Do The Music

[dothemusicblog]

Steve Reich - London Sinfonietta / Synergy Vocals - Royal Concert Hall, Nottingham - 15th February 2019

Clapping Music 

Nagoya Marimbas 

Mallet Quartet 

Music For 18 Musicians 

Early in his career, Steve Reich wrote several pieces which doggedly follow a pre-determined rhythmic path. In Clapping Music, he pits a 12-beat pattern against itself - one clapper repeats the pattern throughout, while the other gradually moves ahead, a beat at a time, until the patterns re-align. It makes a smart opener to an all-Reich concert, an easy-to-follow primer in spotting when the music moves on, and exploring the results.

If Clapping Music is a handy, pocket-sized guide to Reich’s early output, it’s also something of a rarity - a Reich piece you can try at home, with or without a willing partner (the London Sinfonietta’s app has proved a great success). Like much of his music, Nagoya Marimbas and Mallet Quartet are astonishingly difficult to play. The London Sinfonietta’s mallet soloists dispatched these testing scores with great flair, somehow finding time to give shape to the fast-moving, interlocking lines, while roaming effortlessly across those enormous, five octave marimbas.

The same mallet instruments stayed onstage for the main event, a second-half performance of Reich’s 1976 masterpiece, Music For 18 Musicians. By this point, having taken what he needed from his early rhythmic experiments, Reich had begun to branch out, developing a greater interest in melody and harmony (he once famously said that the first five minutes of 18 Musicians contains more harmonic movement than any other complete piece up to that point). The eleven chords on which it is based are very carefully chosen, somehow managing to provide a sense of forward motion, and of tension and release, even if several are simply revoicings or inversions of one another. 

18 Musicians is much more than an hour of slow-moving harmony and clever rhythmic tricks, though. Reich’s expanded ensemble creates an especially beautiful, subtly shifting atmosphere - it can be hard to tell where a particular sound is coming from, as wordless voice blends into clarinet, or xylophone is swamped by piano. This mesmeric piece is possessed of a deep, rolling groove - the Sinfonietta had heads nodding all around me, at what felt like a slightly steadier tempo than either of Reich’s own recordings. On disc, it’s easy to overlook the great virtuosity and stamina required to make this happen. Seeing a xylophonist deliver five minutes of perfect off-beats, or watching one maracas player hand over to another without missing a beat brings it home, though.

Mindful of the difficulty of co-ordinating all of this (without a conductor), Reich built in audible cues to guide performers and listeners through the work. Most clearly, it’s often the vibraphone player who takes the lead, acting as a kind of master of ceremonies, playing short phrases which tell the ensemble and audience when things are moving on. I mention this here because it’s linked to my lasting impression of Friday’s superb performance. This smart way of working, borrowed from West African and/or Indonesian music, contributed to my powerful sense of performers and listeners participating in a shared ritual, of feeling that we were one big ensemble, listening hard, moving slowly in the same direction. I cringe slightly typing this on a Tuesday morning, but it felt right when I jotted it down last Friday night.

[Friday’s concert was part of a London Sinfonietta tour. The Birmingham concert is still on the iPlayer: https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m0002h87. We didn’t get the new piece in Nottingham. Still, we got the London Sinfonietta, and we’re grateful for that.]

[dothemusicblog]

More Wayne Shorter

On Sunday, I re-read this New Yorker piece by Ethan Iverson: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-worlds-greatest-living-jazz-composer-celebrates-his-eighty-fifth-birthday. Having spent Friday morning struggling to find words to describe Wayne Shorter’s music (http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/178308120484/happiness-at-work-the-wayne-shorter-quartet), I’m full of admiration. Shrewdly, Iverson limits the scope of his article, looking mainly at the three great Blue Notes from 1964: Night Dreamer, Juju and Speak No Evil. As an occasional classical musician, lost without the printed score, I always value the insights of real life improvisers. This is writing that makes me want to dig out the records, and listen again to music I thought I knew.

Beautiful Blue Notes.

[dothemusicblog]

The Wayne Shorter Quartet / Emanon

Wayne Shorter’s new record, Emanon, is in shops now. At the heart of the 3-disc set (plus graphic novel) is Shorter’s regular quartet, with Danilo Pérez on piano, John Patitucci on bass and Brian Blade on drums (the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra join them on disc 1). Back in 2000, when this group was formed,  there was a lot of excitement about Shorter’s surprise return to acoustic jazz, especially among those who disliked the heavily-produced solo albums of the 80s and 90s.*

The Shorter quartet has always been about trying new things, taking risks onstage, and trusting the rest of the band to make the music work (one reason why comparisons are often made with an earlier Shorter group, the Miles Davis Quintet of the mid-60s). As a result, the quartet can sound very different from one night to the next. I’ve a recording from Edinburgh, minidisced(!) off the radio, on which just about every piece settles into a groove. Patitucci plays looping, loping lines, while Pérez offers his own, slightly hyperactive take on funky comping. What I heard live in Symphony Hall, Birmingham (on the same tour) couldn’t have been more different. The music there was much freer. Shorter and Pérez took long, exploratory solos, punctuated by Tony Williamsesque bombs from Blade, and rare, miraculous moments of rhythmic unity (how did they do it? I didn’t catch any audible cues). Shorter was delighted by the music, provoking the others and soloing with a fire that sometimes reminded me of his Jazz Messengers days (in spirit if not style - for a flavour of that time, try Roots & Herbs, a set of six Shorter originals). 

I’ve spent the last month or so listening back over Shorter’s vast, 60-year discography. His contribution to jazz is hard to take in - scrolling through this mammoth list of credits gives an idea of his range as both player and composer: https://www.allmusic.com/artist/wayne-shorter-mn0000250435/credits. With any luck, I’ll get to hear him live at least once more (where have the last 15 years gone?), but for now, a new (mostly) live record will do. 

