Mr. Tambourine Man by John Corigliano
Apr. 13th, 2008 06:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zalenaSo, I had an experience at the concert hall last night that doesn't happen every night; particularly in Greeley, Colorado. In a program with the theme of 'American Generations' I heard two pieces by contemporary American composers, both of which were in the concert hall that evening; one of which I met prior to the concert, quite by accident.
The Greeley Philharmonic has hired Glen Cortese as their conductor. This is quite a coup as Cortese is a rising star in the American classical world. He already has several orchestras (one in Oregan, one in New York) and spends a lot of guest conducting around the country. He's not quite an A-level conductor; but it is a big step up from the last conductor who was a professor at the local music college. This is his first season with the Phil and he has introduced some marvelous programming and brought in some world class artists. It is more than a breath of fresh air to have him land in what is usually considered a flyover state; it is a wind of change.
One of the reasons I think Cortese was willing to become both director and conductor of the Greeley Philharmonic is precisely because of the difficulty of getting contemporary work done in concert halls. Everyone is interested in premiers; but to become a 'known' composer, work has to be repeated. Cortese has had the Phil play his own work (last night they played a tone poem of his called Garden of the Gods, which was lovely, if perhaps derivative, but got me thinking about the evolution of the 'Western' sound.) He has also had the Phil play the work of other contemporary composers, many of which are his teachers, colleagues, or friends.
Last night we heard a song cycle by his teacher John Corigliano (perhaps best known for the soundtrack he wrote for The Red Violin,) called Mr. Tambourine Man. It is an art song cycle based on the poetry of Bob Dylan, re-set, totally out of context of Dylan's popular song. I am going to have a very difficult time describing it, so here is a passage from the concert notes written by Corigliano himself:
When Sylvia McNair asked me to write her a major song cycle for Carnegie Hall, she had only one request: to choose an American text....I had always heard, by reputation, of the high regard accorded to the folk-ballad singer/songwriter Bob Dylan. But I was so engaged in developing my orchestral technique during the years that Dylan was heard by the rest of the world that I had never heard his songs. So I bought a collection of his texts and found many of them to be as beautiful and immediate as I had heard.... these would in no way be arrangements, or variations, or in any way derivations of the music of the original songs, which I decided to not hear before the cycle was complete. Just as Schumann or Brahms or Wolf had re-interpreted in their own musical styles the same Goethe text, I intended to treat the Dylan lyrics as the poems I found them to be. Nor would their settings make any attempt at pop or rock writing. I wanted to take poetry I knew to be strongly associated with popular art and readdress it in terms of concert art-crossover in the oppoistive direction, one might way. Dylan granted his permission, and I set to work.
The poems he chose include the following in order that they are placed in his song cycle: Mr. Tambourine Man; Clothes Line; Blowin' in the Wind; Masters of War; All Along the Watchtower; Chimes of Freedom; Forever Young.
The weirdest part of the experience is that most of these lyrics are from songs we know, not just well, but with which many of us (at least in the post-Boomer generations) were suckled. To have them separated from their associated melody is jarring; but also highlighted the prophetic quality of the text. Dylan's melodies made these lyrics go down smooth. Corigliano highlighted not just the oracular aspect of the text (How many roads, indeed!), but dissociates the lyrics from their context with a particular social movement in timespace and puts them as greater questions asked in a larger context.
It is a fascinating work. Not precisely easy to listen to, but incredibly moving. The composer had notes about the progression from innocence to civic maturation; but to me it was like being in the presence of an incredibly angry insane person, who is probably just spouting nonsense, but one cannot be entirely sure. Clothes Line is one of the slower, easier to listen to, songs; but also carries an eerie weight with it. Doors open and shut. Madness mentioned in passing, and a certain weight of poverty to it. And Masters of War... I have never heard such vehemence in a concert hall directed against, well, many of the people sitting in the seats:
You've thrown the worst fear/That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children/Into the world
For threatening my baby/Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood/That runs in your veins...
Let me ask you one question/Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness/Do you think that it could
I think that you will find/When your death takes its toll
All the money you made/Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die/And your death will come soon
I will follow your casket/ In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while your lowered/Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave/'Til I'm sure that your dead
Even Chimes of Freedom is relentless, with, as you can imagine, lots of chimes and a giant gong at the end that vibrates into the last song. (The percussionists really got a work out last night.) But lest we be left with these visions of doom and gloom, of mental social disentegration, (because the inclusiveness of Chimes of Freedom, is in itself a sort of apocalyptic vision putting all sorts of social undesirables into the mix) the last song, Forever Young is presented as a kind of benediction.
