I'm about to record two of my lute works for my upcoming composition CD this coming week: Lute Suite no. 1 "Noematique" and DisOrders for Archlute (2013/14). I'll be recording at Dreamflower Studios in NYC, with engineer Jeremy Tressler and producer and guitarist extrordinaire William Anderson. As these pieces crystalize in my ears and fingers, I keep thinking just how deeply the repertoire of the lute has affected my sense of rhythm, sonority, and gesture. And I also like the results of my more updated harmonic language on the archlute - it's quite exotic and sonorous. Fingers crossed that no one gets a crazy idea to use their leaf blowers or mowers at odd hours!
Here's an article I was interviewed for from Bloomberg News that discusses the so-called "Secession Legislation" that would allow West Chester University become state-related.
Click here to read a Fanfare Magazine profile of Furious Artisans. I'm working on putting out a CD of my music with them.
This week I'm performing in the Feast of the Pheasant at the Newberry Consort in Chicago. (Have a listen to this little L'homme arme setting). Some poetic accounts survive and director David Douglass has sewn together a truly fine program with images, speaking, and great music. On board are Ellen Hargis, Shira Kammen (vielle, harp), Tom Zajac (sackbut, douçaine, recorder, kitchen sink), yours truly singing countertenor and playing lute and gittern, and the amazing Rachel Barton Pine on rebec and voice.
Among the best works on the program are Busnoys' Regina Coeli, Dufay's marvellous motet Ecclesie Militantis, and many fine chansons by Dufay and Binchois.
It's a pleasure to work on this repertoire - my third concert of 15th c. rep. this season. The admixture of what we today think of as separate domains, i.e., counterpoint and harmony - is truly satisfying. Rhythmically, there's a residue of the late 14th century floating here and there - especially in the contratenor parts (a middle/low or middle/high part against the primary pair of tenor and cantus). And there's enough virtuosity to go around for
The text of the Feast is interesting. I need to dig into its symbolism. To me, it seems like the primary account is full of encoded memory images. These fantastic descriptions remind me of rhetoric manuals from ancient Rome and of the Ciceronian memory system. It would be interesting to know what relationships are being uncovered by, say, green striped cloth, or of a woman thrashing birds out of a tree for someone to eat. I bet someone has written about this and I'll soon know more.
I'm currently musing over the two works that precede Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire. After reading the Blaue Reiter Almanac and Sixten Ringbom's excellent study of Kandinsky (1970), I'm finding that an understanding of 1911 - 1913 is impossible without some sense of Theosophy, Anarchism, and the Freudian subconscious. Sechs Kleine Klavierstücke Op. 19 and Herzgewächse Op. 20 appear to be two attempts to write without self-censorship; these brittle and microcosmic works succeed so well because their initial material - their innere klang, following Kandinsky and Goethe - really does govern the procession of the work itself. The syntactical relationships between what seem like pianistic shapes in Op. 19 succeed one another in a free-associative manner, much like Freud's unconscious image making. Op. 20 itself seems concerned with perpetuating a small number of metaphorically-chosen intervals, spinning them out centrifigually and impossibly away from the logical beginning point to a place beyond understanding.
These works seem to me to prepare Op. 21 quite carefully, in that the dream-like collage so carefully begun in the George Lieder now feels natural and less derivative. The whole of Op. 21 has the feeling of a medieval summa - a retelling of the world in a compendium that relates all knowledge of the author about the subject. Thus, the overlapping cycles of operatic scenes, baroque set pieces, and character pieces jostle against one another again in a Freudian dream world. Only the brevity of each movement and the centripedal aspects of the piece (Sprechstimme, instrumentation, brevity, and sometimes, limited pitch material) seems to pin each movement in place. The whole is so fragile and airy that any false move by the composer would seem to threaten the work's integrity.
What amazes me as a listener, composer, and perfromer, is how TRUE Schoenberg's choices are in these works. To my ear, his intuition rarely makes a false move. While the structures are dissonant and the sounds often jarring, they are the "right" sounds. The reasons for my opinion are probably as subjective as those for those who hate these works, I wager, but Schoenberg's inner vibrations continually set mine in motion, to paraphrase Kandinsky in der blaue Reiter.
If only he had written these songs for a countertenor!