CrackCritic's Apologia

I, CrackCritic, would like to apologize to my readers for the long silence, but despondencies on the many levels that seemed to mirror that of my scene, city, country and world, proved paralyzing. I would like to restrict myself to describing only the musical ones. Ah, if only the reason could be simply deafness.

These past ten months I have heard too much that was glib - a Turangulîla that substituted dynanism for passion; a Pierrot presented without conductor on three rehearsals, and the Brahms Piano Quartets postured by over-inflection. I was discouraged to hear programs that seemed designed by marketers deriving ideas from focus groups.

(An exception was the Orchestra of St. Luke's Carnegie concert conducted by Pablo Heras-Casado featuring the superb pianist Javier Perianes in an all-Spanish program, which was spectacular.)  

 In contrast, a friend took me to hear some world and experimental music that, in their commitment to wrench the depths of feeling and understanding put most of the classical concerts to shame.

With their respective bands, the Armenian violinist Ara Malikian played his Middle-European tunes as divinely as David Krakauer relished his clarinet with an unquenchable furor. It is telling that, though trained traditionally, in their present careers classical music plays a diminished role.

On another hand, classical cellist Christine Walevska played three short pieces for a May memorial service, and if I had questioned my sanity as to be incapable of enjoying the music I have cherished for a lifetime, she proved me wrong. Dazzling, encompassing seemingly every human emotion in a ten-minute set, her playing was timeless. It is burned into the memory because it touched the soul.

Why doesn't everyone aspire to such heights? Why do so many things sound small and pat, or blustered and empty, busy, but not brilliant? Perhaps it is the consumerism of the bankrupt, or a reflection of the banal corporate culture that surrounds us.  

Music schools are financially pressured to produce winners and design questionable programs to impress donors at the expense of their student's development. The young are more afraid then ever of life after school in a field that becomes more competitive by the year, with dwindling opportunities. It hurts to see the stars from the conservatories scrounge for Suzuki work in the boroughs.

So, it is to be hoped (!) that this long gestation of our pessimism has shifted my center of gravity; it has certainly affected my priorities. A brief campaign on our subway system has this bit of word magic: "Be part of the solution, not the pollution". 

To move forward, I propose posting reviews from the last season in a series called "Cleaning Out the Closet"; rebuttals of the worst reviews, and appreciations of the best; noting what is great in our city's organizations, big and small. Or perhaps peeking into the arcana of musicology (one exciting newfound article is called Disintegrating Dominant Prolongation: A New Look at the Deceptive Cadence, or, as I call it: Dude's New Slow Burns for Your Lyin' Stealin' Cheatin' Ho*; surveys of composers one has never heard of, those known but not listened to, those one would hope never to hear again; personal anecdotes; flights of fancy; and finally, even glimpses into the pop world. Jump-starting it all presently, a report from CrackCritic’s presence at the Seattle Chamber Music Festival, led by the great violinist James Ehnes.

Though I vowed to limit myself to topics musical, I do feel compelled to say my dis-ease with music has manifested in a decline of health physical, mental and professional. Working as an accompanist has become unsustainable after 40 years. If anyone feels amused or intrigued enough by my writing, a contribution to my Patreon account would be greatly appreciated.

And now, let's dance.

~CrackCritic

* in Russian, a deceptive cadence is called a 'feminine' cadence. 

The Turner Of Music

Before the world premiere of Jeremy Turner's The Inland Seas sponsored by the SCMS Commissioning Club this Monday evening, a lovely woman next to me asked about my scribbling on a waiter pad.

"Are you from The Stranger? The Seattle Times?" 

"No, just a blog. Do you come to the concerts often? What do you think about the night so far?" 

"I've been coming for 32 years." 

"Ah, so how do you feel about James’ stewardship compared to Toby Saks'?" 

"We loved Toby, and we love James, too. With James, the programs are so interesting, and he gets amazing musicians. You know that there will always be something that will make you rise to your feet and cheer. It hasn't happened in this concert, yet!"

…but then it did.

 A standing surge greeted Mr. Turner's Seas, borne by James Ehnes and Chris Thile.  Mr. Turner, like Chris, is someone you can't help but address by his given name. Jeremy's five-movement suite, named after each of the Great Lakes, dwells on nature, and man's destructive ways, which he revealed in the pre-concert introduction a bit awkwardly (Jeremy, an adorable goof-ball, is always forgiven.) He mentioned waves, storms, wolves near extinction, rainbows, algae blooms, broken machines, pipes leaking waste, and birds at sunset flight. Written in a harmonic language that might be described as post-modal; from embryonic material he casts his net, not too far, with evolving Euclidian shapes. These affable natural musical descriptions were as deeply satisfying to hear as they must have been to play. In this sterling performance, what amazed most was the common ground forged from different perspectives, Chris' populist one and Mr. Ehnes' uncompromising one.

In the second piece, about wolves, it is not enough to call the alignment of the bowed and plucked tones pristine, but metaphysical. In the last sea, dusky birds were evoked by Chris's gossamer garlands to Mr. Ehnes's timeless lines. 

