Program notes
NoaNoa (1992)
Kaija Saariaho (b. 1952)
NoaNoa (‘Fragrant’ 1992) was born from the ideas I had for flute while writing my ballet music Maa. I wanted to write down, exaggerate, even abuse certain flute mannerisms that had been haunting me for some years, and thus force myself to move onto something new.
Formally I experimented with an idea of developing several elements simultaneously, first sequentially, then superimposed on each other.
The title refers to a wood cut by Paul Gauguin called NoaNoa. It also refers to a travel diary of the same name, written by Gauguin during his visit to Tahiti in 1891-93. The fragments of phrases selected for the voice part in the piece come from this book.
NoaNoa is also a team work. Many details in the flute part were worked out with Camilla Hoitenga. The electronic part was developed under the supervision of Jean-Baptiste Barrière and programmed by Xavier Chabot.
— Kaija Saariaho
Con Leggerezza Pensosa (1990)
Elliott Carter (1908-2012)
Con Leggerezza Pensosa was commissioned by Dr. Raffaele Pozzi, the director of the Istituto di Studi Musicali in Latina, Italy, as an homage to the Italian author, Italo Calvino, to be performed in connection with the institute’s first annual awards for the best musicological papers of the year. Italo Calvino, who died after writing but before giving his Norton Lectures at Harvard University, Six Memos for the Next Millennium (Lezioni americane), was singled out for this homage because he presents in these lectures a new view of humanism which has become an inspiration for the Istituto di Studi Musicali.
The title was suggested by the remark Calvino makes in his lecture on Lightness: “spero innanzitutto d’aver dimostrato che esiste una leggerezza della pensosità, così come tutti sappiamo che esiste una leggerezza della frivolezza; anzi, la leggerezza pensosa può far apparire la frivolezza come pesante e opaca.” (Above all I hope to have shown that there is such a thing as a lightness of thoughtfulness, just as we know there is a lightness of frivolity. In fact, thoughtful lightness can make frivolity seem dull and heavy.)
My short piece for clarinet, violin and cello was written in June 1990.
– Elliott Carter
Alligator Crawl Improvisation
Fats Waller (1904-1943)/Louis Armstrong (1901-1971)
Alligator Crawl was written as a solo piano piece by Fats Waller early in 1927. In May of the same year, Louis Armstrong and The Hot Seven recorded their version of the same work, but the two have little in common other than the use of the characteristic main motive in Waller’s original. It’s generally assumed that Lil Hardin, the Hot Seven’s pianist, and arranger of many of their tunes, laid out the structure, harmonies, and general strategy for their version of this number. Although time has diminished the distinction between divergent approaches to jazz in its early years, several distinctive styles existed at the time and rarely comingled. The Hot Seven rendition of the song is significant in that it was one of the earliest recordings, and possibly the first, to incorporate the three most prominent styles that existed at the time into a single work. Our approach to Alligator Crawl is taken from Hardin/Armstrong’s basic framework laced with our improvisations. After a brief opening call, two choruses of blues follow, the second of which contains the main motive and tune. The following section consists of reconfigured march-style music in several 8-bar units, during which elements can be found in our version of funk and a pinch of the harmonic approach used in Free Jazz. An echo of the guitar solo from Armstrong’s 1927 recording can be heard in the following section, played by pizzicato violin and cello in even, regular phrasing with an understated, limited use of syncopation. The last section is a highly polyphonic out-chorus with an abstract return of the main tune.
— Morris Rosenzweig
Las Sombras de los Apus (1998)
Gabriela Lena Frank (b. 1972)
The Andes, that magnificent mountain range of Peru and Bolivia, is awesomely terrifying terrain. It is a wilderness of jagged, near-unclimbable peaks, foamwhite rivers fed by melted snow, and narrow valleys twisted and fissured by volcanic upheaval. The cold is so intense that steel shatters like glass, the wind has a touch of death, and almost the only living creatures are condors, soaring on unseen air currents over the slopes of ice-coated scree. Human beings, if they can survive the severe altitude sickness, are made to feel intruders. According to Quechua mythology, each of the mountain peaks of las montañas andinas is inhabited by a minor divinity known as the apu. Temperamental in nature, the apu is easily irritated by negligent villagers who trespass through the rugged naturaleza without offering up a prayer or leaving a simple gift of food. At certain times, mist (neblina) warns the careless travelers that the apu is about to unleash a huayco, or avalanche. Such huaycos wreak havoc, uprooting boulders and ancient trees, leaving a stench of sulfur in the zigzagging rips through woodland, field and pueblo. The groans (gruñidos) and grindings (machacas) of the deepest geological plates can be heard across the entire span of the "eternal hills" during such an onslaught.
In the aftermath, a stunning silence reigns.
(Adapted from Ian Cameron's Kingdom of the Sun God )
— Gabriela Lena Frank
Eight Songs for a Mad King (1969)
Sir Peter Maxwell Davies (1934-2016)
Long established as a classic of music-theatre, the work is an extravagant, disturbing and poignant portrayal of madness. The king is George III of England - or maybe another madman who believes himself to be that monarch - vocalizing weirdly as he bemoans his fate and tries to teach his instrumentalist-birds to sing. The string and woodwind players are the captives of his insanity, intended to play from within giant cages, while the percussionist is his keeper, holding him within the confines of a maddened musical sensibility. But all the musicians are essentially projections from within his own mind. The focus is always on him, and on his wild vocal performances, which include various kinds of Sprechgesang, chords and a range of over four octaves. The virtuosity of the instrumentalists is no less, nor that of the composer in playing spikily over a range of eighteenth-century references.
