Old Man and the C: Live at the Hide-opolis

Remember our end-of-the-year party at High Concept Labs last June? What you probably didn't know is that the power went out on half of Wabansia Ave just hours before you showed up. Across the street, the folks at the Hideout were scrambling to figure out what to do with the sizable crowds queueing up for its Just For Laughs Festival (and acts like W Kamau Bell, Pete Holmes and Brody Stevens) that very same evening. The Hideout pleaded with us to use the downstairs space at HCL and I immediately envisioned the Andante movement of Beethoven's Op. 59 No. 3 with Reggie Watts's dulcet ballad, F**k S**t Stack, wafting up through the floorboards. Short story long, we offered to help them out (don't worry, the power came back on prior to show time) and Hideout owner Tim Tuten offered us a slot in his 2013 season lineup…which we are cashing in on this Saturday.

Personally, I couldn't be more excited to play this joint. The Hideout is intimate, the stage is low and inviting, the crowd open-eared and the drinks silly cheap. If there is any question how much I love this venue, might I direct you to one of the photo locations from my wedding in 2011:

This house-shaped club isn't really a secret in Chicago, but sitting as it does in the middle of a public works campus, fans have made an effort to be there, and the riff raff is minimal or non-existent. It's played host to some outstanding talent, such as:

(get ready for some QUALITY audio, folks…)

Glen Hansard

Jeff Tweedy

Shellac

CAVE

The Fiery Furnaces

Jay Reatard

Alabama Shakes

Spektral can't wait to get the sounds of Alex Temple, Steve Gorbos, Ben Hjertmann, Liza White, Francisco Castillo Trigueros, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Verdi inside these hallowed walls. Make sure you come up and say hi after the show…or during the show for that matter. See you on Saturday!

Minty Fresh Quartets

A primo benefit to being a quartet that plays loads of new music is that we get first-looks at minty fresh scores. Our UChicago New Music Ensemble concert this Saturday is exactly that, and we are all impressed by the imagination and polish of the music featured by their talented composition students.

Phil Taylor's Spandrels is alternate doses of tranquility and eruption, draped across an architecture that keeps the listener satisfyingly rooted in the present. Jae-Goo Lee's Cold and Sharp pulls the camera in tight, examining a shivering and delicate world through microscopic-seeming string techniques. Andrew McManus has proven himself to be a major talent at writing for strings, and his The Sacred and the Profane moves through shades of prismatic harmonics, jazz-like jaunts and vital rhythmic counterpoint before disappearing altogether.

Esteemed Northwestern University faculty composer Hans Thomalla's Albumblatt has quickly become a cornerstone of our repertoire, and we are thrilled to be bringing this perspective-warping piece to Hyde Park to round out the program. Imagine glissandi originating from separate corners within the quartet, converging at microtonally-constructed major chords for just an instant. It makes us throw our hands up and shout, "It's SO GOOD!" every time we rehearse it.

Saturday, Feb. 16 at 8 PM.  FREE!

University of Chicago - Fulton Recital Hall (map)

1010 E. 59th Street, Goodspeed Hall, 4th floor

Austin wrote about Hans' piece previously on the blog, and you can see us playing it live at Northwestern University here:

Juicebox: Bypassing Preconceptions

Norman Lebrecht, of the blog Slipped Disc, was kind enough to show interest in our experiences at Juicebox and asked for some thoughts about the experience.  Here's what Doyle shared:

3-year-olds love Elliott Carter…at least the 3-year-olds found scurrying beneath the iconic Tiffany dome of Preston Bradley Hall on Friday morning. Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events (DCASE) has launched a fresh new series with the intention of immersing toddlers and their caregivers in contemporary music, dance and theatre, cleverly titled "Juicebox," and Spektral Quartet is thrilled to have been the lead-off ensemble. We are also still wiping Cheerios dust off our strings.

