When Kronos came to town

I take this break from my normal rhetoric to bring a concert review

Kronos Quartet came to Stockholm on May 9th bringing a mixed program ranging from traditionals and popular music to several recently commissioned pieces to their long-time signature. The technical skill of the quartet is as strong as ever, their communication and cohesiveness still at the elite level. Their blend as ensemble is at times hard to judge--they make use of amplification throughout, and choosing to use just a stereo pair of speakers on sticks on either side of the stage makes it hard to tell. That set-up, if using a stereo image of the group (which the engineer was), causes blend issues based on location. I was a bit further house left, so I got a bit more violin in my ear. Honestly, I would make use of a different style of amplification set-up, perhaps utilizing the array already in place which would have done a better job at even amplification across the space.

The program is as follows

• John Oswald Spectre
• Geeshie Wiley Last Kind Words, arr. Jacob Garchick
• Raymond Scott, Powerhouse, arr. Michael DiBucci
• Traditional, Smyrneiko Minore, arr. Garchick
• Terry Riley, Serquent Risadome
• Karin Rehnqvist, All Those Strings!, for string quartet and kantele, featuring Ritva Koistinen
• George Crumb, Black Angels
• 1st encore, Jimi Hendrix, Purple Haze (arr. unknown)
• 2nd encore, Laurie Anderson, Push

Spectre is a piece designed as an opener, utilizing a smooth transition from tuning the string section into the piece. It follows a process from the beginning to the end, from a drone cello tone building up, through the use of electronics, to "a thousand Kronoses" (quote from David Harrington in the show). The process is straight forward and effective. The balance of the electronics to the performers was generally good, though a few passages were almost unheard during the loudest build-up of the electronics. During the climax of the piece, were "a thousand Kronoses" were battling it out, the performers pantomimed playing, either in stop-motion, hitting a position and holding it, or in an exaggerated fashion. This brought some chuckles from the audience around me, as the exaggeration was a bit campy. Pantomime is a difficult performance medium for some to take seriously. 

Geeshie Wiley's Last Kind Words is an old Blues song dating from 1930. Below is a recording of Geeshie Wiley playing the song

Playing a blues song that wasn't originally an instrumental offers challenges. Jazz players do it regularly, with the approach being keeping the form and melody, but adding lots of personal touches and long solo sections. What Kronos presented was the song, in it's entirety, transcribed for string quartet. It was less an arrangement and more a straight transcription.

Below are the lyrics:

Stanza 1: The last kind words I heared my daddy say
Lord, the last kind words I heared my daddy say
Stanza 2: If I die, if I die in the German war
I want you to send my body, send it to my mother, lord
Stanza 3: If I get killed, if I get killed, please don't bury my soul
I p'fer just leave me out, let the buzzards eat me whole
Stanza 4: When you see me comin' look 'cross the rich man's field
If I don't bring you flour I'll bring you bolted meal
Stanza 5: I went to the depot, I looked up at the stars
Cried, some train don't come, there'll be some walkin' done
Stanza 6: My mama told me, just before she died
Lord, precious daughter, don't you be so wild
Stanza 7: The Mississippi river, you know it's deep and wide
I can stand right here, see my babe from the other side
Stanza 8: What you do to me baby it never gets outta me
I may not see you after I cross the deep blue sea

Here's the issue with instrumentally performing songs--none of those words come across in the performance. That feeling does not get transmitted to the audience magically. The music in many songs aids in the transmission of the lyrics, adding to the ideas present.

A good arrangement of a song like this takes into account the missing lyrics and their meaning. Those emotions must then be portrayed and brought out by the arrangement in some other fashion. Having the first violin play the melody while the other three instruments perform pizzicato accompaniment imitating a guitar makes for a bland arrangement. I was bored in the concert without knowing the piece, and downright irritated after doing a quick search and finding the piece. A standard blues song form, with it's repeated 12 bar set-up, can become monotonous without the lyrics, or the additions most jazz performers add. Not a good arrangement at all.

compare this to Michael DiBucci's arrangement of Raymond Scott's well known Powerhouse. Almost all of you will recognize this piece instantly, even if you don't know the title.



