many chiming harmonics. The overall effect is dirty and fragile, full of the fruity bow sound that the nineteenth century worked so hard to conceal and that composers revel in today.

The almost inaudible scraping of bow on string or grinding pressure would become familiar introductory sequences throughout the festival and Marielle Groven’s trio Je ne vois qu’infini par toutes les fenêtres [I see only infinity through all of the windows] was no exception. Groven explored the techniques up and down the strings, from the fingerboard to the bridge. Three little flutters in unison in the middle of the piece provided a focal point around which the complex of sound coalesced.

Expanding the ensemble’s forces to a septet, the Parisian conductor Maxime Pascal (recently lauded by a chocolate company in Salzburg) entered to conduct David Chisholm’s Jonestown Threnody. Jonestown Threnody is one of the composer’s many “requiem” pieces, though rarely does a requiem depict in quite so chilling a manner the death of its subject. The initial chaos of moans and squeals from the strings is shockingly similar—possibly even more shocking in its aesthetic amplification of the sounds—to the existing recordings of the mass suicide (many would say mass murder) of 918 people in 1978. Chisholm’s morbid fascination with the sound leads to variations with wide vibrato, disintegrating descending lines and some thematic imitation.

Liza Lim’s Gothic follows nicely from Chisholm’s because both composers use melodic material as one of many techniques in their incredibly dense musical environments. Lim is without doubt the contemporary master of declamatory, melodic invention. Pascal brought out the dynamic shapes Lim uses to bring her lines to life, giving the ensemble more than enough to work with in terms of physical gesture.

Then came the standout work of the concert, perhaps even of the festival: Claude Vivier’s Zipangu. As Pascal explained to the audience, the piece is characteristic of Vivier’s work with its ceremonial or ritualistic form, its exploration of colour and its development from a single melody (a technique adopted from Stockhausen, one of Vivier’s teachers). Zipangu was one of the names for Japan at the time of Marco Polo and the string orchestra is divided into two sides, who take turns invoking (Pascal mused) the spirit of Marco Polo with their incantations coloured by varieties of bow pressure and position. The addition of violinist Rada Hadjikostova-Schleuter seemed to have an electrifying effect on the orchestra, especially when she would launch into her muscular rendition of the piece’s recurring violin solo.

You can listen back to the whole concert online thanks to ABC Classic FM.

Partial Durations is a Matthew Lorenzon/RealTime joint project.

 

BIFEM: Ensemble Vortex, Kinecticut

Vortex Ensemble
Kinecticut
Bendigo International Festival of Contemporary Music
Bendigo Art Gallery
7:00pm, 5 September

Daniel Zea’s Kinecticut is “a sonorous choreography played by three or four naked dancer-musicians in front of their laptops” or, from the audience’s perspective, behind their laptops, which illuminate their bodies in glorious short-wavelength blue light. It is the sort of lighting most commonly experienced in private, but is here used in an exploration of the relationship between bodies and technology, a fitting complement to the Bendigo Art Gallery’s exhibition of Ancient Greek art, The Body Beautiful.

Each performer follows a score of movements that appears on their screen. The choreography is then captured by X-Box Kinect cameras. The position of different limbs determines different characteristics of the sound including envelopes and filters. Volume is controlled by the amount of the field of computer-vision occupied by the body. the sounds being controlled are banal enough, Zea’s sound palette moving through prickling grains, seething waves and electronic bleeps. An artificial voice occasionally offers snatches of text referring to social relations and digital technologies.

