Showing posts with label koerner hall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label koerner hall. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Scene Report: New Music

Scene Report: New Music

Keen readers might remember a few months ago when I was supporting a new-fangled initiative called the New Music Passport. Well, I settled in to using mine, and by chance I made it to three shows that were clustered within a few days, making for a nice chance to get a bit of an overview of a cultural realm that's a little outside my normal routines. Going to three events in a row like this was also a chance to quickly build up a repertoire of familiar faces. Besides a dedicated audience that turned out for multiple shows, one could get a sense of musicians from one organization in the crowd at the other shows — both signs of an engaged community.

Esprit Orchestra: Orion. Thursday, January 31, 2013.

The Ensemble: One of the big guns on the local New Music scene, Esprit is "Canada's only full-sized orchestra devoted exclusively to performing and promoting new orchestral music". This gives them the scale to tackle works for larger ensembles, and in turn there's a more visceral impact that you can only get from a true orchestral wall of sound.

The Venue: This show was at Koerner Hall in the Royal Conservatory of Music — a beautiful venue that I don't get to often enough. A large space that manages to feel friendly via its curvaceous features, it's a really lovely-sounding room — and as a relatively new venue, it still feels sleek and fresh. The seats also have some of the ass-friendliest cushions in town, one of those oft-overlooked features that really allow you to settle in, relax, and groove to the sounds.

The Music: This programme was assembled to celebrate three separate anniversaries. It's been thirty years since the death of Claude Vivier, who has since become one of the very select number of Canadian art music composers that is played outside his nation of birth. That alone is enough to imply that he should be more famous 'round these parts — never mind his opera/concept album-ready biographical backstory, capped with a particularly tawdry death scene.

His Orion, self-described as "a melody on the trumpet... instrument of death in the Middle Ages", really seems to reflect darkly on his own stormy life. And it might have been me reading back into those biographical facts, but given how much angst and melodrama there was in the music, the ensemble would have done well to fully embrace it, instead of reining it in enough that no one's monocles would drop out in shock. This is a piece, after all, that instructs the percussionist to start shouting, and given how the strings cut in right after that like death's choir descending, it should be a mortally-wounded cri de coeur1 — instead, what we got here was a polite bellow that sounded like Harry Belafonte's day-o. Of course, maybe I'm going beyond the writer's intent, and trying to turn this into a piece entitled "Queer Catholic Angst + Fatal Existential Crisis", but this should have simultaneously more operatically melodramatic and fucking punk rock.

The second anniversary being celebrated, taking up the second half of the programme, was the centenary of Stravinsky's Le Sacre du printemps. The Rite of Spring is rather notorious for nearly causing an art-riot on its première in April 1913 — and ever henceforth a flagpole for convention-challenging musical provocations. What musta registered then as a terrible clamour sounds more like a garden-variety cataclysm a century later, and more than the pagan ritual described in the piece's original ballet it feels like a flash-forward to the war-fury that would soon be consuming Europe. It still registers as a bracing bit of music, though, even as presented in a Johnathan McPhee's re-orchestration for reduced orchestra.

And arching over those other anniversaries is Esprit's thirtieth an an ensemble, being celebrated throughout this whole season. In a sign that they're staying relevant, the most intriguing item on the night was the unveiling of a new piece by Paul Frehner that was commissioned for the occasion. His Phantom Suns had a vibrantly visual quality to it — a hazy, warped shivering delivery that tangibly evoked the title's sundogs. The smeary microtonal slides felt like the musical equivalent of shaky 8mm handheld footage, false suns vibrating at the the edges of the frame. It didn't quite maintain the luminescence of its opening — the second movement, which moved tangentially to incorporate references to cryptography didn't register as clearly — but this was an exciting piece that will hopefully live on past this first performance.

The Vibe: This was undoubtedly the poshest of the three shows I attended. When I presented my Passport to get my $5 seat, I was expecting something up in the rafters, but was pleased to end up not too far back on the floor, in a single-seat left over in the middle of a row. When I saw Adrienne Clarkson settling into the row in front of me, I figured I had done pretty well for myself. Unsurprisingly, this had the most intense "night-at-the-symphony" vibe, and with $55 regular tickets, caters to the more bourgeois set. But if you can afford it, it's a nice night out. There was a pre-concert talk, and the concert program came with a glossy three colour cover.

Coming up: Esprit's season concludes on Thursday, March 28, 2013 with 30 and Counting!, further celebrating their anniversary season. The highlight there looks to be Burn, a new double concerto composed for the occasion by Erik Ross, featuring the sax work of Wallace Halladay (about whom there will be more below) as well as arrangements of "Purple Haze" and The Twilight Zone theme.


