Reviews
IPSA DIXIT – a stunning breakthrough in the reality of postopera
It was a warm Sunday afternoon, with Long Beach Opera set to host their closing matinee of “Ipsa Dixit” at the Art Theatre on Retro Row. Billed as a philosophy-opera, Kate Soper’s monumental work became a Pulitzer finalist back in 2017, and now, it looked for new life with the beloved experimental opera company. With James Darrah directing, Christopher Rountree as music director, and Jane Eilber choreographing a duo from the Martha Graham Dance Company, the synergy and quality of the production was undeniable from the very start.
I can think of no better place for this show than the iconic Art Theatre, history rich in its walls as the oldest single-screen hall in the city. Every detail of the Art Deco space was exemplified by clever production choices by LBO, from the dramatic lighting and the use of exit doors, to the abstraction of silent black-and-white film and the obfuscation of picture with bold blue lines. Even the dancers’ elaborate costumes were reminiscent of the prohibition era. One can only equate this unique viewing experience to a live debut screening of an experimental foreign film.
As you enter the theatre to look for your seat, you find yourself intruding upon a dance rehearsal on the satellite stage. To the delight of the audience, Leslie Andre Williams and Anna Souder can be found practicing their choreography in concert black, talking it out and making adjustments right in front of you. At this point, any preconceived notions you may have about opera were instantly obliterated. This subtle detail was powerfully engaging and proved to be a cautionary tale, a tone setter for the rest of the program, one that encourages to forget everything you knew about opera. I found their “rehearsal” was effective in making the overall experience more accessible to a less frequent crowd.
As soon as star soprano Anna Schubert sang her first words, one could not help but be mesmerized and stay that way for the entirety of the 90-minute show. “Sing” is truly an oversimplification. Beyond the role of an opera singer, Schubert was asked to be a philosopher, a narrator, a lover, a conductor, a Dadaist speech puppet, and even Socrates for a movement or two. More importantly, she was the driving force behind this high-octane, tongue-twister of a soprano part, one that she handled with brilliant lyricism and unparalleled conviction. Not to mention, she actually played almost every single instrument on stage as well.
Each member of the supporting ensemble were carefully chosen, with just three heavyweights replacing an entire orchestral pit. Playing their trained instruments was no longer the sole challenge here. Beyond tackling virtuosic moments, they were each asked to push the limits of extended techniques, all the while having to shadow Schubert with their instrument and voice or engage with her verbally in theoretical debate. As the opera descended into themes of love and tragedy, flautist Rachel Beetz demonstrated her technical prowess on more than one type of flute, filling each of them with sharp slices of air, colorful bites of overtones, and keeping toe to toe with Schubert through extremely fast and difficult speech. In the midst of well-timed chaotic images behind them, the duo showed outstanding chemistry and timing in this spiraling portray of madness and despair.
In perhaps my favorite role, percussionist Sidney Hopson emerged into the character Crito, Socrates’ wealthy Athenian friend, reinterpreting their famous conversation in an attempt to convince Socrates to escape prison. Hopson and Schubert were placed on opposite sides of the marimba, against a luring backdrop of a purple dream, a vision that Socrates had before his day of execution. Carefully pacing back and forth around the keys, the duo acted out an elaborate and verbose scene with stunning ease, interspersing dialogue with hypnotic marimba lines.
Finally, it was violinist Mona Tian’s turn to shine. In the very last duo with Schubert, Tian exhibited massive stage presence on par with that of a rock star, mastering sound, placement, and choreography to support Schubert in her rhetoric and (de)construction of language. Tian can be seen shredding on her violin as Slash would on his guitar, whipping her bow like a samurai after a kill, and moaning with anguish and vibrato in the upper register of her instrument, building significant momentum for the final climax of the piece. The finale was supported by the Martha Graham dancers performing the same routine as their earlier “rehearsal”, this time with full dresses, before they changed into something even more extravagant, wandering through the crowd and confusing everyone with popcorn and soft drink in their hands.
“Ipsa Dixit” was completely transformed by Long Beach Opera in a way I’ve never seen before. A stunning examination of philosophy and art, this breakthrough opera itself can be seen as a gold standard to the genre of postopera, a term first coined by Jelena Novak to describe the reinvention of opera through new media, de-syncrhonization of image and sound, and the redefinition of sex-gender-voice relationships. However, I would argue that Soper’s masterpiece moves beyond Novak’s foundational research and goes further to ask these meaningful questions: What is opera? What makes an opera good or bad? What separates opera from other musical forms? What role should opera strive for in order to survive the rapidly changing landscape of classical music? It seems as if the closest one could get to these answers is the singular inimitable experience that is LBO’s phenomenal production of “Ipsa Dixit”.
MOLLY PEASE presents ERDE DREAMS on mental health & nature / a workshop of memories for a new audience
Summer is calling and another school year is coming to a close. As I look ahead to spending more time in nature, an opportunity presented itself to me and my colleagues at Pasadena Waldorf High School to expose our young creatives to a level of music making never experienced before, one which dabbles with open-minded improvisation and slots neatly into our collective pedagogy. It should be no surprise that the colleague I worked with to bring this field trip to fruition is Richard An, editor of the words you’re reading now, and of all the other reviews here at New Classic LA. It also helps that Ted Masur, the director of music at Waldorf, only (coincidentally?) hired instructors from CalArts to round out the program, the third being Alexander Noice. Together, we share a strong inclination to radicalize music education and free it from its shackles of longstanding elite traditions. In other words, we sought to mobilize our students to embark on a journey of off-campus excursions to engage with the new music community.
