Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Taking Tusk to Task

Not so long ago, as happens, I was in a Facebook debate about something I neither knew much nor cared much about. I won’t say with whom because I don’t want to mischaracterize his position. I don’t even remember what side he was on. But he certainly knows about music, which can often be a problem.

The debate—which involved a number of middle-aged know-it-alls, not just myself—was about the relative merits and ups and downs over the career span of Fleetwood Mac.

People—dudes, mostly—who know about music know well the Correct Fleetwood Mac Position (CFMP). According to CFMP, the band’s best period was in the 1960s, when they were a British blues band. When they met up with Californians Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks and became enormously popular, so goes CFMP, it all went downhill.

All-knowing music dudes (AKMDs) will tell you it was because of the influence of then-couple Buckingham and Nicks, but I would suggest that the AKMD perspective is tainted by the “enormously popular” part of the equation. AKMD’s are all too often incapable of admitting, for example, that Miley Cyrus has a fantastic singing voice or that Justin Timberlake has some tight jams. Some AKMD’s can’t even bring themselves to enjoy The Beatles or Prince, although they’ll say they recognize what’s good about it, because they simply cannot like music with broad popular appeal.

Fleetwood Mac started as a good—sometimes great—band in the mold of a bunch of other British blues bands in the 1960s and, in the 1970s, transformed into a band making music not quite like anything anyone had made before and playing it with remarkable musicianship. And remarkable musicianship and innovative music are what AKMD’s ordinarily flock toward. Unless it’s enormously popular, that is.

This wasn’t exactly what the Fleetwood Mac Facebook fight (FMFF) was about, but it is what I was thinking about at the time. And in that fight, I found myself defending not only the their 1977 album Rumours (which is just plainly obvious) but also the follow-up, 1979’s Tusk. It was only upon further reflection that I realized I don’t really know Tusk. I mean, I think I do, but I asked myself when was the last time I heard it. I’ve never owned a copy. I think I heard it, or at least some of it, from my cousin Chloe when it came out. I think I read a review that said it was their "White Album" and that must have impressed me terribly as a youth hungry for conventional wisdom. [Rolling Stone’s review, it turns out, read “Like The White Album, Tusk is less a collection of finished songs than a mosaic of pop-rock fragments by individual performers."] I remember looking at the record cover at the store and wanting it, but it was a double album! $15.98 was a serious investment at the time—and then the time was gone.

I asked in the wake of that FFMF myself what songs I could name off of the album. Not even call to memory, just name. Well, there’s the title track, of course, which I will always love, but the only other song I could come up with was “Sara,” and once I realized I was singing Hall and Oates’ “Sara Smile” in my head I couldn’t come up with the Fleetwood Mac melody. On an album with 20 songs, an album I was defending as great, I could remember exactly one. That’s five percent. That’s a nickel. That’s nothing. Apparently, I just like the idea of defending Tusk.

So, on Thanksgiving night, 2017, with the apartment to myself, I sat down to listen to Tusk, discs one through three of the 2015 remastered “Deluxe Edition” reissue, on Spotify: the entire set of songs thrice over in original and alternate takes, demos and remixes. (The last two discs in the set are recordings from the 1979-80 tour and contain material from other albums so they were excluded from this listening session.)

The first thing I discovered was that the song “Tusk” does not kick off the album, as it did in my memory. No, it’s the second to last song on the fourth side. At the same moment I discovered “Again and Again” is actually the lead-off song, a huge and enjoyable hit. The second thing I discovered is that, well, it all sounds like Fleetwood Mac. It was all familiar, pleasant, likeable, and certainly Christine McVie’s “Again and Again” and “Think About Me” and Nicks’ “Sara” (oh, right, that’s how it goes) were happy memories, but song after song passed me by like a gentle stream. That is, until a pair of Buckingham songs in the middle of what would have been side two.

Fleetwood Mac was a remarkably talented outfit. The rhythm section of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie pounds without letting you know they’re pounding. Christine McVie brings a welcome maturity (not in age but in wisdom) to the songwriting while Nicks is the obvious allure but let’s face it, her presence necessitates McVie as a ballast. A band with Nicks as the only woman would be pretty hard to take, almost as bad as Jefferson/Jefferson Airplane/Starship/Starship. But Lindsey Buckingham, with his electric finger-picking and his under-control fury, is what puts the band above and beyond such cocaine-fueled yacht-rock compadres as Ambrosia, America, Orleans and the Eagles.

