This week’s video is perhaps the most niche of the MTH-V series – serious DMB fans will get the biggest kick out of this. I try to take a generalist approach to most of these, but this is too good to pass by. Although some previous posts – e.g., ICTUS and Trio Mediæval – featured more specialized styles, they were at least clean and relatively produced recordings. This may be DMB, but it’s a 102-minute scratchy VHS transfer of a then-local band. This show took place at Virginia’s Bridgewater College. There’s a neat story about the video and performance, as well as a scan of the show’s poster, by a member of the other band that performed that night here.

As I mentioned, this was brought to my attention by Antsmarching.org, the biggest fan-site for DMB. While I have many strong philosophical disagreements with the various orthodoxies espoused by the site’s moderators, the site itself is an undeniably wonderful source of information. Want to know how many times “Best of What’s Around” has been performed, in what cities, at which point in each concert, and how rare a live performance is in comparison with others in the catalogue? Just look it up. (I love all of the hard data; I just wish they’d give the op-eds a rest. But that’s another post for another day. I’m still happy to have been a member for well over a decade now.)

Some notes on this video since it’s such a lengthy one – I’ll point out some highlights for those without the time/interest to watch the whole thing or freely browse. While some of these might be old hat to other die-hard Ants, it’s still worth mentioning here, as 1) it’s nice to have video evidence of the things heard on many tapes, and 2) this is likely new for many regular readers:
• Love this.
• It is GREAT to have such a nice video documentation of a lot of early LeRoi Moore. While the more hardline jazz influence is evident in a couple places, you already start to hear the direction he eventually went (that of a rock/pop musician as opposed to a “jazz saxophonist”). His solos on “Best of What’s Around,” “Recently,” and “Jimi Thing” are especially choice.
• Speaking of which, that “Jimi” outro is hip…maybe they should bring it back…
• The video lasts for almost 80 minutes, with the final 22 being audio-only.
• The band at this time included original keyboardist Peter Greisar. The duo performance of “So Much to Say” by Dave and Peter is a nice early glimpse into the song.
•  For those who enjoyed the mid-2000s “Louie Louie” interpolations at the end of “Warehouse,” here’s an early incarnation.
•  Hearing the juxtaposition of a much-slower “Best of What’s Around” and brisk “Satellite” is an odd switch. Although I think the latter is more due to nerves. (If only they would have played “After Her” instead…)
• Even though the band is still quite young (not two years old), it’s evident they’re already a unit. Keep in mind that their first performance was in March or April of 1991, less than one year prior. Armed with a catalogue of mostly original material (with a few tasteful covers thrown in for good measure), they musically give each other space and keep the audience on energized and engaged throughout. No wonder they’ve been the highest-grossing live act in recent pop history. Even though the tempo gets weird in a number of songs, Carter does his best to keep the band’s nerves in check back there.
• Again, great video evidence to illustrate the anecdotes of fans occasionally thinking Boyd Tinsley was Dave Matthews, as Boyd was initially more comfortable with between-song banter and crowd work than Dave.
• Speaking of which, Boyd gets two vocal numbers: “Angel From Montgomery” and “True Reflections.” They’re both quite rare in live performance nowadays, but luckily I’ve seen them both. “Angel From Montgomery” is especially elusive.
• Interesting introductory banter about the band and their material by Dave, then one of my favorites: “The Song That Jane Likes.” Enough said.

NOTE: Embedding functionality for this particular video has understandably been disabled, but you may view the whole thing here.

For me, the Grammys largely come and go most years without much notice. I occasionally have some small emotional stake in one or two awards. This year I was pleased to see Bon Iver (praised here) not only nominated but win, and I was pleased that they refused to perform. I don’t often watch the show. It’s not out of protest or an attempt to be some sort of hipster; I’m more curious in the outcome than the fanfare, presentations, and most performances. And yes, I’m well aware that the Grammys are more of a corporate than artistic affair. (That’s part of what made Herbie‘s well-deserved 2008 Album of the Year win so exciting.)

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

This year I actually had Sunday evening free and decided I’d watch the awards show. You know, give it a chance. (After all, I was hoping for some Bon Iver success, and I was quite looking forward to the Beach Boys‘ reunion performance.) That lasted about 30-40 minutes, or however long it took for Chris Brown‘s sad display to end, before I shut it off. Bruce was Bruce (and wasn’t helped by the awkward camera work), and the derivative Bruno Mars set lost my interest after a minute or two. (I love James Brown’s music, especially when it’s James Brown doing James Brown. [Un]fortunately [for Bruno Mars], it’s more than wardrobe and staging.)