The first result was magical – a special Tuesdays @ Monk Space outing curated by Shalini Vijayan, featuring Molly Pease, M.A. Tiesenga, and Miller Wrenn, in an evocative exploration of mental health examined through essential relationships with nature. Molly proceeded to wow the audience and Waldorf visitors with an achingly gorgeous solo set in the first half. “luminescent waves” was especially vivid and giving, with the help of some clever pre-recorded vocals behind a flurry of playful ad libs. From skinny dipping with dancing plankton to innocent giggles among amorous tides, this movement truly felt like a sanctuary away from the male gaze, life reflecting off bare skin from each and every direction. Molly ended her set with “deep ocean”, creating an atmosphere of depth and tension using a variety of extended vocal techniques and abstractions. I closed my eyes and felt so strongly the distant influences of artists like Sophie, Kevin Abstract, and Pamela Z, climbing into what I could only imagine to be a new era of post-grunge / post-jazz sound, yearning to break free.
In the second half, Molly brought M.A. and Miller to the stage for a set that proves to be even more experimental, with “a leaf to stand on” being a personal favorite. Part of four “seeds” of ideas that served as loose structures for improvised opportunities, the trio showcased a blend of chemistry in sensitive moments of tutti lament, often taking turns to depart from the rest with unique expressiveness. Patterns shifted subtly, and beauty evaporated into new ideas. Miller proceeds to bury this second seed gently and lovingly with ethereal harmonics. “water mirror” is the seed that follows, and here, we are faced with an unsettling moment of suspense, a stark confrontation of the dynamic challenges within the struggles of mental health. M.A.’s contributions were significant, gracing the opening with a influx of wind sounds and overtones, possessing an uncanny ability to reify Molly’s grief while interposing new perspectives to the topic at hand. Needless to say, the crowd left the night with a renewed focus on their own mental health, as well as a deep appreciation for the physiological effects of music and nature.
A few days later, we invited the trio into our instrumental class for a demonstration, workshop, and Q&A based on “erde dreams”. Our students asked meaningful questions about open improvisation and its role in jazz, as well as questions to Molly regarding her overall aesthetic choices and themes for the concert. Miller added insight to the limitations of genre labeling, shunning industrial giants like Spotify, all the while giving a hilarious micro lecture on sibilances. Next, the trio encouraged an improvised group activity using only their voices, taken from the swaying landscape just outside our classroom window, piquing the interests of the students. And finally, Miller introduced the concept of conduction (editor’s note: “conduction” distinct from “conducting,” see Butch Morris), furthering the experience they had of a guided improvisation piece I programmed in my first semester here, “Form the Fabric” by inti figgis-vizueta. It was beyond heartwarming to see how bold and curious our students were in championing new ideas and taking musical risks in uncharted waters, responding to every breath of inspiration.
I am so grateful for Molly, M.A., and Miller – three insanely talented musicians who feel so strongly in progressing new music with innovative programing and inclusive pedagogy. I am also overjoyed to have like-minded colleagues and a community in Waldorf that show immense interest, support, and funding to provide our students with the chance to dive deeper into the music community of greater Los Angeles. This is, without a doubt, classical music and education for a new audience. This is the start of something new.
WILD UP x 24 —> 24 x ARTHUR RUSSELL
FULL DISCLAIMER : This was not a classical concert. This was a disco party. And what a party it was – fully equipped with an open dance floor, a hefty disco ball shimmering above, and of course, complete with sweaty bodies. So instead of the usual stuffy review with complicated lexicon foreign to your typical household (written by yours truly), I will now attempt to do something never done before. I will craft the most serious of reviews for you by sharing some pictures from my phone, in hopes you may embody the revolutionary spirit of disco as you indulge with me (you’re welcome).
PS: This was the second sold-out performance of this show, and the first in a series of what looks to be an intriguing exploration into the many lives (and names) of Arthur Russell. I cannot wait to go back for more. Away we go!
Smother My Ears: Kevin Drumm, Daniel Menche, Carlos Giffoni + Alex Pelly, and Peter Kolovos at 2220 Arts and Archives
Experimental music series/labels, Carlos Giffoni’s “No Fun Productions” and Peter Kolovos’ “Black Editions Group,” teamed up to present four sets at 2220 Arts and Archives on March 23rd, 2024 (with rare Southern California appearances from Kevin Drumm and Daniel Menche). Capricious, intoxicating, glacial, and prickling: the curation provided something for anyone willing to risk their ears succumbing to pummeling sheets of sound.
