Continuing the mini-reviews of ten albums from my collections of CDs, cassettes and vinyl albums during the corona virus lockdown. There was an unusual amount of jazz and improvised music this time, but I didn't plan that: Coltrane, Corea, and Coleman all begin with C. (Also, in the rest of the B's: Chris Brown, Chris Burke, Beatles, Battles. Anyone for "Fox in Sox" and the Tweetle Beetles?) As always, comments and questions are welcome.
Duets (Chris Brown et al.)
Here electro-acoustic source material makes a leap from prerecorded musique-concrète to improvisations on electric instruments. By turns mysterious, strident, sci-fi-ish, ethereal, danceable (for the very nimble) and dark, this provides resonances quite unknown until this album came out.
An Evening With Herbie Hancock & Chick Corea In Concert
These two still do things on pianos that can’t be done on pianos. And, unlike several other musicians I can name whose technique is impeccable, the result is more than just a lot of fast notes. I especially like how the “riffs” bounce from one player to the other, both in standards and in improvisations, and the occasional use of extended techniques on the instrument.
Free Jazz (Ornette Coleman)
The father of a sub-genre, not entirely free improvisation. At times the music coalesces into obvious themes; at other everyone stops and starts at the same time. The bass solo and the series of drum solos are interesting in themselves. Whatever – it’s still fascinating: a lot of noise and a lot of music at the same time, full of colors, always changing, always the same, turning upon itself like a jazz homage to giant gothic stained-glass windows.
Gloss Drop (Battles)
Hocketting is a sort of metrical ping-pong game used in Balinese gamelan, the Medieval European "Ars Nova", certain genres of African music, and experimental pieces by Jo Kondo and others. Here, it makes a rare appearance in indie rock (along with, on other albums, a track or two by Dirty Projectors) and electronica. The result is a hyperactive, experimental, rhythmically precise chaos, and it's a lot of fun. It's also exhausting. The rhythms and the melodies seem to be one in the same, and both jump from instrument to instrument (and sometimes to vocals) and side to side and back to front. It's impossible to describe; one has to hear it, and then hear it again, to make sure that what you heard was really what was there. And please, hear it with the volume up.
Idioglossia (Chris Burke)
1989 post-punk beat-driven electronica with samples and wry commentary on culture, TV, and politics. “Get ready to give in to evil! Sounds neat! Extremely attracted to – evil!” Little did we know that this satire (probably on heavy metal music) would actually describe how American society would go in another quarter century. Also one of Max Ernst’s well-known supposed hallucinations, here rendered as a Devo-esque (or Warhol-esque?) glorification of style over substance: “The hat makes the man, a man made of Hat, replace the dinosaur…”
A Love Supreme (John Coltrane)
This 1964 masterpiece is one of the classic jazz albums. It’s also a fine introduction to Coltrane’s work, situated as it is between his “standard” style and his more interesting (and therefore less popular) experimental period. “Heads” and solos flow into one another freely in a jazz stream-of-consciousness; in fact, many of the jazz “solos” are more like classical “development sections”, where Trane takes fragments from the main theme and repeats them in various keys (that may or may not be related to the accompaniment). Then there are those timbral innovations, such as the chanting of “a love supreme” in multiple overdubs, and the timpani solo by the drummer, Elvin Jones. The whole album is a sound experience that is still as fresh now as when it was recorded.
The Number Pieces I (John Cage)
Music from the intense edge of silence; some of it is even more intense than silence and yet silence is a major part of it. The piece with rainsticks is perhaps the most beautifully held-back aleatory music ever conceived.
Raga Mian Ki Malhar (Hariprasad Chaurasia)
The light and easy sound of the last third of this flute and drum music fools the listener. Like Mozart or Chopin, it’s only simple on the surface. The extended introduction provides clues: the flute (here and there sounding very close to the Japanese shakuhachi) enumerates the notes of the raga slowly, one at a time, gradually increasing in complexity (but seemingly decreasing in volume) until all possibilities are exhausted. Only then does the tabla appear, in a second “movement”. For the listener unfamiliar with Indian classical music, this would be a good (and beautiful!) introduction. (When I published this, "tabla" had been changed to "table". Bleepin' spell-check.)
