Concert Review: Shadows And Hope At Zankel Hall

Programming a concert has many challenges. First of all, it’s commonplace for it to be at least two hours of music, which gives the audience their money’s worth but requires much preparation. If you’re presenting a new piece, that might eat up a disproportionate amount of your rehearsal time. Playing an unfamiliar work might also lead you to want to give the audience some comfort food, in the forms of a warhorse or other frequently performed piece. Fortunately, the American Composers Orchestra did not fall into that trap last Thursday, when they played in Zankel Hall as part of Carnegie Hall’s massive and ambitious festival, Migrations: The Making Of America. But they did struggle a bit to connect works that were musically disparate and resonated with each other only on a strictly cerebral level. But that was the only issue I had with the concert, which was played both immaculately and with a generosity of feeling. 

The first piece was Morton Feldman’s Turfan Fragments (1980) which was inspired by bits of 1,500-year-old knotted carpet from Turkestan and, as such, was designed to be a series of unresolved parts. For a first hearing of this slippery work I was immediately struck by how resolute it was in its very irresolute-ness, as if Feldman was determined that it not come together in a way we expect from an orchestral piece. There were many sonic delights within, however, like the pizzicato section that came about five minutes in. And there may have been no harder working man in New York that night than conductor George Manahan, whose precise baton movements hinted at the challenge Feldman designed for those who dare to assay these “fragments” - a challenge more than met by him and the ACO. 

Next we were treated to a some brief remarks from Gloria Coates, describing how her Symphony No. 1, “Music on Open Strings,” took shape between 1971, when it was commissioned by the Rhinelander Chamber Orchestra, and 1974, when it was completed. She wasn’t able to finish her whole tale of artistic discovery, and it is a gripping story, but it was also well-told by her in the program notes. Coates, who turned 80 last year, was born in Wisconsin but traveled from her home in Germany to witness her piece’s Carnegie Hall debut. It was also my introduction to her work, as she has been in the “I know the name but that’s all” category for some time. Now I'm kicking myself because I know what I've been missing!

I was quickly sucked into the unique sound world she creates, with bows swooping and gliding across strings and sometimes tapping them. Knuckles were also knocked against wood for dramatic effect, just one reason I was on the edge of my seat. Part of the work’s distinctive quality comes from Coates’s idea to have the players re-tune their instruments periodically throughout, which was a great opportunity for the ACO and Manahan to show how well they communicate. A nod of the head from one of the bassists toward the podium was all the conductor needed to know that the musician was ready. Ultimately, the brooding intensity of the piece, which reminded me of Shostakovich at times, was more important than the mechanics of how Coates got there. I’m looking forward to learning more about her catalogue and hope we don’t have to wait for her centenary for it to be celebrated and highlighted in the musical life of NYC. 

Instead of an intermission, there was a panel discussion featuring the collaborators who created the evening’s main event, the New York premiere of Where We Lost Our Shadows (2019). Composer Du Yun was joined by filmmaker Khaled Jarrar, ACO Artistic Director Derek Bermel, and vocalist Ali Sethi. Du Yun talked about how she crafted the work with these specific soloists in mind, instead of casting them later. Having already decided that ragas would be incorporated into the piece, Sethi became a real asset as he guided her through 800 years of music from the Indus region. Sethi also demonstrated some of the basic Qawwali forms he would be using, giving the audience a sneak preview of his wondrous voice. Jarrar described his way of embedding himself with immigrant communities, gaining their trust and getting a view of the extremes of their experiences. Author Didier Fassin, whose book, Life: A Critical User's Manual, informed some of the thinking behind the piece, was also on hand to offer some sobering facts about migrant mortality: It has been on the rise worldwide for decades and many deaths go uncounted with even the names of the dead unknown or unrecorded. 