The Toy Piano Composers: Artistic Differences. Saturday, February 2, 2013.

The Ensemble: Now in their fifth season, TPC are "a collective of emerging composers" banding together to present new works in a smaller ensemble (the core group is six members).

The Venue: I always feel a little out of sorts going to Yorkville, but Heliconian Hall (located behind Hazleton Lanes) was a gem of a venue. The spot was new to me, but the former church has been home to the Heliconian Club (for "women in the arts and letters") since 1923. "Homey" and "cozy" come to mind, and I felt immediately relaxed in the intimate space, which doesn't fit much more than a hundred people in the audience.

The Music: All of the night's pieces were new compositions that were inspired by works of art. Most of the artworks were paintings, although Christian Floisand's Sylvian Swocery responded to a piece of concept art from the Sword & Sworcery video game and Chris Thornborrow's "Walking" was inspired by Ryan Larkin's famous NFB animation of the same name. For many, both the original pieces and the composers were on hand to give a sense of what they were responding to in the works.

All six were engagingly composed and performed, but I was especially taken with Patrick Murray's "Skin and Bone", which conveyed the inner glow and fleshy tactility of Ognian Zekoff's large-scale oil-painting of a pair of hands.

The Vibe: In "playing" music, especially self-serious art music, the sense of "play" is often lost. Even while respecting the integrity of the compositions, TPC kept a playful vibe throughout, extending to the introductions and chats with the composers.

It was noteworthy that this was the only show of these three I saw to feature woman composers — something that shouldn't be an oddity in 2013. That was one more thing that made me feel like this isn't just source-material for the academy or museum — the vibrant exuberance here was more akin to how I feel at a regular gig. The group's DIY spirit makes them the indie rock band of the New Music scene, and they should be embraced as such — this is a group that's ready for an audience outside the cloisters of the classical crowd.

The concert program was also photocopied DIY-style, and the venue has a bar at the back, so you can enjoy a beer while the music is playing. There were also free snacks on offer at intermission. As mentioned, the introductions to the pieces were well-integrated into the program itself.

Coming up: TPC's season concludes on March 23, 2013 with Threshold, with the group playing host to Montréal’s Ensemble Paramirabo. I was quickly converted to being a fan, and look forward to seeing the group again. TPC offer very affordable $10 advance tickets, so this is the group to see for anyone wanting to get their feet wet in contemporary composed music.


New Music Concerts: Canadian Music, Past, Present and Future. Sunday, February 3, 2013

The Ensemble: What might seem like a frightfully generic name is explained by the fact that NMC were the first in the field, founded in 1971 when New Music was that much newer as a concept. That makes them an institution with a bit of an old-school feel (their social media presence, for one thing, is a bit less-developed than the other groups) — but also with a proud track record and strong institutional memory in the form of musical director Robert Aitken, the group's founder who remains a ubiquitous presence at local New Music events. The group has been supporting Canadian composers from the outset, all while keeping connected with the broader global cultural context.

The Venue: Although NMC also presents some smaller shows at The Music Gallery and Gallery 345, its main home is the Betty Oliphant Theatre. Part of the National Ballet School, I'd walked past the theatre's modest Jarvis Street entrance countless times without realizing there was a high-calibre venue behind the doors. Designed as a training facility, it was "modelled after the performing space at the O'Keefe Centre", which was formerly the National Ballet's home. That meant there was a very large stage and a lot of open space in the hall, though it was still a fairly intimate space with the 300 retractable seats feeling close to the action. The huge footprint of the stage sometimes threatened to swallow up the ensemble — especially in the smaller group pieces — but it sounded very good.

The Music: A solid mix of established names and up-and-comers meant this was a good overview of the breadth of NMC's musical interests. At the established end of the spectrum, the night began with 2011's Trio for Flute, Viola and Harp by R. Murray Schafer — probably as big a celebrity as there is in the Canadian New Music firmament. This piece felt like a springtime trip to a protected forest glade, gently lyrical at first before the later movements gathered in a evening's sober stillness. That was followed by John Weinzweig's Interplay, commissioned by NMC back in '98. Weinzweig — a founder of the Canadian League of Composers and proponent of serialism — was known as the "dean of Canadian composers" for his lifetime of teaching and writing, but this piece (as implied by the title) was far more playful than didactic. A series of musical conversations between piccolo, tuba and piano, this would work perfectly as "dialogue" in a wordless cartoon, the high trills and low blurts caught in a constant back-and-forth mediated by the piano that occasionally wanted to upstage them. The comedic element was driven home midway through as the piccolo and tuba players started shuffling their chairs closer and closer to the piano, before standing up and leaning in to utter an exclamation to the pianist's face. It was a bit long, but at least managed to keep undercutting itself in ways like that.2