Right of Violet (Alex Cline, Jeff Gauthier, G. E. Stinson)
Free-improv jazz on electric instruments becomes a rock-based symphony. The entire album strikes me as being slightly too long, but the string of “compositions” has an interesting shape centering on the gorgeous “Sophia” for electric violin (with multiple delays) and gamelan gongs. “Metal” music preceded this, having built up slowly ex nihilo and then scattering into fossilized fragments; “Sophia” itself (herself?) then trails off in a similar manner, but the beauty remains even as the metal rebuilds itself and then subsides a second time. A hint of Vaughan-Williams lingers as the music concludes.
The White Album (Beatles)
Probably doesn't need an introduction. With this, mainstream pop stared across the abyss into experimental music (there’s even a tape collage!) but never quite made the leap. Maybe that doesn’t matter: some of this is a little dated now (and there’s a lot of awful baggage) but there’s still great melodic songwriting and some interesting ideas that pop artists are still coming to terms with. Worth several listens, even if only because (for better or worse) it’s part of our history.
So that's it for the music, for now. For another type of discussion altogether, check out the new sister blog of this one (it's about books, words, and random stuff about linguistics) and my new website about my books (yes, there's a book of this blog!).
Monday, May 18, 2020
Monday, May 11, 2020
Ten More Albums
Continuing the mini-reviews of ten albums from my collections of CDs, cassettes and vinyl albums. One needs something to do during the orona virus lockdown. As always, comments are welcome, and of course I'll post other topics about music (and art) as they come up.
Banish Misfortune (Malcolm Dalglish and Grey Larsen)
A classic of hammer dulcimer recordings, this collection of folk songs reflects a tenderness and directness of expression often buried under layers of erudition in other genres – yet it is no less complex or effective. As always, a pleasure to listen.
Batak of North Sumatra
Earworms lurk just beneath the surface in this collection of aggressive traditional Indonesian music that has nothing to do with the more familiar gamelan. The melody is as often carried by percussion as by the vocals and the omnipresent double reeds. This stuff rocked for centuries before the invention of electric instruments.
Carmina Burana (The Boston Camerata conducted by Joel Cohen)
Carl Orff fans: this ain’t that. These are songs from the original manuscript, in the Medieval tunes that have been used since the 1960’s (the manuscript itself has very little actual musical notation). These performances use innovations like rainsticks or the re-use of the “Dies Irae” melody – so these are not “authentic” versions – however, Medieval musicians would probably have innovated with what was at hand. These were bawdy drinking songs, after all…
Field Recordings (Bang on a Can All-Stars)
Exploring the noisy demilitarized zone between “new music” and indie-rock. Individual pieces vary from catchy minimalism to guitar-heavy drone metal to happy/comical circus music, almost all based on field recordings of some type. A musical experience, to be sure.
Four Compositions (Quartet) 1995 (Anthony Braxton)
One would expect this manic perpetual-motion machine to wind down at some point, but it keeps morphing and mutating, sprouting variations on its single running line of notes. It is both exhilarating and maddening music – and needs to be heard at least once to either relax you or put you farther over the edge.
Ordo Virtutum (Hildegard von Bingen, played by Sequentia)
This may be the recording that brought Hildegard’s music back into the spotlight after almost a millennium, yet this is a flawed record. The performances are pretty but often seem hesitant, there is at least one easily-audible flubbed tape-splice, and the celestial chorus of the finale is lackluster. The music of this proto-opera itself, though, is fascinating: melodies proceed in directions quite unlike any others (and also quite unlike the Gregorian chant upon which they are based). The instrumental parts provide drones and heterophonic accompaniments that would grow centuries later into the many types of harmony that we know today.
Piano Concertos (Béla Bartók, played by András Schiff and the Budapest Festival Orchestra conducted by Iván Fischer)
A grand explosion of rhythm from the first attack of modernism; Bartók is saying that the piano is definitely a percussion instrument, not the modified harp that the Romantic composers had made it. Concerto #1 is intense, dissonant and modernly “barbaric” in the manner of Stravinsky; #2 is an exciting ride; and #3 is unexpectedly lyrical and expressive – yet taken together, they almost form one large piece.