The one-two Buckingham punch of “That’s All for Everyone” and “Not That Funny” was the first time I felt glad to be listening to the record, for what I now felt like was maybe the first time. The songs aren’t up there with his contributions to Rumours  (“The Chain,” “Go Your Own Way”), but they’re intelligent, enjoyable pop. Side two ends with “Sisters of the Moon,” a great Nicks song. Or is it just great because it’s on the heels of the Buckingham double shot? No, it’s great and it’s on the heels of a Buckingham double shot. Fleetwood Mac is all about chemistry and pop albums—at least back when they were sold on physical media—are all about sequencing.

Nicks holds fast, kicking off side three with “Angel,” a song that seems to be about losing an angel but that she sings with such defiance you know she’ll find another. Then there’s a toss-away, two-minute Buckingham country stomp and then a pair of McVie songs. Why is it so hard to love McVie’s songs? Was the band toying with us by setting up the gypsy and the matron, so that when we get the latter we are left wanting the former? Unfair, I know, and I almost always like her songs whereas I can hate a Stevie Nicks song. Even “Don’t Stop,” her biggest song and likely the band’s best-known song, doesn’t hook in a way that can’t be unhooked. I was intrigued by the Buckingham/McVie record that came out last year. I excitedly listened to it once (via, I believe, an NPR stream), extolled its virtues on social media and never listened again. So, yeah, a pair of McVie songs. I’m sorry, Christine. I’d like to like you more than I do. And then a forgettable Buckingham song. They happen. More than occasionally. And from there the album kind of goes limp again. Until the second to last song. Ahhhhh… the second to last song.

The album’s titular and penultimate track opens with an indifferent crowd vacillating, wavering. It’s mysterious—are we at a concert? a party? a train station?—but we can’t focus long enough to consider the question because our thoughts are flattened by pounding drums. “Tusk” (the song) picks up from the reprise of the Beatles “Strawberry Field Forever” and gave us Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl” (another song that AKMD could never admit is good) and then it’s gone. Three minutes, thirty-eight seconds, right in the ballpark for a pop song, but no matter how many times you hear it, you can’t get to it. It’s as impactful as it is ethereal. It was an unlikely hit single (#8 in the U.S., #6 in the U.K.) in a particularly unstable year for popular music.

Leaving it there wouldn’t have worked. Nothing on the album anticipates it, there’s no real right place to put it, but putting it last would have been selling us a beat bag. McVie’s “Never Forget” cradles us in its arms in the way she’s so good at. It’s just a pop album, she says, we’re just a pop band. Don’t worry about who’s hurting whom (she would, of course, know the proper usage of who and whom). We’ll all be fine, yourself included.

The deluxe edition reissue doesn’t add much more than minutes to the album. There’s multiple versions of “Tusk” as well as Buckingham’s “I Know I’m Not Wrong,” and we get the unreleased slightly-punkish-in-a-Richard-Thompson-sort-of-way Buckingham tune “Out On the Road.” But more is rarely better and it isn’t here. 

Rumours sold 10 million copies in the year after its release. Tusk sold 4 million in its first year. It was reportedly the all-time biggest sales decrease from one album to the next. But sales figures are unimportant. The question is, do I still want to defend Tusk now that I know what I’m defending? Well, I will argue that listening to the 70s version of Fleetwood Mac, listening closely, is a joy, even when the songs aren’t great. Pick a song and pick an instrument to follow. I guarantee you’ll be surprised at what you never noticed before. That doesn’t make it a masterpiece, but it does make for a band that can sustain the years.

Thursday, August 31, 2017

Q&A with Amir ElSaffar

I had the opportunity to speak with Amir ElSaffar for the September issue of The New York City Jazz Record. Thank you to NYCJR for letting me post the unedited transcript here. You can listen to a track from the Not Two by his Rivers of Sound ensemble, or buy the whole album, here

Trumpeter, santur player, vocalist and composer Amir ElSaffar has made more than one mark on contemporary jazz. Borrowing from his background and studies of Arabic music (his father is originally from Iraq), ElSaffar has developed his own techniques for playing quarter tones on the trumpet. Extending that cross-pollination, he has released a series of beautiful and evocative records combining Arabic and Western approaches and instrumentation. I spoke with him as he was concluding a composer residency in France and gearing up to present his large ensemble Rivers of Sound at the Newport Jazz Festival.