Then good ol’ Chris. Not only was I offended when I first saw it (having looked up from my laptop, as I was also following the Greek debacle), but my irritation has grown as the week’s progressed. His performance, as I’m sure you know by now, sparked controversy across all media, but not for artistic reasons. Everyone’s been in a furor over 1) the Grammys allowing him to perform after his pre-Grammy domestic violence a few years ago, and 2) various reactions to those reactions, etc., especially via the all-powerful Twitter (granting gravitas to dumb 14 year olds everywhere). Yes, domestic violence is awful, and should not be either taken lightly or even forgiven. But here I’m coming from a strictly artistic point of view – music only, personal history aside. People who have done far worse have received infinitely much more praise throughout the years, and it’s often necessary to separate the music from the (wo)man. As someone with a deep, deep love of the music of both Miles Davis and Richard Wagner, I know this all too well. As high as a mantle as I may place the appropriately-named Prince of Darkness, I know and discuss his many shortcomings. It would’ve been amazing to have been his employee and band member, but not so much his friend or acquaintance. Forget Brown, Miles could have given a masterclass in misogyny and domestic violence. (Let’s not forget that he also enjoyed boxing). And of course there was his legendary drug addiction. Yet he recently received his own US stamp…

Often, an artist is quite complicated, and while a person’s life can and does inform their art, the art can – though understandably not always – also be judged separately from the (cult of) personality. Sure, different strokes for different folks – what some can compartmentalize others cannot. It can be as severe as Miles, or as subjective (for me) as Ted Nugent.

Anyway, back to Mr. Brown. Aside from his absurd staging, which resembled more of a realized Q*bert fantasy than anything else, his lip-syncing was atrocious. Not that he was lip-syncing, but that he was doing so poorly. Unless, of course, he wanted onlookers to believe he could circular breathe while doing so. Add to that the fact that he was lip-syncing something that was severely auto-tuned and you’ve got a recipe for something really special. I watched it as one would watch a train-wreck, and then to my astonishment the crowd (largely of music industry types) went wild. Hm. A man lip-syncs vocal effects in front of thousands of musicians and is adored. Corporate or not, that’s something to behold.

This whole last week, Adam Carolla has been saying about Brown on his podcast that, “We’ve constructed a society in which you can be forgiven for anything as long as you can dance.” While he was saying that in context of Brown’s domestic violence and Jacko’s many controversies, his point could just as well be applied to Brown’s performance itself (and many other pop acts). As with most things, Ace was on-point.

I simply waited until Monday to catch the Beach Boys performance on the internet, and I must say I watched it probably twenty times. What a joy. Unfortunately, most reviews referenced or centered around their age and appearance, but let’s not forget that they’re celebrating their 50th anniversary. (That generally means old.) Sure, some of the harmonies could have been a little cleaner, but overall they sounded quite good for all being near 70. And in context, they outdid the preceding lackluster cover performances by Maroon 5 and Foster the People. (Case in point, when Adam Levine and that other guy joined them for the end of “Good Vibrations,” Levine made no effort to actually sing into the microphone. Was he afraid the judge wouldn’t turn his/her throne around?) Yes, the Beach Boys are old, and Brian Wilson often looked near death. However, given everything they’ve been through – professionally, emotionally, physically, mentally, and psychopharmacologically – it’s amazing those survivors did anything at all. (Just skim their lineup history for a taste of the drama.) And Brian Wilson actually looked to be having a ball at times.

As surprised as I was to hear so much discussion of Chris Brown after the Grammys, I was equally surprised – and disappointed – at the lack of Beach Boys discussion. While I didn’t expect them to receive undying praise from all media outlets, it seems as if their performance was largely unnoticed. Perhaps I’m cynical, but maybe there are just too many left alive to care. I mean, The Beach Boys are one of the biggest rock/pop acts in American music, and Brian Wilson is consequently considered one of the great American pop songwriters. The Beach Boys also allowed the US to give England & the Beatles a run for their money in the 1960s. I’m sure part of it is their heavy association with a particular geographical area (i.e., the tropical coast), and the fact that their enduring career provided a decent amount of cheese, possibly diluting the more substantial material. (I can’t be the only one my age who remembers endlessly hearing “Kokomo” at the roller-rink in elementary school.)

[This of course touches on a whole other area worthy of much discussion - longevity and surpassing one's prime - distilled in this clip from High Fidelity (a GREAT movie for pop music snobbery --- one of my favorites, and one I often reference in this blog) - simply substitute The Beach Boys for Stevie Wonder.]

Although Brian Wilson (and the rest of his bandmates) have enjoyed wildly different post-1960s careers than those of McCartney, Lennon, et. al., and even the Grateful Dead, the fact remains that they belonged to bands that laid the groundwork for much of what took place the subsequent 4+ decades. I saw a (skeletal) Beach Boys performance around 2003 – Mike Love had licensed the name for touring with bandmate Bruce Johnston and a backing band that I think comprised most of the Grammy backing band – and it quite fun. Similarly, and more profoundly, when I saw the original Black Sabbath in 2004 & 2005 and The Dead in 2010, I knew that I was seeing a genuine piece of rock history. Also in those cases, the old original members blew away their younger competition.