String Quartets Op. 18 #4, Op. 74 ‘Harp’, and Op. 130-133 (Beethoven, played by the Elias String Quartet)
What more can I say? Nearly flawless performances of some of the most profound music ever written. The “Harp” Quartet seems to have that instrument present; but it is not these “special effects” that fascinate us. It is the sheer range of expression. The slow movements are as serene as a starry night in paradise; the Grosse Fuge (Op. 133) rages against the existential abyss as effectively as much more obviously dissonant modernist music.
Sur Incises, Messagesquisse, Anthèmes 2 (Pierre Boulez)
The grand scintillating apotheosis of all that is post-serialist complexity. It curls around the listener like a diamond rainbow of notes, always changing, yet with no safe places. The three pieces (for 3 pianos, 3 harps, and 3 percussionists; for 7 cellos; for violin with electronics) provide the maximum differences in timbre.
Well-Adjusted (Beanbag)
Grunge rock at its loudest, full of fuzz guitars, fearsome (sometimes metal or rap) vocals, and an occasional microtone. A look at the lyrics shows that this is a socially-aware Christian band full of criticism of the “American dream” and the resulting suffering in other parts of the world: that uncompromising message is very effective when conveyed with this music. Musical innovations include changes of tempi against steady drumming and strident quarter-tones in feedback. The only cover tune is “Army of Me” (originally by Björk), here given a heavy bass-and-drums treatment that really conjures images of invading armies.
Banish Misfortune (Malcolm Dalglish and Grey Larsen)
A classic of hammer dulcimer recordings, this collection of folk songs reflects a tenderness and directness of expression often buried under layers of erudition in other genres – yet it is no less complex or effective. As always, a pleasure to listen.
Batak of North Sumatra
Earworms lurk just beneath the surface in this collection of aggressive traditional Indonesian music that has nothing to do with the more familiar gamelan. The melody is as often carried by percussion as by the vocals and the omnipresent double reeds. This stuff rocked for centuries before the invention of electric instruments.
Carmina Burana (The Boston Camerata conducted by Joel Cohen)
Carl Orff fans: this ain’t that. These are songs from the original manuscript, in the Medieval tunes that have been used since the 1960’s (the manuscript itself has very little actual musical notation). These performances use innovations like rainsticks or the re-use of the “Dies Irae” melody – so these are not “authentic” versions – however, Medieval musicians would probably have innovated with what was at hand. These were bawdy drinking songs, after all…
Field Recordings (Bang on a Can All-Stars)
Exploring the noisy demilitarized zone between “new music” and indie-rock. Individual pieces vary from catchy minimalism to guitar-heavy drone metal to happy/comical circus music, almost all based on field recordings of some type. A musical experience, to be sure.
Four Compositions (Quartet) 1995 (Anthony Braxton)
One would expect this manic perpetual-motion machine to wind down at some point, but it keeps morphing and mutating, sprouting variations on its single running line of notes. It is both exhilarating and maddening music – and needs to be heard at least once to either relax you or put you farther over the edge.
Ordo Virtutum (Hildegard von Bingen, played by Sequentia)
This may be the recording that brought Hildegard’s music back into the spotlight after almost a millennium, yet this is a flawed record. The performances are pretty but often seem hesitant, there is at least one easily-audible flubbed tape-splice, and the celestial chorus of the finale is lackluster. The music of this proto-opera itself, though, is fascinating: melodies proceed in directions quite unlike any others (and also quite unlike the Gregorian chant upon which they are based). The instrumental parts provide drones and heterophonic accompaniments that would grow centuries later into the many types of harmony that we know today.
Piano Concertos (Béla Bartók, played by András Schiff and the Budapest Festival Orchestra conducted by Iván Fischer)
A grand explosion of rhythm from the first attack of modernism; Bartók is saying that the piano is definitely a percussion instrument, not the modified harp that the Romantic composers had made it. Concerto #1 is intense, dissonant and modernly “barbaric” in the manner of Stravinsky; #2 is an exciting ride; and #3 is unexpectedly lyrical and expressive – yet taken together, they almost form one large piece.
