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Toru Takemitsu in The Digital Concert Hall

As a subscriber to the Berlin Philharmonic Digital concert Hall I have access to  weekly archived performances by this great orchestra conducted by some of the world’s best musicians. Each week I receive an e-mail notifying me of the next live performance, often on Thursday or Saturday afternoons at 3PM Toronto time which translates to 8PM in Berlin. For about $160 Canadian per year I can watch more than one  hundred concerts or parts of them at my leisure. Five strategically placed cameras almost unobtrusively record the musicians and conductors, often close up.  And the sound reproduction lives up to the highest standards people have come to expect from German Tonmeisters.

For the price of one decent seat in Toronto’s Roy Thomson Hall I have an ever-growing orchestral repertoire  at my fingertips. Modern technology at its best.

Sado
Sado

This morning I sat in front of my computer to watch and hear Toru Takemitsu’s “From me flows what you call Time” recorded live in Berliner Philharmonie just a few days ago by the Philharmoiker, five German percussionists and the Japanese conductor Yusaka Sado.

I had known for over a week that this performance was going to be broadcast. So I had a good deal of time to contemplate the experiences I might have watching other people perform a work I had played probably 100 times since Toru wrote the piece in 1991 for Carnegie Hall’s 150th anniversary, Seiji Ozawa, the Boston Symphony and Nexus. Both Toru and Seiji have been important people in my life and every time I performed “From me flows what you call Time” I was deeply touched, even when the conductor or the orchestra or both were not quite up to the challenge, or when my performance was not entirely satisfactory. So I approached this performance by strangers with feelings of ambivalence if not trepidation.

Paduh
Paduh

Things started off really well with the young French flautist Emmanuel Pahud. He has performed the  Boulez …Explosant – fixe… with Boulez conducting, and performs most of the Philhaemoiker’s contemporary works and sometimes interviews contemporary composers for its broadcasts.  He is an incredible player and his performance of the opening flute solo was superb; nothing over the top, just fluid, serene, and beautifully shaped. Pahud also conducted the concert interview with Sado.

But it was the percussionists I was most interested in. I was ready to be disappointed or dismissive, but it has been a few years since I last played the piece and as this performance progressed, my listening became more objective.

I was delighted with the way the soloists performed and the smiles on their faces at the end of the concert, the repeated calls by the audience for another bow, and the response of the orchestra and the conductor confirmed the success of their performance.

There were delightfully surprising details.  At one point in the score, Takemitsu directed some percussionists to play with their fingers, something Nexus never did, but I couldn’t hear one part and another was barely audible. No one plays the same piece of music the same way, nor should they. The soloists have all the sounds, that is to say, all the instruments with the correct pitches. I wonder if Michael Ranta provided them. I understand Michael has created a set of instruments for “From me flows .  .  .  .” The percussionists also played with artistry. I felt they were new to the work, which is probably true, and this work takes time.

The sounds from the Berlin Philharmonic are spectacular. This is an orchestra that can play anything and under their Music Director Sir Simon Rattle, they have broken free from their limited repertoire of yesteryears. (There are also a lot of young players in the band.)  The clarinets, harps, French horns, oboes, cellos and trumpets play particularly important roles in this work, but the entire orchestra has to play together and there’s no better orchestra in the world for doing this.

Never-the-less, I have to single out that great string bass section. The way they finished off the 5/8 bar crescendo just before the end and held the low C until the decay of the final wind chime note, was perfectly, if accidentally timed. The wind chimes did not ring excessively long and so the music stopped at exactly the right time to balance the work’s form.

The percussionists colored  jackets, representing earth, wind, fire, water and everything or nothingness were a nice touch. The percussionists were Raphael Haeger (blue/water), Simon Rössler yellow/earth, Franz Schindlbeck (red/fire), Jan Schlichte (green/wind), and Wieland Welzel (white/nothingness). Excepting Simon Rössler, they are members of the Berliner percussion section. Watching them play was a bit eerie. So many of the sounds they produced and the gestures they made reminded me of Nexus. The body language they displayed when they came on stage for their bows was also similar. They are all good players. Bravo.