L-R: Didier Fassin, Ali Sethi, Du Yun, Khaled Jarrar & Derek Bermel
Photo by Jennifer Taylor

According to the program notes, “Where We Lost Our Shadows is a piece for orchestra, video, and soloists that focuses on human migration as a question of perpetual movement and exodus that repeats throughout history, passing on collective and individual traumas and rejuvenations from generation to generation.” That measured explanation barely hinted at the deeply emotional combination of sound and vision that transpired over the half hour of the piece, which literally started with a BANG, struck by percussionist Shayna Dunkelman on an enormous side drum. I know Dunkelman as a member of avant-rock band Xiu Xiu but was unaware of the breadth of her musicianship, which became stunningly apparent during the heart-stopping solo that began the work. 

When the orchestra came in, accompanied by what I believe was an electronic tanpura (Sethi seemed to be holding one during the panel discussion), it was almost a relief from the tension built up by the drums. Sethi began singing in his rich, slightly husky voice, seeming to craft his ancient melodies out of the air with his hand gestures. There was a chaotic darkness on the screen, which eventually gave way to an interview on the streets of Turkey with a family overjoyed because they had just gotten their authorization to travel to Europe, where they would find a new home after leaving Syria. They kept smiling even when saying they had been living in the streets while waiting for their papers. Their sweet, shining faces stood as a testament to the indomitable human spirit - and an indictment of what people do to other people. 

"Where do you sleep?" "In the streets." Photo by Jennifer Taylor.

Helga Davis, the third soloist and an incredible singer and performer, then stood up and unleashed all the pain and sorrow that lay behind those smiles. There was another percussion interlude, even more intricate than the first, and further explorations of Qawwali, leading to a stunning duet between Sethi and Davis. Just as there are no easy answers to the refugee crisis, ...Shadows ended without a sense of closure - it just stopped. The audience caught their breath and then stood for a generous standing ovation. While it’s hard to be entirely sure based on one performance, I feel fairly certain that the music, in which I sensed a new level gravitas for Du Yun, will more than hold its own without the visuals. I urge the powers that be to record it as soon as possible!

You may also enjoy:
Focus On: Contemporary Classical
Three Portraits: Cheung-Trapani-Du Yun
Mata's Bad Romance At The Kitchen

Technicalities: ACO's Orchestra Underground

The first flowering of what would come to be known as punk rock encompassed such diverse sounds as the cerebral bubblegum of Talking Heads, the streamlined girl-group pop of Blondie, the artful interlocking explorations of Television, and the sped-up Spector of the Ramones. Soon enough, after a transatlantic crossing or two, punk became codified into a studded-leather jacket and safety-pinned cul de sac of loud fast rules.

Did something similar happen in the world of "new music" or the classical avant garde? Did the seismic blasts of The Rite of Spring and Schoenberg's serialism blow things up to a degree that composers can draw on a limited palette of structures and sonic semi-innovations and still get across as "new?" Can you just deploy some additional percussion, amp up the orchestral clangor and dissonance and call it a day? And what do those European referents have to do with the American tradition? 

That's not to say that all contemporary American composers are beholden to an outdated notion of new-ness. You have artists like Julia Wolfe, Mario Diaz de Leon, Daniel Wohl, Anthony Chung, and even legends like Alvin Lucier who continue to push the envelope of what's heard in the concert hall. It's also not to say that some of what might be called the "retro avant garde" doesn't make for good or even great listening, it's just that it doesn't do it any favors to present it as something earth-shattering.

I put these passing thoughts down to give an idea of some of what I was working against when listening to the American Composers Orchestra's new album, Orchestra Underground: Tech & Techno. Right from the start, without even reading the liner notes, I was dealing with the word "techno," which starts a post-Kraftwerk thumping in my ear as I recall the sounds of Detroit dance music from the late 80's and early 90's. Let's clear that up quickly: there is almost nothing on this collection that sounds remotely like Detroit techno. And much of what we do hear strikes those "new music" chords without being hugely innovative. But it's still damned fine listening.

Justin Messina's Abandon, which was inspired by the above mentioned Motor City music is instead a pensive slow-build that more readily calls to mind the excellent television music of Bernard Herrmann. Its alternating and interacting motifs, driven by a clanking cowbell, effectively build tension over a concise nine minutes. He expertly uses the full range of orchestral colors, with winds, brass, strings and percussion seeking dominance but finding parity, until the witty ending featuring a ticking high hat and a bass glissando. Prior to this, I was only familiar with Messina via his memorable arrangement of John Cage's In A Landscape for Brooklyn Rider - now I'm even more interested.

