Tone Poem Tuesday

One of the finest Black composers of the 20th century, William Grant Still lived from 1895 to 1978, bearing witness to the growth of the American vernacular in classical music, as well as the ongoing struggle for civil rights. Still’s work occasionally sounds almost like a rougher answer to Gershwin–in fact, the work heard below contains what seems to almost be a quote from Gershwin in its third movement–but Still is much more than that. He was prolific, writing five symphonies, nine operas, and a number of other works in many forms and genres. Still was also a proficient session musician on his own, playing in many bands and orchestras over his life, and he did a bit of arranging work for film. Still was in many ways a trailblazer, in much the same way that Florence Price was.

This work is his most well-known: the first of his five symphonies, subtitled “The Afro-American”. The work blends the sounds of spirituals with the emergent sounds of jazz. Formally, it is purely a symphony in the European tradition, but it is well-steeped in the sounds of the Black vernacular of the time. It’s dramatic, lyrical, and at times, thrilling.

Here is the “Afro-American Symphony” by William Grant Still.

 

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Something for Thursday

Oof. Today was a day. An ice storm led to a 13-hour blackout at home, and work was an adventure, too. I don’t have a whole lot of extra mental bandwidth for musical commentary…so here’s a song that doesn’t need commentary. It’s Gladys Knight and the Pips with “Midnight Train to Georgia”.

 

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A random country song for a Wednesday evening

I had a long day at work today (not a bad day at all, but we had a big project today for which I had to be at work a bit early) and my brain is doing its impression of tapioca, so here’s a song that’s been showing up in my YouTube recommendations of late. I’ve featured it before, but not in a little over seven years, so here it is again! This was a huge country hit forty years or so ago. I’m not sure, but this performance must have been before the song became as big as it did, because eventually the bass singer’s “Papa-ooo-mow-mow” bit became so popular that whenever it got to that part in any live performance, it would be greeted with massive cheers.

Anyway, here are the Oak Ridge Boys with “Elvira”. (Note the guitar player, behind the lead singer, really getting into it about thirty seconds in! Cracks me up every time I see this.)

 

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Tone Poem Tuesday

When I’ve listened to Florence Price’s music over the last few years, I’ve thought often of Antonin Dvorak’s observation from the time he spent in the United States, among American musicians and composers. Paraphrasing, Dvorak noted that the American musicians in that time were relying heavily on the forms and modes coming out of Europe. There isn’t anything particularly wrong with that, and a lot of fine music, if not great music, emerged from composers like Edward MacDowell. But Dvorak–whose own music was deeply steeped in the folk music of his beloved homeland in Moravia and Bohemia–felt that American music’s real rise to greatness would come when composers looked not to Europe for inspiration but rather to the music of Native Americans and the African-American community.

Later in the 20th century, this would come to pass, and Florence Price was a part of that.

This work is simply called “Concert Overture No. 2”, but its musical forebears do indeed come from the African spirituals of her own forebears. The work’s mood is set from the very beginning in that unique blend of sad hopefulness that imbues so many of those very spirituals.

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Something for Thursday

In the 1940s and 50s, there were quite a few Black singing quartets recording music. Many early Black solo artists got their start in groups like this (Sam Cooke being a prime example), but I’ve just learned something very interesting about these groups and their role in Black music history. One of these groups was called The Jubalaires, and apparently their style relied less on gorgeous harmonies and vocal work and more on rhythm and a singing style that was at times a blend of singing and speaking.

In other words, The Jubalaires were a very real precursor to what we know today as rap. And this song, “Noah”, has been called the very first recorded rap song. I don’t have the historical chops to assess that claim, but how fascinating! It’s a really neat listen, I must admit, as someone who knows very, very little about rap.

 

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Hey! Need some love music?

I made a playlist of love songs! 50 songs, 3 hours of music!

(Now, I originally conceived this little exercise as a playlist for our wedding reception if The Wife and I were getting married now, or renewing vows, or just having an anniversary party, which is why there’s one song on here that doesn’t match the theme…well, it kind-of does, if you know some of the history and backstory of the song, but really, it’s just a great dance tune which is why it’s there.)

The playlist has some obvious selections as well as some more obscure stuff, though if you’re a long-time reader here you’ve likely heard most of these. Enjoy!

