Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Images from The 85th Symposium of
The Helicon Foundation
James Roe, Artistic Director
William A. Simon, President
Albert Fuller, Founder

The Mysterious World of Heinrich Biber
10 February 2008

Colin Jacobsen, violin
Robert Wolinsky, harpsichord & organ
Daniel Swenberg, lute & theorbo
Myron Lutzke, cello

Photographs by Joe Hsu






























Sunday, February 10, 2008

HELICON SYMPOSIUM LXXXV
5 p.m., Sunday, 10 February 2008

"Listening to Biber, Some Thoughts"

Career

Heinrich Ignaz Franz von Biber (1644-1704) was born in the small Bohemian town of Wartenberg, now Stráx pod Ralskem in the Czech Republic. Little is known of his early training as a musician, though Johann Heinrich Schmelzer (c1620-1680), Kapellmeister of the Imperial Viennese Court knew and encouraged Biber’s career, and may even have been his teacher. Biber held posts in Graz and then Kromeriz, before establishing himself in Salzburg in 1670, a move he made without notifying his former employer he was leaving! He flourished in Salzburg, entering the service of Archbishop Maximilian Gandolph von Khuenberg. In 1679, he was given the modest appointment Vice-Kapellmeister, advancing to Kapellmeister and dean of the choir school in 1684. Leopold I granted him ennoblement in 1690 with the title, ‘Biber von Bibern.’ Subsequently, Biber was promoted to the station of 'Lord High Steward' marking the culmination of his social career. By this point, his salary had risen to 60 gulden a month, with free board and lodging including such items as wine, bread and firewood. Jacob Stainer, the most celebrated instrument maker of the day referred to Biber as “the formidable virtuoso,” and indeed his reputation and compositions reveal a man of prodigious talent and quixotic temperament.

Style

Biber’s music can be heard as the culmination of the 17th-century Italian style birthed around 1600 with the invention of opera. In the first decades of the 17th Century, this new Italian music swept over The Alps, quickly dominating the courts of Austria, Germany, and France (the latter, only until the reign of Louis XIV). The major part of Biber’s career was spent in Salzburg, and indeed, it was in this city that Italian operatic music gained its first important foreign outpost. Archbishop Marcus Sitticus von Hohenums, who reigned from 1612-1619, fostered close ties to Italy and in 1614 built a stage in his residence appropriate for Italian opera. On 10 February 1614 (394 years ago today), the first performance of an opera outside of Italy took place on that stage in Salzburg.

To appreciate the music of Biber, it is important to know some things about 17th-century Italian opera. Music before 1600 was characterized by complex polyphony, or the simultaneous sounding of multiple melodic lines. The euphonious pleasures and splendors of 16th-century Italian polyphonic vocal music outweighed clear communication of the text being sung. The music of Palestrina (c1525-1594) represents the highest achievement in music of this style. The invention of Italian opera offered the antidote to the excesses of this complex music. In the new musical style, the vocal line followed inflections of speech and the accompaniment did not obstruct a direct presentation of the text. Instead of polyphony, or multiple melodic lines, 17th-century Italian opera was based on monody.

As Italian opera spread north of the peninsula, it influenced all musical genres, including instrumental music. By the time of Biber, this style had developed a great sophistication of affect, expression, and melodic inventiveness, while retaining its economy of means, and directness of expressive intent.

Each of Biber’s sonatas is a single movement work with contrasting sections. These sections are quite recognizable and while the music is instantly appealing, it may help to know some of the signposts along the road. These works often begin with a freely rhapsodic prelude (Praeludium) where the violin plays seemingly improvised flourishes over long held notes in the continuo. These sections invite the listener to enter the sound world of the work; they seduce and in so doing, prepare the way for what is to come. These preludes are purely instrumental music, but Biber also writes Adagios in the vocal style of small opera arias. Here the accompaniment has a more active and regular metric feel over which the violin sings its songs (albeit without words). The most striking sections of Biber’s sonatas are the long sets of variations (Variatio or Aria e Variatio). These sections are the meat of his works and begin with either a simple song-like melody or simple chord progression. The violin then embarks on a series of fanciful reinterpretations of those simple building blocks. With all the inventive and virtuosic tricks of his trade, Biber moves through these variations, creating a music of accretion, upping the ante with each repetition. These sections can produce a trance-like or meditative experience in the listener. Your own imagination is in good hands with Biber and
these musicians. Enjoy!

