Here, courtesy of OM-Radio director Richard Friedman, were the composers at Other Minds this year: Louis Andriessen, I Wayan Balawan, Han Bennink, myself, Janice Giteck, David A. Jaffe, Jason Moran, Agata Zubel, and Other Minds director (and fantastic composer himself) Charles Amirkhanian:

Here I am giving a presentation on my music and suddenly realizing that I had subconsciously plagiarized the theme from “Baywatch”:

Here the Djerassi landscape takes a long look at me and notable Dutch jazz drummer Han Bennink:

Here I am breakfasting with one of my best friends in the world Janice Giteck, trying desperately to remember why I never stand in front of a light source:

Here Louis Andriessen, Agata Zubel, Janice, and Charles discuss contemporary music as I seriously contemplate finding another line of work:

And here’s the barn in which we met every day:

Thanks to Richard for all the great photos. They’re not coming out well-focussed here – I have no idea why, they look perfect on my computer. (UPDATE: Richard says to click on them and they open in-focus.)

Trimpin, whose mischievously adolescent sense of humor is one of his most endearing qualities, had the best joke of the week. David A. Jaffe had inherited a bunch of percussion from his teacher Henry Brant, and he used those instruments in his piece The Space Between Us. Included were about 25 chimes, and Trimpin had the idea of suspending the chimes from the ceiling and having them played via MIDI. So David’s piece had two string quartets, one on each side of the audience, plus a Disklavier onstage, a couple of MIDI-played xylophones, and the chimes hung from the ceiling. On the preceding panel, as the audience sat underneath those chimes, David explained that Trimpin had suggested suspending the chimes, but that he, David, was afraid that they would fall down and strike audience members. Charles asked, “So Trimpin, how are the chimes suspended from the ceiling?”, and Trimpin answered, “Oh, with very thin twine….” The Space Between Us was perhaps the festival highlight, with the string quartets playing ethereal melodies with the disembodied chimes in rhythmic unison. It was a fantastic week. I’ve found so many composer gigs disappointing that my expectations are permanently set at zero, but this was a crescendoing pleasure.

More about the recently-ended Other Minds festival soon, but first it is rather urgent to announce that my music department is hosting a colloquium on minimalist music this Saturday and Sunday, March 12 and 13. Eight scholars from Great Britain and America will convene to give papers, and the purpose is to initiate the process of putting together the Ashgate Companion to Minimalist Music, scheduled for publication in 2013. The papers will be presented as follows:

• Saturday, March 12:
• 10:00               Keith Potter, “Precursors: Mapping early Minimalism”
• 11:00               Pwyll Ap Sion, “Reference and Quotation in Minimalist and Post-Minimal music”
• 1:00                 Rebecca Eaton, “Minimalism/Post-Minimalism and Multimedia: Film, Television and Video”
• 2:00                 Kyle Gann, “Postminimalism” (most minimalist title I could come up with)
• 3:00                 David McIntire, “Totalism” (I’ve been a big influence on David’s titling style)
• Sunday, March 13:
• 10:00               John Pymm, “Minimalism and Narrativity”
• 11:00               Jonathan Bernard, “Minimalism and/versus Pop: Some questions (and maybe some answers)”
• 1:00                 David Dies, “Defining Spiritual Minimalism”

These papers represent almost half the book; we’ll be meeting with the European authors at the University of Wolverhampton in England, April 8-10. This one at Bard is a rather informal gathering, intended primarily for the scholars invited, but it is open to the public, and we’d be glad for anyone interested to attend. I am greatly indebted to my department chair James Bagwell and our dean Michéle Dominy for making the event possible. The location is Room 211 in Blum music building at Bard College. E-mail me for directions if you’re interested. 

However, one component of the event is completely public, and that will be David First’s concert on Saturday, March 12, in that same room at 6 PM. David is going to present some of his minimalist drone/slow-glissando music. Guitarists, of whom there are thousands at Bard, will be particularly interested, but David is someone who has not only kept a minimalist aesthetic alive into the 21st century, but made it dramatic, thrilling, and completely accessible, paradoxically while holding on to its most austere premises. I’m looking forward to giving all these minimalist scholars a big dose of his hair-on-the-back-of-the-neck-raising out-of-tuneness. So please feel free to join us. We give these smaller colloquia in off-years in-between the International Conferences on Minimalist Music, and the atmosphere at our gigs is positively effervescent. It’s not your grandfather’s musicology.

