Stupid Machine!

Two weekends ago I ventured to the western side of the state for the last time this summer for a two friends' wedding. (To each other. Congratulations Joel and Miranda) Being both musicians there were a few people there to wax musicological with, including a post-doc fellow from Lawrence and a friend starting her doctorate at Northwestern this year. (Congratulations Elissa) As conversations with other people tend to go I felt stupid and over my head by the end of it.

It's different kinds of stupid and over my head each time, however. This time I left the reception wondering just how ill-prepared I was should I attempt to continue on in musicology. It's not that I've taken less music history than the average performer, but most everyone else has had the opportunity (or obligation) to crawl inside many of the great masterworks, be it through song or orchestra or string quartet or whatever. Even at my most evangelical I can only find a handful of guitar pieces that might make mention in a general textbook.

Most of the major landmarks of the guitar repertoire, often the ones most responsible for extending the instrument's vocabulary such as Benjamin Britten's Nocturnal and Manuel de Falla's Homenaje a Le Tombeau de Debussy, are speedbumps in the respective composers' careers. A notable exception to this is Elliott Carter's Changes (no YouTube video, sorry), marking his turn towards production for solo instruments.

There are three exceptions to this quagmire, that I see anyway. One has managed to worm its way into the cultural zeitgeist, to the point where it practically defines the music of a region. By this I mean Rodrigo's Concerto de Aranjuez, particularly its Adagio. Yeah, it's famous and all, but taken in context a lot of its appeal comes from its quaint neoromantic stylings. The second is one of two appearances of any fretted instrument in the venerable Norton Anthology, John Dowland's lute song "Flow, my tears". That's cool , but it's really in there more to show how vocal songs became instrument works (see Lachrymae Pavan) and c'mon, it's the fucking lute.

I've got one tricksy weapon up my sleeve. Even passing musicologists know of Luis Narvaez's Guardame las vacas, a vihuela tune from the 17th century. Since it's the first documented example of a theme and variations. Booyakasha!

Perhaps I'm being too sad sacky about all this. While I lack the forced knowledge that playing important pieces brings, I also won't have the baggage that someone who bombed through said pieces in youth orchestra might have. Furthermore I'm sure people who've played dumber instruments have had success. Anyway, if you're unfamiliar with any of these hawt geetar jamz, all of the preceding links are to YouTube performances. So enjoy with gusto.

Pool image snagged from the Google Earth forums, photographer alas unknown

Confessions of a Pit Fighter

As a guitarist a block away from perhaps the largest concentration of guitarists I'm not exactly swimming in gigs. So my recent less-than-triumphant return to the role of pit musician for a student-directed production of Floyd Collins at the Conservatory, while clearly not the best choice considering the docket I'd already accumulated, was a welcome if exhausting change.

I'd been out of the game for awhile and the last time I'd taken a pit gig was certainly not a typical case. That time, three years ago, was a production of Grease at a Catholic school back in Wisconsin. (Pause for inherent hilarity) Quite a daring choice, but I was very proud of them for only cutting one toss-away line that may or may not be talking about smoking weed. There are a number of idiosyncratic things about coming in as a ringer for a high school gig, among them a cast in the hundreds and an epic rehearsal schedule. Two weeks of rehearsal before a week of performances, including three days of two-a-days, in this case. Having the deal with high school freshman circling like flies (pulling shit like confusing Marshall Amplification with Marshall Mathers, this was 2004) was awexome, but things came to a head when I was informed the evening before the show opened that I would be only compensated in hugs and kisses. Accordingly I told the director that it had been a wonderful time working with them and best of luck with the run.

That evening featured several phone calls, mostly from parents berating me for having the audacity to expect to be paid just for playing the guitar. However, one was from the director saying that we could work something out. Despite this snag the show went as smoothly as a high school musical can expect to. As to not sound like an asshat, I certainly wasn't expecting to be paid handsomely but was only hoping acknowledgement (a figure was never discussed, bad move). I was expecting a modest check, perhaps, but instead was presented to a Nintendo freaking Gamecube that had been diverted from a fundraising auction. I hadn't planned on buying one, despite owning its three predecessors, but now can't imagine how my life would have gone without the Wind Waker.

This gig was much different, considering that I knew it was for hugs and kisses from the start. Also, rather than getting the book two months in advance I got 20 hours before the show went into tech. Also, rather than 50 pages of chord changes it was 90 pages of metrically shifting brutality with banjo doubling. Banjo doubling! Adam Guettel writes some gnarly work, although I've later been told that his Rite-like primalism may come from actual music illiteracy. He works with some wicked orchestrators then, I had to deal with the previously mentioned banjo doubling, tuning changes, percussive effects, and mid-song capo shifts. All in all I've found that my classical guitar skillset leaves me woefully adrift for this sort of gig. Yikes. Not to mention I can't follow a conductor to save my life! Whispers around the department talk of a course dedicated to conducted playing and doublings, but surely I won't still be around the see it.