Kurt Gottschalk: First off, tell us what you’re doing in France.

Amir ElSaffar: I’m composing for an ensemble called Ictus, a contemporary music ensemble based in Brussels. They’re really fantastic, renowned in Europe in contemporary music circles. I’m writing a piece using the maqam [Iraqi devotional song] language and some of the microtonal stuff I’ve been discovering.  We have a retuned piano, a retuned vibraphone, but it’s further out, it’s not like the usual maqam tuning. We’ve gone several steps beyond. There’s four string players and two woodwinds, it’s an octet plus me. We just had a week of rehearsals and it was pretty intense, it was not easy, because I’m trying to give them stuff by ear and trying to work out ideas in the rehearsal process and they’re used to having complete scores. They’re excited by the idea but they’re also just a bit timid or something, so it was a challenge. I’m just realizing I have to score out a lot more than what I like to do and what I’m used to so I’m just going to be buried in this work for the next month.

KG: The new record is just beautiful, I love it, and the release concert that you did at the River to River festival was just great.

AE: Thank you, yeah, the music keeps getting better every time we play it.

KG: How many times have you played it?

AE: We premiered it April 15, I think eight total. Newport will be our ninth.

KG: It was hard at the release concert to ignore geographically where we were, right in the financial district and just a few blocks from Ground Zero. I don’t want to project meaning onto it but certainly sitting in the audience it felt very significant.

AE: Oh yeah? That’s interesting. I guess I’m used to it because Alwan [for the Arts, where ElSaffar is music curator] is down in that neighborhood so I’m in that neighborhood all the time and we have concerts there a few times a month. I didn’t think about it, actually. Although maybe being in this Chase Plaza and all that, it’s a very corporate part of town. I’m constantly aware of that contradiction, I guess, in working and presenting art and music in that neighborhood.

KG: Being outdoors made it a little more profound, seeing the buildings towering over us rather than being inside a theater.

AE: Right, sort of nestled in the midst of these large, glass structures that keep sprouting everywhere in the city.

KG: You used the word “contradiction,” you said you’re aware of the contradiction. I wonder if I could ask you, in your view, what is the contradiction there?

AE: There’s not an art scene, there aren’t art galleries or performance spaces so much in that neighborhood. It’s mostly the banking world and Wall Street, so presenting music and presenting something that’s bringing a very different imagery, that’s the contradiction.

KG: Have you ever felt a response of political tension to the work you’re doing, combining these two musical traditions?

AE: Perhaps it’s there but to me, I’m at a point where I don’t see them as being separate. For me it’s about the conversation between sounds and between personalities and individuals and having this idea of how we can create something beautiful. I don’t see eastern and western or U.S. and Arab and Islamic culture, those at this point are so far from the way I’m seeing and hearing the music. It’s really a question of how can we make these frequencies work together, teaching people who have never played E-half-flat and then when they do play it, and when they really feel it, then they connect to something deep and it’s not just external but it’s something that resonates very deeply within the individual. And similarly when we get into a rhythmic pattern or the energy of collective group improvisation or something that’s more akin to what’s found in jazz of the last 50 or 60 years, that also somehow there’s an energy, the oud players will get excited and get engaged. I’m really thinking more about these energies and the interaction of vibration, whether it’s sonic or rhythmic, or personalities, and that conversation’s being had. So if anything it’s being able to present that in the midst of where people are in this very heightened state of anxiety. I think that music and art have a very particular place right now to somehow, not really wash over, interpenetrate and allow things to release a little bit. It’s almost like being able to encompass all of what’s going on, the ups and the downs and the extremes and the highs and the lows, it’s almost like a compassionate embrace that I think sound can create physically. With this project in particular, when we play, I feel like that’s what we’re creating. That afternoon at River to River, I felt this special moment that we shared, where people were really in that space. It’s not to deny or to pretend that problems don’t exist but it’s actually to be resilient and to persist regardless of what’s happening in other aspects of our lives. 

KG: The new record is on New Amsterdam, a new label for you. Do you see that helping you reach a new audience?

AE: Yeah. New Amsterdam is really well known in contemporary classical music circles and I think jazz is an important element, but the ideal venues are concert halls. When we play at the Kimmel Center or Kreeger Museum of Art or the Walker, those type of venues seem to really hold this music well. The Newport Jazz Festival will be our first jazz festival gig and I’m curious to see how the music fits in that space. The responses I’m getting are already starting to indicate a shift toward that demographic.