Peter Kolovos
Kolovos runs Black Editions Group, condensing the music of three previous label projects under a single roof and organizing concerts for Los Angeles based and The Rest of the World based experimental musicians. He also rips on the guitar. The ideas move in rapid fire: a timbral terrarium explodes into being only to collapse onto itself as Kolovos assembles another. These ecosystems last only for seconds, but are rich in texture, gesture, and color. Moments of immense sustained drones lull us into a sense of safety, only for Kolovos to rip them away and slingshot us elsewhere. This is uncompromisingly blazing music in its display of integrated guitar-pedal virtuosity. And damn was that tone delicious…
Carlos Giffoni + Alex Pelly
Giffoni has been active as an electronic musician and curator on both coasts since the early 2000s and Pelly is a Los Angeles-based live music visualization performer and longtime dublab affiliate. Tonight, they teamed up for easily the most convincing non-narrative audio-visual performance I’ve seen. Giffoni’s modular synth and Pelly’s modular video systems gelled so effortlessly that for the first half of the set, I couldn’t tell who was making sound and who was controlling the visuals. Pulsing overdriven oscillators informed dancing geometric streaks, but Pelly has clearly set up a largely autonomous system not limited by its musical input. As Giffoni and Pelly performed, I experienced a genuine counterpoint between video and music with my attention moving back and forth between the two. The form felt like a series of short stories, each held together by a short wobbly rope bridge: an immediate, but still substantive transition. Giffoni plays his modular brilliantly, and it was a delight to have his throbbing bitcrushed melodic clouds dance around my eardrums.
Daniel Menche
Menche, like all of the night’s performers, is a musical polyglot. Portland-based and active since the late 80’s, he has made sounds in just about any way imaginable over the past 35 years. Whereas Giffoni’s and Pelly’s set was the Calvino collection of semi-related stories, Menche’s set was the epic novel condensed into 25 minutes. It felt like something in the air had changed, as a glacial wind had fully rolled in. Metallic tones folded onto themselves to create a glimmering sonic tapestry, growing rusty as a distortion slowly kicked in over the course of the set. Each knob turn gently sailed us elsewhere, but not too far away as we traversed over Menche’s sonic topography. By the end, the distortion had morphed into a full enveloping wall until receding into a final gust of wind. In the distance, I swear I could hear a melody.
Kevin Drumm
Drumm is the only artist on the show whose work I was previously familiar with. He’s a long-time Chicago-based computer musician, tabletop guitarist, and modular synth player, so I was ready for a sonic tidal wave in whatever form deemed necessary. Today it was two laptops, in front of Drumm on an elevated stage a good 10 feet behind where the other performers had been. I didn’t realize my brain was itchy until the opening laser point 12+ kHz tones gave it the scratch that it craved. As Drumm massaged my nervous system, the audio spectrum slowly began to fill out until these pinpoint tones enwrapped my entire being. This fullness of the sound left me with the wisdom that there are many ways to saturate the audio spectrum and that noise does not necessarily imply a timbral monolith. And we sat in this fullness, with small changes jostling the texture. These modulations never appeared to threaten the soundscape’s structural integrity, but as Drumm slowly replaced part by part, I came to the realization that he’s rebuilding his sonic Ship of Theseus. I truly could have marinated in any moment of this performance for hours. And then suddenly, with a swipe of a fader and a slap of the hands on the table, it’s over. I love when pieces end like this: no coda, no spoon feeding, no bullshit. With Drumm’s facetious “booooo” at an encore chant, 3 hours of sonic smothering had come to a close.
The show reminded me that “noise music” is not an easily connotable aesthetic signifier, but rather a community: adorned with lofi scuba tanks made of pedals, synths, patches, and contact mics and committed to diving into the depths of the fully saturated audio spectrum. They’re off the deep end, but that’s because the shallows are so boring.
Kevin Drumm, Daniel Menche, Carlos Giffoni + Alex Pelly, and Peter Kolovos at 2220 Arts and Archives
No Fun Productions + Black Editions Group
March 23, 2023
WildUp and LACO explore the composer-curator model in a weekend of performances
Last Friday, I drove through a brisk Beverly Hills evening to get to TreePeople, an environmentalist center located deep in the Hollywood Hills. Later I would learn that TreePeople had existed for fifty years in Los Angeles, planting thousands of trees in fire-stricken areas in southern California, but it was my, and many others’ first time there. Not unlike WildUp’s previous co-productions with floating at the Audubon Center, this event placed a chamber-sized configuration of WildUp in an atypical concert setting; the audience set up chairs, blankets and yoga mats beneath trees surrounding a performance space, two chairs and a table staged against a now pitch black Los Angeles skyline. I claimed a spot on the dirt as Mattie Barbier and Ashley Walters began playing Barbier’s no dirt to call for prepared brass and cello. Alternating long tones from both instrumentalists dovetailed into one another, reveling in the delicate composite texture of hair-on-string and reed-on-brass; I hope I mentioned that Barbier outfitted their euphonium with (what looks like) a saxophone mouthpiece in place of the standard euphonium mouthpiece. Barbier’s score explored the limits of this construction, dancing on the razor’s edge of playability, each sound seemingly a Herculean task of balance as the two halves of the instrument, built without considering the other, were coerced to play together. Walters provided a dependable but equally considered counterpoint, an anchor for the more delicate brass tones to blend into.
Mattie Barbier performed the other two pieces on the program solo: Ellen Arkbro’s Chords for brass and fixed media electronics, and a performance of Phil Niblock’s A Trombone Piece which was presented for solo trombone and pre-recorded trombone choir. The latter was offered as a tribute to the composer, as Niblock had passed earlier this month, and had had a large impact on Barbier’s music making from an early age. Both pieces were singular, loud, encompassing, and unrelenting; I (admiringly) use the word “indulgent” for this music, pieces which pick a compelling musical idea and insist on it for its entire duration. After the show a light rain started to fall, and I listened to its continuous thrum on the roof of my car as I drove home.