Tonight's Violin Music

The eight sonatas published in 1681 represent Biber’s most sophisticated marrying of composition and virtuoso violin technique. Fiendishly difficult, these melody-driven works are marked by unpredictability, inventiveness, and a spontaneity that suggests improvisations. The violinist Andrew Manze suggests that, “but for the fact that it exists on the printed page, [Biber’s music] might have been improvised straight into a baroque tape-recorder.” Biber revels in the surprises he throws at the audience, so be ready.

Biber’s most famous work is a cycle of fifteen violin sonatas based on the Mysteries of the Rosary with a concluding Passacaglia for Violin Solo. “The Mystery Sonatas,” as they are titled, were published in the 1670s. They are remarkable for their use of scordatura, or the retuning of the violin’s strings to allow special harmonic and acoustic effects. Tonight we will hear the first of the “Mystery Sonatas” (and the only one to employ standard violin tuning), to open our second half.

The Sonata Representativa was written for Carnival while Biber was living in Kromeriz. The Prince-Bishop of Olmouc-Kromeriz was a fan of programmatic effects in music, so the piece may have been written for him. The animal noises Biber sets are obvious enough, but they are not exactly his invention. He was quoting from an internationally influential musicological work, “Musurgia Universalis,” written by Jesuit scholar Athanasius Kircher, who codified melodies in imitation of nature. (A chart of these musical/bestial quotations is included with your program.) This work would certainly be an “inside joke” for the highly literate audience. As Robert Frost taught us “all the fun is how you say a thing," and when Biber says something, it turns out to be very fun, indeed.

A quick note on Schmelzer

Johann Heinrich Schmelzer (c1620-1680) began his career as a violinist in the Viennese Imperial court band, a world dominated by Italians, playing Italian music. This young Austrian musician went on to overturn the foreign domination by becoming a master of their style. His Sonatae unarum fidium of 1664 were the first solo sonatas to be published by a non-Italian. Schmelzer also became the first non-Italian Kapellmeister at the Viennese court and was widely considered to be ‘one of the most famous, distinguished violinists in the whole of Europe’ (J. J. Müller, Reise-Diarium, 1660). Though it has been suggested that he was Biber’s teacher, this attractive idea cannot be proven. We do know, however, that he used his influence to aid the younger musician, and certainly, he was an important role model to any aspiring Austrian musician.

The sonata of Schmelzer that ends our program tonight opens with an extended set of variations—a passacaglia—built on a peaceful descending four-note melody. Over this bass line, Schmelzer presents a simple melodic line in the violin that builds in complexity as the piece unfolds. He weaves two contrasting Baroque dances into the repeating bass line, a graceful sarabande and a lively gigue. At the end of the passacaglia, Schmelzer offers a small aria before ending in flourishes of virtuosic display.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Biber — Helicon's 85th Symposium

Rehearsals are underway for Sunday's concert of the music of Heinrich Biber.

Colin Jacobsen, violin
Robert Wolinsky, harpsichord & organ
Myron Lutzke, 'cello
Daniel Swenberg, lute & theorbo

Germaine Schneider - "Trees in Snow" (1938)

While in San Francisco with Zéphyros this last weekend, I visited the SF art galleries Saturday morning. I was delighted to pick up this small (3 inches by 2 inches), peaceful picture by French photographer Germaine Schneider (fl. 1930s-1950s) at the Robert Tat Gallery. The show, which was on its last day, featured small photographs from the early 20th Century. The picture is formally beautiful and plays with perspective and perception of size, shadow and light, in ways that appeal to me. Her work is in the collections of the Center for Creative Photography in Tuscon and the J. Paul Getty Museum.