* For what it’s worth, I’m quite fond of those records - hearing Shorter adapt his playing to different situations is one of the great, frequent pleasures of listening to his music, and, unlike some, backbeats and synths don’t bring me out in a rash. Even so, I’m inclined to agree with Joni Mitchell’s snappy criticism: “[the backbeats] put fence posts through the music.” Shorter dug the posts out a long time ago.

[dothemusicblog]

Trish Clowes’ My Iris - Manchester Jazz Festival 2018

[This gig was a while ago, but it was a good one, and I wanted to say so].

Trish Clowes (tenor/soprano sax); Chris Montague (guitar); Ross Stanley (piano/organ); Dave Hamblett (drums)

In a video on her website, Trish Clowes talks briefly about jazz composition. She reflects on the fine balance between getting down her ideas and leaving space for skilled improvisers to add something of their own (“show me what you think” - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xe7jZUCGVPY). This hour of beautiful originals demonstrated her gift for treading that tricky line - under the big top in Manchester, her music inspired fine, thoughtful playing from an excellent line-up.  

As soloist, Clowes set the tone, digging deep, looking for something fresh each time. Eyes closed, she worked away on little fragments, stretching them out, and weaving them together. Alongside her was Chris Montague, one of the best, most versatile guitarists around. Better known to me in rockier mode with Troyka and Blue Touch Paper, here, he went easy on the effects pedals, concentrating instead on shaping long, lyrical lines, often leaving his next choice of note to the very last moment.

On piano, Ross Stanley took a more direct approach, sometimes pushing the others to raise the virtuosity and volume levels (My Iris can tear it up too). Switching to organ, he sat back a little more, adding bits of bass line and laying out soft beds for some gorgeous unmetered soprano solos (Hammond fans should hear Stanley’s excellent work with Dennis Rollins’ Velocity Trio). Drummer James Maddren was unavailable that day, so Dave Hamblett stepped in to play his first gig with the band. He gave an astonishingly assured performance - if I hadn’t known he was new, I’d never have guessed. It was lovely to watch and listen to the way in which the other three made him musically welcome. There were plenty of nods and smiles of approval and encouragement, as the band got used to his new ideas, and offered him a few of their own. 

Legroom #6 - Front row - 10/10

Behind the front page of this blog are many abandoned attempts to explain what I get from listening to live jazz. Drawn in by the absorbing music in Manchester that afternoon, I perhaps came closer to an answer. With a group of talented improvising musicians, there is a frequent, unpredictable shifting of focus, which seems to demand a very active kind of listening. The reward for the audience member prepared to meet the band halfway is a particularly rich, multilayered experience. It’s an exhilarating, exhausting kind of challenge - catch as much as you can before it’s gone forever. 

[There are some videos of My Iris on Trish Clowes’ website: http://trishclowes.com/media/videos/. The debut disc is available on Basho: http://bashorecords.com/albums/my-iris/. The second album, featuring the material played in Manchester, is out next year. Do try to hear them live, though: http://trishclowes.com/dates/].

[dothemusicblog]

Brushing Up On Boulanger (Composer Of The Week & Prom 44)

Tomorrow, I’m off to London for my only Prom of the season - a programme of Debussy, Ravel and Lili Boulanger: https://www.bbc.co.uk/events/enp6gw. Having only heard the Boulanger setting of Psalm 130 once or twice, this morning I dug out a nice Chandos disc (https://www.chandos.net/products/catalogue/CHAN%209745), and gave the piece a couple of good listens. I also looked up this Composer Of The Week episode on the Radio 3 website:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/music/artists/ef8694eb-09d9-4695-8eee-1c2717564a37#p066wnrd

Composer Of The Week typically devotes five programmes to a single composer, with each episode examining a different aspect of their work. Boulanger week was back in May, so the original programmes are no longer on the iPlayer. Someone has helpfully clipped up this hour-long digest of the whole week, though, leaving out the long musical excerpts, which can be found elsewhere.

it’s easy to overlook Composer Of The Week in favour of flashier, more marketable Radio 3 programmes. Look beyond the unchanging format and unglamorous early afternoon time slot, however, and you’ll find one of the station’s best shows. It must be far from easy to turn thorough, wide-ranging research into a listenable, entertaining script, but Donald Macleod and team manage it week in, week out - listening to the Boulanger hour, I never needed to rewind to work out what was meant, nor did I have the urge to fast forward to get on with other things. As an introduction to Boulanger’s short, eventful life, it’s hard to beat. 

[Concert live on Radio 3 / Interesting-looking pre-concert talk at 5.45, broadcast in edited form during the interval - https://www.bbc.co.uk/events/e5q9hn]

25/8 - 

Since the concert, I’ve been drawn back to the fine Proms performance several times: https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0bf25jj (17′10″ onwards). 'Du fond de l’abîme’ is a piece which requires and deserves repeated listens -  both hard to grasp, and hard to forget. 

[dothemusicblog]

Schumann - Fünf Gesänge aus H. Laubes Jagdbrevier

(Schumann - Konzertstück for Four Horns & Orchestra: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/172273942454/schumann-konzertstück-for-4-horns-and-orchestra)

Schumann wrote one more four horn piece in 1849:

A couple of years earlier, he had taken a post as director of the Dresden Liedertafel, a male voice choir. By the time he composed this, for voices and ad libitum horns, he had left the choir, complaining to a friend that it “offered too little in the way of actual musical inspiration.” Recordings are rare. This YouTube clip just about does the job, although the vibrato-heavy horn playing leaves me a bit queasy. (Texts here: http://www.lieder.net/lieder/assemble_texts.html?SongCycleId=1147)

The unusual scoring of the Fünf Gesänge has a distinguished precedent. Perhaps Schumann was thinking of this piece by Schubert when he wrote his Op. 137:

The text can be found here: http://www.lieder.net/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=14761I - as ever, the horn is the go-to instrument for anything to do with woodlands or hunting (”Waldhorn” translates literally as “wood” or “forest” horn).