What seems clear to DCASE, and certainly to our quartet, is that listeners have to be taught to bristle or sneer at certain flavors of music. Take Carter's Quartet No. 2, which tends to elicit some of the more emphatic responses, from ecstatic to cynical, from our audiences. We've developed larger-than-life character descriptions for each instrument's role, a self-composed play synopsis for the movements, and had open conversations with each other about the piece in front of the audience prior to performing it in an effort to create a foothold for first-time listeners. This has been encouragingly successful. On the other hand, tell toddlers, "This piece is awesome," play it with gusto, and their response is, "THIS PIECE IS AWESOME!"

For our Juicebox debut, Spektral excerpted Thomas Adès's Arcadiana, Hans Thomalla's Albumblatt, and Marcos Balter's Chambers in addition to the Carter. With the help of Spektral violinist Austin Wulliman's mother Phyllis, who translated our ideas into Toddler, we approached each composer as an explorer. Adès explores the alchemy of painting into sound: parents here rocked with their children back and forth during the fog-veiled gondola ride of Arcadiana's first movement. Thomalla explores the sounds around him in everyday life: violinist Aurelien plays the bariolage measures, likening it to an ambulance siren, and dozens of tiny eyes widen. Balter explores the world as if through a microscope: Phyllis encourages the children to look skyward, and has them pick out a tiny snowflake from among the myriad details of the brilliant, colored glass dome. Finally, the fourth movement and conclusion of Carter's each-instrument-as-independent-character masterpiece is introduced as four people all talking simultaneously, not listening to each other until the second violin reins in the proceedings and restores order. After all, what's a kid's concert without an under-the-radar morality lesson?

At a concert of Mozart for (primarily) septua- and octogenarians the previous evening, one well-intentioned but concerned gentleman asked, "Tonight you're playing for an enthusiastic group of old people who love this music. Who comes to your other shows?" Spektral Quartet has been focused on breaking the fourth wall since its inception, commandeering bars as performance spaces and experimenting with seating the audience up-close, encircling the quartet. We've also prioritized playing works by emerging and local composers, so we were able to respond confidently that our audience is young and open-eared.

Ultimately, it can be distilled down to this: bypassing the need for "un-learning" preconceptions about new music is why the Juicebox series is a powerful artistic venture, and one we will continue to support.

 

A Juicebox for Chicago's Preschoolers

No need to call a babysitter for Spektral's next concert!

We are thrilled to be the lead-off ensemble on the Chicago Dept. of Cultural Affairs brand-new series, Juicebox. Created for pre-kindergarteners and their parents, Juicebox is bringing some of City's most cutting-edge new-music/theatre/dance under the Tiffany dome at the Chicago Cultural Center, transforming it into a kid-friendly performance space. Cheerios in a ziploc? Bring 'em. Feel the need to dance or squeal? Go for it! Forgot your wallet, Mom and Dad? It's free!

Guiding Spektral's all new-music set is early childhood development ace (she raised Austin, after all), Phyllis Wulliman. Conjuring narratives and inspiring children to interact with the music, Phyllis and the Quartet will take the audience on a voyage through the brilliant and evocative scores of Elliott Carter, Hans Thomalla and Thomas Adès.

So pack those diaper bags and join us for a morning of new-music hoopla!* 

WHERE Chicago Cultural Center
Preston Bradley Hall
78 E Washington, Chicago

WHEN Friday, Feb1st, 2013
10am

TICKETS Free

*misbehaving parents will be asked to sit in time out chairs for a period of 15min.

Old Man and the C-arter

This week, Spektral gives its first-ever performance of Elliott Carter's String Quartet No. 2 at the National Pastime Theater. I've now had two separate incidents of someone asking me if we decided to play this monumental work after learning of Carter's death. I only wish I traveled with the score, so as to quickly (and passive-aggressively) answer their query. Unpacking this piece, with all it's hocket-ed composite rhythms and wickedly-challenging passagework, has been an experience equally frustrating and gratifying for us. This is Carter, though. That's what HE DOES.

The title of the show is a quote from the man himself, that reads: "An auditory scenario for the players to act out with their instruments." It is not specifically tied to Quartet No. 2, but it closely parallels the individuality of each part, or character, around which Carter wrote this score. Aurelien's imaginative synopsis of the "plot" will be included in the program, and each of us will offer descriptions from the stage of who we feel our character is. 

