The last three discs in the Black Saint box are also definitely the most complex and challenging - although it could be argued that Five Compositions (Quartet) 1986, in particular, actually runs them pretty close - and they have provided me with much food for thought over the last few days. Between them, they contain a little of almost everything (- not to say, everything but the kitchen sink).
As it happens, I had listened to Composition No- 173 on CD quite recently (just over two months ago, to be specific: I was trying unsuccessfully to locate the phrase "Here's looking at you, kid..." and thought I might find it there, though it took no time at all before I realised I wouldn't), and wasn't completely sure I was even going to play it again just yet. Yes, the box set version is of course a remaster, but how obvious would that me to me, really? In the end, though, having played everything else in the box at least once, I put this on, and it sounded so good straight away that I quite happily listened to the whole thing, probably more closely than I did last time. Did it really sound any better in this version..? couldn't tell you; but it seemed that it did, and the sparkling opening attacks, regardless of whether or not they sound noticeably superior on my very basic current setup, were enough to hook me in.
I have previously been amused and fascinated by the extraordinary vocal content of this work, both in terms of the written dialogue and the wholehearted brio with which it is performed; not only would it be hard to describe this content to someone who has never heard it, it would seem fatuous to attempt it, since by far the best solution is to listen for oneself. The libretto is typically Braxtonian in both its eccentricity, and in its wit and humour, and one of the most distinctive features of the sung - or rather spoken - parts is the way in which they foreshadow Syntactical Ghost Trance Music with their repeated "nonsense" syllabification, set to very specific cadences, which are matched in these sections by the two instrumental soloists (Brandon Evans on soprano* sax and Melinda Newman on oboe): these intonations, jaw-droppingly weird as some of them are, offer real glimpses into what goes on in the mind of the composer, hinting at the synaesthesia which gives rise to his graphic titles and custom notation, and beyond even this, pointing the friendly experiencer towards a wholly different way - series of ways - of organising sound into music.
Of course, one of the notable features of Comp. 173 is its adaptability to other contexts, many of which are purely instrumental; never having listened to any of these in close succession, I had remained unsure of how readily recognisable the work might be, stripped of its vocal content. This time, paying rather more attention, I was struck by the continual presence of a very simple three-note motif, comprising two short attacks of the same note followed by a more sustained lower note, which nagged at me for a few seconds until I realised it was reminding me of the very similar phrase to be found in the repetition series/pianists' favourite Comp. 40(o). Having noticed this, seemingly for the first time - and it's true that I haven't listened to this work all that frequently in the past - I decided to follow it immediately by the saxophone quintet rendition of the same piece, which I have enjoyed in the past year (without being able to say definitely that I would have been able to identify it, if I'd had to).
As anyone can see from James Fei's brief notes on Bandcamp, the occasion for Sax Quintet (New York) 1998 was a three-day residency at the Knitting Factory (where else?) when nothing was played other than Comp. 173, in five very different arrangements, only one of which was a "full reading" with the voice actors included (although this particular arrangement was performed twice, on successive days)**. Unfortunately, none of these other renditions seem to have been released, but the sax quintet itself is superbly rewarding; and, as I can finally attest, if one comes to it with a clear sense of the original composition in one's mind, it is recognisable pretty much at once. It's not explained in those notes, but the structure of the piece when performed instrumentally is quite different from the very precise, quintipartite structure of the original recording; presumably, what we get in the fifty-minute NBH038 reading is the opening music, the closing music, and (possibly) some of the instrumental content of the three parts representing Scenes One and Two*** of the one-act play: for sure, there is no attempt here to replicate the vocal content of the work, not even the parts which can be played (and were) on reed instruments, as noted above. Instead, what we do get is some other stuff, comprising pre-arranged freakouts and sidetracks, and including some tertiary (or secondary?#) material: Comp. 40i, a fairly common choice as a tertiary territory in GTM contexts##, is played by two of the five from 23:30, whilst (the far more seldom heard) Comp. 6k - originally a duet for B. and Chick Corea from 1971 (as discussed here) begins at 30:02, again played by only a couple of the ensemble. There are also sections in the middle of the performance which sound suspiciously like GTM, first species; and there could easily be other pieces referenced which I simply did not catch###.
- But of course I digress: captivating though it is, NBH038 has nothing whatever to do with the box set which brought me here.
