The New York School

There is a quotation early on in David Nicholls' essay on The New York School (concerning visual art and music), which itself is taken from a John Cage article, that made me think for a while: "Cowell remarked at the New School before a concert of works by Christian Wolff, Earle Brown, Morton Feldman, and myself, that here were four composers who were getting rid of the glue. That is: where people had felt the necessity to stick sounds together to make a continuity, we four felt the opposite necessity to get rid of the glue so that sounds would be themselves." This is a daring endeavor, because it puts a lot of responsibility in the hands of the performers. John Cage's Music of Changes, for example, lacks precise metric notation; clusters of notes are scattered around long, empty staves, allowing for many different approaches to the pacing and execution of the piece. To take this idea a step further, Cage also stressed that the music should be free of intention. WHOA. That's the really radical idea, because what it does is eliminate (to some degree) the composer's ego. Composers can get so caught up in specifics of notation and worrying about public perception of a piece, but Cage and his friends were telling themselves and composers outside their circle to LET GO. But this approach is also strangely paradoxical, because first of all, even if the pitches and rhythms produced by chance procedures are free of an outside context, the piece as a whole bears the distinct intention of being a piece of chance music, and a sort of a musical experiment. Maybe I'm being too nitpicky.

The commentary on composer Earle Brown in the this article intrigued me; Morton Feldman apparently described him as an important link between American and European music in the twentieth century, and that several composers ripped off his techniques. I listened to Brown's piece 4 Systems first, and I found myself conflicted about my opinion. At face value, the music held little value for me, but then I remembered I needed to LET GO and take the music on its terms as an experiment. Luckily I was able to view the score; I would say that the success of this music hinges almost entirely on being able to view the composer's graphic score (ironically the same approach I have to ultra-complex composers like Elliott Carter and Kaikhosru Sorabji). The recording that I listened to struck me as boring, but looking at the score I kept telling myself that the pianist was simply not being creative enough with the material. Earle Brown specifies in a footnote that the thickness of marks can indicate either clusters or dynamics. This particular pianist went for the clusters. I would be interested to take this piece into a practice room and see what kind of interpretation I would come up with.

Earle Brown's piece Folio was slightly more interesting to listen to, as I heard a definite continuity with certain motifs. I didn't have the score handy for this one, but it wasn't a great loss. I still would like to know what it looks like.

Brown's program notes for both these pieces are surprisingly academic and dry. Maybe he was actually very intellectual, but these notes seem like a conscious attempt to appear hyper-intelligent to hide insecurity.

Next I listened to Morton Feldman's Rothko Chapel, and it was beautiful. Maybe it seemed more beautiful in contrast to the Brown pieces, but I feel like I really "got it". I looked up images of Rothko Chapel to aid in the experience. It was nice to see musical and visual factions of the New York School complement each other. I was surprised at the abrupt ending of the recording, but then I realized that there was MORE. Much more. This made me happy. I'll have to listen to the whole thing in one sitting some other time.

Rothko Chapel, Houston, Texas.

This piece bears some marks of conventional compositional technique. Besides the obvious tonal centers and perceivable meter, Feldman paces his instrumentation skillfully so that the choir entrance is a real revelation. The overall atmosphere of the piece is meditative, but ominously, mysteriously so. I think this fits the intent of the Rothko Chapel building; it is a space designed for meditation and non-denominational spirituality, but its dark, minimalist layout may lead one more to ponder the question of God's existence and other deep questions about life.

The other Feldman piece on the listening list was King of Denmark. I've looked at the score to this before, and I found a sample online:

Within the grids are different specific musical events. This system has slightly more composer control than Earle Brown's 4 Systems. The events are also more spaced out, so the listener can focus on each one. This piece is not my absolute favorite, but it is a nice exploration of a percussion setup.

I listened to a couple of Christian Wolff's Exercises (18 and 3). Another instance in which I wish I had the score. It was hard to tell which elements were strictly notated, if at all, and which were chance elements. I heard some recurring ostinati, and the the musical language was unified. The feel was alternately jazzy/bluesy and improvisatory. It was fun to hear a saxophone in a piece of concert music, since I just finished writing a piece for alto sax.

Last but not least in this section is Christian Wolff's Long piano. I looked up some program notes for this and found that he was partially inspired by a certain piece of artwork: a 154-foot long sequence of almost 1000 silk-screened enamel plates. He also mentions that the piece contains many quotations, from "L'homme armé" to Schumann's Kinderszenen. I am usually drawn to very long piano pieces, and this is no exception. I must say the opening movement did not overly impress me; it meanders in a free, organic way, but gives little sense of the massive scope at hand. I'll have to spend an evening with this one and follow it to its end.