Author: cellis

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Choreographing Classical Music: Ligeti’s 6 Bagatelles

When searching Google for György Ligeti’s 6 Bagatelles, the first video to pop up is the Carion Wind quintet playing the piece in an unusual music-video type setting. This performance includes heavy choreography, extensive use of camera angles, and almost comical interactions among the performers.

I think that this music video enhances the music itself, as the choreography attached to the performance matches the character of the music. In general, the interactions of the performers reflect and clarify the interactions of musical lines within the piece. For example, in the second movement of the piece, the performers file into a single line so that only the oboist is seen from the camera angle. The oboe begins the piece solo, and as other instruments enter, they step sideway into view of the camera. In the beginning of the third movement, the bassoon and clarinet have a quintuplet ostinato that is meant to sound independent of the free-flowing flute solo. In the video, the clarinetist and bassoonist stand in the back of the ensemble and make intense eye contact with each other while the flautist faces the camera. Likewise in the fourth movement, the flute soloist stands out in front to begin the piece, while the other four instruments form a separate quartet on the other side of the room. This adds something that a normal performance setting might lack; the choreography brings forth voice pairings and melodic conversations that may be missed, especially by a person new to this work. The camera angles and video editing also play a large role in this video. In the first movement alone, the frame changes on average once every five seconds. Its purpose is either to show the entire ensemble, or focus on a soloist or the interaction between a pair of performers.

As a comparison, here is a video of the same work performed in a traditional setting: five musician sitting in a semicircle with music stands.

In the comment section of this video, it was not hard to find contrasting opinions about the choreography. In fairness, the video demonstrates a blatantly planned combination of footwork and camera angles. There are only extremes in the choreography, not just conservatively memorized music. Two very simple yet contrasting comments are, “Amazingly done. The visual aspect of this video really helps represent their interpretation of [Ligeti’s] work. A great piece, with great players,” and, “Am I the only one who thinks the clowning distracts from the music? If I see someone goofing off, I’m going to assume the music is a joke as well.” While one user finds that the choreography is helpful in understanding the piece, another user labels it distracting. The solution in this particular case reveals itself in the fact that the quality of playing is extremely high, and thus the performance is extremely valuable. If one finds it distracting, they can simply not look at it. However, this video, in addition to providing a great performance of the work, provides an interesting and useful tool for understanding the music in a new way.

My favorite comment comes from one of the foremost authorities on 20th century classical music, the YouTube user “New Music Kitties.” This user states, “Unfortunately, by [supporting] this tasteless choreographic stunt… you are helping the worldwide loss of class metastasize in our society.  We are losing touch with basic aesthetic values of classical music… To the ensemble: don’t sell your talent and playing quality to banalities that will draw attention to your ensemble.  To the public: don’t buy into banalities and circus tricks!! In shorter terms: these are clowns.  Extremely talented, but nevertheless, clowns.  And in general, that makes this performance utter nauseating crap.”

Comments that decry choreography are based on a missed conception of the piece, composer, and probably classical music as a whole. Also some music lends itself more to these kind of performance options. Ligeti’s 6 Bagatelles, fitting into his generally quirky style of composition, is a relatively comical piece to begin with; its sharp contrast of voices and harmonies paint many sections as humorous. After all, according to the Grove Online Music Dictionary, a Bagatelle is “a trifle, a short piece of music in light vein.” Thus, I think this video and its extreme choreography do no disservice to the piece itself. I would even imagine that Ligeti would have liked this video.

As a testament to this ensembles sensitivity to the music in terms of their choice of choreograph and music video making, here is a performance of a different work, the Nielsen quintet. While they still interact with each other, they preserve the more serious and reserved nature of the music.

On a larger scale, this video and the reaction in the comments reveal a larger question: Is classical music suited for such interactive performances, specifically “music videos”? I think the utmost determining factor of any performance is the quality of music making. After that, I believe performers should feel free to perform in any manner as long as the intent is to clarify the music itself. The “seriousness” of classical music performance is something that was constructed in the first place; it is not inherently part of the music. Though there may be critics, untraditional performance videos like this appeal to a wider audience.