The final disc in the set has already been dealt with - fleetingly - above. As regards the sixth and seventh - which seem to have been presented in reverse order for some reason^ - listening to these two again over the past week has reminded me of their similarities and differences, and this may as well be the time to clarify what I meant in my last post by "problematic" when it comes to 4 (Ensemble) Compositions 1992. It's an album which I have never written about, and although I have never owned a copy, I have had the files in digital form for a few years - but have always struggled to get through the whole thing in one sitting. On the other hand, Eugene (1989) is an album I can quite happily sit through in its entirety, and have done on numerous occasions (albeit not for a while, until just recently). Of course, they are inherently different affairs: Eugene documents a live set, prepared for the Northwest Creative Orchestra and performed at least twice within a week (the official bootleg BL024/025, otherwise known as Creative Orchestra (Portland) 1989, emerged via TCF in 2012), whilst the other album is compiled from two studio recordings, with no real-time live audience in mind. But the difference which is implied by that distinction seems to me emblematic of the difficulty with the studio album: I will explain.
Both these works present difficult, challenging music. The Oregon live set works its audience very hard - but nevertheless gives them some moments of catharsis, and the second half of the set is arguably more accessible to the average listener than the first half, so that the journey becomes more obviously rewarding for those who were patient enough to make it. Three of the selections are quite similar - almost come across as variations of the same basic conceit: these are Comps. 134, 45 and 71, which are programmed as tracks three, six and seven; and they all feature intense, riveting themes in which simple and repetitive phrases, filled with tension, draw the listener in. (Comp. 134 was also explored by another "guest orchestra", the LJCO; Comp. 45 initially appeared in the programme for the "return fixture" Creative Orchestra (Köln) 1978 - but it had actually been recorded three years previously, by yet another orchestra - though this would not see the light of day until 2010. Comp. 71 does not appear anywhere else in the recorded catalogue; all three pieces were of course written for creative orchestra, specifically.) Add to these the closing treat of Comp. 59 - originally unleashed to great effect in 1976 - with its bravura reedwork (and not even by the composer; contrary to what I may have first thought, B. is only the featured soloist on the second track^^ for the Oregon dates), and fully half the set is relatively exoteric; indeed, when we consider that track five is the wild, synth-driven (and presumably Stockhausen-influenced) Comp. 93, the second half of the programme really starts to look (sound) pretty accessible. The first half does present more of a challenge, but it kicks off with Comp. 112 - which had originally reminded me in its opening of Ellington and Mingus, and is dense and complex in its voicings, but also swings quite hard; and of course the first half of the set is also where we find 134, a positive crowd-pleaser as far as this sort of thing goes. Comp. 91 is not easy, but does include a great alto solo by the maestro; really, when it comes down to it, the toughest proposition of all is the fourth cut, Comp. 100 - and as noted above, if the listener makes it this far, things become at least a little less demanding after that.
100 is the key to comparing these two albums, for the simple reason that it appears on both of them. On Eugene it lasts just under nine minutes, and although it is fiercely demanding of the listener, it repays close concentration. A very brief, slightly ominous opening is quickly followed by a section in which attacks from different voices rapidly succeed each other, not obviously linked in any harmonic manner, but within a coherent framework: that is, if one listens closely to the piece - which carries on more or less in this "scattershot" fashion for its duration - it is possible to retain a sense of overall shape to the music, even while it has absolutely nothing resembling a melody or theme. (One does have to pay close attention, mind you: used as background music, this is basically unlistenable. So, don't try and use it as background music..!) On the other hand, the same piece kicks off the studio album, and as well as being almost twice as long, this version is really exceptionally challenging. All the individual utterances sound great, of course: with the talent assembled for these New York sessions, why would they not? But trying to follow the music, to keep any sense of structure or form, across more than fifteen and a half minutes, is extremely difficult. Every couple of seconds there's something new, which seems unconnected to what preceded it, and the overall effect is almost exhausting...
... and the thing is, this is only the first track - and the remaining three are along very similar lines! The composer used these sessions to revisit this one piece, and to unveil two new ones - Comps. 163 and 164, though not (on the eventual album) in that order - but he also went back to one of his key texts, Comp. 96, at least in capsule form; this lasts ten minutes, and follows 100 on the album. The effect, really, when one tries to play the album in sequence, is that track two is more of the same as track one, but where the continual "new ideas" follow each other even more rapidly; this, in truth, is very much a notable feature of the original reading of the piece, i.e. that something new comes along every few bars; but it does nothing at all to provide any relief or variety for the listener to this album, and to make matters more perplexing still, another key feature of 96 - its periodic phases of complete stasis, with the ensemble all playing one note for a prolonged length of time - is (almost) completely absent here, hinted at only at the very end of the piece^^^.