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Tone Poem Tuesday

Composer Omar Thomas was born in Brooklyn in 1984 to Guyanese parents. He eventually studied at the New England Conservatory of Music and has moved on to a highly praised career as a composer. While he is mainly known as a jazz musician, he has not allowed genre to bind him, as we here in this work, which blends the classical and jazz idioms in a work that sounds at times like a primal scream against a world filled with racist violence and at others like an affirmation of a world that many are trying to fill with grace and forgiveness.

The impetus for Of Our New Day Begun was the attack by a white supremacist on Emanual African Methodist Episcopal Church in 2015, in which nine people were shot dead.

In Thomas’s own words:

“Of Our New Day Begun” was written to honor nine beautiful souls who lost their lives to a callous act of hatred and domestic terrorism on the evening of June 17, 2015 while worshipping in their beloved sanctuary, the historic Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church (affectionately referred to as “Mother Emanuel”) in Charleston, South Carolina. My greatest challenge in creating this work was walking the line between reverence for the victims and their families, and honoring my strong, bitter feelings towards both the perpetrator and the segments of our society that continue to create people like him. I realized that the most powerful musical expression I could offer incorporated elements from both sides of that line – embracing my pain and anger while being moved by the displays of grace and forgiveness demonstrated by the victims’ families.

Historically, black Americans have, in great number, turned to the church to find refuge and grounding in the most trying of times. Thus, the musical themes and ideas for “Of Our New Day Begun” are rooted in the Black American church tradition. The piece is anchored by James and John Johnson’s time-honored song, “Lift Every Voice and Sing” (known endearingly as the “Negro National Anthem”), and peppered with blues harmonies and melodies. Singing, stomping, and clapping are also prominent features of this work, as they have always been a mainstay of black music traditions, and the inclusion of the tambourine in these sections is a direct nod to black worship services.

The work’s ending is particularly fascinating to me. The piece feels like it is coming to a slow, meditative, and even peaceful conclusion…but then something new stirs in the band, starting with a rhythm emerging softly from the percussion, a rhythm that is a blend of march and waltz, and the entire band fills the hall with sound again. It feels like a rejection of the expected peaceful acceptance of the world in favor of a defiant facing of that world head-on.

Here is Of Our New Day Begun, performed by the James Madison University Wind Symphony.

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Something for Thursday

Burt Bacharach has died. He was one of those ultra-prolific songwriters (along with frequent partner Hal David) who, for every song you knew he wrote, there’s probably two songs you know well that you did not know he had a hand in.

For me, this was one. I perused a list of Bacharach songs and discovered that this was one of them. I never knew he wrote it.

Here’s “I Say A Little Prayer”.

(UPDATE: I feel like I should write something more about Bacharach and his legacy, but I’m really not the best person to do that. If anyone sees any particularly good tribute pieces on him, let me know and I’ll link them.)

 

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Tone Poem Tuesday

It’s February and Black History Month, a time when I try to spotlight works by Black composers. We start this time with Hannah Kendall, a British composer born in 1984. From her website bio:

Known for her attentive arrangements and immersive world-building, Hannah Kendall’s music looks beyond the boundaries of composition. Her work bridges gaps between different musical cultures, both honouring and questioning the contemporary tradition while telling new stories through it. Contrasting fine detail with limitless abandon, she has become renowned both as a composer and a storyteller, confronting our collective history with narratively-driven pieces centred on bold mission statements.

Marked by striking and often polarising dynamics, her large-scale work simmers on the surface, and is upturned by the briefest moments of bombast. Ensemble pieces subvert audience expectations of ‘quiet and loud’, ‘still and moving’; scattering those musical opposites unexpectedly. The sounds are visceral, but their placement is complicated, disclosing the detail that exists beneath. While hinging on intense moments, Kendall’s music is also staggeringly intricate, manoeuvring tiny decisions that reveal themselves on further listens.

The piece here is Spark Catchers, which she describes thusly:

The Spark Catchers was commissioned and premiered at the Proms in 2017. The piece opened Chineke!’s debut concert at the festival. The group is majority minority ethnic players, and it was such a momentous occasion, and a privilege to have written the piece for the occasion.

It takes inspiration from Lemn Sissay’s poem with the same title, which he wrote for the 2012 London Olympics, and is permanently etched into one of the transformers at the stadium. It depicts the working lives of the women who worked in the Bryant and May match factory, which once stood on the edge of the Olympic Park, and how they had to keep a watchful eye, catching any stray sparks that might set the factory alight.

It’s an interesting piece, contrasting rhythmic passages that suggest industrialism with meditative passages that seem also vaguely industrial, like the floor of a factory at night when all the machines have been shut off and the shadows are slowly moving….

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