Sonic Revelations, Sonic Revolutions

So far I’ve had a difficult time deciding whether or not I’m a fan of Morton Feldman. When we listened to “Piano Four Hands” a few classes ago, I was extremely moved. I thought, and still think, that it is an extremely beautiful, emotionally rich piece. I had then jumped to the conclusion that I really liked Feldman’s work. This may have been a little early for such a decision. After a few listens through “Why Patterns,” I’m not sure if I can maintain the same opinion about him. Luckily, we have nearly twenty hours of his music on our iPods. At first I figured that the length of “Why Patterns” was what turned me off a little bit. Since, I’ve listened to more of the CD that includes “Piano Four Hands.” Some of the pieces (”Piano,” and “Piano Three Hands”) are much longer than the short work that I enjoyed. Even still, I manage a listening experience with these longer works more similar to my listening experience with “Piano Four Hands” than with “Why Patterns.” What have been my absolute favorite Feldman works that I’ve heard so far are some of the String Quartets. I haven’t had a chance to listen to many of them all of the way through, but all of the ones I have heard so far, whether in full or just excerpts, have been thrilling. For the most part, I have thoroughly enjoyed his work. I guess that I just listened to “Why Patterns” with the mentality that it was the be-all-end-all representation of Feldman’s work since it was the piece that professor Alegant selected for us to listen to. In many ways the piece is a good representation of Feldman’s compositional style. For some reason that I cannot seem to articulate, I am just not a huge fan of “Why Patterns.” It seems that it is my duty now to abandon the idea that my lack of interest in that one composition should cast a shadow on the rest of his works. I guess I’ve learned a lesson about the dangers of latching on to first impressions.

I found Feldman’s “Why Patterns” to be a really interesting piece, maybe the most interesting one we’ve looked at of his. His compositions feel like dreams to me; I drift off further and further into that delicate state of semi-consciousness as the piece progresses. As mentioned by a few others, there is this sense of weakness as well. The notes and textures are restrained and light. I think this is where Feldman’s music gets its real power – the feeling of resistance. Music should flow in an organic and musical way but resist at the same time. Feldman makes this work so perfectly; his orchestration is understated and sparse (and also very quiet and gentle), but there is this underlying weight to it at the same time. It has a resistance to it that keeps you engaged with each emerging part and with the piece’s overall intensity. Feldman’s compositions feel like blank slates to me, and streaks of texture and color emerge throughout. In “Why Patterns,” the orchestration develops slowly and becomes just a little bit more textured in the middle, taking your whole body deeper into a state of relaxed but focused energy. The perpetual piano notes are about the only consistent part of the piece, and his use of winds gives off the real dreamy feeling. Very cool piece.

When I was younger, around seven or eight years old, I got really sick, and at one point my fever peaked to about 103. I feel really uncomfortable when I listen to Feldman’s “Why Patterns?” because it conjures the memory of that fever, and the hallucinatory state of mind I was in because of it. It’s difficult to pinpoint what exactly makes this piece so evocative of that time of illness. It has the feel of being too weak to get out of bed, yet having one’s head hurt and pound: the tempo is slow and creeping, and even though the movement is at the pace of a slowly spinning mind’s, dictated by the whining flute, there are still pangs of piano and tinkles in the background, counteracting the flute’s potential to give a sense of rest with sharp distractions. Even if I didn’t have that experience to draw upon, this song might still embody a sense of insanity…in fact, I think I might go crazy if I listen to it for too long. I played flute for about eight years, and it’s disconcerting to hear flute tones played in this way. Even though I would like to say that the sounds are beautiful in theory, I just don’t like the dawdling and hesitation of it. Then again, perhaps I’m not doing the song justice as I am really tired right now, and maybe a little cranky…

I wanted to really get a sense of Feldman after listening to as much of his music as I could, and I did after reading tidbits about his views on music and space.

While Feldman isn’t really considered minimalist by most, I feel like his music has the make-up that I would define as minimalist. After all there’s repetition, linear transitions, and minimal note use.

But the one thing I see as minimalist in Feldman’s work is the use of space as a color on the sonic palette. Pieces of his, most notably “Crippled Symmetry”, seem to slow time down in such a surreal way that allows me to move my mind (in real time) around the entire piece and view it from every angle. Every flute flutter is perfectly positioned in time and space for examination and wonder.

“Piano” had the same sort of effect on me as well, but snuck up on me during the last minutes of abrupt crashes, due to my less-than-genius decision to turn the volume up in my headphones to hear the softer notes. Beyond my own absentmindedness, piano struck me as a true work of art. I couldn’t help but think of modern art while listening, which should be no surprise since Feldman is so much like the sonic equivalent of Rothko or Modrian.

I call him a sly bastard because he had me thinking one thing when I started listening to his pieces (in disbelief usually, at the duration times) and then slowly moving into a different mode where everything starts to make sense. It’s the weave-like patters he creates that really get me. I’m really glad I’ve been introduced to his work.

The piece we listened to in class on Wednesday was somewhat interesting for me to listen to.  The piece itself seemed to lack a certain formal structure, and appeared to only be framed by certain events that were supposed to happen at some point in the piece, such as when the note patterns shifted up and down the octaves on the piano.  When listening to the piece, especially the opening, I found myself to feel quite literally like sitting at a piano, with my hands at opposite ends of the keyboard and myself, the listener, in the middle.  I suppose this sensation was felt due to the fact since i play the piano, the piece sounded like what I would play when I was just bored of practicing or was fiddling around on the keys, making up patterns that were pretty much random notes.  Also, the sort of free-form time of the piece provided an openness and a variability that suggests to me a lack of set parameters for the direction of the piece.

The piece does have its moments, though.  When the note patterns played by each hand started to converge, the overall sound and timbre of the piece became more interesting and somewhat disorienting.  I equated this happening in my mind when two drops of water create waves that are distinct from one another at first, but when they collide they combine to create a sort of chaotic pattern.

Another interesting occurence was when the note patterns of each hand changed to include different notes.  This stage was intriguing, and provided a  change of tone for the piece. I equated this to be similar to an artist who, after only using “hot” colors in a painting, decided to throw in some blue streaks.

Overall, the piece was not exciting for me, due to its seemingly improvised nature, but did provide a number of interesting features.

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.”  

When we first listened in classto Feldman, I was not sure what to think. My initial thought was that he was self centered in his composing. The sparsety and ghostly qualities seemed to communicate his love for his own abilities. However, after listening to his Rothko Chapel 2 and 3, i realized that my initial thoughts were off base. These two pieces were gorgious. They left me with an echoing emptyness that could only be filled wih more choral beauty. The ghosly qalities i origionally percieved were still haunting. However, this hauting set of pieces is not something i wouold have nightmares about.

Feldman is truly a master of texture. As i listened, i  realized that throught the seven or so minutes that he was creating a sonic cloth of sorts. I invisioned his music as a simple yet elegant tapestry with all the imperfections neccesary to make something human. I can now fully appreciate what he is trying to achieve. He is not some overindulagant composer who loved the sound of notes that he wrote; he is a man interested in making beautiful sounds. These two compositions are truly gorgious and simply elegant. With few notes and few performers, he made me reevaluate my concept of modern composers. I truly enjoyed these pieces.