Again, I originally posted these reviews on the local public library's website.
Brian Eno: Apollo
It’s nice to hear the old recordings again, especially with the volume levels corrected (on another, older, CD edition, the guitar pieces – originally side 2 of the vinyl record – were jarringly louder than the synthesizer pieces). There are moments of celestial beauty here, as well as mysterious electronic soundscapes that suggest, to my ear at least, underwater rather than outer space. The second CD ("For All Mankind"), however, doesn’t add much; Eno’s original soundtrack music was fairly interesting and experimental, while the added CD is more overtly “easy listening”, borderline elevator music. I rate this “three stars”: five stars for the first (original) soundtrack and one for the additional material.
Ballake Sissoko: At Peace
The delicate, gently swaying strains of the West African kora (with other instruments on occasion). On one level it's great (and peaceful, per the title) background music, but if you listen to it only that way you'll miss much of the subtlety and sophistication. Like Bach, this is mathematically "perfect" music that leaves room for intense beauty (or perhaps its beauty is because of its mathematical perfection). Listen for the interplay of main and accompanying melodies, and how both seem to escape from the ever-present rhythms. I would definitely attend a chamber music recital include a selection or two of kora music...!
Wayne Shorter: Emanon
What appears to be a graphic novel is in fact a beautifully illustrated, colorful reason for nearly three hours of labyrinthine, spellbinding music. This is a mixed-media project. The CD "booklet" contains the graphic novel: the adventures of the eponymous superhero and "rogue philosopher" in a multiverse in which all planets appear to be inhabited by humans in some kind of crisis of creativity. The illustrations are striking, but there isn't really much of a plot. Emanon (“No Name” backwards) fights a number of monsters (including the final one that metamorphoses into a beautiful woman whom we sense is his soul-mate), but mostly he gives his creativity to people. He is a metaphor for the music, which is on three CDs in the back of the booklet. These are Mr. Shorter's compositions. His sax is joined by the piano, bass, and drums of three other capable jazz musicians. The virtuoso duet work of Danilo Perez (piano) and Brian Blade (drums) is particularly interesting and satisfying (if a little unusual). The pieces feature angular, open melodies, often epic and "symphonic" as much as "jazzy" in nature (one thinks of Copland as well as Coltrane). The first CD supplements the massive feel with an actual orchestra (albeit a chamber ensemble). The compositions themselves are very complex in form. Concise but ecstatic solos (longer in the "live" performances) alternate with "classical" development sections, but these two musics merge. One becomes the other, in the same way that the monster is the woman in the graphic novel. This is beautiful, epic stuff, though in the end it is the music that holds one's attention more than the graphic novel -- and that seems to be the point.
Maurice Ravel: L'enfant et les sortilèges, Shéhérazade; Alborada del gracioso
Saitō Kinen Orchestra (with soloists), conducted by Seiji Ozawa
"The Child and the Magic Spells", for the listener, is comical; for the child in the story, it's a nightmare -- until he learns his lesson. Ravel's mastery of harmony and orchestration comes through, perhaps more than his command of melody: all of the characters have their own music and instrumentation. In fact, the orchestration is so spectacular that the listener hears instruments that aren't there: for example, the opening oboe and flute sound exactly like the Chinese pipes (the sheng), though that instrument is not in the orchestra. The comical singing is overblown at times (the clock singing "ding ding ding ding ding" gets grating), but these touches of extravagance help to tell the tale convincingly. Watch out for the cats. "Shéhérazade" is another fairy tale, though it's a far calmer affair. We're treated to languid impressionist harmonies and beautiful melodic lines that seem to float to their destination rather than get there by conventional melodic development. Ms. Graham's performance of these is elegant and refined, in contrast to the phantasmagorical effects of the singing in "L'enfant". There's also a phantom gamelan (more instruments that aren't there!) somewhere in the first movement. Lastly, "Alborada del gracioso" is instrumental and seems tacked on at the end of this CD to fill up time, though it's a good reading and performance of this orchestral showpiece.
Kristen Chenoweth: For the Girls
How many different voices can one singer have?
