Barber’s Adagio for Strings via DJ Tiesto, “the world’s number one DJ”. I have seen the future of electronic music and this is it: “classical” music covers! I’m calling Beethoven 9 and Mozart’s Eine Kleine Natchmusik right now.
I like music (and most art) from the 20th century from the modernist’s exploration of the ontological boundaries to the postmodernist’s reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. What’s not to like?
At the moment, I’m very interested in mass art and it’s connection to Plato’s fundamental distrust of art (more specifically, it’s proclivity to mimesis). Finally, we have a large body of work that both uses the tools of mass communication and can effectively reach a wide audience. Basically, it’s connecting with a lot of people through the means that they can understand - the possibility of subversion has never been greater. Was Plato correct in thinking that mimetic art would fool and corrupt society? Should it be banned from our “republic”?
Previously in history, fine art was really for the cultured, the learned, and the elite. Sure, the masses may have gone to a few operas, but did they have any real, deep understanding of what they were looking at? No way - it was a social event - they usually weren’t even paying attention to the stage. Thus, fine art never even had the chance to sway the “delicate” minds of society. The connoisseurs wouldn’t be influenced by subsersive content because if they were smart enough to grasp the concepts of art, they were smart enough to think critically, smart enough to avoid being duped by the clever artist with his nefarious plot to poison their minds.
That was then. “Now” is a different story. Mass art is made for a mass audience. It uses communication techniques that they easily understand (and enjoy), it uses mediums that they’re comfortable with (e.g. TV, movies, pop culture), and it’s readily available for a nominal cost (i.e. once you buy the TV, you can begin consuming mass art for free). The state of the world clearly shows that many individuals are still unable to think critically and therefore unable to filter out the “junk”. If their entertainment is subverted, they will be easily swayed from any of their beliefs. How many people thought the Da Vinci Code was real? If an artist (or, conversely, a Dan Brown) throws in a few little touches in the way of footnotes (and the like), the legitimacy appears to increase drastically. Many people will still believe *anything*.
So, the question stands: should we ban art because it would be good for society? My instinct as an artist is to say, “hahahaha - of course not! Lets get in there and mess with people’s heads!” You can’t ignore your artistic instinct, so lets have some fun.
This is another review I wrote for Amazon.com
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Perhaps the only things more polemical than Adorno’s critique of Schoenberg and Stravinsky are the reactions that followed. Unfortunately, many people still assume that they understand Adorno’s views and arguments concerning these two composers. The reductionist tendency to simplify Adorno’s view to “Schoenberg good, Stravinsky bad” shows just who has and who hasn’t actually read this book. It is never so simple. Adorno is frequently critical of Schoenberg in very perceptive ways. Of course there’s no mistaking who Adorno favors, but to consider this book as a good-vs-evil study is far too limiting. Not only is this a great study of the then current state of musical thought, it is also an interesting overview of twelve tone music, how it works, what it seeks to do, and why it’s important.
The format of the book is especially nice. Adorno’s favored paratactical prose style can be incredibly difficult when multi-page paragraphs begin to accumulate. For the most part in Philosophy of New Music, each new paragraph is marked by a heading. This keeps the ideas organized and focused. Adorno’s paragraphs seem to function as a spinning out of an idea in a very fluid manner and the length of his sections are just the right length to allow the reader to comfortably follow him without getting bogged down. His theses is developed piece by piece, but clearly dividing up the ideas helps the reader see the logical progression. Having read other Adorno writings, I found this to be unusually clear and concise. I wonder how much more useful Aesthetic Theory would be if he had used this structure.
The remarkable clarity is probably due, to a large extent, to Robert Hullot-Kentor’s translation. I’ve read many other translators with varying degrees of success (Ashton’s attempt at Negative Dialectics being one of the worst), but Hullot-Kentor is by far the best. Adorno’s writing is riddled with allusions and references that are frequently vague or obscure. Hullot-Kentor does a great service to readers by including additional references and background information. His detailed understanding of Adorno’s complicated thought is evident in every sentence. Reading Adorno has, to me at least, never been so straightforward.
In addition to the translation, Hullot-Kentor provides an excellent foreword providing both a context and an overview of what is inside. His description of the translation process is, as always, interesting. Hullot-Kentor has found a way to provide very readable English translations while maintaining Adorno’s linguistic artistry.
I just watched the original Black Christmas and I’m not quite sure what to think. It predates John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) by four years and now that there is a 2006 remake, people are starting to ask questions - questions that don’t need asking. Did Black Christmas inspire Halloween? Is Black Christmas the film that is actually responsible for the glut of slasher pics in the 80s?