Going back to the aforementioned Grammy performances, The Beach Boys actually sang (!!!) those trademark tight vocal harmonies and ended up a footnote, whereas Chris Brown pretended to sing auto-tune and walked away with much of the press’s attention (thanks also to his tremendous hubris).

And jazz and classical musicians are sad to be largely excluded from this circus…? Blech.

This last weekend I listened to quite a bit of Alanis Morissette‘s MTV Unplugged. I bought the album in I think 2004 and listened to it repeatedly, quickly making it a perennial favorite, especially while driving to and from gigs. MTV Unplugged didn’t always work out so spectacularly for the featured artists, but this is one of the show’s true gems. (Alice in Chains‘s appearance was rather amazing – another great road album. And while I’ve never been a huge Nirvana fan, their episode was historic. And of course there’s Eric Clapton.)

Alanis and her band are really in top form here. This concert features a number of, at the time, novel reworkings of her standard catalogue. (This particular song hadn’t yet been officially released in any form.) It was definitely a sign of stylistic things to come, and a live precursor to 2005′s Jagged Little Pill Acoustic – a solid album and an interesting project – the acoustic re-orchestration recorded to celebrate Jagged Little Pill‘s tenth anniversary. (I wanted to attend the 2005 support tour, but Bonnaroo 2005 took precedence that same weekend. )

“No Pressure Over Cappuccino” is perhaps my favorite song from the album. (If you’re curious, it’s supposedly about her twin brother.) It’s a pretty good representation of the album as a whole, even the more aggressive songs. I’m a sucker for nineties rock and proud of it. For any of you who may also be, you should also get a kick out of this. Even if you’re not, this tune’s worth a try…

And now for a brief State of the Blog:

I hope it is by now clear that this blog is not intended to advertise my playing schedule, etc. While I advertise both my gigs and the blog on Twitter and Facebook (and occasionally my main music site), this site is more about ideas and information than gigs and marketing. That was the purpose from the start, and the reason I’ve kept this and separate from the “main site.” (Even though, oddly enough, this has become far more popular than the other. Ha!) In a rare moment of self-promotion, allow me to remind you that if you’re curious about Mike the musician, all relevant information – news, gigs, lore – is found at michaelteager.com. And if RSS is your thing, make sure you’ve subscribed to this site.

The weekly video series has given me both deadlines and diverse topics, which has helped. Now that the hellishly-busy-but-nonetheless-amazing year of 2011 is behind me, I can spend more time on content. I have neither the time nor the resources to be The Dish, one of my favorite blogs, but I aim to continue frequently posting. I’ve made a conscious effort to set aside time for the site, as I tend to think of each post – especially non-MTH-Vs as more of an article than a tweet or Tumblr entry. (I hope to be more than just a bibliography.) And speaking of content, this site has been and will continue to be focused solely on music (directly or indirectly). While I have many strong opinions and certitudes on a variety of topics, I don’t want to muddy the waters here by spreading topics too thin.”Music” is a wide enough net.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Enough “official business.” Thank you for supporting the site. Truly.

I recently decided I wanted to invest in some new hardware for a couple of my saxophones. There are a couple ligatures and mouthpieces that need to be improved upon if not replaced. On top of that, I’ve recently been experimenting with different tenor reeds. While many  saxophonists would find this sort of thing exciting, I don’t.

I’m not a gearhead. Never have been, and likely never will be. I occasionally like to know what certain saxophonists use only out of intellectual curiosity, but it ends there. I care about my own setup of course, but to a certain extent. All of my saxophones and related hardware are of course professional grade, but I’ve never been one to be on the constant search for the “perfect” mouthpiece, neck, etc. Everything I have was selected after much testing and comparing (e.g., my alto saxophone was the best of 13 I play-tested; mouthpieces, etc. were also similarly chosen). Changes have been made along the way, however I tend to largely work with what I have. And even though I have all Selmer saxophones, that is because those are what I was happiest with when shopping around. The Selmer v. Yamaha (Selmer v. Yamaha v. Yanagisawa v. Keilwerth) debate interests me as much as the Apple v. PC v. Linux debate, which is to say not at all.

For many of my peers and colleagues (past and present), such an investment is just the beginning. I can’t tell you how many other saxophonists I know who have spent years searching for the next perfect mouthpiece, reed, ligature, neck, and even horn. Really? Really. I can understand it to an extent. Instrument technology is continually improving, often allowing for more options and flexibility. However, unlike advancements in computer technology, new models don’t necessarily negate their predecessors. I’m sure that if one took all the time spent thumbing through catalogues and/or vendor websites and spent it practicing tone fundamentals, a relatively similar amount of progress may occur.

