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Zachary M. Lewis Photo by Nowell York

It was a Thursday evening in mid-March. Members of the Cleveland Orchestra were gathering onstage at Severance Hall while a small group of ticket holders settled in a chamber hall downstairs to catch a pre-concert performance by the Oberlin Contemporary Music Ensemble.

That’s where it would happen. There, in the elegant Reinberger Chamber Hall, a fed-up listener would boldly strike back against new music.

The program at this mini-concert was Julian Anderson’s Poetry Nearing Silence, a brief septet from 1997 based on poetry by Tom Phillips. The music was serving the place of an introductory lecture or interview with Anderson (a British composer now teaching at Harvard University), whose Diptych the orchestra and director Franz Welser-Möst were to present later that evening.

Following the performance, OCME director Timothy Weiss offered to answer questions. An older gentleman, clearly disgusted by what he’d heard, shot his hand in the air and was given the floor. “Can you explain to me how that’s music and not just the group warming up?” he asked.

Momentarily flustered, Weiss smiled politely, gathered his thoughts, and proceeded to deliver a remarkably polished response that defused the situation. After first noting the music’s “almost embarrassing attachment to the 19th century,” he justified the performance with the principle many NMBx readers live by: “If you don’t continue to listen to new music, then music isn’t even an art form.”

The questioner nodded his head in seeming understanding. Nevertheless, an air of awkward hostility hung over the room through a round of tamer questions and another Oberlin student’s performance of a Schubert lied.

Reflecting on the encounter a few days later, Weiss said he wasn’t prepared for such a pointed question, but he wasn’t surprised by it, either. In fact, he took it as a sign of the times.

“The Thursday night audience is the conservative audience, and this man was just trying to get a reaction out of me. He was trying to rile me up…These are conservative times, and some of that conservative attitude in politics and religion is filtering down into the arts.”

“Of course,” Weiss mused, “I could have been like Harrison Birtwistle when he was here last year. He just said ‘That’s a stupid question’ and moved on. But he’s 70 and has an international reputation. I’m only 38 and I’m not ready to be that abrasive.”

Gail Wein Photo by Chad Evans Wyatt

Everything old is new again. Murry Sidlin, dean of the School of Music at The Catholic University of America, thinks so. Inspired by Aaron Copland’s Old American Songs, mid-20th-century settings of folk melodies, Sidlin commissioned ten composers to write new settings of traditional tunes. New Old American Songs premiered on April 5, 2006, as part of CUA’s Copland Festival.

Sidlin met Copland several times over the years, and once asked him if he planned to add to his two sets of Old American Songs. Copland replied that he was pointing the way for future composers to follow his example. Within these settings, Copland demonstrated the richness of American music and spurred Sidlin to launch the project, New Old American Songs, in celebration of Copland’s legacy.

Sidlin tapped CUA professor of composition Andrew Simpson to head up the project, coordinate the details, and choose the composers, all of who have some connection to CUA. Simpson laid out the precise parameters of the compositions: The original songs had to have been written before 1900. This not only satisfied the “old” part of the project, it also was a practical consideration to use tunes that are in the public domain. The source material had to be American, or at least well known in America, and the works should be brief, about two to three minutes long.

Murry Sidlin

By design, the composers represented a mixed bag in terms of background and experience, from student Stamos James Martin, 20, to composition professor Steven Strunk, 63, to award-winning Broadway composer Andrew Gerle, 33, to project leader Simpson, 39. Naturally, the composition styles varied, though considering the independent nature of development, the ten together made a remarkably cohesive set.

Only one, Joseph Santo’s setting of the 1651 hymn tune “Our Father which in Heaven art”, had an ultra-contemporary style. Most of the others were melodious settings of spirituals: Martin’s “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child” and Philip Carluzzo’s “My Lord, What a Mornin”; and popular songs, like Strunk’s take on “Grandfather’s Clock.” Roberto A. Martinez obviously had fun with the Mexican-American folk tune “La Cucaracha,” which added spice to the set, and the resoundingly silly “Risseldy, Rosseldy” arranged by Maurice Saylor concluded the cycle with whimsical amusement.

(L-R) Six of the ten participating composers: Leo Nestor (CUA professor), Andrew Gerle (Broadway composer), Robert Martinez (CUA student), Andrew Earle Simpson (CUA professor), Stamos Martin (CUA student), Maurice Saylor (CUA professor) Photo by Lara Fredrickson

Leo Nestor led The CUA Chorus and Chamber Players at the University’s Pryzbyla Center. The CUA Chorus sang with maturity and poise, making for a tight and engaging performance. Nestor’s conscientious direction ensured that each composer received full attention. After all, the cycle included his own setting of “Shenandoah.”