This arrangement was faithful to the original, while making use of string quartet in a variety of fashions. The arrangement was solid, the orchestration well done, and the performance top notch. It suffered from none of the arrangement issues of Last Kind Words.

Smyrneiko Minore ended the trio of arrangements. It was performed well, with a much more imaginative orchestration, though it too stayed very close to the original. John Harrington specifically mentioned the recording below by Marika Papagika



Again, what came out was much closer to a transcription than an arrangement. In this case the musical material already included string instruments, which Jacob Garchick transcribed almost perfectly. The melody line was handled by the first violin, including all the embellishments.

It's interesting to contrast Smyrneiko Minore and Last Kind Words based on their original content and how interesting the transcriptions became in performance. Smyrneiko has a much more florid vocal line, with embellishments and quarter tones thrown around as a part of the expressive character. Last sticks to a more traditional blues style with a strong focus on the lyric character. The difference between the florid and simple settings make for vast differences in the transcriptions. For me, Smyrneiko was more compelling as a transcription, whereas Last would have worked better with a more careful treatment, using the instruments to bring forth the emotion content of the words rather than just repeating the melody.

Terry Riley's Serquent Risadome is a piece written for Kronos' 40th anniversary. The piece is very sectional, making use of a few ideas that are developed shortly, then left behind, to be brought back later for a fleeting moment. I haven't been a huge fan of Riley's more recent works, and this piece also didn't resonate with me. Kronos did a good job navigating the quick changes, and doing a fine job bringing out the moments that connect the seemingly disparate sections of the work.

George Crumb's Black Angels is a staple of Kronos' repertoire. They did not disappoint in their performance. Speaking to a friend afterwards, she was intrigued by the theatrical elements of the piece, and how much was built into the piece and how much was added. It's the type of piece that can draw in an audience into the performance. Kronos chose to have the wine glasses up on a separate platform covered by black cloth, making the reveal quite theatrical. This again brought a few chuckles from the crowd, but this theatricality fit into the piece well, and was part of what made the piece so memorable for my friend.

This is the triumph of new music. The choreography was needed but interesting, demanded in the same way as large percussion set-ups, and done in an interesting way that draws a little attention to the movement, but in a positive fashion. The many different sounds and ideas in Black Angels gives an audience a ride through different territories (figuratively, metaphorically, and literally as far as development of ideas). It was met with raucous applause by the audience.

The first encore was Purple Haze. Here's a quick reminder of Jimi Hendrix:



Pay attention to Hendrix's guitar tone. There's a bit of fuzz, but not an overwhelming distortion. There's an edge on the vocals, more like they were tracked a little hot. There's not a large amount of compression, but it's definitely present. The drums are slightly in the back, with the snares being quite rattly. This is a live performance. Compare to this to studio version, here off the Best Of album




There's obviously more distortion, a more fierce distortion. And yet, each note is clear as day. For all the crunch and nastiness, the pitch isn't obscured by the effect. It's crunched, but soulful. The drums are crunched and compressed, but in a way that is fitting. It's a classic drum sound that has been emulated for ages.

Also notice the funky 1960s style stereo panning with the vocals in the right channel until the later effects that sent it ping-ponging. There's delay and reverb on the voice as an effect, emulating the lyrics.

Hendrix knew what he was doing.

Kronos' version was so distorted and compressed that pitch no longer mattered. Most of the time I had no idea what was being played. The effect was so badly mixed that it was just a wall of noise. I've described to people tonight as "a group of 15 year olds playing used guitars into used, nearly blown Marshall full stacks, with only an old Boss distortion pedal turned up all the way. Everything just cranked all the way as loud as possible, jamming in their parent's garage, just shredding like they're the greatest thing ever."

There's something to a raw sort of version of Purple Haze. But what I got wasn't raw, it was almost unlistenable. If it had been billed as a Merzbow meets Purple Haze, I might have bought it. Instead, I got an interpretation that left me more annoyed than anything.