The "then" was rounded out by Brian Cherney's clockwork confection Die klingende Zeit while the "now" of the programme was represented by works from two young composers. I've encountered Adam Scime before, and his In The Earth And Air showed a development of some of the themes and techniques in evidence at his Music Gallery show. Here, his music flowed from his use of imagist poetry, employing texts from James Joyce, Ezra Pound and Brandon Pitts. Those were set for soprano Carla Huhtanen to sing, and while I don't fully "get" operatic singing — it doesn't convey emotional cues in a way that I can register — the layered strings created a slightly-prickly sound blanket that I could appreciate.

My fave piece of the night was the evening's other première, Brian Harman's En Masse. Part of that might arisen from the fact I was stoked to see Wallace Halladay — one of the city's best reedsmen — on stage, but Harman created an intriguing backdrop for him, with percussionist Rick Saks well-deployed here. "Inspired by elements of ritual in music", Harman evoked group-singing and incantations (especially audible in some of Halliday's ace blowing and clacking) that moved from pleasingly dreamy swoops to faster exchanges.

The Vibe: Cutting the difference between the two above shows, this had a bit of turtleneck formality set against a more stripped-down, intimate scale. Tickets are still on the steep side (this one had a walk-up price of $35), but this was a very worthy excursion. The show was preceded with a conversation between Aitken and several of the night's composers, and there were some free snacks and wine available afterwards for those inclined to mingle.

Coming up: NMC's season finishes with "A Tribute to Gilles Tremblay" on Saturday April 27, 2012, featuring works for solo piano by Louise Bessette.


By way of summing up, I should mention how pleased I was that all of these organizations chose to participate in the New Music Passport program — it's a wonderful tool to reel in curious ears and I hope it's brought back again next year. For us hoi polloi, it's an expensive proposition to dip a toe into the high culture, so anything that makes this sort of music accessible is definitely to be applauded.


1 It brought to mind John Lennon's comment: "when you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream."

2 On what would have been his 100th year, John Weinzweig will be receiving a "Centenary Celebration Concert" at U of T's Walter Hall on Friday, March 8, 2013. Admission is free — more info here.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Gig: Baaba Maal

Baaba Maal

Koerner Hall. Tuesday, April 6, 2010.

Out to the lovely new-ish Koerner Hall at the Royal Conservatory of Music for a big-ticket show with an international star. Baaba Maal, "The Nightingale of Senegal" has been a major star since the late '80's, known for his pure voice and musical adventurism that documents the encounters of his own traditional music with new sounds from around the world. I was, admittedly, not a huge follower, but I was aware that a show like this is a bit of a special event. A good crowd on hand, quite mixed in every way you could imagine, though skewing older and slightly more affluent.

No opener for this one, and the show started with Maal alone, sitting in the centre of the stage, just his guitar and that sweet voice rising to the room's undulating rafters. Midway through he was joined by his mentor, griot Mansour Seck, who would add his voice throughout the evening. At song's end he laid it out: "The concert today is going to be very simple at the beginning... God knows what's going to happen at the end."

After a second song that slowly unfolded with a couple more musicians taking the stage it was twenty minutes in, and the full band emerged. And now the contemplative early mood was supplanted by the rhythm, with bouncy bass and percussion lending a groove. The full band would run to eight behind the leader, including keyb, percussion and ngoni. I don't have a strong enough grounding in the discography to know all the songs, but they were uniformly good stuff. I did pick out the title track from his recent release Television, which was recorded in collaboration with Brazilian Girls, creating a subtly club-friendly sound on the album. Here, though, the song fit organically into the set.

The members of the band were all musically beyond reproach and mostly tended to their instruments with unshowy professionalism. The exception was Massamba Diop, playing the talking drum. He was a gleeful ham, and the most overtly theatrical of the players, adding a lively spark that picked up as the show went on.

The sound in the refined concert hall was surprisingly loud — I was glad to have had my earplugs with me. One would guess that the house techs have a bit less experience with rock-style amplification, and the sound was fine enough — possibly a bit muddled in the low-end when the music was at its loudest, but generally clear throughout, and without any hitches from dealing with a large ensemble.