The Djerassi Foundation: Somewhere out there, beyond Neil Young’s cattle ranch, lies the Pacific Ocean:

Here  are composer David A. Jaffe, a Djerassi board member whose name I’ve forgotten, Other Minds co-founder Jim Newman, composers Agata Zubel, Louis Andriessen, I Wayan Balawan, and the legs and hands of photographer John Fago, listening to Janice Giteck’s music:

Here’s Agata, Janice, David, regular PostClassic reader and Other Minds radio producer Richard Friedman (hi Richard!) and me at the far end of a long, hilly, muddy walk:

 

And Trimpin showed up!:

The landscape rather seduced us into overextending ourselves, as Janice realized:

Composers not pictured yet: jazz drummer Han Bennink, and pianist Jason Moran, the latter of whom just showed up.

I do think of totalism (a style of complex tempo relationships, usually with limited harmonies and some vernacular influence) – or metametrics, as we used to call it in the verdant groves of Postclassica [he mused, stroking his chin] – as a style that crystallized in the 1990s and then waned. OK, we finally said, you can get your ensemble to play rhythms of eight against nine. What else can you do? But my colleague John Halle is one of the great unsung totalists, and occasionally I realize he’s still riding higher than ever on the tempo complexity wagon.

John’s not strictly my work colleague, because he’s at the Bard Conservatory and I’m in the Bard music department, which, confusingly, have little to do with each other. Although we’re based in the same building, I run into him about twice a year, less often than I see, say, John Luther Adams who lives in Alaska. But the student composers have started having Conservatory/music department forums, and the other night John Halle played us some music of his I hadn’t heard. How’s this for totalism?:

 

The piece is an homage to Thelonious Monk, called Spheres, and the first movement is based on the Monk tunes Straight, No Chaser and Brilliant Corners (you can see the former in the viola and the latter in the cello), the tunes used almost as tone rows. And, as in Nancarrow’s orchestra works, there are several tempos going throughout: quintuplets in the first violin, regular 8ths and quarters in the second violin, triplets in the viola, and septuplets in the cello. It’s crazy, but the centripetal force of those tunes ties the whole thing together, and, as in a lot of John’s music, the freedom of the tempos creates a lovely aural impression that the music isn’t notated or coordinated, it just happens. 

I’ll write rhythms like this for Disklavier (which I haven’t finished anything for in a long time, though I’m toying with returning). But I don’t write them, nor microtones, for live performers, on the grounds that performers seem to have enough reasons to avoid my music, and I don’t like to give them any new ones. And sure enough, the quartet John wrote Spheres for a few years ago, which will remain nameless here, never touched it. But he notes, as many have, that rhythmic complexity standards have risen miraculously among the younger generation, and he’s now gotten the first movement played by the young Afiara Quartet. I’ve uploaded a recording for you here. He says they play it even better now than on the recording, but he and I agreed, it’s a pretty damn accurate performance on the recording. Amazing. 

And, as I also do in my Disklavier pieces, John gets a wide range of densities by varying the repeating durations within individual lines, creating tempos within tempos. He may be the most metametric of us all, and refusing to mellow out. It’s inspiring:

We went to see The King’s Speech yesterday. Very enjoyable film, superb script, good performances, a classic feel-good movie yet a little unusual in its pacing and subject matter. But I’m not a film critic. Two things struck me. One was that it shared a lot of subject matter with Robert Ashley’s operas. Ashley overcame a temporary speech deficiency in high school, and his doctoral research (since Ross Lee Finney prevented him from becoming a composition major) was on stuttering. The tendency of swear words to slow down speech and allow the mind to think is a theme that runs through Atalanta, Foreign Experiences, and other Ashley works, and The King’s Speech reminded me of him over and over again. King George VI uses profanity as a way of getting past his speech impediment, something that Ashley alludes to frequently:

Instead, I learn to swear. Fuck, how simple!
It’s so mother-fucking simple. You Swear.
Instead of talking all the time, you swear.
And since foul language fucks the tempo,
The fucking thing slows down, and you start
Thinking again! [Foreign Experiences, Act III, lines 133-138]

Point two: The film’s major flaw, the one thing that jerked me out of it and deflated my suspension of disbelief, was the slapdash insertion of pieces by Beethoven in the final scenes. During King George’s historic address to the nation after Germany’s declaration of war, the background (or almost foreground) music is the slow movement of Beethoven’s Seventh. That was a little cheap, but arguably effective enough. But then, during his triumphant denouement, they play the second movement of the Emperor Concerto. First of all, the slow movement did not sound like an ending, but an inconclusive middle.* Secondly and most heinously, to celebrate this triumph of British determination over the Germans by playing German music in the background was absolutely tone-deaf (and yes, I am very well aware of the use of Beethoven’s Fifth in war-time as an Allied symbol for its dot-dot-dot-dash “V for Victory” association, but this was completely different in its effect). I could far better have accepted the Pomp and Circumstance marches as at least imbued with some cultural resonance. Instead, it was like the audience was assumed to be totally ignorant: “here’s a really touching moment, let’s throw in some classical music to make it sound appropriately solemn.” Thirdly, the scene deserved its own made-to-order music, not some DGG CD half-heartedly thrown on in the background. I had been wrapped up in the movie, and the music score ruined the ending for me completely. There’s no telling whether it was a stunning failure of imagination by the composer (Alexandre Desplat) or a resoundingly boneheaded decision by the director. But to anyone sufficiently educated to be even slightly susceptible to the cultural overtones, it was mother-fucking stupid.