For a real look into how a group should approach a "new standard," and interpretations of songs, fall down the amazing rabbit hole of doing a YouTube search for All Along the Watchtower. Start with Bob Dylan. Visit Jimi Hendrix. Move to Dave Mason. Listen to Dave Matthews Band if you're so inclined. There's a video of Eddie Vedder. You can listen to Eric Johnson do a version that hearkens back to Hendrix with his guitar tone and style. Take a listen to Richie Havens version. Maybe hop to Jamie N Commons' version. So many groups doing version that range from tributes to Hendrix or Dylan to more original takes. Performers keep their style and their tone, not adapting or aping someone else. There's individuality along with reverence. But be prepared for the rabbit hole that is this search path.

Thankfully, Kronos gave the audience a second encore that was more fitting with Laurie Anderson's beautiful piece. It's a simple song, beautiful in its simplicity. It allowed me to clap and give Kronos the appreciation they deserved.

You'll notice I skipped one piece, All Those Strings! by Karin Rehnqvist. I was unacquainted with Rehnqvist's music before arriving in Sweden. She teaches at KMH, but my contacts were in the electronic department, not the acoustic composition. However, since I arrived here, I've made a point of listening to the music of as many different Swedish composers as I could. Luckily, Rehnqvist has a fair amount of music available through Naxos, so I was able to at least get a fair sampling. What I heard I enjoyed.

All Those Strings! includes a kantele, a type of plucked dulcimer/zither. It's an instrument native to Finland, and is linked to Norwegian Finnish* mythology through the Kalevala, a epic poem written in the 19th century (which has been the source of many works of various art forms since its creation). The Kantele is a beautiful instrument, with a bell like quality. It reminded me of the hammered dulcimers of Appalachia, or the cimbalom. The plucked quality reminds me of the guzheng. All these instruments share the same family, so the relations in my mind make perfect sense.

There are times when I feel a piece is too short. Not because the piece did not give adequate time to the ideas or themes, thus leaving me unfulfilled. This was Brian Ferneyhough's criticism of my piece Dance of Disillusionment and Despair, when my my concept of miniature movements did not end up serving the material (or the material serving the form, to different views of the same problem).





Also not because it was a particularly short piece. There's something to be said for a piece that gets in and gets in and gets out, making it's point.

No, All Those Strings! was simply enjoyable enough that I didn't want it to end. The piece was billed as 20 minutes in length, and it felt closer to seven or eight minutes. There have been few moments when I got lost in a new performance, but Kronos and Ritva Koistinen's performance was impeccable. Rehnqvist's writing was idiomatic and made strong use of all the instruments, employing a range of techniques in a fashion that fit the musical material. The piece is very new, so there are no recordings available at the moment, but do yourself a favour, check out Rehnqvist's music, and put All Those Strings on your "To Buy" list. Hopefully Kronos and Koistinen will make a recording in the near future.

Overall, the concert was performed with the high level of artistry that one would expect from Kronos. The weakest portions were the pop songs, where Kronos seemed to miss the point of the songs with poor arrangements. The strongest were the pieces written for Kronos that made use of all the strengths and breadth of Kronos' skills.

*Edit made 5/12/2014. Why I'm thankful for astute readers! That's just a silly mistake: of course the Kalevala is Finnish. A few of my teachers are shaking their heads right now...

Opera as Theater--design cannot defeat music

But, boy, did it try.

I attended Parsifal at the Royal Opera in Stockholm on Tuesday evening. I prepared myself for the long haul--a roughly 4.5 hour opera with two 35 minute breaks, by reading the libretto and bookmarking a couple translations on my phone, to check during intermissions if needed. I also ate a tasty burrito at a local Chipotle-esque chain called Zocalo.

My decision to attend was simple: 50% off student tickets and the study of live opera. Writing an opera is half of my Fulbright, and Wagner's operas, in particular, make use of folk and traditional stories often times to espouse his personal political and social ideas.

Christof Loy's version of Parsifal offers a similar tract, placing Loy's own visions onto Wagner's masterpiece. If you're unfamiliar with the story of Parsifal, read here. Loy's version is fairly different, so having a relationship with the original plot may be helpful.

Reviews of Loy's production have all been stellar. Here are a couple examples. One thing you'll notice is that the two reviews had different impressions of the theme of Loy's Parsifal. Both seem to focus on positive aspects of how Loy's theme was played out on stage.

Personally, I had issues with several of the characterizations. My issue didn't come from the performance, nor from the continuity of the theme. I didn't read any reviews before going, so my judgements were my own. My issue had to do with a disconnect between Loy's telling and Wagner's story. To put it bluntly, the words did not match the action.