Goat Rodeo Sessions
Stuart Duncan, Yo-Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer, Chris Thile
A beautiful collection of "bluegrass" Americana compositions, played with restraint and very little of the "listen to how many notes I can play really fast!" show-offishness that is often the bane of the genre; and yet the technique by these master musicians is impeccable (as is their expressiveness on their instruments). Brilliant!
Keith Green: The Ministry Years
I remember a lot of these songs. Much commercial "Christian music" was a wasteland back then (late 1970's - early 1980's -- see my review of Rich Mullins' "Songs") but these, like Mullins, are well-written, personal, and catchy (they tend to sound like Elton John). That some of them are cloying or banal is probably beside the point: Green was after earworms that would play Scripture passages or encouraging moral lessons in one's head, replacing the overly sexualized or violent lyrics of much pop music. It's nice to look back at these songs as an early way to counter such negativity.
Tanya Tagaq: Retribution
This album both treats and subjects the listener to a series of dark, primordial soundscapes (and one more or less conventional rap song), many nominally about nature extracting revenge on humans for environmental degradation. (A video of the title track of this album can be seen on Youtube, and it is genuinely frightening as Ms. Tagaq assumes the persona of a vengeful wolf-spirit.) These are not "songs" or "compositions" in any usual sense. Most tracks are probably improvised in several levels of recording with added layers of electronics in post-production, though this is nothing like a "jam band". The primary sound is that of Inuit throat-singing, with occasional bits of Tuvan throat-singing and other "extended" and avant-garde vocal techniques. The result is sometimes surprisingly close to Australian didgeridoo, showing a commonality in musics from half a world apart. Scary, hypnotic, and paradoxically tranquil in places, this is somehow "traditional" music akin to Sunn O)))'s non-tradition, and is certainly worth a listen. Yet it is not for the timid listener.
Ives: Symphony No. 4
Seattle Symphony Orchestra and Chorale, conducted by Ludovic Morlot
The Seattle Symphony does it again with this recording of one of the US' greatest composers. The 4th Symphony is, as always, an epic of (sometimes hilariously) off-kilter Americana (with a little Brahms thrown in for good measure), and "The Unanswered Question" is as beautiful, mystical, and mysterious as always. Highly recommended, and please listen with the volume turned up.
Arvo Part: Tabula Rasa
This seminal album still sounds as fresh as when it was released. It did indeed begin with a "blank slate", and then went on the completely alter the way contemporary classical music was viewed.
If you're interested in reading something that isn't about music, check out the sister blog of this one (it's about books and about words), or read the novels of my "Tond" series (high fantasy) or my short stories: Silkod of the Drenn (in JournE) and The Fourth Source (in Summer of Speculation: Villains).
Saturday, November 26, 2022
Saturday, November 19, 2022
Five (or Six) Books about Music
Short reviews of books about music; I posted these on the local public library's website.
Before I start, though: a self-promo. My novel Grendul Rising (MadStones Tetralogy, Book One) features a lot of music: music used (iterally) as a weapon in chapter one, music in the context of nature in chapter two, and, later on, in the midst of a riot (I'm paraphrasing so it makes sense out of context), "Put your hands up and step away from the bagpipe!" (No, I don't actually dislike bagpipes.)
Okay, on to the books that are "really" about music.
Listen to This
by Alex Ross
A great collection of essays about music. The author not only talks about the when and where of music (including interviews with living artists), but goes deep into its analysis and aesthetics. The book helped me reconnect with some of my old favorites (Schubert, Cecil Taylor, Radiohead, John Luther Adams) as well as appreciate some that I haven't particularly liked before (Brahms, Verdi, Björk, Bob Dylan). It was also interesting to read his analysis of the reoccurrence of a particular motif throughout musical history, discussion of modern Chinese music, debunking of the Mozart myth, and the fact that "classical music is dying!" has been a trope for 700 years.