String Quartets Op. 18 #4, Op. 74 ‘Harp’, and Op. 130-133 (Beethoven, played by the Elias String Quartet)
What more can I say? Nearly flawless performances of some of the most profound music ever written. The “Harp” Quartet seems to have that instrument present; but it is not these “special effects” that fascinate us. It is the sheer range of expression. The slow movements are as serene as a starry night in paradise; the Grosse Fuge (Op. 133) rages against the existential abyss as effectively as much more obviously dissonant modernist music.
Sur Incises, Messagesquisse, Anthèmes 2 (Pierre Boulez)
The grand scintillating apotheosis of all that is post-serialist complexity. It curls around the listener like a diamond rainbow of notes, always changing, yet with no safe places. The three pieces (for 3 pianos, 3 harps, and 3 percussionists; for 7 cellos; for violin with electronics) provide the maximum differences in timbre.
Well-Adjusted (Beanbag)
Grunge rock at its loudest, full of fuzz guitars, fearsome (sometimes metal or rap) vocals, and an occasional microtone. A look at the lyrics shows that this is a socially-aware Christian band full of criticism of the “American dream” and the resulting suffering in other parts of the world: that uncompromising message is very effective when conveyed with this music. Musical innovations include changes of tempi against steady drumming and strident quarter-tones in feedback. The only cover tune is “Army of Me” (originally by Björk), here given a heavy bass-and-drums treatment that really conjures images of invading armies.
Monday, May 4, 2020
Ten More Albums
Continuing the mini-reviews of ten albums from my collections of CDs, cassettes and vinyl albums. One needs something to do during the orona virus lockdown. As always, comments are welcome, and of course I'll post other topics about music (and art) as they come up.
Along These Lines (Steve Barsotti)
Musique-Concrete along several lines: microsounds and granular synthesis, ambient soundscapes of field recordings, and a culmination in a distorto-Merzbow noise-blast. At the North Seattle Listening Club (2013), the latter piece led to a discussion about how music of this type is put together compositionally, given its obvious (intentional) lack of melody, harmony, or rhythm. My own take on this is that density can be the prime mover for this kind of piece; another club member argued (based on a previously heard, unidentified piece) for the importance of timbre.
Aromates (Abed Azrié)
The throaty vocals (sung in Arabic) sometimes seem harsh in contrast to the understated accompaniment of qanun (zither), nay (flute), ambient synthesizers and whispered rhythms on percussion. A closer listen reveals that that may be the point: a listener more familiar with the genre would probably know that the words are the most important part: it’s poetry, after all, and this recording is (no matter how different an aesthetic experience) more akin to rap than to the ambient music that it seems to be at first. Listening to the accompaniment is a pleasant experience: it winds around itself in heterophonic textures, complementing the up-front vocals, and is scented with occasional quarter-tones that do not create dissonance in this context. The total experience of this is both easy and difficult at first, and it’s quite unlike anything else.
The B-52’s
In which rock music (or 80’s “new wave”) sits back, drinks a beer, and has a good long laugh at itself. Why do we always take music so !@#&!! seriously?! As always, “Planet Claire” and “Rock Lobster” are hilarious, and I still don’t know what to say about that intentionally bad rendition of the pop standard “Downtown”… Pop meets dada. Some wild vocal pyrotechnics too.
Brandenburg Concertos (J. S. Bach, played by Musica Amphion conducted by Pieter-Jan Beldar)
There are several reasons that these 18th-century works are still considered some of the greatest masterworks of music: dizzying complexity, aesthetic balance and harmony, mathematical perfection, the sheer enthusiastic beauty of it all. Each piece is different, adding variety; yet each is similar, adding continuity if they’re all played together. (I don’t know if anyone has ever commented on the overarching formal structure that appears when they’re all played in order: reduction of instruments from large to small ensemble to strings alone, then repeat beginning with a different ensemble; the two pieces for strings alone begin with the same theme.) Some listeners have commented that this music can be exhausting because there’s no “punctuation” – true, each unfolds in a relentless stream of notes, but to me at least it’s that bubbling perpetual motion that forms much of the joy in these pieces. Played on 18th-century instruments, these sparkle in the way they would have to Mr. Bach and his audience.