I thought I'd preempt Wednesday's show by giving you my (unauthorized by my quartet-mates) film analogies to these personalities. The concert is BYOB, so with enough rye in your flask, these will make perfect sense…

Austin: 

Aurelien: 

Doyle: 

Russ:

Tickets are $5 cheaper in advance. See you on Wednesday!

Nice (W)rig(ley)

This is Wrigley. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wrigley is the Woody Allen of the dog world: charming but anxiety-ridden. He will, however, gladly sit and listen (one ear up - one ear down) to the dulcet tones of disembodied Berio and Carter viola parts as I dissect them. Until such time (i.e. every 6-7 minutes) as he needs some attention, at which point he nudges my bow-arm elbow with conviction and an impossible-to-ignore grin. Wrigley also occassionaly likes to rehearse his favorite scenes from Logan's Run, suddenly tearing across the room with little to no warning.

 

Tethered to the AC-adapter as it is, I've found the Boss DB-90 metronome to be a resilient piece of equipment during these escapades, when the aforementioned cord attempts to thwart our hero. 

 

A trip to the local, independent guitar shop produced a solution that not only answered the dog issue, but also solved the irritating problem of metronome placement. On the stand, it blocks the music. On the desk or table, it is often not percussive enough (for Berio, anyway) and cumbersome to adjust.

 

After consulting with the Neil Peart fanatic behind the counter, I made my exit with two items: a Tama MC66 Universal Clamp and a Tama Threaded L-Rod. 

 

The universal clamp fits perfectly on a Manhasset (or pretty much any stand, for that matter) and the threaded l-rod winds snugly into the top of the DB-90. Rigged like so, the metronome sits at a 45-degree angle just below the lip of the stand:

 

 

Upsides: clear viewing angle, maximum audibility, easy access to metronome controls, uninhibited page turns, minimum Wrigley-interference

 

Downsides: weight, bulkiness

 

This one may only be for my fellow gear-heads out there, but it's a winner. Back to practicing...

 

Nice (W)rig(ley)

This is Wrigley. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wrigley is the Woody Allen of the dog world: charming but anxiety-ridden. He will, however, gladly sit and listen (one ear up - one ear down) to the dulcet tones of disembodied Berio and Carter viola parts as I dissect them. Until such time (i.e. every 6-7 minutes) as he needs some attention, at which point he nudges my bow-arm elbow with conviction and an impossible-to-ignore grin. Wrigley also occassionaly likes to rehearse his favorite scenes from Logan's Run, suddenly tearing across the room with little to no warning.

 

Tethered to the AC-adapter as it is, I've found the Boss DB-90 metronome to be a resilient piece of equipment during these escapades, when the aforementioned cord attempts to thwart our hero. 

 

A trip to the local, independent guitar shop produced a solution that not only answered the dog issue, but also solved the irritating problem of metronome placement. On the stand, it blocks the music. On the desk or table, it is often not percussive enough (for Berio, anyway) and cumbersome to adjust.

 

After consulting with the Neil Peart fanatic behind the counter, I made my exit with two items: a Tama MC66 Universal Clamp and a Tama Threaded L-Rod. 

 

The universal clamp fits perfectly on a Manhasset (or pretty much any stand, for that matter) and the threaded l-rod winds snugly into the top of the DB-90. Rigged like so, the metronome sits at a 45-degree angle just below the lip of the stand:

 

 

Upsides: clear viewing angle, maximum audibility, easy access to metronome controls, uninhibited page turns, minimum Wrigley-interference

 

Downsides: weight, bulkiness

 

This one may only be for my fellow gear-heads out there, but it's a winner. Back to practicing...

