Charles Tomlinson Griffes was an American composer whose life forms one of the better What ifs of music history. He was one of those composers who, being born in the late 19th century (1884, to be specific), learned and came of age while American music was still struggling to move beyond its European influences. American classical music would not really start to come into its own until European Romanticism was firmly on the wane, and American factors like jazz would arise. Griffes was enormously talented and his own influences seem to have been the kind of mystical impressionism found in the work of composers like Scriabin, as well as the sound world of the French impressionists like Debussy and Ravel. Sadly, Griffes was struck down at the young age of 35 when the Spanish flu pandemic swept the world. The music of his that survives is often fascinating and suggestive of what might have come to be had he lived to the fullness of his gifts.
The current work, The Kairn of Koridwen, is a chamber work intended for an unusual ensemble: one flute, two clarinets, two horns, piano, harp, and celeste. Since Kairn was composed as a “dance-drama”–I assume that means a ballet–it’s surprising how long the work is, but listening to it, it never feels overlong. Griffes gets a lot of color and almost mysticism out of his material and his scoring for that small ensemble. The work is downright dramatic at times, and never less than fascinating. Here is The Kairn of Koridwen by Charles Tomlinson Griffes.
First of all, Happy October! October is the best month, and on this topic I will hear no debate.
Now, onto some music. This one I came upon by happenstance: I’m on vacation today and tomorrow (I’ve been on vacation since last Friday, actually), but The Wife had to work today, so I’m up but I’m staying home while she’s off to the office. But my car was parking her in! So out I went to move my car so she could get out…and this piece was on WNED at that moment. I only heard about ninety seconds of it, but I was intrigued, so I made note of the title and looked it up on YouTube. Now I’m sitting here finishing up my first cup of coffee while I listen to Ouverture bardique by Ferdinand Ries.
Who is that, you ask? Well, Ries is yet another of those common figures I like to feature here: composers of talent whose work may not be good enough to earn a spot in whatever “Musical Pantheon of Greatness” we’re celebrating, but whose work is too good to merit the obscurity into which it has fallen. Ries was a contemporary of Beethoven’s, living 1784 to 1838, but he wasn’t just a contemporary of Beethoven’s: he was an associate of the great master’s, actually serving for a time first as a pupil of Beethoven’s and later as his secretary and copyist. I assume that as a copyist it fell to Ries, at least in part, to decipher Beethoven’s manuscripts and put things in order as to create actually playable sheet music. In the annals of art preservation, not enough credit is given to Beethoven’s copyists. I mean, look at this–we’re talking seriously heroic work here.
Ries turns out to have been one of those composers who didn’t have to really wait for obscurity. He worked hard and had a modestly successful musical life, but he never heard a number of his later works performed, and his own passing at the age of 53 wasn’t even noted by the music publications of his day. But again, I listen to this and think, “Does he really deserve to be forgotten?” This overture, a concert work not written to introduce a dramatic piece, starts off with a typically “muscular” intro, common to the classical overtures of the time, but then it goes to very interesting places. No Rossini-style overture, this–Ries’s piece is thoughtful and exciting, and it’s also orchestrally interesting when you notice the degree to which Ries has given some of his most fascinating material to the harps. So here’s a work that is deeply classical in its conception, but you can feel the Romanticism whispering around the edges.
I liked this piece a great deal, and I hope you will, too. Here is Ouverture bardique by Ferdinant Ries.
Completing my small survey of music from the films of James Cameron, we have a short suite from the score to Avatar, written by James Horner. I like this score a lot, for its suggestion of an alien world that is still deeply beautiful, and the tie the people of that world feel to their surroundings. The film often gets ripped for being “derivative”, but I don’t know…I tend to think most films are “derivative”, and what they bring to the table in terms of creativity is how they blend all of their influences into something new and interesting. That’s how I see it, anyway.
Well, an apology of sorts is needed here: I had a new-to-me piece cued up and ready to go, but I wanted to give it a few more listens before I actually posted it, and then I lost track of that during a pretty hectic bunch of days recently. So…if you’ve been around a while, you know what that means. Here’s Franz von Suppe, with his Boccaccio Overture! This actually is one of his overtures that I know quite less well than some of the others, but it’s typical von Suppe, sparkling and delightful.
Continuing our little series here of music from the films of James Cameron, who earlier this year turned 70, we have the big one.
Titanic.
Wow, this movie is nearing 30 years old. I remember when it was dominating popular culture, totally and utterly. In 1997 Titanic was just huge. It’s hard to overstate just how big a phenomenon it was. Musically, it was carried by a stunning ballad sung by Celine Dion, one of the biggest hits of my entire life; but there was also its score, which sold a huge number of records all by itself. This was one of the few times a movie was so big that its composer actually entered the zeitgeist–in fact, when had the last one of those been? Probably Star Wars, twenty years earlier, with John Williams. Anyway, Titanic made James Horner a huge name.
