Iannis Xenakis, "Dikhthas"

Alvin Lucier, "Still Lives: Chopsticks"

It's Census Time

And that means it's time for a dose of Christopher Walken:

RIP, Alex

King's X, "Wonder"

Happy 332nd, Tony!

Salve Regina, RV 616
Gérard Lesne, Fabio Biondi, Il Seminario Musicale

Ulrich Süße, "no player"

for Soprano (Coloratura), two pianos, Flute, Saxophone (Alto), Trombone, Tape, Live Electronics and Mechanical Pinball Machine (1982)
Part I II III IV V VI VII VIII



"no player" is based on bricks from the past. The title verbalizes on the one hand the most prominent musical motif:



and refers, on the other hand, to the language of the entertaining industry. With the use of electronic devices, an integral caution prevails.

The title becomes apparent in every performance when, at the end of the piece, all the musicians are inactive, whereas the pinball machine continues to "play" (via remote control).

In the comparison between pinball machine and music, the piano reflects the case/body of the pinball machine and the basic music (Prelude of Bach's 2. English Suite) the ball manoeuvers, creating ever increasing formal circles, stemming from the Bach A-B-A form:



Each time the main motif is reached, the music springs back to the start. Four players (first to fourth player: coloratura soprano, flute, saxophone and trombone) activate the pinball machine/the music - the elements of their playing consists of motifs of the Bach Prelude. Furthermore, when the musical passage becomes immobile at the point where the soprano stops participating, this situation can be compared with an irregular ball manoeuvre and thus disqualification in a pinball game. The Chopin part could either symbolize another pinball machine or moments of surprise during a game. The final circle indicates that an A-B-A form can e played endlessly. -- Ulrich Süße

Nutcracker is a Real Ballbuster for ABT

* American Ballet Theater foregoes a fall season to cash in on Christmas.

* Danny Elfman on Tim Burton: "...it’s his head in his hands shaking his head as if he’s just been stabbed in the heart. That’s the bad body expression when I play a piece of music. The good one is a kind of a slight nodding of the head."

* Philly's Ars Nova Workshop turns 10.

* Ray Still: "Reiner could make the orchestra dance on the head of a pin."

* Michigan's unemployment may be at 15%, but the Grand Rapids Opera has a brand new building.

* Portland's going on a new music bender.

Rachmaninoff Plays Gluck

"Dance of the Blessed Spirits"
Orfeo ed Euridice

Logorama

Found it (God bless Twitter).

Enjoy:

It's 1992 All Over Again...

That's my scotch egg. I wolfed it down at Wilfie & Nell's, but not after I was gobsmacked by all the fucking flannel. The coup de grace was some writer from 30 Rock who was giving notes to a guy who'd written a spec script for the show. He was rocking electric blue corduroy pants and a ginormous pastel flannel shirt. (He was also dispensing very supportive advice to his friend)

The egg and the Smithwick's were calming my nerves after an ear-splitting menu of animated shorts at the Waverly IFC Center. The room must have seated 75, but the audio was intended to fill an arena.

Most of the films were up for Oscars, and it was kind of shocking to see how similar they were. There was a Wallace & Gromit episode, which wasn't their best, but was a good fix nonetheless. The rest were all based on old people à la Up.


There was the lonely old French guy in the bistro struggling to pay his bill (with requisite cabaret music). There was the old lady trying in vain to die and be with her dead husband in Heaven (with the requisite phonograph music). Then there was the absolutely bizarre one about an old man trying to invent a movie projector with the help of his consumptive wife (with the requisite sobbing solo violin).

I'm not sure when old people became the flannel of animation, but it needs to stop.

Then came Logorama.

Words cannot do it justice. It's something that escaped from Adult Swim and ended up nominated for an Oscar. It needs to win.

This 'trailer' is just the opening moments of the film, and it, in no way, prepares you for what comes next:

Sunday With Our Good Friends:

ANALOG arts ensemble and Monument Piano Trio
An Die Musik
409 N. Charles Street (2nd Fl), Baltimore
Sunday, February 30
3 PM
$20 ($15 Seniors/$10 Students)

PROGRAM
Michael Sheppard, Let Beauty Awake
Jonathan Leshnoff, Song Without Words
James Lee III, Scenes from Eternity's Edge*
Stuart Saunders Smith, Part
Rudolf Kamper, Music for Five Players*

* world premiere

PERSONNEL
Marcia Kamper, flute
Rudolf Kamper, trumpet
Michael Sheppard, piano
Dariusz Skoraczewski, cello
Igor Yuzefovich, violin

Dolf assembled a program of Baltimore music for our show this Sunday with members Monument Piano Trio. It's a nice mix of styles, ranging between the twin poles of the moment: modernism and romanticism.

We're giving the first performances of two new works on Sunday. Dolf's is a texture for the full ensemble. He describes it as contemplative, which surely can't have anything to do with the newborn baby that's been dominating his daily life.