 

Realistic Statistic

In the months preparing for our May 23rd/24th performances of Theatre of War, I’ve necessarily been scouring the newspapers and government websites for information on military and civilian stories, not to mention casualty stats, in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The project may have leapt out of a giddy desire to perform George Crumb’s seminal “Black Angels,” but it has grown into something far greater than I think anything Spektral imagined. Let me take you down the rabbit hole with me for a minute:

 

10,000 Veterans Affairs suicide hotline calls per month. (Army Times: Apr 22, 2010)

 

In 2008, an estimated 300,000 returning soldiers are classified as having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) or major depression. (Los Angeles Times: May 11, 2011)

 

In the first three years of the Iraq War, the World Health Organization estimated 151,000 Iraqi civilian deaths. (Time: Jan 10, 2008)

 

The benefit of statistics is seeing the macro. The peril is missing the micro. In this case the micro is the human, and when a stat like “18 veterans commit suicide every day” (a Veterans Affairs-reported number), the brain goes sideways at the enormity of it all. 

 

 

To put it in perspective: What did I stress out about this week? Learning the viola part for Bernhard Lang’s Schrift/Bild/Schrift. A gouge left on my bumper by a careless parallel-park-er. Improper usage of “their” vs. “its.” 

 

While Theatre of War won’t be preaching from any pillory, it does intend to open this conversation about the effects of war for soldiers and civilians. What we’re hoping as artists is that for two nights this May, the current wars will become personal…and not just an evening news statistic.

Unprohibited Prophylactic

Ok, new music nerds and fellow compulsives: You’re staring at that 16-3/8” x 20-1/2” Black Angels part and the dark, ominous-looking clouds staining the sky and wondering how you’re going to make it to rehearsal without this $50 score transforming into a dimpled mess. Or perhaps you’re just fastidious about your sheet music like I am, to the point that you have a proprietary category in your task-list app dedicated to the music you’ve loaned out and to whom. Whatever the case, I have, after thoroughly scouring the art-supply stores, found the answer: the Start 2 portfolio by Prat.

 

It’s black in color, handsome, and…wait for it…has a waterproof cover (*swoon). What’s more, the larger inner pocket fits the Crumb like a Spandex aerobics unitard and the smaller pocket fits standard music perfectly.

 

Where’s my fainting couch?

 

Unlike many other portfolios, the handles on this one are very comfortable, and at only an inch wide, it won’t feel like you’re headed into a pitch meeting with Frank Gehry. With the untold fortunes we’ve all spent on printed music, some admittedly more dubious than others (looking at you, International), this was the best $40-or-so clams I’ve spent in a while. After spending more hours than I care to admit in Blick and Utrecht et al, I can tell you that there are options far more and far less expensive, but this one is the proverbial bees knees.

 

Now to figure out where to have this monogrammed…

 

You Want Loops With That Shake?

This week I’m back on principal duties with the Firebird Chamber Orchestra in Miami for, among other works, John Adams’ ubiquitous Shaker Loops. Completed the same year I was born, 1978, this string orchestra score was instrumental [sic] in moving the genre of minimalism beyond its strictest forms through a more fluid treatment of tempo. This is by far my favorite selection from the Adams oeuvre, and as with most pieces of the idiom, it is deceptively difficult. The natural inclination is to pulse with the bow at the quarter-note level to ground the oft-running sixteenth notes, but this tendency also interrupts the musical flow on which the piece is hinged.

 

What stands out to me in this, my second performance of Shaker Loops (the first being a wild romp with ensemble dal niente), is the distinctly different way in which the player is required to concentrate. After our initial performance on Wednesday, the first comment from a player after the final bow was, “I think I blinked three times, max!” With the nerves of an opening night show, most eyes were buried in parts for fear of losing place on the page. The experience is something like a street-side game of Three Card Monty. Take your eyes away for even a split second and all is lost until the next meter change or penciled-in cue…for the first concert at least.

 

 

Back to the brain, though, I discovered an interesting phenomenon in rehearsing this piece which is that focusing the eyes too acutely within each measure has the same disorienting effects as losing concentration all together. The balance that seems to result in the most consistency, for me at least, is put only about 30% of available brain power on the measure itself, another 30% on the overall phrase (say eight measures or so) and the final 40% on phrasing and musicality. Performance nerves seem to skew this ratio toward a hyper-focus on 1-3 measures of music, but in this approach sight begins to blur not unlike staring at patterned wallpaper too closely. Committing to the rough percentages above of course happens more naturally over time, but with an abbreviated rehearsal schedule it requires nothing short of a vow.