By Saturday, the drizzle had evolved into a downpour as I fought Long Beach traffic to get to the Museum of Latin American Art (MOLAA) for CURRENT: [INTI]MATE, an evening of chamber music curated by inti figgis-vizueta, a composer whose recent music has Carnegie, Spoleto and REDCAT under the hands of the Attacca Quartet, American Composers Orchestra, and Andrew Yee. The program weaves together music from composers of the Latine diaspora, including arrangements of Violeta Parra’s Anticuecas, culminating in a new work from the curator herself. These were the highlights of the program; a clear love of melody is evident in the folkloric Anticuecas, and an equally strong affinity for texture and timbre are present in figgis-vizeuta, Negrón and Balter’s selections. The arrangements were clever, and the program’s structure (loosely alternating older and newer pieces) worked well.
The presentation was marred by some other circumstances; the guitar was curiously unamplified, and the pieces with electronics were imaged oddly (they were played through small pre-installed speakers in the gallery drop ceiling). Half-concert and half-gala, quiet sections of music were interrupted by attendees getting up to get food and wine, rain-soaked shoes squeaking across the slick floor. These are perhaps the necessary growing pains of a new series foregrounding contemporary music in new curatorial models, in untraditional venues which eschew the admittedly sometimes-stifling, sometimes-confusing standard concert etiquette. Though I know I’m comparatively sensitive to extraneous noises, and some hiccups are bound to happen in any concert environment, it’s just a bit of a shame when they affect how the music is presented.
That said, both events are demonstrative of a curatorial model that I enjoy; an organization putting time and resources behind a young contemporary musician in untraditional ways. Other Los Angeles new music organizations like Synchromy and Monday Evening Concerts have done the same, to recent successes, and I hope others continue to follow suit.
For more information about these events:
https://endless-season.wildup.org/2023-24/event/barbier-arkbro/
On Patience and Sustenance: Microtonal Brass Works by Ellen Arkbro and Sarah Davachi
Slow, barebones music engenders highly attentive listening. Each breath becomes a gesture and every compositional decision bears immense responsibility. In this music, details do not support a gesture: they are the gesture. So on Sunday December 17th, 2023, I was delighted to hear many of Los Angeles’ finest brass players perform a program of patiently glacial chamber works in just-intonation at Automata Theater in Chinatown.
The program began with Ellen Arkbro’s clouds, originally premiered in 2022 by the tuba trio Microtub. The audience encircled an ensemble donning the slightly altered instrumentation of Mattie Barbier on euphonium, Luke Storm on tuba, and Mason Moy on tuba. From the first chord, the immense resonance of the two tubas and euphonium, amplified by Automata’s reverberant interior, shook my organs like Jell-O. The richness of the low brass amplified the quivering beating patterns of Arkbro’s precise overtone-derived harmonies to epic levels. For the duration of the work, it was as if I was inside of a colossal church organ.
As compared to the pieces of Arkbro’s with which I am familiar, often based in sustenance of a single idea, clouds has a more dynamic narrative structure. Three blocky structures define the 20 minute performance: unison chords, layered harmonies with delayed entrances, and a concluding sustained drone with a shifting bassline. This coda is unique: in much of the piece, the upper two voices shift over a sustained bass pedal-point, while here, Arkbro reverses those roles. Barbier’s and Moy’s superb circular breathing brings this culminating drone to stillness, as Storm delicately places and replaces the bass. Here, Arkbro brings attention to the ability of a singular voice to recontextualize and reimagine a static harmony. A drone is perhaps less fixed than we might imagine.
After a short break, we resituated our chairs into a multi-directional tangle to orient ourselves towards the spatially organized ensemble for Sarah Davachi’s Long Gradus (brass). Situated in the four corners of the room, the ensemble now surrounded the audience. Davachi offers some insights into the piece in her liner notes on Bandcamp. She originally composed Long Gradus for the microtonal string quartet specialists Quatuor Bozzini for the 2020 Gaudeamus Muziekweek in Utrecht. COVID delayed the premiere, which allowed Davachi the time to expand the work into its patient hour-long form. Although originally composed for string quartet, Davachi opens the instrumentation to any quartet of instruments with the ability to alter their intonation. This rendition of the piece was performed by the newly formed Diapason Brass Quartet of Nev Wendell on trumpet, Nick Ginsburg on horn, Mattie Barbier on trombone, and Mason Moy on tuba.
Throughout the work, the slowly pulsing lights in Automata cast a sequence of shifting shadows on the floor: a dynamic tapestry of ghostly limbs fading into and out of existence. This seemingly inconsequential detail serendipitously focused my listening towards shadows and patterns as an essential element of Davachi’s piece. The successive repetitions constituted a cubist rendering of a phrase’s shadow, until five minutes passed and I suddenly realized that I was no longer listening to the same shadow. Breath was equally vital. An undulating textural density of sustained tones created a pointillistic tessellation: fragmented, as if by four phantom asynchronous delay pedals. Unisions felt like a happy treat, as did silences. This allochronic meter allowed this brass-quartet version to differentiate itself from the sustained string quartet version beyond timbre (as I suppose bows do not need to breathe). The ensemble’s steadfast stability in their non-vibrato longtones over the course of the hour constituted a remarkable feat of musical/physical endurance. The resonance of the space allowed for the combination tones to tickle my eardrums, especially when Moy brought in a cavernous bass note. Davachi’s commitment to deliberate change did not lead my ear to a clear resting point, but rather demonstrated a devotion to metamorphosis. There is no “home” or V-I, but rather a diasporic wandering to elsewhere. A piece like this reminds me of one of my favorite literary quotes, from Octavia Butler’s’ Parable of the Sower: “God is Change.”
