composer

Meredith Monk: Inner Voice

admin — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Dutch Filmmaker Babeth VanLoo’s compelling tribute to sixty-seven-year-old choreographer-musician-teacher-composer-artist Meredith Monk does many things. In addition to introducing us to this enigmatic Jane of many trades, it showcases the artist’s creative processes and worldview. Along the way, it looks at the ways Buddhism has infused Monk’s work. “Silence is her source,” VanLoo explains.

The engrossing eighty-two-minute film includes footage of Monk performing, writing, and living in both upstate New York and New Mexico. The 2002 death of her life-partner, Mika, is mentioned, but this is not a film about grieving. Instead, the life force that propels Monk—she has been awarded numerous honorary degrees as well as a MacArthur “Genius” award—is both celebrated and explored.

Monk’s thought processes—and the questions that keep her up at night—are shared. "How do you practice fear?" she wonders. “So much of what we do is fear based. We’re afraid of the fear, of walking through it.” That realization led Monk to begin writing a piece of music that eventually became "Scared Song." Like everything she does, the final product was developed collaboratively. Her process is fascinating, since the massive ego of most composers is wholly absent in Monk. Instead, her colleagues describe her welcoming attitude, and site her willingness to accommodate suggestions and contributions by the musicians and actors she performs with.

Philip Bither, Senior Curator at Minneapolis’ Walker Art Center, calls her “one of the seminal people of our time. She resists categorization and has created great work in five, six areas of art. That’s really rare. We tend to categorize people as actors, singers, dancers.” Similarly, choreographer Phoebe Neville marvels at Monk’s ability to avoid what she calls “the trap of success. She has always maintained her integrity and has been able to say ‘no,’” Neville says. This, she continues, has fired Monk‘s creativity for forty-plus years, and has helped her avoid burnout and exhaustion.

In the end, it’s a question of balance—and Monk is the poster woman for this value. Whether working alone or with others, she acknowledges the need to take periodic timeouts. This has allowed her to continually recharge, think, and observe. “As a soloist,” Monk says, “I can be very precise and rigorous, but at the same time I am open and fluid to what is happening in the moment. That’s why I like to work without words. It throws the mind into a very different state.”

Indeed, listening to Monk’s vocalizations—her range is enormous—is virtually guaranteed to take listeners on a journey. Since the words are essentially nonsense—made up of sounds that have no literal meaning—you can infuse the music with significance or can simply let your mind wander and experience what you’re hearing. It’s a sensual, exciting, and unusual encounter—and VanLoo captures it brilliantly.

While the film could have used a bit more background about Monk’s early life—it does mention that a childhood eye infirmity led her to listen closely to music and notes that both her mother and maternal grandfather were successful performers—and might have included footage of Monk discussing the ways aging has impacted her efforts, it is nonetheless lovely. In the end, this short introduction to Monk’s life’s work—and the way she integrates spirituality into her artistic process—is inspiring. Van Loo’s love of Monk shines through, but the fact that she avoids fawning makes Meredith Monk: Inner Voice an insightful look at one of the most innovative and fearless artists of our time.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, July 23rd 2010

Xenogensesis II: Intergalactic Beings (4/30/2010)

admin — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 00:02:00 +0000

Museum of Contemporary Art

Chicago, Illinois

I purchased a copy of Octavia Butler’s Bloodchild at a secondhand bookstore and let it rest on my shelf for years as next-to-read. Fortunately, it was in my bag when I was shuttled from the ER to a hospital for a week-long stay: I possessed a means of transport away from a battered attempt at sterility and the monotony of crisis to an intense, sparse yet beautifully rendered world. I was reading Octavia Butler. Therefore, when Nicole Mitchell’s jazz composition Xenogenesis II: Intergalactic Beings, a tribute to Octavia Butler, appeared on the program notice for Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art, I jumped at the chance to see it.

Mitchell and the Black Earth Ensemble presented this nine-part composition, the second part of a three-part contemplation of the unexpected result of nuclear conflagration, on a barren stage without sets or elaborate effects. As Mitchell is a noted visionary, it is not surprising that she chose to produce work inspired by the speculative author, nor is it surprising that the aural reverberations transported me just as much as Butler’s description of altered societies and beings. What did make me pause was the complete engagement that evolved between an almost full theater and the extremely innovative and almost alien sounds alternately squeaking, screaming, swelling, and rolling from the stage.

The composer and musicians came on to the stage half-draped in sheets of papery, crumpled chiffon over black clothing. White robes are conventionally associated with angels, but the intergalactic beings of the title have a more ominous mission: they seek to save the human species through abducting subjects for seduction and interbreeding. The themes of conquest and exploitation clearly mirror aspects of American history. However, these topics are presented as evocative echoes, not didactic hammer falls. The nine-movement piece is subtly wrought and ultimately powerful, starting with the stealing of our species and ending with inescapable metamorphosis. Xenogenesis manifests a haunting reminder of Octavia Butler’s verse: “All that you touch/You Change./ All that you Change/Changes you./ The only lasting truth/ is Change./ God/is Change.”