Haunted Weather: Music, Silence and Memory
by David Toop
A brief, detailed (not opposite terms in this case!) overview of the state of music in the early 21st century. Among other things, there are chapters about improvisation, about composing with silence, about film music (including the dread-inducing soundscape of “Alien” and late 20th-century collaborations between Teshigahara and Takemitsu); about extremely large-scale compositions (one piece lasting more than 600 years, one lasting 1000 years), and about the incorporation of pre-recorded material into new works (including such use in both ambient and rap music, which would otherwise appear to be opposites). Mr. Toop seems to have had experience in all of these areas, and his knowledge is encyclopedic – the bibliography and discography themselves would keep the reader/listener occupied for months.
The Noise of Time
by Julian Barnes
Interesting biographical novel about the life of composer Shostakovitch and the ruinous effects of totalitarianism on art, told in flashbacks and stark but strangely beautiful prose. Makes me want to listen to the music again.
Future Sounds: The Story of Electronic Music from Stockhausen to Skrillex
By David Stubbs
Not so much an overview as a series of detailed biographies and critiques of certain artists and their work, this is a fascinating book. All styles of electronic music are covered, from the most experimental avant-garde to the most mainstream pop (the author does not fall into the common trap of labelling all electronic music “experimental”). However, this book is overwritten; reading it is an exhausting slog through a swamp of breathless superlatives and affectedly hip verbosity. That said, it does make a compelling case for revisiting this music.
Capturing Music: The Story of Notation
by Thomas Forrest Kelly
Fascinating, witty explanation of what at first seems an impenetrable topic (earlier methods of writing music were different in kind, not just in style, from today's scores and sheet music). The terms are explained: finally, it's easy to know the difference between a neume and a note (besides how it looks on a page) — as well as how a virga differs from a punctum and a breve from a semibreve, what a "perfection" was, and why the 14th-century pop-culture antihero Fauvel was always drawn with the head of a horse. The whole thousand-year-plus history is explained, mostly in its formative centuries, along with various geniuses (Guido the Monk, Philippe de Vitry) who invented ways of notating specific pitch or rhythm. There's also some commentary by the so-called Anonymous 4 (not the vocal group who are named after him), and the book ends with a complex operatic score: one page of "Wozzek" by Alban Berg. Since this system of notation was invented in Europe (mostly in France), all of the examples come from there; it would have been nice to see how the system has been adapted to write non-Euorpean music such as jazz and gamelan (as well as contemporary variations like graphic scores). But this history is interesting and explanatory as far as it goes. A side note: the accompanying CD is intended just as examples, but it is quite beautiful and I recommend listening to it on its own.
Before I start, though: a self-promo. My novel Grendul Rising (MadStones Tetralogy, Book One) features a lot of music: music used (iterally) as a weapon in chapter one, music in the context of nature in chapter two, and, later on, in the midst of a riot (I'm paraphrasing so it makes sense out of context), "Put your hands up and step away from the bagpipe!" (No, I don't actually dislike bagpipes.)
Okay, on to the books that are "really" about music.
by Alex Ross
A great collection of essays about music. The author not only talks about the when and where of music (including interviews with living artists), but goes deep into its analysis and aesthetics. The book helped me reconnect with some of my old favorites (Schubert, Cecil Taylor, Radiohead, John Luther Adams) as well as appreciate some that I haven't particularly liked before (Brahms, Verdi, Björk, Bob Dylan). It was also interesting to read his analysis of the reoccurrence of a particular motif throughout musical history, discussion of modern Chinese music, debunking of the Mozart myth, and the fact that "classical music is dying!" has been a trope for 700 years.
by David Toop
A brief, detailed (not opposite terms in this case!) overview of the state of music in the early 21st century. Among other things, there are chapters about improvisation, about composing with silence, about film music (including the dread-inducing soundscape of “Alien” and late 20th-century collaborations between Teshigahara and Takemitsu); about extremely large-scale compositions (one piece lasting more than 600 years, one lasting 1000 years), and about the incorporation of pre-recorded material into new works (including such use in both ambient and rap music, which would otherwise appear to be opposites). Mr. Toop seems to have had experience in all of these areas, and his knowledge is encyclopedic – the bibliography and discography themselves would keep the reader/listener occupied for months.
by Julian Barnes
Interesting biographical novel about the life of composer Shostakovitch and the ruinous effects of totalitarianism on art, told in flashbacks and stark but strangely beautiful prose. Makes me want to listen to the music again.