I did find that as the show went on, the disjunction between the recital-worthy surroundings and the music's groove imperative became more pronounced. On the upper balcony where I was sitting, some people with seats in the long rows perpendicular to the stage stood up pretty early on to dance, but it took folks on the floor a bit longer to overcome the propriety of the venue. During one extended instrumental passage more than an hour in, a guy clambered up onto the stage to praise the singer by sticking a banknote to his forehead, and as he hopped off afterward security seemed unsure if they should bounce the guy or not. Whether or not they were briefed to expect this kind of looseness at an African music show would soon be moot, however.

In the groovy heart of the show the band played three songs in a row that each stretched to the ten-twelve minute mark, one of which was an extended samba jam. And then the finale after that was a fifteen-minute monster — and by this time, bowing to the inevitable, Maal called the crowd up to their feet. Soon enough there was a sizable crowd pressed up against the stage, as a couple children were brought up to dance. And then, the crowd was on the stage, a couple dozen people jumping up to dance along. Quite a spectacle.

And then back out for one more, "International" (also from the new album, and revealing some of its western dancefloor underpinnings, though here tripled in length and with extra percussion) to close out the night. The "venue effect" left me with some ambiguous feelings — if I'd been on my feet for the whole two-hours-plus, I'd have surely felt exhausted, but the bulk of the show was the sort of music that makes more sense when you are up and moving, even if only a little bit. But it was certainly a worthy experience and the crowd went home looking pretty happy with what they saw.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Nuit Blanche 2009

Nuit Blanche. Saturday, October 3, 2009.

"To the man who loves art for its own sake, it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived."

— Sherlock Holmes

This year, I said, I was really gonna "do" Nuit Blanche, Toronto's, ahem, "free all-night contemporary art thing". Saw a few things during the inaugural event, a nice evening out with friends, though it ended fairly early. I was out of town two years ago. Last year there was, er, an incident, and I was in bed, sleeping it off by about eleven p.m. and saw no art whatsoever. So, I was eager this year to put in a fuller effort. Had a list of three or four things I most wanted to see and a vague notions of things I was semi-interested in. Perhaps it's no surprise that the things that interested me most were some of the sound installation pieces.

Heading back into the core after the Yo La Tengo gig, decided to start with the geographical outlier on my list and then work towards where stuff was more clustered. So, hopped off the subway at St. George, about one a.m., wanting to go check out the goings-on at the Royal Conservatory of Music. Walking from the subway, it had an unusual feel for a Saturday night, disco music blaring from a flatbed truck parked on Bloor, fair number of people bustling about. Walked over to the RCM to find a substantial line from the entrance down on Philosopher's Walk back onto the sidewalk on the street. Paused and considered my options. Did not feel like standing in line, so I moved along. Had a couple friends I coulda called, with vague plans of possibly meeting up to wander around, but I was feeling not so much like I wanted to try and co-ordinate plans with anyone, so just went on alone.

Walked around the corner, past a giant queue at the ROM, and down into Museum station. It was a kinda fascinatingly heart-warming panorama on the subway, full, at this hour, of people clutching their maps and guidebooks, flipping through and pointing things out to friends. Heaps of people with fancy camera gear. It was as if there was some sort of spectacular treasure hunt going on.

Things felt less romantic hitting the streets. Got off at Union, figuring I'd just amble northwards and see what I could see. Big crowds on hand, plenty bunches of loud, obnoxious drunken partiers, empty cans and bottles littering the streets. Bay Street was closed off to vehicles, but still quite packed most of the length up to Queen Street. Ducked in to see Witches' Cradles, a sensory-deprivation installation whereby members of the crowd would be suspended in dangling sacks. Which might be interesting if you were in one, but as a spectator event was dull. Watched the "cradles" dangle for a few minutes, and vaguely thought, in a schoolboyish way, that it'd be cool if the curators starting swinging them into each other wrecking ball-style — and moved along.

Moved along up through Wild Ride, a working simulacrum of a carnival midway. Set up amongst the Bay Street towers, it was meant to be a comment on the reckless roller-coaster nature of capitalism, etc., etc. This was, at least, big and open and fun and participatory on a large scale, with people lining up to go on the rides and so on — not that I was particularly interested. Walked past a woman crouching beside one of the clown-head garbage cans, camera held out at arms' length to get a photo of herself and the freaky vista. Wondered idly as I walked by why, with all these people around, no one was offering to take a picture for her. Stopped a couple steps further on, half-turning around as she was scowling at her camera screen and getting ready to take another picture why I wasn't offering to take a picture for her. Turned. Moved along.

