MiV Home
Phillip T Young Recital Hall
April 2, 2008
"The discovery of a sound, or even a new soundscape, is always a thrilling, stimulating experience. But it does not merely open up a new creative paradise to the composer; at the start it generates 'problems'...It is, after all, a question of the permanent opening up of aural perception and not primarily a botanical exploration of new species of sound."
Helmut Lachenmann has clearly articulated what constitutes the difference between mere dilletantish experimentation and the composition of purposeful, interesting new music.
And there can be no question that Lachenmann's music, each work of which seems to open up its own new soundscape, is purposeful and far more than merely 'interesting'. He is a major voice, ploughing a uniquely individual furrow.
Wednesday's concert at UVic included four works by Lachenmann himself - ranging from 1969 to 1998 in date - together with one by his friend and teacher, Luigi Nono.
The first, longest and most recent of the Lachenmann pieces was Serynade for piano, a half-hour exploration of the interactions between resonant and damped tones. At times the music is incredibly violent, featuring huge tone-clusters played by the forearms; at others more delicate, requiring a definite effort on the part of the listener who wants to hear every last nuance.
Jee Yeon Ryu - whose performance of Wiegenmuisk at a Sonic Lab concert two years ago may well have been the first public performance in Victoria of anything by Lachenmann - gave a thoroughly committed and persuasive performance.
Pression for solo cello dazzles in the sheer variety of ways the composer finds for the player to produce sound from the instrument. Although there are, admittedly, a few passages where he actually holds the bow conventionally, drawing it across the strings and producing almost normal sounds, the abiding memories most listeners probably took away with them were doubtless of Franklin Cox holding the bow with both hands and drawing it across the strings on the 'wrong' side of the bridge and similar unconventional modes of sound-production.
Cox gave a tremendously confident and ardent account, which left little room for doubt as to the quality of the piece. Even the squeaking chair obbligato - John Cage would have loved it - which I gather was louder in some parts of the room than the cello itself, could not undermine the feeling that this was indeed more than simply a succession of sonic experiments.
Child's Play, for solo piano and played by the composer himself, neatly refutes the notion that all this experimentation is simply an end in itself which cannot be put to more conventional musical purposes. The name presumably refers to the fact that the seven brief pieces, each with its own descriptive title, would be appealing to children: it is hard to imagine many children actually being able to play them.
Time prevents me from going into detail on every piece, so I shall confine myself to noting a few highlights: the playful allusion to the Habanera from Carmen which opens Hänschen klein (Little Hans); the extraordinary Clouds in Icy Moonlight, with the right hand at the upper end of the keyboard conveying precisely that image; or, perhaps my personal favourite, the final Shadow Dance, whose last sound was that of the sustaining pedal being rhythmically depressed.
But if Lachenmann's music for solo instruments is fascinating and engrossing, that for ensemble is truly remarkable. Allegro Sostenuto is a deceptively conventional title and the combination of clarinet, cello and piano one which has been used to great success by Mozart and Brahms, to name but two.
But there the resemblances surely end. AK Coope joined Cox and Ryu for a stunning performance of a work which at times appeared to be being performed by a single, huge - and hugely unconventional - instrument. Their playing was superbly coordinated (on occasion Cox appeared to be conducting) and dazzling.
The composer, who had been actively involved in rehearsals, seemed more than pleased with the performances and the gratifyingly large audience were appropriately appreciative.
The evening opened with Max Murray and a trio of electronicists performing Nono's Post Praeludium per Donau, a gentler more introspective work than one expects from this composer. It made a very effective introduction to the evening, with Murray's tuba being mutated, echoed and arrayed around the room by the four speakers - not to mention a computer or two.
An exceptional evening which those present will not soon forget.
MiV Home