By David Stubbs
Not so much an overview as a series of detailed biographies and critiques of certain artists and their work, this is a fascinating book. All styles of electronic music are covered, from the most experimental avant-garde to the most mainstream pop (the author does not fall into the common trap of labelling all electronic music “experimental”). However, this book is overwritten; reading it is an exhausting slog through a swamp of breathless superlatives and affectedly hip verbosity. That said, it does make a compelling case for revisiting this music.
by Thomas Forrest Kelly
Fascinating, witty explanation of what at first seems an impenetrable topic (earlier methods of writing music were different in kind, not just in style, from today's scores and sheet music). The terms are explained: finally, it's easy to know the difference between a neume and a note (besides how it looks on a page) — as well as how a virga differs from a punctum and a breve from a semibreve, what a "perfection" was, and why the 14th-century pop-culture antihero Fauvel was always drawn with the head of a horse. The whole thousand-year-plus history is explained, mostly in its formative centuries, along with various geniuses (Guido the Monk, Philippe de Vitry) who invented ways of notating specific pitch or rhythm. There's also some commentary by the so-called Anonymous 4 (not the vocal group who are named after him), and the book ends with a complex operatic score: one page of "Wozzek" by Alban Berg. Since this system of notation was invented in Europe (mostly in France), all of the examples come from there; it would have been nice to see how the system has been adapted to write non-Euorpean music such as jazz and gamelan (as well as contemporary variations like graphic scores). But this history is interesting and explanatory as far as it goes. A side note: the accompanying CD is intended just as examples, but it is quite beautiful and I recommend listening to it on its own.
Saturday, November 12, 2022
Five More Albums: Pulitzer Prize-Winning Music
I posted these reviews on the local public library website: CD’s (albums) of Pulitzer Prize-winning music, whether or not the artist/composer saw it as an “album” or a stand-alone piece.
Elliott Carter: String Quartets – Pulitzer 1960 (for no. 2) and 1973 (for no. 3)
Juliard String Quartet
It begins with a loud, angular declamation from the cello (with a single viola note) and proceeds from there. Unlike some composers who clothe their modernism in lush orchestration (Boulez) or tranquility derived from silence (Cage) or architectural aggression (Xenakis), this is the unvarnished stuff. It’s stark. It’s austere. It is recorded without a whiff of reverb. It is not music of angst, as some would have such “modern” music to be; rather, maybe it expresses little emotion at all. It’s pure mathematics. As a listener, unraveling the complicated formulae that govern the melodic lines and the rhythms is exhausting, maybe impossible – and ultimately extremely rewarding; an intellectual exercise that leads finally to understanding. With that understanding comes the realization that much of what I have just said (stark, austere, non-emotional) is actually not true at all…! There are richly contrasting moments, such as the slow quiet music in the First Quartet that keeps getting overlaid with louder, faster variations on the same sequences. There’s that final quasi-resolve of the Pulitzer-Prize winning Third Quartet (so complex that the liner notes list what’s happening in which speaker on your stereo!) where everything comes together in dissonant but final triple-stops. There are the occasional excursions into pizzicato textures. And above all, there are the rhythms – incomprehensible at first hearing, later resolving into obvious meters – some of them actually groove as they morph and mutate and crosshatch one another. Yes, it’s complicated. Yes, it’s difficult. Yes, it’s far more beautiful than you’d think at first. Give this a listen, and once you’re past the initial trepidation, don’t complain to me that you’re hooked.
John Luther Adams: Become Ocean – Pulitzer 2014
Seattle Symphony conducted by Ludovic Morlot
Listen to it as backgroung sound: it's a pretty soundscape. Listen to it closely: it's a complex layering of wave upon wave of contrapuntal detail. Wagnerian in scope but intimate in detail, this is satisfying music that stands up to repeated listening.
A sad story: I had a chance to hear the world premiere of this piece, played by the Seattle Symphony conducted by Ludovic Morlot, but for some (forgotten) reason I decided to go to some other concert instead (I don’t even remember what that other concert was). Later I found out that this piece had not only won a Pulitzer but also a Grammy (for the recording). It’s kind of like the time I had a chance to personally witness a comet crash into Jupiter (Astronomy club, Berkeley, CA.) I missed that one too because I simply forgot about it until after they’d carted off all of the telescopes.