KG: How did you end up connected with New Amsterdam?

AS: It was actually through Darcy James Argue, who’s a friend I’ve worked with several times and we’ve hung out over the years. He made the connection and knowing the fresh attitude and approach they have toward music and the wide genre-defying artists that they have, I felt that that was kind of an ideal fit for what I’m doing right now.

KG: It’s a big group. How did you decide on the instrumentation for the ensemble?

AE: The Two Rivers Ensemble, which is the sextet that’s been active since 2006, combines jazz instrumentation with Eastern instrumentation. So the idea of Rivers of Sound was to expand that to a wider canvas. I chose instruments that resonate in certain ways with each other, picking out possible sonorities that can complement each other, for instance vibraphone, santur and the cymbals of the drum, they all have this metallic tingy sound and they resonate with each other in a very particular way even though they’re coming from different traditions. There’s a sort of shared history and the sounds are sympathetic to one another. But a major part of the choice of instrumentation was actually the individuals. I chose people who I believe can really listen to one another. Each person has a very particular, unique sound that I resonated with and their personalities I gel with and they’re people that I consider to be friends. They’re all musicians I’ve worked with, some for more than 20 years in different contexts. Everybody that I wanted in this band was available. They were all my first pick, which is kind of amazing. And each person in the group represents a different era or a different ensemble or a different place in my life. Like Jason Adasiewicz and I played together in high school and college. JD Parran and I played together in Cecil Taylor’s large ensembles. Mohammed Saleh, the oboe and English horn player, and I were working with Daniel Barenboim in his West-Eastern Divan Orchestra in 1999. And then of course my sister, who kind of introduced me to Arabic music more than 20 years ago. So with each person, there’s a resonance there.

KG: It’s great it worked out the way it did. You can really feel the connection between the players.

AE: Yeah, friendships formed within the ensemble as well. People became very tight quickly. Maybe it was the intensity of our first week together where we had very long rehearsals and an all day soundcheck and gig at Lincoln Center and then a 14-hour recording session. That kind of experience can fuse people together. There’s this really nice sense of cameraderie throughout the group. It feels like everyone cares about the rest of the ensemble. It’s a really nice vibe.

KG: It seems silly to ask after your last response but I wanted to ask you if you see this as an ongoing project.

AE: Absolutely. I actually am now finding a way to compose a new piece for the group. The first goal was imagining and in the process of rehearsal trying things and finding out how this instrumentation could work together. Now that the sound has become clear, there’s all kinds of new ideas and I think there’s a lot more potential for this group. Wheels are turning. And regardless the group is going to continue to tour. We have dates through 2018.

KG: What do you hope that Alwan brings to the cultural life in New York?

AS When Alwan started it was really Arabs and Iranians and people from Turkey, people from South Asia. There were artists from all disciplines coming together as well as university students and professors, so it was creating this environment for conversations among artists and intellectuals, primarily from this region or connected to the region in one way or another. Now it’s much more open to the larger cultural scene in New York. Our audiences are now 50% people from the Arab world and 50% from anywhere else. So somehow we are representing this part of the world and not only representing traditions but actually showing innovations and how societies that are generally thought of as being ancient or connected to some longstanding tradition, that there’s actually innovation and there is a contemporary art scene and contemporary culture and things happening right now that are breaking now.

KG: Last question: Define the word river.

AE: The idea of two rivers was of course a reference to the Tigris and Euphrates in Iraq, but it was also about joining the streams of jazz and Iraqi music when I first started this project in 2006. But I started to think about it as bloodlines and my own blood and being part Iraqi and part American. There was this idea of currents and traditions in the beginning, this continuity that a river could represent. Now it’s gone beyond that. The idea of rivers of sound was really about, I keep coming back to it, but resonance, and each river almost being frequency or being a sonority or being a timbre or being a particular vibration and then how these rivers, how these sounds, coalesce and how they influence each other when joined. I started to pay a lot of attention to different bodies of water, but in particular rivers, because of the way that the currents run. I used to live right on the Hudson River and I’d watch all the different layers of currents, one on the top going very quickly in one direction and then ripples going in the opposite direction just below and then another layer below that that was maybe going at a 30 degree angle and another speed and then watching how the light reflects off the surface of the water. This kind of visual cue became part of my composition, too. So with Rivers of Sound I was really trying to create the sense of multiple currents and multiple streams happening in layers above one other. So in pieces like “Jourjina Over 3” and “Hijaz 21/8,” there’s three or four different pulses happening simultaneously that create a sense of moving in opposing directions. That was an image inspired by rivers. Rivers of Sound I also think of as rivers of light and this idea of the overtones of a sound eventually reaching light. I don’t know if it’s physically possible but it’s an ideal that I’m constantly striving for in the music.
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Monday, May 22, 2017