This is not Sidlin’s first foray into the concept of a community of composers contributing short pieces to compile a larger work. Last year, Songs of a Forgotten War engaged 19 composers to each write a one-minute piece about the Korean War Memorial in Washington, D.C. Sidlin jokes that “anyone can write a symphony,” but he seems especially intrigued by the challenges of writing very short compositions. In light of that, we can be sure that there’s another miniatures commissioning project up Sidlin’s sleeve.

Justin Schell

While some artists who work with digital samples seek to retain the fragment’s sedimented cultural and historical associations, Nick Zammuto and Paul de Jong, who make up The Books, find beauty in the decontextualization, but never dehumanization, of the voices they draw upon. On their three albums to date, Thought for Food, The Lemon of Pink, and last year’s Lost and Safe, those associations are still audible, yet much is left to the listener’s imagination. “When taken out of context,” Zammuto says of many of the samples he and de Jong use, “the imagery is really amazing.”

In possession of a digital sample library that numbers in the tens of thousands, de Jong (cello) and Zammuto (voice and guitar) select seconds-long gems from this abundance of digital riches, crafting surrounding textures corporeally—bowing, plucking, strumming—that never seem to overwhelm, nor are overwhelmed by, the sampled material. On Lost and Safe‘s “It Never Changes to Stop,” amid a plaintive banjo counterpoint hovers the voice of an overzealous preacher, whose diatribes quickly devolve from authoritarian power to sheepish vulnerability. Even Salvador Dali makes an appearance on “Venice,” a sonic rubberstamp courtesy of the surreal world through which The Books tread.

Samples are not always literal quotations, however. Most of the lyrics are also taken from other contexts, ranging from the writings of the Buddha and the Tao Te Ching for “A Little Longing Goes Away” and “Twelve Fold Chain,” respectively, and a Surrealist-derived, exquisite corpse-style lyrical composition on “Smells Like Content.” While watching television, Zammuto searched for poetically resonant phrases, then flipped the channels to find their completion. He delivers these words in a slightly delicate voice, yet one which thankfully lacks the whine of some contemporary male pop singers.

While composing with samples can lead to thorny legal territory, the two are not overly concerned with the possibility of a copyright lawsuit. “There is a danger in what we do, there’s no doubt about it,” Zammuto says, but feels that “we’re extremely conservative when it comes to dealing with copyrighted materials.” If there is a question over a sample’s lineage, the two simply put it aside and search for a something else in their library. For de Jong, “there is enough sound to play” that doesn’t involve undue legal attention. Besides, Zammuto concludes, “I don’t even think half of the people that would hear the record would even recognize their own voice.”

</tableSince they first began playing live, shortly after releasing The Lemon of Pink, The Books have navigated both the indie rock and new music concert circuits. Their current tour, however, which also included European dates, is their first full-fledged concert tour. For every club the duo plays, it seems, within a week they will be playing in an art museum. “The real purpose of touring,” Zammuto says—only half-jokingly, I suspect—”is to raid Salvation Armies and Goodwills for new material.”When I met them in Minneapolis, they were playing in the basement of the University of Minnesota’s student union; the space, filled to capacity with 240 people, was surprisingly intimate, with a large group seated on the floor enjoying the music just a few feet from the performers.The performance revealed the latest addition to The Books’s arsenal. Each song performed had an accompanying video, from disarming cross-cultural displays of laughter that formed the sampled landscape of “Take Time” to varieties of life in motion, nimbly synchronized with the undulating repetitions of “An Owl With Knees.””There’s this world of rotting videotapes out there,” Zammuto said with more than a hint of glee. “Now music is starting to arise simultaneously with image.”Zammuto, originally a chemistry student before switching to visual and now sound art, lives in North Adams, Massachusetts, while de Jong, who has played cello since early in his life, is based in New York. Each works on material separately until they have something to share with the other. Albums are recorded in North Adams, with the two doing all of their own mixing and editing. Originally from the Netherlands, de Jong is also completing a project that translates his experiences of Dutch neighborhoods into sound.Establishing their recording home in North Adams, home of Bang on a Can’s Summer Music Festival, has brought them in contact with the group’s founders. Zammuto met Michael Gordon, Julia Wolfe, and David Lang at the last Summer Music Institute. “It turned out,” de Jong said, “that most of the people involved with Bang on a Can knew our music already. We’re both pretty amazed by that.”Such interest has translated into greater interest from the New York new music scene. Todd Reynolds will open a series of Books performances, including one on May 5 at Brooklyn’s Northsix. And on May 24 they will be featured as part of Ben Neill’s PlayVision festival, sharing slots with established Downtowners Christian Marclay, Elliott Sharp, and Okkyung Lee.For The Books, then, digital sampling is more than a way to superficially revel in a pastiche of life’s audible shards. Rather, they have used their music to construct a coherent, distinct, and increasingly well-known musical identity, formed, in a gratifying paradox, from other people’s voices.***Justin Schell lives in Minneapolis. He is a first-year graduate student in the Comparative Studies in Discourse and Society at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities, where his main research interests are the study of contemporary musical cultures, the relationship between music criticism and notions of historical value, and the myriad ways that music does cultural work throughout the globe. He previously lived and worked in Milwaukee, where he completed a Bachelor’s degree in Music History and Philosophy. And he unwaveringly agrees with Frank Zappa that The Shaggs are better than the Beatles.