Julia Wolff: Anthracite Fields – Pulitzer 2015
This large-scale contemporary classical composition (Pulitzer Prize winner 2015) chronicles the world of coal mining. Beginning with a "horror movie soundtrack" and litany of names of people who've died in mines, it proceeds through a number of moods and styles -- from despair to hope for a better life, though there is some doubt to the validity of this hope because the words are drawn from an advertisement. Throughout, the vocal lines become progressively complex and interwoven as the words become more minimalist. This is a very emotional work, good for active listening. Do not attempt to listen to it while doing something else.
Henry Threadgill and Zooid: In for a penny, in for a pound – Pulitzer 2016
This is charmingly disorienting music. It’s jazz-fusion, certainly, but not jazz fused with rock or funk; it’s jazz fused with, …what…?. It’s modernist (or even serialist) classical chamber music. It’s improvised. It’s thoroughly carefully composed. Each of the two CD’s feature one short piece followed by two longer ones. In all, notes scatter in a whimsical manner, seemingly without logic, and yet the notes all go together in the most logical of ways. In some sections, it’s difficult to distinguish who’s playing the melody and who’s playing the rhythm – or is there really a difference? The longer pieces consist of strings of shorter sections; careful listening reveals that some of these sections repeat with different instruments or in different meters or with different parts interposed. The titles sound “classical” in the manner of contemporary chamber music, stating the title and the instrumentation (for example, “Dosepic, for cello”) but these designations are only a general guideline. The eponymous instrument does more improvising than the others, and usually has one unaccompanied solo, but the others are present in the piece. All in all, this is more Elliot Carter than Miles Davis. That is neither a positive nor negative statement; it merely indicates the style of the music. I could also describe it as a kaleidoscope of notes. I’ve had fun listening to it, but it may take several listens to comprehend it fully. Again, that's neither a positive nor negative statement; the music is captivating even as I’m waiting.
Kendrick Lamar: Damn – Pulitzer 2018
“I was takin’ a walk the other day…” And so this begins. As expected from the title, (and in contrast to that innocent opening), this musical "walk the other day" isn't nice. Nobody has ever gotten a Pulitzer in music for writing inoffensive little songs. (Think I'm wrong here? Consider these from previous awards: Julia Wolff’s “Anthracite Fields” is about deaths of coal miners; Winton Marsalis’ “Blood on the Fields” is about slavery; and George Crumb’s startling anti-symphony “Echoes of Time and the River” – which caused a near riot in Seattle in the 1960’s – is about mortality in general. Even the purely instrumental works, such as those by Henry Threadgill or Elliot Carter, are edgy even though they aren't "about" anything.) In the case of “Damn”, the music itself is not shocking in any way; it’s well-composed hip-hop numbers with tunes and chord progressions straight out of jazz standards (and, oddly, few samples or beat-boxes). There are beautiful backup vocals in tight harmony. In fact, much of the album (over the deep subwoofing, obligatory in hip-hop) is understated and often quite pretty – I can’t really imagine this music booming full-blast from a souped-up car cruising the avenue on a Friday evening. It’s the lyrics that are startling. At first listen the words may seem like nothing but a collection of F-bombs and N-bombs. One is tempted to turn it off and comment that it’s no different from all of those other records where the swearing is merely passed from one rapper to another without anyone in the middle thinking about what’s actually being said. That is not the case here. First of all, not every song has the “swears”, and those that do have them for a reason: this is about the despair of the urban poor in the US, and the anger of one constantly exposed to bigotry and racism in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. As stated in “Yah” (the third song), even the Bible is (mis)quoted to support continued oppression (this along with the refrain “ain’t nobody prayin’ for me” which occurs in several of the songs). Most of the songs are narratives. In many, the “characters” in the stories care for one another even as they admit appalling situations and, sometimes, shortcomings. The song “loyalty” is about this. In a linguistic slight-of-hand, “loyalty” is often pronounced so it sounds like “laity” – the “regular” people in this case – or “larity”, maybe a coined word that could mean "the quality of being a lariat” and hence a trap (even loyalty could be a trap!). In the end, this “takin’ a walk the other day” comes full circle. The blind woman in that first tale loses her life at the hands of someone trying to “help” her – and we (listeners) are left feeling guilty for being entertained by the nasty surprise. By the end of the record, we realize that it may have been us (or our political institutions) who supplied that nasty surprise.
