Essays

Camerata Pacifica at Hahn Hall, Friday evening, November 18.

Clay pots and electronic loops – what’s chamber music coming to?

Bach stitches it all together, old and new

Review by Joseph Miller

Artists are always stretched by a tension between past and future, known and unknown. When an artist’s work meets acceptance, the temptation is to capitalize on that form, to repeat and stay with what is safe. Aging rockers become tribute bands to their own glory days. And in the classical music world, we tend to view Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms and Bach as fixed constellations in an unchanging heaven. No one dreams of improving the night sky, nor of exhausting the wonder it arouses. But, as contemporary astronomy reveals, there is nothing fixed about the stars; celestial objects are not only diverging and receding, but accelerating in that expansion.

Ani Aznavoorian, Ji Hye Jung (David Bazemore)

Ani Aznavoorian, Ji Hye Jung (David Bazemore)

It’s trite to say, of course, but even the music of J.S. Bach was once new. And with this audacious program, Camerata Pacifica’s Artistic Director Adrian Spence seemed intent on storming the museum and freeing Bach from the glass case where he’s been suffocating. Not only was Bach’s music juxtaposed to modern compositions, but instrumentation ranged from harpsichord to clay flower pots, and even finished with live electronic looping.

The concert began gently and accessibly with harpsichordist Paolo Bordignon playing 2 Part Invention in F Major, a short lead-in really to Bach’s Trio Sonata in G Major, which added flute (Spence), oboe (James Austin Smith), and cello (Ani Aznavoorian). The Canadian-born Bordignon, whose far-ranging career includes principal harpsichordist with the New York Philharmonic, is one of the world’s experts on the instrument. He has graced the Camerata stage before, memorably at the Brandenburg Concerti climax of the 2014-15 season. For the Sonata Aznavoorian played from an upraised platform, that amplified the cello’s sound while doubling the basso continuo line. Woodwinds paired and sparred like twirled DNA strands above the steady stepping of cello and keyboard.

Adrian Spence, James Austin Smith (David Bazemore)

But this was all prelude to the night’s heavy-hitter, Elliott Carter’s Sonata for Flute, Oboe, Cello & Harpsichord (1952). Spence reported from stage that Carter always insisted his music was very simple. “It is simple,” Spence quipped, “there just happens to be lots of simple.” He advised the listener to step back from the music a few paces for perspective, and even permit the attention to wander. I took that suggestion to heart, attending to the phrases and contours rather than the notes, and verified indeed that Carter has a point. Still, it is easy for the diatonically-minded to be unsettled by broader tonalities; a surprising dunk in cold water, which assaults while it invigorates. From the musicians’ side, the Sonata is a demanding work that frequently places the harpsichord in dialogue with the ensemble, which then answers in tightly arranged outbursts. If the sound of harpsichord instinctively calls up baroque associations for you, this work goes miles in updating that mental file.

Then percussionist Ji Hye Jung and bassist Timothy Eckert joined Smith and Bordignon for Les Citations for Oboe Harpsichord Double Bass & Percussion by Henri Dutilleux, which “cites” or quotes composers Benjamin Britten, Clément Janequin and Jehan Alain. The work began with a beguiling plaint on Smith’s oboe, but soon textures thickened and tensions ratcheted. One compelling section featured solos by Eckert and Jung, and moved with the loose logic of free-form jazz.

The first half concluded—in obvious features at least—as it had begun: Bach for solo harpsichord. But after the Carter and Dutilleux, the ears were ready for a very different face than the one communicated in the Trio Sonata. Bordignon handsomely tackled the wild Chromatic Fantasy & Fugue in D Minor with all its roving key centers and irresolution. Spence’s programming intention seemed clear: it’s not a question of how radical was Bach, but how radical is Bach! And, of course, there was the rare pleasure of hearing the work articulated on harpsichord rather than piano. This might ordinarily have felt like a ritual concession to “authenticity”; but after the Carter and Dutilleux it simply became the right color and texture for the piece.