Starting to feel my energy level lag a little. Moved on, stopping by City Hall, giant LED's strung between the towers spelling out random four letter words. It read "DOWN" as I went by. Cut over to Yonge Street, which was a bloody zoo — why wasn't this closed to vehicles, too?1 Inched my way northward, past groups of drunken young men doing that "Olé, olé, olé!" football chant, towards one of my most-anticipated events, the sound installation at Massey Hall. Got up to Shuter and saw the end of the queue in front of me, beside a sign reading, "Please note there will be a 75 minute wait from this point. Thank you for your patience." I was not nearly that patient and kept going. Passed through Dundas Square, with plenty of people milling around under the illuminated advertising screens, and walked over to the Atrium on Bay.

So far I'd been running an oh-fer on the stuff I wanted to see, so I was feeling wary as I headed in to check out The Element Choir. Here, however, as I made my way over towards the chanting/singing noises, the crowd was manageable enough. Stood and watched for a few minutes as indefatigable leader Christine Duncan led her choir with a series of sweeping gestures, and then turned to the crowd to conduct them as well. Talking Guy — one of the choir's most distinctive instruments — started talking about "buckets of paint", and Christine picked up on this and soon the whole place was shouting, "buckets of paint!", and members of the choir were singing about it, and it was getting passed back and forth. With audience members coming and leaving, some room in the foreground where people were sitting on the floor opened up, so I grabbed myself a spot and settled in for a spell. After everything so far, it was actually a bit comforting to see some familiar faces, especially among the band that were setting up beside the choir. A half-dozen guitarists, a bass or two, one drummer, with the musicians, like the choir, coming and going from time to time in shifts. The band came in with an improvisatory-but-controlled noise-rock jam, spelling off the choir for a bit, but soon the two were playing off each other, the band building from quiet to loud mostly as the choir was doing the opposite. It was nicely captivating, and really turned my night around.2

Check out some action from the choir + band here.

I'd been flagging before this, but was suddenly re-energized and feeling more well-disposed towards the nuit. After about forty-five minutes, I realized I could stay here anchored for hours, or I could go and try and see more while I had the energy. So, when the music reached the end of a large swell, I stood up and, slightly sadly, made my way back out to the street. Which, circa 2:45, was feeling colder and a mite emptier, but the crowds were still substantial. Without much hope, made my way back down to Massey Hall, where the queue was actually slightly longer than it had been before. Considered my options. Thought I could try and make my way over toward Liberty Village to see the stuff clustered around there, but wondered to myself how much endurance I'd have.

As a compromise, decided to make my way home the long way, and retraced my earlier route in reverse, heading back to Koerner Hall. This time, there was no lineup, and a pleasingly small number of people around. Sadly, the live environmental performance of James Tenney’s In a Large Open Space ("one note performed in unison by musicians on various instruments, with ever-expanding layers of electronic music") had been replaced by a pre-recorded version, but it was nicely done, with different elements being mixed in through various speakers throughout the space. The building itself — the newly opened prestige recital hall for the Royal Conservatory of Music — was very lovely, a beautiful space. Given the sort of music this facility caters to, it's doubtful I'll see many gigs here, so it was nice to have a chance to wander around, find a seat and settle in for a bit.

In fact, to just take some time and let the ambiance soak in was a highly soothing experience. Between the etherial notes (note?) being played and the gently ululating curves of the ceiling,3 I felt a sense of peace come over me, all of the minor grumpiness of the night easing away. This is what music is supposed to do, isn't it?

Bliss out to the ethereal sounds here.

Sat and soaked that in for fifteen minutes or so, then did a wander around the rest of the facility — a very lovely job all around. And then, I was feeling like I'd seen enough. Headed to the subway and made my way home. Turned out to be one of those less-than-stellar late-night TTC experiences, but what can you do? Got home, grabbed the newspaper on my doorstep and went up to bed.


1 In fact, why is the event catering to the automobilists at all? Given the crowds, the smart thing to do would be to close an area — say, Front to Dundas and York to Yonge — to all non-emergency vehicles except the TTC.

2 One can only imagine the logistics required to co-ordinate a twelve-hour continuous music performance, so it's no slight to the choir to think about how much more could have been done if the band had the time and the resources to really occupy the space. There were some attempts to decorate in the area, silver foil taped along the glass barriers and so on, but the band still kinda just felt plunked down in the space, Looking around, I was imagining what it would be like if there would have been mini-choirs at each of the balconies on the several floors of offices rising above and so on. But still, a lovely experience.

3 The ceiling is, in fact, a sort of architectural cousin to the wavedecks that appeared along the waterfront this summer.