Before anyone tells me that I think gear is completely irrelevant, allow me to say that I do think it matters, but only to a degree. I believe that once a certain threshold is met, user error is more to blame than mechanical error. Tone and projection can be affected a myriad of ways by a new/different mouthpiece, and that, coupled with personal taste, means that not everyone will play the same thing. When it comes right down to it, you sound like you. If you’re happy with your sound, great. If not, perhaps its time to look in the mirror as opposed to your instrument case. A few anecdotes that have stuck with me:

• In 2003 I saw James Carter milling around the vendor area at World Saxophone Congress XIII. JC is arguably the best technician of the instrument alive today, and he attended the conference (an almost exclusively classical event) simply to test horns, mouthpieces, etc. Being a big fan, I loitered around the vendor area just to hear him do his thing, free and up close. And no matter what he played, he sounded unmistakably like James Carter. I saw walk by one table and presented with a neck screw by one vendor who claimed it would really free up his sound. (!?!) Carter gave him an ARE YOU HIGH? look, tested a horn with and without the magical screw, and claimed nothing changed.

• In 2006 I saw the Dave Liebman Group at Ann Arbor’s (unfortunately extinct) The Firefly. They played two sets, and during the first set I noticed Lieb was playing on a new Yamaha tenor (either an EX or Z model) which was brought by a regional Yamaha representative to court the guru. For the second set, he switched back to his standard Keilwerth (his partner) tenor and still sounded like Lieb. (I attended the show with my friend Drew Whiting, and we both noticed a slight timbral difference at the very bottom of the horn’s range, but we’re both saxophonists and were visually cued to listen in for a difference.) Although Liebman’s tone has changed over the last four decades, I would hardly attribute it to one or two of the hundreds, if not thousands, of iterations his setup has undergone through the years.)

• Throughout my undergraduate study, I had a classmate who was obsessed with mouthpieces, reeds, and ligatures. Every few months his setup would change slightly. (Occasionally he would say something to the effect of, “James Carter plays on _____ mouthpiece. I’m going to get it.”) All that time and money invested in continuing to basically sound like himself, squeaks and all. JC was nowhere to be found. I’m sure one cause for the long-term occasional chirping was that his muscles and mind were unable to focus on his sound via one specific setup.

That being said, my temporary search for new gear continues. Regardless of how annoying it may be (though it of course is always fun to get a new toy of some sort), I can rest assured that purchasing the next ligature or mouthpiece will mark the end of this search, not the beginning of another.

(Pictured above: My toys.)

This particular version is by the one and only Stan Getz, featuring his collaborator pianist Kenny Barron, as well as Alex Blake and the untouchable Terri Lyne Carrington. Filmed at the 1990 Umbria Jazz Festival, this performance is similar in style to that found on one of my absolute favorite jazz albums, 1989′s Anniversary (w. Kenny Barron, Rufus Reid, and Victor Lewis). On that album, “Stella” is perhaps the crown jewel. (I wrote a “New Listen” post on its sister album Serenity here.)

This performance follows Anniversary by a few years – it was recorded in ’87 – and Stan looks (and, to some extent, sounds) a bit more frail. (He died in ’91.) But he and the band are still swinging, and Getz’s fourth chorus is definitely worth the price of admission. Barron is also featured, but we only hear a couple of Blake’s choruses before the clip cuts out. (It’s a shame, because I’m sure Terri Lyne did some damage at the end. After all, of the three times I’ve seen Herbie, she’s stolen the show each time to some extent.) Despite the compromised video/audio quality – it looks to be a VHS transfer – you should still get a kick out of this. I know I do.

I think a lot about “New Music.” Part of my preference for it is my Classical Saxophone perspective: (relatively) “new” instruments require new music to create a lexicon. And while not all new music (especially for saxophone) may be of high quality, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. Another reason for my dwelling on New Music is from a teaching perspective. In my Music Appreciation classes, I always expose my students to New Music and some of its related concepts. I don’t care that they like it, and they know it – I simply want them to experience it, and to be able to explain their (dis)liking it.

I’ve started a number of drafts of what would have been this post over the last few months, only to delete them all. Each time the article has branched off in a different direction. Instead of trying to encapsulate everything in a single post, I decided to cover each item separately. For this first article, I’d like to start with an anecdote from last year.

As mentioned in my previous MTH-V post, I attended Belgian new music ensemble ICTUS‘s Austrian premiere of Harry Partch‘s The Wayward. Their performance was part of the “Kunst aus der Zeit” (“Art of Our Times”) series, the small new music branch of the annual Bregenzer Festspiele. I was able to arrange for my students and myself to attend a closed rehearsal, and I attended the premiere two nights later. For those unfamiliar with Partch (and I’m guessing that’s most everyone reading this), in brief:
• Partch is one of the many, and arguably one of the least-known outside of musicians’ circles, composers who pursued an “American Sound” in the 1900s
• He pursued not only an American sound, but sought to create a new musical system based largely on microtonality
• Not stopping there, he constructed his own instruments to properly convey this new musical language
• Corporeality: “The dramatic fusion of human speech, music, and movement, and inseparable combination of these parts into a larger whole.”
• For more (better!) Partch information, explore Corporeal Meadows and HarryPartch.com.

