tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76507683035430042962024-03-14T00:15:54.244-07:00SpecsAdrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.comBlogger346125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-16702303932745109312021-01-06T11:45:00.000-08:002021-01-06T11:45:32.590-08:00Past presence: Dead Space Chamber Music and Kate Arnold<p><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><p>Two brilliantly-timed records that for me sum up the word ‘spirit’: both in the eerie, evocative atmospheres they conjure up, and the sheer inventive brio with which the music was created.</p>
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<p>Dead Space Chamber Music are an intriguing collective from Bristol, UK, who seemingly belong to all genres or none. Within the first few minutes of the opening track on their latest release, we hear an early music chant re-configured into spontaneous variations and avant-garde textures, acoustic strings agitating against treated electronica.</p>
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<p>‘St Kenelm’s: The Sapperton Sessions’ was recorded live in the medieval church and village that feature in its title. It’s remarkable that the three musicians were able to surround themselves with these sounds in the moment. The line-up’s choice of instruments is unusual, and crucial: Liz Paxton’s cello is a beautifully-sustained anchor, a necessary through-line beneath and around Tom Bush’s electric guitar, seamlessly moving between delicate accompaniment and washes of distortion. Completing the trio is Ellen Southern, a vocalist equally at home with tenderness and terror, and who also provides found-sound recordings and effects to push even further at the edges of the performance.</p>
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<p>There are three tracks in total, all around the ten-minute mark, giving the ensemble room to stretch out and improvise. Each song had an existing basis, or starting point. The chant I mentioned earlier that underpins ‘O Virtus Sapientiae’ is by 12<sup>th</sup>-century composer Hildegard von Bingen.</p>
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<p>‘Lachrymae’ sets words by Dowland to a tune by Machaut – already creating a sense of dislocation – before a moment of silence: then we spiral off into uncharted, heart-wrenching territory beyond words and melody. The effect is both unsettling and entrancing: completely at odds with expectations of how one might approach such aged, commanding texts but utterly authentic to the emotional, spiritual experience within them.</p>
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<p>Final track ‘Black Desert’ is the band’s own composition, mutating over time as and when performed live. Southern vocalises wordlessly (fans of Dead Can Dance’s Lisa Gerrard or Cocteau Twins’ Elizabeth Fraser will feel very at home here) above expertly-manipulated drones and restrained backing from her colleagues – Bush even seems to draw from a sparse jazz-guitar soundworld. But the band’s precision and attention to detail can also pull the rug from under your feet – for example, around the four-minute mark where Southern suddenly harmonises with herself. In a studio recording, this would be relatively easy to achieve with double-tracking: however, after a split-second you realise this is all being played live, and that the ‘present’ Southern has locked into a recorded sample of herself, in perfect time and harmony.</p>
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<p>As the band point out in their sleeve notes, the location is vital to the recording: as well as its fine acoustic, which lends a superb richness and reverb to the riskier electronic elements, any ambient noises from the church itself stay in. This goes hand in hand with the use the group make of non-musical objects: the mid-section of ‘Black Desert’ where the percussive drive comes from stone scraped against knife won’t leave you in a hurry.</p>
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<p>Another aspect of the album I want to draw out is its filmic quality – I wonder if DSCM have ever ventured into soundtracks? While the ensemble’s presentation (beautiful black-and-white artwork which recognisably evokes folk mysticism and ritual) is an important part of the overall experience, the production is so expansive and the players so alive to each other’s contributions, that the music places the imaginative listener into a three-dimensional (dead?) space, all by itself. If your ideal Yuletide involves settling down in front of ‘A Ghost Story for Christmas’ or ‘The Stone Tape’, for example, then you will feel delightfully at home in the St Kenelm’s of your ears and mind. There is a lovely touch at the start where we hear the group exchange brief words about starting the tape: a natural moment that belies some of the otherworldly sounds we go on to hear, as if they have surrendered themselves to the power of the site.</p>
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<p>The album radiates patience and foreboding: partly due to the confidence the ensemble have in letting the sounds drift and develop, what we hear seems to not simply rise and fall in volume but move nearer or draw further back. ‘O Vitus Sapientiae’ is finally subsumed into chain-like rattles and a deep, percussive rumble that feels for all the world like the church’s foundations are shifting.</p>
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<p>It’s a fitting effect for a group that so skilfully unmoors historic music from its traditional boundaries, marshalling modern techniques to make the familiar newly mysterious.</p>
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<p>I don’t often write about a single song, but I think the new release from Kate Arnold is too important to pass by. Arnold is, you might say, a kindred spirit to DSCM: she brings her interest in early/medieval music into her own compositions, and uses loops and samples to be able to perform live – in her case, with voice, violin and most distinctively, hammered dulcimer.</p>
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<p>Arnold has already made one of the best records of 2020, an EP called ‘Rota Fortunae I’ from an impossibly distant pre-lockdown February. Its four tracks offer several albums’ worth of ideas amid a dazzling display of songcraft – Arnold’s thoughtful and confident vocals make a pulsing anthem about alchemy sit happily next to a powerful update of the only surviving complete song by 12<sup>th</sup>-century trobairitz Beatriz de Dia. The dulcimer has that elusive air of austere stateliness that nonetheless, in these hands, chimes gloriously with addictive, uplifting hooks. Arnold has mastered the art of placing key moments of euphoria in her tracks – the sudden appearance of a bassline, or an underlying chord change that resolves a period of expertly-built tension – and nowhere is this clearer than in new song, ‘Just Born’.</p>
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<p>This is the lead track, so to speak, from follow-up EP ‘Rota Fortunae II’ (expected, due to an understandable delay, early next year). It absolutely warrants a stand-alone purchase: it’s the digital equivalent of rushing home with a new 12” single under your arm, thinking you might have snapped up the single of the year.</p>
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<p>One of Arnold’s most arresting lyrics yet, ‘Just Born’ encompasses both apocalypse and acceptance: the idea that humankind’s insistence on its supremacy over nature (“Did you expect to see / The conquest of biology?”) is likely to be reversed (“The future never needed us”)… but in the face of that insignificance, it could be love (as I see it, in whatever form that takes) that gives us the closest thing to meaning that we have.</p>
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<p>I focus on the lyric not only because I really admire it, but because it addresses both the current and the eternal. The musical arrangement brings this to life by starting with a sparse beat (normally created by striking the dulcimer frame) and steady bassline. Then a circular dulcimer figure begins just before the ‘expected’ beat, followed by Arnold’s (initially) softly-sung vocal, which also seems syncopated, slightly ahead of itself, trying to somehow urge on the implacable pace of the track’s foundation. For one song, there is an embarrassment of shiver-down-the-spine moments: from the sudden burst of strings beneath the vocal early on; to the instrumental chorus; to the way that halfway through each verse, the mass of notes is tweaked to increase the major ‘brightness’ of the arrangement. The brilliant last line of the final verse – ‘”to slow the blinking of the eye” – is drawn out and held longer in the vocal as if in defiance.</p>
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<p>As with all of Arnold’s catalogue, it’s a joy to hear a piece that sounds so beautiful, but with force of intellect as well as emotion. Music as food of love, sure, and also for thought.</p>
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<p>You can buy music from both artists featured in this piece on their Bandcamp pages.</p>
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<p>Dead Space Chamber Music: <a href="https://dscm.bandcamp.com/">https://dscm.bandcamp.com/</a></p>
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<p>Kate Arnold: <a href="https://katearnolduk.bandcamp.com/">https://katearnolduk.bandcamp.com/</a></p>
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<p>Photo of DSCM by Katie Murt.</p>
<!--/wp:paragraph--><p></p>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-83948158219377082912020-12-16T13:25:00.000-08:002020-12-16T13:25:46.085-08:00Pigment of the imagination: Brian and Roger Eno, 'Mixing Colours (Expanded)'<p><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHVigepgJuPPoQ_aO_QlFM-hoslrguSLwa2dk9rIjtkxwzNXq9FNkhgWPhhMSvxQThwwuWNUQRZ8hYydw2Jq2cjJfbbXzST1UCvLOwOILVM7rYmbTxg17vS7lvnHX1tUxYUUn8PWwmrry/s1200/brian+roger+eno.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHVigepgJuPPoQ_aO_QlFM-hoslrguSLwa2dk9rIjtkxwzNXq9FNkhgWPhhMSvxQThwwuWNUQRZ8hYydw2Jq2cjJfbbXzST1UCvLOwOILVM7rYmbTxg17vS7lvnHX1tUxYUUn8PWwmrry/s320/brian+roger+eno.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Almost perfect lockdown listening, this record takes the state of ‘very little happening’ and creates something beautiful and resilient in its care and restraint.<div><br /></div><div>Eno-watchers might feel that I’ve taken an appropriately glacial length of time to write about this album, but all is not quite as it seems: this is the third ‘Mixing Colours’ release of the year.</div><div><br /></div><div>Deutsche Grammophon first put it out on single CD (and double vinyl) in March. Then, to coincide with Record Store Day, a further mini-album’s worth of tracks emerged on a vinyl-only release called ‘Luminous’. Perhaps to calm the abject horror of shelving purists everywhere, we now have a deluxe double-disc re-release combining the two: overall, an epic of some 100 minutes’ listening.</div><div><br /></div><div>It’s worth noting that the ‘Luminous’ tracks have not just been tacked onto the end: they’ve been slightly re-ordered and inserted as a group a couple of tracks before the album closes. One gets the impression, then, that the Eno brothers still see the combined version as having an over-arching shape, preserving the first and last moments of the original release. I think close listening on our part repays this attention to detail.</div><div><br /></div><div>In fact, everything about this recording fascinates me, from the concept, to the sound design, right through to the division of labour between the siblings – listed on the sleeve as Roger playing “all keyboards” and Brian “programming and sound design”.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioo_9B6-0qU_loXxqF8WpCbvy3lLtj0YOw7hVGaWELY76cfEeK_MKxXzeef_5gJrtk2CXcK5sxaxnrKR1xqOYWiEeVIJlzcbfuMIhLSjZW2rvatEWflBEcCQ4ZbHEjILlo31HnBM9K6ytn/s900/mixing+colours+expanded.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="900" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioo_9B6-0qU_loXxqF8WpCbvy3lLtj0YOw7hVGaWELY76cfEeK_MKxXzeef_5gJrtk2CXcK5sxaxnrKR1xqOYWiEeVIJlzcbfuMIhLSjZW2rvatEWflBEcCQ4ZbHEjILlo31HnBM9K6ytn/s320/mixing+colours+expanded.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Brian Eno must surely occupy a unique Brian Eno-shaped niche in the arts world: early member and creative catalyst of Roxy Music, pioneer of ‘ambient’ music, revered record producer, accomplished harmony singer – but also writer, lecturer, philosopher and professional ‘ideas man’. The most concise phrase available is perhaps ‘sonic boffin’, and who wouldn’t want that on their business card? While Roger Eno is a prolific pianist and composer, regularly releasing solo projects and collaborations, often bringing a warm, lush sensibility to the ‘ambient’ genre. (One might recall the brothers’ collaboration with Daniel Lanois on the 1983 ‘Apollo’ album – originally written to soundtrack the moon landings documentary ‘For All Mankind’ – which in parts is like bathing in an all-enveloping surround-sound.)</div><div><br /></div><div>‘Mixing Colours’ is an interesting contrast to ‘Apollo’; it feels so sparse in comparison. There are still points in this music that make Einaudi sound like Iron Maiden. But ‘sparse’ is not the same as empty. It’s both a minimalist and maximalist work: by paring down the arrangements to almost the least activity necessary to make an actual noise, the production gives the music a huge sense of scale and open-endedness. It reminded me of how Brian’s involvement in producing rock bands could somehow both rein in any ‘clatter’ in their sound and, in the process, give them the stature to take on stadiums. It’s the space created inside the music, and ‘Mixing Colours’ is unafraid to push the dimensions of this space to its outer limits.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are a number of approaches used through the album that all serve to enhance this effect. The clearest signpost for this is a particular recurring figure, found in the opening track, ‘Spring Frost’, then in ‘Verdigris’ and the penultimate track, ‘Cerulean Blue’ – each time slightly different in tone but fully worked through.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the track ‘Snow’, however, Roger’s piano melody is etched out so carefully, that you may find your brain supplying notes that you don’t actually hear. Brian creates a bed of background noise which is pitched perfectly in sync with the piano, but gradually, almost imperceptibly, increases in volume until it fills the interior room. The track ‘Desert Sand’ acts like an opposite number, as this time the keening, atonal synths create dissonance, peeling off the piano line so, like the shifting sand suggested by its title, the integrity of the track is undermined and knocked off-balance. ‘Iris’, on the other hand, has the fracturing in the piano line, until, in its final minute, the synths offer support this time and track its changes.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5LqxN3bRkRw" width="320" youtube-src-id="5LqxN3bRkRw"></iframe></div><br /><div>Because the record is so concerned with atmosphere, its moments of melodic power often land when the piano is left untreated. The track used as the lead ‘single’ from the album, ‘Celeste’, is a perfect example. The keyboard is processed so that nothing sounds quite natural. As you can hear, any forward movement is repeatedly undercut as it slows to a stop, over and over, the build-up in tension based on the bank of additional sounds swirling around the tune. Then, at the exact two-minute mark, a low note on acoustic piano resonates, as the higher notes seem to approach a resolution. About fifteen to twenty seconds later, we hear the brothers’ alchemy at its most magical, as Roger finds one of the most unforgettable hooks on the whole album, while Brian allows the untreated piano to gradually emerge and lend the melody increasing heft. The pattern then cycles round again, with increased confidence.</div><div><br /></div><div>Motifs found in tracks like ‘Snow’ and ‘Celeste’ recur here and there, so that when your ear picks up on particular elements, you can appreciate the ways they are reflected and adapted. ‘Blonde’, ‘Dark Sienna’ and ‘Vermilion’ establish the refrain upfront on acoustic piano before it morphs from Roger to Brian mode, repeated and enhanced electronically over the rest of the track. More than once, you’ll encounter crucial bass notes dropped like depth charges – say, in ‘Ultramarine’, or ‘Moss’.</div><div><br /></div><div>The use of sustain, echo and chime gives much of the record a spiritual feel – the ghosts in the machines overcoming any suggestion of automation or inhumanity. ‘Cinnabar’ explicitly evokes the peal of bells, and likewise the stately church organ of ‘Obisidian’. ‘Wintergreen’ offers yet another angle, as the notes, cascading into each other, seem to process towards the listener as they are multitracked and filled out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some of the most fascinating tracks for me include a shimmer effect that functions as a mood-changer. This would include the exotica of ‘Quicksilver’, the abstraction of ‘Marble’ and an absolute standout selection for me: ‘Deep Saffron’, where the agitation turns into a near-pulse, creating a kind of absent rhythm track – you could almost sense this one forming the basis of a chill-out techno mix, especially when – surprise? – a cavernous bass note makes a cameo appearance.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ydgpo0-Jv1g" width="320" youtube-src-id="ydgpo0-Jv1g"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>It’s all building to the magnificent final track, ‘Slow Movement: Sand’, which manages to echo everything that’s gone before in a stately five minutes: the background wash, resonant bass, layered synths, all grounded by Roger’s piano, left unvarnished. It brings home how appropriate the ‘colours’ concept is for the music, with the album drawn from an overall palette, and features of each individual shade creating new, potentially infinite variations.</div><div><br /></div><div>A record like this gives the lie to any notion that ‘ambient’ music need be featureless or unstructured. In ideal conditions (dark room, headphones), ‘Mixing Colours’ is a handsome, near-definitive statement of beauty in subtlety, and a lesson in collaboration where the artists know exactly when to hold back, and understand what makes their creative partners shine.</div><div><br /></div><div>Photograph by Bee Eno and Mary Evers</div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-31729167784664603362020-11-29T03:52:00.000-08:002020-11-29T03:52:35.179-08:00Spired and emotional: the Oxford Lieder Festival 2020<p><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeaPzSaug8tDLn2S1ucHsAv9UGx-0q_4zdDkwStquklTtxkKfKT6cpoygM6HxoIWfWvf-rasftw7vFqF6-c7E9tel_-5Uc2HvpS9WwYBv8m-yL4O7afdGicOqdqbVzrt1OQSvcKjO8Xrs/s2048/connections.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeaPzSaug8tDLn2S1ucHsAv9UGx-0q_4zdDkwStquklTtxkKfKT6cpoygM6HxoIWfWvf-rasftw7vFqF6-c7E9tel_-5Uc2HvpS9WwYBv8m-yL4O7afdGicOqdqbVzrt1OQSvcKjO8Xrs/s320/connections.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div>On paper, the Oxford Lieder festival (wholly online this year, for contagious reasons) ended about a month ago. But not for me. Right up to the last minute, I’ve been extracting the maximum value I possibly can from my catch-up pass, viewing as many concerts as possible before the on-demand video archive finally vanishes from the Digital Concert Hall and takes its place – like most live music used to! – solely in the memory.<div><br /></div><div>Rest assured, I am desperate – like so many others – for the live experience as we knew it, pre-pandemic, to return. As a keen concertgoer, I’m craving that shared excitement, the unique connection a great gig generates between performers and audiences. And – ideally this would go without saying – I’m raging at the ignorance and incompetence that perpetuates this terrible situation, forced on everyone currently working in the arts.</div><div><br /></div><div>But none of that should take away from the efforts so many in the industry are making to bring us music online. I genuinely hope that once we are back to normal, some of the discoveries and developments – innovations, even – made during this period will remain to complement the ‘old ways’.</div><div><br /></div><div>I’m reluctant to talk about particular ‘pioneers’, because I think that term applies to every organisation or venue that has even tried to continue with remote performance this year. Each has its own set of challenges, leading to its own unique approach. This was a different kind of creativity. (Just to give two examples firmly in the centre of my radar – it felt typically ‘in character’ for Wigmore Hall to refine its existing model of modestly shot performances for social distancing, in the same way that it was ‘very’ ENO to dream up a drive-in, all-weather opera at Alexandra Palace.)</div><div><br /></div><div>If I had both the viewing and writing time, I would want to cover almost everything. But here, I’m focusing on Oxford Lieder, for a couple of reasons. First, so much art song packed into so intense a period felt unmissable. Second, the festival team (headed by its artistic director, pianist Sholto Kynoch) seemed to decide at an early stage that, as this would almost certainly be an online event, they would give themselves over to that medium. In other words, in any aspect where the technology or circumstances presented an opportunity to do something unusual, something that perhaps couldn’t be fully achieved in a ‘real world’ scenario – they took it. (More on this later…)</div><div><br /></div><div>Called ‘Connections Across Time: a Brief History of Song’, the festival was meticulously programmed and rich in overlapping themes. The title concept of song’s reach through the ages ran ‘horizontally’ through the week, with many artists choosing repertoire ranging across centuries for their set lists. This theme was elegantly reflected in the careful balance across ‘generations’ of singers, with relative newcomers dovetailing in among the more established names – often in the same concert, thanks to the Momentum initiative for bringing ‘support acts’ into recitals.</div><div><br /></div><div>Each day, however, had its own ‘vertical’ theme to give additional focus: for example, one day centred around nature songs; another examined the interplay between sacred and secular subjects; another acknowledged the Beethoven anniversary. The headline evening concert each day was just part of a chain running from late morning to last thing, with the late-night slots (lower-key Proms-style) lending themselves to a slightly more esoteric selection of gigs.