TT 407: New sounds from Timo Andres, Robert Carl, and Valerie Coleman (plus an older piece by Wayne Shorter)
Upstate Obscura, Updraft, Revelry, and Terra Incognita
Upstate Obscura is a lyric, surreal, and utterly engaging cello concerto written by Timo Andres, commissioned and performed by Inbal Segev, and now released on the brand new Nonesuch recording The Blind Banister. Segev is marvelous and the accompaniment from Andrew Cyr and Metropolis Ensemble seems ideal.
Using a time-honored creative process that dates back at least to Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, Andres took John Vanderlyn’s Panoramic View of the Palace and Gardens of Versailles as a starting point.
But as Andres’s extensive program note explains, the composer wasn’t just moved by a a painting. Andres has conceived a grand metaphor.
The question of what constitutes “Americanness” in art has long interested me. It’s a somewhat self-serving interest, of course, since I’m an American composer. But it’s useful to think about. It was little more than 100 years ago that composers started writing music that sounded “American,” transcending the Eurocentric pastiches of earlier efforts. It’s a recent enough occurrence that one can still imagine different paths composers could’ve taken, could still take. In this spirit, Upstate Obscura is a kind of thought experiment set in the primordial ooze of the 19th century, when American artists mostly looked to replicate European models.
John Vanderlyn was one such artist—an ambitious painter from Kingston, New York, who spent years studying in Paris. Upon his return, he formed a grand (and misguided) plan to paint a gigantic panoramic scene of the palace and gardens of Versailles, and to exhibit the 360-degree work inside a rotunda of his own construction, in the hope of securing his reputation and fortune…
Jazz musicians generally don’t have to worry about Europe too much. Europe is there, you gotta understand European harmony, but a whole bunch of folkways and mores can be safely ignored.
American composers concerned with long form composition for forces — Ives, Gershwin, Copland, Barber, Babbitt — don’t have that luxury. A certain kind of pressure to deal with the Old World affects all American symphonic literature. This pressure is a feature, not a bug, and it is part of what Andres is getting at when he writes, “It was little more than 100 years ago that composers started writing music that sounded ‘American,’ transcending the Eurocentric pastiches of earlier efforts. It’s a recent enough occurrence that one can still imagine different paths composers could’ve taken, could still take.”
In person, Vanderlyn’s Panoramic View of the Palace and Gardens of Versailles proved to be a breathtaking experience. The air feels a bit different in this huge quiet room with a huge quiet painting. While the panorama has been on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art for decades, it is still a bit of a secret, almost hard to find, hidden in plain sight in an unfashionable part of the American Wing. (While writing the previous sentence, Andres’s metaphor for formal American music became even more obvious.)
I put myself in the picture to give some idea of the scale. Less than a third of the painting is seen in this photo:
The first movement of Upstate Obscura, “Valley of Strange Shapes,” has some of the prettiest melodies to be found in recent American formal composition.
Robert Carl’s new release Infinity Avenue includes the remarkable Updraft, featuring Matthew Russo on multi-tracked alto, tenor, and bass trombones. A basic G dominant fanfare evolves into a microtonal adventure. My suspicion is that under the hood, Carl is controlling events in a very organized manner, including precise fractions for the tuning and canonic development. It doesn’t matter, the final result is simply sublime.
Mahler said the trombone was “the voice of God.” Carl and Russo offer a compelling “Amen.”
Part of what makes American formal music “American” is a rhythmic element sometimes called “syncopation.” Valerie Coleman’s Revelry is a headlong celebration of vibrant dance, and can be heard on the terrific self-titled debut of the chamber ensemble Decoda, who commissioned Coleman for the group and the album.
Catherine Gregory, flute
Moran Katz, clarinet
Brad Balliett, bassoon
Clara Lyon, violin
Nathan Schram, viola
Sæunn Thorsteinsdóttir, cello
David Kaplan, piano
There are two movements, “Mysterio” and “War.” I was so impressed with one of the complex vamps that I asked around and got a peek at the score.
The excerpt of “Mysterio” that prompted further investigation:
These kinds of off-kilter rhythmic patterns have been prominent in jazz for some time, and there’s no doubt they are also going to be part of the future of American chamber music. (Decoda shows that the performers are finally ready.)
The syncopations of the action-packed second movement, “War,” are perhaps even more extreme. I’d almost call this Afro-Cuban:
Valerie Coleman has an important debut this coming Friday May 31: Concerto for Orchestra “Renaissance” will premiere at Carnegie Hall with the Philadelphia Orchestra and Yannick Nézet-Séguin.
Thanks to Steve Smith for sending out updates about concerts and recordings; his mailing For the Record is how I learned of Decoda and Robert Carl. In our fragmented online world, it really helps to have Steve trying to keep everyone updated on new releases.
There’s a lot more on all three albums beyond the pieces singled out in this post. Timo Andres’s The Blind Banister includes the title piano concerto and a solo piano piece, both performed by Andres himself. Decoda has intriguing music from Reza Vali and original arrangements of William Bolcom rags. Robert Carl’s Infinity Avenue is a 2-CD set of experimental works including symphonies and electronics.
I have seen Valerie Coleman play flute in her group Imani Winds several times. Since most of my readers are in the jazz world, this is another opportunity for me to suggest that Terra Incognita (written for and recorded by Imani Winds) may be Wayne Shorter’s most compelling statement as a composer for ensembles with a European pedigree.
Timo was born in Palo Alto. A fact which expedites his possible appearance at The Mitch; That plus the plug from TT. You can’t spell “TT” without spelling “Timo” and “Mitch”— although the super brain of my handheld device suggests “Timo Plays ‘Tino’” Also the hometown of the manufacturer.