Paul de Jong and Nick Zammuto a.k.a. The Books Photo by Nino P.

Kronos Quartet, L-R: Jeffrey Zeigler, John Sherba, Hank Dutt, and David Harrington Photo by Jay Blakesberg

The Kronos Quartet has been throwing a little party at Carnegie Hall over the past few weeks with plenty of A-listers on stage and in the crowd. I was in the house for three nights of Kronos: Live Mix, and the concerts left me speculating about the festival’s significance in ways that extended well beyond the impressive span of premieres and fresh programming the six-night series brought to the stage. Hearing new work from Alexandra du Bois, Michael Gordon, Henryk Górecki, J. G. Thirlwell, Glenn Branca, Terry Riley, Derek Charke, and a nice collection from R.D. Burman’s catalogue in such a concentrated fashion—all with the gloss of Kronos attitude and subtle lighting effects—demonstrated the larger importance of following your instincts (not to mention your heart) as a new music performer.

Kronos, of course, has built up quite a record over the past three decades, putting the ensemble in a particularly key place to present new work and take risks. They have the necessary mind-set and experience, but more than that, having ushered into being such a volume of work, there’s room for fans to have their own opinions, to not like a particular piece or album, without losing their faith in the ensemble. The power of that situation was on full display during Live Mix.

The quartet’s programming choices made for a notably eclectic festival, mercifully without the terms “iPod generation” or “shuffle function” being uttered. Instead, Kronos concentrated on what it always has—presenting work it’s rather in love with backed by all the passion and conviction it can rally. There were such large crowds on the street before the shows that tourists were stopping to ask what was going on, and the hall itself was filled almost to capacity every night. There was an overt excitement in the air—a concert circumstance that couldn’t help but infect even the most jaded members of New York’s music community. I’m sure not everyone with a ticket was a card-carrying member of the Kronos fan club, but the screaming and the ovations that greeted the quartet each night provided a glimpse of what “fame” in this context feels like. And maybe it’s just his West Coast sensibility crashing on our eastern shoreline, but David Harrington is obviously excited by the work his ensemble is doing and, just as importantly, is skilled at projecting that enthusiasm to the audience.

The opening concert in Carnegie’s downstairs Zankel Hall, Songs Are Sung (March 24), was a program of new pieces from Du Bois, Gordon, and Gorecki. The three works fit together into what Harrington characterizes as a sort of novel in music.

Du Bois’s Night Songs, String Quartet No. 3, inspired by the life and writing of Holocaust victim Etty Hillesum, was more introspective and meditative than blatantly mournful. The composer had done her homework, reading Hillesum’s work and visiting Amsterdam, Westerbrook, and Auschwitz to step as close to the Dutch Jew’s wartime life experience as possible. The music born of this was starkly touching, conveying the complexity of individual human darkness rather than the epic turmoil of nations in a time of genocide.