Look What I Found (Tom Baker Quartet)
Compositions and improvisations (is there always a difference?); jazz from the shadows of classical music, understated, sharply delineated, mysterious, impressionist, anti-ambient. Many moments jump-cut to others, leaving the piece to unfold in fragments – which always connect up at the end, and the extreme ranges and timbres of the instruments are explored. The closer you listen, the more you understand.
The Lost Sonatas (George Antheil, performed by Guy Livingston)
Back then, the earlier sonatas were the most shocking modernism; nihilist punk-rock for the dada age. The later sonatas (numbers 4 and 5) were tamer and more classical, as if backing up and apologizing for the earlier indiscretion. Listening now: there’s not that much difference. They’re all rhythmically interesting, often lyrical, often catchy, sometimes dissonant but not in a surprising way. Hints of Gershwin and Prokofiev drift in and out with boogie-woogie. And, after all, it’s just piano music. Not that that’s a bad thing: Sonata no. 5 in particular is an epic masterpiece that should be admitted to the canon of great piano works.
Mister Heartbreak (Laurie Anderson)
Pop music that isn’t pop music. Absurdist tragicomic poetry. Beautiful voice, but often without melody. We still don’t know quite what this is all about, forty years later, and that’s still the fun of it.
On the Banks of Helicon: Early Music of Scotland (Baltimore Consort)
Exploring the intersection between folk music and the nascent European “classical” tradition. Catchy dance rhythms, achingly beautiful pentatonic melodies, and an occasional raucous bagpipe all bespeak of centuries of musical custom; contrapuntal details and refined vocals indicate a more academic approach; and intimate performances bring to mind chamber music from later centuries. Some of the musical numbers are reminiscent of the songs in Shakespeare’s plays, in their Elizabethan settings. This is a gorgeous recording, to be savored more than once.
Soliloquy (Phillip Arnautoff)
An extended solo for harmonic canon: the grand uber-zither of Harry Partch invention. Here it produces a meditation of tones, played in folk-like melodies and sweeping glissandi, never quite resolving into the familiar major or minor scales but always lingering somewhere near. Seemingly both intimate and infinite. Quite beautiful.
Symphony no. 4 / Chinese Songs (Kalevi Aho, performed by Tiina Vahevaara, soprano, and the Lahti Symphony Orchestra conducted by Osmo Vänskä)
The Symphony: Sardonic dark carnival meets tragedy, in the manner of Shostakovich; with brooding strings, a hilariously sinister tuba solo in the sherzo, and subtle counterpoint and interplay of rhythms throughout.
The Songs: Atmospheric neo-impressionism, subtler (and more effective) than standard cutesy chinoiserie. Some of these appear to begin as folk songs, but then the melodies wander into unexpected directions. The whole piece stands in lovely contrast to the much darker Symphony.
So that's it for the music, for now. For another type of discussion altogether, check out the new sister blog of this one (it's about books, words, and random stuff about linguistics) and my new website about my books (yes, there's a book of this blog!).
Along These Lines (Steve Barsotti)
Musique-Concrete along several lines: microsounds and granular synthesis, ambient soundscapes of field recordings, and a culmination in a distorto-Merzbow noise-blast. At the North Seattle Listening Club (2013), the latter piece led to a discussion about how music of this type is put together compositionally, given its obvious (intentional) lack of melody, harmony, or rhythm. My own take on this is that density can be the prime mover for this kind of piece; another club member argued (based on a previously heard, unidentified piece) for the importance of timbre.
Aromates (Abed Azrié)
The throaty vocals (sung in Arabic) sometimes seem harsh in contrast to the understated accompaniment of qanun (zither), nay (flute), ambient synthesizers and whispered rhythms on percussion. A closer listen reveals that that may be the point: a listener more familiar with the genre would probably know that the words are the most important part: it’s poetry, after all, and this recording is (no matter how different an aesthetic experience) more akin to rap than to the ambient music that it seems to be at first. Listening to the accompaniment is a pleasant experience: it winds around itself in heterophonic textures, complementing the up-front vocals, and is scented with occasional quarter-tones that do not create dissonance in this context. The total experience of this is both easy and difficult at first, and it’s quite unlike anything else.