As the last sounds of this magnificent work disappeared, I was convinced, as I was in 1990, that Takemitsu has created for percussionists their first major  and popular concerto.  Though it must be said that Takemitsu did not think of this work as a concerto. He said it was a work for orchestra with percussion.  Nevertheless “From me flows what you call Time” is an astounding work which affords opportunities for percussionists  and audiences to experience aspects of the percussion world beyond the bombast typically associated with drumming.

To subscribe to the Berlin Digital concert Hall, go to: http://www.digitalconcerthall.com. The photo gallery below  mostly consists of photos of the percussionists and their set ups.  This was purposeful as I had in mind a readership primarily of percussionists. They loosely follow the music’s progression.

 
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Posted by on May 31, 2011 in Articles, Composers

 

JAZZ as America’s Premier Art Form 
By Ratzo B. Harris

ODJB

ODJB

I had read the article below and had put it aside intending to reference it at sometime in the future. In fact I forgot about it until I received an e-mail a few days ago from my friend, pianist, composer and percussionist Bill Brennan. He was referring me to a website where I could hear recordings by the Original Dixie Land Jazz Band, known to aficionados as simply the O D J B.  It was this reference that reminded me of Mr. Harris’s article. My brother collected recordings of Dixieland bands and he was particularly fond of the O D J B.  Therefore, from an early age I had heard this group and Louis Armstrong’s Hot Five, Hot Seven and other noteworthy Dixie Land bands of the 20s.

Mr. Harris’s article also mentions Pauline Oliveros. I first met Pauline at the New Hampshire Music Festival in 1962. She introduced me to “structured improvisations” and we had a grand time arguing about the credibility of this-and-that. Years later Pauline  conceived a work for Nexus and she and I kept in touch sporadically for many years.

For these reasons and the fact that I agree with most of Harris’s points, I’ve decided to post his article as Food for Thought. To hear ODJB’s famous 1917 recording of  Livery Stable Blues, click here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Original_Dixieland_Jass_Band

R.E.

Jazz as America’s Premier Art Form 
By Ratzo B. Harris

Friday, April 22, 2011, 10:07:58 AM

Who generally began to say, JAZZ is “America’s Premier Art Form”?
This question was posted to a jazz research message board I subscribe to on April 19, the day after this year’s annual extortion to Aunt Iris was due. I remembered that part of the hard-earned cash my wife and I had to pay this year goes to the salary of Representative John Conyers, who authored a Congressional bill (HR 57) in 1987 which designated jazz “a rare and valuable national American treasure to which we should devote our attention, support and resources to make certain it is preserved, understood and promulgated.” (I’m just doing my civic duty as a good citizen.) But I also remembered that Conyers’s good friend, Dr. Billy Taylor, called jazz “America’s classical music” long before HR 57.

According to the sources on the message board Dizzy Gillespie said jazz is “our native art form” (although he didn’t specify any nationality in the term “our”) in 1957, an unnamed contributor to Harper’s described “talk of jazz as a native art-form” in 1950, and a 1946 issue of the New Republic calls jazz “the only original American art form.” Another magazine, Art Hodes’s The Jazz Record, insists that jazz is “America’s first wholly native art form” (ca. 1943) and in 1944 RCA Victor issued a set of records claiming to be “presenting jazz music as an American art form worthy of study.” Earlier citations are included: “Naturally, there have clustered together little groups of serious European thinkers to make the same discovery that Americans have made, that Jazz is a great art form” (Paul Whiteman, Time, 1926); “as far as America is concerned it (jazz) is actually our characteristic expression” (Gilbert Seldes, The Seven Lively Arts, 1924); and a mention of a book written by Japanese author, Kamesuke Shioiri, in 1929 (the book is untranslated, but the person posting has offered to supply a PDF copy of it to anyone who contacts him through the message board).

The quotes from the earlier dates are significant in that this was a minority opinion among the cultural elite at the time. There was much heated debate about whether or not jazz was even music, much less art. Some, and mostly classical conductors, saw jazz as having artistic merit, but most saw it as an abomination that would lead to the corruption of society, probably because of its purported origins in African American culture. But that was the dilemma, if Dvořák were to be taken seriously (and enough time and money had been invested in his residency at The National Conservatory that he had to be taken seriously), then any truly original American music had to be steeped in African American musical aesthetics (as well as Native American ones). My point is that by the time the music being called jazz was being accepted by the masses, it was played by an elite group of ethnically diverse performers. Why the work of Scott Joplin isn’t considered an original American art form while the drivel that Paul Whiteman was calling jazz is, escapes me (unless one takes into account the tastes of most American highbrow music lovers, then it all comes into perspective). It seems that as long as there has been a music called jazz, someone has been trying to call it an American art form and someone else has poo-poohed the attempt.

