 |
| Elliott Carter and Oliver Knussen |
Formal analysis is not the only source of objective claims about music which are accountable to independently verifiable evidence. A notable composition is likely to have a history, including its genesis from initial sketches to the final revision of the score, the evolution of its reception, the ways it may have been exploited for political propaganda or plagiarized in popular music, and more. Then there are specific technical challenges the work may pose for performing musicians (including conductors).
These, along with editorial matters pertaining to early musical notation and performance practice, constitute the domain of objective discourse on music. The rest is impressionistic drivel which, despite the seeming objectivity of wording, is only about whatever it is that pops into the writer's head when he/she listens to (or reflects on) such-and-such piece of music. When confronted with this kind of writing - whether in the form of metaphysical mumbling (Wagner), Marxist yapping (Adorno), feminist babbling (Susan McClary), or diarrhetic torrents of metaphors, free associations, and misused scientific concepts (insert here the name of any so-called new musicologist) - the only appropriate response I can think of is the one given by the title of this post.
The title of this post is also what I said to myself shortly after I sat down to write a few words about Oliver Knussen, the distinguished British composer and conductor whose death last July barely registered a ripple in the programming of his homeland's art music radio channel (BBC Radio 3). I wanted to say something about what made Knussen so special as an interpreter of Elliott Carter's music, but after a couple of sentences I stopped with a shudder. What I saw on my computer screen was precisely the kind of impressionistic drivel I find so annoying in writings about music.
So here I am, writing a blog post in which I have nothing to say about my intended subject. But then Oliver Knussen does not need me (or anyone else) to act as his spokesman. He can speak for himself through live recordings of him conducting Carter's music. One such recording documents the world premiere of Carter's Dialogues for piano and large ensemble, with Knussen conducting the London Sinfonietta and Nicolas Hodges (for whom the piece was commissioned by the BBC) as soloist. The performance took place on 23 January 2004 at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, London.*
__________________________________
* A copy of the BBC FM broadcast (recorded via Leak Trough-Line II vacuum tube tuner) was sent to me from England by a generous Carter enthusiast.
4 comments:
Thank you for this extraordinary piece of music. And don't bother to ask it how it made me feel except excited and glad to be hearing this music. The alternations between quietude and dynamism are, as usual for Carter, sublime. Some of the best 13 minutes of discovery I've spent in a long time. By the way, thank you also for the Cello Concerto.
Here's how John Link describes the piece in his notes to the award-winning "Elliott Carter: Late Works" album.
"Dialogues (2003) unfolds as a single movement, composed of short, clearly articulated phrases. In keeping with the title’s Platonic allusion, piano and orchestra engage in a variety of exchanges – from argumentative vying for the floor, to supportive elaboration of the other’s point of view. But they are preceded by an ingenious coup de théâtre. With soloist and orchestra at the ready, and the conductor poised to begin, the first sound is of an ungainly, plodding, and somewhat repetitious English horn. Resembling a janitor caught sweeping the stage when the curtain rises, this doleful Charlie Chaplin-esque anti-hero tacks uncertainly through the opening bars before it is abruptly overtaken by the piano’s bravura entrance. The ensuing public dialog between piano and orchestra never quite displaces the quiet, internal drama of the opening solo. Just as the finale gets going, the English horn makes a last appearance – still halting, but ranging more widely against poignant string harmonies. Again, the piano interrupts, but quietly this time – transforming the narrow compass of the first English horn solo into a blur of motion, racing at the speed of thought. Although the English horn disappears altogether after this episode, it leaves its mark nonetheless. The piano’s last descent seems to end with a falling fifth – unmistakable signal of tonal resolution. But then it falls a final step, and a gesture of quiet closure becomes the upbeat to an uncertain continuation."
That seems fine to me. Understanding how the dramas in Carter's music unfold is, I think, essential to appreciating what he's up to. Very often they are generated from the idiomatic sororities of the instruments. As highlighted in Link's notes and David Schiff's recent book on Carter, stories are being told.
@Colin Green:
"Resembling a janitor caught sweeping the stage when the curtain rises, this doleful Charlie Chaplin-esque anti-hero tacks uncertainly through the opening bars before it is abruptly overtaken by the piano’s bravura entrance."
______________________________
No better proof can be had that the embarrassing 19th century pastime of inventing arbitrary programs for musical works is still alive and well.
Incidentally, Carter - a man of great literary erudition - must have felt that the dramatic structure of his works can be described informatively without resorting to impressionistic drivel. Which is what he did on more than one occasion.
Another example of drivel-free informative account of dramatic structure of a Carter work is Arnold Whittall's review of the Oboe Concerto (Music & Letters vol.73 no.2, 1992).
Indeed "stories are being told", as you put it. Alas, most of them (like Link's CD booklet note) fall somewhere between silly and ridiculous.
I think that's a little harsh. They're analogies, which is often as close as you can get with music, and should be taken as such. There's much wit and humour in Carter's music and Link conveys that well.
Post a Comment