 

Our Firebird bassist, Logan Coale, tracked down a documentary featuring the composer himself rehearsing and conducting the septet version at the 2002 La Jolla Music Society’s SummerFest, entitled A Precise Process. Some interview answer grandiosity aside, it is a compelling examination of what Adams’ priorities are in the well-known score. Ensemble issues in these rehearsals highlight pitfalls inherent within the piece, as well as the impulse to nudge larger beats in the effort to keep everyone on the train. My goal for the next four performances? To shake it not like a Polaroid picture, but like a Zen monk.

 

Star Power Part 3: Conclusion

Referring to this exercise of rating my iTunes Library as “quixotic” would be generous, with three weeks of effort barely making a dent in this monstrous catalogue. Two conclusions have been reached, though, which I’ve found enlightening. The first is that one’s disposition at the time of listening is paramount. 

 

Mr. Fuzzybuns recently leapt out your 57th-floor window? That Chromeo album is probably not going to fare to well, star-wise.

 

The love of your life just said yes? I would postpone apportioning stars to anything from the oeuvre of Ian Curtis for now.

 

Obvious, right? But doesn’t it raise the question of the validity of concert reviews to some extent? That’s a query for a future post and/or dissertation, but for now, let’s just agree that for these ratings to mean anything at all, multiple listens over a span of time are a necessity. 

 

The second conclusion involves the metamorphosis that takes place when one listens critically. Have you ever had that experience of falling in love with a new song, finding yourself vibrating with the expectation of sharing it with friends…only to realize upon playing it for them that the so-awesome-I-suddenly-know-Karate-and-can-kick-ass build doesn’t actually exist? This is perhaps what changes when listening with a critical ear, even for something as simple as rating your own beloved tunes. Here’s where the 5-star rating is actually useful. If you’re not writing a 600-word review for a major publication, it actually can be as simple as I hate it / It’s ok / I like it / I really like it / I want to have its babies. Listening with this particular pair of ears encourages a more thorough aural experience, in my opinion. Not because music should be reduced to one of five responses, but because it inspires the question, “Exactly what about this do I love?” 

 

With that, I’ll leave you with a few results from my foray. Feel free to comment on my horrendous, or horrendously good, choices.

 

 

Check out where this journey began in Part One.

 

 

Or, here's Part Two for your reading pleasure.

 

The Old Man and the C: Decision Time (Part 2)

Now that the star system has been established, it’s on to what I believe Plato dubbed “The Nitty Gritty.” At least I think it was Plato. In any case, the next level of filtering is driven by one’s listening habits. I am of the persuasion that if the artist went to the trouble of assembling an album, painstakingly selecting the seconds-worth of silence between numbers as well as the overall trajectory of the record, track-by-track, then it is my duty not to surgically stitch together a playlist. I listen top to bottom. 

 

Here lies the quandary: am I rating each track against the other tracks on the album, or against all music since the genesis of recorded musical history? “Shake Your Rump” from the Beastie Boys 1989 album Paul’s Boutique receives a solid five stars because it compels me to what I call “dance,” and what others generally refer to as “have a grand mal seizure.” Can those be the same five stars that are awarded to Solti and the Vienna Philharmonic as they absolutely destroy with the overture to Tannhäuser, sending feverish chills up and down my spinal column even on the 103rd listen? 

 

DANGER DANGER!

 

We have entered a territory in which the Twitter and Facebook trolls do dwell. Suffice it to say, genre-comparisons are a futile exercise, and when all is said and done, late-80’s NYC hip hop can be every bit as glorious as mythic Gesamtkunstwerk. It just depends on the hour of the day.

 

That’s the brilliance of this rating effort, though, isn’t it? We don’t have to defend our choices, or justify why Harry Nilsson’s “Without You” is one of the most wonderfully tortured love songs of all time. There exists no table of be-Zinfandel-ed dinner guests trading blows over where The Stooges self-titled LP stacks up in the punk hierarchy.