Since the movie industry sees fit to remake every previously released movie in the history of film (did we really need a remake of Rollerball???), Black Christmas is getting some attention from new viewers. It’s pretty unlikely that Carpenter based his film on this. His style has a lot more to do with Hitchcock and suspense filmmaking in general. If Carpenter based Halloween on Black Christmas, it would look something like this . . .
0:00 Titles
0:05 Michael Meyers comes to Haddonfield
0:10 Mindless chatter from annoying characters
0:12 Michael kills someone
0:15 The characters hang out
0:35 Michael kills someone else
0:36 The characters don’t seem to notice and go on with their boring lives
0:45 Michael kills someone else
0:46 More boring insight into the lives of stereotypical sorority girls
1:00 Michael stalks someone creating suspense
1:01 Michael kills someone ending the suspense
1:02 Characters begin to wonder if something is up
1:20 One more suspense/murder
1:30 The End.
Instead of that stratagy, Carpenter decides to go for the steady suspense all the way through, constantly escalating the level of terror in the audience and in the film. They’re two different approaches. One gives you five or six suspenseful moments and the other gives you one loooooong suspenseful movie.
So, it’s unlikely that Carpenter copied the film. What about all the other movies? If Black Christmas was so influential, why did studios wait until after Halloween to start churning out copy-cat films? Who even heard of Black Christmas until a few months ago?
With that said, it has some powerful moments. It’s remarkable in its excessive use of profanity. Tarantino has a lot of profanity in his films, but it doesn’t seem out of place. The hitmen in Pulp Fiction would most definitely use that type of language as would a deadly female assassin in Kill Bill. An old lady who runs a sorority house probably wouldn’t and when every other word is profane, it kind of sticks out. People go out of their way to curse in this film - they bend over backwards to curse. They let loose a string of obscenities over trivial things like looking for the pet cat! It’s hilarious and adds a lot of character to the film. It was, after, the 70s.
Besides that, one of the kills is interesting, the soundtrack is creepy, there’s a pianist that performs an atonal piece that sounds kind of like the harmonies of Bela Bartok and the violence of gesture of Henry Cowell with the performance practice of Cecil Taylor. Oh yeah - and there are a LOT of creepy phone calls. Very effective sound design.
However, it’s no Halloween and it doesn’t have the camp value of Friday the 13th. It’s a fun curiosity item, but it’s no trendsetter.
This is a review I put together for Amazon under the nom de plume Steward Willons.
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Iannis Xenakis is one of the most original and unusual composers and theorists of the 20th century. His music has a remarkably small connection to previous music, as if it arrived from some distant galaxy. His ideas are important and influential - he made music unlike anyone else. To go one step further, I believe that his music was never more powerful than when he wrote for percussion. His works are brutal, severe, intricately conceived, and expertly notated. This collection is an awesome testament to the raw power of his percussion music.
Steven Schick is one of the preeminent interpreters of Xenakis’s music and thus it is fitting that he should produce this first collection. I can think of no one more qualified to perform these works. There ARE other excellent records of certain works (namely “Psappha” and “Rebonds”) by Sylvio Gualdo, Gert Mortensen, and others, but these artists haven’t recorded as widely as Schick. Red Fish Blue Fish, the resident percussion ensemble at the University of California, San Diego (where Schick teaches) provides interesting interpretations of the ensemble works, which I will comment on later.
The collection begins with Persephassa convincingly performed by RFBF. This is a very clean recording of an enormously difficult work. There is much attention to details and excellent sonic choices all around. The stereo mix is not the correct format to experience the work due to the placement of the six percussionists who encircle the audience, but the individual musicians are nicely panned, so the listener gets broad soundstage. Unfortunately, many of us don’t have access to a 5.1 system, so this is the next best thing. Interestingly, RFBF decided to overdub extra parts at the very end of the work. Xenakis notates clouds of note densities from each instrument class. Thus, RFBF used a take for each and then layered them, providing the first technically “accurate” realization of the score. This seems surprising, but it IS effective and I wouldn’t consider it cheating because I have seen them perform the work live without the help of overdubs to great effect.