I could not help myself. I started spontaneously tearing, and by the end of the song I was sobbing. Afterwards I stood there and clapped and clapped until the lights came up, all the while crying, then I rushed out to the restroom and spent most of intermission trying to collect myself in a bathroom stall.
Corigliano has his own notes about composition and the way he envisioned the cycle; but for me it was hearing Dylan's prophetic voice for perhaps what is the first time, and hearing it speak outside his generation to my own. And it really was the last song that got to me, a sort of benediction ending a chaotic cycle. It is sometimes hard to feel that there is anything beyond a legacy of poverty, violence, and social unrest. And the whole cycle, but particularly the last song, spoke to that hope and that yearning in me: how to be an artist, anyway.
I thought I would note that Corigliano is a generation older than the Boomers, and I am a generation younger. And while I'm still feeling a little too discombobulated to connect all the dots, there was something in there that really connected to that typical 'X' sense of generational betrayal.
But I also should note that Corigliano sat in my aisle (he was at the recording console watching the levels for the rebroadcast later this month) and introduced himself prior to the concert. It's not every day that one goes hears two contemporary works in the concert hall, with both composers in attendance, and MEETS the composers...
The program finished with Aaron Copland's Third Symphony, the final movement of which expands on his most famous work: Fanfare for a Common Man. It is a relentlessly upbeat (which is to say mood-lifting) symphony, which is probably a wise choice to end with after Mr. Tambourine Man, but I was so worn out that I really couldn't appreciate it; but I did want to note that the Fanfare is absolutely delightful in its symphonic expansion. If you have never heard the Third Symphony before I would recommend it for everyone.
Mr. Tambourine Man, is not for everyone, however. But you can hear both on the rebroadcast of the concert (the orchestra was also worn out by the time they got to the Copland, so it might be best to get a different recording of that one: they were phenomenal in Mr. Tambourine Man, it was truly one of those moments when all parties involved were performing far beyond their capacities) which is on KUNC on Sunday, April 27 @ 7pm. KUNC broadcasts online, so even those of you outside of the local radius (which is most of you) should be able to get a listen if you really want one.
A final note: Corigliano dedicated Mr. Tambourine Man to Mark Adamo, who just happens to be the composer of an opera of Little Women, which I saw when I was still living in New York. It is phenomenal. If you ever get a chance to see it in performance, I highly recommend it.
The Greeley Philharmonic has hired Glen Cortese as their conductor. This is quite a coup as Cortese is a rising star in the American classical world. He already has several orchestras (one in Oregan, one in New York) and spends a lot of guest conducting around the country. He's not quite an A-level conductor; but it is a big step up from the last conductor who was a professor at the local music college. This is his first season with the Phil and he has introduced some marvelous programming and brought in some world class artists. It is more than a breath of fresh air to have him land in what is usually considered a flyover state; it is a wind of change.
One of the reasons I think Cortese was willing to become both director and conductor of the Greeley Philharmonic is precisely because of the difficulty of getting contemporary work done in concert halls. Everyone is interested in premiers; but to become a 'known' composer, work has to be repeated. Cortese has had the Phil play his own work (last night they played a tone poem of his called Garden of the Gods, which was lovely, if perhaps derivative, but got me thinking about the evolution of the 'Western' sound.) He has also had the Phil play the work of other contemporary composers, many of which are his teachers, colleagues, or friends.
Last night we heard a song cycle by his teacher John Corigliano (perhaps best known for the soundtrack he wrote for The Red Violin,) called Mr. Tambourine Man. It is an art song cycle based on the poetry of Bob Dylan, re-set, totally out of context of Dylan's popular song. I am going to have a very difficult time describing it, so here is a passage from the concert notes written by Corigliano himself:
When Sylvia McNair asked me to write her a major song cycle for Carnegie Hall, she had only one request: to choose an American text....I had always heard, by reputation, of the high regard accorded to the folk-ballad singer/songwriter Bob Dylan. But I was so engaged in developing my orchestral technique during the years that Dylan was heard by the rest of the world that I had never heard his songs. So I bought a collection of his texts and found many of them to be as beautiful and immediate as I had heard.... these would in no way be arrangements, or variations, or in any way derivations of the music of the original songs, which I decided to not hear before the cycle was complete. Just as Schumann or Brahms or Wolf had re-interpreted in their own musical styles the same Goethe text, I intended to treat the Dylan lyrics as the poems I found them to be. Nor would their settings make any attempt at pop or rock writing. I wanted to take poetry I knew to be strongly associated with popular art and readdress it in terms of concert art-crossover in the oppoistive direction, one might way. Dylan granted his permission, and I set to work.
