Sonic Revelations, Sonic Revolutions

I think that the discussion that we had on Wednesday was the best we’ve had in a while.  We were just into it, and some interesting points were thrown out there.  I was think about it after, and just wanted to add a thought of my own.  I agree with what Jackson was saying – how many (a majority of) people only want to hear what’s familiar, only want to hear the things that they already know, sampled over and over again.  The more widely circulated and more often heard the song, the bigger the cheer it gets in concert.  And yeah, I agree that being closed-minded and hostile to new music isn’t a good thing… But I was thinking about that very point while I was running, listening to a favorite song from years ago, and I found that there is another spin off of this point.  Although there may not that much debate about what I’m about to say, I just wanted to put it out there.  As I was running, I just had a playlist going, because who wants to be searching for songs to listen to while exercising, and it was on shuffle, so I didn’t know what song was coming up next… And as it switched, I knew right away what it was.  Despite the freezing cold I started to smile, and to run faster.  It was Shed a Little Light, by James Taylor, an uplifting tune that I’ve been hearing probably since before I was born.  It’s one of my Mom’s favorites.  As the song progressed, I fell completely into step with it, and it allowed me to run faster for longer, and by the way enjoy it.  So after the song ended, I was thinking about what caused my burst of energy, and here’s the conclusion that I came to: It’s about a relationship with the song. To me, music is not just a sonic experience. It can be, but generally I’m looking for some sort of emotional response, or some sort of story as well. Because of the versatility and wide scope of music, I don’t think that we can just write people off for never wanting to listen to new things – maybe they are hearing new things, in each story, and in each circumstance that they first hear a song.  And if all they want to hear is familiar music and familiar themes (which seems to be the case), it is perhaps not because they don’t want to hear new things, but just because they have already built a relationship with the songs that they already know and so things outside of strictly the sonic experience give them a greater experience on the whole – emotions, memories, vivid stories, etc.  I’m not saying that I don’t love hearing new things, but when an old favorite comes on, it carries a lot of baggage (usually not a bad thing), and it can get a bigger emotional response, regardless of the complexity of the music. Yeah.

In class, I’ve generally found myself referring to how a song made me feel, or how a certain component effected me, rather than speaking in terms of what the piece itself was doing. So that’s what i’m going to attempt to do here:Vicissitudes begins in a style that I considered to be intense, frantic, and spinning with runs.  However, every subsequent time I listened to the piece, I felt it less and less frantic, but still intense.  The difference was as I listened to it again and again, I began to notice much more purpose and much less panic in the structure.  Because, however, the first half of the piece is built on jarring, spiking, crossing voices, the silences are very emphasized, especially the silence that occurs almost exactly in the middle of the piece.  We agreed in class that the piece could be split in to two sections down this center line.  This second half is identified by its quiet and tender nature, with fewer components and more single line melodies.  It is ephemeral in the high voices, with chords and structure underneath. I generally focused on the single line or chord progression in the middle voice, beneath the lighter stuff on top.  Finally, the voice comes in.  The instrumentation around it remains soft and light.  The tone of the voice emphasizes f, sh, and s - and is somewhat whispered.  It is in a middle to deep register, which produces a calming quality. The orchestration seeks to emphasize certain words… And then toward the end, the voice drops out and the instruments lose their calm, becoming a section of constant movement and vibration.  The piece ends abruptly, and I would agree with what was said in class – it seems as if there is a coda tacked on to the ending of the piece – as if it ends and then keeps going for just a bit. Now I’ll listen to it again. 

I loved the concert. I loved this piece.  The reflections, echos, and repetitions between the pairs of instruments was amazing, and kept the piece in constant motion.  I especially loved the play between the two pianos.  The rhythms were interesting and complex for each of the two pianists, but together the rhythms sounded regular and full.  As the backbone for the piece, the pianos would play a series of chords, over and over in a certain rhythm – and they were right on.  Not only was it awesome, it was also almost machinelike (in a good way) in the clean performance of the piece.  I found it hard to hear anything but the two driving pianos, setting the mood and rhythm, creating a whirl of motion and a framework for the other instruments in the piece.  The vibraphones were also interesting, how they played off the pianos and off each other… and the other instruments, above this base, created a gorgeous melody and a beautifully complex tapestry… but all I could focus on was the pianos. When the piece was coming to an end, I could sense it, and I was not happy about it.  I was honestly unsure of how it could stop, and if I would be ok if it did. But still as the piece came to a close, it seemed right, and it turned out that I was alright after all.  Reich’s piece is one of my favorites so far, and I would second that if Eighth Blackbird had another performance I would be there, and if they had a CD of this piece, I would buy it.  I really loved it.

