HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOZART!

January 27th  a day that gifted the world with genius. Below are a few videos that celebrate his music: Choreography Jiri Kylian of Dans Theater Netherlands.

Harmonielehre - Post Modern, Structure, Harmony,

Harmonielehre Sometimes a work comes along that ranks in the column of must hear because it is a rare opportunity. This symphony season has been a season of "rare hear" opportunities.  First, we had the opportunity to hear Schoenburg's Kammersymphonie expertly executed by the Hunstville Symphony, not once but twice! The first time with virgin ears that had never heard so many notes played in so many different ways at once - but then after Maestro Vadja deconstructed the work, allowed the work to settle in and our ears were opened to the conversation of melodic lines competing to be heard, such a sound the second time around! And now, another evening with Schoenburg and a composer John Adams, who has so much to say about Schoenburg. This evening promises to be intense and wonderful and we have groups of OrchDorks going both nights.  Schoenburg's "Survivor of Warsaw" and John Adam's "Harmonielehre" are must hear works. Scored for a large orchestra, is a strong, overt, if at times,  minimalist work that moves with an impatience. It is confident and reminiscent the SSMF OrchDorks who played Sibelieus, "it has the same tension and color struggling to break free" said one. And another said, "It struggles back and forth and seems like it is about to burst with joy". I could not agree more. This joy, while tempered by impatience,  is compelled to burst out of the confined walls of structure Adams has set in place in the first two movements. It is a work not to be missed. First performed March 21, 1985 by the San Francisco Symphony, Edo de Waart, conductor, Davies Hall, San Francisco and scored for: 4 flutes (2,3,&4=piccolos), 3 oboes (3=English horn), 3 clarinets (3=bass clarinet 2), bass clarinet, 3 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns, 4 trumpets, 3 trombones, 2 tubas, timpani, percussion (4 players) 2 harps, piano, celesta, strings Duration: 40 minutes Publisher: Associated Music Publishers (G. Schirmer, Inc.) From the blog of John Adams 1/14/12 John Adams on Harmonielehre: Harmonielehre is roughly translated as "the book of harmony" or "treatise on harmony." It is the title of a huge study of tonal harmony, part textbook, part philosophical rumination, that Arnold Schoenberg published in 1911 just as he was embarking on a voyage into unknown waters, one in which he would more or less permanently renounce the laws of tonality. My own relationship to Schoenberg needs some explanation. Leon Kirchner, with whom I studied at Harvard, had himself been a student of Schoenberg in Los Angeles during the 1940s. Kirchner had no interest in the serial system that Schoenberg had invented, but he shared a sense of high seriousness and an intensely critical view of the legacy of the past. Through Kirchner I became highly sensitized to what Schoenberg and his art represented. He was a "master" in the same sense that Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms were masters. That notion in itself appealed to me then and continues to do so.    But Schoenberg also represented to me something twisted and contorted. He was the first composer to assume the role of high-priest, a creative mind whose entire life ran unfailingly against the grain of society, almost as if he had chosen the role of irritant. Despite my respect for and even intimdation by the persona of Schoenberg, I felt it only honest to acknowledge that I profoundly disliked the sound of twelve-tone music. His aesthetic was to me an overripening of 19th century Individualism, one in which the composer was a god of sorts, to which the listener would come as if to a sacramental altar. It was with Schoenberg that the "agony of modern music" had been born, and it was no secret that the audience classical music during the twentieth century was rapidly shrinking, in no small part because of the aural ugliness of so much of the new work being written. It is difficult to understand why the Schoenbergian model became so profoundly influential for classical composers. Composers like Pierre Boulez and Gyorgy Ligeti have borne both the ethic and the aesthetic into our own time, and its immanence in present day university life and European musical festivals is still potent.    