But improvisation (and I am blogging about improvised music) wasn’t the main thrust of jazz of the ’10s, ’20s, or even the ’30s. It really wasn’t until the late 1940s and ’50s that this became considered an indispensable salient feature. It seems that as improvisation became more important to jazz performance, the musical result became more questionable in terms of authenticity. I almost want to thank Ken Burns for his arbitrary demarcation that essentially launched the 2nd New Orleans School in New York City and took jazz away from the improvisers and performing musicians and put it into the hands of corporate-friendly composers and academicians.

Except that a lot of really great music is marginalized so as not to question certain ideological and political forces that lean toward global hegemony and must, by their tenets and methodology, stifle improvisation. For example, the salient feature of early jazz, more so than improvisation, was the use of extended techniques, especially those resulting in unorthodox timbres. When James Reese Europe brought his African American military ragtime band to France in 1918, the local musicians couldn’t believe the sounds that the Harlem Hellfighters were producing with their instruments. Trumpets growled and wah-ed, trombones slided and belched, saxophones bent notes and played without vibrato.

The first “official” jazz recording in 1917 of the Original Dixieland Jass Band included “Livery Stable Blues,” where the instruments imitated the sounds of barnyard animals. Over the decades, an indispensable aspect of the artistry of jazz performance was mastery of a set of extended techniques that could become part of one’s “voice.” Johnny Hodges’s swooping melodies, Roy Eldridge’s growls, Walter Page’s slap bass. Listen to John Coltrane and ask yourself if his sound and technique would have any place in the classical saxophone world, and then ask yourself who was the better saxophonist, Marcel Mule or John Coltrane. Without answering that directly, one thing is clear, Coltrane was original—and he was original in a field of original saxophonists. It doesn’t take a very discerning ear to hear the difference between Coltrane, Wayne Shorter, Dewey Redman, Warne Marsh, Stan Getz, or Dexter Gordon. Each took an unorthodox way of playing and milked it into a personal voice.

With the advent of the jazz repertory orchestra and ensembles, that is becoming lost. More and more, the “big names” of jazz sound less and less original in their use of extended techniques. The soprano saxophone playing of multi-instrumentalist Joe McPhee is like nothing anyone else does, but you rarely hear of him outside of Trio X or his work with Pauline Oliveros. The others who were breaking ground in the late ’70s and ’80s as part of the “Downtown Sound” are pretty much left out of the new jazz paradigm, although Jazz At Lincoln Center owes their souls to them. They continue to be the real carriers of the flame and, as such, will probably have to self-produce and play door gigs in small venues in Brooklyn or Harlem or the Lower East Side between an every dwindling amount of European tours to keep their vital, important, and original music going. Which is good for me, since I can’t afford the charge on San Juan Hill!

 
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Posted by on May 21, 2011 in Articles, History

 

Koerner Concert Hall – Esprit Orchestra, Amadeus Choir, Nexus, Hillary Hahn, Pierre Laurent Aimard, and the Edward Westin Concert Hall.

Koerner Hall with Esprit Orchestra.
Koerner Hall with Esprit Orchestra.

The building on Toronto’s Bloor Street West which houses The Royal Conservatory of Music, The Glenn Gould School of Music and the Koerner Concert Hall, is wedged between Philosopher’s Walk and a small, uncovered university stadium.

The Royal Conservatory was raised in Victorian splendor, but in recent years its creaky floors had become a constant reminder of its age and the fragility of its pedagogical standing . A fund raiser was begun to bring the building into the twenty first century.  A modern expansion in stainless steel and sheets of glass was built, the concert hall its linchpin and major attraction.

After a schedule of opening concerts, praise from musicians and audiences was ecstatic. A national newspaper called it “The Temple of Tone”. I suspect there were many  bruised egos in the artistic community  when the performers chosen for  the Hall’s opening season were announced. Some local ensembles, able to afford the higher rent and hoping no doubt to rejuvenate themselves and their audiences, moved their concert series, in whole or part, to Koerner.  Practically overnight, it became the place to play and the hot ticket.

