Madness and Battle
Scenes:
New York New Music Ensemble, Merkin
Concert Hall, New York City 1.5
2007
(BH)
Heinrich Biber
(transcription by Stephen Gosling):
La Battalia (1673)
Thomas
Adès:
Court Studies from The Tempest
(2005)
Gerald Barry:
In the Asylum
(2000)
Jonathan Harvey:
Riot (1993)
Peter Maxwell Davies:
Eight Songs for a Mad King
(1969)
New York New Music Ensemble
Jayn Rosenfeld, fluteJean
Kopperud, clarinet
Linda Quan, violin
Christopher Finckel, cello
Stephen Gosling, piano
Tom Kolor, percussion (guest)
Jeffrey Milarsky, conductor
Haleh Abghari, soprano
Mike Phillips, stage director
In a season already distinguished by
some intriguing programming decisions,
the New York New Music Ensemble outdid
itself in a carefully wrought arc
titled Madness and Battle Scenes,
culminating in one of the most
stunning performances of the year.
Pianist Stephen Gosling fired the
first salvo, with a lightly reworked
transcription of Biber’s La
Battalia (and the first time I’ve
ever heard this group play anything
from the 17th century)
noting that one movement was as
harmonically unsettling as anything by
Charles Ives. With just a few
orchestration changes, such as some
pristine accents for Tom Kolor’s
percussion battery, Gosling was able
to position Biber’s stately sequence
as an unusual launching pad for the
four works that followed.
From The Tempest, Thomas
Adès second opera, the three Court
Dances are amalgams of modernity
with Renaissance dances peeping
through like excited children outside
a shop window. The language surges
and retreats, as if the Biber were
being deconstructed and reassembled,
and the ensemble’s clarity brought out
Adès’ imaginative layering and
effects. Then came Gerald Barry’s
In the Asylum, drifting yet a
little farther still from the older
source material, yet still echoing
some of the harmonic and rhythmic
motifs (admittedly in rapid decline at
this point). At one point in Barry’s
score I imagined the title’s inmates
desperately trying to sing a hymn, and
not quite succeeding.
The journey away from the 17th
century reached its farthest point
with Jonathan Harvey’s The Riot,
which is rather less disturbing than
its title might indicate, despite
Harvey’s incorporating elements of
jazz and swing. This is one of a
number of relatively recent works
(1993) that this ensemble executes
with brilliant attention to detail,
and in the hands of Jayn Rosenfeld on
flute, Jean Kopperud on bass clarinet
and Mr. Gosling at the piano, it
became utterly compelling.
After intermission, I doubt anyone was
prepared for the ferocious display of
vocal pyrotechnics by soprano Haleh
Abghari in Eight Songs for a Mad
King by Peter Maxwell Davies. The
vocal texts, by Randolph Stowe and
George III, were inspired by a music
box that the latter reportedly used to
teach his birds how to sing, and he
musicians, representing the caged
birds, offer a backdrop for the king’s
insanity.
Neither Ms. Abghari nor the ensemble
had ever tackled this set, which is
written for a male voice and further,
requires one willing to abandon many
of a singer’s traditional tools in
favor of sounds that some might
consider “unattractive.” Dressed in
yellow velvet knickers and blouse, Ms.
Abghari was escorted onstage by
Gosling, who literally straitjacketed
her into a chair, leaving her gagged
and gazing out into the audience.
Once released, she bounded about the
stage like a rabid animal unleashed,
stroking conductor Jeffrey Milarsky’s
leg, encouraging cellist Christopher
Finckel to temporarily abandon his
sober persona for comic effect and
generally interrupting the other
musicians. But the indisputable
climax came when Abghari stood on a
chair and brandished Linda Quan’s
violin high above her head – and then
smashed it on the floor. Even for
those used to the unexpected at
contemporary music concerts, the
sequence brought gasps from the
audience, including me. I wish every
music lover in town could have shared
the moment as we gazed at that
pathetic little carcass, surrounded by
tiny pieces all over the stage. But
in the end, I was as fooled as
everyone: Quan’s real violin had made
a stealthy exit and was safe and
sound.
With its quotations from music of the
past, Eight Songs somehow
finished what the Biber began. It
also turned out to be an unusually
keen mix of soloist, ensemble and
repertoire, and superbly directed by
Mike Phillips with a light, yet sure
hand for coaxing the best work from
instrumentalists who are not trained
actors. (I have seen many examples in
which musicians are asked to use
theatrical tools and fail miserably.)
In this case, whether prancing around
the stage or following Ms. Abghari in
dance steps, the ensemble seemed
perfectly confident in summoning up
unsettling chaos. It was all
disturbing and exhilarating without
ever blowing up and becoming trite, or
going overboard with images of
insanity we’ve all seen depicted in
films. Ms. Abghari, a strong presence
on the New York contemporary music
scene, combines confident technique
with unfettered inhibitions. In
addition to the violin massacre, one
could only watch in amazement at her
vocal colors: low, guttural growls
leading to the occasional shriek,
before colliding with genuine singing,
occasionally plummeting to the timbre
of a small girl. Sexual desire
collided with fear, anxiety with
sarcasm, and allure with
indifference. It was one of those
riveting evenings that fans will
recall for years to come, and the
immediate standing ovation told the
rest of the story.
Bruce Hodges