 

 

Next week: Results (Part 3: Conclusion)

Old Man and the C: Star Power (Part 1)

This week marks the beginning of an arduous and vitally important process: The Rating of the iTunes Library. You might think that as a music reviewer/writer this may be a relatively simple process, but you would be very wrong. I’ve always found the star rating system reductive, minimizing hundreds or thousands of hours of artistic sweat down to a cartoonish, linear constellation. On the other hand, every time I return to the 16,382 tracks currently engorging my hard drive (I reduced the collection by 60-some-odd-percent recently), the experience feels a bit like setting foot in the Smithsonian for the first time. Where do I even start?

So against artistic instinct, King Diamond, John Fahey and William Primrose are all now sporting the equivalent of stickers on a kindergarten “Good Behavior” chart. 

What does 4/5 stars mean, you ask? I’ve decided to use the Netflix model (loosely) as a launch point. Here’s my version:

1 star: Causes compulsion to lance eardrums with rusty, Civil War-era bayonets

2 stars: Inspires constant eye-rolling and as such, dangerous while operating a motor vehicle

3 stars: Goooood

4 stars: I don your band’s t-shirt

5 stars: Face. Melted.

Next week on Old Man and the C: Decision Time

The Old Man and the C: La alegría en la música

Spektral has been deep in the sweaty task of excavating Gb Maj (among others) in Ravel’s sumptuous and stupefying quartet, and admittedly it has not been without its frustrations. For instance, finding that perfect fingering for the alto melody near the top of the 3rd movement, with its hurdles of sourdine, register and string crossings may or may not have resulted in the extemporaneous utterance: “Hang cur, hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!” Wait no, that was Shakespeare.

In any case, the outrageously talented teens of the Albany Park Theatre Project inadvertently offered me a respite this weekend with Home/Land. First things first, it is one of the best pieces I’ve seen on stage and it’s been extended through April 28th, so you need to buy those tickets pronto (all previous shows have sold out). Devised by the actors and their APTP mentors from interviews with undocumented immigrants in Chicago, Home/Land weaves the real-life and often harrowing narratives of families broken apart, by among other factors, deportation. I’ll go ahead and admit that both myself and my three companions were doing the head-tilted-slightly-back-finger-dabbing-at-corner-of-eye dance throughout, in part because of the humanity at the center of each story, but also because of the imagination brought to the staging. In one scene, a father in his orange prison jumper presses upward on a disembodied door as his son scampers up the other side, clutching at the shadow behind it.

Seriously, go see this show.

So how does this relate to Ravel? At the end of the play, with the audience at this point stunned silent and emotionally exhausted, the characters produce instruments from the many suitcases of which the stage is comprised. Some stomp-dance a beat as a viola and violin take up the melody. Then a trombone and french horn appear downstage. The entire cast [more ethnically diverse than any play you’ve ever seen, by the way] is jubilant, the music ricocheting off the angled, attic-level Laura Wiley Theater ceiling as faces begin to light up around the space. In that moment, music is not about tuning gnarly sevenths or matching tremolo strokes. 

It’s about joy. Just joy.

The Old Man and the C: Sheiks Not of the "Iron" Variety

For this week's Old Man and the C, I would like to congratulate the Northwestern University cast and crew for a spirited production of Spring Awakening. Having only recently developed a fondness for musical theatre, I'll leave the reviews to those more qualified, but the high level of singing and staging for last Sunday's final performance was nothing short of remarkable. Keeping audience focus (mine, at least) off songwriter/composer Duncan Sheik's poetically pedestrian lyrics ("Still your heart says/The shadows bring the starlight/And everything you've ever been is still there in the dark night")
is a feat unto itself, and the demanding falsetto on display by tenors Max Cove (Moritz) and Alex Nee (Melchior) was impressively executed.

Also, there is a zesty number entitled, "Totally Fucked."

I may not be as drawn to Sheik's rock-ish score as most, and I did have to sit, mentally squirming, beside a septuagenarian as undergrads graphically simulated coitus, but the timeliness of a show about repression is undeniable. Most importantly, the excellent acting by the NU cast left me curious as to the play of the same title penned by German playwright Frank Wedekind from which the musical is derived. So thank you, Northwestern musical theatre department, for a memorable Sunday...and inspiring yet another trek to the Book Cellar.