The performance was beautiful: Ensemble Vortex appeared as moving statues in the middle of the Bendigo Art Gallery, appropriately placed in front of four of Bill Henson’s less controversial photographs.  However,  the conceptual conceit of the work soon wears thin. As the composer writes, “[t]he musical instrument thus becomes the distance between the body and the machine: the space of relation between the man and the computer. The dialogue is composed of the choice of the movements of the man and, on the part of the machine, some temporal and verbal impositions. The man and the machine are actor and spectator, active and passive at the same time. The supremacy of the one over the other is not established or determined.” But it is determined, as was laid bare (no pun intended) when one performer’s laptop malfunctioned at the beginning of the performance. In what I think was an admirable decision, he would not touch the computer himself, but waited for another performer to intervene. What that event showed was that, ultimately, our relationship with machines is completely one-way. We program them, switch them off and switch them on. Only in very special sci-fi scenarios can a machine turn off a human. Perhaps more pointedly, Kinecticut shows that our relationship to technology is contractual. We decide to be drawn, sometimes naked, to them like moths. Perhaps the more important question is whether this contractuality pertains to our relationship to other parts of our society: to politics, class and gender. They can break down, yes. But which of these things can we switch off?

BIFEM: Julian Day, Lovers

Julian Day
Lovers (installation)
Bendigo International Festival of Exploratory Music
La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre
6:00pm, 6 September

Julian Day's Lovers. Photo by Matthew Lorenzon
Julian Day’s Lovers. Photo by Matthew Lorenzon

In Lovers, Julian Day pins two pairs of matching synthesisers to the floor and ceiling of the La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre with metal rods. The wit of this simple installation becomes evident as you move around the room, listening to the droning, beating, dissonant sevenths and ninths emitted by the four Casio keyboards. An earlier version of the installation was called Twinversion, which highlights its very material practice of musical inversion. Day’s playful approach to the concept is entirely warranted by inverson’s own varied and non-standardised practice. Since the beginning of music notation (and probably beforehand) composers found that they could invert a melody by loosely flipping its contour on a horizontal axis, that is, when restating a melody, they could “go down” where they “went up” and “go up” where they “went down” in the melody’s first appearance. In music from the baroque period onward, “inversion” can also mean taking one or more of the notes from the bottom of a chord and putting it on top of the chord while keeping the other notes of the chord in the same place.

In the twentieth century a range of more precise inversions were developed, aided by mathematised music theory. If one represents the pitches of the chromatic scale as the numbers 0–11 and represents a chord as a set of these numbers, say the C-major chord [0, 4, 7], then one can very precisely invert a chord, or a melody, or an entire piece if one wanted to, by choosing a point of symmetry and adding and subtracting the interval between that point of symmetry and each note, but in the opposite direction. In the same way as the notes of the chromatic scale loop after every twelve semitones, the numbers here are imagined, like a clock face, to loop between 11 and 0. In the case of the C-major chord, one can choose 0 as the point around which to invert the C-major chord and produce the chord [0, 8, 5], or an F-minor chord (in this example, the order of the notes and their absolute pitch, or placement in particular registers, is not important). Mathematicians will talk about a function, such as the inversion described above, “mapping” each element of a set onto another. A function can be expressed as an arrow when illustrating these maps, as in the diagram below.

A function f from X to Y. Wikipedia. Public Domain.
A function f from X to Y. Wikipedia. Public Domain.

And this is what I thought of when I saw Day’s keyboards pinned by metal rods to the ceiling. But just what sort of function are Day’s metal poles? Each keyboard plays the same notes as its inverted twin. There is thus no inversion at work in the senses described above. The first pole simultaneously plays the lowest and and the highest notes of the chord. The second plays the second lowest and the second highest. The function is thus one from the same to the same, but each path between the notes is different. The function is one of absolute intimacy where the other is the same, where each part of one chord knows every note of the other.

The installation runs until October 5, 2014.

BIFEM: Zubin Kanga’s Cushion Concert for Kids

Zubin Kanga
Cushion Concert
The Bendigo Bank Theatre
Bendigo International Festival of Exploratory Music
10:30am, 5 September

What better way for the Bendigo International Festival of Exploratory Music to get under way than with a new music concert for kids? Pianist Zubin Kanga didn’t hold back, but gave a full-blooded new music recital including movements from George Crumb’s Makrokosmos, Helmut Lachenmann’s Guero, David Young’s graphic score Not Music Yet, Claudia Molitor’s Tango and part of George Benjamin’s Piano Figures. The result was somewhere between a social experiment and a performance art piece as forty or so children clambered around the piano, ran around the room and coloured in printouts of piano keyboards.