CONTEXT:
Before going further, I should mention that I’m no Partch expert. My combined assigned reading in undergraduate and graduate school of his life and music totaled maybe ten paragraphs, one selection on a CD, and a VHS clip. And as for my teaching, he received, until this point, brief mention, if any, as an example of Twentieth Century tendencies. My unfamiliarity was actually one of the big reasons for my excitement for this performance.

The Wayward includes all of the above aspects, and is arguably his most-known work (relatively speaking, considering none of his music is “known”). Another way to put it – this was the one piece I knew of his offhand. Because his music was written for instruments he constructed, he receives little-to-no-performance outside of a few “Partch ensembles” (mostly run by his surviving associates and students). Unlike a standard classical work, one can’t simply purchase a score, assemble musicians, rehearse, and perform. This is largely why it took a half century for the Austrian premiere to occur. (The Wayward‘s four parts were composed in various stages from the 1940s to the 1960s.) That being said, ICTUS went about their performance in a drastically different manner. Instead of reconstructing the required instruments, composer Tim Mariën re-orchestrated The Wayward for performance on common (often fixed) instruments. Hence ICTUS’s more “traditional” approach. (And controversial, according to members of the aforementioned Partch ensembles…more on that later…)

TEACHING:
The Wayward‘s biggest, and arguably most well known, movement/section is “U.S. Highball.” It illustrates a hobo’s transcontinental railroad journey, using vocal techniques more reminiscent of sprechstimme and American folk than more classical means. That programmatic context, along with the above bullet points, was pretty much all the preparation I gave my students before we attended the rehearsal. (That, with a dusting of, “You’ll think it sounds weird and likely incorrect, but please remember that the musicians are 110% serious about the piece…and it’s supposed to sound like that.”) My reasoning was that I wasn’t as concerned about their becoming intimately familiar with Partch specifically, but rather I wanted to lightly prepare them to hear a type of music they’d never heard before or since. In my judgement, having them experience the music live with little-to-no context would be a great experiment of sorts. (After attending the rehearsal, we had a comprehensive debriefing, both with myself and also with the organizer of the new music concert series.)

In a portion of their final reflective essays, I asked my students to select and explain both their favorite and least favorite of the musical events they attended throughout the course. While only one or two listed Partch as their favorite – one or two more than I had expected! – only a couple listed it as their least favorite. (The winner of that category was actually Judith Weir‘s opera Achterbahn, the world premiere of which we attended.) On paper, one would likely expect Partch to be the outright loser for an audience of non-musicians, but that is perhaps the problem: it’s what is expected on behalf of musicians (in this case, academic musicians). For those who listed it as neither, most students told me that they enjoyed it much more than they had anticipated, and that it showed them that contemporary music didn’t have to be something to necessarily fear or avoid. And part of their reason for accepting it (and even enjoying it) as they did was the fact that we attended a closed rehearsal. They were able to witness the ensemble occasionally start, stop, tinker, argue, and refine the music. It was a peek behind the curtain for something that, to them, could have otherwise been simply organized chaos.

Their overall positive reception caught me off guard. Pleasantly.

As evident in the article, this experience has stuck with me for a variety of reasons:
• I simply enjoyed the performance (and being able to attend the rehearsal).
• It was great to expose my students to such a rare piece of music.
• It was great to see something most academically-oriented musicians see as “out there” go over well with such a general audience. (The room full of Austrians at the premiere seemed to really enjoy the performance as well.)

ON NEW MUSIC: Advocates, The Ivory Tower:
Now, what does this have to do with concerns over “New Music”? Frankly many, but I’ll try to isolate just a few here. The first has to do with we musicians who advocate and perform such music. This unexpectedly, but welcomely, came to life in the comments section of my previous MTH-V post. I was taken to task, and rightfully so in a sense, by Jon Szanto. He curates Corporeal Meadows, a wonderful online Partch resource (one that I had actually used a few times myself before and after attending the Austrian performance), as well as having known Partch at the end of his life. He presented a very valid point: the ICTUS performance was not authentic, as it featured a re-orchestration for traditional instruments, and therefore the music was drastically cheapened. Amusingly, he said comparing ICTUS to Partch was like comparing the Portsmith Sinfonia to the Berlin Philharmonic.