Davachi and Arkbro show us that work employing the harmonies of the overtone series need not to obsess with the harmonies themselves, but rather engage the altered processes of listening that such tunings beget. These are trans-temporal works: drawing from the non-metric monophony and hocketing polyphony of plainchant, Renaissance and Baroque temperament, and the stripped down non-expressive minimalism of Wandelweiser. The night’s expert brass performers brought out every detail from this ostensibly simple music, highlighting the underlying complexity of a long-tone. I am grateful that such investigative and patient art exists to grant me the curiosity to examine the details of our world. Maybe through such thorough investigation, can we begin to rearrange those details into something new and more just.
this may be the most ethically compromised review you’ll ever read: Yarn/Wire at FRANKIE presented by Monday Evening Concerts
Yarn/Wire is a quartet composed of two percussionists (Sae Hashimoto and Russell Greenberg) and two pianists (Laura Barger and Julia Den Boer). They presented two beautiful concerts earlier this month in large warehouse space FRANKIE in the Arts District, presented by Jonathan Hepfer and Monday Evening Concerts.
Yarn/Wire is also my favorite chamber ensemble. I have attended their summer Institute twice. I have my own 2pno/2perc ensemble based largely on the work they’ve done, taking advantage of their large commissioned body of work. I have another mostly-piano ensemble in which ALL of the members have attended the Institute. They have played my music, and I have played theirs.
I also work (as Associate Producer) for Monday Evening Concerts, the longest running new music ensemble in Los Angeles, about to enter its 85th year, and helped produce these programs (and run live sound). I’ve known Jonathan Hepfer from our overlapping stays at CalArts, since 2017.
Though I’ve never made any claims otherwise, I feel like it’s only right that I tell you that this may be the most ethically compromised review you’ll ever read. I tend to get involved with lots of new music orgs here in Los Angeles, so to find a concert that I’m completely agnostic to is a bit of a challenge. But even so, it’s almost funny to find myself this intertwined in a production.
So, in order to ease any (assuredly mostly self-directed) claims of unfair bias, the format of this review will need to change. Instead of offering an opinion, I’ll take you through a bit of my day as I work through the two concerts.
The audience were seated in a round, surrounding the ensemble, with speakers at the perimeter of the room facing inward, and around the ensemble facing outward. The first concert began with a work by Tyondai Braxton in which (in its recorded version) it is difficult to discern who is playing what, when, and where. Its title gives you hints (“music for ensemble and pitch shifter/delay”) and when seen live (here in a rare performance and its West Coast premiere), you can see how much the electronics are playing with the ensemble – not under, or against. The program notes (which hilariously are written by me) note how the live processing fills in the gaps horizontally (hocketing against the instrumentalists) and vertically (filling in registers, especially low ones, that the musicians themselves are not playing). I love the ambiguity of what is “played” and what is processed in the recorded version of this piece, and my goal as the live sound engineer in presenting it was to try to replicate that experience for the audience that would most likely be hearing it for the first time.
After a moment for applause, the piano lids were closed with small microphones placed inside; Sarah Davachi’s “Feedback Studies for Percussion” relies on the performers’ ability to manually balance their own sounds constructed by overtone reinforcement and acoustic feedback, aided secondarily by the microphones at each instrument. The closed piano lids create an acoustic chamber, in which certain resonant frequencies are encouraged to gather by the size and shape of the open space in the pianos. This, combined with the ringing metals played by the percussionists, creates a composite mass of sound that, at its best, is just on the edge of spilling over into “too much.” The performance functions on multiple parameters of this feeling of “spilling over”; I was told, as the live sound engineer, to push the sound as loud as I could before feeding back. The performers are doing this ‘manually’ as well, using their ears and pacing sensibilities to keep the machine whirring without letting the built up energy expire or crest too quickly. There is even a physical analogue to this in the ringing metals; gongs and some other large metal idiophones have a kinetic actuation point; you hit it a little too hard, and overtones spill out of the instrument and the quality of the sound changes drastically. There is a feeling of control, balance and sustain, coupled somehow non-paradoxically with a sense of “leaning forward” through its roughly 20-minute run time.
Andrew McIntosh’s “Little Jimmy” closes the program, a delicately constructed piece obituarizing the trees in and around the Little Jimmy campsite in the Angeles National Forest on Mt. Islip. The field recordings used in the piece are part of the collective memory of Little Jimmy which burned in the 2020 Bobcat Fire; the psithurism here is one of few ways left to experience the trees (that word is “the sound of the wind through leaves”, a word I must have picked up from from McIntosh himself). “Little Jimmy” loves high metals and scraped stones, pairing them alternatingly with a marching 16th note piano statement, and bowed metals. The piece exists in a mirror form, at the heart of which sits a slowly-unfolding hum of bowed piano which grows over ten minutes into a roar, with Yarn/Wire wailing on bell plates and the lowest notes on the piano. After the dust settles, we think we hear birds and the wind through the trees again. The field recordings exist sometimes at the edge of audibility; before the concert, I asked McIntosh how I should balance the field recordings to the quartet, to which he said “like it’s a quintet” and walked away.