I would err on the side of performance art piece. The “Bendigo Bank Theatre” may not sound like much, but it is in fact an opulent nineteenth-century salon adorned with golden Masonic suns, moons and eyes. The dark wooden door frames sport squares and compasses and in the corner lurks what appears to be a marvelous old square piano (but it could just as well be some sort of ceremonial dais). With that in mind, imagine Zubin Kanga bent over a grand piano in the middle of the room, growling and strumming his way through George Crumb’s indescribably creepy “The Phantom Gondolier” while children run in circles around a square of wooden rises intended, at least symbolically, to separate the throng from the performer. On the side of a social experiment, it was great to see how children react naturally to contemporary music, even when they appear not to be paying any attention at all. When Kanga played surging, flowing lines in response to Young’s swirling graphic score the children ran around the room. When he played thumping chords they jumped on the wooden rises and when he played a loud cluster with a forearm they, not surprisingly, yelled. Interestingly, when Kanga vaulted across the piano in Molitor’s Tango, the children stayed well away, apart from one impossibly small infant who put a pause to the entire proceedings. It was nice, amid the noise, to be able to make comments in a concert without worrying about being told off. I imagine the atmospheres at eighteenth-century concerts were not dissimilar, apart from the colouring-in, though that would be a great addition to concerts everywhere.

Brett Thompson and the Australian Art Orchestra: Atlas, Herbal, Ritual

The Australian Art Orchestra with Brett Thompson
Atlas, Herbal, Ritual
The Melbourne Recital Centre
14 July, 2014

Atlas, Herbal, Ritual is a tripartite, durational work that coerces and betrays the audience into different modes of listening. the first part consists of subtly-constructed sounds held together by intense silences. The Australian Art Orchestra provided Thompson with an accomplished ensemble, including several composers in their own rights, who sat and stood motionless around Thompson’s laptop and monitors. Once the audience focused in on the stillness of the ensemble, one became aware of the way silence framed the occasional shuffles from the players. A barely perceptible patch of static momentarily fills the void before disappearing. Gradually, scraping and blowing on trumpets and percussion instruments provide a new layer of sonic activity. Thompson plays on the audibility of gestures. Peter Knight’s use of a CD as a trumpet mute produced a breathy, rattling effect, while James Rushford’s bowing of the side of his viola was more of a visual treat. I like to think of this opening sequence as a sort of overture or frame for what is to come, a sensitisation of the audience to the level of activity at which the first half (though, for all the audience knows, the entire concert) operates. Eventually, the disparate sounds are combined to form new colours, then taken apart one-by-one to reveal their constituent parts. The most effective of these moments seemed to be when the hard, rattling sound of a bowed cymbal gave way to reveal a high trumpet tone, which was then removed to reveal a pure electronic tone.

A performative (or ritualistic) interlude provided some pathos and comic relief. Each member of the ensemble approached a microphone in the center of the stage, told an autobiographical story, usually an uncomfortable one, and proceeded to squeeze and drink the juice of a lemon. I quite liked the one about someone telling their friends at school they found a character on The Nanny hot. But which one was it?

In a wonderful betrayal of the close-listening trust built with the audience, the second half of the concert was loud and messy. One audience member, much distressed by this turn of events, ran out of the Salon. A slide used on the electric guitar lent a gritty, post-rock feel to the proceedings as the ensemble blared and crashed away. Thompson is one of the few composers in Australia drawing on German minimalism to develop daringly sparse and durational works. That said, more development is possible. Whether loud or soft, the regularity with which each idea passed over into the next produced a sense of predictability and monotony. I, for one, would liked to have heard the remarkable colour-building and deconstruction of the first half explored more fully and over different durations.