The B-52’s
In which rock music (or 80’s “new wave”) sits back, drinks a beer, and has a good long laugh at itself. Why do we always take music so !@#&!! seriously?! As always, “Planet Claire” and “Rock Lobster” are hilarious, and I still don’t know what to say about that intentionally bad rendition of the pop standard “Downtown”… Pop meets dada. Some wild vocal pyrotechnics too.
Brandenburg Concertos (J. S. Bach, played by Musica Amphion conducted by Pieter-Jan Beldar)
There are several reasons that these 18th-century works are still considered some of the greatest masterworks of music: dizzying complexity, aesthetic balance and harmony, mathematical perfection, the sheer enthusiastic beauty of it all. Each piece is different, adding variety; yet each is similar, adding continuity if they’re all played together. (I don’t know if anyone has ever commented on the overarching formal structure that appears when they’re all played in order: reduction of instruments from large to small ensemble to strings alone, then repeat beginning with a different ensemble; the two pieces for strings alone begin with the same theme.) Some listeners have commented that this music can be exhausting because there’s no “punctuation” – true, each unfolds in a relentless stream of notes, but to me at least it’s that bubbling perpetual motion that forms much of the joy in these pieces. Played on 18th-century instruments, these sparkle in the way they would have to Mr. Bach and his audience.
Look What I Found (Tom Baker Quartet)
Compositions and improvisations (is there always a difference?); jazz from the shadows of classical music, understated, sharply delineated, mysterious, impressionist, anti-ambient. Many moments jump-cut to others, leaving the piece to unfold in fragments – which always connect up at the end, and the extreme ranges and timbres of the instruments are explored. The closer you listen, the more you understand.
The Lost Sonatas (George Antheil, performed by Guy Livingston)
Back then, the earlier sonatas were the most shocking modernism; nihilist punk-rock for the dada age. The later sonatas (numbers 4 and 5) were tamer and more classical, as if backing up and apologizing for the earlier indiscretion. Listening now: there’s not that much difference. They’re all rhythmically interesting, often lyrical, often catchy, sometimes dissonant but not in a surprising way. Hints of Gershwin and Prokofiev drift in and out with boogie-woogie. And, after all, it’s just piano music. Not that that’s a bad thing: Sonata no. 5 in particular is an epic masterpiece that should be admitted to the canon of great piano works.
Mister Heartbreak (Laurie Anderson)
Pop music that isn’t pop music. Absurdist tragicomic poetry. Beautiful voice, but often without melody. We still don’t know quite what this is all about, forty years later, and that’s still the fun of it.
On the Banks of Helicon: Early Music of Scotland (Baltimore Consort)
Exploring the intersection between folk music and the nascent European “classical” tradition. Catchy dance rhythms, achingly beautiful pentatonic melodies, and an occasional raucous bagpipe all bespeak of centuries of musical custom; contrapuntal details and refined vocals indicate a more academic approach; and intimate performances bring to mind chamber music from later centuries. Some of the musical numbers are reminiscent of the songs in Shakespeare’s plays, in their Elizabethan settings. This is a gorgeous recording, to be savored more than once.
Soliloquy (Phillip Arnautoff)
An extended solo for harmonic canon: the grand uber-zither of Harry Partch invention. Here it produces a meditation of tones, played in folk-like melodies and sweeping glissandi, never quite resolving into the familiar major or minor scales but always lingering somewhere near. Seemingly both intimate and infinite. Quite beautiful.
Symphony no. 4 / Chinese Songs (Kalevi Aho, performed by Tiina Vahevaara, soprano, and the Lahti Symphony Orchestra conducted by Osmo Vänskä)
The Symphony: Sardonic dark carnival meets tragedy, in the manner of Shostakovich; with brooding strings, a hilariously sinister tuba solo in the sherzo, and subtle counterpoint and interplay of rhythms throughout.
The Songs: Atmospheric neo-impressionism, subtler (and more effective) than standard cutesy chinoiserie. Some of these appear to begin as folk songs, but then the melodies wander into unexpected directions. The whole piece stands in lovely contrast to the much darker Symphony.