Parsifal was sung in German with Swedish super-titles. My German is weak, and my Swedish even worse, hence me reading the libretto and having it handy. From the outset, I was confused regarding the choice with Amfortas. Oh, there's no denying who Amfortas is supposed to be: he is portrayed as the forsaken savior, crown of thorns and all. It was his actions that didn't seem to fit the dialogue at times.

In the opening scene, Wagner's Parsifal has Amfortas arrive via processional, carried on a litter by his knights. Loy has Amfortas stumbling in, terrified, injured, barely functioning. The squires on stage look at him in complete disrespect, one even with obvious hate. Loy was beating me over the head--Amfortas is the forsake savior. I get it. But...why's he so pathetic? And why does everyone hate him?

Amfortas enters, and, later, hears that Kundry has found balsam for his wound. His lines: You, Kundry? Do I owe you my thanks again, you restless, timorous maid? Well then! I'll try the balsam now, and thank you for your trouble. (from http://www.monsalvat.no/trans1.htm)

In Loy's version, Amfortas sings these lines laying on the ground, weeping, reaching for Kundry, wanting to touch her, be with her. Kundry, in Wagner's version, is possibly a witch, the temptress, but also the redeemed whore, Mary Magdalene. When she is with the nights, she is paying her penance.

In Loy's version, she is the temptress, who as much reviles herself as relishes the role. She seems to have no control over all men fawning over her and falling for her. And all men DO fall for her in this version--Amfortas, who it later comes out was tempted by Kundry and that's why he is injured and lost the spear, wants nothing more to love her. Of course, in Wagner's version, he has no idea it was Kundry that seduced him and made him lose the spear. Gurnemanz is likewise tempted, regularly by Kundry...and in fact he is afraid to even touch her in Act III when he's supposed to be reviving her. Loy's version of revival is Gurnemanz singing from across the stage at Kundry, before coming near her at the end, taking her hand, and promptly falling into a deep longing for her.

So, thematically, what do we have so far? Amfortas as the frail, weak man, searching for redemption that is not his to attain.

Kundry as the free sexual spirit, and the temptation of all men through this? That men are weak of the flesh and women have infinite power over them, even when they don't want to power?

Ok...I can rectify those with the dialogue, though it makes Amfortas an incredibly weak character. His raging scene, excellently choreographed and designed in the second half of Act I, lays somewhat impotent. To me, he has no choices--he'll keep performing his duty because, while he rails against it and only wishes to die, he's too scared, too weak, of even death to possibly not hold on to this little thing.

The disdain shown to him by the knights and squires also caused me issues. Where did this come from? Why do they hate him so? Is Loy really just being this obvious that Amfortas is the forsaken Savior?

Enter Parsifal. For the most part, he is played close to Wagner's character, but in Act II, we see another moment where the words and the actions seem to be at odds. Or, at least, the interpretation of the words seems confusing to me at best. In "traditional" versions, Parsifal enters the garden after defeating Klingsor's knights, and sees a large amount of beautiful women. The lines to begin:

Chorus:Woe! You there! O woe! What is the cause of this distress? Cursed, cursed shall you be! Parsifal jumps down into the garden. Ah! Bold one!

Maiden Group 1:You dare to approach?

Maiden Group 2:Why did you strike down our beloveds?

Parsifal:You lovely children, should I not have fought them? They barred the way to you, pretty ones.

Now there are lots of ways to do a line reading of the above. Parsifal has entered, he needs to get through these ladies now that he's gotten through the knights. He can do the above lines as a sort of "Hey ladies, you're looking good...if you let me through, I'll come back and take you to a nice steak dinner." Parsifal can play the ladies man.

Parsifal could play it sardonically and sarcastically: "Yeah, I killed the knights to get to you. Now move your asses."

The action plays out to the point where Parsifal continues, "Never before have I seen such a handsome race: if I call you fair, don't you think I am right?">

and then

First Maidens: You struck down our playmates

 All Maidens: Who will we play with now?

Parsifal: I will, gladly!

Remember, Parsifal is supposed to be the "anointed fool." He doesn't know what's happening half the time. From the text, what would your reading be?