I listened to The Farthest Place – it is the piece that I chose to outline.  I saw the piece as creating a sonic bubble – not necessarily seamless, but a rippling whole, in which both the high and low notes define the boundaries of this space.  A melody floats on top of these mixtures of sound, but I really felt that what was important within this piece was the space it created.  For my timeline, I chose to organize it around the entering and exiting of the percussion… but I only chose this because it helps the listener to follow the progression of the piece. In reality, the point is to float in the sonic bubble, to be lost in the swirl of tones that the piece creates.  I felt that the piece was not one to be necessarily followed – it was more of the feeling of being in the piece.  The title was very appropriate, with the tones weaving together the view of a space beyond the boundary of “the bubble”. I feel that many of John Luther Adams’ pieces have this quality – they seem to present an image that is far off, or very broad in scope. The image is very beautiful. 

It is, as Professor Alegant noted, truely terrifying at times.  I really enjoyed the surreal mixing of ominous syllables and tone in the voice with more longing strains, as well as very effectively placed percussion and brass. It’s the kind of piece that keeps building, but at no point comes to an ultimate climax; tension is retained throughout. What really got me was actually the breathing noise at the very beginning – as I drew in my timeline, I got the immediate impression of a gas mask, and a horrifying but somehow mysterious scene. The piece opens up into distinct sections for me: these sections are defined by a certain instrument and kind of tone. In the beginning, it is the breathing; next, the male voice, with a dark tone.  Later, the brass would define a section.  Outlining this piece was very hard for me – As you saw, I started out with noted times, and then basically just drew what i felt I was hearing in each section.  Although it seemed to work at the time, I don’t think that this was the most effective way of going about it – Looking back on the timeline, it was at the very least hard to follow. I should have been more specific…
But at any rate, I really enjoyed/was disturbed by this piece.

Feldman’s music is beautiful… At first I wasn’t so sure about him, when we were told that “it is understood that his music is to be played very quietly..” I was afraid that however beautiful, it would put me to sleep.  Of course, it turned out that I was very wrong.  In some music, a composer will add a soft dynamic in order to compel the listener to lean forward and be drawn in to the music.  Although soft, the energy of the piece remains. In Feldman’s music, this phenomenon is present throughout, creating a beautiful mixture of sound and silence.  I most love the choral components of his work, with strange soaring intervals that sound both haunting and pure.  Feldman’s work is refreshing, and his style of notation is intriguing – although it frustrates me to some extent when a piece may be unrecognizable from one performance to the next.  At any rate, Feldman’s music is gorgeous, and very easily enjoyed.

Reading the articles about Feldman, especially “The Anxiety of Art”, I was struck by a strange association. I’ve recently been re-reading The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand, and I just wanted to take a minute to point out what I see as connections between the philosophy of Feldman, and the philosophy of Rand. Towards the beginning of the book, Rand presents the problem with relying on the past – in this case, in a reference to architecture. I think the quote that best embodies this is the one I will paste below – it’s from Chapter 1:
“But I don’t understand. Why do you want me to think that this is great
architecture?” He pointed to the picture of the Parthenon.
“That,” said the Dean, “is the Parthenon.”
“So it is.”
“I haven’t the time to waste on silly questions.”
“All right, then.” Roark got up, he took a long ruler from the desk, he walked
to the picture. “Shall I tell you what’s rotten about it?”
“It’s the Parthenon!” said the Dean.
“Yes, God damn it, the Parthenon!”
The ruler struck the glass over the picture.
“Look,” said Roark. “The famous flutings on the famous columns–what are they
there for? To hide the joints in wood–when columns were made of wood, only
these aren’t, they’re marble. The triglyphs, what are they? Wood. Wooden beams,
the way they had to be laid when people began to build wooden shacks. Your
Greeks took marble and they made copies of their wooden structures out of it,
because others had done it that way. Then your masters of the Renaissance came
along and made copies in plaster of copies in marble of copies in wood. Now here
we are, making copies in steel and concrete of copies in plaster of copies in
marble of copies in wood. Why?”
Feldman seems to have the same aversion to simply copying the ideas of the past, and a cynical view of the artist, who gives in to “the tempting knowledge that nothing succeeds in art—like someone else’s success”. I believe that Feldman’s philosophy is embodied in another quote from the article: “For ten years of my life I worked in an environment committed to neither the past nor the future. We worked, that is to say, not knowing where what we did belonged, or whether it belonged anywhere at all. What we did was not in protest against the past. To rebel against history is still to be part of it. We were simply not concerned with historical processes. We were concerned with sound itself. And sound does not know its history.”  

Layer upon layer of simple repetitive lines play alongside a spoken mantra, creating a weave of interest, beauty, and intensity.  In Coming Together, the parts are well acted – not just those of the individual voices, but also in the instrumental emphasis of the words.  I loved this piece – It easily kept my full interest the whole time.  The limited number of phrases did not bore me. On the contrary, they made it possible for me to focus on both the poem and the song, without feeling like I was missing anything.  When certain words were brought to the focus, either through repetition, or instrumental emphasis, the meaning within the piece came out.  ”I am deliberate, sometimes even calculated”… I feel that Rzewski thought long and hard about his choice of words, and his choice of instruments.  At times I didn’t know whether I should laugh at the overly dramatized spoken word or hurry to write down each word, as if it were THE TRUTH. The build-up throughout the piece is awesome, as it becomes increasingly complex and exciting.  The piece is insistent and impassioned – listening to it again, I was agitated and energized – and couldn’t focus on what I was trying to write, as you can see from the mess above.  But nevertheless, this piece was awesome and I loved it.