Rejecting Schoenberg was like siding with the Philistines, and freeing myself from the model he represented was an act of enormous will power. Not surprisingly, my rejection took the form of parody…not a single parody, but several extremely different ones. In my Chamber Symphony the busy, hyperactive style of Schoenberg’s own early work is placed in a salad spinner with Hollywood cartoon music. In The Death of Klinghoffer the priggish, disdainful Austrian Woman describes how she spent the entire hijacking hiding under her bed by singing in a Sprechstimme to the accompaniment of a Pierrot-like ensemble in the pit. My own Harmonielehre is parody of a different sort in that it bears a "subsidiary relation" to a model (in this case a number of signal works from the turn of the century like Gurrelieder and the Sibelius Fourth Symphony), but it does so without the intent to ridicule. It is a large, three-movement work for orchestra that marries the developmental techniques of Minimalism with the harmonic and expressive world of fin de siècle late Romanticism. It was a conceit that could only be attempted once. The shades of Mahler, Sibelius, Debussy, and the young Schoenberg are everywhere in this strange piece. This is a work that looks at the past in what I suspect is "postmodernist" spirit, but, unlike Grand Pianola Music or Nixon in China, it does so entirely without irony. The first part is a seventeen-minute inverted arch form: high energy at the beginning and end, with a long, roaming "Sehnsucht" section in between. The pounding e minor chords at the beginning and end of the movement are the musical counterparts of a dream image I’d shortly before starting the piece. In the dream I’d watched a gigantic supertanker take off from the surface of San Francisco Bay and thrust itself into the sky like a Saturn rocket. At the time (1984—85) I was still deeply involved in the study of C. G. Jung’s writings, particularly his examination of Medieval mythology. I was deeply affected by Jung’s discussion of the character of Anfortas, the king whose wounds could never be healed. As a critical archetype, Anfortas symbolized a condition of sickness of the soul that curses it with a feeling of impotence and depression. In this slow, moody movement entitled "The Anfortas Wound" a long, elegiac trumpet solo floats over a delicately shifting screen of minor triads that pass like spectral shapes from one family of instruments to the other. Two enormous climaxes rise up out of the otherwise melancholy landscape, the second one being an obvious homage to Mahler’s last, unfinished symphony. The final part, "Meister Eckhardt and Quackie" begins with a simple berceuse (cradlesong) that is as airy, serene and blissful as "The Anfortas Wound" is earthbound, shadowy and bleak. The Zappaesque title refers to a dream I’d had shortly after the birth of our daughter, Emily, who was briefly dubbed "Quackie" during her infancy. In the dream, she rides perched on the shoulder of the Medieval mystic, Meister Eckhardt, as they hover among the heavenly bodies like figures painted on the high ceilings of old cathedrals. The tender berceuse gradually picks up speed and mass (not unlike "The Negative Love" movement of Harmonium) and culminates in a tidal wave of brass and percussion over a pedal point on E-flat major. The recording by Edo de Waart and the San Francisco Symphony was made only three days after the world premiere in March of 1985. (I have since revised the ending.) Despite the daunting length and rhythmic complexity of the piece, both conductor and orchestra made a totally convincing representation of it, and the recording can testify to the rare instances when a composer, a conductor, and an orchestra create an inexplicable bond among each other. " ↑ Return to top of page