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_odmFJt7L9RDyZCUm_Q9LLGS3GVSSVmS0-IuVL7mPqz67_qH-aHmBwcjjnZx_Jo-5nES4ZAypXKXD8fO4ezHTnnywvKe3O7dXcZ1ukiv42bq7h_9KRbz-RB6hC5163vXlLJe8ZHZh8-Q/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="402" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_odmFJt7L9RDyZCUm_Q9LLGS3GVSSVmS0-IuVL7mPqz67_qH-aHmBwcjjnZx_Jo-5nES4ZAypXKXD8fO4ezHTnnywvKe3O7dXcZ1ukiv42bq7h_9KRbz-RB6hC5163vXlLJe8ZHZh8-Q/" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>(The Voice of Santur)</div><div><br /></div><div>Some of the highlights of the entire festival for me lay amid these 10pm treasures. On a day devoted to the influence of the 14th-century Persian poet Hafez on more modern art song, the evening ended with an astonishing performance by The Voice of Santur, an Iranian quartet (voice, violin, tabla and qanun – a stringed instrument resembling an autoharp played across the lap, but with a deeper, percussive edge to its sound) playing settings of Hafez in their own tradition arranged or composed by their founder, Peyman Heydarian (who sadly couldn’t be at the concert himself). It was a fascinating reminder that ‘our’ classical is not everybody’s classical (similar to watching the online African Concert Series broadcasts earlier in the year): to my Western ears, I can certainly find enough entry-points to help me dive in – the fact it was still ‘art song’, poetry set to music; and the familiarity of the violin – but the rhythmic language in the tabla and qanun brought a wholly new form of sensuality and even danceability.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/p8HEtC-wjoA" width="320" youtube-src-id="p8HEtC-wjoA"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>(Lotte Betts-Dean and Sean Shibe)</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the most tender and intimate performances of the whole festival closed out the event, with mezzo Lotte Betts-Dean and guitarist Sean Shibe performing ‘Songs of the Stars’, ranging through Dowland, Schubert, Britten and Debussy, among others. Seated in the Radcliffe Observatory, the night itself almost became their venue, and in the hushed aura, the duo performed with exquisite restraint and a natural rapport (nowhere more so than in the relaxed encore of ‘Blue Moon’). And speaking of time-spans, I felt this concert created a pleasing symmetry with the early-evening performance by James Gilchrist and Elizabeth Kenny right at the start of the week, in the Oak Room at Broughton Castle, with songs for voice and lute: a fascinating opportunity to compare approaches between ‘generations’ of performers and the effect of performing with period and modern instruments on songs both old and new.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps the most arresting late-night session closed out the ‘Future of Song’ day, which was built around the performances of three world premières. The Hermes Experiment are a quartet featuring soprano voice, harp, clarinet and double bass – and as a result, in the few years they’ve been around have become a driving force for contemporary classical music through commissioning most of their repertoire anew. Philip Venables’ ‘A Photograph’ demonstrated the potential of the band’s format for unpredictable, edge-of-the-seat storytelling. And from an art-song perspective, the fact that this is a Proper Group – plenty of noise available – but without a piano, means sinewy, snaking lines around the voice, instruments behaving as characters, and the space in the sound (particularly in the superb acoustic of Christ Church Cathedral) giving a high-wire electricity to the performance.</div><div><br /></div><div>Looking at the late-night events alone helps to demonstrate the festival’s range. As much as I love the voice/piano format, I was excited and engaged by its insistence that art song comes to life in any arrangement. It didn’t stop there – there was the fascinating afternoon concert in Rycote Chapel from soprano Loré Lixenberg and accordionist Bartosz Glowacki, inspired by Lixenberg seeing Berlin street musicians playing Baroque repertoire; and violinist Jonathan Stone joining Kynoch to accompany mezzo Caitlin Hulcup in folk song and French mélodies.</div><div><br /></div><div>It’s also worth noting the venues where the concerts took place. For me, this was one of the masterstrokes of committing to a totally online event: it allowed us to visit places where audiences would have been an impossibility, or at the minimum a logistical nightmare; bring music to spaces that would never normally be used for that purpose – and take advantage of what they had to offer. For example, a brilliant lunchtime concert of Bach and Britten allowed Ian Bostridge to move around Merton College Chapel depending on whether he was singing with the Oxford Bach Soloists or Saskia Giorgini at the piano. There were also the ‘impossible’ lectures, such as ‘The Story of the Rose’, showing how the development of the rose itself was closely tracked in song: visually, this took the form of a virtual tour of Oxford Botanic Garden’s roses, with Laura Tunbridge and the Garden’s Director Simon Hiscock contributing informative links between song performances by Lauren Lodge-Campbell and Dylan Perez.</div><div><br /></div><div>These were somewhat surreal, but wholly successful, ways of presenting events that weren’t trying to replace the ‘real world’ version of the festival, because they could never be replicated in live circumstances.</div><div><br /></div><div>The main evening concerts in the Holywell Music Room were arguably the most traditionally-presented sessions, but even then the direction felt intimate and adventurous – at times, the camera was sometimes placed where some of the audience would be (gliding along benches), or if not, where it would block their view. We have been spoilt for some time now with live streams and cinema relays giving us close-ups of facial expressions and movements that are hard to discern in, say, the opera house. Here, though, the intimacy was enhanced by the camera’s interest: it seemed to be a particularly dynamic presence, giving us multiple points of view, circling the performers and capitalising on their intensity.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdESVvcWgVXwWPEhcxand7Byyy-ak-BhV6Ce0ch2h9CpMT7lB5MzOtSHubJldiqTr7-Bd_7-yqp3z7rxLKpdxUmRviJzdcw3_rfSvDUy5DwyWR21wvrd_4aqwzesbXEvAAuMLp6HuoGU8T/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="413" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdESVvcWgVXwWPEhcxand7Byyy-ak-BhV6Ce0ch2h9CpMT7lB5MzOtSHubJldiqTr7-Bd_7-yqp3z7rxLKpdxUmRviJzdcw3_rfSvDUy5DwyWR21wvrd_4aqwzesbXEvAAuMLp6HuoGU8T/" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>(Kitty Whately and Simon Lepper)</div><div><br /></div><div>I wondered if the performers, deprived of an audience right in front of them, channelled this energy instead. Certainly, we had a week of impassioned, committed performances. Kitty Whately’s programme dedicated to women poets (and including many female composers) reached extraordinary heights, in particular with the settings by Jonathan Dove, whose song cycles she has recorded with pianist Simon Lepper – not only demonstrating his intuitively sensitive touch here, but also truly Olympian skills as his own page-turner: knife-edge viewing. Roderick Williams and Christopher Glynn devoted their concert to settings of Thomas Hardy, ensuring a modern, informative recital with some captivating contemporary pieces from Judith Weir and Ian Venables, unfamiliar selections (to me) from Arnold Bax and James Burton, and finally, the complete Finzi song cycle ‘Before and After Summer’. Williams’s affable presence served the programme well as the darker songs built in emotional impact.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the day of premières, Carolyn Sampson and Joseph Middleton gave a typically well-balanced programme of lieder, mélodies and English art song, featuring the new work ‘Six Songs of Melmoth’ by Cheryl Frances Hoad, with text by Sophie Rashbook (inspired by novels by Sarah Parry and, originally, Charles Maturin). This was a bold, dramatic cycle concerning a pact with the devil – the protagonist can only escape hell by transferring the curse to another – and the work ends (spoiler alert!) with the singer beckoning the audience to take the bait. In a ‘real’ live setting, Sampson would of course have drawn all eyes towards her for the climax and dragged us willingly to damnation. But in these unusual circumstances, I doubt there will have been many ‘televisual’ artistic or cultural moments this year with the chilling impact of what Sampson manages to do here:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/z5eX2M5HPXo" width="320" youtube-src-id="z5eX2M5HPXo"></iframe></div><br /><div>(Carolyn Sampson and Joseph Middleton)</div><div><br /></div><div>As I mentioned at the start, the festival has taken care to imitate real live work, in one respect: the concerts are transient. Now gone after the catch-up interval, only some carefully selected excepts survive. As much as I could crave to revisit them, I sympathise with this – it allowed paying ticket-holders to share in an experience which then passes, never to be repeated, only relived.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I think the legacy of this year’s Oxford Lieder festival – and others like it – could be significantly longer lasting. Most of us want to get back into venues to support artists in person, but some people can’t – for a whole host of reasons: age, infirmity, disability, financial situation, lack of travel options, work/life balance. A hybrid model combining fully-attended gigs with online-only events – all fairly priced – could perhaps lead to growth for some festivals and events, with more performers able to take part (and therefore build their earnings back up) and a much wider range of ‘attendees’ – some of whom would actually be there, but not all.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the more join the enterprise, the better: Leeds Lieder managed to bring in audiences for its three autumn concerts, and it will be fascinating to see what form its spring festival takes. ENO reversed out of Ally Pally and returned to their home, the Coliseum, to perform Mozart’s Requiem: originally planned for a live audience, the second lockdown meant that instead, the performance was broadcast on BBC2, placing a new classical music event, seemingly out of nowhere, on weekend prime-time TV to a universally warm response. The awareness-raising potential from this point onwards is huge, and it could help not only place the arts industry in the forefront of the public’s consciousness, but throw much-needed lifelines to those working within it.</div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-56577276584611440112020-11-16T13:42:00.002-08:002020-11-29T03:51:31.551-08:00Mystery lays: Stef Conner, 'Riddle Songs'<div class="separator"></div><p><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><p><i>*</i></p><!--wp:paragraph-->
<p>This startling, life-affirming record somehow manages a feat that has otherwise eluded science so far: time travel. Stef Conner has composed a suite of songs that demonstrate how, through the arts, the past is all there, all at once, running parallel to our present. What are its secrets?</p>
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<p>A bit of background (although Conner’s liner notes for the CD are so informative and engrossing, I don’t want to simply replicate extracts here). Conner takes particular interest in combining research with composition: the theme of this album rests on the intriguing fact that there are no surviving Old English songs. Or, to be more precise, we have poetry and text, but no extant musical instruction or notation to go with them. Conner sets out to bring the words to life with new settings. Among these are a group of riddles, which give the album its name, as well as an overarching metaphor for the central puzzle behind the verse: that we can never know exactly how the music would have sounded.</p>
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<p>From the first glance at the evocative cover image, the disc looks set to catapult the listener back to an era when even ‘early music’ was in the future. Conner (alto voice, lyre) collaborates with Hanna Marti (soprano voice, harp) and Everlasting Voices, a ‘super-group’ of singers who assemble for specific projects, here conducted by Jonathan Brigg. Marti contributes or co-writes three tracks. The arrangements honour authentic instrumentation and tunings, without forcing anything material from the present day into the album’s soundworld.</p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><figure class="wp-block-image size-large is-resized" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-5227" height="379" src="https://artmuselondon.files.wordpress.com/2020/11/riddle-songs.jpg?w=1024" width="379" /></figure></div><p></p><p>However, this is not so much historically-informed, as historically <strong>inspired</strong> performance – and we are not listening to a reconstruction, some kind of attempt at reanimating a lost artform. This is brand new writing, brand new music – and it sounds like it. Conner is quick to flag where she references known early motifs and these can range from taking harmonic inspiration for a mnemonic rhyme from medieval Latin recitation settings (the splintered ‘Rune Poem’) to incorporating drones to simulate bagpipes (‘Song-pack’). But while at pains to acknowledge these launchpad characteristics, Conner is not reliant on them: instead, they are springboard for her own compositional verve and flair.</p><p></p>
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<p>Less than two minutes into the album and second track ‘Fire’ makes it clear that this is something different: the unexpected full force of Everlasting Voices bending chords around a winding tenor solo, the heat-intensity audible. The arrangement then tracks the demands of the lyric (the Phoenix myth), calming and resolving before building again to agitated repetition as flame engulfs the bird, then into the ambiguous closing hint at resurrection. Mirror track ‘Ice’, near the record’s close, uses a similar pattern of tension and release (no spoilers, but listen out for the modest jump-scare!) on an even more epic scale, the group nudging the storytelling along with dissonance/harmony as the narrative dictates.</p>
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<p>But even these arrangements are spare and steady, and much of the album is sparser still. It feels as though Conner has constructed a set of elements or patterns and made the most of the combinations they provide. Vocally, there is Everlasting Voices and the mix of sounds they provide; but Conner has also decided to sing both solo, and in duet with Marti. There are accompaniments by solo lyre, solo harp, sometimes both are together, other times both are absent. As a result, very few tracks present themselves with exactly the same mix of voices and instruments so, accordingly, there is always some variation in mood. There is no sense of chant or litany to fix this music in a tradition: its modern sensibility always wins through.</p>
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<p>There are exceptions, of course, to prove this rule. The ‘Rune Poem’ I mentioned above is split into segments that provide a consistent, anchoring thread throughout the disc, and is sung in its five-part entirety by Conner and Marti. Their voices complement each other beautifully and blend naturally: following the same melodic pattern (with the different colours/timbres from their own registers) they almost sound like a multi-tracked entity. Two tracks, ‘Flint’ and ‘Night-bard’, feature Conner accompanying herself alone on lyre, and the added intimacy this provides make one hope – without diminishing the shared achievement of this project in any way – that a solo record may lie in the future.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TG2NluGC5x4" width="320" youtube-src-id="TG2NluGC5x4"></iframe></div><p>(Video by Foxbrush Films)</p>
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<p>The album overall is utterly unafraid of space (plaudits to Paul Baxter here, too, for such three-dimensional clarity in the production). Key pauses are embraced. Even the lack of sustain from the lyre is used ingeniously, offsetting any sense of ethereal fragility with its blunt pulse – try ‘Seed Spell’ to hear how the voices are suspended above the percussive strum, almost like an acoustic click-track supporting the song’s ritualistic nature. Elsewhere, on ‘Tide-mother’, Marti’s cascading, rippling harp figure recalls the suggested answer to the text’s riddle, water.</p>
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<p>If setting a text to an onomatopoeic accompaniment calls to mind lieder or mélodies, no bad thing. I found this album spoke most clearly to me as art song, with its placing of existing verse in sympathetic settings that allow the instruments used to both serve the needs of the text while acting as the voice’s equal. And ‘Riddle Songs’ makes an excellent song cycle, with its multiple underlying themes (mythology, nature and the elements) and carefully-plotted sequencing that both builds to a climax and brings the album full circle.</p>
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<p>The record company calls this a ‘concept album’, and Conner herself has described it as ‘prog-choral’. In both cases, this is a little like saying “we have created this CD especially for you, Adrian”: however, the descriptions are just, as this record can cross genres quite comfortably. Anyone who follows, say, Dead Can Dance, cherishes the ‘Mystère des Voix Bulgares’ albums, or keeps an eye on the ECM New Series label (think Trio Mediaeval, especially) is sure to enjoy ‘Riddle Songs’.</p>
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<p>It’s a delight to discover an album steeped in history and heritage that, crucially, sounds so contemporary. A stunningly well-realised work.</p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>‘Riddle Songs’ is out now on Delphian Records – you can buy it directly from their online store: <a href="https://www.delphianrecords.com/products/stef-conner-riddle-songs">https://www.delphianrecords.com/products/stef-conner-riddle-songs</a></p>
<!--/wp:paragraph-->Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-83811163025025977632020-11-01T07:55:00.000-08:002020-11-01T07:55:30.698-08:00Yes, surprises: Rick Simpson, 'Everything All of the Time: Kid A Revisited'<p><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><p>*</p><p>This album is an extraordinary achievement – certainly no ordinary ‘covers project’. Rick Simpson and his ensemble wilfully tackle head-on perhaps the original writers’ most elusive set of tracks and, fittingly, bring the same sense of adventure to the material as Radiohead might recognise from recording much of their music first time around.</p><p>It’s impossible to approach a record like this – a song-for-song interpretation of Radiohead’s fourth album ‘Kid A’, released in celebration of its 20th anniversary – without mentally rewinding to one’s experience of the parent LP. Hindsight, and a handsome sequence of Radiohead albums since, help to give ‘Kid A’ a clear place in the scheme of things. But it remains an impressively strange album – not necessarily in its sound (it wears its electronica / modern composition influences on its sleeve like a fluorescent armband), but more in its approach and attitude.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDtpY9vypU5wahr1VbuZrOujYDeeOMugz1lGYt_xkTm9C7wvs4woaQfmBo5vdTFe8jn2PQnYeZCd3J3O39-rYj2RFP4HzcG-hU_mKui6VahYf0yWLLG148M_fW_duH25DqCnJ8Huo1u6p/s1200/rick+album+cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDtpY9vypU5wahr1VbuZrOujYDeeOMugz1lGYt_xkTm9C7wvs4woaQfmBo5vdTFe8jn2PQnYeZCd3J3O39-rYj2RFP4HzcG-hU_mKui6VahYf0yWLLG148M_fW_duH25DqCnJ8Huo1u6p/s320/rick+album+cover.jpg" /></a></div><p>In fact, Radiohead had taken great strides with every record, from a slightly muddy debut album, to the scarily assured follow-up ‘The Bends’, to the expansive, precision-prog of critical and commercial smash ‘OK Computer’. This time, however, the steps leading up to the next giant leap were tense and tentative. Reading back about how the band came to create ‘Kid A’, it feels as though they had a kind of collective ‘freeze’ in their ability to function; a sort of slow-building Y2K problem personified by five blokes in a studio.</p><p>And even though the album is its own kind of masterpiece, I think its traumatic origins are audible, in its grooves. I find it amazing still that they had enough material for two albums – yet the follow-up with the leftovers, ‘Amnesiac’, has the lion’s share of unshakeable melodies. And since then, they have constantly shifted this way and that, carving out their unique niche between the anthemic and the avant-garde. Think how many Radiohead songs (whether earlier – ‘Planet Telex’, ‘Lucky’, ‘The Bends’, ‘Karma Police’ – or later – ‘Burn the Witch’, ‘Supercollider’, ‘House of Cards’, ‘You and Whose Army?’, ‘There There’), whatever sense of angst or danger they carry, still have sections, even particular moments, that take you to a point of euphoria and release. But there in the middle, ‘Kid A’ is curiously bereft of those moments. It’s taken a crack team of jazz musicians to draw them out.</p><p>Radiohead are widely covered, not least in jazz – perhaps because they have such a distinctive musical stamp, especially in Thom Yorke’s unmistakeable vocals. I can imagine artists seeing a clear way through to making a Radiohead track their own, especially as an instrumental. I’d also speculate that as many of their tracks embrace sophistication (unusual time signatures, song structures) without being over-complex or messy, they must provide appealing starting points for improvisation.</p><p>But as bandleader and arranger, Simpson has set himself the unenviable challenge of re-working an entire Radiohead album: not only must each individual track go under the microscope – but can also he preserve the sense of unity and coherence over the whole set? Yes, it turns out.</p><p>Simpson himself is on piano, and he would be the first to acknowledge the contributions of his band: Tori Freestone and James Allsop on saxophones, Dave Whitford on bass and Will Glaser on drums. After performing this set together live, they recorded these album versions in one afternoon. As a result, they replace the original’s introverted hesitancy with a sense of excitement and drive: Yorke’s cut-up, repetitive lyrics from the original, that seemed to rein the ‘Kid A’ songs in, hold them back somehow – are, of course, now gone, and the tracks gain a renewed sense of purpose and forward motion.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKlDuFUOyNNA8d5NgBOKtb-zAnu64YZWXoHjMxqdih1YmdrgTTqclIzltRa6bBeCfHxWA85QJKJtYL_P2YQO986z6kE9IP_YASVItpYh0f5f3Ft38XeQb5O2s6YuckqG_bnGWv1-vI0-s/s1200/rick+portrait.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKlDuFUOyNNA8d5NgBOKtb-zAnu64YZWXoHjMxqdih1YmdrgTTqclIzltRa6bBeCfHxWA85QJKJtYL_P2YQO986z6kE9IP_YASVItpYh0f5f3Ft38XeQb5O2s6YuckqG_bnGWv1-vI0-s/s320/rick+portrait.