Germaine Schneider
"Trees in Snow" (1938)
3 in. x 2 in.
gelatin silver print
Robert Tat Gallery
Fierce Winds

Zéphyros played a concert in Marin last weekend at a series in Mill Valley. Click here to read the review in The San Francisco Classical Voice.
ISSA
Just home from a recording session with the divine Issa (aka Jane Siberry), working on new songs for a new recording. My colleagues are the Kim sisters, Pauline on violin (a friend since Juilliard), and Christine on cello.

The work is exacting in its way. Issa's ears hear subtle details of sound and especially timing. Playing her music well always takes me out of my usual performing mind set. Sitting with her in the studio as we played through passages tonight, often a graceful movement of her hands or a phrase quietly sung, revealed the secret to sounding spontaneous. Her music is in her body and achieving the spiritual uplift in her songs requires physically conforming to her inner rhythms. Giving oneself over to these rhythms allows a special ethereal freedom and flow.

Every musical style has its own own vernacular accent, its own way of filling the space between beats and notes. The process of finding and sharing in a particular musical language is difficult to describe, but it is the stuff that brings a musician's life to life, and fills it with secret pleasures and satisfactions. It fills the spaces between notes and the rest.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Madeleine Moments — My mother, Museums, Massachusetts, Monet & Memory

After the performance of Romeo and Juliet with the NYCB tonight, my dear friend, flutist, Laura Conwesser invited me to her apartment for some wine and cheese. (The 2003 Canon-Fransac was a real pleasure.)

As she arranged the table, I thumbed through the impressive catalogue of a show we had seen this summer at The Clark. (The museum is a pleasurable 90-minute drive from Saratoga Springs where the New York City Ballet has its summer home.) The exhibition, called "The Unknown Monet," was a rare survey of the painter's works on paper, including sketch books, prints, and pastels. Leafing through the pages, I slipped through memory's secret passage to my experiences there this summer.

My parents made a cross-country trip to visit me in Saratoga. They wouldn't disagree if I said visual art was not one of their abiding interests. Museums were not a part of our lives growing up; my parents' prefered leisure pastimes are solidly of the out-of-doors variety: gardening, fishing, boating, motor cycling, water skiing, etc. (Wasn't it Annie Leibowitz who said that the outdoors was the space between your apartment and a taxi? If she didn’t, I might have . . .) Nevertheless, I thought an outing to The Clark would be enjoyable and on a day off we made the scenic drive through New York and Vermont countryside to Williamstown, Mass. ("MA," still doesn't sound right, apologies to the USPS.)

After lunch in the museum café, we took in the Monet show. Shortly into the exhibition, my mother tugged my arm. She had found a picture that particularly spoke to her and she wanted me to see it. It was an early pastel drawing of a farm scene. A barn was in the background and a pond took center stage. Reflections of trees and animals shimmered on the surface of the water. "What do you like about this picture?" I asked. My mother answered, "It has depth, but mostly I feel emotionally drawn to it. I feel like I know this place, it's like I've seen it before." This museum visit was becoming very interesting.

A little later on she asked what made pictures by Monet more famous and more valuable than other art? I suggested that in a single-artist show it could be hard to put the work into context, but that when we visited the permanent collection, we could look at other French pictures from the same period and see what we thought.

Sure enough, there came a moment when we were standing in front of two small French paintings from the 1880s, one by Sisley and another by a lesser-known artist. I asked my mother to compare these paintings to the Monets. In my recollection, this was the first day I heard my mother share an opinion about a work of art. "Well, these painters don't use color the way that Monet does. In fact these pictures are a little flat in comparison." My eyes widened, and my mother moved on to another painting. "But this one, this one has real depth. I love it, I feel like I could walk right into this picture." "Mother, you have very good taste," I said. "That picture is by Vincent van Gogh."