So that's it for the music, for now. For another type of discussion altogether, check out the new sister blog of this one (it's about books, words, and random stuff about linguistics) and my new website about my books (yes, there's a book of this blog!).
Friday, May 1, 2020
Ten Albums
Well, I've decided to unshelf and dust off this blog during the corona virus lockdown, though with somewhat of a different focus. Obviously I'm not going to be attending many concerts to review: but while I'm stuck at home I have time to go through my entire collection of CD's, cassettes, and vinyl albums and give them all a fresh listen. I'm going to give mini-reviews for ten each time I post something here. As always, comments are welcome, and of course I'll post other topics about music (and art) as they come up.
As Is (Christine Abdelnour, Bonnie Jones, Andrea Neumann)
Shadows and hints from the border between silence, music, and noise. Once can almost grasp the first piece as a musical composition, but later even the form of the sounds is subverted into the ether. Ambience and cacophony are freely mixed, and in the end we wonder if there is a difference.
Aster (Aster Aweke)
The band is 1960’s R&B with a lot of brass – but those vocals (sung in Amharic) are something else entirely. Ms. Aweke’s singing has all of the melodic “turns” and expressivity of that style – but the quality is different in an indefinable way. There are also those two pieces of “chamber music” (songs accompanied by a single instrument): both of these are completely unexpected as she winds through improvisations on what are more akin to ragas (or “the blues”) than to “songs” or “musical numbers”. Another thing: it would appear that listeners to “popular” music in some countries have longer attention spans than in the US.
Lexical Music (Charles Amirkhanian)
The choice is yours: rhythm rendered as nonsense or nonsense rendered as rhythm. Either way it’s both hilarious and profoundly serious at the same time.
Messe des Jesuites de Pekin (Joseph-Marie Amiot, performed by XVIII-21, Ensemble Meihua Fleur de Prunus, Choeur du Centre Catholique Chinois de Paris, and Musique des Lumières)
Beautiful resonances mark this 18th-century fusion, though fusion is never actually achieved. The two styles (Chinese and European) stand out in sharp contrast to one another; they alternate but never intertwine. Both are rendered beautifully and with nuanced singing and playing (the music for communion is particularly striking, with its apparently anguished outcries resolving into peace) but in the end this seems to be a patchwork. One wonders if that would still be the case if the records of this rare music were more complete.
Nice Guys (Art Ensemble of Chicago)
A tour of “free” jazz through roots reggae turning impressionist, atonal walking blues, mad klaxons, an alien gongscape, African drumming, hints of “mainstream” jazz, pointillism over silence, something approaching rock and roll, and finally, an ecstatic trumpet and sax kaleidoscope. Fun!
Sequencia (Susan Alexjander)
Vibrations of a hypothetical DNA molecule suspended in space, rendered as pretty music with shimmering microtones and fragments of many styles. The tuning is derived from the structure of the molecule itself, though this is not audible in the listening; the sound of this occupies the mostly blank space between free jazz and ambient music.
Set of Five (Abel Steinberg Winant Trio)
Violin, piano and percussion: beautiful echoes from the beginning or our era, and from the middle of all eras.
Strange and Sacred Noise (John Luther Adams)
Vast sound booms out into the still Arctic air; a thunderously subtle instability of rhythm in a steady state of timbre. The sounds of nature expressed as abstract volumes.
To Venus and Back (Tori Amos)
None of these numerous songs are particularly interesting from a compositional viewpoint (though they’re not really uninteresting either) and the lyrics intentionally aren’t clearly audible – so at first it appears that there’s not that much to be said about this album. However, her voice is versatile and often beautiful, the band makes some interesting walls of sound on the second (live) CD, and some of the piano parts are oddly reminiscent of Hovhaness’ jhala-inspired piano stylings. Those things alone make it worth a listen.
Wings over Water (Stefan Micus)
A souvenir from the 1980’s when “New Age Music” was something other than just generic prettiness. Tuned flower pots create a gamelan of the imagination; zithers and the sarangi (the latter played as a percussion instrument!) form resonant accompaniments to the filigrees and arabesques of the Egyptian flute, and the voice – singing in an unknown language that “has no known meaning, therefore…” Beautiful stuff, and to me at least it’s still the same after many years.