The album begins with Edmund Campion's Practice, and a quick scan of his bio leaves no doubt that he has completed enough of the titular activity to "get to Carnegie Hall," or at least Zankel Hall, where this was recorded. Also about nine minutes long, Practice starts with a vaguely Spanish fanfare, with muted trumpets, tinkling triangles and skirling flutes, before settling into a calmly relentless forward movement propelled by a slow ostinato from bassoon (I think) and bass. The computers are so seamlessly merged into the orchestra that, to be honest, I didnt really hear them until the end, when a what sounds like a triangle's ting is distended, distorted and eventually flattened into almost white noise. Regardless of how cutting edge it is or isn't, Practice is a brilliantly colorful piece with loads of drama.

Tender Hooks by Anna Clyne is next and it kicks off with a very Stravinskian sound, tension and release happening simultaneously, and a very active drum section. Almost following a sonata form, it quietens down to a brooding segment, enhanced by rumblings, ratchet noises and other electronically-produced accents. Lyrical flutes, brass and piano intertwine with more computer-generated sounds until a snare's hard thwack seems about to kick off a climax. Instead the sound opens up wondrously and then gets progressively darker and stranger. For the last minute, Tender Hooks is quiet and searching, bringing this very satisfying piece to a close.

The final two pieces are each about twice as long as the first three, starting with Neil Rolnick's cleverly titled iFiddle Concerto, which was also included on X10D, the ACO's last Orchestra Underground album. Todd Reynolds is the soloist, playing the "iFiddle,", which "combines the computer and violin into a single musical instrument," according to the composer. At the start, it almost sounds as if the acoustic and electronic impulses are at odds. They seem to go head to head, with the computerized sounds a fractured reflection of what the violin is doing. The orchestra plays a strong supporting role, providing a bed of rhythm, harmony and, especially from the trumpet, counterpoint.

About a third of the way in, we get an amusingly louche and jazzy second section, with Reynolds's line sounding fabulously rich and assured, while also spitting out some wacky electronic shards. There's a pizzicato segment where you can't tell exactly what's acoustic and what's electronic and the last few minutes have a wonderful swagger and a head-nodding rhythm. Some sounds bring to mind the outlandish funk of Jimi Hendrix's wah wah, and the piece ends on a literal high note. The iFiddle Concerto is an entertaining and quick 18 minutes, managing to be both crowd-pleasing and a bit novel.

The final work is by Mason Bates, who's definitely on a hot streak this year. Besides this one, other 2014 releases include his four-movement Alternative Energy, on an album of the same name by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and conducted by Riccardo Muti (Anna Clyne's Night Ferry is also included), as well as a album of his compositions called Stereo Is King. I hope to have the opportunity to explore those more in depth at another time as Bates is definitely on to something.

The piece here, Omnivorous Furniture, features a drum pad and computer alongside the orchestra, and was (we are told) "heavily influenced by down-tempo electronic with roots in the British hip hop movement." OK, that must have been fun to write, but I don't really hear anything over which Tinie Tempah or Roots Manuva would be inspired to spit a few bars. What I do hear has an American swagger and energy, an amped up Aaron Copland vibe that struts in on giant steps. The computer and drum pad are not so seamlessly integrated, instead they are delightfully obvious, snickering and clacking across the soundscape and daring the orchestra to keep up. An actual four on the floor rhythm does eventually develop for a while, just before a lushly romantic interlude, all plangent strings and warm brass. The final section features bass drum drops like depth charges amid some angular aggression from acoustics and electronics alike, until it all comes to a thrilling halt. This is good stuff, whatever Bates happened to be listening to while he composed it.

In fact, it's all good stuff, and if they had called the album "Reasonably Fresh Sounds from Young-ish American Composers," I would have nothing to complain about. But, I suppose that would be like advertising Volvos as being "boxy but good." Don't let the marketing get in your way - some great listening awaits you.