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Damien Hirst—Terror and the Sublime—“The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living"

The closest I have come to understanding that poor, discombobulating shark is in its current showing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. An essay posted in the gallery, "Terror and the Sublime," promises to put Hirst's grotesquerie into some artistic context, but you will not find many visitors pouring over the educational materials. They simply cannot take their eyes off the fish.

There is still the faint physical rush of fear (frissons?) to be had looking directly into those dilapidated jaws. That physical sensation is real and therein lies the important question for those interested in art. Is that physical sensation, that vestigial terror, a component of an artistic sublime? Harold Bloom when discussing literary sublime, asks of a particular work, "Is there something greater written before? Has something greater been written since?" Easy questions to ask, but difficult to answer. Through the process of parsing comes an understanding of the sublime. Mozart's C Minor Piano Concerto, Beethoven's Third Symphony, Bach "St. Matthew Passion," these works can also offer a certain terror as we contemplate the complexities of the human creative force; a force powerful enough to create works of art beyond our ability to understand, yet though which we hope to better understand our own lives.

I do not believe Hirst's is an artistic sublime at all. The animal terror he evokes or invokes, depending on your point of view, is a thrill that has more in common with horror movies, circus acts, and roller coasters. Devised as "controlled" risks, we feel the thrill of danger without exposing ourselves to bodily threat. Peering into the mouth of a dead shark, we find the same feelings. Modern life neuters so much of the ancient animal in us; these experiences act to remind us of the dangerous thrill of living. But is this the role of art in society?

Hirst's work elicits fast reactions, but lacking true beauty or mystery, there is nothing to contemplate. More a point-of-view than a work of art, once its point is made, we don't need to see it again, ever. The artistic sublime requires from us more than we can give, more contemplation than one lifetime can accomplish, more creative engagement than we thought we had. The artistic sublime is larger than we are, and when we partake of it, we become larger, ourselves.

In a sense, I am glad that the shark is at the MET. Disengaging our gaze from
its facile, lurid seductiveness, we are reminded that true works of imaginative genius promise a lifetime of engagement, and indeed pleasurable effort. Great works of art will repay such efforts in abundance.

Madeleine Moments

Few events are as provocative as performing a piece of music in adulthood that one first played as a child. I began my career as a professional musician only a year after switching to the oboe from unsuccessful attempts with the violin and clarinet. I joined the Northwestern Michigan Symphony Orchestra as second oboe to my teacher, Nancy Brammer. At the age of 16, I was confronted with the great works of the orchestral canon almost entirely without cultural reference. I can remember distinctly my maiden voyages with Brahms symphonies and especially the second piano concerto, with Tchaikovsky symphonies, Mozart "Linz," Rachmaninoff piano concerti, and especially with Romeo and Juliet by Prokofiev. The NMSO accompanied Joffery II when their national tour brought them to northern Michigan.

Before the dancers arrived in town, our English hornist, Lynn Hansen (now principal of Traverse City's West Junior High School) had some of the younger orchestra members over to her house to watch a video of Joffery dancing to Prokofiev's score. We gathered around the television, excited about what we were about to discover and what we were about to perform. No work of art more perfectly expressed the emotional complexity of the teenage protagonists' love-confused story, their self-deception and the multi-layered ambivalence of the outside world's dealings with their tragic end. No work of art spoke more directly to my emotional world at the age of 16, dealing both with the seemingly insurmountable challenges of Prokofiev's score and the difficult emotional truths the music itself kept revealing.

So it is little wonder that two and a half decades later, when performing this work with the New York City Ballet at Lincoln Center, I should slip back in time. The notes themselves becoming Proust's cookie crumbs dissolving in warm tea. My fingers trace the very same motifs, and the logic of the body returns to me the emotional mysteries, long buried but somehow potent as ever.

From Proust:

"An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could, no, indeed, be of the same nature. Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it? . . . . What an abyss of uncertainty, whenever the mind feels overtaken by itself; when it, the seeker, is at the same time the dark region through which it must go seeking and where all its equipment will avail it nothing. Seek? More than that: create. It is face to face with something which does not yet exist, to which it alone can give reality and substance, which it alone can bring into the light of day."