Talking of Schubert and the horn, here’s one final clip: a lovely Richard Lewis/Dennis Brain/Ernest Lush version of Auf dem Strom, a song from Schubert’s final year:

(text: http://www.lieder.net/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=14761)

[dothemusicblog]

Schumann - Konzertstück For Four Horns And Orchestra (1849)

Any valveless brass instrument will sound the pitches of the harmonic series (see here for a horn example: https://bit.ly/2HN16Kn). Players produce these notes by varying the tension of the lips and the speed of the air travelling through the instrument. Skilful performers on the ‘natural,’ valveless horn developed ways of filling in the gaps in the harmonic series, through a combination of ‘stopping’ (altering the position of the hand in the bell) and bending notes by simply using the lips. The arrival of the valve horn, in 1815, did away with the need for these techniques, and began to give composers access to the full chromatic scale in decent, consistent sound (more on how here: https://bit.ly/2rfCyDn)*. Despite this, take-up was slow, with some remaining attached to the valveless horn for decades to come. Brahms was a notable champion - for instance, he always insisted that his marvellous trio for violin, horn and piano (1865) should only be played on the natural horn.

Brahms - Trio for violin, horn and piano op. 40 - Isabelle Faust (violin, Stradivarius ‘Sleeping Beauty’ - 1704); Teunis van der Zwart (natural horn, Lorenz - 1845); Alexander Melnikov (Bösendorfer piano - 1875)

In a performance such as this, it is perhaps possible to hear what Brahms felt was being lost. For starters, this natural horn (or ’Waldhorn,’ as Brahms would have known it) makes a gorgeous, rich sound. More subtly, the variation in tone across the range of the instrument is fascinating - I have a feeling of getting to know the unique character of the old horn as the music progresses. Van der Zwart is a marvel, shifting remarkably fluently between the full open notes and the more pinched stopped notes, without doing any damage to Brahms’ long phrases. A record to set alongside the finest modern instrument performances.

Sixteen years before Brahms wrote his horn trio, Schumann was in the middle of a purple patch.  Over the course of 1849, his work expanded in a variety of directions at once, resulting in 40-odd pieces of music (these few pages from John Daverio’s excellent book give a good idea of the range of work he produced: http://bit.ly/2FwBsMP). His major contributions to the horn repertoire arrived in this year, beginning with the Op. 70 Adagio and Allegro for valve horn and piano. Schumann’s enthusiasm for the new instrument is clear - while a fair amount of his 1849 music could be tackled by amateur musicians, his Op. 70 is an almost gleefully tricky study of the valve horn’s possibilities:

Schumann - Adagio and Allegro for Horn and Piano, Op. 70 - David Cooper (horn); Cary Chow (piano)

A few months later, encouraged by this trial run, Schumann wrote an astonishing piece for four valve horns and orchestra:

Schumann - Konzertstück for 4 Horns and Orchestra, Op. 86 -  Nigel Black, Laurence Davies, Laurence Rogers, Peter Blake (horns); Philharmonia / Christian Thielemann

On first hearing, the most striking thing about the Konzertstück is the glorious sound of Schumann’s powerful superinstrument - that opening salvo is the first of many great moments of unfiltered four horn colour. Throughout the first movement, he plays with this familiar, heroic aspect of the horn’s character, alternating perilous (natural horn?) fanfares with smoother, softer (valve horn?) phrases. The second movement Romanze begins with a horn duet, all half-lights and gently reaching lines. Schumann has the second horn closely follow the first in canon (easy to hear: 8‘30“ onwards), before establishing a pizzicato pulse, over which all four horns open up and sing more freely. This beautiful passage returns later in the finale, which is otherwise a good-natured romp. 

Cruelly, the best performances of the Konzertstück are those which drive the quartet quite hard. The exceptionally difficult first and third movements should move fairly swiftly, if they’re not to come across as too polite or smoothed out. There needs to be a sense of risk - a feeling that someone might crack a note in the first movement fanfares, or maybe struggle to keep up in the to and fro of the finale (even though we know that wouldn’t survive the edit). The Thielemann performance above is very fine, distinguished by some especially strong first horn playing, and a really lovely group sound in the slow movement (in a biggish church acoustic - All Hallows, Gospel Oak).

As it’s such a terror to pull off (particularly for the first horn), the Konzertstück is a relative rarity in the concert hall. I heard it years ago in Nottingham from the choir stalls (not recommended), and then again at the 2007 Proms, as part of a day of brass-themed concerts. Thankfully, this Proms performance was included on the cover CD of BBC Music Magazine a few years later. It might take you a few minutes to track down a second-hand copy online, but it would be well worth your trouble. 

David Pyatt, Michael Thompson, Martin Owen and Cormac Ó hAodáin are superb throughout, as is Charles Mackerras, alert as always, pushing and pulling in all the right places. Everything is that bit more vivid here - in the moment, the horns encourage each other to greater feats of virtuosity and volume, and orchestra and audience are right behind them. Very highly recommended.

PS. Fünf Gesänge aus H. Laubes Jagdbrevier: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/172273965214/fünf-gesänge-aus-h-laubes-jagdbrevier

* The invention of the valve created a few problems for experienced natural hornists. Players faced not only getting to grips with the valves themselves, but also the added difficulty of learning to transpose music at sight - where the valveless horn player would change key by fitting the correct length piece of tubing (or ‘crook’), the valved instruments were pitched in a single key, requiring players to make the necessary adjustments in their heads.