Loy's reading is that Parsifal starts out sarcastic, then tries to fight all the ladies, then finally flees until Kundry appears.

This is one possible reading--that everything is turned into sarcasm, that the flower maidens are more than just simple maidens, but horrible seductresses meant to turn Parsifal from his path to the spear. That Parsifal, in his combination of innocence and anger, chooses to flee rather than kill these evil sirens. Possibly.

But that's not what came across to me--what came across is action that didn't fit the words, line readings that seemed inconsistent.

The end, to me, was trite, unoriginal, and tossed in as an extra theme. Throughout the entire opera, the idea that "this is a story, a thing happening in the past" was beaten into me. From the book Gurnemanz is borderline obsessed with, to the lady in 20th century garb entering in every Act at some point, and even the stage direction. The blocking, to put it simply, was about creating pictures, images. This first happens before there's any dialogue: the squires enter, one by one, take a specific place, and pose, statuesque, for at least a minute or two. Then, one by one, they move, and take a new pose.

This happens, continuously, through every scene. That is the entire style of blocking--move one at a time, everyone in position? Great, now, PICTURE! and now one at a time move.

The style of blocking is obviously meant to make a connection to the idea of paintings, of history and stories told in other mediums. In the first Act as Gurnemanz tells the squires the story of Amfortas, a picture is revealed. One review comments that it looks like Monet, but I didn't see the connection to Monet. It appeared more like Arthur Hacker's The Temptation of Percival (which makes sense, considering Parsifal = Percival).

After 4.5 hours of seeing this type of group blocking, I was actually annoyed. When there were two, three, or four characters on stage, the direction was magnificent! Act II between Kundry and Parsifal is beautifully done. Act I during Amfortas' railing against his duties was also fantastic. But add a chorus, and, look out for monotonous movement.

Yes, it ties into an overarching theme...but...

The musical finale is played as the back wall opens revealing a present day library. The same modern garbed woman takes Gurnemanz's book, hands it to another associate to be filed.

I actually groaned. This, this is what Parsifal has been leading toward? Amfortas is on the ground upfront playing in his father's ashes (btw, his father dies in this version), completely unredeemed. Humanity is still as frail as its ever been. And the rest of the troupe wanders into the library, looking amazed, as patrons, slowly mill (entering one at a time, though moving more fluidly now, as they aren't in the book). To me, this is so blatant that it's almost Absurdist. The final moments something is revealed.

And I honestly have no idea what. You see, it was placed at the furthest back point, and all the way up top. The front curtain was raised and lowered to various heights to create depth (great idea), and at this point was about 3/4 up...From the front row of the top balcony, I COULDN'T SEE THE BIG REVEAL!!!

This is one of the biggest blunders I've ever seen in a production. You lead up to a point, all the patrons in the library have stopped milling and are pointing and staring. And at least 1/4 of your audience can't see what's happening. Just because I could only afford a 150SEK seat doesn't mean I shouldn't get to see your big reveal.

This was either a) a mistake by the person operating the front curtain. If it had been all the way up, I would have been able to see it or b) a massive design mistake where no one bothered to check from the balcony.

Loy's production suffers major problems from my perspective. First off, it lacks all subtlety. Let's be honest: Wagner is not going to help you with subtlety nor with blocking. He has large blocks of stand and sing "I'm going to tell you a story now." That's one of the challenges of Wagner. He's blatant in lot of his imagery, such as Kundry anointing the feet of Parsifal when he returns: Yes, that's Mary Magdalene anointing Jesus' feet. He has his subtle moments, but those mostly come from when Wagner has mixed his original texts together, when Christianity meets old Germanic and Norse stories and you have to decide which meaning you'd like to take.

The design choices, to me, feel tacked on. They're not from the story, they're in lieu of the story. Wagner is incredibly direct, even blunt, with what his story is. There are multiple interpretations. But I just can't see where Loy's incredibly blunt statement of "This is a parable. I shall make this apparent that it's a story, but just because it's a story, doesn't mean you can't learn something. See, it's a library, because someone was reading the story, and look, the painting from the first act (I found that out by reading reviews. Lame)" is rectified in the story. It's added to the story, an outside idea forced on top.