Eine Brise Bendigo: A call for bikes

It may seem counter-intuitive, but Victoria does not actually have the most cyclists per capita in Australia. That award goes, according to the 2013 Australian Cycling Participation survey, to the Northern Territory, which has the highest percentage of regular cyclists in both metropolitan and regional areas. The NT is followed closely by the ACT, with its novel footpath-riding laws and network of bike paths. Canberra could not, however, be considered Australia’s most “bike-friendly” city. From my own personal survey (though I have never been cycling in Darwin), I can claim that Melbourne is the city where you are least likely to have a bottle, a handful of fast food wrappers, or abuse hurled at you. It might be said that Melbourne’s attitude to cycling is more passionate than it is widespread and if, like me, you form part of the immense cross-section of people who both love cycling and love contemporary music, then you are thinking about how to get your bike to the Bendigo International Festival of Exploratory Music on Friday.

If you hadn’t thought about the ease of coasting between venues on your own two-wheeled steed, then there is another reason to do so. BIFEM will be hosting a performance of Mauricio Kagel’s work for 111 bicycles, Eine Brise.The “Transient Action” requires the riders to form a single, noisy peloton and careen through the streets performing pre-established sequences of sounds including ringing bells, whistling and so on. Unfortunately the organisers are a little short of the desired number, though the performance can still go ahead with reduced forces.

If you’d like to participate, sign up here. The only commitment required from you is to attend a rehearsal at 1pm on Sunday at the Tom Flood velodrome (which will be very close to the action on your bike). This is one hour before the performance wreaks its ecstatic havoc upon the city of Bendigo.

Now, to the problem of getting your beloved bicycle to Bendigo. The good news is that bikes can travel free on VLine trains from Melbourne. The bad news is that the trains running to Bendigo have limited space for bikes and there could be a glut of Brisers on Friday morning. I would therefore like to ask anybody driving to Bendigo with spare room on their bike rack or ute (you’re taking your ute to BIFEM, right?) to please offer that space to cyclists, perhaps in the comments below, who might otherwise not be able to participate.

I hope to see and hear you in the Eine Brise peloton!

Did Opera die with Puccini? – Opera Australia’s New Season

The announcement of Opera Australia’s 2015 season a few weeks back was greeted with more yawning than outrage. The repertoire is obviously conservative, the productions staid (Moffatt Oxenbould’s Madama Butterfly again?), and the inclusion of Anything Goes was viewed as a cynical attempt to boost box-office revenue at the expense of opera performers (and orchestral musicians) who would otherwise be on the stage of the Joan Sutherland Theatre (1).

I thought it might be fun to compare 2015’s repertoire with Opera America’s list of the most performed operas in the world. Let’s compare this list with, say, the Lyric Opera of Chicago (with a budget twice that of Opera Australia). And let’s look at what the Nuremberg State Opera is offering:

Opera Australia World Ranking Chicago Ranking N.S. Opera Ranking
La Traviata 1 Tosca 5 La Traviata 1
La bohème 3 Don Giovanni 10 Magic Flute 4
Magic Flute 4 Il Trovatore 20 Marriage of Figaro 8
Tosca 5 Tannhäuser 50 Hansel and Gretel 15
Butterfly 6 Capriccio ? Turandot 17
Marriage of Figaro 8 Porgy and Bess ? Masked Ball 24
Aida 12 Anna Bolena ? Tristan 36
Elixir of Love 13 The Passenger ? Sigfried 42
Turandot 17 The Property Premiere Les Huguenots ?
Faust 34 El Pasado Nunca se Termina Premiere King Roger ?
Don Carlos 43 Carousel Musical Damnation of Faust ?
Anthing Goes Musical Quai Ouest Premiere
Singin’ in the Rain Musical
My Fair Lady Musical
Ritter Eisenfrass Operetta

This small sample tells us that while Nuremberg and Chicago have their fair share of standard repertory items in their seasons, there are always some curiosities (like King Roger or Anna Bolena), some premieres and some lighter fare. OA’s season presents neither curiosities nor premieres.

Why is OA’s season so conservative?