[dothemusicblog]

Classical CD, Nottingham

By the time I get round to writing this, Classical CD will have gone for good. The shop opened in 1987, on Heathcote Street, in the Hockley area of Nottingham. Since then, it has moved several times, ending up in this more prominent spot on Goose Gate. It isn’t the first classical record shop to disappear in 2017 - Prelude in Norwich, The Outback in Hereford, McAlister Matheson in Edinburgh and London’s Harold Moores all closed their doors in the first six months of this year. These four will no doubt have faced the same pressures that finally did for Classical CD: sky-high city rents, steadily shrinking profit margins, and - of course - the internet. In truth, considering the huge growth in online shopping and streaming, coupled with the fact that many people simply don’t pay for recorded music at all, these shops did pretty well to make it to 2017. 

Classical CD did a lot right. Prices were always in line with mail order companies and the internet, at least for new releases. The owners also maintained strong links with the live music scene in the area. Beyond simply stocking all the brochures (always useful), they ran stalls and signings at the Royal Concert Hall, and sold tickets for events at some other venues. More recently, they shared the shop space with a bookshop run by a local charity, Music For Everyone (https://www.music-for-everyone.org), presumably helping to bring in new customers.

Richard & Tom, Classical CD.

Most importantly for me, they provided a place where a sometimes shy, awkward teenager could develop a love of classical music alongside like-minded anoraks. Both back then, and as a slightly more self-confident adult, I always knew I could spend ten minutes or two hours browsing, chatting and listening, with no obligation to buy - they knew I’d be back. If the conversation tended to return to the same old topics (typically Handel, Mahler, Shostakovich and misguided council arts policy), it was always stimulating, and often led me to something new.

Last Saturday, it hit home just how much I will miss the place. Ordinarily, I would have dropped in to see who had won that morning’s Radio 3 Building A Library (http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b06w2121), or to pick up a copy of a CD I’d read about in the week (’Heard it?’ Any good?’). That lovely ritual of finding out about a piece or performance, buying the disc, and then listening to it the same evening brings back lots of happy memories, the names and sounds of the pieces and players mingled in with thoughts of whatever else was going on at that time of my life. 

I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t bought loads of CDs over the internet or that I don’t get a lot out of discussing music on Twitter, although the civilised disagreements in the shop suited me better than the often bruising debates online, where some shoot first and ask questions later (if at all). Plenty of people I know listen to pretty much all of their music via streaming services, but it’s not for me. I’m wedded to the outdated idea of selecting a disc, then sitting down to enjoy it. I like browsing my racks of CDs, making connections and planning programmes myself, rather than having it done for me by Spotify’s algorithms. I want to read all of the information in the CD booklet, and I want people to get paid at least a bit - those 0.00something pences can’t add up to very much.

This morning, I’m toasting Richard and Tom with a big cup of tea, and sampling my final purchases: The Palladian Ensemble playing Matteis, Volodos in Liszt, and a third version of Brumel’s fabulous ‘Earthquake’ Mass I didn’t know I needed. Thanks for all the music, and see you at a concert somewhere soon.

Ps. If it looks as though the shop is still open, that’s because the Music For Everyone bookshop is staying on. Some good news.

[dothemusicblog]

Jazz Corner 10 - Tuba Special

Following the death of saxophonist Arthur Blythe earlier this year, I have been re-listening to some of his superb late 70s / early 80s records. Bob Stewart’s playing sent me to the shelves in search of more jazz tubists.

Here is a varied selection, dating from the late 60s to the present day:

1. Jack DeJohnette’s Special Edition - Ahmad The Terrible (DeJohnette) (from the album ‘Album Album’) - (Howard Johnson - tuba) 6/84. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqQwNuxgU5M

Johnson on tuba and baritone sax, DeJohnette on drums and piano.

2. Sahib Shihab & The Danish Radio Jazz Group - Mai Ding (Shihab) (from the album ‘Sahib Shihab & The Danish Radio Jazz Group) - (Poul Kjaeldgård - tuba) 8/65. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_WTrG39qfk

Shihab on baritone (and cowbell). Top-notch Danish rhythm team of Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen (bass) and Alex Riel (drums). 

3. Sons Of Kemet - All Will Surely Burn (Hutchings) (from the album ‘Burn’) - (Oren Marshall - tuba) 2013. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Yuj04XrCDQ

Theon Cross is now in the SOK tuba chair. Double drums (Seb Rochford and Tom Skinner), Shabaka Hutchings on sax.

4. The New Jazz Orchestra - Nardis (Davis arr. Ardley) (from the album ‘Le Déjeuner Sur L’herbe) - (George Smith - tuba) 9/68. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cFHnXnXI-tE&list=PLCq46Fr2qjumwbSgTMpgvxg4VI7tFOGV4&index=2

British jazz classic. Other solos: Ian Carr (flugelhorn), Jack Bruce (bass).

5. Arthur Blythe - Odessa (Blythe) (from the album ‘Lenox Avenue Breakdown’) - (Bob Stewart - tuba) 1979. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLmI_QSkCFc

One of Blythe’s greatest solos. This 2-CD set is very highly recommended: https://www.bgo-records.com/artist/arthur-blythe. Jack DeJohnette on drums again.

6. Henry Threadgill - Little Pocket Size Demons (Threadgill) (from the album ‘Too Much Sugar For A Dime’) - (Edwin Rodriguez, Marcus Rojas - tubas) 1993. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtwNwecOU3Y

Threadgill’s Very Very Circus line-up: alto sax, french horn, 2 guitars, 2 tubas, drums.