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>This doesn’t mean any of the sensitivity is lost: far from it. ‘Treefingers’ is a virtually ambient instrumental on the original, a kind of looped chord sample that periodically renews itself. Simpson has percussion – rumbling toms and echoing cymbals – build the ambient ‘wash’, as delicately sustained piano dissolves into runs and trills before re-charging with a new chord, calling to mind the ‘release valve’ feel of the Radiohead version. Likewise the closing tune, ‘Motion Picture Soundtrack’, is barely there on ‘Kid A’, smothered in effects: Simpson exposes the beautiful melody using piano and saxophone, but then offsets it with a surround of percussion and second sax, honouring the original’s impulse to hide.</p><p>But if the aim of jazz is to surprise the listener, this group are on top of the brief. Anyone familiar with the title track of ‘Kid A’, its coiled riff perhaps the closest a song can sound to someone curling up into the foetal position, will be thrilled at how the band take its bare bones off in myriad different directions but preserve its stop-start restlessness and closing ‘mash-up’ of elements.</p><p>On the other hand, ‘The National Anthem’ – the Radiohead album’s most explicit nod to jazz – is skilfully harnessed into something more controlled and incisive. The insistent bassline is present and correct, but otherwise the track is turned inside out. The frontline horns providing the rhythms and, in a bravura individual performance, Simpson’s piano not only captures the throwaway vocal melody but leads the way in creating, solo, the sonic mayhem generated by an entire jazz group in the original. (Fortunately, everyone joins him by the end, so we’re not cheated of the track’s chaotic climax.)</p><p>For those tracks where ‘Kid A’ is at its most ‘song-like’, the ensemble waste no time in getting under the bonnet and re-tooling them in their own image. ‘Optimistic’ lives up to its title as the band take flight over a kind of demented samba-on-speed rhythm. ‘Idioteque’ hits a punch-the-air moment at around two-and-a-half minutes where the duelling saxophones are suddenly de-railed by the piano and bass imitating the keening vocal line (perhaps this is also one of Simpson’s favourite points, as the sung lyric here is “everything all of the time”).‘How to Disappear Completely’ is perhaps the most direct ‘cover’ here, using sax and piano to give us a loyal take on the original’s voice and guitar. But the restraint allows Freestone – here providing pared-down ‘swoon’ on violin – and Glaser to truly shine. (Listen out, too, for Glaser’s extraordinarily measured opening solo on ‘Morning Bell’.) It demonstrates how Simpson’s band mesh so well together that they can use their instruments to create a sense of ‘noise’ amid the melodies (a role played by glitchy samples and electronics on ‘Kid A’ itself).</p><p>To end at the beginning, one track that I think gloriously sums up the whole enterprise is ‘Everything in its Right Place’. It’s a modest start, over a minute shorter than the Radiohead version. It treats the original with respect, the haunting hook and progression in place, but in no time at all every band member has made their mark on it, Simpson finding endless melodic avenues around the pattern, Freestone and Allsop working in telepathic tandem to briefly bend and shape the tune in Simpson’s wake, while Whitford and Glaser awaken the beat into buoyant, unpredictable life.</p><p>Like the whole album, it brings the claustrophobic, insular world out into the light. It takes something electronic, trapped in its own machinery, and lets it breathe acoustically, on real instruments. It takes music borne of difficulty, intensity and uncertainty, and replays it with spontaneous, natural exuberance.</p><p>*</p><p>Rick Simpson’s ‘Everything All of the Time: Kid A Revisited’ is available to order now on vinyl, CD and download from the artist’s Bandcamp page: <a href="https://rick-simpson.bandcamp.com/album/everything-all-of-the-time-kid-a-revisited">https://rick-simpson.bandcamp.com/album/everything-all-of-the-time-kid-a-revisited</a></p>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-25640739059475207522020-10-18T09:45:00.001-07:002020-10-18T09:45:41.126-07:00Concrete jungle: 'Among the Trees', Hayward Gallery, Southbank Centre<p><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><p>*</p><p>At a time when the outside world desperately needs to recognise the importance of the arts, it’s fitting to see an entire exhibition of art on a mission to engage directly with the outside world.</p><p>‘Among the Trees’ includes pieces from 37 artists (based worldwide), working in a range of media: as we wander through the gallery’s twisty one-way path, we’re treated to painting, drawing, photography, video installation and sculpture. One or more trees feature in every work – no surprise there: as the gallery guide tells us, these are “artworks that ask us to think about trees and forests in different ways”.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyWqmcjd7uTQYwb3dc5Q1o6pSbdLOuMvFxgQivRfmmzAkm_cuaxDwyQ-P9RvRPx2bxEmH8nG7Ez6zn2or-xdm8l_81pECLHdAGAe3j-AxnRWHSohmg7ETPaY2QGU9XKJa4yxcSGvIEF3V/s2048/IMG_0158.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyWqmcjd7uTQYwb3dc5Q1o6pSbdLOuMvFxgQivRfmmzAkm_cuaxDwyQ-P9RvRPx2bxEmH8nG7Ez6zn2or-xdm8l_81pECLHdAGAe3j-AxnRWHSohmg7ETPaY2QGU9XKJa4yxcSGvIEF3V/s320/IMG_0158.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>How <b>do </b>we think about trees and forests? And why are they such constant features in our art, our consciousness even? I would guess that it’s something more than their innate beauty – in an increasingly volatile natural world, a love of trees is one of the ways we grasp at permanence. (Even mountains – those other, literal rocks of our imagination – no longer seem as immutable, immortal, as climate change attacks their snowcaps and glaciers.) No-one is claiming that trees are immune to these ravages – far from it – but they outlive and survive us, while showing us frequent revival, regeneration and resilience.</p><p>This symbolic quality, I feel, is what makes this very much a ‘Hayward’ exhibition – whereas you might expect a show devoted to trees to appear at a museum or botanical garden. The trees provide the ongoing motif around which we weave our attitudes, behaviour, history and politics. Inevitably, the impact of our resulting actions often turns them into our real-world victims, even accomplices. We’re in the (wooden) frame here – this isn’t ‘about’ the trees, after all, but us ‘among’ them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21nJp9PpvMqYW9Wb9WhfyseMvlNu4oHDYjeLGlLDsDa7HR8-tb4M7a-cP615-e-uO3KCqgmCDGCJ980cBFJGZaCf2joIXgLV-kJ-pw95ydeeojWGMPBfFxqZzrPL_4aAw3nsjNLTxeaT4/s2048/IMG_0165.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21nJp9PpvMqYW9Wb9WhfyseMvlNu4oHDYjeLGlLDsDa7HR8-tb4M7a-cP615-e-uO3KCqgmCDGCJ980cBFJGZaCf2joIXgLV-kJ-pw95ydeeojWGMPBfFxqZzrPL_4aAw3nsjNLTxeaT4/s320/IMG_0165.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>I found Sally Mann’s photography almost unbearably evocative: using only technology that would have been available at the time, she has created images of Deep South locations that don’t flinch from the macabre associations of the trees they feature. While the blurred elements might speak to our wish that these impulses belong in the past, the tree itself – potentially weaponised – is in sharp, unforgiving focus. Nearby, the message is underlined by a photograph of a ‘lynching tree’, taken by the director Steve McQueen, while he was filming ’12 Years a Slave’ in Louisiana.</p><p>The starkness of this picture highlights the way the exhibition sometimes sits between art and reportage, some of the artists using their particular modes of expression to make us ‘re-see’ what is right there in front of us. Jeff Wall provides a signature massive photograph called ‘Daybreak’: beneath an empty sky occupying more or less the top half of the image, Bedouin olive pickers sleep next to the olive grove where they work. At first glance, Wall’s composition gives us descending lines of shapes hugging the ground: the low canopy of the trees, the sleeping figures, the rocks and stones. But on the horizon, the flat roof of a huge Israeli prison is visible: Wall tells us he was interested in the contrast between the Bedouin, free to sleep in the open air, and the inmates confined to their cells. The trees seem to provide a barrier between the workers and the prison: it is easy to infer that, to these people, the grove is nourishment, protection, a lifeline. Yto Barrada’s acutely observant photography uses the ability of trees to persist in growing under difficult conditions to highlight the surrounding scenes of urban monotony or decay.</p><p>By contrast, Johanna Calle creates a wholly unnatural image, with ‘Perímetros (Nogal Andino)’: a silhouette of an Andean walnut tree. Closer inspection reveals that the dark expanse is in fact a typed transcript. The wording comes from Colombia’s Law of Land Restitution (2011); the paper from an antique land register, and the tree itself symbolises land ownership. As the gallery notes say, the piece fits into the context of Calle’s other work, which “questions the power and authority of the written word over oral traditions” – here that is, I understand, the fact that the complex texts of modern lawmaking can only attempt to do what planting trees once achieved. For me, it’s also a work of absences: the innovative medium means we do not get to see Colombia, nor those whose land was stolen. Its aesthetic of stylised typography means the tree is only suggested, not actually there: a coolly eloquent expression of displacement. Fittingly, the exhibition also includes work by one of the displaced, Abel Rodriguez, who relies on his memory to paint the home he left behind.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtf9NYyMZUaj-J0llcx3vOlWJ__GUNlXjQuqjuzd8XHjQM28sXNa3vF3Wl2za_LNlpkBdYevbKQm8el4pr6oNUIthgxbtM2dh5u52f2TtwkG_6YPHVet5xaUTDe9IWlyptiegVgxgSkZ6I/s2048/IMG_0169.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1774" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtf9NYyMZUaj-J0llcx3vOlWJ__GUNlXjQuqjuzd8XHjQM28sXNa3vF3Wl2za_LNlpkBdYevbKQm8el4pr6oNUIthgxbtM2dh5u52f2TtwkG_6YPHVet5xaUTDe9IWlyptiegVgxgSkZ6I/s320/IMG_0169.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>Some of the exhibition’s most powerful work found the artists using the tree as a kind of organic mirror, the better to examine themselves and their practices. Kirsten Everberg, heavily influenced by film locations, paints a birch grove, ‘lit’ in the manner of Tarkovsky’s ‘Ivan’s Childhood’. Zoe Leonard’s photographs evoke the strain against creative boundaries through images of trees pushing through fences or outgrowing confined spaces. George Shaw’s charcoal drawing of a fallen tree – a starker, monochrome contrast to his usual paintings apparently inspired by his father’s death – is inescapably poignant. We see not just the collapse of the trunk, but the exposed, unearthed roots. Two photographers – Rodney Graham and Robert Smithson – give us ‘upside-down’ trees, both prompting us to look at the subjects almost as abstract patterns (Graham) or systems (Smithson) without our pre-set ‘tree-love’ doing half the work for us.</p><p>There are spectacular pieces from contributors tackling environmental issues head on. Two brilliant, large-scale video installations challenge our powers of observation. Jennifer Steinkamp’s ‘Blind Eye, 1’ is a digitally-manipulated animation showing an ‘impossible’ forest (we are in the thick of it, with no floor or canopy to orientate us) rattle through all four seasons in three minutes. It’s a bravura contrast with Eija-Liisa Ahtila’s multi-screen film of a spruce. The images are turned 90 degrees, so that we see the tree sideways – bringing home the notion that we see the tops of trees so rarely compared to the bases: what other details do we routinely miss? On the subject of spruces, there is Rachel Sussman’s photograph of a 9,500-year-old specimen that has been quite happy close to the ground for all that time, until the warming climate forced a late growth spurt over the last 50 years. An extraordinary ‘trompe l’oeil’ sculpture by Kazuo Kadonaga re-assembles a cedar tree from hundreds of thin paper sheets it was used to create.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCtSZVN7ocIOvJ23amFdv5Ir6oz8APnxf0VimlEGugeaR_Qjbu9ZOD6_8aUa-Mh-zZiT-O8mwbaVhzn2FI_2Qdz8U8Nn2y-GfIbJiWIxf4bR_-i3wcFhEnTj_r8FikqMrDd4GVDefs7oA/s2048/IMG_0159.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCtSZVN7ocIOvJ23amFdv5Ir6oz8APnxf0VimlEGugeaR_Qjbu9ZOD6_8aUa-Mh-zZiT-O8mwbaVhzn2FI_2Qdz8U8Nn2y-GfIbJiWIxf4bR_-i3wcFhEnTj_r8FikqMrDd4GVDefs7oA/s320/IMG_0159.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>I can’t mention everyone, of course, but I think the real power of the exhibition lies in its collective, cumulative effect. Putting down metaphorical roots, the trees do provide a consistent, conceptual still point that can withstand the storm of messages and statements around it. It’s impossible to take in the show without your mind filling with contradiction and conflict. For example, the irony cannot be lost on the artists that in most cases, trees have been sacrificed to bring their work into existence.</p><p>And, as I so often find with the Hayward, the gallery almost always seems to become one of its own exhibits. Part of the brutalist monolith of London’s Southbank Centre, the space’s unforgiving, slab-concrete shell means that the hang itself is a kind of surreal triumph, daring the natural world to gain the upper hand.
Please go if you get the chance.</p><p>*</p><p>‘Among the Trees’ is now running to 31 October.</p><p>While current restrictions are in place, you must book a timed ticket in advance, at <a href="https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/art-exhibitions/among-trees?eventId=855751">https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/art-exhibitions/among-trees?eventId=855751</a></p><p>Photos by me.</p>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-69959770204941562272020-10-03T10:26:00.000-07:002020-10-03T10:26:03.253-07:00Across time and space: Carolyn Sampson & Matthew Wadsworth at Wigmore Hall<div><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlYDSN5QkKM7-IEB09IldgPCv64hMPY8gxaASF-R_Vyz1DTG50habtExNFVNEW2g2ezrtcGwx_3ysI5hjgEloifOxRXKDhgEYS8xIsTNHgejLs_Uv-T4oZAYa0zLRQPhtCak_K7BoKguAz/s981/Carolyn+Matt+Wig+5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="815" data-original-width="981" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlYDSN5QkKM7-IEB09IldgPCv64hMPY8gxaASF-R_Vyz1DTG50habtExNFVNEW2g2ezrtcGwx_3ysI5hjgEloifOxRXKDhgEYS8xIsTNHgejLs_Uv-T4oZAYa0zLRQPhtCak_K7BoKguAz/s320/Carolyn+Matt+Wig+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Even if there had been no lockdown, and no live music drought to go with it, I think I would have been excited about this concert to borderline-unmanageable levels.</p><div>Carolyn Sampson is one of my very favourite singers, and – to my delight – has shown a strong focus on art song in recent years, performing in support of a brilliant series of albums with pianist Joseph Middleton, and in a separate project, fortepianist Kristian Bezuidenhout. This is the live context where I’ve seen her the most.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this hasn’t affected her devotion to the type of older repertoire for which she was already justly renowned. (For example, she appears with regular colleagues Bach Collegium Japan on their recent recording of the St Matthew Passion, which has just won the 2020 Gramophone Award in the Choral category.) This is an area where I’ve done most of my catching up on disc, so any chance to hear her sing early (earlier?) music with another long-standing duo partner, lutenist Matthew Wadsworth, is to be gratefully seized.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, this is art song too, in a way, if not in the ‘textbook’, more modern sense of lieder, or mélodies. We are still hearing settings of pre-existing verse for one voice and one instrument. (And no dividing line is necessary – take Britten’s Purcell arrangements, for instance.) But something about the nowhere-to-hide clarity, or the nimble movement from the lute and its wholly different interaction with the voice, cast a spell over me in a way I’m not completely used to. Art song for me is a slightly obsessive love, an immersion, an abandonment. A security blanket, a bottomless well. This concert – and I mean this as the highest praise – pinned me to my seat, transfixed, almost trapped. I almost wanted to stop breathing at certain points, in case I invaded the sound myself.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxupWm_rddoNOGzYwp6S-dAu0RN_QSNPNtT3FxALvs1sNWfFATtMGYC4rfE-36i-5tI96v865CkZUDQ1HcoaPRz7Ye60mlYkJLaw7J9lsCvIyjOyaLK2MRWvfhubbXMlaPVQOw6zHPuDpt/s1242/Carolyn+Matt+Wig+4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="815" data-original-width="1242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxupWm_rddoNOGzYwp6S-dAu0RN_QSNPNtT3FxALvs1sNWfFATtMGYC4rfE-36i-5tI96v865CkZUDQ1HcoaPRz7Ye60mlYkJLaw7J9lsCvIyjOyaLK2MRWvfhubbXMlaPVQOw6zHPuDpt/s320/Carolyn+Matt+Wig+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>The pin-drop silence in the room was all the better for appreciating the pin-sharp performances. I want to say Sampson’s performance was characteristically beautiful. What I want to convey by that is her ability to sing so clearly, cleanly and accurately while wrapping up that technical skill in an emotional truth – a brightness of tone that she can nonetheless bend and shape into any timbre the song requires, and make it feel like the most natural form of communication in the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>The duo’s chosen programme – of ‘favourite 17th-century songs’ – was designed to show music’s presence and importance in all areas of life, and the resulting range of moods allowed Sampson to demonstrate the variety of vocal colours at her command. From the humorous ‘Paggington’s Pound’ (an ode to thievery that involved some superb, if not quite sleight-of-hand, business with Wadsworth’s wallet) to the deeply involving laments of Robert Johnson, or constantly-shifting moods of Purcell’s ‘Bess of Bedlam’. As a strong actor-singer, Sampson’s intricate renditions consistently drew you into further intimacy and engagement. I can recall a couple of moments in the songs I mention above that I forgot our collective situation: forgot my mask; forgot there was no-one sitting near us, or in the rows closest to the stage; forgot the vague tingle in my hands from the 19 varieties of hand-sanitiser I’d already used that day. Such is the power of live music.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wadsworth played with extraordinary sensitivity – I am in awe of these complex, dazzling patterns that track the voice with seemingly telepathic sympathy, whether winding its way through its own tune, or providing the necessary wash to ‘float’ the notes above it. I think it takes a rare musician to make you feel you’re hearing ‘Greensleeves’ for the first time, but allow Wadsworth’s robust solo through one of the verses to persuade you accordingly.</div><div><br /></div><div>I should also make special mention of ‘Echoes in Air’, a solo theorbo piece composed by Laura Snowden last year especially for Wadsworth. A remarkably evocative instrumental, it showcases Wadsworth’s formidable touch with near-repeating chords and clusters of notes moving ‘in and out’ – louder then softer – of hearing range, taking full advantage of the resonant bass notes the larger instrument can provide. While certainly melodic, it was as much about ambience and rhythm: it stretches across the years by treating the theorbo as fully modern, with minimum fuss.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ONTdPE8Q6txRiPVhKaiM_4OnZaHTTlOfTGolPtbQWsIyKO_PgYzixGoqtEm6I9ogECl_NTw2otB1ROwNI7HQ6TTqrG30z50HkGeIHazAsBbfmHApkhSt8lo5oU-rP2F-LJNVHz1PV0jx/s1126/Carolyn+Matt+Wig+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="1126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ONTdPE8Q6txRiPVhKaiM_4OnZaHTTlOfTGolPtbQWsIyKO_PgYzixGoqtEm6I9ogECl_NTw2otB1ROwNI7HQ6TTqrG30z50HkGeIHazAsBbfmHApkhSt8lo5oU-rP2F-LJNVHz1PV0jx/s320/Carolyn+Matt+Wig+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>(If you’ll forgive the genre side-step, I think anyone who likes acoustic guitarists who experiment with fingerpicking techniques and multiple tunings – think John Fahey, Michael Chapman, Gwenifer Raymond, James Blackshaw, Marisa Anderson, Glenn Jones and many more – might be drawn to this piece. I visited Laura Snowden’s website after the event to find that guitar is her instrument and she composes in folk and rock spheres as well as classical.)</div><div><br /></div><div>In the sense that ‘Echoes in Air’ – as an interpretation of the title could suggest – was like breath given voice, a musical expression of the presence of life, it was a perfect fit for this concert.</div><div><br /></div><div>The concert was also a perfect fit for the times. The performances would have been stellar under any circumstances, but how much more exposing must it have felt for Sampson and Wadsworth with such reduced attendance? – a fraction of the usual applause, murmur and rustle of programmes (and, perhaps on a more positive note, people seem extremely reluctant to let loose a volley of coughing…). We tried our best to clap as if we were our actual number several times over. But I believe the moments of space and silence only served to draw us more intently into the music, and bring us all – performers and audience – closer together: their welcome collaboration and our eager appreciation making a kind of communion that still managed to suspend the restrictions and absences, if only for that hour or so.</div><div><br /></div><div>*</div><div><br /></div><div>Wigmore Hall’s current season continues, under current guidelines, with reduced audiences. Friends of Wigmore Hall can apply for concert tickets by ballot. However, every single concert is available to live-stream (and then watch afterwards) on the Wigmore Hall website. These are free to view, but of course, please donate if you can.</div><div><br /></div><div>Find out more at <a href="https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/">https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>This concert is available at: <a href="https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/live-streams/carolyn-sampson-soprano-matthew-wadsworth-lute">https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/live-streams/carolyn-sampson-soprano-matthew-wadsworth-lute</a></div><div><br /></div><div>All the lunchtime concerts are being broadcast by BBC Radio 3, and as usual will then move to BBC Sounds. Go directly to this concert at: <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000ms2f">https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000ms2f</a></div><div><br /></div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-84074186507648702020-09-19T08:43:00.003-07:002020-09-19T08:54:04.308-07:00Promentum!