The second half of the program featured Jung in three duets by young composers. But first the percussionist wowed the audience with her solo marimba arrangement of the Fuga from Bach’s Violin Sonata No.1 in G minor—the most stunning translation of Bach to my ear since Edgar Meyer modified the cello suites for double bass. Aznavoorian then joined Jung for Caroline Shaw’s whimsical Boris Kerner for Cello & Flower Pots. Shaw, who is the youngest composer ever to win the Pulitzer Prize, is impressively conversant with styles and daringly open to unconventional sounds. Jung knelt on a mat before 9 clay flower pots which she played with drum sticks. The introduction was a quarter note walk on the cello through scaler figures and intervals that resembled a dance from a Bach sonata, before the pots burst out in with rapid-fire rolls. The aural colors of ceramic flower pots are unlike anything found in the conventional percussion arsenal, some bordering on wood blocks, others as delicate as glass bells. Spence joined Jung for the most lyrical and soft moment of the night, Japanese composer Naoko Hishinuma’s duet for flute and percussion, On a Full Moon Night. Finally, the program concluded with the very unusual upbeat work, 21 for Marimba and Cello by Caribbean steel drum virtuoso and composer, Andy Akiho. Not only did Aznavoorian and Jung master the impossible polyrhythms, but they made it look like fun. The opening measures were digitally recorded, and then looped back at several points for extra texture. Amping-up the concept of multi-tasking, Aznavoorian played the foot-pedal bass drum and cello simultaneously, while Jung added to her marimba a foot-controlled tambourine and the electronic loop petal. The result was a sense of four or six distinct musicians on stage. And to top all, Bach stitched together this second half as well: Akiho’s 21 was inspired by the sequence of harmonies in the 21st measure of the Fuga that began the set.

We can thank Camerata Pacifica for a very unusual night of cutting edge music, old and new; one that certainly would have pleased a progressive artist like Bach.

Equality and Exceptionalism

stock-illustration-60962316-justice-greek-goddess-themis-equality-a-fair-trial-law-Our country suffers from a peculiar schizophrenia when it comes to the notion of equality. In idealistic moods we want to affirm it; in practice we often trounce it. We readily defer to the words of the Declaration of Independence, “that all men are created equal,” but what this means exactly is not very clear. Is this some sort of inherent equality? Some invisible metaphysical dimension? Obviously the statement is not supported by empirical evidence. Or is this really an ethical principle—a guideline for how we should frame rights and duties—no special privileges based on class or wealth; no special access to the law? Men judged not by their wallet, ancestors or skin color, but by “the content of their character.” It’s that ‘judging’ business—equality erases differences; judging defines them.

Political equality is a concept with enough sentimental force to compel assent, and enough obscurity to guarantee controversy. The ideal was never articulated with all implications spelled out. Like a seed, it has required root and growth to take shape; and so the slow sequence of political awakenings in civil rights, universal suffrage, workers’ rights, child labor laws, environmental laws, etc. Justice means fair dealing. Equality is justice in practice.

And yet, a strong stripe of American character loves inequality; believes, in fact, that inequality is essential to the meaning of America. Continue reading

ON DOUBLING MY WEDDING AGE

Joe & Kim, 1988

Joe & Kim, 1988

HALF LIFE WITH WIFE

I came to the altar in 1988 with a bucket filled with pebbles, one for each of the 9987 days I had lived since birth. It wasn’t a bucket anyone else could see; no orange five-galloner with Home Depot Homer.  But the weight was there, every one of the nearly ten thousand days had left its tally and contributed a cumulative gravity.

Since then, slow and regular has proceeded a calendar of subtraction—one pebble taken out for every day lived since. And today I remove the last one: the bucket is empty for the first time since birth. Continue reading

Dusting Off the Flentrop

Organist James Welch in recital, sponsored by UCSB Dept. of Music. At UCSB’s Lotte Lehman Concert Hall on Friday, January 10, 7:30 pm.

When you order a new car with “all the bells and whistles”, recognized or not you have torn a page from pipe organ history. Mighty theater organs like The Wonder Morton housed at the Arlington Theater—great symphonic machines built during the silent movie era—not only blow ten thousand pipes, but also shake and whirl a host of special effects like sleigh bells and train whistles. With the Early Music Revival of the mid-Twentieth Century, and its hunger for “authentic” instruments and styles, a lean Neo-Baroque sensibility prevailed in the pipe organ world, and with it a retreat from the electronic advantages of modern engineering, and entertainment culture excesses. Continue reading

TURNING ON THE UNIVERSE

Santa Barbaran Daniel Godinez hitches his wagon to the stars

July 2012—It’s Saturday morning and 15-year-old Daniel Godinez catches the bus from his home twelve miles outside of Santa Barbara. With transfers and delays, he pieces together a two-hour circuitous ride to the Museum of Natural History, the sprawling stucco and tile casa ranchero-inspired building, nestled creek-side amidst foothills that rise into mountains. He walks along an empty parking lot, past an enormous blue whale skeleton, through the adobe entrance, and cuts a diagonal across the open courtyard. Pulling the door open, marked “Gladwin Planetarium,” he feels his way along a dark aisle towards control booth, and senses the awesome presence of the shadowed dome overhead, as if being watched. In less than an hour seats will fill for the first show of the day; but for now he is alone. This is Daniel’s moment; he is about to turn on the universe.

If you had happened to take a seat that morning, leaning back, you would have been guided through the wonders of our solar system and beyond, by an upbeat and articulate astronomer who appears far too young to be versed in 14 billion years of cosmic arcana. How did this young man get to where he is? When did the stars begin to glow in his sky? Continue reading