The federal public subsidy for opera in Australia is highly lopsided. Here is a summary of funding for the four major Australian companies for financial year 2012-2013 (2):

Company Government(s) ($millions) Other ($millions) Staff Productions
Opera Australia 25.2 (25%) 74.8 (75%)
State Opera of South Australia 2.95 (58%) 2.12 (42%) 4 4
West Australia Opera 2.29 (42%) 3.14 (58%) 14 4
Opera Queensland 3.02 (53%) 2.59 (47%) 17 4

The Federal Government has put all its operatic eggs in a single basket, granting Sydney the greatest access to professional opera in the nation.

Since the merger of the Victorian State Opera with the Australian Opera in 1996, the resultant Opera Australia has played a season in Melbourne each year; however, Melburnians generally only see half of the productions presented in Sydney.

It may seem that OA is merely responding to the wishes of its benefactors, who may demand to see the favourites. Yet the Chicago Lyric Opera has an annual revenue of roughly US$70 million, of which perhaps US$200,000 comes from government support – clearly, philanthropists are happy to fund new and/or interesting works. Instead, I believe the blame lies squarely with the company’s artistic director. Lyndon Terrancini seems to believe opera died in 1926 with Turandot – and the focus on glitzy events like Opera on the Harbour or South Pacific have turned the company into a tourist attraction rather than an opera company for the city. Here are a few quotes:

‘In all our research we find that if people come to a contemporary opera and they don’t like it, we can’t get them back. The biggest complaint they have is, and this is a quote, they “hated the music”.’

‘[New Music] has become so driven by academics and I mean this pompous academic attitude to making music, I mean it’s just mad’ (The Australian, 31 March, 2012).

The logic is simple: new music sounds awful and is difficult for people unfamiliar with opera to hear. But as readers of this blog would be well aware, consonance did not die with Puccini in 1926. Witness the extraordinary success of the meandering post-post-tonal works of Glass and Adams, the most-performed opera composers around today. Or the playful pastiche of Judith Weir, whose four operas received eight performances worldwide in the 2012/13 season. Indeed, one doesn’t have to return to the 19th century to find 20th and 21st century composers who wrote approachable music (it’s odd to see Janaček and Britten unrepresented this year or last). Even so-called ‘difficult’ works can be popular with audiences – Zimmermann’s Die Soldaten sold 5000 tickets at $250 each in 2008 in New York (New York Times, 7 July, 2008).

Since its inception, Opera Australia has presented thirteen premieres of varying quality (3). Commissioning is risky: witness the wide gap that exists between The Eighth Wonder and Bliss. And larger companies are poorly resourced to support the development of new works. Since rehearsal time is inherently more expensive for them, it is difficult to allocate enough time to really iron out new works’ teething problems. The mighty Metropolitan Opera began a commissioning programme in 2006 which was beset with many difficulties, not least being its equally mammoth resources which had difficulty adapting to works with requirements outside the usual repertory. The first fruits of this programme didn’t reach audiences until 2013 with Two Boys, only the fifth premiere at the Met in the previous forty years.

I believe that it is silly to expect OA to perform new Australian works. The risk-averse tenure of Lyndon Terrancini has ensured that only well-established composers will be represented – if at all. This is not necessarily a loss to Australian audiences. Companies such as the Victorian Opera are commissioning and performing new work, and presenting innovative productions of firm favourites (their production this year of La traviata was one the most thought-provoking I have ever seen). What needs to change is the disproportionate public subsidy afforded to OA. If wealthy tourists wish to see a dull production of a repertory staple at the Opera House, perhaps they should pay a greater share of the production costs in their ticket. Public subsidies for the arts should go some way to advancing that form – not just in the production of new work, but in the presentation and access to old works. A fairer distribution of the meager funding may allow some smaller state companies to advance their innovative fare, and respond to a younger opera audience who doesn’t wish to be condescended to.

Note: Kate Miller-Heidke’s The Rabbits, an hour-long children’s opera, will be presented in Melbourne for seven performances. The work was commissioned by the Melbourne Festival and the Perth International Arts Festival, and is not part of the subscription season. While the results may be intriguing, its brevity in both presentation and duration may prevent any serious critical interest.