7. The Sonny Criss Orchestra - Daughter Of Cochise (Tapscott) (from the album ‘Sonny’s Dream (Birth Of The New Cool)) - (Ray Draper - tuba) 5/68. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rqQkOzRtIA

8. Steve Lehman Octet - Chimera/Luchini (Lehman / Smith/Randolph/Spencer/Wilds/Willis/Wallace) - (Jose Davila - tuba) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PzhGiFapY4k

From 2014′s ‘Mise en Abîme’ (Pi Recordings) - see here for more: https://pirecordings.com/album/pi54. Original version of Luchini here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXyFYNiV-9I

9. Daniel Herskedal - Kurd, Bayat, Nahawand To Kurd (Herskedal) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWMS5nSuQvo

From the North African-flavoured ‘The Roc’ (Edition).  

10. McCoy Tyner Big Band - Fly With The Wind (Tyner) - (Howard Johnson - tuba) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PE2A0qKzv5w

Scaled-up version of a 70s Tyner tune.

Buy some discs. Have a proper listen.

[dothemusicblog]

Charles Daniels III - Monteverdi Vespers (1610)

(Part I here: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/147241620044/charles-daniels-i-from-gabrieli-to-grandi)

(Part II here: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/151747980144/charles-daniels-ii-natures-voice)

The 1610 Vespers is a musicological minefield. Potential performers face numerous difficult decisions about forces, pitch, tempo, movement order and much more besides*. Many solutions have been proposed, and a wide range of very different recorded performances are available. 

The first two sets I bought come from opposite ends of the spectrum. John Eliot Gardiner’s 1989 recording (his second) is taken from live performances in St. Mark’s, Venice. Gardiner’s is a full-blooded ‘concert’ performance, featuring a fairly large choir. He includes only the items set by Monteverdi (no joining plainchant), steering his musicians towards a climactic performance of the wonderful, multi-faceted Magnificat. Andrew Parrott’s recording, on the other hand, attempts to recreate an early 17th century Vespers service. The ‘Vespers as church service’ conductors tend to disagree over the ordering of the various movements. What these performances have in common, though, is that the Magnificat is not the final music heard, ruling out Gardiner’s goal-directed voyage towards a crowd-pleasing finale. Parrott’s is a much more intimate, ‘chamber’ performance, using a smaller group of singers. After the Gardiner, this approach came as a shock, albeit a gentle, beautiful one. Here are the two sets:

Gardiner: https://play.spotify.com/album/6pwvMITkvno2UIXPM2uSdO

Parrott: https://play.spotify.com/album/4BsR8AiRhOgNR0zjaDltbp

In the 1610 Vespers, the main psalm settings are interspersed with a series of smaller-scale pieces for solo voices (I’m going to ignore the animated debate about the placing and function of these ‘sacred concerti’**). These movements are close in style to the arias and duets found in early opera, which was then a new art form. They are alive to the expressive possibilities of the sometimes erotic texts, and demand considerable virtuosity from the soloists, which is where Charles Daniels finally comes in.

Daniels appears on the Parrott recording (made in 1983/4), but to hear him in full flow, you’ll need to acquire one of the sets directed by either Paul McCreesh (church service recreation) or Robert King (concert version). On both, he sings the Audi Coelum, one of Monteverdi’s greatest vocal works. For this piece, the soloist is joined by a second tenor, who echoes part of the last word of each section of the work, extending the musical phrase, and creating a new word in the process (this is more easily understood by looking at the text itself: http://www.johnkilpatrick.co.uk/music/1610/words1610avjak.pdf (no. 9) - ‘gaudio’ becomes ‘audio’ and so on). Towards the end, a long melisma on ‘omnes’ (all) summons the full choir, who stay for the magical final section. 

Here’s the Daniels Audi Coelum from the McCreesh Vespers:

https://play.spotify.com/album/1vd4CvGE1zgfJ2PlmWqYoM (track 23)

At the risk of repeating what I wrote in parts 1 and 2, all the Daniels hallmarks are there (firm, golden voice / enviable breath control / technique more than equal to Monteverdi’s demanding ornamentation....). By the time this CD came out (2006), I’d heard him sing on dozens of records, several of which remain firm favourites. His voice always gives me great pleasure. It also has the power to take me back to a time when each new piece of old music was a precious surprise.

* These decisions could always be avoided by using a pre-existing edition. In practice, conductors of CD versions seem to prefer to prepare their own editions, with or without the help of friendly musicologists. Often, they attempt to justify their choices in the liner notes.

** I’m also leaving aside the hymn and the marvellous Sonata Sopra Sancta Maria, where the instrumentalists come into their own. The 1610 Vespers really is a Desert Island box of delights.

Low-key 450th Birthday Celebrations In Nottingham Today

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Legroom #5 - (The Joy Of) Choir Stalls, Royal Concert Hall, Nottingham

I love sitting in the choir stalls for orchestral concerts. Yes, being behind the orchestra can create balance problems: you’re on the wrong side of any first-half soloist, and could find yourself behind the horns or upwind of the tuba. On the plus side, the choir stalls are right in the thick of the action, providing a great view of the conductor and most of the players. You’re near enough to follow a bassoonist’s music, or hear a brass section’s gentle foot shuffles in appreciation of a well-played solo. For those of us who came to concertgoing through playing an instrument, this kind of close-up contact with great musicians never gets old.

I’ve spent many memorable evenings in the choir stalls, but one stands out. I was lucky enough to find a seat almost on top of the giant percussion section during a Royal Festival Hall performance of Messiaen’s Turangalîla-Symphonie. It was a real thrill to share in their nervous excitement, to witness their total concentration and to savour their satisfaction at negotiating the complex music. 