And for me, that idea didn't work. I prefer theater that is organic, that comes first from the story, and is then brought out.

That is my problem with this production: so much of it comes not from Wagner, it comes from Loy. In fact, there's very little of Wagner's story. Oh, there are Wagner's words and Wagner's music, but not his story. This is Loy's story. Which, when the actions and characterizations don't match the words, then Loy's story can't work very well.

All the negative out of the way, the performance itself was spectacular! Ola Eliasson as Amfortas, Christof Fischesser as Gurnemanz, Michael Weinus as Parsifal, Martin Winkler as Klingsor, and Katarina Dalayman as Kundry were all spectacular. The chorus numbers were powerful, the flower maidens were all strong in their more soloistic moments.

Major hats off to Christof Fischesser, whose powerful bass voice was absolutely stunning. Not only was the singing technically perfect and musically satisfying, it was delivered with apparent ease and conviction. It allowed Fischesser to performer subtle and complex vocalizations, adding a layer of nuance to Gurnemanz character that was incredibly enjoyable.

The same can be said for Katarina Dalayman. This was especially apparent during her long scene with Weinus during Act II. Weinus has a strong voice, but needs to ground himself to really belt the difficult Wagnerian tenor role. This led to moments of action, then standing, then action. Wagner is unforgiving of his tenors, so this is not meant as negative criticism. Dalayman added nuance to the scene, being able to perform her lines in a variety of positions, sitting, lounging, reaching, and seducing all the while singing in a full, rich tone.

The orchestra matched the musical superiority on stage. Wonderful playing and musical direction. When a trained musician can count on his hands the tiny mistakes, then a group has performed amazingly. The loud sections of the orchestra were huge, nearly deafening (in a good way), and the more subtle sections were nuanced and immaculate. So far I've heard orchestral playing three times in Sweden, and all three times have ranked in the top 10 orchestral performances of my life. Amazing musicianship.

And this isn't to say that all the design choices were poor. I absolutely loved the choice of Kundry being in all black. This, to me, made a connection between Kundry and mourning, her dislike of her "role" and her fervent wish for redemption. The scenic design, other than the finale, was amazing. The front was designed as an all wood enclosure, first as a Gurnemanz cottage, then fancied up a bit for Klingsor's castle. The back wall of the wooden structure opened to a full, raked, and beautifully designed perspective of, first the chapel at Amfortas' castle, the garden of Klingsor's castle, and the library. The use of the sets caused movements from intimate (with a small cast, such as Kundry and Parsifal in Act II, or Gurnemanz and the squires in Act I) to claustrophobic (Amfortas being berated and attacked by his knights in Act III--a Loy construction). Amfortas' castle was open and spacious, while Klingsor's was enclosed and dark. Great scenic comparisons.

Klingsor's castle was perfect, the entire scene and idea. Placing Klingsor as aristocracy vs. the workingman garb of the Knights showed differentiation. His obvious control of the girls, dressed as ballerinas and other performers, as well as having spare chairs from the opera house made a "subtle" statement about the arts becoming controlled by money and being useless entertainment. But it was done in a way that didn't hinder the story in any fashion, in fact, added a layer of subtlety that gave me nice pleasure, a moment of "Here's the plot, here's Klingsor and he's an ass, and...wait, is that? Oh, it is! Nice..." This subtlety was lacking in most of the other scenes.

The lighting designed was equally masterful. It was, for the most part, utilitarian and sparse, but perfect. Windows would be opened to shine light across the stage, and the shadows cast became as interactive and important as the characters themselves.

One note on props: characters seemed to become attached to a single prop: Gurnemanz with the book, Amfortas first with the Grail, then with his father's ashes in an urn. This causes the props to have power. The power of the book becomes apparent at the end (or earlier for some). The power of the Grail is, actually, ignored. It is often placed on the floor, or on a bench, and the chorus moves around it, ignoring it. It's an odd sequence to see everyone reverential to an object, then put it on the floor, and almost kick it over. This was an interesting artistic statement. The same thing happens with Titurel's ashes: Amfortas fumbles them in the quarrel with his knights, breaking the urn and spilling them on the floor. Amfortas goes to wallow in them...moments afterwards the chorus is walking through them, kneeling in them, and ignoring them.