<div><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><i>This was written and first posted in the run-up to the Last Night of the Proms. A couple of sentences have therefore aged a little already, but I have left the piece as it was - after all, it is mainly about the future.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>*</i></div><div><br /></div>Many of you reading this will be aware that the pandemically-adjusted 2020 Proms season has just shifted up a gear. Since mid-July, the BBC has raided its archives and broadcast selected performances from past years. Now, however, there is an all-too-brief fortnight of live performances from an audience-free Royal Albert Hall, available on various platforms for remote viewers and listeners.<div><br /></div><div>The First Night concert had the effect you might expect, the euphoria of hearing the live orchestra and singers tempered by the poignancy of their loneliness in the space: uplifting and unsettling all at once. It would be a good time – and a good example, perhaps – to focus the public’s attention on the ongoing impact this surreal state of affairs is having on the industry as the help so many artists need remains elusive.</div><div><br /></div><div>So it was rather dispiriting to find that the ‘Proms conversation’ seemed to be completely overwhelmed by the ‘Rule Britannia’/’Land of Hope and Glory’ controversy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Full disclosure: I wrote a piece some time ago musing that the Last Night of the Proms is not quite the jingoistic rave-up it’s often presented as. I’ve been lucky enough to be in the Hall myself on a Last Night, and its intentions felt to me rather more multi-national and inclusive, given the global reach of the flags waved in the hall, as well as the performers on stage. And while Elgar’s music commands respect, the majority of the patriotic home-straight sequence is shot through with irony and satire, the Prommers sending up the old warhorses – and themselves – gamely and reliably.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZu-nRdudMX3mh3ogz_Yban2QbSxpkZ0AS7jCI9tBY_rBpxGuqomWQHNxGNphFJa90cqc4eK-fYd8RM7bYupgB9O8bOwJfdbjpNctbp1e6aadUTy_9dwTIQq96WuBs40xN7rOF9i8NwoE/s448/proms+2020+logo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZu-nRdudMX3mh3ogz_Yban2QbSxpkZ0AS7jCI9tBY_rBpxGuqomWQHNxGNphFJa90cqc4eK-fYd8RM7bYupgB9O8bOwJfdbjpNctbp1e6aadUTy_9dwTIQq96WuBs40xN7rOF9i8NwoE/s320/proms+2020+logo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>For me the issue remains fascinatingly knotty. Many keenly anticipate, for example, finding out exactly how the star performer will choose to tackle ‘Rule Britannia’. The recent instances that come immediately to my mind are Juan Diego Florez and Jamie Barton, both subverting the song to make witty, memorable and politically-charged points. One could argue that leaving in the song provides a platform in this way, while shining a light on our own darker historical moments without erasure. This platform would disappear along with ‘Rule Britannia’. But then, would removing the song not remove the need for the platform? And so, endlessly, on.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the world has changed in recent years, and perhaps certain rituals – however ‘fascinating’ I might find them – should change with it. As someone who must surely have close to maximum privilege, I can afford to be completely indifferent to ‘Rule Britannia’, and my opinion could not matter less. If any Last Night content causes misunderstanding or pain; forms a barrier to communication and goodwill; divides rather than unites – then it’s ripe for re-examination and possible renewal or removal. It’s not an issue of free speech or censorship – rather one of awareness and compassion.</div><div><br /></div><div>And surely any decision is fluid: lack of nuance is so rife these days that many seem to think that all views are unchangeable and all decisions are irreversible – but this issue will take as much re-thinking as you want to throw at it. I understand this year the intention is to perform ‘Rule’ and ‘Land’ with orchestra only. [<i>EDIT: In the event, they were sung in ensemble.</i>] In future, perhaps the key soloist at the Last Night could decide whether they want to perform ‘Rule’, meaning it would be there some years and not others? Perhaps they could bring a treasured song from their own country? Or perhaps the entire programme of the Last Night could and should be completely different every year anyway? – see below.</div><div><br /></div><div>Whatever the rights/wrongs or pros/cons of the pieces themselves, there’s another, underlying problem that might be more difficult to solve: the image this gives the Proms. For plenty of casual observers, ‘the Proms’ are the flag-waving whoop-a-thons of the Last Night’s final section. They’re not necessarily aware of the music immediately before that. They don’t spot that the major BBC1 broadcast is only part 2 of the concert – the first half, which contains the full range and variety of the Last Night programming and will feature the stars of the show Doing Their Actual Thing, is still shown but tucked away on another channel. They will not fully appreciate – despite the name – that by the time you get to the Last Night, there have already been around 75 concerts (uniquely accessible in terms of the affordable standing tickets and 100% radio broadcast) with everyone involved playing and listening to music like normal people.</div><div><br /></div><div>This gives me a lot of sympathy with those who believe the entire Last Night could be revamped. I’m drawn to the non-political angle suggesting that one of the world’s most prestigious music festivals shouldn’t really end in a knees-up, and that a totally different kind of concert could take its place.</div><div><br /></div><div>But inevitably, politics isn’t far away. We know that there are branches of our society who defend ‘Rule Britannia’ (without really knowing what the words mean, or why it is sung at the Proms, or even what the Proms actually are), in the same way they defend Brexit, live and breathe racism and bigotry, and vote for a Government that appears content to let the arts industry collapse. One wonders how they will hear their beloved anthem in future, with no singers, players or venues.</div><div><br /></div><div>I’m minded to think that the creative solutions we need will come from the creative minds that have been so badly impacted. Everyone has necessarily had to manage their own reaction to lockdown. But many artists, musicians and organisations have not just found ways to keep performing, but developed and innovated new approaches to doing so.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3bWrs-Z6VkDq2eT84L7_d4VHGP6if8exz9O7kcLS8OUh42ETbWeFUx3juErqIpAlCLm0oQI8WuO_6z_bObIGwsiAfLJrbt12KOd8v_38LoU2AMLJtgwZuzGuF0g7pyeMXaZQd1xtzoYm/s1407/momentum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3bWrs-Z6VkDq2eT84L7_d4VHGP6if8exz9O7kcLS8OUh42ETbWeFUx3juErqIpAlCLm0oQI8WuO_6z_bObIGwsiAfLJrbt12KOd8v_38LoU2AMLJtgwZuzGuF0g7pyeMXaZQd1xtzoYm/s320/momentum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The Momentum initiative is one of these heartening new ideas. Created by the acclaimed soprano and conductor Barbara Hannigan, Momentum is a recently-launched – but already vast – network of established artists in the classical music industry who have all committed to bring an emerging artist ‘on board’ for at least one of their engagements next season. The leading artist is responsible for identifying their beneficiary. The emerging artist benefits from the learning/mentoring on offer, and receives payment (often this will be part of the leading artist’s fee).</div><div><br /></div><div>For me, the elegance of this idea is in its self-sustaining, people-focused yet realistic approach. Plenty of partner organisations (venue and orchestras) have signed up to the model. But the concept itself is rooted in the artistic community nourishing its own support system: it preserves quality, because the emerging artist must already be professional (there’s no ‘anyone can apply’ aspect); and it doesn’t rely on any official, external body’s approval, or (thank God) willingness to fund it.</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, I would love to see it go further. Once Momentum really gains… well, you know… then we could see venues transform their entire seasons. Imagine the range of programming we might see at somewhere like Wigmore Hall, which already has form for showcasing new talent. Could this lead to a commitment from, say, the BBC to broadcast the emerging artists (sessions on BBC Radio 3’s ‘In Tune’, for example)? Could an enterprising record label jump on board with a pledge to release performances by the participants on ‘Momentum’ CDs or downloads, which could be compilations, EPs or full-blown albums accordingly depending on the repertoire available – or performable – at the time?</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wish classical music would borrow a bit of rock music’s aggression to get it in front of the public (and Momentum has a strong ‘taking a protégé / support band under your wing’ vibe about it).</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I’ve asked the question before: why can we not have a regular classical music TV show? The answers ‘it’ll cost money / no-one will watch it’ are inadequate, because the BBC believe (rightly) there is a home audience for the Proms for the entire season, including a magazine show, which disappears when the Proms end. But the audience – now Prom-less – are still there! The programme could feature sessions (like a classical ‘Later’) or profiles, look at new releases, and so on.</li><li>It would be great to see any performers (who are able to) explore outlets for their music that don’t necessarily rely on record companies and certainly not on streaming. Bandcamp is a key contender here – if you are a solo instrumentalist, art song duo, small band – whatever works – and you can record your music to a level you’re comfortable with, please consider or investigate releasing it yourself as a download. (Lisette Oropesa is a high-profile example.)</li><li>I realise that for some, this might mean certain compromises – available technology, sound quality, performance acoustic – but, while I love gorgeously-recorded CDs as much as anyone, I also think perfection is a bit of a cult. In rock, folk or jazz, people become accustomed to – and happily seek out – something a little more rough and ready (the popularity of bands releasing demos, alternate takes and live albums testifies to this). It’s no coincidence that fans have been overjoyed to hear Angela Hewitt or Igor Levit simply film their hands at their home piano, or watch multiple-view choirs singing ‘together’ but remotely. It’s the music we need to hear, with the added bonus of taking us closer to our favourite artists’ processes. It doesn’t ‘replace’ live performance (as lockdown has shown us), but it can complement it, once lockdown is a memory. The idea that classical music needs to be ‘pristine’ is something imposed upon it, not innate.</li></ul></div><div>More of this sort of thing. Let’s not give people an excuse to box up classical music as something that hides behind closed doors, apart from a 20-minute window of hip-hip-hooray in early Autumn. It’s open, inclusive, vibrant, changing, challenging, in-your-face, exciting, soothing, life-affirming – thanks to the imaginations, attitudes and actions of those who bring it to life. And we need to keep talking about them.</div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-60230189218109316032020-09-07T16:03:00.001-07:002020-09-13T07:10:26.109-07:0010 x 10A while back, Frances Wilson's blog 'The Cross Eyed Pianist' (where I'm a regular reader and guest writer) celebrated its 10th anniversary. We contributors were asked to send something in to mark the occasion - so I offered a playlist.<div><br /></div><div>Just one guiding principle informed the selections: 10 tracks, each lasting around 10 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is the - *ahem* - 'mix', released back into society on Specs. I hope you enjoy it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreuvvhJVSrgTqXwywdPY0M2yWXqxb0-2YxPD_Y_6R22dtDanE5UNqtvYb_GdtP81r5G42cVQvKfcxU5vKvCZjs7gdKo7s9Ue700AhyphenhyphenGOlBPLqPevYqmLb5tfbjv2BA_mbfBlIzlo19B6O/s960/Adrian+on+8+May.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreuvvhJVSrgTqXwywdPY0M2yWXqxb0-2YxPD_Y_6R22dtDanE5UNqtvYb_GdtP81r5G42cVQvKfcxU5vKvCZjs7gdKo7s9Ue700AhyphenhyphenGOlBPLqPevYqmLb5tfbjv2BA_mbfBlIzlo19B6O/s320/Adrian+on+8+May.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>* </div><div><br /></div>
1. Berlin Philharmoniker / Kubelik – Wagner: ‘Lohengrin’ Prelude to Act 1.<div>2. Ravi Shankar, Philip Glass – ‘Offering’.</div><div>3. Ruby Hughes, Allan Clayton, Benedict Nelson, Joseph Middleton – Britten / Purcell: ‘Saul and the Witch at Endor’.</div><div>4. North Sea Radio Orchestra – ‘Shelley’s Skylark’.</div><div>5. John Williams – Sculthorpe: ‘From Kakadu’.</div><div>6. The Stone Roses – ‘Fools Gold’.</div><div>7. Dead Can Dance – ‘Indus’.</div><div>8. Third Ear Band – ‘Ghetto Raga’.</div><div>9. Paul Lewis – Schubert: Impromptus, D.899, no.1.</div><div>10. Berliner Philharmoniker / Karajan – Debussy: ‘Prelude a l’apres-midi d’un faune’.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="encrypted-media" allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/playlist/0zgEwOWvjXknQSoyq2FYTG" width="300"></iframe>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-12408550080898316022020-08-23T11:26:00.001-07:002020-08-23T11:29:12.504-07:00Window to the inner world: Heather Leigh, 'Glory Days'<p><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><p><i>*</i></p><p>Heather Leigh’s previous release, ‘Throne’, was one of my favourite albums of 2018. Picking up the record unawares, you might expect country rock – Leigh sings, and her chief instrument is pedal steel guitar – but that would be a mistake. On first listen, you might wonder just what it is you’ve let yourself in for. Then, a track or two later, you can’t fathom how you were ever without it.</p><p>Leigh’s work often presents the thrill of opposites, not least in the way she somehow belongs firmly in the avant-garde, yet at the same time produces such inviting, accessible music. She has other musical ‘lives’ – for example, her fearless improvisation duo with veteran saxophone wielder Peter Brötzmann – that perhaps explain the discipline she must need to assemble her intimate, intricate solo records.
</p><p>‘Throne’ is an astonishing experience – a suite of music designed to be devoured whole (live, Leigh performed it in order, without pause). Building a wall of sound with pedal steel and effects kit, the backing ranges from luxurious to lacerating. Holding it all together is Leigh’s voice; blessed with character and range, she draws you in, close-miked, the intimate lyrics both confessional and confrontational, the flow of words somehow containing the music’s turmoil.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fast forward to spring 2020: music industry activity as we know it stops dead. Taking inspiration from a potentially desperate situation, Boomkat Records – an online shop and label with a focus on independent, original releases that could easily pass under the radar – started inviting musicians they admired to make recordings under lockdown conditions for a series called ‘Documenting Sound’. The idea, it seems to me, is to give us an insight into the genesis of these artists’ music: what would they come up with in a limited timeframe using just the tools at their disposal? – and in a nod to the whole ‘demo’ vibe, the releases are on cassette, housed in a starkly-designed livery. (Fortunately for anyone who last played a tape in biblical times, high-quality downloads are available, too.)</div><p>‘Glory Days’ is Leigh’s contribution to the series. However, she has produced another masterpiece which transcends the unusual way it was made; far richer than a swift demo would allow, this is a rewarding and complete work, very much a natural successor to ‘Throne’ while in some respects, representing its opposite (that word again!).</p><p>If ‘Throne’ was ‘considered’, say, in the sense that it was made in a studio, and conveys a narrative feel, of stories being shared – ‘Glory Days’ is unfettered. It is an experimental work – with 13 tracks in around 30 minutes, it can work perfectly well – in fact, works best, in my view – as a suite or cycle of songs united by its central idea. Leigh buys into Boomkat’s brief, bringing whatever’s around her: synthesiser and cuatro feature alongside the pedal steel, resulting in a record suspended between analogue and digital, acoustic and electric.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhCHDKgxq9g3crT0mlhSlPIfLQ4EfcVkq5nEf3d98U8T1xZiwfW1bjY2RNBHmpwpdN_Yds5NE0C6Z7qVP8qO5Np_S4sHO1uY96TE-4mxb7rmB4jw7Ams580G06pAKye1hG194Cq5FFc4_/s600/heather+leigh+glory+days.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhCHDKgxq9g3crT0mlhSlPIfLQ4EfcVkq5nEf3d98U8T1xZiwfW1bjY2RNBHmpwpdN_Yds5NE0C6Z7qVP8qO5Np_S4sHO1uY96TE-4mxb7rmB4jw7Ams580G06pAKye1hG194Cq5FFc4_/w384-h384/heather+leigh+glory+days.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Interaction of natural and unnatural runs through the album. As its inlay mentions, it was “recorded at home with the window open”, and the found sounds that work their way into the tracks (street noises, birdsong) contribute to the sense of spontaneity – for example, a short way into the brief chant ‘The Peace of Wild Things’, Leigh finds herself duetting with a canine partner, letting rip close by. It is up to us to decide to what extent these sounds are ‘treated’, but I think in moments like this, the album celebrates brilliant accidents: Leigh could have re-recorded the song, of course, but the take here has a thrilling, urgent humour. It’s decisions like these that show, I think, how Leigh has been able to ‘play’ her surroundings like an instrument.<p></p><p>That open window also symbolises our disrupted relationship with ‘outside’ during lockdown. For some it’s totally off-limits, with potentially far-reaching consequences. For others, it’s accessible, but changed, or reduced. Leigh’s music is reaching for the out of bounds – nature, travel, not to mention gigs, collaborations, work – and gathering the elements it can get hold of indoors. One of the most beautiful and affecting tracks features delicately-picked cuatro and Leigh’s wordless vocal – as if leaving words behind might strengthen the connection with the birds also singing, high in the mix. Only its ominous title, ‘Death Switch’, hints at the precarious natural balance and artificiality of the bond.</p><p>But the additional depth in ‘Glory Days’ involves looking inwards, too. The album has a classical, minimalist feel in places, in the sense that it takes particular ideas and works them through to a conclusion. ‘Phrases on the Mount’ describes itself, as Leigh tests gradually changing – and climbing – versions of the opening line, as if in search of the perfect result, a game of lyrical consequences. ‘Aretha’ is blink-and-you’ll-miss-it short, a mantra that pulls your focus in to concentrate on the tiny shifts in timbre, and timing, even the breaths Leigh takes merging with the ambient hum.</p><p>Paring some tracks down to a single line in this way amps up their incantatory feel, as if we are party to a more ritualistic type of creation, an insight into lockdown seclusion. So much of the music just yearns, whether it’s in the fabric of the keening instrumentals ‘Molly’ and ‘Island’, or the disco pulse of ‘Take Just a Little’. Some of the repetition hints at obsession, making significant changes – and they do come – utterly seismic: no spoilers, but key moments like this await in ‘All I Do is Lust’ and ‘In the View of Time’.</p><p>This unique, uncompromising record presents Leigh’s mind to you a little like a transistor radio. We’re turning the dial, stumbling across transmissions that are fully-formed, perfectly realised, complete. But they already existed before we arrived, and they are still there now.</p><p>*</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEfXwV2lEWcim0bLlk9OjFbwIZbgdSVyRO9iWuN5o4ZZfc7UIh7DNX7rogD3xydj2ylWLkWOuXlRPZanOX6iHFApDAXPkM84KyA6LhFrv3JLCKkVb9PeFPlfCHESgdMHyNjDbbwFFntv3/s1000/throne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEfXwV2lEWcim0bLlk9OjFbwIZbgdSVyRO9iWuN5o4ZZfc7UIh7DNX7rogD3xydj2ylWLkWOuXlRPZanOX6iHFApDAXPkM84KyA6LhFrv3JLCKkVb9PeFPlfCHESgdMHyNjDbbwFFntv3/w328-h328/throne.jpg" width="328" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I’ve written about ‘Throne’ as well as ‘Glory Days’ – partly because I am sure that if you hear one you will want the other. Both are available from Boomkat Records here at these links.</p><p><a href="https://boomkat.com/products/glory-days-46994527-6caa-48da-8436-50c599899a66">'Glory Days'</a></p><p><a href="https://boomkat.com/products/throne-a8248eb5-ab67-4495-9089-e99be1d9f698">'Throne'</a></p>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-27612528913322852412020-08-08T08:01:00.001-07:002020-08-08T08:05:13.278-07:00Simple pleasures?<p><i>This post first appeared on Frances Wilson's excellent blog 'The Cross-Eyed Pianist'. For a variety of features that - alongside a special interest in all aspects of piano playing and listening - focus on wider classical music and cultural issues, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://crosseyedpianist.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p><p><i>*</i></p><p>The discussion that will not die: elitism in classical music. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve taken part in it, both in conversation and, here and there, in writing. What keeps it grinding on, blocking the through-routes to open-hearted enjoyment and appreciation?</p><p>Don’t worry – I can hear your response: people like you keep writing pieces like this! Well, touché. But this time, there are two particular prompts. First of all, pianist/composer Ludovico Einaudi – a genuine phenomenon – has made the news through one of the examination boards adding his work to the syllabus. Einaudi appears to be an almost satanic figure to certain folk in the classical music sphere, inviting levels of dismissiveness and vitriol in line with his sales.</p><p>In parallel, we are living through a very specific, unusual period where artists and musicians are suddenly without income and, in many cases, are forced to consider the future viability of their planned projects, even careers. The ‘normal’ to come may not be the ‘normal’ we had before. With that in mind, isn’t it better to consider and examine – rather than dismiss – what could make more classical music more popular?