 

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Karel Husa and the Paradox of Prague

Records of distinct nationalist identity in music have existed since the before the middle ages. And, until approximately the 17th century, the majority of music composition was virtually inseparable from the church, which was virtually inseparable from the state. Thus, nationalism has always been a lens through which to look at the unfading marriage of music and politics. The 20th century musical stage in particular was flooded with nationalist compositions in response to territorial conflicts and as a reaction to oppressive regimes. Karel Husa’s Music for Prague 1968, is a politically motivated composition that reveals a paradox in nationalist music.

Karel Husa was born in Prague, Czechoslovakia in 1921, and later emigrated to the United States. Music for Prague 1968 was written shortly after the Soviet Union crushed the Prague Spring reform movement in Czechoslovakia in August, 1968. When Husa heard of the events that occurred in Prague over the radio, he was deeply moved. The piece serves as a memoriam to the victims of USSR violence, as well as a call for Czech identity.

The work includes a Hussite hymn, which blatantly creates an element of Czech nationalism. The Czech hymn that Husa uses, originally a war song from the 15th century, is titled “Ye Who Are Warriors of God.” It had previously been known for its use in Dvorak’s nationalist composition “Hussite Overture,” and there is no doubt that Husa’s choice to integrate the hymn is due to the tune’s overtly nationalistic connotation. One of the lines from the hymn reads, “Ye warriors of God, if you believe in the future, things will be better in the future.”

Music for Prague 1968 therefore reveals a paradox of nationalist music. In the piece, the Hussite hymn partially represents “solidarity and resistance”. On one hand, Husa is supporting his country by means of using traditional Czech music. The words of the allude to being willing to sacrificing oneself for one’s country and having hope for the well being of it. On the other hand, he is using the hymn to beckon back to a time before Soviet control- or even before the existence of a modern communist state. Hence, the composer is effectively attacking and bolstering his beloved country simultaneously; Music for Prague 1968 seems to portray that Husa is both proud and ashamed of his homeland. This leads to the conclusion that a nation is not characterized by any one political period, and that composers can praise all the good things about a nation while still speaking out against current events.

One of the essential requirements for nationalist music, is a broad audience; the point of such music is for a composer to share his or her feelings about their country with others. Husa’s conviction to write Music for Prague 1968 was also a conviction to share his thoughts about larger political ideas. One interesting source that provides commentary on the intended audience of music, and specifically politically driven music, is the article “Does ‘Music Trump Politics’?” by Ted Gordon. Gorgon quotes Dennis Prager as controversially saying, “Great music should transcend political differences.” Like many members of the Classical music world, I strongly disagree with Prager’s logic. Not only does this way of thinking nullify the point of nationalist music, it also pushes a limitation onto art as a whole. Though not all music is political, some pieces of art are meant to be derisive; Husa’s Music for Prague 1968 was not thought highly of by the Communist government of Czechoslovakia. Furthermore, there is a distinction between the reason for composition (perhaps to speak out against a certain person) and its objective face value meaning to a listener (maybe a piece written to shame a dictator is enjoyable to listen to even by the dictator himself). For example, Shostakovich’s 5th symphony subtly condemns the violence of the USSR, and yet it was praised by the Stalin regime; while this composition is politically influenced, at face value, everyone can appreciate them, included the party against which it was written.

In relation to Husa’s Music for Prague 1968, I think the intended audience is the people of democratic nations, to whom it serves a warning of oppressive regimes. One generally conclusion that Music for Prague 1968 demonstrates is that there can be a paradoxical balance of critique and patriotism that constitutes nationalism. And on a larger scale, Husa himself later reflected in an L.A. Times interview, “I don’t think of [Music for Prague 1968] as a political message for one country… It is universal.”

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Reed All About It

The bane of every saxophonist, such as myself, is a small, tan piece of wood—  the reed. According to esteemed saxophone pedagogue Larry Teal, “the principle task of the reed is its function as an air valve, which opens and closes on the mouthpiece at various speeds, [thus creating a tone].”1 Reeds are a technology I take for granted every day. My daily view of a reed begins with opening a blue, vacuum-sealed package, wetting the reed in my mouth, slapping it on my mouthpiece, and jumping right in to my practice session. Yet, reeds, in addition to being finicky at all the wrong times, possess a much more complex back story, and carry relatively unmentioned environmental implications.