So that's it for the music, for now. For another type of discussion altogether, check out the new sister blog of this one (it's about books, words, and random stuff about linguistics) and my new website about my books (yes, there's a book of this blog!).
As Is (Christine Abdelnour, Bonnie Jones, Andrea Neumann)
Shadows and hints from the border between silence, music, and noise. Once can almost grasp the first piece as a musical composition, but later even the form of the sounds is subverted into the ether. Ambience and cacophony are freely mixed, and in the end we wonder if there is a difference.
Aster (Aster Aweke)
The band is 1960’s R&B with a lot of brass – but those vocals (sung in Amharic) are something else entirely. Ms. Aweke’s singing has all of the melodic “turns” and expressivity of that style – but the quality is different in an indefinable way. There are also those two pieces of “chamber music” (songs accompanied by a single instrument): both of these are completely unexpected as she winds through improvisations on what are more akin to ragas (or “the blues”) than to “songs” or “musical numbers”. Another thing: it would appear that listeners to “popular” music in some countries have longer attention spans than in the US.
Lexical Music (Charles Amirkhanian)
The choice is yours: rhythm rendered as nonsense or nonsense rendered as rhythm. Either way it’s both hilarious and profoundly serious at the same time.
Messe des Jesuites de Pekin (Joseph-Marie Amiot, performed by XVIII-21, Ensemble Meihua Fleur de Prunus, Choeur du Centre Catholique Chinois de Paris, and Musique des Lumières)
Beautiful resonances mark this 18th-century fusion, though fusion is never actually achieved. The two styles (Chinese and European) stand out in sharp contrast to one another; they alternate but never intertwine. Both are rendered beautifully and with nuanced singing and playing (the music for communion is particularly striking, with its apparently anguished outcries resolving into peace) but in the end this seems to be a patchwork. One wonders if that would still be the case if the records of this rare music were more complete.
Nice Guys (Art Ensemble of Chicago)
A tour of “free” jazz through roots reggae turning impressionist, atonal walking blues, mad klaxons, an alien gongscape, African drumming, hints of “mainstream” jazz, pointillism over silence, something approaching rock and roll, and finally, an ecstatic trumpet and sax kaleidoscope. Fun!
Sequencia (Susan Alexjander)
Vibrations of a hypothetical DNA molecule suspended in space, rendered as pretty music with shimmering microtones and fragments of many styles. The tuning is derived from the structure of the molecule itself, though this is not audible in the listening; the sound of this occupies the mostly blank space between free jazz and ambient music.
Set of Five (Abel Steinberg Winant Trio)
Violin, piano and percussion: beautiful echoes from the beginning or our era, and from the middle of all eras.
Strange and Sacred Noise (John Luther Adams)
Vast sound booms out into the still Arctic air; a thunderously subtle instability of rhythm in a steady state of timbre. The sounds of nature expressed as abstract volumes.
To Venus and Back (Tori Amos)
None of these numerous songs are particularly interesting from a compositional viewpoint (though they’re not really uninteresting either) and the lyrics intentionally aren’t clearly audible – so at first it appears that there’s not that much to be said about this album. However, her voice is versatile and often beautiful, the band makes some interesting walls of sound on the second (live) CD, and some of the piano parts are oddly reminiscent of Hovhaness’ jhala-inspired piano stylings. Those things alone make it worth a listen.
Wings over Water (Stefan Micus)
A souvenir from the 1980’s when “New Age Music” was something other than just generic prettiness. Tuned flower pots create a gamelan of the imagination; zithers and the sarangi (the latter played as a percussion instrument!) form resonant accompaniments to the filigrees and arabesques of the Egyptian flute, and the voice – singing in an unknown language that “has no known meaning, therefore…” Beautiful stuff, and to me at least it’s still the same after many years.
So that's it for the music, for now. For another type of discussion altogether, check out the new sister blog of this one (it's about books, words, and random stuff about linguistics) and my new website about my books (yes, there's a book of this blog!).
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