More Fun, Please: Paal Nilssen-Love at Oslo's Only Connect festival

Paal Nilssen-Love Extra Large Unit 
“more fun, please”
Only Connect Festival, Oslo
May 20, 2017

Anne Hilde Neset, the artistic director of the 5-year-old Only Connect Festival in Oslo, Norway, introduced Paal Nilssen-Love’s Extra Large Unit by saying that for years she’d been trying to get the drummer to “write more stuff down. For the final set of her final year with the festival, she got her wish. Nilssen-Love supplemented his 12-piece Large Unit with 20 students from the Norwegian Academy of Music to present a 30-minute suite of groove, humor and historical referencing. 

The players were spread across the floor of the Marmorsalen theater in the Sentralen – a posh, newly opened arts center in an old bank building near the city center – with scattered audience seating just beyond them, so that that players and spectators were very nearly sitting together. 

The piece, “more fun please,”  seemed an endless succession of cues and causation. It started after an extended silence with a trombone blast and a piano smash and then a quick scattering of isolated events until a vague arabesque emitted from a standing violinist. The blasts continued including from electronicist Tommi Keränen , Nilssen-Love’s secret weapon in the group. The violin dance seemed to soothe the beast – first one of the three pianos joined in and in short order everyone had followed into a quiet rumble.

There then followed a remarkable meditation for flute and two accordions (one in drone, the other seeming to pop reeds, if that’s possible) before Nilssen-Love began cuing unison blasts, which seemed to kickstart a vibraphone, playing something quicker but rather in keeping with the flute song. One of the student pianists started playing in opposition to the vibes but quIckly 180’d, then two drummers and four bassists pushing into free jazz territory. A cadre of horns stormed in and the Very Large Unit began to resemble (in sound, not size) the Cecil Taylor Unit that preceded it. 

Before one could ask the stale question about composition vs improvisation, they headed into a bit of circus music. Was Nilssen-Love teasing the question? Was he intentionally messing with the idea of composition in jazz by moving from a Taylor mode through a moment of Nino Rota and headlong into a Mingus-inspired subsection? Was he raising the hackneyed notion of live improvisation vs sterile documentation by having electronics and trumpet players cue separate halves of the band with vinyl records onto which written cues were taped: PAC-MAN; TEQUILA; BEAUTY; VOFF!; 8, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6; an arrow pointing upward, a cartoon of a ghost, or FUCK TRUMP (the last one being promptly smashed)?

There was, in any event, a score on a stand in front of each of the musicians, with pages combining traditional and graphic notation, and the players certainly referred to them at least some of the time, and do so there was something actually written down on paper. And from the faces of the students and Unit members after the piece concluded, there was fun to be had, and no doubt a wish for more.

- Kurt Gottschalk (text and photos)  

My report on the rest of the Only Connect festival can be read at I Care If You Listen.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

The Kentucky Derby is (Still) Decadent and Depraved

The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved
The Town Hall
May 5, 2017

Producer Hal Willner was a pilgrim in the field of the tribute album. His star-studded and slightly left of center dedications to Thelonious Monk, Kurt Weill and Disney movie soundtracks set the bar for curated compilation discs. But now and again, an effort of his has fallen through the cracks.

One such overlooked project is the 2012 record The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, a sort of radio play based on an early Hunter S. Thompson article with actor Tim Robbins in the role of the drug-addled protagonist and music by Bill Frisell.

The record isn’t exactly lost treasure; as a narrative piece it doesn’t necessarily invite repeat listens like his albums built around musical bodies of work. But with a protagonists-narrator occupying the bulk of the spoken parts, it isn’t exactly a radio play, either.

The musico-gonzo journo fable found life onstage, however, on the night before the actual Derby in a production directed by Chloe Webb with Robbins returning get in the lead role and Willner, Frisell and band all onstage for the action.

After a screening of a Sherman and Mr. Peabody cartoon (from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show) about the first Kentucky Derby and a newsreel about Seabiscuit, the players entered then, oddly enough, to Norman Greenbaum’s “Spirit in the Sky” over the sound system. 