One thing I did wonder to myself, will real gigs be more like Grease, with a impenitrable division between student and faculty (that I bridged uncomfortably), or this like one, a vague hierarchy but a overwhelming sense of we're-all-in-this-together-and-we-might-die? Well, maybe not die. I'd rather the latter, even if it doesn't pay as well it's more fun.

FUCK WCRB

Barf Barf Barf Barf Barf (but hey! Check #100!)

See Soho The Dog for more information.

But he has delivered unto us a meme, and you know how I do with those. Inspired by Hattogate, the questions posed are simple: Whose performances would you like to be able to pass off as your own, and whose performances do you think you actually could?

The first part is easy. Jason Vieaux. The man has tone that can really only be described as "muscular". Furthermore his technique, while abso-goddamn-lutely incredible, doesn't get in the way of his interpretations.

The second part is way thornier, since any guitarist who has recorded would be greatly slighted being told they sound like me. So I'm going to do that to someone I at least know. David Chidsey and I both studied with master Kevin Gallagher and I think he taught us very similiar lessons, if David perhaps took them a little better than I. I definitely hear the same fiery (if possibly overwrought) interpretations, even if David is way chopsier than I.

One of these days I'll get new recordings out, but for now I'd rather have you all think I sound good.

You Could Only Hope to Live in Ivywild

I tend to spend my Thursdays at the BPL now. Whereas Monday through Wednesday keep me busy into the evenings and Friday is when my faux musicology is often due, Thursdays are free and allow me time to nerd it up hardcore.

It was actually at the much smaller library where I work that this story first crossed my path, and I regret to say that further research has come up with little support. As I was digging in the journal stacks for something else I discover that hey! We subscribe(d) to the Guitar Review, as far as I know this is one of the few guitar periodicals that even vaguely approaches scholarly. I randomly grab an issue and peruse through it. In a tasteful display of coincidence, a composition student asks for the score to Schoenberg's Serenade, brutal twelve-tone craziness for eight musicians, two of which are a guitarist and a mandolin player. Written in 1922, it was perhaps the last guitar part to squeak out before Segovia throughly banished modernism from the guitar. However this meant that no "classical" guitarist really had the tools to play Schoenberg. It wasn't even performed until 1949, and who played this epochal guitar part?


Johnny fucking Smith.
Yeah, like Johnny "Moonlight in goddamn Vermont" Smith.

Even in an interview given five years ago, Smith still points to his (brief) involvement in Serenade's premiere as one of the high points of his career. The premier was part of a celebration of the composer's works for his 75th birthday (proving that a birthday party is always popular) by über-conductor Dimitri Mitropoulos, and the classical guitarist he had dragooned into the part couldn't hack it. With the performance in jeopardy, the violinist for the date, Louis Krasner, canvassed New York City to find a new guitarist. Introduced to our hero by his brother-in-law, he was concerned about needing a translator with a jazz musician.

They met Johnny outside the studio just as he was getting off at 10:00 pm. Felix Galimir dealt with the preliminaries, "Johnny, I want you to meet Louis Krasner."
"Louis Krasner, the great violinist?" asked Johnny Smith.
"Why, uh, yes," and Louis, stepping forward. "Do you know about me?"
"Of course!" said Johnny. "I have your recording of the Schönberg violin concerto and I've come to many of your concerts!"
"I see, and you like the music of Schönberg, Berg, and other contemporary comp..."
"I love their music! I go to performances whenever I can!"
Krasner leaned forward to whisper into Felix Galimir's ear, "I can handle it from here."

However, Smith did do a guitarist's duty.

This was a Friday evening, so I asked "When is the first rehearsal?" When Louis Krasner told me it was Monday morning–being the damn fool that I am–I replied, "I'll give it a shot!" Then I took my guitar to the hotel I was staying, left the music on my bed and went out. Since it was Friday night, I made the usual rounds of all my favorite bars and finally got to bed about 5 o' clock in the morning.
At 6 'o clock in the morning, one hour later, the phone rings and it's Mr. Krasner. Well, my gosh! I'm really bleary-eyed, to say the least! He says, "I'm sorry to have to call you, but the Maestro is very upset and he wants to have a rehearsal right away." I just about had a coronary! "Mr. Krasner, I haven't even opened the music. There's no way..." but he was very firm. [...]
All the musicians were seated and ready to go when I walked in and I said to myself "Oh God!" If it hadn't been the middle of winter, I would have opened the window and jumped! However, I took the guitar out and put the music on the stand. I couldn't even see the darned stuff, much less read it! But I opened it up and we started. [...]
Well, naturally I couldn't read the thing; I could hardly see the notes! But I'd had enough experience working under conductors to know that they give me a cue, I'd better hit something! Well, this rehearsal only lasted about ten minutes. Then Mitropoulos came over, shook my hand and said "I'll be eternally grateful to you for doing this."