I can’t argue with that. I’m a Partch novice, and the above performance was simply an introduction. In areas I’m much more comfortable and knowledgeable, I’m equally picky. For instance, one of my pet peeves is classical saxophonists obsessing too much over transcriptions. I hate to break it to my colleagues: Bach didn’t write for the saxophone. Neither did Mozart. As valuable – and necessary – as that music is to our technique and understanding of older styles in our practicing, it needn’t be the focal point of the instrument. Now and again it’s perfectly fine, but after a while you’re conveying more of an inferiority complex than anything, in my opinion.

This question of authenticity is proper for debate. After all, musicians should always look to honor the music. But when it comes to reaching listeners and advancing our art, the context changes. As Jon rightly noted, the Berlin Philharmonic is great. Amazing, actually. However, most laypeople don’t experience the Berlin Philharmonic. Instead they attend local, regional, and university orchestras, most of which are more akin to the Portsmith Sinfonia. Then, assuming they enjoy themselves, perhaps they’ll take a greater personal interest, discover more music, and eventually listen to (or even see) top tier ensembles such as the Berlin Philharmonic, New York Philharmonic, and Chicago Symphony Orchestra. As I told Jon, I remember attending performances of local classical and jazz ensembles in middle and high school, but now that I am one such performer I pretty much only seek out those top tier ensembles for performances. (Local rock scenes can function much the same way.) In this case, Jon and I agreed that ICTUS served this function for me. I was able to experience Harry Partch’s music live in some fashion, something most of my colleagues can’t claim, and now I’d like to eventually see “the real thing” (Partch music performed on Partch instruments). Since then I’ve invested in recordings and plan to purchase more.

ON NEW MUSIC: Audience:
This brings me to the final point (for this article, at least): reaching an audience. One of the biggest complaints among New Music enthusiasts is that no one besides fellow musicians wants to listen, or at least no one seeks it out. Fair enough, I suppose. But where is most of this New Music performed? In the United States, outside of major metropolitan centers, it’s largely relegated to university campuses (and associated churches and community centers when new music artists are on tours). That’s hardly getting it out there to the public. Of the many recitals I gave and/or attended while a student, rarely was there someone in the audience who wasn’t a friend, family member, fellow music student, or non-music student meeting a class/assignment requirement.

Perhaps one solution would be to take the show “on the road,” so to speak. Maybe instead of giving a performance in a university recital hall, it’s moved to a local space in town and off campus. I know some former classmates of mine did this with a (SCENE) & Heard It series at East Lansing’s (SCENE)Metrospace. Instead of waiting for the new ears to come to the performer, the performers can bring the music to new ears. Advertise it alongside local rock, jazz, and hip-hop acts. Put it in similar venues. Maybe even a double-bill of disparate but complementary acts/ensembles. What if – gasp! – you didn’t wear a suit or tuxedo to perform? Outside of my music appreciation course, my students didn’t have advanced musical knowledge when attending ICTUS’s performance, yet most of them quite enjoyed themselves. The setting was casual (granted it was a rehearsal, but the actual premiere didn’t require formal attire either), offering one more welcoming layer – or rather removing one more intimidating layer – to the first-timer. (Along those lines, The Corporeal Group asks similar questions [see bottom of page] about Partch’s music specifically, but those can also be applied to new music generally.)

Similarly, more “traditional” venues and series must be brought up to date. After the initial Occupy Wall Street protests, you may remember a number of comical OWS parodies. One that floated around music nerd-dom (of which I’m of course a member) was “1% of music students do 99% of the practicing.” Amusing, but it definitely had a point. Another that packed some punch was the following:

Very true. I know that music directors and money-managers want to appease their financial supporters, but perhaps their revenue base (i.e., patrons) would increase if they updated their programming. Works by Schönberg are still considered aesthetically challenging by many groups (100 years later, mind you…). Okay. But you could throw in that or Berg along with recent works by Torke, Colgrass, or Ades and still have time to open the show with some Haydn for good measure. I remember hearing this NPR story a few years ago about regional orchestras that banded together to co-commission new music by Joan Tower and finding much success. The move added cachê to these smaller groups’ reputations, added new music to their repertoire, created buzz in their communities, and possibly yielded a number of first-time concertgoers.

Obviously I’ve not covered everything here. There are many things I’ve missed (intentionally or otherwise), and I’ve provided more questions than answers, but it’s a start. Food for thought, if nothing else. It’s been my experience, at least with students, that they’re much more receptive to contemporary music when they see it performed live. Even if they don’t particularly love the musical style, the live experience at least causes them to respect and/or appreciate the work that goes into it.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read or heard, “It was way better than I had expected,” or, “It was better in person than listening to the CD.” Definitely something to consider. If we performers take chances on the audience, perhaps audiences will taken chances on us.