</p><p>Of course, programmers and marketing departments have grappled with this conundrum since the year dot, and concerns about bringing in audiences persist, even in a pre- or post-covid scenario. There is no magic solution. We’ve seen venues try wildly different approaches: adding new or untried pieces to a bill featuring a dead-cert, bums-on-seats, absolute banger; staging concerts or musicals ‘off-season’ to help fund opera; performing short, sharp rush-hour sets to whet commuters’ appetites for more… and so on. The outbreak is driving even more innovation along these lines – English National Opera’s upcoming ‘drive-in opera’ performances at London’s Alexandra Palace, for example.</p><p>But it’s up to us – the audiences, the listeners, the teachers, the fans – to grapple with this, too. Our minds need to be as open and welcoming as the doors to our favourite venues. Our conversation, our social media accounts, can spread the word as efficiently as fliers and mailing lists.</p><p>Because love of music will always revolve around taste, ‘arguments’ against Einaudi don’t really stick.</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>“Just because it’s successful doesn’t make it good.” No, but it doesn’t make it bad either (leaving aside the obvious problem of who decides whether something is ‘good’ or not). In the same way, a piece is not ‘good’ just because it’s obscure.</li><li>“It’s so simple, anyone could do it.” But ‘anyone’ didn’t do it. Perhaps they didn’t have the ideas or techniques after all. Or if they had the ideas, they didn’t have the patience, staying power and determination to get it all down and produce it.</li><li>“It’s just pandering to popular culture / taste.” Well, isn’t that what composers and musicians want to do? If you have an income away from music that allows you to be utterly fearless and experimental in your art, fine: but surely everyone else is striving for the balance between staying true to themselves creatively and putting food on the table.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjMLUZy4Yrd8upHf6XyTTJq48a6L1miaPMK5M8p8wQqlKnuJ0zVxfOGRLahlcGnzVVAbzmlKqsbT98dhB40wIlhf04zQzCKrquoMSvhjMUrzI5gUpxLhmTp8XEl9qeJlF0LUlPvTazeqq/s1600/spex.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjMLUZy4Yrd8upHf6XyTTJq48a6L1miaPMK5M8p8wQqlKnuJ0zVxfOGRLahlcGnzVVAbzmlKqsbT98dhB40wIlhf04zQzCKrquoMSvhjMUrzI5gUpxLhmTp8XEl9qeJlF0LUlPvTazeqq/w328-h328/spex.jpg" width="328" /></a></div></li></ul><p></p><p>It’s not really a case of “I’m right and you’re wrong”: there is no right and wrong. If I like Einaudi, why should I care what the ‘establishment’ says about him? On one level, I don’t care one iota.</p><p>But widening the picture, it matters to me more, because to dismiss something because it’s too popular, not complex enough – not ‘good’ enough – is a form of gatekeeping, however accidental or unwitting. Whatever surface ‘elitist’ practices in classical music we may eventually conquer – high ticket prices, impenetrable etiquette, imaginary dress codes – a refusal to engage with and even embrace what fires up a wider, casual listenership will always stop us reaching the maximum possible audience.</p><p>I always have to remind myself that the dividing line between classical and popular music was only drawn in recent history. To pare one specific cliché down to its essence: “Modern classical music – where are the tunes?” As unfounded as that remark is, it comes from somewhere, and can’t be ignored. Perhaps during the twentieth century, as consumers increasingly got their ‘quick fixes’ from red-hot jazz sides, 3-minute salvos of rock ‘n’ roll and instantly alluring soul numbers, classical music went somewhere else: innovative, exploratory and definitely, even defiantly, more niche. (Otherwise, why would we need the term ‘light classics’ – themselves under fire from time to time – if there wasn’t some serious ‘heaviness’ elsewhere?)</p><p>Isn’t it time to bring these worlds together again? Isn’t it already happening? I type this on a Sunday in July. Nicky Spence brought a superb online concert (part of Mary Bevan’s Music at the Tower series) to a close with ‘Nessun Dorma’ to the audience’s utter delight, and no wonder: it’s one of opera’s bona fide entries in the hit parade, thanks to Pavarotti. And the ‘Bitesize Proms’ series posted a performance by counter-tenor Iestyn Davies and lutenist Elizabeth Kenny of… ‘There is a Light that Never Goes Out’, by The Smiths. Other examples spring to mind: Sheku Kanneh-Mason taking Elgar into the Top 10 mainstream album charts; Anna Meredith making electronica albums alongside her classical commissions; Max Richter curating a multi-disc compilation for Rough Trade introducing modern composition to indie/underground record buyers…</p><p>Information overload, shorter attention spans, more urgent need to multi-task: our culture and society is not just continually changing, but compressing. Like it or not, more people respond to the immediate, the impactful. For example, as an artist-led listener, I favour the increasingly popular approach of programming discs as though they were ‘albums’ rather than recordings. I willingly accompany certain artists on their creative journeys: the perfectly natural behaviour of a fan, essentially.</p><p>As listeners, the more that we can do to bring some of the impact found in other genres into the classical music world, the better. There’s no need to dilute the music itself – but no need to rarify it, either. We need to communicate our enthusiasm and excitement about classical music without embarrassment or inhibition…. And to do that, you have to let people in: not shut them out.</p>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-51035487215652433872020-07-26T07:47:00.001-07:002020-08-08T07:34:16.733-07:00Body and soul: Anakronos, ‘The Red Book of Ossory’<div><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>*</i></div><div><br /></div>This brilliant suite of songs practises its own apparent witchcraft, seducing you more or less straightaway with its beauty – which doesn’t fade after repeated listens. But as the debut album from Anakronos grows more familiar, it reveals and revels in layer after layer of sinister chills and thought-provoking arrangements and effects.<div><br /></div><div>Anakronos are a recently-formed ensemble with a hint of the ‘supergroup’ about them. Their vocalist Caitriona O’Leary is an established solo artist working within both the early music and trad folk spheres. Deirdre O’Leary (wind instruments) and Nick Roth (saxophones) are mostly linked to classical ensembles, with Roth especially active in contemporary music; while Francesco Turrisi (keyboards, percussion) brings the quartet full circle with a background in jazz and world, as well as early, music.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, this isn’t quite the ‘ancient music / modern kit’ project it might appear at first glance. As the band’s name tells us, they are not quite in sync, out of time: even their instrumental make-up is odd, elusive. With no conventional chordal accompaniment (for example, there’s no guitar, or piano – the keyboards are synthesisers, used to provide additional melody, basslines or atmosphere, rather than heft), there’s an airy expansiveness to the sound, providing space for listeners’ imaginations to roam.</div><div><br /></div><div>And there’s a lot for us to think about.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlq5lgsKFnTEx7czVZh4-QwXMklQwClCgKGbugtGvz0XURVG0OLTJ66kKKDN60wd1wBW53lu_rayJcsvHtPHh1oTEPgJ6w0XlNg8APzoaqxmFUcn73SvnBAK8GQNxKO81ry5Bd71dWKjLs/s900/anakronos.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlq5lgsKFnTEx7czVZh4-QwXMklQwClCgKGbugtGvz0XURVG0OLTJ66kKKDN60wd1wBW53lu_rayJcsvHtPHh1oTEPgJ6w0XlNg8APzoaqxmFUcn73SvnBAK8GQNxKO81ry5Bd71dWKjLs/s320/anakronos.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>While any recording needs to stand on its own terms, this release wouldn’t exist without its backstory. The Red Book of the title is a 14th-century manuscript featuring a collection of poems by the Bishop of Ossory, Richard de Ledrede. The Bishop composed the verses to give his cathedral clergy an array of sacred lyrics to sing, against the possibility they might choose more corrupt material instead.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you’re detecting an element of extremism at this point, you’d be right. The album’s sleeve notes detail de Ledrede’s darker outlet for his fervour, namely witch-hunting. From the general mayhem, two figures emerge: Dame Alice Kyteler, a wealthy businesswoman targeted by de Ledrede, and her servant Petronilla de Meath. Through her connections, Dame Alice escaped the inquisition’s clutches – but Petronilla was caught and burnt at the stake for witchcraft (the first such victim on record).</div><div><br /></div><div>Much of Caitriona O’Leary’s work is rooted in scholarship as well as performance, and ‘The Red Book of Ossory’ project is not historical in concept alone. The words are taken from the Bishop’s texts and – echoing de Ledrede’s challenge to his priests to find suitable tunes for his verses – O’Leary has set them all, seamlessly, to a variety of surviving pieces composed across the 12th to 15th centuries. Already a remarkable achievement in itself.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that extra step – forming Anakronos and re-arranging the songs accordingly – makes ‘The Red Book of Ossory’ a work of singular genius. The bloodthirsty Bishop may seem to have been a mess of contradictions, a vicious sadist somehow wielding the pen of a saint. But in fact, his visceral imagining of his victims’ supposed unholy activities does seem to influence his devotional texts, with their explicit, near-erotic focus on the body (in bloom and in decay) and esoteric / mystical references. These fever dreams seemed to me to anticipate to some extent the later metaphysical poets – I couldn’t help thinking of the wracked nature of John Donne’s sacred poetry, for example.</div><div><br /></div><div>The band’s masterstroke is to bring this tension out in the music. You could almost say that in its clarity and purity, Catriona O’Leary’s voice is the angelic element – forgive the cliché. But the instrumentation stalks and encircles the vocal line, providing the sonic corruption, the turmoil in de Ledrede’s psyche.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ue5dRZpkMbBJ7V3ffmd4lA5ko4e3xtfa6E7OpdsyT6NS0DysrlPL5LscoQJNg7k3qsmnO-Y-ndNiVteB4HMnxh3hW7Yofyd_favEQZDKlypevG4doTpbtTDtUIXs6Jj1gPlKEzCWQJBM/s1024/anakronos-1024x683.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ue5dRZpkMbBJ7V3ffmd4lA5ko4e3xtfa6E7OpdsyT6NS0DysrlPL5LscoQJNg7k3qsmnO-Y-ndNiVteB4HMnxh3hW7Yofyd_favEQZDKlypevG4doTpbtTDtUIXs6Jj1gPlKEzCWQJBM/s320/anakronos-1024x683.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>(Photo by Tara Slye)</div><div><br /></div><div>The mood is set from the opening track, ‘Canite, Canite’. A deep synth note’s ominous rumble ushers in the sax and clarinet shadowing and mimicking the dancing vocal until they overwhelm it. Elsewhere, on ‘Maria Decoquit Panem Salvificum’ and ‘Amoris Vinculo’ for example, pounding drums an unmistakeably ritualistic flavour, suggesting a clash of pagan with Christian, a thrilling yet disturbing way of illustrating the Bishop’s fantasies through the arrangement. Nor do Anakronos allow you to forget the heartrending events in the narrative: one of the album’s most beautiful melodies, ‘Summe Deus Clemencie’, speaks of the mercy of God – but played over an effect of intensifying flames.</div><div><br /></div><div>Personal highlights? There’s the haunting ‘Ubi Iam Sunt?’ (‘Where are they now?’) which features perhaps the most arresting lyrics on the album – how can the lines “You will see what and how much in the world is / Seductive error” feel so elusive and immediate at the same time? – and a perfect marriage between text and setting as they audibly darken together. My favourite track – as I type – is ‘Regine Glorie’, where the voice glides over a slinky bassline and persistent, percussive clap. The backing track intensifies despite the steady pace, with every player taking a solo, volume and density increasing, driving the vocal on to further ecstatic heights until truly unfettered, derailed from its devotional course.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anakronos don’t sound quite like anybody else, although I think there are some useful reference points for the curious. For example, if you like the classical / jazz collaborations that have appeared on the ECM label over the years – such as Jan Garbarek with the Hilliard Ensemble, or John Surman’s albums with the Trans4mation string quartet – or the vocal and rhythmic stylings of the band Dead Can Dance, I think you will take to Anakronos very easily.</div><div><br /></div><div>It will be fascinating to see what stories they tell us next time – but for now, ‘The Red Book of Ossory’ is warmly recommended.</div><div><br /></div><div>*</div><div><br /></div><div>You can buy 'The Red Book of Ossory' from Heresy Records <a href="You can buy ‘The Red Book of Ossory’ from Heresy Records here: https://heresyrecords.com/product/the-red-book-of-ossory-anakronos/">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-26468808947221497842020-07-12T06:55:00.000-07:002020-07-12T06:55:01.815-07:00Sound travels: Xuefei Yang, Melbourne Guitar Festival<div><i>As you may know, I am one of the writing team on Frances Wilson's ArtMuseLondon website, where this article first appeared. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>*</div><br />At last, I have now heard guitarist Xuefei Yang play live, if under somewhat unusual circumstances. I write this on a Saturday evening (20 June 2020), several hours after tuning in at 10am for this Melbourne Guitar Festival recital, and still replaying this stunning, haunting event in my mind.<div><br /></div><div>We are no doubt becoming more used to online music-making during lockdown, but I’m wary of ever taking it for granted. The logistics of an occasion like this are still mind-boggling to me. Yang was performing from her home in London but timed, of course, for an Australian evening – hence the early start in the UK. It was her first-ever live stream. The concert had been publicised by the artist and the festival on ‘the socials’, just as you’d expect in the run-up to a normal gig, and rightly, we all had to buy tickets. In return, we were e-mailed a private YouTube link to fire up just before start time as we were ‘taking our seats’.</div><div><br /></div><div>What we initially saw was a room arranged with intimate symmetry, doors to the garden forming the backdrop, and the performer’s chair flanked by guitars at the edge, as if the instruments themselves were socially distancing. There was an expectant silence, as the sound was muted while Yang warmed up off-screen. Suddenly, the audio sprang to life, and we were off.</div><div><br /></div><div>As if in proactive defiance of lockdown, Yang had prepared a globe-trotting programme that had the happy effect of demonstrating her breathtaking versatility across so many styles. We began in Spain, with her renditions of Albeniz classics ‘Asturias’ and ‘Sevilla’. These pieces dazzle, for sure, with lightning pyrotechnics, but what was particularly brought home to me was Yang’s dexterity in creating the variations in sound. It isn’t simply about doing three things at once: it’s giving those things their own meaning and import. The bass lines were robust, forthright; the melody delicately picked; and the ‘body’ of sound in between more gossamer still, creating a shimmer running through the centre. And that’s just the right-hand…</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtLajyfI62qSozSFpGztol1iNycahliqD77Hx1vZYZANjKTUFgovKhZ1sQlhnbXMoeNVYzhGj5G8HZZRfvz4XmjaBM8ggzvjc0_u8VWtfwn8Z2c-ReFtLJ8NWqrmA2YY-NqX2gtJMWqLN/s1200/xuefei+in+concert+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="685" data-original-width="1200" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtLajyfI62qSozSFpGztol1iNycahliqD77Hx1vZYZANjKTUFgovKhZ1sQlhnbXMoeNVYzhGj5G8HZZRfvz4XmjaBM8ggzvjc0_u8VWtfwn8Z2c-ReFtLJ8NWqrmA2YY-NqX2gtJMWqLN/w500-h286/xuefei+in+concert+2.png" width="500" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I don’t want to talk glibly of virtuosity, as if I was simply expecting it: clearly, here is one the finest classical guitarists in the world. But I am struggling to remember the last time I watched a live performance where I was aware so often of my eyes widening and my jaw dropping into textbook ‘awestruck’ mode. For example, Yang told us how ‘Koyunbaba’ by Carlo Domeniconi (an Italian composer-guitarist inspired by Turkish music) evoked the ocean coming into shore – and sure enough, there the waves were in audio form, cascades of underlying runs beneath notes that audibly glistened and sparkled like sun catching each crest. As the intensity built, Yang drew a more elemental roar from the instrument, even displaying some rock manoeuvres as her left hand flew up and down the fretboard: how this is possible while still maintaining such precision is a genuine wonder.</div><div><br /></div><div>During the closing stages of the concert, Yang took us on a South American tour, with works from Brazil (Bonfa, Jobim), Paraguay (Barrios) and Argentina (Merlin). In a way, this was the section when I most wanted to be ‘in the room’: irresistible, swinging dance rhythms; a syncopated bassline here, a wistful melody there; flamboyant, climactic moments… we would have been surrounded by joy.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, it’s important to note that where the online format could offer something different, Yang and the Melbourne crew were on it. During the beautiful sequence ‘Melbourne Ariosto’ (specially composed by Ross Edwards for the guitarist), we were also shown the paintings that had inspired it, by the artist Clarice Beckett.</div><div><br /></div><div>In place of instant, audible applause, Yang read comments from the remote audience in the live chat next to the YouTube broadcast. To me, this is a fascinating development starting to emerge in online events. In a classical concert hall, constant chatter would be a nightmare – but in a web environment, it’s quite possible to exchange questions and comments without disrupting the music. I wonder if this is a virtual way that listeners are finding to put back some of the sense of community that’s missing when they aren’t physically together. It was also interesting (and encouraging) to note that the online chat seemed to settle in the same way that in-person conversation would do: falling relatively silent during the music as we were all held spellbound, then raining down applause emojis for the artist at the end of each piece.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also found it an education. As this was part of a guitar festival, there were people watching with a depth of knowledge and interest about the tools of the trade (“What scale length was that Ramirez?”) And as Yang was able to react and respond to the comment stream, she could verify that, yes, that was a 20th fret she’d had added to her Smallman guitar by a luthier friend. She also mentioned that one of the reasons she could programme such a varied set-list was precisely because she was at home: she could use three guitars (not possible to lug them all around on tour) and have them ready in other tunings.</div><div><br /></div><div>I could see that this event was somehow offering something outside the norm: this instant connection with the artist, even though they are more remote than ever; and the opportunity to see what she was doing, close-up, in a context that wasn’t masterclass or video tutorial, but more immediate and vibrant and, as a result, more thrilling.