The second concert began two hours after the sunlight had left the room; the large globe lights above the audience were dimmed, the centre lights completely shut off, with four paper lanterns added surrounding the ensemble to provide local light. The atmosphere seemed to pull the audience in closer to listen to the first piece of the second program, Klaus Lang’s “Molten Trees.” This is a favorite Yarn/Wire commission of mine; superballed bass drums punctuated by antiphonal claves is just somehow a perfect sound. It begins the piece, which then gives way to a forest of triangles, then a continual exploration of sustained sounds. The warbling of a vibraphone motor, the hum of an e-bow on piano string, the hammering chords on a piano all work to create a cloth of different textures; the sections of “Molten Trees” change slowly enough to draw your attention into the details, how the rhythm of one sustain is just barely faster than the other. How the chime attacks blend together smoothly while the drier piano material continues to run on top. Somehow, in glacially moving chunks of sound, each interaction between instrumentalists creates a vibrant composite inner rhythm. Then, click, claves return. It is an unbelievably effective marker of a recapitulation; it is a little baffling at how much like “home” that material feels after listening to sound masses of different densities and textures for twenty minutes.
Sarah Hennies’ “Primers” closes both the program, and Yarn/Wire’s residency in Los Angeles. The program note, which, again, sorry, was written by me, explains: “Primers, like much of Sarah Hennies’ music of this time, is constructed in clean, discrete durational blocks which intersect, overlap, interrupt and dovetail. A hocketing musical gesture in one half of the ensemble persists, unchangingly, yet somehow still feels vibrant when the other half interrupts three minutes later. Frankly a masterwork in pacing and structure, Primers is simultaneously placid and rapid, slow and frenetic, unchanging yet continuously evolving. Primers invites both detailed listening and zoning out, and delivers a musical line which simultaneously intrigues, perplexes and captivates the listener.“ Yet another West Coast premiere (the fourth of the night), this piece was foundational to the programming of the evening since the very beginning of the production cycle; other pieces were added and stricken from the list, but Hennies was included since day one, months ago. My program note gives away some of my incredulity at the effective simplicity of the material, the piece works remarkably well; perhaps because of its simple construction, not in spite of it. The same musical material persists unchangingly for minutes at a time, giving you just enough time to wonder what’s coming next, yet still shock when it does.
I heard a few concert-goers expound afterwards, with the recurring thought that putting Hennies and Lang on the same program may have been a programming error, and may have taxed the audience with its similarities. To me, this pairing was brilliant; both pieces share an affection for long stretches of material, registral extremes, and love of dry, percussive events. However, its shared characteristics may cloud each piece’s strong individual identities; where one stays on a single sound for minutes at a time, the other constantly morphs through added layers. Where one revels in continuous gridded rhythm, the other explores motion through dovetailing lines of music. The friction in this juxtaposition shows you how different two pieces with the same ingredients could be; the push of two opposing magnets that you know should belong together, I mean they look the same, don’t they?
YARN / WIRE – ‘MOLTEN TREES’
GUEST ENSEMBLE RESIDENCY
TWO PROGRAMS :
DECEMBER 9, 2023 | 4PM and 8PM
at FRANKIE, LOS ANGELES | 300 S MISSION RD, 90033
https://www.mondayeveningconcerts.org/
https://www.yarnwire.org/
these are the tears of things…
It was merely a week ago that I made another visit to a Green Umbrella show with my husband at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. I was gleaming with excitement at the prospect of being able to review the LA Phil New Music Group for the first time, especially with the traction that California Festival has gained in recent months. However, two days later, I received word that my grandmother had passed away, merely a week before I was planning to visit her in rural Taiwan. And so, I find myself writing to you from an empty cafe in Taipei, set to a gentle drizzle near my childhood home. Right now, my heart is heavy with love & sorrow, my mind racing with core memories. Everywhere I look I see her smile, I hear her voice. As an immigrant child, I cannot help but share a sliver of what I feel after missing every one of my grandparents in their final moments. Though many of you have never met her, I can only hope you will remember her as you remember your own.
As I begin to process everything these past two weeks have offered, I am having a hard time forgetting the glistening sounds of heaven in Sunt Lacrimae Rerum (these are the tears of things) written by Dylan Mattingly. From classic literary passages of The Aeneid, Mattingly was able to capture the totality of human experience through the universality of tears, illustrating the beginnings & ends of life through a palette unlike any other composer I have encountered. Written for two prepared pianos & two harps slightly detuned and estranged from one another, one could hear a powerful semblance of traditional Gamelan music through the ancient metals of gangsa & kemanak and the transcendental strings of siter & rebab. The piece began with the two pianists, Joanne Pearce Martin & Vicky Ray tiptoeing in pointillistic, Ravel-like fashion, only to be joined by Emily Levin & Julie Smith Phillips strumming low, pentatonic chords on their bright red harps, inviting us to let go of all of our inhibitions and to feel everything we are capable of ever feeling. In Mattingly’s own words, “these are not tears of sorrow – or at least not sorrow alone. These are the tears of everything, of the everythingness present in each moment, the superabundance of life’s experience, an understanding which we fear overwhelming us should we turn towards it too often. These are the tears of life’s entirety…”.