Last summer I had the immense pleasure of attending the Austrian premiere of Partch’s landmark cycle The Wayward by Belgian contemporary music ensemble ICTUS in Bregenz, Austria. Partch is a perfect example of Twentieth Century musical tendencies: experimental, nationalistic, controversial. I’ll discuss more in a later post, but for context on the below video, know that one of Partch’s trademarks is his inventing of his own microtonal system (i.e., there is a lot of dissonance). Beyond that, he also constructed his own instruments to properly articulate this new language. Lacking Partch’s invented instruments (they are closely guarded by Partch’s disciples in the US), ICTUS instead opts for prepared – or otherwise manipulated – Western instruments. (Here, various string and keyboard instruments are featured along with voice.)

Two portions of The Wayward are featured here: “The Letter” and “Barstow,” respectively. Although this definitely falls under “contemporary music,” it has as much to do with Americana as it does the new music canon. (Think equal parts Tom Waits and Pierre Boulez.) As I’ll reiterate later, keep in mind that this music is seventy years old – it was written before most of you were born. As with most things, keep an open mind…

Harry Partch’s The Wayward: “The Letter” (1943) & “Barstow” (1941/54/67)

Ah, TOOL. (While it’s not completely necessary that I capitalize all letters, I’ve done so for 15 years and see no reason to quit now.) 1/5 of my mythic Top 5. Tonight’s show will be #14, my first having been almost 15 years ago (07.26.97). It’s been five years since I last saw them, and my overall attendance numbers would be far greater for them if they actually toured regularly. However, that’s part of their charm. They tour when they want and can, and do things on their terms, and release new studio albums at a snail’s pace. But considering each album somehow evolves past the last, it’s always worth the wait.

In case this is news to you, a quick rundown: Since its inception, the band has been categorized as progressive rock/metal, and has only amped up those characteristics – lengthy tunes, compound meters, unconventional form, strong technical facility – over time. Although many progressive rock bands fall prey to the math more than the music, TOOL can organically rock in 11/8 without giving the impression that they perform solely to showcase their rhythmic acuity. Furthermore, they exhibit restraint and taste, employing such devices only when the music (or Maynard’s idiosyncratic vocal melodies) demands it. As far as subject matter, the lyrics are overall intentionally vague while also referencing, aside from the usual “life and death,”  individual expression, philosophy, social commentary, humor (often sarcastic or ironic), and the occult. (The band members and their associates have a deep knowledge of the latter, as opposed to superficial references.)

For this week’s video, I’ve selected a recent and decent (despite the final few seconds being clipped) HQ audience recording of one of their best songs, “Third Eye.” Without giving too much away in the title, it’s about opening one’s fabled third eye. The spoken dialogue played at the beginning is a recording of Dr. Timothy Leary they use during live (rare) performances of this particular song. (The studio album features complementary bits by Bill Hicks.) I’ve only seen this song live a few times – it’s rarely performed. If you have the time to get through all 15 minutes you’ll see that it’s not just “jamming,” but rather a well-structured composition. Also note the great use of tension and release via volume, texture, meter, and tone. It’s something they do better than most. The other thing TOOL does better than most is perform. They are SOLID live – crisp, well-rehearsed, and intense. TOOL is:
Danny Carey – Drums/Percussion
Justin Chancellor – Bass (1995-present)
Adam Jones – Guitar
Maynard James Keenan – Vocals
(Paul D’Amour – Bass, 1990-95)

“Third Eye” (from 1996′s Ænima)

Lyrics:
Dreaming of that face again.
It’s bright and blue and shimmering.
Grinning wide
And comforting me with it’s three warm and wild eyes.

On my back and tumbling
Down that hole and back again
Rising up
And wiping the webs and the dew from my withered eye.

In… Out… In… Out… In… Out…

A child’s rhyme stuck in my head.
It said that life is but a dream.
I’ve spent so many years in question
to find I’ve known this all along.

“So good to see you.
I’ve missed you so much.
So glad it’s over.
I’ve missed you so much
Came out to watch you play.
Why are you running?”

Shrouding all the ground around me
Is this holy crow above me.
Black as holes within a memory
And blue as our new second sun.
I stick my hand into his shadow
To pull the pieces from the sand.
Which I attempt to reassemble
To see just who I might have been.
I do not recognize the vessel,
But the eyes seem so familiar.
Like phosphorescent desert buttons
Singing one familiar song…

“So good to see you.
I’ve missed you so much.
So glad it’s over.
I’ve missed you so much.
Came out to watch you play.
Why are you running away?”

Prying open my third eye.
So good to see you once again.
I thought that you were hiding.
And you thought that I had run away.
Chasing the tail of dogma.
I opened my eye and there we were.

So good to see you once again
I thought that you were hiding from me.
And you thought that I had run away.
Chasing a trail of smoke and reason.

Prying open my third eye

It was very fresh and clean.