The other premiere was arranged through Monument Trio's agent, who came across a wonderful local composer and professor at Morgan State. James Lee writes a great deal of music inspired by the Bible, and Scenes Upon Eternity’s Edge deals specifically with the eschatological aspects of the Good Book, particularly the books of Revelation and Daniel. Even though he was writing for us, we swear we didn't force him to deal with Michael's battle with the dragon in Revelation. (We promise: no formulas!)

It's always a pleasure to work with Monument, and Sunday's concert is really a windup for the other concerts we'll do at An Die Musik this spring, including a CD release party for Dariusz' solo debut.

Markus & Simon Stockhausen, "Neuzeit"

ms
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Clapton @ the Beacon

The current issue of Rolling Stone has a feature about Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck. In trying to hype their upcoming shows, the magazine manufactures yet another vignette of artistic reawakening for Clapton. It's all beyond pro forma now.

Discrediting a previous effort in order to promote the current one is a standard beat in any record review these days, and with the perennially restless Clapton, this has always held doubly true.

The meme reaches its peak in the article with a description of his stints at the Beacon with the Allman Brothers last year:

"It was interesting to watch him adapt, playing longer solos than he expected because of the band swelling up around him," says Allmans guitarist Warren Haynes. "He went back in time a little with his attack, the overall letting go." Haynes was especially blown away by Clapton's meaty soaring the second night during "In Memory of Elizabeth Reed": "His solo was filled with reckless abandon." Clapton knew it too. When the song was over, he turned to Derek Trucks and said, "I haven't played like that since 1967."

Expecting the usual, tasteful, note-bending stuff, I was stunned to find this description actually falls short.

Way short.

After the obligatory, surprisingly out of tune unison lead, Derek Trucks gives a very polished, highly technical, overlong solo (part 1). Then Clapton doesn't so much take over as he starts playing a whole new song. He comes out of the gate so hard here that it seems unsustainable. When he just keeps increasing the intensity, you can't help but smile from ear to ear. It really has been a long, long time since he reminded us that he could play like this:

Huns in Lincoln Center

Verdi's Attila premiered at the Met last night.

Pierre-Andre Arcand, "Fer Sur Fer"

Tino Sehgal

Everything I'd read about Tino Sehgal's exhibition at the Guggenheim made me want to see it. So, I went.

The first thing you see is a pair of dancers cavorting in slow motion on the floor. Not a good sign. (Slow-mo?! Really?) It's supposed to be subversive, two people engaged so intimately in public (let alone on display in a museum). It would've been more thrilling if they were actually making out in real time, and even an iota of sexual compatibility would've helped.

After about 90 seconds of standing over them to see how disciplined they were, I headed up the ramp behind my wife. At the first gallery, a young girl approached my wife. I had walked up into the gallery to enjoy the emptiness of it. The girl ushered my wife up the stairs and said, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes," said my wife.

"What is progress?" asked the girl.

She then lead my wife up the ramp as she answered the question. Anytime her answers seemed to lag, the girl would ask another question. A few levels up, she handed us off to a husky college student who launched into a dissertation about progress that was oh so very blogoriphic. We were supposed to be enamored with the idea that he had gobbled up Toll House cookie dough from the package when he was a kid and that the story on the back of the package was his idea of progress: a series of happy accidents.

Cute stuff, but it came out of him all wrong. Instead of being charmingly twee, he felt uncomfortable and rushed through his lines. It came off as canned. That left me wondering if it was assigned to him or if he came up with it himself, and why any of this was worth emptying out the rotunda. As we walked by the Anish Kapoor exhibit, and then when the entrance to the Paris avant-garde exhibit passed us by, I winced at the opportunity to encounter something more interesting.

Eventually, we were passed off to a woman in her late 50's/early 60's, who was the first to try and engage me. I simply walked and listened as my wife did the chatting. Most of our hosts seemed relieved at not having to bother with me. The older woman reverted to the child's mode of questioning, a cute narrative arc from innocence through sophism and back into open-mindedness. She asked us about the nature of accidental progress versus deliberate progress, and we ended with a discussion of how a musician such as myself has to rely on both.

It was a pleasant encounter. All of it was pleasant, for that matter. It was a bit like speed dating. Why it merited such a high profile showcase escaped both of us.

There was a heavy-handedness to walking up the spiralled rotunda as someone yammers on at you about progress. The 'Are We There Yet?' in-joke was tiresome, and when you're in the Guggenheim talking about progress, your brain is amped up to expect something a little more substantive than a prepackaged story about prepackaged foodstuff.

The exhibit did have one extremely pleasant side effect, though. For the rest of my time in the museum, I kept expecting strangers to talk to me, especially when they got within a certain range. That transformation of my personal space was quite delightful.

And it was a hoot to see all the hosts and hostesses lined up at their stations, waiting for their turn to talk to someone. It must have felt like being a hostess at a USO dance.

Colin Farrell, "Gone Gone Gone"