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I’ve written before, I’m firmly of the belief that live performance and attendance as we all knew it before lockdown is irreplaceable: artists and audience need to come together – that’s the deal. But I don’t think that conviction means I cannot also be enthused by this online approach as an area of opportunity – artistically and commercially – and that artists can perhaps explore it as ways to supplement what I trust will be their fully-reactivated live and recording careers. It’s no substitute for true ‘live’, but it is something else. And, as someone who lives near London and is accustomed to seeing pretty much whatever live music I want, lockdown has given me a bit of an insight into how someone who might be particularly elderly, or infirm, or young, or have little disposable income, or live outside the metropolis must always experience somewhere like Wigmore Hall: either not at all, or on a stream. The future of listening also belongs to these people.</div><div><br /></div><div>To end on a truly exciting note – Yang included two Chinese pieces in the recital, Shuhua Lou’s ‘Fisherman’s Song at Eventide’ and Changjun Xu’s ‘Sword Dance’. The latter piece is probably the one that got me hooked on her playing, as it appears on the superb CD recorded with tenor Ian Bostridge, ‘Songs from our Ancestors’, where I first heard her. The former tune was originally composed for the guzheng, a Chinese instrument with up to 21 strings, and I was struck by how Yang’s beautifully-realised transcription sounds like the modern instrument ‘backing’ the ancient one, both tones recognisable.</div><div><br /></div><div>She has always brought Chinese music to her audiences, but performing these pieces today prompted her to announce the upcoming release of her next album, a double no less, called ‘Sketches of China’, devoted to music from her homeland. A must-listen, and an August release, so not too long to wait.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Here is an official video of Xuefei Yang playing ‘Fisherman’s Song at Eventide’, from 2015)</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sqINGJCi390" width="320" youtube-src-id="sqINGJCi390"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-29631148004223381862020-06-28T08:48:00.001-07:002020-06-28T08:48:16.850-07:00Spec-ulationHere's an update of sorts. If you follow me on Twitter, you're likely to know this already, but I wanted to put something up on the blog itself for anyone who might have missed it, or who makes their way here by another route.<div><br /></div><div>I always call the Specs blog my 'cultural diary'. Because of my enthusiasm for all matters musical, write-ups of concerts, operas and CDs dominate - overwhelmingly so, I would say - with occasional playlists thrown in to reflect my current listening obsessions. But seasoned visitors (thank you, darlings, thank you) may also recall those posts recording my responses to art exhibitions rather than gigs, or where I 'show' some of my own photography. I freely admit it's a bit all over the place, but then so am I.</div><div><br /></div><div>Along the way, I've had the privilege of meeting and befriending fellow bloggers, and contributing to their own sites. I had a few articles published on the Rocking Vicar website, and contributed to two of the Thirty-three and a Nerd podcasts (both now, I believe, on hiatus or laid to rest). More recently, I've appeared on Jon Jacob's superb <a href="http://blog.thoroughlygood.me/">Thoroughly Good</a> podcast, and my most consistent online 'holiday homes' have been Frances Wilson's ace websites, the <a href="https://crosseyedpianist.com/">Cross-Eyed Pianist</a> and <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/">ArtMuseLondon</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>So here is my bit of news: after a number of these guest appearances, Fran invited me to join the writing team at ArtMuseLondon. I was delighted to accept, and - let me be honest - be accepted. 'Acceptance' is a big part of this for me, as writing an amateur blog, however pleasurable, is quite an insular, solitary occupation. It makes a world of difference to me that I will be one of a proper crew, made up of other writers whose work I've enjoyed and admired for some time. I'm thrilled to be in their company.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHlPG_LaJl3PXTHo2zFrnU5RRDGKcUvaF86PkBEdUMAU5M4LQqHnF_WDt32o2Jh1qO1uxqM2z4YTG9XxRtY9qhFkxk_N6sIFttvK3eSWTgEejTlPx-Tq-v4mAHl2cMkYXM5zDxfMJscUC/s1830/artmuselondon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1830" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHlPG_LaJl3PXTHo2zFrnU5RRDGKcUvaF86PkBEdUMAU5M4LQqHnF_WDt32o2Jh1qO1uxqM2z4YTG9XxRtY9qhFkxk_N6sIFttvK3eSWTgEejTlPx-Tq-v4mAHl2cMkYXM5zDxfMJscUC/w500-h210/artmuselondon.png" width="500" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My first post on ArtMuseLondon as a 'staffer' is a feature about the sublime online concert given by classical guitarist Xuefei Yang as part of the Melbourne Guitar Festival, and how it encapsulated the 'lockdown listening' experience. If you'd like to check that out directly, it's <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/2020/06/21/sound-travels-xuefei-yang-melbourne-guitar-festival/">here</a> - and please stay on the site and have a good look round. I hope to see you there regularly.</div><div><br /></div><div>While the practicalities may still be similar - I write a piece and it appears on website A instead of website B - the move means a great deal: the opportunity to be read more widely; to grow as a writer through more direct inspiration from colleagues; to keep my individuality while contributing to a greater whole. Wonderful.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's also prompted a period of reflection for me about Specs. Certainly, it's staying put for the foreseeable future. Ultimately, it's my archive: my ArtMuseLondon articles will arrive here after a decent interval, for the research student pursuing a topic so unimaginably niche, they need to find all my stuff in one place. And I will still be posting playlists and photography (once lockdown is fully lifted and I can take a portrait from less than 2 metres away...). But I imagine it will mutate a little over time and become something even looser and more random than it is already. Perhaps lighter on text and more focused on sound and vision: who knows?</div><div><br /></div><div>And finally...</div><div><br /></div><div>Please don't forget my other blog, Support Action. If you haven't come across this already, please take a look <a href="https://supportaction.blogspot.com/">here</a>. When it became apparent that so many artists would be without live work during the outbreak, I set up a site posting recordings by musicians (all genres) affected by cancellations. It's deliberately low-key - hardly any chatter from me, so people can flit around it quickly and easily without distraction. For every entry, I give a description of two lines or so, an image, a video snapshot of some content, and a link to buy the disc or download from the closest source: so, not *ahem*azon or *cough*ify, but the record label, artists themselves, or a recommended independent retailer. I update it when I can - not as often as I'd like - but what I mention is of course affected by what's on my radar. So if you are a musician with a recording I can add, or a friend, fan or agent of someone in that position, please get in touch - ideally on <a href="https://twitter.com/Adrian_Specs">Twitter</a>. Many thanks!</div><div><br /></div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-79026664794378367662020-06-15T15:19:00.000-07:002020-06-15T15:19:21.872-07:00Virtual reality<i>This post first appeared on Frances Wilson's excellent ArtMuseLondon website. For a handsome range of reviews and thought pieces covering all genres of art and music, please pay the site a visit <a href="https://artmuselondon.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>*</i><br /><br /><i>
Back in what no-one seems to be calling the ‘old normal’, I would go to quite a lot of live concerts and opera. But I would rarely chalk up five in a week. London chamber venue Wigmore Hall, with its innovative series of live lockdown broadcasts, has essentially maxed out my music diary for most of June. I now have some badly-needed structure to my working day, booking out my lunchbreak in my calendar so I can tune into the stream from 1pm, undisturbed. (So far…)</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2gLyvnSdKq6MJyCCUY3UKP7VpbU8mahWg8ItoSN5H_v6Choo35G4wRk0W5S8sN14XZ88osGXxCpu2uZxqrHhsnRaw5TEgY14bB6Q61CO9K-qYWyIgGtlW5_Ia9DbCZur7UOdLG7DQRc5/s1101/empty+wigmore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="1101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2gLyvnSdKq6MJyCCUY3UKP7VpbU8mahWg8ItoSN5H_v6Choo35G4wRk0W5S8sN14XZ88osGXxCpu2uZxqrHhsnRaw5TEgY14bB6Q61CO9K-qYWyIgGtlW5_Ia9DbCZur7UOdLG7DQRc5/s320/empty+wigmore.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I think it’s important to say at the outset – especially with those involved in the arts, onstage and off, among the hardest hit by the crisis – that nothing is a substitute for ongoing live music/theatre in a vibrant, thriving space. I cannot imagine the stress and uncertainty of these individuals’ situations, and can only wish them all well. (And buy their recordings. And donate to causes like Help Musicians UK, of course. Let’s not overlook those options.)</div><div><br /></div><div>But the relationship between artist and audience is a symbiotic one. We didn’t end it: we were forced apart. In routine times, musicians may strive to lay down their definitive interpretations on recordings, and listeners may seek intimate engagement with those statements on headphones at home. But for all that, the auditorium is where players become stars and listeners become fans, and that sense of communion – everyone in the room together, in that unrepeatable moment – is unique: currently, an absence most of you reading this will be all too familiar with.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I want as swift a return to live performance as soon as it’s safely possible. But at the same time, I think it’s worth celebrating the resourcefulness and generosity of spirit we’ve seen and heard from so many musicians under lockdown. We may find that much of it will inform and influence musical life when back out in the open.</div><div><br /></div><div>Musicians and venues quickly began exploring the potential of isolated performance. Up in the stratosphere, this resulted in enormous undertakings like the Met Opera online gala, gathering informal at-home turns from stars of the opera firmament with relatively few glitches. But artists operating at all levels of fame and fortune went virtual: from choirs assembling themselves through separate videos, to soloists giving regular, mini-concerts from their music rooms. Some are testing the water with alternative ways of keeping busy, creative and, ideally, solvent – for example, through education and engagement (masterclasses, teaching, interviews and so on).</div><div><br /></div><div>As a necessarily remote, but still grateful, audience member, I’ve been fascinated to see these experiments as they happen, like an industry trying to patch up its wounds in real time. Plenty of streamed performances became freely available – “we’re still here!” – but people are already used to these, even the less web-savvy, from cinema relays or DVDs. You get fantastic camera angles and beautifully mixed sound, but also they are past events, with an audience in attendance, reacting and applauding. You accept, if you like, that you are still watching a record of an event that others witnessed right in front of them, with all the atmosphere that carries with it.</div><div><br /></div><div>With that experience temporarily unattainable, I’ve found myself concentrating on what my feelings and responses are to music made in lockdown conditions. In some respects, I think it has brought subtle changes to my listening. Two specific projects spring to mind.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWbgfaqjaAf5wEBkvNnxyDEfRYblBoc9H9RJh1KC-oSwZ8BFlPJurGCHmWNNrUxw_-fFuEoX0AwK-LsUQ6twv4_Ad4zhWm-0YL_ouhUnse6hUqry9U1QZUvR9jCQ1s_PFW8tzxIdl627r/s1212/st+john+from+isolation.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="1212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWbgfaqjaAf5wEBkvNnxyDEfRYblBoc9H9RJh1KC-oSwZ8BFlPJurGCHmWNNrUxw_-fFuEoX0AwK-LsUQ6twv4_Ad4zhWm-0YL_ouhUnse6hUqry9U1QZUvR9jCQ1s_PFW8tzxIdl627r/s320/st+john+from+isolation.png" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The ‘St John Passion from isolation’ by Oxford Bach Soloists made a mystery-play style virtue of its casually-dressed protagonists. By dividing the piece into episodes, the musical story gained a kind of cumulative power not just in the work itself but the sense of anticipation. There was no time to suffer visual fatigue or unnecessary distraction from the now-familiar grids of participants. With a small recurring cast and dizzying array of guests for the key arias, there was something new to look forward to in every instalment. Adopting these essentially televisual techniques – serialisation, frequent changes, informality – helped create a ‘broadcasting’ event and minimise the impact of us all being apart. (Start with episode 1, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUmxx_mNG1s">here</a>.)</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The Self-Isolation Choir emphasised the sense of ‘remote community’ by inviting anyone so inclined to record themselves for their ‘Messiah at Home’. (Find the full performance <a href="https://www.theselfisolationchoir.com/messiah-at-home">here</a>.) Overwhelmed with far more submissions than they expected, conductor Ben England and crew set about the seemingly-impossible task of matching similar groups of voices, correcting varying recording speeds and pitches. That the eventual ‘whole’ worked so well is a testament not only to the talents of professional and amateur performers, but also to skills we’re not always so aware of: production, editing, mixing, design…</li></ul><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9BVtm4n13vBBSYxkca3S9nklREZxFhUaeMXoc9-1ihJ1rckfUebQ3SxZ3Wj9h0kee4YJFLdqPusDXwlv_prLuDr_NH5pEJjJIxIqF_Y1nHt69cmNKXzVyEj6WlhFVfPhsPFV8Dpw9lOl/s1498/messiah+at+home.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="838" data-original-width="1498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9BVtm4n13vBBSYxkca3S9nklREZxFhUaeMXoc9-1ihJ1rckfUebQ3SxZ3Wj9h0kee4YJFLdqPusDXwlv_prLuDr_NH5pEJjJIxIqF_Y1nHt69cmNKXzVyEj6WlhFVfPhsPFV8Dpw9lOl/s320/messiah+at+home.png" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The ‘Messiah at Home’ in particular underlined this obvious fact: a choir of voices mixed with modern facilities does not sound the same as a choir in a room. The sound does not ‘warp and weft’ in the same way as it does with a directly-present conductor and subtle changes through eye contact and physical presence. But it was riveting in a different way: I became more acutely aware of vocal ‘types’; I detected more individual character in certain voices, a little more like how I imagine I’d hear it if I was in the choir, more aware of how those closest to me sounded than those further away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Recording things miles away from each other and piecing them together is, of course, something that rock bands have been doing for years. Classical music’s main forays into this have tended to be when the piece has demanded multiple-tracking or electronic elements (for example, Reich’s ‘Electric Counterpoint’ – performed by Sean Shibe at the Wigmore last week). But vocal group Stile Antico realised that they could multiply themselves several times over into a virtual 40-strong choir to record a unique take on Tallis’s ‘Spem in alium’:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QfnEbwcLq0E" width="320" youtube-src-id="QfnEbwcLq0E"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>I suspect – in fact, I hope that this creativity driven by limitation will actually unleash more of the same kind of activity in the classical music world. Even after lockdown, I would love to see artists and ensembles supplement their performance income with digital recordings, possibly of works they could not actually do live… more online outreach, more use of platforms like Bandcamp, where they can engage directly with their fanbase. But back to the present…</div><div><br /></div><div>The current Wigmore Hall series of concerts is, as far as I know, the first high-profile attempt by a classical venue to get a season of truly live, online performances up and running during lockdown (others are following in its wake). It’s worth considering what an audacious move this was. At first glance, it might seem like a pre-pandemic live stream, but of course, it’s anything but. With no audience in the hall (apart from Wigmore’s director John Gilhooly and the BBC Radio 3 presenter – in week 1, Andrew McGregor – seated on opposite sides) and the performers socially distancing from each other, there is a surreal emptiness that turns the venue into an almost sacred place. Silence following each piece.</div><div><br /></div><div>Interesting, isn’t it? – isn’t this the silence we sometimes craved? When we get back in there, will we be so quick to make jokes or get annoyed about the mistimed clapping or epic bouts of coughing? Who knows? – But what has surprised me about the Wigmore concerts is that, while my head tells me they must have lacked atmosphere, my heart felt an ambience. And I think that’s because we were ‘there’. I’m not trying for sentiment here. With next to nobody in the room itself, we absorbed all the intensity of the performances remotely – I have rarely felt so committed, wedded to listening as to those sounds, impossibly immediate, buoyed by the Wigmore’s legendary acoustic – and nothing else.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thousands of listeners (and viewers on the website stream) tuned into the Wigmore gigs. Many times over the number that will fit into the Hall. Many more than the viewers who are close enough to visit Wigmore regularly in person. But we all had the same experience, however strange, however new, at the same time. Critics, galvanised by the same craving for live music as the rest of us, leapt into action and filed reviews within a few hours.</div><div><br /></div><div>The performances themselves have been sublime – hardly surprising from a roll call of pianist Stephen Hough, soprano Lucy Crowe accompanied by Anna Tilbrook, Sean Shibe playing a ‘gig of two halves’ with his acoustic and electric guitars, Nicholas Daniel on oboe accompanied by Julius Drake, and piano duets from Pavel Kolesnikov and Samson Tsoy.</div><div><br /></div><div>[A Delphian Records video of Sean Shibe performing Reich's 'Electric Counterpoint':]</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XPrHp9a8f8Y" width="320" youtube-src-id="XPrHp9a8f8Y"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>(<i>Since this article was written, there have of course been a number of further performances. You can find all of the past concerts on the Wigmore Hall <a href="https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/wigmore-hall-live/past-live-streams">Video Library</a>, or on BBC Sounds. Each recital goes out live on the Wigmore <a href="https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/watch-listen/live-stream">Live Stream</a>, and on BBC Radio 3.</i>)</div><div><br /></div><div>I’m encouraged that the overall idea now seems to be gaining general – and in some cases, literal – currency. While Wigmore has scheduled these 20 concerts for free (with prompts to donate, of course), it is only right that artists and venues start monetising these events. The Royal Opera House are starting concerts for a reasonable rate – and I’m already excited about an upcoming Australian gig by guitarist Xuefei Yang – I’ve bought my ticket and I’ll be tuning in a couple of Saturdays from now, mid-morning!
I think experience has now told us – if we needed convincing – that these communal events are worth having. Not because they’re a substitute for live events, but because they ‘top us up’ culturally and emotionally, while reminding us to never lose sight of the irreplaceable power of the real thing.