(1) The inclusion of lighter fare is not unknown to opera companies, allowing a great degree of cross-subsidisation. In 1971, the Nuremberg State Opera bookended Luigi Nono’s noisy and highly-Marxist Intolleranza 1970 with Die Csádásfürstin and Kiss Me, Kate – an operetta and a Broadway musical respectively. But at least these choices were appropriate for an opera house – requiring large orchestras, choruses, larger voices and little dancing in comparison to Anything Goes, which has a relatively small cast yet requires a preponderance of triple-threats.

(2) There are few other major companies, the most prominent being Early Music-focused Pinchgut in Sydney, the omnivorous Victorian Opera and the Melbourne Opera. Finally, there are a great number of smaller companies who either regularly perform chamber or smaller works, or do not present an opera each year (CitiOpera, Chamber Made Opera, Harbour City Opera, etc.).

(3) The Little Mermaid by Anne Boyd (1985); Metamorphosis by Brian Howard (1985); Voss by Richard Meale (1986); Whitsunday by Howard (1988); Mer de glace by Richard Meale (1992); The Golem by Larry Sitsky (1993); The Eighth Wonder by Alan John (1995); Summer of the Seventeenth Doll by Richard Mills (1999); Batavia by Richard Mills (2001); Love in the Age of Therapy by Paul Grabowsky (OzOpera 2002); Lindy by Moya Henderson (2003); Madeline Lee by John Haddock (2004); Bliss (2010) by Brett Dean

-Alexander O’Sullivan

 

Partial Durations is a Matthew Lorenzon/RealTime joint project.

Liam Flenady on Darmstadt

Over at Usage and Continuation, composer Liam Flenady has been reflecting with his usual incisiveness upon his sojourn at Darmstadt, where a spate of works under the “New Conceptualist” moniker were garnering general disapproval. In Flenady’s words:

This movement seems to think music can be rescued by spectacle (going by the name, here, of ‘concept’ or even ‘Gehalt’). In general I found these pieces devoid of much musical interest or political worth. Where ‘politics’ has entered it has been negative and simplistic and centred on what could be called ‘middle class alienation’ (usually via technology).  seeking to repoliticise music through spectacle  sound decidedly worthless.

I can’t comment on the works myself, having not been there, but how much these works depart from previous outbursts of situationism, “stage-action,” or a good deal of the music theatre in Europe over the past forty years remains to be seen. I understand the movement received an implicit critique from Lachenmann during his lecture as a regression to musical “idiocy.” A discussion panel “New Conceptualism: A Dead End or a Way Out?” from 4 August can be streamed here. Flenady’s response sums up my own doubts:

Firstly, while I agree with Small that the essence of music is performance (and therefore participation), and that music needs to go beyond its alienated concert-hall-existence to deal with politics and to set bodies in motion, the essence of modern art music as alienated cannot be wished away. Moreover, Adorno was quite right, music must subtract itself as far as possible to gain some degree of truth. Attempts to go beyond art music’s abstraction in the modern context will more often than not lapse into semblance and spectacle – all the more insidious in that it feigns to be reappropriating its outside.

So I’m further convinced of the necessity of abstract chamber music.

Stefan Cassomenos plays Carl Vine

Medley Hall. Photo by Matthew Lorenzon
Medley Hall. Photo by Matthew Lorenzon

On Sunday night I had the pleasure of once again hearing Stefan Cassomenos perform to a packed Medley Hall salon. The concert served as a test-run for a series of concerts Cassomenos will be giving in Germany following his Second Grand Prize in the International Telekom Beethoven Piano Competition last year. He was pleased to announce that he has been expressly invited to perform Carl Vine’s Toccatissimo, the idea being that while audiences were interested in a little contemporary Australian music, they wouldn’t want more than five minutes of it! The piece is frightfully clever, moving from sweeping gestures across the piano worthy of Prokofiev, to ticklish pointillistic passages, all while being invaded by awkward, tumbling, loping themes.

 

 

Partial Durations is a Matthew Lorenzon/RealTime joint project.