Psappha is one of the trademark works from Schick’s repertoire (along with Bone Alphabet, Rebonds, and Toucher) - he seems to play it a lot, as well he should. It’s significant that he has never recorded Psappha until now, especially since he’s released Rebonds multiple times. His interpretation differs from the European predilection for large, low drums as his interpretation uses smaller drums and very clear, distinct sounds. After seeing Schick perform Psappha in concert numerous times, I’m a little surprised with this recording. Parts feel almost lethargic. His tempos seem to be much more conservative here, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. This is, without a doubt, the most precise realization of Psappha that I’ve ever heard. Each stroke seems to be in the exact correct place. This work presents enormous difficulty for the performer, but Schick manages to execute it with almost clinical precision. However, that is not to say that his interpretation is overly analytical - it is alive and vibrant to be sure. This is an interpretation that stands well on its own, but it will also be quite useful for performers wishing to study the work simply because of its accuracy and clarity.
Dmaathen is an intense work for percussion and oboe. Again, Schick realizes a remarkably difficult score without making it seem difficult. The performer is often required to play both vibraphone and marimba simultaneously, a largely physical challenge, but Schick breezes through these sections as if they were one instrument. I’m not quite as taken with Jacqueline Leclair’s oboe performance. I have heard more spirited performances, but considering the unusual extended techniques required, it’s still a solid performance.
Pleiades has taken some time to get used to. I still maintain the Percussions de Strasbourg recording as my reference because it is somehow a little more exciting. Also, I prefer the sound of Strasbourg’s Sixxen (an instrument Xenakis created that each ensemble must build themselves) to the RFBF set. It’s true that Xenakis didn’t want a 12-note scale and the RFBF set are definitely more microtonal than the Strasbourg set, but they sound weaker some how. The main benefit of the RFBF recording is the amazing clarity. Every part is performed with excellent precision.
Since Schick has recorded Rebonds previously, and each recording is special, but not wildly different. He turns in the typical amazing performance once again. I’m not as familiar with Okho for three djembes, but it is also a successful, exciting performance.
The remaining works are available for the first time in this collection. There may be previous recordings on vinyl or on small international labels, but as these are not widely available, this is essentially the first chance many will have to experience these works. My favorite is Komboi for harpsichord and percussion. Aiyun Huang provides a stellar interpretation. Incidentally, she is a very promising solo artist that I’m sure we will be hearing more from very soon. What’s more impressive though is the harpsichord performance. Komboi means “knots” - as Xenakis says, knots of rhythm, knots of harmonies. The harpsichord part is unbelievably complex sometimes indicated on up to 4 separate staves. The unlikely combination of harpsichord and percussion is actually extremely effective. Although it lasts a solid 20 minutes, it never gets tiresome.
Oophaa is also for percussion and harpsichord, but I didn’t find it quite as exciting as Komboi. Similarly, I didn’t enjoy Kassandra as much as the others, but they are well performed and interesting works. All the works are well recorded with an amazing dynamic range, nice spatialization, and great sonic clarity. Mode Records should be commended for backing this project.
The only negative comment concerns the packaging. The set comes in a cardboard case which holds three cardboard sleeves and a trilingual booklet. The cardboard sleeves fell apart almost immediately. They are no meant to last and that is a shame because this set will clearly be on people’s shelves for a long, long time. This is the same problem I have with Mode’s release of Feldman’s 5-disc String Quartet No. 2. Mode should invest in better packaging. They create amazing releases, so why not put them in a hard case?
Overall, this set is essential for an percussionist, any fan of 20th century music, and many others. Xenakis can be difficult to listen to, but his percussion works are arguably the best introduction to his world. You need this set. Buy without hesitation and enjoy!
Film art and video art - apparent, the moving picture world is not big enough for the both of them. A survey of important studies of motion picture arts finds one excluding the other, as if it did not exist. In it’s 550+ pages David Bordwell’s “Film History” manages to mention seminal video artist, theorist, and aesthetician, Nam June Paik only once.
Similarly, Illuminating Video, a collection of important source readings on video art, fails to mention experimental film makes in its “history”. One article traces technology in the arts starting with the industrial revolution and continuing through still photography to the half-inch portapak video recorders of the sixties, but it completely ignores the rich history of experimental filmmakers such as Maya Deren.
The distinction between narrative and non-narrative is weak because many filmmakers such as Stan Brakhage have no narrative traces while many video artists working in the underground documentary style feature many narrative elements.
Some will also make a distinction between video artists who are seen as more concerned with experimenting with the medium itself (again, Nam June Paik), while filmmakers are more concerned with mise-en-scene and editing. Again, there are sufficient exceptions to those generalizations to make them effectively worthless.
Why is there this divide? Is it simply over the medium and/or production technique? Filmmakers use 35mm stock while video artists use half-inch tape (or miniDV today)? This seems to be a rather arbitrary distinction. What if pianists failed to recognize percussion instruments simply because one sits to play the piano while one stands to play percussion?
Who knows.
This is my first post. Now, let’s see what it looks like.
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