Copyright © 2010 by John Adams All rights reserved

FAITH OR LUCK

Music is often said to be the language of the universe. It speaks to our inner being and touches our souls with an immutable strength that is beyond simple letters, words and sentences. Phrases of music can change the very nature of an afternoon if the setting is perfect, if the universe has set forth a beautiful moment where the air, the music and moment all conspire to make that perfect moment so memorable that to even begin to tell another person about it seems somehow sacra-saint. 



As a person who creates, musicians, artists, performers, teachers must often worry about the ability of being able to constantly being to recreate this precious moment of epiphany. What a delicate precipice we as creators live on.


One one hand - the artist is attempting to create a unique experience with the audience. Be it a listener, a student, a watcher of dance or a reader of the word, the interplay between the audience and the artist has to be uniquely special for the art and the moment to have the special stamp that makes that moment soar above that pedantic. It is necessary to the artful experience for the viewer to feel this special moment to wanting more - creating a consumers need. The student who has the epiphany will yearn for more knowledge, the listener who is moved to tears, will want that emotion again; and not some chintzy fake recreation - they, the audience, want what only the artist can create, l'expérience vécue, or THE REAL EXPERIENCE. 

On the other hand, it is quite impossible to imagine the word "unique' being applied to anything created "en masse". The very idea of being re-created, even once takes away from the unique, speciality on the l'expérience vécue. 



And so, the artiste walks the fence between knowing if tomorrow he or she will being to tomorrow, in an hour or next year provide a voracious audience that moment for which they yearn, expérience vécue, and knowing that by definition, that moment can not be recreated just whenever one desires. 


Two well known artists, Paulo Coehlo and Joyce DiDonato both speak to this moment in different manners. Ms. DiDanato speaks to the ephemeral nature of performance and the faith one must have to create, the faith in oneself, and one's education. Though she is speaking directly to a fan's question regarding her voice and talent, it is an analogy even a teacher can take to heart. Paulo Coehlo speaks to the nature of coincidence  - or the lack thereof. His book our class will soon read, and ponder these very questions. I am curious too what others think and would love your thoughts.

 

While I write on this blog,  Music Mutations, is to primarily share my little revelations on music and its connections between other art forms, I find on the Eve of Thanksgiving, I feel a need to share a video I found that describes the process of living happily while pursuing a career in a chosen art form.

I have been blessed to have a mentor living right in my very own home. My husband,  has found this remarkable manner to connect the everyday process of doing what you love, and creating something wonderful. This process morphs into a process that one can not longer call what one does "work". The very definition of work ceases to be a applicable definition, and what he does as a freelancer becomes something else, something amorphous that truly those who appreciate beauty want more.

He risks much when he ceases to work, but create. he risks others thinking he is immature or not responsible, because he creates instead or works. I find these  people to be the losers and simply jealous of the process because they too want to create, and have chosen to work instead.
He risks failure, chasing an identity, and subsequent loss of focus to find the fine line between being responsible to his art and to himself. However, creating good art is a remarkable God -thing and must not be ignored by anyone who comes to understand he or she has the ability to make beautiful connections between creating good art and NOT doing work. I believe God wants us to create, not work.
No matter which art one chooses in life to create be it a novel, a well organized event, a strong economic plan, a beautiful symphonic work, we are all here to MAKE GOOD ART. My husband has learned to make great art in the most benign situations. He can take a simple party and turn it into a photo worthy of a art gallery.He can find a way to make art in his photography, his creation of food, his creation of a new plan. He has learned to make great art.

His life mimics the the freelancer writer and comic creator Neil Gaiman's advice conveyed in his commencement speech. Mike, my husband, has been truly an inspiration. He has kept working just as Neil Gaiman describes.

So, I include the commencement speech below because so many of the truism he speaks are true - but not because he says them, but because he illuminates what I observe in my own home. Thanksgiving is then given right in front of us, and I blessed to have him right in front of me. I love you Mike.

What To Do 

If  I Am Not The Mood......... 

To Create That Is

“A self-respecting artist must not fold his hands on the pretext that he is not in the mood.” Tchaikovsky

What do  Tchaikovsky, Jack White and Nick Cave all have in common? Each, at some moment in their creative history has spoken or written about the process of being creative, on inspiration, or the lack thereof, and the benefits of straight up hard work. What we  law people call "work ethic"

One of the beautiful opportunities studying and researching music, composers and artists provides is that it offers insight in the artist's mind, and allows one to learn from his or her creative process. Sometimes his creative process is so beyond what one conceive of the word "artist" is brought to life through the sheer demonstration of of what can not be attained by the simple or common man.

Other times, the artist offers a crosswalk between the genius of who she or he is and the common man that allow the audience to just barely touch or grasp the process of creation and it is that process that inspires the audience, it is his or her work ethic and what it has produced that is amazing.