The modern reed came about with the standardization of the clarinet in the late 17th century, 2 but the plant itself has been used for much longer. The reed species Arundo donax “has played an important role in the culture of the western world through its influence on the development of music, which can be traced back 5000 years.”3 The first musical use of Arundo donax was for making flutes, and only later was it used a reed. Nowadays, it is this species, grown in the Var region of France, that reed manufactures harvest, cut, and sell to customers.5

As simple as a reed may seem, the manufacturing process of cane is surprisingly complex, and the transformation to its use for musical instruments is a lengthy journey. As this video from the Rico reed company shows, the reed-making process takes many months to several years from planting the cane to harvesting and finishing the final product.

When I open a reed, I am actually opening up to two years worth of production time. The harvested plants must spend varying lengths of time drying naturally in the sun, depending on the manufacturer. The finished product is also a result of precise manufacturing tools and close inspection for reed imperfections. Yet, even the best reed will last no longer than a month of heavy use.

I have rarely heard anyone talk about the environmental impact of this technology, but, being a natural resource, reeds production does indeed carry environmental implications. Upon close inspection of the history and process of reed making, I found that there are significant environmental drawbacks, as there too often are with even the simplest of technologies. The first concern involves the plant itself; Arundo donax is considered in many regions, including the United States, an invasive species. Due to its musical and nonmusical uses alike, people have taken the plant out of its native region in the Mediterranean and cultivated it across the globe. Its ability to survive in many different conditions makes it a serious threat to indigenous plant species.4

Another negative environmental impact of this technology is its wasteful production. In a magazine published by one of the largest reed manufacturers, Vandoren, the company describes the complete process of making a reed. According to the company, up to 90% of cultivate plant material is discarded before it even enter the reed-making process, as high-quality reeds require very specific physical features of the original cane. Plants that are deemed usable also create significant waste products; out of the six-meter long stalk, only 20-30% is made into reeds.5

Due to more precise cutting and measuring equipment, reeds have become increasingly consistent over the last several decades. Some of the most dramatic developments have been in synthetic reeds, which have the same shape and function as traditional reeds, but are made from plastics.

Now, more than ever, synthetic reeds are reaching the ability to offer as great tone quality as cane reeds. Perhaps continuing to pursue the development of quality synthetic reeds will offer a better alternative to the wasteful use of cane.

The small piece of wood I use every single day is both a modern and ancient technology. Reeds have been used for thousands of years, but the last several decades have seen bounding progress in reed making and innovation. Yet, the complexity of the reed and its back story never fail to slip my mind, even though my ability to play the saxophone depends on a high quality piece of cane. This shows that the seemingly simple technology we use every day can have an immense, unseen history as well as a global impact.

  1. Teal, Larry. The Art of Saxophone Playing. U.S.: Summy-Birchard, 2000. p. 21
  2. Editors of Encyclopædia Britannica. “Reed instrument.” Encyclopædia Britannica. July 20, 1998. Accessed September 18, 2017. https://www.britannica.com/art/reed-instrument.
  3. Rojas-Sandoval, Julissa, and Pedro Acevedo-Rodríguez. “Arundo donax (giant reed).” Invasive Species Compendium. Accessed September 18, 2017. http://www.cabi.org/isc/datasheet/1940.
  4. Perdue, Robert E., Jr. “Arundo donax-Source of Musical Reeds and Industrial Cellulose .” Economic Botany 12, no. 4 (December 1958): 368-404. Accessed September 18, 2017. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4287997.
  5. Van Doren, Bernard. “SELECTION OF THE REED : FROM THE PLANT TO THE INSTRUMENT.” Edited by Jean-Marie Paul. Vandoren Magazine, 4-7.

Media:

https://www.reidys.com/images/products.large/vandoren_tenor_reed.jpg

 

https://www.google.com/search?hl=en&tbm=isch&q=parts+of+a+reed&oq=&gs_l=#imgrc=Tjj1rKWa0cnOxM:

http://www.bettermusic.com.au/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/l/e/legerereed_1_7_1.jpg