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, June 21st 2010

Levantine Indulgence

admin — Thu, 27 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Gaida

Palmyra Recordings

Singer and composer Gaida’s debut album Levantine Indulgence is named for Levant, the Fertile Crescent’s desert oasis. Aptly named, this album offers listeners an abundance of vocal and instrumental styles that even the most resistant listeners can find nourishing and enchanting.

The opening track, “Dream,” begins with rhythmic clapping and percussion and a chorus of male voices who share vocals with the lead singer. I should clarify by referring to sharing and “trading.” This distinction is important because the contrast of Gaida’s voice with the male singers makes this short song into a true performance. The vocal banter between Gaida and the men reminded me of a musical where the lead female actor is center stage and the men in the chorus sing to her with the purpose of wooing or impressing her. But in the case of “Dream,” the men sing with Gaida at the end of the song. Unlike a traditional musical from an earlier era, where the woman needs to fend off potential suitors with clever lyrics and a silky voice, in this modern version Gaida works with the men, but the song is still decidedly hers.

“Kaifa Uhibuka” transports the listener to a smoky, jazz club with purple walls and red, plush booths. When I close my eyes and listen to this track, I’m a patron of this club, sipping gin and smoking a clove cigarette, while I lean back into my lush surroundings to enjoy the music. I despise gin and I no longer smoke, but the song evokes feelings of real or imagined indulgence, and yet sadness. I felt that this song represented the overall mood of the album even more than the title track.

Another track that evoked this mood was the beautiful ballad “Ghayeb.” The piano, cello, and flute blend with Gaida’s vocals to create a song that expresses love, longing, and caring. Despite the fact that the lyrics are not in English, my eyes filled with tears as I listened to “Ghayeb.” Without even knowing what Gaida was saying, I could feel the pain and loss in her voice. When you hear a song like this, it can cause you to have a flashback to a situation that may have been painful, or one that caused you to feel a sense of bittersweet regret. Granted, this isn’t exactly a desirable feeling, but if a song can make you feel this way, I think that’s pretty powerful.

Gaida has lived in Germany, Damascus, Detroit, Paris, Kuwait, and New York. Through the incorporation of jazz, bossa nova, ballad, Tarab (ecstasy) songs, Arab folk, and traditional Arabic maqam (modes) and improvisational style in her music, it is easy to see that she has carried pieces of these places with her as she has traveled the globe. Some people would create a scrapbook or a photo album of their diverse living experiences; Gaida has produced an audio diary of her musical and emotional journeys, and the listener can feel her sentiment with beat of the bass, the raining piano notes, and memorable melodies. On the album cover, the artist in fact states that she, “will always sing with tears close to my eyes, beats pounding my fragile heart, and care wrapping the entire world.”

Written by: Rachel Muzika Scheib, May 27th 2010

Kaija Saariaho and the International Contemporary Ensemble (11/19/2009)

admin — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Museum of Contemporary Art

Chicago, Illinois

In the LeGuin novel The Left Hand of Darkness a character notes the dearth of female composers. Thus, I was delighted to learn of the music of Kaija Saariaho. The International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE) performed four works by Finn composer Kaija Saariaho—Brad Lubman conducting—at the Museum of Contemporary Art.

The Chicago MCA’s stage is generally a sure bet for an engaging or entertaining evening. Earlier this year I enjoyed the Hypocrites’ enthusiastic (albeit not entirely coherent) interpretation of Frankenstein, and other events have included Butoh set to Elvis, an Italian woman painting on the side of a live mare, a synchronized British insult troupe, and exquisitely formed performers executing German philosophy as verbal jujitsu.

The opening selection was “Terrestre” (2002), a flute-intensive chamber piece further enlivened by energetic percussive elements characteristic of the composer. Claire Chase’s flute solo garnered sincere and sustained applause. The composition’s inspiration is the poems of Saint-John Perse, a collection entitled Oiseaux (Birds) in particular, and perhaps it is a risk of reading the program notes, but it seemed inevitable that the flute’s song echo some ornithological element, reeds weaving amidst the percussion. “Six Japanese Gardens” followed, a sole percussionist incorporating electronic waves, as well as sampled natural sounds, song, and percussion recorded in Japan.

Saariaho was in attendance and answered questions from the audience mid-show prior to the intermission. One listener inquired on how the various elements were interwoven in the immediately previous piece, speculating that it must have been quite demanding to combine so many technical elements. The conductor immediately diminished such concerns: “He has a foot petal.” Another audience member recollected that a visiting Finnish conductor once reminisced that he and Saariaho gave a concert to an audience of two, one member of which was his mother. The composer conceded that this was indeed the case, and that her zeal to bring experimental music to new audiences once led to a performance in a kindergarten, and that on another occasion an orchestra was engaged for an event that they entirely forgot to publicize. But the arts persist.

“Solar” was the final piece performed, but no less engaging than the three previous. A high volume set of notes quickly bifurcates and then trifurcates and then again. Subsequent layers of sound soothed, but come back to the main theme, departing to return in a way that seemed almost flirtatious, but more vital. I look forward to further discovery of Kaija Saariaho’s music as well as performances by ICE.

ICE appears with the John Jaspere Company in “Truth, Revised Histories, Wishful thinking, and Flat Out Lies” at the Museum of Contemporary Art April 9 – 11, 2010

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, January 30th 2010