All of this reminded me of a letter Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky wrote to his the woman who made it possible for him to make music. He wrote Nadezhda von Meck, dated March 17th, 1878, and found in the 1905 volume The Life & Letters of Pete Ilich Tchaikovsky (public domain):

Do not believe those who try to persuade you that composition is only a cold exercise of the intellect. The only music capable of moving and touching us is that which flows from the depths of a composer’s soul when he is stirred by inspiration. There is no doubt that even the greatest musical geniuses have sometimes worked without inspiration. This guest does not always respond to the first invitation. We must always work, and a self-respecting artist must not fold his hands on the pretext that he is not in the mood. If we wait for the mood, without endeavouring to meet it half-way, we easily become indolent and apathetic. We must be patient, and believe that inspiration will come to those who can master their disinclination.
A few days ago I told you I was working every day without any real inspiration. Had I given way to my disinclination, undoubtedly I should have drifted into a long period of idleness. But my patience and faith did not fail me, and to-day I felt that inexplicable glow of inspiration of which I told you; thanks to which I know beforehand that whatever I write to-day will have power to make an impression, and to touch the hearts of those who hear it. I hope you will not think I am indulging in self-laudation, if I tell you that I very seldom suffer from this disinclination to work. I believe the reason for this is that I am naturally patient. I have learnt to master myself, and I am glad I have not followed in the steps of some of my Russian colleagues, who have no self-confidence and are so impatient that at the least difficulty they are ready to throw up the sponge. This is why, in spite of great gifts, they accomplish so little, and that in an amateur way.

Here is Jack White, echoing — unwittingly, no doubt — Tchaikovsky:

Inspiration and work ethic — they ride right next to each other…. Not every day you’re gonna wake up and the clouds are gonna part and rays from heaven are gonna come down and you’re gonna write a song from it. Sometimes, you just get in there and just force yourself to work, and maybe something good will come out.

 HAPPY 75TH BIRTHDAY PHILIP GLASS

As soon as one tries to peg Philip Glass as a minimalist an opera, a movie score, a concerto will whip around the corner and smack one on the back of the head, waving the score of yet another work requiring a listen. At 75, Philip Glass's  work has stretched beyond influential in its sheer volume, its masterful workmanship, and accessibility.

And so it goes with out much more explanation that the soon to be released REWORK_Philip Glass Remixed (October 23rd), in honor of his 75th birthday is a must hear, must listen work for any musician of contemporary music.

The link below is on of the first installments of a track from the soon to be released work. It is a revisionment of Glass's work NYC 73-78 remixed by the artist Beck. Beck himself has gone through many stylistic changes, but can be described as creating musical collages just a Philip Glass has often been described. 

I personally view both as musical colorist - artists who music moves in waves and takes the listener on journeys through synesthesis of movements of images, which is why I chose this track first to play. I hope you enjoy the listen. Click on the link below for exclusive first listen.

Beck's Remix of Glass's NYC 73-78

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Who knew that Walt Disney and Igor Stravinsky clashed over Fantasia? Read on to know more.

10 OCTOBER, 2012

Transformation as Authorship: From Igor Stravinsky to Philip Glass by Way of Disney and Beck

by Maria Popova

On incremental change and “unresisting imbecility.”

As a proponent of combinatorial creativity and remix as a tool of innovation, I am always fascinated by how famous creators think about inspiration, influence, and the origin of ideas, recognizing their combinatorial nature — and how bystander critics often dismiss these creative transmutations with terms as derisive as “recreativity.”