</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4L7bE_ns8MCA9Fnb2rQ7RjWBr7j4PSUSJq_5Z6HrPlb656EZmPtHyaqU4GLclmyZ_wh_vWqalecGdzfMaqbCOreT3GfhT3QGcpjf_FoHCKiA0TW05A3FQNDntDI5Siarmgjp0u8lafz28/s425/xuefei+yang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="425" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4L7bE_ns8MCA9Fnb2rQ7RjWBr7j4PSUSJq_5Z6HrPlb656EZmPtHyaqU4GLclmyZ_wh_vWqalecGdzfMaqbCOreT3GfhT3QGcpjf_FoHCKiA0TW05A3FQNDntDI5Siarmgjp0u8lafz28/s320/xuefei+yang.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Find details and book tickets for Xuefei Yang's online concert for the Melbourne Guitar Festival <a href="https://melbourneguitarfestival.com/xuefei-livestream/">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div></div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-45153757580197401452020-06-02T13:13:00.000-07:002020-06-02T13:13:36.662-07:00The African Concert Series goes online<div>Thanks to the internet - and, I still like to believe, open minds, wider arms - there's no need for such a short-hand term anymore: but most of the non-UK/US musicians I have grown to love over the years, I first got to know when our music media treated them all as part of an enormous nebula, 'world music'. French chanson, devotional Qawwali, Cuban senior citizens, Nigerian high-life... all in the same few racks in HMV, for those of us into 'foreign'. I only discovered Zambia's Amayenge through a John Peel session. I only heard the oud maestro Anouar Brahem because I'd already got a bit obsessed with 'the ECM sound' (the distinctive record label he records for). </div><div><br /></div><div>But in all that time, I never encountered African classical music. Then, in 2018, I read about 'Ekele', Rebeca Omordia's disc of African solo piano works. Of course, it was bound to appeal, but I soon became smitten by it. Trace elements I could recognise, particularly in the rhythms... but as part of a brand new, instantly welcoming soundworld.</div><div><br /></div><div>I got to hear Rebeca Omordia perform an incredible concert based on 'Ekele' the following February. She expanded on the CD's repertoire, and the programme opened my ears to an even wider range of composers. I wrote about the experience <a href="https://adrianspecs.blogspot.com/2019/02/pedals-steel-heather-leigh-rebeca.html">here</a>.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>That gig turned out to be part of a festival, also curated by RO, the African Concert Series. I was hopeful for a follow-up in 2020, and perhaps the opportunity to attend more events. Well, yes and no. Inevitably, due to the pandemic, there are no fully-mounted concerts with audience: but I was encouraged and grateful to see this year's version go online, with a shorter, 'virtual' concert broadcasting every day during the last week in June.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to tune in to as many of these as I can, and I encourage you to do the same. I'm especially excited to hear RO perform solo again on 29 June; one of the composers featured on 'Ekele', Fred Onovwerosuoke, is performing in person on 22 June; and 'The South African Double Bass' on 24 June features Leon Bosch previewing his upcoming disc on Meridian Records.</div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1343" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvoXKdB2kc4BAbKcoiEPUcf2RlejLp7hGhWW7m2ku6spRjrOrk-7UyEbS_f4cBdvl-P-sQGYZEa_Gjk2Wlmh5d4TlAcSpGOq9cw29MSgfJt2IEITNZcchNFIQhjxABpGctIUUqkEczXOE2/w427-h640/african+concert+online.jpg" width="427" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvoXKdB2kc4BAbKcoiEPUcf2RlejLp7hGhWW7m2ku6spRjrOrk-7UyEbS_f4cBdvl-P-sQGYZEa_Gjk2Wlmh5d4TlAcSpGOq9cw29MSgfJt2IEITNZcchNFIQhjxABpGctIUUqkEczXOE2/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font size="2"></font></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Please follow the African Concert Series on Facebook at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/africanconcertseries">this link</a> for ongoing updates on times/programmes.</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>And you can buy the superb 'Ekele' directly from Heritage <a href="https://www.heritage-records.com/shop/heritage-bestsellers/ekele-piano-music-by-african-composers/">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2gFbJ37VbWiOJ6EsZRQSi3xrvjbBpTWEvTn5nHDw7C7IMbLMYZqd-0xWIDWbeYSEQhHi42KPJflDKsiwIJmMme7h38U15r-qM7du2ZUG8YFrYj-pd9GOr9-p3DOlxuveSGFQZXdihrn9/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2gFbJ37VbWiOJ6EsZRQSi3xrvjbBpTWEvTn5nHDw7C7IMbLMYZqd-0xWIDWbeYSEQhHi42KPJflDKsiwIJmMme7h38U15r-qM7du2ZUG8YFrYj-pd9GOr9-p3DOlxuveSGFQZXdihrn9/s320/ekele.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-80912926712508968172020-05-25T12:39:00.001-07:002020-05-25T12:39:13.138-07:00Shelf life: more sifting in the Room Into Which You Must Never LookI've been fortunate enough to keep working my full-time job from home during the outbreak - so while I'm acutely bereft by the total absence of the live music scene, I haven't had quite as many newly-empty lockdown hours to fill as I might have expected.<br />
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However, some of the downtime has been spent embarking on the long overdue 'Sifting' - first mentioned in <a href="https://adrianspecs.blogspot.com/2020/04/space-invasion-dreaded-clearout.html" target="_blank">this earlier post</a> - where, after 35 years of buying too many records, I now have to sort through them all and decide what can go.<br />
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Of course, what I've ended up doing a lot of the time is coming across stuff I definitely want to <b>keep</b>. The Room Into Which You Must Never Look had reached a level of disorganisation such that, I knew there would be CDs that perhaps might only be a few years old but that I could easily have overlooked since absolutely caning them on initial purchase.<br />
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So it has proved. Below are some typical examples - not forgotten, because I still closely follow all the artists concerned, where applicable - but certainly neglected.<br />
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<b>Stile Antico - 'Music for Compline'</b><br />
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My memory for timespans is horrendous, and I still think of myself as a classical music rookie of sorts, only immersing myself in it hook, line and sinker in the early 2010s. However, Mrs Specs had already instilled her love of choral music in me before that, and Stile Antico were one of the first ensembles we discovered together. We've tried to keep up with their releases since, which made me realise with some degree of shame that their still-startling debut, 'Music for Compline', had gathered a little dust. The dust is gone now.<br />
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(Byrd - 'Nunc dimittis')<br />
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<b>Various Artists (compiled by DJ Muro) - 'Super Funky Afro Breaks'</b><br />
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Through some great record shops (in particular Sounds of the Universe in London's Soho district), I was able to hear fantastic compilations of hard-to-find soul, funk and African/Latin recordings, often edited into euphoric mixes by DJs who sounded like fictional characters. The mysterious 'Muro' is behind this one. The YouTube video I've included below is in fact the WHOLE mix, which I wouldn't normally do - but the CD now appears to be quite hard to find and potentially expensive. Oh well, better hang onto it, then.<br />
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<b>Dietrich Fischer Dieskau, Aribert Reimann: 'Lieder'</b><br />
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Another recording that I think might be quite hard to find now (although perhaps not scarce, as I got it quite cheaply second-hand). DFD takes a long tour - 3 discs long - around a dizzying array of 'other' lieder composers who rarely occupy the spotlight now but who make for a fascination, if motley, crew. The example below is intriguing, a slow-burn treatment of Goethe's 'An den Mond' by Pfitzner, in marked contrast to Schubert's repeat visits.<br />
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(Pfitzner - 'An den Mond')<br />
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<b>Ruby Blue - 'Down from Above'</b><br />
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A battered old CD surviving from just before I went to university and sustaining me for some years thereafter - a folk-rock band that never quite made it... stumbling after losing key songwriter and vocalist Rebecca Pidgeon - who went to the US to pursue a joint singing/acting career. I put it on and the serene harmonies immediately made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, just as they had 30 years earlier.<br />
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('Stand Together')<br />
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<b>Baltic Fleet - 'The Dear One'</b><br />
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A one-man band (Paul Fleming from Warrington, UK) making a thrilling brew of electronica, ambient and driving rock. Three albums into his career, and I simply couldn't remember where I had shelved the third one. Until, of course, the Sifting.<br />
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('Swallow Falls')<br />
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<b>Anthony Braxton - '23 Standards (Quartet) 2003'</b><br />
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Perhaps the most famous modern jazz group to take a few minutes of any given standard and use them as a launchpad for truly epic improvisation was the Keith Jarrett Standards Trio. Being a fan of that band, I was fascinated to read about this project from Anthony Braxton - who, up till that point, I'd assumed has focused almost exclusively on free jazz (track names that look like equation and chemical formulae - that sort of thing). Over several years, the enterprise stretched across three 4CD sets - some 13-14 hours of live music. A stroke of genius was making the quartet sax, guitar, bass and drums. Guitarist Kevin O'Neil seems especially telepathic, and while he has the chordal instrument, his sensitivity and lightness of touch - in place of a bulkier sound like a piano - still help the music to feel spacious, unmoored. The full set is a worthwhile commitment, and a joy to re-discover.<br />
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('Countdown' - a John Coltrane cover)<br />
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<b>Ian Bostridge & Xuefei Yang - 'Songs from our Ancestors'</b><br />
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And on the subject of guitar... Xuefei Yang has such a beautiful sound (and has been making some lovely recordings during lockdown), but - unless I'm way off beam here - her CD catalogue seems to disappear quite fast, with certain recent releases not even making it onto a physical format. As it happens, this CD is a gorgeous object - the debut release from Globe Music (the record label established by Shakespeare's Globe to record artists who perform in their new Sam Wanamaker Playhouse space). This is an inspired partnership, choosing repertoire perfectly suited to both.<br />
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(Schubert - 'Ständchen')<br />
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<b>Genesis - 'Genesis'</b><br />
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When I last wrote about the 'Sifting', I mentioned that I had quite a few Genesis records. In fact, more than I realised. For a day or two, I kept finding them - in fact, a couple of albums I thought I'd already passed on, then regretted doing so. This self-titled release, with the still-quite proggy 'Duke'/'Abacab' era one side of it and the stadium-conquering 'Invisible Touch' pop years the other. Side 1 mostly points to the past, and for me is one of the strongest 20 minutes the band ever recorded: there's an entrapment theme throughout - the shocking, intense 'Mama', the deceptively-wracked lyrics in the loping 'That's All', and the ghost story 'Home by the Sea'. To my mind, Side 2 loses its way a little and the atmosphere evaporates. An oddball LP, as if the band are on a bridge, and they're either going to turn back, or cross it.<br />
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('Home by the Sea' / 'Second Home by the Sea')<br />
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<b>Dengue Fever - 'Venus on Earth' / Various Artists - 'Electric Cambodia'</b><br />
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This was the first album I owned by Dengue Fever - I suspect because it came out on Peter Gabriel's Real World label and made it into more shops and music papers. An LA band who fell in love with 60s Cambodian guitar music... to the point where they recruited a Cambodian singer, Chhom Nimol, to help get the sound just right. More recently, they put together a compilation of some of the tracks that influenced them (one of the older tracks comes first, below). The shimmering, winding 'Seeing Hands' is a genuinely hypnotic record, right up to its last half-minute or so where the tension is held as long as possible until it resolves.<br />
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(Pan Ron - 'Don't Speak', followed by Dengue Fever - 'Seeing Hands')<br />
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<b>Barbara Bonney, Antonio Pappano - 'Diamonds in the Snow'</b><br />
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This is probably one of the finest recital albums I own - bright, shining renditions of Nordic art song. It's also one of the few CDs I've accidentally bought several times. (I think that most record collectors, myself included, generally try and avoid this sort of thing.) But the 'Sifting' tells no lies and admits no hiding place. I comfort myself with the thought that every time I've come across it in a second-hand shop, I must have panicked at the possibility I might <b>not </b>have it after all, and picked it up. The keeping copy will stay prominent, visible on the shelf now.<br />
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(Stenhammar - 'The Tryst')<br />
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<b>Various Artists - 'Reich: Remixed'</b><br />
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Fascinated to re-discover this snapshot in time - perhaps it's easy with hindsight to see obvious crossover links between the 'minimalist' composers and rock music, but at the time I was just gathering snippets of information. Some bloke (Glass) had written symphonies based on Bowie's music - really? And now they were doing classical remixes? I was already aware of Four Tet, though - the alter-ego of the ceaselessly inventive electronica musician Kieran Hebden - and fell very readily for his take on Reich's 'Drumming'.<br />
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<b>Wolves in the Throne Room - 'Two Hunters'</b><br />
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All the metal is on the very highest shelves, as it's the type of music I listen to that Mrs Specs likes the least - so she's not bothered whether it's hard to find, let alone reach, or not. So, in order to go through the CDs, I need to use a set of steps that look like they might have been constructed as part of a school project or during a Blue Peter episode, and the teetering jeopardy obviously adds an appropriately 'metal' thrill to proceedings. One doesn't realise, I suspect, how important the layout of even quite a small room can be. Some of my metal CDs were genuinely hidden - or, if you prefer, OCCULT! - because I was double-shelving in various places. So I went to them more rarely than I would have predicted - I must have defaulted regularly to something both noisy and nearby. Pleasure to blast the ear-drums again with US band Wolves in the Throne Room, who bring an epic elegance to their splendid roar.<br />
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(I Will Lay Down My Bones Among the Rocks and Roots)<br />
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<b>Brian Eno - 'The Ship'</b><br />
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I have absolutely no idea how many records Brian Eno has put out, but I do think sometimes that - thanks to his pioneering experiments with ambient and automated music - it's very easy to think of him as half-musician, half-boffin, and forget about some of his earlier eccentric, yet tune-packed albums from the years after his departure from Roxy Music. So, when 'The Ship' came out - apparently inspired by his impulse to flex his deepening singing voice - it was like a precise collision between the 'soundscape' feel of his ambient work.... and songs. The title track, below, is the entire first half of the album - or 'side', as geriatrics like me call it - and it really is like someone has fashioned an anthem out of sonar, for the depths of the ocean.<br />
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<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-16605287948412289792020-05-12T14:47:00.000-07:002020-05-12T14:47:23.816-07:00Broadcast news: Wigmore Hall online live ... and beyondA really encouraging, uplifting development today, as Wigmore Hall's Director, John Gilhooly, announced a series of lunchtime concerts, starting on 1 June and then every weekday at 1pm until the end of the month. Obviously, many of the people I know or follow on social media are musicians, music writers or dedicated listeners - so it was heartening to see my phone continually alive with the news as the word spread.<br />
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Of course, these are not gigs as we understood them in the days BC ('Before COVID'). The performers will sing and play to an empty venue. Only the tiny number of people needed to make the technology work will be there with them. Instead, the remote audience can tune in live to watch and listen on the Wigmore Hall website feed, or choose an audio-only option on BBC Radio 3.<br />
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I admire the quiet genius of this idea, which might never have arisen with a different combination of boss and venue. A chamber auditorium with a heavenly acoustic, the Wigmore is almost tailor-made for socially-distant performance. After all, for many of its concerts, only one or two people occupy the stage anyway, even when there isn't a pandemic outside to worry about. And while the WH is hardly unique in having form with radio broadcasts and live streams, their relatively modest and flexible set-up means they're essentially 'ready to go', with all the tech - from piano to cameras - in place.<br />
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Wigmore's 20-gig series (with hopefully more to follow) features a stellar line-up - check the website <a href="https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/whats-on/live-music-returns-to-wigmore-hall-in-new-broadcast-series" target="_blank">here </a>for the full programme.<br />
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Lockdown has resulted in some interesting developments in music-making. Some musicians who perform solo have given generously of their time and talents online, allowing us glimpses into their homes and music rooms. These have often been brilliantly intimate, casual affairs, while still musically transporting and emotionally resonant.<br />
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At the other end of the spectrum, some ensembles have been spurred onto astounding technical feats to get round the fact they can't actually meet. These 'isolation' performances - such as the ongoing 'St John Passion' from Oxford Bach Soloists and multiple friends, or on perhaps a more showbiz-bonkers scale, the orchestral segments of the recent online Met Gala - can only be realised through painstaking efforts not just on the players' part but in the production, mixing, visual design, and so on. Stile Antico multiplied themselves into a 40-strong choir for an astonishing version of 'Spem in Alium'. Watching some of these, I've found myself tearing up... and at first I thought, 'well, we're all fragile at the moment - and let's face it, live music is the thing I most miss'.<br />
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Now I actually think there's more too it than that. Obviously, it's awful for me, not being able to go to concerts, and be in the same room as the musicians I admire, sharing the live experience with a like-minded audience... and it's far worse for the performers, who obviously miss all the stuff I do, but with an extra layer of financial uncertainty on top. We can't get back to (some kind of) normal soon enough.<br />
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But without contradicting any of that, I've found that a remote connection is still a connection. That my favourite musicians have still moved, inspired and comforted me even though we're not in the same space. I'm not suggesting for a moment that remote performances are 'as good' as live concert attendance - there is <b>nothing </b>as good as that, it's irreplaceable.<br />
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This is a different kind of bond with the artist, I think: the act of reaching out, of communion between performer and listener, has become more necessary, important, and I am really <b>feeling </b>it. In a way, it's more personal perhaps, as it's much easier to pretend they are performing just for me! - I wonder if the artists can sense the thousands of grateful onlookers as they sing or play to their laptop camera, or if it's all too surreal? By all means, let me know, someone. I also wonder if, when we are all together again in our concert venues and opera houses, this is the key, indescribable emotion that will stop us taking our access to culture for granted. We'll be back, grateful, relieved... but also changed, I think - and possibly (speaking as an audience member) for the better.<br />
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Limitations can bring out the best in us. When I call to mind our newly-online musical life, from the more relaxed, informal 'down-home' performances, right through to the technical inventiveness of the isolation recordings ... I also think about what this phase could bring to the music world <b>after </b>the crisis passes. Huge leaps in outreach to listeners who, for any number of reasons, may never get to live concerts? New models for performance and recording that take advantage of - ironically - a closer-than-ever bond between artist and audience, potentially increasing their income and ultimately improving the haphazard ways they are paid? Wider opportunities for smaller ensembles to cast convention aside, and tackle different repertoire in the studio that might not be feasible for them live?<br />
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The Wigmore concerts might prove to be one of the important stepping stones we look back on from our musical future. The buzz of live attendance will be missing, of course - but they are still a serious venture towards evoking the 'shared concert experience' - its ceremony, flair and excitement. I think we will find that the artists still connect with us very deeply: a connection we'll acknowledge with warm applause when we are back together with them again.<br />
<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-87754146363864533052020-05-09T10:52:00.002-07:002020-05-09T10:52:58.954-07:00Matt black: Sieben's '20:20 Vision'Further reason to hang out the bunting: long-standing Specs favourite Matt Howden - a.k.a. Sieben - has returned with another leftfield, left-turn of an album, '2020 Vision'. As so often, the fundamentals are much the same... a few guest contributions aside, he works with only his voice, violin and a loop station placing a range of electronic effects literally at his feet. But yet again, from these apparent limitations comes an unexpected, unpredictable record. It clearly fits snugly into one of the most stubbornly original bodies of work I've ever come across - but it's a knotty, thorny beast: provocative yet endearing, funny but bitter, pushing you away while winding you in.<br />
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When writing about Sieben, it's always tempting to try and tell the entire history: the development of the 'dark folk / pastoral' sound in the earlier, more bucolic masterpieces like 'Sex and Wildflowers' or 'Ogham in the Night'; the ramping up of intensity in records like 'Desire Rites' or 'No Less than All'; the more expansive, searching soundworlds of 'Each Divine Spark' and 'The Old Magic'. I won't attempt to do that here, apart from to say that the characters of each album dovetail around each other to make the overall canon rich in surprises: the most intimate can also be the most chilling; the most aggressive also the most rousing. What I find endlessly fascinating is how each new album - and this certainly applies to '2020 Vision' - picks up the bow and runs with it, bringing forward some of what's gone before but always through a new lens, from a new angle.<br />
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And this time, importantly, with a new instrument. MH now wields an electric Kevlar violin with five strings (one louder!) - so there's additional heft to the riffs, beats and basslines without sacrificing the scarily agile, on-the-brink-of-chaos melodies and solos on the top. This is particularly appropriate, given the raging subject matter.<br />
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I think it's fair to say that for all the musical volatility over the years, '2020 Vision' does continue perhaps the longest identifiable Sieben 'phase' since the folkier days: these are the protest years. 2018's 'Crumbs' and follow-up EP 'Kickstart the Empire' found Sieben ignited by horror and indignation at the surrounding political mess, and the new record continues to mine this seam of outrage, with its searing climate warnings foreshadowing our current nightmare scenario with uncomfortable prescience.<br />
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If this all sounds unbearably gloomy, think again. To begin with, the album is suffused with bone-dry humour, and MH's undimmed gift for phrases that meld the sing-song with the sinister: song-titles include 'Enzosonbenzos', with its chant of 'Milk-turned-sour happy hour' nailing small-town immigrant disillusionment, and 'Berylsinperil' - rhyming 'this sceptred nan' with 'mouldering flan'. The final two songs pitch the 'cult of blight' against the 'cult of light'. This facility with chiming language - perfect for songs that by definition loop around themselves - has been a constant feature of Sieben music and converts even the most sobering track into a pleasurable earworm.<br />
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It's also an unapologetically eccentric set, paying homage in places to an object rarely seen these days: the comedy album. Amid these deadly-serious lyrical concerns, we hear occasional snippets of conversation between player and violin - christened 'Kev' - who has acquired his own mournful personality and willingly undermines his owner at every opportunity. Sieben records often feature 'meta' moments which look inward at the creation and construction of the songs, and this is the most irreverent, puckish treatment of that yet. (Long-time listeners will perhaps see an ancestor for this album in the mighty 'Desire Rites', which - spoiler alert! - featured Matt breaking into a less clearly-defined alter-ego and tear down his opening track a minute in. And the album features at least one other sonic 'Easter egg' for the veteran, as the final track ushers in the 'Sun divine', in rather different circumstances from its use in the 'Ogham' days.)<br />
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If Kev's occasional <i>bon mots</i> sometimes call to mind a defiantly morose take on skits spliced between tracks on a hip-hop album, that's no bad thing. Many of these tracks typically feature propulsive beats that come close to techno, with choppy, agitated violin - almost seeming to sample itself at times - pushing against some of MH's most accomplished, impassioned vocals. Examples of this include 'Reckoning Beckoning' (again, that sing-song tone), and 'The Darkness You Have Drawn', where the layered bleeps and blasts pack the song to near-overload.<br />