And as these tears continue to unfold & unravel, more of our collective experience continues to reveal itself through the organic fraying of microtonality found in nature. Our bodies gently ascend into the twilight, while our ears quietly submerge into a toy piano lullaby. Martin & Ray do a marvelous job at hypnotizing & pacifying the crowd like the dream mobile I once had under my crib, only to be awakened by a sudden recall of the very beginning, a reminder of the inevitability of death and the promise of peace in the afterlife. As Levin & Phillips renter the scene, they build into an immovable mass of sound, steadying with lifting volume yet tangling itself with polyrhythmic complexity. Finally, the last chord strikes, as if we have reached the end of time, a new beginning, and our ears are coated with the everlasting reverberation of heaven’s gates, a moment of nirvana that can only be experienced in the acoustic & visual spectacle that is Disney Hall.
Before the audience has long to think, our ears perk up as like meerkats to the sound of little branches splitting in the quiet. Like most pieces, our percussionists Matthew Howard & Joseph Pereira are placed in the back of the ensemble for Sketches of Chaparral, composed by my wonderful colleague M.A. Tiesenga, but it is no coincidence they are the first & last to be heard in this piece. We see Vimbayi Kaziboni on the podium motion to them with not much else happening, encouraging us to the edge of our seats. Though I’m well acquainted with this music (Tiesenga has composed a piece for me in the past) I truly did not know what to expect. We start to hear those same ordinary branches ruminating, coalescing with metal, accompanied by gristly sul ponticello gestures from Ted Botsford on the bass. Our attention is redirected to indeterminate wind gusts in the form of air shooting through woodwind instruments, a recall of the psithurism I used to experience on long picturesque walks with my grandmother. We are treated to fleeting overtone glimmers, like morning sunlight peaking through leaves, brushes rubbing on the head of a bass drum, with wood knocks & sounds of bowed cymbals scattered all across. As a fearless multidisciplinary artist, Tiesenga has this uncanny ability to turn something as mundane as a branch into a motif, a bush into a concept, a biome into a hand-sketched graphic score, and an intangible feeling into a masterclass in chance music.
Growing up in a place like Taiwan, I was surrounded by nature that was incredibly vivid & larger than life. The landscape was luxuriously saturated from rain, forests as dense as the weather, with delicious tropical fruits found in abundance. So when I moved to the states, I too had my reservations on the biodiversity of California’s chaparral landscape, one that I have now come to love. It is true that these bushes of great variety, seemingly ordinary, are the ones that protect us from the constant threat of wildfires and preserve the delicate balance going as we struggle with climate change going forward. As Kaziboni calmly takes us through numbered sections of the graphic score like a wise steward of the land, we are offered glimpses of the multifaceted character of the chaparral biome through the deliberate choices of each individual sound maker. I can think of no better way to highlight California Festival than this heartwarming homage to nature and the indigenous land that provide us all with everything we could possibly need and so much more.
Perhaps the most interesting component of this experience is the pleasant coexistence of aleatoric gestures with beautifully written solo melodies that hint at the cultivators of this land. Though conflict is natural, we can really feel the harmonious relationship between living beings and their respective surrounding through expressivity of solos from Bing Wang on the violin, Robert deMaine on cello, to Catherine Karoly on flute. While these solos were played in a virtuosic manner, they were still highly attuned to the sounds & gestures of the environment around them, never to disturb or disrupt. This is a masterful reflection that is seldom offered in a place like this. From the stillness of the desert to the magic of the night, the turmoil of our climate to the contemplative nature of California’s history, Tiesenga wears their heart on their sleeve with an exquisite premiere of Sketches of Chaparral.
Writing this has been nothing less than transformative for me as I embark on a new journey of healing. Through the lessons of intention & care from Tiesenga to the wisdoms of life & embrace from Mattingly, I can only hope to see the many truths that will reveal a path forward. And for you, not only do I wish you could hear the sounds that remain, I hope you will have the chance to say all there is to say to those you love dearly. these are the tears of things…
Chaparral and Interstates: New Music from California
LA Phil New Music Group
Nov 14, 2023
Walt Disney Concert Hall (111 S Grand Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90012)
LIFE CYCLES – Friday Night at High Desert Soundings
Living and working in Los Angeles is no easy feat for anyone, especially for young musicians like myself. This fall, it has been incredibly difficult for me to find any time for a small change of pace, so I decided to look elsewhere, well beyond the city. Friday the 13th had been circled on my calendar for a while – it was meant to be a weekend I could escape the routine with my husband & my girlfriends, but instead, the world saw a steep and frightening descent into darkness as we journeyed into High Desert.
Suddenly, with horrors of genocide looming over our heads, music became secondary. The four of us were reminded of how privileged we are, to be traveling in love & safety at a time like this. We felt a sudden wave of helplessness, being so far removed from the dire situation in Gaza. Seeing many of my colleagues gather in modest comfort, in a place like Twentynine Palms, and seeing artists from all walks of life come together at The Palms for High Desert Soundings to experiment with the healing powers of silence & noise gave me a sense of (re)new(ed) purpose. I have put this review off for far too long, having recently been perturbed with waves of grave inhumanity and sternly occupied with my personal, unrelenting activism against the ongoing apartheid. I have finally decided – this is the only way forward for me.