The statement, to me, seemed clear: what we revere in an object is only a personal affectation, fleeting in the moment. Or, perhaps, it is meant to personify the chorus, a group that is actively betraying their one time savior, now fallen--how easily they discard the past and ignored it's ramifications. Of course, all the while, they're telling Amfortas to uncover the Grail and perform the sacrament, even as they ignore the Grail itself. Always this double sided nature to Loy's direction which just added frustration to my experience--not because I "didn't get it" but because it was continuously at odds.

Finally, a moment of amazing direction, and which set-up my expectations for the show, which were then sadly not fulfilled. During the first Act, Gurnemanz talks of the past, of Titurel passing kingship to Amfortas, and Amfortas' quest. The squires move closer, and start to be swayed by the story. The movements become somewhat seductive. Two female squires/flower maidens move down stage, one brushing the others hair. All the other squires inch toward Gurnemanz. As Gurnemanz reaches the point of describing Klingsor's castle, the girl down center rips open her shirt, now topless, moving sensually. The other two female squires have reached Gurnemanz, seductively touching his leg and chest. The males move toward the downstage girl and toward Gurnemanz.

Quickly, Gurnemanz ends the tale. The squires, in a daze, replace their clothing, move away, and seem confused.

This was absolutely fantastic. If Loy was going for "the power of a story and history to affect the present," this scene showed it perfectly. It also shows the frailty of the human spirit, that at any moment we can be swayed, changed, and coerced away from our own ideas and beliefs. It was powerful, subtle, but not so subtle that I think it was lost on the audience.

If Loy had continued in this vein, and not gotten even more blunt, prosaic, and banal, the production would have been a complete success. Instead, I was left with absolutely loving the music, appreciating an amazing performance, and wondering where the nuance and cohesiveness of theater had gone.

The essence of an open mind.

every once in a while you listen to a piece you're "supposed" to hate. It's not "original" enough. It's by someone that just pumped out music without taking time to craft it. It's kitsch. It's poorly orchestrated. It's too harmonically simple. It's predictable.

Everything you've been "taught" tells you to hate it. No one tells you to listen to it, but you do anyway, because you think "I can learn something from anything, be it what to do or what not to do."

So, you listen. The opening line is kitschy, tonal, simple. The orchestral tutti later is trite. The section that follow is done as block chords a la a hymn. Everything you've been "taught" tells you that you shouldn't like. There's even a fugue, a simply created fugue, not a double mensuration canon, just a straight forward fugue, constructed well enough. Not as impressive as Bach. The orchestration is the standard Romantic fair, almost formulaic in its accumulation. A trumpet hits the melody just before the next tutti. You want to groan. Everything you've been taught says you shouldn't like this piece.

And, maybe, most other days you wouldn't like it. But today, you're listening because other people told you how new music is dead, how it's not complex enough while citing Beethoven as the example. You tuned in after reading blogs and articles all morning discussing what's wrong with symphonies, what is the American symphony, criticism of every style possible, the symphonic music, in general, is a complete waste of time and money. You pulled up this piece because you knew exactly what it was--the title said it all. You knew the composer, and could guess exactly what would happen.

Even as the first movement ends with block chords, timpani rolls, bells chiming, you're wondering why you haven't shut it off. The second movement kicks in--a jig. Less Irish and more American barn dance. You don't even bother looking at the title: knowing the composer it's probably titled after the tempo. The violins are fiddlin' away. Now you're really thinking "I should really hate this right now." Then brass blaring repeated chords, chimes, and a forlorn English horn melody. It's a late enough piece you wonder how much film music played into the creation of the piece--less Korngold and more John Williams. Another trumpet solo with undulating strings. Your stomach is what should be undulating...but still, you listen. Are you waiting for the train wreck? Like the piece from a few days ago which was so horrific you forwarded it to all your friends with the title "BEST.PIECE.EVER!" much like you pranked them with Tough Guys Don't Dance? Meanwhile a piccolo starts a duet with the English horn. This is the first moment you shudder, mainly from the thought of "Oh God, no, not a piccolo" but it doesn't destroy your ears as you thought. It's almost...pleasant? As the brass come in blaring the melody you start to wonder about the construction: so much direct repetition of a single melody is offense 1 in any composition course. Development, development, development! We're even told the minimalists developed ideas, just a single idea.