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At other times, the brakes are temporarily applied, with no loss of impact. The video in this post is the lead track released from the album - it's called 'Death Tape Updated for 2020', and in its intro may remind some of the slower-burning, abrasive majesty of the 'Old Magic' era material. But this is a leaner, meaner model, the slinky bassline playing against the keening voice ('If you knew what was ahead of you...') to create something of a haunted groove. Cut from similar cloth - appropriately enough - is 'Shirt of the Apocalypse', a more hesitant doo-wop paced shuffle as the lyric laments our banal acceptance of disaster ... as well as the masterful 'Vision', built around a stunningly-wrought figure that somehow makes a doom-metal riff natural bedfellows with a rising, splintering line of fiddle.<br />
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It's a record full of anger and anguish, clearly sincere and genuine - but still delivered with utter musical sure-footedness, confident, even militant in its originality and flair. Still a unique vision.<br />
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Buy '20:20 Vision' - as well as the whole back catalogue (and if you want any recommendations, I'm your man) - at the Sieben <a href="https://sieben.bandcamp.com/album/2020-vision" target="_blank">Bandcamp page</a>. Download only for now - physical copies should follow once they are easier to produce. This can only happen with listener support - so please do so.Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-64274373141096502562020-05-08T09:44:00.003-07:002020-05-08T09:53:32.367-07:00Down on your lock?While still getting my head around what I want to write about and how, during this drought of live events, I've been immersing myself in music that gives me a combination of energy and beauty. Without necessarily looking for the relentlessly upbeat - although some of that is fine - what I'm seeking, of course, is an <b>uplift </b>of some kind. The more stuck in one place I am, the more the urge for movement. And quiet or loud, busy or sparse, there's plenty of that below. (Well, perhaps not in the photo, but in the tunes...)<br />
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I hope you enjoy the selection. I'm particularly pleased to include the incredible version of Thomas Tallis's 'Spem in Alium', recorded in isolation - yet still so powerfully and dynamically - by the brilliant choral ensemble Stile Antico. The music famously has 40 individual parts, and the video illustrates how they multiply themselves up from 12. Sublime.<br />
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Stay safe and well.<br />
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Dr John - 'Locked Down'<br />
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R Strauss: 'Burlesque in D minor for Piano & Orchestra' - Jean-Yves Thibaudet, Gewandhausorchester Leipzig, Herbert Blomstedt<br />
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The Bar-Kays - 'Holy Ghost'<br />
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Penguin Cafe Orchestra - 'Dirt'<br />
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Miles Davis - 'Spanish Key'<br />
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Michael Chapman - 'The Last Polish Breakfast'<br />
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Cymande - 'Dove'<br />
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John Adams: 'The Chairman Dances' - San Francisco Symphony, Edo de Waart<br />
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Cavern of Anti-Matter - 'traces'<br />
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Max Richter - 'November'<br />
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Booker T & the MGs - 'Melting Pot'<br />
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Stile Antico - Tallis: 'Spem in Alium'<br />
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<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-59339394526025756402020-04-30T17:38:00.001-07:002020-04-30T17:38:31.175-07:00Tony Allen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wakeful, and heard the news about Tony Allen's death. Pioneer of the Afrobeat sound, and surely one of the most joyous, uplifting drummers of all time. The last hour or two have been spent hurtling giddily through YouTube, reminding myself of some classics and making new discoveries. Here are some of the results. (Please feel free to comment or get in touch on Twitter with any recommended tracks or albums.)<br />
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RIP.<br />
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'Wolf Eats Wolf' (from 'The Source')<br />
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'Afrodisco Beat' (from 'Progress')<br />
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'Herculean' (from The Good, The Bad and The Queen: 'The Good, The Bad and The Queen')<br />
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'Stalemate' (from Fela Kuti: 'Stalemate')<br />
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'Cella's Walk' (from 'Inspiration Information', with Jimi Tenor)<br />
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'Boat Journey' (from 'Film of Life')<br />
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'Losun' (from 'Lagos No Shaking')<br />
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'Sounding Line 1' (from Moritz Von Oswald Trio: 'Sounding Lines')<br />
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'Politely' (from 'A Tribute to Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers')<br />
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'The Same Blood' (from 'Black Voices')<br />
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'Roforofo Fight' (from Fela Kuti: 'Roforofo Fight')<br />
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'Obama Shuffle Street Blues' (from 'Rejoice', with Hugh Masekela)<br />
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<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-66623039385408573422020-04-18T11:00:00.000-07:002020-04-18T11:00:25.552-07:00Music in storeAs I type this on 18 April 2020, today would have been Record Store Day - the annual event which sees loads of enthusiasts, collectors, boffins and insomniacs start queuing from break of day at independent record shops across the land to get their hands on exclusive, limited-edition releases. It might attract criticism for all sorts of reasons - 'you should support your favourite businesses all year round'; 'why limit the releases' availability? - unscrupulous buyers get in quick and sell them on'; 'the prices are way too high'... and so on.<br />
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But on the positive side, it seems to have helped re-awaken some love for cherishing - and therefore buying - albums as physical products, particularly in the resurgence of vinyl sales; re-establish community among record collectors; but most importantly, give the shops an absolutely massive boost on their busiest day of the year. I know we can never truly go back to the days before digital and streaming changed the music industry as we knew it, but this gives one hope that we can all keep buying our music in the format we want, all available and co-existing.<br />
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Currently, for obvious reasons, Record Store Day itself is postponed until 20 June. Hopefully, it will still happen - but in the meantime, the records shops are not only missing out on their regular April shot-in-the-arm, but also gamely pressing on during lockdown to keep customers supplied through mail order.<br />
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With that in mind, the Record Store Day organiser have created a Twitter campaign, with the hashtag #RSDFillTheGap. (Or, 'Fill the Gap', for people who still prefer to read normally.) The hook is that if everyone who would have gone out today to buy records - and more folk welcome, obviously - orders an album they've always wanted, or had their eye on, from an independent retailer, it will still send some much-needed revenue the shops' way.<br />
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While classical music still seems to barely edge its way into Record Store Day, it hasn't been totally absent. One year, Teldec put out a USB stick of the Bach complete works: while the format seems a tad random, perhaps, it's an attractive proposition compared to the CD version, which is obviously so vast it looks a little like a plank you might expect two workmen to carry between them. The Halle once packaged together a multiple-disc compilation of self-released recordings. Handsome vinyl re-issues also crop up: this June, you might be able to pick up a 4LP 'Essential Philip Glass', or a 10" of Walton's 'Facade' with Edith Sitwell reading her own poems.<br />
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Until then, why not 'Fill the Gap' in your classical collection?<br />
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I have a few suggestions below, but in order to impose some kind of structure / word limit, I've stuck to my favourite area of classical music: art song and vocal recitals. 2020 has got off to a cracking start in this genre, so I offer a few releases that have turned my head - plus an idea or two to 'fill the gap' for those artists if you've heard or bought the latest titles. (Apologies for the slightly makeshift appearance of the table - attempts at anything more technical than this mostly resulted in complete user meltdown.)<br />
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Some of these - along with a whole host of other recordings - appear on '<a href="https://supportaction.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Support Action</a>', my other blog which has links to purchase discs by musicians affected by cancellations this spring/summer.</div>
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While there are a lot of options for you to buy discs - including from the labels directly - today is really about the shops. With that in mind, I feel happy to recommend <a href="https://www.prestomusic.com/classical" target="_blank">Presto</a>, an independent classical music specialist I often see mentioned by music websites, and who have always provided me with brilliant service. Happy hunting!</div>
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<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-58566555468006490092020-04-11T11:13:00.002-07:002020-04-11T11:13:27.982-07:00Space invasion: the dreaded clearoutIt couldn't be put off any longer. Next year - and I realise, given the extreme abnormality of this year, very little is likely to be running to schedule - we are still hoping to have some fairly major work done to the house. First-world problem ensues. Mrs Specs and I are both collectors (she: books, me: records), so the question arises... what <b>are </b>we going to do with all our stuff before succumbing to total upheaval?<br />
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Answer: some of it has to go. I buy too many CDs - I know that - but I've been doing so for about 35 years, from all my pocket money, Christmas & birthday vouchers back in the day, to a chunk of my disposable income now. I've made laughable attempts at weeding out before (although Mrs Specs wasn't laughing) without making the merest scratch, let alone dent, in the collection. This time, it has to be different. I need to be ruthless, unfeeling, possibly even villainous. Bordering on brutal.<br />
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And while I'm lucky enough to keep working from home full-time during this lockdown, I know I would be mad not to use a fair few of the leisure hours I've been unceremoniously handed back (when I'd normally be out hearing live music, dagnammit) to try and break the back of this heroic task.<br />
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Burying myself deep in the spare room, I began trying to determine what I could do without. Predictably, sifting through my albums is like sifting through my past, but I wasn't fully prepared for the headlong journey I'd be taking into the recesses of my mind...<br />
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<b>I might have been a weirder teenager than I thought I was.</b><br />
Before starting the Sifting, my memory of my 'young' listening seemed perfectly in tandem with what all of my mates were playing as well. We all had our favourite chart bands as kids (mine was Ultravox), we all started listening to John Peel and earning our indie stripes at around the same time, then broadened our horizons at university or during early adulthood and beyond.<br />
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My old CDs, though, are telling a somewhat different story. Genesis. So much Genesis. In fact, my first gig was when I won tickets to see them at Wembley Stadium. I realise they had become, in essence, a pop band by then, but I had the old stuff as well.<br />
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I absolutely love prog now - I listen to loads of prog, I buy 'Prog' magazine and if I could, I'd wear prog socks - but I had no coherent recollection of quite how long it had been my companion. Marillion. Sky. Pink Floyd. And sometimes, beware children, proggers come in disguise. Supertramp. XTC.<br />
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I very much belong to the 'there are no guilty pleasures' camp, and I find no shame in listening to anything I want to listen to - then or now. Prog rock has its detractors, people who still think it's all about capes and goblins (as if that would be a bad thing). But in fact, it's a thriving, vital scene at the moment and its current appeal to me seems obvious: now I've been a serious devotee of classical music for around a decade, it stands to reason I would also like rock or folk music that stretches out, aims for virtuosity and intricacy, insists on holding the attention.<br />
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But the discs nestling at the back of my shelves reveal that this type of music exerted a pull on me from the outset. Ironically, when I became totally hooked on classical (without actually owning any Hooked On Classics), the genre that instantly connected with me was art song, where the composer often conveys their intention in a mere two or three minutes, rather more the length of a pop hit.<br />
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So I have a deep-seated love for rock music that strives to feel classical, and classical music that has the same effect on me as rock. It's sheer good fortune I've turned out as well as I have.<br />
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<b>I'm definitely artist-led.</b><br />
This must also be a legacy of my pop and rock years. I am much more likely to go where a certain artist takes me, than home in on a genre, type or period of music... or even a particular composer. I do have a favourite composer - Schubert (see below) - but I still don't obsessively collect his entire body of work in its own right.<br />
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I have some historical, famous recordings of great works - versions you are 'supposed' to own - but as a rule, I don't play them very often. I know that some of them will become casualties of the Sifting. The ones I always go back to are mostly current: made by musicians who I can still go out and hear live - their interpretations feel more immediate to me, more 'present'. And if an artist is on a particular musical journey that makes sense to me, I will follow.<br />
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If you read this blog regularly, you'll know I'm a huge fan of the soprano Carolyn Sampson. I think I properly realised how much I loved her voice when she gave her first voice/piano recital at the Wigmore Hall - and from that point, you could explore backwards through a career that already encompassed (among other things) a range of Baroque/chamber/orchestral vocal music, and then since expanding into brilliantly programmed CDs of art song with Joseph Middleton, perhaps an increase in focus on contemporary, and so on. While the range of timbres, colours and styles in her voice is extraordinarily versatile, its essential sound and character are through-lines through all these different kinds of repertoire. She might actually need her own section in the post-Sifting record den, as I wouldn't give up a note of these:<br />
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Going through the maze of discs brings to light other classical musicians that have clearly had a similar double-effect on me: not only delighting me with the sound they make but also shining their torches to show me the way to more and more great music. The pianist Stephen Hough, who mixes complete recordings of selected works with brilliant recital albums that almost work like playlists - again, uniting a really disparate discography with his sure, but sensitive touch. The incredibly soulful, moving work of cellist Steven Isserlis (a collaborator and label-mate of Hough). The choral ensemble Stile Antico, collating themed works of unnerving beauty, performed with their habitual, conductor-free, vibrancy. The harpsichord champion Mahan Esfahani, promoting his instrument with a missionary zeal, and using his albums and concerts to place it in a firmly modern context.<br />
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To me, this feels exciting: you become invested in their development, and their choices; you give your trust; you want to find out what they will all record or perform next, and how they will interpret it. And while classical musicians mostly work with material that's already there (rather than write new stuff), this process gives me the same buzz as I felt following, say, Brian Eno or Paul Simon move ceaselessly through innovative styles and techniques, or perhaps a bit later and more within my normal sphere, allowing bands like Radiohead or Dead Can Dance to place you in a new universe with each album. Obviously, there are cosmetic and circumstantial differences, but to me, this experience, this investment is the same at its root in the rock and classical worlds. Exactly the same.<br />
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<b>You can't have too many versions of 'Winterreise'.</b><br />
Clearly this is unarguable. But consider - this is the crowning art song masterpiece by my favourite composer. Add to that the fact that it's a famously enigmatic, inscrutable work, allowing everyone who records it to add to its stature - illuminating aspects of it while it still remains somehow unknowable. I haven't carried out a formal count (*embarrassed cough*) but it's possible I have enough versions to create a mad playlist with every song in the cycle performed by a different duo. Don't try this at home, kids.<br />
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What this has done is crystallise in my mind my personal favourite three versions of 'Winterreise'. (Although I'm a bloke of a certain age who typically thinks in musical lists as a matter of course, there is a reason for this: not long ago, a Twitter friend put this conundrum to me, and I haven't been able to arrive at just three contenders. Until now.) Today, my personal top trio are...<br />
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<li>Desert island version: <b>Alice Coote and Julius Drake</b>, recorded live at Wigmore Hall. For the sheer searing intensity, AC taking on the protagonist with all the heartfelt conviction of a fully-realised 'trouser' role.</li>
<li>Stone-cold classic version: <b>Christoph Prégardien and Andreas Staier</b>. A measured, sympathetic interpretation given extra chills from the sound of Staier's fortepiano.</li>
<li>'Didn't see THAT coming' version: <b>Ian Bostridge and Thomas Adès</b>, also recorded live at Wigmore Hall. Bostridge - a veteran of the piece - arguably at his most commanding, spurred on by the brilliant Adès finding and drawing out elements of the accompaniment I was only noticing for the first time.</li>
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But I'm not just keeping three. I'm keeping them all. (Sorry, Mrs Specs.)<br />
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<b>And no wonder I need Specs.</b><br />
As a collector, I prize neatness, conformity, uniformity. I like things to look good on the shelves, trivial though this perhaps might be to many 'true' listeners. I love a band that (a) has a logo, then (b) keeps it throughout their whole career. I love record labels that make a visual aesthetic as much of their 'brand' as the music, whether that's Deutsche Grammophon, ECM, Blue Note or Earache.<br />
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However, I'm now wondering if this is wise. The tidy, almost scholarly approach to typefaces by some record companies can produce these squint-inducing results. This is one of those rare crossover areas between the not-often-twinned genres of classical music and black metal... who knew?<br />
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Aargh, my eyes!<br />
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If any more insights, or assuming I don't go blind, mere sights present themselves as the Sifting continues, I will of course let you know...<br />
<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-82406713100780593792020-04-10T01:07:00.001-07:002020-08-17T14:00:04.738-07:00Specs speaks!Before it becomes a distant memory - and while, I suspect, many people may have a little more time than usual to tune in... I wanted to post a thank you, with a warm recommendation on the side, to the <a href="http://blog.thoroughlygood.me/" target="_blank">Thoroughly Good blog</a>.<br />
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The mind behind Thoroughly Good is Jon Jacob, a highly-skilled and brilliantly incisive writer, trainer and development coach, specialising in the arts / classical music sector. So I 'met' him first - recommended by a mutual friend, Fran Wilson (aka the <a href="https://crosseyedpianist.com/" target="_blank">Cross-Eyed Pianist</a>) - through his writing, on the TG blog.<br />
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I found Jon's approach a real eye-opener, because I immediately felt a sense of urgency in his prose - not a vibe you'd necessarily associate with arts content, particularly classical music. Without actually sounding like anyone else at an individual level, it reminded me almost of the finest film and - perhaps even more surprisingly - sports journalism that I'd read. A way of talking about music that insists it is as vital, present and important as anything else; more so. And add to that a talent to weave in his own thoughts and experiences (without slowing the pace or falling into a 'writing about writing' cliche trap), which, as we know, inform a performance as much as what's going on onstage. Take a read of this fantastic recent post about <a href="http://blog.thoroughlygood.me/2020/02/28/jonathan-biss-at-wigmore-beethoven-2020/" target="_blank">Jonathan Biss</a>, as an example.<br />
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Having got to know Jon a little, mostly virtually but once 'IRL', I was thrilled when he asked me to take part in the Thoroughly Good podcast, in a subset of 'Emergency' episodes that he was creating to find out what his guests were listening to as succour during this time of lockdown or isolation. I was a bit nervous, having only taken part in a couple of rock music podcasts some time ago, but Jon put me at my ease instantly and - no wonder he is such a great coach - made me feel like I was having the most relaxed conversation imaginable with someone who knew and understood me really well.<br />
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I've listened back to the episode and I couldn't be happier with it. God knows that isn't because it's a 'performance', or some kind of exam I passed. This is true for everyone listening back to their own voice, I'm sure - but I can hear all my vocal tics, or moments where my mouth is going faster than my brain - it's clear I'm more of a written, rather than spoken, word person. But I think what does come through is that you can hear my enthusiasm, how delighted I am to be there: and if there is anything that ties together all my writing and communicating about music and the arts, that's it.<br />
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Here are a few handy links.<br />
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The world of Thoroughly Good:<br />
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<ul>
<li>To go straight to the podcast, I'm on (thank you, darlings, thank you) - go <a href="https://audioboom.com/posts/7541812-writer-and-punter-adrian-ainsworth" target="_blank">here</a>.</li>
<li>Take note, however, that there are over 80 other episodes to lose yourself in - here's the <a href="https://audioboom.com/channels/4941520" target="_blank">browsing page</a> for those.</li>
<li>Finally, the overall homepage with links to all of Jon's activities and services is <a href="http://blog.thoroughlygood.me/" target="_blank">here</a>.</li>
</ul>
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The artists I mention:<br />
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<ul>
<li>The Wigmore Hall live album of Schubert songs (first in a series of 4!) by Ian Bostridge and Julius Drake is now a download only from the <a href="https://wigmore-hall.org.uk/wigmore-hall-live/ian-bostridge-julius-drake-cd0067" target="_blank">WH site</a>.</li>
<li>Kate Arnold's 'Rota Fortunae I' EP is available from <a href="https://katearnolduk.bandcamp.com/album/rota-fortunae-i-ep" target="_blank">her Bandcamp page</a>...</li>
<li>And <a href="https://joquail.bandcamp.com/album/exsolve-vinyl-remastered-and-with-extra-track-plus-sheet-music-for-maquette-for-solo-cello" target="_blank">likewise </a>for Jo Quail's 'Exsolve'.</li>
<li>'The Contrast' by Carolyn Sampson & Joseph Middleton can be bought directly from <a href="https://bis.se/performers/sampson-carolyn/the-contrast-english-poetry-in-song" target="_blank">BIS</a>, or other online CD stores.</li>
</ul>
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Finally, if you are in a position to buy some music, please consider a browse on my other blog, <a href="https://supportaction.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Support Action</a>, which features links to purchase recordings from artists affected by cancellations during this summer - I'm trying to add to this as and when I can, so if you are a musician (or a fan), please feel free to send suggestions for inclusion. Thank you!<br />
<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7650768303543004296.post-15609694003410273412020-03-28T09:58:00.000-07:002020-03-28T09:58:28.430-07:00Versions of JoannaAs I type (and for a few more hours yet) it's World Piano Day. So here's a highly topical playlist that I hope you'll enjoy... not just classical piano solo pieces, but some jazz and rock records where - in my opinion - the keys are, well, key.<br />
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Hope you are all taking care and keeping safe.<br />
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<b>Stephen Hough </b>- Brahms: 'Clavierstücke, Op 118
13. No 3 in G minor: Ballade'<br />
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<b>John Coltrane Quartet </b>- 'Equinox'<br />
(piano: <b>McCoy Tyner</b>)<br />
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<b>Simon Jeffes </b>- 'Silver Star of Bologna'<br />
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<b>The Charlatans </b>- 'Just When You're Thinkin' Things Over'<br />
(piano: <b>Rob Collins</b>)<br />
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<b>Víkingur Ólafsson</b> - Glass: 'Études - No. 6'<br />
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<b>Rubén González</b> - 'Tumbao'<br />
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<b>Ruth Willemse</b> - Elgar: 'Sea Pictures, Op. 37: The Swimmer'<br />
(piano: <b>Vital Stahievitch</b>)<br />
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<b>Elvis Costello</b> - 'Favourite Hour'<br />
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<b>Pascal Rogé</b> - Satie: 'Gnossiennes - No. 1 - Lent'<br />
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<b>Grant Green </b>- 'Idle Moments'<br />
(piano: <b>Duke Pearson</b>)<br />
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<b>Grigory Sokolov</b> - Couperin: 'Le Tic Toc Choc Ou Les Maillotins for Piano'<br />
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<b>Happy Mondays </b>- 'Step On'<br />
(keyboards: <b>Paul Davis</b>)<br />
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<b>Imogen Cooper</b> - Albéniz: 'Iberia, B. 47, Book 1 (Excerpts) : No. 3, El Corpus en Sevilla'<br />
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<b>Herbie Hancock </b>- 'Canteloupe Island'<br />
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<b>Alexei Lubimov</b> - Schubert: 'Impromptu, Op. 90 D. 899, No. 4 in A-Flat Minor: Allegretto'<br />
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<br />Adrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12262303736701954021noreply@blogger.com0