Sonic Revelations, Sonic Revolutions

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.

When I listened to Piano Phase, I noticed a surreal sensation coming over me: it was the same feeling I get when I hear a well orchestrated piece of music, but it was spread out over the 20 minute duration of the song. It amazes me that so much can be said with so little material. Arrangement is everything. In the piece, I heard–from one simple multi-note series, mind you–everything from jazz-style syncopation to powerful classical harmony stylings to Russian-style riffs. All kinds of imagery and texture popped out at me through this piece, despite its suspiciously simplistic approach.

One key thing about this piece (and about most of Reich’s work) that I really appreciate is the sense that every note has value. Not just value in the literal musical sense, but in the sentimental, personal, idealistic sense; from the very start of Piano Phase, and in many other Reich pieces, it’s easy to distinguish small series of notes from each other and evaluate them at an individual level.

Just when things start to get annoying, there’s a shift in when the notes are played, and that makes it so that there’s more to look for and catch your ear, but not in a way that feels arbitrary. There’s a reason for each shift, and it’s inviting to interpretation. The sheer simplicity of it all is something that appeals to me in a way that doesn’t make me belittle it and throw it away, but rather, makes me want to explore it further, beyond face value. Compared to some of Philip Glass’s pieces, I think Reich approaches the minimalist platform in a non-imposing way; he does it in a way that is passive and open, which I feel is the perfect match for a piece like Piano Phase. I feel like every time I listen to it, I’m finding something new in it. And I’m pretty sure that’s what he wanted.

I know in some of my past posts and writings, I’ve had some problems with continuums.  A lot of times I just assume that they are implied, that shades of gray are taken for granted.  There is no continuum, or not for me at least, when it comes to minimalism.  Some pieces, like “Piano Phase” and “In C”, just do it for me.  They give me a clear feeling or emotion, and I can sit back and lose myself in the music.  Other pieces, like “Coming Together”, I experience as a musical version of the Chinese Water Torture.  The repetitiveness gets annoying and I have to try to ignore the music to listen to it.  Everything minimalist I have listened to thus far seems to be hit or miss, and I think it takes real talent to hit, to take a simple pattern and make a work of art.  For minimalism-lovers, or critics of my opinion, I will refer you to three well- known minimalist works, being “I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves”, “99 bottles of beer on the wall” and “The song that never ends”, for an idea of how minimalism can grate on one’s nerves.  Of course these songs are a blast if you’re the one singing them, but highly irritating if you’re not in the mood for it.  I’m sure minimalism is fun to perform, and can definitely succeed, as with “In C”, but it sometimes doesn’t translate to me as a listener.

Hmm, I’m not entirely sure what to blog about. Monday night was probably the most diverse listening session we’ve had yet, so I’m going to cover a few different things. My ears are still trying to adjust to minimalism, so I don’t have much of a reaction right now; it feels like I’m in the middle of transitioning from deep mental listening to a kind of more physical listening. With drones, everything happens at once and the listener is presented with a complex bazillion-layer baklava of sound (mmm, baklava). I had to sift through the layers to find specific characteristics, like certain overtones and whatnot. With minimalism, the music is more sequential. All the phase shifts and patterns come to the ear instead of waiting to be found. This idea will probably change as we listen to more minimalism, though.

Besides that, I was blown away by the comparison between Radiohead’s “Everything In Its Right Place” and Reich’s “In C.” Before then I had never drawn any connections between our class music and the more mainstream music found on my playlists. Now that we’ve done so, I’ve been listening to Kid A with a completely different perspective and I definitely agree with David a few posts below mine–the amount of parallels between minimalism/drones and the album is incredible. “Treefingers” is a good example, being composed entirely of warm, ethereal drones and overtones. I keep asking myself why I didn’t notice the connections before.

Onto the “guest” pieces. The contrast between Andrew and Matt’s pieces couldn’t have been more stark, and it was a little jarring to switch from the energetic spiel at the end of the uillean pipes lament to the blaring, distorted trumpet of Andrew’s piece. Yet after I thought about it, I could see some similarities between the two. The last part of the lament was quite a surprise, considering the original nature of the piece, and I wasn’t sure how to react. It seemed surreal, almost obscenely too happy, and that quality remained and was amplified with the improv jazz piece.

I like minimalism. I think its really great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great its great great great great great great great great great great great its great great great great great cool great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great awesome great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great interestinggreat great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great passionate great great great great great great great great great great great great engaging great great great great great great great great great its great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great its great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great greatits great great great great great great great great great great great.

But seriously, it is. I’d like to talk about a minimalist piece by Phillip Glass (Sorry professor!) on his album Glassworks. The piece Opening is for solo piano, and is written in a very tonal language. It is based on the polyrhythm 2:3, giving the piece a rhythmic groove that lasts the duration of the work. Variations occur in the harmonies, and most importantly in the phrasing by the pianist. Because the piece is so simple, the slightest differences in dynamics are immediately audible. If you let the music just wash over you, it is easy to not enjoy the piece. But if you really invest some time and listen to the subtleties of the performance, the music can have a dramatic effect. I feel like the general mood of the work is contemplative, or searching. I find it very difficult to write on this work, because there really isn’t much to say as a result of the limited material. I can’t wait for the class to listen to some Glass so we can discuss him. I wonder if he would say that his music doesn’t leave much to say…

 Matt