This afternoon, I was fortunate enough to see Philip Glass and Robert Wilson’s mythic Einstein on the Beach. It’s been nearly a decade since I first learned about this work (and saw a clip) in Music History III, and since then seeing it performed live has been on my bucket list. I remember most of my classmates’ initial reaction upon first hearing of a 4.5-hr, intermission-less and plotless opera in which the only singing is that of solfege and numbers, along with senseless spoken text (not to mention modern choreography and stage design): “That’s cool.” Then we saw the video clip of “Trial/Jail” (AKA “The Supermarket Scene”), and many of the cheers turned to, “Eh, nevermind.” I, however, was one of the few converts, and have longed to see it since.

As you’ve likely seen online or elsewhere, Einstein is being revived this year and into 2013 by the originators – Philip Glass, Robert Wilson, Lucinda Childs – and Pomegranate Arts both in celebration of Glass’s 75th year and simply because they see this is being their last chance. It’s been 20 years since the last production and international tour, and, with one exception, the one before that was the very first in 1976. And while this tour will feature many international hotspots, including runs in Berkley, CA and New York City, the tech rehearsals, dress rehearsals, and “preview performances” occurred in Ann Arbor, MI (!) over the last month (with the preview performances this weekend). (The University Musical Society board should be given some sort of medal…)

I could give a blow-by-blow account of what I saw, but it’s not as if I saw a new storyline or interpretation. (After all, how could one effectively re-interpret something that has no plot?) Instead, I’d rather attempt to capture some of the feeling. I hadn’t been as excited for an individual concert/performance as I was for today’s Einstein in at least a couple years. Concerning classical/contemporary music, only my excitement for attending Chicago Lyric Opera’s 2005 Der Ring des Nibelungen compared. However, the main difference between the two is that I knew I would one day get to see a major company perform Wagner’s magnum opus; it was only a matter of time and resources. On the other hand, I chalked Einstein up to a pipe dream – something I’d only realize via DVD.

Well, today was the day, my friends. Not only did I see the opera, but as it was conceived and realized by the original creative forces, including the Michael Riesman-directed Philip Glass Ensemble. I sat through the 270-minute behemoth (minus a couple minutes for a quick dash to the restroom – did I mention there’s no intermission?), not once thinking Are we done yet?. Much of the time, to be honest, I wasn’t even on planet Earth to ask the question. I was in instead in Bern, Switzerland. And in a laboratory-cum-courtroom. And a jailhouse. And a prematurely air-conditioned supermarket. And a spaceship. And even a park bench. I lost myself in an endless barrage of numbers, syllables, and mind-boggling, repetitive text. While the music alone is quite something, the Gesamtkunstwerk is absolutely mind-altering. (Thank you, Alex Ross, for aptly noting, “It all goes back to Wagner.”) Between the trance-inducing music, the minimalist-but-still-a-three-maybe-six-ring-circus action, set designs, costumes, and props, every subtle nuance – from a quick wink to the tossing of a paper airplane – commanded attention. Some specific thoughts:

• I quite enjoyed the way in which the production started. Instead of the typical “light down, mouths shut” procedure, it was a gradual transition from the time the audience entered the theater until the entrance of the chorus.
• Kate Moran kept me on the edge of my seat with the supermarket text, never quite saying it the same way twice (despite repeating it for ~15 minutes…).
• I expected great things for the “walking bass” portion of the Spaceship scene. What I didn’t expect was to be overwhelmed. Definitely the climax.
•  After returning from my jaunt to the restroom three hours in, that’s when it really hit me that the cast and crew gets no break. (Yes, individuals may come and go, but the show continues nonetheless.) Hats off to them, especially the Philip Glass Ensemble’s soprano.
• There was much more subtle humor (as compared with the toothbrushing bit) than I had expected. It of course helped that the audience was so willing to dive in.
• I appreciated the narrators not always being prominent in the mix. It was particularly effective in “Knee Play 1.”
• The extended dance numbers left me exhausted when complete.
• Although I felt as if I roughly “got it” while I stood applauding afterward, whatever “it” was vanished in an instant. I still couldn’t tell you what it’s about. Much like a dream, which is as clear and real as anything while it occurs, it’s a blur once awake. Unless you’ve seen it or know it well, my rambling descriptions would make little sense.
• While I won’t be so bold as to say I was a part of history, I can safely say that I witnessed history – at least artistic history – in the making this afternoon. And that was truly special. (Simply see the bottom of this page for a list of all its performances. Ever.)
• This was one of my most unique musical experiences.

I gave the full recording one final listen on Friday in an attempt to get myself in the right frame of mind, but nothing could have properly prepared me for what I witnessed this afternoon. I left the theater feeling many things: giddy, emotionally and mentally exhausted, thankful, awestruck, somewhat confused. One thing was for certain: I needed more time to digest what I had just experienced (and still do). I drove home in silence (one hour), and haven’t listened to anything since walking in the door. I just keep replaying hundreds of auditory and visual snapshots in my mind, most of which I’m sure I’ll remember forever. Fervently…