And so, as I sit in the orchestra, the mind wonders over and through waves of sound, of memory, emotion. Lost loves, potent now in different guises, step up and offer invitations to tangled dances. Tripping, spectral visions, at once past's dreams, and the present's wonders, seduce the mind from the printed score. The notes are the same today as they were when I was young. Middle "C" still requires three fingers from my left hand and four from my right. And so that "C" exists in two centuries and all the possibilities dreamt between. If Wallace Stevens in Esthétique du Mal finds both the physical and non-physical worlds sprawling in fields of green corn, overcome in the gleaming richness, so he suggests what it means for one musical phrase to split time and carry us careening between ourselves and ourselves. Gratitude and fearsomeness form the forms that rift and shift the shape of our lives.

Esthétique du Mal by Wallace Stevens

XV

The greatest poverty is not to live
In a physical world, to feel that one’s desire
Is too difficult to tell from despair. Perhaps,
After death, the non-physical people, in paradise,
Itself non-physical, may, by chance, observe
The green corn gleaming and experience
The minor of what we feel. The adventurer
In humanity has not conceived of a race
Completely physical in a physical world.
The green corn gleams and the metaphysicals
Lie sprawling in majors of the August heat,
The rotund emotions, paradise unknown.

This is the thesis scrivened in delight,
The reverberating psalm, the right chorale.

One might have thought of sight, but who could think
Of what it sees, for all the ill it sees:
Speech found the ear, for all the evil sound,
But the dark italics it could not propound.
And out of what one sees and hears and out
Of what one feels, who could have thought to make
So many selves, so many sensuous worlds,
As if the air, the mid-day air, was swarming
With the metaphysical changes that occur,
Merely in living as and where we live.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Zéphyros Winds perform at Merkin Concert Hall • Tuesday, 19 Feb, 2:00 p.m.

This program is part of Merkin's theme this season - RE:invention. Each piece reinvents source material into a new musical guise. For this program Zéphyros will be joined by guest artist Richard Faria, bass clarinet for Janáček's Mládí. Click here for tickets.

Reinventing . . . ancient music. Darius Milhaud La Cheminée du Roi René

Milhaud created a film score by taking music from the Troubadours and placing it in a mid-century Parisian sensibility.

Reinventing . . . mythology. Benjamin Britten Pan & Claude Debussy Syrinx

Both Debussy and Britten reinvent the idea of story-telling in their monodic settings of Ovid's myth of changing forms.

Reinventing . . . folk music. Endre Szervánszky Fúvósötös

In response to strict Communist party musical strictures, Szervánszky reinvents Hungarian folk music, usually associated with the violin, for winds, as part of the movement for musical nationalism.

Reinventing . . . ones own music. György Ligeti Six Bagatelles

Ligeti first conceived the music which became this miniature masterpiece for winds, as music for solo piano, and some of it even began earlier as music for piano four-hands.

Reinventing . . . ones self. Leoš Janáček Mládí

At the end of his life, the great Czech composer writes a work entitled, "Youth"!

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Zéphyros Winds - Program 2007-2008

Jennifer Grim, flute
James Roe, oboe
Marianne Gythfeldt, clarinet
Douglas Quint, bassoon
Zohar Schondorf, horn (guest artist)


Darius Milhaud (1892-1974)
La Cheminée du Roi René (1942)
- Cortège
- Aubade
- Jongleurs
- La Maousinglade
- Joutes sur l’Arc
- Chasse à Valabre
- Madrigal-Nocturne


“PAN & SYRINX”

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976)
Pan, from Six Metamorphoses after Ovid for Oboe Solo, Op. 49 (1952)

Claude Debussy (1862-1918)
Syrinx for Solo Flute (1913)

Endre Szervánszky (1911-1977)
Fúvósötös (1953)
- Adagio-Allegro moderato
- Allegro scherzoso
- Andante
- Allegro vivace