The sprightly sextet of horns was pushed by drummer Gerald Cleaver through the overture, featuring each of the instrumentalists in quick succession. They then evoked the recognizable strains of “My Old Kentucky Home,” to which Robbins took the stage, towering over everything around him. Intoning Hunter S. Thompson quite admirably, he delivered Thompson’s essay with Willner, Webb and actor Brad Hall voicing incidental characters, the latter also fulfilling the role of illustrator/enabler Ralph Steadman. 

“We didn’t give a damn about the horses on the track,”  Robbins bellowed, Steadman’s illustrations for the original 1970 Scanlon’s Monthly story projected behind him. “We had come there to watch the real beasts perform.” The tone was set for their descent into the drunken derby, looking down their own drug-filled noses. Robbins stood easily against the other Thompson portrayers, Johnny Depp and Bill Murray, acing that insistent voice, like David Brinkley on the verge of a coronary. 

The action was compelling even if not altogether acted out, while Frisell’s music was a bit too full to call “incidental.” His themes were so familiar that even without his trademark guitar tone, the music (albeit played by longtime associates) was imminently recognizable as his. It was very present but not so much as to get in the way and all of the actors – Robbins certainly but even Wilner – gave powerful enough deliveries that they could rise above the jaunty soundtrack. At times, Doug WIeselman’s bass clarinet (revising the main theme without accompaniment at Steadman and Thompson’s first meeting, for example) pulled the scenes together where they might have lacked without stage set or costume. 

An instrumental section gave the band a chance to fly a little higher while Webb, in a grotesque pantomime horse head, traipsed down the center aisle and did a quick dance with Robbins. She returned in horsehead at the end, as Thompson (himself a Louisville native) dismissed his artist associate, seeming in his stupor to choose the derby-goers over the man who would become his closest working associate. “We can do without your kind in Kentucky,” he hollered, and then had a dance with the horse as if he were at last freed of the assignment.

When Frisell and WIlner’s record of the production first came out, it fell a bit flat, an interesting novelty but far from either of their strongest work. On Derby Eve at Town Hall, however, it was a winner. 

- Kurt Gottschalk (photos by Iain Toft)

Thursday, March 3, 2016

A Winter's Journey: Montréal en Lumière

Montreal seems, at least to an outsider looking in, like a city where one could declare a festival any week of the month and find events to stitch together into a program. (That, in fact, is more or less what I did when I went there in November for the premiere of Opéra de Montréal production of Strauss’ Elektra.) It’s a busy little city, one that likes doing things and isn’t about to let something like uninhabitable temperatures get in its way.
Photo by Frédérique Ménard-Aubin

Nothing makes that point more plainly than the 18-day Montréal en Lumenaire festival, where the thick-blooded and tall-booted Québécois take to the streets to prove that, even in February, they can. And in the midst of it all is the overnight Nuit Blanche, where they demonstrate their mettle with ice sculptures and ice candy and defy the elements with an outdoor slide, zip line and Ferris wheel. It’s a healthy bit of willful madness but then nobody has ever accused Montreallers of being altogether sane. Within it all there’s plenty of room to carve one’s own itinerary, as I did over the four days leading up to Nuit Blanche, with concerts of Bach, Haydn, Messiaen and Shostakovich bookended by a pair of Schubert performances.

The first of those was an evening of chamber works Feb 24 under the name “Spotlight on Shubert.” The concert delivered all the flurries of emotion, highs and lows, that the composer’s own short life held, from the charming String Trio No. 1 to the beguiling String Quartet No. 9, full of confidence and broken-heartedness, and culminating in the lyrically tender yet almost heroic Piano Trio No. 1. Schubert’s expressiveness is rarely of a single course and the musicians, especially the London, Ontario-based violinist Scott St. John, followed quite wonderfully.