Growing up in Nottingham, I sat in roughly this position during dozens of concerts, and now, if I ever bring someone to their first, we sit here too. For one thing, it’s cheap (£7.50). It’s also LOUDER here, which can be a big deal for someone raised on pop, rock or jazz. The choir stall regulars tend to be a friendly, knowledgable, unpretentious bunch, unlikely to put off any newcomers.

7/10 - A little bit hemmed in / slightly squeaky floor covering.

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Charles Daniels II - Nature’s Voice

(Part I here: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/147241620044/charles-daniels-i-from-gabrieli-to-grandi)

A few years later, McCreesh and his Gabrieli Consort & Players made this recording of Purcell’s wonderful ode ‘Hail, Bright Cecilia!’

The piece was commissioned by a London society set up to celebrate the feast day of the patron saint of music (22nd November). Purcell’s contribution to the 1692 festivities is a 50-minute, 13 movement treasure trove. It opens with a substantial orchestral overture, followed by a series of solos, duets, trios and choruses, praising both music and Cecilia herself. A selected group of instruments (organ, violin, flute, guitar and fife) receive more specific attention.

Having been so struck by Charles Daniels’ performances on ‘Venetian Vespers,’ I was naturally intrigued to hear him in different repertoire. Here, he sings ‘The fife, and all the harmony of war,’ as well as the showstopping ‘’Tis Nature’s voice.’ His performance of this second air particularly grabbed me. Here was another ecstatic virtuoso song in the manner of Grandi’s ‘O Intemerata.’ Here also was my proper introduction to Purcell’s daringly original way with harmony and melody. The English text removed a barrier, and gave me a first chance to appreciate Purcell’s gift for word setting - this really is a masterclass (text: http://www.lieder.net/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=2979).  

Henry PURCELL (1659-1695) - ‘Tis Nature’s Voice (from Hail, Bright Cecilia!) - Charles Daniels (tenor); Gabrieli Players / Paul McCreesh https://play.spotify.com/album/07mZ80g31bc99UK6Trs6Dd (track 4)

Daniels has the measure of Purcell’s ‘incredible Graces’ (see Ps. below), including the lung-bursting melismas towards the end. He is unafraid to use the full power of his voice (at ‘mighty,’ for instance), and clearly relishes the more dissonant passages (both appearances of ‘grieve or hate.’) Purcell’s setting of the last line is superb, the teasing repeats of ‘charms’ leading to a final long run of notes on ‘captivates.’ Daniels’ thrilling second pass at this is something special, much like the repeated ‘et virgo gloriosa’ in the Grandi motet (see Part 1). 

Ps. Thanks largely to an article about the premiere in the November 1692 edition of the Gentlemen’s Journal, ‘’Tis Nature’s Voice’ has been the subject of some musicological debate. According to this article, it ‘was sung with incredible Graces by Mr. Purcell himself,’ leading to uncertainty as to whether Purcell actually gave the first performance, or whether he wrote the ‘incredible Graces’ (ornaments) for someone else to sing. The couple of recentish Purcell books in Nottingham Central Library indicate the latter, although the liner notes for my other (very fine, modern instrument) recording of the piece claim that the composer did give the premiere. On this CD (English Chamber Orchestra / Mackerras - 1969), ‘’Tis Nature’s Voice’ is performed by a countertenor. McCreesh’s decision to use a tenor is supported by an  Andrew Parrott article in the Faber ‘Purcell Companion,’ which addresses the subject of male voice types in this music: ‘the 1680s and 1690s seem to mark an historical mid-way point in the evolution of the countertenor, with the emergence of the later, and indeed current, falsettist countertenor overlapping with the glorious last years of an earlier tradition in which - contrary to popular belief - the voice was, in modern terms, essentially a (high) tenor.’ (pp. 417-8)

Pps. Charles Daniels was a founder member of the Orlando Consort, a one-to-a-part vocal group specialising in Medieval repertoire. By the time I got round to hearing them in concert (in their ‘Voices Appeared’ film and live music programme: http://www.orlandoconsort.com/voicesappeared.htm), he had already left the consort. I still have the earlier recordings, though. By a whisker, my favourite is ‘Popes And Antipopes - Music For The Courts Of Avignon & Rome.’  

https://play.spotify.com/album/1lDs1pode6DiurQTIGvbLw

I remember the original Gramophone review: ‘To be savoured meditatively, like an Islay malt.’

(Part 3 here: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/160514774364/charles-daniels-iii-monteverdi-vespers-1610)

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Charles Daniels I - From Gabrieli To Grandi

The first time I heard the music of Giovanni Gabrieli, it sounded something like this:

One of these massed U.S. brass section recordings sat in my overworked Walkman for months, providing the soundtrack to my journey to and from school. A few years later, as a trombonist in a city full of trombonists, I had the opportunity to play some of this music. Our more sober performances were closer in style to those by the Philip Jones Brass Ensemble or the London Symphony Brass: without tubas, horns or the often present E. Power Biggs. A few years later, I bought and repeatedly listened to ‘A Venetian Coronation 1595,′ by the Gabrieli Consort & Players. This revelatory disc was my introduction to the sonatas and canzonas played on (wooden) cornetts and (trombone forerunner) sackbuts (try track 19 here: https://play.spotify.com/album/0FoiiTbgOKYHAkUWjDI6GQ).* It was also my first encounter with the vocal music of Gabrieli and his uncle Andrea.