The poems he chose include the following in order that they are placed in his song cycle: Mr. Tambourine Man; Clothes Line; Blowin' in the Wind; Masters of War; All Along the Watchtower; Chimes of Freedom; Forever Young.
The weirdest part of the experience is that most of these lyrics are from songs we know, not just well, but with which many of us (at least in the post-Boomer generations) were suckled. To have them separated from their associated melody is jarring; but also highlighted the prophetic quality of the text. Dylan's melodies made these lyrics go down smooth. Corigliano highlighted not just the oracular aspect of the text (How many roads, indeed!), but dissociates the lyrics from their context with a particular social movement in timespace and puts them as greater questions asked in a larger context.
It is a fascinating work. Not precisely easy to listen to, but incredibly moving. The composer had notes about the progression from innocence to civic maturation; but to me it was like being in the presence of an incredibly angry insane person, who is probably just spouting nonsense, but one cannot be entirely sure. Clothes Line is one of the slower, easier to listen to, songs; but also carries an eerie weight with it. Doors open and shut. Madness mentioned in passing, and a certain weight of poverty to it. And Masters of War... I have never heard such vehemence in a concert hall directed against, well, many of the people sitting in the seats:
You've thrown the worst fear/That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children/Into the world
For threatening my baby/Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood/That runs in your veins...
Let me ask you one question/Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness/Do you think that it could
I think that you will find/When your death takes its toll
All the money you made/Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die/And your death will come soon
I will follow your casket/ In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while your lowered/Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave/'Til I'm sure that your dead
Even Chimes of Freedom is relentless, with, as you can imagine, lots of chimes and a giant gong at the end that vibrates into the last song. (The percussionists really got a work out last night.) But lest we be left with these visions of doom and gloom, of mental social disentegration, (because the inclusiveness of Chimes of Freedom, is in itself a sort of apocalyptic vision putting all sorts of social undesirables into the mix) the last song, Forever Young is presented as a kind of benediction.
I could not help myself. I started spontaneously tearing, and by the end of the song I was sobbing. Afterwards I stood there and clapped and clapped until the lights came up, all the while crying, then I rushed out to the restroom and spent most of intermission trying to collect myself in a bathroom stall.
Corigliano has his own notes about composition and the way he envisioned the cycle; but for me it was hearing Dylan's prophetic voice for perhaps what is the first time, and hearing it speak outside his generation to my own. And it really was the last song that got to me, a sort of benediction ending a chaotic cycle. It is sometimes hard to feel that there is anything beyond a legacy of poverty, violence, and social unrest. And the whole cycle, but particularly the last song, spoke to that hope and that yearning in me: how to be an artist, anyway.
I thought I would note that Corigliano is a generation older than the Boomers, and I am a generation younger. And while I'm still feeling a little too discombobulated to connect all the dots, there was something in there that really connected to that typical 'X' sense of generational betrayal.
But I also should note that Corigliano sat in my aisle (he was at the recording console watching the levels for the rebroadcast later this month) and introduced himself prior to the concert. It's not every day that one goes hears two contemporary works in the concert hall, with both composers in attendance, and MEETS the composers...
The program finished with Aaron Copland's Third Symphony, the final movement of which expands on his most famous work: Fanfare for a Common Man. It is a relentlessly upbeat (which is to say mood-lifting) symphony, which is probably a wise choice to end with after Mr. Tambourine Man, but I was so worn out that I really couldn't appreciate it; but I did want to note that the Fanfare is absolutely delightful in its symphonic expansion. If you have never heard the Third Symphony before I would recommend it for everyone.
Mr. Tambourine Man, is not for everyone, however. But you can hear both on the rebroadcast of the concert (the orchestra was also worn out by the time they got to the Copland, so it might be best to get a different recording of that one: they were phenomenal in Mr. Tambourine Man, it was truly one of those moments when all parties involved were performing far beyond their capacities) which is on KUNC on Sunday, April 27 @ 7pm. KUNC broadcasts online, so even those of you outside of the local radius (which is most of you) should be able to get a listen if you really want one.
A final note: Corigliano dedicated Mr. Tambourine Man to Mark Adamo, who just happens to be the composer of an opera of Little Women, which I saw when I was still living in New York. It is phenomenal. If you ever get a chance to see it in performance, I highly recommend it.