The strings break your wandering thoughts, cascading lines--another barn dance. Canonic. The bass drum, timpani, and chimes spell out the underlying pulse. Your foot is tapping. Why in the name of...Seriously, why is your foot tapping! This should have you on the floor gasping for breath, wishing someone would turn off the racket. But, you don't reach to turn it off. You're listening as the whole group spirals out of control till the brass enter, predictably. The tuba player shines, somehow becoming your focus. Who focuses on the tuba at a time like this? They release the chord and you're starting to wonder if your sanity is gone...

Harp, oboe, strings. No one writes for harp these days. You used to think there was good reason, but now you're wondering why not? And you're trying to remember the pedalings and realize you don't write for harp because it terrifies you...and you're afraid no harpist would play what you wrote. Strings in canon again. That's at least three times the composer has used canons as a transition--there were probably a few more but they slipped by you. The harp and oboe come back, simple melody, repetitive accompaniment. You should be reaching to turn it off because you just know the fourth movement will start off with...

A chorale. Yes, the chorale has returned. You knew it even before the first notes were played. There was no excitement in realizing you were right--the musical guessing game ending before this piece even began. Canon, again with the canons. You're finally starting to dislike the piece, but only a little. You're starting to wonder "If I was an orchestra conductor, would I program this? I think I would." As the basses and cellos move their stepwise bassline you're wondering how much flak you'd take for programming this piece, and if you'd even care. The audience might like it, as it's more Mendelssohn than Lachenmann. Then you wonder if you could program it with a Lachenmann piece...All the while the chorale is still going in the background, orchestrational pairings are just as you'd expect then horns holding a chord. Then pizzicato strings...then...oboe? What is the oboe playing? What mode is that? The line is being passed through the woodwinds. This passage you really shouldn't like. It's reached the point of buffoonery--there's not one ounce of development, just theme to theme to theme, repetition, canon, orchestrational change. Everything you've learned says this is a lesser piece. You know it's a lesser piece. It's backwards thinking. This piece came out around the same time as Christopher Rouse's Gorgon, and it's about as far an antithesis as can exist.

Another theme. Related? Back at the dance. A canonic entrance of voices, the first few notes repeated. The closest thing to development that's happened the whole piece. Even the second half of the melody is just a transposition of the first phrase. The brass enter with their chorale one more time because "Why not?". There's a sudden harmonic shift. It's jarring...At this point you must be sitting there because you've made it the first 30 minutes so what's another three at this point? That has to be the reason. Orchestral tutti of the chorale. The final chords...was that I-V7-I? Crescendo and release...

You sit for a minute, stunned. You just listened to a 33 minute piece that all your schooling said "dislike this." It was kitschy--oh golly was it kitschy. You hate kitsch. It was trite...or was it? Something didn't feel trite about it. Folk style themes for an orchestra in an unadulterated manner usually equals trite...right?

You're still thinking about it. You're not reaching for Berio, Ligeti, or Ferneyhough. Not even going for Shostacovich. Just the fan is your accompaniment.

Why don't you hate this piece? If you listen tomorrow, you probably will. Your gut says that two listenings may be too many. There's not enough substance there. Heck, even a Lost Prophets song takes more than one listening just to get all the words...But, right now, you don't hate it. You kind of liked it. May the contemporary composition gods forgive you, you kind of liked it. This was Mendelssohn with a large orchestra. This.is.not.the.music.of.1985. It is not the music of now. It's a music of yesteryear.

And you're ok with it. You click back over to Naxos and start looking for more American symphonies written after 1980. That's your listening for today. But it sticks with you...

This piece that, by all accounts, by all learning, by your own goddamn taste, you should hate.

You didn't.

And you're happy you listened to the whole thing, gave the music a real chance. It seems like many composers musicians critics listeners people wouldn't do that.

The piece, some might be wondering? Alan Hovhaness' Symphony No. 60 "To the Appalachian Mountains." Couldn't find a video, but it's on Naxos.

And I know I'll hate it tomorrow. But, for today, I'm alright with myself.

That is the essence of an open mind.