For this début disc, Paul McCreesh put together a speculative reconstruction of a Doge’s coronation, interspersing the Gabrielis’ music with bells, fanfares and the appropriate plainchant, in an attempt to transport the listener to St. Mark’s, Venice (it was actually recorded in Brinkburn Priory, Northumberland). This disc had a profound effect on my developing musical tastes, partly because it prompted an exploration of the many riches of the pre-Baroque repertoire. Perhaps even more importantly, it was the first time I had truly enjoyed listening to classical solo voices. In those days, I preferred orchestral and choral blockbusters - opera had yet to make an impression on me. It feels a slightly strange admission now, but I think that the vibrato-laden big voices of Romantic opera were somehow too much for me (I suspect there was something too nakedly emotional about that kind of voice for my shy teenage self to handle - difficult to put into words). The opening of the Kyrie on ‘A Venetian Coronation’ was another matter. Here, I first heard the ‘cleaner,’ firmer voice of Charles Daniels, blending perfectly with the less brassy, almost vocal-sounding period trombones. Poring over the liner notes of my then modest collection of early music CDs, I started to see the same names cropping up repeatedly, and made a point of searching for discs featuring my favourites.

Paul McCreesh’s next reconstruction imagined a Venetian Vespers service, ‘as it  might have been celebrated on Friday 24th March 1643.’ By 1643, Claudio Monteverdi was in charge of music at St. Mark’s** (he died the same year). The set includes a handful of pieces by him, including an ingenious Laetatus Sum (track 11 - https://play.spotify.com/album/3lYgTpaHCc8aFfcQRQ7Nx3), but most of the music is by his younger colleagues, including Alessandro Grandi, who was made Monteverdi’s deputy in 1620. By this time, Venetian church music had changed. Composers had dispensed with the large choirs of cornetts and sackbuts, writing more often for solo voices with smaller accompanying groups of instruments. Several of the singers I had got to know on ‘Coronation’ returned for ‘Vespers,’ including Charles Daniels, whose performance of Grandi’s marvellous ‘O Intemerata’ remains a great favourite.

Alessandro GRANDI (?1586-1630) - O Intemerata (from ‘Motetti A Voce Sola’) - Charles Daniels (tenor); Paula Chateauneuf (chitarrone); Timothy Roberts (organ) 

https://play.spotify.com/album/3lYgTpaHCc8aFfcQRQ7Nx3 (track 6)

This astonishingly virtuosic Marian motet packs an awful lot into its four and a bit minutes. Grandi’s music moves swiftly between moments of great tenderness and surprisingly unchecked abandon. Looking back, I know I rarely used to consider the meaning of the text when I was younger. I was more taken by the beautiful SOUND of the words (O Eeeeen-taaaiiir-maiiirr-raaaaaata - McCreesh consulted a pronunciation advisor on ‘Coronation’) as well as the performance, in which Daniels pushes his voice towards its limits - the ecstatic final repeats of ‘et virgo gloriosa’ still leave me open-mouthed.

(Part II here: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/151747980144/charles-daniels-sings-florid-songs-ii-natures)

(Part III here: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/160514774364/charles-daniels-iii-monteverdi-vespers-1610)

* This actually comes from the 2012 remake, ‘A New Venetian Coronation.’ ‘Music For San Rocco,’ (https://play.spotify.com/album/25ABFDS9TZOIuiTpO8E1ow) recorded in the Tintoretto-covered Scuola Grande di San Rocco, is also well worth hearing.

** In 1595, Baldassare Donato was maestro di cappella. 

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Tinglesmiths II - Footnote / Confession

(Part I: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/130549132374/tinglesmiths-classics-for-pleasure)

Here’s another tingle clip:

This is an ASMR video, designed to trigger tingles in those who are susceptible. The ‘ASMRtist’ or ‘Tinglesmith’ whispering her way through a selection of recipes is Maria, whose ‘Gentle Whispering’ channel is hugely popular. There are many more tinglesmiths out there: a quick YouTube search for ‘ASMR’ delivers well over two million results. 

ASMR stands for ‘Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response.’ Jennifer Allen, who coined the term, has admitted that she deliberately chose this unwieldy name in an attempt to attract research funding: ‘Try explaining that you want money to study goose looping or brain orgasms.’ [1] While there has been a fair amount of research into musical tingles (or ‘frisson’), ASMR research is still in its infancy. If you’re keen to see the work that’s been done, have a look at this website: http://asmruniversity.com. The site’s ‘history’ section (http://asmruniversity.com/history-of-asmr/) charts the growth of the now huge ASMR online community, which began as a handful of people on a ‘weird sensation feels good’ forum thread.

Maria’s ‘Lipsmackingly Delicious Recipes’ clip is one of my favourites. There’s something about her close-up whispered videos which really affects me. The tingles move in pulses up and down my skull, shoulders and back. Sometimes, this continues for the whole length of a thirty minute video. When this happens, my head lolls, and by the end, I’m reduced to a blissed-out, tingling wreck. The tingles I get from ASMR clips certainly FEEL similar to the tingles I get from classical music, although I’ve no idea if the same things are happening in my brain. [2]

While female-voiced-English-as-a-second-language whispering appears to be the most reliable ASMR tingle trigger for me, there are plenty of other types of ASMR videos out there, all of which presumably do something for someone. I can only imagine how dull these clips must be for those who don’t feel anything while watching. There are a lot of perplexed comments below many of the videos, and, this being the internet, there is plenty of mindless abuse too. On the whole, the abusive comments are outweighed by contributions from people who are grateful for the videos, which seem to be widely used for relief from anxiety and insomnia. 