---INTERMISSION---

György Ligeti (1923-2006)
Six Bagatelles (1953)
- Allegro con spirito
- Rubato. Lamentoso
- Allegro grazioso
- Presto ruvido
- Adagio. Mesto (Béla Bartók in memoriam)
- Molto vivace. Capriccioso „wie verrückt”

Maurice Ravel (1875-1937)
Le Tombeau de Couperin (1914–17) (Setting by Mason Jones)
- Prélude
- Menuet
- Fugue
- Rigaudon

Monday, December 10, 2007

Helicon's 84th Symposium

Symposium LXXXIV
The Music of Russia
9 December 2007

Lauren Skuce, soprano
Jennifer Frautschi, violin
Pedja Muzijevic, piano

Rachmaninov Art Songs
Prokofiev Violin Sonata in F Minor
Mussorgsky “Pictures at an Exhibition”

Photographs by Joe Hsu.


























Sunday, December 09, 2007

Her Cardboard Lover by John Ashbery

Her Cardboard Lover by John Ashbery

The way you look tonight
is perishable, unphotographable, laughable. Sometimes
dyslexia strikes in late middle age. You are
the way I look tonight. At last
my love has come along.
And you are mine at last.
Slowly the orchestra wives pick over the set,
go behind a wall. The big smiley man is thinking,
thinking he has an IDEA! Well, if he says so.
You gotta believe him. One orchestra wife comes back.
She has forgotten her pearls. The orchestra riffs around,
they come back. “Well, I never! Of all things!”
Oh, it plays

to the breach. You see it. Her lover and best friend came
along the hall. “I’m sorry, Dan.
But I just couldn’t.” So it’s all alright,
he thinks. He thinks it’s a secret.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

At the Russian Army Piano Bar . . . ?

Here is Alexander Borodin's description of Modest Musorgsky as a young army officer in the Preobrazhensky Guard:

"Musorgsky was at that time a very elegant, dapper little officer . . . he sat at the piano and, coquettishly throwing up his hands, played excerpts from Trovatore, Traviata, etc., very pleasantly and gracefully."

Paints quite a picture, don't you think?

Monday, December 03, 2007

Snowed-in in icy Ithaca

Freeville, actually . . .

The Juilliard Journal

Snowed in up in icy Ithaca, I note The Juilliard Journal's coverage of the Albert Fuller Memorial Tribute, with pictures by Peter Schaaf.

Please take a look. Click here.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

On the Road

After the ballet matinée yesterday, I drove the 250 miles up to Utica, NY for a concert today with the New York Chamber Soloists. I was looking forward to the long drive. I had good weather, the GPS woman to tell me when to turn, and bunch of CDs to keep me company. After the concert today, I drive 100 miles west to Freeville to visit my friends Heidi and Rick. She plays in the Syracuse Symphony, he teaches at Ithaca College, and they have a charming 19th-century farmhouse between the two cities. There's a creek running through the back yard, a fire in the fire place and always wonderful food and music. The two of them have perfected life's quotidian pleasures. A day spent in their house has the effect of a week's vacation. Since the ballet doesn't need me next week, I may just stay an extra day.

Here's my driving playlist:

Maria Rita "Segundo" 2005 (Warner Music Latina) Nothing like Brazilian music to fend off the cold.

Clara Nunes, various sambas and songs burned for me by my friend Andre Faria

— Sviatoslav Richter "The Sofia Recital 1958" (Phonogram France)

— youssou n'dour "7 Seconds" 2004 (Sony) Recommended to me by a NYC taxi driver.

— Haydn Piano Trios, Nos 43, 44, and 45, played by Patrick Cohen, Erich Höbarth, Christophe Coin 2005 (harmonia mundi France) I'm spoiled, I can't listen to this repertoire on modern instruments anymore . . .

— Johan Heinrich Schmelzer Violin Sonatas 1996 (harmonia mundi France) Romanesca (Andrew Manze, Nigel North, John Toll)

— "Fanfare Ciocarlia" Baro Biao 2000 (Pirana Musik) My favorite driving music!