This sort of crossover isn't totally unheard of, after all Electric Counterpoint was comissioned for and premiered by Pat Metheny. However, it seems it's becoming less common. Jazz musicians often study classically because it's what you're supposed to do rather than for the love of the game. Perhaps a disdain between the two disciplines is just a probably where I spent undergrad. Championship ensembles like the NBC Orchestra (of which Galimir and Smith were members and was often under Toscanini's stick) that expect to see every style of music possible just don't exist anymore. This leads to instrumentalists that try to obtain more that one set of skills (read: me) ending up master of nuns.

Smith would end up working with Mitropoulos again, for the American premiere of Berg's Wozzeck. This happened just a few short months before Smith abandoned the music industry to retreat to the sleepy Colorado town of Ivywild. He doesn't even play guitar anymore, his perfectionism makes trying to get his chops back irritating. Even if all he had done with "Moonlight In Vermont" he really wouldn't need to.

All of the quoted material comes from Larry Snitzler's article "Johnny Smith Plays Schönberg", Guitar Review n. 57 (Spring 1984).

Shrapnel sequel

I told you I'd be back sooner than you thought. I even did some culture last night n' stuff. First, however, comes all the random things I wanted to mention yesterday.

1!) I've been listening to Ornette Coleman again lately, mainly suckered in by his bizarre "Bach Prelude" on the album Tone Dialing. The first half is Denardo going to town underneath the guitarist playing that insufferable arrangement of the first cello prelude. It seems like he's trying to do "Lonely Woman" again except he's not bothering to write his own head. However, at the end of the prelude the band takes the repeat, except everything is 200% apeshit. As a corollary, Ethan Iversen has a completely terrifying post about Coleman. That man drops theses like illegitimate children.

2!) Steve Reich turned 70! That's much years! I hope I can still enact my secret plan to convince him to write a guitar quartet, but it will involve me becoming important first. While New York has all the big shindigs, including the most important concert ever (Reich's two seminal albums, performed live before you!), all the celebrating I got to do was the Boston Conservatory Percussion Ensemble's performance of Six Marimbas. I hadn't gotten a chance to see one of his process pieces live, and recordings are never able to really capture that shimmering omnipresent chord that the marimba ostinatos make. I'm plotting my own Reich @ 70 concert for Boston, but that is still only plotting.

3!) I am still a guitarist, and I got a chance to indulge that by seeing Isaac Bustos last night at the Old South Church. Fantastic venue with a warm sound despite all the stone, and Bustos really punched his tone out into the crowd. Opening with the Bach Prelude, Fugue and Allegro was a daring choice, especially since it was an audible. Having played the PFA for my senior recital, I had kind of forgotten that it's a rather light melody as far as Bach's works go, as opposed to an unstoppable monster that wants to claim all of your limbs. Bustos had a smile on his face the whole time and gave a very nimble treatment to a series of wrist-shattering works like Le Catedral (In a cathedral! Get it? Get it?), Ponce's Sonata Meridonial, and Rodrigo's Sonata Giocosa. The strange thing for me was that absolutely everyone in the audience played classical guitar, at least at a hobbyist level. What other concerts could you even concieve of that? (Vocal recitals don't count just because everyone is physically capable of singing.) Classical music may have been walling itself off a bit in the recent past, but the guitar community seems pretty damn fortified. I might be thinking of this the wrong way, Thom Yorke said everyone can play guitar. Maybe it's a sign of the guitar's inclusiveness.

Also I switched my blog over to Blogger Beta, so if the layout gets a bit hegulated it's because I'm not used to what I'm doing yet. Fie!

Guitarist as dumbface

Darcy James Argue in a recent post alluded to the the stereotype of pianists being a little more bookish than the musician at large, and I immediately started to think that my instrument might have the exact opposite image.

Think about it, most of the great heroes of the guitar from Clapton to Stevie Ray Vaughan are renowned for not being able to read music. Why else the joke?

Q: How do you get a guitarist to turn down?
A: Put a chart in front of him.
Q: How do you get a guitarist to stop playing?
A: Put notes on it.

Even those guitarists that clearly have to be able to at least read music (i.e. classical) are led by a man that was ignorant and repulsed by anything that didn't dance in lockstep with his Iberian überwerke that an entire industry is based around the rediscovery and publication of scores he rejected. I've fallen into the trap as well, just a few posts back admitting the guitarist's apathy towards any sort of research. Eh.

As with any rule there are exceptions, Brian May was breaths away from his Ph.D. before leaving to tour with Queen, Julian Bream started the "rummage through Segovia's b-stock" craze, and Steve Vai is....Steve Vai.

This is might be a defensive mechanism to account for the fact that all the Berklee kids have arrived and seem to be having more fun than I. Stupid kids and their Nevermore shirts.

Total topic shift: A new Robot Chicken appears to be displacing Metalocalypse's normal timeslot next Sunday, most likely signaling the end of the first batch of 'toons. It is now up to the insanity and cruelty of the Adult Swim gods to decide when/if I will get to absorp more gospel from new hero Toki Wartooth.