I shall begin with Life Cycles, by Stephanie Cheng Smith, one of the headliners of Friday night, and certainly the most appropriate set for the long days our civilization faces ahead. Part of an ongoing sound installation, Stephanie has amassed in her own words “eighty-four cicada apparati separated into seven broods, installed long term as an accelerated representation of overlapping periodical life cycles of different broods and species of cicadas.” And to High Desert, she carried only less than a handful cicadas with her. Accompanied by the faint crackle of firewood and the lovely smell of sand & smoke, her cicadas were as cryptic as the desert animals themselves, joining the little grey moths dancing above our tables in glistening twilight. It was truly a quiet meditation, a gentle reminder for us all to breathe deeply with love & intention. A contrast to some of the more provocative noises we have heard tonight, Stephanie’s work gave us a glimpse at how interconnected we are with the environment around us, and how everything we know is precious simply because it is impermanent. Indeed, it is true that annual cicadas are species that emerge asynchronously every year. Before emerging from darkness to find their mates with song, their life cycles can vary from one to seventeen years living as underground nymphs. We must remember, as the limits of music technology continue to defy all odds in a post-Cageian, postmodern musical landscape, nature will only continue to journey alongside us, surprising us with an honest reflection of our own organismic values and behaviors.
To send us off into the stars of the night, Technical Reserve returned us to a jarring, industrialized reality. A trio of two laptops & one pedaled-up cello, Hunter Brown, Dominic Coles, and TJ Borden threw an eclectic & original vernacular at us – one that no one was ready for. With shades of Morton Feldman’s late cello works and the subtle foreshadowing of the implications of artificial intelligence, Technical Reserve tautly flexed their outstanding expertise in an astonishing, semi-improvised set. Around midnight, it seemed as if we were launched into an immersive historical survey, illustrated by paradoxically paired genres of structureless free jazz and rigid serialism. Through jurassic growls, explosive feedback, silences of space, and instruments of war, the trio suggested that what makes us unique as human beings is our unwavering curiosity. At this point, the outdoor classroom that is the quaint courtyard of The Palms were now littered with stimulated, engaged minds, with Bach, Coltrane, and Stockhausen acting as our instructors on behalf of the trio sitting in front of us.
The road ahead is long, and our humanity is being put on full display. We must continue to lead with hope & fight urgently for freedom. Our resiliency will show not only through activism, but also through the thread of all humanities – in literature & the arts. High Desert Soundings has given me an important moment to breathe and a second chance to do what is right in fighting with courage for human rights. I am most certain many of those in attendance returned home feeling the very same.
“Clouds” emerge and dissipate throughout Monkspace
On October 10th 2023, I found myself at Monk Space attending my first concert presented by People Inside Electronics (PIE). The concert was the premiere of a new fifty minute piano piece “Songs and Clouds” written by Matt Sargent and performed by Andrew Anderson. While this was my first experience at a PIE event, this is far from my first time hearing Matt’s music performed. I first met Matt during my undergraduate studies at The Hartt School in Connecticut. I took a few electronic music classes with him and soon after we developed a professional relationship performing and recording each others music.
One of the pieces I’ve worked on with Matt is his piece “Third Illumination” which was recorded and premiered by my percussion duo with Katie Eikam, desoduo. “Third Illumination” is part of Matt’s “Illumination Series” a series which uses a generative score that creates materials for the performer to read in real time. This generative score creates a unique performance and allows a variance to exist in each performance. The generative score is also the basis for “Songs and Clouds;” in the moments most closely resembling music from the Illumination series, a lush bed of sustained harmonic material from the electronics underlines the piano, in which it gently sits and emerges through small melodies and additive patterns.
However, as the materials present themselves and disperse over the course of the performance
it becomes clear these processes are unique to “Songs and Clouds;” this is a different harmonic one, one which deserves its own moniker, rather than sharing a name with the aforementioend Illumination Series. Several years ago I saw Matt’s piece “Separation Songs.” also at Monk Space, as part of Cold Blue Music’s release of Matt’s album of the same name. “Separation Songs” uses musical material from the New England composer William Billings’ Songbook. The use of the Billings material, though most heavily utilized in to “Separation Songs,” is subtly present here in “Songs, Clouds.” The result of employing these songs as melodic material in this generative process is a harmonic landscape that, emotionally, borders on sentimental, but has an underlying complex process that unfolds melodies which keeps the listener present.
In addition to being a composer, Matt Sargent is also a performer. This week I’ve had the chance to see him perform several times on pedal steel guitar. I couldn’t help but notice that Andrew and Matt have very similar presences as performers. Both of them, but especially Andrew, present information matter-of-factly. In Andrew’s performance of “Songs and Clouds” there are no extra performative movements or gestures beyond what is needed to showcase the material, in the most efficient manner possible. The music and the material speaks for itself through Andrew’s mastery as a performer. Andrew’s touch is subtle and delicate. His control over the dynamic possibilities of the piano allows him to glide freely
from section to section. His execution in differentiating the rising melodic lines while delicately playing chordal clouds at a softer dynamic are paramount to the success of the piece.
This was the season opener for People Inside Electronics and if so this was an incredibly strong start. If this is the direction PIE continues to go in, then this will certainly be far from my last PIE concert. I eagerly look forward to whatever they plan on offering to the concert goer next, as well as seeing what will come next from Andrew and Matt.
https://www.mattsargentmusic.com/
https://andrewandersonpiano.com/
https://peopleinsideelectronics.com/