Okay, I’m at the end of this, and since the Pulitzer isn’t entirely classical anymore, I’d like to retroactively nominate two non-classical works that should have won some kind of award.
John Coltrane: A Love Supreme (one of the best jazz albums ever, in my opinion)
Simon and Garfunkel: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme (the album, not just the song; a high point for creativity in “pop” music even if it is nearly 60 years old now.)
Also, at the end of this, a self-promo: Check out my author website. You'll find links to all my books there, including the "Tond" novels and a book derived from this very blog.
Elliott Carter: String Quartets – Pulitzer 1960 (for no. 2) and 1973 (for no. 3)
Juliard String Quartet
It begins with a loud, angular declamation from the cello (with a single viola note) and proceeds from there. Unlike some composers who clothe their modernism in lush orchestration (Boulez) or tranquility derived from silence (Cage) or architectural aggression (Xenakis), this is the unvarnished stuff. It’s stark. It’s austere. It is recorded without a whiff of reverb. It is not music of angst, as some would have such “modern” music to be; rather, maybe it expresses little emotion at all. It’s pure mathematics. As a listener, unraveling the complicated formulae that govern the melodic lines and the rhythms is exhausting, maybe impossible – and ultimately extremely rewarding; an intellectual exercise that leads finally to understanding. With that understanding comes the realization that much of what I have just said (stark, austere, non-emotional) is actually not true at all…! There are richly contrasting moments, such as the slow quiet music in the First Quartet that keeps getting overlaid with louder, faster variations on the same sequences. There’s that final quasi-resolve of the Pulitzer-Prize winning Third Quartet (so complex that the liner notes list what’s happening in which speaker on your stereo!) where everything comes together in dissonant but final triple-stops. There are the occasional excursions into pizzicato textures. And above all, there are the rhythms – incomprehensible at first hearing, later resolving into obvious meters – some of them actually groove as they morph and mutate and crosshatch one another. Yes, it’s complicated. Yes, it’s difficult. Yes, it’s far more beautiful than you’d think at first. Give this a listen, and once you’re past the initial trepidation, don’t complain to me that you’re hooked.
John Luther Adams: Become Ocean – Pulitzer 2014
Seattle Symphony conducted by Ludovic Morlot
Listen to it as backgroung sound: it's a pretty soundscape. Listen to it closely: it's a complex layering of wave upon wave of contrapuntal detail. Wagnerian in scope but intimate in detail, this is satisfying music that stands up to repeated listening.
A sad story: I had a chance to hear the world premiere of this piece, played by the Seattle Symphony conducted by Ludovic Morlot, but for some (forgotten) reason I decided to go to some other concert instead (I don’t even remember what that other concert was). Later I found out that this piece had not only won a Pulitzer but also a Grammy (for the recording). It’s kind of like the time I had a chance to personally witness a comet crash into Jupiter (Astronomy club, Berkeley, CA.) I missed that one too because I simply forgot about it until after they’d carted off all of the telescopes.
Julia Wolff: Anthracite Fields – Pulitzer 2015
This large-scale contemporary classical composition (Pulitzer Prize winner 2015) chronicles the world of coal mining. Beginning with a "horror movie soundtrack" and litany of names of people who've died in mines, it proceeds through a number of moods and styles -- from despair to hope for a better life, though there is some doubt to the validity of this hope because the words are drawn from an advertisement. Throughout, the vocal lines become progressively complex and interwoven as the words become more minimalist. This is a very emotional work, good for active listening. Do not attempt to listen to it while doing something else.