Before Jeremy's premiere, violist Cynthia Phelps offered Schumann's Marchenbilder with a warmth of hues and a sonority of fraise velvet. Her dress was of a magnificent lime-green. At the piano was Alessio Bax. A large part of Ms. Phelps' art is in communication and honest delivery, but she was stymied by a dammed cold fish. If a pianist of some elegance, he was unaccommodating, ungracious, uninterested, and uncaring. We could call this fairy tale The Princess and the Boor.

Nevertheless, for this evening let Jeremy, Chris and James take another bow!

~CrackCritic

Thile Thrifecta

A remarkable evening was presented by the SCMS with the riches of THREE concerts in one night featuring the astonishing mandolinist Chris Thile. The only appropriate way to address this man, this Huckleberry Finn that everyone would want to have as a son, a husband, a best man, a best friend, (since Mr. Thile would be for executives bearing contracts with six zeroes which I am sure he also has) is as Chris, and his appeal is universal. Playing his instrument with an abandon of the cosmos channels his physical ululations to a scale so personal as to be conversational.

The 7 p.m. show was solo, un-amplified, and he sang and played original material in a folk/bluegrass style. There were songs and tunes about Eve, the Queen, his son learning to walk, and goats, delivered with delicious charm and wit. His segue to the classical program was the Gigue from Bach's D Minor Partita, a whirlwind of notes yet flowing with the grace of thistles riding the currents. From such a small and delicate instrument Chris' sound ranged from starbeams to the greatest orchestras.

Toby Saks In Memoriam

A moving and fitting tribute to cellist Toby Saks, founder and beloved director of the SCMS was a recital of two elegies featuring three cellos, one somber, the other sweet. In Lawrence Dillon's Resonance, written to mark the occasion of Ms. Saks' passing they were joined by violinist James Ehnes. This unassuming quiet work shows there are still things of greatness to say in the tonal language. Over the cello choir toned like muted trombones, the violin rhapsodized cantilenas as sad as they were dignified, both in composition and execution. Most touching was when the music came nearly to a stop as the mind that reaches a cul-de-sac remembers a loved one. The art here was the exploration of near silence, of absence.

In David Popper's Requiem the relief came from memories that are cherished. If the three cellists played as one, seamless as honey, what fascinated were their distinct personalities. Robert deMaine played with a nobility, measured, originating from his core. Edward Arron has a vitality that is almost woodsman-like. Jeremy Turner's expression is of a full throttled fearless vulnerability. Pianist Andrew Armstrong lent optimistic support. 

The concert promised most, and delivered much. Ravel's Introduction and Allegro featured harpist Valerie Muzzolini Gordon. Though beguiling, this rendition was at times stiff and episodic from the immaculate approach of Ms. Gordon, and a squareness from the string quartet. The standouts were the winds, flutist Nadine Asin with a low register like a viola's C string, and the incredible Scott Williamson. Mr. Williamson does not allow himself to ever sound merely like a clarinet. With a sagesse unobtrusive to reticent, an infinite palette of colors are his gradations of texture. In this group, he was the sonic ambassador.

Seattle Chamber Music Society's Summer Festival CONCERT NUMBER 1

Seattle Chamber Music's Auspicious Opening Concert

The Seattle Chamber Music Society celebrating its 35th year opened its Summer Festival season the fifth of July with a program sparkling, nourishing and profound. This evening was introduced by the James Ehnes String Quartet, named after its leader who is also the artistic director of SCMS, playing Beethoven's Op. 18 #5. Ever fascinating for its internal dialogues with a sprightliness and honesty that could effortlessly touch on the mysterious, this reading, so natural, had not a trace of bombast, of didacticism. 'Gemütlichkeit' could describe the beginning Allegro and Menuetto movements, the first, fresh; the second with an intimacy, despite a closing possibly dry, that was fulfilled in the Andante cantabile, which had a luminosity of approach that brought to mind the art of Wilhelm Kempf. At its conclusion, Mr. Ehnes and the second violinist, Amy Schwartz Moretti, proved the ideal summation with a sonority inexpressible, unknown. The final Allegro was marked by an unfusty elegance, a robustness that almost never flagged.

Mr. Ehnes eloquently introduced the concert proper with words of tribute to Toby Saks, the founder and devoted director of the Society for 32 years until her death in 2013. Violinist Arnaud Sussman and pianist Jeewon Park opened the curtains with Mozart's A major Violin Sonata K. 305. If the balance could be considered historically appropriate with the piano to the fore, Mr. Sussman's lovely subtle internal shapings only became apparent in the later variations of the Andante grazioso. Marked by élan, his colorings were pastel. Ms. Park was vigorous, playing with a bright tone.  There were some odd timing affects that divided phrases, some ending inconclusively. Ambiguous too was the theme of the second movement. The minor variation compensated for being so tightly reined in with articulations more precious than compelling. The concluding Allegro was a splendid romp to cap this fine performance.

The Klezmadelic Krakauer

David Krakauer's Checkpoint CD release with Ancestral Groove, April 7, 2016, 

National Sawdust, Brooklyn

Clarinetist David Krakauer is one of the greatest artists of our time. His reputation must by now have made it to every shore.