Horner had already been a big name in film music for years prior to that. The man paid his dues, first with scoring low-budget Roger Corman flicks before he started getting bigger assignments; his first big break was Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, for which he turned in a classic score. My own relationship with Horner’s music was always complicated, but credit where due: A number of my personal desert-island filmscores that I love dearly are by James Horner.
For Titanic he turned in a surprisingly folk-tinged score, eschewing obvious approaches like a nautical sound or some kind of Edwardian-Elgarian sound. While I’ve never been the biggest fan of the Titanic score, I do think it’s very, very good, and concert performances of suites from this score abound. Here is one that I found quite good:
And while I’m discussing Titanic, one cue that is utterly magical in the film and was inexplicably left off the OST album (perhaps intentionally, as an extra enticement for the later Back to Titanic album) was the delicate solo-piano rendition of “My Heart Will Go On”, titled “The Portrait” on the record, which accompanies the scene where Jack draws Rose. If James Horner’s entire musical output had been limited to just this cue, I think his name would still be known, at least a bit.
I’m having a busy week at work, so here’s a piece that might come in emotionally handy by Friday: it’s basically a collection of drinking songs! Here is one of my absolute favorites, the Romanian Rhapsody No. 1 by Georges Enescu, Cristian Macelaru conducting the WDR Symphony Orchestra.
WHOA, hold on!
OK, the above is a great performance, so give it a listen. But also watch this, because this turns it into something really nifty:
Continuing music selections from the films of James Cameron, who just turned 70 last month, we have a brief suite from True Lies. This movie answers the thought experiment of “What if James Cameron directed a James Bond movie?” Arnold Schwarzenegger plays an American spy who maintains a boring family life by day (his wife and kid don’t even know he’s a spy) but does dangerous spy-shit by night (well, kind-of, he has a boring job where the “travels a lot”). But as he enters his most dangerous mission ever, his wife and kid suddenly become a part of the story. It’s a fun movie in its first and third acts, but act two is really hard to watch because there’s a weird subplot that has Arnold becoming convinced that his wife is having an affair or something so he sets up a bizarre sting operation to make her think she’s a spy and…it’s all very weird and honestly, not very comfortable to watch, to the point that when the movie’s main villain shows back up after having disappeared for 40 minutes, it’s almost a relief.
The score is by Brad Fiedel, who did the music for the Terminator movies. He’s not my favorite composer ever, but for a certain type of 90s action movie–say, the type directed by James Cameron–he’s fine. Here’s a short suite from True Lies.
I like it when I get in the car and hear just a few minutes of a piece with which I am unfamiliar, and then I either do a music search using Google’s listening and “ID a song” feature, or I take a quick photo of the name of the piece on the screen of my car’s stereo system, if the name is featured there. The problem is that I usually then forget about said piece of music until much later when I’m going through the Screenshots folder on my phone, or looking through my camera roll, and by that point I have no memory of the piece I listened to. So, over the next few weeks, I’m going to feature works that I “discovered” in this way!
We’re starting with a work by composer Jonathan Leshnoff. Leshnoff, based in Baltimore, is apparently a prolific composer whose work has been featured by many orchestras and ensembles in America, and yet, until I heard a few minutes of this particular piece, I’d not heard of him, to my knowledge. From his website:
Distinguished by The New York Times as “a leader of contemporary American lyricism,” GRAMMY-nominated composer Jonathan Leshnoff is renowned for his music’s striking harmonies, structural complexity, and powerful themes. The Baltimore-based composer has been ranked among the most performed living composers in recent seasons with performances by over 100 orchestras. He has received commissions from Carnegie Hall, the Philadelphia Orchestra, and the symphony orchestras of Atlanta, Baltimore, Dallas, Kansas City, Nashville, and Pittsburgh, among others. Leshnoff’s compositions have also been premiered by classical music’s most celebrated soloists, including Gil Shaham, Johannes Moser, Manuel Barrueco, Noah Bendix-Balgley and Joyce Yang.
Of this particular piece, called Elegy, Leshnoff writes:
Elegy is scored for the unusual combination of horns, harp, timpani and strings. These instruments were selected for their darker color, a natural fit for this composition which is introspective and somber. Elegy is written in memory of the thousands of nameless people who suffered under oppression.
Writing a new composition for the Harmony from Discord series, I chose to musically depict these two contrasting moods with two contrasting ideas: a somber, dark theme that dominates the beginning of the work and a hopeful, brighter theme that is heard in the middle. Elegy starts with this lonely and contemplative theme first played by the violins and then slowly spreading throughout the string section, with the harp offering a haunting echo. After a brooding cadence, the hopeful theme is introduced in the horns. Full of moving lines and sweeping harmonies the music builds to a resounding climax, accompanied by the timpani grounding the ensemble in successive strikes. After a cascading cadence, the dark opening theme again returns, but this time, the hopeful theme intertwines itself with the darker theme, symbolic of the hope that has emerged through the dark, discordant eras of history. The piece notably ends on a major chord.