So I just looked up the background of this song, and I think that it’s really interesting, so I’ll paste it in here:
“In September 1971 inmates of the state prison at Attica in the state of New York, unable to endure further the intolerable conditions existing there, mutinied and succeeded in capturing a part of the institution, as well as a number of guards, whom they held as hostages. Foremost among their demands during the ensuing negotiations was the recognition of their right “to be treated as human beings”. After several days of inconclusive bargaining, Governor Rockefeller ordered state troopers in to retake the prison by force, justifying his action on the grounds that the lives of the hostages were in danger. In the slaughter that followed, forty-three persons lost their lives, including several of the hostages. One of these was Sam Melville, a political prisoner already known for his leadership in the Columbia riots and one of the leaders in the mutiny at Attica. According to some accounts, Sam was only slightly wounded in the assault. The exact case of his death remains a mystery. The text for Coming Together is taken from a letter that Sam wrote from Attica in the spring of 1971:

“I think the combination of age and a greater coming together is responsible for the speed of the passing time. It’s six months now, and I can tell you truthfully, few periods in my life have passed so quickly. I am in excellent physical and emotional health. There are doubtless subtle surprises ahead, but I feel secure and ready. As lovers will contrast their emotions in times of crisis so am I dealing with my environment. In the indifferent brutality, the incessant noise, the experimental chemistry of food, the ravings of lost hysterical men, I can act with clarity and meaning. I am deliberate, sometimes even calculating, seldom employing histrionics except as a test of the reactions of others. I read much, exercise, talk to guards and inmates, feeling for the inevitable direction of my life.”
from http://www.topologymusic.com/index.php/coming-together-by-frederick-rzewski/

That definitely put an entirely different spin on the piece for me. Now I can see the different personalities of the prisoners in each of the voices, and the increasing desperation of their life within the confines of an inhumane prison. Wow.
Erin  

Digging down to the frequencies in between notes, hearing them collide and reinforce one another, and listening to the rhythms that they create and destroy was for me a very uncomfortable experience.  Right from the start, the two oscillators made me squirm, turning my head this way and that as if that would make it resolve.  Q made me think of trying to help someone who is really bad at tuning their guitar – and listening to the collisions of your pure note with theirs, off just enough to jar you.

Despite my discomfort, I thoroughly enjoyed this piece. It challenged me to take the inherent dissonance of the tone and focus on it alone, how it weaves in and out but never completely resolves.  The hiccups in the piece jolted me – everything almost came together… But then they were off again, pulsating and raw. Sometimes I think that listening to a piece like that is more about the feeling you get when it is over, and you can relax and appreciate what you now hear around you (silence)… At any rate, Q was intense.  

I’ve always loved a cappella singing – and “Puisque bele dame m’eime” is some incredible a cappella.  The purity of the voice, without the vibrato that is all too common in vocal performance, is astoundingly beautiful.  The piece was emotional, and though filled with longing it was not unhappy – I think this effect was due in part to the mode in which it was written.  Of course the drone was and integral part of this piece, setting a stable base for the melody to float above – creating harmonies that were right on, locked in.  While I was listening to the piece, my ear moved at first with the melody, then with the drone, and then with the two combined, in what was in my mind (and as David said in class) a chord progression.  Knowing at least some of the history of the piece, I have an even deeper respect for it’s beauty.   That it is anonymous makes it all the more mysterious and off-putting (again, partially products of it’s mode)…I loved the simplicity and purity of this piece.  I just want to throw out there that I wish I could give credit to whoever had the inspiration to write this… But seeing as that’s not an option, I’ll just end this by saying that it is beautiful. -Erin 

This piece was a beautiful mixture of triumph and the ethereal.  It moved in what seemed to me to be waves, in which layers would become distinct and then would blend back into the mix.  Listening to this piece was actually a challenge for me  - it became so fragile and quiet at some points that the noise of the college broke through. I ended up sitting in my closet, which worked, although it did feel rather goofy. Maybe I should invest in better headphones… At any rate, in my closet I felt movement within the piece.  Even in the most quiet passages the energy is intense, and the voices remain layered – I didn’t get bored.  Visually, I felt the piece was constantly shimmering.  Within the individual parts, I would see different planes of existence… probably this is partially invoked by the title, but different levels of atmosphere, some with a quiet pressure, some more obvious and powerful.  Also, I heard sounds of ambience, sounds of the night within the piece, so naturally the scene I imagined was primarily in twilight.    -Erin