Henry Threadgill and Zooid: In for a penny, in for a pound – Pulitzer 2016
This is charmingly disorienting music. It’s jazz-fusion, certainly, but not jazz fused with rock or funk; it’s jazz fused with, …what…?. It’s modernist (or even serialist) classical chamber music. It’s improvised. It’s thoroughly carefully composed. Each of the two CD’s feature one short piece followed by two longer ones. In all, notes scatter in a whimsical manner, seemingly without logic, and yet the notes all go together in the most logical of ways. In some sections, it’s difficult to distinguish who’s playing the melody and who’s playing the rhythm – or is there really a difference? The longer pieces consist of strings of shorter sections; careful listening reveals that some of these sections repeat with different instruments or in different meters or with different parts interposed. The titles sound “classical” in the manner of contemporary chamber music, stating the title and the instrumentation (for example, “Dosepic, for cello”) but these designations are only a general guideline. The eponymous instrument does more improvising than the others, and usually has one unaccompanied solo, but the others are present in the piece. All in all, this is more Elliot Carter than Miles Davis. That is neither a positive nor negative statement; it merely indicates the style of the music. I could also describe it as a kaleidoscope of notes. I’ve had fun listening to it, but it may take several listens to comprehend it fully. Again, that's neither a positive nor negative statement; the music is captivating even as I’m waiting.
Kendrick Lamar: Damn – Pulitzer 2018
“I was takin’ a walk the other day…” And so this begins. As expected from the title, (and in contrast to that innocent opening), this musical "walk the other day" isn't nice. Nobody has ever gotten a Pulitzer in music for writing inoffensive little songs. (Think I'm wrong here? Consider these from previous awards: Julia Wolff’s “Anthracite Fields” is about deaths of coal miners; Winton Marsalis’ “Blood on the Fields” is about slavery; and George Crumb’s startling anti-symphony “Echoes of Time and the River” – which caused a near riot in Seattle in the 1960’s – is about mortality in general. Even the purely instrumental works, such as those by Henry Threadgill or Elliot Carter, are edgy even though they aren't "about" anything.) In the case of “Damn”, the music itself is not shocking in any way; it’s well-composed hip-hop numbers with tunes and chord progressions straight out of jazz standards (and, oddly, few samples or beat-boxes). There are beautiful backup vocals in tight harmony. In fact, much of the album (over the deep subwoofing, obligatory in hip-hop) is understated and often quite pretty – I can’t really imagine this music booming full-blast from a souped-up car cruising the avenue on a Friday evening. It’s the lyrics that are startling. At first listen the words may seem like nothing but a collection of F-bombs and N-bombs. One is tempted to turn it off and comment that it’s no different from all of those other records where the swearing is merely passed from one rapper to another without anyone in the middle thinking about what’s actually being said. That is not the case here. First of all, not every song has the “swears”, and those that do have them for a reason: this is about the despair of the urban poor in the US, and the anger of one constantly exposed to bigotry and racism in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. As stated in “Yah” (the third song), even the Bible is (mis)quoted to support continued oppression (this along with the refrain “ain’t nobody prayin’ for me” which occurs in several of the songs). Most of the songs are narratives. In many, the “characters” in the stories care for one another even as they admit appalling situations and, sometimes, shortcomings. The song “loyalty” is about this. In a linguistic slight-of-hand, “loyalty” is often pronounced so it sounds like “laity” – the “regular” people in this case – or “larity”, maybe a coined word that could mean "the quality of being a lariat” and hence a trap (even loyalty could be a trap!). In the end, this “takin’ a walk the other day” comes full circle. The blind woman in that first tale loses her life at the hands of someone trying to “help” her – and we (listeners) are left feeling guilty for being entertained by the nasty surprise. By the end of the record, we realize that it may have been us (or our political institutions) who supplied that nasty surprise.
Okay, I’m at the end of this, and since the Pulitzer isn’t entirely classical anymore, I’d like to retroactively nominate two non-classical works that should have won some kind of award.
John Coltrane: A Love Supreme (one of the best jazz albums ever, in my opinion)
Simon and Garfunkel: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme (the album, not just the song; a high point for creativity in “pop” music even if it is nearly 60 years old now.)
Also, at the end of this, a self-promo: Check out my author website. You'll find links to all my books there, including the "Tond" novels and a book derived from this very blog.
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