The piece seems initially reminiscent of Barber’s famous Adagio for Strings, though that comparison quickly falls by the wayside. Leshnoff’s work is less brooding and, I think, more meditative than the Barber piece, blending as Leshnoff indicates hopeful passages along with the darker ones and ending on a more peaceful note. Still, it is a very compelling work, and the odd instrumentation gives it a unique sound-world and emotional life.
Continuing a few weeks of featuring music from the films of James Cameron, who just turned 70 last month, we have a selection from a score I don’t like all that much for a movie I don’t all that much care for. It’s Aliens, his mega-hit from 1986 that was a thrill-packed sequel to the Ridley Scott original horror film. I know that my reaction to these movies is deeply contrary to the geek culture in which I grew up, but hey, we all diverge from the norm sometime. For me, the original Alien is effective once, and after that it’s basically like riding Space Mountain with the lights on, when you know the gross-out stuff is coming and you can anticipate the jump-scares. It also didn’t help that I never found myself caring about the characters.
Cameron did get me caring about the people in Aliens, so that’s props to him. This film, though, is for me something else; when you give me all flow and no ebb, I eventually check out. My feelings for this movie turn out to mirror Roger Ebert’s almost perfectly, so I’ll just quote his original review of the film:
It’s here that my nerves started to fail. “Aliens” is absolutely, painfully and unremittingly intense for at least its last hour. Weaver goes into battle to save her colleagues, herself and the little girl, and the aliens drop from the ceiling, pop up out of the floor and crawl out of the ventilation shafts. (In one of the movie’s less plausible moments, one alien even seems to know how to work the elevator buttons.) I have never seen a movie that maintains such a pitch of intensity for so long; it’s like being on some kind of hair-raising carnival ride that never stops.
I don’t know how else to describe this: The movie made me feel bad. It filled me with feelings of unease and disquiet and anxiety. I walked outside and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was drained. I’m not sure “Aliens” is what we mean by entertainment. Yet I have to be accurate about this movie: It is a superb example of filmmaking craft.
As for James Horner’s score, it’s not marked by memorable themes much at all; there’s some moody stuff that mostly mirrors the Khachaturian ballet music used in 2001: A Space Odyssey, and then there’s a lot of very intense action music that’s mostly rhythm and not a whole lot of build. The best cue is probably the one titled “Bishop’s Countdown”, so here it is. Sorry for my lack of enthusiasm, but I don’t think any artist has ever hit ’em all out of the park for me; after all, George Lucas did make More American Graffiti.
Luigi Cherubini is a composer with whom I am almost completely unfamiliar, except by reputation…and that reputation is via the impressions left behind by another composer with whom I am very familiar. Unfortunately for Cherubini, that composer is Hector Berlioz, who found Cherubini a conservative and pedantic obstacle in his youthful efforts to pursue his own philosophies of music and composition during his time at the Paris Conservatoire.
Now, how accurate Berlioz’s feelings about Cherubini might have been is an open question, as frankly is how accurate Berlioz’s depictions of those feelings in his Memoirs might have been. It seems likely that the two were in fact in conflict, and that Cherubini did in fact find this young and arrogant composer-in-waiting too brash and his music too harsh and unfocused. Those charges are not entirely unfair, after all, when one has listened to the early output of Berlioz, and when one has read a bit about the details of his life.
Cherubini was essentially a classicist, living as he did during the shift from music’s Classical era into the Romantic, and he is one of those figures who is not performed a great deal today, perhaps a bit unfairly; if his music presents certain challenges to contemporary ears, there is still reward to be found within, as Cherubini’s Classical influence can still be detected in Berlioz, who for all his bombast still preferred a degree of balance in his eruptions (Berlioz loved Gluck, for example), and surely a composer shouldn’t be relegated to second-rate status if he was counted as an influence by the likes of Beethoven and Rossini.
Cherubini’s opera-ballet Anacreon premiered in 1803 (the year of Berlioz’s birth!), whereupon it was greeted with complete indifference. The work failed utterly, likely due to the story (about the love life of a Greek poet) being completely out of style at the time, and from what I can tell, the work was pretty much forgotten entirely until the 1970s when it was finally recorded. The overture, however, did survive, being praised by many composers (including Berlioz!) and basically being one of the few pieces to keep Cherubini’s name alive into the 21st century. The overture is thrilling and lyrical in the best “classical” way (meaning in the manner of the Classical era), and listening to it now I find myself slotting it, stylistically, into exactly where it goes: between, say, the overtures of The Magic Flute and Der Freischutz. Chronologically, that’s pretty much where it falls, too.
Here is the Overture to Anacreon by Luigi Cherubini.