Let’s describe the music he plays as post-funk-acid klezmer. He, with his band, play with an intensity that is savage, and it is unnecessary to mention his 'technique.' His capability is supernatural.

His roots come from the fiercely held Jewish music of Eastern Europe, the ecstatic rage of Allen Ginsburg, of Jimi Hendrix, yet he is a gentle and dignified soul, eternally young.

He introduced one of the numbers with an eloquent acknowledgement of the reality of today’s politicians and our present ways and standards of life; how in the sixties people thought very differently, and without warning he launched into a klezmer rap: “AND THEY WERE F**KING RIGHT YOU MOTHERF**KERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" than WAILED on his instrument. The audience went wild, WILD. David Krakauer expresses the rage of our city, our country, his and all races. His mastery is entirely incidental to his envisionings of injustice and sufferings. His multicultural band: Sheryl Bailey on electric guitar, Jerome Harris on electric bass, Micheal Sarin on drums, and the sampler artist known as ‘Keepalive’, unequivocally supported the mad musicianship of the clarinetist’s genius with unstinting intensity.

There have been known to be various psychedelic drug celebrations in our summer deserts, and the authorities used to look the other way. Thousands of artists would congregate, living in their cars or tents, and create. At the end of the week there would be a huge bonfire, everything scorched.

This is David's art.

~ CrackCritic

The Naughtons: Epiphanous Ensemble

The Naughton Piano Duo was presented by WQXR in their signature Greene Space in downtown New York City for a live broadcast this past Wednesday evening.  The delightful, concise program featured the panache, elegance and remarkable ensemble these siblings are establishing their reputation with.

The works that book-ended the program were stunning. Beginning 4-handed with Mendelssohn's Andante e Allegro Brilliant, what charmed was their chiaroscuro in phrasing and texture, in dialogue and dignity; this playing had dash, not flash. Ending with Lutoslawski's Paganini Variations their incisiveness disclosed humor and bitterness, yet always cloaked in sounds so supple. Their ensemble became breathtaking to divinity in the slow variation, as natural as a cloud, or a nautilus.

The second work was a world premiere of the 2 piano arrangement of John Adams’ Roll Over Beethoven, originally his Second Quartet. Based on fragments from the Master's own Op. 110 and the Diabelli Variations, though a conceit of musical fractals is conceptual (as per the composer’s notes), this listener found this 20-minute work thin and long. It would be impressive as an improvisation at the end of a drunken musicale, but it seems not for the concert hall, though its executants were exemplary. 

Following was a transcription by Kurtag; the first movement of Bach’s funeral cantata Actus Tragicus, which was a dull arrangement and lacked depth and line from a stodginess in flow.

The last movement of Messiaen's Visions de l'Amen suffered from a lack of ecstasy, sounding cluttered, melodically tedious and harmonically monotonous. However, the pianissimo section tinted like sunlight through stained glass. 

It could be hoped that these brilliant young pianists will expand their sheltered lives, and come to a point when they can perform such excesses of religious delirium without sounding ersatz.

Let us be thankful that this duo is the ensemble of their generation – surpassing the Kontarsky brothers’ intellectualisms, and the Labèque sisters’ glibness.

~ CrackCritic

We Got Rihmed

Orpheus Chamber Orchestra’s October 15^th season opening celebration featured much undifferentiated playing. The program was intelligently designed to showcase the New York premiere of Wolfgang Rihm’s Duo Concerto, written for a married duo, cellist Jan Vogler and violinist Mira Wang. It is difficult to assess their undoubtedly noble efforts past an orchestration thicker than caulk. Mr. Vogler played on a large podium stage center, but this did not aid to his projection as it did to the visibility of his physical gesticulations and the serious commitment of his hair to the performance.

The comely Ms. Wang managed more audibly to struggle through the contrapuntal tonalische miasmas, written in a harmonic language by the preëminent post-modernist German composer that could be simplistically called valedictory, like the late works of Alban Berg. This uninspired work punishingly asked the soloists to compete against colorless clotted textures; indeed, a concert companion aptly described it as “morose hysteria”.

Perhaps this work would be better scored as a string septet. 

Pollini at Carnegie

 Maurizio Pollini again honored the stage of Carnegie Hall nearly 50 years after his debut, on a brilliant temperate October Sunday afternoon. An elegant, dignified and stooped man of 73, his program featuring Schumann and Chopin demonstrated exactly these qualities. If he performed as if a generation older, there were nevertheless remarkable attributes.

      The opening and better half began with Schumann's B minor Allegro op.8, and, if the mood for the program was established as phlegmatic, it was also intriguing, often sublimely textured and limpidly phrased. Mr. Pollini's trademark structural clarity balanced well a muted tonal reticence, as his grand melodic narrations contrasted with rhythmically approximate supporting material. Schumann’s C major Fantasie, at times divine in harmonic depth, might at this point be better in the recording studio than the concert hall, but there was so much that was strikingly arresting and noble, especially in the outer movements, that readers must accept my courtesy not to elaborate further.