*This same piece, the Emperor Concerto’s second movement, was also used for the Australian film Picnic at Hanging Rock, in which ambiguous and deceptively pastoral context it is infinitely more effective.

My students might have expected that an entire course about one piece of music would have a short listening list. But I’m asking them to listen to the following:

• Concord Sonata (seven recordings)
• Four Transcriptions from “Emerson”
• Emerson Concerto
• The Celestial Railroad
• Fourth Symphony, second movement
• Songs: “Thoreau,” “He Is There!,” “They Are There!”
• Brant/Ives: A Concord Symphony
• Piano Sonata No. 1
• 19 tracks of Ives playing or improvising on Concord Sonata material

 

 

Except for the First Sonata, thrown in for comparison, all of this is material directly drawn from or leading to the Concord Sonata. The piano piece The Celestial Railroad is a distillation of the “Hawthorne” movement programatically based on Hawthorne’s eponymous short story, and Ives orchestrated it to make the second movement of his Fourth Symphony – or else the piano piece was based on the symphony movement, experts aren’t sure. The Emerson Concerto, reconstructed by the late David Porter, seems like an odd and unfinished piece, but as an earlier version of some of the “Emerson” material, it gives revealing insights into the Concord. And of course, the seven Concord recordings differ remarkably not only in interpretation but in content, since some include the flute in “Thoreau” and some don’t, only two (Pappastavrou and Kalish) include the small viola part in Emerson as well, and all differ in which variants they used among the ones Ives penciled into a few dozen copies of the published score. It’s interesting working with students on a piece of music that has no definitive text. 

In addition, this is the most intensive reading course I’ve ever taught, with essays and stories by Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, Bronson and Louisa May Alcott, as well as Ives’s Essays Before a Sonata. I’m using a selection from the Journals of Bronson Alcott, which I bought at considerable expense once at The Barrow used-bookstore in Concord. Hawthorne’s “The Celestial Rail-road” is a satire on Pilgrim’s Progress, a famous old classic none of the students seemed to have ever heard of, though it still seemed famous when I was a kid; I thought of requiring that for background, too, but it seemed a little much. I did finally track down the article by Oxford professor Henry Sturt (1863-1946) that Ives quotes at length in the Essays. He cites it as Philosophy of Art and Personality, but it’s actually an article by Sturt called “Art and Personality” in an old 1902 collection titled Personal Idealism. (The copy in the Bard library is so brittle that pages snap off like matzo crackers if I’m not careful.) It’s not a great article, steeped in platitudes that may have seemed unassailable in 1902 and backed up with little more than appeals to conventional wisdom, but it’s easy to see why his emphasis on “enthusiasm” as the prime artistic emotion and his rejection of the alleged subjectivity of artistic criteria would have appealed to both Ives’s imagination and his conservative streak. It’s also interesting how many of Sturt’s phrases, like “high vitality” and “Byronic fallacy,” work their way into Ives’s prose even when he’s not intentionally quoting. Ives seems to have written the Essays much with Sturt in mind, granting the poor old Oxford don his one touch of immortality. 

I just hope the ice storm that’s getting under way here doesn’t interfere with tomorrow’s class. I’m getting too obsessed to consider canceling.

UPDATE: According to his obituary in a 1947 issue of Mind, which can hardly be taken as unobjective, Sturt was a proto-Fascist who believed in allegiance to the state and the superiority of northern Europeans. Yikes!

George Tsontakis just wrote to tell me that Milton Babbitt died this morning, just in time for me to get his death date into both my Ashley book and my introduction to the new edition of Cage’s Silence. I’ve written so much about him that I don’t have much left to say; it was a love-hate thing. I was looking up a reference in one of his Perspectives articles just this morning. The one time I met him (I was representing the ailing Nancarrow on a Babbitt/Nancarrow panel) he didn’t seem too thrilled. He was certainly a sharply-defined character. Had he not lived, we should have had to invent him.