— Paul Griffiths
Kaija Saariaho (b. 1952)
NoaNoa (‘Fragrant’ 1992) was born from the ideas I had for flute while writing my ballet music Maa. I wanted to write down, exaggerate, even abuse certain flute mannerisms that had been haunting me for some years, and thus force myself to move onto something new.
Formally I experimented with an idea of developing several elements simultaneously, first sequentially, then superimposed on each other.
The title refers to a wood cut by Paul Gauguin called NoaNoa. It also refers to a travel diary of the same name, written by Gauguin during his visit to Tahiti in 1891-93. The fragments of phrases selected for the voice part in the piece come from this book.
NoaNoa is also a team work. Many details in the flute part were worked out with Camilla Hoitenga. The electronic part was developed under the supervision of Jean-Baptiste Barrière and programmed by Xavier Chabot.
— Kaija Saariaho
Con Leggerezza Pensosa (1990)
Elliott Carter (1908-2012)
Con Leggerezza Pensosa was commissioned by Dr. Raffaele Pozzi, the director of the Istituto di Studi Musicali in Latina, Italy, as an homage to the Italian author, Italo Calvino, to be performed in connection with the institute’s first annual awards for the best musicological papers of the year. Italo Calvino, who died after writing but before giving his Norton Lectures at Harvard University, Six Memos for the Next Millennium (Lezioni americane), was singled out for this homage because he presents in these lectures a new view of humanism which has become an inspiration for the Istituto di Studi Musicali.
The title was suggested by the remark Calvino makes in his lecture on Lightness: “spero innanzitutto d’aver dimostrato che esiste una leggerezza della pensosità, così come tutti sappiamo che esiste una leggerezza della frivolezza; anzi, la leggerezza pensosa può far apparire la frivolezza come pesante e opaca.” (Above all I hope to have shown that there is such a thing as a lightness of thoughtfulness, just as we know there is a lightness of frivolity. In fact, thoughtful lightness can make frivolity seem dull and heavy.)
My short piece for clarinet, violin and cello was written in June 1990.
– Elliott Carter
Alligator Crawl Improvisation
Fats Waller (1904-1943)/Louis Armstrong (1901-1971)
Alligator Crawl was written as a solo piano piece by Fats Waller early in 1927. In May of the same year, Louis Armstrong and The Hot Seven recorded their version of the same work, but the two have little in common other than the use of the characteristic main motive in Waller’s original. It’s generally assumed that Lil Hardin, the Hot Seven’s pianist, and arranger of many of their tunes, laid out the structure, harmonies, and general strategy for their version of this number. Although time has diminished the distinction between divergent approaches to jazz in its early years, several distinctive styles existed at the time and rarely comingled. The Hot Seven rendition of the song is significant in that it was one of the earliest recordings, and possibly the first, to incorporate the three most prominent styles that existed at the time into a single work. Our approach to Alligator Crawl is taken from Hardin/Armstrong’s basic framework laced with our improvisations. After a brief opening call, two choruses of blues follow, the second of which contains the main motive and tune. The following section consists of reconfigured march-style music in several 8-bar units, during which elements can be found in our version of funk and a pinch of the harmonic approach used in Free Jazz. An echo of the guitar solo from Armstrong’s 1927 recording can be heard in the following section, played by pizzicato violin and cello in even, regular phrasing with an understated, limited use of syncopation. The last section is a highly polyphonic out-chorus with an abstract return of the main tune.
— Morris Rosenzweig
Las Sombras de los Apus (1998)
Gabriela Lena Frank (b. 1972)
The Andes, that magnificent mountain range of Peru and Bolivia, is awesomely terrifying terrain. It is a wilderness of jagged, near-unclimbable peaks, foamwhite rivers fed by melted snow, and narrow valleys twisted and fissured by volcanic upheaval. The cold is so intense that steel shatters like glass, the wind has a touch of death, and almost the only living creatures are condors, soaring on unseen air currents over the slopes of ice-coated scree. Human beings, if they can survive the severe altitude sickness, are made to feel intruders. According to Quechua mythology, each of the mountain peaks of las montañas andinas is inhabited by a minor divinity known as the apu. Temperamental in nature, the apu is easily irritated by negligent villagers who trespass through the rugged naturaleza without offering up a prayer or leaving a simple gift of food. At certain times, mist (neblina) warns the careless travelers that the apu is about to unleash a huayco, or avalanche. Such huaycos wreak havoc, uprooting boulders and ancient trees, leaving a stench of sulfur in the zigzagging rips through woodland, field and pueblo. The groans (gruñidos) and grindings (machacas) of the deepest geological plates can be heard across the entire span of the "eternal hills" during such an onslaught.
In the aftermath, a stunning silence reigns.
(Adapted from Ian Cameron's Kingdom of the Sun God )
— Gabriela Lena Frank
Eight Songs for a Mad King (1969)
Sir Peter Maxwell Davies (1934-2016)
Long established as a classic of music-theatre, the work is an extravagant, disturbing and poignant portrayal of madness. The king is George III of England - or maybe another madman who believes himself to be that monarch - vocalizing weirdly as he bemoans his fate and tries to teach his instrumentalist-birds to sing. The string and woodwind players are the captives of his insanity, intended to play from within giant cages, while the percussionist is his keeper, holding him within the confines of a maddened musical sensibility. But all the musicians are essentially projections from within his own mind. The focus is always on him, and on his wild vocal performances, which include various kinds of Sprechgesang, chords and a range of over four octaves. The virtuosity of the instrumentalists is no less, nor that of the composer in playing spikily over a range of eighteenth-century references.
— Paul Griffiths