The following night I was back at the Montreal Museum of Fine Art’s Bourgie Hall (in a beautiful,renovated 1894 Neo-Romanesque church) for a concert of Shostakovich and Haydn entitled From Darkness Into Light: Power and Introspection. A chronological presentation would not have been advised as it would have sent the audience out into the cold Montreal night after the crushing experience of the 14th of Shostakovich’s 15 symphonies. Written in 1969, when the composer was 63 years old, the symphony’s 11 dark movements (in many ways it’s closer to a song cycle) are settings of texts by Lorca, Apollinaire, Rilke and Wilhelm Küchelbecker, all addressing issues of death. 
With a row of candles across the front of the stage, the ensemble I Music de Montréal went for the drama, the opening movement beautifully delivered by Stephan Klemm, morose but with no excess of emotion. But most of the weight was on Twyla Robinson, who moved gracefully between soaring and nearly spoken lines. Scored for a small chamber orchestra, it was gorgeously quiet at times, percussion and pizzicato strings coming off in some passages almost like a walking ghost. The cycle ended with Robinson giving almost as plaintive a delivery as the Klemm’s opening song, then both singing Rilke to the heavens, the percussion firing like a pistol.

Hayden’s “Farewell” symphony is a comparatively friendly one. Despite being composed in the dark and altogether uncommon key of F#m, it’s hardly the chill of Shostakovich’s goodbye. It’s more a parting of friends who have no reason to think they won’t see each other again. The farewell Haydn had in mind was something else entirely, but still not a final separation. The third movement ends mid-phrase (rather like his equally appealing “surprise” quartet), suggesting the break and making room for the rousing final section. Haydn, who no doubt would have orchestrated the board game Clue had he lived into his 240s, wrote the piece for the benefit of the members of
Prince Nikolaus Esterházy orchestra, long overdue for a break. In the final movement, the orchestra members slowly blew out the candles they used to read their scores and walked off, symbolically leaving the summer palace and returning home to their families. The battery-operated candles at Bourgie Hall didn’t quite fill the role and instead the stage lights were slowly lowered as the players left the stage in pairs. The gently shifting string sextet, quartet, trio and duo that ended the piece is masterfully scored and the ensemble negotiated it seamlessly.

Montreal’s Arte Musica Foundation has undertaken a mission to perform the complete Bach cantatas over 2015 and 2016 and brought BWV 22, 97 and 150 to Bourgie Hall for a February 27 matinee. In allen meinen Taten (97) was especially wonderful with its sequences of bassoon/organ and violin/cello/organ accompaniments and concluded with conductor Andrew McAnerney turning and leading the audience in a repetition of the final section. 
Afterwards, it was a quick, 10-block walk to Cathédral Christ to hear two of Christianity’s greatest proponent composers, Olivier Messiaen and, well, more Bach. The Messiaen was served buffet-style, with works for piano, organ and voice (and why isn’t Messiaen heard more often in churches?) (besides the fact that it’s just crazy music). The highlight was the striking mezzo-soprano singing his Poèms pour Mi, accompanied by the young and more than capable Rahsaan Allwood, who also played the solo keyboard works.

Cathédral Christ kept its doors open late into the Nuit Blanche with sing-a-longs and hot cider, but immediately following the Messiaen program was a short recital of Bach’s solo organ music by the church's organist, Robert Hamilton. One of the many wonders of Bach’s organ work is that he seemed to find the greatest riches in the simplest of keys. Hamilton gave the wonderful Prelude and Fugue in C Major, BWV 547 a brisk reading followed by a nicely measured take on O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde groß, BWV 622 from his Little Organ Book.

Photo by Fred Poulin
My journey ended with Schubert's Die Winterreise, performed in French by Quebec City rocker Keith Kouna, formerly of the Quebec City band Ghouls. In a staged version of Kouna's 2014 record Voyage l'hiver, Kouna presented the song cycle as a Serge Gainsbourg bedroom drama with a small orchestra of piano, electric keyboards, electric guitar and bass guitar, strings, horns and accordion. Kouna occupied the center of the stage at the Place des Arts Cinquième Salle for three nights, residing in a sort of woodland bedroom with a mattress, a small writing desk and a haunted refrigerator on the forest floor. Kouna often played off a dancer who seemed sometimes to be his feminine ideal but other times dressed as him, either a reflection or a drunken hallucination. More often, however, he was alone on stage, not daring to wish (in his gravelly voice) for anything better than his sorry lot. 
It was a far cry from Schubert’s original but hardly suffered for the conceptual wear and tear. It was, in fact, a fairly fantastic updating, Schubert’s sick bed repositioned for an antagonist not dying but, perhaps, dead drunk. It was also the concert that provides a bridge into the festival at large, the bad movie screenings and the strip club cabaret that dominated the late night programming. Walking out into the chill of the night after the concert, I was faced with streets filled carousers, many perhaps ready to pass out in an outdoor bedroom not altogether unlike the one Kouna's protagonist called home.

- Kurt Gottschalk