Add to these the two new pieces - which last more than forty-seven minutes, between them - and the album as a whole just becomes too dense and structureless to assimilate; or at least that has been my consistent experience of it. (It is also the only one of the eight discs which doesn't sound clear and bright in its remastered form; of course, I have no previous CD with which to compare it.) What the Oregon programme contains in spades, this studio album lacks almost completely: internal variety and a sense of rhythm - I don't mean that literally, but rather in terms of a rhythm derived from the progression of one piece to the next. These pieces, in this form, just sound too similar to work together in this way. Or it could of course just be me: I am far from the finished article as a listener, and it may be that one day I will come back to this and declare it a masterpiece... all I can say is that day is not here yet, and I don't anticipate it any time soon.
So that is the story of why 4 (Ensemble) Compositions 1992 is problematic, at least for this experiencer - and the irresistible comparisons with Eugene invited by this box set just bring that really sharply into focus. Of course, this is not to say that the studio album has nothing to recommend it; and with a cast like that, how could it, really? But I would really suggest taking this one in separate doses, not all at once. Eugene, on the other hand: what a delightful album this is; and how inspiring it is, to hear a provincial orchestra rise to such a challenge in this way!
* This is a little confusing, and the information provided contradicts itself. Evans is credited with bass clarinet, as one of the "14 instrumentalists" - even this is confusing, since B. himself is the fourteenth, yet is only credited as composer and conductor - but with sopranino sax, as one of the two featured soloists. But in the italicised portion of the album's notes, there is reference made to the "duo oboe/soprano section" - and I suspect this is more accurate. (Quite apart from anything else, does B. not normally reserve the sopranino for himself..?)
** Among the other versions, there was a solo alto sax reading - which must surely have been by the maestro himself - as well as a quartet and a tentet. No breakdown of instrumentation is given in Fei's notes for these latter two sets, but it would be interesting to know how they were voiced. The original recording - made in December 1994, released in 1996 as B's last album for Black Saint - has very specific and quite unusual instrumentation: four reeds, eight strings and percussion - plus one? I think not, actually... I don't hear B. among the reeds, and Restructures didn't list any more than thirteen players, regardless of what it says on the album's back cover.
*** Naturally - this being a Braxtonian affair - the two scenes are not simply represented by two tracks on the album; rather, Scene Two is subdivided into two parts. [There was also doubt cast by Restructures on the accuracy of the wording "Interlude Ensemble" in track three, which is the first part of Scene Two. But does "ensemble" in this context refer to the orchestra, or to the four actors?]
# In the context of (for example) GTM, other pieces from B's canon constitute tertiary material, but that is because each of the main GTM scores includes written appendices of secondary material, to be dropped in - or not, as the case may be - at prearranged places. Where there is no such provision made, do the "greatest hits" become secondary material? (Only I would even bother to ask the question, I know...)
## Just as one example, 40i appears in the 2000 tentet reading of Comp. 278 - but I know for a fact that I have heard it on other occasions too.
### A proper blink-and-you-miss-it moment occurs from 35.22, when a snippet from the second part of the theme from Comp. 29a may be quoted - or it may not..! It's there and it's gone. (And besides, this piece is known elsewhere as Comp. 61, apparently...)
^ With the exception of these two, the discs are listed on the box in chronological order of release date. Eugene was recorded on the last day of January 1989, and released in 1991; the studio album discussed above is compiled from two sessions in 1992 and 1993, and was released later that year. (91... 93: we are back to Eugene again, right there! and these were of course two pieces from the same set of five, as I detailed back in February.)
^^ That is, he is definitely the featured soloist on Comp. 91, and whilst I can't guarantee that he isn't heard on any other tracks "playing lead", he does share the spotlight with the other five reedmen on this album - all of them take the chance to shine, too. This means that my focus as a listener has never been on who is playing at any given time; besides the leader and Mike Heffley - who (I think) takes the trombone solo on the opener - I would not recognise any of the players anyway. The fact that I can't say for sure whether B. takes any other extended solos here probably means that he doesn't.
^^^ What this probably means is that only the first section of the score was used. [Mars Williams, of all people, is thanked on the album for his "excellent copying" of this piece; it is not explained how he came to be involved - he doesn't appear on the album, nor has he ever played with B. anywhere else, as far as I know.]
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