Gordon’s Sad Park was built on a selection of electronically manipulated voices of young children recorded sharing their memories of September 11. A dangerous approach to a memorial work, perhaps, but it assured that the piece did not come off as precious or manipulate the emotions of the listener like a Hallmark Hall of Fame special. The quartet took a backseat to the recorded material through the first half of the piece, though they were placed more squarely in the forefront as it progressed and turned toward more blatant rage and violence. The piece was hard to take—something about the slowed and stretched voices of youngsters saying things like “two evil planes broke in little pieces and fire came” over and over again made me physically nauseous—but I’m still not sure how much of my reaction to the piece was dislike and how much was a fear of being so close to this hideous juxtaposition. I suspect that very thing might have been what Gordon was after.

After intermission, Kronos offered the U.S. premiere of Górecki’s third quartet, Piesni Spiewaja (“…songs are sung”). Written in 1995, Gorecki delayed releasing the score for a decade, though he does not admit to why he felt compelled to withhold it. The piece carries an internal nostalgic softness that weaves its way through the nearly hour-long meditation. It brought up an easy comparison for me of watching my grandmother wile away the final weeks of her life sitting in silence on the back porch, reviewing memories in no particular order and without feeling pressured to reach any sort of conclusion. Structurally, Gorecki’s musical material seemed to mirror this train of thought as well, picking pieces up again and setting them down as desire dictated.

Things took a bit of a turn towards the hip and trendy for The Cusp of Magic (April 7) program, in terms of the crowd at least. Asymmetrical haircuts on display in the lobby aside, however, this concert was a stand out for how it pushed at the definitions of “string quartet,” playing with the ensemble’s organic textures rather than forcing it to mimic something it’s not (i.e. embark on a misguided venture to become a rock band).

Thirlwell’s Nomatophobis caught attention right out of the gate with its percussive, aggressive language. Slides in smallish intervals, harmonics, pizzicato—the playing was always a little dirty, even in the quiet exchanges between the viola and cello. Branca’s Light Field (In Consonance), characterized by the composer as an “air on open strings,” was a reworking of a piece originally scored for guitars, bass, and drums. Kronos kept up a steady sawing throughout the work’s 14-minute run time, kicking up harmonics and overtones while lulling the listener into the music’s mechanical, piston-action makeup.

Pipa master Wu Man joined Kronos on stage for the evening’s crowning work: Terry Riley’s The Cusp of Magic. Riley and Kronos have a musical relationship that dates back to 1978, and the depth and intimacy this allows between composer and ensemble was quite evident in this particular case. Riley started with a desire to have the piece be “magical” and Harrington’s granddaughter Emily’s toys and noisemakers helped guide him. It’s an expansive piece that covers a lot of ground without belaboring any one point, and I fell into it deeply without quite grasping the particulars of why. The integration of the toys was giggle-inducing (to keep a straight face while cellist Jeff Zeigler worked an orange squeak toy with his toe would have been criminal) and captured a joyful innocence without inducing a Slurpee headache.

Kronos wrapped up its festival with a blow-out production in the larger Stern Auditorium: India Calling (April 8), largely a selective recap of You’ve Stolen My Heart, the 2005 disc they recorded with Bollywood vocal legend Asha Bhosle. The glittering saris catching the light across the hall set the tone for the evening, and so even though Derek Charke’s Cercle du Nord III provided quite a bit of evocative color and rhythmic interest, it was simply focused on the wrong geography. Much of the concert’s opening half, in fact, felt like little more than killing time while waiting for the opening act to get off the stage. The low point was an unfortunate transcription of a Sigur Rós track (I was induced to flashbacks of playing electric violin in junior-high orchestra for a performance of the Paula Abdul classic “Straight Up”…shudder) which left me seriously searching for examples of an ensemble on the classical side of the tracks capable of uncovering something vital when “covering” anything. Zakir Hussain joined Kronos on stage towards the end of the first half and got the party started, so to say. By the time Bhosle made her entrance after intermission the crowd was in gear. She charmed the hall with ample stage banter in her admittedly broken English, tossing out asides in Hindi. At 73, her voice might not be quite what it was (and the guys on the mixing board seemed only to worsen the volume and clarity issues) but Bhosle has lost no edge as a show-woman, and she danced and flirted with the crowd as Burman’s music dictated throughout her set. Kronos did its best to conjure the heavy synth quality of the Bollywood classics, with violist Hank Dutt logging double duty on keyboard, but those in the audience as intrigued by the music as the spectacle hopefully already had the recording at home. In the end, the crowd roared its appreciation and offered Bhosle several bouquets of flowers. These she gamely offered to donate to Zeigler, who will be marrying composer Paola Prestini this Friday.