Catherine Opie for The New York Times

In a recent New York Times conversation about their forthcoming collaborative record celebrating the composer’s 75th birthday, Philip Glass and Beck explore the line between mere reworking and originality by way of transformation:

BECK: I love that story you told me, it was the first time we met, we were talking about the remix project. And someone had done a cello piece of yours, and then when you went to go see it, you didn’t recognize it.
GLASS: It was Arthur Russell. And he was a very good cellist. I was doing a theater piece for the Mabou Mines, it was some Beckett piece, and I wrote him a cello piece, and he liked the work and was playing it. And I came back about three months later, and I heard it and I said, ‘Arthur, that’s beautiful, but what happened to the piece?’ And he said, ‘No, no, that is what you wrote,’ and I said, ‘Arthur, it’s no longer what I wrote, it’s your piece now.’ And he thought I was being upset, he apologized and I said, ‘No, no, no, I think we should put you down as the composer.’ He had reached the point of transformation. The incremental changes had turned it into this other thing. I love the fact that he did that. And I love the fact that he didn’t know that he did it.

This notion of iteration and incremental change is, in fact, an essential piece of the history of innovation — and yet it’s much less glamorous and bombastic than the Eureka! myth of ideation, which can lead many to dismiss it entirely.

Glass’s remarks reminded me of something I recently read in Hello Goodbye Hello, the wonderful daisy chain of famous encounters, which recounts a very different reaction another iconic composer, Igor Stravinsky, had to his music being transformed beyond recognition — by none other than Walt Disney.

In 1939, at the height of Disney’s success, Walt met Leopold Stokowski, the conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra, at a dinner party. The two became enchanted with each other’s work and the potential each of their mediums of mastery had for amplifying that of the other, and began collaborating on a version of Dukas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, starring Mickey Mouse — an idea Disney had been toying with for some time. That’s when Stravinsky steps in:

Disney wants a sequence showing the creation of the world, full of volcanoes and dinosaurs. But what music to use? His researchers can only come up with Haydn’s Creation, but Disney thinks it doesn’t carry quite enough oomph. At this point, Stokowski alerts him to Le Sacre du printemps by Igor Stravinsky. Disney listens to it, and is immediately gripped. He offers Stravinsky $ 5,000 for the rights, though Stravinsky will remember it as $ 10,000. According to Stravinsky, Disney hints that if permission is withheld he will use the music anyway: pre-Revolutionary Russian copyrights are no longer valid.
Stravinsky accepts; Disney steams ahead. Before long the human inhabitants of the Burbank studio find themselves working alongside animals in cages, including iguanas and baby alligators, with skilled animators studying their movements close-up. ‘It should look as though the studio has sent an expedition back to the earth six million years ago,’ enthuses Disney. He is so excited that he starts free-associating to the music: ‘Something like that last WHAHUMMPH I feel is a volcano – yet it’s on land. I get that UGHHWAHUMMPH! on land, but we can look out on the water before this and see water spouts.’ As he listens to the music, he gets so worked up that he suddenly blurts, ‘Stravinsky will say: “Jesus, I didn’t know I wrote that music!”’
Which, as it turns out, is roughly what Stravinsky does say. In December 1939, he drops into the Burbank studio for a private screening of Fantasia. The experience leaves him with the most awful memories. ‘I remember someone offering me a score, and when I said I had my own, that someone saying, “But it is all changed.” It was indeed. The instrumentation had been improved by such stunts as having the horns play their glissandi an octave higher in the Danse de la terre. The order of pieces had been shuffled, too, and the most difficult of them eliminated, though this did not save the musical performance, which was execrable.’

So heated was the disagreement and so violent Stravinsky’s outrage, indeed, that when Disney tried to assuage him by pointing out what a great number of people would hear his music, the composer famously grunted:

The numbers of people who consume music … is of no interest to me. The mass adds nothing to art.

Some twenty years later, Stravinsky was still indignant when he and Disney clashed on the pages of The New York Times about the incident, where the composer called Disney’s transformation of his “Rite of Spring” an “unresisting imbecility.”
Granted, as was likely the case with Disney, not every transformation improves upon the original or has creative merit. But modern copyright law — not to mention an unfortunate portion of today’s cultural critique — continues to err on the side of Stravinsky in an era ripe for the Glass mindset. To criticize and criminalize transformative creation and remix is, at best, itself an “unresisting imbecility” and, at worst, an enormous hindrance to creative innovation.