Just as favourite music doesn’t always trigger tingles, favourite ASMR clips don’t always make things happen either. Acquired ASMR immunity seems to be common, and unsurprisingly, there are ASMR videos discussing just that:

[1] http://www.vice.com/read/asmr-the-good-feeling-no-one-can-explain

[2] Part 4 of the ‘iWonder’ guide from shows what’s happening in the tingling brain: http://www.bbc.co.uk/guides/zx6sfg8#zck72hv

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Tinglesmiths / Classics For Pleasure

About a week ago, I watched a short film of the Radio 3 presenter Tom Service listening to the final few minutes of Wagner’s Götterdämmerung. The clip is part of a BBC ‘iWonder’ guide entitled ‘What Are The ‘Tingles’ We Feel When Listening To Music’ (http://www.bbc.co.uk/guides/zx6sfg8). As the music plays, Service tries to explain the effect it is having on his brain and body. Elsewhere in the guide, there is a list of the kinds of physiological changes the body can undergo when listening to music which moves us: ‘Skin conductance increases, your hair might stand on end, the heart speeds up, body temperature decreases, we breathe faster. Tingles - or chills - happen at the highest moments of musical pleasure.’ The author assumes that everyone has experienced tingles when listening to music. I certainly have, and have often heard others talk about music which sends a shiver down the spine. I’ve never before stopped to consider when or how the tingles affect me, though.

Unlike Tom Service, the Immolation Scene from the end of the Ring Cycle has never triggered tingles for me, even though this is music I find very powerful. It tends not to be this kind of sustained, crowning conclusion which does it for me. Rather, moments of tranquility - however brief - seem more likely to set me off:

(From around 7’30” onwards)

The passage of glittering horn and harp serenity towards the end of the first movement of La Mer is one such moment. As often seems to be the case, the tingle starts in the few seconds just before this section, as I look forward to the music I particularly love. In this next example, the chill-inducing serene moment follows several minutes of louder, more tortured music:

(From around 27′50″ onwards)

While the La Mer excerpt tends to trigger just one ‘pulse’ of tingles, here the effect can continue past ‘Noe From The Waters’ into the tenor’s ethereal ‘Novissima Hora Est.’ (1)

This next clip seems to belong in another category:

In the opening bars of this slow movement, the music unfolds gradually, naturally, like a time-lapse film of a blooming flower (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjCzPp-MK48). Here, I can feel the tingle build, and finally ‘boil over’ at the gentle mini-climax at 28”. This kind of ‘blooming’ opening is common in early choral music, where voices often enter one by one. This fabulous 8-voice piece from the Eton Choirbook doesn’t quite work like that, but I include it here because it ‘triggered’ me a couple of days ago:

I could continue with further examples, which may or may not do anything for you. For instance, the steady tread of the opening of Schumann’s 2nd Symphony chilled me yesterday (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6O58OkBRLek - does this belong in another tingle category altogether?), as did Purcell’s two-minute composed crescendo ‘Hear My Prayer, O Lord’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdayjljz_Sw). All of this may give the impression that I’m a finely-tuned tingle machine, primed to go off at the drop of a B flat. I’m sure I’m not - sometimes the tingles come and sometimes they don’t. The pieces mentioned above don’t always have the desired effect; they are just examples with a decent success rate. 

Curiously, I honestly can’t remember experiencing tingles in a concert hall. Perhaps I tend to feel inhibited. I’m aware that, at ‘peak tingle’ moments at home, I want to move my head and body, probably in a way that would annoy fellow concertgoers (see here: http://www.sinfinimusic.com/uk/features/other-features/gillian-moore-southbank-centre-alternative-classical-concert-etiquette-rules-september-2015). This does, though, point up the modern-day oddness of much of my classical listening. Playing these YouTube clips at home now, I’m wearing noise-cancelling headphones (which seem to heighten the tingles), and have access to around a thousand years of music at the touch of a few buttons. Standing back a little, the idea of travelling through time, quickly and easily searching for my next pleasurable tingle fix is pretty staggering. With this in mind, it was interesting to listen to the interview with Professor Lawrence Parsons in the ‘iWonder’ guide. Parsons, a professor of cognitive neuroscience, suggests that: ‘Modern day people can sit in a room by themselves and think that they’re having a personal experience but they’re not. They forget that some group of people or somebody made that music and they’re implicitly still involved with that.... they’re simulating a social event with musicians.’ To try to see and hear my wallfuls of CDs as a vast, endlessly complex web of composers, performers and listeners drawing on shared experiences, rather than as rows of discrete objects to be taken down, compared and returned to the shelf is a potentially rewarding challenge to me as a frequent, sometimes unthinking listener.  

BUT/AND,

as well as leading me to consider what’s involved in the creation, performance and reception of my listening diet (music from farm to fork), this whole tingle exercise seems to invite a more emotional response to music, which can make me feel uncomfortable. This is partly down to personality, but is also, I think, a consequence of an academic background in music. When I AM listening hard, my brain is constantly searching for patterns, returning themes, modulations, unusual bits of orchestration, and so on. A lot of people can point out (or at least feel) these things, but years of practice tends to move them into the foreground. The academic emphasis on nuts and bolts is understandable - as I was once taught, schools and colleges deal in the observable, the provable and the teachable (a thesis entitled ‘Brahms Gives Me Goosebumps And I Don’t Know Or Care Why’ is probably a non-starter). It’s interesting, though, to reflect on the idea of developing a greater flexibility in my listening, perhaps to avoid the diminishing returns of becoming set in my musical ways. Sitting with a score, ears wide open, will always fascinate me. For the next little while, though, I might try to lower the emotional barriers, have a bit of a wallow, and enjoy a few more tingles.

(Part 2: http://dothemusicblog.tumblr.com/post/130690178689/tinglesmiths-ii-footnote-confession)

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Drawer clearout. 25 years of music on the move. Sepia seems appropriate.

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2′40″ - 1986: Sonny Rollins jumps off the stage, breaks his heel and carries on playing. #DaveGrohl