Hyperbole abounds when a new hall is launched. No matter the flaws, it’s new. A lot of money, reputations and hopes rest on its success or perception thereof. If it doesn’t work, well .  .  .  Roy Thompson Hall, the home of the Toronto Symphony, was a good example of the Emperor’s New Clothes. The symphony board of directors was intimately involved with fund raising and a Simpson Co. executive was named point man. One of his most memorable statements was in defense of the acoustician chosen for the concert hall. “Recently he’s had two major failures and Toronto will be the beneficiary of his mistakes”.

A conspiracy settled over the project. Only good news was wanted. Conductors, hastily attached themselves and their organizations to this latest Edifice Complex erection. “Finally we can hear ourselves” said a symphony musician. But it didn’t take long for truth to begin creeping, however slowly, through the cracks in the concrete of corporate, artistic and  administrative hubris. James Galway, new to Roy Thompson and riding the crest of a fabulous career, stunned his audience by saying the hall’s acoustic was terrible and he would never play in the hall again. He didn’t.

After twenty years of silence, Galway’s comment emboldened Toronto’s senior music critic to suggest something should be done to improve the hall. I’m sure his suggestion,coming as it did from a local, had as much effect on the Symphony board and the hall’s subsequent six month renovation as did anything else.

Koerner Hall exists in large part because of  the beneficence of Michael Koerner a resident of Toronto who is an avid supporter of the arts. He and his wife  Sonja gave $8,000,000 towards the Royal Conservatory building fund including a collection of 18th century music instruments.

The Koerner concerts I’ve attended provided a wide spectrum of acoustical challenges: a symphony orchestra, a percussion ensemble, a choir, a violin recital and a piano recital.  The most successful  was the percussion concert. The house was sold out and I was seated mid way on the main floor and clearly heard the strokes of each player and their differences.

My seat for the orchestra concert was two thirds back and in a side box. The house was very close to full. An  accordion concerto was performed  with the composer as soloist. During the entire work,  I could see his feet keeping time, but, aside from a short solo introduction, I did not hear a note from his instrument. Friends in the side balcony experienced the same defect, but friends who sat on the main floor heard everything. The CBC producer told me he had problems recording the soloist because he was seated a couple of feet too far  upstage.

The choir stood on risers at the back of the stage and its sound was clear and fulsome. I spoke with the choir’s director and she told me the risers in that position created the best sound.

For the violin recital the house was full and my seat was five rows from the stage on the left side of the main floor. During the first half, the violin had an unsettling whine, a sharp, almost irritating sound. The tone problems were gone during the second half which was devoted to solo repertoire. The violinist had moved towards the audience about three steps. From my perspective, that’s all it took to correct the problem.

I also sat very close to the stage, again on the main floor, for the piano recital and at one point heard very high harmonics that echoed eerily  after certain chords in the low register. Otherwise, all was clear.

By relating these experiences, my intention is not to suggest Koerner Hall is burdened with its own style of Emperor’s Clothes. It’s far from that. It is a welcome addition to Toronto performing spaces. It seats about 1,100 people which is a perfect size for major chamber music players. But Koerner has acoustical issues that will need to be tweaked. The question is, how long will it take for artists, administrators, conductors and audiences to face up to its flaws and explore corrective modifications?  About ten miles north there is ample reason to act sooner then later.

The George Westin Recital Hall is one of Canada’s and the world’s precious gifts to music. Wigmore Hall in London comes first to mind when I contemplate comparable performance spaces. Yet Westin Is Toronto’s musical remittance man.  Its exile is plagued by location. Anything north of Highway 401, the great multi lane expressway which cuts a swath across the top  of the city, is felt  by concert goers to be a kind of Ultimate Thule.  If they have to go north of the 401, they’d rather go to dinner south of it. Too bad. Westin Recital Hall is a concert hallmark, once experienced, never forgotten.

I began this posting with the idea of writing a critique of Pierre Laurent Aimard’s piano recital. I met pianist Stephen Clarke in the lobby before the concert and his first words were, “This is the do not miss concert”. And it proved to be.

George Westin Recital Hall.
George Westin Recital Hall.